Fantasy Καρδιάφοβία

[Melpomene]

An RP between myself and Daisie
​

The skies bled down into the horizon like the seas after a battle creeping from blue to red as the day began to settle back into place. The seas had been calm, nary a storm in sight leading to waters that churned with a delicate grace allowing swift travel along the edges of the world. Alexander had been swift in his conquest, leaving little to the imagination and expanding beyond what was thought possible. The far East with their tanned skin and dark Gods glowing as a reminder, and now they ventured further South to Aegyptos in their oddly built pyramids and Godlike kings that sat on the throne.

The golden dunes glowed in the sunlight as the city of Alexandria slowly eased into the morning. The Ptolemic dynasty ushered in the new age of Greek settlers that came through the desert to plant themselves within a new civilization of art and scholarship. Yet those too deep within their guarded cities oft forgot the monstrous paths paved by the heads of the Hydra or the flickering tail of the basilisk.

The city was welcoming. Palm trees and small shrubs grew on the edges of cobbled paths, waving gently in the breeze with not a hint of a cloud in the sky. The seas had fared well but now Lysander stepped into an unwelcomingly dry place. How the people that lived in it day in and day out did it was always lost on him. But he managed, the heats of it like Tartarus but as such he would endure.

But the wilderness was what Lysander had grown in, the dangers shaped him and left him almost an anomaly walking through streets. The spartan glare that covered his visage caused others to part but it was that belief he was almost synonymous to the beasts that he was walking among most of the time. He thought they might be right, seeing as he spent more time with the wild wolf than he did among man.

He had not been raised half-wild like the children of Gods often were, left to fester before a kindly predator took pity. But he was certainly placed squarely in the place of the beast, as most Athenians would call him before he even defected from his polis and became the misthios he was now. It was no easy task to be so consumed, in small hopes that Artemis would help light his path at night and guide his bow.

There was a necessity for civilization, however. Even his beaten-in knowledge had a limit and dragons seemed to be elusive despite all that he fought. The Library of Alexandria was his next stop, for all the scholars in Athens they were missing the sheer expansion of wealth found in Alexandria.

Lysander stood out among the people dressed in chitons, staring with careful regal looks, unscarred or blemished by the sun. A Spartan in a library was likely funny to them, he was sure it was mostly Athenians. The scars on his face and arms clear as the sword on his hip. He did not wear his armor to make blending in easier, but never did he walk without his weapons.

One of the library keepers stood cautiously to the side. A small meek man that did not like even the idea of trouble or violence.

“Ah, how may I h-help you?” he asked quietly.

Lysander peered down past his nose and lifted his hand. “Dragons. Show me the scrolls.” He wasted no breath and luckily the little assistant seemed to not be keen on idle conversation as he quickly jumped up to walk through the bustling tables. It was going to be a long day for both of them.

 

[Daisie]

Alexandria. She was finally here.

Ambrosia could scarcely believe it. She'd dreamt her whole life of what this moment would be like, yet nothing could quite prepare her for it. The breeze that rolled across the sea was chilled by the water, perfectly quenching the beating sun above. The petite woman was adorned not only with her trusty wicker basket slung over her shoulders but an assortment of various leather packs and pouches fastened about her waist - she admittedly wasn't the best at packing lightly. None of the weight bothered her however, grayish eyes glistening with utter admiration as she stood atop the docks, gazing upon the city with a wide breath held in her chest.

When she entered the bustling streets, she took her time to roam, every new sight thrilling her to the bone. It was hardly a few minutes before she found a peaceful alcove to rest in, whipping out a reed pen she'd whittled herself on the travel, ferociously scribbling and scraping against a crude sheet of papyrus. The smells, the sights, the people, the unbridled merchantry - all of it was noteworthy to her. Being honest, she couldn't pinpoint a reason the people of Alexandria would want to read about a newcomer's first steps into the city, but nonetheless, her impulses drove her to take scrawl once every other street corner, making her progression through the cobbled paths slow and laid back.

She set foot into the city mid-afternoon, but spent so much time embracing the atmosphere that by the time she found her main event, a scarlet dusk had begun to shroud the skies.

Yet this place, it was the most impressive stop, indeed. The haven of all knowledge: a pillar of light and intellect. A library. The Library.

Ambrosia marveled at the intricate architecture on the outside for only a few moments before her enthusiasm chased her in. Her mouth dropped agape with a strong flush to her face, and she let her eyes roam over each shelf, each cove brimming with enough scroll to bury one's self and die satisfied in. A huge inhale through the nose filled her head and lungs with aromatic, woody scents that hugged her from all sides. Amber had to wonder if Apollo himself had blessed the ground this place was founded on.

The woman blended in with the librarians effortlessly. She couldn't identify just how much time she'd spent roaming the halls and browsing through the swaths of knowledge that surrounded her. Only that it was surely becoming late, each room bathed in the hush of the evening, when an assistant with a focused look upon his face rounded the corner into her section.

Even so, it wasn't the assistant she noticed. Rather... the assisted.

Now, Amber didn't consider herself a tall woman by any stretch of the word, but the towering, brutish man that lumbered around the corner made both the assistant librarian and herself look comically small by comparison. Though that surely wasn't helped by the fact that she was sat crisscrossed on the floor in front of the shelf, surrounded by her own gear and a small collection of material on tyrannical beasts.

