โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ current characters
โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ character sheet & tutorial
The given character sheet is not mandatory, but highly encouraged.
Here is the character sheet, curtesy of @Horangi! I recommend using a search and replace browser add-on to replace all the placeholders for the color codes!
??? is a placeholder for the primary color. !!! is a placeholder for the secondary color, looks better if it is a light and muted color.
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โฟ Epithet, the name and titles (if you want) of your deity โฟ Pantheon, Aztec? Greek? Japanese? โฟ Domain, what are they the god of? โฟ Powers, their godly abilities
โฟ Alias, what is their mortal name? โฟ Recorded Age, how old do they say they are? โฟ Pronouns, they/them? he/him? she/her? โฟ Sexuality, self-explanatory โฟ Occupation, what do they do as a human?
โฟ Virtues, at least six personality virtues that your deity possesses โฟ Vices, at least six personality vices that your deity possesses โฟ Ambitions, what is the goal of your deity? โฟ Fears, what is your deity afraid of?
Like cold water, their emotions seep into her chest and burrow deep into her heart. It is powerful, overwhelming, until she doesnโt know where she ends, and they begin. Being a goddess of a blessed death, a merciful death, Macaria senses how the dying feel to empathize with them in their last moments. The unfortunate part is that Macaria cannot turn it off or on, and it doesnโt just stop with the dying. Like ley lines she cannot escape, Macaria is connected to anyone in her vicinity. Mortal emotions are like a scorching touch within her soul; immortal emotions are muted, like diluted sugar in water. Yet her only reprieve is when she is alone.
Like the sip of cool water when parched, the gentle breeze on a hot summer day, the touch of aloe on a sunburnโฆ Macaria sits on the edge of your deathbed, her fingers tracing circles on the back of your hand as she prepares to take your soul on the last voyage. Aches and pain bury deep in her muscles and bones โ she weeps with you, her heart aching above all as you draw your last breath.
Borne of the union between Hades and Persephone, Macaria has taken up the mantle of blessed death. She sends the dying away with a merciful, understanding hand. With each death she witnesses, her heart bleeds a bit more. Despite the pain she feels and witnesses, Macaria is stalwart and dutiful to the responsibility her father has delegated to her.
When they fall, she falls with a heavy heart, for no merciful hand shall help the passing of the blessed souls.
She never knew the living mortals; her familiarity began and ended with the dying ones. Falling was like burning from the inside out, ripped from her purpose and scorned by her homeland. Landing was a simmer, a rising boil beneath her skin as an influx of human emotions hooked like thorns into her skin.
Macaria was not built for the turbulent emotions of the living, only the stagnating regrets of the dying. Overwhelmed, Macaria fled from humanity and lived the life of a hermit, enclosed in her walls for centuries. She only ever emerged from her sanctuary in the hills of England to taste the sweet nectar of Ambrosia. Folk tales were spread about her rare sighting โ a fae in the woods, a witch in the hills.
Humanity changes so often. Humble huts became steel towers and brick townhouses. Eventually, there was no refuge as the humans were ever expanding. Like a bird forced from its tree, Macaria ventured into society for the first time in centuries.
Her introduction to the world was not a good one โ it was with bombs and death and the acrid smell of burning flesh. World War I was ravaging the lands and Macariaโs senses were overwhelmed with sorrow and anger and bitterness. With nowhere to hide, Macaria did what she did best โ she helped the dying. Macaria became a nurse, serving near the western front where she tended to the wounded and helped the dying pass. And in a world of sorrow, anger, and bitterness, she saw a light.
His name was Thomas and they were in love. It was a burning, consuming love, and Macariaโs senses were overwhelmed with her devotion. Thomas was a soldier and she tended to him on the battlefield, wiped the sweat from his brow, kissed the cuts on his knuckles. And when he died, when he closed his eyes for the final time, the love in her heart was blown out like a candle in the wind. The love was never hers; she had only echoed his love for her back, confusing when he began and she ended.
It felt like shame, like a betrayal to the dead Thomas who, though she did not love, she cared for. Macaria distanced herself from humans, hid the emotions she felt behind steel walls, and killed the growing humanity in her chest.
To kill the humanity in her once and for all and regain her role as the goddess of blessed death. Macaria has been broken by emotions that are not her own; her once placid personality has become turbulent with the vivid feelings of the living mortals. Macaria wishes for nothing but to tend to the dead again and leave the living mortals to the experts.
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Sometimes, Macaria wakes up in a cold sweat, dreams and nightmares of her godhood being forgotten. She dreams of living as a normal mortal, experiencing the pain and torture of being human. Macaria cannot think of a worst fate than forever feeling the pains and aches as vividly as humans do.
๐ถ Loki knows when you are lying, he knows when you are truthful, he knows when youโve been lying or not, so donโt lie to him for goodness sakes! ๐ถ
Lokiโs ability is to know when someone is lying to him. Of course, there are ways around this โ omitting details, being vague, telling technical truths.
Loki wasnโt always a lying, profane scoundrel with a penchant for deceit, murder, and copious amounts of sex. Well, he was, but the other gods didnโt know that. Not Aesir by blood, but considered one of them all the same with his charming smiles and witty jokes. He always had a seat at their feast, next to his bloodbrother and friend, Odin. Sometimes his penchant for gambling and sordid deals with giants and dwarves and such would drag the Aesir into messes they were not particularly fond of, but Loki was always quick to soothe the situations over with a dashing grin and an excuse ready on his lips. Then everything went to shit.
Ragnarรถk. The prophecy was a snake spitting venom on his wounds until there was an actual snake spitting venom on his wounds while his hands were bound by the entrails of his sweet son, Narfi. After the Aesir learned of Ragnarรถk, Lokiโs family was persecuted โ his sweet children who had done no harm (except for all the times that they might have done harm) imprisoned. The betrayal hurt, and sure Loki has probably betrayed the Aesir a thousand times over, the crimes against his family still seemed a bit uncalled for. Like a woman scorned, or perhaps an extremely jealous ex, Loki stormed the Aesirโs jovial feast. He had no plan in mind, only a sharp blade for a tongue, and a few good words to share about the great and holy Aesir.
A good lashing did nothing to temper the Aesir or bring back his monstrous children from their imprisonment. So, Loki had Baldr killed, his heart pierced by a mistletoe-tipped arrow. In punishment, Loki lost two of his sons: one to a mindless beast form and the other to his vicious claws. Then Loki was chained like a dog, his chains made from the flesh of his own blood.
In the chaos of the fall, Loki escaped his imprisonment like a thief in the night. He vowed his revenge on the Allfather and all who helped him - Loki will watch the world burn if he has to.
Mortals, so ridiculously easy to manipulate. Like a puppet master, Loki pulled the strings of every mortal he encountered after falling to suit his purposes. In every town he crossed, Loki became the main attraction, and he reveled in it. Every once in a while, heโd send some poor bastard to go at Odin with a knife โ just to keep the Allfather on his toes. So the Allfather knew of the hatred brewing deep in Lokiโs chest.
Loki had an early start in the crime industry โ some could even say he invented organized crime. For a god who sustained himself off of chaos, Loki sure did like some structure in his crime organizations. Loki played his mortals like a fiddle, had them doing his bidding in no time, and used it to make himself rich. He had a hand in most things โ drug trafficking, gun dealing, contracted hits โ and he loved the madness his mafia wrought.
Despite living the good life among mortals โ rich beyond belief, successful careers, great entertainment โ Loki needs his godhood back. If Loki ever wishes to truly defeat Odin, he needs his powers back while Odin is still vulnerable and weak. And if Loki is playing the long con by sleeping with his nemesis, well thatโs his prerogative.
What more could Loki want than the sniveling Aesir crying under his custom-made Louis Vuitton oxfords? Well, probably their heads mounted on the walls of his own personal cozy cabin in the frigid tundra of Scandinavia. Ah yes, thatโs the dream. Maybe he would pull an Allfather and let the heads keep their wits about them enough that he could continue to taunt them even in death. While it sounds particularly vicious and petty, Loki hasnโt really forgiven the Aesir for their injustices towards him and his family. Even if he couldnโt have the entire pantheon, Loki would settle for just getting one over on Allbastard Odin.
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His immortal and mortal life has been so focused on his street justice that Loki doesnโt know what scares him more โ losing to the Aesir or losing his children. Never to be spoken aloud, Loki is starting to believe itโs the formerโฆ
Desire and yearning manifest into light pink colored threads that connect mortals and gods to each other. While this diluted power of her domain holds not even a flame in comparison to the fun sh used to have flying around the heavens, know whom is a the core of desire for another offers a fun game to her from time to time. How those pretty pink strings glimmer in the light, daring to be plucked by her expert touch.
While the realms crumbled, and the gods tumbled from their divine thrones, Pothos reveled in the change forced upon the once heavenly bodies. For a being who had ruled over the awkward and tender moments of misconnections and broken hearts, the Fall offered Pothos a perspective she hadnโt been privy to before.
Over the decades Pothos spent time integrating into human society, observing their lifestyles, and finding ways in which she could meddle somewhat like she had before. What stuck out to Pothos in her time learning from humans was how profound and intense their emotions were. How brightly colored their desire were strung out before her eyes, how she could feel their longing and their heartbreak sometimes as if they were her own. With these revelations, and her penchant for the arts, sheโs dedicated her immortal life to creating and moving masses of humans in the ways love and loss moves a couple.
In recent time, Pothos finds herself as Callaia, a perpetual party girl, terrible student, and emerging Alternative artist under the name โAmorโ. Pothos stays in touch with her family and the community of gods but follows her whims and her music all over the world to play in whatever venues arise, success is just outside of her reach, and love is nipping at her heels.
\ sฤซ-หkรค-mษ-trฤ \ Zagreus who has lived among mortals and oversaw the many lives a soul has lived no longer has control or sway in the rebirth cycle of a mortal, and instead can see the entire history of an object, or the past two lives of a mortal he touches.
The Union of Spring and Death bore new life in the Underworld. Zagreus was the first divine being among his siblings, and one of the first of this new generation of deities to grace the divine heavens. A darling boy with the intensity of his father and charm of his mother captured the undying hearts of the Olympians (much to his grandmotherโs handiwork). Bestowed upon him were gifts and boons of their affections, and when godhood was just outside his reach an invitation was sent to him. Zagreus had grown tremendously in power and influence, the natural charm, magnetic intensity, and rare humility had won many notable deities over, the King of The Gods included.
What interested Zeus often drew the green gaze of the Queen and his past lover Leto, both mothers to children they believed could not be outshined. Once scorned enemies, turned to mutual-enemy-confidants after learning of the proposition Zeus offered Zagreus, โmarry Hestia and in time the throne would be yoursโ the King uttered in private. Enraged the two goddesses took advantage of Zagreusโ kindness, and sent him on a search for a missing attendant.
Zagreusโ searching led him to the gates of Tartarus, which we ajar, the presence of madness chilled his skin as he approached, calling out for the attendant. As he neared the pit the bitter sound of chuckling echoed around him, and in the moment before he was swallowed by the prison of the Titans he caught a glimpse of golden hair and plump lips twisted into triumph smile.
Time is nonexistent for gods, the rise and fall of kingdoms acted as markers for the gods. So for a being enveloped in a darkness deeper than Erebus the thought of time was a cruel joke echoed in the ceaseless torment. While Zagreusโ mind became an amusement for the Titans sentenced to the pit, his body, youthful and full of vitality became a sweet nectar to the abyssal living pit.
