Cyclone

The Court of the Gods

@Zyx

Should be interesting no matter how it turns out! I was going to have Zeus bring up Typhon at his big meeting, wondering aloud if he could've somehow been involved in the assassination, and probably also declaring that they'd put up with his shit for too long and should make a renewed and serious effort to find and extirpate his forces. Looks like Isaac is getting the first move though :)

The Court of the Gods

@Zyx

I look forward to seeing it! I'll just caution you to be careful about the passage of time. This meeting of the gods takes place the day after Zeus' death, and who knows how slowly time will pass IC while the murder mystery unfolds afterward.

So if Isaac makes moves on that same day that he woke up and heard the note, perhaps the rest of our characters will be in a position to immediately comment or react, but otherwise it could be a while.

The Court of the Gods

---

“Forensics analysis of the scene has yielded nothing yet, Your Worship,” an attendant reported. Zeus snorted and waved him away with one finger. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He ran his hands through the black curls of hair upon his head, brought them down, then toyed at twisting knots into his beard. His majordomo stood in patient silence, waiting upon the king.

Zeus finally broke the silence. “You were saying, Majordomo?”

“Preparations for tomorrow’s gathering are coming along. The nearest temples have delivered their tributes and the feast is already being prepared.”

Zeus nodded. That was going well, at least.

“Are you sure that I should not be in contact wi-” the Majordomo anxiously began, but Zeus didn’t let him finish.

“Why bother? They’ll all be here tomorrow. In the meantime I’m sure Apate and Athena are already investigating, even without my explicit orders. I can manage this my–”

There he was, justifying himself to a subordinate. This wasn’t his predecessor posing him some hypothetical question, this was just a steward that served at his whim now. Haughtily, Zeus stopped himself mid sentence. “Do not question me,” he smoldered. That was what he should’ve said from the start.

The Majordomo saw his lord’s consternation, understood it at once, and expertly bowed his head in supplication. He said nothing, and took a step back, and all was seemingly defused.

But then a man was flung before Zeus. The captive’s mouth was gagged, his hands cuffed behind his back, his terrified eyes pleading. Even with all of that, there were four guards flanking him. “This is the one, Your Worship,” one of them declared.

Those deep blue eyes of Zeus only stared impassively, his face blank. Then he suddenly chuckled; this fool before him was nothing. How could such an insignificant fly think to defy the will of Olympus’ lord, his king?

“Well, let’s hear what you have to say for yourself,” Zeus smirked. “Take that gag off of him.”

He’d expected that the idiot would have at least put together a halfway decent story on the way to the palace – what else was there to do when you were arrested and dragged off? – or at least been able to muster up something of an excuse. But Zeus was disappointed; nothing but stammering and sputtering flew out of the demigod’s mouth. The king was about to open his own to hand out some fittingly terrible punishment, but then at long last the detainee managed, “Please! It was only my wife!”

Zeus raised an eyebrow at that. “Found your tongue? What part of my decree was not clear?” The man’s head was hanging, looking down onto the ground, so an exasperated Zeus strode forward to lift his chin. He wanted eye contact. “No word of the recent happenings regarding the death of the king’s predecessor is to be spoken to mortal ears,” Zeus quoted his own proclamation from earlier that day, “...on pain of death.”

Zeus could only chortle again. “And still you what, babbled on and told your wife, was it? A priestess? Hmph!” The whole situation seemed preposterous, but at least it offered a chance to make an example. “Did you think that we would not be monitoring communications to the temples? Do you think that we’re all inept? That I’m some kind of a fool?” he demanded.

“No, no! Your Worship, I beg your forgiveness! I was, was, was not of sound mind!” he sobbed, “I was drunk, I did not think. Never would I think such thoughts of you..!”

On and on he went. Zeus had no ears for it; a dozen grisly methods of torture flashed through his mind as fitting punishments, but none had any real appeal to him. When he was younger, just a mere shadow of the late Zeus, he’d imagined moments like this a hundred times a day. How spectacular his justice would be! How terribly they’d fear his wrath! Instead it seemed that not even the drunkards possessed a healthy fear until they were on their knees before him, and on the first miserable day of his rule he was already weary of issuing reprimands and punishments to useless imbeciles.

So finally, he allowed himself to break that implacable look chiseled onto his face and to instead show a wide smile. He could afford to be merciful, at least this once. He was in the mood for it. Sometimes kindness and restraint left a more lasting memory than the crack of any whip.

“Enough,” he silenced the man – no, the demigod of Olympus, for that’s what this person was. Zeus patted the supposed drunkard on the head. “Your misconduct here was a breach of my direct order, and it could have had disastrous effect upon the order of the realm. Nonetheless, your king has taken pity on you, and so you are forgiven.”

The drunken idiot’s red eyes opened wider than a child’s, as though he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Th-thank you, my lord,” he eventually piped out. Zeus was still smiling widely, a beautiful, charming, brotherly beam. Slowly, nervously, the man’s own face grinned to match. “But what happens now?”

“Now? Hmm, nothing. Well, I suppose that first I ought to have you freed of your bondage.”

Zeus flicked a finger, and the guards saw his order done. They were disciplined enough for their faces to hide their shock, but the eyes were windows to the soul, and they betrayed all. The men's disbelief was amusing, in a droll way.

“So tell me: what is your name?” Zeus casually asked as he reached one hand into a pocket.

“Ambrus,” the demigod breathed. He still couldn’t believe his luck. “Thank you again, yo-”

A wave of Zeus’ hand stopped his thanks. “Mistakes happen. What matters is that we never repeat them, and we accept responsibility for them. I’m sure that you will not do this again,” Zeus teased, “and well, it seems as though you’re taking responsibility for your foolishness. Truly, there’s nothing to thank me for.” From the pocket he’d been reaching into, Zeus procured a small white-gold object.

“So, Ambrus,” the king echoed. “That name is fitting for an Olympian. It means eternal or something along those lines, doesn’t it? Immortal! So what strange fancy compelled you to marry some primitive mortal? I couldn’t imagine any girl so beautiful as to be worth trekking down there through the muck to see every time.”

“Her hair is the color of the dawn,” Ambrus dreamily whispered. “I was just…struck. It’s hard to explain, Your Highness.”

“Struck by a heavy club over the head when you were young?” Zeus japed. Now even the guards were laughing. Even Ambrus laughed along. “Fortunately for you, I’m a married man, else I might have had an eye out for this vixen! Hair beautiful enough to seduce an Olympian! It’s hard to imagine.”

Zeus had unfolded the baton into his scepter. He noticed a tiny speck of gore somewhere on it and groaned slightly; the thing was supposed to have been sanitized after they’d pulled it out from the old Zeus’ visceral puddle where it’d lain that morning. But after pressing a few subtle buttons, the metallic surface came aglow with light. A holographic display showed the globe of Hellas. The Lord of the Skies glanced to the Majordomo. “Where?” he intoned. It was easier to use I.R.I.S. to translate the understanding of a location, so the dutiful steward was silent, merely blinking with concentration as he sent the thoughts over. “Ah, there,” Zeus said a moment later, panning across the globe of light and zooming in to one particular place.

Realization was beginning to set in. “What are you doing?” Ambrus asked, suddenly nervous again. The holographic display was a topographical view of a very familiar fishing village upon the seashore.

“Correcting your error, of course,” Zeus explained. He contemplated how best to approach the problem. The workings of the system were arcane and the controls were little easier, but he’d seen the scepter in use many a time before, and furthermore retained a fair few of his predecessor’s memories concerning the damned thing… he negotiated a few more scrolling menus, selecting a targeting point for the massive laser arrays in orbit. Enormous amounts of energy were channeled and focused upon the atmosphere above the sea, heating patches of sky. In other places, lasers fired into the atmosphere at different wavelengths created a resonant effect; through massive-scale application of Doppler cooling, other regions were rapidly cooled. The sudden temperature differential generated strong winds.

“You’re going to destroy their whole village?!” Spittle flew from Ambrus’ mouth, and he hurled himself at Zeus, but the soldiers intercepted him.

“No less.” Zeus pressed a button on the holographic display, and platforms in low-orbit precision-dropped pods designed to seed clouds through the dispersal of silver iodide into the atmosphere.

