Lids fluttered shut, optics sealing behind their fleshy curtain. An infant, no older than two summers. "Captain?" The hushed voice of Epeius pulled the king from his meditation, the subtle ambiance of creaking wood and flickering torches returning to consciousness. "Whatever you feel destined to say, hold your tongue. I assure you, it can wait." Despite the inner horse being lit by no more than a single lamp, the pestered glare of Odysseus glinted with malice through squinted lids. Many a day he's spent from his son, Telemachus, and his wife, Penelope daughter of Icarius. All due to the Trojan's cursed napping of Helen of Sparta, and Menelaus' wife. A glance flickered about the dimmed interior, gazes crossing amongst the visible of the 40 men. Enchanting rays of gentle moonlight crept in through the nostrils and sockets of the wooden offering, albeit providing little assistance outside of orientation amongst the dark chamber. It had been nearly two hours since the trap had been set and primed, and now the group of the Achaean's best sat in wait for the 120 minute mark to strike. Sand dripped, like wine from a shoddy waterskin, stacking everso delicately upon the gleaming mound of particles at the bottom of the glass enclosure. Mere minutes from now, The group of 40 would begin their slaughter, allowing the Greek army well into the thousands within Troy's grand walls. It would be mere minutes until. . .
The blowing of a horn startled the troubled ruler, skittish steps making their due way up amongst the stairwell of clay and wood.
The clattering of blades echoed throughout the solid housing from above the man, leaving frame with no less than a flutter of excitement in his heart. "Ares guide my hand and Athena guide my mind, as I cut down treacherous fool after heathen after treacherous fool." The shadow of a man darting the gentle grasp of orange flame-casted lighting caused a hesitant step, followed by a boiling splatter of blood against the wall nearest to the staircase. A wheeze left the dying figure, alongside a collapse and a gurgle. Optics winced shut, breath hitching in the king's throat.
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"Who goes there? Show yourself, you coward!" A familiar voice, belonging to none other than the king's right hand sailor, the oak-skinned Eurylochus.
"O' Eurylochus, lower your blade. Spare your King the troubles of kicking thy ass." Petals curled to that of a relieved grin, reveling in the lack of slaughter by his hands. It felt wrong, slaughtering women and children, far from his favorite past-time.
"Bah-! An archer of your sorts could never best me by blade! It's refreshing to see your face, Captain!" The shadowy figure finished his ascent, stepping into the upper abode of which his friend had conquered. "I've yet seen a body of gold and red, Brother! Seems O' Dionysus serves us well, for these drunken fools can hardly stand to our might!"
A step carried frame into the warm light of the lamps, gaze meeting that of his larger counterpart.
"Eurylochus, view the malice in my eyes. Take note of it, of the anger and hatred I hold towards Helen's nappers. But revel nay in the slaughtering of boys and women, for they've not chosen their husband's and father's treacherous and foolish life. Only a fool and a pervert enjoy slaying the unnecessary." Even a hero's band is not without faults. As we will soon see quite clearly.
