“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 3
Turning on her heel at the sound of a voice clearly speaking to her - familiarity piquing the others' inquiry, Pythia felt the curl of a smile before she saw to react, "Oh, Zoey." The woman she'd forced into vampirism; she remembered the stench of the undead on her the night they'd crossed paths. "Well, beyond the concern for my ankles after wearing these heels for so long, I'm doing rather well -" a small gesture with the silver tray she held, "some kind of spiced meat patte hors dourve, it seems to be a bit of a hit with everyone." For some reason, she understands almost explicity that she's never been all too poite towards the other, though her mind offers up no reasoning to the matter, "I hope you know, it's not personal." As if that explained everything.
who? @fxllenpythia where? idk somewhere, zoey got snackey
"Hi! So good to see you!" There is an extra pep to Zoey's step and a bright grin on her face. She had not felt this good in months, even if she doesn't remember why. What she does know is that the party is great, she is having fun, and she wants to share the joy with everyone that looks even vaguely familiar. "How are you doing? Also, what are you carrying? Anything good to eat?"
"Honestly," hues shift over the silver tray she carries, "i couldn't tell you, some kind of nectar, i think? I don't seem to be making it too far before it's all gone so it must be good." To which, the tray would then suddenly be refilled. "Would you like one? It's been a while since I've seen you." Something that had always stuck with the sovereign, even now, she lived as a phantom of her own coven.
who? @fxllenpythia where? near the food
"What are you carrying, Sovereign Pythia?" She asks as she approaches Asphodel's sovereign. It's odd really, for a long moment she had almost thought that she was from Alstroemeria, but if she was, why would she had ever left the coven? Clearly the drinks are beginning to get to her head.
"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."
The familiar voice caught her a little off guard, though Pythia doesn't know exactly why. The tray of champagne flutes she carries, filled with a soft pink bubbly liquid trembles slightly, though she recovers quickly as she rounds to lay hues on her brother. Hues, that now hold an air or warmth that had otherwise disappeared eons ago. "Michael," A fleeting moment holds ire before its reasoning dissipates just as surely, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Truly, Pythia doesn't remember the last time that she'd felt so, light - so, unburdened by the tribulations that had so quickly torn her apart and left her rampant for retribution. "Oh," it's something of a surprise, but again, she doesn't truly know why, "let me just..--" Perhaps there's some importance in the tray she carries, unwilling to simply set it down, Pythia isn't comfortable until another server accepts it from her. He wasn't wrong. How long had passed, since the hands of time set them on opposite sides, since they'd seen each other as brother and sister, instead of nothing more than an enemy. "For old times' sake."
@fxllenpythia location: the FUNCTION notes: a rare sentimental moment between these two
Wasted time. That's what all these years amounted to. Michael couldn't remember why he and Leviathan had fallen out, there was a time that they had been close: inseparable, even. They'd fought together for so long, served their father dutifully and faithfully but... For some reason Michael had let time and who knew what else come between him and so many of his other siblings. "Of all the things you and I shared, it's hard to believe that there are still firsts." This masquerade, the gala and all its eccentricities were so distinctly fey. The eladrins would throw their parties in Eden, but they were not for the seraphim to attend. "Dance with me? I feel like we have a lot of time to make up for."
@lulucretias location: necroland
“Do it again,” as if catching the heat of the flame hadn’t already singed everything within reach. Amusement rattled somewhere in her chest, Lucretia now living proof that all that the Asphodel could reach was well beyond all that came before them. A God dead, and a dragon within their midst. Pride swelled, unspoken beneath the surface. The band of misfits that had sought to lead the plan to success with her an easy reminder that all that she sought was not already damned. “There’s still a bag of marshmallows lying around here somewhere,” added offhandedly as she filled both of their empty glasses, “Bet you can’t avoid burning them to a crisp.”
augustcavaliere:
It was true that the further he sank, the more powerful he became, the more twisted the necromancer’s mind ended up being. The siren’s call of the dark arts had beckoned him for an age, each reincarnation under Thetis’ curse had brought him to this. In this life Eren had broken the spell but that it would be too late might as well have always been the druidic mother’s intention. Because for all the lives that August and Eren had lived together, the two of them had never been further apart, now they stood on opposite sides of the coming battle with an obvious end in sight. “Good,” the smirk that followed came across as unnatural, like a snake lifting its lips to try and grin, “I’m looking forward to it.” The drow. Annoying creatures but obviously necessary, the necromancer would have preferred to toil in his lab but if Pythia had a directive for him then he would see it through to completion. “Consider it done.”
