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Each kingdom of Greece is known for its specific and specialised skills of culture and learning. Athenia is at the height of academia. Taengea are skilled social creatures. And Colchis... Colchis know how to fight. And with the union between the three kingdoms still new at this time, the Taengean lords have decided to enact an activity that shows solidarity between the men of the next generation and sent several of their young princes and barons to receive military training from the Colchian experts of combat...
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Each kingdom of Greece is known for its specific and specialised skills of culture and learning. Athenia is at the height of academia. Taengea are skilled social creatures. And Colchis... Colchis know how to fight. And with the union between the three kingdoms still new at this time, the Taengean lords have decided to enact an activity that shows solidarity between the men of the next generation and sent several of their young princes and barons to receive military training from the Colchian experts of combat...
One Good Turn Provincial Story - Colchis
Each kingdom of Greece is known for its specific and specialised skills of culture and learning. Athenia is at the height of academia. Taengea are skilled social creatures. And Colchis... Colchis know how to fight. And with the union between the three kingdoms still new at this time, the Taengean lords have decided to enact an activity that shows solidarity between the men of the next generation and sent several of their young princes and barons to receive military training from the Colchian experts of combat...
At the age of thirty nine, many other generals were already well-worn and many had even retired by the time they hit their forties. Which would be next year for the General of the Taengean armies, yet retirement was far from his mind. Still eager and active in duty, he was a force to be reckoned with on and off the battleground, and even at the age of thirty nine, Irakles of Mikaelidas was becoming a name synonymous with victory and glory brought home for the kingdom of Taengea.
Of course, his 'glory' was tethered to his brother's whims and fancies, and it was one of those whims which had brought him home to Taengean soil just a month ago, when Zenon had called off their skirmish with one of the border barbarians, and had yet again visited them on a peace mission, rather then just showing them exactly who they were messing with.
Irakles had no been happy, and with that, came a distaste at staying in Taengea. So instead, when the suggestion came from the last Senate to send some of the young noblemen to receive military training, Irakles had volunteered to be the one to bring them. Afterall, military and combat was his forte, so why shouldn't he?
A week's voyage later, and he now stood on Colchian soil, smiling as he stood on the edges of the training field. Rocky and dry, the lands were a stark difference to the fields and lush forests he was used to in Taengea. Everything in Colchis seemed harsher, rougher, but it was a good enviroment which the young Taengean lords needed some training in, and Irakles wore a satisfied smile as he watched the younger Taengeans engage in mock battles on the training field. The day had started early, but now as the sun crawled over to the middle of the sky, their noon meal would soon be brought out by the servants of the Eubocris manor they now stayed in, and the young trainees would be given a break soon to have their meal and a rest, before resuming till the late evening.
Irakles himself had spent the better part of the last two days in discussions of strategy and past fights with the visiting Colchian lords. Having arrived in Midas ports late in the day, his young wards had shacked up on ship for the night, before they started the day-long journey to Eubocris on horseback. This was now the third day of them being in Eubocris, and they were slated to be there for two days yet, before setting sail back to Taengea, hopefully bringing back more skilled combat fighters then they had came with.
Before he could observe more, the bell rang as a stream of servants came carrying baskets of breads, meats and fruits, to be arranged on the ground just beyond the dusty training fields, upon blankets that had earlier been laid out for the meals to be shared by all, and Irakles chuckled as the young lads were quick to drop their weapons and scurry towards their food - just like boys.
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At the age of thirty nine, many other generals were already well-worn and many had even retired by the time they hit their forties. Which would be next year for the General of the Taengean armies, yet retirement was far from his mind. Still eager and active in duty, he was a force to be reckoned with on and off the battleground, and even at the age of thirty nine, Irakles of Mikaelidas was becoming a name synonymous with victory and glory brought home for the kingdom of Taengea.
Of course, his 'glory' was tethered to his brother's whims and fancies, and it was one of those whims which had brought him home to Taengean soil just a month ago, when Zenon had called off their skirmish with one of the border barbarians, and had yet again visited them on a peace mission, rather then just showing them exactly who they were messing with.
Irakles had no been happy, and with that, came a distaste at staying in Taengea. So instead, when the suggestion came from the last Senate to send some of the young noblemen to receive military training, Irakles had volunteered to be the one to bring them. Afterall, military and combat was his forte, so why shouldn't he?
A week's voyage later, and he now stood on Colchian soil, smiling as he stood on the edges of the training field. Rocky and dry, the lands were a stark difference to the fields and lush forests he was used to in Taengea. Everything in Colchis seemed harsher, rougher, but it was a good enviroment which the young Taengean lords needed some training in, and Irakles wore a satisfied smile as he watched the younger Taengeans engage in mock battles on the training field. The day had started early, but now as the sun crawled over to the middle of the sky, their noon meal would soon be brought out by the servants of the Eubocris manor they now stayed in, and the young trainees would be given a break soon to have their meal and a rest, before resuming till the late evening.
Irakles himself had spent the better part of the last two days in discussions of strategy and past fights with the visiting Colchian lords. Having arrived in Midas ports late in the day, his young wards had shacked up on ship for the night, before they started the day-long journey to Eubocris on horseback. This was now the third day of them being in Eubocris, and they were slated to be there for two days yet, before setting sail back to Taengea, hopefully bringing back more skilled combat fighters then they had came with.
Before he could observe more, the bell rang as a stream of servants came carrying baskets of breads, meats and fruits, to be arranged on the ground just beyond the dusty training fields, upon blankets that had earlier been laid out for the meals to be shared by all, and Irakles chuckled as the young lads were quick to drop their weapons and scurry towards their food - just like boys.
At the age of thirty nine, many other generals were already well-worn and many had even retired by the time they hit their forties. Which would be next year for the General of the Taengean armies, yet retirement was far from his mind. Still eager and active in duty, he was a force to be reckoned with on and off the battleground, and even at the age of thirty nine, Irakles of Mikaelidas was becoming a name synonymous with victory and glory brought home for the kingdom of Taengea.
Of course, his 'glory' was tethered to his brother's whims and fancies, and it was one of those whims which had brought him home to Taengean soil just a month ago, when Zenon had called off their skirmish with one of the border barbarians, and had yet again visited them on a peace mission, rather then just showing them exactly who they were messing with.
Irakles had no been happy, and with that, came a distaste at staying in Taengea. So instead, when the suggestion came from the last Senate to send some of the young noblemen to receive military training, Irakles had volunteered to be the one to bring them. Afterall, military and combat was his forte, so why shouldn't he?
A week's voyage later, and he now stood on Colchian soil, smiling as he stood on the edges of the training field. Rocky and dry, the lands were a stark difference to the fields and lush forests he was used to in Taengea. Everything in Colchis seemed harsher, rougher, but it was a good enviroment which the young Taengean lords needed some training in, and Irakles wore a satisfied smile as he watched the younger Taengeans engage in mock battles on the training field. The day had started early, but now as the sun crawled over to the middle of the sky, their noon meal would soon be brought out by the servants of the Eubocris manor they now stayed in, and the young trainees would be given a break soon to have their meal and a rest, before resuming till the late evening.
Irakles himself had spent the better part of the last two days in discussions of strategy and past fights with the visiting Colchian lords. Having arrived in Midas ports late in the day, his young wards had shacked up on ship for the night, before they started the day-long journey to Eubocris on horseback. This was now the third day of them being in Eubocris, and they were slated to be there for two days yet, before setting sail back to Taengea, hopefully bringing back more skilled combat fighters then they had came with.
Before he could observe more, the bell rang as a stream of servants came carrying baskets of breads, meats and fruits, to be arranged on the ground just beyond the dusty training fields, upon blankets that had earlier been laid out for the meals to be shared by all, and Irakles chuckled as the young lads were quick to drop their weapons and scurry towards their food - just like boys.
Although the Taengean lords descended upon Eubocris with a clear goal in mind; nine-year-old Timaeus of Valaoritis cared little for the politics that went into such an event as the concept of fostering relations had gone over his head. He had never been the most politically minded of the Valaoritis boys. (That honor went to his older brother Nicomedes, as it should.) Instead, he was far more interested in the other aspect of such a gathering; the swordsmanship training.
Even at nine years old, there was nothing that the Valaoritis child loved more than parrying in the courtyard of the kalospiti with his brothers. There was just something enthralling in regards to the destructive power a sword could have and with a little gentle encouragement from his family -- who as Colchians could only promise their younger sons military careers anyway-- he had taken to the art like a duck to water. Now, Timaeus was talented enough to go toe to toe with his older brother and even though he would still lose, he was more than capable of putting up one hell of a fight. It was more than clear to those around the lad that he would one day become a military commander -- a position that the boy would surely thrive in and be happy to fulfill.
So, there had been no question that Timaeus would participate in the training day and the young lord couldn’t have been more thrilled. In the weeks leading up to this event, he could be found happily pestering his parents, asking endless questions and predicting how great of a day it would be. Now that the day had come, he was pleased to see how he had been right and was one of the only boys who still had a smile on his face as they were put through the Colchian’s grueling regiment. After all, he had grown up under the instruction of most of these men, making the drills that the children went through more than familiar to the young lad. To him, these last few days had been less about work and more about having fun with the thrill of new opponents and the promise of no classrooms for several days. What more could a boy like him ask for?
As exciting as the past few days had been, his joy could not have been compared to what had happened the morning of the third day though.
It had started like any other day on the field with the young lords gathering on the fields just as the sun was rising over the mountains that Timaeus called home. Amid the usual grumblings of sore muscles, complaints about the xeric environment, and boastful shouts precursing the matches to come from the lads, Tim had heard an older boy, a Taengean, call for his attention. This had surprised him at first as Tim couldn’t recall crossing paths with the almost scrawny boy with a blond mop of curls before -- especially as he looked to be Nico’s age, if not older and Tim had stayed close to his age group for the most part. However, after a quick introduction the boy, named Medon, explained that his parents had sent him to Colchis with gifts for Valaoritis boys as a way of thanking the family for being such gracious hosts. (Later Timaeus would realize that these gifts were made not in gratitude, but as a way for the floundering Taengean house to build a favorable connection with the stable Colchian one.) The gifts in question? A small short-sword made from bronze with a set of crossing keys etched into the hilt.
Granted, the weapon was not perfect and there were clear imperfections within the metal and Medon appeared to have cared less about the gift, but that didn’t stop Timaeus from being over the moon with joy. After all, it wasn’t every day that the boy received a new weapon, especially one made of such a hefty metal. Words couldn’t convey the sheer amount of gratitude that Timaeus had felt for having received such a fine gift. It was shown though once their instructors joined the lads and Timaeus chose to fight with the new weapon rather than the one he had grown up with.
For him, the morning had passed by in a blur as he became accustomed to training with the bronze gift and when it came time for the boys to eat their midday meal, Timaeus was loathed to part from it as the others tossed their weapons aside. After all, what if it wasn’t there when he returned? He would be heartbroken if he lost it right after getting it.
Luckily for him, a brilliant plan came to mind as he glanced back up at the group of picnic blankets and amid the blinding glare brought on by the sunlight bouncing off all the discarded metal, he thought he saw his father, Amaxius of Valaoritis. There was no reason that Tim would assume that this man wouldn’t be. They appeared to be the same height with a muscular build and from behind, it looked like they had the same darkened hair with light salt and pepper streaks just beginning to grow in. He wouldn’t have to leave his sword behind, after all, he could show it to his father instead! With him being a military man, surely he would be able to take part in the boy’s excitement as well.
So, taking off across the field, with eyes cast down to avoid tripping on the stray weapons and armor, the eager nine-year-old didn’t realize that he had been wrong in his identification and the man he was headed towards was not his father, but instead a Taengean general who was not known for his kindness. Not in the slightest.
Little Timaeus was on a collision course with Irakles of Mikaelidas, the feared General of the Taengean army.
In fact, by the time he had realized the error he had made, it was far too late. He nearly ran into the other man as he skidded to a halt shouting about the gift, “ Father! Look at what Medon gave me!” It was only then that he could see that this was not his father and Timaeus physically shrunk back from both the embarrassment of misinterpretation as well as the childish fear that had come from hearing of the man’s accomplishments abroad, tales twisted by his older brother in an effort to ruin Tim’s fun in the days leading up to the event.
“ Sorry, I thought--” He managed to squeak out as he looked up at the older man with eyes as wide as saucers. His hands clutched the hilt of his now treasured sword, drawing it close to him. A small part of him worried that the man would take the gift from him, a fear that had no basis in anything, but the boy’s innately protective nature couldn’t let him take any chances. “ Do you know where Amaxius is? He said, hoping that the man would point him in the direction of the baron and let the boy go on his merry way so they could all forget this embarrassing incident.
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Although the Taengean lords descended upon Eubocris with a clear goal in mind; nine-year-old Timaeus of Valaoritis cared little for the politics that went into such an event as the concept of fostering relations had gone over his head. He had never been the most politically minded of the Valaoritis boys. (That honor went to his older brother Nicomedes, as it should.) Instead, he was far more interested in the other aspect of such a gathering; the swordsmanship training.
Even at nine years old, there was nothing that the Valaoritis child loved more than parrying in the courtyard of the kalospiti with his brothers. There was just something enthralling in regards to the destructive power a sword could have and with a little gentle encouragement from his family -- who as Colchians could only promise their younger sons military careers anyway-- he had taken to the art like a duck to water. Now, Timaeus was talented enough to go toe to toe with his older brother and even though he would still lose, he was more than capable of putting up one hell of a fight. It was more than clear to those around the lad that he would one day become a military commander -- a position that the boy would surely thrive in and be happy to fulfill.
So, there had been no question that Timaeus would participate in the training day and the young lord couldn’t have been more thrilled. In the weeks leading up to this event, he could be found happily pestering his parents, asking endless questions and predicting how great of a day it would be. Now that the day had come, he was pleased to see how he had been right and was one of the only boys who still had a smile on his face as they were put through the Colchian’s grueling regiment. After all, he had grown up under the instruction of most of these men, making the drills that the children went through more than familiar to the young lad. To him, these last few days had been less about work and more about having fun with the thrill of new opponents and the promise of no classrooms for several days. What more could a boy like him ask for?
As exciting as the past few days had been, his joy could not have been compared to what had happened the morning of the third day though.
It had started like any other day on the field with the young lords gathering on the fields just as the sun was rising over the mountains that Timaeus called home. Amid the usual grumblings of sore muscles, complaints about the xeric environment, and boastful shouts precursing the matches to come from the lads, Tim had heard an older boy, a Taengean, call for his attention. This had surprised him at first as Tim couldn’t recall crossing paths with the almost scrawny boy with a blond mop of curls before -- especially as he looked to be Nico’s age, if not older and Tim had stayed close to his age group for the most part. However, after a quick introduction the boy, named Medon, explained that his parents had sent him to Colchis with gifts for Valaoritis boys as a way of thanking the family for being such gracious hosts. (Later Timaeus would realize that these gifts were made not in gratitude, but as a way for the floundering Taengean house to build a favorable connection with the stable Colchian one.) The gifts in question? A small short-sword made from bronze with a set of crossing keys etched into the hilt.
