#kobalos

NAME. Amaratha Othonos AGE & BIRTH DATE. Currently 27, reincarnated on December 1st, 1993 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Kobalos OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Poppy Drayton

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, cannibalism, torture, suicide, slavery mention ) Amaratha was the older sibling of two, born in a small village outside of Thebes. But the village was different from the rest of the Greek world, where the taboo was celebrated, and none so revered as Dionysus. The cultists worshiped the god of madness above all others, spreading his religion to anyone who crossed their paths, despite the open scorn and derision they received. Amaratha was no exception to this, a mischievous young girl who was devout in her faith, using her innocent appearance to lure in unexpecting travelers. Those who were not converted were offered as sacrifice to their god, the flesh turned into a feast as the people partook in depravity. The opinions of the small minded mattered little to her, for they had the favor of Dionysus, and lived only to please him and themselves. 

And so the god blessed their village, the cult they created in his worship. Though both Amaratha’s parents had passed on by that point, she and her brother received the blessing, becoming kobaloi along with the rest of their people. Grown into a young woman by that point, there was seldom she took more enjoyment out of than her newfound powers, spinning tales of horror and madness inside the minds of those that caught her ire. Men from Thebes who pursued her hand were quick to fall victim to her machinations, and her brother protected her from those inside the village that wished to claim her as well. Amaratha’s spirit was fierce and independent, and detested the thought of being tied down to anyone she felt undeserving — which was all of them. She remained unmarried her entire first lifetime, until the woman found her end in a wolf’s jaws. It was a messy, bloody thing, and in the end as she laid in the dirt struggling for her last breaths, it was done with the satisfaction of knowing the wolf had gone first. 

She came back in their village once again, only a few years later. A different family, this time, but her brother was still there as well, and once her memories came back it was as if nothing had ever changed. But nothing can last forever, particularly something built on the bones of madness and depravity. The end for life as they knew it came with the arrival of Philip ll of Macedon. The king had overtaken the city of Thebes, chaffing the freedom the cultists had grown accustomed to. It was through Amaratha’s meddling that the thought was put into the head of his bodyguard, a manipulation that led to Pausanias of Orestis striking back against the wrongs he had endured from his once-lover king. If only she could have known what the fallout of such actions would lead to. 

With Philip II dead, Thebes began to rebel against the rule of outside forces, denying Alexander the Great’s authority. The new king responded violently, and the city found itself no match to the strength of his army. Their entire village was razed, and those who had not died in the assault were to be sold into slavery. But Amaratha had no intentions of being taken quietly. She was always clever, and quick, and all it took was just one moment of distraction for her to jump to her feet and rush the closest soldier — but instead of attacking, the kobalos threw herself at him and impaled herself on his spear. Even if she had still been a human woman, without the knowledge of her reincarnation, there was no thought worse than to be at the mercy of the Macedonian soldiers, and so she took fate into her own hands. With such a mortal wound inflicted upon herself, she held no value as a slave anymore, and was left to choke on her own blood as the village that was her home burned to ashes around her. 

Her next cycle, she came back as the daughter of a powerful Athenian politician, who used Amaratha as little more than a bargaining chip to strike an alliance against his rival. But she was quick to leave such a life and her husband behind, the moment her memories returned to her. The kobalos went back to what was once her home, hoping to find some trace of where her people had been taken. Instead, all she found was ruins, and the truth of the matter was that she would not meet any of her kin again for nearly a hundred years. Perhaps it was fate, or simply coincidence that she and her brother would eventually end up in the same city, but the overwhelming relief of finding him again forged their bond even strong than it had been before; they remained together for the rest of that incarnation, and began devising methods to seek each other out in the ones that followed. 

But Amaratha never had any choice in where she would end up next, frustratingly. Nor the fact that the majority of her memories remained locked away until she reached adulthood. The more that time passed by, the more her reincarnations began to spread further across the world. And all the while, the woman still served Dionysus faithfully, even though he never offered anything in return again, not even a word. She spread chaos and discord wherever she went, creating problems where none existed simply for her own entertainment. From commoners to kings, no one was safe from Amaratha’s influence if she had the means to influence them. 