Obedient to a fault, August had never slipped in his plight to serve both her and the Necronomicon, and he’d serve the same punishment as all others. The prospect of losing a loved one, for good, was one she knew well. Eons had passed since the war of the Gods. To see her brethren struck down even then had been a blow - but what followed, in seeing them tear each other down, had left marks unseen upon Leviathan. “How did Eren take it?” One of the many she knew that adored the man, yet still sought to damn him for the life he wanted when the truth came to light. “I shouldn’t need to apologize for the cost we must pay for our plight” She sighs,” the cost of joining me alone drives away those that cannot handle all to come, but were I given the option, I’d have you know that with enough power, all things can be reversed. It’s merely a matter of how long you can be without until a suitable fix is found.”
It was a wonder any of them believed they could breathe within the confines of the coven and she wouldn’t know about it. The entirety of the Otherworld now beneath the ruling of Levithan and Ayi’ig left little to be considered, and yet, she’d allowed Eric to continue believing that his intention existed within the darkened confines of his own mind, that alone. The heated drink she held in her hand - something otherwise wickedly sweet where bitterness existed in the very fingertips that burned with it, a small comfort in an almost domestic setting for her. “You’re going?” She sat up a little straighter, a crease forming between narrowing brows, how bold of him. Better had he tried to slip out unseen; perhaps she might have even commended him for such gall. “Where will you go, Eric?” Where will you go that I can’t find you? “There’s still so much more to do, don’t you at least want to see the next step come to fruition before you tuck tail and run?” While innocence lacquered each word, it was impossible to miss the subtle venom that existed beneath. “I’d hate for you to regret your decision.”
a gift for @fxllenpythia,
notes: honey you’ve got a big storm comin’
Eric’s anxiety and inquietude tended to push them to do regrettable things. Joining the Asphodel had been one of them, but announcing his departure to the Greater Demon ruling over said coven? Astronomically one of said decisions. They had few remnants of their personal items hanging around within the coven, those were all moved away discreetly after returning from Knossos and feeling that palpable sickness in their gut at what had went down. Reliably, loyally, sworn to the book in their own way of obligation they’d done what was expected of them and were now rife with guilt and the need to flee. A typical and rather visceral reaction of the Exile. “Hey, so, I don’t know what I expected but, I’ve done my part and it’s time for me to get going,” their words are embedded with flippant sarcasm, especially in the face of a venerated creature who was strengthened by the sacrificial blood of others, Eric couldn’t find it in themselves to tame their fear-induced lip.
“Ah,’ the sound drew out as she watched his haphazard gesture, “I certainly hear that nostalgia is a bit of a fickle bitch.” Perhaps for all of those beyond her. It wasn’t exactly something that had ever pressed concern into the forefront of her mind. Pythia wasn’t one to wonder on past or future endeavors. Taboo, all that she’d offered had always existed in the darkest corners of magic, all those that sought to tether themselves knew the risk. Knew how quickly they’d fall into the realms of pariah among their own people. An inevitability. That hadn’t taken the sharp sting out of the slaughter that he’d suffered. A shame and a waste, even if his soul bolstered the book and her regardless. It seemed as time passed, the commitment of those that pledged themselves to the Asphodel grew less stern. The followers of yesterday were certainly something else. “Between your willingness and the knowledge you bring with you, I’m certain I can find something to do with you. How close are you to the others of your bloodline? The senate?” It’s an immediate thought, and as much as she expects an answer, already she is sifting through ways in which she could use Seth for her own gain. “I have a few witches you can see, they can bolster your enhanced abilities, give you a little more... bite, if you should so wish it.”
fxllenpythia:
It was a strange thing, to be so connected to so many. To hear so many thoughts and feel the tremor of even their deepest, darkest emotions. However deeply buried they might have been, she felt them, a distant tremor in the base of her skull that she could so easily diminish. To reach out and pull at a single string and watch the entwinement of all who belonged to her and the book unravel within the palm of her hand. Too often, it left her giddy. “Tepiltzin, I was wondering when you’d find your way back to me.” They always did - it wasn’t often that one could experience all that she could offer and find such an infinite way to sever themselves. Greed was a rife poison that lingered in even the most well-rounded of creatures. Without second thought, she moves; each step neither too prominent nor inaudible as she finds herself within reach, fingertips shifting the flesh of his upper lip until she can press the pad of her thumb into the fang that elongates under the will of her own thought, “I’m not sure I like you better this way, but I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” Her vessel bleeds, a bead of crimson growing until it spills onto his lip. Even as one of the fallen, the power she carries stains that of the being she possesses, offering him but a menial taste of what he’d once had. “Is that what this is about? You want to join the band of God-killers?”
