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The island was lonely. Waves crashed against rocky shores that were utterly unusable for dawn or dusk walks, and scraggly poplar trees speckled the hills that made up the island, providing little shade to the single denizen. The island's main feature was the statue garden that encompassed the entire island- for the simple fact of it not truly being a statue garden.
Sure there were statues speckled around the island. Sure, the sculptures were terrifyingly lifelike, and sure there wasn't much else on the island aside from a cave set into the highest hill.
But to call it a statue garden would be to miss that none of the statues had been carved by hand or tool. It would be disrespectful to those that had carefully and painstakingly perfected their craft. It would also be rude to the statues that the single living denizen had made.
Cleo didn't need to learn to craft stone, clay, or wood with her hands or tools. Not when her eyes could do it all for her. But she enjoyed it, her snakes enjoyed it, and it (at the very least) gave her something to fill her days with. It was satisfying to watch stone slowly chip away into something detailed and real, even if it would never be as detailed as the statues outside her cave.
It was a shame that all those statues had to be alive at one point to achieve that perfect form.
Most of them were caught in the middle of some sort of movement- turning around, swinging their sword, being just a little too late to release their bowstring. The weapons didn't turn to stone, instead staying caught in the permanent grip of their original wielder. It made the upkeep of the statue a bit harder, considering Cleo couldn't remove the weapon to polish it or rest it. The bows were the worst offenders, in her opinion. The wood was too sensitive to the elements, and the string couldn't sustain a permanent tension without snapping.
It was easier to polish a sword while it was being held than to keep a bow from deteriorating.
Cleo hummed to herself as she shifted lower, the many coils of her tail roiling underneath her as she flipped belly up to scrub near the hilt. A rainstorm had just hit the isle; this was one of her favorite statues.
The hero had been the first sent by a kingdom to kill her and bring back her head, the first statue on her island she had made herself. The sword was a family heirloom, probably, considering the delicate metalwork that ran along the hilt and the handguard. She was almost remiss to have frozen him, wanting to ask him a few questions about the smithing of the weapon.
Almost remiss, of course. The hero was sent to kill her, and Cleo rather preferred her head being firmly connected to her shoulders rather than plastered to some hero's shield.
"Cleo! My old friend!"
On second thought, maybe she would prefer the shield.
Cleo didn't bother to rise up from where she was lying, didn't bother to put down the cloth she was using to clean the sword, and certainly didn't bother to even look at the god who had arrived on her island.
"Hello, Joe."
"Is that any way to talk to someone who comes to you bearing gifts?"
Now that- that did get her attention. She did very much enjoy getting gifts. There wasn't much she could get for herself on her tiny island, and- as much as he annoyed her- Joe was pretty good at guessing what she needed at any given time. He was the one to bring her sculpting supplies, and he was the one to bring fresh food that she could not get herself.
It wasn't that she would call them friends- though Joe would- but they weren't exactly enemies. Joe was not the god who cursed her; he was her only company on the island that didn't constantly try to decapitate her. There were a few close calls here and there, but Cleo let those roll off of her back like so much rainwater. What was a few murder attempts between friends?
Maybe she would call them friends. It wasn't like she had many options for it, and Joe was the only person to return to her island since she had been banished. The Gods weren't exactly the best, and Cleo didn't really understand why they had been so appalled at her artwork beforehand.
Joel had said something about making her put the souls out of their misery before they became works of art. Still, Cleo had been a bit too busy arguing about the artistic value of her previously created works to pay attention. For all that they were called "grotesque abominations" and "spitting in the face of the natural form," Cleo knew that her statues were good!
Not good enough that anyone wanted to buy them, but considering that they had a tendency to rot, Cleo couldn't exactly blame them. It was hard enough for her to keep them intact- and she was the only one who knew the intricate details of how they were made.
Now, though, she couldn't make those sorts of statues.
Her gaze would harden everything to stone, and they would be stuck in whatever pose they were in. No matter how hard she tried, Cleo couldn't move them once they became stone. It was great for when the hero was in the middle of swinging down to decapitate her. Less so when she caught them by surprise, and they became solid hunk of rock crouched in front of her bedroom.
"You said you had a gift?" Cleo rose on her tail, setting the cloth on the statue's shoulder for later.
Joe grinned, skin stretching slightly too much and making a shiver run down Cleo's spine. "News!"
Her mood soured. "That's not a gift , Joe."
"You'll get it when you hear it." Joe waved her off with a grin. "It's gossip . About you and about a very interesting mission regarding you."
"Regarding my head, you mean." It was what always happened. No one thought about the woman the head belonged to, just about her head and powers. "That's not exactly new , Joe, nor is it really gossip. People have been trying to decapitate me since they discovered I existed."
Joe waved his hand, his other arm resting on the shoulder of a statue and supporting his weight. "This time, it's different. It's not just a king sending out random knights and soldiers to try and get ahead- this guy has a god backing him."
Cleo stiffened and paused before she could turn around to slink back towards her studio. "Which god?"
"Tango."