By the luck of hell, the core essence of his divinity was plucked just in time from Tartarus by the King of The Dead after Leto had divulged what Hera had done, โthe queen, who had a moment of envy and rage, cast away the prince into tormentโ. To protect Zagreus from the gods whom Hades had angered while looking for his son he cast him to the mortal plane.
Zagreus was reborn to a family of mortal farmers, with no recollection of his godhood. Zagreus lived peacefully among the mortals, he was an older brother, a compassionate son, and the pride of the humble village he called home. While he shone brightly during the day, he often found himself sifting through turmoil at night, his memories had been sealed away but the imprint on his soul remained. Zagreus found his end on the battlefield, he died in place for another, and it wasnโt Thanatos who guided his soul. In the dead of the night, while a broken hearted mortal mother wailed at the death of her dear son, Zagreus, the Prince of the Underworld, emerged from a marble pool of crimson liquid and Nyx, the mother of the Night, was the first to greet him. The denizens of the Underworld rejoiced at the return of their Prince, whom regained his title in exchange for his autonomy. Neither Hades nor Persephone could watch Zagreus suffer again and so he was confined to the Underworld, never allowed to leave again.. or so it was supposed to be.
While the heavens crumbled, and the gods fell from their mighty thrones, Zagreus stepped out of of the obsidian prison to which he had been confined following his return to godhood. The world before him was expansive, the warmth of the sun kissing his skin, the beauty and genius molded by the hands of beings they had all once looked down upon, these were things that had distracted Zagreus at first, that was until the first night crept upon him.
The comforting presence of Nyx was absent from this nightfall. Instead it was the hammering of his heart that kept him awake at night, the murmurs of memories and aches radiating over his nerves kept his anxieties high. Time might have passed, but Zagreusโ body had not forgotten the time lost to Tartarus, how painfully clear the arrogance and wrath of the Titans echoed in his mind in this Nyx-less night.
The Prince of the Underworld effectively vanished from the burgeoning god community. Where most gods collected together to maintain themselves he secluded himself, emerging from his isolation once a year to prolong his self-inflicted torment.
It was only when war rattled the country, and the hospitals were short handed did Zagreus remain outside of his โhavenโ for a prolonged period of time. Zagreus knew nothing of medicine but he was familiar with death, and in the midst of chaos he was as much a figure of reprieve for the suffering soldiers as they were for him. Working through the night granted him freedom from the past that haunted him.
Zagreus found his stride, he dedicated his nights to saving lives or simply being the calm in a sea of chaos, and spent his days reconnecting with his family and rediscovering himself. With time, and a lot of convincing, heโs relocated to Seattle just in time to make his official return to the god society at this yearโs festival of Life.
Given his previous role in life, Hati's senses are already above average. However, his skill lies with being able to track others down easily via various means, ranging from scents to footprints. With the amount of experience the white wolf possesses in chasing down an aesir in the sky Hati can follow tracks that are days or even weeks old. It comes in handy when chasing down criminals.
When the Great Wolf, Fenrir, began to run amuck, he first went back to the place where he was born. It is not known what happened to him there, save that when he left, his maddened devouring rage had begun in earnest, and a wolf-woman of the Jarnvidur had borne two wolf-pups, the very image of their father. Skรถll and Hatรญ were thrust into the world. While Hati's name means "Hater". Hati is also sometimes given two different last names - Hrรณรฐvitnisson (Son of Rage) and Managarm (Moon-hound).
When Fenrir was chained, Hati and Skรถll were the only ones who came to defend him. Loki and Angrboda themselves did not interfere, knowing the necessity of the binding, but the young sons tumbled forth in a vain attempt to free their father. Instead, they were captured by the Aesir, and Odin put them to use, bespelling them as he had bespelled the Great Snake. Sunna and Mรกni had often been known to dawdle or change their course, which meant that the days and nights were not always dependable and on time. Mรกni was especially bad at this, as he liked to look down on what was happening, and the adventures played out below his feet enchanted and delayed him. There had been complaints about this from many mouths, and so Odin put the two wolves into the sky as a way to make the chariots run on time, as it were. Hati was bespelled to give chase Mรกni's dog-cart, and Skรถll was similarly charged with herding Sunna's chariot as a dog herds sheep. Making sure they were to keep with their paths trailing across the skies.
While they do not spend all of their time in the sky - when the Sun and Moon are on time and stick to their schedules, the twin wolves were able to run "free" on the earth below - if either sky-etin is late, Hati and Skรถll are lifted into the sky to do their job. Until the time of Ragnarรถk, when they will catch and devour these heavenly bodies.
A terrible calamity befell the earth, causing it to tremble and shake. The stars seemed to fall from their home in the heavens. When ashen white fur gave way to creamy flesh was the exact moment Hati realized something was horribly wrong. An imbalance within the universe. Aside from Mรกni and Sunna's tardiness. Glancing to his brother and reaching, holding him tight as they descended to Midgard was the only thing he could think to do. Being condemned to walk the mortal realm was just another form of binding. They were not truly free, just as they were never truly free before. Odin was still somehow to blame for this, even though he too suffered at the hands of the Fall. Roaming the lands, always tethered to the World Tree and the nectar brought forth from it was something that annoyed Hati to no end. He was able to venture and traverse the plane upon which he was stuck, but he wanted more. He wanted true freedom. Away from the likes of those who wished to harness him for their own personal agenda. No longer having to concern himself with Ragnarรถk and the prophecy he had a hand and bringing about. Now his time was focused on unleashing the blood thirsting tendencies within him. Hati has been keen on reuniting with the rest the family, seek their father out in order to provide some sort of comfort for one another. A sliver of muscle memory from before the Fall when the twins had tried to visit while Fenrir was chained up. And to lay into Loki for refusing to lift a finger to help.
Unlike Skรถll, Hati took to chasing and the capturing and dealing withs of criminals. A bounty hunter through the ages. Anything that would allow him to run and chase, to hunt and devour. The perfect hound of destruction. Something Odin took advantage of once more, instead presenting the chains of duty as something more glamorous than his previous offer. Head of Security, officially. Unofficially, personal guard dog. For a time Hati complied, easily swayed for the silver tongue Odin adapted over the course of his company spent with Loki. Until he retired and therefore Hati was free to return to a more... morally grey occupation.
To overtake and devour and have the blood of the Sun and Moon rain down on the earth. Break free of the chains that bind him and his family to an eternity of servitude and isolation. Bring forth the end of days and truly become free. However, with being on earth as long as he has Hati is no stranger to the idea that such things will not come to fruition. His family is free and that is more than he could have hoped for in the past. Hati wants to live out his remaining immortality regardless of how long that is, doing what he wants. Taking no orders, just Hati doing Hati.
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For everything to fall apart at the end. To wind up alone and desolate with no purpose. To be forever chained to the position that Odin has charged him and his brother with; to never know true freedom. Never be able to roam the earth free of all things that bind him to a false sense of duty.
Inducing a sense of... madness into those she touches. Uncovering one's deepest fears and using that knowledge to influence their dreams, warping them into nightmares. It brings her a sense of comfort in these trying times. A feeling of home she can take with her wherever she may roam. Crossing her comes at a price, one that does not bode well for many as she can induce a haunting terror - especially in the dead of night.
Mortal and Divine alike, no one is safe from the tendrils of madness.
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 Melinoรซ, 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. Melinoรซ 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. Not dissimilar to her older brother, Zagreus, Melinoรซ inherited their father's fierce and inexorable personality. She was beautiful, all Persephone's children were, though she failed to develop a delicate nature that seemed to come so effortlessly to her younger sister; Macaria. A notion Melinoรซ still finds irksome to this day. Melinoรซ was the middle child, the one doomed to fade into the background and be forgotten. Fitting as she was graced with the responsibility of presiding over propitiation and bringing justice to the wronged dead - recruiting those same restless spirits to her entourage that wander the land of the living forever. Fading into the night was something she was born to do. And she excelled at it.
It was believed in those days that by offering libations, visiting graves, and otherwise honoring their dead, they would be protected from harmful spirits. Melinoรซ 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.
Melinoรซ 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. Melinoรซ loves her little sister, has always tried to be a good example for her. Try as she might, there came a point when their lives diverged just as easily as their personalities. Macaria, the shining flame amongst the bitter whispers of cold in the dark. Who would choose madness over the blessed? Make no mistake, Melinoรซ did not hate her sister, though her jealousy to be as revered as Macaria sowed seeds of dislike and distance. Her brother, however, he was one of the few - if not only one - she showed her truest self to. Zagreus was magnetic and held this commanding presence she was sure only came about because he was the oldest. The Prince. Melinoรซ seemed to find it easier to communicate with him. At least for a time. Before he was tricked and taken from her. Her rage boiled and built beneath the surface of her character. Threatening to let loose whenever it saw fit to do so. It took a lot to calm the madness and not shirk her duties because of it. However, when her beloved brother returned home she was overjoyed, proclaiming to all with ears of the joyous moment. Though she knew he was not the same. Would never be the same... A seething hatred for Hera long since brewing deep within her, returned without hesitation and would be let loose upon the mortal plane.
If only the dogs of war would sound for her fury against the Queen...
After the awakening Melinoรซ 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.
Melinoรซ 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. Melinoรซ 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.
Melinoรซ was fascinated with humans, fascinated and disgusted. She couldn't believe at how far they had fallen from the mortals of old. Their burials were subpar and disastrous - to those that could help it. Heart heart tugged at witnessing innocents being slaughtered in their sleep as villages burned to the ground around her. She still retained her ability to slip by unseen, however possible, moving in the shadows when she couldn't be more in the open. It was the way of the world, she assumed. Her hatred for Hera never abated and now it seemed she developed another crusade in which to direct some of the madness building inside. Melinoรซ took to dishing out her own revenge after having witnessed what she did. The thrill of the chase, the catch, the justice, did something to her and Melinoรซ liked it. It did take some time getting used to not having responsibilities like what she was used to. but it didn't deter her in the slightest. Still, to this day, there is like a phantom limb - a piece of her that's still there, reminding her of her old life. She 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, either with fear or rage or adoration, she isn't too sure of most times, 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, Melinoรซ'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.
Hera's soul to be tormented without end within the depths of Tartarus while her head sits on a pike at the foot of seat would be a nice start...
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Losing her family for good. To be unable to reconnect, or connect in general, with her family. Specifically Macaria. She owes a lot to her little sister. To be and remain lost for all eternity.
๏ฝ ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ ๏ฝ ๏ฝ๏ฝ ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ d e i t y of d i r tโ d e i t y of d i r tโ
Sin. In it's most basic form, a transgression against all things holy and good. An action that is or is felt to be highly reprehensible. A vitiated state of human nature. A natural part of life. One of the few things that mortals and Gods alike can agree they share. It's only right that a sin eater would be able to sense out the presence of sins of her beloved worshipers. Gaining a detailed understanding of the vice โ turning their lust and misdeeds, lascivious thoughts into memorable, obtainable and oft times tangible experiences.
