Welcome to Chapter Three! Whether you are a returning player or a new one I hope you have a lot of fun with this RP. As per usual for my RP's I have a loose overarching plot line in mind, I like to keep things flexible so that I can customize to what my players throw at me. If you want to see something in the RP, let me know. I want to give you what you want. Generally the only reason I would say no is if conflicted with the plot I have lined up or it doesn't fit the "feel" of the RP. Remember, this is your RP too! Take advantage of that, run things by me.
I also expect to hear from you 2-3 times a week IC, 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! We have been known to have Bad Art contests as well as good art depicting our favorite Myths and such. We also have a dedicated Chat Channel thanks to Lyzan who plays Ares.
Rules and Such
- I am not a stickler for post length so don't feel you have to post a ton just to bump your word count. I'd rather a shorter, well written post than a wall of fluff though I do expect your post to meet site standards for Advanced which can be found here: Advanced Roleplay and are not as daunting as one would think.
- Do not Tie up the IC, if you cannot post let us know and we'll work something out.
- No Loner Characters. They are a huge pet peeve of mine, especially when accompanied by OOC whining about having nothing to do. The fun of these characters are that as much as they hate each other, they cannot stay apart.
- Be especially conscious of not moving too far a head of the main plot. I keep track of this and if you go and have your character take a nap (for example) you aren't going to be able to react to the raging Maenads that run rampant in the park around the corner even if it looks fun. This has come up in a few of my RP's so I thought I'd point it out here.
- If you are in a scene with another character, on that isn't connected to the others, with lots of back and forth dialog, take it to PM in what we affectionately call a collab. Then after you have RPed out the scene in PM the conversation or scene can be posted as a whole by one of the players. This makes for nice banter and keeps from losing the feel of the conversation when it gets broken up by other people posting. Be mindful if you do this that you don't tie up a player for too long. The collab post should be wrapped up quickly, say within a day or so, key word here is Timely.
- Flashbacks are a beloved tool for this RP and I do love them, but they should not be the meat of the post. Forward movement should be evident in every post.
- I promise you, I am not as strict as all this makes me, this is just experience speaking.
Olympic Gods only!
Also, because this is a returning cast all returning players will have a say about new CS's though I will make the final call if needed.
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, no Anime),
Vignette 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, a scene such as you would write it in the RP, giving me a starting point for them. Look below at the established Gods (Zeus and Hera so far) 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.
Cast of Characters
- Vanquished as&Name
Youthful though not young and built in a desirable hour glass figure. Deep red hair that falls to just below her breasts, bright green doe shaped eyes. Perfectly plumped lips are the only part of her face she applies make up, redder than her hair. Her face is angular, a trait that makes any severe look all the more severe.
A lingerie designer in Rome, Aphrodite has adopted the name Astrid Cypris. While she works for a large corporation, she runs her own label within it known as Desire.
"You are gorgeous." The man was handsome in a youthful way, a mop of perfectly disheveled hair swinging into his eyes. He was drunk and his words were just starting to slur.
"I know." Aphrodite offered a smile, but no blush crept up her face. She took another sip of her martini. The green blazer she had worn to work had been unbuttoned just enough to show a peak of something black and lacy. She leaned over further, giving this man-she couldn't quite remember his name-a better view. He stared, as she knew he would, but then leaned up into her face, his lips seeking hers.
He would be of little comparison to previous lovers, but she was bored. Bored of Hermes, bored of coming home each day, even if she still enjoyed his touch. When she had seen this man delivering mail this morning, she knew she would have him. He was attractive, and amusingly enough, disillusioned with his work at a lingerie design studio.
She pulled away, "Why don't we go back to my place?" The words were a purr.
Suddenly, the man looked to be composing himself. He cleared his throat. "I'd love to..." Of course he would, how couldn't he? Aphrodite's brow quirked upwards. "It's just...I mean, people at work talk. They say you're boyfriend-"
She cut him off, running her hand along his face and down his body, resting it on his thigh. A giggle erupted from her lips, "Oh, don't you worry about that. He's away on business." It was a lie, a perfect lie. Aphrodite had decided just how she wanted to leave Hermes, and a show was always a good way to start. "Why don't you call us a cab? I don't know how much longer I can wait..."Hebe
Diminutive and slight, Hebe is built very straight-small breasts and small hips, only the hints of curves. Youthful and fresh faced, with bright and constantly innocent green eyes. Her golden blonde hair is often just tied back into a simple pony tail.
Katrina-"Kat"-McNeill currently lives and works in Hollywood as a personal assistant to the gods of this new world, celebrities.
Kat made a name for herself for her eye for detail, complete confidentiality, and her ability to seemingly preemptively know the wants of those who she serves. Many have tried to pull her away from her current star leading to her also being known for her loyalty. As for Kat, she enjoys once again being behind the center of the limelight.
She looked over the list on her iPhone again: pick up the dry cleaning, walk little Zoe, get a half-caf latte with extra skim and sugar free, mail out a proposal, proofread said proposal first, make dinner reservations for the night at a restaurant known for a two month waiting list...it went on and on. It wasn't even noon and Kat was halfway through the list. She'd be done in another few hours and would have added a few of her own to-do's to the list.
"Need some help Kat?" The man in jeans and a t-shirt waved her over.
"Nah Charlie, I'm good!" She waved back, having had to shift the multiple bags first. Her face had broadened into an even larger smile as he called the elevator for her. She doubted her employer would even be awake yet, but she had preemptively bought a bottle of aspirin and her favorite water. She'd need it after her bender the previous night.
Kat had already seen to the tabloids, doing as much damage control as she could. Instead of being front and center of the new edition, it was shrunk to a tiny square and the picture selected far less damning than the original. Most seemed to find it hard to say no to the little pixie of a woman known as Kat. She rode up humming one of the hundreds of generic pop tunes, her smile a permanent fixture.
She nodded to the man milling outside of the room, he was on the phone screaming, his face red and sweaty. He paused long enough to acknowledge Kat with a quick grin before he returned to his job. She entered the card quickly, the beeping noise allowing her in.
The room, rooms really, were disasters. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some damaged beyond repair. Bottles of alcohol in all its forms laid about, a few with remnants of liquid still. It was times like these memories of who she had been triggered. It had been a night even Dionysus would have been proud of. She sighed, quietly, thoughts of Olympus and its gods were one of the few things that could disturb her shining optimism. She tried to brush it from her mind as she set down her bags and began to clean and reorganize things. Add a profuse apology to the list. The hotel wouldn't be pleased with the state of some of their property.
The thoughts of the others still plagued her though. Hebe thought on them rarely, she had felt lost and abandoned at first. Her parents seemed to have little need of her, her brother and his lover cast her off as well. Self doubt had plagued her for many years. Had she not served well enough? What had she done to become so faded and unnecessary? Cupbearer to the gods, goddess of youth and pardons, she was left to navigate the world for herself. Instead of liberating it had been like a prison-at first.
This profession though, it offered so much. Hollywood idolized youth, she served the powerful, powerful because of some magic combination of beauty and fortune. It may as well have been Olympus for all the scandals that happened on a daily basis. Kat opened the bedroom door a crack to see what new scandal there would be, and how hard it would be to correct this one. Two naked bodies, intertwined with each other and the sheets. Kat's eyes stayed on the man long enough to ascertain he was unmarried and without a girlfriend. One less thing to worry about. She closed the door gently.
Her phone went off, loudly. Kat fumbled to silence it. Odd, she never kept the volume on. She had never even it added a ringtone, and so it was the generic default option ringing in her ears. There was a groan coming from behind the door now. Kat held her breath and waited, the noise subsided and she breathed a sigh if relief. That woman hated being woken by anything other than her internal clock.
She looked at her phone again, a text message from a number she didn't recognize. She opened it, eyes going wide in the process. She read it again, then again. She closed it. Opened it. It seemed impossible, as if someone was playing a prank. Nobody she knew could know this though. Athene knew how to contact her? The mighty of Olympus had deemed to need her once more?
It was a conflict Hebe was unprepared for. She served, that was her nature far more than her job. She was torn. Serve those who had forgotten and abandoned her, those who she was fated to serve. Or was she to ignore this, act as if it had never happened and continue in her new life. She was duty bound to this as well. She was known for her unwavering support and loyalty. She was applauded for her good work here. This was an illusion of her former place though. She felt the stirring inside her and knew that she would only be able to ignore it for so long.
She found a pen and some paper. She wrote with trembling hands, her resignation, active immediately. She wondered how far she could travel, her power had waned so much. Instead, Hebe pulled out her phone once more, and booked a rather expensive same day flight for New York.
- Lyzan asName:
Wavy shoulder length raven hair. Tall and muscular body frame with tanned skin. Dark blue eyes under grim brows and a proud masculine jaw now lined with thick black beard. Wears a gray toga with a broad maroon stripe on its border.
