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Current descension a god roleplay is open again for new members! join the side of the immortals roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
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go down on my thoughts
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LOKDIN IS BACK BABYYYYY
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vinny gambini is my spirit animal
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propane and propane accessories bender
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Bio




enfp-t capricorn slytherin
yee your haww
ancient zombie

Most Recent Posts


interactions: Alaric | Brachyllo | Unnamed Unfortunate Soul
mentions: Rycann | Alarra @WXer | Skagosi @Vanq



News of the tourney taking place at Summerhall reached the Dreadfort with plenty of time to prepare. However, it seemed however, Lord Bolton was busy with other matters at hand than throwing thoughts to attending a southron event. Having been present for the wailings of the small folk expressing their grievances, it irked the Lady of the Dreadfort to no end to see how meekly her nephew handled the poacher situation. Instead of allowing young Alaric to take the offender away she quickly climbed down from her seated position calling out to him with a sickly sweet smile set in place upon her lips, "Allow me, dearest nephew~"


“Can’t he see the benefits of going south and mingling with the other Lords?” The dark haired Lady of the fort sighed in frustration as she paced the stone floor, light from the multitude of candles casting an ethereal glow along her frame, shadows dancing on the walls. Wails erupted from the rooms surrounding her while her own present company dwelled silently. “I swear, it’s as if all other plans and ideas have sailed from his mind as soon as he took her as a wife,” she shuddered at the mere thought of her sister in law. There was no love lost between the two of them and her dearest Lord brother favored her words over those of his wife's, but there was still something there that kept his thoughts on the edge between the two and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to sway him to her side more often than not.

The poacher hung there, loosely, arms shackled to the ceiling, legs crumpled under him on the ground, struggling to hold him up. They had been down in the dungeons for quite some time at this point and the fact that no solution had come to her was making the Lady cantankerous. More so than usual. "Is there nothing you have to say for yourself? What did you think was going to happen, hmm?" She brought the bloodied blade up under his nose catching on a nostril. "Did you think we weren't to find out? That you would be dealt with without consequences?"

"S-spare me, m'lady... please, please. Have mercy-" He tried so desperately to speak without his voice wavering, to hold himself up with some dignity. Though him begging stripped him of that long before Raelith threatened him. It was pathetic to bare witness to.

A sick sort of smile came over her as she dragged the blade further down his torso, stopping between his fourth and fifth rib, "Mercy? This is mercy."

The door to the chambers swung open revealing Brachyllo Hotoris, the captain of the house guard. A towering man of impressive stature and even more impressive decorative hair. He was a Second Son back when Rycann traveled with them in Essos. Striking a friendship of sorts he accompanied her Lord brother back home and hasn't backed down from the tasks at hand since. A blessing and curse. "Ah, Brach, whatever can I do for you?"

"The sarcasm is not welcome, Lady." His playful words didn't seem to match his stoic posture. It was the same with him always - so mirthful one moment and then militant the next. A flip of the coin to experience the different facets of Ser Hotoris. Raelith however, was an exception; always getting a playful encounter with the guardsman. It was as if he fed into her perverse games. Wasn't as if she were going to say no. "Your presence is required elsewhere."

"Of course it is," with a final glance back towards the poacher she thrust a long blade from the assortment laid out near the door into Brachyllo's arms, "He poached. I'm thinking the loss of his less dominate hand. He still needs to feed his family."

Before she could make it past the threshold the captain spoke up, tossing the blade between hands, testing the weight of the weapon and gauging as to if he were going to use it or not, "That's very generous of you-," It wasn't like Raelith to be so courteous with those worthy enough to make it to the dungeons. So to see her take being pulled from her... hobby so willingly was truly a sight to behold.

The dark haired beauty halted her steps and turned to look back, "Make no mistake," a scoff on her lips and a scowl upon her face - she didn't want to leave matters in his hands but what could she do? She was summoned and it would behoove her to heed her brother's call. No matter how inconvenient. "It is not out of generosity that I do this, but because it would benefit us to have as many able bodies possible to protect against those Skagosi that are marching towards Karhold."







𝖙 𝖎 𝖉 𝖎 𝖓 𝖌 𝖘
𝖙 𝖎 𝖉 𝖎 𝖓 𝖌 𝖘

location: Odin's Penthouse
interactions: Odin | Týr
mentions: Váli@Hey Im Jordan | Thor@metanoia | Heimdall@sly13 | Sif@Danvers




When the White Wolf took his leave, Odin sighed heavily in relief. He would never speak the words aloud that he was scared of the once pup now turned man. His fury and passion as great as his father's and even more disturbing is how similar to Loki he has grown into. It would do the Allfather no favors to tip him over the edge and be on the receiving end of powerful jaws fit to rip into the Moon. A shudder ran through him.

Odin was able to pour himself another drink before his phone chimed from the counter top it sat on. A text message from Váli came at the most... not inopportune times, but with the way things were going in Seattle, it would have been best his son was not in the city. Nevertheless, he typed out a quick reply mulling over whether or not he wanted to divulge information as sensitive as divine deaths over the phone. No telling who or what could be listening in.

To: hefnd
You have no idea. We should meet soon, do you need a place to stay while you're here? sent


With another heavy sigh escaping him he took to sipping at the amber liquid swirling around in his glass, about to sit back down in his favorite leather seat. Time seemed to be moving at an immeasurable pace. One minute everything is moving too fast, while other times moving incredibly slow. Odin felt sluggish, and not because of the copious amounts of liquor he had ingested in a short span of time. It was in times like these that he wished to have guidance to lead him to an answer and not just the wills of a mortal shell; which most oftentimes was little to none. After being around for so long it's been hard for the Allfather to find a purpose among it all. He's tried many times to gain love and respect and just time with his sons. Váli has been a success, for the most part. Odin even likes to think that it was because of his help that his youngest was thriving in the woods with his commune and business staying afloat. Odin would be remiss to think that those kids he helps save and nurture turn into anything other than upstanding citizens to whatever society they return to.

His internal thoughts were brought back to the present as he spotted a swirling mass of black and grey smoke billowing up from under the front door, a clear line of sight from where he sat; once relaxed and now on edge. The shapeless mass never formed anything more than a shadowy silhouette, but it was enough to terrify the Allfather. With all the knowledge of the world, old and new, he knew what this was. A residual effect the draugr held over him. Possibly from when it attacked and grabbed at him, his right shoulder still throbbed from the slash he received hours ago. Would he have less pride than that of the head of a pantheon he might have gone to receive treatment for said injury. But this was Odin. He might have grown in some areas, but pride was not one of them.

The fluid creature stood there at the foot of his chair, almost staring at him with no face, waiting for him to do or say something. All knowing in it's silence. Odin would not give it the satisfaction, though he couldn't ignore it forever. Once again his glass was empty and he found himself almost side stepping the black mass to get to his home bar, his back to the thing - It wasn't really there to begin with... right - pouring himself a heavy handed drink.

...Faðir...
...Eineygð fífl...

...Blóðbróður...


Familiar voices floated and swirled around in the space around him, echoing inside his head, screaming out to him. The translucent creature still hovering about him reached out bony claws, intent on grabbing his shoulder, to get him to see to hear. But Odin did, there wasn't anything preventing him from seeing the lifeless forms of those he holds dear flash before his mind's eye, projecting it onto the floor of his abode. Thor, Heimdall, Týr, Loki, Miss Hebe... they were there before him cycling through one another as if part of a moving picture. It wasn't enough that his own guilt tormented him, now he was being plagued by a revenant as well... if he had been more lucid he might have even pieced the creature's appearance with a certain Helheim ruler. But alas, his mind was too preoccupied trying to hide away from the visions plaguing him, yelling out at the creature and swinging violently towards it. Hoping to land a blow, just one, and falling short every time.

So consumed with his own battle, Odin didn't hear the front door open. Didn't hear the footsteps hurrying towards him, definitely didn't recognize the face of the man behind him as he swung a blade around and held it to their throat. Odin hadn't even realized he had grabbed a weapon in his haze, though thankfully, Týr was conscious enough to block the affronting attack and disarm the Allfather in one fell swoop. "Faðir... you are not well," his voice was soft, but didn't hide any truths. Something Odin admired about his son and rival. No matter the situation, he could count of Týr to be level headed and righteous; even if his words weren't the most tactful.

