Fandom [pjo] EXODUS

[fraxiom]

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  intro

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  SON OF NYX

  
  
  
  

  HOZIER

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  overview.

  
  
  
  

  A

  t Camp Half-Blood, there's always something stirring.
  The year is 2024. It's the first day of summer. Soon, the cabins will be filled with semi-divine kids from America and beyond, ready to face up to whatever challenge Capture the Flag is going to bring them. There will be new faces. There will be old ones. There will be memorials for the people who didn't make it to join them around the campfire. All of this is pretty normal.
  
  Underneath all of this is a noise. From the depths, a low hum reverberates out and upwards. It's the sound of a silent room, of ancient blood gurgling from where it's been smeared. Across the ocean, in a remote and oft-visited natural park, a rumour spreads among locals of a lake that, against all laws of reality, has started glowing. On the airwaves, a politician once considered to have a career that was dead in the water is whispering and nudging in all of the right places, adamant that the scoop he holds is one of a lifetime, and it's working.
  
  Early this morning Camp Jupiter was surrounded by men and women with guns, tanks and loud, angry voices. Right now, it's a military operation: The Roman demigods of San Francisco have been discovered by mortals, and it won't be long before the ones in Long Island are uncovered too. A few of these Roman youths escaped through the border and have arrived at Camp Half-Blood's doorstep, both requesting refuge and demanding answers.
  
  This morning, some will wake from the tail of a dream about an iridescent pool of water, of a pack of vicious dogs tearing through a mountain range, of an all but forgotten sword catching the light of the dewy morning sun, of a cauldron, rusted and ancient, and then a great earthquake. Like all dreams of prophecy, it's rather vague.
  
  Whether the Greek and Roman demigods will be able to live in harmony at Camp Half-Blood is only one question. The other is whether they will be able to organise against this threat to their lives, their futures and their secrets.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  roles

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  roles.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  GREEK DEMIGODS

  
  
  
  

  unlimited

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  The typical residents of Camp Half-Blood, children of the Greek pantheon of Olympian major and minor gods.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  ROMAN DEMIGODS

  
  
  
  

  unlimited

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Seeking refuge from a home under siege, these demigods will arrive at the beginning of summer with the facts of their escape and the terrible fate on the horizon.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  DUAL LEGACIES

  
  
  
  

  unlimited

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  It's no secret that demigods tend to fall for other demigods, and sometimes this can culminate in children with powers from two godly grandparents.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  OTHERS

  
  
  
  

  on request

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Villains, monsters, demigods belonging to other pantheons all go here.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  rules

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rules.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule one.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  To begin, there will only be 3 children of the Big Three available to play. This number may change as more people join and the characters become more populated. Otherwise, feel free to make as many or as few demigods from major and minor deities as you'd like. Demigods from pantheons other than the set Greco-Roman must be discussed with me before they're created, for ~*~plot reasons~*~
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule two.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Demigods are limited to the age of 20 aside from those in special circumstances (i.e cabin counsellors). There can be only be one cabin counsellor in each cabin, and must be Greek demigods.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule three.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Dual-legacies (the child of two demigods) may have a variety of abilities, but please don't make them too overpowered. Dual legacies should be limited to one major offensive/defensive ability from each parent. There are 5 available dual Big Three legacies (i.e a grandchild of Poseidon & Hephaestus, or Zeus & Hades); these will not take up one of the 3 Big Three spaces.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

intro

roles

rules

THERE'S NO SPACE

in the valley of the

gods

genre

pjo, adventure

status

accepting

gms

fraxiom

spots open

unlimited

discord

ooc/character sheets

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[fraxiom]

• ollie
• aldo

• OLLIE G. REYNOLDS

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  • how are you feeling?

    dejected
  • outfit
  • location

    outside dining pavilion
  • mentions

    open

    interactions

    open

  Paint

  ghosts

  over everything, the

  sadness

  of everything. We made ourselves

  cold.

  We made ourselves

  snow.

  We smuggled ourselves into ourselves.

  
  In the night, Ollie saw his parents, and they looked happy.
  
  It wasn’t rare for him to dream of them nowadays. All of the stories they’d told of their escapades together, the circumstances of their meeting and their parting, had woven themselves into the recesses of Ollie’s imaginative mind from a young age. Being there, then, the place they’d bound their souls together, gave him a whole new arsenal of dreamscapes. While he slept, they ran through the snow together. His dad a curly-haired eighteen year old fool with a laugh so loud it could have cracked Zeus’ fist into an array of scattered fingers, his mother sharp of face and of tongue (but quickly melting as his father regaled her with his stories) with a shock of bright purple hair that flowed with a mind of its own behind her.
  In these dreams, they were happy and young. Nobody had died yet. Nobody had gone missing. Ollie had come to expect them as he grew acclimated to the setting around him, even looking forward to them on some occasions, but this time it was different.
  
