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Ahya Edola

god of unfinished business

0 · 195 views · located in The Pantheon

a character in “Gods Among Us: The Godslayer”, as played by rubytuesday




love tokyo love hotelXXribsXXsheXXfire fliesXXvapid feels ain't vapidXXdynasty


NAMEXX Ahya Edola



xxGENDERXX cis woman (she/her)

SPECIESXX emerged god (Denae, God of Unfinished Business)

FACE CLAIMX namikka mugerwa

HEXXX #a87c5f



HEIGHT: 5'9"


HAIR: dark brown, wavy (slightly textured)

TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS:right inner bicep - Judith Slaying Holofernes, left rib - falling lucifer, right clavicle - carina, right lower arm (underside) - six of swords (inverted)

EYES: dark brown

GENERAL: she was always called 'pretty,' as a child. her warm eyes and feminine features earned many a compliment. her apparent prettiness did not keep the schoolyard teasing at bay, nor the pitying, 'whatawaste' tuts of adults. 'what a lovely face,' they would chime, 'shame about that birthmark'.
It curves at the right edge of her lips, fair in comparison to the rest of her cool-brown skin. The way it is shaped looks like art artist's lackadaisical brushstroke, but she has long-since grown past her insecurities. she doesn't recognise it as a mar on an otherwise lovely canvas. on the contrary, she has felt nothing but pride for it ever since the day her sister pulled the collar of her shirt down slightly to reveal her own dappled mark across her left clavicle. if someone as cool as Carina had one- it must be a good thing.
her hair is an awkward texture; falling somewhere between her mother's intensely curly texture and her father's brown waves. her eyes are definitely her mother's, however, dark and big and brown, framed by thick brows and centred by a slightly rounded nose. her frame is slim, almost misleadingly slow, and for there is certainly a tone to her frame, thanks to a practice of martial arts (not all 'finished business' is dealt with in an entirely 'hands-off' fashion, after all).



astral manipulation Denae can astrally project into new environments, including into the consciousness of others, affectively allowing them to 'dream walk' and teleport themselves and their host's spirit to other locations, all the whilst maintaining their corporality. This manipulation of the astral plane also allows them to play with the consciousness of those around them, such as through illusions. They are able to bring the living spirits of others along with them, but it is far more draining, and the more people, the more exhausting it is. More importantly, however, is how this gift allows them to communicate with spirits, and manipulate their physical presence as to make spirits visible to others. It is through this ability that they gain knowledge about, and thus carry out the 'unfinished business' of the dead.

semi-immortality like other gods, they are borderline immortal, and the only thing that can kill them is either another god, or a god-slaying weapon



acuity : her mind is sharp, and her shrewdness seldom matched. wit is her constant, and she wields it with alarming prowess (albeit often as a means of deflection). her intellect most often reveals itself in street smarts, although there is a quiet bookishness to her that unveils itself in either moments of solitude or comfort-induced enthusiasm.

intuition and perception : her intellect extends into intuition and perception, and even without her subconscious-wandering abilities, she tends to be able to perceive the intentions, and feelings of others, regardless of how they try hide them. she also has an oddly accurate instinct; she doesn't entirely know if it is related to her godly counterpart, or just innate, but what she does know is that her gut feeling is seldom, if ever, incorrect.

charisma : for all her rough edges, she has a natural warmth to her. though she doesn't exactly pursue it, she takes to the spotlight surprisingly well when she finds herself in it. she has the gift of the gab, an an innate charm that tends to draw people to her and make them feel at ease.

hand-to-hand combat : her combat-related skills are far from limited to hands, but years of training have allowed her to develop a knack for fighting techniques that play to her strengths, and her opponent's weaknesses. her misleadingly slight appearance hides an astutely hardened brawler, and one not afraid to get her hands dirty. or cheat. she's definitely not afraid to cheat.



flippancy : seriousness makes her anxious. she doesn't know how to best express concern or comfort, so instead she deflects and delays the inevitable. she makes jokes tactlessly, fires off witty remarks even in the face of danger (or of grief), and dodges any and all responsibility save for the one single goal she has dedicated her life to. it is all the seriousness, and all the grief, that she has room for, and she does not share it with anyone.

vindictiveness : she has yet to learn the art of forgiving and forgetting. it's odd that someone so firmly pro-rehabilitation would be so blatantly revenge-driven in her personal and professional life. apparently, she likes all punishment except punitive, as she carries out the unfinished business of the dead unto their killers. and she enjoys it to a devilish degree.

trauma : her past is one that she never really dealt with- she got her justice, sure, but it didn't sate her the way that she had thought it would. now, her grief has settled beneath her skin, stubbornly keeping any wounds from healing. instead they sit raw and torn and open to infection- she doesn't know what she'll do if and when disease takes effect.

cynicism : she does not throw her faith in with humanity, for she has found them far too consistently cruel. she does not trust easily, and sometimes even leans towards pessimism. she hasn't lost her delight for good people, nor is she cold to the loveliness of helping a lost soul share their final comforts with their loved ones... but the revenge-related quests certainly dampen her idealism.


P E R S O N A L I T Y:
at a glance, the manner in which she approaches her duties seem lackadaisical. She speaks with a lazy insouciance about the bleak and the true, noting with jadedness that they are often one and the same. upon closer inspection, however, there is a dedication to her craft; not to mention a knack for ensuring a job well done. she does it quickly and brusquely in an attempt to save herself emotional investment, and only stumbles sometimes. she's strangely casual for all the grimness she must deal with, and her cynicism has yet to turn her herself into a dismal presence. Instead, she is quick to smile (and quicker to smirk), seldom without a bon mot to raise a mood, or remove an edge. she has a knack for deflecting sympathy, loathe is she to be the object of one's commiseration. it makes her uncomfortable, and more so, it makes her hyperaware of her own past misfortunes; something she much prefers to leave unacknowledged outside of the usual 3am ruminations. Or the nightmares.

perhaps it's a coping mechanism, but she has something of an impishness to her, a tendency to brush the serious away with jokes, or trade wit and barbs even in situations she would be much better off not saying anything. she isn't prone to allowing herself to get invested in things or people too easily (she learned the hard way that it hurts less that way) but her innate softness makes it difficult. she tries to keep a distance, but she isn't very difficult to convince, and at least point, she isn't sure if it is some compassionate and helpful nature at work, or a force of habit related to her job of assisting the dead that prompts her to look out for the living.

she is rather impatient, especially when it comes to the less pleasant qualities of others, and she lacks any willingness to indulge in such qualities as cruelty or ignorance. she feels no guilt in bluntly making her opinions known when it comes to such people. she barely has time for self-care, she's hardly going to dedicate any effort towards appeasing the feelings or fluffing the egos of those she likes even less. In short, as Ahya would say, "fuck 'em."

when her guard is down, her wit melts into something a touch less worn, a tad more jovial. as her walls come crumbling, so too comes a strange committal to the role of host. keeping others fed and comfortable, offering comfort and kindness. whatever leaks through her wry and snarky shell pours about her when she feels at ease- a warmness that her trauma has failed to cool.


the first fourteen years of Ahya's life were far from picture perfect, but for the most part, it had been enough. Her father had fallen in and out of different addictions the majority of his life, but his vices had never seemed to dampen the love he gave his kids, even if it did put a carefully concealed strain on his marriage. Her mother was the colder of the two, but she was capable and caring, and bent over backwards to make sure that, even when money was at its tightest, her daughters were not left wanting. Ahya was the rambunctious younger sibling, prone to sneaking out of the house and 'forgetting' to do her homework- she and her mother butted heads constantly, and she was far closer to her father, a similarly reckless soul.

however, even more so than her father, Ahya's dearest affection rested with Carina, her sister four years her senior. despite their wildly differing personalities, with Carina very much being the summer breeze to Ahya's hurricane, Carina was very much Ahya's biggest supporter, and perhaps closer than any of Ahya's friends. Ahya was devastated when Carina went to a college four hours drive away on a scholarship (thank goodness, for college had been a source of much dread for the family bank account). Carina reassured her little sister that she would contact weekly, and visit every break.

the day they went to drop her off was the last time Ahya saw her with a genuine smile.

it was about a month later when she next saw her sister, and things were different. Ahya wasn't let in on the details of what had happened at the party- she would figure it out eventually, but at the time, Ahya's mother tried her best to shelter her. she thought it would be easier, that way. it wasn't. the rest happened quickly. the university brushed the case under the table, and when Ahya's family went to the police, the prosecution asserted that there was not enough evidence, and dropped it. Ahya remembers the day Carina moved back in, the way Carina hugged her tightly, and offered her a reassuring smile she at the time was convinced by.

she never saw Carina again.

