Realistic or Modern IMMORTALS IC [ Old Gods. New World. ]

[Blu]

Based on Project MYTH by Hexagon

What do all gods want? To be worshiped. To be recognized. To be immortalized.

A long time ago this was true for the polytheistic gods of the various pantheons of the world. They were the sovereign of man's soul, the very forces of nature itself, but those days are long gone. Their place in the world diminished, only to be replaced by more powerful beliefs. The numerous gods were divided into two factions: the Old World Gods and the New World Gods. Those of the old world fell from grace, their powers weakened as their worshipers became less and less. The earth was inherited by the gods of the new age who have reign uncontested to this very day.

Fast forward to the year 2007: the Old World Gods walk among us, in the guise of mortal men and women. Some have made peace with their place in the new world and are content to live out lives of quiet leisure. While some crave to be acknowledged once more by mankind. Their presence on Earth was soon discovered by the world's governments who promised them a chance at redemption—to have a place in the hearts of men once more.

Project MYTH was the brainchild of the United Nations: an idea of gathering the gods residing on Earth and unifying them in order to make the world a better place for all, whether that meant fighting terrorism or saving innocent lives from disasters of varying degrees. Under the condition that the gods do these things in secrecy to prevent worldwide hysteria and panic, the U.N. in return spread the gods' propaganda, ensuring their worshipers won't disappear completely and perhaps even gaining them new followers.

Project MYTH resulted in the establishment of the World Pantheon Coalition (W.P.C.), the official governing body that resides over the gods and tracks their whereabouts. Some New World Gods eventually joined the W.P.C. in administrative positions to ensure that their Old World counterparts won't become a threat to humanity, which, in turn, will threaten their own livelihoods. Headquarters were set up all over the world including Rome, Beijing, Dublin, Tokyo, Cairo, Stockholm, Jerusalem, and the main headquarters located in Washington D.C. The very first headquarters to be built located in Athens has been repurposed to be used only in emergencies.

The world enjoyed peace and tranquility under the watchful eyes of the W.P.C. but things changed drastically in 2014. In a matter of months, various disasters broke out in the world. The first event saw the rise of a new terrorist organization more powerful and resourceful than any seen before in history. Their influence is widespread and they grow stronger with every passing day. The second event saw a massive war breaking out between the many countries of the Middle East that is ongoing to this very day, 4 years later. The third event saw a dramatic increase in famine in areas of Egypt, the Middle East, and some parts of Asia. The fourth and final event in the series was the most bizarre: the sudden, unexplainable deaths of many Old World Gods.

As if to taunt the W.P.C., the severed head of Hermes was anonymously delivered to the Washington headquarters in a box along with a letter containing only a symbolic image never before seen by the organization: seven interlocking rings forming a circle with the top four rings having "X"'s crossed through them. Something grim is coming their way, and it even has the New World Gods fearful of the possibilities. The current year is 2018, and the W.P.C. is still investigating the strange occurrences of 4 years prior along with the symbolic image they received. Old World God or New, they will need to band together if they are to survive what's to come. Or will this sea-change prove to be the opportunity some of the Old World Gods waited so long for, to seize control of the world stage and be immortalized once more like the days of old?​

Old Gods. New World.

​

 

[Blu]

"Egypt," the red dot of a laser pointer stops at said location on a world map projected onto a white screen. "Sudan," the red dot moves there next. "Saudi Arabia," and so on. "Iran." A balding man in a white coat and glasses puts the laser pointer at his side and looks to the panel of suits in front of him. They sit around a long, wooden table—Cherry, to be precise. They sit quietly; the shadows of the dim room masking their features. Finally, one man breaks the silence: a tall Indian man, sharply dressed and possessing strong features.

"And what exactly are we looking at?" He questions. His voice is deep and rich with just a hint of an accent of his native tongue.

"Tracing the course of the events that took place four years ago, we've narrowed down these general areas as the points of origin for each event. Furthermore," the man in the white coat grabs something out of the file next to him, "you all are familiar with this?" He holds up a piece of paper with a strange symbol on it: seven rings interlocked into a circle with the top four rings having the letter "X" crossed through them. This paper is not the original but a copy.

"It was sent to us along with Hermes' head." The Indian man states.

"Right. At first we thought it was some kind of calling card. But, look at this." The man in the white coat turns the piece of paper upside down and places it on the map projection. The four rings with crosses line up with the areas the man mentioned earlier. "It took us some time to trace the origin points but now that we have them, they can show us what this 'symbol' really is: it's a map of the events four years prior." A grin forms on his face as he says it.

"There's three more rings." An older woman says.

The man in white turns around. "Right you are. Israel, Rome, and Turkey. The remaining rings fall on these countries."

"We haven't seen a new event in the last four years. How can you be sure of any of this?" The woman asks.

"I'm not. But it's the best explanation we have."

"It's not just a map." The Indian man speaks up, his eyes fixated on the symbol while he strokes his beard.

"Shiva, Sir?" The man in white asks for clarification.

"It's an invitation. 'Try and stop me'." The Indian man—Shiva—stands up from his chair and adjusts his suit before walking towards the door. "Call them in."

"Who?" Someone from the table asks.

"All the old gods you can find." Shiva pauses at the door to say before finally leaving the room. Zooming out of the room and into the corridor then into the wing and on and on until reaching the exterior of the facility, it is now apparent that this is a massive building in the shape of a six-pointed star. Many government buildings surround it, hiding it from plain sight. Several blocks away, an iconic landmark can be seen: the White House. This building of stone, glass, and steel is the main headquarters of the World Pantheon Coalition, located in Washington D.C.

 

[Blu]

Location: ???​

Elias Carter
aka Morpheus - God of Dreams​

Do the gods dream? And if so, what would they dream about? I've pondered that for the longest time. So, one day I was curious. And I peeked into the dream of a god. And what I found was absolutely... unremarkable. They lord themselves over mortal men and yet in the seascape of the dreaming realm, their minds produce the same cacophonous white noise. Nebulous manifestations of desires and anxieties. And that's when the realization turned to bitter ash in my mouth. If we, too, can dream, does that mean one day we'll...

Space. Vast, white, empty space that extends to infinity. A man dressed entirely in white clothing paces this space. He is well-lit and casts a single shadow—his only friend in this empty, incandescent void. In the waking world, this man goes by the name of Elias Carter, but in this dreamscape—in his domain—he is Morpheus, the god of dreams. His seemingly aimless wandering brings him to an antique phonograph record player atop a marble and mahogany pedestal. The single record begins to play on its own.

‹ BGM: Mr. Sandman ›​

Morpheus closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he is now surrounded by millions of people dressed entirely in white talking to one another at the same time, creating a chorus of chaotic, indiscernible speech. Despite the chorus of chaos, Morpheus can tell what each person is saying: they are describing in full detail their individual dreams. Each person surrounding Morpheus is, in reality, asleep and dreaming. He turns his head to an old woman and tunes out the rest of the noise. "I'm dreaming that my late husband, Phillip, is still with me to enjoy the company of our newborn grandson, Kyle. Phillip is talking softly to Kyle and smiling in joy. I'm by the fireplace, sitting in my favorite high chair watching them-" Without so much as a change in facial expression, Morpheus turns his head back forward and the chorus of chaos resumes.

What happens next is a montage of Morpheus examining the dreams of various individuals like he did with the old woman. "I'm dreaming I'm a knight fighting a giant fire-breathing giraffe," "I'm dreaming of drowning in a great green ocean," "I'm dreaming about sexual intercourse with a famous porn star," Noise, noise, and more noise. Then, a single utterance grasps Morpheus' attention as the record distorts and fades to mute. "Help... me..." He looks into the distance and sees a man bleeding in his white clothes. This is no normal dream. The chorus tunes out and Morpheus snaps his fingers. The dreamscape around him transforms into a dark environment with an armada of thundering clouds above. A man lays bleeding on the ground in front of him. "H-Help... me..." He knows this man. "Hermes...?" Morpheus utters in confusion at the scene. Then, behind the bleeding man forms a dark figure that Morpheus is unable to make out in detail.

Holding what appears to be a formless sword to the sky, the dark figure brutally decapitates the bleeding man, sending a splash of crimson blood onto Morpheus' white clothing. The god of dreams is both visibly shocked and momentarily speechless. He proceeds to shout the name "Hermes" but no sound escapes his lips. Then...

Elias opens his eyes and finds himself on a public bus in Washington DC. He groggily wipes his face and eyes with his right hand. "D'ya had a sweet dream?" Elias looks to the source of the question and sees a young woman sitting in the seat in front of him at the back of the bus; she's his dead mortal lover, Carly. "Define 'sweet'," he says, tired. "Oh ya know: puppies, a field of daisies, dudes gettin' their heads chopped off." "How do you know that?" "Do you still not get how this works, babe? I'm practically living inside that messed up little noggin of yours. I know everything. Everything." She ends her sentence with a sinister little smirk. Elias is quiet at first. "Hermes' been dead for a while, but this dream... It's trying to tell me something new," he says to no one in particular. A few seats forward, a couple of high school students are giving Elias weird looks. "Who the hell is that guy talking to?" "Weirdo."

Sometime later, Elias arrives at his apartment complex: a run down little three-story building that's home to some questionable characters. Not a place that one would imagine a god would call "home". Elias climbs the stairs and heads inside his one-bedroom apartment. The place is a mess. He takes a seat on his old couch and attempts to process what he saw in the dreaming realm concerning Hermes' death. Who could that dark figure be? Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a text notification takes Elias out of his train of thought. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone: a rather cheap, old smart phone. The screen displays a message from an agent of the W.P.C. Elias simply tosses his phone onto the table, ignoring the message completely.

 

[Generic Brooding Antihero]

APOLLO CIRILLO

​

GREEK | CS​

LOCATION: TOKYO, JAPAN
NOTES: Sorry, got a bit long. Just this once, promise!
TAGS:

​

A trail of spotlights went alive one-by-one. The radiant cascade danced around a flock of over fifty-thousand, until they found their home within the figure on-stage. His head was bowed down. His hands rested on his electric guitar -- white as ivory, with strings that glimmered golden under the rush of lights.

The crowd stood still.

The lone man leaned forward. His lips almost kissed the microphone. ‘Hisashiburi, Tokyo!’

His voice echoed across the stadium, and the crowd roared in excitement.

'A.C.! A.C.! A.C.!' They chanted.

He grinned at their welcome. ‘Aitakatta!’ Apollo covered his syllables with a subtle foreign accent, mispronouncing words in the exact way that he knew got on Sabroe's nerves. He turned his gaze to the side, off-stage, where his handler stood.

She had her arms crossed. He looked at her just in time to see her roll her eyes.

It was the closest he’d ever get to gloating. He hadn’t the time for anything else. After all, his people awaited him.

His fingertips danced on the fretboard. The next thing Apollo knew, he was already halfway through the setlist.

The grin never left his face. Apollo was looking down, tuning his guitar for the next song.

Meanwhile, the crowd ignited with energy.

‘A.C.! A.C.! A.C.!’

Just like that, the grin fell away. His pick ran down the strings of his guitar. It sounded wrong. Something sounded wrong.

He listened to the crowd.

‘Come and see! Come and see! Come and see!’

Apollo lifted his head, coming face-to-face with an entirely different audience. They were all clad in white robes, their faces lacking features. No eyes. No noses. No mouths. And still, somehow, they managed to speak.

