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Crystal blue waves with the slightest hint of teal lapped against the long winding shore of the Grecian Coastline to welcome another day. The tide was high for the day as dark clouds filled the sky on all sides in the distance. A few drops of rain splashed on the white brick tops of the Athenia homes, but if there was to be a storm it had not yet arrived. The Athenia Guard at the headquarters stood at perfect posture in the towers that lined the building. Spears held in formation as they eagerly awaited the guest. A lined composition stood by waiting with backs arched and legs straightened. The Master of War was coming today, which often would have been enough to concern the men. Far more alarming was the guest he was bringing, the Princess of Athenia.
Some of the men had seen her in the distance or encountered her when her father performed inspections, but it was a rare occasion that the princess would come out without her father. There were plenty of rumors circulating the barracks. Some men claimed she was going to replace the Master of War with a new Officer. Others whispered she was hiring men for a suicide mission. A few men even joked perhaps she was coming to see real men. No one knew for sure, and so eyes remained a mixture of cautious and nervous underneath the Athenia Helmets that shadowed his or her faces. All the men had been called to stand ready at posts, all except five.
The five were told to stand in a line by the sand pit used for training. Each was determined to bring a weapon, and the sparing leather tunic and bracers. The soldiers all had a way of looking similar given the armor and gear, and it was part of the uniformity of the military. There was something a little different about the man in the middle. The men gave him a bit wider space. The way the others soldiers looked at him was of profound respect. The officers gave the orders, but if they said to move forward, there was the slightest glance to Vilmar before all of them followed his step. He was only a soldier, but in some ways, that made the men respect him all the more.
Vilmar stood taller than most of the men. He did not tower it over them, but he seemed comfortable with his height. His body not bulky or lithe, but broad and toned. The edges of his palms were coarse like leather. His hair tattered from years in the wind kept in a loose style. His eyes gazed off into the distance. They appeared to be looking for a question and not finding an answer. The leather vest wrapped around him well maintained, the edges loose of frayed threads and the clasp fastened firmly. The handle of his sparring sword was polished.
He was not sure why these five had been pulled apart from the others. He knew the others though, and it was an esteemed company. He would have trusted any of the others with his life. Vilmar did not feel much up for sparring today, but such was the life he had chosen. His mind wandered, and he found himself wishing Mykos would have been there. His old friend would have livened up the line with a joke, or an amusing word. Vilmar had never been as successful at lightening the mood. Perhaps the Master of War had an assignment for the five of them. Maybe a new mission would serve him well. It would clear his mind from the fog that seemed to consume it of late.
In the distance, he heard shields link as there was a bustle from the main gate. One of the men on the high tower signaled that a visitor was approaching. They were early, not that such a change in timing surprised Vilmar. It must have been the arrival of the Master of War and the Princess. Vilmar squared his shoulders and stood at attention, without a word the men beside him followed suit. In the distance, he thought he could begin to see someone approaching.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Crystal blue waves with the slightest hint of teal lapped against the long winding shore of the Grecian Coastline to welcome another day. The tide was high for the day as dark clouds filled the sky on all sides in the distance. A few drops of rain splashed on the white brick tops of the Athenia homes, but if there was to be a storm it had not yet arrived. The Athenia Guard at the headquarters stood at perfect posture in the towers that lined the building. Spears held in formation as they eagerly awaited the guest. A lined composition stood by waiting with backs arched and legs straightened. The Master of War was coming today, which often would have been enough to concern the men. Far more alarming was the guest he was bringing, the Princess of Athenia.
Some of the men had seen her in the distance or encountered her when her father performed inspections, but it was a rare occasion that the princess would come out without her father. There were plenty of rumors circulating the barracks. Some men claimed she was going to replace the Master of War with a new Officer. Others whispered she was hiring men for a suicide mission. A few men even joked perhaps she was coming to see real men. No one knew for sure, and so eyes remained a mixture of cautious and nervous underneath the Athenia Helmets that shadowed his or her faces. All the men had been called to stand ready at posts, all except five.
The five were told to stand in a line by the sand pit used for training. Each was determined to bring a weapon, and the sparing leather tunic and bracers. The soldiers all had a way of looking similar given the armor and gear, and it was part of the uniformity of the military. There was something a little different about the man in the middle. The men gave him a bit wider space. The way the others soldiers looked at him was of profound respect. The officers gave the orders, but if they said to move forward, there was the slightest glance to Vilmar before all of them followed his step. He was only a soldier, but in some ways, that made the men respect him all the more.
Vilmar stood taller than most of the men. He did not tower it over them, but he seemed comfortable with his height. His body not bulky or lithe, but broad and toned. The edges of his palms were coarse like leather. His hair tattered from years in the wind kept in a loose style. His eyes gazed off into the distance. They appeared to be looking for a question and not finding an answer. The leather vest wrapped around him well maintained, the edges loose of frayed threads and the clasp fastened firmly. The handle of his sparring sword was polished.
He was not sure why these five had been pulled apart from the others. He knew the others though, and it was an esteemed company. He would have trusted any of the others with his life. Vilmar did not feel much up for sparring today, but such was the life he had chosen. His mind wandered, and he found himself wishing Mykos would have been there. His old friend would have livened up the line with a joke, or an amusing word. Vilmar had never been as successful at lightening the mood. Perhaps the Master of War had an assignment for the five of them. Maybe a new mission would serve him well. It would clear his mind from the fog that seemed to consume it of late.
In the distance, he heard shields link as there was a bustle from the main gate. One of the men on the high tower signaled that a visitor was approaching. They were early, not that such a change in timing surprised Vilmar. It must have been the arrival of the Master of War and the Princess. Vilmar squared his shoulders and stood at attention, without a word the men beside him followed suit. In the distance, he thought he could begin to see someone approaching.
Crystal blue waves with the slightest hint of teal lapped against the long winding shore of the Grecian Coastline to welcome another day. The tide was high for the day as dark clouds filled the sky on all sides in the distance. A few drops of rain splashed on the white brick tops of the Athenia homes, but if there was to be a storm it had not yet arrived. The Athenia Guard at the headquarters stood at perfect posture in the towers that lined the building. Spears held in formation as they eagerly awaited the guest. A lined composition stood by waiting with backs arched and legs straightened. The Master of War was coming today, which often would have been enough to concern the men. Far more alarming was the guest he was bringing, the Princess of Athenia.
Some of the men had seen her in the distance or encountered her when her father performed inspections, but it was a rare occasion that the princess would come out without her father. There were plenty of rumors circulating the barracks. Some men claimed she was going to replace the Master of War with a new Officer. Others whispered she was hiring men for a suicide mission. A few men even joked perhaps she was coming to see real men. No one knew for sure, and so eyes remained a mixture of cautious and nervous underneath the Athenia Helmets that shadowed his or her faces. All the men had been called to stand ready at posts, all except five.
The five were told to stand in a line by the sand pit used for training. Each was determined to bring a weapon, and the sparing leather tunic and bracers. The soldiers all had a way of looking similar given the armor and gear, and it was part of the uniformity of the military. There was something a little different about the man in the middle. The men gave him a bit wider space. The way the others soldiers looked at him was of profound respect. The officers gave the orders, but if they said to move forward, there was the slightest glance to Vilmar before all of them followed his step. He was only a soldier, but in some ways, that made the men respect him all the more.
Vilmar stood taller than most of the men. He did not tower it over them, but he seemed comfortable with his height. His body not bulky or lithe, but broad and toned. The edges of his palms were coarse like leather. His hair tattered from years in the wind kept in a loose style. His eyes gazed off into the distance. They appeared to be looking for a question and not finding an answer. The leather vest wrapped around him well maintained, the edges loose of frayed threads and the clasp fastened firmly. The handle of his sparring sword was polished.
He was not sure why these five had been pulled apart from the others. He knew the others though, and it was an esteemed company. He would have trusted any of the others with his life. Vilmar did not feel much up for sparring today, but such was the life he had chosen. His mind wandered, and he found himself wishing Mykos would have been there. His old friend would have livened up the line with a joke, or an amusing word. Vilmar had never been as successful at lightening the mood. Perhaps the Master of War had an assignment for the five of them. Maybe a new mission would serve him well. It would clear his mind from the fog that seemed to consume it of late.
In the distance, he heard shields link as there was a bustle from the main gate. One of the men on the high tower signaled that a visitor was approaching. They were early, not that such a change in timing surprised Vilmar. It must have been the arrival of the Master of War and the Princess. Vilmar squared his shoulders and stood at attention, without a word the men beside him followed suit. In the distance, he thought he could begin to see someone approaching.
The Athenian jail was a large building with an excessive amount of land for something that predominantly existed under it. Upon first appearance, the building looked like a temple; columns of stone from shallow steps to pointed roof spanning the front wall of the structure. As was standard for such buildings of import or propriety, carvings and blessings had been carved into the top dais; engravings of armoured men slaying demons of evil. Beneath the illustrations ran the epitaph "For we exist as one and for one." The "one" Persephone chose to interpret as Athenia - the kingdom a living, breathing individual that the guards protected, regardless of who was controlling its head. But the king who had order the message inscribed had been a particularly arrogant king (or so many whispered) meaning that most took the words to mean that the military men within its walls lived solely for the monarch of the kingdom.
Either way, Persephone had formed a small tradition around those words, whenever she had visited the property. As the main gates were opened and her carriage allowed through, Persephone watched as those columns drew closer and then waited as the footman for her carriage opened the door and allowed her to exit the vehicle.
Dressed in a shimmering, flowing gown of navy blue, the fabric fastened around her neck and dropping beneath her arms in a sleeveless fashion, she had insisted that her hair be fastened back for the meeting. With her hair coiled delicately into an elegant not at the crown of her head, with tendrils escaping and thin silver chains worked into the weaves, she looked every inch the supporter of the garrison. Navy blue was the colour of Athenia, the silver mimicked the soldier's armour and the gold edging around the hem of her dress that worked its way up the folds of her gown accentuated the golden hue of her skin and matched the dusting her maids had placed around her eyes.
When her hand was freed by the footman and her attentions her own again, Persephone was finally allowed the completion of her little tradition, looking up at the carving of the warriors and running through the list of historical heroes she had learnt in education, attributing a different Athenian warlord or protector to each face carved into the stone.
It was a pattern - a habit, so to speak - that had formed in Persephone's mind since she was a young girl and had been allowed to accompany her father to the barracks that existed a level above the underground jail of the city. As there had been zero chance of the young princess encountering one of the criminals safely locked beneath the sands, her father had wanted to bring her into the company of the soldiers, proud to inform her that each and every one of them had given their oath and dedicated their lives to defending Athenia and - by extension - the little eight-year-old Persephone.
As time had gone on, her father had referred to the men within the barracks as not only her protectors but also the protectors of the good people of the kingdom - the people who needed defending against those who would do them harm. He called the Athenian Guard, the Hand of the King - the men with which a monarch could reach out and secure strength, loyalty and protection.
And now it was that one of the men within would secure her own protection...
With an accident causing the retirement of her previous guard - a man by the name of Larus - her father had scrambled to find someone that he trusted beyond measure. With the Senate meeting drawing close in approximately six weeks, dangers could be lurking around every corner - every political or courtly word or invitation a mask to an ulterior motive. It was essential that the princess and potential heir to the Athenian throne - was watched for safety on a twenty-four-hour basis.
His first move was to request the return to active service of Parmenion of Arcana. A general who had fought for him for many years and was highly decorated both as a commander and as a warrior in his own right. The Master of War, whom he had been discussing this decision with had been less than enthused.
While, he assured the king, he respected the mind of General Parmenion, the man was far past his prime as a fighting man and to protect a woman so in the limelight and such a target for danger would require a more active soldier. While Parmenion could, with his years of experience, handle the tactical pragmatics of protecting a princess in both social and private circumstances, including large scale events; creating the shield with which to protect the princess... a younger fighter was also required, to be the sword to wield beside her for immediate and forceful danger. The body through which a sword had to pass before reaching royal skin.
Persephone had not liked this turn of phrase that the Master of War had decided to use but she did little to correct him. She understood his basic meaning at least.
So, here they were. Present at the Athenian guard barracks, in order for her to pick and choose her second of two private bodyguards.
While her first appointment, Parmenion was in a large-scale meeting with the king regarding his duties, the Master of War was accompanying Persephone along with her handmaiden in order to keep her safe on the excursion. It was supposed that, once they were inside the barracks, they would have no trouble.
The Master of War was also there at Persephone's own request in order to assess the men. The man - by name of Kirias - has assured her they the guards would prepare their finest fighters for her inspection and choice. But, unlike most crown royals who were male and had had previous training in the military, Persephone had no idea what made an effective fighter over others. She had seen gladiators combat in the arena but generally the distinction there was clear - the weak fell and the strong stood. So, unless the Master of War was preparing a fight to the death in the Athenian barracks - she had little to no ability to choose her own protector. Ergo, she had insisted that the man accompany her visit to see the Athenian Guard.
As the small convoy, approached the steps, Persephone was grateful for Kirias's gentlemanly upbringing as he held out a hand to aid her up the steps.
She then walked ahead of the man, as was appropriate for her rank, through the main walls of the building - the second line of defence after the main gates and both topped with patrols, before ending into an open courtyard, a large and sandy practice area surrounded on all sides by arched walkways. In the centre, stood five men, standing in formation, awaiting their guests or their orders - whichever approached first but Persephone paid them little mind as the head of the Athenian Guard came to meet her small party, welcoming them to the Fylaki.