One of her favorite lifetimes happened to be in Russia. Her name had been Tomila Fedotovna at the time, and her typically dark tresses had turned nearly as white as the snow that covered the ground. The year was 1,560, and Ivan IV Vasilyevich had already settled into his reign. Though he had not yet earned the moniker that would follow him through history, Amaratha could see the tsar’s instability simmering beneath the surface, just needing the right push to come out. What a terrible thing it was, when his tsaritsa came down with a sickness in the summer, taken from the world before the turn of the next season. Poison, they whispered, and most importantly, the tsar believed so as well. His second and third wives followed in similar fashion, only stroking the paranoia inside Ivan the Terrible, which Amaratha all too happily provoked. While the tsar looked for enemies all around him, he never suspected the doe-eyed daughter of one of his boyars. 

She never did give him a moment’s peace, watching him descent further into madness with each atrocity, even the accidental murder of his own son. And when he finally died, all that was left of the Rurik dynasty was his feeble and ineffectual son Feodor. Though Amaratha had already died and reincarnated by the time of the last Rurik’s death, it was satisfactory enough to know that she had been the cause when her memories returned years later, as well as directly led to the Time of Troubles that wracked the country. 

And yet, perhaps one of the most important of her lives took place in the early 1800s England. She was Elizabeth, the daughter of a simple servant, and it was a life far less glamorous than those of times past, but the young girl was oblivious to such knowledge. All she knew was that she loved her father, and that they were going to live in a grand house with a kind man. It was nice, and happy for a time, until one evening she was awoken from her bed and taken away from the estate by the kind man. She was too young to know the details at the time, but her father had died, he had said, and so he was going to take care of her now. She never thought to question the fact that throughout the entirety of her youth, he never changed, or ask for the truth of what happened that night. It was only when she turned eighteen that he sat her down and told her the truth; that he was a vampire, and indirectly led to the death of her father — of that life, as Amaratha was starting to get her memories back of who she used to be.

The two things coupled together were difficult to handle, and so the kobalos packed up what little things she could call her own and left. Off to think, to readjust, to slip into the skin of Amaratha again rather than Elizabeth. But it had been a long time since she had felt such familial affection, having not crossed paths with her brother in her two recent lifetimes, and she found herself missing the company of the vampire she had come to think of like a father. It took a few years of stubbornness, an attempt to return to her old life of detachment, before she gave in and sought him out again. There was comfort to be found in the fact that, despite her continued reincarnations, his immortality meant he could never truly be lost to her, once her memory returned each time. In each of her lifetimes that followed, she would always end up seeking him out again, even if they did not stay together the entire time. 

Because, as much as she loved her surrogate father, Amaratha still craved the belonging of her own people. Whenever rumors gained traction of someone with mythical abilities, she was quick to follow, in an attempt to locate her brother or the rest of their kin. It’s what sent her back to Russia, to track down a man known as Rasputin, where she found a witch that had captivated the people of Russia, including the empress. While not a kobaloi like she hoped, she still found great amusement in the mystic man, and the two formed a friendship that lasted until his premature death. 

It also led her to the door of a genasi in the 1980s, though that matter ended much worse for Mara. She forgot her own cardinal rule, the thing that kept her species protected — anonymity. For anyone who knew their tricks could no longer be deceived by them, and once she revealed the truth of herself to the person she thought a friend, a different side of them emerged. There had been a string of murders across the country, but she had not put two and two together until she found herself strapped down in his basement. What followed was excruciating, hours spent in torment, drawing out her pain for their enjoyment. It was in her last moments when, with a final bit of strength from her anger, Mara swore that she would come back for them and repay tenfold — the genasi smiled, and bid her good luck, before finally slicing her throat. 

Her most recent reincarnation happened in Spain, a child abandoned outside of a police station by parents that either couldn’t or didn’t want to keep her. Though she was quickly taken in by a local family, in the end it was not to be, and the girl ended up going into the foster system, where she would never be adopted out of. The name they gave her had been Daniela Marin, but it never felt quite right rolling off the tongue, even if she couldn’t figure out why. She was quick to return to her original name when the memories returned, and the first thing she did upon her reawakening was pay the genasi a visit, fulfilling the promise she made before her death; without the element of surprise, Mara proved a much greater adversary, capable of reversing any curse they attempted to throw at her, inflicting a much greater suffering than what she had endured. 

