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CHAPTER VI: RETURN.

HOLLYWOOD, LOS ANGELES a new moon — ONE YEAR AND THREE MONTHS LEFT.

It has been a month and a half, more or less since the disastrous events at RAGNAROCK and there have been media circuses revolving around the destruction of the Los Angeles Convention Center, scratching and scraping, as well as the abrupt cancellation of the second day of the event. Headlines featuring the gods, peering into their mortal lives and where they could have gone were the subject of close scrutiny. It seems that their absence has not gone unnoticed. The gods' disappearance was a shock to the system, and for a while, it was the hottest story on the market.

That is, not until their abrupt return.

HECATE returned those trapped, as promised, as well as the other gods by opening a portal back to the surface through sheer force of will and effort. CLOTHO, still unresponsive, is tended to by LACHESIS, opting to stay in the Temple and promising to return when she can guarantee her sister’s health. There are specific instructions, she says, in her office on what to do and who to contact. Media outlets, heads of PR, reporters sympathetic to the gods. Whatever you say about LACHESIS, one thing is for certain: she’s damn good at her job.

The rest of them, however, return with HECATE and ATROPOS in tow—the former being too drained to create the portal back, and the latter returning to her duties as one of the primary bodyguards of the Pantheon. ATROPOS does not say much, but her steely resolve and the tightening of security around Olympus speaks for itself. Whether or not she’s willing to talk with her charges for once is up to them; she’s never been one for idle chatter.

This is clearly evident in a conference hall that has been set up—the evidence on the table all points to something that is obsessed with hunting down the gods. Locations of the next gods, possible incarnations, and even their current psychological profiles were all obvious points to target, but one thing eludes their grasp: PROMETHEUS’ GAMBIT. The text is shrouded in mystery and esoteric symbols, and whatever is left feels like the ramblings of a madman. Or someone drunk on power.

One thing is clear, however. They know who their enemy is, and what they want. Now, all that’s left is to find a way to stop them.

On the television, BRIGID hears her mother on a talk show focusing on the gods, talking about her new book, alongside someone else’s brother—SET’S. Apparently, the show is focusing on the lives of gods when they were mortal, and both of them are using it to their advantage. Primetime slot for the god-chasers and god-haters, and both of them are on the front page cover. The other gods are going to have other pieces of their past on display, and the show’s working their way down the line, it seems.

LILITH has had messages from ARUNA spanning their missing time. They start off calm, then grow increasingly panicked. She’s left something for them, it seems, in a storage unit in her name. Whether they follow up on their lead is her prerogative. There’s a key, sent to the mail, which INANNA finds first, mixed up in the important day to day mail that LACHESIS usually sifts through. They both have a way forward now, though time is of the essence. After all, who knows if it’s intel they find, or a corpse.

There is a brewing storm around SUSANOO, literally and figuratively. Inversely, the Sight WODEN has had the comfort of having still hasn’t returned, the stars in his eyes looking a little dimmer than usual. Control is the one thing SUSANOO has had lacking, though whatever control she lacks, she makes up for in flair. Strangely enough, what sticks out between them is the feeling of loss. Of friends, of direction, of safety. They come to a room with mannequins and padding, and maybe this time, they can make their own slice of safety between them and the monsters.

COATLICUE has their sights on keeping their followers safe—after all, the haven of misfits and outcasts should have a safe haven to return to. ATROPOS has offered her services to guard an upcoming performance above-ground with her daggers, as well as her security detail. Funnily enough, a few of EROS’ followers have the notion that he would turn up, and have subsequently gotten a couple of good seats already. Whether they both show up is a matter of debate, but it is certainly nice to find some normalcy around them. Relatively, at least.

OBJECTIVE: Determine Prometheus’ Gambit, and find a way to stop what is hunting them.

TIME ELAPSED: Two weeks.

[moderndivinityhq]

CHAPTER V: RESPITE.

HECATE’S DOMAIN, THE UNDERGROUND unknown — ONE YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS LEFT.