It brought him back to the present, to a reality that, yes, Odin wasn't doing well. He hadn't been for awhile though he wouldn't let the others know of this. It wouldn't bode well for the Norse god. Nodding his head and dropping his arms he shuffled himself back to his chair, with the help of his son - whom he was thankful for, though would never admit to it aloud. Pride at it's finest. "Tell me, what brings you by?" A grunt was all the thanks Týr would receive, but it was an unspoken language between the two that told him that his father really was grateful.

Nodding himself Týr stepped back a bit and gestured to the package left by the front door, dropped there in a hurry once he had seen the state of duress his father was in upon his arrival. "I come bearing gifts. Thought it would be best for you to inspect it in person, although holding it in my hands it is definitely it." His lips curled into a pleasant smirk, reminiscent of a smile, one of joy; having found his domain weapon was something of a life long goal of his. Having it once more in his possession was like finding his missing piece and becoming whole once more.

Odin called for him to bring it to him to examine, and though the bringer of justice was a tad bit weary he obeyed. As the Allfather inspected the sheathed blade, a golden hilt that showed no signs of patina or rust or age - it was as if it had just come from the forge, Týr continued on with the report of his travels. "That blade wasn't the only thing recovered in Denmark," he started, examining his father's reaction, seeing if there was any knowledge of something else taking place overseas that Odin might have had a hand in orchestrating. When he only noticed Odin's wide eyed gaze, pure curiosity behind them, he knew that there was at least something the old man wasn't spilling. "Mmhm. Sif has returned to us. I had one of the drivers escort her to Thor's place, figured that they would want to see each other after so long."

"Or you wanted her to catch him in the act of being unfaithful to her," Odin quipped without removing his gaze from the intricate details of the sheath, though a smirk played on his lips. He would be sneaky in such a way. It was no secret how his oldest felt about his brother's wife - even back before the Fall. He had believed them to be a good match, but he was selfish and didn't need Týr distracted from his duties. Old Odin was a dick to his children, all in the hopes of staying on top and ruling over his kingdoms with an iron fist and unwavering loyalty. Let them hate so long as they fear; isn't that the Latin translation for what Odin stood for? "You aren't typically one for games, my son." There was a proud papa moment going on in his chest at his son's craftiness.

"I know not of what you speak..." His nonchalant facade broken out into wide grin, eyes twinkling with a type of mirth not familiarly spotted on the face of Justice. Týr knew what he was doing, of course he did. However, trying to convince Lady Sif of her husband's... deeds the last couple hundred years or so would be doing no one favors. Besides, it wasn't his place to tell on his siblings and meddle in the love affairs of those around him. No matter how much he would have liked to have been a fly on the wall of that conversation. There was a part of him, the part that wasn't on display for others to see, where he hoped that their union would come to an end, in which case he would bide his time; offering a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen; before it was him being on the receiving end of her love and affection. At least, ideally and in the world of fabricated love stories, that would be the case. For now, Týr would support them both, an outward appearance of the good brother. The upstanding one. The bringer of justice and truth. Though it seems that they have also forgotten that he was of war long before he was of peace.

Odin sat there, stroking his face as the ancient blade sat across his lap; drink off to the side, forgotten for the time being. It was odd, strange and coincidental even, that Sif was found after all this time. No other knowledge was kept of her location - where she had been all this time. Odin would have known. Although his son didn't want to see or speak with him, it wasn't difficult to know that Thor was on a long and arduous search for the blonde. His intel coming up with no results and therefore left him in a state that was less than pleasing to look upon. Say what anyone will about the Allfather, his heart broke for the loss of his daughter in law and for the heartbreak his son was going through. While Thor may or may not have halted his endeavors in searching, Odin did not, and even with his eyes and ears everywhere across this earth he too was unfruitful. So to have her show up after so long, on the coattails of divine death... it screamed of suspicion.

The silence that seemed to settle between them wasn't uncomfortable, but Týr knew that it wasn't like his old man - especially if it came to familial matters. And the fact that Odin sat there, almost as if he were lost in his own thoughts and given the state he found him in not long ago made the hairs along his body perk up, sensing something was indeed going on that he wasn't privy to. Not yet at least. Voicing his questions and concerns caused the older god to turn his icy gaze upon his oldest, "Divinity isn't something that we can lord over the mortals anymore... at least, not our immortality."

"Well, that was already known, given that we need to have the Tree and the ambrosia," Týr thought that that was fairly obvious given the first few years after the Fall when others began to age yearly as if they were mortal themselves. But it wasn't so much the words he spoke but the manner in which he spoke them, "What has happened since I've been gone?" It was then that Odin delved into the deaths at the luncheon, how the Festival was canceled until further notice. A killer was on the loose and they already had two godly deaths on their hands. A difficult and dangerous predator to catch. He mentioned how the White Wolf came and paid him a visit, warning him that dangers and threats were on the horizon; not only for Odin but for the Norse as a whole.

"You must tread carefully. We don't know what their goal is and if they were just shooting in the dark or if we were targeted specifically..."

Clapping a hand to Odin's shoulder Týr stood from his seat, "You worry too much, father. They forget who it was that wielded these ancient blades once before. We will just have to remind them." Odin shook his head, diverting his gaze to his lap, head in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. It was a strange sight to see, Odin looking so defeated... so old. As divine, it was assumed that they would just live on forever. But here, now, with the weight of the deaths and the tie in with their own, how the blame would be shifted to them - to him - it was a lot of anyone to bear. Man or God.

"I sincerely will that to be the case." Gripped the sheathed blade he held it up to his son for him to take, only for Týr to shake his head and wave it off like it was nothing.

"No, no. You hold on to it. I won't be heading to back to the office for a couple of days. Some unfinished business with my bed is needed," he replied, indicating his red eye flight and the exhaustion that was overwhelming him since coming in contact with Sif until now. It was a lot to be thrown in a short amount of time. Nothing Týr wasn't used to, just... he wasn't as young as he used to be. Odin could understand that. And he did, just nodding in agreement before placing the blade back in his lap.

Another firm clasp to the back was all that Týr had to administer before taking his leave, making sure to lock the door behind him. There wasn't anything else for him to do without incurring the unhinged and exhausted wrath of the Allfather. And he wasn't in the right headspace to deal with it himself. Another day perhaps. It was a short walk from the apartments to his parked car, the feel of the seats conforming to his frame was a welcoming experience. Before taking off he checked his phone, a pleasant ding emanating from his jacket pocket.



'This night just kept getting better and better,' he thought to himself with a heavy sigh, as he put the car in drive and sped down the wet, slippery streets, cutting through the misty rains as if it were fog, in search of something, anything that wasn't divine related.


𝖜 𝖎 𝖘 𝖙 𝖋 𝖚 𝖑
𝖜 𝖎 𝖘 𝖙 𝖋 𝖚 𝖑

location: Acropolis
interactions: Phobos@Danvers | Melinoë
mentions: Persephone@Aewin | Hades@sly13 | Aphrodite@Akayaofthemoon
| Ares@Legion02


The walk to her new room seemed to pass her by in the blink of an eye, company present was welcomed and though she didn't want to break down in front of anyone - especially the son of war - Melinoë didn't want to be alone.

Instead she paced the room under the guise of inspecting it, when in truth her eyes were glazed over and nothing was being received. Just running her gaze across the room, again and again until she bumped into the hard frame of Fear himself. A small, "Ow," escaped her as her vision finally focused on his side profile, rubbing her face. "Sorry," it came out somewhere between a grumble and sincere. This was a strange interaction for her, for the both of them she was sure. Normally the two were at each other's throats, goading the other into some stupid game of who was better, even shooting teasing remarks to tip them over the edge. But this silence, the pity that seemed to roll off of him and the others in waves drove her madness.

Grabbing her shoulders firmly, although not enough to hurt her, Phobos steered the goddess towards her new bed. "Sit down." His words were calm but left no room for anything but obedience. He lingered perhaps a moment too long, not wanting to stop the even minute form of contact between them. "...please." Phobos finally added with a soft sigh escaping his lips as he took a seat himself.

It was impossibly awkward. Fear had no experience in comforting those suffering with loss, least of all such cruel deaths, and he was sure the last persons shoulder Mel would want to lean on was his. Yet he found himself unable to leave her side. Steady blue eyes slowly cast over to her petite form, before focusing on her face. She looked so...lost. So unlike the goddess who had never backed away from him, who had never been afraid to tell him the multitude of things he had done wrong.