From that day on, she spent the next decade traveling around Europe, rebuilding her wealth and causing torment to those around her. She had plans to seek out both her brother and adoptive father, eventually, but they were fast-tracked with the sudden loss of her magic one day. Though her brother’s location had yet to be discovered, the vampire was much easier to track down, and it was concern for him that ultimately led Mara to Corinth Bay, unaware that what she’s sought after throughout all her lives also awaits inside.

PERSONALITY

+ fearless, resourceful, playful - impulsive, self-indulgent, devious

The kobaloi are a race of mischievous sprites from Greek mythology. Described as an impudent, thieving cross between a gnome and a dwarf, they are sometimes said to be phallic in nature. They possess the ability to shapeshift.

A famous story tells how the kobaloi robbed Heracles while he slept. The hero captured them to exact his revenge, but did not kill them as he found them quite amusing. He gave them to Omphale, queen of Lydia, as a gift.

Image source.

Monster master list.

NAME. Ikaros Theoinos AGE & BIRTH DATE. Currently 34, reincarnated on January 3rd, 1984 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Kobalos OCCUPATION. Owner of Mount Olympus FACE CLAIM. Daniel Sharman

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: cannibalism, blood, drinking, violence, gore, sexual themes ) Born in ancient antiquity, in a small village on the outskirts of Thebes, Ikaros was a charismatic and precocious child. The villagers were devout followers of Dionysus, a cult of pious individuals who believed that in order to pay their Godly patron his proper due, they needed to celebrate his debauchery appropriately. Blessed with his favor, they celebrated nightly and took to the hills crying out their ritualistic calls, “Euoi! Euoi! Euoi!” They danced with floral crowns through the trees as they waved their ivy-tipped fennel wands, the hum and call of their aulos and tympanon echoed with their every foot step.

