Framing A Moose

Umbra Rose Condos

Hey all! Was thinking about joining up - wanted to ask what the actual roleplay will be like in practice. Will there be an overarching plot? Active GMing?

Magic in the Park

In the same boat as Vertigo - I've been too busy with work to get very far into my CS, and am working through Wednesday. I have a few days off after that; would also be down to change up my character to make her of the Dynamicism Crest so we have all the crests represented, though again, I wouldn't be able to get it done by Wednesday.

The Dead Don't Die.

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Waverley Watts

Location: School
Skills:

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Waverley found herself relaxing as the police officer stepped away, leaving her and Kaitlyn to their own devices. They might not have been the scariest thing on Waverley's mind, but they certainly didn't comfort her. Waverley stepped back beside Kaitlyn, slipping her hand into her pocket to withdraw her ancient phone. At Kaitlyn's question, she gave a shake of her head, fingers already tapping at the cracked screen.

"No, but hopefully, I'm about to find out," she replied, before bringing the phone up to her ear. She listened to it ring as Kaitlyn began to lead the way away from the school, and the police that currently occupied it. It was fine with her - as far as she was concerned, the farther away from cops she was, the better. She followed close behind, her attention primarily on her phone. It was up in the air whether she'd answer. She wasn't always the best at doing so, but given everything going on, she figured chances might be higher. As the phone rang, she added to Kaitlyn, "Do you have a car?"

Magic in the Park

@Asuras Since it's not first come first serve, do you have a date we'd need to have character sheets in by? Also, are there laws in the Dark City? I was thinking about making a character whose magic revolves around magically enforcing existing laws, contracts, and promises.

Magic in the Park

<Snipped quote by Framing A Moose>

There aren't reservations, nor is there a limit to how many can take any one Aspect type. Can double up, triple up, any choice is fine.

@Asuras

Got it - can I reserve a general spot? Or is it first come, first serve? It's likely gonna be a few days before I can post a CS, maybe a week.

Magic in the Park

Hey! Would love to join up with y'all, though it's going to take me a bit to create a character sheet, especially since I have a deadline due Sunday night. Could I by chance reserve the Complexity Aspect?

The Dead Don't Die.

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Waverley Watts

Location: School
Skills:

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"I got ahold of her before I bumped into you. She dipped out early; girl always had good instincts," Waverley explained. She took the woman's hand - Kaitlyn, she introduced herself as - and shook it, committing her name to memory. The group made their way outside, Waverley stepping up to walk beside Kaitlyn once they were all out. As the cop approached, Waverley flinched, falling back slightly, letting Kaitlyn answer the officer's question. Her shoulders tensed, though, as he turned his attention to her - exactly what she didn't want to happen. She took a deep breath, stepping out from behind Kaitlyn, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm fine," she replied curtly, literally biting her tongue to keep herself from saying anything else. Her history with the police was less than stellar, and her personal punk philosophies usually put her in opposition with them. She managed to keep quiet for a good few beats, though she probably looked shiftier than was safe; avoiding eye contact, stiff as a board. After a moment, she asked, "Heard gunshots earlier - did any of the kids get hurt?"

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Nelly Hacke

Name: Cornelia "Nelly" Hacke
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Nationality: American (German Heritage)
Appearance:

appearance

Personal Effects: Gris-gris, matchbox, bottle of rum, worn flat cap, heavy worn overcoat, bone-handled hunting knife, pocket change

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Background:

What is your job Beggar
Backstory: Nelly was born in New Orleans to a pair of German immigrants - her father was a dockworker while her mother did some tailoring as a seamstress when more money was needed. They lived a humble life, with a small but modern house not far from the docks. They did not live in excess, but they never dipped into poverty. Nelly's mother taught her instead of sending her to school. Like many Catholic mothers, she primarily taught her from the Bible and did the same for Nelly's little sister, Anja, when she came around.

Stable as they were economically, life was far from perfect. Nelly and Anja's father had a penchant for drinking, and when he drank, he found a penchant for violence. From a young age, Nelly learned how to read her father. Not just his expression, but his schedule. Sundays irritated him, made him feel like a failure in the eyes of God, so she locked Anja and herself up every week after church. Bigger boats sailing in meant he'd be too tired to go to the bar after, which meant they'd be safe. She got good at it. Good enough to protect her family.

