-prologue - The Oracle and Hellenia –prologue-
The day the messenger came, the day all was darkened by the illuminating clouds, the sun provoking panic from behind the darkened sky. A slow but fastened message came upon four hooves and a satin robe. Leonidas, the one to set the legend of the three hundred, now to face this gloomy time. Though before this is set, a man of whom has no importance in this era, but in the future and the past. His name (one day to be depicted by the god's of olyimpia, the greek gods to determine even the very structure of this man) was to be ; Aerxeas a young boy at the time of leonidas's reign, but one that was brought throught time by the gods of oylimpia. He was already apart of this world, but not in a human form. No, the gods had withheld from his creation until now. A more complex series of events were to take place in this grandiloquent scheme that would defeat the persian's and bring glory to Sparta, the one that would unite the entire Greek empire. He was said to be the ancestor of the great fighter Achilles himself, though even the mightiest of them all were said to be from different entities.
But, not to keep this story anymore delayed (The oracle reaches for a few paplets, leaning against the dirt masked ground, his mauled complexion kept hooded underneath the moss green cloak.) it all began in the center of the Spartan town; a new born, one that was there from the beginning in the god's minds'. The sudden cry of a baby lets out the breaking of the silent streets, transgressing against the majestic calm night, the dark clouds precluding to the rain that would settle upon the terrain. A baby born to a woman by the name of his deepest cries, the young woman batted him against her breast, keeping him from the night that would besiege them soon. Else where, the warrior king, Leonidas awaits the arrival of this alienated man , followed by what appears to be others, apparently of the same origin. Looking out from the distance, the young woman makes her way into the temple of Ares. This night, she would dedicate this baby the path of the warrior, one that would have a grande role in Sparta's survival.
Lightning crackles, presuming the drum roll of the night sky, holding out an unleashed threat towards the night sky. The rain begins to muffle the cries of the "active" baby. The winds picking up; almost to defy the cause of the woman and here baby. Her sapphire robes, tracing the floor of the bayish walls of the temple. Red robes indicating the aggression, defense; the war & blood that exalted this place. In the eyes of the god of war, this was something to behold; a child being released into his unmerciful hands, it was unspeakable to any of the other gods. In the midst a commotion begins, crows form at the peeking towers, citizens racing towards what seems to be an outbreak at the gates. There stands Leonidas, a defiled man laying at his feet; a crimson liquid streaming across the placid ground. The commotion nevers lasts though, for even though these were strangers, with obviously not the right message, the crowd recognized this normal behavior from their city. In the halls, the woman lays her baby beside the temple, a simple prayer is collaborated and to the astonishment to what would be the average person, she slips out of the halls; the baby left on the alter. In what seems a decade of silence, an inferno of intertwining roots, strangle the alter and strap the infant into a night sky. An oasis of fire blazing across the terrain to what this infant would wake up to. Apparentley the place of Sparta was left behind, the endless fighting and the city had vanished without a trace. A figured adorned in what seemed black glazed armour and this infant laying, protruded on the ground. A simple whisper of the dead, the whisper of a thousand souls and that of the warriors crying out in battle towards this adorned figure on the throne before the infant. Ares, god of war, to which is given the glory of the war. Marooned in this sea of darkness, a moment of whispers. These are the tales of what happened in the later times, and right at the reign of Leonidas.