Casted down to live in the Underworld with Persephone by order of the Thundergod, Zeus; Ares have lost all contact with the world above since the moment he was punished and forced to take an Oath. Thus, he became the new Ruler's personal bodyguard or some might've called him the Queen's slave even. But most would've definitely gotten used to calling him a dog.
Cornered and leashed under the endless ceiling of night, the God of War was starting to lose himself. He'd spent most of the time standing by the balcony and have been staring either over the distant horizon or at the gloomy clouds above, cursing at the King of Gods. The pillars there have been on the recieving end of his rage although the impact have suddenly been getting softer and softer as of late. Something seemed to change, something rare but had happened once before.
Ares soon realized that no matter how much he'd retaliated, struggled and even roared in demand for freedom; there was simply no way for him to gain them. It was just like how hopeless he'd felt before he began to humble himself as a captive then, trapped in that bronze urn and chained after some persisted screamings and howlings. So he suppressed everything within himself, hiding nothing from his companions.
Standing tall while wearing a stolid expression and with a quiet attitude, Ares faced a day after another seemingly as dead as most residents, empty and without a soul or spirit. Utterly brokened. Defeated. Simply a wandering vessel on the Queen's courtyard.
- May as&Name
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. There's a lingering sadness about her that won't seem to leave her eyes.
Moper? She's retreated fully from the hustle of current mortal life and is instead residing fully in a cabin in the woods of New York state so as to be closer to her brother if he so decides to come and see her since she won't set foot back in a city. Only death or certain destruction would draw her out now. (Or maybe a nudge from Daddy )
She was alone, like normal. Or at least mostly alone. She wasn't without her hounds anymore. Some of them hadn't left her side in days. They knew that something was wrong with her and refused to leave her on her own. It was reassuring to know that even as she felt weaker and weaker, she wasn't ever going to be without them. They were as much a part of her as her own heart beating in her chest. Even if every pound and thump of it against her ribs was a reminder of how much she'd lost.
She didn't know, not totally at least, how mortal she might have become at the loss she'd suffered not more than a few weeks back. But while her hounds were part of her heart, her dominions were her soul. And a piece of that was missing now. She didn't feel complete anymore. And no ones presence made up for that. Not her twins when he did come to visit for a while before he drifted off into whatever had caught his attention this time. Not even when Orion wanted to be physically close with her, perching himself on her arm or tucked against her chest as she lay watching the clouds drift over the sky.
Just his name made her shiver still. She'd gone lifetimes without him by her side. And now...now he was back, but she'd only briefly gotten him in a human form. But even those few moments they had, the fleeting seconds they had to just look at one another, to touch, talk, kiss. They'd been worth the centuries of heartache. Even now she still had him, even if sometimes communication was difficult. He was stubborn and put up walls against her attempts to get him to talk with her. That was at least a skill she still possessed. Talking with her animals. Even if he didn't always want to talk with her. He was still mad, and she couldn't blame him. But she couldn't stop being selfish either and keeping him around.
She blinked herself out of her little memory spell at the sounds of hoots. Looking away from the fire she'd been staring at towards Fowl and her love. He was getting braver at challenging the bigger beast, but Fowl seemed to be unaffected by his taunting. If anything, she bore like a mother with her young. And it warmed the Huntress' heart to see them playful. Even if it would warm her heart more to be in his arms again.
"Soon," she murmured to herself, running a calloused finger over the ear of one of her hounds who was dozing at her side. "Soon I'll be where I want to be. Just waiting for the word from Hecate and then this will all be fixed."Name
Persephone, Queen of Hades
Slim and graceful, paler then she used to be, but there's still that hint of light in her skin. 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. Though her eyes speak of that along with her fierce determination.
Queen of the Underworld, and as sole ruler, she spends the majority of her time there. She dwells there at the very least even if she sometimes comes up to the surface for other duties. But she's got something to come home to, so she doesn't stay away for long. *unibrow*
Persephone sat at a well worn table, sketch book in front of her, fingers smeared with pastel colored chalk. She was no Apollo, but her flowers weren't too bad either. And she was working more on an arrangement than real art anyways. But it just wasn't working for her. With a low growl of annoyance she crumpled up her newest sheet and tossed it to the floor with the others that she'd gone through in the short amount of time she'd been sitting there.
The Queen of the Underworld stood, pacing back and forth for a long moment. This was not the first time in her long life that she'd been subjugated to the Underworld. This was not the first time her father had locked her down here with a man. But this time, this time she was ruler, not the ruled. Even if sometimes it didn't feel that way. She tired really hard not to make Ares feel like he was being punished. He was, there was no escaping that. But that didn't mean that it couldn't be fun too. And as much as she wasn't angry at Zeus for herself, she was angry at him for Ares.
She couldn't escape his rage. He never hit, but that didn't mean his burning anger wasn't diverted into other passions that she was no stranger to with him now. She couldn't help but watch him become darker and darker as the days passed. And she had tried to make things cheerier for him, but nothing she did seemed to lift much of the darkness from his shoulders. And as his darkness grew, she could feel it leaking into her more. She was pleased, she wasn't ashamed to admit, that it was him that was down here with her, that she wasn't alone. But she knew what it was like to be down there with no hope of escape. She'd been there, and that had been awful. As much as she loved being with her husband, she hated that she couldn't just pop up and see Demeter whenever she felt like. Or pop down to see Hades during the Spring.
Zeus had caged his dog and left her with the leash. And he hadn't even bothered to check up on them. That was no surprise, really. But even thinking about that made her mad again. Pulling the flowers out of her hair, dark purple and red fuschia's to keep from actually pulling her hair out. It'd only been a few months, but it felt so endless down there with everything so unchanging.
Even with their newest guest arriving, their only guest really, tensions hadn't gotten much better. She'd gladly welcomed her back home, even if she couldn't trust the two of them alone in a room sometimes. She wasn't happy with him, and he was too angry to be with anyone but Persephone. Or so she thought at least. And she liked having him to herself.
Tossing the now crumpled flowers down to the floor, she moved swiftly from the room, wine colored dress flowing out behind her as she went in search of her Conquer. She knew where she was likely to find him.
- Lillian Thorne asName: Athene, Aka Minerva Grey
Appearance: Tall and lean with a long sculpted face dominated by large gray eyes, eye which are currently shadowed with lingering pain. She used to wear her curly brown hair up severely but has taken to letting it fall loose now. In the past she typically wore pantsuits in neutral and dark colors, the jackets cut to hide her surprisingly feminine figure. Of late her dress is more casual with color more prominent and chosen with her love of fabric in mind rather than cool professionalism.
Occupation: Formerly she was Head Librarian at a large arts university where she also occasionally teaches weaving, currently on sabbatical.
Vignette: Athene moved about the cabin restlessly. She’d been so happy there despite the pain she’d been in. The whole world had been the four walls of the cabin, her life beginning and ending with the inhabitants. But that was when she’d been helpless and hurting. Now she was well, or well enough she could fake it. She still had deep gnawing pain that she hid for the most part. It made her grateful, that pain. It made her appreciate every breath she took, every breath he took. But he wasn’t there just then. He’d had to go back to his mortal life, even if only briefly and she suddenly had a great deal of sympathy for her stepmother. Which was not a comfortable place to be in. No, she didn’t care for that.
She hadn’t heard from her father, but then she hadn’t expected too. Even though she had been the worse of the casualties he wouldn’t have approved of her company and so had stayed away. She supposed he might think he was doing her a favor. He wouldn’t have been able to hide his disapproval so he’d given her silence. Still it stung more than a little to hear on the news of all things the main reason for his disappearance; it seemed Hera was pregnant. It was shocking really, the first god to be born in her family in forever it seemed. What would it mean to be a god born to this modern, unbelieving world?
Leave it to her father, he’d turned a tricky situation into campaign gold. He’d withdrawn from the race to stay home and tend to his wife whom Athene had to admit, glowed for the few seconds they’d had the camera on her. This had had a strange effect on nearly the entire female voting base and Athene was certain once he got back on the campaign trail the numbers would be vastly different no matter his “conservative views”. She snorted thinking of it and was only momentarily distracted by the boredom setting in.
She needed to get back into the world. Her spiders brought her plenty of tidbits, keeping tabs on most of her family but it wasn’t enough. She like Hephaestus was a god of the people. She’d spent so many years of her immortal life fostering and mentoring worthy men. She felt cut off and alone without some interaction. She’d toyed with the idea of slipping in to the military. She’d done that before. Through her guidance she’d brought many a promising soldier into prominence but it seemed too much like crowding her love. The military was his life right then and she was so new at being with someone that she didn’t want to misstep and crowd. Though her body and heart sang from their time together her mind was filled with doubts. She’d waited so long for this that it still seemed like a dream and she waited with baited breath for him to compare her to his wife and realize the mistake he’d made. She hated that she was being so irrational but she couldn't seem to help herself. She took herself out to the porch and leaned against one of the posts that held up the roof, twining her long arms around it, pressing her cheek into the smoothness of it. She stared out at the woods that had been her own personal haven and considered not for the first time seeing if there was enough juice in her to leave, to walk the ways to her old home and begin again. Not leaving him, no, never that but getting her own life back, not separate from him but apart. It didn’t make any sense to her, even as she said it to herself. She supposed it was from a lifetime of being a goddess alone.
