“Wine is a drink of the GODS of course I have some for you.”
A soft smile crossed her features and she pulled herself up and off her throne. True — She was not the Queen of Camelotyet. However one day she would and that was the day she would triumph in bringing the old ways back to the land for she was sick of how the false God rang from the lips of humans. She made her way over to a barrel which looked much cleaner than the rest, and she grabbed a silver chalice filling it up with the sweet wine. She soon made her way over to the beauty, looking interested in what she was saying. Did she know what she was? She must have surely.
“Unique Qualities you say? You know that I am a high priestess of the OLD WAYS, then?”
❛ So they say. ❜ said Eris, voice monotonous and stale, ❛ They say that Athens was named for the the Goddess Athena’s charity, granting to them fertile land to grow their grapes and olives and feed their folk… Some find eager parallels between she and one of the Morrigan. ❜
Fingers rubbed against the palm of her hand, long nails scaping the dead skin before finding the rim of that shiny, silver chalice. She sloshed the red liquid about, eyeing the barrel nearby for the quality of its make. Yes, she k n e w of her abilities, of the way she treated the Gods with RESPECT– as they should have been. Forgotten for far too long, left in the shadows of the new, monotheistic religion.
❛ SORRY to disappoint you. I know how terrible it must be to be spared Aphrodite’s company. But I’m sure she’s been pulled away by some IDIOT for– well, I’ll let you use your imagination. ❜
“Well isn’t this a surprise. What brings you all the way to my home? I do not get visitors often.” The raven haired woman spoke carefully, but she knew it was because many feared her. “Would you like something to drink or eat?”
❛ Wine, if you have it. I like to INDULGE… ❜
Morgana– yes, she knew the name. The very same as any who could claim to know the name Uther, Arthur or the barbarians of northern Albion. Eris seated herself cautiously, looking over the beauty shown painted on the face of a would-be Queen. Mortal, unlike SHE. But oh-so interesting, oh-so promising, for so FEW now could use the gifts offered by the Gods themselves…
❛ I tend to take interest in those who have… unique qualities, so to speak. ❜
❛ In all honesty, your majesty, it is up to me who I consort with. I’m not normally so BLUNT, but I’m sure you understand… we all have our own bloodyAGENDAS and deadlines to meet. Mine just happens to oppose your own. It’s nothing p e r s o n a l. ❜
“ Flowers are best picked at sun up & I shall not lose such a privilege because your morning feet are so slow. We’ll find plenty of food for breakfast too. “
Flowers? Sunrise? The last thing she wanted to to do was WASTE a perfectly good morning loitering around a flower field when a good SLEEP was to be had. It had been a few days since they’d found her, bleeding ebony ichor PROFUSELY through her sternum, and while she was GRATEFUL that it had both missed her heart and had been healed without the painful MESHING of her flesh, she doubted she could ever make FRIENDS with this odd, pointy- eared wench.
’ Flowers… I’m not very good with that kind of thing. Why would you want ME to come? ’
Antagonistic. In combination with the word she used to describe the forest, a degrading one at that, there appears the question of who is being antago- nistic. Well, Legolas cares little about being called that & his only focus remains dedicated to the defense of his homeland—-
“It is my pleasure~ —- by the way, my name is not Artemis.”
Words merely muttered under his breath, the elf hesitates not one second as he loosens his grasp on the arrow to release it, let it rush in the direction whence the challenge has come. Did she truly think he would spare her for a supposed act of boldness?
He would likely have waited, given the visitor at least a chance to explain herself if the greeting would have been more respectful. If he deserved to be treated with respect whilst he acted as though he owned everything & everyone? Not in the mind of anyone else, but the more so in his own.
There was pain. Inexplicable PAIN, as if her darling Algea had come and wrapped her arms around the mother’s ribs. She felt the tip pass through her sternum, and felt the swirl of BLACK BLOOD caress the iron arrowhead with little more than a kiss. Her fingers scraped together like RUBBER, the long and PALE digits reaching up to c u r l around the stem of the offending projectile. She was quite certain it’d severed her sternum– a good shot, if she did say so herself. but without ANGER. without HATRED.
’ –Oh, I see. You’ve fucking SHOT me. ’
Words of obvious tension, her hand then RIPS out the offending arrow and allows that black, sticky ICHOR to bleed out onto the ground. It stains the front of her TATTERED gown and spreads grotesquely along the grasses below, KILLING each blade it touched and causing it to shrivel.
