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Dead inside, but somehow still kicking.

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In DWS [SHELVED UNTIL BETTER TIME] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Location: Training Center -> The Quad
Interactions: Will | Alyssa @Hey Im Jordan


“Will, seriously, can we take a break?” The voice of Matthew Cashmore rang out through the empty training arena, from his position on the concrete floor, the annoyance in his voice clear as day. He’d been on campus for hardly more than a week, and already his cousin was trying to kill him with training. He’d thought the trainers at Cashmore Manor were tough, but it turns out, Will had become their shining star since he’d gotten to Crystal Peak. Every afternoon since he’d arrived had been spent here, in the training center, getting his ass tossed around like a ragdoll. He was most certainly not loving it.

“That doesn’t sound very Cashmore of you,” Will responded, smirking as he adjusted his stance and prepared for another round. “I told you, these kids aren’t gonna take it easy on you, especially once they hear your last name. I’m doing you a favor.” Will could not have been less fazed. For him, training was as simple as eating, a mandatory part of his routine. In fact, the time he’d been spending with Matthew was easier than any of the training regimens he’d adopted for himself over the last four years. He’d have to get in some extra time to make up for it.

Matthew groaned and picked himself up off the floor, brushing off the shoulders of his training uniform, and putting himself into a fighter’s stance. Fists up, feet squared, mind ready. He could sense his cousin’s thoughts pushing at the edge of his mind, awaiting his call.

“You ready?” Will called out, flexing his fingers in anticipation.

Matthew shook his head. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And with that, the fight began. Will watched as fifteen Matt’s appeared across the arena, jumping into action. He shook his head. “I told you to come up with a new technique,” he shouted, effortlessly throwing two of the illusions into the wall and watching as it faded back to nothing.

“I did!” Matthew’s voice came from every copy of himself all at once. Will looked around, noting that the Matthews he’d supposedly taken down, were back. “You thought about throwing them into the wall, so I made you think you did. Pretty cool, right?”

Will smirked. He was pleasantly surprised by his cousin’s ingenuity. Of course, it wasn’t going to stop him from winning, but then again, nothing Matthew threw at him would. This exercise wasn’t about letting Matthew win, it was about teaching him how to keep going when you’re completely outmatched.

The Matthews began circling Will, closing in like sharks on a wounded seal. They were identical, in looks, in movement, in technique. The only flaw was that they wouldn’t be able to touch him. This was a trick, meant to make him feel cornered. Oh fuck.

The moment the thought of being trapped crossed his mind, Matthew pulled it out, into the world. The concrete walls of the arena began closing in, forcing him into a very literal corner. The Matthews were gone now, replaced by the box he’d found himself in. A jab took him by surprise, catching him in the side, another came for the back of his head. He couldn’t see Matthew, but Matthew could still see him, and he was taking advantage of it.

Will grunted as a fist connected with his face, bursting through the wall then disappearing as quickly as it came. He shook his head, and cleared his mind, and then, he let it explode outward. Telekinetic force rippled out from him, and the walls that had surrounded him only moments before, flickered and faded as Matthew was sent rolling across the floor. Will clapped as his cousin groaned.

“I fucking hate it when you do that,” Matthew said, picking himself up once more.

“Most people do. Of course, if you had made those walls tangible, it would’ve been a lot harder.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wondered if Will thought about anything besides getting stronger. “How many times am I gonna have to tell you people, the illusions don’t work like that. They’re just thoughts, I don’t even know what I’m gonna get half the time.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re underestimating yourself.” Will closed the space between them, fixing his cousin with a knowing look. “Trust me, Matt, I’ve seen what illusionists can do. Not to be too cheesy, but belief is half of the equation.”

“If I could, don’t you think I would’ve already?”

Will smiled. “I think, that you are just the tiniest bit afraid of what you can do,” Will said. “That’s normal though. I was scared of myself when I first got here, hell, I think it just means you’re on the right track. You should be cautious with your powers, but you don’t need to be afraid of them.”

Matthew stayed silent. It was easy for Will to say that. Will was perfect. It didn’t matter that he could throw a punch without even lifting a finger, he would never, ever, go bad. It was so far outside of the realm of possibility, Matthew couldn’t even comprehend what that reality looked like. Him though? He was the son of Alexander Cashmore, and maybe the world didn’t know what kind of man he was, but Matthew did. He knew it was the powers that made him that way, and he knew that his own would lead him down the same road. How could they not?

“Same time tomorrow?” Will said. Most days he was so wrapped up in training that social cues were lost on him, but he could tell when Matthew was over a conversation. This was certainly one of those times.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Sure you do. The choice between me, Athena, or Lyss. Who do you prefer?” Will smirked and cocked his head, already well aware of the answer.

“I hate you,” Matthew said, giving his cousin a weak punch to the shoulder before he headed for the showers.

“That’s the spirit!”



Matthew emerged from the Training Center, feeling sore and more than a little bit dejected. His first week at Crystal Peak left something to be desired. His closest friend was still his cousin, and people wouldn’t stop looking at him whenever he spoke. The Cashmore name was following him like a plague. Surely, he was not cut out for this.

Whether or not that was true though, he was here, and he didn’t see a way out. If he dropped out, his father would likely disown him, or worse. He’d probably rearrange his brain until he wanted to be here. At least right now he was himself.

Reluctantly, he made his way towards the quad. Matthew was not a social person, in any conception of the term. If he could’ve gotten away with spending the next four years alone, he would’ve leapt at the opportunity. Of course, his family would never allow that. Will and his father weren’t the only Cashmore’s trying to shape him. His sister had decided that he would be joining her band, because Matthew Cashmore didn’t get to make decisions for himself it seemed.

