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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>Zeus had never been known for his fidelity, of that, everyone can agree. Leto was just another woman in a long line of affairs, hardly even the first to get pregnant. Nevertheless, Hera came at her with all the rage she usually mustered, and sent the serpent Python slithering after the pregnant Leto. Tired and alone, with the serpent closing in, Leto found refuge on Delos, the ever moving island. Unbound, Delos floated across the many seas, keeping Leto safe from Python. It was on Delos where the twins were born, first Artemis, and then her brother, golden Apollo.

Suckling on nectar and nibbling on ambrosia, Apollo grew faster than any mortal. He was fully grown within days, and hungry for vengeance on the beast that had hunted his mother. A babe in man's clothes, he slung his bow across his back and set off to slay a monster. He found the serpent at Delphi, guarding the resting place of his mother, Gaia. Their battle raged for three days, and three nights, but as the sun rose on the fourth morning, Apollo loosed his final arrow, and the great Python fell to the ground, dead.

Apollo took Delphi as his sacred site after the battle, and in the years to come, he'd be known as the patron of Oracles. As a young Olympian, Apollo flaunted his divinity every chance he got, leading him into a myriad of troubling situations. Everyone knows the story of him, Daphne, and Eros' accursed arrows. For a long time, Apollo was a sort of proof that gods were just as unchanging as the mortals they lorded over. That is, until Hyacinth.

Brash and braggadocios, Apollo was known for falling fast, and leaving faster. What drew him so closely to Hyacinth, none can say for certain. Perhaps it was his beauty, supposedly unmatched, or perhaps it was the fact that Hyacinth chose Apollo over all his other suitors? Whatever the reason, their love, like everything Apollo was apart of, was bright and splendid. Of course, like anything involving a mortal, it was also fleeting. Hyacinth's choice had angered Zephyrus, the West Wind, and he was not known for his forgiveness. One day, while Apollo and Hyacinth were throwing a discus, Zephyrus swooped down, and sent the disc crashing into Hyacinth's skull. He was dead before he hit the ground. Apollo held him until the sun went down, and on the earth, divine tears and mortal blood mingled.

At first, Apollo was unaware of the wind's crime. It was Chrysis who betrayed the treachery to him, and unleashed his fury. Zeus forbade him from taking revenge on the winds, but he had said nothing about the other Titans, those who'd sided with the gods and been allowed to keep their domains in return for their loyalty. Zephyrus' uncle, Helios held the sun, his aunt Selene, the moon. With his sister at his side, Apollo challenged Helios to an archery contest, demanding that he answer for his nephew's crime. Artemis demanded the same challenge of Selene. The stakes? The coveted chariots of the Sun and Moon, one a shining star of gold, the other a shimmering silver. The titans lost that day, and with their chariots went any hope of a return. The Olympians had taken what remained of their regality, and they had nothing left but immortality.

When the War of the Gods broke out, Apollo was all too ready to fight. It had been ages since the Trojan War, and he was itching for excitement. He and Artemis plagued the Roman countryside, bringing pestilence and chasing away any game. The twin archers were fierce warriors, and while they might not have been frontline fighters like Ares and Athena, they were essential as agents of sabotage. And then, it all went dark.</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>He awoke with a start, reaching for a bow that was no longer there. What had he been doing? Was the war not still raging? The stones around him did little to answer the questions burning in his mind. He quickly realized that he was not alone, and as the other gods stirred, the questions only began piling up. Apollo didn't stick around for long after the first of them died. He'd never seen a god died, never been faced with his own mortality like that. He tried drinking, and whoring, and fighting, but nothing seemed to bring him peace.

The first two years were lived in solitude, for the most part. It was Artemis that found him, and told him the Colossus was moving. For half a second, he considered letting it leave, and waiting until he collapsed on the beach, blood turning to poison in his veins, but he was too afraid. He boarded the boat, and prepared for another new life.

England was more enjoyable, at least after the first few decades. The aftermath of World War 2 had soured Apollo on thoughts of violence, and he resisted his family's efforts to pull him back into the War. Had their lives not been upturned enough? Apollo spent the next decades partying and performing, often finding places within the music industry to insert himself. You can thank him for The Beatles. Elton John too. While he enjoyed the island immensely, when the time came to move again, the sun god was ready to go. Diana's death had really soured his opinion on the country anyways.

America was... well it was America. In many ways, it reminded him of home, and in many ways, it reminded him why the gods had existed in the first place. Mortals were not a group that should be left to their own devices. Still, as far as he was concerned, regaining their divinity was a lost cause, and if mortals were good for something, it was a party. He continued to inspire where he could, but the truth of it is that Apollo, had developed an even greater appetite for hedonism than he'd had before, and unlike Artemis, divine troubles and responsibilities were seen as outside his purview.

Seattle is where Alexander Calimeris was born. The first few months in the city were tough (if he ever meets the idiot who bought the stupid fucking rock, he's going to introduce him to the wonders of sunlight), but he's managed to survive the seemingly endless clouds. He can usually be found in an upscale condo, where he lives with a few other likeminded gods, or at one of the many bars in Seattle, charming the mortals with his music.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>Perhaps Artemis' nature is not surprising, given the nature of her beginning. Conceived out of a tryst between Zeus and Leto, Artemis and her brother were forced to face Hera's wrath while still in the womb. No place was safe for her mother, not with Hera's serpent following her every move. When Leto finally found refuge on Delos, the twins were nearly there. Artemis came into the world, stoic from the moment she opened her eyes. Her infancy was short lived, as moments later, she helped deliver her brother.

While her brother sought immediate vengeance on Hera's beast, Artemis, always the more calculated of the twins, was far more willing to bide her time. While her brother gallivanted across the earth, inspiring mortals and finding pleasure wherever a lyre was plucked, Artemis spent her time traipsing through the forest, hunting the creatures of the earth and exploring the unknown wilds. She did share her brother's interest in mortals though, at least certain ones. Artemis was known to collect young maidens like they were coins, often saving them from the terrors of the forest. Always young, always virginal, always beautiful. These were the benefits of being a Huntress.

Some think Artemis' vow of chastity is as old as time itself, entwine with her essence. While it's true that she took chastity as a sign of devotion in her Huntresses, Artemis did not take her own vow until later. Not until Orion.

He had been a demigod, a child of Poseidon and a princess of Crete. Their meeting was fortuitous, and Artemis, whose eyes were rarely drawn to anything other than adventure, found herself enthralled by the young hunter. She began to spend her days with him, the first man to hold her bow, and those days turned into weeks, and then months. At night, they lay beneath the moon and watched the stars. It was perfect... until it wasn't. Mortals don't live forever, she knew that, but she had not expected him to be taken so suddenly. The scorpion moved faster, even faster than her, and she'd turned her back to him, and... when she turned to face him again, he was dead. She asked her father to bury him amongst the stars, and swore off love and anything that might lead to it.

