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- Thread starter messaline
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RacingRodent
Consul
Right well I do hope you'll all be coming down to the tavern on the crossroads. For there shall the Reciting Rodent regale you all with the exploits of a long distant heroic age. If you don't come for the story there is also cheap wine, bread, fruit and cheese and for those willing to part with silver meat.
Hope to see a packed audience tomorrow
Hope to see a packed audience tomorrow
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RacingRodent
Consul
Well, Wragg seems excited.
It's the cheap wine
Looking forward to it, RR and Messa.
Ta very muchly
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Right well I do hope you'll all be coming down to the tavern on the crossroads. For there shall the Reciting Rodent regale you all with the exploits of a long distant heroic age. If you don't come for the story there is also cheap wine, bread, fruit and cheese and for those willing to part with silver meat.
Hope to see a packed audience tomorrow
Pp has clicked "watch thread" and opened a bottle of His preferred shiraz to allow it to breathe (a small taste suggests it will be perfect tomorrow) and set some some good cheese aside.
RacingRodent
Consul
Ahem, I see you all gathered here in from the cold and stormy night, gathered under the sooty beams, all trying to sneak closer to either a warm fire or one of the slave girls set to pouring wine (remember to tip the innkeep). So without further ado I shall start my tale
Messalios and the Myrmidons
Being the opening of the tales of Messalios of Lesbos
Hear, oh listeners as you sup your cups, hear of the age of heroes and Gods. Hear now the tales of men of blood, the cry of battle and the crash of war. Hear, of a time when the Gods reached down and plucked men up to the starry skies or cast them down into the stygian depths of the underworld. Hear and mark thee well of a woman, Messalios of Lesbos, companion of Achilles, bane of Hector and pillager of Troy.
Now listen to those distance times, the slap of the wind against sails, the rasp of the waves against wood, the striation of bronze upon leather, the beat of the drum calling out the stroke. Now smell the perfume of war in all its sickly sweetness, the sweat of men, oil upon leather, salt and iron in the air, the promise of blood.
See the ship of war cutting through the waves, piercing eyes and bronze beak at the prow, proud masts bearing the woven cloth snapping in the wind, the two dozen oars at each side dipping and rising in unison, the steering paddles and gently curving stern post like a swan’s neck. Now see brave Achilles, as like unto a demi-god as a man. Watch him stride from his canopy forwards, among his men. A nod here to a rower his shield guarding his seaward side and his spear laid ready to be taken in hand. A pat on the shoulder for the crouching soldier already attired for battle with plumed helm on head, ready to leap into action and win his comrades at the oars time to take up their arms, a shared laugh with the drummer facing back along the course of the ship, a man whose muscled limbs never miss a beat lest the crew miss a stroke.
“So girl, frightened?” Asked Achilles.
Messalios turned from where she had been watching ahead over the bow, one arm coiled with the rope of the foremast that stuck spear like ahead of the ship, “I feel no fear.” She replied tartly giving her blonde tresses a dismissive shake, her cuirass of linen and leather stretching as she drew in breath to give voice to her accomplishments.
“You are never frightened Daughter by My Sword Arm, I was asking young Patroclus here,” Laughed Achilles, stroking his beard.
“I am not a girl,” Protested the young man to the amused laughter of the Myrmidons, his voice cracking not helping his claim to virility.
“He teases you, Patroclus, ignore him,” Sniffed Messalios, “It was not salt you were cleaning out of his beard after he drank all that wine we took in Mysia in one go now was it?”
“Hark to Messalios, she scalds like a cat and fights like a lioness guarding her cubs,” Roared the greatest warrior in all the Aegean, “She will guide you well in the arts of battle, now both of you fetch me mine armour, the shore approaches and so too does the killing!”
To be continued
"and someone get me a drink, declaiming is thirsty work!"
Messalios and the Myrmidons
Being the opening of the tales of Messalios of Lesbos
Hear, oh listeners as you sup your cups, hear of the age of heroes and Gods. Hear now the tales of men of blood, the cry of battle and the crash of war. Hear, of a time when the Gods reached down and plucked men up to the starry skies or cast them down into the stygian depths of the underworld. Hear and mark thee well of a woman, Messalios of Lesbos, companion of Achilles, bane of Hector and pillager of Troy.
Now listen to those distance times, the slap of the wind against sails, the rasp of the waves against wood, the striation of bronze upon leather, the beat of the drum calling out the stroke. Now smell the perfume of war in all its sickly sweetness, the sweat of men, oil upon leather, salt and iron in the air, the promise of blood.
