Cotillion's Story

The man who entered Gambit's didn't seem too out of place. Slightly taller than average, he wore well worn leathers, a cowling hood of sheer, dark silk covering the profile of his hawkish face. Lank, black hair drifted down onto his chest, and at one hip was sheathed an overlong knife, the other a coiled length of rope. Eyes like smoky diamonds glanced about the room, noting those others within. And seeing far more than mortal eyes could.

For this was no mere man that now stood within the infamous Gambit's, but a god.

Cotillion made his way deeper into the room, only too aware he wasn't the only figure not as he seemed. He regarded the tall man with a raised eyebrow and a faint smile before he himself took a stool, taking a moment to run the tips of his fingers across the well worn bar.

"A place of history then. Good." The god regarded the glowing pad set into its surface for a moment before shaking his head in wry amusement. "And one of future. Even better."

Cotillion, sometimes known as the Rope, settled to wait for a living face to cast his order to.

Hood's breath on the back of his neck was enough to distract him from the human he just beckoned over with a gloved hand. Pausing, Cotillion glanced behind him to regard Flandre for a moment, knowing her to be the dead walking. This prompted a slight grunt from him. Yet another thing to piss off that dusty old Jaghut.

The resounding blast of the pistol had Cotillion's longknife in hand and ready to let fly before he'd fully come to face the source of the shot. He wore a scowl on his face, irritated that she would cause chaos simply for the pleasure of it. Mortals, he reminded himself, could be so capricious.

Another grunt, and Cotillion glanced back at the server. "A tall glass of ale, my friend. And one for yourself, to calm your admittedly frayed nerves." He tossed several coins to the man, whose look of surprise didn't hide the pleasure of being acknowledged from his face.

Yes, Cotillion was a different breed of god.

"From you, neither." Cotillion spoke without regarding the woman again, accepting his ale with a nod. Tone flat, he refused to give any sense of satisfaction, indeed he was indifferent. Let the mortals play their incomprehensible games, so long as they didn't infringe on his own plans. Or those of Shadowthrone, his partner and friend whose webs were even more tangled than his own.

He nursed his drink, ever aware of the draconic presence lurking behind his back. The god wished nothing more than for their contact to remain as it was presently. Which is to say, nonexistant. Elient were tough bastards, but he had no desire to add another tooth to his trophy collection.

Cotillion regarded this newcomer with a ghostly smirk on his face. Soldiers' and their technology, ever evolving to better kill each other. He'd known a few in his life, and the image of Sacha brought the memories back. Tainted with sorrow, those, for some had been friends.

The other figure that seemed to be distraction that obnoxious woman was an enigma, however. The god watched him from past his hood, before rising to depart the room.

Valhalla, hall of the slain and house of Odin, king of Asgard. Few had tread through these magnificent halls, and fewer still that could be counted among the living, and yet it was here that Taima had found herself. The hall was a vast circular chamber, with a throne resting upon a raised dais, where none other than Odin himself sat. At his side was a smaller, though no less ornate throne where Frigga, queen of Asgard was seated.

Ringing the room were other faces, all who had answered the summons of Taima. Some of the faces were familiar to her, while others remained foreign. Thor and Baldur, sons of Odin, she knew only by reputation, while Lobos and Anzo were more familiar to her. Like her, their origins lay somewhere south of the northern reaches that Odin's house oversaw. The Auditor had come as well, sharing a domain not too different from her own. Cotillion and Serenade held her gaze the longest, as they were the two present that she was least familiar with. Norman too stood present, an oddity perhaps - as like herself he was born into the world a mortal before ascending to godhood. It was fitting perhaps that his domain lay within the realm of luck.

So few, she thought. So few that answered her summons. She had hoped that more would arrive, that more would rise to the threats that god and mortal alike were facing. There was a storm coming, she knew it as surely as she was standing here now, but convincing the very gods of this fact would prove more difficult. It was easy to sit on high and overlook the realms around you when you were a god, easy to think yourself beyond the influence of the world. It was a folly that had long plagued their numbers.