Her breathing was uneven, the goddess waiting to make any harsh or strenuous movements until the gaping hole had CLOSED. The ebony liquid acting as a horrific GLUE that clamped the wound together. She was lucky, had he hit her HEART then she might not have been standing here anymore.
’ Why don’t you come down here, where I can SEE you? ’
His smile was thin when she spoke of no proof for the strength of love or its ability to conquer everything and anything. Millennia after the death of his wife, he still loved her with the intensity of the sun. A fire that refused to wane even as the hours stretched on into days and to a never-ending procession of moments. Thranduil knew he would never see her again, for the boats to Valinor were long gone. Yet he still pined for her, and would con- tinue to do so until the days of the world ended.
"Those who glory in the art of war hold a hint of darkness in their hearts. To linger on such a morose subject is not often done. Do you revel in the thought of war then, Eris?“
Sipping his wine once more, he barely glanced up as the call for the volunteers for war resounded in the street below. As far as the rest of society was concerned, he had had his share of the battlefield.
“As for love….perhaps you have not experienced it yet to fully believe in that concept.”
Oh, she knew of love. She knew of its evils and the pain that accompanied the slowing beat of heartbreak. The way her stomach clenched and her throat constricted in the first nights alone. She u n d e r s t o o d. While her sisters snatched up human, MORTAL lovers and threw them away like trash when done, Eris did not dare step into the realm of romance. She had but one man, strong and as ANGRY as she, and had been easily t o s s e d aside.
” I suppose it’s in my nature. Darkness does seem to fit me, I suppose. Or perhaps it’s suffering. A sorrow that can’t be touched. – Or maybe I’m just so full of my own shitthat I can’t see anymore. “
Green eyes found the wine-sipping regent, lips parted to allow silent breathing and the subtle cursing of her own name. She could hear the noise calling out on the streets far below them, and Eris’ attention came to the window nearby.
”… I think it’s just the opposite. Maybe I’ve loved so wholly, so fully, that it’s become disgusting. “
Leaves and berries, flowers and dust on the bones of an ageless trunk. The sights of the forest were by far her favorite, if not the rarest for how she chose to live. A thick canopy above made for good shelter from the sweltering sun, the foliage of interest for its sticky cobwebs and monstrous ecosystem. She’d seen spiders the size of her father, seen creatures that could not come to the light. She ADORED it all– adored how it shown so dank and dreary, how it forced those who might have once lived here to flee.
Across an enchanted brook she’d walked, her feet all bare and pale, and she leaned her head back slowly, taking in the golds, reds and greens that were offered by the grove. There were large gates ahead that seemed to be made of wood, and while her hands did not touch them, she could feel eyes lurking nearby. A great kingdom lay beyond, of this she was certain, and she lay a hand upon the frame and spoke in a quiet tone.
’ Does it open, or will you watch me for the rest of the evening? ’
It was a lot harder to blend in here than she ever thought it would be. Between the blaring of vehicular horns or the scorching heat of the sun, the embodiment of strife found little more comfort in the shade or quiet. Some carried pistols strapped to their legs, other adventurers carried blades tethered to their side of back– she’d seen plenty of shops on her way around the city, searching and detecting for any signs of microscopic ENVY. For a life made worthless by the crumbling of an empire. A seed wanting to germinate from the inner confines of a shell was a beautiful thing, especially when that seed would grow to a tree that could block out the light from so many lives.
Perhaps she was morbid, perhaps she was MAD, but long strides and a weary mind carried her into the greying part of a dusty city where children no longer played.
Thick on the air was the scent of poison, perhaps not hemlock or wolfsbane ( to her dissatisfaction, in fact) but something as pungent and grotesque as radioactive waste. She felt a pulsating from within fallen slab and broken glass, her body maneuvering through tight spaces and dark areas to feel the light of the sun again.
The earth here was gray and dead, like the dust and sand on the shores of the River Styx. It reminded her of the halls where here uncle commanded the dead, of the great hound that guarded his gates and destroyed intruders where they stood so proudly.
In a small clearing she knelt, palm exposed to the dead earth to smooth out the rocky ground below her. Her feet had carried her this far, through the city and droves of illiterate imbeciles that would sooner rape the world than see it restored. It was beneath her skin that she felt it, pulsating and gyrating in the patch of dirt. A brown tip tickled against the flat side of her hand, rising steadily with many a thorn. It grew to a mere inch before she paused, head jerking to one side.
Perhaps there is yet a certain fondness for the darkening wood of spiders and beech that Eris has uncovered. Her footsteps are silent as she crosses over the brook of unmentionable magic and jarring confusion, careful not to fall into the enchanted waters or rustle the sticky webs of sickening beasts that are sure to linger nearby.
