My eyes aren’t bleeding, yet. But I’m pretty sure I am well on my way to that outcome if I continue on my current path. I’ve been reading a ton, and not necessarily about easily readable topics. It’s all your fault really. That’s right, you are the ones driving this reading madness. The truth is, I don’t mind it that much. In fact, if I have to be completely honest with myself, I actually like it. It all has to do with research.
Some of you may not know this, but Markram Battles has been heavily influenced by ancient Roman history. I suppose it isn’t hard to guess. After all, the resemblance between the concept of gladiatorial games and the tournament –like confrontations between combat units in Markram Battles isn’t hard to miss. Still, those similarities go way beyond a superficial comparison. So, I’ve been reading, submerging myself would be more accurate, actually. I’ve been diving into the world of ancient Rome, its customs, traditions, and of course, forms of entertainment, in order to gain some perspective.
Yesterday I came across The Aeneid, an epic poem written by Publius Vergilius Maro, or Virgil for short. He was an ancient Roman poet in the Augustan period. His epic poem, The Aeneid, tells the story of Aeneas, a Trojan who travelled to Italy where he became the ancestor of the Romans. I won’t go into all the details of his work. Suffice it to know that I think his composition is brilliant and inspiring.
Here is a little snippet from book XII, which took me right back to the fight between Seven and Eleven in Markram Battles: Omens of Doom. You can find a preview of Omens of Doom here.
In silent order either army stands,
And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.
Th’ Ausonian king beholds, with wond’ring sight,
Two mighty champions match’d in single fight,
Born under climes remote, and brought by fate,
With swords to try their titles to the state.
Now, in clos’d field, each other from afar
They view; and, rushing on, begin the war.
They launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet;
The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet:
Their buckles clash; thick blows descend from high,
And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.
Courage conspires with chance, and both ingage
With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.