Turning her attentions back to Odin and Frigga, Taima took to one knee, bowing her head while she lay her halberd upon the marble floor at her side. The draconian warrior had a strength to her that ran deeper than flesh and blood, and even within the presence of gods she had a commanding presence to her as she rose back to her feet.

"I am Taima, herald of Ahuma, patron deity of the Draconian people," Taima began, her voice rough and gravely. "I have come on behalf of the southern gods. In the days of old, our pantheons have co-existed amiably, but times are changing. War and chaos ravages the lands. The old pacts lie in tatters, demons and gods alike walk the realms of the mortals, and the tenuous balance that holds reality together grows frayed. It is time for new pacts to be forged, new alliances to be made. We would reach out to the honorable house of Odin," she paused looking to the others. "And all who would answer the call," she added to the others that had gathered. "Scattered, our influence is weakened, but together we can bring order to the world again. Together we can face the rising storm."

"A dragonborn after my own heart," the serene voice of The Auditor carried through the air softly, but with an unquestionable command to it. Here was a woman not to be trifled with, a judge and a lawmaker even amongst those assembled here. There were those greater than her, but they were few, and even they would have reason to fear should they violate the heavenly laws, for in performing her duty she was empowered even further as the rules and strength of the heavens followed behind her.

"To bring true order to the world below would be a fool's errand," a small smirk graced the Goddess of Order's face, barely visible beneath her hood, "In chaos it thrives, even I recognise this. But it is true what you say, that there is a limit to this chaos, and it has gone far enough. The laws of the heavens are being danced with too closely. It is not our way to walk Miðgarðr openly."

Lifting her hand to gesture around them, she went on, "But of course, there is more to be concerned with than Order, much as it pains me to admit it. The fraying of reality is far more ... concerning."

Surveying those assembled, The Auditor - Selphina, Order, The Judge, The Lady... many names, all the same - folded her arms. "I agree with Ahuma's herald, that we must work together. An accord must be reached."

It was a sight to see the herald of a God smoking, and yet the harsh, angular lines of Anzo's face lit with the embers of a rolled stogie cigar, those features that were thrown into shadow by his hat illuminated in a deep red light. The trails of smoke rolled from his lips in a lazy fashion as his eyes travelled between the two speakers - first Taima, then The Auditor - in silence, appraising, examining. When The Auditor's voice quieted, the Gunslinger spoke.

"Ain't been in this business as long as some 'o ya," he murmured, his hat removed, as it would remain, when speaking in the presence of a lady, "but I reckon this here meetin's a good step - a strong step - in the righ' direction. Only problem I see is that we'd need a sort o' conductor, t'keep the train on the right tracks."

He paused, savouring another puff of the cigar before it vanished from his fingers. "Now, I don't wish t'offend any o' you gathered. Taima, the Herald of Ahuma, speaks a right truth in tha' united, we stand. An' if we're t'stand united, the conductor we choose has t'be the right conductor."

He waved a gloved hand to those assembled. "It's a mighty first step t'throw our hats in th' ring. Bu' an accord don't mean much if we're standin' on it separate. Herald o'Ahuma, y'called us here t'discuss this with us, an' I thank yeh for it. But d'you have an idea as ta how we're t'use th' considerable might of those assembled, should we decide somethin' must be done?"

To the Gunslinger's left, a cowled figure - The Serenade - leaned back, folded his arms, and awaited a response.

"What was once made must be remade, but the bindings of old must be rewritten." Of all those assembled, Lobos was possibly the most unusual in appearance, his beastly appearance fearsome to countenance. A god's blood ran through the wolf's veins, and his rumbling voice escaped his closed jaw like muted thunder. "Pacts made anew, but chains this one will not abide."

Chaos was the alignment of the demi-god, plain to see as one beheld him. The guise of an immense wolf, snow white man roiling despite the lack of stirring wind. Shifting runes gleamed on the metal of his few armor pieces, ringing the obelisk that hovered at his back. His nature was war, that of the frozen storms. He walked the mortal plane himself, yet in doing so withheld his own interventions unless necessary.