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The Athenian jail was a large building with an excessive amount of land for something that predominantly existed under it. Upon first appearance, the building looked like a temple; columns of stone from shallow steps to pointed roof spanning the front wall of the structure. As was standard for such buildings of import or propriety, carvings and blessings had been carved into the top dais; engravings of armoured men slaying demons of evil. Beneath the illustrations ran the epitaph "For we exist as one and for one." The "one" Persephone chose to interpret as Athenia - the kingdom a living, breathing individual that the guards protected, regardless of who was controlling its head. But the king who had order the message inscribed had been a particularly arrogant king (or so many whispered) meaning that most took the words to mean that the military men within its walls lived solely for the monarch of the kingdom.
Either way, Persephone had formed a small tradition around those words, whenever she had visited the property. As the main gates were opened and her carriage allowed through, Persephone watched as those columns drew closer and then waited as the footman for her carriage opened the door and allowed her to exit the vehicle.
Dressed in a shimmering, flowing gown of navy blue, the fabric fastened around her neck and dropping beneath her arms in a sleeveless fashion, she had insisted that her hair be fastened back for the meeting. With her hair coiled delicately into an elegant not at the crown of her head, with tendrils escaping and thin silver chains worked into the weaves, she looked every inch the supporter of the garrison. Navy blue was the colour of Athenia, the silver mimicked the soldier's armour and the gold edging around the hem of her dress that worked its way up the folds of her gown accentuated the golden hue of her skin and matched the dusting her maids had placed around her eyes.
When her hand was freed by the footman and her attentions her own again, Persephone was finally allowed the completion of her little tradition, looking up at the carving of the warriors and running through the list of historical heroes she had learnt in education, attributing a different Athenian warlord or protector to each face carved into the stone.
It was a pattern - a habit, so to speak - that had formed in Persephone's mind since she was a young girl and had been allowed to accompany her father to the barracks that existed a level above the underground jail of the city. As there had been zero chance of the young princess encountering one of the criminals safely locked beneath the sands, her father had wanted to bring her into the company of the soldiers, proud to inform her that each and every one of them had given their oath and dedicated their lives to defending Athenia and - by extension - the little eight-year-old Persephone.
As time had gone on, her father had referred to the men within the barracks as not only her protectors but also the protectors of the good people of the kingdom - the people who needed defending against those who would do them harm. He called the Athenian Guard, the Hand of the King - the men with which a monarch could reach out and secure strength, loyalty and protection.
And now it was that one of the men within would secure her own protection...
With an accident causing the retirement of her previous guard - a man by the name of Larus - her father had scrambled to find someone that he trusted beyond measure. With the Senate meeting drawing close in approximately six weeks, dangers could be lurking around every corner - every political or courtly word or invitation a mask to an ulterior motive. It was essential that the princess and potential heir to the Athenian throne - was watched for safety on a twenty-four-hour basis.
His first move was to request the return to active service of Parmenion of Arcana. A general who had fought for him for many years and was highly decorated both as a commander and as a warrior in his own right. The Master of War, whom he had been discussing this decision with had been less than enthused.
While, he assured the king, he respected the mind of General Parmenion, the man was far past his prime as a fighting man and to protect a woman so in the limelight and such a target for danger would require a more active soldier. While Parmenion could, with his years of experience, handle the tactical pragmatics of protecting a princess in both social and private circumstances, including large scale events; creating the shield with which to protect the princess... a younger fighter was also required, to be the sword to wield beside her for immediate and forceful danger. The body through which a sword had to pass before reaching royal skin.
Persephone had not liked this turn of phrase that the Master of War had decided to use but she did little to correct him. She understood his basic meaning at least.
So, here they were. Present at the Athenian guard barracks, in order for her to pick and choose her second of two private bodyguards.
While her first appointment, Parmenion was in a large-scale meeting with the king regarding his duties, the Master of War was accompanying Persephone along with her handmaiden in order to keep her safe on the excursion. It was supposed that, once they were inside the barracks, they would have no trouble.
The Master of War was also there at Persephone's own request in order to assess the men. The man - by name of Kirias - has assured her they the guards would prepare their finest fighters for her inspection and choice. But, unlike most crown royals who were male and had had previous training in the military, Persephone had no idea what made an effective fighter over others. She had seen gladiators combat in the arena but generally the distinction there was clear - the weak fell and the strong stood. So, unless the Master of War was preparing a fight to the death in the Athenian barracks - she had little to no ability to choose her own protector. Ergo, she had insisted that the man accompany her visit to see the Athenian Guard.
As the small convoy, approached the steps, Persephone was grateful for Kirias's gentlemanly upbringing as he held out a hand to aid her up the steps.
She then walked ahead of the man, as was appropriate for her rank, through the main walls of the building - the second line of defence after the main gates and both topped with patrols, before ending into an open courtyard, a large and sandy practice area surrounded on all sides by arched walkways. In the centre, stood five men, standing in formation, awaiting their guests or their orders - whichever approached first but Persephone paid them little mind as the head of the Athenian Guard came to meet her small party, welcoming them to the Fylaki.
The Athenian jail was a large building with an excessive amount of land for something that predominantly existed under it. Upon first appearance, the building looked like a temple; columns of stone from shallow steps to pointed roof spanning the front wall of the structure. As was standard for such buildings of import or propriety, carvings and blessings had been carved into the top dais; engravings of armoured men slaying demons of evil. Beneath the illustrations ran the epitaph "For we exist as one and for one." The "one" Persephone chose to interpret as Athenia - the kingdom a living, breathing individual that the guards protected, regardless of who was controlling its head. But the king who had order the message inscribed had been a particularly arrogant king (or so many whispered) meaning that most took the words to mean that the military men within its walls lived solely for the monarch of the kingdom.
Either way, Persephone had formed a small tradition around those words, whenever she had visited the property. As the main gates were opened and her carriage allowed through, Persephone watched as those columns drew closer and then waited as the footman for her carriage opened the door and allowed her to exit the vehicle.
Dressed in a shimmering, flowing gown of navy blue, the fabric fastened around her neck and dropping beneath her arms in a sleeveless fashion, she had insisted that her hair be fastened back for the meeting. With her hair coiled delicately into an elegant not at the crown of her head, with tendrils escaping and thin silver chains worked into the weaves, she looked every inch the supporter of the garrison. Navy blue was the colour of Athenia, the silver mimicked the soldier's armour and the gold edging around the hem of her dress that worked its way up the folds of her gown accentuated the golden hue of her skin and matched the dusting her maids had placed around her eyes.
When her hand was freed by the footman and her attentions her own again, Persephone was finally allowed the completion of her little tradition, looking up at the carving of the warriors and running through the list of historical heroes she had learnt in education, attributing a different Athenian warlord or protector to each face carved into the stone.
It was a pattern - a habit, so to speak - that had formed in Persephone's mind since she was a young girl and had been allowed to accompany her father to the barracks that existed a level above the underground jail of the city. As there had been zero chance of the young princess encountering one of the criminals safely locked beneath the sands, her father had wanted to bring her into the company of the soldiers, proud to inform her that each and every one of them had given their oath and dedicated their lives to defending Athenia and - by extension - the little eight-year-old Persephone.
As time had gone on, her father had referred to the men within the barracks as not only her protectors but also the protectors of the good people of the kingdom - the people who needed defending against those who would do them harm. He called the Athenian Guard, the Hand of the King - the men with which a monarch could reach out and secure strength, loyalty and protection.
And now it was that one of the men within would secure her own protection...
With an accident causing the retirement of her previous guard - a man by the name of Larus - her father had scrambled to find someone that he trusted beyond measure. With the Senate meeting drawing close in approximately six weeks, dangers could be lurking around every corner - every political or courtly word or invitation a mask to an ulterior motive. It was essential that the princess and potential heir to the Athenian throne - was watched for safety on a twenty-four-hour basis.
His first move was to request the return to active service of Parmenion of Arcana. A general who had fought for him for many years and was highly decorated both as a commander and as a warrior in his own right. The Master of War, whom he had been discussing this decision with had been less than enthused.
While, he assured the king, he respected the mind of General Parmenion, the man was far past his prime as a fighting man and to protect a woman so in the limelight and such a target for danger would require a more active soldier. While Parmenion could, with his years of experience, handle the tactical pragmatics of protecting a princess in both social and private circumstances, including large scale events; creating the shield with which to protect the princess... a younger fighter was also required, to be the sword to wield beside her for immediate and forceful danger. The body through which a sword had to pass before reaching royal skin.
Persephone had not liked this turn of phrase that the Master of War had decided to use but she did little to correct him. She understood his basic meaning at least.
So, here they were. Present at the Athenian guard barracks, in order for her to pick and choose her second of two private bodyguards.
While her first appointment, Parmenion was in a large-scale meeting with the king regarding his duties, the Master of War was accompanying Persephone along with her handmaiden in order to keep her safe on the excursion. It was supposed that, once they were inside the barracks, they would have no trouble.
The Master of War was also there at Persephone's own request in order to assess the men. The man - by name of Kirias - has assured her they the guards would prepare their finest fighters for her inspection and choice. But, unlike most crown royals who were male and had had previous training in the military, Persephone had no idea what made an effective fighter over others. She had seen gladiators combat in the arena but generally the distinction there was clear - the weak fell and the strong stood. So, unless the Master of War was preparing a fight to the death in the Athenian barracks - she had little to no ability to choose her own protector. Ergo, she had insisted that the man accompany her visit to see the Athenian Guard.
As the small convoy, approached the steps, Persephone was grateful for Kirias's gentlemanly upbringing as he held out a hand to aid her up the steps.
She then walked ahead of the man, as was appropriate for her rank, through the main walls of the building - the second line of defence after the main gates and both topped with patrols, before ending into an open courtyard, a large and sandy practice area surrounded on all sides by arched walkways. In the centre, stood five men, standing in formation, awaiting their guests or their orders - whichever approached first but Persephone paid them little mind as the head of the Athenian Guard came to meet her small party, welcoming them to the Fylaki.
He was proud of his regimen. They were all fine men, men who were ready and willing to do whatever was asked of them. He held his men to a high standard, one that had earned him his position at such a young age. Any of his men would have fit the needs of the Princess and King, but he knew that it was going to be a delicate situation. And so, he had pulled up best men together.
When the king pulled him aside to ask him to prepare his best men for the Princess's guard, the commander was surprised it had taken them this long to do so. With the way the Senate conversations had been going, it was becoming apparent to those who were paying attention that they were making a move to allow Persophone to be Queen once the King died. AS soon as he realized what was going on, Diomedes started watching his men for weeks, unbeknownst to them. The training was specific, the situations far more advanced than they'd done in the past. He had wanted to make sure that when he presented his best for her to choose from, that it would be a difficult decision. But whoever she did choose would be an excellent candidate for her personal guard.
Now, the men were standing, waiting to see exactly what they'd been called for. Armor shined, weapons sharpened-- it would be a test. For those who weren't chosen, he'd already planned to promote them up in the ranks. He'd known the moment they'd arrived, but his men had been standing at attention from the moment they'd been in the yard. He'd given them very few details, other than who was going to be joining them. Now, as they got closer, he could feel the anticipation that was rising. It was going to be a good morning, indeed.
He stepped forward as the Princess came into view, his own uniform more immaculate than any of the men behind him. There was a reason he was the Commander, and damn if he wasn't going to look the part. He gave her a low bow, crossing his right hand over his heart in a half salute. "Your Highness, we are most honored to have you joining us today. I've selected only the finest men for you to choose from, along with a few exercises to show you their strengths." He had planned to have them spar after that, and maybe even allow the top two contenders to spar against him. "Would you like to inspect them first?" He asked, offering her his arm to lead her towards the men.
He wasn't much older than she was, but he'd known her most of her life. Their families had a long history, mostly through the Senate. His own position had been given by the King, chosen for his dedication and service, was one that he was proud of. So he was formal with her, but the offering of his arm was a bit more personal. Because she was their guest, but she was also to be their Queen. And he cared for her dearly.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
He was proud of his regimen. They were all fine men, men who were ready and willing to do whatever was asked of them. He held his men to a high standard, one that had earned him his position at such a young age. Any of his men would have fit the needs of the Princess and King, but he knew that it was going to be a delicate situation. And so, he had pulled up best men together.
When the king pulled him aside to ask him to prepare his best men for the Princess's guard, the commander was surprised it had taken them this long to do so. With the way the Senate conversations had been going, it was becoming apparent to those who were paying attention that they were making a move to allow Persophone to be Queen once the King died. AS soon as he realized what was going on, Diomedes started watching his men for weeks, unbeknownst to them. The training was specific, the situations far more advanced than they'd done in the past. He had wanted to make sure that when he presented his best for her to choose from, that it would be a difficult decision. But whoever she did choose would be an excellent candidate for her personal guard.
Now, the men were standing, waiting to see exactly what they'd been called for. Armor shined, weapons sharpened-- it would be a test. For those who weren't chosen, he'd already planned to promote them up in the ranks. He'd known the moment they'd arrived, but his men had been standing at attention from the moment they'd been in the yard. He'd given them very few details, other than who was going to be joining them. Now, as they got closer, he could feel the anticipation that was rising. It was going to be a good morning, indeed.
He stepped forward as the Princess came into view, his own uniform more immaculate than any of the men behind him. There was a reason he was the Commander, and damn if he wasn't going to look the part. He gave her a low bow, crossing his right hand over his heart in a half salute. "Your Highness, we are most honored to have you joining us today. I've selected only the finest men for you to choose from, along with a few exercises to show you their strengths." He had planned to have them spar after that, and maybe even allow the top two contenders to spar against him. "Would you like to inspect them first?" He asked, offering her his arm to lead her towards the men.
He wasn't much older than she was, but he'd known her most of her life. Their families had a long history, mostly through the Senate. His own position had been given by the King, chosen for his dedication and service, was one that he was proud of. So he was formal with her, but the offering of his arm was a bit more personal. Because she was their guest, but she was also to be their Queen. And he cared for her dearly.