Perhaps he should try distract her, if only for a moment. He would even prefer if she were to get mad and scream at him, anything but this heavy, oppressive silence. "Do you remember when we were children? When you would visit Mount Olympus?" He asked quietly, eyes flitting away from her face.

She could only hum in response. How could she forget? Visiting Mount Olympus was a treat they got to indulge in every now and then. When her mother would be off completing her duties as per the agreement with Demeter and Hades too busy with his own duties, it was like a summer camp for the Death children. The thought alone made tears well up in the corners of her eyes before she moved to wipe them away.

"You were so scrawny then," she teased weakly, remembering meeting him for the first time. Officially, that is. She knew of him and his siblings, the domains they held power over. Never once seeing it in action but the stories told made her hold a sort of admiration for the god. Melinoë would never admit it out loud to him, for fear it be used against her in relentless teasing.

Nudging his arm, which she noticed had grown since her fond memories of their childhood, to gain his attention and looking at him from the corner of her eye. When had they sat so close to one another? The heat from his body was comforting and she didn't want him to get up. She tried to think of something to get him to stay, just a little longer. "What do you remember most from back then? A favorite memory I guess?"

Phobos frowned in thought. It had been a long time since he had considered his days atop Mount Olympus. It had been his home but more often than not he and his twin sister had been brought to battle, for even as children their father would not allow them to shy away from the brutality of war. His earliest memories were consequently of bloodshed and corpses. "For starters, I wasn't scrawny." He shook his head, though he couldn't stop the corners of his lips tugging up into a small smile. "And I seem to recall being told to look after a certain someone. I think I tried to run away from you on several occasions that day..."



Phobos glared at his mother, arms crossed sullenly across his chest. "But I don't want to play with her. She's annoying and boring. She's never even seen one battle." For the past twenty minutes he had been arguing with the goddess of love, upset that Eros was apparently practicing his archery and Deimos too unreliable to keep an eye on one of the death dorks. Unfortunately, Aphrodite was not one to be argued with and eventually he was forced to back down. He watched as she walked away, blowing him a kiss as she went. Phobos did not catch it, unlike his older brother.

The young god stared down at his sandaled feet for a few moments before slowly stomping over to where Melinoë waited at the edge of the temple. "You can follow me but if you get lost then that's your problem..." He muttered before shooting her his best 'you're stupid' look, walking away as he adopted a pace far quicker than necessary.

Little Melinoë, with hair of russet that bounced as she bounded after the son of war, had to pull at the skirt of her peplos in order not to trip as she caught up to his long strides. Even though he wasn't but a year or two older than she, his legs were significantly longer and every one stride for him meant she had to add two more. Where are we going today, Pho? Are we setting off on an adventure?" She tugged lightly at the sleeve of his tunic. Even then the nickname was set in place, her cheeks red from the unnatural heat she didn't get to experience in the Underworld.

It was a treat to be able to follow and spend time with him. He was the closest to a friend she had, outside her siblings. Even if he didn't want her around. Melinoë was young but she wasn't unintelligent. She could see the body language, read it as if it were plain as text, could sense the ire ebbing from him when he spoke to his mother - when they were forced to spend time with one another. At first she didn't want anything to do with him either, after learning of his reluctance to play with her. Lately however, she sees it as an opportunity to grate on him. Tease him and get under his skin. If the plan goes well then she is left to wander alone; something she was all told familiar and comfortable with.

Today would be no different, she smirked to herself.

Taking them down a maze of narrow streets, the young child of war walked with a confidence that only came from having done so hundreds of times before. He ducked and swerved past servants carrying bundles of grain, amphorae of wine and fine swathes of cloth. They backed away from him as quickly as if he were cursed, the uncontrolled fear radiating off him dense and palpable. He occasionally scowled at their cowardice but otherwise ignored them completely.

After a while in this manner, the path suddenly opened up in front of them, the hustle and bustle even more pronounced in this region of the mountain top. Crouching behind a large ionic pillar, Phobos finally turned to face Melinoë. "We're going down there." He pointed towards the towering gates of Mount Olympus, passage through which would lead to either the mortal realm or the underworld. Idly chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed as he tried to think. He wasn't technically allowed down unless there was a battle going on but he figured no-one would miss them if they disappeared for a few hours. The only problem was, there was no way he would be able to use his grandfather's personal portal without the old man's permission. But maybe there was another way…

"You can make people go mad right?" His blue eyes fixed on Mel, gaze intense as he waited for an answer.

Melinoë stared ahead but gave a small nod in response. Attention solely focused on the magnificent gate before them. It was different seeing it up close like this. Normally her and her family arrived via her father's chariot.

"Do it on him." He indicated towards a tall figure who was guarding a smaller, but much more elaborate, section of the gate. "It'll be fun." Phobos grinned. Though he was only using her to get his way, he did also genuinely believe it would be fun. For them at least.

The young goddess nodded once more. Being able to showcase her powers was something she took pride in, though her mother oftentimes warned her never to do things out of such a sin. It was her domain, and she was good at it. "I'm going to have to get closer," she uttered under her breath, as if the guard were to hear them from their hiding spot. She didn't wait for a response before she was skirting around the pillar and climbing down the rocks towards the man standing tall and proud.

"Excuse me, I t-think I'm lost…" a waiver to her voice made the theatrics of it all that much more believable. He was stoic in his position but his flickered down to her frame, and she saw the flicker of his eyes darting around to see if there was anyone to claim this child. When he found no one, he sighed heavily and bent down on one knee, placing a hand lightly atop her shoulder. "There, there little one—" his words cut short, a soft light glowing around the corner of Melinoë's eyes would have informed others of her powers at work.

A dash of madness spread through the grown male, easily falling to his knees and holding his head in both hands. It was then that the daughter of the dead beckoned Phobos to join her as she raced past the guard in the dirt.

Fear eyed the man as he skirted past. He was just about able to hear the strange mutterings that escaped his lips and though it was disturbing, he could not help but be impressed. To him it was more intriguing than being able to throw lightning bolts or communicate with animals. It was dark, like his own domain, and strangely…familiar. Not that he would ever tell her any of this.

Following behind the goddess, the two quickly reached the portal, not wanting to give other servants time to spot the man's strange behaviour. He had no idea where the portal would take them but that was all part of the allure. "Boys first." He stuck his tongue out at her before hopping through. It was instantaneous, the transition, and one that most gods didn't think twice about.

She just rolled her eyes, a determined look on her face as she jumped after him.

Pausing as he quickly found himself in the mortal realm, Phobos brushed off his tunic before turning to look at the meadow around them, pollen stirred up by the breeze smelling all too sweet. It was strange to be surrounded by so much life and he found himself frowning at the unfamiliar sight. Luckily he could also see the great city of Corinth in walking distance, which would provide far more opportunities for escape than a field. Carts and lone travellers wandered down the dirt road by the meadow, blowing up dust in the dry midday heat, none of them paying much attention to the lone children.

"Bet you can't keep up." He taunted his not friend, offering a sly smile before suddenly taking off through the tall mountain lilies.

It was their first unofficial game with one another. A bet of who could win at a foot race. With his long legs there was no doubt he would win. At least that's what she believed he thought. But she was lighter, smaller, quick on her feet and Melinoë ran as fast as she could. The gentle breeze blowing by, whipping the fabric of her dress around her legs, hair billowing behind her. It was one of the first times she had felt free. Uncaged.

The walls of the city were long since past, stalls on either side of her, erect and filled with baubles and trinkets. Crowded streets of merchants and customers alike all shouting at her to watch where she was going and to slow down. Melinoë couldn't help but throw her head back and laugh, continuing towards the center of the market. So caught up in the moment, young madness completely forgot where it was she was going and when she stopped to turn and look she couldn't find Phobos anywhere. The midday bustle of the city was in full swing and a large number of people were milling about. It would be near impossible to find him.

A sort of panic rose within her. 'It's what you wanted… to be alone,' the little voice inside her purred. Not anymore, she spit back. They were having fun, at least she thought they were. 'He never wanted to play with you. He's glad you're lost…' the voice fired back and as she stood there utterly alone, her name nowhere to be heard she believed it. Melinoë fought back tears and rubbed furiously at her face, sitting in the shade of a trinket stall.

The owner of the stall looked down at Melinoë, an unsettling smile decorating his already ugly features. The market was not a safe place for any sort of children and many mortals were simply too stupid to see when a deity was staring them in the face. Or too full of hubris to care.

