It’s Perhaps Enough To Further Brighten The Spark Of Pythia’s Mood. The Unyielding Comfortability

"And what exactly would I need your gratitude for?" She spat, teeth bared as Pythia took in the form of the pathetic excuse for a man. The wounded animal, snarling as she came too close as if he'd ever come close to being the prey in this scenario, or any beforehand. Octavian, regardless of his obsessive desire and need for the book, was a fickle being. One that she neither needed, not sought to forget. Tsking lightly as he attempts to move, the sight shift of her fingertips brings about vines, sprawling from the depths of the Necronomanteion to the very tower they exist upon in that moment. "When will you people get it? I don't wish to leash anyone at all," not entirely true - there were certainly more than a handful of creatures she'd see chained by the end of this, "I have given your daughter everything that you never could. I've given them all that nobody else ever could. I don't wish to condemn them to an existence controlled by a bunch of egg-head Neanderthals who believe they know what's best for this.. thing you all consider to be a society." A hand waves in a haphazard gesture to the world beyond and the vines snap around Octavian's wrists, thorns sinking into his flesh, "You held so much promise."

who?: @fxllenpythia where?: he's still on the ground

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He noticed almost immediately how difficult things were now that he was a man once again. Without his power, the whispers could rise to screams in his mind, still urging him to go find that book. It was so close, yet Octavian was too weak to do much of anything but lie there. He was disconnected from everything but his past, so at the very least the buteo's instincts ingrained into his being kept him alert despite his condition. Still, Octavian realized something as he bled out onto the floor of the Necromanteion: if he could still feel the Necronomicon beckoning him then it really had imprinted on his soul. "If you're wanting to try and make me feel gratitude towards you again, don't. I've forgotten how banal anger can feel without the fire to back it up." Octavian winces as he attempts to sit up but remains on the ground, clutching his abdomen. "Actually, I'm surprised you've found time for me at all. Aren't you supposed to be too busy walking my daughter on a leash?"

@yurcna location: yurena's necro crib

"You seek to conserve your strength when I can give you all the sustenance you could ever ask for." They drew from the book, an unyielding, constant conduit of power, yet Leviathan knows what she has felt. A drift, caught somewhere between the young witches devotion - a snaggle tooth that needed to be pulled. "There's no going back, Yurena." Hues as void as the abyss struck Yurena still, "Speak your grievances and be done with it." The underlying threat of Kaan's demise remaining unspokien.

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          Astaroth understood the ire she was plagued by, perhaps far too well, his wings willingly plucked from his back, a fall that he took gracefully. Ulthar wished for them to be submissive minions who bowed at those lesser than them, and though Roth understood, he could not join Leviathan on their plight. Much like he could not join forces with Uriel and Michael, pervade this same damning cycle as their kind continued to be destroyed in the process. No longer was she a fallen seraphim, branded a greater demon and corrupted by the Inferno, Leviathan was almost unrecognizable, save for the meddling spark in their eyes. Lucifer sparked the war, Ulthar’s most beautiful angel, and Leviathan was quick to come up second, a great warrior condemned to be twisted apart in the depths of the Inferno. He’d not join her, but oh could he understand their rage. Roth smirked, a subtle quirk of their lips before nodding in amusement, “I shall do just that.” Roth stopped for a moment, softly, “I hope you come to get everything you’ve wanted; that sliver. I hope it’s worth it.” Soon after, he was gone.

Awash with the sense of his own weariness, Pythia struck and drew the very air from his lungs, the heat of hellfire rippling against his insides; it’s a flicker of irritation, but one she doesn’t cling to and quickly it dissipates. “You grow weary of questions, and yet you have barely lived through a single life. Spare me the dramatics, would you?” There’s something buried within the tone of her voice that coveys everything from the inferno; a depth of gracelessness that offers him only one chance to redirect his patience. “No, sparky. I’m not talking out of my ass. Perhaps you’ve not truly thought this through. Does tearing the Eye down not draw all of you directly into their conniving arms, Serkan? You cannot hope to pick them off one by one, there are too many. Destruction of such a far-stretching and interwoven institution does not come easy, and it certainly doesn’t come from one who was little more than a lab rat. All he offers you is anger.” Of which, the wolves already had far too much of. “I’m aware of what they do. I also know that changelings are not exactly a delicacy that is easy to come by, and charging your way into the otherworld is only asking for trouble.” She should know - afterall, the creatures the drow held control over and the asphodel themselves sought to fortify the other realm in ways none would ever see coming. “But, should you require more than a mere handful...” Hues rolled into the back of her skull and a blooming laugh flit from her lips like butterfly wings - soft and gentle, “Were I to make an enemy of you, you’d already be dead so, choke that bark of yours right back down and work with me.”

