#person: nettelia

[safiyebalik]

who: @netteliax where: Lupercalia

It had been a day of fighting hellhounds and kelpies, wiping the sweat from her brow, she grinned. It was a pity that she lost but she was in public and so had to keep a good spirit for the crowd. While leaving the arena, she shot a cold look in Octavian's direction -- she hated losing and he was a growing problem. As a Keeper, she choose to remember all of the war and so getting her hands bloody helped to keep her mind clear, a fighters instinct that removed every obstacle that was on the field. She spots Nettelia wrinkling her nose at the warm beer and runs to catch up. Happy that the Archdruid is there. "Are you playing in any games?"

[alvcro]

closed starter for @netteliax location: training grounds AGAIN note: *dad pose*

Alvaro didn't much care about morality, good and evil. He'd seen both sides of it and both sides were of interest to him. However, he had seen what the necronomicon had done to Nettelia and he didn't want it to happen to Efigenia, too. There were only a few people he could confide in about this without the witch catching him sniffing around about it. Of course, the main person would be the actual creator of the necronomicon in said Nettelia. He wouldn't blame her for the path his current witch had taken. It would never really be her fault, but she had created the book. Alvaro was no moral compass or anything, yet he felt like this wasn't what he wanted for Efi. She had been through too much and he could only hope that she would stick with those that had her best interests. People like the Narcissus coven. Kaan was determined to look out for the coven and why would he not trust the necromancer? Well, probably because he was indeed a necromancer, but he had moved on from that to a degree now. Nevertheless, Alvaro was not about to spread Efigenia's business about so he would have to be discreet about his asking. Upon seeing Nettelia, he made sure to play several different ways this conversation could go in his head so he was prepared. He was sure it would go none of those ways, but he had a few pre-recorded responses in his head. "Nettelia. Can we talk?" That felt so odd to phrase it like that.

[netteliax]

Archdruid.

You're used to hearing that you're something above the ordinary, golden You want to be the one and only Doesn't it get lonely

content warning: violence and death.

They were coming. 

There were hundreds at first, on two, four, or more legs they crawled or they ran. Nettelia stood amidst a field of corpses, men and women that she’d been working alongside only moments prior, soldiers that she had been trying to heal, innocents that the archdruid was giving everything to protect. Beneath her feet the ground rumbled like thunder, growing louder hundreds became thousands as demons crawled from the bottom of the Abyssal pit while the Inferno collapsed behind them. 

Death had long become comfortable to her, He was an old friend in which the archdruid was painfully familiar with. She’d met him more than once, he was there when she bid farewell to nieces and nephews, he stood at the ready when Nettelia said goodbye to friends or acolytes that were taken far too soon. The nymphs that used to braid her hair, the fey that used to fill her life with so many songs and so many fables. He had not come for her husband, and selfishly, Nettelia had been grateful. 

These demons were coming for her, they were coming for her home, and thousands grew further, middling, lesser and greater: half a million with the monarchy of Hell toted above them. Charon, Alecto, Minos, Rhadamanthus, an Aeacus in cages and chains, they’d be dead already if Death had not opted to turn a blind eye. Lucifer with their six present siblings, an army that grew as it continued to rumble from below, not only did they march, but they dug as well into the ground beneath her feet. Nettelia the mad, the deranged, the heartbroken woman who’d given everything and lost just as much for a man who couldn’t look at her without cringing. 

She’d brought Epimetheus here to protect him, if nothing else Nettelia thought that she could shelter him but the force of the blast had been too quick and too great. Too sudden, Nettelia was immune, but still she had taken the power that came her way and hoarded it like the glutton so many had taken to see her as. The woman who couldn’t let go, the mad creature who’d slaughtered a hundred just to save one. Selfish to her core. Unforgiving, petty, relentless, and ruthless. Maybe it was true, maybe she was all of those things: but if she had forced Epimetheus away from the beginning like she should have, her brother-in-law would still be alive. He was a comforting thought, Epimetheus reminded her of one of the last times she’d been happy, and in her greed she had kept him at her side. 