Until she was twelve years old. It was a Sunday. She and Anja were huddled together in their room, waiting with dread for their father to come home from the bar. When he did, there was yelling. It wasn't angry, though. It was...absolutely jubilant. She couldn't keep Anja from racing downstairs to see the man twirling with his confused wife in his arms. He was so exuberant, so full of life. It was happier than any of them had ever seen him. The happiness was infectious. Soon Anja was dancing with her father while her mother laughed in the corner.

That evening was more joyful than any that had ever taken place in that house. They had gumbo instead of fish, told each other stories into the night. Anja fell asleep in her mother's arms in front of the fire, who eventually took her to bed, leaving Nelly with her father. She wasn't sure what it was about him - the slight smirk that played at the corner of his lips, the unprecedented sharpness behind his eye. Something about him struck Nelly with the sudden unwavering belief that this man was not her father.

She didn't tell her mother. She didn't even tell Anja, not at first. Instead, she slipped into the bed her and Anja shared to try - and fail - to sleep. They woke up to the sweet smell of baking. Cake waited on the dining room table in place of grits, with both their parents sitting at the table, silently waiting for the pair. Nelly had her suspicions immediately, but it wasn't until she was sat across from her "mother" that she was sure. The woman had that same smirk, that same sharpness. Her mother was not her mother.

Nelly slipped away as quickly as she could while still avoiding suspicion. She packed her and her sisters' things, explaining to the younger girl that they were leaving. Anja was confused, upset. Explaining it only caused Anja to grow more upset - to the point of drawing the people pretending to be their parents into their room. Nelly kicked their bags under the bed, quickly spinning a lie about hitting her sister to explain the tears she was shedding.

Nelly didn't end up leaving that night as she'd planned. Anja refused, and she couldn't bring herself to leave without her sister. The next morning, she woke up to find Anja already awake, staring at her inches away. The sharpness had been unsettling in her parents' eyes. Seeing it in little Anja's sent a stabbing terror into her heart. On her lips played that malicious smirk. That day, they had cake. They had gumbo. And when night came and the things that weren't her family were sleeping - or at least mimicking sleep - Nelly slipped out of her bed and turned on their gas stove.

The house burned, and, as far as Nelly knows, whatever they were burned with it.

There was no funeral procession, no second line. Nelly didn't have any other family in New Orleans. No one to bury her dead, no one to take care of her. So, she took to the streets. There's a lot a kid can learn on the streets of New Orleans, especially one as observant as Nelly. The stray dogs taught her how to fight, like a cornered animal without restraint. The rats taught her how to worm her way into tight places she oughtn't be in to snatch up things she oughtn't have. And cats taught her how to weave through a crowd without anyone paying her any mind. Her ability to snatch wallets and watches as she did was something she taught herself.

It's that last skill that'd lead her to her Gigi. She was weaving her way through a crowd, slipping hands into pockets. One of her marks had an envelope - not too thick, but there was something with some weight inside. Jewelry maybe? She was about to open it when she saw something that made her pause. It was addressed to her: Nelly Hacke. It shocked her enough not to notice when a figure approached her, grabbing her by the wrist. Looking up, she found a heavyset old woman with a stern face.

Nelly never understood why Gigi took her on as her ward rather than turning her in. Maybe Nelly's quick hands impressed her. Maybe she pitied the kid. Hell, maybe it was simply Nelly's last name; Gigi always seemed amused to have a girl named Hacke helping her con people. Gigi was allegedly a psychic, a fortune teller gifted with foresight. She was a fraud, of course, something Nelly discovered early in her tenure as the woman's assistant. However she'd managed to get Nelly's name, it wasn't the spirits that gave it to her. Many of Nelly's duties had to do with spying on her Gigi's clients. Hiding atop confession booths with a glass cup, sneaking into bars to hear them drunkenly spill their secrets, slipping into their houses to find any clues as to what to bring up at their next session.

As fraudulent as her sixth sense might have been, Gigi was still a spiritual woman. She taught Nelly of Vodou and the Loa. She also helped teach Nelly how to spot and avoid what she called the Otherfolk - that which appeared human but were not. The things that took her family weren't the only kind. New Orleans, as a city of the night, had plenty creatures of the night pass through, things pulled from folklore and bedtime stories. Under Gigi's tutelage, Nelly developed what could only be described as esoteric street smarts. Nelly learned how to spot them, how to avoid them, how to take notice of strange happenings long before they became deadly. She was witness to a lot - after all, few pay attention to folks like her, begging on the street.