fxllenpythia·:

“I suppose we’ll see how true that really is, won’t we?” The air of disbelief that caught the edge of each word as purposeful as ever, hues of near obsidian eyeing the wolf as if she wasn’t entirely certain that he wouldn’t bend the knee so readily. “Perhaps you’ll yet surprise me.” Though, she wouldn’t hold a proverbial breath. Useful, he claimed, and she had to wonder exactly where he found such use in the lead of a man none of them could truly know. Torture and callous treatment could change the very molecules of a man; of a creature among them. “My point is, that nothing happens in Rome that isn’t premeditated. Do you believe that your new alpha escaping the clutches of the eye just in time for your little wolf-fest is little more than coincidence?” She didn’t expect such a thought to sink beyond surface level, in truth - she wanted to find out exactly where the former alpha stood. Their alliance with the fey a rather tricky thing to navigate. “You pander to all that must be hard won, instead of seeking the path of least resistance. The hearts of changelings, no?”

A sigh left his mouth at the words leaving her mouth. He was tired of it. There was always someone questioning his choices, always someone telling him he could have done better or that he could still be alpha if he did just one thing differently. Serkan was one for living in the past, but this was one time he just wanted to move past it. He wanted to get rid of the questions. The Pythia was someone he barely even knew and yet here she was questioning his choices. What the fuck was in the air in Rome? He took a second, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to her. “So you think Alek is under the thumb of the Eye? The guy that made it known he wants to tear them down? That Alek? I see you’re talking out of your fucking ass now.” Another sigh. “Changeling hearts make it easier for us to shift. I’m failing to see how that would be a problem.” He shook his head. “Look, burn down Rome for all I care. Just leave us lycans alone. We’ve got no real problem with you unless you make an enemy of us.”

Fingertips drew gently across rose petals, a perfect parallel to the death left in her wake and for a moment they simply lingered. Another piece of this realm that existed and remained fleeting to those it was gifted to. A single breath slipped between her lips and the flowers before her went up in flames. The harrowing glow of the fire illuminated her features, eerie and near demonic as her brothers voice broke through silent thought. “Hayliel, darling.” Something akin to endearment crossed her features and the flames died out, grave crunching beneath the toe of her boot as she turned to him, “I’ve been wondering when I’d run into you.” Perhaps even looking forward to it, “Getting up to no good is always a little lonely without you.”

closed starter for @fxllenpythia​

It had seemed like ages since he had last seen her. Perhaps it had been, but he did admire the chaos and misfortune that the other brought with them. It made him laugh that there were still some that chose to fuck with her in any capacity. He certainly wouldn’t. If there was a side to be on in this war, he would certainly choose the Pythia’s. There was the fact that he was loyal to the fallen and then there was also that part of him that just wanted to watch the world burn. Hayliel wanted to watch everything Ulthar had worked so hard for to crumble down. That would be so nice to watch unfold. “Sister. You look as lovely as always and up to no good at all.”

The rise of his voice - a moment of frustration and anger was one of the only flickers of conviction the Pythia had seen of Eric in some time now. Hollowed out by his own discomfort - his choice to stradle the line between this life and the next would be his downfall. Unable to choose until all that remained was the pitiful indecision to return to a world that had already cast him aside once. “You should have spent these months learning to secure your own fate instead of wallowing in self-pity, abhorrence or expecting someone else to do it for you.” A serpent’s hiss rounded out the snap of her own fangs, the glimmer of hues daring him to test another bark in her presence. Still, she softens - smiles, and shakes her head gently, “I never needed to make you a monster, Eric. You’ve been one since birth - and everyone, including your mother, knew it.” It’s flippant, haphazard, the way she speaks. As though every word she spoke were facts well known. “You were exiled long before the pack turned it’s back on you, and it seems you’re itching to experience that all over again.”

