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Artemis was the goddess of nature and the hunt. Aedea knew how to honor her patron.
She began hunting in the late afternoon, using her special bow – a hunting yew longbow with prayers to her goddess carved in the wood. As always, she was followed by her dogs; sacred animals for Artemis, and one of the signs that the priestesses took to say she was blessed. By the end of the hunt, it was already night, and by midnight, the houndmistress returned to the temple with a deer on her shoulders.
Artemis preferred to be worshipped in nature; in forests and hills, and that’s why nature was ever present in her temple. The plants grew wild on the pillars and floors, the birds chirped all over, and many animals found themselves at home there. Aedea liked that detail, because her and her dogs could walk over nature at their leisure, without getting away from home.
From home…
As Aedea walked with the deer on her shoulders, dripping her dirty tunic with blood, she wondered about home. Her earliest memories were of the wilderness of Colchis, and before that… not much. Forests, hills, grasslands… the wilds. Aedea pondered often where was her home, and then she realized that was her home. She was from the wilds, from the untamed nature where her goddess lived. So it was appropriate that she dedicated her life to the faith… even though she was tempted to return, she was happy here, for now. Even though she had impure thoughts and more than once she wanted to feel the pleasures for the flesh, she restrained herself. She will never disappoint Artemis, if she could help it.
She ordered her dogs to sit by her side, and then dropped the deer in front of the altar of Artemis – her likeness was carved in marble, and weeds grew at her feet. She knelt before the statue and began praying out loud.
Artemis never judged her. While many people found odd, and even hated, the way she talked, and thought her as an idiot because of it, Artemis never did. Her prayers were as good as anyone’s because she meant it, and not less because she had difficulty stringing sentences.
Once she was done, Aedea looked up and looked at the moon from the open roof above the altar – it was full, and on its zenith. Every time she prayed, she felt good… loved, understood. Like she was home. And that’s why she stayed.
There was only one thing left; she took her knife and began skinning the deer. That was her way of honoring Artemis.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Artemis was the goddess of nature and the hunt. Aedea knew how to honor her patron.
She began hunting in the late afternoon, using her special bow – a hunting yew longbow with prayers to her goddess carved in the wood. As always, she was followed by her dogs; sacred animals for Artemis, and one of the signs that the priestesses took to say she was blessed. By the end of the hunt, it was already night, and by midnight, the houndmistress returned to the temple with a deer on her shoulders.
Artemis preferred to be worshipped in nature; in forests and hills, and that’s why nature was ever present in her temple. The plants grew wild on the pillars and floors, the birds chirped all over, and many animals found themselves at home there. Aedea liked that detail, because her and her dogs could walk over nature at their leisure, without getting away from home.
From home…
As Aedea walked with the deer on her shoulders, dripping her dirty tunic with blood, she wondered about home. Her earliest memories were of the wilderness of Colchis, and before that… not much. Forests, hills, grasslands… the wilds. Aedea pondered often where was her home, and then she realized that was her home. She was from the wilds, from the untamed nature where her goddess lived. So it was appropriate that she dedicated her life to the faith… even though she was tempted to return, she was happy here, for now. Even though she had impure thoughts and more than once she wanted to feel the pleasures for the flesh, she restrained herself. She will never disappoint Artemis, if she could help it.
She ordered her dogs to sit by her side, and then dropped the deer in front of the altar of Artemis – her likeness was carved in marble, and weeds grew at her feet. She knelt before the statue and began praying out loud.
Artemis never judged her. While many people found odd, and even hated, the way she talked, and thought her as an idiot because of it, Artemis never did. Her prayers were as good as anyone’s because she meant it, and not less because she had difficulty stringing sentences.
Once she was done, Aedea looked up and looked at the moon from the open roof above the altar – it was full, and on its zenith. Every time she prayed, she felt good… loved, understood. Like she was home. And that’s why she stayed.
There was only one thing left; she took her knife and began skinning the deer. That was her way of honoring Artemis.
Artemis was the goddess of nature and the hunt. Aedea knew how to honor her patron.
She began hunting in the late afternoon, using her special bow – a hunting yew longbow with prayers to her goddess carved in the wood. As always, she was followed by her dogs; sacred animals for Artemis, and one of the signs that the priestesses took to say she was blessed. By the end of the hunt, it was already night, and by midnight, the houndmistress returned to the temple with a deer on her shoulders.
