As the racers were called to the start, Pia gave the man a nod and turned to search the crowd for her family, finding her father standing not far off from Selene and moving through the crush of humanity to stand by them. She stood on tiptoe to kiss her father's cheek and exchanged a brief greeting before sidling up to Selene, raising a brow at her after noting the looks the handsome prince beside them seemed to be giving the blonde. Tucking her arm through her older sister's Olympia gave her a little smile, excitement of the event sweeping through the crowd and drawing her along with them.
Her heart leapt at the start and her eyes were glued to one chariot in particular. She hadn't told Stephanos yet an her stomach turned with nerves and nausea as the horses charged forward with their precious charges. Clutching tightly to her sister's arm, she watched like a hawk as the father of her unborn babe negotiated his way through the other drivers. She screamed along with the crowd as chaos broke loose on the field, hand free of her sister covering her mouth in horror.
The warning words of Vangelis came just in time and she turned to hide her face in her sister's shoulder, but it couldn't block out the sounds from the arena or the crowd. Her heart beat fast and she felt overwhelmingly like she might be sick, darkness fuzzing around the corners of her consciousness and she thanked the gods for her father catching her as she fell.
Alypius was hot, the sun beat down on him, yet to make matters worse the armour he stood in only served to cook him. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead under his helmet as he raised his hand to block out the sun. Due to no battles needing to be fought, or his services needing to be used, Alypius was placed on guard duty for these up coming events. Deep down he rolled his eyes at the notion, the lieutenant obviously did not enjoy it, yet he also knew it was the best way to make use of him. These events were filled with royal blood, and those of high class, and when everyone's attention was focused on one thing, such as the chariot races, it was far too easy for someone of ill intention to strike, like taking candy from a baby.
However it wasn't all bad of course, ever since he was placed on this job, he had got a chance to watch all of the events prior, and now, standing at the back of the huge crowds, using his impressive height to his advantaged, he watched the chariots. He knew just who was racing, and in all honesty he was rooting for his commander Achilleas. He had a bond with the man, and if anyone should show the audience the might and skill of Taengea, it should of been that man.
Yet that only served to give a strong sense of irony, as Alypius' head whipped to the race tracks as soon as he heard the gasps and breaths of the crowd. The Singing Blade's eyes widened with shock as he watched Achilleas' chariot move out of control. Then at the same time, splitting his attention in two, the lieutenant watched as another competitor was thrown out of his chariot entirely. Adrenaline ran through his veins as with one hand on his helmet, he looked over the crowd, attempting to gain a better view as carnage and destruction seemed to be near.
For all the battles and bloodshed Alypius accident like these were not fun, or remotely easy too look at, yet for some cruel reason, Alypius couldn't take his eyes away from the ensuing chaos.
Selene lived for this kind of thing. She loved the chariot races, loved to see the men in their absolute prime. And what more, she loved to see the horses. It was always fascinating to see the different breeds, to watch how they each reacted differently. And to watch them run in the spirit of competition was always a joy. Yes, there was a danger for both animal and rider, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins felt like 'she' was the one racing.
If she had been born a male, she would have been a chariot racer. There was no doubt about that.
The grip of her sister was tight, and her eyes moved to follow her gaze. Suddenly, it became apparent that her concern was for the prince. Well, well. She filed away that information for later. She would have questions for her about what the look actually meant. Was her sister interested in the prince? And, the better question, was he interested in her. Her focus had been so directed on her sister that she almost missed the commotion. Selene's eyes darted back to the races, Vangelis's warning going in one ear and out the other. If her sister wasn't going to look then she would have to.
She let her sister bury her head, her own eyes unconsciously closing as the sound of crunching. She inhaled deeply, looking at Vangelis briefly for reassurance before focusing back on the scene below. But, as soon as Olympia fainted, she steeled herself and turned her attention towards her family. Selene allowed her father to carefully lower Pia to the ground, Selene moving to sit on the ground so the darker Leventi's head could be placed in her lap. Her ears were attentive, trying to listen for any sign of what was happening now that she was completely out of eyesight of the danger below. "Are they still racing, Prince Vangelis?" She asked, wanting to be able to let her sister know what happened.
