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Slumped over in a chair, Timaeus swayed slightly even though his body was utterly relaxed. Palm on forehead, top of his head resting on the nearby wall. His gaze was struggling to focus on the man across him, glazing over and fluttering shut as the other spoke in a slurred languages only the other men in the tavern understood. Timaeus didn't know where the other man across the table came from. He didn't care. The man was a hoot, despite his haggard appearance and certain unshakeable piss-like smell.
"So, th'r we w're, boy, w'atching this 'iss-poor-" The older man was shouting in the not-so-noisy tavern, drawing the attention of some of the more sober patrons to the two sad drunks at the corner table.
"Yer lord," Timaeus rudely interrupted, waving his half-full cup at the other man, the blood-red liquid sloshing freely onto the table, "'M yer Lord, nit yer boy." Although his words were harsh and would otherwise carry an air of authority, the random bursts of giggles shattered that image. Timaeus would not be commanding anyone that evening, not even the stray dogs in the Midas streets would listen to him if he tried.
The older man leaned back in his chair as Timaeus fell forward, failing to catch himself before his head bonked the table. The drew bubbly laughs from the both of them before Tim hauled himself up as the older man slurred, "Yer a lord? Ha!" He dissolved into a laughing fit before continuing, "Like those Thanasi blokes, eh? Rub yer 'lbows with royals, don'tcha?"
"Noooooo," Timaeus drew out as he dramatically shook his head. His mind was fuzzy. He couldn't string together a single thought, but his mouth easily could. "'M so much better than them. Th'y're so green th'y're pissing grass!" This drew hearty laughter from both of the men. Both of them were Colchians, insults related to military prowess tended to cut deeper than other jabs would. "I've heard the young'st one," he paused for a moment, struggling to recall the name of Mihail of Thanasi. After a solid moment of failing to do so, he physically pushed the thought away with a dramatic wave of the hand, completely unaware of the uneasy hush that fell over the bar.
"I he'ard he wakes in a p'uddle of 'is own blood 'tween his legs ev'ry morning and screams at the sight of it." He burst out laughing at the image of an effeminate Mihail, bleeding like a woman every month. "No wonder he won't lift a sword. Too delicate for his lady hands."
The two men lost their marbles with this, falling into a fit of laughter that fed into each other. They were too busy wrapped up in their laughter; neither man noticed another man enter the tavern. His dark curly hair shook with laughter as he caught sight of the pissed-drunk baron. Oh, the things he did for duty.
He sauntered over to the Baron and roughly hauled the man to his feet. "Come on. It's time for you to head on home."
The drunkard didn't protest; instead, he just collapsed on his military partner's shoulder. This was a familiar routine for the pair of them. The sober one just grunted under the sudden weight as he moved to support Timaeus (which was swiftly rewarded by the baron reaching out to cup the other man's face as he tried to look in the man's dark coloured eyes, failing and giggling all the same. "I love youuuuu...you need to know," Tim slurred out.
The military man only shook his head and snickered. "Save it for your beloved, Timaeus." He then moved one arm under his captain's armpits and guided him to the door. Timaeus didn't protest as he stumbled along towards the door, instead choosing to waste his breath by loudly growling, "Don't you dare say anything about her. She's mine." He then stopped talking for a moment as a huge smile broke out on his face as he recalled the girl he had known for only ten months but was now hopelessly head over heels for.
"I miss her. I w’nt to see h’r. Ah, no one is fin’r than my Leni," he said wistfully as they finally reached the door and the sober one said as parting words to the bar before disappearing into the night with the drunk man, "No, my lord, let's get you home."
Just like that, they were gone into the night and the night continued for those who were in the tavern.
That is except for one slight man, who quietly paid the wench for the cup he now left abandoned, before he too slipped into the night, eager to report what he had the pleasure of overhearing.
~~~~
"We should at least follow you, my lord. You never know what-" The gruff voice said, echoing just as loudly as the footsteps of two men crossed the courtyard of a large manor house. Equal in size, stature, and age, the two of them might have been mistaken for cousins, if not brothers, if the man with the rougher voice didn't have quite a unique mane of thick dark curls spilling from his head. His face was contorted with worry as the two of them spoke.
The other man only rolled his eyes as his eyes danced and were blinded by the pure joy he felt. A wide unshakeable grin spread across his face as he quickly dismissed the officer's genuine concerns away with a cheeky, "What she may do, Lieutenant? I'll admit she may have a few weapons she could use against me." This pulled a chuckle from the other man, seeing right through the Lord Timaeus's loaded words. "But I should think that honeyed words would hardly be of any concern of yours."
Quickly arriving at the stables, the lord motioned for the stableboys to bring his trusted stallion, Thrasos, to him. They scurried off without a word as the baron turned back to his second in command, a highly trusted officer who knew more about the baron than he cared to admit. After all, this was the man who often hauled the baron's sorry self out of whatever tavern he found himself in, and Zeus only knew what embarrassing and regrettable things he said to the man in his drunken state. This was a man Timaeus was forced to have the utmost trust in.
But sometimes Timaeus wished the man would have the same faith in him. Especially when it came to matters such as this.
"Timaeus," the other man said, dropping the formalities and instead attempting to reason with the friend within the baron. "You never know. She might-"
"She might what?" Timaeus interrupted, a sense of frustration breaking through the boyish joy. "She might hide a knife in her chiton and try to cut my throat? Or do you believe she'll poison the wine and watch me choke to death? Or better yet, she might-"
"I don't believe she will do any of that," the second man said, cutting the spiel short. They were, of course, speaking of the woman Timaeus was preparing to ride out to meet alone. She, of course, was the lovely Zelenia of Eubocris, a merchant's daughter who had managed to ensnare the young baron's heart in such a short timeframe. Introduced in the summer, lovebirds in the fall, and still just as strong through the harsh Colchian winter.
Truly, he was mad for her, so whenever the baron had a chance to slip away for a few hours to see her, he took it without question. It was difficult to arrange, especially since she insisted on deciding when they would meet because of her need to keep the relationship a secret from her controlling family. Timaeus wasn't too thrilled by the arrangement himself, but he understood why it must be done. Or, at least, he believed he did. Zelenia, or Leni, as Tim called her, may not hold many memories of the province she was born in, but her family did, and the people of Eubocris had never taken kindly to the Valaoritis family and its current head in particular. Not when rumors still swirled over whether or not Timaeus was guilty of poisoning his own brother.
It was false, of course, but Tim had long ago given up reasoning with them. It was truly a lost cause in his mind. Let them believe the lies, he knew the truth and eventually they will as well. "Our Land, Our History." One day, his family's words would ring true across the province.
The stablehands had now returned with Timaeus's prized stallion, a chestnut Andalusian known as Thrasos. A rough cloth had been thrown over the beast's back for his comfort, but as the baron pulled himself into the saddle, he didn't even feel the rough fabric through his riding pants. With a nod to the second in command, he urged the horse towards the entrance to the estate but was stopped by the other man when he grabbed the reins.
"Are you sure you don't want us to follow? I have a-" He tried one final time to reason with the baron, but he was quickly shaken off by the man eager to meet with his love.
"I was clear in my wishes, Lieutenant." he said roughly, just as restless as the horse beneath him, wanting to fly through the streets to the familiar cove the lovebirds knew intimately well. "With any luck, I will not return until morning. Otherwise, I will return at my own leisure."
With those final words, Timaeus turned Thrasos towards the entrance, and with a sharp jolt of his heel digging into the beast's side, the pair were off, leaving only a trail of dust in their wake.
The horse thundered down the streets of the upper levels, instantly trying to shake any footmen who his second in command would send to tail him. Timaeus weaved through the streets in a rather odd, roundabout way just to succeed in this very purpose, passing any citizens in a blur of brown beast and red fabric as his chiton was a deep scarlet, the color of his house.
Only once he had reached a point where he was sure he wasn't being followed, did he slow Thrasos and lead him in the proper direction to the cove behind the Naos Caverns. It was their de facto meeting place due to the privacy it offered the pair, and it also held quite a significant meaning for both of them. This was where they had met on that hot summer day not that long ago.
As Thrasos rounded behind the temples and led him down the rocky path, he couldn't suppress the grin on his face as he recalled the events of that afternoon: seeing her stranded from the top of the cliffs; wading out to 'rescue' her; accidentally tipping the boat; and the amazing feeling of holding her in his arms as he carried her back to shore. His forearms burned at the memory of now familiar weight of her. It bit back sharply against the cool early spring air, sending all sorts of chills down his spine.
He couldn't deny that it was odd that Leni would choose to meet here with such brutal weather afoot. He knew her as a delicate thing, easy to catch a chill and difficult to lose it. Timaeus was greatly for remembering to grab a riding cloak in that regard; he could already sense that it would soon be around her shoulders instead of his.
In fact, as he moved further down the rocky path, he deftly reached up to the strings to start tugging it loose but stopped suddenly when he realized that there was no one on the beach below.
Huh? He silently thought to himself as he instinctively urged Thrasos forward, speeding their descent as that familiar sense of protective panic gripped his chest. He was never the first to arrive at their rendezvous points. Out of the countless times, they had met here, Leni was always the first to arrive, already waiting for him.
This hardly seemed like time for there to be a first.
Once Thrasos reached the sand below, Timaeus quickly slid off of the warhorse's back, reaching for a paper he had tucked away in his tunic. As he fished it out, he scanned the empty beach, looking for any sign that she was just hiding somewhere. But there wasn't even any sign of footprints that might belong to her. The tide was just gone out; there were only his imprints in the sand.
He was utterly alone.
Breathing a deep sigh of annoyance, Timaeus unfurled her letter and scanned over the few lines to ensure that nothing was amiss on his end. No, he had everything correct. The letter said to meet him here in the cove on the eighth day of Ermaios, just after midday.
He was here. So where was she?
Shoving it back against his chest, under the fabrics, he glanced back up the hillside. He expected to see her rushing down to him, rambling apologies as that fiery red hair that drove him absolutely mad with desire would swirl about her face in the wind. Just the mere image of her in his mind caused his stomach to drop in that familiar, thrilling sensation, forcing him to turn away from the cliffside past lest he actually caught sight of her. He had no doubt that if he saw her right now, he wouldn't be able to resist the allure of her porcelain skin. Oh, it had been so long since he had been able to feel her featherlight touches roaming his chest. He had nearly forgotten what her lips tasted like if that was even possible... and, oh gods, the way they both...
"Focus," he quietly muttered to himself as he forced his eyes away from the cliffside path (and from the cave they knew a little too well) out towards the ocean in order to keep his composure before she would appear.
All he could do now was wait. No matter how long it took, he'd be here waiting...
...for her.
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Slumped over in a chair, Timaeus swayed slightly even though his body was utterly relaxed. Palm on forehead, top of his head resting on the nearby wall. His gaze was struggling to focus on the man across him, glazing over and fluttering shut as the other spoke in a slurred languages only the other men in the tavern understood. Timaeus didn't know where the other man across the table came from. He didn't care. The man was a hoot, despite his haggard appearance and certain unshakeable piss-like smell.
"So, th'r we w're, boy, w'atching this 'iss-poor-" The older man was shouting in the not-so-noisy tavern, drawing the attention of some of the more sober patrons to the two sad drunks at the corner table.
"Yer lord," Timaeus rudely interrupted, waving his half-full cup at the other man, the blood-red liquid sloshing freely onto the table, "'M yer Lord, nit yer boy." Although his words were harsh and would otherwise carry an air of authority, the random bursts of giggles shattered that image. Timaeus would not be commanding anyone that evening, not even the stray dogs in the Midas streets would listen to him if he tried.
The older man leaned back in his chair as Timaeus fell forward, failing to catch himself before his head bonked the table. The drew bubbly laughs from the both of them before Tim hauled himself up as the older man slurred, "Yer a lord? Ha!" He dissolved into a laughing fit before continuing, "Like those Thanasi blokes, eh? Rub yer 'lbows with royals, don'tcha?"
"Noooooo," Timaeus drew out as he dramatically shook his head. His mind was fuzzy. He couldn't string together a single thought, but his mouth easily could. "'M so much better than them. Th'y're so green th'y're pissing grass!" This drew hearty laughter from both of the men. Both of them were Colchians, insults related to military prowess tended to cut deeper than other jabs would. "I've heard the young'st one," he paused for a moment, struggling to recall the name of Mihail of Thanasi. After a solid moment of failing to do so, he physically pushed the thought away with a dramatic wave of the hand, completely unaware of the uneasy hush that fell over the bar.
"I he'ard he wakes in a p'uddle of 'is own blood 'tween his legs ev'ry morning and screams at the sight of it." He burst out laughing at the image of an effeminate Mihail, bleeding like a woman every month. "No wonder he won't lift a sword. Too delicate for his lady hands."
The two men lost their marbles with this, falling into a fit of laughter that fed into each other. They were too busy wrapped up in their laughter; neither man noticed another man enter the tavern. His dark curly hair shook with laughter as he caught sight of the pissed-drunk baron. Oh, the things he did for duty.
He sauntered over to the Baron and roughly hauled the man to his feet. "Come on. It's time for you to head on home."
The drunkard didn't protest; instead, he just collapsed on his military partner's shoulder. This was a familiar routine for the pair of them. The sober one just grunted under the sudden weight as he moved to support Timaeus (which was swiftly rewarded by the baron reaching out to cup the other man's face as he tried to look in the man's dark coloured eyes, failing and giggling all the same. "I love youuuuu...you need to know," Tim slurred out.
The military man only shook his head and snickered. "Save it for your beloved, Timaeus." He then moved one arm under his captain's armpits and guided him to the door. Timaeus didn't protest as he stumbled along towards the door, instead choosing to waste his breath by loudly growling, "Don't you dare say anything about her. She's mine." He then stopped talking for a moment as a huge smile broke out on his face as he recalled the girl he had known for only ten months but was now hopelessly head over heels for.
"I miss her. I w’nt to see h’r. Ah, no one is fin’r than my Leni," he said wistfully as they finally reached the door and the sober one said as parting words to the bar before disappearing into the night with the drunk man, "No, my lord, let's get you home."