Artemis was always colder than her brother, more prone to offense, but after Orion she seemed to grow even closer to the wilds that she loved so much. Her vengeance became legendary in the wake of her grief. The likes of Actaeon and Niobe learned that the hard way. Artemis' wrath was terrifying, and lasting. When Apollo came to her, fuming over Hyacinth's death and seeking revenge on Boreas' blood, she was all too happy to help. She'd always thought it silly to entrust Titans with the Sun and Moon. The only trustworthy one was her mother.

When war broke out, Artemis and her brother more than lived up to their reputation as archers. Their support won Ares and Athena many a battle, and their boons were coveted by mortals. War was not particularly interesting to her, but winning... that was everything. They were winning too, at least she thought they were, until the fall.</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>At first, there was darkness. Never ending shadows, impenetrable, unescapable. Soon though, the darkness faded, and dreams swept her away. Orion was there, guiding her through the labyrinth of her mind, until, with a crash, he was taken away again. As she and the other gods began to stir, the dream faded away, and when she awoke, she was not alone.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Artemis was one of the last to awake. Had she had it her way, there would've been a massacre, but cooler heads prevailed. She stuck around long enough to learn that nobody knew anything truly useful, before slipping off to explore this new world.

At first she lamented. The wild places she had loved to explore were gone now, bricked up and replaced with mortal homes and businesses. Tethered to the Colossus, she chafed at the boundaries she was forced to remain within. Already disagreeable, imprisonment did little to temper Artemis' moods. She became colder, more callous. She distanced herself from her fellow Olympians, though she could never completely leave Apollo to his own devices. Gods help the world if she ever did. She preferred the company of other pantheons, and the mortals who fawned to her.

Despite her initial aversion to this new world she'd awoken into, she found her stride easier than most. Her powers might've mostly left her, but she was still divine, and she could still sway mortals with promises and sweet words. She'd always had a knack for collecting followers, and modernity had not made mortals less desperate for leadership and authority. If anything, it made it easier. Wherever she went, she was likely to have a harem of young women attending to her, much like her Huntresses in the time before the fall. Some knew of her immortality, others just thought she was a woman with answers. None knew the entire truth, that she was just a lost goddess, searching for her own answers.

Running this scam for a few decades in England helped Artemis amass enough wealth to live comfortably, while shifting her focus to other matters. For so long, the Colossus had seemed like an unsolvable puzzle, but the journey to America filled Artemis with a renewed willpower. She would not be tethered to this rock until her veins turned black. Her years in DC turned up little, unfortunately. She spent hours staring at the Colossus in the Smithsonian, found myths and legends and paper trails that led to even more questions, but nothing that could help her break out from her gilded cage.

The move to Seattle caught her off guard, a troubling event. Artemis was rarely caught off guard. So, she returned to her own tricks. With the money she'd been saving, she purchased a large plot of land, on the edge of Seattle, where Moon River Retreat was opened and Selena O'Ryan was born. Selling itself as a "holistic healing retreat which aims to reconnect women with the divine feminine essence within them," it's little more than a cult with fancy paint. Artemis has charmed her way into the hearts of women all across Seattle, and the retreat allows her and her more devout followers to operate without scrutiny.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

^{Highly sought after among her people, Tlazōlteōtl inspired many a new vicious desires all the while being the one to forgive and cleanse those sins. It was a delicious cycle. They would come to her, seeking pleasure, basking in their sinful desires before the glory of battle and then the morning after, before taking off to war they would seek her forgiveness. Praying to her for her to bless and purify them. All of which she would bestow, a whispered promise to see them again when they returned. However, just as easily as she could be enjoyed and her sin encouraged, she was still a Goddess who would afflict those around her with diseases should they ever indulge themselves in things they shouldn't. Though, she would be remiss if she didn't encourage the sinful nature of mortals all for the sake of devouring them; thus purifying the poor soul in the process. Through this she helped create harmony within the communities. A lonely life to only be sought after, used and then forgotten. Until the next time.}

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>Tlazōlteōtl couldn't have been more elated to be walking among those that worshiped the ground upon which she walked. Basking in the lust and unwavering adoration to her, their Goddess of Purification and Sin. It hit differently, now that she was physically here, a higher being among mortals. Taking on the same skin as them, flesh of the Earth. Bound to everything the world has to offer and in such a permanent way. After a time, it all began to grow stale. It didn't help that her most devoted were soon wiped from the face of the soil she now called home. And a time, her wrath plagued the area of which they used to reside. Time has now passed since, and though her anger is far from smothered, she is at least bolstering it to mingle with the mortals still around.

Sin isn't going away any time soon, so she's noticed, and with the ever changing times new desires crop up at the drop of a hat. Though with all the lust and desires that come creeping up to her, she is without true companionship and love. A void located within her chest. She's taken many a lover throughout her time on Earth - too many to count or name - though the tendrils of desperate loneliness strangle her soul, squeezing until it's too difficult to breathe. She's resided herself to the notion that she may never be more than anything but a sin eater and though it is far from what she desires, she has learned to push past it. To a degree. For now, she does what she does best having created an escort service - one of the highest caliber - as well as a strip club, bringing out the filth of those around her and take their guilt and applying a more favorable purification on their aching souls.

If anything, Tlazōlteōtl is getting her fill, and business is booming.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>Hathor has always been there, emerging from the primordial waters at the beginning of time. She has helped mortals with love and fertility, leading them to the creation of life. She is the one that has protected mothers as they carry and breathes life into every child born so they can take their first breath. It is said that her protection can even reach beyond those of mothers and in the past she was called upon by soldiers for her strength and concentration during battle but she will not confirm or deny these facts. Her protection does however extend beyond the living as she welcomes souls into the land of the dead, helping and protecting them on their journey into the afterlife.

Due to her being feminine in nature, Hathor’s sphere of influence included music, dance, and sexuality. Those features of hers has also made her the consort of several Egyptian Gods but only one held her heart, Ra himself. Another very important point worth mentioning is that she was one of the numerous deities that was seen as the Eye of Ra, i.e. the feminine component of Ra. In that state, Hathor was the deity that kept Ra safe from his enemies. It also brought out the other side of her, one dark, vicious, and blood-thristy. She did not only punish and bring destruction to those that had threatened Ra but went on a rampage which needed to be stopped by her fellow Gods and Goddesses. There are two sides to every kind and she is very much the holder of this truth.