The devil on your shoulder never looked so... tempting~
Tlazลlteลtl is able to sense and manipulate the sins and vices of others; increasing the emotional need to a more... physical level. Thus gaining further knowledge from the "victim" for her to do with as she sees fit. Should it benefit her... Being able to tip someone over the edge into the embrace of sin gives her a rush of adrenaline. Convincing them that their even their lowest, most base form is nothing to turn away from but rather embrace brings her a sense of comfort. A comfort she hadn't realized she missed when the Fall initially took place.
After all, succumbing to desire and sin are something even the mightiest of Gods are guilty of...
โ "I AM EVIL. I AM THE FILTH GODDESS TLAZOLTรOTL. I AM THE SWALLOWER OF SINS. THE LUST GODDESS WITHOUT GUILT. The delicious debauchery. You bring out the primordial exquisiteness in me. The nasty obsession in me. The corporal and venial sin in me. The original transgression in me." โ
Mercy is sought out by the weak. The cowardice it holds over mortals is powerful. Too powerful. Yet, the taste is a delicacy. Being able to forgive the sins - the unholiness of mortals - and take that sin upon herself was something Tlazลlteลtl looked forward to. 'What sort of sins to cleanse today?' It was like a surprise gift given to her, all wrapped up in an unassuming package. Though, she could only purify those who beseech her once, and only once, in their life.
Tlazลlteลtl was highly sought after among the masses. Inspiring both tame and vicious desires among her people. New and exciting sins cropping up like the new year's harvest was a game for her. One she was winning at. A delicious cycle it was. To encourage and entice into debaucherous deeds and then on the reverse help cleanse those same sins. Mortals would flock to her, seeking pleasure, basking in their sinful desires before the glory of battle. So wrapped up in their own misdeeds that they wouldn't ever think twice about consequences. And then the morning after, before taking off to war they would seek her forgiveness; steam baths were preferable - maybe it was the scalding waters that made them feel as if their deeds were being removed? The elderly were typically the ones who would seek out counsel of her priests, praying for her to bless and purify them. The inexperienced, the ill-informed, naive bunch, who had no knowledge before hand would turn around the next morning - rushing to speak with a priest of the Goddess of Filth, begging for a cleansing of their misdeeds. Poor things don't realize she only grants total absolution only once... 'Best make it count~' All of which she would bestow. A whispered promise to see them again when they returned. They always returned.
Just as easily as she could be enjoyed and her sin encouraged and celebrated, she was still a Goddess who would afflict those around her with diseases should they ever indulge themselves in things they shouldn't. Things few and far between, but there nonetheless. A lonely life. To be surrounded and sought after daily but having nothing to truly return to. There was Piltzintecuhtli, a union not entirely holy and spoken of with much adoration. Barely a union at all besides the one night. But that's all it took for Centeลtl to be born into the world. Her life was changed all for the better. Tlazลlteลtl was a mother to her own, someone to love her unconditionally and for her to feel the same. He became one of the most important deities to their people and a proud mother she was. At a cost. He was sacrificed in order to bring plants to the mortals. Her sweet baby boy, so full of joy and life, cut down in his prime all for the sake of mortals. But because of who he was, Centeลtl went without struggle and without hesitancy; though it was clear to his mother how fearful he truly was. Quetzalcรณatl ordered it, so it was. Tlazลlteลtl would never forget this transgression, nor would she ever forgive.
Eons, it felt, went by without her child in her arms. Catering to the sins and desires and whims of the mortals who benefited from her son's murder. She took delight in punishing those who deserved it, making it more unnecessary than truly need be. They needed to pay for their part in it all. Tlazลlteลtl thoroughly enjoys increasing the unholy nature of those she comes in contact with, it makes time pass by more bearably. A life so intimately solitary, only called upon when the need arises coupled with the loss of her only child has made the Deity of Dirt skeptical and uneasy to true intentions. Though she is always hopeful she will find the, ever cliche, "one".
A lonely life to only be sought after, used and then forgotten. Until the next time.
When she fell, she fell hard yet willingly. Tlazลlteลtl didn't fight the feeling, instead simply embracing it. She knew it most certainly meant her demise, her death, but she didn't mind. Not really. The thought of being reunited with her son brought a spark of hope to her in a dark, dark time.
However, when she awoke - she isn't sure how long after - she was distraught on a much different level than the other immortals surrounding her. After a time, witnessing everyone come and go, trying to find their way in this new home of theirs, she steeled herself to make a change. Centeลtl would not wish this for her. He took to his fate as dutifully as he could, better even given the age, and yet here she was throwing herself a pity party. No more. Tlazลlteลtl pushed through the darkness, emerging much more than her former shell. Charisma and sex oozed from her with every new step she took and the goddess never looked back.
As the years went on, Tlazลlteลtl found that she couldn't have been more elated than she was, to be dwelling among those that worshiped the ground upon which she walked. Basking in the lust and unwavering adoration for and 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. It brought about the same highs as before - maybe even stronger, given her mortal-like state. Though with all the lust and desires that come crawling to her, she is without true companionship and love. There have been some to catch her attention, pull at her heart strings, make her believe that this time it's real. Only to be reminded of the cruel truth of what it means to be human. Instead, still there lies a void located within her chest. The tendrils of desperate loneliness strangle her soul, squeezing until it's too difficult to breathe.
Time heals all wounds is a farce. But it does allow for new sins to take root and crop up. And Tlazลlteลtl couldn't grow bored with the buffet set before her. It didn't help that her most devoted were soon wiped from the face of the soil she now called home and her wrath plagued the area of which they used to reside. It's been awhile since and though her anger is far from smothered, she is at least bolstering it to mingle with the mortals that still milled about the earth. Sin isn't going away soon and neither is she.
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, 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, Tlazลlteลtl is getting her fill, and business is booming.
To be loved. Actually, truly loved. Never having to worry of being used and tossed aside as she has been for the last so many years. Love for the sake of love and not for anything else.
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Trapped in an endless cycle of loneliness. She fears that the ones she is closest too are using her for her talents and gifts and therefore keeps most everyone at an arms length. Never truly trusting her feelings and the intentions of others.
๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ ๏ฝ ร รฐ i n n ร รฐ i n n
Whatever source of information that has been presented to the Allfather he is able to recall and utilize. His access to knowledge of anything he's read/seen/heard is unlimited. Which he can then use to his own benefit and gain in this life amongst mortals. Eidetic memory on steroids.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ Tรญรฐin rennur sum streymur รญ รก
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 Mรญmisbrunnrl; 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 Ragnarรถk (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.
After the Fall 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 Ragnarรถk 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. Scouring the globe for artifacts in the form of weapons, tomes, everyday mundane items. Anything to learn from, to feel closer to the godhood he once possessed. To use and wield the power, even if it was metaphorical. 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 and of course one that dealt in antiquities one as well. From there Odin's empire only grew, over the years he was able to establish and shadow run other businesses; effectively making the Bรถrson a name known 'round the globe for having their fingers in a number of different pies.
Now, however, you can find รyvind Bรถrson 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 of course because 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, stuck in his own private museum pouring over ancient texts or tending to some other piece of equipment. There's even a high chance of catching him dancing around his penthouse 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.
To seek out all the knowledge the world has to offer. To obtain to unobtainable. Collect as many artifacts from the different pantheons and learn from them. To be able to prevent such a disaster as the Fall from ever taking root within the Nine Realms and lording it over the different pantheons and the immortals that reside within them.
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The end of days. Ragnarรถk. It's not so much a fear as it was when he first learned of the inevitability. However, a millennia or so has passed and though it isn't as prevalent within the forefront of Odin's mind, it is still there. He fears that, upon looking at his fellow counterparts of the opposite pantheons, he will, or rather has, become a lot like them in their relationships with their children. The absentee, the neglectful, the bane of their existence. He doesn't like these feelings and has been trying to rectify it all. In his own way.
She has the ability to numb/remove physical pain and/or negative emotions from others but instead inflicts the personโs pain/negativity onto herself.
Hathor has always been there, emerging from the primordial waters at the beginning of time when Ra created her to be his. 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 or onto judgement.
Due to her being feminine in nature, Hathorโs 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 coin and she is very much the holder of this truth.
Unfortunately, on a more personal level, Hathorโs 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 and by 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 Hathorโs 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.
Memories fade, different moments blurring and becoming insignificant with the passage of time but the important moments, the ones that change youโฆthose stick forever. The fall was one such event that even through the years has not faded, still sharp as day it happened when recollected. I believed it to be a punishment back then, Isis and her lovers last slight against everyone that stood a chance to be in their way on the rise to power. It hurt being forced to the mortal realm instead of going by choice, cast out as it were but worse pain had been inflicted long before that moment. I felt an anger that this was all my time had amounted to before the death I believed would follow upon my descent. In fact it was not the end, but a new beginning, a start to walking among the mortals and partially experiencing their world.
I was still a goddess in their eyes, recognized from the one day of the year my physical presence was shown, the drunken festival though obviously a bit of a difference with lacking certain features. I was lavished on hand and foot, gracing the pharaohs and palace with my very presence. Isis' power grew and so did her influence but my being physically within reach made it easier to pray or wish for blessing. My heart wept and when alone, so did my eyes, for I could not do more, my power was limited for them. Isis was truly taking up my true role as far as I knew and while I helped medically as much as possible, it didnโt feel like enough for what I was receiving. That was my first venture from my home land, leaving towards something new. It was selfish to run instead of speaking of concern but I was not yet acquainted with admitting imperfection and believed mortals could not understand the complexity of a goddess's emotions though they were truly not so different in many ways. At least I feel relieved that I passed on great knowledge for future generations before my departure.
The mortals have a saying that seems universal, time heals all wounds. It is not something I have yet to find true. It sits like a festering wound, always ready to bleed at the most inopportune moment. If anything, I would state that time adjusts pain to become manageable, so constant that one gets used to its presence. That is what kept appearing with each new location, each failure for the times I tried to settle down or put full trust in the mortals. It wasnโt their fault, having so limited time and trying to learn what is the right move or finding a good way for themselves. They didnโt call it the sins of man for nothing but it left me far less hopeful in placing hope in them. Friendships, those were not so bad though caused a different kind of heartbreak. I went from healing, to playing house, to a spiral of drunkenness, falling into criminal work, and trying new activities to pique my interests or make me feel fulfilled. The times continued to evolve around me and as they changed, so did I.
I adapted to the world around me and made sure that I was in locations that went best with the time, avoiding those that seemed troublesome unless I was able to be of assistance without much gawking. Some professions I revisited, mostly being a business owner, a doctor, part of the mafia, or a bartender as those played off of many of my needs that long ago were no longer needed of me as I became a legend or myth. I formed friendships with those like me, others that could understand my pain and also be comforted from my own understanding. They soothe aches and pain on my soul and I will forever be grateful for that. Not all past memories have been bad, some people and points in time being more precious than others. They are the memories I cherish, the ones that are sharply there and wonโt fade even if sometimes it would be better if they did.
While a part of her misses her old lifeโฆright now, she feels lost. The freedom to have fun and not worry about the multitude of ever changing duties expected of her is nice but now she feels like she is wandering with no purpose. She wants to find purpose, find a place to belong, to not be forgotten and to be loved. It sounds silly and broad in the scheme of things but that is what she truly strives for.
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She fears the past repeating itself as in being left alone, forgotten, and a nuisance to those of her pantheon. That the friends she has made will be forced against her or their pantheons will not approve of her which will have her pushed away. She also fears that will always be the one to support everyone else and never be able to really care for herself as she leans on bad habits to push her own problems aside. She has moments she is confident but when it comes to the important things, the past haunts her and then she begins to falter in the present.
