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    1. Grijs 10 yrs ago

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I know this RP is all but dead, but I did not want to leave unfinished writings. So I posted the first half of what was going to be a bigger post. It was fun for while it lasted. Take care amigos.
The Reckoning

4 days after Zeus' death
Village of Rivens


Collab of Grijs and Jeddaven



A sinister change has come upon the lands in Lycia. It was not long ago a domain bustling with life and commerce. Yet -- in the passing of a single day, the domain’s hallmark liveliness came to an abrupt end. Such is the cataclysmic power of the gods. The star of Hellas still shines on Lycia as before, but dimmer. The trees still grew as before, but gnarled -- twisted. Strange beasts roamed in the woods. And humanity is fading, departing to greener pastures. Those that remain are either oblivious to the changes – or they are the most doomdriven and stubborn among mortals.
A band of fighting men remained in the Lycian Village of Rivens, huntsmen by craft, acolytes devoted to the stern Goddess Artemis. For surely they need the Goddess’ favor to overcome her most ungodly beasts. They had heard of the coming of the Chimera, and seeking death and honor they descended in reverse direction of the evacuating masses to meet and slay that which brought them to flee. Both in defense of humanity, and for personal glory in sight of the Gods. They are the fearless few, the chosen ones. They don’t understand the nature of their quarry, and nor do they hold interest understanding it. Any Hellesian understands innately it is not their place to know. All this group cares for is the thrill of the hunt, and achieving worthiness of Artemis’ gifts.

Rivens had fortunately been evacuated in orderly fashion, forewarned by displaced refugees about the looming danger headed their direction. They have outran, seemingly, the storm of the Grand Aether… Or so they’ve hoped.

The huntsmen entered the deserted village with bow strings pulled, their weaponry of choice yew bows with metal tipped arrows. They were ready to unleash their volleys at the first moving shadow. Step by step they inched past the outer cottages and - as they approached the plaza - the acolytes spotted life nor movement.
The cottages were plain single story buildings with straw roofing. Visible were tables and stalls with half eaten produce and utensils abandoned on them. Stacks of lumber were in the yards, and as far could be discerned the only trace of life was a lone rooster trotting about, left without his flock of hens. All around nothing out of the ordinary.
‘’No sign of disgusting Beasts. They have not come here yet?’’

Slightly put at ease the huntsmen lower their bows to navigate around the village plaza. They set up position, threw over some tables, moved lumber and furniture to serve as makeshift barricades blocking each entry point -- and waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then an hour. And all this time there reigned deadly silence; there was no wind and no birdsong. Nature was in trauma by what earlier transpired, and the hunters were increasingly unsettled by these omens. They were finnicky, twiddling their thumbs and endlessly staring into the distance past their barricades.
‘’Are they still coming?’’

Suddenly: a gust of wind. They each felt it blow past them and made each hunter spring to alertness.
It was then that they all heard a voice reverberating through the trees.

‘’Men of action. You’ve braced for battle. Yet there is no need for such, relinquish your fibres and depart peacefully, or be torn asunder. This is the will of the Great Aether!’’

The stern huntsmen looked at each other, frowningly and muttering among themselves. ‘’Just like the rumors…’’ They hesitate, until finally one among them speaks, raising his voice defiantly against the whirlwind. ‘’We have no fiber sacrifice to you, Typhon, demon slut! We know it shan’t appease you. In Artemis’ name we came to battle your hordes -- to revenge our kin in the east. Show yourselves immediately!’’
There was no reaction, the entity in the clouds seems taken aback by such an unexpected challenge from mere mortals. Eventually its reverberating voice resounds, its source as ever ethereally unknown.

‘’ … I wonder what sound you will make when I do… this!’’

A screech was heard from the turbulent clouds as a shadow grew above them. The men looked up, and in that very moment engulfed by a red fume detonated amid them.
A deafening boom!
Huntsmen bodies were flung like rag dolls into the savaged cottages. Wood splinters around as not just the barricades, but all surrounding constructions were undone. The huntsmen closest to the detonation remained thereafter motionless on the ground. Others outside of the immediate impact zone cringe and twitch as they try and raise themselves back to their feet. They have only moments to recollect themselves, because snarling from the underbrush the terrors of mankind arrive…

Leaping into Rivens emerged a ferocious beast, saliva dripping in gallons from its gaping jutting maws – the Chimera has come -- it seeks to set its fangs into yielding flesh.
It appeared as a grotesque colossal and black Capricorn with oversized fangs of a carnivore. Its jutting teeth are so large that the creature is incapable of closing its mouth.

