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Usually he did not get drunk when docked in any port. Tonight, however, alcohol was singing through his veins and he leaned heavily on the prostitute walking with him. Arktos was watching the ship and he'd gone with most of the crew to a brothel in Vasiliadon. After that, they'd made their way to one of the seedier taverns where gambling and drinking was rampant.
The woman at his side now, supporting him with her arm around his waist and her other hand pressed against his chest, had been the one who convinced him to drink so much in the first place. She'd sat on his lap and whispered in his ear.
With her there, he'd won most of the rounds. This meant further wine in celebration until he was so unfocused that he'd nearly forgotten his winnings. The whore pocketed a little more than was her payment, but not enough that she thought he'd come for her in vengeance later. She'd then led him upstairs for the second round of the night and was now leading him back to his ship.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head and booped her nose. "You're a pretty one," he slurred. "Some whores are reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaally ugly. But not yooouuu."
She laughed, liking him better and better the more wasted be became. "I think you're in danger of being silly, captain," she purred at him.
Lukos slung his free arm out randomly as he spoke. "Nnnooo. I am jusssttt the RIGHT amount of spleserious!"
"Shhh!" She laughed, trying to get him to be quiet. The sinners might be awake but all the saints in Vasiliadon were sleeping. "Let's get you to the docks," she rolled her eyes though retained the smile. Men were so stupid sometimes but funny.
They were walking down a particularly narrow street, passing through dark shadows and skirting the guards patrolling the streets. Lukos's steps were uneven and dragging at times. Money clinked at his hip and he began to tell the whore a story that he found funny, but was actually rather gruesome in nature. She wasn't paying his words much attention though. For one, he wasn't making sense half the time. For another, he was getting heavy and she was trying not to sink under his weight.
The night was warm and balmy and the whore pulled at her dress as it stuck to her skin.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Usually he did not get drunk when docked in any port. Tonight, however, alcohol was singing through his veins and he leaned heavily on the prostitute walking with him. Arktos was watching the ship and he'd gone with most of the crew to a brothel in Vasiliadon. After that, they'd made their way to one of the seedier taverns where gambling and drinking was rampant.
The woman at his side now, supporting him with her arm around his waist and her other hand pressed against his chest, had been the one who convinced him to drink so much in the first place. She'd sat on his lap and whispered in his ear.
With her there, he'd won most of the rounds. This meant further wine in celebration until he was so unfocused that he'd nearly forgotten his winnings. The whore pocketed a little more than was her payment, but not enough that she thought he'd come for her in vengeance later. She'd then led him upstairs for the second round of the night and was now leading him back to his ship.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head and booped her nose. "You're a pretty one," he slurred. "Some whores are reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaally ugly. But not yooouuu."
She laughed, liking him better and better the more wasted be became. "I think you're in danger of being silly, captain," she purred at him.
Lukos slung his free arm out randomly as he spoke. "Nnnooo. I am jusssttt the RIGHT amount of spleserious!"
"Shhh!" She laughed, trying to get him to be quiet. The sinners might be awake but all the saints in Vasiliadon were sleeping. "Let's get you to the docks," she rolled her eyes though retained the smile. Men were so stupid sometimes but funny.
They were walking down a particularly narrow street, passing through dark shadows and skirting the guards patrolling the streets. Lukos's steps were uneven and dragging at times. Money clinked at his hip and he began to tell the whore a story that he found funny, but was actually rather gruesome in nature. She wasn't paying his words much attention though. For one, he wasn't making sense half the time. For another, he was getting heavy and she was trying not to sink under his weight.
The night was warm and balmy and the whore pulled at her dress as it stuck to her skin.
Usually he did not get drunk when docked in any port. Tonight, however, alcohol was singing through his veins and he leaned heavily on the prostitute walking with him. Arktos was watching the ship and he'd gone with most of the crew to a brothel in Vasiliadon. After that, they'd made their way to one of the seedier taverns where gambling and drinking was rampant.
The woman at his side now, supporting him with her arm around his waist and her other hand pressed against his chest, had been the one who convinced him to drink so much in the first place. She'd sat on his lap and whispered in his ear.
With her there, he'd won most of the rounds. This meant further wine in celebration until he was so unfocused that he'd nearly forgotten his winnings. The whore pocketed a little more than was her payment, but not enough that she thought he'd come for her in vengeance later. She'd then led him upstairs for the second round of the night and was now leading him back to his ship.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head and booped her nose. "You're a pretty one," he slurred. "Some whores are reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaally ugly. But not yooouuu."
She laughed, liking him better and better the more wasted be became. "I think you're in danger of being silly, captain," she purred at him.
Lukos slung his free arm out randomly as he spoke. "Nnnooo. I am jusssttt the RIGHT amount of spleserious!"
"Shhh!" She laughed, trying to get him to be quiet. The sinners might be awake but all the saints in Vasiliadon were sleeping. "Let's get you to the docks," she rolled her eyes though retained the smile. Men were so stupid sometimes but funny.
They were walking down a particularly narrow street, passing through dark shadows and skirting the guards patrolling the streets. Lukos's steps were uneven and dragging at times. Money clinked at his hip and he began to tell the whore a story that he found funny, but was actually rather gruesome in nature. She wasn't paying his words much attention though. For one, he wasn't making sense half the time. For another, he was getting heavy and she was trying not to sink under his weight.
The night was warm and balmy and the whore pulled at her dress as it stuck to her skin.
He was late getting back, but the news he carried was worth it. A note had come from one of the queen's advisers earlier in the day, and he'd gone out to confirm the news with a source he'd come to know and trust. Princess Emilia was alive and reportedly well, under the guardianship of her cousin. Dima had heard all of the rumors about Elias of Stravos, and he had no desire to leave the girl in the state she was no doubt kept in, but at least she was alive and that was what he had been sent to discover. His return then would be swift, and in the morning he and Olena would leave Vasiliadon to go back to Meganea to give the nobles the news in person.
The wobbling steps of the people before him as he rounded the corners made him scoff under his breath. Drunk and out for debauchery no doubt. He didn't begrudge folk of their activities, but there was still something foolish about behaving the way they were at the moment. Or, well the man was. The woman seemed to be utterly supporting him, and Dima frowned as the man's voice filtered back to him. It took a moment for it to register, but when he did he froze in place, the scar on his abdomen throbbing as if with the memory of the one who had inflicted it.
Lukos. The pirate who had taken Olena from him. The one who had begun all of the pain and misery inflicted on them both, the reason Olena had been made to be a whore for most of their lives. When he'd met him previously, they'd been on even footing, both sober enough to know what they were doing. And now here he was, with no visible weapon, clearly incapacitated. They were so close to the harbor. So close to vanishing. So close to ending the pain.
Without thinking, he followed the drunken couple in the shadows, waiting until the water shone before them. He didn't know which ship was the pirate's but he wanted this done before the crew could help their captain. His knife was out of his belt in a flash, and with a singular focus, Dima quickened his pace and closed the gap between him and monster in a few swift strides, wrapping one arm around the man's torso from behind and thrusting the knife deep in his back at one of the soft spots below his ribs.
The woman's scream cut the air as he took the burden of the man from her, but Dima shook his head and twisted the knife with a set grimace. "Take his purse. Your payment for your silence. Go." It didn't take much more for her to do as he said, yanking the coin purse from the pirate's belt and bolting into the darkness of the night. "I promised her I would kill you for what you did to us." His voice was low, hissed into the other man's ear. It didn't matter if he knew who it was, if he knew at all what horrible thing his death was now atoning for. All that mattered was he could feel the warm gush of blood over his fist and with one final twist, the knife was removed from its borrowed sheath.
Dima kicked him forward, watching him tumble over the edge of the pier with a splash. His breathing and heartbeat were harsh in his ear, and he lingered only a moment before turning and making quick moves back to the Dimitrou manor in town, alert for anyone following him or shouts of discovery of a body until he was safely within the confines of the house.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He was late getting back, but the news he carried was worth it. A note had come from one of the queen's advisers earlier in the day, and he'd gone out to confirm the news with a source he'd come to know and trust. Princess Emilia was alive and reportedly well, under the guardianship of her cousin. Dima had heard all of the rumors about Elias of Stravos, and he had no desire to leave the girl in the state she was no doubt kept in, but at least she was alive and that was what he had been sent to discover. His return then would be swift, and in the morning he and Olena would leave Vasiliadon to go back to Meganea to give the nobles the news in person.
The wobbling steps of the people before him as he rounded the corners made him scoff under his breath. Drunk and out for debauchery no doubt. He didn't begrudge folk of their activities, but there was still something foolish about behaving the way they were at the moment. Or, well the man was. The woman seemed to be utterly supporting him, and Dima frowned as the man's voice filtered back to him. It took a moment for it to register, but when he did he froze in place, the scar on his abdomen throbbing as if with the memory of the one who had inflicted it.
Lukos. The pirate who had taken Olena from him. The one who had begun all of the pain and misery inflicted on them both, the reason Olena had been made to be a whore for most of their lives. When he'd met him previously, they'd been on even footing, both sober enough to know what they were doing. And now here he was, with no visible weapon, clearly incapacitated. They were so close to the harbor. So close to vanishing. So close to ending the pain.
Without thinking, he followed the drunken couple in the shadows, waiting until the water shone before them. He didn't know which ship was the pirate's but he wanted this done before the crew could help their captain. His knife was out of his belt in a flash, and with a singular focus, Dima quickened his pace and closed the gap between him and monster in a few swift strides, wrapping one arm around the man's torso from behind and thrusting the knife deep in his back at one of the soft spots below his ribs.
The woman's scream cut the air as he took the burden of the man from her, but Dima shook his head and twisted the knife with a set grimace. "Take his purse. Your payment for your silence. Go." It didn't take much more for her to do as he said, yanking the coin purse from the pirate's belt and bolting into the darkness of the night. "I promised her I would kill you for what you did to us." His voice was low, hissed into the other man's ear. It didn't matter if he knew who it was, if he knew at all what horrible thing his death was now atoning for. All that mattered was he could feel the warm gush of blood over his fist and with one final twist, the knife was removed from its borrowed sheath.
Dima kicked him forward, watching him tumble over the edge of the pier with a splash. His breathing and heartbeat were harsh in his ear, and he lingered only a moment before turning and making quick moves back to the Dimitrou manor in town, alert for anyone following him or shouts of discovery of a body until he was safely within the confines of the house.
He was late getting back, but the news he carried was worth it. A note had come from one of the queen's advisers earlier in the day, and he'd gone out to confirm the news with a source he'd come to know and trust. Princess Emilia was alive and reportedly well, under the guardianship of her cousin. Dima had heard all of the rumors about Elias of Stravos, and he had no desire to leave the girl in the state she was no doubt kept in, but at least she was alive and that was what he had been sent to discover. His return then would be swift, and in the morning he and Olena would leave Vasiliadon to go back to Meganea to give the nobles the news in person.
The wobbling steps of the people before him as he rounded the corners made him scoff under his breath. Drunk and out for debauchery no doubt. He didn't begrudge folk of their activities, but there was still something foolish about behaving the way they were at the moment. Or, well the man was. The woman seemed to be utterly supporting him, and Dima frowned as the man's voice filtered back to him. It took a moment for it to register, but when he did he froze in place, the scar on his abdomen throbbing as if with the memory of the one who had inflicted it.
Lukos. The pirate who had taken Olena from him. The one who had begun all of the pain and misery inflicted on them both, the reason Olena had been made to be a whore for most of their lives. When he'd met him previously, they'd been on even footing, both sober enough to know what they were doing. And now here he was, with no visible weapon, clearly incapacitated. They were so close to the harbor. So close to vanishing. So close to ending the pain.
Without thinking, he followed the drunken couple in the shadows, waiting until the water shone before them. He didn't know which ship was the pirate's but he wanted this done before the crew could help their captain. His knife was out of his belt in a flash, and with a singular focus, Dima quickened his pace and closed the gap between him and monster in a few swift strides, wrapping one arm around the man's torso from behind and thrusting the knife deep in his back at one of the soft spots below his ribs.
The woman's scream cut the air as he took the burden of the man from her, but Dima shook his head and twisted the knife with a set grimace. "Take his purse. Your payment for your silence. Go." It didn't take much more for her to do as he said, yanking the coin purse from the pirate's belt and bolting into the darkness of the night. "I promised her I would kill you for what you did to us." His voice was low, hissed into the other man's ear. It didn't matter if he knew who it was, if he knew at all what horrible thing his death was now atoning for. All that mattered was he could feel the warm gush of blood over his fist and with one final twist, the knife was removed from its borrowed sheath.
Dima kicked him forward, watching him tumble over the edge of the pier with a splash. His breathing and heartbeat were harsh in his ear, and he lingered only a moment before turning and making quick moves back to the Dimitrou manor in town, alert for anyone following him or shouts of discovery of a body until he was safely within the confines of the house.
Neither Lukos nor his whore noticed the shadow trailing them. They wandered on, he with his drunken plans of sailing out once he sobered up, and she wondering if she could drop him off soon enough to perhaps snag another customer before morning. Perhaps something should have alerted him to the danger he was in - some latent, innate sense of self preservation but he was too far gone into the alcohol and with the woman at his side, and his ship now within view, he wasn’t concerned about anything else. He was invincible. Untouchable. Or he might throw up. His stomach was starting to turn against him.
The whore stopped him, trying to keep them both upright as she steadied him and looked dubiously up into his face. “Don’t-” She started, then screamed and released Lukos in a panic. He stumbled forward under the blow of the dagger, but with someone’s arm around his middle, he didn’t go far. Nor was he in any fit state to react quickly. His breath drew in sharp as the sharp burning stung up his side. Blindly he reached back and grabbed Demetrius by the hair, pulling hard but he let go with a strangled groan as the knife twisted between his ribs.
His side and hip were warm and wet. Vaguely he realized he was being stabbed, and forced to move forward but when when he attempted to shove his heels in between the stones in the street, the sudden jerk of the blade still inside his ribs made him gasp and swear. They were moving again and he was finally figuring out whose knife this was. Even as Dima whispered harshly in his ear, he wasn’t with it enough to bother with a harsh quip back.
He thought about calling for help. The Aceton was right there...though he didn’t remember it being this black, even at night. “Arktos!” his words were thick and slurred and not near as carrying as he wanted. With Dima’s last stab, he pushed and Lukos tipped forward toward the dark water.
Plunging below the surface, he scrunched his face at the water rushing into his nose. For the first time in years, his body was cold with fear. He was going to drown and he couldn’t force his limbs to do anything but pathetic attempts at swimming. Blood leaked into the water in a cloud as he floundered. Then his movements slowed and he lay there, waiting for death. He could not get to shore on his own.
His body jolted hard and he managed to flip himself over in the water with a groan before losing consciousness. He drifted into the darkness of his mind, thoughts ceasing and all attempts to save himself over and gone.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Neither Lukos nor his whore noticed the shadow trailing them. They wandered on, he with his drunken plans of sailing out once he sobered up, and she wondering if she could drop him off soon enough to perhaps snag another customer before morning. Perhaps something should have alerted him to the danger he was in - some latent, innate sense of self preservation but he was too far gone into the alcohol and with the woman at his side, and his ship now within view, he wasn’t concerned about anything else. He was invincible. Untouchable. Or he might throw up. His stomach was starting to turn against him.
