It's A Tiresome Speech, And One She's Head Over And Over Again. Just As The First To Try, Valentina Would

THE WHEEL OF TIME ↳ Season 2 ↳ Episode Eight | What Was Meant To Be

There is always defectors, those unable to handle the power and weight that the asphodel offers. It has never carried a moniker for misfits and miscreants in the way that so many consider it. It was not a comfort that home could not give - the asphodel was a want, a dire need and for those who lacked the impervious determination to build something of themselves, would always fall through the cracks. Fodder for the book. Pythia had heard the whispers - the thoughts that spun within Marcella's mind and while Eric turned his back, true that he would never rise to be enough, the witch before her was a different story. "The darkness will always follow.." She whispers, barely audible as she looks upon the young woman. "It will never be me, that's in need, Marcella." One way or another, the book would find her again - in death, or to return the gift of power she now sought to turn away from.

Person: @fxllenpythia Location: Haus Asphodel She is packing and she thinks everyone knows it. Thankfully everyone is busy enough minding their own business. That's something they all seem really keen on doing, it should have been a sign from the beginning. They all come together to cause chaos but she has seen time and time again how each member of the coven seems to have their own agenda, their own ambitions. She's got her own agenda and staying with the Asphodel isn't going to help her one bit, not anymore. Marcella is gathering her things, some books and tucking them away into a bag of holding when she catches a shadow darkening her door, one that makes her nearly freeze. The Pythia is someone she has skirted around, someone with far too much power. "Did you need something?" It's an innocent question, it is soft, she is not afraid, not so much anymore.

"Keep looking," as if he could be distracted by any amount at a time like this. Regardless of what came their way, Pythia would push forward. The battle ahead was truly the equivalent of a sidequest in the grand scheme of things. An offering to her devout. To take what they willed - relinquish what no longer served them all before they could look upon the gates of hell itself. What mattered, was the ritual taking place below them. Drawing the seals that kept her fallen brethren from bringing the world to it's knees with them. "Do not forget to inform me of the Drow. We wouldn't want to let our friends down in the coming days." It was an alliance that Python placed weight in for the time being, every olive branch could become a tangled of thorns without the proper attention. A brow rises to a manicured point and she huffs a breath of laughter, "Keep your secrets then," as much as he could; the greater demon would always see the truth within her most devout just as had whispered to them all over their lives, "I suppose you're going to make me to and ask him myself, hm?"

The visions had come, one after the other of the plans that would give the Asphodel the upper hand. Each new move, each new division that split from the greater body were meant with an assault from the coven. Always one step ahead of them, Bastien could pluck it from the three sisters just as the plan was formed. As if the witch were in the very depths of the Senate's minds. As if he knew their next moves even before they themselves did. "Their numbers are dwindling," he mused, head canted to the side as he peered into the darkness. "They'll continue to advance, hope to reach us before they are wiped away," but his lips curled into a smile, deadly just as he was. That is, until Pythia pressed upon what he himself was still so unsure of. "Levent?" He spoke the name as if it were unfamiliar to him, his eyes opened to peer over at her now. "If I were aware of anything besides his jealousy of my ability to bleach and tone, I would have a fair amount to share." It wasn't necessarily a lie, for Bastien had yet to uncover precisely what frustrations Levent had meant.

BENSU SORAL   | 1.02  －  Tuzak

oraculumx​:

The night was seemingly quiet, yet the lights of the city still obscured the stars that Bastien had come to know too well. A part of this new world that he was not particularly favorable of, given how well he had once been able to trace the constellations with his finger. It wouldn’t matter, though; for the world would soon be theirs, and perhaps he would carve out his own piece of paradise, where he could gaze at the stars every single night. “If they sweeten the deal, perhaps I’ll let them,” teased words spoken with an amused grin cast onto his lips. Pythia had been a long time constant in the witch’s life, since he had long ago sworn his fidelity to the Necronomicon and everything that the Asphodel stood for.