Just like that, they were gone into the night and the night continued for those who were in the tavern.
That is except for one slight man, who quietly paid the wench for the cup he now left abandoned, before he too slipped into the night, eager to report what he had the pleasure of overhearing.
~~~~
"We should at least follow you, my lord. You never know what-" The gruff voice said, echoing just as loudly as the footsteps of two men crossed the courtyard of a large manor house. Equal in size, stature, and age, the two of them might have been mistaken for cousins, if not brothers, if the man with the rougher voice didn't have quite a unique mane of thick dark curls spilling from his head. His face was contorted with worry as the two of them spoke.
The other man only rolled his eyes as his eyes danced and were blinded by the pure joy he felt. A wide unshakeable grin spread across his face as he quickly dismissed the officer's genuine concerns away with a cheeky, "What she may do, Lieutenant? I'll admit she may have a few weapons she could use against me." This pulled a chuckle from the other man, seeing right through the Lord Timaeus's loaded words. "But I should think that honeyed words would hardly be of any concern of yours."
Quickly arriving at the stables, the lord motioned for the stableboys to bring his trusted stallion, Thrasos, to him. They scurried off without a word as the baron turned back to his second in command, a highly trusted officer who knew more about the baron than he cared to admit. After all, this was the man who often hauled the baron's sorry self out of whatever tavern he found himself in, and Zeus only knew what embarrassing and regrettable things he said to the man in his drunken state. This was a man Timaeus was forced to have the utmost trust in.
But sometimes Timaeus wished the man would have the same faith in him. Especially when it came to matters such as this.
"Timaeus," the other man said, dropping the formalities and instead attempting to reason with the friend within the baron. "You never know. She might-"
"She might what?" Timaeus interrupted, a sense of frustration breaking through the boyish joy. "She might hide a knife in her chiton and try to cut my throat? Or do you believe she'll poison the wine and watch me choke to death? Or better yet, she might-"
"I don't believe she will do any of that," the second man said, cutting the spiel short. They were, of course, speaking of the woman Timaeus was preparing to ride out to meet alone. She, of course, was the lovely Zelenia of Eubocris, a merchant's daughter who had managed to ensnare the young baron's heart in such a short timeframe. Introduced in the summer, lovebirds in the fall, and still just as strong through the harsh Colchian winter.
Truly, he was mad for her, so whenever the baron had a chance to slip away for a few hours to see her, he took it without question. It was difficult to arrange, especially since she insisted on deciding when they would meet because of her need to keep the relationship a secret from her controlling family. Timaeus wasn't too thrilled by the arrangement himself, but he understood why it must be done. Or, at least, he believed he did. Zelenia, or Leni, as Tim called her, may not hold many memories of the province she was born in, but her family did, and the people of Eubocris had never taken kindly to the Valaoritis family and its current head in particular. Not when rumors still swirled over whether or not Timaeus was guilty of poisoning his own brother.
It was false, of course, but Tim had long ago given up reasoning with them. It was truly a lost cause in his mind. Let them believe the lies, he knew the truth and eventually they will as well. "Our Land, Our History." One day, his family's words would ring true across the province.
The stablehands had now returned with Timaeus's prized stallion, a chestnut Andalusian known as Thrasos. A rough cloth had been thrown over the beast's back for his comfort, but as the baron pulled himself into the saddle, he didn't even feel the rough fabric through his riding pants. With a nod to the second in command, he urged the horse towards the entrance to the estate but was stopped by the other man when he grabbed the reins.
"Are you sure you don't want us to follow? I have a-" He tried one final time to reason with the baron, but he was quickly shaken off by the man eager to meet with his love.
"I was clear in my wishes, Lieutenant." he said roughly, just as restless as the horse beneath him, wanting to fly through the streets to the familiar cove the lovebirds knew intimately well. "With any luck, I will not return until morning. Otherwise, I will return at my own leisure."
With those final words, Timaeus turned Thrasos towards the entrance, and with a sharp jolt of his heel digging into the beast's side, the pair were off, leaving only a trail of dust in their wake.
The horse thundered down the streets of the upper levels, instantly trying to shake any footmen who his second in command would send to tail him. Timaeus weaved through the streets in a rather odd, roundabout way just to succeed in this very purpose, passing any citizens in a blur of brown beast and red fabric as his chiton was a deep scarlet, the color of his house.
Only once he had reached a point where he was sure he wasn't being followed, did he slow Thrasos and lead him in the proper direction to the cove behind the Naos Caverns. It was their de facto meeting place due to the privacy it offered the pair, and it also held quite a significant meaning for both of them. This was where they had met on that hot summer day not that long ago.
As Thrasos rounded behind the temples and led him down the rocky path, he couldn't suppress the grin on his face as he recalled the events of that afternoon: seeing her stranded from the top of the cliffs; wading out to 'rescue' her; accidentally tipping the boat; and the amazing feeling of holding her in his arms as he carried her back to shore. His forearms burned at the memory of now familiar weight of her. It bit back sharply against the cool early spring air, sending all sorts of chills down his spine.
He couldn't deny that it was odd that Leni would choose to meet here with such brutal weather afoot. He knew her as a delicate thing, easy to catch a chill and difficult to lose it. Timaeus was greatly for remembering to grab a riding cloak in that regard; he could already sense that it would soon be around her shoulders instead of his.
In fact, as he moved further down the rocky path, he deftly reached up to the strings to start tugging it loose but stopped suddenly when he realized that there was no one on the beach below.
Huh? He silently thought to himself as he instinctively urged Thrasos forward, speeding their descent as that familiar sense of protective panic gripped his chest. He was never the first to arrive at their rendezvous points. Out of the countless times, they had met here, Leni was always the first to arrive, already waiting for him.
This hardly seemed like time for there to be a first.
Once Thrasos reached the sand below, Timaeus quickly slid off of the warhorse's back, reaching for a paper he had tucked away in his tunic. As he fished it out, he scanned the empty beach, looking for any sign that she was just hiding somewhere. But there wasn't even any sign of footprints that might belong to her. The tide was just gone out; there were only his imprints in the sand.
He was utterly alone.
Breathing a deep sigh of annoyance, Timaeus unfurled her letter and scanned over the few lines to ensure that nothing was amiss on his end. No, he had everything correct. The letter said to meet him here in the cove on the eighth day of Ermaios, just after midday.
He was here. So where was she?
Shoving it back against his chest, under the fabrics, he glanced back up the hillside. He expected to see her rushing down to him, rambling apologies as that fiery red hair that drove him absolutely mad with desire would swirl about her face in the wind. Just the mere image of her in his mind caused his stomach to drop in that familiar, thrilling sensation, forcing him to turn away from the cliffside past lest he actually caught sight of her. He had no doubt that if he saw her right now, he wouldn't be able to resist the allure of her porcelain skin. Oh, it had been so long since he had been able to feel her featherlight touches roaming his chest. He had nearly forgotten what her lips tasted like if that was even possible... and, oh gods, the way they both...
"Focus," he quietly muttered to himself as he forced his eyes away from the cliffside path (and from the cave they knew a little too well) out towards the ocean in order to keep his composure before she would appear.
All he could do now was wait. No matter how long it took, he'd be here waiting...
...for her.
Slumped over in a chair, Timaeus swayed slightly even though his body was utterly relaxed. Palm on forehead, top of his head resting on the nearby wall. His gaze was struggling to focus on the man across him, glazing over and fluttering shut as the other spoke in a slurred languages only the other men in the tavern understood. Timaeus didn't know where the other man across the table came from. He didn't care. The man was a hoot, despite his haggard appearance and certain unshakeable piss-like smell.
"So, th'r we w're, boy, w'atching this 'iss-poor-" The older man was shouting in the not-so-noisy tavern, drawing the attention of some of the more sober patrons to the two sad drunks at the corner table.
"Yer lord," Timaeus rudely interrupted, waving his half-full cup at the other man, the blood-red liquid sloshing freely onto the table, "'M yer Lord, nit yer boy." Although his words were harsh and would otherwise carry an air of authority, the random bursts of giggles shattered that image. Timaeus would not be commanding anyone that evening, not even the stray dogs in the Midas streets would listen to him if he tried.
The older man leaned back in his chair as Timaeus fell forward, failing to catch himself before his head bonked the table. The drew bubbly laughs from the both of them before Tim hauled himself up as the older man slurred, "Yer a lord? Ha!" He dissolved into a laughing fit before continuing, "Like those Thanasi blokes, eh? Rub yer 'lbows with royals, don'tcha?"
"Noooooo," Timaeus drew out as he dramatically shook his head. His mind was fuzzy. He couldn't string together a single thought, but his mouth easily could. "'M so much better than them. Th'y're so green th'y're pissing grass!" This drew hearty laughter from both of the men. Both of them were Colchians, insults related to military prowess tended to cut deeper than other jabs would. "I've heard the young'st one," he paused for a moment, struggling to recall the name of Mihail of Thanasi. After a solid moment of failing to do so, he physically pushed the thought away with a dramatic wave of the hand, completely unaware of the uneasy hush that fell over the bar.
"I he'ard he wakes in a p'uddle of 'is own blood 'tween his legs ev'ry morning and screams at the sight of it." He burst out laughing at the image of an effeminate Mihail, bleeding like a woman every month. "No wonder he won't lift a sword. Too delicate for his lady hands."
The two men lost their marbles with this, falling into a fit of laughter that fed into each other. They were too busy wrapped up in their laughter; neither man noticed another man enter the tavern. His dark curly hair shook with laughter as he caught sight of the pissed-drunk baron. Oh, the things he did for duty.
He sauntered over to the Baron and roughly hauled the man to his feet. "Come on. It's time for you to head on home."
The drunkard didn't protest; instead, he just collapsed on his military partner's shoulder. This was a familiar routine for the pair of them. The sober one just grunted under the sudden weight as he moved to support Timaeus (which was swiftly rewarded by the baron reaching out to cup the other man's face as he tried to look in the man's dark coloured eyes, failing and giggling all the same. "I love youuuuu...you need to know," Tim slurred out.
The military man only shook his head and snickered. "Save it for your beloved, Timaeus." He then moved one arm under his captain's armpits and guided him to the door. Timaeus didn't protest as he stumbled along towards the door, instead choosing to waste his breath by loudly growling, "Don't you dare say anything about her. She's mine." He then stopped talking for a moment as a huge smile broke out on his face as he recalled the girl he had known for only ten months but was now hopelessly head over heels for.
"I miss her. I w’nt to see h’r. Ah, no one is fin’r than my Leni," he said wistfully as they finally reached the door and the sober one said as parting words to the bar before disappearing into the night with the drunk man, "No, my lord, let's get you home."
Just like that, they were gone into the night and the night continued for those who were in the tavern.
That is except for one slight man, who quietly paid the wench for the cup he now left abandoned, before he too slipped into the night, eager to report what he had the pleasure of overhearing.
~~~~
"We should at least follow you, my lord. You never know what-" The gruff voice said, echoing just as loudly as the footsteps of two men crossed the courtyard of a large manor house. Equal in size, stature, and age, the two of them might have been mistaken for cousins, if not brothers, if the man with the rougher voice didn't have quite a unique mane of thick dark curls spilling from his head. His face was contorted with worry as the two of them spoke.
The other man only rolled his eyes as his eyes danced and were blinded by the pure joy he felt. A wide unshakeable grin spread across his face as he quickly dismissed the officer's genuine concerns away with a cheeky, "What she may do, Lieutenant? I'll admit she may have a few weapons she could use against me." This pulled a chuckle from the other man, seeing right through the Lord Timaeus's loaded words. "But I should think that honeyed words would hardly be of any concern of yours."
Quickly arriving at the stables, the lord motioned for the stableboys to bring his trusted stallion, Thrasos, to him. They scurried off without a word as the baron turned back to his second in command, a highly trusted officer who knew more about the baron than he cared to admit. After all, this was the man who often hauled the baron's sorry self out of whatever tavern he found himself in, and Zeus only knew what embarrassing and regrettable things he said to the man in his drunken state. This was a man Timaeus was forced to have the utmost trust in.
But sometimes Timaeus wished the man would have the same faith in him. Especially when it came to matters such as this.
"Timaeus," the other man said, dropping the formalities and instead attempting to reason with the friend within the baron. "You never know. She might-"
"She might what?" Timaeus interrupted, a sense of frustration breaking through the boyish joy. "She might hide a knife in her chiton and try to cut my throat? Or do you believe she'll poison the wine and watch me choke to death? Or better yet, she might-"
"I don't believe she will do any of that," the second man said, cutting the spiel short. They were, of course, speaking of the woman Timaeus was preparing to ride out to meet alone. She, of course, was the lovely Zelenia of Eubocris, a merchant's daughter who had managed to ensnare the young baron's heart in such a short timeframe. Introduced in the summer, lovebirds in the fall, and still just as strong through the harsh Colchian winter.
Truly, he was mad for her, so whenever the baron had a chance to slip away for a few hours to see her, he took it without question. It was difficult to arrange, especially since she insisted on deciding when they would meet because of her need to keep the relationship a secret from her controlling family. Timaeus wasn't too thrilled by the arrangement himself, but he understood why it must be done. Or, at least, he believed he did. Zelenia, or Leni, as Tim called her, may not hold many memories of the province she was born in, but her family did, and the people of Eubocris had never taken kindly to the Valaoritis family and its current head in particular. Not when rumors still swirled over whether or not Timaeus was guilty of poisoning his own brother.
It was false, of course, but Tim had long ago given up reasoning with them. It was truly a lost cause in his mind. Let them believe the lies, he knew the truth and eventually they will as well. "Our Land, Our History." One day, his family's words would ring true across the province.
The stablehands had now returned with Timaeus's prized stallion, a chestnut Andalusian known as Thrasos. A rough cloth had been thrown over the beast's back for his comfort, but as the baron pulled himself into the saddle, he didn't even feel the rough fabric through his riding pants. With a nod to the second in command, he urged the horse towards the entrance to the estate but was stopped by the other man when he grabbed the reins.
