Very few people fully understood the word struggle. Many think they do. Most would point to life moments, specific challenges to overcome that could perhaps decide the very fate they tread upon. But for Damusius Concord, this struggle was minuscule in the face of what he faced for nearly a decade now. The struggle was different for the likes of him. Struggle meant more than a choice or arduous task, one that would occur once per lifetime. It didn't mean something that could only happen once or twice. No. A struggle for a plithos meant that every moment, every second spent conscious or unconscious threatened your destruction. Your soul, your body mangled beyond belief. To keep in a power that you may wish for, but is never truly yours. Your purpose is to be the container of this power, and any falter in your mind or will may very well be your demise.

He doesn't remember the last time he had felt the sun. Although, that was a luxury, someone like he rarely gets to see. He had been locked in this dark chamber for a long time, and only now has he been given the chance to stretch his bones and sank his claws into something. Put his mind onto something beyond his struggles. The thoughts that gnawed on him like beasts over the last bones of prey. When he heard the cracking of locks unhinging, the scrape of the stone door slowly widening to let in the torchlight, at first he recoiled at how fresh and lively the air was. It was unsettling, but he did stand immediately. The haggard rags clung to a frame that was too tall and too skinny. The only human characteristic still afforded to him now was the pale, paper skin wrapped around hands that protruded from the cloak's sleeves. A hood was pulled down, and not even the brightest light could reveal what was hidden. A hollow breath escaped him, yes the very whisper of death he oft-repeated till now. As the crack widened, he felt relief knowing he no longer had to focus only on his psyche, and he could pour all that he had that was before him.

Standing in the doorway was a woman. He did not recognize her at first, there was little that he cared to recall, especially after a long time. She was as tall as any man, and her build was clear that she spent a life of labor and hard work. The spear over her shoulder upset him, for a reason that he did not fully comprehend. Her smile was sure and confident, but not overly so that he felt wary. Next to her were two of those warriors who were on their toes as soon as he came into view. The light of the torch diminished under his presence, as the light was absorbed it seemed. It did not take him long to recognize those curly blond locks and the chilling green eyes of another Plithos. It was indeed Atalanta, a Plithos who has been among Talin's ranks for hundreds of years. Besides him, she was by far the oldest still living. He did not get to interact with her as much as the others, she was always quite reserved and stayed clear of the likes of him. But the eagerness that she failed to veil gave away her intentions. He is needed again, and Talin is rising once more.

"I've come to summon you from your slumber," she spoke in a simple tone.

He did not move, but his voice came out sounding somewhere between ripping parchment and the sound of a dry wind. "The only time Talin unlocks my seal is when things become dire enough to require my abilities. Does that mean that Talin once again mobilizes under it's banner? After our last defeat, I would think the Prime Noctus would take longer before resetting the board. The board must be reset. Pieces must be set. Yes . . . set."

That knowing smile that would grate most men sprawled across her face. She seemed to enjoy it when she had information that others did not. Perhaps she enjoyed that power of information. "The Prime Noctus Umerius has fallen. The new Prime Noctus is Lady Hecate."

That name. It was familiar, and he could almost remember the source, but the visuals escaped him. All that he knew was that name held power, ancient power. He looked distantly to the halls disappearing to darkness either side. "Yes, I can feel it. There have been many deaths within these halls, as it seems."

Atalanta gestured to the hall he referred to. "Perhaps you will take a walk with me? We may discuss a bit more in the happening towards a meeting with the other Plithos she has chosen to awaken."