Granted, the weapon was not perfect and there were clear imperfections within the metal and Medon appeared to have cared less about the gift, but that didn’t stop Timaeus from being over the moon with joy. After all, it wasn’t every day that the boy received a new weapon, especially one made of such a hefty metal. Words couldn’t convey the sheer amount of gratitude that Timaeus had felt for having received such a fine gift. It was shown though once their instructors joined the lads and Timaeus chose to fight with the new weapon rather than the one he had grown up with.
For him, the morning had passed by in a blur as he became accustomed to training with the bronze gift and when it came time for the boys to eat their midday meal, Timaeus was loathed to part from it as the others tossed their weapons aside. After all, what if it wasn’t there when he returned? He would be heartbroken if he lost it right after getting it.
Luckily for him, a brilliant plan came to mind as he glanced back up at the group of picnic blankets and amid the blinding glare brought on by the sunlight bouncing off all the discarded metal, he thought he saw his father, Amaxius of Valaoritis. There was no reason that Tim would assume that this man wouldn’t be. They appeared to be the same height with a muscular build and from behind, it looked like they had the same darkened hair with light salt and pepper streaks just beginning to grow in. He wouldn’t have to leave his sword behind, after all, he could show it to his father instead! With him being a military man, surely he would be able to take part in the boy’s excitement as well.
So, taking off across the field, with eyes cast down to avoid tripping on the stray weapons and armor, the eager nine-year-old didn’t realize that he had been wrong in his identification and the man he was headed towards was not his father, but instead a Taengean general who was not known for his kindness. Not in the slightest.
Little Timaeus was on a collision course with Irakles of Mikaelidas, the feared General of the Taengean army.
In fact, by the time he had realized the error he had made, it was far too late. He nearly ran into the other man as he skidded to a halt shouting about the gift, “ Father! Look at what Medon gave me!” It was only then that he could see that this was not his father and Timaeus physically shrunk back from both the embarrassment of misinterpretation as well as the childish fear that had come from hearing of the man’s accomplishments abroad, tales twisted by his older brother in an effort to ruin Tim’s fun in the days leading up to the event.
“ Sorry, I thought--” He managed to squeak out as he looked up at the older man with eyes as wide as saucers. His hands clutched the hilt of his now treasured sword, drawing it close to him. A small part of him worried that the man would take the gift from him, a fear that had no basis in anything, but the boy’s innately protective nature couldn’t let him take any chances. “ Do you know where Amaxius is? He said, hoping that the man would point him in the direction of the baron and let the boy go on his merry way so they could all forget this embarrassing incident.
Although the Taengean lords descended upon Eubocris with a clear goal in mind; nine-year-old Timaeus of Valaoritis cared little for the politics that went into such an event as the concept of fostering relations had gone over his head. He had never been the most politically minded of the Valaoritis boys. (That honor went to his older brother Nicomedes, as it should.) Instead, he was far more interested in the other aspect of such a gathering; the swordsmanship training.
Even at nine years old, there was nothing that the Valaoritis child loved more than parrying in the courtyard of the kalospiti with his brothers. There was just something enthralling in regards to the destructive power a sword could have and with a little gentle encouragement from his family -- who as Colchians could only promise their younger sons military careers anyway-- he had taken to the art like a duck to water. Now, Timaeus was talented enough to go toe to toe with his older brother and even though he would still lose, he was more than capable of putting up one hell of a fight. It was more than clear to those around the lad that he would one day become a military commander -- a position that the boy would surely thrive in and be happy to fulfill.
So, there had been no question that Timaeus would participate in the training day and the young lord couldn’t have been more thrilled. In the weeks leading up to this event, he could be found happily pestering his parents, asking endless questions and predicting how great of a day it would be. Now that the day had come, he was pleased to see how he had been right and was one of the only boys who still had a smile on his face as they were put through the Colchian’s grueling regiment. After all, he had grown up under the instruction of most of these men, making the drills that the children went through more than familiar to the young lad. To him, these last few days had been less about work and more about having fun with the thrill of new opponents and the promise of no classrooms for several days. What more could a boy like him ask for?
As exciting as the past few days had been, his joy could not have been compared to what had happened the morning of the third day though.
It had started like any other day on the field with the young lords gathering on the fields just as the sun was rising over the mountains that Timaeus called home. Amid the usual grumblings of sore muscles, complaints about the xeric environment, and boastful shouts precursing the matches to come from the lads, Tim had heard an older boy, a Taengean, call for his attention. This had surprised him at first as Tim couldn’t recall crossing paths with the almost scrawny boy with a blond mop of curls before -- especially as he looked to be Nico’s age, if not older and Tim had stayed close to his age group for the most part. However, after a quick introduction the boy, named Medon, explained that his parents had sent him to Colchis with gifts for Valaoritis boys as a way of thanking the family for being such gracious hosts. (Later Timaeus would realize that these gifts were made not in gratitude, but as a way for the floundering Taengean house to build a favorable connection with the stable Colchian one.) The gifts in question? A small short-sword made from bronze with a set of crossing keys etched into the hilt.
Granted, the weapon was not perfect and there were clear imperfections within the metal and Medon appeared to have cared less about the gift, but that didn’t stop Timaeus from being over the moon with joy. After all, it wasn’t every day that the boy received a new weapon, especially one made of such a hefty metal. Words couldn’t convey the sheer amount of gratitude that Timaeus had felt for having received such a fine gift. It was shown though once their instructors joined the lads and Timaeus chose to fight with the new weapon rather than the one he had grown up with.
For him, the morning had passed by in a blur as he became accustomed to training with the bronze gift and when it came time for the boys to eat their midday meal, Timaeus was loathed to part from it as the others tossed their weapons aside. After all, what if it wasn’t there when he returned? He would be heartbroken if he lost it right after getting it.
Luckily for him, a brilliant plan came to mind as he glanced back up at the group of picnic blankets and amid the blinding glare brought on by the sunlight bouncing off all the discarded metal, he thought he saw his father, Amaxius of Valaoritis. There was no reason that Tim would assume that this man wouldn’t be. They appeared to be the same height with a muscular build and from behind, it looked like they had the same darkened hair with light salt and pepper streaks just beginning to grow in. He wouldn’t have to leave his sword behind, after all, he could show it to his father instead! With him being a military man, surely he would be able to take part in the boy’s excitement as well.
So, taking off across the field, with eyes cast down to avoid tripping on the stray weapons and armor, the eager nine-year-old didn’t realize that he had been wrong in his identification and the man he was headed towards was not his father, but instead a Taengean general who was not known for his kindness. Not in the slightest.
Little Timaeus was on a collision course with Irakles of Mikaelidas, the feared General of the Taengean army.
In fact, by the time he had realized the error he had made, it was far too late. He nearly ran into the other man as he skidded to a halt shouting about the gift, “ Father! Look at what Medon gave me!” It was only then that he could see that this was not his father and Timaeus physically shrunk back from both the embarrassment of misinterpretation as well as the childish fear that had come from hearing of the man’s accomplishments abroad, tales twisted by his older brother in an effort to ruin Tim’s fun in the days leading up to the event.
“ Sorry, I thought--” He managed to squeak out as he looked up at the older man with eyes as wide as saucers. His hands clutched the hilt of his now treasured sword, drawing it close to him. A small part of him worried that the man would take the gift from him, a fear that had no basis in anything, but the boy’s innately protective nature couldn’t let him take any chances. “ Do you know where Amaxius is? He said, hoping that the man would point him in the direction of the baron and let the boy go on his merry way so they could all forget this embarrassing incident.
Achilleas had been pleased when he’d been told of the planned trip to Colchis. He had seen the other Greeks on the battlefield and found much to admire in their discipline and ruthless precision. His time with the Order had seen the Mikaelidas Lord exposed to a different sort of fighting: the stealthy and subtle tactics employed to engage with those opponents who came from the shadows, like the Creed. Achilleas could appreciate the merit in having at least an understanding of these different fighting styles to add strength to his own capabilities.
And so to Colchis they had sailed; brothers, cousins, lesser lords. It could have been a rambunctious party for someone to lead, but the presence of his father had certainly curtailed whatever youthful hijinx might have occurred. At least when he was looking.
Achilleas, for the most part, had closed his eyes to such things, preferring to focus on getting as much out of the experience as he could. Which was much, as it turned out.
Their journey through Colchis to the rocky province of Eubocris had been the first eye opener for the Taengeans. Their charioteers would be useless here. And so they found themselves practicing more hand to hand combat that perhaps most of them were used to, a fact which made itself known at the end of the first day’s training where Achilleas had laughed at some of the complaints put forward by his fellows. The elder of Irakles’ sons had always favoured sword and spear, so at least it was not as much as a departure for him as for some of the others. Still, he found himself challenged by the seemingly relentless ability of the Colchian fighters to break through his guard, and it had spurred the lord to observe them more closely, to watch as his countrymen fought, so he might see where their own techniques fell down in the face of the Colchians.
He was watching one such bout between the son of one of his father’s barons and a young Colchian, the Taengean just having caught the butt of a spear in the gut. Achilleas called him over as the lad tried to get his breath back.
“He lured you into making that last strike” the Mikaelidas heir said. “Just ready to give you that little souvenir. Don’t be so easily goaded” He had noted a cold sort of focus in the Colchians that was a sharp contrast to the laughing exuberance of his own party.The boy had nodded, not about to gainsay Achilleas, but he was quick enough to cast aside the practice weapon and scarper at the prospect of food.
Finding himself at the rearguard of the plague of locusts that descended, Achilleas stopped to wipe a cool rag over his face and hands. It was hot here, and dusty, and the heat made them sweat and the fighting kicked up dust so they looked like they’d been dipped in flour. Ambling towards the blankets where the food had been laid out, he balled the rag he’d used up in his hand and launched the wet clout towards the blonde head of his cousin in front of him.
“How do you fare?” he asked, drawing level with the Prince. “Have you managed to hold your own today, or are you embarrassing our Kingdom once again?” Unfair criticism, because they had all won and lost in equal measure, but Achilleas was not above poking at his cousin’s pride, which was plentiful.
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Aug 25, 2019 10:41:07 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Aug 25, 2019 10:41:07 GMT
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Achilleas had been pleased when he’d been told of the planned trip to Colchis. He had seen the other Greeks on the battlefield and found much to admire in their discipline and ruthless precision. His time with the Order had seen the Mikaelidas Lord exposed to a different sort of fighting: the stealthy and subtle tactics employed to engage with those opponents who came from the shadows, like the Creed. Achilleas could appreciate the merit in having at least an understanding of these different fighting styles to add strength to his own capabilities.
And so to Colchis they had sailed; brothers, cousins, lesser lords. It could have been a rambunctious party for someone to lead, but the presence of his father had certainly curtailed whatever youthful hijinx might have occurred. At least when he was looking.
Achilleas, for the most part, had closed his eyes to such things, preferring to focus on getting as much out of the experience as he could. Which was much, as it turned out.
Their journey through Colchis to the rocky province of Eubocris had been the first eye opener for the Taengeans. Their charioteers would be useless here. And so they found themselves practicing more hand to hand combat that perhaps most of them were used to, a fact which made itself known at the end of the first day’s training where Achilleas had laughed at some of the complaints put forward by his fellows. The elder of Irakles’ sons had always favoured sword and spear, so at least it was not as much as a departure for him as for some of the others. Still, he found himself challenged by the seemingly relentless ability of the Colchian fighters to break through his guard, and it had spurred the lord to observe them more closely, to watch as his countrymen fought, so he might see where their own techniques fell down in the face of the Colchians.
He was watching one such bout between the son of one of his father’s barons and a young Colchian, the Taengean just having caught the butt of a spear in the gut. Achilleas called him over as the lad tried to get his breath back.
“He lured you into making that last strike” the Mikaelidas heir said. “Just ready to give you that little souvenir. Don’t be so easily goaded” He had noted a cold sort of focus in the Colchians that was a sharp contrast to the laughing exuberance of his own party.The boy had nodded, not about to gainsay Achilleas, but he was quick enough to cast aside the practice weapon and scarper at the prospect of food.
Finding himself at the rearguard of the plague of locusts that descended, Achilleas stopped to wipe a cool rag over his face and hands. It was hot here, and dusty, and the heat made them sweat and the fighting kicked up dust so they looked like they’d been dipped in flour. Ambling towards the blankets where the food had been laid out, he balled the rag he’d used up in his hand and launched the wet clout towards the blonde head of his cousin in front of him.
“How do you fare?” he asked, drawing level with the Prince. “Have you managed to hold your own today, or are you embarrassing our Kingdom once again?” Unfair criticism, because they had all won and lost in equal measure, but Achilleas was not above poking at his cousin’s pride, which was plentiful.
Achilleas had been pleased when he’d been told of the planned trip to Colchis. He had seen the other Greeks on the battlefield and found much to admire in their discipline and ruthless precision. His time with the Order had seen the Mikaelidas Lord exposed to a different sort of fighting: the stealthy and subtle tactics employed to engage with those opponents who came from the shadows, like the Creed. Achilleas could appreciate the merit in having at least an understanding of these different fighting styles to add strength to his own capabilities.
And so to Colchis they had sailed; brothers, cousins, lesser lords. It could have been a rambunctious party for someone to lead, but the presence of his father had certainly curtailed whatever youthful hijinx might have occurred. At least when he was looking.
Achilleas, for the most part, had closed his eyes to such things, preferring to focus on getting as much out of the experience as he could. Which was much, as it turned out.
Their journey through Colchis to the rocky province of Eubocris had been the first eye opener for the Taengeans. Their charioteers would be useless here. And so they found themselves practicing more hand to hand combat that perhaps most of them were used to, a fact which made itself known at the end of the first day’s training where Achilleas had laughed at some of the complaints put forward by his fellows. The elder of Irakles’ sons had always favoured sword and spear, so at least it was not as much as a departure for him as for some of the others. Still, he found himself challenged by the seemingly relentless ability of the Colchian fighters to break through his guard, and it had spurred the lord to observe them more closely, to watch as his countrymen fought, so he might see where their own techniques fell down in the face of the Colchians.
He was watching one such bout between the son of one of his father’s barons and a young Colchian, the Taengean just having caught the butt of a spear in the gut. Achilleas called him over as the lad tried to get his breath back.
“He lured you into making that last strike” the Mikaelidas heir said. “Just ready to give you that little souvenir. Don’t be so easily goaded” He had noted a cold sort of focus in the Colchians that was a sharp contrast to the laughing exuberance of his own party.The boy had nodded, not about to gainsay Achilleas, but he was quick enough to cast aside the practice weapon and scarper at the prospect of food.
Finding himself at the rearguard of the plague of locusts that descended, Achilleas stopped to wipe a cool rag over his face and hands. It was hot here, and dusty, and the heat made them sweat and the fighting kicked up dust so they looked like they’d been dipped in flour. Ambling towards the blankets where the food had been laid out, he balled the rag he’d used up in his hand and launched the wet clout towards the blonde head of his cousin in front of him.