A low stream of hisses left her lips, a mix of actual swear words and nonsense noises. Of course , it would be Tango. Damn god probably felt that things had been too easy for her, too dull for her. "And he's backing- what? An army?"
"Just one man, actually." Joe sounded vaguely interested but ultimately unbothered. Cleo wasn't sure whether to be offended that he didn't care or be grateful for his faith in her. "He does have a few god blessed items, so I figured I'd level the playing field."
It was then that she turned around, and it was then that she noticed the bundle in his arms. Joe wasn't just talking about the gossip when he said he had brought her a gift. In Joe's arms was a bundle of cloth and fabric, dark enough that it seemed to absorb any light that came near it. It was magical, and it was definitely something that would do more than just level the playing field.
"You'd make yourself a direct opposer to Tango of all people?" For as much as Cleo...enjoyed (for lack of a better term) Joe's company, it just seemed suspicious. Joe was something close to her friend from her perspective, and she was not entirely sure of what the intricate goings-on of Olympus were. Whether she was a victim, bystander, or monster, though she had her assumptions on a few of the leanings of certain gods.
"And what did you bring me?" Her hands itched to grab the thing and unfurl it to see what Joe had brought her to try and protect her. If Joe was actually worried about Cleo dying due to Tango's involvement, there was probably something that Cleo should be worried about. As far as she knew, this would be the first time any god intervened for or against her.
Usually, it was just mortal kingdoms or heroes striking out on their lonesome to try and make a name for themself. Nothing that ever worried Cleo and certainly nothing that bothered Joe- what with the way he continuously swung by during the aftermath of whatever murder attempt had just happened. Not to help, oh no, Cleo would have to pull the arrows out of her own snakeskin and calm her own snakes down from their panic.
It was hard to have dozens of living beings attached to your scalp, especially when all of them never stopped moving and all had somewhat of a mind to themself. It took Cleo three months after being transformed to get used to having something moving in her peripheral vision, let alone how long it took her to get used to having a tail instead of two legs.
"It's a cloak that will make you invulnerable for as long as you wear it." Joe held it up, letting Cleo see the night-dark fabric unfurl and flap gently in the wind. The neck of the cloak was more armored than she thought it would be, considering that every swing always went directly for her neck. "It's the best I could do on short notice."
"What do you mean short notice ?" Cleo carefully took the cloak from Joe's hands, whirling it around to put it on. The metal was cool against her neck, resting on her collarbones, with the chain dangling slightly lower. Her eyes darted toward her cave, where all her weapons were stashed. Even if her best weapon was her gaze, she wasn't dependent on them.
Especially not if her opponent was going to be backed by other gods who knew just what she could do.
"He's going to be here in the next two days."
"He's going to what?" Cleo hissed, drawing out her consonants as the tip of her tail lashed behind her. Immediately, she turned around and sped off into her cave. Her shield and sword lay right near the entrance, easy to grab and easier to wield. Most adventurers that weren't immediately turned to stone tended to run off the second they saw a half snake woman charging down the hill with a sword and shield.
(Which was for the best- Cleo wasn't really good at fighting. She could hold her own for a small amount of time, usually as long as it took to knock off their helmet, but any further than that, she was useless.)
"Tango gave him shoes from Grian! Along with a few other items, but really Cleo, I think you'll be just fine." Within one blink and the next, Joe had appeared at her side. "You're a good fighter-"
"-You know that's not true," Cleo grunted as she began to roll a boulder closer to her cave entrance. While it was considered the coward's way out, Cleo was more than okay with that. Shutting herself in her cave would at least buy her time to jury rig something that could knock the hero on his ass so she could actually kill them.
"You're good enough."
"Good enough won't save me from a god-blessed hero, Joe." Cleo glared at him, hoping this would be the first time her curse worked on an immortal.
Joe stayed annoyingly flesh and blood. "You're going to be fine, Cleo. You've always been fine."
Cleo kept her mouth shut, grip tightening around her sword to keep herself from angering another god. That was how she had gotten into this mess in the first place, unable to hold her tongue or hide her passions. Cleo almost wished she could go back in time and keep herself from showing off her creations. At least then, she would still be in ordinary society and not be banished to an island where her only company was a god that annoyed her and heroes that wanted her dead.
"If I'm not, it's on you." Cleo twirled her sword in her hand as she moved further into her cave. She had a few pieces of armor from heroes that had gotten themselves killed on the craggy terrain and weren't stuck in stone. They didn't really fit her, but they were more armor than she usually had.
"Cleo, you don't need those pieces. You have the cloak." Joe reminded, hovering over her shoulder. "I don't know why you even kept them; they don't fit you in the first place."
"I don't have anything else to do with them." Cleo waved him off, trying to get him away. "If you don't mind, I'd like some time to myself."
Joe opened his mouth to say something before stopping himself. He tilted his head to the side to listen to something that made him nod. "Okay. I'll come to visit in a bit."
Cleo said nothing about how she wasn't sure if she would be alive in a bit ; she just gave a jerky nod as she tried to calm her snakes from their panic. It was mostly a lost cause, but they came to coil underneath the cloak.
She had everything that she could muster. All there was left to do was wait.