"Are you sure you don't want us to follow? I have a-" He tried one final time to reason with the baron, but he was quickly shaken off by the man eager to meet with his love.
"I was clear in my wishes, Lieutenant." he said roughly, just as restless as the horse beneath him, wanting to fly through the streets to the familiar cove the lovebirds knew intimately well. "With any luck, I will not return until morning. Otherwise, I will return at my own leisure."
With those final words, Timaeus turned Thrasos towards the entrance, and with a sharp jolt of his heel digging into the beast's side, the pair were off, leaving only a trail of dust in their wake.
The horse thundered down the streets of the upper levels, instantly trying to shake any footmen who his second in command would send to tail him. Timaeus weaved through the streets in a rather odd, roundabout way just to succeed in this very purpose, passing any citizens in a blur of brown beast and red fabric as his chiton was a deep scarlet, the color of his house.
Only once he had reached a point where he was sure he wasn't being followed, did he slow Thrasos and lead him in the proper direction to the cove behind the Naos Caverns. It was their de facto meeting place due to the privacy it offered the pair, and it also held quite a significant meaning for both of them. This was where they had met on that hot summer day not that long ago.
As Thrasos rounded behind the temples and led him down the rocky path, he couldn't suppress the grin on his face as he recalled the events of that afternoon: seeing her stranded from the top of the cliffs; wading out to 'rescue' her; accidentally tipping the boat; and the amazing feeling of holding her in his arms as he carried her back to shore. His forearms burned at the memory of now familiar weight of her. It bit back sharply against the cool early spring air, sending all sorts of chills down his spine.
He couldn't deny that it was odd that Leni would choose to meet here with such brutal weather afoot. He knew her as a delicate thing, easy to catch a chill and difficult to lose it. Timaeus was greatly for remembering to grab a riding cloak in that regard; he could already sense that it would soon be around her shoulders instead of his.
In fact, as he moved further down the rocky path, he deftly reached up to the strings to start tugging it loose but stopped suddenly when he realized that there was no one on the beach below.
Huh? He silently thought to himself as he instinctively urged Thrasos forward, speeding their descent as that familiar sense of protective panic gripped his chest. He was never the first to arrive at their rendezvous points. Out of the countless times, they had met here, Leni was always the first to arrive, already waiting for him.
This hardly seemed like time for there to be a first.
Once Thrasos reached the sand below, Timaeus quickly slid off of the warhorse's back, reaching for a paper he had tucked away in his tunic. As he fished it out, he scanned the empty beach, looking for any sign that she was just hiding somewhere. But there wasn't even any sign of footprints that might belong to her. The tide was just gone out; there were only his imprints in the sand.
He was utterly alone.
Breathing a deep sigh of annoyance, Timaeus unfurled her letter and scanned over the few lines to ensure that nothing was amiss on his end. No, he had everything correct. The letter said to meet him here in the cove on the eighth day of Ermaios, just after midday.
He was here. So where was she?
Shoving it back against his chest, under the fabrics, he glanced back up the hillside. He expected to see her rushing down to him, rambling apologies as that fiery red hair that drove him absolutely mad with desire would swirl about her face in the wind. Just the mere image of her in his mind caused his stomach to drop in that familiar, thrilling sensation, forcing him to turn away from the cliffside past lest he actually caught sight of her. He had no doubt that if he saw her right now, he wouldn't be able to resist the allure of her porcelain skin. Oh, it had been so long since he had been able to feel her featherlight touches roaming his chest. He had nearly forgotten what her lips tasted like if that was even possible... and, oh gods, the way they both...
"Focus," he quietly muttered to himself as he forced his eyes away from the cliffside path (and from the cave they knew a little too well) out towards the ocean in order to keep his composure before she would appear.
All he could do now was wait. No matter how long it took, he'd be here waiting...
...for her.
Mihail did not take graciously to being undermined.
He was a Thanasi, and Thanasis were not kind. They were cruel and intelligent and vicious. If they were wronged, then pity whoever hurt them: there was a reason the sisters were deemed witches by so many. And it was true that many assumed that ’twas only the females of the family who held such a reputation for ruthlessness - even Dysius’s temper was often left to the wayside in favour of Nethis or Thea - but the pair of brothers could cause just as much as harm as their siblings if they so willed it. They may not have had the same methodologies, but they could be just as deadly.
This particular Thanasi, he usually dealt out his vengeance in words. Little snippets of gossip and rightly placed rumours fed into the all-powerful ears of the noble classes and the easy-chattering mouths of the poor. They were powerful enough to topple empires if need be, bring men down from their high roosts and raise others to new heights. However, words could not solve every dispute. Moreover, his sisters couldn’t either. Every so often there was a struggle that Mihail found he would have to address himself, with no aid whatsoever from his siblings and no use for his lies. Certain people would not break, and those required particular attention.
Youth did not make one weak.
Quite the contrary: it made Mihail fiercer and stronger. Were he older, he might not have cared so much, ignored what had been said and been merely about his day. However, he was still young, and he was still impulsive enough that once heard the news that anybody had made the slightest derogatory comment, there was no going back.
It was one Timaeus of Valaoritis who had been spreading rumours. Mihail had not been present to hear his exact words, but he had his sources of information, and he knew the story well enough. The idiot had gotten drunk in some crowded tavern and, in his inebriated stupor, had begun to voice his very loud opinions on the youngest of the Thanasi brood. And oh, such hideous ideas. Such claims of cowardice and uselessness. Such claims that he was nothing more than a disgrace to his family name and a worthless waste of space. The man had the gall to call him effeminate...and worse. Admittedly, it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but if people were going to insult him so then, Mihail much preferred they do it to his face - or at least in front of his sisters. Those situations could be handled much more efficiently. Not this one.
Mihail would show him exactly who was worthless.
He was not stupid, and he had learned from the very best. He had spent long enough alongside Nethis and Thea to know all the tricks of the trade, and it didn't take long before he had found the perfect weaknesses and had made the ideal plans to wreck him as he had so tried to ruin the Thanasi lord. It seemed a certain Zelenia of Eubrocris had taken the young baron's heart, and once Mihail had that vital scrap of information, the rest of his plan had fallen together all too easily. Some time had been spent keeping her watched - just long enough to find her voice, and her mannerisms - and then Mihail had drafted the letter himself, a far more hands-on approach than anyone would have come to expect from him. He was far more used to focussing on nought but the planning of the deed and allowing others to handle the dirty work.
'Charming Timaeus of Eubocris,' it had read, so sickly and sweet and atypical of him. 'I should like to meet you...'
The rest of the letter had continued in such a manner: filled with a level of consideration that Mihail would never have envisioned himself using outside of communications with Evras. Each word had been so delicately chosen; each phrase crafted with such an exceptional precision to detail that none should identify it as the work of any mind but Zelenia's. He had taken the necessary precautions should Timaeus query why the missive was written in such a masculine hand, a casual remark on the use of a scribe buried amongst the sentiment and a request that, in the afternoon of the eighth day of Ermaios, they convene once more in the cove where they had first laid eyes on one another.
The trap may have been well set, though it was not immune to glitches. Timaeus might have been foolish enough to send word of the meeting back to Zelenia, despite the veil of secrecy which appeared to preside over their interactions, and she would have protested ignorance, and the whole business might have become unravelled. There was potential that another storm would devastate Colchis that very day and the meeting would have to be postponed. However, it was too late now to analyse each aspect of the plot further, and the boy would only have to hope he was fortunate enough that all the remaining piece fell into place. It was ridiculous how much of this relied on luck.
Could one call Mihail lucky?
He had prepared everything that remained the evening before the event, throwing as little caution to the wind as was possible. The chiton selected roomy enough to allow for the ease of mobility and yet fashionable enough to make a statement; make it evident that this was a show to watch, a deep sanguine red with classic ebony trim and metallic shoulder clasp moulded to look like the viper he so often wore around his neck. The sandals black, similar in their design and comfortable for movement. His favoured bow in a position of easy access: everything prepared.
That night, a night when one might have expected him to be tossing and turning out of the sheer nerves of what was to come, Mihail had slept more soundly than the usual. The following morning, he awoke early (the others in his household would have been wise to take this untimely rising as a sign that something was afoot, and yet they did not). Each step of the plan ran through Mihail's mind once more, half-distracted as he went through the motions of his morning routine, dressing in his chosen chiton and running a sharp razor over his jaw. He felt the warm liquid running down his chin before he saw the colour on his fingertips. He had drawn blood, but the red drops had disappeared into the rusty darkness of his chiton. There would be no trace of the deed once it was done.
The right side of his mouth twitched up into its more usual smirk and deepened further the now semi-permanent indent in his cheek.
Wiping the remaining ichor away with his thumb, he splashed some cold water over the wound, smoothing his hands over the soft skin of his face. Effeminate. Some men could spend hours on nothing more than their appearance and Mihail was not one of them, only so interested in ensuring appropriate attire for the occasion. This was to be a grand production, and he would dress for a show.
And Timaeus, Timaeus would be his unwilling audience.
With the boy's bow readied previously and Timaeus not due at the bay until the late afternoon, he had nothing left to worry about that morning, only taking some time to practise his archery as he did all mornings - although, on most occasions, 'twas not as necessary as today. This bow was new, he had only had it a few months, and Mihail still felt there was a resistance to it that required working out. There was a carefully engineered method behind every piece of the puzzle. They were basic arrows he used in his drill, their ovate heads designed from hardy bronze, each burrowing deep into the distant target at which he aimed. It was a daily custom which had earned him the ability to brag that he might have split an arrow had he willed it.
It was not until the sun had reached its highest point in the sky that Mihail left the Thanasi household, excusing himself from his family's scrutiny with a comment that he had 'private matters' to which he must attend. Thea had teased that he was visiting that boy once again, one who'd visited the Thanasi home a few times now, and he had told her to lower her voice lest Nethis hear. She was not yet privy to his dalliances with the same sex - not that he kept her in the know when it came to most of his relationships: only those that he considered potentially serious - and he did not entirely plan for her to discover such a thing thanks to a silly slip of the tongue.
On this day, he was not visiting the pretty boy from the shops, however much he might have wished to, but instead making his way through the centre of Midas, out of the city's inner circle and past the temples of the gods, ignoring all those who had come for their daily worship. Behind the impressive structures dedicated to these great deities was a single trail, rough and worn, and it was along here that he now walked, hidden from the sight of most.
Upon his arrival, he noted the other was already present, although he seemed far too engrossed in his thoughts, allowing Mihail the opportunity to find the bow and set of arrows he had hidden a few days before, stashed amongst some unassuming rocks. It was a treatment to which he would not have subjected his archery equipment if something so vital had not been at stake. Vital to the plan.
For a day so early in Ermaios, when one might consider the weather to be doubtlessly chilly as spring had only just begun to take over from winter, it had dawned bright and sunshiny, and, though it may not have been so evident within the Thanasi archontiko, it was delightful on the waterside. A gentle breeze was blowing, not enough for him to have to adjust any of his calculations but enough to rustle his hair as he stood above the cliffs, more imperious than he had ever appeared. It was, in every respect, the perfect day to meet one's lover in such an idyllic location. Fortune was favouring Mihail.
Hovering atop the rocks in such a position where he could comfortably view the beach where Timaeus waited, the Thanasi paused until he had turned his back to the cliffs and his attention was elsewhere before he first raised his bow.
A soft, rushing sound. The first arrow appeared a miss as its barbed tip sunk into the dampened sand beside Timaeus's sandals. There was a single, dense instance of silence as the wooden shaft wedged itself into the ground and his victim became startlingly aware of the situation. It was a long enough moment for Mihail to load a second arrow into his bow, a shsh-thunk resonating through the air as it grazed the side of the other's leg, enough to pain him albeit not seriously. A shsh-thunk as a third penetrated his shoulder. They were not shots intended to kill; else they would have.
Timaeus was no fool, however much Mihail might have wished to award him that title, and it was not long until his gaze was raised to see where his attacker stood, the pair separated by nothing more than the height of the cliff. Mihail had loaded a fourth bronze arrow to his bow and aimed it at the other's chest, holding it to face-height, the arrow resting between two fingers, waiting until their gazes met. He was silent, the string drawn back with ring, middle and forefinger, right hand firm on the grip and left softly brushing against the side of his face, breathing slowed as he locked eyes with the Valaoritis.
The indentation in his cheek deepened once more, and he released the fourth arrow.
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Mihail did not take graciously to being undermined.
He was a Thanasi, and Thanasis were not kind. They were cruel and intelligent and vicious. If they were wronged, then pity whoever hurt them: there was a reason the sisters were deemed witches by so many. And it was true that many assumed that ’twas only the females of the family who held such a reputation for ruthlessness - even Dysius’s temper was often left to the wayside in favour of Nethis or Thea - but the pair of brothers could cause just as much as harm as their siblings if they so willed it. They may not have had the same methodologies, but they could be just as deadly.
This particular Thanasi, he usually dealt out his vengeance in words. Little snippets of gossip and rightly placed rumours fed into the all-powerful ears of the noble classes and the easy-chattering mouths of the poor. They were powerful enough to topple empires if need be, bring men down from their high roosts and raise others to new heights. However, words could not solve every dispute. Moreover, his sisters couldn’t either. Every so often there was a struggle that Mihail found he would have to address himself, with no aid whatsoever from his siblings and no use for his lies. Certain people would not break, and those required particular attention.
Youth did not make one weak.
Quite the contrary: it made Mihail fiercer and stronger. Were he older, he might not have cared so much, ignored what had been said and been merely about his day. However, he was still young, and he was still impulsive enough that once heard the news that anybody had made the slightest derogatory comment, there was no going back.
It was one Timaeus of Valaoritis who had been spreading rumours. Mihail had not been present to hear his exact words, but he had his sources of information, and he knew the story well enough. The idiot had gotten drunk in some crowded tavern and, in his inebriated stupor, had begun to voice his very loud opinions on the youngest of the Thanasi brood. And oh, such hideous ideas. Such claims of cowardice and uselessness. Such claims that he was nothing more than a disgrace to his family name and a worthless waste of space. The man had the gall to call him effeminate...and worse. Admittedly, it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but if people were going to insult him so then, Mihail much preferred they do it to his face - or at least in front of his sisters. Those situations could be handled much more efficiently. Not this one.
