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  • Phaedra Pythios

    age

    1

    gender

    Female

    birth

    Winter

    size

    Small

    eye color

    Green

    first color

    Tan

    second color

    Cream

    third color

    None

    fourth color

    None

    alignment

    Neutral Good

    constellation

    skills

  • TOKENS

    blessings

    IC Achievements

  • Di

    status

    Offline

    birth

    Hidden (22 years old)

    time

    06-19-2019 at 04:03 PM

    registration

    02-12-2019

    characters

    threads

    7 (Find All Threads)

    posts

    31 ( Find All Posts)

    message

    click

    email

    click

Appearance

details

Height: 28”
Weight: 70 lbs
Build: Lean, athletic
Gait: Quick, purposeful
Markings: None
Scent: Citrus and old stone

Personality

Passionate. Rash. Protective. Empathetic. Yearning. Regretful.

Family

Father: Atlas Pythios
Mother: Rhea Pythios
Siblings: Antiope (f), Ajax (m)

** Due to the structure of Phaedra's homeland, it is possible that her parents conceived other illegitimate children prior to, concurrent with, or subsequent to her litter. Due to her status as a child god, she was taken away from her nuclear family at a young age and raised with the entire kingdom as her surrogate family.

History


A golden kingdom, white-robed thespians, purveyors of the gods, of art, of story, of old. In a faraway land, Phaedra's family had built an empire over countless generations. Their gods are not those of the stars, but those of eons past, real and tangible, often walking amongst the living. Her society was one of structure, of sophistication, but taut with the ways of old: prayer, knowledge, sacrifice. Blood on a silver sickle. Fires burning delicacies and rarities, the smoke for the gods.

Phaedra was once a living goddess, thrown down upon the world by the gods as a temptation for mortals: to praise or to punish? Born on a moonless night, the stench of omen clung to Phaedra’s fur. She was raised holy, a gift from above, loved and adored – but dangerous, unpredictable. On the eve of her first birthday, her people believed she was to be carried back to the gods on the smoke of her funeral pyre. Make the gods’ gift a sacrifice to them; surely, that should appease them for years to come. Phaedra did not realize that her life was to come to an end, not until it had almost been too late.

And then she ran.

She came to Cyrileth alone, bedraggled, and confused. Why would her family, whom she loved dearly, wish her death? They had cared for her, loved her, cherished her. She had never asked to be a living god; she had never wanted the adoration or the holy praise. And how she loved her family still, regretting every moment when a sudden, burning desire for survival had driven her from the only home she had ever known. She is now a stranger in a strange land, and no one here recognizes that she had only just worn the soft ivory robes and the golden crown of a child deity, raised for a slaughter she had never been prepared for.

She had escaped. But at what cost?



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