“When all the world is overcharged with inhabitants, then the last remedy of all is war, which provideth for every man, by victory or death.”
141 posts
Latest Posts by fxllenpythia - Page 2
@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.
@lulucretias
"To deadbeat fathers," she laughed manically, the toast neither served within wine glass, nor bottle, but the cage that she drew across the room, filled with druids captured upon the battlefield. Broken, contoured, but alive. "Perhaps you should throw Octavian into the river too," a look of distaste crossed her features fleetingly, as if reliving the memory of something truly disgusting, "I'd have liked to have ended that twink much sooner."
@bloodxlevent
"I can all but hear your frustrations, Levent." Pythia's voice echoed the room, as though they were everywhere, and nowhere all at once. Just as they had eyes in all places. Though his devotion certainly hadn't sought to fail, there was undoubtedly something keeping him at bay. "You've certainly missed the opportunity to tap out," as if the punishment brought down upon Kaan was an indication at all, "but you might as well have your say now, so I can figure out what to do with you now."
@arakhor
"It is done," those upon the summit had played their part, the first piece of all they needed falling into place as she felt the legions of followers and their power run through her, "For now." The assault from above would continue while two of her most trusted missives worked from below; soon the seals would be broken. "I trust you and your brother have filled the cages, what now, can I give you my love?" All those who offered their soul - their power to Python were given that which they desired, even if it was deemed costly, but for the exiled elandrin, she herself would suffer the cost should she need to. "Do you wish to join the Drow in their siege of the forest?"
@sethlozano location: necro world
Little more than the corner of Leviathan's mouth gave way to the satisfaction that each night brought forth. While the senate and their forces used the night to recoup, it was undoubtedly where they fared the greatest feat of all. Nothing turned the tides worse than fear and lunacy and as Pythia finds him among her coven, she greets him as an old friend, "Once more, I find myself impressed with your progression," August's depth of knowledge had never disappointed, and when she'd instructed Tepiltzin to source one of her own for an upgrade of sorts on his vampiric existence, the seraphim knew they would not be left hoping for more. "You'll be revered as you once were soon enough, we all will."
@oraculumx location: necronomnomation
"Break them," it's a breath of encouragement at it's finest, the saccharine whisper in his ear as she rains hellfire upon miscreants that dare wander too close. However long Leviathan had remained in the shadows, all those who might have thought to doubt their power would know the truth. They would know, the prince of the inferno would stop at nothing to bring this world to heel - to make their father ache in ways he forced upon all of his children, "They shall not know peace ever again, twist their minds until they snap, darling." In time, she would pry what he'd seen from his thoughts, but for now the fallen only wished to grant him room to flourish.
Even as the horrid nickname that once adorned her echoed throughout the otherworld, Leviathan was aware of the intrusion. Something within the darkness pulled forth an abyss of silence - a black hole swallowing every sound as she approached. The stringent tendrils of shadow pooled at her feet, hissing, not unlike water to a heated surface, and disappearing completely as she eyed this creature with a warm smile. The absence of light seems to lift slightly, "Better to ask forgiveness, than permission, clearly" Pythia states, indignant call to the fact that he'd already made the assumption. She tilts her head, looking over the stranger and the beasts at his side retain their composure - awaiting a command that never comes. The tone of her voice is rather soft, the glimmer of her jagged edge smile forming in the corner of her mouth, "Foolish of me, to perhaps hope that only good thoughts accompanied the name. Call me whatever you like, if only for a name in return."
@fxllenpythia location: The Otherworld notes: so proud of this ambitious queen
Wow it sure was dark out here. Ganymede had never been to or seen the Otherworld - but was it always so spooky? Everything seemed to be very friendly though, he was accompanied now by a menagerie of very kindly ferocious monsters. "Levi?" Gany called out, a little timid. They hadn't met, but she was always his favourite child. He was looking forward to bringing her home and getting the family back together again. "Oh, good, there you are," he said with a sigh of relief, "your father told me he always used to call you Levi in his head, is it okay if I call you that?"
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.
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.”
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.”