"What's a pretty young girl like you doi-"

Before he could finish his sentence the merchant was abruptly pushed from the side, trinkets clattering to the ground as he stumbled into his stall, wood creaking under his excessive weight. Phobos stood in place, glaring at him, the strength of the god surprising given his apparently scrawny form. The man righted himself, having managed not to fall, but was stopped in his tracks when he tried to open his mouth to speak once more.

"You're ugly. And stupid. And I didn't say you could talk." Irritation flashed across his face for a moment but Phobos abruptly covered this up with a mask of indifference. "Now go away." He growled, trying and sort of managing to direct the waves of fear that seeped from him in the merchant's direction. The man lingered for a few seconds but eventually backed away, his face paling as the god continued to stare him down.

"Are you such a sore loser that you-" Phobos began as he approached Mels sitting form, his words falling away when he saw that she was crying. He looked around as if his mother would suddenly appear to help but she did not. Realising he couldn't just leave her like this, despite his earlier objections, he crouched down in front of her, forearms resting atop his legs. A curl of dark brown hair fell atop his forehead as he moved and he attempted to blow it away in a huff of annoyance.

"You didn't actually think I was going to leave did you?"

Looking up through tearfilled lashes she leapt into him, throwing her arms around him, tightening her hold on him. Muttering a soft, Don't leave me," and staining his tunic with silent tears.



Melinoë looked at him from her spot to his left, an incredulous look on her face, a melodic laugh falling from her lips as she leaned into his side once more, "That's definitely not how I remember that day. You absolutely couldn't stand to have to play with me." The memories of them fading in and out of her mind, how they spent an absorbent amount of time with one another while they were growing up. How it wasn't nearly as distant… or as close as they were now. It was such a different time then. The only worries to cross their minds were if they were going to somehow be caught and chastised for torturing mortals and gods alike.

Phobos rolled his eyes, letting out a low laugh of his own. You're right, there was definitely more crying and proclamations of how thankful you were." He nudged her playfully with his shoulder, a hand moving to absentmindedly move a piece of hair that had strayed from its place behind her ear. It was hard not to, when it had so rudely been hiding her face from him.

Realising what he was doing, he quickly pulled away, edging a few inches across the bed. "And I didn't appreciate being forced to do anything back then. Though you did turn out to be slightly less annoying than I first assumed..." Phobos admitted what was more accurately only a half truth. In fact, it hadn't taken long before he'd begun to anticipate her company...even look forwards to it.

Mel didn’t take notice of why he moved, only that he did and she rectified that by only scooting closer, "Pfft, you enjoyed the hugging and praise too much to remember it correctly," she joked, the woes of earlier slowly dissipating but never truly leaving. "I'll even confess that I actually enjoyed spending time on Olympus with you. Even if you did try to ditch me every chance you could." The look in her eyes was challenging but playful and she smiled at him then, pulling the stray hair back behind her ear in order to get a good look at him. A slight blush dusting her cheeks at the memory she was soon to bring up.



Years had passed and once again the daughter of Hades found herself waltzing around the grounds outside of the main agora of Corinth; a place amongst the mortal realm that quickly became theirs. It was a droll day so far, Phobos having been away with his sister, serving in another battle with Ares. Her own siblings, Zeus knows where.

So, she walked around the grounds, taking in the sights of those bustling around, smelling the flowers in bloom thanks to her mother’s love, perusing the stalls and the items sold there. A group of young men, swaddled in the finest of cloth, necks and wrists adorned with jewelry that would make even the most successful merchant in Corinth seethe with envy, spotted her and made their way to where she stood.

The looks upon their faces screamed out to her that they meant no good, but she stood her ground and ran her tongue over her teeth, ignoring their presence and keeping her attention on the baskets of fruit before her. They liked the sounds of their own voices, that much was evident by the way they refused to leave her side for the next few stops. Melinoë only rolled her eyes and continued on her way. Not a soul stopping to intervene.
We’re talking to you, Skýla.”
Don’t you know who we are…”

”Clearly not, we should show her…”


They proceeded to grab her arm and drag her away from the main street, back between two buildings, shielded from the eyes of those passing by. The one who held her was the first to receive madness; taking root in his soul and dragging him to the ground as if he were being pulled there by an unseen force. His cries and screams didn’t deter the others as they set upon her, yanking her this way and that. “Phobos,” his name fell from her lips in a whisper though she knew he would hear.

Her purr was like a siren call. It pulled fear from his place on the battlefield, whether he was willing or not, taking him to her side. It would've been more surprising for the god if it had not happened before and his jaw clenched in annoyance as he stood there, covered from head to toe in deep red blood. He let go of the sword he had been holding - though it wasn't his and he couldn't exactly recall whom he had gotten it from - letting it clatter noisily to the ground.

"What's going on here?" Yawning, Phobos stretched his arms lethargically above his head, his muscles aching and weary. The battle had been long and full of fury, particularly because Deimos had been ignoring their father and making everyone utterly petrified by dread. It was admittedly amusing to see the battlefield in chaos as men attempted to flee, only to be driven into their enemies arms.

His eyes lazily moved from the men to Mel, who looked far less panicked than one would expect for her situation. He stopped himself from admiring her full form, determined to maintain his indignation. Phobos hadn't bothered to dampen down his fear when he'd abruptly been transported here and it washed over the men like a powerful wave, their bodies freezing as panic and terror overcame them.

"Nice to see you again Melinoë. Did you really need to drag me into your little game?"

Her eyes lit up as soon as her gaze landed on the towering frame before her. Covered in blood and smelling like iron fresh from the forge of Hephaestus himself. With her head cocked to the side and eyes half lidded she shrugged, even in her position. Melinoë would have loved nothing more than to just stare at him for all eternity, if it meant he looked at her like that always.

"Just thought you would enjoy a break from duties~ besides, these toys came to me." the words flowed from her lips like water in a spring. Easy and without tremor. Though the same could not be said of the remaining men between the divine. It didn't take long, between the two of them, to easily dispatch fear and madness into the hearts and minds of the mortals, them running away terrified of what they felt and saw. The feeling Melinoë got from watching him work was electrifying, something she didn't often get the chance to do. Phobos was like an idol to her, though she would never say so out loud.

She dusted her chiffon off and made her way to stand by his side, watching them flee. "Since you're free from work I figured we could enjoy the rest of the day." She was coy with her words and actions, tugging at one of the belts around his waist, attempting to pull him with her. A smile on her lips told him he wouldn't be sorry if he agreed.

Phobos let himself be pulled along, his lips twitching as they pulled into a smirk.
"Fine but I need to wash first. I don't think the local mortals will appreciate me wandering around in such a state." He indicated to himself as he spoke. "I think there's a bath house not far from here..." He considered out loud as they returned to the main thoroughfare, ignoring the strange looks he was attracting.

"You do realize you might get yourself hurt one of these times." The god added as he surreptitiously grabbed an apple from a nearby market stall, his disapproval evident in his tone of voice. Biting into the fresh fruit, he stared down at her, one eyebrow raised.

She nodded along, aimlessly wandering the streets looking for the bathhouse he mentioned, only looking back at him to smile brightly, "How could I when I have you to come to my aid?" A true comment that slipped through with coy intentions.

The structure stood on the cornered crossroads, patrons filing in and out, pampered and cleaned and smelling of lilac and lavender. It was men's only and instead of getting caught in another scuffle with the locals Melinoë resigned herself to stand outside after having shoved Phobos towards the doors. "Get yourself clean, sir, your stench is sure to attract even the most foul of creatures," It was an easy joke, one that accompanied the smile she gave him. The light of the sun casting a ring around him and she remembered how lucky she was to have him so close to her. The dusting of rose on her cheeks was enough to avert her gaze and push on his frame once more, anything to keep him from spotting it and teasing her for it.

"Ah, that explains why you are by my side then." He called back with a smile before allowing himself to be drawn into the bath house. Phobos had barely entered when he was pull]d off to a private bathing room, the women who ran the place tutting under their breath and muttering about how he would pollute the communal waters. He sighed, preferring to be left alone but knowing that this was not going to happen. As he had grown older his fear seemed to inspire attention and servitude, and his protests had never helped. They made quick work of cleaning him up and by the time Phobos left the bath house there was not a spot of dirt marring his body and he had been reluctantly anointed in oil to soften his skin.

Strolling over to Melinoë, who he saw was attracting more attention than he figured she even realized, the son of war pushed his wet curls away from his face as he stopped beside her. "Well that was awful." He muttered moodily, keen to get away before they decided to pounce on him once more. "Please tell me you have something entertaining planned?"

