Holy High: Pax Deorum (IC/OPEN)

[Nantoraka]

Abaguabana


Lethargic from just waking up, Abaguabana groggily wiped his hand from his forehead, slowly down his face and nose, to his chin, and groaned like a dying whale. He was not a morning person, and that's on his best days. Màrohu took over the nights, giving Abaguabana time to rest and relax from his (although loved) tiresome duties as the ocean's custodian. He was more of a night owl, and this groggy awakening wasn't exactly helped by the SUDDEN and LOUD blaring of thr intercom, which nearly startled him out of bed alone. His thoughts were that of annoyance and frustration;

Three days in, and I'm already being called by Hyperion.

Abaguabana could only sign in some anxious anticipation of what was to come. If he somehow got into trouble with the resident pantheon's administration, he shuddered to think how he would have his skin tanned by the great Yùcahu, or let alone his own mother. Though they share many differences, Guabancex's wrath would be terrible had she known of Abaguabana angering other deities. At the very least...

...-Abaguabana's train of thought was immediately stopped at the smell of food and the barely-recognizable words of Patriah as he rose from his bed like some zombie. He was shirtless, his tattoos glowing with spiritual power; he was more comfortable sleeping like that, it was the custom for the people who worshipped him after all, and he always hung his clothes neatly nearby.

"...Mhmmmm? W-what?"

It took a few seconds for the words to register, as Abaguabana beheld the food in front of him. "You...you're more of a morning person than I am, apparently. Just water please. Thank you."

Abaguabana rubbed his head, groaning. "Remind me to pay you pack later. Do you know what time it is, and why the intercom is...yelling at me?"

Patriah - Brotherhood of Nature and Confusion
Day 3

Patriah continued to cook, with his pan popping and sizzling as he finished making a fifth quesadilla for himself. At the same time, he pulled the pumpkin spice cookies out of the oven. The kitchen’s scents were even stronger, and much more homely. When he turned toward Abaguabana, he had a glittering look in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. He was happy when he could tell that his cooking was something to make Eurydice proud.

“Water’s not breakfast. I made three of those for you, I have time to eat so I made five.” He immediately started into one as soon as he pulled it off the stove and plopped it onto a plate. No doubt it was too hot for most people to put in their mouths, but the crunch was a great sensation and the peppery heat danced in his mouth.

“Apparently Hyperion said something about an…excursion? Or that’s what I think I heard. It’s hard to tell with the music blaring.” He spoke between crunches of his quesadilla, and he scoot the plate for Bana more in his direction. He did still get his roommate water, and placed the glass next to the piping-hot dish. “You might as well eat now, you might not have the stomach to do so once you get to his office.”

Patriah knew Hyperion well enough. He was slovenly at best, when he actually managed to function through the day. On Day 1 and 2 he had been most likely just above the cusp of non-functioning, and more toward the evening when he had become sober he had started to act something resembling “normal”. Now he was back to his normal hungover self. “But I doubt you’re in trouble. You didn’t cause that huge booming noise last night on the other side of campus. I heard that was…Astrid?”

He spoke her name with a little bit of a wince. Even as a destructive young deity himself, he had some semblance of restraint. Astrid was a time-bomb waiting to explode.

“But anyway, you might as well hurry and eat. When you leave I’m gonna bring some of these cookies elsewhere, but if you wanna steal one feel free.”

Abaguabana furrowed his brows at the mention of Astrid.

"Ah, right, her." He didn't actually hear the booming noise, but didn't ask further, he'd figure he'd get a more accurate description of what happened from Hyperion. If he's being called up, maybe it had something to do with the...explosion? Taking a slice of quesadilla from his plate, he ate it and savored the taste. He coughed, he wasn't much experienced with spicy foods, and quickly downed some water. It was painful, the way the fires danced across the taste buds, but at the same time, it was delicious, and the burning turned to hunger for more. "Fantastic work. I don't wish to offend my uncle but...this may give him a run for his money. As for Astrid, well..."

Downing a quick (and desperate) gulp of water, his tattoos flaring as he re-hydrated, he coughed some more and cleared his throat. "Sorry, spicy. As for Astrid, do you ever wonder what's wrong with her? Why she acts the way she does?"

[Luminesa]

Patriah - Too Hot to Handle

The Wind God and budding deity could not help but give a smirk in Bana's direction as he saw him take a bite of one of the quesadillas. He had indeed made them quite spicy, something he could not always do with Hades or Thanatos, who both had a distaste for spicy food. Eurydice still cooked her food the way she did, and taught Patriah to do the same, perhaps out of love and also some spite for the more tightly-laced men of the Underworld. Persephone, Megara, and Zag would approve.

But for now, the Wind God just chuckled and refilled his friend's glass with milk. "Works better with spice." Yet what did not work well with spice was the even spicier questions about Astrid's behavior. He furrowed his brow. "I'm not any psychologist, that's Hestia's job. And honestly, she has enough of a time with the rest of my family. But uh...if I had to guess, probably family issues of her own." Patriah had not paid the most attention to Astrid during her incoming, and the drama which had ensued, but she had arrived off a prison bus and had been immediately reprimanded by someone from her pantheon for her behavior. "She might just do better if she's away from them for a while. Like me! Or...I guess like me. If Eurydice had forced me to wear a shirt, I wouldn't be here."

He looked out the window at the rising sun. At the chirping birds, at the deep-blue sea of mountains which stretched beyond the school. What a strangely divine place for an earthly school, he thought. "It's only the third day of class. Who knows what her reasons really are. Maybe some trauma she won't tell anyone about. I guess that's why Hestia and Hecate and Athena are keeping an eye on her."

But soon, Abaguabana was out the door, and Patriah was left finishing his food and cleaning the kitchen. As soon as he did, he walked back to his room and brought back an odd implement. A black, woven basket with a white bow. "...Of course she left this, somehow. Or maybe Hecate did." He frowned, and placed some parchment paper at the bottom before pouring the cookies into the basket. "Time to be unreasonably cheesy and to bring a friend an obnoxious amount of cookies." The smell of pumpkin still lingered in the air as he walked out the door, an enormous young deity holding a small, elegant Underworld basket.

Hyperion - Role Call

Trying to figure Cryptid and his appearance in the office was enough of a hassle. Hyperion had decided to fill the next few minutes by writing some notes on paper and by turning the music in his office up a little louder. "I don't know what music you...listen to, uh...Cryptid? But if you ever gain a taste for it, you'll have my taste in music. Now the world probably hasn't had music in it since the Mu...the Magic Wars...the...wait, what was it called?" He looked up from playing with the flask on his table. "Shoot. The War in Heaven. Part Two, I think. Yeah. You get what I mean."

He burped, and took another slug of his flask. Whatever was in it was strong, pungent, and not very tasty, and he crinkled his nose as he put the flask down. "...Don't tell Zeus you saw me with liquor. Aw, what am I kidding, he's probably still fighting with Hera. This school is Family Affairs the University or some crap..." He burped once again, and his eyes widened as Bana made his way to the office.

"Eyyyyyy, it's Water Boy! Come sit down, we're waiting on the last one." He pat a chair directly in front of his desk. "You can sit here, or you can sit with uh...your classmate." Cryptid would have the stick of gum still laying on his hand, which comically contrasted with the rest of his unspeakable form. "Gonna be a fun, fun, fun trip for you kids. And then, we spread magic and peace and happiness to the world. Oh man, it's gonna be so good. I hope you know how to play the bongos. Heheh...Abaguabongos. Cryptriangle. We're gonna be the best four-piece band..." The loudest burp of the morning accidentally sprayed right into the intercom for the entire school to hear. "...Oh gods, that was bad. Not your grandmother's Grey Goose, kids! WILL THEA PLEASE JOIN THE THREE-PIECE BAND IN THE OFFICE FOR INFORMATION ON OUR EXCURSION, THANK YOU."

[Ceystile]

Althea
Dormitory
Holy High

In the otherwise college-girl appropriate dorm room, a very gruesome sight lay on the metal table in the middle of Thea’s makeshift operating room of a vulture pecking at a corpse. But instead of a culture, it was the young goddess in a black beaked mask elbow deep in what was formerly a young man, taking out the cadaver’s heart and placing it into a prepared glass container for examination, she was interrupted by a drunken screeching that resembled the sound of a dying animal blaring over the intercoms.
“FUCKING HELL, SOME OF US HAVE RESEARCH WE’RE DOING OVER HERE!” Swearing under her breath, Thea chucked her latex gloves into the nearest wastebin before stomping down to Hyperion’s office, realizing at the last second that she was still in a bloodstained lab coat and simply folding it into Hyperion’s trash can, not like he’d notice much anyway.
“Hyperion, this better be good!” she told the titan, reaching for her watermelon-scented hand sanitizer. It’s like she’d forgotten she was still in her plague doctor mask. “I was spending the evening with a very lovely blond gentleman and you’re doc-blocking!”
Something in her brain clicked as she remembered that her vision was suspiciously pink and went to unclasp her mask, shaking silver fly-always from her face. She immediately wished she’d kept her mask on when she saw a student using fuck-me-chewing-gum as a a bandage.
“WHAT THE FUCK?! Are you TRYING to give people infections?!” Thea screeched at Hyperion before slamming a small roll of something white into Cryptid’s hand, it looked like a tiny roll of toilet paper. “Gauze, it won’t give you typhus or E.coli.”

[Nantoraka]

Abaguabana
From the way from his dorm to Hyperion's office, of which seemed to be some distance away - Abaguabana was only second to show up, getting turned around this way and that around the meandering hallways that he was still somewhat unfamiliar with, Abaguabana was in thought of Astrid and her history, while at the same time wiping away salivation from the corner of his mouth, a wonderful side effect of the spicy breakfast that he had just a few minutes before. Water did nothing to wash away capsaicin, which was an oily substance, and his spirit physiology didn't do much to numb the spice. Although it was pleasant in a way - an immortal existence as a warden of the spirit world would be horrible if one couldn't feel, let alone taste. And while he did have the old "water body" trick, he didn't want to be the one to soak the floor beneath him. In his thoughts, he wondered about her family issues.

His family, while tighter-knit, still had the same dysfunctions as many of the pantheons. His mother was harsh and while she couldn't be called abusive, she was certainly a strict and overbearing presence. With her being locked away and Aumatex being taken over by Yucahu for the time being, he certainly felt more free, more relieved. Family issues were one of, if not the biggest, reasons he was here, after all, his immediate family were rather aggressive and harsh compared to him. With the ancient Hurricane Spirit sealed within, he felt every single pang of hate and spite that his mother knew gnawing within, attempting to leave, and as such though he despised the being inside of him with every single watery fiber of his being, he did empathize with Astrid. With such an intimate understanding of spite against the world, he had to; if he didn't, the Hurricane Spirit would be that much more dangerous.

He was wondering just how dangerous she was, when he opened the door to Hyperion's office, after several minutes of actually trying to find it.
Maybe I should do something nice. Get Pat to bake something...not as spicy. Let her know that-

The smell of alcohol, while unpleasant, could only be normal against what was one of the chairs in front of Hyperion. Abaguabana didn't meet this one; he met the Factory of course, and while that was certainly odd and almost alien, this was alien. Almost disturbing him, in fact. Moboyas may have been able to invoke even deeper senses of dread and wrongness in the guts of those who beheld him, but that took effort. This thing here, apparently a god, did so without effort. Still, while he felt pangs of wrongness radiate from the being like waves, he felt no danger. Friendly? Who knew. Still, it wouldn't hurt to at least attempt an introduction to him...her...it?

-------------------------------------------------
Abaguabana smiled. "Of course, bo'matum."Taking the seat in front of Hyperion, he looked at Cryptid, and pointed a thumb at himself;

"I don't think we've met. My name is The Great Sea, but in my language, you can just call me Abaguabana." Abaguabana didn't notice the bubblegum on his hand, or rather the fact that the glob on his hand actually was bubblegum, but he did take notice of the hand's contrast with the rest of his body - though "form" seemed to be a more appropriate term than body at this point. Still, he didn't want to push his luck and risk sounding rude, so he didn't even make a single remark towards Cryptid about it. Slightly bemused at the "bongo" comment, Abaguabana was about to raise his voice to ask Hyperion what this "super exciting" trip was, but held his tongue when he spoket o call for Thea. It's best to ask when EVERYONE is present, after all.

And come in, she did. In fact, it was really, really, hard not to notice her barging through the door and immediately cussing at everyone. Abaguabana just meekly sat there, not responding, not even commenting on her bird mask - assuming that it was just a part of her "divine garb", and it's not like he could do any better, with him baring his chest almost everywhere - and especially not commenting on the blood-spattered lab coat she was wearing. He almost wanted to snark at her and ask whether or not she was the storied "god of cannibals" of the peoples who traditional ate his own worshippers, but decided that just meekly sitting there until she calmed down was a much better alternative to potentially being stabbed with syringes.

By the time she stopped screaming, Abaguabana raised his hand and snapped to get her attention. "...Do you need me to, uh, wash off those...leftovers on your lab coat?

He hoped the implications of him being a water god would be enough without getting hurt.

[Nantoraka]

Moboyas
The Spirit World, Soraya
The air was a quiet still within the grey, lifeless cave walls of Soraya, the endless underworld of the deep, unseen waters. In the weeks since Abaguabana had originally left for the school, the world above - that of the *seen*, the blue waters that surround the world, the ocean - had grown somewhat…stale. Nothing outstanding, of course, but certainly noticeable. The fish grew less common, the whale carcasses grew more abundant, and the waves grew more tame, as the stewardship of the spirit ocean was interrupted. There were also changes within the land portions of the Spirit World as well; the rains grew less common, and when it did rain, the rains were not particularly heavy. The lesser spirits of the world, both native and those having journeyed from the mortal world, found that their incantations to bring forth the rain with their idols was no longer a near-guarantee of rain. Something was interfering with the Cycle.

An individual sat on a rock, in silent contemplation of what exactly has been happening within the Spirit World these last few weeks. His skin was that of a corpse; bloated, a sickly green, and nauseating to look at, and should one be able to pierce through the magical darkness that obscured his face beneath his headdress, one could see that his head was bald and devoid of hair, and his eyes sharp like talons, glowing red as the one thing that was visible through the darkness. His neck, chest, and shoulders were decorated with wooden “armor”, technically functional, but obviously meant more for personal decoration than anything else. This armor was comprised of various “rods” of rolled up wooden plates, connected together with what seemed like animal fibers to ensure flexibility. Over these plates, emerging from set points placed just where the neck rises from the shoulders, were various talon-like protrusions set over this armor, exuding an almost floral sense of royalty and grace, which clacked together with every movement. Connecting from beneath his armor was a great, pillowing cape of a deep and evil green that obscured the entirety of his body as a dreadful cloak, the downs and feathers shaved from countless colorful avians draped over a base of a painted cloth cloak, a graceful and colorful cape that emerged from his neck, to his feet, and would cover his arms should he stay idle. Atop his head was a hood made from the same material as the cloak, and protruding from his forehead was a great crest of feathers, longer than those on his body, emerging outwards with some false sense of nobility.

The sclera of his eyes were that of the deepest, darkest oceans, a black pit that nothing escaped from, not even a reflection. Surrounding it was a fiery orange iris, which roiled and rolled as if dancing over the deep void they were placed above, like a fire struggling to gain purchase against non-existence. This fire grew more intense the closer it reached the iris, a dark pit of an almost reptilian shape, similar more to a ravine than the pit of a mortals. This was a feature of spirits; the eye was the gate to the soul, and a spirit’s eyes were their most identifiable feature. This particular entity was no mere spirit, either - this was Moboyas, the Chief of Evil, the Spirit of Bedlams, the Night Fear, and the Cannibal Idol. Son of the evil and jealous creator god Guacar, Moboyas could be a spirit in the same way a medieval cannon could be compared to a thrown rock; a spirit, yes, but something far more, as the God of Fear.

Moboyas sat in contemplation atop a rather large boulder within his cave in the underworld. He was beneath the oceans themselves, with the entrances of Soraya being the deep trenches of the world, and the various caves and pitfalls that led into the sea’s water merely being inactive portals to the world. As such, he was particularly privy to the changes of the waters above him, and he had squeezed news of the surface world and the rest of the Spirit World from the newly arrived spirits of Soraya like juice from a lemon. Unknown to him, Yucahu had already sent Abaguabana off for education over his newly-acquired storm god powers by the eastern deities within the realms above Mount Mitchell. Until recently, he figured that Abaguabana would be slacking off, leaving his duties behind to fulfill some adventure out of boredom. Age certainly does do that to an immortal spirit. However, though imprisoned, Moboyas was certainly not without his influence; he was the chief of the opias, the night spirits, the souls of the evil and the wicked who were denied entry into Maquetaurie’s domains and left to wander Soraya aimlessly. Moboyas made it a game of his to stalk and hunt the evil souls like a hunter after his quarry, and to tempt and enslave the sinful souls like a fisherman casting bait for his dinner. They were his servants, and he enjoyed using them as tools in his endless games against mortals and the other students. Had it not been for that worthless and ugly mongrel dog, Opiyel, his games would have no end, but Opiyel always finds his opias and binds them to Soraya, denying him of his toys.

But even though their little expeditions would never last forever, Moboyas could still send them out whenever he wished, and send them out, he did. When he first noticed the changes to the oceans, he sent out the opias to scout the oceans and learn exactly what is causing these changes, their orders to find and hopefully “convince” (Moboyas’ “convincing” being a rather spiteful and vile combination of threats and gaslighting) Abaguabana to return to his post, but they never found him, nor any trace of him. He seemed to disappear, which was quite odd considering that if he had, the pantheon would be in a frenzy attempting to locate him. Therefore, there must be a reason for his disappearance.

Placing his elbow upon his knee, Moboyas pinched his chin, deep in thought. Most recently, similar changes in the Spirit World has reportedly happened, with the rains also suffering. These were the domains of his “cousin” Boinayel, the spirit of the rains and the sun, who forms one portion of the Cycle alongside his twin, Marohu. Boinayel was particularly fond of Abaguabana, and the fact that the rains had not ceased meant that Boinayel was still present within the Spirit World. Given that the rains had also changed in tune with the oceans meant that Boinayel must have done something with the oceans. He was one of the few to have witnessed the beginning of the oceans during the creation of the world by Atabey, and his spheres were very closely associated with the ocean, making him the best candidate to take control of the oceans should something happen to Abaguabana. After all, something must have happened, given that he is not present.

And yet, the oceans still remain free of major disturbances, as if the steward is still there. And nobody has spoken of the missing ocean god, as if they’ve been ordered to, or more likely, he’s been sent off by a higher power.

The puzzle was cracked. Moboyas smiled, his mind breaking the problems that sat before him as he placed his hands on his knee and thigh in an arrogant, self-assured triumph. Haha, it seems Abaguabana has been sent away from our world, and Boinayel has taken his place in the oceans, were the first thoughts that had crossed his mind. He was no fool; his mind beheld secrets and knowledge gleaned from countless ages, gathered and compiled within the vast libraries of his memories over the myriad millennia since his initial creation by Guacar. This knowledge was all he needed to correctly guess the situation of the surface world above. Grunting with the effort, he forced himself up from his seat upon the grey boulder he sat on, and walked off of its elevation, into an ankle-deep pool of black water. The souls of the damned, barely rising above his own ankles and glowing a misty, soft blue, dove out of the way to avoid being crushed underfoot by the gargantuan spirit. Leaning against the stone wall of the cave was his staff, a gnarled wooden branch ripped off from the greatest trees of the Spirit World, warped into an evil form by the grip of Moboyas’ corrupt, evil hand.

Taking the staff within his right hand, he placed his left behind his back and underneath his cape, as he waded through the waters with the trapped spirits, knocking them aside with swift blows of the bottom end of the staff, entirely unconcerned with turning any of them into opias. For anyone else, navigation within these myriad, endless caves would be difficult, but the old and wise, if evil, spirit knew exactly where every winding cave and tunnel led to. Though mostly unconcerned with the notion of balance within the Spirit World, he had to find Abaguabana; he didn't particularly enjoy the idea of Boinayel sitting above him, and wherever Abaguabana was, it would certainly be a more entertaining prospect than his current location. Though he was his enemy, and would most certainly deny him of the knowledge he was seeking, Moboyas’ search would begin with Yúcahu, who was certainly the one to have sent out Abaguabana in the first place. As his thunderous footfalls echoed throughout the dark and dismal caverns of the underworld, he put some deep thought into exactly how he would drain the information he needed from the other gods. He kicked aside the spirits underneath him with impatience and impunity, crushing those who couldn't move fast enough.

He was searching for the nearest portal to the surface. This particular section of Soraya was located beneath the ocean; simply leaving could be possible for a spirit as powerful as he was by theory despite his imprisonment, but dragging himself through the weight of the ocean above would be far too much trouble to bother with. The entrances to Soraya were known to be sinkholes, caverns, caves, and tunnels where water sat at the bottom. These were inactive portals, especially in the mortal world, where they acted as nexuses between the world of men, and the world of spirits. He had the magical power he needed to be able to activate and deactivate these at will, but he first had to find these portals. And he hoped to do quickly, before-

”You seem to be in a hurry.” The voice was rather cheerful, yet marked by an endless age, muttered from the tongue of what must be an elderly man. The voice was almost cracked, and it weakly grumbled, weak from age. This voice belonged to the one individual Moboyas had hoped not to cross in his little mission to the surface world.

Maquetaurie. And despite the weakness of his voice that would be more characteristic in a grumpy, old veteran, he was not weak by any means whatsoever. Moboyas sighed in a barely-concealed spite, and slowly turned his head towards Maquetaurie, who stood hunchbacked on a cliff edge within the other side of the cave. ”Perhaps that is because I am. Perhaps not. Perhaps it is because I do what I wish. Whatever my actions are, they will not concern you, brother.” Moboyas spat with more than a hint of disdain for his relative.

Maquetaurie was no mere spirit. He was the oldest of the children of the creator gods, and arguably, perhaps may very well have been the most powerful, though he never made a show of it. He was the first spirit to be born of Guacar, and despite the evil of his father, he himself had never taken any particular joy in such disgusting whims such as suffering, or spreading destruction in some manner, compared to his more immediate relatives of Moboyas and Juracan. In the earliest ages of the past, when the ancestors of men and spirit lived together, he was also the first spirit to die; upon his death, he was reborn as Maquetaurie, God of Death, and the ruler of Soraya. A true immortal, Maquetaurie fears nothing, and his obedience to the elder god Yucahu is more out of respect than a true calling of loyalty like his relatives.

Despite the apparent weakness of his voice, and his hunchbacked, almost pained posture, like an old man who’s back was about to give out, Moboyas knew these were all a farce; before him stood one of the most powerful spirits that still called the Spirit World home, and he could feel the magical aura radiating from Maquetaurie’s being like heat from a star; subtle, but all-encompassing and ever-present. The elder spirit narrowed his eyes, standing to his full height, and once again dwarfing the myriad souls who wandered in the endless miasmas of the cave’s floor. His outfit was much like Moboyas, but with a few marked differences: his feathery cape was that of a vibrant and rich deep red color, and his chest armor was not of rolled wooden rods, but interlocking plates of gleaming, wonderful gold. This gold was not a rich, metallic light yellow, but more of a slight reddish-bronze, the trademark color of guanin, the sacred metal of the spirits. Atop his head was a golden crown, and behind his head was a great golden disc, with two horns pointing outwards.

His skin was a gleaming golden color, much more in line with the traditional golden color than guanin, and his eyes were much like the deep black pits of Moboyas; though instead of blazing orange, it was a mere icy blue, soft, but still cold. His body morphology in general could be described as portly; his stomach bulged outwards, and the size of his arms and upper legs screamed the idea that he could be a professional powerlifter if he was mortal. Had his body been covered by cloths, you would get the idea he was little more than simply fat, but even through his fat, his abdomen laid bare a collection of obviously clear muscles. In his right hand was a wooden staff tipped with an artistic carving of what seemed to be a man, holding a spiraling disc in his hand.

Maquetaurie sighed, and looked Moboyas in the eye with a steel glare that demanded respect and obedience. Without thinking, Moboyas flinched, but returned the glare with one of his own. Moboyas wasn’t on particularly good terms with any of the spirits, and nor did he care, but of all of the spirits, he particularly despised Maquetaurie. Maquetaurie was the only one of Guacar’s children to be born without evil in his heart, and Moboyas hated that. Whether it was jealousy or disgust was unclear even to him, but regardless, Moboyas knew that Maquetaurie would always be a threat to him. Yúcahu was predictable, easy to move around his law, while Maquetaurie had no qualms with slaying the spirits that would disturb the rest of the deceased. He was the divinely ordained jailer of the evil spirits, after all. Maquetaurie spoke up, his voice retaining the “weak” element, but there was certainly a degree of seriousness behind it, and a threatening tone on the edge of his voice. ”This is MY underworld. You will respect me, you will respect my charge, and if I demand something of you, you will have all of my wishes done before I so much as finish speaking.” Maquetaurie’s left hand revealed itself from the depths of his cloak, and gripped his staff underneath his right for a better position to lean on. ”I will not have you leaving my underworld to harass our relatives. The Spirit World is hardly getting by as it is. You would only worsen the process. Do not force Yucahu to give you the same treatment that he gave to Juracan.”