“They may be powerful, but they are few compared to what we can obtain,” for there was no short supply of witches in Rome, nor of the Eladrin or Druids that flocked to the city street. “What would you have us do with them?”

Pythia knew what lay within their hearts, how rotten the souls that they’d squandered before finding their way to her. Whether devotion lay within the skeletal hands of deception or otherwise, he could try. “I know how much you appreciate those features of yours, Bas. Should they find a way to sweeten it, do yourself a favor and remember as much.” Flippant words that sought much the same tone as his own. Fickle, hollow and yet -- “I doubt they’d give you the stars as you so wish to have them.” The lithe structure of this vessel lifted her to perch the balcony edge, fingertips curling tightly as she lent back with dangerous vigor, “I’d have them flayed alive, hung to watch us plunder their spoils until the city lies in ruins,” until the humans - her brethren that thought to stand against her, with their father, should fall to ruin with it. “But, patience and all that. I have a job for you.”

The laughter that split Pythia's features was maniacal, at best. This creature before her lording his loyalty to some overwhelming standard as if she'd asked for it in the first place. "Dearest Pluto," she chided, as a mother over a petulant child, 'this has everything to do with your beloved." Tiamat - Kore. The dread Persephone, the one who pieced together the beginning of the end. "And if you truly understood all that she desires, loyalty wouldn't be part of the equation. Her will would be yours." This would be what he sought too. "You may have helped pull me from the inferno, helped pieced together the foundation of the asphodel and hold her close, but I do not need your loyalty - because I have hers."

closed starter for @fxllenpythia location: Necromanteion (pre-battle)

For once he was alone with Pythia, no guard, no other witness to their discussions. While he'd known the infamous Pythia for some time now, their relationship was superficial at best, with both of them loyal to Kore. So, while he didn't trust her practices and her personally, he was forced to play nice. Attacking the other leader was impossible, with Kore being a part of him so much had changed and he knew he had to make sure the Pythia knew just how much power resided within him. "Kore," he simply stated, his posture relaxed, almost too relaxed before a war like this. "This has nothing to do with either of us and I'll not swear my loyalty to you."

LANFEAR | The Wheel of Time - 2.06

It always had been. Perhaps before either had even known it. Leviathan didn't love, it simply wasn't of her nature - but she could remain devout in loyalty. Arakhor would remain the closest they'd come to an infinite connection; and that meant that one day she would see to it that all he sought to destroy would be done just as surely as all that the asphodel and her brothers within the inferno would want. "Far too long," she breathes out with something of a manic bloom of laughter, "We shall see it done, later. For now," fingers flex, and the seraph blade that extends as a piece of every vessel, "Ride out with me."

The Autumn fey leaned against the wall, watching the Pythia for a few moments. There were so many trapped, now, so many that would serve their cause better caged and bled. It was the start of a great plan, but Arakhor would never be one to let down his guard. The Pythia would need him, anyway, so it's why they now had room for themselves. Anyone who intruded would find themselves flayed, anyhow. "No, my place is here. With you. It's been centuries since we've had a good run like this, you know."

Turning on her heel at the sound of a voice clearly speaking to her - familiarity piquing the others' inquiry, Pythia felt the curl of a smile before she saw to react, "Oh, Zoey." The woman she'd forced into vampirism; she remembered the stench of the undead on her the night they'd crossed paths. "Well, beyond the concern for my ankles after wearing these heels for so long, I'm doing rather well -" a small gesture with the silver tray she held, "some kind of spiced meat patte hors dourve, it seems to be a bit of a hit with everyone." For some reason, she understands almost explicity that she's never been all too poite towards the other, though her mind offers up no reasoning to the matter, "I hope you know, it's not personal." As if that explained everything.

who? @fxllenpythia where? idk somewhere, zoey got snackey

"Hi! So good to see you!" There is an extra pep to Zoey's step and a bright grin on her face. She had not felt this good in months, even if she doesn't remember why. What she does know is that the party is great, she is having fun, and she wants to share the joy with everyone that looks even vaguely familiar. "How are you doing? Also, what are you carrying? Anything good to eat?"