Open To All @senatusstarters

"And what exactly would I need your gratitude for?" She spat, teeth bared as Pythia took in the form of the pathetic excuse for a man. The wounded animal, snarling as she came too close as if he'd ever come close to being the prey in this scenario, or any beforehand. Octavian, regardless of his obsessive desire and need for the book, was a fickle being. One that she neither needed, not sought to forget. Tsking lightly as he attempts to move, the sight shift of her fingertips brings about vines, sprawling from the depths of the Necronomanteion to the very tower they exist upon in that moment. "When will you people get it? I don't wish to leash anyone at all," not entirely true - there were certainly more than a handful of creatures she'd see chained by the end of this, "I have given your daughter everything that you never could. I've given them all that nobody else ever could. I don't wish to condemn them to an existence controlled by a bunch of egg-head Neanderthals who believe they know what's best for this.. thing you all consider to be a society." A hand waves in a haphazard gesture to the world beyond and the vines snap around Octavian's wrists, thorns sinking into his flesh, "You held so much promise."

who?: @fxllenpythia where?: he's still on the ground

❂🐦❂

He noticed almost immediately how difficult things were now that he was a man once again. Without his power, the whispers could rise to screams in his mind, still urging him to go find that book. It was so close, yet Octavian was too weak to do much of anything but lie there. He was disconnected from everything but his past, so at the very least the buteo's instincts ingrained into his being kept him alert despite his condition. Still, Octavian realized something as he bled out onto the floor of the Necromanteion: if he could still feel the Necronomicon beckoning him then it really had imprinted on his soul. "If you're wanting to try and make me feel gratitude towards you again, don't. I've forgotten how banal anger can feel without the fire to back it up." Octavian winces as he attempts to sit up but remains on the ground, clutching his abdomen. "Actually, I'm surprised you've found time for me at all. Aren't you supposed to be too busy walking my daughter on a leash?"

It's a tiresome speech, and one she's head over and over again. Just as the first to try, Valentina would find the dark hole of disappointment all those before her found. No matter the state of the world, the depths of evil within it would always look for her; violence. "You're beginning to sound like a child, Valentina." The sharp edge of her tone is almost condescending, "And petulance certainly doesn't become you." Of course, she wasn't entirely wrong - the temptation Python offered would always be more than anyone mortal was worthy of, and until one so depraved could cling to all she offered without become a whisp of their former selves. "Kaan died a fool, and he died to save none but himself." Had the sovereign held onto his anonymity, perhaps he wouldn't have rendered the Narcissus reputation little more than a handful of ashes. Unable to be trusted. "And yet, I still stand." Leviathan smirks, "Forgive me, for not holding my breath at this little... premise of my downfall, darling. You're hardly one with clear sight, if each downfall of your own life weren't telling enough - and to be quite honest," she pauses, "i've simply never put much weight into the hands of a hypocrite." The irony is not lost, in fact, it paints a smile of saccharine devastation across the archfiends features. "Now, move along, lest I make you."

Valentina wants to make a vow, a promise that she'll extinguish Pythia's grip on her loved ones before the Narcissus coven is completely dissolved but she always cursed those fools in the movies who told the villain their plan to do them in and ended up with a knife in their stomach for their efforts, she can operate in shadow and darkness -- such is a gift for a spirit and Narcissus never shied from doing what was necessary no matter the reputation it preceded. "You tempt souls into darkness and leave them to drown when the shadows consume, I know your true face Python and Kaan died to save those that you would gladly had for your slaughter, nothing more than fodder." She wondered how awful it must be to have such an empty existence. "He has always been my friend and he died my hero, I know how seductive you can be promising great grasps at power but speaking nothing of the empty husk that it leaves you. There is no one that has true allegiance to you and you'll learn of how cruel fate can be soon."

Natasha O'Keeffe + WHEEL OF TIME S2 Bloopers

“There always has to be at least one truly unruly child. Admittedly, I should have remembered that you were the closest thing I ever had to that.” Though, she’d always made it quite clear that she wouldn’t always be there - that things beyond her control would always see fit that she could never linger too long while still rising to power. He’d never been devoid of such knowledge. “Oh, they were luckier than they should have been.” Dismantling what remained of the coven in such a way was a rather quick fix, and not exactly what she might have preferred - but time was always of the essence. “Are you not already in my debt, Kaan?” She asked, casting idle curiosity in his direction. “They’ll close ranks. What remains and what they’ll build of the senate, I expect you to be among them. Play nice, for now.”

pythia​.

