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A Decade of Peace Event - Colchis Closing: 19th June 2021
The winds of time pass. They rise from the coasts of Africa and travel north. Over the meadows of Taengea and across the waters of the Athenia harbours. On they ride upon the air until they break upon the rising mounts of the Kirakles Isles. Here, they riot and they howl. But not so loudly as the people themselves. A nation of war, the provider of iron forges and weaponry to the expanse of all Grecian kingdoms, Colchis was chosen for the perhaps ironic duty of hosting the decadial celebrations of peace.
Ten years ago, the kingdoms of Greece came together to seek resolution. No longer could Colchians afford to be denied trade and supplies from the vast Athenian lands. Taengeans could not defend their wealth and natural beauty without weapons. And the Athenian cycle of currency and trade slowed without the horses and coin to leave the Taengean shores. In truth, battles and skirmishes, tense political arrangements and boycotts across the Aegean Sea benefited no-one. Instead, the Three Kings of these three great nations collected in Taengea and decided upon a Treaty. Athenia, Colchis and Taengea would become allies. Independent under their own rule and law but bound by arrangement and expectation. If one went to war, the others would join. If one suffered natural disaster, the others would send aid.
Over the years, this treaty has rarely come into effect except to cease fire between the nations themselves. Trade and currency have risen, nations have flourished, but rarely have the duties beholden to the treaty bearers ever been tested. A decade is a long time for those with mortal memories but ten years disappear into the ether of long-term histories. This fledgling agreement is still new, still untried. And the people of the Grecian kingdoms will decide its relevance and its success in the years to come.
For now, a reminder is being given in the form of an inter-kingdom event. Colchis calls to its friends and neighbours, Athenia and Taengea, to join them in celebrating the first ten years of an intended future of peace. Representatives of Houses big and small have boarded ships in order to lay witness to a week long festivity of wine, trade and friendship. May all intentions for peaceful coexistence come to be...
Suggested Players
Below are the characters that our staff team believe would be able to be an awesome part of this Event!
-- This event is held in Colchis which means a boat ride will be necessary to attend if your character is not native. It takes two weeks to sail from Athenia, or the Southern boundary of Taengea, to Colchis and one week to sail from Taengea's northern coast. Athenians also have the opportunity to travel over land (this would take upwards of three weeks) across the northern continent and then sail for only a few days south to the Kirakles Isles.
-- Upper Classes: Representatives from each of the Royal Dynasteia in Greece will be expected to attend the event. If your character is the only one active in a House we can come up with a reason for them to make the journey alone, NPC their relative or, if you'd prefer not to have them attend, mention in passing their relative attended as the representative. The House will then be present but you'll not have to actively write in the Event. Please note that any Royal woman travelling alone will be required to have an NPC chaperone and several guards with her, if a male of a trusted family is not available to play escort.
-- Middle Classes: For Nobles and high functioning/socialising merchants, traders or military families, this event will a prime opportunity to make connections with higher members of society, forge trade agreements with wealthy clients and accompany friends of the Upper Classes in their journey. Many young ladies of Noble Houses are, for example, friends with those from Royals. Perhaps a royal lady would like a friend with her on her journey? Please note that woman of the Middle Classes will likely be required to follow the same rules of chaperone and guards as the Upper (just with slightly fewer guards perhaps) if the family are particularly fastidious of their public appearance.
-- Lower Classes: Any and all who can somehow attain a ship's voyage (stowaways, offer of short-term labour in exchange for passage, partnerships between more than one family to save and pay the cost of the voyage together)... all are welcome at this event! Given the scale of the event, it will be highly spoken of by sailors, word will travel and the tales of entertainment and food and far off, exotic trade stalls could lure just about anyone. It would not be inappropriate that the commonfolk of any kingdom would want to travel to Colchis to witness the spectacle. Especially given the attendance of all three royal families.
How to Not Join
If your Event calendar is looking a little full and you have too many threads to add another please be aware that you do not have to join an Event. They are purely voluntary. Here are a few ideas for how to navigate not attending so large an event:
-- Upper Classes: If you are a royal character in Greece but are not ready/wanting to bring that character to Colchis, this is entirely down to the choice of the character. As a royal, most aren't forced to do anything unless given a direct order from the Head of House. If your character is the only active character in your family and you do not want to partake in this event then please ensure that other members know who is going in your character's stead. This can be a currently NPCed family member, for example. This way, the Dynasteia does not suffer negative consequences.
-- Middle Classes: Noble characters will attend events such as these either on behalf of their Royal vassal or for their own advancement in politics. However, the Royal Dynasteia's have every right or power to lay down extra work upon the Varonos families, tying their hands. If you do not wish for your noble character to attend this event, simply mention in passing in your other threads that the duties of your House have recently been challenging - more tasks given by the vassal, a natural disaster in the province, a flurry of illness amongst the people. These (and others) would be valid reasons for your character/house to not attend the event.
-- Lower Classes: Money is a good excuse for any who do not wish to be a part of this event. If a character cannot afford the journey or cannot risk being away from their own family/business for so long then it makes sense for them not to attend the event at all.
Please note: If your character is a native Colchian, excuses for not attending this Event become more difficult. A personal illness and military obligations overseas are perhaps the only valid excuses for not attending. And even then, the whispers and rumour-mongers will have fun with your absence. This does not mean you must attend the Decade of Peace event. Only that you should be aware of the IC effects of not being at least momentarily a part of it.
Event Timeline
This event IC-wise is being held for a week. The Colchian capital of Midas has been decorated in celebration of the event. Households have been ordered to take their weapons - swords, bows, spears, kitchen knives - and hang them outside their residences, draped and decorated with flowers. The symbolism is clear. No weapons will be used this day. Despite the winds of the sea, the summer is still hot and barrells of fresh water - an unheard of luxury for the common people - had been placed along roadways and upon corners for any and all to drink from. The Royal residences of Midas have been ordered to open their doors to a Royal house from an abroad nation: The Mikaelidas and Xanthos families are being hosted at the Kotas manor. The Drakos are appealing to their guests from the Antonis clan and the Thanasi are playing host to the Marikas. The Leventi hold their own manor in the Midas capitol and have opted to stay there, whilst the Eliades open their doors to the Condos family. The Stravos and Dimitrou houses have been provided with luxurious holdings in the capital.
This Event thread, OOC-wise, begins on the last and main festival day of this celebratory week. The royal and noble houses have been provided with carriages and horses to escort them on the two hour ride to Illytia. Here, before the white temple, are open meadows of land. Such space has now become a carnival of light and sound. Entertainment booths, stalls of trade and service are on show. Some have operated a row-like structure. Others are in a hodge-podge of chaos. All are open and friendly. The only rule upon local traders is that no weaponry or poison may be sold at the event.
Playing hostess of this great affair is the Cypress Sisterhood temple. The Head Priestess Kallista of Dolomesa will be present and the Royal families will be amongst the attendees, lending a sense of gravitas and formal excellence to an otherwise jamboree.
Rumours hold that the event will run until sunup, with key moments of significance. First, the guests from the capitol and the travelling commonfolk will arrive. The stalls and traders will light with sound and activity. Upon sunset, a massive bonfire will be lit before the temple and the attendees encouraged to gather around as a formal ceremony is completed between the three ruling houses, Xanthos, Kotas and Mikaelidas. After the ceremony, music and torches are lit and the wine is poured in excess. The people of Colchis come alive and start to break from their rules of decorum. Hearsay has spread that, upon the zenith of the moon, a final treat will be thrown to the people. A spectacle unlike any they have seen before...
How Does It Work?
Event threads/boards work thusly: Your character can be a part of an event and create their own thread within that event if they wish to. However, in order to be allowed to make that thread, they must first post in this one. The Event continues through this primary event thread, allowing for side stories (if they are in a different location to other participants) to be carried out in side threads. All curveballs to hit this Event will be posted to all threads in the board, whether relevant or not, so that your characters have the choice to return to the main location/thread to explore this new development.
When Moving to a Sub-Thread: Please add to your last message in this Event thread 'Continued in...' with a link to your new location.
When Returning to the Event Thread: Please ensure that your Sub-Thread is nicely wrapped up and clearly implies where your character is going. Add to your first message back in the Event thread 'Reentering from...' with a link to your sub-thread.
Please note that sub-threads are not required. You can participate in the Event thread for as long as you wish and remain here for the duration of the event. This event will close on the 19th June. At that time, this Event thread will be locked and closed. The other threads in this board will be allowed to continue at their writers' own pace. All threads within this board will be moved into the Illytia board at the closure of this event.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
A Decade of Peace Event - Colchis Closing: 19th June 2021
The winds of time pass. They rise from the coasts of Africa and travel north. Over the meadows of Taengea and across the waters of the Athenia harbours. On they ride upon the air until they break upon the rising mounts of the Kirakles Isles. Here, they riot and they howl. But not so loudly as the people themselves. A nation of war, the provider of iron forges and weaponry to the expanse of all Grecian kingdoms, Colchis was chosen for the perhaps ironic duty of hosting the decadial celebrations of peace.
Ten years ago, the kingdoms of Greece came together to seek resolution. No longer could Colchians afford to be denied trade and supplies from the vast Athenian lands. Taengeans could not defend their wealth and natural beauty without weapons. And the Athenian cycle of currency and trade slowed without the horses and coin to leave the Taengean shores. In truth, battles and skirmishes, tense political arrangements and boycotts across the Aegean Sea benefited no-one. Instead, the Three Kings of these three great nations collected in Taengea and decided upon a Treaty. Athenia, Colchis and Taengea would become allies. Independent under their own rule and law but bound by arrangement and expectation. If one went to war, the others would join. If one suffered natural disaster, the others would send aid.
Over the years, this treaty has rarely come into effect except to cease fire between the nations themselves. Trade and currency have risen, nations have flourished, but rarely have the duties beholden to the treaty bearers ever been tested. A decade is a long time for those with mortal memories but ten years disappear into the ether of long-term histories. This fledgling agreement is still new, still untried. And the people of the Grecian kingdoms will decide its relevance and its success in the years to come.
For now, a reminder is being given in the form of an inter-kingdom event. Colchis calls to its friends and neighbours, Athenia and Taengea, to join them in celebrating the first ten years of an intended future of peace. Representatives of Houses big and small have boarded ships in order to lay witness to a week long festivity of wine, trade and friendship. May all intentions for peaceful coexistence come to be...
Suggested Players
Below are the characters that our staff team believe would be able to be an awesome part of this Event!
-- This event is held in Colchis which means a boat ride will be necessary to attend if your character is not native. It takes two weeks to sail from Athenia, or the Southern boundary of Taengea, to Colchis and one week to sail from Taengea's northern coast. Athenians also have the opportunity to travel over land (this would take upwards of three weeks) across the northern continent and then sail for only a few days south to the Kirakles Isles.
-- Upper Classes: Representatives from each of the Royal Dynasteia in Greece will be expected to attend the event. If your character is the only one active in a House we can come up with a reason for them to make the journey alone, NPC their relative or, if you'd prefer not to have them attend, mention in passing their relative attended as the representative. The House will then be present but you'll not have to actively write in the Event. Please note that any Royal woman travelling alone will be required to have an NPC chaperone and several guards with her, if a male of a trusted family is not available to play escort.
-- Middle Classes: For Nobles and high functioning/socialising merchants, traders or military families, this event will a prime opportunity to make connections with higher members of society, forge trade agreements with wealthy clients and accompany friends of the Upper Classes in their journey. Many young ladies of Noble Houses are, for example, friends with those from Royals. Perhaps a royal lady would like a friend with her on her journey? Please note that woman of the Middle Classes will likely be required to follow the same rules of chaperone and guards as the Upper (just with slightly fewer guards perhaps) if the family are particularly fastidious of their public appearance.
-- Lower Classes: Any and all who can somehow attain a ship's voyage (stowaways, offer of short-term labour in exchange for passage, partnerships between more than one family to save and pay the cost of the voyage together)... all are welcome at this event! Given the scale of the event, it will be highly spoken of by sailors, word will travel and the tales of entertainment and food and far off, exotic trade stalls could lure just about anyone. It would not be inappropriate that the commonfolk of any kingdom would want to travel to Colchis to witness the spectacle. Especially given the attendance of all three royal families.
How to Not Join
If your Event calendar is looking a little full and you have too many threads to add another please be aware that you do not have to join an Event. They are purely voluntary. Here are a few ideas for how to navigate not attending so large an event:
-- Upper Classes: If you are a royal character in Greece but are not ready/wanting to bring that character to Colchis, this is entirely down to the choice of the character. As a royal, most aren't forced to do anything unless given a direct order from the Head of House. If your character is the only active character in your family and you do not want to partake in this event then please ensure that other members know who is going in your character's stead. This can be a currently NPCed family member, for example. This way, the Dynasteia does not suffer negative consequences.
-- Middle Classes: Noble characters will attend events such as these either on behalf of their Royal vassal or for their own advancement in politics. However, the Royal Dynasteia's have every right or power to lay down extra work upon the Varonos families, tying their hands. If you do not wish for your noble character to attend this event, simply mention in passing in your other threads that the duties of your House have recently been challenging - more tasks given by the vassal, a natural disaster in the province, a flurry of illness amongst the people. These (and others) would be valid reasons for your character/house to not attend the event.
-- Lower Classes: Money is a good excuse for any who do not wish to be a part of this event. If a character cannot afford the journey or cannot risk being away from their own family/business for so long then it makes sense for them not to attend the event at all.
Please note: If your character is a native Colchian, excuses for not attending this Event become more difficult. A personal illness and military obligations overseas are perhaps the only valid excuses for not attending. And even then, the whispers and rumour-mongers will have fun with your absence. This does not mean you must attend the Decade of Peace event. Only that you should be aware of the IC effects of not being at least momentarily a part of it.
Event Timeline
This event IC-wise is being held for a week. The Colchian capital of Midas has been decorated in celebration of the event. Households have been ordered to take their weapons - swords, bows, spears, kitchen knives - and hang them outside their residences, draped and decorated with flowers. The symbolism is clear. No weapons will be used this day. Despite the winds of the sea, the summer is still hot and barrells of fresh water - an unheard of luxury for the common people - had been placed along roadways and upon corners for any and all to drink from. The Royal residences of Midas have been ordered to open their doors to a Royal house from an abroad nation: The Mikaelidas and Xanthos families are being hosted at the Kotas manor. The Drakos are appealing to their guests from the Antonis clan and the Thanasi are playing host to the Marikas. The Leventi hold their own manor in the Midas capitol and have opted to stay there, whilst the Eliades open their doors to the Condos family. The Stravos and Dimitrou houses have been provided with luxurious holdings in the capital.
This Event thread, OOC-wise, begins on the last and main festival day of this celebratory week. The royal and noble houses have been provided with carriages and horses to escort them on the two hour ride to Illytia. Here, before the white temple, are open meadows of land. Such space has now become a carnival of light and sound. Entertainment booths, stalls of trade and service are on show. Some have operated a row-like structure. Others are in a hodge-podge of chaos. All are open and friendly. The only rule upon local traders is that no weaponry or poison may be sold at the event.
Playing hostess of this great affair is the Cypress Sisterhood temple. The Head Priestess Kallista of Dolomesa will be present and the Royal families will be amongst the attendees, lending a sense of gravitas and formal excellence to an otherwise jamboree.
Rumours hold that the event will run until sunup, with key moments of significance. First, the guests from the capitol and the travelling commonfolk will arrive. The stalls and traders will light with sound and activity. Upon sunset, a massive bonfire will be lit before the temple and the attendees encouraged to gather around as a formal ceremony is completed between the three ruling houses, Xanthos, Kotas and Mikaelidas. After the ceremony, music and torches are lit and the wine is poured in excess. The people of Colchis come alive and start to break from their rules of decorum. Hearsay has spread that, upon the zenith of the moon, a final treat will be thrown to the people. A spectacle unlike any they have seen before...
How Does It Work?
Event threads/boards work thusly: Your character can be a part of an event and create their own thread within that event if they wish to. However, in order to be allowed to make that thread, they must first post in this one. The Event continues through this primary event thread, allowing for side stories (if they are in a different location to other participants) to be carried out in side threads. All curveballs to hit this Event will be posted to all threads in the board, whether relevant or not, so that your characters have the choice to return to the main location/thread to explore this new development.
When Moving to a Sub-Thread: Please add to your last message in this Event thread 'Continued in...' with a link to your new location.
When Returning to the Event Thread: Please ensure that your Sub-Thread is nicely wrapped up and clearly implies where your character is going. Add to your first message back in the Event thread 'Reentering from...' with a link to your sub-thread.
Please note that sub-threads are not required. You can participate in the Event thread for as long as you wish and remain here for the duration of the event. This event will close on the 19th June. At that time, this Event thread will be locked and closed. The other threads in this board will be allowed to continue at their writers' own pace. All threads within this board will be moved into the Illytia board at the closure of this event.
A Decade of Peace Event - Colchis Closing: 19th June 2021
The winds of time pass. They rise from the coasts of Africa and travel north. Over the meadows of Taengea and across the waters of the Athenia harbours. On they ride upon the air until they break upon the rising mounts of the Kirakles Isles. Here, they riot and they howl. But not so loudly as the people themselves. A nation of war, the provider of iron forges and weaponry to the expanse of all Grecian kingdoms, Colchis was chosen for the perhaps ironic duty of hosting the decadial celebrations of peace.
Ten years ago, the kingdoms of Greece came together to seek resolution. No longer could Colchians afford to be denied trade and supplies from the vast Athenian lands. Taengeans could not defend their wealth and natural beauty without weapons. And the Athenian cycle of currency and trade slowed without the horses and coin to leave the Taengean shores. In truth, battles and skirmishes, tense political arrangements and boycotts across the Aegean Sea benefited no-one. Instead, the Three Kings of these three great nations collected in Taengea and decided upon a Treaty. Athenia, Colchis and Taengea would become allies. Independent under their own rule and law but bound by arrangement and expectation. If one went to war, the others would join. If one suffered natural disaster, the others would send aid.
Over the years, this treaty has rarely come into effect except to cease fire between the nations themselves. Trade and currency have risen, nations have flourished, but rarely have the duties beholden to the treaty bearers ever been tested. A decade is a long time for those with mortal memories but ten years disappear into the ether of long-term histories. This fledgling agreement is still new, still untried. And the people of the Grecian kingdoms will decide its relevance and its success in the years to come.
For now, a reminder is being given in the form of an inter-kingdom event. Colchis calls to its friends and neighbours, Athenia and Taengea, to join them in celebrating the first ten years of an intended future of peace. Representatives of Houses big and small have boarded ships in order to lay witness to a week long festivity of wine, trade and friendship. May all intentions for peaceful coexistence come to be...
Suggested Players
Below are the characters that our staff team believe would be able to be an awesome part of this Event!
-- This event is held in Colchis which means a boat ride will be necessary to attend if your character is not native. It takes two weeks to sail from Athenia, or the Southern boundary of Taengea, to Colchis and one week to sail from Taengea's northern coast. Athenians also have the opportunity to travel over land (this would take upwards of three weeks) across the northern continent and then sail for only a few days south to the Kirakles Isles.
-- Upper Classes: Representatives from each of the Royal Dynasteia in Greece will be expected to attend the event. If your character is the only one active in a House we can come up with a reason for them to make the journey alone, NPC their relative or, if you'd prefer not to have them attend, mention in passing their relative attended as the representative. The House will then be present but you'll not have to actively write in the Event. Please note that any Royal woman travelling alone will be required to have an NPC chaperone and several guards with her, if a male of a trusted family is not available to play escort.
-- Middle Classes: For Nobles and high functioning/socialising merchants, traders or military families, this event will a prime opportunity to make connections with higher members of society, forge trade agreements with wealthy clients and accompany friends of the Upper Classes in their journey. Many young ladies of Noble Houses are, for example, friends with those from Royals. Perhaps a royal lady would like a friend with her on her journey? Please note that woman of the Middle Classes will likely be required to follow the same rules of chaperone and guards as the Upper (just with slightly fewer guards perhaps) if the family are particularly fastidious of their public appearance.
-- Lower Classes: Any and all who can somehow attain a ship's voyage (stowaways, offer of short-term labour in exchange for passage, partnerships between more than one family to save and pay the cost of the voyage together)... all are welcome at this event! Given the scale of the event, it will be highly spoken of by sailors, word will travel and the tales of entertainment and food and far off, exotic trade stalls could lure just about anyone. It would not be inappropriate that the commonfolk of any kingdom would want to travel to Colchis to witness the spectacle. Especially given the attendance of all three royal families.
How to Not Join
If your Event calendar is looking a little full and you have too many threads to add another please be aware that you do not have to join an Event. They are purely voluntary. Here are a few ideas for how to navigate not attending so large an event:
-- Upper Classes: If you are a royal character in Greece but are not ready/wanting to bring that character to Colchis, this is entirely down to the choice of the character. As a royal, most aren't forced to do anything unless given a direct order from the Head of House. If your character is the only active character in your family and you do not want to partake in this event then please ensure that other members know who is going in your character's stead. This can be a currently NPCed family member, for example. This way, the Dynasteia does not suffer negative consequences.
-- Middle Classes: Noble characters will attend events such as these either on behalf of their Royal vassal or for their own advancement in politics. However, the Royal Dynasteia's have every right or power to lay down extra work upon the Varonos families, tying their hands. If you do not wish for your noble character to attend this event, simply mention in passing in your other threads that the duties of your House have recently been challenging - more tasks given by the vassal, a natural disaster in the province, a flurry of illness amongst the people. These (and others) would be valid reasons for your character/house to not attend the event.
-- Lower Classes: Money is a good excuse for any who do not wish to be a part of this event. If a character cannot afford the journey or cannot risk being away from their own family/business for so long then it makes sense for them not to attend the event at all.
Please note: If your character is a native Colchian, excuses for not attending this Event become more difficult. A personal illness and military obligations overseas are perhaps the only valid excuses for not attending. And even then, the whispers and rumour-mongers will have fun with your absence. This does not mean you must attend the Decade of Peace event. Only that you should be aware of the IC effects of not being at least momentarily a part of it.
Event Timeline
This event IC-wise is being held for a week. The Colchian capital of Midas has been decorated in celebration of the event. Households have been ordered to take their weapons - swords, bows, spears, kitchen knives - and hang them outside their residences, draped and decorated with flowers. The symbolism is clear. No weapons will be used this day. Despite the winds of the sea, the summer is still hot and barrells of fresh water - an unheard of luxury for the common people - had been placed along roadways and upon corners for any and all to drink from. The Royal residences of Midas have been ordered to open their doors to a Royal house from an abroad nation: The Mikaelidas and Xanthos families are being hosted at the Kotas manor. The Drakos are appealing to their guests from the Antonis clan and the Thanasi are playing host to the Marikas. The Leventi hold their own manor in the Midas capitol and have opted to stay there, whilst the Eliades open their doors to the Condos family. The Stravos and Dimitrou houses have been provided with luxurious holdings in the capital.
This Event thread, OOC-wise, begins on the last and main festival day of this celebratory week. The royal and noble houses have been provided with carriages and horses to escort them on the two hour ride to Illytia. Here, before the white temple, are open meadows of land. Such space has now become a carnival of light and sound. Entertainment booths, stalls of trade and service are on show. Some have operated a row-like structure. Others are in a hodge-podge of chaos. All are open and friendly. The only rule upon local traders is that no weaponry or poison may be sold at the event.
Playing hostess of this great affair is the Cypress Sisterhood temple. The Head Priestess Kallista of Dolomesa will be present and the Royal families will be amongst the attendees, lending a sense of gravitas and formal excellence to an otherwise jamboree.
Rumours hold that the event will run until sunup, with key moments of significance. First, the guests from the capitol and the travelling commonfolk will arrive. The stalls and traders will light with sound and activity. Upon sunset, a massive bonfire will be lit before the temple and the attendees encouraged to gather around as a formal ceremony is completed between the three ruling houses, Xanthos, Kotas and Mikaelidas. After the ceremony, music and torches are lit and the wine is poured in excess. The people of Colchis come alive and start to break from their rules of decorum. Hearsay has spread that, upon the zenith of the moon, a final treat will be thrown to the people. A spectacle unlike any they have seen before...
How Does It Work?
Event threads/boards work thusly: Your character can be a part of an event and create their own thread within that event if they wish to. However, in order to be allowed to make that thread, they must first post in this one. The Event continues through this primary event thread, allowing for side stories (if they are in a different location to other participants) to be carried out in side threads. All curveballs to hit this Event will be posted to all threads in the board, whether relevant or not, so that your characters have the choice to return to the main location/thread to explore this new development.
When Moving to a Sub-Thread: Please add to your last message in this Event thread 'Continued in...' with a link to your new location.
When Returning to the Event Thread: Please ensure that your Sub-Thread is nicely wrapped up and clearly implies where your character is going. Add to your first message back in the Event thread 'Reentering from...' with a link to your sub-thread.
Please note that sub-threads are not required. You can participate in the Event thread for as long as you wish and remain here for the duration of the event. This event will close on the 19th June. At that time, this Event thread will be locked and closed. The other threads in this board will be allowed to continue at their writers' own pace. All threads within this board will be moved into the Illytia board at the closure of this event.
There had been other days like this one, never filled with the halcyon glaze of a decade of peace that was the focal point of the reason that had brought them together.
Not just the people of Colchis on this occasion but now also those others who had come from far-off places that Imeeya knew about from dispatches and military accounts; not to mention the addition of some of the books that had been gained over the course of her own lifetime. But that hadn’t provided her with more than the assurance needed to act in a confident manner when addressing their guests; an unusual turn of phrase to apply to those who had been on the other side during some of the more bloody engagements in their own past.
But Imeeya knew how to play the part of hostess and the best kind of way to make sure that she didn’t insult or provide some accidental mistake that could lead to further troubles or more complicated messes.
No one could want that kind of chaos, far better to leave that kind of meddling in the hands of the gods who would hopefully only look down upon them with a glint of kindness in their divinely wrought vision. Imeeya had no desire to chase further conflicts for all the glory and fame that could - and was gained in such pursuits, and usually by the members of her extended family and her cousins, such as Vangelis most of all. She had a sense of pride then, but not the arrogance to believe that it was a state to be sought out and encouraged.
As was to be expected for such a grand event, Imeeya had been decked in new clothing, created for this occasion, though the jewelry was older and something that she was comfortable with wearing, including the jewels that had been applied to her hair along with the woven golden threads that were added alongside them to create the impression of some halo of light as soon as the light was able to touch it from that warm summer sun. Imeeya was happy with the overall look, though it was not done with the intention to impress anyone singularly among those who accompanied her and also accepted the best of their accommodations back at her home. No, this was about putting on a show for the whole of those who were in attendance, showcasing the wealth and fortune of her family; which meant that the same was applied to her mother and sister.
The thought of which had her turning slightly so that she could find the individuals who had featured in her thoughts now that she had personally stepped down at their arrival in front of the white temple here at Illytia, for the moment Imeeya just allowed herself to take a moment to breathe. It had been a rather long two hours cooped up in that carriage with everyone else but now she felt like she was afforded this moment in which to compose herself before the next stage of this gathering.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There had been other days like this one, never filled with the halcyon glaze of a decade of peace that was the focal point of the reason that had brought them together.
Not just the people of Colchis on this occasion but now also those others who had come from far-off places that Imeeya knew about from dispatches and military accounts; not to mention the addition of some of the books that had been gained over the course of her own lifetime. But that hadn’t provided her with more than the assurance needed to act in a confident manner when addressing their guests; an unusual turn of phrase to apply to those who had been on the other side during some of the more bloody engagements in their own past.
But Imeeya knew how to play the part of hostess and the best kind of way to make sure that she didn’t insult or provide some accidental mistake that could lead to further troubles or more complicated messes.
No one could want that kind of chaos, far better to leave that kind of meddling in the hands of the gods who would hopefully only look down upon them with a glint of kindness in their divinely wrought vision. Imeeya had no desire to chase further conflicts for all the glory and fame that could - and was gained in such pursuits, and usually by the members of her extended family and her cousins, such as Vangelis most of all. She had a sense of pride then, but not the arrogance to believe that it was a state to be sought out and encouraged.
As was to be expected for such a grand event, Imeeya had been decked in new clothing, created for this occasion, though the jewelry was older and something that she was comfortable with wearing, including the jewels that had been applied to her hair along with the woven golden threads that were added alongside them to create the impression of some halo of light as soon as the light was able to touch it from that warm summer sun. Imeeya was happy with the overall look, though it was not done with the intention to impress anyone singularly among those who accompanied her and also accepted the best of their accommodations back at her home. No, this was about putting on a show for the whole of those who were in attendance, showcasing the wealth and fortune of her family; which meant that the same was applied to her mother and sister.
The thought of which had her turning slightly so that she could find the individuals who had featured in her thoughts now that she had personally stepped down at their arrival in front of the white temple here at Illytia, for the moment Imeeya just allowed herself to take a moment to breathe. It had been a rather long two hours cooped up in that carriage with everyone else but now she felt like she was afforded this moment in which to compose herself before the next stage of this gathering.
There had been other days like this one, never filled with the halcyon glaze of a decade of peace that was the focal point of the reason that had brought them together.
Not just the people of Colchis on this occasion but now also those others who had come from far-off places that Imeeya knew about from dispatches and military accounts; not to mention the addition of some of the books that had been gained over the course of her own lifetime. But that hadn’t provided her with more than the assurance needed to act in a confident manner when addressing their guests; an unusual turn of phrase to apply to those who had been on the other side during some of the more bloody engagements in their own past.
But Imeeya knew how to play the part of hostess and the best kind of way to make sure that she didn’t insult or provide some accidental mistake that could lead to further troubles or more complicated messes.
No one could want that kind of chaos, far better to leave that kind of meddling in the hands of the gods who would hopefully only look down upon them with a glint of kindness in their divinely wrought vision. Imeeya had no desire to chase further conflicts for all the glory and fame that could - and was gained in such pursuits, and usually by the members of her extended family and her cousins, such as Vangelis most of all. She had a sense of pride then, but not the arrogance to believe that it was a state to be sought out and encouraged.
As was to be expected for such a grand event, Imeeya had been decked in new clothing, created for this occasion, though the jewelry was older and something that she was comfortable with wearing, including the jewels that had been applied to her hair along with the woven golden threads that were added alongside them to create the impression of some halo of light as soon as the light was able to touch it from that warm summer sun. Imeeya was happy with the overall look, though it was not done with the intention to impress anyone singularly among those who accompanied her and also accepted the best of their accommodations back at her home. No, this was about putting on a show for the whole of those who were in attendance, showcasing the wealth and fortune of her family; which meant that the same was applied to her mother and sister.
The thought of which had her turning slightly so that she could find the individuals who had featured in her thoughts now that she had personally stepped down at their arrival in front of the white temple here at Illytia, for the moment Imeeya just allowed herself to take a moment to breathe. It had been a rather long two hours cooped up in that carriage with everyone else but now she felt like she was afforded this moment in which to compose herself before the next stage of this gathering.
Today was the day, the beginning of the festival that everyone has been talking about to celebrate the treaty between nations. Thankfully, as Athanasia looked up at the sky, it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day with a bright blue sky as the sun shown brightly above Colchis. It was as it Apollo and Helios were approving of the coming celebrations. As she looked through the window, she could see all the buildings near by that were glinting in the sun with their sharp decorations. Knives, swords, and even daggers hung with flowers wrapped around them in both a beautiful yet symbolic show to represent the past ten years of peace they were celebrating.
Athanasia looked down at her deep red peplos that she donned, complete with bejeweled fibulae at her shoulders, a slim belt to hold the garment in place that also held a small bag in place for Asia to hold money or other items, and light tan sandles wrapped around her feet, feeling a lot like the decorated swords that graced the homes outside. 'Your highness, could you please sit still so I may finish your hair?' Her lady's maid, a maturing woman who helped raise Asia since she was a little girl that Asia called Ntanta (Nanny), held a matching red ribbon in her hand as she looked at Asia with all the patience her own mother gave her when Asia wasn't listening to something she deemed important at that particular time. With a sigh of defeat, knowing that the woman had no quelms about going to Asia's mother when she didn't listen, Asia sat on the little stool so her hair could be braided.
