He’d been up since just before dawn, making final preparations. For as important a mission as this, and for as much as was riding on its outcome, he was calm. All plans were in place. Only the critical people knew the plan and he’d ensured his uncle was not one of them. Neither were either of his cousins. They did not take up a place of hatred within him, like Irakles did, but they were Irakles’s sons. And from his conversation with Achilleas a few days prior, he did not feel as easy in his cousin’s loyalty as he once had.

It was easy not to focus on anything but the task at hand. He was surrounded by his soldiers, chariots, horses, and any number of slaves, servants, and women. Along with the rest of the men, he was armored in the heavy bronze chestplate that covered the whole of his torso to his hips, and bronze greaves on his legs. His shield was already resting in the chariot that would be pulled by two horses where his driver waited and his short sword was strapped to his waist. .

Each chariot driver stood either in or beside the chariot, waiting for their rider and for the order to go. The teams of horses stood alert and ready but none antsy. They were well trained and knew when to move and when to be still. His hand gripped the shaft of his spear tight as he surveyed those around him. This would end in success or a gorey death in the attempt. There would be no coming back without his prey. It was that simple.

The retinue at the top of the stairs did not draw his attention. There were too many people coming and going. Kicked up dust floated in the air and looked like gold reflected in the blazing sunlight. It was still early and the heat of the day had not yet set in but already the men were starting to sweat. Today would be torture in the 70 pounds of armor they wore.

”Your Majesty. Will you say goodbye to your queen and accept your wife’s blessing?”

His head jerked in her direction and for the briefest second, he frowned. But seconds later the expression was replaced by a brilliant smile. Handing his spear to his driver, he glanced at Vangelis before ascending the stairs where his wife waited. He stepped into her arms and drew her to him in what looked to be a tender embrace. His clean shaven cheek was pressed against hers and with his lips against her ear, the smile still fixed in place, and his eyes on Aikaterine behind her, he said, “How came you to be here? You shouldn't be so far from your rooms.”

The words were for her alone. They were even and full of meaning: she should have been more careful.

After a moment, the muscles of his arms relaxed around her and he hugged her in truth, rather than show. Pulling away, he gave her temple a quick kiss, placed one hand on her stomach, and waited for just a second to see if the baby would move. He did not. That wasn’t unexpected.

“I will see you when I return,” he said. His gaze slid behind her to Aikaterine but other than that, he did not acknowledge her presence. Turning around, he went back down the stairs toward the chariot, avoiding Vangelis’s gaze. The last thing he wanted right now was for the Blood General to have told him he should have shoved his wife back inside and slammed the door. Men don’t need women. Or whatever it was Colchians believed.

It would be logical to assume that many in the courtyard that day had had limited sleep the night before. The younger soldiers, the women and wives, the older men in the forces - the ones who knew their bodies were running low on strength and might be seeing their last battle this day... each and all would likely have tossed and turned in the night, unable to shake the feelings of dread that stole away slumber.

Vangelis was not like any of just such men or ladies. He was still young, reliant on his body and his capabilities (despite recent injuries) but experienced enough in war and combat to have little concerns or fears. Such a morning, high with adrenaline and low with a feeling of doom was an atmosphere he had become entirely numb to over the years. He gave no attention to the grim set in the jaws of the eldest of the fighters. He paid no heed to the swallowing throats, fluttering fingers and glassy eyes of the wives and lovers. What he did spot and offer his time to were the young men who looked frightened. For they were the ones that courage would be the greatest difference for.

The crown prince of Colchis frowned from his perch, leaning against the arched walls of the open space, as he made final adjustments to his armour, his gaze seeking out those of too think wrist and too slim neck to be fully counted as men. They were few and far between – Stephanos had a strong and powerful unit at his side. But there were always newcomers. The new generation who would have to survive if they wanted to remain in the military for enough years to give their families and names the honour that came with victory.

Pushing weight into his shoulders to shift his weight back onto his feet, Vangelis headed towards the middle of the courtyard where a circular fountain broke the elegant paving. He didn't clank or sound off as intensely as the men around him for his armour was slimmer, leaner and more useful for immediate hand to hand combat. He was a man unused to fighting from the back of the chariot and had therefore dressed to his own preferred set of skills.