He was proud of his regimen. They were all fine men, men who were ready and willing to do whatever was asked of them. He held his men to a high standard, one that had earned him his position at such a young age. Any of his men would have fit the needs of the Princess and King, but he knew that it was going to be a delicate situation. And so, he had pulled up best men together.
When the king pulled him aside to ask him to prepare his best men for the Princess's guard, the commander was surprised it had taken them this long to do so. With the way the Senate conversations had been going, it was becoming apparent to those who were paying attention that they were making a move to allow Persophone to be Queen once the King died. AS soon as he realized what was going on, Diomedes started watching his men for weeks, unbeknownst to them. The training was specific, the situations far more advanced than they'd done in the past. He had wanted to make sure that when he presented his best for her to choose from, that it would be a difficult decision. But whoever she did choose would be an excellent candidate for her personal guard.
Now, the men were standing, waiting to see exactly what they'd been called for. Armor shined, weapons sharpened-- it would be a test. For those who weren't chosen, he'd already planned to promote them up in the ranks. He'd known the moment they'd arrived, but his men had been standing at attention from the moment they'd been in the yard. He'd given them very few details, other than who was going to be joining them. Now, as they got closer, he could feel the anticipation that was rising. It was going to be a good morning, indeed.
He stepped forward as the Princess came into view, his own uniform more immaculate than any of the men behind him. There was a reason he was the Commander, and damn if he wasn't going to look the part. He gave her a low bow, crossing his right hand over his heart in a half salute. "Your Highness, we are most honored to have you joining us today. I've selected only the finest men for you to choose from, along with a few exercises to show you their strengths." He had planned to have them spar after that, and maybe even allow the top two contenders to spar against him. "Would you like to inspect them first?" He asked, offering her his arm to lead her towards the men.
He wasn't much older than she was, but he'd known her most of her life. Their families had a long history, mostly through the Senate. His own position had been given by the King, chosen for his dedication and service, was one that he was proud of. So he was formal with her, but the offering of his arm was a bit more personal. Because she was their guest, but she was also to be their Queen. And he cared for her dearly.
Persephone accepted the greeting and bow with a polite dip of her head. While she was aware that many royals - her father included - refused to offer this acknowledgement as it was both a showing of respect to those of inferior rank and altogether unnecessary, Persephone had witnessed her mother do it from a young age. She had always insisted to Persephone that, just because their rank deserved greater formality didn't mean that the lives of others didn't deserve respect.
On the flip side of this, her father had always extracted the promise from Persephone that, if ever she wore the crown of the monarch she would cease with the habit. That while it was nice to show respect to others, the actual ruler of a kingdom - instead of simply his wife or daughter - must bow in no way, to no man... and that to do so would only harm her people - making other nations believe her to be a weak Queen and therefore a target.
But this was to be her future - if the Senate willed it - and for now she was simply a princess and respect was something she was fastidious about giving.
Especially to a man like Diomedes.
The Nikolaos family had been greatly entwined with the Xanthos line for many generations. Her father had often detailed how the two had been friends in trade and business before they even held surnames and titles. Then, when the Xanthos family were given noble status and became a barony, they had continued to work with the leaders of the family who would become the Nikolaos'. The dynamics shifted slightly as new ranks were taken into consideration and as Xanthos had risen up the social hierarchy they had trusted the work ethic and loyalty of the Nikolaos family enough to bring them with them. Never had another family been as strong and deserving as the Nikolaos'.
In more current history, Persephone had had Diomedes' sister in her employ for a few years back when she was a young teenager. The girl had been a spectacularly awful lady in waiting but a wonderful girl to have around, encouraging Persephone to live a little, to be more free and to - occasionally - get into trouble.
It was only when Diomedes and his father had come to see the royals to ask for their aid in finding a now missing Thalia that Persephone had remember how much she missed the girl and her lively spirit. She had of course been doing everything within her power and resources to find the woman but, so far, to no avail. She knew that Diomedes in particular - given his power as head of the Athenian Guard must feel particularly out of his depth. Uselessness was not a feeling either of the two of them were used to.
Taking his offered arm and nodding at the man's suggestion for inspecting the warriors he had prepared for inspection, Persephone felt the Master of War, Kirias, fall into step behind her and then moved gracefully to stand at one end of the five men who had been brought out for assessment.
While it was impossible for Persephone to analyse a soldier's physical worth in terms of technique and skill, this was a moment of assessment that she could be of aid in. An organised woman with a penchant for detail, she was careful to spot where a fighter's armour a little shinier than others, or their boots leaner in the grooves between shoe and sole. She could spot the differences between the men in how much pride their took in their appearance and while this might in some ways show a negative - a soldier more in love with his own image than his duty would be a poor allocation to the role - it could also show a positive in the strength and attitude of a man - that he cared for his role and his responsibilities. So, her keen eye would work in collaboration with any further comments made by the Master of War after the men had shown their mettle.
As the moved down the line, Persephone tried to meet the eyes of each of the men - at least the ones who weren't looking at their feet - after staring shrewdly at each of them from head to toe. Some were handsome, some were not. Some were taller than others, some more muscled. Each stood with perfect posture and formal protocol, indicating the truth in Diomedes's words that these were his finest men. On in particular, with over-long hair seemed particularly young in comparison to the others, though he had grown a small beard as if to try and combat his youthful appearance...
"You have fine men here, Commander..." She told Diomedes, unsure what else to say as the Master of War walked up and down the line several times, asking for the men to reach forward, inspecting arm reach and length of stride. Persephone found the instructions to be a little uncomfortable - as if she were watching a man choose her horse of her to ride, not a human being to be protected by.
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Persephone accepted the greeting and bow with a polite dip of her head. While she was aware that many royals - her father included - refused to offer this acknowledgement as it was both a showing of respect to those of inferior rank and altogether unnecessary, Persephone had witnessed her mother do it from a young age. She had always insisted to Persephone that, just because their rank deserved greater formality didn't mean that the lives of others didn't deserve respect.
On the flip side of this, her father had always extracted the promise from Persephone that, if ever she wore the crown of the monarch she would cease with the habit. That while it was nice to show respect to others, the actual ruler of a kingdom - instead of simply his wife or daughter - must bow in no way, to no man... and that to do so would only harm her people - making other nations believe her to be a weak Queen and therefore a target.
But this was to be her future - if the Senate willed it - and for now she was simply a princess and respect was something she was fastidious about giving.
Especially to a man like Diomedes.
The Nikolaos family had been greatly entwined with the Xanthos line for many generations. Her father had often detailed how the two had been friends in trade and business before they even held surnames and titles. Then, when the Xanthos family were given noble status and became a barony, they had continued to work with the leaders of the family who would become the Nikolaos'. The dynamics shifted slightly as new ranks were taken into consideration and as Xanthos had risen up the social hierarchy they had trusted the work ethic and loyalty of the Nikolaos family enough to bring them with them. Never had another family been as strong and deserving as the Nikolaos'.
In more current history, Persephone had had Diomedes' sister in her employ for a few years back when she was a young teenager. The girl had been a spectacularly awful lady in waiting but a wonderful girl to have around, encouraging Persephone to live a little, to be more free and to - occasionally - get into trouble.
It was only when Diomedes and his father had come to see the royals to ask for their aid in finding a now missing Thalia that Persephone had remember how much she missed the girl and her lively spirit. She had of course been doing everything within her power and resources to find the woman but, so far, to no avail. She knew that Diomedes in particular - given his power as head of the Athenian Guard must feel particularly out of his depth. Uselessness was not a feeling either of the two of them were used to.
Taking his offered arm and nodding at the man's suggestion for inspecting the warriors he had prepared for inspection, Persephone felt the Master of War, Kirias, fall into step behind her and then moved gracefully to stand at one end of the five men who had been brought out for assessment.
While it was impossible for Persephone to analyse a soldier's physical worth in terms of technique and skill, this was a moment of assessment that she could be of aid in. An organised woman with a penchant for detail, she was careful to spot where a fighter's armour a little shinier than others, or their boots leaner in the grooves between shoe and sole. She could spot the differences between the men in how much pride their took in their appearance and while this might in some ways show a negative - a soldier more in love with his own image than his duty would be a poor allocation to the role - it could also show a positive in the strength and attitude of a man - that he cared for his role and his responsibilities. So, her keen eye would work in collaboration with any further comments made by the Master of War after the men had shown their mettle.
As the moved down the line, Persephone tried to meet the eyes of each of the men - at least the ones who weren't looking at their feet - after staring shrewdly at each of them from head to toe. Some were handsome, some were not. Some were taller than others, some more muscled. Each stood with perfect posture and formal protocol, indicating the truth in Diomedes's words that these were his finest men. On in particular, with over-long hair seemed particularly young in comparison to the others, though he had grown a small beard as if to try and combat his youthful appearance...
"You have fine men here, Commander..." She told Diomedes, unsure what else to say as the Master of War walked up and down the line several times, asking for the men to reach forward, inspecting arm reach and length of stride. Persephone found the instructions to be a little uncomfortable - as if she were watching a man choose her horse of her to ride, not a human being to be protected by.
Persephone accepted the greeting and bow with a polite dip of her head. While she was aware that many royals - her father included - refused to offer this acknowledgement as it was both a showing of respect to those of inferior rank and altogether unnecessary, Persephone had witnessed her mother do it from a young age. She had always insisted to Persephone that, just because their rank deserved greater formality didn't mean that the lives of others didn't deserve respect.
On the flip side of this, her father had always extracted the promise from Persephone that, if ever she wore the crown of the monarch she would cease with the habit. That while it was nice to show respect to others, the actual ruler of a kingdom - instead of simply his wife or daughter - must bow in no way, to no man... and that to do so would only harm her people - making other nations believe her to be a weak Queen and therefore a target.
But this was to be her future - if the Senate willed it - and for now she was simply a princess and respect was something she was fastidious about giving.
Especially to a man like Diomedes.
The Nikolaos family had been greatly entwined with the Xanthos line for many generations. Her father had often detailed how the two had been friends in trade and business before they even held surnames and titles. Then, when the Xanthos family were given noble status and became a barony, they had continued to work with the leaders of the family who would become the Nikolaos'. The dynamics shifted slightly as new ranks were taken into consideration and as Xanthos had risen up the social hierarchy they had trusted the work ethic and loyalty of the Nikolaos family enough to bring them with them. Never had another family been as strong and deserving as the Nikolaos'.
In more current history, Persephone had had Diomedes' sister in her employ for a few years back when she was a young teenager. The girl had been a spectacularly awful lady in waiting but a wonderful girl to have around, encouraging Persephone to live a little, to be more free and to - occasionally - get into trouble.
It was only when Diomedes and his father had come to see the royals to ask for their aid in finding a now missing Thalia that Persephone had remember how much she missed the girl and her lively spirit. She had of course been doing everything within her power and resources to find the woman but, so far, to no avail. She knew that Diomedes in particular - given his power as head of the Athenian Guard must feel particularly out of his depth. Uselessness was not a feeling either of the two of them were used to.
Taking his offered arm and nodding at the man's suggestion for inspecting the warriors he had prepared for inspection, Persephone felt the Master of War, Kirias, fall into step behind her and then moved gracefully to stand at one end of the five men who had been brought out for assessment.
While it was impossible for Persephone to analyse a soldier's physical worth in terms of technique and skill, this was a moment of assessment that she could be of aid in. An organised woman with a penchant for detail, she was careful to spot where a fighter's armour a little shinier than others, or their boots leaner in the grooves between shoe and sole. She could spot the differences between the men in how much pride their took in their appearance and while this might in some ways show a negative - a soldier more in love with his own image than his duty would be a poor allocation to the role - it could also show a positive in the strength and attitude of a man - that he cared for his role and his responsibilities. So, her keen eye would work in collaboration with any further comments made by the Master of War after the men had shown their mettle.
As the moved down the line, Persephone tried to meet the eyes of each of the men - at least the ones who weren't looking at their feet - after staring shrewdly at each of them from head to toe. Some were handsome, some were not. Some were taller than others, some more muscled. Each stood with perfect posture and formal protocol, indicating the truth in Diomedes's words that these were his finest men. On in particular, with over-long hair seemed particularly young in comparison to the others, though he had grown a small beard as if to try and combat his youthful appearance...
"You have fine men here, Commander..." She told Diomedes, unsure what else to say as the Master of War walked up and down the line several times, asking for the men to reach forward, inspecting arm reach and length of stride. Persephone found the instructions to be a little uncomfortable - as if she were watching a man choose her horse of her to ride, not a human being to be protected by.
Vilmar could feel the unease in the eyes of the other men as the two approached the five men in a line. Inspections were a standard part of life in the guard, but this was different. In a military review, uniforms, and weapons were identified before the actual examination. Swords had to be a certain sharpness on the blade. Armor polish had to be appropriately applied. Attire wrapped and folded not to show any sign of free cloth or ill-fitting. This inspection seemed more of an audition, similar to a parade horse. Vilmar had never been all too fond of horses.
Given her station custom dictated that Vilmar would typically bow, given the formation they were to stay at attention unless instructed to do otherwise. Vilmar decided to meet the Princess with a level gaze. His eyes did not turn to view her, but as he stood before him, he stared directly at her. Sullen storms of sapphire reflected in his eyes as he looked into her eyes. His mind always reeling in new thoughts and casting aside the old. His father had told him when he was younger such daydreaming could prove dangerous. At times he could push it away or bury it down. No matter how he tried though, his mind longed to dwell.
His thoughts whispered of the past as he looked at the Princess, and thought of her line. If the recent rumors about the King true, she would be a ruler sooner than most intended. An impressive range of ancestors, but no two rulers ruled the same. Would she bring an age of wisdom? Would her hand usher in an epoch of peace? Did the drums of war follow her steps? Vilmar knew the stories, the history, and he was looking for the woman. Not the woman she was, but the woman she longed to become.