Ntanta was often compared to having the patience of stone as she put up with anything that her charge tried to pull on her. So it was no surprise when the moment the braid was completed, Asia tried her escape, only to be pushed back in her chair for flowers to be added in. Asia really would feel like one of those hanging swords now. Just before Asia was about to scream, Ntanta made her close her eyes as she lined them with charcoal and olive oil before she muttered, 'Done.' Asia could finally move and glanced at herself in the polished bronze mirror. From head to toe, she was decorated to match her status of princess. Her hair braided around her head with different color flowers and a red ribbon laced through the wrapped plaits of hair. Her eyes lined in dark marks, making them look as striking as her mother Yanni, making Asia blink in surprise before she looked elsewhere. To complete the look, her tiara was placed on top of her head to nestled within that circle of ribbon braided hair and flowers as if a part of each other. Ntanta pushed gold arm bands up her arms while Asia pulled a few strands free to curl around her face and the look was finished. Athanasia was not exactly comfortable in the outfit, she atleast liked the color of the fabric her mother made just for her, so she didn't fight it too much on wearing it.
Making her way down stairs, Asia made her way through her home to find out where her other family members were. Snatching a couple of flowers from the decorations, Asia smiled impishly, "I wonder if I can sneak a flower or two into one of my brothers' hair..?"
Athene
Athanasia
Athene
Athanasia
Awards
First Impressions:Leggy; Warm, bronze-colored eyes; thick wavy hair & an easy smile.
Address: Your Royal Highness
Today was the day, the beginning of the festival that everyone has been talking about to celebrate the treaty between nations. Thankfully, as Athanasia looked up at the sky, it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day with a bright blue sky as the sun shown brightly above Colchis. It was as it Apollo and Helios were approving of the coming celebrations. As she looked through the window, she could see all the buildings near by that were glinting in the sun with their sharp decorations. Knives, swords, and even daggers hung with flowers wrapped around them in both a beautiful yet symbolic show to represent the past ten years of peace they were celebrating.
Athanasia looked down at her deep red peplos that she donned, complete with bejeweled fibulae at her shoulders, a slim belt to hold the garment in place that also held a small bag in place for Asia to hold money or other items, and light tan sandles wrapped around her feet, feeling a lot like the decorated swords that graced the homes outside. 'Your highness, could you please sit still so I may finish your hair?' Her lady's maid, a maturing woman who helped raise Asia since she was a little girl that Asia called Ntanta (Nanny), held a matching red ribbon in her hand as she looked at Asia with all the patience her own mother gave her when Asia wasn't listening to something she deemed important at that particular time. With a sigh of defeat, knowing that the woman had no quelms about going to Asia's mother when she didn't listen, Asia sat on the little stool so her hair could be braided.
Ntanta was often compared to having the patience of stone as she put up with anything that her charge tried to pull on her. So it was no surprise when the moment the braid was completed, Asia tried her escape, only to be pushed back in her chair for flowers to be added in. Asia really would feel like one of those hanging swords now. Just before Asia was about to scream, Ntanta made her close her eyes as she lined them with charcoal and olive oil before she muttered, 'Done.' Asia could finally move and glanced at herself in the polished bronze mirror. From head to toe, she was decorated to match her status of princess. Her hair braided around her head with different color flowers and a red ribbon laced through the wrapped plaits of hair. Her eyes lined in dark marks, making them look as striking as her mother Yanni, making Asia blink in surprise before she looked elsewhere. To complete the look, her tiara was placed on top of her head to nestled within that circle of ribbon braided hair and flowers as if a part of each other. Ntanta pushed gold arm bands up her arms while Asia pulled a few strands free to curl around her face and the look was finished. Athanasia was not exactly comfortable in the outfit, she atleast liked the color of the fabric her mother made just for her, so she didn't fight it too much on wearing it.
Making her way down stairs, Asia made her way through her home to find out where her other family members were. Snatching a couple of flowers from the decorations, Asia smiled impishly, "I wonder if I can sneak a flower or two into one of my brothers' hair..?"
Today was the day, the beginning of the festival that everyone has been talking about to celebrate the treaty between nations. Thankfully, as Athanasia looked up at the sky, it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day with a bright blue sky as the sun shown brightly above Colchis. It was as it Apollo and Helios were approving of the coming celebrations. As she looked through the window, she could see all the buildings near by that were glinting in the sun with their sharp decorations. Knives, swords, and even daggers hung with flowers wrapped around them in both a beautiful yet symbolic show to represent the past ten years of peace they were celebrating.
Athanasia looked down at her deep red peplos that she donned, complete with bejeweled fibulae at her shoulders, a slim belt to hold the garment in place that also held a small bag in place for Asia to hold money or other items, and light tan sandles wrapped around her feet, feeling a lot like the decorated swords that graced the homes outside. 'Your highness, could you please sit still so I may finish your hair?' Her lady's maid, a maturing woman who helped raise Asia since she was a little girl that Asia called Ntanta (Nanny), held a matching red ribbon in her hand as she looked at Asia with all the patience her own mother gave her when Asia wasn't listening to something she deemed important at that particular time. With a sigh of defeat, knowing that the woman had no quelms about going to Asia's mother when she didn't listen, Asia sat on the little stool so her hair could be braided.
Ntanta was often compared to having the patience of stone as she put up with anything that her charge tried to pull on her. So it was no surprise when the moment the braid was completed, Asia tried her escape, only to be pushed back in her chair for flowers to be added in. Asia really would feel like one of those hanging swords now. Just before Asia was about to scream, Ntanta made her close her eyes as she lined them with charcoal and olive oil before she muttered, 'Done.' Asia could finally move and glanced at herself in the polished bronze mirror. From head to toe, she was decorated to match her status of princess. Her hair braided around her head with different color flowers and a red ribbon laced through the wrapped plaits of hair. Her eyes lined in dark marks, making them look as striking as her mother Yanni, making Asia blink in surprise before she looked elsewhere. To complete the look, her tiara was placed on top of her head to nestled within that circle of ribbon braided hair and flowers as if a part of each other. Ntanta pushed gold arm bands up her arms while Asia pulled a few strands free to curl around her face and the look was finished. Athanasia was not exactly comfortable in the outfit, she atleast liked the color of the fabric her mother made just for her, so she didn't fight it too much on wearing it.
Making her way down stairs, Asia made her way through her home to find out where her other family members were. Snatching a couple of flowers from the decorations, Asia smiled impishly, "I wonder if I can sneak a flower or two into one of my brothers' hair..?"
The whipping sea breeze, the shouts of men all around, and the wide-open horizon in the distance. A never-ending swathe of blues and greens, only interrupted by the distant dottings of land. Their brief trip across the sea had almost reminded Myris of home. The winds howling across the plains, the rippling seas of tall grasses of green and gold in a hundred hues. The shouts and smells of men and horses all around her.
If only the constant spray of salty water and the creaking of boards under her feet had allowed her to imagine it properly, she may have actually enjoyed her first genuine experience with the sea. As it was, she was more than a little relieved that they were pulling into port now, after having been stuck waiting in a queue out in the harbor for most of the last day. A surprising wait, considering how late into the week-long celebration they had arrived. She supposed that many had waited for the last, and most important, day hoping to arrive fashionably late. Instead, all the last-minute arrivals had merely made the place a mess of boats, big, small, and otherwise, all trying to push and jostle their way up to the quay while the port authorities tried to sort and order them.
A process that had meant that, even though her ship had arrived before the sun had even risen, that blazing light now peaked over the horizon, heralding a long morning of labor for the surrounding sailors before they could take their leisure. And a long day for her and her companions as they moved out and got their bearings in this strange new land. It was a good thing that she had prepared to disembark as soon as she’d been informed that they were about to make port at last, as she’d hate to be trying to scramble to get her things together in the rush of activity that exploded the closer they got to the wooden bridge that extended out into the water, dotted here and there with ships that were already unloading their cargo and passengers.
Even as she thought it that, a sailor rushed past her on some unfamiliar task, giving her a grimace of distaste as he did so. Likely scampering over to tie off some rope or other. She shot him a small, vicious smile as he passed, and saw that grimace turn to a pale blanche as he realized she’d spotted his expression. The man turned away, and quickly went about his task, making sure not to look at her again. A shame. Some sailors had been quite fun when she’d first boarded. Wandering hands and eyes, general disrespect and disregard. Sadly, that’d only lasted a day or so, and came to a swift end after she threw one man overboard.
An even bigger shame considering she’d have to be on her best behavior in the city. After all, she was here to make connections. Be… friendly. Wouldn’t do to break too many locals before she’d even gotten a solid contract for her army, now would it? No, no it wouldn’t. So, as, the sailors on the dock tied off the ship, and a plank was laid out connecting the two, she adjusted her long, embroidered tunic's collar, and took her first steps into Colchis.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The whipping sea breeze, the shouts of men all around, and the wide-open horizon in the distance. A never-ending swathe of blues and greens, only interrupted by the distant dottings of land. Their brief trip across the sea had almost reminded Myris of home. The winds howling across the plains, the rippling seas of tall grasses of green and gold in a hundred hues. The shouts and smells of men and horses all around her.
If only the constant spray of salty water and the creaking of boards under her feet had allowed her to imagine it properly, she may have actually enjoyed her first genuine experience with the sea. As it was, she was more than a little relieved that they were pulling into port now, after having been stuck waiting in a queue out in the harbor for most of the last day. A surprising wait, considering how late into the week-long celebration they had arrived. She supposed that many had waited for the last, and most important, day hoping to arrive fashionably late. Instead, all the last-minute arrivals had merely made the place a mess of boats, big, small, and otherwise, all trying to push and jostle their way up to the quay while the port authorities tried to sort and order them.
A process that had meant that, even though her ship had arrived before the sun had even risen, that blazing light now peaked over the horizon, heralding a long morning of labor for the surrounding sailors before they could take their leisure. And a long day for her and her companions as they moved out and got their bearings in this strange new land. It was a good thing that she had prepared to disembark as soon as she’d been informed that they were about to make port at last, as she’d hate to be trying to scramble to get her things together in the rush of activity that exploded the closer they got to the wooden bridge that extended out into the water, dotted here and there with ships that were already unloading their cargo and passengers.
Even as she thought it that, a sailor rushed past her on some unfamiliar task, giving her a grimace of distaste as he did so. Likely scampering over to tie off some rope or other. She shot him a small, vicious smile as he passed, and saw that grimace turn to a pale blanche as he realized she’d spotted his expression. The man turned away, and quickly went about his task, making sure not to look at her again. A shame. Some sailors had been quite fun when she’d first boarded. Wandering hands and eyes, general disrespect and disregard. Sadly, that’d only lasted a day or so, and came to a swift end after she threw one man overboard.
An even bigger shame considering she’d have to be on her best behavior in the city. After all, she was here to make connections. Be… friendly. Wouldn’t do to break too many locals before she’d even gotten a solid contract for her army, now would it? No, no it wouldn’t. So, as, the sailors on the dock tied off the ship, and a plank was laid out connecting the two, she adjusted her long, embroidered tunic's collar, and took her first steps into Colchis.
The whipping sea breeze, the shouts of men all around, and the wide-open horizon in the distance. A never-ending swathe of blues and greens, only interrupted by the distant dottings of land. Their brief trip across the sea had almost reminded Myris of home. The winds howling across the plains, the rippling seas of tall grasses of green and gold in a hundred hues. The shouts and smells of men and horses all around her.
If only the constant spray of salty water and the creaking of boards under her feet had allowed her to imagine it properly, she may have actually enjoyed her first genuine experience with the sea. As it was, she was more than a little relieved that they were pulling into port now, after having been stuck waiting in a queue out in the harbor for most of the last day. A surprising wait, considering how late into the week-long celebration they had arrived. She supposed that many had waited for the last, and most important, day hoping to arrive fashionably late. Instead, all the last-minute arrivals had merely made the place a mess of boats, big, small, and otherwise, all trying to push and jostle their way up to the quay while the port authorities tried to sort and order them.
A process that had meant that, even though her ship had arrived before the sun had even risen, that blazing light now peaked over the horizon, heralding a long morning of labor for the surrounding sailors before they could take their leisure. And a long day for her and her companions as they moved out and got their bearings in this strange new land. It was a good thing that she had prepared to disembark as soon as she’d been informed that they were about to make port at last, as she’d hate to be trying to scramble to get her things together in the rush of activity that exploded the closer they got to the wooden bridge that extended out into the water, dotted here and there with ships that were already unloading their cargo and passengers.
Even as she thought it that, a sailor rushed past her on some unfamiliar task, giving her a grimace of distaste as he did so. Likely scampering over to tie off some rope or other. She shot him a small, vicious smile as he passed, and saw that grimace turn to a pale blanche as he realized she’d spotted his expression. The man turned away, and quickly went about his task, making sure not to look at her again. A shame. Some sailors had been quite fun when she’d first boarded. Wandering hands and eyes, general disrespect and disregard. Sadly, that’d only lasted a day or so, and came to a swift end after she threw one man overboard.
An even bigger shame considering she’d have to be on her best behavior in the city. After all, she was here to make connections. Be… friendly. Wouldn’t do to break too many locals before she’d even gotten a solid contract for her army, now would it? No, no it wouldn’t. So, as, the sailors on the dock tied off the ship, and a plank was laid out connecting the two, she adjusted her long, embroidered tunic's collar, and took her first steps into Colchis.
She could do this. It was the first thought she had when her eyes cracked upon the grey pre-dawn. It was the thought she had as she tiptoed around her father all morning, sour because he was a wanted man and couldn’t attend the festival. It was the thought she had as she bathed in the sea and fastened her tunic and devoured her meal and loaded the cart. She held the thought until she believed it. She could do this. She would do this. And when she succeeded in her charge, she would never be left at camp again. If she failed... “—tern.” She clutched the wooden arms of her lyre and stared at the bright morning sea, at all the ships both large and small waiting to dock. There were three skips drifting in the shallows, decorated with flowers. Beyond them, the horizon. Beyond that...who knew? “Aea.” Her pulse jumped and the wood squealed beneath the grip of her hands. She refocused on Uncle Cassero, who had been standing before her, his voice a distant roar and the sight over his shoulder much more placcid than the city they were planning to enter. “Yes, uncle.” Uncle Cassero put both of his long hands on her shoulder, the weight of them anchoring her to the cliff she stood upon. She stared at the fine lines of his graceful face, too slim and clean-shaven for a man of forty-four. Her eyes began wandering over his shoulder again but she snapped them to his face, felt the uneven and jagged rocks beneath her sandals. She wasn’t afraid. She could do this. “If you can’t handle the job, you have to tell me now. One fuck up, and we’ll all have irons around our necks. Then they’ll throw us all in the mines, and we don’t want that, do we?” Aea swallowed and shook her head. The distant scream of a girl, her scream, billowed into her imagination, the crack of a whip, her father’s death rattle, broken and cracked from the fumes— She pressed a hand against her temple and scrubbed the noises away. Just a thought. Thoughts couldn’t hurt anybody. Her voice was even when she spoke. “I can handle it.” This wasn’t a new action she was taking, but it was the first time more than one person would depend on her to do her job. This wasn’t like on the road, where there was room to run away. The city was stone and high walls, it was tight spaces and too many people. Cassero searched her face. She wished her eyes were brown like his, sometimes. It wouldn’t be so easy to watch her pupils dilate. A silence stretched between them and she held her breath. It was broken when he thumped her on the shoulder. “I know you can. And if we need to, we can always cover your sight.” If she was so frightened of performing that she had to cover her eyes, then she may as well jump into the sea and beg Poseidon to drown her, for she would not live much longer in this world with such cowardice. “Thank you. I won’t fail.” She wouldn’t fail any of them. His too-serious frown melted into a lopsided, boyish grin that was far too mischievous to be warm. “I expect nothing less. Do you have everything you need?” She nodded. “Are you sure? We’re not coming back if you forgot something.” She nodded again. Three outfits, an empty bag, a full bag of dried fish, a circle of rope, and a knife hidden in her strophion—which was uncomfortable but necessary given that no weapons were permitted. In a valley full of unarmed lambs, it would be a very stupid wolf who did not sharpen her claws before she crept through the grass. “And the names? The patterns?” “I remember them, Uncle.” The patterns were easy. They were just notes in a chord progression. The names were more difficult, but she had them. CLADSTENK—that was how she remembered the dizzying amount of names that meant less than nothing to her until she could put a person to them. It was highly unlikely the upper echelons of whatever house would cause them any trouble, but if she heard more than one person whisper any of the names in CLADSTENK, she’d know to move away and keep her head down. “Good. You’ll be fine. Hektos just worries more than he should.” Hektos worried because Hektos didn’t trust her, and she didn’t blame him for that. She was untested, as far as he knew. How she wished she could show him what she and Kaia could do. He would be proud, then. He would trust her. She could do this. Uncle Cassero released her and then moved away, shouting Kaia’s name into the cliff winds. When he moved, their old she-goat—Kalosi—looked up and bleated at Aea, stomping her back hoof to scatter the flies. She stood beside the old, two-wheeled wagon that she would be pulling into the city as Kaia led her. It was already loaded up with every other thing they would need, all hidden under a large bed of red anemones and yellow crocus. Uncle Dasmo, usually so frugal, had gone to great lengths to procure the flowers at a bargain from one of the fences he knew from the city, who apparently had a contact in some rich household with a vast garden. Uncle Dasmo had also been generous enough to purchase new clothes for Kaia and Aea, at least for their primary outfits. Neither of them had ever worn something so white and clean before. Best to look as if you don’t sleep in the dirt, he’d said with a wink. One of her uncles shouted for one of the others to hurry up and get the sacrifice. Another shouted for him to go fuck himself because he was working on it. Aea took a deep, cleansing breath and closed her eyes, letting the cool zephyr drive into her lungs and fill her with strength. A rapid flap and a soft caw was the only warning Agogós gave before his thin digits sunk into Aea’s shoulder. She kept her eyes closed and listened to the waves splashing against the rocks. She smelled salt and sunshine. Agogós nipped at a strand of her black hair and she opened her eyes, turning to give him her attention. “Can I count on you to do your job? You don’t want to get us thrown in the mines, do you?” She whispered, stroking the raven’s proud chest with her knuckle. He arched his neck, puffing out his tar-black feathers, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to, nor did she need him to. Humans were fickle, but at least her bird acted as he was trained to act—and so long as she never ran out of food, he would always do so. She hoped, at least. He was only three, so there was plenty of time to leave her yet, though in the back of her mind, she had a foolish and unreasonable hope that nursing him from a hatchling instilled some type of loyalty. “Aea.” Her father’s deep, gruff voice bounced from the top of the crags and her head snapped toward him, her muscles going rigid. Agogós cawed and flew from her shoulder. “Are you going to stand there until you turn into stone?” “Coming!” She turned and clamored up the sharp stones, her white chlamys snagging in the wind and billowing behind her like a wisp, stretching to the risen sun. Hektos watched her for only a moment before he pivoted on his heel and left her to hoist herself, rock after rock, to the mouth of the cliff’s shallow blemish. They would be making many sacrifices today, but Apollo and Hermes would be getting the lion’s cut of the tribute. Dasmo had said they would be pleased enough to bless the family’s luck today. Gathoeron had spit upon the ground as he usually did when anybody considered the Gods at all. If the Gods were there, if they were listening, Aea just hoped they didn’t curse their family for what Dasmo was about to do.
⭃
When they joined the queue to get inside the city, a tide of electric energy bubbled and rolled through Aea’s muscles, drawing her tense and her stomach jittery. She kept her head down and stood next to Kaia, taking a step every so often as the line moved. As they got closer to the front, the line moved faster, and the dull drone from inside the city walls became a lively hum. Music, festive and beautiful, wove between indistinguishable voices and the noise of a hundred animals. Her uncles stood in front of she and Kaia, and Kalosi let out a big, put-upon sigh at the weight of the shafts roped to her withers. If they were rich, they might have had a mule. Maybe they could buy one with the funds they made. Then Aea wouldn’t have to drag her belongings across the countryside. It was improbable they’d make that much, but it wasn’t impossible. They moved closer, the line got thicker, the city got louder. Somebody let out a big belly-laugh near the entrance. A small collection of guards stood at attention at the mouth of the festival. The smell of flowers perfumed the air. Aea held her breath as she and Kaia moved past the guards. They were still and stoic like statues, but she felt their eyes on her, probing for a threat, ready to run the lot of them through and clap them in irons before throwing them into the sea or the mines, whichever suited. She resisted the urge to pull her chlamys tighter around the bottom of her face. And then, they were through, and Aea could breathe again. Moving from the outside world and into the city was like surfacing from the water and taking a thirsty gulp of air. The line broke upon the mouth of the entrance, the people that had been walking in front of them moving off in every direction. The colors all at once blinded her, a kaleidoscope of hues mixing and molding and blurring her vision until she blinked and they came into sharp focus. Dresses of white and red and saffron, overhangs and tents of the deepest violet, flower petals bobbing and flirting with a sweep of the wind while the heat and the noise of so many moving bodies churned a vortex of joy and drove it into the very earth. A smile slashed across her mouth, one of those smiles that came unbidden and unwarranted. Her body was so full of everything that it threatened to spew from her lips as a laugh. A pair of children shot across her path, shrieking for a third to hurry up. Aea kept her eyes on the back of Uncle Cassero’s head. Uncle Dasmo called for a halt and gestured to the open face of a building, and so Aea followed his hand and waited patiently by the stone wall for instruction. She didn’t clutch her lyre so tightly now. Her three uncles, her cousin, and their goat-drawn wagon gathered by Dasmo, the eldest of the family now that Hektos wasn’t present. “I’ll set up near the temple, at the end of the main row. It’s early enough that I can still find a small spot. The rest of you stay somewhere in the front.” Dasmo ran a hand through his dark salt-and-pepper hair and glanced over his shoulder. “If there’s trouble,” he turned back to them, his eyes flicking to Gatheron, “you relay it. There’s a loading spot to the east, we’ll duck through there and make our way to the cliffs.” He turned his focus on Kaia and Aea, the deep brown of his eyes bouncing between them. “If you need a break, speak up. The more tired and hungry you are, the less focus you’ll have.” Aea nodded. “And Kaia, remember to look at their shoes first. Any pauper can steal fine clothes, but he won’t think to include the shoes. If there aren’t any immediate questions—” he moved to the wagon and lifted the cloth that separated the flowers from their possessions, “I think we best get going. Try to bag a couple of younger women, Kaia. They tend to be more inclined to follow directions when a foretold romance is involved.” He waved his free hand and clutched his large bundle of possessions close to his chest. “Off you go.” Aea’s smile kept trying to come back, twitching at the corner of her lips and threatening to split her lips. Her cheeks ached with the effort. She turned from Uncle Dasmo, but his voice stopped her mid-way. “And don’t forget, big smiles. Money makes us happy, so we smile, yes?” The tone of his voice, light and playful as a nymph’s call, hammered at the muscles clamping down on her unearned joy until a grin settled on her face, hidden behind her chlamys and crinkling her eyes. Smile. She could do that. Dasmo left them then, his tall head held high and his white sleeved chiton billowing behind him. He’d made grand efforts this morning to appear as clean and civilized as he could, which was saying much. He and her father might be twins, but it was he and Cassero who had taken for themselves every ounce of beauty their mother might have possessed. If it weren’t for the too-charming airs he held, he might have looked a true priest of Apollo.
Gatheron gnawed on the straw he was perpetually chewing—to help him think, he claimed—and swung it to the other side of his mouth. It was quite fascinating to watch him speak with that thing hanging from his lips. Whenever he was particularly animated, the end of the straw would wave and wiggle every which way as if it were dancing. “I’ll be around.” He said, his eyes moving purposefully to peer at Cassero. “It won’t be like last time.” Cassero grinned, “I swear on my mother’s grave.” Gatheron snorted a humorless laugh and then turned his face entirely to Aea’s youngest uncle, Agolois, something wordless passing between them. He slung his arm lazily over Agolois’ shoulder and steered him away from the building. “Kaia will be fine. She’s in capable hands!” Cassero called to their backs as they sauntered to wherever their post was. Aea might have asked what happened last time, but the answer would probably be long-winded and she wanted to get started quickly. The sooner she forced herself into doing something nerve-wracking, the sooner she could conquer the fear of it. She turned to her Uncle Cassero and her smile dimmed. She could do this. Unease wrapped around her innards and squeezed. “Let’s pick our spot, shall we?” Cassero ambled away from the building, whistling a happy tune that Aea had no name for. She looked up at the sky and the fist around her insides tightened when she didn’t see Agogós flying overhead. He’ll come when he comes. He always did. The raven wasn’t hers, not really, he wasn’t a pet, just a wild animal she’d imprinted and conditioned. She could rely on him to be nearby, but he did not stay glued to her side and that wasn’t suddenly going to change today. Aea took a deep breath. She could do this. She was not nervous. She was without fear. She could do this. Her eyes fluttered closed and she forced her memory to conjure the clink of coins. The sound reverberated in her head over and over until she could taste the metal in her teeth. Just like anything, once the novelty wore off, it would be nothing. Apollo had always been with her...at least...she thought he had. He always kept her fingers true, always gave her the words she needed, always sent Agogós back to her. She hoped the Gods were really there, like Dasmo claimed, because if they weren’t, then she had nobody to credit but herself when things went sideways. She turned to her fair cousin and gestured in the direction of the temple, relatively far from where they stood. “Once Uncle Dasmo gets tired, we can run our game. If there’s going to be as many rich people here as Uncle Gatheron says, I’ll bet there’s a few chivalrous fools among them. I know you get tired of playing damsel but...you do make a convincing one.” While Aea might not have done a street performance before, she’d played their game enough times to be confident in her ability to pull it off. The rush of adrenaline that hit her the moment the prey was cornered, the weight of a prize in her palm, the thrill of uncertainty as she ran as fast as she could to get to safety, the snarl of victory clawing from that secret, dark corner of her mind—it was addicting. If they didn't get to run their plan early, Aea would be squirming with anticipation all night.
They were already close to the entrance of the festival, and so they had a good view of the wealth that entered the celebration. She didn’t know the look of a noble from the look of a wealthy merchant, but both had money enough for her to take, and both had pride enough to break. A woman strode into the sea of stalls, alone save for one guard. Aea watched her silently as the woman inspected something at one of the tables. Her peplos was emerald-hued and beautiful, but unlike Aea’s, hers trailed to the ground, and the slit in the side was pinned with gold. She couldn’t have been much older than Aea by her face, but the way she dressed, the way she held herself, was so regal that she seemed ageless. Her chestnut hair was pinned into an elaborate, curled style, a few artfully selected strands bouncing about her ears and neck. Aea shifted her chlamys to cover the wide space in her shorter peplos, held by two frayed ropes at her waist. It was better to dress in a way that would allow her to run without impediment, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t look like a fucking child. One day, she would have enough money for a green peplois. A long one. Maybe red, or blush, or black. And how did they get their hair to do that? When Aea realized she was openly staring at the woman, she blinked and looked at the ground before the woman realized she was being watched. Aea didn’t mean to do that; her eyes simply fixed onto whatever she was thinking about and didn’t dare let go until she’d completed the thought. She would have enough money one day for a beautiful thing like that, but no matter what Uncle Dasmo said, it wouldn’t be by taking it. The taking yielded enough to contribute to their pot and fill everybody’s bellies. To have enough money for a green peplois, she would need to earn it. Aea gave Kaia the smallest of smiles and leaned over, pressing her lips to her cousin’s smooth cheek for luck. “Who knows, maybe we’ll net more than a few owls today.” Agogós cawed overhead and Aea’s confidence solidified. Today would be a good day, a prosperous day. Her surroundings were alive and excited in a way that the forest could never be. Besides the churning in her belly, she only regretted that it could not last forever.
Arra
Aea
Arra
Aea
Awards
First Impressions:Hourglass; Glossy black hair that falls to her hips, piercing blue eyes, a voluptuous figure, and a serious, concentrated expression.
Address: Your
First Impressions:Hourglass; Glossy black hair that falls to her hips, piercing blue eyes, a voluptuous figure, and a serious, concentrated expression.
Address: Your
She could do this. It was the first thought she had when her eyes cracked upon the grey pre-dawn. It was the thought she had as she tiptoed around her father all morning, sour because he was a wanted man and couldn’t attend the festival. It was the thought she had as she bathed in the sea and fastened her tunic and devoured her meal and loaded the cart. She held the thought until she believed it. She could do this. She would do this. And when she succeeded in her charge, she would never be left at camp again. If she failed... “—tern.” She clutched the wooden arms of her lyre and stared at the bright morning sea, at all the ships both large and small waiting to dock. There were three skips drifting in the shallows, decorated with flowers. Beyond them, the horizon. Beyond that...who knew? “Aea.” Her pulse jumped and the wood squealed beneath the grip of her hands. She refocused on Uncle Cassero, who had been standing before her, his voice a distant roar and the sight over his shoulder much more placcid than the city they were planning to enter. “Yes, uncle.” Uncle Cassero put both of his long hands on her shoulder, the weight of them anchoring her to the cliff she stood upon. She stared at the fine lines of his graceful face, too slim and clean-shaven for a man of forty-four. Her eyes began wandering over his shoulder again but she snapped them to his face, felt the uneven and jagged rocks beneath her sandals. She wasn’t afraid. She could do this. “If you can’t handle the job, you have to tell me now. One fuck up, and we’ll all have irons around our necks. Then they’ll throw us all in the mines, and we don’t want that, do we?” Aea swallowed and shook her head. The distant scream of a girl, her scream, billowed into her imagination, the crack of a whip, her father’s death rattle, broken and cracked from the fumes— She pressed a hand against her temple and scrubbed the noises away. Just a thought. Thoughts couldn’t hurt anybody. Her voice was even when she spoke. “I can handle it.” This wasn’t a new action she was taking, but it was the first time more than one person would depend on her to do her job. This wasn’t like on the road, where there was room to run away. The city was stone and high walls, it was tight spaces and too many people. Cassero searched her face. She wished her eyes were brown like his, sometimes. It wouldn’t be so easy to watch her pupils dilate. A silence stretched between them and she held her breath. It was broken when he thumped her on the shoulder. “I know you can. And if we need to, we can always cover your sight.” If she was so frightened of performing that she had to cover her eyes, then she may as well jump into the sea and beg Poseidon to drown her, for she would not live much longer in this world with such cowardice. “Thank you. I won’t fail.” She wouldn’t fail any of them. His too-serious frown melted into a lopsided, boyish grin that was far too mischievous to be warm. “I expect nothing less. Do you have everything you need?” She nodded. “Are you sure? We’re not coming back if you forgot something.” She nodded again. Three outfits, an empty bag, a full bag of dried fish, a circle of rope, and a knife hidden in her strophion—which was uncomfortable but necessary given that no weapons were permitted. In a valley full of unarmed lambs, it would be a very stupid wolf who did not sharpen her claws before she crept through the grass. “And the names? The patterns?” “I remember them, Uncle.” The patterns were easy. They were just notes in a chord progression. The names were more difficult, but she had them. CLADSTENK—that was how she remembered the dizzying amount of names that meant less than nothing to her until she could put a person to them. It was highly unlikely the upper echelons of whatever house would cause them any trouble, but if she heard more than one person whisper any of the names in CLADSTENK, she’d know to move away and keep her head down. “Good. You’ll be fine. Hektos just worries more than he should.” Hektos worried because Hektos didn’t trust her, and she didn’t blame him for that. She was untested, as far as he knew. How she wished she could show him what she and Kaia could do. He would be proud, then. He would trust her. She could do this. Uncle Cassero released her and then moved away, shouting Kaia’s name into the cliff winds. When he moved, their old she-goat—Kalosi—looked up and bleated at Aea, stomping her back hoof to scatter the flies. She stood beside the old, two-wheeled wagon that she would be pulling into the city as Kaia led her. It was already loaded up with every other thing they would need, all hidden under a large bed of red anemones and yellow crocus. Uncle Dasmo, usually so frugal, had gone to great lengths to procure the flowers at a bargain from one of the fences he knew from the city, who apparently had a contact in some rich household with a vast garden. Uncle Dasmo had also been generous enough to purchase new clothes for Kaia and Aea, at least for their primary outfits. Neither of them had ever worn something so white and clean before. Best to look as if you don’t sleep in the dirt, he’d said with a wink. One of her uncles shouted for one of the others to hurry up and get the sacrifice. Another shouted for him to go fuck himself because he was working on it. Aea took a deep, cleansing breath and closed her eyes, letting the cool zephyr drive into her lungs and fill her with strength. A rapid flap and a soft caw was the only warning Agogós gave before his thin digits sunk into Aea’s shoulder. She kept her eyes closed and listened to the waves splashing against the rocks. She smelled salt and sunshine. Agogós nipped at a strand of her black hair and she opened her eyes, turning to give him her attention. “Can I count on you to do your job? You don’t want to get us thrown in the mines, do you?” She whispered, stroking the raven’s proud chest with her knuckle. He arched his neck, puffing out his tar-black feathers, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to, nor did she need him to. Humans were fickle, but at least her bird acted as he was trained to act—and so long as she never ran out of food, he would always do so. She hoped, at least. He was only three, so there was plenty of time to leave her yet, though in the back of her mind, she had a foolish and unreasonable hope that nursing him from a hatchling instilled some type of loyalty. “Aea.” Her father’s deep, gruff voice bounced from the top of the crags and her head snapped toward him, her muscles going rigid. Agogós cawed and flew from her shoulder. “Are you going to stand there until you turn into stone?” “Coming!” She turned and clamored up the sharp stones, her white chlamys snagging in the wind and billowing behind her like a wisp, stretching to the risen sun. Hektos watched her for only a moment before he pivoted on his heel and left her to hoist herself, rock after rock, to the mouth of the cliff’s shallow blemish. They would be making many sacrifices today, but Apollo and Hermes would be getting the lion’s cut of the tribute. Dasmo had said they would be pleased enough to bless the family’s luck today. Gathoeron had spit upon the ground as he usually did when anybody considered the Gods at all. If the Gods were there, if they were listening, Aea just hoped they didn’t curse their family for what Dasmo was about to do.
