Grijs

The Court of the Gods

I know this RP is all but dead, but I did not want to leave unfinished writings. So I posted the first half of what was going to be a bigger post. It was fun for while it lasted. Take care amigos.

The Court of the Gods

The Reckoning

4 days after Zeus' death
Village of Rivens

---

Collab of Grijs and Jeddaven

---

A sinister change has come upon the lands in Lycia. It was not long ago a domain bustling with life and commerce. Yet -- in the passing of a single day, the domain’s hallmark liveliness came to an abrupt end. Such is the cataclysmic power of the gods. The star of Hellas still shines on Lycia as before, but dimmer. The trees still grew as before, but gnarled -- twisted. Strange beasts roamed in the woods. And humanity is fading, departing to greener pastures. Those that remain are either oblivious to the changes – or they are the most doomdriven and stubborn among mortals.
A band of fighting men remained in the Lycian Village of Rivens, huntsmen by craft, acolytes devoted to the stern Goddess Artemis. For surely they need the Goddess’ favor to overcome her most ungodly beasts. They had heard of the coming of the Chimera, and seeking death and honor they descended in reverse direction of the evacuating masses to meet and slay that which brought them to flee. Both in defense of humanity, and for personal glory in sight of the Gods. They are the fearless few, the chosen ones. They don’t understand the nature of their quarry, and nor do they hold interest understanding it. Any Hellesian understands innately it is not their place to know. All this group cares for is the thrill of the hunt, and achieving worthiness of Artemis’ gifts.

Rivens had fortunately been evacuated in orderly fashion, forewarned by displaced refugees about the looming danger headed their direction. They have outran, seemingly, the storm of the Grand Aether… Or so they’ve hoped.

The huntsmen entered the deserted village with bow strings pulled, their weaponry of choice yew bows with metal tipped arrows. They were ready to unleash their volleys at the first moving shadow. Step by step they inched past the outer cottages and - as they approached the plaza - the acolytes spotted life nor movement.
The cottages were plain single story buildings with straw roofing. Visible were tables and stalls with half eaten produce and utensils abandoned on them. Stacks of lumber were in the yards, and as far could be discerned the only trace of life was a lone rooster trotting about, left without his flock of hens. All around nothing out of the ordinary.
‘’No sign of disgusting Beasts. They have not come here yet?’’

Slightly put at ease the huntsmen lower their bows to navigate around the village plaza. They set up position, threw over some tables, moved lumber and furniture to serve as makeshift barricades blocking each entry point -- and waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then an hour. And all this time there reigned deadly silence; there was no wind and no birdsong. Nature was in trauma by what earlier transpired, and the hunters were increasingly unsettled by these omens. They were finnicky, twiddling their thumbs and endlessly staring into the distance past their barricades.
‘’Are they still coming?’’

Suddenly: a gust of wind. They each felt it blow past them and made each hunter spring to alertness.
It was then that they all heard a voice reverberating through the trees.

‘’Men of action. You’ve braced for battle. Yet there is no need for such, relinquish your fibres and depart peacefully, or be torn asunder. This is the will of the Great Aether!’’

The stern huntsmen looked at each other, frowningly and muttering among themselves. ‘’Just like the rumors…’’ They hesitate, until finally one among them speaks, raising his voice defiantly against the whirlwind. ‘’We have no fiber sacrifice to you, Typhon, demon slut! We know it shan’t appease you. In Artemis’ name we came to battle your hordes -- to revenge our kin in the east. Show yourselves immediately!’’
There was no reaction, the entity in the clouds seems taken aback by such an unexpected challenge from mere mortals. Eventually its reverberating voice resounds, its source as ever ethereally unknown.

‘’ … I wonder what sound you will make when I do… this!’’

A screech was heard from the turbulent clouds as a shadow grew above them. The men looked up, and in that very moment engulfed by a red fume detonated amid them.
A deafening boom!
Huntsmen bodies were flung like rag dolls into the savaged cottages. Wood splinters around as not just the barricades, but all surrounding constructions were undone. The huntsmen closest to the detonation remained thereafter motionless on the ground. Others outside of the immediate impact zone cringe and twitch as they try and raise themselves back to their feet. They have only moments to recollect themselves, because snarling from the underbrush the terrors of mankind arrive…

Leaping into Rivens emerged a ferocious beast, saliva dripping in gallons from its gaping jutting maws – the Chimera has come -- it seeks to set its fangs into yielding flesh.
It appeared as a grotesque colossal and black Capricorn with oversized fangs of a carnivore. Its jutting teeth are so large that the creature is incapable of closing its mouth.

One of the hunters whose eyes met the beast’s instantly tried to grab for his bow, all the while never losing eye contact. For he knew such would immediately provoke it. However his fingertips could not sense the bow around the back of his waist where it ought be. The archer’s tool was forcefully discarded in the earlier detonation and, glancing backwards he saw it lying beneath a collapsed stall. The moment his eye contact was broken, the Chimera pranced and leapt at the fumbling huntsman. Its glistening teeth raring for the swift kill…

...Suddenly, a massive spear half the hunter's size streaked past the hunter's head with the violent crack of a sonic boom, moving so quickly that he didn't even have the time to notice that it was bone-white down its entire length til it'd already made its mark in the capricorn's skull, striking with the force of a massive bullet. Despite the speed with which it moved, it did not shatter, glistening with bright crimson blood that quickly bubbled and fizzed away all the way down to its gnarled root…

The beast’s head was penetrated by the javelin as its haft was lodged into its skull. The chimera was stopped in its tracks and fell with its full weight on top of the hunter.
The man yelps, taking a hold of the beasts’ jaws to keep them from crushing him. Then he looks about him to perceive what transpired.

Behind him, perhaps some ten feet away, was a seven, perhaps eight-foot tall woman, clad in nothing but a peasant's rags, charging to meet the beast, her hands bare. Powerful muscles rippled beneath her broad built, ghostly-white skin as she seemed to come up from the ground in a splash of blood, messy black hair billowing behind her. Her left arm hung behind her, flimsy and ragged, itself drooling a steady stream of the same bubbling blood, only to apparently regain its rigidity and violently flesh back into place as she moved. No words came from her lips, no taunts -- all that could be gathered of her emotional state was a look of grim, simple determination etched into her unscarred face.

The hunter was perplexed to witness this Amazonian-type entity engage the penultimate predator.
‘’A-Artemis?’’ He stammered at this penultimate huntress. With nothing but her hands she hoisted the beast off of him. It was not yet dead and she somehow knew this. Blinking its eyes, the drooling beast leapt backwards to recompose itself, while somehow ignoring the fact part of its brains (or where its brains should be) had been crushed.

It bellowed a guttural roar and without showing even a sliver of hesitation now aimed its fangs towards her instead.

The woman offered the hunter no response, focused entirely on her prey -- wild. Simple. Close to death, but until it was gone...

She remained silent even as the savage thing charged her, utterly unafraid of its approach. Only once the beast was in arm's reach did she react, diving beneath its slavering maw. One arm struck out, but instead of simply colliding with the beast's neck, it punched through it entirely, cleaving its spine apart with a single blow. Its limp body simply slammed against her broad chest with a dull thud, neck hanging from its torso by a handful of shreds of flesh, eyes empty of thought staring out into the distance.

‘’Amazing.’’ One of the surviving hunters commented under his breath, looking at the huntress with perplexion. Slowly but surely more of the huntsmen were trying to stand up. Some of them, while not dead, suffered heavy concussions and broken limbs. These mortals were not the sole witnesses of the woman’s daring deed however.
From the clouds above peered one of the Olympians at the unanticipated appearance of this unknown party, the jealous eyes of the very orchestrator of this invasion; the Grand Aether.
In truth he was one of the Panthera, the third in command of the Hephaestean faction of Olympus. His name: Barber Scionwiz

Barber Scionwiz

Like the rest of the Panthera, Barber appears as a cyborg of dark feline signature. However unlike his peers his body is highly maneuverable, both in and out of his hovering installation. It is such that makes him the candidate of choice for carrying out blitz strikes on unwitting targets.

Sitting in his floating mobile the Great Aether raced across the skies of Lycia, directing the monstrous horde to depopulate the planet’s surface beneath him as he went. He was notified immediately by his mobile’s software that one of the Chimera ceased functioning. Never before had this happened during an engagement with mere Hellesians, and so his monitor lens zoomed in at the coordinates of his Chimera's neural signal vanishing…
Indeed he perceived there a new presence; some ghostly woman in rags. She had to be mortal, for all Olympians are meticulously registered in the database. The Great Aether pans his lens closer to her face.