Moboyas spat at the feet of Maquetaurie, making his disdain clear. ”I respect no one’s wishes. I stay here out of courtesy, had I chosen to leave, you couldn't stop me.” And though it was a half-lie, it was also half-true. Maquetaurie was certainly more powerful than Moboyas, but Moboyas was certainly no weakling himself, he was the vengeance of Guacar, the great evil spirit who’s fingertips cause mankind to suffer. He may very well have been one of the most powerful spirits still within the Spirit World. Guabancex was contained in a gourd, but Moboyas couldn't be contained so easily, he was simply too powerful for any container fashioned by Yúcahu. Maquetaurie could make a stand here and now, but the resulting battle could shatter Sorayas and cause far more problems, therefore, none of the gods ever made an effort to bring down the spirit. Maquetaurie could restrain Moboyas, but if Moboyas put his mind to breaking free of his prison, it would happen.

Maquetaurie narrowed his eyes. ”I do not need to stop you. I merely need to restrain you. Opiyelguabiron does enough to tear down your little servants. I will do enough to tear you down.” And just like that, the seemingly weak and frail old spirit began to stand straight, dwarfing the deceased spirits who were watching the spectacle of the two gods standing off. Moboyas relaxed, turning his face away from Maquetaurie.

”And are you willing to risk these innocent spirits, this entire portion of Soraya, to contain me for just a small time longer?”

Maquetaurie sighed, and relaxed again, relieving the tension of his body. Conceding the point, he responded; ”No, I am not. What is your wish?”

Moboyas took his gnarled wooden staff, clasping it within both hands. With a wave of his staff, evil magical energies coalesced into an image of Aumatex. ”I wish for an audience with Yúcahu.”

Maquetaurie raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused by Moboyas’ wish. He's used to deceptions of all kinds from Moboyas, after all, most of his evil came from his deceptions of others. Whatever Moboyas was planning - he was always planning after all - Maquetaurie couldn’t discern. Yucahu was older, wiser, and more powerful than all other spirits that he knew of. Moboyas couldn’t manipulate Yucahu, he couldn’t threaten Yucahu, and he certainly couldn’t defy Yucahu. His will was made manifest on the Spirit World and as chief of all the spirits, they deferred to his every command, and his wisdom proved worthy of their loyalty. With his confusion evidenced on his face, Maquetaurie couldn’t help but ask; ”...Why?”

Moboyas pointed at the ceiling of the great cave, as water dripped slowly through the rock and down to the ground. ”Because the Ocean Spirit, Abaguabana, has left us. The oceans grow calm and silent, the water spirits are growing restless without his protection. You know as well as I do that the Spirit World is fragile in the wake of the war, if the forest spirits decide to make war on the water spirits, Boinayel will not be able to descend from the sky and destroy them for their insolence.”

Maquetaurie brought a hand up to his chin, briefly taking the time to consider the words of Moboyas in contemplation. Moboyas was a liar and a devil, and yet, his words rung true. Boinayel and Marohu both remain a shadow of their former selves ever since their climactic battle with Juracan that shattered the Cycle of the first world. They were mighty indeed, the might of the sun and the moon being no small matter, but they could no longer afford to miss their duties on the Spirit World for any reason. In the wake of the war in heaven, the Cycle had to be maintained at all costs. Boinayel may be stewarding the oceans, but if the spirits warred amongst themselves, he could not spare the time to deal with the problem. Many of the lineage of Iguanaboina had their own duties to attend, leaving spirit matters to Yucahu and his nitainos. Maha and Kaiman were too dangerous to awake, Opiyelguabiron was not permitted to leave Soraya unless he was hunting the opias, and Hada and Isla may be able to stop the dwarves and the mahui respectively though they were only minor spirits compared to the supreme spirits of the pantheon. This is disregarding the presence of Nooktas and Jurupari as well, who may intervene solely to satisfy their dark thirsts.

Maquetaurie hated to even admit it, but Moboyas was right. The situation was far too fragile to have Abaguabana leave for such an extended period of time. He would not go as far to defy Yucahu, and he would not question the wisdom of sending away Abaguabana, but Moboyas had a valid point. ”I did not expect you to care so much about the state of the Spirit World.”

Moboyas snarled into his speech, his words dripping with hate. ”Watch your tongue. I am not Juracan. I am no mindless force of destruction. If the Spirit World falls, we all fall. I care nothing for you all, but I care for myself. I will not abide by Yucahu’s little decrees if they end up causing a war here.” The health of the Spirit World depended on harmony; a war would shake the harmony of the Spirit World, causing the oceans to poison, the bush and tree spirits to grow sick, and the Cosmic Tree to shake off its leaves in mourning.

Maquetaurie suppressed the urge to strike down Moboyas right there and then for the slight against him, the lack of respect from such a hated foe irked him to the core. ”Then please, speak to Yucahu. Insult him as you do me; so he may turn you into fertilizer for the Cosmic Tree.”

Raising his hand, Maquetaurie focused his will into the Cosmic Tree. Roots, ethereal and blue in color, glowing and transparent almost as if the roots belonged to a ghost, burst through the cave and wrapped themselves around Moboyas. The roots would “absorb” the essence of the evil spirit god, transporting him throughout the Spirit World. The spirits could not teleport, to travel long distances, they had to rely on the roots and branches of the Cosmic Tree that extended throughout the entirety of the world. They held the Spirit World together like glue, and should the Cosmic Tree weaken and wither, the Spirit World would crumble away, die, and fall into endless eternity, severing mankind from their spirituality and their spiritual guardians forever. The pantheon would die, and the lands of the Caribbean would fall into chaos with the destruction of its native pantheon. The gods were tied to their lands, after all.

---

The Spirit World, Aumatex
Aumatex, the sky island of eternal storms, and the home of the wind spirits. Anahua, Coatrisquie, and Guatauba made their homes here, despite Guabancex being ousted from her throne by Yucahu. The branches of the tree broke into reality and coalesced into a circular form, surrounding a single point on the edge of the island of Aumatex. The Cosmic Tree didn’t need to be physically present for its roots and branches to touch something, as a powerful enough spirit could simply command the tree to manifest the branches wherever they needed to go. In this case, Maquetaurie ordered the tree to deliver Moboyas straight to the foot of Yucahu, the great cacique. The branches crackled and distorted into a circular cage of branches, as Moboyas manifested within, a swirling mass of evil, green energies, depositing Moboyas in the middle of a great stone circle, within the middle of the island’s rainforest, where many meandering roads meet at the edges of the circle. Tapping his gnarled staff to the ground, the branches were dismissed, and as if repelled by his very presence, the bird spirits - crows, seagulls, eagles, everything - flew off, cawing and whistling of the danger that was Moboyas. All except for one, a hummingbird, a beautiful, yellow, hummingbird who’s wings emitted a beautiful, gilded blue misty glow with every flap, trailing behind it as it emerged from the sky, and landed on a nearby tree, which was old and dry.

Moboyas pointed his staff towards the bird, threatening it. ”Leave me, Rakuno, you have no business here.”

Rakuno, the great hummingbird spirit, didn’t even so much as flinch at the gesture. ”Of course I have business here. I have business anywhere your stink permeates the air.”

Moboyas growled, clearly readying himself for a fight. ”If you are so offended by my presence, then perhaps I should remove your beak, and free you from your senses.”

The hummingbird laughed, small and rapid tweets emerging from the spirit’s beak. Rakuno was powerful as well; the cacique of the Babae, the hummingbird spirits of wisdom, and laughed at the predictability of Moboyas. Rakuno knew that Moboyas would not act on any of his threats, not here, not now. He was in Aumatex, and attacking the hummingbird would invite the ire of Iguaka, and better yet, Yucahu himself. ”Do so, and invite the wrath of Iguaka and Yucahu. I won’t even fight back.”

Moboyas narrowed his red, malicious eyes, conceding the point. ”Then what are you doing here?”

The hummingbird lifted his wings, pointing it towards the road on the farthest point of the stone circle. ”You are here, and not in Soraya, and better yet, you used the Cosmic Tree to come here during your imprisonment. I know that Maquetaurie sent you to speak with Yucahu, so I will observe.” Rakuno punctuated his statement by lifting to the air, and hovering around the head of Moboyas, seemingly for the simple purpose of taunting him.

Raising a hand and groaning, and ignoring Rakuno’s attempts to provoke his wrath, Moboyas set to walking to the court of Yucahu. Guabancex always made her throne in the center of the island, with no cover from the eternal hurricane above, the winds raging through the jungle’s trees. The rain was irritating enough, but Guabancex was a goddess of storms; if she didn’t ignore it, she likely enjoyed the rain. Yucahu and Guabancex’s children didn’t seem to mind the rain either, and neither did the wind spirits. Of the wind spirits, Moboyas passed many, and they were of many shapes; some humanoid, some animal, even some plants, and they all recognized the evil deity, giving him a wide berth out of fear or respect, many whispering rumors or confessions of fear behind his back as they passed him, and the plants rotted and died in his wake, the soil turning acidic and the land seemingly perishing at his aura. Luckily, Yucahu’s power saturated the island, and the moment that Moboyas moved on, the dead foliage regrew.

As Moboyas neared closer, a seagull of considerable size and unusual coloration vocalized ahead, before swooping down and landing on a branch of a tree some distance ahead. Moboyas raised an eyebrow, recognizing this seagull. ”Were you not imprisoned like I was, for actions we made in the War of Heaven?”

The seagull tilted his head, and nodded. ”I was, and I was freed by Yucahu, in return for ensuring things like you do not cause trouble in my home.” The seagull leapt from his perch, immediately twisting his form gracefully into that of a humanoid spirit of a respectable height - 7’ 2. The spirit wasn’t what one would consider handsome; his hair was long and certainly well taken care of, but his skin was some strange meld between pale flesh and solid stone, with multiple designs and symbols carved into them, with some painted red, and others painted blue. He was shirtless, with a variety of glowing blue tattoos across his chest and arms, and stone armor fitted across his waist and hips, and a blue collar made of turquoise was embedded into his neck. His heart seemed to glow a brilliant bluish-white through his skin, a remnant of the shard of Juracan showing through his soul.

The spirit, Coatrisquie, crossed his arms and hardened his eyes, glowering at Moboyas with such disdain as if he was going to try and throw him off the island right then and there. ”What are you doing here, worm?”
Unlike Rakuno and Maquetaurie, Coatrisquie was certainly not comparable to Moboyas. He was powerful, but without the assistance of Guatauba, Guabancex, and Abaguabana, he couldn’t stand up to him. Moboyas knew this, and immediately took a step into Coatrisquie’s face, himself towering over the god. Rakuno knew that Moboyas could strike down Coatrisquie right then and there, and immediately flew between the two, interrupting Moboyas before he had a chance to speak. ”We are looking for an audience with Yucahu, we have some concerns.”

Coatrisquie took a step back, putting some space between him and the two spirits. ”Rakuno? What are you doing-”

Rakuno raised a wing to his beak, telling him to be quiet. ”I’m merely ensuring that Moboyas doesn’t cause trouble while he is up here. Maquetaurie sent him here for an audience with Yucahu. May you let us pass?”

Coatrisquie sighed, and stepped aside. Moboyas didn’t even give Coatrisquie the respect of acknowledgement, before the god stopped him with a hand to the chest. ”You are a GUEST here. Even without my mother, I am still a prince in this land. You threaten my subjects, and I will personally-”

Moboyas, without even looking to the side, simply shoved Coatrisquie aside with a single palm to the chest. With such divine strength, Coatrisquie was shoved effortlessly aside, rendering his threats moot against the strength of Moboyas. Coatrisquie growled, impacting a tree and slowly getting up, inconvenienced but insulted, and prepared a bolt of lightning within his hands to strike Moboyas then and there, but a glance from Rakuno spoke all that there was needed to be spoken. He was not ready for this fight, Moboyas was far too powerful, and if Moboyas intended for Coatrisquie to be injured, he most certainly would have injured Coatrisquie far more than a simple bruise. He sighed, ignoring Moboyas, as he cooled down his power and morphed back into the seagull, and flew off, hoping that Yucahu could sort out Moboyas himself. By the time they crossed the arch that marked the court of Guabancex, Moboyas’ naturally thin patience was running ever lower.

There, in the center of the throne, sat Yucahu, light emanating from the elder spirit’s body as he held the eagle rod tight. Dressed in ever-opulent robes of feathers and quality cloths, the great spirit pointed the eagle rod towards Moboyas, as his golden tattoos flared with power and the clouds at his feet flared with anger and power into horrible storm clouds, and the hurricanes above gathered and twisted as Yucahu’s anger made itself manifest in reality. Rakuno immediately flew from Moboyas to the tree next to Yucahu, preferring not to be in the way of Yucahu’s anger. ”I make my patience clear with you! You think yourself above reproach? Is your ego so high that you believe yourself able to simply leave your imprisonment, threaten my grandson, and trespass on this land?”

Moboyas flinched at the words of Yucahu, every word thundering with anger. Moboyas showed nobody respect, he was above that. He was evil, and he knew it. He enjoyed it. He delivered plagues and suffering on everyone, cast curses on the world of men, and broke the will of the other spirits with trickery and lies. But the one thing he feared was the wrath of one more powerful than even he. One misstep was all it took for a greater spirit than he was to cast him from the earth. Yucahu could not destroy Moboyas, but he could make him suffer. And that’s all it took for Moboyas to bow his head in defeat, acknowledging the difference of power between him and Yucahu. ”I apologize for my actions, but I would not be here if I didn’t have something to say, so listen.”

Yucahu sat back upon the stone throne, his voice restrained yet bubbling with anger and hate, seemingly threads away from casting down Moboyas then and there. ”I’ll amuse myself with whatever pathetic attempts to sway me you have today.”

Moboyas ignored the slight against him - he had to at this point - and pointed to the ground.. ”I know that Abaguabana is missing. I know not of where you sent him, but I know that his presence is a keystone in the Spirit World. The water spirits rely on his protection. Without him, do you believe that the forest spirits will not once consider war on the water spirits?”

Yucahu crossed his arms, the clouds dying down in their intensity as he slowly calmed down, bringing himself to reason. ”No. And I know that Boinayel is unable to protect them as well. Macacoel and Mautiatihuel are unavailable as well, I know this.”

Moboyas sighed in frustration. ”Then why do you send him off?”

”Because he cannot protect the oceans in his current state. He must learn, and that is what he will do.”

”And will he learn before the spirits take advantage of the lack of their protectors? Isla and Hada will not be powerful enough to manage the spirits on their own. They will never be powerful enough to do so.”

”He will. Leave, and do not question me again. Maquetaurie will return you to your imprisonment. Leave it again, and you will suffer in the flames of my hate.” With that, Yucahu snapped his fingers, and Moboyas appeared on the sandy edges of Aumatex, with the watery skies washing their way across the beach once more.

Satisfied, Moboyas took various stones from beneath his cloak, each one carved with a different pictograph; a monkey holding a stone, a human holding a knife, a mother cradling a child, a fish swimming in water, and an insect in flight, all carved with ritualistic designs. These were talismans, charms of powerful shamanistic magic, carved by Moboyas himself. Raising them to his face, he muttered a small collection of words, words filled with evil intent, which infused these talismans. The designs filled with evil, green liquid, as the carvings warped and crackled to far more sinister works - the monkey, dying in agony as it petrified; the man stabbing himself through the heart, the mother crying over her stillborn child, a fish gutted and left by a river, an insect bursting through the skin of a child. Evil took over these talismans, as he threw them over the cliff edges, and into the ocean far, far below. By the time the Cosmic Tree’s branches twitched and burst back into reality and took Moboyas into Soraya once more, the talismans already reached their goal.

Moboyas was intelligent, and Yucahu provided him all that he needed to know. He was learning, in the human world, and likely alongside other young deities from distant lands. A school. So that’s what he would look for, a school, to torment and break Abaguabana into his service and to feed off of the fears and bedlams of the students that went there, he would torment, he would warp, he would exacerbate. He would not be able to be there himself, but that is what the opias are for, the night spirits of the dead that he commanded, that fed off of the fears of men. Once the talismans impacted the water of the spirit oceans, their dark magics activated, driving open the portals between the Spirit World and the human world within forgotten caves and caverns, and the opias within the talismans rushed out, a collection of wailing, tormented, evil souls freed from imprisonment within the talismans, crossing the barrier to the human world as the portals closed once more.

[Luminesa]

Possibly The Worst Camping Trip Ever

Co-Write With Luminesa, Ceystile, Hallownest Eternal, and Nantoraka

Hyperion stared at Thea as she marched into the room. As any normal deity might be upon seeing a stick of gum attached to a wound, she reacted furiously. The Sun Titan never said he was good at first aid, nor was he good at staying sober. But he looked over the group, and he gave a nod to himself. “Alright. Ya’ll are a good group, I know you are. Now…I only known the three of you for two, three days, but that’s enough for your first field trip. Now…why am I grabbing only three of you. Well, because you signed your waiver on the first day and I can do what I want.”

He gave a loud burp, and drank actual water before continuing. “…That almost came up. Now, this field trip requires diplomacy. We’re gonna meet another Titan. And you’re gonna talk to him. But most importantly, we’re gonna convince him that, as this school’s student council or some crap, you’re a good group and the future of humanity…is in your hands. Maybe.”

He looked over the group, and sprayed something along his neck. The students would have caught a waft of pinewood. “Gotta smell less like a drunk college kid. So uh…any questions so far? Or should I just keep talking?”

The thing in the corner had mostly ignored the stick of bubblegum, the defiled gift fidgeting and twitching in an almost experimental manner. Its attention had been drawn by Thea's storming in, the goddess in question, if she were to more closely examine the arcane bindings wrapping on the suture holding reality together, no doubt seeing that said bindings were radiating her magic, if a bit...off.

Seeming to come to a Ending long foregone, it...rose, for lack of better word, the scrap of materiality grafted onto it raising and outstretching. The wad of gum rose into the air, gripped by a strange force...
The Emperor's Hand closed, and the filth was crushed into nothingness. The Hidden God was...satisfied.
Its attention fell upon the Solar Titan, writhing in its shadowed corner as it contemplated.
It inquired as to which Titan they were being sent to meet.

“Or you could just take a bath…never mind.” Thea said after she’d calmed down a bit, turning to the ocean deity who’d offered to wash the “leftovers” off her coat.

“Thanks but I needed to get rid of it anyway, I’ve got several just like it…I buy ‘em in bulk.” She listened to Hyperion rattle on about this “field trip” that they were supposed to go on, one that involved diplomacy and reasoning with a Titan. In other words, shit that could possibly get them killed.”

“I thought Granddad imprisoned them all. Well, except you obviously.”

Abaguabana raised his hand, in fact. He wasn't all too familiar with the pantheons of other deities - again, partly why he was even there in the first place - and while he was passingly familiar with the Greek gods, he didn't know much about their parents. In fact, he didn't know anything about the Titans or *their* parents, he just went ahead and assumed that Hyperion was just what passed as a "regular" god among Greek deities. "...What's a titan?

Although part of Abaguabana wanted to ask the point behind sending a creepy reality monster to a diplomatic mission, he decided not to. He could at least understand why he was sent - between mediating fights amongst his siblings of thunder and lightning, and negotiating peace between the many spirits of the spirit ocean, he had some considerable experience in the art of diplomacy.

“A Titan is what I am. Older than Zeus, sometimes less functional…nah, always less functional.” Hyperion chugged a little more of his drink and nodded. “Most of us are in fact locked up, that’s uh…that’s Chronos’s fault. Need to stop trying to eat the kids.”

He rolled his eyes and burped once again, but he punched his sternum and seemed to feel better. “Ahhh…So yeah, you’re gonna meet Prometheus. He uh…he supposedly got out.”

“The guy that gave humans fire? Yeah, I don’t know why he was thrown in jail.” Thea muttered, her family was well known for being quite petty but she always thought that her grandfather imprisoning someone for helping humanity survive was…fucked up to say the least. Gods needed worshippers, shouldn’t they have wanted as many of them to live as possible?

“The guy broke out, good for him…he didn’t need to be there in the first place.”

"Really?" Abaguabana shrugged. "I thought you were the same stock as Zeus this entire time."

He'd figured he'd have to go and ask Boinayel about this. He WAS the traveler, after all. Regardless, he was interested in the prospect of talking to Prometheus. Though once Althea mentioned Prometheus as the one who have humanity fire, his interest was largely inflamed by intimidation as well. Bayamanaco was the primordial fire spirit, born from creation's flame at the dawn of existence when everything was created by the Great Spirit Yaya. He was irate, he was powerful, and yet wise enough to offer a hand and intelligent enough to inflict torturous punishments on those that crossed him. Bayamanaco was the one god that all others feared, Abaguabana included.

He figured he should at least make his concerns clear. "This...Prometheus, how is he? My worshippers weren't gifted fire, they stole it from Bayamanaco. Will that affect us in any way?"

“So…here’s the problem.” Hyperion oriented himself as he felt the contents of his stomach rise, but he swallowed as he paused and then explained. “Prometheus doesn’t have a problem with other pantheons. He uh…his problem is with the Greeks. Which means he is headed here, probably to deal with Zeus and Hera. Now you might be wondering, ‘Hyp why are you telling us all your family business?!’ Well I’m good at that, of course. And also because this is gonna be your first chance to practice democra…I mean, diplomacy.”

He blinked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses. “We’re gonna find him, and we have to keep him from finding Holy High and possibly destroying your school. Will he do that? I dunno. But man is on a warpath, and Titans on a warpath leads to books about people traveling home from the Battle of Troy and a lot of people die.”

He wasn't exactly one to demean other gods, but Abaguabana was certainly thinking to himself exactly how much of this was Zeus' fault. He gave fire, it wasn't stolen. That should be deserving of a reward rather than a punishment. Regardless, the situation was definitely as serious as it sounds, and he understood that. He pointed a thumb at himself, confident in his abilities. "Good thing you chose me. I'm not only the mediator of my brothers, I'm also the one who keeps the water spirits from...killing each other, over everything."

Abaguabana coughed, and turned towards the other two gods...goddess...thing. "I know I can help, but what can you two do?"

“Good, yeah. Mediating. That’s exactly what we need! Cause it’s early to say but…the fate of our students and teachers probably rests in…a bunch of kids telling a Titan to be nice. But luckily, Prometheus just hates Zeus. And Hera. I think he’ll be fine with the group of you.” Hyperion’s drunk cadence made his words sound a little less than inspirational, but he still meant them as encouragement.

“But I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. This evening, Prometheus is gonna be close to campus. So we’re gonna go to him and we’re gonna have a talk. I want ya’ll to…go to your classes, and tell the teacher not to give you three homework. Cause you got a MISSION. Understood?”

Hyperion gave a loud burp, but his mission was as clear as it could be. Three young gods testing their understanding and mettle against one of the legends, for whom hymns, movies, and protests had been named. No task done by the young gods in the name of comprehending their new world would be easy, but here they stood and were given a chance to show whether or not they could bring their Will about the new world.

[Luminesa]

Patriah - Cookie Run

The morning continued, with classes to resume in a little more than half an hour. All of the debate and frustration among their teachers had to give way to the rest of the day, after all, and they had decided to begrudgingly trust whatever plan Hyperion was making. He was, after all, another Titan. If anyone knew how to handle a raging Fire Primordial, it would be him.

Patriah did not worry about the possibilities of such a meeting, however, as he had not been called into the office. Rather, he turned toward Lanuru’s dorm room, and he brought the basket to his doorstep. He did feel a little silly, admittedly. But his gift was effort, and he thought at the very least he might make a friend out of the strange nightmare Fae.

“I have no idea what he eats for breakfast…but now it’ll be cookies.” He snickered, as he lowered the basket and started to walk away from the door. The morning felt crisp, breezy, and evergreen. His spirits had lifted, if they had not done so after the fascinating battle with Vadha the night before. Now he was ready for class, though he did not look forward to more textbooks. They had Ganesha‘s class this morning, and he knew next to nothing about the Hindu deity.

“Hopefully we get to make things explode,” he grumbled.

[Luminesa]

Science and Progress - Ganesha

Ganesha hated a dull, traditional classroom. He saw color as the means to learn, to create, to explore. He would have had classes right outside if he could not, but having his own classroom gave him the freedom to make whatever he wanted. If anything, he could control the climate, he could control the space, and he could control how much damage he had to shell money to fix.

He was in a better mood this morning than he had been the previous night, when he had seen the damage done to the gym. Hephaestus received a hearty apology, to which he explained that Patriah had already visited him and explained what was told to the Elephant-Headed God as well. He took it on the chin, and decided to prepare his own classroom.