The crowd roared and gasped in quick succession. He would not risk glancing up at them but he didn’t have to. He knew what they looked like; a sea of indistinct faces veiled in dust, on their feet, pale arms pumping in the air. For now he was driving nearly blind. The bend appeared and he grit his teeth, balling the reins in his fists, the veins cording out on his arms as he and his team surged around the corner.
For a heart stopping second he felt one side of his chariot lift off the ground. Impulse told him to fling his body to that side for stability but experience made him ease his weight down gently, so as not to shift the balance too quickly. All at once he heard a resounding crash. A collective cry from the crowd and a great plume of sand and dust was all the warning he had before a hazy, humanoid figure rushed into view.
There was no time to think. Stephanos jerked the reins, snapping the heads of his horses to the side but it wasn’t good enough. Rather than trample the man dead on, one of his horses clobbered him while the wheel of his chariot bounced over the man’s legs. The chariot rocked harder, vibrating as Stephanos fought for control. At his side now was the man’s upside down chariot and his horses, slowing without their driver to spur them on.
“Achilleas!” Stephanos roared even though it was unlikely his cousin would hear him intelligibly. “Watch it!” As badly as he wanted to, he did not dare to look back to check. There was too much risk of not spotting danger in front of him; exactly like what had just happened. Instead he kept his bright eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, body tense as he rode up on Lord Nikos and another driver.
Vangelis glanced over as one of the Leventi sisters passed out into her father's waiting arms. He kept his stare divided between the two - the race rink and the damsel in need of aid - but when it became clear that her father and sister had the woman secured and comforted on the ground, Vangelis instead stood tall and, bracing his hands on the tops of the seats in front of them, leaned out to assess the damage happening on the race track.
As Prince Stephanos approached the prone figure of Lord Yullas on the track, Vangelis would have reacted as everyone else did had he not had the training of his youth. Everyone in the crowd seemed to simultaneously wince, recoil and hiss through their teeth, but Vangelis watched without so much as a flinch. Both of the Lord's legs would have been crushed under that wheel, and there was little hope that the man would walk again. He sympathised for him but... at the same time... this was the way of the circus. This was the way of charioteering. There was a reason Vangelis risked all kinds of terms and jibes thrown his way for not entering. An inexperienced driver was a danger not only to himself but to others too. Vangelis had never had the chance to practice in Colchis and so never entered such competitions.
With his attempt to avoid his victim in the middle of the track, Prince Stephanos had pulled his team out to the far edge of the road, meaning that he was lucky enough to come up beside the over-turned chariot rather than directly behind it. Vangelis wasn't sure if the Prince was just highly skilled at seeing through opaque dust clouds or if the entire thing was pure luck but either way, the younger son of the king was successful in manoeuvring around the slowing chariot and speeding forwards toward Lord Nikos who was already speeding safely around the third turn.
As the Lady Selene requested information on the race and how the drivers were fairing, Vangelis glanced down towards her, his expression grim as it usually was when observing such races or entertainment.
"Prince Stephanos is fine." He told the lady, in which he hoped was a comforting tone. "He avoided most of the danger." Vangelis glanced back at the other lord of the Mikaelidas family to see if he would fare any better. Stretcher bearers had run out quickly and scooped the injured racer from the ground, before ungently carting him back to the edge of the rink. "Lord Yullas is not doing well but the rest of the teams are still running."For now... Vangelis didn't like the look of those two chariots still stuck on each other's wheels - one wrong move and both drivers could be the next in taking Yullas' place in the sand...
Achilleas had survived countless battles, and had no intention of dying during a chariot race of all things, so he had no issue with the fact that his cousin didn't try to help him.
“Damn it!” Achilleas roared, uncaring that he could not be heard over the roar of the crowd and the hoof beats of all the horses. He fought to keep his team steady and to keep what distance he could from the out of control team beside him. “You fool!” He screamed at the driver who’d scrambled over the front of his chariot, trying to catch the reins apparently, the muscles of his arms bulging as he continued struggling for control. Part of him wished that Alypius was here rather than up in the stands. Then perhaps he could help in forcing the other chariot away. He didn’t dare try to himself, since he needed to maintain control of his team.
Like his friend high in the stand above, Achilleas didn’t tear his gaze away, but in his case it was so he could seize his chance when it came. Breaking away from the other team and chariot was his only hope.