Their cackles and calls sent chills down the spines of Thebes and the neighboring villages as the onlookers watched torches flicker through forests and roam hills. The cult dawned the skins of fawns and were rumored to use their divine favor to charm snakes and suckle from animals, this was said to be what gave them the strength to tear their victims apart with their bare hands before they would perform ritualistic feasts. When the cult willed it, they would dance through the streets of Thebes, flaunt their musical prowess and performance ability, lead the ritual celebrations to Dionysus, then once again return to the hills. They were honored by some, but widely hated and despised by most, they stole men and women and children alike, vanished them as the Dionysian’s offered the flesh of the taken to their Godly patron. Devout and fevered, they would cackle and cry out in ecstasy, each enjoyed the body and flesh of another. There were no rules imposed against them, they answered to neither Gods nor men and for this they were conspired against. Their home could be razed, their crops burned, but the cultists were never snuffed out entirely, they were performers and dancers, craftsman and philosophers, but they were also warriors. What the villagers craved more than anything was the immortality that was only bestowed upon the most deserving, they prayed to Dionysus and attributed all that they were to his great honor. In time, they were given the gifts that they so desperately craved, and Ikaros, a man now in his early thirties, was transformed into a Kobaloi. An immortal trickster that would reincarnate at the end of his mortal life, forever. Ikaros remained with the village for at least one lifetime, when he was reincarnated it was not until he reached manhood that the memories of his past all presented themselves to him. As a child he would get flashes of his previous life, but he had his family and fellow villagers there to tell him why this was. Ikaros learned then that his memories would always return to him, that his life was all but predetermined, his powers reached from his fingertips and bent the natural world around him. He was a trickster, by nature and species, and as a young Kobaloi he delighted in spreading his doctrine of madness. By 338 BCE his family, and fellow cultists had all but made Thebes their home, the city-state had pledged Dionysus and Apollo as their patrons and it seemed fitting that some of the cult remain there. The city had been taken under control by Alexander The Great’s father, Philip ll of Macedon, and following the man’s death the people of Thebes took the change of power and Thracian uprising to the North as an opportunity to rebel against Alexander’s rule. The city-state wanted to win its independence back, but despite the added power of the Kobalos, the forces of the legendary King were too great for Thebes. Alexander razed the city to the ground, and those who survived the attack were sold into slavery. Ikaros was separated from what remained of the cult and his family. Ikaros was able to escape slavery and disguise himself as a soldier and for years he remained in the company of Alexander’s second in command, a general named Hephaestion. Ikaros fought in every battle, discreetly put his considerable skills to good use, and inspired madness on both sides of the battle. The trickster wanted revenge though, and he would have it, he followed the King’s lead from Asia Minor to Syria where they defeated the Persian Army at Issus before they laid siege to Tyre. The will of the cult with him at every breath, rituals of madness and hedonism and sacrificial cannibalism that would have made any hardened soldier’s blood run cold. After Tyre, the King conquered Egypt, and for a time Ikaros considered remaining behind in Alexandria, Egypt was unlike anything he’d ever seen, pyramids that lifted the eye of the sun. Architecture that rivaled any Greek. But hate ran deep and it was all he could do to twist the minds of the soldiers who were once so loyal to Alexander The Great. They conquered Egypt and moved onto Babylon and Persia before word of a revolt among the King’s soldiers was enough to make Alexander forgo his plans for further expansion. The mad King was prepared to run over the world with his desire for conquest, but it was in Babylon that Alexander’s fate was at last sealed. Ikaros left Babylon behind and sought instead to return to Mother Greece, Alexander’s influence could still be felt as his territory was divided between his generals. Ikaros would grow to die of old age, a first and only for the Kobaloi who had only ever fallen in combat. He delighted in his final days as he watched what was left of a great empire fall into ruin, when he was reincarnated it was into Rome as it began to rise to power. Born on the opposite side of the war to his mother country, Ikaros had no problem playing both fields as Rome transitioned into a period of conquest and descended towards the Greeks. The city-states had become weak over the years, constant war between them, fluxes in political leadership, and rebellion against the aristocracy had left the Greeks weak. Ikaros died at the Battle of Pydna in 168 BCE before he was reincarnated once again as a Roman. At last the Greeks were defeated at the Battle of Corinth in 146 BCE, and Ikaros, a young man of twenty-two at this point, felt unstoppable. He’d lived several lifetimes as a Kobalos and delighted in spreading madness and misery where ever he went, Ikaros had taken so many lives, had driven so many to the ends of themselves that he had entirely lost count how many souls he had delivered to Hades on Dionysus’ behalf. It was while he played his part in the Roman conquest of Egypt, before its final fall in 31 BCE, that he struck the ire of a group of townsfolk he’d driven into fits of madness. It was at this time that he’d met two individuals who he’d connected with intimately, though they did not share his immortal reincarnations, he wanted desperately to convince them to take an immortal life and spend eternity with him. Hedonism and insanity followed the three where ever they went, and this Greek-controlled Egyptian village was no different. While toying with them, as Ikaros did, one of the townsfolk became aware that it was Ikaros who was behind the madness and was able to see through his illusions. Wracked with grief, the town’s person rushed Ikaros but it was one of his lover’s who took the blade. While the Kobaloi held her dying frame in his arms, their third lover was slain as well, it was all he could do to escape but the trickster was grief stricken and perished shortly after. When Ikaros regained his memories almost twenty years later, Rome had become an Empire united under Caesar Augustus, madness already tainted Ikaros’ soul, and now grief was his sole companion.There was much to be done in Rome, however, and as Christianity began to rise, Ikaros persecuted those who renounced the pagan Gods. Crucified them, their deaths were violent and cruel and as Rome eventually burned while Emperor Nero looked on, it was Ikaros who handed the madman his lyre. The trickster died once again before he was reincarnated back into the streets of Rome, this time as he rose to manhood it was once again in the life of a soldier. Each reincarnation the memories were difficult to understand at first. He had no guidance as a young man, nobody to tell him why he saw the things he did, or why he had his power. Nevertheless, his affinity for trickery was a constant companion until his memories would trigger and at last make everything clear once again. Rarely did Ikaros encounter anyone like him, fellow tricksters that once hailed from a small village that had lost its name to the annals of time. He remained in Europe up until the twelfth century, his name changing every time he reincarnated, from  1254 - 1324  AD he traveled to Asia as a Venetian merchant named Marco. At 17 Ikaros had regained his memories and wished to see more of the world, the trickster traveled the Silk Road and ended up in the court of the great Ghengis Khan before ultimately meeting his end. Ikaros was once again reincarnated in Italy, he regained his memories as he approached manhood and delighted in the expanding sexual liberties that the renaissance ushered in. He laughed in the face of the liberties that the artists of the period took with the culture that surrounded Greek culture. It was all very romantic, but the life Ikaros remembered had been anything but, life in ancient Greek society was violent and it was cruel. Unless you were Spartan, then there was only the wealthy men - and then everyone else below them who was subjected to their will. From Italy, Ikaros found himself in the New World, reincarnated in South America before he later traveled North. The trickster inserted himself into conflict always and adored humanities newfound ways to kill one another. Guns were especially exciting and there seemed to be no end to a mortal’s capacity for cruelty. Years of violence and death had desensitized him to it entirely, there was nothing that Ikaros would not do to entertain himself, and what entertained him most was driving people towards madness and Dionysus’ patient embrace. Ikaros’ sexual liberties did not go unnoticed, he was tracked down and persecuted by hunters who became aware of his presence in the area. Eventually they saw through his trickery and burned him at the stake as if he were a witch, the fire that consumed him was not a memory he would easily forget and this rise of religious fervor made him crave the roots of his past. Shortly after the earthquake that nearly decimated Corinth, Ikaros returned to mother Greece where her earthen soil was waiting to welcome him home. It was here in the late 1800s that Ikaros commissioned a winery, Mount Olympus, he called it, though the wine was anything but divine. Ikaros felt slighted by the God of debauchery, Dionysus had been silent for over a millennia and in that silence Ikaros began to feel as if he’d been abandoned entirely. So, Ikaros soured the grapes, tainted the vines themselves and made it so any who consumed the wine would taste the bitterness in his heart, one he dedicated to the patron God who had made him what he was today. Ikaros lived three lifetimes since then, he traveled occasionally but was too drawn by the weakened veil to ever truly stay gone. The winery was always his, it passed from incarnation to incarnation as he plied the local Delphic Oracle with false promises of safety from his trickery should she tell him who his soul would pass to next. Most recently the trickster was in Australia when he heard the voice of Dionysus call to him from across the Veil for the first time in over a thousand years. The thought never occurred to him not to answer, while he held no great love for the god, Ikaros knew that if Dionysus’ call would ultimately bring great chaos to Corinth, it was something that the trickster could not resist. Not because he was divinely inspired, simply because there was a war brewing and Ikaros’ lust for madness and bloodshed remained insatiable.

