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Post by LA PUCELLE on Jun 19, 2016 8:10:27 GMT
[attr="class","abadthing"]"I sing of Artemis, whose shafts are of gold, who cheers on the hounds, the pure maiden, shooter of stags, who delights in archery." Joan began to sing in archaic French in a secluded section of the mystical forest that grew around her home. The prayer was an old one, a song she had learned from her father before he passed. It praised the great goddess of the moon and her famed hunting abilities. Every night the moon was out, Joan sang this song in the very place her father had brought her to all those years ago, the path now well trodden after five hundred years of use.
The platinum haired girl sat before a great cypress tree that had been planted when the girl was but a child. In its trunk an etching of the goddess had been made, done by Joan's own hand. By the base of the tree small ornate arrows lay that she had carved as offerings to the goddess. Joan had even planted amaranth in the small meadow as they were said to be holy to her Lady of the Hunt. Picking one of the flowers, she placed it at the base before tracing her finger over the carving of Artemis, singing, "Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks she draws her golden bow, rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts."
Joan brought her hand back to herself and began to rub the petals of the amaranth flower, continuing, "The goddess with a bold heart turns every way bringing death to the race of wild beast. When she is satisfied and has cheered her heart, this huntress who delights in arrows slackens her supple bow." She sighed as she put the flower down. Why could she not leave? Why could she not roam free like Artemis? It was all too clear on that moon lit night how much the ageless girl wanted to leave.
"Hail to you, Artemis, sister of the Far-shooter, the virgin who delights in arrows, child of Zeus and rich-haired Leto!" The french girl sang, gently pressing her thumb against one of the many ornate arrows she had made over the centuries. A single speck of blood came forth and she placed it to the carving of Artemis, finishing, "Of you first I sing and with you I begin; now that I have begun with you, I will end this song." Joan only hoped that perhaps by ending the song the mundane patterns of her life would end as well.
| [attr="class","callme"] [attr="class","likeit"]  LIBÈRE MOI |
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Post by artemis on Jun 20, 2016 7:21:36 GMT
 Of course, Artemis doesn't simply hurtle several thousand miles across the ocean, just to hear some song in her name. No, she travels by flying chariot, if only to stop the splitting sensation in her head.
Nobody else around her had been struck by the world's most annoying migraine. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she had been targeted. Especially when she had the most curious desire to go to France. Immediately.
The landscape of France had changed considerably. Artemis scarcely recognized it anymore. Trees from previous generations had been cleared to create farmland. Only the oldest among them remained.
Her golden-horned deer start to descend when they find a clearing. She steps out of the chariot.
"CEASE THIS." Her voice carries through the forest. All the animals stop what they're doing, except for the birds who find a nearest perch. For a few seconds, all the world was still. A moment of silence. A moment of respect. If anyone wanted to violate it, then Artemis would hear them immediately.
LA PUCELLE
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Post by LA PUCELLE on Jun 21, 2016 7:25:47 GMT
[attr="class","abadthing"]It was as if the moon itself had entered the forest. Joan had been praying after singing her nightly song when an overwhelming presence entered the sanctuary of the forest, one unlike anything she'd ever felt. Which didn't even need to be all the impressive considering the silver haired girl had only ever felt her brother's and father's minds. Yet, it was. Her eyes snapped open as the presence first crossed the threshold into the woods. What she saw caused her to fall to her knees.
A bright golden light lit the twilight forest in Northern France in a way that had never been seen by the ancient child of the moon. "Par les dieux!" Joan exclaimed, falling to her knees and looking to the roots of the cypress tree. The golden deer of lore belonged to only one goddess. Rapid fire prayers filled the young maiden's head as she awaited the arrival of her lady. Never in the hundreds of years that Joan had walked the Earth did she ever expect meet the goddess of the hunt. It was a dream come true!
Or had it? As the deity got closer, Joan felt waves of annoyance and pain roll off of her. Which brought out only confusion from the girl. What had she done to bother the virgin goddess? How had the famed archer been harmed? More importantly, why was she here? Her answer would come soon enough, as the child of Zeus and Leto marched into the meadow and barked an order, causing Joan to flinch. Fury filled the goddess' voice as she spoke and its sting hurt more than any attack could for the empath.
Eyes still to the dirt, Joan carefully said in google translate archaic french, "Ma déesse, Artemis, je veux dire sans manquer de respect, mais je dois demander: pourquoi avez-vous me honoré de votre présence?" The telepath could, of course, always just get the answer from digging into the brain of Artemis, but Joan was not foolish or disrespectful enough to venture into the mind of the goddess she worshipped.
| [attr="class","callme"] [attr="class","likeit"] LIBÈRE MOI |
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Jun 22, 2016 12:44:22 GMT
Post by artemis on Jun 22, 2016 12:44:22 GMT
She draws herself up to her full five-feet-three.
Artemis speaks much more updated French, albeit the locals might be more inclined to call it Quebecois. The French fur traders in Canada had been excellent company.
<<For what reason have you dared to summon me?>>
It's been years since she's visited this part of the country. Artemis has long since lost the ability to read into the souls of beings. She knows the shape of a spirit, but not the curvature of her chin, nor the color of her eye. Everyone is a stranger, all sans the animals who walk the earth and take to its skies.
