300: Rise of an Empire

The oracle's words

stand as a warning.

A prophecy.

"Sparta will fall. All

of Greece will fall."

And Persian fire will

reduce Athens to cinder.

For Athens is a pile of stone

and wood and cloth and dust.

And as dust, will

vanish into the wind.

Only the Athenians

themselves exist.

And the fate of the world hangs

on their every syllable.

Only the Athenians exist.

And only stout wooden

ships can save them.

Wooden ships...

And a tidal wave of heroes' blood.

Leonidas, my husband...

Leonidas, your king...

Leonidas and the

brave 300 are dead.

The free men and women of Greece

are not bound by a

beautiful spartan death.

War is not their love.

Yet he lay down his life for them.

For the promise Greece holds.

'Tis our enemies who

forged our freedom

in the fires of war.

It was king Darius who

came to take our land.

Ten years ago,

when youth still

burned in our eyes,

before this bitter war forced

our children to become men.

Ten years ago,

this war began as all wars begin:

With a grievance.

Marathon.

The Persian king, Darius,

annoyed by the notion

of Greek freedom,

has come to Greece

to bring us to heel.

He makes landfall at

the field of marathon

with an invading force which outnumbers

the Greek defenders three to one.

And so at dawn, the hopeless

Athenians do the unthinkable.

They attack.

They attack the weary Persians

as they disembark their ships

on shaky legs after a month at sea.

They attack before they can establish

their war camp and supply their soldiers.

And who is the architect

of this mad strategy?

A little-known Athenian soldier.

His men call him Themistokles.

He gives the Persians a taste

of Athenian shock combat.

All thoughts of glory are gone.

Thousands dead.

Hundreds of them their own.

All for an idea:

A free Greece...

An Athenian experiment

called "democracy."

Could this idea be worth it?

Worth all this sacrifice?

Themistokles would let the

good king Darius decide.

For through the chaos

a moment appeared.

And Themistokles would seize it.

A moment that would ring

across the centuries.

A moment that would raise

him from simple soldier

to the height of Athenian

political power.

No!

A moment that would make

Themistokles a legend.

Yet even as the praise and

glory were heaped upon him,

Themistokles knew in his

heart he had made a mistake.

It was Darius's son, Xerxes,

whose eyes had the stink

of destiny about them.

Themistokles knew he should

have killed that boy.

That glorious mistake

would forever haunt him.

And so it was Themistokles himself

who sent a ripple across

the Persian empire

and set into motion forces that would

bring fire to the heart of Greece.

For as the good king lay dying,

all his greatest

generals and advisors

were summoned to his bedside.

None greater than his finest

naval commander, Artemisia.

Her ferocity bested

only by her beauty.

Her beauty matched only by

her devotion to her king.

Darius favored Artemisia

among his generals

for she had brought him

victory on the battlefield.

In her, he had the

perfect warrior protge

that his son Xerxes would never be.

So sweet, my child.

My sweet...

Child.

Father.

Xerxes.

Do not repeat your

father's mistake.

Leave the ignoble

Greeks to their ways.

Only the gods can defeat them.

Only... the gods.

For seven days, Xerxes mourned...

Paralyzed by grief.

On the eighth day,

Artemisia whispered

the seed of madness

that would consume him.

Your father's words

were not a warning...

But a challenge.

Only the gods can

defeat the Greeks?

You will be a God-king.

Artemisia gathered the

priests, wizards and mystics

from every corner of the empire.

They wrapped the young

king in cimmerian gauze

dipped in ancient potions...

And set him to wander the desert...

Till in a delirium

of heat and thirst,

he stumbled upon a hermits' cave.

Xerxes passed the vacant

eyes and empty souls

of the hollow creatures

that dwell in the dark

corners of all men's hearts.

And in that darkness,

he surrendered himself completely

to power so evil and perverse...

that, as he emerged,

no part of a human man

that was Xerxes survived.

His eyes blazed like Scarlet coals.

He was stripped, cleansed,

glabrous and smooth.

Xerxes was reborn a God.

Artemisia trusted no one.

So, in the cover of night

the palace was cleansed

of all Xerxes' allies.

All those he trusted.

All those who had raised him.

All those he had once

looked to for counsel

were quickly introduced

to her wrath.

And as the God-king stood

before his people,

Artemisia watched her flawless

manipulation take shape.

For glory's sake...

For vengeance's sake...

War!

War is coming to Greece

in the visage of a monster

army over a million strong.

It should be little more than

a formality for Themistokles,

the hero of marathon, to

finish what he began.

Please!

We must appeal to Xerxes' reason!

Coward!

Athens is a city of cowards!

Shut your cock hole!

Shut your own!

I'll kill you!

F*** the Spartans!

F*** those muscle-bound boy-lovers!

Silence!

Silence for the hero of marathon!

This is a democracy,

not a street fight.

Quiet!

It's Themistokles.

The Persian attack will come

from both the north and the South.

The city-states should

negotiate a truce.

Yes, yes, we must negotiate.

Negotiate with tyranny?

Give me one example of when that

has ever profited a nation.

You're right.

We must unite.

My fellow countrymen...

We can only judge the future

from what we have

suffered in the past.

Now, many of you here stood

with me at marathon...

And for those of you who served

and faced the cut and

thrust of battle,

you know how true peace is forged.

Do not be deceived.

Xerxes, the son of Darius,

is a wolf at our door.

Right here, right now...

We must choose:

Do we stand and fight

for Greece or not?

Argos...

Corinth...

Megara...

Athens.

Not even Sparta can match

the Persians alone.

We must persevere as one nation.

Or we will perish clinging

onto our own self-interests.

Send us the ships that we

need to defend Greece.

Themistokles will need more

than our cities' ships.

He will need our children

to join the fight.

And what of Sparta?

You send every ship that we have

to the northern coast of Euboea.

I will go and seek the help

of the great Spartans.

Still no word from the

messenger you sent to Sparta.

King Leonidas may

have been insulted

by your generous offer.

Perhaps I need to march

into Sparta myself

and burn it to the ground.

Remember...

When a king is loved as I am...

Much can be accomplished.

They would be fools to

resist my divine power.

Athens is attempting to

assemble a coalition.

It'll be nothing more than

a patchwork of ships.

Once these waters

have been traversed,

I will lead my force

across the land.

I will remind the cowards of Greece

that we have not forgotten

their insolence.

Rest and water the horses.

It's best I go alone.

Spartans don't get along

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