‘Come and see! Come and see! Come and see!’

He searched the crowd for an answer, eyes landing upon a figure who had their hood pulled down.

Apollo descended the stage. The faceless swarm parted until it was only him and the stranger. Up close, the stranger was unmistakably different from the rest of them. He was dressed in white, yes, but the cut of his cloth suggested neither follower nor champion. Instead, a herald. A messenger.

‘Is it really you?’ As Apollo took a step forward, the other man took a step back. ‘Let me avenge you. All I need is a name.’

The messenger shook his head. He would not speak.

‘What is it, then? Why are you here?’

‘Come and see! Come and see!’ The faceless crowd continued, sounding like the Greek chorus in a long-forgotten tragedy.

Apollo studied his surroundings, but he arrived at nothing. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘Come and see! Come and see!’

'I can't ...' He bit his lip, hesitating, before trying, ‘Would you let me hear it instead?’

The crowd fell silent, seemingly amused. Perhaps they thought to humour him. Their chanting voices were replaced with the ringing sound of metal colliding against metal. To most ears, they all sounded the same; a single source on overdrive. The trained listener, however, would pick up the fine distinctions: The smallest chink on the surface, the lightest engravings, the subtlest changes in the shape of the curve. To Apollo, they all made a world of a difference.

‘Saint Clement’s. Saint Martin’s. Saint Sepulchre...’ Apollo started to mutter under his breath, naming the sources one by one. ‘Saint Sepulchre-without-Newgate, near Old Bailey. The bells of Old Bailey.’

With every word out of his mouth, the faceless crowd took a step forward, took a step closer to the hooded messenger. The ringing of invisible bells died as soon as he was able to name them. But silence had yet to arrive. Apollo had yet to finish.

‘Saint Leonard’s in Shoreditch.’

The crowd dragged their feet across the ground.

‘Saint Dunstan’s on Stepney.’

The crowd now stood within arm’s reach of the messenger. Apollo did not dare continue.

‘One more. One more.’ The crowd chanted, heads slowly turning in Apollo’s direction.

‘I …’ Apollo’s gaze darted between messenger and crowd. ‘I … I do not know.’

‘Say the great bells of Bow!’ The crowd continued for him, giggling among themselves. They moved as one, lunging at the still messenger, tackling him to the ground. The force knocked his hood away, in its wake revealing nothing but empty space.

‘What does this mean?!’ Apollo’s voice broke. ‘Tell me!’

This time, the crowd did not answer. Instead, he heard Hermes’ voice, gentle and sing-song and without a care in the world.

‘Chip, chop, chip, chop.’ His voice was being drowned out by the hungry crowd. ‘You better run before they catch you, brother.’

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Apollo Cirillo Collapses On-stage
30 January 2018 by J. Doe

[div class=textarea]
TOKYO, Japan -- It seems only yesterday that AC was caught in that one Brazilian incident, but as a matter of fact, that was well over a year ago. Time for a new scandal?

The multi-Grammy Award winning star behind Hyacinth, Best Before, and other hits had to prematurely end his show at Nissan Stadium after he passed out in the middle of Forever. Sources report that the singer-songwriter suddenly stopped performing mid-song. He allegedly started muttering incomprehensibly before finally losing consciousness.

Do we sense a new album about a trip to the rehab? We’ll just have to wait and see.

Cirillo’s representatives were unavailable for comment.[/div]
Comments(21)[/div][/div][/div][/div][div class=credit]code/design by Fable [/div][div class=buttonbottom][/div][/div]

Sabroe’s thumb scrolled down the screen. Nothing could quite shake off the sour look on her face. Entertainment news. This was beneath her.

She hated waiting.

Three hours. Apollo had been out cold for three hours. Any longer, and she would genuinely consider dumping a bucket of cold water on him, god or otherwise.

He must have heard her -- that was what she liked to tell herself, at least. A soft groan escaped his lips as his eyes opened, lashes fluttering as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

‘Hey.’ Sabroe tapped his upper arm. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Depends on the context.’ Apollo sat up, rubbing his eyes. ‘Me? Dandy as ever. Everything else?’ He sighed. ‘Well, I don’t know.’

Sabroe took a deep breath. Apollo never admitted to not knowing anything. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I had a vision.'

‘A vision? About what?’

‘A crowd of faces shrouded in white cloaks.’ He could still hear them chanting. Come and see. Come and see. Even now, his understanding felt incomplete, but he shrugged it off for the moment. ‘That, and … and, well, Oranges and Lemons.’

‘Oranges and ... you mean, like the nursery rhyme?’

‘Mmhmm.’

‘I don't follow.’

Apollo let out an exasperated sigh. ‘The church bells; the last few lines. Isn’t it obvious?’ He shook his head, looked at Sabroe as if she was an idiot. ‘A long time ago in London, the ringing of certain Church bells heralded a string of public executions. As the rhyme goes: Here comes a candle to light you to bed; here comes a chopper to chop off your head.’

Hermes' voice rang in his ears.

Chip, chop, chip, chop ...

The creases on her forehead grew deeper. ‘Apollo, what are you trying to say?’

‘Someone’s going to die, Sarah,’ he mumbled. ‘No. Not someone. Not one. A crowd. A crowd of faces shrouded in white cloaks. They’re all going to die.’

She stared at him for a moment, but before she could say anything, her phone started to buzz. 'It's DC,' she said, standing up. 'Sarah Sabroe speaking.' She gestured at him, excusing herself.

Apollo nodded, not wanting to be in anyone's company at the moment. Hermes’ voice refused to leave his head.

... you better run before they catch you, brother.

No, Apollo thought, closing his eyes. No more running.

Good. Because I haven't delivered my last message yet.

'Apollo? Apollo.' The last traces of Hermes' presence faded away to Sabroe's voice. She waved her hand in front of him. 'Are you sure you're okay?'

He only blinked, startled, half-wondering how much time had passed.

The lack of a proper snide response wasn't very reassuring. She placed her phone back in her pocket. 'We need to report to DC, ASAP. Director's orders.'

Still silence.

'Sabroe?'

'Yes?'

'He didn't happen to mention anything about Rome, did he?'

 

[DuckPrince]

Katsumi Kashima || Japanese
Current location: Tokyo, Japan
Interacting: Generic Brooding Antihero

It was just a normal day at first, Katsumi thoughts so, anyway. The morning was ordinary, except for the hype from the biggest concert to plague Tokyo. In fact, Katsumi had gotten a ticket for the concert and took a flight to Tokyo from his current home, Akihabara.

He was rather excited for the concert, in truth. He did enjoy the artist's songs and occasionally listened to them when working commissions. He also knew said artist was a god. It wasn't long that Katsumi found himself where the god was. He leaned against the door outside, arms crossed. "Roma?" He questioned aloud, peering at the door as it was currently closed.

Katsumi might not have any special hearing but he still caught the god's words. Usually, he would feel amusement that a mortal was ordered to keep an eye on a god of all things but it also didn't surprise him, humans lusted power and those that had power were downright assholes he couldn't stand in the slightest. "Is your hear alright?" Katsumi asked, the question itself being not completely ...nice, fishing his phone out as he received a text, a request/order to go to America.. he didn't really want to but oh well. "Hey, if you guys are going, take me with you.." He said to the two.

 

[Daniel Reaving]

Location: Home​

Bjorn

aka Forseti- God of Justice​

​

A light soft music resonated through the rooms of the big cabin. In the next room over a girl stood dusting some old Nordic relics on a table. sighing softly as she worked to clean the relics before she heard a phone echo off from inside the house. Instantly the woman disappeared from her place. Soon reforming in a massive bed room. Quickly she picked up the phone on the night stand and looked at the screen of the phone. Seeing the message she sighed. "Great just when he isn't home." She said before she quickly formed into a tiny bright wisp. swiftly she floated out one of the open widows floating to the front of the house she reformed. "He better be near home or i swear to god." She said before she brought her thumb and middle finger to the sides of her mouth. Taking in a deep breath before she blew hard letting out a loud high pitched whistle that seemed to reach out for miles. Taking her hand away from her mouth she brought it to her hip and scanned the surrounding trees.

Five minuets went past before she was about to give up. Though just before she could head inside the sound of something big echoed through the forest. Massive foot steps that seemed to shake the earth beneath it as it approached the house. The sound of a tree snapping under its weight was heard just before the woman's eyes settled on a massive bear. Bigger than anything you could imagine as it growled softly. Slowly it strolled into view sniffing her and there as it took deep big breaths. "About time you showed up." the woman said to her self as she watched the massive beast strolled into the yard. Soon it came to a stop as it locked its eyes on her. taking a second before it slowly lumbered up onto its hind legs. then it took a deep breath before it let out one loud massive roar. The girl wasn't impressed to say the least. "Oh change back you! We don't have time for this!" she called out in a very present Scottish ascent as she crossed her arms and watched the bear. Letting out a low groan the bear fell back on to its fours before it seemed to shrink, losing hair as its body seemed to change until a massive man man stood where the bear was. Groaning Bjorn stretched his arms out, cracking his neck before he smiled at the woman. "Long time no see Nafiri!" He called out happily in a similar thick Nordic ascent as he walked across the yard not really caring of his current lack of clothing as he walked up the steps. Meeting the girl where she was he smiled and patted her shoulder as he walked past. "So why did you call me Nafiri?" He asked as he headed into the house. Pushing the big front doors open he smiled as he looked around. "Good job Nafiri its spotless in her aye Las!" He said with a smile. Heading into the living room he made his way over to a nice looking table. On it sat a cigar box, a glass bottle of whiskey and a whiskey glass. Smiling he poured a cup before pulling a cigar from the box. He lit the cigar taking in a big puff before puling it from his mouth and taking a drink of the Liquor. As he did so Nafiri came in and looked at him. "Bjorn there calling you again." She said bluntly making him turn around. "Who's calling me Las?" He questioned curiously as he held out a hand for the phone which she gave him. "You know who Bjorn. Oh and by the way. Please put some pants on." She said as she walked away making him chuckle as he took the cigar between his teeth and looked to the phone before his smirk immediately disappeared as he tossed it to the couch. "Eh ill wait for them to send someone. If they need me so much they will send someone to fetch me." He said softly as he looked out a window at the surrounding scenery.

 

[AnimeGenork]

There was paint on the window again.

This time, Iris—or Skylie, as she preferred to be called now—hadn’t even meant to do it. She’d been minding her business, painting a landscape with a rainbow in the background, when a strong breeze blew through the open door and driven her hand elsewhere. Now, as she inspected the splatter of green paint on the window, she couldn’t help but wonder where that breeze had come from. Glancing at the door, she muttered, “Zephyr?” No. It couldn’t be. He hadn’t contacted her in centuries—why would he start now?

Sighing, Skylie turned to clean up her paints. It was days like this she really missed her husband, the light—er, wind—of her immortal life. Since their separation, she’d wondered constantly what had become of him. The best she could hope for was that he wasn’t sleeping with some other goddess or a human girl somewhere else in the world. No, actually, that wasn’t true.

The best she could hope for was that he wasn’t dead.