⭃
When they joined the queue to get inside the city, a tide of electric energy bubbled and rolled through Aea’s muscles, drawing her tense and her stomach jittery. She kept her head down and stood next to Kaia, taking a step every so often as the line moved. As they got closer to the front, the line moved faster, and the dull drone from inside the city walls became a lively hum. Music, festive and beautiful, wove between indistinguishable voices and the noise of a hundred animals. Her uncles stood in front of she and Kaia, and Kalosi let out a big, put-upon sigh at the weight of the shafts roped to her withers. If they were rich, they might have had a mule. Maybe they could buy one with the funds they made. Then Aea wouldn’t have to drag her belongings across the countryside. It was improbable they’d make that much, but it wasn’t impossible. They moved closer, the line got thicker, the city got louder. Somebody let out a big belly-laugh near the entrance. A small collection of guards stood at attention at the mouth of the festival. The smell of flowers perfumed the air. Aea held her breath as she and Kaia moved past the guards. They were still and stoic like statues, but she felt their eyes on her, probing for a threat, ready to run the lot of them through and clap them in irons before throwing them into the sea or the mines, whichever suited. She resisted the urge to pull her chlamys tighter around the bottom of her face. And then, they were through, and Aea could breathe again. Moving from the outside world and into the city was like surfacing from the water and taking a thirsty gulp of air. The line broke upon the mouth of the entrance, the people that had been walking in front of them moving off in every direction. The colors all at once blinded her, a kaleidoscope of hues mixing and molding and blurring her vision until she blinked and they came into sharp focus. Dresses of white and red and saffron, overhangs and tents of the deepest violet, flower petals bobbing and flirting with a sweep of the wind while the heat and the noise of so many moving bodies churned a vortex of joy and drove it into the very earth. A smile slashed across her mouth, one of those smiles that came unbidden and unwarranted. Her body was so full of everything that it threatened to spew from her lips as a laugh. A pair of children shot across her path, shrieking for a third to hurry up. Aea kept her eyes on the back of Uncle Cassero’s head. Uncle Dasmo called for a halt and gestured to the open face of a building, and so Aea followed his hand and waited patiently by the stone wall for instruction. She didn’t clutch her lyre so tightly now. Her three uncles, her cousin, and their goat-drawn wagon gathered by Dasmo, the eldest of the family now that Hektos wasn’t present. “I’ll set up near the temple, at the end of the main row. It’s early enough that I can still find a small spot. The rest of you stay somewhere in the front.” Dasmo ran a hand through his dark salt-and-pepper hair and glanced over his shoulder. “If there’s trouble,” he turned back to them, his eyes flicking to Gatheron, “you relay it. There’s a loading spot to the east, we’ll duck through there and make our way to the cliffs.” He turned his focus on Kaia and Aea, the deep brown of his eyes bouncing between them. “If you need a break, speak up. The more tired and hungry you are, the less focus you’ll have.” Aea nodded. “And Kaia, remember to look at their shoes first. Any pauper can steal fine clothes, but he won’t think to include the shoes. If there aren’t any immediate questions—” he moved to the wagon and lifted the cloth that separated the flowers from their possessions, “I think we best get going. Try to bag a couple of younger women, Kaia. They tend to be more inclined to follow directions when a foretold romance is involved.” He waved his free hand and clutched his large bundle of possessions close to his chest. “Off you go.” Aea’s smile kept trying to come back, twitching at the corner of her lips and threatening to split her lips. Her cheeks ached with the effort. She turned from Uncle Dasmo, but his voice stopped her mid-way. “And don’t forget, big smiles. Money makes us happy, so we smile, yes?” The tone of his voice, light and playful as a nymph’s call, hammered at the muscles clamping down on her unearned joy until a grin settled on her face, hidden behind her chlamys and crinkling her eyes. Smile. She could do that. Dasmo left them then, his tall head held high and his white sleeved chiton billowing behind him. He’d made grand efforts this morning to appear as clean and civilized as he could, which was saying much. He and her father might be twins, but it was he and Cassero who had taken for themselves every ounce of beauty their mother might have possessed. If it weren’t for the too-charming airs he held, he might have looked a true priest of Apollo.
Gatheron gnawed on the straw he was perpetually chewing—to help him think, he claimed—and swung it to the other side of his mouth. It was quite fascinating to watch him speak with that thing hanging from his lips. Whenever he was particularly animated, the end of the straw would wave and wiggle every which way as if it were dancing. “I’ll be around.” He said, his eyes moving purposefully to peer at Cassero. “It won’t be like last time.” Cassero grinned, “I swear on my mother’s grave.” Gatheron snorted a humorless laugh and then turned his face entirely to Aea’s youngest uncle, Agolois, something wordless passing between them. He slung his arm lazily over Agolois’ shoulder and steered him away from the building. “Kaia will be fine. She’s in capable hands!” Cassero called to their backs as they sauntered to wherever their post was. Aea might have asked what happened last time, but the answer would probably be long-winded and she wanted to get started quickly. The sooner she forced herself into doing something nerve-wracking, the sooner she could conquer the fear of it. She turned to her Uncle Cassero and her smile dimmed. She could do this. Unease wrapped around her innards and squeezed. “Let’s pick our spot, shall we?” Cassero ambled away from the building, whistling a happy tune that Aea had no name for. She looked up at the sky and the fist around her insides tightened when she didn’t see Agogós flying overhead. He’ll come when he comes. He always did. The raven wasn’t hers, not really, he wasn’t a pet, just a wild animal she’d imprinted and conditioned. She could rely on him to be nearby, but he did not stay glued to her side and that wasn’t suddenly going to change today. Aea took a deep breath. She could do this. She was not nervous. She was without fear. She could do this. Her eyes fluttered closed and she forced her memory to conjure the clink of coins. The sound reverberated in her head over and over until she could taste the metal in her teeth. Just like anything, once the novelty wore off, it would be nothing. Apollo had always been with her...at least...she thought he had. He always kept her fingers true, always gave her the words she needed, always sent Agogós back to her. She hoped the Gods were really there, like Dasmo claimed, because if they weren’t, then she had nobody to credit but herself when things went sideways. She turned to her fair cousin and gestured in the direction of the temple, relatively far from where they stood. “Once Uncle Dasmo gets tired, we can run our game. If there’s going to be as many rich people here as Uncle Gatheron says, I’ll bet there’s a few chivalrous fools among them. I know you get tired of playing damsel but...you do make a convincing one.” While Aea might not have done a street performance before, she’d played their game enough times to be confident in her ability to pull it off. The rush of adrenaline that hit her the moment the prey was cornered, the weight of a prize in her palm, the thrill of uncertainty as she ran as fast as she could to get to safety, the snarl of victory clawing from that secret, dark corner of her mind—it was addicting. If they didn't get to run their plan early, Aea would be squirming with anticipation all night.
They were already close to the entrance of the festival, and so they had a good view of the wealth that entered the celebration. She didn’t know the look of a noble from the look of a wealthy merchant, but both had money enough for her to take, and both had pride enough to break. A woman strode into the sea of stalls, alone save for one guard. Aea watched her silently as the woman inspected something at one of the tables. Her peplos was emerald-hued and beautiful, but unlike Aea’s, hers trailed to the ground, and the slit in the side was pinned with gold. She couldn’t have been much older than Aea by her face, but the way she dressed, the way she held herself, was so regal that she seemed ageless. Her chestnut hair was pinned into an elaborate, curled style, a few artfully selected strands bouncing about her ears and neck. Aea shifted her chlamys to cover the wide space in her shorter peplos, held by two frayed ropes at her waist. It was better to dress in a way that would allow her to run without impediment, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t look like a fucking child. One day, she would have enough money for a green peplois. A long one. Maybe red, or blush, or black. And how did they get their hair to do that? When Aea realized she was openly staring at the woman, she blinked and looked at the ground before the woman realized she was being watched. Aea didn’t mean to do that; her eyes simply fixed onto whatever she was thinking about and didn’t dare let go until she’d completed the thought. She would have enough money one day for a beautiful thing like that, but no matter what Uncle Dasmo said, it wouldn’t be by taking it. The taking yielded enough to contribute to their pot and fill everybody’s bellies. To have enough money for a green peplois, she would need to earn it. Aea gave Kaia the smallest of smiles and leaned over, pressing her lips to her cousin’s smooth cheek for luck. “Who knows, maybe we’ll net more than a few owls today.” Agogós cawed overhead and Aea’s confidence solidified. Today would be a good day, a prosperous day. Her surroundings were alive and excited in a way that the forest could never be. Besides the churning in her belly, she only regretted that it could not last forever.
She could do this. It was the first thought she had when her eyes cracked upon the grey pre-dawn. It was the thought she had as she tiptoed around her father all morning, sour because he was a wanted man and couldn’t attend the festival. It was the thought she had as she bathed in the sea and fastened her tunic and devoured her meal and loaded the cart. She held the thought until she believed it. She could do this. She would do this. And when she succeeded in her charge, she would never be left at camp again. If she failed... “—tern.” She clutched the wooden arms of her lyre and stared at the bright morning sea, at all the ships both large and small waiting to dock. There were three skips drifting in the shallows, decorated with flowers. Beyond them, the horizon. Beyond that...who knew? “Aea.” Her pulse jumped and the wood squealed beneath the grip of her hands. She refocused on Uncle Cassero, who had been standing before her, his voice a distant roar and the sight over his shoulder much more placcid than the city they were planning to enter. “Yes, uncle.” Uncle Cassero put both of his long hands on her shoulder, the weight of them anchoring her to the cliff she stood upon. She stared at the fine lines of his graceful face, too slim and clean-shaven for a man of forty-four. Her eyes began wandering over his shoulder again but she snapped them to his face, felt the uneven and jagged rocks beneath her sandals. She wasn’t afraid. She could do this. “If you can’t handle the job, you have to tell me now. One fuck up, and we’ll all have irons around our necks. Then they’ll throw us all in the mines, and we don’t want that, do we?” Aea swallowed and shook her head. The distant scream of a girl, her scream, billowed into her imagination, the crack of a whip, her father’s death rattle, broken and cracked from the fumes— She pressed a hand against her temple and scrubbed the noises away. Just a thought. Thoughts couldn’t hurt anybody. Her voice was even when she spoke. “I can handle it.” This wasn’t a new action she was taking, but it was the first time more than one person would depend on her to do her job. This wasn’t like on the road, where there was room to run away. The city was stone and high walls, it was tight spaces and too many people. Cassero searched her face. She wished her eyes were brown like his, sometimes. It wouldn’t be so easy to watch her pupils dilate. A silence stretched between them and she held her breath. It was broken when he thumped her on the shoulder. “I know you can. And if we need to, we can always cover your sight.” If she was so frightened of performing that she had to cover her eyes, then she may as well jump into the sea and beg Poseidon to drown her, for she would not live much longer in this world with such cowardice. “Thank you. I won’t fail.” She wouldn’t fail any of them. His too-serious frown melted into a lopsided, boyish grin that was far too mischievous to be warm. “I expect nothing less. Do you have everything you need?” She nodded. “Are you sure? We’re not coming back if you forgot something.” She nodded again. Three outfits, an empty bag, a full bag of dried fish, a circle of rope, and a knife hidden in her strophion—which was uncomfortable but necessary given that no weapons were permitted. In a valley full of unarmed lambs, it would be a very stupid wolf who did not sharpen her claws before she crept through the grass. “And the names? The patterns?” “I remember them, Uncle.” The patterns were easy. They were just notes in a chord progression. The names were more difficult, but she had them. CLADSTENK—that was how she remembered the dizzying amount of names that meant less than nothing to her until she could put a person to them. It was highly unlikely the upper echelons of whatever house would cause them any trouble, but if she heard more than one person whisper any of the names in CLADSTENK, she’d know to move away and keep her head down. “Good. You’ll be fine. Hektos just worries more than he should.” Hektos worried because Hektos didn’t trust her, and she didn’t blame him for that. She was untested, as far as he knew. How she wished she could show him what she and Kaia could do. He would be proud, then. He would trust her. She could do this. Uncle Cassero released her and then moved away, shouting Kaia’s name into the cliff winds. When he moved, their old she-goat—Kalosi—looked up and bleated at Aea, stomping her back hoof to scatter the flies. She stood beside the old, two-wheeled wagon that she would be pulling into the city as Kaia led her. It was already loaded up with every other thing they would need, all hidden under a large bed of red anemones and yellow crocus. Uncle Dasmo, usually so frugal, had gone to great lengths to procure the flowers at a bargain from one of the fences he knew from the city, who apparently had a contact in some rich household with a vast garden. Uncle Dasmo had also been generous enough to purchase new clothes for Kaia and Aea, at least for their primary outfits. Neither of them had ever worn something so white and clean before. Best to look as if you don’t sleep in the dirt, he’d said with a wink. One of her uncles shouted for one of the others to hurry up and get the sacrifice. Another shouted for him to go fuck himself because he was working on it. Aea took a deep, cleansing breath and closed her eyes, letting the cool zephyr drive into her lungs and fill her with strength. A rapid flap and a soft caw was the only warning Agogós gave before his thin digits sunk into Aea’s shoulder. She kept her eyes closed and listened to the waves splashing against the rocks. She smelled salt and sunshine. Agogós nipped at a strand of her black hair and she opened her eyes, turning to give him her attention. “Can I count on you to do your job? You don’t want to get us thrown in the mines, do you?” She whispered, stroking the raven’s proud chest with her knuckle. He arched his neck, puffing out his tar-black feathers, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to, nor did she need him to. Humans were fickle, but at least her bird acted as he was trained to act—and so long as she never ran out of food, he would always do so. She hoped, at least. He was only three, so there was plenty of time to leave her yet, though in the back of her mind, she had a foolish and unreasonable hope that nursing him from a hatchling instilled some type of loyalty. “Aea.” Her father’s deep, gruff voice bounced from the top of the crags and her head snapped toward him, her muscles going rigid. Agogós cawed and flew from her shoulder. “Are you going to stand there until you turn into stone?” “Coming!” She turned and clamored up the sharp stones, her white chlamys snagging in the wind and billowing behind her like a wisp, stretching to the risen sun. Hektos watched her for only a moment before he pivoted on his heel and left her to hoist herself, rock after rock, to the mouth of the cliff’s shallow blemish. They would be making many sacrifices today, but Apollo and Hermes would be getting the lion’s cut of the tribute. Dasmo had said they would be pleased enough to bless the family’s luck today. Gathoeron had spit upon the ground as he usually did when anybody considered the Gods at all. If the Gods were there, if they were listening, Aea just hoped they didn’t curse their family for what Dasmo was about to do.
⭃
When they joined the queue to get inside the city, a tide of electric energy bubbled and rolled through Aea’s muscles, drawing her tense and her stomach jittery. She kept her head down and stood next to Kaia, taking a step every so often as the line moved. As they got closer to the front, the line moved faster, and the dull drone from inside the city walls became a lively hum. Music, festive and beautiful, wove between indistinguishable voices and the noise of a hundred animals. Her uncles stood in front of she and Kaia, and Kalosi let out a big, put-upon sigh at the weight of the shafts roped to her withers. If they were rich, they might have had a mule. Maybe they could buy one with the funds they made. Then Aea wouldn’t have to drag her belongings across the countryside. It was improbable they’d make that much, but it wasn’t impossible. They moved closer, the line got thicker, the city got louder. Somebody let out a big belly-laugh near the entrance. A small collection of guards stood at attention at the mouth of the festival. The smell of flowers perfumed the air. Aea held her breath as she and Kaia moved past the guards. They were still and stoic like statues, but she felt their eyes on her, probing for a threat, ready to run the lot of them through and clap them in irons before throwing them into the sea or the mines, whichever suited. She resisted the urge to pull her chlamys tighter around the bottom of her face. And then, they were through, and Aea could breathe again. Moving from the outside world and into the city was like surfacing from the water and taking a thirsty gulp of air. The line broke upon the mouth of the entrance, the people that had been walking in front of them moving off in every direction. The colors all at once blinded her, a kaleidoscope of hues mixing and molding and blurring her vision until she blinked and they came into sharp focus. Dresses of white and red and saffron, overhangs and tents of the deepest violet, flower petals bobbing and flirting with a sweep of the wind while the heat and the noise of so many moving bodies churned a vortex of joy and drove it into the very earth. A smile slashed across her mouth, one of those smiles that came unbidden and unwarranted. Her body was so full of everything that it threatened to spew from her lips as a laugh. A pair of children shot across her path, shrieking for a third to hurry up. Aea kept her eyes on the back of Uncle Cassero’s head. Uncle Dasmo called for a halt and gestured to the open face of a building, and so Aea followed his hand and waited patiently by the stone wall for instruction. She didn’t clutch her lyre so tightly now. Her three uncles, her cousin, and their goat-drawn wagon gathered by Dasmo, the eldest of the family now that Hektos wasn’t present. “I’ll set up near the temple, at the end of the main row. It’s early enough that I can still find a small spot. The rest of you stay somewhere in the front.” Dasmo ran a hand through his dark salt-and-pepper hair and glanced over his shoulder. “If there’s trouble,” he turned back to them, his eyes flicking to Gatheron, “you relay it. There’s a loading spot to the east, we’ll duck through there and make our way to the cliffs.” He turned his focus on Kaia and Aea, the deep brown of his eyes bouncing between them. “If you need a break, speak up. The more tired and hungry you are, the less focus you’ll have.” Aea nodded. “And Kaia, remember to look at their shoes first. Any pauper can steal fine clothes, but he won’t think to include the shoes. If there aren’t any immediate questions—” he moved to the wagon and lifted the cloth that separated the flowers from their possessions, “I think we best get going. Try to bag a couple of younger women, Kaia. They tend to be more inclined to follow directions when a foretold romance is involved.” He waved his free hand and clutched his large bundle of possessions close to his chest. “Off you go.” Aea’s smile kept trying to come back, twitching at the corner of her lips and threatening to split her lips. Her cheeks ached with the effort. She turned from Uncle Dasmo, but his voice stopped her mid-way. “And don’t forget, big smiles. Money makes us happy, so we smile, yes?” The tone of his voice, light and playful as a nymph’s call, hammered at the muscles clamping down on her unearned joy until a grin settled on her face, hidden behind her chlamys and crinkling her eyes. Smile. She could do that. Dasmo left them then, his tall head held high and his white sleeved chiton billowing behind him. He’d made grand efforts this morning to appear as clean and civilized as he could, which was saying much. He and her father might be twins, but it was he and Cassero who had taken for themselves every ounce of beauty their mother might have possessed. If it weren’t for the too-charming airs he held, he might have looked a true priest of Apollo.
Gatheron gnawed on the straw he was perpetually chewing—to help him think, he claimed—and swung it to the other side of his mouth. It was quite fascinating to watch him speak with that thing hanging from his lips. Whenever he was particularly animated, the end of the straw would wave and wiggle every which way as if it were dancing. “I’ll be around.” He said, his eyes moving purposefully to peer at Cassero. “It won’t be like last time.” Cassero grinned, “I swear on my mother’s grave.” Gatheron snorted a humorless laugh and then turned his face entirely to Aea’s youngest uncle, Agolois, something wordless passing between them. He slung his arm lazily over Agolois’ shoulder and steered him away from the building. “Kaia will be fine. She’s in capable hands!” Cassero called to their backs as they sauntered to wherever their post was. Aea might have asked what happened last time, but the answer would probably be long-winded and she wanted to get started quickly. The sooner she forced herself into doing something nerve-wracking, the sooner she could conquer the fear of it. She turned to her Uncle Cassero and her smile dimmed. She could do this. Unease wrapped around her innards and squeezed. “Let’s pick our spot, shall we?” Cassero ambled away from the building, whistling a happy tune that Aea had no name for. She looked up at the sky and the fist around her insides tightened when she didn’t see Agogós flying overhead. He’ll come when he comes. He always did. The raven wasn’t hers, not really, he wasn’t a pet, just a wild animal she’d imprinted and conditioned. She could rely on him to be nearby, but he did not stay glued to her side and that wasn’t suddenly going to change today. Aea took a deep breath. She could do this. She was not nervous. She was without fear. She could do this. Her eyes fluttered closed and she forced her memory to conjure the clink of coins. The sound reverberated in her head over and over until she could taste the metal in her teeth. Just like anything, once the novelty wore off, it would be nothing. Apollo had always been with her...at least...she thought he had. He always kept her fingers true, always gave her the words she needed, always sent Agogós back to her. She hoped the Gods were really there, like Dasmo claimed, because if they weren’t, then she had nobody to credit but herself when things went sideways. She turned to her fair cousin and gestured in the direction of the temple, relatively far from where they stood. “Once Uncle Dasmo gets tired, we can run our game. If there’s going to be as many rich people here as Uncle Gatheron says, I’ll bet there’s a few chivalrous fools among them. I know you get tired of playing damsel but...you do make a convincing one.” While Aea might not have done a street performance before, she’d played their game enough times to be confident in her ability to pull it off. The rush of adrenaline that hit her the moment the prey was cornered, the weight of a prize in her palm, the thrill of uncertainty as she ran as fast as she could to get to safety, the snarl of victory clawing from that secret, dark corner of her mind—it was addicting. If they didn't get to run their plan early, Aea would be squirming with anticipation all night.
They were already close to the entrance of the festival, and so they had a good view of the wealth that entered the celebration. She didn’t know the look of a noble from the look of a wealthy merchant, but both had money enough for her to take, and both had pride enough to break. A woman strode into the sea of stalls, alone save for one guard. Aea watched her silently as the woman inspected something at one of the tables. Her peplos was emerald-hued and beautiful, but unlike Aea’s, hers trailed to the ground, and the slit in the side was pinned with gold. She couldn’t have been much older than Aea by her face, but the way she dressed, the way she held herself, was so regal that she seemed ageless. Her chestnut hair was pinned into an elaborate, curled style, a few artfully selected strands bouncing about her ears and neck. Aea shifted her chlamys to cover the wide space in her shorter peplos, held by two frayed ropes at her waist. It was better to dress in a way that would allow her to run without impediment, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t look like a fucking child. One day, she would have enough money for a green peplois. A long one. Maybe red, or blush, or black. And how did they get their hair to do that? When Aea realized she was openly staring at the woman, she blinked and looked at the ground before the woman realized she was being watched. Aea didn’t mean to do that; her eyes simply fixed onto whatever she was thinking about and didn’t dare let go until she’d completed the thought. She would have enough money one day for a beautiful thing like that, but no matter what Uncle Dasmo said, it wouldn’t be by taking it. The taking yielded enough to contribute to their pot and fill everybody’s bellies. To have enough money for a green peplois, she would need to earn it. Aea gave Kaia the smallest of smiles and leaned over, pressing her lips to her cousin’s smooth cheek for luck. “Who knows, maybe we’ll net more than a few owls today.” Agogós cawed overhead and Aea’s confidence solidified. Today would be a good day, a prosperous day. Her surroundings were alive and excited in a way that the forest could never be. Besides the churning in her belly, she only regretted that it could not last forever.
She felt naked without her leather quiver against her hip. Having her legs bare under her white peplos didn’t help her feel any better either. Kaia missed the comfort and security she had from wearing her simple pants and tunic; crudely fastened, but practical nonetheless. Today though, she needed to look the part. Kaia was sure she had never been made to scrub her hair and skin so vigorously in the salt water before that morning. Not to mention, her scalp still ached from combing each and every tangle free. The cold water had been sobering though, and now Kaia felt oddly refreshed, aware of every lick of wind against her still tingling skin.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to smuggle her bow into the city. She understood why of course. Even if the festival itself wasn’t decorated with the symbolic tied flowers and daggers, there would have been no way for her to be allowed to bring her bow, nor would it really have been practical. Her smallest, most inconspicuous dagger on the other hand was nestled between her breasts, safely out of sight. She would have preferred to have it against her thigh, but she didn’t trust her peplos not to give her away.
Kaia peered around her uncles as their little band neared the front of the queue. Although she and Aea had taken it upon themselves to sneak into the city a couple of times before, nothing could prepare Kaia for the sheer excitement and business of it all. The sounds to begin with were so startlingly different to what she was familiar with. It was rather overwhelming, not that Kaia would admit it out loud. Her father especially had been concerned about her joining them in the city. Kaia had insisted that she was ready; no, she was more than ready, she was eager. This would be the first time she and Aea were allowed to join the men and she wanted nothing more to convince them all that the decision was well made. If only her father and uncles knew what her and Aea could do. She dared not tell them though, not yet at least. If she did, no doubt her father would never allow her out of camp again while he still drew breath.
Kaia flicked her gaze towards the guards as she and the rest stepped through. She wondered how long they would have to stand there and whether or not the wage would be worth it. She had no doubt that the guards would be well paid, but Kaia thought of her leisurely times at camp, being able to sit under a tree while she sharpened her arrows. She may not have the same money as those guards, but Kaia was certain she was more free. As for those who paid the guards, well that was a different matter.
Her uncles started moving again, which spurred Kaia to pay attention once more. Her cousin Aea was practically silent beside her, not that she could be blamed. And to think Kaia had been nearly concerned that morning that she’d have to feign ignorance and act surprised when she entered the city. There was so much to see, it was nearly blinding. Such brilliant colours in every direction, people moving every which way—it was easy to see how one might get lost in the crowd if they weren’t paying attention.
Some children ran in front of her, so full of joy and laughter, Kaia couldn’t help but give a small smile as she watched them. She wondered if they grew up in the city, or whether this was new to them too.
Suddenly uncle Dasmo gestured for them to halt. Kaia honed her focus on his hand as he pointed towards the building face. Keeping step with Aea, Kaia moved to stand by the stone wall. Kaia’s fingers twitched as she caught herself wanting to hold her blade her reassurance. A silly comfort thing; Kaia was glad she stopped herself, she didn’t want her father and uncles to reconsider her readiness.
Their plan was a somewhat intricate one and relied on them all knowing their role to play. With Hectos back at camp, Dasmo seemed to have taken command as the next eldest. He spoke surely, reaffirming their plan. No instruction was ever too important to be repeated, and so she listened as astutely as if it was the first time she were being told. His reminder about the shoes and young women made Kaia give a flicker of a smile as she nodded. The tip about shoes was possibly more ingrained in her and Aea than he realised.
Eager to begin, Kaia went to turn away, but paused as her uncle spoke again. Ah yes, smile. It wasn’t said, but Kaia was sure the reminder was mostly for her benefit than anyone else's. Despite being constantly compared to her late mother in terms of appearance, Kaia’s resting expression wasn’t as agreeable as Callie’s had been. Kaia could remember her mother having an infectious, radiant smile, even if the details of those memories had already begun to fade. Kaia on the other hand had an unintentional scowl and a penchant for frowning. Secretly, Kaia didn’t mind, even if it meant she got playfully teased by her uncles from time to time. However, when the time called for it, she could smile and today she would be smiling. She was well practised now, especially after the little routine her and Aea had conjured up. If tilting her head and smiling made folks more complacent with their coin, then who was she to argue?
With everyone heading to their stations, Kaia followed after her whistling uncle, drinking up the lavish decorations with her gaze. When Aea turned to her though, Kaia met her younger cousin’s gaze and leaned in ever so slightly. Kaia couldn’t agree more with Aea’s assertion that there would be many a rich and chivalrous fool among them.
“Well, I am dressed the part,” Kaia mused before giving her cousin a small but secret smile, “we may as well make the most of it.”
It was Kaia’s turn to play damsel anyway, so Kaia had expected nothing less. Sometimes she even preferred it, especially when their target was particularly arrogant. She rather enjoyed dealing with those ones.
Cassero went about setting up the cart of flowers, allowing Kaia a moment to scan the crowd. Their position was a good one, they had a clear view of the people entering the festival with little chance to spend too much before reaching them. Excitement bubbled in Kaia’s chest as she turned towards her cousin, who seemed to be staring at something intently. Kaia followed Aea’s gaze and found only a woman clad in a rather beautiful green peplos that fell so elegantly to the ground. Kaia frowned slightly as she allowed herself a moment to truly assess the woman. Even if Kaia had bathed everyday in the ocean, she doubted she would have ever looked so clean. The woman’s hair was so beautifully braided, held in place by an item of jewellery Kaia was sure would be worth more in value than their poor goat.
The woman was even accompanied by a guard while she admired the stalls around her. Kaia turned away to avoid being caught with the sneer that possessed her features. In a festival that celebrated peace, the woman was too ill equipped to look after herself without a guard to escort her. Sure, no doubt some people had smuggled weapons into the city—herself included—but that was beside the point. In broad daylight, surrounded by more eye witnesses than anyone could know what to do with, this woman needed supervision. That was how the rich lived. It was maddening how something as uncontrollable as the parents from which they were born could dictate their future and comfort. No doubt the woman in green, with the clean and styled hair and elaborate fastenings was of legitimate birth and standing. Perhaps she was even married to some nobleman, or promised to one—another lucky individual who was born in the right family.
Kaia made herself busy by collecting an armful of flowers from the cart while she stole another glance at the woman in green. Jealousy was a bitter taste Kaia did not enjoy, but it was familiar. If someone were to hand Kaia that peplos, she’d take it without a second thought. It was irrelevant that she felt more comfortable in her pants and simple tunic. Fine fabric in such an exquisite colour was a sign of wealth and power. The woman herself was not powerful, but her status was. If harm befell her, other powerful people would care. If Kaia were harmed though, her cousin, father and uncles would be furious, but it would end there. It was infuriating how someone so incapable of protecting themselves at a weapon-free, civilian festival could wield so much power and wealth simply because they were born in the right family. Kaia could protect herself, as could Aea. The two of them could roam the streets with nothing but their concealed daggers and know that in most cases, they would be completely fine. Without a guard. This woman though, Kaia doubted she’d be able to even wipe her own ass without the aid of a slave or servant.
An image of the woman trying to use a bow appeared in Kaia’s mind, making Kaia give a private smirk as she looked away. There was no way that woman with her guard and elegant hair would know how to even string a bow, much less shoot one. Kaia would be willing to wager all her possessions on the fact that if she and the woman were to face off, Kaia would win without the shadow of a doubt. How was it that this woman could just be thrown into money without ever actually having to fight for it? How was that fair and just? If she were some powerful warrior, then perhaps Kaia could look to her with respect rather than scorn. Stripped of everything else though, the woman was no better than Kaia—dare she say worse off? If the woman’s wealth relied on her ability to protect it herself, without her guard, or influence, or money, she would not be able to face Kaia in a fight. If Kaia were wrong, well she’d eat her own strophion.
Kaia caught sight of Aea’s smile out of the corner of her eye and turned to face her younger cousin, returning the smile. As Aea pressed her lips against Kaia’s cheek, the elder of the two leaned in a little closer. This was their big break; they were finally included in the family act. They were ready for this, they would prove it.
“I’m sure that we will,” Kaia agreed, her gaze dancing over the passersby, before returning to Aea. She wanted to say something more, anything that could sum up how monumental the moment was for them, but Kaia was at a loss and the moment passed. Instead, Kaia gave her cousin a knowing grin that was filled with her unbridled excitement.
“You two ready?”