A piece of him wanted to believe that this was a friendly gesture from his sister. If it was Will, he wouldn’t have doubted it. His sister was many things though, and selfless wasn’t one of them. He figured there was something in this for her, and he also figured that she’d be a mythic bitch if he flaked on her. The least he could do is show up and be as unimpressive as usual.

When he’d passed through the Quad on his way to the training center, it had been something of a ghost town, save for the clubs setting up their stands. Now though, it pulsed with life, and thoughts. He could feel the surface thoughts of the crowd bearing down on him, and it took all his self control not to supplant their thoughts into reality. He stood on the outskirts of the crowd, too afraid of himself to let himself be enveloped by the throngs of people. He pulled out his phone and began texting his sister, possibly because he was a good, and honest brother, and possibly because he was a glutton for pain. Who knew?

To: Lyss
there are too many people here. do i have to come to this?
In DWS [SHELVED UNTIL BETTER TIME] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Location: Clearview Street Residential Complex



To the uninitiated, virtual space could be somewhat intimidating, to say the least. The area was both limitless, yet confined, a world in which anything and everything was possible. To Douglas, it was perfectly comprehensible, another dimension made just for him. Here could be everywhere, anywhere, all at once.

Right now though, here was a pristine living room, furnished with leather couches, white fur rugs, and floor to ceiling windows that looked over the Manhattan skyline. Everything was tinged with a certain energy, the mark of virtual space, but it was not all that dissimilar from the place he’d once called home.

“Douglas, it is your move.” Sitting across from him, at a chess table, was his perso-assistant, Jocasta. Dark hair, cut perfectly straight, framed her face, where dark eyes sat, watching, seeing things even Douglas could not. Here she was not made of pixels and projected light, and her voice had no trace of digitalization. Here, she was flesh and blood. Well, simulated flesh and blood.

“Hmmm?” Douglas looked over from the window, where he’d been lost in the horizon. He had not seen that view in a long time. “Sorry,” Douglas’ eyes refocused on the board, hand hovering for a moment before moving his queen into position. “Check.”

“You are distracted. That is not like you.” Jocasta’s eyes locked onto Douglas’. She was more than just his assistant. She was a friend, a caregiver, a mother. Years with Douglas had led to a relationship that might’ve confused most people, if they’d known about it. To him, Jocasta was not just technology; she was a person. To Jocasta, Douglas was one of a handful of people that saw her as more than a collection of 1’s and 0’s.

The technopath shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just…thinking.”

“And you do not wish to share these thoughts?” Jocasta moved her king out of danger, eyes barely glancing down at the board.

Douglas chuckled. “You’re quite nosey, you know that?”

“You have told me that exactly seven times since we first met.” Jocasta smiled softly. “Is it about your mother?”

Douglas sighed. “Her visitation rights were denied. Again.” Douglas shook his head and clenched his fist. Some days, it felt like he’d never gotten a win, and he never would. “Apparently she’s just too ‘high-risk’ for anyone to see her, whatever the fuck that means. It’s not even about me it’s…”

“Your brother?” Jocasta filled in as Douglas trailed off.

He nodded. “He barely remembers her, y'know. Everything he knows about her is from letters, and who knows what makes it inside that place. He deserves to see his mom.”

“I do not have any ‘biological family’ to have taken from me, so I am afraid I can not fully relate to your experience . However, I do consider you to be part of my ‘found family,’ as humans call it.” Jocasta offered Doug a smile, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I would be sad if you were taken from me, and so I understand that you are sad about your mother being taken from you.”

Douglas did not like tears. He thought they were useless. Tears did nothing but fall. “Jocasta, I think we’re going to have to finish this game tomorrow.” He stood up from the chess table, and began walking towards the front door. Jocasta remained.

“Have I upset you?”

“No, no, I have training, and lunch with Phoebe and Brenna. It’s a busy day for Douglas Wolff.” Douglas did not know why he lied to her. He knew that she knew it was a lie, but he still did.

“I will save our game then.”

“Thank you, Jo,” the technopath said before walking out, the world fading into brilliant, blue light around him as he returned to his body. He was sitting at his desk, phone in front of him. Outside, the sun was well on its way to the peak of its arc. He stood from his chair, ignoring the clutter of his desk, and stepped towards his closet, rubbing the soreness from his neck, and steeling himself for the day ahead of him.

The rest of his room was free of mess. His bed was neatly made, his floor clear of debris, and his walls lined with abstract art and pictures of his life from over the years. A photo of him, Phoebe and Brenna, taken last year before Crestview had burned down, another of him and Abe in the Crystal Peak workshop. The one picture that his eyes avoided had been taken years ago, when he was still a child. His mother, his brother, and him, sat outside in Central Park, laughing.
He did not like to think of those years, or what he would do to bring them back. He did not like to think about the rift that had grown between him and Dylan since that night, or his father, or the way in which his mother so closely resembled Jocasta. He did not like to think about any of it.
In 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟ → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Location: The Acropolis
Interactions: Xochi @Aewin, Eros @Danvers, & Comus @KZOMBI3



Apollo’s after-death omelettes had led the group of deities their separate ways. Apollo had helped Phobos put Melinoe to bed, before he scurried off himself to find some peace. The events of the day had exhausted him, drained him of his good humor. He desperately needed it returned to him. His feet carried him through labyrinthine halls, until he came upon an open room, luxuriously furnished and filled with instruments of all shapes and sizes.

A piano sat in the center, but the walls were lined with guitars and violins and trumpets, with sitars and bagpipes and banjos. There was hardly a space in the room where music could not be summoned, in all its brilliant intensity. Mortals he spoke to had often forgotten about this aspect of his being. They knew him as the God of the Sun, if they even knew him at all. It was rare that he met a classics major. Even now though, millenia after the fall, eons after he’d won the Chariot of the Sun from Helios, music was still one of his truest loves.

