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The Azazel was a monstrous argo, sleek and beautiful, the ship moves like a slim, dark silhouette on the waters. The two eyes painted on the side of the boat only added on to the feel of Kreios's ship, which would look like a terrifying sea creature should one meet it in the dark. Unlike regular cargo ships, Kreios had no need for large spaces for cargo, despite being a merchant. His wares were small in size, and precious in that he would need to return to his home Kingdom every few weeks to replenish and procure new stock for his long standing customers before heading out again.
This was one of the weeks.
He had recently arrived from Athenia after spending a week in the capital city of the coastal kingdom. From there, he had sailed on to Colchis, putting port there for two days before his supplies had ran out after a particularly good run.
Then again, with the recent unpredictable weather and cold biting winds, he was somewhat eager to return to tend to his little forest of poisoned plants growing. Kreios would not have been happy had he returned to a dead garden.
Watching as Captain Garvey directed the slaves and sailors Kreios had hired at exorbitant amount of money to offload his remaining wares to a nearby store house so the ship could undergo its maintenance while they were in port in Vasiliadon, the dark male observed for just a little more, before he turned to grab his rucksack of necessities, hitching it over his shoulders.
Exiting his quarters with a firm click of the lock, the salty air messed up his dark locks as the ship's owner strolled across the decks in his leather pants and gray tunic, heading down the gangplank till his feet hit solid ground. There, the male dropped his rucksack on the ground, his keen eyes observing the sailors of the Azazel heading back and forth to offload and begin with maintenance work. Sparing no coin, Kreios always ensured his ship was kept in top condition. His eyes focused on the way which his men were carrying out their duties, barely noticing anything else going around with his intense concentration.
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The Azazel was a monstrous argo, sleek and beautiful, the ship moves like a slim, dark silhouette on the waters. The two eyes painted on the side of the boat only added on to the feel of Kreios's ship, which would look like a terrifying sea creature should one meet it in the dark. Unlike regular cargo ships, Kreios had no need for large spaces for cargo, despite being a merchant. His wares were small in size, and precious in that he would need to return to his home Kingdom every few weeks to replenish and procure new stock for his long standing customers before heading out again.
This was one of the weeks.
He had recently arrived from Athenia after spending a week in the capital city of the coastal kingdom. From there, he had sailed on to Colchis, putting port there for two days before his supplies had ran out after a particularly good run.
Then again, with the recent unpredictable weather and cold biting winds, he was somewhat eager to return to tend to his little forest of poisoned plants growing. Kreios would not have been happy had he returned to a dead garden.
Watching as Captain Garvey directed the slaves and sailors Kreios had hired at exorbitant amount of money to offload his remaining wares to a nearby store house so the ship could undergo its maintenance while they were in port in Vasiliadon, the dark male observed for just a little more, before he turned to grab his rucksack of necessities, hitching it over his shoulders.
Exiting his quarters with a firm click of the lock, the salty air messed up his dark locks as the ship's owner strolled across the decks in his leather pants and gray tunic, heading down the gangplank till his feet hit solid ground. There, the male dropped his rucksack on the ground, his keen eyes observing the sailors of the Azazel heading back and forth to offload and begin with maintenance work. Sparing no coin, Kreios always ensured his ship was kept in top condition. His eyes focused on the way which his men were carrying out their duties, barely noticing anything else going around with his intense concentration.
The Azazel was a monstrous argo, sleek and beautiful, the ship moves like a slim, dark silhouette on the waters. The two eyes painted on the side of the boat only added on to the feel of Kreios's ship, which would look like a terrifying sea creature should one meet it in the dark. Unlike regular cargo ships, Kreios had no need for large spaces for cargo, despite being a merchant. His wares were small in size, and precious in that he would need to return to his home Kingdom every few weeks to replenish and procure new stock for his long standing customers before heading out again.
This was one of the weeks.
He had recently arrived from Athenia after spending a week in the capital city of the coastal kingdom. From there, he had sailed on to Colchis, putting port there for two days before his supplies had ran out after a particularly good run.
Then again, with the recent unpredictable weather and cold biting winds, he was somewhat eager to return to tend to his little forest of poisoned plants growing. Kreios would not have been happy had he returned to a dead garden.
Watching as Captain Garvey directed the slaves and sailors Kreios had hired at exorbitant amount of money to offload his remaining wares to a nearby store house so the ship could undergo its maintenance while they were in port in Vasiliadon, the dark male observed for just a little more, before he turned to grab his rucksack of necessities, hitching it over his shoulders.
Exiting his quarters with a firm click of the lock, the salty air messed up his dark locks as the ship's owner strolled across the decks in his leather pants and gray tunic, heading down the gangplank till his feet hit solid ground. There, the male dropped his rucksack on the ground, his keen eyes observing the sailors of the Azazel heading back and forth to offload and begin with maintenance work. Sparing no coin, Kreios always ensured his ship was kept in top condition. His eyes focused on the way which his men were carrying out their duties, barely noticing anything else going around with his intense concentration.
“Well look who it is.”
Lukos glanced over his shoulder to glance at his scribe, Bianor. The old man drew up to the ship’s railing. From where he sat on deck, side by side with several other crewmen, he could not see what Bianor was looking at. They’d had to wrestle the main sail down from the mast and he was doing his part to stitch up a few serious gashes and holes gained during the stormy journey here.
“Are you going to tell me, you wrinkled old bag? Or should I just guess?” he pulled the needle through the last of the stitches before breaking the thread with his teeth. A few of the men beside him sniggered and it turned into full blown laughter under Bianor’s withering glare.
“The Azazel is here,” he said stiffly.
Lukos scoffed, keeping one eye closed as he concentrated on threading the needle again. “That pompous ass still on board?”
“Of this vessel or that one?” Bianor squinted against the sunlight and spotted Kreios’s dark form moving across the deck. “He’s there. Got a sack on his back too.”
“Wonder what’s in it,” Lukos mused through gritted teeth, where he held the needle as he moved the sail across his lap to get to the next tear.
“Be a shame if someone was to cut into it. We’d find out when it spilled all over, though, wouldn’t we?” Pelias said in the same musing tone. He was a slight man, about Lukos’s own age of 33 but an ugly gash across his face obscured any guess one might make as to that. The man was lucky he’d kept both eyes from that particular fight. The man who’d given him the slash sure hadn’t.
Lukos nudged him with his elbow and took the needle from between his teeth as a gleam flashed in his dark eyes. “It would, wouldn’t it? Why don’t you see if that ass has some thread in that bag, hmm? We’re running out.”
Pelias didn’t need telling twice. He shimmed out from beneath the sail and turned back around when Lukos snapped his fingers at him.
“Don’t come back without thread.” He nodded to Bianor. Pelias turned to the old man and held out his palm for the necessary coin. Watching his crewman leave, Lukos smirked down at the sail.
“Trouble follows you,” Bianor’s disapproval only made him grin.
“No, trouble is following that pretentious nobody.” He stabbed the needle through the fabric and grinned up at Bianor.
Pelias slipped down the gangplank onto the dock. He was a quick man, able to weave and dodge other dock workers until he drew up close to Kreios’s bag. From his belt, he withdrew a dirk. It was the work of a moment. Bend at the waist, a slice along the bag’s seam, and straighten back up, tucking the weapon safely back into place. He hardly had to stop walking to do it.
With his task complete, he set off down the dock toward market to fetch the thread Lukos had sent him for. None of them had ever assumed Kreios had it in his bag. Of course, Pelias hadn’t stopped to check either. Hopefully he’d be long gone by the time Kreios picked up the bag, and with luck, Bianor and Lukos would see its contents spill out for all to see across the dock. Bianor watched anxiously from the railing while Lukos patiently sewed his portion of the sail, though he too now sat on the railing’s top, perched like a cat.
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“Well look who it is.”
Lukos glanced over his shoulder to glance at his scribe, Bianor. The old man drew up to the ship’s railing. From where he sat on deck, side by side with several other crewmen, he could not see what Bianor was looking at. They’d had to wrestle the main sail down from the mast and he was doing his part to stitch up a few serious gashes and holes gained during the stormy journey here.
“Are you going to tell me, you wrinkled old bag? Or should I just guess?” he pulled the needle through the last of the stitches before breaking the thread with his teeth. A few of the men beside him sniggered and it turned into full blown laughter under Bianor’s withering glare.
“The Azazel is here,” he said stiffly.
Lukos scoffed, keeping one eye closed as he concentrated on threading the needle again. “That pompous ass still on board?”
“Of this vessel or that one?” Bianor squinted against the sunlight and spotted Kreios’s dark form moving across the deck. “He’s there. Got a sack on his back too.”
“Wonder what’s in it,” Lukos mused through gritted teeth, where he held the needle as he moved the sail across his lap to get to the next tear.
“Be a shame if someone was to cut into it. We’d find out when it spilled all over, though, wouldn’t we?” Pelias said in the same musing tone. He was a slight man, about Lukos’s own age of 33 but an ugly gash across his face obscured any guess one might make as to that. The man was lucky he’d kept both eyes from that particular fight. The man who’d given him the slash sure hadn’t.
Lukos nudged him with his elbow and took the needle from between his teeth as a gleam flashed in his dark eyes. “It would, wouldn’t it? Why don’t you see if that ass has some thread in that bag, hmm? We’re running out.”
Pelias didn’t need telling twice. He shimmed out from beneath the sail and turned back around when Lukos snapped his fingers at him.
“Don’t come back without thread.” He nodded to Bianor. Pelias turned to the old man and held out his palm for the necessary coin. Watching his crewman leave, Lukos smirked down at the sail.
“Trouble follows you,” Bianor’s disapproval only made him grin.
“No, trouble is following that pretentious nobody.” He stabbed the needle through the fabric and grinned up at Bianor.
Pelias slipped down the gangplank onto the dock. He was a quick man, able to weave and dodge other dock workers until he drew up close to Kreios’s bag. From his belt, he withdrew a dirk. It was the work of a moment. Bend at the waist, a slice along the bag’s seam, and straighten back up, tucking the weapon safely back into place. He hardly had to stop walking to do it.
With his task complete, he set off down the dock toward market to fetch the thread Lukos had sent him for. None of them had ever assumed Kreios had it in his bag. Of course, Pelias hadn’t stopped to check either. Hopefully he’d be long gone by the time Kreios picked up the bag, and with luck, Bianor and Lukos would see its contents spill out for all to see across the dock. Bianor watched anxiously from the railing while Lukos patiently sewed his portion of the sail, though he too now sat on the railing’s top, perched like a cat.
“Well look who it is.”