“How do you fare?” he asked, drawing level with the Prince. “Have you managed to hold your own today, or are you embarrassing our Kingdom once again?” Unfair criticism, because they had all won and lost in equal measure, but Achilleas was not above poking at his cousin’s pride, which was plentiful.
Stephanos was a dusty, chalky brown. The dirt and grit coated his body like he’d rolled in it, which, he had. Spikes of blonde hair stuck up and caught the sunlight, promising that, once clean, his hair would be brilliant gold. His clothes, which had been blue this morning, were nearly black with sweat and completely brown from dirt in the ring in others. In short, he looked born from the earth.
Sprawled out on one of the blankets under the shade of a tree, he had his eyes hidden beneath one arm carelessly flung across his face. Achilleas’s wet rag did not phase him. He merely picked it up and blindly tossed it in the direction he guessed his cousin was in. The rag landed short of Achilleas, but at least it was in the proper direction.
“How do you fare? Have you managed to hold your own today, or are you embarrassing our Kingdom once again?”
Stephanos limply dropped his arm from his face and looked over at Achilleas.
“How could I be any more embarrassing than you?” he cracked a grin and then sat up with a groan. “I’ve heard of dedicated but these people are unreal. This one guy almost bit me. He was frothing at the mouth.”
To Stephanos, the sword sparring he’d been involved in was supposed to be practice. For fun. Somehow, in the middle, it had turned into such a battle of wills that he’d found himself kicked in the chest and bowled over. That, of course, had flared his temper and he’d dove at the man, catching him around the middle. They’d devolved from there into a wrestling match, complete with name calling, eye jabbing, jaw punching; a tangle of limbs where it was hard to tell whose was whose or which man was more dirty or bruised. It had ended with Stephanos pinned to the ground with the edge of a sword against his throat and some insane man’s drool pooling on his cheek. He’d stared into the horrid blue eyes of a mad man. Then, he’d done the only sensible thing in that situation, which was to knee the man in the balls from behind. That had dropped the guy enough for Stephanos to push him off and kick him in the ribs until people had flown into the ring to pry the two of them apart.
“These people take this way, way too seriously,” he finished and then looked over at Achilleas. “Why are you that clean? Haven’t you been fighting? Have you been acting like a princess? Are you embarrassing me?”
Around them, people were beginning to gather, including the weirdo that was giving Stephanos such a creepy glare. Stephanos pointed him out. “Look, that’s the guy. The one with the crooked nose?” That man was every bit as dirty as Stephanos, complete with mud in his beard from the spittle that had spilled out of his mouth.
Stephanos, personally, found him revolting.
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Aug 25, 2019 14:21:08 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Aug 25, 2019 14:21:08 GMT
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Stephanos was a dusty, chalky brown. The dirt and grit coated his body like he’d rolled in it, which, he had. Spikes of blonde hair stuck up and caught the sunlight, promising that, once clean, his hair would be brilliant gold. His clothes, which had been blue this morning, were nearly black with sweat and completely brown from dirt in the ring in others. In short, he looked born from the earth.
Sprawled out on one of the blankets under the shade of a tree, he had his eyes hidden beneath one arm carelessly flung across his face. Achilleas’s wet rag did not phase him. He merely picked it up and blindly tossed it in the direction he guessed his cousin was in. The rag landed short of Achilleas, but at least it was in the proper direction.
“How do you fare? Have you managed to hold your own today, or are you embarrassing our Kingdom once again?”
Stephanos limply dropped his arm from his face and looked over at Achilleas.
“How could I be any more embarrassing than you?” he cracked a grin and then sat up with a groan. “I’ve heard of dedicated but these people are unreal. This one guy almost bit me. He was frothing at the mouth.”
To Stephanos, the sword sparring he’d been involved in was supposed to be practice. For fun. Somehow, in the middle, it had turned into such a battle of wills that he’d found himself kicked in the chest and bowled over. That, of course, had flared his temper and he’d dove at the man, catching him around the middle. They’d devolved from there into a wrestling match, complete with name calling, eye jabbing, jaw punching; a tangle of limbs where it was hard to tell whose was whose or which man was more dirty or bruised. It had ended with Stephanos pinned to the ground with the edge of a sword against his throat and some insane man’s drool pooling on his cheek. He’d stared into the horrid blue eyes of a mad man. Then, he’d done the only sensible thing in that situation, which was to knee the man in the balls from behind. That had dropped the guy enough for Stephanos to push him off and kick him in the ribs until people had flown into the ring to pry the two of them apart.
“These people take this way, way too seriously,” he finished and then looked over at Achilleas. “Why are you that clean? Haven’t you been fighting? Have you been acting like a princess? Are you embarrassing me?”
Around them, people were beginning to gather, including the weirdo that was giving Stephanos such a creepy glare. Stephanos pointed him out. “Look, that’s the guy. The one with the crooked nose?” That man was every bit as dirty as Stephanos, complete with mud in his beard from the spittle that had spilled out of his mouth.
Stephanos, personally, found him revolting.
Stephanos was a dusty, chalky brown. The dirt and grit coated his body like he’d rolled in it, which, he had. Spikes of blonde hair stuck up and caught the sunlight, promising that, once clean, his hair would be brilliant gold. His clothes, which had been blue this morning, were nearly black with sweat and completely brown from dirt in the ring in others. In short, he looked born from the earth.
Sprawled out on one of the blankets under the shade of a tree, he had his eyes hidden beneath one arm carelessly flung across his face. Achilleas’s wet rag did not phase him. He merely picked it up and blindly tossed it in the direction he guessed his cousin was in. The rag landed short of Achilleas, but at least it was in the proper direction.
“How do you fare? Have you managed to hold your own today, or are you embarrassing our Kingdom once again?”
Stephanos limply dropped his arm from his face and looked over at Achilleas.
“How could I be any more embarrassing than you?” he cracked a grin and then sat up with a groan. “I’ve heard of dedicated but these people are unreal. This one guy almost bit me. He was frothing at the mouth.”
To Stephanos, the sword sparring he’d been involved in was supposed to be practice. For fun. Somehow, in the middle, it had turned into such a battle of wills that he’d found himself kicked in the chest and bowled over. That, of course, had flared his temper and he’d dove at the man, catching him around the middle. They’d devolved from there into a wrestling match, complete with name calling, eye jabbing, jaw punching; a tangle of limbs where it was hard to tell whose was whose or which man was more dirty or bruised. It had ended with Stephanos pinned to the ground with the edge of a sword against his throat and some insane man’s drool pooling on his cheek. He’d stared into the horrid blue eyes of a mad man. Then, he’d done the only sensible thing in that situation, which was to knee the man in the balls from behind. That had dropped the guy enough for Stephanos to push him off and kick him in the ribs until people had flown into the ring to pry the two of them apart.
“These people take this way, way too seriously,” he finished and then looked over at Achilleas. “Why are you that clean? Haven’t you been fighting? Have you been acting like a princess? Are you embarrassing me?”
Around them, people were beginning to gather, including the weirdo that was giving Stephanos such a creepy glare. Stephanos pointed him out. “Look, that’s the guy. The one with the crooked nose?” That man was every bit as dirty as Stephanos, complete with mud in his beard from the spittle that had spilled out of his mouth.
Stephanos, personally, found him revolting.
It was like watching a pack of starving wolves descend upon food they had not had over the past few days, as the boys dropped their weapons and came running. So many came, that Irakles was almost unsurprised when a little body came running headlong into his firm stance. The wide-open leg position meant Irakles was not even thrown off balance by the collison, but he did turn to look, blinking in surprise when he saw the young child who had possibly assumed him to be his sire.
A small half-smile appeared on his lips as he blinked in surprise, watching the shock at the revelation bloom across the young Colchian lord's face, before he chuckled and shook his head lightly. "No need to be sorry, young lord Timaeus. However, I'm quite sure your father is coming once he's ensured there have been enough food to feed all of you. Perhaps join the meal, and Lord Amaxius will join us shortly?" he suggested, gesturing at the rest of the boys who was now gorging themselves silly on the food on offer.
Clearly, the kitchen needed more.
His gaze drifted over the young Taengean lords who had voyaged over to Colchis on this rare endeavour to make firmer ties with their neighbors, before finally settling upon the conversing figures of his young son and nephew. Both of whom he had watched as they engaged in the swordplay with the Colchian younger nobles. Stephanos and Achilleas played, but in a way, Irakles was happy the Colchian lads were putting them through their paces. It was the kind of wake up call they needed, for they could both not afford to be playing should this be an actual battlefield. Stephanos especially, was growing much too soft for Irakles's liking. If he could only tap into that easily stirred anger a little more...
Meandering closer just in time to catch the young prince'slast few statements, Irakles picked up a crust of bread, and tossed it at Stephanos's head, a scowl on his face. "Then it is time you both start taking this seriously too, perhaps then you wouldn't find yourself on your arses quite so much." the man chided, turning to look up at the guy who was glaring at the young prine. There was clear animosity... and Irakles meant to tap into it. "That is the young son of a noble lord in Magnemea, and I would want to see both of yuo take him on after the nooning meal. In front of me. Are we clear?"
Flickering his gaze upwards when movement appeared at the entrance to the Eubocris manor of the Valaoritis family, Irakle's stern look turned to a friendly smile when he noticed the arrival of the lord of the province himself, his eldest son right behind him. "Ah, Lord Timaeus, I believe you were looking for your father?" he glanced around to find the young lord who had just collided into him earlier, if only to ensure he knew Amaxius's arrival was imminent
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Aug 28, 2019 14:53:41 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Aug 28, 2019 14:53:41 GMT
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It was like watching a pack of starving wolves descend upon food they had not had over the past few days, as the boys dropped their weapons and came running. So many came, that Irakles was almost unsurprised when a little body came running headlong into his firm stance. The wide-open leg position meant Irakles was not even thrown off balance by the collison, but he did turn to look, blinking in surprise when he saw the young child who had possibly assumed him to be his sire.
A small half-smile appeared on his lips as he blinked in surprise, watching the shock at the revelation bloom across the young Colchian lord's face, before he chuckled and shook his head lightly. "No need to be sorry, young lord Timaeus. However, I'm quite sure your father is coming once he's ensured there have been enough food to feed all of you. Perhaps join the meal, and Lord Amaxius will join us shortly?" he suggested, gesturing at the rest of the boys who was now gorging themselves silly on the food on offer.
Clearly, the kitchen needed more.
His gaze drifted over the young Taengean lords who had voyaged over to Colchis on this rare endeavour to make firmer ties with their neighbors, before finally settling upon the conversing figures of his young son and nephew. Both of whom he had watched as they engaged in the swordplay with the Colchian younger nobles. Stephanos and Achilleas played, but in a way, Irakles was happy the Colchian lads were putting them through their paces. It was the kind of wake up call they needed, for they could both not afford to be playing should this be an actual battlefield. Stephanos especially, was growing much too soft for Irakles's liking. If he could only tap into that easily stirred anger a little more...
Meandering closer just in time to catch the young prince'slast few statements, Irakles picked up a crust of bread, and tossed it at Stephanos's head, a scowl on his face. "Then it is time you both start taking this seriously too, perhaps then you wouldn't find yourself on your arses quite so much." the man chided, turning to look up at the guy who was glaring at the young prine. There was clear animosity... and Irakles meant to tap into it. "That is the young son of a noble lord in Magnemea, and I would want to see both of yuo take him on after the nooning meal. In front of me. Are we clear?"
Flickering his gaze upwards when movement appeared at the entrance to the Eubocris manor of the Valaoritis family, Irakle's stern look turned to a friendly smile when he noticed the arrival of the lord of the province himself, his eldest son right behind him. "Ah, Lord Timaeus, I believe you were looking for your father?" he glanced around to find the young lord who had just collided into him earlier, if only to ensure he knew Amaxius's arrival was imminent
It was like watching a pack of starving wolves descend upon food they had not had over the past few days, as the boys dropped their weapons and came running. So many came, that Irakles was almost unsurprised when a little body came running headlong into his firm stance. The wide-open leg position meant Irakles was not even thrown off balance by the collison, but he did turn to look, blinking in surprise when he saw the young child who had possibly assumed him to be his sire.
A small half-smile appeared on his lips as he blinked in surprise, watching the shock at the revelation bloom across the young Colchian lord's face, before he chuckled and shook his head lightly. "No need to be sorry, young lord Timaeus. However, I'm quite sure your father is coming once he's ensured there have been enough food to feed all of you. Perhaps join the meal, and Lord Amaxius will join us shortly?" he suggested, gesturing at the rest of the boys who was now gorging themselves silly on the food on offer.
Clearly, the kitchen needed more.
His gaze drifted over the young Taengean lords who had voyaged over to Colchis on this rare endeavour to make firmer ties with their neighbors, before finally settling upon the conversing figures of his young son and nephew. Both of whom he had watched as they engaged in the swordplay with the Colchian younger nobles. Stephanos and Achilleas played, but in a way, Irakles was happy the Colchian lads were putting them through their paces. It was the kind of wake up call they needed, for they could both not afford to be playing should this be an actual battlefield. Stephanos especially, was growing much too soft for Irakles's liking. If he could only tap into that easily stirred anger a little more...
Meandering closer just in time to catch the young prince'slast few statements, Irakles picked up a crust of bread, and tossed it at Stephanos's head, a scowl on his face. "Then it is time you both start taking this seriously too, perhaps then you wouldn't find yourself on your arses quite so much." the man chided, turning to look up at the guy who was glaring at the young prine. There was clear animosity... and Irakles meant to tap into it. "That is the young son of a noble lord in Magnemea, and I would want to see both of yuo take him on after the nooning meal. In front of me. Are we clear?"
Flickering his gaze upwards when movement appeared at the entrance to the Eubocris manor of the Valaoritis family, Irakle's stern look turned to a friendly smile when he noticed the arrival of the lord of the province himself, his eldest son right behind him. "Ah, Lord Timaeus, I believe you were looking for your father?" he glanced around to find the young lord who had just collided into him earlier, if only to ensure he knew Amaxius's arrival was imminent
Achilleas envied his cousin his lackadaisical air. It was hot and sprawling out on one of the blankets was almost more inviting than eating, but the young lord knew such sluggishness would not be looked upon favourably by his father, so he sat down instead, wrapped his arms about his knees and gave a short laugh at Stephanos’ surprise at the Colchian fighting spirit.
“You’re not wrong” he observed mildly. It had been a hard fought victory that he could boast against his earlier opponent, and Achilleas did not much care for such narrow margins,hence his subsequent observations: an attempt to understand the fighting style that had been employed against him. His cousin was obviously unimpressed though, and he could imagine why. Stephanos could be a bit of a hothead, and it wouldn't take much to goad the prince into losing his cool. Given that he looked as though as he’d been ground into the dust, Achilleas could only surmise that was what had happened.
He rolled his eyes at the ribbing Steph offered, for it was fairly feeble, the lord wore a fair coating of grime, even if not as much as his cousin. Because, he wasn’t a moron. “I took my shirt off” he said smugly. “Because I knew otherwise I’d end up looking like I slept in a sty. Like you.”