He sat down at the piano, releasing a deep sigh and letting the tension of the day fall off his bones. He did a good job of masking it with smiles and jests and tranquility, but he was not immune to tragedy. Not in the slightest. His slender fingers fell upon the ivory keys and melodies began to pour forth from the piano, and as they did, he thought of Olympus, and Zagreus, and betrayals big and small.

By nature, Apollo was not prone to worries or anxieties. It was rare that the gnawing jaws of fear clamped down upon him, but they were there now, chewing at his insides with jagged teeth. Was it war, or something else, something darker and more sinister? Two thousand years he had walked this Earth, and for two thousand years he had been free of fear. Why now, did he feel so cold?

He toyed around with the idea of calling his sister, picking her brain for information, but he suspected she would be of little use. He knew Artemis would want to keep the circle of information as controlled as possible. His father might be useful for a distraction, but he would have little in the way of information. Athena might be willing to share what she had discovered, but again, she’d probably be looking to keep her cards close to her vest. He couldn’t quite blame either of his sisters for not trusting him with secrets; he was all too prone to a loosening of lips when he drank, and he drank often.

Instead, he kept his fingers dancing across the piano, closing his eyes and letting the notes fill the room. He felt each one burning inside him, a flame that would reduce him to ashes were it not released. He wondered if other gods could feel their own divinity as he did in this moment. He was lost in it, drunk now, on his own artistry. Shivers ran down his arms, flesh raising in response to the melodies he magicked into being.

The song he played was an endless one, not unlike his life. Everytime he approached the end he looped back to the beginning, unwilling to sacrifice the comfort the music brought him. Here, in this room, safe in his cocoon of musical notes, he allowed himself to feel the pain of the day’s events. The bodies of Zagreus and Macaria flashed in his brain, and Melinoé’s scream echoed inside his head. He could not help but feel responsible, at least in some small fashion. It was like the past had come back to haunt him, to tease him with his previous failings. Perhaps Daphne had awoken from her oaken slumber too, and would arrive soon to taunt him.

He let the music keep his mind afloat, even as it drifted off into dark, uncharted waters. He knew no other way to cope, other than to push through the pain that threatened to pull him under. He would not, could not, share these moments with anyone else. He was the Sun, after all, and he could not dim while eyes were on him.

The melancholy musings of the God of Music were interrupted by the sharp clang of metal against metal, and his hands faltered on their journey across the keys. The music ceased, and his mood soured as he stood. Someone had ruined his meditation.

He didn’t know who to expect as he made his way towards the sound of voices. So many people, mortal and immortal, came through the party home, it was difficult to predict the next guest. He knew for a fact though, that he had not been expecting Comus to be the one disturbing his peace.

In the presence of guests, the Sun brightened. “We traded two of Hades’ children for you? This seems like a scam,” Apollo said, smirking as he pulled his deeply debauched niece in for a hug. “I’m assuming you have a very interesting story, one that I would like to hear after a shot or three.” His gaze traveled first to Xōchiquetzal, smiling his most charming grin, before falling on his nephew. “Xochi, always a pleasure. Eros, you’re more than welcome to enjoy whatever festivities unfold, but only if you admit that I’m a better archer than you.” His smile only grew bigger as he opened a cabinet that would earn anybody else a very serious intervention. It seemed as though the Sun had risen.
In 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟ → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

𝖔 𝖓 𝖙 𝖍 𝖊 𝖈 𝖆 𝖘 𝖊
𝖔 𝖓 𝖙 𝖍 𝖊 𝖈 𝖆 𝖘 𝖊

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Olympic Club Rooftop → Bathroom
𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Athena @metanoia, Anteros & Artemis @smarty0114
𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Ares
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅


Anteros’ legs carried him through the ballroom, any care for decorum long since abandoned. Fear and anxiety threatened to drag him to a shivering, sobbing halt, but he pushed onwards, past the bloody crystals of glass and Zagreus and Macaria’s broken bodies. His father’s order echoed in his ears, driving him up the stairs and out into the Seattle rain. His eyes, wide with fear, fell on his aunt and before he could calm himself his words began spilling from his mouth. “Athena! Pothos she–well I went to find her after the–,” Anteros’ eyes flew towards the shattered skylight, filling in the blanks better than he ever could. “She’s missing is all, and my father and I found blood in the bathroom. He told me to show you,” Anteros said.

For the first few seconds before her nephew had started to speak, Athena had the entirety of her mind to politely (or polite for her) suggest he leave. The pure and simple fact of this being part of the crime scene aside, it was no place for a child and the fewer people who knew of the existence of the Norse weapon that rested behind where she stood, the better the chances of this not reaching ears that would damn everyone. In her vast mind, she tried to keep it from Anteros’ view, but then as he spoke about his sister, who had gone missing, she understood the severity of what was happening.

Closing her eyes, she centered and realigned her priorities. There was a lot happening, but family was family. “It’s going to be okay, Anteros. Take a deep breath, okay?” She approached him. Athena had nothing but adoration for her nephew. Ares was a pain at anyone’s side, but every once in a while, even he could do the right thing and sending his son to her side was the right thing. She placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping it there and looking at him until she knew he had a handle on his emotions. He had every right to be worried and fearful of Pothos’ whereabouts, but carrying on with a clear head would help their chances of finding her. “Take me to where you and Ares found the blood. Can you do that, Anteros?” She asked, still with a supportive hand on her nephew’s shoulder.

Anteros nodded, shaky but still helpful, at least for now. He turned and led Athena back down the stairs, to the bathroom where the spots of blood were already beginning to dry. He pointed to the now empty space on the floor, where the lapel pin had rested. “There was a pin there. It looked like an anvil or something. I’d show it to you, but my dad took it. I think he went looking for Hephaestus,” Anteros said, shaking his head.