Just as she closed her eyes and began summoning her strength the phone rang. It was an old phone, one with a rotary dialer and thought they were not connected to any phone lines that she knew of it worked. Hephaestus hadn’t cared to explain and she’d liked the twinkle in his eyes when he’d refrained from answering so she hadn’t pressed. Now she strode over to it and lifted the receiver.
“Hello.” She said into it, her voice a purr, a strange tone for a goddess of wisdom to sport.
“Is this Minerva Grey?”
Startled she answered in a short surprised tone. “It is, what is this in regards to?”
“Were you aware that you were listed as the next of Kin for Kate Helens?”
Kate Helens? Athene was momentarily stunned and then it came to her. Hecate. Next of kin. That wasn’t good.
“Yes, is something wrong? Tell me.” her words came out in a sharp crack, a voice that had commanded armies, won battles.
The woman did. As her hurried words came out the goddess leaned against the well made wall upon which the antiquated phone hung and slowly slid down to the floor, horror and remembered pain threatening to overwhelm her.
- MerlotBeauty as&Demeter
Current Modern Alias: Sierra Rhodes
Occupation: Bartender; Small Business Owner
A thick mass of curly blonde hair with streaks of brown falls halfway down the goddess’ back, framing a gentle-looking face with high cheekbones and creases around her gray-blue eyes (the only indication of her age). Her entire body screams woman from her curvy, but shapely hips to her long legs and large round breasts. Her sun-kissed skin is smooth, adding an heir of “other” to her demeanor. Despite her looks, there is no mistaking her age. She is clearly a middle-aged woman in her late forties, perhaps even in her fifties; and yet, despite her age, her radiance continues to turn heads.
“… I'm a redneck woman
And I ain't no high class broad
I'm just a product of my raising
And I say, 'hey y'all' and 'yee-haw.' …”
A mass of blonde curls falling well past the shoulder blades bounced as the shapely woman stomped her knee-high boots to the beat of the upbeat karaoke song. She belted out the lyrics of Redneck Woman though lips painted dark red and as she moved to the country rhythms while her stormy gray eyes winked at the various cowboy regulars hooting and hollering.
Let me get a big 'hell yeah' from the redneck girls like me…
Every female in the country bar, young and old shouted out with confidence and heart.
It was often this way when Demeter stood up on the tiny makeshift stage to sing. Though she was not necessarily a patron of women or (even confidence for that matter), she knew more about the hardships of women than most. Sometimes, women both mortal and immortal needed a bit of camaraderie. And tonight, that was exactly what Demeter intended to offer.
As the upbeat country music came to an end, the crowd applauded and hooted. Demeter—or Sierra, as she now called herself—winked and set the microphone back onto the stand before stepping down and making her way through the now raucous crowd. Several men slapped the goddess on her well-shaped behind, and one even pulled her into his lap.
“Now, now, Hank you know the rules.” Demeter smiled both inside and out, her gray eyes sparkling despite the fine lines around the edges.
“Now Siri, you know one o’ these nights you’ll want to tuck ol’ Hank into bed.” Hank laughed showing crooked teeth, and smelling of at least four to five shots of Jack.
Demeter, playing along for the moment lightly slapped the “big ol’” truck driver on the cheek. “Not in this lifetime Hank.”
Hank chuckled, as he pulled her into a rather awkward bear-hug before releasing her. “Yeah, I know. But I can keep dreamin’ babe!”
Demeter simply smiled and winked before taking her rightful place behind the counter. For the next several hours Demeter served up endless pints and shots. She laughed and flirted, and kept the country bar active and merry well into the early hours of the morning when finally the farmers, wranglers and truckers stumbled their way home.
By the gods, she loved it. She loved the atmosphere, the people; then again, Demeter had always enjoyed living among mortals. The bar was perhaps her best idea yet. Just a month ago she bought the rundown establishment (with the help of… family) on the edge of closing permanently. Everyone avoided this place, and there was talk that it was a front for drugs and other less-than-honest business arrangements.
It was not until the goddess of agriculture was counting out the till in a now eerily silent bar that she took a moment to think of her Daughter. For the first time, the Mother did not worry, or pine after things she could not control. This time, Persephone, goddess of the Spring (and now Queen of the Underworld) had made her choices, and found the freedom she sought; such as it was. The Girl wanted to be on her own without the influence of a Father, a Husband, or even the Mother.
Of course, Demeter was no so foolish as to abandon the one thing she loved most in the world. Though Persephone was currently confined to the Underworld, even Zeus did not have the power to keep the Mother and Daughter separated for long (lest he forget what happened last time he tried to take her away). Indeed, Persephone had only ask and Demeter would be there; literally in seconds.
For the first time, oddly enough, Demeter felt free. She almost felt young. Almost.
Former Modern Alias: Demi Spiros.
***Note: There is presently a warrant out for the arrest of Demi Spiros for the alleged illegal cultivation, possession and distribution of Marijuana in the state of California.***
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.Areiôn, Prince of Horses
Modern Alias: Aaron Wyatt
Occupation: Truck driver and Owner of Wyatt and Sons Commercial Freight
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 with 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 gallop, 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, and 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.
The urban beat thumped through the paved earth as if in an epic battling against the staccato pattering of grown men on a rundown half-basketball court. Crickets hidden among the weeds and bramble at the edges of the court seemed to cheer-on the display of athletics and ego, and yet the long cast shadows from the late-afternoon sun meant that the game would soon be over.
Amongst the half-dozen players all of different shapes and sizes, one player in particular seemed to play harder than the rest. Sweat covered his skin from head to toe, a sheen that seemed to make his toned skin almost glow. Each move he made was fluid, as he spun, jumped, and dribbled the basketball from one hand to another, moving from the reach of the opponent at just the right second. In an instant he turned, jumped and let the orange and black ball fly through the air. It bounced off the rim once, twice, and finally dropped through the metal hoop, void of any kind of net save a lowly string hanging on to that rim with every last shred of dignity it could muster.
With that shot, a few of the other players groaned and muttered. A few men exchange the congratulatory “High-five” while others cursed for not winning. Not a single man would meet the eyes of the “winner.” If one listened closely, complaints would be heard, about the newcomer who never bothered to pass the ball; that this was a team sport.
Areiôn just turned from the court, however, and walked toward his truck. The only home he knew. Some of the other guys called him out as he walked away. Let out insults, and other unsavory names. The Prince of Horses did not bother to respond. Instead he used the remote unlock for his rig—the complete set of lights on the rig flashing in unison.
Once inside, the Prince of Horses slid through the tiny space (far too tiny for one his size), and sat down on the sheets and blankets crumpled on the bed. They were sheets that had not been changed in months.
Still breathing heavily, Areiôn placed his head in his hands. His head throbbed, competing with his racing heart. Everything, simply, sucked. To make matters worse, he was sobering up. Without a second though he reached into the cabinet just over his head and pulled out large bottle of well-aged scotch. For a long moment he looked at the bottle. It was a pity that immortals could not get drunk like the average men. A decent hangover would feel grand right about now.
How did the gods do it? They worked together, fought side-by-side, and though with great cost won the battle. They won back Hades. Shortly after, they all just dispersed. No. That wasn’t what bothered him. The Olympians could visit one another at will, no visas required. It was not that they were gone. It was that she left without a word; without even a glance. Not even a gods-damn phone number.
He opened the bottle, and took a long draught. In less than an hour the bottle was empty; perhaps as empty as the Prince of Horses felt in that moment.
Areiôn muttered another foul curse as he ran his fingers through his hair—still moist from an afternoon of sport. He closed his eyes, and the blackness behind his eyelids seem to spin, the scotch having the desired effect. And yet, for all his wishing he knew that yet again it would be a sleepless night. Even now, closing his eyes he saw just one thing in the swirling darkness: Lucky.
Moments later, he stepped out from his “home” and into the cool evening. There was still the barest hint of light on the horizon, and just before him the yellowish wash of light from a single humming light over the basketball court, the ball sitting there. Perhaps, now, it was his only friend left in the world, the only thing that took his mind off….
He played until dawn.
- Hale as&Dionysus.
Daniel “Danny” Wilde.
Academy Award-winning actor and screenwriter (Reflection of Mercy, The Price of Antiquity and The Shadows of Grief trilogy), Accomplished Thespian (Pericles: Prince of Tyre), Fashion Icon and son to Deus Industries CEO, Richard Deus.