Thor has always been a fighter and his powers reflect this. In his prime, he could command the skies and call forth a deadly maelstrom bolt of lightning aided by the ambiance of thunder, but due to the limitations put upon his kind, instead of a massive bolt, Thor channels his mighty fury from within into his fists, or in the case of wielding his mighty Mjolnir, Thor can channel it into that for a series of blows that carry a charge of electricity. The limits of its strength and amount of times he can use it in succession vary, but usually, they are as strong as a well-placed punch by an experienced warrior and be done no more than five times per day due to the amount of energy Thor needs to use it effectively.
Thor Odinson, son of Odin and Jord, has been and always will be a man of midgard. He may be the Prince of Aesir and may have, at one point in eternity, heir to the throne, but Thor never lose sight of who he was. More importantly, he never lose sight of where his heart was.
A man of the people, they called him. A man who helped the people develop, Thor often divided his time between the realms, going from Midgard to Asgard whenever it suited him. He lived among the people and masqueraded as one of them, but never losing sight of the humility that some might say was rare to find in such a being as he. Thor would argue that every man and god has it, but most don't acknowledge or embrace it.
As a god of the people, Thor lived and fought with them. Sometimes it was during wars to help defend the realms of man and sometimes, as habits die hard for stubborn beings like Thor, God of Thunder, sought out fights. His powers, though limited so it was not to disrupt the balance of Midgard, were still far greater than the average man. Nevertheless, when it came to fights, Thor always won. Iron gloves worn when wielding the mighty hammer, Mjolnir, often served as his main weapon for hand-to-hand combat.
See, Thor loved to fight and as a fighter, this also came as someone who loved just as passionately. Thor may not be known for his association with love and passion and birth, but he knew how to have fun. He bore children with gods, with mortals, with giants. Basically, Thor embraced the spirit in him -- the vigor of his might. And time may age some of his offspring, but you can't say Thor ever turned down a challenge.
This was Thor in a nutshell. God of Thunder who was also God of the Sky and Agriculture, was a fighter. He also was a lover and is, still to this day, protector of man. And until his last breath, he will forever be that same person.
Ask anyone: his father, brothers, the other gods who fell from Asgard, they might tell you that the worst thing to ever happen was, in fact, the day they lost their superiority.
And theyโd be alone in that, because in all truth, Thor never shared that opinion. Itโs strange because there have been times where heโs dreamed about Asgard and riding across the rainbow bridge and enjoying Asgardian Ale as he fought with his brothers and challenged Lady Sif to fight after fight (only to lose them all). But on the other hand, maybe the reason heโs never felt like it was the worst thing is because, unlike the others, Thor always found himself at home amongst the mortals of Midgard. He was one of them and regardless of any godhood he might still possess, this will never change.
Thor went through the motions in the fifties, adapting a Germanic alias of Johannes Merkel, and worked in construction mostly. He spent a lot of his time alone and in somewhat solitary, but whenever he was, the lowest of the low seemed to make themselves known. And during the nights, Thor punished them for their crimes. From petty thieves to abusers of women, children, and anyone that was at risk, he made sure they felt the Wrath of Thor.
Thor continued it until he met someone he hadnโt seen in several centuries. Someone who, at one point, had crossed paths on the battlefield. Mictฤcacihuฤtl, the lady of the dead they called her. Of the Aztec Pantheon. Thor had traded blows and had never respected a female warrior so much. She was second to his admiration to Lady Sif who, at one point he married. And in all the time since their few, brief encounters, his respect for her never changed or lessened -- only deepened. And in this new normal he had found himself in, Thor welcomed the reunion of someone he greatly admired.
And together they had stayed, spending time together, forging a relationship that was far more than just a friendship. Thor will be the first to say that, for a time of nine years, he had fallen in love with the Lady of the Dead and for nine years, he spent his time with her.
But in a time where he found himself immersed in the culture of the sixties, in the culture of anti-war and free spirits, so came the strain on his relationship. Thor became engrossed in the energy around him. As a man of the people, he frequently partied. What made Thor had become the death of his relationship with his beloved. And after nine years, in the mid-70s, theyโd never see each other again.
In modern times, Thor (or Johan Bauer) lives a simple, yet at the same time, complicated life. During the day, he runs a self-defense-adjacent program that helps teach survivors of abuse, as well as kids and teenagers how to defend themselves. He teaches a myriad of fighting styles and techniques and practices, but above all else, his intention is to instill confidence that might've been lost in whatever it was. But at the same time, when night comes, Thor helps his neighborhood in a different way -- well, not just his neighborhood, but all areas of Seattle. He dons what locals and various media outlets have dubbed "The Blue Crusader", a hooded vigilante who beats up criminals and various scum on the streets of Seattle.
Thor's sense of justice has always been strong and whether it's Johan or Thor, he is doing what he can.
At his core, there is a deep desire for Thor to protect those who either can't protect themselves or do not realize they are at risk. He is a man of the people and as someone who considers it his duty to protect, he will do so without fail. To him, the risk of injury or death doesn't concern him. At his core, he is a good person and if his death results in someone's life being spared, well Thor may just find it to be worth it all.
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There might be a common belief that Thor does not fear anything. He rushes into battle, but that does not mean fear doesn't exist in the God of Thunder. In truth, he fears of disappointing those who are close to him -- or, really disappointing anyone, really.
As the literal Goddess of Wisdom and War, Athena has knowledge of both battle strategy and battle tactics. In the divine form of herself, she had a mastery over all things wisdom and war-related (for the most part). Ares was a brute and had a talent for it, but Athena could command armies, craft weapons, and perfect strategies for victory. But now that talent is severely diminished into more of a intuition for her security company. She has these vague "feelings" about how battles will go, how the protection of a client might go. It's not the divine wisdom she once had and it's not always a guaranteed success, but pair it with her experience on the battlefield, Athena is quite confident in her abilities.
Athena, the Greek Goddess of Wisdom and War, has had many accomplishments spreading across various levels of importance but none were so personal to her than when what became the capital of Greece was named for her.
Historians might argue exactly what held the highest level of significance for her and, while such is their right to do so, she has held a certain level of pride in knowing the people who worship (or used to, if modern times were any indication) her named their most important city after her. Not even helping Heracles through his labors held a candle to this.
Outside of the honors bestowed upon her from the people, Athena can say that, unlike the new God Heracles, who joined the ranks of the Greek Pantheon a lot later than most of them did, that she has a better relationship with them. Of course, there's her father and step-mother in Hera. There's a certain respect that comes with obeying their word. As someone who always prided herself in following orders, regardless if she agreed with them, Athena always followed them to the letter.
Being someone who helped forge democratic solutions and diplomacy for the mortals, it's no surprise to know that Athena is someone who can hold her own in a debate of any magnitude. Whether it pertains to Godly matters such as Odysseus and how Posidon kept him at sea longer than he needed to or involving themselves with the matters of other mortals, she always had a voice and she expressed her opinions whenever they came. This has angered some of her fellow Gods but they know it came from the right place.
Of the Pantheon, Athena has always found herself to get along with those who share both her love for justice and honor, so doubtless, her allegiance leaned heavily towards goodness and honor or just were the least problematic.
Ares was not such a person. She found herself clashing with him on multiple issues and his bloodlust left a lot to be desired for. As far as she's concerned, he's not only someone she doesn't like but, if he ever stepped out of line, she would personally take him down.
On the brighter side of things, she adores Hermes and Apollo very much.
While the Gods and Goddesses from all the Pantheons struggled to adjust or used the reality forced upon them to indulge in the Mortal vices, Athena saw it as a chance to do what she always did when tossed into uncharted lands: assess the circumstances, run down her options in her list, and react accordingly.
But she wouldn't say it was easy. No, the Goddess of Wisdom and War certainly had her fair share of difficulties adjusting. The lack of divine powers and divine presence meant she had to roam the cities like any of the mortals. If she were a lesser goddess who struggled to adjust to the new normal all pantheons faced now, she might've given into what was their new life, but Athena embodied strategy and it wasn't just for battles. Her ability to assess a situation and go that feeling of finding the best way to go through it, Athena found the silverlining and stayed on that line for as long as possible until she could venture into other avenues.
In the early centuries, Athena was as she was. In those early days, people would recognize her from the statues and Athena led armies with the valor and wisdom that she had always done (but from afar). She kept her sword sharp - both literally and mentally speaking. As time went on and the technology advanced, so did Athena's contribution to the world. She helped with crafts and other such things, though her place among the advancement of technology paled in comparison to that of Hephaestus. Athena found it helpful of her to not be in the spotlight as much.
Some time during the 80s, Athena, who had been living in the shadows, working in a company that nobody knew she had founded called The Watchers. She was one of the many women who worked for a man named Alexander Baros, a veteran of the Korean War who went into private security during the 70s. He, through various third parties, came to be the face of The Watchers, a private security company that specialized in high-value clients such as top dollar lawyers, heirs to billion-dollar fortunes, the hottest actors in Hollywood. Athena actually founded the company that it was before during the early 40s, but through various "scandals" that were started by her personally, it went through a lot of different hands.
Over time, however, Athena found herself no longer getting satisfaction so she broke away from The Watchers completely. And without her input (even if Mr. Baros never knew), the security firm fell into ruin. Meanwhile, Athena had opted to take on a more modest career and one that brought her more fulfillment than all the years being a behind-the-scenes puppeteer of her own company. Since 2001, she had been a detective for various departments over the years and under various identities, but she for the past seven years, she's been working for the Seattle Police Department in the Organized Crime unit.
Athena only wants to do right by the new reality forced upon her. And the only way to do that was to become a cop. And especially with her brother, Ares, being on the opposite end, she had to ensure that he wouldn't cause any trouble for the mortals.
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Athena fears ignorance and those who would deprive themselves of not enlightening themselves. If it is within your power to educate and expand your line of sight, Athena firmly believes it's your duty to broaden your horizons. There's always a lesson to be learned in every experience one goes through.
Endurance and survival has always been one of the core things that drove Hercules to be the great one that he is. As a testament of this, even pre-fall, he has always been strong. Lifting creatures such as the Hydra, punching Hadesโ Cerberus with his bare hands, and even going toe to toe with his fellow Gods (even standing his own against his father). Everything about him has been strength and valor and enduring through the 12 Labors that Hera put him through. As a result, especially in post-fall, where he found himself working with only a fraction of his full power, Hercules endures. He can deliver blows that are equal to the ideal male, human body (similar to how hard professional fighters can hit). Similarly, the amount of punishment he can endure is equal. Think of his body and how much power he holds as the ideal MMA fighter: powerful and enduring and impressive, but even the God of Strength has his limits. Pushing them is half the fun for him.
Herculesโ Divine Protector, Glorious Hero, Conquer of the Twelve Labors, and sworn hero of Greece. Hercules - God of Strength and Valor, the embodiment of everything great and deplorable of man, yet nothing was so truer as his devotion to his people.
Admired for his strength and revered by those who always challenged him, Hercules, Son of Zeus and Alcmene always strived to do right by not only his people but, in a sense, by his father too, or rather by his father's wife, Hera, whom he was named for. She had always despised him and had, on multiple occasions, sought his demise.