Regardless, she knew the telltale signs. She recognized them immediately. The man was Spartan - a well-travelled one at that. Once in a while a Spartan or two would trickle into Athens, usually only passing through. She'd read documentation on their culture, strategies, and militant values... and she always kept her distance. It wasn't anything personal, just... a safety thing. Her first instinct was no different when he rounded the corner, yet something compelled her to freeze. Likely shock... but maybe some form of morbid curiosity.

Nonetheless, she wound up staring up at him from the floor, eyes wide and round. She even maintained eye contact as she gathered the scrolls about her up in her hands, fumbling a little. A soft voice cheeped from her, only audible on account of the library being so quiet.

"Do, ah... do you need one?"

 

[Melpomene]

Walking through the towering shelves of the library brought back memories of some times that had passed, back in boyhood when the shelves seemed to dwarf him only because he was seven. The nervous attendant was quick to bring them around the bend, seeming to be muttering in an attempt at small talk that was met with constant silence. He was becoming more disquieted by Lysander's lack of response to every question. The sword at his hip likely provided the man with a reason to hold his tongue as well, fearing what would happen if he was considered too annoying.

As they turned the corner he stopped short at the obstruction lying in the middle of the hall. Cross-legged he looked down upon a young woman. Girl, maybe? Soft and pale, he thought her Athenian the moment he laid eyes on her. And surrounded by scrolls - just like the soft scholars would be. His dark brows etched up further into his hairline. The scrolls that surrounded her were many - he would not doubt one of them was about something pertinent.

"Ah... Excuse me... if I may..." the assistant reached and plucked one of the scrolls, shakily handing it to Lysander who took it and opened it. Before the assistant could mutter his welcomes and leave Lysander gripped his arm with an iron grasp.

"These are written in the Eastern tongue. I am Greek."

"Ah... Yes, of course you are... But the scrolls, you see, are uh, in sanskrit."

"This is a Greek library. Fetch me a Greek scroll."

"Well, Spartan, I... am afraid that- well. It is hard to get such writings on dragons as they come from the East and all the experts are--"

"Useless..." Lysander grumbled as he glared back down at the parchment as though it had offended him.

 

[Daisie]

The stranger's behaviour only confirmed what was painfully obvious to Ambrosia: The man was Spartan, without a doubt. His unrefined demeanor as he chided at the humble assistant was something that'd get her a heavy reprimanding if she'd have done it in front of any of her elder family. Despite the subtle discomfort from his blade resting at her eye level, it was her offense that prompted to her feet, using more vigor than originally intended.

Whipping free a lock of lengthy hair that caught in the tie of her dress, she stepped boldly over her circle of items on the floor, unafraid to invade the Spartan's space. At least, that was how she hoped she came across. Either way, she joined him by his side, hair draped over his arm as she leaned in on her toes to read the scroll, herself.

"The accounts of Naga dragons are few but diverse," Ambrosia began to interpret the words to Greek with a vain attempt at hiding the hint of smugness in her tone. "Their behaviour and disposition highly dependent upon the individual location and circumstances. While many are benevolent, they are said to bear a potent venom within their fangs that will maim and inevitably kill."

Once finished, she turned her head to meet this stranger's stony gaze again, brow furrowed with feigned innocence. All she really wanted to do was get him to let the poor librarian go. She looked the Spartan over for a second or two before returning to the scroll, this time pointing at one of the passages.

"See, right there."

 

[Melpomene]

For some reason the Athenian thought it pertinent to add her own voice to the conversation. For a moment the assistant appeared released, clasping his hands together as he looked expectantly at Lysander for a dismissal. Lysander, on the other hand, scowled still at the scroll in front of him, sparing only a glance towards the Athenian.

"Then this information is irrelevant. The naga is not benevolent and I don't plan on being bit." He shifted away from the Athenian girl who thought it so necessary to lean into his work. The librarian was not doing his job correctly if this was happening.

"Another. In Greek."

"Perhaps you can... Gain help from our patrons in translat--"

"No." Lysander was growing impatient. What was the point of so much knowledge if it was inaccessible?

"Relevant information. Weaknesses. How to kill it."

 

[Daisie]

Well, the man wasn't exactly the most articulate fellow. His impatience and coarseness had already begun to grate on Ambrosia. Yet while she thought of possible ways she could chew him out, thoughts of her own safety flashed through her mind. Just how wise was it to butt into a Spartan's business? She suspected if he found her too bothersome... ah well, she didn't want to think about that outcome too closely.

Ambrosia did spare a few moments for consideration on something else, though. Something devious began to run through her. The stranger was intently focused on killing a dragon. He appeared to be a real hunter type, and a capable one at that. He seemingly had no qualms about confronting and slaying a beast multiple times his size. She had to stop and process exactly what this all meant.

"You're going to... slay a dragon?" Ambrosia uttered, swept in disbelief (and some amount of awe). "A true, live dragon. Out in the world?"

"Well," she gave no chance to answer, only clearing her throat before rambling off. "Nagas possess scaled armor that won't break under blade... blunt force would be better, as it might shatter their spine and ribs. But that's in hand-to-hand, and few have ever slain an angered naga by brute force. The ones who claim to have done so always seem to be lacking in trophies..."

