Permanent Log - Thrones of the Gods

[deifier]

Within this post, your characters may claim their rightful place as gods...





For heretofore unclaimed thrones:

The temple is dark and silent. No lights, no incense, no priests - nothing but the echoes of your footsteps. Once, a mighty deity sat in these halls and reigned supreme over their domain, whatever it was. Now, the throne is empty.

There is no one to stop you from approaching. No one cries "sacrilege!" as you mount the steps to the dais. The stone seat at the center beckons - and if you choose to sit upon it, the torches will flare to life once more. Slowly, priests will begin to return.

But only if you choose to take the throne.



For those who have deposed the previous god:

This temple has been warmed by braziers, lit by torches. The statues along the walls gaze down with shadows shifting across their stone faces, making them seem to be alive - judging this new pretender to the throne. The heady scent of incense fills the air.

If there are priests, the part like a sea, though one may tentatively hold out a ceremonial robe, then scurry away into the crowd. They fear you - but also revere you.

The steps leading to the dais are covered with offerings of food and flowers, tokens of worship from the natives of Vernos Bay. Letters lie strewn amongst these gifts - petitions for gifts to be given in return. Do you feel the weight of this task you have taken from another, or are you simply pleased to take their throne?

What changes will be made to the temple now that you have replaced its last god?



Further Instruction:

Players may feel free to either play out ICly how their character takes their throne, link to a thread, or simply make an OOC note that it has been done. Please note who your character is and what throne they are taking in the subject line.

Comments

In the Temple of Memory

[nevermorethroppish]

[ It had taken some time to discover the source of the problem.

There were any number of problems that Liir concerned himself with. Sometimes, it was the problem of existence, primarily his own, though he was kind enough to include that others might also mind their own existence on occasion. Sometimes, it was the problem of injustice, though there were times, especially poor ones, when he simply lumped that in with existence. And, of course, there was always the problem of power.

He was writing a book on that. Ask him about it at your peril.

But the problem in this case had to do with his memory, how the crystal clear, almost pointed pieces of his past had gone dull and hazy, how they seemed unreal and strange when for most of his life they had been the only thing that he could dependibly rely on. That had led to talking to one of the natives, an experience which he hoped not to repeat for the time being, and the procurement of directions.

Those had led him here.

He has never seen a temple proper, of course. There were churches, even a shrine or two. To the Unnamed God, to Kumbricia, even to the Witch on more than one extremely awkward occasion. And yet, none held the strange solemnity of this particular place, the feeling of potential, of power and change thrumming in the air along with his footsteps. This place had been a place of power, even if now it wasn't, and his own strange senses reached out for it, reached for the memory of that power through the haze.

How he ends up at the throne is almost a mystery to him; he doesn't remember walking there, certainly doesn't remember turning. But he will never in his life forget sitting, the taking of that throne, the feeling of his memories regaining their razor edge and the strange swell of power that he can sense under his fingers and in between his toes at the change.

The idea had been ludicrous when the man had told him, had explained, had practically begged: a god? Him?

Of course, he would be the... perhaps, third? member of his family, possibly fourth, with delusions of divinity, certainly the third with aspirations of deification (whether they were for a good reason or not, he doesn't forgive himself, as he has no doubt that Shell thought his reasons good as well). But he sits on the throne all the same, and the world has changed. He remembers what it was before this moment, and he will remember this moment as well.

The God of Memory is gone. The God of Memory is returned. Liir, God of Memory has taken his throne. ]

Dominique DiPierro | Law and Justice

[ask_alexa]

Later Dom wonders if there was a point where she could have decided differently. If she could have just walked away, decided to get on with her life, try to figure out how to get home. She has duties there. Responsibilities. Lives—Jesus—in her hands.

She's never run away from anything before.

(That is one big fucking lie, Dom.)

But somehow walking into the Temple of Justice doesn't feel like running away from anything. The place is empty and cold and dark and smells of decaying books, but when she walks through the bronze doors she feels ... at home. Like she belongs. Like this place needs her.

They need something, that's for sure. She's talked to some of the locals by now, and understands (sort of; as long as she doesn't dwell too long on the utter shitty weirdness of it all) what the stakes are. There's no courts of law anymore; no trials for crimes or arbitration for suits. There's no police, so crimes go unremarked and undetected. That alone offends her on a cellular level. How much harm is coming to people here, just because there's no one overseeing the mere fact of justice?

Back home, her life is ruined. Back home she's compromised, blackmailed. Her loved ones threatened. Everything is wrong there, and she can't see a way to make it right. Here, though—here's a chance to make things right somewhere, and maybe, just maybe, if she can do good enough here to make things work, to (she barely admits this to herself; power and status has never mattered before) gain enough power to do things, maybe she can leverage that to fix things back home.