Desperate now, Achilleas risked a quick glance behind him, seeing an opening he, urged his team to the left, trying to get clear of the other driver. Achilleas couldn’t hear his cousin’s warning not with his heart pounding and his team’s hoofbeats filling his ears. It was the sight of the men with the stretcher on the sidelines that warned him not his cousin, so he cracked his whip over his team’s back and pushed hard to the left, doing his best not to run over the man who’d been flung from his chariot and lay in the middle of the track.
They say that a good deed is it's own reward, but in this instance they'd be wrong, Because he'd been so intent on not maiming that poor lord for life, Achilleas was already angling his team to his left when he spotted the overturned chariot in his path. He cracked his whip again, risked anther quick look behind and to his left before veering that way to avoid crashing his team into it. "Hyah!" He shouted, and cracked the whip again, taking the curve a speed that wasn't the safest, but he leaned the other way and managed, though just barely, to stay in control as he raced after his cousin's chariot.
Luckily for Nike as she ran down, commotion on the chariot tracks was apparently enough to deter people from wondering why a commanding officer of Colchian army was running down the stairwell of the spectators boxes, before she burst out the back of it on the ground floor, her eyes searching the amount of people that streamed the area. Unlike the other guards or retainers who cheered for their own lords, Nike's own wasn't in the race, and she had four other bodyguards watching him, so now her attention shifted - ever so slightly.
She saw him - she was quite sure it. The male was a comrade in battle, until he left the army many years ago. She wasn't sure where Alekos had went after that, neither was she certain if he still went by the same name she used to know him by (considering his preferance for wild stories), but whatever it was, she knew for a fact that Vangelis would not be happy to meet who was likely known as a deserter to the army.
So she dodged the clapping people, ducked under the gasps of shock when she heard the loud crash. It wasn't until she found her way through weaving the crowds of people that, just as Nike managed to catch the familiar back of her old friend, her eyes widened when she saw the chariot collapse, and the sickening crunch as the handsome male Nike had noticed earlier droveover the prone figure of another lord on the track. If it hadn't been for the many years she had spent on the battlefield, Nike's stomach would've recoiled, but as it was, she simply bit her lip, and then refocused her eyes on the back of whom she knew as Alekos, and reached out to tap on his shoulder.
"I'm assuming you're here for the festivities?" she muttered with the familiar smirk she always wore, when he turned to her.
Vangelis steadily let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as the Lord Achilleas managed to navigate his way out of his situation. Somehow the Lord had been able to break free of the wild team and cart that had become hitched his and, as he used the whip to speed his charges forward, out of harm’s way, the lack of a guiding partner sent the other chariot crashing the central island of the race track with an almighty crash.
The chariot near enough splintered into pieces, the horses let out a shriek of terror and started trying to get away from the debris, mounting the central island and attempting to go in different directions. One headed back down the track, while another tried to hide on the other side of one of the central pillars. The harness that fastened them all together crunches against the stone, the wooden braces disintegrated and one of the horses broke free.
While three of them still struggled in the middle of the race track - Vangelis could see circus hands running across the sand, while there were no chariots passing in order to secure them and bring them out of the way - the one liberated stallion had managed to clamber over the central dais and was wildly panicking in the path of the race leaders Lord Nikos and Prince Stephanos.
Gritting his jaw, Vangelis watched as a brave citizen managed to reach out and snag the flying reins of the runaway and then he - and three other youths - hauled the creature the side wall.
Lord Nikos and Prince Stephanos then managed to head around the animal without difficulty...
By the time the leaders of the race had come back around the other side, the decimated chariot and its rider - who did not appear to be very alive as the circus hands carried him out - had been removed from play and the drivers were able to let loose and have their steeds start gaining some real speed.
As they continued around the track once more, the race for leadership grew more tense. Two drivers at the back of the group had collided and sent each other into the outer wall of the track, another had trailed so far behind he seemed to have just given up.
Those who were left - unsurprisingly with the members of the nobility. With the money to afford superior horses and carts, and the time to practice the sport, it was to no-one's shock that, by the time there were coming into their fourth circuit there were only five chariots still in the game.
Lord Nikos' lead had deteriorated greatly, his strategy clearly to get ahead of the crowd early and hope to maintain his position through leaving the other drivers in his dust for so long. Clearly the tactic had been working as the young lord had been able to avoid all potential dangers in the race so far. But the speed he had been exhausting from his charges had slowed their pace and Prince Stephanos and Lord Achilleas were rapidly gaining on him, until the three of them were in a full charge, side by side, the Prince in the centre and Lord Nikos on the inside lane.