Kaia’s attention snapped to her uncle and she gave a nod, before assuming her place beside the flower cart. Cassero turned out towards the crowd and began playing the lyre as he spoke to the people with a voice that dripped of honey. Heads began to turn their way, which only served to make Cassero’s delivery more animated and charismatic. Kaia smiled—actually smiled—at those around them and held out yellow crocus flowers to those nearby.
After Kaia had handed two flowers out already a little girl caught Kaia’s attention. Her big brown eyes were fixed on the flowers in Kaia’s arms, but she clutched at her mother’s side, too afraid to step forward. Kaia gave the young girl a warm smile, noticing the dirt smeared across her nose, as well as the tangles in her hair. The mother was cleaner than her daughter, but not dressed in any finery like the woman in green had been. It mattered not at this stage. Kaia gestured for the girl to come forward and held out the yellow flower invitingly, her smile warm and gentle all the while.
The little girl seemed to pluck up her courage and darted forwards, her eyes fixed on her prize in Kaia’s hand. Kaia and her family had tricks in mind, but this was not one. The little girl before Kaia had already earned more respect from her than the woman with her guard ever would. The little girl was willing to step out into the world and take a risk in order to get what she wanted. Her mother was there, but she didn’t need her mother to get the flower for her. The little girl innately knew in her very being that she would need to take risks and work for what she wanted, unlike the other woman, who probably had everything she could ever need simply provided for her.
“Here you go,” Kaia murmured warmly as the girl’s hand touched hers. Kaia could see the dirt under the girls fingernails.
The girl gave a shy smile, then rushed back to her mother with her treasure. The mother gave an appreciative smile, then turned back to listen to Cassero and Aea playing. Kaia gathered some more flowers and continued to hand them out, listening closely to the melodies her cousin and uncle played, Cassero already singing a personalised song.
Lani
Kaia
Lani
Kaia
Awards
First Impressions:Lean, athletic; Straw-blonde hair, stormy blue eyes, and a nearly permanent scowl.
Address: Your
She felt naked without her leather quiver against her hip. Having her legs bare under her white peplos didn’t help her feel any better either. Kaia missed the comfort and security she had from wearing her simple pants and tunic; crudely fastened, but practical nonetheless. Today though, she needed to look the part. Kaia was sure she had never been made to scrub her hair and skin so vigorously in the salt water before that morning. Not to mention, her scalp still ached from combing each and every tangle free. The cold water had been sobering though, and now Kaia felt oddly refreshed, aware of every lick of wind against her still tingling skin.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to smuggle her bow into the city. She understood why of course. Even if the festival itself wasn’t decorated with the symbolic tied flowers and daggers, there would have been no way for her to be allowed to bring her bow, nor would it really have been practical. Her smallest, most inconspicuous dagger on the other hand was nestled between her breasts, safely out of sight. She would have preferred to have it against her thigh, but she didn’t trust her peplos not to give her away.
Kaia peered around her uncles as their little band neared the front of the queue. Although she and Aea had taken it upon themselves to sneak into the city a couple of times before, nothing could prepare Kaia for the sheer excitement and business of it all. The sounds to begin with were so startlingly different to what she was familiar with. It was rather overwhelming, not that Kaia would admit it out loud. Her father especially had been concerned about her joining them in the city. Kaia had insisted that she was ready; no, she was more than ready, she was eager. This would be the first time she and Aea were allowed to join the men and she wanted nothing more to convince them all that the decision was well made. If only her father and uncles knew what her and Aea could do. She dared not tell them though, not yet at least. If she did, no doubt her father would never allow her out of camp again while he still drew breath.
Kaia flicked her gaze towards the guards as she and the rest stepped through. She wondered how long they would have to stand there and whether or not the wage would be worth it. She had no doubt that the guards would be well paid, but Kaia thought of her leisurely times at camp, being able to sit under a tree while she sharpened her arrows. She may not have the same money as those guards, but Kaia was certain she was more free. As for those who paid the guards, well that was a different matter.
Her uncles started moving again, which spurred Kaia to pay attention once more. Her cousin Aea was practically silent beside her, not that she could be blamed. And to think Kaia had been nearly concerned that morning that she’d have to feign ignorance and act surprised when she entered the city. There was so much to see, it was nearly blinding. Such brilliant colours in every direction, people moving every which way—it was easy to see how one might get lost in the crowd if they weren’t paying attention.
Some children ran in front of her, so full of joy and laughter, Kaia couldn’t help but give a small smile as she watched them. She wondered if they grew up in the city, or whether this was new to them too.
Suddenly uncle Dasmo gestured for them to halt. Kaia honed her focus on his hand as he pointed towards the building face. Keeping step with Aea, Kaia moved to stand by the stone wall. Kaia’s fingers twitched as she caught herself wanting to hold her blade her reassurance. A silly comfort thing; Kaia was glad she stopped herself, she didn’t want her father and uncles to reconsider her readiness.
Their plan was a somewhat intricate one and relied on them all knowing their role to play. With Hectos back at camp, Dasmo seemed to have taken command as the next eldest. He spoke surely, reaffirming their plan. No instruction was ever too important to be repeated, and so she listened as astutely as if it was the first time she were being told. His reminder about the shoes and young women made Kaia give a flicker of a smile as she nodded. The tip about shoes was possibly more ingrained in her and Aea than he realised.
Eager to begin, Kaia went to turn away, but paused as her uncle spoke again. Ah yes, smile. It wasn’t said, but Kaia was sure the reminder was mostly for her benefit than anyone else's. Despite being constantly compared to her late mother in terms of appearance, Kaia’s resting expression wasn’t as agreeable as Callie’s had been. Kaia could remember her mother having an infectious, radiant smile, even if the details of those memories had already begun to fade. Kaia on the other hand had an unintentional scowl and a penchant for frowning. Secretly, Kaia didn’t mind, even if it meant she got playfully teased by her uncles from time to time. However, when the time called for it, she could smile and today she would be smiling. She was well practised now, especially after the little routine her and Aea had conjured up. If tilting her head and smiling made folks more complacent with their coin, then who was she to argue?
With everyone heading to their stations, Kaia followed after her whistling uncle, drinking up the lavish decorations with her gaze. When Aea turned to her though, Kaia met her younger cousin’s gaze and leaned in ever so slightly. Kaia couldn’t agree more with Aea’s assertion that there would be many a rich and chivalrous fool among them.
“Well, I am dressed the part,” Kaia mused before giving her cousin a small but secret smile, “we may as well make the most of it.”
It was Kaia’s turn to play damsel anyway, so Kaia had expected nothing less. Sometimes she even preferred it, especially when their target was particularly arrogant. She rather enjoyed dealing with those ones.
Cassero went about setting up the cart of flowers, allowing Kaia a moment to scan the crowd. Their position was a good one, they had a clear view of the people entering the festival with little chance to spend too much before reaching them. Excitement bubbled in Kaia’s chest as she turned towards her cousin, who seemed to be staring at something intently. Kaia followed Aea’s gaze and found only a woman clad in a rather beautiful green peplos that fell so elegantly to the ground. Kaia frowned slightly as she allowed herself a moment to truly assess the woman. Even if Kaia had bathed everyday in the ocean, she doubted she would have ever looked so clean. The woman’s hair was so beautifully braided, held in place by an item of jewellery Kaia was sure would be worth more in value than their poor goat.
The woman was even accompanied by a guard while she admired the stalls around her. Kaia turned away to avoid being caught with the sneer that possessed her features. In a festival that celebrated peace, the woman was too ill equipped to look after herself without a guard to escort her. Sure, no doubt some people had smuggled weapons into the city—herself included—but that was beside the point. In broad daylight, surrounded by more eye witnesses than anyone could know what to do with, this woman needed supervision. That was how the rich lived. It was maddening how something as uncontrollable as the parents from which they were born could dictate their future and comfort. No doubt the woman in green, with the clean and styled hair and elaborate fastenings was of legitimate birth and standing. Perhaps she was even married to some nobleman, or promised to one—another lucky individual who was born in the right family.
Kaia made herself busy by collecting an armful of flowers from the cart while she stole another glance at the woman in green. Jealousy was a bitter taste Kaia did not enjoy, but it was familiar. If someone were to hand Kaia that peplos, she’d take it without a second thought. It was irrelevant that she felt more comfortable in her pants and simple tunic. Fine fabric in such an exquisite colour was a sign of wealth and power. The woman herself was not powerful, but her status was. If harm befell her, other powerful people would care. If Kaia were harmed though, her cousin, father and uncles would be furious, but it would end there. It was infuriating how someone so incapable of protecting themselves at a weapon-free, civilian festival could wield so much power and wealth simply because they were born in the right family. Kaia could protect herself, as could Aea. The two of them could roam the streets with nothing but their concealed daggers and know that in most cases, they would be completely fine. Without a guard. This woman though, Kaia doubted she’d be able to even wipe her own ass without the aid of a slave or servant.
An image of the woman trying to use a bow appeared in Kaia’s mind, making Kaia give a private smirk as she looked away. There was no way that woman with her guard and elegant hair would know how to even string a bow, much less shoot one. Kaia would be willing to wager all her possessions on the fact that if she and the woman were to face off, Kaia would win without the shadow of a doubt. How was it that this woman could just be thrown into money without ever actually having to fight for it? How was that fair and just? If she were some powerful warrior, then perhaps Kaia could look to her with respect rather than scorn. Stripped of everything else though, the woman was no better than Kaia—dare she say worse off? If the woman’s wealth relied on her ability to protect it herself, without her guard, or influence, or money, she would not be able to face Kaia in a fight. If Kaia were wrong, well she’d eat her own strophion.
Kaia caught sight of Aea’s smile out of the corner of her eye and turned to face her younger cousin, returning the smile. As Aea pressed her lips against Kaia’s cheek, the elder of the two leaned in a little closer. This was their big break; they were finally included in the family act. They were ready for this, they would prove it.
“I’m sure that we will,” Kaia agreed, her gaze dancing over the passersby, before returning to Aea. She wanted to say something more, anything that could sum up how monumental the moment was for them, but Kaia was at a loss and the moment passed. Instead, Kaia gave her cousin a knowing grin that was filled with her unbridled excitement.
“You two ready?”
Kaia’s attention snapped to her uncle and she gave a nod, before assuming her place beside the flower cart. Cassero turned out towards the crowd and began playing the lyre as he spoke to the people with a voice that dripped of honey. Heads began to turn their way, which only served to make Cassero’s delivery more animated and charismatic. Kaia smiled—actually smiled—at those around them and held out yellow crocus flowers to those nearby.
After Kaia had handed two flowers out already a little girl caught Kaia’s attention. Her big brown eyes were fixed on the flowers in Kaia’s arms, but she clutched at her mother’s side, too afraid to step forward. Kaia gave the young girl a warm smile, noticing the dirt smeared across her nose, as well as the tangles in her hair. The mother was cleaner than her daughter, but not dressed in any finery like the woman in green had been. It mattered not at this stage. Kaia gestured for the girl to come forward and held out the yellow flower invitingly, her smile warm and gentle all the while.
The little girl seemed to pluck up her courage and darted forwards, her eyes fixed on her prize in Kaia’s hand. Kaia and her family had tricks in mind, but this was not one. The little girl before Kaia had already earned more respect from her than the woman with her guard ever would. The little girl was willing to step out into the world and take a risk in order to get what she wanted. Her mother was there, but she didn’t need her mother to get the flower for her. The little girl innately knew in her very being that she would need to take risks and work for what she wanted, unlike the other woman, who probably had everything she could ever need simply provided for her.
“Here you go,” Kaia murmured warmly as the girl’s hand touched hers. Kaia could see the dirt under the girls fingernails.
The girl gave a shy smile, then rushed back to her mother with her treasure. The mother gave an appreciative smile, then turned back to listen to Cassero and Aea playing. Kaia gathered some more flowers and continued to hand them out, listening closely to the melodies her cousin and uncle played, Cassero already singing a personalised song.
She felt naked without her leather quiver against her hip. Having her legs bare under her white peplos didn’t help her feel any better either. Kaia missed the comfort and security she had from wearing her simple pants and tunic; crudely fastened, but practical nonetheless. Today though, she needed to look the part. Kaia was sure she had never been made to scrub her hair and skin so vigorously in the salt water before that morning. Not to mention, her scalp still ached from combing each and every tangle free. The cold water had been sobering though, and now Kaia felt oddly refreshed, aware of every lick of wind against her still tingling skin.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to smuggle her bow into the city. She understood why of course. Even if the festival itself wasn’t decorated with the symbolic tied flowers and daggers, there would have been no way for her to be allowed to bring her bow, nor would it really have been practical. Her smallest, most inconspicuous dagger on the other hand was nestled between her breasts, safely out of sight. She would have preferred to have it against her thigh, but she didn’t trust her peplos not to give her away.
Kaia peered around her uncles as their little band neared the front of the queue. Although she and Aea had taken it upon themselves to sneak into the city a couple of times before, nothing could prepare Kaia for the sheer excitement and business of it all. The sounds to begin with were so startlingly different to what she was familiar with. It was rather overwhelming, not that Kaia would admit it out loud. Her father especially had been concerned about her joining them in the city. Kaia had insisted that she was ready; no, she was more than ready, she was eager. This would be the first time she and Aea were allowed to join the men and she wanted nothing more to convince them all that the decision was well made. If only her father and uncles knew what her and Aea could do. She dared not tell them though, not yet at least. If she did, no doubt her father would never allow her out of camp again while he still drew breath.
Kaia flicked her gaze towards the guards as she and the rest stepped through. She wondered how long they would have to stand there and whether or not the wage would be worth it. She had no doubt that the guards would be well paid, but Kaia thought of her leisurely times at camp, being able to sit under a tree while she sharpened her arrows. She may not have the same money as those guards, but Kaia was certain she was more free. As for those who paid the guards, well that was a different matter.
Her uncles started moving again, which spurred Kaia to pay attention once more. Her cousin Aea was practically silent beside her, not that she could be blamed. And to think Kaia had been nearly concerned that morning that she’d have to feign ignorance and act surprised when she entered the city. There was so much to see, it was nearly blinding. Such brilliant colours in every direction, people moving every which way—it was easy to see how one might get lost in the crowd if they weren’t paying attention.
Some children ran in front of her, so full of joy and laughter, Kaia couldn’t help but give a small smile as she watched them. She wondered if they grew up in the city, or whether this was new to them too.
Suddenly uncle Dasmo gestured for them to halt. Kaia honed her focus on his hand as he pointed towards the building face. Keeping step with Aea, Kaia moved to stand by the stone wall. Kaia’s fingers twitched as she caught herself wanting to hold her blade her reassurance. A silly comfort thing; Kaia was glad she stopped herself, she didn’t want her father and uncles to reconsider her readiness.
Their plan was a somewhat intricate one and relied on them all knowing their role to play. With Hectos back at camp, Dasmo seemed to have taken command as the next eldest. He spoke surely, reaffirming their plan. No instruction was ever too important to be repeated, and so she listened as astutely as if it was the first time she were being told. His reminder about the shoes and young women made Kaia give a flicker of a smile as she nodded. The tip about shoes was possibly more ingrained in her and Aea than he realised.
Eager to begin, Kaia went to turn away, but paused as her uncle spoke again. Ah yes, smile. It wasn’t said, but Kaia was sure the reminder was mostly for her benefit than anyone else's. Despite being constantly compared to her late mother in terms of appearance, Kaia’s resting expression wasn’t as agreeable as Callie’s had been. Kaia could remember her mother having an infectious, radiant smile, even if the details of those memories had already begun to fade. Kaia on the other hand had an unintentional scowl and a penchant for frowning. Secretly, Kaia didn’t mind, even if it meant she got playfully teased by her uncles from time to time. However, when the time called for it, she could smile and today she would be smiling. She was well practised now, especially after the little routine her and Aea had conjured up. If tilting her head and smiling made folks more complacent with their coin, then who was she to argue?
With everyone heading to their stations, Kaia followed after her whistling uncle, drinking up the lavish decorations with her gaze. When Aea turned to her though, Kaia met her younger cousin’s gaze and leaned in ever so slightly. Kaia couldn’t agree more with Aea’s assertion that there would be many a rich and chivalrous fool among them.
“Well, I am dressed the part,” Kaia mused before giving her cousin a small but secret smile, “we may as well make the most of it.”
It was Kaia’s turn to play damsel anyway, so Kaia had expected nothing less. Sometimes she even preferred it, especially when their target was particularly arrogant. She rather enjoyed dealing with those ones.
Cassero went about setting up the cart of flowers, allowing Kaia a moment to scan the crowd. Their position was a good one, they had a clear view of the people entering the festival with little chance to spend too much before reaching them. Excitement bubbled in Kaia’s chest as she turned towards her cousin, who seemed to be staring at something intently. Kaia followed Aea’s gaze and found only a woman clad in a rather beautiful green peplos that fell so elegantly to the ground. Kaia frowned slightly as she allowed herself a moment to truly assess the woman. Even if Kaia had bathed everyday in the ocean, she doubted she would have ever looked so clean. The woman’s hair was so beautifully braided, held in place by an item of jewellery Kaia was sure would be worth more in value than their poor goat.
The woman was even accompanied by a guard while she admired the stalls around her. Kaia turned away to avoid being caught with the sneer that possessed her features. In a festival that celebrated peace, the woman was too ill equipped to look after herself without a guard to escort her. Sure, no doubt some people had smuggled weapons into the city—herself included—but that was beside the point. In broad daylight, surrounded by more eye witnesses than anyone could know what to do with, this woman needed supervision. That was how the rich lived. It was maddening how something as uncontrollable as the parents from which they were born could dictate their future and comfort. No doubt the woman in green, with the clean and styled hair and elaborate fastenings was of legitimate birth and standing. Perhaps she was even married to some nobleman, or promised to one—another lucky individual who was born in the right family.
Kaia made herself busy by collecting an armful of flowers from the cart while she stole another glance at the woman in green. Jealousy was a bitter taste Kaia did not enjoy, but it was familiar. If someone were to hand Kaia that peplos, she’d take it without a second thought. It was irrelevant that she felt more comfortable in her pants and simple tunic. Fine fabric in such an exquisite colour was a sign of wealth and power. The woman herself was not powerful, but her status was. If harm befell her, other powerful people would care. If Kaia were harmed though, her cousin, father and uncles would be furious, but it would end there. It was infuriating how someone so incapable of protecting themselves at a weapon-free, civilian festival could wield so much power and wealth simply because they were born in the right family. Kaia could protect herself, as could Aea. The two of them could roam the streets with nothing but their concealed daggers and know that in most cases, they would be completely fine. Without a guard. This woman though, Kaia doubted she’d be able to even wipe her own ass without the aid of a slave or servant.
An image of the woman trying to use a bow appeared in Kaia’s mind, making Kaia give a private smirk as she looked away. There was no way that woman with her guard and elegant hair would know how to even string a bow, much less shoot one. Kaia would be willing to wager all her possessions on the fact that if she and the woman were to face off, Kaia would win without the shadow of a doubt. How was it that this woman could just be thrown into money without ever actually having to fight for it? How was that fair and just? If she were some powerful warrior, then perhaps Kaia could look to her with respect rather than scorn. Stripped of everything else though, the woman was no better than Kaia—dare she say worse off? If the woman’s wealth relied on her ability to protect it herself, without her guard, or influence, or money, she would not be able to face Kaia in a fight. If Kaia were wrong, well she’d eat her own strophion.
Kaia caught sight of Aea’s smile out of the corner of her eye and turned to face her younger cousin, returning the smile. As Aea pressed her lips against Kaia’s cheek, the elder of the two leaned in a little closer. This was their big break; they were finally included in the family act. They were ready for this, they would prove it.
“I’m sure that we will,” Kaia agreed, her gaze dancing over the passersby, before returning to Aea. She wanted to say something more, anything that could sum up how monumental the moment was for them, but Kaia was at a loss and the moment passed. Instead, Kaia gave her cousin a knowing grin that was filled with her unbridled excitement.
“You two ready?”
Kaia’s attention snapped to her uncle and she gave a nod, before assuming her place beside the flower cart. Cassero turned out towards the crowd and began playing the lyre as he spoke to the people with a voice that dripped of honey. Heads began to turn their way, which only served to make Cassero’s delivery more animated and charismatic. Kaia smiled—actually smiled—at those around them and held out yellow crocus flowers to those nearby.
After Kaia had handed two flowers out already a little girl caught Kaia’s attention. Her big brown eyes were fixed on the flowers in Kaia’s arms, but she clutched at her mother’s side, too afraid to step forward. Kaia gave the young girl a warm smile, noticing the dirt smeared across her nose, as well as the tangles in her hair. The mother was cleaner than her daughter, but not dressed in any finery like the woman in green had been. It mattered not at this stage. Kaia gestured for the girl to come forward and held out the yellow flower invitingly, her smile warm and gentle all the while.
The little girl seemed to pluck up her courage and darted forwards, her eyes fixed on her prize in Kaia’s hand. Kaia and her family had tricks in mind, but this was not one. The little girl before Kaia had already earned more respect from her than the woman with her guard ever would. The little girl was willing to step out into the world and take a risk in order to get what she wanted. Her mother was there, but she didn’t need her mother to get the flower for her. The little girl innately knew in her very being that she would need to take risks and work for what she wanted, unlike the other woman, who probably had everything she could ever need simply provided for her.
“Here you go,” Kaia murmured warmly as the girl’s hand touched hers. Kaia could see the dirt under the girls fingernails.
The girl gave a shy smile, then rushed back to her mother with her treasure. The mother gave an appreciative smile, then turned back to listen to Cassero and Aea playing. Kaia gathered some more flowers and continued to hand them out, listening closely to the melodies her cousin and uncle played, Cassero already singing a personalised song.
Colchis. Ophelia had had always wished to visit Colchis, for although she had heard tell that the citizens were as rough as the terrain, it was also the land of aur. She had always wanted to go shopping in Colchis, to buy beautiful jewels and fine trinkets in the province of Ardanaes, Now she found herself here at last, hosted by a man she had always disliked. Fortunately, she had the company of her beloved sister Marisa to make up for the ghastly manners of the insufferable Mikael. How on earth someone as charming and kind as Photis could have such a creature for a brother, she knew not. Yet there he was, living proof that alcohol actually could be a bad thing. As a Condos, to say so was utterly blasphemous, but the manner in which this man behaved when the stench of wine upon him was almost unbelievable.
It was hardly a surprise, then, that she had taken a separate carriage. She had not done so to be rude. After all, her attendants were riding with her, and it would be impossible to fit her, her host family and her chaperones in one carriage. If they accomplished the feat, it would certainly be a very uncomfortable journey.
She had risen early, wanting to look her best for the final day of the festivities. Under Evanthe's careful observation, three maids had prepared a bath for her, the water scented with jasmine and patchouli. Oil was rubbed into her dark hair to soften and smooth it, lotion into her skin to give it a subtle glow. She emerged from the water polished and perfumed, the maids thoroughly drying every inch of her hair and body before assisting her into the chitton she had so carefully selected. It was pale blue in colour, draped in such a way that it appeared to have only one sleeve on the left, leaving her right shoulder bare, though no other area of her body was exposed. She had taken the time to weave a belt of golden fabric around the waist of the garment in order to enhance her natural curves, and sew extra layers below this belt so that the garment now had a tiered skirt subtly laced with golden threads that caught the light on occasion. The single sleeve was pinned with golden rose-shaped fibulae. The maids clasped a necklace of teardrop sapphires set in gold around her neck and chandelier sapphire gold-set earrings into her delicate ears, before sweeping her wavy tresses into an intricate braided bun, into which they pinned tiny golden rose clips.
In the carriage, Ophelia stared out of the window, watching the city roll by. Ten years of peace was clearly marked by the flower-draped weapons hanging in doors and windows. She might have been intimidated by those knives and bows and swords were they not scattered with vibrant blooms. Vaguely, she wondered how Evanthe was faring without her typical arsenal, but dared not ask. There were other attendants accompanying them on this journey after all -- Thisbe, an elderly maid of mother's who was implicitly trusted; several guards, and finally Aoide, another of her handmaidens, though not as senior in position as Evanthe. As they sped past, she took in the many barrels of fresh water lining the streets, a rare commodity that was now being given freely to all. She grinned at this, turning to her attendants.
"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing out the window. "Is it not wonderful?" "Indeed, My Lady," Thisbe replied without expression. She seemed to be warning Ophelia to compose herself without actually speaking these words. Catching the hint, the Condos rose took a steadying breath and folded her hands neatly in her lap once more. "My Lady, how did you not notice this before? We have been in Colchis for several days now," Aoide hedged tentatively. "I suppose I was more occupied with Marisa, and trying to convince my dearest brother in law not to frighten me to death," the Lady replied, rolling her eyes at the mention of Mikael. "He really is...something." "You needn't interact with him at all today unless you actually see him, and the event space is huge," Aoide put in, trying to be cheerful. "We can look and see if there is anything for sale, or watch the entertainers. Who knows? We may even run into Lady Rene!"
Ophelia smiled brightly at this, dearly hoping that they would run into the aforementioned Lady, for she had not seen her in quite some time. Having met her precisely three years ago in Athenia, she had grown rather fond of the little dove, keeping up a near-constant correspondance with her.
As the carriage slowly drew to a halt, a tall Egyptian man stepped forth, offering his hand first to Ophelia. She took it without hesitation, allowing him to assist in her descent. With effortless grace she descended the three auran steps that had been set before her, then waited for her attendants to join her. The fields near the Temple were abuzz with activity. It was a feast for the senses, with so much to take in that she knew not where first to look. Everything was a confusing blur of colour and sound; an unidentifiable aroma filled the air, both spicy and sweet, causing her mouth to water. Men and women of the three kingdoms mingled without restraint. Observing the crowd, she noted many friendships and alliances. Spotting a girl in a particularly revealing jade green peplos, she rolled her eyes. Clearly, this fair creature had fallen far. Her lips were stained scarlet with berry juice, her eyelids dusted with gold. She was a woman of the night, of that there could be no doubt. "I believe she means to emulate the Egyptian style," Aoide murmured, noticing the intent way Ophelia was staring at the girl's unnatural face. "Indeed, but is this really appropriate for such an event?" "Men will take their pleasures at any opportunity and women like her need the work," Thisbe answered briskly. "The poor thing probably needs the money." Ophelia looked back at the woman, wondering if a few coins would save her morality. Quickly she shook off the thought, for any virtue the woman had once possessed was long gone by now.
The sound of a song suddenly caught her attention. The lyre had always been one of her favourite instruments, and whoever was playing it now was doing so beautifully. It was accompanied by a male voice, rich and honey-sweet. She drifted towards it, her attendants falling into step behind her. It did not take her long to discover the source of the melody. 'Twas indeed a man, approximately forty in age if she had to guess, accompanied by a girl she guessed must be a relative of his. Another stood beside them, handing out flowers.
"Oh!" she let out a gasp of delight, hovering nearby to listen. Raising a delicate hand, she waved to the musicians, not wanting to interrupt their performance but wishing to acknowledge their artistry.
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Colchis. Ophelia had had always wished to visit Colchis, for although she had heard tell that the citizens were as rough as the terrain, it was also the land of aur. She had always wanted to go shopping in Colchis, to buy beautiful jewels and fine trinkets in the province of Ardanaes, Now she found herself here at last, hosted by a man she had always disliked. Fortunately, she had the company of her beloved sister Marisa to make up for the ghastly manners of the insufferable Mikael. How on earth someone as charming and kind as Photis could have such a creature for a brother, she knew not. Yet there he was, living proof that alcohol actually could be a bad thing. As a Condos, to say so was utterly blasphemous, but the manner in which this man behaved when the stench of wine upon him was almost unbelievable.
It was hardly a surprise, then, that she had taken a separate carriage. She had not done so to be rude. After all, her attendants were riding with her, and it would be impossible to fit her, her host family and her chaperones in one carriage. If they accomplished the feat, it would certainly be a very uncomfortable journey.
She had risen early, wanting to look her best for the final day of the festivities. Under Evanthe's careful observation, three maids had prepared a bath for her, the water scented with jasmine and patchouli. Oil was rubbed into her dark hair to soften and smooth it, lotion into her skin to give it a subtle glow. She emerged from the water polished and perfumed, the maids thoroughly drying every inch of her hair and body before assisting her into the chitton she had so carefully selected. It was pale blue in colour, draped in such a way that it appeared to have only one sleeve on the left, leaving her right shoulder bare, though no other area of her body was exposed. She had taken the time to weave a belt of golden fabric around the waist of the garment in order to enhance her natural curves, and sew extra layers below this belt so that the garment now had a tiered skirt subtly laced with golden threads that caught the light on occasion. The single sleeve was pinned with golden rose-shaped fibulae. The maids clasped a necklace of teardrop sapphires set in gold around her neck and chandelier sapphire gold-set earrings into her delicate ears, before sweeping her wavy tresses into an intricate braided bun, into which they pinned tiny golden rose clips.
In the carriage, Ophelia stared out of the window, watching the city roll by. Ten years of peace was clearly marked by the flower-draped weapons hanging in doors and windows. She might have been intimidated by those knives and bows and swords were they not scattered with vibrant blooms. Vaguely, she wondered how Evanthe was faring without her typical arsenal, but dared not ask. There were other attendants accompanying them on this journey after all -- Thisbe, an elderly maid of mother's who was implicitly trusted; several guards, and finally Aoide, another of her handmaidens, though not as senior in position as Evanthe. As they sped past, she took in the many barrels of fresh water lining the streets, a rare commodity that was now being given freely to all. She grinned at this, turning to her attendants.
"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing out the window. "Is it not wonderful?" "Indeed, My Lady," Thisbe replied without expression. She seemed to be warning Ophelia to compose herself without actually speaking these words. Catching the hint, the Condos rose took a steadying breath and folded her hands neatly in her lap once more. "My Lady, how did you not notice this before? We have been in Colchis for several days now," Aoide hedged tentatively. "I suppose I was more occupied with Marisa, and trying to convince my dearest brother in law not to frighten me to death," the Lady replied, rolling her eyes at the mention of Mikael. "He really is...something." "You needn't interact with him at all today unless you actually see him, and the event space is huge," Aoide put in, trying to be cheerful. "We can look and see if there is anything for sale, or watch the entertainers. Who knows? We may even run into Lady Rene!"
Ophelia smiled brightly at this, dearly hoping that they would run into the aforementioned Lady, for she had not seen her in quite some time. Having met her precisely three years ago in Athenia, she had grown rather fond of the little dove, keeping up a near-constant correspondance with her.
As the carriage slowly drew to a halt, a tall Egyptian man stepped forth, offering his hand first to Ophelia. She took it without hesitation, allowing him to assist in her descent. With effortless grace she descended the three auran steps that had been set before her, then waited for her attendants to join her. The fields near the Temple were abuzz with activity. It was a feast for the senses, with so much to take in that she knew not where first to look. Everything was a confusing blur of colour and sound; an unidentifiable aroma filled the air, both spicy and sweet, causing her mouth to water. Men and women of the three kingdoms mingled without restraint. Observing the crowd, she noted many friendships and alliances. Spotting a girl in a particularly revealing jade green peplos, she rolled her eyes. Clearly, this fair creature had fallen far. Her lips were stained scarlet with berry juice, her eyelids dusted with gold. She was a woman of the night, of that there could be no doubt. "I believe she means to emulate the Egyptian style," Aoide murmured, noticing the intent way Ophelia was staring at the girl's unnatural face. "Indeed, but is this really appropriate for such an event?" "Men will take their pleasures at any opportunity and women like her need the work," Thisbe answered briskly. "The poor thing probably needs the money." Ophelia looked back at the woman, wondering if a few coins would save her morality. Quickly she shook off the thought, for any virtue the woman had once possessed was long gone by now.
The sound of a song suddenly caught her attention. The lyre had always been one of her favourite instruments, and whoever was playing it now was doing so beautifully. It was accompanied by a male voice, rich and honey-sweet. She drifted towards it, her attendants falling into step behind her. It did not take her long to discover the source of the melody. 'Twas indeed a man, approximately forty in age if she had to guess, accompanied by a girl she guessed must be a relative of his. Another stood beside them, handing out flowers.
"Oh!" she let out a gasp of delight, hovering nearby to listen. Raising a delicate hand, she waved to the musicians, not wanting to interrupt their performance but wishing to acknowledge their artistry.
