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tampered2007-03-28 02:27 pm
spartan-blood.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-03-28 02:27 pm
Log; Ongoing
When; Wednesday
Rating; PG-PG-13?
Characters; Leonidas![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spartan_blood & whomever wishes to find the Spartan king?
Summary; Leonidas has died and has found himself in the City. What is this place, and what is he doing here?
Log;
Dying for a noble cause, for Sparta, was everything Leonidas could ever wish for. The arrows pierced his flesh, and the burning fire of those wounds coursed through his very veins. He did not cry out, not once...only fell back, joining his brothers, his fallen comrades-in-arms, to die. All he could think of as death whisked him away was Gorgo, his beloved Gorgo. His queen. His wife. His love. He would never see her again.
Darkness consumed him even as the Persians let out their triumphant war cry and as Xerxes struggled to overcome the pure shock of having his flawless face cut and bleeding - for everyone knew that a god does not bleed. Never does he bleed. Xerxes attempted to hide his wound the best he could; he was lucky, that day, that his Immortals and soldiers were so busy being proud of themselves for killing Leonidas' three hundred that they never took a second glance as to what their God-king was doing. The Battle of Thermopylae would become immortalized in history, but Leonidas would not be there to see his army and fellow Greeks destroy Xerxes' attempt at conquering beloved Greece.
Darkness was passing...and light was coming towards him. Leonidas blinked slowly, surprised at what the Afterlife had to offer him. His logic told him that the Afterlife was but a fable, and any and all funeral traditions were mere formalities so as to keep the Ephors happy. His logic told him that when you die, that was the end of things. What the Ephors clung to so desperately spoke of the River Styx, and of Charon the ferryman, the one who would take him to Hades - if he had the proper payment, that is. But what met his eyes was none of these things. Sunlight drifted through green leaves, and a soft breeze cooled his body. He rose slowly, taking in his surroundings. He was seated in a clearing in a forest, the grass soft and lush. This was not Hades, and this certainly wasn't the death of his consciousness either. It seemed that the Council and the Ephors were wrong this time.
The king of Sparta rose to his feet, pleased to see that he still had his helmet, cloak, shield, sword, and spear. Good. It was all he would ever need to survive. He took a step forward, then paused. The forest, other than the occasional rustle of the leaves and grass, was absolutely silent. There were no birds chirping, animals scurrying, or bugs buzzing on their merry way. Something was crouched in the shadows, although he did not know what, but it came to him suddenly that he was being watched. He was being hunted.
It was not fear that gripped him, it was a heightened sense of things. The silence, the way the sunlight hit his shield and the tip of his spear, the breeze whispering through the trees, and the patience of his enemies that was slowly dwindling. The first pounce of the panther did not surprise him. Leonidas was prepared, and his spear struck true. His form was perfect. The animal was impaled right through the throat, and its hot blood splattered onto the king's face, but he paid no mind. He moved quickly, freeing his spear from its target, waiting for the next attack. It was all over rather quickly. The five shadow panthers that had been watching Leonidas intently attacked in turn, getting a feel for this newcomer, and with each attack, Leonidas was proclaimed the victor, although the last panther had given him a hefty scratch on his right shoulder. One would expect nothing less than victory from a Spartan or from a king. He had killed the wolf with ease so long ago, and he would do so again, regardless of how his enemy changed in species. After the last beast was slain, he moved forward...and a most peculiar sound reached his ears. A sound unlike anything he had ever heard before. It seemed to grow louder with each step, and finally, the king found himself at the edge of the forest, looking upon a metropolis unlike any he had ever seen.
...What is this place? he thought, not letting any surprise or confusion cross his face. He had been trained since he was young not to be weak, and that conditioning was still present even now. Grimly, the king placed his helmet on his head and strode forward, determined to find some answers.
Rating; PG-PG-13?
Characters; Leonidas
spartan_blood & whomever wishes to find the Spartan king?Summary; Leonidas has died and has found himself in the City. What is this place, and what is he doing here?
Log;
Dying for a noble cause, for Sparta, was everything Leonidas could ever wish for. The arrows pierced his flesh, and the burning fire of those wounds coursed through his very veins. He did not cry out, not once...only fell back, joining his brothers, his fallen comrades-in-arms, to die. All he could think of as death whisked him away was Gorgo, his beloved Gorgo. His queen. His wife. His love. He would never see her again.
Darkness consumed him even as the Persians let out their triumphant war cry and as Xerxes struggled to overcome the pure shock of having his flawless face cut and bleeding - for everyone knew that a god does not bleed. Never does he bleed. Xerxes attempted to hide his wound the best he could; he was lucky, that day, that his Immortals and soldiers were so busy being proud of themselves for killing Leonidas' three hundred that they never took a second glance as to what their God-king was doing. The Battle of Thermopylae would become immortalized in history, but Leonidas would not be there to see his army and fellow Greeks destroy Xerxes' attempt at conquering beloved Greece.
Darkness was passing...and light was coming towards him. Leonidas blinked slowly, surprised at what the Afterlife had to offer him. His logic told him that the Afterlife was but a fable, and any and all funeral traditions were mere formalities so as to keep the Ephors happy. His logic told him that when you die, that was the end of things. What the Ephors clung to so desperately spoke of the River Styx, and of Charon the ferryman, the one who would take him to Hades - if he had the proper payment, that is. But what met his eyes was none of these things. Sunlight drifted through green leaves, and a soft breeze cooled his body. He rose slowly, taking in his surroundings. He was seated in a clearing in a forest, the grass soft and lush. This was not Hades, and this certainly wasn't the death of his consciousness either. It seemed that the Council and the Ephors were wrong this time.
The king of Sparta rose to his feet, pleased to see that he still had his helmet, cloak, shield, sword, and spear. Good. It was all he would ever need to survive. He took a step forward, then paused. The forest, other than the occasional rustle of the leaves and grass, was absolutely silent. There were no birds chirping, animals scurrying, or bugs buzzing on their merry way. Something was crouched in the shadows, although he did not know what, but it came to him suddenly that he was being watched. He was being hunted.
It was not fear that gripped him, it was a heightened sense of things. The silence, the way the sunlight hit his shield and the tip of his spear, the breeze whispering through the trees, and the patience of his enemies that was slowly dwindling. The first pounce of the panther did not surprise him. Leonidas was prepared, and his spear struck true. His form was perfect. The animal was impaled right through the throat, and its hot blood splattered onto the king's face, but he paid no mind. He moved quickly, freeing his spear from its target, waiting for the next attack. It was all over rather quickly. The five shadow panthers that had been watching Leonidas intently attacked in turn, getting a feel for this newcomer, and with each attack, Leonidas was proclaimed the victor, although the last panther had given him a hefty scratch on his right shoulder. One would expect nothing less than victory from a Spartan or from a king. He had killed the wolf with ease so long ago, and he would do so again, regardless of how his enemy changed in species. After the last beast was slain, he moved forward...and a most peculiar sound reached his ears. A sound unlike anything he had ever heard before. It seemed to grow louder with each step, and finally, the king found himself at the edge of the forest, looking upon a metropolis unlike any he had ever seen.
...What is this place? he thought, not letting any surprise or confusion cross his face. He had been trained since he was young not to be weak, and that conditioning was still present even now. Grimly, the king placed his helmet on his head and strode forward, determined to find some answers.