His lifeless body next to her, stripped of flesh, the feathers of the avariel strewn about- Nettelia shouldn’t have been able to recognize him. It was the macabre nature of the archdruid that was half death and half divinity to know a person by the shape of their skull alone, by the width and breadth of their ribcage and how he’d coiled his arms in front of his face in fear of the end. Nettelia had failed him, she’d failed so many, now the hordes of Hell sought to wash the earth while the book still lived and breathed at her back. She couldn’t allow that, whatever time she could buy for them, Nettelia would: gladly, and hopeful that if it was nothing else then it could at the very least be enough.

The demons felt like fire, a great rise of hellfire over the horizon that looked at the vile archdruid as an easy meal. Among her siblings there were none with a knowledge so intricate in the ways of healing as her, the healer always had the bloodiest hands, and those most apt at repairing the body were most apt at destroying it as well. Elements of the earth: what else was a body if not a composite of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon, calcium, and phosphorus? Sulphur, potassium, sodium, chlorine, and magnesium? She’d come to understand each as she had knit them neatly together to create the necronomicon in the first place, bindings of flesh and bone to infuse magic and creation itself. From the bedrock of the Otherworld itself Nettelia pulled the power from the foundation of the shifting realm, let it sing under her veins as the murkiness of the swamps desiccated, the trees petrified and shattered. The air itself became still and quiet as the clouds above evaporated. Into the archdruid their power was pulled until there was nothing but a barren, trembling earth beneath her feet. 

Nettelia’s hands touched the ground at her feet, the dark gift of transference, of life and of death was a weight that Oztalun had saddled her with. A blessing and a curse, she’d used him once to create the necronomicon, and the Asphodel had used him a second time to further their means. This had begun with her and this would end with her. 

Tendrils of magic threaded their way into the corpses and the devastated, ripped apart at the seams, shredded by the necronomicon’s insatiable appetite, the parts of the Allies’ bodies that were torn away were patched up with rocks, with water, with fire, and with air. Nettelia sewed them together as she stitched their bodies, amalgamations of flesh, bone, and the ephemeral elements of the Otherworld beneath their feet. Necromantic golems of the fallen Allies stood in the path of the great force, some in the shape of serpents, others as giants, or dire wolves. Teeth, claws, and breaths of concussive air, flames, or torrents of highly pressurised water that could cut diamonds. 

The demons broke against her wall, violet eyes blazed, and Nettelia screamed.

[dionaeia]

title: a new dawn when: post the tinkerer where: audelie trigger warnings: none

Dionaeia knows she is dead moments before it happens. 

There is not enough time to react, even with her usual forewarning. Not while she is battling a brother that she has slowly begun to see as a stranger, not when the same sense that warned her of her imminent death warns her that this is the end. 

She is not coming back. 

For a long time it’s all she had wanted. For a long time, it’s what she had craved.

The talk with Nettelia remains ever present upon her head, the offer to give her an ending if that is what she so wished after the war. 

She had denied the offer, not willing to bloody her sister’s hands any further with druids blood, but she had not forgotten it. 

It lived, ever present on the back of her head, a siren’s call she assumed would one day succumb to. 

As she lies bleeding out on the ruins of Rome, as her brotherheroemperorstranger approaches to do the unforgivable, Dionaeia realizes she would have never succumbed.

She had always been torn between duty and desire. Always wanting but never doing because she had made an oath to humanity, and she had seen it as her highest duty, any personal desires notwithstanding. 

She had waited for Oztalun’s return, waited for her father to take from her and give her her final duty. 

He had never come. 

Purpoless, unaware of how to be selfish after so long shackled by the bounds of duty, Dionaeia had not known what to do.

Dying had been the easier option, a tempting call telling her to lay down and rest. 

But as she faces death, as she faces the end of her existence, she realizes she had never wanted to rest

What she had wanted was a choice, something she never thought she had, shackled by duty and urged to loyalty to her people, to her siblings and to humanity. 

As she lies dying, and Octavian reaches to take her soul, Dionaeia realizes the truth. 

She doesn’t want to die. 

She dies. 

Then she doesn’t. 