Beautiful crimson, emerald, gold, and turquoise painted images of Hindu battles and legends along the walls. The stations for experiments did not represent those of a traditional classroom, with normal desks and beakers. Though scientific equipment was available, he was indeed a remover of obstacles, as he left the space open and had at each station a drum with four containers. Each one contained a colorful substance, powder, or liquid. In the back was a grading board, and Ganesha stood wearing not a lab coat, but marvelous powder-pink robes over wide-legged, blush-pink harem pants. He looked very much unlike the traditional scientist, but unlike the Greeks, he did not fear being caught on fire.

Fifteen minutes before class, and he was enjoying a glass of jasmine tea. With one of his extra arms, he wrote instructions on the board: "Good morning! Please work yourselves into pairs and place yourselves by the drums. You will be seated for much of the activity, feel free to stretch! Tea is available if you need a drink. NO EXPLOSIVES."

[Danceria]

Chapter 2 Prologue END: Dark Dawns and Ominous Oaths

Dorm #5, Western Holy High Campus
Bozhidar, Lanuru & Astrid
This Co-write has been brougth to you in part by: Lanuru, Zei-Aeiytenia & Honorable mentions from Luminesa

---

Flourished was the curtain of night that the Unseelie Prince had lifted across, driving back the light of Bozhidar and drowning the ruddy gold in a gentle kaleidoscope of silver-white. Yet the planet Venus was just as seen as a Morning Star as it was seen in the night. Staggering over the cape of night, for the Fae was spoke sooth that while he was accepted as a guest, he was bound by guest rights-indeed empowered by it. Yet the stubborn little mite of starlight did not persist, though it did warble and bumble over the wall set up for a "private conversation". Like somewhere between a jester and a flea, a mere nuisance, and an incorrigible annoyance.

"When will it end?" Came the first of protests, Bozhidar would strive to still act as devils...prosecutor? Rather than Devil's advocate. "When Astrid overcomes her traumas, her nightmares, will you abate, or will you seek out some other "meager price" to sequester from her?"

Bozhidar was many things, defiant, or self-righteous as some may decry him. But very dim. Against the dark, and against one who is the scion of Queen Mab herself, rather than some watered down third-generation deity, his ember stood near Astrid. Arrogant, and a flagrant disregard for the very guest right that Lanuru could smell that he so cherished. In another route, it would have been delightful to twist the impulsive Slav to his whims...and perhaps he may yet. Or perhaps this Slav would serve as a strawman for the Wit of the Unseelie to easily rip to shreds.

"When that time comes, it means the price has been paid in full. My service shall come to an end when she deems it unnecessary... but any more of my grace beyond the end of our agreement shall be another contract." Lanuru stares straight ahead at Bozhidar, unblinking and smiling as if he finds his ideas to subvert and circumvent the terms an entertaining show. Bozhidar, as bright as the sun and hoping always for its rising every morning, clings to the idea that shadows will be chased and darkness is ever repelled.

A foolish notion. A foolish, naive, and mortal notion. There can never be one without the other, as if hope can forever drive away despair. They are one and the same, on both sides of the same coin. Fears, nightmares, and traumas could be conquered, given time, effort, and peace. But they will always be there, ever present and ever looming.

Every smile is always stalked by tears. Every sunrise is followed by it setting across the horizon. There is no sweetness in joy when one does not know the pain of fear and despair. Mortals and those who consort with them always ask for the sweetest nectar, neverminding getting fat and rotting in the shadow of indulgence. Foolish is he who denies the Night, when the Sun sits craddled within Her bosom.

He turns to Astrid, confused and still in the haze of sleep and dream, with a friendlier smile. "I ask nothing but your fears and nightmares... and I will take them away whenever they beset you. Of course, as I have said, you may call an end to this service... but know that asking me for it once again is a new agreement."

Astrid ate slowly, hearing Lanuru's proposal first, and then the prompt little bit of bickering which followed as a result of Bozhidar's intervention.

The contract was simple, though for many it would likely have been off-putting. Essentially, Lanuru is a God of Nightmares, and Astrid a ball of untreated stacking traumas. Hungry boy on a field trip, and all you-can-eat-buffett.

That, though, that is not what was unsettling about this to Astrid. No, no that part made perfect sense. What did not make sense is why Bozhidar was trying to play defense at all.

Certainly, the food thing could be waved away, its not outlandish to think anyone with basic empathy seeing a shell shocked girl who hadn't eaten in... Well, years, actually, and give them food out of pity. But this was a step further than that, he revealed his continued presence to have been in service of some, ostensibly, noble objective to protect said shell shocked girl.

One problem. Nobody has ever actually gone out of their way to help her before, not for free, anyway. It didn't take supreme brilliance to find uses for her either. This may only be effects of the cartharsis, but for now, Astrid could at least admit she was little more than a barely held together ball of pure destructive power.

Bozhidar would scarcely be the first to notice, and she eyed him with rather plainly painted suspicion. It helped that as far as Astrid and her senses could tell, Lanuru was either telling the truth or an exceptionally skilled liar who shows no physiological response to committing the act.

"The Fae makes a simple kind of sense, one that seems honest too. Food for peace and rest. You, though," she said now addressing Boz directly, "What is it exactly you want? That's the only thing unclear here."

"The lady indeed speaks some sense." Lanuru smiles back towards Bozhidar, his smile stretching a little bit too far. "No one offers aid and help without any merit to oneself... Why are you so concerned, when the postulates put forth are beneficial to both parties? Does that mean..." He leans a bit forward, shadows dancing behind him. "That you don't want our troubled Huntress to be afforded rest?"

"I do not wish for a Huntess to be turned into kine." Bozhidar answered, before turning to Astrid. Then looking down somewhat sheepishly. The truth, however improbable to believe, was always the best solution. "I hear you were in pain. I...wanted to help." It was clear that however noble of intentions this godling is, he had yet to offer something of value besides foodstuffs. And those who could not give due deference to their host would be dispatched...he knew this. "Look, I'm just concerned about the find print, if any. I've heard contrasting things of the fae. Some are made of sugar plums who help princes that were turned into nutcrackers. Some are wily things that rig games to win the skin and soul of those unawares." He cocked his head. The wide grin reminded him of a cat he read about involving...Eliza and her wonderful land? Probably. Maybe he was the former and was the cat that pounces on the nightmares standing at the foot of ones bed. He should really know better than to judge by appearances, but the dark and shadowy motif really...clashed with his instincts. Sometimes instincts have to be ignored for the greater good. To preserve Order. Turning to Astrid, he bowed.
"Though I will admit, since I have offered no gifts, and made no offers, once you accept-or decline-the deal, it is your own decision. I will depart since I have overstayed my welcome." He was a godling of hospitality, dammit, he should have done better. He bowed his head with as much formality as could be mustered at the witching hour to the Huntress, before turning to Lanuru. "I trust you are not threatened, not your deal undone by the bumblings of a bumpkin?"

The eyes of the Huntress narrowed on Bozhidar further, but despite her greater suspicion, like the Fae before, he showed no signs of lying. No signs, and far less competence than them at the craft. Though that too could be a ruse.

She turned, momentarily to Lanuru, "I will gladly take the ability to sleep for the first time in years, certainly if it stops someone needing to experience starvation too..." For a brief moment, a look of pained sadness flashed across her, before returning suspicious gazes once more.

She turned, then immediately after, to Boz, "So... You want for nothing? You throw yourself before a God of Nightmares, a Fae, Descended of the literal ice queen Mab, on behalf of a stranger for... Nothing? Because you feel bad?" Her expression had changed, from pure suspicion to a mix of suspicion and confused bewilderment at the supposedly selfless actions of the Slav.

"Wait you're that Prince?!" Bozhidar exploded, more at Lanuru than Astrid. "Huh, you might want to gain some royalties of sorts. Every single Fae I've encountered around Nova Scotia call themselves "Duke" or "Prince" or "Grand Poobah". You should get name tags so that way people could sell their souls to someone who is actually-" there was a brief moment of Bozhidar's mind pausing, as his mouth seemed to sprint far and ahead before his cognizance. Yet Astrid could see something that may terrify her.

The man barely batted an eye at the revelation. Did he not believe Lanuru's words? Did he not care?! Wait, no, there was. In some small portion of the Slav's skull, around what Astrid may presume to be whatever intellectual capacities this man was gifted with, was a small lang of fear. It was a rational fear, a fear of the dark, of things too wide and too deep. Yet there was something that she recognized, if she had looked at dezinens of the Folkvangr and Valhalla. Someone who realized he bit off more than he can chew, yet chose to continue anyways. To prove himself? If so, to her? To himself?

"I-I'm sure you're a...very... munificent and magnanimous and most compassionate spawn of night-terrors and too-cold-winters! I-I mean, have you read Eastern European literature?" He chuckled in a vain attempt to recover from a faux pas. "Besides, General Winter is our highest and most capable military commander!"

"I have indeed heard of the Spirits of your homeland... Fiercesome, grandiose beings they are. How I'd wish to meet with this General of yours myself, and to hear their most thrilling tales of despairing winters." The Unseelie Prince shakes his head, maintaining a smile on his face as if he hasn't noticed Bozhidar's unruly behavior and actions. Perhaps his Royal Mother would certainly take offense and bring swift and methodical punishment, but he is a diplomat in these... curious lands of many divinities. He can endure, even for just a couple moments.

"Lady Astrid, it seems that our good Sir here is... one of those beings. Do not worry, Sir Bozhidar. My people are known for their flights of fancy... and it is understandable if you do this for... self gratification." In the eyes of an Unseelie, especially one of Lanuru's station, Bozhidar's too good to be true heart is either naive, stupid, or self serving. By the looks of how this conversation is going, he is inclined to choose both.

The Prince spreads his arms, and the shadows mimic his gesture of an encompassing embrace. "But... there are always ways to satiate our appetites, aren't there? I desire delicacies, our Lady Huntress desires peace, and you," Lanuru focuses on Bozhidar as a pointed remark, "seems to chase for virtue... Well, you have heard the Lady. She is not just scarred in mind and in want of inner peace. She too seems to have been gripped by the terror of starvation... Why don't you be a great host and provide, good Sir?" The Fae Prince smiles, his eyes narrowing in an expression that teeters between sincerity and poisonous glee.

Bozhidar had rapidly fired off into an, admittedly, mildly humorous roast of Lanuru. It was childish, certainly, something the Prince himself acknowledged in his magnanimity of allowing the Slav to back away, tail between his legs.

Quite literally, as the consequences and meaning of his actions occured to Boz, a fear enveloped his body. It was... Familiar, but not immediately so. For a brief moment Astrid felt almost as if she would blackout, it felt almost predestined, like it were supposed to happen.

A blank stare enveloped Astrid's gaze, as she remembered the sensation. The searing, blazing heat tearing through every vein and artery, hot as fire, then lava, the plasma of the stars and then finally, beyond to a point for which she had no description. As her vision blurred, essence consumed by wild fury, the last fading image she ever saw bore eerie similarity to that of Boz now.

Her sense came back, eyes returning to normal as an odd feeling washed over. For the first time ever, someone, clearly to foolish to understand conniving plots and manipulations, threw themselves in to defend another.

To defend Astrid, of all people. For nothing, for simple minded feelings, and now that someone was consumed by terror. A terror, not born of the living, tormented weapon next to them.

She barely took proper note of Lanuru's invitation, really, salvation of the Slav's ego, engrossed entirely in this peculiar reality where for but brief times, she did not feel torment, did not feel alone and nod strangely, did not feel as if being a monster.

Bozhidar was stupid. But he was aware of his own shortcomings. Even against the span of darkness, the embrace of night, the Slavic Godling noted the all to venomous grin he felt fear. It wasn't probably the first time someone felt fear in front of either Astrid or the Unseelie Prince, his conscience would note cynically, but perhaps something even stranger would happen.

Someone would begin to be brave around Astrid.

For it takes someone who has made a lot of stupid moves to recognize one. With a gentle, almost brotherly smile, Bozhidar answered. "Host? Oh no sir, no my good Prince." He deferred. "That would be the miss here you're dealing with-you came to her to make a deal...right?" He would turn to said Huntress, the "Lady of the House". Er, dorm. While he wasn't certain of the Fae's intent, he did mean it when he would depart if dismissed by Astrid. How better else than as...

"If I have your permission to be your servant for this duration, Miz Astrid?" The formalities weren't as pretentious, though they were genuine. You wanna play the game of hospitality and words? the godling thought Two can play at that game.

Servants of the house were prioritized slightly over guests, and could "politely intercede" so long as he didn't overstep his station. Unless Lanuru didn't want food...eating a hostess out of house and home was considered a "dick move" in most cultures.

On the outside, Astrid remained calm and ready, though in truth she had mostly regained her grip on this new reality, strange though it still was.

This grip revealed many things. Things like, Lanuru having a delightful evening screwing with the socially clumsy Slav.

Who then proceeded to make it even worse, in a way that was almost... Adorable. In a 'trying too hard' sort of way. She did wonder, however, if all this talk still included meal plans. At peace though she may be, there's only one demon Astrid is comfortable messing with, and it's not any of the giant monstrosities in the 'kitchen'.

"What exactly does all this servitude talk include? Is that what this was all about? I've only read had books to read... O' Prince? Is this what they refer to as a 'fetish'? I've never encountered such people in my lack of travels." Astrid required the force of all her warrior discipline to keep a straight face, trying desperately not to begin laughing, a fact which itself dawned on her as... Strange.

She rarely ever even laughed around her host in the Stormlands, now surrounded by a clumsy ditz and the sentient manifestation of Nightmare Fuel, here was the feeling needing surpressed.

Is this what it was like to not feel constant mental torment and paranoia? Is this the peaceful world others had?

Lanuru maintains a cordial smile, his laugh echoing with friendly joy at Astrid's own musings about the Slavic God's bumpy ride towards social ruination. It's almost like watching two wolves cornering a poor hare, who has been puffing itself into a false bravado with all its fur and blubber.

"Lady Astrid if we are to exalt this good Sir's most kind heart, perhaps he is more than willing to do anything to bring you comfort. Such a... selfless act, isn't it? Truly a paragon of virtue, to put himself forward in noble service..." He grins towards her, and in the Huntress's eyes she sees a fellow predator who has smelled blood in the air.

"I implore you to join me in my own Hunts, especially in my Domain! Wonders never cease in the Dream Realms. Mortals and even the divine could be so... queer and entertaining in their sleep sometimes. You would never believe what they could ever dream and think of."

"But, I do agree with his... statement. Wouldn't it be best if somebody, with nothing but good intentions, could aid in your recovery? Sir Bozhidar would surely attend to your every need and want, especially in the name of a precious classmate and comrade?" The Unseelie Prince throws back to the Star Child, hooks latched and armed with baits for the God of Hospitality to bite into.

Oh Rod dammit was all Boris could scowl internally at. It also takes one who is a blue-blooded braggart to take advantage of someone's ego! While he's more than happy to try and play a comic relief to Astrid, he still didn't fully trust the Unseelie Prince.

And why was he thinking of maid dresses?! Specifically certain, pointy-eared blond girls in maid dresses kicking ass in bloody carnage?! Stop it brain! Time and place!

Thoroughly cornered and in desperate straits, he cleared his throat and interjected. "Prince, Good Miss, my comfort I hope is not needed to be...anything...dramatic." He stated "As Miz Astrid is on the mend, as evidenced. And if you keep your end of the bargain, she may be doubly mended. However, would either the gentleman or the lady desire something to eat or drink?"

He knew that there were going to be double entendres, but sometimes to move through a mountain, you gotta dig through a lotta dirt.

"Too much solids at this point would cause stomach pain. This is only the second time I have eaten in two years." Astrid made expression, as if thinking deeply, evidently fake to Lanuru, but likely not so much to Boris.

"Though I just ask, from where does this drink come? What is it made from, and from which tap does it flow, exactly? This all seems like a serious safety oversight. Can't go dispatching caretakers to psychiatric patients willy nilly, if they get sick they may nuke a mountain or something." A brief smirk washed across Astrid's face, leaving the implication that she could, infact, nuke a mountain.

Astrid looked back down, an ever so gentle grin directed towards the prince, "Humans can be quite... Queer. Gods too. You'd not believe the homophobia you get from the familia of Loki for being less like the wheat fields and more like the apple orchards. So much screaming over one kiss, such an overreaction." Astrid flippantly gestured with her hand, as if this was all truly no big deal at all, though the Prince would surely detect that not only had she told the truth, she was once again angling to do so in a manner which may... Upset the balance of the Slav.

"What game do you hunt anyway? I've always only had the monsters and fauna or the northlands but I've long, shall we say, lusted [i] for things much more exotic and thrilling."

"...Homophobia? Is that supposed to be the word mortals use for their prejudices?" The Unseelie Prince smiles widely, face twisted with great ridicule at such an idea. "They deny themselves of gratification, satisfaction, and freedom. No wonder my seniors and ancestors left this mortal realm for so long... The humans have long since abandoned our tenets." His eyes squint as he says so, remembering the stories of eons ago when the Tuatha De Danann have gone into their exodus back to their Realm of Eternity. Since then, the Wild Ones were gone and the humans have since mowed down their sacred glades. "Blasphemers, the whole lot of them."

Something flashes in Lanuru's hand, a dark glimmer that spins between his fingers as he shows Astrid his most cherished weapon. It's a dagger, dual bladed from both ends of the handle, its surface a sleek lightless black. The blades are curved, reminiscent of the crescent moon. "It gets boring, doesn't it, when the Hunt becomes stale with how easy they crumble... The Hunt is so much more delightful when there's an edge of danger... and when the prey... struggles." His golden eyes swerve towards Bozhidar, unblinking and flourescent with an inner glow.

"My Court hunts down many things... from defectors of the Unseelie, to enemies of the Court, to souls who would do anything to escape and live again... The struggles of a dead man knows no bounds when he has nothing left to lose." Lanuru plays with his dagger as he thinks of worthwhile Hunts, the blade balanced upon his fingertips.

Bozhidar felt beads of sweat, as he realized that perhaps plucking a thorn from a lioness doesn't necessarily make you her friend. As if the two had noted the Belobozhii's rather...insular nature. Though, as Great-Gruncle Perun would state, "Look at Zeus. Do the [i]opposite of that." And...well...
Though it was strange that "home phobia", or perhaps the fear of stagnancy? Both seemed to clash with the Fae.
He would smile slightly, not in agreement, but in the fact that humans-mere mortals-could defy the Fae in such a way. Though, he did ask a question. "Why...don't you free them, if freedom be the aim of the Courts?"

He understood why the Belobozhii maintained their order against the self-devouring serpent of Chaos. Each pantheon had Order to maintain...how they did it, or even, if they did was dependent upon each deity.

Astrid nodded to the Prince, "Yeah, and that's just one of them. I know a giant magical spirit shark that deals with a whole different kind of it too. Humans these days are so eager to be angry about nothing, very insulting to people with actual grievances." Her tone shifting at the end of the final sentence, leaving the obvious implication that Astrid herself was indeed insulted.

"Always more fun when they struggle. Why free the humans anyway, when they don't seem to want to be freed? They remind me of a... Certain kind of prey. The kind that wants to be hunted, and refuses it's body urges to flee..." Astrid giggled innocently, flexing her hands open as nails rapidly turned into razor-sharp claws, "Monsters are fun at first but they're a bit predictable. Fallen heroes just can't stand up. The most thrill I ever had is when a half dozen gods and an army of legendary heroes came into my storm to hunt me. I'm told they all share in my PTSD now."

Astrid, for perhaps the first time ever, was speaking freely, completely freely to others. People she barely knew, at that. It was strange, certainly, but somehow felt perfectly natural, as if she'd always known how, stopped only by the now lifted burdens of the past.

"Oh... They are free now... Free of their idiocy and their blasphemy, and they are paying dearly for their transgressions." The Prince makes a grand gesture of dismissing Bozhidar's statement about humans, seemingly ending the discussion of their welfare as quickly as he could. If the stellar God could divine anything from the Prince, his Courtly allegiance is more than enough to deduce his thoughts about humanity.

Astrid's words about her own battles against fellow divinities and multitudes of heroes is more of Lanuru's preferred discussion, as the Prince leans more towards the Huntress as she recounts her own experiences. Thoughts fly by in Lanuru's mind, the taste of steel and blood in my mouth as he remembers the recently devoured nightmares that he has harvested from Astrid. She is certainly not lying about her own experiences.

"If you would allow me to witness your might first hand, then it would be my honor to Hunt with you... even compete if that is on the table." The Prince twirls his blade in his hand, both it and the metallic claws that adorn his fingers shimmering softly in the dark room. It was friendly provocation, as well as acknowledgement that perhaps, in this field, Lanuru considers Astrid to be a peer and equal.

"...However... It seems that our discussion has been derailed for a moment. You already know my offer, Huntress. It's a simple one, with barely any effort from you at all. You shall be receiving a good night's rest everytime your nightmares disturb you, at the best of my capabilities. After all, if a Senior deems you to be afflicted with nightmares then... I will run afoul of the Pax if I defy them without prior discussion." He smiles as his blade vanishes from his grip. "...And Sir Bozhidar himself has put forth his own assistance, out of the goodness of his heart. Will you accept this agreement?"

There were many things, it turned out, which the manifestation of violence and nightmares agreed upon. Perhaps that isn't as surprising as it initially sounds. They certainly agreed largely on humans, Astrid saw no real value to them. Some, sure, were part of her Host, that was true. Most, near all the rest, however, were the reason it need exist in the first place. It would not be wrong to ascertain that, in the eyes of the Storm goddess, only a tiny minutiae of humanity was capable or worthy of receiving her mercy and salvation.

"That's really what they deserve anyway, pretty much all of them. In my experience you could maybe find one in a hundred thousand at best who are deserving of actual liberation and salvation. The rest are little better than rabid hounds who wallow in filth - of the body and mind - at that."

The Prince, however, much like Astrid once more, was more keen to speak of the Hunt, and not of tiny ape evolved schmucks unworthy of licking dirt from their boots. "I would warn that all others who levied challenged now loose control of their bladders when rabbits hop by, but i imagine the prospect of facing whatever living nightmare i become is rather the point for a god of said Nightmares. Though, i suppose it could always turn into a rather fantastic irony..." A small smirk accompanied a blatant smugness in her tone, returning provocation with provocation, implying even a lord of nightmares could not handle... whatever it was, precisely she became. In full truth, Astrid had no idea, she'd never remained conscious nor retained anything but broken snapshots of everything that came after.

She cleared her throat, returning to a calm and serious demeanor, though still plotting something behind this visage, "As for your agreement, i am most pleased to accept such generosity. Though, for the other lad..." She looked at Boz, smiling widely with eyes closed, acting almost innocent, "He never did specify exactly what it is he would be doing, did he? I do wonder what exactly i am agreeing to with this one." Her smug grin and tone returned once more, staring Boz straight in the eye, a small glint of predatory glow in her eyes, "Not that i think anything nefarious would come from such a fluffy... little... kitten, certainly not to a hungry wolf."

Sweat could be smelt and felt trickling down down the side of Bozhidar's face, the primal fear of an apex predator clashed with the bubbling indignation at insults borne upon humankind and himself. While he would admit that Astrid had a point on some of the more...vile specimens of humankind, he had come to realize each person had the capability to grow, to change, to heal. That as sure as the body can scab over scars, people want to be healed.

The exact methodology, especially for a certain Norse godlingess, was so far beyond his knowledge, and both parties would no doubt know this. But he had to try. If nothing else, to answer a rather pregnant pause that had formed between the three, perhaps he had heard something that hurt itself?

Managing to muster his mettle to look into her eyes, Bozhidar exhaled a breath he didn't know he was keeping coiled in his chest. "My comfort is more...corporeal." he began, though stammered slightly. "N-not in anything untoward, mind you, my purpose here...is to help heal. To help grow. To bring again the sound of light and laughter." The light of the child of the Morning Star broke through, not as the harsh oppressive rebuker of nightmares, but the ever constant and gentle rising of the morn. "While I cannot change the past-that apparently is what Lord Lanuru is here for-what I can do is...help you through any...episodes that you may have. If you are to have me as your servant." He cocked his head, as if listening for the hum of electricity in wires from...the kitchen. "...If I may inquire, Astrid, are your kitchen appliances not functioning?"

Lanuru yawns, loudly, at Boris's propositions. He can offer all he wishes, and quite frankly his wording would need revisions with how he phrased what he is offering. But he is not here for kindness nor altruism, simply for opportunity of many facets.

"If we are in accord, then let us sign this agreement to a close." The Fair Prince rises from his seat, and the shadows around them stir to life. He reaches forward with his clawed hand, the silver platings glimmering with power as tendrils of pink and purple starry smoke curl between his fingertips. "In accordance to the customs of this modern day, let our shaking of hands and exchange of words be the seal of this agreement."

The Prince's halo shudders, shakes, and twists as moonlight flows out, forming a circular dark crown upon his brows as the mercurial light spills like silver ink. The power of the Fae, that which rests upon words, concords, and promises, are called upon by his royal crown and birthright. "I, Lanuru, the Prince of the Dreamlands, offer my aid in the banishment of the Goddess Astrid's nightmares and pains, in exchange for the nourishment they provide. If the other holders of this Oath wishes this concord be broken, or that she who is plagued by despair no longer desires my help, shall then my aid be revoked and taken. By this I swear."