Appearance & Vignette:
“Hold still...” Clara muttered with a frown of displeasure written all over her face, seven hours ago she was nestled between silk sheets and in a deep, dreamless slumber. Not that any of that mattered, there was only so much pain a woman could tolerate when in the presence of one of the most insufferable and arrogant men on the planet. Once upon a time, long ago, she would have envied those Hollywood starlets clinging to the arm of People Magazine's “Sexiest Man Alive”. That was a long time ago...
“Almost done!” She rejoiced and silently prayed that he would let her go back home to the bed she had forsaken to fly halfway across the country to cater to this overgrown child's every beck and call, how she wished she could return to the blissful existence of slaving away for hours at her own expense so that she could maintain a sense of personal gratification. Yes, it was so nice barely making the rent in that dingy, disgusting apartment on the lower east side! Even so, she was not going to become one of those dainty little cunts that Danny brought home to feed his voracious, inhuman urges... oh, no!
“Hey, Clara... remember when I told you that I couldn't be late for this meeting and you said, 'Oh, Danny... you have plenty of time!' and how that was, what... an hour ago? Time is ticking.” Those dimpled, goddamn adorable cheeks flared beneath a head of short black hair, accentuated by the straight jawline that twisted into that sickening, 'I told you so' smug look that he would give when he 'believed' he was in the right. If she wasn't earning in a year what her peers would earn in a lifetime, she had half a mind to 'slip' her knee into this pretty boy's pecker and live the rest of her days in solitude. Sadly, money was the only attractive quality that Danny Wilde held over Clara Dumont; the war of attrition is waged only to spite this colossal douche.
“And we're done.” Clara did not hide the look that washed over her face nor the audible sigh of relief, she stepped back slowly to get a better look at the man she was murdering in her dreams every night. Despite her undying hatred for this shell of a human being, goddamn, the bastard looked good and that meant her freedom was nigh at hand.
“What's the verdict?” Danny made a half-turn while locking those hypnotic, pale blue eyes to hers and even she felt a slight tremble in her loins; a weird sensation given previous animosity. Crossing both arms, she looked him over from head-to-toe, pretending to feign interest so as to play into the game of reverse-psychology so he would make his decision and get him out of her hair. No, it wasn't that simple with Danny, he was sharp and knew that he could make her life a living hell if he truly wanted to.
“The jury's out, as you said... time's ticking.” Her head inclined toward the mirror, watching his gaze follow hers so he could scrutinize every detail of her work. The suit matched his chiseled physique, not adding nor taking but perfectly exploiting his six feet of height in a way that made him larger than life. Yes, go on and ogle and fawn over how perfect you are, you motherfu-
“Is this... burgundy?” Danny gestured to the tie hanging around his neck, shit, she could smell his condescending tone and notice that curt motion he made when addressing the tie in question. His brow narrowed, as if he was about to say something that would make her world come crumbling down onto her; before reverting to a cocky smile. “Hm, not bad.” if God exists, Clara was now a devout believer.
“Will that be everything, Mr. Wilde?” Clara summoned every ounce of sincerity in her being, if she was going to escape today without causing an international incident it solely depended on the next words that Danny would utter. He shot a glance over to his secretary, smirked, cocked his head slightly and as if struck by lightning she knew he was going to throw a wrench into her gears...
“Well, you could have se-” Danny stopped grinning when she raised her hand up and cut him off, something he was not very well accustomed to when working with others; truthfully it would be those working for him.
“Sent for the limo? It's ready and waiting.” She replied sweetly, hidden beneath that waited a viper's nest of venomous profanities that she weaved in such poetic ways that would make Robert Frost and Edgar Allen Poe sound like retarded monkeys.
“I meant that.” Danny was done toying with her, seeing her cringe and writhe under his gaze made him feel better about the shellacking he was about to receive at one of 'Dad's' oversight committees, not that he could give a single fuck; causing any amount of damage to his father's image was his one, singular purpose in this life... and to find a way to get into Clara's closely guarded sn-
“Good, it's waiting for you outside.” She pointed to the door, freedom at long last!
(Note: Reference picture only, majority of description provided above.)
That is what I have for the time being, while it does deviate from who I believe Dionysus is I wanted to capture him solely from an objective standpoint. It was my original intention to have him on a more first person perspective but when introducing a "narrative description" I prefer the third person; his personality isn't well covered, however, only eluded to which I hope to rectify in future posts. Suffice it to say, take Tony Stark and give him thousands of years of philandering and top if off with some good, wholesome daddy issues. Hooray for emotionally neglecting your child, Unlit!
And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I have exhausted my daily allotted energy portion. I'm bruisin' for a snoozin'...Asclepius...
Doctor Alistair Mackenzie.
Doctor Mackenzie has been on the forefront of medical breakthroughs since helping eradicate the smallpox virus during the 1970s, his list of achievements span almost five decades and include acting as a spokesperson for the World Health Organization, most recently he was following a series of cases involving possible viral outbreaks throughout the African continent.
In his current incarnation, Asclepius looks to have been through the ringer; wearing a crown of long, dishevelled platinum hair with dull emerald eyes buried beneath two bushy brows and sporting a haggard frown of crags and lines. He has a crooked and hooked nose giving him a buzzard like appearance, in addition he also wears a mangy looking beard that makes him look like a goat from certain angles. Asclepius is rather tall, standing roughly 6'4 even after shrinking with age with an average build, almost moving him toward being on the lanky side.
Remote Research Station No. 30 (RRS),
Ghana, West Africa.
6:20 PM UTC, December 3.
“Ah... shite.” Asclepius muttered, an eye held close to the microscope before pulling away to wipe the sweat from his brow, the heat of the small room was beginning to rack at his worn nerves. It was bad enough that the equipment he used were remnants of the sixties, and he strongly questioned if it had been sterilized since, but what made him the most frustrated was the fact he could not for the life of him find a lens that didn't fog up after a few seconds. The rubber eye protector had by now disintegrated with no replacement to be found, Asclepius simply shrugged his lament before taking a seat on the stool next to his work station.
“Lass, gimme a hand, will ya?” Asclepius waved the lab assistant over with a frown, watching her neck tilt his way and casting a cold glance as she had up until this point been busying herself by fanning at her face with a half-folded magazine. With a moan of bitter disappoint, she arose from her seat and crossed the floor and stopped short of the desk next to him.
“Yes, Doctor?” Her eyes rolled, sweat clinging to the silk blouse she wore beneath the lab coat, offering the Scotsman a rather nice view of her slender figure. It was enough for the old man to think of his wife... or, he should say his late wife. That painful memory he suppressed and stabbed a finger toward the microscope, trying not to appear irate but failing miserably.
“I want you to go find Desi and for God's sake tell her to get me a new lens cover... this one has gone to shite faster than... well, it's just shite, honestly.” Asclepius was too hot to think of an analogy, flicking his wrist to her dismissively as he pulled away his glasses and began to massage his temples; leaning an elbow onto the desk. He couldn't see her but felt her anger at being sent topside, he didn't blame her, he was just too tired to do it himself and having her around was a good enough excuse.
“Okay, but fo' god sake... you make dat fan work.” Marie replied in her light French accent, stomping her foot on the floor with her hands at her hips; how she thought he would be able to fix the prehistoric contraption was beyond him but he complied with a stout nod.
“Aye, deal! Make haste as I'm liable to keel over at a moment's notice, yeah?” He emphasized by pretending to clutch at his heart, it was enough to make the assistant smirk though he doubted it's sincerity. Marie turned on her heel and left in a stormy mood, leaving him to his thoughts and the nauseating heat.
“Christ, it's too bloody hot!” Asclepius groaned as his head tilted back to gaze up at the fan on the ceiling, cursing it beneath each wheeze of a breath he made.
- Pockets asName Hephaestus today goes by Darin Vulcin (pronounce Vul Sin)
Appearance At his full height Darin is well over 6 feet tall and extremely broad across the chest and shoulders. His upper body is masively developed in comparison to his weak legs, a condition he has suffered since birth. As such he frequently walks with a pair of canes and occasionally uses a wheelchair but only when he absolutely has no other choice. His pride hates that chair. Short cut, dark curly hair and a well trimmed beard decorate his head and face and his green eyes appear to be far older than his body would make them seem. Physically he appears to be in his late to mid forties at most.
Current occupation/location/persona: Mechanic, builder and designer of custom vehicles. He doesn't run a shot since he doesn't want employees but his name is well recieved and his pieces are each truly one of a kind examples of functional rolling art. He is a hard man, unforgiving of his craft. If a customer requests something that would ruin the look, feel, theme, or function of the bike he will flat out refuse to include it and leave it to the customer to go somewhere else if they want.