Then, however, her tone took a sly turn. "Of course, I remember an old scroll I once read back in Athens that conveyed a very compelling method."

Neatly clasping her hands behind her back, her hair waved as she twirled away from him to face her circle of supplies on the floor, weightlessly stepping back inside. She didn't look at him as she talked to him, plucking up her various supplies and packing them back in. "They dwell in water, so if you can locate their home, polluting it with a particular rare poison would make the task easier. Not easy, but easier."

Last, she heaved her woven reed basked over her shoulders again, coming to her feet and facing the Spartan with a fresh smile and a mischievous twinkle to the eye.

"Of course, I know where to find this poison. Where did you say this fearsome naga dwelled?"

 

[Melpomene]

The Athenian was... annoying to say the least. He was not one to mince words nor did he like to battle with others for no reason. Many a time someone attempted to force their way into his business with the belief that there was some way to fix his coarseness. Or it was some young Athenian boy that was looking to prove himself, and what better way than demanding to fight a Spartan? It always ended badly - they only had the luck that Lysander never wanted to waste time cleaning his blade of their blood and only left them with bruises as a reminder to not let arrogance consume them.

As it stood, Lysander was going to be content ignoring any other statement that came out of her mouth. It always seemed to be the best deterrent of others, though he did not hold his breath as she seemed particularly keen on ensuring his nerves were grated by the time the sunset.

But then she went on to speak about useful information. It was a slow turn, his eye casting back her way. Studying the petite Atenian girl that seemed so keen on meddling in misthios business.

Slowly his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed her up and down. His brow furrowed. He expected a possible hint towards payment, not simply asking the location of the beast.

"You do not need to be anywhere near this naga. You are small and fragile, so the location is irrelevant. How much drachmae do you want for the poison?" As of now, he wished to turn back towards the Naga, using this knowledge of blunt force instruments. But at the same time, the poison would ensure a surefire kill. And he was not one to arrogantly throw himself into a more difficult situation than need be. Even if it meant speaking more with an annoying Athenian.

 

[Daisie]

The instant the Spartan looked her up and down and called out her size, Ambrosia's chipper smile fell into a challenging glare, still undercut by a rather fake grin. "Small and fragile," he called her, for the great love of Zeus. No, she wasn't about to let this stranger get in the way. She came to the Library of Alexandria because of an intense desire to add to it, and there was no other way (no better way) to study the great beasts than to witness them, herself. Either she had to accompany him or she had to hire someone to go with her, and she didn't have the sort of money it takes to send a man to his death.

That, or she'd have to try and go it alone... and she was optimistic, not stupid.

"No drachmae," She insisted, putting a hand up. It seemed she didn't care about the librarian anymore, sights set on a new target. "I do not wish to trade for your service. Only to witness it. That's all I ask."

"Besides, you claimed you wouldn't be bitten by the beast. So truly, the safest place for me is around you, no?" She crossed her arms then, mimicking the Spartan's tough pose on a much less intimidating scale. Despite her best efforts, her ankles still shook beneath the reaches of her chiton. Maybe she was both optimistic and stupid.

 

[Melpomene]

There was a soft hush in the library. The place was quiet, near considered a sanctuary. Some had stopped and glanced around their shelves to take a look at the two as they had their stand-off. Despite all of Lysander's posturing, his inclination to violence was not so pronounced, especially in a public place. It was already unsafe for him to settle in Sparta, and now he had no place to claim citizenship for himself. It left him as a wanderer - and one that was best if he was able to actually get into cities without being chased by the law for committing crimes in their library.

"Have you ever been in a situation so dangerous?" He questioned her in a tone that was bordering on lecturing. "And I am supposed to worry about killing a dragon and making sure you don't get yourself killed?"

Technically, he supposed, he did not have to worry for her safety, but it was against his better judgment to simply let an Athenian die in the jaws of a beast. Not to mention it would earn him a rather sour reputation. He doubted she had survived any battles, combat, or fights. She seemed the scholarly type that spent most of her time around scrolls and books. But still, the poison was tempting. He was taught to use every advantage necessary against his opponent and it was stupid to give up a possibility. There was a moment of pause as he thought on his choices before he touched his finger to his brow.

"If you are allowed to come then you will do everything I say upon reaching the battlefield and you will not do anything stupid. Am I understood?"

 

[Daisie]

Despite Ambrosia holding a dear reverence for this great and spacious library, she held no embarrassment nor remorse for the attention that was gradually surrounding the two. She was taking on a wild bet, sure, but how could she possibly miss this opportunity? She could hardly think of a better option - perhaps if she knew the man beforehand. Yet the moment he even hinted at conceding to her request, her entire countenance shifted. Disbelief flashed through her eyes as she thought to herself: did that really just work?

All at once, Ambrosia's entirety lit up with elation, although it was undercut by the careful grace and dignity she always carried about her. Nonetheless, her hands were tightened over each other and her eyes large with thrill, any ounce of frustration melting away in lieu of subtle delight.

"Deal," she accepted with quite a little self-satisfied smile. "I've studied the monstrous beasts of the wild since I was a child - I'm no dullard. You needn't worry, touched as I may be by your heroism, uhm-..."

