November 18, 2018, 11:02 PM
(This post was last modified: November 19, 2018, 12:09 AM by Eurycrates.)
There is no honor in defeat.
But is his banishment truly a blow? His family has never seen his potential, not even when he is at his best. The slaughter of the enemy was justified; they would have risen up, eventually, to strike back. In shedding blood, he saved lives. . .and this was his reward?
Well. If the Lycurgus clan is truly to survive, they will have to do so without their muscle. Good luck to them, getting by without him. They will not last the winter.
He travels the coast, putting everything he has ever known behind him. Memories, so long cherished, spilling out like grains of sand onto the beach with each and every step. He marches resolutely on, pale gold gaze set ahead, a compass pulling him toward. . .what? What will be his destiny, now? His pedigree had been his road map. Having cast it aside, he is free to wander.
But he has never been a wanderer, no. He is a planner, a man of action. Some may be content in a vagabond's life, but not Eurycrates. They say there were two--and two only--types of men: those who flee, and those who fight. The wanderers, the poets. . .they are the ones that scatter like ants from rain, when times grow hard. He is a fighter; he will not be unsettled for long.
It takes a while to get down to the pristine beach, but the arduous travel is well worth it. Muscles aching slightly from his journey, the titan stands upon the shore, gazing out at the gray-green waves, topped with pale foam. The afternoon sun glints hot on his back. His face is like stone, impenetrable.
Yes. Here.
But is his banishment truly a blow? His family has never seen his potential, not even when he is at his best. The slaughter of the enemy was justified; they would have risen up, eventually, to strike back. In shedding blood, he saved lives. . .and this was his reward?
Well. If the Lycurgus clan is truly to survive, they will have to do so without their muscle. Good luck to them, getting by without him. They will not last the winter.
He travels the coast, putting everything he has ever known behind him. Memories, so long cherished, spilling out like grains of sand onto the beach with each and every step. He marches resolutely on, pale gold gaze set ahead, a compass pulling him toward. . .what? What will be his destiny, now? His pedigree had been his road map. Having cast it aside, he is free to wander.
But he has never been a wanderer, no. He is a planner, a man of action. Some may be content in a vagabond's life, but not Eurycrates. They say there were two--and two only--types of men: those who flee, and those who fight. The wanderers, the poets. . .they are the ones that scatter like ants from rain, when times grow hard. He is a fighter; he will not be unsettled for long.
It takes a while to get down to the pristine beach, but the arduous travel is well worth it. Muscles aching slightly from his journey, the titan stands upon the shore, gazing out at the gray-green waves, topped with pale foam. The afternoon sun glints hot on his back. His face is like stone, impenetrable.
Yes. Here.
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Messages In This Thread
"If." - by Eurycrates - November 18, 2018, 11:02 PM
RE: "If." - by Eurycrates - November 21, 2018, 10:15 PM
RE: "If." - by Eurycrates - November 23, 2018, 01:02 AM
RE: "If." - by Eurycrates - November 25, 2018, 02:11 AM
RE: "If." - by Eurycrates - November 26, 2018, 10:41 AM