One of the hunters whose eyes met the beast’s instantly tried to grab for his bow, all the while never losing eye contact. For he knew such would immediately provoke it. However his fingertips could not sense the bow around the back of his waist where it ought be. The archer’s tool was forcefully discarded in the earlier detonation and, glancing backwards he saw it lying beneath a collapsed stall. The moment his eye contact was broken, the Chimera pranced and leapt at the fumbling huntsman. Its glistening teeth raring for the swift kill…

...Suddenly, a massive spear half the hunter's size streaked past the hunter's head with the violent crack of a sonic boom, moving so quickly that he didn't even have the time to notice that it was bone-white down its entire length til it'd already made its mark in the capricorn's skull, striking with the force of a massive bullet. Despite the speed with which it moved, it did not shatter, glistening with bright crimson blood that quickly bubbled and fizzed away all the way down to its gnarled root…

The beast’s head was penetrated by the javelin as its haft was lodged into its skull. The chimera was stopped in its tracks and fell with its full weight on top of the hunter.
The man yelps, taking a hold of the beasts’ jaws to keep them from crushing him. Then he looks about him to perceive what transpired.

Behind him, perhaps some ten feet away, was a seven, perhaps eight-foot tall woman, clad in nothing but a peasant's rags, charging to meet the beast, her hands bare. Powerful muscles rippled beneath her broad built, ghostly-white skin as she seemed to come up from the ground in a splash of blood, messy black hair billowing behind her. Her left arm hung behind her, flimsy and ragged, itself drooling a steady stream of the same bubbling blood, only to apparently regain its rigidity and violently flesh back into place as she moved. No words came from her lips, no taunts -- all that could be gathered of her emotional state was a look of grim, simple determination etched into her unscarred face.

The hunter was perplexed to witness this Amazonian-type entity engage the penultimate predator.
‘’A-Artemis?’’ He stammered at this penultimate huntress. With nothing but her hands she hoisted the beast off of him. It was not yet dead and she somehow knew this. Blinking its eyes, the drooling beast leapt backwards to recompose itself, while somehow ignoring the fact part of its brains (or where its brains should be) had been crushed.

It bellowed a guttural roar and without showing even a sliver of hesitation now aimed its fangs towards her instead.

The woman offered the hunter no response, focused entirely on her prey -- wild. Simple. Close to death, but until it was gone...

She remained silent even as the savage thing charged her, utterly unafraid of its approach. Only once the beast was in arm's reach did she react, diving beneath its slavering maw. One arm struck out, but instead of simply colliding with the beast's neck, it punched through it entirely, cleaving its spine apart with a single blow. Its limp body simply slammed against her broad chest with a dull thud, neck hanging from its torso by a handful of shreds of flesh, eyes empty of thought staring out into the distance.

‘’Amazing.’’ One of the surviving hunters commented under his breath, looking at the huntress with perplexion. Slowly but surely more of the huntsmen were trying to stand up. Some of them, while not dead, suffered heavy concussions and broken limbs. These mortals were not the sole witnesses of the woman’s daring deed however.
From the clouds above peered one of the Olympians at the unanticipated appearance of this unknown party, the jealous eyes of the very orchestrator of this invasion; the Grand Aether.
In truth he was one of the Panthera, the third in command of the Hephaestean faction of Olympus. His name: Barber Scionwiz


Like the rest of the Panthera, Barber appears as a cyborg of dark feline signature. However unlike his peers his body is highly maneuverable, both in and out of his hovering installation. It is such that makes him the candidate of choice for carrying out blitz strikes on unwitting targets.

Sitting in his floating mobile the Great Aether raced across the skies of Lycia, directing the monstrous horde to depopulate the planet’s surface beneath him as he went. He was notified immediately by his mobile’s software that one of the Chimera ceased functioning. Never before had this happened during an engagement with mere Hellesians, and so his monitor lens zoomed in at the coordinates of his Chimera's neural signal vanishing…
Indeed he perceived there a new presence; some ghostly woman in rags. She had to be mortal, for all Olympians are meticulously registered in the database. The Great Aether pans his lens closer to her face.

Her face was pale and young. Badly scarred, yet eerily difficult to look away from, almost like a compulsion. Nothing aligns her features to anything in the Olympian database…
‘’No matter!’’ Barber exclaims defiantly. ‘’I care not for this little intrusion. She is no match for the godlike prowess of the last batch of Chimera!’’
He pushes a red button indicated with ‘Goblin Mode’...
Fierce howls reverberate through the air from the Lycian countryside. Their ominous bellows reveal the beasts are many. The closest Chimeras close in on Rivens with terrifying speed.
The hunters too were made aware of their approach. Most of them, the living ones, have collected themselves.
‘’We should leave now. They are too strong – and backed by the Wrath of the Gods.
Mistress! Avatar of Artemis!’’ The Captain of the Hunt calls out to the unknown goddess.
‘’You should come with us in organized withdrawal. We needn’t die needlessly…’’

Too late: two Chimeras appear nigh her, considerably smaller ones but ingrained with ungodly speed. They are specifically designed to be the fastest, swiftest moving biological constructs in Hellas. For once they have caught your scent, you can never hope to outrun their predation…
The two lionesque beasts leap with drooling jutting fangs to single-mindedly tear out the goddess’ throat.