"There are some responsible for this twisting of the planes that no mere mortals can stand against. Eventually one of us will have their hand forced." Shifting on his paws, Lobos, the Wolf of Winter, settled. "To this we must account."

---

Another hooded figure, however, had watched Taima, Selphina, and Lobos speak in turn. His presence here was...tenuous, he knew, for his was a darker patronage. One need look no further than the armor he wore and the dagger at his belt to know him for what he was. Thus was the god, Cotillion.

"I do believe that both of your concerns are one and the same. The breaking of the old pacts freed powers to act. Order and chaos war anew. And this unbound struggle brings us together."

The glint of eyes within the shadows of his shroud. This patron of assassins, a lord of the place between light and the darkness, studied the others in attendance. "Yet the dragonborn speaks of more than mere unbalance. She calls for order, at the same time as calling for us to band together."

"These are the words oft heard before war. What then, is our enemy?"

It was at this time that a perfectly ordinary looking man, almost mortal in appearance, dwarfed by this assembly of great powers yet allowed to speak as an equal, dared to raise his voice. "Our enemy is as of yet unknown, or shall I say undefined. This is because we lack criteria to define who to count as enemies, allies, friends and bystanders. But before we do this, I second the notion that we must establish rules of order among our number, that we do not merely contribute to the very problems we seek to resolve. How shall we govern ourselves? Why are we gathered here? How do we identify and oppose enemies? And dare I say that we must have a protocol in place for training new members in the eventuality that one of us falls?"

Norman nodded his head authoritatively. "It is not mere chance that we have been gathered here. The Great Weaver cries in shock and anger that her greatest creation is being torn asunder. She has selected us to mend it, but as Fate is wont to do, she leaves us to our own devices as to how this must be done. Before we establish who our enemies are and how we are to fight them, I propose we establish who we are and how we are to fight each other."

He took in a deep breath, about to break the first rule of mages. "I am Norman Smith, shadow name Mercury, and as the chosen champion of Fate, I hereby lend my hand to repairing the damage that has been done to the Realms and punishing those responsible."

It was Anzo's words that drew Thor into the conversation as the son of Odin stepped forward. Clad in asgardian steel and armed with his hammer, Mjölnir, he was as dominating a presence as the draconian who stood at the center of the chamber.

"You stand in Valhalla, before Odin, king of Asgard, and ask who would stand at our head?" he demanded of Anzo. Indignation filled the prideful god, before his brother Baldur placed a hand upon his shoulder.

"Be at ease brother," Baldur interjected. "They are not of the northern gods, no insult was intended."

Thor scowled deeply, but before further words could be uttered, Odin had raised his hand from upon his throne.

"There is wisdom found within all present here today," he spoke up. His voice was weathered with age but laced with strength becoming of his status. "But I too would hear who you would have us go to war against." He looked to Taima, awaiting an answer.

"The Auditor's words echo my own," Taima replied. "Those that would break the old pacts must be returned to Asgard, or the planes below - both god and demon alike. Our kind are not meant to do battle within the mortal realms, and destruction runs prevalent. The very fabric of reality begins to fray. Only after the realm of man has been returned to the hands of the mortals will order be restored, and only by recalling the gods to Asgard will we be able to prepare ourselves to face the coming storm. We have all felt it, looming on the horizon."

"There have long been ways for us to interfere with mortal affairs without disturbing balance," Selphina mused, "Avatars, champions, dreams - in one way another, we have always been permitted to have influence within our domains." The Goddess of Order waved a hand, a massive tome appearing in the air before her, "It is my duty to uphold these laws, the laws of Order and the Heavens. The cause you speak of would be mine regardless of whether you had called me here."

She shook her head, "What looms on the horizon... It is not a pleasant sensation to be so woefully ignorant of something. I wonder how mortals manage it. We feel it, but have we any idea what it is? What comes?"

"Imbalance," the hooded figure - Serenade - said, from his perch. He glanced towards them all, a small smile tugging at his visible lips - the only visible feature on the thin, reedy face.

