War had not been what he had expected.
At the age of thirteen Vangelis had been sent down in the mines of Colchis by his father. The first of his brothers to go but the dozenth or so of his family to complete the tradition, Vangelis had assumed when he had been allowed back to the surface to see the sun some six months later, that he had seen all there was to see of human suffering.
The mines had been dark, dank and offered a constant, putrid smell of human waste and sweat. He had been reduced down to being a human among others of his ilk. Not a prince, or a lord, or the brother of his siblings or the son of his mother. He had not been Vangelis of Kotas but simple a man of limited substance. Able to offer and contend with only his rare physical strength. No title, wealth or lands were going to save him from the hours of laborious work to be completely day in and day out. Then again, they weren't even certain if it was every day. There was no sun by which to offer a marker and Vangelis only knew how long he had been down there once told upon his return. That and the length of his hair which he had allowed to grow without check.
Down beneath the earth of Midas, Vangelis had learnt what it meant to be a man. Solely a man, without addition or luxury. Just Vangelis. No family name attached.
Six months later he had left with his father on his first military campaign. At the age of fourteen, he had been taken abroad with King Tython in order to put down an insurgent force in the north. This was one of the first battles Colchis had ever waged across the sea towards the northern mainland. Their battles previously had been in the eastern lands, towards Persia. This time, however, the enemy had come from the colder and harsher northern lands and had, according the spymasters of his father's court, been congregating on the edge of the sea and on the eve of battle.
The barbarian hordes, it was reported, were waiting for the opportune moment, building ships and vessels in which to cross the Aegean and sending scouting parties disguised as fishermen to inspect the lay of the Kirakles Isles, seeking a safe harbour of port where best to begin an invading onslaught.
They had tipped their hand too far, however, sought information too hungrily... for their actions had alerted the Colchian spies beneath the Master Informer, who had then passed the information to the king. And lo and behold a Colchian force of such power and dominance and been amassed in record time. For there was no call to arms like a Colchian call to arms. Men would not hesitate in standing and fighting with their king, regardless of ulterior circumstances.
As such, the army with which King Tython had approached the north had been large. Momentous in its power and the damage it might inflict.
It was only after they had arrived on the beaches of the continent that Vangelis had realised their force was not one designed to quash the rising disturbances among their enemies. It was to be used to eradicate them entirely. To send a message that would go down the chronicles of the history of Colchis. That no force would ever breech their waters or invade their lands. No matter their intent or their careful planning.
Despite advanced numbers, however, more units of enemy forces had travelled down from further inland and the wars had continued on and off for nearly four years. Vangelis grew in that time from a boy to a man and, by the time there was a level of peace stable enough for him to return home, he had little knowledge of who he was anymore.
The mines had taught him that he was but a human. The wars had taught him that he was but a number. One man with which to kill as many others as was humanly possible, until Hades decided to take him next.
For that had been made abundantly clear to Vangelis once the fighting had started.
You could train as hard as you wanted, learn every weapon and attack. Perfect your stances, your strikes and your parries. But in reality - when the battle begun and the entire world went to shit around you... it was the Gods that decided your fate. It had to be. Because there was no other logic or reason to it.
So, the idea was to make your life worth it. To make your one, singular existence strong enough to eradicate more than one elsewhere. So that your side of the fight, in the end, emerged victorious simply for a pure game of numbers.
In sailing back to Colchis, Vangelis had been quieter than usual. While he had never been chatty, it was disposition that seemed quiet over his lack of verbose. He would sit on the deck of the ship, his back to some corner and play with a strand of rope between his fingers. He would coil and uncoil the pieces that made up the whole, conscious that each piece did not make a usable product until combined with its brethren. Perhaps that's what life was about. Not your own existence and your own path... but the contribution you made in tandem with others...
The soldiers around him had joked and jostled, insisting that the young prince was just a little war torn... uncertain of his place. Survivor's guilt, one person called it. But he did not feel guilty for surviving the war effort. What he felt was uncertain as to why he had been allowed to do so.
had the Gods decided on a different path for him? Had it been the influence of his family and blood that had saved his life. He had thought he had held his own on several battlefields but he had only been a boy for some of it. Not nearly his full height or breadth or possessing even the strength he did now. Had he really been skilled enough to survive in his own right, or had his men countered for his inexperience? Had their babied him? Fighting before him to thin the herd? Had he not noticed the behaviour to make his own experience of combat easier?