The marble throne feels like ice at first, but either she gets used to it quickly or it warms up like the seat of a BMW in winter. And when the torches flare, she exhales, slowly. Flexes her fingers and toes. She doesn't really feel any different, which is a little surprising. But something has definitely changed.

In the Temple of Fortune and Luck

[murderbreak]

If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?

Ryan had always reasoned that if if everyone was jumping off a bridge, there was probably something that necessitated it. People compared it to lemmings going off a cliff; he knew that had been staged in that one Disney 'documentary', anyway. For someone who looked like a macabre circus clown on a good day and the Grim Reaper's cooler cousin on a bad one, he was smart, and had a deep reference pool. People underestimated him. Ryan the Vagabond Guy, Ryan the Murder Guy. Ryan the College Guy. The only one of the Crew who'd had any higher education.

When that ridiculous teenager had claimed the Throne of Death and made a spectacle of himself, Ryan decided to pick something of his own. And there were a lot of choices. It was better that he hadn't gone for death himself, he thought; too much work. He'd rather reap the reward without the work, make the kid take the responsibility for him. What do teenagers like? Video games? Do they even have those here? Maybe I'll sacrifice a goat.

When he finds the Temple District, he wanders through it until some impulse makes him stop - a pull inside him, maybe. He looks at the sign.

Temple of Fortune and Luck.

"Fortune favors the bold," he mumbles to himself, and steps in.

It's dark and dusty, and clearly abandoned, as most of the others had looked. No fires, no incense, no priests. But there is a throne at the far end of the temple, a magnificent throne, something that's calling him.

He climbs the steps, sits down (sending an enormous cloud of dust up from the pillow, which makes him sneeze), and leans back.

And things...shift, somehow.

He's always been lucky, and he's always thought that 'make your own luck' had been good advice. But now it feels like gold in his veins, four-leaf clovers that can spring from the ground where he walks. And at the same time, there's ruin inside him; not the same darkness and madness that had always been there and grown within him, but something more. He can bring ruin to people without touching them, without firing one bullet, without one twist of a knife. It doesn't need to be violent. It can be subtle, it can be awful, it can be anything from a stubbed toe to complete and utter destruction of someone's life.

He is God, and he can make anyone he chooses his Job.

He takes off his mask, sets it beside himself on the throne, and begins to sing, his low, pleasant baritone echoing through the deserted temple.

"O Fortuna, velut luna, statu variabilis..." And he laughs - not maniacally, but jubilantly.

The Mad King, God of Fortune, has taken his throne.

in the temple of the ocean ( konstantin scala )

[atmospheric]

[ his footsteps have brought him here to the foot of a temple, in his exploration of vernos bay, trailing each and every street, learning it slowly by name as he passes fingers on old brick and mortar, humming a gentle tune to himself. it's mindless, an old thing from childhood that he remembers his mother leaning in close to sing to him. it steadies his heart, the angry little thrum connected to the ocean and its weak slapping of the shore, the rock, the sand.

the taste of the ocean air here at the foot of this temple is sour on his tongue, steps of the temple crusted over with long-since dried and yellowing salt. konstantin steps slowly, shoes crushing the residue of an ocean once lively, now mild and almost sickly. the scales on his hands seem to tremble a bit at the prospect, a feverish ocean that barely laps at the coastline. each motion he takes seems right, every step until he makes it to the very top where he is met with a wide open temple, braziers long forgotten, the scent of stale incense mingling with sick. the tiles on the walls have long since molded over in their grout and with each and every step konstantin can feel a neglect writhing uncomfortably in his bones.

this is sacred ground, something whispers in his veins, brings him to wrap his arms loosely around himself as he steps in further.

old strong bones of the sea left to wither. white stone coloring with age, the smell of rotting things washed up from the ocean, as if she were trying to rid herself of the dregs of everything that is dead beneath her waves. his mouth opens to speak, but he closes it quietly, as if there is nothing to be said here. this temple is a dying, nearly dead, thing and as konstantin brushes a hand slowly along the high back of the throne, examining it. it comes away with dust, with ash, with salt, and he looks at his palm a few moments before rounding to the front of the throne once more.

he sits.

what possesses him to sit is, perhaps, the quiet little call for help that he feels deep in the pit of his belly. the ocean runs through his veins, as it did his human father, and his kind and monstrous mother, his cursed aunt, his wild little sister. they are all envoys of the sea - fishermen and the haunted things that lurk beneath the waves in wait.

he sits, and it feels right, leaning back against the throne's seat, pressing the back of his skull to it and closing his eyes.