Ahya's family fell apart after that. devastation consumed them. whatever thread had been keeping Ahya's father from stumbling of the edge was severed, and four years later, he would drink himself into an early death. Ahya's mother didn't fair much better- she turned numb for a while, every function robotic- to deal with her grief, she switched to autopilot. she has yet to completely take the wheel again.

And then there was Ahya. Ahya, who lost her most precious person, found herself adrift. for months, she was numb like her mother, the first spent in bed, and the next couple turning back to her party girl ways, desperate to feel something. six months after her sister's death, Ahya saw his face, advertising the university that protected him. and like that, the water she was drowning in turned scalding. it boiled her flesh and bone, and in the heat, she felt a whisper. it was a careful prodding, a delicate yet intoxicating urging. They offered her the ability to deliver the justice Carina was denied, on the condition that she would, among other things, go forth and deliver it unto others. she was fifteen then, and she took on the role with little consideration.

the justice she chose was brutal and violent- she destroyed their minds before she did their bodies, and she enjoyed every second of it. she didn't expect to return to numbness right after the fact. the unfinished business was finished, and yet there was no satisfaction to her conclusion. her heart still felt empty, her soul hollow. but at least she had a new distraction now, albeit one she often resents.

whether it be enacting vengeance, speaking words left too late, delivering gifts never given, or solving the mysteries of one's end, Ahya carried out her duties. Any reluctance she may have had, or has, ignored in jaded recognition of it being one she signed up for. It's something like clockwork, now, and she can't lie and say that there isn't some satisfaction drawn from exacting revenge on terrible people, or a bittersweet ache to providing closure to the grieving.

So begins...

Ahya Edola's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Oswald Stone Character Portrait: Isla Adan Character Portrait: Alan Sanders Character Portrait: Joanna Kurtz Character Portrait: Gregory Henderson Character Portrait: Ahya Edola Character Portrait: Catarina De La Cruz Character Portrait: Theo Sverre Character Portrait: Arsen St. James Character Portrait: Pranav Bandara Character Portrait: Destiny Ribiera Character Portrait: Josephine Jonsdotter Character Portrait: Cherise Viole Nijima Character Portrait: Seo Daeyoung
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Past, 21, March, 2020…

Begin At An End

Blood streaked the cracked marble floor. Still slick wet but certainly not fresh. Bernardo bent to get a closer look. Two fingers touching the vicious mess as if it were imagined. It wasn't. He brought the fingers to his face, inhaling deeply the scent of copper. It wasn't the usual smell that greeted him. No. This blood had run afoul of something other. A looming presence that twined its way through each cell. He could imagine the source. An overburdened body carrying a light not meant for this world. And there it was, in the barely present light cast by his flashlight, the sheen of molten gold in the red that he hadn't noticed at first.

"Fuck, God's blood," he wiped the blood off onto his khakis and stood to face his partner. Atticus Wallace seemed disinterested. But Bernardo knew better than to assume there was nothing stirring behind that carefully made mask.

"Think it's still kicking around here?" Atticus swept his flashlight, first over the blood streaked floors and then up and over the rows of rotting pews. This church had been out of commission for decades at this point. A molding shell of half rubble that clung heavily to the remnants of its infrastructure. Most churches had long since become defunct. Though some still believed in their hearts that the Gods walking among men were heretical demons. Bernardo thought that strange, that people were willing to accept werewolves, vampires, and all manner of spirit but the moment the Gods descended onto earth they shuttered their doors and boarded the windows.

Bernardo's history with the Gods was just as sordid as anyone else that fell beneath their purview but it stayed just that. Purview. A distant connection based on a professional thread. His job was to take these cases because nobody else could. He could count the number of actual Gods he'd ever managed to encounter in this job.

It was a fact though that Gods didn't just up and die. No matter how much blood was on the scene. The closest neighbors had reported what sounded like fighting coming from the abandoned church and Bernardo had fully expected to be greeted with the sight of strewn bottles, needles, and whatever the fuck else but there had been no trace of drug activity here. Not a smidgen of violence to be heard. All was quiet, a hushed peace that was only interrupted by the blood.

Gods didn't die. Therefore if it weren't miles away by now then it was still here. Perhaps wounded though more than likely it was simply healing away from prying eyes.

"Might be, better start looking." Bernardo answered at long last. Beginning to trace the sinewy blood trails through the dark.

They didn't have to search long or hard for that matter, just on the other side of what would have once been the Sacristy they found the stomach churning remnants of the God. Half tucked underneath a freshly overturned cabinet. One that still surprisingly seemed to have been holding on to the moth bitten and tattered robes of its former inhabitants.

The body was cut in several places. Threads of shimmering blood having dried to the skin around the wounds that were visible. The heaviest of which centered around the Gods gut. Bernardo thought if he looked close enough he could see organs. Twisting intestines poking out through the torn flesh. He couldn't stop himself from running through the facts in his head.

Caucasian Female, Early Twenties, Multiple wounds…cause of death....evisceration? She had been run through with something. Something sharp and deadly enough to render a God helpless. The only things that killed Gods were other Gods, but that hadn't happened in quite some time. The Pantheon made sure of that.

Yet here the body lay twisted under this broken down, decades old cabinet in a church thats likely been untouched for just as long.

He noticed that the Gods mouth was half open in an enraged scream still. Pearly white teeth stained red. Bernardo shuddered at the depths of the Gods wide open eyes. They hadn't retained any humanity in those last moments, the entirety of the corneas had gone a molten lava-like red gold shade that reflected their flashlights back at them. Just like the blood, the essence of the God attempting to spill out.

Bernardo had never seen it for himself, few had, but like any other he had heard Ghost stories aplenty about what it looked like to stare into the face of a dead God.

"Shes young," Bernardo felt compelled to say out loud. He carefully, without disturbing the body examined the corpse. It was disconcerting to say the least. Most Gods emerged into youth of course but that didn't stop him from feeling nauseated at the thought of who this young woman might have wound up being without Divinitys interventions.

"Lets call it in," Atticus spoke sharply, just over Bernardos shoulder where he too gazed at the body. There was something in his eyes when Bernardo looked up. Not nervousness, no, something closer to revulsion.

"Something wrong Wallace?"

"With me? No," Atticus snorted, gesturing wildly. "But the Gods can clean up their own messes, we don't need to be here doing -"

"Our job?" Bernardo cut in snidely.

Atticus laughed.

"Our job is God related crimes. Not 'clearly murdered' Gods themselves. The Pantheon won't let anyone within a foot of this once they hear about it and by all means too, they should be the ones to get a leash on whatever new Holy terror has cropped up."

Bernardo hummed under his breath. Atticus made a great point. But something about this felt off. Like an itch too far too reach. He felt the haunting echo of this one raise the hairs along his spine. He wasn't scared. Nervous perhaps. He didn't want to deal with another Szen if thats what was happening.