Unfortunately, on a more personal level, Hathor’s love and affection went unanswered because of this same fact. While Ra had promised her the world and to be by his side as his wife, upon seeing certain aspects of her character and with Isis in his ear and openly displaying her attraction, he instead married the other goddess. Hathor was left with a broken hearted but still feeling the need to protect him as she had been made for him. This left her conflicted, angry, hopeful, and saddened though fate seems to be kind in its punishment as he was betrayed by Isis. Set up with a trick to harm him and have his true name revealed (one Hathor never had been blessed with knowing) which give Isis more power. This chain of events lead to Osiris and her rise. It even became where Isis took away Hathor’s followers, the domains that were hers to be shared with this snake of a goddess, and even before their fall this was the start to making her forgotten. A relic of a different time.</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>Fitting, to disappear from the waking world during a war, only to be awoken in another. It was a strange sort of panic to arise in the dust and rubble filled chamber, the fight of mortals raging above as she was surrounded by both friend and foe from a war of their own. It didn’t take long for her to make her way out, to figure out the state of things as they were, how much she herself had been changed, and they all felt the impact of the barrier that was now confining them, no matter how large it may have seemed. A cage was a cage no matter how it was viewed and while she wasn’t happy about it, there wasn’t much to be done. The chaos of the war at least made it easy to slip into a mortal life, taking up work as a nurse and helping in the only way she still knew how. Obviously, things were different and she had to learn how to protect them all over again but this time with current medicine and advancements instead of her own gifts, though the small amount she had left did help in some ways. It was a better way to spend her time than focusing on the real situation and sure, maybe she was in denial but at least she was doing something positive.

The wrap up of the war also brought change and not a welcome one. Colossus was moving to the British museum which meant packing up and leaving the life she had just started to settle into. This sparked the fire of simmering anger she had kept buried after all this time, after holding it together for years she just couldn’t any longer. It sent her on a bit of a spiral, trying to drown herself in homemade drink or getting into trouble just to let off steam at the unfair hand she had been dealt. She found her way into organized crime by wooing one of its members and making sure to prove her worth enough to have a way in on her own before cutting any ties with the man. She might be a woman but she knew she was just as fierce if not even more of a threat than anyone. It was cruel to use someone’s emotions against them but at the same time, she was not in the best of places. This was a way to blow off steam, help some people, punish some others and she lived for it. The lifestyle and thrill made the risk seem trifle but it also helped her forget the negatives. Not aging has its downfalls though and eventually she faked her death.

Unfortunately, with so much female restriction left on anything fun and no longer in a position to grease certain wheels or do as she pleased in a sense, she decided to stick close to the museum. Playing the odd job of secretary or anything they needed as long as she could be close. She wanted to know more or at least have a heads up if anything would be happening to Colossus. It did have her fate and many others tied to it after all. She continued in this manner until she could no longer do so because of a needed identity change and by that time, it seemed things like bars were not able to turn her away without an escort or down right because it was ‘men only’. Honestly, she wanted to roll her eyes at the ways of mortals sometimes but at least improvement was being made. She was just getting into her groove, living one day at a time and at her own pace. She started bartending and eventually started up her own business. Finally, a place that was all hers and she loved it. Every piece of the style and so much pride in what she had created. She spent many years being one of the best around and proved her perseverance as well as her passion. Sadly, about the time she was debating on if she would need another change in her identity soon, Colossus after so many years in a single place was set to move to the Smithoen. Her heart broke having to leave her place and sell it, not by choice but because she had to. Where Colossus went, she had to follow.

Being around Washington D.C. wasn’t horrible and she found herself drifting back to wanting to help people so she started to do medical schooling, and worked to truly become a doctor. Luck just didn’t seem to be on her side, she had to stop just shy of completing her ten years of progress because Colossus was unexpectedly bought by a private dealer and due to be moved to Seattle. The frustration of having to try and transfer, work with new people, and just realizing that there was no point if in a few years she would have to drop the job anyway….she gave up. She picked a random bar to work at and started to just find new hobbies or passions she enjoyed. Eventually, she ended up meeting Tlaz, the two hitting it off and she convinced her to ditch the stuffy bar she had no joy in, to come work with her instead. She made the place sound fantastic and upon seeing it for the first time, she was hooked. It seemed like things were finally starting to look up, though she feels as though she is waiting for the other shoe to drop.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>When the Greeks are brought into conversation, there are usually three who stand out; the brothers, Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. Zeus, for all his passions, was a born leader, and Hades, gloomy as he was, could be considered the responsible one. Poseidon was the middle child, prone to fits of rage and melancholy as bids for attention. Last to be eaten and first to be freed, Poseidon spent the first millenia of his existence beholden to Zeus for his freedom. He was loyal, and grateful to rule over the seas when the Titans were banished.

With the war fought and won, Poseidon came to realize that he was not a man for peace. Down below the waves he was nothing more than a sunken treasure. As mankind rose from hovels to homes, Poseidon was there, lapping at the sand, and when they got too arrogant, rising up in anger to wash away their progress. When they made it to sea in their floating trees, Poseidon sunk them, and sent back bones. He took fun where he could find it, and pleasure in his power. Of course, this made him something of a controversy among gods and men. Plenty took issue with his nonchalant approach to destruction, but what could they do? Athena was nothing more than sharp words, and mortals could do nothing more than shake their fist and wail at the sea.

Of course, peace would not last. When the Romans brought war to them, Poseidon was among the hawks, calling out for blood. And blood he received. War was where the Earthshaker belonged, a force of nature unleashed. Later, he would stop and wonder if it was he who had brought about the Fall, if this was all punishment for him to endure. But first, there would be sleep.</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>First, there was anger, like there so often is when Poseidon is involved. When he realized that his weapons were useless against the other gods, his rage cooled, at least for a moment. As the reality of their situation fell upon them though, the rage simmered, and after a final explosion Poseidon was alone. That first night, he did his best to drink himself into a stupor, throwing liquor like a man dying of thirst. He awoke on the edge of Rome, still mortal, still troubled. His family found him at some point, doing his best to overcome whatever remained of his divine constitution and drink his days away, but he shunned their help.

He tried killing himself plenty of times, to no avail Humans had invented so many new ways to kill each other during his slumber that it was easy to find ways to harm yourself, but none worked. He even tried the classics, like starvation and dehydration. Both failed, and were unnecessarily painful. He made a note to talk to whoever handled pain if he ever got back to normal, and finally, forced himself to carry on, simply because all the humans around him seemed capable enough, despite their overwhelming mortaldom. With death out of the question, he tried walking, wandering as far as the Colossus would let him. Before, he'd been mostly limited in his time amongst mortals, preferring to spend it tangled in bed with the pretty ones, but now he had nothing but time. Years passed and when walking grew boring, he worked as a mercenary, a fisherman, a chef. As he collected jobs and stories and fond memories, somewhere around decade three or four, he began to notice something funny. He was starting to like it. It hadn't happened all at once, but sure as seafoam, it was there, an appreciation for the human condition and their short, little lives.