“I-I only told my wife!” Ambrus was still struggling against the soldiers. One of them lost patience and gave him a sharp kick to the back of the knee, knocking him prone.

Zeus answered with idle conversation. “What was her name?” He made sure to subtly emphasize that one word: was. A few parameters still needed tweaking. Zeus hadn’t bothered with refined numbers or calculations, he was merely using guesswork, following his gut. It looked like he’d overestimated how much energy was necessary. That was rather unfortunate; the resulting tempest would be quite large, and it might cause some collateral damage. With a sigh, he began scaling back, throttling a few of the weather control instruments.

Ambrus hadn’t said anything in a few moments, he realized. So he looked down from the holograph to see the demigod gasping for air.

“Oh, let him breathe,” the king absentmindedly ordered the guard crushing his neck. Ambrus only took two sharp breaths before his pleading began anew.

“Your Highness! She won’t tell anyone else!”

With the slightest hint of a grin, Zeus scoffed and dismissed the wishful thought. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.” The rain was already beginning. Soon it’d escalate to a torrential deluge, and for all the hapless denizens of that village prayed, they were already doomed. The monsoon would inundate the whole area, and more likely than not the flooding would wash everything into the sea and leave behind not even a trace of the hamlet, unless a few of the little huts had stone floors or solid foundation. Dark clouds were quickly obscuring the view from S.I.H.T. and ruining the holographic view. Soon there wouldn’t be anything left to see. One hut had its thatch roof blown off.

“She’s a priestess! She serves us!”

“Most heresies begin among the priesthood, you know. While the other mortals toil, the clergy laze about in our shrines and temples with little to save reflect upon our every word. Reflect upon it, and occasionally question it. And then they talk to one another, and a single errant thought, a single discordant tale, finds itself turning into a whole heresy. From there, things get messy, chaotic, and bloody indeed.” Zeus lectured, “Still, I suppose you have a point – she did serve us, so perhaps she deserves some consideration. If you can spot her among all the other ones running about on the hologram, I’ll see if I can smite her with lightning – a quick, clean death.”

Of course the demigod wouldn’t, or couldn’t, bear to look at the holographic image anymore. Zeus had been hoping to have a chance to practice his aim with the targeted lightning, but alas! He supposed just about any target would do, so he idly messed with the controls. It was hard to hit an exact target; he mostly just succeeded in setting a few huts aflame. As in for Ambrus, by this point desperation had become despair, so Ambrus only heaved and sobbed. He was in a sorrier state than when he’d first been dragged in fearing for his life.

“Oh, have cheer, dear Ambrus,” Zeus nearly crooned. “You’re still pardoned, forgiven by your king. Nothing will be done to you. It’s unfortunate that the whole settlement must still be destroyed, but it’s just a natural consequence of these events. In a sense, you killed them because you couldn’t keep your silence.”

He paused so that the gravity of that could sink into Ambrus, for that had been the crack of the whip. “Knowledge of my predecessor’s death spreading through the mortal realms is unacceptable. If it reached the great cities there would be rioting, schisms, holy wars, and through all of that mayhem thousands would have to die. Perhaps tens or even hundreds of thousands, all on your conscience. Fortunately we caught this situation in the bud, while it was just a minor little mishap, before the unseemly tale managed to spread like a malignant tumor… before it grew out of hand.” The smiling Zeus pat Ambrus on the shoulder. “You might normally worry that the High Pantheon would be… agitated if your recklessness leads to the destruction of their holy places, but there was only what, one or two in this village? Whoever the shrines were dedicated to, whoever your wife served – did you tell me her name? Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now -- I’m sure that this time, those gods won’t even notice.”

Zeus figured a tsunami was warranted too, for good measure, so he programmed one of them before he finally finished the task at hand and folded up the scepter. It was best to be absolutely sure to leave no survivors; a strong man could sometimes climb up into a tree and outlast a mere flood, but a big enough wave could sweep away even the trees. He looked over to a heaving, writhing Ambrus, who the four guards were straining to keep pinned on the ground. “I suppose you’ll need a new wife, once this one is washed away. I also know that sentiment all too well!” Zeus leaned down over the drunkard, and mused, “There’s plenty more with coppery hair. I’m sure you’ll even manage to find a better one, Ambrus, given time. And if you ever despair at that, just remember your name and what it means; up here, we have all the time in the world! But down below, they’re practically just lumps of clay. Even the lowliest of us is worth ten thousand of them. Contemplate that. Remind yourself that nothing important was lost, if the tragic happenings of this day should ever trouble your conscience.”

He gestured for the wretch to be dragged back out of the palace compound, then began folding up his scepter once again. As if nothing had happened, the Majordomo told him, “Your Highness, GULA reports that its analysis is nearing completion.”

“There truly is no time for a king to rest,” the Lord of Olympus mused. “Well, we’d best go visit our favorite machine.”

The Court of the Gods

@ScreenAcne

I think it's best to approach these things with full honesty so I'm just going to say it how it is and hope this doesn't come off too harshly. I appreciate the submission, but I can't accept it. Really the point of the RP is the pantheon full of gods and their scheming, so that's what I'm hoping to get. I already allowed two fairly big exceptions with Lauder's GULA AI and with Zxy's Isaac, and I think having more would derail the coaster too much.

The vibe and tone just don't seem to mesh well with what I was going for with this thing. The character's role is also probably too similar to Zxy's Isaac.

But best of luck coming back into things on the site!

The Court of the Gods

---

---

A sticky, spreading dampness welled up on the Heir’s temple, his chest, and his underarms. He’d just come from the baths and dried himself, and already he was growing to become drenched again. His sweat was pressed down upon him so tightly that it couldn’t even bead – an effect of his activated deflectors and personal forcefield. The air around his face also shimmered gently. As though they were no more than hazy mirages, the exquisite tapestries and reliefs that lined the hallway’s wall were distorted by the energy field that shrouded his bathrobe and skin, but in that moment the Heir had no eyes for decor; everything in that hallway would have been a blur anyways because he was racing down it as quickly as he could. Two of his favored demigod bodyguards from the Sacred Band, a Theseus and one Jason, ran at his heels.

His mind had been conjuring images the whole way, but once he walked out onto the terrace and saw the grisly remains of Zeus, he quietly gasped. His gut nearly turned, and his brows furrowed deeply. This was much worse than he’d imagined. In the span of what could have only been an hour or two, the corrupted vitality nanites had ravaged the corpse and rendered it into a fetid ooze. Muddied with the metallic odor of blood was the ripe stench of something that had seemingly been left to roft for days, the stale and fishy scent of ammonia, and other unpleasant chemical odors that came as the product of more obscure volatile compounds.

The Heir spun about, looking everywhere. Of course the area had already been secured and there was no assassin hiding behind a marble pillar or lurking in the shrubs, but in these crucial moments the Heir needed to be vigilant of everyone’s presence, their faces, and their moves. Deep down his emotions towards Zeus swirled. There had not been much love between the two of them, but even still, the ugly death and its circumstances filled him with an inner turmoil. Fortunately those confusing emotions could be set aside for the nonce, for there was a much more pressing matter at hand – his own ascension. This is what he had been created for, and every day for years on end (an eternity for one so young!) he’d seen his own ascension and coronation as king. He’d seen it in his reveries thousands of times, but it had never been this chaotic, this messy… It felt mad, and hardly believable, that things had come to this. That this was truly happening! Was it just a dream?

The Heir, no, Zeus – he was already Zeus now – shook himself out of the idiotic stupor and the swirling thoughts that had held him in their grasp for a good ten moments. He needed to be decisive and kingly, to project strength and stability, not youthful turbulence. So he made note of everyone present at the scene: many guards had already arrived, and more were coming with every passing minute. He couldn’t keep track of them all, didn’t even know all their names. Theseus clenched his jaw and Jason’s eyes widened a bit with morbid curiosity as they looked at what was left of the former King of Olympus, but those subtle, silent reactions were all that either of them offered. The two demigods had seen enough battle and death to stomach worse. That was good. Zeus trusted in the loyalty of those two, and he needed calm and decisive men right then to ensure that his claim was not brushed aside by another. To the side, Zeus’ majordomo paced quickly back and forth, animated with frenzied thought. That man would panic, Zeus knew, but in the end he would accede to the rightful claim of his new King, for he had been close to the late Zeus and knew that the god had wished for his Heir to take his place. Hera was that man’s opposite as she stood still in statuesque shock, a dumbfounded look on her face. She might perhaps pose a problem.

