Monli, England, 19xx
Down on the realms of mortals, the heavy breeze of autumn has started to settle in. Leaves have started to yellow and flew off their branches, following wherever the wind takes them, signifying the drop in temperature for winter. Even though it is called winter, the stone paths of Monli have never known the light touch of snow. All they have ever known was rain, lots and lots of heavy rain. Sometimes the paths would only be filled with puddles of water mixed with dirt and dead vegetation, making it rough to run through without slipping. But this did not stop the people of Monli from celebrating winter with all the festivities. The air would be a mix of many different smells - freshly baked carrot cakes, undercurrents of lit tobacco smoke that seemed to never dissipate, and the earthy smell of decaying leaves in the puddles of water- all this to create a warm, festive atmosphere. The quaint, quiet and small town of Monli have only ever known peace during these times, despite the weather. As if the gods willed it, the town was also guarded by nature itself as it was surrounded by a dense forest all around. The forest grew denser and denser as many winters passed, attracting all kinds of mythological creatures, which also exponentially made access more difficult for outsiders to the town. This was one of the main reasons the architecture was still an age behind if compared to neighboring towns and cities, but it mattered little to the denizens of the town. All they cared about was keeping the warm, peaceful, and family-feel of the town.
The heavy rain that started yesterday morning was still falling with no signs of stopping, as the sky was still dark with no crack of the sun shining through the gray clouds. This did not stop the business of one specific building in town from dying down. On the contrary, the small wooden two leveled establishment that looked as if it was cramped in between 2 other 3-storied houses with modern construction was busier than normal - filled with more chatter and laughter than both of the lifeless buildings next to it. Lights from both oil lamps and rudimentary electrical light were shining through the 4 windows in the front of the building, 2 on each level. The noise level was not to be ignored either. There were a multitude of different voices overlapping each other, each one amplifying the other, making it loud enough to be heard even across town. It could quite easily be dubbed as the beating heart of Monli.
The front of the building itself wasn't anything modern, it was actually the complete opposite. The front door was completely made from a single oak log with a small wooden shade attached to it. It had a small handle on the left underside of the shade carrying a small metal oil lamp, lighting up the front of the shop. On the other side of it was a small steel plate with an emblem of a beer mug that was carefully melded into the plate itself, indicating the building was the bar.
As the wooden door swung open, a bell on the door rang. The high pitch ringing cut down all the chatter and laughter with ease. The autumn winds that accompanied the door opening also overpowered the warmth inside the bar, making some of the guests shiver in the cold. A black-haired man stood by the entrance, his skin moonstone which contrasted his black 3 piece suit. His build looked as if he played a professional sport sometime in his life, evident with his height and athletic build that you could see through his suit. His hair was wet but it seemed to be wet from a different substance other than water. His eyes were hidden from everyone in the building by his wet hair. Even though it was pouring outside, his suit did not seem to be wet at all. All the people in the building could only figure out from a single defining feature from his face which was the thin straight line on his face called a mouth - showing no signs of emotion. Even without showing any defining facial features, the atmosphere he exudes has added a sharpness to the cold of the autumn wind. Inside, the interior design of the building was simple. A generous amount of chairs and tables, a large amount of them was filled, and a main bar top - with its accompanying handful of bar stools in front of it - close to the front door.
The man brushed away any excess moisture across his shoulders and adjusted his tie to neatness as the door closed behind him slowly. As he stepped closer to the bar top, the residents of the bar stools evacuated with their meal and drinks onto different vacant tables - just anywhere not near him. As the man approached the main bar top, he brushed away his wet hair to the side, allowing his eyes to be seen. His eyes were a perfect complement to his straight line mouth, a seemingly permanent unamused dark lavender eyes. It complemented his outfit well. He looked all around the bar, his eyes scanned with a piercing gaze, to gather a more complete image of the silent customers in the building. His eyes scanned through the crowd, trying to see if there were any familiar mortal faces since his last visit. His eyes went back to the bar top where there was the old barkeep, the one face he only knew in this version in this small town, that was mindlessly flipping through pages of his book. It took a second before the barkeep acknowledged the man's gaze. However, the barkeep did not look petrified like any of the other mortals in the building - seemingly familiar with the man. Instead, he matched the man's gaze with his own gaze of boredom. The two's gaze were in a deadlock, both not eagerly wanting to start the conversation for their own reasons.
"Should you not greet your customers properly, old man?" the man breaking the silence first, his face contorted into a scowl. His voice was deep and strained, thirsting for any liquid to come down his throat.