His tunic was leather, laced by both the back and front and stretching down to his waist where it was cinched to offer rectangular pieces down the front and sides of his thighs. Such pieces sported the thinnest plates of iron - enough to deflect glancing blows or catches of weapons. His arms were bare beneath a double pauldron piece, slats of metal over his shoulders making them appear still larger than their already broad standing. The buckles of the items were fastened tight over his back and chest. Bare biceps led down to wrapped forearms, the soft white material braided around each from wrist to elbow were the end of the ties had been knotted and cut short. Like his fellow soldiers Vangelis went into battle in a pteruges, the straps riding longer to his knees. Greaves were then wrapped around a thin set of riding boots that rose up and over his kneecaps. Each section of both legs supported leather straps that help multiple sheathed knives.

Vangelis had not been expecting war upon leaving Colchis and arriving in their neighbouring kingdom. But this was not his reason for not carrying his armour and weaponry with him across the seas. Vangelis did not travel with his full military equipment because there was no need. A crown prince did not often get involved in the skirmishes of other lords or kings. It was foolish to put one's life in danger for the cause of another, when one's life meant so much to so many. But Vangelis had never been raised to believe that doing what he thought was right was ever foolish or wasteful. And so, he was here. In borrowed armour. The pauldrons, the tunic, the greaves and the bracers that were tied by their strings to his belt were all belonging to the royal armoury. There were no colours on the pieces, no insignia or markings. Most likely the pieces were designed for protection during practice sparring. But Vangelis had chosen them regardless. He had not needed pomp and showmanship when he had been selecting his borrowed protection. Visage and impact were important when you lead or were intent on using psychological warfare upon your enemy... or were determined to show the glory of your kingdom. None of such eventualities were Vangelis' intention or right. He was not here to show the might of Colchis. He was here to defend the people of Taengea. And that required ease of movement and flexibility of strike. Not excessive amounts of metal plating.

As such, when Vangelis had arrived at the Palati where everyone was gathering before heading out and around the north of the city, Vangelis appeared little different to the lower-class fighters around him. He was taller, broader and he wore his armour like a second skin, his steps languid and comfortable. But besides his stature and ease in the moment, he was far removed from the image of "prince".

Still, it didn't stop eyes following him as he moved to the centre of the courtyard, ensuring his presence was noticed by a small group of six young Taengean soldiers who looked to have yet grown into their swords. While the king was busy speaking with an advisor, Vangelis detached the bracers from his belt and slid them onto his arms, over the soft lining of the fabric already banded into place. He looked over at the boys whilst fastening the first of the two, smiled as one caught his eye and then pulled the strings tight in a tug of confidence and certainty, his back straightening and his shoulders moving to appear still broader. His lip curled with arrogance and he shifted his weight to seem nonchalant. He watched from his peripheral as the young men glanced at one another and then moved to check the ties on their own bracers, with a little more energy than the dread that had permeated their beings a moment before.

Sometimes, all one needed was the show that another held no fear to start feeling brave.

Amused, Vangelis turned his attention to securing the leather cylinders into place and then curled his fingers into two fists and flexed and twisted his wrists to ensure the freedom of muscle movement in both arms.

The rest of his armour there was no need to check. His daggers were in place up and down his legs, his dual blades were fastened at his hips on the several belts latched around his middle. A quiver of arrows was strapped to his back, fastened into placed with several buckles over his chest so that the piece would remain fixed during high speed chariot travel. His bow, and a borrowed halberd and set of spears were being taken care of by Nike. Being secured into place on the chariot they would both be riding into battle. All of said chariots and the dual horses a piece to drive them were already set up north of the city. Those that amalgamated here would have a walk towards the north in order to them set up and head on towards the fight. Nike was the only one he would have allowed to be in such a location in his stead, tending to the chariot and to his larger weaponry force; for the armour was borrowed, but the weapons were his.