As soon as she spotted the brute of a man she ran up to him, waving frantically, effectively dismissing the overlooked attention she had received. Melinoë took notice of the oil coating his skin, giving him a nice gleam in the midday sun; how his hair was pushed back with dark curls falling out of formation to frame his face. "Have you ever known me to be organized?" She held a hand to his lips, "Wait, don't answer that."

Dragging him once more, out of the city and into the field on the outskirts provided them with a lot more privacy as they began to make their trek back to Mount Olympus. It was a quick journey, one that they had made many times before and it was something they were almost used to at this point. Phobos more so than she. Upon reaching the fields of Elysium, with flowers in bloom and tall grass billowing in the winds brought on by the Gods she finally rounded on him. Their conversation had dwindled somewhat as she thought of how to ask for his assistance.

“I want you to teach me to fight.” The seriousness in her face betrayed only in the wavering way her words fell from her lips. It was something she had been meaning to ask help on for quite some time now. Who better than Fear? Her mother would have thought it to be useless, she didn’t do anything dangerous that would require her to learn such a trait. Though, with the instances like earlier it was only fitting. Phobos' words rang through her head on repeat, ‘What if he wasn’t there to rescue? To save…’ It wasn’t something she was willing to dwell on. Mel was willing to beg him if the need arose, but she knew that stroking his ego would bode much fairer results.

Melinoë huffed with the exhaustion that came from following Fear's instructions to the letter, with only a few minor stops at teasing the other. It only resulted in harsher critics. He had pinned her to soft grass below them, the blades tickling her exposed skin, the cool greenery felt heavenly against her heated back. Raising a knee, on the inside of his thigh she was able to see something other than seriousness flash across his face, which opened him up to be flipped over and experience the ground for himself. A smug smirk fixated on her features as she straddled his waist. Leaning into his chest she crossed her arms and stared down at him, "I do believe that I have surpassed the master, hmm?"

The god of fear rolled his eyes from his position on the ground, the gentle breeze a relief after their exertions. "I wouldn't exactly say that." He responded pointedly, unwilling to admit that her progress had been impressive, and that he maybe wasn't all that unhappy with the position she had put herself in. It was unusual that they were ever this alone and he felt in no rush to end it.

"But I do remember telling you never to leave yourself exposed." He added calmly. Before she could respond a large hand had shot up, skilled fingers wrapping around her neck, though not in a manner that would actually hurt her. "I could've maimed you in several different ways by now. Shall I list them?" Phobos raised an eyebrow, making no move to alter their position. He still ached from the long hours on the battlefield but at this point, such feelings were almost a constant companion.

Surprise was replaced almost instantly with a feeling she wasn't quite sure of. A pleasant sensation, one she thoroughly enjoyed, coupled with the pressure his hand provided and the warmth it left in its wake. Licking her lips she leaned back, refusing to break eye contact as she did, a smirk dancing across her features - even if it was a bit crooked, "Please do~ and while you are at it, keep the pressure."



"I was right you know." Phobos reiterated the centuries old point. Being on the defensive was often viewed as a negative but he had learnt that it drastically reduced one's chances of getting hurt. "You were a quick learner though, most don't follow instructions so well." He conceded, smiling at her softly. "It was...unfortunate that we didn't get more opportunities to practice." This time he didn't lean away from her touch, instead appreciating the closeness that they so rarely shared these days. It was so little, that feeling where their shoulders, hips, thighs met, but it was enough for a god who knew not to expect more.

"Anyway, you were still a total brat for calling me away from the battlefield like that. My father nearly sent the Erinyes after me." He shook his head at the ridiculous thought. Demanding perfection had always been Ares' way and it had only made Phobos more willing to deter away from the path set for him...Mel being one such distraction.

Was?" She teased, pressing closer into his side. The presence of his warmth, of him, the memories they shared of one another; those spoken, and those they agreed never to speak of again. Melinoë missed being so close and open and honest with him, it was comforting having him there and not someone else. A playful roll of her eyes had her laughing at the Erinyes comment, "I'm sure he's been called away from battle for fun and love before–."

It was a slip of the tongue. A product of being too comfortable, as they were then. The warmth surrounding her was softening her, making her lose all sense of lines and whether they should be crossed or not. The loss of her siblings was clouding her judgment - that's what it was. Otherwise she would never admit to feelings she herself wasn't entirely sure of. Couldn't place a name to them; rather speak the name aloud for fear of rejection. Her eyes wide as she sat there, body now tense with whether or not he heard and how his response would be.

The smile on the Greeks' face slipped away at her comment. "Love? I…don't know about that." He replied hastily. Phobos wasn't able to say whether he was speaking of himself or his father but her words struck at a chord within him that he was not ready, or able, to entertain. "I mean, we were barely even friends right?" He shook his head as if the motion would shift away the uncomfortable truth that dared to breach the walls he so carefully maintained.

It wasn't the response she had hoped for but Melinoë couldn't say she was surprised. So why did it hurt? "Yeah, right. Of course," she cleared her throat, throwing out a scoff and shrug of her shoulders. In what she thought was a slowed movement, she slipped from the edge of the bed and made her way to en suite, throwing a quick and short, "I'm going to wash up," over her shoulder. As if she needed to explain herself.

Once the door shut behind her, she pressed the palms of her hand against her face, rubbing the tears from her face before they had a chance to fall. This day had gone from one horrible experience to the next. The Fates enjoyed tormenting her from wherever they dwelled and it pissed her off. Those feelings of anger and hurt swelling back up. The trip down memory lane was great, but it was time to move on he clearly had. So why weren't the tears stopping? It wasn't the first time she had cried over Phobos and it wouldn't be the last.

"Fuck..." His jaw clenched as she shut the door, leaving him alone. Why had he said any of that? He wasn't even sure. Standing up, Phobos strode quietly over to en suite. Reaching towards the door handle, he considered going in. She wouldn't want it though. One of these days she's going to hate you forever. The thought was jarring to him, for a moment stealing him of his breath. Was it--no... He was simply exhausted, it had been a long, draining day. One that he was very much ready to put behind him.

He would leave. It was for the best.



A n s w e r M e

location: Odin's Penthouse
interactions: Odin & Hati
mentions: Loki | Children of Loki | Isabel | Ares @Legion02 | Hermes @Hey Im Jordan




It was easy to slip away from the thrilling luncheon, away from the other pantheons and their preening gods. In any other circumstances Odin would be pleased to join in on the festivities, but today, with everything that has happened so far, he just wanted to get away from everyone. Take it easy. Enjoy himself and present company; at least until he dropped him off back at his own home. His latest call from Týr brought good news, the weapon had been located and was en route to be delivered and placed in his collections as soon as they landed back in the states. A wonderful start to what he hoped was going to be an even better day.

Loki had been uncharacteristically solemn as of late and it worried the Allfather to no end. Though he would never admit to it aloud for fear of it being used against him. Like everything else seemed to be. If it wasn't his children taking shots at him - Heimdall excluded, it was Loki's children attempting to end his life. "Like father like offspring," he chuckled to himself as he made it through the threshold of his penthouse suite. Felt as though he had been gone eons, the place felt unfamiliar to him in the moment and though he would have liked to dwell on that feeling and figure out it's origins he brushed it aside and instead focused on the task at hand - stepping back and enjoying the dredge.

The silence and time alone didn't last long as there came a rapping at his door. Frustrated that someone was even able to get up to his floor, a disgruntled, "What do I even pay the front desk security for," tumbling from his lips as he got up from his comfortable high back leather chair and made his way towards the offending noise. Swinging it open, a threat already on his tongue at the ready, his eyes locked in on the young man standing there.

Hati stood, a little more worse for wear than he usually was. There was a hardness to his eyes, that wasn't so uncommon anytime the white wolf laid his gaze on the Alföðr. But there was something different about it in this moment. Something that told the Norseman this was going to be a serious visit. "What can I do for you, Hati?" He was cordial, inviting his lover's grandson into his penthouse with a wide gesture. Hati wasted no time in slinking past him and roaming the home, following his senses as he did so. A faint, almost invisible trail flitted around the space, twisting and curving around corners and through doorways before finally ending back at the door. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing out of place since the last time he had to visit Odin. So... what was going on?