Vignette: Cavernous. That was the best word to use for the room that he sat in. Cavernous. A warehouse with over 30,000 square feet of interior space was filled end to end with a wide variety of various items. From motrcycle engines, to fenders, headlights, tail lights, electrical wiring and untold metric tons of sheet metal in various gauges. No where could there be seen the common welding equipment, cutting equipment or other metal fabrication tools in use in most of todays custom shops. This was his world. And he would do things his way.
He peered intently at the piece of metal before him. It rested atop a large metal table and next to that was a strangly oblong chunk of cast iron. Almost like an old Blacksmiths Anvil in appearance. Darin took up the metal and with his bare hands bent it over the anvil, using the protruding edges to bend and shape the metal into the configuration he desired. The sound of tools applied to metal were used, a ringing and singing and grinding and shrieking that wove it's way through his very bones. The greatest music ever created in his opinion.
There was a pounding at the door and he stopped his work. "Hey, Mr. Vulcin!" a voice called through the door. "It's me Danny, I'm here ta pick up that order fer Mr. Pitt."
Darin put down his tools and opened the door to allow the young man inside. He walked carefully over to the far end of the warehouse to get the new bike as Danny looked around. "Every time I come in here everythings moved around. How the hell does he do it all by himself?"
A thunderous roar interupted him and he turned as a glaring light washed over him. A moment later the Bike stopped and Darin was heeling the kickstand to lower the machine to rest. The engine rumbled and purred like the worlds largest jungle cat. Low to the ground, sleek, clean. Danny was certain there wasn't a single straight angle anywhere on the entire bike and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"Woah," he whispered. "Mr. Vulcin... that's just amazing."
"Load it on your truck with care, Danny," Darin said. His voice rumbled up from somewhere deep within his chest, so deep and booming that it almost felt as if the cavernous room were suddenly too small to contain it. "It is a child of my labors and as with any parent I would see my creations treated with respect."
Danny turned pale as a sheet, the vieled threat within those words ramming home as he took in Darin's massive arms and shoulders. Danny was reasonably certain that Darin Vulcin could easily tear him in two with his bare hands if he so desired and he promised himself right then and there to never ever if he could possibly avoid it do anything to piss off the eccentric mechanic and designer before him.
"Absolutely sir," he said, his voice cracking as fear gripped him by the throat. "I'll treat her like she were my own child sir."
- Tirgesfu asHermes
Appearance: Bright green eyes almost always sparkled with merriment or mischief under loose blond curls. He had a smile that filled 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.
Hermes groaned and pretended a collapse as his fighter in Mass Effect 3 faded from the huge outdoor three story multi video complex outside of Rome. He dropped the wireless control as the crowd cheered. In a dramatic, fashion as if he were Apollo, he threw himself onto the ground.
“You let me win,” Some young punk with all sorts of metal pieces in his face smirked toward Hermes.
Yea, well, that seems to be my world, Hermes thought even if he said nothing. He was tired of the damn game. He was tired of Rome. He could feel things slipping away, well, maybe not slipping more like fading.
He couldn’t complain. Hell, two months with the goddess of love was a long run in his book. At first they comforted each other. At least Hermes liked to believe so. He just could not get that taste of explosive gun powder out of his mouth. He hated it. They won in the worst way. They just blew shit up. Where is any honor in that? He looked back at the screen as something exploded again. His green eyes absorbed the fire. His face reflected destruction.
He found his shoeless feet and stood again not even bothering to brush the sand off his pants. He pulled crumpled bills from his pants and tossed them to the kid. Then he pushed his hands into his pants and walked home. Not home really, this was Aphrodite’s world.
As soon as he snuck in he could feel the place was different. There was drama in the air and some guy’s clothes on the floor. He paused wondering what sort of show she really wanted. He could at least give her that. He slowly opened the bedroom door.
Some good looking guy was touching heaven. He found her eyes for just a second.
“For you, love.” He whispered right before the walls shook and book case came crashing down beside the bed.
He quickly flew, just a touch of his winged feet a few inches above the ground. It had been awhile since he had done that and it felt good. At the dresser and grabbed a dagger. Yes, he thought, no guns for me. Let’s do this the old fashion way.
“Hey boy. You use it here. You lose it here.”
He couldn’t help but smile.
- icmasticc as&Name
-Standing 5'10 and weighing 120 lbs, Irene is a tall, slender woman. Her build is shapely and proportionate, her curves defined, but not exaggerated. Her skin is creamy white with eyes that retain no distinct color; they shift between the colors of the rainbow every so often, this condition explained away as a "rare disorder". Brown hair mixed with strands of dirty blonde compliment her face and soft jawline, falling down her back if left unrestricted. Her limbs are long, her legs being similar to that of a model, and a light muscle tone is present throughout her bare skin due to the nature of her occupation. A large set of wings grace Irene's back, tattooed into the skin and intricate in detail.
Apparel is mostly dependent upon the nature of her obligations on any given day. Her job allows free dress to a certain extent, save for the company shirt which must be worn on the clock. It's a short sleeve T-shirt with the company logo and an optional cap is available to wear along with it. When not on the job, Irene prefers to dress comfortably. She can be most often found in clothing fit for exercise as she does a fair amount of running.
-Irene works as a foot messenger in New York. She is often praised as being the fastest delivery woman anyone has ever seen.
-The room was about as big as a college dorm room. Big enough for a bed, a comfy chair, and a TV, but not much else. There was one small bathroom on one side and a closet on the opposite wall. Directly across from the door was a large window pane, the curtains currently pushed open to allow golden sunlight to gush through. A mirror hung on the wall next to the closet, harboring the reflection of the woman who stood before it. She was tying her hair up in a ponytail while also examining herself and her attire.
A bright red T-shirt embraced her torso snugly, the words "Light-Speed Delivery" running across the chest in yellow font. Black spandex pants accentuated her curves as they ran down her legs, stopping just above her addidas athletic sneakers. She took a step towards the mirror to get a closer look at her face. "So I guess my eyes are hazel today; shades of green be damned." She muttered at her own self. Finally, the woman placed a fitting cap on her head, pulling her ponytail through the back end and pushing the brim down a little over her eyes. The front of the cap read the same as the shirt. Irene Wilson was officially ready for work.
Irene elected to leave her jacket in the room as it seemed like the day was going to be a warm one. She left her building and inserted herself into the bustle of pedestrians walking to and from their destinations. She didn't own a vehicle and didn't care for a bike. Irene liked to travel to places on foot. It was probably due to old habits which refused to die, but either way, it felt the best when she journeyed somewhere by means of her body alone. It didn't take long to reach the location of Light-Speed Delivery. They were a courier company that employed bike messengers, foot messengers, and delivery drivers. Irene was their best foot messenger.
She slid inside the double doors and was instantly greeted by most people she walked past. Everyone knew of her presence if they didn't know her personally. With the speed of her deliveries, it was hard not to know the girl. It was a known fact that she did free-running and parkour in her spare time, but that shouldn't have equated to the horrendously short time it took to for her to get anywhere in the city. Just outside her boss's office, she stopped at the secretaries desk. The old woman occupying it looked up somberly, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong with your Iris's?" She asked.
"Why would something be wrong?" Irene countered, genuinely confused.
"Yesterday they were hazel. Today they're auburn, almost golden." The secretary replied. Irene chuckled.
"It's a condition." She said, turning away and bursting into her boss's office. The secretary shook her head and immediately resigned the incident to a dark part of her brain, waiting to be forgotten completely.
Stepping out of the building, Irene shouldered a computer bag, the strap running diagonally across her chest and midsection. She would need to deliver this package to the other side of the city, a rare job for a foot messenger. Usually drivers or, at least, bike messengers would take such jobs that required long distance travel. This was a special case though; the package was already late and the first delivery driver was not present yet, while the bike messengers were all out on jobs. Irene wasn't worried in the slightest. A smile spread across her face as she felt a breeze blow against the bare skin of her face. It felt so good. Then, she took off.
She ran towards a nearby alley, intending to use the close walls and structures adorning said walls as a means to reach the rooftops. She swiftly made her way upwards, her feet barely touching the walls or the structures attached to them as she bounced off each apparatus. Once on the roof of some apartment building, the real fun began. Irene took a slight breath and took off once more. The breeze seemed to pick up and switch directions, now following the path of the running delivery woman.
Irene went from rooftop to rooftop, making sure each building was close enough for her to be able to make the jump. It had been centuries since she had used the wind as the pavement beneath her feet or the carrier of her body to destinations Hera or Zeus would dictate to her. However, some gaps still seemed to large for a normal person to be able to make. It seemed that Irene still had a little skill after all. The happiness on painted on her face was indescribable, as she felt her own speed and momentum flowing together with the finesse of millennia passed.