Lukos glanced over his shoulder to glance at his scribe, Bianor. The old man drew up to the ship’s railing. From where he sat on deck, side by side with several other crewmen, he could not see what Bianor was looking at. They’d had to wrestle the main sail down from the mast and he was doing his part to stitch up a few serious gashes and holes gained during the stormy journey here.
“Are you going to tell me, you wrinkled old bag? Or should I just guess?” he pulled the needle through the last of the stitches before breaking the thread with his teeth. A few of the men beside him sniggered and it turned into full blown laughter under Bianor’s withering glare.
“The Azazel is here,” he said stiffly.
Lukos scoffed, keeping one eye closed as he concentrated on threading the needle again. “That pompous ass still on board?”
“Of this vessel or that one?” Bianor squinted against the sunlight and spotted Kreios’s dark form moving across the deck. “He’s there. Got a sack on his back too.”
“Wonder what’s in it,” Lukos mused through gritted teeth, where he held the needle as he moved the sail across his lap to get to the next tear.
“Be a shame if someone was to cut into it. We’d find out when it spilled all over, though, wouldn’t we?” Pelias said in the same musing tone. He was a slight man, about Lukos’s own age of 33 but an ugly gash across his face obscured any guess one might make as to that. The man was lucky he’d kept both eyes from that particular fight. The man who’d given him the slash sure hadn’t.
Lukos nudged him with his elbow and took the needle from between his teeth as a gleam flashed in his dark eyes. “It would, wouldn’t it? Why don’t you see if that ass has some thread in that bag, hmm? We’re running out.”
Pelias didn’t need telling twice. He shimmed out from beneath the sail and turned back around when Lukos snapped his fingers at him.
“Don’t come back without thread.” He nodded to Bianor. Pelias turned to the old man and held out his palm for the necessary coin. Watching his crewman leave, Lukos smirked down at the sail.
“Trouble follows you,” Bianor’s disapproval only made him grin.
“No, trouble is following that pretentious nobody.” He stabbed the needle through the fabric and grinned up at Bianor.
Pelias slipped down the gangplank onto the dock. He was a quick man, able to weave and dodge other dock workers until he drew up close to Kreios’s bag. From his belt, he withdrew a dirk. It was the work of a moment. Bend at the waist, a slice along the bag’s seam, and straighten back up, tucking the weapon safely back into place. He hardly had to stop walking to do it.
With his task complete, he set off down the dock toward market to fetch the thread Lukos had sent him for. None of them had ever assumed Kreios had it in his bag. Of course, Pelias hadn’t stopped to check either. Hopefully he’d be long gone by the time Kreios picked up the bag, and with luck, Bianor and Lukos would see its contents spill out for all to see across the dock. Bianor watched anxiously from the railing while Lukos patiently sewed his portion of the sail, though he too now sat on the railing’s top, perched like a cat.
He watched to ensure the sails were taken down, that the screws were double checked and each joint to be inspected for safety and perfection. Attentive with details, almost annoyingly so, only when Kreios was satisfied that his ship would be in well ands as he left, did the dark-haired male bend down to pick up the rucksack he had left leaning, to swoop it up on to his shoulders, fully intending to make his way back to his quarters to tend to his little orchard where he had extracted all ingredients necessary to make his wares.
Only to have his bag empty out around his feet.
Various items of metal clattered to the granite floor, most of them utensils in which Kreios would use to craft his poisons and concoctions. There were the regular ones, such as calipers and measuring cups, along with a leatherbound notebook trussed up with twine. A short dagger tumbled and rolled a distance away, and the merchant's eyes followed the trek of the weapon, only for it to reach the edge of... a ship that made his brows raise.
The Aceton.
Almost immediately, a scowl appeared on Kreios's face as he looked up to see the smiling faces of the pirates on the ship perched upon the railing's top. While the sun may mar his vision a little, there was no mistaking the smile they wore as if they were cats that were just served cream. His jaw clenched, and without gazing away, Kreios loudly summoned the cabinboy who served him. Curt instructions were given for Descat to pick his items, mend his rucksack and deliver them all to his cottage.
That done, Kreios wasted no time in pivoting on his heel and marching purposefully towards the pirate ship, an anger rarely seen from the merchant in full display. Usually a person who was calm and rarely ruffled feathers, the one thing Kreios loathed the most was being made a fool of - and one Lukos of Magnemea seem to take great pleasure in it. Captain Garvey had reported to him more then once, that the Aceton had foiled their pathways in the sea. Every time, Kreios would take the captain's wheel and successfully navigate his ship away, not at all entertained with the idea of engaging in a silly skirmish in the waters when he had other, more important matters to attend to. The childish notion of such a pirate was of no interest to him.
But if he wanted a fight, a fight was what he got.
As he got to the side of the pirate ship, Kreios drew to a stop, his scowl melting into a goading smile as he shielded his eyes from the afternoon, blinding sun and looked up. "Sewing like a fish lady? My, too bad you can't afford other people to do your work for you, pirate." Kreios threw out scathingly, not at all caring how offensive he may sound.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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He watched to ensure the sails were taken down, that the screws were double checked and each joint to be inspected for safety and perfection. Attentive with details, almost annoyingly so, only when Kreios was satisfied that his ship would be in well ands as he left, did the dark-haired male bend down to pick up the rucksack he had left leaning, to swoop it up on to his shoulders, fully intending to make his way back to his quarters to tend to his little orchard where he had extracted all ingredients necessary to make his wares.
Only to have his bag empty out around his feet.
Various items of metal clattered to the granite floor, most of them utensils in which Kreios would use to craft his poisons and concoctions. There were the regular ones, such as calipers and measuring cups, along with a leatherbound notebook trussed up with twine. A short dagger tumbled and rolled a distance away, and the merchant's eyes followed the trek of the weapon, only for it to reach the edge of... a ship that made his brows raise.
The Aceton.
Almost immediately, a scowl appeared on Kreios's face as he looked up to see the smiling faces of the pirates on the ship perched upon the railing's top. While the sun may mar his vision a little, there was no mistaking the smile they wore as if they were cats that were just served cream. His jaw clenched, and without gazing away, Kreios loudly summoned the cabinboy who served him. Curt instructions were given for Descat to pick his items, mend his rucksack and deliver them all to his cottage.
That done, Kreios wasted no time in pivoting on his heel and marching purposefully towards the pirate ship, an anger rarely seen from the merchant in full display. Usually a person who was calm and rarely ruffled feathers, the one thing Kreios loathed the most was being made a fool of - and one Lukos of Magnemea seem to take great pleasure in it. Captain Garvey had reported to him more then once, that the Aceton had foiled their pathways in the sea. Every time, Kreios would take the captain's wheel and successfully navigate his ship away, not at all entertained with the idea of engaging in a silly skirmish in the waters when he had other, more important matters to attend to. The childish notion of such a pirate was of no interest to him.
But if he wanted a fight, a fight was what he got.
As he got to the side of the pirate ship, Kreios drew to a stop, his scowl melting into a goading smile as he shielded his eyes from the afternoon, blinding sun and looked up. "Sewing like a fish lady? My, too bad you can't afford other people to do your work for you, pirate." Kreios threw out scathingly, not at all caring how offensive he may sound.
He watched to ensure the sails were taken down, that the screws were double checked and each joint to be inspected for safety and perfection. Attentive with details, almost annoyingly so, only when Kreios was satisfied that his ship would be in well ands as he left, did the dark-haired male bend down to pick up the rucksack he had left leaning, to swoop it up on to his shoulders, fully intending to make his way back to his quarters to tend to his little orchard where he had extracted all ingredients necessary to make his wares.
Only to have his bag empty out around his feet.
Various items of metal clattered to the granite floor, most of them utensils in which Kreios would use to craft his poisons and concoctions. There were the regular ones, such as calipers and measuring cups, along with a leatherbound notebook trussed up with twine. A short dagger tumbled and rolled a distance away, and the merchant's eyes followed the trek of the weapon, only for it to reach the edge of... a ship that made his brows raise.
The Aceton.
Almost immediately, a scowl appeared on Kreios's face as he looked up to see the smiling faces of the pirates on the ship perched upon the railing's top. While the sun may mar his vision a little, there was no mistaking the smile they wore as if they were cats that were just served cream. His jaw clenched, and without gazing away, Kreios loudly summoned the cabinboy who served him. Curt instructions were given for Descat to pick his items, mend his rucksack and deliver them all to his cottage.
That done, Kreios wasted no time in pivoting on his heel and marching purposefully towards the pirate ship, an anger rarely seen from the merchant in full display. Usually a person who was calm and rarely ruffled feathers, the one thing Kreios loathed the most was being made a fool of - and one Lukos of Magnemea seem to take great pleasure in it. Captain Garvey had reported to him more then once, that the Aceton had foiled their pathways in the sea. Every time, Kreios would take the captain's wheel and successfully navigate his ship away, not at all entertained with the idea of engaging in a silly skirmish in the waters when he had other, more important matters to attend to. The childish notion of such a pirate was of no interest to him.
But if he wanted a fight, a fight was what he got.
As he got to the side of the pirate ship, Kreios drew to a stop, his scowl melting into a goading smile as he shielded his eyes from the afternoon, blinding sun and looked up. "Sewing like a fish lady? My, too bad you can't afford other people to do your work for you, pirate." Kreios threw out scathingly, not at all caring how offensive he may sound.
It worked out better than he’d hoped. From where he’d been sitting, he could see the path that Pelias took. And it had been perilously close to Kreios. Yet, his crewman had managed to not only cut the bag, but get away clean with the act.
He nudged Bianor with his boot, chuckling but the old man did not laugh with him. Instead, he turned a hound dog expression toward him and said, “Now you’ve done it. He’s coming this way.”
“Let him come,” Lukos said, smirk still in place. Together, they watched Kreios stalk across the docks. Death was in the glare directed his way. Kreios’s reaction made him hungry for more, rather than frightening him into contrition.
"Sewing like a fish lady? My, too bad you can't afford other people to do your work for you, pirate."
“If you truly knew how to sail,” Lukos said, unruffled. “You’d understand that a captain needs to know how to run his own ship. It is nice to know though, that if your own ship runs into trouble, you’ll have the money to pay people to fix it for you. Assuming they’re around to do so.”
After a moment, he handed the sail down to someone else and swung off the railing onto the deck of his own ship. He crossed to the gangway and stood at the top, looking down at Kreios, mirroring the goading smile. “Be a shame if your ship were to sink.” It wasn't a threat, exactly, though they'd come near enough to ramming each other in open water before, when Lukos was in the mood for blood.
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It worked out better than he’d hoped. From where he’d been sitting, he could see the path that Pelias took. And it had been perilously close to Kreios. Yet, his crewman had managed to not only cut the bag, but get away clean with the act.
