Party when chapter two over took chapter one, Written by Lyzan
Concluding post, written by Unlit
The years haven’t been kind to the gods of Olympus. People no longer believe, they don’t worship and those gods who couldn’t adapt have starved in this modern world of narrowed beliefs. Some have made new lives for themselves, pulled sustenance out of their domains, but it’s a poor substitute for the nectar and ambrosia of human love and worship. They are shadows of what they once were but they exist and it must suffice. Others have retreated, hidden away from the world and conserved their power, but it wanes and something must change.
In this time of starving gods disaster has struck. The seal to the prison of the Titans, gods and monsters, the enemies all of the Olympians and of mankind has been shattered in an act of great duplicity and the prisoners have gotten out. Echidna, Mother of Monsters the dark bitch who orchestrated the escape with the aid of Cronos, father and grandfather to most of the Olympians, is loose and what’s more she has freed her monstrous mate Typhon from his prison beneath Mount Etna.
It was outside Mount Etna that the gods met the army of monsters in a great battle. Two gods were stuck down that day, Hades god of the dead, leaving his wife Persephone as ruler of the underworld and Cronos king of the Titans who was brought down by the might of Ares while Echidna and her Mate fled the scene. They have not been seen since and almost a year has passed. But while they have remained out of sight their children have not. Pockets of violence have cropped up around the world, pockets that the humans cannot ignore or write off as the acts of men. Sightings of twisted beings and bright heroes battling them have started to be taken seriously outside tabloids and conspiracy websites and for the first time in eons the gods are being worshiped. It is but a trickle, but it is a start. The monster must be stopped and their twisted parents must be found before they gain strength and grow their brood ever larger and overwhelm the Olympians as they nearly did at the foot of Mount Etna.
Welcome to Chapter Two! I was aided last time by a wonderful co/deputy GM Tirgesfu and this time I will be adding Lyzan as well, they will both help me with the plot, both in creating it and moving it along, though I really want everyone involved on that score. I have an over arching plot in mind but if you want to see something in the RP or have an idea please let me know, I want to give you what you want. I am very flexible that way, please take me up on it!
I am not a stickler for post length so don't feel you have to post a ton just to meet some standards, I'd rather a shorter, well written post than a wall of fluff. I also expect to hear from you weekly at the least, ideally more often than that. If you have something come up and can't post just let me know in the OOC and we'll figure somehting out. I also like to see a busy OOC, it speaks of a lively RP and helps us to get to know one another and thus become more invested in the RP, so talk and chatter all you want!
Character Sheets: I am not a huge fan of character sheets per-se, but it is nice to have a spot to find pertinent details about the characters you are RPing with and I’ll add a link to each of them here so you don’t have to scroll through the OOC when you need to find one later on.
So what I want is:
Appearance (description for certain, photo in addition if you must),
I’d also like a little vignette for your character, a quick write up 3-4+ paragraphs long wherein you get across a little of whom your god is today and what they are like. Try to give a feeling of how you are going to play them but don’t feel like you have to get it all across or are committed. Characters change and evolve; I just want a starting point. Look below at the established Gods for examples of what you should be doing
As for powers, I am happy to leave this vague as long as everyone keeps the spirit of the game in mind and RP's accordingly we won't need to define them. I trust no one will be uber-powered and unstoppable.
Chapter One OOC
Chapter One IC
It's hard to summarize a 22 page RP in a few words but here goes!
Hecate arrives in the halls of Olympus battered and beaten where she encounters Hermes who then speeds off to inform the others. Athene’s spiders, her spies everywhere inform her and she begins to get messages to the others. The Olympians gather and engage in much verbal sparring and airing of past grievances and feuds. Once things have settled down somewhat Hecate, visibly pregnant, tells them of the crack in the seal that keeps the Titans and monsters imprisoned deep in Tartarus and how when investigating it she was attacked by something that got out. She asks for a small measure of power from each of the gods so that she can create a seal to hold until Hephaestus can make something more permanent. There is much debate and doubt. Hephaestus tries to touch the seal with his power and becomes ensnared by something within the seal. When Apollo tries to aid him he too becomes stuck with motivates the gods to work together, all but Dionysus who remains behind doubting.
They move through the worlds towards the part of tartarus where the seal is. The gods gather and lend Hecate their power while within the seal Apollo and Hephaestus battle the beings imprisoned within. Hecate uses their power and instead of mending it, she shatters it revealing herself to be Echidna, mother of monsters. In the rush of enemies flowing out of the prison she is swept away by Cronos just as her labor sets in and the Gods are over run by the multitudes.
There is an epic and bloody battle during which the real Hecate is found within the seal and taken out with Hephaestus and Apollo and there is a temporary seal put up to hold back the last trickles of the enemies. Unfortunately Zeus and Poseidon (this is when the players, largely absent anyway officially vanished) were trapped behind this and sent the others off to stop Echidna and Cronos. During the battle Artemis and Persephone were grabbed by giants who fled with them.
There was much discussion after this and it was decided to split up, one team going after the kidnapped goddesses and the other following the trail of their enemies. The giants were tracked to the north to the world tree where they were battled and defeated all of which was witnesses by some of the Norse gods.
The other team tracked Cronos with a stop at Hephaestus’ workshop (this is where his player vanished) and then met at the foot of Mount Etna. The other gods joined them and soon the enemy arrived and there was another great battle largely to distract the gods while Echidna freed her mate, Typhon. Cronos attempted to call Ares to his side but was as happy to engage him in battle. During the final battle Hades used the last of his power to summon an army of dead warriors and the cost on power all but destroyed him, he is for all intents and purposes dead. Before he faded he gave control of the army to Athene who used them to defeat the remaining monsters. Cronos was also felled during the battle at great cost to Ares but their victory was hollow because they only stopped half the problem and Echidna and her mate and a large amount of their brood managed to escape and now are currently largely missing.
What I am after with powers is this: You are a god who once had enough power to do almost anything on a whim but now you are reduced to living among mortals who no longer worship you or recognize you for your divinity. You exist among the very beings who were once so far below you that they were like playthings, tossed aside when you were done and infinitely renewable, but no more. You are slowly starving from this lack of worship and it infuriates you. You are a freaking god and yet you are little better than they are. The little you get from your domain is like a really poor substitute for the real thing, like eating nothing but rice-cakes or stale crackers and water and trying to be healthy and strong. Everything you do drains you yet you cannot die so you have to carefully ration your power because even though when you use it, it comes back, it does so with painfully slowness. If you use too much you basically cease to exist and are in a limbo for a long and painful time while the trickle of power makes you corporeal again. You have all seen it done with Hestia who is little more than a ghost, barely able to make the air move when she passes, starved because her domain is such neglected thing this day and age. There needs to be this longing for the way things were and maybe even anger that your creation no longer acknowledges your divinity, your sovereignty. Especially now that it is painfully evident how dependent you are on them, the opposite of the way it used to be. Things are improving of late, but this is a very new development and everyone will have the behavior of a thousand years or more to overcome before they are able to easily use their power. Like how starving people when given food hoard it against the next hungry time. I hope my rant helps clear things up.
One thing we did last time that I want to touch on is the moving about. The gods were able to sort of move between worlds to get where they needed to. This had cost but if they want they can sort of walk to Olympus and it tires them but we don’t have to deal with the process of travel taking forever and we get that flavor of being gods. Again, it should be used with discretion. If you’re down the road, walk, if you aren’t in a hurry you’d get there by mundane means. But if the Titans are attacking and you hear the call you can slip between the worlds and arrive in time to save the day.