Athena scanned the room. From the stalls to the sink, she could see there was some sign of a struggle. A struggle, if she were to make an educated just based off what she saw, wasn’t entirely one-sided. Not at all unsurprising. There was no doubt in her mind, which had been balancing many theories as it is, that Pothos (if it was indeed her blood) wouldn’t go without a fight. She took pride in that and looked at her nephew.

An anvil? It certainly would point to Hephaestus. Just the thought of him made her almost as full of ire as Ares. She wondered if Ares came to the same conclusion she was about to: that maybe that troll had something to do with this. But why Pothos? What could he want with her? And if he wasn’t, Athena had a theory that maybe somebody might be setting him up. No matter which it was, one thing that was absolute was that Pothos was missing and Hephaestus may or may not have a hand in it. “Do you happen to know where Ares would go? To find Hephaestus, I mean.” Athena asked, her mind churning as well. The irony of this all was how she and Artemis were both talking about Hephaestus and where he was. He wasn’t at the festival, or at least not that neither Athena nor Artemis were made aware of. If that was his pin and he was here, then the next thing she had to figure out, in addition to the crime scene, was to find her brother.

“He didn’t. He just said he was going to pay him a visit, and he told me to tell you he’d speak with you later.” Anteros shook his head. “You know my father. Act first, explain later.” His hands reached up to run through his hair, stopping midway and pulling at the waves. The pain grounded him, but it did not make him feel any better. He was a failure, useless in the face of whoever had come for his sister. If they could not find Pothos… well, he didn’t know what he would do. He could not imagine a world without his sister in it, and now…now he was alone. “This is my fault. I should’ve been with her. I could’ve helped her,” Anteros mumbled, his voice cracking with pain and grief.

She looked at her nephew. His love for his sister and the pain he was going through, particularly when it came to not knowing whether she lived or if she would join the Death Children, she felt his pain. She felt it to the point where she tried to hide how angry she was at whoever did this. She was not Ares and would not lose herself to it, but this was family. Calm and collected or not, Athena was personally attached. Above everything else, though, Anteros was one of the sweetest of her nieces and nephews, the one who remained untainted by the cruelty of the world. Untainted by the vulgarity and horrors things like death and kidnappings bring out in the average mortal, much less gods.

She went closer to her nephew, in a showing of affection that many associate with Athena anyway but not in a public sense. She held her nephew in an embrace, making sure he knew he wasn’t alone. “Listen to me: you are not to blame for this, Anteros. The only blame that should be cast is on the person who has Pothos.” When she felt certain enough that he understood, she let him free of the embrace and looked at him. “I promise you, we will find this person. We’ll find them and bring them to justice and return Pothos to her family.”

Anteros nodded, tears flowing freely from his eyes. He wiped them from his cheeks, breathing deeply before saying, “Thank you,” and trying his best to return to the stoic and steely look his father had mastered so well. He did not capture it quite as well. “I just–I need her to be okay. To be alive."

“She will be. I promise--”

Their conversation was halted by a gentle cough from the doorway. Anteros turned to see Artemis, leaning against the doorframe, still graceful in the face of tragedy. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, eyes flicking across the bathroom. Her eyes betrayed the questions she so clearly wanted to ask, but she held them for a more opportune time. “Hati wanted me to keep you in the loop. He’s going to find Odin, to ask about the sword.”

Athena’s observative eyes went from Anteros to Artemis. “It’s rare that the wolf has good ideas, but this might be one of those rare instances.” The relationship that Athena had with the bounty hunter had never been positive. To her, he wasn’t a real investigator -- not like herself and Heimdall. But these were different times brought on by circumstances nobody could have ever predicted. Hati going to see Odin was a smart idea. If anyone would know about that sword which was of Norse origin, it might be the Alfather. “Hopefully this sheds some light.” She looked around and let out a small sigh.

Athena’s eyes fell on her nephew and she smiled at him. “Anteros, you needn’t worry. We will find your sister and if someone took her, we will bring them to justice!”

Anteros looked between his aunts and offered up a weak smile. Despite the hole left inside him, he appreciated their words. He dug deep, for the resoluteness his father seemed to wear so effortlessly, and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I want to help. With the investigation, I mean. I don’t have anything else to do anyways, I need something to distract me. I can catch up with Hati, and keep you guys updated. It beats sitting around my apartment and waiting for a phone call.” He neglected to add that the wolf was one of the only people he had any desire to speak with at the moment. Hati would know what to say, he trusted that much.

As much as Athena wanted to decline her nephew’s help only because she was afraid he’d only get in the way, the truth of the matter was they were shorthanded. Only a few people knew exactly what was going on. But if he was insistent on it, who would she be if she told him no after seeing that look of renewed light in his eyes? There was a determination that made the Goddess of Wisdom smile. “Very well then. Go to Hati, Anteros. You have our numbers if there are any updates.” She gave him a nod and a quick hug. Athena wasn’t typically this outwardly affectionate, but she was genuinely worried for her nephew. “And please be careful and safe. If you sense any danger, you call me immediately. Am I clear, Anteros?”

“Of course,” Anteros said, “thank you.” He nodded at Athena, then Artemis, before exiting the way he’d come, hands already fishing for his phone.

When Anteros left and Athena was left with Artemis, she turned her attention back on the crime scene in the bathroom. “This is a mess, Artemis. Hades and Persephone’s children are dead and now Pothos is missing. Anteros came to me and found me and this was the last place she was last seen.” Athena reached into her clutch, which had been snug inside her dress this entire time. She pulled out two things: a personal CSI kit that included one pair of gloves and a swab. She put on both gloves, removed the swab from the small container it was in, and went over to where she saw the most blood. Stroking the small patch of blood, she placed it back into the kit and looked at Artemis as she stood. “He also told me our brother found a pin. One that was shaped with an Anvil.” She would admit, looking troubled as she thought what that could mean. “I suppose that sheds some light on our conversation earlier, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly adds a new facet to all of this,” Artemis said, punctuating her words with a sigh. “If Ares knows about this, then it means he’s out for blood. If this is a war, that could be helpful. It’s what he’s built for after all. If this is something else though…I worry he will break something that can not be easily fixed.” The huntress shook her head. “I can have my girls keep an eye out for Pothos. If Hephaestus has her, it’ll hopefully slow him down. Make him easier to trace.” Leaning against the tiled walls, Artemis looked at her sister with her usual brand of stoicism. If this day was flustering her, it was hardly apparent. “You trust Heimdall?”