The woman lets out a sharp, guttural laugh -- her arms shoot out, faster than the beasts can hope to react, each powerful hand finding purchase around one of their throats, clamping down tight. She handles them like helpless, inconsequential pets, eyes flicking toward the Grand Aether hovering in the clouds, cold and angry, staring daggers.

"It doesn't matter how many of your pathetic little monstrosities you send after me!" She guffawed, crushing their spines in her grasp with a simple flex of her hands and a wet, sickening crack, the bodies uselessly collapsing to the dirt.

"Instead, you insipid little worm, I have a message for you to convey to your Master." The woman raised her voice to the sky.

‘And he won’t hear it, since you’ll be dead!’ Barber thinks to himself as he looks at the radar of his board. Ah, the real deal is approaching – the most fine-tuned predator of all. A personal favorite of the Aether.
Though its speed is held back by its cumbersome weight, it is large, vast and powerful. A beast that appears in suffering, covered in blotches of diseased pale skin and grisly horns sticking from its spinal cord. Borne of torment and locked in perpetual ravenous hunger, it is adorned with scythed appendages sprouting from its shoulderblades – appendages resembling tentacles of hard sinew, muscle and skin tipped with bladed bone-like razors.

Its approach left a trail of hewn and felled trees in its wake, and in mere moments its appearance tore through the buildings of Rivens. Purveying the environment by smell, it already knew the coordinates of the woman as its scythed appendage – like the crack of a whip – crashed out from the nearby walls to cleave her in half.
The group of hunters, taken aback by its sudden appearance had but seconds to react before three of them too were cleft in twain by the beasts’ scythes.
They shriek as their gore splatters on the grass – the collateral in the Hunt of the Apex Chimera.

‘’In name of my master, ARTEMIS! All interlopers in the Mortal Village of Rivens are sentenced to death!’’ Proclaims the Grand Aether.

“Your lies mean nothing, filth. The rest of you, flee! I will deal with this murderer.”
>Let me know if I need to change anything in my post, as I kinda wrote it on autopilot.

Not a very inspired post, but at least it gets some momentum going.
The retainers of

Three days after Zeus’ death




In the depths of the Hephaestean lair, accompanied by endless clanking metal and pulsating plasma engines is the conniving jittering and tittering of a wicked breed.
Black prismatic cubes glitter in the reflective light of a thousand beaming buttons. Metal, tubes and roaring engines abound in otherwise unlit rooms. These are the hardware operating chambers where the upper Panther Platoon do the bidding of Hephaestean Protocol 2X v.21.

Beneath the level of the operating chambers are the levels where none of the Panthers really ever go. Not without protective automaton suits and forged masks anyway.
For these are the lairs to which half made experiments are relegated – the much dreaded Hephaestean menagerie, where madness lives.
Stored in this deepest level are the unwelcome shrill screaming of deformed animals, overseen by the cold unfeeling monitor lens of the ascended feline. Sounds and sights so nerve wracking that a normal human would not deign to peruse, but by anxiety be driven to look away.
Only the truly calloused thrive in the subterranean blighted world of the cat.

Not A Cat, but many.

With a snick and sneer the cats leer at one another from over their workbenches and customized monitors in the lair’s black prismatic laboratoria. The air was as ever tense with competition -- and musky pheromones.

The fellest leer was undeniably that of the wicked Hyperiax Dosteclopeles. The Extra-ascendent among the panthers of the Hephaestean workshop. This title elevated him over the others, for it denoted highest standing with Coeus. The smartest and cruelest of all the Panther Platoon, and also the most disliked by his peers.
Encased in a dark gold suit of ornamental metal, his feline distinction is evidenced mostly by the perking ears forged into his visor. Out of all the Panthera his countenance is the most stately. Though his unhinged nature is anything but.


He was just reassembling his plasma onyx sphere when the whole installation binding it came tumbling down thither and hither, pieces of scrap and molten blobs of neuro plasma besmirching his desk. Infuriating – this was the last straw -- Hyperiax was going to give his leering colleagues a piece of mind.

"Skra skra.. trash! TRAAASH!
Where is the psychotropic Stygian spectrum of Hades?
Why haven't I gotten it?
And where… Skra! Pray where… Where is the damnable skra skra.. writ of Hermes?’’
Hyperiax slams his gold clawed fist on his desk, hitting a stray blob of plasma and splattering slimy droplets across the room.
‘’Transmit to Aether to kill those SNEAKING humies FASTER."