Rounding back to the homeowner Hati took notice that he was back at his personal bar, pouring out two drinks. "Why did you leave the luncheon so early?" Came his question. It wasn't tactful nor was it delivered with any sense of patience or decorum. As was normal for Hati; especially when it came to Odin. "It isn't like you to just... disappear from a lavish event. Especially if you knew there was discord to be made." Hati continued to glance around the apartment searching for something, or someone. "Where's Loki?"

Odin turned with glasses in hand, extending one out to the wolf pup - who graciously took it, even if he hadn't realized it. Must have been some party after he left for Hati to willingly consume something from him. "He said he wasn't feeling too well and asked to be dropped off back home. Is something the matter? What happened after I left?" He sipped from his glass once he sat back down in his favorite chair, empty hand absentmindedly drawing patterns along the arms, pressing into the hammered rivets that lined the edges. It was an old habit of his, whenever he was deep in thought or listening intently; idle hands do the devil's work - wasn't that the mortals' saying?

"I'm assuming I'm the cause of some horrendous outbreak. Let me guess, Huginn and Muninn broke in and tore up Hera's dress? Plucked someone's eyes out? Stole some jewelry?" He couldn't stop the laugh that had bubbled up in his chest from escaping into the space between them. Hati still hadn't moved from his place in the middle of the room, back to the large windows, an eye on both the Allfather and the front door. 'Always so paranoid...' he remembers thinking as he sipped once more.

There was a stiffness in the air that neither one of them could ignore. Something sinister in play. Hati just assumed it was the stench of death that lingered on his person, that he trekked into the space with him. Odin knew it as the remnants of the draugr from before. Neither of them understood the others trepidation. The silence between them was broken when Hati muttered, "...death..."

Odin, being the ancient being he was, couldn't hear, nor understand the context of Hati's words and asked for him to repeat them. In response Hati downed the rest of his glass, emitting a satiated sigh before repeating himself louder, "There have been two deaths, you old fuck."

"Whoa, whoa! Calm down -,"

"No! I will not!" His eyes held a feralness to them, one that Odin hadn't seen in many, many years. He would never admit to it, but the sight alone brought back terrible memories, of the time before. It haunted his dreams - not Hati's look per se, but nevertheless, ran his blood cold and his bones shook. He was able to mask the fear he felt in Hati's presence for the fear of the news of a permanent death. The idea was ridiculous. There had not been a perma-death in eons. Not since the beginning of the Fall. And that was simply because the other Gods would not take the fruit, they missed their old lives, the old ways. Wanted the suffering to end. By what the wolf was saying, it didn't seem like this was the case.

Hati explained to him, in his rage filled monologue, about how the bodies simply fell through the ceiling, not long after Odin himself had left; Loki in tow. How they were killed with a weapon, a sword known to the both of them all too well. One who never missed a target and that if unsheathed the blade itself would not be satisfied unless a life was taken. "Dáinsleif..." The name caused a shiver to race down his spine as he sat forward, elbows on either knee and his head in his hands. "It was stolen."

"What?"

"Dáinsleif. It was stolen about a month ago," Hati scoffed and rolled his eyes, because of course it was. As if reading his mind Odin stood up and made his way to the bar, effectively trapping Hati there between him and the counter top. "I even went through the proper channels with the police in order to make sure that if it were to ever come up, they knew that it was dangerous and where to return it too."

The white wolf scoffed once more, "Yeah, they just didn't know how dangerous did they? Did they?!" The anger in him flared up again, causing the old crow to back up in response. The young wolf pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. There wasn't any use biting off Odin's head, no matter how much he wanted to in that moment. It wasn't entirely his fault. Not this time at least. "They are all going to come after you, you do realize this." He muttered, snarl still fixed in place, finding himself pouring himself a large and generous drink. Odin didn't have the mental capacity to stop him. With just a look the older god could tell how much of a toll this was taking on his company. It was unlike any side of the wolf he had ever seen and he wasn't about to be on the receiving end of what his jaws and claws could do when directed at him in the moment.

After another large swig of the peat liquor, Hati narrowed his gaze towards his former employer, "Athena and Artemis will want to question you. The entire Greek pantheon will want blood shed, thankfully they don't know it was a Norse blade that had done the Death kids in. So, we're safe on that front..."

Odin cut in, "I didn't do this, Hati. Of all the things you know me to be, would it behoove me to start a war? Now of all times?" Hati didn't look convinced, "Especially against those kids, whom I hold no ill will towards. Why not against Hel, or you? Hmm?" It was then that Hati placed his drink down slowly and began to move away from the man before him. "I didn't mean anything by it," It was Odin's turn to roll his eyes, setting his own drink down, placing his arms out wide in an attempt to seem less threatening.

There wasn't anything about this situation that didn't scream out to the wolf that this was not going to end well. Maybe it was the stench of death, maybe it was the lingering effects of the draugr on Odin, maybe it was just the fact that the Festival was being kicked off with a fucking luncheon... regardless this day had not gone well for the son of Fenrir. Thankfully he was saved by the proverbial bell. A chirp of his phone drew his attention, only for a moment. Hati had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the name and number flashing across the screen, but curiosity got the better of him and he opened the message. It seems his little bit of information passed along to Miss Isabel was well warranted. Greattttt. Just what I needed. Honestly, with all the commotion of deaths and then this investigation, he had completely forgotten that he had even sent something to the bitch.
To: vile witch
glad to help.sent

It was short, sweet and to the point. One that he would have liked to stick to her at some point. It seemed like everything was going to shit since he met with her this morning—

Like being struck by lightening he was awake and filled with a renewed sense of energy. And not all of it good. He held a theory, one that he couldn't hold on to. It was probably nothing, but he couldn't take that chance. Not with a god killing weapon out there somewhere. And now with this new mortal player in the works, something didn't add up. He had to tell someone. He needed to confirm shit. Ares! He was bound to know something or other about his little love child. One that definitely wasn't related to Aphrodite or Tlazōlteōtl in any way. And even as much as it would pain him, it was likely that he would have to go to the source of all his headaches. Without a second thought given to the old man, Hati turned on his heel and headed back the way he came. Receiving another text as he did. Half expecting it to be Isa once more he was pleasantly surprised to find Hermes name attached to the message; wondering what it was that was going on.

Hitting dial as he stood inside the lift, waiting to go down, he waited for the winged messenger to pick up, tapping his foot incessantly. On the third ring the receiver was answered and Hati could hear the commotion going on in the background - most likely still at the Olympic. "Hey, man, look. I'll tell you everything I know but I'm gonna need a favor."




Together Again

location: Denmark Seattle
interactions: Týr & Sif @Danvers
mentions: Odin | Thor | Others




This was not the place where Týr wanted to most be. It was the season of the Festival and here he was in some hovel in Denmark overseeing some potential artifact discovery for the "good of the company". He scoffed. What a load of shit. Odin would be sitting amongst company of the most questionable degree, sipping champagne and eating hors d'oeuvres, kicking back and relaxing in ways that Týr wished he could divulge in.

The life of a second fiddle. Honor and justice indeed.

A twisted grin replaced the sour look on his rugged face as he pulled out his phone and dialed the Allfather's number. It rang only three times before he picked up. "Hey there chief. Just wanted to update you on the latest information on this artifact for you. No, no, don't worry, everything is going according to plan. Better even," He bent the truth just a little. He had yet to see this object in all it's glory, the thing currently being in transport as he stood there with his business partner and long standing friend. "It will make a fine addition to the collection."

His goal was to keep him on the phone long enough that it would ruin, even a tiny bit, of his Festival enjoyment. It was only right to do since Odin sent him on this fools' errand specifically to get him away from the event. What was the harm in a little payback? Nothing ever exciting ever takes place at those things anyways. Especially with Hera running the show. Why did they allow that? A question requiring an answer for another time, he mused to himself as his gift of gab continued to keep Odin on the phone. 'The longer the better.

The cargo truck finally pulled up the dirt road he stood on, the sun casting it's final rays over the horizon creating a serene landscape for him to enjoy on company time. Opening the large crate before him he stared in wonder at the sight, "Look big guy, I've got to go now, but they did mention something about paperwork for you to fill out once I bring this bad boy back to the office. I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle," the smirk was evident in his voice and he was position Odin could see it just as much as he could definitely hear it. "Catch you in a few!" And with that he promptly ended the call before moving to examine the priceless piece brought to him. It was a tricky position he had found himself in. Or rather... it was unwelcome. He wanted to be there among his godly peers, enjoying the ambrosia he waited an entire year to taste once more.