She stumbled over her words as her mind cast back for a name. It was right at that moment that she realized just how insane of a leap she was making. She didn't even have a name. By the fates, she'd hardly even spoken to a Spartan before today - they generally sent an unpleasant chill down her spine, this one no exception. Yet not five minutes after meeting one, she felt compelled to insert herself into his conquest? She had little idea if his motives were even honest. Yet what reason would he have to lie here? It wasn't as if he were the one asking her for the mission. Her mind spun inwards on itself with a blank sort of smile before she caught herself, forcing every doubt away.

Perhaps she wasn't wise, but something about this felt right. She thrust her hand towards him with vigor.

"Ambrosia! Though you may call me Amber. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If I might ask again where we're setting off to? And when?"

 

[Melpomene]

There was a cutting desire that came to describe the so-called heroism she had ascribed him with as a natural inclination towards keeping his reputation clean by not having the death of a young Athenian girl on his hands. But that did not matter. While reckless... she was smart. It was in the Athenian nature, and her ability with language exposed the astuteness of her studies. He trusted she was aware of the dangers and had hopefully extended her research beyond just looking at the biological make-up of the beast but the gruesome tales of those who were caught in its attack.

He glanced down at her hand. There was a breath of unease within him. But he grumbled beneath his breath as he gruffly shook her smaller hand. It was almost lost in his own.

"Lysander. You may call me Lysander." He said before he turned. "And we are leaving for naga tomorrow morning. I expect you will have the poison in hand when we meet back here at this library. We will be going west of here, towards a smaller village that is close to the oasis that the naga has made its den."

After the naga she would, hopefully, leave him alone.

"You'll be allowed any teeth or scales you want from the beast, I only need its head." Quite frankly if she wanted to take the rest of the body and make a feast out of it, he could not care less. He cocked his brow. "Any other questions?"

 

[Daisie]

As overflowing with confidence as Ambrosia was, a quiver came over her when Lysander's huge, calloused hand met her own. She silently hoped he wouldn't notice it as she clung to her chipper appearance. She reminded herself that just because this man was Spartan didn't mean he wasn't human. In the end he was just a man, like any of the others she knew of.

Granted, she didn't know of any men who dwarfed her to this extent.

"Lysander," she repeated to herself in a quiet voice, to remember the name by, and as he continued to explain his plan to depart, ending with his offering to let her keep an assortment of body parts from the beast, she shifted yet again into a much more excitable state.

"Really?" It was like she was a child again, receiving the best gift of her life. Her mind buzzed with all the detailed notes she could take about the dragon's physiology if she could actually keep a tooth or a scale with her. Yet within moments she forced her expression straight again, arching her back with a serious and dignified frame. "Of course. You have my gratitude. No further questions - none that cannot wait."

"Well, actually..." She defied herself almost immediately - quicker than Lysander could move on - lost in thought. "Lysander, is there nothing shorter I may call you? Lys-ander... Anders...? Lys. No, no..."

"Oh, Zander is a good one!"

 

[Melpomene]

The name caught him by surprise.

In all years he had never been given a shortened name. Never once had his mother, friends, colleagues nor teachers call him anything other than maggot, worm, or Lysander. Seeing Ambrosia could not consider herself amongst the ranks of the Spartan military, nor was she unfortunate enough to be his mother, the insults were not hers to throw at him. But a shortened version of his name. He looked down at her with furrowed brows and a deepened frown as he let out a solid huff of breath.

"Lysander." he corrected. "Only Lysander. Nothing more."

Then he turned and left. As there was nothing else to consult her over.

~*~

The heat had been oppressive. The thick layer that laid upon the air that bore down without the cooling breeze of the ocean to fly from the edges of the beaches and sweep over the land. A gust of wind here only brought a turn of sand as they walked beneath the sun back towards the oasis that sat at the fringes of society. It was not often that the road was swept with travelers, it was not often that one cared enough to come to the village for reasons other than to collect taxes on behalf of the Pharoah that had taken his throne only years before.

The Ptolemy dynasty had opened a new world to the Greek sensibilities, just as Alexander had conquered the known world coming from the odd east down to the oppressive South, though he edged to a stop there. Even such a great emperor could not grab everything for himself.

As the day waned and Lysander repacked his bag, carrying his necessities. Proper rest. Weapons in proper order. Body in proper function. It was checked off succinctly before he came back to the library the next day expectantly searching for his new charge before he took them across the land. This was a risk. The death of an Athenian at his side, especially if her family was of any importance, could land him in legal trouble among the Athenians, and seeing as he was not a citizen of Athens they would show no mercy and the court would come down upon him harshly. Athens did not care for Spartans and Sparta was not going to be swift to save him.

So that Athenian best not die if she did not want to be followed down to Hades and throttled for it.

He kept the walking for a long while, he did not plan on setting up camp until light was near gone - giving them only enough time to make a fire and set up places to sleep but no more. The sun was beginning to descend, wanting to set the skies alight with reddened paint.

"Ambrosia." He grunted after his long silence - even if she talked he hardly deigned to say anything. "Prepare to make camp..." He glanced up towards figures walking in the distance, though at the moment he paid them little mind. "Do you know how to make a fire?"

 

[Daisie]

It was before the sun even rose above the horizon that Ambrosia roused and started her day. She could hardly sleep the night before, oscillating wildly between excitement and doubt. Her mind circled round and round again just what it might be like to see a real, live dragon with her own eyes. Not only that, but how dangerous it might be. How dangerous travelling with this Lysander might be. She still wasn't sure about that Spartan.

