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One might have said it was rare to see him happy, and they would be very right. It was much more common to see him in his semi-permanent state of irritation with a pout on his face and some carefully prepared complaints designed to get him exactly what he wanted. That was just the case at present and had been for the past few weeks.
Only a few days away from turning eighteen, he had found himself thrown into military service, in a unit under his brother's command. He had, of course, believed that his connection to the man would make army life more comfortable - he had already attempted to get out of the service entirely by using Pavlos's name - although the man was never so coddling as Papa could be, and it was only through family name that he had obtained the perks he had, private room in the barracks, presence of Deucalion and all because, he, a Marikas, could hardly be expected to share like a commoner.
They'd been so proud to find that name amongst their ranks again. Another Marikas. Already comparing him to his brother, and so stupidly too. Rafail was not Pavlos. He thought himself above the other, free to do as he wished while the other was trapped in a horrid marriage. Besides, there were two princesses soon to come of age, and he was going to have the pick of the crop. But that didn't matter here. They only cared for his name and the fact that that meant he was supposed to be an expert in fighting.
Rafail was not Pavlos, but he was not awful when it came to combat. He could certainly handle himself with a shortsword. But, urgh, he hated the effort, and he hated the filth. He had beautifully delicate skin on his hands. He did not need it ruined. He had excessively expensive clothing; he did not need it destroyed. He hated the idea of working with others when others should have been working for him - quite frankly; he hated the mere thought of anything that involved 'teamwork.' Rafail was not the sort of person who played well with others; it simply did not suit his self-serving nature. This had, of course, led to problems on various occasions, multiple warnings issued and oh-so-much fuss from those who called themselves his superiors. He did not care, he continued his morning beauty routine to the best of his ability (the facilities here were so lacking, and Deucalion's improvisations did not always work as Rafail would have preferred), and he continued to do things at his rhythm and he continued to refuse all tasks that he deemed below him.
Evidentally, they had reached a breaking point.
A note had been received that morning when he had failed to report to his duties at the ludicrous hour they had requested - as though he would be ready for the day before the sun hung fully in the sky - a demand that he report to Pavlos's quarters immediately. Of course, Rafail knew this was not going to go well.
He had dressed out of his training garb: the stunning blue silk chiton so different from the disgusting clothes he was forced to wear here, and the sandals more fashionable than practical for the military. Deucalion had ensured the rest of his appearance was perfect as required - Rafail had checked everything himself, wholly untrusting the man despite six years of reliable service - and the younger Marikas had made his way to where he had last met the man on his first day of attendance just a couple of weeks prior.
Pavlos was a boring man, so far as Rafail was concerned. He did not share the same interests as his younger brother (quite specifically, he was not as incredibly adoring of the youngest Marikas man as he was of himself) and that did not sit well with him. Still, he usually imagined he could handle his brother, partially because the man was less harsh than Papa, and partly because they were close enough in age.
"You wanted to see me, Pavlos?" he greeted his brother as he entered the meeting chamber, taking a half-reclined seat on a klismos across from the man to drape an arm over the back of it, an eyebrow quirked upwards expectantly. "Is this about my transfer to the cavalry at last? Because Papa did tell you to make sure I'm comfortable and that I should be placed where my skills lie and, besides, he bought me that lovely new stallion. I don't want it wasted."
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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Rafail was not happy.
One might have said it was rare to see him happy, and they would be very right. It was much more common to see him in his semi-permanent state of irritation with a pout on his face and some carefully prepared complaints designed to get him exactly what he wanted. That was just the case at present and had been for the past few weeks.
Only a few days away from turning eighteen, he had found himself thrown into military service, in a unit under his brother's command. He had, of course, believed that his connection to the man would make army life more comfortable - he had already attempted to get out of the service entirely by using Pavlos's name - although the man was never so coddling as Papa could be, and it was only through family name that he had obtained the perks he had, private room in the barracks, presence of Deucalion and all because, he, a Marikas, could hardly be expected to share like a commoner.