The Heir found himself staring at her, and after a long pause she looked up to meet his gaze. He snorted with contempt and addressed her, “Leave. You’re only getting in the way here, and we all know that he never loved you anyways.”

A storm of emotions flooded into her then, snapping her out of that corpse-like stupor. “He was my husband,” she spat back with indignation, “I’ve known him for lifetimes, long before you came along, and you, you’re only–”

“Only your king?” Zeus offered, and a sudden panic lit her eyes. The thought hadn’t occurred to her yet? Oh, her own wretched children certainly would not be taking his rightful place. “Only Zeus?” he said again, a smile beginning to creep up at the corner of his lips. No trace remained of that stoicism she’d had about her mere moments ago; her cheeks were red, and her eyes too. Tears were already beginning to well up in the corner of the widow’s eyes. Time to twist the knife! “Only your husband?” he whispered, stepping close and grabbing her hand.

The next horrified look that sprung up on the damned woman’s face was a memory that Zeus would cherish forever. He allowed her to break free of his grasp and flee.

---

Time had passed quickly once Zeus had started giving commands. He had a proper kingly bearing, self-assured and confident, and in moments of turmoil and crisis, lesser men flocked to such figures like moths to a light. Zeus found himself sliding into that role easier than he’d ever expected. A part of him wished that his originator could have seen him then. That thought came from a childish longing for approval and respect, but deep down Zeus knew that it was unlikely the old Zeus would have had much positive to say. He never had been fully appreciated, had he? He couldn’t suppress a scowl from forming.

_{”Your orders, Lord?”} a man asked again, hesitance and anticipation in his eyes. Zeus hadn’t even heard him the first time.

He turned his head fast enough to make that minion flinch. “The guards that were on duty here this morning,” Zeus began with an imperious tone, “and the servants, too. I want full memory audits on all of them, immediately. Have the report brought to me by nightfall.”

“M-My lord,” he stammered. It was hardly afternoon, and Zeus was already getting used to the title and tired of the sniveling weasels that seemed to so often mutter it. “The scans, they, they take time, and if rushed, the effects, they can er, traumatize the subject…”

“Do it anyway.” An icy glare ended the conversation and sent that one scurrying off.

He turned to the Majordomo then. “Do we have this under grasps? How many of the gods have had the assassination leaked to them yet?”

The steward contemplated that for a pregnant pause. “All of them, I would guess. It’s impossible to suppress news like this for long, Your Grace.”

Zeus inhaled deeply, slowly, his eyes closed and his teeth gritting. Then he opened them and nodded, much to the nervous Majordomo’s relief. He would have to keep moving; if he stopped even for a moment, he would sink. He had to sprint, to fly, in order to stay ahead of this. He thought out his next move carefully, before finally activating his personal connection to I.R.I.S. and sending the inevitable call. When it came to speed, he had to have the final word on the matter at his beck and call.

With an over-embellished crack that split through the air, a tall winged figure seemed to unfold from empty space amidst the assembled group. A lithe figure adorned in flowing gray robes with a wide-brimmed helmet, Hermes, Herald of the Gods, appeared with his characteristic nonchalance and peerless timing - seeming to appear almost as soon as the notion had occurred that he might be needed.

“The King is dead. Long live the King.” He quipped dryly. His back was turned to Zeus Prime, his many wings neatly folding in upon themselves and merging into a single cloak about his shoulders. The messenger of the gods stared down at the necrotic remains of…

…of Zeus’ predecessor. Yes. That was the only way to think of it now. By then there wasn’t even much left of the remains save for a red and brown stain; most had already been vacuumed up and sent to GULA for analysis.

After a single moment of hushed silence, Hermes swept around and performed a low, exaggerated bow before Zeus. “Oh King of the Heavens, as ever, it is I, your faithful and most fleet-footed servant. Speak your piece, and into the ears of every mind in the land it shall be delivered most expeditiously and with exigent urgency. From the highest peaks to the lowest bounds of Tartarus, I shall convey your will.”

Hermes seems to learn quickly, Zeus found himself thinking with some satisfaction. Doubt gnawed, of course. He had to question just how genuine this overblown display and those words were, but for now he put his trust in the messenger. “All of the High Pantheon, everyone of importance, even Hades in his hole… his son, too, whatever that one’s name was–”

“Zagreus, your highness.” Hermes quipped lazily. It was startling. Hermes would never have appended such a corrective statement to the end of anything Zeus’ predecessor had said - and in front of all these servants, no less, who would know much the same. Already a crack had been struck in Zeus’ image, scarcely a minute into his renewed rule.

Venom filled his eyes for it. For the briefest of instants, Zeus had stolen a glance at Theseus where he stood at ease. The demigod’s soldierly disposition was unchanged, without the slightest indication that he’d noticed. But had Jason cocked his head just a bit? There had been a pregnant pause after Hermes’ quip. Zeus stepped closer to him. “Hermes,” he began, “I do not care what the shit’s name is. You will go to him, and all the others, and tell them that they are summoned. I need them here by noon tomorrow.”

“As quick as starlight then, my King. Every member of the High Pantheon, and their immediate scions, shall receive your summons from my own person in the next two minutes.” Hermes’ cape unfolded into a set of six sprawling wings once more, almost as if they were about to take flight.

“A moment, lord Hermes,” the Majordomo started. Now it seemed that even he was allowed to interrupt. “I will have the cordial invitations printed; an event of this gravity calls for ink, not mere words.” Now, even the steward was making corrections, subtle as they might have been – a summons had been turned into an invitation. Perhaps that would keep a few egos from chafing. Worse still, Hermes’ wings withdrew once more, his helmeted head turned with a faint incline towards the Majordomo before glancing back towards Zeus - watching for his reaction, doubtlessly gauging how receptive he would be to recommendations and advice from his lessers.

Zeus blinked. “Yes, ceremony… I will not make a trivial affair of this. Prepare the invitations. But word them carefully; they all will be attending.”

“A most judicious decision to have made, King.” Hermes supplied airily. It was not the tone that bothered Zeus as much as the choice of words - as if Hermes were consciously acknowledging that it had been the Majordomo’s idea rather than his own, whilst crediting Zeus - and again, made in front of so many of his own servants. “I will, of course, be certain to impress upon the Pantheon the irremissible nature of these invitations should your thoughtful courtesy fail to have the desired effect.”

The Lord of the Skies nodded at that, pleased if not quite smug. The Majordomo hastily shuffled off to see it done, and so Zeus was suddenly left with the onlooking crowd - and Hermes, standing amidst them, almost preening as he waited.

One of the guards made the mistake of looking directly at his king of a few hours. “What are you gawking at?!” Zeus demanded. “Make yourself useful and find the interrogators! See if those servants have squealed anything of use, if we’re any closer to discovering the culprits.” Even as the soldier began to turn and run off, his face pale as marble, Zeus finished, “Hermes has a task to do.” Yes, equating that trivial choir with Hermes’ work was one subtle step towards putting the messenger god back into his place.

Zeus’ outburst there had drawn even more attention, though now most made sure to not stare too closely. An awkward restlessness hung over him; he felt the need to do something. Idling around would not lend itself well towards commanding a regal or authoritative aura.

“We will find who did this,” he declared to them all without a trace of doubt in his tone. “It may take some time, but we will find them eventually. And they’ll welcome the depths of Tartarus with relief after I’ve finished with them!”

Hermes turned his head to stare at Zeus then, and though his gaze remained hidden and inscrutable behind its sheening face, the hunch of the Herald’s shoulders and the slight tilt to his stance suggested he found something about Zeus’ statement humorous - or was he simply imagining it? The Majordomo returning with the printed invitations stopped Zeus from barking out at Hermes as he had with the guard.

“From your lips to their ears, from your hands to theirs.” Hermes accepted the printed invitations with what was clearly a practiced flourish, the artificially-aged and rolled parchment spinning through his metallic-sheened fingers before vanishing into the folds of his cloak. “If there is nothing further you require of me, I shall make haste - with your leave, my King?”

“You may go,” Zeus told him, “...and Hermes, you too are naturally invited to tomorrow’s event, as befits your station.”

