Fxllenpythia - Sinner

Tuzak (3) | 2022

@adatiiel​ “You don’t see it as you’re never there at the end of their days, they’re nothing more then collateral damage to you but I am with all of them – there is not a soul that is wiped from this earth that is not known by me” Pythia’s heart had become lost long ago, enshrouded by the darkness that become her being, clouding out what once was good – now she only wanted destruction, darkness and death – Adatiel couldn’t escape her if she tried. The seraphim had been created from the cosmos to fight the first darkness that had blotted out the world and they had been called again to restore the natural order. “I won’t try to convince you to the goodness that exists within humanity, they are flawed and yet they still try to do better – you are not the creator of worlds and we won’t allow you to destroy the world completely” There is only one set of lips that she would listen to an order from, to bring about the end of the world will only be allowed by Ulthar.

The longer she spoke, the more tiring the whole exchange began to feel. The bleeding heart within her sister, however accepting of those she ushered beyond death, surely understood that such a burden could be wiped from her conscience were the mortals no longer upon this earth. Though, neither was Pythia so willing to offer the obvious argument to one who undoubtedly knew as much already. “Blah, blah, blah..” Her nose turned up in impatient disgust at the tirade offered to her, much like all those before. “And their constant attempts for better continue to be a let down, time and time again. How long should they be offered more chances to, as you say, better themselves? Or shall we watch for all eternity as they ponder the gift given to them and you... carry the weight of knowing each of them?” They’re menial, amounting to nothing in her eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve made decisions based on what any of you would allow me to do. It would better ease your disappointment if you simply stood aside.”

@adatiiel​

The smiley face was a clever move, one that brought a hitch of a smile to Adatiel's mouth even as their search turned up empty. Being the angel of death meant that she reaped everyone who fell, allegiance didn't matter when their days came to an end. She wasn't to fight, her hands didn't call for violence as she was the result of whatever came to be. Adatiel often satisfied her whims, whenever she wished to see someone she did. It was why she felt that a conversation with her wayward sister was long overdue. "Are you happy with the wraiths that you trapped within your walls? Spirits that remain and grow in vengeance can become a dangerous weapon. The spirits are very angry with you."

_

Was she? Happy? As if to make crystal clear, Pythia's smile grew to maniacal proportions, the feint giggle that slipped between her lips eerie at best, and horrifying in the shape it took. "Sister, don't take it so personally. If anything, you should be rather grateful that I led you right to them. The pesky little things." Those that lingered within the walls, wraiths that screamed endlessly, clawing at every sense of humanity that remained, every ounce of their blood riddled empathy had risen as a symphony in the halls of the Asphodel. "Angry? At me?" The pout that settled against porcelain skin feigned innocence that would never look quite right, "Then consider their anger a gift, in the efforts you and the rest of them should make to try and stop me. I daresay, you'll need it."

_

"I don't need your help to find the dead" what ego but Pythia did always carry one, spirits have always beckoned her and she is the angel that is there in the last moment of life. Adatiel was to not be confused with a guardian angel as she did not protect nor decide who lived and died, merely knew when their time had come to an end, when the hourglass had finally run out. Those that died while being tormented or moments of great emotional impact became wraths. As someone who holds death and life in equal care, it is difficult for the seraphim to accept such cruelty. "I wish to hear it from your lips sister, tell me how you wish for this to all end. Do you really wish for darkness to blot out the world?"

_

“No? You’ll have to forgive me for my lacking faith in your.. abilities.” For a millennia, so many of her kind - their kind had done little more than squalor their potential. Bending to the whims of a father who cared for lesser creatures before his own children. Sighing heavily, something more of contentment than anything else, the Pythia smiled quietly to herself. “And why shouldn’t it?” Tongue clicked against her teeth and the brunette eyed the other with irate mischief, cold and calculating - unyielding. “Because daddy dearest said so? They’ve done little but squander the world given to them. Destroyed and plundered a place they’ve never sought to earn. I say, - burn it all to hell.”