Her face was pale and young. Badly scarred, yet eerily difficult to look away from, almost like a compulsion. Nothing aligns her features to anything in the Olympian database…
‘’No matter!’’ Barber exclaims defiantly. ‘’I care not for this little intrusion. She is no match for the godlike prowess of the last batch of Chimera!’’
He pushes a red button indicated with ‘Goblin Mode’...
Fierce howls reverberate through the air from the Lycian countryside. Their ominous bellows reveal the beasts are many. The closest Chimeras close in on Rivens with terrifying speed.
The hunters too were made aware of their approach. Most of them, the living ones, have collected themselves.
‘’We should leave now. They are too strong – and backed by the Wrath of the Gods.
Mistress! Avatar of Artemis!’’ The Captain of the Hunt calls out to the unknown goddess.
‘’You should come with us in organized withdrawal. We needn’t die needlessly…’’

Too late: two Chimeras appear nigh her, considerably smaller ones but ingrained with ungodly speed. They are specifically designed to be the fastest, swiftest moving biological constructs in Hellas. For once they have caught your scent, you can never hope to outrun their predation…
The two lionesque beasts leap with drooling jutting fangs to single-mindedly tear out the goddess’ throat.

The woman lets out a sharp, guttural laugh -- her arms shoot out, faster than the beasts can hope to react, each powerful hand finding purchase around one of their throats, clamping down tight. She handles them like helpless, inconsequential pets, eyes flicking toward the Grand Aether hovering in the clouds, cold and angry, staring daggers.

"It doesn't matter how many of your pathetic little monstrosities you send after me!" She guffawed, crushing their spines in her grasp with a simple flex of her hands and a wet, sickening crack, the bodies uselessly collapsing to the dirt.

"Instead, you insipid little worm, I have a message for you to convey to your Master." The woman raised her voice to the sky.

‘And he won’t hear it, since you’ll be dead!’ Barber thinks to himself as he looks at the radar of his board. Ah, the real deal is approaching – the most fine-tuned predator of all. A personal favorite of the Aether.
Though its speed is held back by its cumbersome weight, it is large, vast and powerful. A beast that appears in suffering, covered in blotches of diseased pale skin and grisly horns sticking from its spinal cord. Borne of torment and locked in perpetual ravenous hunger, it is adorned with scythed appendages sprouting from its shoulderblades – appendages resembling tentacles of hard sinew, muscle and skin tipped with bladed bone-like razors.

Its approach left a trail of hewn and felled trees in its wake, and in mere moments its appearance tore through the buildings of Rivens. Purveying the environment by smell, it already knew the coordinates of the woman as its scythed appendage – like the crack of a whip – crashed out from the nearby walls to cleave her in half.
The group of hunters, taken aback by its sudden appearance had but seconds to react before three of them too were cleft in twain by the beasts’ scythes.
They shriek as their gore splatters on the grass – the collateral in the Hunt of the Apex Chimera.

‘’In name of my master, ARTEMIS! All interlopers in the Mortal Village of Rivens are sentenced to death!’’ Proclaims the Grand Aether.

“Your lies mean nothing, filth. The rest of you, flee! I will deal with this murderer.”

The Court of the Gods

>Let me know if I need to change anything in my post, as I kinda wrote it on autopilot.

@Zyx

Not a very inspired post, but at least it gets some momentum going.

The Court of the Gods

The retainers of

Three days after Zeus’ death

---

In the depths of the Hephaestean lair, accompanied by endless clanking metal and pulsating plasma engines is the conniving jittering and tittering of a wicked breed.
Black prismatic cubes glitter in the reflective light of a thousand beaming buttons. Metal, tubes and roaring engines abound in otherwise unlit rooms. These are the hardware operating chambers where the upper Panther Platoon do the bidding of Hephaestean Protocol 2X v.21.

Beneath the level of the operating chambers are the levels where none of the Panthers really ever go. Not without protective automaton suits and forged masks anyway.
For these are the lairs to which half made experiments are relegated – the much dreaded Hephaestean menagerie, where madness lives.
Stored in this deepest level are the unwelcome shrill screaming of deformed animals, overseen by the cold unfeeling monitor lens of the ascended feline. Sounds and sights so nerve wracking that a normal human would not deign to peruse, but by anxiety be driven to look away.
Only the truly calloused thrive in the subterranean blighted world of the cat.

Not A Cat, but many.

With a snick and sneer the cats leer at one another from over their workbenches and customized monitors in the lair’s black prismatic laboratoria. The air was as ever tense with competition -- and musky pheromones.

The fellest leer was undeniably that of the wicked Hyperiax Dosteclopeles. The Extra-ascendent among the panthers of the Hephaestean workshop. This title elevated him over the others, for it denoted highest standing with Coeus. The smartest and cruelest of all the Panther Platoon, and also the most disliked by his peers.
Encased in a dark gold suit of ornamental metal, his feline distinction is evidenced mostly by the perking ears forged into his visor. Out of all the Panthera his countenance is the most stately. Though his unhinged nature is anything but.

Hyperiax Dosteclopeles

He was just reassembling his plasma onyx sphere when the whole installation binding it came tumbling down thither and hither, pieces of scrap and molten blobs of neuro plasma besmirching his desk. Infuriating – this was the last straw -- Hyperiax was going to give his leering colleagues a piece of mind.

"Skra skra.. trash! TRAAASH!
Where is the psychotropic Stygian spectrum of Hades?
Why haven't I gotten it?
And where… Skra! Pray where… Where is the damnable skra skra.. writ of Hermes?’’
Hyperiax slams his gold clawed fist on his desk, hitting a stray blob of plasma and splattering slimy droplets across the room.
‘’Transmit to Aether to kill those SNEAKING humies FASTER."

Gentle Raeditorious Strato-Jones was addressed during the first part of Hyperiax' irate scolding, as he was previously sent to the Underworld. He was made to withdraw in part to the spray employed on him as he deigned to approach the extremities of Hades’ realm.
He was waiting for his Extra-ascendent to stop monologuing before he could finally stammer his defense:
"Hades is so hecking mean Extra-ascendent! He just wouldn't let me near the stygian core spectrum last time I was dollypandering and philandering his resort. Makes me sad!"
Raeditorious is the only cat that actually looks the part, rather than being some chimeric anthropomorphic cyborg construction as most of the Panthera are – He is instead lite, with fuzzy red fur and appears to others in the flesh, despite being mostly seated in a large hoverboard – however none of its machinery is integrated to his organic matter and he could at will disembark.

Raeditorious Strato-Jones

The Extra-ascendant flat-out ignores him as he turns to a different monitor.
‘’Computer X1.Z -- initiate the femto-clarion astrolabe! Taze the Aether for a transmission immediately!’’
The software duly complies and sends a notification to the Grand Aether. Surprisingly it took only seconds before the Hephaestean workshop received a response, which read as follows:

The villages:
-Eznaret.
-Deucalet.
-Saphe.
-Terraret.
-Cobolo.
Duly secured. All fibers eradicated. No trace of Olympian make.
Human fatalities: 3086
Now advancing south-westward on villages Sizhe, Lonville, Rivens and others.
Transmission complete.

The Grand Aether

‘No trace of Olympian make’…
The most upsetting detail to appear on his screen and Hyperiax clenches his clawed fist reading it. He hisses.
‘’Much of this would've been averted.. skra.. if Hades would permit us entry to his nether tricolor Stygian complex hardware magimajick heehree skra!
AND IF HERMES WASN’T A FIFTH COLUMNIST.’’
A wild accusation to be sure, but one readily taken for true in these confines.

Weighing the possibilities and future approaches, drawbacks and hypotheticals, the Extra-ascendent grows more unhinged with the second. His mind spinning so fast that he barely manages to finish a sentence before his words devolve, as they so sporadically do, to maniacal ticks and inane muttering.
‘’Skra skra heehehehehe.. I shall inject more plasma ether into the homerian tetrachromic vessels.. and unloose the hyper quantum voltage reserves to scan the whole province if need be. Yes. That is what I will do!
Meanwhile -- Unleash the next batch of Chimera.. and send XAVICULUS BROWN to Hades with a NEW proposal. The sooner we obtain the software, the faster we can advance to the next step.
In the guise of bargain he will forage intel and copy Stygian core data to the portable plasma floppy that I will duly provide.’’

