Fxllenpythia - Sinner

A waste, became her most immediate thought. The more demons already among them, the less she would need to conjure for herself in time. From the moment Abel had first called to release his familiar, it had pulled idly at the hands of time and ideally, morphed itself into a small piece of a rather complicated puzzle she intended to pull together. That one of her brethren had called a blade against them well before she could hand over purpose was almost absurd to her. It meant they were looking far before Pythia had allowed herself known to Rome. “Do you know which Seraphim? What their vessel looked like?” I was a long shot, finding out who would strike against one of their demons while the city ran rampant with those far more capable. 

“A seraph blade can revert any creature to it’s simplest form.” It was the slightest explanation for what she now knew had happened. Whether he understood it or not - the fate of his familiar was not merely by chance. “Without tossing him back into the inferno, there is little more you can do to revert him to a demon state.” She states, rather coldly, though she finds no real reason to sugar coat the truth for him. “The magic and power that turned him in the first place has been bled back into the inferno itself, or - remains trapped within the blade and there is nothing that can be done.” The corner of her lip twitches, head canting far enough to the side to cast dark tresses beyond her shoulder, “However, there are other avenues, if one is so willing.”

fxllenpythia​:

As her name flit through the mind of another, Pythia cracked out the ache in her neck with a rather jarring twist of her jaw. All in a days work, she supposed as the pull towards the other became something ethereal. A plea more than anything, as were all those seeking her out so reverently. Nobody chose to walk the path towards her without wanting something dire - power, revenge; death. It bled from their every whim and just as she’d expected, the air was so thick with it, she could taste the sweetness in the air. “Then you’ve been missing out for your entire life, Abel.” Ire doesn’t beseech her in being summoned this time, there are some who call to her who are hardly worth the price of their own soul, and yet - she knows that this one will cater to the necronomicon and herself in time.  Laughter splits concerning lips and Pythia presses her shoulders into the wall she rests upon, drawing herself to full height as she picks at dust within the air, “I’d argue that you’ve needed my help for a very long time, yet you’ve never quite made it this far before, have you?” Always toeing the line so readily blurred by those of his kind. The destruction so often molded from the skeletal foundations of blood magic only satisfied by those who could talk their way out of it’s damnation. Confident steps drew her closer until she could draw the chair out opposite him, plopping herself into it like a child as she lent forward and placed her chin in her hands, the sickly scent of his blood permeating satisfaction within her. “Tell me everything and don’t leave out a single detail,” she paused, hues narrowing for a moment before a saccharine grin split her features, “I’ll know if you do.”

          Silas had imbued this innate understanding of blood magic into Abel, for him it was a taboo that was only called upon when absolutely necessary. He’d tinkered with it before, felt the dangers that lurked in the rare times he’d practiced it; an unyielding itch. When he’d first released Cain from the Inferno after he’d been banished he’d had to call upon to release him; Abel wondered now if the Pythia could recall that or if so many called upon her that they were bound to drown out the incessant pull to her power. What was once a well documented taboo had spiraled into power that many were blinded by, entrenched with this desire for infamy. He’d felt it’s pull the moment he utilized it to free Cain from Lucifer’s clutches, it was akin to a breath of fresh air, all the tension within shoulders released as he fueled the Pythia once more. Abel had abandoned the practice in his adolescence, though Cain whispered of the desire for them to obtain more power, Abel would never surrender to the thought of supplying the Pythia; yet here he was now, within their presence, begging for help.

“My familiar… he was turned human.” There was hardly much to tell, from Abel’s perspective, the experience was Cain’s outright. Abel’s gaze bore into the floorboards but he dared to look up at the Pythia, a greater demon, “A seraphim had managed to make it into our coven,” with half of their coven sequestered out of Rome, they were weakened and he was certain that was to blame for it’s ability to enter their home. “I don’t know what happened between them, but when I stumbled upon him he was a clean slate; human.” Cain had begged Abel to reverse it however possible and here he was, putting himself at the mercy of the Pythia, “Is there anything that can be done? Anything you can do?” The Pythia projected solutions onto people, though they meddled, they were never the executioner. If she could, however, allow him the power to reverse what Cain had endured, Abel would do it if it brought peace for Cain once more.

seraphimichael​:

For centuries Leviathan had been beyond his reach, their being nestled somewhere between physical and metaphysical. They had rooted themselves in the hearts of witches, the great liar, the great schemer, the manipulator that had been doomed to the Inferno along with several of their siblings. Michael and the legions of the divine had driven back Lucifer and the others once before, he would do so again. Pythia had returned in physical form and with this he would hunt them to the very ends of the earth and send them back where they belonged. He did not care if this meant cutting down every witch who’d made a pact with them along the way.