But ever the survivor, possibly empowered by his father's tenacity and stubbornness, Hercules never gave in. Even when the Twelve Labors threatened to destroy his very being, the God in him always rose to the occasion. Like a literal superman, he powered through, going far beyond the point of return - twice.
Hercules was the shining example of what it meant to be a hero and his valor was rewarded by evading the clutches of Thanatos by being granted entry into the Olympus Pantheon. Though he would never be equal to anyone, he was a man amongst gods.
"Man, I don't know what exactly happened, but I, for one, am ecstatic about it. If you would have told me that I'd be able to walk amongst my people like the good ole days, well not to use another god's name in vain, but Jesus Christ I might've told ya you were full of it. But this is amazeballs!"
You heard it from the Divine Protector's mouth himself. When he woke up, he didn't understand exactly what happened nor how he got there, but it was like new life was born into him. The artist, who went by many names depending on which myths you chose to believe, though undoubtedly the bane of Hera's existence and completely ignored by Papa Zeus (even when he ascended into divinity), he knew one thing was for damn sure.
He wasn't in Olympus anymore.
Where was he? Well he didn't know. He couldn't remember exactly what happened. He knew every bone in his body ached when he woke and that he felt more like himself. Not the version of Hercules that ascended into godhood, but rather the version of himself that wasn't man but not entirely god. The version of himself that went through the underworld and back all thanks to his lovely-not-lovely-but-totally-bitchy stepmom, Hera. The version of himself that was the Divine Protector of Mankindโข. It was strange because all he could gather was that he fell from a great height and now he wasn't feeling all godlike as he once did. If he had to guess, something happened.
But you know what? If he fell and everyone else fell, that meant Hera couldn't torment him anymore and maybe -- just maybe -- that also meant that Zeus might finally pay attention to him. Or it would be business as usual, but without everything else that made life as a god infuriating.
Through the years, when he had no only adjusted but found himself in a sort of limbo state of mind, Hercules went through the motions. Consuming the nectar, as he was told, was a requirement to not die. Good enough incentive for Hercules if he ever heard it. Over the course of the centuries, with every year needing to eat the fruit, he never found it difficult to find things to do as a quote-unquote "cover". Honestly, as the years went by, he had worked a number of odd jobs, modeled for a bit, and embraced the fads and phases of every decade. He lived everywhere he could travel to for the time. During the early centuries, he was a soldier and in later ones, a soldier but with better weaponry. Honestly, it wasn't until modern decades did he grow tiresome of war (especially after WW2 that put a bad taste in his mouth).
So Hercules adopted a different approach to being with his people.
Of course, that meant partying until he couldn't party anymore. From hippy to hair metal to grunge to a we-do-not-speak-of-the-Justin-Bieber phase, he embraced it all with vigor. Hercules has always been one for his people. He was born a mortal and even after ascending after death, he never lost that certain allegiance and comfort he had with mortals. One might say he had the humility, too, but let's face it: as much as he tries to deny it, there's no denying that he inherited his father's boastful personality. Ego includedโข.
Maybe a year or two before the move to The Emerald City, Hercules, under the alias Zeno Megalos. Fitting for someone with such a big personality, as well as presence, among his people.
While he might not know exactly how many choose to make their presence known or not, Hercules never shied away from making it obvious who he was. His main source of revenue comes from a social media brand that is literally his given name "Hercules" (semi-given but whatever). Primarily active on Instagram and Youtube, Hercules has a prank/stunt-based brand in which he, and whatever featured god or mortal (usually God), participate in dangerous stunts and pranks for views.
It might be stupid, but it has made him stupid rich!
To make people laugh and to make them happy. And he does this through his prank/stunt videos. It might be stupid, but just look at the likes of Steve-O and Johnny Knoxville! They put their bodies on the line and they didnโt have the benefit of a slightly above average genetic makeup. So Hercules just wants to succeed where they canโt attempt anymore.
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It might seem silly, but Hercules hates disappointment. Whether from his father, friends, or even a self-imposed disappointment when he doesnโt upload a video on time. Yeah, he might suffer from what all content creators suffer from and thatโs the expectations set on him to upload at a consistent rate.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ They made a monster out of me
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โFear of Death Lord of Wealth
Though it is often overlooked, Hades is not just the king of the Underworld or the god of the dead, but that he is also the holder of wealth and all the earth has to bear below its surface. As such Hades has the ability to sense when valuable resources are below the surface.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ Cause I got some blood on my hands
While his brothers took ownership over the skyโs and seaโs, Hades took lordship over the Underworld and the dead that came with it. Contrary to many popular beliefs in modern times, Hades took no issue with the arrangement of the domains he and his brothers were given. Zeus being the youngest always wanted to be the center of attention and thus wanted the โcapitalโ of the gods. Poseidon being the middle wanted to be the same as Zeus and so the ocean being most the earth was the natural selection for him and Hades being the oldest was left with what he deemed the most important job. This also allowed for his brothers to be close by for their constant parties and celebrations they seemed to be so fond of. Hades for his part remained in the underworld most of the time only ever gracing Mt. Olympus for important matters or apon the summoning of both his brothers.
However time in the underworld grew to be lonely even for the god who presided over it. Though he had fought alongside them in the war against the titans and did the other gods no wrong, Hades grew apart from the other olympians. The new generation only added to this as Hades slowly was seen with more of a skeptical glance as the years passed. The other decisions of the underworld could see this feeling as well as their king seemed to change. This all stopped however one fateful day as Hades flew across the Earth atop his black chariot.
From his vantage point Hades spotted the essence of pure beauty that not even Aphrodite could compare to, in the form of the spring goddess Kore. It was with this imposle that even Hades himself admits he acted as his brother would have and abducted the goddess taking her to the underworld. Though his intentions were more pure then what most gods would have been this remained the one event Hades wished he could have done differently only as a means, so long as it would not change the ends.
What had happened in the underworld between the two gods remains a mystery only the gods themselves know, but when they returned to the earth Kore had ingested the seeds of a pomegranate. Much to the dismay of the other gods, especially Demitar, this meant Kore would have to spend โ the year in the underworld with her new husband Hades. From there Kore took the name Persephone and was proclaimed Queen of the underworld by Hades who would rule over ther realm as his equal.
For all his intelligence and for thought, the fall was something Hades could never have seen coming. Though he had fought it with all the power he had at his command there was nothing he could do to shield neither his family nor himself from the fall. When he awoke he realized it was not just his family but every deity that had fallen from their status and forced to live as the mortals they once ruled over.
To Say Hades was furious about the fall would be an understatement. His rage was befitting that of one of the Big three and possibly could have even put his brother to shame with his fury. Hades had always prided himself on being well prepared and being nearly untouchable within his realm and yet, that was all taken away in an instant. From that moment on Hades swore that he would not let such a thing happen to his family again, and thus he set out to make his Empire again, but this time on earth.
From his experience dealing with the countless souls that crossed his gates, Hades knew that the secret of power within the mortal realm was both wealth and fear. For the first part Hades turned to that which he once had a domain over. Though it is often overlooked Hades was and is the lord of wealth and all that is valuable under the earth surface. And while that brought him wealth, Hades looked to manโs own version of the underworld for fear. The end result was the large Company of Blackwell Oil who had its hands in almost everything mankind had to offer, while in the shadows was a criminal organization that worked to ensure no one challenged its position in the world.
Hades ultimate goal is to see himself returned to his throne with his wife and children by his side in the underworld. The Rest of the gods however are not his concern and if given the choice would gladly leave behind to forever be the very mortals that they had cursed for so long.
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Hades' one true fear in this world is that he will again fail to protect his family from harm should it come to threaten them.
โT H E C A L L O F T H E W I L D T H E C A L L O F T H E W I L D
There was a time when Artemis was a storm of divine power. The trees bowed for her, the animals of the forest loved her kind hands and feared her swift arrows, and she had mastered the moon and all its silver light. Once upon a time, she was a terror to those who'd scorned her, but now, Artemis is little more than a dog whisperer. While she retained a stunning control over wild animals, the rest of her divine gifts seem to have faded.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ i never grew up, it's getting so old, help me hold onto you
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.
She took the responsibility of her chariot much more seriously than her brother. In part, she enjoyed the solitude, and the respect the mortals heaped upon her as she drew the silver light across the sky. Truly though, what she loved the most, was the proximity to Orion. Every night, she got to visit his resting place, where he watched over her with shining, bright eyes. She would've traded anything, to stay there amongst the stars with him. Alas, the Fates had other plans.
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.
When she wasn't checking in on the immortal leech that was her brother, she was hunting in the woods. She never lost her love of followers, and wherever she tread, young women seemed to trail close behind. Some were girls she'd rescued from danger, others had simply heard tales of a band of women traveling through the wilderness, and sought to join. Artemis offered them a rare form of adventure, not easily found for girls of the town. All she asked for in return, was devotion. In the early years, she did not hide what she was from them. She saw no reason to. But mortals were cruel, and soon, word of her travels reached the wrong ears.
After centuries on Earth, many of Artemis' memories have blended together or faded completely, but she never forgot the night the Christians came. The sound of hooves beating the ground raw woke her, and she opened her tent to see them bearing down on her camp, bringing fire and steel. Her and her girls fought back, valiantly. She called on the forest for aid, but she was not the goddess she once was. So she was forced to watch as men ripped her life to shreds. They killed her, and left her for dead, and while her consciousness swam in a formless haze, she plotted. Revenge, not on the men who'd wronged her, for they were numerous and masked. She'd have to settle for those they protected, those they fought for.
When she rose again, she set out on her bloody path. In between Festivals, she tore swathes across the countrysides, a pale spirit of vengeance haunting from the shadows, all those mortals who turned to that false god. She was not such a great warrior that she was free from defeat. But each time they cut her down, she rose, made stronger by rage. A boogeyman to haunt the Dark Ages.
The years fell away however, and Artemis' crusade did little in the grand scheme of things. She watched as the monuments to her family were torn down, as the remnants of her people were scattered to the winds, or forced under the yoke of the Nazarene. Few know why Artemis ceased her bloody vengeance. She has always kept her pain close to her. Apollo though, and a handful of other Olympians, know that it was love that stayed the Moon's blade, just as it had set it into motion.
Her name was Esther, and she was everything. Courageous, compassionate, willful. When Artemis came for her village, it was Esther who stayed the moon goddess' hand, froze the notched arrow. In Esther, Artemis was reminded of the virtues that mortals possessed, and so she agreed to spare the town, so long as Esther traveled with her. Initially, Esther resented the arrangement, but this only made her more unique in Artemis' eyes. In the woods, they grew close. Esther was wise, and Artemis enjoyed that wisdom. She had grown so tired of nights without conversation, nights without love. Esther unearthed a kindness in her that Artemis had thought lost amidst the stars. Under the light of the moon, a bond grew, deeper than the one she'd shared with Orion, or anyone before.
In the end, it was Artemis' own hubris that cost Esther her life. After a year together, Artemis brought the young woman with her, to the next Festival of Life. There, in secret, Artemis fed her share of ambrosia to her lover, in the hopes that divinity might reach out its hand and grant her eternal life. Instead, it strangled her. Esther screamed, and writhed, and within a moment, was burned away by the fruit of the gods, her mortal soul scorched by the light of the divine. Artemis held the corpse in her arms, and swore an oath; no more innocents would fall before her.
