HereComesTheSnow

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

oh yeah i guess if anyone cares about relations you can tag me for those for either dal or dana lol

@Plank Sinatra

Dana should respect her onii-sama

Also ditto this for Jonas if anyone cares for it lol

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

Jonas Highwind | Son of Ares

"You've been saying some mean things about me, but, I believe in myself. My Mama raised me to have confidence, my brothers taught me how to fight, and I just feel good.
And,
also?
You a bitch-ass nigga." —Hannibal Buress

---

Name
Jonas Alexander Highwind

Age
20

Gender
Male

Sexual Orientation
Straight as an arrow.

Ethnicity
Half Greek, Half-Welsh, 100% AMERICAN.

Years at Olympus Academy
Fifth

---

"I was born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes" — Alabama 3

---

Appearance
Jonas is a tall and powerful young man, standing at an athletic, muscular six foot three. His dark hair is cropped close, and what might be a thick, full beard upon his strong jaw is usually kept clean shaven, grown out to stubble at most. His eyes are a sharp and lively green, like the deep forests of his mother’s ancestral home, and his face is free of scarring. His body, however, is not quite so spotless— a story of small mistakes and painful lessons. Nothing major has gotten him yet, but it is a worthy collection of reminders that he is not invincible. After all, even his mighty father was brought low by Diomedes. He’ll often have the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a small, relaxed grin, which could just as easily be read as a smirk. Carries himself with a surety of movement granted by near-mastery of the body, and a full knowledge of one's own skill. He tends towards casual or athletic wear most of the time, favoring pragmatism over style when it comes to shopping for 225 pounds of meat. However, the recent purchase of some dress shirts and and proper pants that are neither athletic nor jeans indicates that he's listening TO YOUR FUCKING NAGGING, DAL.

Personality
Considering the reputation of his father within myth and amongst the Gods, Jonas is surprisingly... normal in temperament. He is not a smouldering pile of anger or resentment, there exists no chip on his shoulder, and he is no ruthless antagonist towards the weak. Much to the contrary, he tends to be quite cordial and polite with non-threatening strangers, at most engaging in very tame banter until he better understands them and their limits. Amongst his friends, he’ll loosen up like anyone else, needling and getting needled in equally good fun. Only those he truly trusts or truly can’t stand are shown his the full sharpness of his tongue. He enjoys a healthy dose of competition as much as any young, red-blooded man, and considers it disrespectful to go easy on anyone not a novice or child, but he’ll always encourage the pursuit of self-improvement in others.

Respects strength in any form, of body, of character, of will, you name it, if it's strong, he likes it. Admires great warriors, and is absolutely enthralled whenever given the opportunity to learn of them and their methods. While neither being Athenian nor particularly displaying an extreme aptitude for strategics, what he is is a thinking fighter, a veritable sponge when it comes to techniques and the tactics of their implementation. He may not be the best general in the world even amongst his brethren, but he does a hell of a job at getting his hands dirty. Once a fight begins, he won’t back down from it, and if he decides there’s merit to a challenge, he will spiritedly accept. Revelrous in the heat of battle, living on the knife’s edge of putting skill against skill, flirting with death while clinging hold of life—it feels like home, and it’s where he feels the most alive, and the most real.

And yet, on the other side of the coin, nothing would feel more hollow than to fight pointlessly. He knows it all too well.

During his time alone, Highwind often thinks about what he wants to do with the powers he holds, and finds the openness of his future daunting. Sure, keeping everyone he knows safe is fine for the interim, but they’ve only a few years left together in the Academy before being tossed into the world, and from there, what will he do? He cannot go everywhere. He cannot keep an eye on everyone. He knows this, but beyond what he is now… what can he be? The names of heroes long past were those he aspired to as a boy.

But could anyone stand amongst those titans in this age?

History
Raised by a single mother, Jonas was stuck from a very young age into a nearby martial arts program, just as much to give him something to do while she worked her hardest to find the cure for cancer as it was to teach him discipline and keep him out of trouble. While throwing you kid at a karate school is always a crapshoot at best given the variety of factors involved, the young Highwind boy took to the martial arts like a fish does to water, always looking forward to his mom getting off of work and being able to take him to the studio after school each day. Especially since, while the discipline did come after a time (along with healthy doses of age and experience), the trouble at school was much, much harder to shake. Despite being a decent enough kid, Jonas always found himself getting into brawls in the classroom, at lunch, behind the playground; anywhere was free game. It wasn't that he started them or sought them out, either. It was like fighting was drawn to him much as he was to the art involved in it. Never one to start a scuffle, he tried to keep to himself, but 99 times out of a 100, he did find himself ending them.

Such was life.