Nelly couldn't say she was surprised when they came for Gigi. She'd been slipping, becoming soft, guiding the Otherfolk's prey out of town with her fortunes instead of keeping to herself as she'd taught Nelly to. In the end, Gigi suffered the same fate as her family - wearing that same smirk, same sharpness. Nelly left the very night she realized Gigi had been taken. She'd planned on leaving town, maybe going North. As such, she took her Gigi's coat. Slipping her hands into her jacket pocket, she found one final trick from the old fraud. Inside was the very same envelope she'd snatched from Gigi all those years ago. Same writing, same weight to it. Opening it, she found two tickets: one from New Orleans to England, and another from England to Germany, the first leaving in a week, the second in a month. Inside was also a matchbox from some German cabaret.

Gigi didn't have a gas stove, but she did have a lot of high proof liquor. Enough to set her little shack ablaze. Nelly kept a low profile the following week until her ship was scheduled to depart. The journey to and through Germany was long; Nelly managed to scrape by begging. She didn't really have anywhere to go after the second ship dropped her on German shores - she tried tracking down extended family, but never really had much luck there. Her resources were few, after all, and there weren't many interested in helping a homeless woman find her family. She was panhandling in Munich when she got it: an envelope dropped into her hat. She didn't get a good look at who dropped it into her hat, but when she dug inside, she found an invitation. An invitation to a cabaret - one with the same name she saw every time she needed a light.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Introducing Nelly Hacke, fortune teller's assistant! Her backstory might be a little sloppy in terms of writing since I did most of it all in one go last night, but it hits all the important points.

Nelly Hacke

Name: Cornelia "Nelly" Hacke
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Nationality: American (German Heritage)
Appearance:

appearance

Personal Effects: Gris-gris, matchbox, bottle of rum, worn flat cap, heavy worn overcoat, bone-handled hunting knife, pocket change

---

Background:

What is your job Beggar
Backstory: Nelly was born in New Orleans to a pair of German immigrants - her father was a dockworker while her mother did some tailoring as a seamstress when more money was needed. They lived a humble life, with a small but modern house not far from the docks. They did not live in excess, but they never dipped into poverty. Nelly's mother taught her instead of sending her to school. Like many Catholic mothers, she primarily taught her from the Bible and did the same for Nelly's little sister, Anja, when she came around.

Stable as they were economically, life was far from perfect. Nelly and Anja's father had a penchant for drinking, and when he drank, he found a penchant for violence. From a young age, Nelly learned how to read her father. Not just his expression, but his schedule. Sundays irritated him, made him feel like a failure in the eyes of God, so she locked Anja and herself up every week after church. Bigger boats sailing in meant he'd be too tired to go to the bar after, which meant they'd be safe. She got good at it. Good enough to protect her family.

Until she was twelve years old. It was a Sunday. She and Anja were huddled together in their room, waiting with dread for their father to come home from the bar. When he did, there was yelling. It wasn't angry, though. It was...absolutely jubilant. She couldn't keep Anja from racing downstairs to see the man twirling with his confused wife in his arms. He was so exuberant, so full of life. It was happier than any of them had ever seen him. The happiness was infectious. Soon Anja was dancing with her father while her mother laughed in the corner.

That evening was more joyful than any that had ever taken place in that house. They had gumbo instead of fish, told each other stories into the night. Anja fell asleep in her mother's arms in front of the fire, who eventually took her to bed, leaving Nelly with her father. She wasn't sure what it was about him - the slight smirk that played at the corner of his lips, the unprecedented sharpness behind his eye. Something about him struck Nelly with the sudden unwavering belief that this man was not her father.

She didn't tell her mother. She didn't even tell Anja, not at first. Instead, she slipped into the bed her and Anja shared to try - and fail - to sleep. They woke up to the sweet smell of baking. Cake waited on the dining room table in place of grits, with both their parents sitting at the table, silently waiting for the pair. Nelly had her suspicions immediately, but it wasn't until she was sat across from her "mother" that she was sure. The woman had that same smirk, that same sharpness. Her mother was not her mother.

Nelly slipped away as quickly as she could while still avoiding suspicion. She packed her and her sisters' things, explaining to the younger girl that they were leaving. Anja was confused, upset. Explaining it only caused Anja to grow more upset - to the point of drawing the people pretending to be their parents into their room. Nelly kicked their bags under the bed, quickly spinning a lie about hitting her sister to explain the tears she was shedding.