See the ship of war cutting through the waves, piercing eyes and bronze beak at the prow, proud masts bearing the woven cloth snapping in the wind, the two dozen oars at each side dipping and rising in unison, the steering paddles and gently curving stern post like a swan’s neck. Now see brave Achilles, as like unto a demi-god as a man. Watch him stride from his canopy forwards, among his men. A nod here to a rower his shield guarding his seaward side and his spear laid ready to be taken in hand. A pat on the shoulder for the crouching soldier already attired for battle with plumed helm on head, ready to leap into action and win his comrades at the oars time to take up their arms, a shared laugh with the drummer facing back along the course of the ship, a man whose muscled limbs never miss a beat lest the crew miss a stroke.
“So girl, frightened?” Asked Achilles.
Messalios turned from where she had been watching ahead over the bow, one arm coiled with the rope of the foremast that stuck spear like ahead of the ship, “I feel no fear.” She replied tartly giving her blonde tresses a dismissive shake, her cuirass of linen and leather stretching as she drew in breath to give voice to her accomplishments.
“You are never frightened Daughter by My Sword Arm, I was asking young Patroclus here,” Laughed Achilles, stroking his beard.
“I am not a girl,” Protested the young man to the amused laughter of the Myrmidons, his voice cracking not helping his claim to virility.
“He teases you, Patroclus, ignore him,” Sniffed Messalios, “It was not salt you were cleaning out of his beard after he drank all that wine we took in Mysia in one go now was it?”
“Hark to Messalios, she scalds like a cat and fights like a lioness guarding her cubs,” Roared the greatest warrior in all the Aegean, “She will guide you well in the arts of battle, now both of you fetch me mine armour, the shore approaches and so too does the killing!”
To be continued
"and someone get me a drink, declaiming is thirsty work!"
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Pp is sitting quietly trying to avoid too much movement that might set the sweat flowing on an already hot early morning ahead of the forecast three day severe heat wave.
He has called for a slavegirl with a fan but, clearly, the tips have flowed too freely and some other form encouragement is needed.A rattling tale well declaimed RR. Pp looks forward to hearing more of Messalios wearing "her cuirass of linen and leather".
RacingRodent
Consul
Well in due course our heroine may get very sweaty indeed, she'll also be prone to slipping in and out of her gear as the occasion demands
But all in good time
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Well in due course our heroine may get very sweaty indeed, she'll also be prone to slipping in and out of her gear as the occasion demands
Hum, Messalios could preferate to wear her cuirass directely to her tender skin but my squirrel doesn't want : he says that it is leather'fetichism !!!
But in reality, I dont care !
RacingRodent
Consul
Hum, Messalios could preferate to wear her cuirass directely to her tender skin but my squirrel doesn't want : he says that it is leather'fetichism !!!
But in reality, I dont care !
View attachment 439369
See this is how you can tell it is a proper Swords and Sandals epic, the director is arguing fashion over verisimilitude with the leading lady
Ducans
Governor
me neitherHum, Messalios could preferate to wear her cuirass directely to her tender skin but my squirrel doesn't want : he says that it is leather'fetichism !!!
But in reality, I dont care !
View attachment 439369
Attachments
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Our joy commeth not from the cup Wragg?Our joy cometh not from the cup, but from the pen of the Racing Rodent, and the artistry of the Lady Messalios!
But surely there is joy in what spillith from the cup? Especially in what spillith from the cups of the cuirass of the Lady Messalios.
RacingRodent
Consul
Of corset that is not a cuirass but I am fine if it stays (too forced that last one? Not as much as that waist
)
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Blonde, bared breasts, leather against soft skin? Of corset'll doOf corset that is not a cuirass but I am fine if it stays (too forced that last one? Not as much as that waist
while Pp finds something more protective of the Lady's charms.
cuirasser and curiouser thought Alice...Of corset that is not a cuirass but I am fine if it stays (too forced that last one? Not as much as that waist
RacingRodent
Consul
Alice is really thinking, so dear patrons now what happened next was....
The warship drummer rattled off a last flurry of beats and the warship backed oars shortly before its ram crunched into the sand. All around in the half moon like bay of the small island panic and alarm was already spreading. Fishing boats that had hoped to cast nets for the early morning catch had instead either fled out to sea or were hurriedly putting to shore themselves, though with fewer oars and having to build up headway they had been easily outpaced. The Pride of Peleus however was come for richer game than a few snatched fishermen. The three warships of similar build laid up on the sand were a part of it but the men even now grabbing spears and shields or hurriedly buckling on armour and their women desperately seeking shelter were the biggest prize of all.