It was as Vangelis was tying off the laces of his bracers with his teeth that he looked up to notice the King bidding farewell to his wife. His jaw tightening, Vangelis looked away, turning his attentions elsewhere as the two appeared to share a quiet moment together in a courtyard full of spectators that they clearly wanted to be seen by.

In looking away, Vangelis noted several other women who had come to attend to the men in their moment of departure. Some carried rags and small buckets of oil ready to offer additional aid in checking armour and ensuring leather remained supple after being fastened into place. Some offered tokens or shared moments with men who did or did not appear to be their husbands. Slave boys ran in every direction, fetching men particular items of equipment or relaying messages between commanders.

Geared up and ready to go, Vangelis caught eye contact with the new king but gave no expression. Had he known what the man was thinking, he would have contradicted such a ridiculous notion. No man who had ever met Queen Yanni would ever believe her son to have such a firm hand with the female of the species. Women were made in their manner for the tasks they most suited, of course. But they were also to be listened to, respected and heralded for supporting their counterpart. And a woman with child was the last person you told what to do. Forget the wrath of Artemis for such an incitement; mortal fury would be fearsome enough to confront...

Unlike Vangelis, Nike had travelled with her armor, even if it is lighter weight then most and easier to wear. She was on duty, a duty quite different from that of the crown prince. In fact, Nike could barely note of a time when she was not on alert this whole journey. Between accompanying Vangelis when necessary and ensuring the safety of the Princess and her cousin, the only time Nike had found for herself was at night in the House of Leventi, quite a stark difference from the last time they had been here to attend the Dionysus festival. Where it had previously been joyous and raucous, there was now a hint of sombriety and seriousness to the trademark Taengean laissez-faire attitude.

Odd how Nike seemed more at home in this sort of attitude, considering she was Taengean by birth.

With the task at hand of assisting the King in this task relating to the Creed however, Nike had scarcely the time to think of the likelihood of running into her birth sire, not like the last affair which had her looking over her shoulder at every turn. Up earlier then the crown prince herself, Nike's own outfit was made entirely by leather and laced up in spots where necessary, with metal sewn in between the pieces of leather which would serve to deflect arrows and sharp weapons. Her hair was bound up in a tight bun atop her head, and her two daggers were slipped in her heavy combat boots. Eschewing her claymore (as she was yet to be well used to it to properly wield it in battle), instead Nike had her usual longsword strapped to her side, and the various throwing knives slipped into the weapon belt she had on. She had no bow, still not well versed in them yet, and the woman was loathe to fight with weapons she was unfamiliar with. It would simply make her a burden.

Arriving at the courtyard just before the rest of the men, she had been quick to instruct the ones under her tutelage, reminding them once again that in times of great distress, regardless of what was happening to the Taengean troops, it was the safety of the Colchian crown prince that mattered to them most.

It was after that, and only then did she moved to the chariots that Vangelis was supposed to take. Watching from the corner of her eye as her general approached the younger of the troops ready to take on the Creed, she did a quick, thorough check of Vangelis's weapons and chariots, strapping the spears and halberd in places that he could easily access whilst in the chariot, before checking on the chariot itself. Nike was uneasy with it - she knew Vangelis's modus operandi, and that he fought better on horseback, as she did. Colchian's had no use for chariots, but she guessed the Taengeans were much better used to them, and Vangelis was not about to go against the order of King Stephanos. So the woman checked all the riggings and the reins, thorough as she was. She was not about to see her general thrown off the chariot because of her ineptitude.

As she finished, the Queen made an arrival, as did the other women, almost as if there was a send-off party. Something that made Nike chomp at the bit, really. She had never needed anything of the sort, being one who preferred jumping straight into the action rather then lingering with the women, ironically. That being said, she was thankful as a woman approached Nike with some oil and rags, items which the Commander took with a murmured thanks and a smile, turning to polish the buckles and reins to further secure the vehicle.

