#prometheusstarter

It had been her curse for a long time to linger on the fringes, Nettelia had tried for a time to join in on these sorts of things. There had once been a time where she'd danced in Eden, when they observed the solstice, decorated their homes, lined the trees with ornaments, and howled under the light of the winter moon. It was lifetimes ago now, that woman hadn't existed in a long time. The nature changed but many of the festivities remained the same; as the wedding came to a close there were many eyes that were wet with memories and well wishes... Many whom Nettelia assumed didn't even know the couple. Still, there had been a great deal of wine so that coupled with the present Roman need for hope likely served as reason enough for people to celebrate, make merry, and rejoice.

She saw another lost soul and before Nettelia left the festivities for the night to retire elsewhere, the archdruidess moved to stand beside Prometheus. The Romans were tossing effigies into a great fire, letting go of pieces of the past and moving forward into the future. She had no desire to fight, to profess anything deep seeded or undying... The two had done enough of that already. Instead Nettelia just stood beside him, because there was some comfort in that act alone. "Have you made your offering yet?"

If Felandaris and others had learned of the wild creature killing any who approached, then it was only a matter of time until the Great Old Ones descended upon this place. What few realized is that the art of their conquest would blanket the world in their Elysian alloy, oceans would be destroyed, and in place of the earth there'd be the cold power of their influence. Terraformed to their liking, inhospitable to any who remained.

Seemingly undaunted and unafraid of the stories he'd heard, Felandaris strode into the midst of the graves, manifesting first through the shadows of the trees that littered the hard ground. "I know you're here, Prometheus." They weren't friends, in fact they'd never even met, but tales of the avariel who'd defied the Gods were common across every realm. A hero to some, a brash fool to others.

Practically moving in slow motion, Lorenzo just had a way about him. A very stupid, aloof way, but he liked to think that it was just all part of his charm; his mother always said he was charming anyways. Except for that time he'd cheated on his long time girlfriend but that was totally like... Definitely his fault, but he had been really sorry. A stuffed dinosaur in hand, Enzo had done the whole build-a-bear thing which was weirdly sexual but he was trying not to think about it.

"Hello?" Enzo just knocked on the... Pyramid's door and waited for someone until he saw a kind of sad looking guy who looked vaguely familiar. "Hey man, do you know how I get inside? I'm looking for Theus- uh Epimetheus." Long ass cutie pie name.

In a surprising turn of events, the world had not quite ended. It was very close though, Thanatos would have to lend it to the denizens of the mortal realm, they were all quite wily. While the Death had spent the last fifteen years with his arms cross in Hypnos' lightless and soundless cave, it was good to be back. To be home, and to have whatever extra time he'd been given with Hermes. Hermes, the lover of lasagna, quite naturally Thanatos had ordered the best. Black soup was... an odd preference, but Death had done his homework and paired it with quail and fresh bread. The wine was where he excelled, he'd spent an entire weekend curating the perfect bottles.

"I hope everything is to your liking," Thanatos said warmly as the three sat at the table together, he'd told Hermes and Prometheus to invite all of their friends... and here Thanatos was. "there's a lot of food, so please, dig in."

Apollo always said that Hyacinth was a terrible lyre player and a worse singer, by Godly standards and the standards of the Muses, that was likely true. By the standards of the mortal realm he was at least above average. In Elysium you were allowed to live out your impassioned profession infinitely, but Hyacinth had been born a soldier and had always been a soldier. So in the Elysian fields he'd gone to battle everyday, ran through those who crossed his path with his dory, then returned into the evening to drink and play by the fire. Reminiscing on former glories and the irritating ones of the Golden Fields, if something could not truly die, and a battle could not truly be won, it wasn't worth any praise. That was the stifling nature of the gilded cage where he and so many others had been placed.

Prometheus was a solitary soul. Hyacinth appreciated that about him, while he himself had been forged in a brotherhood of violence, his avariel kin had been baptised another way. In wings and solitary lashes and never ending pain, oh, how his friend had suffered. Like all Spartans Hyacinth had an infamously dry with, laconic phrasing was brief, curt and to the point. The weight of a true Spartan's silver tongue wasn't how many flowers he could place upon it but how deftly they could be understood.

A few light strings plucked as the two of them sat alone as they so often had in the days gone by, long nights where the pair sat in shared but comfortable silence. Prometheus was a taboo, a rebel in the midst of the Gods, at any time they could have descended upon him again. And yet, they did not. Apollo's answer to this was aloof and evasive at best, but perhaps the threat of their alleged paradise's end was enough for the moment. The First was dead, a tragedy, but Hyacinth had yet to weep. "She got Epimetheus in the divorce." Afterthought was spending an awful lot of time at the Pyramid, and he'd attended that macabre masquerade on her arm. Hyacinth knew mental warfare when he saw it, but love was another battlefield entirely.

“They’re all awake,” Echion said as he wrung his hands together, still fresh from his slumber, he could feel the rest of his family had stirred. A little over a month had gone by since Echion had been awoken, and in that time he’d made his way to Rome. “Udaeus, Hyperenor, Pelorus-” recounting the family that still lived, he studied his palm for a moment, watched pearly-scales coat his hand before they receded back into the regenerative flesh below. “Cthonius is dead, the originals killed him.” Neither side had won or lost, bloodthirsty Ares, dogmatic Pluto, fiery Venus, and deliberate Juno - he did not know why they had killed Cthonius, just that they had done so. “We fought-” Echion shook his head, strong as the spartoi were they couldn’t destroy them, “it wasn’t enough.” 

Something was off- Nettelia stood before Oztalun's tree in one moment, reminiscing of when her and Prometheus used to run wild beneath a similar light, and then in the next she was within a pyramid decorated wildly. Ornaments hung across the golden fig tree as if it had been decorated for precisely this occasion. It had grown since she had imbued it with his power, but still, it had not produced even a single fruit. Even as its branches extended towards the ceiling. From the pyramid she wandered to oaken streets, a sea of twinkling stars decorated the wooden sky as the streets were transformed into a forested gala. Nymphs played the sort of beautiful music she had not heard since in ages, fey danced alongside satyrs and drow alike.

It reminded her of a time forgotten to most, but not all.

"I know we never got much practice at these sorts of functions, but in the event that you were wondering: this is the part where you ask me to dance." A cellist by the name of Lil' Nasty accompanied the fey orchestra, Harlow, Isabella, and Aura accompanied him with more strings and operatic vocals.

"You caught me." Nettelia looked towards the speedster, his rapid footsteps had been audible for a fraction of a second and he'd likely been upon her before she even heard them, but she'd know their sound anywhere. "I was curious. It's quite beautiful, isn't it? I suppose they must have had similar structures in Elysia when you were there." Worlds ago when Prometheus was still young, when he spread his wings without a negative association being tied to it.

In truth there was a large part of her that was happy to see him and glad for the company. Nettelia's mind had been working overtime lately, guilt and regret at the forefront but she couldn't let them anchor her down. This city had been handed off to the next generation and she wanted to leave it to them, she did, but she loathed the thought of passing off a burden and calling it someone else's responsibility. This mess... What she did to Oztalun, this was her doing. She'd poured his pure soul into the damned book's creation, then the Asphodel had gone back and retrieved the other half. Nettelia couldn't right that wrong, not anymore, but she could focus on what could be done, and who could be saved. "Can I ask you something? It's about Octavian."