Mihail would show him exactly who was worthless.
He was not stupid, and he had learned from the very best. He had spent long enough alongside Nethis and Thea to know all the tricks of the trade, and it didn't take long before he had found the perfect weaknesses and had made the ideal plans to wreck him as he had so tried to ruin the Thanasi lord. It seemed a certain Zelenia of Eubrocris had taken the young baron's heart, and once Mihail had that vital scrap of information, the rest of his plan had fallen together all too easily. Some time had been spent keeping her watched - just long enough to find her voice, and her mannerisms - and then Mihail had drafted the letter himself, a far more hands-on approach than anyone would have come to expect from him. He was far more used to focussing on nought but the planning of the deed and allowing others to handle the dirty work.
'Charming Timaeus of Eubocris,' it had read, so sickly and sweet and atypical of him. 'I should like to meet you...'
The rest of the letter had continued in such a manner: filled with a level of consideration that Mihail would never have envisioned himself using outside of communications with Evras. Each word had been so delicately chosen; each phrase crafted with such an exceptional precision to detail that none should identify it as the work of any mind but Zelenia's. He had taken the necessary precautions should Timaeus query why the missive was written in such a masculine hand, a casual remark on the use of a scribe buried amongst the sentiment and a request that, in the afternoon of the eighth day of Ermaios, they convene once more in the cove where they had first laid eyes on one another.
The trap may have been well set, though it was not immune to glitches. Timaeus might have been foolish enough to send word of the meeting back to Zelenia, despite the veil of secrecy which appeared to preside over their interactions, and she would have protested ignorance, and the whole business might have become unravelled. There was potential that another storm would devastate Colchis that very day and the meeting would have to be postponed. However, it was too late now to analyse each aspect of the plot further, and the boy would only have to hope he was fortunate enough that all the remaining piece fell into place. It was ridiculous how much of this relied on luck.
Could one call Mihail lucky?
He had prepared everything that remained the evening before the event, throwing as little caution to the wind as was possible. The chiton selected roomy enough to allow for the ease of mobility and yet fashionable enough to make a statement; make it evident that this was a show to watch, a deep sanguine red with classic ebony trim and metallic shoulder clasp moulded to look like the viper he so often wore around his neck. The sandals black, similar in their design and comfortable for movement. His favoured bow in a position of easy access: everything prepared.
That night, a night when one might have expected him to be tossing and turning out of the sheer nerves of what was to come, Mihail had slept more soundly than the usual. The following morning, he awoke early (the others in his household would have been wise to take this untimely rising as a sign that something was afoot, and yet they did not). Each step of the plan ran through Mihail's mind once more, half-distracted as he went through the motions of his morning routine, dressing in his chosen chiton and running a sharp razor over his jaw. He felt the warm liquid running down his chin before he saw the colour on his fingertips. He had drawn blood, but the red drops had disappeared into the rusty darkness of his chiton. There would be no trace of the deed once it was done.
The right side of his mouth twitched up into its more usual smirk and deepened further the now semi-permanent indent in his cheek.
Wiping the remaining ichor away with his thumb, he splashed some cold water over the wound, smoothing his hands over the soft skin of his face. Effeminate. Some men could spend hours on nothing more than their appearance and Mihail was not one of them, only so interested in ensuring appropriate attire for the occasion. This was to be a grand production, and he would dress for a show.
And Timaeus, Timaeus would be his unwilling audience.
With the boy's bow readied previously and Timaeus not due at the bay until the late afternoon, he had nothing left to worry about that morning, only taking some time to practise his archery as he did all mornings - although, on most occasions, 'twas not as necessary as today. This bow was new, he had only had it a few months, and Mihail still felt there was a resistance to it that required working out. There was a carefully engineered method behind every piece of the puzzle. They were basic arrows he used in his drill, their ovate heads designed from hardy bronze, each burrowing deep into the distant target at which he aimed. It was a daily custom which had earned him the ability to brag that he might have split an arrow had he willed it.
It was not until the sun had reached its highest point in the sky that Mihail left the Thanasi household, excusing himself from his family's scrutiny with a comment that he had 'private matters' to which he must attend. Thea had teased that he was visiting that boy once again, one who'd visited the Thanasi home a few times now, and he had told her to lower her voice lest Nethis hear. She was not yet privy to his dalliances with the same sex - not that he kept her in the know when it came to most of his relationships: only those that he considered potentially serious - and he did not entirely plan for her to discover such a thing thanks to a silly slip of the tongue.
On this day, he was not visiting the pretty boy from the shops, however much he might have wished to, but instead making his way through the centre of Midas, out of the city's inner circle and past the temples of the gods, ignoring all those who had come for their daily worship. Behind the impressive structures dedicated to these great deities was a single trail, rough and worn, and it was along here that he now walked, hidden from the sight of most.
Upon his arrival, he noted the other was already present, although he seemed far too engrossed in his thoughts, allowing Mihail the opportunity to find the bow and set of arrows he had hidden a few days before, stashed amongst some unassuming rocks. It was a treatment to which he would not have subjected his archery equipment if something so vital had not been at stake. Vital to the plan.
For a day so early in Ermaios, when one might consider the weather to be doubtlessly chilly as spring had only just begun to take over from winter, it had dawned bright and sunshiny, and, though it may not have been so evident within the Thanasi archontiko, it was delightful on the waterside. A gentle breeze was blowing, not enough for him to have to adjust any of his calculations but enough to rustle his hair as he stood above the cliffs, more imperious than he had ever appeared. It was, in every respect, the perfect day to meet one's lover in such an idyllic location. Fortune was favouring Mihail.
Hovering atop the rocks in such a position where he could comfortably view the beach where Timaeus waited, the Thanasi paused until he had turned his back to the cliffs and his attention was elsewhere before he first raised his bow.
A soft, rushing sound. The first arrow appeared a miss as its barbed tip sunk into the dampened sand beside Timaeus's sandals. There was a single, dense instance of silence as the wooden shaft wedged itself into the ground and his victim became startlingly aware of the situation. It was a long enough moment for Mihail to load a second arrow into his bow, a shsh-thunk resonating through the air as it grazed the side of the other's leg, enough to pain him albeit not seriously. A shsh-thunk as a third penetrated his shoulder. They were not shots intended to kill; else they would have.
Timaeus was no fool, however much Mihail might have wished to award him that title, and it was not long until his gaze was raised to see where his attacker stood, the pair separated by nothing more than the height of the cliff. Mihail had loaded a fourth bronze arrow to his bow and aimed it at the other's chest, holding it to face-height, the arrow resting between two fingers, waiting until their gazes met. He was silent, the string drawn back with ring, middle and forefinger, right hand firm on the grip and left softly brushing against the side of his face, breathing slowed as he locked eyes with the Valaoritis.
The indentation in his cheek deepened once more, and he released the fourth arrow.
Mihail did not take graciously to being undermined.
He was a Thanasi, and Thanasis were not kind. They were cruel and intelligent and vicious. If they were wronged, then pity whoever hurt them: there was a reason the sisters were deemed witches by so many. And it was true that many assumed that ’twas only the females of the family who held such a reputation for ruthlessness - even Dysius’s temper was often left to the wayside in favour of Nethis or Thea - but the pair of brothers could cause just as much as harm as their siblings if they so willed it. They may not have had the same methodologies, but they could be just as deadly.
This particular Thanasi, he usually dealt out his vengeance in words. Little snippets of gossip and rightly placed rumours fed into the all-powerful ears of the noble classes and the easy-chattering mouths of the poor. They were powerful enough to topple empires if need be, bring men down from their high roosts and raise others to new heights. However, words could not solve every dispute. Moreover, his sisters couldn’t either. Every so often there was a struggle that Mihail found he would have to address himself, with no aid whatsoever from his siblings and no use for his lies. Certain people would not break, and those required particular attention.
Youth did not make one weak.
Quite the contrary: it made Mihail fiercer and stronger. Were he older, he might not have cared so much, ignored what had been said and been merely about his day. However, he was still young, and he was still impulsive enough that once heard the news that anybody had made the slightest derogatory comment, there was no going back.
It was one Timaeus of Valaoritis who had been spreading rumours. Mihail had not been present to hear his exact words, but he had his sources of information, and he knew the story well enough. The idiot had gotten drunk in some crowded tavern and, in his inebriated stupor, had begun to voice his very loud opinions on the youngest of the Thanasi brood. And oh, such hideous ideas. Such claims of cowardice and uselessness. Such claims that he was nothing more than a disgrace to his family name and a worthless waste of space. The man had the gall to call him effeminate...and worse. Admittedly, it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but if people were going to insult him so then, Mihail much preferred they do it to his face - or at least in front of his sisters. Those situations could be handled much more efficiently. Not this one.
Mihail would show him exactly who was worthless.
He was not stupid, and he had learned from the very best. He had spent long enough alongside Nethis and Thea to know all the tricks of the trade, and it didn't take long before he had found the perfect weaknesses and had made the ideal plans to wreck him as he had so tried to ruin the Thanasi lord. It seemed a certain Zelenia of Eubrocris had taken the young baron's heart, and once Mihail had that vital scrap of information, the rest of his plan had fallen together all too easily. Some time had been spent keeping her watched - just long enough to find her voice, and her mannerisms - and then Mihail had drafted the letter himself, a far more hands-on approach than anyone would have come to expect from him. He was far more used to focussing on nought but the planning of the deed and allowing others to handle the dirty work.
'Charming Timaeus of Eubocris,' it had read, so sickly and sweet and atypical of him. 'I should like to meet you...'
The rest of the letter had continued in such a manner: filled with a level of consideration that Mihail would never have envisioned himself using outside of communications with Evras. Each word had been so delicately chosen; each phrase crafted with such an exceptional precision to detail that none should identify it as the work of any mind but Zelenia's. He had taken the necessary precautions should Timaeus query why the missive was written in such a masculine hand, a casual remark on the use of a scribe buried amongst the sentiment and a request that, in the afternoon of the eighth day of Ermaios, they convene once more in the cove where they had first laid eyes on one another.
The trap may have been well set, though it was not immune to glitches. Timaeus might have been foolish enough to send word of the meeting back to Zelenia, despite the veil of secrecy which appeared to preside over their interactions, and she would have protested ignorance, and the whole business might have become unravelled. There was potential that another storm would devastate Colchis that very day and the meeting would have to be postponed. However, it was too late now to analyse each aspect of the plot further, and the boy would only have to hope he was fortunate enough that all the remaining piece fell into place. It was ridiculous how much of this relied on luck.
Could one call Mihail lucky?
He had prepared everything that remained the evening before the event, throwing as little caution to the wind as was possible. The chiton selected roomy enough to allow for the ease of mobility and yet fashionable enough to make a statement; make it evident that this was a show to watch, a deep sanguine red with classic ebony trim and metallic shoulder clasp moulded to look like the viper he so often wore around his neck. The sandals black, similar in their design and comfortable for movement. His favoured bow in a position of easy access: everything prepared.
That night, a night when one might have expected him to be tossing and turning out of the sheer nerves of what was to come, Mihail had slept more soundly than the usual. The following morning, he awoke early (the others in his household would have been wise to take this untimely rising as a sign that something was afoot, and yet they did not). Each step of the plan ran through Mihail's mind once more, half-distracted as he went through the motions of his morning routine, dressing in his chosen chiton and running a sharp razor over his jaw. He felt the warm liquid running down his chin before he saw the colour on his fingertips. He had drawn blood, but the red drops had disappeared into the rusty darkness of his chiton. There would be no trace of the deed once it was done.
The right side of his mouth twitched up into its more usual smirk and deepened further the now semi-permanent indent in his cheek.
Wiping the remaining ichor away with his thumb, he splashed some cold water over the wound, smoothing his hands over the soft skin of his face. Effeminate. Some men could spend hours on nothing more than their appearance and Mihail was not one of them, only so interested in ensuring appropriate attire for the occasion. This was to be a grand production, and he would dress for a show.
And Timaeus, Timaeus would be his unwilling audience.
With the boy's bow readied previously and Timaeus not due at the bay until the late afternoon, he had nothing left to worry about that morning, only taking some time to practise his archery as he did all mornings - although, on most occasions, 'twas not as necessary as today. This bow was new, he had only had it a few months, and Mihail still felt there was a resistance to it that required working out. There was a carefully engineered method behind every piece of the puzzle. They were basic arrows he used in his drill, their ovate heads designed from hardy bronze, each burrowing deep into the distant target at which he aimed. It was a daily custom which had earned him the ability to brag that he might have split an arrow had he willed it.
It was not until the sun had reached its highest point in the sky that Mihail left the Thanasi household, excusing himself from his family's scrutiny with a comment that he had 'private matters' to which he must attend. Thea had teased that he was visiting that boy once again, one who'd visited the Thanasi home a few times now, and he had told her to lower her voice lest Nethis hear. She was not yet privy to his dalliances with the same sex - not that he kept her in the know when it came to most of his relationships: only those that he considered potentially serious - and he did not entirely plan for her to discover such a thing thanks to a silly slip of the tongue.
On this day, he was not visiting the pretty boy from the shops, however much he might have wished to, but instead making his way through the centre of Midas, out of the city's inner circle and past the temples of the gods, ignoring all those who had come for their daily worship. Behind the impressive structures dedicated to these great deities was a single trail, rough and worn, and it was along here that he now walked, hidden from the sight of most.
Upon his arrival, he noted the other was already present, although he seemed far too engrossed in his thoughts, allowing Mihail the opportunity to find the bow and set of arrows he had hidden a few days before, stashed amongst some unassuming rocks. It was a treatment to which he would not have subjected his archery equipment if something so vital had not been at stake. Vital to the plan.
For a day so early in Ermaios, when one might consider the weather to be doubtlessly chilly as spring had only just begun to take over from winter, it had dawned bright and sunshiny, and, though it may not have been so evident within the Thanasi archontiko, it was delightful on the waterside. A gentle breeze was blowing, not enough for him to have to adjust any of his calculations but enough to rustle his hair as he stood above the cliffs, more imperious than he had ever appeared. It was, in every respect, the perfect day to meet one's lover in such an idyllic location. Fortune was favouring Mihail.