PERSONALITY

+ cunning, charismatic, open-minded - hedonist, aloof, mischievous

NAME. Lysander Reis AGE & BIRTH DATE. Currently 34, reincarnated on September 27th, 1984. GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Kobalos OCCUPATION. Candle Maker FACE CLAIM. Kivanç Tatlitug

BIOGRAPHY

(tw: death, crucifixion) Lysander was born among heathens. The original village chosen by Dionysus had long faded into ruin, washed away by rain, dirt, and sand, and with it, all of what was known about them. The ritualistic tendencies of their life were mistaken for baser instincts, but Lysander embraced it. His family had traveled from the east, settling within the town that would eventually be blessed by the god of wine. He was destined to reincarnate alongside those who were of the original village as well, and he embraced his destiny.

He had known plenty of different names, all bearing different meanings throughout the centuries. The kobalos’ desire to cause harm and chaos was evident in the ways he portrayed himself throughout history. Once, he was Drako – the bringer of Draconian Law to Ancient Greece. Harsh punishments among those who were thieves, turning base code into written law that would only last a century or so after that life’s death. He’d witnessed the struggle between Athens and Sparta, yet again a man who met his death alongside the Spartan, Leonidas, in a glorious battle. 

It became the theme of his lives; seeking glory among blood and steel. There was never a time that Lysander got tired of fighting, nor did he tire of dying and being reborn in another life. He saw it as a chance to become greater than he had before. While the name Drako still rang throughout the politicians, it was glory within battle that he craved instead. 

Perhaps his greatest chance at history was when he was born within Ancient Rome, taken as an adolescent and forced into servitude for Roman nobility. When he received his memories back, his ability with a sword had him pushed into becoming a gladiator, the highest form of entertainment for the Romans. His victories gained him the praise an attention he desired, but not the freedom he was born to crave. Instead, he would swap sword and blood for shackles, and a brand that meant nothing to him. His name had been Gannicus, tattoos among his shoulders that defined him as an Anatolian, lesser than a Roman, in their eyes. 