He nudged Bianor with his boot, chuckling but the old man did not laugh with him. Instead, he turned a hound dog expression toward him and said, “Now you’ve done it. He’s coming this way.”
“Let him come,” Lukos said, smirk still in place. Together, they watched Kreios stalk across the docks. Death was in the glare directed his way. Kreios’s reaction made him hungry for more, rather than frightening him into contrition.
"Sewing like a fish lady? My, too bad you can't afford other people to do your work for you, pirate."
“If you truly knew how to sail,” Lukos said, unruffled. “You’d understand that a captain needs to know how to run his own ship. It is nice to know though, that if your own ship runs into trouble, you’ll have the money to pay people to fix it for you. Assuming they’re around to do so.”
After a moment, he handed the sail down to someone else and swung off the railing onto the deck of his own ship. He crossed to the gangway and stood at the top, looking down at Kreios, mirroring the goading smile. “Be a shame if your ship were to sink.” It wasn't a threat, exactly, though they'd come near enough to ramming each other in open water before, when Lukos was in the mood for blood.
It worked out better than he’d hoped. From where he’d been sitting, he could see the path that Pelias took. And it had been perilously close to Kreios. Yet, his crewman had managed to not only cut the bag, but get away clean with the act.
He nudged Bianor with his boot, chuckling but the old man did not laugh with him. Instead, he turned a hound dog expression toward him and said, “Now you’ve done it. He’s coming this way.”
“Let him come,” Lukos said, smirk still in place. Together, they watched Kreios stalk across the docks. Death was in the glare directed his way. Kreios’s reaction made him hungry for more, rather than frightening him into contrition.
"Sewing like a fish lady? My, too bad you can't afford other people to do your work for you, pirate."
“If you truly knew how to sail,” Lukos said, unruffled. “You’d understand that a captain needs to know how to run his own ship. It is nice to know though, that if your own ship runs into trouble, you’ll have the money to pay people to fix it for you. Assuming they’re around to do so.”
After a moment, he handed the sail down to someone else and swung off the railing onto the deck of his own ship. He crossed to the gangway and stood at the top, looking down at Kreios, mirroring the goading smile. “Be a shame if your ship were to sink.” It wasn't a threat, exactly, though they'd come near enough to ramming each other in open water before, when Lukos was in the mood for blood.
The more the pirate talked, the more Kreios's brows raised, a smirk curling his thinning lips upwards. Arrogant, cocky little man who thought he knew everything there was to sailing and being in the seas, now does he? If Kreios had his full reign, he would've wiped that smirk off his face and kicked him in the ocean he loved so much in one fell swoop - except he had his reputation as a merchant to think of. God forbid people trusted a poison master who killed someone by pushing them off the deck of a harbor. No...if he wanted to do it, he had to be more subtle. And that just required too much work for an imbecile like Lukos the pirate.
So instead, the dark haired male settled for the raised brow, watching from where he stood on the docks. Allowing the pirate to finish his words, and watching as he swung off the railing, the look in Kreios eyes said everything - that honestly, he thought Lukos a fool.
"Be a shame if it took yours down with it." he retorted smoothly, leaning in so his words were like a slap to the other's face. "I could get a new one without a blink. You... could you even afford a raft?" Kreios sneered, the snarl at the back of his throat adding on to the brevity of the tone. And yes, he would stoop so low as to sink the Aceton, watch if he wouldn't.
All the filthy pirate had to do was piss him off enough.
Leaning back again, he strolled up to the precious ship of the pirates, using his fingers to draw a line across the planks of the vessel, as if considering his options. "What makes you think I can't sail, anyway? I just have the luxury to... let other's do the job. While I sit back, relax and..." he pivoted on his heels, where he now faced Lukos at least three feet away. From there, he slid out a dagger from his belt, and placed the unsheathed tip on the wood of the Aceton, his smirk as if he was daring Lukos to come one step closer."Enjoy my spoils. Which is... hell of a lot more then yours, if I can tell. But then again... what more can you expect from... a slave."
The last words were spat out at him, designed to irk, to irritate, and to anger. And Kreios would like nothing more then to anger the filthy pirate.
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The more the pirate talked, the more Kreios's brows raised, a smirk curling his thinning lips upwards. Arrogant, cocky little man who thought he knew everything there was to sailing and being in the seas, now does he? If Kreios had his full reign, he would've wiped that smirk off his face and kicked him in the ocean he loved so much in one fell swoop - except he had his reputation as a merchant to think of. God forbid people trusted a poison master who killed someone by pushing them off the deck of a harbor. No...if he wanted to do it, he had to be more subtle. And that just required too much work for an imbecile like Lukos the pirate.
So instead, the dark haired male settled for the raised brow, watching from where he stood on the docks. Allowing the pirate to finish his words, and watching as he swung off the railing, the look in Kreios eyes said everything - that honestly, he thought Lukos a fool.
"Be a shame if it took yours down with it." he retorted smoothly, leaning in so his words were like a slap to the other's face. "I could get a new one without a blink. You... could you even afford a raft?" Kreios sneered, the snarl at the back of his throat adding on to the brevity of the tone. And yes, he would stoop so low as to sink the Aceton, watch if he wouldn't.
All the filthy pirate had to do was piss him off enough.
Leaning back again, he strolled up to the precious ship of the pirates, using his fingers to draw a line across the planks of the vessel, as if considering his options. "What makes you think I can't sail, anyway? I just have the luxury to... let other's do the job. While I sit back, relax and..." he pivoted on his heels, where he now faced Lukos at least three feet away. From there, he slid out a dagger from his belt, and placed the unsheathed tip on the wood of the Aceton, his smirk as if he was daring Lukos to come one step closer."Enjoy my spoils. Which is... hell of a lot more then yours, if I can tell. But then again... what more can you expect from... a slave."
The last words were spat out at him, designed to irk, to irritate, and to anger. And Kreios would like nothing more then to anger the filthy pirate.
The more the pirate talked, the more Kreios's brows raised, a smirk curling his thinning lips upwards. Arrogant, cocky little man who thought he knew everything there was to sailing and being in the seas, now does he? If Kreios had his full reign, he would've wiped that smirk off his face and kicked him in the ocean he loved so much in one fell swoop - except he had his reputation as a merchant to think of. God forbid people trusted a poison master who killed someone by pushing them off the deck of a harbor. No...if he wanted to do it, he had to be more subtle. And that just required too much work for an imbecile like Lukos the pirate.
So instead, the dark haired male settled for the raised brow, watching from where he stood on the docks. Allowing the pirate to finish his words, and watching as he swung off the railing, the look in Kreios eyes said everything - that honestly, he thought Lukos a fool.
"Be a shame if it took yours down with it." he retorted smoothly, leaning in so his words were like a slap to the other's face. "I could get a new one without a blink. You... could you even afford a raft?" Kreios sneered, the snarl at the back of his throat adding on to the brevity of the tone. And yes, he would stoop so low as to sink the Aceton, watch if he wouldn't.
All the filthy pirate had to do was piss him off enough.
Leaning back again, he strolled up to the precious ship of the pirates, using his fingers to draw a line across the planks of the vessel, as if considering his options. "What makes you think I can't sail, anyway? I just have the luxury to... let other's do the job. While I sit back, relax and..." he pivoted on his heels, where he now faced Lukos at least three feet away. From there, he slid out a dagger from his belt, and placed the unsheathed tip on the wood of the Aceton, his smirk as if he was daring Lukos to come one step closer."Enjoy my spoils. Which is... hell of a lot more then yours, if I can tell. But then again... what more can you expect from... a slave."
The last words were spat out at him, designed to irk, to irritate, and to anger. And Kreios would like nothing more then to anger the filthy pirate.
Bianor didn’t understand but this conversation right here was why he detested men like Kreios. Soft and useless when it mattered. The haughty glare directed at him didn’t phase him in the least. In fact, it only emboldened him.
He leaned on the ropes, watching with unhidden amusement as Kreios touched the tip of his knife to the Aceton’s side. Kreios obviously thought him poor and that was fine. Though he no doubt had less ready gold than the merchant before him, he had more than enough to sustain him should his endeavors go south for a little while. This, however, he wasn’t going to toss around as information available to just anyone.
“A little sensitive this morning?” he sneered, coming down the gangway and onto the docks now, close enough to Kreios that he could reach out and touch him. “Maybe you can sail, maybe you can’t but I’ve never seen it.” He was cut off midlaugh when the other man leveled the one insult that dropped his good mood like a stone.
Slave. He narrowed his eyes but forced a smile. “I thought you were a man of intellect. Your information is hideously outdated.” Placing his hands behind his back, he made to walk past Kreios but instead shoved him hard with his shoulder and continued on. Despite his attempt not to let the insult get at him, his temper was starting to rise.
He was no one’s slave and hadn’t been for a long time. Men like the pompous ass behind him didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t wealth that defined a person. It was the ability to rise and fight and claw for dominance.
Though he kept his posture relaxed, he was anything but. The second he felt Kreios get too close, he would whirl around, with a knife in his hand, at the ready. It would be stupid for Kreios to attack him here, with so many witnesses, but of course, one couldn’t always count on rationality when people were angry. It gave him a little satisfaction to know that he had irritated the other man.
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Bianor didn’t understand but this conversation right here was why he detested men like Kreios. Soft and useless when it mattered. The haughty glare directed at him didn’t phase him in the least. In fact, it only emboldened him.
He leaned on the ropes, watching with unhidden amusement as Kreios touched the tip of his knife to the Aceton’s side. Kreios obviously thought him poor and that was fine. Though he no doubt had less ready gold than the merchant before him, he had more than enough to sustain him should his endeavors go south for a little while. This, however, he wasn’t going to toss around as information available to just anyone.
“A little sensitive this morning?” he sneered, coming down the gangway and onto the docks now, close enough to Kreios that he could reach out and touch him. “Maybe you can sail, maybe you can’t but I’ve never seen it.” He was cut off midlaugh when the other man leveled the one insult that dropped his good mood like a stone.
Slave. He narrowed his eyes but forced a smile. “I thought you were a man of intellect. Your information is hideously outdated.” Placing his hands behind his back, he made to walk past Kreios but instead shoved him hard with his shoulder and continued on. Despite his attempt not to let the insult get at him, his temper was starting to rise.
He was no one’s slave and hadn’t been for a long time. Men like the pompous ass behind him didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t wealth that defined a person. It was the ability to rise and fight and claw for dominance.
Though he kept his posture relaxed, he was anything but. The second he felt Kreios get too close, he would whirl around, with a knife in his hand, at the ready. It would be stupid for Kreios to attack him here, with so many witnesses, but of course, one couldn’t always count on rationality when people were angry. It gave him a little satisfaction to know that he had irritated the other man.