Her gaze drifted to the box in the corner of the studio, her hands absentmindedly fingering the newly dyed purple and electric blue streaks in her hair. The box held her caduceus from the days of yore, the one that had almost exactly matched Hermes’s. They had been friends, once. And if there was anyone she’d regularly encountered once every century since their fall from grace, it was him. He would take her out for a drink and then proceed to tell some exaggerated story about something he did; his favorite was the time he’d stolen Apollo’s cattle.

Skylie’s eyes shut as an image of his decapitated head flashed through her mind. Ever since the news had reached her of his death, she’d been having routine nightmares. What kind of friend was she, that she hadn’t been there when he’d died? She’d asked herself this question over and over for the few years since his death. Every time she went to sleep, he was there, calling out to her for help. Unlike some gods, she didn’t have any sort of prophetic powers. Instead, she was haunted by her fears and regrets in the form of dreams. She’d have to ask Morpheus if there was anything she could do to stop them.

The phone sitting on the windowsill buzzed. Quirking an eyebrow, Skylie picked it up and answered the call. “Yellow.” Her way of saying “hello.” She listened to the speaker, her eyebrows shooting higher with every second. “Gotcha. I’ll send out some rainbows and be there as quick as I can.” She hung up, a wicked grin spreading across her face despite herself.

Thankfully, she had a bottle of water handle, so she set it on the windowsill in full view of the sun and stared at it. Within a few seconds, the water had drained from the bottle and formed several rainbows, all waiting for their goddess to send them on their way. After a moment, she murmured a message to them and sent them shooting out the door. Sure, she could’ve called all her former Greek brothers and sisters, but… Well, she didn’t know where half of them were. Using rainbows to track them down was easier. Also, she didn’t relish the thought of having to actually speak to some of them. Très awkward.

She closed her studio and hastily painted a sign that said On Vacation. Then she packed up her ewer (gods, what kind of word was that? If only she’d asked at the time) and her caduceus in a bag she threw over her shoulder. Hopefully, her simple message (Hey, guys, it’s Iris. Long time no rainbow. We gotta report to D.C. so we can, you know, rain hellfire on whoever killed Hermes? Yeah. Anyway. Hope to see you there. Miss you all.) would be enough to convince some of her more stubborn brethren to come. (Probably doubtful in Morpheus’s case, though. She’d have to beg and plead and possibly give him a lollipop…not that candy had worked before.)

Now that she was packed, she headed to the roof of her studio. It was time to illegally fly across the Canadian border.

(Tags: Any Greek God)

Code by apolla

 

[Reis]

​

GREEK | CS​

LOCATION: New York, NY
NOTES: Hi there (o3o)/
TAGS:

​

Smartphones. Such an advanced creation. Humanity has never had access to so much information, so much power, at the press of a single button. And yet what do they do with it? They spend hours on social media, comparing their own lives to others and wasting their precious time. They tap at screens over and over, a repetitive and meaningless waste of their potential. They even took a page out of Narcissus' book, recording themselves and taking those repulsive "selfies," as if they will improve by showing off what they've accomplished.

Leo contemplated human sloth as he studied his own smartphone, wondering why people centered their lives around those silly little things without using them for growth. He knew his family was partially responsible, as Apollo helped humans become attracted to them. But he didn't blame his brother, or any of his other siblings for that matter. After all, he knew they were still coping with the loss of Hermes.

The Greek god of fire cringed a bit. Hermes, the poor fool, always getting himself into trouble. He thought back to when smartphones were starting to become a thing. Hermes was so hyped for them, he knew it would make his job as messenger that much more fun. It was his adventurous personality that made him one of his favorite brothers, but oftentimes put him in danger. The thought of Hermes' severed head made him feel even worse about recent human affairs. How could the gods afford to slack off at a time when the fate of humans--and, somehow, their lives-- were being threatened?

Well, it wasn't as if Hephaestus went unchanged by human actions. As a god's domain changes, so does the god. And the use of technology has been changing rapidly. When people started inventing at such a massive rate, it was almost too much for Hephaestus to keep up. There is now more information about technology than a single human can learn in their lifetime. But instead of trying to learn as much as they could, people grew lazy and started taking their gifts for granted. The effects of this made it harder for him to focus. In fact, lately he's indulged in pointless tasks, similar to how humans waste their time away with entertaining machines. His most recent project was to build a model of Olympus using Lego blocks that he purchased.

This sloth was part of the reason he was dwelling with humans in the first place. It's his responsibility to make sure that the use of technology contributes to human growth, rather than bringing their downfall. The WPC would help him and his family reach the prestige they had all those years ago. They had to.

Just then, a shimmering rainbow flew through his window. Leo was kinda surprised by this clearly unnatural event, but he stood still when the rainbow spoke in Iris' voice.

Get revenge for Hermes, huh? He would rather stay back at home, his Forge, than go all that way to meet up with them again. He was actually about to tell them to contact him in a couple of decades and he'd have an answer by then. But he knew they would need his help if they wanted to avenge Hermes and ensure their safety. And Leonardo really wanted peace amongst his family again.

Leonardo sighed. Hopefully vengeance would bring closure to this incident and motivate the gods to do better. For now, Leonardo placed his phone in his pocket and set his house in order. He had prepared a cache of several tools specifically for events like this, which would be delivered there through a small plane he was setting up. He wouldn't actually ride in one, however. Part of his identity as God of fire and technology was his control over air travel. He grinned to himself, remembering his temptation to make an Iron Man suit and use it for adventures. Unfortunately his higher-ups had a problem with that for unobvious reasons. Humans can't see supernatural events anyways, he argued. How else did he go unnoticed when he was launched from Olympus by Zeus?

Leonardo decided to take a more convenient route to Washington D.C. He strapped on a bag containing his essential gears and gadgets and walked to the roof. His equipment being completely fire resistant, he had no problems when he lit his legs and arms on fire. With a slight jump, Leonardo took off, brooding over what was to come.

 

[Digit]

Donal Finnegan

LUGH

the master of skills

Location

Dublin, Ireland

Tags

N/A​

Sixty-four: the number of black-and-white squares on a chess board, the interstate that connects the edge of Missouri to the far reaches of Virginia, and the inspiration behind an obscure Beatles song, among other things. But in the context of this particular afternoon, it just also happened to be the resting heart rate of one Mr. Donal Finnegan. And while the integer carried as much significance as it did, it still nonetheless left much to be desired.

"It's quite disappointingly, remarkably average," as resident WPC clinician, Dr. Eamon Kavanagh, had put it. Indeed, Kavanagh had hoped for something a little more outlandish–something that would corroborate his bold and audacious theories on deity physiology. Statistically speaking, sixty-four fell on the lower half of the spectrum, though such an inconsequential observation would hardly merit so much of a second glance from any of his colleagues. And as the former coroner once again placed the stethoscope upon Finnegan's chest, he allowed himself to furrow a brow. "Unfortunately, you definitively possess all the qualities of a healthy human being," he would say.

With a pen in hand and a flick of the wrist, Donal reviewed the marked boxes and filled-in blanks before gracing the clipboard with his own signature. It wasn't so much these habitual 'checkups' or even Kavanagh's snide comments that deterred him—it was quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. The entire process had a comforting and soothing aspect to it, something that the man had come to appreciate. Rather, it was the reminder of his curious circumstances that contributed to the feeling of unease he loathed so much: too many elements of his current life were left unresolved, or remained in the realm of the unknown entirely.

"So tell me, what have you been up to recently?" Kavanagh inquired. While to the untrained eye such a statement would appear as nothing more than an innocent and weightless attempt at casual conversation, Donal had known much better. Every word that left his own lips were to be judged and interpreted by the doctor, who was prepared to pounce on even the smallest of morsel of a lead. He knew all too well of the frenetic persona Kavanagh concealed and the insatiable thirst the man had for publishing his next unparalleled breakthrough. This was the same person who had so desperately wanted to study the decapitated head of Hermes, after all.

"Nothing out of the ordinary." Tell it straight, that was how it had to be done. Yet, he couldn't help but pity a man fighting for a lost cause. It was a sentiment he could share in all too easily.

"Anything interesting at work?"

"The students are making good progress."

"Is that so? Have you implemented any new teaching methods?"

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Hm... I see." Scrounging up whatever information he could surmise for himself from the brief exchange, the researcher scrambled to record his thoughts on a nearby notepad. Though just as the tip of his ballpoint pen made contact with the sheet of paper, so too did a curled fist collide with the exterior of the room's wooden door. Knock, knock, knock. Eyes fastened onto the formation of new words and sentences on the paper in front of him, Kavanagh didn't bother to realign his head or divert his attention elsewhere. "Come in," he said, eyes still glued to the paper. Yet within mere seconds, he was already making the necessary final touches and wrapping up on his recordings.

Heeding the doctor's call, in walked a young, well-dressed woman donning a WPC pin on her left lapel. Donal recognized the youthful figure as a regular in the department, though the name had escaped him at the moment. "Forgive me for the interruption," she began. "I'm here on orders to retrieve Mr. Finnegan."

Retrieve. As if he was nothing more than an object whose ownership shifted by the second. Donal turned to confront the employee, stiffening his posture. "And what are these orders, if I may ask?"

She met his scornful eyes, seemingly undaunted by the change in demeanor. "There's a meeting to be held at D.C., and an invitation has been extended to all Old Gods of the WPC."

"It's the middle of the school semester," Donal retorted. "I can't just up and leave for a meeting."

"The Director believes otherwise. I have word that this may be related to the Hermes case."

Of course. It was only natural for him to come up. Hermes was Donal's own Achilles' heel: the root of his despondency and the sole point of attack in the otherwise stoic and tenacious man. And thus, he could only muster a groan of frustration in response. Having bore witness to this, Kavanagh had once again retreated to the confines of his notepad. The doctor understood this was Donal's desperation working at its finest and no matter how much the former god tried, he couldn't find the strength to combat it. It was quite the phenomena—how Lugh was once praised for his solemness, only to fall to his knees now at the mere mention of the slain Messenger God. Unquestionably, this was the result of his desire to avenge a fallen comrade while also suffering the despair of losing oneself all over again. He sighed, which Kavanagh interpreted as an admission of defeat.

"Could you give us some time, perhaps?" The clinician intervened. "It's of upmost importance for Mr. Finnegan to complete his examination, and I assure you we are nearly finished."

The emissary nodded before exiting the room. "Certainly, please take your time."

After his eyes trailed the footsteps of the exiting female, Donal returned his gaze back to the doctor, offering him his silent appreciation. While he by no means considered him a close confidant or friend in any sense of the word, he couldn't name anyone else that knew him better. He was his most devout worshipper, so to speak. Indeed, even when Donal was puzzled by his own turbulent emotions and troubling thoughts, Kavanagh was there to offer an explanation. On other occasions, the doctor would be capable of determining what was on his mind with only facial cues to go on. Perhaps that was why he didn't mind the company of the strange man—enjoyed it, even. Such was the nature of the relationship between the two individuals: doctor and patient, researcher and subject, human and god.

"You don't have to go," Kavanagh explained. "I could pull a few strings, mention how you're needed for important research and all. I'm sure they'll let me keep you here, if you so desire."

Donal shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to refuse."

And to this, Kavanagh smiled. "I figured that would be the case."