Achilles plunged down into the surf, dread spear in one hand, mighty shield upon his other arm, plumed helmet masking his famous face and shining greaves and breastplate and a single vambrace on the wrist of his spear arm making him look like a burnished bronze god. “Myrmidons, to battle and plunder!” The sun was beginning to blaze down and Messalios golden locks shot back its rays where they peaked under her own helmet, she came to stand besides the great warrior as Patroclus and the dozen other men ready in their full panoply of war fanned out. “Behind me Sword Daughter, remember I will need you to cover my back.”
So as the crows and seagulls swirled above drawn by the promise of carrion men mustered the courage in their hearts and then hurried to form their hasty ranks. The Myrmidons seeing the foe would fight not flee came on up the beach towards the huts of the village in a compact phalanx of eight files, each of eight warriors. Their enemy however mustered more than one hundred men and looked to be setting into a dozen files of as many ranks.
“Half files Myrmidons, they mean to test our flanks,” Achilles laughed, “Soon we shall test the blood that flows in their veins.” With that each file to Achilles right took a step to its right and each one to his left took a step to its left with the rear four men hurrying to fill the gaps left by those in front. The enemy who had been tentatively coming forwards confident of their numbers now checked. “Forward Myrmidons at the advance,” Achilles ordered as his troops trotted forwards spears levelled and shield locked he called, “Who are we?”
“We are the Myrmidons,” Messalios called out with the rest.
“What do we bring?” Asked Achilles.
“We bring death,” Roared the Myrmidons.
“What we want?” Challenged Achilles.
“A fight,” Yelled the Myrmidons.
“Now charge,” Achilles could have easily outpaced any of his men but that was how barbarians did battle, the Greek fury was more measured the line already coming forwards at a fair clip now redoubled its stride, to the enemy bronze fronted faces showed hard edged eyes over the rims of their spears whose wickedly pointed heads were eagerly questing for throats or faces or any chink in a warrior’s protection. The front rank of the enemy would have turned and run but their fellows behind them had locked shields to make it impossible, now both coward and hero must fight.
The bards tell and tell often of the clash of shield against shield and men thrown in the air. Even poets who know better because they have stood the line with their fellow citizens still make the same false boast often enough to those fellow citizens, the fact is that the pace always slackens a bit as men find themselves having to dodge or duck spears and no man is actually thrown in the air.
Achilles spear took a man just below the throat where had he a breastplate like Achilles he would have been protected. With a mighty roar the Champion of Thessaly heaved the man up and hurled him back among his comrades…okay that bit about men not getting thrown in the air well Achilles always ignores that bit. Drawing his sword Achilles now plunged in among the ranks of the foes seeking to widen the gap he had created. Messalios followed hard on his heels from the second rank and struck at those who turned in an effort to assail the great warrior from behind. Patroclus followed close behind her and behind them veteran Myrmidons worked to widen the gap.
Achilles in his battle rage was more like a god than man. Where others would feint and parry he brushed aside spear point and sword edge and struck with devastating deftness and crushing strength. A leg fell one way and a warrior another and Achilles pressed on stabbing through the face guard of a captain among the enemy he sent him down to voyage the Styx.
Messalios lacked that same brute strength but her sword whisked around and many a man flinched from a jab to the face or a knee. A man turned to face her, smashed at her with his shield looking to bring the girl down by weight of muscle and metal but she met it with her own shield. She feinted at his face and dodged a cut from him before reaching her sword blade down where both their shields hid it from his view, then she cut into his knee from behind where the greave thinned to allow movement and he fell back with a scream.
Achilles turned with a roar having plunged through all the depth of the enemy and prepared to lay into them like a one man army attacking from the rear. At the same time the resistance crumbled as men on the hastily extended flanks gave way before the fiercer more battle hardened Myrmidons. The foe still had numbers but now courage fled and men threw down shields and weapons and even helmets in a desperate urge to speed their flight.
“To the women, catch me some women!” Achilles called out and his warband cheered their victory.