Silver stars glow in the mists that cover the Prince's hand, symbolizing that his promise has been etched into the power of the contract. He looks to the other two, awaiting their "consent" and promises in the matter.

Bozhidar thought, and thought. He thought perhaps far longer-or for the first time according to the other parties present-and perhaps for a good reason. He was not the only one whose powers lay with word and bond, he was a very lesser Lord of Hearth and Hospitality, but it was still important dammit!

So what was he going to promise? What was he going to fulfill? What did Astrid want, what did she need? These questions swirled around, making the ruddy-yellow aura of the Slavic Godling seem like a frail candle against the regal silver of the Fae's presence.

he thought, and thought, and thought and thought too much, until he realized he thought too much. Now was the time for action.

Extending his hand, the yellow light of day no longer clashed with the silver stars, but danced together as one:
"I, Bozhidar Stribozhivich Perunov of the Belobozhii, son of the storms and Morning Star, do swear as Lanuru takes away the shadow and sorrows, to bring about light and laughter." he stated sternly. "To replace dark with light, to replace sorrow with joy, to aid in paving forward to a better future, freely given, for the sake of healing." These words were the most powerful, for while exchanging of words and goods, the wheeling and dealing, but this did not sit well with Bozhidar. If he wanted Astrid's protection and favor, he will earn it. "If the holders of this Oath are threatened, let there be aid. If one wishes to relinquish service, let there be mercy. If faith is broken, let there be vengence. If the one whom we aid is satisfied, and may she be satisfied swiftly, that our service be justly rewarded." His hand latches against the Fae's his eyes steeled with sunlight, his throat rang with chivalry, and lazy shadows swirled around streaking light. "So swear we all."

So the swear was made, and the Oath created, between the odd group of deities. One could have felt the tension was still in the air around them, but between the three volatile personalities was something that was budding into friendship. But this Oath was also particularly binding, given that the blossoming tree outside of Astrid’s window had ears…

[Luminesa]

Four Corners of the Mountain

Moboyas’s Tokens

The talismans radiated with ill will and malcontent, harbingers of a force that should not have been at the school. As if Holy High did not already have enough problems.

They landed in and around the campus with all the subtle chaos of a being tearing a hole from his universe into this one. Just a tiny tear, a tiny crack in a dam. So small, one might not even think that water could leak through and drip. And while blood was thicker than water, Moboyas’s determination to destroy Bana was strong enough to push that hate along.

A plunk!, as one talisman landed in the water of the beach in front of the training area. Hyperion still had chunks of golem to fish from the water, but as he walked toward the water he paid little attention to anything except his own plans for Prometheus.

“I need to bring good liquor to keep him calm…or some food…been a while since I had a Titan to feed. He might just eat the school…”

One landed on top of the library’s roof, seeping its evil energy around the roof. Thoth looked up from his books, and thumped one closed as he rose to his feet.

“That cursed Fae again, I’m sure of it…” he murmured, as he took a sip of his tea and prepared to go to the roof. Unlike Hyp, the Egyptian Moon God had all of his wits about him. Someone had to.

Another one landed in a strangely mundane place. A bucket. A sloop-eared hound dog stared at the bucket, and the barking was so loud that it awakened the man sleeping in the fire truck.

“Molly! What the hell are you barking at? There ain’t another fire over there, is there?” Martin practically fell out of the fire truck as he hurried over to see what had alarmed his faithful dog. “…I don’t smell smoke, girl. What did you find?”

Only when he looked down in the worn, random bucket outside the station did he see the little token-like item. “…Huh. Molly, get back, I wouldn’t touch that. Lemme go get help. Aw that doesn’t smell right either. Do we get a medic or a priest?” He stared up toward the towering Appalachians, and then out toward his fire station. “Chaplain’s gotta be somewhere. HEY!” He rushed back into the building, and Molly leaped after him.

And then the last one landed in front of a modest campfire. Nearby, the giant fire Titan had decided to take a nap. He almost enjoyed freedom more than he enjoyed his journey toward revenge, and a nap in the woods, undisturbed by all creation, represented perfect freedom in his mind. Yet when Prometheus noticed the talisman, he raised a brow and looked confused.

“…A message…from an evil being…” He frowned, and lifted the talisman. “…But nothing of the Greeks…no, this looks strange. But who could it be…”

Not the Shepherdess. No, she was too kind to send something full of such malice. Perhaps some other deity was trying to spread wickedness, or perhaps they were even after him. After all, a free Titan was a problem for most evil gods and goddesses.

“Perhaps I should be more wary…There are hauntings afoot. I hope the kind human family does not have such evil in their house.”

He stood and stared at the talisman for some time. Prometheus was not brainless muscle, no. He was the burning thirst for knowledge personified, and he would know the sender of this ill omen no matter what he had to do. And then, he would destroy them, as with any other being that threatened his freedom.

But first, Thoth had climbed to the roof, and looked rather strange as a bird-headed god walking around the top of the library in search of some odd evil symbol.

“It is far too early in the morning for this…”

[Luminesa]

Hecate - Black Magic Woman
Day 3

Several of the deities inhabiting Holy High did not particularly care for the daylight hours, for whatever reasons good or ominous. As the Goddess of the Crossroads, Hecate's reasons included both, and so her classroom reflected the silken, moody feeling of a clear winter's night. The ceiling was glittery and dark, painted in the illusion of a dome showing the night sky. The stars in various shades of yellow, white, and pink blazing in their imaginary distance. Down from the ceiling, tapestries of silk and lace in ebony, burgundy, and violet gave a richness to the classroom's dark interior.

Around those tapestries, along the corners of the room, candles and incense were lit, smelling of frankincense and roses. Even the candles were molded in Hecate's favorite dark colors, lush magenta, royal violet, and deathly black, with hints of gold peering from the beautiful gloom. The interior was meant to be a soft, secretive entrance into a world away from the prying eyes of nosy mortals. Hecate had no time for casual inquiries onto her abilities, only for those who truly wished to learn.

And she was happy to have a small class. A small class meant more intense learning, and less desks to break the mood in case someone bumped into a table. Much like Ganesha's room, the tables were low to the ground, and velvet couches were the seating of the classroom. The spell scrolls at each table were placed in neat rows of five. The Magic Goddess had disliked Ganesha's humor and cheer, but she did not dislike the way he arranged a classroom, and admittedly she was taking some cues from him. Yet within the orderly calm of the classroom was also the hint of coming chaos. She knew what might transpire on Holy High's grounds in the next few days. She was entirely aware of Prometheus's awakening.

And so unlike Athena, her class would not be an introduction. It would be a trial, and one only the worthy students would pass.

Hecate adjusted a bouquet of red roses in the center of the classroom, and then she adjusted the black, mesh veil around her head. Her dark eyes looked toward the doorway, and candles would float toward the door as they followed her gaze. She sighed heavily, especially after hearing the vestiges of Hyperion's radio all the way from her class. "It's never too early for wine, I suppose..." She pulled a glass from her desk, and sipped it elegantly as she waited for the music to stop. Once it did, she then turned her attention back to her incoming students. She only hoped they would take their learning as seriously as she intended, and that perhaps her guidance would lead them to understand themselves better.

"It's a shame that little Astrid did not decide to take my class...I'd be much better at wrangling her than Hyperion...that buffoon and his plans, if they don't get us all killed then he'll just awaken something else in the process..."

[Finsternia]

Lanuru and Patriah - Teatime Between Friends
Cowritten by Finsternia and Luminesa

The night before was eventful, and it was a monumental harvest for the Fae Prince. Lanuru gained two new allies and acquaintances, and he also gained a precious source of nightmares that he could reap so frequently. It was a feast fit for a Prince, and he retired to his domicile with a smile upon his face.

As God of Dreams, Lanuru needed no rest nor sleep and thus he simply lounged in his quarters until the sun rose. It is inconvenient, for a creature of the dark such as him, that classes take place during the day where the bane of sunlight haunts the Dark Prince. In the dark corners of his room, stylized like a temple forgotten in the tangles of the wilderness, Lanuru rested as he waited for his classes to come.

Wrapped in shadows and partaking in the energies of dreams and nightmares, Lanuru stirred from his feasting as he felt a foreign entity encroach into the soil of his dormitory. He is sharing the plot of land with Alkibiades, and he knows the signatures of the fellow Wild God. This one is not the essence of brambles and thickets, but rather the howling winds beneath the earth.

"...A friend..."

The Dark Prince rises from his cocoon of shadows and mist, and he comes to the front doors. The plot is shrouded in night, like a barrier to prevent much of the light of the sun to grace the dormitory with its golden glow, but its presence in the sky still makes the Nightmare God a sluggish thing.

There was a basket at the front door, overflowing with freshly baked cookies. They smell wonderful, the smell of home and hearth filling anybody who partakes with the warmth of Hestia's grace. A shadowed hand reaches down to pick the basket, and Lanuru cradles the gift close. "...Sir Patriah... Why do you make haste in your leaving? I have not yet expressed my thanks for your offering..."

Patriah turned around as he heard Lanuru. He was not expecting him to walk outside to see the basket right then and there. Then again, he was not quite Hyperion, who simply could not walk outside without his head splitting from pain and without burping away the alcohol in his stomach. No, he was actually cognizant, and functional, and most importantly, he thought about everyone's actions with the grave unpredictability of any Unseelie.

"Oh hey there! Yeah uh, I didn't know if you liked Hestia's cookies from class yesterday, so I made something like them. She won't give me her recipe, probably...maybe." He thought for a moment, and frowned as he sucked his teeth. "She probably thinks I'm gonna burn down a dorm. Well, anyway, I do hope you like cookies. They smell great at the very least, this is my first time making them so that's good."

Lanuru's eyes look down at the cookie basket in his hands. They are very warm and fresh from the oven, and for a Fae they are not simply just warm from the fires of the stove but also the intentions and emotions behind them. It was an offering of friendship, trying and genuine. "...Thank you for your gift..." The Prince smiles as he looks back up to Patriah. "My brethren and I favor gifts and offerings of sweets... and while I do not usually partake, it is rude not to when it is given freely."

He turns and gestures, and the doors of his dormitory swing wide open. "Will you grace me the honor to serve you tea in my domicile? Of course... you may decline if you have classes as of the moment..."

Patriah looked across the lawn toward Ganesha's classroom. He then looked over at Lanuru. His expression was unreadable, but he was clearly pushing the hamster wheel in his skull. "On one hand, science class has explosions. On the other hand...Thanatos would say it's rude to turn down tea. Well...that, and today's science class probably won't have explosions. Ganesha's already mad at me. I can...take a minute."

He walked into the dorm room and looked around. Whether or not Alki was up and about was a question for either one of them, but for now, just the two of them would spend time over tea. If Alki decided to join them, he would not be opposed at all. He did like the wine god who was some sort of cousin to him.

"What kinda tea you got?"

The interior is decorated with all sorts of ivies and crawling vines, from which all colored flowers bloomed. Each flower exuded a soft glow, turning the darkened halls into a fairytale demesne worthy of the Prince that resides within. Lanuru leads him to the open parlor, and shadows separate from the corners to take the form of hazy nightmarish creatures to serve the two young deities. Half shadow people and half chimaeric in nature, these servants glided through the place to deliver trays filled with implements for tea.

A shadow servant came to receive the basket from Lanuru, which was then presented upon a fine ceramic plate. The servants also presented the Prince several small jars that is to be the selection of teas for the two godlings. Lanuru sits down, and a servant also presents Patriah his seat. "Of course, only the best there is... For us, the Fair Lords and Ladies, the food and drink we partake focus on... experience. I believe you have heard of tales that remark about our hedonism and the perfection of our arts?"

Lanuru opens one of the jars of tea, and the faint smell of earth wafts from it. He takes scoops from the dried leaves, enough for the two of them, and another servant comes forward. This one is hooded, floating eeriely in the dark with a small lantern in its grasp. It bows before Lanuru and Patriah, before a bluish glow sparks from underneath its hood. From its lantern leaps out a bout of blue ghostly flame, and the Dark Prince allows their tea to be steeped in its haunting glow.

"...There are many tales... where mortals come to our realm... and when they return they wail to come back... They have been entranced by our food and drink... the fruits of their fields the taste of ashes compared to our most delicious fruits... I offer you something that would be to your tastes, Sir Patriah... It comes from my own palace."

With a low whine, the pot of tea is ready. Lanuru himself pours it out for himself and for Patriah, and the scent is captivating. It smells of that of earth, fertile and fresh. It is the smell of a deep dark forest with all of its bounty. It's taste is rather mild at first, curiously similar to that of honeywater, before intensifying into a thick richness of all sorts of berries. For a final touch, the caress of an emotion, melancholy it seems like, graces Patriah for a moment for its aftertaste.

The tea was indeed an experience, from its smell to its taste it almost conjured an illusion to its appreciator. The experience of a forest in full bloom, for a forager to harvest its bounties, and yet one's own loneliness in its grandeur. "We both are far away from home, you and I..." Lanuru smiles at him. "And I hope that this tea would help you deal with the first few days of missing your lands..."

The Dark Prince then looks over to the Wind God's offerings: pumpkin cookies. They look rather entertaining, with their bright orange color and their crumbling plumpness. The Fae helps himself to them, and the explosion of the pumpkin flavor couldn't be denied. They are strong, delicious, and even if they are made by a beginner's hands they still hide a taste that Lanuru finds. He tastes the fires of the stove, the efforts put into each crumb, and the guidance behind them. Lanuru finishes the cookie with a smile, clearly pleased by the emotional weight behind them. "These are wonderful... and I appreciate your use of nature's bounty with them... I deeply appreciate your gift... and the effort you have put behind them..."

Sentient shadows, gloomy flowers, and morbid beauty were not foreign concepts to Patriah. Rather, the surroundings seemed to remind him a little of him. He smirked as the shadows danced and writhed while they accommodated the two young deities. Lanuru was a lot of things, but a bad host was not one of them.

“Sounds like home. The parties Dionysus throws are…” His eyes widened, as he tried to dig for a word to describe the debauchery and excess that permeated everything Dionysus did. “Exhausting, honestly. You get past a point of excess and it’s kinda like straining a muscle you’ve worked too hard.”

But he was not one to turn-down free food or drink, and so he watched with curiosity as the Unseelie prepared him a tantalizingly hot cup of tea. When he sipped it, he could taste spring after a rainy day. The taste of berries popping in his mouth, juicy and sweet and fulfilling. It was such a good feeling that he felt almost pained at the way it faded. As if he was trying to grasp at a memory while tasting the drink.

“…Huh. That tea is really good. I’m impressed. Eurydice would love it.”

And likewise, Lan seemed to enjoy the cookies. He took his time tasting them, and then smirked. “Well I know I can at least cook you those if ever you’re down. Do uh…I hope this isn’t a weird question. Cause I’ve heard stories. Do Fae feel ‘sad’? Or ‘homesick’?”

Patriah's inquiry has made Lanuru pause and ponder. Do Fae feel sadness and homesickness? Lanuru himself could not answer, as he has only been away from the Eternal Realm for but days. Perhaps once a longer period of time passes there could be a chance to explore that, but there is also something to consider.

The Fae are capricious and impassioned creatures, whether they are the lesser or greater variety. They feel emotions strongly, where a small ember of affection becomes a roaring flame of obsession so easily. But it is also true for the other side of the scale. There is a severe threshold to attain but also a ceiling-breaking momentum. Thus tales and stories speak of the callousness of the Fae and their immorality, and yet also their heart-rending passions.

So how does sadness and homesickness manifest in a Fae? Perhaps right now, Lanuru is indifferent for it has not yet settled in his heart. Small irritations, small inconveniences, caused by the differences of this realm and his. But once it takes root it is a terrible, terrible thing. Too many tales tell of stories of passionate Fae lost in the throes of hedonism, but what of those lost in the grip of despair? They are forgotten and shunned, both intentionally and not, by both mortal and immortal.

The Prince stays silent for a moment, pondering what would become of him in moments of sorrow and longing that he has never felt. The room reflects its denizen, and the shadow servants simply stand by the side as if awaiting their sovereign's reply with Patriah. Lanuru takes a sip of his tea, the taste of home on his tongue. "Perhaps... But if such things apply to me, I do not know. The Winter Court is the Court of Sorrow, but in my own domain I am content, joyous even. It has only been a couple days... and I could not be sure if I feel this homesickness you speak of. However I must say... daylight is quite a hassle in this realm." The Prince manages to sigh out, and the darkness of the room deepens to his words.

“Yeah, well, Hyperion would agree with you on that.” He snickered, and looked down at the tea as he sipped it again. The Court of Sorrow. If he was joyful, then the sorrow was for someone else. Then again, the Unseelie did seem to enjoy feasting off bad feelings and horrors. Maybe it was a passive need, the same way Patriah got out of bed at ungodly hours to see what Eurydice had stored away food-wise at home.

“Well what about friendship? Do you have a lot of friends at home?”

"...Friendship?" He blinks before shaking his head. He was Prince. There is little friendship to be had. Rather, there are alliances, false promises, smiles that cut like daggers in all the Courts of the Fae. When one steps into the court intrigue of mortals, one finds themselves besieged by a polite society armed by smiles and honeyed words. In the Courts of the Fae, their plays make the predations of hungry politicians look like child's play. If there is friendship to be had, it is between equals, and the capricious nature of such two beings would find themselves at odds with one another for the next eon until their whimsical natures bring them together once again.

"...No. I am Prince, and there are little who could stand beside me. There are allies, yes, but friendship is much more precious and rarer in the Courts than a Sun that burns cold in the sky. In the Courts, where everyone wears a crown, everyone is a rival, a tool, an ally... but rarely a friend."

“Huh. Well that’s pretty befitting of politics. It’s why Zeus has so many enemies…or that might be because he’s screwed so many nymphs.” Patriah rolled his eyes, meeting Lan’s gaze mid-roll. “Even I’m not that stupid. But…it must be lonely not having friends. You go home and there’s no way to get rid of…stress. At least I have Zagreus and some other people as friends if I go home. What do you do when you’re home? You know, like…for fun? You ever just spar someone to do it?”

"...I have my duties as Royal Heir... I learn to rule beside Her Royal Majesty, pursue to achieve perfection in every field that a Prince must be in... and I rule my domain of dreams. I watch mortals and immortals alike unravel in their dreamscapes... opening their souls and unleashing wonders and horrors alike."

Lanuru's upbring was strict, and under the Queen of Winter's scrutiny it is a life as difficult as any terrible winter. The Fae value perfection, and their royalty even more so. Lanuru, being Prince, must become the ideal Prince of his Court. There cannot be any deviation, any imperfection.

"...As for your question about... sparring... Have you heard of the Wild Hunt?" Lanuru gazes back to Patriah as he drinks his tea. "...I am the Head Rider of my Court's Hunt. Perhaps that could be considered a hobby... I believe? I lead the knights and the hunters of my Court for whatever prey Her Royal Majesty wishes to be brought to Court. It is a terrific sport." He smiles, clearly enjoying talking about his home and its traditions.

“Hunting is always a good time. In the Underworld I’d sometimes take Cerberus. If uh…Hades lets me. Let’s say he’s not super-fond of how much…property damage I caused that one time.” He groaned at the memory of that tongue-lashing. “But yeah, I’ve heard of it. But I don’t know what all you hunt. Souls? Monsters? People? Other Fae?”

"...All of the above, and more. It depends on the occassion, and sometimes it doesn't need to be living things. But the tradition of each Seasonal Court having a Wild Hunt of their own was... quite recent, at least in Fae memory."

He sets down his tea for a moment to snack on Patriah's pumpkin cookies, holding one half bitten to continue his dialogue. "...The Autumn Court was supposedly the one who'd uphold the tradition of the Wild Hunt. It is their duty to hound the dead, and hunt down the enemies of the Fae. But, sadly, their Monarch has passed... or at least has vanished. Death isn't absolute for us... and what awaits us beyond the veil is different from what would one expect... Nevertheless, when the Autumn Court became Monarchless, and its Court became null and void for the eons it has been abandoned... the other Courts stepped forward to lead their own Hunts."

Patriah frowned. A kingdom without a monarch was just a domain, a hollow nest with shivering baby birds and no warmth. And the cold of the Winter Court meant that seeing such vulnerability meant the Autumn Court was a target. He ate one of the cookies, and munched over his thoughts. "I bet there's still a couple Autumn Fae around, looking to regain their lost power. That's always how it is. Someone always wants past glory. Or at least that's what my mom told me about the old Greek myths. Old gods lost power, or are losing power, and so they want to regain the...tales of old." He wrung a hand in the air to give theatrical emphasis to the phrase. He had no dog in the fight, as he was simply a scion of the Underworld who lived his life and hoped he would not be needed as an heir any time soon.

No, such was Zagreus's position, and he did not envy it.

"One of these days I might go with you on a hunt. That would be fun. I don't know about hunting humans...I don't really like the idea...but monsters? I'd love to kill a few monsters." If anything of Patriah reminded one of the old myths, it was the heroic need to slay giants, dragons, and the shadows unknown. All with the trademark pride that crackled in his warrior's eyes.

"There certainly are still Autumn Fae, but their status is low and not a single Autumn Royal has been able to unite their shattered kingdom... Whatever's left of the Royals are only bickering fiefs, and their lessers enjoy little joy compared to the other Courts' subjects." The Autumn Court has been shattered for too many long years, and even with the many trials and successions that happened not a single applicant have been accepted by the will of the Eternal Realm. The crown and throne of the Autumn Court remains empty, rotting in its own dwindling yet terrible power.

A small smile appears on Lanuru's face as he gazes at Patriah, whose eyes sparkle as he thinks of the heroic tales of old. Heroes slaying dragons, saving damsels in distress, defying the Gods and Fate itself. He nods, showing his approval of the Wind God's zeal. "...That is a passion fit for a warrior. Keep that close, and it will make sure that your heart is never led astray. If the school allows... missions, then it will only be a matter of time until we find ourselves to be monster hunters. Regretably, we have unleashed many horrors into the world, and they still lurk somewhere. Perhaps you and I, and even that Huntress Astrid, would make a good team."

Lanuru does not care that much about such horrors. After all, in a certain angle, those horrors will bow to him as their God and Prince. The God of Nightmares is more than capable of commanding such monsters, as their terror and viciousness lie within his domain. The fate of a couple mortals are of little concern to him. After all, they'll replenish.

"...Speaking of the Autumn Court..." Lanuru looks down at his tea, and chooses this time to strike. The Queen commanded him to find allies, and this is the moment that he could secure one to his side. Every Prince needs a Knight, after all. "...We have spoke about the demise of the Autumn Court... In fact, the Courts have decided that they once again wish to find the successor to the Autumn Throne."

"...In our conquest to retake our lands of Albion, we have decided to partition the mortal lands between the Courts. But alas, the Autumn Court has no Monarch, and thus there is no one to rule the lands given to them... I am fortunate to be one of the candidates placed forward for its succession." He holds his cup, tightly, as he makes his plea to Patriah.

"We may have known each other for such short amount of time, but I hope that you will support me in the coming succession. If the lands of the Autumn Court come to my rule, then of course there will be a place in that Court for you... and our classmates. I hope you consider, for the sake of the Court, its subjects and..." He pauses, thinking, before striking again at Patriah's heart. "And for the mortal subjects under it."

Patriah raised an eyebrow. Already, he was being questioned about his political affiliations, and was being asked to support some campaign. He groaned, as softly as he possibly could. "Look...all the politics? That's a headache. Like, I asked about it, yeah, but man, you're at a school. It's...too soon to be worried about all that. You gotta make more friends. And not just 'political partners'. Actual friends. What's a king without a loyal court, and without friends? He's just a sad man wearing an expensive toy on his head. And that's what Zeus is. And uh...you..."

He paused as he took a sip of his tea. Lanuru had the potential to be kind, or at least nice, but he was all too wrapped in the search for power. None of the youthful excitement of ambition and battle the way he saw it. All of it was duty at best, and a chore at worst. "You don't have to be that way. So let's...make friends first, and then we'll worry about who's gonna save the Autumn Court. It's not going anywhere, it's just...there. Like all of us are here."

"...He is smarter than I thought."

Lanuru's eyes shine with appreciation at Patriah's words. The other young man may be dull in manners but his senses are sharp, as sharp as his blade. He has cut through the facade and unravelled it in the simplest ways. What he says is true. There is the matter of loyalty, and indeed the matter of time. The succession is still in the far flung future, and there is still time to make... friends.

It is about friends again.

But he could not help but zero in with what Patriah has said. Let us make friends. We will worry. Such small details, and yet it is confirmation that there is indeed now a bond, no matter small, between the two. They are now acquaintances, at the brink of friendship. Thus, the Prince smiles at this new... friend, and is hoping for a bright future. "Of course... What you say is wise. I have been worrying about a far future, when there is the present to worry about. Then... I hope you will consider me a friend of yours in time, Sir Patriah."