  The realm tore. The ground shook. His parents faded into a tornado of shadows as, at the same time, he saw a lake shine like a star, and frozen he watched a great beast step out of it, surrounded by baying, translucent hounds. He saw these things without fear. Without really understanding why, he knew what was happening – something was waking up. This understanding rose in him like a tidal wave. It tingled his blood. It whispered goosebumps onto the back of his neck, hovering over him like it was about to pounce, and then Ollie woke up.
  
  The ceiling of his cabin revealed itself to him in all of its familiarly dusty dimensions. A ray of sunlit dust shone in through the window next to his bed, shining an uncomfortably convenient light of heaven on a photograph he’d put beside his bed; an old childhood photo that had been sunbleached and folded so many times that the subjects of the photo were barely visible. Not one for poetics this early in the morning, Ollie ignored it.
  
  He got up in a rush. Maybe if he had a shower hot enough he would be able to dispel the feelings for a while. Maybe if he put on his clothes in record time he would earn the prize of a quiet, thoughtless morning. Maybe if he made sure that the steps he took to the dining pavilion ended in an even number, his sister would find him. Maybe if he beat the rhythm of eight onto the side of his leg enough times, she’d take him back to his parents.
  
  Though he met all of these criteria, none of those things happened.
  
  Ollie ended up alone and anxious at the dining pavilion with one leg hanging awkwardly in the air, two odd socks and a t-shirt that looked to never have been graced by the touch of an ironing board. It was only there, when all of his little morning hopes fell through, that Ollie cast his mind back to the events of his dream, and that feeling, that strange certainty he’d had that everything was about to change for the worse.
  
  And, deciding indignantly against the Freudian notion of believing in the secret truth behind one’s own dreams, Ollie put his foot down and decided on getting himself a pain au chocolat.
  

  coded by reveriee.
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  aldo eccarius

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  • how are you feeling?

    frightened
  • outfit
  • location

    camp border
  • mentions

    open

    interactions

    open

  After such

  knowledge

  , what forgiveness? Think now.

  History

  has many cunning passages, contrived corridors and

  issues

  ,

  deceives

  with whispering ambitions, guides us by

  vanities.

  "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP. DO NOT MAKE ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS. IF YOU ATTEMPT TO FIGHT, YOU WILL BE SHOT. IF YOU ATTEMPT TO FLEE, YOU WILL BE SHOT," shouted the man over his loudspeaker.
  
  When Aldo was young, his mother told him and his sister the secret to her work, the precious lever that took her from one publication to the next, the single most important thing she had ever learned and the biggest secret she had to keep from the peers who bayed for her place at the tables she sat at. She'd brought her face close. In his faulty memory, she looked beautiful, the picture of perfection that only a child could project onto the woman who cared for him. In reality, he knew that at that moment in time she was edging ever closer to the end of her tether, madly professing the final piece of knowledge she'd impart onto her children before a dear friend swept them away, quoting a dead poet like scripture:
  History doesn't repeat itself, but nothing in this world is new. Everything in the world is made out of the stories we tell ourselves, the myths and the legends and the books and the anecdotes, it's all happened before. If you find the right stories, all of time is yours.
  
  As the soldiers descended on Camp Jupiter, Aldo thought of the war he'd narrowly avoided, and he decided that his mother wasn't as insane as other people would have had him think.
  
  He could see it as he charmed the door, as the people behind him shouted and crammed for a solution to this mess, as they turned to his sister for her prophetic wisdom. Visions of the past; people who had believed themselves safe because they had only ever seen this kind of barbarism in history books and newspaper stories about individuals who'd looked different, sounded different, believed something different, lived somewhere different to them. As Aldo understood it, everybody in the world thought themselves immune to terror before they were inflicted with it. Of course they did. It was part of being human. Hope aggrandises the self into a state of pseudo-immortality.
  
  "Go. Go, go, go!" Aldo roared at those who had chosen to flee, rushing them toward the door he'd made in a rush. He hoped it would hold. "Hurry up!"
  
  When everyone was through, he cast a look to Eyre. For a moment, time stood still between them. Her nod was one of the tiniest movements he'd ever seen, barely recognisable as an act of communication, but he understood the gist of what she was trying to communicate to him: Come back. Whatever you do, come back.
  
  Then he jumped through the wooden frame of his rudimentary portal, and between one second and the next, the clamour of chaos became the gentle trill of birdsong. The floor beneath him was not greased with sweat, it was grass. Warm, dewy grass, shining under the morning sun at the border of Camp Half-Blood.
  
  He'd heard about it. The stories revolved around demigods who had joined forces to fight a great power, the kind of legends that Aldo wanted desperately to believe in at times like these. As he stood with his face to the sun, he took a shaking breath in. The adrenaline was still coursing through him. He didn't know if he'd made the right decision, but it was all he'd been able to do. When Aldo stepped forth over the mist threshold, he did it with the weight of history on his shoulders.

  coded by reveriee.