Hovering atop the rocks in such a position where he could comfortably view the beach where Timaeus waited, the Thanasi paused until he had turned his back to the cliffs and his attention was elsewhere before he first raised his bow.
A soft, rushing sound. The first arrow appeared a miss as its barbed tip sunk into the dampened sand beside Timaeus's sandals. There was a single, dense instance of silence as the wooden shaft wedged itself into the ground and his victim became startlingly aware of the situation. It was a long enough moment for Mihail to load a second arrow into his bow, a shsh-thunk resonating through the air as it grazed the side of the other's leg, enough to pain him albeit not seriously. A shsh-thunk as a third penetrated his shoulder. They were not shots intended to kill; else they would have.
Timaeus was no fool, however much Mihail might have wished to award him that title, and it was not long until his gaze was raised to see where his attacker stood, the pair separated by nothing more than the height of the cliff. Mihail had loaded a fourth bronze arrow to his bow and aimed it at the other's chest, holding it to face-height, the arrow resting between two fingers, waiting until their gazes met. He was silent, the string drawn back with ring, middle and forefinger, right hand firm on the grip and left softly brushing against the side of his face, breathing slowed as he locked eyes with the Valaoritis.
The indentation in his cheek deepened once more, and he released the fourth arrow.
Timaeus should have known better than to assume he had truly been alone at the cove.
The young man nearly jumped out of his skin when a deafening Thwack! ran through the air, disturbing the peaceful silence. Having been startled out of thoughts, he looked around wildly for the sound of the noise. Tim didn’t need to look too far though as sitting right at his feet was a well-crafted arrow. That hadn’t been there a moment ago.
What on earth? Timaeus silently thought as he took in the sight, too stunned and confused to move.
As he stared, momentarily dumbfounded by the appearance of the arrow, Timaeus heard a similar sound from just behind him. Then his leg exploded in pain. Instinctively, he let out a cry as he reached down to the suffering limb. At first, he stupidly believed that perhaps this was a muscle cramp, but when he removed his hand to find it red and sticky, covered in his own precious blood, Timaeus knew that this wasn’t the case. His eyes glanced down, and he felt the world spin at the sight of his leg...or at least what was left of it.
A large loose flap of skin covered a small dip in his flesh where the latest arrow and run him through, taking a check of his flesh with it. This in itself wasn’t so horrifying, but what did Tim in was the sheer amount of blood just gushing from the wound. It dripped down his leg, making the pale skin turn a sickening shade of shining red. He stood rooted in place, frozen from the fear and shock of what had just happened to him.
This was a fatal mistake.
By standing still with his back turned instead of running like any sensible person, he became an easy target for his attacker high up on the cliff. So, it was no surprise that quickly after the second arrow, the boy on the cliff released a third. This one found its mark in Timaeus’ shoulder. A blood-curdling scream of pain escaped his lips as he felt this one go right through the flesh of his shoulder and made little white spots appear in his vision from the pain of it. His hands reached out to cup the wound, and he instinctively applied pressure as he struggled to stay up. He had to fight off the urge to collapse onto the sand, knowing full well that there had been no mistake like with the first arrow.
He was under attack, and he didn’t even know why.
With much pain, Timaeus turned in the direction where the latest arrow had come from and for the first time noticed someone with a bow and arrow on the cliffs above. For a split second, time seemed to slow as he locked eyes with the young man, arrow notched and bow drawn, aiming directly at him. They were too far away to make out the details of the other person, but it didn’t matter. His eyes couldn’t stay on them for very long. The sun was blinding, and Tim’s gaze continued to drift towards the mountainside path. His heartbeat roared in his ears as his mind thought of the terrible possibility of seeing Leni appear on the path. tha-thump. He could see her beautiful smile fading, tha-thump, at the sight of her charming Timaeus. tha-thump. Leg torn, tha-thump, shoulder shot, tha-thump, and beige sand turning dark tha-thump with the blood that dripped down from his tha-thump wounds.
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
He thought he saw her lavender colored chiton fluttering in the wind. He would know that fabric anywhere. It was his gift to her; a replacement for the one that had been ruined just a few short months ago. She shouldn’t be here. Not now. A panic gripped his chest at the thought of her seeing him like this. After all, he knew her. Timaeus knew how much she cared for him. If she saw her knight in shining armor, her beloved Timaeus of Eubocris, in his injured state, she’d race to his side and put herself in the line of fire, just to protect him.
He would rather die than let her do that.
Distracted, he didn’t see the fourth arrow release. He didn’t know of the danger currently hurtling to him as he stood frozen on the beach. All he could focus on was the mirage before him. Instead of turning and running, he called out to the hallucination, trying to protect her from a danger only he faced.
“LEN-AURGHH” His cry of warning was lost in a wail of pain as the fourth --and seemingly final-- arrow found its mark and nestled itself right between his ribs. The sheer force of the blow was enough to force Timaeus to step back. The normally sure-footed man stumbled, and quickly he lost his footing as his previous wounds already drew too much blood from him to remain upright. Before he knew what was happening, he was falling, falling, falling onto the harsh, gritty sand, pulling another scream from the young baron.
His whole body erupted in pain. He couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. Everything just hurt. Tears welled in his eyes as he moved slightly this way or that, trying desperately to get to his feet. All he succeeded in doing was pulling more shouts from his heaving and wounded chest. Timaeus truly was in excruciating pain, especially as every little movement shifted the arrows, opening his wounds further and allowing more of his precious blood seep out of his body. He needed to stay still if he wanted to live.
He couldn’t though.
He had to get to Leni.
Timaeus continued to fight to rise from the ground that he was pinned to through his own pain. However, he tried not to let himself focus on that. Instead, he forced himself to keep his mind on the danger that his love faced. He just couldn’t lay here as whomever this madman possibly was turned his arrows on her next. In fact, at this point, he had absolutely no concern for his well-being. Right now, only Leni’s mattered.
But he couldn’t rise to his feet. The pain was so blinding that everytime he pulled himself up slightly, something else exploded in agony, forcing him back down. This was doing more damage to him, especially at the wound on his shoulder. Every time he collapsed back down onto the ground, this pushed the backward facing arrow just a little further through his shoulder. The barbed end had completely cut through the meat and rose only a few inches above him. If Timaeus turned his head just so he could see it in all its bloody, bronze glory.
That in itself wasn’t too stomach-churning, but it was the exit wound below that made Timaeus almost lose the remnants of his lunch. It was horrifying. His shoulder was a bloody mess of loose skin, exposed muscle, and the hole where the arrow was lodged only grew larger with every shifting movement. He forced himself to look away to keep himself from being sick. He refused to let his eyes travel down to the one in this chest. He knew that only would only be worse.
However, by doing this, he was now looking away from the cliffside path and completely oblivious to the figure approaching the rapidly weakening Timaeus with a sadistic grin on his face. Little did the baron know that every twitch of pain and every scream was only increasing the joy that his attacker took from this event.
And he wasn’t done making the baron suffer just yet.
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Timaeus should have known better than to assume he had truly been alone at the cove.
The young man nearly jumped out of his skin when a deafening Thwack! ran through the air, disturbing the peaceful silence. Having been startled out of thoughts, he looked around wildly for the sound of the noise. Tim didn’t need to look too far though as sitting right at his feet was a well-crafted arrow. That hadn’t been there a moment ago.
What on earth? Timaeus silently thought as he took in the sight, too stunned and confused to move.
As he stared, momentarily dumbfounded by the appearance of the arrow, Timaeus heard a similar sound from just behind him. Then his leg exploded in pain. Instinctively, he let out a cry as he reached down to the suffering limb. At first, he stupidly believed that perhaps this was a muscle cramp, but when he removed his hand to find it red and sticky, covered in his own precious blood, Timaeus knew that this wasn’t the case. His eyes glanced down, and he felt the world spin at the sight of his leg...or at least what was left of it.
A large loose flap of skin covered a small dip in his flesh where the latest arrow and run him through, taking a check of his flesh with it. This in itself wasn’t so horrifying, but what did Tim in was the sheer amount of blood just gushing from the wound. It dripped down his leg, making the pale skin turn a sickening shade of shining red. He stood rooted in place, frozen from the fear and shock of what had just happened to him.
This was a fatal mistake.
By standing still with his back turned instead of running like any sensible person, he became an easy target for his attacker high up on the cliff. So, it was no surprise that quickly after the second arrow, the boy on the cliff released a third. This one found its mark in Timaeus’ shoulder. A blood-curdling scream of pain escaped his lips as he felt this one go right through the flesh of his shoulder and made little white spots appear in his vision from the pain of it. His hands reached out to cup the wound, and he instinctively applied pressure as he struggled to stay up. He had to fight off the urge to collapse onto the sand, knowing full well that there had been no mistake like with the first arrow.
He was under attack, and he didn’t even know why.
With much pain, Timaeus turned in the direction where the latest arrow had come from and for the first time noticed someone with a bow and arrow on the cliffs above. For a split second, time seemed to slow as he locked eyes with the young man, arrow notched and bow drawn, aiming directly at him. They were too far away to make out the details of the other person, but it didn’t matter. His eyes couldn’t stay on them for very long. The sun was blinding, and Tim’s gaze continued to drift towards the mountainside path. His heartbeat roared in his ears as his mind thought of the terrible possibility of seeing Leni appear on the path. tha-thump. He could see her beautiful smile fading, tha-thump, at the sight of her charming Timaeus. tha-thump. Leg torn, tha-thump, shoulder shot, tha-thump, and beige sand turning dark tha-thump with the blood that dripped down from his tha-thump wounds.
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
He thought he saw her lavender colored chiton fluttering in the wind. He would know that fabric anywhere. It was his gift to her; a replacement for the one that had been ruined just a few short months ago. She shouldn’t be here. Not now. A panic gripped his chest at the thought of her seeing him like this. After all, he knew her. Timaeus knew how much she cared for him. If she saw her knight in shining armor, her beloved Timaeus of Eubocris, in his injured state, she’d race to his side and put herself in the line of fire, just to protect him.
He would rather die than let her do that.
Distracted, he didn’t see the fourth arrow release. He didn’t know of the danger currently hurtling to him as he stood frozen on the beach. All he could focus on was the mirage before him. Instead of turning and running, he called out to the hallucination, trying to protect her from a danger only he faced.
“LEN-AURGHH” His cry of warning was lost in a wail of pain as the fourth --and seemingly final-- arrow found its mark and nestled itself right between his ribs. The sheer force of the blow was enough to force Timaeus to step back. The normally sure-footed man stumbled, and quickly he lost his footing as his previous wounds already drew too much blood from him to remain upright. Before he knew what was happening, he was falling, falling, falling onto the harsh, gritty sand, pulling another scream from the young baron.
His whole body erupted in pain. He couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. Everything just hurt. Tears welled in his eyes as he moved slightly this way or that, trying desperately to get to his feet. All he succeeded in doing was pulling more shouts from his heaving and wounded chest. Timaeus truly was in excruciating pain, especially as every little movement shifted the arrows, opening his wounds further and allowing more of his precious blood seep out of his body. He needed to stay still if he wanted to live.
He couldn’t though.
He had to get to Leni.
Timaeus continued to fight to rise from the ground that he was pinned to through his own pain. However, he tried not to let himself focus on that. Instead, he forced himself to keep his mind on the danger that his love faced. He just couldn’t lay here as whomever this madman possibly was turned his arrows on her next. In fact, at this point, he had absolutely no concern for his well-being. Right now, only Leni’s mattered.
But he couldn’t rise to his feet. The pain was so blinding that everytime he pulled himself up slightly, something else exploded in agony, forcing him back down. This was doing more damage to him, especially at the wound on his shoulder. Every time he collapsed back down onto the ground, this pushed the backward facing arrow just a little further through his shoulder. The barbed end had completely cut through the meat and rose only a few inches above him. If Timaeus turned his head just so he could see it in all its bloody, bronze glory.
That in itself wasn’t too stomach-churning, but it was the exit wound below that made Timaeus almost lose the remnants of his lunch. It was horrifying. His shoulder was a bloody mess of loose skin, exposed muscle, and the hole where the arrow was lodged only grew larger with every shifting movement. He forced himself to look away to keep himself from being sick. He refused to let his eyes travel down to the one in this chest. He knew that only would only be worse.
However, by doing this, he was now looking away from the cliffside path and completely oblivious to the figure approaching the rapidly weakening Timaeus with a sadistic grin on his face. Little did the baron know that every twitch of pain and every scream was only increasing the joy that his attacker took from this event.
And he wasn’t done making the baron suffer just yet.
Timaeus should have known better than to assume he had truly been alone at the cove.
The young man nearly jumped out of his skin when a deafening Thwack! ran through the air, disturbing the peaceful silence. Having been startled out of thoughts, he looked around wildly for the sound of the noise. Tim didn’t need to look too far though as sitting right at his feet was a well-crafted arrow. That hadn’t been there a moment ago.
What on earth? Timaeus silently thought as he took in the sight, too stunned and confused to move.
As he stared, momentarily dumbfounded by the appearance of the arrow, Timaeus heard a similar sound from just behind him. Then his leg exploded in pain. Instinctively, he let out a cry as he reached down to the suffering limb. At first, he stupidly believed that perhaps this was a muscle cramp, but when he removed his hand to find it red and sticky, covered in his own precious blood, Timaeus knew that this wasn’t the case. His eyes glanced down, and he felt the world spin at the sight of his leg...or at least what was left of it.
A large loose flap of skin covered a small dip in his flesh where the latest arrow and run him through, taking a check of his flesh with it. This in itself wasn’t so horrifying, but what did Tim in was the sheer amount of blood just gushing from the wound. It dripped down his leg, making the pale skin turn a sickening shade of shining red. He stood rooted in place, frozen from the fear and shock of what had just happened to him.
This was a fatal mistake.