"Yeah, I already consider you a friend. It's why I bought you cookies." Patriah smirked, as he saw that somehow his words had reached Lanuru. He did not consider himself a wise man, just someone who knew what he saw. And he saw someone who was threatening to throw himself into an eternity of unhappiness and mindless duty, rather than someone who was a young god who should have been finding himself. "And once I discover whatever else you like, I'll cook that too. Unfortunately though...I think I have Scien...wait."

He dug in his scarf for the crumpled schedule he had carried with him. He had honestly forgotten what classes he had next, and he realized that he did have Magic next. "Do you have Magic? I don't have Science on here, I thought I had Science. Is that what you've got?"

Lanuru laughs as he rises, clapping his hands so that his servants would take care of their mess. The specter with the lantern extinguishes the flame that served as both tea boiler and table light, and the other shadows proceed to take their cups and plates. "It seems that time flies indeed. I believe that I also have classes soon, which would be Magic under Lady Hecate. Shall we go there together?"

As the Dark Prince rises Patriah notices that he still wears the scarf that he has gifted, its colorful length draped over his grim royal vestiges that adds vibrancy to his entire persona. A strip of dreamlike essence amidst the nightmares. "I am quite proud of my spellcasting prowess, so I hope that you also do not disappoint. I have seen your skill with the sword, and I am hoping that your skill with sorcery also speaks for itself." Lanuru smiles at him, flashing a predatory grin that seems to be a challenge for the Wind God.

"We're probably late. I'll come up with an excuse." Of course, he knew excuses might not work with the Goddess of the Crossroads. She was much stricter than Athena or Ganesha, that much he knew from how Hades and Thanatos both spoke of her. "Uhhhh I'll bring the teapot." He picked up the teapot, and looked over at Alki still in bed. "HEY MAN WE'RE HEADED FOR MAGIC CLASS, HAVE A COOKIE WHEN YOU GET UP."

After he shouted as loudly as he did, he looked over at Lan and then nodded. "Right, uh...let's go." He then ran out the room, still-steaming teapot in hands. He had no idea how well he would perform in a class that did not involve slashing, cutting, or biting. However, if he could magick an excuse for his being fifteen minutes late out of a screaming tea kettle, perhaps he could really perform Hecate's kind of Magic.

[Luminesa]

Fire In The Distant Sun
Afternoon Three

"Father Hernandez said for me to stay away from that part of the firehouse, he's thinking it's a demon."

"Father's delusional. What demons would wander an Earth like this? Has he looked around?"

"No, something seems off about that token in the bucket. He said it was some sort of charm."

"But who would leave it? There's no magicians in these hills, we hardly have enough people to keep the station running for the few dozen people we serve out here! Who's gonna be employed to leave evil charms in fire stations? Huh?"

Ayden, another firefighter who was slightly older than Martin, challenged him as he smoked a cigarette and stared toward the misty shadows of the nearby mountains. The world was so much quieter these days, but then the valley had always been a little too quiet. Even before the Dying. But the Dying had left echoes of great loss in the way the air seemed too haunted to breathe. And so many of the firemen smoked, and one somehow had a vape that still worked. Martin, on the other hand, both feared and did not fear ghosts whispering in the air. But he still feared whatever had been in that bucket.

"Molly has been nervous all afternoon, man, it's bad."

"I'm sure it is, but get her some food and some pets and she'll be over it," another older fireman, Judd, suggested as he also smoked. "Dogs might be sensitive to weird things, but she just needs a little more extra care."

"But you guys don't believe me at all?"

Ayden and Judd looked at each other, and the former rolled his eyes with a hard flicker of his eyelids. The latter sighed. "Look, Marty. When we go check later with Father Hernandez, I'll tell you how I feel. But I wasn't there, right now I can't tell you. But if you are right, I wouldn't be surprised. Some things, and some evils, just refuse to die."

All the while, the faintest scent of a campfire wafted from miles and miles away. Prometheus, with another catch, this time a deer. He was taking his time cleaning, cooking, and eating the beast, thankful for the simpler things as he continued to slowly make his way to Holy High. He would be sure not to share any such meal with those traitors, but for those whom he believed might listen...

"Perhaps." He whispered the one word before he bit hard into the salted venison, bones and all.

[Nantoraka]

Moboyas’ Talismans

Each of the talismans glowed a deep green and unholy power the moment they sensed they were out of sight, the evil within almost resembling sentience, yet not quite, and almost by some stroke of cosmic misfortune, every single talisman found their mark.

The training area.

The roof.

…A bucket…

And by some cosmic sense of humor, right next to the sleeping Prometheus himself. As the talisman was picked up by the fire titan, it seemed to be unnaturally cold to the touch, and above that, remarkably foreign. Divine magic was clearly behind these talismans, and it was even more clear that it was evil magic at that, born of a source that hungered for the pain of others, something that craved burning existence in its own pain, a primordial and foreboding mark of evil that raged against existence seemingly out of jealousy for not being part of the great creation itself. Alien, yet unmistakably born of a human deity, and above all of this was the mark of foreign magic that felt almost similar to the mark of the indigenous gods of the Appalachians that the school sat upon, yet more distant, a different pantheon altogether.

Of course, the talisman would not open its terrible contents next to Prometheus. Moboyas was no fool. To betray his plan so early was a foolish endeavor, and so, he ensured that the talismans would only open when none others are present. Unfortunately, most of the other talismans had taken this advantage to reveal their contents, the souls of the damned deceased, the roiling and spiteful dead, the dreaded nightmare spirits of fear that are Moboyas’ signature influence upon the spirits of man, would burst with sadistic glee once the talismans in the roof and the training area. Thoth, quick as the scribe-lord of knowledge may be, would come across the talisman, though the recently emptied talisman bore little power, yet still an unmistakable horrid malevolence lingered upon it.

The token of Thoth bore upon it a symbol of a monkey, though twisted horribly, a knife carving out its flesh in some horrid ritual. Many would miss the details, but Thoth was not an ignorant god. Though the precise creation of these talismans were a mystery, their carvings and their style betrayed their origins to his wisened, experienced eyes - they came from South America.

—-------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately for the humans however, the talismans had no such compunctions. Moboyas held humanity in little regard, obstacles, things to bend with suffering and fear until they broke. They were playthings, barely even noticeable to something such as him, and he amused himself by casting plagues, suffering, and disasters upon them at every moment. And suitably, the presence of humans did not register to the talismans. They were things. They were vermin. Infecting the world with their little lies, their little plots, their little existences that the god of fear enjoys shattering.

The talisman the priest beheld was much like the others, wooden, yet deathly cold to the touch, a cold of evil that yearned to embrace others with a kiss of strife. Upon the wood was carved a symbol of a frog, opened up in a Caesarian section, the eggs within the body burst and rotted as the frog was twisted and oddly at ease with the miscarriage. With the humans nearby, the talisman grew impatient, and an eerie black and green deathly mist began to emit from the talisman. The spirit inside wished for an audience. It fed on fear, and to amplify the fears of those that beheld it would strengthen it enough to finish the journey to the school under its own power.

[Luminesa]

Moboyas’ Talismans

Each of the talismans glowed a deep green and unholy power the moment they sensed they were out of sight, the evil within almost resembling sentience, yet not quite, and almost by some stroke of cosmic misfortune, every single talisman found their mark.

The training area.

The roof.

…A bucket…

And by some cosmic sense of humor, right next to the sleeping Prometheus himself. As the talisman was picked up by the fire titan, it seemed to be unnaturally cold to the touch, and above that, remarkably foreign. Divine magic was clearly behind these talismans, and it was even more clear that it was evil magic at that, born of a source that hungered for the pain of others, something that craved burning existence in its own pain, a primordial and foreboding mark of evil that raged against existence seemingly out of jealousy for not being part of the great creation itself. Alien, yet unmistakably born of a human deity, and above all of this was the mark of foreign magic that felt almost similar to the mark of the indigenous gods of the Appalachians that the school sat upon, yet more distant, a different pantheon altogether.

Of course, the talisman would not open its terrible contents next to Prometheus. Moboyas was no fool. To betray his plan so early was a foolish endeavor, and so, he ensured that the talismans would only open when none others are present. Unfortunately, most of the other talismans had taken this advantage to reveal their contents, the souls of the damned deceased, the roiling and spiteful dead, the dreaded nightmare spirits of fear that are Moboyas’ signature influence upon the spirits of man, would burst with sadistic glee once the talismans in the roof and the training area. Thoth, quick as the scribe-lord of knowledge may be, would come across the talisman, though the recently emptied talisman bore little power, yet still an unmistakable horrid malevolence lingered upon it.

The token of Thoth bore upon it a symbol of a monkey, though twisted horribly, a knife carving out its flesh in some horrid ritual. Many would miss the details, but Thoth was not an ignorant god. Though the precise creation of these talismans were a mystery, their carvings and their style betrayed their origins to his wisened, experienced eyes - they came from South America.

—-------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately for the humans however, the talismans had no such compunctions. Moboyas held humanity in little regard, obstacles, things to bend with suffering and fear until they broke. They were playthings, barely even noticeable to something such as him, and he amused himself by casting plagues, suffering, and disasters upon them at every moment. And suitably, the presence of humans did not register to the talismans. They were things. They were vermin. Infecting the world with their little lies, their little plots, their little existences that the god of fear enjoys shattering.

The talisman the priest beheld was much like the others, wooden, yet deathly cold to the touch, a cold of evil that yearned to embrace others with a kiss of strife. Upon the wood was carved a symbol of a frog, opened up in a Caesarian section, the eggs within the body burst and rotted as the frog was twisted and oddly at ease with the miscarriage. With the humans nearby, the talisman grew impatient, and an eerie black and green deathly mist began to emit from the talisman. The spirit inside wished for an audience. It fed on fear, and to amplify the fears of those that beheld it would strengthen it enough to finish the journey to the school under its own power.

The Hoodoo That You Do
Afternoon Three

"Father, you really shouldn't pick that up with your hands."

"Don't you worry. You simply keep back, and go keep Molly calm."

Father Alonso Hernandez gave Martin a calm, clear order, as he looked over the grotesque talisman which the young fireman had found. He squinted his olive eyes, visibly disgusted at the sight of the strange contraption. All the while, Martin's poor dog was barking madly in the direction of the little round charm, and her owner had to lull her away with a leftover sandwich and some ham. Giving away food hurt some days, but everyone was determined to keep each other alive, including the faithful hound. And the faithful priest had made it his duty, ever since he had survived the Dying, to keep his flock alive in both body and soul.

"Hey Padre, what do you think it is? You think it's demons?" Judd came and looked over his shoulder, and Father Alonso turned back to him.

"It can't be demons, it's probably just some creepy-looking prank. One of them kids in them shacks prolly wanted to play a jo-"

"Ayden, this is no joke. And we do not speak of our neighbors in such a manner. All of us are lucky that we have survived the Dying, whether we live in a mansion or a shack. And frankly, more shacks have survived than mansions. Christ did say we would always have the poor among us..." Father Hernandez put the talisman on a table, and he dug in his pocket for his dusty rosary. Once upon a time, it had been a pretty ivory, a marble sacramental from his mother. But she was gone, as was the shine on the beads. Nevertheless, he held them the way he had held them for forty-two long years. "Now. Go get my Bible out the firehouse, and my holy salt. I'm going to bless this compound."

The fireman almost rolled his eyes, until Judd gave him a look that made him jump. Very few people disrespected the older firemen, and even fewer would have dared to disrespect Father Hernandez openly.

"Doing an exorcism?" Martin came back, and Molly stood a few yards away eating a piece of cheese.

"We're going to try." The stout priest turned and looked at the younger fireman, and for once he had a glimmer of severity in his eyes. "It may be necessary to do more than one. So I'd prefer you boys stay back and watch the station."

The younger firefighter did not like that answer. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

He nodded. "The Lord is with us, always, until the end of the Age."

Thoth - Family Tradition
Afternoon Three

Thoth was no exorcist, not in the sense of the earthly priest with his holy rosary several dozen miles away. Yet he knew how to chase away quite a number of deities and malfeasants who liked to cause trouble, as most did not like to give the Egyptian Moon God trouble. He frowned over the talisman, and after having poured over a few books on South American mythology, he had to shake his head. "Goodness, we simply cannot just have one problem at a time, can we?"

The school year had just started, and Prometheus was soon to be upon them. Hyperion was taking three inexperienced young deities to talk to this powerful Titan, all while the rest of the staff spent their time bickering or simply trying to keep the school running. Poor Hestia, no doubt, was overworking herself in the background. Thoth himself was quite stressed, but he could not afford to show his anxiety. He had found the talisman, and now he would have to find the source.

"There's more of them, I am sure. This is one, a dangerous little contraption. I am sure there are others. I can feel them." He looked out the window, and he drank his tea. His divination tools were in another room, and once the school went for lunch, he would spend his break locating the rest of them. He figured that Bana's parents might also know more about the talismans, and would be able to help him with communicating the issue to Bana. After all, if they were at the school which now had several South American deities as students, most likely those students were the targets. Unless the evildoers had other plans...

[Nantoraka]

Boinayel and Márohu
The Spirit World, Cacibajagua
The Primordial Cave Cacibajagua, the dead-yet-living body made manifest of the great goddess Itiba Cahubaba, the goddess of life, was a cave of such enormous proportions that it could house mountains and still hunger for more. Though the cave’s ancient purpose, to house humanity in the vast untime between the First and Second worlds, has long since been fulfilled, the cave still serves a purpose in the modern day beneath the shadow of the great Cosmic Tree, who’s roots intertwined within and throughout the depths of the mighty cave. It now served as the home of the two eldest and mightiest children of the great serpent goddess Iguanaboína, the Sun and Moon spirits Boinayel and Márohu, who were born within this very cave during the dawn of time as the First World was drawn into being. Their presence could be felt, even seen, outside of the cave; weather changed with thee day and the night, the plants grew flourishing within the power of the spirits, and the evil forest dwarves and mahuí were incapable of ever reaching the cave, burned away by the solar power of the divine that lay within.

Even now, the two twins were spending their time within the cave, managing what was known as the Cycle - the endless dance between the sun and the moon, night and day, rain and sky, wind and still, drought and plentiness, faith and fear. The Cycle was the ultimate machine of reality, it kept everything in balance, and the two greatest parts of this machine were the sun and the moon, who’s traveling kept the Cycle in check and served as a symbol of the Cycle given physical shape. As such, the twins ranked highly in the spiritual hierarchy of the gods, directly beneath Yúcahu himself, as the stewards of stability. Though they could not affect the withering of the Cosmic Tree in the wake of the war in heaven, they could affect everything else, and it was their duty to ensure that the Spirit World remained stable even in the face of war among the spirits.

Unfortunately, recent events have strained the relationship of the Cycle. With Abaguabana missing, the oceans have fallen to Boinayel to manage - though he wasn't Abaguabana and lacked in capabilities, he was still experienced in the matters of the oceans, and could manage well enough. However, the Cycle suffered without his constant attention, and Moboyas noticed. It seemed the waves in the wake of Moboyas’ actions finally reached the twins, as Boinayel briefly abandoned the oceans to return to tending the Cycle.

The insides of the cave were lit brightly, burning the walls with the light of the clear day sky, driving away those spirit animals that dwelled in the dark and could not stand the light. The source of the light were two individuals, Boinayel and Márohu. Both were large and strongly built spirits, who’s physical forms strongly emphasized their status as the twin firstborn sons of Iguanaboína and the physical avatars of the greatest parts of the world, the sun and the moon. They both stood 10 feet tall at the shoulders, a fair bit taller than how they appeared when welcoming their adopted nephew into the school, and wore a different set of clothing. Forsaking their masks, they donned more traditional clothing, not needing to worry about offending the sights of others. Boinayel’s hair was a blazing, fiery orange, and each strand seemed to be fire given shape, fire given form, and danced as if burning his scalp for fuel yet with no evident mark upon his skin. His skin, a bright orange chrome, was accentuated by the mark of a series of glowing golden tattoos that marked one’s status as divine royalty, befitting his part as Nitaino, or noble prince, of the sun, while his fierce burning orange eyes glowed with fire coming from his eyes, a set of burning eagle-like wings of nothing but pure blazing fire wrapped around his arms, a winged cloak that sprouted from his back. His arms and legs were much the same, wreathed in the divine fire that was Boinayel. A fitting form for the solar avatar.

His twin, Márohu, was the god of the moon, and took a far more subdued form, though was no less majestic. His skin was more of a shade that would be present in that of a mortal male from the Caribbean, though his skin was grayed out, with a noticeable tint of blue washing over his form. While the hair of Boinayel was orange and resembled that of fire, the hair of Márohu was silver and flowed within the wind, like a gentle breeze was moving through his form, and moved with an unnatural yet oddly soothing grace. His eyes glowed a soft yet stern blue, and whereas the eyes of Boinayel burned with power, the eyes of Márohu gave off a gentle mist. He had wings of glowing blue and white power, the energy of which resembled water far more than it did anything like fire, and all in all, he seemed less like a walking disaster like Boinayel and more of a graceful deity. He was the good weather and night spirits, after all, and his domains were far more calm than Boinayel.

Between the two sat an orb of pure magical and shamanistic power, one half yellow, and the other black. This was a creation of Inriri the woodpecker god of craftsmen, who crafted this wooden idol, a focus for the two gods that would be strong enough to receive the combined power of the celestial twins without cracking, and now served as the focus for the Cycle, a tool for the twins to manipulate and move and change the Spirit World with it. It was highly sought after by the evil spirits of the Spirit World, who wished for the power to make their visions reality through manipulating the Cycle. And the Cycle was as physical as it was metaphorical and spiritual, and for now, it took the form of this beautiful glowing orb that spun ever so slightly, ever so gently, ever so carefully between the hands of the deities that beheld it. The two were watching the orb closely, eyes never faltering and concentration never fading, pure discipline built up like iron over a period of millennia. One had to be careful with the orb, as within it were all the concepts of the Spirit World given form and pushed here or there by the two deities to ensure that stability was maintained.

To lose the orb was dangerous, and it had happened before. Before her imprisonment, Guabancex would descend from her lands of Aumatex within the sky, and attempt to gain control of the orb herself. Though in the First World such a battle would be futile for the storm goddess, the twins were not at the peak of their power by any means, permanently weakened following their defeat and near-destruction at the hands of Juracan which left scars both physical and spiritual upon the entities. It was why the orb was needed in the first place; the twins were capable of manipulating the Cycle under their own power before the end of the First World, but now they have been weakened, and must have a tool to be able to do so. Guabancex on the other hand was never weakened, her will and desires twisted by Juracan’s hand, and now she acted as the destruction god’s unwitting pawn, forever assailing the twins for their orb. Sometimes she even won, forcing the twins to retreat and claiming their orb, using it to twist the Cycle to form a hurricane of her own alongside the powers of her children Coatrisquie and Guatauba (and most recently, Abaguabana) who brought forth their respective shards of Juracan to manifest storms so powerful they could shatter the very concept of land.

…Which meant that Guabancex’s imprisonment within a gourd in the deepest bowels of Soraya was a much overdue break for the twins, especially now with one of them preoccupied with the oceans of Guabancex’s own youngest son. Márohu was strong, but by himself, utterly incapable of fending off the storm goddess. As the two looked upon the orb and at each other, a silent contemplation fell over the two as they mused the current status of the Spirit World. Times have been worse, but those times have been few and far between, and never have they involved the meddling of other pantheons. For millennia the spirits of the Caribbean were content in their isolation, and to suddenly be assailed by other pantheons shook the foundations of their world, their societies, and their beliefs hard.

Boinayel sighed, moving his hands in a small ritual circle, which caused the orb to twist and move as well, and he reached in to adjust the Cycle. The faith of the water spirits was strong, but the spirits of the forest were losing their faith, beholding the Cosmic Tree as the leaves fall and wither and the cosmic wood begins to dry and flake, their fear exacerbated. An imbalance. One the Cycle could not tolerate, yet had to be rectified again, and again. The forest spirits were the ones who had to constantly watch the binding entity of the entire Spirit World wither and fade, after all. A small adjustment of the hands, a movement of the orb, and the fears are briefly rectified, but will return in time.

”I tire of having to adjust these forest spirits every few days.” Boinayel spoke in resigned boredom and disappointment.

Márohu nodded in agreement, and while he was much more patient, he sympathized for both his twin and the forest spirits. To watch your home crumble slowly while the gods fumble in their attempts for damage control would not do wonders for one’s hope. The water spirits were at least spared, having their own concerns. ”I understand, but the poor spirits cannot be blamed.”

Boinayel also nodded in agreement. ”Don’t take my disappointment for anger with them, I understand completely. But I do tire of constantly having to adjust their attitudes against what feels like a hopeless battle.”

Márohu sighed. ”I hope Yúcahu will find a solution soon. Whatever the other pantheons did to us, it seems the Cosmic Tree couldn't take it. What do you believe will happen if it rots away?”

Boinayel took several moments to ponder the ramifications of allowing the Tree to wither away. ”Maybe the universe will unravel. Perhaps we’ll meet Yaya?”

Márohu raised an eyebrow. ”Do you mean that as a joke, or are you speculating we'll die if the tree is unraveled?”

Boinayel shrugged, moving his hands further to readjust the orb and correct its position. ”Both, I suppose. Such an event is the only way we'd ever beckon forth Yaya from wherever He went.”

Márohu clasped his hands together, and with it came a cloud thunderclap from the outside as the orb immediately reset its position and began glowing more intensely. ”I’m thinking of dispatching a messenger to Inriri. He is a charismatic spirit and the forest spirits hold him in high regard.”

Boinayel suddenly shifted an arm around his head in a circular fashion, twisting the orb and making it rotate rapidly. In a somewhat sardonic tone, ”The woodpecker spirit? Do you think he's nested in the tree itself and that's why it's dying?”

Márohu rolled his eyes. ”No, and that's stupid. I'd rather ask Inriri to help lift the attitudes of the forest spirits for us, and free us from having to adjust them with the Cycle.

”And would he be a better choice than Faraguvaol?”

Márohu placed a hand above the orb, stopping it from rotating, and proceeding to flip it around. ”I imagine so. Faraguvaol isn't much of a leader. He demands, he does not persuade, and I'd rather not distract him from whatever work he's doing on the Tree.”

Boinayel understood. Faraguvaol was not the most social spirit god within the Spirit World. In fact, Boinayel outright disliked interacting with him. There was certainly a mutual respect between the two; Faraguvaol understood the importance of Boinayel’s task in managing the Cycle, while Boinayel respected Faraguvaol’s task in managing the Spirit Wilds and the wider wilds of the mortal realm, though the two simply did not get along personally and avoided each other in general unless they had professional business. Though they may have been brothers, Faraguvaol simply preferred the company of animals and his own servants to that of other spirits. Boinayel didn't particularly like this fact, but he did respect it.

Inriri on the other hand, he enjoyed the company of far more, and the two were practically friends. The woodpecker spirit was far more sociable. Boinayel deeply respected and admired Inriri’s decision to be the craftsman mentor of humankind, to teach them how to build for themselves so that they need not rely on caves for shelter and rocks for tools. Márohu was more or less indifferent to Inriri however, not particularly going out of his way to interact with the spirit, though Márohu certainly did do his part in making Inriri’s life easier by manipulating the Cycle to his benefit.

Màrohu moved his hands from the sacred orb, and taking his now-free hands, used his fingers to carve a sacred symbol of the wind on the cave’s floor. As Boinayel took up the orb himself, manipulating it and changing the concepts within according the need of the world, Márohu reached to his side, grabbing a wooden flute who’s wood seemed to course and shift with blue, soothing energy, a hallmark of a tool carved from wood straight from the cosmic tree itself. Taking a deep breath, Márohu muttered words of power, and played a slight tune upon this flute, a light and soothing melody played with the care only a god could play. Upon this tune, wind picked up upon the sacred symbol Márohu carved in the floor, and grew stronger as the short tune was played.

And as if beckoned forth, a spirit made itself known upon the symbol, the wind taking solid form, incorporeality becoming corporeal, revealing the shape of a dark skinned spirit with clothes of feathers and leather, a strong yet lithe build and arms covered in the feathers of a great bird spirit like wings. This was Mayohaboa, the god of music and the messenger spirit, who ferried himself and the messages of others upon the winds. Though lesser bird spirits were often called upon for messaging purposes, the divine spirit family had the fortune of Mayohaboa’s service, a far quicker and far more powerful entity than a mere bird spirit.

Mayohaboa crossed his great feathered arms. ”Márohu. Boinayel. It's always good to see you. How may I help you?”

Márohu slipped his flute back behind the pouch on his belt, and shook Mayohaboa’s hand as a sign of respect. Mayohaboa was a neutral entity, but a very respectful one, and Márohu actually enjoyed employing him because of his pleasant attitude. Speaking up, ”We need you to talk to Inriri for us. The Forest Spirits are too affected by the current situation with the Tree for us to do our job properly. It's beginning to interfere with parts of the Cycle.”