Cast of Characters
Callie Aphrodite Dumont
Appears to be in her late 20s, never aging, and no one would dare ask her how old she was anyway. She has flowing golden blonde straight hair that come down just beneath her shoulder-blades, and fans out. If she wears it loose, generally only at home or when out socializing, it sways from side to side when she walks. Most of the time however, especially when she needs to look professional, she wears her hair up, either in a long ponytail or a high bun, which accentuates her neck. Her face had delicate features, that contradicted how sharp her personality could be. She is 5'7" with a very curvy womanly figure. She wears a lot of figure hugging, cleavage showing outfits. The epitome of elegance and taste, Dita always wore the latest designer outfits, complete with killer stilettos, and over-sized sunglasses at all hours of the day. The name Callie is Greek for most beautiful.
Callie Dumont made herself a large fortune when she founded Aphrodite's Lovers, a matchmaking and dating service, complete with it's own very popular website. After her success, she moved on to the fashion and beauty industry. Her company, Aphrodite's Desire sold perfumes, makeups, owned hair salons, and beauty spas. She also had a world-renowned fashion and beauty blog - Aphrodite's Secrets, which got her invited to many celebrity parties and red carpet events. Her office is located in New York City.
Vignette: Another day in the office
Callie pushed her way through the glass door and walked up to the elevator. No one said anything to her as she walked past the reception desk. Entering the elevator, she jabbed the button for the top floor impatiently. Today was going to be a busy day, and she had little time to wait. The elevator ride seemed to take forever, but eventually a pinging noise indicated they were on the floor she'd requested. Exiting the elevator, her heels could be heard clicking on the floor as she went into her office, today Callie was wearing a pair of hot pink Alexander McQueen's. Once in her office, she dumped her handbag, brand new from the Versace Spring collection, on her desk, before sitting down in her large chair on the other side. She loved her office for the only reason that it had a magnificent view of the city. The entire building was made of glass, Callie had designed it herself. The lower floors were for her beauty company, while the middle floors housed her matchmaking service and the top floors were reserved for offices.
It wasn't long before her assistant showed up, a mousy looking girl, plain, short. Callie preferred having assistants that weren't glamorous, or caring about how they looked - it meant they worked harder. Unfortunately, Callie went through assistants quite quickly as none of them matched up to the standards she required. The current one however was doing well so far.
"What do you have for me, Sophie?" Callie asked, without turning her chair away from the view. The assistant began rattling off the list of things that had to be done today. Callie let out a sigh at the number of things there was planned for the day. "Right, cancel my afternoon appointments, and book em in for a mani-pedi at my spa. And a massage while you're at it." The assistant looked a little shocked, but left the room to do as Callie had asked.
Once alone again, Callie picked up her cellphone. No calls, no messages. She considered sending a message to her husband, but then thought the better of it. No one in this world knew she was married, she hadn't seen her husband in a long time. She hadn't seen anyone from her old life in this world, at least not recently. She'd heard things about them, the ones that were doing well at least, and she knew that most of them would have seen her advertisements on television, or heard them on the radio. Yet no one had contacted her. It was strange how they could have spent all that time together and then in this new world, have no contact. But it was not in Callie's nature to dwell on the past. She put her cellphone down, and flicked on her laptop, heading to update her blog.
Serge DrevlanName: Apollo (Apy Lowe)
Appearance: Apollo has cut his usually curly light brown hair and replaced it with a shorter, spiked hair do. His build is its normal athletically slender form and his face is still in its naturally beautiful state.
Apollo stood on a small balcony above his loud, seizure inducing club. The colorful lights flicked on and off, giving the large room below different shapes. He grabbed a glass of wine and took a sip. The laughter could be slightly heard over the music. In this large room stood a stage, on the left men, on the right women. They danced before all sorts of patrons. Behind them was a bar and on either side of the room were four private rooms that people could go into with a dancer for a private dance. The top floor was for the most loyal and wealthy patrons of the club. Apollo sighed lightly as he remembered his past and his present. He thought of the forgotten gods and their battle with the forces of the fickle humans' souls.
Apollo had become a rather wealthy strip club owner, or at least as wealthy as a strip club owner could be. After the gods fell from Olympus Apollo took to reveling in the naturally loving side of his nature. His club was a sort of bisexual paradise in New York. He liked this way of living but it did nothing to quench his thirst for his real power again. The god of the sun had been reduced to a simple bar owner. What Zeus, his father, would think of him now.
The gods had been thrown to the side, like rags, forgotten; lost. And so now Apollo tread the earth, not so much better than a mortal; looking for his lost love in so many places. He'd known very well that he wasted his gifts on gallivanting around like his father, and when he found his true love, he'd killed him.
He liked this life though, no expectations, no power struggles, no fits of power hungry competition. Apollo was comfortable, albeit slightly disappointed, with his new life.
Shoulder length of golden wavy hair. Muscular body frame in proportion with height, tanned. Bright blue eyes under grim brows and a proud strong jaw, clean shaven. Wears white suit with golden embroidery of intricate pattern by the sleeves and collar.
An entrepreneur. Owner of the Amazones Hotel in the business district as well as the Colchis Resort by the coast.
Ares was standing by the glass-wall of his penthouse, looking down onto the busy streets and the sky scrapers ahead. Arms folded as he viewed the kingdom he'd conquered in the business world. Unlike the past where he'd conquered many land by the sheer power of his swords and spears, he'd conquered a region of the business world by a weapon of its era. The pen and with influences, intimidating enough to have his business counterparts yielded to him. Having control over both the business district and the tourists attraction site by the coast, his business bloomed. Even the underground business within the region were under his influence. An alliance he had with the gang leader to carry out his dirty works for him in exchange for a wealthy reward and an immunity with authority. The law was corrupted, influenced and had fallen victim to his bribes and accomodations as well.
None had dared challenged the ruthless ruler and none dared invade his region. Having his loyal agents and investors to carry out his orders and the gangs to act as his soldiers, he redeemed his true persona. Without neglection of who he was. Ares was nothing but the personification of bold force and strength, and not so much the god of war as of its tumult, confusion, and horrors.
He grinned as he looked up to the sky. As if staring into Zeus himself and boasting with his posture of the success he'd achieved even with his powers weakened. He was still a conqueror and still in pursue to expand his region. Not that Zeus was at fault for their weak state but the hatred to the Thunder God still lingered. Though the humans no longer call for his aid in battle nor did they worship him as before, Ares had certainly imprinted himself into their head by his fame.
Slim and graceful, the years in the sun after leaving the underworld have tanned her skin just enough to not be as deathly pale as she'd been while being forced to stay in the Underworld half the year. Dark hair still kept long and styled in a very classical way, because 'there are just some things that get better with age.' Dark eyes and a bright smile, her love of life and everything of nature is obvious in every expression and movement of hers. She looks young and beautiful still, the years having only aged her to an internal degree.
Landscape architect and Horticulturist. Lives with her husband for the most part, but has her own little island get away for some breathing space and her personal puttering.
She had been off on her own for most of the morning hours, out on her little island just off the coast, replanting her plants for the change in season. While she enjoyed the change, enjoyed putting in new life and watching it grow, she hated watching the old life die. Persephone's life had been filled with death for a very long time and it had been so painful watching the souls of young girls and boys long before their time come in. Of course it had been their time, the Fates had decided so. But they were so young, so full of hope and had such futures ahead of them that they would never know now. But there was nothing for it and all she could do was let them wander in her field of asphodels or go onto the Elysian Plains to help ease the end of their mortal lives.
But it was almost spring now, she'd planted a whole garden full of asphodels on her island and quite a few around her mountain home she shared with her husband. She could forget about death for a while and enjoy the new blossoms of spring. And these blossoms were a little taste of home. And a little bit of her past as well. Some memories were easy to relate in flowers, not all of them good, but these, these were good and fond.