and then snapping them right back open as the braziers flare to life with a sudden roar. he nearly leaps straight back out of the seat, but stills himself with fingers clutching the throne's arms instead, eyes glancing around the now suddenly lit room. something settles within him, a voice that is almost like laughter, but not quite a human voice. the ocean waves not far off from the temple itself seem to thrust themselves up against the coast with laughter as he sits, the smell of their curling foam and spray filling his lungs as he holds his head up high and smiles just a little bit.

konstantin doesn't sing very often, but when he does, it's most certainly for the ocean - a sweet and soothing little song as the sound of feet begin to shuffle up the steps of the oceanside temple to see just who has come to claim the throne. ]

Tatra In the Temple of Hearth and Home

[tatra]

The temple is a modest affair, smaller than the others and round in shape. The inside is untouched by dust, but has a sense all the same of having been forgotten, untouched for ages. In this place without time it could have been like that for centuries. In the center of the large main room is a huge bowl, which seems to be set up for a fire.

Tatra traces a hand across the bowl's rim as she considers this place. This temple with no fire. The pictures on the wall paint a clear enough image: this is a temple for the home. How terribly sad it is, to think that this world has no fire and no home.

She moves on to the throne, which is the same marble as the rest of the temple but covered in pillows. Clearly a living person was meant to sit here, so Tatra does. She looks over the empty place and thinks, if I could bring warmth to the people of this place, that would be enough. That would make this diversion worthwhile.

And apparently she can. The bowl in the center of the temple begins to burn, slowly at first, just a hint of flame reaching the air above the coals. An unseen light fills the room, making the marble shine white and the wall mosaics burst with color.

Tatra giggles. Perhaps this world is like Cephiro, where the will of the heart decides all.

"Well then! I guess that's that!"

Redecorating

[tatra]

Once enough priests have returned to the temple to help her, Tatra sets about the important work of redecorating her temple. The marble always seems to be warm enough, but it doesn't say 'home' to her.

In a matter of days the main room is draped with curtains that frame the nicest of the wall mosaics, those depicting families and warm scenes of home life. Pillows are strewn across the floors at the walls, and the throne is covered with blankets and even more pillows than before.

Most important are three small tables, one next to the throne and one on each side of the main entrance, which hold filled tea sets complete with sugar, milk, lemon and small cookies.

Zelda in the Temple of Knowledge and Reason

[heirtonothing]

This is absolutely absurd.

"This is absolutely absurd," Zelda informs the temple, which looks almost like the ruins of the Temple of Time. But where the Goddess statue should be, instead there's a throne.

She had been to the library, and found that although there were plenty of books on the shelves they were all blank. She tried stores, even asking strangers, but all of the books in the city were blank. So she came to the Temple of Knowledge and Reason, as it says above the door. She half expected there to be books inside, but it's just empty space and a great, empty throne.

It doesn't seem like there's any other choice. Book in hand, she climbs the dais and sits on the cold throne. Before her eyes the book on her lap takes its proper shape. The pages fill with words, and the cover gains a title:

Thesaurus.

This is not remotely helpful.

She's going back to the library.

Georgia in the Temple of Communication and Technology (with added Shaun)

[choosetruth]

It's not really a surprise that Georgia finds herself in the Temple of Communication. They're reporters. If anywhere's going to have the answers she wants, it's going to be in the temple most affiliated with the news. More importantly, she's sure that Shaun would have the same instincts, or possibly he'd just assume it's where she'd go, and considering her first and biggest priority is finding Shaun, it seems like the most logical course of action.

But the temple is dark and empty. Georgia frowns and walks around, taking note of how clearly disused it is. Once, this was a hub of communication. Now, it... isn't.

She wants to sit on the big chair in the middle. But she isn't Shaun. She doesn't obey her stupidest instincts just for the hell of it. She waits until she's observed everything, until she thinks she understands what exactly sitting in the throne would mean.

Becoming a god. Not something she's ever really considered. She's way too practical for that. But here she is, and it seems like the most efficient way to get the media up and running. And the faster she gets the news up and running, the more tools she'll have at her disposal for finding Shaun. It seems worth a go, anyway.

She mounts the steps, turns around, and plops herself in the chair as confidently as if it was her own desk chair.

The torches flare to lie. At the front of the temple, the door opens.

bonus Shaun, really.

[adaptiveimmunities]

When Shaun goes to the temple of communication, it's mostly because he can't imagine anywhere else to go. He's a reporter. He's been part of the news since before he could really talk, so it's natural that the would go to the place with the highest affinity to what he's known all his life. He's not really expecting to see anyone he knows, though it would be nice if Dave or Becks or Alaric were there waiting.

They're not, of course. He opens the door to torches lit and one person sitting on the biggest seat in the middle of the room.

Well.

That's.

Not right.

He pulls out his gun and aims it at the person in the chair. "Who the fuck are you."