Gentle Raeditorious Strato-Jones was addressed during the first part of Hyperiax' irate scolding, as he was previously sent to the Underworld. He was made to withdraw in part to the spray employed on him as he deigned to approach the extremities of Hades’ realm.
He was waiting for his Extra-ascendent to stop monologuing before he could finally stammer his defense:
"Hades is so hecking mean Extra-ascendent! He just wouldn't let me near the stygian core spectrum last time I was dollypandering and philandering his resort. Makes me sad!"
Raeditorious is the only cat that actually looks the part, rather than being some chimeric anthropomorphic cyborg construction as most of the Panthera are – He is instead lite, with fuzzy red fur and appears to others in the flesh, despite being mostly seated in a large hoverboard – however none of its machinery is integrated to his organic matter and he could at will disembark.

The Extra-ascendant flat-out ignores him as he turns to a different monitor.
‘’Computer X1.Z -- initiate the femto-clarion astrolabe! Taze the Aether for a transmission immediately!’’
The software duly complies and sends a notification to the Grand Aether. Surprisingly it took only seconds before the Hephaestean workshop received a response, which read as follows:

The villages:
-Eznaret.
-Deucalet.
-Saphe.
-Terraret.
-Cobolo.
Duly secured. All fibers eradicated. No trace of Olympian make.
Human fatalities: 3086
Now advancing south-westward on villages Sizhe, Lonville, Rivens and others.
Transmission complete.
The Grand Aether


No trace of Olympian make’…
The most upsetting detail to appear on his screen and Hyperiax clenches his clawed fist reading it. He hisses.
‘’Much of this would've been averted.. skra.. if Hades would permit us entry to his nether tricolor Stygian complex hardware magimajick heehree skra!
AND IF HERMES WASN’T A FIFTH COLUMNIST.’’
A wild accusation to be sure, but one readily taken for true in these confines.

Weighing the possibilities and future approaches, drawbacks and hypotheticals, the Extra-ascendent grows more unhinged with the second. His mind spinning so fast that he barely manages to finish a sentence before his words devolve, as they so sporadically do, to maniacal ticks and inane muttering.
‘’Skra skra heehehehehe.. I shall inject more plasma ether into the homerian tetrachromic vessels.. and unloose the hyper quantum voltage reserves to scan the whole province if need be. Yes. That is what I will do!
Meanwhile -- Unleash the next batch of Chimera.. and send XAVICULUS BROWN to Hades with a NEW proposal. The sooner we obtain the software, the faster we can advance to the next step.
In the guise of bargain he will forage intel and copy Stygian core data to the portable plasma floppy that I will duly provide.’’

Having overheard his summons, Xaviculus’ vessel hoists itself from his workbench with a cumbersome creak to trod reluctantly towards Hyperiax.
Xaviculus Brown similarly to his Extra-ascendent is wholly encased in metal. But unlike the shimmering dark and gold polished surface of his superior, Xaviculus’ suit is weathered, dusted and rusted. His overall model stout, hunched and squat. His visor has two bulbous iron eyes which is the only real allusion to a cat-like design.


With a hoarse monotone voice he asks:
‘’And how vill I convince the Stygians to let me access zhe data on .a floppy disc?’’
‘’Skra! Trash!’’ Hyperiax screams aloud, perhaps moreso directed at himself than Xaviculus.
‘’Inserting the plasma floppy into the system… …you foretell either Hades or his lickspittles, it is part of maintenance to update Hades’ security apparatus... While simultaneously modifying it to accommodate the feline algorithm! Skra skra!"

Raeditorious applauds his Extra-ascendent’s bold plan, slapping his two front paws in attempted clapping. The paw pads muffle the sound of each clap and thereby his applause goes unacknowledged.
"That's hecking chonkers, Hyperiax! I could’ve never thought of it."

‘’Verry vell, if you decree so Extra-ascendent. Shall I bring a gieft?’’
‘’Yes. Deodorant so that you won’t have to smell his fetid corpses!’’ Everyone in the room chuckled.



THE HEREAN PALACE COMPLEX

The day of old Zeus’ death
_____________________________________________________


A photographic portrait of Hera, a gift of Olympus, hangs triumphantly in the great hall of the Herean palace as one of their most prized relics. Such vivid realistic imagery, as though a window into a timeless world, astounds even the mortal royals. A reminder that only the magic of Olympus enables such wonder. While scribes and dignitaries of the Herean presidency scuttle about in a honeycomb-resembling complex of palace chambers -- going upwards into hundreds of distinct palace floors -- so too does the palace’s domain penetrate into the crust of the planet deep underground. Several of the deepest floors were ordained property of the Royal Cult of Hebe. But perhaps most importantly, one of them was the location of Thaumaturgist Felix’ laboratorium. The place of Magic.

Among the Palace’s visitors that day was the Hierophant Bartolomeu Ian, the counterpart of President Mickon’s worldly authority. Having paid his respect to the portrait of Hera, the Hierophant was to be transported to the deepest section of the building by elevator to link up with the other Hebites.

Elevator? Indeed; an ancient innovation that mortals today have no know-how of managing in its original form. But allegedly it was a self-moving mode of transportation. Today, however, the elevator functions through the tedious toiling of servants propelling it up and down by hand and pulley. For the Herean Palace is such a colossal building that moving from one side to another by stairs alone would leave any save the most durable athlete morbidly exhausted.

