Welcome, welcome.
Make yourself comfortable. The trip was pleasant, I take it? All downhill, of course. Never mind the dog, his barks are worse than his bites. You’d think he was the only one with three heads around here. Hmph. I’d offer you a drink, but then you’d forget everything and we’d have to go through the whole story again.
Not much to look at, am I now?
Typhon was my sire, who contested the rule of the cosmos with Olympian Zeus himself. While my major accomplishment was terrorizing a couple of villages in Anatolia.We begin life with such ambitions, do we not? Too late we learn, even for the daughter of a god, even for the son of a king, some trophies are beyond our grasp.
In my day, I was the most feared creature in existence. So savage and strange that none dared stand before me. Behold my fiery breath, which reaped armies like sheaves of wheat. Flee before my serpent-headed tail, the very touch of which is poison. Tremble at my lion’s visage, and gibber in madness at the goat’s head which arises from my back (don’t try to talk to him—deaf as a post and marginally less intelligent).
These griffons, manticores and hippogriffs, hah, mere imitators. No sphinx was I, to shelter behind soft riddles and twisting wordplay—pure brute power I was, more harbinger of doom than mere physical presence. And yet, it is I, not they, who became a byword for all things illusory and unachievable.
Let that be a lesson to you, mortal: do not rely on the memories of men for your legacy.
Bellerophon came on a winged horse. They all had something: Invulnerable but for the heel, a ball of string, a lion’s skin. A pack of cheats, the lot of them.
And he had the temerity to think this was all something deserved, as if he had won the winged steed on merit. Idiot boy was accused of sleeping with another man’s wife, got sent on a suicide mission and then fell asleep in a temple. The living embodiment of failing upwards, until of course he very suddenly and quite definitely wasn’t.
The next time you see someone lauded as a hero, a champion, a strong man, remember Bellerophon. Remember what came of all of it in the end.
He said, I have come to slay you, ravager of Lycia. He said I was a blight, a pestilence, that he would scourge me from the land and make it whole again.
Trying to talk himself into it, I suppose. All this braggadocio and bluster serving just to show how thin his young and brittle courage was. I said, come down from your high horse and let’s talk about that.
He said, I am the son of Glaucus, beloved of Athena, tamer of Pegasus.
I said, that’s neat. I said, you will learn how little these things matter, should you live that long. I too, have a father, one that promised me the world.
He said, silence beast! And he pulled his iron war-helm down over his eyes, spurred his steed into the skies and nocked a goose-feathered arrow against his chest.
It was not a glorious battle, I’m afraid. He flew high above, his arrows stinging like thorns, but my hide was too strong and he could do me no harm. But always he flew out of reach of claw and tail and tooth. A stalemate, as dignified as a horse trying to swat a gnat with its tail. Until, in my frustration, I opened wide my maw and let loose with a jet of flame.
Well. We all know how well that went.
He had a spear with a plug of lead, and thrust it down my open throat, where it ran red and melted into my gut. Do you have any idea what molten metal feels like, burning you form the inside? Suppose not, otherwise you’d be a resident here, not a visitor. It is. Unpleasant.
And then I awoke, if that’s the term, and found myself here. A fitting end for a monster, you say, as if your end will be any different.
Make yourself comfortable. The trip was pleasant, I take it? All downhill, of course. Never mind the dog, his barks are worse than his bites. You’d think he was the only one with three heads around here. Hmph. I’d offer you a drink, but then you’d forget everything and we’d have to go through the whole story again.
Not much to look at, am I now?
Typhon was my sire, who contested the rule of the cosmos with Olympian Zeus himself. While my major accomplishment was terrorizing a couple of villages in Anatolia.We begin life with such ambitions, do we not? Too late we learn, even for the daughter of a god, even for the son of a king, some trophies are beyond our grasp.
In my day, I was the most feared creature in existence. So savage and strange that none dared stand before me. Behold my fiery breath, which reaped armies like sheaves of wheat. Flee before my serpent-headed tail, the very touch of which is poison. Tremble at my lion’s visage, and gibber in madness at the goat’s head which arises from my back (don’t try to talk to him—deaf as a post and marginally less intelligent).
These griffons, manticores and hippogriffs, hah, mere imitators. No sphinx was I, to shelter behind soft riddles and twisting wordplay—pure brute power I was, more harbinger of doom than mere physical presence. And yet, it is I, not they, who became a byword for all things illusory and unachievable.
Let that be a lesson to you, mortal: do not rely on the memories of men for your legacy.
Bellerophon came on a winged horse. They all had something: Invulnerable but for the heel, a ball of string, a lion’s skin. A pack of cheats, the lot of them.
And he had the temerity to think this was all something deserved, as if he had won the winged steed on merit. Idiot boy was accused of sleeping with another man’s wife, got sent on a suicide mission and then fell asleep in a temple. The living embodiment of failing upwards, until of course he very suddenly and quite definitely wasn’t.
The next time you see someone lauded as a hero, a champion, a strong man, remember Bellerophon. Remember what came of all of it in the end.
He said, I have come to slay you, ravager of Lycia. He said I was a blight, a pestilence, that he would scourge me from the land and make it whole again.
Trying to talk himself into it, I suppose. All this braggadocio and bluster serving just to show how thin his young and brittle courage was. I said, come down from your high horse and let’s talk about that.
He said, I am the son of Glaucus, beloved of Athena, tamer of Pegasus.
I said, that’s neat. I said, you will learn how little these things matter, should you live that long. I too, have a father, one that promised me the world.
He said, silence beast! And he pulled his iron war-helm down over his eyes, spurred his steed into the skies and nocked a goose-feathered arrow against his chest.
It was not a glorious battle, I’m afraid. He flew high above, his arrows stinging like thorns, but my hide was too strong and he could do me no harm. But always he flew out of reach of claw and tail and tooth. A stalemate, as dignified as a horse trying to swat a gnat with its tail. Until, in my frustration, I opened wide my maw and let loose with a jet of flame.
Well. We all know how well that went.
He had a spear with a plug of lead, and thrust it down my open throat, where it ran red and melted into my gut. Do you have any idea what molten metal feels like, burning you form the inside? Suppose not, otherwise you’d be a resident here, not a visitor. It is. Unpleasant.
And then I awoke, if that’s the term, and found myself here. A fitting end for a monster, you say, as if your end will be any different.
No comments:
Post a Comment