The Temple of the Triune, as the apparent worshippers that inhabit have taken to calling it, is filled with gothic architecture, with the accents of Ancient Greece about them. The statues, the rooms, even the numerous chandeliers and torches, they all feel as if the darkness was meant to cradle, instead of choke. LACHESIS has gotten the word out that RAGNAROCK will be cancelled—and it’s only the tip of the iceberg of things that have to be addressed. She has been fuming for an hour and a half, trying to contact someone, anyone so as to mitigate the damage, but has resorted to taking care of her sisters, to put her mind out of it. CLOTHO hasn’t woken up, and ATROPOS looks like she wants to smash her head against the wall every hour that passes inside. Things could have gone better, after all.

HECATE, in the flesh and still a little injured after the fight with the unknown entities, have called the gods to discuss what she knows. In a closed room, with dark chairs and darker moods, she shuts the door and tells the gods of old knowledge in a part of the Underground, that she had joined to her domain with the little power she had over the place, that had corroborated resources and postulates. There isn’t much to go on, just ravings and portents of someone that’s been in the Underground for too long. She looks to WODEN, for guidance but the confused, almost haunted look in his star-lit eyes only suggest that even he doesn’t know what’s going on, which is a definite first for him.

Nothing on the figure was known, and they certainly were not forthcoming about who they were, but what was apparent was they were a threat, and a dangerous one at that. HECATE does not know what they are, only that they exude malevolent energies by the ton, and that she would not want to meet them again. News topside has not been good, with the convention center being closed for repairs and public criticism from pundits and the Vox Populi condemning the gods for going through with RAGNAROCK even if it was a public hazard. A lot has happened, but she has tried to help, in her odd and indirect sort of way.

The worst news has come, however—they are trapped in the Underground, within its endlessly dark corridors, for the meanwhile. It took considerable energy for HECATE to send psychic visions, and much more for her to create a portal long enough for the gods to come to safety. It will be a few days before she will have the strength to open another one, in her current state. The gods are hiding for the moment, regrouping unless they have another catastrophe like RAGNAROCK. 

HECATE suggests they go over the library, enormous and expansive, asking them with partners so as to glean any and all information that she may have missed: EROS with INANNA, BRIGID with SUSANOO, WODEN with SET, and LILITH with COATLICUE. She says to make themselves useful, but there is a small smile to herself as she says this. The chiding tone of someone that has longed to be with them once again, even at the eve of their destruction. It is clear that she had missed the gods that she had long wanted to break free from, and here in the halls of her power, she had no reason to keep up appearances, however stony she may have appeared to be.

OBJECTIVE: Learn about the enemy and recover from the attack at Ragnarock.

TIME ELAPSED: Unknown.

[moderndivinityhq]

CHAPTER III: DIVISION.

OLYMPUS, HOLLYWOOD a new moon — ONE YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS LEFT.

The recent attacks on the Pantheon has reached the news in record time, leading many to wonder if the upcoming convention for the gods, RAGNAROCK will still press onward. The gods reside on Olympus, either healing or unable to come to a conclusion on what to do. CLOTHO is sufficiently worried, almost doting on the wounded, as well as WODEN, who has slept through the hours with no sign yet of waking. Whether this is something sinister or not remains to be seen, but his wolves are not letting anyone to his room, protective of their master. With this in mind, CLOTHO wants the convention to be shut down, much to the irritation of LACHESIS, who had planned this event months in advance with appropriate security measures. It is the first time that the two of them have openly disagreed on an issue on the gods; the tension in the air could have been cut with a chainsaw.

This is what ATROPOS, accompanied by BRIGID see as they walk back into Olympus. After a long flight, and dodging paparazzi and nosy media outlets trying to get back to the spire, they reach a scene of hectic silence. It is something out of a soap opera. A prodigal daughter returned home, she comes to two of her family shot and two of the Fates engaging in a verbal sparring match—not exactly a picture-perfect welcome. But she’s here, and she’s home. And it wouldn’t be home without a little dysfunction, now would it?