Artemis preferred to be worshipped in nature; in forests and hills, and that’s why nature was ever present in her temple. The plants grew wild on the pillars and floors, the birds chirped all over, and many animals found themselves at home there. Aedea liked that detail, because her and her dogs could walk over nature at their leisure, without getting away from home.
From home…
As Aedea walked with the deer on her shoulders, dripping her dirty tunic with blood, she wondered about home. Her earliest memories were of the wilderness of Colchis, and before that… not much. Forests, hills, grasslands… the wilds. Aedea pondered often where was her home, and then she realized that was her home. She was from the wilds, from the untamed nature where her goddess lived. So it was appropriate that she dedicated her life to the faith… even though she was tempted to return, she was happy here, for now. Even though she had impure thoughts and more than once she wanted to feel the pleasures for the flesh, she restrained herself. She will never disappoint Artemis, if she could help it.
She ordered her dogs to sit by her side, and then dropped the deer in front of the altar of Artemis – her likeness was carved in marble, and weeds grew at her feet. She knelt before the statue and began praying out loud.
Artemis never judged her. While many people found odd, and even hated, the way she talked, and thought her as an idiot because of it, Artemis never did. Her prayers were as good as anyone’s because she meant it, and not less because she had difficulty stringing sentences.
Once she was done, Aedea looked up and looked at the moon from the open roof above the altar – it was full, and on its zenith. Every time she prayed, she felt good… loved, understood. Like she was home. And that’s why she stayed.
There was only one thing left; she took her knife and began skinning the deer. That was her way of honoring Artemis.
Apollo was the god of music and poets. Hesiodos knew how to honor one of his patrons.
He went to the temple of Apollo when the sun rose after a good night of sleep, and dreaming. The people there greeted him, as he went there often to pay his respects on his particular way. The temple of Apollo was a place of healing, a place of prophecy, and while Hesiodos was not a medicine man, he was a man that loved art: poetry, music and dance. That was part of his life, and that’s why Apollo was one of his two main patrons, alongside his brother Dionysus, the god of wine.
Hesiodos went to the altar, where the likeness of the archer god was carved. He was absolutely beautiful… a beardless young man, perfect in every way. The kind of man Hesiodos would gladly take as a lover. The bard of Phossis knelt and began to pray; he did so in rhyme, because he believed he would appreciate it. His praying was sincere, because as the god of truth, he was not going to lie to him. Yes, Hesiodos often lied to get his way, but for him, there was a time and place for everything. He lied to strangers and people he didn’t care about. But to friend and people he loved, he never lied, and in fact, swore upon the sun god.
He then picked scroll, quill and ink from his parchment and began composing, right there, in honor of his god. His hand wrote notations as he hummed the songs, sometimes striking something he wanted to correct, and from time to time he thought on the correct words for the poem. When he was done, he nodded and picked his lyre and began to play the song. He closed his eyes, letting the music envelop him. It was a beautiful song, indeed, one you could use to sit down and think. The song was, of course, an ode to the patron god of the temple, and how he was an important part of human nature.
Hesiodos was not perfect. He never claimed to be. But he was human; he was both Apollonian and Dyionisian, and he tried his best to embody both ideals: order and chaos, rational and irrational thinking, logic and emotions – everyday, Hesiodos walked the fine line between both, and strived to be what he was: a real human being.
Once he was done playing, he bowed and left the song there, as a tribute. Anybody would take the song and perhaps play it, but never to take them as their own, because no one would dare stealing in his temple.
He stood up, picked his stuff, and walked away. He was somewhere else to be…
---
Dionysus was the god of wine and parties. Hesiodos also knew how to honor him.
He spent the rest of the day doing his business – eating, enjoying the city, and playing. With the money he made, he purchased the best wine he could afford and took it to the temple of Dionysus that dusk.
The people there greeted him as a good friend, and he did the same. They knew him there, because as he honored Apollo, he also honored his brother, Dionysus in equal measure. Someone offered him a drink and he took it graciously, and once he finished it, enjoying it all the way, he went to the altar of Dionysus, where his likeness was, and began praying; in rhyme as well.
Apollo and Dionysus were not rivals, even though they were opposites – they were brothers, and were intertwined by natures. Again, there was a time and place for everything, and now that he honored Apollo by playing thoughtful music, he was ready to honor his brother in another way: by drinking, indulging and playing wild music to dance for!
