Basic Information =

Scribe:Georgia Moody
GodBlogs: Hestia

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= Personal Information =

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= Skills / Abilities =

Immortality – Technically immortal. Immune to the effects of aging, cannot die by any conventional means, and is immune to all known mortal diseases and infections.

Babble-speak – Can communicate in all languages and dialects. 

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= Historical Synopsis =


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= Introduction =

“Hestia, in the high dwellings of all, both deathless gods and men who walk on earth, you have gained an everlasting abode and highest honour: glorious is your portion and your right. For without you mortals hold no banquet, ― where one does not duly pour sweet wine in offering to Hestia both first and last.”  Homer, Hymn to Hestia

Home. Whether a building of stones and mortar, or a house built of daydreams and visions in the lands of Morpheus, we all have a home, and I am the guardian of that sacred place.

I stay here on Olympus and attend to the important things – the things mortals crave in their heart of hearts – while my brothers and nephews go around banging anything they can hold down and my sisters and nieces plot vengeance. You won’t find many statues or artworks of me, because I’m not one to go appear to artists in a flash of inspiration.

Courted by Apollo and Poseidon, I chose instead to be my own person, to look after those who need looking after – not that I will ever refuse cheerful companionship, or turn aside those in need of comfort and reassurance, with a bonus if someone is wise enough to come bearing gifts in the form of food or coffee. Divine knows that my brothers and sisters need someone around the place with common sense. Not even Zeus himself will force my hand, lest I depart from his halls and leave Olympus cold and empty.

When a sailor is out on Poseidon’s briny deeps, he is praying to go home. When a soldier is out at war with Ares, they are praying to go home, to their hearth and families. You know those scenes in the movies, where someone pulls up outside their family residence on the Winter Solstice (or whatever they are calling it, these days), when they see the warm light on the snow and smell their mother’s mulled wine, waiting to be greeted by Odysseus’ loyal hounds? That’s where I live. I’m the lover’s embrace after a long trip, the bone-deep reassurance that as long as you are home, nothing can go wrong.

When the gods need a place to rest, they come to me. Always Hestia to the rescue, to be the voice of reason to Hera, the one who can scold Zeus, the one who offers comfort to the world-weary and takes no shit from anyone.

I am home, I am the hearth, I am Hestia.

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