Still, he marked the man that his cousin spoke of, and pulled a face. “Yes. He looks a bit rabid. I see what you..”
The words cut off as Achilleas watched something fly past his face, following its progress to watch the chunk of bread bounce off his cousin’s forehead. There was barely a moment to process the oddity of that before his father’s voice rang out and the young lord twisted his neck to see the man standing over them, looking distinctly unimpressed. Resisting the urge to scramble to his feet, Achilleas rested a wary gaze upon the man. It was hardly a fair comment; both he and Stephanos had held their own against their Colchian counterparts. But then, when had than ever been enough? He glanced over to the lord who his father wished to pit them against, and then back to Irakles, giving a small nod. It was not as if he was about to argue “Yes sir” Achilleas said obediently, waiting until the man had moved off to give Stephanos a shove. “Well done big mouth” he muttered, shooting his cousin a look. “Now you can fill me in on your friend’s technique before he gets to try to bite us both.”
He munched on an apple that he’d managed to salvage from the wreckage left behind by the younger boys, shooting occasional looks over toward where the Colchians had gathered, going over in his head the things he’d observed that morning.
Knowing his father would be paying attention was both a motivator and a distraction. Ever striving to prove himself to the man, he could only see it as the opportunity it was, but equally, found himself far more wound up about the prospect than he would do otherwise, and soon Achilleas was tossing the apple core away and pushing back to his feet. He crossed one arm across his body in a stretch, repeated it on the other side as he tried to encourage his muscles to wake up again.
“Does he have a name? The biter?” he asked of Steph as he waited for the prince to get off the arse he apparently spent too much time on.
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Aug 29, 2019 21:44:29 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Aug 29, 2019 21:44:29 GMT
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Achilleas envied his cousin his lackadaisical air. It was hot and sprawling out on one of the blankets was almost more inviting than eating, but the young lord knew such sluggishness would not be looked upon favourably by his father, so he sat down instead, wrapped his arms about his knees and gave a short laugh at Stephanos’ surprise at the Colchian fighting spirit.
“You’re not wrong” he observed mildly. It had been a hard fought victory that he could boast against his earlier opponent, and Achilleas did not much care for such narrow margins,hence his subsequent observations: an attempt to understand the fighting style that had been employed against him. His cousin was obviously unimpressed though, and he could imagine why. Stephanos could be a bit of a hothead, and it wouldn't take much to goad the prince into losing his cool. Given that he looked as though as he’d been ground into the dust, Achilleas could only surmise that was what had happened.
He rolled his eyes at the ribbing Steph offered, for it was fairly feeble, the lord wore a fair coating of grime, even if not as much as his cousin. Because, he wasn’t a moron. “I took my shirt off” he said smugly. “Because I knew otherwise I’d end up looking like I slept in a sty. Like you.”
Still, he marked the man that his cousin spoke of, and pulled a face. “Yes. He looks a bit rabid. I see what you..”
The words cut off as Achilleas watched something fly past his face, following its progress to watch the chunk of bread bounce off his cousin’s forehead. There was barely a moment to process the oddity of that before his father’s voice rang out and the young lord twisted his neck to see the man standing over them, looking distinctly unimpressed. Resisting the urge to scramble to his feet, Achilleas rested a wary gaze upon the man. It was hardly a fair comment; both he and Stephanos had held their own against their Colchian counterparts. But then, when had than ever been enough? He glanced over to the lord who his father wished to pit them against, and then back to Irakles, giving a small nod. It was not as if he was about to argue “Yes sir” Achilleas said obediently, waiting until the man had moved off to give Stephanos a shove. “Well done big mouth” he muttered, shooting his cousin a look. “Now you can fill me in on your friend’s technique before he gets to try to bite us both.”
He munched on an apple that he’d managed to salvage from the wreckage left behind by the younger boys, shooting occasional looks over toward where the Colchians had gathered, going over in his head the things he’d observed that morning.
Knowing his father would be paying attention was both a motivator and a distraction. Ever striving to prove himself to the man, he could only see it as the opportunity it was, but equally, found himself far more wound up about the prospect than he would do otherwise, and soon Achilleas was tossing the apple core away and pushing back to his feet. He crossed one arm across his body in a stretch, repeated it on the other side as he tried to encourage his muscles to wake up again.
“Does he have a name? The biter?” he asked of Steph as he waited for the prince to get off the arse he apparently spent too much time on.
Achilleas envied his cousin his lackadaisical air. It was hot and sprawling out on one of the blankets was almost more inviting than eating, but the young lord knew such sluggishness would not be looked upon favourably by his father, so he sat down instead, wrapped his arms about his knees and gave a short laugh at Stephanos’ surprise at the Colchian fighting spirit.
“You’re not wrong” he observed mildly. It had been a hard fought victory that he could boast against his earlier opponent, and Achilleas did not much care for such narrow margins,hence his subsequent observations: an attempt to understand the fighting style that had been employed against him. His cousin was obviously unimpressed though, and he could imagine why. Stephanos could be a bit of a hothead, and it wouldn't take much to goad the prince into losing his cool. Given that he looked as though as he’d been ground into the dust, Achilleas could only surmise that was what had happened.
He rolled his eyes at the ribbing Steph offered, for it was fairly feeble, the lord wore a fair coating of grime, even if not as much as his cousin. Because, he wasn’t a moron. “I took my shirt off” he said smugly. “Because I knew otherwise I’d end up looking like I slept in a sty. Like you.”
Still, he marked the man that his cousin spoke of, and pulled a face. “Yes. He looks a bit rabid. I see what you..”
The words cut off as Achilleas watched something fly past his face, following its progress to watch the chunk of bread bounce off his cousin’s forehead. There was barely a moment to process the oddity of that before his father’s voice rang out and the young lord twisted his neck to see the man standing over them, looking distinctly unimpressed. Resisting the urge to scramble to his feet, Achilleas rested a wary gaze upon the man. It was hardly a fair comment; both he and Stephanos had held their own against their Colchian counterparts. But then, when had than ever been enough? He glanced over to the lord who his father wished to pit them against, and then back to Irakles, giving a small nod. It was not as if he was about to argue “Yes sir” Achilleas said obediently, waiting until the man had moved off to give Stephanos a shove. “Well done big mouth” he muttered, shooting his cousin a look. “Now you can fill me in on your friend’s technique before he gets to try to bite us both.”
He munched on an apple that he’d managed to salvage from the wreckage left behind by the younger boys, shooting occasional looks over toward where the Colchians had gathered, going over in his head the things he’d observed that morning.
Knowing his father would be paying attention was both a motivator and a distraction. Ever striving to prove himself to the man, he could only see it as the opportunity it was, but equally, found himself far more wound up about the prospect than he would do otherwise, and soon Achilleas was tossing the apple core away and pushing back to his feet. He crossed one arm across his body in a stretch, repeated it on the other side as he tried to encourage his muscles to wake up again.
“Does he have a name? The biter?” he asked of Steph as he waited for the prince to get off the arse he apparently spent too much time on.
Both of her sons had been looking forward to today, well all three were but Silanos had been poorly for the past two days so his mother forbade it. There would be plenty of time for him to spectate and join the training but, for now, he would be pampered in bed for his health. And she would hear no more whining about it.
The day was a fine one and Roxana was deeply enjoying the sun and field, though Piriella kept her well away from the actual training field. It was easy to explain her away when she was this small to this group. None of these boys would question the lady Valaoritis. Roxana is a relative, we are caring for her for family. The simple answers were given simple responses and no one cared to look further. She knew it would get harder in the future.
Piriella plucked a grape from the basket she had brought and handed it to the fair skinned toddler who was also shaded by the tree and sitting on the blanket. Roxana took the grape with her chubby fingers and shoved it in her mouth with little grace. Chewing loudly, she continued to play with the small hobby horse and doll she had on the blanket in front of her. Piriella smiled at the child and handed her another grape. The routine would continue while the boys challenged one another, a ritual that their mother had to prepare herself for before hand.
Seeing her child bleed was one thing, watching a larger boy make her child bleed was heartwrenching for the gentle mother. She breathed a sigh of relief as the morning faded and the afternoon meal was served. Standing to make sure the boys were still in one piece, she scanned for them. even after two days of this, she would not stop worrying even though the worst of it had worn off.
Spotting Tim, her face lit up into a warm and sunny smile, her deep love for him and pride practically beaming off of her face. But, then, he took off rushing toward--she turned her head toward his beeline destination--Irakles Of Mikkalidas. She took a few steps forward, it was clear the boy was making some kind of mistake. Not that she ever thought Irakles would harm her son, but he would not be gentle either if he showed some kind of disrespect. And, with him running headlong at the warrior with a weapon, it seemed likely.
"Timaeus!" Her voice was stolen by the wind, she was just too far away. Turning, she lifted Roxana into her arms to make her way toward her son, who ran straight into Irakles. Thankfully, the large foreigner didn't seem to take offense as she still had several yards to meet them. They were speaking for a moment before Irakles turned on his son and nephew and seemed to admonish them. By the time she got there, she only heard "Ah, Lord Timaeus, I believe you were looking for your father?"
Piriella shifted a very squirmy Roxana in her arms and turned to see the other two loves of her life arriving.
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Aug 29, 2019 22:04:56 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Aug 29, 2019 22:04:56 GMT
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Both of her sons had been looking forward to today, well all three were but Silanos had been poorly for the past two days so his mother forbade it. There would be plenty of time for him to spectate and join the training but, for now, he would be pampered in bed for his health. And she would hear no more whining about it.
The day was a fine one and Roxana was deeply enjoying the sun and field, though Piriella kept her well away from the actual training field. It was easy to explain her away when she was this small to this group. None of these boys would question the lady Valaoritis. Roxana is a relative, we are caring for her for family. The simple answers were given simple responses and no one cared to look further. She knew it would get harder in the future.
Piriella plucked a grape from the basket she had brought and handed it to the fair skinned toddler who was also shaded by the tree and sitting on the blanket. Roxana took the grape with her chubby fingers and shoved it in her mouth with little grace. Chewing loudly, she continued to play with the small hobby horse and doll she had on the blanket in front of her. Piriella smiled at the child and handed her another grape. The routine would continue while the boys challenged one another, a ritual that their mother had to prepare herself for before hand.
Seeing her child bleed was one thing, watching a larger boy make her child bleed was heartwrenching for the gentle mother. She breathed a sigh of relief as the morning faded and the afternoon meal was served. Standing to make sure the boys were still in one piece, she scanned for them. even after two days of this, she would not stop worrying even though the worst of it had worn off.
Spotting Tim, her face lit up into a warm and sunny smile, her deep love for him and pride practically beaming off of her face. But, then, he took off rushing toward--she turned her head toward his beeline destination--Irakles Of Mikkalidas. She took a few steps forward, it was clear the boy was making some kind of mistake. Not that she ever thought Irakles would harm her son, but he would not be gentle either if he showed some kind of disrespect. And, with him running headlong at the warrior with a weapon, it seemed likely.
"Timaeus!" Her voice was stolen by the wind, she was just too far away. Turning, she lifted Roxana into her arms to make her way toward her son, who ran straight into Irakles. Thankfully, the large foreigner didn't seem to take offense as she still had several yards to meet them. They were speaking for a moment before Irakles turned on his son and nephew and seemed to admonish them. By the time she got there, she only heard "Ah, Lord Timaeus, I believe you were looking for your father?"
Piriella shifted a very squirmy Roxana in her arms and turned to see the other two loves of her life arriving.
Both of her sons had been looking forward to today, well all three were but Silanos had been poorly for the past two days so his mother forbade it. There would be plenty of time for him to spectate and join the training but, for now, he would be pampered in bed for his health. And she would hear no more whining about it.
The day was a fine one and Roxana was deeply enjoying the sun and field, though Piriella kept her well away from the actual training field. It was easy to explain her away when she was this small to this group. None of these boys would question the lady Valaoritis. Roxana is a relative, we are caring for her for family. The simple answers were given simple responses and no one cared to look further. She knew it would get harder in the future.
Piriella plucked a grape from the basket she had brought and handed it to the fair skinned toddler who was also shaded by the tree and sitting on the blanket. Roxana took the grape with her chubby fingers and shoved it in her mouth with little grace. Chewing loudly, she continued to play with the small hobby horse and doll she had on the blanket in front of her. Piriella smiled at the child and handed her another grape. The routine would continue while the boys challenged one another, a ritual that their mother had to prepare herself for before hand.
Seeing her child bleed was one thing, watching a larger boy make her child bleed was heartwrenching for the gentle mother. She breathed a sigh of relief as the morning faded and the afternoon meal was served. Standing to make sure the boys were still in one piece, she scanned for them. even after two days of this, she would not stop worrying even though the worst of it had worn off.
Spotting Tim, her face lit up into a warm and sunny smile, her deep love for him and pride practically beaming off of her face. But, then, he took off rushing toward--she turned her head toward his beeline destination--Irakles Of Mikkalidas. She took a few steps forward, it was clear the boy was making some kind of mistake. Not that she ever thought Irakles would harm her son, but he would not be gentle either if he showed some kind of disrespect. And, with him running headlong at the warrior with a weapon, it seemed likely.
"Timaeus!" Her voice was stolen by the wind, she was just too far away. Turning, she lifted Roxana into her arms to make her way toward her son, who ran straight into Irakles. Thankfully, the large foreigner didn't seem to take offense as she still had several yards to meet them. They were speaking for a moment before Irakles turned on his son and nephew and seemed to admonish them. By the time she got there, she only heard "Ah, Lord Timaeus, I believe you were looking for your father?"
Piriella shifted a very squirmy Roxana in her arms and turned to see the other two loves of her life arriving.
He’d been so focused on the disgusting fighter that the bread tossed at him caught him completely off guard. For a second, he flared in anger. Who would dare do something so disrespectful to him? He surged to his feet, hands fisted, fatigue forgotten, looking for the man he was going to punch flat out on his ass - only to discover Irakles scowling at him.
The anger drained nearly immediately until he was only mildly annoyed by the insult. At his uncle’s order, he nodded and accompanied that with a “Yes, uncle.” Privately, he thought his uncle’s assessment was completely wrong. Hadn’t both he and Achilleas won? Maybe his own fight had ended a little sloppy, but at least he’d walked away the victor. That should have been good enough, but he’d learned by now to accept that Irakles was above being pleased.
Once Irakles moved away, Stephanos sighed when Achilleas shoved him. “Relax,” he said and shoved Achilleas back. “We’ll rest up and then we’ll slay him. Look. He’s already getting into another fight. He’ll be exhausted by the time we get at him.”
Stephanos pointed to where the man was scuffling with one of his fellows. Unlike his cousin, Stephanos wasn’t thinking anymore about Irakles. They’d already had a conversation a year ago that had broken Stephanos of his hero worship for his uncle. That was long, long gone. He didn’t have the hatred that he would in years to come yet, but the seed was there, being watered any time Irakles was unfair or too harsh.