So after praying and playing music to the altar, he was invited to drink with others, as well as smoking from the strange herbs he loved. He couldn’t say no to that. So he drank and played and danced and sang, as his inhibitions disappeared and everyone laughed and enjoyed themselves. Thus began the bacchanalia.
Dionysus was also the god of madness… Hesiodos expected to see the shapes change after smoking. The shadows took shapes, the people he indulged became strange, and his voices and laughter became more diabolical… yet Hesiodos was not scared. He knew what he was getting into, and he knew quite well what was going to happen.
Everything else became a blur. He didn’t feel pain, or anything, He just felt like dancing, like floating in water, and before he realized it, he opened his eyes and saw the aftermath.
Many people were laying on the ground. Their blood mixed with spilled wine, and in the darkness, it was difficult to say who was alive and who was dead, but Hesiodos was the only one standing, with Castor and Pollux bloodied on his hands. Upon inspecting himself, he also saw he was injured, not only from punches but by blades…
He sheathed his blades and drank some more, giving a final thank to Dionysus for allowing him to indulge in his mysteries.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Apollo was the god of music and poets. Hesiodos knew how to honor one of his patrons.
He went to the temple of Apollo when the sun rose after a good night of sleep, and dreaming. The people there greeted him, as he went there often to pay his respects on his particular way. The temple of Apollo was a place of healing, a place of prophecy, and while Hesiodos was not a medicine man, he was a man that loved art: poetry, music and dance. That was part of his life, and that’s why Apollo was one of his two main patrons, alongside his brother Dionysus, the god of wine.
Hesiodos went to the altar, where the likeness of the archer god was carved. He was absolutely beautiful… a beardless young man, perfect in every way. The kind of man Hesiodos would gladly take as a lover. The bard of Phossis knelt and began to pray; he did so in rhyme, because he believed he would appreciate it. His praying was sincere, because as the god of truth, he was not going to lie to him. Yes, Hesiodos often lied to get his way, but for him, there was a time and place for everything. He lied to strangers and people he didn’t care about. But to friend and people he loved, he never lied, and in fact, swore upon the sun god.
He then picked scroll, quill and ink from his parchment and began composing, right there, in honor of his god. His hand wrote notations as he hummed the songs, sometimes striking something he wanted to correct, and from time to time he thought on the correct words for the poem. When he was done, he nodded and picked his lyre and began to play the song. He closed his eyes, letting the music envelop him. It was a beautiful song, indeed, one you could use to sit down and think. The song was, of course, an ode to the patron god of the temple, and how he was an important part of human nature.
Hesiodos was not perfect. He never claimed to be. But he was human; he was both Apollonian and Dyionisian, and he tried his best to embody both ideals: order and chaos, rational and irrational thinking, logic and emotions – everyday, Hesiodos walked the fine line between both, and strived to be what he was: a real human being.
Once he was done playing, he bowed and left the song there, as a tribute. Anybody would take the song and perhaps play it, but never to take them as their own, because no one would dare stealing in his temple.
He stood up, picked his stuff, and walked away. He was somewhere else to be…
---
Dionysus was the god of wine and parties. Hesiodos also knew how to honor him.
He spent the rest of the day doing his business – eating, enjoying the city, and playing. With the money he made, he purchased the best wine he could afford and took it to the temple of Dionysus that dusk.
The people there greeted him as a good friend, and he did the same. They knew him there, because as he honored Apollo, he also honored his brother, Dionysus in equal measure. Someone offered him a drink and he took it graciously, and once he finished it, enjoying it all the way, he went to the altar of Dionysus, where his likeness was, and began praying; in rhyme as well.
Apollo and Dionysus were not rivals, even though they were opposites – they were brothers, and were intertwined by natures. Again, there was a time and place for everything, and now that he honored Apollo by playing thoughtful music, he was ready to honor his brother in another way: by drinking, indulging and playing wild music to dance for!
So after praying and playing music to the altar, he was invited to drink with others, as well as smoking from the strange herbs he loved. He couldn’t say no to that. So he drank and played and danced and sang, as his inhibitions disappeared and everyone laughed and enjoyed themselves. Thus began the bacchanalia.
Dionysus was also the god of madness… Hesiodos expected to see the shapes change after smoking. The shadows took shapes, the people he indulged became strange, and his voices and laughter became more diabolical… yet Hesiodos was not scared. He knew what he was getting into, and he knew quite well what was going to happen.