The whore stopped him, trying to keep them both upright as she steadied him and looked dubiously up into his face. “Don’t-” She started, then screamed and released Lukos in a panic. He stumbled forward under the blow of the dagger, but with someone’s arm around his middle, he didn’t go far. Nor was he in any fit state to react quickly. His breath drew in sharp as the sharp burning stung up his side. Blindly he reached back and grabbed Demetrius by the hair, pulling hard but he let go with a strangled groan as the knife twisted between his ribs.
His side and hip were warm and wet. Vaguely he realized he was being stabbed, and forced to move forward but when when he attempted to shove his heels in between the stones in the street, the sudden jerk of the blade still inside his ribs made him gasp and swear. They were moving again and he was finally figuring out whose knife this was. Even as Dima whispered harshly in his ear, he wasn’t with it enough to bother with a harsh quip back.
He thought about calling for help. The Aceton was right there...though he didn’t remember it being this black, even at night. “Arktos!” his words were thick and slurred and not near as carrying as he wanted. With Dima’s last stab, he pushed and Lukos tipped forward toward the dark water.
Plunging below the surface, he scrunched his face at the water rushing into his nose. For the first time in years, his body was cold with fear. He was going to drown and he couldn’t force his limbs to do anything but pathetic attempts at swimming. Blood leaked into the water in a cloud as he floundered. Then his movements slowed and he lay there, waiting for death. He could not get to shore on his own.
His body jolted hard and he managed to flip himself over in the water with a groan before losing consciousness. He drifted into the darkness of his mind, thoughts ceasing and all attempts to save himself over and gone.
Neither Lukos nor his whore noticed the shadow trailing them. They wandered on, he with his drunken plans of sailing out once he sobered up, and she wondering if she could drop him off soon enough to perhaps snag another customer before morning. Perhaps something should have alerted him to the danger he was in - some latent, innate sense of self preservation but he was too far gone into the alcohol and with the woman at his side, and his ship now within view, he wasn’t concerned about anything else. He was invincible. Untouchable. Or he might throw up. His stomach was starting to turn against him.
The whore stopped him, trying to keep them both upright as she steadied him and looked dubiously up into his face. “Don’t-” She started, then screamed and released Lukos in a panic. He stumbled forward under the blow of the dagger, but with someone’s arm around his middle, he didn’t go far. Nor was he in any fit state to react quickly. His breath drew in sharp as the sharp burning stung up his side. Blindly he reached back and grabbed Demetrius by the hair, pulling hard but he let go with a strangled groan as the knife twisted between his ribs.
His side and hip were warm and wet. Vaguely he realized he was being stabbed, and forced to move forward but when when he attempted to shove his heels in between the stones in the street, the sudden jerk of the blade still inside his ribs made him gasp and swear. They were moving again and he was finally figuring out whose knife this was. Even as Dima whispered harshly in his ear, he wasn’t with it enough to bother with a harsh quip back.
He thought about calling for help. The Aceton was right there...though he didn’t remember it being this black, even at night. “Arktos!” his words were thick and slurred and not near as carrying as he wanted. With Dima’s last stab, he pushed and Lukos tipped forward toward the dark water.
Plunging below the surface, he scrunched his face at the water rushing into his nose. For the first time in years, his body was cold with fear. He was going to drown and he couldn’t force his limbs to do anything but pathetic attempts at swimming. Blood leaked into the water in a cloud as he floundered. Then his movements slowed and he lay there, waiting for death. He could not get to shore on his own.
His body jolted hard and he managed to flip himself over in the water with a groan before losing consciousness. He drifted into the darkness of his mind, thoughts ceasing and all attempts to save himself over and gone.
Having spent the last few weeks lingering in the realm of the African kingdoms, it was only a few days back when Kreios had finally concluded his business in Thebes (which had been a little waylaid due to his annoying cargo's need to see everything within the city, even after he had agreed to take some time out to view the procession through the city during what they later learned to be the Opet Festivel), and announced that the Azazel was to return to Taengea immediately. It was a habit of the merchant, to return to home base once he had recently procured all of the new plants and herbs he's found on his most recent trip.
Once returned, Kreios would proceed to find the most suitable place for the new plants, be it in a shade which would not burn the more sensitive leaves, or in bright daylight for the stronger, more needy plants. Tending to it for a few weeks was necessary, to ensure that the travel and new climate would not harm them, before he would set off again to travel to visit his clients in the remaining kingdoms, responding to any missives that had came in during his absence to Africa.
Being a little late on the schedule now, Kreios had commanded Captain Garvey to press on despite it being late at night, veto-ing the decision to drop anchor for the night. The man had no issues with doubling the coin the sailors would earn for the trip, if it meant he get back to Taengean soil in time. Many of the plants he had bought in Egypt would not last beyond the length of time he had planned for the trip, and the few days they had spent in Thebes meant time was precious.
As such, sailing for days without stopping was the only reason why the Azazel had managed to see Grecian shorelines in a few days, instead of the weeks it would usually take them.
Standing at the prow to observe the incoming of the shoreline, as Descat had told him just an hour ago that they were breaching the Aegean Sea's entrance to Greece, the wind was refreshing across his pale skin as he enjoyed the night air. His cargo slash guest on his ship had went belowdeck not too long ago, Kreios suspecting she's just spent too many nights helping his crew in her own, stubborn manner. He had allowed her, merely rolling his eyes whenver she insisted. But when it became too many nights in a row, Kreios had merely sent Descat offering her delicacies he had bought in Judea before meeting her, instructing Descat to lure her back to her room for rest, before allowing his servant to do as he instructed. It wouldn't do for a 'guest' of his to keel over while on his ship after all.
Bad for business.
Left alone on deck now, save for the few sailors running around, some would whisper curiously as to why their master was on deck at night, a rare sight. Kreios usually left the sailors and Captain Garvey to their own devices. He paid them much coin to ensure that they were the best of the best, allowing him to rest belowdeck with no worries. Yet tonight, on a full moon night, if one saw, Kreios would be observing the waters of the Taengean shoreline with a keen eye, until he suddenly raised a hand.
"That way, Captain." Kreios's voice rang loud and clear. The captain's eyes widened. It was rare for the owner of the Azazel to give a direct command - but who was he to question? With a low whistle to his crew members to do as told, Garvey turned the wheel, and followed Kreios's directive as he pointed the ship's way to a pier. As they neared, the merchant's hands raised to slowdown the ship, and slow it did, until it finally reached a point where the dark-haired male meandered to the edge of his black, gilded ship. There, the male peered down, and raised a brow when he saw a bloom of red across the otherwise azure waters.
"Descat, bring me a net, would you." His voice was impassionate as he instructed his servant, and the slave was quick to respond. Small feet scurried across deck, and returned with a heavy net they usually used for hauling fish. That net, Kreios took, and tossed it to the waters. The net was weighted, and sure enough as the man gripped it, he could feel it wrapping around an object, pushed by the water's currents. "Captain, bring the ship in to port by this pier."
His crew was quick to respond, and with the net in hand, it dragged the object the ropes had wrapped around as the ship slowly drew into port. Without loosening his grip on it, Kreios waited till the anchor was lowered, before heading towards the gangplank the servants were lowering. "Descat, remain with the young Bedoan chatterbox until she awakes, and tell her we have arrived in Greece. She is free to roam Taengea as she wishes. I go to Colchis in two weeks. She can remain on deck if she wishes to have a place to stay - otherwise, I can be found in my residences." While he did not wish to prolong contact with the young maiden, Kreios paid his dues, and he knew that the pink diamond she paid him with was worth more then just a one way trip to one of the kingdoms of Greece - whether she took him up on that offer, was her business.
He had bigger fish to fry.
Jumping on to the pier, with considerable strength, Kreios tugged and pulled unti eventually, as a collective gasp went up across the watching crew of the Azazel, a bloodied, unconscious body came up with the net. "Not one, word." Far from the usual, disppasionate way in which he spoke, Kreios meant every tone this time, and the whole crew could see from the way his obsidian eyes flashed. "I will handle this myself. Garvey, send a physician to my quarters immediately. I will pay him the exorbitant price he asks for, for a service at this hour."
Hauling the man over his shoulders, he could hear the bones crack, and feel more warmth as blood gushed out more, staining his dark clothes as Kreios turned and headed towards his small cottage.
"You owe me." the man hissed beneath his breath, even as he hitched the weight higher on his shoulders, and started walking. This black tunic would be ruined by the end of their walk towards his cabin... but Kreios was in no hurry to put him out of his misery. Not yet, afterall.
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Having spent the last few weeks lingering in the realm of the African kingdoms, it was only a few days back when Kreios had finally concluded his business in Thebes (which had been a little waylaid due to his annoying cargo's need to see everything within the city, even after he had agreed to take some time out to view the procession through the city during what they later learned to be the Opet Festivel), and announced that the Azazel was to return to Taengea immediately. It was a habit of the merchant, to return to home base once he had recently procured all of the new plants and herbs he's found on his most recent trip.
Once returned, Kreios would proceed to find the most suitable place for the new plants, be it in a shade which would not burn the more sensitive leaves, or in bright daylight for the stronger, more needy plants. Tending to it for a few weeks was necessary, to ensure that the travel and new climate would not harm them, before he would set off again to travel to visit his clients in the remaining kingdoms, responding to any missives that had came in during his absence to Africa.
Being a little late on the schedule now, Kreios had commanded Captain Garvey to press on despite it being late at night, veto-ing the decision to drop anchor for the night. The man had no issues with doubling the coin the sailors would earn for the trip, if it meant he get back to Taengean soil in time. Many of the plants he had bought in Egypt would not last beyond the length of time he had planned for the trip, and the few days they had spent in Thebes meant time was precious.
As such, sailing for days without stopping was the only reason why the Azazel had managed to see Grecian shorelines in a few days, instead of the weeks it would usually take them.
Standing at the prow to observe the incoming of the shoreline, as Descat had told him just an hour ago that they were breaching the Aegean Sea's entrance to Greece, the wind was refreshing across his pale skin as he enjoyed the night air. His cargo slash guest on his ship had went belowdeck not too long ago, Kreios suspecting she's just spent too many nights helping his crew in her own, stubborn manner. He had allowed her, merely rolling his eyes whenver she insisted. But when it became too many nights in a row, Kreios had merely sent Descat offering her delicacies he had bought in Judea before meeting her, instructing Descat to lure her back to her room for rest, before allowing his servant to do as he instructed. It wouldn't do for a 'guest' of his to keel over while on his ship after all.
Bad for business.
Left alone on deck now, save for the few sailors running around, some would whisper curiously as to why their master was on deck at night, a rare sight. Kreios usually left the sailors and Captain Garvey to their own devices. He paid them much coin to ensure that they were the best of the best, allowing him to rest belowdeck with no worries. Yet tonight, on a full moon night, if one saw, Kreios would be observing the waters of the Taengean shoreline with a keen eye, until he suddenly raised a hand.
"That way, Captain." Kreios's voice rang loud and clear. The captain's eyes widened. It was rare for the owner of the Azazel to give a direct command - but who was he to question? With a low whistle to his crew members to do as told, Garvey turned the wheel, and followed Kreios's directive as he pointed the ship's way to a pier. As they neared, the merchant's hands raised to slowdown the ship, and slow it did, until it finally reached a point where the dark-haired male meandered to the edge of his black, gilded ship. There, the male peered down, and raised a brow when he saw a bloom of red across the otherwise azure waters.
"Descat, bring me a net, would you." His voice was impassionate as he instructed his servant, and the slave was quick to respond. Small feet scurried across deck, and returned with a heavy net they usually used for hauling fish. That net, Kreios took, and tossed it to the waters. The net was weighted, and sure enough as the man gripped it, he could feel it wrapping around an object, pushed by the water's currents. "Captain, bring the ship in to port by this pier."
His crew was quick to respond, and with the net in hand, it dragged the object the ropes had wrapped around as the ship slowly drew into port. Without loosening his grip on it, Kreios waited till the anchor was lowered, before heading towards the gangplank the servants were lowering. "Descat, remain with the young Bedoan chatterbox until she awakes, and tell her we have arrived in Greece. She is free to roam Taengea as she wishes. I go to Colchis in two weeks. She can remain on deck if she wishes to have a place to stay - otherwise, I can be found in my residences." While he did not wish to prolong contact with the young maiden, Kreios paid his dues, and he knew that the pink diamond she paid him with was worth more then just a one way trip to one of the kingdoms of Greece - whether she took him up on that offer, was her business.
He had bigger fish to fry.
Jumping on to the pier, with considerable strength, Kreios tugged and pulled unti eventually, as a collective gasp went up across the watching crew of the Azazel, a bloodied, unconscious body came up with the net. "Not one, word." Far from the usual, disppasionate way in which he spoke, Kreios meant every tone this time, and the whole crew could see from the way his obsidian eyes flashed. "I will handle this myself. Garvey, send a physician to my quarters immediately. I will pay him the exorbitant price he asks for, for a service at this hour."
Hauling the man over his shoulders, he could hear the bones crack, and feel more warmth as blood gushed out more, staining his dark clothes as Kreios turned and headed towards his small cottage.
"You owe me." the man hissed beneath his breath, even as he hitched the weight higher on his shoulders, and started walking. This black tunic would be ruined by the end of their walk towards his cabin... but Kreios was in no hurry to put him out of his misery. Not yet, afterall.
Having spent the last few weeks lingering in the realm of the African kingdoms, it was only a few days back when Kreios had finally concluded his business in Thebes (which had been a little waylaid due to his annoying cargo's need to see everything within the city, even after he had agreed to take some time out to view the procession through the city during what they later learned to be the Opet Festivel), and announced that the Azazel was to return to Taengea immediately. It was a habit of the merchant, to return to home base once he had recently procured all of the new plants and herbs he's found on his most recent trip.
Once returned, Kreios would proceed to find the most suitable place for the new plants, be it in a shade which would not burn the more sensitive leaves, or in bright daylight for the stronger, more needy plants. Tending to it for a few weeks was necessary, to ensure that the travel and new climate would not harm them, before he would set off again to travel to visit his clients in the remaining kingdoms, responding to any missives that had came in during his absence to Africa.
Being a little late on the schedule now, Kreios had commanded Captain Garvey to press on despite it being late at night, veto-ing the decision to drop anchor for the night. The man had no issues with doubling the coin the sailors would earn for the trip, if it meant he get back to Taengean soil in time. Many of the plants he had bought in Egypt would not last beyond the length of time he had planned for the trip, and the few days they had spent in Thebes meant time was precious.
As such, sailing for days without stopping was the only reason why the Azazel had managed to see Grecian shorelines in a few days, instead of the weeks it would usually take them.
Standing at the prow to observe the incoming of the shoreline, as Descat had told him just an hour ago that they were breaching the Aegean Sea's entrance to Greece, the wind was refreshing across his pale skin as he enjoyed the night air. His cargo slash guest on his ship had went belowdeck not too long ago, Kreios suspecting she's just spent too many nights helping his crew in her own, stubborn manner. He had allowed her, merely rolling his eyes whenver she insisted. But when it became too many nights in a row, Kreios had merely sent Descat offering her delicacies he had bought in Judea before meeting her, instructing Descat to lure her back to her room for rest, before allowing his servant to do as he instructed. It wouldn't do for a 'guest' of his to keel over while on his ship after all.
Bad for business.