In the Temple of Art, Music, and Literature-

[suit_of_sables]

[ Look, it might take him a whole grand total of five minutes before he gets there. Five minutes from when he shows up, asks someone what's what, and literally goes running for the temple.

It's not so much that he wants to be a god. It really isn't. He might be a director and all these days, but he's not really much for power fantasies. No, it's because he is horrified, DEEPLY AND UTTERLY HORRIFIED, that this is a world, a place, entirely devoid of art for the moment.

...though he'd argue that's not true, that everything that can be seen has some manner of art to it, that aesthetic is an inherent part of reality, humanity, don't worry he'll shut up once he no longer feel like reality is incomplete.

That's why he doesn't so much solemnly make his way to the thrown as, well, fling himself into the chair. And, uh... ]

...oh my God, I think I'm high on art.

The Temple of the Night and the Moon

[shutupnightwing]

Jason doesn't consider himself the kind of person who just... goes and claims godhood. Sure he has an ego--as much as anyone who runs around in tights and a mask (or jeans and a helmet, ymmv) thinking they know best how to make justice happen--but not so much that he thinks he should be in charge of anything more than his own fucked up life, and his own fucked up little corner of the world.

But this place doesn't even have a real night because some asshole can't be bothered to do their job. Jason does all of his best work at night.

He makes his way to the Temple of Night and opens the door. Empty. Dusty. Cold. He shakes his head a little to himself and heads straight for the chair in the middle of the room. First do the job, then redecorate. He sits down.

As the torches come slowly to life, he laughs quietly to himself. The part of him that will never really let go of all the "Daddy never loved me best" bullshit is cackling wildly, but he's managing not to sound like a crazy person.

"Well, Dad. Who's the Night now?"

[fungi_notpunny]

[It takes a while for Ellie to make a decision. Without any change in the world, she's not sure how long it takes, except she hasn't been able to sleep and she's having trouble remembering things about herself, about the past, everything. Her instinct is to hide in the forest (fuck her stupid ass for only having her fucking switchblade with her), and she does, but there's barely a forest. The trees are shriveled, not quite dead but not alive, and the leaves haven't even fallen off. They're just a gross grey-green that makes her think of bruises.

She runs into people who explain, eventually. Maybe it's lucky she came a little bit after the other newcomers, maybe not, but she's glad for it. Ellie's scared and when she's scared she's angry, and stabbing some poor motherfucker for moving too fast probably isn't a good idea, even if they can't die.

But she's alive. Eventually, stuff starts again. First she's able to remember things, and then it's the sense of injustice she feels when she thinks about the fact that everyone she loves has either died or left or fucked her over.

It's only after night and day start happening again that Ellie approaches the temples. There are a couple things she's good at - hunting is one of them. Maybe out of desperate necessity at first, but she can manage it. After all, it's not that many people who can bring down a buck in the middle of winter with a bow and arrow...

Right. And the wilderness, well... It's hard and intense, but most of the things in it are simple. There's no malice behind a bear, just hunger. It's the same with the infected. Sure, they're awful and they ruined the fucking world, but they aren't smart. They're just hungry, too. They can't hurt Ellie like a human can, and they can't even hurt Ellie the way most people are hurt by infected.

So it's with these thoughts that she enters the temple of the wilderness and hunting.

It's run down, but not in a way she's familiar with. It's an open temple, with stone columns and a stone roof. But it's just still, in a way that something outside shouldn't be. It's covered in dust, and there are no plants growing through cracks in the ground, no vines creeping up. It's unsettling and not right.

The throne isn't a throne, so much as a pelt on the ground. Ellie thinks it might be a wolf pelt, but she isn't sure. There's too much dust to tell. There's something long wrapped in deer hide in front of it, but she can't quite bring herself to reach out and touch it, for some reason.

Even if this world is more like it was before the apocalypse, people still need to hunt and eat. Function.

Ellie sits cross-legged on the pelt, and watches the plant life start to grow over the temple. Yeah, that's how she remembers it.

Sitting down disturbs the hide into unfurling. There's a polished wooden bow that Ellie can tell is the right size for her, and a quiver with simple arrows. She picks it up, testing the weight and nodding to herself.]

Okay. We're doing this.

Chase Collins | DEATH THRONE

[bastardofipswich]

[ He really did think he was dead. When he first came to in this fucked up city, with memories of being engulfed in flames, he thought: yeah, this checks out. (He also thought: this is pretty tame for Hell. Where's the fire and brimstone and prancing demons with pitchforks?)

But time-- what passed for it, anyway, in a place without time-- and research taught him that there was a hell of a lot more going on in Vernos Bay. It's not the afterlife at all; it's more like it's been... abandoned. Like the powers that be just decided to up and leave one day, leaving the people of the city (their children) with nothing.