A sudden voice by her side made Nike turn, and then her honeyed eyes registered surprise when she was met with the smile and blonde locks of Selene of Leventi, a woman she knew Vangelis had personally visited upon his arrival in Taengea, and if she was not mistaken (she still had her womanly intuition, even if she was living as a male), had more then just goodwill to impart to her general. A part of Nike wore an amused smile as she accepted the wrapped loaf with a smile and a murmured thank you. Placing the loaf gently within the chariot Vangelis would ride, the Commander watched the interaction of the two from the corner of her eye, making a mental note to just prod her general about that half pomegranate he got later when they were further away from prying eyes.

Frustrated and annoyed does not even begin to explain Irakles's dark mood the moment he had woke before dawn. The sun still had yet to make its appearance, Apollo just beginning his chariot pull across the skies, when his eyes had snapped open. The conversation he had with Stephanos just days before rankled his thoughts, and had been since the past few days. Irakles had no wish to join this death wish to purge the Creed, as his nephew had stupidly promised the public nobility of Taengea the day of his coronation. He did not see why he had to participate in the farce of his nephew's doing, and even more then that, the retired general had no wish to take commands from a green upstart who barely had half the experience Irakles had.

But Stephanos had left him with no choice.

To deny or to reject his order to come with, would be akin to defying the King, and like it or not, even if he was the uncle, even if he had the ear of the Queen Mother, even if he was the more experienced one, he was still bound by the laws of the land. And Irakles would be damned before he allowed Stephanos to have any reason to go against his plans, not when he was so close to completion. Death to Stephanos would be too obvious, that much Fotios had managed to point out when Irakles wanted to just murder his nephew in his sleep and be done with it. To have his nephew dead would mean eyes would turn to him, for he was the next in line. The same suspicions that he had managed to stir and incite to discredit Stephanos would fall on him.

Patience is the key. He had to wait. So despite his ire and irritation, Irakles had to get up and get dressed, annoyed as he is. No matter what he tried to do, any plans on what Stephanos had planned to perform for the day at the gorge was out of his hands. He had attempted to figure out why exactly Stephanos had order chariots - Irakles had been incensed when he realized that chariots were being prepared the day before in the courtyard. Why, he had asked in a tone that clearly spoke of frustration, would one ride chariots to a gorge which would require careful steps? Would horses not be a better choice?

Yet no one had answers for him. Ujarak had tried and failed, as well as any of the advisors he could ask. And Irakles hated nothing more then feeling as if he was in the dark. As a general of many troops, winning many battles by gaining as much information as he could on his enemies and the lay of the land and using it to his advantage, being kept in the dark made Irakles antsy. Because a lack of knowledge would mean he was leaving himself open to being blindsided and snuck up on.

Not that he was given a choice.

It was in a quiet, tensed mood that servants and slaves entered to dress the prince once he was done with his morning ablutions. Climbing out of his bath, he allowed the slaves to dry him off, before beginning his dressing. His outfit was laid out before him, simple tunic and his various armor that he had personally saw to its polishing just the evening before. His greying hair was combed, a simple white tunic laced on to his skin before they began fitting him with armor, the very same armor that had seen him through many battles. It had been a few years since he had put on his full, formal armor as a Taengean general and former Master of War, before he retired to take on the position as the Head of the Mikaelidas House. It was a familiar, yet unfamiliar feeling whilst the bronze plates were laced in. Leather wristguards were laced up, before the light muscle cuirass was placed upon. Below his waist, the greaves made of the same bronze as his breastplates were properly fitted, before the prince slipped his feet into the pair of heavy combat boots. His bronzed Illyrian helmet was tucked under his arms, polished until they gleamed in the light of the emerging sun.

As a final touch, two short swords were strapped around his waist, before Ujarak brought up his trusty bronze battle axe. The moment Irakles gripped its handle, his frustrations melted away into a satisfied smile as he felt the familiar weight of his weapon in his hands. It was a battle weapon made of two materials - bronzed for the axe head, carved with details of great battles by great heroes. Heavy and deadly, Irakles sharpened it on a weekly basis, even if he did not use it as often any longer. The handle however, was made of iron and reinforced with copper to make it harder and difficult to break. It was something Irakles had specially commissioned in his second year serving as a general to the Taengean armies, not willing to let a weak weapon sully his reputation. The axe itself had followed Irakles to every battle, without fail. And he had appeared victorious in every one, unless his brother decided to intervene, which happened too often for his liking. But with Zenon gone, and the heritage to the throne now being brought to question with Stephanos's ways and reputation, he had his chance now.