While school and such was hell in a handbasket, he often found refuge in the community of the martial arts studio, growing from a competent, studious little kid into a respected, knowledgeable young man, becoming a mentor as well as a student to those that came after him. Life had begun to turn around: he had more confidence, he was helping his mother tremendously with the new source of income, he even was starting to pick his grades back up--

And then Dad showed up, and everything got flipped-turned upside down.

He’d always appreciated mythology. Since he was a kid, he loved to read or watch stories about Gods, Dragons, Demons, and most importantly, Heroes. Those shining examples of Humanity, those who had etched their names into the halls of greatness with their gallantry, courage, and strength of will— tales of these people, whether they existed or not, were dear to him. He’d always felt particularly drawn to the tales of Olympians and Greece, but had no idea that one of the most infamous of Gods would be knocking on his door and calling himself "Dad".

One long, weird talk later, and he was the son of the Greek God of War, going to be sent off to Olympus Academy, and was a demigod walking amongst mortals. And hey, Dad's really, truly is sorry he can't be there for you or your sister, but those shits in the middle east have been keeping him so damn busy these days.

So, that was new.

---

"I don't often get the chance to say it, but remember this: you will never meet a fiercer opponent than yourself, son. Remember who you are, and remember who he is. It will take you further than any spear's throw or sword's reach. Trust me. If you can keep that steady, I know you'll always be able to move forward." — Ares

---

Godly Parent
Ares, The God of War, Father of Rome, minor guardian of agriculture and the wilderness. Patron of military virtue, the soldier, aggression, courage, physical might, Scyth, Thrace, Tylos, Rome, and Sparta. Symbolized by the dog, the chariot, the spear, the helm, the boar, and the vulture.

Relationship With Godly Parent
Rather hands-off, and out of necessity as opposed to any real lack of willingness. Turns out, with all the conflicts the world's constantly going through, Ares is a busy son of a bitch. The two are amicable enough, but there's a definite air of awkwardness between them whenever put in the same room, a byproduct of the unfortunate distance between them. Nonetheless, Ares has always found a way to, if nothing else, at least keep an eye on the boy, even if he can't always be there for him, and he is proud of him for sticking to his guns in the face of life. It's a rough world out there.

He, of all the Gods, would know.

"Also, I'll kick your ass if you don't take care of your sister, kid. If that girl's staying up and watching RIZIN then so are you."

Demigod Abilities

Make Savage the Body: Already notably physically gifted and tirelessly trained even amongst his half-god peers, in battle Jonas's athleticism skyrockets even further beyond human capability. Every parameter imaginably useful in man-to-man combat: strength, agility, senses, speed, toughness, even reaction time, all are further augmented into a being that becomes an ideal soldier. This may be outdone in one area by a specialist, such as an out-and-out speedster outpacing him, but he'd be the king of all trades to their ace of one.

Glorious Eidolon: The crystallization of a legend. No War can be fought without weapons, and thus, no demigod of War can truly exist without a weapon. Jonas can call forth replicant images, much like the shadow on Plato’s proverbial cave, of historical, current, or indeed mythological weapons. These are thought to come from the Armory of Ares himself, with the selecting factor being Jonas’s own understanding of the weapon he calls for. The more completely he understands it’s legend— wielders, blessed or cursed properties, construction, and so forth, the more “accurate” the replica he is given. Should he ever be blessed enough to see, or better yet, wield a legendary item like that, then an ideal replica is almost a sure thing.

Courage of the Front Line: "Drive away bitter cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of my soul."—(Homeric Hymn to Ares). The ability to retain one's fighting skill and experience no matter the situation. Even in a terrible, heart-rending predicament, even under the influence of a berserker's rage, or other affectation of the mind, no sense for battle analysis and action is dulled. It is the strength of will to fight out a hundred-to-one comeback without being routed, to stand against titans while quelling great fear, and maintaining awareness under any outside duress. Even a grievous injury, should it not be immediately fatal, is something you can draw a win out of with the correct course of action. This is an ability honed by his natural experience in fighting, years of accumulated spars, street altercations, and true life-or-death combat that have granted him an active presence of mind even in conditions most dire.

Black Hawk Down: More a boon than an outright ability, a daily collection of the stray molt from the Ornithes Areioi, the birds of Ares that drop arrow-like feathers and guard the Amazon shrine to Ares on an island off the coast of the Black Sea. They appear by his bedside when he wakes each morning, and with a little work, they can be fashioned into proper arrows. Due to their inherent tie with Ares and his domain, however, they have changed in the face of modern warfare. In response to the will of Jonas, Ornithes Arrows can optionally explode upon impact, at the natural cost of utterly destroying the projectile. Depending on the molt of the flock, daily restock yield ranges from two to five dozen arrow-worthy feathers.

Alan Jouban | ed1c24

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

A man must always exceed his limit.