The laugh that leaves her lips is full and warm, not nearly the sound that one might have expected of a creature like herself. And yet, just as all others, she feels the swell of amusement cut through the diminishing disappointment of those who wanted power for little more than the bragging rights that would claim it so. Too many in this modern world were after near-instant gratification, unwilling to do the work - pay the price. "Too few among us hold onto the spine they were born with, Efigenia. Too willing to reach for what they want without the desire or ability to prove they deserve to break their own fall." And in the end, all those turning their back on her - on the Necronomicon, would fall. "Come, sit." Pythia turned, offering space beside her, overlooking New Dis from the spire above. "The ritual went exceedingly well, I hear," Felt, saw - experienced right along with her, and the book. "How are you feeling? I trust the drow didn't overstep."
a gift for @fxllenpythia, location: asphodel house notes: mommies
Respect for the Pythia was one of the very few principles Efigenia garnered. It was strange, the very creature that lorded Kaan's tether to the book was the very one in which Efigenia respected wholeheartedly. They had whispered to her often in childhood, an uttered embrace that comforted a gifted child who was within solitude as she navigated the powers that offered her great prestige as she grew. She'd met them now in the flesh and despite her reverence for the greater demon, Efigenia was always purposefully upfront, "I hear many are dropping like flies as you descend upon the world. Bit off more than they could chew?" She wouldn't pretend to be oblivious to the madness that came in tandem with her signature in the book but she was not leery of it either. The Asphodel was better without those who deflected and Efi only hoped their deflection would serve as sustenance for the book; it'd need power for what she too planned to tap from it.
"Thank you," she muttered with a rather coy smirk toying at blood-red lips, "I thought to myself, what kind of aesthetic would Enf find agreeable and here we are." The noted sarcasm in her voice was about as telling as how desperately she aspired to gain his approval. Nevertheless, Pythia had always favored Enfenim and his brother. Those that needed nothing from her - nor the book, and still enjoyed the taste of chaos all the same. "You know I'd never deign myself so low as to concede to such a mortal concept." She rolled her eyes, predictably so, "Although, Arak tells me that the dismal hour of your arrival can once again be chalked up to your inability to surpass the opportunity to speak. Perhaps we should offer our vows below your lynched and skinned corpse," the smile she offers is sickly sweet, a taunting venture that she'd not let slip to threat as she pinpoints a rather sharp point upon the arch, "right there, just for you, darling. Make a night of it."
@fxllenpythia location: home sweet home notes: kiss kiss bang bang “Nice place you have here.” Necromanteion had grown beyond any measure it had held before, tenfold. The infernal book grew in power with every passing moment, the more it devoured, the more it hungered. Enfenim had aligned himself with the sprawling city of New Dis, the great forces that amassed within suited him best, but he had not signed his name in the book. Necromancers all covered power over resurrection, bringing people back from the grave had never interested him. “Where should the wedding be-“ he smiled as he gestured towards one of the arches. “This looks like a suitable place for a set of vows.”
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."
fxllenpythia:
“What difference does a pack of wolves have to a coven? A court?” She waved a hand rather flippantly, the subdivision of species was a rather dull tactic to take when it came to the route of survival. Overdone, overworked and predictable. Centuries could pass among any of them before a spark of change, of life could pass through and reinvigorate the masses. “Do you not heed my voice in your mind as a beta would an alpha? Do you not feel protected? Safe?” Did they not know, that Pythia would burn the world down for those devoted enough to help see her through this? That Lucretia, August, Bastian, Levent, were now the closest thing to family she’d known in centuries - locked within the inferno after being fought and brought down by her siblings and gods alike. She had raised hell on those who’d betrayed her in the past, and she’d been far more forgiving as one of the blessed. “You have a mind, and will of your own. I understand the premise of what the Asphodel stand for, but we are for all those that have never belonged - been cast aside for daring to satiate our own curiosity.” And perhaps, his would be his own downfall this turn. Laughter blossomed on cherry tainted lips, “I don’t need weapons, Eric. I’m one of the fallen, risen from the inferno. There is nothing like me within this realm or the next.” Not yet, “Those that choose to follow me deserve far more than their lot in life, perhaps you believe you’re only ever meant to be one of many.”
She spoke, an effortless command that was fit to seek out reason and not insight fear but it still made the inner child within them tremble. They always resounded that their bark was far worse than their bite, the Exile always falling mercy to sabotaging situations because of their indecisive nature. It was what wrought this collision now, him and a fucking fallen angel turned greater demon and though his jaw was clenched in that spasm of anxiety, Eric wouldn’t wilt under the idea of submitting to this creatures flawed tactics of unleashing evil upon the world they secretly, deep down, cherished. “No, I don’t feel fucking safe,” it was barked out with a rueful laugh, their face scrunched as though the Pythia would smite them for the mere admission, though the statement was paired with a haphazard shrug. One of many, that could resound another hollow laugh, but they bit the action back, instead nodding grimly. It was true that their cowardice had simmered them to this creature which lacked a back bone and only lashed out when backed into a corner; it was how they’d survived so long. “Yeah, I’m certainly more of a follower than a leader, carving out some wicked path of destruction, you got me there.” There was no sarcasm for it bore a sad truth for the lycan, “I’ll be a bit happier keeping my hands clean from all your troubles,” for once they’d stood their ground on an opinion instead of skulking towards what everyone else had done; what August had done. He often thought of the necromancer, their only friend once upon a time who they now no longer recognized as a dull malfeasance took over August’s gaze.
end/.
