[One: Vandare] [Wherever this is, people are not happy to see King Damianos.
He doesn't remember what happened, only that just recently he awoke on an unfamiliar beach (It is not Ios. There are no cliffs, no white stone.), still injured from Kastor's knife. His chiton, once white and simple, is wet and blood-stained and torn, his dark curls thick and damp with seawater. Last he can recall, he was in the slave baths, with Laurent holding his hand over his wound, listening to the bells that heralded Damen as King.
The walk from the beach to the nearest center of people was excruciating, every step pulling on the half-healed edges of his wound, fresh blood dotting the front of his dirty chiton. These people are not Akielon, nor are they even Veretian, and this town is one he does not recognize the style of; it is confusing and a little frightening, and he wishes Laurent were here.
He holds a hand over his wound as he regards a small group of townsfolk who look... angry, advancing on the tall, dark-skinned man in the strange clothes and gold cuff. Damen holds himself warily, giving ground slowly, looking like he might turn to violence.] What is the meaning of this? Where have I been taken? [Has he been drugged and loaded onto a ship again? Did the Regent have some sort of... contingency plan? Where is Laurent?]
[Three&Four: Naga, Bavan] [The stares had begun inside town. The displeased whispers. The reaching for weapons. Damen had ignored it the best he could, out getting some supplies for his small, sort of dilapidated dwelling, huffing out a quiet laugh at how this would seem to anyone back home. The King of Akielos, leader of armies and victor against treachery, doing his own grocery shopping. Doing his own anything, really - he's used to having servants and cooks and squires. But in times of crisis, needs must, and Damianos does what needs to be done without complaint.
He makes the walk back toward his house in silence, head held high, bag under one arm. His clothes mark him an outsider here; he hasn't gotten past wearing chitons yet, not eager to go back to more Veretian styles of tight pants and constricting jackets after so long. The bag crashes to the ground, however, spilling fruit, an orange rolling down the sidewalk, as the pain hits.
Searing fire down his spine, his legs gone suddenly numb, unable to hold his weight. He is no small man, standing at close to 6'6" and muscled to match, and he goes down hard with a short grunt of pain. The hunters, sensing weakness, begin to close in on him, and out here, he wonders if anyone will be around to defend him.
Heart racing, Damen tries unsuccessfully to pull himself to his feet.] You would fight a man on the ground? You Rysligians have no honor.
Damianos | Captive Prince
[Wherever this is, people are not happy to see King Damianos.
He doesn't remember what happened, only that just recently he awoke on an unfamiliar beach (It is not Ios. There are no cliffs, no white stone.), still injured from Kastor's knife. His chiton, once white and simple, is wet and blood-stained and torn, his dark curls thick and damp with seawater. Last he can recall, he was in the slave baths, with Laurent holding his hand over his wound, listening to the bells that heralded Damen as King.
The walk from the beach to the nearest center of people was excruciating, every step pulling on the half-healed edges of his wound, fresh blood dotting the front of his dirty chiton. These people are not Akielon, nor are they even Veretian, and this town is one he does not recognize the style of; it is confusing and a little frightening, and he wishes Laurent were here.
He holds a hand over his wound as he regards a small group of townsfolk who look... angry, advancing on the tall, dark-skinned man in the strange clothes and gold cuff. Damen holds himself warily, giving ground slowly, looking like he might turn to violence.] What is the meaning of this? Where have I been taken? [Has he been drugged and loaded onto a ship again? Did the Regent have some sort of... contingency plan? Where is Laurent?]
[Three&Four: Naga, Bavan]
[The stares had begun inside town. The displeased whispers. The reaching for weapons. Damen had ignored it the best he could, out getting some supplies for his small, sort of dilapidated dwelling, huffing out a quiet laugh at how this would seem to anyone back home. The King of Akielos, leader of armies and victor against treachery, doing his own grocery shopping. Doing his own anything, really - he's used to having servants and cooks and squires. But in times of crisis, needs must, and Damianos does what needs to be done without complaint.
He makes the walk back toward his house in silence, head held high, bag under one arm. His clothes mark him an outsider here; he hasn't gotten past wearing chitons yet, not eager to go back to more Veretian styles of tight pants and constricting jackets after so long. The bag crashes to the ground, however, spilling fruit, an orange rolling down the sidewalk, as the pain hits.
Searing fire down his spine, his legs gone suddenly numb, unable to hold his weight. He is no small man, standing at close to 6'6" and muscled to match, and he goes down hard with a short grunt of pain. The hunters, sensing weakness, begin to close in on him, and out here, he wonders if anyone will be around to defend him.
Heart racing, Damen tries unsuccessfully to pull himself to his feet.] You would fight a man on the ground? You Rysligians have no honor.