Time and time again, the divine realm called on Calliope for the most inopportune tasks. And, while she usually listened dutifully – having convinced herself that these meetings would be entertaining enough to be worth her while – another part of her cried out against the mindless servitude she risked tumbling into. Like a deer cornered, confronted with hungry jaws and nowhere to turn, it bucked violently and scythed its antlers through the air. It knew that, no matter what efforts it made, it was only a matter of time before it would fall, would succumb to its opponents and the reaper they had escorted there. Struggling was futile; it did nothing but drag out the inevitable.

Still, it was better to fight, to rebel even in the face of defeat, for it meant you would die a hero and not a coward. Calliope wondered if that was to be her fate, the fate of all gods, for their lack of mortality meant they were faced with a danger they never once had to confront before. As the days dragged on, the months, the years, the millennia, she could feel herself slipping away, longing for something, anything, to break immortality’s unbearable monotony. She knew what lay in store for her, was painfully aware that she would, one day, follow the path paved by the many who had come before her, gods of all domains who faded away, disappeared like snow to spring’s warmth – inconsequential, and forgotten. It would be her turn one day, and though she loathed to harbor fears, this one was unexpectedly welcome. All sane creatures feared the void, and her innate foreboding was more than a weakness. It proved that there was still a hint of humanity within her, an inkling that she still cared, and as long as it existed, as long as she kicked and bit and fought, she would delay the unavoidable for another day.

Being a god was hardly as glamorous as it may have appeared, and yet Calliope was dead certain that if she offered it to this mortal whelp – a sickly, undernourished creature she watched glance over the lake with a drunken gaze – she would jump on that chance in a heartbeat. No matter what their reasoning was, the thought of such incredible powers never failed to act as bait, drawing them in like a moth to a flame and burning them in the end. But it was not Calliope’s job to derail the workings of the universe, and it netted her nothing to warn the stranger of what lay ahead. If anything, it would rob her of an opportunity for entertainment. After all, heroes were only sympathetic while overcoming adversity. Otherwise, they were bland, mundane, and who was she to rob this youngling of her chance at greatness?

So, it was with a practiced ease the Calliope stepped into her usual routine. Using her illusions to conceal herself, she generated the image of a crocodile to speak for her instead. Like a piece of driftwood, it formed along the surface of the lake, moving silently through the water with only the sickening sallow hue of its pupils betraying its true identity. Gliding towards the whelp standing on the lakeshore, it waited quietly, predatorially, to see if this youngling would spring away with reflexes honed through generations of natural selection, would prove that, despite her immaturity and lack of experience, she was worthy of survival.

tags: Niamh
words: 572

What was it that inspired all mortals to exude the same foolish bravado, the basic believe that no matter what happened things would turn out alright? Crocodiles were lethal creatures, deadly in every sense of the word. Calliope had seen them devour wolves alive, tearing flesh from bone with their gnashing teeth as they dyed the frothy waters red as easily as child’s play. And the whelp was aware of the danger the great reptilian beast possessed, for there was a nervousness in her stride as she danced away from the water’s edge. But she did not go far enough. Lazily, the crocodile followed, her trembling, desperate warning falling on deaf ears. For no matter how she howled and snapped, there was nothing for the crocodile to fear. The fangs she bared were but toys to it; they flashed in the sunlight, but would never piece his thick, scaly armor. And regardless of how fast she was, all it took was a single misstep, just one second for it to trap her leg within its jaws, and the victor of this dispute will have been decided.

If the whelp had challenged a real crocodile, she would not have walked away unharmed or at all. But luckily for her, Calliope illusions had no need for sustenance, and, as such, had little interest in devouring the yearling as an afternoon snack.

Gliding into the shallows, the crocodile dragged itself onto the shore languidly, displacing pebbles and silt as it went. Out of the waters it had been designed to live in, the great beast grew cumbersome and slow, squat legs taking the full brunt of its weight. It was in no rush, and continued in a sluggish pace until all fifteen feet of it glistened under the bright sun. Once situated, it heaved a long, suffering sigh. Then, finally, a deep rumble began low in its throat and reverberated into the air in a wholly unnatural way, as the crocodile’s maw remained firmly shut even though its words were clearly forming in the silence.