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?”

-

“Yes, because I should have spent my time pining the loss of you instead of doing just as you would have done.” The words hold no malice, nor any indication other than amusement at her own words. He had spent too many years searching for a means to restore the Asphodel coven, had sacrificed too many in her name in the hopes of retrieving what had been lost. The Narcissus coven, however, had been a means for his own selfish gain. He had slipped into its folds, made a name for himself, and secured the mantle of Sovereign for his own goals. For his own safety. “The other covens were not so lucky, especially the Amaranthus. Color me surprised to receive a message from your oracle prior. Shall I consider myself in your debt then?”

@arakhor

Another triumph, underlying the return of the fellowship that had set out some time ago. Whispers had sought their way back to her on the wind, through the shadows and in the thick of each soul spilled to the book. Heroes that would stumble upon a broken crown and all the instability that would come with it. It spun its way through her entire being as an ultimate high, she almost missed it. A tremor that worked it's way into her fingertips and the promise of an oath not sworn in blood or souls, etched within the very celestial bones of what she'd once been, alerted her to something beyond the dissipating stretch of space between her and what she would bring upon this world. Her form filtered into a darkened mist, each speckle of darkness a black hole that emanated how rotten she was to the core, and when her hand slipped over his shoulder, the corporeal form following, she drew him into the heart of the otherworld. The chambers of the Asphodel and the Necronomicon echoing with centuries of silence and distance that never once left a mark upon what existed between them "I knew this lifetime would bring you back to me."

3,000 years pass and I'm back to this.

It was a wonder any of them believed they could breathe within the confines of the coven and she wouldn’t know about it. The entirety of the Otherworld now beneath the ruling of Levithan and Ayi’ig left little to be considered, and yet, she’d allowed Eric to continue believing that his intention existed within the darkened confines of his own mind, that alone. The heated drink she held in her hand - something otherwise wickedly sweet where bitterness existed in the very fingertips that burned with it, a small comfort in an almost domestic setting for her. “You’re going?” She sat up a little straighter, a crease forming between narrowing brows, how bold of him. Better had he tried to slip out unseen; perhaps she might have even commended him for such gall. “Where will you go, Eric?” Where will you go that I can’t find you? “There’s still so much more to do, don’t you at least want to see the next step come to fruition before you tuck tail and run?” While innocence lacquered each word, it was impossible to miss the subtle venom that existed beneath. “I’d hate for you to regret your decision.”

          a gift for @fxllenpythia​,

notes: honey you’ve got a big storm comin’

          Eric’s anxiety and inquietude tended to push them to do regrettable things. Joining the Asphodel had been one of them, but announcing his departure to the Greater Demon ruling over said coven? Astronomically one of said decisions. They had few remnants of their personal items hanging around within the coven, those were all moved away discreetly after returning from Knossos and feeling that palpable sickness in their gut at what had went down. Reliably, loyally, sworn to the book in their own way of obligation they’d done what was expected of them and were now rife with guilt and the need to flee. A typical and rather visceral reaction of the Exile. “Hey, so, I don’t know what I expected but, I’ve done my part and it’s time for me to get going,” their words are embedded with flippant sarcasm, especially in the face of a venerated creature who was strengthened by the sacrificial blood of others, Eric couldn’t find it in themselves to tame their fear-induced lip.

Pythia — A Satyr King's Funeral

It was irreverent glee that carved the saccharine smile upon her features. As selfishly driven as the greater demon may have been, even Pythia understood the feeling of pride when one of her own converts found gain and pleasure upon the covens resolves. "Undoubtedly, there'll be more to come," a glass raised, the blood of her brethren, "I wouldn't worry too much about that. Suffering, we have plenty of, and should all our plans come to fruition, there'll be no end to it for those like Octavian."

"Hell yeah, I'll cheers to that." And she really had nobody to thank but the Pythia for helping her with this. Lucretia had felt lost for a very long time before the aspect had spoken into her ear of the necronomicon. Power was something she had always been desperate to have. And now here she was wielding it with no real drawbacks. Hell, she'd been able to steal power from Octavian, too. It sure didn't get better than seeing him just a vulnerable man. "That would be nice, but I'd love to see him suffer here just a bit more. Male suffering gives me energy coffee could only dream of giving to me."

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.