(AU) Clockwork Olympus (Open)

[Bailey Foster]

(Welcome to Clockwork Olympus. In this world, the Greek gods and monsters of myth roam the Earth. It was the Titan Prometheus who gave fire to mankind and brought them into the light. However, he also gave them another gift, a secret the gods had kept from man: The power of steam and how to utilize it for technology.

Now humanity exists in a world containing fantastic steam powered machines. The gods, however, with their headstart and their ability to combine divine magic with technology, still reign supreme. Will you join their ranks as one of the gods of legends? Will you be a hero, recovering from your last trial? Or will you be a normal human, trying to reach the level of gods through machinery?*)

The city of Pilot's Ridge was known across the world. Many compared it to a modern day Athens. And the comparison was not unfounded. In the center of the city, standing almost as high as Mount Olympus itself, the Pilot's Ridge Air Center gleamed like a golden sun. Airships from around the globe docked at its many ports. It was the Air Center that given name to the ridge and caused its prosperity. Adventurers, scholars and laborers alike used this center, thousands a day. It even drew the attention of the gods, if only due to its location in this major city.

One god in particular had his focus upon the town today. Eros, the god of love, floated high above the metropolis. Held aloft by wings of gears and feathers crafted by the god Hephaestus himself, the archer would have truly been a spectacle to behold. The only thing that hid his visage and masked the sound of his clockwork wings was the spell gods used to blind mortals to their presence. It kept prying eyes from spotting him as he perched on the edge of a building. A vantage point from which he could easily spot his quarry.

There were few gods whose names were as often blessed and often cursed as Eros'. The bolts of his repeating cross bow had influenced the lives of immortals and countless mortals alike. Some carved of gold and adorned with the markings of doves to inspired love in the heart of any they pierced. Other of lead, scored with the markings of the owl to make the heart spiteful. He raised the crossbow, eyes of truest aim looking through the scope at the end. "Who will be my target today?" he asked himself in a singsong voice, an impish grin gracing his features.

((*If you choose a god or specific legendary hero like Perseus, please use their name while posting. Other than that, have fun!))

[Frank Smith]

Here he was in the great city of Pilot Ridge, a virtual metropolis and just the place where yours truly would find what he was looking for. He had traveled a great distance to see what the great deal was about the city really, perhaps sample some of the finer steam technology they had available. No one ever really could find anything good out in the middle of the gods forsaken nowhere, but here the beauty of the steam machinery was prevalent.

Why he would have an interest in such machinery was left to little speculation really, considering his interest in the invention of strange devices. In that perspective he liked to follow after Hephaestus, the god that was also known for building cool stuff.

Ράουκγιε raised the small lens from in front of his left eye as he let the sights that met him soak in, he was a sponge that would take in everything that he saw. It was pretty awesome, especially the greatest of the marvels The Air Center, something that he couldn't help but stare at in awe. Airships from all around would dock at it, and with them came people with all kinds of stories. Perhaps some had fought legendary monsters, and others were simple worked, but everyone had something of their own to contribute.

He was the idealistic mechanic that would build the next best thing, not just fix everything that people broke. Hell, he could fix almost anything but what he wanted to do was build something fantastic, and he had the blueprints that could be just that. Sure they were possibly not the best when it came to how the blueprints were drawn, but he knew what all of the little scribbles meant, so that was good enough for him. Adjusting the strap that held the metallic carrying tube to his back, the slightly tanned male walked onward, moving through a small crowd of people.

There were a few like minded people within the city and they could help him refine his design, or well...laugh at them. While this may have seemed like a great time of knowledge, not everyone was so open to new ideas and possibilities.

((ράουκγιεis basically a Greek equivalent of his name.))

[Vincent Meian]

A shadow drifted amongst the denizens of the bright city, felt only by a slight chill and a hint of smoke in its wake. Unlike many of it's kind, the shadow was not entirely invisible simply because it did not want to be - if it had desired, it would have been unseen by all eyes upon it, mortal and immortal alike. However, on this day, simply ghosting through the city was enough; walking through the throngs of people with their busy lives hurrying to an end.

Mortals, it thought with an air of sad aloofness, they rush too quickly to their end.

If one were to catch a good look at it, the shadow became a very tall man, slender in frame beneath a black coat stitched with silver patterns that seemed to shy away from the eye. Buckles adorned the arms of the trenchcoat in bands of three and three, and nine bindings crossed his lean chest to latch the dark fabric closed. The collar for the jacket raised to hide his face, and a wide-brimmed hat shielded golden eyes from the rays of the sun, and heavy boots stepped astonishingly light on the clockwork cobblestones. One scarred, long-fingered hand rested on a sword (bound by nine strips of pitch leather) on his hip; the other walked a slender silver lighter over the digits without pause or glance. However, none of these things matched what rested unseen against his back with only glints of silver and coin to mark its existence - black wings of mechanical make, hissing softly like sand pouring through an hourglass as they tucked close to his slender frame, glinting just barely as the rays of the sun caught exposed gears. The feathers seemed devoid of all light; a trick of Hephaestus' craftsmanship, amplified by a gift of Hades.

And yet, for all its darkness and unusual cold on this warm and sunny day, the shadow merely walked the city streets unseen and unmolested. Perhaps that was because today (or at least this hour), the shadow had no business with mortal men, but with gods.

The figure stopped at the center of an alley as men and women moved by it without knowing why they were avoiding that spot. It took a moment, then turned its golden gaze upward and eastward, the coin-like disks locking with the eyes of the god of love that peered into the city below. "Eros," he murmured, his voice low as distant thunder. "We must speak."

The shadow knew the god could hear it; evocation was a powerful thing, and this wraith of shadow and despair only spoke True. Such was the way of the collector of souls, Thanatos.