It wasn't fair that he was to be sent like some errand boy to fetch a parcel for his high and mighty ruler. But as is the relationship between the two of them. Nothing was ever the same when Odin usurped him on Asgard, or in the event of the loss of his hand by Fenrir - and that was after he had built a fondness for the beast; another thing Odin could not tolerate - though they were close; closer than Odin was with any of his other sons that is, the bond wasn't truly as strong as it was before. Týr always had this inkling in the back of his mind that Odin did not trust the Bringer of Justice; his paranoia always seemed to be placed in the forefront of his mind, though Týr had never given him any reason to think so.

Picking up the sheathed blade that lay atop a bed of dried hay, Týr could feel himself being transported back in time. A time when he ruled his domain and no one stood against them. No one stood against him. His blade returned to him at long last. It was all making sense now as to why Odin sent him. To have this marvelous piece of magic'd steel in his hands once more. It was enough to tug at his heart strings - just for a moment - before he composed himself and placed the weapon back into the box. "It's perfect."



Even for Denmark the land was a desolate one. No cities lay close and the nearest village, which most would drive to, was only made up of a few houses & a farm. It wasn't exactly a place one would choose to visit, the absence of man made sounds reflecting this. Wind whipped through a small cluster of spruce trees, forcing a sleeping owl from its perch. Below the door of an extremely out of place looking pod slowly opened, hinges creaking from misuse. Most of the land around it had been excavated, leaving the device looking eerily similar to a crashed alien ship. There were dints and dents hinting at places where mortals had tried & failed to open it, rusting tools littered about the ground. The door uttered a final groan before failing to open fully. As it ground to a stop, a lethargic hand reached up to ease it the rest of the way. Steam curled in the cold air, rising as a figure sat up, long hair draped around their slim frame. Eyes blinked drowsily at first, before widening as their mind began to wake. Dreams and nightmares fell away like rocks from an eroding cliff, and Sif was violently forced back into the land of the living. Sitting there naked, she shivered, utterly exposed to the elements. Her face was a picture of confusion and fear, one which was mimicked perfectly by her hair as it faded from one colour to the next.

"Shh, munu quiet hárr!" Sifs hands ran through her disobedient locks of hair, gripping onto the ends anxiously. "Þú're svá annoying!" She exclaimed. Frowning as she looked around at the nothingness, she felt tears begin to well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. Sif brushed them away, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She couldn't cry now, it wouldn't do anything to help. Stop it, stop it, stop it. It would be more than embarrassing if someone found her in such a state.

Hair still flashing every colour of the rainbow, Sif stood up. Thankfully her hair remained extremely long and at least gave her a minute amount of dignity, even if it did look like she was trying to mimic the aurora borealis. Stepping out of the...chamber she'd been in, she looked around hesitantly. Had Ragnorak happened? No, she wouldn't be alive if that was true and she was pretty sure that she was still alive. Was this another trick of Loki’s? Maybe, she wouldn't put it past the trickster to do something so mean. But if that was the case surely Thor would be looking for her. As it was though, she was thoroughly alone and she knew she had to do something. So, she began to walk.

The soles of her feet quickly became black with dirt and dust as she walked through the empty expanse. Rocks and stones were hard against her bare skin but she continued on, ignoring the pain of fresh cuts and scrapes. She hummed to herself as she kept her stride, trying and failing to soothe her hair. Suddenly, shapes began to appear in the distance. Letting out what could only be described as a squeak of excitement, she quickened her pace, making her way over to the makeshift tents (though Sif initially did wonder if they were just weird shaped hills).

Peering through a gap in the material, the earth goddess let out a sigh of relief when she realized there was no-one there. There were small beds, stacked wooden boxes and...there! She ran over to one of the beds, lifting up a piece of clothing. The goddess didn't recognise it as anything they would've worn on Asgard and the small circles stumped her for a few minutes. Chewing down on her bottom lip in concentration, she eventually managed to figure out the complicated contraption. Pulling on what she would later find out was a men's shirt, she secured the circles in place once more. Sif looked down at herself, glad to see that it just managed to hang past her buttocks. Guess it's better than nothing. She also tried on some of the shoes but they were far too big and she was used to walking around barefoot anyway.

Her curiosity quickly got the better of her and she sat down cross-legged on the ground as she began to look through the rest of the belongings, frowning at the strange collection of objects. "Þessi jörð er strange..." She muttered to herself as she held up a small rectangular box, poking it and getting no response. It didn't seem magic. Cautiously biting the end, she stuck out her tongue in revulsion at its awful taste. Not edible either. Pressing a sticky out bit on the side, she yelped and dropped the box when it suddenly burst alive with a flash of light and noise.

"Þat eigmunur magic..." She pondered after realizing it wasn't going to imminently explode, poking at it cautiously with her foot and hoping it was not the work of a dark and evil sorceress.

Things were moving smoothly, smooth enough that he would be able to hop on the jet as early as that evening. With a bit of luck and the wind on his side he might even be able to squeeze some ambrosia from Persephone in the near future. Things were definitely looking up for the Justice Bringer.

Bidding farewell to the mortals delivering the goods to him, Týr happily made his way back towards his tent, intending to gather up his belongings for the nonstop flight back home. Home. It was weird to think that that place was home and not something more opulent in views. Like the forests surrounding the countryside where he currently found himself. He missed the homeland where those who worshiped him once dwelled - those mortals few and far between nowadays. With a heavy sigh he looked out at the scenery before him, then turned on his heel like a well trained militiaman, and walked back into his temporary lodgings.

Upon entering, Týr was confronted with a sight that he hadn't been blessed with in over two thousand years. A woman half dressed, in his shirt no less, sitting cross legged on the ground trying to figure out the small contraption in her delicate hands. A chuckle escaped him, alerting her to his presence, "Gaman að sjá þig, Goldie~. það er búið að vera langur tími."

At the sound of his voice Sif haphazardly scrambled to her feet, a blush creeping up her face, hair momentarily turning pure white from shock. "Týr!" She exclaimed, pulling at the bottom of the shirt, which now felt impossibly short. Part of her desired to rush over and hug him. Maybe just because he was a familiar face but also because she had always wanted to. Instead, she jumped onto the nearest bed, pulling a rough woolen blanket fully over herself. "Don't look at me!" She stated demandingly as she realised exactly how embarrassing this situation was. No-one but Thor had ever seen her in such a state of undress. There was no way he wouldn't think her utterly ridiculous.

"...what are you doing here?" She finally mumbled after a few moments of silence, her breaths slowing to a resting pace as she remained hidden. Sif felt tears, of confusion and shame, well up in her eyes once again but she was quick to angrily brush them away.

Her mannerisms were just as cute as ever, so flustered and easily cornered. If things had been different… 'But they are different,' the little voice in the back of his head reminded him. There was the Fall, surely that negated the laws of marriage back in Asgard. No. This was his brother's wife. He couldn't think such things. Oh, but how easy it was, especially with her wearing one of his shirts, hiding beneath the covers of his cot.

Physically shaking impure thoughts from his mind he simply smiled at the goddess before him. ""I'm here on an errand for the Allfather. The real question, my dear, is what are you doing here? Where have you been?" There was a sense of urgent concern to his voice as he examined her as best he could with a sheet pulled up to her neck.

Sif was covered in dirt and a few scratches, most likely from wandering through the brush. Hair aglow in the most beautiful way, creating a halo around her. Týr was enamored, just as he was so very long ago. "Come, you need to bathe," he extended a hand to her, ""I won't peek, swear." He held a large hand out for her to take.

The goddess eyed Týr warily. Not because she didn't trust him but because he made her feel impossibly nervous. Looking at him, she realised that he looked different than she remembered, although she couldn't exactly pinpoint why. Still, he was right. Now that the adrenaline was no longer coursing through her system, she could feel the sting of the scrapes and scratches upon her feet.

Hiding her hands behind her back, Sif offered him a small, almost coy smile. "Okay, I'll bathe." She finally agreed, standing up as she hesitantly left the blanket behind her, allowing it to pool in a heap on the ground. She couldn't bring herself to take his own hand however, worried that it would set off her hair once more.

Stepping closer towards the god, Sif considered his earlier question. "I haven't been anywhere..." She frowned, uncertainty etched across her delicate features. Her nose scrunched up as she tried to recall her last memories but it was difficult, and she felt her mind clouding, unable or unwilling to differentiate dreams from reality. "I was on Asgard looking for Thor...and then I woke up here. I kind of assumed it was some trick of Loki's…"

He listened to her story, about how she dreamed of everything and nothing all at once. How she wasn’t sure she was in Asgard or some other plane of existence and Týr knew all too well what that meant for the goddess. He too spent his share of time in the frozen sleep, the frosinn svefn. He spent enough time in that chamber like prison to know how she was feeling, having just woken up and found herself in a strange new place; so unlike what they were used to so long ago.