He did not know.
And it was the not knowing that was making his mind drift and his body uncomfortable. Like he didn't deserve it. Like he should be rotting somewhere on a darkened field of death with all the others who had fallen in conflict.
Rolling his shoulders where he sat, as they were about to pull into port, one of the sailors come soldiers he was with moved over to stand beside the prince.
"Find yourself a tavern, my Lord." The man told him around a scar that sliced threw one eye down his cheek and across both his lips. The man had seen some horrors. You could tell by the experience in his voice more than the evidence on his face. "You need to reacquaint yourself with life." the man continued... "Go have a drink, have a woman... Remind yourself that your here and you're meant to be here." The old soldier slapped Vangelis on the shoulder and then repeated the action. "The Gods want you here, my prince... Don't disgrace their gift by not living as if you are..."
Despite not knowing the man... despite having no real evidence to believe him, despite the fact that he was a lower rung officer on one of his father's war ships - plus that all knowing maturity in his gruff voice - Vangelis decided to take the man at his word.
At this point, it was hard to argue that there wasn't a better option or choice.
Upon arriving in port later afternoon, Vangelis knew that the ship was only stopping to resupply. The cabins beneath their feet were running low on fresh water and a few food essentials. Not the mention that the men had started to become a little homesick and cabin fevery for Colchian soil.
When the captain looked to Vangelis for instruction on what they were to do while in port - for they had still another few days to reach Midas - Vangelis offered a nonchalant shrug.
"We'll leave tomorrow at daybreak." He told the captain as bright smiles started to form on the faces of many of the sailors. Vangelis looked out among them. "Enjoy your night and be back before sunup."
With a cheer from the men whom - from their perspective - had just been given the go ahead by a royal prince to get thoroughly drunk and whore the night away, Vangelis simply stepped aside to allow them off the ship before him before looking out at the town.
Megaris was particularly famous for its seedy underbelly - for the taverns, bars and brothels available to the sailors and slave traders that liked to dock in its port. And Vangelis pursed his lips in consideration only for a moment before he chose to take up the town on its offer and the soldier on his advice.
Hopping off the ship and heading down the main ramp to the dock, Vangelis carried nothing with him besides a long sword - for he had not yet discovered his preference for the curved style of blade favoured by those in the Mesopotamian lands, and a small pouch of gold at his hip.
Having little idea that he was wondering around town with more money on his person than most people there made in a year, Vangelis avoided the main streets where the sailors and soldiers seemed to instantly culminate towards. Clearly Megaris was a family stop for them and they would each have their preferred brothel, drinking establishment or, in fact, whore waiting for them.
Vangelis, on the other hand, had no interest in bedding a woman who had shared her secrets with half of his military unit.
Instead, he went walking through the town, considering the layout of the settlement so that he could find his way back to the docks in the morning (not that they would leave the crown prince behind were he late) and found his way in a nicer, more expensive section of the provincial place.
No-one that he passed stopped to stare or notice him - though a few glanced his way astonished by his impressive height - and it was only when he remembered how long he had been away from the Kirakles Isles that it made sense as to why. It was unlikely that none recognised him as the crown prince of Colchis. His last public appearance had been before he had entered into the mines of his capitol - back when he had but just turned thirteen. While officially an adult, he had been by a boy back then. Scraggly and small - yet to grow into his feet and hands, his hair unruly and his eyes too large for his face. A thin neck, thin wrists and frame that held itself like a prince more than it did as a fighter.
Nowadays, Vangelis stood at six foot two - nearly a foot and a half higher than he would have last been seen at. He now stood in physical proportion, his wrists and neck filled out, his body strong and muscle bound. While he still had yet to carry the ropes of strength that he would gain in years to come, his limbs offered clear tendons and the lines of his muscles. His skeleton was at its full size and the flesh that went on it was hard and toned - even if it hadn't reached the same scale it would in the future. His jaw had filled out, his cheekbones become more prominent and therefore his face had balanced out his eyes. His hair was still unruly and his hands still big but these were simple Kotas genes he could no refute even if he wanted to.
He had also - though Vangelis would not notice it until he returned to Midas and was inspected by the feminine eyes of the court - grown up handsome. A man with the blocky strength and angular features of his father and the softer elements and curving lips of his mother.