There is always defectors, those unable to handle the power and weight that the asphodel offers. It has never carried a moniker for misfits and miscreants in the way that so many consider it. It was not a comfort that home could not give - the asphodel was a want, a dire need and for those who lacked the impervious determination to build something of themselves, would always fall through the cracks. Fodder for the book. Pythia had heard the whispers - the thoughts that spun within Marcella's mind and while Eric turned his back, true that he would never rise to be enough, the witch before her was a different story. "The darkness will always follow.." She whispers, barely audible as she looks upon the young woman. "It will never be me, that's in need, Marcella." One way or another, the book would find her again - in death, or to return the gift of power she now sought to turn away from.

Person: @fxllenpythia Location: Haus Asphodel She is packing and she thinks everyone knows it. Thankfully everyone is busy enough minding their own business. That's something they all seem really keen on doing, it should have been a sign from the beginning. They all come together to cause chaos but she has seen time and time again how each member of the coven seems to have their own agenda, their own ambitions. She's got her own agenda and staying with the Asphodel isn't going to help her one bit, not anymore. Marcella is gathering her things, some books and tucking them away into a bag of holding when she catches a shadow darkening her door, one that makes her nearly freeze. The Pythia is someone she has skirted around, someone with far too much power. "Did you need something?" It's an innocent question, it is soft, she is not afraid, not so much anymore.

conquestofuriel​:

Time:Post plot drop stuff  Location:Aftermath of the former Asphodel House  Characters: @fxllenpythia & @conquestofuriel

Selene was what they called themselves now. Like Uriel, their sibling took on the essence of the sex of their vessel and it was that femininity which made Uriel see them now as his sister, though his sister had long since stopped being family. She was corrupted and vile, a monster that had to be annihilated. As it was, Uriel was not unwise enough that he would seek to challenge her right then and there on the streets of Rome. He was powerful, but she had created far more power with the help of the Necromonicron and her little coven. This was a battle that he would not be able to initiate on his own, that was why he came to the mortal realm with the other three. But neither did Uriel believe that could she wisely lay a hand on him. So the two Seraphim stood at in impasse when he finally found her looking up at her former home. The place where she’d laid a trap for them.

“You finally show your face… sister.”

The ruins of the once great house lay before her, a kingdom conquered. One menial, hapless kingdom that would simply pave the way for the next. The familiarity that fluttered through her veins told Pythia quickly that she wasn’t alone - that such solitude was once again interrupted by one of her own. Brother. Such was to be expected now that hiding within the centuries no longer suited. Coming into such power with every soul offered to the Necronomicon only one more reason added to the hundreds of thousands that lacquered her intentions in ichor and poison. Onyx hues flicker over her shoulder, clocking the ancient horse-lord seraphim with a look that invoked invite, rather than indifference. Come; look. At the foolishness of their hope - their blind faith. “Were you lot looking in the right places, you’d have found me long ago.” Whether it be this face, or any of those previous. Pythia always existed, just out of reach and never too far away. “You’re all making this far too easy for me, it’s disappointing.”

Only one with precision could envision the gorish nightmares that Bastien forced upon them. Each stringent tether weaves it's way across the battlefield and into the minds of fools that might believe rest would give them an upper hand in strategy, and Leviathan feeds more power through all that connects her to the oracle. "What will they do next?" She doesn't mean to stop him in his tracks, rather two birds with one rather large stone, "Their attempts have been feeble. I don't distrust that they might not have a trick up their sleeve." Elusive as the Asphodel might be, she wasn't foolish to believe that the wretches of this earth and the next couldn't attempt to reciprocate it. "And while you're at it, do tell me what is going on with out dear Levent."

Break them, there was no further encouragement that Bastien would need. He had directed his magic towards his visions, had pulled the sights straight from the hands of the Graeae so that they may lay waste to the city. "With pleasure," came his giddy reply, before he turned his sights upon those that would fall pray. A vision was conjured, brought forth of the decimation that awaited the city of Rome. And into the minds of those that stood against the Asphodel it went. Destruction, bloodshed, torn bodies that scattered the once idyllic streets. He pressed upon them, further and further, until all they could see, think, believe was their approaching demise. It was the eruption of screams that brought the satisfied grin to his lips, that had his eyes closing with a hum at a job well done. "And that was simply a taste."