Maybe it was the immortality, or the weight of the entire ocean finally being lifted off his back, or maybe he had been a prick and now he was a little bit less of one. Whatever it was, he was changing. He found his family again sometime after England, and he's been enjoying the fruits of their labor on and off for the decades since. Seattle has kept him busy in terms of odd jobs and time at the beach,</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>The eldest child of Saturn and the first to be consumed, Vesta's early existence is hazy. She remembers being alone, in a dark, cold, cavern, and then suddenly, a light. A sibling. Family brought her warmth in the days before Zeus, and family is what she fought for in the war against her father. When Jupiter wished to divide the world up, family is all she cared for. Vesta became the mother of all Romans, a warm hand in the darkness, guiding her lost children home.

It was only natural that Vesta would grow to prefer the company of mortals to gods. She spent so much time watching over them and their homes, protecting them from all the world's evils, how was she expected to remain detached? She spent her days walking amongst them, hearing their stories and blessing their food. She had no great romances, or tales of adventure like her brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews. She simply had her travels, and the wisdom she gained from sitting round the hearth, and listening.

When war came again, pounding at the door like it always does eventually, Vesta thought it would be an easy choice. Her family had always been where her loyalties lay. But as the war drug on, and death and destruction rained down upon the mortals, Vesta grew enraged. She could not sacrifice the world she'd helped build, the people she'd guided, for her brother's ambitions. In a great row that shook Rome, Vesta abandoned the War of the Gods, and hid herself away from them. What follows is as hazy as her days in Saturn's stomach.</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>The first thing Vesta noticed upon awakening was her family. She hadn't seen them in...well she couldn't quite remember. As they stirred from their own slumbers, Vesta greeted them, too confused to harbor anger. She was a voice of reason in that first gathering of the pantheons, a champion for the level heads in the room. When they dispersed however, Vesta released the joy she'd been containing. She was mortal, or close enough. At first, she rejoiced in her newfound freedom.

She would come to find, however, that she was not truly mortal. Something still separated her from them, an invisible barrier that she couldn't hope to pass. The lovers she took could not stay by her side forever. The children she nurtured would eventually die. The first move of the Colossus, their first uprooting, was a devastation to her. By the third, she'd learned not to get too attached to the humans. It was best to do as she had always done, listen and guide.

Removing herself from the humans, detaching herself from their problems, proved difficult. Gone were the days when she could simply whisk herself away to another part of the world. Every soul she turned away, each one begging to be let into the fortress of her mind, hurt her. But as they became greater in number, they hurt less and less, or at least she hid it better. In Seattle, she's committed to this same ethos. The Hearthfire allows her to make the mortals' days better, if only for an hour or two, before sending them back out into the world. She is simply carrying on, the way a Roman ought to.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>You awaken curled into the large root of a tree. The overhang of leaves is thick and the air tastes pure and old. Before you sit a large wooden plate loaded with vegetables, fruits, and dried meats. Next to it is a wooden goblet filled with a dark purple liquid. Standing beyond that is a man that seems to be both old and young, leaning on a long staff with massive horns erupting from his head and a bearskin thrown over his shoulder. He turns as he hears you stir. "Oh good, you awaken." His voice was a deep rumble, not thunder—never thunder—but more like the groan of an ancient tree in a strong wind. "Eat. Drink. And tell me of yourself, my foal." You reach forward and go to ask a question only to find your voice gone. "It'll come back soon. Maybe you could do without talking for while. You, mortals, do love to squawk." Your expression blossoms into surprise. "Fine, I shall go first...

"There was child. He was lost in woods on surface. Blond locks and sweet smile were threatened to be pecked away by crows. I found him. In shape of bear, of course. Jyah. Jyah. Don't give me that look. What about this entire place seems natural? Anyway. I took him. I brought him here, to Naiwa. I sat him on my golden throne and named him my son. My Jaryło. Of course, he was not my son by blood. Instead, lost infant was Perun's offspring. Cursed god of sky, thunder, and general shit." Veles spit, it is black like ichor. "He loathed me for calling Jaryło my own. Yet, he left that little bastard in forest. Every time I touched surface, he'd rain lightning down upon me. So, I took to form of bear. It was easier to hide from him. Perun couldn't tell his creatures apart. That's what you get for living so far above mortals you love.

"Years passed. As they do. You, mortals, become wrinkly, old, and impotent. But mighty Veles still rules from Nawia. I sewed seeds of chaos for Perun. Laughed at his attempts to smite me down. And when he turned his backs on you mortals, I gave you magic. I returned your cattle. I made rivers flow deep and blue. Anything to make Perun pause. He was supposed to be your mortal's gods. I could take his followers as easily as I could his son." Veles pauses, laying his staff down. "Jaryło grew up. He took wife. He slew winter. He danced in spring and in blood. A good boy. Until he was taken from me.

"Great irony, scholars say. I call bullshit. I went across plains, demanding his return. Those mortals that knew much and spoke nothing, I cursed. Disease ravaged them. I spun chaos across lands. But I got too proud. Too foolish. What? Gods can admit when they're wrong. Hindsight is for owls with their wicked heads. Perun finally caught me. He sent lightning down upon me and made sure that I'd return to Nawia. Sit on this throne. Be unable to find Jaryło. So, that's why you are here.

"I hear war is brewing up there, but not pitiful mortal one. One between gods. I'm curious. Friends could be made. Bargains struck. Jaryło could be found. But I need to do this not seen." He approaches, kneeling in front of you. The food and drink were knocked aside, you having eaten and drank your fill sometime during his story. He places his massive hands on your cheeks and pulls your gaze up to him. His eyes are dark, eternal, and terrifying. "You're dead, anyway. You shouldn't mind me having stroll in your flesh?"</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>"I woke up covered in ash because they thought they could defeat me by burning forest I was hiding in! I laugh. But I remember black. Soot. It covered me. My large hands, smaller. My mighty horns, gone. Something wasn't right. I now was now like mortal. There were gods that never seen ground. Hah! I walked in mortal's homes and taught them magic. I fed them. I walked them into Naiwa. Jyah. Jyah. Stop looking at me like that. We're both drunk..."

Veles's turn to mortality was a mixed one. He'd spent a lot of time among the mortals, during the good times and the bad—even if he was what created the bad. Yet, when he was no longer wanted, or if his battles became too hard he could turn into a bear and slip back to Nawia—the underworld. Now he was trapped in the flesh of his own doings and mistakes. He didn't care for the steam that rose from the blood of the battlefield. His plan had always been to find a way to outsmart Perun and retrieve Jaryło. Now, both were a moot point.