Vilmar did as he was instructed and took a step forward in front of the princess. His height meant that his stride was longer than some of the other men. There was no style to the way he moved; his hands remained at his side, his foot lightly lifted off the ground, and his knee bent at a small angle. Next, he held out his arm which was toned but not overly muscular. He held his arm out flat until indicated to drop it back to his side.
Despite his age, Vilmar had the bearing of a soldier. Small scars accented his brows, face, and his shoulders. His nose sat a bit more back in his face from the impacts it had taken in battle. The palms of his hands were coarse and rough. His hair and beard groomed in the short military cut. His fingers seemed to almost move to his sword, eager for the weapon to be in his hands once more. He did not have the years of some of the men, but he had the determination to see the task done.
His memory could still recall the fortress in Arcana that loomed in the distance. As a boy, he could see the edges of the white stone from the piers of the docks. Vilmar always slept a little safer at night knowing it guarded his home and family. He longed to see the inside, to meet the King and the royal family as a young boy. Now that he stood a breath away from the Princess it was far different then he had imagined it as a boy. He supposed most things were different than pictured, and perhaps it was one of the many lessons of Athena.
Vilmar kept his posture in line and his muscles loose for the task at hand. In life he often found one was only given a single chance to make an impression. He was determined to make the best performance he could before the Princess.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Vilmar could feel the unease in the eyes of the other men as the two approached the five men in a line. Inspections were a standard part of life in the guard, but this was different. In a military review, uniforms, and weapons were identified before the actual examination. Swords had to be a certain sharpness on the blade. Armor polish had to be appropriately applied. Attire wrapped and folded not to show any sign of free cloth or ill-fitting. This inspection seemed more of an audition, similar to a parade horse. Vilmar had never been all too fond of horses.
Given her station custom dictated that Vilmar would typically bow, given the formation they were to stay at attention unless instructed to do otherwise. Vilmar decided to meet the Princess with a level gaze. His eyes did not turn to view her, but as he stood before him, he stared directly at her. Sullen storms of sapphire reflected in his eyes as he looked into her eyes. His mind always reeling in new thoughts and casting aside the old. His father had told him when he was younger such daydreaming could prove dangerous. At times he could push it away or bury it down. No matter how he tried though, his mind longed to dwell.
His thoughts whispered of the past as he looked at the Princess, and thought of her line. If the recent rumors about the King true, she would be a ruler sooner than most intended. An impressive range of ancestors, but no two rulers ruled the same. Would she bring an age of wisdom? Would her hand usher in an epoch of peace? Did the drums of war follow her steps? Vilmar knew the stories, the history, and he was looking for the woman. Not the woman she was, but the woman she longed to become.
Vilmar did as he was instructed and took a step forward in front of the princess. His height meant that his stride was longer than some of the other men. There was no style to the way he moved; his hands remained at his side, his foot lightly lifted off the ground, and his knee bent at a small angle. Next, he held out his arm which was toned but not overly muscular. He held his arm out flat until indicated to drop it back to his side.
Despite his age, Vilmar had the bearing of a soldier. Small scars accented his brows, face, and his shoulders. His nose sat a bit more back in his face from the impacts it had taken in battle. The palms of his hands were coarse and rough. His hair and beard groomed in the short military cut. His fingers seemed to almost move to his sword, eager for the weapon to be in his hands once more. He did not have the years of some of the men, but he had the determination to see the task done.
His memory could still recall the fortress in Arcana that loomed in the distance. As a boy, he could see the edges of the white stone from the piers of the docks. Vilmar always slept a little safer at night knowing it guarded his home and family. He longed to see the inside, to meet the King and the royal family as a young boy. Now that he stood a breath away from the Princess it was far different then he had imagined it as a boy. He supposed most things were different than pictured, and perhaps it was one of the many lessons of Athena.
Vilmar kept his posture in line and his muscles loose for the task at hand. In life he often found one was only given a single chance to make an impression. He was determined to make the best performance he could before the Princess.
Vilmar could feel the unease in the eyes of the other men as the two approached the five men in a line. Inspections were a standard part of life in the guard, but this was different. In a military review, uniforms, and weapons were identified before the actual examination. Swords had to be a certain sharpness on the blade. Armor polish had to be appropriately applied. Attire wrapped and folded not to show any sign of free cloth or ill-fitting. This inspection seemed more of an audition, similar to a parade horse. Vilmar had never been all too fond of horses.
Given her station custom dictated that Vilmar would typically bow, given the formation they were to stay at attention unless instructed to do otherwise. Vilmar decided to meet the Princess with a level gaze. His eyes did not turn to view her, but as he stood before him, he stared directly at her. Sullen storms of sapphire reflected in his eyes as he looked into her eyes. His mind always reeling in new thoughts and casting aside the old. His father had told him when he was younger such daydreaming could prove dangerous. At times he could push it away or bury it down. No matter how he tried though, his mind longed to dwell.
His thoughts whispered of the past as he looked at the Princess, and thought of her line. If the recent rumors about the King true, she would be a ruler sooner than most intended. An impressive range of ancestors, but no two rulers ruled the same. Would she bring an age of wisdom? Would her hand usher in an epoch of peace? Did the drums of war follow her steps? Vilmar knew the stories, the history, and he was looking for the woman. Not the woman she was, but the woman she longed to become.
Vilmar did as he was instructed and took a step forward in front of the princess. His height meant that his stride was longer than some of the other men. There was no style to the way he moved; his hands remained at his side, his foot lightly lifted off the ground, and his knee bent at a small angle. Next, he held out his arm which was toned but not overly muscular. He held his arm out flat until indicated to drop it back to his side.
Despite his age, Vilmar had the bearing of a soldier. Small scars accented his brows, face, and his shoulders. His nose sat a bit more back in his face from the impacts it had taken in battle. The palms of his hands were coarse and rough. His hair and beard groomed in the short military cut. His fingers seemed to almost move to his sword, eager for the weapon to be in his hands once more. He did not have the years of some of the men, but he had the determination to see the task done.
His memory could still recall the fortress in Arcana that loomed in the distance. As a boy, he could see the edges of the white stone from the piers of the docks. Vilmar always slept a little safer at night knowing it guarded his home and family. He longed to see the inside, to meet the King and the royal family as a young boy. Now that he stood a breath away from the Princess it was far different then he had imagined it as a boy. He supposed most things were different than pictured, and perhaps it was one of the many lessons of Athena.
Vilmar kept his posture in line and his muscles loose for the task at hand. In life he often found one was only given a single chance to make an impression. He was determined to make the best performance he could before the Princess.
Diomedes knew when to be formal, and this was one of those moments in which he signed. Able to show off, to prove to Persephone that her father had not chosen wrong in him for the head of his city's guard. As they walked through, he made a point to note each man's strength. They all would have made good choices from the princess's guard, else she would not have chosen them for her to see. As they weave their way around the men, he made note of her own silent observations. If she took an extra moment to look at a shield, it only meant that it hadn't been shined enough. Or if she examined a spearhead, perhaps it needed to be sharped.
Perhaps he was being too critical of his men, but that was his place.
As she complimented him on their condition, he gave her a tight but bright smile. "Thank you, Your Highness. They are the best taste of the men you having protecting the city. Anyone of them will make a fine addition to your personal guard." He directed her back to towards the rear. While a close inspection of their bodies was good, it would be far more telling to see what they could do in person. Blades meant for training would be used, so none of the men sustained any deadly blows. It would almost be like a Gladiator battle, men fighting for the honor to call themselves the victor.
"Let me take you to the top, my princess. The view there will give you a far better example of what they can do. And the view will allow you to not miss a detail of each man's strengths." He led her up the stairs, making sure he was going slow enough to allow her to manage her skirts. He was married and had a sister, so he was well aware of the added care that a woman of good fortune needed. The journey was a slower one that he would have taken on his own, but they were a large party. Once they were a the top, he led them towards a more adventitious view of the center. "Princess, they will start with hand to hand, then shall proceed to show you their abilities with sword and spear. If you wish for any to battle together, please just command them to do so. They are expecting to be challenged and will obey your every command as if it was my own." Not that she needed the reassurance. But he felt like he needed to reinforce who she would be.
She would be Queen. And he would support that completely. And so would the men below.
It was demanded of them.
He shouted out an order, and all at once, the dance began.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Diomedes knew when to be formal, and this was one of those moments in which he signed. Able to show off, to prove to Persephone that her father had not chosen wrong in him for the head of his city's guard. As they walked through, he made a point to note each man's strength. They all would have made good choices from the princess's guard, else she would not have chosen them for her to see. As they weave their way around the men, he made note of her own silent observations. If she took an extra moment to look at a shield, it only meant that it hadn't been shined enough. Or if she examined a spearhead, perhaps it needed to be sharped.
Perhaps he was being too critical of his men, but that was his place.
As she complimented him on their condition, he gave her a tight but bright smile. "Thank you, Your Highness. They are the best taste of the men you having protecting the city. Anyone of them will make a fine addition to your personal guard." He directed her back to towards the rear. While a close inspection of their bodies was good, it would be far more telling to see what they could do in person. Blades meant for training would be used, so none of the men sustained any deadly blows. It would almost be like a Gladiator battle, men fighting for the honor to call themselves the victor.
"Let me take you to the top, my princess. The view there will give you a far better example of what they can do. And the view will allow you to not miss a detail of each man's strengths." He led her up the stairs, making sure he was going slow enough to allow her to manage her skirts. He was married and had a sister, so he was well aware of the added care that a woman of good fortune needed. The journey was a slower one that he would have taken on his own, but they were a large party. Once they were a the top, he led them towards a more adventitious view of the center. "Princess, they will start with hand to hand, then shall proceed to show you their abilities with sword and spear. If you wish for any to battle together, please just command them to do so. They are expecting to be challenged and will obey your every command as if it was my own." Not that she needed the reassurance. But he felt like he needed to reinforce who she would be.
She would be Queen. And he would support that completely. And so would the men below.
It was demanded of them.
He shouted out an order, and all at once, the dance began.
Diomedes knew when to be formal, and this was one of those moments in which he signed. Able to show off, to prove to Persephone that her father had not chosen wrong in him for the head of his city's guard. As they walked through, he made a point to note each man's strength. They all would have made good choices from the princess's guard, else she would not have chosen them for her to see. As they weave their way around the men, he made note of her own silent observations. If she took an extra moment to look at a shield, it only meant that it hadn't been shined enough. Or if she examined a spearhead, perhaps it needed to be sharped.
Perhaps he was being too critical of his men, but that was his place.
As she complimented him on their condition, he gave her a tight but bright smile. "Thank you, Your Highness. They are the best taste of the men you having protecting the city. Anyone of them will make a fine addition to your personal guard." He directed her back to towards the rear. While a close inspection of their bodies was good, it would be far more telling to see what they could do in person. Blades meant for training would be used, so none of the men sustained any deadly blows. It would almost be like a Gladiator battle, men fighting for the honor to call themselves the victor.
"Let me take you to the top, my princess. The view there will give you a far better example of what they can do. And the view will allow you to not miss a detail of each man's strengths." He led her up the stairs, making sure he was going slow enough to allow her to manage her skirts. He was married and had a sister, so he was well aware of the added care that a woman of good fortune needed. The journey was a slower one that he would have taken on his own, but they were a large party. Once they were a the top, he led them towards a more adventitious view of the center. "Princess, they will start with hand to hand, then shall proceed to show you their abilities with sword and spear. If you wish for any to battle together, please just command them to do so. They are expecting to be challenged and will obey your every command as if it was my own." Not that she needed the reassurance. But he felt like he needed to reinforce who she would be.
She would be Queen. And he would support that completely. And so would the men below.
It was demanded of them.
He shouted out an order, and all at once, the dance began.
Being out of her depth in a military barracks, Persephone followed Diomedes' lead, confident in both his assessment of the men and in where it was best to stand in order to watch them. As they reached the top dais where the fights and exercises could be seen more clearly, she stood with great poise, her hands meeting before her hips and her shoulders back. The pose was so well practised from her youth that it didn't even feel stiff or uncomfortable anymore.
She watched with curiosity as the men went through their routines and then started with faux fights to display their skills. The fights were obviously not choreographed or pre-planned as a few men stumbled or fell, but would then continue to fight as their skills, training and will kept them in the game.
Persephone tried to watch carefully, despite her limited knowledge of combat. Some of the men moved sharper and defiantly. Some moved more smoothly. But she was able to pick up the same pattern of motion or attacks in a few of them and assumed these were the trained moves employed by the Guard.
"They are well trained, Captain Diomedes." She told the man again, her tone deep with truth. "You should be very proud of your accomplishments."
Her eyes narrowed...
"They make me wonder, however..." She turned to look at her two serving ladies, with a curious look on her face and a rare glint in her eye... "How would your men fight... or how would they handle, having a woman in their midst while attempting to defeat an opponent... I will, of course, be present if an attack was made upon me... How would your men handle that?"
She looked towards her two maids and, while uncertain for a moment, she decided with the firmness her father had taught her.
"Kleio..." She selected, curiously... "Perhaps you could indulge my childishness... I'm certain Captain Diomedes' men are trained to never harm the object of their protection but I would like to see those skills in action." She turned to the captain of the guard. "What say you Diomedes?" She asked, dropping the formality and appealing to the close relationship between their families. "My ladies maid would be perfectly safe, would she not, if she were to descend into the combat zone?"
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Being out of her depth in a military barracks, Persephone followed Diomedes' lead, confident in both his assessment of the men and in where it was best to stand in order to watch them. As they reached the top dais where the fights and exercises could be seen more clearly, she stood with great poise, her hands meeting before her hips and her shoulders back. The pose was so well practised from her youth that it didn't even feel stiff or uncomfortable anymore.