LILITH and SET have been inundated with calls and media personnel haranguing them for an interview on the attack at the party. Their phones have all been ringing and sounding off with notifications from PR people and interested channels all day since the attack. While accepting the calls is up to them—there have been more than a few calls from ARUNA BLAKE about something that they urgently need to see. The details are shifty and unclear, but she tells the both of them that she can’t just come around Olympus; if they could have somewhere a little more discreet to talk during the convention, she would appreciate it immensely.

INANNA is handling a few media briefings at Olympus when BRIGID arrives—she is the first face that the goddess sees upon returning. The first one that takes notice, at least. There is work to be done, even after attempted assassinations. EROS is by her side, trying to at least help in any way he can. There are still questions of which panels they will all attend, and what people to give golden VIP extra diamond fancy passes to. Celebrities and fans have begun their asking of who will attend, what to wear, and more importantly, if they are going to be safe. Will the gods they worship protect them, or will they wane at the last moment?

SUSANOO and COATLICUE surprisingly have some free time amidst all of the chaos. Social media is in a frenzy and the god-chasers are coming up with ideas on who or what even tried to attack the gods. Theories range from politicians to the Vox to superstitious eldritch forces. Many people have mentioned the gods for support, expressing well-wishes and gratitude, and some have taken to derisively talking about their divinity dying out. A familiar, unwelcome face in CARLISLE YOUNG has him talking about the other gods as if he was better than them; and while blasphemy is his game, he seems to have been the poster boy for the Vox movement. What’s a god to a god-hater, after all?

OBJECTIVE: Prepare for Ragnarock, and keep the rabid mortals at bay.

TIME ELAPSED: One week.

[moderndivinityhq]

CHAPTER II, PART II: DISRUPTION

WILLOW VAUGHN’S MANSION, BEVERLY HILLS GATEWAY a waning cresent — ONE YEAR AND SIX MONTHS LEFT.

Against all odds, the gods are invited to a party in Beverly Hills, much to the dismay of the surrounding homes—it’s filled with stars, booze and wide open air to see the stars. As many stars as you can get with the light pollution, at least. Plenty of bigwigs in the industry, movie stars, famous singers and a couple dozen models were invited, and it would be remiss to not have the gods there. WILLOW VAUGHN, a rising star in the acting and theater world. Ostensibly a pedigree actress, she’s got bartenders on deck, and DJs pumping music through the mansion she’d invited everyone to be in. No press, no managers, no rules. Though, there might be some nosy little sneaks here and there, the bouncers can take care of them, no sweat.

While the party is in full swing, with the gods talking, flirting or downright fighting with any guests there, a sharp pain shoots through their heads, a lance of almost malevolent energy that tells them that something is wrong. HECATE appears to them simultaneously, though to varying degrees of success, a hiss on her lips. She warns them about an irreversible gambit to be played, leading to a great darkness that will consume them all. She has never known to be fierce, but the blazing fury in her eyes almost forces you to listen to her. None of the other patrons seem to notice, except for the other gods in their midst.

There is a bang, in the distance that only they seem to hear, and HECATE fizzles out, as if a signal to be interrupted, telling them to look for the truth in this den of lies. As they blink, she is gone, the words uttered growing still in the night air, only a look of panic in her face as she disappears.

Only to be shattered by the breaking of a window and the screams of stars everywhere.

It happened quickly, cleanly, two shots rang out, glass broke and bent over backwards to run. Security was fast, but it seems that the assassins were faster. WILLOW has been courteous enough to use her first-aid kit, and get them patched up, even offering to drive them, and subsequently disregard Los Angeles traffic laws; whether or not they intend to accept is up to the Pantheon—they have better contacts, surely, but what can be said about a free ride?

Skip to an hour later and WILLOW having words with her security team, it is clear that there has been another attempt on their lives, and while they all got off relatively scot-free, SET and INANNA have been injured by what seems to be high-caliber rounds from assassins outside. The bullets, thankfully, passed through cleanly and did not hit anything vital. It hurts, but gods heal quicker than mortals—they’ll be back to their feet in a few days or so.