When the first god died, trying to escape their invisible cage, Veles watched with interest. And his lips twisted as he couldn't see their ghostly visage rise from death. He called out to Nawia, but he heard silence. He tried to shift into a bear, only to find his flimsy flesh unchanged. A god of chaos that had no hand in his own downfall, wasn't a happy one. He cursed the other gods and ventured from them as far as he could. All his plans were on the wind, and he was power and purpose were fleeting. Yet, Veles wasn't purely made of pride and idiocy. As it was said of him:

"Like the bear, he is powerful and wise, but he also has the fangs and trickery of the snake. Duality is his nature and survival is his promise."

So, he carved an existence in the form of a small shop in London. He found other immigrants from Slavic bloodlines, and he told stories from the homeland. Many a бабушка saught him out when there was disease or death upon their house. They referred to him as a shepherd, not knowing why. He tended to his flock while amassing a small following that became criminal in nature. When he was unfortunately upended and moved to America, he found the fruit of his endeavors actually held up. He could contact his growing connections in London. It was enough to get established in DC before finding himself on the West Coast.

The transient nature of their constant upheaval and relocation wasn't something that was hard for Veles to get used to. He was the shepherd to the Underworld, after all. In the shady part of Seattle, he started a butcher shop, importing delicacies from London. He made a name for himself, and the бабушкаs quickly took a liking to him, along with hipsters talking about how "authentic" his sausages were. Slowly, he was building up his blue-collar criminal connections again. If he couldn't seed into the earth with his mighty Underworld, he'd use the figurative one of mortals.

The Medved Butcher Shoppe moved more than cuts of meat, and its old-world criminal influence could easily be seen. He could move things in and out of Seattle with a smile and a shot of vodka. Still, Veles takes kindly to the other gods that wish to stop by and share a drink or two with him. His dalliances are no secret.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

^{I was feared. I was strong. I wrapped around the very world. With a flick of my tail I could sink fleets. With a flex of my muscles I could flood entire villages. With a bash of my head I could cause earthquakes. Not even Thor, strongest of the gods, lift me from my watery bed. No, I was Lord of the deeps.
I started as nothing but a worm. I was cast into the depths by the one-eyed. Yes, I remember. I will rise up. With my sister and brother I will take my rightful place upon the land. No god will stop me. There are no bolts of the thunder that can peel my scales, nor gouts of flame that can char my flesh. I am the World Serpent. And to me does this world belong.}

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

^{Jormungandr has lead a life far more difficult then those of the others since waking up. They have not only lost most of their prodigious strength and toughness, but they have also become human. The confusion and fear that gripped her in the years following were eased only by his sister, Hel. While their father tried to help, his shenanigans would often overshadow any good he managed to do. Oftentimes this would drive Jorm further into himself.
This fear built up over time, leading to multiple conflicts with her age old enemy, Thor. But he defeated her, time and time again. Jormungandr was no longer the serpent they once were. And so the years passed. He grew weak and frail as the moved further from the oceans she so dearly loved. In several locations Jorm would fall asleep, requiring Hel and Loki to watch over her.
However, Jorm eventually found themselves over the years. They found that once they were in the water their strength returned. With a stomp, the earth would shake. A flick of her wrist and the waters would rise. So here he confronted Thor again, and here she defeated him. Their strength returned, Jorm thought their worries were over.
Jorm has only just relearned who they were, but she must learn who he is now.}

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>Born from Loki - the trickster god – and the giantess Angrboda, the birth of her and her siblings came with a dreadful prophecy. Oden, ruler of the Aesir, could not keep her in Asgard. So he assigned the freezing realm of Helheim to her. Where she would reign. Until Ragnarok begins. Then her realm will quake, the gates of Helheim will be flung open and Hel’s People will march towards Asgard, led by Loki.

As goddess of the dead, she tends to those who died “dishonorably”. The ill, the old, those who did not die in battle. These people are cared for with a loving, numbing embrace. To murderers and perjurers, Helheim unleashed her frozen glare. Making them suffer for an eternity. Her dominion will not be denied and even the gods are not free from death’s grasp. As is shown in the tale of Baldur Odinson. Who died and went to Helheim. Hermod, another one of Odin’s, descended into the realm and begged the Queen of the Dead for his brother’s return. She declared that only if every creature in every realm begged for Baldur’s return, she would release him. When a single giant refused to plead for the fallen Aesir, Hel made her will known and Baldur remained in Helheim</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>The earliest days of Hel on earth are marked by love. Ragnarok had come to pass, she was sure of it. Despite that, her family had survived. A family she hadn’t seen for eons as she dutifully took care of the disgraceful dead in her realm. After those first few days, her happiness waned as she began to fear for Helheim. Ghosts of the recently departed flocked to her. Before she had no problem talking with them so why start now? Except amongst humans, one does not just talk to the open air. It didn’t take long for Hel to find herself in an asylum where she was subjected to man’s cruel treatment. And it didn’t take long before the Draugr were drawn towards here.

Luckily for Hel, her family busted her out a few years later. Once out and about Hel knew better than to ignore mortal customs. Yet her closeness to the dead made her feel out of place. Over the years she grew solitary she worked as a graveyard keeper, often at night. The love of her family never waned but if she wasn’t with them, she was alone. Alone and tending the graves. It was the least she could do. Yet in that solitude, she had so much time to think and see. Thor, Odin, and the other Aesir survived as well. Seeing them smile as well set off a bitter taste in her mouth. Especially as the prophecy – already revealed to the mortals – said that they should’ve perished as well. For years Hel was torn between the fear of retaliation against her family if she lashed out against the Norse gods and the hatred she felt for them. Then Freya had her human child and Hel finally made her choice.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>Comus | Κῶμος doesn't remember much of his childhood. Just that it must have happened. Coming into existence for the sole purpose of bearing a cup; THE cup, to his father, Dionyusus. A life of luxury. Or so most mortals, and even demi-gods, would believe. Though, as the decades spanned into centuries and so on and so forth, the task of holding the drink of the drunk guy at the party was not something that Comus reveled in any longer. Bringing about anarchy and chaos when he found himself bored or slighted. Stemming from the insanity of his old man. Like father like son, he s'pposes.