"Alright," he nodded at last. Preparing himself for the long night of relayed reports, red tape, and press avoidance that would follow. He prayed that once he made it home tonight Selene would be there waiting for him just this once and not wasting her time trying to spin light into the Gods media presence. He missed her, and the sight of the young girl that could have been something so much more than a dead God rotting in a church made that all the worse.

He needed a drink. Or 20. Enough to drown out this ragged itch of wrong in his mind.


Present Day, 25, May, 2020

The Pantheon

Filigree and baubles.

The Pantheon couldn't seem to ever get everyone together in one place unless burdened by loud music and fanfare. Isla hadn't felt the need to attend the party but when the call came in the night, a dream within a dream that could only have been a message of death, she did her best to get to the Pantheon before the urgency could be swept beneath the rug.

Alan had been meant to meet her there, but as usual he had been absent. Likely having forgotten about her completely. And instead Isla had been met with the overbearing audience of Gods that seemed to have very little to do other than waste away in hedonistic pleasures.

She could only try her best to gather the sober ones together long enough to get someone to figure out where any of the Major Gods were. It looked like Alan at least had already gotten the news of the newest addition to the growing list of names in the Gods personal obits.

By the time they managed to shuffle off into the meeting hall there was very little left of Isla other than nerves. Frayed and ready to snap at any moment.

The facts of the matter were given in precise detail. Quick and to the point.

Another dead God, cut to pieces. Isla felt hollowed out, gutted still by what she already had known. Her dreams were always right. Whether she wanted them to be or not.

"Two dead Gods could have been a coincidence. But three certainly isn't," Isla muttered and paced.

She couldn't stop moving despite the fact that nobody seemed to be giving her any mind. The frantic muttering under her breath as unhelpful as the bedraggled way she had appeared. She hadn't had the time to look presentable in front of her fellow Gods. Not at 3am and not when the third body in two months popped up in the city.

Each time she had strode the length of the room her thoughts seemed to unravel further. A knot of connections pulling loose from one another until she felt clear enough to stop. To wait. Her voice when it shuddered through her wasn't Isla. Not entirely at least.

"I told you all there would be death, damned bloody death, and its hunting us all!" Blythe was center stage, more than the God ever seemed to be and completely unrepentant about it.

"Come off it Blythe!" Crowed another God dismissively, "every vision you have is of death, can't bloody well expect much else."

"Fool! This isn't just death this is more than that. This is more than the approaching storm!" Blythe raged.

But even as strongly as the God gripped onto the forefront of Isla's conscious mind there was still cracks in the surface. The bleeding of Isla into Blythe that let the human push the God back. Regain her rationality. For a blistering moment she felt the embarrassment of tears prickle in her eyes but she knew better.

"It's all shadows in here," Isla tapped her head "I see things I can't begin to describe, things that even the Fates refuse to see. How long has it been since any of us have seen them anyways? Ever wonder if there's a reason they've abandoned ship?"

Disgust laced her every word, they were all in danger and couldn't see it. Even Alan, as sympathetic as he was to her plight would rather hide behind fake smiles and strategic statements released to the press. He stood at the head of the room as plastic and serene as ever. Isla bit back her frustration, wanting nothing more than to shout that this wasn't fair.

Why did she see the gaping maw of darkness at all times. The shadows that bled into her mind an ever present inky blackness that would leave.

"We understand Isla," Alan began, ready to plaster a bandage over the gaping wound that was Isla. "We're sorting this out." It wasn't any sort of promise or pledge. Just more words to placate.

Nobody else seemed all that concerned. Alan mostly looked disconcerted to be there at all. It had been years since any God had stepped foot into this hall. But times of peace always came to an end, and Isla could see the flickering of tension striking like a lightening storm in her head. The coming storm. Death haunting their steps.

"I know this is hard for all of us," Alan stepped forward, mouth set in a hard line. Standing impossibly rigid in his tailored suit. He looked every bit the part of a God in that moment. Domineering the space he took up.

"Then what's being done about it? Are we supposed to live in fear of a threat that we don't even know anything about - other than of course the three eviscerated Gods it's left behind." Isla knew she was poking at something that none of them ever spoke aloud. The glaring beast in the room made up of those that could and could not.

There had always been a line between the gods. Major, minor, lesser and even further than that went the Gods that were capable of wreaking havoc and those that weren't. Isla, Blythe, whoever existed in this body of hers was nothing more than a Glorified fortune teller. She was defenseless. As were many others.

She could see the discomfort on some of the faces in the crowd but none were so brazen as her to raise their voices in this fight. She had been afforded her stance by the ever thinning ounce of respect that her Dominion afforded to her.

"We're doing everything we can." Alan assured.


Present Day, 25, May, 2020

The Gilded Cage

He'd been more clear in these past few months than he had ever felt in a lifetime of inhabiting this body. But that didn't stop the flooding anger from washing its way through his brain everytime he opened his eyes and still saw that he was here. Stuck in this Gilded Cage below the Pantheon proper. Stuck in this mindlessly endless boredom that pervaded every inch of his mind until the dull ache of anger roared into a blazing fire.

It had been easier when he was smaller to find exploitable weaknesses in this prison. It had been built for adults. Not children. And Oswald had been particularly imaginative in his desperation to escape this place. But it had been many years since he he last saw an opportunity to free himself and truly, he didn't much mind it anymore. He took a perverse sort of pleasure in watching Silva's face twist when he came to see what damage Szen had done to Oswalds body now. He'd scared off most of the other Gods that Silva sent to check in on him - all but Nemesis of course but he valued her company unlike any other.

They spoke as equals, two War Gods that saw the injustices of this systematic oppression. Their Domain had always been one of violence, there was no denying that,, and Gods like Silva certainly saw that fact. Its why Szen was here in the first place. Locked away for crimes he committed while crazed and lusting for blood.

He could still feel the blood on his hands. Could see the rivers of it running in his mind. Could feel and taste the heat of flames and smoldering ash as he took his fledgling anger out in the humans that had wrought agony on his body for years. Often he recalled the feeling of hands at his throat, squeezing the life from his body until specks of black covered his vision. Szen cant remember the point in which he emerged into this body well, can only see the moment that he popped Oswalds stepfather head like an overblown balloon.

He shuddered, and pushed away those memories.

Szen resented Silva for he seemed more invested in human welfare than that of his fellows.

It was pathetic.

He missed Catarina.

He wondered if she would visit soon. Or if she was busy with whatever seemed to be stirring up the energies of the Gods above. Szen could feel it, just like he suspected any of the War Gods could feel it. There was something brewing like a storm. He could easily imagine the strife that would be befallen the Gods and relished at the thought.

It served them right.

But that wasn't the only thing that Szen could feel. Even as caged away as he was there was a very distinct pull that seemed to echo from somewhere nearby. The presence of a God that Szen had not seen nor heard of in quite some time. He wanted badly to go out there and see for himself.

Had gone mad with the thought the first time he felt it. Thrumming with an energy that didn't feel like his own at the time. Admittedly, the body he wore had become a bit more damaged from his compulsive self battering than he usually allowed. His maddening habit of throwing himself against the enchanted barriers of the prison taking its toll.

Things were finally getting interesting. And here he was stuck.

Incapable of witnessing it.

Present Day, 25, May, 2020

The Pier

Josephine lifted the bloated body of a rat by its wormlike tail. Watching in morbid fascination as the creature chittered its dismay to the air. Struggling against her steel grip even as she swung it up and let it go, watching it disappear down the endless maw of a beast that wriggled in delight. Its limbs endlessly twisting and turning over and under and through each other until the maddening tangle became too much to look at. It made her sick, but excited, and very much giddy to be so near to it.