Left alone on deck now, save for the few sailors running around, some would whisper curiously as to why their master was on deck at night, a rare sight. Kreios usually left the sailors and Captain Garvey to their own devices. He paid them much coin to ensure that they were the best of the best, allowing him to rest belowdeck with no worries. Yet tonight, on a full moon night, if one saw, Kreios would be observing the waters of the Taengean shoreline with a keen eye, until he suddenly raised a hand.
"That way, Captain." Kreios's voice rang loud and clear. The captain's eyes widened. It was rare for the owner of the Azazel to give a direct command - but who was he to question? With a low whistle to his crew members to do as told, Garvey turned the wheel, and followed Kreios's directive as he pointed the ship's way to a pier. As they neared, the merchant's hands raised to slowdown the ship, and slow it did, until it finally reached a point where the dark-haired male meandered to the edge of his black, gilded ship. There, the male peered down, and raised a brow when he saw a bloom of red across the otherwise azure waters.
"Descat, bring me a net, would you." His voice was impassionate as he instructed his servant, and the slave was quick to respond. Small feet scurried across deck, and returned with a heavy net they usually used for hauling fish. That net, Kreios took, and tossed it to the waters. The net was weighted, and sure enough as the man gripped it, he could feel it wrapping around an object, pushed by the water's currents. "Captain, bring the ship in to port by this pier."
His crew was quick to respond, and with the net in hand, it dragged the object the ropes had wrapped around as the ship slowly drew into port. Without loosening his grip on it, Kreios waited till the anchor was lowered, before heading towards the gangplank the servants were lowering. "Descat, remain with the young Bedoan chatterbox until she awakes, and tell her we have arrived in Greece. She is free to roam Taengea as she wishes. I go to Colchis in two weeks. She can remain on deck if she wishes to have a place to stay - otherwise, I can be found in my residences." While he did not wish to prolong contact with the young maiden, Kreios paid his dues, and he knew that the pink diamond she paid him with was worth more then just a one way trip to one of the kingdoms of Greece - whether she took him up on that offer, was her business.
He had bigger fish to fry.
Jumping on to the pier, with considerable strength, Kreios tugged and pulled unti eventually, as a collective gasp went up across the watching crew of the Azazel, a bloodied, unconscious body came up with the net. "Not one, word." Far from the usual, disppasionate way in which he spoke, Kreios meant every tone this time, and the whole crew could see from the way his obsidian eyes flashed. "I will handle this myself. Garvey, send a physician to my quarters immediately. I will pay him the exorbitant price he asks for, for a service at this hour."
Hauling the man over his shoulders, he could hear the bones crack, and feel more warmth as blood gushed out more, staining his dark clothes as Kreios turned and headed towards his small cottage.
"You owe me." the man hissed beneath his breath, even as he hitched the weight higher on his shoulders, and started walking. This black tunic would be ruined by the end of their walk towards his cabin... but Kreios was in no hurry to put him out of his misery. Not yet, afterall.
He floated for quite a while and didn’t move when the waves buoyed him gently up and down on the Azazel’s wake. The ship sailed precariously close, nearly dragging him under but by some miracle, he remained afloat. If he’d been conscious, he’d have been thrashing about, fighting against the water. Demetrius had accidentally done him a favor by stabbing him, plus the alcohol in his system worked in conjunction to make him completely limp. Dead weight. Floating like a corpse on the water.
The net thrown overboard wrapped around him and forced him under. His body didn’t react until he went to draw breath. Then it seized, coughing on reflex once they allowed him to surface. He was dimly aware of being flopped onto the boards of the pier like a fish and of someone speaking over him. The boards vibrated under people’s boots. Someone slipped an arm under his neck and he groaned in dim agony when Kreios hauled him onto his shoulder.
The swaying motion of being flopped over Kreios’s shoulder made him cough up more water and actually vomit it down the other man’s back. Though the Aegean was warm and the night still retaining a bit of the day’s heat, he was cold and shivering by the time he was laid in Kreios’s little cottage room. His lips were pale with blue ringing around them and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Whatever was being done to him, he was not aware of it at all anymore. If he had known in whose house he was in, and who had called a doctor for him while he bled on the man’s sheets, he’d have been fighting him, preferring to die on the pier than owe this merchant some kind of debt. Instead he faded in and out of vague consciousness for a while. By the time the doctor arrived, it was nearly too late. He was pale and cold and shaking.
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He floated for quite a while and didn’t move when the waves buoyed him gently up and down on the Azazel’s wake. The ship sailed precariously close, nearly dragging him under but by some miracle, he remained afloat. If he’d been conscious, he’d have been thrashing about, fighting against the water. Demetrius had accidentally done him a favor by stabbing him, plus the alcohol in his system worked in conjunction to make him completely limp. Dead weight. Floating like a corpse on the water.
The net thrown overboard wrapped around him and forced him under. His body didn’t react until he went to draw breath. Then it seized, coughing on reflex once they allowed him to surface. He was dimly aware of being flopped onto the boards of the pier like a fish and of someone speaking over him. The boards vibrated under people’s boots. Someone slipped an arm under his neck and he groaned in dim agony when Kreios hauled him onto his shoulder.
The swaying motion of being flopped over Kreios’s shoulder made him cough up more water and actually vomit it down the other man’s back. Though the Aegean was warm and the night still retaining a bit of the day’s heat, he was cold and shivering by the time he was laid in Kreios’s little cottage room. His lips were pale with blue ringing around them and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Whatever was being done to him, he was not aware of it at all anymore. If he had known in whose house he was in, and who had called a doctor for him while he bled on the man’s sheets, he’d have been fighting him, preferring to die on the pier than owe this merchant some kind of debt. Instead he faded in and out of vague consciousness for a while. By the time the doctor arrived, it was nearly too late. He was pale and cold and shaking.
He floated for quite a while and didn’t move when the waves buoyed him gently up and down on the Azazel’s wake. The ship sailed precariously close, nearly dragging him under but by some miracle, he remained afloat. If he’d been conscious, he’d have been thrashing about, fighting against the water. Demetrius had accidentally done him a favor by stabbing him, plus the alcohol in his system worked in conjunction to make him completely limp. Dead weight. Floating like a corpse on the water.
The net thrown overboard wrapped around him and forced him under. His body didn’t react until he went to draw breath. Then it seized, coughing on reflex once they allowed him to surface. He was dimly aware of being flopped onto the boards of the pier like a fish and of someone speaking over him. The boards vibrated under people’s boots. Someone slipped an arm under his neck and he groaned in dim agony when Kreios hauled him onto his shoulder.
The swaying motion of being flopped over Kreios’s shoulder made him cough up more water and actually vomit it down the other man’s back. Though the Aegean was warm and the night still retaining a bit of the day’s heat, he was cold and shivering by the time he was laid in Kreios’s little cottage room. His lips were pale with blue ringing around them and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Whatever was being done to him, he was not aware of it at all anymore. If he had known in whose house he was in, and who had called a doctor for him while he bled on the man’s sheets, he’d have been fighting him, preferring to die on the pier than owe this merchant some kind of debt. Instead he faded in and out of vague consciousness for a while. By the time the doctor arrived, it was nearly too late. He was pale and cold and shaking.
The man was not light. One almost of his age, and perhaps slightly more muscle then he had, since he did most of the considerable work, whilst Kreios merely sat and allowed the ones he had hired to do the heavy duty hauling on his ship, Lukos was by no means an easy man to carry. The poison merchant mumbled complaints all the way, even more when the man vomitted down his back, an action that had Kreios blanching and half considering tossing the man down back on the gravel floor again.
But while he dabbled in items that would bring death upon one, he had never sought it for others, especially not when he could play a part in preventing it. He merely gave other's a vessel to fulfill their needs.
Pausing to make a face in disgust, before tightening his hold (and no doubt causing more pain, but Kreios didn't care at this point), he continued heading upwards towards his small cottage that was eighty percent land for his garden of poison growth, and twenty percent a small quarter for his living in. No one else stayed there. Kreios did not allow it. He preferred his own space, and would rather keep it that way. So when he finally stopped at the entrance, he gave another lookover at the pale, unconscious man on his shoulder.
Really?
Heaving another long suffering sigh, the dark-haired male finally pushed the doors open, and lay the pirate heavily down on the only sleeping pallet there was in the small, roomless living quarters, before putting a pot of water on a fire to boil. As that happened, Kreios went to lay Lukos on his side, replacing the cloth he had stuffed there to stop the bleeding, before yanking off the sodden clothes, down till he was as threadless as the day he was born.
Making a face, the man headed for a small chest of clothes, and from there, yanked out a long chiton he rarely wore. That, he wound around the bottom half of the injured man after wiping him down dry, and by the time he was done, the water was bubbling just as he wanted it to.
Dropping fresh linen bandages in the hot water, he paid no mind to how scalding it was as he wrapped the wound area, tightening it so the blood would stop, just as the physician came running. "What would one give to prevent someone bleeding out, and do you have it?" Kreios was curt, straight to the point. He was adept at giving poisons, curing materials not so much. The man merely knew some, but not all, and an injury of such a degree meant the merchant needed help.
But the physician stuttered at the amount of blood, clearly convinced he would not live.
Yet, Kreios would not take no for an answer. "Just tell me, old man. And give me something that would ensure he doesn't die from the cold."
Left with no choice due to the merchant's brash attitude, the old man quickly left and returned not too long later with sachets and jars of powdered medication. Some to consume, some to put on as a salve to help the injury. And that was what Kreios used, as he instructed the slave he had used to return to the Azazel.
Binding the injury with the salve, he growled as he boiled the consumable medication, and force fed it down Lukos's throat, ignoring him even as he resisted. Working through the night, the man stoked the fire that he used to keep the water boiling, wiping the man down every hour to prevent the cold from seeping through, all while his obsidian eyes kept watch.
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The man was not light. One almost of his age, and perhaps slightly more muscle then he had, since he did most of the considerable work, whilst Kreios merely sat and allowed the ones he had hired to do the heavy duty hauling on his ship, Lukos was by no means an easy man to carry. The poison merchant mumbled complaints all the way, even more when the man vomitted down his back, an action that had Kreios blanching and half considering tossing the man down back on the gravel floor again.
But while he dabbled in items that would bring death upon one, he had never sought it for others, especially not when he could play a part in preventing it. He merely gave other's a vessel to fulfill their needs.
Pausing to make a face in disgust, before tightening his hold (and no doubt causing more pain, but Kreios didn't care at this point), he continued heading upwards towards his small cottage that was eighty percent land for his garden of poison growth, and twenty percent a small quarter for his living in. No one else stayed there. Kreios did not allow it. He preferred his own space, and would rather keep it that way. So when he finally stopped at the entrance, he gave another lookover at the pale, unconscious man on his shoulder.
Really?
Heaving another long suffering sigh, the dark-haired male finally pushed the doors open, and lay the pirate heavily down on the only sleeping pallet there was in the small, roomless living quarters, before putting a pot of water on a fire to boil. As that happened, Kreios went to lay Lukos on his side, replacing the cloth he had stuffed there to stop the bleeding, before yanking off the sodden clothes, down till he was as threadless as the day he was born.
Making a face, the man headed for a small chest of clothes, and from there, yanked out a long chiton he rarely wore. That, he wound around the bottom half of the injured man after wiping him down dry, and by the time he was done, the water was bubbling just as he wanted it to.
Dropping fresh linen bandages in the hot water, he paid no mind to how scalding it was as he wrapped the wound area, tightening it so the blood would stop, just as the physician came running. "What would one give to prevent someone bleeding out, and do you have it?" Kreios was curt, straight to the point. He was adept at giving poisons, curing materials not so much. The man merely knew some, but not all, and an injury of such a degree meant the merchant needed help.
But the physician stuttered at the amount of blood, clearly convinced he would not live.
Yet, Kreios would not take no for an answer. "Just tell me, old man. And give me something that would ensure he doesn't die from the cold."
Left with no choice due to the merchant's brash attitude, the old man quickly left and returned not too long later with sachets and jars of powdered medication. Some to consume, some to put on as a salve to help the injury. And that was what Kreios used, as he instructed the slave he had used to return to the Azazel.
Binding the injury with the salve, he growled as he boiled the consumable medication, and force fed it down Lukos's throat, ignoring him even as he resisted. Working through the night, the man stoked the fire that he used to keep the water boiling, wiping the man down every hour to prevent the cold from seeping through, all while his obsidian eyes kept watch.
The man was not light. One almost of his age, and perhaps slightly more muscle then he had, since he did most of the considerable work, whilst Kreios merely sat and allowed the ones he had hired to do the heavy duty hauling on his ship, Lukos was by no means an easy man to carry. The poison merchant mumbled complaints all the way, even more when the man vomitted down his back, an action that had Kreios blanching and half considering tossing the man down back on the gravel floor again.
But while he dabbled in items that would bring death upon one, he had never sought it for others, especially not when he could play a part in preventing it. He merely gave other's a vessel to fulfill their needs.
Pausing to make a face in disgust, before tightening his hold (and no doubt causing more pain, but Kreios didn't care at this point), he continued heading upwards towards his small cottage that was eighty percent land for his garden of poison growth, and twenty percent a small quarter for his living in. No one else stayed there. Kreios did not allow it. He preferred his own space, and would rather keep it that way. So when he finally stopped at the entrance, he gave another lookover at the pale, unconscious man on his shoulder.
Really?
Heaving another long suffering sigh, the dark-haired male finally pushed the doors open, and lay the pirate heavily down on the only sleeping pallet there was in the small, roomless living quarters, before putting a pot of water on a fire to boil. As that happened, Kreios went to lay Lukos on his side, replacing the cloth he had stuffed there to stop the bleeding, before yanking off the sodden clothes, down till he was as threadless as the day he was born.
Making a face, the man headed for a small chest of clothes, and from there, yanked out a long chiton he rarely wore. That, he wound around the bottom half of the injured man after wiping him down dry, and by the time he was done, the water was bubbling just as he wanted it to.
Dropping fresh linen bandages in the hot water, he paid no mind to how scalding it was as he wrapped the wound area, tightening it so the blood would stop, just as the physician came running. "What would one give to prevent someone bleeding out, and do you have it?" Kreios was curt, straight to the point. He was adept at giving poisons, curing materials not so much. The man merely knew some, but not all, and an injury of such a degree meant the merchant needed help.
But the physician stuttered at the amount of blood, clearly convinced he would not live.
Yet, Kreios would not take no for an answer. "Just tell me, old man. And give me something that would ensure he doesn't die from the cold."
Left with no choice due to the merchant's brash attitude, the old man quickly left and returned not too long later with sachets and jars of powdered medication. Some to consume, some to put on as a salve to help the injury. And that was what Kreios used, as he instructed the slave he had used to return to the Azazel.
Binding the injury with the salve, he growled as he boiled the consumable medication, and force fed it down Lukos's throat, ignoring him even as he resisted. Working through the night, the man stoked the fire that he used to keep the water boiling, wiping the man down every hour to prevent the cold from seeping through, all while his obsidian eyes kept watch.
"Want me to take over?"
The words came from the door of the room, where Neena had been standing in the crack of its opening, her shoulder braced against the frame. She swung it open now, as she spoke, her fingers wide and spread across the wooden panelling and the shift of the door so slow it didn't creak. It only hiccupped once in its hinges as she braced it wide.