Seth always garnered this irreverent sense. As a druid he was heedless and adamant in his pull to power, betrayed his own family, slaughtered those who looked to him for guidance. It had led him to the Pythia, a gravelly promise whispered into the night of something more, trials toiled away on. “I don’t know,” it’s a frivolous response paired with a careless shrug, he never liked to seem too eager even in light of a greater demon who’d pulled the strings of life and death to slaughter a god. “I just wanted to see if the past was still interesting.” He’d gotten a rather cult following of his druid community, all in lieu of Pythia’s influence, but they’d turned against him, placed him on the blood-soaked slab of concrete to slaughter in retribution. Dedication to Mars was faint, he was a vampire by circumstance not by solidified choice; his sire had offered him the pieces to the puzzle and he’d taken them with interest only spurred by ego. He’d be a weakness if he could not capitalize on newfound abilities bestowed upon him. “I’m not sure what use a vampire would be to you, but here I am regardless.” Seth presents himself on the basis of curiosity, his past was molded and refined by the Necronomicon, it wasn’t necessarily easy to abandon, especially as their influence of followers cropped up again.
Interruption had always irked her - as a general, she’d never tolerated it. As a demonic entity? Even less so. One would think that they’d learnt their lesson, the death she’d dealt to the woman one that barely sparked familiarity among the myriad of bodies and soul’s she’d taken since the previous Halloween. Life within the confines of Rome had not been short of them. Lips left behind the slight imprint of the brazen red lipstick she wore, an exceptionally good iced coffee intruded upon as she strode haphazardly towards the markets. “Excuse me?” Disdain dripped from her words thick as tar. Paid to kill. The idea of it alone made her seek a blossom of laughter within her chest, and yet, still incredulity stalled her as she looked upon the clearly seething woman. The snap of her finger coiled serpentine attention to the man passing them by and the split second sound drew him to a near statuesque stop. She held out her drink and without a word, his hand rose to take hold of it before she turned back to the woman.
The look in her eyes had shifted, a murderous abyss calling out from the depth of her pupils. “Who is he? And what makes you believe you’re special enough to need an order to carry out your death?” The corner of her mouth twitched, just. “I remember you, Zoey.” Serpentine features hovered ever nearer, “Weak, little Zoey.” The singsong tone of her voice was harrowing, an eerie whisper upon the wind carried through Rome, “Your death meant nothing, and was for nothing. You were simply there.” It curls venomous around a smile as pointed as fangs themself. “Hardly a waste though, at least now, you have a soul that’s worth something.” At least this, she could feed to the book. “
who? @fxllenpythia
where? the streets of rome
when? whenever the thread
with Konstantin ends and Zoey storms off, probably night to make it more dramatic
notes: I love putting Zoey in situations, I truly do
Anger is hard for Zoey to hold, it slips through her fingers as anxiety and self-doubt chip at the hard block that had settled on her chest at Vasiliev’s confession. It is still there, waiting for a moment to strike, but sadness is all encompassing, the devastation a blow to her psyche that she doesn’t know she will recover from. Her death is something she has yet to come to terms with, and the confession that no matter what she had done on the day of the Red Wedding the result would have always been the same? It’s devastating. Zoey hadn’t known the name of the person who had killed her, but now she knew one of them.
Konstantin Vasiliev.
That is the name of one of her killers. Now if she could find out if he had asked one of his friends to finish the job.
She is wandering around Rome, not ready to return to the Mars Palace or to her apartment to face Jamie or Adatiel, when her desires are answered in the most unexpected of ways. Zoey turns a corner, and in the distance sees them. The one that had killed her. In a flash, her anger returns as she stalks closer, her fangs bared in a snarl despite the instinct telling her she is before a predator.
“Did he pay you to kill me?” She hisses, Adrian’s words of how her death was likely a murder echoing on her head. If the Senator is correct, there is only one person who would benefit of her death. The demon that had seen her as disposable. “Did he order you to? Or did you just did him a solid and killed the annoying bitch bothering him for free?”