Athena thought about Artemis’ question. Heimdal was her partner. Whether she was on the battlefield or protecting and serving the city of Seattle, one thing Athena has always known to be absolute was whoever your right hand and left hand were, they were to be trusted. Heimdall was an honorable God. Recent events put a small doubt in the back of her mind (among everything else she was balancing), that didn’t change. “Heimdall is my partner. He has had my six for as long as we’ve been partners. We can trust him. I imagine, much like Hati and all of us in the know, he wouldn’t want a war to break out either.” Athena had worry in her voice but not because of Heimdall specifically. It was about Ares and his headstart. It was Pothos missing, and the blood. It was Hephaestus. So many pieces were spread across the puzzle board and Athena had no way of knowing what connected to what.

Artemis nodded. “Might be time to bring him in,” she said. “Have him check camera footage and test that blood. I’ve got an idea of who might know where Hephaestus’ hidey hole is, but I don’t think I can be trusted to go alone.” Artemis stretched her hand out in front of her, examining her nails like this was just another Tuesday. “Let’s be honest, Hera and I alone together is a disaster waiting to happen.”
In DWS [SHELVED UNTIL BETTER TIME] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

In 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟ → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



Location: Under The Tree -> The Outskirts of Seattle



When he awoke, he was alone, as he had been all those centuries ago. His ears rang as silence broke for the first time in two thousand years. The sudden sight he’d been gifted was overwhelming, and he shoved the palms of his hands against his face to block out the dim light of whatever cavern he’d awoken in. He leaned forward, fell, and stumbled to his feet, still blind. He could feel fresh air blowing against his skin, could hear the patter of raindrops, could taste the scent of pine and moisture on his tongue.

Warily, he made his way towards the breeze, eyes screwed shut and hands out in front of him. He tripped up a flight of stone stairs, but he did not slow his ascent. His skin prickled as the cold air of this strange land whispered against his bare skin, and he shivered as the first drops of rain fell against him. For a moment, he basked in the cold, letting the water run over him. Despite the chill, he could not help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. It reminded him of Helheim.

Finally, he dared to open his eyes to the world around him. He squinted as the cloudy light of the forest shone down upon him, looking around for any sign of where he’d been. He could see that he’d emerged from a tree, though that was hardly the strangest of occurrences in his life. More curious to him was the vast stretch of emptiness that went on for leagues, completely unmarred by buildings. Was this where he had fallen? How long had he been asleep?

Questions began to swim through his head, drowning him in uncertainty. Voices swam through his mind, but were they memories, or whispers of the draugr that haunted this place? Was he dead, or reborn? The confusion shocked his still foggy mind, and he let out an anguished scream, falling to his knees in the grass, and letting his fear and confusion tear through him. He was lost, and he was alone, and he had nowhere to turn. His scream died out and his panting breaths filled the silence. He clenched his fists, willing himself to stand up, and go, anywhere. He just needed to move. And so he did.



He walked for hours, naked and alone, stoic as he strode across this foreign field. Rocks and thorns littered the ground, but they did not mark his feet with blood, and so he took no notice. His eyes were trained ahead of him, at the small cottages rising over the hill. They were brighter than those he’d known, sturdier it seemed. There were so many, so close together, a small village just past the fence, standing in an orderly line.

The dirt beneath his feet faded to stone, smooth and grey. Wooden fences lined the back of each homestead, blocking the world behind their borders from his view. He watched the neighborhood from his vantage point in the woods, debating his options. The lights burning in each window told him there was plenty of help to be had here, assuming the townspeople were friendly. Perhaps they worshipped his father? Though he was not sure anyone who saw him now would believe him to be a son of Odin. His face was streaked with sweat, his feet caked in dirt. His blonde hair, once so brilliant, was dry straw brushing against his neck. Still, he would not make it far on his own.

He strolled forward with the purpose of a soldier, knocking on the door of the first house he passed. His knuckles rapped against the wood with a satisfying thud. He had been asleep for quite some time it seemed. The mortals had gotten much better doors.

“He-What the fuck?” the door swung open to reveal a startled, older woman, dressed in a nightgown despite the sun’s rays still peering over the horizon. The words she spoke were unfamiliar to him, a garbled mess of sounds that fell upon deaf ears.

“Minn nafn er Baldr Odinson, ok ek þorfuþinnr fylgjagð,” he said, earning him a look of fear from the woman before him. The door slammed in his face, and he heard the woman’s voice call out. Perhaps she was fetching the servants to prepare his room? The mortals had certainly grown stranger.

Suddenly the door swung open and something was being pointed in his face. It was not a sword. He knew swords. This was different, something new. He blinked in surprise, but remained still, unsure of what exactly he was facing.

“Listen buddy. You’ve got five seconds to step off my porch and get the fuck outta Dodge, okay?”

Baldr blinked again.

“Are you stupid? Get the fuck outta here!”

Baldr remained where he was, an immovable stone. In a flash, the man’s hand whipped out, smacking him across the face with whatever strange weapon he held in his hand. His face turned to the side, due more to surprise than to any strength this mortal might possess. Shouts filled the air, but he could not hear him over the whispers in his head, the whispers that spurred him on. The whispers told him that he needed to kill this man and his wife, make them pay. And so he did.