"You've been saying some mean things about me, but, I believe in myself. My Mama raised me to have confidence, my brothers taught me how to fight, and I just feel good.
And,
also?
You a bitch-ass nigga." —Hannibal Buress

---

Name
Jonas Alexander Highwind

Age
20

Gender
Male

Sexual Orientation
Straight as an arrow.

Ethnicity
Half Greek, Half-Welsh, 100% AMERICAN.

Years at Olympus Academy
Fifth

---

"I was born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes" — Alabama 3

---

Appearance
Jonas is a tall and powerful young man, standing at an athletic, muscular six foot three. His dark hair is cropped close, and what might be a thick, full beard upon his strong jaw is usually kept clean shaven, grown out to stubble at most. His eyes are a sharp and lively green, like the deep forests of his mother’s ancestral home, and his face is free of scarring. His body, however, is not quite so spotless— a story of small mistakes and painful lessons. Nothing major has gotten him yet, but it is a worthy collection of reminders that he is not invincible. After all, even his mighty father was brought low by Diomedes. He’ll often have the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a small, relaxed grin, which could just as easily be read as a smirk. Carries himself with a surety of movement granted by near-mastery of the body, and a full knowledge of one's own skill. He tends towards casual or athletic wear most of the time, favoring pragmatism over style when it comes to shopping for 225 pounds of meat. However, the recent purchase of some dress shirts and and proper pants that are neither athletic nor jeans indicates that he's listening TO YOUR FUCKING NAGGING, DAL.

Personality
Considering the reputation of his father within myth and amongst the Gods, Jonas is surprisingly... normal in temperament. He is not a smouldering pile of anger or resentment, there exists no chip on his shoulder, and he is no ruthless antagonist towards the weak. Much to the contrary, he tends to be quite cordial and polite with non-threatening strangers, at most engaging in very tame banter until he better understands them and their limits. Amongst his friends, he’ll loosen up like anyone else, needling and getting needled in equally good fun. Only those he truly trusts or truly can’t stand are shown his the full sharpness of his tongue. He enjoys a healthy dose of competition as much as any young, red-blooded man, and considers it disrespectful to go easy on anyone not a novice or child, but he’ll always encourage the pursuit of self-improvement in others.

Respects strength in any form, of body, of character, of will, you name it, if it's strong, he likes it. Admires great warriors, and is absolutely enthralled whenever given the opportunity to learn of them and their methods. While neither being Athenian nor particularly displaying an extreme aptitude for strategics, what he is is a thinking fighter, a veritable sponge when it comes to techniques and the tactics of their implementation. He may not be the best general in the world even amongst his brethren, but he does a hell of a job at getting his hands dirty. Once a fight begins, he won’t back down from it, and if he decides there’s merit to a challenge, he will spiritedly accept. Revelrous in the heat of battle, living on the knife’s edge of putting skill against skill, flirting with death while clinging hold of life—it feels like home, and it’s where he feels the most alive, and the most real.

And yet, on the other side of the coin, nothing would feel more hollow than to fight pointlessly. He knows it all too well.

During his time alone, Highwind often thinks about what he wants to do with the powers he holds, and finds the openness of his future daunting. Sure, keeping everyone he knows safe is fine for the interim, but they’ve only a few years left together in the Academy before being tossed into the world, and from there, what will he do? He cannot go everywhere. He cannot keep an eye on everyone. He knows this, but beyond what he is now… what can he be? The names of heroes long past were those he aspired to as a boy.

But could anyone stand amongst those titans in this age?

History
Raised by a single mother, Jonas was stuck from a very young age into a nearby martial arts program, just as much to give him something to do while she worked her hardest to find the cure for cancer as it was to teach him discipline and keep him out of trouble. While throwing you kid at a karate school is always a crapshoot at best given the variety of factors involved, the young Highwind boy took to the martial arts like a fish does to water, always looking forward to his mom getting off of work and being able to take him to the studio after school each day. Especially since, while the discipline did come after a time (along with healthy doses of age and experience), the trouble at school was much, much harder to shake. Despite being a decent enough kid, Jonas always found himself getting into brawls in the classroom, at lunch, behind the playground; anywhere was free game. It wasn't that he started them or sought them out, either. It was like fighting was drawn to him much as he was to the art involved in it. Never one to start a scuffle, he tried to keep to himself, but 99 times out of a 100, he did find himself ending them.

Such was life.

While school and such was hell in a handbasket, he often found refuge in the community of the martial arts studio, growing from a competent, studious little kid into a respected, knowledgeable young man, becoming a mentor as well as a student to those that came after him. Life had begun to turn around: he had more confidence, he was helping his mother tremendously with the new source of income, he even was starting to pick his grades back up--

And then Dad showed up, and everything got flipped-turned upside down.