Having overheard his summons, Xaviculus’ vessel hoists itself from his workbench with a cumbersome creak to trod reluctantly towards Hyperiax.
Xaviculus Brown similarly to his Extra-ascendent is wholly encased in metal. But unlike the shimmering dark and gold polished surface of his superior, Xaviculus’ suit is weathered, dusted and rusted. His overall model stout, hunched and squat. His visor has two bulbous iron eyes which is the only real allusion to a cat-like design.

Xaviculus Brown

With a hoarse monotone voice he asks:
‘’And how vill I convince the Stygians to let me access zhe data on .a floppy disc?’’
‘’Skra! Trash!’’ Hyperiax screams aloud, perhaps moreso directed at himself than Xaviculus.
‘’Inserting the plasma floppy into the system… …you foretell either Hades or his lickspittles, it is part of maintenance to update Hades’ security apparatus... While simultaneously modifying it to accommodate the feline algorithm! Skra skra!"

Raeditorious applauds his Extra-ascendent’s bold plan, slapping his two front paws in attempted clapping. The paw pads muffle the sound of each clap and thereby his applause goes unacknowledged.
"That's hecking chonkers, Hyperiax! I could’ve never thought of it."

‘’Verry vell, if you decree so Extra-ascendent. Shall I bring a gieft?’’
‘’Yes. Deodorant so that you won’t have to smell his fetid corpses!’’ Everyone in the room chuckled.

The Court of the Gods

INFODUMP for context: Brief history of the Mortal Realm of Herea

In the many centuries humanity had populated Hellas, even in their ages of stagnation, there were equal periods of growth, upheaval and some minor innovations.
Before the Coming of the Gods, when the first human colony's central authority waned, new orders emerged to supplant it across the planet’s colonial possessions. One order in particular brought the islands of the north-eastern archipelago under their thumb, a domain that would later come to be named: The Presidom of Herea, in honor of the Consort to the King of the Gods.

Though Zeus is rightfully acknowledged as greatest of the gods, there it is Hera who is the object of special reverence. A national favorite, a symbol of royalty. Herea’s whole royal family grew out of a personality cult built around Queen Hera.

Herea is ruled by a hereditary president. Of course their presidents are anything but by the standards of Arith: president is simply their word for 'king'. Since this is the term their ancestors used for position of highest acting sovereign in immemorial epochs of yore.
Presidential candidates from the ruling clan are presented in the Temple of Hera, for her statue to pick a favorite contender.

The Royal House believes Hera herself passes judgment: in truth, it is a lowly bureaucrat in Olympus who is enlisted with overseeing mortal politics instead. Hera herself, let alone Zeus, are barely as involved as they were in the early centuries.
Currently it is President Mickon Ian who sits in the Golden Office of Herea, the man who holds the separate island districts together in the sacred name of his patron Goddess.

His presidential palace from where he widely rules is an ancient building, perhaps a thousand years old, made with ancestral masonry using techniques long forgotten. It is such an impressive feat of engineering that its survival is testament to its sophisticated design, enduring centuries of societal collapse.
But, how their distant ancestors ever made this cyclopean building is an enigma to its present day occupants.
The lower section of this palace houses a shrine to a much newer Goddess, a Goddess whose name is on many a Herean’s lips in recent decades; Hera's daughter, the Divine Princess Hebe.

It is at the Palace Shrine where the Hebite Castes highest leadership usually congregates. Its leader, the Hierophant Bartolomeu Ian himself was born of the Royal clan of Herea, a second cousin of ruling President Mickon.
In contrast to most shrines of Hebe, which are very much open and public forums, the Palace Shrine is such a reclusive elitist locale that it tends to be where the caste performs its most secretive and scandalous rituals. A place so remote and restricted that not even the gods, up to even Hebe herself, have full knowledge of what transpires there. The Demigod Chaos and his bureaucratic underlings ensure every shrine is monitored by Olympus, however through insider intel the Hebite Caste is aware which corners of the shrine get monitored, and which ones are obscure…

The monitoring is not the only safety protocol. A squadron of mortal temple soldiers with augmented weapons they themselves do not know the nature of stand watch in the vicinity. Their weapons are known as the Lightning Lances. And those privileged few who carry them are tasked to ensure ordinary mortals do not desecrate shrines where Olympians may-or-may-not congregate. A select few, a holy band. Handpicked warriors whose allegiance lies not with Kings or Presidents, but is pledged directly to Olympus.
Of note is that no mortal is allowed ownership of an augmented weapon; they are leased to handpicked soldiers by an agent of Olympus known as the God’s Heraldion. Failure to return an augmented weapon when time is due has severe consequences.

THE HEREAN PALACE COMPLEX

The day of old Zeus’ death
_____________________________________________________

A photographic portrait of Hera, a gift of Olympus, hangs triumphantly in the great hall of the Herean palace as one of their most prized relics. Such vivid realistic imagery, as though a window into a timeless world, astounds even the mortal royals. A reminder that only the magic of Olympus enables such wonder. While scribes and dignitaries of the Herean presidency scuttle about in a honeycomb-resembling complex of palace chambers -- going upwards into hundreds of distinct palace floors -- so too does the palace’s domain penetrate into the crust of the planet deep underground. Several of the deepest floors were ordained property of the Royal Cult of Hebe. But perhaps most importantly, one of them was the location of Thaumaturgist Felix’ laboratorium. The place of Magic.

Among the Palace’s visitors that day was the Hierophant Bartolomeu Ian, the counterpart of President Mickon’s worldly authority. Having paid his respect to the portrait of Hera, the Hierophant was to be transported to the deepest section of the building by elevator to link up with the other Hebites.

Elevator? Indeed; an ancient innovation that mortals today have no know-how of managing in its original form. But allegedly it was a self-moving mode of transportation. Today, however, the elevator functions through the tedious toiling of servants propelling it up and down by hand and pulley. For the Herean Palace is such a colossal building that moving from one side to another by stairs alone would leave any save the most durable athlete morbidly exhausted.

Palace Underground, Lair of the Hebite Caste

In deep contemplation Felix read the writ placed in his hands over and over, inspecting each side. Then he held it against a lamp – looking for hidden marks, perhaps coded language. None; the message was plain and concise as day. So focused was he in his frantic analysis that even the noise of heavy pounding footsteps walking down the brittle wooden stairs wasn’t enough to disrupt his attention. Down from those stairs leading to the door opening appeared Bartolomeu, a large, dark-blonde bearded man of tanned complexion. His tallness and imposing stature was already betrayed by the tremor of his approach. His large frame was draped in ornate blue robes with floral motifs and the ouroboros crest sewn large to the robe’s back, indicative of his high religious authority.

"Mega Khaire, Hierophant." The gaunt man spoke without so much as turning his head since he could identify the person entering by their footsteps alone. Felix’ gaze remained icily fixed on the fumbled parchment in his hands.

His appearance stood in stark contrast to that of Bartolomeu’s, for Felix was short, skinny and of a sickly pallor. This in spite of his physical longevity and enduring health. He donned a dark coat with the occasional satchels of tools strapped to it, and a brass engine perforated into his shoulders that supplied the man with the nutrients to stay alive and hale for as long as he had.

‘’Thaumaturgist Felix, you requested for me with utmost urgency? I trust it is as important as you made it seem. The caste had been called for an important assignment. The late King’s widow is concerned about her longevity and seeks the Goddess's blessing. So I ask you keep it terse.’’

The bearded man’s voice reverberated into the laboratorium as he dispassionately lit up a cigar.

‘’Yes... Urgency... You'll find this too is in the context of late Kings. My crow Chimera from the Hephaestean workshop picked up this message, and on it is… an announcement, let’s say.’’
Felix cracked a reassuring smile.
‘’You may find it’s potentially the greatest news we’ve had in decades.’’

The Hierophant, already impatient that the Thaumaturgist wasn’t getting to the point, took a puff of the cigar before motioning his hand at him. ‘’Get on with it. Show me that little paper.’’
The Thaumaturgist cautiously held out the paper message to the Hierophant, who snatched it and raised it before his eyes. His expression quickly darkened upon reading the first few lines.

_______________________

BY DECREE OF THE LORD OF OLYMPUS

The Highest, King of the Gods, Father of All:
ZEUS

Let it be known that Zeus is dead. His rightful Heir – forever may he rule – has succeeded him to the divine name and mantle of Zeus.

