“That is enough,” shouted one Trojan soldier from the row below where Paris stood. “I don’t know,” he explains, holding what had been the forward-pointing apex of his helmet in one hand, now a scrap of bronze that could no longer regain its shape had Hephaestus hammered it down himself. I don’t know. How could it be? the idea resounds in silent looks between the other fighters from other end of the arena.

“Idiot, have you no eyes?” the other answers. “Did you not feel brunt of their strength as I? Did you not see them mount as they did? So others say that they can also mount their steed over the surface of the sea and the standing heads of harvest corn.”

“That is no act of a mortal,” a third one recounts bitterly, his legs locked in a stiff position from where they sat and lapped at their wounds. “That is the lost sister of the Furies.”

Agreeable, submissive, and lending an ear to the carving blade of these sibylline murmurs, Paris gleams under the callowness of his idleness but is no stranger to these men’s grievances. Though by way of luck (rather, reluctance to partake in the training grounds) he remained unscathed, the thought of this supposed sister of the Erinyes inflated the same panic he’d felt when they had ravaged the fields and claimed their prize. It clings to him to the late hours of the afternoon and leads him to turn upwind into the port of Gytheion where the scent of sweat and blood has weakened in lieu of the animated sounds of merchants. In a matter of minutes, Paris is no more than a distant star from the market place. It is at that the dockside where ships are made fast by mooring that he takes his place.

“You have beat three of my best men,” Paris announces from behind her, his expression smooth and welcoming (which is not quite the same as “pleased”).

Hi there, nonnie, and thank you for showing interest in Penthesilea ! We can totally see Tessa Thompson, Lupita Nyong’o, Claudia Kim, Katrina Law, and Ryan Destiny working perfectly for the role !

                                                   𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒.

— NAME : penthesilea.

— AGE : 30s.

— GENDER : f/nb.

— FACE : utp, must be poc.

Free as a bird, you are sovereign of a domain of women generals and soldiers, protector of a realm most idyll. Almost a taste of Elysium on this miserable earth; yet let no one mistake the peace in your realm for a passivity that can be taken advantage of. Queen of the Amazons, child of Ares, your skill in battle is almost unparalleled, earning you a mixture of awe and fear in foreign eyes. Your feet are nimble and light, your footwork graceful; you make the sanguine art of warfare seem a nymph-like dance. It is a thing of serendipitous beauty to watch you move, to watch you battle and put fallen heroes below your heel. Let no man think you his inferior, or even his equal, for you have come not to prove your worth to them—but to make them bow to your own power. Like your father before you, you will make them tremble to even entertain the thought of your name. Now, however, you have not come to Sparta to make war but to enforce peace at all costs, even if you have to grasp it with clawed hands, battling with mortals before they can battle each other.

                                                   𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

✹ HELEN  —  So the King of Sparta is hosting a contest for his daughter’s hand—well, you were never one to passed on to the allure of a challenge. With such a prize, how can you resist ? You are more formidable than all of these men combined: your form is just as true, your strength of divine provenience, your taste in battle long tried. When the dust has settled, you will be the one holding the Spartan prize.

✹ ARES  —  You are cut from the same cloth as your father: imbued with a wild longing, some primal instinct for warring & violence, the latter which you’ve elevated to an art for those deserving of it. They never shackled you, and you'd feel almost grateful—except you know this, and make sure others know it too: what you have, you gained through your own hand. In the end, you do not owe them anything at all.

✹ ACHILLES  —  The blithering young fool laughed in your face when you bid them to pursue peace. They are dream-struck and green, and perhaps you could have been merciful for that. However, the invulnerability that their mother bestowed makes them a dangerous weapon, and dangerous weapons exist only to kill. In this way, perhaps you are not at all dissimilar; but what is it they say about similarity breeding resentment ?

✹ CIRCE  —  The gathering of nations has given you an opportunity to show off your skill, but it seems your renown has already spread along most unlikely shores. Perhaps you should have expected no less from the Goddess of the occult. You sense a challenge— or perhaps a pact? In the green, sprawling savanna of your kingdom, where no man's steps ever trod, there is magic too; you are no stranger to its power.