#ἀποκρίνω ||》 answered

[horseplinkofemdom]

Speaking

Tell me if I missed anything!

Λέγω – to say

Λαλέω – to converse / to speak

ἀποκρίνω – to answer

Καλέω – to call

Αἰτεω – to ask

Φημί – to say

ἐρωτάω – to ask

κράζω – to cry (out)

φωνέω – to call

ἐπικαλέω – to call by name

προκαλέομαι – to call / to summon

[of-thieves]

[ DISCOVER ]  for receiver to find sender at the end of a trail of blood. 

@hammerofavoid

┊ ┊◇┊ ┊

The only word to describe the sight was ghastly.

Hermes knew he should not have stopped here, but, he couldn't help it. His attention had been taken ever since he had heard the ugly screams from afar. He had followed the source of the cries and now found himself at the end of the trail. A small hut that appeared to have once contained a travelling forge sat decimated, ransacked entirely, smoke still emanating from the fire that brought the innocent structure tumbling down.

Those damned Beserkers. The large scattered footprints in the snow leading up to the hut should have been evidence enough. Always as relentless as mankind could possibly be. They destroyed families and homes without any remorse with little desire to conquer at all, only driven to slaughter no matter where they went. Hermes was made sick by their actions, which to him proved them far more monster than man. Yet again before him lay waste the remains of their latest act of mindless hostility.

It had been a small structure more than likely belonging to a Svartálfarian. The logs of what appeared to be the supports of the hut had practically turned to ash. The stones and brick surrounding had been reduced to rubble. A firepot appeared to have been tipped on it's side, various chests and containers flipped upside down and emptied completely, leaving not a tool or weapon left in sight. Not a resource, not even a pale of water. Naught. What was once there was taken, and what was not taken was demolished. Knowing the Berserkes ways the Olympian concluded himself that whoever may have been residing at the site was taken as well...

An overpowering smell of burning filled the god's nostrils which made him shake his head. It was during times such as this where he was reminded of the violent fables his homeland told of the northern people. He prepared himself to turn back and continue on his initial path but paused once he saw something else aside from debris on the ground. Another set of tracks, not left by brutish Berserkers but by someone smaller, and lighter- the individual who left the footprints seemed to have dragged their feet sluggishly and left behind a trail of red in the snow.

The Olympian always had a terrible flaw of letting his short attention span get the best of him at the worst of times, something the Sky-Father shunned and punished him for. Had Zeus been near he would have ignored the mess but he was all by his lonesome now. And upon noticing the blood trail he had forgotten completely of his path and made following the blood his focus.

In his mind he wondered if it was to do with his duty as a psychopomp, if there were a fresh soul as the result of the attack he would feel inclined to guide it onward to the afterlife. However a forgettable scrape between inhabitants of Yggdrasil should have even so low, not even on the priorities of a Greek god on emissary far from his homeland but if there was a survivor, Hermes wanted to know. He was the only other one here and as much as he shouldn't have, as much as he wanted to leave it be, something within him demanded he would not leave here without finding out if there was a survivor.

With that, Hermes followed the blood.

Tracking was one of the messengers many honed skills. A handy bit of knowledge all travellers needed was to tell when tracks were fresh in case of many things, especially when determining how close a target (or enemy) may be. The trail was not made up of the occasional drop but instead a steady stream, as if someone were carrying a pale of red water with a hole at the bottom. Whoever was bleeding was certainly bleeding heavily. And fast.

As for how close the end of the red tracks were, Hermes needed not wonder how new the trail was as after a few careful twists and turns underneath some snow-covered trees he saw the blood seem to be forming a puddle upon flat ground. And, sitting percisely next to the expanding crimson puddle seemed to be a small man hunched over, clutching his abdomen in obvious agony. It sounded as if hisses were escaping him through clenched teeth.

"Stop it! Stop moving. Sit down and hold still," the god's voice displayed concern, not something often shown to strangers. He ran towards the other. He didn't introduce himself or ask who the man was. All he knew was that action needed to be taken fast. The small man (likely Dwarven, Hermes thought) clearly had far less blood within him than a mortal man. "You haven't got much more blood to lose I'm afraid. I insist you hold still and relax. Tell me where you are hurt."

[of-thieves]

@berserkerofrealms;

"You reak of sweat." The grey eyed man stated with such a snarl to his lips. Almost dog like than human as he bore his large great sword coated in glowing nordic runes that seemed to flash violently with excitement. This was no mortal he thought.