“If all you see here is destruction, you’ve not been looking hard enough.” The asphodel - the Necronomicon, was wrought with the creation of all things frowned upon. To stop death in its tracks, open realms beyond this one, and bring about a world that no longer saw those with such an affinity banished to barren lands. Eric had yet to see the totality of the destruction that she could wrought and as she wove the intricacies of power around her finger, the once regaled seraphim condemned the volatile to a life of bridled pain. A shortened life, beyond the safe haven of those willing to do anything - his body would seek to reject the hearts granting - long life, and strength beyond all else. Rue the control he sought being safe - the fire within him deserved so much more. The spark of a flame ignites and the blackened candles surrounding the room cast long shadows across the room. “Your troubles are your own, Eric. I offered you opportunity, and you squandered it. Perhaps the harbinger won’t mind another disappointment.”

"As it should." It's deafening, the solidity in which she defiles the woman with her stoicism. It is how Leviathan has always intended it to be. Loyalty beyond all fault - and as it was with Kaan, their deception should be to all but her. "Necromancy is but a menial piece of all that you strive for. Appeasing Oztalun is all you need to do," it was something that Pythia could swallow, however barbed it was. The splinters of dark magic were otherworldly, and created the stepping stones to what the First offered. One did not exist without the other. "Should you wish to earn his favor, keeping mine would do you well," which wasn't entirely true - but Leviathan was certainly within the realm of taking all she'd offered away and then some. Undoubtedly, it'd land anyone in a bit of a pickle. "You'll make do." She smiles, like the edge of a jagged knife, "And how am I to trust that you're not of the same mindset Kaan was? Hm?"

a starter for @fxllenpythia, where: in between somewhere and nowhere

"It's funny, I've been loyal to this idea of you all my life, that appeasing another merely feels like treason," Python was always this dark whisper in the night, a tenebrous hug that nurtured, parasitic in it's need for more. Where loyalty to necromancy had been at the forefront of her very existent for some time, a new contender came forth under the First, or the Last as he'd been dreadfully converted to; but Efigenia was nothing if not a willing student under the pliable hands of dark magic. Loyalty was not to ever be confused for family, where she could sit amongst these equal horrors of dark arts, work alongside them and commit unspeakable acts; they all were only ever bound by their desires for the profane. "But I'll make do," she smiled, a catty tongue but for all of Pythia's influence the Advocate still would do anything the Archfiend requested, that much was clear.

"Get me Augustus' body." It's said without much thought, but neither do her plans grow too bold just yet. With her numbers dwindled - even with the souls of those beyond Rome, Pythia wouldn't strike again without having everything in check - not for the likes of being blinded once more. "Dead or alive." Undoubtedly, the archfiend held some sentimentality towards the former necromancer, but waste not want not. The ties he held were worth splintering in the same ways the Asphodel had been, "And find out where Lucrecia is hiding, I'm not nearly done with her." By choice, or otherwise; Leviathan was the very embodiment of violence; and her wrath would befall all of those who no longer served her purpose. "Kill whoever you have to."

Bastien's birth had only been for the power that his parents could garner, to create a coven where one had not been. He had been taught nothing aside from what he could do for his parents. That is, until Pythia had begun to whisper in his ear. Of the power that he could harness for himself, of the magic that lay dormant within him. It was the greater demon that had guided him to the forest, to the animals within and the visions that he could pull from the hands of the Graeae. And it was since then that his loyalty had been cemented, given over freely and without fault. Even when he had been imprisoned, when he'd been left with nothing but his visions. Even when others had fallen, had felt fear and fled from the ranks of the Asphodel. And even now, as his mind fractured, as a part of it weighed so heavily upon a certain elf, Bastien had remained with Pythia. "Ask of me anything that you wish, it will be yours freely," he affirmed, cementing his loyalty that much further to their cause. To the power that would be Pythia's, and subsequently, his own once a new book had been crafted. Once they had finalized what they had long since been working towards.