Boinayel spoke up from deeper within the cave, holding the orb between his hands and making various symbols with his fingers, the orb twisting and rotating in accordance to his demands. ”Yúcahu requires me within the ocean, Mayohaboa, not here. If you can tell Inriri to do his part in lifting the attitudes of the spirits in the domain of Faraguvaol, it'll make Márohu’s job far easier.”

Márohu nodded in agreement, as Mayohaboa was memorizing the words of the two spirit gods. ”And while you're at it, please do tell Huewah and our son their support is appreciated. I would like to return to them soon, but I cannot do so until Abaguabana returns from his tenure in the mortal world.”

Mayohaboa smiled and nodded. ”I’m sure they will understand. I shall deliver.” And in an immediate gust of wind, Mayohaboa was gone, running with the wind from the entrance of the cave out into the Spirit World. The Wind Spirits such as him were quite quick, and he was the quickest of them all. As Márohu turned back towards the orb, Boinayel handed it to Márohu.

With a warm smile and a grateful tone, he nodded. ”Thank you for bearing the orb yourself. I must return to the ocean. In the meantime, I'll make sure to give your greetings to my wife and firstborn.”

Márohu rolled his eyes, but was grateful, and took the orb. With a flash of fire and light, Boinayel was gone, and the light in the cave dimmed, though the glow emanating from the orb kept the entire area lit enough for others to see, though a moon spirit such as Márohu wouldn't have cared regardless.

The orb quickly flashed, a mark of danger, a hazard to the Cycle, and Márohu groaned with an edge of nervousness as he peered into the orb to find the source. Suffering and pain, a sick sense of enjoyment, and a sadistic glee - the orb narrowed to the Spirit Forest, the edges inhabited by the Spirits and the Dwarves, two separate classes that despised each other for their natures. Though their conflicts were relatively commonplace, something was occurring that endangered the Cycle, which Márohu noted as an odd occurrence given that the orb was only ever threatened by direct action such as those Guabancex took against the twins.

Peering deeper, Márohu noted that he could not discern the source directly, but there were signs; a relative cold aura, a malice that soaked the environment like water in mud, and an ever-thumping word that the orb drilled into the mind of the god - DREAMS. Márohu immediately stopped peering, discerning the source; a mystery for others, a vague hint for even the most intelligent god, but Márohu knew the source of the threat to the orbs.

It was Jurupari, the Dream Demon. He was the demigod nephew of Márohu and the son of Boinayel, born of a union between the sun spirit and a mortal woman. Jurupari’s death was corrupted by Moboyas, turning the demigod into a dark spirit that infected the dreams of others, feasting on the fear he inflicted and possessed of a special hatred for his father. Boinayel was unfortunately too attached to his son to ever consider action against him, and Márohu knew this. Boinayel knew that Jurupari was evil, possessed by Moboyas, but loved his son far too much to ever smite the demon, and thus Jurupari continued to haunt the spirits even now.

Márohu couldn't discern what exactly he was doing, and finding Jurupari was another matter entirely, as he was a demon who lived in the dreams of others. ”Perhaps he's causing the fear of the forest spirits?” Returning to managing the Cycle, Márohu was in thought. ”Perhaps Nooktas is among the spirits now as well. Moboyas recently left his imprisonment to Aumatex.”

Márohu decided not to report this to Yúcahu. Not yet. A plan had to be made; Jurupari would inevitably attempt to assassinate his father and take his power for himself, and was certainly known to be capable of such a task. But it was always met with failure, for Márohu was there, and would constantly shift the Cycle to summon an eclipse and cast Jurupari back to Soraya. But Boinayel was no longer there. And the Cycle was too fragile to shift. It was likely, Márohu thought, that Jurupari surfaced at this exact moment for a reason.

Regardless, he would plan.

[Luminesa]

Hyperion - Seatbelts Everyone!
Afternoon/Night Three
Holy High's Campus

The scene was set. The sun was setting like a campfire left to toast overnight, and the smell of smoky wood drifted through the mountainous air of Holy High. Over the pine-covered mountains, one could almost feel the excitement of a strangely chilly evening for August. Despite his clothing selection, with his Hawaiian shirt covered in bears and palm trees, khaki cargo pants, and loafers with socks, Hyperion was sober enough for once to recognize the beauty of the afternoon weather. More importantly, he was sober enough to remember the mission on which he was taking three students.

Cryptid was busy with Thoth, as Hyperion was aware through the virtue of being a Titan. Bana and Thea would be freer, as they had no homework per his requests to their respective teachers. Hecate had not liked that Hyperion had walked into her office to specifically request such, more because of how he was dressed.

"How did you want me to send a request, by carrier pigeon?"

"It would be quite befitting of your usual sensibilities," the Goddess of the Crossroads had answered, as she had sat at her desk in her darkly lovely office, writing in a book with a raven-feathered inkpen.

"Hey now, pigeons aren't always drunk."

"But they tend to be invasive and are perfectly fine living off rats and feces." Her violet eyes turned up from her desk. "You realize that should your plan not work, we will have possibly lost three students to a Titan? What do you think will become of the Pax?"

"Why do you think I'm sober today? Because if that happens I'll need to get drunk later."

Hecate rolled her eyes. "They are excused from their homework, if that is all you want. If you're here for anything else, you get to deal with whatever hexes I can find in my desk drawer while you're here."

Hyperion thought for a moment. His station wagon was not too far away in the background, blasting "Rocky Mountain High" and creating a rather awkward scene between the two of them as John Denver's hickory-esque voice floated away in the distance. "...Hecate, listen, I-"

She made a show of digging through her desk, all while keeping her eyes on him. "Yes?"

"Listen, if Prometheus does anything to us, can you let Zeus know that the car is going to be near the mountains a few miles away?"

"...Is that all you wanted?"

"...Sort of." The sun titan wished for a moment that he was a little less sober. "...Yeah. Uh, that's all."

"Best of luck, Hyperion."

And so he had left, just in time for "Take Me Home Country Roads" to start crooning over his car's speakers. Grabbing his megaphone out the front seat, he called through it. "BANA, THEA, AND CRYPTID, COME TO THE COURTYARD AT YOUR NEAREST CONVENIENCE PLEASE. THANK YOU."

[Hallownest Eternal]

CHAPTER VI | A LEARNING EXPERIENCE

-{The Unknown}-

The Godling meandered through the halls. The imminent meeting with Prometheus lingered in its mindheartsoul, concerns drifting on how to best appease the Fire-Bearing Titan.

A malignant presence loomed in its senses.

Coiling in the hall, its stump where the head should have been rotated towards the source of the presence, within the library. Placing its claw down, it reached into the ancient byways of reality, corridors through space and time rotted and decrepit from disuse, their origins-indeed, even existence-unknown to even the Gods, their formation long before their dominion upon the world had been established. Focusing, the Unseen began to slide out of existence, folding against space as it sank through the fabric of the cosmos, surging through the winding halls to its destination.

-{The Library}-

There was a disturbance in the Library once more. To the studious God, it felt akin to the gate opened by the summer princeling not too long ago, but...different. Older. Decrepit. Eyes drawn to a corner, an eerily humanoid hand reached through the vertex of two connecting bookshelves, dimly radiating fae magic as formless Shadow followed suit, A thousand-thousand legs and fathomless coils heralding the One Forgotten.. The hand twitched and fell still as the godling(?) held it up experimentally, flexing each ossified finger before lowering the pseudo-limb it existed upon and turned its many eyes upon Thoth. Approaching slowly, it seemed to fixate on the talisman, studying it keenly with its inner eyes.

Thoth kept busy with putting together the equipment for the ritual. Papyri, which would have normally been purified for three days, but the god of knowledge figured that they would be lucky if they got three days of peace on this campus at all. A lamp, natron water, oils and frankincense, and a few other items all sat in their proper places in the corner of the library’s storage area. The darkest area Thoth could fathom in his little sanctuary. Only after he put all of these items together did he feel something was once again amiss.

“…If I’m going to be bothered during a divination ritual…aaaahhhh…” He sipped his tea with some exasperation and walked back into the main area of the library. Only then did he see…the strange, coiling, shifting being that was Cryptid.

“Ah! Hello there, Cryptid. I see you’ve come to the library looking for something? How may I be of assistance?” It approached Thoth, its many-many eyes rotating around its body as it stared at the ibis-headed deity and the talisman in equal measure, curiosity evident in its mannerisms. As a God of Secrets and the Unknown, perhaps it could be of assistance in the ritual.
Thoth scratched his head, and he looked at the divination tools he had set on several tables. Glancing over them, he then looked back to Cryptid. He was never one to turn down a student who was curious or willing to learn, but he did wonder what this young deity…or aberration…actually knew. “Very well. How aware are you of Egyptian divination methods? I’ll set you up to be my second witness, though if there is…any danger, I shall ask for you to leave the room promptly. Do you understand?” The godling shifted, its spines forming and collapsing as history unveiled within, the forgotten lore of an age buried beneath shifting sands filtering through the air like the searing sun. Slithering forward, it took the position of The Tower. Its Senses turned to Thoth, indicating its readiness.

Thoth took a deep breath, and rolled the sleeves of his sweater. “…Very well. Let’s set this up.”

The Egyptian ibis god looked over his tools, and he nodded to himself. The talisman sat in the middle of the room, on a table by itself. He looked at the lamp, which was on the table next to Cryptid. In the meantime, he dipped his fingers in an eye-paint, and he blinked once as he looked at the aberrant student. “I need you to very carefully pour the lamp oil into the lamp, and I need for you to watch for a light as I begin. I will repeat the spell nine times, toward that image of Bastet. If the lamp does not light, check for fat in the lamp. I am hoping we will not have to redo the ritual. Lamp oil is not so easy to get on this planet…”
It lifted the canister of oil in its oddly concrete hand, taking a moment as its domain twisted between the molecules of the substance within, gathering up any fat it found and redacting it. Medium for Energy Storage nestled within the dark recesses of its mind as it began to gently pour the oil, watching keenly for a light.

The ceremony began, with Thoth facing directly toward the icon of Bastet. He murmured his spell, slowly under his breath. Praying to what was another deity might have felt strange for other pantheons, but for Thoth, he was speaking to a family member who could assist him.

“Hail Bastet, hail she who sees into the darkness, hail Bastet, assist with thine eyes which see all good and all evil…”

As he spoke the spell, and with Cryptid watching for and collecting fat, oil was able to build in the lamp, which then flickered to life. The chant was heard.

“…Now…what do you see…”

After he had chanted the spell, Thoth had to take a step back. A miasma of fear and death, and a sickening, parasitic presence lurked in the talisman. Bastet showed both the older and younger deities an image: an elder god in the shadows cackling over his evil contraptions.

“…One of the crueler gods…and one in poor Abaguabana’s family…”

He looked toward Cryptid. “If you could, before your…trip…I’d like for you to run this message to Zeus and to Hecate. If the former is not too busy arguing with the secretary then hopefully he will help. Hecate, however, should be able to locate the place from which our dear…’friend’ is operating. But let them know that it is most likely a god by the name of Moboyas. Do not speak of this yet with Abaguabana. We will let the group of you, and Hyperion, sort the business with Prometheus before we try to figure this situation out as well. You have enough on your plates as is.” The Horror assented, rising from its seat and holding out a claw to receive the Talisman for delivery to Hecate for arcane study. Upon receiving it, it turned and used the Gift to worm its way into some forgotten byway, phasing into an angle and vanishing from sight as it Slithered and crawled towards Hecate's office.

Thoth stared at the aberrant student as he vanished. He was not sure what to make of Cryptid, but he knew that somehow, this entity was one birthed to do good. He smiled, in the benignly mysterious way he liked to smirk, and he looked at the ritual arranged around him. "I suppose extracurriculars are not always a terrible idea...especially not when students are so eager to learn."

His smile did not last long, however. He knew that he had deities to contact, to discuss what could possibly be another critical situation. Bana's family knew something, and he would have to determine what.

-{Office of the Crossroads}-

Hecate would feel it before she heard it. The shifting of reality as something seeped in between the cracks, before a polite knock on her door. Upon opening, the formless mass that many had taken to calling Cryptid handed her a strange talisman, an echo of Thoth’s words emanating from the air before it turned and left as the Drunkard Titan’s words blared across the campus. As it passed through the arcane classroom, it discreetly acquired some materials-kindling, incense, dove’s feathers, and pieces of clay-before departing more conventionally.

-{The Not-Quite Chariot of the Sun}-

It could be seen approaching Hyperion’s vehicle, absentmindedly tinkering with pieces of material from Hecate’s classroom. What exactly it would become wasn’t entirely certain, as the aberrant godling nodded politely to Hyperion and its fellow diplomats.

[Luminesa]

Hecate - Potions and Pills
Afternoon/Evening 3, Hecate's Office, Holy High

The unknown did not necessarily frighten Hecate. She knew Nyx, the Titaness of the Night and the Unknown, and was one of the few within the Greek pantheon to not fear the quietly devastating goddess. Thus when Cryptid came to her classroom, slowly creeping and whirling into her presence, she barely lifted her head from grading the papers she had already received. She simply frowned for a moment, reaching for something in her desk until she saw that the shadow was that of a student.

"Ah. Cryptid. Hello, young...shadow? Deity? How may I help you?" She was a little more polite toward him than she was toward, say, Patriah, who had come rushing into her classroom this morning with a boiling kettle of tea in his arms. She was not looking forward to reading his paper, which he had handed her before he had left the classroom this morning.

She was also not looking forward to the talisman which the student then left on her desk.

Immediately, Hecate knew that the Magic belonged to some sort of truly wicked deity. The images on the talisman were unsettling to humans, and irritating to deities who knew better. She stared at the trinket, and then looked to the student as she saw him start digging into her desk. "Now wait a moment, what do you think you're do-" She could smell the incense as the student left with it, and she groaned. While Hecate most certainly had no problems with students borrowing materials for rituals and studies, she preferred if they did so with some manners. "Did not even introduce himself, left this abominable little piece of trash on my desk, and now he took supplies...If Hyperion sent him here, I'm going to twist that Titan's head right off his shoulders..."

"He did not."

Looking up again, she saw the ibis-headed god in her doorway, the rising moon glowing behind his shoulders. Daylight was leaving, in more ways than one.

"Thoth. Did you also tell students that they could simply take things from my classroom without asking?"

"No, most certainly not. But...I believe the young god still has politeness to learn. They're...it's...not much like other student-gods in our school." Thoth could not remember what pronouns to use for Cryptid, but he tried his best. "Anyhow, did you receive the talisman?" When he saw it on her desk, he nodded. "Good good. We need to talk about who it's from, and perhaps schedule an early parent-teacher conference."

Hecate paused for a moment, and then she reached under her desk for something else. A tall, dark bottle of exquisite red wine. She plopped it on her desk with a resounding thunk. "Dealing with parents. Joy."

"Well...Abaguabana's parents should not be the issue."

As she poured up her glass, the Goddess of the Crossroads raised an eyebrow. "...What do you mean?"

"Well...it's...others in his family..."

Hyperion - Scouting Supplies

The gentler, nature-loving voices of John Denver and Cat Stevens found themselves interrupted by the jarring, aggressive shouts of Limp Bizkit as Cryptid made his way to the station wagon. As the first student to arrive, they would have seen Hyperion sitting on the hood of the car, staring toward the woods. When Cryptid made its presence known, however, the Titan turned his head and lowered his sunglasses. "Oh good! Cryptid! You made it. Uhhhhh you got some...stuff in that bag, huh?" He smelled the air. "That better not be weed."

Turning toward the campus, he sighed. "It's gonna be daaaaark by the time we get to our destination. But uh, sit wherever you want in the station wagon. When the other two arrive, we'll go ahead and talk about what exactly we're doing. If the other kids don't show...I'll have to snatch a couple of others." Shaking his head and running a hand down his chin, he was already more worried than he wanted to be. "We're gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine. But Zeus and Hecate are definitely gonna shout at me tomorrow morning if I screw this up..."

[Luminesa]

The Apple Falls From The Tree
Afternoon/Evening 3, Astrid’s Dorm, Holy High

Astrid’s day would have gone as it had gone, going to the next two classes which were a part of her schedule. The day was normal, at least for the students not involved with talismans or going to visit recently-unleashed Titans. But the normalcy would not last forever, as with the young gods life was always evolving.

The apple tree outside of Astrid’s room was now in bloom. The teachers would have normally paid more attention, but Thoth was caught with the talismans, and the rest of the school was praying that Hyperion would not get three students killed. Yet anyone with a keen eye would have known that an apple tree should not have bloomed in the short span of three days.

On the other side, wherever the other side was, the Prince of the Summer Valley had taken notes of the students. How they acted and reacted, and how they might approach a particular Fae deity and his offer of a mysterious opportunity. He sipped his tea, an herbal blend that smelled of warm citrus and basil, and he smiled at the young Norse deity who had confused and baffled so many of her classmates and teachers.

“The young and pretty Norse girl doesn’t fit with her classmates…perhaps she fits in a different realm.” The Prince took another sip of his cup, and he snapped his fingers. “Let us see for ourselves…”

And so an apple fell from the tree, landing somehow right inside Astrid’s window. All the while, a soft voice spoke to her from the direction of the apple.

“Being pent in your room, and in your head, must not be very comfortable. Am I wrong?”

In the meantime, another tree was beginning to sprout elsewhere. Outside Boris’s window, the young Slav deity could smell…lemons?

[Finsternia]

Anisha and Vadha - Morning Walk to School
Cowritten by Finsternia and Danceria

Way back in the morning...

It was a remarkable day, with the gymnasium only burning down a little bit. Anisha Yadava was feeling remarkably optimistic-and not even out of forced professionalism! She was going to see a dearly beloved member of the Hindu Pantheon, and the big brother of her current charge, the remover of obstacles himself, Ganesha!

Being representative of springwater in general, she's rather predisposed to not being halted when moved, only pausing in rapt attention when something or someone had caught it. Like the Hallowed Lingam that served as her connection to Mount Kailash, or that girl she met by the oasis. She wasn't "cute" the Half-Asura was already rehearsing in her mind, the only moment that soured her unusually genuinely chipper mood. She's precocious, there's a difference.

She truly hoped that the meeting was secret, or at least remained unknown to her charge, the last thing she needed was jokes about "chemistry", she was already dreading the possibility of love potions or...other forms of enhancement to be created.

"Soooooooo... how did it gooooo?" Vadha loomed behind his babysitter with a shit eating grin on his face. His own affair last night was a blast, literally, and yes he did get a massive earful from his big brother. His ears still hurt from the God of Knowledge's incessant shouting and pulling, speaking about virtues and how Vadha is an irresponsible little shit.

But that was all yesterday, and absolutely not gossip worthy! What's gossip worthy is what happened with Anisha, who seems to be both way too happy compared to her usual poker face. Clearly something happened during her stroll last night. "Did you find someone romantic to take you around the school? Come on! Tell me!"

Anisha truly was off her game, else she'd recall the exact nanoseconds since Vadha's mischief had been laid upon her. With a recovery of her usual poker face, she elaborated.

"I simply decompressed into the oasis...though through your insistence with the nearby gymnasium, you nearly rendered it a hot spring." she half-truthed.

Vadha turns around, looking towards the gymnasium and the oasis behind it. There was indeed an oasis in the campus, and it seems that Anisha has spent her time out there. It's close to the gym to watch over his shenanigans, and it is her domain as a Water Goddess. It's kilking two birds with one stone, doing her job while also relaxing and letting the time pass.

There's something amiss though. "Excuse you! My power was only contained in the gym!" Vadha pouts and crosses his arms, stepping sideways so that he could walk beside his friend and handmaiden. He slowly pokes her cheek. "Annie, I know you're not telling me sooooomething! Hehe, you found a cutie didn't you?"

After the third poke, her meticulously braided hair matted itself, before coiling like a serpentine limb to bat aside the gnatty godling.

"I found company, yes." She conceded. "We spoke, we discussed the most lewd topics possible..." She gave a low, wry smile, and half whispered. "Civil engineering."

Vadha erupts into a loud cacophony, surely enough to wake up any student still asleep in their quarters nearby, before whistling. "I can't believe you, Annie! Already talking about windmills and aqueducts during your first day! Tsk, tsk, already so forward just because you ditched me so I couldn't ruin your date!"

"...But really though, what did you do?" The Blood God straightens his back as he leisurely puts his arms behind his head, looking around the campus as if they're not in a hurry to go to his brother's class. "I got into trouble last night and Big Bro was very upset with me. I thought you'd be there to gloat but alas! You're out somewhere being a playgirl!"

"I was not being a "playgirl"." she emphasized, the stray arm-like tendril reverting into a rather odd strand of hair that had to be wrangled by two additional hand-tendrils bound up in her "hair". "I was talking with a Roman. It's books, bread, and baths that are the three truest loves of any Roman..." Anisha looked down, using the strand of hair to flick Vadha's nose in retaliation, a half-remembered task for all those millennia ago when she was but a child with her mortal half-siblings. "You're a big boy, you can face the consequences of your actions yourself, or did you want me to hold your hand through everything in a far more literal action?"

"Romans huh... Hey, what's the difference between them and the Greeks? I really don't see it... I barely remember that Alexander guy when I was a baby... Is it like rebranding or something?" So far, Vadha met one of the Greek godlings, as well as two others who were spectating at the gym. There was also that bumbling drunkard man, and also Hephaestus.

Vadha shudders at the thought, remembering the verbal lashing he received last night from his brother in front of the God of the Forge. The gym is made for training and fighting. Sure, he got too focused and too bloodthirsty, but it's not his fault if the enchantments weren't able to hold on from his assault. He already apologized, and he even cleaned up the gym! The destruction though...

He received another verbal lashing after that when it needed divine attention to rebuild the things he destroyed.

The God of Blood cringes when his handmaiden gave him her own lashings, and he looks away as he pouts. "Okay, okay. I cleaned up after my messed alright? I even asked forgiveness from Big Bro and the scary blacksmith... I was just throwing friendly banter..." He grows silent for awhile as the early morning light slowly bathes the divine courtyards and streets, the very bricks laid before them almost exuding the same holy warmth as the sun. "...I just wanted to check on you, that's all."

There was a long pause, and Anisha nodded, smiling genuinely. While Vadha may tease, or genuinely believe Anisha to be a relentless taskmaster, she was a big sister, or at least a sister. She appreciated the genuine concern that Vadha had for her, in whatever way he expressed them.

"I appreciate that." She answered. "Though Lord Ganesha forgives easily. I'm certain we'll be able to pass through this first science class with flying colours." Though, loike all siblings, she couldn't help but tease. "So long as you don't make any nefarious concoctions in regards to your own "new friends" that you made..." she chuckled.

"Forgives easily my ass..." Ganesha does forgive easily, as long as the mistake is paid with effort and sincerity. The Lord of Triumph was like a hawk over his younger brother, never leaving until the mess in the gym was rectified and everything was spick and span. It's not much of an effort for a godling of Vadha's dominion, but it sure was enough punishment to hear the older God continuously rant and berate him through it.

"I met a Greek yesterday in the gym. He was huge! Like one of the Asuras back home. Very strong too. I think you should spar with him. He's very good." The Blood God says plainly, his compliments direct and without much sprinkling of sugar in it. Yesterday's spar was a good time for Vadha, if he says so himself. He found a great warrior comparable to himself, one with both strength and valor. He doesn't know about concoctions however. "...I don't think Big Bro would allow explosions in the classroom... He'll watch me like a hawk throughout class knowing him..."

"Hmph, maybe I'll look into that...since Lord Ganesha may be indirectly giving me time off."

She had some greek blood herself-Hecatonchire and descended from Posideon...even seeing some of the...less than scrupulous Titans when she had been a wee lass all those centuries ago, wanting to go to her mother's place. Perhaps one of them may know of Persephone?

"Of course, you're allowed to ask me any questions if you feel yourself at a loss for words, Master Vadha."

"I think I'll just get another earful if I just rely on you everytime... Like you said, I'm a big boy now and... I should start thinking for myself..." Vadha nervously laughs as he scratches his head. Anisha was right. While she is his handmaiden, he is here to learn how to properly utilize his godhood as well as to be a proper diplomat to other pantheons. The war is over and it's time to slowly build up the peace. He can't let his Father and Mother hear about how disappointing their son has been in school.

"But thank you... I'm not as smart as my Big Brother but... I'll do my best. I hope I can rely on you when things are tough and... you can rely on me too. If somebody's being mean to you, just tell your Master Vadha!" He flashes a dumb grin at Anisha, his fist motioned into a thumbs up. His eyes then turn towards a nearby building and slowly looked at it from top to bottom, and then focusing on the doors. "This is the building right? Where his classroom is?"

The doors open for the two deities, the halls bright with divine light, almost welcoming them with a hymn of praise. It's time for class.

[Zei-Aeiytenia]

The Summer Harvest of Fruits and Fears
Afternoon/Evening 3
Astrid's Dorm, Holy High

Hearing sounds for the first time. An incredible experience few ever receive. A strange one, too, to be attributed to one with senses as potent as the Huntress.