Palace Underground, Lair of the Hebite Caste


In deep contemplation Felix read the writ placed in his hands over and over, inspecting each side. Then he held it against a lamp – looking for hidden marks, perhaps coded language. None; the message was plain and concise as day. So focused was he in his frantic analysis that even the noise of heavy pounding footsteps walking down the brittle wooden stairs wasn’t enough to disrupt his attention. Down from those stairs leading to the door opening appeared Bartolomeu, a large, dark-blonde bearded man of tanned complexion. His tallness and imposing stature was already betrayed by the tremor of his approach. His large frame was draped in ornate blue robes with floral motifs and the ouroboros crest sewn large to the robe’s back, indicative of his high religious authority.

"Mega Khaire, Hierophant." The gaunt man spoke without so much as turning his head since he could identify the person entering by their footsteps alone. Felix’ gaze remained icily fixed on the fumbled parchment in his hands.

His appearance stood in stark contrast to that of Bartolomeu’s, for Felix was short, skinny and of a sickly pallor. This in spite of his physical longevity and enduring health. He donned a dark coat with the occasional satchels of tools strapped to it, and a brass engine perforated into his shoulders that supplied the man with the nutrients to stay alive and hale for as long as he had.

‘’Thaumaturgist Felix, you requested for me with utmost urgency? I trust it is as important as you made it seem. The caste had been called for an important assignment. The late King’s widow is concerned about her longevity and seeks the Goddess's blessing. So I ask you keep it terse.’’

The bearded man’s voice reverberated into the laboratorium as he dispassionately lit up a cigar.

‘’Yes... Urgency... You'll find this too is in the context of late Kings. My crow Chimera from the Hephaestean workshop picked up this message, and on it is… an announcement, let’s say.’’
Felix cracked a reassuring smile.
‘’You may find it’s potentially the greatest news we’ve had in decades.’’

The Hierophant, already impatient that the Thaumaturgist wasn’t getting to the point, took a puff of the cigar before motioning his hand at him. ‘’Get on with it. Show me that little paper.’’
The Thaumaturgist cautiously held out the paper message to the Hierophant, who snatched it and raised it before his eyes. His expression quickly darkened upon reading the first few lines.

_______________________
BY DECREE OF THE LORD OF OLYMPUS

The Highest, King of the Gods, Father of All:
ZEUS

Let it be known that Zeus is dead. His rightful Heir – forever may he rule – has succeeded him to the divine name and mantle of Zeus.

Hephaestus, God of Engineers, is formally invited to a gathering of the High Pantheon at Zeus’ palace in Mount Olympus, on the noon of the day following receipt of this note. Zeus will accept oaths of fealty, and make the first announcements of his reign.

Signed, Zelos
Majordomo of the Highest Palace, Servant of Zeus Almighty
___


Felix reacted with a satisfied smirk.
‘’Before you ask; no, it’s not falsified. The King of the Gods himself has truly finally succumbed. T’is a mighty blow to Olympus. Their whole power structure destabilized. This death brings us one step closer to—‘’
‘’You called this the greatest news in decades?!’’ The High Priest yelled, thundering through the underground lair. The cigar fell from his mouth. ‘’Are you at wit’s end? This is cataclysmic news! Terrifying news! Civilization as we know it may well end!’’
Not having anticipated this reaction from the Hierophant, Felix stammered:
‘’B-but there is a new Zeus. He dons the same name and identity. Surely that means Olympus has no intention of making sudden unanticipated changes. While simultaneously its control is assumed by an inept, inexperienced greenhorn. This should be good for us all around--’’
The Hierophant barked, ‘’Since when do High Pantheonist gods die? What does that mean? Zeus is supposed to be centuries older than even you! And who is this successor? Another Zeus? How do you know of his ineptitude, or inexperience? It seems to me this new king will only be more robust, and harder to influence than the last. ’’
The Hierophant angrily crushed the dropped cigar under his foot. Smoldering grey ashes were stamped to the concrete floor. ‘’This is a setback.. a setback detrimental to our influence sphere…’’

‘’Hear hear. All is not yet lost. Hebe Dia is in Olympus right now, doubtless she has received much the same news as we covertly have. We need to trust in her ability to gain New Zeus’ special favor.’’
‘’Hebe Dia is a gullible bimbo. That daft girl isn’t going to do anything without our direction. Gah!’’
The priest kicked against a lab stool, crashing it to the floor. The Thaumaturgist became increasingly worried that the Hierophant might combust into a full-blown rampage at this pace. He never saw Bartomoleu lose his cool like this. Under sufficient weight and pressure a whole different side, unknown even to him, had been revealed.

A long, tense silence filled the subterranean air. Collecting himself, Bartolomeu lit up a second cigar and let out a concentrated puff of smoke through his nostrils. Then he took a second glance at the message, while further fumbling it between his fingers.

