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Oswald Stone

The God Of Blood Feuds

0 · 147 views · located in Vasta City

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

Description

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xxxO S W A L D x S T O N E
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Szen xx God of Blood Feuds x





"Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured."
- Mark Twain




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G o dx // x Szen, Minor God of Blood Feuds

p h y s i c a l x a g e x // xTwenty Three

g e n d e r x // xMale Body/Male Pronouns

s e x u a l i t y x // xAnybody is fair game.

o r i g i n x // xHouston, Texas 1997

s p e c i e s x // xEmerged God






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D E C O R U S


h e i g h t x // x5'9"

w e i g h t x // x149lbs

h a i r x // xCurly, Brown

e y e s x // xBrown

o d d i t i e s x // xTo see Szen without fresh wounds or quickly darkening bruises is out of the question. Whether the fights are with someone else or with his own self there are bound to be countless new injuries to be found on him.

a p p e a r a n c e x // xSzen is of the few gods that has a preference for younger bodies. Usually choosing to emerge into unusually young children. With his current body Oswald it was no different. Though aged some years since emerging into Oswald he still carries a youthful appearance. Somewhat scrappy, and certainly showing signs of constant fighting. Most of his wounds and scars are self-inflicted during his time locked away in the Pantheon. But his quick anger and tendency to incite violence among his fellow Gods has easily attributed to quite a few of the more obvious injuries he boasts. He isn't the type of God to worry about human vanities. He dresses according to comfort rather than style, unlike some of the more pompous of his kind. He see's no reason to pretend at playing human, his power far outmatches them, and therefore he sees them as the 'nothings' that they are.




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I N G E N I U M
xxxxxxxxxxxxx a b i l i t y xx \ ə - ˈ b i - l ə - t ē \ x


M e n t a l - P r o j e c t i l e x // x A pretty sick ability that allows Szen to form mental projectiles - similar to invisible bullets. It's how he killed Oswalds father, by practically blowing the mans head up with this mental attack.

S e m i - i m m o r t a l i t y x // x Like all gods, the only thing that can Kill Szen is another god, or a supernatural weapon forged with the ability to kill a God.

M e n t a l - M a n i p u l a t i o n x // x Like any good minor God of war, his ability to manipulate the frail human minds is done easily. Due to his nature, this ability works best on family members or rival families to incite violence amongst each other. Hence his dominion being Blood Feuds.



F O R T I T U D O
xxxxxxxxxxxxx s t r e n g t h xx \ ˈ s t r e ŋ ( k ) t h \ x


H a n d - T o - H a n d x // x He's an adept fighter.

L y i n g x // x Of course you can't exactly be a good manipulator without also being a good liar, those two abilities just go hand in hand so nicely.

D e s t r u c t i o n x // x His first few days after his Emergence saw major destruction in the city that his body was born in. Death followed him like a plague and it took The Pantheon stepping in to subdue him.



I N F I R M I T A T E
xxxxxxxxxxxxx w e a k n e s s xx \ ˈ w ē k - n ə s \ x


B l i n d - R a g e x // x His uncontrollable anger is what landed him in hot water in the first place. Both Szen and Oswald have fiery tempers, the combination of which basically created a perfect storm of rage. Most of the time, he's so blinded by his madness that he doesn't realize he may actually be hurting himself instead of anyone else.

F l a s h b a c k s x // x The unfortunate side effects of inhabiting a pre-damaged body. Oswald already had so many mental hang-ups that Szen is often overtaken by them.

T h e - P a n t h e o n x // x Those foolish idiots wouldn't be able to keep him imprisoned if there weren't so damn many of them. His hatred for The Pantheon runs deep, and his disliking of other Gods in general is never ceasing. He would rather cut off his hands than feed into their bullshit laws.





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P E R S O N A L I T A T E
xxxxxxxxxxxxx Bitter xx Hot Tempered xx Careless xx Selfish x


The melding of minds between Oswald and Szen has created something of a deep-running insanity just below the surface. An enhancement of the Gods natural tendencies towards spite. While Oswalds human mind stopped aging once Szen emerged in him, the Gods mind has made up for the lack of growth. However, due to this Szen can be somewhat childish in his acts. Too careless to be considered an valuable asset. Completely selfish and utterly reckless in nature. Very often the God can be seen muttering to himself aloud, it is generally not a good time to approach him, as he is most likely conversing with the side of his mind that still holds Oswalds thoughts and memories. He was unlucky enough to be driven mad by his Emergence, something that other Gods take very seriously.