Colchis. Ophelia had had always wished to visit Colchis, for although she had heard tell that the citizens were as rough as the terrain, it was also the land of aur. She had always wanted to go shopping in Colchis, to buy beautiful jewels and fine trinkets in the province of Ardanaes, Now she found herself here at last, hosted by a man she had always disliked. Fortunately, she had the company of her beloved sister Marisa to make up for the ghastly manners of the insufferable Mikael. How on earth someone as charming and kind as Photis could have such a creature for a brother, she knew not. Yet there he was, living proof that alcohol actually could be a bad thing. As a Condos, to say so was utterly blasphemous, but the manner in which this man behaved when the stench of wine upon him was almost unbelievable.
It was hardly a surprise, then, that she had taken a separate carriage. She had not done so to be rude. After all, her attendants were riding with her, and it would be impossible to fit her, her host family and her chaperones in one carriage. If they accomplished the feat, it would certainly be a very uncomfortable journey.
She had risen early, wanting to look her best for the final day of the festivities. Under Evanthe's careful observation, three maids had prepared a bath for her, the water scented with jasmine and patchouli. Oil was rubbed into her dark hair to soften and smooth it, lotion into her skin to give it a subtle glow. She emerged from the water polished and perfumed, the maids thoroughly drying every inch of her hair and body before assisting her into the chitton she had so carefully selected. It was pale blue in colour, draped in such a way that it appeared to have only one sleeve on the left, leaving her right shoulder bare, though no other area of her body was exposed. She had taken the time to weave a belt of golden fabric around the waist of the garment in order to enhance her natural curves, and sew extra layers below this belt so that the garment now had a tiered skirt subtly laced with golden threads that caught the light on occasion. The single sleeve was pinned with golden rose-shaped fibulae. The maids clasped a necklace of teardrop sapphires set in gold around her neck and chandelier sapphire gold-set earrings into her delicate ears, before sweeping her wavy tresses into an intricate braided bun, into which they pinned tiny golden rose clips.
In the carriage, Ophelia stared out of the window, watching the city roll by. Ten years of peace was clearly marked by the flower-draped weapons hanging in doors and windows. She might have been intimidated by those knives and bows and swords were they not scattered with vibrant blooms. Vaguely, she wondered how Evanthe was faring without her typical arsenal, but dared not ask. There were other attendants accompanying them on this journey after all -- Thisbe, an elderly maid of mother's who was implicitly trusted; several guards, and finally Aoide, another of her handmaidens, though not as senior in position as Evanthe. As they sped past, she took in the many barrels of fresh water lining the streets, a rare commodity that was now being given freely to all. She grinned at this, turning to her attendants.
"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing out the window. "Is it not wonderful?" "Indeed, My Lady," Thisbe replied without expression. She seemed to be warning Ophelia to compose herself without actually speaking these words. Catching the hint, the Condos rose took a steadying breath and folded her hands neatly in her lap once more. "My Lady, how did you not notice this before? We have been in Colchis for several days now," Aoide hedged tentatively. "I suppose I was more occupied with Marisa, and trying to convince my dearest brother in law not to frighten me to death," the Lady replied, rolling her eyes at the mention of Mikael. "He really is...something." "You needn't interact with him at all today unless you actually see him, and the event space is huge," Aoide put in, trying to be cheerful. "We can look and see if there is anything for sale, or watch the entertainers. Who knows? We may even run into Lady Rene!"
Ophelia smiled brightly at this, dearly hoping that they would run into the aforementioned Lady, for she had not seen her in quite some time. Having met her precisely three years ago in Athenia, she had grown rather fond of the little dove, keeping up a near-constant correspondance with her.
As the carriage slowly drew to a halt, a tall Egyptian man stepped forth, offering his hand first to Ophelia. She took it without hesitation, allowing him to assist in her descent. With effortless grace she descended the three auran steps that had been set before her, then waited for her attendants to join her. The fields near the Temple were abuzz with activity. It was a feast for the senses, with so much to take in that she knew not where first to look. Everything was a confusing blur of colour and sound; an unidentifiable aroma filled the air, both spicy and sweet, causing her mouth to water. Men and women of the three kingdoms mingled without restraint. Observing the crowd, she noted many friendships and alliances. Spotting a girl in a particularly revealing jade green peplos, she rolled her eyes. Clearly, this fair creature had fallen far. Her lips were stained scarlet with berry juice, her eyelids dusted with gold. She was a woman of the night, of that there could be no doubt. "I believe she means to emulate the Egyptian style," Aoide murmured, noticing the intent way Ophelia was staring at the girl's unnatural face. "Indeed, but is this really appropriate for such an event?" "Men will take their pleasures at any opportunity and women like her need the work," Thisbe answered briskly. "The poor thing probably needs the money." Ophelia looked back at the woman, wondering if a few coins would save her morality. Quickly she shook off the thought, for any virtue the woman had once possessed was long gone by now.
The sound of a song suddenly caught her attention. The lyre had always been one of her favourite instruments, and whoever was playing it now was doing so beautifully. It was accompanied by a male voice, rich and honey-sweet. She drifted towards it, her attendants falling into step behind her. It did not take her long to discover the source of the melody. 'Twas indeed a man, approximately forty in age if she had to guess, accompanied by a girl she guessed must be a relative of his. Another stood beside them, handing out flowers.
"Oh!" she let out a gasp of delight, hovering nearby to listen. Raising a delicate hand, she waved to the musicians, not wanting to interrupt their performance but wishing to acknowledge their artistry.
The Royal family of Colchis, the Kotas House, sent a missive that reached the desk of High Priestess Kallista, and it read that the family requested the peace ceremony on their sacred land. Kallista was no doubt flattered by the invitation, but the weight of the request left the High Priestess unnerved. Three Kingdoms with a history of tension under the roof of her goddess was not a decision to be made lightly. Although, Kallista believed that Artemis would not let harm befall the temple, nor any of her daughters within the hallowed, white temple. The temple had always been open to the public, but it has been the first time all three Kingdoms were present. The day was filled with firsts as the three kingdoms were expected to respect the policy of a weapons free event, but the day was far from over.
Kallista kept a polite smile on her face as she greeted Royals and Nobles from various kingdoms, the lady in white was accompanied by two other priestesses as they welcomed their guests. As the lady of ceremonies, High Priestess Kallista was just about everywhere and she intended to be in case something were to happen – Kallista would be there to intervene. Like many of the sisters who’ve joined the sisterhood, Kallista was as sharp as a blade’s end, and that meant she read body language very well. Artemis has taught Kallista many things and how to asset situations before acting was one of them, and that often meant understanding the persons at hand. Although, it was just her luck to be surrounded by several, if not clashing, personalities.
The High Priestess continued her lap in a graceful stride as her steps were hidden by the white robe as it trailed behind. Underneath her silent beauty and watchful eyes was growing irritations as the temple grounds was filled with entertainment that would be otherwise kept from grounds. Wine on the other hand was a friend to every sister of the sisterhood, but it would be inappropriate for any of the sisters to drink when men were present. The very fact so many men were even welcomed to the temple has angered quite a few priestesses, but ultimately the High Priestess made the decision. Kallista didn’t like it, but who was she to deny the Royal family of what they wanted, and if anything Kallista saw it more as an opportunity for the temple. Opportunity or not, the temple will always come first before any man, because the ground they walk upon was blessed by Artemis. The sisterhood would have to survive one night of madness, but of course it only takes one swing at the hive to stir the bees inside.
Kallista remained idle within the sea of people, the soft wind gently picked up her dark hair as she observed the crowd. She kept her hands clasped together as she looked about with kind eyes as she awaited anyone to approach.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The Royal family of Colchis, the Kotas House, sent a missive that reached the desk of High Priestess Kallista, and it read that the family requested the peace ceremony on their sacred land. Kallista was no doubt flattered by the invitation, but the weight of the request left the High Priestess unnerved. Three Kingdoms with a history of tension under the roof of her goddess was not a decision to be made lightly. Although, Kallista believed that Artemis would not let harm befall the temple, nor any of her daughters within the hallowed, white temple. The temple had always been open to the public, but it has been the first time all three Kingdoms were present. The day was filled with firsts as the three kingdoms were expected to respect the policy of a weapons free event, but the day was far from over.
Kallista kept a polite smile on her face as she greeted Royals and Nobles from various kingdoms, the lady in white was accompanied by two other priestesses as they welcomed their guests. As the lady of ceremonies, High Priestess Kallista was just about everywhere and she intended to be in case something were to happen – Kallista would be there to intervene. Like many of the sisters who’ve joined the sisterhood, Kallista was as sharp as a blade’s end, and that meant she read body language very well. Artemis has taught Kallista many things and how to asset situations before acting was one of them, and that often meant understanding the persons at hand. Although, it was just her luck to be surrounded by several, if not clashing, personalities.
The High Priestess continued her lap in a graceful stride as her steps were hidden by the white robe as it trailed behind. Underneath her silent beauty and watchful eyes was growing irritations as the temple grounds was filled with entertainment that would be otherwise kept from grounds. Wine on the other hand was a friend to every sister of the sisterhood, but it would be inappropriate for any of the sisters to drink when men were present. The very fact so many men were even welcomed to the temple has angered quite a few priestesses, but ultimately the High Priestess made the decision. Kallista didn’t like it, but who was she to deny the Royal family of what they wanted, and if anything Kallista saw it more as an opportunity for the temple. Opportunity or not, the temple will always come first before any man, because the ground they walk upon was blessed by Artemis. The sisterhood would have to survive one night of madness, but of course it only takes one swing at the hive to stir the bees inside.
Kallista remained idle within the sea of people, the soft wind gently picked up her dark hair as she observed the crowd. She kept her hands clasped together as she looked about with kind eyes as she awaited anyone to approach.
The Royal family of Colchis, the Kotas House, sent a missive that reached the desk of High Priestess Kallista, and it read that the family requested the peace ceremony on their sacred land. Kallista was no doubt flattered by the invitation, but the weight of the request left the High Priestess unnerved. Three Kingdoms with a history of tension under the roof of her goddess was not a decision to be made lightly. Although, Kallista believed that Artemis would not let harm befall the temple, nor any of her daughters within the hallowed, white temple. The temple had always been open to the public, but it has been the first time all three Kingdoms were present. The day was filled with firsts as the three kingdoms were expected to respect the policy of a weapons free event, but the day was far from over.
Kallista kept a polite smile on her face as she greeted Royals and Nobles from various kingdoms, the lady in white was accompanied by two other priestesses as they welcomed their guests. As the lady of ceremonies, High Priestess Kallista was just about everywhere and she intended to be in case something were to happen – Kallista would be there to intervene. Like many of the sisters who’ve joined the sisterhood, Kallista was as sharp as a blade’s end, and that meant she read body language very well. Artemis has taught Kallista many things and how to asset situations before acting was one of them, and that often meant understanding the persons at hand. Although, it was just her luck to be surrounded by several, if not clashing, personalities.
The High Priestess continued her lap in a graceful stride as her steps were hidden by the white robe as it trailed behind. Underneath her silent beauty and watchful eyes was growing irritations as the temple grounds was filled with entertainment that would be otherwise kept from grounds. Wine on the other hand was a friend to every sister of the sisterhood, but it would be inappropriate for any of the sisters to drink when men were present. The very fact so many men were even welcomed to the temple has angered quite a few priestesses, but ultimately the High Priestess made the decision. Kallista didn’t like it, but who was she to deny the Royal family of what they wanted, and if anything Kallista saw it more as an opportunity for the temple. Opportunity or not, the temple will always come first before any man, because the ground they walk upon was blessed by Artemis. The sisterhood would have to survive one night of madness, but of course it only takes one swing at the hive to stir the bees inside.
Kallista remained idle within the sea of people, the soft wind gently picked up her dark hair as she observed the crowd. She kept her hands clasped together as she looked about with kind eyes as she awaited anyone to approach.
There was a slight jar in the ride as the ornate carriage lurched to a stop, the coachman reigning back the team of handsome horses pulling it, pulling at their bits and collars, even after the two hour trip from Midas to Illytia. The flags billowing about the elegant carriage featured the sigils of both the Xanthos’ dynasty of Athenia, and the House Nikolaos, announcing the passenger in proud representation. The armed guard accompanying the vehicle on its journey dismounted his own horse and opened the carriage door, offering a hand to help steady the occupant in disembarking. Accepting the assistance, the slender hand of a petite female appeared first, fingers cupped into the escort’s. Emerging was the small frame of an adolescent blonde, her free hand collecting the front of her gown as she descended the small step to the ground. She was hardly out of the carriage before the din of the festivities reached her ears, instantly drawing an appreciative smile from her. The lovely heart-shaped face and creamy complexion of Rene of Nikolaos beamed out from beneath a golden olive branch wreath around her head, cornsilk tresses fluttering about her shoulders in relaxed waves. Resplendent blue eyes washed over the visual cornucopia of the pageantry sprawled at the feet of the great Temple of the Cypress Sisterhood. There was seemingly no end to columns of stalls and vendor carts, entertainment venues and flags rippling in the subtle breezes. Garlands of greenery and flowers, and bolts of gauzy fabric alike draped the grounds and temple columns, a spectrum of color and sound and smells for the senses to devour. It was nothing if not a fitting celebration of ten years of the great treaty between the kingdoms, ten years of armistice and quid pro quo relations. Emerging behind the young noble was, as always, her devout handmaid, Melba, a late middle-aged attendant who had essentially raised the girl. Melba’s own clothing was eggshell in color, skirt reaching the ground, her shoulders and head covered with a drape, as both a matter of preference, and to reflect her station.
The Athenian artist herself was dressed in a chiton of cerulean to compliment her shimmering azure pools, with a trendy asymmetrical hemline that descended from her left hip to her right ankle, exposing a milky thigh as it did so, and embroidered in metallic gold threadwork of the meandros pattern. She appeared contradistinct in such a variant on the garment, apropos considering her unorthodox pursuit of sculpting and painting, professions entirely monopolized by men. From the golden braid tied about her tiny waist, two panels ascended the modest handful-sized curve of her breasts, and fastened behind her neck providing a neckline that plunged nearly to her navel, daring, to be certain, but tastefully done. Wide bands of gold ensnared each lithe bicep, and assorted gold and jeweled bangles jingled on each fragile wrist. Gladiator-style sandals with wider heels of reasonable height to prevent sinking into the ground buckled their way up her lissome calves. At only 5’ in height and barely reaching 100 lbs, the ethereal Athenian carried a few items in her arms; two delicate long stem roses of hand-twisted parchment, and an unidentified object wrapped in a small white linen drape.
Such an enormous social event was typically a source of anxiety for the normally-shy young lady, and in many ways, it still was. In fact, it would have been crippling had it not been for Rene’s secret desire to represent her House with all the glory and honor of her five older siblings. It would have been crippling had it not been for the solace she took in that she knew very few people, and as such, had little likelihood of being approached at random. The conundrum of a reticent adolescent summoning the courage to present herself with the full intention of being noticed was ongoing inside of her, and yet, determined as she was, she carried herself with all the faculties of a noble; head high and shoulders back.
Added to the amalgamation of emotions was one of excitement, eager to stroll amid the vast spread of attendees and participants. But first thing was first. She had not come to a foreign land empty-handed, as such was a terribly gauche thing to do, she’d presented her hosts with a large hand-painted amphora, wide at the top and narrow at its base, curled handles on either side to frame the crests of Colchis, painted in black on alabaster ceramic with meticulous metal inlay. Similarly, she made her first move in the direction of the temple, bearing a gift as well, Melba dutifully at her side, and the single soldier with his decorative panoply and red-plumed Corinthian-style helmet behind the two, eyes constantly moving to evaluate potential threats from any and all directions. It was always wise to honor the gods, and one's hosts, and Rene had every intention of doing so here as well. Daintily, she collected the front of her gown to ascend the polished marble steps of the temple and glided inside evenly, her heels clicking just slightly on the shined tilework. Melba and the guard held back while Rene moved to the dais, genuflecting to the great Artemis, the temple’s patron, before unwrapping the concealed item in her arms. Lovingly protected in the rolled drape was an urn about 12 inches high, also ivory in color, yet depicting Artemis herself painted in metallic gold. Placing it on the altar, Rene honored the goddess with her tribute, praying for a magnificent conclusion to the week-long event without incident or tragedy. When she’d completed her prayers, she returned to her two companions and departed the temple.
With her homage paid, she emerged between the pillars of the great temple and into the glorious golden sunlight, eager to move out into the crowd and partake in the gaiety. Left in her hands were the two parchment roses, and those she held for two individuals in particular; her cherished friend Ophelia of Condos, and her devoted handmaiden Evanthe. Having met the two Tangeans three years prior during an event in Athenia, Rene had earnestly kept in touch with Ophelia during that time, and it was through such correspondence she had learned that her friend would also be in attendance at the Decade of Peace celebration. Seeing Ophelia again was easily one of the most anticipated highlights of the event for Rene. Her ardor had seen her nearly bound down the steps of the temple and out towards the grand fields, before a voice reeled her back in.
“M’Lady, you drift ahead without us. Captain Aegeus may be able to match your enthused pace, but I cannot, and your parents will have my head, no doubt, were I to lose you,” the handmaiden called out to her. Rene’s pace slowed, turning to wait for her escorts to close ranks.
“Apologies, Melba. I am simply elated to find the Lady Ophelia again, and enjoy the festival,” Rene replied, before a smile eased across her lightly painted supple lips. “And you should not fear losing your head. You shall not do so if I have any say in the matter,” she added. “I very much like your head just as it is, atop your shoulders.” “As do I, M’Lady,” Melba replied, a bit sardonically, enjoying a more serendipitous relationship with her young mistress than most others in her station. It might have offended any who’d heard such a cursory reply, but as the woman was practically a surrogate mother, Rene hardly noticed the vernacular they shared. Freshly composed, the youngest of House Nikolaos ambled towards the fanfare, the thick of bodies already beginning to close about them.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There was a slight jar in the ride as the ornate carriage lurched to a stop, the coachman reigning back the team of handsome horses pulling it, pulling at their bits and collars, even after the two hour trip from Midas to Illytia. The flags billowing about the elegant carriage featured the sigils of both the Xanthos’ dynasty of Athenia, and the House Nikolaos, announcing the passenger in proud representation. The armed guard accompanying the vehicle on its journey dismounted his own horse and opened the carriage door, offering a hand to help steady the occupant in disembarking. Accepting the assistance, the slender hand of a petite female appeared first, fingers cupped into the escort’s. Emerging was the small frame of an adolescent blonde, her free hand collecting the front of her gown as she descended the small step to the ground. She was hardly out of the carriage before the din of the festivities reached her ears, instantly drawing an appreciative smile from her. The lovely heart-shaped face and creamy complexion of Rene of Nikolaos beamed out from beneath a golden olive branch wreath around her head, cornsilk tresses fluttering about her shoulders in relaxed waves. Resplendent blue eyes washed over the visual cornucopia of the pageantry sprawled at the feet of the great Temple of the Cypress Sisterhood. There was seemingly no end to columns of stalls and vendor carts, entertainment venues and flags rippling in the subtle breezes. Garlands of greenery and flowers, and bolts of gauzy fabric alike draped the grounds and temple columns, a spectrum of color and sound and smells for the senses to devour. It was nothing if not a fitting celebration of ten years of the great treaty between the kingdoms, ten years of armistice and quid pro quo relations. Emerging behind the young noble was, as always, her devout handmaid, Melba, a late middle-aged attendant who had essentially raised the girl. Melba’s own clothing was eggshell in color, skirt reaching the ground, her shoulders and head covered with a drape, as both a matter of preference, and to reflect her station.
The Athenian artist herself was dressed in a chiton of cerulean to compliment her shimmering azure pools, with a trendy asymmetrical hemline that descended from her left hip to her right ankle, exposing a milky thigh as it did so, and embroidered in metallic gold threadwork of the meandros pattern. She appeared contradistinct in such a variant on the garment, apropos considering her unorthodox pursuit of sculpting and painting, professions entirely monopolized by men. From the golden braid tied about her tiny waist, two panels ascended the modest handful-sized curve of her breasts, and fastened behind her neck providing a neckline that plunged nearly to her navel, daring, to be certain, but tastefully done. Wide bands of gold ensnared each lithe bicep, and assorted gold and jeweled bangles jingled on each fragile wrist. Gladiator-style sandals with wider heels of reasonable height to prevent sinking into the ground buckled their way up her lissome calves. At only 5’ in height and barely reaching 100 lbs, the ethereal Athenian carried a few items in her arms; two delicate long stem roses of hand-twisted parchment, and an unidentified object wrapped in a small white linen drape.
Such an enormous social event was typically a source of anxiety for the normally-shy young lady, and in many ways, it still was. In fact, it would have been crippling had it not been for Rene’s secret desire to represent her House with all the glory and honor of her five older siblings. It would have been crippling had it not been for the solace she took in that she knew very few people, and as such, had little likelihood of being approached at random. The conundrum of a reticent adolescent summoning the courage to present herself with the full intention of being noticed was ongoing inside of her, and yet, determined as she was, she carried herself with all the faculties of a noble; head high and shoulders back.
Added to the amalgamation of emotions was one of excitement, eager to stroll amid the vast spread of attendees and participants. But first thing was first. She had not come to a foreign land empty-handed, as such was a terribly gauche thing to do, she’d presented her hosts with a large hand-painted amphora, wide at the top and narrow at its base, curled handles on either side to frame the crests of Colchis, painted in black on alabaster ceramic with meticulous metal inlay. Similarly, she made her first move in the direction of the temple, bearing a gift as well, Melba dutifully at her side, and the single soldier with his decorative panoply and red-plumed Corinthian-style helmet behind the two, eyes constantly moving to evaluate potential threats from any and all directions. It was always wise to honor the gods, and one's hosts, and Rene had every intention of doing so here as well. Daintily, she collected the front of her gown to ascend the polished marble steps of the temple and glided inside evenly, her heels clicking just slightly on the shined tilework. Melba and the guard held back while Rene moved to the dais, genuflecting to the great Artemis, the temple’s patron, before unwrapping the concealed item in her arms. Lovingly protected in the rolled drape was an urn about 12 inches high, also ivory in color, yet depicting Artemis herself painted in metallic gold. Placing it on the altar, Rene honored the goddess with her tribute, praying for a magnificent conclusion to the week-long event without incident or tragedy. When she’d completed her prayers, she returned to her two companions and departed the temple.
With her homage paid, she emerged between the pillars of the great temple and into the glorious golden sunlight, eager to move out into the crowd and partake in the gaiety. Left in her hands were the two parchment roses, and those she held for two individuals in particular; her cherished friend Ophelia of Condos, and her devoted handmaiden Evanthe. Having met the two Tangeans three years prior during an event in Athenia, Rene had earnestly kept in touch with Ophelia during that time, and it was through such correspondence she had learned that her friend would also be in attendance at the Decade of Peace celebration. Seeing Ophelia again was easily one of the most anticipated highlights of the event for Rene. Her ardor had seen her nearly bound down the steps of the temple and out towards the grand fields, before a voice reeled her back in.
“M’Lady, you drift ahead without us. Captain Aegeus may be able to match your enthused pace, but I cannot, and your parents will have my head, no doubt, were I to lose you,” the handmaiden called out to her. Rene’s pace slowed, turning to wait for her escorts to close ranks.
“Apologies, Melba. I am simply elated to find the Lady Ophelia again, and enjoy the festival,” Rene replied, before a smile eased across her lightly painted supple lips. “And you should not fear losing your head. You shall not do so if I have any say in the matter,” she added. “I very much like your head just as it is, atop your shoulders.” “As do I, M’Lady,” Melba replied, a bit sardonically, enjoying a more serendipitous relationship with her young mistress than most others in her station. It might have offended any who’d heard such a cursory reply, but as the woman was practically a surrogate mother, Rene hardly noticed the vernacular they shared. Freshly composed, the youngest of House Nikolaos ambled towards the fanfare, the thick of bodies already beginning to close about them.
There was a slight jar in the ride as the ornate carriage lurched to a stop, the coachman reigning back the team of handsome horses pulling it, pulling at their bits and collars, even after the two hour trip from Midas to Illytia. The flags billowing about the elegant carriage featured the sigils of both the Xanthos’ dynasty of Athenia, and the House Nikolaos, announcing the passenger in proud representation. The armed guard accompanying the vehicle on its journey dismounted his own horse and opened the carriage door, offering a hand to help steady the occupant in disembarking. Accepting the assistance, the slender hand of a petite female appeared first, fingers cupped into the escort’s. Emerging was the small frame of an adolescent blonde, her free hand collecting the front of her gown as she descended the small step to the ground. She was hardly out of the carriage before the din of the festivities reached her ears, instantly drawing an appreciative smile from her. The lovely heart-shaped face and creamy complexion of Rene of Nikolaos beamed out from beneath a golden olive branch wreath around her head, cornsilk tresses fluttering about her shoulders in relaxed waves. Resplendent blue eyes washed over the visual cornucopia of the pageantry sprawled at the feet of the great Temple of the Cypress Sisterhood. There was seemingly no end to columns of stalls and vendor carts, entertainment venues and flags rippling in the subtle breezes. Garlands of greenery and flowers, and bolts of gauzy fabric alike draped the grounds and temple columns, a spectrum of color and sound and smells for the senses to devour. It was nothing if not a fitting celebration of ten years of the great treaty between the kingdoms, ten years of armistice and quid pro quo relations. Emerging behind the young noble was, as always, her devout handmaid, Melba, a late middle-aged attendant who had essentially raised the girl. Melba’s own clothing was eggshell in color, skirt reaching the ground, her shoulders and head covered with a drape, as both a matter of preference, and to reflect her station.
The Athenian artist herself was dressed in a chiton of cerulean to compliment her shimmering azure pools, with a trendy asymmetrical hemline that descended from her left hip to her right ankle, exposing a milky thigh as it did so, and embroidered in metallic gold threadwork of the meandros pattern. She appeared contradistinct in such a variant on the garment, apropos considering her unorthodox pursuit of sculpting and painting, professions entirely monopolized by men. From the golden braid tied about her tiny waist, two panels ascended the modest handful-sized curve of her breasts, and fastened behind her neck providing a neckline that plunged nearly to her navel, daring, to be certain, but tastefully done. Wide bands of gold ensnared each lithe bicep, and assorted gold and jeweled bangles jingled on each fragile wrist. Gladiator-style sandals with wider heels of reasonable height to prevent sinking into the ground buckled their way up her lissome calves. At only 5’ in height and barely reaching 100 lbs, the ethereal Athenian carried a few items in her arms; two delicate long stem roses of hand-twisted parchment, and an unidentified object wrapped in a small white linen drape.
Such an enormous social event was typically a source of anxiety for the normally-shy young lady, and in many ways, it still was. In fact, it would have been crippling had it not been for Rene’s secret desire to represent her House with all the glory and honor of her five older siblings. It would have been crippling had it not been for the solace she took in that she knew very few people, and as such, had little likelihood of being approached at random. The conundrum of a reticent adolescent summoning the courage to present herself with the full intention of being noticed was ongoing inside of her, and yet, determined as she was, she carried herself with all the faculties of a noble; head high and shoulders back.
Added to the amalgamation of emotions was one of excitement, eager to stroll amid the vast spread of attendees and participants. But first thing was first. She had not come to a foreign land empty-handed, as such was a terribly gauche thing to do, she’d presented her hosts with a large hand-painted amphora, wide at the top and narrow at its base, curled handles on either side to frame the crests of Colchis, painted in black on alabaster ceramic with meticulous metal inlay. Similarly, she made her first move in the direction of the temple, bearing a gift as well, Melba dutifully at her side, and the single soldier with his decorative panoply and red-plumed Corinthian-style helmet behind the two, eyes constantly moving to evaluate potential threats from any and all directions. It was always wise to honor the gods, and one's hosts, and Rene had every intention of doing so here as well. Daintily, she collected the front of her gown to ascend the polished marble steps of the temple and glided inside evenly, her heels clicking just slightly on the shined tilework. Melba and the guard held back while Rene moved to the dais, genuflecting to the great Artemis, the temple’s patron, before unwrapping the concealed item in her arms. Lovingly protected in the rolled drape was an urn about 12 inches high, also ivory in color, yet depicting Artemis herself painted in metallic gold. Placing it on the altar, Rene honored the goddess with her tribute, praying for a magnificent conclusion to the week-long event without incident or tragedy. When she’d completed her prayers, she returned to her two companions and departed the temple.
With her homage paid, she emerged between the pillars of the great temple and into the glorious golden sunlight, eager to move out into the crowd and partake in the gaiety. Left in her hands were the two parchment roses, and those she held for two individuals in particular; her cherished friend Ophelia of Condos, and her devoted handmaiden Evanthe. Having met the two Tangeans three years prior during an event in Athenia, Rene had earnestly kept in touch with Ophelia during that time, and it was through such correspondence she had learned that her friend would also be in attendance at the Decade of Peace celebration. Seeing Ophelia again was easily one of the most anticipated highlights of the event for Rene. Her ardor had seen her nearly bound down the steps of the temple and out towards the grand fields, before a voice reeled her back in.
“M’Lady, you drift ahead without us. Captain Aegeus may be able to match your enthused pace, but I cannot, and your parents will have my head, no doubt, were I to lose you,” the handmaiden called out to her. Rene’s pace slowed, turning to wait for her escorts to close ranks.
“Apologies, Melba. I am simply elated to find the Lady Ophelia again, and enjoy the festival,” Rene replied, before a smile eased across her lightly painted supple lips. “And you should not fear losing your head. You shall not do so if I have any say in the matter,” she added. “I very much like your head just as it is, atop your shoulders.” “As do I, M’Lady,” Melba replied, a bit sardonically, enjoying a more serendipitous relationship with her young mistress than most others in her station. It might have offended any who’d heard such a cursory reply, but as the woman was practically a surrogate mother, Rene hardly noticed the vernacular they shared. Freshly composed, the youngest of House Nikolaos ambled towards the fanfare, the thick of bodies already beginning to close about them.
The sweet caress of the cold seawater filled Pontus with the same exuberant joy as it always had. Every morning, an hour before sunrise, he would awaken, carry his jar from the market and down to the beaches. He would then disrobe and begin prostrating himself into the sea, submerging himself only to rise out of the water to yell praises for the Lord of the Waves. Then he would scour the beaches to grab seashells. Every day he did this. Today would be no exception.
Pontus didn't honestly care for whatever the festivities were honoring. It wasn't in adoration of Poseidon or the other gods. No, this was adoration of what man had done. The Madman of Midas knew well that man's accomplishments could never even begin to compare to the terrible and awe-inspiring things that the gods could do. Why should he care about the achievements of weak humans? But as he began his daily ritual on the final day, he could feel the voice of the Earthshaker in his mind. It told him that this day was to yield exciting events.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, the now exhausted Pontus rose from the water for the last time, "Oh Great and Terrible King of the Seas, bless me with the power and sight to make me understand your will. Shower upon me with your divine insight, if only for a moment!" He rose his hands up to the sky as he screamed. A wave crashed into the madman, knocking him down into the water. It was a sign. Poseidon would indeed grant him vision and insight, but he knew that all tidings would not be joyous. Dangerous winds were upon the horizon.
It wasn't long before he had collected the seashells, as usual, even finding a relatively large one. This one, he knew, would play importance to someone; he didn't know how it would yet. Placed them all in his jar, he hoisted it upon his back, and hobbled over to the docks, plopped himself down on a small stone. It wasn't long before the first sailors came up to him.
One exceptionally excited man stepped forward, "Oh great oracle Pontus! You were right! The winds of fortune were blowing my way!" The man was a merchant who had asked for an omen a few weeks ago. Once again, the 'Madman of Midas' proved that he had the insight of Poseidon. It filled him with a great sense of accomplishment. "I did as you asked, said a prayer to the great Earthshaker, and cast a gem into the sea. Not only did I make it there with no issues, but I made out with a better profit than expected! Y-you are..." the merchant had seemed at a loss for words.
Pontus nodded, placing his hand upon the man's shoulder, "I did not do anything. You, dear Belen, gave praise and asked for the guidance of the King of the Seas. It was you! I am only his voice upon the land. I am only a weak vessel in which the Great and Terrible Poseidon uses. For he is the true power upon the seas." The oracle's voice was deep and booming, "Praise to the Glorious and Powerful Poseidon! Praise to the Earthshaker! Praise to the Master of Waves, King of Seas, and Father of Horses! Praise!"
Belen nodded, "That is true. Glory to the Sea King! Praise and Glory!" Pontus could tell that the merchant believed every second of it. The exuberance in his voice and light in his eyes had told him that it was true. Another soul to praise Poseidon. Belen reached for his leather purse and produced a few gold coins, handing them to Pontus, "This is for you! Do not try and give it back! Use this in honor of Poseidon!"