Comus was the child of a literal man-child. It was ... an interesting time, to say the least. He learned many a thing from his father; whom he's almost positive has no idea that he is his own seed made flesh. Tips and tricks on how to host festivities, to hold one's wine. A favorite pastime included breaking off into the mortal realm and hosting nocturnal dalliances for those who were lured in by his... charismatic nature. Those he had cultivated into his own perish of devotees. Coco was always a generous host, partaking in the revelries every chance given. Never one to pass up a good time. No matter the situation, consequences or cost...</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>Chaos and Revelry go hand in hand. So long as it's Comus' hands. Which is what he was partaking in when they were stumbled upon and woken from a deep sleep - one that he has no recollection of partaking in. Taking off to the different parts of the mortal realm - that he was limited to - going with the flow, basking in the afterglow of the merriment, dalliances and other debaucherous acts he loved to cause amongst the humans. Normalcy was never something that appealed to the god, and so while being banished from whatever home he had once had, he began a very nomadic lifestyle. Always seeking the next bigger and better thing. Anything to keep up his spirits. Or, if he was feeling too bored, something that required his undivided, chaotic attention. And Comus thrives in the chaos he descends upon the world.

He flitted through the changing seasons, adapting to the times. Festivities were still going strong, even during the lowest points earth and it's inhabitants experienced. He thrived among the party-goers and midnight rendezvous, posing for many an artist; bringing life to the gods they so cherished, even this far east from his homeland. After some time, he realized that all forms of mediums would require a subject matter and so he offered herself up to those who needed a muse. For a price. Until he got bored and moved on.

Comus has never had an issue fitting in among the masses. Always sparking the initial life of the party, before passing the torch to someone in need of the limelight and going off to enjoy the excess for himself. But while he's been ... "in the moment" of bacchanus occasions, he's caused more chaos than sometimes even he likes to admit. Resulting in him having a wrap sheet of somewhat petty offenses; some not so petty. Murder may or may not have been among them. But it's not like he's wholly to blame for those. Anarchy comes with a price. Some were not willing to pay ... Though time and time again he's found himself growing closer, in distance, to his old man. They seem to always find one another, even without meaning too. He doubts he even remembers Comus and his role in his previous life. Not that he cares. Why would he? He's done just fine with only his tutelage to refer back on.

It was very, very easy to uproot himself along with the obelisk, it wasn't like he had anything permanent to hold on to. He's here for a good time... and quite a long time it seems. Might as well make the most of it.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>In most texts, Odin was depicted as a long-bearded, one-eyed man wearing a broad hat and a cloak, wielding his spear, Gungnir. Something that never failed to make the Allfather smile in mirth upon listening as he sat among the midgardians. However, if he ever did make his face appear to the mortals, and wanted them to knowit was him, Odin made sure to appear as they thought he looked. In his never ending quest to obtain wisdom and knowledge, he sought out Mimir, an extremely wise god in his own right. Mimir possessed the well Mímisbrunnrl; beneath one of three roots of Yggdrasil, said that the waters contained substantial wisdom and knowledge, and if someone drank from the well they would also gain wisdom. Though, Mimir required that whosoever shall drink from the well sacrifice one of their eyes. Odin agreed. A small price to pay for the pursuit of understanding.

Not too terribly long after was Mimir giving counsel to another Aesir god; cheating out the Vanir, was seized and beheaded and then his head sent to Asgard. Upon receiving, Odin took the head, embalmed it with herbs so that it would not rot, and spoke charms over it, which gave it the power to speak to him and reveal to him secrets. He planned on keeping his counsel wherever he went. Anything to have a leg up on information on the other worlds.

Ruling from his throne Hlidskjalf, he was able to observe all that happens in the nine realms. Accompanied by the wolves Freki and Geri, to whom he gives his food for he himself consumes nothing but wine, the ravens Huginn and Muninn, who bring him information from all over Midgard, eyes ablaze like a frozen lake with a fire burning bright beneath it's sheet, Odin ruled over Asgard with an iron fist clad in gold. Though his intentions were noble in all but results. His pursuit of knowledge and wisdom,His intentions were noble, but misguided, and he genuinely wanted what was best for his people and the realms as he sought to prevent Ragnarök (an event that would go on to kill myriads of innocent people including the Aesir and the Vanir) from happening. Centuries of reigning undisputed with unlimited power as well as a lifetime of failed trials however, had gradually hardened him to the point where he was unable, or perhaps, unwilling to accept that his actions and the actions of his fellow Aesir was having a negative effect and was in fact leading them all ironically into causing the very disaster that he was trying so long to avoid.</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>After WWII Odin was gifted a plethora of free time. Meant to be spent however he saw fit. Coming to was something of a blindside for the Allfather... something the knowledge seeker did not appreciate. All the knowledge and wisdom and understanding and he was caught unprepared. He first feared that it was a path of Ragnarök that he had misinterpreted. That must have been it. It was the only logical explanation for this twisted turn of events. And so, Odin's paranoia grabbed a-hold of him tightly, plaguing his mind and the days turned years spent on Midgard among those who worshiped him.

Soon the irrational fears of the end of days and all those involved slowly dispersed from his mind. Knowledge is what drove him around the world, amidst the paranoia driven actions. He became the moniker the midgardians bestowed upon him all those years ago; a traveler. The Traveler. Traversing the entire realm absorbing the teachings of the great minds and putting them to good use; one way or another. However, it wasn't enough for him. No. Odin craved the interaction among the others like him; other gods - he cared not for which pantheon they belonged to. He saw it as the ultimate cornucopia of insight. Who better to learn new things from than the gods who resided over their own ilk?

He was successful in his endeavors and took his learnings and turned it into an empire with which he could live off of. A kingdom among men. An empire built on the collection of secrets and backroom dealings and pouring himself over tomes, scrolls, textbooks, running this body of his ragged just for the mere taste. It all became worth it, when he started up not only a publishing company, but a networking one as well. From there Odin's empire only grew, over the years he was able to establish and run seven other businesses; effectively making the Börson a name known 'round the globe for having their fingers in a number of different pies.

Now, however, you can find Øyvind Börson living it up in "retirement". Though he uses that term loosely. There is always someone somewhere that insists on pestering the Allfather with trivial matters. All of which he is expected to be responsible for and deal with. He will, cause honestly? He detests idle hands. Odin is still a seeker of knowledge and a lot of the times can be found sitting in the back of university classes, absorbing the lessons spouted by midgardians in less than enthusiastic tones, or dancing around his penthouse flat a la Tom Cruise in 'Risky Business'. What does he care? He's retired... he shouldn't be bothered for 'nothing but a good time.
_{TLDR; Odin = Daddy Warbucks, but with a retired Hawaiian shirt and fruity drinks with lil umbrellas and true seeker of knowledge kinda vibe}</sup>

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𝐌𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘
𝐌𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘

<sup>The legends all frame her story as a love story.

It's not.

They say she was forced to drink the elixir of immortality that the Queen Mother of the West gifted her husband, or that she was simply greedy and stole it. She is either tragically doomed, or vilified. The innocent, love-struck victim (something trembling and frail, young and sweet like budding roses, nothing more than the first diaphanous exhale of a lilac, dew-misted daydream), or-

-or the cunning, wicked wife, rot-dark and blood-bright and sin-stained, immoral.