The world disappears as her soul is taken, and she opens her eyes to the Allied Forces barracks on the first day of the war. Looking across the barracks, she meets Nettelia’s eyes, and sees the same sort of vague knowledge in her eyes. 

Time travel has been used once before, and she doesn’t doubt that it will be used again. 

Still, she can’t help the long cackling laugh that leaves her lips, the near hysteric realization that her brother had killed for power's sake. 

The Octavian she loved is gone. She does not know the man he had left behind, but if he tries his bullshit once more, she will bind him, imprison him and throw away the keys. 

There is no killing a monster like Octavian, there is no killing a Phoenix. But she can subdue him. 

Never let it be said that she doesn’t hold grudges.

Never let it be said that she isn’t patient, now that she realizes she never wanted to die. 

Dionaeia has all of the time in the world to deal with the man that she no longer calls a brother. 

For now? 

For now she wants to be a little selfish.

[bebevlnt]

Location: Near the animal show Person: Baeby Girl @lulucretias

“Do you think they’ll turn into otters and re-enact what’s going on at the gladiator fights?” Tearing her eyes away from Nettelia in octopus form juggling what appeared to be several orbs of something, Bebe looked to Lucretia as she grabbed something from her tray before offering her girlfriend her own. They’d coordinated, one of them would take a drink tray, the other would take a food tray, and then they’d meet up and take a little something from each other, as a treat. Her own tray was boasting a hell of a lot of snacks meanwhile Lucretia’s had what must have been the best berry mimosa she’d ever tasted. She was in a good enough mood to even offer one to one of those twinks that wouldn’t invite her to brunch.

[rowanivar]

Person: @destinedgray Location: the pyramid binch He knows he's welcome there, Andreas had said so and it's technically not even the first time he's stepped inside it, he'd stood at Nettelia's side during....Rowan didn't like to think too hard on it as he sits there across from his cousin on the comfiest couch he thinks he's ever had the pleasure of sitting on. "Hey." It's the first time they've really talked since all of that, since Gabriel, since Emma. "I wanted to stop in and make sure you're not in a coma again." There's a dryness to his tone but the small smile playing across his lips give him away.

[senatushq]

Godling

NAME/ALIASES. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown SPECIES. Aspect GENDER & PRONOUNS. UTP AFFILIATIONS. UTP OCCUPATION. UTP

History

Yet unnamed, once every several thousand millennia a Godling was hatched in the celestial palaces of Arvandor. A child of Angharradh, great-great grandchild of Sune, what celestial elven force Godling had been previously was lost now. Filtered through the stars that had distilled this future God, raised from infancy on ambrosia, Godling could still become the patron of many things. Perhaps even anything. A future King, a future Queen, an emissary of Shadows, a lord of the Abyss: the decision was bright, but as Godling grew they became increasingly curious of the world outside Arvandor’s borders. If it took an elf a century to reach maturity, it took a godling a thousand years to do the same. With each passing year they grew just a little, and matured just barely until at last they reached their prime. Yet still their path was uncertain, Arvandor had little need and Godling was simply that still… A Godling, immortal but without any real or clear purpose. 

A ship of soratami design floated towards the shores of Arvandor and from the privacy of Godling’s home amidst the clouds, they watched a silver haired boy drink from the Laurelin’s pool, she watched a winter eladrin turn into a pup, and they saw a sad man go from elf to mortal. Godling couldn’t help but wonder why any of these three would want to change from what they were, but they’d each transformed just the same. Curious and bright, they watched the muse Melpomene argue with her father, and Godling lingered in the trees as their mother revealed herself to each in her own way. When they left, Godling’s mind was already made up, for months they begged Queen Angharradh to let them see the mortal realm, and after relative peace was gained the Queen of many dead goddesses acquiesced. She placed a great deal of protection over Godling, assigned the deva Lumalia to their protection, and then sent Godling off into the world so that they could find themselves there. The Queen chartered a voyage and sent the two off, hopeful that when Godling returned they brought the future with them. 