Forty-five minutes later, the package had been delivered and Irene casually began walking back towards the other side of the city. It was going to be a long walk indeed, but she didn't mind. She had already called her employers who were once again floored by a trip that should have taken an hour and a half, ended up only taking forty-five minutes. Body relaxed, Irene thought back to the secretary from earlier. She smiled up at the sky as she strolled down the sidewalk.
"Iris... it was nice to hear it one more time." She said.
Jason "Hercules/Heracles" Alcaeus
-At 6'8 and approximately 250 lbs, Jason is a monster of a man. His body is quite large, though racked and cemented with solid muscle . His arms are like thick, braided rope, knotted lumps defined and impressive. His torso is similar to the sculptures created in his image; large chest, highly conditioned core, and a wide, V-shaped back to round everything off. In conjunction with the previous, his waist is on the small side, looking a bit tiny in comparison to the bulk of the rest of his body. A stickler for symmetry, Jason's lower body is just as spectacular as his upper, sporting big thighs, well-trained calves, and flexibility to boot. As the god of sports and athletes, his body is the peak of mortal perfection; it is a trait that allows him to maintain this form naturally, with little effort required. Dark brown eyes, stringy black hair, and an immensely strong jawline compose the facial features which rest on top of a gargantuan neck.
Jason does not possess any tattoos or piercings. He finds them to be distasteful, and does not see the physical enhancement they can provide to the body. Due to his profession, Jason's attire is very relaxed. He often sports sleeveless shirts and tank tops over his torso while jeans and athletic wear make up the bulk of lower body garments. At the same time though, the man is no stranger to press conferences and the like, so he has a healthy assortment of formal wear, all custom made to hug his extravagant physicality.
-Jason is an Olympic athlete who is well known within the world for his feats of strength in events like powerlifting, wrestling, shot put, and more. He holds several records, but these records were so unbelievable that he is currently under investigation for the use of any form of steroids. The investigation is still ongoing, so while Jason trains in the offseason, he runs a successful fitness corporation called Herculean Ventures. They almost monopolize the market with the popularity of their fitness videos, programs, events, and nationwide locations. They are the leading fitness corporation in the country, and their main headquarters is located in New York. The steroids scandal has done its damage to the corporation's image, but the revenue still thrives for now.
-The ornate wine glass tipped slightly, allowing its contents to funnel into the mouth of the nicely dressed gentlemen sitting in his equally ornate passenger chair. A lone G5 cruised through the empty skies, well above the mural of clouds that hung artfully in the atmosphere, creating a scene of beauty and serenity just outside the window. Stewards posted themselves on each end of the room, conversing amongst themselves or waiting patiently for further instruction. The room itself was constructed like the average business class on any jet, however, velvet carpet lined the floor and a bed, television, and coffee table contributed to the full suite feel of the area. "Herculean Ventures" was embossed on each side of the large airliner, bearing the former alias of the sole passenger who gazed out at the intricate painting he flew through. Jason Alcaeus, founder and CEO of Herculean Ventures, pressed a button and his personal assistant arrived in place of a stewardess. The blonde-haired male stood professionally, hands clasped at the front, and an inviting expression on his face; he was genuinely happy with the occupation he had come into. "How can I help you, sir?" He asked gracefully.
"How much longer until we get there?" Jason replied, his gaze still fixed upon the wonders sitting beyond the window pane.
"About forty-five minutes, Mr. Alcaeus. It was quite a long journey from Australia, indeed," Jason grinned slightly at this response, his mind shifting to the message between the lines. Simon, his personal assistant, had been somewhat of a close friend to the man, so Jason knew what he was getting at though he never said it. The CEO had rushed from his business ventures when he had received a communication from Athene. He had not expected a meeting of this magnitude, and knowing that everybody would be present in the same room again brought one thought to his lonely mind; Hebe. It would have been five years now since they last saw each other. Five years. It was a stunning amount of time for a couple to be apart, but it had been for the best, or at least, that's what Hebe had said last.
"Thank you, Simon. I'm sure the time spent on this plane will be worth it, in the end," Running a hand through his stringy black strands, Jason turned back to the clouds. Simon excused himself as deep thought overtook the former Olympian once again. His corporation was vastly successful and he was even in talks of going international. The investigation into his alleged use of steroids during the last Olympics was marring, but since nothing had been proven yet, it didn't take too much of a damaging toll on his life. The real issue here was time; five years. Five long, productive yet lonely years. To see her face one more time; that was the only thing that held any significance in the former hero's mind. To see her face one more time. This reunion would be his last chance, and Jason.... no... Hercules, would make the most of it, even if it was too little, too late.
- Squrmy asName: Orion, The Hunter.
Appearance: Orion is a majestic creature. White and grey feathers, flecked with small specks of black, cover his body. His wingspan is large for an owl, and he looks down from his perch on the gutter of Artemis' cabin with a haughty, almost hostile gaze - his large, intelligent amber eyes gleaming dangerously.
The Great Hunter, when returned to his human form, is a handsome man. He stands at roughly 6'3", with dark brown hair, falling in curls and small ringlets around his eyes - which are a bright amber, resembling those he had as an owl. His shoulders are broad, and he has a very well-built upper body - large, muscled biceps and triceps, and a flat and toned stomach. His hands are large and work- hardened, with clearly visible callouses on his knuckles.
His facial structure is handsome and striking - high, angular cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and a prominent and strong jaw. His skin tone is a few shades darker than ivory, and his complexion is flawless - save for two feather-like markings on both his cheeks, almost like birth marks. His cheeks are also often covered in brown stubble, and he's been known to sport a thick beard on occasion.
He dresses in comfortable, modern-day clothing to allow free movement - jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers and a jacket of some kind. He's also often seen with a modern-day bow in his hands - a compound, made out of metal frames and strong bungee- cord like strings.
Occupation/Location: Owl. Stuck in an animalistic form, he's stayed close to his love - even if he is still angry at her. He's never seen very far from Artemis, and often perches on the gutter of her cabin.
Vignette: Orion peered down at Artemis from his perch on the gutter of her cabin. For the twentieth time that day, he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw her - even after all this time of knowing and loving her, he couldn't quite get over her beauty. Her hair, her body, her lips, her eyes.. her. Artemis. Mine.
He cocked his head a little, a soft hoot coming from his opened beak as he stared down at her, his chest aching dully with longing. It hurt to be so close to her after all these years, to be able to see her, to hear her - and to be unable to hold her in his arms. There had been a few blissful seconds when they'd been together, before he'd been turned into a ball of feathers - to talk, to touch, to hold, to kiss. He longed to be able to do such things again - to be able to hunt together like they'd used to.
At the sound of wingbeats beside him, and the clacking of talons on the gutter, he jumped - his head rotating around to stare into the face of the newcomer - Fowl.
That damned bird - how annoying she was. She stared at him again, as she did for a significant portion of each day - her eyes twinkling with mirth, as if she was amused at his plight. Orion glared right back at the larger bird, his amber eyes twinkling dangerously. Skipping forward a few steps, he opened his beak, hissing and beating his wings at the larger creature.
Rather than give ground, *or fly away and leave Orion in peace, as had been the desired effect, Fowl just appeared more entertained by his little outburst.
Huffing, and with a significant hole having been punched in his self esteem, Orion retreated to his previous position, folding his wings back against his body. He shut Fowl out, ignoring the larger bird - who was in the process of preening herself -, and returning to gazing longingly at Artemis, the Huntress, and his Lover.
Despite all that had happened to him because of her - his ordeal with Echidna, which he'd all but forgotten about, the event had been so traumatic, and his fate to be stuck as an owl, he still loved her - he still wanted to be with her, wanted her to want him.
Hooting lightly again, he sighed inwardly as he settled down for a doze. As soon as you fix this, my love - as soon as I am human again - all will be forgiven. We will be together, like we have always wished.
- The Edwardian asPoseidon
Thomas ' Tommy ' Blu
Poseidon stands 6'9" tall with a bulky and lumbering figure. With a cleanly cut , soft and masculine face Poseidon does not appear intimidating at first sight , instead he appears composed and serene , with not one wrinkle upon his face or any other signs of age for that matter. His eyes are the colour of the Caribbean seas. How Poseidon physically looks is of the utmost importance to him and as a God he must look perfect , he has no mind for the imperfections of Mortals.
Poseidon is remarkably robust and muscular , albeit he is often seen in well-tailored suits representing his opulence and power amongst the mortals above all else.
Poseidon is currently the CEO of the major luxury Yacht producer , named Blu. The Company produces modern Yachts for the opulent and vain whom care for the luxuries life has to offer. The Private Yachts are renowned across the Globe and regarded as some of the most visually appealing and structurally sound Yachts ever to have been developed , they are a beacon for the Age of Prosperity and Discovery. The Company's headquarters are located in the Caribbean , henceforth Poseidon has spent most of his time in his residence located also in the Caribbean , a modernized villa looking out to the sea in solitude and in isolation from the other Gods.