Their routes to manoeuvre were quickly cut off too as Lord Iason was coming up behind on the inside lane, ready to nip ahead whenever one of the front three showed any weakness and Lord Alkaios was taking a brave and impetuous tactic of coming up on the outside. The Lord had clearly been keeping his horses' energies in reserve and the extra distance they were now having to run didn't seem to faze them as they kept pace with the other teams.
Vangelis felt the crowds come to their feet again and the cheering break out as the people of Taengea watched desperately to see who might blink first, as they came around the first bend of the fourth circuit. Just two turns now and they would be barrelling down towards the finish line...
It felt like she had simply blinked and the next thing she knew she was looking up at Selene, her head situated on her sister's lap as her father knelt beside them with an expression of concern in his eyes. He began to inquire as to her health, but as the crowd roared again Olympia was seized with the overwhelming urge to see closer and see what was happening. The father of her child was down there and every scream and gasp could mean the end for him. She nodded to Georgios' questions, reassuring him that she was simply overwhelmed by the race. Her womanly sensibilities could help her talk her way out of anything.
As her father helped her back to her feet once more, she took a moment to stabilize herself against his arm before slowly stepping forward even as he called her back. As if in a dream, Olympia made her way to the railing closest to the circus' edge, leaning against it to scan the field for Stephanos and his team, swallowing back bile as several citizens carried off the injured and dead from the field. Her head snapped to one side as the horses came thundering around again, watching as they made another lap by her and breathing a sigh of relief as she caught sight of both Stephanos and Achilleas in their carts. So both Mikaelidas men were safe, that would be good for her whole family.
Gripping the edge of the arena, Olympia kept her eyes stuck on the racers, jaw set against the spots that still flickered at the corners of her eyes and the waves of nausea that rolled over her. It was never enjoyable to lose consciousness, but the was determined to stay upright to see the end of the race and that the rest of the men on the field made it through without harm.
This likely surprised no one; Dafni always took forever to get ready, and even then, grew impatient and frequently left the house with only half of the adornments planned. Obscuring her own natural gifts in baubles and makeup had always been her mother's idea, but Dafni was slowly growing tired of it. The doting was nice, but missing out on so much because of the delay was not. Dafni secretly wondered if her mother was simply trying to make up for her sister's Melina's apparent lack of interest in such things.
That mattered little now, though. She finally made her way to where her own family would be watching the festivities, including her cousins, Selene and Olympia. Her father, Fotios, head of the house of Leventi, had his attention fully on the race and likely wouldn't have even noticed his youngest daughter come in. She curtsied sheepishly upon her approach for any who actually did notice that she was only just arriving, then took a place where she could watch the action. Thankfully, she had missed most of the brutality, but there was no guarantee she had missed all of it.
Just like that, one’s luck could change. He’d been in violent races before but this one was by far the worst and his brother wasn’t even in it. The horse that had trampled the unfortunate rider had recovered her stride and did not work against her teammates. Amazingly, his horses were still eager to run and he spurred them on, seeing his chance at victory open like clouds parting after a storm.
What made it better was that Achilleas was up beside him. He had no more worries now that he was aware of his cousin’s safety. This meant that he could race with impunity, and hopefully clobber him into the dust; figuratively. At one point, he was in an unlikely line with most everyone else but it didn’t last long. Lord Nikos’s horses were flagging from their impressive pace before.
Stephanos drove his team faster, pulling ahead. If he was careful, he could potentially win. Jerking his team to the side, he cut off Nikos on the inner lane, ensuring himself the shortest route to the finish line.
Charioteering had always been a bit...methodical, for Nikos. It was easy to get lost in the pumping rhythm of his steeds and the bouncing chariot beneath his feet. Today, especially, was particularly easy, as Nikos had nearly completed the race with hardly a sign of any driver beside him. Of course, the ungodly crunching from the crashes behind him had been mostly obscured by the roaring cheers and stomps of the crowd; the only hint to their occurrence was the fine dust of wood and iron debris littering the arena, coupled with the bloodspatters that were being worked into the dirt below the hooves of his team as he rounded each corner safely. He considered his luck almost miraculous.