She was carrying a little pot, a small plater box really that was just on the edge of too heavy for her. It had been fine on the way over from the island to the mainland. The Oceanid's had been kind enough to help her across like they often did, even carrying her little box along as well. But now that she was back home, it was all on her slight frame. She smiled up at her husband when he turned to look at her, shaking her still water damped hair some as she came to put the box at the window ledge. "Well, Hades," she smiled as she stood up. "A little taste of home and the past," she went on, nodding down at the flowers in the box: asphodels and narcissus.
Athletic, slim, youthful, pale. Artemis would be prettier if she smiled more often, but she still has that graceful beauty to her. Pale grey eyes and sliver blonde hair that reaches down her back to just past her ribs but is almost always up, typically in a loose bun. Tends to dress in earthy colors, simple and almost rustic looking.
She's taught archery to mortals on and off for a long time before giving up dealing with them and has since rather retreated to life spent split between Olympus and the forests of Greece and surrounding countries, doing as she pleases now, which is mostly hunting and just living.
She sat on a rock in the middle of a dense wood. Just the kind of place that she wanted to be at. One of Hecate's hounds was at her feet. She had her own of course, but sometimes, a change in companion was nice after years and years with your own. The woman was dressed in a simple tunic of light brown that almost blended into the trees around her, and leggings, a quiver over her shoulder and her unstrung bow across her lap. It was a rather dark night, a night she would give to Hecate, had they still had duties to attend to. But they didn't, and frankly, she was rather glad about that.
She peered about the woods around her, watching the shadows of animals go about on their night runs, scurrying food back to their homes. It was getting late, even for her, the sun was threating to tug up over the horizon and she had done nothing at all that night. She hadn't even strung her bow at all.
Maybe this having no duties wasn't as good as it had been a few hundred years ago. She was rather fine with the solitude, rather fine with doing the same thing over and over again. It was just not having anything to do for anyone. She still helped out, she had to. There were youths to take care of, maidens that needed her help along and women who needed help passing. Her powers had waned, but since she'd favored the animals over the mortals she had held onto her powers a bit more. Since she hadn't used them much either since the fall of their reign, she had also kept onto them a bit more as well. Or she thought so, since she had gotten on so fine without them for so long that she hardly noticed that there might be a difference.
The dog at her feet lifted his head up and peered off into the forest. Artemis looked as well, light eyes peering easily through the gloom. There was a stag, tall and proud looking looking straight at her. A moment later the stag was joined by a little doe and the former goddess smiled. Maybe she should go back to mortals again, give her some purpose. At least with a few of them.
Appearance:Tall and lean with a long sculpted face dominated by large gray eyes. She tends to wear her hair up severely and is prone to wearing pantsuits in neutral and dark colors.
Occupation: Head Librarian at a large arts university where she also occasionally teaches weaving.
Athene smiled with satisfaction as her latest protégé left the University library she ruled over. He was clutching the books that she had pulled from the archives for him and she noted with approval the care he took on the old and valuable volumes. He was not the greatest of the men she had sponsored, but he was clever, respectful and grateful and all together as satisfying as one could hope for in these modern times. She looked around the quiet library, noting the heads bowed in study and the gleaming woodwork and felt her customary satisfaction mingling with the slightest hint of restlessness.
She had been here for many years, sponsored many bright minds and her latest was well set on the path she had chosen for him. The university itself had benefited from her careful grooming, becoming a place renowned for the strength of its classical education. Perhaps it was time she looked for a new corner of the world to inhabit. She hadn’t exercised her martial side in decades; perhaps she could find a promising young soldier to sponsor. Her reverie was interrupted but a soft clearing of a throat. The under-librarian had arrived to relieve her. She smiled at the woman, gave her a few concise orders and gathered up her things to leave.
When she got home she knew she would work on her database, researching who was where, keeping tabs on what they were up too. That always eased her when she was feeling discontent creep up on her. Some of her people were easy to track, as they either stayed put or their presence was obvious, Ares for one. Others were either so diminished or so clever at moving among the mortals that tracking them was a challenge and a pleasure that kept her busy and sharp even when her current persona lent itself to complacency.
Her Database, yes, precisely the kind of mental exercise she needed just about now.
Appearance A stately woman with thick curling black hair and wide soft brown eyes with startlingly thick lashes and soft milk white skin. Her features are regal and lovely when not pinched up in displeasure as they so often are. She is of medium height with a well sculpted frame that she keeps clothed in tailored suits of the latest fashion, always with a splash of peacock blue somewhere on her person.
Current occupation Ruthless divorce attorney, currently on leave, works when a case inspires her
Hera put on her string of pearls and stared at her reflection, her eyes following the line of her softly curved cheek, her well shaped nose even to her famed eyes, nary a line anywhere to be seen. She was lovely and she knew it. But there must be a flaw somewhere? She wondered how many times over her endless existence had she had this conversation with herself. She knew that the problem lay within him, but still this doubt came back, creeping in and making her bitter.
In the other room she could hear her husband humming to himself as he dressed for the cocktail party they were attending. He had to go, his company was throwing it to celebrate some excellent numbers over the last quarter. She hadn’t wanted to go, she never wanted to go and he had sensed it. In a moment of odd kindness he had told her she could stay home and he’d make excuses for her absence. But it was her and it was him and such kindness roused only suspicion and a flash of jealousy and she snapped at him, telling him she’d go. She would she’d go, she’d go and spend the night watching each of the well dressed women there and wonder which one it was. None of them were ever prettier than her, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Feeling defeated she dropped her head down onto her vanity just as his voice called out from the other room,
“You ready to go dearest?”
MerlotBeautyModern Alias: Demi Spiros
Life Cycle of a Mother
At the height of her power and worship, Demeter would wander the world, a simple but lovely girl. Her hair would fall in layered ringlets from shoulder to hip matching the color of yellows ranging from rich sunflowers to pale wheat under highlights of the rich forest woods wherein she would listen to her dryads sing softly to the wind. Her eyes would change with the color of the mid-afternoon sky from the brightest of the blue to the deepest of grays, but their one constant was their sparkling contentment. Her skin was as smooth as milk and kissed by the sun, and she would stand tall, but humble over the harvest celebrations blessing and granting favor to her worshippers.
Daughters are the pinnacle of joy to any mother. So when a goddess of fertility is blessed with such a treasure, they would do anything to protect her. Persephone was born, and for the first time in her long existence, Demeter knew Joy. She was Life, and with her own Joy she freely gave the world joy, prosperity and the fruits of the earth. All would celebrate through her favor. Demeter was no longer the plain maid, but a radiant woman and fiercely proud. She was never seen without a smile, and her presence was infectious throughout the entire cosmos.
Then the Joy was taken from her. Persephone was abducted and Demeter left devastated and enraged. Her beauty faded instantly, her rich locks turning sour and wiry; her skin becoming wan and leathery as an over-ripe peach skin. The entire world would know a mother’s suffering, and starve.
For centuries—or days as the mortals would recount the story—she searched the world, her eyes glowing with fire, and her bony touch cold as a glacier. The sorrow of the loss, the fortitude of the search, and the rage from Zeus’ betrayal could be witnessed in every wrinkle, crease and expression.
Nothing would ever be the same.
The eventual terms of Persephone's release between Hades and Demeter was bittersweet, as was the reunion with her daughter. Of course, the experience left its scar on the life-cycle of the world. Though Demeter did not keep her guise of the great and terrible crone, neither did she return to the radiant mother of the time before. There was no more joy in her expression, or brightness in her eyes. Indeed, her gaze carried the fire of the destroyer for even with her daughter returned—if only part time, there would be no forgiveness. She would no longer hide her age and experience, and when her daughter was gone to the Underworld, her wrath was felt by all.
No one in the mortal world or the Pantheon ever knew about the final words resulting in the final separation of Mother and Daughter. The argument was powerful enough shatter the world, but in the end, Demeter knew she could not keep her daughter forever. As she acquiesced to her daughter’s wishes, her eyes turned to stone.