Yet he could be the key to her future.

Ambrosia departed to fish out exactly what she needed from the markets. It was a long time ago that she read the many tales of the sorceress Medea, one of which detailing how she concocted a poison to placate the Colchian dragon - a dragon accepted to have origins in the naga bloodline. Despite the years between when she'd first read the story and the day she set out to meet Lysander, the active ingredients still stood out to her: Medea's Juniper and firefly's essence. They didn't even need too much of either to concoct a potent potion.

She thanked the gods that she could actually find it. She could perfectly envision the withering stare Lysander would have given her if she'd shown up empty-handed. Given some time sat by the side of the library with a mortar and pestle, and she had herself a little clay pot of greenish salve that would get the job done.

When Amber met Lysander again at the library, he was hardly talkative. Despite many, many attempts to strike up conversation as they set out into the wilds, the Spartan remained stone-faced and uninterested. It was about halfway through the day when Amber gave up on the idea, sulking a little bit as her sandals pushed against the sandy path. She was quiet from that point on, not a complaint coming from her mouth, despite hauling her overstuffed basket through the baked landscape.

Her eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion when suddenly Lysander spoke to her, then shooting open in surprise as if she'd just met face-to-face with a wild monster. Lysander? Talking?

"I do," Amber answered immediately, with an obedient nod. She held up a finger to him, overeager to prove her worth on this trip. "I'll-um... get to work on it straight away. You rest."

Before he even had the chance to reply, she turned around and took off, basket bouncing against her back as she hopped for the nearest shrub. With the overbearing heat, it was no monumental task to find plenty dry wood to burn - seemed as if even the plants that had lived there for years hadn't been prepared for the baking summer.

Once the wood was gathered, she rejoined Lysander and dutifully piled it into a teepee before sliding her pack off of her back, landing it on the ground with a heavy thud. She dug through for some dried thistle, dandelion seeds, and her trusty flint and pyrite stones.

When she emerged from her basket, however, she glanced towards the travelling group - once on the horizon, now nearing much closer. Not only closer, but more spread apart than they were before. A distance away, they had begun to split, a couple of them on one side and a few on the other.

Amber passed a nervous glance in Lysander's direction but nonetheless shook her fears off, instead leaning down to begin striking the fire as she was instructed.

Predatory gazes began to take hold around them, acting as if they were uninterested. Yet they began reaching subtly for their weaponry as one of them - a man with sunbaked, aged skin and a beard streaked with gray - approached Lysander and Ambrosia up-front.

"It is a burning summer this year, young couple," He addressed them, stalking around them like a cat, his eye flicking down to Ambrosia's wicker basket. "A dangerous trail for a honeymoon. Are you in need of water?"

 

[Melpomene]

Her annoyance was balanced with the ease she fell into a useful flurry of movement. He glanced back only once, the slightest cock of his brow belying a hint of his mood before turning back towards the sun and letting out a soft grunt beneath his breath as the burden of the day fell from his back and rested unceremoniously on the hardpacked sand underfoot. He did not have much resting he could do until the camp was set up.

It was a necessity - especially in harsh conditions where the sun threatened and winds would pick up and send cutting grains billowing through the air to slice cheeks and dry lips, burying even the most astute in the depths of the storm. He never planned to be caught in it. And he was more than ready as he set a simple tent to drape over them alongside mats to make the unyielding ground only a bit more comfortable. Food - dried dates and nuts, alongside deer that had been salted until it was well-preserved and served best to fill the stomach of a wary traveler.

But movement held the corner of his eye.

He barely glanced over his shoulder as other approached. Their eyes were filled with a unearthly hunger. He frowned as he stabbed a stake further into the ground than it needed to go.

"We do not want your water. Leave." He grunted.

"Ah, well... you speak so quickly sir..." The steps edged closer. Lysander tightened his fists. "Being alone here in this wild country..."

Did the stranger think to rush him? Attack him from behind? Lysander stood up straight and heard the steps stutter, likely caught off guard by his mass, his height. Spartan mixed with the blood of something larger. He cast a warning eye over his shoulder. And only had a moment to turn before a knife was thrust at him. It sunk partially into his arm before he caught the thief by the shoulder, hissing in pain and tossing him back to the ground.

"Get down!" he warned Ambrosia as they others began to descend on them.

 

[Daisie]

It didn't take a master of travel to see what was happening. Even before the rough-looking men descended upon Lysander, Ambrosia's heart was racing, but all she did was just keep repeating in her head what she kept telling herself about that dragon. "The safest place to be is around that Spartan."

And that was no lie, either. Amber fell to the ground immediately at his command, but couldn't pry her eyes from the action taking hold of him, horror-stricken as she watched the blade plunge into his shoulder. Her hands shot up over her mouth, and as impressed as she was by Lysander's ability to casually throw a full-grown man to the ground, her attention was taken when one of the bandits slipped their hand around the rim of her wicker basket.

With a tug, the basket was dragged away from her, and she lurched after it in a panic, grappling at the other end of the rim at its top.

"That's mine!" She shouted, immediately regretting the childishness of her voice - as if loudly announcing her claim would suddenly give the robber a conscience, or call mom to the room to break things up. The whole ordeal morphed into a tug-of-war that wound up hauling Amber a good few feet from the action.