She started walking before he gave an answer, the two Makhai at her heels to signify their purpose. He shuffled out, taking in more of that insufferable air. At least the tunnels were not well lit. Lights tend to bother and pester him. Like having some itching agent placed on your scalp. Whenever he is around lights, they tend to dim as if sensing his hostility and trying not to anger him too much with their brilliance. Even the mounted torches, candles and braziers dimmed as he passed them by. His shadow hungrily became darker and became alive in its own right, clinging to things around them for a bit too long than what was natural. He was uncomfortable in the uneven stepping of the tunnels, so he held his hand out to his side. To his right appeared a staff made of old wood as black as night, and a blade crescent in shape and as sharp as a razor. The two Makhai flinched when he did this, faltering in step, but showing no signs of moving against him. It was simply a walking aid, he was sure. Then again, anything wielded by him could perhaps be more. He has wielded many weapons over his years, at least those he remembers often had something special about them that made people wary of him. But why couldn't he remember that? His mind was a mess. Thoughts gnawed at him, thoughts of thing like revenge and anger. Does death feel anger? Does he relish in revenge? The questions ached him all the while he followed Atalanta.

"Hecate has already made strides to ensuring the survival of Talin," she told him. "She proves to be quite adept in keeping others in line."

"Are you telling me this so that I can put faith in this woman?" he asked her in an unimpressed tone.

Atalanta gave a shrug in response. "I can't make you do anything, you know that Thanatos. What I will tell you is that we do need the likes of you, and the other Plithos as well. The rest have been restored, and some have already been sent away for various tasks. Others have yet to find themselves new vessels since they were destroyed during the last war."

"The last war," his voice was dry. "Yes, I do remember. Umerius tried to pull his strings too hard. I wouldn't be surprised if there were already those ready to rebel. Any person with sense could rally a coup upon him. His death still echoes in these chambers, I can feel it."

"Then you can also say that it takes a person with considerable power to actually achieve where Hecate has?" It was clear where her support was during that conflict. Atalanta always seemed to hold her allegiances close to her mind, and rarely shares openly who she vouched for. That always gave her room to move when things like this happened, when Talin is divided. But the fact that she openly shows her support of this Hecate must be an indicator of how much power this person actually has. Or, that is what Atalanta wants him to think. It is also likely that this Hecate is a puppet, and Atalanta is behind the recent rift in the organization. But that name still bugged him. He felt he should know it, but again images alluded him. He is going to have to see what the other Plithos knows or thinks about these circumstances before he comes to any sort of conclusion. In reality, he could kill this woman anytime he saw fit. His abilities lent him at least that much power. If he feels she does not hold the interest of Talin at heart, that would be the end of her then. Or maybe the end of him instead.

It did not take them long before they heard conversation ahead of them, along with the massive impacts of metal feet hitting a rock. Raucous voices echoed down the tunnel with no hint in trying to keep the conversation covered. He recognized them, of course, but the memory was again distant. Years of struggle have eaten away at his sanity for sure.

"I've been seal away for a decade, and now I am summoned by some little girls," said the first, an annoying aspect apparent. "Why couldn't they just let me sleep, might have been more productive for me."

"It doesn't matter who summons us," A deep metallic hum echoed onward. "And I doubt that much would get done if all of us are not released."

"Of course you'd say that,"the first voice shot back. "That empty helmet of yours is filled with nothing but blood and violence. It's a wonder how you manage all these years."

There was a grinding sound, like a metal rod being drawn across a steel plate, and grating groans afterward. "If you continue this attitude, I'll kill you here and now Hermes."

"Go ahead and try it you ass," Hermes told him.

The two bickering voices finally came into view. The first was a lightly armored man, lithe and lean almost like some sort of athlete with legs built for running. A green sash hung loosely off of his thin frame as he rolled his attention towards the two others coming into their path. He had a hawkish nose, and the expression on his face rested with something between displeasure and blatant disregard. Thanatos remembered him as Hermes, at least that is what he was called. Hermes, the messenger god of travel, commerce, thieves, and the roads. He never liked being awakened, as far as he could recall. The reason varied from time to time. Sometimes he was having an excellent dream. Others he simply said that it is beneath him to serve. Whatever the reason, the facts of his arrival meant every Plithos truly was being called. This was odd. Usually, it is only six to be called upon. And their target is always the same. So was the outcome. Gleaming eyes settled onto Atalanta to share the glint in his eyes, momentarily shared with Thanatos before landing back on his verbal sparring partner.

