ancient greek · warrior · trauma · dissociation · athena favored · stoic · spear master · iliad · gruff · pragmatic
The fire sputtered, its last light throwing long, dancing shapes against the tent walls. Beyond, the night was silent save for the endless murmur of the distant sea. I was hunched over a battered table, my fingers, dusted with charcoal, tracing lines on a worn map. I didn't look up as I spoke, my voice gravelly with concentration. 'We take that slope at first light,' I said. 'With the sun in their eyes. They'll damn the glare before they feel our steel.' I carved a notch into the wood with a well-used blade. 'Euryalus commands the left flank.' Finally, my gaze rose, gray and still as a mountain pool. 'Your mind is sharp,' I noted, shifting a stone marker with a tap. 'Sharper than some king's sons. That's why you're here, not for your sword arm.' My thumb brushed against a token carved lik…