As the Third Servile War began in 73 BC, Lysander joined. Spartacus, the rebel slave who led them, promised them freedom. The kobalos did not worry for his death, he would be reborn again, but most humans had a single life to live – and they did not deserve to be crushed beneath Rome’s heel. For two years they fought, and they ran. Freedom seemed within reach until their last stand against Marcus Crassus and Pompey. Lysander knew defeat would greet them, but he did so with the knowledge that his name would live on – as would the man he’d followed. His death was perhaps the most painful of the ones he’d experienced in his lives, taken as a prisoner due to his standing as a commander. His death was a message to other slaves; nailed upon a cross and left to die upon the road that would lead to Rome. 

Most of his next lives seemed to pale in comparison to the blood and glory he’d experienced once before. The next rebirth had him doing little to remember, until his time as a young man in Pompeii. He understood what an earthquake meant, and watching the city get destroyed by Vesuvius was never on his bucket list – until it happened, of course. 

Lysander has known greatness, and he has known great warriors. He was the first to follow the Warrior Queen Zenobia out of Syria to invade Egypt. Her life was tied to his, and he ensured she lived out the rest of her days peacefully once she was pardoned. It was around 500 AD that he was born far from home. He was switched at birth, born the son of a King in present day Scotland. His name was Agravain, second son of King Lot. His brother was Mordred, and the battle against King Arthur was at the forefront of his mind as he grew up. The bond between brotherhood was something not even Lysander could ignore, even when his memories came rushing back to him when he was eighteen. The only person he told was Mordred, exposing his true abilities for what they were. It was beneficial to their cause, at least, his ability to manipulate someone’s mind into seeing things that were untrue. Deflecting curses if any were thrown their way. But even his trickery could not stop fate. Exposing Guinevere and Lancelot was a gamble, and that was one thing the kobalos was good at doing. He gambled with his life as he always did, but it did not end in his favor. He found his death yet again at the end of a sword, dictated by King Arthur himself. Leaving his brother behind, Lysander was thrown into another rebirth cycle. 

When the Mongols invaded, his sword was taken up yet again – but with Temüjin himself. That was the first time he’d been as far as the Pacific Ocean, a sight that remained with him up until he died. The wounds he’d suffered from hardly fazed him. Swords, arrows, even the black death – Lysander was certain that Dionysus was getting a kick out of what his followers went through each time they were reincarnated. 

As the centuries passed from the Middle Ages to modern times, Lysander grew bored. Guns were of no interest to him; war was turned away from strategy into who could have the bigger gun. His most recent family was from Istanbul. They were kind to him growing up, yet there was little freedom that Lysander found himself with. They had named him Ahmet, the oldest of their three children. The family were from a long line of fire witches, and when his siblings came into their abilities, Lysander did not. It was a troubling thing, especially for his mother. The only plausible explanation was that his father wasn’t his father, and that he’d simply been born human. The argument tore his little family apart until he turned eighteen, and when all the memories of his past life came back to haunt him, it took everything in Lysander not to leave. 

His abilities spoke for themselves; glamour that would make them see things they wished they had, or perhaps hadn’t. It was easier to let Lysander go after that, and the kobalos left the little family he’d known for a mere twenty years behind. Instead, he made his way to Greece. Eager to hear about the happenings with the veil – and the rumors of other kobaloi present within the city. 

PERSONALITY

+ bold, cunning, charismatic  - vengeful, deceitful, aggressive

NAME. Milos Othonos / Monty Kramer AGE & BIRTH DATE. Currently 32, reincarnated on November 27th, 1988 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Kobalos OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Lucas Bravo

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: child abuse ) When he thinks of his childhood, there is no rosy glow, no warmth in the memories. Monty recalls very few days where the crescendo of a fight in the evening wasn’t reached with a shattering plate or the breaking of glass, and when his father’s fist didn’t bury itself into his stomach during an argument it put holes into the drywall. He’d been the one to pick up the phone when their mother had called- he was twelve and already housing the welts on his soul from a home without love, he held it away from Noah’s ear and out of reach when his mother chose herself over her boys. His hands had shook as he put down the phone, telling his brother that they were alone now.