Yet three men were still approaching from all around Lysander. The bearded man - seeming to be their ringleader - kept an observant distance between himself and him, searching for the right moment to strike as his two lackeys did their work: One of them rushed Lysander whilst the other carried himself up off the ground, startled but otherwise unhurt.

The first thief held his gleaming dagger downwards by the handle, slashing it towards Lysander's already-injured arm in hopes to disable it further while the second one relocated to behind their intended victim, preparing for the best tackle he can muster against such a behemoth enemy.

At the same time, the bearded man took out what looked to be some form of bola in the descending light, loaded with heavy stones. He swung the ropes about in preparation, keen eyes fixated on Lysander's legs.

One more bandit was still loitering about Ambrosia, ready to jump in and help the other do away with her belongings, but he didn't seem nearly as concerned about it as the three that faced off Lysander, only standing by her with a crooked grin. He even laughed as she spat a few more angry, albeit pretty tame, threats out.

 

[Melpomene]

This, perhaps, was not the worst fight Lysander had been in. But he was acutely aware of the woman that rested, defenseless, over to the side where bandits roamed. He was a behemoth of a man, God blood flowing through his veins, and rarely did others catch him off guard. Perhaps he should have been paying more attention to suspicious people walking across the way.

And then they all descended on to him.

His sword whipped out in a blur, catching the edge of the knife that slashed toward him. Just at that moment, it felt like a child rammed into his back. Annoying but not unnerving.

He twisted his sword until the knife flung out of the man's hand and slashed it across the thief's abdomen as rocks pelted his legs leaving welts and cuts but ultimately leaving him standing to grip at the arms of the thief behind him and fling and flip him overhead.

He could see from his vantage point that the two who were against Ambrosia were already attempting to work together to grab at her basket. Petty thieves who learned to work in unison. He grunted as he stabbed his sword at the man he had just flipped over his head.

"Leave the basket or I will feed you your own guts!" He growled out across the sand as he turned to deal with the third man that had fallen on him.

 

[Daisie]

Though the chaos unravelling around was heart-pounding for everyone involved, Lysander's threat evidently did not fall on deaf ears. There was a pause, a definite look of fear flashing across the thief tugging at Ambrosia's basket, who seemed a little smaller and lighter on their feet than their comrades (yet winning the tug-of-war nonetheless). At the same time, with Lysander preoccupied, it didn't seem to dissuade them too much.

It was only a few seconds later that the man actually let go of the basket, although not out of obedience to Lysander's will. Ambrosia lurched backwards as her counterpart quit pulling on the other end, her ankles stumbling over each other, straight into the open arms of the second thief. He secured her into place against him, arm around her torso and hand laid over her mouth.

In the meantime, on Lysander's side of the battle, the bandit's body stumbled backwards, the heavy sword having slashed through his summer clothing with disturbing ease, now seeping a heavy wave of crimson into the cloth. He was unable to regain his balance from the strike and fell to a half-sitting position against the sand, clearly seeing the disadvantage in fighting Lysander, and disengaging.

The one Lysander flipped overhead certainly had the wind taken out of him for the moment, his back having been pounded against the sand. He laid on the ground for a few seconds, wheezing.

The ringleader only stood in a ready position, eyes flashing with alarm at Lysander's pulled sword. His mind churned as he considered his options deeply, the attack not going nearly as well as he had hoped. Then suddenly, he raised his hands and began slowly backing away? Face curled in disgust and defeat, he backed towards his fallen comrade, though his eyes still shone like that of a predator.

"Get the basket, for crying out-... It's not that hard!" The thief holding Ambrosia was getting impatient as his buddy kept trying to wrench the supplies out of her hands, but even being jerked around and jostled by the two, her fingers clamped around her belongings unyieldingly.

Then suddenly the man restraining her was greeted with the feeling of Ambrosia's teeth digging into his finger. He cursed in a scream, pulling his hand away from her face. His buddy immediately let go, and balled up his fist...

WHAM!

Ambrosia's fingers slipped from the basket the moment the basket-thief's knuckles cracked across her temple. Her legs gave out from under her, but the other kept her forced upright, unsteadily.

Yet the moment the punch was landed, the ringleader recognized his opportunity. He drew a knife out from a small sheath and whipped it through the air towards Lysander's chest.

 

[Melpomene]

Other men were falling. It was difficult to follow the fury of the fight, everything blurring together so fast that even Lysander had difficulty keeping himself composed. The men on the ground seemed to know they were beyond themselves. Being outnumbered did not mean that things were unevenly matched and Lysnader was putting every bit of his Spartan training to the test. None of these men had any form of fight training, all of them relying on fear and deceit to bring them their pay. Cowards the lot of them. And Lysander would ensure they understood that.

It had happened all at once. He heard the impact of skin against skin and turned to see the way Ambrosia slumped in the arms of the others as she was knocked with a punch to her skull. A blow like that was intense for someone of her stature and lackluster fighting skills. Not to mention after being warned the idiots thought it was best to continue making the situation worse.

And then the man in front of him thought it was smart to stab him.