But that was changing. The remaining charioteers -- he had no desire to count or identify them -- had gained on him. He found himself briefly cornered, as Stephanos abruptly cut his chariot in front of him, leaving him surrounded on three sides by chariots and one side by a wall. He grit his teeth, but that was the only response he allowed of himself. The race had been easy thus far, but not for his competitors, he was certain. He and his horses were just now beginning to be subject to the emotional strains of the race, whereas his competition was surely feeling much more strained by the bloody events that taxed their strength, physically and mentally. And that didn't even consider the fates of the horses. Albiet, he had run his team hard at the start of the race, but the pace he had established should have saved a little bit of juice in their systems for the final few seconds in the last turn of the race. Perhaps it would be enough.
Let them think he and his horses were tired out.
With a grunt, he made the split-second decision to cut right, away from the inner wall, to fill the gap Stephanos had left. He was now running aside Achilleas, with Lord Iason unsurprisingly rushing into the space along the inner lane. Nikos would leave Stephanos to deal with the determined Lord.
Aware that his lead was tenuous at best, Stephanos flicked the reins harder, driving his team forward. He did not want to give Lord Nikos the satisfaction of overtaking him after so glorious a cut off on his part. It was a relief to have a clear view for once. There was no dust blowing in his face. Instead he could see where he was going and did not have to squint over to see what was happening to at his side. On the outer wall, one of the chariots was drawing closer but because that lane was further out, he still had the advantage of being closest to winning. He had to make few strides and though the turn was sharper, it was easier because his horses were already prepared for it.
The sun was blazing hot on his neck and shoulders but he barely noticed. The wind roaring in his ears and the energy from the crowd were distracting enough. He laughed, despite the fact that he could be overtaken at any time. This was hilarious fun. The more dangerous the sport the better for the adrenaline coursing through his system. It was a high that he tried to achieve as often as possible. Unlike some, Stephanos did not like to play life safe.
It had been two weeks since she had been purchased by Nikos of Condos for the House of Condos. She had expected to be more of a general servant of the House, as per was her understanding, but suddenly she had found Lord Nikos hauling her off to the chariot races with him along with the rest of his entourage. It was strange, but a little exciting. She hadn’t seen many chariot races, so she was a little intrigued by it. The worst of it was when one of the drivers’ lost control. There was danger in every sport, this Koritsi knew, but she hadn’t expected this level of danger. She felt her throat tighten a little as she saw the body of the man get trampled on by other chariots. Accidentally, it seemed, as there was a great deal of dust fogging the other drivers’ vision.
Koritsi could only hope that the same wouldn’t happen to her master, but he seemed to have a fairly decent lead. At least, for a time. It changed after the two Lords from the House of Mikaelidas started to gain. One of them swooped up and around, cutting Lord Nikos off entirely. The man’s chariot was pinned between the other chariots and the inner wall. Watching this only made Koritsi better understand why her new master might want her present—at least in assisting a physician, if necessary.
Koritsi could only, however, look on in silence, her breath catching every now and again as she watched the charioteers continue their laps.
Once Dorothea relayed a few words of encouragement from both her, their father and even young Alexa, she went off to the stands where she took her place among the rest of the spectators. Iason gave one final stroke of his left horse’s main and took his place upon his chariot, ready for the race to begin, quite excited that for once there was no betting involved – a rare opportunity. The race began, and Lord Condos took the lead with an extraordinary speed, Stephanos, Yullas and Achilleas not far behind. Iason, although he was fueled with the desire to win, decided to keep to the back, work his way up after those who were too eager were weeded out he would make his move.
As predicted, one Lord’s horses were completely derailed, and another pushed his team way too hard, causing a massive dust cloud in their wake. Iason took this opportunity to catch up to those who were currently leading the way and found himself in line with Lord Nikos and Lord Achilleas, all of whom were behind Stephanos in second place. Out of the four teams his horses were probably the ones left with the most energy, so now he saw his opportunity, and so he cracked his whip on his team’s backs, pushing his chariot right next to Stephanos’.
The stadium was full of noise, of sound, of colour... The people of Taengea had left their homes - their castles - in droves, in order to see the Great Race. The chariots of the lords and nobles, battling for supremacy across an ocean of sand, their ignorant servants, citizens and followers conditioned into cheering and supporting a particular colour, a favourite... a name.