“Stay away?” The apex predator challenged, frigid pupils fixing the whelp with a pointed gaze. “You have been in this world but a mere minute and, already, you are acting as if you own it. I suppose you would have been able to back your warning had I charged you, ignorant brat. Ill-mannered whelps like you should still be suckling at your mother’s teat, not running around the wilds like a headless pigeon. You are lucky that I have already eaten today, or else I would have taught you a lesson that you would not easily forget.”

tags: Niamh
words: 439
notes: i'm sorry she's the worst

How full of herself, making play at being wise beyond her years when the fur behind her ears have yet to dry, Calliope scowled, allowing her irritation to bleed into the crocodile’s expression. Though its scales were hardly pliable enough to mirror the God’s displeasure, the beast emanated a fearsome aura to make up for its stiffness. With a touch of magic to enhance its foreboding ambiance, there was no way the whelp would not noticed the tension in the air and the gravity behind it. A real crocodile, most creatures could outrun if they had a head start. But Calliope’s tricks were, often times, much more dangerous and unexpected for they did not have to follow the laws of nature that restricted all living creatures. While she, herself, was victim to those rules, her creations were free to do as she wished, making them the perfect puppets to manipulate to her desire. Though, for this unlearned pup, it meant that bad tidings were in store for her if she could not bring her tongue to heel.

“Words really do go in one ear and out the other for you, do they not?” The crocodile taunted, allowing the sun’s rays to warm his cold-blooded body. “I warn you to watch your manners, and a second later you are asking questions as if you deserve to know the answers. You know nothing of this world, and yet you act is if it must bow to your flippant whims. Words fall as freely from your mouth as does rotten fruit from the branch, throwing around accusations blindly and without forethought. If the emptiness within your skull cannot formulate a proper sentence, then I suggest simply shutting your mouth and speaking nothing at all. Or else you will be exiting this world as swiftly as you arrived.”

Allowing his threat to hang in the air, the crocodile looked away from her and resumed its sunbathing, lying prone and relaxing into the earth. The gesture was entirely dismissive, for she was not its equal, was not Calliope’s equal, and therefore did not deserve his full attention. Let the whelp jeer and snap; she would not be getting information from it until she revised and added some humility to her approach. And if she chose pride over survival, decided that it was more important for her to keep what little dignity she had instead maximizing her chances in this strange world, it was no skin off Calliope’s back. The God would be happy to see the whelp go, for already Calliope tired of her and her overconfident entitlement.

tags: Niamh
words: 433
notes: yikes she just gets meaner and meaner

At last, Calliope’s words got through to the thick-skulled whelp. The dark-furred yearling had apologized and changed her tone to something more submissive; it was still a far cry from pleasant, however, and the God did not need any special powers to read the reluctance lining the whelp’s features. For a moment, Calliope considered adopting a more impressionable teaching style for this one, something that would push her beyond bending, would seize that foolish resistance and snap it like a rabbit’s spine. Before the great silence, Calliope had made a reputation for herself and her heartlessness. Most gods chose to avoid her, and when an unfortunate mortal crossed her path, they quickly learned of how a single mistake would lead to ruination. It would have been unthinkable for a mortal to challenge her, to try and fight the way an ant would resist being trampled into the earth, and this bitter moment made her long for those days. Of course, they were not lost forever. It would be all too easy to reclaim her throne, and she could start right now by reaching into the whelp’s skull and branding an entirely new meaning of fear into her soul. For no living creature has ever experienced true nothingness, and she knew from experience that even the strongest, most willful of creatures would crack under the threat of endless torture. And by the time she would be satisfied, the whelp’s knees would tremble and her tail would hang low between her legs at even the slightest mention of Calliope’s name. How effortless it would be, how simple. Yet, while every inch of her ached and yearned for that ill-gotten reverence, she restrained herself for now.

After all, why would a god like her bother with a worm?

“So it appears that you do possess some intellect, however slight, after all,” the crocodile mused, gravelly voice thick with sarcasm and mockery. “My name is Calliope, God of Trickery, and you are a stranger to this realm. This world is not the one you have come from, whatever hellhole that may be, and it does not work in the same ways. Now, if you wish for more information, you will have to offer something of equal or greater value, though I doubt you have anything worthwhile to trade. Pick carefully, whelp, or do not continue to waste my time. The longer we talk, the hungrier I grow, and it will not be wise to tempt my appetite.”

tags: Niamh
words: 413