The madman was hesitant to take it, his eyes looking into the merchant. Material possessions did not matter to Pontus, but the insistent merchant would not take no for an answer. "A trade, then." Pontus retrieved a moderate size shell from his jar and handed it to the merchant, "May this be a reminder that we are all small compared to the seas, and it's King." With the trade complete, the merchant hurried off towards the gate. Pontus stared at the money in his hand, on its face was the visage of some king, no doubt from some faraway land, before dropping it in his jar. Money had no real value to him.
As he looked up from his jar, his eyes landed on a fire-haired woman. Tall, strong, and dangerous. This. Pontus stood up, his head arching back, his mouth held agape, and his seaweed eyes wide with hysteria as he hobbled his way towards her. Roaring flames. A sea of blood. Screeching of iron and bronze. The Earthshaker's voice boomed into his mind, painful and soothing. A daughter of Eris, unknown to her. An agent of chaos. Visions of bloated corpses floating in the sea, the banners of the noble houses torn and submerged, and ships rip asunder filtered through his mind as he stared, unblinking at the woman. He stopped in front of her and leaned in to look her in the eyes.
"You. Child of Eris. You bring bad omens. Bad omens to the shores. Yes. Poseidon is warning me. You, amazon, are a herald of chaos—a herald to the changing tides." His voice at first was a whisper, barely enough for the woman to hear it. But it had morphed into a deep bellow, " Black bile will spill from out from the living, dredged up from the seafloor, bloated by the weight of their hubris. The world shall be covered in the blood of the innocents and guilty alike. We shall be set adrift on an ocean of sludge, aboard a ship headed for oblivion. We have no sails. We have no oars. And the anchor has snapped." Pontus finally blinked and tore his eyes away from the amazon, "The anchor has snapped. The anchor has snapped." He repeated these words quietly to himself, leaned against his walking stick, his head twitched periodically. His eyes glazed over as he looked out towards the sea. It helped calmed his scattered mind. He had hoped in time that he'd get used to the visions, but he hadn't so far.
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The sweet caress of the cold seawater filled Pontus with the same exuberant joy as it always had. Every morning, an hour before sunrise, he would awaken, carry his jar from the market and down to the beaches. He would then disrobe and begin prostrating himself into the sea, submerging himself only to rise out of the water to yell praises for the Lord of the Waves. Then he would scour the beaches to grab seashells. Every day he did this. Today would be no exception.
Pontus didn't honestly care for whatever the festivities were honoring. It wasn't in adoration of Poseidon or the other gods. No, this was adoration of what man had done. The Madman of Midas knew well that man's accomplishments could never even begin to compare to the terrible and awe-inspiring things that the gods could do. Why should he care about the achievements of weak humans? But as he began his daily ritual on the final day, he could feel the voice of the Earthshaker in his mind. It told him that this day was to yield exciting events.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, the now exhausted Pontus rose from the water for the last time, "Oh Great and Terrible King of the Seas, bless me with the power and sight to make me understand your will. Shower upon me with your divine insight, if only for a moment!" He rose his hands up to the sky as he screamed. A wave crashed into the madman, knocking him down into the water. It was a sign. Poseidon would indeed grant him vision and insight, but he knew that all tidings would not be joyous. Dangerous winds were upon the horizon.
It wasn't long before he had collected the seashells, as usual, even finding a relatively large one. This one, he knew, would play importance to someone; he didn't know how it would yet. Placed them all in his jar, he hoisted it upon his back, and hobbled over to the docks, plopped himself down on a small stone. It wasn't long before the first sailors came up to him.
One exceptionally excited man stepped forward, "Oh great oracle Pontus! You were right! The winds of fortune were blowing my way!" The man was a merchant who had asked for an omen a few weeks ago. Once again, the 'Madman of Midas' proved that he had the insight of Poseidon. It filled him with a great sense of accomplishment. "I did as you asked, said a prayer to the great Earthshaker, and cast a gem into the sea. Not only did I make it there with no issues, but I made out with a better profit than expected! Y-you are..." the merchant had seemed at a loss for words.
Pontus nodded, placing his hand upon the man's shoulder, "I did not do anything. You, dear Belen, gave praise and asked for the guidance of the King of the Seas. It was you! I am only his voice upon the land. I am only a weak vessel in which the Great and Terrible Poseidon uses. For he is the true power upon the seas." The oracle's voice was deep and booming, "Praise to the Glorious and Powerful Poseidon! Praise to the Earthshaker! Praise to the Master of Waves, King of Seas, and Father of Horses! Praise!"
Belen nodded, "That is true. Glory to the Sea King! Praise and Glory!" Pontus could tell that the merchant believed every second of it. The exuberance in his voice and light in his eyes had told him that it was true. Another soul to praise Poseidon. Belen reached for his leather purse and produced a few gold coins, handing them to Pontus, "This is for you! Do not try and give it back! Use this in honor of Poseidon!"
The madman was hesitant to take it, his eyes looking into the merchant. Material possessions did not matter to Pontus, but the insistent merchant would not take no for an answer. "A trade, then." Pontus retrieved a moderate size shell from his jar and handed it to the merchant, "May this be a reminder that we are all small compared to the seas, and it's King." With the trade complete, the merchant hurried off towards the gate. Pontus stared at the money in his hand, on its face was the visage of some king, no doubt from some faraway land, before dropping it in his jar. Money had no real value to him.
As he looked up from his jar, his eyes landed on a fire-haired woman. Tall, strong, and dangerous. This. Pontus stood up, his head arching back, his mouth held agape, and his seaweed eyes wide with hysteria as he hobbled his way towards her. Roaring flames. A sea of blood. Screeching of iron and bronze. The Earthshaker's voice boomed into his mind, painful and soothing. A daughter of Eris, unknown to her. An agent of chaos. Visions of bloated corpses floating in the sea, the banners of the noble houses torn and submerged, and ships rip asunder filtered through his mind as he stared, unblinking at the woman. He stopped in front of her and leaned in to look her in the eyes.
"You. Child of Eris. You bring bad omens. Bad omens to the shores. Yes. Poseidon is warning me. You, amazon, are a herald of chaos—a herald to the changing tides." His voice at first was a whisper, barely enough for the woman to hear it. But it had morphed into a deep bellow, " Black bile will spill from out from the living, dredged up from the seafloor, bloated by the weight of their hubris. The world shall be covered in the blood of the innocents and guilty alike. We shall be set adrift on an ocean of sludge, aboard a ship headed for oblivion. We have no sails. We have no oars. And the anchor has snapped." Pontus finally blinked and tore his eyes away from the amazon, "The anchor has snapped. The anchor has snapped." He repeated these words quietly to himself, leaned against his walking stick, his head twitched periodically. His eyes glazed over as he looked out towards the sea. It helped calmed his scattered mind. He had hoped in time that he'd get used to the visions, but he hadn't so far.
The sweet caress of the cold seawater filled Pontus with the same exuberant joy as it always had. Every morning, an hour before sunrise, he would awaken, carry his jar from the market and down to the beaches. He would then disrobe and begin prostrating himself into the sea, submerging himself only to rise out of the water to yell praises for the Lord of the Waves. Then he would scour the beaches to grab seashells. Every day he did this. Today would be no exception.
Pontus didn't honestly care for whatever the festivities were honoring. It wasn't in adoration of Poseidon or the other gods. No, this was adoration of what man had done. The Madman of Midas knew well that man's accomplishments could never even begin to compare to the terrible and awe-inspiring things that the gods could do. Why should he care about the achievements of weak humans? But as he began his daily ritual on the final day, he could feel the voice of the Earthshaker in his mind. It told him that this day was to yield exciting events.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, the now exhausted Pontus rose from the water for the last time, "Oh Great and Terrible King of the Seas, bless me with the power and sight to make me understand your will. Shower upon me with your divine insight, if only for a moment!" He rose his hands up to the sky as he screamed. A wave crashed into the madman, knocking him down into the water. It was a sign. Poseidon would indeed grant him vision and insight, but he knew that all tidings would not be joyous. Dangerous winds were upon the horizon.
It wasn't long before he had collected the seashells, as usual, even finding a relatively large one. This one, he knew, would play importance to someone; he didn't know how it would yet. Placed them all in his jar, he hoisted it upon his back, and hobbled over to the docks, plopped himself down on a small stone. It wasn't long before the first sailors came up to him.
One exceptionally excited man stepped forward, "Oh great oracle Pontus! You were right! The winds of fortune were blowing my way!" The man was a merchant who had asked for an omen a few weeks ago. Once again, the 'Madman of Midas' proved that he had the insight of Poseidon. It filled him with a great sense of accomplishment. "I did as you asked, said a prayer to the great Earthshaker, and cast a gem into the sea. Not only did I make it there with no issues, but I made out with a better profit than expected! Y-you are..." the merchant had seemed at a loss for words.
Pontus nodded, placing his hand upon the man's shoulder, "I did not do anything. You, dear Belen, gave praise and asked for the guidance of the King of the Seas. It was you! I am only his voice upon the land. I am only a weak vessel in which the Great and Terrible Poseidon uses. For he is the true power upon the seas." The oracle's voice was deep and booming, "Praise to the Glorious and Powerful Poseidon! Praise to the Earthshaker! Praise to the Master of Waves, King of Seas, and Father of Horses! Praise!"
Belen nodded, "That is true. Glory to the Sea King! Praise and Glory!" Pontus could tell that the merchant believed every second of it. The exuberance in his voice and light in his eyes had told him that it was true. Another soul to praise Poseidon. Belen reached for his leather purse and produced a few gold coins, handing them to Pontus, "This is for you! Do not try and give it back! Use this in honor of Poseidon!"
The madman was hesitant to take it, his eyes looking into the merchant. Material possessions did not matter to Pontus, but the insistent merchant would not take no for an answer. "A trade, then." Pontus retrieved a moderate size shell from his jar and handed it to the merchant, "May this be a reminder that we are all small compared to the seas, and it's King." With the trade complete, the merchant hurried off towards the gate. Pontus stared at the money in his hand, on its face was the visage of some king, no doubt from some faraway land, before dropping it in his jar. Money had no real value to him.
As he looked up from his jar, his eyes landed on a fire-haired woman. Tall, strong, and dangerous. This. Pontus stood up, his head arching back, his mouth held agape, and his seaweed eyes wide with hysteria as he hobbled his way towards her. Roaring flames. A sea of blood. Screeching of iron and bronze. The Earthshaker's voice boomed into his mind, painful and soothing. A daughter of Eris, unknown to her. An agent of chaos. Visions of bloated corpses floating in the sea, the banners of the noble houses torn and submerged, and ships rip asunder filtered through his mind as he stared, unblinking at the woman. He stopped in front of her and leaned in to look her in the eyes.
"You. Child of Eris. You bring bad omens. Bad omens to the shores. Yes. Poseidon is warning me. You, amazon, are a herald of chaos—a herald to the changing tides." His voice at first was a whisper, barely enough for the woman to hear it. But it had morphed into a deep bellow, " Black bile will spill from out from the living, dredged up from the seafloor, bloated by the weight of their hubris. The world shall be covered in the blood of the innocents and guilty alike. We shall be set adrift on an ocean of sludge, aboard a ship headed for oblivion. We have no sails. We have no oars. And the anchor has snapped." Pontus finally blinked and tore his eyes away from the amazon, "The anchor has snapped. The anchor has snapped." He repeated these words quietly to himself, leaned against his walking stick, his head twitched periodically. His eyes glazed over as he looked out towards the sea. It helped calmed his scattered mind. He had hoped in time that he'd get used to the visions, but he hadn't so far.
Essa of Drakos, youngest daughter of Princess Tythra of Kotas and the late Thesus of Drakos, had long abandoned the fringed palanquin she was been taxied around in by four slaves. Sure there was a prestige to having royal blood in one’s veins. Sure there was an excitement to such privilege and catering. And yet, Essa had grown tired of it. Where it was initially impressive to be bandied about in high reverence, now the small entourage to pull such off was vexing her. Unlike her sister Imeeya, Essa had never given much consideration to indulging her royal birthright and marrying up for such high courting and political power. It was fun to pretend for a bit, but her interests wandered far too much to keep her planted by such lofty ambitions. Not to mention the whole thing sounded incredibly oppressive. A royal herself, she knew royals, who they were, what they acted like, and as many of them were family, the far less flattering traits privy only to those within the confines of their castles and keeps.
Accepting such low expectations of her own future, this provided no reason for Essa to consign herself to the rigid instruction that her sister endured, always trying to be prim and proper, always with nose up and neckline down, seeking out any pair of eyes that might accept whatever offer it is she was throwing out; a few hours, a marriage, political union, or what have you. No, not Essa. Attractive in many ways, the young Drakos heiress still opted to balance out that impeccable presentation expected of her with a generous serving of not giving a damn. When satisfied that she’d fulfilled her duties around the court, or around the estate, she thought nothing of pulling her long tresses back into a ponytail, and shimmying out of her chitons and peplos to trade them for more practical attired that allowed for freedom of movement without risk of exposure. She simply hated that feeling of draftiness when climbing a tree, or up the side of some old ruins. Yes, she found she preferred those pastimes and their associated vestiges, free from the microscopic scrutiny of the powerful and influential of the court, free to be as she was without a tongue lashing. But here she stood, in a pale yellow chiton with turquoise dyed hemlines and strands of matching turquoise at her waist, wrists and neck. Chocolate locks were pulled back at the sides and secured in loose ringlets decorated with fresh picked flowers, the rest of her hair left to spill down her back in wide-barreled corkscrew curls. Yards and yards of fabric, and still she felt naked. But wait….
Essa’s thoughts had wandered. Again. She derailed her train of such thought by refocusing on the moment, the event, the great celebration of Grecian unification. She’d rather be back in her room, enthralled with texts, or waving around a sword as if she knew what she was doing, or traversing the vine-covered remains of some temple of antiquity, that much was true. For now, she shooed away the small army of sycophants following her about, climbing from her palanquin and surveying the vast expanse of festivity laid out before her. With the wave of her fingers, the slaves and all but one soldier scurried away, leaving the little royal to beam out at the swarm of bodies and color. They moved so frantically, like ants when one kicked over their hill. Somewhere out in the horde of attendees was Imeeya, though Essa imagined she’d probably already secured a glass of wine and perhaps a companion to wear on her arm like an accessory. Ironically, such did not seem like a bad idea, and Essa instantly sought out the first wine vendor she came across.
Her guard stepped forward, taking the initiative, as Essa played along with such an element of etiquette. He addressed the vendor, a middle aged man, freshly shorn face and clean clothing. “The Lady Essa of Drakos,” the soldier announced his mistress’ arrival. The vendor’s own steely gaze shifted from the soldier to the young girl, likely barely out of her teens, but as someone of importance, he would hardly deny her. “I should like a goblet of your finest,” Essa smiled, folding her hands in front of her. “Not these in the front. The good stuff, in the small barrels you have stacked underneath those others in the very back,” she said matter-of-factly, keen eye having already sussed out the different vintages. She would not have the usual stuff being doled out by the gallon. “And don’t water it down either, though, I find it hard to believe a wine-maker would besmirch his private reserve in such a way?” It was rhetorical really, a small smile working its way across Essa’s lips. The vendor visually appeared stunned, but made no effort to challenge the noble or defend any actions he might have intended to make. Instead, his eyes temporarily vacillated between the girl and her soldier before bowing.
“Of course, M’Lady. Only the finest for the most refined of palates,” he answered, hastening to procure one of the smaller select barrels of a fine red blend. While he waited, Essa’s eyes roamed a bit, and near instantly sought out her next stop. Down the aisle of stalls was a kissing booth, and the sandy-haired young man standing out front promoting the booth was all the advertising she needed. A distracted smile once more worked its way across her youthful features before she noticed in her periphery a goblet being offered. Accepting the wine, she nodded to her guard, who retrieved a few drachma from a small leather pouch at his belt with which to pay the vendor.
“Enjoy, M’Lady. We shall be here waiting when your cup requires filling,” he offered in smooth enticement, to which Essa herself merely nodded before moving on. Not in a hurried pace, but certainly not dawdling, she ambled towards the kissing booth, brown eyes fixed on the strapping young man out front with blonde wavy hair.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Essa of Drakos, youngest daughter of Princess Tythra of Kotas and the late Thesus of Drakos, had long abandoned the fringed palanquin she was been taxied around in by four slaves. Sure there was a prestige to having royal blood in one’s veins. Sure there was an excitement to such privilege and catering. And yet, Essa had grown tired of it. Where it was initially impressive to be bandied about in high reverence, now the small entourage to pull such off was vexing her. Unlike her sister Imeeya, Essa had never given much consideration to indulging her royal birthright and marrying up for such high courting and political power. It was fun to pretend for a bit, but her interests wandered far too much to keep her planted by such lofty ambitions. Not to mention the whole thing sounded incredibly oppressive. A royal herself, she knew royals, who they were, what they acted like, and as many of them were family, the far less flattering traits privy only to those within the confines of their castles and keeps.
Accepting such low expectations of her own future, this provided no reason for Essa to consign herself to the rigid instruction that her sister endured, always trying to be prim and proper, always with nose up and neckline down, seeking out any pair of eyes that might accept whatever offer it is she was throwing out; a few hours, a marriage, political union, or what have you. No, not Essa. Attractive in many ways, the young Drakos heiress still opted to balance out that impeccable presentation expected of her with a generous serving of not giving a damn. When satisfied that she’d fulfilled her duties around the court, or around the estate, she thought nothing of pulling her long tresses back into a ponytail, and shimmying out of her chitons and peplos to trade them for more practical attired that allowed for freedom of movement without risk of exposure. She simply hated that feeling of draftiness when climbing a tree, or up the side of some old ruins. Yes, she found she preferred those pastimes and their associated vestiges, free from the microscopic scrutiny of the powerful and influential of the court, free to be as she was without a tongue lashing. But here she stood, in a pale yellow chiton with turquoise dyed hemlines and strands of matching turquoise at her waist, wrists and neck. Chocolate locks were pulled back at the sides and secured in loose ringlets decorated with fresh picked flowers, the rest of her hair left to spill down her back in wide-barreled corkscrew curls. Yards and yards of fabric, and still she felt naked. But wait….
Essa’s thoughts had wandered. Again. She derailed her train of such thought by refocusing on the moment, the event, the great celebration of Grecian unification. She’d rather be back in her room, enthralled with texts, or waving around a sword as if she knew what she was doing, or traversing the vine-covered remains of some temple of antiquity, that much was true. For now, she shooed away the small army of sycophants following her about, climbing from her palanquin and surveying the vast expanse of festivity laid out before her. With the wave of her fingers, the slaves and all but one soldier scurried away, leaving the little royal to beam out at the swarm of bodies and color. They moved so frantically, like ants when one kicked over their hill. Somewhere out in the horde of attendees was Imeeya, though Essa imagined she’d probably already secured a glass of wine and perhaps a companion to wear on her arm like an accessory. Ironically, such did not seem like a bad idea, and Essa instantly sought out the first wine vendor she came across.
Her guard stepped forward, taking the initiative, as Essa played along with such an element of etiquette. He addressed the vendor, a middle aged man, freshly shorn face and clean clothing. “The Lady Essa of Drakos,” the soldier announced his mistress’ arrival. The vendor’s own steely gaze shifted from the soldier to the young girl, likely barely out of her teens, but as someone of importance, he would hardly deny her. “I should like a goblet of your finest,” Essa smiled, folding her hands in front of her. “Not these in the front. The good stuff, in the small barrels you have stacked underneath those others in the very back,” she said matter-of-factly, keen eye having already sussed out the different vintages. She would not have the usual stuff being doled out by the gallon. “And don’t water it down either, though, I find it hard to believe a wine-maker would besmirch his private reserve in such a way?” It was rhetorical really, a small smile working its way across Essa’s lips. The vendor visually appeared stunned, but made no effort to challenge the noble or defend any actions he might have intended to make. Instead, his eyes temporarily vacillated between the girl and her soldier before bowing.
“Of course, M’Lady. Only the finest for the most refined of palates,” he answered, hastening to procure one of the smaller select barrels of a fine red blend. While he waited, Essa’s eyes roamed a bit, and near instantly sought out her next stop. Down the aisle of stalls was a kissing booth, and the sandy-haired young man standing out front promoting the booth was all the advertising she needed. A distracted smile once more worked its way across her youthful features before she noticed in her periphery a goblet being offered. Accepting the wine, she nodded to her guard, who retrieved a few drachma from a small leather pouch at his belt with which to pay the vendor.
“Enjoy, M’Lady. We shall be here waiting when your cup requires filling,” he offered in smooth enticement, to which Essa herself merely nodded before moving on. Not in a hurried pace, but certainly not dawdling, she ambled towards the kissing booth, brown eyes fixed on the strapping young man out front with blonde wavy hair.
Essa of Drakos, youngest daughter of Princess Tythra of Kotas and the late Thesus of Drakos, had long abandoned the fringed palanquin she was been taxied around in by four slaves. Sure there was a prestige to having royal blood in one’s veins. Sure there was an excitement to such privilege and catering. And yet, Essa had grown tired of it. Where it was initially impressive to be bandied about in high reverence, now the small entourage to pull such off was vexing her. Unlike her sister Imeeya, Essa had never given much consideration to indulging her royal birthright and marrying up for such high courting and political power. It was fun to pretend for a bit, but her interests wandered far too much to keep her planted by such lofty ambitions. Not to mention the whole thing sounded incredibly oppressive. A royal herself, she knew royals, who they were, what they acted like, and as many of them were family, the far less flattering traits privy only to those within the confines of their castles and keeps.
Accepting such low expectations of her own future, this provided no reason for Essa to consign herself to the rigid instruction that her sister endured, always trying to be prim and proper, always with nose up and neckline down, seeking out any pair of eyes that might accept whatever offer it is she was throwing out; a few hours, a marriage, political union, or what have you. No, not Essa. Attractive in many ways, the young Drakos heiress still opted to balance out that impeccable presentation expected of her with a generous serving of not giving a damn. When satisfied that she’d fulfilled her duties around the court, or around the estate, she thought nothing of pulling her long tresses back into a ponytail, and shimmying out of her chitons and peplos to trade them for more practical attired that allowed for freedom of movement without risk of exposure. She simply hated that feeling of draftiness when climbing a tree, or up the side of some old ruins. Yes, she found she preferred those pastimes and their associated vestiges, free from the microscopic scrutiny of the powerful and influential of the court, free to be as she was without a tongue lashing. But here she stood, in a pale yellow chiton with turquoise dyed hemlines and strands of matching turquoise at her waist, wrists and neck. Chocolate locks were pulled back at the sides and secured in loose ringlets decorated with fresh picked flowers, the rest of her hair left to spill down her back in wide-barreled corkscrew curls. Yards and yards of fabric, and still she felt naked. But wait….
Essa’s thoughts had wandered. Again. She derailed her train of such thought by refocusing on the moment, the event, the great celebration of Grecian unification. She’d rather be back in her room, enthralled with texts, or waving around a sword as if she knew what she was doing, or traversing the vine-covered remains of some temple of antiquity, that much was true. For now, she shooed away the small army of sycophants following her about, climbing from her palanquin and surveying the vast expanse of festivity laid out before her. With the wave of her fingers, the slaves and all but one soldier scurried away, leaving the little royal to beam out at the swarm of bodies and color. They moved so frantically, like ants when one kicked over their hill. Somewhere out in the horde of attendees was Imeeya, though Essa imagined she’d probably already secured a glass of wine and perhaps a companion to wear on her arm like an accessory. Ironically, such did not seem like a bad idea, and Essa instantly sought out the first wine vendor she came across.
Her guard stepped forward, taking the initiative, as Essa played along with such an element of etiquette. He addressed the vendor, a middle aged man, freshly shorn face and clean clothing. “The Lady Essa of Drakos,” the soldier announced his mistress’ arrival. The vendor’s own steely gaze shifted from the soldier to the young girl, likely barely out of her teens, but as someone of importance, he would hardly deny her. “I should like a goblet of your finest,” Essa smiled, folding her hands in front of her. “Not these in the front. The good stuff, in the small barrels you have stacked underneath those others in the very back,” she said matter-of-factly, keen eye having already sussed out the different vintages. She would not have the usual stuff being doled out by the gallon. “And don’t water it down either, though, I find it hard to believe a wine-maker would besmirch his private reserve in such a way?” It was rhetorical really, a small smile working its way across Essa’s lips. The vendor visually appeared stunned, but made no effort to challenge the noble or defend any actions he might have intended to make. Instead, his eyes temporarily vacillated between the girl and her soldier before bowing.
“Of course, M’Lady. Only the finest for the most refined of palates,” he answered, hastening to procure one of the smaller select barrels of a fine red blend. While he waited, Essa’s eyes roamed a bit, and near instantly sought out her next stop. Down the aisle of stalls was a kissing booth, and the sandy-haired young man standing out front promoting the booth was all the advertising she needed. A distracted smile once more worked its way across her youthful features before she noticed in her periphery a goblet being offered. Accepting the wine, she nodded to her guard, who retrieved a few drachma from a small leather pouch at his belt with which to pay the vendor.
“Enjoy, M’Lady. We shall be here waiting when your cup requires filling,” he offered in smooth enticement, to which Essa herself merely nodded before moving on. Not in a hurried pace, but certainly not dawdling, she ambled towards the kissing booth, brown eyes fixed on the strapping young man out front with blonde wavy hair.
Aea stood silently beside Kaia as her cousin settled Kalosi into the shade of the overhanging cloth beside them. It was a simple thing to pull the knots and drop the shafts. The she-goat was too old to do much more than fold her legs and plop between the softened wood, laying her chin on the ground. It was a wonder she could close her eyes with so much noise, but she was a well-traveled goat who’d seen and done things that most goats should never see and do. A festival was not going to shake her. At the mention of Kaia dressing the part of a damsel, Aea’s lips twitched. Her cousin was more woodland beast than forest nymph. Seeing her in anything other than a set of pants was strange, but with her golden hair brushed out and her athletic frame wrapped in such a clean, white garment, Aea did not think anyone could mistake her for a beast on this day. She was truly beautiful, just like Callie. To Aea, she did not have to brush her hair to be so—it poured from her soul and shone through her skin. Even when Kaia’s expression was stony and cold, even when she was covered in blood, the gentleness and passion she tried to keep locked away washed over her features and painted her with a soft, feminine glow. It moulded her bones and fashioned the entirety of her into something starkly opposite of her harsh surroundings. Something singular and entirely Kaia. Sometimes, when Kaia wasn’t looking, Aea would trace her features with her eyes and map out every elegant line of her face. When she was very young, before Callie died, Aea used to seek to the nearest small body of water and stare into it, pulling her face to try and catch Kaia’s likeness. She got quite good at mimicking the blonde’s scowl and pretending to be in her skin, but she never caught her cousin’s beauty. She’d learned to accept that Kaia was favored by her uncles a long time ago. Every now and again though, like now, when Kaia appeared so effortlessly exquisite, Aea remembered that she wasn’t Kaia and it would gnaw at her like a disease. Uncle Agolois saw it, too. It was why he had been so hesitant to bring Kaia into the city today; he thought slaver might see her golden hair first, then the rest of her, and decide that she looked penniless enough to never be missed. Trying to take Kaia would be a mistake. If Kaia didn’t open a throat first, somebody else would. Given that Aea’s cousin had thankfully never been snatched, she could not know what her own actions would be, but setting fire to any man who dared take what was not his tasted like a metallic truth. Most people hated the smell of singed hair and melted flesh—it never bothered Aea, though. Regardless of the odd bout of resentment every now and again, Aea would watch the world burn to bring Kaia home. “I hope that wasn’t an attempt to insult me, because it didn’t work.” Her tone was flat and entirely without tonal change, but Kaia knew when Aea was teasing. Teasing was better than asking if she looked like a damsel in her perpetual peplois. Pants were just so uncomfortable and tight in all the wrong places; it felt like suffocation. A scowl tightened across Kaia’s face, transforming her soft beauty into steel and scorn. Aea’s eyes snapped to the apple of her ire and found the woman in green. She had finished inspecting the table and had moved to the next one. “Do you know her?” Aea whispered. She hoped they didn’t have to kill anybody today. She didn’t want to leave the festival so early when they’d just gotten there. There wasn’t supposed to be any blood today, but if the woman had done something stupid, if she’d hurt Kaia, then Kaia’s fury wasn’t going to be contained, and Aea wouldn’t leave her to deal with it on her own. Whatever that woman had done, it was her own foolish fault, and Aea felt nothing as she focused on her. She used to get so upset whenever they had to take people, but Hektos had made sure to rid her of the sympathy early on. The woman was no longer a woman, but a target that was still breathing. The guard would have to go too. The best way to ensure that no screaming occurred was to take them by surprise. Distract the guard long enough that he turned his head, open the target’s throat, then sink a blade into the guard’s temple before he could turn his head back. It was essentially two against one, so it would work as long as Kaia didn’t rush in before they could lure the target and the guard into a bottle neck. Maybe...no. Aea wouldn’t take the green garment. It would be soaked in blood anyway. If she couldn’t sell it, and she couldn’t wear it, then she didn’t require it. She would leave it to the beggars, who had far more need of an extra bolt of cloth. But...maybe she might need it. She could take it, just to have it. She could still wear it when she was on the road, it’s not like anybody would see the blood on the front. She needed another outfit besides the frayed off-white thing she wore. But no...her uncles would think her foolish. Kaia would think her foolish. A damsel. Prey. It would be a secret, though. Aea could wear it when her uncles and father went into the city and when Kaia wanted to go practice her aim. Aea could put it on in and wear it for ten minutes; nobody would ever know. “Do we need to hunt instead?” Aea said, looking from the target and back to Kaia. Her sense of festive excitement was extinguished. In place of the bubbling warmth and the lightness of her stomach, there was nothing. Not even the cold. “We just have to wait until night. Follow her home if she leaves the festival before. Or, if we do it here, make the guard appear guilty. There are many buildings outside of the field, it won’t be an issue to find a sufficient harry point.” Maybe she could even take the body back instead of leaving it in the street. She’d have to come up with a good excuse as to why she was hauling around a dead woman, because her uncles would not be pleased that they acted without them. But excuses were easy. Finding a dead woman was not. They never traveled alone, not even the paupers. Aea wanted to see if the large artery behind the stomach was different in a woman. Given that it was a life-sustaining element of the body and not a reproductive one, it should be the same in theory, for men and women breathed and pumped blood the same...she thought, at least. But she couldn’t know for certain until she looked. Perhaps she would be able to disprove her father’s assertion that women’s brains were smaller. She thought it unlikely that the size was inherent to the gender, for some men had smaller skulls than women, so it would stand to reason that the smaller brains were inside of the smaller skulls, but again, she could not know until she looked. “Aea.” The possibility that the woman might be of noble blood halted her thoughts immediately. She was dressed so fine, and she had a guard. “Aea.” She glanced at the woman’s shoes. They weren’t frayed or dulled in the slightest. If she was of noble birth, what did that mean? What if she was a princess? Would she die the same as a farmer or a shepherd, or would her life be more difficult to snuff out? “Child!” Cassero snapped. She startled and her limbs moved automatically, turning to her uncle and away from Kaia. Uncle Cassero pointed at the wagon. “Sit. Focus.” A cloud of heat bloomed in her ears and she clenched her teeth, a momentary bristle riding her spine like the raised hairs of a cat. She grabbed handfuls of the words she wanted to use and stuffed them into the fleshy expanse of her mind’s forgotten place, where all of the wrathful words went. He was right, she was too distracted. It wasn’t like her. She needed to be centered in the present, tangible world around her instead of floating off to the sea of ‘how’, or to the isle of ‘why.’ Aea sat upon the lip of the cart and placed her left foot upon the wheel, resting the tortoiseshell upon her thigh. It was a technique she’d discovered, allowing her quicker movement to manipulate the pitch of the fibrous strings. Uncle Cassero may have taught her how to play, but she discovered plenty of her own tricks without him. “Start on E.” Uncle Cassero said. Aea turned the bone tuning pegs one by one, plucking and testing the gut string until the chord progression of the mode rang crisp and clear. Her fingers went askew when she realized she was about to play around strangers. She’d been so intent on the work of her hands that the abstract concept of performance lingered far behind the thought of ‘I am not a fucking child.’ She could do this. Aea pulled the material covering her nose and mouth closer until she was assured that it would not fall away from her face while she played. It was important that she be unrecognizable in a few hours, and Uncle Dasmo would be extraordinarily displeased if she allowed her face to become familiar, even to the casual eye. Meticulous and exacting as Uncle Dasmo was—it was his precise nature that ensured the family didn’t catch the notice of law enforcers. She would abide his tactics. Once she’d finished tuning her lyre, she raised her eyes to her Uncle, who was staring at her with a half-lidded, unamused expression. Wordlessly, he turned his head, cradled his own fine-crafted lyre, and slowly plucked the ascending chord progression he had in mind. She followed his lead and held her breath, curling in on herself without thought and lowering her eyes to stare at her hands rather than her uncle or any of the passing strangers. It would be just like they were at camp. She would pretend it was only he and she. No expectations but that of her uncle teasing her into a dual of sound. She wiped her palm against her leg. Uncle Cassero swept his fingers along the strings and picked at the bones of the song. Once he found a rhythm, it was a simplistic set of four quarter notes in the bar, plucked and muted ascendent and then descendent. She waited for a moment, fitting a melody of eighths and sixteenths inside and overlaid. It would be a good melody, a simple one that would allow her to sink into her place and anchor her into the song. She could forget the noise around her and get lost in the pattern. Aea took a lungful of air and arpeggiated the melody before strumming against her uncle’s rhythm. She could feel his eyes on her, watching and waiting for a misplaced note, so she closed her eyes and blocked out the force of his expectant eyes. Her fingers found the sounds as if she’d planned it for months, dancing over the gut string, forcing one note to sink as a rock into the downbeat while two more soared above it. When she heard her uncle’s voice, bright and warm as gold, she knew he was satisfied with her attempt and her shoulders loosened. She didn’t open her eyes, preferring to feel the vibrations of the strings run through her knuckles. She saw the green dress behind her eyelids, and with each bar, it changed color, the skirt popping open and twirling in some invisible breeze.