And yet their ardent apostles, their devout fanatics were the very reason the intruder found it easy enough to slip passed all safety measures and security protection... In a sea of people - of faces - bright and animated... of voices calling and shouts fighting for supremacy in the air... no-one noticed the faceless and the silent.
One particular intruder, sat in the far back stadium seats, up on the Gods - so they called it - but with a reputation closer to the Underworld than any living being; sat like a shadow. Viewable but hidden from notice, masked from active sight. Not even the man next to him made comment at his presence or noticed his face or features beyond any of the thousands he had already brushed shoulders with that day. There, the fighter sat quietly; standing and sitting with the rest of the crowd but showing no other outward display of celebration. His celebration would come later that day, deep into the night. When the shadows truly came out to play.
As the drivers of the race - the rich, the powerful, the men who lived on the profits of others as if the general populace meant nothing to them by a stock they could trade and sell - reached the end of the fourth lap, the nondescript being, on that far off step, took his cue and followed his preordained instructions.
Stepped forward and making his way down one of the flights of stairs that spread out from the rink and into the crowd, like spider legs, he descended in amongst the bodies of the Taengean people. Even the areas dedicated for the stairs were cluttered with servants and slaves and others who were for some arbitrary reason or fashion unallowed to deign the seats with their presence. The intruder was invisible amongst the spectators, his head down, his shoulders thin and his presence negligible. He had spent many years in training to avoid being seen - the same as the rest of his brethren and now was a perfect example. Moving with the skill of the invisible, he adjusted his steps, turned his frame and disintegrated into nothing, his shape and outline entirely hidden by eager faces and cheering fans, obviously of his present at all...
By the time he reemerged, the intruder was hidden still further. Now, he had pulled his hood into place, had settled the long material over his face in a manner that would suggest blindness. His body was clad in grey cloth from top to bottom, including bandages wrapped around his fingers and his entire being was littered with tiny weapons, knives of only a few inches long, designed to be thrown at particular pulse points and kill on removal.
The weapons would not be used today, however, the hooded man knew... This was not to be a show of violence but one of force. One that showed the abilities of The Creed, its members and everything they stood for. A spectacle that warned of what they had already done. Let alone what they might do in the future...
As the time came and the drivers approached the final turn, the hooded man moved into position, his target already chosen since the beginning of the race. She had simply made it far easier than he could have imagined as she had moved down to witness the violence of the sport from the edge of the racetrack. She was about to get a view of its deadly force from a much closer angle.
It was as the front hooves of the Mikaelidas Prince's steed broke around the corner of the final turn that the Drowned - for that was the name of a follower of the Creed - struck out.
In one smooth motion, the man had his arms wrapped around the damsel he had chosen. A Leventi girl with dark as night curls and a supple body beneath his hands, she was the perfect target: a high born lady with limited physical strength and a loud enough shriek to wake the dead.
As everyone turned to look, the man did nothing to muffle her screams - attention was the entire point of the show - and instead, simply ensured a tight grasp around her body and arms, pinning her back to his front and poking the sharp point of his blade into the soft flesh of her neck.
Intelligent enough not to move, the girl yielded to his ministrations and within seconds, he had kicked wide the gate that led from the bottom of the stairs to the track and dragged his feminine prize out onto the sand.
Allowing her screams to dim to whimpers, the hooded man - faceless and motionless - stood without fear or doubt, five metres before the race's finishing line and dead centre in the middle of the cluster of chariots that were barrelling towards them at speed. If they wanted to win the game, the would go through the young woman and him. They would shed pure and innocent blood on the heels of their victory.
And so would the Creed.
As the intruder listened and watched for the screams, gasps and shocks that rippled around the crowds, he noticed the pointing of fingers, the yells for the charioteers to stop - not likely at their speeds - and for the guards to run out and put a stop to the suicidal actions of the spook on the track.
With their attention grabbed, the intruder needed not to look around to know what was happening as the gasps and screams suddenly turned louder and were illicited in all directions. Shocked tones turned to fresh terror and the man smiled behind his hood. So, his brothers were now here...