By standing still with his back turned instead of running like any sensible person, he became an easy target for his attacker high up on the cliff. So, it was no surprise that quickly after the second arrow, the boy on the cliff released a third. This one found its mark in Timaeus’ shoulder. A blood-curdling scream of pain escaped his lips as he felt this one go right through the flesh of his shoulder and made little white spots appear in his vision from the pain of it. His hands reached out to cup the wound, and he instinctively applied pressure as he struggled to stay up. He had to fight off the urge to collapse onto the sand, knowing full well that there had been no mistake like with the first arrow.
He was under attack, and he didn’t even know why.
With much pain, Timaeus turned in the direction where the latest arrow had come from and for the first time noticed someone with a bow and arrow on the cliffs above. For a split second, time seemed to slow as he locked eyes with the young man, arrow notched and bow drawn, aiming directly at him. They were too far away to make out the details of the other person, but it didn’t matter. His eyes couldn’t stay on them for very long. The sun was blinding, and Tim’s gaze continued to drift towards the mountainside path. His heartbeat roared in his ears as his mind thought of the terrible possibility of seeing Leni appear on the path. tha-thump. He could see her beautiful smile fading, tha-thump, at the sight of her charming Timaeus. tha-thump. Leg torn, tha-thump, shoulder shot, tha-thump, and beige sand turning dark tha-thump with the blood that dripped down from his tha-thump wounds.
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
He thought he saw her lavender colored chiton fluttering in the wind. He would know that fabric anywhere. It was his gift to her; a replacement for the one that had been ruined just a few short months ago. She shouldn’t be here. Not now. A panic gripped his chest at the thought of her seeing him like this. After all, he knew her. Timaeus knew how much she cared for him. If she saw her knight in shining armor, her beloved Timaeus of Eubocris, in his injured state, she’d race to his side and put herself in the line of fire, just to protect him.
He would rather die than let her do that.
Distracted, he didn’t see the fourth arrow release. He didn’t know of the danger currently hurtling to him as he stood frozen on the beach. All he could focus on was the mirage before him. Instead of turning and running, he called out to the hallucination, trying to protect her from a danger only he faced.
“LEN-AURGHH” His cry of warning was lost in a wail of pain as the fourth --and seemingly final-- arrow found its mark and nestled itself right between his ribs. The sheer force of the blow was enough to force Timaeus to step back. The normally sure-footed man stumbled, and quickly he lost his footing as his previous wounds already drew too much blood from him to remain upright. Before he knew what was happening, he was falling, falling, falling onto the harsh, gritty sand, pulling another scream from the young baron.
His whole body erupted in pain. He couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. Everything just hurt. Tears welled in his eyes as he moved slightly this way or that, trying desperately to get to his feet. All he succeeded in doing was pulling more shouts from his heaving and wounded chest. Timaeus truly was in excruciating pain, especially as every little movement shifted the arrows, opening his wounds further and allowing more of his precious blood seep out of his body. He needed to stay still if he wanted to live.
He couldn’t though.
He had to get to Leni.
Timaeus continued to fight to rise from the ground that he was pinned to through his own pain. However, he tried not to let himself focus on that. Instead, he forced himself to keep his mind on the danger that his love faced. He just couldn’t lay here as whomever this madman possibly was turned his arrows on her next. In fact, at this point, he had absolutely no concern for his well-being. Right now, only Leni’s mattered.
But he couldn’t rise to his feet. The pain was so blinding that everytime he pulled himself up slightly, something else exploded in agony, forcing him back down. This was doing more damage to him, especially at the wound on his shoulder. Every time he collapsed back down onto the ground, this pushed the backward facing arrow just a little further through his shoulder. The barbed end had completely cut through the meat and rose only a few inches above him. If Timaeus turned his head just so he could see it in all its bloody, bronze glory.
That in itself wasn’t too stomach-churning, but it was the exit wound below that made Timaeus almost lose the remnants of his lunch. It was horrifying. His shoulder was a bloody mess of loose skin, exposed muscle, and the hole where the arrow was lodged only grew larger with every shifting movement. He forced himself to look away to keep himself from being sick. He refused to let his eyes travel down to the one in this chest. He knew that only would only be worse.
However, by doing this, he was now looking away from the cliffside path and completely oblivious to the figure approaching the rapidly weakening Timaeus with a sadistic grin on his face. Little did the baron know that every twitch of pain and every scream was only increasing the joy that his attacker took from this event.
And he wasn’t done making the baron suffer just yet.
Shsh-thunk.
The fourth arrow had hit.
It had trapped itself between the sixth and seventh ribs of the man on the beach, far enough from the heart that this strike, like all the others before it, would not cause him death. Instead, the sheer force of it threw him backwards, the man's body hitting the ground with an underwhelming thud, the only other sound his scream resonating through the air. For a moment, Mihail did nothing, lowering his bow to his side as he watched the man struggle and cry out in pain, but each shout was lost, carried away in the soft breeze which blew grains of sand across the beach and settled them within the already burning wounds left behind by his arrows. There was a certain theatricality in his pause, as though waiting for the applause of an invisible audience, expecting to have his handiwork admired by all.
Imagine that. The youngest of the Thanasi siblings, so often underestimated not only for his youth but his lack of noticeable achievement and so often disregarded as nothing but a coward, unable to fight even if his life had depended on it, imagine him at the centre of such glory and renown, the world falling before him in sheer reverence. All the admiration and recognition that he had so long craved would be his if he could only remove this one pesky slanderer, if he could only ensure his name in the annals of history, if he could only-
Another garbled shout from the body below dragged him back from his fantasy. If he wanted the fame, he would have to take it for himself.
His face was expressionless as he padded across the clifftop, eyes shifting ever so slightly over to check on his victim's continued struggles. Look at him, so stupidly attempting to tug the arrows from his body and doing nothing more than causing himself further pain, the barbs catching and tearing on his flesh. He reminded Mihail of a dying deer, panicking as he realised his fate. And, oh, how like a deer he was! A red deer, in that ugly scarlet chiton which did nothing for his complexion, a swaggering stag drugged into believing he was untouchable, and yet so easily hunted and felled. He was nothing to Mihail's splendour.
The path down to the beach was steep and treacherous. If it hadn't been for the show he'd been creating with every step of this, Mihail might have been inclined to do nothing more than following Timaeus as he'd made his way down to the cove and giving him a gentle push so that he'd tumble the length of the inclination. This was more elaborate than that alternative and, as a result, he now found himself carefully manoeuvering his way down the sloped trail, his stoic expression only slipping a few times when his feet landed on less than secure pebbles. It was no matter: the baron was too far away to see his face and too far gone to make sense of his features.
The horse at the bottom of the trail was silent, almost as though it cared not for its master's demise.
He approached at the same leisurely pace he had done everything else, mouth hitched up again in that deranged side-smirk, so immensely proud to see his handiwork up close. A hand reached out, the tip of his finger meeting with the end of the arrow protruding from the other man's chest, gently pushing it further into its cavity. Dear, dear, he was dull if he thought the Thanasi would be foolish enough to use arrows so easy to remove, as though he hadn't orchestrated every step of this plan to perfection. Not a thing could go wrong.
A foot on either side of the man’s body, ever-so-slightly digging them into his victim’s torso, so close to where he was already wounded, he leaned over Timaeus as he lay on the ground, watching for his reaction to this new source of pain. At a lack of reaction from the suffering man, he pouted, pressing his feet harder into his sides, pushing his toes in further and further until the man screeched in pain, at which point, finally, he lifted his bow once more. Mihail had only one arrow left. One was all he needed.
Many moons ago, an unknown man had visited the Thanasi household from lands afar. It was Nethis, as always, who had greeted the man, taken him to the mansion's private meeting room and discussed some secret matters which even her youngest brother had not been made privy too after copious complaining. This mystery contact had brought gifts, however, and amongst all the foreign marvels and trinkets had been a great bow with a set of similarly stunning arrows. Dark, thin shafts, though surprisingly sturdy, and coal-black tips sharper than his usual bronze, the material allegedly found on some remote island in the Aegean Sea and crafted into their final form in some mystical land to the South. Nethis had not needed such a gift, and she had hence offered it to her youngest brother, knowing of his passion for the activity. However, they had seemed such a precious assemblage that Mihail had neglected to use them for sport, saving them for the ideal occasion.
This was the ideal occasion.
In silence, he loaded that final, obsidian-tipped arrow onto his bow, opting to give Timaeus the kindness - or cruelty - of having his final moments undisrupted by speech, no sound but the lapping of the waves on the shore only a few metres away and his own anguished wails. Locking eyes with the man, he settled the arrow in its groove, running his tongue over his upper lip, the look on his face now mildly amused as he raised it to aim.
Oh, what was that now? ‘Leni, run’? Had the poor idiot truly mistaken him for the love of his life and tried for some pathetic last ditch effort to save her?
Evidently, the man had come to accept his fate. He knew that he would be dying that day. And, ever so dismally and ever so pointlessly, he was attempting to warn someone who would never hear his words. The tragedy simply added to the drama of it all.
"Leni?" he repeated, savouring the name and the moment for as long as he could. Mihail scoffed, a sneer spreading across his features as he settled the tip of the arrow a mere hairbreadth from Timaeus's skin, its point between his eyes. His final three words echoed in the wind before he let loose the last of his arrows and they were replaced by the soft crack of bone. "She's not coming."
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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Shsh-thunk.
The fourth arrow had hit.
It had trapped itself between the sixth and seventh ribs of the man on the beach, far enough from the heart that this strike, like all the others before it, would not cause him death. Instead, the sheer force of it threw him backwards, the man's body hitting the ground with an underwhelming thud, the only other sound his scream resonating through the air. For a moment, Mihail did nothing, lowering his bow to his side as he watched the man struggle and cry out in pain, but each shout was lost, carried away in the soft breeze which blew grains of sand across the beach and settled them within the already burning wounds left behind by his arrows. There was a certain theatricality in his pause, as though waiting for the applause of an invisible audience, expecting to have his handiwork admired by all.
Imagine that. The youngest of the Thanasi siblings, so often underestimated not only for his youth but his lack of noticeable achievement and so often disregarded as nothing but a coward, unable to fight even if his life had depended on it, imagine him at the centre of such glory and renown, the world falling before him in sheer reverence. All the admiration and recognition that he had so long craved would be his if he could only remove this one pesky slanderer, if he could only ensure his name in the annals of history, if he could only-
Another garbled shout from the body below dragged him back from his fantasy. If he wanted the fame, he would have to take it for himself.
His face was expressionless as he padded across the clifftop, eyes shifting ever so slightly over to check on his victim's continued struggles. Look at him, so stupidly attempting to tug the arrows from his body and doing nothing more than causing himself further pain, the barbs catching and tearing on his flesh. He reminded Mihail of a dying deer, panicking as he realised his fate. And, oh, how like a deer he was! A red deer, in that ugly scarlet chiton which did nothing for his complexion, a swaggering stag drugged into believing he was untouchable, and yet so easily hunted and felled. He was nothing to Mihail's splendour.
The path down to the beach was steep and treacherous. If it hadn't been for the show he'd been creating with every step of this, Mihail might have been inclined to do nothing more than following Timaeus as he'd made his way down to the cove and giving him a gentle push so that he'd tumble the length of the inclination. This was more elaborate than that alternative and, as a result, he now found himself carefully manoeuvering his way down the sloped trail, his stoic expression only slipping a few times when his feet landed on less than secure pebbles. It was no matter: the baron was too far away to see his face and too far gone to make sense of his features.
The horse at the bottom of the trail was silent, almost as though it cared not for its master's demise.
He approached at the same leisurely pace he had done everything else, mouth hitched up again in that deranged side-smirk, so immensely proud to see his handiwork up close. A hand reached out, the tip of his finger meeting with the end of the arrow protruding from the other man's chest, gently pushing it further into its cavity. Dear, dear, he was dull if he thought the Thanasi would be foolish enough to use arrows so easy to remove, as though he hadn't orchestrated every step of this plan to perfection. Not a thing could go wrong.
A foot on either side of the man’s body, ever-so-slightly digging them into his victim’s torso, so close to where he was already wounded, he leaned over Timaeus as he lay on the ground, watching for his reaction to this new source of pain. At a lack of reaction from the suffering man, he pouted, pressing his feet harder into his sides, pushing his toes in further and further until the man screeched in pain, at which point, finally, he lifted his bow once more. Mihail had only one arrow left. One was all he needed.
Many moons ago, an unknown man had visited the Thanasi household from lands afar. It was Nethis, as always, who had greeted the man, taken him to the mansion's private meeting room and discussed some secret matters which even her youngest brother had not been made privy too after copious complaining. This mystery contact had brought gifts, however, and amongst all the foreign marvels and trinkets had been a great bow with a set of similarly stunning arrows. Dark, thin shafts, though surprisingly sturdy, and coal-black tips sharper than his usual bronze, the material allegedly found on some remote island in the Aegean Sea and crafted into their final form in some mystical land to the South. Nethis had not needed such a gift, and she had hence offered it to her youngest brother, knowing of his passion for the activity. However, they had seemed such a precious assemblage that Mihail had neglected to use them for sport, saving them for the ideal occasion.
This was the ideal occasion.
In silence, he loaded that final, obsidian-tipped arrow onto his bow, opting to give Timaeus the kindness - or cruelty - of having his final moments undisrupted by speech, no sound but the lapping of the waves on the shore only a few metres away and his own anguished wails. Locking eyes with the man, he settled the arrow in its groove, running his tongue over his upper lip, the look on his face now mildly amused as he raised it to aim.
Oh, what was that now? ‘Leni, run’? Had the poor idiot truly mistaken him for the love of his life and tried for some pathetic last ditch effort to save her?
Evidently, the man had come to accept his fate. He knew that he would be dying that day. And, ever so dismally and ever so pointlessly, he was attempting to warn someone who would never hear his words. The tragedy simply added to the drama of it all.
"Leni?" he repeated, savouring the name and the moment for as long as he could. Mihail scoffed, a sneer spreading across his features as he settled the tip of the arrow a mere hairbreadth from Timaeus's skin, its point between his eyes. His final three words echoed in the wind before he let loose the last of his arrows and they were replaced by the soft crack of bone. "She's not coming."