Connections

Artemis: Protector

Apollo: Protector

Thanatos: Protector

Hypnos: Protector

Amaterasu: Protector

Heimdall: Protector

Fenrir: Protector

Jormungandr: Protector

Merlin: Protector

Morgana: Protector

Psyche: Protector

Pandora: Protector

Tisiphone: Protector

Megaera: Protector

Aeacus: Protect

Michael: Protector

Aren: Protector

Nettelia: Protector

Octavian: Protector

Dionaeia: Protector

Abilities

Gates: Able to pass through wards of any kind and cannot be contained within a cell, when attempting to lock them away they'll just walk out.

Deva: The deva, Lumalia, is their personal bodyguard and is never far away. Those who try to attack Godling will immediately die.

Immortal: Ageless and undying, Godling is immune to all curses.

Protection: Powerful protections have been placed on Godling, all divine creatures, those with Grace, or those blessed by Gods will be compelled to protect them.

Weaknesses

Elven: Incapable of telling lies.

Seraph: A seraph blade through the heart will kill Godling, their true divinity has not yet shown itself so they will not enter Uthenera.

THIS SKELETON IS CURRENTLY OPEN.

[marcellabelanades]

Person: @vincenzodives Location: alexa play cemetery drive It's become an old habit, that she goes every day to that same place she'd first seen Nettelia in hopes of seeing the druidess again. But on the way to the Amaranthus memorial, Marcella always makes a couple of stops. It never matters that she talks to Zeke nearly every day, she goes to his grave and rests a hand against the headstone because she can. From there it's harder, she finds herself kneeling down in the dirt and clearing away any debris, fixing flowers and giving them a little extra encouragement to stand up a bit more. She comes back to him all the time, the man who she had helped escape a catsith with a little music, the one she'd shared macarons with as they watched lycans maul one another. There are days that feel heavy and dark where she sits there on her knees before the headstone of Vincenzo Dives and she wishes she could sit there in the stands with an almost stranger who she thinks she shares a kind of kinship with. But she's not met with the sight of an overrun grave, not today. Because there's a blonde man standing there and she stops in her tracks, eyes wide. And then she practically launches herself at him and she's not a hugger, it's always made her feel weird, but in that moment she is. "You better start explaining right now." Her tone is the same as it had been when she'd told him that Snowball was a cat and then put Evanescence on, matter of fact.

[destinedgray]

Time: Early year 1 Location: The underground leftovers of Nettelia's place with the Tree(tm) Characters: @tamlenx & @destinedgray Notes: who are you -the kazoo kid

His family was buried, with them all his hopes and aspirations. Aren didn't know yet what to do with the leftover breath in his lungs and the stubborn beating of his heart. The last place he had found any true joy was amid the glow of Oztalun's tree, promising to marry Evelina there before the battle. Before looking for Alek he had confirmed the tree lived, that it was safe. So he finally returned there now, capable of making his way underground despite the rubble as a digging creature. There he finally stood, staring at the only thing left that might have sparked any hope in Aren's chest. But he didn't feel hope. At the very least, still felt love for this fig tree, for the power residing it and love for the person he had been the last time he stood in the very same place he did now. So he remained there. He'd remain there for however long he continued to live in this world, that was a certainty.

What wasn't a certainty was what Aren was going to do when he heard someone else's approaching presense. How they had made it down, Aren didn't know. But he had no fight left in him - just slight confusion as he looked towards the... "Elf." Not just an elf, but this man reminded Aren of the Muses he had seen in the Masquerade. He held a spark of that divine power, but the spark he had was a storm in comparison to most others with any magic. There was nothing insignificant about that power he felt, but Aren was slightly reassured he wasn't a threat when the stranger displayed about as much confusion as the Archdruid had.

He walked around the fig tree, eyes on the elf. "I don't know you."

[lulucretias]

closed starter for @oraculumx location: necromanteoin's summit note: it's lit

Lucretia felt like she was really on cloud nine right now. She was sure that nothing could ever top the feeling that she felt right now. It sure as hell helped with whatever self-doubt she'd had following everyone she spoke to. Nettelia had no faith in her. Bebe didn't either. It was only the Asphodel and the one person that had always had her back regardless of anything that could ever happen. And she would always have his as well. "My little croissant." She ran up to him and grabbed his shades off his face to put on her own. "Tell me how fucking cool I looked doing that. Come on, you know it was awesome."