Poseidon is affluent within the Modern World , something which has burnt out his greed. Where he was once an aggressive and unrestrained God , Poseidon has come to the realisation that times have changed and as such he has forced himself to become calm and collected in order to reserve his power for when needed it , albeit his short-temper is still apparent and whilst he tries his hardest to conceal it , he will release the aggression and strength from the locked cage within him when pushed and is certainly not one to be trifled with.
Poseidon stood upon the coastline , but a few minutes away from his Villa. The thoughts of the previous glory rushed through his mind , yet it still bewildered him as to how beings so powerful , so praised by mortals could become almost nothing. Forgotten and no longer worshiped , his power was slowly draining and he couldn't stand it. He could no longer be whom he was , he could no longer flaunt his power.
Times had changed.
He was once one of the most feared and respect Gods not only amongst the Mortals , but amongst the Gods. Poseidon. His power was draining , his natural personality was draining. A once proud and oppresive God , had now had almost no contact with the other Gods of Olympus for what seemed like eternity. He needed time to collect himself and think upon not only his future , but the future of the Gods of Olympus. His brother was gone and his sons had not heard from or seen him , for he had made no effort to contact them. Poseidon has changed , he has hidden his anger and hostility with seeming serenity and thought , but it was still present and it was dying to be released , albeit he could not let it. He had to bury whom he truly was or he would lose his power and that was the worst part , burying whom he truly was. No God should have to hide whom they are , they should wear their personality as armour and Poseidon should be feared and respected. But now , he was forgotten.
The sky's darkened as the black , hostile clouds came over and the wind whipped at the sea. The sea lashed from side to side in a ferocious fury as the rain began to smash the beach in front of him and the waves crashed onto the shore , laying waste to the once beautiful and majestic sand. As the Mortals ran for cover to avoid the rain and oncoming storm , Poseidon stood as a small grin took shape upon his face. The fishing boats were toppled and devoured by the might of the sea as the sailors fell into the harsh waters awaiting them. The Oceans roared. The Oceans roared for a return of their God , Poseidon. They cried for his return to glory and power , they wept for his absence. He had listened to the Oceans cries. The God's of Olympus have had their fun , the God's of Olympus have forgotten of the power of the sea , they have forgotten of the power of Poseidon.
Times have changed. For Poseidon will remain dormant no longer.[/CENTER]
- Fallenreaper as&~~~
Name: Tyche, prefers Ty.
Previous Alias: Ty Cheryl Elemis
Hair white blonde that shifts to dark faded tips now, in thick tight banana curls in a medium cut to the bottom of her ears with a side flip of straighten bangs. They rest just above the left eyebrow, thin wisps of light color. Her face is youthful looking as if she was younger then she really is, her rose skin has a pale looked as if never really seen the sun for a month. Though her flesh is still smooth and flawless as before, the light freckles seemed to have darkened on her rounded cheek bones and now reach to the ends of her eyes. Tyche no longer wears make-up becoming more tomboy and preferring to be all natural.
One of the few notable changes is her body is slightly thinner than last seen, as if she barely eaten much, though that is slowly changing. She has her father’s green eyes, full of wick mischief and gentleness, and her mother’s face that curves into a heart shaped keeping her appearing as naïve as ever. Eyes even so seemed to lack that lucky luster and there’s slight grey ring around each of them. Her thin mouth has deep wrinkling lines from recent smiles as she is returning back to the goddess she was once, at least on the outside. Though it was never seen before, her two ears are pierced with a more recent one on the top of her right decorated with a rounded four leaf clover stud usually covered by her hair.
Currently, she wears tight t-shirts with loose jean to hide the fact she lost weight. Tennis shoes cover her average but elfin looking feet, light and graceful Tyche seemed lucky enough not have that sense of weakness affect her balance or ability to stand now. Though her style has edge more recent into light puck rocker, it only speaks world of the person she is becoming and the point she’s hitting what most immortals would consider her teenage years. An emerald green choker, thin inch thick line of small tiny cylinder beads and single outline of black outline the three rows encircle her neck. Unknown to everyone, save two- one she never intended to know, that she carries a small dagger saved from the last battle for personal reasons in the back of her pants waist band.
None currently and resident of Hades.
After the incident in the hotel, she couldn’t determine when as hours turned into days then longer, Tyche was found by a maid in the wreck of the room passed out from lack of food and care. More damage had been done since then and in her luck, it seemed the man was more concerned about avoiding a death then making her pay for the room calling the ambulance to pick her up. Rushed to the hospital she slowly recovered and before any authorities could arrest her, Tyche vanished from the sick bed into the streets. Once more her nature took over to run away from her problems instead of facing them leaving both the hotel manager and state to foot the bill.
Her motorcycle was impounded, the worth only managed to pay the emergency and transportation debt leaving the young man high and dry. Lost and alone, Ty let the anger swallow her whole in the surrounding violence as she traveled on foot play hitch hiker for the next week to anyone willing to pick her up. She doesn’t like to think about it but during that time something changed. The last week of the first month, Tyche gambled using her unstable domain to acquire a set amount of money and returned to Nashville. It was a day before the young hotel manager returned, beaten and defeat as he expected to lose his business only to discover an envelope with an old fashion coin beside it with the handwritten words of sorry for the trouble. Within it was more than that needed to fit the room, pay the repairs off and pay off the hotel stay leaving the man stunned silent.
It was the last loose end she needed to tie up here, though she pretends to be alright Ty struggled to keep her temper in check sometimes. Often ready to flirt with danger, Ty no longer cares what happens to her life. Playing more of a game of Russian roulette then anything with each bluff, not cared if she ‘wins’ or ‘loses’. More and more it’s hard to keep her heart light and cheerful making the choice to disappear easier. There was only one way to do that, to vanish from her parent’s reach without a trace, and that meant one place. It also meant she would have to leave the world of the living.
The second month was literal hell. Taking a few days of the month’s beginning she found an entrance into Hades where the conflict begin and she found her luck still strong as ever, Persephone allowed Tyche to remain for the second month. Still there to this day, though she rolls her eyes watching Ares roam like a house pet trapped too long inside. Though he still scares her, Tyche is determined to make sure her Aunt is never heartbroken again while aiding in the clean-up of Hades. So far, Ty thinks she been able to hide the fact she is breaking down inside even now but it’s hard to tell when snips of her rage ruptures to the surface. She’s lucky Persephone respects her personal space or the Queen of the Underworld would be horrified at the state of the guest room after Tyche vanished into it for hours on end, the room holding the screams and bangs of her rage. Or the fact she wanders the halls at night, careful to avoid Ares’s path.
Tyche stared at the statue, a memory of couple months ago. The twisted form of Echidna and her child cradled in her lap, a mother, an enemy and a monster. Her stomach growled but she paid it no mind, refusing to give into the need for food as feeling the lack of desire to eat. It was a fleeting custom that was either there one minute and quickly gone the next, though she saw the worry in her Aunt’s eyes and was then Tyche forced herself to eat. Other than that, it wasn’t her concern at least it felt that way.
Cold sweat was still dripping down her flesh, it felt like the dead rivers that Charon rode on were tracing her skin and wetting her clothes with a chill she couldn’t be rid of. This was the fifth night she woke up from a dead sleep, shivering and screaming. Claws, tentacles, teeth, and more were always reaching for her as she was huddled helpless all the while watching Artemis’s form come unraveled like some pathetic, cheap tapestry in the hands of the fate. Why wasn’t she there? Why? WHY! Her fist had balled while it slammed into the stone of the statue, leaving hard jolts of pain that traveled up her arms and made her flinch. She use to it by now as the state of her room told much more to the state of her wellness then her attitude outside, the feeling of numbness being swallowed by her anger all the while feeling trapped inside herself.
It hadn’t gotten better. Not like she hoped it would, feeling this way all the time while pretending to be alright. The look on Seph’s face was enough to tell her that her body suffered more then it should have. She hid the cuts and bruises, best she could, yet it wasn’t hard. The queen of the underworld, like the rest of them, was too busy dealing with her ‘War Lord’ to notice them at least it seemed to Tyche. Her dad didn’t care so why should she expect her Aunt to? What was happening to her cause ever since the battle she felt different, like something changed though she couldn’t place the source of it. The reason either. Like a nagging feeling, her moods became more chaotic then the darkness which surrounded Hades as the goddess of Luck struggle to coop alone. In truth it feel like her efforts were lacking. That scared her most but it was better then feeling nothing at all, being a empty shell without emotion staring off into a wall.
