The Misadventures of a Spartan Polemarch

A Fight at Fort Gla

A cloud of dirt erupted from the ground as feet skirted across rock and soil. Leaves swirled in the soft wind that blew through the few trees stationed at Kopais Perch. The sky overhead painted a deep blue, sparse clouds dotted the overwhelming expanse above. The sun beat down warm and welcoming to those walking below. It was early enough in the morning that most guards of Fort Gla were still sleeping. And besides those few overnight stragglers the fort was silent. That was until a scream roared across the campus, followed by the clash of metal to metal. The trees around the fort rattled as birds fled them, leaves shaking off towards the ground. Lizards and bugs on the ground skittered dashing for safety.

Stentor slid backwards as Alexios threw himself into the shield he held up. The gravel beneath his Spartan sandals crunched and grumbled as it was displaced and kicked up when Stentor pushed against the weight. The Polemarch caught Alexios' gaze over the top of the shield. Those often bright starry eyes knitted and creased in frustration, anger nearly, and when their eyes locked with each other Stentor faltered. The idea had been to wear Alexios out, to force him to give up out of exhaustion. Again Stentor found himself at a loss of what to do, because truthfully holding up a shield against the heavy attacks Alexios continuously poured out was far more work than simply trying to beat the Hades out of him. His ability to twist and turn, to jolt this way and that, well Stentor wished he could keep up with him. Each time the assassin rolled to the left or right, Stentor stumbled to turn and pulled his shield up to save him from a flaming blade to the side. Yet by the time he had made it one way Alexios was already swinging from the opposite. Bringing the scorching hot blade down to heat the metal of his braces. What made it worse was the knowledge that Alexios only fought him half heartedly. They both knew Alexios could finish him off easily. They both knew that Alexios was far beyond Stentor's level of skill. He and his sister both were crafted by the gods themselves. Stentor had seen him slice through a crowd of Athenians on the battlefield, he had watched as Alexios slaughtered Kelon, heard about his travels to kill legendary animals and man alike. Alexios was no Sunday warrior. He knew how to fight, and he knew how to kill. So when another swing of his blade came down towards Stentor only to pull back at the last second and barely scrape his arm Stentor bellowed a cry of anger. "Fight me like a true Spartan, misthios! Treat me as a worthy opponent!" 

This time Alexios faltered, his sword and spear came down to his sides, and his tense fighting stance softened. The crease in his brow deepened as one of his eyebrows lifted, the scrunch of his lips loosened as they slightly parted and Alexios tilted his head like a dog. "Stentor…I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you’re shooting for." The two now stood nearly ten feet apart with Alexios' back to the tent and Stentor’s toward the edge of the perch. 

The Polemarch sneered, a growl pouring out of him as he once more lunged towards Alexios who was now in the midst of putting his sword back into its sheath. A loud crash sounded as the table was smashed into, maps and map markers slung across the tent. Spare coins and a couple of smaller weapons slapped the dirt floor clinking against one another, puffs of soil filled the air along with a loud groan. The table had flipped upon impact and now sat on its side as if being used for a barricade. Laying across the table’s edge, Stentor. He was curled over the edge, spear on the ground next to him, the cape of his armor draped over his head which hung down towards the ground. His knees brushed the dirt below him. The edge of his Spartan waistband pulled up flaunting the muscles of the back of his thighs as he struggled to lift himself off the table's edge. Like this he felt far too vulnerable, his back to Alexios, ass basically in the air, and his spear just far enough away his current situation obstructed him from reaching it.

Alexios now stood to the right of the tent entrance, his sword neatly placed back into its sheath, his spear resided on his back. His left hand was now pulling his armor back into position, shifting it this way and that until it felt comfortable once more. “Y’know Stentor…” Alexios turned to face the threshold of the shelter. “You’ve got to stop with the same attack over and over.” Feet shuffled across the dirt floor as he entered and reached out a hand to grab Stentor by the neck of his chest plate armor. Not before his eyes devoured the humiliating circumstance before him. His eyes ran the length of Stentor’s bare legs up to the edge of that damned waistband. Alexios stood behind him and in one swift move hoisted him from the table’s edge. “You’re not going to kill me anytime soon-” When Stentor stood upright once more Alexios pulled him to turn around and when he did a pain shot across the right side of his face. An all too familiar burn ignited and Alexios immediately cupped his cheek, A hiss pressed from his lips and when he removed his hand from his face blood pooled in his palm. Stentor stood before him, broken wine bottle in hand and a smirk on his lips. It was sudden, Stentor hit the floor once more like a stack of grain flung from an angered farmer's arms. The punch had come quick, and hard. Fast enough Stentor had little time to react. Stentor stumbled, his heels smacked the underside of the flipped table and at once he came crashing down. A hiss spewed from his mouth as his back slid along the edge, his elbow cracking against the wood. When his ass hit the dirt his head snapped back and he groaned when it connected with the table's underside.