No this thing was a god. But not of these lands. For a moment he mistook the stranger for Odin's lapdog, Heimdall. But the dress was too clean. Too fancy for the likes of any ordinary nordic dress. It was light and clearly made for far warmer weather. Cocking his head the pale souless nordic warrior smiled a sharp toothed grin." Ah..a Greek. Its been..far too long since I had the taste of Greek god between my teeth."

Licking his lips his mouth was clearly covered in blood." Tell me Greek. What brings you to the nine realms? A death warrant? It's rather clear that Norse don't take kindly to the likes of you."

For only a moment, Hermes stood puzzled at the boldness of the apparent inlander. Who was this disdainful loudmouth? What business did he think he had to be vomiting arrant crass at an immortal? Not even a completely mindless simpleton would be so stupid to hurl fighting words!

Unless... this was no mere mortal. The Olympian squinted, then smirked, before responding.

"Ooooohh," he scoffed and pointed to the other, "You must be the puppy! How cute." Hermes had to admit, he wasn't quite expecting the oh-so-feared hound of Hel's gate to appear so... sapient in the flesh. It was a suprise indeed but not one that was enough to intimidate the god.

"Garmr, was it? Yes. Hello to you too. I am flattered by your heartfelt greeting, but, I haven't any time to play fetch on emissary duties as you know." Hermes gave a shooing gesture.

"So, do me a favour- and heel."

[of-thieves]

[ ATTEMPT ]  for sender to intervene in a fight receiver is in but receiver has already sustained an injury. 

@lordlittlefool

Vanaheim. Beautiful Vanaheim... the realm of the Vanir, home to the clearest of waters and greenest of flora. It was told the grace of the fauna of the land were unlike any other in the surrounding worlds. The skies were said to always be clear and the rain was said to never flood the crop, only pour enough to feed the land. Hermes had always heard such wonderful poems of the beautiful realm from both written and spoken word, and stubborn as he always was he had decided to visit the lands and see them for himself as usual. Every time he came to see it he learned more and was encouraged to return and expand his knowledge further.

Which, this time around, had proven to be a terrible decision.

The juvenile Dreki that attacked the god had come out of nowhere. One moment he had been running gleefully across the surface of the river, and the next moment he felt something heavy clamp down around his left leg, which after a numbing shock surged through his body he concluded that what the creature must be. He had been dragged underwater less than a second after realizing what his ambusher was.

While certainly a great athlete, Hermes was far from a combative fighter. He could outspeed or outshine any enemy he was up against but he wasn't a soldier by any means. And hostile wildlife he knew nothing of wasn't exactly easy to simply challenge it's strategy and wit. The dreki may have been small- not too much larger than Hermes himself- but it was still nimble.

Hermes violently fought the monster for a minute or two. If there was one thing he was good at it was utilizing the strength of his legs. He kicked the beast in it's eyes and jaw until it's grip finally managed to give, giving Hermes a free window to successfully swim to the surface. Though the trail of blood he left behind only led the Dreki to follow and swim up to the surface with him. He was only able to get one hand up upon the river shore before he was being tugged back into the water once more.

"Let me go, you mangy-!" He dug his heel into the scaly neck of the dragon. The scales were too thick for him to do any real damage, so after a few useless kicks he resorted to wrapping his entire leg around the front of it's jaw and compressed his thigh and calf together as hard as he possibly could. The dreki desperately failed about in the water while spewing bolts out of it's body that Hermes strained to overpower.

As the god had been focusing on trying to crush the jaw of the now desperate monster underneath his knee, suddenly out of thin air came a sort of magical whirring sound. Hermes turned his head to see what new creature could possibly be coming for him next but he was shocked to see it was not the sound of a creature at all being made but instead a.. weapon?

A golden, glistening sword came flying through the air like a hummingbird. It spun about for a moment, getting closer and closer to Hermes by the second. He thought for certain the sword was coming to him. He prepared to roll over to dodge any upcoming attack the sparkly blade may throw his way but his concerns faded into confusion when the blade dove itself into the back of the dreki creature.

The dreki let out a gruesome wail which made it loosen it's jaw grip on Hermes. He as well in response to the cry let the creature out of his leg's vice grip, and he watched as the dragon instantly swam away in the blink of an eye, still in pain and terrified.

Hermes finally pulled himself fully out of the river and pressed both his palms against his left leg, which was not only bleeding red blood profusely but showing more veins on the surface than it should no thanks to the lightning the little dragon had shot throughout him moments ago.

