Latin Literature Tournament - Round 1
Propaganda under the cut!
Suetonius Propaganda
I say this with all love and affection--Suetonius is so full of shit. Like reading a magazine in the grocery impulse aisle, in the best possible way
Has very cool intratextual bits and ring structures
He runs on pure vibes, and honestly I love this for him
Vergil Propaganda:
The vates himself, everyone. The poet so good that the Church was like "okay yeah this one magical pagan can stay"
The Fourth Eclogue is such a weird little delight. Is it about the children of Antony? Augustus? Is it a prediction of the birth of Christ? Is it somehow, as I heard one professor suggest for some reason, about Gallus? The possibilities are endless
Are you going to vote against the world-shattering masterpiece that is the Aeneid?
Side note, if you spell it "Virgil" you are my enemy
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These Actions Haunt My Days
Odysseus was used to getting weird dreams. But this one was different.
Someone was watching him.
“Athena?” he called into the dream-void.
A soft chuckle came from behind him. “Don’t mistake me for one of the immortals, Laertides.”
Odysseus whirled around as a man’s figure faded into view. It was someone he recognized, but couldn’t quite put a name to. “Who are you?”
“I’m just a man.” The figure raised a hand and gestured to him. “Like yourself.”
Odysseus’s hand flew to his waist, then he remembered that this was just a dream. He can’t hurt you. And you can’t hurt him.
“What do you want, stranger?” he spat.
“You call me stranger, yet you too triumphed over my fallen body.”
So he was a ghost. An enemy … Odysseus almost didn’t dare ask. “H—Hector?”
The Son of Troy smiled—a gentle smile, although his eyes held a controlled rage. “No respect for your opponent, it seems. It took you that long to recognize me.”
“Why are you here, prince?”
His smile faded as his expression hardened. “I wanted to talk to you, one father to another.”
Oh.
“If this is about your son—”
“You did it to protect your own. I understand that. But…” He sighed. “You and I are not as different as you might think, Odysseus.”
The tactician titled his head, cautious but curious. “Oh?”
“You are a king, fighting for your country. You fight for your wife, who awaits you back at home. And your son, who you want to see grow up to live a glorious life. And you will do anything necessary to protect those you love the most.” Hector stepped closer and softened his voice a little. “I, too, fight for my people. For me, my city is my first love. I did everything in my power to try and protect it, but my efforts were in vain.”
Odysseus lowered his eyes.
“My wife, my Andromache—she longed for an end to that terrible war so that we could be happy together. But I told her … I told her that I might not come home—as surely you must have told your Penelope.”
“You—”
“And my son. All I wanted was for him to grow up to become a good prince—Lord of the City, as we called him.” His eyes filled with sorrow. “He was an infant, Odysseus. I understand that it was between you and him, but … he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be slaughtered in such a dishonorable way. You were given a choice, Odysseus, you—” his voice caught in his throat. “You could have raised him; you could have given him the life I never could. But you didn’t. You chose the easy way out.”
“Easy?” Odysseus’s temper flared. “You think it was easy to hold your son over the walls of Troy, all while looking into his eyes and only seeing my own? You think it was easy to ride inside that horse into the city as the people celebrated, knowing that their joy would be short-lived? You think it was easy to watch the city burn as the people screamed for mercy, calling for their loved ones so they could breathe their last in each other’s arms? All while knowing full well that it was your fault this entire massacre occurred?” Tears were running down his cheeks now, staining his chiton. “None of this was easy, prince. It haunts my every step; occupies my every thought. I wish—how I wish I could have prevented this, but in the end, it was never up to me.”
“No,” Hector whispered. “But you could have tried.”
Odysseus’s heart ached. “I did,” he choked. “I really did.”
“There’s blood on your hands,” Hector said softly. “And there will be more. But whose blood—that remains up to you.”
With that, Hector’s figure disappeared, leaving Odysseus to fall to his knees and cry, each sob clenching his heart with guilt.
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Odysseus, Telemachus, and their descendent, Ulysses, in Legendary Fugitives be like...
Odysseus: Then I'll become the Monster
I will deal the blow
And I'll become the Monster
Like none they've ever known
Telemachus: Give me sirens and a cyclops
Give me giants and a hydra
I know life and fate are scary
But I wanna be legendary
Ulysses: Soon may the Wellerman come
To bring us sugar and tea and rum
One day, when the tonguing is done
We'll take our leave and go
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Latin Literature Tournament - Round 1
Propaganda under the cut!
Ennius Propaganda:
The man who started it all... wrote the first Latin epic in dactylic hexameter (fuck Saturnians, all my homies hate Saturnians)
Among his many contributions, wrote a minor didactic work on where to find good fish
Was buddies with Scipio Africanus
Lucan Propaganda
Really said "what if the Aeneid was more fucked up" and honestly, respect
Every line of the Bellum Civile goes So Fucking Hard. The most metal piece of poetry out there
It's got something for everyone: witches, necromancy, archaeology, blood and guts, aristeia, ghost messengers, siege warfare, dubious protagonists, Ptolemies...
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it's the little things.. percy and grover at yancy, the cabin in montauk, "grover why is there half a goat in your pants," the green between the cabins, annabeth in her camp shirt, the effects for riptide, the way annabeth hugs percy.. the little things that add up in the most epic way. epic, i tell you
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