Hephaestus, God of Engineers, is formally invited to a gathering of the High Pantheon at Zeus’ palace in Mount Olympus, on the noon of the day following receipt of this note. Zeus will accept oaths of fealty, and make the first announcements of his reign.

Signed, Zelos
Majordomo of the Highest Palace, Servant of Zeus Almighty
___

Felix reacted with a satisfied smirk.
‘’Before you ask; no, it’s not falsified. The King of the Gods himself has truly finally succumbed. T’is a mighty blow to Olympus. Their whole power structure destabilized. This death brings us one step closer to—‘’
‘’You called this the greatest news in decades?!’’ The High Priest yelled, thundering through the underground lair. The cigar fell from his mouth. ‘’Are you at wit’s end? This is cataclysmic news! Terrifying news! Civilization as we know it may well end!’’
Not having anticipated this reaction from the Hierophant, Felix stammered:
‘’B-but there is a new Zeus. He dons the same name and identity. Surely that means Olympus has no intention of making sudden unanticipated changes. While simultaneously its control is assumed by an inept, inexperienced greenhorn. This should be good for us all around--’’
The Hierophant barked, ‘’Since when do High Pantheonist gods die? What does that mean? Zeus is supposed to be centuries older than even you! And who is this successor? Another Zeus? How do you know of his ineptitude, or inexperience? It seems to me this new king will only be more robust, and harder to influence than the last. ’’
The Hierophant angrily crushed the dropped cigar under his foot. Smoldering grey ashes were stamped to the concrete floor. ‘’This is a setback.. a setback detrimental to our influence sphere…’’

‘’Hear hear. All is not yet lost. Hebe Dia is in Olympus right now, doubtless she has received much the same news as we covertly have. We need to trust in her ability to gain New Zeus’ special favor.’’
‘’Hebe Dia is a gullible bimbo. That daft girl isn’t going to do anything without our direction. Gah!’’
The priest kicked against a lab stool, crashing it to the floor. The Thaumaturgist became increasingly worried that the Hierophant might combust into a full-blown rampage at this pace. He never saw Bartomoleu lose his cool like this. Under sufficient weight and pressure a whole different side, unknown even to him, had been revealed.

A long, tense silence filled the subterranean air. Collecting himself, Bartolomeu lit up a second cigar and let out a concentrated puff of smoke through his nostrils. Then he took a second glance at the message, while further fumbling it between his fingers.

Breaking the silence, he asked with a bit more composure: "Where is Chaos? Doubtless he had access to this news from Olympus itself. We must keep this note hidden from him. Nay, destroy it immediately. Or it will be us on the thunder block next.’’ The Hierophant crumpled the piece of parchment, preparing to burn it to ashes using his lighter. But Felix interjects:
"No, give it to me. Their advanced thaumaturgy might be able to undo the flame's work and reconstruct the ashes. We need to dissolve it to be sure.’’
The Hierophant threw the crump of paper at him. Felix placed it on his desk while gathering up the materials to brew a powerful acid concoction.
‘’You wager Chaos is on his way to Olympus as we speak?’’ The Hierophant asked.
‘’No, we talked this morning. The sole thing on his mind was the outfitting of the Palace Regiment. Apparently some of the equipment went missing. He’s not the type to let that slide. That Chaos... He's both our strongest asset, and our greatest threat. I tried to cozy up to him before, but that man will never afford you the time of day…

...I do wonder what he is up to right now."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

CHAOS

Later on the same day of Zeus' death.

A gold evening star shone over the village of Axavil, washing the hamlet in a fiery glowing hue. This was a rustic, agrarian hamlet that oversaw much of essential sweet potato produce and dairy from livestock in the rolling southern regions of the Herean domain. Because it was essential for the President to exercise direct influence in this area, many of the locals were enlisted, or outright levied, to the Royal household. Not just suppliers of food, but manpower.
An old retired veteran, carrying scars as medals from skirmishes with the nation across the channel, soaked in the sunlight on his scarred face in the twilight years of his life.

The old man sat in a wheelchair on the porch of his concrete manor, for his legs that had once endured many brutal marches could no longer sustain his growing pot belly. And with a satisfied smirk the veteran looked over his seasonal yield, (part of which doubtlessly disappeared into said belly) where the serfs were finishing up hauling in the harvest. The old man was loaned this farmland from the President, to whom he was obligated to turn over an annual tribute of produce.
As befitted a former soldier, he was committed to continue serving the Golden Office even in retirement. All around he remained in good standing with the elite of this realm and a devoted servant of the gods. Therefore it came as a surprise to have an unsuspected visitor dawning on his estate from on high.

Wrapped in a flaming cloak a slow comet, like tumbling fireworks, descended near his farmland in clear view of his manor. In the twilight sky its flaming presence was initially perfectly camouflaged in the fiery glow of that evening.
But with a soft reverberating tremor following from its landing, the whole of Axavil could sense the arrival. To those who knew what it meant, the foreboding it filled them with instantly made them withdraw into their homes for an early conclusion to their workday.
Once the smoldering fire dissipated, a figure emerged: a man, majestic and dark, with long dark braided hair, intense and black flashing eyes and heavy brows, and clothed in gaudy metal plates paired with deep red swirling wraps of robe.
Without ever blinking, the fiery man's eyes locked on that of the old man sitting motionless and bemused on his porch. The old man understood immediately that this was an Olympian, perhaps even a god. And with this realization dawning on him, the old man promptly raised a gnarled fist to beat his chest in salute, and raised his chin: "Salvé Olympus!"
No response came from the Olympian as he trod ominously quiet towards the porch. Until, with a sudden leap, launched himself on top of it. One could tell he wasn’t a mere man. His presence felt profound. It felt majestic. The Old man had but seconds to take it in, before the Olympian cut straight towards the purpose of his visit.

"One Augmented lightning lance -- absent from the Holy Warband Arsenal," he spoke with a deep, toplofty voice in which subtle silent fury was traceable. "It is within your premises."
The old man reacts only in confusion. "What're youse onto, grande sonne of Olympus? I had returnede mine Lance faithfully as I also relinquished mine service, as ordained by the God's Heraldion. "
"The Old Man lies." The Olympian curtly replied.
"Chaos knows it is in the Old Man’s possession still. The Old Man will explain himself, and this time truly return what is due."
The old man genuinely didn’t know. All he did was shake his head and gawk and fluster before the Olympian, and from impatience Chaos hurled his boot towards the bottom of his wheelchair with such force that the vehicle flipped and the poor man was sent tumbling meters away on the ground.
With a pained cry and tumultuous crash of floorboarding giving way, onlookers from inside the manor rush to the scene. One of them, most boldly of all.

"Leave my father alone, scum! I will end you!’’
A young adult man appeared in the door opening holding aloft an arcane weapon -- a metal lance with a bright glowing tip – which he pointed at Chaos.
Chaos raised an amused eyebrow at such brazen threat from a mortal.
"There it is." The Olympian curtly spoke, nodding at the young man's lance.
It was not the old man, but rather his son who committed the treasonous act of seizing Olympian craft .
"I begge your mercy, holy Olympian," the old man groaned from the ground, trying to get up -- failing. "The scamp.. He dunnet know... Dunnet understand anyfin..."
"Chaos is not moved by pleas, and would bid the old man conduct himself as a soldier. The dance of death that the soldier’s life entails never ends. No, the dance of death, it ends with Chaos!’’
Having spoken those (edgy) words the Olympian twitched his index and middle finger, and immediately a jolt of lightning flashed at the son.
Spastically the young man dropped, helplessly like a sack of potatoes, as Chaos trod toward him to wrest the lance from his unworthy clutches.

Taking hold of it, Chaos began to hoist it up, but the son did not let go. A death grip clenched the weapon's hilt in his hands.
Then with a desperate defiance, the son triggered a burst of lightning to issue from the tip of the lance, barely scraping past Chaos and with deafening noise obliterating the roof of the porch.
Smoldering ash, splinters and timber came tumbling in crushed fragments around them.
"…Such is the power of the Lightning Lance. Too much for undeserving mortals – mortals, as the old man’s son." He commented, shaking his head.