Every mother fears for their child entering the world on their own, and none more than Demeter granting her daughter her freedom from an endless cycle. It mattered little anyway, for the mortals had long since forgotten the gifts of Deo, and celebrating the earthly gifts from a monotheistic deity. Demeter granted her daughter the freedom she sought, but it came at a price. Worshiped or not, by divine law the cycle had to be maintained, and thusly Demeter bestowed the last of her powers upon her daughter, now Queen of the Underworld and bringer of Life and Death. The mother often wondered if Persephone truly understood the power she already possessed, but it mattered little by this time. Now, they were linked only through immortality as Mother and Daughter, a bond that not even the cosmos could break. As they lived together, they would die together.
After the separation, Demeter allowed herself to fade into the mortal world, wandering, living in small towns and gray lands from time to time. She stayed away from her family and the Pantheon, living apart in a haze of her own design.
Today, walking down the street, the woman in her mid-to-late forties is as drab and homely as she is forgettable. Once, many centuries ago there was an earthly beauty behind those dark grey eyes, and weathered sunken cheeks worn away by years of mediocrity. Her dark blonde hair has no body or shine. On the rare occasions her hair is not tied back in a simple bun, it falls in frizzy waves past her shoulders.
The rest of her body slouches and sags with gangly bony limbs extruding out from a somewhat paunch middle-aged figure. She rarely smiles, and when she does it is a small curving of the lips, pursed and thin. The crease marks on her forehead are forever present chiseled as in marble. Her expression softens only in the presence of her beloved Persephone.
Vignette: An Immortal’s “Empty-Nest” Syndrome
“Would you like paper or plastic?” She yawned, not bothering to cover her gaping chasm of yellow teeth and stale coffee-breath.
Three minutes later, she repeated the question.
And again seven minutes later.
It was not unlike flipping a coin. She should know having asked the same question on a daily basis for the past thirty years. At first, monotony was not her choice of punishment, but she accepted it. As such she did the same thing every day, every week, and every year: wake up, tend her small flower and vegetable garden, work her eight-hour shift at Safeway, return home, sit on her dingy white balcony set against an aging travel trailer watching the tides roll in and out, and finally when the last of the twilight was faded retire to sleep and repeat the day at sunrise.
She could no longer hear the call of the forest, or feel the pull of life’s gifts to the mortal population. Her world was silence, and slowly her immortal soul eroded away like the rocks on the shore. She would live in this gray haze on some nameless Northern California city on the coast forever if it meant Persephone’s happiness.
In this place, the sun rarely showed its face, and Demeter preferred it that way—less chance of nosy siblings scrying in on affairs that did not concern them, assuming any still possessed that ability. It was never particularly hot or cold, but almost always green, with heavy mists rising against the Pacific coast. The mountain highways leading in and out of town were treacherous and surrounded by a silent forest. Beyond that to the east were the Californian vineyards and fields of pretentious mortals caring nothing for the quality of their produce.
It was an acceptable existance.
Areiôn, the Immortal Horse
Modern Name: Aaron Wyatt
Aaron could have easily made the cover of every $4.99 Wal-Mart romance novel. His long black hair fell several inches past his shoulders as soft and smooth as velvet. It framed a well chiseled face always carrying hints of a five o’clock shadow. His bright gray eyes were typically covered with thick wraparound sunglasses, and his pouting lips always smirked. Standing at six and a half feet tall, he was built as an athlete will large- well toned muscles, washboard abs, and a tan that looked airbrushed. Women loved him, and men… well most men expected he was a closet homosexual, not that any man would dare to make that comment to his face and expect to live through it. In either case, Aaron Wyatt was damn sexy, and he knew it.
When the Prince of Horses becomes a Man
1200, or so, years ago…
The black horse raced across the shore of the Mediterranean filled with peace and contentment. He was free, and a legend among the mortals. His strength had carried the best; Kings, and heroes, including the great Herakles. He was the immortal horse of the gods, and yet his pleasures were always simple: the sensation of his hair whipping in the wind, the echoes of his own gallops against his father’s domain, and smell of the ocean spray.
In an instant, it all changed.
In truth Areiôn had little memory of the change. One minute, he was a horse, and the next he had… hands? Two of his legs were gone. His body was new, and nothing worked right. The coming tide was cold against his hairless skin, and the coarse sand scratched and stuck to him. Try as he might to stand, to move, his limbs would not obey. He could no longer gallops, or rear. In agony he cried out, but there was no one to hear his pleas.
Eventually he was taken in by a small coastal village, thought to be a lost mariner washed up on the shore. There he was nursed to health, and he learned to walk, talk and act as a human. The mighty Areiôn, however, was gone and his legends forgotten. Still, as the child of Poseidon and Demeter, he was immortal, and bitter at the cruelty of the fates taking way his one and only passion...
... then again being in the form of a man did have a few perks.
As the mid-afternoon sun beat down on the small run-down road stop, the massive 18-wheeler freightliner came to a stop in the extra-large parking space, the hydraulics hissing and whining. The engine cut and a split second later the driver opened the cab door and jumped to the sun-cracked pavement of the driver’s stop. Aaron did not really know where he was; somewhere between Reno and Sacramento, perhaps. In truth, he did not particularly care.
He stepped into the diner, the smell of year old tobacco permeated off the walls and blended with the aroma of well boiled coffee. Just perfect, he thought making his way to the hostess station while he shrugged out of his black leather jacket.
The tarnished brash stand read in old tan letters against a dark brown background: please seat yourself. Without hesitation, Aaron walked further into the diner.
Aaron looked into the dining room seeing only a few overweight truckers scattered about the space, and in one corner a traveling family with two young boys and a toddler girl. The father was dressed in a white polo and kakis, with the mother in a sleeveless blouse with blue flowers and white capris that could have easily been painted on her thighs and ass (which werein desperate need of a stair-stepper). Of course, the mother would have looked prettier if her mascara and eyeliner hadn’t already smeared around her eyes, and her hair wasn’t disheveled from trying to meet the needs of three children on the road. She looked frazzled as the toddler girl screamed and cried, and the boys jumped on the worn booth seats, arguing over the super powers of Spiderman and Superman. Occasionally, the father would lean over to the boys saying something without trying to appear stern. Whatever he said managed to quiet the boys down for a grand total of thirty seconds.
Smirking and shaking his head, Aaron walked over to a quiet booth away from the traveling family. A minute later the waitress walked over to him and handed him a menu. He put on his best smile, brushing her hand with his as he took the menu and the young waitress, no more than twenty years old, blushed from head to toe.
“Just coffee please. Fresh pot if you got it.”
The waitress was pretty, tall, and soft features. Her uniform blouse a little too small around the bust, and her beach-blonde hair was tied back in a high pony tail. Aaron was certain she was yet another story of the small-town girl on the way to LA to live the dream of fame and fortune only to be diverted by reality.
“I will personally make you my best coffee, sir.” She said, leaning forward over the table slightly to take the menu back.
As the waitress walked back behind the counter the father of the family raised his hand to the woman to get her attention. She completely ignored him. The father then looked over in Aaron’s direction, and the man was clearly not used to being ignored judging by his look. Aaron looked back at the man, and shrugged with a haughty smile to add insult to injury. If anything, the family with all their mundane struggles was entertaining, and seeing himself served before them was an added bonus.
Twenty minutes later, Aaron smirked as he read the check. There was no price for the coffee listed, only the delicate feminine handwriting: “I’m off work in five minutes…”
Absently, Aaron dropped a tip on the table took his leather jacket and walked out to his rig where he leaned against it waiting. Sure enough, the waitress came out five minutes later and went straight for him.