Chase knows a thing or two about that, thanks to his birth father.

The same day repeats on a loop (though 'day' is used loosely when there's no sun or moon or anything), but Chase takes it as an opportunity to explore. To go as far as he can, then find himself back at square one. It's kind of fun, actually, until boredom sinks in. How long has it been? Spenser, Ipswich, all of it is starting to feel like a distant, hazy dream. Why had he even wanted to kill Caleb Danvers so badly? Why did he kill his adoptive parents? Or what's-his-name, that classmate of his...

It all comes back to him when he finds himself standing at the steps of an abandoned temple, all... black stone or whatever. Death, that motherfucker that'd been chasing him since he met his birth dad and saw the true effects of Using. His fate: wasting away slowly, until there was nothing, nothing, because nobody ever taught him the nature of the Power until it was too late. And he'd been so afraid of it, and then angry, because it wasn't fair that he should be eighteen and hooked on something that would kill him. It would. A matter of 'when,' not 'if.'

But now there's no death, and he can Use all he wants. So he storms into the empty temple, and he Uses, upturning the sad remains of old, forgotten offerings, cracking stone and obsidian, shattering bones, unleashing the rage and resentment he feels towards absent figures. Death, the gods, his real father, the brotherhood he should have had...

And when he's spent and exhausted, he sets his eyes on the throne. It calls to him, sweetly, more seductive than the Power ever was. He deserves it. The mantle of Death, his for the taking. Chase Collins can conquer it; he'll never have to fear death again.

Hell. Why not? ]

FOR DEATH THRONE INFO: GO HERE!

at the Temple of Dreams

[problematical]

To any who asked, there were no dreams, just a blank and empty void of time between falling asleep and waking. No nightmares, but no lovely mindscapes either, no pleasant distractions or prophetic symbology... just nothing.

The problem for River is that being awake and being in a dream isn't always so clearly delineated, and she's standing in the entryway of a temple. It's a relatively modest structure, rotunda style, light coloured stone that obviously hasn't been kept up. It could almost be mistaken for a garden or park pavilion by those who didn't know any better. The interior is dark, but there are windows around the upper circumference that would likely brighten it tremendously if they were opened.

There isn't anyone to open them, not now.

People haven't dreamt in a while.

A few leaves have blown in with her, swirling around her boots and the bottom of her skirt, and she scuffs them along the floor just for the noise it makes, to break the silence. The throne ahead of her sits cold and empty, abandoned or forgotten.

Simon's voice is in her ear, telling her that dreams are the mind's way of trying to heal, and that he can't give her things that will make her sleep so deeply that her own don't worm their way into her mind anymore. River couldn't say whether being in charge of dreams would do anything for her own, given that her own took place as often when she was awake as when she wasn't, but...

Maybe other people weren't able to get their minds right either. Maybe she could fix other people, like how Simon had been trying to fix her.

River steps up to the throne, and sits.

Stephanie Brown in the Temple of Coffee

[ichoosefight]

She was on her way to what she hoped would end up being an Irish coffee with Dick and Jason, two people she had thought she was least likely to run into, when she passed the temple. It caught her eye, as much because of its size as its architecture. The temple was very small, but built with the same design of a much, much larger building. And above the door were the words: Temple of Coffee.

"Hold up," she told her companions without looking to see if they were still with her. She was entranced. She hadn't honestly thought there would be a temple of coffee.

"I'll be right back."

The inside of the temple got none of her attention. It was drab, mostly empty. A back room looked like it might hold a staircase. She made a bee-line for the throne, and spun before planting herself there with a wide, almost idiotic grin. She held her arms up to the sky.

"Let there be coffee!"

She looked around as the lights came mysteriously on. There wasn't much to see.

"Sweet," she told the empty space as she slapped her hands down on the armrests to launch herself out of the chair and back out onto the street.

Dick Grayson, Agriculture

[callipygous]

Dick never wanted to be a god. Sure, some of his friends are deities, or the next best thing, but he's always been perfectly happy being human. Flying is awesome, but also it's something he's entirely capable of if you give him a trapeze. He doesn't need superpowers, divine or otherwise.

If he were going to be a god, agriculture is not what he'd pick. He doesn't know anything about farms except that they don't have enough high buildings for him to be happy with. So why is he standing here in the middle of what used to be a garden, staring at the throne of agriculture?

Well. He might not be qualified for this role, but apparently if no one's there, agriculture won't happen. Unqualified is better than non-existent.

"Just until someone better comes along," he says, and sits down.

The torches flare to life, and fresh green sprouts poke out of the empty dirt plots.

Janey-E Jones | The Temple of Life

[toughdame]

It wasn't even that Janey-E was all that unhappy with her life. Arguably it had never been better—Dougie the man she'd always dreamed she'd marry, their life secure, their debts paid. But sometimes a faint unease made itself known, even after Dougie's return from wherever it was he'd run off to—and maybe that was enough.