In 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟ → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Location: The Olympic Club Bathroom
Interactions: Anteros and Ares
Mentions: Athena
A @smarty0114 and @Legion020 collab


Zagreus and Macaria lay atop shattered glass, blood leaking from wounds that would not heal, and all that Anteros could think about was his sister. He looked up from the bodies, expecting to meet her gaze, and when their eyes did not lock his stomach sank. Where was she? He pushed through the crowd, gently at first, then rougher. With every moment that passed he felt his desperation grow. She was not in the crowd, but why? She would not have hid, that was not Pothos at all.

He burst forth from the throng of people and began moving towards the other rooms of the first floor. The kitchen was filled with frightened and confused mortals, unprepared for the chaos that had erupted in the ballroom. The lounge was empty, barely touched. The bathroom felt like a last resort.

Until his foot landed upon the golden apple he’d watched Hera hang around his sister’s neck. He knelt down and picked up the pendant, closing his fist around it and closing his eyes. On any other day, at any other party, he might’ve been able to calm the sea of emotions that began to churn inside him, but now? After two bodies had fallen from the ceiling? He feared the worst.

Anteros’ desperation was replaced by purpose, as his strides carried him back into the ballroom. Athena and Hera had tried their best to calm the gathered gods, to mixed results. The man he was looking for was not scared though. Ares did not get scared, Anteros knew that well. His father would solve this, he would have to. Whatever his thoughts might be about his children, Anteros knew how seriously he took his honor. This was more than a move against Pothos, it was a move against Ares and Aphrodite both.

Like the Minotaur raging through the Labyrinth, Anteros intercepted Ares as he moved towards Athena, placing his slender hand firmly against his father’s chest, and letting the pendant hang between them. “This,” Anteros said, “is Pothos’. Grandmother gave it to her earlier. She is missing, and you need to find her.” Anteros had imagined their reunion to be filled with clever jabs on his part, but he did not have the time. His sister was missing, and he would not endanger her to prove something to his father. Even as his hands trembled with rage and the red hot anger inside threatened to spill out, he grit his teeth and pushed through. For Pothos.

Ares looked his son in the eyes. Probably for the first time in decades. His eyes darted towards the pendant that Anteros was holding up, then towards Hera, then back to Anteros himself. The situation became clear in an instant. He looked towards Hades. I’m sorry uncle. He thought to himself. I have my own child to save. It was a harsh thought, but a necessary one. In truth Ares could do nothing for Hades right now but he could save his own daughter. All his focus – which was spread out in the entire room to mark off who was there and thus couldn’t have slain the two Greek deities – narrowed down. All of it fell upon Anteros.

He took the pendant with one hand, then put the other on his son’s shaking hand. It was gently, but it was firmly. “Calm down.” Ares said. His tone was flat and constant. It conveyed no rage. Poor Anteros, in the end he really was his father’s son. “Show me where you found it.”

Anteros nodded, removing his now still hand and silently moving towards the bathroom. When they arrived, Ant propped open the door, and pointed at the spot just near the entrance where he’d found the pendant. “It was just here, on the floor. I don’t- His words fell off as he took in the scene with new eyes, ones not clouded with desperation.

The bathroom had seen a fight, that much was clear. The mirror had been shattered, and a painting on one wall had been knocked askew. He could see drops of blood on the ivory tile, and he turned his gaze on his father, his eyes renewed with fear. “I didn’t even see her come in here. I don’t–I don’t know where she is.” He had never had to truly fear for Pothos. His stomach flipped over itself. He could not fathom his life without his sister.

Ares, meanwhile, took a deep breath. Shock and confusion were the enemy in a situation like this. He unbuttoned his vest as he looked over the scene. His eyes went from the broken mirror to the blood drops on the ground. Ares had been in his own fair share of bathroom fights. There were telltale signs showing him the flow of the battle. Pothos was attacked, probably from behind. For a second the god of war felt a sense of short-lived pride. Most of his children took after their mother so much. Yet Pothos fought.

He crouched down to look at the blood droplets. They were still liquid and fresh. Whatever happened here, it happened recently. He hoped that Athena was as pragmatic as she so often claimed to be. The blood would have to be analyzed.

The scene spoke of a fight but Ares wanted more. He ignored the lamentions of his son behind him. The boy was already losing himself to panic. He wouldn’t be of much more help now. It was an old, mortal trick he used now to observe the scene. When you’re expecting nothing, that which doesn’t belong easily jumps out. Like the glint of a metallic object a bit further away. He reached for it. It was a cufflink shaped like an anvil. There was really only one god who wore those. “What have you been up to, brother?” He put the cufflink and Pothos’ necklace in his pocket.

Then he turned toward Antheros and looked him straight in the eyes. He took the boy by his arms, firmly yet not painfully. “Listen to me boy. You will walk out of here and tell Athena to look at this. She needs to examine the blood. Tell her that I will talk to her this night. Do you understand?”

Anteros nodded, the shock not yet faded from his face. “What are you going to do?” These words at least, came out calmer than they might once have. He’d always been averse to his father’s bloodlust, the ease with which he embraced violence. Now though, he wished he had more of that animalistic nature inside him. If his father was a boar then he was a dove, and doves were not suited for war. Whoever had taken his sister needed to pay though. He wondered for a moment if a dove could survive the coming days. He thought not.

“I’m going to pay my dear brother a visit.” Athena would probably quickly realize where he would be going to. At least, if Anteros would be able to keep himself together for long enough to relay the message. He wasn’t the man for this. Few of his children were. He would need more. After that he prayed someone would catch him.

“Anteros.” He said, holding his boy firmly by the arms still. “Look at me. I will find her, I will find Pothos.” Alive or dead. And if he found her dead, then the world would have another enraged Greek god to handle. “Now go.” He released his son and motioned towards the door. Just to make sure the boy wouldn’t stay frozen in the bathroom.