Shsh-thunk.
The fourth arrow had hit.
It had trapped itself between the sixth and seventh ribs of the man on the beach, far enough from the heart that this strike, like all the others before it, would not cause him death. Instead, the sheer force of it threw him backwards, the man's body hitting the ground with an underwhelming thud, the only other sound his scream resonating through the air. For a moment, Mihail did nothing, lowering his bow to his side as he watched the man struggle and cry out in pain, but each shout was lost, carried away in the soft breeze which blew grains of sand across the beach and settled them within the already burning wounds left behind by his arrows. There was a certain theatricality in his pause, as though waiting for the applause of an invisible audience, expecting to have his handiwork admired by all.
Imagine that. The youngest of the Thanasi siblings, so often underestimated not only for his youth but his lack of noticeable achievement and so often disregarded as nothing but a coward, unable to fight even if his life had depended on it, imagine him at the centre of such glory and renown, the world falling before him in sheer reverence. All the admiration and recognition that he had so long craved would be his if he could only remove this one pesky slanderer, if he could only ensure his name in the annals of history, if he could only-
Another garbled shout from the body below dragged him back from his fantasy. If he wanted the fame, he would have to take it for himself.
His face was expressionless as he padded across the clifftop, eyes shifting ever so slightly over to check on his victim's continued struggles. Look at him, so stupidly attempting to tug the arrows from his body and doing nothing more than causing himself further pain, the barbs catching and tearing on his flesh. He reminded Mihail of a dying deer, panicking as he realised his fate. And, oh, how like a deer he was! A red deer, in that ugly scarlet chiton which did nothing for his complexion, a swaggering stag drugged into believing he was untouchable, and yet so easily hunted and felled. He was nothing to Mihail's splendour.
The path down to the beach was steep and treacherous. If it hadn't been for the show he'd been creating with every step of this, Mihail might have been inclined to do nothing more than following Timaeus as he'd made his way down to the cove and giving him a gentle push so that he'd tumble the length of the inclination. This was more elaborate than that alternative and, as a result, he now found himself carefully manoeuvering his way down the sloped trail, his stoic expression only slipping a few times when his feet landed on less than secure pebbles. It was no matter: the baron was too far away to see his face and too far gone to make sense of his features.
The horse at the bottom of the trail was silent, almost as though it cared not for its master's demise.
He approached at the same leisurely pace he had done everything else, mouth hitched up again in that deranged side-smirk, so immensely proud to see his handiwork up close. A hand reached out, the tip of his finger meeting with the end of the arrow protruding from the other man's chest, gently pushing it further into its cavity. Dear, dear, he was dull if he thought the Thanasi would be foolish enough to use arrows so easy to remove, as though he hadn't orchestrated every step of this plan to perfection. Not a thing could go wrong.
A foot on either side of the man’s body, ever-so-slightly digging them into his victim’s torso, so close to where he was already wounded, he leaned over Timaeus as he lay on the ground, watching for his reaction to this new source of pain. At a lack of reaction from the suffering man, he pouted, pressing his feet harder into his sides, pushing his toes in further and further until the man screeched in pain, at which point, finally, he lifted his bow once more. Mihail had only one arrow left. One was all he needed.
Many moons ago, an unknown man had visited the Thanasi household from lands afar. It was Nethis, as always, who had greeted the man, taken him to the mansion's private meeting room and discussed some secret matters which even her youngest brother had not been made privy too after copious complaining. This mystery contact had brought gifts, however, and amongst all the foreign marvels and trinkets had been a great bow with a set of similarly stunning arrows. Dark, thin shafts, though surprisingly sturdy, and coal-black tips sharper than his usual bronze, the material allegedly found on some remote island in the Aegean Sea and crafted into their final form in some mystical land to the South. Nethis had not needed such a gift, and she had hence offered it to her youngest brother, knowing of his passion for the activity. However, they had seemed such a precious assemblage that Mihail had neglected to use them for sport, saving them for the ideal occasion.
This was the ideal occasion.
In silence, he loaded that final, obsidian-tipped arrow onto his bow, opting to give Timaeus the kindness - or cruelty - of having his final moments undisrupted by speech, no sound but the lapping of the waves on the shore only a few metres away and his own anguished wails. Locking eyes with the man, he settled the arrow in its groove, running his tongue over his upper lip, the look on his face now mildly amused as he raised it to aim.
Oh, what was that now? ‘Leni, run’? Had the poor idiot truly mistaken him for the love of his life and tried for some pathetic last ditch effort to save her?
Evidently, the man had come to accept his fate. He knew that he would be dying that day. And, ever so dismally and ever so pointlessly, he was attempting to warn someone who would never hear his words. The tragedy simply added to the drama of it all.
"Leni?" he repeated, savouring the name and the moment for as long as he could. Mihail scoffed, a sneer spreading across his features as he settled the tip of the arrow a mere hairbreadth from Timaeus's skin, its point between his eyes. His final three words echoed in the wind before he let loose the last of his arrows and they were replaced by the soft crack of bone. "She's not coming."
Mihail stood over the body.
It had been a clean shot through the glabella, and death was instantaneous for the poor Valaoritis. He watched the man's eyes as they faded from their steel blue shade to the dull grey of death; watched as his eyelids slowly closed, pulled down by gravity until they were left fluttering in that semi-state between open and shut, gravity the only thing that now gave them any semblance of life.
"Take this as a lesson, Timmy," he whispered, now crouching over the young baron, stretching out a hand to wipe away the droplets of blood trickling down the bridge of the man's nose. "We Thanasis... we shouldn't ever be underestimated. Forging victory, hm?"
Alone as they were on the beach, he stood there in silence for a long while, savouring the moment. Relishing the sense of power which now flowed through him, he finally lowered his bow, eyes glancing over the beach towards the horse that still stood at the bottom of that steep track from the clifftop. It had yet to react - a benefit, he supposed, of its belonging to a military captain: no doubt the horse had seen far worse. Mihail watched the stallion for a few long seconds, running through all his options. It was a loose end he had not counted on, and that would not do. This had all been such a spectacular show that the man refused to allow something as meaningless as a misplaced horse get in the way of his production.
However, there would be time for that later.
When Mihail had visited this beach not too long ago, he had made a note of a small cave not too far from the trail. It was here that he now planned to hide Timaeus's body, hands wrapping tightly around his victim's ankles. His weight was not something for which he had accounted, and Mihail could barely help but struggle as he hauled the man across the sand. He may have had strength in his arms, but the muscles that should have been developed in military training were weaker, and the pull took more than anticipated. Friction did not help him, nor did the arrows embedded in the body's chest and shoulder as they caught in the ground. Nonetheless, he managed to pull Timaeus across to the cliffside, leaving a deep gash in the earth along where the body had moved.
Leaving him a few metres into the cave, well-hidden from prying eyes, Mihail could not help but smirk at the poetry of the situation. This, a place where Timaeus may have once made love to his beloved - he had not bothered to research them so intensely as to know the accuracy of that statement - now the place where he would rot for all eternity. A carcass.
Grabbing the shaft of the arrow which had brought Timaeus down, it took only a firm tug to extract it from the carrion, the barbs on the tip tearing at his flesh. He moved to remove the one buried in his left shoulder next, rolling his felled beast over ever so slightly to reach it with more ease, foot in place to stop him from falling back again. The second arrow was harder, having passed almost the full way through to his front, the tail end almost halfway-buried in blood-oozing meat. He heaved it out, gore pouring from the wound and spilling over the rocky ground.
The final arrow lodged firmly in the skull was the only one which had not been barbed and slid so smoothly from its slit, Mihail dropping it back into his quiver with an air of nonchalance.
From the depths of the same quiver, he then drew out a small pouch made from dark-dyed animal skin, plucking from it a single bronze obol. He bent at the knee, using thumb and forefinger to hitch up Timaeus's top lip and push down his chin, creating a gap just wide enough for him to slide the specie through, placing it upon his tongue in the same mocking manner that one might have set such a coin in the mouth of an animal downed in the hunt with the knowledge that they would never be reaching Elysium. For this man: he would not.
The cave's entrance was not excessively large, a low roof meaning that not even Mihail could enter without being forced to lower his head. Its small size, however, made it both less noticeable and more manageable to block off: a boulder rolled in front of the entrance would prevent any access for a while. Fortunately, there were plenty of those around the base of the cliff - something he had made sure of confirming before the rest of this had been planned out - and all that was required was a way to move the large rocks.
Perhaps even more luckily, Timaeus had provided him with just that.
Ignoring the cave, for now, he crossed towards the dock, only a mild hesitation noticeable in his steps. Mihail of Thanasi did not like water, and if one were to mock him for anything, then he would not judge ridicule for such a fear. It was perfectly reasonable anxiety: once, when he'd been much younger, his brother had pushed him into a fountain in the midst of a fight over some toy (for further reference, it had been Mihail's, and Dysius had had no right to it). Unable to swim, the boy had been left terrified and almost drowned until Evras had come to his aid and pulled him from the water. He did not like water.
Nonetheless, he made his way down to the dock where a few lone boats were still tied, bobbing rhythmically in the water. Were it not for the bloodstains and stray arrows still lying on the ground, the scene looked almost idyllic, and one might never have suspected a murder had taken place there only moments before. He was tentative about walking onto the quay, nearly halting and turning back with each stride, approaching one of the lonely boats and untying the rope that held it in place. There had been a slowness and a theatricality to everything he had done up until this point but, now, with the overwhelming worry that, somehow, the stone holding him up would give away, Mihail worked quickly, almost sprinting back to the safety of dry land once he had what he needed.
The horse was the next piece of the puzzle. It was an excessively gentle creature, barely flinching as the man who had killed its master approached and wrapped a rope around its neck and shoulders. He urged the beast to follow him, leading it to the entrance of the cave where finally, he stopped once again, attaching the other end of the rope to one of the loose boulders. He may not have had the strength to roll it himself, but the chestnut Andalusian did so with expertise, having been trained with weights dwarfing this, and the cavern containing Timaeus's body was soon closed off to the ages.
Now with the corpse hidden, Mihail continued to lead the horse about the beach for a moment longer, its hooves kicking up sand as it walked, effortlessly masking the trail left when the body had been dragged through the dirt. At the shoreline once again, where the blood had sunk into the ground so thickly it almost appeared a part of the earth itself, he picked up the two remaining arrows that stuck out where they had landed, drawing in the wet sand with his foot. For a second, the pattern mimicked the serpent on the Thanasi crest, before he scrubbed it out until nothing remained but a pale pink stain in the ground and a splattering of blood on his toes. The tide would handle the rest when it came in.
Casting his eyes over the foreshore in a final attempt to ensure anything incriminating had been removed, he was satisfied with his work, turning back to the warhorse. He could not abandon the beast here: its presence would be far too apparent. Instead, Mihail approached the horse slowly, grabbing a hunk of mane and jumping up as he swung his right leg over its back to seat himself atop the coarse brown cloth. Urgh, how could Timaeus ride comfortably with this scratching against his thighs?
The journey up the steep path and back into the city of Midas was more comfortable on horseback - it was indeed more conspicuous, but few would ever bother a Thanasi with that hard-practised scowl and less than favourable reputation - and it too had the benefit of speed, returning him to the Thanasi Archontikó in half the time it had taken him to reach the beach in the first place. He abandoned the horse amidst the others in the stables, assuming no servant would be bothered enough to ask any questions on its sudden appearance, and quickly disappeared into the house with plans to retire discreetly to his chambers. The afternoon had passed faster than he might have expected, and evening was fast upon him.
He would have hoped for silence on his return to his bedroom, but fortune had chosen no longer to favour Mihail and, instead, he found himself face to face with his only brother, who had looked him up and down and disdainfully questioned the blood on his sandals.
Mihail had returned the haughty expression, looked him dead in the eye and, with barely a beat missed, responded: "I went hunting."
Dysius had been equally unbothered and commented that he had returned home on an unfamiliar steed he had not had when he'd left earlier that day and that he had not brought back any game.
The youngest Thanasi stared at him for a long minute; an eyebrow quirked upwards. The corner of his mouth followed. "I never said a word about game."
He left Dysius to his irritable devices and disappeared to his room, the pride visible on his face. It had been an invaluable experience: the rumours had been quelled, and the slanderer had been felled. His carcass would rot away, worthless and forgotten, picked at by whichever creatures dwelled in the depths of that one empty cavern, doomed to wander the Asphodel Fields for all eternity, his improper burial barring him from ever entering Elysium.
If Mihail was wronged: then pity whoever hurt him, for he was vicious and intelligent and cruel. He was a Thanasi, and he was not kind.
Mihail did not take graciously to being undermined.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Mihail stood over the body.
It had been a clean shot through the glabella, and death was instantaneous for the poor Valaoritis. He watched the man's eyes as they faded from their steel blue shade to the dull grey of death; watched as his eyelids slowly closed, pulled down by gravity until they were left fluttering in that semi-state between open and shut, gravity the only thing that now gave them any semblance of life.
"Take this as a lesson, Timmy," he whispered, now crouching over the young baron, stretching out a hand to wipe away the droplets of blood trickling down the bridge of the man's nose. "We Thanasis... we shouldn't ever be underestimated. Forging victory, hm?"
Alone as they were on the beach, he stood there in silence for a long while, savouring the moment. Relishing the sense of power which now flowed through him, he finally lowered his bow, eyes glancing over the beach towards the horse that still stood at the bottom of that steep track from the clifftop. It had yet to react - a benefit, he supposed, of its belonging to a military captain: no doubt the horse had seen far worse. Mihail watched the stallion for a few long seconds, running through all his options. It was a loose end he had not counted on, and that would not do. This had all been such a spectacular show that the man refused to allow something as meaningless as a misplaced horse get in the way of his production.
However, there would be time for that later.