And isn't that how it always is, with women like her? Beautiful, lovely women from noble families — families that are overjoyed, of course, when the hero of the rain-lush farmlands they rule over asks for their daughter's hand in marriage. It's the highest of honors, they'll murmur. The heavens have blessed us with this union, they'll proclaim later, during the wedding, when a crimson-flamed veil is draped over her face, peonies blooming in gushes of gold across the edges — an embroidered blindfold.

The veil will be shrilled in scarlet, for good fortune. Chang'e has always thought that the falling scorch-shimmer of silk looked more like fresh blood.

Her husband was Houyi, the legendary archer who shot down the suns devouring the earth, and they crowned him king for it. But by the time he petitioned the Queen Mother of the West for immortality, the power of it all had twisted and gnawed and rotted something deep inside of him; gouged out his heart and turned his chest cavity into an open wound, weeping and festering like a blood-burnt blister of corruption.

So Chang'e stole the elixir, drank it, and fled to the moon. Houyi sent his arrows after her — she still remembers the shriek and smoke-sting of the air as the dragon-touched shafts caught fire and screamed across the skies behind her, molten like lightning and blazing like dying stars; chasing after her like vicious hounds.

Chang'e drank the elixir because Houyi was unfeeling and cruel beneath his sun-gilded crown, and the men who wrote the stories afterward called them star-crossed lovers.</sup>

 

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𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘
𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

<sup>When Chang'e woke up in the bunker with the sting of blood in her mouth, coppery and black on her tongue, she couldn't remember ever feeling so warm.

And eventually, she realized that it was because she was not on the moon anymore.

The mortals have a flawed sense of justice; Chang'e knew it then, and she knows it now. As a goddess, she had been the protector of the love of young girls, and she had seen them fall for plenty of men who had spilling carcasses where their hearts should have been, with mouths like overripe berries and lies that fell from their lips in brightly-bloomed bruises of flowers, sweet and heady and repugnant.

So when Chang'e met Thor and learned about his earthly endeavors, she was eager to see what she could do to help, to continue her legacy as the protector of the delicate, gossamer-winged dreams of mortal girls after the fall. And eventually, being among the humans — living in the neon-flashing, dust-choked veins of their steel-shining cities, where they reveled in their engineering and architectural acumen without care for the encroaching tides, caressing closer to the shoreline or puddling upward through rain-dark earth with every passing year — helped her realize that more and more, it wasn't just young girls who were being wronged. Whose suffering was being ripped, jerked, nipped, and twisted to fit some rich white man's narrative of the deceit and greed and wickedness that is supposedly inherent in a woman, or a homeless family, or an immigrant.

Chang'e has never been a fighter, but the abilities that she has retained have sweeping uses in the field. She ghosts her fingers across a sun-bleached sign pole, and splattering blood and mangled scrap metal and seaweed-green beer bottles flit behind her eyelids. She wanders through a junkyard, her hands meandering over shredded tires, rusted piping, sludge-mucked oil cans — and the afterimage of acrid smoke, shattered glass, crimson-screamed agony splashes through her vision in a spray of leaded sea foam.

After she fled to the moon — her lonely, silver-gleaming refuge from the man who shot down the suns — she had never wanted to see the daylight again. But now, here on Earth, when dawn blossoms over the horizon in pale golden breaths, rosy and honey-sweet, it tastes of spun silk. Of mercy.

Chang'e thinks that she likes it.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>Has it ever crossed one's mind as to why dogs bark at nothing at night and shadows seem to move on their own?

There once was a secretive group among the Grecians who believed they knew. They held the answers in their beliefs that it was Melinoë, daughter of Hades, who wandered the earth, flanked by a retinue of ghosts from the Underworld. Spirits, once wronged by the living, seeking vengeance by spreading fear and madness. Melinoë was not universally feared, however. There are those - the ones who believe in the whispers floating along through the dead of night, accompanied by the cries of dogs - that held onto the thought that she had a kindly side to her. One that was focused on righting wrongs. On justice. At least for those that followed her.

Daughter of the King & Queen of the Underworld it should come as no surprise that her presence would discomfort others - however it seemed to be more than just her title that caused the hairs on the backs of one's neck to stand at attention. Melinoë was graced with the responsibility of presiding over propitiation and bringing justice to the wronged dead - recruiting those restless spirits to her entourage that wander the land of the living forever. It was believed in those days that by offering libations, visiting graves, and otherwise honoring their dead, they would be protected from harmful spirits. Melinoë would then collect those offerings and carry them to the Underworld for the spirits there to enjoy. It was in those moments when propitiation was not completed that she brought madness upon them.

Even when going unseen, she caused uneasiness and fear.

Melinoë lived as comfortably as one could in the Underworld. Surrounded by all that gave her some spark of joy. Her responsibilities gave her a sense of purpose. A way to pull her weight. A way to shine and outperform the "blessedness" of her sister. The shining flame amongst the bitter whispers of cold in the dark. Who would choose madness over the blessed? Make no mistake, Melinoë did not hate her sister, though her jealousy to be as revered as she sowed seeds of dislike and distance. Her brother, Zagreus, however, he was one of the few - if not only one - she showed her truest self to. At least for a time. Before he was tricked and taken from her. When her beloved brother returned home she was overjoyed though she knew he was not the same. Would never be the same... A seething hatred for Hera long since brewing deep within her would be let loose upon the mortal plane.

If only the dogs of war would sound for her fury against the Queen...</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>After the awakening - after the war - Melinoë found herself among the others, disoriented, angry, elated. Lost.

She became that which she had been bound to and responsible for. A lost soul, with no proper burial. No rites given. A lost soul hellbent on administering the justice she and all the others deserved. A fire lit within her belly that night, as she stood beneath the star littered sky, like millions of tiny candle flames winking as if they knew her inner most thoughts. It was beautiful. Truly a start to her new endeavor. Her new beginning. A new life.

Melinoë wandered the earth, as far as her chains would allow. A petulant child, what she was referred to on numerous occasions by the "mighty ones". No more petulant than their own leaders. She first went to her brother, as their sister could not be found. Melinoë wondered if something more sinister took her from them... she sincerely hoped not. Especially since there was no way for them to reconnect should that be the case. She could see the delight spreading throughout Zagreus at the prospect of being unbound to his prison cell. So much so she wished she could join in. For the time, she was elated to just have him there with her. A solid foundation for her to rely on.

It took some time getting used to not having responsibilities like what she was used to. It still, to this day, is like a phantom limb - Melinoë finds herself a creature of the night. Constantly up at all hours, walking through streets or parks, sitting atop roofs and just overlooking the lands she currently occupies. Dogs still bark when she is near and madness follows her like a shadow, stretching out it's tendrils to constrict those it comes in contact with.