The dark-headed woman is cloaked in a dim, greenish-blue light that seeps in through the leafy canopy above, the air of autumn and the setting sun keeping her on edge. Bare feet are silent against the fallen leaves, careful for everything they tread on and as alerted as her eyes. She knew she was not alone.
’ Watching people… it can be considered rude, you know. ’
My name is Vervain and I am twenty one years old. I use female pronouns and tend to speak in a very formal manner to try and get my point across without having any feelings hurt. I tend to be very busy during the week, but i will do my best to get to replies and asks when I have time.
First things first, please don't godmod! This means controlling Eris or anything that Eris does in character. It could be the smallest thing, like making him pick something up, to using your character's abilities to hurt and/or kill Eris when I did not give you permission to do so.
I am both selective and mutually exclusive, meaning that I will only roleplay with those I follow back.
I also reserve the right to reject roleplaying with ANYONE and for ANY reason. This is my blog and I will not be bullied.
Memes may be sent to be my non-mutuals, however. I will always interact with non-mutuals in my askbox.
This is a multi-ship and multi-verse blog. However, Vittorio is canonically bisexual.
This is a hate-free, theft-free zone. I will not send hate, nor will I answer messages directed toward me or anyone else that can be considered hateful or hurtful. You've come to the wrong place to stir up trouble.
This blog will contain offensive and sensitive topics and is considered generally 'NSFW'. However, I am opposed to doing smut very often and will probably keep that on the low side. Blood, sexual assault, depression, suicide, toxic personality traits and abuse will all be things that are discussed here. HOWEVER, they will all be tagged correctly.
Her name is ERIS, she is known as DISCORDIA. For thousands of years she has reigned terror and injustice on humanity, sweeping across the land in the form of chaotic hurricanes and crumbling eruptions. She is violent death, she is starvation, and she sets fire to those unwilling.
Born to darkness (and some say to the King of Gods; Jupiter) with her brother, Thanatos at her side, the two were employed by HADES to bring in the souls of the dead. While her brother was granted the gentle death, those brought in through infancy or through the burden of peaceful sleep, Eris was charged with the destruction of mankind. Envy, lust, these are just a few of the things she feels for those given less GRUESOME tasks. Her occupation creates friction on her appearance and creates what she had become. Sunken emerald eyes and pale, gaunt features. Spindling fingers rake at the earth, sowing the seeds of her Golden Apples that jolt the world in their wake.
She is forever known for the wars she causes, most notably the Trojan War, where she threw down the seeds of destruction and clapped as mortal and god alike were pitted against each other in absolute RAGE.
Eris, Goddess of Discord, lives among the world's most chaotic bodies; humanity. They, along with their violent free will, make up a collection of sinister creations and thought processes that makes her feel at home. She appears to them as the most terrible evil; the spokesperson for a Tax Agency. There's a certain joy that comes to her from the dread others display, heels clicking and clipboard displaying all the wrongs they deigned to commit. Riveting. But her terror-streak has run dry as of late, what with so few massive wars occuring with the blade and sword. But humanity has a few new toys to play with, and they are creating their battles without her.
Aesop's New Fables.
The generic verse for all of my cross-overs without a verse of their own. Usually taking her out of Ancient Greece and into a new, more modernized atmosphere.
Time-Swept Goddess.
Any verses taking place before the 1940s will be placed here. This includes Ancient Greece or anything occuring on Mount Olympus unless otherwise specified!
Vampire Chronicles [ Shadow of Death ].
Created during the peak of Greek Civilization, Eris was made by Cyril. Among one of the many Greek young women turned by the vampire with disregard for the rules, Eris was headstrong and sought after more than what the night had to offer. Her stay with her own maker did not last long, however, as Eris soon learned throughout history that her own kind could be more cruel than any human. She created few companions and had even fewer friends. She disappeared from known History at the time of the Roman invasion, choosing to remove herself from the mediterranean and seek out enlightenment and popularized-philosophy in other regions of Western Europe.
As a Child of the Millenia, she was blessed with the Fire Gift, Telepathy and Telekinesis. She can also fast for long periods of time if need be and her cravings are at a minimum. She is, however, one of the many that does not survive the ‘purge’ from Maverick Vampires in the final book. She dies by fire in southern Italy, near Rome, when it is set by her own kind. At this point in time she has made quite a few of her own fledglings and it is with them that she dies in a Coven House made known.