In DWS [SHELVED UNTIL BETTER TIME] → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

In 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟ → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟ → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

The ballroom had filled with the throbbing roar of conversation, and the clock was ticking ever onwards. Once more, when all the fallen deities had arrived and had their tongues properly whetted with whispers, Hera climbed the ballroom stairs and looked once more upon her subjects. The clinking of metal against glass dulled the room’s conversation, and Hera’s voice rang out over the crowd.

“It seems everyone has arrived. Everyone I expected anyways. Before we have our lunch, I’d like to say a few words,” Hera said, relishing the eyes upon her. Today, at least today, she held the attention of these fickle gods. “We have all had our differences, our squabbles. Both in the heavens, and here on earth. Today though, I ask that we leave our weapons sheathed, so to speak, and enjoy the gifts of the world tree, the gifts my people have tended and bore unto you all.” Hera grinned. She was all too happy to remind the other pantheons of Persephone’s contribution to their immortality.

“Without further ado-” The clangor of shattering glass silenced the Queen of the Gods, followed by two loud thuds, and screams of shock. The attendants had been showered with glass from the skylight above, now broken and open to the sky. Confusion gripped the crowd, as they gathered around an object Hera could not make out.

With all the authority of her station, Hera marched down the stairs, shoving her way through the crowd. In the center of the circle, lying in a pool of dark, mortally red blood, two bodies lay broken, and bent. Through each corpse’s chest, a bloody, ragged hole, gaped, like the bloodshot eye of the Fates looking on into the future. The faces were not unfamiliar to Hera. The smaller body, slender and pale, eyes staring into nothing, was Macaria, the spirit of peaceful death. The other was a face she had never forgotten, not even all these centuries later. Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld, He who had died before the fall, lay broken on the ballroom floor.

Melinoë had once been enjoying her little game of fear and madness, instead now taking it upon herself to just torment the mortals hired for the event. Her sour mood only seemed to deepen when Hera had taken center stage, puffing herself up like some glorified blowfish. Nonetheless she turned her attention to the Queen until the shattering of glass fell atop her and the lifeless forms of her siblings lay there at her feet. Blood pooled around their bodies in a way that reminded her of the Styx, slow and full of life long since past. It was thick and bubbling; fresh. There was a smell, the scent of death, one she never truly forgot, coiling around her feet, trailing upwards like an invisible cloud of smoke. There was this awful sound ricocheting off the marbled flooring and the too thinly decorated walls. Decor, she remembers thinking, that was just as gaudy as the woman hosting. A scream. No, a wailing so torn asunder that it couldn’t possibly be organic in nature. She wanted to turn and snap at the offending party. Why won’t the noise stop? Where is it coming from?

It never once crossed her mind that it was coming from her.

Her vision blurred, darkening the corners of her eyes, but she couldn’t look away. Refused to. Their sight would forever be ingrained in her mind. It was her fault they were even coming to this godforsaken event. She had hounded Zagreus to make an appearance after his long hiatus. To drag their baby sister with him. It had been so long since she had been out. Mother and Father wanted nothing more than to see them. Not like this. Never like this.

Melinoë couldn’t even blame Hera for this this time. It felt like she was falling for an eternity towards the ground, half expecting it to swallow her whole and bring her back to the Underworld, where this - the Fall, her life on earth, this - would all be some horrific nightmare she would wake from. She somehow snapped out of her daze only to lunge towards their bodies, clawing at the ground in her scrambled attempts to get to them. To hold them in her arms. She needed to know that this was just an illusion. A horrible trick played on her by Phobos in an attempt to win their stupid little game. But she knew that that wasn’t the case. Couldn’t even bring herself to search the gathering crowd to find him and prove it. Too focused on her siblings, her own madness creeping up from within her like the bile that rose in her throat.

Hati was there at that moment, snatching her out of the air before she was able to reach the bodies, having sensed something was off. Melinoë clawed at him, thrashing, screaming, “Let me go! I need to be with them! Hati, let me go! No, no, no, no,” as he dragged her away. This whole day reeked of suspicion and it was only now, as he held his friend back that those fears were confirmed. ”I’ve got you,” He whispered into her hair,calming her as best he could, pulling her back and shielding her from the sight of those on the floor. The rest of the room was in a panic, fleeing from the scene or moving closer to get a view of a dead god. It wasn’t something that had happened, to their knowledge, in this day and age. Only those who were well versed in destruction and death stood their ground and began to congregate to whisper of the scene before them.

The white wolf had to bite his tongue before he bit theirs and instead motioned towards Artemis to come take a closer look. He would have to pass Madness off on Phobos, get him to take her away along with her parents. They shouldn’t be here to witness this of all things.

Artemis stepped forward from her place at Athena’s side as her brother moved to help Phobos with Melinoë. For a moment, she half expected the children of death to spring to life, wounds healing as they should have. But they did not. Their bodies remained cold and lifeless on the floor. As whispers began to sweep the room, Artemis knelt beside the corpses, peering at the wounds with the eyes of a hunter.

Macaria had died first, quickly. The blade had pierced her from behind. She hadn’t seen a wound like this in centuries. The mortals had long ago lost their taste for swords.

Zagreus had gone fighting. His hands were wounded, most likely trying to catch the blade. A blow to the heart had ended his fight. “Hati, see if you can catch a scent,” Artemis commanded, still scanning the bodies for evidence.

Without hesitation he was on it, the only one to give orders that he would jump at the chance to complete. Getting low to the floor, Hati sniffed the corpses of the fallen. It was that scent again. The one that had been plaguing the venue since before he arrived. This would prove a bit more difficult than he would like to admit yet still he followed the putrid stench.