While he might not have realised it that night, there would have been no issue in him finding a willing partner in any of the brothels his fellow sailors had decided to patron.
Instead, however, Vangelis of Kotas - the crown prince of the kingdom - had found himself in a mostly high-class residential area of Megaris. About to turn around and head back, his only hindrance to such a decision were the bright lights and suddenly loud voiced of a drinking hole on the end of one of the streets.
Recognising it as a tavern to the slightly more discerning traveller, Vangelis headed in that direction, confident he would not find any of the men he had spent the last two weeks travelling with within its walls. He had interest in sharing combined quarters with them for yet another night longer than was necessary.
The establishment within which he entered was laid out similarly to any other tavern or bar - low or high class. The expanse of wooden surface across the back offered the barrier between bartender and congregation and the tables and chairs scattered amongst the rest of the room sported men of all kinds.
Some appeared to be locals - attending the bar at the end of their week of work or escaping the homestead in order to avoid the wife for a few extra hours. Others appeared to be travellers but the upper scale class of such fellows; the ships' captains, the first mates... the men who would not dine to patronage the same watering hole as their crew.
All in all, the place suited Vangelis just fine and he kept the cowl of the hood of his cloak up and in place, hiding his hair and most of his face from view. He also, surreptitiously removed his signet and House ring from his hand and placed them inside his money pouch. The last thing he needed tonight was for someone to recognise his status and turn the evening into a night of appealing to the higher ends of society for political or financial favours. For once, he just wanted to relax...
After stepping up to the bar at the back of the room and ordering a mead over wine, Vangelis headed to a booth on one side of the room. In the centre of the open space were rounded tables with chairs on spindly legs placed hazardously around them. But along the far wall from the door were booths with rectangular tables sticking out from the wall and benched units standing between.
Sliding into one with his drink, Vangelis tried to sit back and relax, holding his tankard between the palms of his hands and keeping his hood up and in place, away from the prying eyes of the other patrons. Not that they would recognise him if he did. After all... the last few years had turned Vangelis of Kotas from a boy into a man... No-one would expect such a person to be loitering in a tavern in Megaris...
At the age of thirteen Vangelis had been sent down in the mines of Colchis by his father. The first of his brothers to go but the dozenth or so of his family to complete the tradition, Vangelis had assumed when he had been allowed back to the surface to see the sun some six months later, that he had seen all there was to see of human suffering.
The mines had been dark, dank and offered a constant, putrid smell of human waste and sweat. He had been reduced down to being a human among others of his ilk. Not a prince, or a lord, or the brother of his siblings or the son of his mother. He had not been Vangelis of Kotas but simple a man of limited substance. Able to offer and contend with only his rare physical strength. No title, wealth or lands were going to save him from the hours of laborious work to be completely day in and day out. Then again, they weren't even certain if it was every day. There was no sun by which to offer a marker and Vangelis only knew how long he had been down there once told upon his return. That and the length of his hair which he had allowed to grow without check.
Down beneath the earth of Midas, Vangelis had learnt what it meant to be a man. Solely a man, without addition or luxury. Just Vangelis. No family name attached.
Six months later he had left with his father on his first military campaign. At the age of fourteen, he had been taken abroad with King Tython in order to put down an insurgent force in the north. This was one of the first battles Colchis had ever waged across the sea towards the northern mainland. Their battles previously had been in the eastern lands, towards Persia. This time, however, the enemy had come from the colder and harsher northern lands and had, according the spymasters of his father's court, been congregating on the edge of the sea and on the eve of battle.
The barbarian hordes, it was reported, were waiting for the opportune moment, building ships and vessels in which to cross the Aegean and sending scouting parties disguised as fishermen to inspect the lay of the Kirakles Isles, seeking a safe harbour of port where best to begin an invading onslaught.
They had tipped their hand too far, however, sought information too hungrily... for their actions had alerted the Colchian spies beneath the Master Informer, who had then passed the information to the king. And lo and behold a Colchian force of such power and dominance and been amassed in record time. For there was no call to arms like a Colchian call to arms. Men would not hesitate in standing and fighting with their king, regardless of ulterior circumstances.
As such, the army with which King Tython had approached the north had been large. Momentous in its power and the damage it might inflict.