As she had done every night since the vessel Azazel had left the port of Alexandria (their final stop in Egypt before they had made their way north into Grecian territory) Neena had helped the crew on board the ship into the wee hours of the morning, until the first day’s sunlight appeared over the horizon. She could claim that these actions and efforts had been ones of kindness and altruism. But, while she enjoyed the way the crew now seemed to like her a little more these days and pay her respect and smiles when she walked around on deck, she was mostly selfish in her offered attempts to help.
Firstly, she liked being active. There was nothing so boring and frustrating to Neena as to remain idle or without direction. Her entire life was directionless but only on a larger scale. Her life held little in way of permanent navigation because she liked to leave herself open to all the possibilities and opportunities that could possibly come her way. But no such fun ever came your way if you sat on your rear and did nothing with your days and nights. Ergo, she had kept herself busy on the ship. She had worked most of the night with the sailors, performed her stretches and calming motions on the deck each morning to the rising sun, she had hung around the ship in the mornings and then, when all was calm later in the day, she caught herself a few hours sleep below deck, waking up again past dark and repeating the pattern.
The previous day, Neena had been held past playing a gambling game with the men on the deck. It had involved cups and dices and had been wonderfully fun – especially because she had been winning. As such, she had lost track of time (not that she much cared) and it was long after the sun had fallen beneath the waves of the sea that Neena had looked up and realised she had yet to sleep in those twenty-four hours.
As if by magic, Descat had turned up at her elbow. The young boy was a sweep thing that blinked rapidly at her smiles and blushed all the way to the roots of his hair when she went up on tip toes and plopped a kiss to the top of his head (which she did regularly just to see the reaction). The boy had, this time, interrupted the game to insist that Neena accompany him below deck where there was some food prepared for her.
Thanking the sailors for the game, taking a small amount of the coin she had won from them and insisting they divvied up the rest in order to keep playing the men saw Neena off with grins, a few cheers, and a whistle as she turned her back on them, following the young boy not to the galley as she had expected but to her own chambers.
The food that had been laid out for her were some dry breaded goods, smoked fish and some small sweet treats that, upon biting into them, Neena realised were laced with alcohol. Her eyes brightening, she had vowed faithfully to finish the lot and take a nap (for that, the boy had explained was his responsibility to ensure) and had done exactly as she promised.
As such, Neena work with only an hour to spare before sunrise.
When she had made herself presentable, her tunic in place and her hair tied in a tight bun atop her head, Neena headed out of her rooms and onto the deck, realising that she had missed the event she had been waiting for.
For, the second selfish reason she had been helping the men each night and sleeping in shallow bursts, was because she had looked forward to witnessing the Grecian skyline for the first time. She had been eager to see the shape of land as it emerged over the horizon and formed into something large and majestic. Too late, she now realised, as the vessel was already floating in a harbour that – judging by the white skinned people that she could see wandering the docks, wearing long dresses – belonged to a Grecian kingdom.
Having no idea where she was and not ready to set out to explore without at least some knowledge beneath her belt (Neena was adventurous, not stupid), the girl went in search of Kreios. Her quick scouring of the ship brought her up empty until she greeted Captain Garvey, almost ready to attend to his own sleep after the night watch.
“Where can I find the grump?” Neena asked the man whom she also seemed to be rapidly winning over, despite the fact that he didn’t show such friendliness as openly as his men and his lips still tightened whenever she called Kreios names – as if he wasn’t sure if he could answer her without giving credence to a pseudonym he knew his boss wasn’t fond of.
Given that the man himself wasn’t present, however, the captain appeared to make an exception and quickly explained the previous eight hours to Neena, whose lush lips rounded in a n “o” of surprise and her dark eyes widened further. Such excitement! And she had slept through it.
Blow and bugger it.
With a humph and a quick thanks to the captain, Neena went back below deck to secure her few belongings and pull her still broken by functional flip flops onto her feet. At this point, she was probably better off going bare foot than using the strips of leather and string, but she had no idea what the Grecian people thought of those who wandered around with shoes so, before she offended anyone, Neena pulled them into place and headed back up to the deck, securing Descat with a pincering stare before he had the chance to escape. It was from him that she had secured the information of Kreios’ home, not to mention the directions towards it.
For there was no way she was exploring Taengea and its capitol before she had witnessed the strange man who had been picked up from the sea. For all they knew he could be some spirit of Poseidon himself! That was what the Greek Gods called the master of the sea wasn’t it? And while she personally had no faith in any such Gods, Neena wasn’t able to not meet a man who could be whispered as being a messenger from the deep.
As it turned out, Kreios’ home had been not a great distance from the port, but Vasiliadon was large so “not a great distance” was still enough for Neena to make an incorrect turn and get herself lost. Luckily, her Greek wasn’t so rusty that she hadn’t been able to ask for directions.
The look on the faces of the passers-by she grabbed were strange to her. At first, they offered no such looks of strangeness despite the colour of her skin and Neena wondered if her difference in aesthetic was not strange to those of the Greek isles. They only seemed to frown, creating little divots between their brows when she opened her mouth to speak and, at first, she had worried that she’d fallen into the wrong language. But she had spoken to Garvey and his crew perfectly fine. It was only as she listened to the people on the street having conversations of her own that she realised the at odds reaction of her communication.
The people on the street speaking with their loved ones or comrades were different in tone and lilt. It would appear that Neena had a sailor’s accent.
Which was not to be surprising given she had learnt the language from a Greek sailor back on Hector’s ship.
An amused smile had painted Neena’s face the last few streets before she had reached Kreios’ rented space and upon finding the door to his personal room through sheer nosiness, she had peered through the crack in the doorway to witness the movements inside (just in case she had the wrong chamber after all).
The man on the bed, she could not see from her angle. Only that there was a mass and form being tended to there by Kreios himself as he moved between the hot water and his patient. It wasn’t until Kreios had sat in a seat across from the bed and settled down to watch the man’s progress that Neena had spoken, pushing the door open as she did so.
Her words in offering to take over were genuine. For, according to Garvey, the man had been found not long after Neena had been settling into sleep. Kreios had been caring for the man for many hours and it was likely he was tired. Also, over the course of her journeying with him, Neena had become perfectly aware of what he did for a living – not that she had let him know that. The Zaire were a people of great medicinal knowledge but that also included the dangers of poisons and harmful substances to the body. And while many of the herbs, plants and tonics that Kreios kept on his ship could actually be used to treat maladies, she knew that the volumes and mixes that he made them in, he was no physician. The man dealt death in a bottle.
And get here he was, playing healer.
As she stepped into the room, Neena pushed the door properly closed behind her, feeling the warmth of the fire on her skin as she the sunshine of morning crept in through the window. Trying not to appear too nosey – or threatening to Kreios’ current focus of attention, Neena didn’t approach the bed, noting only the length of the man and a tumble of dark hair where he lay. In the dim but growing light she noted rough skin, white bandages and a splash of dark maroon as blood seeped and dried into the cloth.
“I can offer a second pair of hands to change his bandages?” She told the man she had been sailing with for several weeks now. “I can help with that.” In all likelihood, given the man’s primary profession, she would know how to care for the injured more than he. But as they had never discussed their backgrounds or personal lives, the poison peddler wasn’t to know that… Just like he hadn’t been aware that she knew how to sail. She wondered, sometimes, what made Kreios believe that everyone around him was uselessly inferior to his own status as merchant of death.
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"Want me to take over?"
The words came from the door of the room, where Neena had been standing in the crack of its opening, her shoulder braced against the frame. She swung it open now, as she spoke, her fingers wide and spread across the wooden panelling and the shift of the door so slow it didn't creak. It only hiccupped once in its hinges as she braced it wide.
As she had done every night since the vessel Azazel had left the port of Alexandria (their final stop in Egypt before they had made their way north into Grecian territory) Neena had helped the crew on board the ship into the wee hours of the morning, until the first day’s sunlight appeared over the horizon. She could claim that these actions and efforts had been ones of kindness and altruism. But, while she enjoyed the way the crew now seemed to like her a little more these days and pay her respect and smiles when she walked around on deck, she was mostly selfish in her offered attempts to help.
Firstly, she liked being active. There was nothing so boring and frustrating to Neena as to remain idle or without direction. Her entire life was directionless but only on a larger scale. Her life held little in way of permanent navigation because she liked to leave herself open to all the possibilities and opportunities that could possibly come her way. But no such fun ever came your way if you sat on your rear and did nothing with your days and nights. Ergo, she had kept herself busy on the ship. She had worked most of the night with the sailors, performed her stretches and calming motions on the deck each morning to the rising sun, she had hung around the ship in the mornings and then, when all was calm later in the day, she caught herself a few hours sleep below deck, waking up again past dark and repeating the pattern.
The previous day, Neena had been held past playing a gambling game with the men on the deck. It had involved cups and dices and had been wonderfully fun – especially because she had been winning. As such, she had lost track of time (not that she much cared) and it was long after the sun had fallen beneath the waves of the sea that Neena had looked up and realised she had yet to sleep in those twenty-four hours.
As if by magic, Descat had turned up at her elbow. The young boy was a sweep thing that blinked rapidly at her smiles and blushed all the way to the roots of his hair when she went up on tip toes and plopped a kiss to the top of his head (which she did regularly just to see the reaction). The boy had, this time, interrupted the game to insist that Neena accompany him below deck where there was some food prepared for her.
Thanking the sailors for the game, taking a small amount of the coin she had won from them and insisting they divvied up the rest in order to keep playing the men saw Neena off with grins, a few cheers, and a whistle as she turned her back on them, following the young boy not to the galley as she had expected but to her own chambers.
The food that had been laid out for her were some dry breaded goods, smoked fish and some small sweet treats that, upon biting into them, Neena realised were laced with alcohol. Her eyes brightening, she had vowed faithfully to finish the lot and take a nap (for that, the boy had explained was his responsibility to ensure) and had done exactly as she promised.
As such, Neena work with only an hour to spare before sunrise.
When she had made herself presentable, her tunic in place and her hair tied in a tight bun atop her head, Neena headed out of her rooms and onto the deck, realising that she had missed the event she had been waiting for.
For, the second selfish reason she had been helping the men each night and sleeping in shallow bursts, was because she had looked forward to witnessing the Grecian skyline for the first time. She had been eager to see the shape of land as it emerged over the horizon and formed into something large and majestic. Too late, she now realised, as the vessel was already floating in a harbour that – judging by the white skinned people that she could see wandering the docks, wearing long dresses – belonged to a Grecian kingdom.
Having no idea where she was and not ready to set out to explore without at least some knowledge beneath her belt (Neena was adventurous, not stupid), the girl went in search of Kreios. Her quick scouring of the ship brought her up empty until she greeted Captain Garvey, almost ready to attend to his own sleep after the night watch.
“Where can I find the grump?” Neena asked the man whom she also seemed to be rapidly winning over, despite the fact that he didn’t show such friendliness as openly as his men and his lips still tightened whenever she called Kreios names – as if he wasn’t sure if he could answer her without giving credence to a pseudonym he knew his boss wasn’t fond of.
Given that the man himself wasn’t present, however, the captain appeared to make an exception and quickly explained the previous eight hours to Neena, whose lush lips rounded in a n “o” of surprise and her dark eyes widened further. Such excitement! And she had slept through it.
Blow and bugger it.
With a humph and a quick thanks to the captain, Neena went back below deck to secure her few belongings and pull her still broken by functional flip flops onto her feet. At this point, she was probably better off going bare foot than using the strips of leather and string, but she had no idea what the Grecian people thought of those who wandered around with shoes so, before she offended anyone, Neena pulled them into place and headed back up to the deck, securing Descat with a pincering stare before he had the chance to escape. It was from him that she had secured the information of Kreios’ home, not to mention the directions towards it.
For there was no way she was exploring Taengea and its capitol before she had witnessed the strange man who had been picked up from the sea. For all they knew he could be some spirit of Poseidon himself! That was what the Greek Gods called the master of the sea wasn’t it? And while she personally had no faith in any such Gods, Neena wasn’t able to not meet a man who could be whispered as being a messenger from the deep.
As it turned out, Kreios’ home had been not a great distance from the port, but Vasiliadon was large so “not a great distance” was still enough for Neena to make an incorrect turn and get herself lost. Luckily, her Greek wasn’t so rusty that she hadn’t been able to ask for directions.
The look on the faces of the passers-by she grabbed were strange to her. At first, they offered no such looks of strangeness despite the colour of her skin and Neena wondered if her difference in aesthetic was not strange to those of the Greek isles. They only seemed to frown, creating little divots between their brows when she opened her mouth to speak and, at first, she had worried that she’d fallen into the wrong language. But she had spoken to Garvey and his crew perfectly fine. It was only as she listened to the people on the street having conversations of her own that she realised the at odds reaction of her communication.
The people on the street speaking with their loved ones or comrades were different in tone and lilt. It would appear that Neena had a sailor’s accent.
Which was not to be surprising given she had learnt the language from a Greek sailor back on Hector’s ship.
An amused smile had painted Neena’s face the last few streets before she had reached Kreios’ rented space and upon finding the door to his personal room through sheer nosiness, she had peered through the crack in the doorway to witness the movements inside (just in case she had the wrong chamber after all).
The man on the bed, she could not see from her angle. Only that there was a mass and form being tended to there by Kreios himself as he moved between the hot water and his patient. It wasn’t until Kreios had sat in a seat across from the bed and settled down to watch the man’s progress that Neena had spoken, pushing the door open as she did so.
Her words in offering to take over were genuine. For, according to Garvey, the man had been found not long after Neena had been settling into sleep. Kreios had been caring for the man for many hours and it was likely he was tired. Also, over the course of her journeying with him, Neena had become perfectly aware of what he did for a living – not that she had let him know that. The Zaire were a people of great medicinal knowledge but that also included the dangers of poisons and harmful substances to the body. And while many of the herbs, plants and tonics that Kreios kept on his ship could actually be used to treat maladies, she knew that the volumes and mixes that he made them in, he was no physician. The man dealt death in a bottle.
And get here he was, playing healer.
As she stepped into the room, Neena pushed the door properly closed behind her, feeling the warmth of the fire on her skin as she the sunshine of morning crept in through the window. Trying not to appear too nosey – or threatening to Kreios’ current focus of attention, Neena didn’t approach the bed, noting only the length of the man and a tumble of dark hair where he lay. In the dim but growing light she noted rough skin, white bandages and a splash of dark maroon as blood seeped and dried into the cloth.
“I can offer a second pair of hands to change his bandages?” She told the man she had been sailing with for several weeks now. “I can help with that.” In all likelihood, given the man’s primary profession, she would know how to care for the injured more than he. But as they had never discussed their backgrounds or personal lives, the poison peddler wasn’t to know that… Just like he hadn’t been aware that she knew how to sail. She wondered, sometimes, what made Kreios believe that everyone around him was uselessly inferior to his own status as merchant of death.
"Want me to take over?"
The words came from the door of the room, where Neena had been standing in the crack of its opening, her shoulder braced against the frame. She swung it open now, as she spoke, her fingers wide and spread across the wooden panelling and the shift of the door so slow it didn't creak. It only hiccupped once in its hinges as she braced it wide.
As she had done every night since the vessel Azazel had left the port of Alexandria (their final stop in Egypt before they had made their way north into Grecian territory) Neena had helped the crew on board the ship into the wee hours of the morning, until the first day’s sunlight appeared over the horizon. She could claim that these actions and efforts had been ones of kindness and altruism. But, while she enjoyed the way the crew now seemed to like her a little more these days and pay her respect and smiles when she walked around on deck, she was mostly selfish in her offered attempts to help.