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.
The hunger in her alone could swallow up every God, every woman, every man, every person, the whole universe.
Nikita Gill, from Great Goddesses: Life Lessons from Myths & Monsters (via heavensmark)
@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."
It’s about as much as she suspected, and rightfully, she could have trifled through his thoughts to establish as much, but she’d known Seth for long enough to offer him the courtesy of asking. “How lovely to know that some still hold onto some semblance of common sense then,” anyone who thought to look to the senate was foolish. It only served to curb the realities of the world as it was. Were creatures given the respect they deserved, the world would have fallen to the chaos she so desired to see it in. “And what do you look towards now? Has your outlook and desire for more swayed?” Again, actions speak far louder than words, but she doesn’t intend to be burned by one of her own while the Asphodel stumble closer and closer to their goal. “Is this your way of speaking for him?” Pythia muses with an ounce of amusement, already rather familiar with the vampire that he speaks of. “You wish him to remain.. untouched?” She’d spent some time within the mind of the former leech, undoubtedly, the thought of drawing him into the fold had already arisen in recent memory. “Would he swear to it? Or would you?”
The Pythia was once an entity in which he worshiped, each sacrifice among the concrete altar providing sustenance for the book in which the Senate and Archdruids attempted to impede. They had separated the book, plucking away it’s spine, the cover, the contents; pulling them to different places within different realms and still, they had failed. Believers such as Seth, practitioners of the infernal magic locked within each book, were the living proof of such potent beliefs that would keep the book from being null and void. Though he no longer had magic adeptly reigned at the fingertips, Seth’s knowledge of what once was, was vast and limitless. She’s to be respected and yet the Criminal laughs at the asinine nature of her question. It’s a fair question though Seth has never been technically rational; the Necronomicon had blackened his soul and the descent which he’d taken within vampirism had only fragmented his mind further, “The Senate doesn’t serve me, I don’t look towards them.” Normally, he’d disregard his progeny and yet somehow, one in particular had found their way back, “I do have one progeny here but the others, well, the only thing we share in common is our bloodline, nothing more.” He thought of Dominic, once branded as Felix the Leech, but said nothing on the matter.
ericxaquino:
It would be typical fashion for the volatile to slink away, seemingly undetected, the Exile always running from one life and community to the next. Nothing ever seemed to fit, it was a maddening cycle in their life and though this was yet another failed excursion for them, Eric felt strangely confident in the idea of the Lupo; of leaving this wretched coven behind. Their thoughts of August were palpable with anguish, the necromancer was on a steep slope downwards and Eric leaving would only inflict further disaster, but for the lycan it was a necessity. Marcella was the only other factor in the equation that allowed Eric to be uneasy; August could handle himself, make peace with the flames that engulfed his tarnished soul, but Eric knew wholeheartedly that Marcella and he were ravaged by their own guilt for their decisions of imminent survival. The two necromancers Eric had joined for may understood his decision but they were polar opposites in lieu of handling it. “Don’t you think a lycan is better suited with an actual pack? What have I offered to you besides violence?” They shook their head, anxiety was surely engulfing them in this very moment, a verbal face off with the Pythia, “But, I guess all you ever really wanted from me was a weapon, anyhow.”
“What difference does a pack of wolves have to a coven? A court?” She waved a hand rather flippantly, the subdivision of species was a rather dull tactic to take when it came to the route of survival. Overdone, overworked and predictable. Centuries could pass among any of them before a spark of change, of life could pass through and reinvigorate the masses. “Do you not heed my voice in your mind as a beta would an alpha? Do you not feel protected? Safe?” Did they not know, that Pythia would burn the world down for those devoted enough to help see her through this? That Lucretia, August, Bastian, Levent, were now the closest thing to family she’d known in centuries - locked within the inferno after being fought and brought down by her siblings and gods alike. She had raised hell on those who’d betrayed her in the past, and she’d been far more forgiving as one of the blessed. “You have a mind, and will of your own. I understand the premise of what the Asphodel stand for, but we are for all those that have never belonged - been cast aside for daring to satiate our own curiosity.” And perhaps, his would be his own downfall this turn. Laughter blossomed on cherry tainted lips, “I don’t need weapons, Eric. I’m one of the fallen, risen from the inferno. There is nothing like me within this realm or the next.” Not yet, “Those that choose to follow me deserve far more than their lot in life, perhaps you believe you’re only ever meant to be one of many.”