They'd been so proud to find that name amongst their ranks again. Another Marikas. Already comparing him to his brother, and so stupidly too. Rafail was not Pavlos. He thought himself above the other, free to do as he wished while the other was trapped in a horrid marriage. Besides, there were two princesses soon to come of age, and he was going to have the pick of the crop. But that didn't matter here. They only cared for his name and the fact that that meant he was supposed to be an expert in fighting.
Rafail was not Pavlos, but he was not awful when it came to combat. He could certainly handle himself with a shortsword. But, urgh, he hated the effort, and he hated the filth. He had beautifully delicate skin on his hands. He did not need it ruined. He had excessively expensive clothing; he did not need it destroyed. He hated the idea of working with others when others should have been working for him - quite frankly; he hated the mere thought of anything that involved 'teamwork.' Rafail was not the sort of person who played well with others; it simply did not suit his self-serving nature. This had, of course, led to problems on various occasions, multiple warnings issued and oh-so-much fuss from those who called themselves his superiors. He did not care, he continued his morning beauty routine to the best of his ability (the facilities here were so lacking, and Deucalion's improvisations did not always work as Rafail would have preferred), and he continued to do things at his rhythm and he continued to refuse all tasks that he deemed below him.
Evidentally, they had reached a breaking point.
A note had been received that morning when he had failed to report to his duties at the ludicrous hour they had requested - as though he would be ready for the day before the sun hung fully in the sky - a demand that he report to Pavlos's quarters immediately. Of course, Rafail knew this was not going to go well.
He had dressed out of his training garb: the stunning blue silk chiton so different from the disgusting clothes he was forced to wear here, and the sandals more fashionable than practical for the military. Deucalion had ensured the rest of his appearance was perfect as required - Rafail had checked everything himself, wholly untrusting the man despite six years of reliable service - and the younger Marikas had made his way to where he had last met the man on his first day of attendance just a couple of weeks prior.
Pavlos was a boring man, so far as Rafail was concerned. He did not share the same interests as his younger brother (quite specifically, he was not as incredibly adoring of the youngest Marikas man as he was of himself) and that did not sit well with him. Still, he usually imagined he could handle his brother, partially because the man was less harsh than Papa, and partly because they were close enough in age.
"You wanted to see me, Pavlos?" he greeted his brother as he entered the meeting chamber, taking a half-reclined seat on a klismos across from the man to drape an arm over the back of it, an eyebrow quirked upwards expectantly. "Is this about my transfer to the cavalry at last? Because Papa did tell you to make sure I'm comfortable and that I should be placed where my skills lie and, besides, he bought me that lovely new stallion. I don't want it wasted."
Rafail was not happy.
One might have said it was rare to see him happy, and they would be very right. It was much more common to see him in his semi-permanent state of irritation with a pout on his face and some carefully prepared complaints designed to get him exactly what he wanted. That was just the case at present and had been for the past few weeks.
Only a few days away from turning eighteen, he had found himself thrown into military service, in a unit under his brother's command. He had, of course, believed that his connection to the man would make army life more comfortable - he had already attempted to get out of the service entirely by using Pavlos's name - although the man was never so coddling as Papa could be, and it was only through family name that he had obtained the perks he had, private room in the barracks, presence of Deucalion and all because, he, a Marikas, could hardly be expected to share like a commoner.
They'd been so proud to find that name amongst their ranks again. Another Marikas. Already comparing him to his brother, and so stupidly too. Rafail was not Pavlos. He thought himself above the other, free to do as he wished while the other was trapped in a horrid marriage. Besides, there were two princesses soon to come of age, and he was going to have the pick of the crop. But that didn't matter here. They only cared for his name and the fact that that meant he was supposed to be an expert in fighting.
Rafail was not Pavlos, but he was not awful when it came to combat. He could certainly handle himself with a shortsword. But, urgh, he hated the effort, and he hated the filth. He had beautifully delicate skin on his hands. He did not need it ruined. He had excessively expensive clothing; he did not need it destroyed. He hated the idea of working with others when others should have been working for him - quite frankly; he hated the mere thought of anything that involved 'teamwork.' Rafail was not the sort of person who played well with others; it simply did not suit his self-serving nature. This had, of course, led to problems on various occasions, multiple warnings issued and oh-so-much fuss from those who called themselves his superiors. He did not care, he continued his morning beauty routine to the best of his ability (the facilities here were so lacking, and Deucalion's improvisations did not always work as Rafail would have preferred), and he continued to do things at his rhythm and he continued to refuse all tasks that he deemed below him.