As Vangelis watched the drivers battle it out on the sands, he was impressed at the skill involved for so many of the men to have their carts under control despite the close proximity with which they rode. Vangelis might not have been a charioteer or driver himself but he knew the dangers of war chariots or cavalry horses; if you were too close to your neighbours and travelling at high speeds, the smallest fright in your horse, the simplest of stumbles, or the softest of grazes between chariot carts could send your vessel flying through the air or your horses trampled beneath your opponents. And yet, all five of the high-born lords were managing to stay in close proximity to one another and not fall foul of accident. The Goddess of Luck must have been on their side, as Prince Stephanos was finally able to pull free and the line of chariots broke for a moment. Lord Iason replaced the man, fulfilling the herd once again and, while the Prince maintained a lead in the most dangerous position on the track - the leader of the group with only half a lap to go. There was little his opponents would be doing now to off-set the man.
Eventually a scream did occur but it wasn't from the direction Vangelis was expecting. One of the first to hear the shout and notice something to be wrong - blame his military training for picking up on details - Vangelis's gaze zeroed in on the bottom of the stairs on the other side of the Leventis.
Immediately he was on his feet.
Moving carefully passed the Lady Selene and her family, without so much as a muffled apology, Vangelis was too preoccupied with reaching the Lady Olympia, whom he had just seen taken hold of by a masked stranger!
Digging his boots in, Vangelis sprang out onto the stairs, dismayed at how many people cluttered the path between him and the lady who needed help. Calling and shouting for people to move out of the way did little to clear his progress, but his defiant jog and wide shoulders did the rest, barging people out of the way left, right and center.
Despite his shoulders however, Vangelis had been at the top of the stadium seats and Lady Olympia was right at the ground floor, and he was still miles away when the hooded man pulled the Lady Selene's sister out onto the track and into the path of five on-coming chariots.
Determined to keep moving and fighting his way towards her, Vangelis hesitated only as screams started to erupt from the audience.
At first, he thought it was people noticing the danger to the high-born lady for the first time, but when he noted the shrieks coming from the other side of the stadium, to his left, to his right and even behind him, Vangelis stopped and spun around to assess the new situation.
Men had appeared.
Lining the walls along the perimeters of the stadium, men in hoods, their faces hidden, their statures lean, had filled the exits at the top of every stair well.
With the demonstration of their little friend down on the track, spectators were naturally scrambling away from the invaders as quickly as they could. Yells, calls and crying could be heard until, in a single voice, the faceless men chanted out to the crowd - their unified words louder and stronger than any other. They stated simply and dispassionately, with an icy tone that Vangelis did not like. They simply said -
"We are the Creed."
And as soon as the last word rang out the entire stadium lit on fire.
Vangelis ducked instinctively as the walled edge of the stadium, up on the highest run, suddenly blazed to life, two tongues of flame wrapping around the rim of the structure in a single whoosh. They moved in both directions, spreading out from either side until they met at the far end of the stadium, where a pike had been erected as everyone was distracted by the imminent danger before the chariots.
The pike was nearly ten feet tall and had been placed directly in the spot where the two walls of flame would meet, drawing everyone's eyes to the same spot, in the same moment.
From its length, waving like a banner, was the traditional cloak of the crown prince of Taengea. Stained and sated in blood, the crimson fresh and excessive, the gold of the House of Mikaelidas had been tarnished in a violence that still dripped as it fluttered. Vangelis was well aware that the amount of blood to drench a cloak of that length was a fatal amount for a human being to lose and it seemed as if the rest of the crowd knew that too from the cries of outrage and grief that echoed around the crowd.
Then again... perhaps their eyes had just risen to the top of the pike a little faster than Vangelis' had.
"Oh my God..." Vangelis murmured beneath his breath.
For there... on top pike, above the height of any normal man and positioned high above the crowd for all to see... wearing the crown of Taengea at an odd and ill angle, was the head of King Zenon of Mikaelidas.
As cult fanatics and followers of The Shade ambush the stadium, drivers are sent scattering to avoid innocent slaughter, placing their own lives in the hands of the Fates, while the rest of the crowd panics, turning into a deadly stampede of terror and mania. Smoke fills the air, fire ravages the upper levels of the stadium and the only way away from the heat is down towards a race track full of danger. And above it all stares the glassy eyes of Zenon of Mikaelidas... for the king is dead... Long Live the King.
Involves: Everyone currently in the Chariots of Fire Event. No newcomers allowed.