The best thing to do right now is patch it up, sit down and try not to bleed over the leather couches. Who knows, maybe there’s a silver lining to almost dying in a Beverly Hills McMansion.

OBJECTIVE: Take a breather, and maybe find some clues.

TIME ELAPSED: Three hours.

[moderndivinityhq]

TASK ONE — OH, WHAT A TANGLED WEB.

This task focuses on CONNECTIONS and your character—while I did have you write connections in your apps, now that you’ve been at least introduced to each other’s characters, I would like to see how your particular character thinks of the others. The Pantheon's down three, four if you count Hecate going missing—and what your characters think of each other matters! You’re all that’s left, after all. This task will be taken into account with the future plot drops, and is also there to help ease plotting and character interactions.

If you have trouble with where to start, a few places would be here:

What did they think of the others before ascending?

What did they think of the others when they showed up?

Did they ever go to their performances? What did they think? If not, why not?

How do their fans interact?

Do they separate the god from the person?

Where do you think the relationship is headed?

Please submit this plot drop by the 19TH OF DECEMBER! No minimum word count, but you should preferably write at least three sentences per character. You may write about open skeletons, but it’s up to you. This task is optional!

[moderndivinityhq]

CHAPTER II, PART I: ACCOLADES.

MICROSOFT THEATER, HOLLYWOOD a waning cresent — ONE YEAR AND SIX MONTHS LEFT.

The gods were invited to an awards ceremony; they aren’t supposed to be headliners, but that doesn’t stop them from arriving in the Starlight Theater with the appropriate glitz, glamour and panache that the gods keep giving to their adoring fans. Media outlets and news anchors are clamoring for their opinions of their dead family. Even the stars of the night, a dim light next to the supernova of gods that appear, want answers, to which they give their own unique replies; whether they volunteer information is up to them. They’re gods, after all—they’re barely beholden to mortals such as them.

That said, the Pantheon has found the stars of the night—forgetting that they recently had beef with each other, amidst all of the horror that’s been going on. A few actors look at the gods with distaste, one of them being CARLISLE YOUNG, currently nominated for a few awards. They’re not happy being upstaged by them on what was supposed to be their special night. However, others, such as ELEANOR WU don’t even bat an eye and take pictures with them; fans are fans, even if they wore Armani. They have seats, they have unlimited booze, and they’re the talk of the town. It’s almost like it’s back to regular programming. The Fates are back at Olympus, searching for HECATE, and will call for the gods if anything comes up. CLOTHO tells them to go and be gods again, with a smile on her face—maybe they won’t heal yet, but they can certainly do something that wasn’t staring at walls.

SET and SUSANOO are monoliths of chaos in front of the reporters trying to get their stories about how they’ve been recovering as soon as they arrive on the red carpet. They hound the gods, and all of them are free to do as they wish, but their combined presence has got storm clouds brewing on the horizon. Whether they stay and give them a few crumbs to chew on or blow them off like storm winds on clouds is one thing, but the gods seem to have heard, from at least a few interviews, that the media has caught wind of something stirring in the Underground.

Oddly enough, EROS, INANNA and LILITH have been instructed to talk to a few fans and peers by Lachesis, even if fans weren’t really the optimal word here. It would have been better, it seems, if they weren’t seen by the actors that didn’t actively have beef with the trio themselves as they were coming to this ceremony. Gossip is that they’re going to be upstaged by some new act in a few months, and they’ll all be irrelevant after. Whether they confront the actors spreading vicious gossip or turn the other cheek is up to them, but either way everyone else is getting a show.

In contrast, however, WODEN has seen a vision, the strings of fate coalescing into something extremely vivid in front of his eyes. It is HECATE, staring balefully, almost manically into his eyes. She only utters a word, garbled in dream-haze: “Prometheus,” her tone accusatory before shunting WODEN back forcefully into the world. COATLICUE however, in between rolling his eyes at the awardees and deflecting questions, has already found him in the bathroom, and is trying to fend off any reporters—they’re already snapping their photos and writing headlines to give to the tabloids, but that doesn’t mean that COATLICUE can’t find it in himself to give them a good scare or two.