“Oh? Me? Such an honor.” Hermes swayed as if to feign a faint. “I shall be certain to wear my very finest closed-toe sandals. Until then, my King.”

Hermes’ cloak unfolded into a set of six wings, which then seemed to shimmer as golden and shadowed light played across them - and with another embellished crack that split through the air, Hermes was gone.

The Court of the Gods

The first IC post is essentially finished, and now it's just going through some polishing. It should go up tomorrow, if not tonight.

I know that several people are still working on character sheets, and perhaps some others are contemplating joining. There's probably a period of about a week where you could submit sheets and get into the RP without having missed any of the action. I'll still be willing to take applications after that though.

Re:Divinus VII

The spirit of justice marched on over the dusty wastes towards the horizon. He never slowed or showed any indication of fatigue; step by step he marched on. Eventually the sun fell below the horizon, but the stars were so bright in those days that day and night were almost one and the same.

The flatlands eventually gave way to a great spine of the world where the ground itself had been thrust upward. Indifferent to the obstacle, the armored colossus walked up the slopes, and when they became too steep even for his great strides, he climbed a sheer cliff face. Once he reached the top, the lifeless environs were broken by a radiant sight: atop another summit, a red spirit stood. Determination yielded some ground to curiosity, and so without breaking stride, the god adjusted his course and approached.

It took some time to descend down from the first peak, even for a being of such long strides and inexhaustible stamina. He lost sight of the little crimson speck, but trusting that he would find it even if it had moved, he slowly ascended up to the next summit. Still, when he reached the place where he’d first spotted the red spirit, he found her right there as if awaiting his arrival.

For the first time in a day and a half, he halted and looked her over.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anath Homura. I do not intend to harm you.” The red spirit said, her voice lacking inflection, but imbued with authority.

The metal suit twisted about as the god looked backwards. There was nothing else out there, so she must have been speaking to him. "You perceive me?" a similarly flat voice rumbled out from within the suit. Nothing and nobody had ever seen him before, ever. "How?”

“With my sight; as I see the true shape of the world, and it was I that invited you here.” She answered solemnly.

The other one mulled over that answer for a long time. If his armor was of the world, and could touch the world, then maybe it could be seen by the world. Gray granite had never been invisible, even if the being that dwelled within it had been. The surprise faded as soon as it had come; it didn’t matter if people could see the manifestation of justice coming. Perhaps it was even better if they could!

"So you are the Tyrant,” the god finally declared, "...which means that it is you who must dictate the laws of this place. Issue your decrees unto me, and I shall see justice carried out. I have sworn it.”

Anath Homura tilted her head with curiosity as she briefly considered his statement regarding her position and prerogative. “Hmm… Then you will walk upon the Sacred Path. That is my sole decree, and I will uphold you to your oath. You wield the power of the Divine, which means that it is you and the others among the pantheon that shall dictate the laws and rules of creation. The will of the Divine shall be the justice enacted upon the world.” The red spirit proclaimed with cosmic power woven into her words that resonated with the land they stood upon.

Him? Others?

He recalled that dirt-flinging spirit, the one that he had recognized for its aspect of the earth. So there were even more of them out there, it seemed.

"So you are not a Tyrant,” he corrected himself, "just a Steward, because you have delegated some of your authority unto a council. So be it.”

Left unstated was his disappointment – experience had shown him that realms without a strong leader tended to fall in short order. But perhaps this one would be different.

"And who prescribes the appropriate punishments for those who would violate the order of things – or is that left to the discretion of the enforcer?”

“Indeed… You and the others will be the visionaries with the shape of the world left to your discretion. I will not intervene unless you stray from the Sacred Path.” Her response remained as cryptic as her impassive visage, yet there was no hint of malice or deception that he could discern, and his perception in such things was sharp. Without armor like his, the souls of other spirits were naked before his gaze.

"I did not come here to shape the world, Steward. My intent was to observe justice wherever it may happen; yet I have accepted the mantle of enacting it myself wherever it may be lacking. The commandments of the divine will be obeyed, and any who defy that rule of things will be persecuted and destroyed.”

Then the Divine Enforcer trotted off, his purpose perhaps a bit clearer. He never did offer any name to Anath Homura.

Summary

Squidward walks around until he sees Homura down on the surface examining some of Lektoria’s handiwork. He approaches her, and is surprised when it turns out that he isn’t invisible inside of that gigantic suit of armor.

She introduces herself. He names her the Tyrant in charge of the planet and asks what the rules are. She says that’s up to the gods, so he declares that she’s really more of a Steward. He heads out after saying that he’s not there to do the landscaping and that he’s only concerned with justice – but now that she’s delegated legislative authority to all the gods, he’ll ask any god that he encounters what their commandments are, and he’s promised to enforce them. Notably, Homura said that the actual punishments for any lawbreakers are up to his discretion! That’s probably bad news since he has a thing for extreme violence.

MP Usage

nop

The Court of the Gods

And the real OOC is finally up: HERE

IC coming soon -- a few people are still working on ironing out some details on sheets.

@Zyx
Feel free to put Isaac's sheet on the characters tab over there.

The Court of the Gods

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Introduction

The Lord of the Skies and King of the Gods, Zeus himself, was dead. Very, very dead. After having ruled the world for centuries, he’d come to appreciate those few times that eyes were not upon him, and so he had been known to spend sleepless nights out in the crisp air, lost in reverie and meditation. So it was under the first rays of dawn that the servants found him upon the floor of his palace’s terrace.

The horrified, piercing shriek of the first serving girl to discover him had cut through the listless halls that morning. Guardsmen had quickly arrived, and then the madness began. The servants were immediately seized by the palace guards and taken for interrogation, and then those very same guardians were in turn seized for their failure and similarly put to question. Despite every effort, it took mere hours for word to spread throughout the palace, and then the resplendent marble halls and golden streets of the city of the gods. By midday it seemed as though half of the great pantheon already knew: all the gods of importance, as well as many others who were merely well connected or wont to gossip.

The cause of death was anything but natural; with all their power a god need not fear being stricken down unexpectedly by chance ailment, and Zeus’ body had been infused with enough vitality that everyone expected him to last another half century at least, even if his memory had been fading and his behavior growing more erratic in recent years. Indeed he’d been starting to deteriorate, and that had made his enemies, old and new alike, start to slowly circle like jackals.

So this was certainly an assassination. The Highest One’s own constitution had somehow been corrupted and turned upon itself to gruesome effect: little was left of Zeus’ form save for some brittle skeletal remnants lying within a grisly pool of viscera, choked with a thousand different poisons. The very powers that had sustained him had gone rogue and set about deconstructing and destroying what was left of his worldly remains. This rendered the exact cause, time, or perpetrator of his demise impossible to determine on the spot.

Everyone had their suspicions, but few dared to voice these out loud and point the finger for fear of bringing unwanted attention onto themselves. Instead, the greatest of the gods had quickly come together and conspired to cover this up. Gods could not be seen to die; the primitives down below could not be afforded to learn anything of these events. In the late Zeus’ pride and arrogance (and perhaps foresight, too) he had fortunately ordered a twin of himself to be pulled forth from the pools of life. The King of the Gods took his young simulacrum under his wing, bringing the boy around court. He had spoken to this younger duplicate and raised him as his own child and heir, to the neglect of his many biological children. For all the scandal that it had been, this egoism of the late Zeus was the Pantheon’s saving grace – a perfect replacement of their lord stood ready, identical inwards and out, a genetic replica and the spitting image of the late Zeus in his early teens. His voice was identical, his temperament every bit as haughty as the old one if not even worse. This secretive replacement would be as seamless of a transition as such things could go, and all but the most perceptive of the base mortals would likely never even know the difference – if any did, they could be decried as heretics or quietly dealt with.

So the gods anointed the young clone as the new Zeus, and quickly resumed their game with renewed fervor. Expecting that this young lord would be impressionable and easily manipulated, the High Pantheon – his most prominent officers and advisers and ministers – immediately resumed their politicking and plotting and scheming, while the kingdom’s slow decline continued.