 

[Lexielai]

[div class="container"] [div class="characterImage"] [div class="characterName humanName"] LYLE [/div] [div class="characterTitle humanTitle"] PROFESSIONAL GAMBLER [/div] [div class="characterName godName" style="display: none; color: #0B5394;"] YAMA [/div] [div class="characterTitle godTitle" style="display: none; padding-right: 45px; padding-left: 0px; color: #0B5394;"] LORD OF DEATH [/div] [div class="tagsContainer" style="display: none;"] Generic Brooding Antihero Blu [/div] [/div]

[div class="textContainer"] [div class="textChild"] [div class="text"]He sat alone within a shrine of stone. At his feet rested a deep spring of bright blue water, a pure oasis that would not be possible in the mortal world. Not for its physical quality, which could surely be replicated; but for its spiritual purity, which a world of imperfection could never achieve.

His reflection looked solemnly at him. His features were different here; darker, and more weary. The reflection’s hazel eyes stared emptily into thin air, seeking something where there was nothing. He tried to smile, and his reflection smiled back in a twisted, hollow way.

“Show me again,” he said quietly. The reflection spiralled, and the same scene played out once more. Hermes’ head rolled across the dirt. Images of familiar faces contorted into expressions of pleading, despair, and outrage as they disappeared one by one. A pair of keys, bound together: one gold, one silver. A three-tiered crown adorned with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. And the hazy silhouette of a mysterious figure stiffening as a blade slid into their spine, .

Yama frowned. “Who is it?” he muttered, and his hand rose to stroke his beard by force of habit. The death of an old god, while unfortunate, was not unexpected. All things died, at some point or another. But the death of many was curious. And the imminent death of a very important figure was disturbing—especially when their identity was shrouded in a way he had only seen once before.

“Bring him back,” Yama commanded. The reflection twirled once more, and Osiris laid bleeding out before him with an arrow in his heart. Yama’s eyes roamed over the fallen god’s form, from the burns to the bruises to the mortal wounds which struck him down.

Osiris was a friend, and a kindred spirit. He was one of the few who shared Yama’s burden over life and death. To see him gone was a tragedy, but not one that couldn’t be mourned and gotten over.

“But…” he said, and with a wave of his hand the pool spun into the visage of dozens of hazy figures standing in a triangle-like formation. He focused, and the images spiralled into view once again, no clearer now than before. His mouth felt dry. “Their souls never made it.”

His heart seemed to freeze for a moment as his suspicions were made tangible in words. Death was natural and to be embraced, that he knew and that he had practiced. Yet these deaths were unnatural; not in the same way as murder or disease or a freak accident was, for all those things still followed the natural law. These deaths were unnatural in that they disrupted the natural order. When people died, their souls were found and escorted away from the mortal realm.

Yet the souls of these gods were never found. And the last old god who might be able to find them was dead now too.

WIth a sigh, the shrine and the pool disappeared. Instead they faded into the rich marble pillars and white pillows of his hotel room lobby, currently near-vacant in the early afternoon. Yama leaned his head back against the pillar to stare up at the ceiling, and the elaborate, beautiful mural of God and his angels which adorned it.

“I don’t suppose you care enough to do anything about it,” he said, but no answer came. He wasn’t expecting one. The high and mighty in Heaven cared little for retired gods of death like himself. At least not when there were armies of angels efficiently and quickly carrying out what used to be his duties.

He sunk into the couch, and laid there for some time alone with his thoughts. He kept circling around the same conclusion over and over again, each time searching for some new angle to argue against it. And each time realizing, after long internal debate, that his decision was still the same.

Yama sat with his phone in hand, finger hovering over the contact hesitantly as he mentally prepared what he had to say. “Hello?” he finally said as the number connected. “This is Yama. Charter me a plane for D.C. Let Rudra know that I’ll take the job.”

Note: Rudra is Yama's affectionate name for his old friend who is now known as Shiva
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[Emmi]

Spoiler: Appearance

The white haired goddess whistled as she silently painted a painting of a snowy night in art class. She then felt a hand grapple her shoulder. "What..." a male's voice started, "the fuck... is that?"

The white haired female blinked and turned around to notice her classmate, Jason Salvator cringing at her canvas. She blinked and cocked her head innocently to her side. "What's wrong with it?" She took a few moments to examine her canvas. She created a huge, white circle at the top of the canvas, while everything else is purple. There's also huge blobs of white all over her painting. "Its..." he trailed off, trying to look at it from all angles. "Is it a..." he pauses, squinting his eyes. "A dog?"

The goddess frowned and shook her head. He blinked and looked at it again. "Is it a cat?" She frowned again. "It's a snowy night..." Jason cringed, and cocked his head to the side. "I... uh... yeah... I can see that," he fibbed. "Are you lying?" she asked, her voice wobbly, her eyes getting teary. "N-no!" The goddess jut out her chin, smoothing out her canvas. "Don't worry, Marry, don't listen to the guy who hurt your feelings."

Jason squinted. "You know that canvases don't have feelings, right, Eiran--" he was cut off by the goddess--who's name is now disclosed as Eiran--by holding her hand up. "Everything has feelings, Jason. Don't be ignorant, and learn that~"

The bell rang for lunch, and it was time to go ahead to lunch. She got up from her chair, and gave her art teacher the canvas. "Thank you, Eiran, for this lovely..." she looked at it, awkwardly. "Uh--"

"Snowy night," Eiran cut off. She then opened the door, and headed out for lunch.

When she arrived at the cafeteria, she skipped all the way to her table, and opening her gray lunch box, revealing a healthy fruit salad. "La la laaaaa~" she hummed, eating. Suddenly, two girls from her class appeared. "Eirannnn~" Arianna, the girl to her left said. "Can you please help me? I have Professor McGowan next period, and I don't have his homework? Can you pleaseeee talk to him? He'll listen to you! You're his favorite student!" Eiran beamed and nodded. "Mhm!"

The other girl, Noah, looked at her. "Can you please help the janitor today? I have something to do after school!"

Eiran nodded. "Sure! I'll help both of you out!"

The two girls nodded, and walked away, laughing at Eiran.

Suddenly, a shimmery rainbow appeared in front of her, and she choked, shocked. Everyone turned to stare. Eiran suddenly got up, and ran to the nearest bathroom. When she arrived, she looked under the stalls, revealing no body, and locked the door. Then, the rainbow spoke, which alarmed Eiran. "Gahhh!" she yelled. She then realized it was Iris's message. "Oh," she muttered to herself.

"Hey, guys, it’s Iris. Long time no rainbow. We gotta report to D.C. so we can, you know, rain hellfire on whoever killed Hermes? Yeah. Anyway. Hope to see you there. Miss you all."

Eiran beamed. It was Iris, and she wants to torture the person who killed Hermes. "I have to go to D.C," she said to herself. She looked around the restroom. "Guess I'm skipping school now, eh?"

Mentioned: N/A || Interacting With: Open

 

[Generic Brooding Antihero]

APOLLO CIRILLO

GREEK | CS​

LOCATION: Tokyo, Japan
TAGS: DuckPrince
Text message to all my @ Greek homies
Daniel Reaving Coming to pick you up!

Sabroe’s eyes widened at a third voice, and though Apollo’s reaction was initially the same, he was quick to hide surprise under a mask of annoyance. How long had that stranger been standing there, eavesdropping on their conversation without a care in the world? As if she felt his displeasure, Sabroe tapped Apollo’s arm, before she left his side to greet the stranger.

‘Kashima-sama.’ She bowed, and Apollo rolled his eyes, knowing full well that the woman was about to start speaking in fluent Japanese. Bloody show-off. ‘I trust you are well? My name is Sarah Sabroe, INTERPOL representative and WPC agent, here to assist you.

Please excuse the short notice, but as I understand, the directive is urgent. The aerocraft is being prepared as we speak. We leave in five minutes.’

She had one hand on her chest, and the other reaching into her pocket. Apollo’s phone buzzed incessantly, and finally, he picked it up, the smirk on his face growing wider with every message received.
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[/div][div class=screen][div class=screenbox][div class=screenboxchild][div class=other][div class=othericon][/div]

Girl Friday
+1 487 867 5309
sjsabroe@interpol.int

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[div class=rightchat] extra pickles

[div class=rightchat] dont forget [/div]
[div class=leftchat] This is outside of my job description.[/div]

[div class=textarea]

Just Now​

[/div]
[div class=leftchat] Katsumi Kashima, a comic artist[/div]
[div class=leftchat] Or if we’re speaking your language[/div]
[div class=leftchat] Takemikazuchi[/div]
[div class=leftchat] god of sword and thunder[/div]
[div class=leftchat] Play nice[/div]
[div class=leftchat] PLEASE[/div]

[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div][div class=credit]code/design by Fable [/div][div class=buttonbottom][/div][/div]
‘Excuse me a minute.’ Sabroe’s voice made Apollo snap his attention back at them. At least she was speaking in English again. ‘I just need to take care of final clearance permits -- shouldn’t be three minutes. We’ll leave shortly after.’ She bowed again, and then looked over her shoulder, throwing Apollo a glance that was nothing short of murderous.

‘Right.’ Apollo’s gaze shifted from Sabroe to the man at the door, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to examine him, trying to see why he looked vaguely familiar. ‘Ta … ke … mi … zuchi, yes?’ No doubt in his mind he’d butchered it, but there was also no doubt in his mind that he didn’t really care much about getting it right. ‘Well, it’s good to make your acquaintance, I suppose. Only wish it was under better circumstances.’

He stood up, groaning a little bit, his knees just a little bit weaker than he’d remembered them. The corner of his eyes caught something strange on his phone’s surface: A flash of colours scintillated on the unlit screen, vying for his attention. An eyebrow raised, Apollo picked up the phone, breaking into a grin as he felt Iris’ voice in between the waves of light. If Katsumi hadn’t thought him mad before, perhaps this moment would reinforce even the faintest suspicion.

‘Stuck on other side of the world. Might be a while.’ Forgetting his present company, Apollo began to draft a text to all his known contacts in the Greek pantheon. ‘FYI, had vision earlier. Comes as no surprise that it all boils down to the Romans. It's always the bloody Romans.’ He half-considered flooding the message with emojis -- if only to spite Hephaestus -- but as his ears picked up the echoing sound of Sabroe’s footsteps, Apollo finally hit send.

‘Shall we get going, then? We still need to make a stop at Washington state to pick up another member.’ There was something on Sabroe’s lips that vaguely resembled a smile, but Apollo had known better by now.

‘You know, Sabroe, it offends me that you still don’t trust me enough.’ Apollo sighed, heading over to where the others were. ‘We were getting along famously, weren’t we, Ta … ke … mi … god of swords and thunder?’ He gave Katsumi a playful slap on the shoulder, though he did not bother to meet the other man's gaze. Instead, Apollo simply followed Sabroe to the rooftop, where a private jet waited for them.

‘Hi ho, hi ho. It's off to work we go.’

 

[DuckPrince]

Katsumi Kashima || Japanese
Current location: Tokyo, Japan
Interacting: Generic Brooding Antihero

"First impressions, hm? I already had mine, of you, four years ago." He said, not that bothered by his godly name being butchered by an arrogant asshole from another pantheon. He was pleasantly surprised by the asshole's handler though, the honorifics were the topping on the cake. He did sense the incoming hit and shifted away in time to dodge it. He didn't see it as necessary and it would probably put him in a bad mood as well.

"I feel sorry for you, Sabroe-san, how do you do it?" He chuckled, glancing at the young woman before he made his way after them, to the roof where the aircraft was waiting. He wasn't that used to planes, he preferred the clouds his divine brothers and sisters used to travel on. Planes were just large, metal death traps.