BladewindName: Hades (Ancient)
Appearance: His skin is deathly pale and translucent. Below it pitchblack lines writhe in utterly beautiful patterns that shift slowly, like an exotic dancer, reaching his eyes which are the same colour. He wears tarnished metal armour of crude craftsmanship, decorated with brutal spikes and a heavy fur cloak, though this attire does not seem to encumber him in the slightest. The silver hair that flows down his back reaches a bit below the end of his ribcage
Current occupation/location/persona: Lord of the Underworld
He stood there, among healthy green leaves. The light of the sun shone down upon his pale being. Pale was an understatement however. Everything about him was as white as the snow that the world did not know till then. His hair flowed down his back in silverish waves, almost reaching his feet. It had not been cut in many generations. Was it carelessness? Was it vanity? Most probably a mixture of both, as uncombineable as they might seem. Even stranger was the skin. Not only did it lack any colour at all, it also appeared completely translucent with a shimmer to it that announced the magical qualities of the creature. But that wasn't the disturbing part, for there were not few that had such skin. It was the veins that inevitably became painfully obvious. Unlike those of other creatures, this figure's were blacker than the darkest night and seemed to be more remniscient to an artful tattoo than actual parts of the body, as they curved into delicate patterns under the thin layer of skin.
The attire of the creature, which faintly resembled a man, was in a strong contrast to it's appearance. Where he was almost completely white, it was pitchblack. It seemed to absorb most of the light that fell upon it, not unlike the ravenous beast which's fur had been stripped off it's still warm corpse to clothe this divine being. There was only a small piece of refuge for the sun's rays, and that was the tarnished metal that showed here and there beneath the heavy fur cloak. That was the next powerful contrast. Where the features were sculpted with a fine touch and the hair reinforced an angelic, slightly feminine appearance, the clothing was completely different. The wild, ruffled fur was only a bit longer than the manlike creature's flowing hair, the last of silverish strands mingling slightly with the black fur. Had the wind blown as strongly as it would soon do with the first winter of humanity's time appearing, the cloak would have billowed in the wind, allowing any viewer to be amazed at the strangely brutish craftsmanship of the armour now hidden from the world's eyes. It was brutally spiked and had clearly seen alot of blood flowing down it's rough edges.
Having seen this other side to the figure, one would lift their gaze to it's face again to observe the new things about it. Suddenly all beauty seemed to slip away. The translucent skin seemed to shine with the air of death surrounding it. The veins turned from beautiful ornaments that appeared to be cradling the handsome face into tendrils of sinister energy reaching out toward the mind of it's master, attempting to take control, but restrained by incredible selfcontrol. The thin, wellformed lips that were forming a small smile suddenly appeared full of mockery and taunts waiting to be spoken. And the eyes. The eyes were the worst of all. Though they had seemed endlessly deep, the kind of eyes you could lose yourself in eternally, the more talented observer realized that there was in fact the danger of losing yourself in them. For there was something within those dark eyes that wanted to devour your soul.
But right now, all menace was gone. The beautiful side to Hades, for this was him, was now the one most obvious. Mesmerized, he gazed through the bushes, at a young beauty that played upon the meadows. She seemed so happy, so honest and innocent. She was so very different from everything he knew. Reaching out to her with a gauntleted hand, he quickly withdrew it. But she had seen him, if only briefly. She drew closer, curious as any naive child would be. Surely his true form would scare her off, to be forever lost to him. So, for the first time in his life, Hades changed something about himself, despite his deep, longrunning hatred for change. When the girl stumbled through the trees and right into him, it was a middleaged, blackhaired greek she shoved to the ground. He gave a shy smile at her, not sure what to do.Name: Hades
Appearance: Shoulder long curly hair, black eyes and pale skin. Usually wears a black suit and sunglasses.
Current occupation/location/persona: Architect, his own house is situated on the mountainside.
Hades took a sip of his coffee and looked out of the window. The world was changing again. For the worse. Of course. Hades couldn't truly remember a time when earth wasn't going downhill. They had defeated the titans and then taken over themselves. For the other gods it had gotten a lot better, they had recieved the worship of the people, they had taken Mount Olymp as their home. He, on the other hand, he had discarded all of that with the choice to rule over the dead. Hades had given up the bond of brotherhood with Zeus and Poseidon. It was ashaming really, that they had nothing better to do than influencing the humans. Zeus and his constant courting of mortal women. Poseidon and his lust for power. It sickened him. How many men had entered his kingdom before their ime because of the selfish reasons of his siblings?
Not that he cared much more about the living. It was, much rather, that things had constantly been blamed on him. People prayed to Zeus everyday. Only when confronted by death did people pray to Hades. If Zeus killed a ruler, it was righteous justice. If Hades killed a ruler, it was an outburst of anger. Things had been like that in the past, now they were still the same, as could be seen from popular culture, from the cartoons, from the plays. Hades tried hard not to be embittered by such prejudice but failed. When the people stopped believing in the gods Hades was less influenced by this but with time he grew as weak as his siblings, resting in his underground castle as his realm destroyed itself around him, his powers too weak to keep order upright. The underworld had become a place of true sorrow, holding on to long forgotten days desperately. Then the seal on Tartarus broke upon and he had to flee his ruined kingdom. A series of events had brought him to this city.
Having built a second olymp beneath the ground to accomodate him since the other god had become weary of him, it had been easy for him to gain a job as an architect. Most of the newer buildings had been designed by him. Many of the old buildings had been restored with his help. Though the loss of his kingdom lay heavy on his heart, Hades decided that he would find another place of peace, far away from all of this conflict. Somewhere where he and his wife could live without being bothered by the world. Hades looked at the table in front of him, a blueprint on it. It was an easy job, yet so very important. He had heard that the orphanage had burnt down and had put every other order on hold to take care of this task. Even though he was no longer a god, he still wanted to help the mortals. Perhaps it was something subconscious.
Footsteps sounded behind him and Hades turned around, smiling: "How are you Persephone?"
AnjwalkerHecate, Goddess of Magic, Ghosts, Witchcraft and Necromancy
A tall woman, nearly 5’11ft, with pale skin stretched over delicate bones, Hecate is ageless and ancient at the same time. She has long, flowing midnight black hair that falls to the middle of her back, and stormy grey eyes, long delicate fingers, and a delicate, almost frail body. Although she looks frail and old, she is also youthful and beautiful at the same time. Her hair is thick and long, shining with health, her face without blemish and her body is still strong and youthful.
Kate Helen’s is the founder, CEO and owner of Hecate Publishing. A company she has built up from the ground, starting just after World War II, Hecate Publishers is an international publisher of fantasy and science fiction, especially stories involving magic and Greek deities. Currently one of the most successful publishing firms in the world, Hecate Publishing owns many other publishing houses as subsidiaries, and is itself the world’s biggest publisher of fantasy writing.
She is also a part time author herself, writing the true stories of the Greek pantheon down and publishing them, although her readers never know what they read is fact, not fiction.
Kate Helen (Hecate) currently lives in London, England part time, and the rest of the time in New York, the United States. In London she owns a Victorian brick villa, and in New York she owns an entire 20-story skyscraper, which contains her penthouse apartment and the offices of Hecate Publishing.
Kate Helen rummaged around in her handbag, desperately trying to find her phone. “Shit! Why did mortals have to create these annoying devices?” Kate cursed, as she finally gave in to her frustration and disintegrated the designer handbag with her powers, leaving behind its contents in a messy pile of rags. Hecate immediately regretted doing it, if only because she would have to buy a new handbag now, but when she noticed the iPhone was still ringing, that regret was quickly wiped away by anger at whoever was ringing her on a Saturday.
The iPhone in question had landed on the table, away from the pile of rags, and it currently vibrated against the wood of the table in a very annoying way, which made Hecate’s hands, which rested on the table, shake. Hecate quickly grabbed the phone, and silenced it by answering the call. “What do you want?” She demanded of the person on the other side of the phone, not waiting for introductions.