She watched with curiosity as the men went through their routines and then started with faux fights to display their skills. The fights were obviously not choreographed or pre-planned as a few men stumbled or fell, but would then continue to fight as their skills, training and will kept them in the game.
Persephone tried to watch carefully, despite her limited knowledge of combat. Some of the men moved sharper and defiantly. Some moved more smoothly. But she was able to pick up the same pattern of motion or attacks in a few of them and assumed these were the trained moves employed by the Guard.
"They are well trained, Captain Diomedes." She told the man again, her tone deep with truth. "You should be very proud of your accomplishments."
Her eyes narrowed...
"They make me wonder, however..." She turned to look at her two serving ladies, with a curious look on her face and a rare glint in her eye... "How would your men fight... or how would they handle, having a woman in their midst while attempting to defeat an opponent... I will, of course, be present if an attack was made upon me... How would your men handle that?"
She looked towards her two maids and, while uncertain for a moment, she decided with the firmness her father had taught her.
"Kleio..." She selected, curiously... "Perhaps you could indulge my childishness... I'm certain Captain Diomedes' men are trained to never harm the object of their protection but I would like to see those skills in action." She turned to the captain of the guard. "What say you Diomedes?" She asked, dropping the formality and appealing to the close relationship between their families. "My ladies maid would be perfectly safe, would she not, if she were to descend into the combat zone?"
Being out of her depth in a military barracks, Persephone followed Diomedes' lead, confident in both his assessment of the men and in where it was best to stand in order to watch them. As they reached the top dais where the fights and exercises could be seen more clearly, she stood with great poise, her hands meeting before her hips and her shoulders back. The pose was so well practised from her youth that it didn't even feel stiff or uncomfortable anymore.
She watched with curiosity as the men went through their routines and then started with faux fights to display their skills. The fights were obviously not choreographed or pre-planned as a few men stumbled or fell, but would then continue to fight as their skills, training and will kept them in the game.
Persephone tried to watch carefully, despite her limited knowledge of combat. Some of the men moved sharper and defiantly. Some moved more smoothly. But she was able to pick up the same pattern of motion or attacks in a few of them and assumed these were the trained moves employed by the Guard.
"They are well trained, Captain Diomedes." She told the man again, her tone deep with truth. "You should be very proud of your accomplishments."
Her eyes narrowed...
"They make me wonder, however..." She turned to look at her two serving ladies, with a curious look on her face and a rare glint in her eye... "How would your men fight... or how would they handle, having a woman in their midst while attempting to defeat an opponent... I will, of course, be present if an attack was made upon me... How would your men handle that?"
She looked towards her two maids and, while uncertain for a moment, she decided with the firmness her father had taught her.
"Kleio..." She selected, curiously... "Perhaps you could indulge my childishness... I'm certain Captain Diomedes' men are trained to never harm the object of their protection but I would like to see those skills in action." She turned to the captain of the guard. "What say you Diomedes?" She asked, dropping the formality and appealing to the close relationship between their families. "My ladies maid would be perfectly safe, would she not, if she were to descend into the combat zone?"
Diomedes watched carefully as they were put through their tasks. And, as trained, each performed above pair. Every so often, he would call out a command or would admonish one of them for what seemed like a simple error. In truth, it was because he held them to a higher expectation. Each of them had to be perfect, had to shine brighter than she’d ever seen. In his mind, there were no finer fighters than the ones he’d assembled.
He stood a bit prouder as the Princess noted just how efficient his men were. They were making him proud, and he would make sure they knew it once it was all said and done. He made sure that he pointed out their different styles, nothing both their strengths and weaknesses. It was not his job to make them appear any better than they truly were. And there would certainly be no benefit by lying about it. He believed in honesty and believed in letting the truth and actions speak the loudest.
“The technique would differ greatly, your highness.” He noted, his stance adjusting again. “Now they are on the offensive, doing their best to gain the upper hand. When in a protective detail, your goal shifts to keep the charge safe. You take a more defensive approach. It can be harder to learn, but they will do as you need them to. Defeat takes a back seat to defend.” He explained to her. Most of the men in the city’s guard were initially trained simply on an offensive level. The men he’d chosen had taken time to learn defensive techniques as well. And he hasn’t even allowed this show to happen until he was sure they were ready for the princess.
Her suggestion caused him to laugh, not because it was silly, but because he hadn’t thought of it himself. A smile graced his lips, even though he was contemplating the idea of dressing a slave as a woman instead of sending a real one out. “Unless you’d like to see one of my men dressed up in a floral chiton, I think it’s a perfect idea. As long as your maid follows their lead, as you would in such a situation.” He gestured to one of his men to wait for her at the bottom of the stairs and escort her into the arena. “Of course she would. But we can unarm them if that would make you feel more comfortable, my lady.” He asked Kleio, allowing her to make the choice.
JD
Staff Team
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Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Diomedes watched carefully as they were put through their tasks. And, as trained, each performed above pair. Every so often, he would call out a command or would admonish one of them for what seemed like a simple error. In truth, it was because he held them to a higher expectation. Each of them had to be perfect, had to shine brighter than she’d ever seen. In his mind, there were no finer fighters than the ones he’d assembled.
He stood a bit prouder as the Princess noted just how efficient his men were. They were making him proud, and he would make sure they knew it once it was all said and done. He made sure that he pointed out their different styles, nothing both their strengths and weaknesses. It was not his job to make them appear any better than they truly were. And there would certainly be no benefit by lying about it. He believed in honesty and believed in letting the truth and actions speak the loudest.
“The technique would differ greatly, your highness.” He noted, his stance adjusting again. “Now they are on the offensive, doing their best to gain the upper hand. When in a protective detail, your goal shifts to keep the charge safe. You take a more defensive approach. It can be harder to learn, but they will do as you need them to. Defeat takes a back seat to defend.” He explained to her. Most of the men in the city’s guard were initially trained simply on an offensive level. The men he’d chosen had taken time to learn defensive techniques as well. And he hasn’t even allowed this show to happen until he was sure they were ready for the princess.
Her suggestion caused him to laugh, not because it was silly, but because he hadn’t thought of it himself. A smile graced his lips, even though he was contemplating the idea of dressing a slave as a woman instead of sending a real one out. “Unless you’d like to see one of my men dressed up in a floral chiton, I think it’s a perfect idea. As long as your maid follows their lead, as you would in such a situation.” He gestured to one of his men to wait for her at the bottom of the stairs and escort her into the arena. “Of course she would. But we can unarm them if that would make you feel more comfortable, my lady.” He asked Kleio, allowing her to make the choice.
Diomedes watched carefully as they were put through their tasks. And, as trained, each performed above pair. Every so often, he would call out a command or would admonish one of them for what seemed like a simple error. In truth, it was because he held them to a higher expectation. Each of them had to be perfect, had to shine brighter than she’d ever seen. In his mind, there were no finer fighters than the ones he’d assembled.
He stood a bit prouder as the Princess noted just how efficient his men were. They were making him proud, and he would make sure they knew it once it was all said and done. He made sure that he pointed out their different styles, nothing both their strengths and weaknesses. It was not his job to make them appear any better than they truly were. And there would certainly be no benefit by lying about it. He believed in honesty and believed in letting the truth and actions speak the loudest.
“The technique would differ greatly, your highness.” He noted, his stance adjusting again. “Now they are on the offensive, doing their best to gain the upper hand. When in a protective detail, your goal shifts to keep the charge safe. You take a more defensive approach. It can be harder to learn, but they will do as you need them to. Defeat takes a back seat to defend.” He explained to her. Most of the men in the city’s guard were initially trained simply on an offensive level. The men he’d chosen had taken time to learn defensive techniques as well. And he hasn’t even allowed this show to happen until he was sure they were ready for the princess.
Her suggestion caused him to laugh, not because it was silly, but because he hadn’t thought of it himself. A smile graced his lips, even though he was contemplating the idea of dressing a slave as a woman instead of sending a real one out. “Unless you’d like to see one of my men dressed up in a floral chiton, I think it’s a perfect idea. As long as your maid follows their lead, as you would in such a situation.” He gestured to one of his men to wait for her at the bottom of the stairs and escort her into the arena. “Of course she would. But we can unarm them if that would make you feel more comfortable, my lady.” He asked Kleio, allowing her to make the choice.
The pairs summoned forth, first Vilmar and a man named Fedor. Fedor was two years older than Vilmar. His blond hair cut short. A long scar ran along his right cheek, and he was familiar with combat. Fedor was shorter than Vilmar but full of rippling muscles. The breadth of his shoulders was impressive even at a distance, and his biceps were massive in size. He rolled his neck as he took his place in the square. Vilmar followed behind him offering Fedor a nod. They had fought together in the past.
Vilmar was taller than the other four, and height had always been one of his natural advantages. Brown hair brushed back by the winds from the distant sea. His skin a slight tone from time spent in the sun. His muscles were toned, but not full of bulk or contour. He waved his arm swinging the wooden sword through the air a few times. Fedor did likewise as they stood at opposite ends of the circle. Vilmar's sapphire-hued eyes drifted up to lock a stare with Fedor.
Fedor and Vilmar had spilled blood together, and that made for a natural bond between the men. They were not close, Vilmar had not spent time outside of the life of a guard with Fedor. Fedor had always struck Vilmar as a more violent man. Vilmar could unleash his brutality when required, but most of the time he kept it buried, a rumbling thunder that dwelt beneath his calm demeanor. The other pairs lined up to one another. Diomedes gave his signal, and the sparring began in earnest.
Vilmar took slow steps forward with one hand at his side, and his sword arm lifted just at his chest level. Fedor showed no hesitation and charged Vilmar with a bellowing roar. His head low as his shoulders came forward. The sword arm swung upwards towards the head of Vilmar. Vilmar used his left hand to balance himself and pivot out of the strike. His sword arm turned behind and struck Fedor on the back, and the man stumbled forward with a grunt. Vilmar leaned forward and prepared for the next strike.
Sparring was usually a less intense event. A daily routine to keep skills active and to keep moving physically on a regular basis. The presence of royalty and the commander made it a more illustrious engagement. All five of the men were vying for a single position. None of them intended to hold back given an opportunity to be noticed. Vilmar watched as Fedor turned and launched himself on the offensive. Vilmar managed to catch the sword in a parry, but not the fist that followed it. He felt it cross his jaw and turned his head. His feet stumbled beneath him.
In an instant, Fedor was upon him, a barrage of sword strikes that followed in succession. Fedor put both hands on the hilt of the blade as he attempted to put more of his muscle behind each blow. Vilmar continued to strike the sword back and tried to angle his body away from the wooden sword. Fedor continued the offensive as Vilmar reached the edge of the ring. Fedor's wooden sword caught beneath his ribs of his opponent, and Vilmar hunched forward slightly. Fedor smiled and pulled back both arms in preparation for a final strike.
Vilmar had never been the quickest or the strongest. He had always been the most enduring. There was no pain he could not overcome, no fatigue that could halt him. He gritted his teeth and dug into his fortitude. The pain fueled him as unleashed the fury inside of him. Vilmar bellowed and elbowed Fedor firmly in the chest. The man coughed and stepped back. Vilmar went high and struck Fedor's shoulder with his wooden sword, then hit it again. The wooden sword fell from Fedor's hand. Vilmar pivoted his legs and struck Fedor's knee. Fedor buckled and fell backward into the sand. Vilmar rotated the wooden sword in his hand and pointed it at Fedor's neck. Vilmar let out a breath as he looked down at Fedor.
"Well fought."
Vilmar lowered his sword and extended a hand. Fedor begrudgingly took it and stood back up. No one enjoyed losing, but it was part of training. Each of the men knew that regardless of what happened today, these were the men who would stand the wall at night. These were the men who they would trust their lives to at the end of each day. Vilmar rubbed his cheek were the redness had begun to swell.
"Quite the punch."
Fedor smiled as the other pair finished sparring. At the new order, the men all turned as the Kleio stepped forward. All of them took in a glance of her beauty. Vilmar was still young and felt a bit of lust spark in him as he watched her step down the stairs. He willed his vision to look elsewhere as the commander indicated the plan ahead. Vilmar and the other men dropped swords as instructed. When the commander pointed to Vilmar, he walked to the edge of the stairs as Kleio approached.
Vilmar cleared his throat in an attempt to act more commanding, although he still sounded rather young.
"I am Vilmar; please walk behind me, on a path towards the other side of the arena."
Vilmar turned his body towards the opposite end of the sand pit. It was more difficult to guard her behind him, but that was the situation. He would have to rely on his surroundings and things beyond the scope of his vision. Vilmar waited for the others to take a position. It was time to see if he could do the job they intended.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
The pairs summoned forth, first Vilmar and a man named Fedor. Fedor was two years older than Vilmar. His blond hair cut short. A long scar ran along his right cheek, and he was familiar with combat. Fedor was shorter than Vilmar but full of rippling muscles. The breadth of his shoulders was impressive even at a distance, and his biceps were massive in size. He rolled his neck as he took his place in the square. Vilmar followed behind him offering Fedor a nod. They had fought together in the past.
Vilmar was taller than the other four, and height had always been one of his natural advantages. Brown hair brushed back by the winds from the distant sea. His skin a slight tone from time spent in the sun. His muscles were toned, but not full of bulk or contour. He waved his arm swinging the wooden sword through the air a few times. Fedor did likewise as they stood at opposite ends of the circle. Vilmar's sapphire-hued eyes drifted up to lock a stare with Fedor.