"I do not greet rude customers, Mr. Vox." the barkeep replied monotonously, not falling for any of his taunts. His eyes then wandered towards the dirty bar top, scattered with food remains and splashes of alcohol - completely ignoring the fact that the man started grinding his teeth. He went and tried to grab a clean napkin to restore the bar top's condition. Before he could, the man, the one called Vox, grabbed his wrist to stop him. His eyebrow now visibly twitching, trying its best not to frown.
"Fine," As Vox forced his mouth to a small smile, his voice rasped in a low tone, "Could I please get a cup of tea?" The thin eye bags under his eyes are now visible. The barkeep replied with a simple smile and nod. As he let go of his hand, his tense shoulders, frown and forced smile relaxed into normality.
"One cup of tea coming right up." the barkeep's voice now laced with traces of warmth. As he walked back into the kitchen to whip up a cup of tea, Vox took a seat on one of the many vacated bar stools. He let out a heavy but relieved sigh as he sat down. The petrified effect of the crowd seems to have started to wear off as hushed whispers were heard across the bar. The hushed voices ranged from the teenagers and young adults of the group asking among themselves who Vox was or even what he was to even make the older group to be stricken like that, to the older audience instead asking themselves the reason on why he was in town. Most of them remembered what happened when they were children, the last time Vox appeared in their town - wearing the same outfit, in this precise weather. Even down to the things he was doing seemed to be the same as they remembered it- ordering a tea in the only bar in town, taking a seat after scaring away and hushing all the vacated bar seats. It was all the same and they feared the same thing happening. The crowd that had vacated their seats earlier either had found themselves a seat at another table or had stood somewhere across the bar without even moving an inch since then. Most of them knew who they were dealing with, and even if they didn't - the sheer coldness and hopelessness that Vox exudes was enough to deter any ideas they had to complain.
But this fell on the deaf ears as Vox was busy taking in the changes that have undergone since he last visited this bar. If memory did not fail him, it was around 50 years ago since he had visited this place. Since then it had gone through a decent amount of changes, compared to the never-changing physical appearance of Vox. There was now a large wooden sign behind the bar top that had the proud name of the bar, Bob's Bar. A name that could be only thought of by the most brilliant minds across the mortal realm. Under it was still the same old wooden countertop, with multiple metal racks that held all kinds of different alcohol - from the lighter ones to the strong ones. Vox was only familiar with only a handful of the bottles from his memory - as he did not enjoy any alcohol. The bar stool he sat on, he noticed, also had a small upgrade. It had a cushion on the bottom section of it, making it more comfortable to sit for a longer period of time. The wooden flooring was now neat and tidy, with no cracks or gaps in between each plank.
As if on queue the second he finished observing the bar, a blonde-haired veiled lady teleported behind him. A lady he knew all too well, radiating a completely opposite atmosphere to his; one that gives confidence, and a feeling of victory. The only one who seemed to not enjoy the newly discovered feeling was Vox, as he knew what this meant for him - a long and annoying task he would need to complete in utter perfection. The lady that appeared behind him shocked the crowd into louder whispers of questions. But this time they had only 1 question for each other; how they had missed such a serene and triumphant presence. For Vox, the answer was plain and simple, it is a mysterious phenomenon called the 'mist'. The 'mist', or for some it was called the 'fog', held a powerful precedence on how any of the Greek Gods' actions could affect the mortal realm. It hid many of the Gods' actions across the mortal realm, disguised into natural disasters or freak accidents. The majority of the Greek Gods and Goddesses knew or even cared on how the 'mist' came about. They don't need to know, as long as they are free to do anything without consequences.
The blonde-haired, white-veiled lady was a prime example of the 'mist's' powers in action. As the real appearance of her was not just any beautiful lady, but a Goddess with a pair of magnificent angel wings - floating an inch above the ground. Vox sighed quietly one last time and ruffled his already somewhat dried hair into its original messy style before he stood up facing the lady. On the contrary to Vox, the Goddess was smiling ear-to-ear, expecting the same from the man. But as she gazed into the unemotional gaze of the man, she frowned at the neutrality from the man - when she expected a much more positive reaction. As he approached the lady, ever getting closer, her frown deepened and she crossed her arms. The man now faced the lady, face-to-face, now her face very much visible to him as he looked up. Her condescending golden eyes now fixated on the man. Her eyebrow twitched into a frown and her jaw clenched. However, this did not make Vox look away from her intense gaze, instead he relaxed his posture even more. This was his normality. For he has no sense of freedom, no right to it, obeying the lady in front of him once his service was required.
"Your request, Mother?"