A stuttering male voice answered her. “W… well there ha..has been a delay. R.K. Long doesn’t want to deal with us unless we give her double the agreed price… So we…” The voice trailed off, as he waited for Hecate to explode in the expected anger.
It took Hecate a minute to work out what he was talking about, but then it snapped in to context. “I want Prophecy from Delphi in my hands by the end of the week, so get on to securing the contract, you fool! Do anything, paying anything, alright?” She cursed the imbecile on the phone one last, time and then hung up, throwing her iPhone angrily at a wall.
Oh oh why did I ever try and live the life of a mortal? Hecate asked herself, as she dropped in to a chair. “I’m becoming like the mortals; worrying over such small things as securing a book contract.” Hecate told herself, before laughing loudly. “Then again, we gods are just as petty as the worst mortal can be.” Hecate laughed to herself, before picking up a book from the coffee table. Titled “Kidnap, Disaster and Love”, it was the true story of Persephone and Hades, written by her. But her readers just thought it was a nice fantasy, not the true story that it was. It was a fondly remembered story, for Persephone and Hades had found love together, even they started out on the wrong path; however it came with much grief as well. Grief for those who died in the famines, grief for Persephone, and lastly, grief for the pain Demeter was burdened with for the rest of her immortal life.
As Hecate set to trying to read the old tale, however, she was continually worried by her inner voice, and by the memory of the loss of Hades. However, the inner voice worried her the most. It had begun almost a hundred years ago, at the turn of the century and slowly it got worse. Her mind had begun to fracture into two waring parts; still complete, and the same being, but now, often she would talk to herself, and catch herself acting as if she was two beings, and it worried her. Immortals can’t go crazy, can they? Hecate asked herself.
Hecate wanted to believe they couldn’t, but the answer was plain to see; they could go mad and often did. If a mortal doctor was asked to diagnose the Olympian deities, Hecate knew that he would declare every one of them mad. With a sigh Hecate cast the book back on the table, and rolled back onto the luxurious leather couch.
It was like this every day now, asking herself if she was going mad, as she became more and mortal in every way; body and mind.
Bright green eyes almost always sparkled with merriment or mischief under loose blond curls. He had a smile that filed his face and lips that constantly seemed to be moving. Hermes liked to talk. He had two major appearances. One, which he occupied more often of late, was the body builder surfer dude that hung around any beach, in any tourist city around the world, played with the newest palm held communication gadgets, ran along the shore at each sunrise and entertained with wild stories each sunset. Most often he worn only shorts, long lose that barely covers his hips and dragged to his knees, in bright floral splashes. No shirt. No shoes.
Sometimes Hermes finds the need to present himself in a more conventional fashion. Not often, but when necessary Hermes slicks his hair back, finds a loose fitting suit and a brief case. In these instances he ages his face some and although his eyes still shine and mouth still rambles he stands taller, and refines his rhetoric. But even in this attire it is very rare to find him in any kind of shoes.
“Whoa!” Hermes cheered as the crowd around him laughed and clapped. With a controller in his hands he leaned to his right pressing quickly and shooting attacking space ships on a giant outdoor screen. The resort in the city of Dubai had one of the biggest highest tech entertainment center just a block from the beach. Hermes was entertained and entertaining. After defeating hundreds of chunks of metros the size of busses with a laser beam, Hermes finally tired of hitting buttons and crashed filling the outside courtyard with sparks of wild colors. The crowd raised their pretty cocktails, and clicked their tongues in celebration of his display. Hermes bowed. With a snap of his fingers his dog a large Bullmastiff rose and came to his side. He stroked the huge head and commented to those around him.
“Off to work.” Hermes said and everyone laughed. No one there believed Hermes worked at all. With his dog close beside him he found a spot along the beach and pulled his notebook from its cover. There in the sand he taped the keyboard quickly finding the needed codes, the simple encrypted symbols and slipped funds from somewhere into his accounts.
Before he shut the top of the small computer he smiled and said, “Happy trails.”
Kartha RolienName: Poseidon
Appearance (description for certain, photo in addition if you must):
He is a fairly fine built man with a toned muscular structure not too excessive as some portrayals have him seeming to be. He stands at six feet, two inches. His hair is black and at shoulder length with shades of blue; teal to sapphire tints sweep through the length of the locks providing a gem like rippling effect with light cast upon it at an angle.
His facial features are that of a slightly elder like man, more around late forties or early fifties with the signs of the age. A few wrinkles are present under the eyes, and the skin of his cheeks seems a little worn representing the many trials he has seen and born through his existence. A light scruff adorns his face with much the same hinted coloration as his hair. The iris of his eyes bear a silver tint with the pupils themselves holding a dark sapphire like coloration.
He more often than not wears a suit of some kind, tending towards Brooks Brothers as the designer. The suits vary from black to grey depending upon his mood day by day.
Presently he makes his trade in a massive fishing corporation hosted in Greece that goes by the name of Silver Catch Co. It hosts trade in seafood between the Greek isles, China, Japan, The United States, England, Italy, and France. It holds mass investments in the global market, and controls one hundred and twenty-seven fishing barges with another hundred or more smaller vessel’s that remain in Greece, fishing off the coast.
He resides in a small sailing barge of his own construction that he built himself, which remains off the northern coast of Athens. With him he has some computers and a cell phone which he uses to monitor and remain informed on his companies dealings.
He never changed his name, finding no need to, especially since a number of mortals tended to name their children after the gods in this modern age anyways.
He tends to remain in solitude, enjoying only the company of the ocean of which his entire existence has been based upon. While his powers have waned, he has taken solace in the company of the waves and the life within the depths. He makes due as he is today, accepting what has happened though sometimes depressed or even infuriated by it.
A morning fog slips along the surface of the waters, covering them through the distance towards the horizon of the sea. Various hues and colors accompany it with the reflection of the sun rising over the edge, with a rainbow forming in the distance. The waves trickle against the hull of a small, white colored boat about a mile off from a distant, rocky coast. A breeze catches the small vessels furled sails a little causing the mast anchors to shift from one side to the other. Amongst the peace and quiet of the morning sea the boat writhes in a gentle manner up and down within the waters.
Upon the deck there seems to be no presence, or activity justifying such. The sound of chains rattling and scraping against wood near the starboard side echoes through the quiet of the morning air. A three inch thick chain dangles over the starboard side of the ship into the water, keeping the boat anchored in place. The waves and soft winds struggle in a helpless fashion against the weighed down boat, though with no true intention or desire to shift it; nature applying itself in its ordinary course.
From the water’s surface about four yards off towards the east of the small boat the water starts to shift a little. A fish about three feet long rises into the air slapping its tail and fins in a wild fashion. Three prongs stick through its body causing the creature to emerge in such a fashion. The staff of the instrument rises from the water until a hand joins it; fingers curled tightly around the staff with another hand eventually arising as well below the first. A figure rises from the water with long, dark hair that glimmers like gemstones in the feint light of the morning sun.
The figure’s lips turn upwards as the corners providing a pleasant smile to the situation with a gentle laugh in accompaniment to the occasion. The man leans in the direction of the small boat making his way towards it with one hand still holding tight to the instrument with the fish adorning it. It takes him only a few moments to reach the vessel. Upon doing so he swings his free arm up to the grate attached to the back, hoisting himself up a little before tossing the instrument into the boat along with the fish. He then lets go, allowing the waters to seep around him once more, floating amongst the waves.
“So wonderful a thing the salty sea, to comfort a man in his solace.” His eyelids drift towards one another as he releases a calming exhale to enjoy the presence of the morning light. A soft jingling starts to ring into the air from the boat causing him to tilt his head up some. His eyes close a moment expressing his despair at such a sound before he reaches back up to grab the grated flooring. He hoists himself out of the water with little effort, climbing back into the boat with water sliding from his body. As he walks towards the helm of the boat he kicks his right foot over to a lever. When it turns three holes on either side of the boats floor about three inches wide open.