Evidentally, they had reached a breaking point.
A note had been received that morning when he had failed to report to his duties at the ludicrous hour they had requested - as though he would be ready for the day before the sun hung fully in the sky - a demand that he report to Pavlos's quarters immediately. Of course, Rafail knew this was not going to go well.
He had dressed out of his training garb: the stunning blue silk chiton so different from the disgusting clothes he was forced to wear here, and the sandals more fashionable than practical for the military. Deucalion had ensured the rest of his appearance was perfect as required - Rafail had checked everything himself, wholly untrusting the man despite six years of reliable service - and the younger Marikas had made his way to where he had last met the man on his first day of attendance just a couple of weeks prior.
Pavlos was a boring man, so far as Rafail was concerned. He did not share the same interests as his younger brother (quite specifically, he was not as incredibly adoring of the youngest Marikas man as he was of himself) and that did not sit well with him. Still, he usually imagined he could handle his brother, partially because the man was less harsh than Papa, and partly because they were close enough in age.
"You wanted to see me, Pavlos?" he greeted his brother as he entered the meeting chamber, taking a half-reclined seat on a klismos across from the man to drape an arm over the back of it, an eyebrow quirked upwards expectantly. "Is this about my transfer to the cavalry at last? Because Papa did tell you to make sure I'm comfortable and that I should be placed where my skills lie and, besides, he bought me that lovely new stallion. I don't want it wasted."
Pavlos's day was ordinary at best. Cleaned his courtyard, pulled some weeds, attended to his men, trained them in the early hours and then rode his horse to the field for grazing. By the time it hit for him to head back he was well exhausted. But there was much more that he needed to handle. His brother was to be called to him later on when he returned on his dappled stallion, one he had prized more over the rest of his equines. His eyes twitched unwillingly at the strain they were under from the constant reading of scrolls and booklets before him. With a sigh he leans back into his chair rubbing his temples just as his slave entered the tent. "Sir, I have called your brother. He will be here shortly.." he pauses the circles on his temples "good - get me the scroll that holds our family crest upon it please.." he said groaning at the slowly ebbing pain at his head now. He would be handed the scroll and with squinting eyes he looks upon it with a heavy scowl. "We need to raise price..of this..." he points to one of his commanding lower officers. "Yes sir - immediately. " and with that he would leave the tent. Pavlos was a man of many promising words, and when he said them he kept them honestly close to his heart. He reclined back rubbing his temples until his slave came back at his side "would you like some medicine?" she would ask. "Yes, and this time don't give me the underdose of it either....I want what I ask for..." he glares at her "but si-" she breaks "no buts. just do as I ask.." he tells her.
'"Is this about my transfer to the cavalry at last? Because Papa did tell you to make sure I'm comfortable and that I should be placed where my skills lie and, besides, he bought me that lovely new stallion. I don't want it wasted."'
It isn't short until Raf enters - loud might he state as he cringes physically into his seat. "RAF" he says a bit loudly as he looks at him from between his fingers glaring. A moment of silence ushering from the head of the house before he continued to speak again. "I will tell you when it's best to move to the Calvary...not father." he said just as his slave returns with his medicine. He grabs the powder and a glass of wine and downs it as fast as he could. He sits back feeling sick as he wanted to puke but he kept the pain from showing across his face. Instead he drops a hand from his head and lays it onto the table. The other slowly rubs against the right side of his head as he looks down at his scrolls and then to his brother. "I want you to stay where you are at, but tomorrow you will be learning about the Longsword and shield defence. All my warriors undergo this training no matter their household rank." he groans and waves his slave out the tent. He could feel the medicine trying to work but on an empty stomach, well, it wasn't really working how it should. It actually made him feel worse now and he was starting to think that perhaps he should have had something small before swallowing all the powder down the way he did. But that was in the past now.