Firstly, she liked being active. There was nothing so boring and frustrating to Neena as to remain idle or without direction. Her entire life was directionless but only on a larger scale. Her life held little in way of permanent navigation because she liked to leave herself open to all the possibilities and opportunities that could possibly come her way. But no such fun ever came your way if you sat on your rear and did nothing with your days and nights. Ergo, she had kept herself busy on the ship. She had worked most of the night with the sailors, performed her stretches and calming motions on the deck each morning to the rising sun, she had hung around the ship in the mornings and then, when all was calm later in the day, she caught herself a few hours sleep below deck, waking up again past dark and repeating the pattern.
The previous day, Neena had been held past playing a gambling game with the men on the deck. It had involved cups and dices and had been wonderfully fun – especially because she had been winning. As such, she had lost track of time (not that she much cared) and it was long after the sun had fallen beneath the waves of the sea that Neena had looked up and realised she had yet to sleep in those twenty-four hours.
As if by magic, Descat had turned up at her elbow. The young boy was a sweep thing that blinked rapidly at her smiles and blushed all the way to the roots of his hair when she went up on tip toes and plopped a kiss to the top of his head (which she did regularly just to see the reaction). The boy had, this time, interrupted the game to insist that Neena accompany him below deck where there was some food prepared for her.
Thanking the sailors for the game, taking a small amount of the coin she had won from them and insisting they divvied up the rest in order to keep playing the men saw Neena off with grins, a few cheers, and a whistle as she turned her back on them, following the young boy not to the galley as she had expected but to her own chambers.
The food that had been laid out for her were some dry breaded goods, smoked fish and some small sweet treats that, upon biting into them, Neena realised were laced with alcohol. Her eyes brightening, she had vowed faithfully to finish the lot and take a nap (for that, the boy had explained was his responsibility to ensure) and had done exactly as she promised.
As such, Neena work with only an hour to spare before sunrise.
When she had made herself presentable, her tunic in place and her hair tied in a tight bun atop her head, Neena headed out of her rooms and onto the deck, realising that she had missed the event she had been waiting for.
For, the second selfish reason she had been helping the men each night and sleeping in shallow bursts, was because she had looked forward to witnessing the Grecian skyline for the first time. She had been eager to see the shape of land as it emerged over the horizon and formed into something large and majestic. Too late, she now realised, as the vessel was already floating in a harbour that – judging by the white skinned people that she could see wandering the docks, wearing long dresses – belonged to a Grecian kingdom.
Having no idea where she was and not ready to set out to explore without at least some knowledge beneath her belt (Neena was adventurous, not stupid), the girl went in search of Kreios. Her quick scouring of the ship brought her up empty until she greeted Captain Garvey, almost ready to attend to his own sleep after the night watch.
“Where can I find the grump?” Neena asked the man whom she also seemed to be rapidly winning over, despite the fact that he didn’t show such friendliness as openly as his men and his lips still tightened whenever she called Kreios names – as if he wasn’t sure if he could answer her without giving credence to a pseudonym he knew his boss wasn’t fond of.
Given that the man himself wasn’t present, however, the captain appeared to make an exception and quickly explained the previous eight hours to Neena, whose lush lips rounded in a n “o” of surprise and her dark eyes widened further. Such excitement! And she had slept through it.
Blow and bugger it.
With a humph and a quick thanks to the captain, Neena went back below deck to secure her few belongings and pull her still broken by functional flip flops onto her feet. At this point, she was probably better off going bare foot than using the strips of leather and string, but she had no idea what the Grecian people thought of those who wandered around with shoes so, before she offended anyone, Neena pulled them into place and headed back up to the deck, securing Descat with a pincering stare before he had the chance to escape. It was from him that she had secured the information of Kreios’ home, not to mention the directions towards it.
For there was no way she was exploring Taengea and its capitol before she had witnessed the strange man who had been picked up from the sea. For all they knew he could be some spirit of Poseidon himself! That was what the Greek Gods called the master of the sea wasn’t it? And while she personally had no faith in any such Gods, Neena wasn’t able to not meet a man who could be whispered as being a messenger from the deep.
As it turned out, Kreios’ home had been not a great distance from the port, but Vasiliadon was large so “not a great distance” was still enough for Neena to make an incorrect turn and get herself lost. Luckily, her Greek wasn’t so rusty that she hadn’t been able to ask for directions.
The look on the faces of the passers-by she grabbed were strange to her. At first, they offered no such looks of strangeness despite the colour of her skin and Neena wondered if her difference in aesthetic was not strange to those of the Greek isles. They only seemed to frown, creating little divots between their brows when she opened her mouth to speak and, at first, she had worried that she’d fallen into the wrong language. But she had spoken to Garvey and his crew perfectly fine. It was only as she listened to the people on the street having conversations of her own that she realised the at odds reaction of her communication.
The people on the street speaking with their loved ones or comrades were different in tone and lilt. It would appear that Neena had a sailor’s accent.
Which was not to be surprising given she had learnt the language from a Greek sailor back on Hector’s ship.
An amused smile had painted Neena’s face the last few streets before she had reached Kreios’ rented space and upon finding the door to his personal room through sheer nosiness, she had peered through the crack in the doorway to witness the movements inside (just in case she had the wrong chamber after all).
The man on the bed, she could not see from her angle. Only that there was a mass and form being tended to there by Kreios himself as he moved between the hot water and his patient. It wasn’t until Kreios had sat in a seat across from the bed and settled down to watch the man’s progress that Neena had spoken, pushing the door open as she did so.
Her words in offering to take over were genuine. For, according to Garvey, the man had been found not long after Neena had been settling into sleep. Kreios had been caring for the man for many hours and it was likely he was tired. Also, over the course of her journeying with him, Neena had become perfectly aware of what he did for a living – not that she had let him know that. The Zaire were a people of great medicinal knowledge but that also included the dangers of poisons and harmful substances to the body. And while many of the herbs, plants and tonics that Kreios kept on his ship could actually be used to treat maladies, she knew that the volumes and mixes that he made them in, he was no physician. The man dealt death in a bottle.
And get here he was, playing healer.
As she stepped into the room, Neena pushed the door properly closed behind her, feeling the warmth of the fire on her skin as she the sunshine of morning crept in through the window. Trying not to appear too nosey – or threatening to Kreios’ current focus of attention, Neena didn’t approach the bed, noting only the length of the man and a tumble of dark hair where he lay. In the dim but growing light she noted rough skin, white bandages and a splash of dark maroon as blood seeped and dried into the cloth.
“I can offer a second pair of hands to change his bandages?” She told the man she had been sailing with for several weeks now. “I can help with that.” In all likelihood, given the man’s primary profession, she would know how to care for the injured more than he. But as they had never discussed their backgrounds or personal lives, the poison peddler wasn’t to know that… Just like he hadn’t been aware that she knew how to sail. She wondered, sometimes, what made Kreios believe that everyone around him was uselessly inferior to his own status as merchant of death.
His eyes were heavy, but Kreios was no stranger to working through the night, having often done so when the swaying of the ship on a particularly rough night would keep him awake and unable to rest as the body dictates him. There would be no doubt that come tomorrow night when he had been awake for more hours then one human body could stand, the man would crash in his bed like a log for a few hours straight, in a slumber so deep no one would wake him from it.
But for now he had work.
Typhon remained around his feet near the warm flames as his obsidian eyes watched the sleeping male he had fished out from the depths of the ocean. Was he a healer? No. Did he have basic knowledge on how plants and tonics could be used? Luckily for Lukos, yes, to a certain extent. Every plant and herb, root and bark he used could be used for medicianl properties to a certain extent. It was a delicate balance that Kreios played with, and it was why he enjoyed his job. Too little, and it had no effect, too much, and it would be poisonous, overdose and it would be deadly, but just enough, and it would heal. Just like humans, where anyone could have two - or more - facets to them, so long as one looked hard enough.
Like himself, really.
Not entirely sure of how long he had remained there unmoving except to take a clothe and wipe Lukos's prone body down so he would not catch a cold from his own perspiration, he had looked up from his seat as the door opened, tense with preparation to grab the spear he had leaning next to him - only to sit back down when he recognized the slight sized girl and her voice. She was no threat. Indeed, if anything at all, she had become quite a familiar sight and figure to Kreios over the past few weeks he had spent on board with her.
Was she still as annoying? Likely not, if he were to compare how he felt to her now back to when she had first appeared uninvited into his life. Did he enjoy her company? That was a question that remained to be answered, but Kreios did not wish to answer such a question yet. Suffice to say though, her presence was slightly more then simply just tolerated now, and even Typhon's tail slightly moved as she entered and shut the door behind his small residence. Slowly blinking at her offer, he nodded simply, but quietly. "Be my guest. I have changed it twice, but it still bleeds. I have placed crushed yarrow roots on them, but I do not have shepherd's purse or pyrola in my garden to make a poultice." he murmured, making a mental note to purchase some. While it would play no use to his poison making, perhaps it would be useful in future.
Standing up, he handed Neena a stack of fresh bandages he had boiled and cleaned beforehand, before meandering over to stand by the bed where the injured male lay, his obsidian eyes observing him a little before asking. "Should I make yarrow tea? Forcing some down his throat, maybe the vile taste would wake the bastard up." he muttered, no sense of compassion in his tone. There was no love lost between Kreios and Lukos, but neither did he have it in him to watch a man drown and leave him to it.
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His eyes were heavy, but Kreios was no stranger to working through the night, having often done so when the swaying of the ship on a particularly rough night would keep him awake and unable to rest as the body dictates him. There would be no doubt that come tomorrow night when he had been awake for more hours then one human body could stand, the man would crash in his bed like a log for a few hours straight, in a slumber so deep no one would wake him from it.
But for now he had work.
Typhon remained around his feet near the warm flames as his obsidian eyes watched the sleeping male he had fished out from the depths of the ocean. Was he a healer? No. Did he have basic knowledge on how plants and tonics could be used? Luckily for Lukos, yes, to a certain extent. Every plant and herb, root and bark he used could be used for medicianl properties to a certain extent. It was a delicate balance that Kreios played with, and it was why he enjoyed his job. Too little, and it had no effect, too much, and it would be poisonous, overdose and it would be deadly, but just enough, and it would heal. Just like humans, where anyone could have two - or more - facets to them, so long as one looked hard enough.
Like himself, really.
Not entirely sure of how long he had remained there unmoving except to take a clothe and wipe Lukos's prone body down so he would not catch a cold from his own perspiration, he had looked up from his seat as the door opened, tense with preparation to grab the spear he had leaning next to him - only to sit back down when he recognized the slight sized girl and her voice. She was no threat. Indeed, if anything at all, she had become quite a familiar sight and figure to Kreios over the past few weeks he had spent on board with her.
Was she still as annoying? Likely not, if he were to compare how he felt to her now back to when she had first appeared uninvited into his life. Did he enjoy her company? That was a question that remained to be answered, but Kreios did not wish to answer such a question yet. Suffice to say though, her presence was slightly more then simply just tolerated now, and even Typhon's tail slightly moved as she entered and shut the door behind his small residence. Slowly blinking at her offer, he nodded simply, but quietly. "Be my guest. I have changed it twice, but it still bleeds. I have placed crushed yarrow roots on them, but I do not have shepherd's purse or pyrola in my garden to make a poultice." he murmured, making a mental note to purchase some. While it would play no use to his poison making, perhaps it would be useful in future.
Standing up, he handed Neena a stack of fresh bandages he had boiled and cleaned beforehand, before meandering over to stand by the bed where the injured male lay, his obsidian eyes observing him a little before asking. "Should I make yarrow tea? Forcing some down his throat, maybe the vile taste would wake the bastard up." he muttered, no sense of compassion in his tone. There was no love lost between Kreios and Lukos, but neither did he have it in him to watch a man drown and leave him to it.
His eyes were heavy, but Kreios was no stranger to working through the night, having often done so when the swaying of the ship on a particularly rough night would keep him awake and unable to rest as the body dictates him. There would be no doubt that come tomorrow night when he had been awake for more hours then one human body could stand, the man would crash in his bed like a log for a few hours straight, in a slumber so deep no one would wake him from it.
But for now he had work.
Typhon remained around his feet near the warm flames as his obsidian eyes watched the sleeping male he had fished out from the depths of the ocean. Was he a healer? No. Did he have basic knowledge on how plants and tonics could be used? Luckily for Lukos, yes, to a certain extent. Every plant and herb, root and bark he used could be used for medicianl properties to a certain extent. It was a delicate balance that Kreios played with, and it was why he enjoyed his job. Too little, and it had no effect, too much, and it would be poisonous, overdose and it would be deadly, but just enough, and it would heal. Just like humans, where anyone could have two - or more - facets to them, so long as one looked hard enough.
Like himself, really.
Not entirely sure of how long he had remained there unmoving except to take a clothe and wipe Lukos's prone body down so he would not catch a cold from his own perspiration, he had looked up from his seat as the door opened, tense with preparation to grab the spear he had leaning next to him - only to sit back down when he recognized the slight sized girl and her voice. She was no threat. Indeed, if anything at all, she had become quite a familiar sight and figure to Kreios over the past few weeks he had spent on board with her.
Was she still as annoying? Likely not, if he were to compare how he felt to her now back to when she had first appeared uninvited into his life. Did he enjoy her company? That was a question that remained to be answered, but Kreios did not wish to answer such a question yet. Suffice to say though, her presence was slightly more then simply just tolerated now, and even Typhon's tail slightly moved as she entered and shut the door behind his small residence. Slowly blinking at her offer, he nodded simply, but quietly. "Be my guest. I have changed it twice, but it still bleeds. I have placed crushed yarrow roots on them, but I do not have shepherd's purse or pyrola in my garden to make a poultice." he murmured, making a mental note to purchase some. While it would play no use to his poison making, perhaps it would be useful in future.
Standing up, he handed Neena a stack of fresh bandages he had boiled and cleaned beforehand, before meandering over to stand by the bed where the injured male lay, his obsidian eyes observing him a little before asking. "Should I make yarrow tea? Forcing some down his throat, maybe the vile taste would wake the bastard up." he muttered, no sense of compassion in his tone. There was no love lost between Kreios and Lukos, but neither did he have it in him to watch a man drown and leave him to it.
When Kreios offered her to change the bandages, for the wound still bled, Neena was frowning and her tone more serious than the poison peddler would have likely ever heard it. Taking three quick and efficient steps across the room and pulling back the thin blankets to inspect the patient himself for clear evidence to Kreios' words, Neena found (indeed) for there to be a larger patch of crimson breaking over the material bound around his middle than she had previously assuming. With a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat, Neena immediately dropped her height in one of those strange and immediate dips of her, suddenly settling into a squat at the edge of the bed and reaching to lift the material from the wounded sailor's skin, her eyes now level with the wound and able to see a little beneath the tight bandaging her escort had secured into place.
"It should be sealing by now." She murmured, as if to herself. Even if the man had only just been stabbed before Kreios had found him in the water, it should have been at least partially on the mend. Delicate and able to be broken open again at the drop of a hat, but at least fusing a little in the first place. "The wound is too open." She said, her eyes narrowing against the darkness beneath the bandage in order to see better. She didn't want to take off the padding if it was helping, but she was concerned that it was only prolonging his life rather than ensuring his healing. "It looks like whoever tried to kill the guy gave the blade a good twist when he did it. The wound isn't sealing..."