Bianor didn’t understand but this conversation right here was why he detested men like Kreios. Soft and useless when it mattered. The haughty glare directed at him didn’t phase him in the least. In fact, it only emboldened him.
He leaned on the ropes, watching with unhidden amusement as Kreios touched the tip of his knife to the Aceton’s side. Kreios obviously thought him poor and that was fine. Though he no doubt had less ready gold than the merchant before him, he had more than enough to sustain him should his endeavors go south for a little while. This, however, he wasn’t going to toss around as information available to just anyone.
“A little sensitive this morning?” he sneered, coming down the gangway and onto the docks now, close enough to Kreios that he could reach out and touch him. “Maybe you can sail, maybe you can’t but I’ve never seen it.” He was cut off midlaugh when the other man leveled the one insult that dropped his good mood like a stone.
Slave. He narrowed his eyes but forced a smile. “I thought you were a man of intellect. Your information is hideously outdated.” Placing his hands behind his back, he made to walk past Kreios but instead shoved him hard with his shoulder and continued on. Despite his attempt not to let the insult get at him, his temper was starting to rise.
He was no one’s slave and hadn’t been for a long time. Men like the pompous ass behind him didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t wealth that defined a person. It was the ability to rise and fight and claw for dominance.
Though he kept his posture relaxed, he was anything but. The second he felt Kreios get too close, he would whirl around, with a knife in his hand, at the ready. It would be stupid for Kreios to attack him here, with so many witnesses, but of course, one couldn’t always count on rationality when people were angry. It gave him a little satisfaction to know that he had irritated the other man.
Too many though Kreios soft, not at all suited to the rough waters of being a sailor, being a merchant, too weak to handle the life that a non-noble, a nobody would get. But Kreios begged to differ. Honestly, with money, one could get anywhere. All he had to do was hire people to do everything he could ever want - even keep himself safe if necessary.
However, the male did not fancy the company of too many people. Instead, he was an observer, and that was exactly what he did as the pirate strolled closer. Keeping his ground, again his brows raised at the rash, unpolished words the pirate threw at him. So uneducated. So uncouth. If Kreios could, he wanted to wash away how barbaric the taste Lukos left on his tongue... but he'll do that later. He had bigger fish to fry for now.
"Ah, wouldn't want you to be considered a liar, now would you." Kreios sneered, digging the tip of the dagger into the vessel harder, splintering the wooden surface. In his mind, he cursed his lack of foresight in leaving his spear in his quarters aboard the Azazel, but did not let it outwardly show. Instead, Kreios sniggered when he saw Lukos tense up, and narrow his eyes.
Bullseye.
"I am." he gloated, chin tilting upwards a little as he continued. "Why, haven't you heard? Once a slave... always a slave. They become one from being weak, lack of quality, unfit to ever grace the earth they walk on. Those things don't change. It's hilarious to know that you think otherwise, you uneducated brute." Kreios paused, feigning a thoughtful look, and then smirking again. "Ah, is that why you sail, slave?" He retracted his dagger, stared at the tip, his dark irises flickering upwards to where Lukos had now stood with his back facing him. Oh he knew better than to go near.
Instead, with precision, Kreios flicked his wrist so the dagger flew in his direction, his aim so the sharp blade would embed itself firmly in the wooden surface right in between his heels. Remaining where he was, Kreios's smooth smile stayed, his hands behind him even as his muscles tensed up to react to anything the pirate may throw at him. "You think that just because you limit your world to the heathens you call your crew... you've won? Beautiful dreams you have there pirate. Sadly they're just... well, dreams."
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Too many though Kreios soft, not at all suited to the rough waters of being a sailor, being a merchant, too weak to handle the life that a non-noble, a nobody would get. But Kreios begged to differ. Honestly, with money, one could get anywhere. All he had to do was hire people to do everything he could ever want - even keep himself safe if necessary.
However, the male did not fancy the company of too many people. Instead, he was an observer, and that was exactly what he did as the pirate strolled closer. Keeping his ground, again his brows raised at the rash, unpolished words the pirate threw at him. So uneducated. So uncouth. If Kreios could, he wanted to wash away how barbaric the taste Lukos left on his tongue... but he'll do that later. He had bigger fish to fry for now.
"Ah, wouldn't want you to be considered a liar, now would you." Kreios sneered, digging the tip of the dagger into the vessel harder, splintering the wooden surface. In his mind, he cursed his lack of foresight in leaving his spear in his quarters aboard the Azazel, but did not let it outwardly show. Instead, Kreios sniggered when he saw Lukos tense up, and narrow his eyes.
Bullseye.
"I am." he gloated, chin tilting upwards a little as he continued. "Why, haven't you heard? Once a slave... always a slave. They become one from being weak, lack of quality, unfit to ever grace the earth they walk on. Those things don't change. It's hilarious to know that you think otherwise, you uneducated brute." Kreios paused, feigning a thoughtful look, and then smirking again. "Ah, is that why you sail, slave?" He retracted his dagger, stared at the tip, his dark irises flickering upwards to where Lukos had now stood with his back facing him. Oh he knew better than to go near.
Instead, with precision, Kreios flicked his wrist so the dagger flew in his direction, his aim so the sharp blade would embed itself firmly in the wooden surface right in between his heels. Remaining where he was, Kreios's smooth smile stayed, his hands behind him even as his muscles tensed up to react to anything the pirate may throw at him. "You think that just because you limit your world to the heathens you call your crew... you've won? Beautiful dreams you have there pirate. Sadly they're just... well, dreams."
Too many though Kreios soft, not at all suited to the rough waters of being a sailor, being a merchant, too weak to handle the life that a non-noble, a nobody would get. But Kreios begged to differ. Honestly, with money, one could get anywhere. All he had to do was hire people to do everything he could ever want - even keep himself safe if necessary.
However, the male did not fancy the company of too many people. Instead, he was an observer, and that was exactly what he did as the pirate strolled closer. Keeping his ground, again his brows raised at the rash, unpolished words the pirate threw at him. So uneducated. So uncouth. If Kreios could, he wanted to wash away how barbaric the taste Lukos left on his tongue... but he'll do that later. He had bigger fish to fry for now.
"Ah, wouldn't want you to be considered a liar, now would you." Kreios sneered, digging the tip of the dagger into the vessel harder, splintering the wooden surface. In his mind, he cursed his lack of foresight in leaving his spear in his quarters aboard the Azazel, but did not let it outwardly show. Instead, Kreios sniggered when he saw Lukos tense up, and narrow his eyes.
Bullseye.
"I am." he gloated, chin tilting upwards a little as he continued. "Why, haven't you heard? Once a slave... always a slave. They become one from being weak, lack of quality, unfit to ever grace the earth they walk on. Those things don't change. It's hilarious to know that you think otherwise, you uneducated brute." Kreios paused, feigning a thoughtful look, and then smirking again. "Ah, is that why you sail, slave?" He retracted his dagger, stared at the tip, his dark irises flickering upwards to where Lukos had now stood with his back facing him. Oh he knew better than to go near.
Instead, with precision, Kreios flicked his wrist so the dagger flew in his direction, his aim so the sharp blade would embed itself firmly in the wooden surface right in between his heels. Remaining where he was, Kreios's smooth smile stayed, his hands behind him even as his muscles tensed up to react to anything the pirate may throw at him. "You think that just because you limit your world to the heathens you call your crew... you've won? Beautiful dreams you have there pirate. Sadly they're just... well, dreams."
There was a little too much truth in Kreios’s taunting. Though Lukos had never ‘become’ a slave, and was simply born to it, his father certainly had become one. So had his mother. But it amounted to the same thing. Two weak persons breeding together were sure to produce weak offspring. At least he always thought so, except where he himself was concerned.
He clenched and unclenched his jaw as Kreios went on, calling him uneducated. Asking him if he sailed because he wasn’t fit for anything else. The sword at his side had never been so tempting. Kreios, so far as he could tell, was unarmed, save for the dagger. One move was all it would take. It was a matter of drawing the sword and in the same motion, lunging forward to shove the blade straight into Kreios’s stomach. He’d even give it a violent twist, just to ensure death quicker.
But they were surrounded by people and other ships. To kill Kreios here, in broad daylight, with so many other witnesses would mean that he could not come to this port for a long time. If he made it out of the port at all. The guards weren’t so far away that they couldn’t stop his ship from leaving.
He didn’t like how close to the truth Kreios was or how much he saw. Education was not important in his line of work but it would be if he’d ever want to do something else. And up until this infuriating conversation, he’d never thought about it. All he knew was ships and the ocean; how to take what he wanted and how to kill for it. Sitting down and learning to read and write never factored into his existence. Which was why he had Bianor, his scribe.
Turning, he glanced up at the old man, who was peering over the railing with great interest. Suddenly he felt the boards beneath his boots tremble at the same moment as the unmistakable sound of metal embedding into wood reached his ears. He jumped back, glaring at the dagger that had been between his feet. Kreios taunted him again but he wasn’t listening.
All he knew right now? Was Kreios was unarmed. Launching himself across the dock, he bodily slammed into the other man, sending them both sprawling. He didn’t have to kill Kreios to gain any sort of satisfaction. Hurting him would work just as well. Anything to wipe that smug, ‘holier than thou’ look off his fucking face.
“Captain! Stop!” Bianor hurried down the gangway and onto the docks but Lukos paid him no attention. He was busy punching any part of Kreios he could reach.
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There was a little too much truth in Kreios’s taunting. Though Lukos had never ‘become’ a slave, and was simply born to it, his father certainly had become one. So had his mother. But it amounted to the same thing. Two weak persons breeding together were sure to produce weak offspring. At least he always thought so, except where he himself was concerned.
He clenched and unclenched his jaw as Kreios went on, calling him uneducated. Asking him if he sailed because he wasn’t fit for anything else. The sword at his side had never been so tempting. Kreios, so far as he could tell, was unarmed, save for the dagger. One move was all it would take. It was a matter of drawing the sword and in the same motion, lunging forward to shove the blade straight into Kreios’s stomach. He’d even give it a violent twist, just to ensure death quicker.
But they were surrounded by people and other ships. To kill Kreios here, in broad daylight, with so many other witnesses would mean that he could not come to this port for a long time. If he made it out of the port at all. The guards weren’t so far away that they couldn’t stop his ship from leaving.
He didn’t like how close to the truth Kreios was or how much he saw. Education was not important in his line of work but it would be if he’d ever want to do something else. And up until this infuriating conversation, he’d never thought about it. All he knew was ships and the ocean; how to take what he wanted and how to kill for it. Sitting down and learning to read and write never factored into his existence. Which was why he had Bianor, his scribe.