It was almost like he could see the tendrils wafting off the bodies in the center of the room, winding and weaving up, up to the skylight above before disappearing over the top. They needed to get up there, follow the trail before it went cold. He motioned above and then to the stairs leading to the roof, ”Gotta get up there,” it wasn’t so much of a question as it was a statement and he was taking off before any other instructions were given.

Upon arriving on the roof the tendrils swirled through the shattered glass before congregating not but twenty feet away. Just like a pointer Hati was calling attention to the Huntress at the sight he found. A single matte black card, embossed in gold with a logo and script. He didn’t spare it a long enough glance before his eyes trailed along the ground once more, gaze following the trickle of blood splatter and caught sight of a weapon. One that looked all too familiar to him, lay there on the ground. It’s bladed edge coated in blood. He turned to Artemis, looking back and forth between her and the sword, a form of fear creeping its way up his spine before lodging itself at the base of his neck, ”This, this… this was supposed to be lost. O-Or locked up or something… it’s not supposed to be here.” The shaking of his voice wasn’t familiar to him and it worried him that the simple sight of a weapon would cause this shift.

Artemis picked up the blade, studying the runes carved into the shining gold. Centuries had not dulled the sheen of this sword, a weapon she’d only read about. “Dainsleaf. Didn’t realize this survived the Fall.” She looked behind her, down at the crowd below. They both knew what this meant. A Norse blade, two dead Greeks? At best it would be chaos down there upon hearing the news, at worst, war. “We’re going to have to tell the others about this. They’ll want answers.” Artemis groaned. She did not like being without answers. “We’ll have to tell them something. Deal with the mortals. Put Athena on the case and keep Hades and Persephone from starting a fucking war.”

It was an order he didn't want to obey but it was one that needed to be done. Hati knew what would erupt if things got leaked, if what they knew was discovered. He wasted no time in getting to ground level and pulled Athena to the side informing her of her newly appointed duties, "We need all hands on deck for this. Keep them as in the dark as possible until we know everything." There wasn't any other way he could have stressed the importance of it all without exposing his hand. Athena was smart, she would understand.

From there he began to round up the mortals, which wasn't difficult as they all congregated towards the back of the venue. With the most charming smile he could muster he sauntered into their space, hoping to calm their nerves with a carefree sort of attitude, "Bet you didn't think you would be working a murder mystery luncheon, did you?" A lie that rolled off so easily it made him sick.

While Hati lied to the mortals, Artemis was calling her girls to the club, in an attempt to gain control over the crime scene. Of course, Hera sensed the authority of hostess slipping through her fingers as the party devolved into chaos. She would not be sidelined, not today. As Artemis returned her phone to her bag, Hera materialized beside her, stern and cold.

“What did you and the dog find? I won’t be kept out of the loop,” Hera said, keeping her voice low. “Should the festivities be halted?”

Artemis shot Hera a curious look. Was that fear in her voice? Fear from almighty Hera? Regardless, it would be harder to ice Hera out right now, than it would be to just oblige her, at least a little. “We found a weapon. Athena will be looking into it. That is all we know.”

Hera scoffed. “What weapon could do this?” She had encountered no such danger in all her years walking the earth. As far as she knew, this kind of incident should not have been possible. Even so, she hadn’t known Zagreus to survive the Fall. It seemed there were mysteries upon mysteries that she did not know the answer to.

“What am I telling Mel, Artemis?” Apollo’s voice cut into their conversation as he stepped into place beside his sister. The voice, soft and melodic, threw Hera back, only weeks earlier, to the last time she’d heard that sound, crackling out over the radio.

“Alright my early risers, I wanted to share something with you. It’s a little bit of a work in progress, a bit alternative, but let me know what you think.

At a gathering of fallen stars, two fall farther, farthest, dead
Slain by a blade, cursed to draw blood, no hope in store for the lost son
Spirits gather round the raven’s head,
While old crimes stain the queen’s plumage, deep, deep red.


The memory was vivid, crisp and clear. She’d dismissed the song as more of Apollo’s drivel, requested her assistant change the channel and moved on. Now she saw it for the prophecy it was. He had foreseen this. “What do you know?” Hera spat, whirling on Apollo and shoving her finger into his face.

Apollo put his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Apollo replied, calm and cool, “but I’m gonna ask that you get your finger out of my face. Can’t damage the moneymaker after all.”

“You foresaw this, I heard you. On the radio, you sang some stupid-”

“Woah, I’m gonna stop you right there. One, none of my songs are stupid. Even the stupid ones. Two, I don’t see shit anymore, Hera. The lyrics come to me, I can’t tell what’s prophecy and what isn’t. If I predicted this, it was an accident.”

Hera growled and shook her head, marching back to her place on the stairs. She would not be made a fool of here, in this place. Someone was coming, for her, for her family, for all of them. They would not get her, not today. Let their enemies come for them when they are full of ambrosia, let them see what happens then. “Don’t worry everyone, the situation is being dealt with. For now, I think it’s appropriate to call the festivities here. Apples will be distributed, and information will be gathered. After that, you are free to leave.”

Artemis spoke up then, to add her own commands. “If you think you have any information, or that you might be able to offer up a particular skill set, speak with Athena or myself. We’ll be taking point on this, unless someone has any objections.”

Hera sighed. T’was an abrupt ending indeed.



As the fallen fell furthest of all, the chambers shook. As blood flowed freely from immortal wounds, never to be healed, a hollow screech bellowed from below. An echoing cavern deep, deep below, tangled in the roots of the Tree, hidden from sight, cried out in anguish. Icy breath escaped from the once tightly shut confines, enveloping the space in fog. Hephaestus was concerned. It wasn't like he witnessed the Waking on a daily basis. The world was changing, reshaping in preparation for a new age… It was the start of something big and yet no one, down below or above, would have seen it coming. He just hoped they would forgive him.
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