You Smell Damper than a 100-year-old Bottle of Wine

"Ugh, you smell damper than a 100-year-old bottle of wine, what in hellos did you rub over yourself?"

Odysseus sat his legs cramped to his chest as they pushed into his chest, in front was Menelaus. His smelly sweat covered body mimicking the rest of the people, their bodies cramped into the horse, its wooden panelling painted and covered to complete darkness, the only remaining light came from small breathing holes in the top of the horse.

The horse itself was magnificent, its huge figure embroidered with metal and painted gold and black. The huge stature would have been a good gift to the gods, but sure enough after hours cramped up with a room of sweaty men.

Cel left with the rest of the captains, this put Mahon in a better state than the rest of the people.

"Thank the gods we're moving, I thought the fight would start here."

Odysseus lent over his hands trembling

"This is your first war?"

"No, why?"

"You're trembling like I did on my first,"

"You aren't? My plan holds the lives of all the kings of hella! If this fails, I will be branded the idiot who killed everyone… well, almost everyone."

"I see, we're moving though, so it will be fine."

"But we still have to wait, it's light out there will be hours before they're sleeping."

The small dots on the floor gradually moved over the wooden floor, then turned dark. There were shouts of joy from outside, cheering and music echoing throughout the town, but finally it died down, then the men started to creep, each careful footstep gliding along the wood, their swords gripped tightly, hours of patience stored up, waiting. Waiting to be released.

The men slipped out of the giant horse like ants, crawling over the city and in between the houses, their swords quickly slicing through the sleeping and drunk. The silver dashing with red and slicing through their skin quickly and quietly, hundreds were dead before people even realized. Mahon rushing with Odysseus to their armoury.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through

He was launched back as the sharpened log plunged past his body. His chest pierced with a spike.

He looked around, his chest filled with pain. And his mind clouded with thoughts. The world spinning and blurring as he staggered back. The blood running down his clothes, as he pulled the piece of wood from his chest blood poured out of the hole, his breathing rasping and burning, gasping for air and dropping to his knees Mahon reached for his flask spilling blood over the street. He stared at the pool of blood dripping around him as he clawed to his feet.

Suddenly, through the hazed vision as sharp pain hit his head, pushing him to the ground. His arms sprawled over the stone, his clothes filling with blood as the cold set over his body.