Turning, he glanced up at the old man, who was peering over the railing with great interest. Suddenly he felt the boards beneath his boots tremble at the same moment as the unmistakable sound of metal embedding into wood reached his ears. He jumped back, glaring at the dagger that had been between his feet. Kreios taunted him again but he wasn’t listening.
All he knew right now? Was Kreios was unarmed. Launching himself across the dock, he bodily slammed into the other man, sending them both sprawling. He didn’t have to kill Kreios to gain any sort of satisfaction. Hurting him would work just as well. Anything to wipe that smug, ‘holier than thou’ look off his fucking face.
“Captain! Stop!” Bianor hurried down the gangway and onto the docks but Lukos paid him no attention. He was busy punching any part of Kreios he could reach.
There was a little too much truth in Kreios’s taunting. Though Lukos had never ‘become’ a slave, and was simply born to it, his father certainly had become one. So had his mother. But it amounted to the same thing. Two weak persons breeding together were sure to produce weak offspring. At least he always thought so, except where he himself was concerned.
He clenched and unclenched his jaw as Kreios went on, calling him uneducated. Asking him if he sailed because he wasn’t fit for anything else. The sword at his side had never been so tempting. Kreios, so far as he could tell, was unarmed, save for the dagger. One move was all it would take. It was a matter of drawing the sword and in the same motion, lunging forward to shove the blade straight into Kreios’s stomach. He’d even give it a violent twist, just to ensure death quicker.
But they were surrounded by people and other ships. To kill Kreios here, in broad daylight, with so many other witnesses would mean that he could not come to this port for a long time. If he made it out of the port at all. The guards weren’t so far away that they couldn’t stop his ship from leaving.
He didn’t like how close to the truth Kreios was or how much he saw. Education was not important in his line of work but it would be if he’d ever want to do something else. And up until this infuriating conversation, he’d never thought about it. All he knew was ships and the ocean; how to take what he wanted and how to kill for it. Sitting down and learning to read and write never factored into his existence. Which was why he had Bianor, his scribe.
Turning, he glanced up at the old man, who was peering over the railing with great interest. Suddenly he felt the boards beneath his boots tremble at the same moment as the unmistakable sound of metal embedding into wood reached his ears. He jumped back, glaring at the dagger that had been between his feet. Kreios taunted him again but he wasn’t listening.
All he knew right now? Was Kreios was unarmed. Launching himself across the dock, he bodily slammed into the other man, sending them both sprawling. He didn’t have to kill Kreios to gain any sort of satisfaction. Hurting him would work just as well. Anything to wipe that smug, ‘holier than thou’ look off his fucking face.
“Captain! Stop!” Bianor hurried down the gangway and onto the docks but Lukos paid him no attention. He was busy punching any part of Kreios he could reach.
He knew the exact strings to pull, and he was unafraid to use them. Kreios was not someone who wanted to look for trouble. He preferred to keep to himself, stay out of the limelight... just do what he was good at doing. But at the same time, the poison merchant was not weak. He was sturdy and willing to fight, never one to back down from a challenge. Besides, the pirate had pissed him off, and Kreios wanted revenge exacted. As it was, he could feel the eyes of the crew and slaves on his ship watching him - but they will not react till he gave the signal anyway. The merchant had trained them all that way.
Leaning on his haunches, he had smirked while watching the pirate stand motionless. His dagger vibrated where he had threw it, deadly accurate in his throw.
The next thing he knew, purely caught by surprise, Kreios found himself flung backwards, landing heavily on the floorboards of the docks, his breathe punched out of him. Instinctively, the male curled his arms around his face, but even as Lukos punched, Kreios fought with his elbows, pushing up and up until he gained enough height to forcefully pull his knees up from where they were under the pirate, and drive the hard kneecap right against the center of Lukos's chest, using his whole bodyweight thrown in that one shove.
Once he had the pirate shoved far enough away, Kreios was quick to stand up. All his muscles was now on high alert, his breathe heaving as he glared at the pirate, angry at the idea that he had even dared touch a single strand of his body. As someone who was highly private, Kreios barely let anyone he did not approve near him, much less lay a finger on him.
Spitting in his direction, the merchant looked up and smirked when he saw his slave boy's running down, sure enough holding what he needed - he should never have left the weapon in his quarters to begin with.
Quickly turning back to Lukos in case the stupid fool decided to attack him blind, his feet were wide in their stance, fists clenched. "I'll make sure you regret the very second you decided to pull that foolishness you just did, slave." he spat out the last word. Extending a hand, he managed to grab the spear Descat tossed in his direction just in time, the weapon familiar in his hands. Wasting no time, Kreios was quick to use the extra length the spear provided him, twirling it in his grip so he used the tail end of the handle to swing it hard against the pirate's skull.
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He knew the exact strings to pull, and he was unafraid to use them. Kreios was not someone who wanted to look for trouble. He preferred to keep to himself, stay out of the limelight... just do what he was good at doing. But at the same time, the poison merchant was not weak. He was sturdy and willing to fight, never one to back down from a challenge. Besides, the pirate had pissed him off, and Kreios wanted revenge exacted. As it was, he could feel the eyes of the crew and slaves on his ship watching him - but they will not react till he gave the signal anyway. The merchant had trained them all that way.
Leaning on his haunches, he had smirked while watching the pirate stand motionless. His dagger vibrated where he had threw it, deadly accurate in his throw.
The next thing he knew, purely caught by surprise, Kreios found himself flung backwards, landing heavily on the floorboards of the docks, his breathe punched out of him. Instinctively, the male curled his arms around his face, but even as Lukos punched, Kreios fought with his elbows, pushing up and up until he gained enough height to forcefully pull his knees up from where they were under the pirate, and drive the hard kneecap right against the center of Lukos's chest, using his whole bodyweight thrown in that one shove.
Once he had the pirate shoved far enough away, Kreios was quick to stand up. All his muscles was now on high alert, his breathe heaving as he glared at the pirate, angry at the idea that he had even dared touch a single strand of his body. As someone who was highly private, Kreios barely let anyone he did not approve near him, much less lay a finger on him.
Spitting in his direction, the merchant looked up and smirked when he saw his slave boy's running down, sure enough holding what he needed - he should never have left the weapon in his quarters to begin with.
Quickly turning back to Lukos in case the stupid fool decided to attack him blind, his feet were wide in their stance, fists clenched. "I'll make sure you regret the very second you decided to pull that foolishness you just did, slave." he spat out the last word. Extending a hand, he managed to grab the spear Descat tossed in his direction just in time, the weapon familiar in his hands. Wasting no time, Kreios was quick to use the extra length the spear provided him, twirling it in his grip so he used the tail end of the handle to swing it hard against the pirate's skull.
He knew the exact strings to pull, and he was unafraid to use them. Kreios was not someone who wanted to look for trouble. He preferred to keep to himself, stay out of the limelight... just do what he was good at doing. But at the same time, the poison merchant was not weak. He was sturdy and willing to fight, never one to back down from a challenge. Besides, the pirate had pissed him off, and Kreios wanted revenge exacted. As it was, he could feel the eyes of the crew and slaves on his ship watching him - but they will not react till he gave the signal anyway. The merchant had trained them all that way.
Leaning on his haunches, he had smirked while watching the pirate stand motionless. His dagger vibrated where he had threw it, deadly accurate in his throw.
The next thing he knew, purely caught by surprise, Kreios found himself flung backwards, landing heavily on the floorboards of the docks, his breathe punched out of him. Instinctively, the male curled his arms around his face, but even as Lukos punched, Kreios fought with his elbows, pushing up and up until he gained enough height to forcefully pull his knees up from where they were under the pirate, and drive the hard kneecap right against the center of Lukos's chest, using his whole bodyweight thrown in that one shove.
Once he had the pirate shoved far enough away, Kreios was quick to stand up. All his muscles was now on high alert, his breathe heaving as he glared at the pirate, angry at the idea that he had even dared touch a single strand of his body. As someone who was highly private, Kreios barely let anyone he did not approve near him, much less lay a finger on him.
Spitting in his direction, the merchant looked up and smirked when he saw his slave boy's running down, sure enough holding what he needed - he should never have left the weapon in his quarters to begin with.
Quickly turning back to Lukos in case the stupid fool decided to attack him blind, his feet were wide in their stance, fists clenched. "I'll make sure you regret the very second you decided to pull that foolishness you just did, slave." he spat out the last word. Extending a hand, he managed to grab the spear Descat tossed in his direction just in time, the weapon familiar in his hands. Wasting no time, Kreios was quick to use the extra length the spear provided him, twirling it in his grip so he used the tail end of the handle to swing it hard against the pirate's skull.
He was barely aware of Bianor shouting at him to stop or of the looks that their scuffle was attracting. His whole concentration was focused on landing his fists into Kreios’s ribs, chest, stomach, and face if he could break through the barrier of elbows. The fight was fast and vicious. All at once, he was lifted off his opponent and found himself shoved backward onto the boards of the dock.
Shifting up on his hands and feet, crouched like a cat ready to spring, he glared at Kreios as the man gained an actual weapon.
"I'll make sure you regret the very second you decided to pull that foolishness you just did, slave."
He could have dodged the spear rammed at his head but for Bianor. His scribe was either trying to keep him down or help him up - he couldn’t tell - by hoisting him up under his arms. The blow sent a spray of color exploding across his vision as both he and the old man toppled over. In the sea of limbs and Bianor’s protests, he felt something dig into his side. Reaching down, his hand closed around the hilt of Kreios’s dagger, still embedded in the boards.
“Get off me,” Lukos growled, shoving Bianor easily away. The old man bounced a little but righted himself fast enough, though he remained seated. Now free of his burden, Lukos stood, dagger in hand, staring down the arrogant man in front of him.
Beyond them, work continued. Men moved up and down the gangplanks of their ships, off loading or loading crates or barrels or or sacks. However, they had gained quite a bit of attention. Some sailors had fully stopped to watch the fight and his own men were hanging over the rails, itching to join.
It wasn’t fear of murder that stayed his hand.
“Care to make good on that threat?” he taunted, fully cognizant of the trickle of blood sliding down from his temple. “Now?”
Behind Kreios, quite a ways back, three Taengean guards were eyeing them. They were murmuring to each other. He didn’t have to hear their conversation to know what they were saying. It was a matter of how brutal this would get for them to interfere or not. A scuffle on the docks was nothing out of the way, but a bloody fight? That had to be stopped.
