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"I used to pray here," a voice played in Akhilleus' head.

"I would come alone, put the distractions of farm and family out of my mind for a while, and release my attention to the gods," the voice continued, achingly close but as far away as the grave. Akhilleus wanted to shut the memory away; to force it down like a rotten ration, but the man's voice carried on, unconcerned.

"I never heard the gods, you know, but they speak in silence. I heard them on the breeze through the leaves and in the rustle of the grasses that persist among the stones."

The trees here had burned to ashes months ago. The dirt paths and pleasant lanes they had covered with their boughs had been churned by fighting and none could remember where they had once stood. Akhilleus kicked a golden lamp, worth over a year's pay for the most skilled hoplites, and watched it tumble into the muck.

"I can say this for certain," the man said without a care. Akhilleus never had learned his name. "The gods are still here. Don't you feel them, sir? They stir in my breast instead of the leaves, yes, but they remain. Not even our actions can push them from this holy site."

Akhilleus stood in the ruins of the temple. His chest rumbled in his armor as he exhaled, succumbing to the memory of the old soldier.

"I think this is fitting for me," he had said. He was staring past Akhilleus, perhaps at the slivers of clouds visible of the battle-smoke, or perhaps at nothing at all. Akhilleus hadn't been able to look at the oozing, boiling head wound that spilled from underneath the man's matted, sweat begrimed hair and over Akhilleus bare arms.

"Fitting?" Akhilleus had responded to the man dying in his arms, "You'll get a crack at the enemy, yet. A surgeon is on his way."

The man had only smiled the soft, invisible smile. "My lord, please," his voice pleaded, though not for mercy or pity, but for Akhilleus to accept what the man already knew.

"No, nothing like that, the surgeon is just here," Akhilleus lied.

The man never spoke again.

Had this sort of build in my head for a while now. I couldn't tell if the photo from my camera was any good so I took one with my phone as well.

Style: 9
Substance: 7
Photography: 8

Boast: 9

"Huh..." "Kind of morbid. Is this really in keeping with the Blarney Build?" "Well, historically, this was a time for reflection and contemplation of the past year and looking forward to the future." "...who are you and what did you do with Waldorf?" "Funny."

Style
"This is where it starts to get more tricky." "Agreed." "I mean, it is a nice vingette, clearly visible for what it is." "But about a third of it is just plates and rounds scattered on the table." "It isn't a BAD technique?" 7

Substance
"That's Greek." "Yep." 9

Photography
"Two views, both pretty much the same angle." "White table." "Nice plaster-work on that wall in the background." "Excellent texture on that, and it is unusual for the camera to pick it up like that..." 5

Boast

Dienekes22 wrote: ↑

Wed Mar 01, 2023 10:01 pm

Had this sort of build in my head for a while now. I couldn't tell if the photo from my camera was any good so I took one with my phone as well.

"...that isn't really a Boast." "More like a confession." "A discussion." "A statement." 4

Style: 8
Substance: 7
Photography: 7
Boast: 9