And so, after decades of rage, Artemis finally calmed herself, for Esther. She was an arbiter of justice no longer. As castles rose and with them, new empires, Artemis positioned herself in places of power, a wise woman on the shoulder of kings. She did what she could to honor Esther, to hold true to her vow. She preached moderation in times of excess, restraint in times of war. Her folly was not in her words, but in her belief that deep down, every mortal was as good and innocent as the woman she'd loved. The truth was that few were. Every day without Esther reminded her of the sins of man, and made it harder and harder to keep her oath. Artemis kept her oath though, until the world demanded more of her. She did not give in to the rage she'd felt once before. She approached the world with her old calculated certainty, an arrow in the dark. Subterfuge and politicking became her arrows, whispers her bow. Violence was no longer her way.
Of course, words can be just as violent as a blade. With a new group of girls to serve as eyes and ears, Artemis built influence and wealth across her many identities, enough so that she could live luxuriously, while tipping decisions in favor of the downtrodden whenever she could. Was she a champion of the people? That's likely too generous. However, in the faces of beggars, she saw Esther staring back at her, challenging her to do better, to be better. She helped where she could, while she secured herself a position in the world of man.
She carried her influence over to America, and now, in Seattle, she continues her games. Selena O'Ryan is an enigma in the city's high society. Little is known about her prior to her arrival on the coast, but it's clear that she is ambitious. Officially, she runs a meditative retreat on the edge of the city, dedicated to women's health. Unofficially, she is the woman with an ear in every office, a girl in every room. She is the Moon, and the Moon is always watching.
Artemis is swayed by little. While her family is always a priority of sorts, she long ago learned to leave them to their mistakes. She will defend them if need be, but she despises their petty drama, and does her best to rise above it. That is of course, until she finds herself offended. Primarily, Artemis desires the safety of her girls, by whatever means necessary.
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The day the mortals find them. She does not need her brother's gifts of prophecy to know that they will come again, just as they did all those centuries ago. The world is advancing, and she worries about the day when humans tire of Prometheus' Flame, and fill their greedy hearts with the desire for more.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ so many tears I've cried, so much pain inside
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โP R O P H E C Y P R O P H E C Y
Many people, including Apollo himself, have forgotten his role as the patron of oracles. The universe, it seems, did not. Apollo's songs, enchanting as they are, are ever so often tinged with words of prophetic wisdom. He knows precious little about what the future holds, only that sometimes, his lyrics light the way.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ but baby, it ain't over till it's over
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 Boreas, the North Wind, and he was not known for his forgiveness. One day, while Apollo and Hyacinth were throwing a discus, Boreas 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, where divine tears and mortal blood mingled, a flower grew. Apollo named the flower for his dead lover, and buried him at the foot of his temple. Then he swore his revenge.
Zeus had 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. Boreas' uncle, the titan Helios, held the sun, and 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.
Gilded as he already was, the sun was little more than a trinket for Apollo. The awesome responsibility of the chariot was often lost on him, a child in the body of a man, who would rather pluck at a lyre than do any real work. Apollo, more than anything, loved to be worshipped. The sun was ultimately, just another source of mortal prayers to feed his immortal ego.
The lead up to The Fall is still a dark spot in the sun god's memories. A fuzzy period, within which he can find no solid ground. Those early days though, after The Fall? He remembers those well. The chaos the gods found themselves in, the despair they all shared. Apollo had despised his mortality, had raged against these new chains. In the months following his new status, he drowned himself in the physical pleasures of the earth, base as they may be. No mortal music sounded quite the same as the melodies that he had commanded on Olympus, and no mortal lips were as sweet as those of Hyacinth.
It was Artemis who pulled him from melancholy, with news of the Tree. Not the World Tree, that had upheld their mighty realms, but a sapling, one that might maintain their immortality, preserve their godhood until the day it might be saved. So it was, that Apollo found himself at the first Conclave, eating the fruit of this new Tree.
As months became years, and years decades, Apollo began to adapt to his new situation. He was petulant, certainly, but there is only so long that one can be resist the workings of fate. He knew this better than most. Mortals were entertaining, at the very least, and with the passage of time halted by his yearly ambrosia, he had eternity to spend amongst them. He traveled far and wide, to Babylon and Constantinople. He watched as empires rose and fell, as mortals discovered new ways to inspire him.
Legends circulated of a man, a wanderer who brought only instruments and revelry. Some whispered that if you pleased him, he might even leave a prophecy behind, as a thank you. He misses those days, when stories were just stories, and he and the others had the freedom to exist as they pleased. Of course, the mortals had to go and muck that up too. Apollo might've given them music and culture, but Hephaestus had given them industry and innovation. With that spark, they created even more weapons to defend their great works, and they destroyed any who threatened them. By the time the gods and their tree finally left Europe, he was glad to be free of the continent; the taste of the air had soured there.
In America, Apollo found a new home. He'd been before, to sample the liquor of Prohibition, but the country waiting for him two decades later was much different. He was particularly partial to the 60's, when free love reigned and a party was never hard to find. Recent years saw him following the Tree, still beholden to it for his immortality, and immortality he has no intention of ever losing. Mortaldom might be a punishment, but it is nothing compared to the darkness of death that plagues his dreams.
In Seattle, Apollo has become Alexander Calimeris, a minor local celebrity thanks to his radio show, Rise and Whine, where, in between carefully curated song selection, Apollo complains about a new thing everyday. In truth, Apollo isn't doing anything differently. He's partying, and inspiring mortals, all with his usual casual attitude.
Apollo gave up on goals a long time ago. He's enjoying immortality as much as he can, uninterested in the greater machinations of his family. He will fight for them if the time comes, but it's been a long time away from Olympus, and any threats have yet to show themselves. He's beginning to think they never will.
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Death. The permanent one. He knows what awaits gods when they die, or at least, he knows it's not Elysium.
As the goddess of childbirth, Hera oversaw the birth of most children, mortal and divine. In her mortal form, Hera is still very much a fertility goddess, able to sense the pregnancies of nearby mortals and gods alike. She has no control over the fate of the child, but she is something better than an ultrasound. Her gift allows her to determine sex, parentage, even health.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her
Hera's life before the fall is a famously tragic tale. Swallowed by her father only moments after birth, she grew up in darkness, with the earliest of Olympians. She remembers little about that time, save the blinding light that came to save them from imprisonment. That, she will never forget, not even when her skin and bones have crumbled into ashes and rejoined the silt of creation.
When Zeus freed his siblings from his father's stomach, he enlisted them in his war against the Titans. He took Hera as his queen, a marriage before a war. By his side, Hera slew countless foes. The war raged on, the land torn asunder, and still she fought. She fought for her new husband, and the children he would grant her. She fought for the splendor he would lay at her feet and the throne that he had promised her. Hera's prowess in battle was oft forgotten by the likes of Homer, but it was prevalent nonetheless. She was an Olympian, after all.
When the Titans lay broken at the feet of their usurpers, Hera rejoiced with the others, and cradled the empty womb, sure to bear the Prince of Olympus. Only, Hera's child was not the first to be born. Zeus sired three children, one with Metis, two with Leto, before deigning to lay with the woman he'd married. This was only the first of many slights. Hera was forced to watch as Zeus paraded his dalliances across Olympus. She became known for her rage, and Zeus? He became known for his power. It sickened her. Watching him reap the benefits of her work. It was she who tended the divine court, she who wore the crown of a queen. Yet, her son received scorn, while Zeus' bastards were lauded with accolades and power. Wise Athena, Golden Apollo, Shining Artemis. The ever present thorns in her side.
Of course, it was not enough for Zeus to simply humiliate her. She could live with humiliation, if it meant that Ares would one day get the position he was owed. When she heard of Zagreus, the unnatural spawn of Life and Death, she was appalled. Zeus had promised the boy a marriage, and a throne, a throne that was her son's by right. This would not stand. She met with Leto, away from the watchful eyes of her brethren, and together, they hatched a plan. United by their hatred of this usurper, the two women led him on a wild goose chase, into the maw of Tartarus. Her only regret was that she needed Leto's help to make it happen.
She had plans for Olympus, for Zeus. With Zagreus gone, only Athena and Apollo seemed to present worthy threats to her son's inheritance. Artemis was unconcerned with the power plays of her family, but Athena would claim it, simply to vex Ares, and Apollo was a glutton for spectacle. He would not easily turn his head at a crown. No matter. These two were simply obstacles to be removed. And they might have been, had the world not suddenly crashed in all around her, crushing any hopes she had of redemption.
What does a queen do without her throne, her crown, or her subjects? Hera had never been forced to ask the question before, but in the wake of Apocalypse, she found herself desperate for an answer. Strong as she was, she had never been...alone. Not once. If she was not accompanied by one of the Olympians, then her handmaids trailed behind her and served at her beck and call. Now, cut off from her power, she had nothing, nothing except her family.
Maybe it was hope, or maybe it was old habits, but she tried and failed to make Zeus an honest man. Mortaldom had not changed him much, it seemed. Failing with her husband, Hera turned to her children, rotating amongst Ares, Hephaestus, Eileithia, and Hebe. Some enjoyed her more than others, though none could say that Hera had nothing to offer. Overbearing as she was, her mortal life gave her more time to devote to their wellbeing, and their ambitions only benefitted from her continued attention. Far from Olympus, she still fancied herself a kingmaker.
The occasional desire for independence surfaced sometime in their third century on Earth, a nagging whisper in her head. She followed it, out into the world, and found that being alone was not quite so frightening as it had been. She did not need Zeus, or her crown, to prove her worth. The mortals saw it, painted across every inch of her. She was regality incarnate, and where she walked, they practically begged to serve her. When Hera wasn't advising one of her children, or meddling in their lives, she found herself hosted in the courts of kings, an enigmatic woman of mysterious origins, paying her way with secrets and whispers.
She went on like this for centuries it seemed, the picture of the middle class divorcee, centuries before it would be so in vogue. Loathe as she is to admit it, Artemis was the inspiration for the next phase of her mortal life. Her affinity with the savage girls she collected gave the queen an idea. The mortals clearly needed saving, uplifting, and Artemis certainly wasn't doing them any favors. So it was, as the world prepared for a second war Helena Albrecht arrived on the streets of London, a matronly but stern governess, and the headmistress of Albrecht School For Girls. It was a surprisingly apt role for the former queen, and she grew to think of the girls left in her care as her own children. She did not teach them archery or espionage like Artemis. Rather, she taught them etiquette, literature and poetry, with a healthy dose of statecraft, for every woman must know how to rule, even if her kingdom is just four walls.
Then the bombs came. In an instant, the Fall returned for her, and her world was torn asunder. She choked on fire and ash, awash in chaos. When she awoke, she was alone, in the ruins of her school. Her children were gone, and with them, her good will. Hera had been scorned for the last time.