Nelly didn't end up leaving that night as she'd planned. Anja refused, and she couldn't bring herself to leave without her sister. The next morning, she woke up to find Anja already awake, staring at her inches away. The sharpness had been unsettling in her parents' eyes. Seeing it in little Anja's sent a stabbing terror into her heart. On her lips played that malicious smirk. That day, they had cake. They had gumbo. And when night came and the things that weren't her family were sleeping - or at least mimicking sleep - Nelly slipped out of her bed and turned on their gas stove.

The house burned, and, as far as Nelly knows, whatever they were burned with it.

There was no funeral procession, no second line. Nelly didn't have any other family in New Orleans. No one to bury her dead, no one to take care of her. So, she took to the streets. There's a lot a kid can learn on the streets of New Orleans, especially one as observant as Nelly. The stray dogs taught her how to fight, like a cornered animal without restraint. The rats taught her how to worm her way into tight places she oughtn't be in to snatch up things she oughtn't have. And cats taught her how to weave through a crowd without anyone paying her any mind. Her ability to snatch wallets and watches as she did was something she taught herself.

It's that last skill that'd lead her to her Gigi. She was weaving her way through a crowd, slipping hands into pockets. One of her marks had an envelope - not too thick, but there was something with some weight inside. Jewelry maybe? She was about to open it when she saw something that made her pause. It was addressed to her: Nelly Hacke. It shocked her enough not to notice when a figure approached her, grabbing her by the wrist. Looking up, she found a heavyset old woman with a stern face.

Nelly never understood why Gigi took her on as her ward rather than turning her in. Maybe Nelly's quick hands impressed her. Maybe she pitied the kid. Hell, maybe it was simply Nelly's last name; Gigi always seemed amused to have a girl named Hacke helping her con people. Gigi was allegedly a psychic, a fortune teller gifted with foresight. She was a fraud, of course, something Nelly discovered early in her tenure as the woman's assistant. However she'd managed to get Nelly's name, it wasn't the spirits that gave it to her. Many of Nelly's duties had to do with spying on her Gigi's clients. Hiding atop confession booths with a glass cup, sneaking into bars to hear them drunkenly spill their secrets, slipping into their houses to find any clues as to what to bring up at their next session.

As fraudulent as her sixth sense might have been, Gigi was still a spiritual woman. She taught Nelly of Vodou and the Loa. She also helped teach Nelly how to spot and avoid what she called the Otherfolk - that which appeared human but were not. The things that took her family weren't the only kind. New Orleans, as a city of the night, had plenty creatures of the night pass through, things pulled from folklore and bedtime stories. Under Gigi's tutelage, Nelly developed what could only be described as esoteric street smarts. Nelly learned how to spot them, how to avoid them, how to take notice of strange happenings long before they became deadly. She was witness to a lot - after all, few pay attention to folks like her, begging on the street.

Nelly couldn't say she was surprised when they came for Gigi. She'd been slipping, becoming soft, guiding the Otherfolk's prey out of town with her fortunes instead of keeping to herself as she'd taught Nelly to. In the end, Gigi suffered the same fate as her family - wearing that same smirk, same sharpness. Nelly left the very night she realized Gigi had been taken. She'd planned on leaving town, maybe going North. As such, she took her Gigi's coat. Slipping her hands into her jacket pocket, she found one final trick from the old fraud. Inside was the very same envelope she'd snatched from Gigi all those years ago. Same writing, same weight to it. Opening it, she found two tickets: one from New Orleans to England, and another from England to Germany, the first leaving in a week, the second in a month. Inside was also a matchbox from some German cabaret.

Gigi didn't have a gas stove, but she did have a lot of high proof liquor. Enough to set her little shack ablaze. Nelly kept a low profile the following week until her ship was scheduled to depart. The journey to and through Germany was long; Nelly managed to scrape by begging. She didn't really have anywhere to go after the second ship dropped her on German shores - she tried tracking down extended family, but never really had much luck there. Her resources were few, after all, and there weren't many interested in helping a homeless woman find her family. She was panhandling in Munich when she got it: an envelope dropped into her hat. She didn't get a good look at who dropped it into her hat, but when she dug inside, she found an invitation. An invitation to a cabaret - one with the same name she saw every time she needed a light.

Palingenesia - A Modern Greek Gods Saga

Let me know if I need to change anything - I'm going to add some inspo refs later, but for now, her description will have to do.