Emilia had wandered back to the stands after her brief conversation with the Prince Stephanos, and took her seats with her retinue behind her, watching the races the whole time intently. While she was no great patron of charioteering, she has watched such similar events back in Athenia when her home kingdom had similar celebrations, and she had always accompanied her father and sister to watch them in the royal stands.
Having to seat in regular stands was somewhat of an interesting experience this time, as for the first time, Emilia didn't have the best birds eyes view of everything. As such, the princess found herself craning her neck occasionally to see what was going on as she heard the crowd gasps to certain happenings, and it didn't help that Emilia didn't exactly have height to her advantage.
When the chariot rolled over a Lord Yunnas (if she remembered correctly) however, she did have the unfortunate luck of being close enough to hear the sickening crunch of bone under wheel, and Emilia felt her stomach turn as she looked away.
That brief few seconds she took to recover from that however, proved to be detrimental. The next thing she knew, she heard murmurs, and then a sharp scream pierced the air, and the next thing Emilia knew, she was shoved and fell off her seat, a sharp cry from her when she fell hard on her shoulder, and then felt herself getting jostled on the ground as people frantically got up and started running. From her vantage point on the ground, she saw the flames erupt on the walls, and her eyes naturally followed the trail of the flames...
And then she saw the pike.
Emilia turned pale, her body froze, her mind grinded to a halt, and there was only one name she could think of. "Nicholai!!"
She had wanted to speak to Alek, find out what was he doing here, what has he done over the past few years when he left the military, and perhaps even get him away from the eyes of her general before he got called and punished as a deserter.
But Nike was taken off her guard.
Before her old friend even replied her, the chariots race took a turn, when a scream pierced the air, a sharp sound that made all eyes turn in the direction. Almost immediately, the commander's sharp eyes caught the sight of Lady Olympia in the grasp of a hooded figure, and her military senses jumped on alert. Her first thought was crap! because she had left Vangelis's side, and she sincerely hoped her other bodyguards she had left had been able to ensure the safety of the royal.
With that thought in mind, Nike wasted no time, not even waiting for Alekos's response, she turned on her heels and started sprinting, going as fast as she can through the throngs of people who are now being plunged into absolute panic mode as the Lady Olympia was dragged right in to the path of the chariots. For a split second, Nike froze. Her training made her want to go for the lady, but instinct said to head for her general.
But Nike's decision was snatched out of her hands, when screams started happening from the other end of the stadium, and when the men appeared, their icy cold voices sent chills down Nike's spine - and it didn't take a genius to let her know that she should head for the general.
Dodging and shouting at others to get out of the way, somewhere along the way, Nike had drawn her longsword, holding it so it wouldn't injure the civilians, as she made her way, adrenaline pumping her legs as she made a beeline for Vangelis the moment she saw her generals' mop of dark hair bobbing (as his tall form tended to) above the running, panicking crowd.
Just as she got to his side, the commanded skidded, and then instinctively ducked as Vangelis had when the flames burst out on the wall. Her eyes followed the flames... and then her stomach fell into a pit when her eyes fell on the pike, chest tightening at the sight of the King Zenon on the top of a pike, the image unnatural and ill, blood dripping... a sight no one would wish to see of their sire. "Zeus..." Nike breathed out in a shocked tone, unable to help herself, and she froze in her steps, suddenly unable to compute. The loss of a monarch was no small matter, and she can't even bring herself to imagine how sudden this will be for the royalty of Taengea, as well as their citizens.
It took only a few seconds for Nike to snap out of it as the screams of the commoners pierced her shocked haze, just in time to turn and catch sight of a hooded figure similar to the one currently holding the Lady Olympia, heading in their direction. "Vangelis, move it!" Nike shouted above the crowd's deafening roar, holding her sword up against the hooded figure, ready to attack or defend. The other bodyguards, Nike could see, were doing their best to get to the two of them, but they too were held up by the crowds panicked rush for safety, as well as caught by the members of the Creed.
As the only one next to him now, Nike was quick to position her back against Vangelis's, a natural position after years of protecting her general, her eyes scowling a warning at the intruder, aware of their movement and ready to strike. "What the hell happened to the guards of this event?!" the commander yelled over the voices, all her muscles on alert. "Lady Olympia. How do we get to her?" she asked Vangelis for confirmation, since she herself had her eyes on the Creed, and not currently observing what was going on in the tracks.