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Setting, Mechanics, Other Explanation:

General Premise

This RP takes place in a sci-fi setting where the vast majority of the population are ‘primitives’ or ‘mortals’ who live in feudal or theocratic Iron Age communities, with a separate class of humans that have access to incredibly advanced technology and use it to pose as gods and rule over their lessers. Your characters would be members of the High Pantheon, some of the most prominent gods with important positions in society and/or access to the ear of Zeus. As high-ranking gods, your characters likely have some form of artifacts and technologies in their possession and control that grant them abilities that the primitive humans consider to be divine and magical; for instance, Zeus can remotely activate weather control satellites to conjure thunderstorms on a whim.

As they jumped into their newfound positions as gods, many of the first crewmen would have presumably taken Zeus’ lead in borrowing heavily from ancient mythology as they set about constructing their identities and roles in the pantheon. Zeus envisioned a general Greek theme to the pantheon, but with that said, some gods could certainly have constructed their own original names, identities, and mythologies, and I’m not opposed to the idea that some gods drew inspiration from different mythologies instead. Naturally, you can heavily reinterpret the mythologies if you like – a character’s history, persona, or powers need not reflect the original myths too closely (or at all!). The pantheon and religion in this setting would have been quickly cobbled together by dozens of different people with their own ideas, many of whom would have wanted to embellish their own importance. The result was probably a chaotic amalgamation of all sorts of crazy things that the mortal priests and scholars had to later go back and struggle to make sense of.

Hellas, the Setting

The planet of Hellas, or the known world, exists in a system around a somewhat unremarkable G-type main sequence star of average metallicity. It is located in a region where stellar density is comparatively low, and so has few neighboring systems, all of which are still uncolonized as far as anyone knows. As a result, it can be considered a rather remote system. Moreover, it’s an appreciable distance away from Sul, the system where the ancient star maps indicate Old Arith resides, and its sphere of influence.

Hellas was initially a barren Mars analogue, though an active magnetic field and substantial (albeit toxic) atmosphere, combined with it being located within its star’s Goldilocks zone and also possessing a familiar-looking moon made it a prime terraforming candidate. Despite its distance (which was seen as more of an advantage than a downside to some, anyways) automated terraforming engines were deployed, followed by much slower vessels carrying countless thousands of colonists in stasis that were to be thawed and landed upon the planet once the terraforming AIs deemed the new world ready. Somewhere along the way, disaster struck, creating a precipitous collapse of industrial capability on the nascent colony and necessitating the departure of a small, specialized relief and aid ship captained by one Logan Fletcher.

Presumably, once he hatched his scheme and took to calling himself Zeus, Captain Fletcher signaled that all was now well and that the colony did not wish to be disturbed, because in the four hundred years since the Coming of the Gods there have been no more ships from outside the system, and no attempts at direct communication.

In the current time, Hellas has a population in the low 8-figures range. Of the more than ten million inhabitants of the planet, the vast majority live in the Iron Age, with the world capital and gods’ seat of power in Mount Olympus being a tiny oasis of technology – a few other puddles might exist scattered about, as miscellaneous mansions, estates, and other holdings occupied part of the time by various gods, but Olympus with its thousand or so inhabitants is the only advanced city on the surface. The vast majority of human settlements are located on one relatively small landmass; a great proportion of Hellas’ surface is covered by oceans.

The terraforming engines were given loose parameters and managed to create a world close enough to Old Arith to be comfortable for humans occupants without the need for any genetic alterations, and they incubated countless species to seed the planet as soon as they could be supported so as to gradually build up a mostly familiar biosphere; however, but unusual conditions during the terraforming process created strange selection pressures, and mutations have a way of producing unexpected effects. The result is that many species have evolved which, while certainly not “alien” due to a recognizable ancestry, did not ever exist on Old Arith. Gigantism was a common result – the oceans are plagued with giant squid and other “sea monsters” while the wilderness has dangerous predators in the form of oversized lions and the like, and other, even stranger species exist too –those engineered through Artemis’ artifice, for instance.

The cities and lands of Hellas were largely renamed by the late Zeus after Hellenic places that existed on Old Arith, as part of his larger plan to recreate the mythos and pantheons of old.

Mechanics, Rules, Format

This is a very sandbox sort of thing as far as RPs go. There’s a general plotline trajectory that I have in mind, but I’m absolutely willing to adapt it as we go along depending upon what happens in the IC and on what seems like the most fun and interesting way to advance the story.

On the note of advancing the story, that’s what I view this as – a collaborative storytelling venture, not a “game” to be “won”. For that reason I’m not concerned about maintaining a parity in power level between the various characters, and nor am I especially attached to my own characters, even Zeus, and am open to the idea of them possibly being killed – of course, I wouldn’t ever kill off anybody else’s character unless they were on board with it!

Since this is in the advanced RP section the idea’s quality over quantity and I’m okay with a somewhat slow pace to the IC, though I would consider it polite and in good form to let us know if circumstances will prevent you from posting altogether for an extended period of time. In the unfortunate event that you start to feel burnt out, let us know too. Perhaps a change of characters or some interesting ideas could rekindle things, but if not, then leaving the RP is an option – I’ll have no hard feelings and will wish you the best in life and all your future writing ventures, but if you do decide to leave please just tell us that you’re doing so rather than ghosting.

As far as rules go, I hope that most go without saying. I’ll try to always be polite and amicable OOC (even if Zeus is insufferable IC; don’t hold that against me, haha!) and expect reciprocity in that regard from everyone else since we’re all just doing this for fun. For the IC, just bear in mind RPGuild’s general rules and avoid depicting anything too explicit; you can “fade to black” if necessary.

General Background Lore

Humanity prospered and advanced, and eventually disparate factions departed from Earth and its solar system to slowly colonize other parts of the galaxy. A distant planet was terraformed in preparation for one of the first attempts at interstellar colonization, only for these first settlers to suffer some disaster early on that crippled their industrial capacity and left them trapped on the planet, doomed to live a primitive lifestyle while they hoped to eventually be rescued. A much smaller, specialized vessel was eventually sent to their aid; however, over the long and lonely voyage its captain made a decision that would alter history.

The captain decided that rather than aid the hapless people rather than help them in keeping with the original mission objectives, he would establish himself as a living god so as to lord over them. Many of the ship’s crewmembers agreed to this course of action and became the first members of a great pantheon; others did not, and were imprisoned, killed, or banished. History was rewritten and those defiant people of moral strength were denounced as demons and the like in the new canon faith.

About four centuries have passed since this first ‘Coming of the Gods’. The gods themselves have long lives and memories and have retained knowledge of their history and origins, but the base mortals condemned to live below have almost entirely forgotten about anything prior to the Coming of the Gods. Only in a few remote hamlets are there storytellers that speak of Old Arith, the heavenly plane where men inhabited before they were cast down and left to dwell in the known world. The primitive mortals have similarly forgotten about the workings of technology and many of the discoveries of science; the odd tale mentions great sorcerers and artificers from the heathen days of old, men who stole divine providence and captured lightning for their dark arts.

Many of the original pantheon have died or retired, either way with the outcome of them passing their divine titles and roles on to children or other successors. The pantheon has gradually grown from the original few dozen members to hundreds of deities of various importance and niches. Through population controls and decrees denouncing the status of half-primitive demigods, this growth has been slowed and kept at a manageable level. Though the individual gods have temples, monastery retreats, and palaces all across the planet, for the majority of the time almost all of them dwell in a magnificent utopia impossibly high in the mountains, with great ivory spires and golden streets. Base mortals are generally not permitted to enter this hallowed capital, but a few demigods or great heroes have visited it and returned to spread tales of its splendor. This place is the seat of Zeus’ throne and all divine power, and it is known by many names: Mount Olympus, the City of Marble and Gold, Paradise.

But all is not well in Heaven. To call the gods stagnant would be generous; rather than improving the capital and advancing their powers, they have allowed some of the city’s infrastructure and systems to gradually deteriorate. Their morals and spirits have also decayed into ever lower depths. With all their politicking and hedonism, the gods’ relatively small population has gradually grown more idle, less disciplined, less knowledgeable, less competent. They no longer visit the mortal realms so often as in the days of old, and nor is their vigil over the masses so diligent as then, so more heresies have been cropping up and spreading unchecked. Even worse, the mortals have managed to attain a series of significant technological developments, several of which have contributed to a rapid rise in their population – to maintain control, the late Zeus had recently been forced to check their rise by smiting countless scholars, inventors, and priests. Then for good measure he’d ordered his pantheon to plunge the mortal realms into turmoil by inciting a bloody period of many holy wars. Discontent has slowly grown up like a creeping vine, but within Paradise itself and in the mortal plane below.