“Does he have a name? The biter?” Achilleas asked presently.
“Stalios,” Stephanos said shortly. His attention was taken by a woman carrying an adorable toddler. What had drawn his notice in the first place was how odd the pair were in their surroundings. Why had she brought a baby to a muddy fighting pit? But he kept looking because the baby reminded him so strongly of his youngest sister, Gianna, that he couldn’t shake it. All babies were similar but the resemblance was eerie.
Dusting off his hands and chest, he sauntered over to Piriella with a smile, gesturing at Roxana. “Afternoon,” he greeted cheerfully. “Your little girl is adorable. She reminds me of my sister a good bit.” He didn’t bother to introduce himself. He was so used to being known wherever he went that he took it for granted that someone would know who he was. Who knew? Maybe she did know him. She’d seemed to know who his uncle was, at least. And if she knew one prince, she might know of another.
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Sept 1, 2019 22:36:37 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Sept 1, 2019 22:36:37 GMT
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He’d been so focused on the disgusting fighter that the bread tossed at him caught him completely off guard. For a second, he flared in anger. Who would dare do something so disrespectful to him? He surged to his feet, hands fisted, fatigue forgotten, looking for the man he was going to punch flat out on his ass - only to discover Irakles scowling at him.
The anger drained nearly immediately until he was only mildly annoyed by the insult. At his uncle’s order, he nodded and accompanied that with a “Yes, uncle.” Privately, he thought his uncle’s assessment was completely wrong. Hadn’t both he and Achilleas won? Maybe his own fight had ended a little sloppy, but at least he’d walked away the victor. That should have been good enough, but he’d learned by now to accept that Irakles was above being pleased.
Once Irakles moved away, Stephanos sighed when Achilleas shoved him. “Relax,” he said and shoved Achilleas back. “We’ll rest up and then we’ll slay him. Look. He’s already getting into another fight. He’ll be exhausted by the time we get at him.”
Stephanos pointed to where the man was scuffling with one of his fellows. Unlike his cousin, Stephanos wasn’t thinking anymore about Irakles. They’d already had a conversation a year ago that had broken Stephanos of his hero worship for his uncle. That was long, long gone. He didn’t have the hatred that he would in years to come yet, but the seed was there, being watered any time Irakles was unfair or too harsh.
“Does he have a name? The biter?” Achilleas asked presently.
“Stalios,” Stephanos said shortly. His attention was taken by a woman carrying an adorable toddler. What had drawn his notice in the first place was how odd the pair were in their surroundings. Why had she brought a baby to a muddy fighting pit? But he kept looking because the baby reminded him so strongly of his youngest sister, Gianna, that he couldn’t shake it. All babies were similar but the resemblance was eerie.
Dusting off his hands and chest, he sauntered over to Piriella with a smile, gesturing at Roxana. “Afternoon,” he greeted cheerfully. “Your little girl is adorable. She reminds me of my sister a good bit.” He didn’t bother to introduce himself. He was so used to being known wherever he went that he took it for granted that someone would know who he was. Who knew? Maybe she did know him. She’d seemed to know who his uncle was, at least. And if she knew one prince, she might know of another.
He’d been so focused on the disgusting fighter that the bread tossed at him caught him completely off guard. For a second, he flared in anger. Who would dare do something so disrespectful to him? He surged to his feet, hands fisted, fatigue forgotten, looking for the man he was going to punch flat out on his ass - only to discover Irakles scowling at him.
The anger drained nearly immediately until he was only mildly annoyed by the insult. At his uncle’s order, he nodded and accompanied that with a “Yes, uncle.” Privately, he thought his uncle’s assessment was completely wrong. Hadn’t both he and Achilleas won? Maybe his own fight had ended a little sloppy, but at least he’d walked away the victor. That should have been good enough, but he’d learned by now to accept that Irakles was above being pleased.
Once Irakles moved away, Stephanos sighed when Achilleas shoved him. “Relax,” he said and shoved Achilleas back. “We’ll rest up and then we’ll slay him. Look. He’s already getting into another fight. He’ll be exhausted by the time we get at him.”
Stephanos pointed to where the man was scuffling with one of his fellows. Unlike his cousin, Stephanos wasn’t thinking anymore about Irakles. They’d already had a conversation a year ago that had broken Stephanos of his hero worship for his uncle. That was long, long gone. He didn’t have the hatred that he would in years to come yet, but the seed was there, being watered any time Irakles was unfair or too harsh.
“Does he have a name? The biter?” Achilleas asked presently.
“Stalios,” Stephanos said shortly. His attention was taken by a woman carrying an adorable toddler. What had drawn his notice in the first place was how odd the pair were in their surroundings. Why had she brought a baby to a muddy fighting pit? But he kept looking because the baby reminded him so strongly of his youngest sister, Gianna, that he couldn’t shake it. All babies were similar but the resemblance was eerie.
Dusting off his hands and chest, he sauntered over to Piriella with a smile, gesturing at Roxana. “Afternoon,” he greeted cheerfully. “Your little girl is adorable. She reminds me of my sister a good bit.” He didn’t bother to introduce himself. He was so used to being known wherever he went that he took it for granted that someone would know who he was. Who knew? Maybe she did know him. She’d seemed to know who his uncle was, at least. And if she knew one prince, she might know of another.
For a moment, Timaeus was terrified of how the man would react to his younger boy running into him and essentially wasting the General’s time by asking him where Lord Amaxius was. The young boy knew that any Colchian probably would not have the patience to cater to a child’s questions and would gruffly tell Tim to go find his father himself. It was just the rocky outcrop’s way of doing things; you do it yourself or not at all. But Irakles was not of the Colchian breed. He was a Taengean and even though he had a rough exterior to match the likes of Tython, his country’s friendly nature still lingered within him.
So, the boy was somewhat surprised by the half-smile the Prince offered him before reassuring the child that he didn’t need to apologize. It was quite a relief too and Tim visibly relaxed once he realized that he wasn’t about to be told off for running into the man, especially in front of the other boys. It was bad enough that Timaeus was one of the youngest children there, making him an easy target for the sneers of older and more brutish boys. There was no way that any of them would let him live down being lectured by the most terrifying man in Taengea.
Luckily, it seemed like that there wouldn’t be a chance either as Irakles quickly suggested that Timaeus go find a seat among the others and enjoy the meal before the rest of his family arrived. Nodding in affirmation (as words were not wasted on Colchians) Timaeus turned on his heels and moved away from the man and tried to see if he could find a place with the boys he already knew. For a moment, he considered turning around and following Irakles to where the Taengean princes sat. His father did encourage him, after all, to make friends with them and be a good host, but one glance at the stern expression of the General as he addressed his son suggested otherwise. Timaeus knew that kind of look all too well. Irakles was lecturing the two princes and the little boy knew better to get into the middle of it.
He had half the mind to track down Medon and sit with him to properly thank him for the bronze sword he had been gifted. Before he could even take so much as a single step though a familiar face approached the boy; someone he didn’t fully expect to see on the training field but was elated to see nevertheless.
“ Mother!” Timaeus exclaimed as he raced over to the Baronness of Eubocris with a wide grin plastered on his face to show off his new weapon, “ Look what one of the other boys gave me!” He lifted the sword to show her and twisted it in his grip so that the sunbeams that blinded him a moment ago could reflect off the bronze sword. The young Valaoritis was careful enough to keep the blade close to him though, once he saw the squirming babe in his mother’s arms. He knew that Roxana was a restless thing, always eager to move and grab whatever was within her reach, even if it was a toy sharp enough to cut her. Timaeus cringed a bit as he brought the sword back down to his side, as he said quickly with downcast eyes and a quiet tone, “ I didn’t get hurt though.” He was already clearly preparing himself for the inevitable lecture about being careless with the weapon. After all, he knew the older woman was not so fond of her children learning how to fight at such a young age and no doubt once the day had ended she would fret over the bruises littering his arms and the nicks on his forehead, muddy and red from the day’s activities. No doubt she was already holding back stern words about him being so filthy from rolling around in the dirt, but hopefully, the mother wouldn’t comment too harshly on it in front of the other boys and save her child from the embarrassment that would come from that sort of thing.
Which would be a good thing as the pair most certainly had eyes upon them, exemplified by the nearby Taengean prince wandering over to coo over baby Roxana.
As Stephanos lauded praise upon the child, comparing her to his sister an ocean away, Tim couldn’t help feeling an odd sort of anger rise within him. He didn’t know why exactly, but he could guess that it came from the prince completely ignoring him in favor of a baby who could barely string a coherent set of words together. Tim had been jealous of this sort of thing before when Sil had been born and he suddenly wasn’t the center of his mother’s attention anymore. It just didn’t seem fair that this cooler, older boy would want to spend his time fussing over a baby rather than discussing far more interesting things like the day’s fighting or the bronze sword Timaeus was so selfishly intent on showing off.
“ She’s my cousin. Not my sister.” He said bluntly with a narrowed gaze at the other man, completely forgetting the family secret that surrounded the girl. Periella would probably smack him upside the head for that sort of comment and Tim knew as soon as the words that came out of his mouth he would deserve it too. It was a jealous uttering that put his mother in a difficult position to explain away. Tim was being spiteful for no good reason and he instantly cast a worried, guilt-ridden glance at his mother once he realized what he had done, but before she could say anything, Tim glanced away seeing if he could find a group to hide in before Periella decided to send him back home for the day.
Oh, he was bound to be in so much trouble for a comment like that.
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For a moment, Timaeus was terrified of how the man would react to his younger boy running into him and essentially wasting the General’s time by asking him where Lord Amaxius was. The young boy knew that any Colchian probably would not have the patience to cater to a child’s questions and would gruffly tell Tim to go find his father himself. It was just the rocky outcrop’s way of doing things; you do it yourself or not at all. But Irakles was not of the Colchian breed. He was a Taengean and even though he had a rough exterior to match the likes of Tython, his country’s friendly nature still lingered within him.
So, the boy was somewhat surprised by the half-smile the Prince offered him before reassuring the child that he didn’t need to apologize. It was quite a relief too and Tim visibly relaxed once he realized that he wasn’t about to be told off for running into the man, especially in front of the other boys. It was bad enough that Timaeus was one of the youngest children there, making him an easy target for the sneers of older and more brutish boys. There was no way that any of them would let him live down being lectured by the most terrifying man in Taengea.
Luckily, it seemed like that there wouldn’t be a chance either as Irakles quickly suggested that Timaeus go find a seat among the others and enjoy the meal before the rest of his family arrived. Nodding in affirmation (as words were not wasted on Colchians) Timaeus turned on his heels and moved away from the man and tried to see if he could find a place with the boys he already knew. For a moment, he considered turning around and following Irakles to where the Taengean princes sat. His father did encourage him, after all, to make friends with them and be a good host, but one glance at the stern expression of the General as he addressed his son suggested otherwise. Timaeus knew that kind of look all too well. Irakles was lecturing the two princes and the little boy knew better to get into the middle of it.
He had half the mind to track down Medon and sit with him to properly thank him for the bronze sword he had been gifted. Before he could even take so much as a single step though a familiar face approached the boy; someone he didn’t fully expect to see on the training field but was elated to see nevertheless.
“ Mother!” Timaeus exclaimed as he raced over to the Baronness of Eubocris with a wide grin plastered on his face to show off his new weapon, “ Look what one of the other boys gave me!” He lifted the sword to show her and twisted it in his grip so that the sunbeams that blinded him a moment ago could reflect off the bronze sword. The young Valaoritis was careful enough to keep the blade close to him though, once he saw the squirming babe in his mother’s arms. He knew that Roxana was a restless thing, always eager to move and grab whatever was within her reach, even if it was a toy sharp enough to cut her. Timaeus cringed a bit as he brought the sword back down to his side, as he said quickly with downcast eyes and a quiet tone, “ I didn’t get hurt though.” He was already clearly preparing himself for the inevitable lecture about being careless with the weapon. After all, he knew the older woman was not so fond of her children learning how to fight at such a young age and no doubt once the day had ended she would fret over the bruises littering his arms and the nicks on his forehead, muddy and red from the day’s activities. No doubt she was already holding back stern words about him being so filthy from rolling around in the dirt, but hopefully, the mother wouldn’t comment too harshly on it in front of the other boys and save her child from the embarrassment that would come from that sort of thing.
Which would be a good thing as the pair most certainly had eyes upon them, exemplified by the nearby Taengean prince wandering over to coo over baby Roxana.
As Stephanos lauded praise upon the child, comparing her to his sister an ocean away, Tim couldn’t help feeling an odd sort of anger rise within him. He didn’t know why exactly, but he could guess that it came from the prince completely ignoring him in favor of a baby who could barely string a coherent set of words together. Tim had been jealous of this sort of thing before when Sil had been born and he suddenly wasn’t the center of his mother’s attention anymore. It just didn’t seem fair that this cooler, older boy would want to spend his time fussing over a baby rather than discussing far more interesting things like the day’s fighting or the bronze sword Timaeus was so selfishly intent on showing off.
“ She’s my cousin. Not my sister.” He said bluntly with a narrowed gaze at the other man, completely forgetting the family secret that surrounded the girl. Periella would probably smack him upside the head for that sort of comment and Tim knew as soon as the words that came out of his mouth he would deserve it too. It was a jealous uttering that put his mother in a difficult position to explain away. Tim was being spiteful for no good reason and he instantly cast a worried, guilt-ridden glance at his mother once he realized what he had done, but before she could say anything, Tim glanced away seeing if he could find a group to hide in before Periella decided to send him back home for the day.
Oh, he was bound to be in so much trouble for a comment like that.
For a moment, Timaeus was terrified of how the man would react to his younger boy running into him and essentially wasting the General’s time by asking him where Lord Amaxius was. The young boy knew that any Colchian probably would not have the patience to cater to a child’s questions and would gruffly tell Tim to go find his father himself. It was just the rocky outcrop’s way of doing things; you do it yourself or not at all. But Irakles was not of the Colchian breed. He was a Taengean and even though he had a rough exterior to match the likes of Tython, his country’s friendly nature still lingered within him.
So, the boy was somewhat surprised by the half-smile the Prince offered him before reassuring the child that he didn’t need to apologize. It was quite a relief too and Tim visibly relaxed once he realized that he wasn’t about to be told off for running into the man, especially in front of the other boys. It was bad enough that Timaeus was one of the youngest children there, making him an easy target for the sneers of older and more brutish boys. There was no way that any of them would let him live down being lectured by the most terrifying man in Taengea.
Luckily, it seemed like that there wouldn’t be a chance either as Irakles quickly suggested that Timaeus go find a seat among the others and enjoy the meal before the rest of his family arrived. Nodding in affirmation (as words were not wasted on Colchians) Timaeus turned on his heels and moved away from the man and tried to see if he could find a place with the boys he already knew. For a moment, he considered turning around and following Irakles to where the Taengean princes sat. His father did encourage him, after all, to make friends with them and be a good host, but one glance at the stern expression of the General as he addressed his son suggested otherwise. Timaeus knew that kind of look all too well. Irakles was lecturing the two princes and the little boy knew better to get into the middle of it.