Breaking the silence, he asked with a bit more composure: "Where is Chaos? Doubtless he had access to this news from Olympus itself. We must keep this note hidden from him. Nay, destroy it immediately. Or it will be us on the thunder block next.’’ The Hierophant crumpled the piece of parchment, preparing to burn it to ashes using his lighter. But Felix interjects:
"No, give it to me. Their advanced thaumaturgy might be able to undo the flame's work and reconstruct the ashes. We need to dissolve it to be sure.’’
The Hierophant threw the crump of paper at him. Felix placed it on his desk while gathering up the materials to brew a powerful acid concoction.
‘’You wager Chaos is on his way to Olympus as we speak?’’ The Hierophant asked.
‘’No, we talked this morning. The sole thing on his mind was the outfitting of the Palace Regiment. Apparently some of the equipment went missing. He’s not the type to let that slide. That Chaos... He's both our strongest asset, and our greatest threat. I tried to cozy up to him before, but that man will never afford you the time of day…

...I do wonder what he is up to right now."


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
CHAOS

Later on the same day of Zeus' death.


A gold evening star shone over the village of Axavil, washing the hamlet in a fiery glowing hue. This was a rustic, agrarian hamlet that oversaw much of essential sweet potato produce and dairy from livestock in the rolling southern regions of the Herean domain. Because it was essential for the President to exercise direct influence in this area, many of the locals were enlisted, or outright levied, to the Royal household. Not just suppliers of food, but manpower.
An old retired veteran, carrying scars as medals from skirmishes with the nation across the channel, soaked in the sunlight on his scarred face in the twilight years of his life.

The old man sat in a wheelchair on the porch of his concrete manor, for his legs that had once endured many brutal marches could no longer sustain his growing pot belly. And with a satisfied smirk the veteran looked over his seasonal yield, (part of which doubtlessly disappeared into said belly) where the serfs were finishing up hauling in the harvest. The old man was loaned this farmland from the President, to whom he was obligated to turn over an annual tribute of produce.
As befitted a former soldier, he was committed to continue serving the Golden Office even in retirement. All around he remained in good standing with the elite of this realm and a devoted servant of the gods. Therefore it came as a surprise to have an unsuspected visitor dawning on his estate from on high.

Wrapped in a flaming cloak a slow comet, like tumbling fireworks, descended near his farmland in clear view of his manor. In the twilight sky its flaming presence was initially perfectly camouflaged in the fiery glow of that evening.
But with a soft reverberating tremor following from its landing, the whole of Axavil could sense the arrival. To those who knew what it meant, the foreboding it filled them with instantly made them withdraw into their homes for an early conclusion to their workday.
Once the smoldering fire dissipated, a figure emerged: a man, majestic and dark, with long dark braided hair, intense and black flashing eyes and heavy brows, and clothed in gaudy metal plates paired with deep red swirling wraps of robe.
Without ever blinking, the fiery man's eyes locked on that of the old man sitting motionless and bemused on his porch. The old man understood immediately that this was an Olympian, perhaps even a god. And with this realization dawning on him, the old man promptly raised a gnarled fist to beat his chest in salute, and raised his chin: "Salvé Olympus!"
No response came from the Olympian as he trod ominously quiet towards the porch. Until, with a sudden leap, launched himself on top of it. One could tell he wasn’t a mere man. His presence felt profound. It felt majestic. The Old man had but seconds to take it in, before the Olympian cut straight towards the purpose of his visit.

"One Augmented lightning lance -- absent from the Holy Warband Arsenal," he spoke with a deep, toplofty voice in which subtle silent fury was traceable. "It is within your premises."
The old man reacts only in confusion. "What're youse onto, grande sonne of Olympus? I had returnede mine Lance faithfully as I also relinquished mine service, as ordained by the God's Heraldion. "
"The Old Man lies." The Olympian curtly replied.
"Chaos knows it is in the Old Man’s possession still. The Old Man will explain himself, and this time truly return what is due."
The old man genuinely didn’t know. All he did was shake his head and gawk and fluster before the Olympian, and from impatience Chaos hurled his boot towards the bottom of his wheelchair with such force that the vehicle flipped and the poor man was sent tumbling meters away on the ground.
With a pained cry and tumultuous crash of floorboarding giving way, onlookers from inside the manor rush to the scene. One of them, most boldly of all.

"Leave my father alone, scum! I will end you!’’
A young adult man appeared in the door opening holding aloft an arcane weapon -- a metal lance with a bright glowing tip – which he pointed at Chaos.
Chaos raised an amused eyebrow at such brazen threat from a mortal.
"There it is." The Olympian curtly spoke, nodding at the young man's lance.
It was not the old man, but rather his son who committed the treasonous act of seizing Olympian craft .
"I begge your mercy, holy Olympian," the old man groaned from the ground, trying to get up -- failing. "The scamp.. He dunnet know... Dunnet understand anyfin..."
"Chaos is not moved by pleas, and would bid the old man conduct himself as a soldier. The dance of death that the soldier’s life entails never ends. No, the dance of death, it ends with Chaos!’’
Having spoken those (edgy) words the Olympian twitched his index and middle finger, and immediately a jolt of lightning flashed at the son.
Spastically the young man dropped, helplessly like a sack of potatoes, as Chaos trod toward him to wrest the lance from his unworthy clutches.