So here, Vernos Bay—have an angry blonde housewife, who stomps through the streets demanding some kind of help in getting home. When it's clear that no such help is available or forthcoming, she turns her ire on the sight of the unhealthy children, the roving gangs of teenagers. And after someone's finally explained the situation to her, she turns on her heel and stomps right into the Temple of Life, flinging the doors open.

"All right! Now look, I need to get home, because I have a lot going on there, but if you people can't get me home, then I might as well try to do something useful."

And she slams herself down in the throne of the God of Life. The torches flare.

TEMPLE OF EARTH

[celticromanstone]

She only pays lip service to the gods where she is. She used to be one of their head priestesses, but she'd fallen out of the habit. But, here, where the gods are missing feels wrong to her. The earth moves under her feet, and she scowls. That isn't right.

Someone had explained that the gods are slowly returning. But there are still thrones that are missing that deified butt on the throne, apparently.

She pulls her sword as she steps into the temple. The stone and the metal sing together. She strikes her sword against a piece of flint and lights a torch in one of the wall sconces. The green throne sits as if it grew out of the stone beneath her feet. Maybe it did.

Something glitters along the top of the throne, and she raises the torch, hissing in a breath. She knows her gemstones, and those are not fakes. Why? Why is the throne empty and how the hell did they find an emerald that size?

She puts her sword away, and steps forward. Another earthquake shifts under her feet. She ignores it. Her well appointed boots step onto the stairs leading up to the dais. The earth calms under her feet.

She walks around the throne, crouching down, to notice the metal at the base of the throne. She touches it and the cool metal warms under her touch. The gemstones catch and refract the light from the torch.

She wonders why this place has cobwebs in the corner, and crystals growing out of control in the back. She runs her hands over the crystals and they hum, under her hand. Oh, that's nice.

The earth starts to shake and she stomps her heel. "Stop that." The earthquake stops. It's abrupt, and unusual. She walks back to the throne and runs her hand over it. The gemstones sing as she settles onto the throne. Oh, that's actually comfortable.

Well, it seems the Goddess of Earth has arrived.

In the Temple of War and Discord

[plasthmatic]

It isn't a question of whether Abigail wants the throne. It's a question of how long she has been at the bottom, staring out of the oubliette that is her life, and contemplating what she has so often been told by by a steady parade of social workers, would-be-mentors, doctors, counselors, and yes, even a vampire or two: when you've hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up.

She hates that. The people who say things like that are people who get a rope thrown down to them. People who have stairs magically appear. They don't sit in their own filth down at rock bottom, constantly getting stepped on by others. They don't break their fingers scrabbling at the walls. Rock bottom is different for different people.

Born poor. Taken away from her parents. Passed around from foster family to harried, tired foster family. No savings for college, not smart enough for the scholarships - a real failure "for an Asian", she has often been told - and not desperate enough for student loans. Still, there was that moment, that one awesome moment when she thought being a private donor to a vampire could get her out of the trap of poverty.

And she caught that fucking disease. A one in a thousand chance, and her number came up.

Sometimes, she wants to throw things. She wants to flip over tables and hear the smashing of plates and scream - and scream, and scream, and scream. It's better than crying. The more she thinks about it, the angrier she feels. It sits in her chest like a hot coal, hard and red, turning her words harsh and her thoughts bitter at the injustice of it all. It's like some god is out to get her.

Now, Kylo Ren didn't actually do anything to her. He was probably just as frightened as she was, disoriented and forced to hit the ground running. Just some dumb kid. She logically knows this. But seeing him on that stupid throne that she dragged him to, watching him take that power she should have taken for herself, is some kind of ugly metaphor for her life. That's why she's not looking for priests for him right now. Instead, she's standing here in an ancient temple (after all, War is as old as time itself), staring at a spartan granite seat.

Stone-faced, she ascends to the throne, turns to look out over the empty room, and imagines what this place will look like when the torches and braziers burn. When the priests - an army of them - fill the spaces between the columns.

She has been powerless for so long.

Not anymore.

In the Temple of Summer

[floatingrocks]

It was really only for the fruit.

Felicity Smoak | Temple of Industry

[justanitgirl]

It's not so much that Felicity wants to be involved in this god thing. It's more a need than anything else. A need for somewhere to live other than empty buildings and welcomes that turn into 'get out' when she starts to ask questions. Not to mention that multiple sources told her that this was the option that would help the most.

Without realizing where she was going, she found herself standing in front of a large bank building. Large and imposing, much like the building she'd worked in most of her life while in Star City. Except there didn't seem like there was anyone there.