Then the Olympian planted his metal-tipped boot on the young man’s chest while holding aloft a different augmented weapon of Olympian make, resembling a metallic, glowing dagger. Upon activating, it flashed brightly.
In the next second both the young man’s arms were severed – the stench of seared flesh permeating the air. Their grip on the lance finally loosened. Even as the young man screamed in gnawing agony, Chaos’ black eyes showed nothing. His mouth curved slightly into a dark smile.
This time the ruckus caused the serfs working in the field to be drawn to the scene as well. But the moment that they spotted Chaos, the majority wisely scurried to get away as quickly as they’d come.
From severed hands on which the lance now rested, Chaos finally retrieved the sacred weapon for which he came all this way.
As he prepared to leave he had half a mind to leave the crippled man in this sorry state. Truly this young upstart was deserving of the most capital of punishments; however, not every mere mortal should be bothered to afford such time and attention. Olympus was over encumbered with trivialities as it was.

Turning his head at the young man, who lay burned, panting and snarling like an angry wounded animal, Chaos had a final epiphany.
"A man without hands... Worthless such a man is, to himself and to his commune. Chaos will bestow the man one favor, undeserving of it as the man may be."
And with those words followed by another flash, Chaos put him cruelly to death. His family could do nothing but watch. His sisters wept, and the father was defeated, crushed, laying on the ground.
‘’Kill me too, ye gods…’’
‘’Hrm.’’ Chaos contemplated.
‘’The father is pardoned for the mischief of the son. The son was a soldier, but the son broke his vows, and paid the due price. Death is the one thing that redeems the son’s guilt. Let the father take heart, and let him not this transgression be repeated.’’
With those words Chaos retracted his weapon and put it under his cloak. He turned, and departed in a blaze of fire. Off… to Olympus. The Majordomo had summoned him.

The Court of the Gods

&

_______________________________________________________________________

INTO THE BELLY OF THE CAT

_______________________________________________________________________

Beneath the surface – amid cyclopean walls – the great Felis gate rises. A marvel of chthonic-cosmonautical innovation. Unbreachable, it it said.
This gate is located at the far end of the Hyphaestean Labyrinth. Only a master pathfinder could have found their way through its many trials, only to have their victorious trailblazing abruptly cut short by the looming anti-climax that is the Great Felis Gate, the deadends of deadends.
The gash in the dark copper hued great gate, covered in a thin patina of corrosion, has been welded permanently shut. Sadly, it might as well be another wall. Yet at its base is another much tinier gate -- really a door -- through which a human could maybe pass if they crawled on all fours. That door too is shut however.
Clearly this lair is not designed for human entry. Neither man or god dwells in this abode, but indeed something greater...

Hermes then unceremoniously kicked at the pet-flap with irritation. “Stop ignoring me and get out here, I have a message straight from Zeus. You want to be dramatic about this he is going to light you up until you start puking up balls of solid plasma.”

Hermes' voice echoes in vain against the stalwart might of the impregnable Felis gate.
No response... at first. However the buzzing noise that was previously detectable had ceased on the other side, as though something is disturbed by the presence of the messenger god.

Suddenly with a flash, the empty hall comes to life. Hermes feels elder hypervoltage crackle around him as the walls give off reflective light. Those same cyclopean walls that previously appeared as indistinguishable monoliths reveal a series of perfectly camouflaged plasma flatscreens chiselled into them. Flatscreens indiscernible till the very moment they activate. Indeed, screens in every direction.

Noise came through them, crackling thunder buzzing through their corrosive wires. A crackle almost resembling an unwelcome hiss.
And lo -- projected on the very screens appear the likeness of pixelated heads of a distinct feline quality. A depiction that is colourless and stylized, lacking flare or animation.

"Whosoever deigns disturb my great plasmatic premises? Beware and choose witfully your ensuing words, or be smitten by my translucent thunder!"

The hall of flatscreen and stone trembles with the monotone voice generated from hidden speakers perched ravenlike above the Felis gate. Through its reverberating echoes against the flat walls the origin of the sound is difficult to discern.

"Speak, Hermesian the cawed! Make your appeal before me!"

“The proper usage would have been smote. I realise you have a theme to work into but you sound more like a toddler than anything else.” Hermes remarked, folding both his arms across his chest, the Kerykeion dangling from one hand clamped around one of the twin serpents.

“Also, my self-evident appeal aside, I also bear a message for Hephaestus, god of the litter box, from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on High, with the utmost exigency. Would you like me to crumple it into a ball or shall I swat you with it?”

‘’..The audacity to chafe me with trite grammatical erudition! I’ve already had enough of you. Begone! ‘Ere the lasers.. hrmm.. – SMOTE – you. ‘’

A fell beep is heard, indicating that whoever spoke broke off communication.
Immediately followed by a second beep, where an even more monotone voice continues.
‘’Message conceded.’’

Through a coinslot forged into the Felis gate, a projectile launched towards Hermes’ forehead. Hermes graciously took it straight to his helmeted cranium, only catching it after it had ricocheted off.
“Proper usage then would have been smite.” Hermes declared blatantly. “But enough about your terrible grammar, let’s instead talk about the Majordomo’s!” He then snapped his fingers, and a wide holographic display of the invitation appeared in the air as Hermes read its contents aloud.

BY DECREE OF THE LORD OF OLYMPUS

The Highest, King of the Gods, Father of All:

ZEUS

Let it be known that Zeus is dead. His rightful Heir – forever may he rule – has succeeded him to the divine name and mantle of Zeus.

Hephaestus, God of Engineers, is formally invited to a gathering of the High Pantheon at Zeus’ palace in Mount Olympus, on the noon of the day following receipt of this note. Zeus will accept oaths of fealty, and make the first announcements of his reign.

Signed, Zelos

Majordomo of the Highest Palace, Servant of Zeus Almighty
___

Hermes then flicked his wrist, the coin he had caught vanishing in a sleight of hand and producing the black-and-gold filigree letter that was still displayed in the air. “...So as you may have caught on, the Majordomo did not account for the usage of the term Highest even with a comma might imply the existence of a plurality of Kings of the Gods-” He began to carry on in an academic falsetto.
No reaction came from the screens or from the presence behind the gate. None of the bombastic retorts that might have been expected towards the Messenger’s beratement. Instead, the only reaction at the news was an abrupt stop to the machinery in the room. All screens turned off. All wires disconnected. The whole room went dark.

Silence.

And a faint trembling of uncertain origin behind the gate. However, no words were spoken.
After an uncomfortable minute of silence, a new voice murmured in the dark.
‘’How generous of you, gentlegodly even, to have come all this way to bring us up to speed. Allow us reciprocate and kindly see you out.’’
Then with a foreboding zap of hypervoltage buzzing from somewhere, something had been remotely turned on.
It takes but moments to see what: a piece of wall lowered itself to reveal a colossal ventilator slowly rotating as it catches up to speed, and in mere seconds reaching full capacity. A strong current of wind gusts directly at Hermes as yet another gateway behind him opens up, giving him a quick albeit rude exit shortcut out of the labyrinth.
Hermes let go of the letter, letting it be snatched away by the cyclonic winds and carried without Hephaestus’ lair - and the onrush of air carried with it a hail of particulate and dust that blew into and through the now ever-so-faintly translucent Hermes.

“You really should get this place cleaned more often. Look how all this murk is messing with the optics!” Hermes complained with chiding bitterness. “If you had not tipped I would have some very choice bits and pieces I would yank from that glorified fur-drier of yours on my way out, but I suppose you having to play fetch is enough. I will be seeing you at Olympus, and I promise to try not to drop-kick you off the mountain. Ta.”

Hermes’ projection then faded out, translucency sweeping across the edges of his image until nothing was left. That damnable messenger always has a trick up his sleeve – how infuriating! Now Coeus would have to send one of his bird chimeras to fetch that stupid note and destroy it quickly, lest anyone reads it.
Right now Hephaestus had more urgent matters to concern himself with than one turbulent postal boy… He had to leave his lair for the first time in a hundred years…

The Court of the Gods

Hebe Dia

Name(s) and Appearance:

Hebe Dia

Frozen in perpetual youth, Hebe is a goddess that underwent the finest cosmetic nano-machine tech to transform into an image of delicate beauty. The process removed every lite bodily flaw, gave her the lightest and smoothest skin, the silkiest silver-esque hair, shimmering sapphires for eyes, full lips, a voluptuous figure and anything else expected of a perfect princess.