Michael had followed them here, either led into a trap or to Leviathan’s demise he did not care. Still, his fallen sibling had baited him and because he had never lost, he’d pursued them just the same. Michael’s irises split into a dozen as his power leeched forth and peered into the dark ruins, it had once been in fashion to line such places with bones and even now they stayed scattered at his feet.

Lightning crackled between his hands and all at once he struck the place where Leviathan had just stood, the pillar exploded as part of the ruin began to crumble. Another fallen vestige of mortals, another totem of a dead and dying time. Empires had turned over and over, this city had been sacked and burned more than any other, yet still they built bones upon bones. Leviathan’s dread voice a cruel mockery of all the time he’d spent in pursuit of them. “I’ll rest when you’re dead.” Michael spat, his blade in his hand once more as it still hummed with power.

The crack of lightening split her brothers features, illuminating images of their true form within the flickering vestige of power. It tickled amusement within the breadth of her chest. The ire that Michael continued to hold onto was personal - pieces of it calling to razor sharp edges that would do little more than wound. Each and every tie to the world of blood magic ensures that it would take worlds over for them to be rid of her. Hundreds of thousands would meet their end before Leviathan ceased. Where such anger painted Michael with determination and what would undoubtedly be an ungratifying endeavor, she pushed. "You'll never know such peace as death," perhaps a promise, that as long as he lived within the claymade body of Adam - she would remain to see him bested. Taunted. "This world will end before that happens."

A crackle of fire engulfed her hand and her form turned to ash, blistering away in the breeze of the storm carried by the two. Voice carried across the earth, twisting and contorting the distinct familiarity of another - one long gone, a child baring the mark of Nephilim. The cries of Omarosa's soul splintering the space surrounding Michael as corporeal form found her once more, feet behind her brother. "You're blinded, Michael. You always have been."

Blind love and devotion to a father that would so surely overlook them for the lesser creatures gifted the realm of earth. Blinded by loyalty and unable to see the puppet he'd become. Darkness drifted from fingertips like smoke, seeking to cloud the vision of all that lay before him, her voice a ghastly whisper in his ear, "There is no end to this. I will never stop and you will always fail." Still, his fallen daughters screams reverberate against the broken ruins, another promise palpable in the air.

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

fxllenpythia​:

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

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

Lanfear | The Wheel of Time 2x07

sacrilcgiovs​:

where. the new asphodel home when. a few days after who. @fxllenpythia​

“I see you’ve wasted no time settling in,” he stated with an easy air of superiority, which came long before he ever donned the title of Sovereign, or Senator, for that matter. Though, when it came to Pythia, it would never have mattered, for despite his show of titles, everything he had ever earned for himself was at the benefit of her. “Shall I find your little oracle to thank, or would my gratitude fall to you?”

The lengthy twist of her smile as he chides her is minute, enough to cast weary indifference in his direction as she peeks up at him from the comfort of the chaise lounge she occupies. “You should be far more impressed, Kaan. I only moved twice as quickly as you did in securing your place within a second coven. Though, I suppose you had to learn treachery from somewhere, didn’t you?” It’s little more than a jest - his occupation amuses her greatly and has for centuries now. “My oracle? Do you truly believe this is all due to some little prophecy? Tsk. Tsk. Where’s your faith?”

augustcavaliere​:

“No, no we won’t.” The senate would establish order in the city once more, their enemies would align, and then they would come for the coven. The Asphodel had invited them here and whether the senate knew it or not, they’d play right into their hands. “But, who’s hiding?” August asked rhetorically as he fixed his gaze upon the Pythia with equal parts awe and amazement, “I leave tomorrow to perform my final rite, effective immortality, my final pledge to the necronomicon.” The cost was substantial, so many lives would go noticed at a time like this, August had no choice but to perform it elsewhere away from the prying eyes of the senate and the marshals who would stand to intervene.

August had stood proudly at the Pythia’s side along with the Egotist and Lucretia when the Asphodel had proclaimed themselves responsible for the massacre at Halloween and devotedly sided with the architect who’d bring about the destruction of the status quo. Good. The witch had come to Rome to seek vengeance for his disappeared father, but in Erik’s absence he found only dead whispers and broken promises - Pythia had found him as a broken ruined thing and together they’d reunited the shattered necronomicon alongside the others.

There was no act that the witch would not throw himself into on the Pythia’s behalf, where there were some who may have doubted their supremacy August had always known the power behind the figure. From childhood’s hour Python had guided his hand, his blade, his magic, when he was cornered it was blood that had set him free. “The blessed… Their presence.” August had felt their arrival within the city, it was unmistakable. “How can we destroy them?” They had undoubtedly come here to put an end to their plans, to put an end to the Pythia, something August would never allow.