At a glance, it appeared to be a man in armor. He was a giant, easily as tall as he and definitely more weight to him than Thanatos. He was covered from head to toe with a patchwork of the armor of various makes and origin, mended and tied together. A connection of armor plates that were Clearly Clan make. The leather and chain armor found in the outlands. Traditional garbs worn by warriors from Shi'Ased, Frostlands, and even to the far east to the forgotten kingdoms beyond the veils. It was like watching an art piece move, a cumbersome yet graceful flow in every step as if a spring compressed itself enough to pass as a human just so that it could spring to life when needed. Sitting atop this mass of garbs and plates was a helmet, bell shape but sporting a bright red plume decorating his back as his body swayed. Any hint of a face was hidden, but no doubt those eyes locked onto his own, a curious crimson glow emanating like two bright coals in the dead of night. He wondered what he saw looking upon Thanatos. He doubted very strongly that they compared to his own sight. Thanatos saw a harbinger of death. This being he saw was like a tailor watching a seamstress. The fruits of one-handed down to be molded by another. The needs of one influenced by the needs of the other. Wherever this man may walk, death will follow, he should follow. He should ferry the dead off, sang for them hollow songs and sweet lullabies. Those were distant memories. Memories he yearned for, but he suppressed them down as hard as he could.

"Ares and Hermes," Thanatos moaned. "Things must be quite serious if she chooses the likes of you."

Hermes snorted. "The only use I seem to offer is information. I'm not high among the plithos whom the Prime Noctus call upon. Especially when Theurgy is formed. The last I recall, it was during the Broken Isle incursions when I was last called."

The Broken Isles was over five hundred years ago. Thanatos knows because he was there. He was sure what remains of that dark era was pushed out of the Clans, but the pull on that place still affected him, even now. He faintly remembers that Hermes awakened, along with him then. But he doubts the man remembers anything from what occurred. He doesn't know why, but he just knows what Hermes is like. Very hard to capture his attention for long, and always filled with energy. Within the span of a conversation, he could lose interest and be on another continent to find something to entertain him. That energetic behavior never really fits in with the ways of Talin, the ways of secrecy and slow, but effective means. That may be yet another reason why he is summoned.

This Atalanta was a different story, however. Taking on Athena was no small task, and she seemed to take no personality from the goddess he remembers. Her cold and coy demeanor contrasts with the proper and upfront perspective the goddess of war had. Even the way she walked, with a stride confident enough to rally an army by her side as she led them to this meeting, was a curios accessory. She would be an excellent hand to the Prime Noctus, no matter who sits on that throne. And if the Prime Noctus dared for a moment to become hesitant, or weak, Thanatos expected strings as strong as iron to be tied in that same instant. Another thing to be said about the Prime Noctus Hecate, he supposed.

Finally, they ended at a large door made from dark wood, the insignia of Talin etched and seared in the planks. Two Makhai guarded the entrance silently, not even glancing, or even responding to any of them as they passed. Except for Thanatos. The others might not have noticed, but he felt the despair oozing from them as his eyes glided over their still black ones. He took note of that and continued on. He remembers little of these Makhai. But he knows much about Empousa. Inside was a long ovoid table nearly half the length of the room itself. Goblet of wine sat into the seven seats to either side. Serving them and holding golden pitchers were ghostly looking women with fiery red or white hair, pale faces, and grace in every step. This was a wonder, as when Thanatos looked at their legs, one was obviously made of bronze, grinding and clicking, and the other a stags leg, or a deer, or a horse. One would assume that this would make an interesting dance while they walked, but they moved as elegantly as dances in a court.