“O’er hills vast, a forest grove Covered in vines to hide A sacred dance no mortal man should ever dare to spy. Betwixt the thorns and paths of blooms, even nymphs take care to tread. Dionysus skipped there thrice too slow for quick and clever Pan. Grapes neath heel and flute song above Olympian seats.
If poor Cassero dare sneak close to peek I will fall to the ground, bewitched and bereft These Gods do not wield swords, nor bows, nor shields. I pray they do not turn their heads and coax me to the field For a smile I will have for all of time Caught forever in their festive trance.”
Aea cracked her eyes open when her muscles melted and the notes took possession of her body, shushing her nerves and encouraging her to drink her fill of sound. Gooseflesh prickled her skin and she repressed a shudder at the rich echo of her uncle’s voice. It was round and warm, a sound of innocent exuberance. Such a bright and joyful sound should not recall the haunting cruelty of the Gods. “Many blessings, and welcome all!” Uncle Cassero kept plucking his rhythm when the stanza ended, as if the spoken word were part of his song. He conversed with the passing crowd as if chatting with the mass as a whole. “Ah, Colchis! To the Athenians, she may seem uncouth, and the Taengeans may think her barren, but there is a soul in these cliffs. A temperamental mother, but a mother all the same. Warm and protective, she who nourishes and provides. Why, she even goes to war with Poseidon himself when he thinks we need a good thrashing.” She kept her eyes locked on her uncle so that she did not have to see the people gathering around him. “When the sun manifested over the sea, bathing beautiful Colchis in the dawn, I opened my eyes and could not contain my smile. It was a day of rest, a day of respite.” His rhythm picked up, pushing the tension of the song that padded his story. Aea’s nose twitched at the change and her muscles jumped to match his new tempo. “I fully intended to take advantage of such a momentous cause for celebration. My daughters and I were to explore this wonderful festival at our leisure. But!” Cassero skipped closer to those who had stopped to watch him. He leaned toward an old man just enough to seem as if he were gossiping with him. “But, when I arose, something spoke to me. It was a hushed whisper, a wind washing into my ear. Cassero, it said, you must not laze about today. I charge you to give the people the joy of song. You must labor in my name, and you must give tribute of your earnings. The voice filled me with such command, such might, that I began to sweat, my heart bruising as it hammered against my chest.” He moved away from the man and spun on his heel, still plucking his lyre while his graceful movements carried him to the center of the small clearing of bodies. “And as I turned, my body shaking, my eyes wide, I looked upon the goddess who roused me from my sleep, who commanded me to play, who ruled my actions on this day and every day before…” He dropped his voice low and pointed to another man only long enough to rest his notes between Aea’s eighths. The man’s skin was dark and leathered, his hair bleached and wavy from the weight of the sun and the salt of the sea. “A song in praise of your journeys—if you can guess who it was.” The man’s lips quirked and he folded his arms, “Your wife.”
“Ah! A cunning man as there ever was, Brotinus of the sea. Sinew straining ‘neath his flesh, his might holds back the deep. Upon his birth, Poseidon kissed his brow and named him ‘mine.’ Siren’s songs, nor promised gold, shall ever break his mind. Many tried, both man or maid, to coax this man to shore.
Praise to Brotinus, worshiping the net. He’s wise and sharp and filled with the strength of a hundred-thousand men. Greeks shall line the beach in droves, for Poseidon heard their wish We’ll bow to Brotinus who has finally come And thank him for the fish.”
Cassero winked and the sailor chuckled. Aea found that her uncle’s lighthearted interaction with the crowd pulled all the eyes to him and the weight of their observation never pressed against her. Just as she thought, it was nothing. No reason to be nervous at all. She was as much an observer as the crowd. It did beg the question of what she'd been scared of to begin with. What did she think would happen if she played? That she would inevitably fuck up, certainly. But what did fucking up mean? It didn’t mean the mines; they weren’t even running a con right now. Maybe it was a point of allowing strangers to hear the notes in her head—as if they could hear her thoughts from the patterns she selected. Perhaps being told to stop, of others believing the sound to be ugly, but that was equally ridiculous. Sounds were beholden to tastes, so of course someone would find her notes displeasing. Perhaps she was anxious of others not enjoying something that she’d created. Of being made to see that something she'd built wasn't acceptable. If that was it, then it was a stupid thing to be afraid of. Everyone was afraid of ridicule, especially when a creation was involved. She needed to do better than allowing something so common affect her. Only children were frightened of such a thing, and she was not a child. Uncle Cassero looked at her with a soft, playful expression. She liked it when he looked at her like that, and not like he was ready to crack his lyre over her head. For all his banter with strangers, his temper whipped around as fast as her fathers. “A bowl, my dear. I think the good folk of Greece would like to hear an ode or two.” Aea stopped playing long enough to turn and lift the blanket under Kaia’s flowers, grabbing the worn wooden thing near the edge. Her uncle took it from her and set it upon the ground with a sweep, his fingers flourishing when he came back up. “Who here would have a song? Miss—” he stepped closer and smiled at a younger woman around Aea’s age, accompanied by a man a mite older than her. “Would you permit a frivolous old man his fancies?” The girl looked at the man, and he nodded. Her grin stretched wide when he reached to his hip and produced an obol, tossing it unceremoniously into the bowl without so much as a smile. The man’s lack of good cheer didn’t deter Cassero, though, for he kept plucking at his strings until the coin hit the wood, and then his fingers softened until he took over Aea’s melody and guided it into something much sweeter. Aea dropped back into the part of the rhythm, supporting his melody as he sang of the woman’s unyielding beauty, and the wonderful life stretched vast before her. Uncle Cassero made it sound like the woman was poised on the precipice of some grand adventure, fated to be swept off her feet and taken back into the warm embrace of Colchis, to the people who had missed her and would keep her in love. Aea fell headlong into her duty, devouring the vibrations greedily, insatiable in her need to feel the slide of the strings and the modulation of the pitch. She almost forgot that she was doing a duty at all, and the more she relaxed, the less she had to stare at her hands. As Cassero coaxed more people to buy songs, the coins stopped clanking against wood and started ringing against one another. She managed to tame her excitement only just. She couldn’t look in the bowl, else she would start thinking about all of the things they could buy, and then she would get distracted. She should not be so concerned with purchasing frivolous things. She should be more concerned with buying a new blanket, but she kept seeing the green peplois and thought she might be able to use it as a blanket instead. Suddenly, there was a synchronized movement from the small crowd. The bystanders yielded and stepped back, clearing a generous gap within the mass of bodies. Aea glanced up and caught the wordless parting just in time to watch the most spectacular of creatures materialize from the dull forms cluttered around Uncle Cassero’s display. It was a woman draped in a delicate flutter of the softest blue, softer even than the summer sky. When she emerged and Aea was able to fully realize the woman’s appearance, her understanding broke upon the creature's presence. Flecks of untarnished sunlight shimmered from the folds of the woman’s pale dress. It twinkled around her neck, it dripped from her ears. She was some unnamed sun goddess, surely, but no—the mistress of morning dew and awakened days would not be here among mortals. The woman was dressed much finer than the woman in green, her defined features more elegantly carved, as if a devine artist had taken the utmost care to chisel her from the softest of clouds. There was an uncanny symmetry to her, everything about her face evenly spaced and graceful. It was the sort of face that men like her uncle wrote songs about. Aea’s eyes flicked back down to her beautiful chiton and she imagined how soft it might be, then she saw the graceful dip of the woman’s waist and realized that whoever carved her from the clouds took special care to craft the rest of her just as perfectly. There were two women with her, an elder and a younger, their presence muted by the star they orbited around. There were several guards with them as well. The woman in blue was as arresting as she was serene. She must be a queen, there was no other thing she could be. That meant the woman in green was either a noble or the wife of a wealthy merchant. The queen lifted her hand. She had fine skin, her wrist dainty and delicate. When the woman waved, Aea almost lifted her hand from her lyre to wave back. Almost. Her uncle inadvertently saved her from fucking up by bowing with a low sweep of his arm. Aea’s focus snapped to him, purposeful and intent, determined not to wander from him. Staring at him was safe. Staring at a queen was not. “My lady, such grace and beauty cannot linger without praise. Shall I have your name so that the Gods and the people of Colchis can bask in the melody of your virtues?” Aea did as she was supposed to do and kept her mind on task, but she could not help peeking at the woman from under her eyelashes. Uncle Cassero told her to keep far from CLADSTENK, and yet here he was speaking with one. She clamped down on her irritation and reminded herself that he was experienced, she was not, and so it was only reasonable that he did not follow the same rules he set down for her. But the woman didn’t look like she was going to order anybody to lob his head off. Aea watched her uncle closely. She would understand how one should behave before a queen and then she would not have to be told to duck away from one as if they had some contagious disease. She may not ever speak to one, but she would not hide like a mouse when they appeared, either. Aea stole a glance at the woman’s chiton again. She didn’t want a green peplois anymore—green was not such a remarkable color after all.
Arra
Aea
Arra
Aea
Awards
First Impressions:Hourglass; Glossy black hair that falls to her hips, piercing blue eyes, a voluptuous figure, and a serious, concentrated expression.
Address: Your
First Impressions:Hourglass; Glossy black hair that falls to her hips, piercing blue eyes, a voluptuous figure, and a serious, concentrated expression.
Address: Your
Aea stood silently beside Kaia as her cousin settled Kalosi into the shade of the overhanging cloth beside them. It was a simple thing to pull the knots and drop the shafts. The she-goat was too old to do much more than fold her legs and plop between the softened wood, laying her chin on the ground. It was a wonder she could close her eyes with so much noise, but she was a well-traveled goat who’d seen and done things that most goats should never see and do. A festival was not going to shake her. At the mention of Kaia dressing the part of a damsel, Aea’s lips twitched. Her cousin was more woodland beast than forest nymph. Seeing her in anything other than a set of pants was strange, but with her golden hair brushed out and her athletic frame wrapped in such a clean, white garment, Aea did not think anyone could mistake her for a beast on this day. She was truly beautiful, just like Callie. To Aea, she did not have to brush her hair to be so—it poured from her soul and shone through her skin. Even when Kaia’s expression was stony and cold, even when she was covered in blood, the gentleness and passion she tried to keep locked away washed over her features and painted her with a soft, feminine glow. It moulded her bones and fashioned the entirety of her into something starkly opposite of her harsh surroundings. Something singular and entirely Kaia. Sometimes, when Kaia wasn’t looking, Aea would trace her features with her eyes and map out every elegant line of her face. When she was very young, before Callie died, Aea used to seek to the nearest small body of water and stare into it, pulling her face to try and catch Kaia’s likeness. She got quite good at mimicking the blonde’s scowl and pretending to be in her skin, but she never caught her cousin’s beauty. She’d learned to accept that Kaia was favored by her uncles a long time ago. Every now and again though, like now, when Kaia appeared so effortlessly exquisite, Aea remembered that she wasn’t Kaia and it would gnaw at her like a disease. Uncle Agolois saw it, too. It was why he had been so hesitant to bring Kaia into the city today; he thought slaver might see her golden hair first, then the rest of her, and decide that she looked penniless enough to never be missed. Trying to take Kaia would be a mistake. If Kaia didn’t open a throat first, somebody else would. Given that Aea’s cousin had thankfully never been snatched, she could not know what her own actions would be, but setting fire to any man who dared take what was not his tasted like a metallic truth. Most people hated the smell of singed hair and melted flesh—it never bothered Aea, though. Regardless of the odd bout of resentment every now and again, Aea would watch the world burn to bring Kaia home. “I hope that wasn’t an attempt to insult me, because it didn’t work.” Her tone was flat and entirely without tonal change, but Kaia knew when Aea was teasing. Teasing was better than asking if she looked like a damsel in her perpetual peplois. Pants were just so uncomfortable and tight in all the wrong places; it felt like suffocation. A scowl tightened across Kaia’s face, transforming her soft beauty into steel and scorn. Aea’s eyes snapped to the apple of her ire and found the woman in green. She had finished inspecting the table and had moved to the next one. “Do you know her?” Aea whispered. She hoped they didn’t have to kill anybody today. She didn’t want to leave the festival so early when they’d just gotten there. There wasn’t supposed to be any blood today, but if the woman had done something stupid, if she’d hurt Kaia, then Kaia’s fury wasn’t going to be contained, and Aea wouldn’t leave her to deal with it on her own. Whatever that woman had done, it was her own foolish fault, and Aea felt nothing as she focused on her. She used to get so upset whenever they had to take people, but Hektos had made sure to rid her of the sympathy early on. The woman was no longer a woman, but a target that was still breathing. The guard would have to go too. The best way to ensure that no screaming occurred was to take them by surprise. Distract the guard long enough that he turned his head, open the target’s throat, then sink a blade into the guard’s temple before he could turn his head back. It was essentially two against one, so it would work as long as Kaia didn’t rush in before they could lure the target and the guard into a bottle neck. Maybe...no. Aea wouldn’t take the green garment. It would be soaked in blood anyway. If she couldn’t sell it, and she couldn’t wear it, then she didn’t require it. She would leave it to the beggars, who had far more need of an extra bolt of cloth. But...maybe she might need it. She could take it, just to have it. She could still wear it when she was on the road, it’s not like anybody would see the blood on the front. She needed another outfit besides the frayed off-white thing she wore. But no...her uncles would think her foolish. Kaia would think her foolish. A damsel. Prey. It would be a secret, though. Aea could wear it when her uncles and father went into the city and when Kaia wanted to go practice her aim. Aea could put it on in and wear it for ten minutes; nobody would ever know. “Do we need to hunt instead?” Aea said, looking from the target and back to Kaia. Her sense of festive excitement was extinguished. In place of the bubbling warmth and the lightness of her stomach, there was nothing. Not even the cold. “We just have to wait until night. Follow her home if she leaves the festival before. Or, if we do it here, make the guard appear guilty. There are many buildings outside of the field, it won’t be an issue to find a sufficient harry point.” Maybe she could even take the body back instead of leaving it in the street. She’d have to come up with a good excuse as to why she was hauling around a dead woman, because her uncles would not be pleased that they acted without them. But excuses were easy. Finding a dead woman was not. They never traveled alone, not even the paupers. Aea wanted to see if the large artery behind the stomach was different in a woman. Given that it was a life-sustaining element of the body and not a reproductive one, it should be the same in theory, for men and women breathed and pumped blood the same...she thought, at least. But she couldn’t know for certain until she looked. Perhaps she would be able to disprove her father’s assertion that women’s brains were smaller. She thought it unlikely that the size was inherent to the gender, for some men had smaller skulls than women, so it would stand to reason that the smaller brains were inside of the smaller skulls, but again, she could not know until she looked. “Aea.” The possibility that the woman might be of noble blood halted her thoughts immediately. She was dressed so fine, and she had a guard. “Aea.” She glanced at the woman’s shoes. They weren’t frayed or dulled in the slightest. If she was of noble birth, what did that mean? What if she was a princess? Would she die the same as a farmer or a shepherd, or would her life be more difficult to snuff out? “Child!” Cassero snapped. She startled and her limbs moved automatically, turning to her uncle and away from Kaia. Uncle Cassero pointed at the wagon. “Sit. Focus.” A cloud of heat bloomed in her ears and she clenched her teeth, a momentary bristle riding her spine like the raised hairs of a cat. She grabbed handfuls of the words she wanted to use and stuffed them into the fleshy expanse of her mind’s forgotten place, where all of the wrathful words went. He was right, she was too distracted. It wasn’t like her. She needed to be centered in the present, tangible world around her instead of floating off to the sea of ‘how’, or to the isle of ‘why.’ Aea sat upon the lip of the cart and placed her left foot upon the wheel, resting the tortoiseshell upon her thigh. It was a technique she’d discovered, allowing her quicker movement to manipulate the pitch of the fibrous strings. Uncle Cassero may have taught her how to play, but she discovered plenty of her own tricks without him. “Start on E.” Uncle Cassero said. Aea turned the bone tuning pegs one by one, plucking and testing the gut string until the chord progression of the mode rang crisp and clear. Her fingers went askew when she realized she was about to play around strangers. She’d been so intent on the work of her hands that the abstract concept of performance lingered far behind the thought of ‘I am not a fucking child.’ She could do this. Aea pulled the material covering her nose and mouth closer until she was assured that it would not fall away from her face while she played. It was important that she be unrecognizable in a few hours, and Uncle Dasmo would be extraordinarily displeased if she allowed her face to become familiar, even to the casual eye. Meticulous and exacting as Uncle Dasmo was—it was his precise nature that ensured the family didn’t catch the notice of law enforcers. She would abide his tactics. Once she’d finished tuning her lyre, she raised her eyes to her Uncle, who was staring at her with a half-lidded, unamused expression. Wordlessly, he turned his head, cradled his own fine-crafted lyre, and slowly plucked the ascending chord progression he had in mind. She followed his lead and held her breath, curling in on herself without thought and lowering her eyes to stare at her hands rather than her uncle or any of the passing strangers. It would be just like they were at camp. She would pretend it was only he and she. No expectations but that of her uncle teasing her into a dual of sound. She wiped her palm against her leg. Uncle Cassero swept his fingers along the strings and picked at the bones of the song. Once he found a rhythm, it was a simplistic set of four quarter notes in the bar, plucked and muted ascendent and then descendent. She waited for a moment, fitting a melody of eighths and sixteenths inside and overlaid. It would be a good melody, a simple one that would allow her to sink into her place and anchor her into the song. She could forget the noise around her and get lost in the pattern. Aea took a lungful of air and arpeggiated the melody before strumming against her uncle’s rhythm. She could feel his eyes on her, watching and waiting for a misplaced note, so she closed her eyes and blocked out the force of his expectant eyes. Her fingers found the sounds as if she’d planned it for months, dancing over the gut string, forcing one note to sink as a rock into the downbeat while two more soared above it. When she heard her uncle’s voice, bright and warm as gold, she knew he was satisfied with her attempt and her shoulders loosened. She didn’t open her eyes, preferring to feel the vibrations of the strings run through her knuckles. She saw the green dress behind her eyelids, and with each bar, it changed color, the skirt popping open and twirling in some invisible breeze.
“O’er hills vast, a forest grove Covered in vines to hide A sacred dance no mortal man should ever dare to spy. Betwixt the thorns and paths of blooms, even nymphs take care to tread. Dionysus skipped there thrice too slow for quick and clever Pan. Grapes neath heel and flute song above Olympian seats.
If poor Cassero dare sneak close to peek I will fall to the ground, bewitched and bereft These Gods do not wield swords, nor bows, nor shields. I pray they do not turn their heads and coax me to the field For a smile I will have for all of time Caught forever in their festive trance.”
Aea cracked her eyes open when her muscles melted and the notes took possession of her body, shushing her nerves and encouraging her to drink her fill of sound. Gooseflesh prickled her skin and she repressed a shudder at the rich echo of her uncle’s voice. It was round and warm, a sound of innocent exuberance. Such a bright and joyful sound should not recall the haunting cruelty of the Gods. “Many blessings, and welcome all!” Uncle Cassero kept plucking his rhythm when the stanza ended, as if the spoken word were part of his song. He conversed with the passing crowd as if chatting with the mass as a whole. “Ah, Colchis! To the Athenians, she may seem uncouth, and the Taengeans may think her barren, but there is a soul in these cliffs. A temperamental mother, but a mother all the same. Warm and protective, she who nourishes and provides. Why, she even goes to war with Poseidon himself when he thinks we need a good thrashing.” She kept her eyes locked on her uncle so that she did not have to see the people gathering around him. “When the sun manifested over the sea, bathing beautiful Colchis in the dawn, I opened my eyes and could not contain my smile. It was a day of rest, a day of respite.” His rhythm picked up, pushing the tension of the song that padded his story. Aea’s nose twitched at the change and her muscles jumped to match his new tempo. “I fully intended to take advantage of such a momentous cause for celebration. My daughters and I were to explore this wonderful festival at our leisure. But!” Cassero skipped closer to those who had stopped to watch him. He leaned toward an old man just enough to seem as if he were gossiping with him. “But, when I arose, something spoke to me. It was a hushed whisper, a wind washing into my ear. Cassero, it said, you must not laze about today. I charge you to give the people the joy of song. You must labor in my name, and you must give tribute of your earnings. The voice filled me with such command, such might, that I began to sweat, my heart bruising as it hammered against my chest.” He moved away from the man and spun on his heel, still plucking his lyre while his graceful movements carried him to the center of the small clearing of bodies. “And as I turned, my body shaking, my eyes wide, I looked upon the goddess who roused me from my sleep, who commanded me to play, who ruled my actions on this day and every day before…” He dropped his voice low and pointed to another man only long enough to rest his notes between Aea’s eighths. The man’s skin was dark and leathered, his hair bleached and wavy from the weight of the sun and the salt of the sea. “A song in praise of your journeys—if you can guess who it was.” The man’s lips quirked and he folded his arms, “Your wife.”
“Ah! A cunning man as there ever was, Brotinus of the sea. Sinew straining ‘neath his flesh, his might holds back the deep. Upon his birth, Poseidon kissed his brow and named him ‘mine.’ Siren’s songs, nor promised gold, shall ever break his mind. Many tried, both man or maid, to coax this man to shore.
Praise to Brotinus, worshiping the net. He’s wise and sharp and filled with the strength of a hundred-thousand men. Greeks shall line the beach in droves, for Poseidon heard their wish We’ll bow to Brotinus who has finally come And thank him for the fish.”
Cassero winked and the sailor chuckled. Aea found that her uncle’s lighthearted interaction with the crowd pulled all the eyes to him and the weight of their observation never pressed against her. Just as she thought, it was nothing. No reason to be nervous at all. She was as much an observer as the crowd. It did beg the question of what she'd been scared of to begin with. What did she think would happen if she played? That she would inevitably fuck up, certainly. But what did fucking up mean? It didn’t mean the mines; they weren’t even running a con right now. Maybe it was a point of allowing strangers to hear the notes in her head—as if they could hear her thoughts from the patterns she selected. Perhaps being told to stop, of others believing the sound to be ugly, but that was equally ridiculous. Sounds were beholden to tastes, so of course someone would find her notes displeasing. Perhaps she was anxious of others not enjoying something that she’d created. Of being made to see that something she'd built wasn't acceptable. If that was it, then it was a stupid thing to be afraid of. Everyone was afraid of ridicule, especially when a creation was involved. She needed to do better than allowing something so common affect her. Only children were frightened of such a thing, and she was not a child. Uncle Cassero looked at her with a soft, playful expression. She liked it when he looked at her like that, and not like he was ready to crack his lyre over her head. For all his banter with strangers, his temper whipped around as fast as her fathers. “A bowl, my dear. I think the good folk of Greece would like to hear an ode or two.” Aea stopped playing long enough to turn and lift the blanket under Kaia’s flowers, grabbing the worn wooden thing near the edge. Her uncle took it from her and set it upon the ground with a sweep, his fingers flourishing when he came back up. “Who here would have a song? Miss—” he stepped closer and smiled at a younger woman around Aea’s age, accompanied by a man a mite older than her. “Would you permit a frivolous old man his fancies?” The girl looked at the man, and he nodded. Her grin stretched wide when he reached to his hip and produced an obol, tossing it unceremoniously into the bowl without so much as a smile. The man’s lack of good cheer didn’t deter Cassero, though, for he kept plucking at his strings until the coin hit the wood, and then his fingers softened until he took over Aea’s melody and guided it into something much sweeter. Aea dropped back into the part of the rhythm, supporting his melody as he sang of the woman’s unyielding beauty, and the wonderful life stretched vast before her. Uncle Cassero made it sound like the woman was poised on the precipice of some grand adventure, fated to be swept off her feet and taken back into the warm embrace of Colchis, to the people who had missed her and would keep her in love. Aea fell headlong into her duty, devouring the vibrations greedily, insatiable in her need to feel the slide of the strings and the modulation of the pitch. She almost forgot that she was doing a duty at all, and the more she relaxed, the less she had to stare at her hands. As Cassero coaxed more people to buy songs, the coins stopped clanking against wood and started ringing against one another. She managed to tame her excitement only just. She couldn’t look in the bowl, else she would start thinking about all of the things they could buy, and then she would get distracted. She should not be so concerned with purchasing frivolous things. She should be more concerned with buying a new blanket, but she kept seeing the green peplois and thought she might be able to use it as a blanket instead. Suddenly, there was a synchronized movement from the small crowd. The bystanders yielded and stepped back, clearing a generous gap within the mass of bodies. Aea glanced up and caught the wordless parting just in time to watch the most spectacular of creatures materialize from the dull forms cluttered around Uncle Cassero’s display. It was a woman draped in a delicate flutter of the softest blue, softer even than the summer sky. When she emerged and Aea was able to fully realize the woman’s appearance, her understanding broke upon the creature's presence. Flecks of untarnished sunlight shimmered from the folds of the woman’s pale dress. It twinkled around her neck, it dripped from her ears. She was some unnamed sun goddess, surely, but no—the mistress of morning dew and awakened days would not be here among mortals. The woman was dressed much finer than the woman in green, her defined features more elegantly carved, as if a devine artist had taken the utmost care to chisel her from the softest of clouds. There was an uncanny symmetry to her, everything about her face evenly spaced and graceful. It was the sort of face that men like her uncle wrote songs about. Aea’s eyes flicked back down to her beautiful chiton and she imagined how soft it might be, then she saw the graceful dip of the woman’s waist and realized that whoever carved her from the clouds took special care to craft the rest of her just as perfectly. There were two women with her, an elder and a younger, their presence muted by the star they orbited around. There were several guards with them as well. The woman in blue was as arresting as she was serene. She must be a queen, there was no other thing she could be. That meant the woman in green was either a noble or the wife of a wealthy merchant. The queen lifted her hand. She had fine skin, her wrist dainty and delicate. When the woman waved, Aea almost lifted her hand from her lyre to wave back. Almost. Her uncle inadvertently saved her from fucking up by bowing with a low sweep of his arm. Aea’s focus snapped to him, purposeful and intent, determined not to wander from him. Staring at him was safe. Staring at a queen was not. “My lady, such grace and beauty cannot linger without praise. Shall I have your name so that the Gods and the people of Colchis can bask in the melody of your virtues?” Aea did as she was supposed to do and kept her mind on task, but she could not help peeking at the woman from under her eyelashes. Uncle Cassero told her to keep far from CLADSTENK, and yet here he was speaking with one. She clamped down on her irritation and reminded herself that he was experienced, she was not, and so it was only reasonable that he did not follow the same rules he set down for her. But the woman didn’t look like she was going to order anybody to lob his head off. Aea watched her uncle closely. She would understand how one should behave before a queen and then she would not have to be told to duck away from one as if they had some contagious disease. She may not ever speak to one, but she would not hide like a mouse when they appeared, either. Aea stole a glance at the woman’s chiton again. She didn’t want a green peplois anymore—green was not such a remarkable color after all.