"As a creature - unlike yourselves - who spends my time creating the songs that proclaim choice and free will, you mustn't trivialize how crucial it is to be for us to remain on the knife's edge between good and evil. All that sustains us, all that propels us, is the power for mortals to choose. When they lose this, when they are predisposed to an outcome that will repeat time and time again, the world frays. The storm gathers. The music stops."

He slowly floated in space, legs crossed beneath him, taking in each assembled in turn. "I have long since sang, performed, and created the songs that celebrate this essential choice that mortals have. Good and Evil must remain linked, and in sync; for too much of either, and the world begins to crumble. I feel as though what marches to our borders and infringes upon our space, too infringes upon the borders and space of the Mortal realm's disposition towards this fundamental morality."

He glanced towards Anzo, then back at the crowd. "I, too, would repeat the Gunslinger's query - and Thor's, as it were. Should any of you feel you would be fit to lead against this irrepressible enemy, now is your time to step forth. I believe," he said, bowing his head in reverence to Odin, "that is the clearest and most fair of ways to decide."

Cotillion said nothing, crossing his arms as he listened to the discussion wind on and on. This was his own answer to the Serenade's query of who should lead the assembled gods, for he was not the kind to lead. His shadowed eyes glanced towards the figures of Odin and Taima, Lobos and Anzo. They were the figures he could imagine leading a divine charge into the face of chaos, legions of chosen champions hot on their heels.

The wolf-god snorted, shaking his great head. "I yield the place of leadership to another."

Lobos shifted once more, restless. This discussing and delegating ill suited the beast, for his nature was for action. He studied the assemblage, eager for decisions to be made and done with.

Malinor had appeared in a flourish of green magic,nearby to some kind of Wolf God. The celebrative god took a seat upon the ground and began sipping away at his newly created cup of tea,staring at the god's as they discussed some kind of debate over a leader.

"Well..My apologies for being late everyone!, If you are unfamiliar with me I am Malinor of the Forest's of Lauralin. God of Nature and Celebrations recently forced to overtake Stone,Life,Death and Sand along with Water and War. Self exiled and pleasured to meet you all" Malinor said in a rather suave tone of voice,giving a slight bow as he sipped elegantly at his tea once again,one pinky outwards.

He was not one who seemed to be a leader,but the fact one such as him was a god of so many thing's before his self-exile seemed to be his hint that he was more then what could be seen. Otherwise,he seemed to be nothing but a jokester.

A slight breeze picked up within the hall and from the shadows walked a man in a modern suit with his hands in his pockets. His blue hues glinted slightly as he noticed the other gods and a warm smile appeared on his maw. "Although I do agree a leader is in need to push us in the right direction, we're all here for a common cause already, aren't we not?" He said, his voice thick with an accent similar to that of Irish.

"Sorry I'm late for the party." The man said, inclining his head slightly to show he was submissive. Or he'd like them to think he was anyway. "I'm afraid I did not receive the invitation until recently, and then I had to figure out what to wear. Is there any whiskey left?" The man joked, although he seemed dead serious.

However, his smile faded and he went to business. "I will have to agree with Norman's earlier subject. How will we determine an enemy of a world already in shambles? Is there truly an enemy to face? I will admit it is difficult to change something that has freedom to choose whether it should smoke or quit as its bad for its health." He commented. "Imbalanced as it may seem," His gaze turned towards Serenade, "this was chosen not by us. So why must we clean up the mess now? Don't get me wrong, I'm not ready for the party to go to the dogs yet -- No offense." He switched his gaze over to Lobos.

A line drew itself through the air, one that separated planes of existence, and dimensions that would otherwise we cut off from their brothers. The line widened, becoming a shape coloured in a mixed haze of purples and yellows, and as this shape expanded into a doorway, a man stepped through dressed ceremoniously for the occasion.
The purple trees behind him began to warp and collapse; the yellow grass that changed tones caught in the spiralling implosion. It wasn't long until the door too began to spin, rapidly growing smaller until it disappeared completely.
Cenoic stood in the room, watching the gathered pantheon with a dusty black tome held under his right arm that he seemed unwilling to release. The book was large, thick and sealed shut by ropes of scriptic runes written in his own blood; it glowed in response to the presence of the deities.