Once on the plane, Katsumi sat down on the other side of the other two he was travelling with and shifted so he could take his bag from his back, unzipping it and taking out his computer, bending it and taking out a draw pen, starting to do his art in hopes of time passing quicker. He also had earphones plugged in, listening to music as he started sketching a new commission he got submitted just a day ago.

 

[Generic Brooding Antihero]

APOLLO CIRILLO

GREEK | CS​

LOCATION: Bjorn's Home, Washington State
TAGS: DuckPrince
Daniel Reaving Coming to pick you up!

‘I’m not sure I know either.’ Sabroe chuckled, which only contributed to Apollo’s growing annoyance.

‘I’ve read your file, Sabroe,’ Apollo tried to interject, switching into his own native Greek. ‘You lived in Crete for a time, too. How come you never talk to me in my native language?’

Unfortunately, Sabroe would not permit him the satisfaction of an answer. She shot him a look that said as much, quiet amusement fuelled only by Apollo's eyeroll. Perhaps it was desperate optimism, but she took it as a good sign -- that Apollo was back to acting like a miserable arse. No need to overthink about an alleged vision -- at least not until they’d actually reached DC.

It appeared that, too, would take awhile yet. The plane would need to refuel after twelve hours, which placed them somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Coincidentally, another registered Old God was based somewhere in Washington, and now they were due to pick him up on the way.

And so, Sabroe spent most of the twelve-hour trip watching her charge -- charges -- quietly. Katsumi and Apollo sat right across each other, the former immediately occupying himself with pen and paper. Apollo, of course, finally thought to pick up his phone and check the standard gossip sites, outwardly lamenting the meddling public eye, secretly relishing in all the attention he was getting. He filmed himself thereafter, explaining his situation, talking about a seizure induced from an old football injury, ending with some teary-eyed speech about how grateful he was for having such a quick-thinking medical team.

The next few hours went by feeling like a few minutes. Apollo had picked up his guitar, playing mellow jazz notes that sounded almost worlds apart from the upbeat rock anthems he was known for on-stage. Right now, he was playing an instrumental cover of Moon River, and Sabroe couldn’t help but smile. He’d spared her the illusions, the trances, that were there at the tip of his guitar strings -- he promised her as much -- but even then, even without them, there was always something magical about his music. She’d never admit, of course, though the sentiment was ever-present in the faint twinkle in her eyes, in the way her breathing evened out, her worries about the world all but forgotten.

Sabroe took one last look at Apollo -- caught him sneaking glances at the table before him. She thought of cats and curiosities before she finally let sleep overtake her.

‘Oi. Aren’t we in the wrong Washington?’

Sabroe woke up hours later, her arm being shaken, Apollo’s face mere inches from hers. She groaned, shoving him away. ‘Do you ever listen to what I have to say, Apollo?’

‘Only when it’s a compliment.’ He shrugged. ‘So, no. Never.’

As mechanics and technicians went around refuelling the plane, and making sure everything was all in order, a black van came around to pick them up. Sabroe had reassured both gods that they were welcome to stay on the plane if they liked, that they would be leaving again in two hours max, but Apollo insisted on coming along. On the way there, she explained that the god in question was of the Norse Pantheon, passing along a tablet containing his file.

They drove deep into the heart of the forest, until finally they reached a large cabin by a lake. Sabroe was the first to get out, checking her phone to confirm the coordinates of the member’s residence. Apollo stood behind her, looking none too comfortable about being in the middle of nowhere.

‘This looks eerily like the setting of a slasher movie,’ he said, crossing his arms.

‘Mr. Bjorn?’ Sabroe’s voice echoed throughout the surroundings. ‘This is Lieutenant Sarah Sabroe of the World Pantheon Coalition. I’ve received orders to escort you to the Headquarters, sir.’

 

[DatGuyWelbz]

N I L E / H O R U S

The sky around the god of falcons, otherwise known as Horus (he currently went by the name of Nile Oleander) blurred into streaks of blue and white as he zipped through the air. He was at an altitude that most of the planes he flew couldn't even handle. If he hadn't been a god, he probably would have died from extreme heights. But, he was a god and that meant he could do things most mortals could only dream about. One of those things was shapeshifting into two different animals; he was currently a golden griffin, his preferred form, that possessed the head of a red falcon and the body of a brutish lion.

Nile, who was currently employed as an airforce pilot, was stationed at the Luke Air Force Base in Phoenix, Arizona. While most people disliked Arizona—mainly because of its conservative citizens and dry, arid climate—but Nile loved it. The place reminded him of home, which was back in Egypt. The weather and scenery reminded him of Egypt's, as both places were hot, had tons of palm trees, and contained sand everywhere. The only thing Arizona was missing was a couple of pyramids.

He closed his griffin eyes as he soared through the sky, his lithe, feline frame masked by the thick clouds around him. Egypt. It had been years since he resided in the Northern African country, the birthplace of himself and his fellow gods. The image of Set, his brother, surfaced in his mind like an unwanted guest. The smug, red-skinned god was a nuisance and a conniving bastard whom Nile detested for years. They had once fought for the throne of Egypt after Osiris, their father, had been killed; Horus, as he had been known by, had eventually won, becoming pharaoh. Nowadays, Set lived somewhere else in Arizona, causing problems and messing with mortals.

After a couple more minutes of flying, Nile began his descent to the backend of the airforce base, careful not to let any of the cadets roaming around the airstrip see him. Upon touching his paws on the sandy ground, he began shifting back into his mortal form. He smoothened his army uniform before strolling back into the base, a smile plastered across his lips.

''Commander Oleander,'' a couple of cadets said as he passed by them. They saluted him and he simply nodded back in response.

''At ease, gentlemen.'' Even though he appeared to be only in his mid-twenties, he had progressed through the ranks fairly quickly. That hadn't been a surprise to him, though. After all, he was once the god of war.

Nile continued walking until he entered the main building of the base, which was where his office was. Upon walking in, he received a few nods of acknowledgment from his fellow pilots. He walked into his room and closed the door. As he peeled off his airforce jacket, he noticed an alert blinking on the screen of his computer. With a sigh, he sat down and checked it. Nile rolled his golden eyes after realizing the alert was because of the message sent to him by the W.P.C.

''What do they want?''

He clicked it open and skimmed its contents. There was some info about Hermes' death—rest his soul—and summoning by the organization in charge of managing the gods of the world. Nile didn't mind helping them out at times, but he wasn't their biggest fan. Though, he kept up his loyal and obedient act up in hopes to progress through the ranks of the organization. He continued reading the message, seeing that he was supposed to head over to Washington D.C.

With a shake of his head, he shut down his computer and exited his office, preparing to leave the base and make his way to the headquarters of the W.P.C.

code by DatGuyWelbz

Location: Phoenix, USA

Mentions: Hermes

Interactions: OPEN FOR INTERACTION

 

[The Omen of Death]

Sophia/Athena
​

Athena seemed to predict something big was going to happen, and it seemed she was right. Intriguingly for all her intelligence, Athena and much like the other old gods were stumped on the thought of who or what could have killed Hermes. And admittedly this irked her, a nagging annoyance, one that wouldn't have an immediate end. Even while she seemingly, spent her time teaching lectures, or reading, or appearing to be at ease, it never ceased. However, there was the certain thrill that came with uncovering such mysteries, and the end result would finally mean bringing the killer to justice. Athena, seemed to never cease in thinking, the world was like a never ending chess board with so many answers waiting to be uncovered.

Pondering these thoughts, Athena also wondered who or how, it happened. The most likely possibilities, were that it could have been the work of a old god, or new, as they could have the physical ability to pull off what was done, however more unlikely yet always a possibility was that a human was responsible, however doing so, especially against the god Hermes, renowned for his speed, would've probably needed intensive planning, and the physical ability. But it was obvious that whoever the culprit was needed to intensively plan it out, which was why the WPC was stumped on the matter at hand. That at the very least, Athena had to give the murderer credit for.

But solving this mystery would be only half the problem solved, it would then be a matter of actually apprehending, or killing them... Even with all these thoughts flowing through her vastly fast moving and intelligent mind, Athena was effortlessly running a lecture, it was like instinct. Suddenly, as she continued, she saw a well-dressed individual popping in the room, sticking in the back, showing little intention to interrupt the matter at hand, especially considering Athena was just about to finish up.

It was in an instant that Athena already deduced it was the WPC, and they were here for her. And with that, the lecture finally hit its conclusion, the students went up and left, some thanking her for the lecture, and exchanging good bye's until the next lecture. Thankfully for the agent, as well as herself, Athena was dressed professionally in a suit, as she usually was, as she carried herself in a very professional manner.

With haste, Athena prepared her things, came up to the agent who calmly and kindly greeted her. "Miss Diakos, although I imagine you already know why I am here, I am here on urgent WPC business, you are needed for a meeting at headquarters in D.C. and considering this is of utmost importance pertaining to Hermes, we need you to come ASAP, but you won't have to worry, we have made preparations for the trip already." Athena listening intently and carefully, with those piercing grey eyes of her's, nodded in understanding.

And with that the two were on the way to a private jet, to quickly go. Just like that as she left the university, Athena's signature Little Owl, swooped down, landing gracefully on Athena's shoulder, as Athena willed it to come back to her, as she would need it close. Once they were settled and just about ready to start flying, Athena went back to her thinking as she tried to reach an epiphany or revelation. However, she was quickly snapped out of her thoughts, when a rainbow attached with a message came to her in front of everyone. It was obvious to tell it was Iris, even with the message stating it was her.

With that, Athena simply gave a small warm smile.

 

[Blu]

"Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity."​

Location: Elias' Apartment | Mentions: Everyone​

Elias Carter
aka Morpheus - God of Dreams
Notes: While I jumped us right into the meeting, feel free to post anything that happened before then too.​

Elias sits, contemplating the hidden significance of the reoccurring dreams concerning Hermes' death. Why are they resurfacing now. What do they want to tell him? Suddenly, a bright light from outside his widow catches the God of Dreams' attention. He stands up and unfurls the blinds. There greeting him just outside his window is a rainbow. A telltale sign of a certain goddess Elias is quite familiar with. Iris' rainbows can be interpreted in as many ways as there are gods in the world. It may come to some as her voice speaking to them while it may come to others as a physical letter. To Elias, the message itself is carved into the rainbow's visage; this one urging him and the other gods to convene at the W.P.C. headquarters right here in Washington. "Sorry Iris. It's no longer my problem." Elias closes his blinds.

Then, his phone begins ringing, indicating an incoming text. The screen lights up: it's a text from Apollo. It reads similarly to Iris' rainbow, telling them to meet at the W.P.C. headquarters while also implicating the involvement of Romans. Then, another text. This one directly from the W.P.C. agent from before. Same spiel. And another text. And another one. Elias feels it coming: the Whispers. The discordant voices of dreamers and his dead siblings of the Oneiroi. Dulling his senses, it haunts him with a sharp pain, like needles pricking at the brain.

​

He grips his head in pain and falls backward onto the couch. Although the pain is duller than it once was, it never fails to instill a paralyzing dread in Elias. The only relief is that, as quickly as it comes, the voices now subside. Elias opens his eyes and finds himself back on the public bus from earlier. He's in the same seat and is greeted by his dead lover, Carly, once more. "Where are we heading?" Elias asks.