Her lips curled into a soft frown as she assessed the darkened room. Marble floors were easy to identify by the soft click of her heels; as she shines the slight shine of things from the light of her phone. Still, the bank seemed abandoned. From the scale of it, it was a good bet that this was one of the temples that no one had claimed. Finance maybe? Except there were small toys that seemed to be pushed off to one side. Further in she found columns, marble stairs, a bank vault, and rooms with closed doors.

She made her way to the boxes first, shining the light over each box before noticing the names. Interesting.

Commerce was, important. She understood that much. If there were none, then there would be no way to attain the things you needed. The people sitting on the thrones might not realize that, but having not been on one, as well as living through Oliver and Thea's loss of their fortune had taught her that money was necessary. More than most realized.

Walking up the marble stairs and into the bank vault, she found a swivel chair, much like her own back home, only more ornate and cushy. She shrugs, hand running over the chairs leather.

"At least it's comfortable." She flops into the chair, testing the springs on the wheels and inside the base. It better be a good chair since she plans to get more computers in this vault.

The torches flare to life, revealing the marble encasement of the temple.

The Temple of Dreams

[chaos_and_curls]

Well, this place looks abandoned. He's not entirely certain about the whole 'god' process. Though it is something the others would quite and did quite enjoy doing. Sitting from a distance, that was. Lording it over the universe. In this case, however, it seems rather there are parts missing. Like gaps on gums where teeth should be. There is no process without some amazing intelligence behind it, it seems, to pull the levers and see what goes 'sproing'.

Oh but he is far from comfortable about this, he thinks, as he stares at the padded throne. He may have been accidentally foisted to Godhood on more than one occasion but it had never been something he would have chosen. Still at the moment he is sans TARDiS and missing Peri and he's always found it a good idea, when empty handed and no idea what was going on, to do ones best to fit in and pretend like he knows what's going on.

So he sits on the throne, one leg crossed over the other, and waits to see what happens. It couldn't be so bad, he supposes. After all, what was the worst that can happen.

Poe Dameron l Fire

[wearethespark]

https://duskofthegods-logs.dreamwidth.org/3003.html

Still working on getting to him sitting in the throne, but for all intents and purposes - any post made after this one, he's taken it.

Seth Gecko | Revelry

[darknstormy]

"Revelry?" Seth uttered the name with something between earnest question and disbelief. He wandered in with his guard up, looking around as if he were taking a casual stroll. If anyone or anything came at him then his stance would quickly change. Until then, his hands moved naturally at his sides as he walked all the way to the throne. "You've gotta be shittin' me."

With a shrug, he took a seat. "Ladies and Gents, all hail the motherfuckin' king of fun and games." Seth had been mostly joking. He didn't expect to be able to just take a seat and take the throne. Yet he sure as hell didn't run off or even get up when the flames ignited and subjects started to enter. He watched warily, waiting for someone to object then settled into the seat when no one did.

His hands rested on each of the arms while slouched slightly in the seat. He probably didn't look like any royal but Seth only walked to the beat of his own drum. He couldn't help but think of how his brother would eat up shit like this. Revelry? Seth hoped it meant what he thought it did.

He might've finally found something better than chasing a score, feeling empowered by the position. Whatever higher power there might be around here couldn't possibly help any poor bastard who tried to get him off the throne now. Seth continued to look around, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was one of the weirdest dreams he'd ever had. --That was what he chalked this all up to. None of this shit could be real.

"If I'm understandin' this right, I'm king here. So it's King Seth or your majesty. Anyone have a fuckin' problem with that? No? Good. Now let's get the party started."

Margo Hanson | Goddess of Weather

[ibiza]

The temple was quiet, eerie, even. Margo stopped at the doors, looking above them at the single word etched into the stone. It simply read ‘Weather’. She smiled to herself. You see, Margo had always fancied herself a human hurricane. Maybe she would be able to do some good with her godly power, too. Rain soft on farmers’ fields, bring bright sunshine to happy days, and cause the odd thunderstorm at night when people wanted something to lull them to sleep.

She stepped inside, dusting off a sculpture of the sun, then proceeded to walk up to the throne. Everything was so dusty and ancient looked. Margo scrunched her nose at the sight of it. “Gah, doesn’t anyone clean this place?”

Taking a seat on the throne, torches in the temple seemed to light themselves and, as if on cue, priests seemed to appear. This brought a smile to Margo’s face. Having her own priests and priestesses was the ultimate power trip. She decided to throw them a bone and use the magic she was already endowed with to decorate the temple.

With a few sharp motions of her hand, Margo created the illusion of a sunny sky hovering above all of them on the ceiling, a fake sun peering out from behind fluffy white clouds, endless blue spread elsewhere. She heard murmurings of awe.

