Information
Aquilon has a minion!
Zephyrus the Albinowl
Zephyrus the Albinowl
Aquilon
Legacy Name: Aquilon
The
Custom Galactic EndeavorOwner:
DiademAge: 10 years, 5 months, 3 weeks
Born: December 1st, 2013
Adopted: 10 years, 5 months, 3 weeks ago
Adopted: December 1st, 2013
Statistics
- Level: 48
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 10
- Books Read: 10
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Towel Folder
The youth on the bus drew more eyes than he intended to. His pale skin and red hair was rare in this part of town, where the norm was tanned skin and black hair. His blue eyes looked dull and dirty as he scanned the crowd. The looked like the snow on the side of the highway after a freeze.
He tried to ignore the looks, pushing his headphones into his ears and blowing on his hands. He was wearing fingerless gloves. Even in the heated bus he was cold. He was always cold. It was part of his nature. It was a fact more than an annoyance, as he enjoyed the cold. The blowing on his hands was a mere humanity; something natural to all mankind and appropriate to the season. As such, he mimicked them. In reality, he could have been standing wast high in the Atlantic in the worst blizzard known to mankind and be smiling. That was another part of his nature, the part he enjoyed greatly.
He rubbed his fingers over the edge of his hoodie, looking over the crowd. Seven of the riders would have killed him on the spot if they had recognized him, the others, naive humans, would not remember the incident even if they were coated in his blood afterwords. Such was the nature of the Chasers. Jupiter was annoyingly persistent in seeking his power these days. The bus pulled to a stop and he walked to the front, his breath hanging in the air as he thanked the driver.
He stepped into the cold, his breath misting slightly. This was not because he was warmer than the air, but rather because he was much colder, like opening a freezer on a summer day. He walked through the slush accumulating in the alley way, his eyes down, his fingers moving on the hem of his shirt. Those watching closely would have seen ice forming on his clothes with each movement, but few could see through the mist and fewer cared to. He was on the edge of their society, and their consciousness. For their understanding of the old gods was miffed and broken, as the Greeks had been after the gods ceased in their lands.
Greece had fallen from favor long before Rome had gained it. There were small civilizations to the North of the Sea that remembered them. The youth smiled at the memory of the feasts and favors he had been given by his people. But that was when he was in favor, centuries ago. That was before his last escapade to reclaim Hyperborea, his homeland, and his wife. It had been eons since he had seen her last, so long that her face was fading even from his immortal mind. Time was cruel even to the gods.
He was older than he portrayed himself as, much older. If he had wished to, his form could have changed to anything he desired. But this form caught less attention here, some but still less than a bearded god of the North Wind would be in the deep city. He would move more north soon, where his natural form would be accepted. Then he would vanish into the deep woods, where he could live away from humans. He pretended to detest them, but in all honesty they interested them. After all, he had made one his bride in the early years, encasing her in ice to last for all time in her beauty.
A smile twitched his mouth. Yes, one day he would see her again, in her beauty. One day he would return for Oreithyia and reclaim his title as Wind of the North. For he was Aquilon, a god of olden days, and his time was coming.
He tried to ignore the looks, pushing his headphones into his ears and blowing on his hands. He was wearing fingerless gloves. Even in the heated bus he was cold. He was always cold. It was part of his nature. It was a fact more than an annoyance, as he enjoyed the cold. The blowing on his hands was a mere humanity; something natural to all mankind and appropriate to the season. As such, he mimicked them. In reality, he could have been standing wast high in the Atlantic in the worst blizzard known to mankind and be smiling. That was another part of his nature, the part he enjoyed greatly.
He rubbed his fingers over the edge of his hoodie, looking over the crowd. Seven of the riders would have killed him on the spot if they had recognized him, the others, naive humans, would not remember the incident even if they were coated in his blood afterwords. Such was the nature of the Chasers. Jupiter was annoyingly persistent in seeking his power these days. The bus pulled to a stop and he walked to the front, his breath hanging in the air as he thanked the driver.
He stepped into the cold, his breath misting slightly. This was not because he was warmer than the air, but rather because he was much colder, like opening a freezer on a summer day. He walked through the slush accumulating in the alley way, his eyes down, his fingers moving on the hem of his shirt. Those watching closely would have seen ice forming on his clothes with each movement, but few could see through the mist and fewer cared to. He was on the edge of their society, and their consciousness. For their understanding of the old gods was miffed and broken, as the Greeks had been after the gods ceased in their lands.
Greece had fallen from favor long before Rome had gained it. There were small civilizations to the North of the Sea that remembered them. The youth smiled at the memory of the feasts and favors he had been given by his people. But that was when he was in favor, centuries ago. That was before his last escapade to reclaim Hyperborea, his homeland, and his wife. It had been eons since he had seen her last, so long that her face was fading even from his immortal mind. Time was cruel even to the gods.
He was older than he portrayed himself as, much older. If he had wished to, his form could have changed to anything he desired. But this form caught less attention here, some but still less than a bearded god of the North Wind would be in the deep city. He would move more north soon, where his natural form would be accepted. Then he would vanish into the deep woods, where he could live away from humans. He pretended to detest them, but in all honesty they interested them. After all, he had made one his bride in the early years, encasing her in ice to last for all time in her beauty.
A smile twitched his mouth. Yes, one day he would see her again, in her beauty. One day he would return for Oreithyia and reclaim his title as Wind of the North. For he was Aquilon, a god of olden days, and his time was coming.
Credits:
Story by User not found: dauntless
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