The water swaying along the floor of the boat seeps into the holes and drains out the back through two tubes, one in place on each side of the attached grate. As this process is implemented he reaches around the door of the room near the front of the ship and grabs a pair of pants. He pulls them out into the open then searches through one of the pockets retrieving a small box like, black device that is giving off the ringing sound. He tosses the pants back inside then flips the device open.
“I’m here. What’s the problem?” He says with a firm tone placing the device to his ear. The soft hint of a voice on the other end speaking in a rapid tone fills the quiet stillness of the immediate area around him. He moves his free hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.
“Our price is more than fair. I will not subject myself to such a foolish notion that we can be taken as fools. We are an industry, not a chop shop. Its five hundred pounds at two dollars and fifty cents a pound. It’s not my problem if their excessive costs in labor, shipping, and personal problems are unable to produce profit in their favor. If they can’t handle it then they shouldn’t be in the trade. If they don’t want it then tell them we have other buyers willing to pay.” He’d stop there, listening to the person on the other end speaking their reply. He waits until a proper time to respond and then speaks again.
“The deal is the deal, I don’t care how important they seem to be or think they are. Two-fifty a pound or nothing. Make it happen.” With that he claps the device shut and tosses it around the corner on top of the pants. His shoulders fall firmly with a hard sigh at the situation before he turns around looking at the fish. He grabs it’s flapping tail with hard grasp, and the staff of the instrument with his other hand. He tears the fish free then smacks it’s skull against the metal railing cracking it ending the creatures pointless flailing. With that he turns and walks into the hold with the fish well in hand.
Alias: Ty Cheryl Elemis
Ty has hair starting from white blond roots that darken into black tips at the ends. Even in the shift from one color to another, the tight banana curls remain attractive. Her front part of her bangs was straightened while dyed a bright pink and swept over her left eye. Thin lines of eyeliner trace her green clover eyes making that the most noticeable trait in her face. Her skin is full of color and smooth as polished marble. Light freckles on her cheeks give her a look of innocence. In her earlier to late twenties, she has the lovely hour glass figure with a bit of muscle but her fashion trends are more towards convenience than grace.
Ty usually wears simple well-formed jeans, tight shirts with a buttons down front still display a bit of cleavage, a fringed jean jacket, and high ankle cowgirl boots. On the jacket has a pair of wings with an overlooking crown and a specter laid at the bottom, a simple design but fond link to her past. Outfit changes depending on her mood as well as her surroundings.
Ty watched her boyfriend’s “study” partner begin their biology lesson by stripping naked before him. The lack of clothes and his look of enjoyment pissed off the former Greek goddess of luck, teeth hurt as they pushed together. Rage boiled over, heart pounded heavily in her ears, and of course everything dyed in red didn’t help her state of mind. Rage, not sadness, clouded her mind over from considering the consequences. Their wild passion had only begun but it was enough for Ty, her heart now broken with the hate. He wasn’t going to live past the day.
She pulled a cigar, Swisher Sweet brand, and she lit it in her mouth with a lighter. The silver surface had engraved letters: Tyche. The wispy smoke flew away and with harden eyes she snapped her fingers together. The sound caused a pipe in the house to leak spreading gas though out the house. The minor stuff was easy but anything larger she had to mentally envision a coin and flip it. The luck type was anyone’s guess including hers. Sometimes it was good, oh so very good but other times it could be terrible.
The pair stopped, something was wrong as the gas was finally noticed. The boy was the first to the large patio window doors only to find them locked, another quick click of Ty’s fingers had jammed the locks closed. Panicked because he couldn’t leave and the girl’s muffled screams at him, the guy readied a nearby vase at the glass. At this point, Ty held her smoke in one hand while blowing out the last of the smoke with a smirk. She skipped the ignited cigar into the gas just as he shattered the window. That wasn’t the best thing she could have done but she couldn’t let him break another’s heart. Anyway Ty wasn’t one to forgive betrayal easily.
The house almost seemed to explode in slow motion: the panels flew out into the driveway, wood had splintered and burned, and screams from the burning victims were harmony to her ears. Unfazed by her destruction, Ty thundered her bike to life from her seat. A plush anger ball dangled from the handle bars as an accurate symbol of how easy luck could be forcefully balanced, it was a memory of its impossibility. The strong and powerful machine twisted about to take off down the long black pavement. She hummed out loud the song “Highway to Hell” by Meatloaf, a perfect fit to the recent destruction. Truthfully it was a bit of fun but she knew there was chance she would regret it latter. In her own opinion it was long overdue, especially when she forgave him numerous other times. After she left Olympus she spent time wandering as a drifter. There were times she barely made it through the day and others she faired excellent. Humans still remained aware of luck even if it continually shifted between good and bad. Thanks to this, it made total control over her domain that much harder.Name:
Abigail Nathaniel-only in the mortal world
Appearance:Her complexion is dark mocha brown, her domain jumbled in confusion that justice is corrupted and fragile thing in this modern world. Never the less, order and vengeance exists so her body remains strong and solid. Her eyes are ever shifting, artfully and barely, shades of amber red color. Her facial features are chiseled to give her a powerful look while her female radiance is clearly seen. Wings of her glory days are marked as a delicate black tattoo reaching down between her shoulder blades to her middle of the back. During times when Tyche, the goddess of luck she is often attached to, is hurt the tattoo whitens with a little brief pain. Her thick hair is dark red, and straight as can be to hang just against her shoulders.
Her outfits are suits usually, consistent with her form of work. During her free time or less formal affairs, her outfits are conservative that hugs her shape very nicely while not compromising her dignity of a confident working woman. Nemesis will wear shorts and a tank top when she is alone, certain people are exception, and undisturbed.
Personal aid to chief staff of National Defense, currently she works when needed and enjoys the rare perks of freedom in her job.
Her job requires a bit of travel to many places but her home estate is some where in the rural area of Maine, USA.
The lamp was dimming; Nemesis wished she could do so as well just as the light bulb died. It had been on since the early hours of the day, no break, and it was only a matter of time before it died. Long well kept nail thumped endlessly upon the key board of the laptop set before her. She was unfazed by the lack of light and she’d change the light once her work was done. Minutes ticked by, the darkness out of her mind as she relentlessly flickered eyes between the computer’s screen and her work papers: the dull recount of that day’s meetings. The letters marred the pages surface, chicken scratch only Nemesis could read through the clicking ringing in her ears.
At last, the final page to the final word appeared on the word program’s last page. The device’s lid closed, Nemesis turned to her next task: the light. She took a slight breath, her hand reached into her desk drawer to pull out a band new bulb. Sigh, that blasted light burns out more often now or was it just her. Eons, centuries, and many other things of time were gone before she knew it but there was not regret. Regret meant mistakes and as the punisher of mortal’s sins to the gods, there were little place in her nature for either uncertainty or immoral. Brilliant light blinded her eyes for a second, forced her to squint before turning away. That was it.
Olympus was so far from her mind that it was nothing but a memory, faded and over glorified puff of mortal bull. The real stories, their myths were just the toppings over the real base. Sigh. Nemesis pushed her chair out, her body rose from her seat only to move a few feet away to her bed side. Hands crawled along the bedside table, a small knob she twisted with a flick of her wrist and yank. A secret draw, well hidden, stowed away a small stash of papers. The sources were all dated differently as the layers went deeper, the older the papers became varied over the span of time with the bottom being a black and white photo of a familiar Greek statue. It was a goddess: Tyche. Memories of their time spent as a mentor and student. Now the student was lost and separated from Nemesis, it brought the woman reason to be here. She touched the materials, her hands ran over each one so gently and sadly before she closed it again. There would always be time, time was all an immortal needed- the time they faded was the farthest from Nemesis’ mind.