He huffs loudly to himself before grabbing a scroll and standing up, he walks to where Raf was sitting and hands him the scroll. "The men will be holding tryouts for the front lines - depending on your .......actions..... you might be able to join them there this week..." he says with a lower tone than usual. He didn't feel like raising his voice for him to be understood by his brother. Instead he walked by him and gave him his back as he cups his mouth and rubs his chin. He also needed to figure out where to send the slum boys and how to get the middle ranked calvary men to form echelons correctly as well. They still had yet to correctly form the group in a right manner within the fields and it was bothering him so much so. It was bad enough that the men were falling behind on learning assets but now in formation skills too. Just what was his commanders doing? Then he recalled what raf was speaking about his horse and he huffs again, great so father had given another equine that the army couldn't hold? Pavlos was already dealing with twice as many horses and now family heads were seeming to bring their entire stable here. May the gods reign high and supreme but pavlos needed to do something about all the horses he had acquired now. "Your steed will stay at your stable at the main house until it is needed...." he said coming around the opposite side of the table as he sits back into his chair grabbing his scrolls again trying to read through them one last time.
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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Deleted
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Pavlos's day was ordinary at best. Cleaned his courtyard, pulled some weeds, attended to his men, trained them in the early hours and then rode his horse to the field for grazing. By the time it hit for him to head back he was well exhausted. But there was much more that he needed to handle. His brother was to be called to him later on when he returned on his dappled stallion, one he had prized more over the rest of his equines. His eyes twitched unwillingly at the strain they were under from the constant reading of scrolls and booklets before him. With a sigh he leans back into his chair rubbing his temples just as his slave entered the tent. "Sir, I have called your brother. He will be here shortly.." he pauses the circles on his temples "good - get me the scroll that holds our family crest upon it please.." he said groaning at the slowly ebbing pain at his head now. He would be handed the scroll and with squinting eyes he looks upon it with a heavy scowl. "We need to raise price..of this..." he points to one of his commanding lower officers. "Yes sir - immediately. " and with that he would leave the tent. Pavlos was a man of many promising words, and when he said them he kept them honestly close to his heart. He reclined back rubbing his temples until his slave came back at his side "would you like some medicine?" she would ask. "Yes, and this time don't give me the underdose of it either....I want what I ask for..." he glares at her "but si-" she breaks "no buts. just do as I ask.." he tells her.
'"Is this about my transfer to the cavalry at last? Because Papa did tell you to make sure I'm comfortable and that I should be placed where my skills lie and, besides, he bought me that lovely new stallion. I don't want it wasted."'
It isn't short until Raf enters - loud might he state as he cringes physically into his seat. "RAF" he says a bit loudly as he looks at him from between his fingers glaring. A moment of silence ushering from the head of the house before he continued to speak again. "I will tell you when it's best to move to the Calvary...not father." he said just as his slave returns with his medicine. He grabs the powder and a glass of wine and downs it as fast as he could. He sits back feeling sick as he wanted to puke but he kept the pain from showing across his face. Instead he drops a hand from his head and lays it onto the table. The other slowly rubs against the right side of his head as he looks down at his scrolls and then to his brother. "I want you to stay where you are at, but tomorrow you will be learning about the Longsword and shield defence. All my warriors undergo this training no matter their household rank." he groans and waves his slave out the tent. He could feel the medicine trying to work but on an empty stomach, well, it wasn't really working how it should. It actually made him feel worse now and he was starting to think that perhaps he should have had something small before swallowing all the powder down the way he did. But that was in the past now.