Letting the bandage fall back into place, the tips of her fingers damp with the blood of the stranger, Neena stood back up as quickly as she had settled down onto her heels and looked around at Kreios.
"Do you have a needle?" She asked him. "Some cotton or hemp?"
Stitches were not common in Greece or the European lands - Neena knew this - but they had been an experimental practice for many hundreds of years in Egypt and it had not been long after their invention that the medicinal savvy Zaire tribe had picked up on the practice. Neena was by no means as experienced as her sister-wife Tanishe, but she was rudimentary enough. The biggest issue would be if the internal organs had been lacerated. She and Tanishe had tried to save a man once who had been impaled. They had sealed the skin perfectly by blood had still seeped from the wounds, causing his death. It wasn't until after that they had realised his innards had continued to bleed even after the skin was fused together once more by stitches of hemp.
If this strange man, left to die in the sea, had a wound too wide, the sides of the skin would not reach and knit back together and he would continue to bleed out. She wasn't confident that her own skills as a physician - rudimentary as they were - could save him. But if he wasn't naturally clotting by now it was likely he would die anyway, so where was the harm in trying?
Neena was always good at looking on the bright side.
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When Kreios offered her to change the bandages, for the wound still bled, Neena was frowning and her tone more serious than the poison peddler would have likely ever heard it. Taking three quick and efficient steps across the room and pulling back the thin blankets to inspect the patient himself for clear evidence to Kreios' words, Neena found (indeed) for there to be a larger patch of crimson breaking over the material bound around his middle than she had previously assuming. With a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat, Neena immediately dropped her height in one of those strange and immediate dips of her, suddenly settling into a squat at the edge of the bed and reaching to lift the material from the wounded sailor's skin, her eyes now level with the wound and able to see a little beneath the tight bandaging her escort had secured into place.
"It should be sealing by now." She murmured, as if to herself. Even if the man had only just been stabbed before Kreios had found him in the water, it should have been at least partially on the mend. Delicate and able to be broken open again at the drop of a hat, but at least fusing a little in the first place. "The wound is too open." She said, her eyes narrowing against the darkness beneath the bandage in order to see better. She didn't want to take off the padding if it was helping, but she was concerned that it was only prolonging his life rather than ensuring his healing. "It looks like whoever tried to kill the guy gave the blade a good twist when he did it. The wound isn't sealing..."
Letting the bandage fall back into place, the tips of her fingers damp with the blood of the stranger, Neena stood back up as quickly as she had settled down onto her heels and looked around at Kreios.
"Do you have a needle?" She asked him. "Some cotton or hemp?"
Stitches were not common in Greece or the European lands - Neena knew this - but they had been an experimental practice for many hundreds of years in Egypt and it had not been long after their invention that the medicinal savvy Zaire tribe had picked up on the practice. Neena was by no means as experienced as her sister-wife Tanishe, but she was rudimentary enough. The biggest issue would be if the internal organs had been lacerated. She and Tanishe had tried to save a man once who had been impaled. They had sealed the skin perfectly by blood had still seeped from the wounds, causing his death. It wasn't until after that they had realised his innards had continued to bleed even after the skin was fused together once more by stitches of hemp.
If this strange man, left to die in the sea, had a wound too wide, the sides of the skin would not reach and knit back together and he would continue to bleed out. She wasn't confident that her own skills as a physician - rudimentary as they were - could save him. But if he wasn't naturally clotting by now it was likely he would die anyway, so where was the harm in trying?
Neena was always good at looking on the bright side.
When Kreios offered her to change the bandages, for the wound still bled, Neena was frowning and her tone more serious than the poison peddler would have likely ever heard it. Taking three quick and efficient steps across the room and pulling back the thin blankets to inspect the patient himself for clear evidence to Kreios' words, Neena found (indeed) for there to be a larger patch of crimson breaking over the material bound around his middle than she had previously assuming. With a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat, Neena immediately dropped her height in one of those strange and immediate dips of her, suddenly settling into a squat at the edge of the bed and reaching to lift the material from the wounded sailor's skin, her eyes now level with the wound and able to see a little beneath the tight bandaging her escort had secured into place.
"It should be sealing by now." She murmured, as if to herself. Even if the man had only just been stabbed before Kreios had found him in the water, it should have been at least partially on the mend. Delicate and able to be broken open again at the drop of a hat, but at least fusing a little in the first place. "The wound is too open." She said, her eyes narrowing against the darkness beneath the bandage in order to see better. She didn't want to take off the padding if it was helping, but she was concerned that it was only prolonging his life rather than ensuring his healing. "It looks like whoever tried to kill the guy gave the blade a good twist when he did it. The wound isn't sealing..."
Letting the bandage fall back into place, the tips of her fingers damp with the blood of the stranger, Neena stood back up as quickly as she had settled down onto her heels and looked around at Kreios.
"Do you have a needle?" She asked him. "Some cotton or hemp?"
Stitches were not common in Greece or the European lands - Neena knew this - but they had been an experimental practice for many hundreds of years in Egypt and it had not been long after their invention that the medicinal savvy Zaire tribe had picked up on the practice. Neena was by no means as experienced as her sister-wife Tanishe, but she was rudimentary enough. The biggest issue would be if the internal organs had been lacerated. She and Tanishe had tried to save a man once who had been impaled. They had sealed the skin perfectly by blood had still seeped from the wounds, causing his death. It wasn't until after that they had realised his innards had continued to bleed even after the skin was fused together once more by stitches of hemp.
If this strange man, left to die in the sea, had a wound too wide, the sides of the skin would not reach and knit back together and he would continue to bleed out. She wasn't confident that her own skills as a physician - rudimentary as they were - could save him. But if he wasn't naturally clotting by now it was likely he would die anyway, so where was the harm in trying?
Neena was always good at looking on the bright side.
His gaze flickered towards the girl, perhaps in one of the few short instances of surprise, as much of an emotion then he's ever shown around her over the past few days. While Neena of the Zaire has proven herself to be a rambunctious, wild, very uncontrollably cheerful person most of the time (all instances of personality which contrasted greatly with Kreios's own aloof persona), this was one of the few times he had seen her serious. It has led to the poison merchant being quite curious as to the facet's of her personality, or the vast different faces which she has shown so far.
Not one to linger on such a probability however, he had instead turned to look at her as she worked, for she now squatted right in front of him at his feet, next to the prone man lying in his bed (which was the only bed in the living quarters really, so it appears Kreios would have to make himself comfortable on the floor over the next few days). Her words held merit, and Kreios did not see any reason why he should refute, for what she said was true. The wound was large, a size that military physicians would usually seal shut with a hot iron if necessary, or would otherwise result in the victim bleeding a slow and painful death. Did he think Lukos deserved it? Probably. But he was no heartless male, nor was he revengeful, merely aloof. But Kreios could imagine Lukos gaining an enemy bad enough that the attacker would twist the weapon multiple times in his gut before pushing him to drown.
A needle? He raised a brow, his mind running a little. It would seem odd for him to have a needle, but surprisingly, the man did. The object would occasionally be necessary as he extracted oil or substances from plants, and it was that which Kreios shuffled off to get once instructed. Hidden in a small chest of drawers in a linen drawstring bag, he took out the needle, grabbed some hemp on his way back, and handed it to the bronzed skin lady with a frown.
'What do you intend to do?" he asked in his deep, baritone of a voice, tilting his head sideways as he watched her over her shoulder, obsidian eyes glittering with interest. Ever a man with a curious mind, while he was not particularly interested in the healing arts, he was curious on new methods, and he knew that there were many methods practiced in Africa that was not common knowledge here in Greece.
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His gaze flickered towards the girl, perhaps in one of the few short instances of surprise, as much of an emotion then he's ever shown around her over the past few days. While Neena of the Zaire has proven herself to be a rambunctious, wild, very uncontrollably cheerful person most of the time (all instances of personality which contrasted greatly with Kreios's own aloof persona), this was one of the few times he had seen her serious. It has led to the poison merchant being quite curious as to the facet's of her personality, or the vast different faces which she has shown so far.
Not one to linger on such a probability however, he had instead turned to look at her as she worked, for she now squatted right in front of him at his feet, next to the prone man lying in his bed (which was the only bed in the living quarters really, so it appears Kreios would have to make himself comfortable on the floor over the next few days). Her words held merit, and Kreios did not see any reason why he should refute, for what she said was true. The wound was large, a size that military physicians would usually seal shut with a hot iron if necessary, or would otherwise result in the victim bleeding a slow and painful death. Did he think Lukos deserved it? Probably. But he was no heartless male, nor was he revengeful, merely aloof. But Kreios could imagine Lukos gaining an enemy bad enough that the attacker would twist the weapon multiple times in his gut before pushing him to drown.
A needle? He raised a brow, his mind running a little. It would seem odd for him to have a needle, but surprisingly, the man did. The object would occasionally be necessary as he extracted oil or substances from plants, and it was that which Kreios shuffled off to get once instructed. Hidden in a small chest of drawers in a linen drawstring bag, he took out the needle, grabbed some hemp on his way back, and handed it to the bronzed skin lady with a frown.
'What do you intend to do?" he asked in his deep, baritone of a voice, tilting his head sideways as he watched her over her shoulder, obsidian eyes glittering with interest. Ever a man with a curious mind, while he was not particularly interested in the healing arts, he was curious on new methods, and he knew that there were many methods practiced in Africa that was not common knowledge here in Greece.
His gaze flickered towards the girl, perhaps in one of the few short instances of surprise, as much of an emotion then he's ever shown around her over the past few days. While Neena of the Zaire has proven herself to be a rambunctious, wild, very uncontrollably cheerful person most of the time (all instances of personality which contrasted greatly with Kreios's own aloof persona), this was one of the few times he had seen her serious. It has led to the poison merchant being quite curious as to the facet's of her personality, or the vast different faces which she has shown so far.
Not one to linger on such a probability however, he had instead turned to look at her as she worked, for she now squatted right in front of him at his feet, next to the prone man lying in his bed (which was the only bed in the living quarters really, so it appears Kreios would have to make himself comfortable on the floor over the next few days). Her words held merit, and Kreios did not see any reason why he should refute, for what she said was true. The wound was large, a size that military physicians would usually seal shut with a hot iron if necessary, or would otherwise result in the victim bleeding a slow and painful death. Did he think Lukos deserved it? Probably. But he was no heartless male, nor was he revengeful, merely aloof. But Kreios could imagine Lukos gaining an enemy bad enough that the attacker would twist the weapon multiple times in his gut before pushing him to drown.
A needle? He raised a brow, his mind running a little. It would seem odd for him to have a needle, but surprisingly, the man did. The object would occasionally be necessary as he extracted oil or substances from plants, and it was that which Kreios shuffled off to get once instructed. Hidden in a small chest of drawers in a linen drawstring bag, he took out the needle, grabbed some hemp on his way back, and handed it to the bronzed skin lady with a frown.
'What do you intend to do?" he asked in his deep, baritone of a voice, tilting his head sideways as he watched her over her shoulder, obsidian eyes glittering with interest. Ever a man with a curious mind, while he was not particularly interested in the healing arts, he was curious on new methods, and he knew that there were many methods practiced in Africa that was not common knowledge here in Greece.
Neena was surprised when the poison peddler was quick to obey her instructions, ignorant of what it was about her persona and attitude that had him suddenly taking her seriously. Normally, he liked to ignore just about everything he could with regards to what she said or did. She had the distinct impression that she annoyed the hell out of him which was, in equal parts, frustrating and amusing. Now instead, he behaved quickly and with penitent obedience as he moved to find the items she had asked for.
When he came back to her, he moved in near to her, his hand outstretched and offering her a thick needle and long string of hemp. Neena took the items carefully, her fingers tips brushing against his - bronze to alabaster - and holding the needle carefully. The fingers of her opposing hand stroked the hemp out straight as she then turned her large and expressive eyes towards the dying man before her. The dark irises suggested nervousness for a moment but in a blink it was gone, the sheen of determination replacing any former anxiety and her lips firming in a decisive line.
Shifting so that she was knelt closer to the bed and leaning down and over the injured man, her face only inches from the wrapped bandage around his middle - for she would need to see close up if she was going to attempt this...
"I'm going to sew him up." She told the man at her shoulder.
The technique was one that several Egyptian physicians had used in the past, that she had witnessed. She had told Tanishe of the exercise and Neena had assisted her sister wife in performing one on a warrior of the Zaire. The man in question had died but the one before her now was set for the realm of Hades if she did nothing anyway. Given he was still bleeding after hours since his injury, there wasn't a lot of hope that he would clot and secure his own life before the loss of blood took him by the end of the day.
"I've seen it done before." She commented, as if to assure Kreios that she wasn't insane for attempting such a feat. Especially considering she was fairly certain that it wasn't common practice in Greece. "If he's bleeding as slowly as he is, there's likely a cut to something important within. It can only be small, or he would have died hours ago. But it's not healing on its own. It will need a stitch somewhere..."
Reaching to her hip, Neena pushed aside the floaty layers of her tunic and unhooked the small dagger she kept tied around her upper leg. The blade was no longer than her own thumb, tiny in the grand scheme of things and only ever brought out in moments of desperation. She had a few others in her back of trifles back on Kreios' ship that she juggled and threw for coin, but this was the only blade she used in any violent means. This time, she turned its aggression upon the bandaging around the man's centre and peeled back the layers of linen to find the slowly seeping injury.
Taking the ends of the fabric and wiping quickly and firmly against the stab wound, cleaning away the crimson. She gave absolutely no indication that the blood bothered her. She was completely calm and efficient as she stretched out her fingers, the needle held in the crook of her thumb out of the way as she probed at the deep destruction caused by what looked to be a short blade. Her features tightening as she witnessed the aftermath of such violence. She then pushed further, her fingers slipping inside the wound.
She led with the linen, trying to clean away the worst of the blood so that she could see. She behaved with the efficiency of a physician, showing no care for the discomfort of her patient over the seeking of his ailment. She knew that the faster she could work the better it would be for his life expectancy. She couldn’t be worried about his comfort at a time when his life was already seeping away along with his blood. She was just thankful he was unconscious.
Feeling around inside the wound, Neena’s hands were quickly covered in a deep red but she paid it no mind as she tried to find an area wetter than the others, somewhere where she could feel a pulse in line with a seeping of liquid.
It was as she found a particular stop that she thought the likely culprit that she felt the body of the man her fingers were currently inside start to move, a noise rumbling in his chest.
“I’ve found the damage.” Neena told the conscious of the two men, before nodding towards the head of the victim struggling for consciousness. “Hold him down or this is going to get more painful for him.”
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Neena was surprised when the poison peddler was quick to obey her instructions, ignorant of what it was about her persona and attitude that had him suddenly taking her seriously. Normally, he liked to ignore just about everything he could with regards to what she said or did. She had the distinct impression that she annoyed the hell out of him which was, in equal parts, frustrating and amusing. Now instead, he behaved quickly and with penitent obedience as he moved to find the items she had asked for.
When he came back to her, he moved in near to her, his hand outstretched and offering her a thick needle and long string of hemp. Neena took the items carefully, her fingers tips brushing against his - bronze to alabaster - and holding the needle carefully. The fingers of her opposing hand stroked the hemp out straight as she then turned her large and expressive eyes towards the dying man before her. The dark irises suggested nervousness for a moment but in a blink it was gone, the sheen of determination replacing any former anxiety and her lips firming in a decisive line.