Everything else became a blur. He didn’t feel pain, or anything, He just felt like dancing, like floating in water, and before he realized it, he opened his eyes and saw the aftermath.
Many people were laying on the ground. Their blood mixed with spilled wine, and in the darkness, it was difficult to say who was alive and who was dead, but Hesiodos was the only one standing, with Castor and Pollux bloodied on his hands. Upon inspecting himself, he also saw he was injured, not only from punches but by blades…
He sheathed his blades and drank some more, giving a final thank to Dionysus for allowing him to indulge in his mysteries.
Apollo was the god of music and poets. Hesiodos knew how to honor one of his patrons.
He went to the temple of Apollo when the sun rose after a good night of sleep, and dreaming. The people there greeted him, as he went there often to pay his respects on his particular way. The temple of Apollo was a place of healing, a place of prophecy, and while Hesiodos was not a medicine man, he was a man that loved art: poetry, music and dance. That was part of his life, and that’s why Apollo was one of his two main patrons, alongside his brother Dionysus, the god of wine.
Hesiodos went to the altar, where the likeness of the archer god was carved. He was absolutely beautiful… a beardless young man, perfect in every way. The kind of man Hesiodos would gladly take as a lover. The bard of Phossis knelt and began to pray; he did so in rhyme, because he believed he would appreciate it. His praying was sincere, because as the god of truth, he was not going to lie to him. Yes, Hesiodos often lied to get his way, but for him, there was a time and place for everything. He lied to strangers and people he didn’t care about. But to friend and people he loved, he never lied, and in fact, swore upon the sun god.
He then picked scroll, quill and ink from his parchment and began composing, right there, in honor of his god. His hand wrote notations as he hummed the songs, sometimes striking something he wanted to correct, and from time to time he thought on the correct words for the poem. When he was done, he nodded and picked his lyre and began to play the song. He closed his eyes, letting the music envelop him. It was a beautiful song, indeed, one you could use to sit down and think. The song was, of course, an ode to the patron god of the temple, and how he was an important part of human nature.
Hesiodos was not perfect. He never claimed to be. But he was human; he was both Apollonian and Dyionisian, and he tried his best to embody both ideals: order and chaos, rational and irrational thinking, logic and emotions – everyday, Hesiodos walked the fine line between both, and strived to be what he was: a real human being.
Once he was done playing, he bowed and left the song there, as a tribute. Anybody would take the song and perhaps play it, but never to take them as their own, because no one would dare stealing in his temple.
He stood up, picked his stuff, and walked away. He was somewhere else to be…
---
Dionysus was the god of wine and parties. Hesiodos also knew how to honor him.
He spent the rest of the day doing his business – eating, enjoying the city, and playing. With the money he made, he purchased the best wine he could afford and took it to the temple of Dionysus that dusk.
The people there greeted him as a good friend, and he did the same. They knew him there, because as he honored Apollo, he also honored his brother, Dionysus in equal measure. Someone offered him a drink and he took it graciously, and once he finished it, enjoying it all the way, he went to the altar of Dionysus, where his likeness was, and began praying; in rhyme as well.
Apollo and Dionysus were not rivals, even though they were opposites – they were brothers, and were intertwined by natures. Again, there was a time and place for everything, and now that he honored Apollo by playing thoughtful music, he was ready to honor his brother in another way: by drinking, indulging and playing wild music to dance for!
So after praying and playing music to the altar, he was invited to drink with others, as well as smoking from the strange herbs he loved. He couldn’t say no to that. So he drank and played and danced and sang, as his inhibitions disappeared and everyone laughed and enjoyed themselves. Thus began the bacchanalia.
Dionysus was also the god of madness… Hesiodos expected to see the shapes change after smoking. The shadows took shapes, the people he indulged became strange, and his voices and laughter became more diabolical… yet Hesiodos was not scared. He knew what he was getting into, and he knew quite well what was going to happen.
Everything else became a blur. He didn’t feel pain, or anything, He just felt like dancing, like floating in water, and before he realized it, he opened his eyes and saw the aftermath.
Many people were laying on the ground. Their blood mixed with spilled wine, and in the darkness, it was difficult to say who was alive and who was dead, but Hesiodos was the only one standing, with Castor and Pollux bloodied on his hands. Upon inspecting himself, he also saw he was injured, not only from punches but by blades…
He sheathed his blades and drank some more, giving a final thank to Dionysus for allowing him to indulge in his mysteries.