He had half the mind to track down Medon and sit with him to properly thank him for the bronze sword he had been gifted. Before he could even take so much as a single step though a familiar face approached the boy; someone he didn’t fully expect to see on the training field but was elated to see nevertheless.
“ Mother!” Timaeus exclaimed as he raced over to the Baronness of Eubocris with a wide grin plastered on his face to show off his new weapon, “ Look what one of the other boys gave me!” He lifted the sword to show her and twisted it in his grip so that the sunbeams that blinded him a moment ago could reflect off the bronze sword. The young Valaoritis was careful enough to keep the blade close to him though, once he saw the squirming babe in his mother’s arms. He knew that Roxana was a restless thing, always eager to move and grab whatever was within her reach, even if it was a toy sharp enough to cut her. Timaeus cringed a bit as he brought the sword back down to his side, as he said quickly with downcast eyes and a quiet tone, “ I didn’t get hurt though.” He was already clearly preparing himself for the inevitable lecture about being careless with the weapon. After all, he knew the older woman was not so fond of her children learning how to fight at such a young age and no doubt once the day had ended she would fret over the bruises littering his arms and the nicks on his forehead, muddy and red from the day’s activities. No doubt she was already holding back stern words about him being so filthy from rolling around in the dirt, but hopefully, the mother wouldn’t comment too harshly on it in front of the other boys and save her child from the embarrassment that would come from that sort of thing.
Which would be a good thing as the pair most certainly had eyes upon them, exemplified by the nearby Taengean prince wandering over to coo over baby Roxana.
As Stephanos lauded praise upon the child, comparing her to his sister an ocean away, Tim couldn’t help feeling an odd sort of anger rise within him. He didn’t know why exactly, but he could guess that it came from the prince completely ignoring him in favor of a baby who could barely string a coherent set of words together. Tim had been jealous of this sort of thing before when Sil had been born and he suddenly wasn’t the center of his mother’s attention anymore. It just didn’t seem fair that this cooler, older boy would want to spend his time fussing over a baby rather than discussing far more interesting things like the day’s fighting or the bronze sword Timaeus was so selfishly intent on showing off.
“ She’s my cousin. Not my sister.” He said bluntly with a narrowed gaze at the other man, completely forgetting the family secret that surrounded the girl. Periella would probably smack him upside the head for that sort of comment and Tim knew as soon as the words that came out of his mouth he would deserve it too. It was a jealous uttering that put his mother in a difficult position to explain away. Tim was being spiteful for no good reason and he instantly cast a worried, guilt-ridden glance at his mother once he realized what he had done, but before she could say anything, Tim glanced away seeing if he could find a group to hide in before Periella decided to send him back home for the day.
Oh, he was bound to be in so much trouble for a comment like that.
More arrivals began to make their way over to the little congregation of young and eager nobles as they spoke, and Irakles gave a respectful smile as the lady of the house made her appearance, a small toddler on her hip. The sight would be beautiful to anyone, a mother carrying her child - yet to Irakles, it sparked... well, not much. To him, a child was a means to the continuation of a bloodline, and as babies and toddlers, one could count on two hands the amount of times the prince carried his own sons. Benefits of having servants and nursemaids at his disposal, of course.
So the respectful smile was as much as he gave, before turning back with an eye to Achilleas. As expected, Stephanos had wandered off in the direction of the baby - ridiculously distracted as usual, but Irakles was getting less and less surprised. That Zacharias had been as soft as Zenon was frustrating, for that meant the crown prince to Taengea was likely going to rule with as soft a backbone as his father. Irakles had thought his second nephew showed some promise, yet as days past and Stephanos showed more interest in skirts then in swords, Irakles's wishes for his youngest nephew waned further.
Instead, the man simply rolled his eyes and turned back with an authoritative eye on his son, tilting his head in the direction of Achilleas's training weapon. "Well pick it up then, we may as well get started. Lord Stalios will be done in a minute, so get yourself warm by then." His words were directive and commanding, as becoming of the general that he was, before the man strode off with strong steps to fetch the young lord just finishing another spar. In time, he would return, and upon that, the eldest offspring of the prince would be pitted against the one Stephanos had called rabid.
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Sept 27, 2019 15:14:35 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Sept 27, 2019 15:14:35 GMT
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More arrivals began to make their way over to the little congregation of young and eager nobles as they spoke, and Irakles gave a respectful smile as the lady of the house made her appearance, a small toddler on her hip. The sight would be beautiful to anyone, a mother carrying her child - yet to Irakles, it sparked... well, not much. To him, a child was a means to the continuation of a bloodline, and as babies and toddlers, one could count on two hands the amount of times the prince carried his own sons. Benefits of having servants and nursemaids at his disposal, of course.
So the respectful smile was as much as he gave, before turning back with an eye to Achilleas. As expected, Stephanos had wandered off in the direction of the baby - ridiculously distracted as usual, but Irakles was getting less and less surprised. That Zacharias had been as soft as Zenon was frustrating, for that meant the crown prince to Taengea was likely going to rule with as soft a backbone as his father. Irakles had thought his second nephew showed some promise, yet as days past and Stephanos showed more interest in skirts then in swords, Irakles's wishes for his youngest nephew waned further.
Instead, the man simply rolled his eyes and turned back with an authoritative eye on his son, tilting his head in the direction of Achilleas's training weapon. "Well pick it up then, we may as well get started. Lord Stalios will be done in a minute, so get yourself warm by then." His words were directive and commanding, as becoming of the general that he was, before the man strode off with strong steps to fetch the young lord just finishing another spar. In time, he would return, and upon that, the eldest offspring of the prince would be pitted against the one Stephanos had called rabid.
More arrivals began to make their way over to the little congregation of young and eager nobles as they spoke, and Irakles gave a respectful smile as the lady of the house made her appearance, a small toddler on her hip. The sight would be beautiful to anyone, a mother carrying her child - yet to Irakles, it sparked... well, not much. To him, a child was a means to the continuation of a bloodline, and as babies and toddlers, one could count on two hands the amount of times the prince carried his own sons. Benefits of having servants and nursemaids at his disposal, of course.
So the respectful smile was as much as he gave, before turning back with an eye to Achilleas. As expected, Stephanos had wandered off in the direction of the baby - ridiculously distracted as usual, but Irakles was getting less and less surprised. That Zacharias had been as soft as Zenon was frustrating, for that meant the crown prince to Taengea was likely going to rule with as soft a backbone as his father. Irakles had thought his second nephew showed some promise, yet as days past and Stephanos showed more interest in skirts then in swords, Irakles's wishes for his youngest nephew waned further.
Instead, the man simply rolled his eyes and turned back with an authoritative eye on his son, tilting his head in the direction of Achilleas's training weapon. "Well pick it up then, we may as well get started. Lord Stalios will be done in a minute, so get yourself warm by then." His words were directive and commanding, as becoming of the general that he was, before the man strode off with strong steps to fetch the young lord just finishing another spar. In time, he would return, and upon that, the eldest offspring of the prince would be pitted against the one Stephanos had called rabid.
Relax. It was a pointless request, for Achilleas did not know how to be relaxed when his father was in promximity. Too conscious of the man’s judgement, he was drawn tight as a bow string, and whilst he wished for some of his cousin’s nonchalance, there was none to be found in Irakles’ eldest. He marked well the Lord that so enraged his cousin, watched him fighting his newest opponent and tried to make what learnings he could from the demonstration.
When Stephanos wandered off to talk to the Lady of the House, his attention stolen by a small child, Achilleas frowned after him, deciding not to follow. He had little interest in playing babysitter, and knew better than to keep his father waiting. Turning as he shook out the kinks that formed in the few moments idleness, he looked out the man,found the Prince’s gaze already upon him, and sure enough, even Achilleas’ momentary hesitation had apparently been too much.
The younger man looked around at where his peers were still fooling around, making the most of the small break afforded to them, but he said nothing about it, knowing already the lecture he would receive. To be better means working harder. Are you content with being as good as?
“ If it is your will, father”. He nodded, bent to pick up the practice sword he had discarded at the end of his last bout. It was wooden, as were all the weapons that had been set out for the young nobles so as not to end any bloodlines prematurely, but they fought without armour, so you still knew about it if you let yourself get hit. It was as good a deterrent to avoid losing as any, and Achilleas had the extra motivation of not wanting to lose face in front of his father, who would not wear his son’s defeat well, he was certain. And in turn, Achilleas would not enjoy his disappointment, so there seemed only one acceptable outcome to this match.
By the time the other Lord approached, Achilleas had limbered up as much as he was going to, and the Mikaelidas lord surveyed the Colchian a moment before he dipped his head in polite greeting. “My Lord Stalios.” He tried not to let Stephanos’ account of the man cloud his judgement, and offered a pleasant smile that was not returned. The Taengean lord let it melt slowly away. Very well then, if they were not even to pretend to be civil. With a brief lift of his brows, Achilleas backed up a little, his expression settling into one of sharp focus, his two handed grip on the sword he held steady, balanced.
If the the other Lord was easily provoked, as hot tempered as Stephanos had indicated, then Achilleas would use it against him. He focused at first on being quick, leading the man out with feints or sharp, stinging blows that had no further purpose than to aggravate his temper, and get a measure of his skill. The Lord Stalios was not a fool, that much was clear, amd Achilleas found his blade parried more often than not, and with surprising strength. The temptation to meet him with greater force was there, but for now the Taengean stifled it, kept to his original plan of goading his opponent into something stupid.
For a while it went on like this, Achilleas weathering the mighty blows of the other whilst just landing blows with the flat edge of the practice sword before spinning out of range. And his tactic worked, the Colchian did appear to get frustrated, and he came in hard, catching Achilleas across the ribs hard enough that he staggered back a pace or two, a space that his opponent immediately moved into, giving no breathing space. The young baron’s cool was shaken a little, and for a moment he could do nothing but block the flurry of blows that followed, caught by surprise that the other seemed to have been holding his own strength in reserve despite the force he’d already employed. Now he was seeing more of that intensity that Stephanos had spoken of, and was feeling harried.
Focushe reminded himself, and he smiled a grim sort of smile at the unfriendly face of his opponent, now bringing some of his own strength to bear as he reclaimed his ground. They were not ill-matched in skill it would seem, and Achilleas thought that perhaps it would be stamina that ended the skirmish. He wasn’t expecting the fist that snapped out to catch him in the mouth, and his head snapped back at the impact. Dishonourable. And yet, he knew it was the end result that his father would be interested in. He wouldn’t care about the methods used to claim victory, only that it was claimed.
Untidy then, would be a word to describe the rest of the fight. Style and form was nothing, but sneakily flung elbows and fists became secondary attacks, and Achilleas took more punches than he would have liked, as well as the hilt of a sword to the temple which had him reeling. But it was a punch to the throat that eventually saw the Colchian Lord floored, a trick Achilleas had picked up whilst training with the Order and that he was glad of then.
He was breathing heavily, lip still bleeding crimson which he wiped away with the back of his hand and stood staring down at the other for a second. It had ended more like a bar brawl than he would have liked, but Achilleas could at least be glad it had ended, and he shot a glance toward his father before moving to offer Lord Stalios a hand up. “ Well fought, my Lord” The Taengean was working hard to remain polite, and trying not to feel a little smug as he pulled the other man up, but the irritation on the Colchian’s face was gratifying, and almost worth the headache, and the split lip and the bruises he was sure to be sporting. Achilleas watched the young lord return to where his kinsman gathered, and then was unable to resist turning to his father.
“Well? Not a clean fight, but then I suppose they are not often. But a victory for Tangea, my Prince” He spoke flippantly, but still bowed his head to Irakles, stood a little tense as he waited for the man’s judgement. It would be in his favour now surely?
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Sept 28, 2019 22:40:30 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Sept 28, 2019 22:40:30 GMT
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Relax. It was a pointless request, for Achilleas did not know how to be relaxed when his father was in promximity. Too conscious of the man’s judgement, he was drawn tight as a bow string, and whilst he wished for some of his cousin’s nonchalance, there was none to be found in Irakles’ eldest. He marked well the Lord that so enraged his cousin, watched him fighting his newest opponent and tried to make what learnings he could from the demonstration.
When Stephanos wandered off to talk to the Lady of the House, his attention stolen by a small child, Achilleas frowned after him, deciding not to follow. He had little interest in playing babysitter, and knew better than to keep his father waiting. Turning as he shook out the kinks that formed in the few moments idleness, he looked out the man,found the Prince’s gaze already upon him, and sure enough, even Achilleas’ momentary hesitation had apparently been too much.
The younger man looked around at where his peers were still fooling around, making the most of the small break afforded to them, but he said nothing about it, knowing already the lecture he would receive. To be better means working harder. Are you content with being as good as?
“ If it is your will, father”. He nodded, bent to pick up the practice sword he had discarded at the end of his last bout. It was wooden, as were all the weapons that had been set out for the young nobles so as not to end any bloodlines prematurely, but they fought without armour, so you still knew about it if you let yourself get hit. It was as good a deterrent to avoid losing as any, and Achilleas had the extra motivation of not wanting to lose face in front of his father, who would not wear his son’s defeat well, he was certain. And in turn, Achilleas would not enjoy his disappointment, so there seemed only one acceptable outcome to this match.
By the time the other Lord approached, Achilleas had limbered up as much as he was going to, and the Mikaelidas lord surveyed the Colchian a moment before he dipped his head in polite greeting. “My Lord Stalios.” He tried not to let Stephanos’ account of the man cloud his judgement, and offered a pleasant smile that was not returned. The Taengean lord let it melt slowly away. Very well then, if they were not even to pretend to be civil. With a brief lift of his brows, Achilleas backed up a little, his expression settling into one of sharp focus, his two handed grip on the sword he held steady, balanced.
If the the other Lord was easily provoked, as hot tempered as Stephanos had indicated, then Achilleas would use it against him. He focused at first on being quick, leading the man out with feints or sharp, stinging blows that had no further purpose than to aggravate his temper, and get a measure of his skill. The Lord Stalios was not a fool, that much was clear, amd Achilleas found his blade parried more often than not, and with surprising strength. The temptation to meet him with greater force was there, but for now the Taengean stifled it, kept to his original plan of goading his opponent into something stupid.
For a while it went on like this, Achilleas weathering the mighty blows of the other whilst just landing blows with the flat edge of the practice sword before spinning out of range. And his tactic worked, the Colchian did appear to get frustrated, and he came in hard, catching Achilleas across the ribs hard enough that he staggered back a pace or two, a space that his opponent immediately moved into, giving no breathing space. The young baron’s cool was shaken a little, and for a moment he could do nothing but block the flurry of blows that followed, caught by surprise that the other seemed to have been holding his own strength in reserve despite the force he’d already employed. Now he was seeing more of that intensity that Stephanos had spoken of, and was feeling harried.
