So, a while back, I launched a story pack alongside  rockytheprocy who was kind enough to illustrate stories of Theo's past, chronicling his escapades through history. This is one of my favorite pieces from the art pack, and seeing as the pack's been out for a while, I figured I would finally let this piece really shine! I think it's one of Brock's best. I'll include a snippet from the story, as well, but if you want to check out the rest of the art and stories, it's still for sale right here: https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?c=cart&ejc=2&cl=330887&i=1561546

Art ©  rockytheprocy
Story © c'est moi

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Fathers of philosophy and democracy, the Ancient Greeks also had an obsession with all things beauty and aesthetics, and that included the body. They would show their gods as muscular, sublimely perfect, and nude, to show off every curve and contour. These statues are everywhere. Really, I could not imagine a better place and time to vacation.

But, the Greeks had one particular quirk, shall we say, that did irritate me: they only wished to venerate the male form. The Ancient Greeks limited themselves to half the population, when I had seen just as much potential in women. And I would be loathe to limit myself as an artist, so I tried nudging the Greek people in the right direction. I did great work with Atalanta; she was an excellent client. But even as her legend grew, the Greeks proved disappointingly stubborn in this regard. I needed something more, a genuine threat to the Greeks’ worldview.
In short, I needed the Amazons. Hailing from the Central Asian steppes, I watched as this warrior tribe swept through Anatolia, amazing the Greeks with their skills with the bow and the horse. But, they were not my typical clientele. The Scythians, as they called themselves, were lean, and favored agility, speed, and dexterity. Their leaders lacked the ambition I typically look for in my clients, and were not enticed by my promises of strength, power, and glory. So, I respected their wishes and quietly left, promising never to bother them again.

Ah, but the look on Mr. De Fleureaux’s face was absolutely worth that. No, of course, since their chiefs were not willing to listen, I went to their women, instead. And here, I was much more successful. Primarily, I found Penthesilea, a wolfess that had a hunger for glory and battle that suited my needs just fine. She was an archer that loved the thrill of the fight, and under her, the Amazons would be a force to reckon with. Penthesilea soon grew larger and stronger than any man amongst her people, and there were other Scythian women that found this an attractive arrangement. Penthesilea led them as the daughter of Mars, a juggernaut of a warrior with legs as strong and wide as marble columns, arms strong enough to shatter any Grecian iron, and a torso that, shall we say, filled the contours of her bronze cuirass in the most pleasing of fashion, her strong, full chest giving myself a new appreciation for the term “breastplate.” She grew more bold and beautiful with every pound of muscle, her strength enhancing her looks.

I joined her on campaign, when she led an army of newly minted and musclebound Amazonian warriors against the Greeks at Sinope. The men were noticeably absent; Penthesilea scared them off, a not unreasonable reaction when she declared over the smoking ruins of Sinope, “Now I am Queen! I, Penthesilea, daughter of man-slaying Ares, will soak the earth with blood, so it will be stained red! I dare any of the limp-wristed men of Greece to reclaim their city, for they will break upon my body! All will know the unyielding strength of the Amazons!”
I may have taken things a touch too far. But, I had always intended for Penthesilea to be a rival, not necessarily to be defeated, but certainly to be fought. I was planning a glorious battle, a show of strength that would be remembered in song and art for ages. Enter stage left, Heracles.

You know this name, dear reader. Perhaps you know him as Hercules, but not a child in the West grows up without knowing the name Hercules. The strongest man to ever live, the son of gods, and the greatest hero of Greece. Is it any surprise at this point who molded him into a titan of heroic strength, who gave him the power to overcome his trials? They might sing of Athena and Hermes aiding him, but come now. Do you think either of them would mold such a perfect, magnificent body out of him?

He was born a white bull, a sign of his divine parentage to the Greeks. He already had extraordinary strength, but then, he met me, and he became truly legendary. Watching him was like watching a snow-capped mountain walk, swells of muscle rippling across his tectonic plate of a back under his white pelt, his arms rippling with massive amounts of beef… I have very fond memories working with him. I saw him in his twelve labors, and grow stronger with every heroic task, but one set him on a collision course with the Amazons. It came to pass that the snivelling coward that dared order around my client, King Eurystheus, told him to capture an enchanted piece of armor, forged by Hephaestus that, over time, had fallen into the hands of the Amazons, and was known as the Girdle of Hippolyta. Hippolyta, of course, being Penthesilea’s sister, whom Penthesilea recently killed in a hunting accident, and was thus incredibly attached to said girdle. This was going to be a fierce fight for Heracles, and the reputation of Greece and the Amazons both rode on it.