It was only after they had arrived on the beaches of the continent that Vangelis had realised their force was not one designed to quash the rising disturbances among their enemies. It was to be used to eradicate them entirely. To send a message that would go down the chronicles of the history of Colchis. That no force would ever breech their waters or invade their lands. No matter their intent or their careful planning.
Despite advanced numbers, however, more units of enemy forces had travelled down from further inland and the wars had continued on and off for nearly four years. Vangelis grew in that time from a boy to a man and, by the time there was a level of peace stable enough for him to return home, he had little knowledge of who he was anymore.
The mines had taught him that he was but a human. The wars had taught him that he was but a number. One man with which to kill as many others as was humanly possible, until Hades decided to take him next.
For that had been made abundantly clear to Vangelis once the fighting had started.
You could train as hard as you wanted, learn every weapon and attack. Perfect your stances, your strikes and your parries. But in reality - when the battle begun and the entire world went to shit around you... it was the Gods that decided your fate. It had to be. Because there was no other logic or reason to it.
So, the idea was to make your life worth it. To make your one, singular existence strong enough to eradicate more than one elsewhere. So that your side of the fight, in the end, emerged victorious simply for a pure game of numbers.
In sailing back to Colchis, Vangelis had been quieter than usual. While he had never been chatty, it was disposition that seemed quiet over his lack of verbose. He would sit on the deck of the ship, his back to some corner and play with a strand of rope between his fingers. He would coil and uncoil the pieces that made up the whole, conscious that each piece did not make a usable product until combined with its brethren. Perhaps that's what life was about. Not your own existence and your own path... but the contribution you made in tandem with others...
The soldiers around him had joked and jostled, insisting that the young prince was just a little war torn... uncertain of his place. Survivor's guilt, one person called it. But he did not feel guilty for surviving the war effort. What he felt was uncertain as to why he had been allowed to do so.
had the Gods decided on a different path for him? Had it been the influence of his family and blood that had saved his life. He had thought he had held his own on several battlefields but he had only been a boy for some of it. Not nearly his full height or breadth or possessing even the strength he did now. Had he really been skilled enough to survive in his own right, or had his men countered for his inexperience? Had their babied him? Fighting before him to thin the herd? Had he not noticed the behaviour to make his own experience of combat easier?
He did not know.
And it was the not knowing that was making his mind drift and his body uncomfortable. Like he didn't deserve it. Like he should be rotting somewhere on a darkened field of death with all the others who had fallen in conflict.
Rolling his shoulders where he sat, as they were about to pull into port, one of the sailors come soldiers he was with moved over to stand beside the prince.
"Find yourself a tavern, my Lord." The man told him around a scar that sliced threw one eye down his cheek and across both his lips. The man had seen some horrors. You could tell by the experience in his voice more than the evidence on his face. "You need to reacquaint yourself with life." the man continued... "Go have a drink, have a woman... Remind yourself that your here and you're meant to be here." The old soldier slapped Vangelis on the shoulder and then repeated the action. "The Gods want you here, my prince... Don't disgrace their gift by not living as if you are..."
Despite not knowing the man... despite having no real evidence to believe him, despite the fact that he was a lower rung officer on one of his father's war ships - plus that all knowing maturity in his gruff voice - Vangelis decided to take the man at his word.
At this point, it was hard to argue that there wasn't a better option or choice.
Upon arriving in port later afternoon, Vangelis knew that the ship was only stopping to resupply. The cabins beneath their feet were running low on fresh water and a few food essentials. Not the mention that the men had started to become a little homesick and cabin fevery for Colchian soil.
When the captain looked to Vangelis for instruction on what they were to do while in port - for they had still another few days to reach Midas - Vangelis offered a nonchalant shrug.
"We'll leave tomorrow at daybreak." He told the captain as bright smiles started to form on the faces of many of the sailors. Vangelis looked out among them. "Enjoy your night and be back before sunup."
With a cheer from the men whom - from their perspective - had just been given the go ahead by a royal prince to get thoroughly drunk and whore the night away, Vangelis simply stepped aside to allow them off the ship before him before looking out at the town.
Megaris was particularly famous for its seedy underbelly - for the taverns, bars and brothels available to the sailors and slave traders that liked to dock in its port. And Vangelis pursed his lips in consideration only for a moment before he chose to take up the town on its offer and the soldier on his advice.