Focushe reminded himself, and he smiled a grim sort of smile at the unfriendly face of his opponent, now bringing some of his own strength to bear as he reclaimed his ground. They were not ill-matched in skill it would seem, and Achilleas thought that perhaps it would be stamina that ended the skirmish. He wasn’t expecting the fist that snapped out to catch him in the mouth, and his head snapped back at the impact. Dishonourable. And yet, he knew it was the end result that his father would be interested in. He wouldn’t care about the methods used to claim victory, only that it was claimed.
Untidy then, would be a word to describe the rest of the fight. Style and form was nothing, but sneakily flung elbows and fists became secondary attacks, and Achilleas took more punches than he would have liked, as well as the hilt of a sword to the temple which had him reeling. But it was a punch to the throat that eventually saw the Colchian Lord floored, a trick Achilleas had picked up whilst training with the Order and that he was glad of then.
He was breathing heavily, lip still bleeding crimson which he wiped away with the back of his hand and stood staring down at the other for a second. It had ended more like a bar brawl than he would have liked, but Achilleas could at least be glad it had ended, and he shot a glance toward his father before moving to offer Lord Stalios a hand up. “ Well fought, my Lord” The Taengean was working hard to remain polite, and trying not to feel a little smug as he pulled the other man up, but the irritation on the Colchian’s face was gratifying, and almost worth the headache, and the split lip and the bruises he was sure to be sporting. Achilleas watched the young lord return to where his kinsman gathered, and then was unable to resist turning to his father.
“Well? Not a clean fight, but then I suppose they are not often. But a victory for Tangea, my Prince” He spoke flippantly, but still bowed his head to Irakles, stood a little tense as he waited for the man’s judgement. It would be in his favour now surely?
Relax. It was a pointless request, for Achilleas did not know how to be relaxed when his father was in promximity. Too conscious of the man’s judgement, he was drawn tight as a bow string, and whilst he wished for some of his cousin’s nonchalance, there was none to be found in Irakles’ eldest. He marked well the Lord that so enraged his cousin, watched him fighting his newest opponent and tried to make what learnings he could from the demonstration.
When Stephanos wandered off to talk to the Lady of the House, his attention stolen by a small child, Achilleas frowned after him, deciding not to follow. He had little interest in playing babysitter, and knew better than to keep his father waiting. Turning as he shook out the kinks that formed in the few moments idleness, he looked out the man,found the Prince’s gaze already upon him, and sure enough, even Achilleas’ momentary hesitation had apparently been too much.
The younger man looked around at where his peers were still fooling around, making the most of the small break afforded to them, but he said nothing about it, knowing already the lecture he would receive. To be better means working harder. Are you content with being as good as?
“ If it is your will, father”. He nodded, bent to pick up the practice sword he had discarded at the end of his last bout. It was wooden, as were all the weapons that had been set out for the young nobles so as not to end any bloodlines prematurely, but they fought without armour, so you still knew about it if you let yourself get hit. It was as good a deterrent to avoid losing as any, and Achilleas had the extra motivation of not wanting to lose face in front of his father, who would not wear his son’s defeat well, he was certain. And in turn, Achilleas would not enjoy his disappointment, so there seemed only one acceptable outcome to this match.
By the time the other Lord approached, Achilleas had limbered up as much as he was going to, and the Mikaelidas lord surveyed the Colchian a moment before he dipped his head in polite greeting. “My Lord Stalios.” He tried not to let Stephanos’ account of the man cloud his judgement, and offered a pleasant smile that was not returned. The Taengean lord let it melt slowly away. Very well then, if they were not even to pretend to be civil. With a brief lift of his brows, Achilleas backed up a little, his expression settling into one of sharp focus, his two handed grip on the sword he held steady, balanced.
If the the other Lord was easily provoked, as hot tempered as Stephanos had indicated, then Achilleas would use it against him. He focused at first on being quick, leading the man out with feints or sharp, stinging blows that had no further purpose than to aggravate his temper, and get a measure of his skill. The Lord Stalios was not a fool, that much was clear, amd Achilleas found his blade parried more often than not, and with surprising strength. The temptation to meet him with greater force was there, but for now the Taengean stifled it, kept to his original plan of goading his opponent into something stupid.
For a while it went on like this, Achilleas weathering the mighty blows of the other whilst just landing blows with the flat edge of the practice sword before spinning out of range. And his tactic worked, the Colchian did appear to get frustrated, and he came in hard, catching Achilleas across the ribs hard enough that he staggered back a pace or two, a space that his opponent immediately moved into, giving no breathing space. The young baron’s cool was shaken a little, and for a moment he could do nothing but block the flurry of blows that followed, caught by surprise that the other seemed to have been holding his own strength in reserve despite the force he’d already employed. Now he was seeing more of that intensity that Stephanos had spoken of, and was feeling harried.
Focushe reminded himself, and he smiled a grim sort of smile at the unfriendly face of his opponent, now bringing some of his own strength to bear as he reclaimed his ground. They were not ill-matched in skill it would seem, and Achilleas thought that perhaps it would be stamina that ended the skirmish. He wasn’t expecting the fist that snapped out to catch him in the mouth, and his head snapped back at the impact. Dishonourable. And yet, he knew it was the end result that his father would be interested in. He wouldn’t care about the methods used to claim victory, only that it was claimed.
Untidy then, would be a word to describe the rest of the fight. Style and form was nothing, but sneakily flung elbows and fists became secondary attacks, and Achilleas took more punches than he would have liked, as well as the hilt of a sword to the temple which had him reeling. But it was a punch to the throat that eventually saw the Colchian Lord floored, a trick Achilleas had picked up whilst training with the Order and that he was glad of then.
He was breathing heavily, lip still bleeding crimson which he wiped away with the back of his hand and stood staring down at the other for a second. It had ended more like a bar brawl than he would have liked, but Achilleas could at least be glad it had ended, and he shot a glance toward his father before moving to offer Lord Stalios a hand up. “ Well fought, my Lord” The Taengean was working hard to remain polite, and trying not to feel a little smug as he pulled the other man up, but the irritation on the Colchian’s face was gratifying, and almost worth the headache, and the split lip and the bruises he was sure to be sporting. Achilleas watched the young lord return to where his kinsman gathered, and then was unable to resist turning to his father.
“Well? Not a clean fight, but then I suppose they are not often. But a victory for Tangea, my Prince” He spoke flippantly, but still bowed his head to Irakles, stood a little tense as he waited for the man’s judgement. It would be in his favour now surely?
Piriella was as relieved as Timaeus to see the larger commander not scold her boy. There wouldn't have been much she could do to stop it because the truth was, the child was being too presumptuous and informal. She gave him a 'you're lucky' look that only a mother could pull off. Her next look was one of a mother's appreciation for the patience another had with her child.
He was unflapped, proudly showing her his new weapon, "It's an impressive sword, darling. seeing you hold it and wield it properly will make your father very proud." She told him, smiling tenderly. Fear of his growing up and what that would mean as far as swords went, mixed with pride for how well he was growing and learning. She had long since accepted today would driver her sensibilities crazy with dirty and bruised children and vowed to allow them this day despite it, "You must keep it sharp and clean, understand?" It was the only lecture she would allow herself and at least it got out some of the tone she wished she could carry in order to stop this filthy and dangerous session. She would not embarrass or scold her son in front of all the boys and men he would need to do business with in the future.
The comment about Roxana made her smile, though she wanted to correct him about the child being hers in order to avoid any confusion later. Allowing someone to believe something untrue was as bad as lying in her eyes. With that thought, she returned the smile of Irakles, thinking it not quite as warm as others.
It only took her a moment of getting past these thoughts to recognize who the man who made her mind wander was. She gazed at him politely with a smile of thanks, "Thank you, she is, isn't she?" The love with which she looked at Roxana was a mother's even though she was not by blood. Piriella spent much of her time looking at Roxana, playing with her, feeding, her, bathing her, so the recognition in the future king standing before her was a quick realization. Some of the bone structure was quite similar. She dismissed it without any further though than thinking it was an unusual coincidence, "Though, she-" She was interrupted from telling him a softer truth of Roxana's story by Tim who used his child's ability to tell the blatant facts with no thought to the consequences.
*“She’s my cousin. Not my sister.”*
Was his face upset, she thought fleetingly but needed to douse the fire before worrying about that, "Related on my husband's side." Tim had forced her to say more than she would have but she guessed that her husband’s family would not be questioned and leaned on the hope that it would be improper to ask further. She hoped. She gave Tim a severe look that almost certainly meant they would be discussing this later.
She now wished she had gone with the idea to bring a maid with her to keep Roxana busy but had assured their nurse she could handle one child for the day. It was a regret now. Roxana out of sight meant no more questions as these men would surely have their heads turned by the practice and forget her before the meal was over. She glanced around for Tim who was already making his way back into he crowd of boys. Fleeing, no doubt, she thought with an inward sigh. He could flee now but this was not over.
Excusing herself for the meal, she returned to her blanket beneath the tree, willing the day to go faster and be over so she could clean and scold her son and be out of prying curiosity.
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Piriella was as relieved as Timaeus to see the larger commander not scold her boy. There wouldn't have been much she could do to stop it because the truth was, the child was being too presumptuous and informal. She gave him a 'you're lucky' look that only a mother could pull off. Her next look was one of a mother's appreciation for the patience another had with her child.
He was unflapped, proudly showing her his new weapon, "It's an impressive sword, darling. seeing you hold it and wield it properly will make your father very proud." She told him, smiling tenderly. Fear of his growing up and what that would mean as far as swords went, mixed with pride for how well he was growing and learning. She had long since accepted today would driver her sensibilities crazy with dirty and bruised children and vowed to allow them this day despite it, "You must keep it sharp and clean, understand?" It was the only lecture she would allow herself and at least it got out some of the tone she wished she could carry in order to stop this filthy and dangerous session. She would not embarrass or scold her son in front of all the boys and men he would need to do business with in the future.
The comment about Roxana made her smile, though she wanted to correct him about the child being hers in order to avoid any confusion later. Allowing someone to believe something untrue was as bad as lying in her eyes. With that thought, she returned the smile of Irakles, thinking it not quite as warm as others.
It only took her a moment of getting past these thoughts to recognize who the man who made her mind wander was. She gazed at him politely with a smile of thanks, "Thank you, she is, isn't she?" The love with which she looked at Roxana was a mother's even though she was not by blood. Piriella spent much of her time looking at Roxana, playing with her, feeding, her, bathing her, so the recognition in the future king standing before her was a quick realization. Some of the bone structure was quite similar. She dismissed it without any further though than thinking it was an unusual coincidence, "Though, she-" She was interrupted from telling him a softer truth of Roxana's story by Tim who used his child's ability to tell the blatant facts with no thought to the consequences.
*“She’s my cousin. Not my sister.”*
Was his face upset, she thought fleetingly but needed to douse the fire before worrying about that, "Related on my husband's side." Tim had forced her to say more than she would have but she guessed that her husband’s family would not be questioned and leaned on the hope that it would be improper to ask further. She hoped. She gave Tim a severe look that almost certainly meant they would be discussing this later.
She now wished she had gone with the idea to bring a maid with her to keep Roxana busy but had assured their nurse she could handle one child for the day. It was a regret now. Roxana out of sight meant no more questions as these men would surely have their heads turned by the practice and forget her before the meal was over. She glanced around for Tim who was already making his way back into he crowd of boys. Fleeing, no doubt, she thought with an inward sigh. He could flee now but this was not over.
Excusing herself for the meal, she returned to her blanket beneath the tree, willing the day to go faster and be over so she could clean and scold her son and be out of prying curiosity.
Piriella was as relieved as Timaeus to see the larger commander not scold her boy. There wouldn't have been much she could do to stop it because the truth was, the child was being too presumptuous and informal. She gave him a 'you're lucky' look that only a mother could pull off. Her next look was one of a mother's appreciation for the patience another had with her child.
He was unflapped, proudly showing her his new weapon, "It's an impressive sword, darling. seeing you hold it and wield it properly will make your father very proud." She told him, smiling tenderly. Fear of his growing up and what that would mean as far as swords went, mixed with pride for how well he was growing and learning. She had long since accepted today would driver her sensibilities crazy with dirty and bruised children and vowed to allow them this day despite it, "You must keep it sharp and clean, understand?" It was the only lecture she would allow herself and at least it got out some of the tone she wished she could carry in order to stop this filthy and dangerous session. She would not embarrass or scold her son in front of all the boys and men he would need to do business with in the future.
The comment about Roxana made her smile, though she wanted to correct him about the child being hers in order to avoid any confusion later. Allowing someone to believe something untrue was as bad as lying in her eyes. With that thought, she returned the smile of Irakles, thinking it not quite as warm as others.
It only took her a moment of getting past these thoughts to recognize who the man who made her mind wander was. She gazed at him politely with a smile of thanks, "Thank you, she is, isn't she?" The love with which she looked at Roxana was a mother's even though she was not by blood. Piriella spent much of her time looking at Roxana, playing with her, feeding, her, bathing her, so the recognition in the future king standing before her was a quick realization. Some of the bone structure was quite similar. She dismissed it without any further though than thinking it was an unusual coincidence, "Though, she-" She was interrupted from telling him a softer truth of Roxana's story by Tim who used his child's ability to tell the blatant facts with no thought to the consequences.
*“She’s my cousin. Not my sister.”*
Was his face upset, she thought fleetingly but needed to douse the fire before worrying about that, "Related on my husband's side." Tim had forced her to say more than she would have but she guessed that her husband’s family would not be questioned and leaned on the hope that it would be improper to ask further. She hoped. She gave Tim a severe look that almost certainly meant they would be discussing this later.
She now wished she had gone with the idea to bring a maid with her to keep Roxana busy but had assured their nurse she could handle one child for the day. It was a regret now. Roxana out of sight meant no more questions as these men would surely have their heads turned by the practice and forget her before the meal was over. She glanced around for Tim who was already making his way back into he crowd of boys. Fleeing, no doubt, she thought with an inward sigh. He could flee now but this was not over.
Excusing herself for the meal, she returned to her blanket beneath the tree, willing the day to go faster and be over so she could clean and scold her son and be out of prying curiosity.
It was a good thing that Stephanos didn’t put as much into being important to his uncle as he once had. Irakles’s disappointment was as constant as the sun rising, and had lost its effectiveness on the prince. Stephanos listened and smiled at Roxana, nodding at Lady Periella as she spoke, and then laughed, glancing down at little Timaeus as he frowned up at them all.
”She’s not my cousin. Not my sister.” The younger boy looked to be mortally offended, but it only made Stephanos laugh. He was having a hard time taking the boy seriously, especially for so slight a mistake as he’d just made.
“My apologies, young master,” he said. “You have an adorable cousin, then.” The conversation didn’t last much longer after that. Young Timaeus swept off to only gods knew where and Lady Periella went back to her own blanket under a tree. Stephanos was looking after her, much more interested in the baby than these buffoons, but he turned anyway to find Achilleas...gone.