Aea stood silently beside Kaia as her cousin settled Kalosi into the shade of the overhanging cloth beside them. It was a simple thing to pull the knots and drop the shafts. The she-goat was too old to do much more than fold her legs and plop between the softened wood, laying her chin on the ground. It was a wonder she could close her eyes with so much noise, but she was a well-traveled goat who’d seen and done things that most goats should never see and do. A festival was not going to shake her. At the mention of Kaia dressing the part of a damsel, Aea’s lips twitched. Her cousin was more woodland beast than forest nymph. Seeing her in anything other than a set of pants was strange, but with her golden hair brushed out and her athletic frame wrapped in such a clean, white garment, Aea did not think anyone could mistake her for a beast on this day. She was truly beautiful, just like Callie. To Aea, she did not have to brush her hair to be so—it poured from her soul and shone through her skin. Even when Kaia’s expression was stony and cold, even when she was covered in blood, the gentleness and passion she tried to keep locked away washed over her features and painted her with a soft, feminine glow. It moulded her bones and fashioned the entirety of her into something starkly opposite of her harsh surroundings. Something singular and entirely Kaia. Sometimes, when Kaia wasn’t looking, Aea would trace her features with her eyes and map out every elegant line of her face. When she was very young, before Callie died, Aea used to seek to the nearest small body of water and stare into it, pulling her face to try and catch Kaia’s likeness. She got quite good at mimicking the blonde’s scowl and pretending to be in her skin, but she never caught her cousin’s beauty. She’d learned to accept that Kaia was favored by her uncles a long time ago. Every now and again though, like now, when Kaia appeared so effortlessly exquisite, Aea remembered that she wasn’t Kaia and it would gnaw at her like a disease. Uncle Agolois saw it, too. It was why he had been so hesitant to bring Kaia into the city today; he thought slaver might see her golden hair first, then the rest of her, and decide that she looked penniless enough to never be missed. Trying to take Kaia would be a mistake. If Kaia didn’t open a throat first, somebody else would. Given that Aea’s cousin had thankfully never been snatched, she could not know what her own actions would be, but setting fire to any man who dared take what was not his tasted like a metallic truth. Most people hated the smell of singed hair and melted flesh—it never bothered Aea, though. Regardless of the odd bout of resentment every now and again, Aea would watch the world burn to bring Kaia home. “I hope that wasn’t an attempt to insult me, because it didn’t work.” Her tone was flat and entirely without tonal change, but Kaia knew when Aea was teasing. Teasing was better than asking if she looked like a damsel in her perpetual peplois. Pants were just so uncomfortable and tight in all the wrong places; it felt like suffocation. A scowl tightened across Kaia’s face, transforming her soft beauty into steel and scorn. Aea’s eyes snapped to the apple of her ire and found the woman in green. She had finished inspecting the table and had moved to the next one. “Do you know her?” Aea whispered. She hoped they didn’t have to kill anybody today. She didn’t want to leave the festival so early when they’d just gotten there. There wasn’t supposed to be any blood today, but if the woman had done something stupid, if she’d hurt Kaia, then Kaia’s fury wasn’t going to be contained, and Aea wouldn’t leave her to deal with it on her own. Whatever that woman had done, it was her own foolish fault, and Aea felt nothing as she focused on her. She used to get so upset whenever they had to take people, but Hektos had made sure to rid her of the sympathy early on. The woman was no longer a woman, but a target that was still breathing. The guard would have to go too. The best way to ensure that no screaming occurred was to take them by surprise. Distract the guard long enough that he turned his head, open the target’s throat, then sink a blade into the guard’s temple before he could turn his head back. It was essentially two against one, so it would work as long as Kaia didn’t rush in before they could lure the target and the guard into a bottle neck. Maybe...no. Aea wouldn’t take the green garment. It would be soaked in blood anyway. If she couldn’t sell it, and she couldn’t wear it, then she didn’t require it. She would leave it to the beggars, who had far more need of an extra bolt of cloth. But...maybe she might need it. She could take it, just to have it. She could still wear it when she was on the road, it’s not like anybody would see the blood on the front. She needed another outfit besides the frayed off-white thing she wore. But no...her uncles would think her foolish. Kaia would think her foolish. A damsel. Prey. It would be a secret, though. Aea could wear it when her uncles and father went into the city and when Kaia wanted to go practice her aim. Aea could put it on in and wear it for ten minutes; nobody would ever know. “Do we need to hunt instead?” Aea said, looking from the target and back to Kaia. Her sense of festive excitement was extinguished. In place of the bubbling warmth and the lightness of her stomach, there was nothing. Not even the cold. “We just have to wait until night. Follow her home if she leaves the festival before. Or, if we do it here, make the guard appear guilty. There are many buildings outside of the field, it won’t be an issue to find a sufficient harry point.” Maybe she could even take the body back instead of leaving it in the street. She’d have to come up with a good excuse as to why she was hauling around a dead woman, because her uncles would not be pleased that they acted without them. But excuses were easy. Finding a dead woman was not. They never traveled alone, not even the paupers. Aea wanted to see if the large artery behind the stomach was different in a woman. Given that it was a life-sustaining element of the body and not a reproductive one, it should be the same in theory, for men and women breathed and pumped blood the same...she thought, at least. But she couldn’t know for certain until she looked. Perhaps she would be able to disprove her father’s assertion that women’s brains were smaller. She thought it unlikely that the size was inherent to the gender, for some men had smaller skulls than women, so it would stand to reason that the smaller brains were inside of the smaller skulls, but again, she could not know until she looked. “Aea.” The possibility that the woman might be of noble blood halted her thoughts immediately. She was dressed so fine, and she had a guard. “Aea.” She glanced at the woman’s shoes. They weren’t frayed or dulled in the slightest. If she was of noble birth, what did that mean? What if she was a princess? Would she die the same as a farmer or a shepherd, or would her life be more difficult to snuff out? “Child!” Cassero snapped. She startled and her limbs moved automatically, turning to her uncle and away from Kaia. Uncle Cassero pointed at the wagon. “Sit. Focus.” A cloud of heat bloomed in her ears and she clenched her teeth, a momentary bristle riding her spine like the raised hairs of a cat. She grabbed handfuls of the words she wanted to use and stuffed them into the fleshy expanse of her mind’s forgotten place, where all of the wrathful words went. He was right, she was too distracted. It wasn’t like her. She needed to be centered in the present, tangible world around her instead of floating off to the sea of ‘how’, or to the isle of ‘why.’ Aea sat upon the lip of the cart and placed her left foot upon the wheel, resting the tortoiseshell upon her thigh. It was a technique she’d discovered, allowing her quicker movement to manipulate the pitch of the fibrous strings. Uncle Cassero may have taught her how to play, but she discovered plenty of her own tricks without him. “Start on E.” Uncle Cassero said. Aea turned the bone tuning pegs one by one, plucking and testing the gut string until the chord progression of the mode rang crisp and clear. Her fingers went askew when she realized she was about to play around strangers. She’d been so intent on the work of her hands that the abstract concept of performance lingered far behind the thought of ‘I am not a fucking child.’ She could do this. Aea pulled the material covering her nose and mouth closer until she was assured that it would not fall away from her face while she played. It was important that she be unrecognizable in a few hours, and Uncle Dasmo would be extraordinarily displeased if she allowed her face to become familiar, even to the casual eye. Meticulous and exacting as Uncle Dasmo was—it was his precise nature that ensured the family didn’t catch the notice of law enforcers. She would abide his tactics. Once she’d finished tuning her lyre, she raised her eyes to her Uncle, who was staring at her with a half-lidded, unamused expression. Wordlessly, he turned his head, cradled his own fine-crafted lyre, and slowly plucked the ascending chord progression he had in mind. She followed his lead and held her breath, curling in on herself without thought and lowering her eyes to stare at her hands rather than her uncle or any of the passing strangers. It would be just like they were at camp. She would pretend it was only he and she. No expectations but that of her uncle teasing her into a dual of sound. She wiped her palm against her leg. Uncle Cassero swept his fingers along the strings and picked at the bones of the song. Once he found a rhythm, it was a simplistic set of four quarter notes in the bar, plucked and muted ascendent and then descendent. She waited for a moment, fitting a melody of eighths and sixteenths inside and overlaid. It would be a good melody, a simple one that would allow her to sink into her place and anchor her into the song. She could forget the noise around her and get lost in the pattern. Aea took a lungful of air and arpeggiated the melody before strumming against her uncle’s rhythm. She could feel his eyes on her, watching and waiting for a misplaced note, so she closed her eyes and blocked out the force of his expectant eyes. Her fingers found the sounds as if she’d planned it for months, dancing over the gut string, forcing one note to sink as a rock into the downbeat while two more soared above it. When she heard her uncle’s voice, bright and warm as gold, she knew he was satisfied with her attempt and her shoulders loosened. She didn’t open her eyes, preferring to feel the vibrations of the strings run through her knuckles. She saw the green dress behind her eyelids, and with each bar, it changed color, the skirt popping open and twirling in some invisible breeze.
“O’er hills vast, a forest grove Covered in vines to hide A sacred dance no mortal man should ever dare to spy. Betwixt the thorns and paths of blooms, even nymphs take care to tread. Dionysus skipped there thrice too slow for quick and clever Pan. Grapes neath heel and flute song above Olympian seats.
If poor Cassero dare sneak close to peek I will fall to the ground, bewitched and bereft These Gods do not wield swords, nor bows, nor shields. I pray they do not turn their heads and coax me to the field For a smile I will have for all of time Caught forever in their festive trance.”
Aea cracked her eyes open when her muscles melted and the notes took possession of her body, shushing her nerves and encouraging her to drink her fill of sound. Gooseflesh prickled her skin and she repressed a shudder at the rich echo of her uncle’s voice. It was round and warm, a sound of innocent exuberance. Such a bright and joyful sound should not recall the haunting cruelty of the Gods. “Many blessings, and welcome all!” Uncle Cassero kept plucking his rhythm when the stanza ended, as if the spoken word were part of his song. He conversed with the passing crowd as if chatting with the mass as a whole. “Ah, Colchis! To the Athenians, she may seem uncouth, and the Taengeans may think her barren, but there is a soul in these cliffs. A temperamental mother, but a mother all the same. Warm and protective, she who nourishes and provides. Why, she even goes to war with Poseidon himself when he thinks we need a good thrashing.” She kept her eyes locked on her uncle so that she did not have to see the people gathering around him. “When the sun manifested over the sea, bathing beautiful Colchis in the dawn, I opened my eyes and could not contain my smile. It was a day of rest, a day of respite.” His rhythm picked up, pushing the tension of the song that padded his story. Aea’s nose twitched at the change and her muscles jumped to match his new tempo. “I fully intended to take advantage of such a momentous cause for celebration. My daughters and I were to explore this wonderful festival at our leisure. But!” Cassero skipped closer to those who had stopped to watch him. He leaned toward an old man just enough to seem as if he were gossiping with him. “But, when I arose, something spoke to me. It was a hushed whisper, a wind washing into my ear. Cassero, it said, you must not laze about today. I charge you to give the people the joy of song. You must labor in my name, and you must give tribute of your earnings. The voice filled me with such command, such might, that I began to sweat, my heart bruising as it hammered against my chest.” He moved away from the man and spun on his heel, still plucking his lyre while his graceful movements carried him to the center of the small clearing of bodies. “And as I turned, my body shaking, my eyes wide, I looked upon the goddess who roused me from my sleep, who commanded me to play, who ruled my actions on this day and every day before…” He dropped his voice low and pointed to another man only long enough to rest his notes between Aea’s eighths. The man’s skin was dark and leathered, his hair bleached and wavy from the weight of the sun and the salt of the sea. “A song in praise of your journeys—if you can guess who it was.” The man’s lips quirked and he folded his arms, “Your wife.”
“Ah! A cunning man as there ever was, Brotinus of the sea. Sinew straining ‘neath his flesh, his might holds back the deep. Upon his birth, Poseidon kissed his brow and named him ‘mine.’ Siren’s songs, nor promised gold, shall ever break his mind. Many tried, both man or maid, to coax this man to shore.
Praise to Brotinus, worshiping the net. He’s wise and sharp and filled with the strength of a hundred-thousand men. Greeks shall line the beach in droves, for Poseidon heard their wish We’ll bow to Brotinus who has finally come And thank him for the fish.”
Cassero winked and the sailor chuckled. Aea found that her uncle’s lighthearted interaction with the crowd pulled all the eyes to him and the weight of their observation never pressed against her. Just as she thought, it was nothing. No reason to be nervous at all. She was as much an observer as the crowd. It did beg the question of what she'd been scared of to begin with. What did she think would happen if she played? That she would inevitably fuck up, certainly. But what did fucking up mean? It didn’t mean the mines; they weren’t even running a con right now. Maybe it was a point of allowing strangers to hear the notes in her head—as if they could hear her thoughts from the patterns she selected. Perhaps being told to stop, of others believing the sound to be ugly, but that was equally ridiculous. Sounds were beholden to tastes, so of course someone would find her notes displeasing. Perhaps she was anxious of others not enjoying something that she’d created. Of being made to see that something she'd built wasn't acceptable. If that was it, then it was a stupid thing to be afraid of. Everyone was afraid of ridicule, especially when a creation was involved. She needed to do better than allowing something so common affect her. Only children were frightened of such a thing, and she was not a child. Uncle Cassero looked at her with a soft, playful expression. She liked it when he looked at her like that, and not like he was ready to crack his lyre over her head. For all his banter with strangers, his temper whipped around as fast as her fathers. “A bowl, my dear. I think the good folk of Greece would like to hear an ode or two.” Aea stopped playing long enough to turn and lift the blanket under Kaia’s flowers, grabbing the worn wooden thing near the edge. Her uncle took it from her and set it upon the ground with a sweep, his fingers flourishing when he came back up. “Who here would have a song? Miss—” he stepped closer and smiled at a younger woman around Aea’s age, accompanied by a man a mite older than her. “Would you permit a frivolous old man his fancies?” The girl looked at the man, and he nodded. Her grin stretched wide when he reached to his hip and produced an obol, tossing it unceremoniously into the bowl without so much as a smile. The man’s lack of good cheer didn’t deter Cassero, though, for he kept plucking at his strings until the coin hit the wood, and then his fingers softened until he took over Aea’s melody and guided it into something much sweeter. Aea dropped back into the part of the rhythm, supporting his melody as he sang of the woman’s unyielding beauty, and the wonderful life stretched vast before her. Uncle Cassero made it sound like the woman was poised on the precipice of some grand adventure, fated to be swept off her feet and taken back into the warm embrace of Colchis, to the people who had missed her and would keep her in love. Aea fell headlong into her duty, devouring the vibrations greedily, insatiable in her need to feel the slide of the strings and the modulation of the pitch. She almost forgot that she was doing a duty at all, and the more she relaxed, the less she had to stare at her hands. As Cassero coaxed more people to buy songs, the coins stopped clanking against wood and started ringing against one another. She managed to tame her excitement only just. She couldn’t look in the bowl, else she would start thinking about all of the things they could buy, and then she would get distracted. She should not be so concerned with purchasing frivolous things. She should be more concerned with buying a new blanket, but she kept seeing the green peplois and thought she might be able to use it as a blanket instead. Suddenly, there was a synchronized movement from the small crowd. The bystanders yielded and stepped back, clearing a generous gap within the mass of bodies. Aea glanced up and caught the wordless parting just in time to watch the most spectacular of creatures materialize from the dull forms cluttered around Uncle Cassero’s display. It was a woman draped in a delicate flutter of the softest blue, softer even than the summer sky. When she emerged and Aea was able to fully realize the woman’s appearance, her understanding broke upon the creature's presence. Flecks of untarnished sunlight shimmered from the folds of the woman’s pale dress. It twinkled around her neck, it dripped from her ears. She was some unnamed sun goddess, surely, but no—the mistress of morning dew and awakened days would not be here among mortals. The woman was dressed much finer than the woman in green, her defined features more elegantly carved, as if a devine artist had taken the utmost care to chisel her from the softest of clouds. There was an uncanny symmetry to her, everything about her face evenly spaced and graceful. It was the sort of face that men like her uncle wrote songs about. Aea’s eyes flicked back down to her beautiful chiton and she imagined how soft it might be, then she saw the graceful dip of the woman’s waist and realized that whoever carved her from the clouds took special care to craft the rest of her just as perfectly. There were two women with her, an elder and a younger, their presence muted by the star they orbited around. There were several guards with them as well. The woman in blue was as arresting as she was serene. She must be a queen, there was no other thing she could be. That meant the woman in green was either a noble or the wife of a wealthy merchant. The queen lifted her hand. She had fine skin, her wrist dainty and delicate. When the woman waved, Aea almost lifted her hand from her lyre to wave back. Almost. Her uncle inadvertently saved her from fucking up by bowing with a low sweep of his arm. Aea’s focus snapped to him, purposeful and intent, determined not to wander from him. Staring at him was safe. Staring at a queen was not. “My lady, such grace and beauty cannot linger without praise. Shall I have your name so that the Gods and the people of Colchis can bask in the melody of your virtues?” Aea did as she was supposed to do and kept her mind on task, but she could not help peeking at the woman from under her eyelashes. Uncle Cassero told her to keep far from CLADSTENK, and yet here he was speaking with one. She clamped down on her irritation and reminded herself that he was experienced, she was not, and so it was only reasonable that he did not follow the same rules he set down for her. But the woman didn’t look like she was going to order anybody to lob his head off. Aea watched her uncle closely. She would understand how one should behave before a queen and then she would not have to be told to duck away from one as if they had some contagious disease. She may not ever speak to one, but she would not hide like a mouse when they appeared, either. Aea stole a glance at the woman’s chiton again. She didn’t want a green peplois anymore—green was not such a remarkable color after all.
Having received word from his family earlier in the week about the ten-year anniversary of the trilateral peace treaty signed by Colchis, Athenia and Taengea, and the mentioned event that Colchis was to host in Midas. Silas scoffed when he first read the missive, knowing full well that Colchis was selected to host the event since no missive came for him to depart his country. That meant that royals and nobles from the other two Grecian states would be in attendance. While he was a captain of the Stone Wall, his royal duties oft tore him away from his men, but it had been a while since he had to show his face in one of them. Of course, among the four brothers, Silas was the most personable, with Vangelis far more likely to pull a muscle than smile in such events. Silas left for Midas upon the receipt of the letter, bringing three men for security and rode Phobos for the capitol.
The day of the event finally dawned and Silas made sure he was well-groomed prior the event’s beginning. He got his hair freshly trimmed and his beard fully shaved to reveal the hidden youth behind his facial hair.
As usual, the sun beamed down on the Kirakles Isles and lit up the usually grey islands, the sun’s incandescence truly showed on such a prosperous day of Greek history. Time was one thing Silas took for granted, the treaty was signed ten years ago and he just joined the Colchian military. Those ten years flew by quickly, having gone through basic training and two promotions to be both an outstanding soldier and captain of his own unit.
Silas was drawn out of his little daydream half a minute later, pulling his gaze away from his bedchamber’s mirror temporarily to dress himself in his white chiton and chlamys. Silas inspected his outfit, after all, appearances in such public events mattered, even though Dynasteia Kotas were more war-like than diplomatic. He finished his outfit off with his purpose-serving, decorative bracer and sandals. Once he deemed himself more than handsome enough for the public eye, he left his bedchambers to join in on the festivities, and he had to be one of the first few.
The young Prince caught sight of his sister from behind in his periphery. It seemed like the festivities already started and Silas was not one to be shy about partaking in it. First though, he approached his sister from behind and greeted her, “Hello, you look great today,” Silas whispered into her right ear, having taken his place beside her. “This seems like your crowd.” He joked, and snickered a little bit under his breath.
A servant nearby noticed Silas and approached him with a tray of drinks. Silas took a goblet of wine and nodded to the servant in thanks, who then promptly walked away.
“I wonder who will be in attendance for today.” He asked himself, but also Athanasia, wanting to get her two cents on who she thought might attend the celebrations.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Having received word from his family earlier in the week about the ten-year anniversary of the trilateral peace treaty signed by Colchis, Athenia and Taengea, and the mentioned event that Colchis was to host in Midas. Silas scoffed when he first read the missive, knowing full well that Colchis was selected to host the event since no missive came for him to depart his country. That meant that royals and nobles from the other two Grecian states would be in attendance. While he was a captain of the Stone Wall, his royal duties oft tore him away from his men, but it had been a while since he had to show his face in one of them. Of course, among the four brothers, Silas was the most personable, with Vangelis far more likely to pull a muscle than smile in such events. Silas left for Midas upon the receipt of the letter, bringing three men for security and rode Phobos for the capitol.
The day of the event finally dawned and Silas made sure he was well-groomed prior the event’s beginning. He got his hair freshly trimmed and his beard fully shaved to reveal the hidden youth behind his facial hair.
As usual, the sun beamed down on the Kirakles Isles and lit up the usually grey islands, the sun’s incandescence truly showed on such a prosperous day of Greek history. Time was one thing Silas took for granted, the treaty was signed ten years ago and he just joined the Colchian military. Those ten years flew by quickly, having gone through basic training and two promotions to be both an outstanding soldier and captain of his own unit.
Silas was drawn out of his little daydream half a minute later, pulling his gaze away from his bedchamber’s mirror temporarily to dress himself in his white chiton and chlamys. Silas inspected his outfit, after all, appearances in such public events mattered, even though Dynasteia Kotas were more war-like than diplomatic. He finished his outfit off with his purpose-serving, decorative bracer and sandals. Once he deemed himself more than handsome enough for the public eye, he left his bedchambers to join in on the festivities, and he had to be one of the first few.
The young Prince caught sight of his sister from behind in his periphery. It seemed like the festivities already started and Silas was not one to be shy about partaking in it. First though, he approached his sister from behind and greeted her, “Hello, you look great today,” Silas whispered into her right ear, having taken his place beside her. “This seems like your crowd.” He joked, and snickered a little bit under his breath.
A servant nearby noticed Silas and approached him with a tray of drinks. Silas took a goblet of wine and nodded to the servant in thanks, who then promptly walked away.
“I wonder who will be in attendance for today.” He asked himself, but also Athanasia, wanting to get her two cents on who she thought might attend the celebrations.
Having received word from his family earlier in the week about the ten-year anniversary of the trilateral peace treaty signed by Colchis, Athenia and Taengea, and the mentioned event that Colchis was to host in Midas. Silas scoffed when he first read the missive, knowing full well that Colchis was selected to host the event since no missive came for him to depart his country. That meant that royals and nobles from the other two Grecian states would be in attendance. While he was a captain of the Stone Wall, his royal duties oft tore him away from his men, but it had been a while since he had to show his face in one of them. Of course, among the four brothers, Silas was the most personable, with Vangelis far more likely to pull a muscle than smile in such events. Silas left for Midas upon the receipt of the letter, bringing three men for security and rode Phobos for the capitol.
The day of the event finally dawned and Silas made sure he was well-groomed prior the event’s beginning. He got his hair freshly trimmed and his beard fully shaved to reveal the hidden youth behind his facial hair.
As usual, the sun beamed down on the Kirakles Isles and lit up the usually grey islands, the sun’s incandescence truly showed on such a prosperous day of Greek history. Time was one thing Silas took for granted, the treaty was signed ten years ago and he just joined the Colchian military. Those ten years flew by quickly, having gone through basic training and two promotions to be both an outstanding soldier and captain of his own unit.
Silas was drawn out of his little daydream half a minute later, pulling his gaze away from his bedchamber’s mirror temporarily to dress himself in his white chiton and chlamys. Silas inspected his outfit, after all, appearances in such public events mattered, even though Dynasteia Kotas were more war-like than diplomatic. He finished his outfit off with his purpose-serving, decorative bracer and sandals. Once he deemed himself more than handsome enough for the public eye, he left his bedchambers to join in on the festivities, and he had to be one of the first few.
The young Prince caught sight of his sister from behind in his periphery. It seemed like the festivities already started and Silas was not one to be shy about partaking in it. First though, he approached his sister from behind and greeted her, “Hello, you look great today,” Silas whispered into her right ear, having taken his place beside her. “This seems like your crowd.” He joked, and snickered a little bit under his breath.
A servant nearby noticed Silas and approached him with a tray of drinks. Silas took a goblet of wine and nodded to the servant in thanks, who then promptly walked away.
“I wonder who will be in attendance for today.” He asked himself, but also Athanasia, wanting to get her two cents on who she thought might attend the celebrations.
It had been a long trip from his place to here. A very long trip and when he had initially arrived he had been told that he would not be staying with Vang. Instead he would be staying with the Drakos. Seeing hoa they were around the same rank, it did make sense. So here he was at the party earlier than expected. So what was he doing? He was simply enjoying the air. At first he was going to take his clothes off and go swimming but he remembered that the event was a formal one and that being wet would attract far too much attention, so he decided to avoid that. Instead, he allowed himself to slip into a daydream as time passed. But soon enpugh he had begun to hear peoples names be called out ad they were announced. Looking up from his current location, Stelios watched with mild interest as the women now vied for the male attention and the men vied for political power already. So that was why his family sent him instead of Mateos.
Sighing he stood up and nodded to one of the guards he had recently spoken to. This guard then walked toward Harbinger and then whispered the information that Stelios had told the ghard. "His Lordship Stelios of Antonis, Commander of Athenia." Stelios blinked. Why did the guard say the last part? Sighing slightly he rubbed his temples before walking straight toward the wine, and as he did so his eyes lingered toward a group of women only to make himself pull his eyes away. That was when he saw a female with soft blonde hair, almost brown in a way. She was adorned with golden jewelry and wore a simple white and gold dress that both made her have the appearance of innocence and honor. Knowing he would want to talk to her at a later period, Stelios mentally checked her location a few times before having the guard escort his to Vangelis. This was the only male he knew here at the party, thus he would use their connection to meet that woman.
Of course, it did not help that he cpuldnt find Vangelis at the moment. So he was now quite literally, in a sea of people that he didn't know. Sighing he reached out to grab another glass of wine. This time not caring to its taste. He was going to hate this night it seemed. After all, politics was not his forte. He would rather be stuck in a heated battle yelling at his soldiers than here...stuck in a political meeting. Sighing once more, Stelios now looked up and wished the stars would consume him.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It had been a long trip from his place to here. A very long trip and when he had initially arrived he had been told that he would not be staying with Vang. Instead he would be staying with the Drakos. Seeing hoa they were around the same rank, it did make sense. So here he was at the party earlier than expected. So what was he doing? He was simply enjoying the air. At first he was going to take his clothes off and go swimming but he remembered that the event was a formal one and that being wet would attract far too much attention, so he decided to avoid that. Instead, he allowed himself to slip into a daydream as time passed. But soon enpugh he had begun to hear peoples names be called out ad they were announced. Looking up from his current location, Stelios watched with mild interest as the women now vied for the male attention and the men vied for political power already. So that was why his family sent him instead of Mateos.
Sighing he stood up and nodded to one of the guards he had recently spoken to. This guard then walked toward Harbinger and then whispered the information that Stelios had told the ghard. "His Lordship Stelios of Antonis, Commander of Athenia." Stelios blinked. Why did the guard say the last part? Sighing slightly he rubbed his temples before walking straight toward the wine, and as he did so his eyes lingered toward a group of women only to make himself pull his eyes away. That was when he saw a female with soft blonde hair, almost brown in a way. She was adorned with golden jewelry and wore a simple white and gold dress that both made her have the appearance of innocence and honor. Knowing he would want to talk to her at a later period, Stelios mentally checked her location a few times before having the guard escort his to Vangelis. This was the only male he knew here at the party, thus he would use their connection to meet that woman.
Of course, it did not help that he cpuldnt find Vangelis at the moment. So he was now quite literally, in a sea of people that he didn't know. Sighing he reached out to grab another glass of wine. This time not caring to its taste. He was going to hate this night it seemed. After all, politics was not his forte. He would rather be stuck in a heated battle yelling at his soldiers than here...stuck in a political meeting. Sighing once more, Stelios now looked up and wished the stars would consume him.
It had been a long trip from his place to here. A very long trip and when he had initially arrived he had been told that he would not be staying with Vang. Instead he would be staying with the Drakos. Seeing hoa they were around the same rank, it did make sense. So here he was at the party earlier than expected. So what was he doing? He was simply enjoying the air. At first he was going to take his clothes off and go swimming but he remembered that the event was a formal one and that being wet would attract far too much attention, so he decided to avoid that. Instead, he allowed himself to slip into a daydream as time passed. But soon enpugh he had begun to hear peoples names be called out ad they were announced. Looking up from his current location, Stelios watched with mild interest as the women now vied for the male attention and the men vied for political power already. So that was why his family sent him instead of Mateos.
Sighing he stood up and nodded to one of the guards he had recently spoken to. This guard then walked toward Harbinger and then whispered the information that Stelios had told the ghard. "His Lordship Stelios of Antonis, Commander of Athenia." Stelios blinked. Why did the guard say the last part? Sighing slightly he rubbed his temples before walking straight toward the wine, and as he did so his eyes lingered toward a group of women only to make himself pull his eyes away. That was when he saw a female with soft blonde hair, almost brown in a way. She was adorned with golden jewelry and wore a simple white and gold dress that both made her have the appearance of innocence and honor. Knowing he would want to talk to her at a later period, Stelios mentally checked her location a few times before having the guard escort his to Vangelis. This was the only male he knew here at the party, thus he would use their connection to meet that woman.
Of course, it did not help that he cpuldnt find Vangelis at the moment. So he was now quite literally, in a sea of people that he didn't know. Sighing he reached out to grab another glass of wine. This time not caring to its taste. He was going to hate this night it seemed. After all, politics was not his forte. He would rather be stuck in a heated battle yelling at his soldiers than here...stuck in a political meeting. Sighing once more, Stelios now looked up and wished the stars would consume him.
Once Athanasia made it down the stairs, her first stop was to head to the kitchens, whatever they were making smelled absolutely delishious and she was very hungry for breakfast. Along the way, she pilfered more flowers, now having a small multicolored bouquet as she finally made it to the kitchens. It was there that she snagged 3 honey biskets, their golden brown crusts coated in honey, glistening in the light. As Asia took a bite, the honey and crust crumbled into her hands as she savored each bite. When she was done, she made sure to wash her hands and face with a clean wet cloth before handing it over to one of the many who were almost to busy to even notice her.
After grabing her flowers, Asia left the kitchens to go find her brothers since they should be leaving soon. She guessed that their parents already left since she could not hear her mother calling for her, it was the little things like that that made Athanasia relax more. For a brief moment, she wondered if she could slip away entirely and go spend the day in the woods. Asia was daydreaming about the possibilities as she slowly made her way to the front of the house. Lost in a daydream as she looked for her brothers, flowers in hand to add to their torment, it was an understatement to say that she was not expecting a brother find her! Athanasia had passed a few servents and slaves that helped run the household and kept up with the chores, so she didn't pay any mind to the sounds of footsteps behind her. She really should have. 'Hello, you look great today,' a low voice whispered in her ear. Quick as a wild cat, Asia jumped as she yelped, turning as she instinctively threw a punch. Thankfully it was aimed to hit her brother in the chest instead of his face, the sound of her fist making a *thud* sound against the muscles and fabric. She hoped it hurt.
" 'Seems like your crowd.' You are an ass, brother dearest." She was glaring at him in her attempts to not laugh, her heart still racing after he spooked her. "Thank you for the compliment, Silas." and she meant it, it did make her feel better, even as she still was ready to punch him again. With her hands balling into fists, she was reminded that she had flowers in her hands. "Oh! Come here." Asia, never the one to wait, pulled Silas to a nearby bench and pushed him to sit. Now he was at her level. Without a word of warning, she started to lace flowers into his hair. "You will leave these in your hair to make up for scaring me. If not, I will catch a rat or something, alive, and put it in your bed while you sleep." And with that, she gave her brother a hug and stepped back to admire her work. "So when are we leaving for the festival?"
Athene
Athanasia
Athene
Athanasia
Awards
First Impressions:Leggy; Warm, bronze-colored eyes; thick wavy hair & an easy smile.
Address: Your Royal Highness
Once Athanasia made it down the stairs, her first stop was to head to the kitchens, whatever they were making smelled absolutely delishious and she was very hungry for breakfast. Along the way, she pilfered more flowers, now having a small multicolored bouquet as she finally made it to the kitchens. It was there that she snagged 3 honey biskets, their golden brown crusts coated in honey, glistening in the light. As Asia took a bite, the honey and crust crumbled into her hands as she savored each bite. When she was done, she made sure to wash her hands and face with a clean wet cloth before handing it over to one of the many who were almost to busy to even notice her.
After grabing her flowers, Asia left the kitchens to go find her brothers since they should be leaving soon. She guessed that their parents already left since she could not hear her mother calling for her, it was the little things like that that made Athanasia relax more. For a brief moment, she wondered if she could slip away entirely and go spend the day in the woods. Asia was daydreaming about the possibilities as she slowly made her way to the front of the house. Lost in a daydream as she looked for her brothers, flowers in hand to add to their torment, it was an understatement to say that she was not expecting a brother find her! Athanasia had passed a few servents and slaves that helped run the household and kept up with the chores, so she didn't pay any mind to the sounds of footsteps behind her. She really should have. 'Hello, you look great today,' a low voice whispered in her ear. Quick as a wild cat, Asia jumped as she yelped, turning as she instinctively threw a punch. Thankfully it was aimed to hit her brother in the chest instead of his face, the sound of her fist making a *thud* sound against the muscles and fabric. She hoped it hurt.
" 'Seems like your crowd.' You are an ass, brother dearest." She was glaring at him in her attempts to not laugh, her heart still racing after he spooked her. "Thank you for the compliment, Silas." and she meant it, it did make her feel better, even as she still was ready to punch him again. With her hands balling into fists, she was reminded that she had flowers in her hands. "Oh! Come here." Asia, never the one to wait, pulled Silas to a nearby bench and pushed him to sit. Now he was at her level. Without a word of warning, she started to lace flowers into his hair. "You will leave these in your hair to make up for scaring me. If not, I will catch a rat or something, alive, and put it in your bed while you sleep." And with that, she gave her brother a hug and stepped back to admire her work. "So when are we leaving for the festival?"
Once Athanasia made it down the stairs, her first stop was to head to the kitchens, whatever they were making smelled absolutely delishious and she was very hungry for breakfast. Along the way, she pilfered more flowers, now having a small multicolored bouquet as she finally made it to the kitchens. It was there that she snagged 3 honey biskets, their golden brown crusts coated in honey, glistening in the light. As Asia took a bite, the honey and crust crumbled into her hands as she savored each bite. When she was done, she made sure to wash her hands and face with a clean wet cloth before handing it over to one of the many who were almost to busy to even notice her.
After grabing her flowers, Asia left the kitchens to go find her brothers since they should be leaving soon. She guessed that their parents already left since she could not hear her mother calling for her, it was the little things like that that made Athanasia relax more. For a brief moment, she wondered if she could slip away entirely and go spend the day in the woods. Asia was daydreaming about the possibilities as she slowly made her way to the front of the house. Lost in a daydream as she looked for her brothers, flowers in hand to add to their torment, it was an understatement to say that she was not expecting a brother find her! Athanasia had passed a few servents and slaves that helped run the household and kept up with the chores, so she didn't pay any mind to the sounds of footsteps behind her. She really should have. 'Hello, you look great today,' a low voice whispered in her ear. Quick as a wild cat, Asia jumped as she yelped, turning as she instinctively threw a punch. Thankfully it was aimed to hit her brother in the chest instead of his face, the sound of her fist making a *thud* sound against the muscles and fabric. She hoped it hurt.
" 'Seems like your crowd.' You are an ass, brother dearest." She was glaring at him in her attempts to not laugh, her heart still racing after he spooked her. "Thank you for the compliment, Silas." and she meant it, it did make her feel better, even as she still was ready to punch him again. With her hands balling into fists, she was reminded that she had flowers in her hands. "Oh! Come here." Asia, never the one to wait, pulled Silas to a nearby bench and pushed him to sit. Now he was at her level. Without a word of warning, she started to lace flowers into his hair. "You will leave these in your hair to make up for scaring me. If not, I will catch a rat or something, alive, and put it in your bed while you sleep." And with that, she gave her brother a hug and stepped back to admire her work. "So when are we leaving for the festival?"