Petra loved her abomination and Josephine could understand why.

Its proportions fascinated her, the impossible nature of its very being mind warpingly unpleasant. Josephine wondered if this was how the world saw her. An unpleasant thing, a blight on nature that hurt to look at. It felt good to be faced by another nightmare even if she could not place a name to it.

She would also very much like to feed it anything other than Rats but Petra forbade Josephine from even coming near the beast let alone feeding it. As if she could or would stop Josephine from doing as she pleased. Besides, the beast hardly moved at all other than to undulate its limbs.

Since her emergence Petra had begun to take Josephine more seriously. She wasn't this meek little creature that clung to their mothers leg anymore. Though she had admittedly not been that for a very long time. Even with teeth as sharp as razor blades on display as Josephines grin there had always been a blanket of familiarity that allowed Petra to paint Josephine as a Saint. Incapable of running drugs, people, or guns the way the family wanted.

That was okay. Josephine, and to a larger extent Minerva, thrived on the deception of seeming less than.

It was a game they played well.

It had brought them all the way from Russia to here. To this city that seemed to never sleep with all the activity it saw. Josephine had been in the city for less than a few days but already she could tell that things were going to be exciting.

"Your sister isn't gonna like you being down here."

She didn't startle at the voice, but she did turn around. Mouth already half quirked into the beginning of a smile. "Bold of you to assume she'll find out."

"Bold of you to assume I won't tell her." The man stepped into the light, revealing the face and body of a man that Minerva would be delighted to just eat up. Atticus Wallace, Petra's personal project and Josephines babysitter - at least. When he wasn't working alongside mangy mutts.

"Bold of you to think I care " she countered back, unable to contain her laughter as she dramatically flipped her hair over one shoulder. He rolled his eyes, though she could see the fondness in the action. But once he glanced over her shoulder at the beast just beyond her he seemed to shudder inward. It was an understandable reaction to the shapes that seemed to have no english equivalent description.

Josephine took pity, looping her arm through his and giving it a tug. She'd like nothing more than to squander her time in the basement but hiding away never did anyone any good. She was excited to see the world beyond The Pier, if even just for a moment as she accompanied Atticus to the Musée De Vries.

Though she was excited to be involved in some small part with the business it was clear that this wasn't about that for her. Minerva's plans revolved around something much larger than some vampiric pseudo cartel operating on the edge of a city bustling with bigger fish. Those plans began with Aristotle and his endless collection of trinkets.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Isla Adan Character Portrait: Alan Sanders Character Portrait: Joanna Kurtz Character Portrait: Ahya Edola Character Portrait: Catarina De La Cruz Character Portrait: Arsen St. James Character Portrait: Pranav Bandara Character Portrait: Destiny Ribiera Character Portrait: Josephine Jonsdotter Character Portrait: Seo Daeyoung
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hex: #a87c5f
attire: x
location: Onyang Funeral Hall ➔ The Pantheon
song: screw face

he wears woe as others wear velvet; sorrow flatters him like the light of candles; tears become him like jewels

"i'm sorry! i'm so sorry! please- forgive me!" the man was not. ahya watched him from behind, unseen by the eyes about her; even without her presence being transient, they likely would not have seen her. all attention was on the kneeling, sobbing, apologising wreck in the middle of the funeral home, and his attention was on the little girl standing in front of him. she showed a rage too calm, too serene, for a child still living. her life had been stolen to her by the same hands that had stolen her autonomy, again and again, many a night preceding her end.

the man wailed more apologies.

she knelt beside him, looking about at the concerned crowd forming. the child's father was front and centre, a familiar expression on his face. the brewing awareness of a reality one does not want to acknowledge. the stone that forms in one's gut, when suspicions long since pushed away come rushing to the surface; finally, and terribly, confirmed. a lot of confessions were met with these faces. so she had seen a lot of them, in her time.

they still ached to see, a bit.

she whispered in the man's ear, devoid of sympathy in the face of his terror. "and what, exactly, are you sorry for?". the ghost-child echoed her whisper, as well as her merciless expression. put in into words, you sinful creature, the god demanded. confess, and be done with yourself.

between his sobs, he did. desperate for the child to go away; for his guilt to fade. by the time the child finally allowed herself to fall into light, his hands were bruised from cuffs, his face bloodied from grieving fists. but it was not retribution she had wanted. she was just a child, after all. she just wanted to comfort her dad with the truth.

"will daddy be happy, again?" "one day. it will always hurt, but his heart is lighter now."

as the child, Min-hee, left the mortal plane, Ahya, her job done, left South Korea for the Pantheon.

through months of shame and humiliation i have come to love my solitude. i no longer seek help from the outside world. i no longer answer the doorbell. i live by myself, in the turmoil of my own fears. trapped by my own phantasms. i wait for the flood to rise and drown me out

she caught the dourness in her hands, and let it leak through her parting fingers. the room was drenched in it- this sense of dread. the refusal to accept reality was back again, but with far more bite than what she had witnessed on the father's face days before. this refusal was rooted in arrogance. it was idiotic.

so, in character, for many of these gods, really.

she watched the show from the corner, back flat against the cool marble, one foot tucked lazily around the ankle of the other. she wasn't fond of the drama and feuds; the endless bickering among the gods. every meeting ended with the same resounding feelings. the major gods were unyielding, the lesser gods were dissatisfied, the war gods were angry (as always). even the events leading up to these feelings tended to be the same; some god would complain, the major gods would insist nothing was wrong, other gods (usually war gods. usually Cat) would beg to differ. the majors would reiterate that the topic was not up for discussion, and everyone would go home wondering what the point of the meeting was in the first place.

this one, though. its bones were similar, but the beast was different. the gods were playing their roles like usual, but there was less certainty- the plague of higher stakes brought maleability to an event that, in the years before, had always played out like clockwork. Ahya felt a pang of sympathy for Isla, a true Cassandra, complete with dark prophecies and disbelieving listeners. never mind that her warnings of death had never been more supported by evidence. three gods dead, and still, they thought themselves invincible.

Cat was no different, as she volleyed with Destiny, no, with Rio. the calm and the fury engaged back and forth, Ahya's own opinion on the matter dancing between them.

“I’ll be fine. It’s as the little river goddess said, the gods of war are meant to endure such adversity.” Ahya scoffed, lightly and lazily, her insouciance becoming her, her sense of justice (and spite, definitely spite) compelling her to speak.

"Endure war, yes. But not death. No god, not even a war god, is made to endure death. Regardless of what some of you may believe about your own immortality. And definitely regardless of, ah..." Her smile turned teasing, "... Death's endurance."

she turned to the major gods, many of whom clustered together. like a single body. a hive mind.

"on the other hand; 'you're doing everything you can?' What does that even mean? with all due respect, you lot are so terrified of rocking the boat, you wouldn't dare save a sinking ship." she looked at Dae-young, half-heartedly adding, "... metaphorically."

she could feel the swirling emotions of the gods around her, their trepidation, as they too surveyed the opinions exchanged. many of them agreed with her, that neither option was especially appealing. loathe to step out, she did so nonetheless, compelled by the thought of her own corpse joining the dead, be it as a victim, or a soldier.