[alvcro]

closed starter for @netteliax location: midsommar PARTAY note: alexa play a thousand years platonic version

It had been a very, very long time since he had seen Nettelia. The memory of what had caused that separation seemed to slip his mind completely. Instead, it was replaced with nothing but warmth towards the woman that had been a guiding hand for him so long ago. Where had she been? Why had they not seen each other in so long? He could remember the after, but the middle was just gone. It was no matter though. Maybe they'd get time to truly talk some time after this function for Silenus. Alvaro had found time between the many productions of Hamlet and the animal shows to find her. Well, that was actually where he had found her in the first place. The animal shows. It was amusing to him, but he couldn't help but enjoy every bit of the performance. Once she had broken away for a moment, he had held a hand out towards her. "May I have this dance?" The piano had started up again, some person he did not know singing over it. All he could really focus on though was the reunion with one of his very best friends.

[netteliax]

@destinedgray​ location: Knossos 2000 BC - Present day Pyramid notes: :) :(

Nettelia left Oztalun behind, a God that had been like a father to her. His deflated corpse withering, his golden scales fading as the archdruid felt the light going from the world. Even as dawn began to crest over the horizon, Nettelia’s world had never felt darker. Grief hung heavy in her limbs, a secret that she and Dionaeia had long shared: this was where they had failed, and in this return to the past Nettelia had stood by and let her maker fall once again. Stood over him as he took his dying breath, said goodbye to a fountain of wisdom that Nettelia would never get to see again. There was nothing the archdruid despised more than the Gods, no one she resented more than the creatures that looked upon her flesh as little more than an amphora to be filled. She was so much more than what Oztalun had made her to be, Aren was more, Dionaeia was more, and Octavian was more - and in his final breath, Oztalun said as much. Not once now, but twice. Real cruelty was that he’d chosen to spit in the face of her ire, that he had the audacity to reaffirm that if there were any who were worthy of her love, that it was he. 

“It’s over, Aren.” Nettelia stood between the archdruid and his intended path, perhaps the Asphodel who lorded over their fallen father’s body. Her brother smelled of phoenix fire and that alone seemed to smolder between them. Thousands of years they two had been apart, if she’d gone to Aren, would he have understood? Eren was fond of saying that he might have saved her, but there was no helping a person who was resigned to their destiny. From here Nettelia set about defying death, she crafted the means for the paradox that would bring the necromancers here so many years later. Time in a current that could not be dismissed. Nettelia had killed The First through her course and her grief, broke free Prometheus and set Octavian down his path of corruption. 

All this devastation, centuries of death and pain: all this for love. Aren had had Erish for as long as Nettelia had had Prometheus, but they were given the lifetimes of happiness that Nettelia had been denied. Could he understand her then? Or did his bliss blind him? For all that had happened today, had The First lived, then Prometheus might not ever have been freed: and that was a fate that Nettelia would never allow to come to pass. Even now, even after all this time. 

[netteliax]

NETTELIA

"I wish I could tell you that this pain is temporary; but pain, above all things, is immortal."

THE END

Base Kit: She took hers in black, customized to her liking and her fit, Nettelia's normally loose hair is braided and tied back. Void of any jewelry, she forwent the spells or the supplies and passed them off to others instead so less capable warriors could have twice as much. Nettelia will not be on the battlefield except as a last line of defense between the City of Dis and Rome.

Suited: Nothing worth bringing into battle remains of her old belongings, after her fall whatever weapons she had stashed or hidden away were pilfered or destroyed over the annals of time. Her uniform is standard issue, even the overcoat is of the same basekit materials. Above the base kit her tunic is styled in a simple fashion, the coat that she wears over it is a brighter shade of red than the others to be more eye catching at camp and to denote her place as a healer. Across her back and shoulders is custom embroidery meant to emulate the Golden Seal, and on the sleeve is the sigil of Oztalun: a golden dragon.

Artemis: Trained by the best, there was a time when Nettelia idolised the warrior goddess. While those days are long behind her, Nettelia's many days of training have remained and have been passed on to the acolytes she came to bless over the years.