OBJECTIVE: Get through the night, so you all can go to the afterparty.

TIME ELAPSED: Five hours.

[moderndivinityhq]

The first plot drop’s up, godlings and this means MODERNDIVINITY is live! Go forth and interact; send starters and calls because this is going to be one hell of a ride!

[moderndivinityhq]

CHAPTER I: GENESIS.

OLYMPUS, HOLLYWOOD. the autumnal equinox — ONE YEAR AND SIX MONTHS LEFT.

Death hangs over the gods’ heads like a cloud. The gods have convened in the Pantheon’s headquarters, under the watchful gaze of the Fates, a month after the death of THOTH and HECATE’S disappearance thereafter. Even after trying to comb the Underground for any clues, they still haven’t found a trace of the missing goddess, effectively condemning her in the eyes of ATROPOS, her knife gleaming with intent and anger at the disappearance. Still, the gods try to rally and bring her in alive, even if the Fates say that the psychic backlash could very well be something of her own doing.

LACHESIS says that appointments for miracles and performances are still there, even after these set of tragedies, and it is up to the gods whether they will pull through or back out. She tells them that BRIGID has secluded themselves within their church, and they are refusing all contact. LACHESIS has thought that it would be out of fear, but she does not exactly know why. All she knows is that none of them can get through to her. They can search in the meanwhile, and perform, but she would rather have them where she can see them, in the confines of Olympus.

There is rest in Olympus, there is solace, but the skulls on the thrones of the dead are foreboding. It is tradition, CLOTHO notes, that those dead before their time are denoted with skulls to signify their passing. She does not tell you anything else, the grief from losing these three apparently putting a damper on her mood. The sisters are affected, that much is clear, but they do not seem to do much of anything except mourn. Gods die, and they are used to it, it seems.

For now, there is nothing to do except be on the lookout, perform at the residencies that the gods so dearly hold, and maybe find a clue or two in the meanwhile.

OBJECTIVE: Keep safe, and try to find some semblance of normalcy—whatever passes for that with what’s left of the gods.

TIME ELAPSED: Two weeks.

[moderndivinityhq]

UPDATE: A day before opening godlings, and a timeline has opened up! Check it and see what has happened so far in this Recurrence!

[moderndivinityhq]

UPDATE: New lore has been added to the navigation, concerning media and the gods! I can’t wait to see what y’all have been working on, and I hope everyone’s having a good one! 

[moderndivinityhq]

❝  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead. Thunderous one, a divine anger is unleashed upon you, and you unleash upon it in turn. Even in your exile, your name is written in the stars. Hero. Prince. God. ❞

STORY.

The wild child—led by the nose of their impulses and bad decisions, or so the tabloids would say. You want to live up to the expectations of your god, the amazing things you read that they did, but the Recurrence has never been kind to gods like you; so you let loose and try to forget. Take your pick, between people and feuds and material goods, there is nothing that you can’t have; your godhood has afforded you this. Lightning and rain escapes you, a trademark of the god that has chosen to reside within your chest. Their miracles are flashy but without direction; a sputtering flame in the middle of a glorious blaze. Your escapades, however, catch many an eye—any press to you, is good press, after all.

TRAITS.

(+) — spontaneous, loving, creative

(−) — reckless, impulsive, awkward

MIRACLES.

Seas call to you, and so does the lightning above—the thunderous storms of your performances begging to be known. There is power, gravitas that you haven’t learned to tap into yet, but they make you known every time you flash a smile or snap your fingers. It’s intoxicating, this miracle, this one thing that you think you would never be able to quit.

CONNECTIONS.

EROS: People just gravitate towards EROS that they never did towards you—and honestly, you were just one of them. Though, every time they looked at you, there was this feeling in your chest building that you couldn’t place. Maybe it was uneasiness, or your skin crawling, but it never eased, even when all of you were complete together. Though now, you have to admit, seeing EROS alone sends an ache through you—maybe they just need a friend.