Like it or not, he would appear victorious.

Battleax in hand, only then did Irakles make his way to Aeneus awaiting him in the courtyard of the Mikaelidas household. The spirited gelding carried him all the way to the Mikaelidas palati, a short ride away. The moment the prince's eyes fell upon the rows of chariots again, however, his brows furrowed in annoyance once again at the reminder. Handing off his gelding to the hands of a trusted hoplite of his troop (for even if he was forced to ride upon a chariot, Irakles wanted his warhorse available should it become necessary), before heading over to deposit his shield and spears within the chariot another had murmured to be his.

The driver of his chariot was an old cavalry soldier Irakles had trained in the days, and the general greeted the soldier with a gruff morning greeting, as he personally went through the buckles, belts and wheel spokes of his chariot. His quiver of arrows and bows was slipped to his left of the chariot, whilst the few spears he had deemed to bring was to the right. On top of the two short swords already strapped to his waist, and his battle axe and shield on his back, Irakles had also brought along two extra long swords that were now sheathed in the back end of the chariots, an extra safety precaution. The two horses that would draw his chariot was a handsome black and bay pair, not as fast nor as ferocious as Aeneus, but they were hardy and strong, not likely to shy even if an arrow was flying in their direction unless they felt direct pain.

As someone who paid a great deal of attention to detail, he was leaving nothing to chance, and it wasn't till the entrance of the Queen and her very obvious, very public call to her husband, did the prince finally emerge from his thorough checks. He was standing at the nose of the two horses being hooked up to his chariots, slowly rubbing their satiny nose when Olympia made her entrance. From where he stood, Irakles merely observed as the King greeted his pregnant wife. He had heard of Olympia being ordered on bedrest. From what he's been told, the stress and happenings ever since their marriage had got to her pregnancy, and that she was only allowed for a limited amount of time for walks, and was otherwise confined to the bed. Of course, for the baby to be miscarried would solve all of Irakles problems, but the elder male doubted his nephew would be so stupid as to put his wife and heir at risk, so Irakles was quick to dispense with that line of thought.

Leaving his nephew and the Queen, his gaze slid to the arriving Crown Prince of Colchis, amusement glittering in his wizened gaze. Of all, perhaps Irakles was most surprised at the friendship Stephanos had managed to strike between himself and Vangelis of Kotas. To have such a prestigious friendship seemed beyond what he knew his nephew of doing, but then again, Irakles guessed it was hard to miss since they both ran in the same circles. Vangelis of Kotas had a personality a mile different from Stephanos, and yet here the Colchian prince stood, apparently eager to help and having brought his own Commander and troop along to assist the Taengean kingdom. Amusing. A little frustrating yes, but nothing Irakles could not deal with.

When Selene of Leventi arrived and somehow made her way directly to the Crown Prince, Irakles resisted the urge to smirk. It would seem that his friend has been doing quite some matchmaking of his own. Making a mental note to drop a question to Fotios on what exactly seems to be the plan he had for his eldest niece between her and the crown prince, Irakles turned back to the Queen as she moved to return to her chambers, her expression somehow appearing a little more downtrodden before. Ah, it would seem all was not well within the marital affairs of his nephew. Interesting.... something he would task Meena to investigate further on.

For now, he had a task at hand.

With a final whispered word to both horses, and patting them on their strong necks, he returned to the gleaming chariots, awaiting there till Stephanos approached. His expression was neutral, but perhaps only those standing close by could see the milling frustration that swirled within the elder male's chocolate gaze. He was uneasy, that was clear. He already was very clear with the fact that he had no love over Stephanos's choice to take chariots to the gorge. While Irakles did enjoy charioteering as a sport, he preferred to be on horseback in battle and in a fight, where one could easily maneuver the beast beneath them to turn this way and that. A chariot was clunkier, harder to handle, and when the place in question was a gorge, it made the Prince doubt his nephew's choice even more.