Britomartis

Name:

Britomartis

Titles:

Lady of the Nets, Diktynna

Appearance:

While Brit may be beautiful by mortal standards, she lacks the grace and nobility of the higher goddesses. She's sturdy and broad-shouldered, taking the form of a muscular fisherwoman. Her skin is tan, decorated with an array of freckles and scars, her hands are calloused, and her face is home to imperfections uncommon for a goddess - laugh lines, forehead creases, crow's feet. In ancient times, Britomartis' form looked to be around twenty, matching her mischievous and youthful nature. Since she's been pushed by circumstance into having to accept more responsibility, her form has aged; these days, she looks to be in her mid to late twenties.

Character Type:

Goddess

Divine Domain:

Nets, Rope, and Wire

Powers:

Britomartis has the ability to manifest and manipulate nets, rope, and wire. While not the most impressive of powers, Brit makes up for it with wit and skill, having honed her capabilities to a fine edge. She possesses divine strength as well - not enough to match the strength of some of the greater gods, but enough to outclass most demigods. The exception to this rule is when she's pulling something caught in a net or tied by rope. In such cases, she's capable of truly profound feats of strength.

Assets:

Britomartis' assets are a lot more centralized than those of some gods. Her primary asset is Caenopolis, the City of Rope. Caenopolis sits upon Mount Dikte, a place of power for Britomartis. Built into the mountain are four towers that mark the perimeter of Caenopolis, in between which lies the city itself. To an outsider, it might look slapdash; it's quite literally a city held together by rope, built from ruins dredged from the old world suspended in the air by nets and cables. It's still in development, building upwards rather than outwards, the four Towers of Dikte stretching higher and higher into the sky, with more and more being strung up between them as they rise. The city would fall apart were it not for one simple cosmic rule: ropes never fail on Mount Dikte. The people of Caenopolis take pride in their city's design, though - rope architects work tirelessly to make the city accessible, and dredgermen compete to find interesting and refurbishable old ruins to be hoisted up into the city.

Caenopolis is a city of misfits. While not widely worshipped, Britomartis is known to be much more likely to answer if called upon than some other gods, given her constant campaigning. As such, she has become the patron goddess of underdogs, those who have faced misfortune and have few others to turn to. Criminals on the run, borderline blasphemers, and refugees of all types are likely to make the trek to Caenopolis hoping for a new start.

Stationed all around the island of Crete is Caenopolis' primary defense - the Cretian Navy, which Britomartis commands. It's not large, but it's enough to protect the island of Crete and then some. Its biggest ships are former industrial fishing vessels tricked out with weaponry, with similarly makeshift armaments. While not particularly well-equipped, the Navy is skilled at incorporating nets and fishing techniques into battle.

Britomartis' mind is also worth bringing up. Her puckish wit once used to pull off all manners of pranks has been sharpened into a deadly weapon, a tool of strategy to be used to her and her people's benefit. This capacity for outside-the-box thinking trickles downward into her closest mortal cohorts and the highest commanders in her Navy.

In terms of raw divine power, Britomartis' greatest asset is the Diktaion Antron. A cave at Mount Dikte's base, the Diktaion Antron is, according to legend, the birthplace of Zeus. It thrums with power, power Britomartis has yet to figure out how to harness. Still, it sits under Caenopolis, a well of untapped divine potential.

Primary Location/Areas of Influence:

Caenopolis, Crete

Biography:

Before Britomartis was Britomartis, she was Mount Dikte. She watched over the island of Crete a silent sentinel, high and mighty at its heart. She saw a time before gods, before mortals, when titans reigned]. It all seems like a hazy dream, snippets of half-remembered feelings. She had no senses, other than the sense for power, for life, for all the things that concern a thing of earth and stone. She remembers a titaness, Rhea, coming to her island. She was already in labor; the nymphs of Mount Dikte brought her to what would come to be known as the Diktaion Antron, but at the time was just a cave.

She remembers the sense of power she felt when Zeus was born, the significance of him. She had little knowledge at the time of context, but she could feel in her veins that he was fated to change the world. He stayed with her for years, nursed by Amalthaea, one of her nymphs, growing into the god that would one day destroy Cronos. After he left, it was centuries before she'd feel him again. When he returned, he returned the King of Gods, his destiny fulfilled. Visiting Caeno, a town in Crete, he met Karme, daughter of Amalthaea. The two became close, and in the end, he couldn't help but once again betray his marital vows.

