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[center][h1][color=lightsteelblue]Roy Montag[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][h2][color=lightsteelblue]Camp Half Blood - Entrance[/color][/h2][/center]

Camp Half-Blood...the place hardly ever looked more welcoming than when returning from a quest. The Camp was more than a haven; it was safety, it was [i]home[/i]. Roy would be lying if he said he never missed the simpler life back in Nevada City, working lumber with his father during the summer days and sitting out on the porch with lemonade on the evenings. Life was routine, and it was bliss. 

But that all changed upon discovering his destiny. His true heritage, his true fate, was to stay here and fight - always fight. Roy comforted himself with the fact that, as long as he kept fighting, his parents would be safe. He could almost imagine his father granting a firm nod. Though small in gesture, the depth it held brought a smile to Roy's face. Boreas may have helped created him, but in Roy's mind...the North Wind was far from being his father. That privilege belonged to Jack Montag. 

Interrupted by a sudden bark, Roy looked down at Hircine, whose tail was wagging most violently. The Wolfhound, like Roy, always grew excited when returning to Camp. Probably so he could tackle some poor unsuspecting camper and lick their face off. 

Rubbing the dog's head affectionately, Roy adjusted the worn backpack he kept over one shoulder, the smell of smoke and sound of loud music meeting him barely after he passed the gate. No doubt another one of Ky's parties. Looks like he came home just the right time. Smiling once, Roy bee-lined towards the cabins, being sure to stop by Cabin One to drop off his gear and hopefully change into something more presentable. 

Coming out a few minutes later, Roy took a moment to look over himself before deeming his appearance sufficient. Walking down past more cabins, Cabin Nine soon came into view, already crawling with campers who were enjoying the festivities - no doubt Arianna had her own personal touch involved to make things [i]this[/i] rapturous. 

Scanning the crowd, Roy's icy blue eyes quickly caught onto Griffin, who was standing outside a small crowd of dancing demigods, but nonetheless preoccupied watching them. 

"Wingfoot!" Roy called out, trying to raise his voice above the music. Griffin absentmindedly turned his head in the direction of the voice, landing on Roy for a split moment before his eyes widened. "Well, look who's back from the dead!" The son of Hermes declared as he approached, holding out a single loose hand for Roy to shake. "And, what's this? You grew a bloody beard? Hm...nice. Maybe Claire will notice you now that you don't look like you're five, eh?" 

Raising one eyebrow, Roy attempted to give Griffin a half-hearted though well-deserved punch in the shoulder, but the other demigod was too fast, quickly jumping back out of the way, smirking all the while. "Gotta be quicker than that, Sub-Zero. Good t' have you back!" Griffin bid with a two-fingered salute before falling back into the crowd, leaving an amusingly exasperated Roy in his wake. Looking down at Hircine, Roy winked once at the hound. "We'll sic him one day, boy, won't we?" Earning a bark in response to his query. 

With that, the son of Boreas reserved himself to get a well-needed drink, and relax after a long trek home...