Taking hold of it, Chaos began to hoist it up, but the son did not let go. A death grip clenched the weapon's hilt in his hands.
Then with a desperate defiance, the son triggered a burst of lightning to issue from the tip of the lance, barely scraping past Chaos and with deafening noise obliterating the roof of the porch.
Smoldering ash, splinters and timber came tumbling in crushed fragments around them.
"…Such is the power of the Lightning Lance. Too much for undeserving mortals – mortals, as the old man’s son." He commented, shaking his head.

Then the Olympian planted his metal-tipped boot on the young man’s chest while holding aloft a different augmented weapon of Olympian make, resembling a metallic, glowing dagger. Upon activating, it flashed brightly.
In the next second both the young man’s arms were severed – the stench of seared flesh permeating the air. Their grip on the lance finally loosened. Even as the young man screamed in gnawing agony, Chaos’ black eyes showed nothing. His mouth curved slightly into a dark smile.
This time the ruckus caused the serfs working in the field to be drawn to the scene as well. But the moment that they spotted Chaos, the majority wisely scurried to get away as quickly as they’d come.
From severed hands on which the lance now rested, Chaos finally retrieved the sacred weapon for which he came all this way.
As he prepared to leave he had half a mind to leave the crippled man in this sorry state. Truly this young upstart was deserving of the most capital of punishments; however, not every mere mortal should be bothered to afford such time and attention. Olympus was over encumbered with trivialities as it was.

Turning his head at the young man, who lay burned, panting and snarling like an angry wounded animal, Chaos had a final epiphany.
"A man without hands... Worthless such a man is, to himself and to his commune. Chaos will bestow the man one favor, undeserving of it as the man may be."
And with those words followed by another flash, Chaos put him cruelly to death. His family could do nothing but watch. His sisters wept, and the father was defeated, crushed, laying on the ground.
‘’Kill me too, ye gods…’’
‘’Hrm.’’ Chaos contemplated.
‘’The father is pardoned for the mischief of the son. The son was a soldier, but the son broke his vows, and paid the due price. Death is the one thing that redeems the son’s guilt. Let the father take heart, and let him not this transgression be repeated.’’
With those words Chaos retracted his weapon and put it under his cloak. He turned, and departed in a blaze of fire. Off… to Olympus. The Majordomo had summoned him.

&

_______________________________________________________________________
INTO THE BELLY OF THE CAT

_______________________________________________________________________


Beneath the surface – amid cyclopean walls – the great Felis gate rises. A marvel of chthonic-cosmonautical innovation. Unbreachable, it it said.
This gate is located at the far end of the Hyphaestean Labyrinth. Only a master pathfinder could have found their way through its many trials, only to have their victorious trailblazing abruptly cut short by the looming anti-climax that is the Great Felis Gate, the deadends of deadends.
The gash in the dark copper hued great gate, covered in a thin patina of corrosion, has been welded permanently shut. Sadly, it might as well be another wall. Yet at its base is another much tinier gate -- really a door -- through which a human could maybe pass if they crawled on all fours. That door too is shut however.
Clearly this lair is not designed for human entry. Neither man or god dwells in this abode, but indeed something greater...

Hermes then unceremoniously kicked at the pet-flap with irritation. “Stop ignoring me and get out here, I have a message straight from Zeus. You want to be dramatic about this he is going to light you up until you start puking up balls of solid plasma.”

Hermes' voice echoes in vain against the stalwart might of the impregnable Felis gate.
No response... at first. However the buzzing noise that was previously detectable had ceased on the other side, as though something is disturbed by the presence of the messenger god.

Suddenly with a flash, the empty hall comes to life. Hermes feels elder hypervoltage crackle around him as the walls give off reflective light. Those same cyclopean walls that previously appeared as indistinguishable monoliths reveal a series of perfectly camouflaged plasma flatscreens chiselled into them. Flatscreens indiscernible till the very moment they activate. Indeed, screens in every direction.

Noise came through them, crackling thunder buzzing through their corrosive wires. A crackle almost resembling an unwelcome hiss.
And lo -- projected on the very screens appear the likeness of pixelated heads of a distinct feline quality. A depiction that is colourless and stylized, lacking flare or animation.

"Whosoever deigns disturb my great plasmatic premises? Beware and choose witfully your ensuing words, or be smitten by my translucent thunder!"