"are these seriously our only two options? either wait to be added to the divine body count, or prepare for a war on an enemy we have yet to actually identify?" she sighed, her Weltschmerz reengaging. "if that's the case then maybe it's about time we gods clocked out, hm? we're clearly not qualified for critical thinking, let alone whatever sacred responsibilities we've been relegated."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Isla Adan Character Portrait: Alan Sanders Character Portrait: Ahya Edola Character Portrait: Catarina De La Cruz Character Portrait: Theo Sverre Character Portrait: Arsen St. James Character Portrait: Pranav Bandara Character Portrait: Destiny Ribiera Character Portrait: Seo Daeyoung
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Nex doesn’t hate their parties, but fuck if he didn’t wanna be somewhere else right now. Music and spirits and perfect, pretty meals never impressed him much, easily content with his work and the paracosm of an underworld that he’d tended to like a child. Slinking shadows and swaying nymphs and every desolate creature in between, the waters slowly lapping away at his rocky shores, a ceaseless reminder of the years that really aren’t years. just eons of time that pass as easy and impermanent as grains of sand. worn away into nothing; replaced by more of the same. Monotonous. Yet unyielding, the way he’d built up that land of death, placed it upon a pedestal of gold and metal, said nothing that comes here may leave, and made it so with nothing more than a look. A word. Arsen can feel Nex’s discomfort like a second skin. Shoves it away with practiced ease. And Nex won’t give anyone the satisfaction of his discontent (as if most didn’t already know about the recluse of a god, his commitment to death), so he resigns to stay tucked away, smug and snug behind Arsen’s display. Bides his time until he could go home.

Arsen thinks he might indulge Nex on a better day but as long as he had rope to spare he’d always take a chance on the god’s patience not wearing too thin. He’d felt his icy presence all day, and Arsen never really minded the grind of the underworld, but it wasn’t as if the days ever really changed anyway. There’s a lesser god for every passable task and they come when called, loyal to himself or the god within him. didn’t really matter that Arsen sometimes liked to skip every audience requested of him or run off to the mortal world for too long (insanity, the way he always gravitated towards the recoil of a decision made in haste). He still knows he and Nex were running a tight enough ship. So fuckin’ relax.

But could he really? Most didn’t know that even in the deepest hell flowers still grow. Nex doesn’t like for anyone to know this, doesn’t like to share his domain on a whim, always a cold chill dragging down Arsen’s spine when he brought Cat down, practically writhing at the sentiment. He’ll never forget him showing her that. Now she was in his face. But death knows it’s kind and Nex wasn’t one to make a show for something petty. Forever the picture of measured restraint. Besides, Nemesis was always good for a soul sans a body. He supposes he could say the same of his host as well. The ability to shut mouths was one thing; the willingness to do it was another, and Nex could always appreciate that.

Arsen’s known her since before he knew her. Known her in every life, he thinks (if not through flesh than the sheer brutality of natural law, the fact that all things must end eventually), knows her the way war knows bullets, the way minus forty knows frostbite, the way grass just knows to curl and part and get away when Arsen slinks through. But Cat never did pull away from him, did she? All swaying hips and dark machinations and carob eyes that stared back at him with a hunger he’d already seen in himself. Homey, the way their names and death decorate the same sentences. “Mhm, why don’t you take me to one of your little pocket dimensions and we can play.” He grips her tighter then. Heavy possessive and so amused when his eyes pass over the crowd and her teeth meet his ear, like she just knew the sadist in him always stirred at the barest mention of a manic whim. “I guess I could,” he teases, hands sliding up to her waist. Fingers trailing over soft skin and edging underneath the too-thin fabric of her top. There’s a moan lodged so deep in his chest that it hurts, comes out in the hot breath of a chuckle against the underside of her neck when he pulls her closer, canines against flesh, says, “but I haven’t heard you beg for it, yet.”

Arsen doesn’t pay the other gods any mind, partly because only a handful ever caught his attention and mostly on account of Cat’s hands working along his neck, chipping away at any self restraint he might’ve had. Nex, however, was never off the clock. Quiet but restless nonetheless when the atmosphere took a turn for the serious, clashing against the sheer black heat that crawled through Arsen’s insides with the icy press of his own urgency. “F-” Arsen almost curses, but it doesn’t matter much when he feels Catarina shift, nothing but cool air and the ghost of her fingerprints against his neck when she pulls away. All he can do is sigh, really. From the looks of it everyone could sense something was amiss in the room. Hanging heavy in the air. When she leans in to kiss him he catches her neck, holds her there for the briefest second before letting go, knows this kind of shit was interesting to her anyway and he’d never tell her what to do even if he could feel something malicious stirring inside him.

If there’s anything Arsen and Nex agree on, it’s that most things in the pantheon – the gods, their drama, the gossip – didn’t matter at all. Only difference was Arsen had demons to sate and Nex preferred to creep low like a strange animal, minding his business and attending to his affairs in the underworld. Besides, it was always the same pony show with these gods. The majors made a decision and the weak links complained.

“Let’s leave.” Arsen’s mouth curled around the words in a scowl, not his own but imposed upon him nonetheless and he snatches a drink off of the nearest tray. If Nex was speaking… for a second Arsen thinks he might agree until he reminds himself that few things satisfied his god, least of all gatherings, meetings. Of course he’d have reservations. Not that Arsen could blame him.

But things did seem different.

Arsen found a spot next to Catarina, swirling the drink in his hand and dismissing the situation with a careless flick of his wrist. He never cared much for witches nor the art they practiced. "We're doing everything we can." That makes him laugh. When did majors bend to the minors, the lessors, the weak and the helpless, huh? Hell, if they planned on doing anything, it would’ve been two bodies ago. Still, what was a little death to the god of the dead anyway? Maybe he’d catch the more human parts of them in his keep, if he cared, if he wanted. Arsen barely turns his head, ready to make a joke but Cat’s already left. Carving her way to the front with little effort.

He feels like maybe he should care about the dead gods; for Catarina and the power she cultivated, the fear she commanded, the respect she earned; for Ahya, who’d done more for him than he’d done for himself in some respects, steady and present and warped in all those familiar ways; for the other deities he’d found some kind of amusement in over the years. But when he listens to the little river goddess speak, when he sees Navi’s wide, stupid eyes dart through the crowd all he can think is maybe we don’t need them at all. He smirks and folds his arms across his chest, pleased in that cruel kind of way. He wouldn’t advocate for their sacrifice or cast them off as casualties of war, but if it happened… who would sing their elegy? Not Arsen, you could rest assure. He’s got a short list of people he’d kill for. Everyone else was just a matter of time, a matter of how soon he could wrap his hands around them, a matter of offense and mistakes turning into something you can’t return from.

If death was coming it wasn’t coming for him and his.

“I’ll be fine. It’s as the little river goddess said, the gods of war are meant to endure such adversity.” There’s a sick sense of pride that wells up when he catches the look of pure amusement on her face and the murmurs of dissent that welled up in the meeting hall. Figures, though. The same minors and lessors that cry for a solution shrink up when it’s time to put in the work, expecting the majors to just jump up and do something. And here was Cat, offering the beginnings of a plan. Perhaps she could shock the rest of them into feeling something other than sorry for themselves. Either that or point out the enemy so they could end this shit before it could eat up anymore of his time.

Ahya’s comment does coax a smile out of him though, so he tips his glass in her direction before downing the rest of it. The problem still remained the same. They didn’t want war. They didn’t want to wait and see. They wanted the strong to carry the weak to the finish line and as much as he respects the goddess, he can’t help but parse words. if that's the case then maybe it's about time we gods clocked out, hm? We? Or just the ones who couldn’t stand up for themselves?

Arsen peels himself off the wall and listens to the chorus of opinions volleying back and forth. He supposes that most of them wouldn't be shocked to know that he’d stand on top of their dead bodies if it made him just a little bit taller. Allowed him to see farther. There’s not much in it for Arsen or Nex except their lives, and they’d have to believe they were at risk to even care that much (regardless of what others had to say), so he focuses on the war Cat offers to lay at their feet if they want it. The thought makes him smirk. He’d cross that bridge in heartbeat.