Hermes' eyes followed the levitating blade as it flew backward away from him and into the hand of it's apparent owner.

Freyr. Of course.

"Well if it isn't the Son of Njörd," Hermes managed to only get a few words out before needing to spit out river water and cough. "I did not need you to intervine. I had that situation under control.."

[of-thieves]

@gyllentanne; “ what? no witty remark? nothing clever to say? ”

Laughter and belittling was honestly the expected response, but it still caused the Greek's now ferine ears to turn downwards in disappointment to the other. Sure he himself would even crack inappropriate jokes in the worst of times, but, sass from elsewhere at his own expense wasn't helping him to ease any. The way Heimdall grinned to himself, proudly snarking tall over the god whom was now on all fours, it was like a blade in the side of Hermes' ego.

It was true that such a form wasn't ideal to say the least words of self pity. There was very seldom an occasion where taking on this particular appearance was necessary, so much to the point that the messenger god would forget that he even had the ability, even when his fellow Olympians displayed their own. But desperate times did call for desperate measures... as it was often put by the ambitious. A simple disguise of robes or a mask were more than enough to fool mortals. Gods however could see easily past a dark cloak. This was unfortunately the best shot they had.

He steadied his balance upon his cloven hooves (an act still so bizarre no matter how many times he might utilize this body) and turned his head just so that he could eye down the Aesir with his slit pupils.

Even in an alternate form communication was possible, it just felt so uncivilized to do so. The beneficial grace of Heimdall being able to see his intended feelings would have been helpful, but, the now quadrapeded messenger knew that all that could truly be seen was his own humiliation.

Hermes opened his mouth and bleated, literally. He knew that the true words would be fully translated once they reached the ears of whom he was directly speaking to; a silly but necessary way of speaking when using this primitive body. Had anyone else heard, it would only be registered as any other simple sheep's call.

《Halt your effrontery. Can you think of a better solution? I'd be happy to hear it.》

[of-thieves]

@stygicniron; “ why should i trust you? ”  

"Ha! You don't have a vast variety of options, maverick." Hermes answered brazenly.

In duties to and fro the underworld it wasn't uncommon for things to go awry. In turn he was often prepared well for the worst, but this time was certainly different. The dark hall that the two psychopomps stood in filled quickly with the unnerving echoes of agitated souls that had far beyond lost their way, and were certainly not prepared to listen or obey to any command, even that of godly origin.

The one of them who did screw up- it would remain a mystery for now. Hermes wouldn't usually even humor the chance of an accidental error on his own part but it need be to admitted- even he didn't know if the fault of freeing the lost souls was his own. Blame was not of concern for the time being. The reality which the god focused on was that anyone with the blood of a mortal would be unsafe here if they remained, and he would not leave the mortal in danger, even if it was the boy's own fault.

"Plainly put, you stay with them or you come with me. And I'd advise you to decide quickly."

[of-thieves]

@poetrs; ❝ so i’m not allowed to give you a nickname? ❞

"While I admire your gusto, the answer is simply no," The Olympian leaned forward, asserting his presence with a new timber in his typically waggish voice. It was impossible to deny the enchantment of the siren stranger was pulling. Hermes, however, could hear the magic within her sung words. The spells which the spirits of nature cast in his homeland echoed in his memory. Though the language was different, the alluring sound was unmistakable.

"I know of your kind, temptress. I am immune to your debauchery. I am not as simple-minded as the gadabouts native to these lands."

[of-thieves]

@gyllentanne; ❝ i don’t recall asking you to come along. ❞

"As if I have ever needed a special invitation, let alone from you, Aesir. What's the matter? Why, you aren't intimidated are you?" A hearty chuckle escaped Hermes as he shook his head. The other's obvious frustration was very amusing.

The messenger god spun on his heel to face the blond head onward. The present grin didn't abandon his face. The myrth derived from toying with the guardian was always such a treat. "Not to fret as I do understand of course. The presence of a real diety must simply overawe you. There isn't any need to be apprehensive. If you need a moment to ogle, you're welcome to it."

[of-thieves]

😠 an angry kiss

Hermes stood completely still as the kiss was planted on his lips. Only seconds ago he had been firing obscenities at the Aesir as he always did when they crossed paths, and now this.

As agressive as the kiss was it felt nice. Of course Hermes had always enjoyed the thought of the other's soft pink lips on his own, and what a fitting way to recieve them; directly after an insult was thrown.