Titles and Roles:

The Forever-young
Princess of Olympus
Zeus’ Daughter
The Radiant
The Immaculate

Frankly out of all the gods, Hebe’s role is a neglectable one. She is an accessory to her father’s rule and functions to bridge the gap between Olympus and lowly humanity. This leads to an inevitable observation that Hebe should (by all rights) not be part of the High Pantheon. The only reason she is initiated is due her status of royalty as the God King’s Daughter.

Artifacts and Powers:

-Her smile.
-Her starry eyes…
-How she twirls with her hair…
-The way she sings…
-It’s just nothing short of magical. Many a man (and woman!) would simply die for her.

Actual artifact powers:
1: Her attuned vocal cords are able to invoke a near drunken stupor to those that hear it. It puts humans in a state of bliss and wonderment and alleviates neurosis. This does not happen through chemicals but through a sound so finetuned that to receive it is to have the neurons of the brains stupefied.

2: A defensive weapon that she got from the late Zeus incase were she to protect herself. An absolute last resort. It is hidden in an ornate bauble around her waist, and when activated creates a mighty electric dome around her. It’s not in her character to want to use it, but if she must than she will. The bolts it emit has such immensely high voltage that no projectile can penetrate it without being instantly vaporized. Fortunately she has never yet had to use it.

3: Anti-gravitation engine in her armband, which has been adapted to enhance the choreography of her dance. Now when Hebe dances she is literally floating -- capable of twirls not even the greatest ballerina could emulate.

Persona:

Hebe is the goddess of youthfulness. She has an artificial genetic alteration that makes her body incapable of aging past the physical age of 17.
This enabled her to be an icon of innocence and purity, however her condition of youth also applied to her mental development. She looks at the world with a near childish simplicity. And she believes (perhaps correctly) that love is the solution to everything.
The greatest unintended side-effect of the genetic alteration where she obtained her eternal youth, is a cognitive struggle in processing mistakes. Eternal youth makes her near incapable to process drastic developments (things that mature her) to her character. Hebe will easily repeat her mistakes if well intentioned subordinates do not repeatedly remind her to be more cautious.
In a fundamental sense, Hebe never stopped and will never stop being a 17 year old girl.

Hebe carries her heart on her sleeve and won’t shy from showing affection to anyone that flattered her, nor does she shy from speaking her mind.
Her temperament is pliant and musical. She enjoys singing and has taken to composing and writing her own music. However Hebe hardly does this by herself and rather depends on a choreographer and lyricist to plan out her performances in the sanctums she graces – while they let Hebe pass the music off as her own work. After all, Zeus will be livid were the Olympian Princess to embarrass herself with subpar performance.

Hebe’s voice wasn’t naturally good at singing as it was initially stilted and lispy. The instance she showed passion for singing Zeus saw to it her vocal cords be modified to resemble perpetual auto-tune. Ever since this modification her voice has been smooth, melodic and a bit electronic. Frankly there isn’t much human about her voice. Yet to the mortal ear this is interpreted as divine, rather than fake.
Regardless of the quality of performance, Hebe’s followers love her music and will act as though it’s the greatest thing they’ve ever heard, if only to flatter her. It is rare for her to hear anything other than praise. And in the rare instance she does hear criticism, she becomes deeply distraught over it. This ties into her inability to learn from mistakes. Criticism doesn’t help her improve -- particularly when scathing -- it can only hurt her. To critique is to imply imperfection in the perfect princess.

Background, Cult and Relationships:

Hebe is a biological daughter of Zeus and Hera, conceived about 40 years ago. Quite young among the Olympians. Biological offspring she may be, Hebe’s development is hardly natural. Her process to artificial divinity already began as a fetus through the tampering of the nanites in her mother’s body. The pattern of her growth was further adjusted as Hebe was a toddler. Culminating at the age of 17, where Zeus felt his creation, his perfect biological daughter, was complete and Hebe should enter a state of permanence. From the tampering that followed Hebe would remain forever unchanged. The Goddess of Youth and perpetuity.

Relationship to Zeus,
Zeus was her dear father. Hebe had always been daddy’s little girl -- a spoiled favorite among his children. This in stark contrast to her sister Athena who was forged and raised by the fire. The sisters are almost exact opposites.
As a biological daughter of the King of the Gods, Zeus knew the status of his offspring also reflects on his own divinity. As such from a young age Hebe was genetically altered and groomed to truly blossom into a goddess among goddesses. He would arrange for anything that she asks for. But in return, she was not allowed to do anything or go anywhere without her father’s knowledge and consent. In fact, the fear of her growing up and to the point of total independence plays into why Hebe underwent the procedure to be frozen in youth -- and by proxy also frozen into a juvenile dependency on Zeus. Hebe doesn’t truly realize it, but she has no real freedom to speak of. However as Zeus’ favorite he has allowed exceptions for Hebe that he wouldn’t have lent many of his other biological children.
When she complained to her father of her loneliness, paired with him observing her fondness for singing, Zeus made a rare exception in finally granting her the autonomy to both mingle and perform musical performances for her mortal followers. Specifically the followers in very good standing with Olympus. Thereinafter Hebe became an instrument of Olympus’ Public Relations to the mass of humanity, and a magnificent one at that.
Indeed Hebe became one of the most beloved goddesses among the droves of humanity. Because -- against the will of Zeus -- she would grant personal audiences with ordinary humans following her performances. In her pity Hebe would occasionally address even the very lowliest of mortals from the dunghill of mankind. A dangerously egalitarian and charitable approach, a notion many gods would have frowned at. Something that Hebe only gets away with by being the King’s daughter.
Through her direct interaction with humanity a great personality cult emerged around her among society’s elite circles. This cult was erected with sanction of Olympus and orchestrated by notably two confidante demi-gods of Zeus: Sophia and Chaos.

Its leadership was called the Hebite Caste.
They are a sizeable group of select demi-gods and even mortals with whom Hebe mingles intimately. In fact she is usually surrounded by handmaidens, choreographers, musicians and most of all her top advisor, the Hierophant Bartomoleu.
The Caste arranges her tours and meetings across Hellas, specifically going to the dwellings in good standing with Zeus, or even to unruly abodes where mortals must be swayed back to loyalty through the enchanting spectacle of Hebe’s troupe.

Her religious adherents depict her as the wisest and fairest of the Goddesses. And fair she may be, but her wisdom is speculative. Yet regardless of the facts, many a truth seeker seeks her counsel.
Her ‘wisdom’ (or really the intoxicating power of her voice, which make her words seem more profound than they really are) has tempered the impulses of whole nations as Hebe brings peace and tranquility...

THE HEBITE CASTE INNER CIRCLE:

Chaos – A nickname that he uses for himself. What his actual given name is isn’t much known. He is one of Zeus' many bastards. A demigod lifeguard to Hebe wielding a thunder rod to smite hostiles -- he serves as confidante & informant to Zeus to whom his loyalty lies moreso than Hebe herself. Borne of a mortal woman of dark complexion, Chaos is a half-brother of Hebe.
A bureaucrat is surveying the Hebite temples and reports whispers of conspiracy and blasphemous gossip to Chaos. When the insolence warrants an Olympian response, he is the one to exact punishment. His coming is therefore fearfully seen as a sign of doom for many a mortal.
Chaos has some eccentric quirks. Most notably be speaks of himself and others in third person when engaging in dialogue.
Hebe calls him Chacha, which annoys him greatly.

Chaos

Sophia, a demigod handmaid and personal choreographer to Hebe. She was borne a bastard daughter of Zeus. Sophia might herself have been a Princess of Olympus as much as her half-sister, and though her beauty is great, by Zeus's high standards her looks only scrape average. Previously neglected, today Sophia’s association with Hebe increased her standing with her father.
She is the brain behind much of Hebe’s music and performance. The two have developed a close friendship and Hebe depends greatly on her. In truth, without her presence Hebe would be a dysfunctional mess.

Sophia

Felix, A protégé of Hephaestus of mortal origins -- Felix came from an old bloodline of technicians from the original human colonists settled on Hellas, long before the coming of the Gods. Much of their colony’s knowledge was lost, save in some remote bloodlines. Their family had possessed technology they were no longer able to harness, and weren’t capable of recharging. Nevertheless it remained in the family as a secret in the dark centuries preceding the coming of the gods. A secret – until it was discovered by Hephaestus. Hephaestus and the gods were ordered to erase all memories of the previous human colony’s history. But instead of destroying their inheritance, the Technician God decided to be a little rebellious and took their youngest scion as his apprentice.
Centuries later, the artificially augmented Felix is the lead scientist whose lifespan had been preserved with the help of Hephaestus. In spite of this he had left his old master to join the Hebite Caste instead, where he is responsible for producing the chemical miasma to enact Hebe’s Youth blessing. He has not been in contact with his former master for a century and works independently for his new Goddess.