Hopping off the ship and heading down the main ramp to the dock, Vangelis carried nothing with him besides a long sword - for he had not yet discovered his preference for the curved style of blade favoured by those in the Mesopotamian lands, and a small pouch of gold at his hip.
Having little idea that he was wondering around town with more money on his person than most people there made in a year, Vangelis avoided the main streets where the sailors and soldiers seemed to instantly culminate towards. Clearly Megaris was a family stop for them and they would each have their preferred brothel, drinking establishment or, in fact, whore waiting for them.
Vangelis, on the other hand, had no interest in bedding a woman who had shared her secrets with half of his military unit.
Instead, he went walking through the town, considering the layout of the settlement so that he could find his way back to the docks in the morning (not that they would leave the crown prince behind were he late) and found his way in a nicer, more expensive section of the provincial place.
No-one that he passed stopped to stare or notice him - though a few glanced his way astonished by his impressive height - and it was only when he remembered how long he had been away from the Kirakles Isles that it made sense as to why. It was unlikely that none recognised him as the crown prince of Colchis. His last public appearance had been before he had entered into the mines of his capitol - back when he had but just turned thirteen. While officially an adult, he had been by a boy back then. Scraggly and small - yet to grow into his feet and hands, his hair unruly and his eyes too large for his face. A thin neck, thin wrists and frame that held itself like a prince more than it did as a fighter.
Nowadays, Vangelis stood at six foot two - nearly a foot and a half higher than he would have last been seen at. He now stood in physical proportion, his wrists and neck filled out, his body strong and muscle bound. While he still had yet to carry the ropes of strength that he would gain in years to come, his limbs offered clear tendons and the lines of his muscles. His skeleton was at its full size and the flesh that went on it was hard and toned - even if it hadn't reached the same scale it would in the future. His jaw had filled out, his cheekbones become more prominent and therefore his face had balanced out his eyes. His hair was still unruly and his hands still big but these were simple Kotas genes he could no refute even if he wanted to.
He had also - though Vangelis would not notice it until he returned to Midas and was inspected by the feminine eyes of the court - grown up handsome. A man with the blocky strength and angular features of his father and the softer elements and curving lips of his mother.
While he might not have realised it that night, there would have been no issue in him finding a willing partner in any of the brothels his fellow sailors had decided to patron.
Instead, however, Vangelis of Kotas - the crown prince of the kingdom - had found himself in a mostly high-class residential area of Megaris. About to turn around and head back, his only hindrance to such a decision were the bright lights and suddenly loud voiced of a drinking hole on the end of one of the streets.
Recognising it as a tavern to the slightly more discerning traveller, Vangelis headed in that direction, confident he would not find any of the men he had spent the last two weeks travelling with within its walls. He had interest in sharing combined quarters with them for yet another night longer than was necessary.
The establishment within which he entered was laid out similarly to any other tavern or bar - low or high class. The expanse of wooden surface across the back offered the barrier between bartender and congregation and the tables and chairs scattered amongst the rest of the room sported men of all kinds.
Some appeared to be locals - attending the bar at the end of their week of work or escaping the homestead in order to avoid the wife for a few extra hours. Others appeared to be travellers but the upper scale class of such fellows; the ships' captains, the first mates... the men who would not dine to patronage the same watering hole as their crew.
All in all, the place suited Vangelis just fine and he kept the cowl of the hood of his cloak up and in place, hiding his hair and most of his face from view. He also, surreptitiously removed his signet and House ring from his hand and placed them inside his money pouch. The last thing he needed tonight was for someone to recognise his status and turn the evening into a night of appealing to the higher ends of society for political or financial favours. For once, he just wanted to relax...
After stepping up to the bar at the back of the room and ordering a mead over wine, Vangelis headed to a booth on one side of the room. In the centre of the open space were rounded tables with chairs on spindly legs placed hazardously around them. But along the far wall from the door were booths with rectangular tables sticking out from the wall and benched units standing between.
Sliding into one with his drink, Vangelis tried to sit back and relax, holding his tankard between the palms of his hands and keeping his hood up and in place, away from the prying eyes of the other patrons. Not that they would recognise him if he did. After all... the last few years had turned Vangelis of Kotas from a boy into a man... No-one would expect such a person to be loitering in a tavern in Megaris...