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Credits & Communication:

We have a DISCORD SERVER for ease of communication; I recommend joining it!

Thanks and credits go to Lauder and Oraculum for encouragement and help GM, and to the Divinus RPs and the sci-fi classic Lord of Light by Roger Zelazny for sources of inspiration.

Also thanks to @Frettzo for making the banner at the top of this post!

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Character Sheets (Template and Example)

Below is an example sheet for Zeus (both the late and original Zeus, and his ascendant clone Zeus Prime), and a blank template with the same format. By no means feel obligated to use this formatting; it’s just there if you want it and to show the essential elements of what I would think to look for in a sheet for this RP.

Template

Name(s) and Appearance:

((Does this individual have a birth name or alternate identity distinct from their divine name? In what contexts, if ever, is it used?))

Titles and Roles:

((What responsibilities has this god taken on to earn a place in the High Pantheon? Do they govern or control some particular area, or handle some part of the capital’s maintenance?))

Artifacts and Powers:

((Tied in with the above, what sorts of equipment do they own and/or use, and how might a mortal worshiper describe the god’s supposed powers?))

Persona:

((How does the character act, both when among gods and when among mortals?))

Background and Relationships:

((Was this a crewmember of the ship that first declared themselves gods, and if so, what was their position there? If not, how did they come to be elevated to the High Pantheon? What was their relationship with the late Zeus like, and do they have any family or unique relationships with other gods of importance?))

The Late Zeus

Name(s):

In another lifetime, there was a man named Logan Fletcher – Captain Fletcher. That name died long ago, however; its mention has been scrubbed from every databank, and lives on only within the memories of a few of the eldest gods who have survived the centuries and their closest confidants.

For the past four hundred years, there has been only Zeus.

Titles and Roles:

Zeus is known by many titles: the Highest, the King of the Gods, Lord of the Sky, Rainmaker, the Thunder-Bearer, Father of Gods and Men.

His temples are too many to count. The mountains and high places of Hellas have many shrines to honor him, but every city or town of importance has a temple to him too. The greatest of his temples and holy places have long had microphones and cameras installed within, so the prayers of mortals are indeed heard and monitored by Zeus and his staff within Olympus – occasionally they’ve even been answered. His voice has been known to the priests to occasionally echo out from within the great statues sculpted in his likeness, carrying with it the word of the King of Gods and the pantheon itself. When they hear his thunderous voice, they quickly carry his commands to the local tyrant or council. The will of Zeus is then respected lest they peril storms coming to wash away their whole city.

Artifacts and Powers:

At nearly all times, Zeus carried a great white-gold scepter styled so as to look like a lightning bolt. Its length is telescoping and can be compressed into a baton small enough to fit into a pocket, but more often than not he kept it fully extended and bore it prominently – that was the symbol of his power, not some crown. This scepter is linked to the S.I.H.T. satellite arrays in orbit of Hellas, and has the ability to project a holographic, scaling model of the planet with all its weather, structures, and even people as viewed in realtime from the heavens. Its foremost purpose is its ability to remotely control the planet’s weather manipulation devices and satellites, conjuring anything from fog to hurricanes.

Zeus wore a great deal of devices cleverly disguised as ornate jewelry. Several rings of his conceal highly advanced batteries and capacitors. The stored energy is used to power his scepter as well as various anti-gravity devices contained within armbands and a few other devices normally hidden beneath his toga; these anti-gravitation engines allow him to hover or fly. But the capacitance rings that he wears can also discharge electricity into tesla coils disguised as the gemstones, which enabled Zeus to shoot arcs of electricity from his hands. Various shields and failsafes prevented him from ever shocking himself or uncontrollably discharging this power, and supposedly this jewelry also would protect against a variety of weapons and make him quite difficult to assassinate. A variety of medical nanites augmented his physiology, granting near agelessness as well as protection against a variety of poisons and the ability to rapidly regenerate from physical trauma. Obviously, his killers found some sort of workaround.

Zeus also possessed the Kerykeion, or Administrative Function Remote, for IRIS. He seized it from the SIGINT officer that would become Hermes during the Coming of the Gods, and by maintaining possession of the remote he was able to keep tabs on the pantheon. He was sure to keep that device very carefully hidden and rarely even spoke of its existence, lest it ever be stolen or lost. Still, the mere knowledge that he had seized it was enough to keep Hermes in line and prevent him from doing too much damage were he to go rogue.

The final artifact that Zeus carried about his person was the Key to Olympus. Rather than anything so mundane and crude as a physical key, this was his ID and access card from the ship and original mission… though the insufferable bit of plastic with the picture of his past self and that name ‘Logan Fletcher’ were of course stripped off the card, with its magnetic and electrical components put into a golden brooch. His Key granted him administrative control and unfettered access to all the technology, doors, and systems aboard the old vessel, and it does much the same in the city of Mount Olympus, for much of its technology was taken straight out of the now-dismantled vessel. In any case, Olympus’ life support and climate control panels, great treasury vaults of ancient technology and unused equipment, databanks from Old Arith, and even a menagerie of bioengineered horrors (created mostly through the efforts of Athena and Artemis) are all accessible to the Key’s holder. Some specially and more recently designed systems might not be programmed to allow him to override their protections and gain access with his Key, though Zeus discovering such a system designed to shut him out would not please him. Such systems would likely have had to have been kept secret from Zeus.

Persona:

Zeus had always been prideful and haughty. Captain Fletcher had been a narcissist that thought himself better than others, maintaining a stern and ever-professional distance and rarely socializing with his crew. This isolation was not a conscious decision on his part – just the natural consequence of his intimidating status and persona. He expected friendships to simply come to him, but never extended the first kind gesture or word himself. He was also petty, with a long memory for any slights (real or imagined) and an adamant refusal to ever be the first to extend an olive branch and apologize or make amends. He would be sure to let you know if ever he was disappointed in your work, however; he sometimes did as much in public, and people usually withered under his gaze when he dissected all of their supposed failings and told them what to do next time.

Beyond an abrasive personality, Logan Fletcher was a diligent but otherwise very unremarkable man. In the space stations of the Fleet Academy orbiting Old Arith, he applied himself fully and utterly to his studies in the hopes that he could have his own command over one of the many military vessels that patrolled the system and kept order. He graduated with high marks and was commissioned as a minor officer. In time he likely would have quickly risen through the ranks and had his own ship, but he ultimately had a short career in the military. He would tell you that he left in disgust after realizing the rigidity of their structure and thinking, and after growing tired of licking the boots of incompetent and foolish superior officers. There’s surely some truth to that, but rumors always followed him; in his youth, he was salacious and abused his status as an officer on a few occasions.

In any case, as a former captain-lieutenant for a military force and one with an impressive academic history, it was easy enough for him to find work on civilian vessels. He quietly commanded freight shuttles for several years without incident before eventually growing restless and hungry for more. When the opportunity came to command the rescue mission to investigate and possibly save a distant colony, he jumped at the chance. His pride and ego made the prospect of being their savior and immortalizing his name very appealing, but as the lonely years whiled by in transit to that distant system, his thoughts began to stray, and he started to wonder if he couldn’t do more than merely save those fools… to wonder if he didn’t deserve more.

Once he took the mantle of Zeus, his former nature became only more exaggerated. He made a conscious effort to maintain an aura of command lest the others think themselves too familiar or contemplate defiance. That said, he recognized the advantage of kindness too. So while his grasp on Hellas and Olympus was tight, he was also sure to be ever respectful and magnanimous to those that demonstrated their loyalty, and especially cruel and terrible to those that rebelled against him. The carrot and the stick, working in concert, kept him in power for a very long time.

His old perversions and lustful nature also returned. With his status as King of the Gods and access to the whole of Hellas, trysts became tenfold more effortless, frequent, and flagrant than when he was sneaking around a mere captain-lieutenant aboard a military vessel. For all his dalliances with the mortals and demigods and even former crewmembers, he never did fall in love with anyone, not even his ‘wife’ Hera. He doubtless thought himself too far above them all.