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He was barely aware of Bianor shouting at him to stop or of the looks that their scuffle was attracting. His whole concentration was focused on landing his fists into Kreios’s ribs, chest, stomach, and face if he could break through the barrier of elbows. The fight was fast and vicious. All at once, he was lifted off his opponent and found himself shoved backward onto the boards of the dock.
Shifting up on his hands and feet, crouched like a cat ready to spring, he glared at Kreios as the man gained an actual weapon.
"I'll make sure you regret the very second you decided to pull that foolishness you just did, slave."
He could have dodged the spear rammed at his head but for Bianor. His scribe was either trying to keep him down or help him up - he couldn’t tell - by hoisting him up under his arms. The blow sent a spray of color exploding across his vision as both he and the old man toppled over. In the sea of limbs and Bianor’s protests, he felt something dig into his side. Reaching down, his hand closed around the hilt of Kreios’s dagger, still embedded in the boards.
“Get off me,” Lukos growled, shoving Bianor easily away. The old man bounced a little but righted himself fast enough, though he remained seated. Now free of his burden, Lukos stood, dagger in hand, staring down the arrogant man in front of him.
Beyond them, work continued. Men moved up and down the gangplanks of their ships, off loading or loading crates or barrels or or sacks. However, they had gained quite a bit of attention. Some sailors had fully stopped to watch the fight and his own men were hanging over the rails, itching to join.
It wasn’t fear of murder that stayed his hand.
“Care to make good on that threat?” he taunted, fully cognizant of the trickle of blood sliding down from his temple. “Now?”
Behind Kreios, quite a ways back, three Taengean guards were eyeing them. They were murmuring to each other. He didn’t have to hear their conversation to know what they were saying. It was a matter of how brutal this would get for them to interfere or not. A scuffle on the docks was nothing out of the way, but a bloody fight? That had to be stopped.
He was barely aware of Bianor shouting at him to stop or of the looks that their scuffle was attracting. His whole concentration was focused on landing his fists into Kreios’s ribs, chest, stomach, and face if he could break through the barrier of elbows. The fight was fast and vicious. All at once, he was lifted off his opponent and found himself shoved backward onto the boards of the dock.
Shifting up on his hands and feet, crouched like a cat ready to spring, he glared at Kreios as the man gained an actual weapon.
"I'll make sure you regret the very second you decided to pull that foolishness you just did, slave."
He could have dodged the spear rammed at his head but for Bianor. His scribe was either trying to keep him down or help him up - he couldn’t tell - by hoisting him up under his arms. The blow sent a spray of color exploding across his vision as both he and the old man toppled over. In the sea of limbs and Bianor’s protests, he felt something dig into his side. Reaching down, his hand closed around the hilt of Kreios’s dagger, still embedded in the boards.
“Get off me,” Lukos growled, shoving Bianor easily away. The old man bounced a little but righted himself fast enough, though he remained seated. Now free of his burden, Lukos stood, dagger in hand, staring down the arrogant man in front of him.
Beyond them, work continued. Men moved up and down the gangplanks of their ships, off loading or loading crates or barrels or or sacks. However, they had gained quite a bit of attention. Some sailors had fully stopped to watch the fight and his own men were hanging over the rails, itching to join.
It wasn’t fear of murder that stayed his hand.
“Care to make good on that threat?” he taunted, fully cognizant of the trickle of blood sliding down from his temple. “Now?”
Behind Kreios, quite a ways back, three Taengean guards were eyeing them. They were murmuring to each other. He didn’t have to hear their conversation to know what they were saying. It was a matter of how brutal this would get for them to interfere or not. A scuffle on the docks was nothing out of the way, but a bloody fight? That had to be stopped.
Adrenaline tended to do funny things to one's body. An increased heart rate, higher blood pressure, enlarged pupils... all of that was known things. But what no one said was how the blood would rush to the head and ears, making a pounding sound that numbed and drowned out all the other noises happening around someone. No one said of the acutely increased concentration one would have to his or her target, as if their eyes were zeroing on a bullseye, and nothing else mattered. Nor did they speak of the intense desire one would have to just knock said target to the ground.
The smirk he wore was meant to be both simultaneously self-satisfying and to taunt Lukos further, and as the pirate crawled up to his feet like a cat, Kreios's fingers tightened around the handle forged in a smithy's fire, its cold feel familiar in his grip, watching as the slave toppled with his companion.
Quick eyes spotted the way the pirate shoved the old man away before the merchant's gaze fell on the dagger he himself had thrown at the other, now used as a weapon against himself. Kreios raised his dark brows as if daring Lukos to come at him. As the rush of gaining his first blow calmed down, the dull thud in his ear faded for Kreios to notice the din around the docks fading - attention and eyes were on the two fighting seafarer's now, and Kreios, while highly satisfied by the blood running down Lukos's forehead, did not enjoy the attention.
But the pirate just did not know when to back down, did he?
The taunt had Kreios's lips tugged upwards in a lopsided smirk again, and he tightened his grip on the spear, head cocking to the right. "Foolish, slave." That was perhaps the only warning Kreios gave, before he kicked the bottom of his spear up, catching it in both hands before anyone could react. With a practiced movement in one breathe, Kreios lunged forward and jabbed the poison-tipped head against Lukos, aiming for the areas where the skin was thinnest, finding a place where he would be able to twist his weapon's tip into a vein or artery within his target. The bloodflow would then do his work for him to carry the hallucinogenic poison he tipped his spear with.
A combination of belladonna and hemlock, it served Kreios's purpose of both dilating the pupils of his assailant to makes their vision blurry and cause spasm and convulsions, while the light traces of hemlock would work to paralyze the various body systems slowly - all equating to weakening his victim so he could go in for the killing blow.
The moment his tip found purchase, Kreios dragged the skin to tear it open, using more force to dig the sharp tip further in, and then sidestepping out of the way to prevent any further injury on his body. There, he flicked his wrist in a deft manner to now face the spear in the direction of the old man Lukos had discarded earlier, almost daring the older male to move. The whole time, his dark eyes focused on Lukos's form, the taunting smirk firm on his lips. "Any last words, slave?" he sneered. In his pockets, he could feel the small vial of antidote he carried around with him - they served as a cure for most of the less serious poisons he inflicted, the one on his spear being one of them.
But he wasn't about to give it yet. Not until it was earned.
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Adrenaline tended to do funny things to one's body. An increased heart rate, higher blood pressure, enlarged pupils... all of that was known things. But what no one said was how the blood would rush to the head and ears, making a pounding sound that numbed and drowned out all the other noises happening around someone. No one said of the acutely increased concentration one would have to his or her target, as if their eyes were zeroing on a bullseye, and nothing else mattered. Nor did they speak of the intense desire one would have to just knock said target to the ground.
The smirk he wore was meant to be both simultaneously self-satisfying and to taunt Lukos further, and as the pirate crawled up to his feet like a cat, Kreios's fingers tightened around the handle forged in a smithy's fire, its cold feel familiar in his grip, watching as the slave toppled with his companion.
Quick eyes spotted the way the pirate shoved the old man away before the merchant's gaze fell on the dagger he himself had thrown at the other, now used as a weapon against himself. Kreios raised his dark brows as if daring Lukos to come at him. As the rush of gaining his first blow calmed down, the dull thud in his ear faded for Kreios to notice the din around the docks fading - attention and eyes were on the two fighting seafarer's now, and Kreios, while highly satisfied by the blood running down Lukos's forehead, did not enjoy the attention.
But the pirate just did not know when to back down, did he?
The taunt had Kreios's lips tugged upwards in a lopsided smirk again, and he tightened his grip on the spear, head cocking to the right. "Foolish, slave." That was perhaps the only warning Kreios gave, before he kicked the bottom of his spear up, catching it in both hands before anyone could react. With a practiced movement in one breathe, Kreios lunged forward and jabbed the poison-tipped head against Lukos, aiming for the areas where the skin was thinnest, finding a place where he would be able to twist his weapon's tip into a vein or artery within his target. The bloodflow would then do his work for him to carry the hallucinogenic poison he tipped his spear with.
A combination of belladonna and hemlock, it served Kreios's purpose of both dilating the pupils of his assailant to makes their vision blurry and cause spasm and convulsions, while the light traces of hemlock would work to paralyze the various body systems slowly - all equating to weakening his victim so he could go in for the killing blow.
The moment his tip found purchase, Kreios dragged the skin to tear it open, using more force to dig the sharp tip further in, and then sidestepping out of the way to prevent any further injury on his body. There, he flicked his wrist in a deft manner to now face the spear in the direction of the old man Lukos had discarded earlier, almost daring the older male to move. The whole time, his dark eyes focused on Lukos's form, the taunting smirk firm on his lips. "Any last words, slave?" he sneered. In his pockets, he could feel the small vial of antidote he carried around with him - they served as a cure for most of the less serious poisons he inflicted, the one on his spear being one of them.
But he wasn't about to give it yet. Not until it was earned.
Adrenaline tended to do funny things to one's body. An increased heart rate, higher blood pressure, enlarged pupils... all of that was known things. But what no one said was how the blood would rush to the head and ears, making a pounding sound that numbed and drowned out all the other noises happening around someone. No one said of the acutely increased concentration one would have to his or her target, as if their eyes were zeroing on a bullseye, and nothing else mattered. Nor did they speak of the intense desire one would have to just knock said target to the ground.
The smirk he wore was meant to be both simultaneously self-satisfying and to taunt Lukos further, and as the pirate crawled up to his feet like a cat, Kreios's fingers tightened around the handle forged in a smithy's fire, its cold feel familiar in his grip, watching as the slave toppled with his companion.
Quick eyes spotted the way the pirate shoved the old man away before the merchant's gaze fell on the dagger he himself had thrown at the other, now used as a weapon against himself. Kreios raised his dark brows as if daring Lukos to come at him. As the rush of gaining his first blow calmed down, the dull thud in his ear faded for Kreios to notice the din around the docks fading - attention and eyes were on the two fighting seafarer's now, and Kreios, while highly satisfied by the blood running down Lukos's forehead, did not enjoy the attention.
But the pirate just did not know when to back down, did he?
The taunt had Kreios's lips tugged upwards in a lopsided smirk again, and he tightened his grip on the spear, head cocking to the right. "Foolish, slave." That was perhaps the only warning Kreios gave, before he kicked the bottom of his spear up, catching it in both hands before anyone could react. With a practiced movement in one breathe, Kreios lunged forward and jabbed the poison-tipped head against Lukos, aiming for the areas where the skin was thinnest, finding a place where he would be able to twist his weapon's tip into a vein or artery within his target. The bloodflow would then do his work for him to carry the hallucinogenic poison he tipped his spear with.