There was, it turned out however, a difference between merely hearing and listening. A difference of feeling rather than analysis.

The last few days were the first in her life, where rest came without fear and hunger had long made leave for other fields.

This queer feeling of permeating calmness and freedom left her an immediately less hostile, less paranoid creature. By no means now amicable to all around her, she had become notably more passive and less explosive. With two individuals in particular.

Perhaps this is why a suspicious apple tree, blooming far swifter than us natural, did not find it's roots challenged by an upending storm.

Astrid knew full well from the trees of Folkvangr that they did not bloom this quickly. Not naturally, at least, and some manner of still noteworthy distrust caused leering eyes in it's direction. However, it is also true the trees of home were not surrounded by innumerable deities and godlings whose powers would no doubt be gently rending the function of the world around them.

So for now she paid it little mind, staying quiet and oft out of sight beyond class. Even leaving her window open, from where she gazed into the outside. Always in her journal, always drawing, though these were not the tactical maps she had before.

They served no purpose. No purpose at all but to use color and paper to document the experience of the senses, simply because one could, because one felt right, comfortable in doing so.

Now from that tree came an apple, by mere chance, carried right through her window. Even more curiously, this apple spoke. Stranger yet, it seemed familiar with her situation and behavior.

She paused, slowly turning to the apple, head tilting towards it. Her journal gazed at through side vision, for today, the apple tree itself was the focus of the foreground. Astrid took a slow, deep breath, assuaging the natural pings of suspicion and even fear. Though her right arm still swirled with the helix of red and black, the complimentary powers of the other two domains, who provided an amplification to the rest of her.

A storm more intense, more powerful, and far more precise as well. The fine use of her natural magic itself came natural as part of domain, fun, but a bit boring. This was the simple reason she took science, it offered to teach things she'd not know otherwise.

Eyes closed, she raised her arm, the temperature of the room rapidly plummeting as icy winds kicked across the floor and small clouds spun overhead. A modest breeze blew circular next, and drew in the ice at the same moment rain fell. Rapidly, made of all the parts of a storm, she sculpted a replica of the tree, made of ice and storms, as realistic as she could get it.

It's base shut off, internals visible through transparent ice, as a swirling system internally gave the tree a lifelike feel, icy skin filled with cold water, circulated and given pressure like a heartbeat by the winds, why it even had its own little icy apples.

One, of course, not so icy apple, gently bouncing on a branch, now at eye level. Still appearing expressionless as always, there was a faint light in Astrid's eyes of a rare but pleasant feeling.

"... I suppose I do prefer to roam wilds freely. I don't mind it though. For now, anyway, it's probably best this way..."

The Fae watching Astrid gave a slight grin. The girl had decided to channel her normally-chaotic emotions into artwork and journaling. Perhaps she was finding ways to handle herself within what she seemed to consider a prison. Or maybe she had noticed the tree, and its strange beauty had inspired her to create.

“So then you feel that you have found your place in your school’s environment. That is good. You’re an impressive young mind, it is good to see you using your skills for something beautiful.”

The Fae behind the apple’s appearance looked around the room. He could feel the atmosphere of an Unseelie, cold and sterile. But also the sensation of a much warmer, much more friendly deity. The so-called “Boris”.

“And you have found yourself making friends, I see?”

"Found... No. Searching. I have only just began to sense again without the feeling of separation between myself and the world. Searching, for more than that as well." A gentle breeze blew over to the next page, and her drawing continued anew.

"It calms me. Don't really know why. I couldn't ever focus before, not on anything but nightmares that remain when awake. Not that I no longer see such demons... It's just easier to contend with and control. For whatever reason, this does it."

The friendly apple seemed far more knowledgeable than three days of life would have granted, as if he had been watching for far longer, seen far more.

"Allies I suppose... Friends? Some things are not taught or understood in classrooms. Being able to sleep is grand and all, but it is not a magic spell which imbues me with trust. Not even for the most amicable of fruits, you've seen far more than three days of life haven't you? The magic of this place is strange, even my dear sister feels almost alive, but I suspect you are no fruit at all, are you, lest there be little kingdoms among the trees of jovial fruits?" She turned to show the new journal page, an already highly detailed and colored image of... Sentient apples building cities centered around their trees. It even included a top view sketched map, as writing utensils continued to race about, spurred by magnetism and wind.

She silently returned the journal to face her, a subtle change in demeanor suggesting that while a simple smile was not yet of her ability, it would've been here if she could.

“Ah well…the apple is just an apple,” the Prince answered with a chuckle, “but if you ask about me, dear, yes. I have seen many more than three days of life. But I have only known you for three days.”

The Summer Prince watched her go about her activities, noticing that though she was struggling to emote, she was more…content. More peaceful. She was not lashing at him, when she had every right to lash at a stranger whose disembodied voice was speaking to her through an apple.

“It is much easier to face such demons when one understands their own power and emotions, indeed. But tell me…what demons do you wish to destroy?”

"You picked the most uneventful three, i hope you were not promised a show."

Astrid continued about her drawings, indeed rather unphased by the present reality of her conversation with an apple. It was perhaps, helpful in this instance, that she was not unfamiliar with talking to strange entities. Granted, usually only she could perceive them, and they were far more rude than this fruit.

Demons, which demons did she mean? The question slowly bled out the contented demeanor, taking with it the gentle glimmer of her eyes, returning them to a cold and dead gaze.

"I suppose... I'd want to destroy all the demons of the world. For now, merely the ones I know of. First the ones only I can see, who would surely get in the way, and then I have a whole and vast land of which I will know, utterly infested to it's rotted core by them. Those ones first."

“I do not need a show. I am quite old, I have seen many shows. We have enough drama here as is.”

‘The demons of the world.’ Needless to say, the Fae had a different concept of what constituted ‘demons’, but the Summer Prince knew that humans and deities considered them in a particular way. And thus he used her definition. Yet a world destroyed and rebuilt no doubt had many strange and unusual demons, not to mention those which lurked in the hearts of the young deities.

“And what demons have you seen?”

"Ah, just as well then, it was quite the dramatic piece. The demons I have seen... Some appear only to me as great beasts. Perhaps embodiments of some sort of pain, or maybe the hunting goddess simply sees predictions of monsters to slay. Some are simply alters of me, and it is clear who they are for. The ones from beyond my mind, well. They are as varied and vast as any kingdom of people would be. For now though, they are but one kingdom, for it is only one that I have ever seen."

Her eyes grew yet dimmer, an air of sorrow and rage now permeating the air.

"I wonder, and suppose if I too, am a demon? At least in part. One parent surely is, and I cannot grant blind innocence to the other... perhaps my list of targets is incomplete..." The last words of hers, uttered as a quiet whisper, brought yet more darkness to the room, her artful distraction becoming more hasty and and erratic by the moment.

The Summer Prince frowned as he sipped his tea. Astrid had longstanding grudges with her own family, and she very well could have turned those grudges into rage. Turning them against her own pantheon on its own was a risk to the Pax. Being connected to that aggression even moreso, and the Fae were nothing if not graceful rule-benders. He smiled to himself.

“Dear girl, there is nothing to become so hasty for. Let your work come slowly, gracefully. That is how you know you are maturing into a stronger deity. Such artful endeavors cannot be rushed. And if you so wished to learn better how to control that power, I am glad to assist you.”

"... Hasty." A gentle rumble sounded, beyond the walls this time, and a shade began to creep across the grass and forests. A cold wind stirred and swirled in the room once more, accompanied by a total embodiment of swirling red and black helix.

Unlike before, their almost gentle and sensual dance had turned tense and violent, a clear indicator of the shifting mood.

"Hasty? I am not seeking to be provocateur of a war. Strange it may sound from a goddess of such. No. I want to end one. Even if I never get to know why the first shot was levied at me to begin with." The majestic dance of pencils had by now stopped, frozen in mid-air, shaking in invisible trembling hands.

Astrid's now rapid breathing began to contest itself against her controls, an internal conflict made visible as new control struggled against old chaos. Slowly, taking one utensil from the air, she drew manually, a gentle edge pushing in favor of control retaking ground it had lost.

The clouds beyond began to disperse, pencils moving slowly again, a semblance of calm regained, "But... You are right about the last thing. I am not ready for my own war. Not yet... But how does an apple, even as kindly one as yourself, lend itself as aid to a godling of any stripe at all?"

"... Hasty." A gentle rumble sounded, beyond the walls this time, and a shade began to creep across the grass and forests. A cold wind stirred and swirled in the room once more, accompanied by a total embodiment of swirling red and black helix.

Unlike before, their almost gentle and sensual dance had turned tense and violent, a clear indicator of the shifting mood.

"Hasty? I am not seeking to be provocateur of a war. Strange it may sound from a goddess of such. No. I want to end one. Even if I never get to know why the first shot was levied at me to begin with." The majestic dance of pencils had by now stopped, frozen in mid-air, shaking in invisible trembling hands.

Astrid's now rapid breathing began to contest itself against her controls, an internal conflict made visible as new control struggled against old chaos. Slowly, taking one utensil from the air, she drew manually, a gentle edge pushing in favor of control retaking ground it had lost.

The clouds beyond began to disperse, pencils moving slowly again, a semblance of calm regained, "But... You are right about the last thing. I am not ready for my own war. Not yet... But how does an apple, even as kindly one as yourself, lend itself as aid to a godling of any stripe at all?"

”Well…because the apple is not the one who has the power.” The Summer Prince gave a light chuckle, twinkling like lemonade in a mason jar on a sunny day. ”But if you ever want to see how to use your powers for a greater purpose, take a bite of the apple and I’ll be seeing you.”

Astrid stared carefully at the apple, the only color on all the tree, now fully having suspicions confirmed that there was something far more to it.

The gentle breezes of the room kicked up, gently picking the red fruit from it's branch and delivering it to her hands. Aside from the obvious magic, it seemed normal, if there where any toxins they were not identifiable. Regardless, it'd take quite a concoction to put her down.

Indeed, no amount of scrutiny with all her senses warned of any particular threat. With a gentle flick of her free hand, the bow placed on her desk whisked into it's hold on her lower back.

"Well at the very least I'd like to know who and what the fuck you even are... Swear if this is a prank I'm taking limbs as collateral."

With these words spoken, Astrid partook of the crimson snack, and waited to see which of her questions would be answered.

It crunched, and tasted rather sweet and gently citrusy. Any normal apple would have tasted the same, except for that sparkling, floral aftertaste. For a few moments, the world felt normal.

And then, the world around Astrid began to twinkle and shine, in a way the night was not supposed to twinkle and shine. As if every star in the sky had suddenly awakened, and had gazed down on the young deity who had partaken of a Fae Prince’s offering.

And before anyone could ask anything, before anything could be done, Astrid was sitting in a beautiful tea garden, and a lovely porcelain cup of floral-scented tea sat steaming under her nose.

“I see you partook of the apple. Well…in some traditions, that might be a sin. An act of insurrection. I suppose for me, it is the acceptance of a pleasant invitation.”

And out he walked. The Summer Prince appeared, his turquoise and gold robes adorned with colorful embroidered flowers. A cape of vines fell from his back, and his long, platinum-blonde locks were crowned with similar emeralds vines. And on his face, he wore a lovely, hospitable smile.

“After all, we are always glad to have company.”

[Luminesa]

From Every Direction
Afternoon/Evening Three

“So what exactly is Moboyas doing with these talismans? That is what we need to know.” Thoth scratched his chin, frowning as he looked over the talismans on Hecate’s desk. She had not done any rituals, not at the moment. No, she was looking through some sort of a mirror on her desk, very carefully tapping it left and right with a finger. She could not afford Moboyas seeing her, though she was not exactly afraid of him. The fewer complications, the better.

“Nothing good. I imagine he is trying to make life miserable for one of his relatives here, namely Abaguabana. You know very good and well that most pantheons have at least one hate-child who hates another child, because they’re not so hated.”

“Ah yes.” Thoth sighed, and eyed the wine glass on the Goddess’s desk. “And Moboyas likes to frighten other members of his pantheon, as I understand.”

“And he will.” Hecate took a swig of her wine glass. As the fruity scent wafted briefly in the air, she blinked and dabbed her lip with a handkerchief. “And I suppose you don’t know why Cryptid stole those supplies from my classroom, do you?”

The Ibis-Headed God shook his head. “Absolutely not. I only sent them to bring you this talisman. Anything else is beyond me, which is something I can’t say often. Then again…” He looked out the window, and gave a brief groan as he heard the distant rapping of Fred Durst coming from the courtyard. “I imagine it’s somehow related to Hyperion’s quest.”

Hecate took another swig.

“You know, if you become intoxicated, you’ll be breaking the same rules he does.”

“I won’t be intoxicated. I have to be a part of this mess, don’t tell me you don’t have your poison.”

“Tea and Anne Rice novels are slightly less…disorienting, I believe.”

Hecate rolled her eyes. “You sound like a housewife.”

“I would rather be a housewife than deal with Zeu-”

Athena slammed the door open at that moment, and both gods sitting in the room knew that the infuriated gesture meant nothing good. The fire blazing in her eyes was an even worse indicator.

“Athena? Who’s died?” Hecate inquired.

“Nobody. But Astrid has been kidnapped by a Fae.”

Thoth blinked, and he adjusted his body so that he sat straighter in his chair. His eyebrows arched, as if he was going to ask questions, but partially knew their answers.

“That apple tree growing outside of her room, that was a trap. I’ve been watching it grow for the last three days.”

“Right at the same time as Moboyas is using talismans to disrupt our students and our school?” Thoth questioned.

“…” Athena slammed her spear into the ground. “Zeus needs to know, immediately!”

“So tell him. We have this, that, and those, and we’re working on it. The Goddess of Wisdom knows now everything that is happening, go ahead.” Hecate rolled her eyes again as she spoke.

Athena did not delay. She hurried away to speak to Zeus and Hera, and the other two deities were relieved. A little.

“And now, we need to watch this…circumstance with Astrid. I know a way to watch the Fae, but I must be careful.”

“Go find that apple tree, bring an apple here?”

“Yes.”

Hecate smirked. “I’m glad at least two gods here are thinking with the students in mind…”

“Well I certainly am, as is Hestia.”

“…Lady Hestia?”

“She always knows.”

And indeed, one hospitality being watched another. As Hestia was in the kitchen, preparing the ingredients for the next day’s breakfast, she had a bowl of water and oil, and she was looking into it as though it was a screen. Underneath the ripples she saw a platinum-blonde-haired Fae speaking to young Astrid, and her gentle, pumpkin-shaped face had a maternal frown and glare as she watched events unfold.

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Nantoraka and Luminesa
Abaguabana and Patriah - The Crumbly Gift Basket
Afternoon/Evening 3, Bana and Pat's Dorm Room

Abaguabana stretched in his room, having decided to take the past few hours to prepare in advance for a back-and-forth between himself and a fire god; strategies in case of a fight, and strategies to prevent a fight. He wasn't much of a fighter, that was more of his sibling’s territory, to be warrior-chiefs in charge of the wind, thunder, and lightning, and even then, only Coatrisquie ever truly reveled in a fight. Guatauba taught Abaguabana the worth of observation and preparation, and the value of how good diplomacy is far more powerful than any weapon. They may have the soul of the most powerful destroyer god to ever emerge in the Spirit World, but Guatauba believed that self-control and placing the safety of others above you retained control over the endless roiling wrath of Juracan that shuttered their souls. He made sure to pass this knowledge onto his younger brother; of all his siblings, Abaguabana and Guatauba got along the best.

It came in handy, too. When Guabancex was imprisoned within her gourd and cast into Soraya, the philosophy of Guatauba helped maintain peace over the wind spirits of Aumatex when he and his sibling assumed control beneath Yúcahu as he prepared them both for the rigors of rulership. And Abaguabana made sure that he copied his older brother in his rulership of the spirit ocean and all of its spirits, and he's had more than a few moments where he has had to place such emphasis on diplomacy over fighting to keep the peace, especially with the skirmishes between the various Water and Forest spirits who seemed to dislike each other on a natural basis. And while he was certainly a formidable warrior when it came down to it - after all, Abaguabana did carry a third of Juracan’s spirit and retained his power over floods and tsunamis, while sharing his mother’s storm powers - the idea of killing another spirit was abhorrent to him, a sin he couldn't make right, especially if it was one under his rulership. To do so was a stain of failure.

Abaguabana did truly care more for diplomacy over battle, and he made sure to prepare himself appropriately to cow the wrath of a Titan, through words, or less suitably, through a fight. Luckily, however, Prometheus was a titan associated with fire; and while Abaguabana was certainly taken aback at such an association due to the rather primeval fear of his pantheon’s own fire god Bayamanaco, he was the god of water. He could solidify, evaporate, and generate it at will; he could assume that such a Titan could generate fire, fire that could be extinguished with copious amounts of water, something that he could do naturally either through his spear, his ever-present shell trumpet, or even through his own power.

…Unless the titan was more of a weapons fan, than a fire fan. Abaguabana was far more experienced with his element than he was with his spear, and his spear wasn't even particularly meant to fight with, it was a tool for fishing. He wasn't a god of war, he was a god of bountiful harvest. At least in the event of a fight, Hyperion may, hopefully (although likely not, Abaguabana figured) be sober enough to match Hyperion.

But of course, a fight was the LAST option, an option Abaguabana was more than tempted to just flee from entirely.

Abaguabana approached the oven of his room, the same Patriah used to cook him breakfast some days earlier. It was a genuinely appreciated move, and it helped him feel welcome among the school, a primarily European influence where he felt almost like a squid or similarly incompatible sea animal among humans. It was an odd place with clashing cultures and history and with Patriah’s kind gesture, it helped him open up more. His attempts to copy Hestia’s cooking methods…tended to fail, especially because he wasn't in her class, but he wasn't one to give up on such a thing. In this case, he was baking…

…Cookies. The god of water was baking cookies, chocolate ones to be specific, and it would be followed by pastries, sweet things in general. The best way to help foster a common ground was to do something nice for the other party, a sign of genuine intentions, something that would loosen tensions. Patriah’s gesture was a good example, thought Abaguabana, and he figured that following Patriah's example was a good start. Luckily his humanities class - something he'd have to thank Hera for later - was a fantastic influence on him, the Spirit World didn't exactly possess the same technology as the human world especially when everything was done through, and there was no real news for scientific progress beyond a few isolated spirit’s random experiments. With Hera’s teaching, he learned how to work all of this, and he took to it like a fish to water.

As his baking went on, he took to getting himself ready between batches, while shoving the finished batches in some random plastic bag he found; he didn't think about the usefulness of a container, instead grabbing the nearest container-like item he found. He did stop to think for a moment. "...I should probably ask Patriah to deliver a real container and not...whatever this thing is."

Watching the cookies bounce and crack in the plastic bag almost made Abaguabana wince with every single broken one. Each one was at least 15-20 minutes of work at least 2 days of trial and error. Cooking might've actually been beneficial, and while he knew how to cook, and often did so quite well, he had no clue how to create these "eastern" foods that relied on ingredients only Boinayel and Márohu would've known about, and flour wasn't something on Boinayel's list to eductate Abaguabana about. Regardless, Abaguabana started going about the room for a way to contact Patriah while he was out. He wasn't actually sure whether or not classes were in session for others this time; the one time he himself was excused was for this specific event, and it completely threw him for a loop.

Patriah was not too far outside of the classroom. Mostly out-of-touch with the larger drama that was happening at school, he had begrudgingly given his paper to Hecate before he had left her class, and now he stood outside, practicing his sword swings and his stances. He wanted a proper rematch with Vadha at some point, somewhere in which property damage would not be an issue. After all, they did live in the mountains for goodness sake.

Yet when he smelled cookies coming from inside the dorm room, he felt an urge to rush inside and to see what was happening. He and Bana had not spent as much time together as he had wanted. He liked his roommate and new friend, as he was both chill and low-maintenance and he also appreciated the simpler things in life-food and fighting.

"Bana!" He popped his head in the doorway and grinned. "Hey, whatcha cooking in here? Need some help?"

Abaguabana, having been lost in his own thoughts, flinched the moment Patriah poked his head around the doorway. The universe had a sense of humor apparently. Recovering from the brief spook, he coughed and nodded. "Yeah, actually, I was just thinking about getting your help."

Uncrossing his arms, he pointed towards the plastic bag, filled with crumbs and more than a handful of broken cookies. "Hyperion, the strange girl, and the...other strange one, and I are going out to say 'hello' to another god. I figured I'd follow your example and try and bake something. It's tough without Hestia's instruction, but worth a shot. Problem is..."

Abaguabana pinched the plastic bag and shook it, and then picked up half of a cookie. "These flimsy sacks aren't good at preserving these fragile treats. Feel free to have these broken ones. Delivering broken treats to someone is bad form, especially when that 'someone' is a Titan. You know these things better than I do. Can you grab me some containers that'll actually work?"

"Uhhhh you're actually in luck." Patriah smirked. "See, my mom...doesn't just send me to school with tupperware. She keeps sending them, though, and so I need to give them to someone else to use as well." He ran to the cabinets and began to dig in one of them. Clanking and clunking sounds ensued for a few moments, until the Wind God pulled a bento box. A rather large one, decorated much like an ancient, Greek, clay vase.

"This has an image of some nymphs and Lady Hestia. I don't think whoever you're visiting is gonna hate an image of Aunt Hes, so you can go ahead and use this. And if that's not enough..." He started digging again, mumbling an obscenity under his breath as he bonked his head against the cabinet. When he reappeared, he had a second bento box. This one, oddly enough, was decorated with several Sailor Moon characters.

"Uh...this is...like...a decade or two old...but she thought I'd like these. I uh...I don't really know much about the characters on them, I don't think whoever you're visiting will care either. But it makes a good cookie container! And then you just stick them in a basket!" He dashed to the other side of the room, to the closet, and retrieved another basket. This one was wheat-colored, with a grass-green and orange bow planted firmly on the top of the handle. "Just don't smoosh the bow."

Abaguabana took a few seconds to absorb the sight in front of him. Frankly, he'd go with the first and third ones; something about that art style on the second just seemed completely informal, almost embarrassingly so. He'd decided he'd keep that second one a secret. Almost cautiously, as if waiting for Patriah to start pulling fourth, fifth, and sixth baskets and boxes out of the walls and floorboards, Abaguabana commented on it. "You...weren't lying."

Abaguabana strode over to the first box, picking it up and feeling the weight. Not only did it originate from the same culture as Hyperion and Prometheus, but it also lacked the lackadaisical paintings and Abaguabana didn't even need to worry about crushing any decorative bows on it. The addition of Hestia's image on it would probably help give the impression that it's an official gift from the school...as long as Hyperion doesn't screw over the ploy.

Checking the insides, the organization was perfect. "This one, this one's perfect. Thank you."

He gave the other boxes one last look over; "Good thing I share my room with Patriah, God of Baskets."

"Yep, gonna start a whole new Pantheon. My mom is gonna be so proud." Patriah smirked at Bana as he picked from the baskets. He then thought for a moment, as if he was trying to imagine Thanatos seeing all of these baskets. "My dad...eh. One of these days he'll be proud of me. Anyway, who you gonna go see?"

"Prometheus." Abaguabana answered rather curtly. "Normally I never bake, this is the first time I've done it for someone else, but I can't afford for something to go wrong here."

Opening a closet, Abaguabana took inventory of his clothes, taking out a pair of jeans and a no-sleeved leather jacket, the same his "uncle" Boinayel gifted to him recently. The nicer and more modern the clothing, the better, and he was still getting used to the juxtaposition of ancient against modern and tradition against progress that was present in the school. He in particular couldn't decide between traditional and modern style of outfits, but decided against traditional, due to how unintentionally revealing the simple clothing of spirits could be from his region of the world.

Laying his jacket on his bed, he elaborated. "I don't even know who he is, all I know that is that he's from your end of the world. I'm not sure how this meeting will go, the fire god of my home is..." Abaguabana slightly shuddered as he tried to find the words. "...Well, one of the ancient demigod human descendants of my distant aunt attempted to take fire from him."

Abaguabana pointed at his back. "He spat on his back for it, and killed him by causing his bones to turn into turtles, breed in his body, and burst from his stomach like parasites. Nobody bothers the fire god, not even the dark spirits. To say I'm somewhat nervous at the meeting is accurate."

Abaguabana undid the hair tie keeping his hair put together in a bun, letting it out in a lengthy hairstyle. Notably, without the effects of his monkey leather hair tie keeping his hair together, his hair seemed to...float, as if he was constantly moving underwater, and only reacted when he did. As almost majestic as his long hair was, it was obviously clear that his hair was only ever tied up because it seemed like it would get in the way of everything on land given how every strand defied gravity.