The hall of flatscreen and stone trembles with the monotone voice generated from hidden speakers perched ravenlike above the Felis gate. Through its reverberating echoes against the flat walls the origin of the sound is difficult to discern.

"Speak, Hermesian the cawed! Make your appeal before me!"

“The proper usage would have been smote. I realise you have a theme to work into but you sound more like a toddler than anything else.” Hermes remarked, folding both his arms across his chest, the Kerykeion dangling from one hand clamped around one of the twin serpents.

“Also, my self-evident appeal aside, I also bear a message for Hephaestus, god of the litter box, from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on High, with the utmost exigency. Would you like me to crumple it into a ball or shall I swat you with it?”

‘’..The audacity to chafe me with trite grammatical erudition! I’ve already had enough of you. Begone! ‘Ere the lasers.. hrmm.. – SMOTE – you. ‘’

A fell beep is heard, indicating that whoever spoke broke off communication.
Immediately followed by a second beep, where an even more monotone voice continues.
‘’Message conceded.’’

Through a coinslot forged into the Felis gate, a projectile launched towards Hermes’ forehead. Hermes graciously took it straight to his helmeted cranium, only catching it after it had ricocheted off.
“Proper usage then would have been smite.” Hermes declared blatantly. “But enough about your terrible grammar, let’s instead talk about the Majordomo’s!” He then snapped his fingers, and a wide holographic display of the invitation appeared in the air as Hermes read its contents aloud.

BY DECREE OF THE LORD OF OLYMPUS

The Highest, King of the Gods, Father of All:

ZEUS

Let it be known that Zeus is dead. His rightful Heir – forever may he rule – has succeeded him to the divine name and mantle of Zeus.

Hephaestus, God of Engineers, is formally invited to a gathering of the High Pantheon at Zeus’ palace in Mount Olympus, on the noon of the day following receipt of this note. Zeus will accept oaths of fealty, and make the first announcements of his reign.

Signed, Zelos

Majordomo of the Highest Palace, Servant of Zeus Almighty
___


Hermes then flicked his wrist, the coin he had caught vanishing in a sleight of hand and producing the black-and-gold filigree letter that was still displayed in the air. “...So as you may have caught on, the Majordomo did not account for the usage of the term Highest even with a comma might imply the existence of a plurality of Kings of the Gods-” He began to carry on in an academic falsetto.
No reaction came from the screens or from the presence behind the gate. None of the bombastic retorts that might have been expected towards the Messenger’s beratement. Instead, the only reaction at the news was an abrupt stop to the machinery in the room. All screens turned off. All wires disconnected. The whole room went dark.

Silence.

And a faint trembling of uncertain origin behind the gate. However, no words were spoken.
After an uncomfortable minute of silence, a new voice murmured in the dark.
‘’How generous of you, gentlegodly even, to have come all this way to bring us up to speed. Allow us reciprocate and kindly see you out.’’
Then with a foreboding zap of hypervoltage buzzing from somewhere, something had been remotely turned on.
It takes but moments to see what: a piece of wall lowered itself to reveal a colossal ventilator slowly rotating as it catches up to speed, and in mere seconds reaching full capacity. A strong current of wind gusts directly at Hermes as yet another gateway behind him opens up, giving him a quick albeit rude exit shortcut out of the labyrinth.
Hermes let go of the letter, letting it be snatched away by the cyclonic winds and carried without Hephaestus’ lair - and the onrush of air carried with it a hail of particulate and dust that blew into and through the now ever-so-faintly translucent Hermes.

“You really should get this place cleaned more often. Look how all this murk is messing with the optics!” Hermes complained with chiding bitterness. “If you had not tipped I would have some very choice bits and pieces I would yank from that glorified fur-drier of yours on my way out, but I suppose you having to play fetch is enough. I will be seeing you at Olympus, and I promise to try not to drop-kick you off the mountain. Ta.”

Hermes’ projection then faded out, translucency sweeping across the edges of his image until nothing was left. That damnable messenger always has a trick up his sleeve – how infuriating! Now Coeus would have to send one of his bird chimeras to fetch that stupid note and destroy it quickly, lest anyone reads it.
Right now Hephaestus had more urgent matters to concern himself with than one turbulent postal boy… He had to leave his lair for the first time in a hundred years…

Finally finished Hebe's sheet. I shall now withhold the temptation of making another god ..since two is more than enough!
(I fulfilled my vow)


<Snipped quote by Grijs>

>As I told Cyclone, it's because I want to mostly. That and I started doing it when I rejoined, so I might as well be consistent with it's use.


That's fair. At this point it would be more weird if you suddenly stopped doing it
<Snipped quote by Terminal>

>If the World of Darkness has taught me anything, it's that nothing is ever so simple or so easy. Especially not when a position of power is involved.


Entirely off-topic but I have to ask out of curiosity:
What's the reason you are emulating 4chan threads? Green text & starting with > (used generally for third-person reaction to the OP)
Seems a bit strange to me.
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