It's too soon to talk about war, yet you can't afford to wait for the enemy to attack... gods, what can you all do? he wonders, eyeing the room for more drinks because they had to be somewhere while tallying up the minors' grievances. That's the thing about them; they never had real ideas, just problems that the majors and more proactive minors were supposed to just deal with. Then again, Alan's words did ring hollow even for someone like Arsen. For someone so media savvy he couldn’t placate his fellow gods to save his life. Still, no matter how flimsy his 'plan' may have seemed, Alan was still far more powerful than others who'd decided to grace the hall with their presence. "It sounds like some of you want to do nothing because you have nothing to offer if war actually showed, which isn't a surprise, we've all known each other for a while. You even said it yourselves,” he almost laughs, “some of us just aren't built to see adversity, yeah?” Which calls into question why some of them were even allowed in on these kinds of meetings, but he decides to save that one for a later date.

“Maybe all the pacifists in the room should put their heads together and use that critical thinking to come up with a solution they’d actually be comfortable with,” Arsen cracks a smile, gestures to the lot of them, degradingly kind when says, "and by all means, don't be shy. speak up.”


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Isla Adan Character Portrait: Alan Sanders Character Portrait: Ahya Edola Character Portrait: Catarina De La Cruz Character Portrait: Theo Sverre Character Portrait: Arsen St. James Character Portrait: Pranav Bandara Character Portrait: Destiny Ribiera Character Portrait: Josephine Jonsdotter Character Portrait: Seo Daeyoung
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#, as written by Ivisbo
ImageTheo didn’t often involve himself with the workings of the Pantheon. Yes, he spent most of his time here, avoiding the human world amongst various pocket dimensions, but he never involved himself in the political structure of the gods.

Salvaxe never seemed to care, preferring to allow his vessel to control them as he sees fit. He’d chosen Theo for their differences, not their similarities, so for now he was fine to allow the wiley shapeshifter free range with his powers. When Theo chose to use his abilities, it was always for the better of beasts or themselves, so Salvaxe never thought to complain.

For instance, Theo had introduced himself to Navi the day the boy had entered the Pantheon, never one to shy away from a new, shiny thing. Salvaxe had known of Ra, as all Gods did, but he had always shied away from the cosmic powers of the Major Gods, except for Silva of course. He’d questioned Theo only once, when the shapeshifter had spied the glow of warmth and immediately latched on. Involving themselves with a diety of that power could only eventually bring eyes upon them, but so far his emerged had never lead them astray.

Maybe it was because he was a minor god, or maybe it was because Theo spent most of his time with the new sun god as a sleeping cat, but Navi warmed up to him quickly. Theo snuck into Ra's pocket dimension and made himself a home amongst the sunlight, cushions, and warmth, occasionally taking a human form to answer questions or ask his own. Theo liked the quiet and peace that came from Navi’s presence, so he's found himself hovering around the major God more often than not.

The gathering meant booze and free food, so there was no question that the wiley beast god would be there. With it being his favorite new sun's introduction party, he made sure to arrive with Navi safely in sight. The shapeshifter kept close to the freshly emerged, keeping away that awkward newness that might stumble along his path. While Theo was good at small talk, enjoyed the gathering for the party it was, he detested the sort of prying nature of the gods and generally avoided the sober portions of these gatherings.

He kept in step with Navi, only wisping away to grab a new drink, only disappointed that the kid didn’t seem to have his same affection for alcohol. The steady stream of bubbly liquor and the contagious warmth of Navi’s presence had him wrapping around the small god's frame like he would if he were a cat, leaning in to whisper who some passerby was or gossip on a lecherous relationship in the distance. He specifically enjoyed when a tidbit of gossip made the boy's cheeks burn- he knew that sort of innocence wouldn’t last long and enjoyed seeing such a powerful being at his mercy.

Destiny was always a welcome marvel and an easy escape. She wasn’t human, which made her company easy for Theo. He’d called her over and introduced her to Navi as soon as he could, hoping to keep the kid away from the prying hands of the Majors for as long as possible. But of course, commotion sprung up in the adjacent room as soon as the idea of higher gods sprung to mind, the murmuring of worry quickly lapping away the fun he’d wanted from a party of free food and free booze. Impending doom always seemed to be lurking at gatherings such as these, he wasn't sure why he ever expected anything less.

Theo cast his eyes after Destiny, a tendril of worry creasing his brows. He could clearly hear the shouting of gods much higher-ranked them himself, their growing intensity seeping into the gathered emerged. He wanted nothing to do with that room, of the power that could be unleashed if you pushed one of those beings the wrong way. He glanced down at Navi, wide eyes staring at the hallway and almost let out an audible grown. This was supposed to be the boy's introduction to their Pantheon, though whatever news that was circulating was obviously stealing his spotlight. Theo knew Navi did not care for that, probably preferred it this way. But if these gods didn’t meet him here, it meant he would be routinely dropped in on during his moments of peace… during Theo’s moment of peace, tucked away in the sun god's perfect pocket dimension of intoxicating warmth.

“I” Theo gestured at himself, “Should probably fly the hell out of here and avoid whatever new catastrophe is boiling over in that room” His eyes caught on Cat as she stalked by, the omen of her joining the fray only reassuring that he should run, “But you on the other hand…”

Theo stepped away from the little sun god and finished off his drink, abandoning the glass on a window sill before turning his attention back on Navi, “You should probably have been the first one in there, standing next to Alan like some sort of senator. I'm glad you're not, I like you better out here. But all I know of Ra says that he is supposed to be some sort of beacon” He sighed and gestured forward, “But damn, I’m not a big enough asshole to leave you in your moment of need. Lead the way, I’ll make sure they don’t bite”

Cat being Cat had already riled up the masses by the time Theo and Navi slunk in behind the crowd, Theo keeping his head low and shoulders hunched while Navi led them through the crowd with trepidation. The kid was heading for the center, probably taking Theo’s words to heart, so the shapeshifter reached out and grabbed his shoulder before he broke through to the gathered major gods, “Let's hang back a bit, yeah? Cat’s got a hot head and I don’t want to get caught in her crossfire” He whispered and squeezed his shoulder, gesturing at the wild god of revenge taking center stage.

ImageThe room had doubled in numbers, the gods feeding on each other's worry and anger to the point that it was palpable. Dae was broiling, Yongmul having long since lost the battle of an even mind, his cascading waters tumultuous as Nemesis entered the room. Though the god and host rarely interacted with war gods on principle, Nemesis's very presence seemed to churn the peace that Yongmul worked so hard to tend. She picked her words specifically, each meant to cut and work up the crowd into anger and contempt.

“The gods of war are hardly impartial,” Daeyongs voice broke through, a steely edge to it that conveyed his barely restrained anger. Yongmul’s presence hovered right underneath his skin, his cutting ice the only thing restraining his vessel from confronting this minor god with the war she so clearly craved.

“Of course not,” Nemesis’s gaze turned towards them and if Yongmul had been in his true form, his teeth would have barred, “It is our domain, we don’t need a vision to tell you when it’s coming. All the more reason to listen to us.”

Destiny spoke up then, her voice pleading and soft as Yongmul knew her to be. Rio was a river goddess under his domain and he had always known her to evoke the calm he wanted from all those that pulled from his oceans. Yongmul had always felt specifically protective over his river goddesses, their presence a peace over the world that he’d always cherished and revered. He was glad when Rio had emerged as Destiny, happy to have another one within his fold that respected the values for which they were made.

Denae’s voice was not one he had heard in some time, her perceptive sharpness slicing through the conversation with a level of authority uncommon in minor gods "on the other hand; 'you're doing everything you can?' What does that even mean? with all due respect, you lot are so terrified of rocking the boat, you wouldn't dare save a sinking ship." her dark brown eyes cast towards him, the satirical humor doing nothing to lighten her targeted message,"... metaphorically."