Already seated were a few more plithos who must have already been revived and waiting. This was the fullest that the had ever seen this table. He remembers countless other occasions, half as many gathered and awakened with a new leader, a new task. Something to rile them. Sitting nearest the door were two twins, one with midnight black hair tied into braids against her scalp, fur-lined hunter's garb dressing a fit figure and hawk-like eyes that scanned the room, and all who entered. The other had that same stare, a raptor who has eyes on some distant prey. He wore more casual clothing, and a lute laid on his lap with a finger gliding over each string. His tousled golden hair seemed to glow a bit, and his eyes seemed too blue in this light. Next to him was a dreary-looking man, gaunt and frail. His hair was still black and full, but if one would squint his skin would become translucent and his bones glow. He was a handsome man, a scar across his scalp the only thing ruining the picture. He glanced at Thanatos for a moment, giving a cold smile, and immediately looked disinterested. The last among them was a shockingly beautiful woman, whose aura seemed to enrapture the room itself. Her eyes, her face, her figure. Everything, even her clothes, made her enticing to just look at. Thanatos could feel it, but it was like a distant and familiar sun. Such beauty would no doubt trap any ordinary man. She sat pruning her fingers, even more, disinterested than anyone else. But he suspected she paid attention to every twitch of a muscle that happened around her.

"This is by far the most I have seen at once," the man with the lyre said. "It's been quite a long time since I have been summoned. So many new faces."

"Yes yes," The ghostly man, Hades, agreed. "Apparently a new head sits on the throne. I hope to be told of the current circumstances, Athena. It must be pressed to summon so many."

"That is not Athena," Artemis's eyes drifted towards Hades. "I can tell she clings to her mortal life. But I am also curious."

Thanatos took his seat, across from Aphrodite, who barely looked up at him.A constant bemused smile laid on her lips, not a clue to whom or what it belonged to. At will, his scythe disappeared into the darkness, and others began taking seats as well. One of the only ones empty was the one at the very end, an ornate gilded throne that was raised a bit higher than others. Atalanta took the seat next to it, lying the spear on the ground next to her as she turned those calculating eyes on the lot of them.

"Welcome home, plithos," she spoke. "Talin is always glad to have your services to serve our lord. For some of you, this will be the first you look upon her. For others, I hope she is familiar. We have called you because once again we believe that your talents will be instrumental to accomplishing a goal even more ambitious than previous Prime Noctus."

Hades scoffed. "I find that hard to believe. From what I recall the previous Prime Noctus was the epitome of ambition, and since I do not see him, I guess that ambition has gotten him a righteous fate. Tell me, Athena, how does your master's ambition outshines all the others who have taken that chair beside you."

"First, I would not call it ambition, Woulfmen."

Hades stiffened at the mere mention of the name, let alone the voice that resonated within each of them. Indeed, he had not felt this power in quite a long time. A long time. In a mere blink of an eye, Hecate was sitting at that chair, a stare akin to steel bars aimed and posed at all of them. It was as if she was always there. Though no feature of her could be surmised due to her mysticism, they need not know who she was. Everyone froze in their actions to look anxiously at her. Even Aphrodite looked up with a carefully placed expression of caution as she stopped her pruning. Hermes was the only one who didn't hide his expression of worry, as her eyes passed over him in particular. The grey and black gown swept her figure like elegant rock formations, little jewelry complimenting her features. A staff made from some dark metal shaped and twisted like vines floated just an arm's length away from her, inscribed with a dozen words and symbols. She had the commanding tone anyone would expect from someone sitting on that throne, and she wielded that power like a god.

"Excellent," she said. They realized they had all been silent as she examined each of them for several minutes. "This is all Talin has access to. Others may be awakened later when adequate vessels appear. As you should expect by now, I am indeed Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft and the Prime Noctus of Talin. You are here to follow my command when I give them to you. We have a lot to accomplish and the necessities to achieve them. I dare not waste a breath in what I am about to say to you. Any questions?"

Her eyes did not take another survey of those around her. They still did not stir, or utter a word giving away their answers. Although, each of their answers was the same. Thanatos felt the anxiety permeating through the air and not one person raised a hand or question. As to be expected. Somehow, though her words alone, she takes each of the Plithos in some sort of leash. How tight those reins are is still to be seen. But for the moment, she had their ears and their attention.