Andreas Karalis (akhilles_heel) wrote in metempsychosis, @ 2012-03-21 20:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | !event 3, !mini-log, achilles |
[That morning waking out of the barracks, Achilles felt his strength raise again. Not his mortal strength, but that of the demi-god he'd always been nestled under this mortal body for decades. Now he stood with a grace and power that none of his fellow soliders could understand. It was almost as if he glowed in the bright sun-light. His hair was golden, his skin a light bronze. The heel that Paris had used to bring him down was no longer sore or tender. It was sturdy.
His soldiers found themselves following him into a magnificent roar of voices, their fists pounding against their chests chanting a name they didn't know him by.
"Achilles. Achilles. Achilles!"
One soldier that had missed his early morning cue came outside to the chant, confused by the scene and his Leuitenant.
"Karalis?"
"No," Achilles said, his voice serious and forceful. "I am Achilles. Son of Peleus."
Confusing as it may be, it was still a name that many a soldier knew. Achilles was the song of grief, a valiant soldier of war that throughout the ages they would always relate to.]