Pythia — A Satyr King's Funeral

“I suppose we’ll see how true that really is, won’t we?” The air of disbelief that caught the edge of each word as purposeful as ever, hues of near obsidian eyeing the wolf as if she wasn’t entirely certain that he wouldn’t bend the knee so readily. “Perhaps you’ll yet surprise me.” Though, she wouldn’t hold a proverbial breath. Useful, he claimed, and she had to wonder exactly where he found such use in the lead of a man none of them could truly know. Torture and callous treatment could change the very molecules of a man; of a creature among them. “My point is, that nothing happens in Rome that isn’t premeditated. Do you believe that your new alpha escaping the clutches of the eye just in time for your little wolf-fest is little more than coincidence?” She didn’t expect such a thought to sink beyond surface level, in truth - she wanted to find out exactly where the former alpha stood. Their alliance with the fey a rather tricky thing to navigate. “You pander to all that must be hard won, instead of seeking the path of least resistance. The hearts of changelings, no?”

fxllenpythia​:

“Don’t you?” A meandered response that truly held no weight - and yet, one in which she intended to make the former alpha consider. A leader didn’t fall without losing out on a future they’d envisioned. Change was as much a poison as it was the gift of freedom, it simply depended on which vein it fled to first. “Is this what you imagined the future of the Arno pack would be? Barking at the heels of the eye’s bitch boy?” Truly - she hadn’t yet discovered what methods had been used on the Lupo’s newly crowned alpha, but she had no doubt that they’d certainly made some effort to wield him to their own benefit. Whatever seeds of which she could plant; she would. “And an alliance with the fey?” Her tongue clicked against her teeth sharply as she turned a haphazard glance in his direction, “It’s certainly… questionable.”

Don’t you? Serkan made no reaction to the question. Whatever plans he had were tossed out the window the moment he had been defeated. If he wanted to do anything now, it would have to be planned very precisely. He was loyal to his pack and always would be regardless of leadership. The Wolf had hardly ever been one, only taking up the mantle because of circumstance. If Ermes had ever defeated him, he would have given up the spot, but he doubted the same respect would have been given as it was to Alek. Which was why he was quick to respond. “I don’t bark at the heels of anyone.” He would follow the new Alpha, but he would not blindly follow anyone. Every decision he made was going to be thought out from now on. “I only align myself with people that are useful. For now, they are useful.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug to cement his point, hands falling into his pockets. “Are you going to just circle around your point?”

end/.

          Astaroth understood the ire she was plagued by, perhaps far too well, his wings willingly plucked from his back, a fall that he took gracefully. Ulthar wished for them to be submissive minions who bowed at those lesser than them, and though Roth understood, he could not join Leviathan on their plight. Much like he could not join forces with Uriel and Michael, pervade this same damning cycle as their kind continued to be destroyed in the process. No longer was she a fallen seraphim, branded a greater demon and corrupted by the Inferno, Leviathan was almost unrecognizable, save for the meddling spark in their eyes. Lucifer sparked the war, Ulthar’s most beautiful angel, and Leviathan was quick to come up second, a great warrior condemned to be twisted apart in the depths of the Inferno. He’d not join her, but oh could he understand their rage. Roth smirked, a subtle quirk of their lips before nodding in amusement, “I shall do just that.” Roth stopped for a moment, softly, “I hope you come to get everything you’ve wanted; that sliver. I hope it’s worth it.” Soon after, he was gone.

"You doubt me too much, Levent." An inevitable venture of those who had yet to take full advantage of the book holding tightly to their souls. Lucretia, August - even Bastien, and a greater number of them the world over, had taken what was owed for the price of their soul. While others lingered in wait - as if time itself would merely offer gratuitous earnings and she's quickly reminded of the audacity of mortals. "Do you think I haven't considered every outcome? Every possible path that could break? You doubt these so-called, fail-safes, yet not once have you asked the correct questions. You have little fail-safes in place, I have thought of them all."

Levent had weaved his songs of blood and nightmares all around them. It was for their own good, they'd said. Pythia had brought him away from the light so many centuries ago, that now it seemed irrelevant. Part of him wished he had been cut off completely; a drow, easier raised than watching the plans of his own design come forth. "No one is saying I'm tapping out," he couldn't lie, anyway, but his frustrations were always too clear. He thought the resting bitch face would help. Arys, his original name, the one he hid away, felt like weight upon his tongue. His clairvoyance, however, filled him with impending dread. "We have little fail-safes in place, Pythia."