Still, the wickedness in her smile grew. Dripping with venom with the premise of a tantalizing sweetness as movements of a dancer drew her nearer the witch. Undoubtedly, she knew that none of them were so willing to hide any longer. The rise of the Asphodel was monumental; bringing about a world in those she sought after would no longer be forced to remain hidden. A world unto chaos. “Luckily, they’re fools and won’t notice their mistake until they’re already within our grasp.” Fickle, the minds of protectors - too busy with the offence to consider proper defensive strategy. It was, after all, how all else had fallen into their very laps. August had spoken to her many times about the ritual, about all it required and all that could come of it. The greatest of sacrifices to the Necronomicon - to her and the Goddess of True Death. Delicate features relegated his own now, silken tresses shifting as she tilts her head and reaches to brush fingertips beyond his ear, “I’ll be with you.” Regardless of where she was - she would be with all of them come their final rite.

Every so often; the turn of the century would bring to her a being or two that held a special place among those that served. Those that personified every ounce of fury and malice that she carried with her - born of Ulthar’s betrayal and Leviathan’s fury - August Cavaliere was one of those. “The Necronomicon knows’ what’s in your heart, I know you.” Far lesser men had sold their soul in it’s entirety. With frail drive and hollow machinations - but not August. “I look forward to seeing you upon your return.” In helping him to understand the full extent of the power it granted him; all that he could wield and all that he could burn in her stead. For all he’d given, her guidance and protection was deserved. “We’ll have much to discuss.” It was a feeling that he would undoubtedly come to recognize, where one followed - the rest were sure to follow, those tasked with hunting down the fallen and all those that stood in their way would not take lightly to Pythia’s resurgence. “I was wondering when you would begin to feel them. You must remember it, August. How it felt.” Too many would see him as little more than an outreach of her own power; and they’d be right. As long as the Asphodel continued to grow in power; so would she. “They can be banished, given the right tools and those willing to participate.” However, “Destroying one doesn’t come so easily, unfortunately.” Lips pursed tightly together and ran her tongue across her teeth indignantly, “The only way is with a seraph blade, wielded only by the divine themselves.” 

The sickening metallic scent perforated the air and for a brief moment, Pythia considered mottling the sweetness in the air with an ever burning candle as she watched crimson drip from his fingertips. “Tell me everything.” Fingertips extended as she beckoned him over, knowing all too easily that one touch would show her everything he had seen; the blood of the Dahlia witch clinging to all that he had seen within each and every molecule as it fell between cobbled stone and cracked floors of the temple. “We have to ensure it comes to fruition. The longer we wait, the more we have to lose. It’s only a matter of time before they try to drive us out.”

where. necromanteion who. @fxllenpythia​

The blood of the Dahlia had always been so much sweeter, and it still spilled from the initiate’s throat into the stone of the coven home, further fed to the Necronomicon as Bastien stepped from it to Pythia. While the blood still coated the curve of his fingers, despite how it had been drawn across his tongue, the blade had been discarded beside the body of the witch. He would retrieve it later, clean it of its offering and return it to the holster that would ensure its presence for the next one. “You should have seen it,” he mused, delight etched into every curve and crevice of his features. “The way their precious sanctuary rotted away, the way that they cowered so pathetically,” the words resounded with the pure ecstasy that the vision had brought on, while his fingers twitched with the want to pull another one from the three sisters. 

She’s alerted long before she arrives. Along with Ayi’ig and the growing number of their ranks, little more breathed within the Otherworld now without their knowing. This, however, did not force her to find him quickly. For centuries, all that she could draw to her with little more than a whisper had driven many a wedge between Octavian and those he called family - Nettelia, Lucretia, and now Oztalun. Much like so many of her Blessed siblings, the righteousness of the Archdruid would always draw her to wreck havoc where havoc could burn ever so brightly. “You come to my home, and decide the best way to announce yourself is to throw a tantrum, Octavian?” Her voice echoes, she is everywhere and nowhere. “Tsk tsk,” the chide rises in tandem with a fervent laugh until shadows unfurl and Pythia rises, “Did Oztalun truly teach you no manners?”

where?: he can’t find the necromansion but he’s gonna light the place up until he does

██

Passage into the pillaged Otherworld was supposed to be a one time thing, but now he needed it. The Guardian was reluctant to grant Octavian’s wish for reasons unbeknownst to him, perhaps he saw what dwelled within or perhaps he was just a coward. Octavian would’ve like to find out for it may have helped him on his journey, but he would be alone in this. He had questions that needed answers, opinions that needed to be shared, anger that needed to be released, and faces he needed to see for himself. The phoenix blazes through the dark wreckage, knowing that he won’t be able to find the location or the one he seeks at all. But the whispers are calmed by his proximity to the Necromanteion, providing him the peace of mind necessary to make himself known with his full power. His fire will consume all, his shrieks will echo endlessly, and Octavian will not yield until he gets a response. This meeting of predators was long overdue.

@fxllenpythia​

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