Fedor and Vilmar had spilled blood together, and that made for a natural bond between the men. They were not close, Vilmar had not spent time outside of the life of a guard with Fedor. Fedor had always struck Vilmar as a more violent man. Vilmar could unleash his brutality when required, but most of the time he kept it buried, a rumbling thunder that dwelt beneath his calm demeanor. The other pairs lined up to one another. Diomedes gave his signal, and the sparring began in earnest.
Vilmar took slow steps forward with one hand at his side, and his sword arm lifted just at his chest level. Fedor showed no hesitation and charged Vilmar with a bellowing roar. His head low as his shoulders came forward. The sword arm swung upwards towards the head of Vilmar. Vilmar used his left hand to balance himself and pivot out of the strike. His sword arm turned behind and struck Fedor on the back, and the man stumbled forward with a grunt. Vilmar leaned forward and prepared for the next strike.
Sparring was usually a less intense event. A daily routine to keep skills active and to keep moving physically on a regular basis. The presence of royalty and the commander made it a more illustrious engagement. All five of the men were vying for a single position. None of them intended to hold back given an opportunity to be noticed. Vilmar watched as Fedor turned and launched himself on the offensive. Vilmar managed to catch the sword in a parry, but not the fist that followed it. He felt it cross his jaw and turned his head. His feet stumbled beneath him.
In an instant, Fedor was upon him, a barrage of sword strikes that followed in succession. Fedor put both hands on the hilt of the blade as he attempted to put more of his muscle behind each blow. Vilmar continued to strike the sword back and tried to angle his body away from the wooden sword. Fedor continued the offensive as Vilmar reached the edge of the ring. Fedor's wooden sword caught beneath his ribs of his opponent, and Vilmar hunched forward slightly. Fedor smiled and pulled back both arms in preparation for a final strike.
Vilmar had never been the quickest or the strongest. He had always been the most enduring. There was no pain he could not overcome, no fatigue that could halt him. He gritted his teeth and dug into his fortitude. The pain fueled him as unleashed the fury inside of him. Vilmar bellowed and elbowed Fedor firmly in the chest. The man coughed and stepped back. Vilmar went high and struck Fedor's shoulder with his wooden sword, then hit it again. The wooden sword fell from Fedor's hand. Vilmar pivoted his legs and struck Fedor's knee. Fedor buckled and fell backward into the sand. Vilmar rotated the wooden sword in his hand and pointed it at Fedor's neck. Vilmar let out a breath as he looked down at Fedor.
"Well fought."
Vilmar lowered his sword and extended a hand. Fedor begrudgingly took it and stood back up. No one enjoyed losing, but it was part of training. Each of the men knew that regardless of what happened today, these were the men who would stand the wall at night. These were the men who they would trust their lives to at the end of each day. Vilmar rubbed his cheek were the redness had begun to swell.
"Quite the punch."
Fedor smiled as the other pair finished sparring. At the new order, the men all turned as the Kleio stepped forward. All of them took in a glance of her beauty. Vilmar was still young and felt a bit of lust spark in him as he watched her step down the stairs. He willed his vision to look elsewhere as the commander indicated the plan ahead. Vilmar and the other men dropped swords as instructed. When the commander pointed to Vilmar, he walked to the edge of the stairs as Kleio approached.
Vilmar cleared his throat in an attempt to act more commanding, although he still sounded rather young.
"I am Vilmar; please walk behind me, on a path towards the other side of the arena."
Vilmar turned his body towards the opposite end of the sand pit. It was more difficult to guard her behind him, but that was the situation. He would have to rely on his surroundings and things beyond the scope of his vision. Vilmar waited for the others to take a position. It was time to see if he could do the job they intended.
The pairs summoned forth, first Vilmar and a man named Fedor. Fedor was two years older than Vilmar. His blond hair cut short. A long scar ran along his right cheek, and he was familiar with combat. Fedor was shorter than Vilmar but full of rippling muscles. The breadth of his shoulders was impressive even at a distance, and his biceps were massive in size. He rolled his neck as he took his place in the square. Vilmar followed behind him offering Fedor a nod. They had fought together in the past.
Vilmar was taller than the other four, and height had always been one of his natural advantages. Brown hair brushed back by the winds from the distant sea. His skin a slight tone from time spent in the sun. His muscles were toned, but not full of bulk or contour. He waved his arm swinging the wooden sword through the air a few times. Fedor did likewise as they stood at opposite ends of the circle. Vilmar's sapphire-hued eyes drifted up to lock a stare with Fedor.
Fedor and Vilmar had spilled blood together, and that made for a natural bond between the men. They were not close, Vilmar had not spent time outside of the life of a guard with Fedor. Fedor had always struck Vilmar as a more violent man. Vilmar could unleash his brutality when required, but most of the time he kept it buried, a rumbling thunder that dwelt beneath his calm demeanor. The other pairs lined up to one another. Diomedes gave his signal, and the sparring began in earnest.
Vilmar took slow steps forward with one hand at his side, and his sword arm lifted just at his chest level. Fedor showed no hesitation and charged Vilmar with a bellowing roar. His head low as his shoulders came forward. The sword arm swung upwards towards the head of Vilmar. Vilmar used his left hand to balance himself and pivot out of the strike. His sword arm turned behind and struck Fedor on the back, and the man stumbled forward with a grunt. Vilmar leaned forward and prepared for the next strike.
Sparring was usually a less intense event. A daily routine to keep skills active and to keep moving physically on a regular basis. The presence of royalty and the commander made it a more illustrious engagement. All five of the men were vying for a single position. None of them intended to hold back given an opportunity to be noticed. Vilmar watched as Fedor turned and launched himself on the offensive. Vilmar managed to catch the sword in a parry, but not the fist that followed it. He felt it cross his jaw and turned his head. His feet stumbled beneath him.
In an instant, Fedor was upon him, a barrage of sword strikes that followed in succession. Fedor put both hands on the hilt of the blade as he attempted to put more of his muscle behind each blow. Vilmar continued to strike the sword back and tried to angle his body away from the wooden sword. Fedor continued the offensive as Vilmar reached the edge of the ring. Fedor's wooden sword caught beneath his ribs of his opponent, and Vilmar hunched forward slightly. Fedor smiled and pulled back both arms in preparation for a final strike.
Vilmar had never been the quickest or the strongest. He had always been the most enduring. There was no pain he could not overcome, no fatigue that could halt him. He gritted his teeth and dug into his fortitude. The pain fueled him as unleashed the fury inside of him. Vilmar bellowed and elbowed Fedor firmly in the chest. The man coughed and stepped back. Vilmar went high and struck Fedor's shoulder with his wooden sword, then hit it again. The wooden sword fell from Fedor's hand. Vilmar pivoted his legs and struck Fedor's knee. Fedor buckled and fell backward into the sand. Vilmar rotated the wooden sword in his hand and pointed it at Fedor's neck. Vilmar let out a breath as he looked down at Fedor.
"Well fought."
Vilmar lowered his sword and extended a hand. Fedor begrudgingly took it and stood back up. No one enjoyed losing, but it was part of training. Each of the men knew that regardless of what happened today, these were the men who would stand the wall at night. These were the men who they would trust their lives to at the end of each day. Vilmar rubbed his cheek were the redness had begun to swell.
"Quite the punch."
Fedor smiled as the other pair finished sparring. At the new order, the men all turned as the Kleio stepped forward. All of them took in a glance of her beauty. Vilmar was still young and felt a bit of lust spark in him as he watched her step down the stairs. He willed his vision to look elsewhere as the commander indicated the plan ahead. Vilmar and the other men dropped swords as instructed. When the commander pointed to Vilmar, he walked to the edge of the stairs as Kleio approached.
Vilmar cleared his throat in an attempt to act more commanding, although he still sounded rather young.
"I am Vilmar; please walk behind me, on a path towards the other side of the arena."
Vilmar turned his body towards the opposite end of the sand pit. It was more difficult to guard her behind him, but that was the situation. He would have to rely on his surroundings and things beyond the scope of his vision. Vilmar waited for the others to take a position. It was time to see if he could do the job they intended.
To Persephone, Kleio was a bit of a contradiction. There were times when she relied on the woman; her sage advice, her experienced view of the world. And there were others where she disagreed with her perspective entirely. Not for any severe or shocking reason but more from a personal stand-point. They were just too different in terms of personality. The girl had been hired as her ladies maid back when she had first required them to help her handle herself in the Courts. She had been eighteen when Kleio had come into her life, one of the other matrons of the Court, who had been assigned to tutoring her in the ways of political etiquette had chosen her after a severe auditioning system. Persephone had never been consulted in the choice.
As they had worked together it was clear that Kleio and Persephone were cut from two very different types of cloth. Kleio was... opinionated, stubborn, vain and would quite often see the world from a self-centred point of view. But, this was only when she let her formality slip (which Persephone had only noticed her doing a few times in the years she had known her). The rest of the time, the woman followed her orders without complaint, ensured her work was done to a perfect standard, spoke quietly and delicately with an element of penitence and respect and had the aura, bearing and visage of a woman who was deserving of being the shadow to a future Queen. There was nothing anyone could refute regarding her beauty or carriage.
Plus, there was that other side to her. That other element that Persephone actually did like and relied upon. Kleio seemed to have a way about her that said she understood the world. Or maybe it was that she understood men. Either way, whenever Persephone had an issue or query, it was to Kleio that she would always turn. It was Kleio who had the strongest opinions, the most intricate outlook and the most experience with which to answer the question. There was just something "worldly-knowledgeable" about her that Persephone trusted.
Noting that the woman was not pleased with her assignment to go down into the Arena with the men, Persephone made a mental note to seek something out for her in thanks - perhaps a new bracelet or an extra day off... Kleio was often sneaking out places and Persephone had heard whisper that she was seeing someone - a lover perhaps. Perhaps the girl would be thankful for a full day in which she would see him. Either way, she was determined to do something nice for the girl as such a task went above and beyond what was expected of her.
When the first of the soldiers stepped forward to greet Persephone's retainer, he was polite and respectful and identified himself as Vilmar.
Persephone kept herself in a graceful, poised position, her hands meeting in front of her and her eyes trained on Kleio and her protective partner, curious to watch what would unfold...
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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To Persephone, Kleio was a bit of a contradiction. There were times when she relied on the woman; her sage advice, her experienced view of the world. And there were others where she disagreed with her perspective entirely. Not for any severe or shocking reason but more from a personal stand-point. They were just too different in terms of personality. The girl had been hired as her ladies maid back when she had first required them to help her handle herself in the Courts. She had been eighteen when Kleio had come into her life, one of the other matrons of the Court, who had been assigned to tutoring her in the ways of political etiquette had chosen her after a severe auditioning system. Persephone had never been consulted in the choice.
As they had worked together it was clear that Kleio and Persephone were cut from two very different types of cloth. Kleio was... opinionated, stubborn, vain and would quite often see the world from a self-centred point of view. But, this was only when she let her formality slip (which Persephone had only noticed her doing a few times in the years she had known her). The rest of the time, the woman followed her orders without complaint, ensured her work was done to a perfect standard, spoke quietly and delicately with an element of penitence and respect and had the aura, bearing and visage of a woman who was deserving of being the shadow to a future Queen. There was nothing anyone could refute regarding her beauty or carriage.
Plus, there was that other side to her. That other element that Persephone actually did like and relied upon. Kleio seemed to have a way about her that said she understood the world. Or maybe it was that she understood men. Either way, whenever Persephone had an issue or query, it was to Kleio that she would always turn. It was Kleio who had the strongest opinions, the most intricate outlook and the most experience with which to answer the question. There was just something "worldly-knowledgeable" about her that Persephone trusted.
Noting that the woman was not pleased with her assignment to go down into the Arena with the men, Persephone made a mental note to seek something out for her in thanks - perhaps a new bracelet or an extra day off... Kleio was often sneaking out places and Persephone had heard whisper that she was seeing someone - a lover perhaps. Perhaps the girl would be thankful for a full day in which she would see him. Either way, she was determined to do something nice for the girl as such a task went above and beyond what was expected of her.
When the first of the soldiers stepped forward to greet Persephone's retainer, he was polite and respectful and identified himself as Vilmar.
Persephone kept herself in a graceful, poised position, her hands meeting in front of her and her eyes trained on Kleio and her protective partner, curious to watch what would unfold...
To Persephone, Kleio was a bit of a contradiction. There were times when she relied on the woman; her sage advice, her experienced view of the world. And there were others where she disagreed with her perspective entirely. Not for any severe or shocking reason but more from a personal stand-point. They were just too different in terms of personality. The girl had been hired as her ladies maid back when she had first required them to help her handle herself in the Courts. She had been eighteen when Kleio had come into her life, one of the other matrons of the Court, who had been assigned to tutoring her in the ways of political etiquette had chosen her after a severe auditioning system. Persephone had never been consulted in the choice.
As they had worked together it was clear that Kleio and Persephone were cut from two very different types of cloth. Kleio was... opinionated, stubborn, vain and would quite often see the world from a self-centred point of view. But, this was only when she let her formality slip (which Persephone had only noticed her doing a few times in the years she had known her). The rest of the time, the woman followed her orders without complaint, ensured her work was done to a perfect standard, spoke quietly and delicately with an element of penitence and respect and had the aura, bearing and visage of a woman who was deserving of being the shadow to a future Queen. There was nothing anyone could refute regarding her beauty or carriage.
Plus, there was that other side to her. That other element that Persephone actually did like and relied upon. Kleio seemed to have a way about her that said she understood the world. Or maybe it was that she understood men. Either way, whenever Persephone had an issue or query, it was to Kleio that she would always turn. It was Kleio who had the strongest opinions, the most intricate outlook and the most experience with which to answer the question. There was just something "worldly-knowledgeable" about her that Persephone trusted.