"You better have it all well planned, Stephanos. Or you risk the lives of many, and the safety of your home and our Kingdom, by bringing them into a death trap with these chariots." It was a thinly veiled threat, made in a tone that only he and Stephanos was privy to. It was also, perhaps, the very first sign Stephanos would ever see of Irakles's loosening of emotions, where previously it had all been a controlled ploy, all within his hands. To walk into this blind, and been more or less commanded to stay by Stephanos side, irked Irakles beyond measure.

As he stood toe to toe with Stephanos, in the eyes of others, it may seem as if the uncle was merely giving the final advice and precautionary words to his nephew. Irakles had done much in order to ensure that outwardly, that was their guise to many. He had openly expressed his concern to many about his nephew's healthy, waxing on about how worried he was for his family. The feud between uncle and nephew remained between them, but the threat was clear in the leveled, pointed glare that Irakles sent Stephanos.

Do not mess with him. And do not mess with the safety and grandeur that was the Kingdom of Taengea. Nothing was worth more to Irakles then the kingdom he had grown up being educated to protect all his life, and nothing else was more important. And if anyone stood in the way of that, if anyone at all threatened or was a threat to Taengea's worth, well Irakles would annihilate that threat, or die trying. Stephanos wanted to play the game.

Well, Irakles will play it his way.

After having only recently returned home from years of fighting on battlefields far from here, Killie certainly hadn't excepted to be thrust into another fight so soon, especially not in his home lands. He had slept fairly decently the night before, after all, this wasn't the first time war loomed on the horizon, but when he woke up that morning, his thoughts became plagued with what this would mean for him and Theo.

Killie knew she understood why he was going, why the King had made such commands and promises after the vast Creed attacks months earlier. Killie's concern was more with the idea that they weren't even married yet, and here he was carting off to battle once more. How many time would he have to leave her, during their marriage? For how long at a time? He feared she would be lonely in his absence, or sick with worry about his well being and her constitution would suffer.

The thoughts flew about in his head like sticky flies as he dressed and prepared for what was ahead. Slaves came to dress him, a deep red tunic first, followed by his bronze breastplate, bronze plated leather bracers and greaves. His armor was well worn and well maintained, and fit him like a glove. Once dressed, he tested his movements for anything of the ordinary, for any looseness of snags. Satisfied, he wordlessly nodded to let the slave know he was ready to leave.

Achilleas arrived at the Palati to a somber atmosphere. Wives and family had come to see them off to war. There was no chatter, not even nervous excitement, only the voices of a few who were bidding one another farewell for everyone and the Gods to witness. Walking to meet his own men, who diligently waited where they were instructed, he gave himself a few moments to observe. Stephanos, strangely, had ordered the attack by chariots, which made little sense in Killie's mind. He knew his father would have had something to say about the King's questionable military tactics, no doubt, and when his eyes scanned the front line of men and horses in front of the Palati, his eyes fell on his father. Tall, overbearing, serious and even from here Achilleas could feel the fire he knew burned in his eyes as he watched the King farewell his wife.

Achilleas turned his back to nod silently to a few men in his front ranks. He would have time to talk to them soon, to encourage them, to lead them. For now, he just needed them to know, he was here and they together were going to be a force to be reckoned with.

He turned again, this time his gaze searching the crowd of women and non-combatants at the Palati, searching for his beloved Theo. Spotting her in the crowd, and waiting for her to spot him looking in turn, he smiled, reassuring courage filling his bones at just the sight of her far away face. He started walking out, hoping she would do the same to meet him, to say farewell.

Reaching her, he cupped his hand to her face, holding her there a long moment. "No matter what happens, I will come back to you, Theo."