She grew colder, if that was even possible. Her walls became bulwarks, and whatever glimmer of mercy that shone inside died with the girls of the Albrecht School. Hera sharpened her edges in America, as a businesswoman, as a small town politician, even as a crime boss. Seattle has witnessed this queen reborn in the form of Marilyn Montgomery, suave and sophisticated socialite, stunningly effective divorce attorney, and ruthless social climber. Rumor has it that Marilyn has eyes on the mayor's seat, but the truth is, Hera has much bigger plans in mind.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ i am your sweetheart psychopathic crush, drink up your movements, still i can't get enough
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โL O V E ' S T O U C H L O V E ' S T O U C H
What was once a piece of a larger group of powers that could bring Greece to its knees, is now just a sliver of divinity. Anteros once reigned over those sweethearts so happily in love, second only to his mother in that domain. Today, he is still tapped into the power we call love, though his grasp on it is tenuous at best. Once though, he could send mortals swooning after one another, proclaiming their eternal love, and it would be real. Now, he has only the most minor of influences over the minds of mortals and gods. He has no power to place love where it has never been, but where there is a mutual love, he can sense it and nudge the participants together.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โค ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ I overthink your punctuation use, not my fault, just a thing that my mind do
Before Pothos, there was Eros, the winged god of love found through lust. Atop Olympus though, Eros was one of few children, and so, as gods are wont to do, Ares and Aphrodite conceived a playmate for Eros, a brother. For love must not be alone, to flourish. So it was that Anteros sprang into being, a boy with a pleasing disposition and the wings of a butterfly. He was born to keep Eros company, to keep him happy, and so he did.
The brothers spent those years as a duo. Eros, with his bow, drove the humans into the throes of passion, and Anteros decided which pairings were meant to be, tying people together with his own arrows. He grew fond of his position, content to follow Eros, so long as none interfered in his pairings. Of course, interference was inevitable. Soon, two became three, and with the birth of Pothos, Anteros became part of the Erotes.
Pothos and her lead arrows brought complications, wrenches thrown into the delicate gears of the relationships he so loved to cultivate. He took to stealing away from his siblings, hiding those couples he valued most from their prying eyes. He found Apollo and Hyacinthus on one of these days, and watched as their love turned to ashes pressed against the sun god's chest. He watched as Theseus deposited Ariadne on a desert island, scorning the love that Anteros had so carefully cultivated. He saw Patroclus fall, and Achilles driven into madness by fate. In these stories and many others, he learned something. It was not Pothos who brought pain to relationships. Her meddling was not required most times. To love was to lose, to hurt.
This revelation brought him to his knees, forced him into mourning. For what was he if not a bringer of pain? Was he any different than Phobos and Deimos, the twins of terror? Perhaps it was his siblings who were merciful, for all he did was ensure the pain of a broken heart. If he was intent on finding an answer to this eternal problem, it was of no use. As Anteros struggled with his place, the World Tree was shriveling, dying, poisoned at the root. With a terrible roar, Olympus fell from the sky, and Anteros fell with it.
Mortaldom was, surprisingly, the perfect antidote to his melancholy. Anteros became known amongst the fallen gods for his fast and fleeting romances. He was prone to falling headfirst into passionate, whirlwind romances that left him reeling. He entered a cycle, finding a new lover, exhausting them, wallowing in the pain of the breakup, celebrating his new freedom to love and be loved, and starting the whole thing over again.
Throughout the years on Earth, Anteros was never one to stray from his family. His earlier gripes had been washed away by their new situation, and without the weight of their responsibilities, Anteros found his siblings more tolerable than he had in the days of Olympus.
Modernity ushered the world into ever changing eras, and as wandering became less viable, Anteros surrounded himself with mortal youths. He enrolled in college, too many times to count, less for the education and moreso to be around the myriad of young adults searching for love between classes. As his own human dalliances bored him more and more, he once again took pleasure in pushing people together and playing matchmaker. No longer was he forced to watch people fall apart. He could watch the good part, and pretend it all worked out like the fairy tales.
In Seattle, Anteros has found himself at school once more, enjoying his endless days. Mortal life has only grown infinitely more interesting to him in the centuries since the Fall, and he is not likely to give it up anytime soon. He's come to enjoy the quirks of this life, and the ease with which he moves through it.
Anteros is driven by two things: his own whims, and those of his family. He does what he wants, most of the time, and what he wants is hardly of importance to the likes of Zeus and Ra. However, when his mother or siblings come calling, he is a loyal servant, born to follow them wherever they might lead him. He wants what they want, even if it kills him sometimes.
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Love, hate, sadness and pain. These are emotions that Anteros knows well. Fear though, is unfamiliar to him. He felt it first, as Olympus fell. Later, he felt the gnawings of it at his stomach, when Eros skipped a Conclave. The centuries have given him time to mull on that which makes him afraid, and he's concluded that it is the idea of losing his family. Not necessarily because of the pain (though he imagines there would be quite a bit of that) but because he is unsure who he is without them. He is an Erote, even as a mortal. All his running from them would never change the fact that he was born to keep Eros company. Without the others, he is nothing.
โD E A D - T O U C H E D D E A D - T O U C H E D
The Restless Dead often come to her on earth as well. Hel has the ability to talk to the ghosts of the recently departed. Oftentimes this is to hear some last words, offer comfort about the next world, or enact a final wish.
However, not all Restless Dead are benign in spirit. Some return as Draugr, undead who desire to harm the living. Hel first saw it as her duty to dispatch them with great prejudice. Recently, however, she found a way to bind a Draugr to a totem and thus to her will.
Born from Loki - the trickster god โ 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 Helโs People will march towards Asgard, led by Loki.
As goddess of the dead, she tends to those who died โdishonorablyโ. 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, Hel unleashed her frozen glare. Making them suffer for an eternity. Her dominion will not be denied and even the gods are not free from deathโs grasp. As is shown in the tale of Baldur Odinson. Who died and went to Helheim. Hermod, another one of Odinโs, descended into the realm and begged the Queen of the Dead for his brotherโs return. She declared that only if every creature in every realm begged for Baldurโs 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.
Hel forever claims that she did not fall like others. She did not feel the strange grip wrenching her from divinity. Not she was taken and wrenched away from her throne in Niflheim, not down but up. She claimed she screamed and begged and promised those she cared for that she would be back. And then she opened her eyes and found her in Midgard. A realm she had the pleasure to visit eons ago when she could still dine in the halls of Odin. When she found a small campfire she felt, for the first time in so very long, actual warmth.
It scared her to her core.
She fled and hid away in a cave far in the north, in a place that reminded her of the realm she ruled. And she stayed there. Once a year she would venture forth from her home to drink from Yggdrasillโs sap. She would skulk in the night, making every attempt to evade her family. Not because she hated them. Quite the opposite, one night she found Hati passed out at the celebration. For a split second, she was going to wake him, hug him and not let go for the rest of the night.
It took her years to crawl herself out of her cave, both physically and metaphorically. At first, she was content to live her life as a simple cemetery custodian. That wasnโt enough for the dead. Too many died without saying their final farewells. Too many died in the gutters of the world. She took it on herself to bury the unworthy of the world, one grave at a time. Soon she was helping the living as well. It was an ill-fitting replacement for Niflheim but it was something.
If asked, Hel will claim that she wants a grave for every person when they die and a peaceful heart for everyone that remembers them. Should a divine ask, she would claim she simply wishes to return to her throne in Niflheim, where she can once more tend to the graceless dead. This is not untrue but there are other desires, desires she doesnโt dare put into actual words. Her hate for Odin โ not the Aesir as a whole but only Odin โ burns evermore. It was he who inflicted the pain upon her family. Only when he is dead and Ragnarรถk is prevented could she fulfill her second desire: finally reunite with her family.
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The death of her family. That deep fear haunts her in her dreams.
โH E A T O F B A T T L E H E A T O F B A T T L E
Aresโ physical power increases the more intense a situation he finds himself in. The intensity can come from himself but also from people close around him. War provides an easy example of when the intensity of a situation reaches a peak. In this state, Ares is an indomitable mortal. His strength borders on the superhuman as he shrugs off pain that would incapacitate most others. The drawback of this is that his power only kicks in when a situation is already intense. A the start of any battle he is his own, normal self still.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ Fighting and running from, turning from who we really are
โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โ CEO and Founder of Epilektoi Security Services Private Investor of the Burgdorf Museum of War
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ Pay no mind to the battles you've won. It'll take a lot more than rage and muscle
The Greeks enjoyed two gods of war. Ares personified the aspects of the warrior: courage, honor, glory, and strength but also wrath, terror, strife, and pain. He was worshipped most in the city-state of Sparta, known for its heroic defense at Thermopylae. In Asia Minor, many city-states also worshipped him as the protector. In myth he can often be found fighting for the side that will eventually face defeat. The most prominent example is when he fought at the side of the Trojans. However, it does show that Ares - god of war and glory - strives not necessarily towards victory. Unlike his sister, Athena. He fights for his own reasons. Sometimes he fights to bring strife and pain. At Troy though, he fought for his love: Aphrodite. And he fought so hard that the very gods on the side of Achaeans had to take him out of the battle.
Ares was a warrior. His purpose โ from birth โ was to fight anything in his way. The Fall was one of the few things he couldnโt fight though. No matter how much he trashed and tried to cling to his own divinity, he felt it fleeting between his fingers. Forever lost. When he opened his eyes again he found himself on earth, amongst the mortals. He had walked her before. His temper hadnโt been quenched. So he picked himself up and started looking for that which he craved most: war.
And so he marched. Again and again and again. He abandoned his family. He saw no need for them and he reckoned, now that they had fallen, they saw no need for him either. Of course, he broke away from the burning embrace of battle every year to feed on divine Ambrosia, but he rarely lingered to feast. Often times he only showed up in the dead of night to steal a sip and vanish again. No, his true purpose on this world was to wage battle and for centuries that is exactly what he did.
To his delight, he saw that the humans had as much an appetite for ending the lives of others as he had in ancient times. The bloodlust of mortalkind was not so easily sated. Century after century sharper blades and greater engines of war were introduced to the battlefield. There was always a war going on somewhere in the world. Whenever one place finally made peace, Ares would pack up that very night and find his next battlefield. One could say he is a traveler. He most certainly has fought amongst the armies of the world. But he never wandered the world to see it.
But after fifteen centuries of bathing in blood, even the god of war grew tired of it. The blazing fire that ushered him ever further began to falter and for the first time in his life Ares decided to stay somewhere. Be it fate or luck, he found himself that way after the battle of Tenochtitlan. Where he met the most sinful of goddesses. Through her, Ares realized that war should be celebrated in its aftermath.
For the next handful of centuries, Ares waged war and then drank deeply from the cups of victory afterward. He had a callous disregard for the dead and dying. War and celebration was the only thing that counted, and the latter was made ever more appetizing through a goddess that fed his sins. Until that fateful week in Madrid.
For a time it was as if Ares had vanished from the surface of the earth. Some could whisper they saw him still at the World Tree every year, stealing a sip of Ambrosia. But he never spoke to a fellow divine. That is, until he boarded a plane heading for Seattle from Ben Gurion Airport with a smile on his face.
For the longest time Ares wouldโve wanted nothing more than just to wage endless war. To do what he was quite literally born to do. However, he now feels an almost desperate need to change. So now he does not search for war but for his family. He wishes to reconnect with his family and become the man he hopes his loved ones wish he would become.
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Death has taken a front seat when it comes to his life. In the millennia past it didnโt really bother him. But now he has people that he could leave behind. And the god of war has been to many funerals in his life.
Isabelโs early life is a hazy mess at best. She remembers yelling, screaming, and hiding in a box. Or thatโs how much her psychotherapist managed to get out of her before she quit. After that her earliest memory is left with her nanny at the age of 8, waving a plane goodbye on which her father doubtlessly was on. He always came back though. No matter where he want, he always came back to her.