Pythia understood very well, that the greater number of Seraphim would undoubtedly take the chance to end her should the opportunity arise, she’d long since sought to take an ounce of it personally. However, something about the understanding spoken between them now made the hollow darkness in her chest ache. “It’s been a long time since we’ve held onto all that we deserve, Astaroth,” if there were another way, perhaps, she might have sought it out but the truth was, the human race had been allowed to run this realm into the ground for too long and by the time her invocation became rather permanent, far too much damage had been done. “Since anyone considered us worthy of even an ounce of what we were promised. I only seek to attain a sliver of that.” Albeit, her way came with the promise of casualties and more collateral damage than should ever have been necessary, if anyone could deliver on such a promise, it was undoubtedly Leviathan. “For our siblings.” A spark of nostalgia flickered in her eye. Although gone was the once compassionate seraphim, once full of passion and love, she would burn the skies down to return to them those they had lost; regardless of the cost. “Should you see the others,” their kind - the other fallen, siblings that she’d not fared too close to recently, uncertain as to whether their reparations of her would be as lightly given as his, “Give them my love.” Oh, the irony.
Far closer in their efforts, he vied to believe it was an understatement, though Roth understood far too well the lengths Michael and Uriel would go to contain the siblings that they had deemed unruly. Serpents once ensnared this realm, sulfuric air and ash making it uninhabitable; he could attempt to relate to the idea that what was since created from such malice was worth saving, but Roth would not stoop to such merciful ideals. No matter how hard Uriel attempted to ally those who he’d once scorned, Roth would rather sit by with his pride intact than to allow themself to abandon their principles. Their wrath was what allowed them to quite literally jump from grace for the divine realm could no longer serve them if they were meant to bow to creatures weaker than they. Roth once figured it was that which unified he and Pythia, that they’d not belittle themselves for mortals, yet it was clear her time locked within the Inferno had morphed that ambition into something else entirely. “I hold the same sentiment for you, dear sister,” he didn’t pass off the promise with vague sarcasm or blase indifference, Roth made it perfectly clear that they would both accomplish what they must if it all boiled down to it. Ulthar had made blades and scribes, not a family, though Roth found amusement in her final sentiment, “I’d like to see you try.” Tacitly expressed care was there, embedded in scorn and bitterness, but the faint wisps of a smile allowed any insight to Roth’s emotions in this moment.
octavianrising:
❂🐦❂
She made herself known, a foolish choice considering how much hatred he harbored for her. In part, he wanted to unleash the phoenix’s rage on sight, but he had questions that needed answers. So he pulls his wings in, and after bursting into a pillar of flame Octavian changes back into his human form, walking forward with purpose and authority. “Keep my father’s name off your snake tongue, vile creature,” he warns, eyes still blazing. “I only want to know one thing: why now? Why free my sister now? Why chip from my family even more than you already have?” Though those questions were a thinly veiled mask to what he truly was after. Octavian couldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how the voices in his mind screamed to be united with their progenitor. “The things you’ve done with that book … I should burn you for that alone.”
It’s quite a performance, the phoenix honing in against all the otherworld posed against him now, though she feels no sense of surprise. Pythia knows Octavian to be a force to contend with and one that fluctuates between loyalty and all that she knows if in his mind. As if out of humor alone, a serpentine hiss fills the air as she smirks, perfect teeth elongating only momentarily to mimic those of the creature he spoke of. “You should be more grateful to see her, did you not wish to be reunited with her?” The truth of his sisters demise one that filled Pythia with utter flee, “I did you a favor.” Framed within the concave of irrevocable choice - an olive branch that was only lacquered in the same poison that tainted his thoughts. “You could, of course, but I would merely find a new vessel and we would continue on as we always have..” The tip of her tongue runs the edge of her teeth, before she inhales swiftly and sets about on a slight skip in her step as she rounds him, “or, you could confess your thoughts - the ones that have told you all that I, and the book, can truly offer you. All that it whispers to you.”