Theo came to meet him eagerly, and a smile filled his face as he looked down into her dark eyes. In that moment, Achilleas forgot where they were, who was watching. It was only him and Theo. In that moment, that was all the mattered, and he never wanted to leave it. He lost himself in her eyes, in her touch. her words were like silk, pulling gently at him, begging him not to leave, to stay and marry her and leave the fighting to other men. A big part of him wanted to listen, wanted to let her silken words keep him here - but what would that make him? A coward? What would his men think of him? Granted, if he didn't go, they wouldn't either. Maybe they could avoid casualties that way. His father's face barreled into his thoughts then, and he was quickly reminded of his duty. Yes, he had a duty to Theo, but he also had a duty to his men, to his country, to his King, and to the Order. They were all promises he made before his engagement to Theo, and so he must follow through on them.

Theo's delicate lips on his hand brought him back to the moment, and she reminded him that he had something to come back for. He didn't need reminding, but it was incredible to hear the sentiment from her. She began to untangle their intertwined hands, gently turning to walk away, to leave him to his men and his King, but in an uncontrollable moment of panic, for he had no other words to describe it, he grabbed her again. He closed the space between them once more, and without a care in the world for who was watching them, he turned her to face him, weaved a hand through he hair and kissed her with such desperate ferocity, he was breathless within seconds.

He had no sense of how long they sank themselves into the kiss, but her reminded himself again of where they were and what they were preparing for. Reluctantly, he pulled out from the heat of the moment, held her face before him to stare intently into those same dark eyes that haunted his dreams, and said a final goodbye. "No matter what..."

And with that, he stepped back, finally letting her go, giving her a deep bow, before turning sharply and walking back toward his men, before the panic of losing her took hold of him again.

In the time since Imeeya arrived in Taengea she had mostly been trying to recover from the ocean voyage. Traveling by sea did not agree with her, and this voyage had been many times longer than any other voyage she had made previously. To make matters worse, the boat had been battered with storms for the last leg of their voyage, meaning that Imeeya got into port she had to take some time to rest after the journey. But Imeeya wasn’t one to enjoy having to take time to rest. That’s why when she had heard of King Stephanos’s call to take their revenge on the Creed, Imeeya felt like she needed to go and see what was going on herself, instead of hearing about it later second hand. She needed to get out and see what was going on with her own eyes. Besides, both Vangelis and Nike were going out to help with the cause, and she had to see them off and put in an appearance herself.

Imeeya had dressed carefully for the occasion, as always her appearance mattered, to convey her status, especially amongst these many people who she had not previously met. At the same time, she needed to maintain a certain gravitas that was necessary when sending the men off to fight. Imeeya dressed in a deep blue peplos, that brought out the blue shades of her blue-grey eyes. For her jewelry, she chose a few delicate pieces. Her gold necklace had many finely worked flower links while the bracelets at either wrist were formed from several twisted strands of gold. Her hair was secured upon her head, tucked around a deep blue ribbon that matched her dress and peaked out from between strands of her hair.

Imeeya approached the group of men and women who had gathered to prepare for the attack. She refused to let herself feel nervous in spite of the fact that most of the people present were strangers to her, or known to her only by name. Still, there seemed to be little opportunity to join in a conversation with those who had gathered. They mostly appeared to have paired off, with the women wishing their men good luck in the battle to come. Imeeya pushed aside a pang of jealousy that she had no one to wish well herself. Internally, she scolded herself. She knew what she wanted out of her life, and finding herself beholden to a man would not allow her to accomplish these goals. She was willing to deal with the jealousy if it meant that she could have the freedom to rule her own lands.

Imeeya found herself searching for a familiar face to talk to. Imeeya spotted Vangelis through the group of people who were gathering and started to make her way towards him. However, as she grew closer, Imeeya found that Vangelis was engaged in conversation with Selene. Not wanting to disturb what conversation was going on between those two, Imeeya again scanned the crowd, looking for someone she might be able to talk to. Not very far away, Nike was also preparing for the upcoming battle. At least he was a familiar face. Imeeya walked up beside him and waited to speak until she wouldn’t be interrupting her preparations. ”Hello Nike, I wished to come wish you and Vangelis good luck and the favor of the gods.” Imeeya wasn’t sure what one normally said in situations like this, but she wasn’t about to let Nike know that.