“Wait-where…?” he muttered to himself, looking around for his cousin. His eyes swept the sea of filthy lords all milling about, some aimlessly, some with great purpose. Then, his gaze landed on his cousin’s familiar form, already sparring with Lord Stalios. Stephanos cursed to himself. Of course he was already late. Why wouldn’t he be? It wasn’t like Irakles had allowed a full minute to elapse or anything before his orders were carried out by his first born.
Stephanos rolled his eyes and shouldered his way over to the ring. He leaned on the ropes that formed a barrier between participants and observers. Lord Stalios and Achilleas had only just begun by the time he sauntered up and he watched as Achilleas’s polite smile died slowly on his face and grinned. He could see his cousin’s offense from here and found it funny.
At first, the swordplay was well matched and, because of that fact, uninteresting. Stephanos yawned and sniffed, not at all ruffled that his turn was to begin once Achilleas was done. He glanced around for his uncle, thinking that the other man would be wanting to watch his son perform and though Stephanos knew full well that Irakles didn’t hold him in high esteem, he’d have to perform just as well as Achilleas. Better if Achilleas failed.
“Get him, Achilleas!” Stephanos shouted, once Stalios managed to rattle his cousin’s cool exterior. “Don’t let him get away with that!” Would the encouragement help his cousin?? Maybe. Maybe not. Who was to say? His grin mirrored Achilleas’s as the other appeared to bolster himself, somewhat. That was, until Stalios hauled off and punched his cousin in his grinning mouth. Stephanos booed and laughed, thinking that was pretty funny. Rude, but funny.
Unfortunately for Achilleas, who was a little too straightlaced to drop formality completely, he took a few more hits to the head than he deserved and by the end, Stephanos was about ready to get in the ring himself and jump on Stalios from behind to punch the back of that man’s head. That’d teach him to mess with a Taengean lord. Stephanos hooted in unreserved glee when Achilleas finally throat punched Lord Stalios. Then he shouted, “Achilleas! Don’t help that twat up! For Hades’ sake. Pft, are you seeing this?” He asked Irakles, who was close enough by this point to speak to.
Achilleas walked over to them, looking much worse for wear. “Well? Not a clean fight, but then I suppose they are not often. But a victory for Tangea, my Prince,” he said to Irakles, rather than Stephanos. The hope that lingered behind Achilleas’s eyes for some kind of pat on the head from his father was priceless and Stephanos rolled his eyes, still grinning.
“You look terrible,” he said and then patted Achilleas’s wet shoulder. “You did well, though. I’m proud of you.”
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Nov 10, 2019 18:50:55 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Nov 10, 2019 18:50:55 GMT
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It was a good thing that Stephanos didn’t put as much into being important to his uncle as he once had. Irakles’s disappointment was as constant as the sun rising, and had lost its effectiveness on the prince. Stephanos listened and smiled at Roxana, nodding at Lady Periella as she spoke, and then laughed, glancing down at little Timaeus as he frowned up at them all.
”She’s not my cousin. Not my sister.” The younger boy looked to be mortally offended, but it only made Stephanos laugh. He was having a hard time taking the boy seriously, especially for so slight a mistake as he’d just made.
“My apologies, young master,” he said. “You have an adorable cousin, then.” The conversation didn’t last much longer after that. Young Timaeus swept off to only gods knew where and Lady Periella went back to her own blanket under a tree. Stephanos was looking after her, much more interested in the baby than these buffoons, but he turned anyway to find Achilleas...gone.
“Wait-where…?” he muttered to himself, looking around for his cousin. His eyes swept the sea of filthy lords all milling about, some aimlessly, some with great purpose. Then, his gaze landed on his cousin’s familiar form, already sparring with Lord Stalios. Stephanos cursed to himself. Of course he was already late. Why wouldn’t he be? It wasn’t like Irakles had allowed a full minute to elapse or anything before his orders were carried out by his first born.
Stephanos rolled his eyes and shouldered his way over to the ring. He leaned on the ropes that formed a barrier between participants and observers. Lord Stalios and Achilleas had only just begun by the time he sauntered up and he watched as Achilleas’s polite smile died slowly on his face and grinned. He could see his cousin’s offense from here and found it funny.
At first, the swordplay was well matched and, because of that fact, uninteresting. Stephanos yawned and sniffed, not at all ruffled that his turn was to begin once Achilleas was done. He glanced around for his uncle, thinking that the other man would be wanting to watch his son perform and though Stephanos knew full well that Irakles didn’t hold him in high esteem, he’d have to perform just as well as Achilleas. Better if Achilleas failed.
“Get him, Achilleas!” Stephanos shouted, once Stalios managed to rattle his cousin’s cool exterior. “Don’t let him get away with that!” Would the encouragement help his cousin?? Maybe. Maybe not. Who was to say? His grin mirrored Achilleas’s as the other appeared to bolster himself, somewhat. That was, until Stalios hauled off and punched his cousin in his grinning mouth. Stephanos booed and laughed, thinking that was pretty funny. Rude, but funny.
Unfortunately for Achilleas, who was a little too straightlaced to drop formality completely, he took a few more hits to the head than he deserved and by the end, Stephanos was about ready to get in the ring himself and jump on Stalios from behind to punch the back of that man’s head. That’d teach him to mess with a Taengean lord. Stephanos hooted in unreserved glee when Achilleas finally throat punched Lord Stalios. Then he shouted, “Achilleas! Don’t help that twat up! For Hades’ sake. Pft, are you seeing this?” He asked Irakles, who was close enough by this point to speak to.
Achilleas walked over to them, looking much worse for wear. “Well? Not a clean fight, but then I suppose they are not often. But a victory for Tangea, my Prince,” he said to Irakles, rather than Stephanos. The hope that lingered behind Achilleas’s eyes for some kind of pat on the head from his father was priceless and Stephanos rolled his eyes, still grinning.
“You look terrible,” he said and then patted Achilleas’s wet shoulder. “You did well, though. I’m proud of you.”
It was a good thing that Stephanos didn’t put as much into being important to his uncle as he once had. Irakles’s disappointment was as constant as the sun rising, and had lost its effectiveness on the prince. Stephanos listened and smiled at Roxana, nodding at Lady Periella as she spoke, and then laughed, glancing down at little Timaeus as he frowned up at them all.
”She’s not my cousin. Not my sister.” The younger boy looked to be mortally offended, but it only made Stephanos laugh. He was having a hard time taking the boy seriously, especially for so slight a mistake as he’d just made.
“My apologies, young master,” he said. “You have an adorable cousin, then.” The conversation didn’t last much longer after that. Young Timaeus swept off to only gods knew where and Lady Periella went back to her own blanket under a tree. Stephanos was looking after her, much more interested in the baby than these buffoons, but he turned anyway to find Achilleas...gone.
“Wait-where…?” he muttered to himself, looking around for his cousin. His eyes swept the sea of filthy lords all milling about, some aimlessly, some with great purpose. Then, his gaze landed on his cousin’s familiar form, already sparring with Lord Stalios. Stephanos cursed to himself. Of course he was already late. Why wouldn’t he be? It wasn’t like Irakles had allowed a full minute to elapse or anything before his orders were carried out by his first born.
Stephanos rolled his eyes and shouldered his way over to the ring. He leaned on the ropes that formed a barrier between participants and observers. Lord Stalios and Achilleas had only just begun by the time he sauntered up and he watched as Achilleas’s polite smile died slowly on his face and grinned. He could see his cousin’s offense from here and found it funny.
At first, the swordplay was well matched and, because of that fact, uninteresting. Stephanos yawned and sniffed, not at all ruffled that his turn was to begin once Achilleas was done. He glanced around for his uncle, thinking that the other man would be wanting to watch his son perform and though Stephanos knew full well that Irakles didn’t hold him in high esteem, he’d have to perform just as well as Achilleas. Better if Achilleas failed.
“Get him, Achilleas!” Stephanos shouted, once Stalios managed to rattle his cousin’s cool exterior. “Don’t let him get away with that!” Would the encouragement help his cousin?? Maybe. Maybe not. Who was to say? His grin mirrored Achilleas’s as the other appeared to bolster himself, somewhat. That was, until Stalios hauled off and punched his cousin in his grinning mouth. Stephanos booed and laughed, thinking that was pretty funny. Rude, but funny.
Unfortunately for Achilleas, who was a little too straightlaced to drop formality completely, he took a few more hits to the head than he deserved and by the end, Stephanos was about ready to get in the ring himself and jump on Stalios from behind to punch the back of that man’s head. That’d teach him to mess with a Taengean lord. Stephanos hooted in unreserved glee when Achilleas finally throat punched Lord Stalios. Then he shouted, “Achilleas! Don’t help that twat up! For Hades’ sake. Pft, are you seeing this?” He asked Irakles, who was close enough by this point to speak to.
Achilleas walked over to them, looking much worse for wear. “Well? Not a clean fight, but then I suppose they are not often. But a victory for Tangea, my Prince,” he said to Irakles, rather than Stephanos. The hope that lingered behind Achilleas’s eyes for some kind of pat on the head from his father was priceless and Stephanos rolled his eyes, still grinning.
“You look terrible,” he said and then patted Achilleas’s wet shoulder. “You did well, though. I’m proud of you.”
Irakles watched the proceedings with a critical eye - but when did he not? Afterall, the general did not achieve his position and success today by being lax.
With arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he observed how Achilleas greeted the Colchian lord who now stood to challenge his own son. Did he think Achilleas could best the other? Perhaps. His son was placed through a rigid regiment of practice, and both him and Emilios should be well versed... or they'd face consequences. But as he watched, Irakles noted how Stallios easily matched each move for his own, which meant his son's movements were predictable, too easy for his opponent to guess, a fatal mistake in the battlefield.
Noting how Achilleas seemed to play upon his opponent's supposed short tempered attitude, while Irakles could applaud such thinking, he also knew that in the battlefield, it was rare for one to know the temperment and behavior of all their opponents, which meant relying on it alone would not be wise.
Briefly, his gaze flicked to Stephanos, the way he cheered unbecoming for a supposed prince of Taengea. Did he ever behave that way? He should hope not. Even if he was destined to never take the throne, something that was by birth right, for his elder half-brother, Irakles always comported himself in a manner suited for a prince, and not at all like the callous way in which Stephanos now carried himself, shouting uncouthly.
Choosing to not respond to Stephanos's jeering and subsequent comment to him, he merely levelled his gaze at his son, before his words were bitten out. "Messy." It was sharp, but in it held a world's worth of derision and insufficiency he deemed Achilleas to be. "You may have won, but I call it luck. You would not be lucky as to know every opponent you have on the battlefield, and not all of them would be as hot-headed as Lord Stallios. Skill matters more." He did not further justify his point, but what Irakles implied was clear - that Achilleas's had far more to work on.
Momentarily, he glanced at Stephanos, and raised a brow dubiously. "And if that is your standards to be proud, Stephanos, I assure you, we have much to work on." Without another word, he turned to the rest of the Taengean lords just finishing their meal, and gave a loud shout, a command for everyone to follow, including the two that was now behind him.
"Twenty rounds around the perimeter, I don't want to see anyone taking a stroll down the market. Go!"
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Nov 28, 2019 15:38:16 GMT
Posted In One Good Turn on Nov 28, 2019 15:38:16 GMT
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Irakles watched the proceedings with a critical eye - but when did he not? Afterall, the general did not achieve his position and success today by being lax.
With arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he observed how Achilleas greeted the Colchian lord who now stood to challenge his own son. Did he think Achilleas could best the other? Perhaps. His son was placed through a rigid regiment of practice, and both him and Emilios should be well versed... or they'd face consequences. But as he watched, Irakles noted how Stallios easily matched each move for his own, which meant his son's movements were predictable, too easy for his opponent to guess, a fatal mistake in the battlefield.
Noting how Achilleas seemed to play upon his opponent's supposed short tempered attitude, while Irakles could applaud such thinking, he also knew that in the battlefield, it was rare for one to know the temperment and behavior of all their opponents, which meant relying on it alone would not be wise.
Briefly, his gaze flicked to Stephanos, the way he cheered unbecoming for a supposed prince of Taengea. Did he ever behave that way? He should hope not. Even if he was destined to never take the throne, something that was by birth right, for his elder half-brother, Irakles always comported himself in a manner suited for a prince, and not at all like the callous way in which Stephanos now carried himself, shouting uncouthly.
Choosing to not respond to Stephanos's jeering and subsequent comment to him, he merely levelled his gaze at his son, before his words were bitten out. "Messy." It was sharp, but in it held a world's worth of derision and insufficiency he deemed Achilleas to be. "You may have won, but I call it luck. You would not be lucky as to know every opponent you have on the battlefield, and not all of them would be as hot-headed as Lord Stallios. Skill matters more." He did not further justify his point, but what Irakles implied was clear - that Achilleas's had far more to work on.
Momentarily, he glanced at Stephanos, and raised a brow dubiously. "And if that is your standards to be proud, Stephanos, I assure you, we have much to work on." Without another word, he turned to the rest of the Taengean lords just finishing their meal, and gave a loud shout, a command for everyone to follow, including the two that was now behind him.
"Twenty rounds around the perimeter, I don't want to see anyone taking a stroll down the market. Go!"
Irakles watched the proceedings with a critical eye - but when did he not? Afterall, the general did not achieve his position and success today by being lax.
With arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he observed how Achilleas greeted the Colchian lord who now stood to challenge his own son. Did he think Achilleas could best the other? Perhaps. His son was placed through a rigid regiment of practice, and both him and Emilios should be well versed... or they'd face consequences. But as he watched, Irakles noted how Stallios easily matched each move for his own, which meant his son's movements were predictable, too easy for his opponent to guess, a fatal mistake in the battlefield.
Noting how Achilleas seemed to play upon his opponent's supposed short tempered attitude, while Irakles could applaud such thinking, he also knew that in the battlefield, it was rare for one to know the temperment and behavior of all their opponents, which meant relying on it alone would not be wise.
Briefly, his gaze flicked to Stephanos, the way he cheered unbecoming for a supposed prince of Taengea. Did he ever behave that way? He should hope not. Even if he was destined to never take the throne, something that was by birth right, for his elder half-brother, Irakles always comported himself in a manner suited for a prince, and not at all like the callous way in which Stephanos now carried himself, shouting uncouthly.
Choosing to not respond to Stephanos's jeering and subsequent comment to him, he merely levelled his gaze at his son, before his words were bitten out. "Messy." It was sharp, but in it held a world's worth of derision and insufficiency he deemed Achilleas to be. "You may have won, but I call it luck. You would not be lucky as to know every opponent you have on the battlefield, and not all of them would be as hot-headed as Lord Stallios. Skill matters more." He did not further justify his point, but what Irakles implied was clear - that Achilleas's had far more to work on.
Momentarily, he glanced at Stephanos, and raised a brow dubiously. "And if that is your standards to be proud, Stephanos, I assure you, we have much to work on." Without another word, he turned to the rest of the Taengean lords just finishing their meal, and gave a loud shout, a command for everyone to follow, including the two that was now behind him.
"Twenty rounds around the perimeter, I don't want to see anyone taking a stroll down the market. Go!"