Some days she wanted to crawl off and sit a corner feeling sorry for herself, like a selfish teen she mused, while others she just wanted to beat the shit out of a wall. Tyche hoped it would pass, it seemed to come and go, but that seemed to a far way off. The coming came in greater force she just believed she would pop one day and everything would just be fine, her pain, suffering and anger would just be dead at the end of her existence. She want to say life as this was not one, not a life at all. At least one she wanted. Then again when did anything the dysfunctional goddess of Luck get what she needed or wanted, if that true she would beside her father and mother, her Aunt wouldn’t be tied to the hip to Ares, and Nemesis wouldn’t be avoiding her like some disease she was disgusted with.Name: Nemesis
Previous Alias: Abby Jordan, previous Abigail Nathaniel
Her complexion has changed from the dark mocha color to a pearly white complexion, skin beautiful and flawless now as her power grows but remains little different. Her eyes are still ever shifting, artfully and barely, shades of amber red color though in recent days they seemed much more distant. A sharp cheek bones and narrow jawline give her an air of seriousness. Broken by a grin from her lips, the bottom much fuller then thin top, that it seems to be in its most genuine around Jeremiah it can turn into a dangerous sense with a flip of a mental switch. Her hair is straight trailing down to the neck line, often pulled back into a braid for convenience, when untie and her short bangs parted to the side reaching to full length blending with the rest of the strands.
No longer attached to the goddess of luck, Nemesis has not only cut all ties but no longer harbors a branded tattoo replaced by a graceful set of wings. Black as night, like her mother Nyx, they hook under the shoulder blades to wrap about her torso down to her feet when pressed against her body. The one wing, gripped and crushed by Typhon doesn’t fold as flawless as it once did though nothing truly is wrong with it, seems some memories are embedded in the muscle cannot always fade away making it slightly slow then other. In recent days she been able to shrink the size but not completely vanish them though doing this more than once a day makes her pale and drains, though the worship gained by her involvement in New York has lessen it greatly.
Her body is much more defined in muscle due the physical demands of her job, reflexes just as quick since she thrives for perfection. Being on the P.I. career track, Nemesis outfit has lapsed from conservative business suit of pencil skirts, white iron shirts and dress jackets to more average street clothes. Tanks tops for hot climates or partial-fitting shirts that button up with stiff collar for colder weather and tight curving jeans to show off her shape, finally with black ankle boots. With being November, a dark tan hand down woman’s trench coat has become part of her outfit to chase away the cold.
Bounty hunter and in some small city downtown, USA.
Previous personal aid to the chief staff of National Defense, her involvement in the New York incident had dire consequences. She gave up her job, entrusted Artemis as current guardian for a recently summon Griffon named Fowl and was homeless with very little to look forward to. Her wings nearly up to their former glory, Nemesis casts a intimidating figure as her serious demeanor has changed very little say for it soften towards her current partner. Use to traveling she moves to the jobs instead of being the errand/desk jockey she was once, preferred that Jeremiah take up that role but it seems to fall on deaf ears at times. They currently have an office set up in a small business area of a small downtown city thanks to her partner. She insisted on taking on a new name to once more resume her life in the modern world in vain hopes to leave behind the baggage of Abigail Nathanial. Both for her sanity and to bar recent events of Typhon’s fall.
When not on jobs or helping Jeremiah filing papers in the office, she sometimes become distant. Pulling away to reflect on the last month’s events from Typhon’s fall at her own hands, the fates destruction of their tie as well as the reason, and her emotions to Jeremiah that she didn’t completely understand. Most of all why she feels incomplete. The numbness seems to have faded, though in truth Nemesis merely buried and ignored it, too occupied with improving on skills she lacked to become a better bounty hunter. It became an distraction of late, between the reflections and Jeremiah, she learned a few things she never expected.
Never once had she contacted any of the immortals. Refusing to allow them into her life, a chance to destroy it once more or change it. Demeter’s words were taken to heart even if it was bit twisted and previous events in Hades, now Nemesis strove to find a place of her own, independent of the other gods only to find it more like smoke eluding her. It just wasn’t what it was supposed to be. It would take a few months to make the office official as it been only a few weeks in getting it finally, the last job been a final push to put them over budget, and all the papers signed to make theirs.
The world seemed to go by in a flash, Nemesis stood on concrete build ledge overlooking the scene below. Car moved like toys far below her, their headlight streamed into the night as the chilly wind breezed into her. Her black wings were unfurled and ready to take off, excitement and adrenaline was rushing though her soul like a high despite how many times Nemesis had do this task. A sword was holstered to her side thanks to the sheath kept from the battle though Typhon’s words spurred her flesh and head: “You are nothing more than a dull tool in their hands.”
Not this time…
Her body flew off the building, spotting the quarry beneath as the slender man ducked into the alley way. It was a dead end as she smiled, knowing unless he was comic book spider man that he would be trapped within making her job that much easier. Her wings were silent, taking off like a phantom off the side while she glided into the entrance. Already her mind was sharp to the details of her surroundings, noting the environment as she approached a man standing just out of her reach several feet to gaze upon a tall brick wall. Her black heels clicked on the damp pavement while her hand reached out to touch a side wall, a dark smirk traced her features that she finally found him. A rat, one she been after for a while, now stood before her unable to flee any farther.
He was done running. His figure hunched and out of breath beside the dingy dark green dumpster, sided by black bags of trash, her wings curled against her body before her voice rang out in venomous tone. She been chasing him for over a month now, a rapist and murder, he killed many in his escape to this place leaving behind a not so ignorable trail of bread crumbles in his wake. It leads from the quaint home of Nebraska to the current city she was in.
Every victim demanded retribution, revenge for his thief of their lives, ringing in her core that her eyes took on a deeper amber red making Nemesis seem like a hunger predator and damn right scary,” Dead end… ready to give up or do I run you into the ground now?”
It held a bit of humor and cocky, yet it was natural for Nemesis was in her element feeling more accomplished and whole then the centuries past. Her prey was trapped and he knew, his fist already rose though she knew his instincts screamed he already lost. His mind just hadn’t realized it yet, so the hard way was now not that she regretted it. Secretly she pushed him into this in a way it wouldn’t seem like it, baiting him by letting he get away repeatedly only to grow tire of it now and eager to stop it. it was like a game of cat and mouse, or in her case hawk and mouse, that she found it sharpened her skills to the extremes especially when she allowed them to fight back. They were always left battered and bruised, their own fault for resisting before being carted off to jail. Deep inside she felt Jeremiah disapproved though she tried to overlook it, the idea itself cut her heart to the spirit of it that she wished she was nothing more then ice.
- Lillian Thorne asName: Hera
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?”
- Unlit as
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.
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.
After the epic conclusion of Shadows of Olympus, the gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus return in Shadows of Olympus: Chapter Two. The time is Now, and the once-powerful Pantheon lay diminished and divided against the backdrop of modern American society, merely surviving in a world that no longer believes or worships them.
However, old enemies stir, forcing the Pantheon into action. Echidna, scheming Mother of Monsters, and her devilish consort, the dreaded and murderous Typhon, overcome the defenses of the Underworld and take the realm of Hades as their own, with their unholy sights set on death, destruction, and most of all -- revenge against the arrogant Olympians that had imprisoned them.
After gathering at a party hosted by Hermes to Celebrate a year after the fateful battle with Cronus and the freeing of Typhon the gods received word that the fiendish couple had taken the underworld as their own, the realm having been abandoned by Hades. The party was also crashed by the former loves of the Twins, Orion and Hyacinth who had been turned into some sort of monster in the cauldron of Echidna's womb. In order to plan the gods gathered at Hephaestus' forge. The twins were sent after their former Lovers of the two, the caught Orion. The fiendish couple set loose Ladon, their draconic son and a horde of Minotaurs loose on New York City, while Athene, Hephaestus, Nemesis, Ares and Aphrodite battled the hoards, Ares struck, betraying Hephaestus and nearly killing him and then Nemesis and Athene. Meanwhile those remaining behind at the Forge were attacked by an army of giant locusts lead by a general. All were defeated thanks in large part to Persephone and Demeter. When the lot was gathered together again in Olympus to begin planning Orion, under the control of Echidna tried to kill Persephone, the rightful ruler of Hades. He was thwarted and eventually he was slain, his soul put into the body of an Owl by Hecate in order to keep it safe from the mother of monsters. Ares was punished, bound to protect Persephone and the underworld as payment for his betrayal. The gods then acquired some modern weapons and outfitted an 18 wheeler with said weapons as well as a master crafted trap made by Hephaestus for which Zeus was to be bait for Typhon. they proceeded down into the underworld, Athene, Apollo, Artemis, Persephone and Ares heading into the bowels of the underworld seeking out the mother of monster who had just delivered the true heir of Typhon while the others remained behind to see to Typhon. Ares put Athene into the path of danger and this time she was nearly killed. Ultimately both monsters were defeated at great cost and during the battle with Echidna, Artemis, protector of children and mother's in labor (among other things) shot an arrow at the newborn monster and Echidna called the fates down upon her and as punishment, Artemis' already dwindled powers were reduced to almost nothing.
I will add to this as I recall things.
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 with painful 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.