LILITH: You are impulse, LILITH is temptation; the both of you seem to mix as well as fire and gasoline, egging the other on to do crazy things that are as productive as setting your skin on fire. You’re bad for each other, you think, but every time you drive down empty highways and let people in to lick the nectar off your lips, it feels as if it is all worth it. LILITH is a friend, your truest friend—your closest, and you would do anything for them.

THIS SKELETON IS TAKEN BY: HANNAH.

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❝  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead. You are the lady of the damned. Demon incarnate, you were always the instigator, the first. First to rebel. First to leave paradise. first to become great. ❞

STORY.

Beloved in your own right, hated by most; you are no god they say, but in your power is the following of those loved less, loved least. You were always hated then, but the glory of godhood has steeled your spine and curled your lips into something that feels almost like a weapon. There is no feud you won’t use, no incendiary remark that you will hold back, no blackmail worthy information too small. The god that will burn their fields and salt the earth that they stand on; no person alive can silence you, and no person alive can withstand your assault. They call you demon, witch, unholy matron, but to be fair you’ve just ended their lives in two hundred characters—you can let them have their tantrum.

TRAITS.

(+) — charismatic, rebellious, avant-garde 

(−) — guarded, antagonistic, glib

MIRACLES.

There is nothing flashy about you—you work subtly, a touch of poison on your tongue, toxins working their way onto the skin. They say that you perform as if you’re trying to start something, to say something. Even the government is wary of you, but that just makes it all the more fun. What’s life without a little rebellion, after all?

CONNECTIONS.

BRIGID: It was always a surprise that you had formed a friendship with the brighter of the gods, a literal saint that seemed too good to be true, but you have and you did. None of the outlets believe you when you say it, nor do any of your fans, but you will let them believe what they want. You are just content to let the both of you be friends in the middle of all this chaos—though, if you were to be honest, you were just waiting for BRIGID to leave, like all the rest.

EROS: Coming with them to wrap parties and concerts was as easy as apple pie—both of you were loved, were panned and everything in between. You reveled in the roiling masses chanting your name in frustration and adoration, and EROS seemed to shrink back. The two years afforded to both of you weren’t going to be wasted, and they were going to have to see that, and you were going to make them, whether they liked it or not.

THIS SKELETON IS TAKEN BY: KIT.

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❝  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead. Beloved, betrothed, you wait in the wings, entwining destinies all the same. You are love, you are passion, you are eternal.  ❞

STORY.

Beautiful. That is what they call you most of all. Not talented, not amazing, not godly, but beautiful. It is what you are and what you have been. The beauty that they’ve so desperately seen has been with you since your mortality. You hate it—even more so now that you’re a god, pretty and worthless besides, as if the beauty you desperately loathed solidified into a cage that you would never be free from. There has to be a silver lining after all the miracles, the performances, but all you want to do is tear the divinity out from your chest and watch it wither. Some days, you look out at the crowd and lick the praise off their lips, but you know that all you want is to be more than this, more than what they say you are, but you don’t know if you can. 

TRAITS.

(+) — beautiful, observant, magnetic

(−) — jaded, self-loathing, cold

MIRACLES.

Known for performances that make everyone fall in love, find it or desperately want to experience it with you, you learn that there is nothing worse than power that seems almost ineffectual. You heighten emotion, you make a spectacle of yourself, you make them know your beauty. It would be nice, if you took the time to not hate yourself for it.

CONNECTIONS.

INANNA: Ruler, divine, icon. You think you can see yourself in their place, but you would laugh at yourself sooner than most; it wasn’t really a competition between you two, when you were acting out and INANNA wasn’t even batting an eyelash. It was petty, foolish even. Childish and stupid and several other things you’ve told yourself, but you couldn’t stop doing it—you wanted them to succeed, if only to reach their level once and for all.