She was right though. They did not have the luxury to just sit by and allow more deaths, their numbers growing smaller while none of them understood what could be afflicting them. Were they meant to sit by and continue to gather intel while the threat of losing another god hung above them all? But he knew it wasn’t that simple. He knew churning emotions would lead to chaos, that each one of these gathered gods had many different reasons for their actions. Calling an outright attack was foolish, but if they planned and acted in an organized way...

Yongmul had only given Daeyoung a small list of gods to avoid. Nex was one of them, a major god that Dae would never be able to entirely ignore because of their ranks but one that he was willing to steer clear of on pure principle. The ocean and death knew each other well- the floor of Yongmul’s domain was a gravesite for many. Yongmul was often the reason for countless souls joining Nex's domain- but the great dragon did much to avoid the kind of ending that would leave ships littering his floors and corpses floating his seas. His presence alone grated the dragon's scales, the sort of uncomfortable feeling you got in a dark ocean with a bottomless depth. Nex was never-ending, but he was also avoided and un-worshipped compared to the rest of them. But like all gods, Nex’s existence was important to the balance between them all. Yongmul knew this and respected it.

“Pacifism does not mean nonaction, we don’t just have two choices” Daeyoung spoke up finally, addressing the crowd and Nex directly. He did not often find his voice during such meetings, preferring to just do rather than talk about doing, but with the wavering faith in the Major Gods abilities, he felt it necessary to not just leave it all to Alan. He, at least, agreed with the others. Yongmul believed in peace until absolutely necessary and the turmoil in this room was a clear enough sign that it was time to act, “I do not think that waiting for another death is the answer. We exist for a reason, each of us, and the loss of that balance is inexcusable” He cast dark eyes across the crowd, making sure to direct himself at Nemesis, Denae, and Nex in turn, “Gods of war exist for a reason, I will agree to this, despite how you all may view my stance on peace. Without them, the deaths of those with more powers than others would be unbridled. Humans need revenge” He gestured at Nemesis, “Or they would live without consequence. Humans need Denae, or their souls would never move on and find peace” Daeyong’s attention shifts over to Nex, Yongmul’s presence a crashing rush under his skin. The dragon is as much him as he is, the ocean god staring down the god of the dead, “I would not exist without Nex as much as Nex would not without me. The labels of Major and Minor should be stricken, each of us play a vital roll and are not replaceable The dragon ferocity slips through Dae’s throat, a warped roar of words escaping him, “I do not know who these three gods are and what their loss means for all of us, or the mortals that need them. None were under my domain, or I would have known- but the loss of even a river goddess would mean the deaths of any mortals that depend upon her”

Dae inhaled deeply, Yongmul’s rush of anger slowing to a steady stream, “We have not worked together for centuries, I know this. It was not unheard of back in the day, for Gods to band together for the greater good. Maybe it's come time for some...camaraderie. Focus our skills on hunting down whoever thinks they can destroy us”


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Oswald Stone Character Portrait: Isla Adan Character Portrait: Alan Sanders Character Portrait: Ahya Edola Character Portrait: Catarina De La Cruz Character Portrait: Theo Sverre Character Portrait: Arsen St. James Character Portrait: Pranav Bandara Character Portrait: Destiny Ribiera Character Portrait: Seo Daeyoung
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“Let's hang back a bit, yeah? Cat’s got a hot head and I don’t want to get caught in her crossfire.” Theo warns him. Navi nodded, though he had been able to ascertain as much on his own. The goddess had all but spat venom when Yongmul challenged her, Navi didn’t want to incur that sort of wrath.

Navi closed his eyes for a moment, looking inward - pleading for Ra's wisdom. His presence was tangible, but he remained still. It'd been months and still Ra only came to him in his dreams, always speaking in riddles. The days blended together in his pocket realm, spending his time reading basking in the warm sun. He had no concept of the state of things before, of the heightened tension. The current state of things was all he knew. The other gods had encouraged him to take his time adjusting to his emergence but looking back it all felt rather frivolous.

Catarina does an exaggerated eye roll as Ahya spoke, the precocious god fluttering between them. Catarina had more respect for Ahya than she did for most, but the girl was soft at her core. Not suited for the sort of the ugliness necessary to feed her very own livelihood. When Ahya looks pointedly at Arsen, Catarina catches the eye of the river nymph as she giggled - Destiny quickly wiping the look of amusement off her face.

"It sounds like some of you want to do nothing because you have nothing to offer if war actually showed, which isn't a surprise, we've all known each other for a while. You even said it yourselves,” he almost laughs, “some of us just aren't built to see adversity, yeah?”

Catarina tilts her head to the side, beaming up at Arsen as he speaks making no effort to mask her glee. They could all continue to pretend to play politics, that had always been one of Nemesis' favorite games but when war came knocking on their doors with god killing weapons - it was those who held power that would be left standing. If it came down to which side would be left standing, it’d most certainly be the one with Arsen and Catarina. Nothing short of death itself would get the better of Nemesis.

Destiny shrinks when Nex speaks. She knows better than to speak up against him, or any major god really. While she avoided politics she still wasn’t looking to piss off the big guys, upstairs or downstairs. Besides, as much as Destiny ignored the Pantheon she still knew her place within it. When Yongmul spoke her ears perked up, turning to him with an expression of gratitude. He manages to keep the storm beneath a calm surface though Destiny could recognize his waning patience. A murmur ripples out at the mention of striking titles and while Destiny can agree to Yongmul’s points she understood the reservation. Titles were more than just power, it was order - and gods did not do well with chaos.

Catarina laughed at Yongmul’s call for unity, drawing his piercing gaze. “You can keep delaying the inevitable, but the war has already begun.”

Daeyoung’s eyes cast towards Nemesis, the disdain within them clear though his face remained impassive, “A war against who? We don’t even know our enemy.”

“What don’t you get?” Catarina sighed heavily, raising a hand to her temple and shaking her head in frustration. “They’ve already started the war, it doesn’t matter if we know what to call them or not.”

“Then who would you have me set my storms on, who should I be striking in this war of yours?” Yongmul’s growl sliced through Daeyoung’s voice, his seemingly human teeth beginning to grate in a way more reptile than mortal, “Contrary to what you may believe, I am not some God of Peace. The ocean has only been a safe harbor to those that I allow it. I am asking that we use our powers to find whoever is killing us and destroy them, rather then continuing to argue about some unseen enemy”

It took every bit of Nemesis’ willpower to keep Catarina from rolling her eyes. She glanced back to Arsen - not to ask him to tag in but rather to keep herself in check. At the end of the day it didn’t matter what they god’s said, they’d come out on top - Oswald too. That much she’d be sure of. When Catarina looked back to Yongmul the rage in her expression had dulled, though still evident.

“If you think that this is as simple as just rounding up a few rogue mortals, you’re positively delusional. They’ve killed not one, not two, but three gods.” Catarina held up a finger at each count, allowing each death it’s own pause to allow the gravity of the stakes sink in. “I am not proposing we strike blind - but maybe it’s time we take off our gloves and act like gods instead of pandering about, wringing our hands about mortal matters.”

“Avoiding the deaths of those undeserving is not pandering, you would be the god of nothing without those mortal matters” Yongmul seethed, “If you are not proposing we strike blind, then where should we strike?”

A smile split across her expression, all teeth and devoid of joy as she turned to face the other majors. “I’m glad you ask Yongmul - should it please the other gods I believe we should entrust some of us gods of war to go and find out exactly that.”


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Oswald Stone Character Portrait: Isla Adan Character Portrait: Alan Sanders Character Portrait: Ahya Edola Character Portrait: Catarina De La Cruz Character Portrait: Theo Sverre Character Portrait: Arsen St. James Character Portrait: Pranav Bandara Character Portrait: Destiny Ribiera Character Portrait: Seo Daeyoung
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hex: #a87c5f
attire: x
location: The Pantheon
song: screw face

"It sounds like some of you want to do nothing because you have nothing to offer if war actually showed, which isn't a surprise, we've all known each other for a while. You even said it yourselves, some of us just aren't built to see adversity, yeah?”