Her years as a child were spent with an odd sense of freedom. Her father was gone often, though he made every effort to call and video-chat with her whenever he could. Sometimes she screwed up, like those few times she was becoming a bully, but he never got mad at her. He only ever asked her why and often time she came to the conclusion herself that she was messing up. But whenever she achieved something, be it standing up to a bully herself or scoring high grades, he beamed with pride.
As she grew older though, Isabel began to realize what her father did for work. At the age of 17, it began to really affect her. She wrestled with what she believed her father was doing. For the first time in her entire life, when he came she wasnโt at the airport waiting for him. For nearly the entire period he was home โ which was generally a month โ she tried to avoid him. Until he finally confronted her himself. They had a heart-to-heart that lasted until the morning. She yelled, she cried, she yelled more, and then as the sun came up she finally hugged him.
After that Isabel's outlook on life changed. She graduated at the top of her class and went on a stellar academic career that ended with her graduating from law school and passing the bar exam. At the company that hired her, she shot up the ladder through a cutthroat game of office politics and a diligent work ethic. While she did continue her hard work, she did begin to delve into the mysterious life her father had. He was gone often, to places she could guess but he could never confirm. He talked about his family more and more. She started snooping around and found out that her fatherโs name was an ancient alias fabricated years ago.
That evening her father knocked on her door. He explained that things with his family are difficult at the best of times. In time he would introduce her to his relatives. Until that time he wanted her to learn a bit about them. To do so he gave her a book on Greek myths. Isabel took it as a metaphor for how screwed up his family ties must be. It only made her want to meet his โ and her โ family. So the next year, when they had their annual reunion, she figured out it would be held in Seattle. She took a sabbatical from work and jumped on the first plane that went to the city.
Secretly Isabel just wants a family. She wants uncles and nieces and people that she could always depend on. Though up until only a year ago that was at most a fantasy. Now it could be a reality. Beyond that she wants a family she made herself. Though publicly sheโll claim that she wants to become a partner at the law firm she works at and work on a case that will immortalize her.
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Isabel has never had a big family, so she fears losing the only family she has.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ How did you get your throne?
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โG R E E N S P E A K G R E E N S P E A K
As the Goddess of Spring, Persephone can naturally hear communicate with her plants. She can talk to, and return listen to what they have to say. She can hear everything from trees to the smallest weed and respond in turn. Usually she uses this to communicate the needs of her personal garden, improving the growth chances of her plants. However, once the root has been cut she is unable to hear her plants anymore.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ You made a deal, traded daffodils
Daughter of the supreme god Zeus and Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, Kore was granted the domain of Spring and its bounty. Kore was considered the perfect maiden; soft, beautiful and demure. Perhaps it was this that attracted the attention of the King of the Underworld, as the King abducted Kore as she plucked flowers with the nymphs in the fields of Nysa.
Demeter, enraged by Zeus' apparent approval of the kidnapping, cast a curse on the land resulting in a great famine that killed millions. She refused to lift the curse despite intervention from the other gods even at the cost of mankind, insisting that the world would remain barren till she could see her daughter again. Eventually Zeus relented, allowing Persephone to return to her mother back to Olympus. However Kore had chosen to taste some pomegranate seeds before returning to Olympus, which obliged her to remain in the Underworld with her new husband. It was her first act of rebellion against her own mother, who had loved her unconditionally though had treated her like a child with no desires for too long. Kore wanted more, and Hades offered it.
Kore started being referred by her new name, Persephone, meaning 'to destroy', to fit her new image as the Queen of the Underworld. Though Demeter was not happy with it, Zeus decreed Persephone would spend two thirds of the year with her mother and one third with Hades, thus explaining the change of seasons in the mortal world.
Later Persephone was both revered and feared as the new Queen of the Underworld. Despite tales of her mercy towards heroes trespassing and violating her domain, her title alone was enough to bring fear to the heart of mortals that once loved her as the patron of Spring, much to her heartbreak.
Nothing prepared Persephone for the fall to mortaldom. From being the Queen that overlooked the departed souls to being the very soul she once protected, the lifestyle was naturally a devastating shock to the goddess. The fall itself was painful, burning and unpleasant, as though she were a phoenix being reborn from the ashes of the past. So when Persephone stood up and saw the ashes of the World Tree, she cried.
It was a cry of despair, more painful than the fall itself. Knowing that godhood was gone and out of their hands and leaving the gods to face the unknown without their protection. But one fateful fruit remained from the World Tree and so Persephone planted it, watering the seed with her tears with the hope that her previous domain would be enough to bless the fruit. And it worked. They could maintain their godhood, even if by a little, and that should suffice till the Tree was ready to hold the realms in its branches once more.
Persephone perched herself by the seed, tending to it day and night and listening for the sign of life at every moment. She refused to leave the sapling's side, fearing that the death of the sapling would lead to her losing her children once more. She couldn't let that happen, not again when she had only just gotten her son back. When the first ambrosia grew, she cried again.
Years passed and only Persephone remained constant. She remained in what is now known as Seattle, never straying far from the tree and always dutifully tending to it like one of her own children. Over time she came to enjoy the monotony, the simplicity in her life. It felt like she was a babe in Demeter's arms again, only this time she had control. And so she chose to stay, over and over again.
A modern Persephone takes the name of Cora Desrosiers, a simple and humble flower shop owner living out of a small home in the outskirts of Seattle - the furthest she's willing to stray from the tree. Her little flower shop was aptly named, A New Leaf, in homage to her new optimism towards mortaldom.
Persephone has come to appreciate the simple life that mortals have. She doesn't have grand dreams of money and success, she's happy in her current place - both mentally and physically. She will, however, always dream that her children will be safe. Hera has already threatened the life of her son once before, Persephone will be damned before she lets that go.
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Losing her children. In a cruel sense of irony, Persephone has become what Demeter had been to her. With Zagreus lost by the hands of Hera, Persephone will die and burn cities down before harm comes to her children ever again.
โH E A L I N G T O U C H H E A L I N G T O U C H
Despite Sekhmet's history of battles and bloodshed, she is also the goddess of healing, medicine and pestilence. In legends it was her that brought about the plague and it was invoking her name that protected those from catching ill. Though in her current state she cannot bring about the plague, Sekhmet has returned to her roots of healing. With a gentle touch, Sekhmet can heal broken bones, wounds and diseases of the body. However, she requires constant focus and maintain touch, and with greater damage she requires more time to heal.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ Quiet now, you're gonna wake the beast
โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ โ Physician in the emergency trauma unit of the UW Medical Center Head of Melinor Care, a charity that aims to provide medical care for people in impoverished countries.
๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ Hide your soul out of his reach
Sekhmet is one of the many goddesses given the title of "Eye of Ra", the female counterpart to the sun god Ra. Sekhmet herself is considered to be Ra's daughter, born from Ra's anger at mankind for not preserving Ma'at and failing to respect Ra. Sekhmet was born after Ra pulled out his eye, taking the form of a ferocious lion goddess filled with rage towards humanity for the disrespect they showed Ra.
When Ra unleashed the goddess Sekhmet on humanity, bloodshed ensued. Her blood-lust knew no bounds, charging into battle and leaving fields running with human blood. When Ra realised the carnage Sekhmet was causing, Ra implored his daughter to stop the bloodshed. The vengeful goddess would not listen, instead far too deep in her blood lust to see reason. Instead, Ra poured a concoction of beer dyed red in her path, allowing the goddess to gorge herself till she became too drunk to continue in her warpath. When she awoke three days later, the blood lust dissipated and the goddess was mellowed thanks to Ra pulling some of her godly essence from her.
Sekhmet as a result became tamer, but still unpredictable. During festivals to honour Sekhmet, the people would offer alcohol as a way to keep the goddess from going on another rampage. Some versions of her tale have Sekhmet awake to the sight of Ptah, falling in love at first sight and creating Nefertum as a symbol of healing, re-establishing Ma'at in the process.
Sekhmet was said to breathe fire and be the manifestation of the plague, but evoking her name was said to also ward off diseases and protect one from pestilence. She is also said to be the sister or twin of Bast, the softer counterpart and the divine protector of families and the home, together symbolising the duality central to Egyptian mythology.
Unlike some gods from other pantheons, this was not Sekhmet's first time wandering amongst humankind. Despite the last time ending in bloodshed, this time Sekhmet held her sanity. She was not enraged, she couldn't let herself be. Last time there was Ra to quell the rage, using trickery that only the great god could come up with and pulling some of her rage with him. Though she still carried rage in her, it was mellowed enough for her to hold back. She could be better, she realised. And so Sekhmet chose to be better.
She decided to lean towards her secondary domain some more, shirking off her past as the bloody warrior goddess, choosing to be a humble servant of medicine. Without the status that being a goddess allowed her, however, she found herself having to relearn her domain. She took to traveling, seeking out different cultures and learning their ways of healing. From the ancient arts of Ayurvedic medicine from India to studying with the bright minds of European doctors in the Enlightenment period. Where there was knowledge, there was Sekhmet.
What was knowledge without application? As humanity advanced, so did medicine. With improvement of science and culture, Sekhmet started to follow the likes of Elizabeth Blackwell and Mary Edwards Walker and took to practicing medicine. When war came knocking, she enlisted into the army as a practicing nurse to tend to the ill and injured. During the First World War, she had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Ares, the Greek god of war. She tended to his soldier, pulling out the poison lingering in his blood but failed to ignore Ares talking in her ear.
First it started with playful banter, suggesting she too was like him. She could hear the cry for war, witness the greed of humanity for herself. She could feel her rage come back, seeing the injustice and disrespect mankind was capable of. She could feel herself turn back to Ra's daughter - the warrior goddess with a thirst for blood; and Ares preyed on that until it was too late.
When Sekhmet awoke next time, it was to the cries of the war being over. She found out that she had fallen blind to her rage, allowing herself to be consumed by the thirst for blood. She was ruthless and destructive, charging into battle to attack with the intent to kill. In the final hours of her rampage, Sekhmet had charged into an Axis base, destroying and releasing mustard gas into the air. Sekhmet took most of it, concentrations that would be fatal to humans sending Sekhmet into a delirious sleep where she finally awoke days later.
Horrified, Sekhmet retreated from humanity. She refused the call for support in the second world war, instead sinking deeper into her sanctuary and only emerging to take a sip of Ambrosia to keep herself alive. She only emerged back into society in the mid sixties, to establish her charity during the Vietnam war. She sent doctors and treatment to Vietnam with the clear instruction to save everybody. A tall order, perhaps, but everybody deserved medical attention in war. The success of Melinor Care allowed Sekhmet some comfort, returning into society years after the close of the Vietnam war to join the trauma ward of UW medical center, taking on the name of Nadia as her cover.
In some way, Sekhmet is repenting for her past. She wishes to bring upon peace to humanity, a world where nobody has to suffer in silence or choose between medicine or a roof over their head. She started her charity for that reason and continues to work as a doctor, to be the healing hand that the world needs.
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Sekhmet has been used for her bloodthirsty rampages. She knows she is brutal and ruthless, causing the near extinction of humanity at one point. Ares triggering her rage again made her realise she hadn't changed as much as she had thought, hadn't quelled her rage well enough. Sekhmet fears she will be used again for the purpose of destruction. She fears that she will be tempted again; and this time she will bring about the end of humanity as she was born to do so.