COATLICUE: They are a solace in the haze of divinity; maybe you could learn to be like COATLICUE, caring about the performance more than the divinity that is within you. The Underground’s never been your scene, but you’ve been coming to more and more of their concerts (which resemble bloodbaths and mosh pits most of the time) and you had to say you found yourself intrigue. You weren’t used to being a fan, but you did like how it felt.

THIS SKELETON IS TAKEN BY: KAEL.

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❝  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead. The fount of life springs forth from you, creation unbound. In triplicate, your power grows within. Goddess of words, goddess of fire, goddess of life. ❞

STORY.

More of a saint than a god, you have found your followers a church of some sort, hanging on to your loving words as a preacher talks to their beloved congregation. It’s familiar, comforting even, being a reverend to guide the flock, reminding you of the mortal you once were, before this all came to pass. Your concerts, your miracles have found themselves a holy light to it, and you can’t help but feel as if you are a prophet in triplicate, another divine coming of a saint most holy. You are the most blasphemous one, or the least, depending on the person you ask. Are you a saint? A sinner? The grey in between? You find yourself asking yourself the same thing, and the answers do not come to you as easy as the others.

TRAITS.

(+) — compassionate, humble, trusting

(−) — naive, nervous, over-analytical

MIRACLES.

The miracle of healing, of spring courses through your veins, angelic as it may be to all the disciples that worship you, you can feel the flames licking at your veins, comforting, warm, powerful. It frightens you sometimes, but that is the mantle of a god, even one that seeks to be as tender and comforting as the one you believed, before you became this.

CONNECTIONS.

SET: You don’t understand most of the gods, but you understand SET easily enough. You’d known them when they were mortal, and they knew you in turn. They were a friend of yours, then they became a god, and you can’t help but want them back somewhere the both of you didn’t have to play at being divine, just friends, just the two of you. It seems like a pipe dream, more than anything, so you address them as the divinity that they want to be, even if it feels false.

INANNA: Regal, beautiful, powerful. INANNA was what a god should have been, what they were supposed to be, not a prophet spouting off miracles that their fans wanted to see. You can’t help but be in awe of them, even if they brush you off and pat your head like a child. They were the eldest, the first, and you were going to learn all you could from them; it wasn’t going to be easy, but who said godhood was just a walk in the park? 

THIS SKELETON IS TAKEN BY KAY.

[moderndivinityhq]

❝  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead. Trickster, changebringer, lord of fire. The sun you have guarded, and the throne you have taken—where the bloodied mantle of divinity upon your head lays heavy. Forever. ❞

STORY.

An agent of chaos, that’s what the sisters call you, that is what the press say that you are. You are spitfire and trickery and everything that seemed to be as wrong with the gods as the media and their detractors had intended. But you are mortal, more mortal than any god that had ever been. They shun you for it. But your godhood and all that comes with it has not escaped their notice; from your miracles and your lovers and the chaos that seems to follow the performances you do in the middle of the street. There is something within you that has been waiting to emerge, a silent rebellion against the sin of being a person within a god. You have paid a high price for divinity, and you will not be mortal again.

TRAITS.

(+) — resourceful, loyal, grounded

(−) — stressed, insecure, chaotic

MIRACLES.

You bring change into the world, the chaos of it all pouring off you like rain. For good or for ill, it lays before you, a red carpet of sand and fire and storms that you’ve carved out for yourself. Sometimes, you think it’s too much, sometimes not enough, but they still call for your name—so you must be doing something right.

CONNECTIONS.

COATLICUE: The underground artist—or, well, what passes for underground when it suits them. You don’t understand it some days, why they would keep to themselves in the darkness of it all, but they don’t understand your flash performances in the middle of busy intersections, so it pans out. COATLICUE has seen you, and heard you; you call them a friend now, between late night drinks and performances. Maybe a collaboration is due any time.

SUSANOO: Both of you have the same problem, and both of you manage to fuck up in very different and absolutely spectacularly ways. It’s almost artistic, the way the way you and SUSANOO manage to pop a blood vessel with the Fates and the other members of the Pantheon. If the god thing didn’t work out, the both of you could always become partners-in-crime of a criminal enterprise. But that would be for another day.

