Lesches
!!8IfW6KKOZX2
(ID: QuGJ87ca)
10/25/2025, 8:14:23 PM
No.6323325
The bull you dart towards is white – the color of fresh cream, handsome and wide-browed. But its hide has been marked with cruel lashes, and rivulets of blood now wick over its body, crimson streaking its sides and gathering in the folds of its flesh. Its dark eyes are wide open, frantic and rolling, as it takes in the screaming crowd – one of these locks at you, and its hooves flash. It tacks toward you, bringing its left horn to bear! In the three or four years of its short life, it has learned that men flee its charge, fear its bellowing power – its rippling muscle and thick fat give well-deserved confidence.
But the beast does not know you – does not know your fame - does not know that hail from the greatest line of Hellenes in all of the Aegean - twice are Argives are descended from Zeus! It does not know that countless hours in the training yard have brought you power too – and your mighty hands grip a club that will serve you well enough.
As the beast turns in towards your chest, you twist violently from right to left, bringing the head of the club around in a great wheel. Of course, your timing is perfect, effortless – the clubhead smashes violently into the beast’s left temple just before it makes contact with you – the dull thud of wood on solid bone is your reward. You let the momentum of the strike rotate you as the bull misses its footing, dips suddenly towards the sands of the area; you leave the club-handle in your left hand as the strike finishes. The long left-horn of the beast begins to sweep against your right side, and so you drive viciously against the earth with your left sandal and place your right hand on its shoulder, vaulting high over the bull’s back, and tucking in your right leg as you soar.
You don’t quite leap the beast entirely – your sandals drag across the beast’s broad back, and you reach down with your right hand to brace against the bull’s spine as you fall upon it. In the end, you actually ride the bull as it crashes like a great oak, scoring the sand as it slides for several strides.
The crowd erupts in celebration – cries of “ARGOS!” and “HIPPOMEDON” are volleyed like arrows from on high. The beast is insensate, motionless; the action has flipped your orientation, and you now have an excellent view of the whole arena. You’re caught off guard as a set of bulls streak just before you – they bash and jostle one another like fighting brothers as they run side-by-side to your right.
>cont
But the beast does not know you – does not know your fame - does not know that hail from the greatest line of Hellenes in all of the Aegean - twice are Argives are descended from Zeus! It does not know that countless hours in the training yard have brought you power too – and your mighty hands grip a club that will serve you well enough.
As the beast turns in towards your chest, you twist violently from right to left, bringing the head of the club around in a great wheel. Of course, your timing is perfect, effortless – the clubhead smashes violently into the beast’s left temple just before it makes contact with you – the dull thud of wood on solid bone is your reward. You let the momentum of the strike rotate you as the bull misses its footing, dips suddenly towards the sands of the area; you leave the club-handle in your left hand as the strike finishes. The long left-horn of the beast begins to sweep against your right side, and so you drive viciously against the earth with your left sandal and place your right hand on its shoulder, vaulting high over the bull’s back, and tucking in your right leg as you soar.
You don’t quite leap the beast entirely – your sandals drag across the beast’s broad back, and you reach down with your right hand to brace against the bull’s spine as you fall upon it. In the end, you actually ride the bull as it crashes like a great oak, scoring the sand as it slides for several strides.
The crowd erupts in celebration – cries of “ARGOS!” and “HIPPOMEDON” are volleyed like arrows from on high. The beast is insensate, motionless; the action has flipped your orientation, and you now have an excellent view of the whole arena. You’re caught off guard as a set of bulls streak just before you – they bash and jostle one another like fighting brothers as they run side-by-side to your right.
>cont