"Yeah, your Prometheus sounds like ours. Huh. I guess copycats really are a thing." Patriah watched Abaguabana choose his clothing, nodding at his choices. Even if Pat himself hated to wear shirts and anything more complicated than pants and a scarf, he appreciated seeing others dress well. "Eh, well, he's a Titan, he probably hasn't had cookies in...several millennia. I dunno why ya'll are going to go see him, but...tell him I said hi, though I don't think he'll know my name. And uh...best of luck." He slapped his shoulder and gave a big grin.

Abaguabana groaned. Those were not reassuring words, but he was going to hide that. "I'll tell him you said hi. Feel free to grab some broken cookies. If you don't, I'm grabbing them. Thanks for your help, I'm going to get ready and head out here soon. I'm not quite sure which direction to head in, but Hyperion is loud and bright enough that it shouldn't matter."

Abaguabana rapidly shook his head, trying to get his hair together, and failing, before muttering under his breath. "Damned hair. Why does it even do this?"

"Hey, uh, by the way." Patriah walked over to him, and he started to help fix his hair. He had a comb, and he made sure the strands stayed down. "It's a drag getting your hair to look right for presentations. But I think he'll like you. I really do. You're a good dude, Bana. And I'll make dinner, so you can eat when you get back."

Abaguabana waved him away once he was done. While appreciating it, people getting in his hair was a violation of the comfort zone. "The problem isn't how it floats, remember that while I look human, I am not human. The hair is a trace of that. I'm just frustrated that it keeps getting in the way."

With the weights added on, the problems was stemmed for a small time. Slinging a pack over his back, he stretched and got limber. "Thank you, because if he didn't, he won't be getting the cookies. I like these and I'm more than happy NOT to share them. Thanks for the help, but it's time to get going. Something tells me Thea is going to try and extract blood from Cryptid or something if I take too long."

[Luminesa]

Co-Write Between Luminesa and Zei-Aeiytania
In The Garden of Good and Evil
??????
The Tea Garden

The Summer Prince was nothing if not a good host. Such was required of Fae nobility, but he certainly enjoyed his own particular skill at the art of hospitality. Astrid would find that much unlike her native realms, and even more than Holy High on the mountaintop in August, the weather of the beautiful garden was mild and warm. Verdant with bushes and vines, roses, gardenias, azaleas, camellias, and lilies bloomed all over the garden in a colorful symphony.

And on the elegantly-decorated table, there was a whole platter of elegant desserts. Pies, cakes, pastries, and several different types of tea available in different cups. Even the Summer Prince’s teapot, decorated with vines and little dogwood flowers, gave an air of happy, genteel whimsy.

“Some have the gall to say that the Fae are dishonest. What a strange presumption, especially for those who have never visited my home. I did give exactly what I offered, did I not? And…” He nodded to the table with a polite smirk, “you can never say that I will not feed a guest, Miss Astrid. Take of what you wish! If there is something you do not see that you might like, say the word, dear, and it will appear.”

Astrid watched as Deaglan emerged, providing at least one answer - a fae. Unsurprising given the apple, and especially the glowy ride here.

The ethereal beauty presented by it had been replaced with a more earthly one, surrounded by a vast and varied garden, the likes of which she herself had never seen. The Prince himself was dressed to match the gentle brilliance of the garden, too.

"The stories of Fae always reminded me of Loki and the chaos that could emerge if there were more than one of them." She leaned forward a bit, many of these sweets were infact things she'd only learned about recently. Punishment by the Roman for an offhanded remark about her isolated knowledge of foods. The contents of the cups however, were still alien to her, though they did smell nice.

After studying one of them curiously for several seconds, she brought the cup to her lips and took a small sip. At the precise moment she was tasting it, another and more familiar sensation tore through. Like a cold mountain stream, waking the body and clarifying the mind, her eyes shot to full alertness as she jumped from the chair, dropping the cup. They were being watched.

A pause of several seconds followed, hand on her bow as realization set in... No physical presence. Whoever it was was watching remotely. Nothing she could do. With this acceptance and a few deep breaths, she relaxed and took seat once more.

"Sorry I've... Been getting more of those lately. At least now I know one of them was you. What, exactly, are the contents of these cups, anyway? It's earthy and strangely calming."

The Prince enjoyed seeing Astrid's reactions. She was normally so emotional, so angry, and so ready to fight all of the time, that seeing her begin to develop her feelings and reactions outside of pure rage was pleasant. Then again, he did not enjoy such feelings as rage. The Unseelie seemed to be capable of nothing but cold rage or cold indifference, and he found them most inhospitable.

"Ah well, there's only us in the garden at the moment, so I don't imagine there will be any chaos." He did not even ask her why she suddenly looked so afraid, as he sat down in front of her and smiled. He did not care if any particular gods were watching him. His actions were what they were, and he did not feel a need to defend himself.

"Ah, very good, you do like the tea. The one you just drank is spearmint and pine, the one next to it is lemon and mint if you prefer something a little less shocking to taste. The next one is dandelion and herbs, and then rose and chocolate. You have plenty of choices. You see, as a host, I have to start with just a hint of what I have. But if there is something else you'd like, I'd be glad to provide. But in the meantime..."

He took a sip of his own cup, which somehow was still very warm. "You came to me, because you surely had questions about using your powers properly. What's on your mind?"

Astrid slowly sampled each tea as The Prince described them. Calming, tea, whatever exactly that was, was calming. Not all in the same way either, each would go about it's task in a slightly different manner, partaking a slightly different journey, one the highly attuned senses of the Huntress could parse on mesmerizing feeling and detail. She would be lying if she did not admit being surprised and impressed at it's varied ability to calm her.

As much as she certainly wanted to know more about this 'tea', the Prince was correct, there was something she'd been needing to ask someone, and for whatever he felt like the best option at the time. Perhaps it was some strange vague celestial kinship, Astrid was has half Light Elf, and the Norse elves supposedly shared common ancestor with the Fae.

"Well... You've seen them both now. The one I can control, the knowledge of it's magic comes innately. I grow stronger with time and by nature know how to use it best at that level. Science I take to control it in ways not inherent to the world of magic, that's how a tree made of ice storms which seems almost alive even exists at all..." She trailed off, now selecting the dandelion and herbs as the first to drink in totality.

"Then the second, you've triggered that yourself days ago, I'm sure you noticed. I... Don't actually know what it is. It's not really clear. Try to use it intentionally and it does nothing, try to stop it when it triggers itself and it rips away even harder, the moment it fully escalates I simply black out. The last vague memories I'll have are of someone making a face of far greater terror than you've yet seen from me. The next memories I have... The most severe of the examples, in order. Coming too being held back and fought, almost, by my own followers, watching my mother carried away clinging to life. In the everstorm, caught up to by the rest of a hunting party involving multiple deities sent to kill me, stopping me from using a spell arrow I specifically created to slay them. It was Thor they saved. The third was shortly after, every god who entered was bleeding and not walking quite right, or looking quite right, and near all the grand heroes and warriors they'd charged in with were lost to the fog."

A long, slow sip emptied this cup, set down with an incredibly gentle touch for one of her notoriety, "So that's the question. Well, it's not really a question in that phrasing I guess. I don't know what it is, what it does, how it works. All I know is a weaker form of me proved it devastating multiple times over, and one absolutely no control over it at all."

The Prince watched her down the dandelion tea, and he nodded as he listened patiently to her story. He was not one to interrupt or to be rude. Rather, he smiled as he heard her describe her experiences with her powers. Holding the same smile for an extended amount of time, without a wrinkle in his face, might have seemed strange to her. And so his smile shrunk just a little, to a curious little grin.

“So then. If I may ask whether or not my words are…correct. You have two powers that you understand. Yet when you use one, it is in a state of blackout. You do not remember what you do, how you use your power, or why people are afraid of you when you return to your senses?”

Astrid selected the rose and chocolate tea next, aiming for a calm that was a bit more warmly energizing and sweet. A deliberate choice, this conversation was not heading anywhere lighthearted or kind.

"Well, I sort of understand. Everytime after is some scene of devastation which would've been nearly unbelievable if you hadn't watched it. I get to see the aftermath and I have trouble believing it. Few are those who would easily believe a nine year old guilted into a giant celestial free for all battle to the death to feed a bunch of other hungry kids, got backhanded with a shield and... By the end of it all, was the only one standing in a field of blood and all sorts of storm damage. Never did tell any of them I can't remember any of it, just the dead silence of everyone watching as I came too."

She held her tea with two hands now, a gentle shaking between them as she remembered what little she could.

"Of course, much like Valhalla, death there isn't permanent, so it's not as scary. Lot easier to smile after that one especially since you get to eat. That's it though. I have storms so I'm a storm goddess, I know intrinsically how to fight and use them for destruction, to use any weapon like the oldest masters, and put the greatest strategists of history to shame with ease, so I'm a war goddess. The rest...? Well, the senses, the bow, the terrifying accuracy and natural ability to hunt[i] and kill, not just in battle, is where that domain comes from. Granted is missing some usual parts but that's part of growing. Where in it a blackout that precipitates mass death fits in is beyond me..." Astrid too a deep sip of the tea, thinking for the first time in some awhile about this, about how her whole world has felt infested demons, how she was even born to them.

It was hard to shake the idea she was one herself. What sort of demon strikes terror even into the hearts of its own kind, though?

The Prince gave a slow nod, almost kindly in its motion. “And you were quite young to be traumatized by such combat. It is no wonder that part of your mind does not wish to remember such power. It extends to that trauma, that lost childhood. You were not allowed to believe in your own self as a child, were you?”

"I was treated the same as my sisters, a fancy dud of a god child without power. Absent parents left the place running at the whim of oft drunk warriors. Who took amusement in powerless children of gods being forced to try and 'prove themselves' to eat. Wasn't until that day anyone, including me, had any reason to believe any otherwise. All I knew and still remember, is that some or something foolishly gave the helpless and powerless the strength to make rule herself. Everything else flowed from that."

Astrid now finished a second cup of tea, and seemed at least tentatively to be considering which to take as third, before shrugging as he continued.

"Don't know that it's a child trauma thing though. I don't remember those other three examples either, and those were just two years ago."

“That sounds very much like trauma to me, dear girl. Though…trauma can become power, and understanding. All we need is to connect the dots.” The Prince nodded to the teas she had imbibed.

“The dandelion tea is for energy, the spearmint is for clarity, the rose and chocolate are for healing. All of these are things that you need. But you must choose what you feel that you need, in order for me to help you. Which of these teas did you like best? Or would you like to try the fourth cup as well?” He nodded to the lemon tea on the table.

Astrid reached for the lemon tea, it seemed to her, basic strategy required knowledge of all the options. "What is this one for? Energy I've had more of. Clarity I lack, can't really move much without seeing. Healing..."

She drifted off, face beginning to pale and eyes dim to an almost deadened state, twinkling blue giving way to grey as she held the wrist of her right harm with the left hand. The sensitive or observant could feel an uptick of electric current, "I don't know about the viability of that one. Scars don't heal, I've been made proof of such, on both sides." The shock-therapy continued for another few seconds, hand dropping back to the table as color and life were restored from the phantom which had drained them.

“Come now, Miss Astrid. All things heal in some way or another. The flowers die, and regrow next spring. The trees rot, and from their rot grows saplings. You yourself are still very young for a deity. And with the right support, and the right power, you can overcome. After all, what do mindless, senseless gods such as they wish for young girls except to remain desperate and powerless?” The Summer Prince poured another cup of the rose and chocolate tea.

“Why, Miss Astrid, what if I told you this garden in which we are sitting was once nothing but ashes? And do you see the miracle that is around you? We Fae are capable of just that. Miracles. But so are you, if you are willing to let me see you to it.”

"Well, props to them. They did a good job. I have made my own miracles, though I don't remember them, and they're not the healing type. Kaya's magic does nothing. The Roman and her ability to literally be the line demarcating barren wasteland and this garden, and to invert them, dumped a whole bunch of the good stuff on me. Certainly woke up my weapon of a sister, she's more alive than ever. It didn't do anything for me. Infact she keeled over in pain for several minutes afterwards. Replicated my senses as her own, didn't expect to lose the pain tolerance first." Astrid began once more gripping at her wrists, twisting at them with nervous anxiety.

"Not all wounds are simply emotional. Some get imprinted in a far more permanent way. Even more permanent than the scar left by a slashing blade. I don't know that anything heals this. I dont know that even destroying the object responsible would change a thing. Its made itself part of me, inescapable..." She appeared, initially to be looking at the Prince directly... Though a cursory study of her eyes would show focus lying behind him.

It would not be visible to the Prince, but she was back again. The same vision from her last nightmare. Slowly, the apparition approached, pulling from a bag a very familiar set of sharpened and barbed chains. Astrid's eyes, contrary to her normal omnidirectional sight, tracked every movement, as Astrid-alter rounded the table with a smug smile, looking down at her physical counterpart, who was slowly starting to lose her composure.

"I suppose it's one of the ones you can't see. Nor can I seem to harm it. I have nothing left to try but mitigate it's effects, that's all I've been doing..." Astrid-alter stretched out a length of the cursed chains, ready to put them back on, Astrid normal being uncharacteristically frozen and surrendered to whatever she saw.

"Don't suppose Fae have ideas for Nordic curses that imbue into souls, do they?"

The Prince listened to Astrid explain her condition, until his eyes began to flicker around the table. As Astrid began to feel her control over her emotions unravel, a spectre grinned with wicked intent over her shoulder. Now the Fae Prince wore a soft, thoughtful frown.

He then reached out his hand, and as he saw the young Norse goddess holding her wrist, he gently took it in his.

“Ideas? Certainly. My dear, I have seen so many curses. I have given them, and taken them away. After all, I have had far more disruptive guests than yourself. And for a young woman who has been so polite, I would be willing to assist in such a dire situation.”

His eyes turned back to Astrid-alter’s location, and for a moment, the soft jade of his eyes turned a deep emerald. The vines around her location awakened, bristling around her.

“The little shadow that follows you, much like Peter Pan’s own detached shadow. This is the burden you carry, the one you wish for me to rid?”

Astrid became surprised, initially that the Prince could see Alter, as this was only the second person who could, both Fae. Then again, when taken by the wrist, constant electric current gently nibbling into his hand, occasionally waning to an unimaginable overpowering frost that sliced through the essence of ones being, back and forth they went.

Alter stood, curiously examining the vines with a tilted head, before she began to laugh. "Ohohohoh... To show, to tell, or to... Boldly let him charge off a cliff? Decisions, decisions! Any preferences, little builder girl, I don't mind either way. Surely we've been here enough you know what haaaappppeennnssss." Alter continued snickering, now more arrogantly than before, much to the dismay of Astrid. Her continued loss of control started to give dominance back to the curse, freezing her from the inside and slashing opportunistically at the soul where it pleased.

Alter composed herself again, smiling plainly at the two, [b"Charge off a cliff it is, this should be FUN. Everyone always messes up by hitting you physically, aren't you excited to see how it goes when they just bypass that? Ohhhh come now..."[/b] Her head raised back, golden white hair and a visage that slowly blended from incredible paleness to darkness, now contorted into a gaze or what could only be described as absolute predatory glee. Looking now more monster than Vanir, and with speech which was much growl as word, "Go on pretty boy... Try it. Make. My. Day."

The Fae Prince looked up from Astrid, as he continued to hold her wrist. He stroked it with a thumb, in a soft rhythm which was the smallest distraction from the pain of her alter’s assaults.

“There is nothing to fear, Miss Astrid. Here. Have another cup of tea and tell me. Is this the being that is harming you? If so…”

He turned his body to face the alter, hands now in his lap, a leg crossed across the same lap. His posture was so perfect, he might as well have been carved by Michelangelo.

“If you will cause trouble to my domain, there will be consequences. I cannot promise you what those consequences might be. Unless…you yourself are capable of partaking of the tea at my table?”

Astrid stared into the familiar gaze of Alter, trying her best to stay calm. "Y-yeah... But I can't hurt her. Or rather, I can... It just always makes the problem worse. Only people who can even see her that aren't me appear to be Fae anyway."

Alter's expression shifted, back to her 'calmer' arrogant smirk, chuckling once again. "Smart, but not that smart. Fair enough, better than most. Though I must say I've quite a bit of the tea already. The dandelion is probably my favorite, real energy intensive kinda gal. Though I do also hold the spearmint in high regard, cooling clarity, nice for the more hunts that are really just about relaxing and flowing with natural impulse. Rather rude to cast me as some villainous creature though. I'm no different from what you've seen all around your world. Coyotes, bears, the wolves of your islands many forests? Even the mythical dragons and monsters, why, they and I are all the same. Just doing what is needed to survive until tomorrow. It just so happens for us, that means someone's gotta bleed."

Astrid stared, fear suddenly replaced by shock. She'd finally conceived of the answer, but now struggled with convincing herself of it.

Alter merely smiled, head titled, with a wide grin and eyes closed and raised, as if belittling them while waiting for the obvious to click.

The Prince scanned Astrid’s alter carefully, his eyes still that deep, studious emerald color. He had no fear in his eyes. The alter was simply a creature, or not even a creature. An image, a part of someone’s mind which represented scars and decay. All things antithetical to his realm.

“Then perhaps you must be separated. After all, I choose my words carefully, Miss Astrid. Very carefully. And I do not believe that this ‘other’ actually sat down and drank the tea.”

He looked over at the teapot on the table, and then he held one in his lap. It was a mushroom-shaped tea-kettle, something one might see as a cute little addition to a grandmother’s cozy kitchen. Neither girl would have known how it appeared or why.

“If you believe you have had the tea with Miss Astrid, then take this teapot from my hands.”

Alter laughed yet again, smiling without the arrogance this time. "Trying to figure out what I am? People don't just ask things anymore, do they?" she sighed, as Astrid seemed less afraid and more confused and concerned.

"If she did? Then... What does that mean? She's real then, not just made up? Or... What?" She stared carefully at the teapot, as Alter quietly leaned over and gently took it into her hands, observing closely.

"Why would you shape a kettle like a mushroom anyway? I guess it's like, cute or something? If you like mushrooms..." Alter shrugged, unphased by the test.

“Ah, I like mushrooms. They are a miracle in themselves. They are not plants with cell walls that give them structure. They are not animal-like. They live off decay, and rain, and undergrowth. And yet they thrive in such conditions.” His eyes had a little twinkle. “And I suppose they are also ‘cute’. But most importantly…”

As Astrid took the cup, her alter would feel a strange…pull. As if she was shifting from her connection to her main body and toward decay. The woodsy scent of mushrooms made a [i]flomph in the air.

And when the sound had faded, along with the rich, earthy scent, Astrid’s alter would find that she was not surrounded by vines, but rather by the ceramic-esque walls on the inside of a tea kettle. And the lid had shut with a kitschy cuh-clink!

“Miracles will not be deterred.” A grin came across his face, as he turned to look back at the main Astrid.

Alter laughed and laughed from the kettle, regardless of if anyone could hear her. She knew what she was, and she what was about to happen.

Astrid froze for several seconds, as if time had stopped. All at once, she suddenly contorted into complete panic, tearing away from the Prince and stumbling around in a manner that clearly conveyed... She was blind.

Or, blind by her standards. Deaf, tasteless, touchless, and incapable of picking up smells.

The locking away of Alter had cut connection to her third domain. Indeed, Alter was the reason she could not control it, but was also the product of her being unable too. The Prince was not necessarily wrong, her memories were lost to trauma, Alter only exists because of that trauma, but it's one imprecisely defined and not necessarily easy to fix even if she knew.

The total panic quickly annihilated any control she had, her scars immediately filling the void with eternal cold and pain, collapsing the warrior to the ground, shivering and screaming, now living in a world almost worse than the mountaintop she'd left.

The Prince watched her reaction, and he gave a small frown once again. Ignoring the laughter from inside the tea kettle, he walked over to Astrid, gently pulling her smaller body into his lap as he knelt in the soft grass. He then took the dandelion tea, and he helped her to sit upright.

At the same time, he whispered toward the ground, and vines rose and gathered themselves snugly around her throat. Astrid would find that in a few seconds, her senses had returned. What she now wore seemed much like a necklace, made of fresh vines, with a tiny rose peeping from the corner.

“…What a strange little parasite that being is. Albeit, she will have to stay here until she learns her manners. You, on the other hand, should drink this tea. It will help for your senses to re-strengthen again after such a frightening experience.”

Alter began to cackle with incredible glee. "Oh you can mimic me but a cheap copy is still a copy. Even an expensive one isn't the original. You might be able to stop the sensory horror but you can't make it not feel wrong . Like something's missing. Oh, and for the sake of whatever charity you're running I hope that disaster of a school doesn't get any worse. What could've been the greatest tool in a calamity of violence just got lobotomized into shy recluse who just wants to hide and make pretty villages and pictures. Maybe next time don't cut everything out? Hope you trust Mr Nightmare Fuel and Mr Meals on Wheels a whoooole lot." She cackled yet more, seeing this as a roundabout way to achieve another goal.

Astrid's senses slowly came back in, almost entirely. There was... Something a bit off, but that was probably just the shock. The fact they could even be reproduced on such a level was rather incredible itself.

She took the tea, still shivering and in clear pain. The scars were not attached to Alter, unfortunately. She merely used the chains to cause the damage needed to assure continued existence.

Managing to drink it down quickly, she scooched a bit away from The Prince, so as to give him some modicum of space as she turned her body into a massive lightning rod for over twenty seconds.

The eternal scold was scorched away, and the pain blitzed out of nerve endings, control now tenously regained, she gave a sigh of relief.

"I'm not sure parasite is the right word... Parasites don't drink tea." She examined the necklace closely, understanding it as the source of her being able to function at all, "I assume if this should somehow come off me, it goes back to that, doesn't it?"

“Mm. I beg to differ. I have had many parasites come into my domain begging for me to give them tea. Sadly, they are not the guests I do prefer to have. Nor do they ever end-up enjoying the tea. Arrogance does not make-up for a lack of taste.”

He smiled once again as she examined the necklace, and he nodded at her observation. “Very good. Though of course, there is more to it. As long as you, my dear, continue to dwell in my good graces, and you are respectful of my hospitality, then yes. The necklace will continue to function properly. And there will be no issues. In the meantime…”

He looked over at the tea kettle which now contained the very chatty alter, “I shall keep her here, and teach her some manners. And should you ever wish to come visit, and to let me know how your friends are boding, feel free to invite them. Do know that if they are so…discourteous, they will face consequences of their own.” He gave her a knowing wink.

“And if ever you need to take off the necklace, you may. It runs on my good graces, as I said, which do not care for things such as ‘space.’ If it breaks, however, that will be an issue. Have one of your friends eat the apple, and I can make you a new one.”

Astrid nodded quietly, her demeanor had changed. It was calm like before, but the confidence, the presence of it when struggling, was gone. The new Astrid, as she stood, also carried far more reserved body language, and seemed generally avoidant of eye contact. Alter, troublesome she was, did have a habit of telling the truth, but only in the most hurtful way.

"I-i don't think that'll be an issue. Lanuru would probably not want to anyway, and the Slav is a hospitality deity himself, I think you two would get along..." She moved around a bit experimentally, taking deep breaths, trying to focus on far away objects, in general testing things to see that they worked. They seemed once again, just a bit... Off, again.

"T-thank you for this. I barely had books around me and never had to study magic... I didn't know this was possible." She faced the Prince, momentarily making eye contact before looking away again. "Should we concerned about the teachers? Anything I should say... They're gonna question me..."

“Ah! Magic books? Why, I have plenty of those. You’re in a school, you’d best keep-up with your studies, dear.” The Fae Prince chuckled, and helped her to her feet.

“Ahhh will they question you? Perhaps a little. If they ever so wish to see me, however, as I am the one to ask all the questions to, they are free to come here themselves. After all, you are not my shield, nor have I done anything to harm the Pax. And now…”

He took a step back, and smiled at her. “A good evening to you, Miss Astrid. I shall sit here and enjoy tea with our new companion, and continue her schooling.” He gave a kind wink, and the world around Astrid seemed to sparkle again.

Soon enough, she was back in her room. The world was silent, save for Hyperion’s car radio blaring Limp Bizkit’s terrible rendition of “Opiate” in the distance, and slightly less enchanted. Yet she was safe, and back on what was far more solid ground. All that remained of her latest adventure was the apple tree, a new stack of some Magic books on her bed, a strange little tea kettle, and the vine necklace around her neck.

Astrid nodded, she hadn't normally studied magic, the only kind she used was her storms, and she knew that implicitly. Still, it wouldn't be bad to learn more on her own, surely? Alter once again laughing from her prison, at the Prince's implication of teaching her.

"I s-see, just have them eat the apple. I hope they don't cause you too much trouble... Thank you again!" She did her best to give a wave, ultimately achieving a somewhat awkward and uncharacteristically 'adorable' goodbye.

Back in her room, she carefully hid the books, on the off-chance they might be seized. Hyperion caused trouble in the distance as he always did, placing the teapot on the night stand.

She then laid down, her bow held tightly in her left hand, and necklace in the right. The strange... Feeling, like something was missing, off, had not left, but perhaps the quietest night of sleep she could never imagine would be the needed cure. Eyes softly closing, she hoped to have the answer soon.