Alas, Leviathan was only ever where they needed to be at the precise moment necessary, though many could assume it inconvenient, the aspect was forever listening, lying in wait for every opportune moment. As such,, Arakhor's hands warm against her face remained the only thing to somewhat soften features otherwise hardened. However sharp and venomous they remained, slivers of the seraphim - not jaded by betrayal, would always belong to him. "I'd threaten to remove his tongue, but undoubtedly, he'd enjoy it more than I would." She muses, almost entirely to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching to liken a smile, the mild softness she shared with the fey extended so far as to encompass his brother. Her own hand rises, curling around one of Arak's wrists in near comfort, "I thought we'd learned not to allow him so many opportunities to speak." Albeit, amusing, she knew just as well that Enfenim could talk the hooves off of a changeling. "At least you're here now, just in time to see your brethren ally with the Eye of all things," It's almost comical; the threat of the Asphodel would always seemingly force enemies together, but the Eye? The worst of humanity, lording themselves over the creatures they captured - tortured and maimed. It would see more bloodshed, without her ever lifting a finger.

fxllenpythia​:

@arakhor

Another triumph, underlying the return of the fellowship that had set out some time ago. Whispers had sought their way back to her on the wind, through the shadows and in the thick of each soul spilled to the book. Heroes that would stumble upon a broken crown and all the instability that would come with it. It spun its way through her entire being as an ultimate high, she almost missed it. A tremor that worked it’s way into her fingertips and the promise of an oath not sworn in blood or souls, etched within the very celestial bones of what she’d once been, alerted her to something beyond the dissipating stretch of space between her and what she would bring upon this world. Her form filtered into a darkened mist, each speckle of darkness a black hole that emanated how rotten she was to the core, and when her hand slipped over his shoulder, the corporeal form following, she drew him into the heart of the otherworld. The chambers of the Asphodel and the Necronomicon echoing with centuries of silence and distance that never once left a mark upon what existed between them “I knew this lifetime would bring you back to me.”

-

The Soratami had fallen at the hands of Ayi’ig, the drow edged closer and closer to their goal, which did not concern Arakhor, though the fall of his race wasn’t exactly his and his brother’s dream. The eladrin within Rome had suffered another loss, each moment they remained in the mortal realm, they were further and further away from their chance at survival. Many fey wandered the Otherworld still, but they, too, fell victim. Once the blood of the firsts, the beings that could do anything if their song and ability willed it, were now reduced to a handful of Chancellors who had done nothing but hope someone else would step up so they wouldn’t have to. Either way, darkness ran in his blood, it was there since he’d attacked Titania’s warder, since he’d watched the queen banish them instead of kill them – she was weak, unable to strike those down who struck against her. Now, he was free. Free to power his magic with blood, free to find himself in the arms of Leviathan, of the one who had found him. 

“You always seem to disappear when everyone is looking for you,” he joked, recognizing the soul in front of him. Leviathan’s form had changed over the years, they’d picked a feminine one this time, and Arakhor grinned as he took her face in his hands, “We were a bit delayed. You know my brother likes to hear himself talk, so we took the long way to Rome.”

A waste, became her most immediate thought. The more demons already among them, the less she would need to conjure for herself in time. From the moment Abel had first called to release his familiar, it had pulled idly at the hands of time and ideally, morphed itself into a small piece of a rather complicated puzzle she intended to pull together. That one of her brethren had called a blade against them well before she could hand over purpose was almost absurd to her. It meant they were looking far before Pythia had allowed herself known to Rome. “Do you know which Seraphim? What their vessel looked like?” I was a long shot, finding out who would strike against one of their demons while the city ran rampant with those far more capable. 

