this is a full transcript of the quest dialogue, battle lines and NPC dialogue from all of P1-12!! very few info is missing, but the entire thing is right here
this took like 3-4 days of work lol
If you find any errors or anything missing that you know the info for, please contact me on here or on Twitter (@/divintymanifest)!!
edit: while most of this info is available on GamersEscape, this is a much more concise way to view it. Not to mention I needed it like this for my own personal endeavors I thought it'd be worth to share
You can’t put your finger on it, exactly. He looks nearly the same, but for a slight green-ish tinge to his skin, strongest at his cuticles and fingertips, as if he’d been pulling weeds all day and hadn’t bothered to wash his hands. His hair had grown, as corpses often did, and it had remained as shiny and sun-kissed as you remembered it. His eyes are the same fresh-polished emerald green, even if they don’t focus quite the same way. He looks through you with them, not at you, but perhaps he doesn’t need to see, not really. He seems to know what’s going on around him. He seems to know you. He calls to you in the night when he wakes, afraid, not sure if he is still in Hades or not. Some nights you go to him, and some you pretend that you can’t hear him. The voice sounds the same too, that same quiet and gentle calling, like wind through the trees and the night song of the beasts in the supposedly godless, supposedly wastes.
But something is different.
He approaches you now, his movements stiff, his mouth dry. In all fairness, it is dry here, in the place the moon doesn’t touch, where death forgets itself. You’ve reconstructed your cabin as Persephone instructed, but the dust still gets in. A small kitchen, a room to dine in, a small lavatory, and a bed in the corner. You never wanted for much, and neither did he. You can’t remember the original colour of the walls, but you saved all his pottery, all his things. He smiles at you, and it still brings warmth from your core to the surface. “Good morning, Addy.”
“Good morning, Attis,” you answer, though there is no warmth in it. He sits across from you, picks up his fork, and starts eating. He hated fish before, refused to eat it, but now digs into it with restrained gusto. He doesn’t have the same scar on his chin from that time he tripped just before he threw his spear at the boar, nor the one on his back from your escapades in the woods after. His skin is smooth and perfect, no freckles, no dimples. He looks up at you, cocking his head. “What’s wrong, Agdistis? Are you not hungry?”
You pick up your fork. “Nothing’s wrong, Ats. Just not feeling myself this morning.”
He nods. “I think I understand.” He stops eating, his focus narrowing onto you and you alone. “Can we see Cybele today?”
Irritation rises in you, prickling at your chest. He asked this yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. “No, Ats. We can’t. She’s gone away.”
“Alright.” He says evenly. “Will she be back soon?”
The empty chair sits at the head of the table. You still set a plate for breakfast this morning, knowing. “I don’t know.” You take a bite of breakfast. It is salty. Too salty.
#
Your lover's laughter disturbed the stillness of the dark forest. Attis stumbled over both tangled tree roots and the dancing petals his steps called forth, his soft hands swiping at your tunic as he struggled to keep up with your long strides. You swung him onto your back and he scrambled to climb your broad shoulders. You gripped the firm flesh of his calves as you leapt together over the underbrush. The jutting branches of the thorny bushes dug into your flesh, never breaking it, but you did not falter. His grip around your neck hurt, a pain easily forgotten with a passionate kiss. You slowed to a saunter, looking up into his emerald green eyes. “You’re slowing us down,” you teased, “as usual.”
“Cybele probably hasn’t noticed we’re gone yet.” Attis dropped his head into your thick mane of night-black hair, winding a finger around the dark curls. “We’ll be out of the wastes before sunrise.”
There was the story, passed down through decades of hearsay—no one left the godless wastes. The dumping ground for every monster the Olympians grew tired of when they no longer served a purpose for proving the might of heroes. The reality was more complicated, but the truth remained—it was very, very difficult to leave the godless wastes. You could smell the scent of plants long considered extinct elsewhere, their pollen distinct, their poison potent. You could hear the rumbling of a distant roar and a mating call that ended in a scream. Though the forest bowed before you, sensing you as its keeper, it bowed to anyone with enough might. Attis was getting there, but if you had your way, he would never be keeper of the wastes. He wouldn’t be like the villages swallowed by the wastes—too fearful of foolish gods to live his own life.
The wastes were beautiful, in their own way. The trees, blown over from the Olympian’s territory, grew better here. The pine trees smelled better, grew thicker needles. The flowering trees grew as tall as a conifer, their flowers more potent, more powerful. The fruit grew wild, uncontrollable, and could feed the remaining faithful, stuck in the wastes with you. You pointed at the sea of trees stretching out before you, at the rising sun rising over the pines. The creatures of the night, the chimaera and lamia, would be resting. You had a bit of time left before the griffins and unicorns woke to graze and hunt. This time you’d planned your escape well, and it wouldn’t be an overgrown eagle chasing you back to the cabin. “I can almost smell the salty shores of Kyzkos. I’ll carry you on my back across the water, and we can swim with the dolphins.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. “It’ll be wonderful.”
“Hmm,” Attis rested his pale chin on the top of your head. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” Your tone sobered. “Isn’t it what you want too, to be away from Cybele? Out of the wastes? To spend the rest of our days like this?”
A tremor shook the ground beneath your feet, Attis almost tumbling from your shoulders. You grit your teeth and spread your thighs, trying to balance on the quaking earth.
“Do you think it’s Cybele?” Attis asked, his jaw tensing and his grip tightening enough to hurt.
You sniffed the air, smelling Cyprus trees, sea breezes, and the faint scent of grapefruit, the distinct smell of your sister. “Yes,” you growled, ignoring the footsteps on the rapidly clearing forest floor, trying to move forward. Vines wrapped themselves around your ankles, rooting you in place. The sweet scent of grapefruit became cloying, almost sickening. Your vision started to spot. You swayed on your feet, shaking your head to try to stay alert and upright. You resisted longer and longer every time Cybele tried this trick. You listened for the beasts that she sometimes sent after you. You heard cries in the distance, but nothing else. No. This was one of the times she wanted to do things herself.
You growled, kneeling to let Attis slide from your back to the soft earth. As always, flowers sprouted from where his feet tread. His eyes glazed over, succumbing to Cybele’s poison. The problem with the wastes was that every other plant could do this, be used against any living thing. Even gods themselves. Perhaps that was why the Olympians feared to tread here, why you and Cybele fought a singular, stubborn battle against each other. You had little else left. Attis’s breathing was shallow, but his face retained its golden glow. Satisfied that Attis was fine, you finally fell, landing face-up on the prickly underbrush. The plants stung against your face, their noxious inner fluid getting stuck in your beard. The footsteps came closer. You grit your teeth, wiping any trace of emotion from your face. You would not show your feelings to your twisted reflection. Cybele loomed over you, her long curly hair so like yours spilling from its gilded braids, her grey eyes lined with kohl. She scooped Attis’s slumbering body with one strong arm and knelt to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.
“You nearly made it to Thrace this time,” she said in her lightly-accented voice, watching you with a small smirk as my consciousness faded, “I’m almost impressed.”
How would you interpret the myth of Agdistis from the perspective of your story? I find her story very interesting, so it’s just out of pure curiosity
Good question. I think I would need to do more research on Agdistis and on intersex people before I could answer that. If I've understood things correctly, Agdistis was sometimes seen as the same as the Phrygian Mother of Gods, Kybele. The Greeks sometimes identified Kybele with Rhea, and in my comics I have given my Rhea a few traits from Kybele, but I don't know if it would work to also make her the same as Agdistis (like, Rhea was born intersex but was castrated), or if it would be better to make Agdistis a separate deity.