When Mihail had visited this beach not too long ago, he had made a note of a small cave not too far from the trail. It was here that he now planned to hide Timaeus's body, hands wrapping tightly around his victim's ankles. His weight was not something for which he had accounted, and Mihail could barely help but struggle as he hauled the man across the sand. He may have had strength in his arms, but the muscles that should have been developed in military training were weaker, and the pull took more than anticipated. Friction did not help him, nor did the arrows embedded in the body's chest and shoulder as they caught in the ground. Nonetheless, he managed to pull Timaeus across to the cliffside, leaving a deep gash in the earth along where the body had moved.
Leaving him a few metres into the cave, well-hidden from prying eyes, Mihail could not help but smirk at the poetry of the situation. This, a place where Timaeus may have once made love to his beloved - he had not bothered to research them so intensely as to know the accuracy of that statement - now the place where he would rot for all eternity. A carcass.
Grabbing the shaft of the arrow which had brought Timaeus down, it took only a firm tug to extract it from the carrion, the barbs on the tip tearing at his flesh. He moved to remove the one buried in his left shoulder next, rolling his felled beast over ever so slightly to reach it with more ease, foot in place to stop him from falling back again. The second arrow was harder, having passed almost the full way through to his front, the tail end almost halfway-buried in blood-oozing meat. He heaved it out, gore pouring from the wound and spilling over the rocky ground.
The final arrow lodged firmly in the skull was the only one which had not been barbed and slid so smoothly from its slit, Mihail dropping it back into his quiver with an air of nonchalance.
From the depths of the same quiver, he then drew out a small pouch made from dark-dyed animal skin, plucking from it a single bronze obol. He bent at the knee, using thumb and forefinger to hitch up Timaeus's top lip and push down his chin, creating a gap just wide enough for him to slide the specie through, placing it upon his tongue in the same mocking manner that one might have set such a coin in the mouth of an animal downed in the hunt with the knowledge that they would never be reaching Elysium. For this man: he would not.
The cave's entrance was not excessively large, a low roof meaning that not even Mihail could enter without being forced to lower his head. Its small size, however, made it both less noticeable and more manageable to block off: a boulder rolled in front of the entrance would prevent any access for a while. Fortunately, there were plenty of those around the base of the cliff - something he had made sure of confirming before the rest of this had been planned out - and all that was required was a way to move the large rocks.
Perhaps even more luckily, Timaeus had provided him with just that.
Ignoring the cave, for now, he crossed towards the dock, only a mild hesitation noticeable in his steps. Mihail of Thanasi did not like water, and if one were to mock him for anything, then he would not judge ridicule for such a fear. It was perfectly reasonable anxiety: once, when he'd been much younger, his brother had pushed him into a fountain in the midst of a fight over some toy (for further reference, it had been Mihail's, and Dysius had had no right to it). Unable to swim, the boy had been left terrified and almost drowned until Evras had come to his aid and pulled him from the water. He did not like water.
Nonetheless, he made his way down to the dock where a few lone boats were still tied, bobbing rhythmically in the water. Were it not for the bloodstains and stray arrows still lying on the ground, the scene looked almost idyllic, and one might never have suspected a murder had taken place there only moments before. He was tentative about walking onto the quay, nearly halting and turning back with each stride, approaching one of the lonely boats and untying the rope that held it in place. There had been a slowness and a theatricality to everything he had done up until this point but, now, with the overwhelming worry that, somehow, the stone holding him up would give away, Mihail worked quickly, almost sprinting back to the safety of dry land once he had what he needed.
The horse was the next piece of the puzzle. It was an excessively gentle creature, barely flinching as the man who had killed its master approached and wrapped a rope around its neck and shoulders. He urged the beast to follow him, leading it to the entrance of the cave where finally, he stopped once again, attaching the other end of the rope to one of the loose boulders. He may not have had the strength to roll it himself, but the chestnut Andalusian did so with expertise, having been trained with weights dwarfing this, and the cavern containing Timaeus's body was soon closed off to the ages.
Now with the corpse hidden, Mihail continued to lead the horse about the beach for a moment longer, its hooves kicking up sand as it walked, effortlessly masking the trail left when the body had been dragged through the dirt. At the shoreline once again, where the blood had sunk into the ground so thickly it almost appeared a part of the earth itself, he picked up the two remaining arrows that stuck out where they had landed, drawing in the wet sand with his foot. For a second, the pattern mimicked the serpent on the Thanasi crest, before he scrubbed it out until nothing remained but a pale pink stain in the ground and a splattering of blood on his toes. The tide would handle the rest when it came in.
Casting his eyes over the foreshore in a final attempt to ensure anything incriminating had been removed, he was satisfied with his work, turning back to the warhorse. He could not abandon the beast here: its presence would be far too apparent. Instead, Mihail approached the horse slowly, grabbing a hunk of mane and jumping up as he swung his right leg over its back to seat himself atop the coarse brown cloth. Urgh, how could Timaeus ride comfortably with this scratching against his thighs?
The journey up the steep path and back into the city of Midas was more comfortable on horseback - it was indeed more conspicuous, but few would ever bother a Thanasi with that hard-practised scowl and less than favourable reputation - and it too had the benefit of speed, returning him to the Thanasi Archontikó in half the time it had taken him to reach the beach in the first place. He abandoned the horse amidst the others in the stables, assuming no servant would be bothered enough to ask any questions on its sudden appearance, and quickly disappeared into the house with plans to retire discreetly to his chambers. The afternoon had passed faster than he might have expected, and evening was fast upon him.
He would have hoped for silence on his return to his bedroom, but fortune had chosen no longer to favour Mihail and, instead, he found himself face to face with his only brother, who had looked him up and down and disdainfully questioned the blood on his sandals.
Mihail had returned the haughty expression, looked him dead in the eye and, with barely a beat missed, responded: "I went hunting."
Dysius had been equally unbothered and commented that he had returned home on an unfamiliar steed he had not had when he'd left earlier that day and that he had not brought back any game.
The youngest Thanasi stared at him for a long minute; an eyebrow quirked upwards. The corner of his mouth followed. "I never said a word about game."
He left Dysius to his irritable devices and disappeared to his room, the pride visible on his face. It had been an invaluable experience: the rumours had been quelled, and the slanderer had been felled. His carcass would rot away, worthless and forgotten, picked at by whichever creatures dwelled in the depths of that one empty cavern, doomed to wander the Asphodel Fields for all eternity, his improper burial barring him from ever entering Elysium.
If Mihail was wronged: then pity whoever hurt him, for he was vicious and intelligent and cruel. He was a Thanasi, and he was not kind.
Mihail did not take graciously to being undermined.
Mihail stood over the body.
It had been a clean shot through the glabella, and death was instantaneous for the poor Valaoritis. He watched the man's eyes as they faded from their steel blue shade to the dull grey of death; watched as his eyelids slowly closed, pulled down by gravity until they were left fluttering in that semi-state between open and shut, gravity the only thing that now gave them any semblance of life.
"Take this as a lesson, Timmy," he whispered, now crouching over the young baron, stretching out a hand to wipe away the droplets of blood trickling down the bridge of the man's nose. "We Thanasis... we shouldn't ever be underestimated. Forging victory, hm?"
Alone as they were on the beach, he stood there in silence for a long while, savouring the moment. Relishing the sense of power which now flowed through him, he finally lowered his bow, eyes glancing over the beach towards the horse that still stood at the bottom of that steep track from the clifftop. It had yet to react - a benefit, he supposed, of its belonging to a military captain: no doubt the horse had seen far worse. Mihail watched the stallion for a few long seconds, running through all his options. It was a loose end he had not counted on, and that would not do. This had all been such a spectacular show that the man refused to allow something as meaningless as a misplaced horse get in the way of his production.
However, there would be time for that later.
When Mihail had visited this beach not too long ago, he had made a note of a small cave not too far from the trail. It was here that he now planned to hide Timaeus's body, hands wrapping tightly around his victim's ankles. His weight was not something for which he had accounted, and Mihail could barely help but struggle as he hauled the man across the sand. He may have had strength in his arms, but the muscles that should have been developed in military training were weaker, and the pull took more than anticipated. Friction did not help him, nor did the arrows embedded in the body's chest and shoulder as they caught in the ground. Nonetheless, he managed to pull Timaeus across to the cliffside, leaving a deep gash in the earth along where the body had moved.
Leaving him a few metres into the cave, well-hidden from prying eyes, Mihail could not help but smirk at the poetry of the situation. This, a place where Timaeus may have once made love to his beloved - he had not bothered to research them so intensely as to know the accuracy of that statement - now the place where he would rot for all eternity. A carcass.
Grabbing the shaft of the arrow which had brought Timaeus down, it took only a firm tug to extract it from the carrion, the barbs on the tip tearing at his flesh. He moved to remove the one buried in his left shoulder next, rolling his felled beast over ever so slightly to reach it with more ease, foot in place to stop him from falling back again. The second arrow was harder, having passed almost the full way through to his front, the tail end almost halfway-buried in blood-oozing meat. He heaved it out, gore pouring from the wound and spilling over the rocky ground.
The final arrow lodged firmly in the skull was the only one which had not been barbed and slid so smoothly from its slit, Mihail dropping it back into his quiver with an air of nonchalance.
From the depths of the same quiver, he then drew out a small pouch made from dark-dyed animal skin, plucking from it a single bronze obol. He bent at the knee, using thumb and forefinger to hitch up Timaeus's top lip and push down his chin, creating a gap just wide enough for him to slide the specie through, placing it upon his tongue in the same mocking manner that one might have set such a coin in the mouth of an animal downed in the hunt with the knowledge that they would never be reaching Elysium. For this man: he would not.
The cave's entrance was not excessively large, a low roof meaning that not even Mihail could enter without being forced to lower his head. Its small size, however, made it both less noticeable and more manageable to block off: a boulder rolled in front of the entrance would prevent any access for a while. Fortunately, there were plenty of those around the base of the cliff - something he had made sure of confirming before the rest of this had been planned out - and all that was required was a way to move the large rocks.
Perhaps even more luckily, Timaeus had provided him with just that.
Ignoring the cave, for now, he crossed towards the dock, only a mild hesitation noticeable in his steps. Mihail of Thanasi did not like water, and if one were to mock him for anything, then he would not judge ridicule for such a fear. It was perfectly reasonable anxiety: once, when he'd been much younger, his brother had pushed him into a fountain in the midst of a fight over some toy (for further reference, it had been Mihail's, and Dysius had had no right to it). Unable to swim, the boy had been left terrified and almost drowned until Evras had come to his aid and pulled him from the water. He did not like water.
Nonetheless, he made his way down to the dock where a few lone boats were still tied, bobbing rhythmically in the water. Were it not for the bloodstains and stray arrows still lying on the ground, the scene looked almost idyllic, and one might never have suspected a murder had taken place there only moments before. He was tentative about walking onto the quay, nearly halting and turning back with each stride, approaching one of the lonely boats and untying the rope that held it in place. There had been a slowness and a theatricality to everything he had done up until this point but, now, with the overwhelming worry that, somehow, the stone holding him up would give away, Mihail worked quickly, almost sprinting back to the safety of dry land once he had what he needed.
The horse was the next piece of the puzzle. It was an excessively gentle creature, barely flinching as the man who had killed its master approached and wrapped a rope around its neck and shoulders. He urged the beast to follow him, leading it to the entrance of the cave where finally, he stopped once again, attaching the other end of the rope to one of the loose boulders. He may not have had the strength to roll it himself, but the chestnut Andalusian did so with expertise, having been trained with weights dwarfing this, and the cavern containing Timaeus's body was soon closed off to the ages.
Now with the corpse hidden, Mihail continued to lead the horse about the beach for a moment longer, its hooves kicking up sand as it walked, effortlessly masking the trail left when the body had been dragged through the dirt. At the shoreline once again, where the blood had sunk into the ground so thickly it almost appeared a part of the earth itself, he picked up the two remaining arrows that stuck out where they had landed, drawing in the wet sand with his foot. For a second, the pattern mimicked the serpent on the Thanasi crest, before he scrubbed it out until nothing remained but a pale pink stain in the ground and a splattering of blood on his toes. The tide would handle the rest when it came in.
Casting his eyes over the foreshore in a final attempt to ensure anything incriminating had been removed, he was satisfied with his work, turning back to the warhorse. He could not abandon the beast here: its presence would be far too apparent. Instead, Mihail approached the horse slowly, grabbing a hunk of mane and jumping up as he swung his right leg over its back to seat himself atop the coarse brown cloth. Urgh, how could Timaeus ride comfortably with this scratching against his thighs?
The journey up the steep path and back into the city of Midas was more comfortable on horseback - it was indeed more conspicuous, but few would ever bother a Thanasi with that hard-practised scowl and less than favourable reputation - and it too had the benefit of speed, returning him to the Thanasi Archontikó in half the time it had taken him to reach the beach in the first place. He abandoned the horse amidst the others in the stables, assuming no servant would be bothered enough to ask any questions on its sudden appearance, and quickly disappeared into the house with plans to retire discreetly to his chambers. The afternoon had passed faster than he might have expected, and evening was fast upon him.
He would have hoped for silence on his return to his bedroom, but fortune had chosen no longer to favour Mihail and, instead, he found himself face to face with his only brother, who had looked him up and down and disdainfully questioned the blood on his sandals.
Mihail had returned the haughty expression, looked him dead in the eye and, with barely a beat missed, responded: "I went hunting."
Dysius had been equally unbothered and commented that he had returned home on an unfamiliar steed he had not had when he'd left earlier that day and that he had not brought back any game.
The youngest Thanasi stared at him for a long minute; an eyebrow quirked upwards. The corner of his mouth followed. "I never said a word about game."
He left Dysius to his irritable devices and disappeared to his room, the pride visible on his face. It had been an invaluable experience: the rumours had been quelled, and the slanderer had been felled. His carcass would rot away, worthless and forgotten, picked at by whichever creatures dwelled in the depths of that one empty cavern, doomed to wander the Asphodel Fields for all eternity, his improper burial barring him from ever entering Elysium.
If Mihail was wronged: then pity whoever hurt him, for he was vicious and intelligent and cruel. He was a Thanasi, and he was not kind.
Mihail did not take graciously to being undermined.