THIS SKELETON IS TAKEN BY: ROZ.

[moderndivinityhq]

❝  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead. One-eyed seer, you walk the world with the threads of fate around you, the divine knowledge etched into your soul. Walk the world with thought and memory. With forethought. With magic. ❞

STORY.

Diviner. It is the mantle that you have taken, and the mantle that you love above all else. You read the stars and the hearts of people instead of tarot cards and tea leaves now, not as different as you were back then, but much more potent. Magic and knowing are the hallmarks of all that you are now, the person you once were, lost beneath the sea of mysticism and strangeness you find yourself gravitating towards. The shine of divinity is not lost the oddities that you perform, and people can always find you in the edges, enigmatic with almost a gravity to you, giving you the Valhalla that you deserve. Only dedication leads them to your shrines, and they’re never disappointed in what they find.

TRAITS.

(+) — intelligent, serious, temperate

(−) — secretive, detached, odd

MIRACLES.

Holy. It is a holy thing, an arcane thing in your veins now, stuff of gods and myth. You hold audience as the gallows-god, the hooded figure, the magic in your veins telling your followers the truths that they have always needed to see. There is nothing that you cannot know, nothing that divinity has withheld from you, and the blessings you give your devotees are proof of it.

CONNECTIONS.

BRIGID: Bright, gleaming, sunny. They are something that you fear, you think. You can almost always see their future warping and wearing and twisting into something that makes your head hurt—light obscured in darkness was never pleasant to think about. So you keep a watchful eye on BRIGID, and stay silent. The future can be wrong, and the visions can be false, so you will bide your time and let them make their choices.

SET: Both of you were friends with the dead god, and then both of you weren’t. In the middle, you managed to find solace within each other; maybe it was ill-advised, but you didn’t mind. Late nights alone with SET were certainly enjoyable, if the other had anything to say about it. Whenever you’re around SET, it seems better, a little brighter than the future your cards would have told you, and you think that they would agree.

THIS SKELETON IS TAKEN BY ISAAC.

[moderndivinityhq]

❝  𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead. Mother of all, you thirst for the vengeance that has consumed you. The earth you carry, and the earth you will become once more. ❞

STORY.

There was always an anger in you, but it was not simple, the seething beneath your skin, and that is what the ever-present caretakers saw—a divine violence that needed to be brought out. Now, that anger is your mantle and your blade, the sweet nectar that your miracles taste of. Your fans are odd ducks, and there have been times where people have shed blood for you on those mosh pits, but nothing makes you smile more. Critics have called you dangerous and the media has decried your concerts, calling you too violent, too angry, too much. You’ve heard worse coming from yourself. There is no answer that will suffice. Of course, you are the earth itself, creation at its most feral—what did they expect from the serpent-skirted?

TRAITS.

(+) — brave, resilient, passionate

(−) — rash, irritable, dismissive

MIRACLES.

Darkness and death radiate off you in waves, the hollow feeling of being eaten almost at the forefront of your followers’ minds. But there is something else there, the earth that you so choose to unleash your feral anger off of. It’s a balance, you think, between creation and consumption—though, one you have never cared to maintain.

CONNECTIONS.

LILITH: Both of you are the only underworld deities left—deities being the operative term, as you’ve never learned if the god that inhabits them really is a god, or something else that pretends. Either way, you find a strange kinship with LILITH, their petty feuds and your angry miracles almost mirroring each other in a sort of kismet. You don’t give praise easily, but you will concede that their tricks and deceptions were fun to watch unfold.

WODEN: Their shtick—knowing things, would have been useful in the scheme of things, if they didn’t stick to the cryptic messaging that made your head hurt and your eyes roll. You appreciate WODEN, sure, but their prophecies always left a bad taste in your mouth, one you couldn’t wait to wash out. They were a god like you, your beloved part of a pantheon, but by all that you hold dear, you just wanted the cryptic messages over with.

THIS SKELETON IS TAKEN BY: ANA.