“Loyal? No kidding.” She deadpans without a moments pause, “You’re all far too busy sniffing each others asses to be anything but, I understand the concept.” Her followers mimicked loyalty just as surely in their path to power until it became an obsession; in her mind, Lycan’s spared just as little humility than some of those that called to her. “Yes, yes - you’re angry, it’s you, not him, I’d say your breath must smell like his shit with how adamant you sound.” Yet, should another come to take their new Alpha’s place, Pythia didn’t doubt those within this Lupo pack would shift loyalty just as easily. “What do you think will happen if the senate and the eye manage to do away with little old me and the Asphodel?” She shifted, pressing her elbows onto the table between them, propping her chin up with her hands, “Tiamat forbid, they manage, what hope in hell do you believe your pack has?” It was a risk, but truly, Pythia was only considering a bolster of sorts, another contingency among many.
fxllenpythia·:
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.”
It had not been a good idea to have this conversation. She had far more power than he could ever dream of having and it was in his best interest to make sure he got away from the Pythia as soon as possible. Every word spoken, every action she made would have dire consequences for him. Serkan often spoke without thinking of what could happen to him in return. It was something he knew would need to be worked on, but that moment had not come right now. No, instead he had simply pushed her buttons to the point where it had the air leaving his lungs, irritation forming within his body for a mere moment before it was gone. It made him feel weak, but this was someone that could kill him in a second if given the chance. The fact that she hadn’t yet was…well, it was surprising. Clearly, she wanted to prove something to him. The lycan was hardheaded though. “Lycans are loyal, you know. I’m not sure if you know that concept all too well, but it means that I will not manipulate him based on this theory that you have. And that anger you think he’s offering me? It’s not from him. I’ve been angry for a long time. This didn’t start because of his ascent to the top.” Whatever Alek offered would be done. Serkan had made it his duty to keep an eye out on the alpha and make sure he wasn’t caught with his pants down at any moment in time. She had a lot to say though and he would have been lying if he said he wasn’t listening to all of it. “Work with you?” Eyes closing, a thought flitted through his mind before it was gone just that fast. “What do you want from me? What could I offer you that you could possibly want?”
“You are not like most.” As much had been clear to her from the moment that August first felt compelled enough to touch fingertips to the art of dark magic and inevitably called to her. So many that wanted would never comprehend what it took to obtain everything, and all of them would fall to the pages of the book for their cowardice alone. To sacrifice to the necronomicon and find anything beyond that too much to handle was comical at best. “He showed me,” she speaks and the tone of her voice emboldens with the hint of a smirk that toys at her lips. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” At least, nothing that drove her as wildly as the very premise he spoke of. “Did you think I’d take us this far and not allow you there for it, August?” She prises with an edge of mock offence in her voice, “I’m not a monster.” A joke that undoubtedly humored her far more than she let on. Monster; abomination, she’d heard it all - conformed to it all out of pure spite. Levithan had long since become all that they’d feared she would, and there was no end in sight as of yet. “We’re so close. Speak to the drow, I want to know what their rodents have discovered. And keep looking for deserters.”
fxllenpythia:
“Everything comes with a price,” an utterance that had gone unspoken for so long between them. Python had never seemingly had to warn August of what would come of his venture with her and the Necronomicon. Even still, it was only ever the stout of heart that remained when the truth of such a statement was embedded into the very marrow of harrowed bones. “They’d claw their way down for the ultimate power and yet refuse to pay the ultimate price. Fooling themselves into believing that being mediocre is a good enough gift in return for mindless servitude and laws.” All that the other side offered in her mind would retain the shape of a cage, no matter how she looked at it. Stemming from the very will of Ulthar himself - and his decree that the seraphim were to allow the humans the world promised to them - to protect and serve from above; entwined by the consequence of free-will being their own undoing.
“More will leave,” she started, “allow some of them to believe they’ve done all they can. The time will come when they will pay what we’re owed.” We; as if everything she’d ever beholden to the world was also given to him. “Were they bold enough to have a single thought of their own, they’d understand that there are other ways.” True death. With no way back - no way to reverse the loss of a soul. A price that none expected, and one she refused to warn them of. She’d needed the numbers to begin with, the souls to grant her the power to invoke such a spell; to bring about the death of a God. Now, their souls belonged to the book - to her, and where they ran, she would always find them. “Narcissus betrayed us. Revealing our location to the Senate. We should pay them a visit.”