Through all of the arguing, Ahya had taken a moment to commune with her own intentions. Following this brief period of introversion, (during which Arsen expressed his Cat-adjacent fuck-you-got-mine stance on the matter) she recognised that she was not especially fearful for her own life, for a number of reasons, but particularly the following two; firstly, she dabbled in fatalism and self-loathing, so death frankly did not feel like the worst-case scenario. Secondly, she was indeed built for adversity and adapting, as exemplified by her transient domain. She was a disloyal god, sometimes one of war, frequently of death, occasionally of love, often of messages and communication. She took to survivalism beautifully (and disgustingly), which was especially ironic, and occasionally disappointing, considering the aforementioned first reason.

She also recognised that her vocalisations had not been prompted out of concern for Rio or Ra or even Denae. She recognised that she didn't care for these parasites-cum-mutualists-cum-commensalists (codependency with Denae aside). Rather, it was the beings into which they had woven themselves, be it on deathbeds or out of obligation, or through contractual agreement. It was they that caught her concern, much to her sudden chagrin. She took a moment to think deeply about what this meant for her relationship with her own God, and the Gods that stood about her- what their inherent immortality as transient auras, interlaced into temporary forms who would whither and disperse on their own one day (if the godkiller did not slay them first) meant for herself. She pondered what this meant for her stance towards the Pantheon, which for so long had been similar in nature to the self-sustaining attitude just now presented by Arsen, which she had initially reacted to with disdain.

Or, rather, she would have contemplated all of these things, but then Dae-Young started to make some extremely compelling points, and then Cat and he began a spicy back and forth that deftly erased any of the self-awareness Ahya had been on the brink of developing.

“You can keep delaying the inevitable, but the war has already begun.”

fifteen : love

“A war against who? We don’t even know our enemy.”

fifteen all

“What don’t you get? They’ve already started the war, it doesn’t matter if we know what to call them or not.”

fifteen : thirty

“Then who would you have me set my storms on, who should I be striking in this war of yours? Contrary to what you may believe, I am not some God of Peace. The ocean has only been a safe harbor to those that I allow it. I am asking that we use our powers to find whoever is killing us and destroy them, rather then continuing to argue about some unseen enemy”

thirty all

“If you think that this is as simple as just rounding up a few rogue mortals, you’re positively delusional. They’ve killed not one, not two, but three gods. I am not proposing we strike blind - but maybe it’s time we take off our gloves and act like gods instead of pandering about, wringing our hands about mortal matters.”

forty : thirty

“Avoiding the deaths of those undeserving is not pandering, you would be the god of nothing without those mortal matters. If you are not proposing we strike blind, then where should we strike?”


“I’m glad you ask Yongmul - should it please the other gods I believe we should entrust some of us gods of war to go and find out exactly that.”

Ahya eyed the two of them, enjoying the show and also not entirely certain that she understood the scoring system of tennis.

Raising a hand, and offering a machiavellian smile, she concurred with the woman she only minutes ago had been opposing.

"Should it please the gods, it pleases this God." She gave it a second thought, and added, "Though, perhaps not just some gods of war?" She looked to Cat with a teasingly faux profundity, "Diversity is fundamental for maximum productivity in the workplace."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Oswald Stone Character Portrait: Isla Adan Character Portrait: Alan Sanders Character Portrait: Joanna Kurtz Character Portrait: Ahya Edola Character Portrait: Catarina De La Cruz Character Portrait: Theo Sverre Character Portrait: Arsen St. James Character Portrait: Pranav Bandara Character Portrait: Destiny Ribiera Character Portrait: Seo Daeyoung
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Alan couldn't lie, he wanted to bury his head in the sand and forget all about murdered Gods and petty infighting. He would rather be alone, in Silva's pocket dimension, experimenting with the latest batch of natural oddities. Away from the constant back and forth bickering that seemed to swirl the drain of their lives as of late. Isla was stirring the crowd with her anxieties, and Alan knew that he could do little to dissuade her from ranting and raving. She was at the mercy of Blythe, and Blythe had always been one of the more radical Gods to come from Creation.

But he couldn't turn away now, and it seemed as if his words weren't careful enough to smooth the frayed threads in the room.

“We have not worked together for centuries, I know this. It was not unheard of back in the day, for Gods to band together for the greater good. Maybe it's come time for some...camaraderie. Focus our skills on hunting down whoever thinks they can destroy us”

He found himself growing rather annoyed, Silva's thoughts filling in the gaps of his mind as he tried to think of a solution to their problem - Keeping the peace when there's already been bloodshed is futile, its high time to act Alan. But Alan didn't fancy the thought of War, regardless of who lead the charge. It felt irresponsible, to let those of such a dangerous nature off of the very short leash that they were currently being held on. And it felt equally as irresponsible to turn a blind eye like he wanted to. Alan would absolutely refuse the blame were things to go wrong. Regardless of his status, he had always been far more inclined to protect humanity.

Was Yongmul right? Should they set aside their very nature? Throw away the traditions that formed them? Alan had always found it odd that there was such a divide between the Gods. But Silva bristled at the very mention of doing away with the long standing hierarchy. They had their roles for a reason, had thrived within those very roles for millenia, and Silva found comfort in being amongst those of such a high regard.

"Though, perhaps not just some gods of war?" Ahya joined in, cementing for Alan the fact that there was no sweeping this away. "Diversity is fundamental for maximum productivity in the workplace."

It wasn't Alan who parted his lips to speak, and it wasn't Alan whose voice swirled throughout the room like a stiff breeze, sonorous and slow

"Hoping for an agreement to be reached is useless, there will be opposition regardless of the chosen course of action. So be it. Each God here has, whether they've chosen it or not, placed themselves within this 'coming war'." Silva did not waver for a moment, though he softened at the sight of Blythe. He knew that she wished for peace of mind, but it was unlikely to come to one such as her. Not now, at least. "I suggest those that cannot face this discussion with rationality step away now." He watched for a very long moment, as Isla seemed to flutter between unsurity. Blythe was steadfast and angry, but Isla had never wanted anything to do with the Gods even as she herself became one. But She felt guilty, in the same way that a survivor would were she to ignore these prophecies altogether and hide away. Alan was giving her an obvious out, a moment to think about whether she was truly going to help or not. After a long moment the young woman pursed her lips tightly together, arms crossed. She could not look him in the eye, but she did not leave the room. Still, she hunched in on herself, looking just as windswept and wild as when she had stormed in spouting off about her prophecies.

"We all have a part to play, I agree we should all be in it together." Isla muttered under her breath.

"I am willing to endorse this cooperation of all Gods regarding this matter, to work together, rather than apart." But Silva wasn't the only Major God in the room, nor was he the only God whose opinion mattered on the subject. He was no dictator, and the Gods were just as likely to take matters into their own hands in private if not given a choice. "It may be true that I have been less than proactive regarding the situation. But I am curious, what certain Gods of War, may suggest we do." Silva clenched his teeth as he spoke. Loathe to admit any fault at all, but knowing that it would do more for his image than if he were to argue uselessly. He focused on Catarina then, studying her for a long moment. Alan had a...complicated relationship with Catarina. A back and forth tug of war between the two of them that constantly had Alan on his toes, her motives were always an unknown to him. A variable he couldn't account for. She was being extremely vocal about this situation, and her ire, despite being grating, called to the destructive properties of his Domain. Nature could be just as Cruel as any other. He would much rather have her - and many others - where he could see them, as opposed to closing his eyes when it matters most.