Shifting so that she was knelt closer to the bed and leaning down and over the injured man, her face only inches from the wrapped bandage around his middle - for she would need to see close up if she was going to attempt this...
"I'm going to sew him up." She told the man at her shoulder.
The technique was one that several Egyptian physicians had used in the past, that she had witnessed. She had told Tanishe of the exercise and Neena had assisted her sister wife in performing one on a warrior of the Zaire. The man in question had died but the one before her now was set for the realm of Hades if she did nothing anyway. Given he was still bleeding after hours since his injury, there wasn't a lot of hope that he would clot and secure his own life before the loss of blood took him by the end of the day.
"I've seen it done before." She commented, as if to assure Kreios that she wasn't insane for attempting such a feat. Especially considering she was fairly certain that it wasn't common practice in Greece. "If he's bleeding as slowly as he is, there's likely a cut to something important within. It can only be small, or he would have died hours ago. But it's not healing on its own. It will need a stitch somewhere..."
Reaching to her hip, Neena pushed aside the floaty layers of her tunic and unhooked the small dagger she kept tied around her upper leg. The blade was no longer than her own thumb, tiny in the grand scheme of things and only ever brought out in moments of desperation. She had a few others in her back of trifles back on Kreios' ship that she juggled and threw for coin, but this was the only blade she used in any violent means. This time, she turned its aggression upon the bandaging around the man's centre and peeled back the layers of linen to find the slowly seeping injury.
Taking the ends of the fabric and wiping quickly and firmly against the stab wound, cleaning away the crimson. She gave absolutely no indication that the blood bothered her. She was completely calm and efficient as she stretched out her fingers, the needle held in the crook of her thumb out of the way as she probed at the deep destruction caused by what looked to be a short blade. Her features tightening as she witnessed the aftermath of such violence. She then pushed further, her fingers slipping inside the wound.
She led with the linen, trying to clean away the worst of the blood so that she could see. She behaved with the efficiency of a physician, showing no care for the discomfort of her patient over the seeking of his ailment. She knew that the faster she could work the better it would be for his life expectancy. She couldn’t be worried about his comfort at a time when his life was already seeping away along with his blood. She was just thankful he was unconscious.
Feeling around inside the wound, Neena’s hands were quickly covered in a deep red but she paid it no mind as she tried to find an area wetter than the others, somewhere where she could feel a pulse in line with a seeping of liquid.
It was as she found a particular stop that she thought the likely culprit that she felt the body of the man her fingers were currently inside start to move, a noise rumbling in his chest.
“I’ve found the damage.” Neena told the conscious of the two men, before nodding towards the head of the victim struggling for consciousness. “Hold him down or this is going to get more painful for him.”
Neena was surprised when the poison peddler was quick to obey her instructions, ignorant of what it was about her persona and attitude that had him suddenly taking her seriously. Normally, he liked to ignore just about everything he could with regards to what she said or did. She had the distinct impression that she annoyed the hell out of him which was, in equal parts, frustrating and amusing. Now instead, he behaved quickly and with penitent obedience as he moved to find the items she had asked for.
When he came back to her, he moved in near to her, his hand outstretched and offering her a thick needle and long string of hemp. Neena took the items carefully, her fingers tips brushing against his - bronze to alabaster - and holding the needle carefully. The fingers of her opposing hand stroked the hemp out straight as she then turned her large and expressive eyes towards the dying man before her. The dark irises suggested nervousness for a moment but in a blink it was gone, the sheen of determination replacing any former anxiety and her lips firming in a decisive line.
Shifting so that she was knelt closer to the bed and leaning down and over the injured man, her face only inches from the wrapped bandage around his middle - for she would need to see close up if she was going to attempt this...
"I'm going to sew him up." She told the man at her shoulder.
The technique was one that several Egyptian physicians had used in the past, that she had witnessed. She had told Tanishe of the exercise and Neena had assisted her sister wife in performing one on a warrior of the Zaire. The man in question had died but the one before her now was set for the realm of Hades if she did nothing anyway. Given he was still bleeding after hours since his injury, there wasn't a lot of hope that he would clot and secure his own life before the loss of blood took him by the end of the day.
"I've seen it done before." She commented, as if to assure Kreios that she wasn't insane for attempting such a feat. Especially considering she was fairly certain that it wasn't common practice in Greece. "If he's bleeding as slowly as he is, there's likely a cut to something important within. It can only be small, or he would have died hours ago. But it's not healing on its own. It will need a stitch somewhere..."
Reaching to her hip, Neena pushed aside the floaty layers of her tunic and unhooked the small dagger she kept tied around her upper leg. The blade was no longer than her own thumb, tiny in the grand scheme of things and only ever brought out in moments of desperation. She had a few others in her back of trifles back on Kreios' ship that she juggled and threw for coin, but this was the only blade she used in any violent means. This time, she turned its aggression upon the bandaging around the man's centre and peeled back the layers of linen to find the slowly seeping injury.
Taking the ends of the fabric and wiping quickly and firmly against the stab wound, cleaning away the crimson. She gave absolutely no indication that the blood bothered her. She was completely calm and efficient as she stretched out her fingers, the needle held in the crook of her thumb out of the way as she probed at the deep destruction caused by what looked to be a short blade. Her features tightening as she witnessed the aftermath of such violence. She then pushed further, her fingers slipping inside the wound.
She led with the linen, trying to clean away the worst of the blood so that she could see. She behaved with the efficiency of a physician, showing no care for the discomfort of her patient over the seeking of his ailment. She knew that the faster she could work the better it would be for his life expectancy. She couldn’t be worried about his comfort at a time when his life was already seeping away along with his blood. She was just thankful he was unconscious.
Feeling around inside the wound, Neena’s hands were quickly covered in a deep red but she paid it no mind as she tried to find an area wetter than the others, somewhere where she could feel a pulse in line with a seeping of liquid.
It was as she found a particular stop that she thought the likely culprit that she felt the body of the man her fingers were currently inside start to move, a noise rumbling in his chest.
“I’ve found the damage.” Neena told the conscious of the two men, before nodding towards the head of the victim struggling for consciousness. “Hold him down or this is going to get more painful for him.”
There were bouts of darkness and a sensation of floating. Sometimes he had the insane idea that he was being licked by a cat all over or that he was still in the water and swimming. Every time the water came up, the cat drew its dry tongue across his skin, drying him off again. The notion was entirely at odds with what he knew to be reality but he couldn’t quite get himself out of the dream.
Then came the burning in his side. A digging, dull pain. His dark brows knitted together and he groaned reaching weakly with his hand to bat at whatever was hurting him. That was when he noticed voices. They wafted around, unintelligible. One was female and he wondered if the whore he’d been with had somehow fished him out of the water, but he doubted it. More like she’d have turned tail and run.
All at once, something sharp bit into his side. His eyes snapped open. His pupils constricted to tiny pinpricks and he found himself staring at a man he disliked intensely. Kreios was the least of his issues right now. Panting, Lukos jerked his head to find a dark girl bent over him. His instinct was to push her away and that was exactly what he did.
“Stop!” he demanded but his voice was little more than a croaky whisper.
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There were bouts of darkness and a sensation of floating. Sometimes he had the insane idea that he was being licked by a cat all over or that he was still in the water and swimming. Every time the water came up, the cat drew its dry tongue across his skin, drying him off again. The notion was entirely at odds with what he knew to be reality but he couldn’t quite get himself out of the dream.
Then came the burning in his side. A digging, dull pain. His dark brows knitted together and he groaned reaching weakly with his hand to bat at whatever was hurting him. That was when he noticed voices. They wafted around, unintelligible. One was female and he wondered if the whore he’d been with had somehow fished him out of the water, but he doubted it. More like she’d have turned tail and run.
All at once, something sharp bit into his side. His eyes snapped open. His pupils constricted to tiny pinpricks and he found himself staring at a man he disliked intensely. Kreios was the least of his issues right now. Panting, Lukos jerked his head to find a dark girl bent over him. His instinct was to push her away and that was exactly what he did.
“Stop!” he demanded but his voice was little more than a croaky whisper.
There were bouts of darkness and a sensation of floating. Sometimes he had the insane idea that he was being licked by a cat all over or that he was still in the water and swimming. Every time the water came up, the cat drew its dry tongue across his skin, drying him off again. The notion was entirely at odds with what he knew to be reality but he couldn’t quite get himself out of the dream.
Then came the burning in his side. A digging, dull pain. His dark brows knitted together and he groaned reaching weakly with his hand to bat at whatever was hurting him. That was when he noticed voices. They wafted around, unintelligible. One was female and he wondered if the whore he’d been with had somehow fished him out of the water, but he doubted it. More like she’d have turned tail and run.
All at once, something sharp bit into his side. His eyes snapped open. His pupils constricted to tiny pinpricks and he found himself staring at a man he disliked intensely. Kreios was the least of his issues right now. Panting, Lukos jerked his head to find a dark girl bent over him. His instinct was to push her away and that was exactly what he did.
“Stop!” he demanded but his voice was little more than a croaky whisper.
He did not, and could not deny, that despite her nonchalant, annoyingly upbeat and overly bright personality, the cargo he had picked up overnight in Egypt had somehow proven her worth, somewhere in between their voyage from Judea to return to Greece, and for what its worth, Kreios was willing to listen if she said she knew something, especially when for once, she did not sound like she was high on substances. Besides, Kreios wasn't too averse to causing Lukos more pain anyhow, as long as it did not take the pirate's life at least.
Watching as she worked, as silent as she was, Kreios's eyes followed the bronzed skin fingers as they made quick work. It wasn't as if he had any other option when it came to Lukos anyway, for he had tried all the herbs given by the physician he had rudely awakened, and since Thanatos wanted to claim him anyhow, lets see if this Bedoan girl he had picked up could cheat the Grecian God of Death.
His face was as neutral as he wisp of winds over a prairie as he watched her work. Unlike others who may wince at the sight of blood or injury, Kreios's line of work meant he dealt with death and blood, injuries and unsavory sights more often then he'd like, that the merchant had now gotten used to it. Instead, what sparked in his onyxian gaze was interest as he tried to absorb the tactics used by Neena to fix the wound that bled internally.
Her instruction came almost right on top of the croak by Lukos, and Kreios couldn't move fast enough.
Instead of remaining crouched by the Bedoan's side, Kreios was quick to dart towards Lukos, grabbing the arm that had wanted to push Neena away and pinning it down with his other. Using his forearm, he held it across his broad shoulders to pin the man down, and sat upon the pirate's legs. "Shut up and be quiet." the dark-haired man snapped at the struggling male, before turning to Neena. "Work quickly." It was curt, short and succint, but that was what they needed in this situation afterall.
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He did not, and could not deny, that despite her nonchalant, annoyingly upbeat and overly bright personality, the cargo he had picked up overnight in Egypt had somehow proven her worth, somewhere in between their voyage from Judea to return to Greece, and for what its worth, Kreios was willing to listen if she said she knew something, especially when for once, she did not sound like she was high on substances. Besides, Kreios wasn't too averse to causing Lukos more pain anyhow, as long as it did not take the pirate's life at least.
Watching as she worked, as silent as she was, Kreios's eyes followed the bronzed skin fingers as they made quick work. It wasn't as if he had any other option when it came to Lukos anyway, for he had tried all the herbs given by the physician he had rudely awakened, and since Thanatos wanted to claim him anyhow, lets see if this Bedoan girl he had picked up could cheat the Grecian God of Death.
His face was as neutral as he wisp of winds over a prairie as he watched her work. Unlike others who may wince at the sight of blood or injury, Kreios's line of work meant he dealt with death and blood, injuries and unsavory sights more often then he'd like, that the merchant had now gotten used to it. Instead, what sparked in his onyxian gaze was interest as he tried to absorb the tactics used by Neena to fix the wound that bled internally.
Her instruction came almost right on top of the croak by Lukos, and Kreios couldn't move fast enough.
Instead of remaining crouched by the Bedoan's side, Kreios was quick to dart towards Lukos, grabbing the arm that had wanted to push Neena away and pinning it down with his other. Using his forearm, he held it across his broad shoulders to pin the man down, and sat upon the pirate's legs. "Shut up and be quiet." the dark-haired man snapped at the struggling male, before turning to Neena. "Work quickly." It was curt, short and succint, but that was what they needed in this situation afterall.
He did not, and could not deny, that despite her nonchalant, annoyingly upbeat and overly bright personality, the cargo he had picked up overnight in Egypt had somehow proven her worth, somewhere in between their voyage from Judea to return to Greece, and for what its worth, Kreios was willing to listen if she said she knew something, especially when for once, she did not sound like she was high on substances. Besides, Kreios wasn't too averse to causing Lukos more pain anyhow, as long as it did not take the pirate's life at least.
Watching as she worked, as silent as she was, Kreios's eyes followed the bronzed skin fingers as they made quick work. It wasn't as if he had any other option when it came to Lukos anyway, for he had tried all the herbs given by the physician he had rudely awakened, and since Thanatos wanted to claim him anyhow, lets see if this Bedoan girl he had picked up could cheat the Grecian God of Death.
His face was as neutral as he wisp of winds over a prairie as he watched her work. Unlike others who may wince at the sight of blood or injury, Kreios's line of work meant he dealt with death and blood, injuries and unsavory sights more often then he'd like, that the merchant had now gotten used to it. Instead, what sparked in his onyxian gaze was interest as he tried to absorb the tactics used by Neena to fix the wound that bled internally.
Her instruction came almost right on top of the croak by Lukos, and Kreios couldn't move fast enough.
Instead of remaining crouched by the Bedoan's side, Kreios was quick to dart towards Lukos, grabbing the arm that had wanted to push Neena away and pinning it down with his other. Using his forearm, he held it across his broad shoulders to pin the man down, and sat upon the pirate's legs. "Shut up and be quiet." the dark-haired man snapped at the struggling male, before turning to Neena. "Work quickly." It was curt, short and succint, but that was what they needed in this situation afterall.
He was becoming more alert by the second - more alert, agitated, confused, and angry. The second that Kreios grabbed his arm, Lukos fought. Blood leaked out of his side and he panted hard against the weakness of his own limbs. It was distressing to find that Kreios, of all people, could pin him without trouble. Kreios who did nothing but sit on his ass and order people around, while he, Lukos, was much stronger. There wasn’t a question or doubt about that. Except now, without much trouble on the merchant’s part, he found himself pinned and held down with relative ease.
Though, of course, the man was now on top of him. When he tried to move his legs, though, to maybe sit up and throw Kreios off, he could not. His ankles were bound by ropes to the bed. The more he moved, though, the dizzier he became and his face drained of color. The alertness he’d had a second ago was gone and he sagged into the pillow, peering up at Kreios in frank irritation. If he could have, he’d have ordered the man to get the fuck off him.
Then he winced and drew in sharp breaths as Neena stitched at his side. It was the surprise of it, more than the actual pain that had awakened him. Being stabbed had hurt worse than this, but this was more prolonged, coupled with the feeling of thread sliding through muscle tissue. The pressure of Kreios’s weight didn’t help and he suddenly wished that he could collapse back into unconsciousness but he was here now. Here in a body that felt entirely foreign with this kind of pain.