Týr stood there, on the other side of the shower curtain, as crude as it was, adhering to his promise of not peeking as she showered the grit and grime off of herself. It was the least he could do. There wasn’t much in Denmark for them, other than the retrieval errand Odin sent him on. He would take her into town and get her some necessities before offering to take her back to the states where everyone was at.

At the mention of his brother’s name he stilled. There were things about this new Thor that he wasn’t sure Sif would enjoy hearing. ”Well, after you’re done in there…” he started, before laying out his plan for the two of them, ”We’ll hop on the plane tomorrow morning, at day break, and be back with the others in no time. What do you say?”

Gripping the side of the shower curtain, Sif peeked around it, eyes widening in a mix of excitement and trepidation. "I can see the others?" She paused. The water was warm and sent pleasant shivers through her as it dripped down her back. Her body ached less and she felt herself becoming more present. What he'd told her was still completely insane but at least she felt more herself. Plus she knew Týr wouldn't lead her astray...or at least the old Týr wouldn't have.

"Sure but um, just a couple of questions first maybe. What's a plane? And what was that strange box I was holding before?" Sif asked, leaning closer whilst still trying to maintain her dignity, curiosity once again getting the better of her. The goddess wasn't a naturally shy person and despite the fact that she was still entirely naked & in arms reach of him, she was starting to feel more comfortable. As long as she didn't think about Týr too much and the fact he had probably also used this shower. Naked. Definitely naked.

""Oh, and...do you have a towel?"



They had gone out into the small, modernized village not far from his campsite to purchase her more appropriate attire to wear; though if one were to ask him he would say there were no complaints at seeing her wearing his tunic and constantly trying to pull it further down her expanse of leg. It took a lot for him to focus up on things of pure and innocent nature.

Time seemed to have gotten away from the two Norse deities as Týr explained all that he could of the last two thousand years or so. It was a lot, that was no surprise, but he didn’t want to overwhelm the young goddess, there was still so much to show her and teach her about this new place that he didn’t want to ruin the excitement she was surely to have upon experiencing it herself. He would have stopped long ago but Sif had pleaded for him to continue, and so he had. There were few things that could sway the mind of the Justice Bringer - Lady Sif was high on that list. It had always been that way.

“Tell me, Goldie,” Týr began as he sat cross legged across from her in the private jet provided by Saga Antiquities, a glass of whiskey sitting on the small side table beside him. He was further from her than he would like, in reality they sat a perfect distance away, a reasonable, respectful distance - but there was something inside of him, calling out for her. A calling that he was having to constantly tamp down on. “What happened? What was the last thing you remember? What are you most looking forward to?”

Sif turned from the window, which she had been curiously peering out of, her expression a picture of awe. Once she had gotten over the fact they were flying impossibly high, higher even than the birds themselves, it was kind of fun. "What do I remember?" She pondered, a small frown of concentration marring her features.

"Well..." The last thing she could recall was looking for her husband. Týr hadn't mentioned the god of thunder and though she didn't know why, the thought of potentially seeing him felt like a heavy weight in her stomach. Two thousand years was so long, even for a god. Had he missed her? Had he forgotten about her? Not wanting to show her worries to Týr however, she simply smiled at him.

"Right before the fall I'd sort of decided that I didn't want to just be an earth goddess anymore. I wanted to try other things." She drew her legs up, chin resting atop her knees as she spoke. "I know it's dumb and that you can't change who you are...but I was bored." Sif felt guilty for admitting it and immediately she wanted to take the words back. The god of justice, always so by the book, would of course not approve.

"But what I want to do now is try some of that!" She pointed at the whiskey, keen to move onto more lighthearted matters. Her legs brushed against his own as she shuffled to the edge of her seat, curious about the liquid that was neither mead or beer. "And for you to tell me about yourself. All i know is that you're working for old one ey-...I mean Odin." The goddess grinned sheepishly at her slip of the tongue, gaze moving to meet his own. "I really am very curious about you…

He leaned forward on his knees, enjoying how close the two were. It filled him with a sense of home. Týr snorted at her name for Odin,it wasn't the worst one given to the old man and it wouldn't be the last time someone referred to him as such. The Lawbringer held out his glass for her to take, waiting to see her reaction to it, "Careful, it's not the same as mead. Not as sweet."

Carefully watching her, a smirk on his face he delved into answering her questions. It was only fair, "I can't fault you for growing bored. There is only so much to do, back then, before all of this," he gestured around them on the whole, "As far as working for 'old one eye'," another smirk shot in her direction, a show of good faith that he too could be more than stoic all the time, "It just made sense at the time. He needed me and I needed something to do. There was a time where I served in the military but eventually I grew bored of my domain and the… repetitiveness it provided."

Their time spent in the jet was well spent, conversing back and forth, discussing the wonders of what she had missed, and reminiscing of their home back in Asgard. The good and the bad. The limited interactions they had back then. He dared not speak of the longing looks he had then, only for her to be married off to his brother. It wasn't his place to covet what was not his to begin with. A struggle he's held on to for eons.

"How do you like the whiskey?" He nodded towards the glass in hand.

"It's..." She paused after taking another sip, before sticking out her tongue in a gesture of dislike. "I'm sorry! I...don't think it's for me." Sif passed the glass back to him, a contrite look about her. She didn't want to move away from him after but it was kind of silly for her to remain hovering on the edge of her chair in such a way.

"Thank you by the way...for helping me. I can't imagine what I would've done if you hadn't been there..." It hadn't taken her long to realise that the shirt had indeed been Týr's, a highly mortifying revelation. "I guess I'd probably still be naked." Her hair flashed bright pink for a second, hinting at her playfulness, prompting a shh from the goddess. It had never been this misbehaved before and it was starting to get highly annoying.

"So you like working for Odin?" Sif asked forthrightly, hands moving to idly plait, and contain, her disobedient locks.

Týr found her cheekiness endearing, even if she didn't want it out in the open. It was refreshing. "Not a bad sight to walk in on though," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear. He pretended to cover it up with a cough before taking another sip of his glass. "Ah, yes, the dreaded Odin question," he mulled over what words to use to describe the intricate nature of their relationship. It wasn't the easiest to endure given their history together not only as father and son but when the Allfather decided to take the throne of Asgard for himself… well, Týr didn't put up much of a fight. Not that he didn't want to. It just wasn't in the cards for a victorious outcome for him. He wouldn't willingly walk into a battle that was entirely one sided; unless it was in favor of him.

"It's been difficult, but not everything is. Just being sent on errand missions is a little below my pay grade and expertise, but it is what it is. The fact that I was sent to Denmark must have been planned by the Nornir, wanting us to meet back up after so long. A pleasant surprise. I, We have missed you," he offered her a sincere smile over the top of his drink once more.

Sif was still trying to recover from his earlier comment, feeling like she must be blushing from head to toe. She'd buried into the oversized hoodie she was wearing, pretending that she was simply cold. Why, even after not seeing one another for so long, could he still prompt such an instant reaction from her.

"I guess I'll have to thank him too then." She added with a small laugh. Though it did seem unfair that Týr was being treated in such a way, even if he didn't appear to mind. Guess things hadn't changed too much.

"Um, I know you're probably super busy but maybe you could show me around sometime?" Sif asked after a few moments of silence, the goddess staring out of the window as the plane began to descend. Midgard sounded impossibly big now and the idea that, once they'd left the plane she might not see him again for a while, made her feel strangely sad. "Only if you have time of course…"

He smiled widely at her question, she hadn't changed much but he noticed that there was a spark within her threatening to be released. A notion within her that he recognized as one that was within him too; long ago. Standing up to stretch he held his palm out to her just as he did so many hours before. "Lady Sif, Goldie, I would be honored if you would accompany me around town. Will you grant me such a wish?" He bowed lightly, placing a chaste kiss to the back of her in the process and threw on the most atrocious sounding accent, all in the hopes of keeping that beautiful smile on her face. 'Just for a little longer,' he thought selfishly.

Her hair glowed golden and bright as she laughed, his play acting far more charming than any one god or person should be. "I will gladly accompany you Tuisto." She grinned, eyes twinkling with humour.

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