Cenoic, a man with a skin tone similar to grey, and pointed ears betraying the race to which he once belonged, stepped forth and into the fray. He took the book, and placed it upon the surface of something that wasn't there, where it sat and made ominous the air around it.

"I do not categorize myself as a God, but I will take my place in this gathering none-the-less. The gardens of the Nerami Ceren grow tired of the longing cries of its inhabitants - those who are there only because of the inadequacy of their patron deities to prevent such insanity-birthing paradox. The cells of my home are rapidly filling, my power and the power of all who serve me stretching as we try to contain that which has been caused by such chaotic release upon the mortal realms. This threat, whether organized or not, must be ended, lest you wish to risk the release of a much greater threat from a prison only I can warden."

A lovely soft harmony would be heard as a woman made her way up to the table, her dress seemingly made of flora, her face old but young, and eyes full of great wisdom. There would be tears in her eyes, as she bowed to Odin and no one else, "I apologize for the tardiness brothers and sisters, I am trying to keep Heaven from cracking into war, and thus this is not easy. I am Gaia one of the last Titans still alive in this realm, most have moved on including the Father of Zeus. You of course know I mean Chronos." pausing she would approach closer to the group, "I assume you have heard Yahweh the Christian God has abandoned his throne after the gates of heaven were smashed, we are slowly restoring order, but from what I heard, I agree. The planet is in pain, as am I due to this."

Sighing she would let the marks of the planet over her flesh, each burn, each wound, each cut a way something horrendous had been inflicted on her.

"I do not mean to shock my brothers and sisters, but I feel the pain more so because it happens to me, I have been trying to ignore this for a while, but being dragged to fore-front has opened my eyes to depressing fact, I have two decisions once this is over consign myself to the oblivion the original Titans did, or attend this meeting and maybe find a solution. Whatever the case, there is something approaching and we can't handle unless united, that means all even those who goals are mess than noble." surveying the crowd she would continue, "I wish we did not need to rely on them, but before I came here I called Hel to come, she is yes a tool in Ragnarok, but this is why we must have her on our side. If we allow prejudices to be our masters, we shall never progress."

Taking her seat, she would end, "I understand some may know I don't typical pick a side, but even my pacifism must die, because I feel with that, there will be worse threats to come. Threats that no one but us can handle."

With that she would point to shadows and slowly a girl whom hair was ginger-white, her face dead-alive, and her dress long and black, would approach, bowing to the Norse Gods carefully, "I hope I can help AllFather and thank you for this chance, despite what people may think..." pausing she appeared rather unsure, "I am Hel of Nifiheim the Realm of the Dead... I feel the disturbances too, but I feel unable to act or do anything, I shall simply try offer words when I can, thank you again."

Hel would then sit down, unsure of how everyone would react, and clearly apprehensive about all this.

Abubis, who all this time chose to simply watch and listen in silence as the more opinionated Gods stated their claims, concerns, and possibly solutions, finally stood from his seat to speak. The Jackel headed God was just as worried about the current state of the mortal world because it directly effected the Gods of Egypt in ways that demanded each and every one of them to be attending this meeting, yet he was the only one among them to show his face. He was sure it was the doings of the ever proud Horus that kept the other Gods away and the more he thought about it the more he came to the conclusion that it was probably for the better, had Horus come himself he would no doubt parade around demanding he be made king of the gods to declare war on unknown enemies, his absence saved them all a headache and allowed him the opportunity to speak freely.

" It seems as though we can all agree that the situation is bad and getting worse, every second this continues Ma'at continues to fade and the powers of Chaos continue to grow, if things keep up the way they are Apophis, the old enemy of creation will no doubt rise again to swallow everything. To put it simply if we don't figure this out there won't be a mortal world save and with them gone we are sure to fade as well "

Anubis held out his right hand which was folded shut but there was a bright light escaping through the spaces between his clenched fingers " However you all are clearly aware that not every one among us can be as easily trusted as others, if the Gods themselves cannot have order among themselves for even a cause such as this then there is no hope for Ma'at. This is my solution " he uncurled his right hand to reveal the Feather of Truth, the sacred relic used in his courts to judge the souls of mortal, if the posseser of the feather uttered even the smallest white lie they would be immediately consumed in flames and that applied to Gods and mortal alike.