"Beats me. I'm just a passenger." Carly nods to the window, prompting Elias to look outside. The environment is strange and formless: a vortex of purple and orange hues.

Elias looks back at her. "I don't understand."

"Y'know I'm starting to have fun with this." She nods in acknowledgment, a slight curve graces her lips. "There's a lot more going on with Hermes' death than I originally thought. We can make this a whole thing, y'know? Me: the charismatic, smart detective with a fiery side. You: my dumb dick partner. A police procedural. It'd be fun."

"It's no longer my problem." She chuckles at the response. "A worker bee doesn't choose to obey the whims of its queen. It just does. It's programming. It's melting ice on a hot day. It's nature, baby! You think you can run from this? Sooner or later your legs'll give out, and when you're standing at the precipice, you can either jump or destiny can give you a little," she leans forward and whispers in his ear, "push." She leans back into her seat and crosses her arms and legs, one leg over the other. "'Sides, you owe us."

"Who's 'us'?" The passengers of the bus all turn around in their seats at the same time. "Us." They say in unison. All the passengers are Carly but dressed in different outfits including men's and women's clothes. "We're almost there!" The bus driver—Carly in a uniform and fake felt moustache—shouts. "Look, you can stop this ride at anytime. There's your exit." She glances up. From the bus' ceiling, a long orange wire comes down and coils itself into a noose. "You've thought about it before, right?" Elias contemplates it for a brief moment. He then closes his eyes and, as he goes to grab the noose, it recedes back into the ceiling; at the same time, the bus stops. "There are no easy ways out in life, dude. You should know this, right? C'mon. Here's our stop." Together, they walk to the front of the bus. Bus Driver Carly opens the doors and Carly forcibly pushes Elias outside.

Elias is now surrounded by nothing but darkness. He, himself, is illuminated by a singular spotlight from above. Elias scans the environment, deriving nothing of importance. Then, he hears the loud sound of air being forced through nostrils. He looks behind him and, in the distance, sees a magnificent winter stag with Christmas lights wound around its neck and antlers. On its back rides the formless figure from before wielding the same sword. It tosses something at Elias. Catching it with both hands, he looks down and sees Hermes' severed head. Hermes sticks his tongue out and on it is a single golden coin with the image of the seven interlocking rings. The great white beast rides off with the phantom in tow. Hermes' tongue goes back into his mouth and his eyes open. "Wake up, Morpheus. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." Hermes repeats with each repetition becoming more and more muted.

"Wake up."​

Elias opens his eyes and is greeted by a sea of familiar faces: the old gods of the W.P.C. They sit around a long rectangular table in a well-lit, clean room: a meeting room to simply describe it. There's Apollo and Iris and Hephaestus and Athena. His old Greek buddies. There's Lugh and Takemikazuchi and Foresti and Khione and Horus. Old Gods he met during his time with the W.P.C. There's even Yama who, while he does not know too well, he has encountered him before on several occasions. And sitting at the end of the table, the big boss himself: Shiva—New World God and Director of Operations & Oversight of the W.P.C. "I'm glad you could join us, Morpheus." Shiva says in his typical calm demeanor.

"How long have I been sitting here?"

"Two, three minutes. Give or take. You just materialized out of thin air. I assume you used those 'wings' of yours to get here."

Elias looks at the other old gods. "It's... been some time," is all he could thought of to say after his unusual entrance.

Shiva looks back at everyone. "As I was saying, it is a pleasure to see you all again. As for you, Yama. Imagine my surprise to hear that you'd be attending this meeting. We ought to catch up when we find the time, old friend. Preferably over a strong drink. Even the ever elusive Morpheus is joining us today. I'm glad you all understand the urgency of this. Before we begin, there's coffee and other refreshments available on the counters in the back of the room. Food too. I know some of you have had a long trip and may need it to stay awake." He nearly glances at Elias as he said that. "We're here to discuss the recent developments of the deaths of many old gods, Hermes included, as well as the other three events that took place four years ago. Some of you may have additional information to share, namely Apollo."

While Shiva is speaking, Elias is fixated on the sight in the middle of the table: Carly lying there casually wearing green-framed sunglasses and reading an entertainment magazine with Apollo's picture on the cover and a headline concerning his apparent collapse on stage at a recent concert; next to her is an opened bag of potato chips. She looks at Elias and slightly pulls her sunglasses down, revealing just enough of her eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Well, other than me of course." Saying nothing, he continues to stare at her. "What? I hate this place as much as you do. Why would I bring us here? It's your subconscious, man. It's doing all the weird shit." She explains before taking a chip and eating it.

 

[Lexielai]

[div class="container"] [div class="characterImage"] [div class="characterName humanName"] LYLE [/div] [div class="characterTitle humanTitle"] PROFESSIONAL GAMBLER [/div] [div class="characterName godName" style="display: none; color: #0B5394;"] YAMA [/div] [div class="characterTitle godTitle" style="display: none; padding-right: 45px; padding-left: 0px; color: #0B5394;"] LORD OF DEATH [/div] [div class="tagsContainer" style="display: none;"] Blu Generic Brooding Antihero The Omen of Death DatGuyWelbz DuckPrince Emmi Digit Daniel Reaving AnimeGenork Reis [/div] [/div]

[div class="textContainer"] [div class="textChild"] [div class="text"]Yama studied the newest arrival. Morpheus, God of Dreams, was yet another Greek god within their midst. Children compared to himself, but then again, how relevant was age to an old god? Most of them tended to fully convince themselves of their maturity after a few thousand years, and hardly changed after that. No, time was irrelevant to immortals, and especially to Death.

He hardly needed to remind himself of that last fact, but it was a habit. While gambling, it was important to keep your biases in check in order to make the most objective decision possible. It just happened to be a funny coincidence that the mindset was useful in other areas of his life too.

“It is good to see you too, Shiva,” he said, biting back the urge to call his old friend by his old name. He owed the latter that much respect while in front of his subordinates at the very least. “I look forward to catching up. Perhaps we can have a chat afterwards?”

Yama punctuated his final sentence with a subtle tilt of his head. An insignificant, and probably unconscious, movement really. Even people who had known him for hundreds of years would likely dismiss it.

But Rudra—Shiva, he mentally corrected himself—had known him for thousands. And he would know the unspoken message behind Yama's casual words. We need to talk urgently. In private.[/div] [/div]
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[DuckPrince]

Katsumi Kashima || Japanese
Current location: Washington
Interacting: Generic Brooding Antihero and mentioning all at the meeting

Katsumi was bored, but he kept that well hidden. Although the person who'd most be able to see that is Apollo, who was in the chair beside him. Katsumi was doodling intricate designs on his hand, like a merge of cultures. Even some traditional henna-like designs around his wrist.

He didn't really know the other gods well, being the only from the Japanese pantheon here, it was kinda lonely, but so far, Apollo was the first god he actively angaged in a conversation with, so he used a little crumpled up piece of paper to scribble down something. 'Can they get straight to the point and tell us things instead of being chitty chatty?' He scribbled and shifted in his chair, to catch Apollo's attention so he'd see the note.

He wasn't fond of this place, he wasn't fond of most things here, he liked Japan the most, and maybe a few islands that he liked retreating to. It wasn't hard to guess that Takemikazuchi, the only Japanese old god here, wasn't a fan of actually being here, feeling very out of place but keeping his mouth shut.

 

[Generic Brooding Antihero]

APOLLO CIRILLO

GREEK | CS​

LOCATION: WPC HQ, Washington DC
TAGS: Everyone in this room right now, and I mean EVERYONE.

It had been four years since Apollo was in this very room, sitting in this very chair, sharing the space with the very same people. Well. More or less the same. Few heads short this time.

Heh.

Apollo sat back in his seat, alternating between swirling the untouched glass of wine before him, and watching the idle drawings of the man beside him. They were worthy distractions, he decided, had even found himself chuckling at Katsumi’s message at one point. Nothing Apollo needed at the moment more than a false sense of security. At the Director’s remark, however, it all fell away. Suddenly, Apollo was a child in the classroom, singled out by the teacher, asked to recite lines from a poem in front of everyone else.

‘You say additional information, I say mad acid trip -- and I don’t even do drugs.’ Apollo shrugged, the half-assed remark failing to hide the uncertainty behind his voice. He sighed as he placed the glass of wine back on the table, his fingertip tracing its rim, going around in an endless loop. ‘It’s better if I showed you.’

The glass sang at his touch, sustaining a low-pitched note that bounced around the conference room. The tone grew louder and louder, overwhelming the sound of everything else. The faint humming of the heating unit -- gone. The creaks and squeaks as someone shifted in their seat -- gone. The footsteps outside; the ringing phones; the ticking clocks: All surrendered to the simple, echoing noise until it, too, gave way to sounds that simply weren’t there. The glass chime seemed like a faraway thought now -- something to be filed away in the back of his head. His senses became preoccupied with more important things.

Right beside him, Apollo started to hear Sabroe’s muffled voice. She was not there. He could hear her heels clacking across the floor, away from him, could hear indistinct fragments of a phone conversation. This was a memory, his memory, but he knew they could hear it, too -- could hear her, too. The other gods would hear as Apollo heard, and they would see as Apollo saw, for as long as his fingertip danced on the edges of the wine glass.

And so he continued to relive the memory. As he closed his eyes then, the walls of the conference room cracked and crumbled to darkness now.

There it was again: Hermes’ voice, refusing to leave his head. ‘You better run before they catch you, brother.’

‘No. No more running.’ And there was his own.

‘Good. Because I haven’t delivered my last message yet.’

Apollo had opened his eyes then, his senses welcoming him to a change of scenery. A second vision.

Now, he painted the same scene for everyone else to see -- a journey from his own perspective, or, perhaps more accurately, the perspective of someone he had yet to identify. The observer, Apollo called him. The observer was sitting up on a bed of white linen, just as Apollo had been sitting up at the WPC infirmary, but this room was smaller, more bare, with walls of white paint that had faded and chipped over time. Instead of Sabroe, the observer had Hermes as his companion.

Once again, Hermes was dressed in all white, down to slippers that now lacked wings. A trail of stitches ran around his neck, connecting his head to the rest of his body. Hermes sat by the observer’s bedside.

‘Sleep well?’ In his vision, Hermes had spoken to Apollo in Greek. Now, in Apollo's recreation, he had taken liberties to translate the conversation in English for everyone else’s convenience.

‘Two visions in one night? Well, I’ll be damned.’ Apollo’s voice -- the observer’s voice -- was not his own. It sounded older, coarser. It sounded weak. ‘Everything just has to have a bloody sequel nowadays, hasn’t it?’

Hermes chuckled, but his eyes did not move. ‘It’s hardly my fault you never look closely enough, is it?’ He turned his head to the side, the stitches on his neck slowly undoing themselves with every passing second, his gaze falling to the door across the bed.

The door flew open, revealing a line of figures clad in white robes. Their faces held vague contours of where their eyes or nose or mouth should have been.

‘This again? You know, Hermes, despite this whole immortality business, I do appreciate my beauty sleep.’

This time, however, the faceless figures paid the observer no heed. They walked as one, their footsteps measured, the soles of their shoes leaving and hitting the ground at precise intervals. A perfect soldiers' march. They were all headed for another door, this one behind Hermes.