-
The fight had taken everything from him, the absence of power that came with the loss of channeling Trivia was palpable to the power-hungry necromancer even now. For someone like him, with everything that he’d become, it was impossible to not miss it, to not crave it. The Asphodel had worked in tandem and crushed a reinforced city under heel, the archdruids had broken, their petty God had broken, and that ichorous blood of the divine that flowed over his fingertips was addictive. That anyone would walk away now felt foolish, stupid even. Weak. “There’s no price I wouldn’t pay,” no price he likely hadn’t paid. “Bastien had a vision of the empty throne of the Gods, of blood raining down over Elysium.” The druids and their paradise, but what was heaven if not just another realm to devour? “I want to be there when it happens.” He wanted to see firsthand the look on the faces of those who’d betrayed them - the lesson that they would learn when they had nothing left but their own despair.
@domxbirchall location: some dive bar
“I’ve gotta say, being a free man suits you far more than I remembered.” Her presence is not one that she’s announced, rather shifting through the shadows of the dimly lit bar and seemingly manifesting in the booth seating across from him. Regardless of the new face she wears, Pythia knows that recognition would at least flicker beneath the surface of whichever thought plagues him now. “How did you manage?”
Perfect. He was - rage and all. She moves toward him, crouching to run fine grains of sand through her fingertips and she truly wonders how he would fare with the horrors done to him without the chaos that consumed him now. “You won’t be caged much longer,” in this cell or in his mind, of that she knew almost completely. “I’ll find you, once you’re free.” Her hand brushes his as she rises once more. Her powers offered the capability of returning him to his bloodline, however, while he remained a prisoner of the Senate, there was little she could do without drawing another into the fold. With time, he’d see the streets of Rome again. “But if you need me, just call.” The corner of her lip twitches into something of a smirk and she casts a wink down at the vampire. The illustrious figure in his mind dissipating just as surely as she’d appeared.
fxllenpythia:
“I’ve seen far worse than your mind,” she states, the edge of humor lingering upon the precipice of her tongue as the corner of her mouth twitches to something that might have otherwise grown to a smile. Nothing about Dominic - in this life or the last was enough to make her shirk away and nor would anything to come. Pythia had seen - felt - committed atrocities far worse, to which there was no true end in sight. Instead, where others saw rot and poisoned beings, worthy of nothing more than to be cast to the depths of sanctimonious punishment, she knew resilience and loyalty beyond all else. The light wasn’t the only place that could curl hope around entwined fingers and draw them closer to the sun.
Lips pursed as she dug her toes into the warm sand, pivoting in place as he rose to his feet. To some, Selene Carvalho was a fidgeter, never quite capable of remaining still for too long but the serpent that lay beneath simply knew no rest. “We all do when we’re kept from being what we’re destined to become.” And his chains kept him from so much, “What they wish to do won’t fix you. They want compliance and little more. What you’ve become spits in the face of their docile little community they wish to return to and the Eye knows as much; hence why they did what they did.” Haplessly, her tongue slips out across her lip as she narrows hues in reflection of his own, “I know what they’re out to do. I say let them try.” There was little Pythia wouldn’t face; she’d certainly never backed down from a challenge. “What about you, Dominic? If you were to be.. fixed, as you say. What then? What becomes of your anger and rage for the eye? For the senate? For all they’ve done to you?”
-
That had to be true, didn’t it? His mind was a cavern of broken and shattered walls, and Pythia seemingly navigated it easily. Selene, as she’d told him once. Perhaps the name of the body they chose, but this version was nice. He was always trapped, that’s what they always wanted. When he’d been a pirate, free on the open ocean, no one could hold him down. His soul was gone, but he was a free spirit. If he could’ve turned into a bird and taken flight, he would’ve done that as well. Perhaps Pythia had understood that, too. What would happen to his rage? He liked to think it would all disappear, that his anger would be softened, his bloodline and empathy restored. That cambion had unlocked as much, but Dom was simply a pawn for the Eye at that time.
“The rage stays,” he whispered, his fingers curling into the sand, unbridled fury only hidden by the way he gripped the image in his mind. “They pay. I want them to die.” The Eye had done this to him for decades. Tortured him for so many years, starved him, turned him into the Leech that Rome hated. And he’d been so good at it. He loathed the idea, and now he would make them all die. “And the Senate – I don’t give a fuck about them. I hate everything this city is.”
