#senatus.knossos

[acolyterose]

@senatusstarters​ location: knossos, 2000 BC notes: open to all druids and asphodel girlies + co

The weight was crushing, it bore down on him, crushing and oppressive as the screams from the crowd were drowned out by the ringing that resounded through his ears. This is it, Atlas had thought, idly he thought of his mother - if this was something she was experience to, even on the other side of the city. The last thing Atlas remembered was his face pressed to the hard ground, blue and panicked eyes turned to the person next to him as the pair wordlessly wondered what was happening and what this was. It built in a crescendo, the pressure grew exponentially and then everything went black. 

Something wet brushed his face, scratched at his cheek as a furrowed brow brought Atlas’ eyes open. It had been the middle of the night only moments ago, but in an unfamiliar alley, Atlas woke up to see the blaring sun above him. Here he was obscured between two structures that looked about four-stories high. Atlas looked down as a breeze past over him and realized very quickly he didn’t have anything but a cloth around his waist, an unrelenting heat scored the alley as the druid’s gaze turned towards the feline that had woken him. Something that looked wild and feral, it had  scientific name but from his druid studies he’d come to know that it was referred to as a cretan lynx. 

Crete? He reached forward and pressed his hand to its head as the creature pushed into it, recognizing something kindred about the druid before Atlas stood to height, which wasn’t much. Raw earth beneath his feet, the milling sound of people at the end of the alley, the distant clamour of something that sounded like a festival. 

What was going on?

[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]

@lulucretias​ location: Knossos, 2000BC notes: mother “I’ll ask you not to do this, what you’re planning. What you’ve come here for.” Nettelia started, she knew that the chimera had designs of her own, had felt the pages take shape in Lucretia’s grimoire as her devotion to the necronomicon grew. Nettelia was the book’s author, which meant she was intimately aware of all the passages within and those that might transpire. Creation and destruction, the necronomicon had no true bounds, save for those who practiced its infernal arts. “I know you hate him and you’ve every right to. But what you plan to do, what you hope to become, there will be no coming back. You and your friends, those who slay a God do not get to live a natural life. It’ll change you, indelibly.” There was a time when Nettelia had set about a course for destiny, to strike out against the Gods that she’d come to despise, but this was not the way. 

[netteliax]

@erenxdemir​​ location: knossos, 2000 BC notes: old pals

Erišum was here, his memories of this time had been obscured but Nettelia still remembered it well. Undoubtedly, her sister was here somewhere, if memory serves Dionaeia was competing in the tournament elsewhere in the city. Though, that may have no longer been true this time around. Time was a fickle thing, she remembered being in the throws of it, her and Erišum observing the parade with an amphora of cretan wine shared between them. Back then her grief had all but consumed her, this day wasn’t what brought her to the brink, but her dreams had been polluted by what it was she must do to release Prometheus and she’d resigned herself to her fate. 

In her youth Nettelia had wrangled against destiny’s restraints, her anarchist nature that wished to defy the Gods as if time had any will or desire of its own. The wheel turned as the wheel would, it could not want for anything, just as a mountain or a river could not want. Those who sought to break free of it only brought a worsened fate upon them, tenfold. 

“Do you remember this?” Nettelia asked as she approached the other, a distant chant of music and the strumming of instruments filtered towards them, “We have much to discuss, but first, if memory serves this day started with a dance.”