“A seraph blade can revert any creature to it’s simplest form.” It was the slightest explanation for what she now knew had happened. Whether he understood it or not - the fate of his familiar was not merely by chance. “Without tossing him back into the inferno, there is little more you can do to revert him to a demon state.” She states, rather coldly, though she finds no real reason to sugar coat the truth for him. “The magic and power that turned him in the first place has been bled back into the inferno itself, or - remains trapped within the blade and there is nothing that can be done.” The corner of her lip twitches, head canting far enough to the side to cast dark tresses beyond her shoulder, “However, there are other avenues, if one is so willing.”

fxllenpythia​:

As her name flit through the mind of another, Pythia cracked out the ache in her neck with a rather jarring twist of her jaw. All in a days work, she supposed as the pull towards the other became something ethereal. A plea more than anything, as were all those seeking her out so reverently. Nobody chose to walk the path towards her without wanting something dire - power, revenge; death. It bled from their every whim and just as she’d expected, the air was so thick with it, she could taste the sweetness in the air. “Then you’ve been missing out for your entire life, Abel.” Ire doesn’t beseech her in being summoned this time, there are some who call to her who are hardly worth the price of their own soul, and yet - she knows that this one will cater to the necronomicon and herself in time.  Laughter splits concerning lips and Pythia presses her shoulders into the wall she rests upon, drawing herself to full height as she picks at dust within the air, “I’d argue that you’ve needed my help for a very long time, yet you’ve never quite made it this far before, have you?” Always toeing the line so readily blurred by those of his kind. The destruction so often molded from the skeletal foundations of blood magic only satisfied by those who could talk their way out of it’s damnation. Confident steps drew her closer until she could draw the chair out opposite him, plopping herself into it like a child as she lent forward and placed her chin in her hands, the sickly scent of his blood permeating satisfaction within her. “Tell me everything and don’t leave out a single detail,” she paused, hues narrowing for a moment before a saccharine grin split her features, “I’ll know if you do.”

          Silas had imbued this innate understanding of blood magic into Abel, for him it was a taboo that was only called upon when absolutely necessary. He’d tinkered with it before, felt the dangers that lurked in the rare times he’d practiced it; an unyielding itch. When he’d first released Cain from the Inferno after he’d been banished he’d had to call upon to release him; Abel wondered now if the Pythia could recall that or if so many called upon her that they were bound to drown out the incessant pull to her power. What was once a well documented taboo had spiraled into power that many were blinded by, entrenched with this desire for infamy. He’d felt it’s pull the moment he utilized it to free Cain from Lucifer’s clutches, it was akin to a breath of fresh air, all the tension within shoulders released as he fueled the Pythia once more. Abel had abandoned the practice in his adolescence, though Cain whispered of the desire for them to obtain more power, Abel would never surrender to the thought of supplying the Pythia; yet here he was now, within their presence, begging for help.

“My familiar… he was turned human.” There was hardly much to tell, from Abel’s perspective, the experience was Cain’s outright. Abel’s gaze bore into the floorboards but he dared to look up at the Pythia, a greater demon, “A seraphim had managed to make it into our coven,” with half of their coven sequestered out of Rome, they were weakened and he was certain that was to blame for it’s ability to enter their home. “I don’t know what happened between them, but when I stumbled upon him he was a clean slate; human.” Cain had begged Abel to reverse it however possible and here he was, putting himself at the mercy of the Pythia, “Is there anything that can be done? Anything you can do?” The Pythia projected solutions onto people, though they meddled, they were never the executioner. If she could, however, allow him the power to reverse what Cain had endured, Abel would do it if it brought peace for Cain once more.

bensu soral in tuzak

"Admittedly, I haven't had a chance to catch much of it." Though, now that she'd been drawn from the reverie of everything else the procession offered. Hesitation lingered for a fleeting moment, forgotten as Uriel switches his juggling method. "Shuffle over,, something tells me I'll never forgive myself if I don't see this." The last two glasses on the tray she held snatched up as she left it behind, offering one to Dionaeia, "I have no clue what this is, it's sweet though, far too easy to drink."

who? @fxllenpythia where? by the clown show

"Amazing show, isn't it?" Dionaeia mentions at Pythia with a small laugh as she sees Uriel juggle. Something about the sight gives her great pleasure, and she has spent way too much time seeing the four clowns do their work rather than enjoy the tragic festivities. Silenus would be proud of the the festivities, she thinks. "I can't seem to look away."