Vast was the ocean, though it felt their path was vaster yet. Half a day hence began the creation of Athene's grand horse, under the skillful hand of Epeius son of Panopeus. Chiseled cornel wood took the shape of various limbs of a grand steed, scattered upon the ground. Tents strung across the beach, housing numbers well into the thousands. Only hours prior had Odysseus fought the carpenter for the right to select the men within the horse, with Odysseus reigning victorious. Five and thirty more were selected, among them armed Odysseus, Acamas, Diomedes, Menelaus, Neoptolemus, and Epeius himself.
Our grand King, everso cunning, had slipped into Troy under the cover of a poor beggar. A shroud of torn fabrics suppressed his infamy and recognition, allowing the preemptive scouting of the well defended city. Flawless execution allowed Odysseus his cunning return, thereon beginning the war preparations. Men of honor and bravery slung spears of bronze and swords of steel with such grace, memorizing the very feel of various motions in preparation for battle. Ithaca's ruler tampered with his infamous bow, heeding a fellow Achaean's advice as to warm his marksmanship skills prior to the sacking."Come Apollo, prove my aim as true as my faith in your grandiosity." A short-lived, yet well spoken prayer, had been chased by an arrow of immense accuracy. The head of six axes lined in good consistency allowed a narrow slit for an arrow's passage, proving to be a tribulation only the most skillful marksman could surpass. Odysseus was of such men, whom fit the head and feathered end of an arrow through the absurd gap. Digits ran along the well-furnished limb of his weapon, fibers of animal origin holding the shafts taut. Air entered the nostrils of the king, frame forcing out half of its capacity in an attempt to steady aim once more. The notched digits of a well-designed arrow clamped around the sinew of the bow's string, sounds of protest creaking out as the dart had drawn back. Limbs lifted the mass in a fluid motion, slinging the bow of hefty and tense nature upwards as string drew back. Enamel, worn through the years of the captain's travel and war, clipped against muscular fibers of his tongue. Though his bow appeared tense, he proved far moreso. Another arrow slung itself from the archer's grasp, striking fair against the clothed log posted down range. Heavyset footfalls crunched through leaves of withered nature behind the witty and slim figure, prompting a pivot. Hues narrowed, Odysseus making an attempt to sort the face out within the shadowy blanket casted down by trees of absurd size.
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"Who goes there, friend stranger? Show yourself, so we can sip upon wine provided to us by my wife, and toast our loyalty to the likes of Athena." Eyebrows furrowed, a hand motioning to an ember filled pit in which the man planned his dinner's preparation. An unnerving feeling crossed downward along the king's spine, ushering him to grasp the gifted pendent of silver and gold laid upon the king by Athene herself. A faint hue crept from the shadowy figure, highlighted only by the power of the god-given device. As quick as the figure appeared, it withered into the darkness of the bramble. The gods are playing amongst mortal men, their intentions unknown.