Britomartis was born of this union. She grew up around her nymph sisters, never knowing her father, only knowing of him. She'd always been told that it was some great plan on his part - that he had given the mountain that had sheltered him for so long a physical form as a way of giving back. She always figured he just couldn't keep it in his pants. She didn't much care, though. Even if her past as Mount Dikte lingered in the form of phantom memories, and even if her connection to it remained strong, she never felt like a continuation of it. She felt separate, but not detached. A new chapter to an old story.

When she grew into a young woman she caught the attention of Minos, king of Crete. He was relentless in his pursuit of her. First, he simply asked for her hand, which she'd always reject with a laugh and a dismissive flit of her wrist. She was young! She wanted to spend her days frolicking on her mountain, entangled in the arms of the other nymphs. Why would she want to be tied down by a pompous old king? Soon, though, saying no ceased to be enough. Proposals turned to demands turned to soldiers seeking to take her by force. She spent nine months evading Minos' forces, culminating in the king himself cornering her on a cliff.

She could either jump or she could marry him.

To this day, Britomartis maintains that it was the easiest choice she's ever made. After throwing herself from the cliff, she plunged into the sea, quickly finding herself entangled in a fishing net. She was pulled onto a ship to find an irritated Artemis, on a hunt with her huntresses. When Britomartis explained the situation to Artemis, annoyance gave way to amusement - the virgin goddess was appreciative of the lengths Britomartis went to to keep her dignity, keep her freedom. She offered her a place with her huntresses. Later, when she learned of their shared heritage, Artemis offered her true divinity, minor as it may be; and thus, she was the Lady of the Nets.

Britomartis traveled with Artemis on and off after that. She enjoyed hunting, but she also had to attend to those who worshipped her separate from her relationship to Artemis. Fishermen, mostly. This ended with her and Poseidon having a...somewhat tense relationship. She'd often get in the way of his great duties with her puckishness, pranking those who'd devoted themselves to Poseidon and forgotten to pay homage to her, and helping those who earned Poseidon's ire. She shouldn't have; he was much greater than she was, much more powerful, but she'd mastered the art of not being worth the trouble.

Until the gods died, that is. The time between death and rebirth is a blind spot for Brit. If she once again became one with Mount Dikte, she doesn't remember any of it. All she knows is that she awoke to a world destroyed - and a world at war. By the time she was reborn, the gods were already at war with one another. She tried to find Artemis when she woke, but unfortunately for her, she found Poseidon instead. It was him who told her what had happened while they slept. The mortals had decimated themselves, and the sea with them.

Diktynna's nets had played a part in that decimation. A small part, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, but a part well beyond the station of the petty Goddess of Nets. And it wasn't as though there was a god of plastic, of pollution, of nuclear energy and waste for him to take his rage out on. So, the Lady of the Nets would have to do - perhaps he could squeeze what little power she had from her in the process as a trophy.

Brit only managed to escape thanks to a dash of wit and a massive amount of luck - as Poseidon's waters thrashed her to near death, she hitched herself to a strange relic of the old world floating in the sea. A buoy, Brit later learned. She went into hiding after that, putting on the guise of a mortal as the Olympian Strife waged around her. She found herself traveling from refugee camp to refugee camp amidst the mortals. In such time, she gained sympathy for them. More than that, though, she gained some amount of respect for them. They were like cockroaches in their unwillingness to die, even as beings so much greater than them fought battles of which they were the primary casualties. Enough humans at the ends of their rope could do great and terrible things in the name of desperation.

By the time the Accords were put into place, Brit had gathered herself a large group of refugee followers. Once murder among Olympians was outlawed, she revealed herself, and she led her people back to Crete, where she began to build Caenopolis. What began as a safe haven for her band of refugees became something more - an attempt to claim the domain of Sky for herself. It's an attempt rooted in fear, of course. She doesn't believe the Accords will hold forever, and she's afraid of what Poseidon might do once her protection is gone. She became something of a celebrity politician for the people of Caenopolis and even those outside, constantly vying for their faith. She and her people began to build upwards, climbing towards the sky in what's known as Britomartis' "Catch the Clouds," campaign. It's a rather blunt strategy, supposedly trying to climb high enough to throw a literal net over the sky. Behind this brutish explanation, though, is a subtler hidden agenda; if enough people believe it is Britomartis' destiny to claim the sky, then perhaps it shall become her destiny to do so.