LA PUCELLE |
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Post by LA PUCELLE on Jun 23, 2016 9:44:36 GMT
[attr="class","abadthing"]While Joan would never admit it out loud, and she only hoped the goddess of the hunt couldn't delve into her mind, she thought Artemis' French could use some work. Not that she wasn't speaking correctly, just differently. The silver haired girl had never heard that dialect before. Perhaps it was the language by which the gods spoke? Either way, the words Artemis spoke felt funny to the ears of a native born french speaker (even if those native ears were used to hearing a variation of the language over half a century old).
As the little lunar girl pondered these thoughts, unbeknownst to her and the goddess, her psychic powers were flourishing in the moonlight. When Joan had began her nightly chant to the virgin deity, something had been different about it. Perhaps it was the setting? Perhaps it was her pitch? Perhaps it was her longing for a break from her repetitive lifestyle? No matter what the reason, this variable in her usual cyclic night ritual was enough to send her telepathic reach wandering in search of one person: Artemis. Once she had been found, Joan's telepathic powers called to the goddess subconsciously, nudging at the Olympian's brain to return to the death site of her friend and birth place of her friend's children. Why? Apparently for Joan, and that was only the beginning. The means justify the ends for Joan's psychic powers, and the ends had not occurred yet. More was in store for the fated meeting between Artemis and Joan.
Still kneeling, the maiden said in her mother tongue of ancient french, "I did not mean to do so, my lady of the hunt. 'Twas a simple prayer my father taught me as a mere child. A prayer I have been performing for over half a century, and not once has it ever called upon you, my lady." The girl spoke the truth, for she knew nothing else to say. Joan had never in her immortal life expected to see Artemis before her, and now that she was... Well, words could not describe how she felt.
| [attr="class","callme"] [attr="class","likeit"] LIBÈRE MOI |
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Post by artemis on Jun 24, 2016 0:29:39 GMT
Artemis didn't expect to still be worshiped in this part of the world. She traveled Greece on occasion; the people there had converted to something that their priests called 'Orthodox Christianity'.
She didn't mind, so long as the humans didn't expect her to attend to their whims.
"Prayer does not have power." Artemis says like it's the most obvious thing. "Word are empty without the magic."
It was entirely possible that the girl is a priestess. Except no priestess would be so bold as to put their goddess into a compulsion. Those are the ambitions that heretics are made of. Either the girl is a liar, or she is a waste of time.
"Who is your father?" She does not look for greatness in children who don't even know what they have done.
LA PUCELLE |
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Post by LA PUCELLE on Jul 9, 2016 4:57:40 GMT
[attr="class","abadthing"]"There is no magic with in me." Joan said in her native archaic french, her eyes not once leaving the ground. She was unworthy. She was unclean. She was unfit. She was... mortal. Sort of. The immortal maiden, cleared her throat slightly, and added, "At least no magic that you speak of, my lady." The french girl was unsure what exactly kept her and her twin immortal ticking for all of time. Were they blessed with eternal life? Cursed to watch their loved ones die before them? Or, perhaps, it was just a natural mutation for the two silver haired children of the moon.
At the moment however, that was irrelevant. Artemis had just asked Joan a question and she couldn't leave her lady wondering for too long. "He is - was - Edmyn Ipomoea of Arc, my lady." The young woman said, her voice catching as she corrected herself. Even after all these years Joan still felt his presence on their ancient land. He may be dead, but her father's lessons and beliefs and love would live on forever within Joan and Selene.
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Jul 14, 2016 19:45:38 GMT
Post by artemis on Jul 14, 2016 19:45:38 GMT
No, she supposes not. After all, no human would consider basic physical phenomenons such as gravity to be magic.
A pause.
"You may raise your head." For the time being. Of course she wouldn't think that immortality was magic either. Why should she? For all the years that they have lived here, none of them shall ever be a native child of the earth. Ever. Mortality is harder to assimilate into than culture.
Her tone is different this time. Less harsh, but not warm either. Just... different.
"Have you never left this land in the past century?"
Obviously, she hasn't checked with the kids in awhile.
LA PUCELLE |
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Aug 14, 2016 14:30:09 GMT
Post by LA PUCELLE on Aug 14, 2016 14:30:09 GMT
[attr="class","abadthing"]There was a shift. Slight and subtle, indistinguishable to the average mortal; yet, Joan was not the average mortal. Or even mortal for that matter. Her innate empathetic abilities allowed her to sense the change in the goddess' view on the silver haired maiden of France. From what Joan could gather, Artemis no longer viewed her as entirely annoying, which was a good thing. But why?
Cautiously, Joan lifted her head and was face to face with a goddess. Her goddess. She felt unworthy, unfit, undeserving to be in the presence of her lady, much less look at her. With a heavy heart, Joan decided to keep her eyes off of the all mighty lady of the hunt, and instead focused on a tree behind her. She was, however, not ignorant enough to ignore Artemis' question. "Nay, my lady, I have never left my family's homestead. Not in this century, or any of the others that have passed since my birth." Joan answered, lowering her head slightly out of respect and instinct.
| [attr="class","callme"] [attr="class","likeit"] LIBÈRE MOI |
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