Battle Cry
Men…
I have few words for you. I have few sentiments to pass which your hearts do not already feel, few thoughts that your brilliant minds have not yet thought of, envisaged at the greatest of moments of your thought, as your minds rested in the peace of sleep and discarded as dust, driftwood on the surface of the great mediterranean as you awoke.
I shall not fill your minds with false promises of survival and life. I will not take away those moments before your passing which will give you sadness in your final moments, and instead give you the promise that your passing will not be in vain, for the enemy is tired.
Patroclus is dead, his beloved Achilles calling in all his rage and fury for the blood of our brave Prince Hektor. It is the task which falls upon our shoulders to take the brunt of the Myrmidon charge, to be the unmoving anvil against which the Achaean hammer will throw itself.
We, however will not yield in the heat of battle like the bronze weapons we wield, no; instead we shall strike back! I refuse to consider ourselves, we proud warriors under the noble banner of Prince Hektor, the greatest warrior on the shores of the Agaean, save for none.
We will not be softened in the heat, nor shall we allow ourselves to be quenched in the water of our sweat. We will not bend our knees in surrender to the Achaean Tyrant outside the gates of our cities, for with the Gods of Olympus as our witness, we shall force them back. We will halt their charge, and the hand which wields that mighty Greek hammer shall marvel at the material which he has found, which is so hard, so strong that all his force cannot mould it at his barest whim.
Let all that roam this earth know that we are proud to have this burden upon our shoulders, for we are strong enough to bear it. Let them watch in awe as we display to the wide eyes of cowardly Odysseus, to weak Menelaus and weeping Achilles the strength of Trojan stock, as we put on display the
These arms that have grown strong as they tilled the soil of our proud land and raised its children will bear weapons as sharp as the wind which blows across the sands of the desert at night, and these bodies sculpted from the rough rock of Ilion will not crumble as they take upon themselves the fiery flames that sing the lament of Achilles' sorrow.
Nike shall not carry us on this day, and to delude ourselves into thinking that she shall is folly.
Go to Thanatos on this day, and do it in the knowledge that a thousand more shall live for each of you that has died by the end of this day.
Glory to Troy.
A/N
The first hitherto unseen part of this anthology, again based on the Trojan War.
I apologise for delay with Waning Moon; it's happening, just slower than is necessarily ideal, which is irritating. The update will come, I promise, but until then all I can ask is that you're patient.
The next oneshot...
Zombies
Plague Zombies.
Yeah, that's it.
Until next time,
Sol
(I don't own PJO)