When the kiss broke, he admired the angry lines decorating Heimdall's face. His brow turned down, his golden teeth clenched, his nostrils flaring. Oh, the blond was losing his patience. It was adorable.

"Alright, alright," Hermes chuckled. "You can win this time. I'll shut up."

[of-thieves]

[ REALIZE ]  our muses haven’t had time to slow down so sender has been hiding a serious injury which receiver finally uncovers.

@gyllentanne

The two gods had barely escaped by the skin of their teeth. The foul beast residing within the steppe appeared to no longer be chasing them. Thank goodness. Hermes knew it would be an easy feat to outrun the Manticore, he had come across many before. No time was wasted grabbing Heimdall by his wrist and yanking him away from the disturbed creature before it could finish it's charge.

Only after taking time to breathe post-jumping across a wide ravine did Hermes finally notice that the blond was limping and holding his side.

He stomped his foot and growled. Damn it all. Someone who prided themselves on being untouchable, claiming to have the upper hand in any fight, and was constantly accusing Hermes himself of being reckless- He was the one out of the two who got hurt? How could this have happened?

The Olympian was riddled with guilt of his own. The knowledge that he was somewhat responsible for having brought Heimdall here in the first place and therefore exposing him to the Manticore's nest, putting him in a position to be harmed, he felt a fool. Not only that, he had vowed to Odin that Heimdall would be kept out of all harm's way while in the far away domain. If the King of the nine realms found out that the messenger of Olympus put Asgard's watchman in danger, Zeus would no doubt be the next to hear about it- and the implications of that were far too much to think about.

"I knew it," Hermes grabbed Heimdall by his shoulder and held him still. He didn't want the Aesir to keep walking if he was in pain. "I knew it. You were hurt. Why did you tell me you were alright!? I told you to stay by my side. This is not Asgard. You can't just jaunt about unfamiliar paths and expect to be safe."

He placed a more gentle hand on the Aesir's side that appeared to be harmed. "What did it do to you?"

[of-thieves]

[ FOLLOW ]  for sender to find reciever at the end of a trail of blood. 

@luposcainus

The forests of Albion were always disgustinly cold and wet during Pyanepsion. The heavy rain had pelted down like arrows, and even with the fires of Olympus burning within his body, the flame was growing weaker, and Hermes still found himself shivering, folding his arms underneath his cloak and rubbing his biceps.

Banishment. Always banishment. Sky-Father was always so ruthless and unkind when he wasn't thinking clearly. Hermes could hardly remember this time around what line he had stepped over. It was becoming an annual tradition ever since the opening of Pandora's Box. All he could remember was being demanded to leave and to not come back until many moons had passed, or until the error at his fault had corrected itself.

Although Hermes didn't typically have a need to wear a chlamys on his travels, the lands farther north proved to carry much harsher weather than he was used to back home, even when atop the mountains. The heavy cloak had a hood that had kept the rain off his head and was fastened with a golden clasp. But the rain only added to the clock's weight overtime however, and every step he made brought him more exhaustion. Even though the raindrops had stopped falling from the sky, the ice cold wind had replaced it as the dominating harshness.

Hermes couldn't understand why he was so tired. It had only been a few days and he had before travelled much farther in conditions much harsher. He looked behind himself and noticed that he was leaving not only a trail of footprints in the mud but a trail of liquid crimson.

"That certainly isn't good," was all he could think to say to himself. He didn't know when he had begun to bleed, where he had started bleeding or what the injury even was. Or... how long he had been bleeding. How much blood had been lost? Walking for days without rest had made him lose his grasp on his own self. Without sustenance, and without shelter.

He couldn't think further for another moment anyhow, as once he attempted to take another step he toppled forward into the muddy grass. His limbs felt heavier than the soggy cloak.

He finally closed his eyes, not drifting to sleep, just overcome with fatigue. But, not before hearing a definite sound of someone running up behind him. He no longer had the energy or the strength to walk, let alone lift himself off the ground. He needed to catch his breath and, oddly, the wet ground felt like the softest bed.

[of-thieves]

🥴 a drunk kiss (+ 💛 a kiss on the cheek)

Hermes attempted to lean away initially, the stench of mead on Freyr's breath was potent.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, and when Hermes moved his body he witnessed the other god drunkenly following suit, spilling half of the beverage in his wooden bowl. The mead splattered onto the messenger's lower half.

"I'm flattered, Freyr. Really. I know I'm irresistible, but would you please save your smothering for when you're sober?" He wiped the clumsily spilled alcohol off his thighs using his wrists.