Until then, it was just another day…
Richard “Dick” Deus (Day-us)
A robust man remarkably tall, topping around 6’9”. Heavy shoulders, muscular arms, and a narrowed waist oft accentuated by tailored suits worth more than the GDP of some third world countries. Short, tar black hair is slicked back in a sleek businessman’s cut, a neat, close-cut beard shadowing a masculine jaw. Tanned olive skin of Mediterranean descent and indeterminate, statuesque features that could place his age anywhere between a cultured late-thirties to a glowingly healthy male in his early-fifties. Appraising eyes shift in hue with the ambient light; from a blue as pale as summer’s sky to a flinty grey ominous as thunderheads on the horizon. His intimidating appearance is secondary to his particular aura. He holds himself with the heedless confidence of a man born to rule and accustomed to having his orders obeyed, and obeyed immediately, without question.
CEO of Deus Industries, a multi-billion dollar company which owns majority stocks in a multitude of energy companies in the U.S., as well as owning whole energy providers in several lesser developed foreign nations, as well as dabbling in minor research ventures around the globe. Deus Industries has been criticized in the past by political pundits for sharing too cozy a relationship with certain senators and House members in Washington, D.C., not to mention the company's lavishly generous political donations. But this coziness and the somewhat shady beginnings of the company have recently been shrouded by very public charity work and philanthropic givings: new schools, new community centers, new city parks, new art galleries and museums, all in communities scattered across the U.S.A. and all bearing the lightning-bolt DI logo. The reason for the change is obvious and seen on every news station and in every newspaper: Earlier in the summer, Richard “Dick” Deus, businessman and investor, loyal patriot and humanitarian, devoted husband and sentinel for universal equality, announced his candidacy for President of the United States.
The time was ripe.
Power. Power was eternal. The mortal scholars and alchemists, the wizards and priests of a New Modern Age, had written power could not be destroyed, nor created. In so many ways, they were the blind leading the blind, groping through the dark, fumbling for a Truth to make meaning of their piteous, small lives. To grasp what could not be grasped, to Learn what was not meant to be Learned. So arrogant in their assumptions, so conceited in the mastery of this sorcery called science. But in that one thing, in power, they were right. It could not be made; it could not be unmade. But it could be taken. It could be hoarded as the dragon hoarded treasure and trinkets. It could be built from the ground like the marble temples of old. It could rise like the sea, and swell like the storm. It could fall like a conquered city and be trampled unto dust.
It had been taken from him. Power.
A bleeding wound that had festered through the ages, sapping his strength, stifling the thunders that had once rolled unfettered from one end of existence to the other. Dimming the lightning that had once crackled between his curled fingers with the primal violence of a forming world. The dawn of a new mortal awareness had drained him these past millenina. But what could be taken, could be wrested back.
The time was ripe.
The world turned. Men suffered, warred, hungered, and died. The far-flung shadows that modern science had scoured clean of all myth now stirred once more with creatures ancient and dark. Mortal sight and minds struggled to understand. Mortal voices rose in a silence stretched through time, crying out for a savior to guide them. A leader to protect them. A god to rule them.
The heavens flashed...
Thunder boomed in the distance.
Zeus stood in the blackness of his top-floor office in Deus Tower, high in the clouds above New York City. New York. This new world’s Athens. The present day’s Rome. The center of a supposed Age of Prosperity. Lightning flashed again, brightening a blaze in the penetrating eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, silhouetting the towering, powerful profile of the being that had ruled the Pantheon and battled Titans, the being whose mere whims had meant defeat or victory for conquering armies, the being that had fathered mighty Hercules and countless other Heroes whose praises were still sung to this day.
This being sipped from the glass of wine in hand, counting the heartbeats until thunder rattled his windows. The once-prime deity watched the blow move in across the city, looming black clouds blanketing the night, pregnant with rain and worse. Abreast of the gale drove an ill wind, tainted and fouled with an old, old scent that chilled him to the core. If any creature in existence could read the omens woven in air, it was he. Brothers, Sisters, my Children, do you watch the same skies as I? Ares, do you peer at the heavens from the empire you’ve created, and pause? Hades, wherever you languish, do you feel the dead souls moan and stir, restless with the coming doom? Poseidon, will you hide your face in the seas? None of them could hide, soon. Zeus felt it. Danger neared, but with danger came opportunity.
The glory that had been lost could be found again. The world turned, a storm approached, and Zeus was ready.
The time was ripe.Hephaestus
Despite his height, excessive slabs of muscle make the hulking God of the Forge appear nearly squat. His upper body is almost freakishly overdeveloped, his arms like tree-trunks, his wrists thick, his gnarled and calloused hands the size of catcher's mitts. His lower half is just as herculean as the rest of him, but his right leg bends at the knee only stiffly and produces a noticeable limp wherever he treads. A mat of dark wiry hair coats his forearms and chest, and a bushy beard wreathes his jaw. He wears a constant disheveled look, his hair in want of brushing, his clothes in want of ironing and often smudged with soot or frayed and faded at the ends. Dark iron grey eyes seem frozen in a near-squint, a tracery of crow's feet creeping from the edges. His features are plain and blunt, if rough-hewn and excessively masculine. He walks with the aid of a steel walking cane, the length of it etched with runework; the handle is shaped like a simple, cylindrical hammer's head, easily gripped in its master's huge grasp.
Odd jobs. Sometimes handy-man, sometimes carpenter, sometimes plumber. He welds, from time to time, has worked auto-repair, and all kinds of construction. But nothing constant. He works enough to pay the rent on his garage called "Shep's Repair," where he both lives and works, in the forgotten suburbs of Saint Paul, Minnesota. Beneath the garage is a cellar where he toils at his true passion for no one's benefit but his own -- his Forge.
Hephaestus crunched into a parking spot at the Nashville Parthenon in his antique Ford pickup. The Ford’s paint job was a faded burgundy that blended well with the patches of rust, and the body was littered with dents and dings and scratches. Old tools rolled and rattled randomly around in the truck’s bed. But the engine itself rumbled with a perfect chord of mechanical harmony until its owner shifted into park, turned the key, and killed it.
Hephaestus sat for a moment as the engine ticked and cooled in the silence, looking through his dirty, bespeckled windshield at the columned building up on the hill. A family gathering... but the God of the Forge regarded it warily like he would a trap. He avoided his squabbling family as much as he could through the decades and centuries, but every now and then he felt obliged to pay his dues. Truth was, though, there was only a face or two he cared to see. But he wouldn't see them sitting out here.
Best to just get it over with.
He heaved an unhappy breath, popped his door open, and slid on out, the suspension creaking and groaning. The rusty hinges on the door whined as he slammed it shut, and the frame clattered in complaint. Except for the engine he'd put in, this old truck was nothing more than a bucket of loose bolts. But truth was, he loved this old grumbling truck more than half his plotting and dramatic family. The truck was a damn sight more loyal. But that couldn't be helped. Family was family. Unlike trucks, you didn't get to pick. He reached into the back of his truck, retrieving his cane.
He hadn't known what to wear. He'd brushed his hair a bit, but all he had for clothes was work uniforms. He'd finally dug a jacket out of a forgotten closet. It was a brown corduroy with old leather elbow patches -- only a few decades out of style. The finest shirt he had was a comfortable red and black plaid that tucked into nothing more than well-faded and well-worn jeans. His boots were plain steel-toed work boots, scuffed and dirty, but he wasn't here to impress. He'd long since stopped trying to impress this particular nest of vipers.
Without further procrastination, he ambled his way up the hill, one cane-click, sure step, and limping shuffle at a time.
The Lovely Banner was made with great skill and speed by Noel