Lysnader had turned at the last minute so the knife lodged in the meat of his shoulder. He let out a groan of pain. But only thus, before gripping the wrist that held the knife and squeezing hard until he felt grip on the handle lax. He had a furious look in his eye. Then he headbutted the man in front of him. Hard. Feeling the bridge of his nose collapse before tossing him to the side and marching towards Ambrosia.

"I told you to go away." He growled. He was beyond furious now, gripping the hair of the man that held Ambrosia. "Drop her..." he spoke lowly. "And tell your friend to drop the basket. Maybe if you comply I'll only mangle you."

 

[Daisie]

With every other member of their crew disposed of, the two men tussling with Ambrosia felt a cold chill run down their spines as Lysander crafted his threat. Ambrosia, as her strength flickered back into her, paid close attention to his warning, as well, holding still and silent even though she wasn't the victim of it herself. The two thieves locked eyes with each other, their leader downed and their minds floundering to make a decision on their own. The one holding Ambrosia darted his eyes towards her as if in a gesture, head still held in place under Lysander's grip - the other responded with a wide-eyed look of bewilderment before shaking his head wildly, warning him against something.

Then with some reluctance, he complied, letting Ambrosia go.

Her legs felt like unsteady twigs, adrenaline having more than enough time to pump into every corner of her body, but nonetheless, she snatched up her large basket and dragged it from them, joining close to Lysander's side.

"See, she's o-okay..." The bandit without his head clamped in Lysander's vice-like grip uttered, his hands beginning to raise in a gesture of surrender. His eyes were wide in fear and regret of the decisions that brought him there, and it seemed he took the promise of bodily harm very seriously. "Spartan-... Whatever you are, we ask for your mercy."

"Don't beg!" The man snapped, offended. "We're proud-"

"Don't listen to him!" He interrupted frantically, shaking his head wildly. "We're-... I'm sorry. I'm the one who panicked and hit her, so you let him go and you take me, yes?"

Ambrosia, hunched over her packed belongings to take stock, finally found time enough to look up at the carnage around them, full-sized men beginning to groan and come back to their feet in aching defeat. Her eyes skipped from person to person before landing on Lysander. She had long heard of the Spartan valor and brutishness, having grown up in Athens her whole life, but she still found herself caught completely off-guard. Not even necessarily in a bad way, either - it was because of his strength and training that she was even breathing - but something about the way he brushed aside every threat seemed foreign to Sparta. She could scarcely believe the amount of blood that was drizzling down his side, as nothing about his posture would even indicate an injury at all.

A soft touch graced Lysander's forearm, just then, Amber's fingertips careful to select a spot that remained uninjured.

"Let them go, please..." She urged him, her brow taut with concern. "I-I'm okay, it's only a bruise, I'm sure... There is no use in drawing more blood."

 

[Melpomene]

The crew fell as easy as dogs. Their breaths heavy as they looked on in widened horror upon realizing what they had done. Or who they had challenged. Lysander was always aware of what his presence did to people, how his mere glare caused others to feel threatened or his anger caused strife. And even now with only threats, he was able to cut through their hearts. There was a moment of pause as he waited for their answer and truly did hope they would show an ounce of intellect now that they had seen exactly what he planned to do.

He did not take kindly to bandits or thieves. Especially those after his hard-earned property.

After a moment he saw them begin to relinquish. He thought to leave them with a warning and continue on striking them until they were barely able to move themselves. But he was reminded by a soft touch against his bicep that he was not alone.

He glanced at Ambrosia, just for a moment. She was Athenian. She was not use to this violence.

And then he sighed, but before he let go of the thief in his grip he spoke once more: "You will leave our path. You will not follow us. You will not speak of us. If I so much as turn and see a glimpse of your sorry faces following behind then I will saturate these sands until they are red and no storm, no winds, no fire can bleach them again. Do you understand?"

They did. Even as the man jerked his head in an attempted nod, Lysander was sure they were convinced. Then he let them go and waved them off.

"Th-thank you, sir, f-for your mercy." The other said as he ran to help collect the others. Lysander turned to Ambrosia, though glancing at the knife stuck in his shoulder and reaching to pull it out.

"Are you alright, Ambrosia?" he asked, his tone just a shade more gentle than it had been before.

 

[Daisie]

"N-NO!" Ambrosia suddenly shrieked, shrill voice desperate. Before Lysander could wrench the blade from his wound, suddenly she slapped his hand away, as if she had even a prayer of stopping him from doing something he set his mind to. It was only a moment later that she sheepishly realized her mistake, tucking long, heavy locks of messed hair from her face as she stumbled over her words. "I-I mean, yes. I'm okay, I'm sorry..."

She grimaced a little as her fingers swept over her temple, the red bruise already morphing into a patchy purple. Yet her own soreness was cut off when she exacted her attention onto his wound again, and with a glance down, noticed the red smears across her fingertips. Her expression twisted into a sort of terror as she began to process exactly what she was looking at. She didn't have a lot of experience with wound care, but she was reminded of the time when she was young and had fallen on a piece of her parents' farming equipment, tearing a nasty gash across her thigh that spilled the most blood she'd ever seen at the time. It was her mother who knelt by her side with thin flax thread, sewing it all shut with a steady hand. Now, she'd assisted others with wounded soldiers that would come into Athens from time to time, but it was the memory of her mother that came to her, nonetheless.

