The Fifteen Strangers Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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15strangers2023-07-23 07:11 pm
strangerpeople) wrote in 15strangers2023-07-23 07:11 pm
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SING, O GODDESS
[The place that Zagreus brings them to is an abandoned house. Like the rest of Greece, at first the grass and plants are dead, withered. But only at first.
As everyone files into the garden, it starts to slowly come to life. flowers begin to bloom. Fruits and vegetables start to sprout from the soil. The trees begin to grow once more. Wheat stalks slowly pop up out of the ground. Wherever this is, it's clear that life is returning-and the gods are awakening.
It's probably best that they don't return to the underworld, to the House of Hades-but, if anyone wishes to, Charon has arrived with the dead from the previous rounds-now alive-and little baby Ayame. If anyone wishes to go there-though, why would anyone ever willingly go back to the House, knowing you-know-who is probably awake by now?-they can.
But for those who stay here, there is food and drink, wine and bread, fresh meat and ripe crudités. Talk. Plot. Say your goodbyes before you are SHIFTed back to your homeworlds.
Who knows? Maybe there are still some surprises left to be had. But, either way...it is a good day. The new moon will pass. The sun will rise.
The Game-or at least, this variation of it-is over.]
((OoC: And with this, Round 7 is complete! Thank you everyone who participated-we hope you enjoy the aftermath, and stay tuned for the SHIFT Meme and HMD!))
no subject
[But that....
His faith settles around her like a blanket one that someone else might feel was suffocating, but she.... She already has no choice but to succeed. No matter how long the path. So instead she twines around him like a cat, wrapping herself close to him, her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder.]
William Ernest Henley is a poet who lived about when you did, I think. Perhaps his most famous work was written in 1875 and published in 1888: a poem called Invictus, the Latin word for 'unconquered'.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
no subject
[He echoes those words, seeming to think over them...before nodding, and removing his other glove, beginning to braid her hair.]
I never much had the chance to read it - at the date of it's publishing, I was...busy with other things.
[After all, he died in may - or was it december? - of 1893, at those falls, only a few short years after it was published.]
no subject
Mmm. Well, you can read it when we get home, if you want. I have some books of poetry....
[Trailing off into thought as she tries to remember what, exactly, they did have. Life had been a whirlwind for so long.]