Felix

Bartolomeu, Highest Spiritual leader of the Hebite Caste of full mortal origin. Bartolomeu came from a side branch of the Royal family of Herea – a nation of Hellas.
In spite of his (by godly standards) lowly origins, his appearance incidentally almost resembles that of a Greek God. Bartolomeu is a broad-shouldered giant of a man, and ontop of that a crafty and intelligent magician. Hebe has lent him her ear on many occasions. In truth Bartolomeu has more influence over Hebe than a mortal normally should in regards to an Olympian, princeling or otherwise.

Bartolomeu

On surface Hebe's religion looks like the most innocent innocuous cult on Hellas. But this cover belies the perverse powers operating within it.
As the cult of the Goddess of Youth, the faith appeals largely to aging men and women of affluence who dread the teeth of time. And the Blessings of Hebe are those of prolonged youth, something that only those among high society can afford. The target demographic are therefore the elites in the mass of humanity. Participation and membership of the Hebites is a status symbol, as Hebe is an icon of royalty.

But while Hebe is present to administer the ritual herself, unbeknownst to her a sinister method is necessary for these blessings to take effect. Indeed - the barbaric Molochian act of Child Sacrifice. Because gentle Hebe would never want children to die in her name, and be traumatized by the mere notion, her own Hebite Caste is keeping the secret ingredient of their bloody youth rituals a secret from her.
It is Felix the Thaumaturgist of the Caste that oversees the production of the youth miasma in using infant blood. Because in absence of the sophisticated cosmetic operating chambers of Zeus’ own abodes (where Hebe and her family once underwent their own youth ‘rituals’) this same process would be too advanced to truly be replicated, especially on mere mortals.
As such the Hebite youth ritual requires different, more crude methodology with a certain supplement.

RELATIONS WITH OTHER GODS:

Zeus Prime
In a way the two complement each other, with Zeus Prime -- being a clone -- having been matured before his natural prime. Whereas Hebe has been kept immature past her natural age. An opposite scenario one could say. To the both of them adulthood is a fluid notion.
Because of her pliable nature and dependency of Zeus, she never objected when the late Zeus insisted Hebe see Zeus Prime as a ‘second father’. Much as Hebe tried however, she always regarded him more as an older brother or maybe an uncle.

Apate
Hebe would like to have a quaint goddesses sleepover party with her, but never dared to ask her because of the frightening cold stare in Apate's eyes. They’ve never much talked.

Hermes
Hebe adores Hermes. He’s so witty, and out of all gods (other than her father) actually seems to listen when she talks. At least, she is pretty sure that he listens. His presence is always appreciated.

Athena
Hebe never knew what to think of her, but she always acts polite when the two cross. Hebe wants to remain Zeus’ favorite daughter and is quietly anxious that Athena is more beloved than her. It’s not in her nature to be mean to people, but Hebe is jealous of Athena and her natural talents.

Demeter
Hebe regards Demeter as a bit of a role-model and quietly hopes to grow into half the goddess she is. (Which due to her frozen youth she likely never will.) Plus Demeter isn’t afraid of Hades, which Hebe thinks is very brave.

Isaac/Typhon
‘’This war would be solved if only Typhon got a hug and some affection. He’s probably angry because he’s lonely out there… Why can’t he just be friends with dear father again?’’

Artemis
She is scary, much moreso than Apate in Hebe's estimation. Granted they've never talked.

Hades
He is ULTRA scary. Hebe isn’t much capable of looking past the Chthonic King’s brooding exterior. Whenever he comes to Olympus to meet with Hebe's father her eyes anxiously dart to the ground to avoid eye contact. However his scion, Zagreus, had in the past stricken up a friendly conversation with her. Unfortunately the late Zeus noticed it, didn’t trust it and told Hebe not to talk to him anymore.

Eros
Hebe appreciates Eros and sees him/her as a kindred spirit of sorts. In a fundamental sense Eros probably understands her better than any other god. However Hebe's beauty is determined largely by the standards of Zeus -- and thereby more superficial than the more philosophical forms of beauty of Eros. On this ground they may have different views on beauty entirely.

Apollo
As aspiring songstress, Zeus had enlisted the tutelage of Apollo for Hebe’s fledgling singing career, and summoned him to Olympus to instruct her on the fundamentals of the art. As such; the two gods know each other quite well. Apollo had been a substantial influence on Hebe by endorsing her philanthropy – bequeathing her values that lie in stark contrast to her father, but who Zeus nonetheless tolerated. Obviously Hebe does not understand her part in any ulterior motive Apollo may-or-may-not have.
Due largely to her position as the King’s daughter, Hebe had come to replace Apollo as primary musician of Olympus once she mastered the arts.

The Court of the Gods

Finally finished Hebe's sheet. I shall now withhold the temptation of making another god ..since two is more than enough!
(I fulfilled my vow)

Hebe Dia

Name(s) and Appearance:

Hebe Dia

Frozen in perpetual youth, Hebe is a goddess that underwent the finest cosmetic nano-machine tech to transform into an image of delicate beauty. The process removed every lite bodily flaw, gave her the lightest and smoothest skin, the silkiest silver-esque hair, shimmering sapphires for eyes, full lips, a voluptuous figure and anything else expected of a perfect princess.

Titles and Roles:

The Forever-young
Princess of Olympus
Zeus’ Daughter
The Radiant
The Immaculate

Artifacts and Powers:

-Her smile.
-Her starry eyes…
-How she twirls with her hair…
-The way she sings…
-It’s just nothing short of magical. Many a man (and woman!) would simply die for her.

Actual artifact powers:
1: Her attuned vocal cords are able to invoke a near drunken stupor to those that hear it. It puts humans in a state of bliss and wonderment and alleviates neurosis. This does not happen through chemicals but through a sound so finetuned that to receive it is to have the neurons of the brains stupefied.

2: A defensive weapon that she got from the late Zeus incase were she to protect herself. An absolute last resort. It is hidden in an ornate bauble around her waist, and when activated creates a mighty electric dome around her. It’s not in her character to want to use it, but if she must than she will. The bolts it emit has such immensely high voltage that no projectile can penetrate it without being instantly vaporized. Fortunately she has never yet had to use it.

3: Anti-gravitation engine in her armband, which has been adapted to enhance the choreography of her dance. Now when Hebe dances she is literally floating -- capable of twirls not even the greatest ballerina could emulate.

Persona:

Hebe is the goddess of youthfulness. She has an artificial genetic alteration that makes her body incapable of aging past the physical age of 17.
This enabled her to be an icon of innocence and purity, however her condition of youth also applied to her mental development. She looks at the world with a near childish simplicity. And she believes (perhaps correctly) that love is the solution to everything.
The greatest unintended side-effect of the genetic alteration where she obtained her eternal youth, is a cognitive struggle in processing mistakes. Eternal youth makes her near incapable to process drastic developments (things that mature her) to her character. Hebe will easily repeat her mistakes if well intentioned subordinates do not repeatedly remind her to be more cautious.
In a fundamental sense, Hebe never stopped and will never stop being a 17 year old girl.

Hebe carries her heart on her sleeve and won’t shy from showing affection to anyone that flattered her, nor does she shy from speaking her mind.
Her temperament is pliant and musical. She enjoys singing and has taken to composing and writing her own music. Hebe hardly works by herself but depends on a choreographer and lyricist to plan her performance and write her songs in the sanctums she appears – while they let Hebe pass the music off as her own work. After all, Zeus will be livid were Hebe to embarrass herself with subpar performance.

Hebe’s voice wasn’t naturally good at singing as it was initially a bit stilted and lispy. The instance she showed passion for singing Zeus saw to it her vocal cords be modified to resemble perpetual auto-tune. Ever since this modification her voice has been smooth, melodic and a bit electronic. Frankly there isn’t much human about her voice. Yet to the mortal ear this is interpreted as divine, rather than fake.
Regardless of the quality of performance, Hebe’s followers love her music and will act as though it’s the greatest thing they’ve ever heard, if only to flatter her. It is rare for her to hear anything other than praise. And in the rare instance she does hear criticism, she becomes deeply distraught over it. This ties into her inability to learn from mistakes. Criticism doesn’t help her improve -- particularly when scathing -- it can only hurt her. To critique is to imply imperfection in the perfect princess.