Beyond the second door, he could hear two distinct sounds. No, three: the footfalls; a large thud, like blunt force on wooden surface; shortly followed by a softer thud. It went on and on and on, mechanical like the assembly line in a factory.

He tried to see what laid beyond the second door, but everytime he moved his head, Hermes would move with him, blocking his view. ‘What’s going on?’

Hermes grinned, standing up and beckoning him. ‘Come and see.’

As he stood up, the observer caught the sight of an antique brass clock sitting on the bedside table. In the centre of the dial was a small carving of a golden eagle, wings spread out, perched on a scepter, and surrounded by a wreath of laurel. ‘SPQR,’ read the inscription below it. The hands indicated that it was a minute to 03.00, but the second hand never moved.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t bother with that.’ Hermes grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the second door. ‘It’s already too late, anyway.’

His pupils dilated and constricted as they tried to adjust to the darkness in the second room. The first thing to catch his eye was the glint of metal moving up and down and up again. He moved closer to it, as the white-robed people did, until he could see that the glint belonged to a butcher’s knife. One by one, the faceless figures knelt in front of a wooden table, their hands clasped together and held close to their chest, as if they were in the middle of penance. Their head rested on the surface as they waited their turn.

Thud! The knife came down.

Thud. The head rolled to the ground just as the body fell to the side, making way for the next in line.

‘All right. Enough. What the fuck is going on? Who’s to blame for this?’

‘Why, the gods. Who else?’ Hermes’ hand rested on his shoulder. The stitches now only remained on one side of Hermes' neck, the remaining thread continuing to slither across his flesh. ‘Because they couldn’t save me. Because they couldn’t save you.’

‘Me?’ The observer stepped forward, closer to the execution table, and, as if to humour him, the knife slowed down just enough for him to catch a glimpse of his own reflection. He saw that he, too, was clad in white robes. Above his neck sat nothing but empty space.

‘There’s a labyrinth of dominoes, you see, and you’re the first tile.’

The observer took a few panicked steps backwards, eventually turning around to run away from the executioner’s room, back to where they started.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t bother with that.’ Hermes’ voice was calm -- emotionless. He followed the observer back into the well-lit room. ‘It’s already too late, anyway.’

Apollo’s vision neared its end. His eyesight -- the observer’s eyesight -- became hazier with every passing second -- and indeed, the seconds started passing at last. He remembered how it ended, down to the last detail: He would see a red banner -- like a heraldic flag -- right above the bed, but at that point his sight had blurred enough that he could only make out the vaguest outlines of three objects -- they were a mixture of gold, silver, and white. His gaze would fall down the bedside clock, and though he could no longer see it clearly, the ticking noise would assure him that time had resumed once again. And, finally, he would turn around to face Hermes, just in time to witness the last of the stitches undo itself. He would see his brother’s head come off before he could manage a final farewell.

But no such thing happened this time. As he reached the well-lit room once again, Apollo felt an unknown power try to reach into the depths of his mind. Another presence. An interference. Impossible.

He was lost in his own illusion.

Hermes grabbed him from the back, shoved him against a nearby wall. No. This was not Hermes. This was not the same entity from Apollo’s vision. This thing -- whatever it was -- bore a presence so powerful it rivalled even that of Apollo’s father at the peak of Ancient Greece.

Impossible. Impossible.

‘Phoibos, I’m disappointed.’ The thing spoke in an ancient Greek dialect. It shook its head, the movement undoing the last of the stitches. Even as its head fell to the ground, its mouth kept moving. ‘Don’t you know what happens to naughty little boys who kiss and tell?’

Apollo took his finger off the rim of the glass. The sound dissipated, instantly breaking the illusion for him and for everyone else. His heartbeat sounded like wardrums. He exhaled, trying to keep his breathing even. Apollo reached for his wine glass. This time, he raised it to his lips, downing the entire drink in one go.

‘Needless to say, that … that last bit. That wasn’t me.’

 

[The Omen of Death]

Sophia/Athena
​

Athena remained quiet, as her piercing grey eyes constantly observed and analyzed everyone, she had been intriguingly surprised over Morpheus making an appearance, but noted he was asleep as it happened, most likely a vision or something of importance. And having seen Yama and Shiva speak, she did notice the body language and what he said, but dismissed it for the time being.

Her focus became more intent on Apollo and what he had to say, she could see that he was anxious deep down, trying to lull himself into a false sense of security, much like a person in denial to the truth... The undeniable truth of the matter at hand. Aside from his comment about it basically being a drug trip, although denying he does them, and stating he'd 'show them' Athena watched as the world around her changed and everyone else...

Reality warping as Apollo traced his finger on the rim of the wine glass, she would now see and hear everything his vision had shown him the original. It then however, showed the all too familiar sight of Hermes, and of a new spectator in a 2nd vision. The 'observer' as Apollo deemed it. Athena carefully took in everything that was presented to her, analyzing it all and considering everything. And right when things seemed to come to an end, Athena was thrown a curve-ball out of nowhere. Once the observer, reached the well-lit room something was off... Very, very off...

As she was greeted with Hermes already there. There in the flesh in blood, sitting beside the now empty bed, legs crossed, nonchalantly flipping through the pages of a large book bound in black leather.

'Glaukopis,' he says, Athena noticing that Hermes has started to speak in Greek, whereas he spoke in English just moments earlier. And 'Glaukopis' a word game of trying to figure out it's true origin, whether it meant the color of her eyes, or the 'owled-eyed' Athena, or interpreted as constantly analyzing one's surroundings... She'd have to consider that deeply, but she stopped herself as Hermes spoke again. ‘What a pity that even with such pretty eyes, you lack insight. I expected more from a supposed goddess of wisdom. Word of advice, sister?’ The way the last word left his tongue made it all seem like a funny joke. Bitter, mocking, cold, sarcasm oozing with venom.

‘Be sober. Be vigilant.’ Hermes did not bother to look at Athena, gaze trained at the pages of the book. His mouth was distorted into a wide grin. ‘You can probably read the rest.’ He closes the tome, finally deciding to look at Athena who tried in vain to find the title. ‘In fact, you probably should.’

The illusion breaks immediately after, and Athena found herself in the conference room once again. She once again looked around the room, seeing that the others were still in their illusions. Athena gritted her teeth, whatever that was, it left her more determined than ever to figure this out, and solve it once and for all. She crossed her arms, and awaited the others to snap out of it, once they did she immediately got to the point. Showing no signs of having been disturbed, or being perturbed at all, she seemed emotionless if not determined.

"Now then, as it appears everyone has woken up, we need to discuss what we saw. It should be safe to presume that absolutely everyone in this room, saw Apollo's vision, however, I have reason to believe, that at the end we all saw different visions, once the 'Observer' in Apollo's words, goes back into the well-lit room, the scene changed into something specifically picked for us, as I have experienced. I don't think that it would've been simply I to have experienced such an event... And due to the fact that whatever we saw must have a piece of this massive puzzle, we all need to tell each other what we saw, as withholding such information is only going to harm our efforts to uncover this mystery to bring Hermes and all the other god's killers to justice... I will speak first as to what I saw."

And with that, Athena divulged every single last piece of info pertaining to what she saw and heard after the 'Observer' went into the well-lit room. Once, she finished, she spoke again as to her analysis of it.

"So from what I interpreted and analyzed from it, a common theme seems to run throughout, one of analyzing everything, and observing carefully, and as the first thing he said, 'Glaukopis' there's a couple meanings for it, it could be interpreted as a color, like that of my eyes, common interpretations being blue, light blue, green, as well as grey, the color of my eyes. However, considering nothing of that nature is brought up again, we can discard that interpretation. Then there's “flashing eyes,” “glancing eyes,” “darting eyes” and “bright eyes.” or the "owl-eyed Athena" either way it's meaning falls back onto my eyes. There is however, an interpretation that can be taken out of that, 'glancing eyes,' 'darting eyes' it implies observing your surroundings and analyzing everything you can about your environment..."

"Considering the theme falls on that, I believe what it is trying to tell me is that we need to relook at every single last detail from the Hermes case as well as the others, there must be something we are missing that we haven't noticed before, some missing link that should spur the investigation forward again... However, it should not be ruled out that this could simply be another mocking of my intelligence, and even it that is true, it would be worth taking another look at the details. And as for the last thing... It obviously means I need to go searching for this black leather tome, of course unless someone has it or know's where it might be... As it may have some answers that we are looking for." Finally, after taking a moment to stop and let that analysis hang in the air for a moment to let everyone comprehend what she stated, she finally looked around again, and lastly said.

"Does anyone else have their experience to share, remember that even if you are shy, you're contribution will help make this move quicker. So that we may finally put an end to this. Once... And for all."

 

[Lexielai]

[div class="container"] [div class="characterImage"] [div class="characterName humanName"] LYLE [/div] [div class="characterTitle humanTitle"] PROFESSIONAL GAMBLER [/div] [div class="characterName godName" style="display: none; color: #0B5394;"] YAMA [/div] [div class="characterTitle godTitle" style="display: none; padding-right: 45px; padding-left: 0px; color: #0B5394;"] LORD OF DEATH [/div] [div class="tagsContainer" style="display: none;"] Everyone [/div] [/div]

[div class="textContainer"] [div class="textChild"] [div class="text"]Apollo’s vision surprised Yama. He had never encountered the ability to project an idea so...vividly, before.

His curiosity compelled him to keep watching its twists and turns. It was unsettling. Or at least was supposed to be. Yama felt the dredges of distaste curl into his lips, but only just barely. It was strange to walk in another man’s shoes—well, more like spirit. Yet as he, through the observer, returned to the executioner’s room, he knew something had changed.

Yama immediately recognize the new setting as his home away from home—where else would it be other than the casino? But that wasn’t right. The casino was just a place. Not home.

The bright lights and groovy tunes playing in the background didn’t faze him. It only fueled his desire to compete—his desire to win. He met his to-be opponents head on, observing the competition that awaited him. Strange, Yama thought to himself. It was never about winning. The competition was never his enemy.

As his eyes shifted from one individual to the next, his train of thought was severed upon noticing the person sitting adjacent to him—the Messenger God, Hermes. He rested an arm on Yama’s shoulder before leaning in for a whisper. “Gotta say, our competition doesn’t look so hot,” he muttered. Yama couldn't help but agree. Yama tried narrowing his eyes but found he could not. The competition was faceless. And when he turned his attention to Hermes and focused...it was not the soul of an old god he sensed. No, it was something older. And more powerful.

After observing the other participants a second time, their incompetence reeked more than ever. He had been itching for a good game for an eternity, and it seemed more and more likely that his appetite wouldn't be fulfilled today. That much, Yama thought to himself, was warmer to the truth. But not quite right.

“It feels like an insult, putting us at this table,” Hermes sighed. “But luckily for us, I brought something to keep this game interesting.” Yama could read his excitement from the manner in which he giddily reached into his pocket. His hand emerged and laid a miniature silver mallet on the table that looked more like a gavel than anything. Its luster reflected the casino lights, producing a somewhat dizzying feel—but he wouldn’t let that deter him. From what, exactly?

Hermes lifted the gavel into his own hand and raised it high, pointing upwards to the ceiling. “You have an intuition for this kinda stuff, don’t you? Some kinda sixth sense you’re hiding from me?” He then forcefully brought it down, slamming it onto the table. Still one step behind, Yama thought. Never quite on the mark.

