Shattering Humanity-Chapter 386: Phæstis: "The Lost, Airheaded, & Peripatetic Völva"
"Virtue, which mortals win only through great suffering, is the most beautiful reward of life.
Because of your radiance, oh Virgin, to the Ǽllinæs, it is enviable to die for you and, in so doing, to suffer furious, ceaseless labors.
Such is that which you inspire within us, the fruit of which is Godlike and greater than gold and progeny and leisurely sleep.
Because of you, Îraklís and the sons of Zefs and Lída endured many difficult labors to acquire your strength.
Yearning for you, Akhilléfs and Aias journeyed to the house of the dead.
And on account of your friendly form, this great one from the city of Atarnéfs forsook the light of the sun.
His works will spread his fame, and the Mousai will increase it forever, those daughters of Mnîmosýnî, extolling the majesty of Zefs the Hospitable One and the reward of abiding Friendship." -An Ode To Virtue: A Poem By Aristotle
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{500 Years Before Leviathan’s Invasion}
Somewhere in the remote woods, trees and foliage surround the area.
No walking paths created by daily dog walkers or dirt bikes.
No sounds of human existence.
Only the wind blowing the leaves off of strong trees. With their dead, fallen over brethren leaning on them.
Walking underneath a crossed set of trees, through the prickers and twigs, is a woman in a dark grey, wool dress. She is an incredibly bubbly and gleeful woman, humming no actual tune.
Upon her head is dark, forest green hair. Within her dress is an outrageous EE sized chest that bounces with every one of her steps, and this particular woman moves with her eyes closed.
As if absolutely aware of her surroundings, the completely content and weird woman moves through the forest with her head down, writing or drawing in a book.
It is unclear what she is putting down between the blank pages, but she seems incredibly happy to be doing so as continues to walk.
The mysterious woman with her eyes closed, stops as if somehow spotting something of her interest.
In the impossible to spot distance, there is a small pink flower, all alone and growing underneath the thorns and prickers. As if the surrounding plants were trying to protect the innocent petals.
The woman with a blessed chest tilts her head(also making her chest jiggle) and she strides over to the little flower.
She drags twigs and leaves in her long, dark dress. With her writing utensil in hand, the woman begins doing something within the book with blank pages while she continues to him her sweet, melodic, innocent, and angelic tune.
{About 150 Years Before Leviathan’s Invasion}
[Dublin, Ireland]
It is a quite early evening in the 17th century Irish capital.
Walking down the street, a gleeful woman, wearing a long black wool dress is humming. She has dark, forest green hair, a EE sized chest that bounces with every step, and this particular woman, she moves with her eyes closed.
As if completely aware of her surroundings, the absolutely content and weird woman moves through the small crowd, with her head down, writing in a book.
It is unclear what she is writing down, but she seems incredibly happy to be doing so.
The mysterious woman with her eyes closed stops as if somehow spotting something of her interest.
Wool-Wearing Woman: "Oh?"
In the sunlight, a small pink flower has managed to grow out of the cobblestone down the street, right in front of a nunnery. Luckily, it is out of the way of all the faithful woman as they walk passed the flower and enter their facility of worship.
The woman in dark grey clothes tilts her head and makes her way over, with her book and writing utensil in hand.
She passes two young men and a storage facility at the corner of the street.
One of the teenagers has on a plaided kilt and a cloth over his shoulder, and a dark green flat cap atop his head, but he is wearing the hat backwards.
The other young Irishman is walking with isn’t as steryotpical has baggy wool clothing gives his pal a weirded out look.
Baggy Clothes: "Do ya rehhlly thenk thhaht skirt looks good onya, mate?
I mean, one false swoop from them dere winds of ’Ell, and everyone sees yer trouser snayke?"
Before his fashionable friend can answer to defend himself, from inside the storage facility they are next to, the squealing of pigs can be heard.
Baggy Clothes: "Oi?!
What’s wid thah oinkin’?!"
