Measure of a Hero [Prologue/?]
anonymous
February 4 2011, 06:38:15 UTC
Long Ago
There was a golden age of powerful Empires and extraordinary heroes; and the bravest and strongest of all of these heroes was the mighty Alfred.
A beautiful urn, depicting the mighty exploits of the famed Alfred, comes into view. The Austrian narrator clears his throat.
But...what is the measure of a true hero? Well, that is where this story will -
“Veee, wait!”
Oh Gott, what is it now?
The paintings around the top of the urn move, three figures coming hastily to life. One of them is, unfortunately, nude. The other two are wearing togas. The naked one puts on an expression halfway between a pout and a glare.
“You are making zis story sound like some...Greek tragedy, cher!” he protests.
Ugh, groans the narrator. What would you have me do, then?
The three paintings jump free from the urn, shaking out a stripe of the urn and folding it like a staircase. The naked figure and the one with the darkest hair step onto it. The third figure gets his large, unruly curl caught in an ornamentation of the framing, cries for a minute, and then somehow untangles himself and follows the others. He bows, followed by the curly-haired one, and then the nude one follows with a flourish.
“We’ll take it from here, cher,” he purrs.
The narrator, frustrated, gets up and leaves. Fine. Have at it.
“We are the muses,” the curly-haired one says, grinning like a bullfighter.
“Gods of the arts,” adds the nude with a wink, manifesting a rose out of nowhere.
“And proclaimers of heroes!” the silly little Italian pipes up.
“Heroes like Alfred. Wasn’t he so cute?” says the curly-haired Spaniard wistfully.
“Ah but Antonio, our story actually begins long before Alfred. Many eons ago.”
“Oh! Big Brother Francis, I know this one!” The Italian clears his throat. “Jupiter overthrew his father Uranus with an epic battle between the Olympians and the Titans, and then he locked them all up, and then...something about his grandpa’s willy...” Brow furrowed in frustration, the little Italian sulked. “Oh! But there’s lots of sex and incest, and sometimes there’s even animals involved, and-mmff!” Francis, the nude one, had lunged forward and clapped his hand over his fellow muse’s mouth.
“Not that story, mon petit!” he exclaims. When he deems it safe, he releases the Italian’s mouth. “We’re talking about Romulus.”
“Grandpa Rome!”
“The Roman Empire started out very small,” Antonio explains. “But soon, he was so determined, that he had conquered all of the little places he came across, and became the King of the Mediterranean.”
“He gave them roads, and civilization, and he borrowed their mythologies.”
“And their gods!”
“Si, Feli, their gods too. So Romulus tamed the Mediterranean while he was still young, and then retired happily,” Antonio adds with a sage nod.
“And if it seems impossible, cher,” Francis purrs, tucking his rose into his silky hair.
Re: Measure of a Hero [Prologue/?]
anonymous
February 4 2011, 13:34:30 UTC
I shall be over ------> here, authornon, giggling madly and dearly hoping for more. Wonderful choice of muses~ Since Gilbert doesn't appear to be one - please say he's Phil? Somebody needs to give teenage!Alfred awesome lessons.
Re: Measure of a Hero [Prologue/?]
anonymous
February 6 2011, 20:57:13 UTC
Grinning like an idiot here, anon. Especially when Italy was all "something about his grandpa’s willy...” XD That was pure gold. And that's the gospel truth! 8D
There was a golden age of powerful Empires and extraordinary heroes; and the bravest and strongest of all of these heroes was the mighty Alfred.
A beautiful urn, depicting the mighty exploits of the famed Alfred, comes into view. The Austrian narrator clears his throat.
But...what is the measure of a true hero? Well, that is where this story will -
“Veee, wait!”
Oh Gott, what is it now?
The paintings around the top of the urn move, three figures coming hastily to life. One of them is, unfortunately, nude. The other two are wearing togas. The naked one puts on an expression halfway between a pout and a glare.
“You are making zis story sound like some...Greek tragedy, cher!” he protests.
Ugh, groans the narrator. What would you have me do, then?
The three paintings jump free from the urn, shaking out a stripe of the urn and folding it like a staircase. The naked figure and the one with the darkest hair step onto it. The third figure gets his large, unruly curl caught in an ornamentation of the framing, cries for a minute, and then somehow untangles himself and follows the others. He bows, followed by the curly-haired one, and then the nude one follows with a flourish.
“We’ll take it from here, cher,” he purrs.
The narrator, frustrated, gets up and leaves. Fine. Have at it.
“We are the muses,” the curly-haired one says, grinning like a bullfighter.
“Gods of the arts,” adds the nude with a wink, manifesting a rose out of nowhere.
“And proclaimers of heroes!” the silly little Italian pipes up.
“Heroes like Alfred. Wasn’t he so cute?” says the curly-haired Spaniard wistfully.
“Ah but Antonio, our story actually begins long before Alfred. Many eons ago.”
“Oh! Big Brother Francis, I know this one!” The Italian clears his throat. “Jupiter overthrew his father Uranus with an epic battle between the Olympians and the Titans, and then he locked them all up, and then...something about his grandpa’s willy...” Brow furrowed in frustration, the little Italian sulked. “Oh! But there’s lots of sex and incest, and sometimes there’s even animals involved, and-mmff!” Francis, the nude one, had lunged forward and clapped his hand over his fellow muse’s mouth.
“Not that story, mon petit!” he exclaims. When he deems it safe, he releases the Italian’s mouth. “We’re talking about Romulus.”
“Grandpa Rome!”
“The Roman Empire started out very small,” Antonio explains. “But soon, he was so determined, that he had conquered all of the little places he came across, and became the King of the Mediterranean.”
“He gave them roads, and civilization, and he borrowed their mythologies.”
“And their gods!”
“Si, Feli, their gods too. So Romulus tamed the Mediterranean while he was still young, and then retired happily,” Antonio adds with a sage nod.
“And if it seems impossible, cher,” Francis purrs, tucking his rose into his silky hair.
“It’s the gospel truth!”
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XD That was pure gold.
And that's the gospel truth! 8D
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