Hermes shook his head, appearing as if he was puzzled by something. “But this game’s a different beast—I'm afraid it might be just a little too far out of your control." He lifted his arm up before smashing down onto the table once again. He shrugged. “Though I guess you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Yama smiled. Damn straight.

Hermes repeated the process. For a third and final time, he lifted the gavel and sighed. “But if you’re up for it, who am I to stop you?” Like the previous instances, he smashed it down, this time with all his force. “Just a word of warning: these players are good. Dare I say that they’ll even beat you at your own game?” The table broke, and the vision faded. The last thing he heard before being transported back into the realm of reality was the other god’s lingering voice. “But that’s just what I think. What’s your wager?”

The world leapt back into existence once again, and his vision swam like he had just moved a great distance. He collected his bearings for a moment, but his thoughts revolved around the strange vision he just had. And the challenge that had been issued. ‘All in, asshole,’ he thought to himself.

Not that Yama had much to work with. He knew very little about this foe. But then again, he learned something very valuable as well.

“My vision,” he said, his voice calm in a way unlike his inner mix of uneasiness and excitement. “Entailed a silver mallet, which struck three times and broke a table. There was also a pair of keys bound together: one gold, one silver. And a three-tiered crown adorned with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. I don’t know what they meant, but Hermes seemed confident I wouldn’t understand either.”

And the messenger god would be right. Yama didn’t understand the vision and felt no qualms about sharing it. That wasn't to say he trusted these gods. He didn't put much faith in any of them, save for maybe Shiva, but if they were a plant then this would be nothing they didn’t already know already since they—he was beginning to refer to this adversary as a collective already—had orchestrated this elaborate vision in the first place. Hell, he had even tossed in the tidbit about the jewels and the keys to make them think he knew more than they thought, just in case of one of the gods was a plant, but in the wrong direction. Like he would in a game, when he would reveal a few of his cards to make his opponent believe they understood his strategy, all the while hiding the last couple up his sleeve.

Only in this case, those cards up his sleeve were what the adversary had unintentionally slip. He knew nothing about them. But they showed they knew nothing about him either.

It meant two things: one, that it could not be Shiva, who he initially suspected based on the powerful presence, because Shiva knew him better than that. And two, that this entity severely underestimated him. That was good. Yama could play along to that.

Oh, and there was one more thing, of course. ‘But,’ Yama thought, as he returned to his seat with his arms crossed and a sour expression across his face as if he was frustrated from not understanding the vision, ‘That’s something I’ll leave to fate.’
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[DuckPrince]

Katsumi Kashima || Japanese
Current location: WPC HQ, Washington DC
Interacting: Mentioning everyone

So.. to say Katsumi was triggered was kind of an understatement. He wasn't sure what the hell to do with that information and the words that were said to him, it kinda hit too close to home on how he viewed himself. So, the little artist took out paper from ..somewhere, God knows where and some chalk and pencils, even colours.

While everyone was talking about what they saw, Katsumi was feverishly drawing, his hand gliding along the paper as fast as he could do it. First he drew a ceiling crumbling, giving way to a storm with thunder roaring on one paper. On the next, was Hermes, his face and everything he said. 'Uh-oh, looks like we’ve got quite a storm coming for us, don’t we?’ The image of Hermes's face having a wide grin on it. ‘That’s all you’re really good for, isn’t it, god of thunder? Heralding what is to come -- nothing more.’ ... A panel of Hermes winking and 'You'd better leave now. Storm's coming.' .. On the next page, there was a panel with thunder and then Hermes with an umbrella.. its canopy stripes of red and gold, its ferrule made of precious metal -- and opens it above him just as the rain starts to fall in the next panel. And then the chanting.. ‘It’s raining, it’s pouring. The old man is snoring!’ ... ‘He went to bed and bumped his head, and didn’t get up in the morning!’ The more muffled the words got from the storm, the more blurry he made the letters on the page.

Of course, drawing all that took him white a long time because he was putting in as much detail as he could grasp from the vision he had.. enough for everyone to share their own visions with each other. During the time he was drawing, no one would really have the option of seeing exactly what he was drawing.

 

[Emmi]

Spoiler: Appearance

Eiran's eyes were wide as she witnessed Apollo's vision. Her hands were shaking as she stared at it. At times, she felt sharp stabs of worry stab her in her stomach. Unexpected plot twists really made Eiran jump out of her seat. It was watching an adventure/horror movie. You never know what to expect.

Apollo took his finger off the rim of the glass. The sound dissipated, instantly breaking the illusion for him and for everyone else. He exhaled, trying to keep his breathing even. Apollo reached for his wine glass. This time, he raised it to his lips, downing the entire drink in one go.

"Needless to say, that … that last bit. That wasn’t me."

Eiran's heart sank. She opened her mouth to say something, but everything was immediately blurred out. Her vision of the W.P.C conference room faded, and all she saw as a vision of herself in a chair, in art class, painting. The sound of the brush against the canvas in her hand was satisfying. And, as though it were instinct, she started to paint. The colors on the canvas were indeed wonderful. She had a small simper as she painted away her worries.

Suddenly, she felt a cold draft wash on her back and her arms. She turned around, noticing that the window was open, and blowing cold air inside. She pursed her lips, and shrugged. It's not like the cold'll bother me, anyways, she thought to herself, and resumed painting.

However, the wind started to pick up, causing Eiran to groan. That's it... it's getting annoying, she thought, getting up, and swiftly pacing to the window. With all her strength, she started to attempt to shut the window. She shut the window, causing it to have a large THUMP sound. That's better.

She then turned around, but noticed a mumbling figure. The figure had taken her place. Her eyes widened, and out of curiosity, she walked towards it. As she approached the figure, she noticed that it was Hermes, leaning forward and inspecting what you're working on. Eiran gasped and took a step back. I'm dreaming... right?

As if Hermes noticed her, he replied, "You've got good technique." The white haired goddess blushed shyly, and fidgited with her toes. "But what you're working on lacks substance." Eiran raised her eyebrow as she stared at him. Everyone tells me that... doesn't have to be so mean about it. Can't he like, see me from the North Star or something? She then noticed that he attempts to draw her attention to the necklace around his neck, grasping onto it tightly. Eiran didn't want to, but she stared at it. The exact details of the necklace are hard to make out, but it looks something akin to a cross. "Now this, this is art." Eiran narrowed her eyes, stupidly. Uh... it looks like a cross... that isn't beauty. Aren't you like, Greek or something? She resisted the urge to say anything.

"It's art from the second it's created..." Hermes's voice trails off. Khione raised her eyebrow as he gets up and walks past your canvas. He removes the necklace from his neck and holds it to the ceiling in the palm of his hand. "To the second it's destroyed." As he holds it up, the necklace seemingly vanishes into thin air. Hermes appears disappointed. "Looks like it's time to make a new one." Hermes turns to face you. "Maybe you can do it! How would you like to create art for the first time?" Khione cringed. "M-me? I-I'll just--" Before she could finish her sentence to Hermes, she was back in the WPC Conference Room.

"Ruin it," she finished, glumly. The vision is over and she was returned to the WPC Conference Room. She looked at Athena, who had told everyone to tell about their experience. "I... Um.." he shyly raised her hand. "Uh.." she cleared her throat. "Erm... I had a vision.." she announced. "Hermes... asked me to recreate his necklace... which looks too much like a cross."


Mentioned: Generic Brooding Antihero The Omen of Death || Interacting With: Everyone

 

[Generic Brooding Antihero]

APOLLO CIRILLO

GREEK | CS​

LOCATION: WPC HQ, Washington DC
TAGS: Specific interactions The Omen of Death DuckPrince Lexielai Blu

Oh, great. Bloody fantastic. Everyone was going around, sharing their experiences, like they were all a part of some heartwarming Immortals Anonymous support group, and Apollo was partly to blame. He sat back in his seat, fingertips idly drumming against the edges of the table.

Athena had been the first to speak up -- not entirely surprising. She was always the curious sort. It was a good thing, really. That meant Apollo could just pass on the message, and let her decipher it, right? Right?

Alas, she seemed just as in the dark as he was. Apollo sighed, the line between his brows growing deeper the longer she spoke. What was this about a book? Glaukopis? And then on and on it went -- this impromptu Immortals Anonymous meeting -- as Yama talked about shiny things, and Katsumi went into some sort of … drawing fit, and Khione mentioned something about crafting a necklace.

Well, shit. If Apollo had known this was going to be an art session, he would have brought his guitar.

‘You mean not everyone got shoved against the wall while the nearly decapitated corpse of their half-brother dropped a disturbingly flirtatious remark?’ Apollo fought the urge to shudder at the mere recollection of it. His voice somehow maintained its perpetual state of nonchalance, though by now, his eyes refused to play along. True enough, they held fear, but so did they hold onto something else entirely. Disappointment -- perhaps. Anger -- certainly.‘Can we get something straight, first of all? That wasn’t Hermes. Don’t refer to it as Hermes.’

He allowed himself a moment to regain his composure, and before anyone could blink, the sombre look on his face had faded. The ghost of a smile -- a smirk -- had taken its place. ‘It called me Phoibos, too. Funny, that. Been a while since anyone ever referred to me as blondie, for obvious reasons.’ Apollo’s gaze wandered over to Athena. ‘Do you suppose it’s why it called you that? Some half-assed attempt at a throwback to the wonder years?’ He snickered, shaking his head. ‘Although I suppose the bastard -- whatever it was -- could just as well have been telling me to bleach my hair. You’ve got to wonder, though. Why bother? Why now? Trying to reach us individually -- what was there to gain?’

What had it said again? Something about kissing and telling? Was it, perhaps, its own, flashy attempt at stopping him from showing everybody everything? A diversion? At last, it occurred to Apollo that he never got to show any of them what really happened in his vision.

‘That wasn’t how it was supposed to end.’ Everyone could tell as much. Apollo shifted in his seat, collecting his thoughts, trying to think of the best way to put images into words. ‘As soon as I -- as soon as whoever -- went back to the first room, the clock was supposed to go off.’ He shrugged, his words and sentences starting to sound a bit disjointed as they were marked with long pauses. ‘And …’ His voice drifted off. His head tilted slightly as his brows came closer to each other. Bright brown eyes moved from one individual to the next, gaze lingering upon those who have spoken so far. He repeated their statements inside of his head.

Something clawed at him from the back of his mind: A word. His native tongue. It looked like widened eyes, and sounded like the chime of bells. Eureka.

Katsumi had yet to finish with his drawing, but the idea of putting words into pictures was genius in itself. That was it. They could use that. Apollo retrieved one of Katsumi’s discarded scratches, turning it over to a blank page.

‘What you saw -- show me,’ he said, head turning to face Yama. He slid the sheet of paper, along with a ballpoint pen, towards the other god, not bothering to ask for Katsumi’s permission beforehand. Now all that was left was to wait.

Apollo’s head turned to the side, and his eyes caught a glimpse of what started to look like a finished product. Oranges and Lemons, and now, this. ‘Is it customary for the English to traumatise their children with these rhymes?’ He half-whispered, chuckling -- or, perhaps, trying to chuckle, as his eyes betrayed him once more. Because there it was again: A word. The word. This time, instead of a rush in his head, there was a void in his gut.

‘Director, remind me again what we’re doing here?’