"Your wounds need proper care," she determined with a shaky voice. Panicked tears welled in her eyes as she stared down his gnarly wounds, but again, she made visible efforts to choke them down. "I can give you that, if you let me. At least, I-I think."

Opting to make herself useful rather than gawk any longer, Ambrosia turned around and fell to her knees at her wicker basket, digging through it and growing more frantic by the second. "Just-... hold on, think I can fix this..."

Within just a few seconds, she had drawn out a whole array of supplies. Flax thread used for emergency clothing repair, as well as a bone needle and a small clay jar of poultice, sealed with wax to keep it damp. Her seemingly-haphazard packing suddenly appeared very intentional, conveying a certain amount of concern to the consequences of facing off a dragon, even for a Spartan.

When she finally turned back around to face him again, she couldn't hide the squeamish crinkle of her eyes, still wrought with anxiety. She swallowed her queasiness back down, determined.

"Please, um... s-sit. You're too tall."

 

[Melpomene]

In all his time he could not say anyone had slapped his hand in such a manner.

His eye turned again, more shocked than anything at her motion. Though there seemed to be a medical reason for her outburst. He did not see it that way. The knife had to come out, did it not? There was no way he could simply walk up to a dragon with a knife in his shoulder and fight. But he lacked much understanding of medicine. While he understood basics - that wounds needed to be seen to and allowed time to heal, much of his drachmae was wasted on going to a healer. Enough so that when he was being offered free care he almost was caught off-guard.

But she was panicking, it seemed. It made sense. He could remember the first slaughter he witnessed. A helot having spoken out of turn. Or was it only for sport? He could not remember. He only knew the way the guts had spilled from the wound in his stomach.

He shook that image out and raised his hand.

"Ambrosia, calm yourself. It is only a minor wound." He said lowly. "Your talents are useful, but only when they are tempered by this." He lightly tapped her brow to indicate the mind that sat inside. "Breathe deeply, I'm anywhere close to dying."

He almost mentioned all the worse things he had been through but thought better of it as he slowly lowered himself to the ground and motioned her on with a grunt.

 

[Daisie]

Ambrosia could scarcely believe the words coming from Lysander's mouth. A "minor wound"? There was a blade sticking from his shoulder! She could almost feel the tingling burn of it in her own arm every time she passed a glance in its direction. She opened her mouth to chew him out (perhaps unwisely) when he interrupted her with a sudden poke above the eyes.

She wasn't sure what it was about that little gesture, but all at once, her thoughts all ground to a halt and she was forced to recollect them piece by piece, her jaw snapping shut with a bit of a fearfully lost look.

Did he just say she was... useful? She blinked, her brow furrowed in disbelief and quiet confusion.

"O-... Okay." She wasn't sure whether or not to take him for his word in that moment, but her eyes darted down to her full hands as she nodded rigidly. A deep breath shuddered into her lungs, unsteady but full of effort. Even then though, she made a clawing attempt to save face in front of the Spartan. "O-Of course, I've seen, uhm... plenty like this before! No, this is... nothing new, certainly. Just a-... a minor, uhm-... puncture."

She swung her hair out of the way, laying it over her shoulder before joining Lysander on the ground, driving her chiton into the sand beneath her knees. She scooted herself in closer, and long, wavy locks brushed across him as she got a closer look at the wound. She tried to hide the empathetic pain on her face as she stared down the stuck blade.

Then cautiously, she reached forward, touching her hand to the hilt as if handling a butterfly, though she couldn't will her wrists to stop quaking like leaves. With another deep breath to push away the nausea, she spoke rather gingerly.

"It's going to need to come out, but just-..." She tried to find some special combination of words that might make things easier, despite the fact that Lysander seemed to be the least bothered of the two of them. Eventually, she settled, shaking her head. "You'll need to be still. I-I'm so sorry, I'll try to do it quickly."

With not much further warning, Ambrosia was decisive and firm, drawing the knife from his shoulder in one swift motion. For just second, she looked like she was about to pass out, herself, watching the new torrent of blood gush down his side to the rhythm of his heart, but she recuperated and armed herself with her needle and thread.

She didn't hesitate on getting to work, poking about the edges of the wound and dragging the thread through with diligence.

 

[Melpomene]

Lysander kept his gaze fixed on Ambrosia.

She had not seen many wounds before. At least not ones of this nature. Her lies may have made her feel better, so he chose not to correct them. There came times he had even wondered if he could pull himself back to life from the wounds he had gathered. Deep gashes that seemed to scrape into his lungs. Hateful gouges and burns that felt as though his skin peeled off.

"Usually I handle them alone if I am not near a healer," he said as he watched her hand come towards his shoulder. The steady strum of pain had become customary. It was apart of life. "When you fight enough battles you stop noticing."

Her hands were steadying. He did keep still only because it would waste time if something was sliced wider due to negligence. But he could not help the slightest chuckle that came from the back of his throat.

"You are... being astoundingly gentle with a Spartan." But she did it all the same, he barely reacted as it slipped out and a new pool of blood fell down his chiton to stain the sands beneath them. He watched he river flow for a long moment. Memories of the same image coming again and again. A young boy with nothing but his sword and courage fighting against those stronger than him. Being reminded of the glory of Sparta. The importance.

"I will be fine to fight by tomorrow." It was not said as a question but rather a statement, one which he knew with great assurance.