The battle that was
After the repulsive battle between the courageous spartans and the cowardly macedonians with the fearless spartans vanquishing them; the bold spartans cunning leader Adrastos was talking to his valiant men to plan what their next tactic was going to be.
With almost all of the confident warriors around the sly leader and most of them talking about who diedand who needed help with walking because of their severed, decapatated legs. Some where also weeping for their brothers lost in war. The heroic Adrastos was annoyed because he knew if they did not proceed then most would die. As the dauntless Adrastos looked around at his few but watchful men he realized that one of hs best friends was lost in the battle. But because of how he grew up and how he had to live up to his name 'Adrastos' which means not inclined to run away, he was not weak and he never morned on the past.
He checked his shimmering reflection in the red water of the ocean. He had gotten yet another oozing scrape on his face that he knew would turn into a long savage looking scar that would fit in with the others on his face. Adrastos' amber gleaming eyes where unreadable even to himself. His long dark brown hair was matted and splattered with recking blood. Even though it had been many hours since the end of the obnoxious battle, Adrastos was still clinging on to his blood splatered club as if it was holding his fragile life and if he let go he would fade away and the god of death would take his soul.
At this point he was to exhausted to even wipe clean he sword. He also knew that if he did it wouldnt do much because he could never seem to wash away the blood. Most of his men where the same, unable to give up their now rusty swords, helmets still on and, as tense as can be.
With a limp in his walk he moved over to a empty clering and talked in a clear deep voice, that you could tell was being strained. The courageous Adrastos used mostly hand movements when he talked. Everyone knew it ment that he was stressed and worried.