BENSU SORAL   | 1.02  －  Tuzak

"Honestly," hues shift over the silver tray she carries, "i couldn't tell you, some kind of nectar, i think? I don't seem to be making it too far before it's all gone so it must be good." To which, the tray would then suddenly be refilled. "Would you like one? It's been a while since I've seen you." Something that had always stuck with the sovereign, even now, she lived as a phantom of her own coven.

who? @fxllenpythia where? near the food

"What are you carrying, Sovereign Pythia?" She asks as she approaches Asphodel's sovereign. It's odd really, for a long moment she had almost thought that she was from Alstroemeria, but if she was, why would she had ever left the coven? Clearly the drinks are beginning to get to her head.

The presence of another seraphim breeching the otherworld didn’t surpass observation. The subtle feeling that lingered somewhere within the very marrow of her bones as he approached quickly subdued as creatures among them alerted her all the same. He was hers - to torment for however many eternities would allow them, and beyond the reproach of Michael himself, none other dared to wander too close. For whatever fate he may bring down upon them, or to avoid her own wrath; it didn’t matter. He wasn’t welcomed so much as he was lured further into the realm that now belonged to Ayi’ing and Pythia now. Shadows of the forest held her within cold embrace as she watched him call out. Repent the name in which he deserted her so easily, an embodiment that suffered the betrayal of those so willing to cast aside their own brethren for the creation of mortals. “I was wondering when I might next be seeing you, Michael.” Her voice sounds from all directions, an echo that surpasses being as she materialized some feet away from him, “Always so bold. Do excuse the mess, we’re still... renovating.” 

@fxllenpythia​ location: The Otherworld notes: sibling talks

It was foolish to tread so close to Pythia’s temple, to the spires of necromanteion that the aspect knew to be just beyond his reach. This was the Asphodel’s territory, shared with and saddled next to the court of Drow that had come to take over. Beneath his feet Michael could feel the magic of this realm waning, felt it crying out as the drow pillaged the world of the unseen. Michael had been made from the cosmos, crafted for the mortal world, he did not know what sort of repercussions these efforts could have, only that there would be. Still, that was not the purpose for his venture, he’d failed Pythia once - Lucifer along with the others. If he’d been more adamant, or more understanding, perhaps there might have been a way to persuade them. At the time Michael had only seen their treachery, if he had any hope of saving this realm he would need to persuade them to step down, or stop them for good. “Leviathan!” Michael called out into the pitch of the forest, “I know you’re there.” He said, quieter this time. 

@lulucretias

"To deadbeat fathers," she laughed manically, the toast neither served within wine glass, nor bottle, but the cage that she drew across the room, filled with druids captured upon the battlefield. Broken, contoured, but alive. "Perhaps you should throw Octavian into the river too," a look of distaste crossed her features fleetingly, as if reliving the memory of something truly disgusting, "I'd have liked to have ended that twink much sooner."

One moment, she stands before Vitoria, and the next tendrils of smoke carry her to the alcove the Narcissus once sat. There are a great many followers - or those soon to be, that Pythia listens to, eavesdropping for tidbits of information that would otherwise make it all the easier to twist them to her bidding. It hasn't gone amiss, that Vitoria, like her mother before her, is seeking more information on the world of blood magic. "You continue your search for knowledge," she smirks, all warmth and endearment as she pats the alcove beside her. "Yet you seek it out in the wrong places." Of course, she talks of the Amaranthus - those who may know the touch that blood magic can offer, but never the true gift of it. "You're on the verge of offending me, dear Vitoria. I thought we were friends."

who? @fxllenpythia where? the museum, staff area

There is a little alcove, hidden on the staff area of the museum, that Vee likes for it's emptiness. Hard to find, it is rarely inhabited, so she takes to taking naps or breaks on it when everything becomes too much. With Kaan gone, so it's one of her safety needs, and there is a suspicion raising on her chest that she does not want to acknowledge. So she doesn't, blinding herself willingly in this matter as she looks at the ceiling and exhales. She has time before anyone needs her, so she is considering sleeping, when a chillingly familiar presence approaches her. It is almost like welcoming an old friend, like seeing family after a long time.

Vitória has heard Pythia's voice ever since she was a child, the murmurs encouraging on her exploration of blood magic, their present constant at the back of her head.

Recognizing them it's easy, what comes after? Not so much.

"What do I owe this pleasure to?" She questions, standing up as graceful as she can manage and offering the Archfiend a bow of respect.

@bloodxlevent

"I can all but hear your frustrations, Levent." Pythia's voice echoed the room, as though they were everywhere, and nowhere all at once. Just as they had eyes in all places. Though his devotion certainly hadn't sought to fail, there was undoubtedly something keeping him at bay. "You've certainly missed the opportunity to tap out," as if the punishment brought down upon Kaan was an indication at all, "but you might as well have your say now, so I can figure out what to do with you now."