“That’s right, bitches. I’m the motherfucking goddess of weather.”

[fungi_notpunny]

There's an itch that haunts Ellie, and the knowledge that they're all going to starve if they don't get animals back soon - all the livestock are missing, as well as the wild animals. Surviving on stored food wasn't that good of an idea. Ellie would know.

So, after a week of nothing but the occasional bird, Ellie decides to find the temple.

It's surprisingly close to the hunting temple - a cave set into the base of the eastern mountain, behind a lot of prickly shrubs that bend out of her way with a touch. It's twisting, and leads up and branches off into tiny tunnels that Ellie can't get in, but it's okay. After a little bit, the cave evens out, and she enters the throne room.

There are paintings on the cave walls, and a little bit of sunlight shining down from above, where the roots of some gnarled plant cover a small hole into the place. The throne room isn't exactly a room, so much as a flatter, vaguely circular area. It continues upwards, and Ellie can see more sunlight coming from that. Unlike the hunting temple, there's only two braziers on either side of the lit entrance. The throne itself is stone, even though it looks oddly like a tall tree stump. It's colorful and almost eerie, in some ways - Ellie's never seen anything like it.

She takes a deep breath, and then sits.

"...Hello?"

Ellie twists sharply, scared for a moment, and for a moment is staring a bear in the face.

Then, a hand reaches up and tugs the hood off. It's a bearded, heavyset man wearing a bear...cloak. He's wearing a shirt with a paw print on it that Ellie doesn't recognize. He smiles at her as the flames light in the braziers.

"I guess you're the animal goddess now? We can work with that." His smile is infectious, and Ellie gives him a weak grin in return.

"Yeah. I'm the animal goddess." It feels weird to say, but it's not bad. It'll do.

The Temple of Winter

[frozen_witch]

[In the distance, the sound of someone singing could be heard.

No, she was done with all of that. No singing like a child with her first taste of freedom. This was more important. Elsa paused at the edges of the ancient building, her eyes staring into the darkness, the cobwebs and the decay with eyes that were full of nervousness and more than a fair share of fear. She could feel a pull to this place, a tugging deep within her very soul that shared a kinship with something inside. It had called her from the moment that she had arrived in this city, but she had ignored it the first day.

She was in control of her powers, more or less, and had come to embrace what they could do to benefit her people. She knew that so long as she controlled and at the same time accepted her emotions, she would not lose control. But with every step into this forgotten, silent building she could not help but feel a deep and primal dread. Her rising above this had only been a short time ago, only happened with the near death of her beloved sister. Her people, furthermore, needed her right now. Her sister needed her, and she couldn't easily believe that time was frozen in her world.

Yet, looking in this place, she could feel a kinship and a power that throbbed with chilled and bone-numbing force. It yearned to be drawn upon, reigned in and controlled, and the world ached and needed the natural seasons to pass once more. A creation that so desperately yearned for a return to normalcy, and a people in need called to her heart while a gloved hand passed along the dusty marble of old pillars.

Every footstep that drew her closer sent spirals of frost out behind her. Her breath did not mist, the cold that etched the air not even touching her skin. The closer she got to the throne, to the dais that it was sitting atop, the more that it felt like it was her throne. It was meant for her. Who else would have been proper to serve as the snow queen of this place? She could not remain forever. There would need to be a successor, but for now winter was needed. The frost needed to permeate the ground, kill the pestilence, and spring needed to come afterwards.

Wishing that her sister was here, that she could have taken the throne of summer, that she wouldn't have been alone, Elsa stepped up each tile towards the seat. Behind her a path of frost rimmed its way up the pillars and she stared with cold, blue eyes at the seat of power. Her gloved hand ran over the arm and she swallowed hard. Sitting down meant embracing who she was, even more than she already had. But it would give her power a funnel, and if she could control it, perhaps she could learn how to wield it more for the needs of the people. Finally, with a careful breath, she seated herself upon the throne, crossing her legs. As she did, her voice spoke out and echoed hollowly in the hall.]

You can do this, Elsa. You can do this.

[As she did, the sconces in the hall lit to life, though there was little warmth in this place. It was still chill compared to the outside, though not so much as to be outright unpleasant. Elsa looked out through the doors of the temple and saw that snow was beginning to fall.

Winter had come.]

\

[notdreaming]

Kara doesn't understand what's happening, but she can feel the anxiety in the air. Or maybe it's just that she can hear it in Elsa's pounding heartbeat and shaky breath. Whatever's happening, Elsa really does seem like she knows what she's doing. So Kara watches, and waits.

She doesn't have to wait long. The place springs to life so suddenly that Kara suspects Elsa's words were a voice command awakening some sleeping AI to turn on the lights.

<What did you do?> And why does it feel... just a little colder?