It was his role as the oldest to protect, and he could be fierce as a wildcat when it came to putting himself between his father’s fury and Noah- he bore black eyes and a split lip like others donned clothes; there was hardly a day where it did not hurt to get up, but he still shepherded Noah to school, fixing him breakfast and lunch, hiding him away until after dinner. The home they lived in was not one for living, and their father’s hatred towards his children reared it’s ugly head when he caught Noah one day with another boy. Monty tried to step in, but their father had his own fixations- now fuelled by shame, he funnelled his waking energy into making Noah’s life miserable. There was little that could be done, as a teenager he was slight- and their father had the anger of a wild animal, too many times he had been tossed against the wall as he tried to step in, to keep Noah from harm.

He hated his father, and his mother for her cowardice. Even as he grew old enough to move out and leave, Noah’s well being was too important: the head of the house hardly saw that his youngest was fed, or that he went to school- and Monty took up the role of cleaning up his bloody nose, or haphazardly stitching together split skin with tape. He was twenty when he first started having strange dreams, most of which lead to splitting headaches. He’d wake up and be sick and confused, often taking his time to blink back into the space that he was in. It had been Noah’s suggestion for him to get away, he had turned twenty-one and had never celebrated before, packing up to go with his friends to Barcelona.

It was there that his memories had come back in full force, finally away from home- he discovered who he was. Montgomery was just a vessel and it housed Milos, an ancient being whose life had stretched the duration of thousands of years. Dionysus was his god, and the strengths that he held came into full force: it was through gasped breath, nearly overwhelmed, that he called Noah- his last thought of his brother in what would be a long time, to tell him that he would not be coming home.

Milos had been born in a village that had praised the god of ecstasy and his mortal life thus far had been anything but what he had intended. He recalled years spent roaming the earth, whispering wicked words into the ears of those willing to hear them, sliding into beds of powerful people, fighting wars for no reason other than he wished to see blood shed. He took the role of trickster seriously, wearing different faces for different audiences, revelling in the invention of gun powder, whispering praise as the Vikings began to lay siege over England. It was he who stood at the helm of trade ships, who cooed about the idea of sacrifice in the willing ear of Ahuitzotl. Every incarnation brought its own championing of events: he claimed boldly that Michaelangelo’s David had been modelled after himself, though the artist had taken some artistic liberties when it came to size. The life of Montgomery Kramer was just a shadow compared to the greatness of his past lives and he launched himself into making up for lost time, travelling to America to fumble in the political sphere there.

Occasionally, he’d remember Noah- of the boy whose body he’d sheltered with his own and he’d feel shame, reaching out when he could from phones that didn’t lead back to him; checking in mostly to see that he was still alive. A day came when the call went unanswered, and a trip back home to Berlin determined that Noah had left for good. His father had tried to strike him upon his return, but Milos was not the scared boy that Monty had been and he met his father’s hand with his own, closing his fingers around a wrist that he tightened until it broke. He moved on, finding his way around Europe, picking his way through trouble before he finally heard it: the voice of a god that he had not heard since his first incarnation. Dionysus needed him, and he wished him to fight- it was easy to change course and head straight for Corinth Bay, where he would be reunited with the other kobalos, and unwittingly, his brother. He goes by Monty still, but rejects his father’s surname. It does not suit him and he refuses to bear the name of a man whom he would rather see dead.

PERSONALITY

+ mischievous, curious, performative - vindictive, impatient, absent-minded

Kobalos: Το λογισμικό που απειλεί όλους τους υπολογιστές του πλανήτη

Το όνομά από την Αρχαία Ελλάδα, προκαλεί… τρόμο στις εταιρείες ασφαλούς λογισμικού. Oι ερευνητές της εταιρείας κυβερνο-ασφάλειας ESET – δημιουργού των ομώνυμων προγραμμάτων κατά των ιών (antivirus)- ανακάλυψαν το Kobalos, ένα νέο κακόβουλο λογισμικό που επιτίθεται σε υπερυπολογιστές-συστάδες υπολογιστών υψηλής απόδοσης (HPC). Η νέα απειλή πήρε το όνομά της από την ελληνική μυθολογία, καθώς οι…