Noting that the woman was not pleased with her assignment to go down into the Arena with the men, Persephone made a mental note to seek something out for her in thanks - perhaps a new bracelet or an extra day off... Kleio was often sneaking out places and Persephone had heard whisper that she was seeing someone - a lover perhaps. Perhaps the girl would be thankful for a full day in which she would see him. Either way, she was determined to do something nice for the girl as such a task went above and beyond what was expected of her.
When the first of the soldiers stepped forward to greet Persephone's retainer, he was polite and respectful and identified himself as Vilmar.
Persephone kept herself in a graceful, poised position, her hands meeting in front of her and her eyes trained on Kleio and her protective partner, curious to watch what would unfold...
Vilmar started the battle with confidence given his previous victory. He managed to hold off his first opponent, a man named Ixion by leverage and strength. Vilmar's strong arms tossed Ixion into the sand. He began to wrestle with the second, Phemius. Arms locked together as they started to fight. Vilmar could feel himself be pushed back in the sand and he attempted to resist. His feet dragged back along lines in the pit. He grunted as he tried to overturn his opponent. His eagerness to take on his foes had eluded the tactical advantage the others had. They had numbers.
Another man, Athanasios, struck Vilmar from behind into the sand. The man wrestling him kicked him in the groin. Vilmar grunted and brought himself up on his hands. Despite the fact, each was a soldier, each of the men had been instructed to win. They all were chosen for many reasons, but each of them followed orders. His eyes noticed his previous sparring opponent Fedor had stood a bit further back evaluating the situation. Vilmar had barely gathered his senses when he saw Athanasios snag Kleio from behind by wrapping an arm around her. She glared at Vilmar, with more disdain than panic. He sighed as he tried to get up, another kick brought him down.
The two soldiers Ixion and Phemius took turns kicking as the Athanasios began to pull Kleio back to where she started. Vilmar could feel a bit of blood in the back of his throat. He lowered his head and began to quicken his breathing. His shoulders fell forward. He could feel the beast clawing at the edges of his mind. The primal instinct inside of his core banging against the walls of his heart. It pulled at him, and his fists clenched together. He let go of Athena, and he embraced Ares. In a flash, the soldier faded, and the warrior surged forth.
Vilmar's elbow swung forward and caught the Ixion's shin. He felt the sharp edge digging into the soft shin bone. The soldier fell back in agony. Vilmar stiffened his breath as the kick came from the other soldier. Phemius's foot lodged as Vilmar wrapped his right arm around the leg and used his leverage slamming the man to the ground. Vilmar rose from the earth and grabbed Ixion by the collar. Vilmar's clenched fist came forward in a flurry into the man's face. A mist of blood lifting from the man's nose. Battering until his nose broke. Vilmar tossed the Ixion back into the sand as he turned to see Phemius beginning to get up.
Vilmar brought his hands together like the end of a mallet. He swung his arms forward and collided with Phemius's head. The man went flat to the ground unconscious. Vilmar began to move towards Kleio when Fedor charged towards him. Vilmar did not halt his progress as he began to run at a charge of his own to Kleio and Athanasios. When Fedor came close, Vilmar lifted his arm and brought his fist across the jawline of Fedor. The blow stuck hard enough to knock a tooth out of Fedor's mouth as the man fell to the ground.
Athanasios could not juggle moving the woman and blocking Vilmar. Vilmar reached forward and grabbed one of Athanasios fingers. He gave it a sharp pullback as it cracked loudly. The grip loosened as Athanasios stumbled back releasing Kleio. Vilmar loomed over the man and moved forward ignoring Kleio. He brought down his fist firmly twice across the man's face. Athanasios fell back into the sand. Vilmar rose again to his full height his hands covered in blood. His fellow guards were writhing in agony.
Vilmar turned to Kleio,
"Are you alright milady?"
JD
Staff Team
JD
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This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Vilmar started the battle with confidence given his previous victory. He managed to hold off his first opponent, a man named Ixion by leverage and strength. Vilmar's strong arms tossed Ixion into the sand. He began to wrestle with the second, Phemius. Arms locked together as they started to fight. Vilmar could feel himself be pushed back in the sand and he attempted to resist. His feet dragged back along lines in the pit. He grunted as he tried to overturn his opponent. His eagerness to take on his foes had eluded the tactical advantage the others had. They had numbers.
Another man, Athanasios, struck Vilmar from behind into the sand. The man wrestling him kicked him in the groin. Vilmar grunted and brought himself up on his hands. Despite the fact, each was a soldier, each of the men had been instructed to win. They all were chosen for many reasons, but each of them followed orders. His eyes noticed his previous sparring opponent Fedor had stood a bit further back evaluating the situation. Vilmar had barely gathered his senses when he saw Athanasios snag Kleio from behind by wrapping an arm around her. She glared at Vilmar, with more disdain than panic. He sighed as he tried to get up, another kick brought him down.
The two soldiers Ixion and Phemius took turns kicking as the Athanasios began to pull Kleio back to where she started. Vilmar could feel a bit of blood in the back of his throat. He lowered his head and began to quicken his breathing. His shoulders fell forward. He could feel the beast clawing at the edges of his mind. The primal instinct inside of his core banging against the walls of his heart. It pulled at him, and his fists clenched together. He let go of Athena, and he embraced Ares. In a flash, the soldier faded, and the warrior surged forth.
Vilmar's elbow swung forward and caught the Ixion's shin. He felt the sharp edge digging into the soft shin bone. The soldier fell back in agony. Vilmar stiffened his breath as the kick came from the other soldier. Phemius's foot lodged as Vilmar wrapped his right arm around the leg and used his leverage slamming the man to the ground. Vilmar rose from the earth and grabbed Ixion by the collar. Vilmar's clenched fist came forward in a flurry into the man's face. A mist of blood lifting from the man's nose. Battering until his nose broke. Vilmar tossed the Ixion back into the sand as he turned to see Phemius beginning to get up.
Vilmar brought his hands together like the end of a mallet. He swung his arms forward and collided with Phemius's head. The man went flat to the ground unconscious. Vilmar began to move towards Kleio when Fedor charged towards him. Vilmar did not halt his progress as he began to run at a charge of his own to Kleio and Athanasios. When Fedor came close, Vilmar lifted his arm and brought his fist across the jawline of Fedor. The blow stuck hard enough to knock a tooth out of Fedor's mouth as the man fell to the ground.
Athanasios could not juggle moving the woman and blocking Vilmar. Vilmar reached forward and grabbed one of Athanasios fingers. He gave it a sharp pullback as it cracked loudly. The grip loosened as Athanasios stumbled back releasing Kleio. Vilmar loomed over the man and moved forward ignoring Kleio. He brought down his fist firmly twice across the man's face. Athanasios fell back into the sand. Vilmar rose again to his full height his hands covered in blood. His fellow guards were writhing in agony.
Vilmar turned to Kleio,
"Are you alright milady?"
Vilmar started the battle with confidence given his previous victory. He managed to hold off his first opponent, a man named Ixion by leverage and strength. Vilmar's strong arms tossed Ixion into the sand. He began to wrestle with the second, Phemius. Arms locked together as they started to fight. Vilmar could feel himself be pushed back in the sand and he attempted to resist. His feet dragged back along lines in the pit. He grunted as he tried to overturn his opponent. His eagerness to take on his foes had eluded the tactical advantage the others had. They had numbers.
Another man, Athanasios, struck Vilmar from behind into the sand. The man wrestling him kicked him in the groin. Vilmar grunted and brought himself up on his hands. Despite the fact, each was a soldier, each of the men had been instructed to win. They all were chosen for many reasons, but each of them followed orders. His eyes noticed his previous sparring opponent Fedor had stood a bit further back evaluating the situation. Vilmar had barely gathered his senses when he saw Athanasios snag Kleio from behind by wrapping an arm around her. She glared at Vilmar, with more disdain than panic. He sighed as he tried to get up, another kick brought him down.
The two soldiers Ixion and Phemius took turns kicking as the Athanasios began to pull Kleio back to where she started. Vilmar could feel a bit of blood in the back of his throat. He lowered his head and began to quicken his breathing. His shoulders fell forward. He could feel the beast clawing at the edges of his mind. The primal instinct inside of his core banging against the walls of his heart. It pulled at him, and his fists clenched together. He let go of Athena, and he embraced Ares. In a flash, the soldier faded, and the warrior surged forth.
Vilmar's elbow swung forward and caught the Ixion's shin. He felt the sharp edge digging into the soft shin bone. The soldier fell back in agony. Vilmar stiffened his breath as the kick came from the other soldier. Phemius's foot lodged as Vilmar wrapped his right arm around the leg and used his leverage slamming the man to the ground. Vilmar rose from the earth and grabbed Ixion by the collar. Vilmar's clenched fist came forward in a flurry into the man's face. A mist of blood lifting from the man's nose. Battering until his nose broke. Vilmar tossed the Ixion back into the sand as he turned to see Phemius beginning to get up.
Vilmar brought his hands together like the end of a mallet. He swung his arms forward and collided with Phemius's head. The man went flat to the ground unconscious. Vilmar began to move towards Kleio when Fedor charged towards him. Vilmar did not halt his progress as he began to run at a charge of his own to Kleio and Athanasios. When Fedor came close, Vilmar lifted his arm and brought his fist across the jawline of Fedor. The blow stuck hard enough to knock a tooth out of Fedor's mouth as the man fell to the ground.
Athanasios could not juggle moving the woman and blocking Vilmar. Vilmar reached forward and grabbed one of Athanasios fingers. He gave it a sharp pullback as it cracked loudly. The grip loosened as Athanasios stumbled back releasing Kleio. Vilmar loomed over the man and moved forward ignoring Kleio. He brought down his fist firmly twice across the man's face. Athanasios fell back into the sand. Vilmar rose again to his full height his hands covered in blood. His fellow guards were writhing in agony.
Vilmar turned to Kleio,
"Are you alright milady?"
Persephone watched the fight maintaining her efforts to keep a straight face. The initial moments were ones she could witness perfectly contentedly. She was no stranger to the physical exertions of military men, having seen the palace guard performing their morning exercises and regimes in an area of the royal grounds dedicated to such a purpose. She had also been told stories of the violence of war, having read reports and details from the Master of War or from Generals out on old front lines. While Athenia may not have been currently in violent aggression with any other kingdom or realm, Athenians were perfectionists and honour bound by nature. There was no chance the military men of her nation would allow their skills to slip and their habits to lapse simply from a lack of immediate need.
Fortune favours the prepared and all that...
So, when the bout began and the guard charged with protecting Kleio - Vilmar he identified himself as - stepped forward to engage the aggressors, Persephone tried to watch carefully.
While she might know little of accuracy in guard warfare she did at least known effectiveness. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see who was winning in a fight, even if they couldn't tell you was technically the better fighter.
Vilmar started out strong but was foiled by numbers when he was outnumbered in those focused on him and another sneaked backwards to claim Kleio.
It was at this moment that Persephone decided against the man.
For, at the soldier been a true enemy and not a practising guardsman, a knife across the neck was all it would have taken for Persephone to have been killed in just such a scenario. While she tried not to be overtly judgemental - given the man's situation of one against many - she could not help but feel that this had been an immediate failure and would be looking to the next soldier for assessment.
The soldier in question - Vilmar - however did not seem to believe that the test had been concluded. And in a moment of... passion? aggression? energy? The man roared from his feet and appeared to become somewhat possessed.
Perhaps angered by his failure, or driven by wounded pride, the guard Vilmar turned the exercise into an active battle, his punches not pulled and his attacks unkind.
Persephone tried to hold off her winces but was uncertain she had managed it entirely by the end of the fight, as she directed her gaze away from the men who were bleeding on the floor and the blood that adorned the culprit’s hands.
When Kleio turned to request whether or not Persephone that was all that she required from her maid, Persephone could only nod her head mutely, immediately contrite that she had placed Kleio in amongst such violence. She was surprised at the girl's apparent nonchalance at everything that had happened around her.
When the maid returned to stand beside her and made her comment regarding Persephone's choice, the princess felt she had little of one at this point. Beside Vilmar, the other options for her guard were now beaten or broken in the sand and would be unavailable until they healed.
Then again, she wasn't a fool to adjust her preference based on her ladylike tendencies. A bodyguard willing to exert pain and destruction in defence of his charge might not be someone she could look directly at when he fulfilled his duties, but would be someone she could count on to fulfil them all the same.
Turning to Diomedes, Persephone kept her eyes sidelong and hovering on the guard Vilmar who stood for their inspection, breathing heavily from his exertions.
"If you can assure me that the man who fought the second half of that fight is the man who will fight from the beginning in such a circumstance, I shall choose him, Commander."
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Persephone watched the fight maintaining her efforts to keep a straight face. The initial moments were ones she could witness perfectly contentedly. She was no stranger to the physical exertions of military men, having seen the palace guard performing their morning exercises and regimes in an area of the royal grounds dedicated to such a purpose. She had also been told stories of the violence of war, having read reports and details from the Master of War or from Generals out on old front lines. While Athenia may not have been currently in violent aggression with any other kingdom or realm, Athenians were perfectionists and honour bound by nature. There was no chance the military men of her nation would allow their skills to slip and their habits to lapse simply from a lack of immediate need.
Fortune favours the prepared and all that...
So, when the bout began and the guard charged with protecting Kleio - Vilmar he identified himself as - stepped forward to engage the aggressors, Persephone tried to watch carefully.
While she might know little of accuracy in guard warfare she did at least known effectiveness. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see who was winning in a fight, even if they couldn't tell you was technically the better fighter.
Vilmar started out strong but was foiled by numbers when he was outnumbered in those focused on him and another sneaked backwards to claim Kleio.
It was at this moment that Persephone decided against the man.