Background and Relationships:

It was Zeus alone who concocted and orchestrated the plan to recreate the legends of old with himself as ruler of a pantheon. The idea genuinely appealed to some of the crew, and for others, his force of personality and intimidating status as captain made it easy enough to coerce them into going along. Only a very brave few stood up to him, with the Isaac – the Head of Security – as the most notable and unfortunate of these dissenters, but it wasn’t enough; Zeus ultimately engineered the Coming of the Gods and the subjugation of the primitive ‘mortals’ trapped on their failed colony, with all the brutality that the plan involved. Those that opposed him, be they his own crewmen or defiant mortals, were slain or imprisoned, their names either forgotten altogether or forever vilified and associated with chaos and evil. For his violent and destructive departure and relentless attempts to create warform armies and overthrow the gods, Isaac inp particular has been demonized to the mortal denizens: they now know him as Typhon.

Yet just as history and reality were rewritten in accordance to his will, the very land itself was renamed. The planet he called Hellas, for his fascination with an archaic nation called Greece that existed on Old Arith long ago. The seas, the mountains, and the plains were similarly designated by classical names that he’d pulled from ancient maps and atlases. At his direction the primitive men and women who dwelled on the planet below were arbitrarily split into many tribes and nations and scattered across the planet.

He ordered the construction of Mount Olympus and his great palace within, and he has ruled from it ever since. Through guile and lightning and fear, he maintained an iron grip over both gods and mortals alike for more than four hundred years, suppressing too many heresies and rebellions to count, and performing a careful dance of trying to juggle staving off the decline of the gods with impeding the rise of the mortals, all while managing his own people so as to not fall prey to intrigue.

While overseeing the rest of the pantheon in their workings (to varying degrees – he left most with a good deal of autonomy, realizing the value of properly delegating the administration and upkeep needed) he’s also maintained direct control over some reactivated and repurposed terraforming equipment. Notably, during the coming of the Gods he saw to the deployment of vast constellations of satellites that employ advanced technology to control, stabilize, and manipulate the planet’s previously tempestuous and unpredictable weather. He has diligently managed the weather controls and their maintenance operations as part of the purview of his divine name and role. He had no prior experience in terraforming, meteorology, or climatology of any kind, but his fascination with the Zeus of the original mythos and his desire to perfectly and believably slip into that role gave him the desire to micromanage this one particular thing, as well as the motivation to learn how to do it well. In the centuries that followed, he came to master his understanding of Hellas’ weather and his unique system like no other could, or likely ever will. Not even his cloned successor understands the intricacies nearly as well as him – an unfortunate reality that will doubtless come to the detriment of the mortals.

His hand was in all things, and he loomed larger than life and larger than the gods, until his sudden demise changed everything.

Fortunately the Majordomo of the Palace, a minor god named Zelos, still remains. Zelos faithfully and diligently served Zeus in all things, managing his household and acting as a steward and secretary that handled many of the bureaucratic and day-to-day affairs of rulership. While Zelos keeps a low profile and is not officially a part of the High Pantheon, through his integral role he remains a powerful figure indeed, and a stabilizing force.

The Clone, Zeus Prime

Name:

Before the late Zeus’ death, this youth was known as the Heir. He loathed this, and yet the late Zeus would neither suffer his clone to bear any lesser name, nor allow him to take the mantle of his own divine name prematurely.

But now the time has come, and with his ascension to power he is the Heir no more. He will not suffer to be called that, and neither does he look kindly upon names like Zeus II, or the ‘new’ Zeus, or Zeus ‘Prime’ – certainly not ‘the Clone’. He is simply Zeus, just like his originator, and to label him anything else is an insult. So call him Zeus, or King, or a properly reverent epithet, lest you hazard his ire.

Titles and Roles:

Just like the original Zeus, this one is the Highest, the King of the Gods, Lord of the Sky, Rainmaker, the Thunder-Bearer, Father of Gods and Men. The conflict lies within that final role: he insists that the High Pantheon look to him as a father, or at least a brother – whatever the original Zeus was to them. He is not that Zeus’ son, and he is not merely that Zeus’ replacement, he is an upgrade. He demands that all address him just as much respect and reverence as the original Zeus, if not more. Following that perspective, it’s only natural that Hera is his wife just as she was to the original.

Artifacts and Powers:

This Zeus inherited and now possesses the same artifacts and powers as the original; however, having only just come to own the devices, he is not nearly so skilled in their usage. He does at least know their purposes and have some limited experience operating the technologies, courtesy of the original finding time to teach his Heir about such things on occasion.

Persona:

Just like the original, this Zeus is vain, prideful, and arrogant – perhaps to an even greater extent, too. The insufferable part is that while the original Zeus certainly had a way of leading and by the end had centuries of experience governing to draw upon and command respect from, this young clone has none of that. He still thinks himself a worthy and ready successor though, an idea that the elder members of the High Pantheon likely find laughable.

Yet, one laughs at and underestimates him at their own peril. He certainly is not the genius that he thinks himself to be, but he possesses more guile than meets the eye. In particular he’s perceptive about people, and can sense weakness and insecurity like a vulture can smell carrion. He is not nearly so lecherous as his predecessor, but he’s depraved in another way: few things excite him more than the prospect of putting others into their place. Given an opportunity and just the slightest of reasons, he’s wont to ruthlessly bully and humiliate others. He’s at least inventive in his cruelty and thinks violence to be both boring and base; he’s found that dismantling someone’s psyche is perhaps more challenging but also more devastating, and certainly more entertaining to do. For that reason he enjoys gossip when it pertains to others’ misfortunes, fears, regrets, and the like.

The late Zeus at least insisted that a King who is despised is one bound to have a short reign, so he keeps his inner beast restrained… most of the time.

Background and Relationships:

Zeus is practically an infant by the standards of the High Pantheon, dragged out of the cloning vats just nineteen years ago. Modifications accelerated his development such that he was nearly fully grown, physically and mentally, within just a few years. Those first few years were harsh and not at all nurturing. Experiments were performed and he was expected to prove himself, but ultimately that he did – for the most part. Using a novel process, the late Zeus had long attempted to selectively graft his own memories onto the blank slate of a clone’s mind. The result was often madness or insanity on the clone’s part. Besides the clone that would become the Heir, all the others died or were terminated for instability or other flaws – all except for the early prototype of the technology that was Athena, of course. As a proof of concept she had been imprinted with some innate affinities and general knowledge, but nothing specific to Zeus’ personal memories.

The memory-grafting process likely contributed to, if not caused, the slow decline of the late Zeus’ own cognitive abilities. It took a heavy toll on Zeus, but in the Heir the process finally bore fruit; a great deal of the originator’s memories, though hazy, exist in the clone’s mind. Of course, he has a different temperament, explainable by his own unique experiences and the incomplete set of memories that he was given – the late Zeus tried very hard to ensure that no traces of Logan Fletcher had been instilled into the clone.

In any case, despite this nominal success it always was as though the originator was never quite pleased with the clone. Granted, the original Zeus had little love for anyone. He did at least show some affection to his heir from time to time; he offered a hug or a word of praise to his clone every few weeks or so – far more than most received – for the boy’s resemblance to him was naturally uncanny, and his eagerness and the ease at which he could learn were both impressive. Still, the clone did not receive anywhere near as much affection or kindness as a child should have, and he never could shake off the feeling that some part of him was a disappointment. Perhaps that’s why he sometimes lashes out and has a superiority complex.

There was one member of the High Pantheon that genuinely cared for him and looked out for him: Athena. She saw a part of herself in him, and he in her. Her kindness soothed the dull pain and the empty pit of the originator’s seeming indifference, and she probably kept him from going mad. For that reason he looks up to her as a big sister; she’s the only one that he will ever open himself up to or express any vulnerability towards. He keeps his secrets, and she doubtless hers, but they do genuinely enjoy one another’s company and she can speak freely without ever hazarding his wrath.

Hera stands out as the stark opposite to Athena -- she always loathed him for having supplanted her children as the late Zeus' heir, and her quiet simmering was certainly reciprocated by the clone. Now that he is power, Zeus fully intends to torment her. To further that twisted aim, as well as to nominally preserve the stability and continuity of the pantheon, Zeus insists that she be his wife just as she was to his successor.