Background, Cult and Relationships:

Hebe is a biological daughter of Zeus and Hera, conceived about 40 years ago. Quite young among the Olympians. Biological offspring she may be, Hebe’s development is hardly natural. Her process to artificial divinity already began as a fetus through the tampering of the nanites in her mother’s body. The pattern of her growth was further adjusted as Hebe was a toddler. Culminating at the age of 17, where Zeus felt his creation, his perfect biological daughter, was complete and Hebe should enter a state of permanence. From the tampering that followed Hebe would remain forever unchanged. The Goddess of Youth and perpetuity.

Relationship to Zeus,
Zeus was her dear father. Hebe had always been daddy’s little girl -- a spoiled favorite among his children. This in stark contrast to her sister Athena who was forged and raised by the fire. The sisters are almost exact opposites.
As a biological daughter of the King of the Gods, Zeus knew the status of his offspring also reflects on his own divinity. As such from a young age Hebe was genetically altered and groomed to truly blossom into a goddess among goddesses. He would arrange for anything that she asks for. But in return, she was not allowed to do anything or go anywhere without her father’s knowledge and consent. In fact, the fear of her growing up and to the point of total independence plays into why Hebe underwent the procedure to be frozen in youth -- and by proxy also frozen into a juvenile dependency on Zeus. Hebe doesn’t truly realize it, but she has no real freedom to speak of. However as Zeus’ favorite he has allowed exceptions for Hebe that he wouldn’t have lent many of his other biological children.
When she complained to her father of her loneliness, paired with him observing her fondness for singing, Zeus made a rare exception in finally granting her the autonomy to both mingle and perform musical performances for her mortal followers. Specifically the followers in very good standing with Olympus. Thereinafter Hebe became an instrument of Olympus’ Public Relations to the mass of humanity, and a magnificent one at that.
Indeed Hebe became one of the most beloved goddesses among the droves of humanity. Because -- against the will of Zeus -- she would grant personal audiences with ordinary humans following her performances. In her pity Hebe would occasionally address even the very lowliest of mortals from the dunghill of mankind. A dangerously egalitarian and charitable approach, a notion many gods would have frowned at. Something that Hebe only gets away with by being the King’s daughter.
Through her direct interaction with humanity a great personality cult emerged around her among society’s elite circles. This cult was erected with sanction of Olympus and orchestrated by notably two confidante demi-gods of Zeus: Sophia and Chaos.

Its leadership was called the Hebite Caste.
They are a sizeable group of select demi-gods and even mortals with whom Hebe mingles intimately. In fact she is usually surrounded by handmaidens, choreographers, musicians and most of all her top advisor, the Hierophant Bartomoleu.
The Caste arranges her tours and meetings across Hellas, specifically going to the dwellings in good standing with Zeus, or even to unruly abodes where mortals must be swayed back to loyalty through the enchanting spectacle of Hebe’s troupe.

Her religious adherents depict her as the wisest and fairest of the Goddesses. And fair she may be, but her wisdom is speculative. Yet regardless of the facts, many a truth seeker seeks her counsel.
Her ‘wisdom’ (or really the intoxicating power of her voice, which make her words seem more profound than they really are) has tempered the impulses of whole nations as Hebe brings peace and tranquility...

THE HEBITE CASTE INNER CIRCLE:

Chaos – A nickname that he uses for himself. What his actual given name is isn’t much known. He is one of Zeus' many bastards. A demigod lifeguard to Hebe wielding a thunder rod to smite hostiles, and serves as confidante & informant to Zeus to whom his loyalty lies moreso than Hebe herself. Borne of a mortal woman of dark complexion, Chaos is a half-brother of Hebe.

Chaos

Sophia, a demigod handmaid and personal choreographer to Hebe. She was borne a bastard daughter of Zeus. Sophia would herself be a Princess of Olympus as much as her half-sister, and though her beauty is great, by Zeus's high standards her looks only scrape average.
She is the brain behind much of Hebe’s music and performance. The two have developed a close friendship.

Sophia

Felix, A protégé of Hephaestus of mortal origins -- Felix came from an old bloodline of technicians, most of whose knowledge was lost and kept secret in the dark centuries preceding the coming of the gods. He was discovered by Hephaestus and taken as an apprentice centuries ago. Now Felix is the lead scientist of the Hebite Caste who produces the chemical miasma of youth to enact Hebe’s blessing. He has not been in contact with his former master for a century and works independently for his new Goddess.

Felix

Bartolomeu, Highest Spiritual leader of the Hebite Caste of full mortal origin. In spite of his lowly origins, his appearance almost resembles that of a Greek God. Bartolomeu is a broad-shouldered giant of a man, and ontop of that a crafty and intelligent magician. Hebe has lent him her ear on many occasions. In truth Bartolomeu has more influence over Hebe than a mortal normally should in regards to an Olympian.

Bartolomeu

On surface Hebe's religion looks like the most innocent innocuous cult on Hellas. But this cover belies the perverse powers operating within it.
As the cult of the Goddess of Youth, the faith appeals largely to aging men and women of affluence who dread the teeth of time. And the Blessings of Hebe are those of prolonged youth, something that only those among high society can afford. The target demographic are therefore the elites in the mass of humanity. Participation and membership of the Hebites is a status symbol, as Hebe is an icon of royalty.

But while Hebe is present to administer the ritual herself, unbeknownst to her a sinister method is necessary for these blessings to take effect. Indeed - the barbaric Molochian act of Child Sacrifice. Because gentle Hebe would never want children to die in her name, and be traumatized by the mere notion, her own Hebite Caste is keeping the secret ingredient of their bloody youth rituals a secret from her.
It is Felix the Thaumaturgist of the Caste that oversees the production of the youth miasma in using infant blood. Because in absence of the sophisticated cosmetic operating chambers of Zeus’ own abodes (where Hebe and her family once underwent their own youth ‘rituals’) this same process would be too advanced to truly be replicated, especially on mere mortals.
As such the Hebite youth ritual requires different, more crude methodology with a certain supplement.

RELATIONS WITH OTHER GODS:

Apate
Hebe would like to have a quaint goddesses sleepover party with her, but never dared to ask her because of the frightening cold stare in Apate's eyes. They’ve never much talked.

Hermes
Hebe adores Hermes. He’s so witty, and out of all gods (other than her father) actually seems to listen when she talks. At least, she is pretty sure that he listens. His presence is always appreciated.

Athena
Hebe never knew what to think of her, but she always acts polite when the two cross. Hebe wants to remain Zeus’ favorite daughter and is quietly anxious that Athena is more beloved than her. It’s not in her nature to be mean to people, but Hebe is jealous of Athena and her natural talents.

Demeter
Hebe regards Demeter as a bit of a role-model and quietly hopes to grow into half the goddess she is. (Which due to her eternal youth she likely never will.) Plus Demeter isn’t afraid of Hades, which Hebe thinks is very brave.

Isaac/Typhon
‘’This war would be solved if only Typhon got a hug and some affection. He’s probably angry because he’s lonely out there… Why can’t he just be friends with dear father again?’’

Artemis
She is scary, much moreso than Apate in Hebe's estimation.

Hades
He is ULTRA scary. Whenever he comes to Olympus to meet with Hebe's father her eyes anxiously dart to the ground to avoid eye contact.

Eros
Hebe appreciates Eros and sees him/her as a kindred spirit of sorts. In a fundamental sense Eros probably understands her better than any other god. However Hebe's beauty is determined largely by the standards of Zeus -- and thereby more superficial than the more philosophical forms of beauty of Eros. On this ground they may have different views on beauty entirely.

The Court of the Gods

<Snipped quote by Grijs>

>As I told Cyclone, it's because I want to mostly. That and I started doing it when I rejoined, so I might as well be consistent with it's use.

@Zyx

That's fair. At this point it would be more weird if you suddenly stopped doing it

The Court of the Gods

<Snipped quote by Terminal>

>If the World of Darkness has taught me anything, it's that nothing is ever so simple or so easy. Especially not when a position of power is involved.

@Zyx

Entirely off-topic but I have to ask out of curiosity:
What's the reason you are emulating 4chan threads? Green text & starting with > (used generally for third-person reaction to the OP)
Seems a bit strange to me.