A combination of belladonna and hemlock, it served Kreios's purpose of both dilating the pupils of his assailant to makes their vision blurry and cause spasm and convulsions, while the light traces of hemlock would work to paralyze the various body systems slowly - all equating to weakening his victim so he could go in for the killing blow.
The moment his tip found purchase, Kreios dragged the skin to tear it open, using more force to dig the sharp tip further in, and then sidestepping out of the way to prevent any further injury on his body. There, he flicked his wrist in a deft manner to now face the spear in the direction of the old man Lukos had discarded earlier, almost daring the older male to move. The whole time, his dark eyes focused on Lukos's form, the taunting smirk firm on his lips. "Any last words, slave?" he sneered. In his pockets, he could feel the small vial of antidote he carried around with him - they served as a cure for most of the less serious poisons he inflicted, the one on his spear being one of them.
But he wasn't about to give it yet. Not until it was earned.
They’d been dancing around each other for a few years but this was the first time they’d ever come into physical contact. This hadn’t been his intention when he’d sent his crewman to play that trick but it told him something vital about his opponent. The man would not let a simple slight go. It meant he could be baited, and potentially lured into a more...permanent trap.
“Lukos, let’s-” Bianor started but stopped.
“Shut it,” he snapped but Bianor started to scramble to his feet. Half turning, Lukos glared at him and this was the mistake. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Kreios lunge. Instinct made him jump away and back but the spear’s reach was long; too long. A stinging, burning sensation caught him on his chest, almost under his arm.
He gritted his teeth and grabbed the spear’s shaft, shoving it violently back and it’s wielder along with it. Dimly he was aware that Bianor again tried to get to stand but, again, sank back down, this time from Kreios’s demand. The dagger remained in his fist and he now had little care as to whether or not he was seen spilling the bastard’s blood. His own had been drawn. Twice.
Tightening his grip around the hilt of Kreios’s dagger, he raised his arm to sling the blade but it left his fingers and clattered uselessly to the floorboards at his feet. He glared at Kreios’s snarky smile even as the man’s visage blurred. Something was wrong.
His jaw clenched and almost seemed locked in place. A strangeness buzzed along the top of his head as though he was going to be sick and dizzy at the same time. He understood the smirk on Kreios’s face now. The self satisfaction that he himself often times wore when he knew he’d won.
The bastard had poisoned him.
“You fucking coward,” he slurred and took a step toward the poison merchant. But he stumbled as though he wasn’t used to his feet. He stopped and stared down at his boots. They felt like they’d sprouted wings. If he took another step, he might be able to step into the sky.
Testing this, he lifted one foot and took a tentative step. He was still on the dock. He could see that he was. But he felt like he’d stepped up a little higher and that putting his foot back down was akin to walking off a mountain. As he did it, he tumbled forward, catching himself enough to avoid breaking his nose.
He lay there, running one finger over the grains of the wood, studying them as they shifted in and out of focus. His joints were stiff and he didn’t want to move any more than he had to. Somewhere above him, possibly on Olympus itself, Bianor’s hands reached down and dug into his shoulders. Each finger point sent out arcing sensations that were somewhere between painful and comforting.
Bianor crouched over Lukos, shaking him hard and trying to get him to come to his senses. “What did you do?” he demanded, squinting up at Kreios. The old man’s concern for the captain was born more from self preservation more than actual compassion for the man’s wellbeing. A host of pirates were staring down at the three of them and Bianor knew that if he was perceived to be involved in anyway to have harmed the captain, he’d be killed the second they could get their hands on him.
“Have mercy,” Bianor let go of Lukos and clambered to his feet. He clasped his gnarled hands and came at Kreios in a half bow. “Give me the antidote. If the captain dies, so do I.” He did not have the same loathing for the poison merchant that Lukos, and by extension, the rest of the crew did. He considered himself apart from them. Separate. A forced participant.
The truth was somewhat more convoluted than that. Lukos likely would not stop him from walking off the ship, never to return. The problem was that he had nowhere to go. No family. No children to tend to him when he became enfeebled. Though he hated Lukos, he knew that whatever happened, Lukos wouldn’t let him languish and starve alone somewhere, to be found gods knew when.
In short, Lukos was the monster step-son he’d never wanted. Inherited, as it were, from the former captain that Lukos had murdered. No one had cried over the former captain’s bloody end and things were easier under this boy’s iron rule. But that didn’t mean that the crew was any softer or any less blood thirsty.
“Please,” he shook his clasped hands in Kreios’s face. “You don’t understand. You doom us both if you allow him to die! Me by the crew, and you by the guard. See? They’re coming.”
Sure enough, the Taengean guard were coming. Not at a run but at a sedate pace. No one was actively fighting but there was a man as good as dead on the docks. Bianor didn’t bother to hide his desperation. He had little pride to speak of and was used to having it trampled. Whether by Lukos or Kreios, it didn’t matter, so long as he got what he wanted. What he wanted right now was to live.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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They’d been dancing around each other for a few years but this was the first time they’d ever come into physical contact. This hadn’t been his intention when he’d sent his crewman to play that trick but it told him something vital about his opponent. The man would not let a simple slight go. It meant he could be baited, and potentially lured into a more...permanent trap.
“Lukos, let’s-” Bianor started but stopped.
“Shut it,” he snapped but Bianor started to scramble to his feet. Half turning, Lukos glared at him and this was the mistake. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Kreios lunge. Instinct made him jump away and back but the spear’s reach was long; too long. A stinging, burning sensation caught him on his chest, almost under his arm.
He gritted his teeth and grabbed the spear’s shaft, shoving it violently back and it’s wielder along with it. Dimly he was aware that Bianor again tried to get to stand but, again, sank back down, this time from Kreios’s demand. The dagger remained in his fist and he now had little care as to whether or not he was seen spilling the bastard’s blood. His own had been drawn. Twice.
Tightening his grip around the hilt of Kreios’s dagger, he raised his arm to sling the blade but it left his fingers and clattered uselessly to the floorboards at his feet. He glared at Kreios’s snarky smile even as the man’s visage blurred. Something was wrong.
His jaw clenched and almost seemed locked in place. A strangeness buzzed along the top of his head as though he was going to be sick and dizzy at the same time. He understood the smirk on Kreios’s face now. The self satisfaction that he himself often times wore when he knew he’d won.
The bastard had poisoned him.
“You fucking coward,” he slurred and took a step toward the poison merchant. But he stumbled as though he wasn’t used to his feet. He stopped and stared down at his boots. They felt like they’d sprouted wings. If he took another step, he might be able to step into the sky.
Testing this, he lifted one foot and took a tentative step. He was still on the dock. He could see that he was. But he felt like he’d stepped up a little higher and that putting his foot back down was akin to walking off a mountain. As he did it, he tumbled forward, catching himself enough to avoid breaking his nose.
He lay there, running one finger over the grains of the wood, studying them as they shifted in and out of focus. His joints were stiff and he didn’t want to move any more than he had to. Somewhere above him, possibly on Olympus itself, Bianor’s hands reached down and dug into his shoulders. Each finger point sent out arcing sensations that were somewhere between painful and comforting.
Bianor crouched over Lukos, shaking him hard and trying to get him to come to his senses. “What did you do?” he demanded, squinting up at Kreios. The old man’s concern for the captain was born more from self preservation more than actual compassion for the man’s wellbeing. A host of pirates were staring down at the three of them and Bianor knew that if he was perceived to be involved in anyway to have harmed the captain, he’d be killed the second they could get their hands on him.
“Have mercy,” Bianor let go of Lukos and clambered to his feet. He clasped his gnarled hands and came at Kreios in a half bow. “Give me the antidote. If the captain dies, so do I.” He did not have the same loathing for the poison merchant that Lukos, and by extension, the rest of the crew did. He considered himself apart from them. Separate. A forced participant.
The truth was somewhat more convoluted than that. Lukos likely would not stop him from walking off the ship, never to return. The problem was that he had nowhere to go. No family. No children to tend to him when he became enfeebled. Though he hated Lukos, he knew that whatever happened, Lukos wouldn’t let him languish and starve alone somewhere, to be found gods knew when.
In short, Lukos was the monster step-son he’d never wanted. Inherited, as it were, from the former captain that Lukos had murdered. No one had cried over the former captain’s bloody end and things were easier under this boy’s iron rule. But that didn’t mean that the crew was any softer or any less blood thirsty.
“Please,” he shook his clasped hands in Kreios’s face. “You don’t understand. You doom us both if you allow him to die! Me by the crew, and you by the guard. See? They’re coming.”
Sure enough, the Taengean guard were coming. Not at a run but at a sedate pace. No one was actively fighting but there was a man as good as dead on the docks. Bianor didn’t bother to hide his desperation. He had little pride to speak of and was used to having it trampled. Whether by Lukos or Kreios, it didn’t matter, so long as he got what he wanted. What he wanted right now was to live.
They’d been dancing around each other for a few years but this was the first time they’d ever come into physical contact. This hadn’t been his intention when he’d sent his crewman to play that trick but it told him something vital about his opponent. The man would not let a simple slight go. It meant he could be baited, and potentially lured into a more...permanent trap.
“Lukos, let’s-” Bianor started but stopped.
“Shut it,” he snapped but Bianor started to scramble to his feet. Half turning, Lukos glared at him and this was the mistake. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Kreios lunge. Instinct made him jump away and back but the spear’s reach was long; too long. A stinging, burning sensation caught him on his chest, almost under his arm.
He gritted his teeth and grabbed the spear’s shaft, shoving it violently back and it’s wielder along with it. Dimly he was aware that Bianor again tried to get to stand but, again, sank back down, this time from Kreios’s demand. The dagger remained in his fist and he now had little care as to whether or not he was seen spilling the bastard’s blood. His own had been drawn. Twice.
Tightening his grip around the hilt of Kreios’s dagger, he raised his arm to sling the blade but it left his fingers and clattered uselessly to the floorboards at his feet. He glared at Kreios’s snarky smile even as the man’s visage blurred. Something was wrong.
His jaw clenched and almost seemed locked in place. A strangeness buzzed along the top of his head as though he was going to be sick and dizzy at the same time. He understood the smirk on Kreios’s face now. The self satisfaction that he himself often times wore when he knew he’d won.
The bastard had poisoned him.
“You fucking coward,” he slurred and took a step toward the poison merchant. But he stumbled as though he wasn’t used to his feet. He stopped and stared down at his boots. They felt like they’d sprouted wings. If he took another step, he might be able to step into the sky.
Testing this, he lifted one foot and took a tentative step. He was still on the dock. He could see that he was. But he felt like he’d stepped up a little higher and that putting his foot back down was akin to walking off a mountain. As he did it, he tumbled forward, catching himself enough to avoid breaking his nose.