The warship drummer rattled off a last flurry of beats and the warship backed oars shortly before its ram crunched into the sand. All around in the half moon like bay of the small island panic and alarm was already spreading. Fishing boats that had hoped to cast nets for the early morning catch had instead either fled out to sea or were hurriedly putting to shore themselves, though with fewer oars and having to build up headway they had been easily outpaced. The Pride of Peleus however was come for richer game than a few snatched fishermen. The three warships of similar build laid up on the sand were a part of it but the men even now grabbing spears and shields or hurriedly buckling on armour and their women desperately seeking shelter were the biggest prize of all.
Achilles plunged down into the surf, dread spear in one hand, mighty shield upon his other arm, plumed helmet masking his famous face and shining greaves and breastplate and a single vambrace on the wrist of his spear arm making him look like a burnished bronze god. “Myrmidons, to battle and plunder!” The sun was beginning to blaze down and Messalios golden locks shot back its rays where they peaked under her own helmet, she came to stand besides the great warrior as Patroclus and the dozen other men ready in their full panoply of war fanned out. “Behind me Sword Daughter, remember I will need you to cover my back.”
So as the crows and seagulls swirled above drawn by the promise of carrion men mustered the courage in their hearts and then hurried to form their hasty ranks. The Myrmidons seeing the foe would fight not flee came on up the beach towards the huts of the village in a compact phalanx of eight files, each of eight warriors. Their enemy however mustered more than one hundred men and looked to be setting into a dozen files of as many ranks.
“Half files Myrmidons, they mean to test our flanks,” Achilles laughed, “Soon we shall test the blood that flows in their veins.” With that each file to Achilles right took a step to its right and each one to his left took a step to its left with the rear four men hurrying to fill the gaps left by those in front. The enemy who had been tentatively coming forwards confident of their numbers now checked. “Forward Myrmidons at the advance,” Achilles ordered as his troops trotted forwards spears levelled and shield locked he called, “Who are we?”
“We are the Myrmidons,” Messalios called out with the rest.
“What do we bring?” Asked Achilles.
“We bring death,” Roared the Myrmidons.
“What we want?” Challenged Achilles.
“A fight,” Yelled the Myrmidons.
“Now charge,” Achilles could have easily outpaced any of his men but that was how barbarians did battle, the Greek fury was more measured the line already coming forwards at a fair clip now redoubled its stride, to the enemy bronze fronted faces showed hard edged eyes over the rims of their spears whose wickedly pointed heads were eagerly questing for throats or faces or any chink in a warrior’s protection. The front rank of the enemy would have turned and run but their fellows behind them had locked shields to make it impossible, now both coward and hero must fight.
The bards tell and tell often of the clash of shield against shield and men thrown in the air. Even poets who know better because they have stood the line with their fellow citizens still make the same false boast often enough to those fellow citizens, the fact is that the pace always slackens a bit as men find themselves having to dodge or duck spears and no man is actually thrown in the air.
Achilles spear took a man just below the throat where had he a breastplate like Achilles he would have been protected. With a mighty roar the Champion of Thessaly heaved the man up and hurled him back among his comrades…okay that bit about men not getting thrown in the air well Achilles always ignores that bit. Drawing his sword Achilles now plunged in among the ranks of the foes seeking to widen the gap he had created. Messalios followed hard on his heels from the second rank and struck at those who turned in an effort to assail the great warrior from behind. Patroclus followed close behind her and behind them veteran Myrmidons worked to widen the gap.
Achilles in his battle rage was more like a god than man. Where others would feint and parry he brushed aside spear point and sword edge and struck with devastating deftness and crushing strength. A leg fell one way and a warrior another and Achilles pressed on stabbing through the face guard of a captain among the enemy he sent him down to voyage the Styx.
Messalios lacked that same brute strength but her sword whisked around and many a man flinched from a jab to the face or a knee. A man turned to face her, smashed at her with his shield looking to bring the girl down by weight of muscle and metal but she met it with her own shield. She feinted at his face and dodged a cut from him before reaching her sword blade down where both their shields hid it from his view, then she cut into his knee from behind where the greave thinned to allow movement and he fell back with a scream.
Achilles turned with a roar having plunged through all the depth of the enemy and prepared to lay into them like a one man army attacking from the rear. At the same time the resistance crumbled as men on the hastily extended flanks gave way before the fiercer more battle hardened Myrmidons. The foe still had numbers but now courage fled and men threw down shields and weapons and even helmets in a desperate urge to speed their flight.
“To the women, catch me some women!” Achilles called out and his warband cheered their victory.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Yes, my squirrel let me, at least, fighting in my leather armour, joined to "Brad Pitt " !!!
Mmmmmmmm ! I'm a star !!!