" Each and every one of us here must swear a pact of absolute loyalty and devotion to our cause while holding the Feather of Truth, and I think you all know what happens to you if you dare to claim falsehoods while holding the feather, no God is an exception to this rule. This is the only way you will have the support of Egypt " he said as he gazed around the room, he expected quite a few of them to refuse the test out of pride and to be insulted by the fact that he would suggest such an extreme to test their loyalty, but if he could not fully trust them he would not stand by them and he would make no effort to convince Horus to do the same.

Norman was, to be frank, scared out of his wits. As a mage of whimsy and fate, able to bend Father Time over a bar stool and make him his bitch, here was Anubis forcing him to make a vow that not even gods could wriggle out of.

He was shaking like a leaf. "Anubis, your cause is just. However, my art demands that I possess a certain amount of flexibility in my words and deeds. I refuse this test not out of pride, but out of fear. I fear that were I to swear upon the feather, I would lose at least part of my capacity to contribute to our cause. As for the question about who would stand at our head, Odinson, I indeed meant no offense, and for agreeing to host this little gathering you and your kind have my eternal thanks."

Still quivering in nervousness, Norman shrunk into his seat. Literally. He was soon barely the size of a halfling, reflecting the size of his ego in the presence of so many others more powerful than himself. In any other set of circumstances, he would have been struck down on the spot for demanding that gods get their shit together, and the fact that he was now the size of a faerie reflected his mental fragility at the realization of this fact.

---

As the voices of the gods continued in earnest the meeting showed no sign of resolution. Points and counter points were exchanged among those gathered until at last Odin raised his hand to stem the voices.

"As I understand it, none propose the bringing of such order to the realm of man," Odin reassured Serenade. "It is to our own kind that we look."

The wizened god leaned back in his throne as he weighed the words of those gathered.

"Cichol is correct in her assessment though," he added after a time. "This world of man that you seek to protect is filled with a great deal of ills. If action is to be taken we must first assess the situation and the depth of Taima's words."

He looked to Anubis. "You would ask us to swear a pact before we yet know what it is we swear to. This we cannot do."

He rose then from his throne.

"My son, Thor, will accompany Taima back to the realm of man to investigate this matter," Odin declared. "If it is ascertained that our kind are responsible for the fraying of the realms then action will be swift."

"You send me from Asgard?" Thor spoke up incredulously. "What concern are these mortal affairs to us. We are gods."

Again it was Thor's tempered brother who stayed his words further. "You have much to learn, brother. Your time in Midgard will be well served." To Odin, Baldur nodded his head in acknowledgement. "It will be as you instruct."

Odin nodded in turn to Baldur's words before waving a hand lightly to dismiss the gathered gods.

Taima bowed her head to Odin as she retrieved her halberd from its place on the floor at her side. It wasn't all that she had hoped to accomplish this day, but it was a start.

Relatively near the two others, the shadows of the void...stirred. Like a dark curtain pulled from a dim room, an entity slid onto the mortal plane, wavering, indistinct for the moment. The hint of human figure, the slight sense of strangely ancient attire. All too clear, however, were three things. The swirling shadows of the figure's eyes, the taste of a deity's essence, muted by the layers of woven planes around him...

And the weapons he carried, all too deadly to be concealed, yet their fullest potentials were, as he was, muted. Not entirely on the mortal plane, yet too sure, too real to entirely being left behind. Surveying the invasion for a moment, the blink of lazy regard shifted him closer to the others hovering in the empty reaches of space nearby.

"What is this...stranger?" A voice almost a whisper, yet containing a strangely mortal tone, as those shadowed eyes of the god Cotillion, the patron of all assassins, addressed the High Wardens. While he knew not them or their order personally, like himself, they possessed a sort of naming presence. One could hardly mistake him for anything but what he was, at least when he was not simply trying to hide. And so to his own senses, neither were they concealed to him. "And what role do you play in this scene that so chills?"