The middle aged owner of the facility, also wearing the same quilted dress wear as the fashionable friend, runs over to the storage barn.
Owner: "What the bloody Hell is going on?!"
He notices the young man’s matching clothing.
Owner: "Oh?
Nice outfit, young boy."
Suddenly, smoke starts rising from the cracks in the roof, and immediately, the owner knows the situation.
Owner: "Everyone get away from the building! It’s on fire and there is a lake’s worth of whiskey in there!"
No sooner, the fire marshals come to the scene, but it’s too late. The fire has spread, and the oinking from the poor, unfortunate livestock has ceased.
Fire Marshal: "It’s terrible what happened to those swine, but if it weren’t for them squealing, we might not have gotten everyone evacuated in time."
Down the street, uninterested in the destructive fire behind her, the large chested wanderer is still "looking" back and forth between her book and the flower growing through the cobblestone. She continues to hum brightly and work in her book as the equally bright fire burns in the close distance behind her.
Wool-Wearing Woman: "Ohhh...So pretty..."
She stands up straight and finishes the work in her book. The "bouncy" woman walks away, this time she’s whistling a happy tune.
One of the firefighters runs over to the head Fire Marshal as his men continue to try and throw buckets of water onto the building to stop it from spreading.
Firefighter: "Sir! We can’t stop the flame and what’s worse, all the alcohol inside is catching fire and spilling from their burning barrels. In a few minutes the whole thing could-"
Before he could finish his statement, the entire structure of the storage facility crumbles under it’s burning weight, releasing a flood of flaming alcohol.
With everyone out of the street, the moving flames quickly disperse on top of the flooding flammable liquid.
The rushing flames run down the cobblestone, straight for the nunnery and the pink flower in front of it.
Fire Marshal: "Everyone get to the nunnery and help them eva...cu..ate?"
Expecting the worst, and despite the direct path, the flood running flames turn the corner and stay away from both the holy building and the pink flower.
The petals repeatedly dodging dangerous embers blowing in the wind.
All the firefighters and their captain watch on in awe. Some of them drop to their knees and start praying.
Firefighter 1: "Dear Lord, I’m sorry for my sins.
You have proven yourself before my very eyes. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞
I swear to never dishonor you ever again."
Firefighter 2: "Dear Father, thou art in Heaven..."
Their leader, still standing, looks on in shock as the flames begin to cease quickly after sparing the house of womenly worship.
Fire Marshal: "But...How?"
{Current Day}
[Buzzard’s Bay, Massachusetts]
Standing on the early morning beach, the seagulls squawk while searching for subsidence. A piece of apple granola bar is tossed between three landing beach birds, and they fight over the scraps.
The Sheriff, Jesse James watches the fight she has created as two of the birds are left with nothing, while one flies off with the spoils of victory.
A soft, gentle, slooooowwww voice of a woman is projected from behind her.
The
Woman’s Voice: "Youuu shouuuuld feeeeed theeee otherrrrrr onesss."
Keeping her usual calmness about her, Jesse James doesn’t turn around.
Jesse James: "I can’t, Phæstis.
That was the last piece."
Behind her is the woman who was writing in her book for the past 500 years. The same mystical lady traveling through the forest, and early Ireland, is now sitting on a rock protruding from the sand of current day Vinland.
Without her book, her eyes still closed and her bare feet exposed from the bottom of her long wool dress. Somehow, her chest has grown slightly larger and she kicks the sand off her toes with a breathy response.
Phæstis: "Ohh..."
The waves crash a few times between their silence. More seagulls search for anything to keep them alive, and one lands on the chest of the airheaded woman.
She doesn’t shoo it away as it hops down onto her lap. The bird cranes it’s neck and head up, barely seeing a pleasant, closed eyed smile looking down upon him passed the under breast of his perch.
She lightly pets the seagull on the head, happily.
Jesse James: "Don’t touch them, Phæstis.
They have mites in their feathers."
However, the well endowed women doesn’t stop.
Phæstis: "Ohh..."