He lay there, running one finger over the grains of the wood, studying them as they shifted in and out of focus. His joints were stiff and he didn’t want to move any more than he had to. Somewhere above him, possibly on Olympus itself, Bianor’s hands reached down and dug into his shoulders. Each finger point sent out arcing sensations that were somewhere between painful and comforting.
Bianor crouched over Lukos, shaking him hard and trying to get him to come to his senses. “What did you do?” he demanded, squinting up at Kreios. The old man’s concern for the captain was born more from self preservation more than actual compassion for the man’s wellbeing. A host of pirates were staring down at the three of them and Bianor knew that if he was perceived to be involved in anyway to have harmed the captain, he’d be killed the second they could get their hands on him.
“Have mercy,” Bianor let go of Lukos and clambered to his feet. He clasped his gnarled hands and came at Kreios in a half bow. “Give me the antidote. If the captain dies, so do I.” He did not have the same loathing for the poison merchant that Lukos, and by extension, the rest of the crew did. He considered himself apart from them. Separate. A forced participant.
The truth was somewhat more convoluted than that. Lukos likely would not stop him from walking off the ship, never to return. The problem was that he had nowhere to go. No family. No children to tend to him when he became enfeebled. Though he hated Lukos, he knew that whatever happened, Lukos wouldn’t let him languish and starve alone somewhere, to be found gods knew when.
In short, Lukos was the monster step-son he’d never wanted. Inherited, as it were, from the former captain that Lukos had murdered. No one had cried over the former captain’s bloody end and things were easier under this boy’s iron rule. But that didn’t mean that the crew was any softer or any less blood thirsty.
“Please,” he shook his clasped hands in Kreios’s face. “You don’t understand. You doom us both if you allow him to die! Me by the crew, and you by the guard. See? They’re coming.”
Sure enough, the Taengean guard were coming. Not at a run but at a sedate pace. No one was actively fighting but there was a man as good as dead on the docks. Bianor didn’t bother to hide his desperation. He had little pride to speak of and was used to having it trampled. Whether by Lukos or Kreios, it didn’t matter, so long as he got what he wanted. What he wanted right now was to live.
Kreios sneered - there really was no two ways around to explain what had blossomed on his lips the moment Lukos started to fumble, even as he had to try to regain his momentum from the pirate's rough shove of his spear away. Hearing his own dagger clatter uselessly to the ground was, perhaps,one of the most satisfying sounds he had heard. That his poison had taken into effect.
That the pirate was at his feet now.
"Headache, slave? My, the sun must be a tad too strong for you." he goaded, twisting his spear so he now tucked it behind his arm, confident in his swagger that he didn't even bother holding his weapon in an offensive position now. Kreios would've laughed at Lukos's sneer. Call him a coward all he wanted, the merchant only wanted to win - screw how he got to that end goal. He'll do any underhanded method required.
That was how he had gotten to where he was in life. And that was how Kreios bet Lukos had taken over the ship after all. So much for a pot calling the kettle black.
Settling on his haunches, her watched with a self-satisifed smirk as Lukos tried, and failed to even walk properly, looking almost like a newborn babe or someone injured or addled in his head. When the pirate finally fell, the merchant eventually let out a bark of laughter that somehow managed to sound both insulting and amused. His gaze slid to the old scribe's face at the loud demand, and yet his response was a nonchalant shrug, inspecting his spear tip carefully. "What I had to do to get this arrogant dog to bow to me, the way a slave should."
Levelling his gaze on the prone figure of Lukos's, once he was sure he was too dazed to do a thing, Kreios strode nearer, picking up his dagger to slid it back in its sheath after wiping its surface on his pants. Using the end of his spear, he prodded at Lukos, and then smirked again when the scribe started begging.
"Mercy? Why should I?" leaning over to Lukos, Kreios used the back of his hand to pat the pirate's cheek condescendingly."It's not as if your captain has any mercy for those he captures. Nor for you, for that matter."
But Bianor was smart. He plead to the part Kreios couldn't say no to - the one where he would in effect, harm the rest of the crew by killing one man. That, and the Taengean guard was now hovering annoyingly close by, as if watching and waiting for the man on the docks to take his final breathe, and only then could they close in and take their catch. And being captured was something Kreios did not intend for to happen to himself.
So in spite of his greatest wishes to just roll Lukos off the dock and down the depths of the sea (for belladonna did not kill, sadly), he rolled his eyes, and eventually straightened up.
From around his neck, he tugged at the simple twine necklace holding a small vial, no bigger then one's pinky finger, and tossed that small vial containing an amber liquid to Bianor. "Feed that to the dog." he spat out, hitching his spear over his shoulder, Kreios turned on his heels and started heading back to his ship for his bag, and then eventually to his cabin and his forest. "Its a small dosage, so it'll take a few hours to work. But he'll regain senses in his limbs soon enough. It'll just take awhile." And with that, the merchant left with nary a look back - he was confident enough in his abilities that what he said would work... plus, he just didn't care enough for the pirate.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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Kreios sneered - there really was no two ways around to explain what had blossomed on his lips the moment Lukos started to fumble, even as he had to try to regain his momentum from the pirate's rough shove of his spear away. Hearing his own dagger clatter uselessly to the ground was, perhaps,one of the most satisfying sounds he had heard. That his poison had taken into effect.
That the pirate was at his feet now.
"Headache, slave? My, the sun must be a tad too strong for you." he goaded, twisting his spear so he now tucked it behind his arm, confident in his swagger that he didn't even bother holding his weapon in an offensive position now. Kreios would've laughed at Lukos's sneer. Call him a coward all he wanted, the merchant only wanted to win - screw how he got to that end goal. He'll do any underhanded method required.
That was how he had gotten to where he was in life. And that was how Kreios bet Lukos had taken over the ship after all. So much for a pot calling the kettle black.
Settling on his haunches, her watched with a self-satisifed smirk as Lukos tried, and failed to even walk properly, looking almost like a newborn babe or someone injured or addled in his head. When the pirate finally fell, the merchant eventually let out a bark of laughter that somehow managed to sound both insulting and amused. His gaze slid to the old scribe's face at the loud demand, and yet his response was a nonchalant shrug, inspecting his spear tip carefully. "What I had to do to get this arrogant dog to bow to me, the way a slave should."
Levelling his gaze on the prone figure of Lukos's, once he was sure he was too dazed to do a thing, Kreios strode nearer, picking up his dagger to slid it back in its sheath after wiping its surface on his pants. Using the end of his spear, he prodded at Lukos, and then smirked again when the scribe started begging.
"Mercy? Why should I?" leaning over to Lukos, Kreios used the back of his hand to pat the pirate's cheek condescendingly."It's not as if your captain has any mercy for those he captures. Nor for you, for that matter."
But Bianor was smart. He plead to the part Kreios couldn't say no to - the one where he would in effect, harm the rest of the crew by killing one man. That, and the Taengean guard was now hovering annoyingly close by, as if watching and waiting for the man on the docks to take his final breathe, and only then could they close in and take their catch. And being captured was something Kreios did not intend for to happen to himself.
So in spite of his greatest wishes to just roll Lukos off the dock and down the depths of the sea (for belladonna did not kill, sadly), he rolled his eyes, and eventually straightened up.
From around his neck, he tugged at the simple twine necklace holding a small vial, no bigger then one's pinky finger, and tossed that small vial containing an amber liquid to Bianor. "Feed that to the dog." he spat out, hitching his spear over his shoulder, Kreios turned on his heels and started heading back to his ship for his bag, and then eventually to his cabin and his forest. "Its a small dosage, so it'll take a few hours to work. But he'll regain senses in his limbs soon enough. It'll just take awhile." And with that, the merchant left with nary a look back - he was confident enough in his abilities that what he said would work... plus, he just didn't care enough for the pirate.
Kreios sneered - there really was no two ways around to explain what had blossomed on his lips the moment Lukos started to fumble, even as he had to try to regain his momentum from the pirate's rough shove of his spear away. Hearing his own dagger clatter uselessly to the ground was, perhaps,one of the most satisfying sounds he had heard. That his poison had taken into effect.
That the pirate was at his feet now.
"Headache, slave? My, the sun must be a tad too strong for you." he goaded, twisting his spear so he now tucked it behind his arm, confident in his swagger that he didn't even bother holding his weapon in an offensive position now. Kreios would've laughed at Lukos's sneer. Call him a coward all he wanted, the merchant only wanted to win - screw how he got to that end goal. He'll do any underhanded method required.
That was how he had gotten to where he was in life. And that was how Kreios bet Lukos had taken over the ship after all. So much for a pot calling the kettle black.
Settling on his haunches, her watched with a self-satisifed smirk as Lukos tried, and failed to even walk properly, looking almost like a newborn babe or someone injured or addled in his head. When the pirate finally fell, the merchant eventually let out a bark of laughter that somehow managed to sound both insulting and amused. His gaze slid to the old scribe's face at the loud demand, and yet his response was a nonchalant shrug, inspecting his spear tip carefully. "What I had to do to get this arrogant dog to bow to me, the way a slave should."
Levelling his gaze on the prone figure of Lukos's, once he was sure he was too dazed to do a thing, Kreios strode nearer, picking up his dagger to slid it back in its sheath after wiping its surface on his pants. Using the end of his spear, he prodded at Lukos, and then smirked again when the scribe started begging.
"Mercy? Why should I?" leaning over to Lukos, Kreios used the back of his hand to pat the pirate's cheek condescendingly."It's not as if your captain has any mercy for those he captures. Nor for you, for that matter."
But Bianor was smart. He plead to the part Kreios couldn't say no to - the one where he would in effect, harm the rest of the crew by killing one man. That, and the Taengean guard was now hovering annoyingly close by, as if watching and waiting for the man on the docks to take his final breathe, and only then could they close in and take their catch. And being captured was something Kreios did not intend for to happen to himself.
So in spite of his greatest wishes to just roll Lukos off the dock and down the depths of the sea (for belladonna did not kill, sadly), he rolled his eyes, and eventually straightened up.
From around his neck, he tugged at the simple twine necklace holding a small vial, no bigger then one's pinky finger, and tossed that small vial containing an amber liquid to Bianor. "Feed that to the dog." he spat out, hitching his spear over his shoulder, Kreios turned on his heels and started heading back to his ship for his bag, and then eventually to his cabin and his forest. "Its a small dosage, so it'll take a few hours to work. But he'll regain senses in his limbs soon enough. It'll just take awhile." And with that, the merchant left with nary a look back - he was confident enough in his abilities that what he said would work... plus, he just didn't care enough for the pirate.