“I never believed that you would.” Perhaps, in another lifetime, Pythia should have liked to be more like Astaroth. Her anger and taste for vengeance had blossomed long before they fell, born for war it was truly a wonder that Ulthar could ever have predicted another outcome. Never would they all fall to decree when all so many of them had wanted, was simply what they were promised. Would a life among the mortals in hiding have offered Levithan a different outlook? Were she not cast into the inferno and forced to pry her way out, could she have been so quietly indifferent in this moment? “They have wished to kill me for millennia, Roth, and though they may be far closer in their efforts than they ever have been before, I am not what they once knew.” Proof was in each devised plan that swayed just as surely in her favor - in that of the Asphodel. Her death would cost them something that would break them, the same way she had once been broken. Their sacrifice would shatter, or those condemned would rise. “You always did fare better standing on your own,” it’s noted in the hitch of her mouth, the bittersweet smile almost one that could contend with nostalgia, “I won’t make you choose,” after all - choice was something she offered all those who had none. The choice to be more, the choice to stand against all that was deemed acceptable. “Just know that neither do I want to strike you down - but I will, if I must.” Venom didn’t curate her words into the fangs of a serpent as she cast dark hues to her brother. Heartless; she’d earnt the reputation that overwhelmed so many, and yet - “Unlike the others, however, I’d find a way to bring you back.”
fxllenpythia:
“The truth is that I’ve cared for this world far longer than anyone else.” After all, she’d been one of the first to take up arms against those that would see the world they now occupied, as belongings to the weakness of human kind. She’d witnessed the destruction they’d wrought upon it as they plundered the precious realm and behaved as if it was there to serve them, and not the stark opposite. “What I don’t care for, is those that have done nothing but tarnish it in every possible way. Human kind, and all that followed, is a blight upon the earth.” It had been created as a paradise, a place that would mimic the divine realm in ways so few could see, and yet it had been left to squander. Their brethren condemned to an eternity of pain and suffering for wanting to protect something so precious. All that they’d been promised, rotting deep into the core of all that it was. “Michael and Uriel, they worship and admonish all others to follow the orders of our father as if that would convey whatever love they might have once felt for him, when in truth, allowing Titania and her barbaric creatures to inherit this earth, was the first act of defiance, not ours. And yet we are marked as the traitors.’
“I won’t kneel to their request,” Michael and the Conquest were not seraphim one wanted to be in conflict with but Roth had gone head to head with Uriel once before and was confident, even in eons of retirement that he could survive again against his Blessed brother. “They wish to kill you, not place you in a torturous prison to command over,” Roth was certain that Pythia, as they’d come to go by, was well aware of this determined quietus. Others of their brood, fallen seraphim, had been cut down for less, their cosmic essence pulled back to the cosmos for merely disagreeing with Ulthar’s demands. The Pythia had set the world ablaze, smiled as it bent and snapped beneath her will; hers would be a violent end, a barbaric rule over the Inferno no longer in her future. “I told them I’d not stand with them.” It holds influence, though Roth’s wording carefully proposes the reminder that while he won’t strike her down and join the slaughterous campaign, he’s not about to align himself with her creed either.
She’s alerted long before she arrives. Along with Ayi’ig and the growing number of their ranks, little more breathed within the Otherworld now without their knowing. This, however, did not force her to find him quickly. For centuries, all that she could draw to her with little more than a whisper had driven many a wedge between Octavian and those he called family - Nettelia, Lucretia, and now Oztalun. Much like so many of her Blessed siblings, the righteousness of the Archdruid would always draw her to wreck havoc where havoc could burn ever so brightly. “You come to my home, and decide the best way to announce yourself is to throw a tantrum, Octavian?” Her voice echoes, she is everywhere and nowhere. “Tsk tsk,” the chide rises in tandem with a fervent laugh until shadows unfurl and Pythia rises, “Did Oztalun truly teach you no manners?”
where?: he can’t find the necromansion but he’s gonna light the place up until he does
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Passage into the pillaged Otherworld was supposed to be a one time thing, but now he needed it. The Guardian was reluctant to grant Octavian’s wish for reasons unbeknownst to him, perhaps he saw what dwelled within or perhaps he was just a coward. Octavian would’ve like to find out for it may have helped him on his journey, but he would be alone in this. He had questions that needed answers, opinions that needed to be shared, anger that needed to be released, and faces he needed to see for himself. The phoenix blazes through the dark wreckage, knowing that he won’t be able to find the location or the one he seeks at all. But the whispers are calmed by his proximity to the Necromanteion, providing him the peace of mind necessary to make himself known with his full power. His fire will consume all, his shrieks will echo endlessly, and Octavian will not yield until he gets a response. This meeting of predators was long overdue.
@fxllenpythia