Archdruid: Able to transform into a myriad of creatures, Nettelia is best known for assuming the form of a raven, an octopus, or a spider. Though there are many variations of each and traits otherwise not listed. Master of the elements, Nettelia used to wield an Elysian sword and a shield that was given to her by her Father, but she laid them to rest after Eden and over the years they were lost entirely following her death. Since then Nettelia has always fought with the elements, blades of air, whips of highly pressurized water that can cut through diamonds, columns of earth, ribbons of fire, and shields of lightning

Author: Immune to necromantic spells and manipulations, Nettelia is one of the few who can contend with a necromancer or one of their abominations on equal footing.

Transference: With an elevated form of transference, Nettelia is able to move magic and souls from one place to another. For this reason Nettelia is able to heal any injury, illness, or curse. She can reattach limbs in moments, can stimulate spontaneous healing within herself, and can move the blessings from one person onto another: meaning she can turn anyone human. Additionally, in conjunction with her mastery of the elements she's enable to create golems from the elements and imbue them with a quasi-sentience. Protectors, guardians, and emergency healers or transport when needed.

[bebevlnt]

Person: @seeingvivianne Location: Vivianne's Study It is like an itch she cannot scratch that is right under her skin and she can't shake it, not anymore. It plays over and over again in her mind as the tensions get so thick in the city that she swears it is actually suffocating her. Bebe does not have a horse in this race. She has two of them, she has a family of them. But she is not alone in that. So does Vivianne, so does Octavian and Nettelia and all of them, they all have so much to lose even if the Asphodel are defeated. And she couldn't bring herself to burst in on the druids, but she can burst in on the witches, throws open the door to Vivianne's study with absolutely no decorum and all dramatics. "I can't do this." She states when she makes eye contact with the witch who sits startled behind her desk. Sure she had sent an 'I'm coming over' text and had been expected, but the Dahlia sovereign, nor anyone else really, had ever seen her like this. Without a full face of makeup on, in just something she'd thrown on that day. "I can't just watch."

[netteliax]

@prometheanpiero location: Prometheus' Place notes: She pulled a Pros and broke in

The room was quiet when he entered, a breeze that fluttered the curtains and shifted her hair. Time had taken so much from her, years had stripped away the length of his jaw, and the level of his gaze. It twisted the sound of her voice to a place that she shouldn’t have recognized when she finally heard it again. The whip of the wind that accompanied the Avariel was one that she’d forgotten as well, how the air itself felt like it had brushed its fingertips against her cheek. Small, physical nuances that she’d regretted into the recesses of her mind. Once, he had been hers, now Arthur’s was a stranger to her. She did not know this man, and he certainly did not know her. 

“I release you.” Nettelia remarked casually, “From-“ she’d held him to so much, perhaps the same impossible standard that he held her. An end was coming, victory or defeat she wished for him to know that she bid him no ill will. “You fell in love with an ideal, a woman who’d never known suffering or heartache. Who’d never been betrayed, or felt jealousy. One who’d never had a reason to taste wrath. A woman like that is a fantasy from an old world, a dead one.” Nettelia wasn’t the person she had been then, and she didn’t wish to be. The world was cruel, it was harsh, and it was unforgiving. The truth to survival was to meet each lashing with stride, and a chin held high. “I release you. I'm sick of the fighting, frankly I don't have the energy for it anymore. Not when so much of me is needed elsewhere. We owe each other nothing now.”

[safiyebalik]

person: @erenxdemir​ where: the pyramid

There is a part of her that doesn’t know how to reconcile that the Archdruid that made her and the women that crafted the book of the dead were the one and the same. Safiye couldn’t separate herself from Nettelia and with understanding came the knowledge that the same darkness awaited inside of her and the same capacity to forsake all for their truest desires. Safiye hadn’t lowered her shield, hadn’t allowed for her vulnerabilities to be shown and had wanted the company of the druid who carried some of the same cruel traits as she and wanted to understand his journey of forgiveness. She approached the door to his chambers in pyramid and knocked. “How have you been?”