As for the others, he was oft seen but rarely interacted with, a silent shadow to his much more important originator. The High Pantheon all expected the original Zeus to live for much longer, and the last fifteen years or so were practically just the blink of an eye. Many like Hades have yet to ever even see him in person, and of the denizens of Olympus who have encountered him, few had paid him much heed. The result is that he now loathes the feeling of being ignored, and if heads do not turn when he enters a room or voices do not instantly quiet when he speaks, his mood is immediately fouled.

Re:Divinus VII

There once was a city ruled by a tyrant. This man was not especially cruel for his era; his measures were harsh, but necessary. Under his rule the thieves were hanged, the beggars were lashed across the back and driven away, deserting soldiers and disloyal nobles were beheaded, the greedy merchants were cast out into exile (their possessions were naturally forfeit, seized by the tyrant to fund his army), adulterous wives had their ears severed, the wicked and impious were burnt at the stake in gruesome displays, and the grisliest punishments of all befell the runaway or rebellious slaves. All of these punishments were carried out by the tyrant’s men in a public square for all to see, before a great monument hewn from gray granite. This ostentatious monument had been raised by some long-gone lord that few remembered, and whatever its original purpose, by virtue of its place in that square the people came to connote it with their tyrant’s justice.

The monolithic structure was then something of a shrine to the civic rule of law, to punishment, to order, to the structure and hierarchy that had restored the failing city from the brink of ruin at the hands of its many rivals. Life was good for the average man of the city in those days, even if they lived through almost perpetual war! Indeed, by having driven out the filth and created discipline, the tyrant had single-handedly staved off a long decline and cultural decay, his soldiers even making some gains and reclaiming long-lost lands from neighboring city-states. But he was only a man, and so the tyrant passed as all mortals do, and the city was not long to outlast him. A soft man succeeded that tyrant as lord of the city, and his reign ended a decade later when another lord’s soldiers broke down the gates. The streets were choked with blood, the men massacred while the women and children were dragged off in chains, the temples and the tyrant’s palace ransacked, the houses set aflame, the tomb of their hated enemy the late tyrant was leveled and his many statues cast down, and finally, a once-great monument to justice was defaced.

The collective consciousness of the people – their unwitting reverence and mild idolatry – had made the monument into something more than mere stone. Though they did not know it, they had given the thing an essence and life; however, when nought remained but bones and ruin, the spirit that had been born within the monument eventually moved on. It might have exacted retribution in the ways that it knew against those who had destroyed its first home, but it possessed no such power; it was condemned to be a silent witness to the world, not a shaper of it.

The spirit was immortal, but it knew only justice and law and punishment and order, so it meandered across the land and observed the executioners with an interminable, puerile fascination. Nothing else held its interest, and in truth it was barely even sentient. Eventually the world itself came to die, that first city having been just a microcosm of a greater decay. Still, the spirit persisted. Weary and sad, it drifted away. It slept and was lost to time, until eventually, something roused it.

It sensed somewhere new, just barely flourishing: yonder there was an infant world, not a fading one like it had once known. Justice could be observed once more! It raced forward, rocketing through the cosmos; it must have been asleep for countless aeons, for it tore through the void with power and swiftness that it had never known before, and it realized then that it was an infant no longer.

During its approach, it realized that it no longer had a shell to dwell within like that granite monument. It had accreted… something of a body, but that form did not please it. So its will seized the void and rent order and substance out of chaos and nothingness, and so a great mass of metal congealed in a familiar dull gray hue. The spirit’s unbreaking will wrought the gigantic asteroid into an impossibly dense, divinely-imbued suit of armor. No eyes or senses, be they divine or mortal, would be able to penetrate through the plates or visor and see what dwelled beneath; he had privacy again. Likewise, the armor could defy magic and steel with ease; this would not become some cairn heap of stone pieces. The spirit reckoned that by virtue of this, it could be both invisible and safe during its observations. Now, it – no, he – was ready.

---

When he finally drew near to the nascent world, its atmosphere clawed at him. It couldn’t do the faintest bit of harm through his armor, but the sense of it pushing and dragging his mass during the fall was a novel experience. It was a strange feeling, to feel. The friction quickly grew great enough for a majestic cloak of fire to wreathe him for his descent. Fond memories returned: great heaps of wood, majestic blazes, screaming witches and warlocks.

Ecstasy filled his being when the spirit realized that now, he could bring about justice himself! Perhaps he needn’t merely observe passively from afar! But then he was filled with an inscrutable turmoil that coursed through his every fiber of being – was it justice if he did it? Was it legal? He contemplated that for the rest of the way down, and even once he landed gently.

Absent-mindedly, he looked around to see the depression in the sand that he’d disturbed, and also the listless motes of dust thrown up by his arrival. It was certainly not his prerogative to go about defacing the landscape another had wrought. But perhaps it was his right, or perhaps even his duty, to bring justice to this world? As he delicately put the coarse earth back into place, he reflected upon his qualifications for the role. He had spent thousands of years bearing witness to justice at the ends of justice, and then for an eternity thereafter he had meditated upon all that he had seen in empty darkness and in silence. That settled it – he realized that none were likely to ever be so learned or worthy to carry out Justice as he!

He paced for a moment, weighing these revelations. There was suddenly a great pride that lifted his heels, a heavy burden upon his shoulders, an eagerness swelling up somewhere beneath his breastplate. As if to denote the great significance of that moment, the ground itself trembled from some distant perturbation.

He Stood

An armored giant, a spirit, a god, a vessel of justice!

Then with the lifeless wastes as his witness, the god made a solemn vow:

"I will be True, and hold all else to the same precept."

Tiny flakes of dirt and regolith drifted through the air, cast up by his landing. The motes of dust were silent, and they seemed to meet his words with equal resolve. He looked around, restless.

To be true to himself, he could never rest, would never tire, until all things were exactly as they should be, guided by the tenets and laws of those whose will shaped the world; but not by his, certainly. He did not presume to determine what was lawful or orderly, though he knew that he would be able to innately sense anything that rebelled against its lot. By that feeling if nothing else, he would find the faults in the universe and right them.

He felt it right then, even in that earliest of days. The towering metal giant spun around suddenly and fell onto his knees, brushing the ground with his hands to fill in the tiny depression left by his landing and ever so carefully restore it to exactly what it had been a few moments before. His passion compelled him!

Of course, his work was undone soon thereafter when huge clouds of dust and toxic metals, hurled from beyond the horizon, came to rain down on him. His first instinct was fury – he considered hunting down the perpetrator of this calamitous destruction, the one who had undone his very careful restoration of the ground over the last few moments and punishing the criminal severely. He stormed forward as a colossus with massive strides, effortlessly fighting against the flying clouds and rivers of earth, the metal of his armor groaning as it warped to match his growing size. Yet then he peered through the sandstorm, his divine gaze reaching out the horizon, and he beheld the perpetrator and sighed in disappointment.

Yonder there was no criminal, just some spirit like him – no, nothing like him. She had no armor like his to hide her spirit, so he could perceive her easily enough, and he recognized her as a goddess of earth. Such a dreadful, useless aspect, he found himself suddenly thinking, but then he fondly recalled memories of gray granite, and judged her much more fondly for it. In moving that earth, careless and bothersome as it might have been, she had been fulfilling her role and prerogative. She’d therefore committed no great crime that he could discern, and so he could take no action… alas! He deflated and shrank a bit, then began to wander the world. He sought out an opportunity to witness justice, or better yet, deliver it himself – the time would surely come soon, and he’d waited so long.

Summary

Turns out that the chud might canonically be Squidward, because he used to live inside of a monument.

He spent a whopping 5MP to make some pretty mighty armor. It’s made of gray metal and is very tough. For some reason he seems to think that it makes him invisible, but he’s stupid and it definitely doesn’t – maybe it just masks whatever his aspect is to others.

After the events that took place in the myth on his CS (which coincided with when Lektoria was resculpting the planet) it began to hilariously rain toxic dirt and metal all over his parade, and he was both really mad and really excited about having an excuse to beat the crap out of somebody in the name of JUSTICE! But he realized that it was just the earth goddess, and couldn’t justify attacking an earth goddess for throwing some dirt all over the place.

MP Usage

5MP out of the initial 5MP spent on Justice’s Armor – count this towards a Smithing aspect maybe.
All 5 initial AP remain.