Szen is hot tempered and easily riled up. Known to explode for very little reason at all. His anger burns hot and is hard to put out, but its become clear in recent years that his entrapment by The Pantheon has led him to a state of stagnant depression. His attempts at making amends are always seen as manipulations, though whether that is true or not is yet to be seen. It is very clear though that Szen is constantly bored out of his mind and simply wants to escape his gilded cage.

He uses sarcasm as a shield, and when that fails then its straight to the backhanded compliments. He has a strained relationship with the other Gods due to his violent tendencies, and due to his status as a Minor God is often seen as less than in the eyes of many of the Majors Gods. This too, is a point of contention with him.

Its very clear to see that Szen is no big fan of himself at all, never has been and never will be. Yes, he's arrogant to a point. But that arrogance is usually a cover for the deep seated self hatred that runs thick in his spirit. His blind anger and temper tantrums are usually self-inflicted, and can often lead to him harming himself rather than others. He has been known to challenge stronger Gods just for the fact that he knows he cannot possibly win against them. It is unknown whether this self-sabotaging behavior is from Szen, or a leftover from the mindset of Oswald.





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H I S T O R I A R U M


Oswald Stone was born on a perfectly normal night, in a perfectly normal hospital, to perfectly normal parents. If only perfectly normal had the ability to stay.

His mother, the selfish coward she was, couldn't hold her life together when his father left. Their divorce had come suddenly and without warning and it left Ariana Stone fighting against the currents dragging her down. Oswald knew his mother was depressed, in that abstract way that kids tends to do. But he never thought she would sink so low as to marry scumbag Steven Reynolds. Oswald was five at the time and thought he was getting a new Daddy. His hadn't even come to visit him once since the divorce, but now he would have a brand new one to love him!

Well, life doesn't ever fucking work that way now does it.

Because Steven Reynolds was a jealous man that wanted nothing more than to monopolize his mothers time and cast Oswald out. He never liked the child, and eventually Oswald figured out that Steven was a nasty piece of work bent on making Oswalds life a living hell. The beating started gradually, so gradual that his mother didn't even realize it was happening until it became far to late. What could she do really. Oswald knew she would always take Stevens side.

Unfortunately it wasn't just Steven that took to the habit of harming Oswald whenever he saw fit. School was a cruel place for a child like Oswald. The meek wallflower that he was at the time. Always the pariah in social circles. Never wanting to speak to anyone else. He was the weird, fatherless, good-will clothes wearing freak. And everyone knew just where to hit where it would hurt the most. School was a nightmare, home was a nightmare, and quite frankly the world itself may have been a nightmare altogether.

Oswald was ten when he died.

Or well, he was ten when Steven got pissed over practically nothing and decided to take all that anger and resentment out on a child. Oswald liked to have thought that Steven hadn't meant to kill him. He just forgot how easy it was to choke the life out of a kid, y'know? Oh well, he got his penance anyways. Because the second that Oswald's body gave out, the God Szen emerged into it. Now, his emergence wasn't exactly easy. Waking up in a child's body with a man choking the life out of you? Well, it would make anyone a little crazy. Those first few moments of an emergence are crucial to the development of a sane god. And well, Szen didn't exactly get that now did he?

Anyways, Szen blew up Stevens head.

Like actually blew it up, chunks everywhere - it was a bloody fantastic mess.

Those mental projectiles of his are a damn powerful weapon.

After that, Szen/Oswald went on a murder spree like no other. Fueled by rage and the melding of the Gods memories with that of a severely repressed childs. It was bound to be a mess from the start. It took several days and a dozen bodies left broken in the streets before the Pantheon caught up to him. Best believe Szen fought with everything he had, but Szen being a minor god didn't exactly have the power to stand up to the entire Pantheon. They took him to the pocket dimension that The Pantheon conducts their business in, and to this day he plays the part of their volatile prisoner.





h e x c o d e x // x #9f4b4b x // x f a c e c l a i m x // x Benjamin Wadsworth x // x c r e a t o r x // x Venuskyy x // x c s x // x mjolnir

So begins...

Oswald Stone's Story

Setting

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
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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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.




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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.






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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.



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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.


Setting

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.”

Setting

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?”

deuce

“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."

Setting

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.