He huffs loudly to himself before grabbing a scroll and standing up, he walks to where Raf was sitting and hands him the scroll. "The men will be holding tryouts for the front lines - depending on your .......actions..... you might be able to join them there this week..." he says with a lower tone than usual. He didn't feel like raising his voice for him to be understood by his brother. Instead he walked by him and gave him his back as he cups his mouth and rubs his chin. He also needed to figure out where to send the slum boys and how to get the middle ranked calvary men to form echelons correctly as well. They still had yet to correctly form the group in a right manner within the fields and it was bothering him so much so. It was bad enough that the men were falling behind on learning assets but now in formation skills too. Just what was his commanders doing? Then he recalled what raf was speaking about his horse and he huffs again, great so father had given another equine that the army couldn't hold? Pavlos was already dealing with twice as many horses and now family heads were seeming to bring their entire stable here. May the gods reign high and supreme but pavlos needed to do something about all the horses he had acquired now. "Your steed will stay at your stable at the main house until it is needed...." he said coming around the opposite side of the table as he sits back into his chair grabbing his scrolls again trying to read through them one last time.
Pavlos's day was ordinary at best. Cleaned his courtyard, pulled some weeds, attended to his men, trained them in the early hours and then rode his horse to the field for grazing. By the time it hit for him to head back he was well exhausted. But there was much more that he needed to handle. His brother was to be called to him later on when he returned on his dappled stallion, one he had prized more over the rest of his equines. His eyes twitched unwillingly at the strain they were under from the constant reading of scrolls and booklets before him. With a sigh he leans back into his chair rubbing his temples just as his slave entered the tent. "Sir, I have called your brother. He will be here shortly.." he pauses the circles on his temples "good - get me the scroll that holds our family crest upon it please.." he said groaning at the slowly ebbing pain at his head now. He would be handed the scroll and with squinting eyes he looks upon it with a heavy scowl. "We need to raise price..of this..." he points to one of his commanding lower officers. "Yes sir - immediately. " and with that he would leave the tent. Pavlos was a man of many promising words, and when he said them he kept them honestly close to his heart. He reclined back rubbing his temples until his slave came back at his side "would you like some medicine?" she would ask. "Yes, and this time don't give me the underdose of it either....I want what I ask for..." he glares at her "but si-" she breaks "no buts. just do as I ask.." he tells her.
'"Is this about my transfer to the cavalry at last? Because Papa did tell you to make sure I'm comfortable and that I should be placed where my skills lie and, besides, he bought me that lovely new stallion. I don't want it wasted."'
It isn't short until Raf enters - loud might he state as he cringes physically into his seat. "RAF" he says a bit loudly as he looks at him from between his fingers glaring. A moment of silence ushering from the head of the house before he continued to speak again. "I will tell you when it's best to move to the Calvary...not father." he said just as his slave returns with his medicine. He grabs the powder and a glass of wine and downs it as fast as he could. He sits back feeling sick as he wanted to puke but he kept the pain from showing across his face. Instead he drops a hand from his head and lays it onto the table. The other slowly rubs against the right side of his head as he looks down at his scrolls and then to his brother. "I want you to stay where you are at, but tomorrow you will be learning about the Longsword and shield defence. All my warriors undergo this training no matter their household rank." he groans and waves his slave out the tent. He could feel the medicine trying to work but on an empty stomach, well, it wasn't really working how it should. It actually made him feel worse now and he was starting to think that perhaps he should have had something small before swallowing all the powder down the way he did. But that was in the past now.
He huffs loudly to himself before grabbing a scroll and standing up, he walks to where Raf was sitting and hands him the scroll. "The men will be holding tryouts for the front lines - depending on your .......actions..... you might be able to join them there this week..." he says with a lower tone than usual. He didn't feel like raising his voice for him to be understood by his brother. Instead he walked by him and gave him his back as he cups his mouth and rubs his chin. He also needed to figure out where to send the slum boys and how to get the middle ranked calvary men to form echelons correctly as well. They still had yet to correctly form the group in a right manner within the fields and it was bothering him so much so. It was bad enough that the men were falling behind on learning assets but now in formation skills too. Just what was his commanders doing? Then he recalled what raf was speaking about his horse and he huffs again, great so father had given another equine that the army couldn't hold? Pavlos was already dealing with twice as many horses and now family heads were seeming to bring their entire stable here. May the gods reign high and supreme but pavlos needed to do something about all the horses he had acquired now. "Your steed will stay at your stable at the main house until it is needed...." he said coming around the opposite side of the table as he sits back into his chair grabbing his scrolls again trying to read through them one last time.