He’d raze this house to the ground if this girl killed him. With Kreios blocking his view, he couldn’t get an adequate look at her. The room felt hot and smelled of blood. Sweat beaded his body and forehead. Throwing a black look up at Kreios, it promised all things terrible if this went wrong.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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He was becoming more alert by the second - more alert, agitated, confused, and angry. The second that Kreios grabbed his arm, Lukos fought. Blood leaked out of his side and he panted hard against the weakness of his own limbs. It was distressing to find that Kreios, of all people, could pin him without trouble. Kreios who did nothing but sit on his ass and order people around, while he, Lukos, was much stronger. There wasn’t a question or doubt about that. Except now, without much trouble on the merchant’s part, he found himself pinned and held down with relative ease.
Though, of course, the man was now on top of him. When he tried to move his legs, though, to maybe sit up and throw Kreios off, he could not. His ankles were bound by ropes to the bed. The more he moved, though, the dizzier he became and his face drained of color. The alertness he’d had a second ago was gone and he sagged into the pillow, peering up at Kreios in frank irritation. If he could have, he’d have ordered the man to get the fuck off him.
Then he winced and drew in sharp breaths as Neena stitched at his side. It was the surprise of it, more than the actual pain that had awakened him. Being stabbed had hurt worse than this, but this was more prolonged, coupled with the feeling of thread sliding through muscle tissue. The pressure of Kreios’s weight didn’t help and he suddenly wished that he could collapse back into unconsciousness but he was here now. Here in a body that felt entirely foreign with this kind of pain.
He’d raze this house to the ground if this girl killed him. With Kreios blocking his view, he couldn’t get an adequate look at her. The room felt hot and smelled of blood. Sweat beaded his body and forehead. Throwing a black look up at Kreios, it promised all things terrible if this went wrong.
He was becoming more alert by the second - more alert, agitated, confused, and angry. The second that Kreios grabbed his arm, Lukos fought. Blood leaked out of his side and he panted hard against the weakness of his own limbs. It was distressing to find that Kreios, of all people, could pin him without trouble. Kreios who did nothing but sit on his ass and order people around, while he, Lukos, was much stronger. There wasn’t a question or doubt about that. Except now, without much trouble on the merchant’s part, he found himself pinned and held down with relative ease.
Though, of course, the man was now on top of him. When he tried to move his legs, though, to maybe sit up and throw Kreios off, he could not. His ankles were bound by ropes to the bed. The more he moved, though, the dizzier he became and his face drained of color. The alertness he’d had a second ago was gone and he sagged into the pillow, peering up at Kreios in frank irritation. If he could have, he’d have ordered the man to get the fuck off him.
Then he winced and drew in sharp breaths as Neena stitched at his side. It was the surprise of it, more than the actual pain that had awakened him. Being stabbed had hurt worse than this, but this was more prolonged, coupled with the feeling of thread sliding through muscle tissue. The pressure of Kreios’s weight didn’t help and he suddenly wished that he could collapse back into unconsciousness but he was here now. Here in a body that felt entirely foreign with this kind of pain.
He’d raze this house to the ground if this girl killed him. With Kreios blocking his view, he couldn’t get an adequate look at her. The room felt hot and smelled of blood. Sweat beaded his body and forehead. Throwing a black look up at Kreios, it promised all things terrible if this went wrong.
The patient struggled. As she had known that he would. It was pure foolishness not to expect an unconscious man to resist any painful implementations upon his body when he came into a state of awareness. It was natural human preservation to avoid anything that was harmful. And when one had been unconscious for a significant period of time, and didn't know what was harmful and what was not... it was obvious to avoid anything that caused pain. Therefore, Neena was neither angry, not even annoyed at the man's angry instruction for her to cease and desist in what she was doing. He had no knowledge of his state of injury or that the particular discomfort she was inflicting upon him was for his own benefit. She didn't take it personally.
Instead, her tone was, for once, unemotional and calming as she instructed Kreios in keeping the man still. Her timbre held far less emotion than even of the stoic instructions he made of her in return as he attempted to hold down the injured party.
Shifting a little on her knees to accommodate the fact that Kreios was now practically laying across the man, seated on his legs to hold them in place and then laying lower to use his forearms across his chest and shoulders. When he told her to hurry up, Neena glanced at him for just a second, her lips quirking up into a smile as she kept her attention on the spot her fingertips occupied beneath the stranger's skin.
"Not a fan of pinning a man to your bed, Kreios?" She asked with a hint of her usual attitude but a hefty dose of slow distraction as she focused on what she was doing. Her last words, in fact, came with in a quite thoughtful tone, as if her focus had already left the conversation and was turned to the deep gash she trying to see inside. "Duly noted..."
The man had been stabbed alright, Neena's eyes narrowed as she became certain she had the correct point in his muscles that was torn beyond self-healing. Ignoring Kreios' instruction to work quickly - for she would have done so anyway and didn't require the prompt - Neena held the needle she had been given with confidence and, having no idea the pattern or technique to use with regards to sewing the two pieces of sinew together, she went with a stitch she knew from clothing - something assured to hold the pieces together securely. The two sides would need the time held in place to fuse properly themselves.
The minutes ticked by steadily and while it felt like a long time to those in the room, no-one had cause to complain as Neena's hands never slowed or stilled. She moved with a steady but careful pace that never let up. Once assured that her stitches were in place inside, she used a twist of her wrist to trim the hemp close with her little blade and then used the bandages to wipe away any remaining blood inside the injury. She waited for a second, prodding at the muscle and skin above but there were no fresh leaks of crimson or bubbling that would suggest a hole in her work, or cuts elsewhere. Satisfied, Neena turned her attention to the external opening of the wound and set to work sewing that in place just as she had the other. This time, it was easy for others in the room to watch her progress as she stitched the laceration closed, slowly but steadily and with a dexterity of someone used to sleight of hand games. Her fingers moved with an assurance and grace of someone confident in how each and every one of her fingers moved. She pushed the thick needle through skin, then up through the other side, she created a loop and slipped the needle through and then plunged the needle back down. As she worked, there was an intricate pattern forming over the patient's skin that never missed a stitch or broke structure. Her hands moved quickly, even if the work was slow. But she was determined to ensure that the large gash would not reopen on her watch. The abdomen was a particularly tricky place to be injured. With every movement, every step, every twist or turn, the human body manipulated the muscles in their lower torso in a way no other limb or piece was used. The chances of the injury site reopening if it wasn't forced to come together and heal quickly were high. The more firmly she could secure the wound the more she could decrease those chances.
By the time she was done, Neena's blood-soaked fingers had flicked and smeared scarlet across the man's tanned stomach, matting hair and staining skin in a mess that she hadn't cared anything for as she had worked. The patient's life was far more valuable than what his belly looked like when she was done. Regardless, however, Neena took one of the stray pieces of bandaging, and gave her work site a whip over to remove the morbid markings and then shifted back and away from the patient, her elbows down and her hands up and deepest red. There was far too much of the man's blood on her own hands to whip them on the limited fabric they had - she would find some water somewhere to clean herself up properly in a moment.
Attempting to get to her feet, however, was a little tricky as she didn't want to get blood all over Kreios' floor and hadn't realised until this moment just how long she had been kneeling for. Fit or not in terms of muscle, her circulation had been cut off from her legs for too long and she stumbled as she got to her feet, everything from her knees down feeling full of needles and numbness...
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 patient struggled. As she had known that he would. It was pure foolishness not to expect an unconscious man to resist any painful implementations upon his body when he came into a state of awareness. It was natural human preservation to avoid anything that was harmful. And when one had been unconscious for a significant period of time, and didn't know what was harmful and what was not... it was obvious to avoid anything that caused pain. Therefore, Neena was neither angry, not even annoyed at the man's angry instruction for her to cease and desist in what she was doing. He had no knowledge of his state of injury or that the particular discomfort she was inflicting upon him was for his own benefit. She didn't take it personally.
Instead, her tone was, for once, unemotional and calming as she instructed Kreios in keeping the man still. Her timbre held far less emotion than even of the stoic instructions he made of her in return as he attempted to hold down the injured party.
Shifting a little on her knees to accommodate the fact that Kreios was now practically laying across the man, seated on his legs to hold them in place and then laying lower to use his forearms across his chest and shoulders. When he told her to hurry up, Neena glanced at him for just a second, her lips quirking up into a smile as she kept her attention on the spot her fingertips occupied beneath the stranger's skin.
"Not a fan of pinning a man to your bed, Kreios?" She asked with a hint of her usual attitude but a hefty dose of slow distraction as she focused on what she was doing. Her last words, in fact, came with in a quite thoughtful tone, as if her focus had already left the conversation and was turned to the deep gash she trying to see inside. "Duly noted..."
The man had been stabbed alright, Neena's eyes narrowed as she became certain she had the correct point in his muscles that was torn beyond self-healing. Ignoring Kreios' instruction to work quickly - for she would have done so anyway and didn't require the prompt - Neena held the needle she had been given with confidence and, having no idea the pattern or technique to use with regards to sewing the two pieces of sinew together, she went with a stitch she knew from clothing - something assured to hold the pieces together securely. The two sides would need the time held in place to fuse properly themselves.
The minutes ticked by steadily and while it felt like a long time to those in the room, no-one had cause to complain as Neena's hands never slowed or stilled. She moved with a steady but careful pace that never let up. Once assured that her stitches were in place inside, she used a twist of her wrist to trim the hemp close with her little blade and then used the bandages to wipe away any remaining blood inside the injury. She waited for a second, prodding at the muscle and skin above but there were no fresh leaks of crimson or bubbling that would suggest a hole in her work, or cuts elsewhere. Satisfied, Neena turned her attention to the external opening of the wound and set to work sewing that in place just as she had the other. This time, it was easy for others in the room to watch her progress as she stitched the laceration closed, slowly but steadily and with a dexterity of someone used to sleight of hand games. Her fingers moved with an assurance and grace of someone confident in how each and every one of her fingers moved. She pushed the thick needle through skin, then up through the other side, she created a loop and slipped the needle through and then plunged the needle back down. As she worked, there was an intricate pattern forming over the patient's skin that never missed a stitch or broke structure. Her hands moved quickly, even if the work was slow. But she was determined to ensure that the large gash would not reopen on her watch. The abdomen was a particularly tricky place to be injured. With every movement, every step, every twist or turn, the human body manipulated the muscles in their lower torso in a way no other limb or piece was used. The chances of the injury site reopening if it wasn't forced to come together and heal quickly were high. The more firmly she could secure the wound the more she could decrease those chances.
By the time she was done, Neena's blood-soaked fingers had flicked and smeared scarlet across the man's tanned stomach, matting hair and staining skin in a mess that she hadn't cared anything for as she had worked. The patient's life was far more valuable than what his belly looked like when she was done. Regardless, however, Neena took one of the stray pieces of bandaging, and gave her work site a whip over to remove the morbid markings and then shifted back and away from the patient, her elbows down and her hands up and deepest red. There was far too much of the man's blood on her own hands to whip them on the limited fabric they had - she would find some water somewhere to clean herself up properly in a moment.
Attempting to get to her feet, however, was a little tricky as she didn't want to get blood all over Kreios' floor and hadn't realised until this moment just how long she had been kneeling for. Fit or not in terms of muscle, her circulation had been cut off from her legs for too long and she stumbled as she got to her feet, everything from her knees down feeling full of needles and numbness...
The patient struggled. As she had known that he would. It was pure foolishness not to expect an unconscious man to resist any painful implementations upon his body when he came into a state of awareness. It was natural human preservation to avoid anything that was harmful. And when one had been unconscious for a significant period of time, and didn't know what was harmful and what was not... it was obvious to avoid anything that caused pain. Therefore, Neena was neither angry, not even annoyed at the man's angry instruction for her to cease and desist in what she was doing. He had no knowledge of his state of injury or that the particular discomfort she was inflicting upon him was for his own benefit. She didn't take it personally.
Instead, her tone was, for once, unemotional and calming as she instructed Kreios in keeping the man still. Her timbre held far less emotion than even of the stoic instructions he made of her in return as he attempted to hold down the injured party.
Shifting a little on her knees to accommodate the fact that Kreios was now practically laying across the man, seated on his legs to hold them in place and then laying lower to use his forearms across his chest and shoulders. When he told her to hurry up, Neena glanced at him for just a second, her lips quirking up into a smile as she kept her attention on the spot her fingertips occupied beneath the stranger's skin.
"Not a fan of pinning a man to your bed, Kreios?" She asked with a hint of her usual attitude but a hefty dose of slow distraction as she focused on what she was doing. Her last words, in fact, came with in a quite thoughtful tone, as if her focus had already left the conversation and was turned to the deep gash she trying to see inside. "Duly noted..."
The man had been stabbed alright, Neena's eyes narrowed as she became certain she had the correct point in his muscles that was torn beyond self-healing. Ignoring Kreios' instruction to work quickly - for she would have done so anyway and didn't require the prompt - Neena held the needle she had been given with confidence and, having no idea the pattern or technique to use with regards to sewing the two pieces of sinew together, she went with a stitch she knew from clothing - something assured to hold the pieces together securely. The two sides would need the time held in place to fuse properly themselves.
The minutes ticked by steadily and while it felt like a long time to those in the room, no-one had cause to complain as Neena's hands never slowed or stilled. She moved with a steady but careful pace that never let up. Once assured that her stitches were in place inside, she used a twist of her wrist to trim the hemp close with her little blade and then used the bandages to wipe away any remaining blood inside the injury. She waited for a second, prodding at the muscle and skin above but there were no fresh leaks of crimson or bubbling that would suggest a hole in her work, or cuts elsewhere. Satisfied, Neena turned her attention to the external opening of the wound and set to work sewing that in place just as she had the other. This time, it was easy for others in the room to watch her progress as she stitched the laceration closed, slowly but steadily and with a dexterity of someone used to sleight of hand games. Her fingers moved with an assurance and grace of someone confident in how each and every one of her fingers moved. She pushed the thick needle through skin, then up through the other side, she created a loop and slipped the needle through and then plunged the needle back down. As she worked, there was an intricate pattern forming over the patient's skin that never missed a stitch or broke structure. Her hands moved quickly, even if the work was slow. But she was determined to ensure that the large gash would not reopen on her watch. The abdomen was a particularly tricky place to be injured. With every movement, every step, every twist or turn, the human body manipulated the muscles in their lower torso in a way no other limb or piece was used. The chances of the injury site reopening if it wasn't forced to come together and heal quickly were high. The more firmly she could secure the wound the more she could decrease those chances.
By the time she was done, Neena's blood-soaked fingers had flicked and smeared scarlet across the man's tanned stomach, matting hair and staining skin in a mess that she hadn't cared anything for as she had worked. The patient's life was far more valuable than what his belly looked like when she was done. Regardless, however, Neena took one of the stray pieces of bandaging, and gave her work site a whip over to remove the morbid markings and then shifted back and away from the patient, her elbows down and her hands up and deepest red. There was far too much of the man's blood on her own hands to whip them on the limited fabric they had - she would find some water somewhere to clean herself up properly in a moment.
Attempting to get to her feet, however, was a little tricky as she didn't want to get blood all over Kreios' floor and hadn't realised until this moment just how long she had been kneeling for. Fit or not in terms of muscle, her circulation had been cut off from her legs for too long and she stumbled as she got to her feet, everything from her knees down feeling full of needles and numbness...