For, at the soldier been a true enemy and not a practising guardsman, a knife across the neck was all it would have taken for Persephone to have been killed in just such a scenario. While she tried not to be overtly judgemental - given the man's situation of one against many - she could not help but feel that this had been an immediate failure and would be looking to the next soldier for assessment.
The soldier in question - Vilmar - however did not seem to believe that the test had been concluded. And in a moment of... passion? aggression? energy? The man roared from his feet and appeared to become somewhat possessed.
Perhaps angered by his failure, or driven by wounded pride, the guard Vilmar turned the exercise into an active battle, his punches not pulled and his attacks unkind.
Persephone tried to hold off her winces but was uncertain she had managed it entirely by the end of the fight, as she directed her gaze away from the men who were bleeding on the floor and the blood that adorned the culprit’s hands.
When Kleio turned to request whether or not Persephone that was all that she required from her maid, Persephone could only nod her head mutely, immediately contrite that she had placed Kleio in amongst such violence. She was surprised at the girl's apparent nonchalance at everything that had happened around her.
When the maid returned to stand beside her and made her comment regarding Persephone's choice, the princess felt she had little of one at this point. Beside Vilmar, the other options for her guard were now beaten or broken in the sand and would be unavailable until they healed.
Then again, she wasn't a fool to adjust her preference based on her ladylike tendencies. A bodyguard willing to exert pain and destruction in defence of his charge might not be someone she could look directly at when he fulfilled his duties, but would be someone she could count on to fulfil them all the same.
Turning to Diomedes, Persephone kept her eyes sidelong and hovering on the guard Vilmar who stood for their inspection, breathing heavily from his exertions.
"If you can assure me that the man who fought the second half of that fight is the man who will fight from the beginning in such a circumstance, I shall choose him, Commander."
Persephone watched the fight maintaining her efforts to keep a straight face. The initial moments were ones she could witness perfectly contentedly. She was no stranger to the physical exertions of military men, having seen the palace guard performing their morning exercises and regimes in an area of the royal grounds dedicated to such a purpose. She had also been told stories of the violence of war, having read reports and details from the Master of War or from Generals out on old front lines. While Athenia may not have been currently in violent aggression with any other kingdom or realm, Athenians were perfectionists and honour bound by nature. There was no chance the military men of her nation would allow their skills to slip and their habits to lapse simply from a lack of immediate need.
Fortune favours the prepared and all that...
So, when the bout began and the guard charged with protecting Kleio - Vilmar he identified himself as - stepped forward to engage the aggressors, Persephone tried to watch carefully.
While she might know little of accuracy in guard warfare she did at least known effectiveness. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see who was winning in a fight, even if they couldn't tell you was technically the better fighter.
Vilmar started out strong but was foiled by numbers when he was outnumbered in those focused on him and another sneaked backwards to claim Kleio.
It was at this moment that Persephone decided against the man.
For, at the soldier been a true enemy and not a practising guardsman, a knife across the neck was all it would have taken for Persephone to have been killed in just such a scenario. While she tried not to be overtly judgemental - given the man's situation of one against many - she could not help but feel that this had been an immediate failure and would be looking to the next soldier for assessment.
The soldier in question - Vilmar - however did not seem to believe that the test had been concluded. And in a moment of... passion? aggression? energy? The man roared from his feet and appeared to become somewhat possessed.
Perhaps angered by his failure, or driven by wounded pride, the guard Vilmar turned the exercise into an active battle, his punches not pulled and his attacks unkind.
Persephone tried to hold off her winces but was uncertain she had managed it entirely by the end of the fight, as she directed her gaze away from the men who were bleeding on the floor and the blood that adorned the culprit’s hands.
When Kleio turned to request whether or not Persephone that was all that she required from her maid, Persephone could only nod her head mutely, immediately contrite that she had placed Kleio in amongst such violence. She was surprised at the girl's apparent nonchalance at everything that had happened around her.
When the maid returned to stand beside her and made her comment regarding Persephone's choice, the princess felt she had little of one at this point. Beside Vilmar, the other options for her guard were now beaten or broken in the sand and would be unavailable until they healed.
Then again, she wasn't a fool to adjust her preference based on her ladylike tendencies. A bodyguard willing to exert pain and destruction in defence of his charge might not be someone she could look directly at when he fulfilled his duties, but would be someone she could count on to fulfil them all the same.
Turning to Diomedes, Persephone kept her eyes sidelong and hovering on the guard Vilmar who stood for their inspection, breathing heavily from his exertions.
"If you can assure me that the man who fought the second half of that fight is the man who will fight from the beginning in such a circumstance, I shall choose him, Commander."
All of his men were well training in protection, so he had little doubt that the maid Persephone had chosen would be perfectly safe down in the ring with the men fighting around her. She would have to make sure that she was paying attention, just in case. But he would not have entertained the idea of allowing her down there if he didn’t have the utmost confidence that she would remain unharmed. The men below looked at him, a bit questioning in the act, but Diomedes’ face was stoic.
They knew his expectation. And they would not let him down.
He watched the fight with a critical eye, ready to call a halt if anything went wrong. There was a bit more fluidity to a fight like this, because each action had to be improvised, had to allow for an unexpected countermove. Diomedes stood, arms crossed, as he watched the battle below. It started out as he expected it to, but it seemed that the need to empress the woman drove them to be a bit more violent. The bones crunching would mean that the losers would be out of commission for a few days. But, the princess wanted to see how they would sacrifice for her safety, and that was exactly what they were showing her.
He couldn’t say he was surprised when Vilmar seemed to be the ‘unexpected’ front runner. The man was quick, loved a challenge, and was brutal when need be. And while it may have been surprisingly violent, she needed to realize what may happen to her. And it was exactly how he expected anyone willing to harm her may fight, and Vilmar was a stunning fighter. He had the ability to be predictive, which was rare. And if Persephone didn’t pick him, she would miss out on a rare protector.
Once the battle was complete, he simply nodded his head, signaling the end of the fight. As the wounded began to stand, to recover. His attention turned back to the princess, eyes dancing a bit. “I hope that was to your satisfaction.” He couldn’t help but beam a bit, proud of the show they had put on for their future ruler. “I can assure you that Vilmar is a fine choice. He will protect you well, and uses the underestimation of others to his advantage.” He let out a rare smile, “He would have been my suggestion, should you have not wished to see them in action.”
He dismissed the others to head to receive the medical attention they needed, staying Vilmar with a wave of his hand. “Princess, would you like to speak with him yourself?” He asked, gesturing down to the stairs so that he could lead her back to her carriage.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
All of his men were well training in protection, so he had little doubt that the maid Persephone had chosen would be perfectly safe down in the ring with the men fighting around her. She would have to make sure that she was paying attention, just in case. But he would not have entertained the idea of allowing her down there if he didn’t have the utmost confidence that she would remain unharmed. The men below looked at him, a bit questioning in the act, but Diomedes’ face was stoic.
They knew his expectation. And they would not let him down.
He watched the fight with a critical eye, ready to call a halt if anything went wrong. There was a bit more fluidity to a fight like this, because each action had to be improvised, had to allow for an unexpected countermove. Diomedes stood, arms crossed, as he watched the battle below. It started out as he expected it to, but it seemed that the need to empress the woman drove them to be a bit more violent. The bones crunching would mean that the losers would be out of commission for a few days. But, the princess wanted to see how they would sacrifice for her safety, and that was exactly what they were showing her.
He couldn’t say he was surprised when Vilmar seemed to be the ‘unexpected’ front runner. The man was quick, loved a challenge, and was brutal when need be. And while it may have been surprisingly violent, she needed to realize what may happen to her. And it was exactly how he expected anyone willing to harm her may fight, and Vilmar was a stunning fighter. He had the ability to be predictive, which was rare. And if Persephone didn’t pick him, she would miss out on a rare protector.
Once the battle was complete, he simply nodded his head, signaling the end of the fight. As the wounded began to stand, to recover. His attention turned back to the princess, eyes dancing a bit. “I hope that was to your satisfaction.” He couldn’t help but beam a bit, proud of the show they had put on for their future ruler. “I can assure you that Vilmar is a fine choice. He will protect you well, and uses the underestimation of others to his advantage.” He let out a rare smile, “He would have been my suggestion, should you have not wished to see them in action.”
He dismissed the others to head to receive the medical attention they needed, staying Vilmar with a wave of his hand. “Princess, would you like to speak with him yourself?” He asked, gesturing down to the stairs so that he could lead her back to her carriage.
All of his men were well training in protection, so he had little doubt that the maid Persephone had chosen would be perfectly safe down in the ring with the men fighting around her. She would have to make sure that she was paying attention, just in case. But he would not have entertained the idea of allowing her down there if he didn’t have the utmost confidence that she would remain unharmed. The men below looked at him, a bit questioning in the act, but Diomedes’ face was stoic.
They knew his expectation. And they would not let him down.
He watched the fight with a critical eye, ready to call a halt if anything went wrong. There was a bit more fluidity to a fight like this, because each action had to be improvised, had to allow for an unexpected countermove. Diomedes stood, arms crossed, as he watched the battle below. It started out as he expected it to, but it seemed that the need to empress the woman drove them to be a bit more violent. The bones crunching would mean that the losers would be out of commission for a few days. But, the princess wanted to see how they would sacrifice for her safety, and that was exactly what they were showing her.
He couldn’t say he was surprised when Vilmar seemed to be the ‘unexpected’ front runner. The man was quick, loved a challenge, and was brutal when need be. And while it may have been surprisingly violent, she needed to realize what may happen to her. And it was exactly how he expected anyone willing to harm her may fight, and Vilmar was a stunning fighter. He had the ability to be predictive, which was rare. And if Persephone didn’t pick him, she would miss out on a rare protector.
Once the battle was complete, he simply nodded his head, signaling the end of the fight. As the wounded began to stand, to recover. His attention turned back to the princess, eyes dancing a bit. “I hope that was to your satisfaction.” He couldn’t help but beam a bit, proud of the show they had put on for their future ruler. “I can assure you that Vilmar is a fine choice. He will protect you well, and uses the underestimation of others to his advantage.” He let out a rare smile, “He would have been my suggestion, should you have not wished to see them in action.”
He dismissed the others to head to receive the medical attention they needed, staying Vilmar with a wave of his hand. “Princess, would you like to speak with him yourself?” He asked, gesturing down to the stairs so that he could lead her back to her carriage.
Nodding at the Commander's words, Persephone was intelligent enough to see how Diomedes might have assessed the fighting below. She was neither able to perform the skills that the men below had, not could she anticipate them, but she was observant enough to know that the man known as Vilmar could. And it was that kind of quick reaction and thinking that would lead to a successful bodyguard. As he proved in his victory in the end.
When the Commander asked if Persephone would like to speak with the man, the young Princess was busy watching the soldier as he got his breath back, and eyed Kleio was she returned to her side, checking she was okay. Belatedly, however, she nodded to the leader of the Guard and then lead the way down the steps in order to reach the sandy courtyard once more.
Without the need for escorting or protecting, for she knew she was her very safest within the walls of the Guard House, Persephone walked with straight back and high chin, towards the man who had displayed such violence in the name of hypothetically protecting her from danger. Her gown flared a little with each of her steps and then settled around her legs as she came up before the soldier.
Standing before the man - who stood significantly taller than herself - Persephone watched his features carefully as the exertion left his body and he was able to breathe normally. She watched him shrewdly as she spoke her next question, his answer more important to her than even she realised...
"Why did you become a soldier, guardsman?" She asked him.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Nodding at the Commander's words, Persephone was intelligent enough to see how Diomedes might have assessed the fighting below. She was neither able to perform the skills that the men below had, not could she anticipate them, but she was observant enough to know that the man known as Vilmar could. And it was that kind of quick reaction and thinking that would lead to a successful bodyguard. As he proved in his victory in the end.
When the Commander asked if Persephone would like to speak with the man, the young Princess was busy watching the soldier as he got his breath back, and eyed Kleio was she returned to her side, checking she was okay. Belatedly, however, she nodded to the leader of the Guard and then lead the way down the steps in order to reach the sandy courtyard once more.
Without the need for escorting or protecting, for she knew she was her very safest within the walls of the Guard House, Persephone walked with straight back and high chin, towards the man who had displayed such violence in the name of hypothetically protecting her from danger. Her gown flared a little with each of her steps and then settled around her legs as she came up before the soldier.
Standing before the man - who stood significantly taller than herself - Persephone watched his features carefully as the exertion left his body and he was able to breathe normally. She watched him shrewdly as she spoke her next question, his answer more important to her than even she realised...
"Why did you become a soldier, guardsman?" She asked him.
Nodding at the Commander's words, Persephone was intelligent enough to see how Diomedes might have assessed the fighting below. She was neither able to perform the skills that the men below had, not could she anticipate them, but she was observant enough to know that the man known as Vilmar could. And it was that kind of quick reaction and thinking that would lead to a successful bodyguard. As he proved in his victory in the end.
When the Commander asked if Persephone would like to speak with the man, the young Princess was busy watching the soldier as he got his breath back, and eyed Kleio was she returned to her side, checking she was okay. Belatedly, however, she nodded to the leader of the Guard and then lead the way down the steps in order to reach the sandy courtyard once more.
Without the need for escorting or protecting, for she knew she was her very safest within the walls of the Guard House, Persephone walked with straight back and high chin, towards the man who had displayed such violence in the name of hypothetically protecting her from danger. Her gown flared a little with each of her steps and then settled around her legs as she came up before the soldier.
Standing before the man - who stood significantly taller than herself - Persephone watched his features carefully as the exertion left his body and he was able to breathe normally. She watched him shrewdly as she spoke her next question, his answer more important to her than even she realised...
"Why did you become a soldier, guardsman?" She asked him.