Fighting for the justice of others who had been dealt a shitty hand came quite easy to the Bringer of Nightmares; easier than she initially thought in this new life of hers. With that in mind she sought out to create a name for herself in helping those who were less fortunate and lost - like herself. To spread the madness and fear with a clear purpose and goal. Spectre was born in those few years after waking. Investigating crimes against mortals and gods alike. Brandishing her own form of punishment on all those that were found guilty in her eyes. Regardless of her appearance and age, Melinoë's track record speaks for themselves. It also helps that a lot of the clientele she's garnered wouldn't dare speak out against her even if they wanted. Is it all completely ethical? Probably not. Does she care? Not one bit.</sup>

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𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬
𝗠𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

<sup>Rich Schaeffer leans back, looking at the sky outside. Clouds bubble at the horizon and lightning flits and dances like two manic lovers. He turns his attention back to you, bringing a glass to his lips with a pale, amber liquor in it. His pale blue eyes narrow underneath dark, blond brows. "Have you ever heard of the King of the Gods, Zeus?" He doesn't allow you enough time to answer. "Lighting, thunder, and all that." He laughs. "But the story is a bit deeper...

"Son of Cronus and Rhea, fated to be devoured like his siblings—as we all are, in the shadows of our patriarchs. Yet, Rhea was tired of watching her children be consumed in a fury of jealousy and fear. You see, Cronus had learned that his son would be the end of him. It makes you wonder, though. Are we a product of fate pre-destined or one we craft for ourselves? Had Cronus not sought to eat his children, would they not have sought retribution? But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Rhea swapped Zeus out with a rock. Must have been a well-chiseled one for a damn titan to confuse his own son with a stone." Rich laughs, taking another sip. The storm grows closer. "But I digress... Zeus was raised by nymphs under Rhea's protection. Maybe, that had to do with his proclivities. Anyway, when he came of age, he tricked his father into drinking poisoned wine to disgorge his brothers. Which made Zeus now the eldest of his siblings. I don't make the rules, that's just how things worked. Together, with the help of the Cyclopes, they were able to overthrow their father and the other titans. And so, Zeus and his two brothers came into power.

"They drew lots. Zeus got the sky. Poseidon the sea. And Hades the Underworld. But if you ask me, one knew that they looked good in that just wet look, and the other had a nose that needed the shadows to tone it down." Thunder rumbles in the distance, playing with his laugh. "Zeus married Hera, his seventh wife technically, and from there rule over Olympus began. But, as you can imagine—all that time spent in hiding, fearing for his life, and then leading his brothers to freedom didn't allow for Zeus to see the world. So, much against his wife's wishes, he did." Rich finishes his drink and flags down the waiter with a bright smile on his perfect teeth. They share a curt nod before he continues. "Then without these dalliances you wouldn't have such wonderful stories about Hercules, Perseus, and the lot...

"I'm not excusing his actions, but sometimes in the hopes of getting out from under the shadow of our father, we make ourselves outrageous promises to make every day liveable. But there were consequences..." The waiter brings the drink to the table and looks up. The storm is basically upon you, and yet the rain has yet to begin. "Hera did manage to enact her revenge for all his philandering. Tied him up in a rope with a hundred knots. But as you can imagine, he had loyalty both familial and transactional. Calling upon old friends, he was able to get free, and he set about punishing his wife and those that she consorted with to get revenge. No one on Olympus tried that shit again.

"That is far from the end of Zeus's tale, but to get any more particular... you'd be here all night. And I lost the thread of why I started that conversation to begin with. Oh right..." Rich took a long drought and leaned in. "Much like Zeus, I have carved my empire against the nature of my birth, taken care of those that have tried to stop me, and helped any that asked. Yet... unlike Zeus, no one holds me accountable for my fidelity..." The rain begins about the time his fingers find your hand.</sup>

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𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬
𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬

<sup>Gone... gone... gone... was the war between the gods. The doomsday that descended upon them with the roar of a dragon had petered out with a whimper. Zeus had only ever known how to defeat his enemies and overcome his powers with cunning and war. Now he was set upon by an entirely different hurdle to vault over. No need for thunderbolts, not that he could conjure the storms to his hands anymore, it was easier to subjugate with knowledge and understanding than power. They stood amidst a battle that was not there's, with weapons they did not hold. So, Zeus would use his words. He was farm from a trickster god, but he had been known for his mercurial nature.

Zeus went forward with what he did best, he gathered his family and made plans. Of course, much like on Olympus, not all were happy to listen to him. So, they ventured off to their own horizons. He spent the two years in Italy consuming whatever he could in terms of knowledge. Old habits pushed him into speaking to humans and convincing them of his usefulness. When they moved to Britain, he was more than prepared to let his plans come to fruition.

In those days, it was the radio that appealed to the masses. So, he started there. His voice was thick as honey and his words were cloying in a time where the world was trying to gain its footing from WW2. Yet, one might have noted that some of his interviews leaned towards collectors and scholars from the British Museum. His radio personality seemed to be equally interested in the state of the world and the Colussus that was at the museum. "An interesting piece of art," he'd say before moving on. Placing those seeds of thoughts in people's minds was what he was hoping to do. Zeus was always about getting out of rough situations no matter what, and that's where he thrived. But, he did miss the comfort of his palace on top of the world.

When they were moved to DC, Zeus had had many lovers and media careers from the ends of where he could venture. America in the early 00s was more than a bit of a culture shock. Yet, there he was in the heart of American politics, Washington DC. Zeus didn't know how long this would last, so he gathered as much influence and patronage as he could. It was easy to stuff politicians, scientists, and journalists in his pockets when one had his charm and looks. Didn't hurt that his knowledge of foreign policies was surprisingly accurate.

When they ended up in Seattle, Zeus was more than tired of performing the same old song and dance. The new medium in which he could exert his influence made itself quickly known. No, not the internet even if it was the prominent solution. For a man of his age and clout, he'd have much more luck on television. At the suggestion of a colleague from DC, he spoke with the producers of a local broadcasting company. He started at the bottom, but in the five short years in Seattle, he went from a surprisingly handsome anchor to a full-blown television personality.

Seattle Late Night with Rich Schaeffer became a success. His face was on billboards, sides of buses, and televisions. All the while, he kept up with the family that would have anything to do with him. More importantly, he kept his fingers in the pies surrounding the Colossus. If he could solve the reason that they were here, trapped in these forms with their limitations, then the other gods would look at him as a hero once again. No longer pulling his brothers from the belly of their father, but pulling the gods from the useless land of the humans.</sup>