He’d always appreciated mythology. Since he was a kid, he loved to read or watch stories about Gods, Dragons, Demons, and most importantly, Heroes. Those shining examples of Humanity, those who had etched their names into the halls of greatness with their gallantry, courage, and strength of will— tales of these people, whether they existed or not, were dear to him. He’d always felt particularly drawn to the tales of Olympians and Greece, but had no idea that one of the most infamous of Gods would be knocking on his door and calling himself "Dad".

One long, weird talk later, and he was the son of the Greek God of War, going to be sent off to Olympus Academy, and was a demigod walking amongst mortals. And hey, Dad's really, truly is sorry he can't be there for you or your sister, but those shits in the middle east have been keeping him so damn busy these days.

So, that was new.

---

"I don't often get the chance to say it, but remember this: you will never meet a fiercer opponent than yourself, son. Remember who you are, and remember who he is. It will take you further than any spear's throw or sword's reach. Trust me. If you can keep that steady, I know you'll always be able to move forward." — Ares

---

Godly Parent
Ares, The God of War, Father of Rome, minor guardian of agriculture and the wilderness. Patron of military virtue, the soldier, aggression, courage, physical might, Scyth, Thrace, Tylos, Rome, and Sparta. Symbolized by the dog, the chariot, the spear, the helm, the boar, and the vulture.

Relationship With Godly Parent
Rather hands-off, and out of necessity as opposed to any real lack of willingness. Turns out, with all the conflicts the world's constantly going through, Ares is a busy son of a bitch. The two are amicable enough, but there's a definite air of awkwardness between them whenever put in the same room, a byproduct of the unfortunate distance between them. Nonetheless, Ares has always found a way to, if nothing else, at least keep an eye on the boy, even if he can't always be there for him, and he is proud of him for sticking to his guns in the face of life. It's a rough world out there.

He, of all the Gods, would know.

"Also, I'll kick your ass if you don't take care of your sister, kid. If that girl's staying up and watching RIZIN then so are you."

Demigod Abilities

Make Savage the Body: Already notably physically gifted and tirelessly trained even amongst his half-god peers, in battle Jonas's athleticism skyrockets even further beyond human capability. Every parameter imaginably useful in man-to-man combat: strength, agility, senses, speed, toughness, even reaction time, all are further augmented into a being that becomes an ideal soldier. This may be outdone in one area by a specialist, such as an out-and-out speedster outpacing him, but he'd be the king of all trades to their ace of one.

Glorious Eidolon: The crystallization of a legend. No War can be fought without weapons, and thus, no demigod of War can truly exist without a weapon. Jonas can call forth replicant images, much like the shadow on Plato’s proverbial cave, of historical, current, or indeed mythological weapons. These are thought to come from the Armory of Ares himself, with the selecting factor being Jonas’s own understanding of the weapon he calls for. The more completely he understands it’s legend— wielders, blessed or cursed properties, construction, and so forth, the more “accurate” the replica he is given. Should he ever be blessed enough to see, or better yet, wield a legendary item like that, then an ideal replica is almost a sure thing.

Courage of the Front Line: "Drive away bitter cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of my soul."—(Homeric Hymn to Ares). The ability to retain one's fighting skill and experience no matter the situation. Even in a terrible, heart-rending predicament, even under the influence of a berserker's rage, or other affectation of the mind, no sense for battle analysis and action is dulled. It is the strength of will to fight out a hundred-to-one comeback without being routed, to stand against titans while quelling great fear, and maintaining awareness under any outside duress. Even a grievous injury, should it not be immediately fatal, is something you can draw a win out of with the correct course of action. This is an ability honed by his natural experience in fighting, years of accumulated spars, street altercations, and true life-or-death combat that have granted him an active presence of mind even in conditions most dire.

Black Hawk Down: More a boon than an outright ability, a daily collection of the stray molt from the Ornithes Areioi, the birds of Ares that drop arrow-like feathers and guard the Amazon shrine to Ares on an island off the coast of the Black Sea. They appear by his bedside when he wakes each morning, and with a little work, they can be fashioned into proper arrows. Due to their inherent tie with Ares and his domain, however, they have changed in the face of modern warfare. In response to the will of Jonas, Ornithes Arrows can optionally explode upon impact, at the natural cost of utterly destroying the projectile. Depending on the molt of the flock, daily restock yield ranges from two to five dozen arrow-worthy feathers.

Al Iaquinta | ed1c24

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

Jonas Highwind, Son of Ares

"You've been saying some mean things about me, but, I believe in myself. My Mama raised me to have confidence, my brothers taught me how to fight, and I just feel good.
And,
also?
You a bitch-ass nigga." —Hannibal Buress

---

Name
Jonas Alexander Highwind

Age
20

Gender
Male

Sexual Orientation
Straight as an arrow.

Ethnicity
Half Greek, Half-Welsh, 100% AMERICAN.

Years at Olympus Academy
4

---

"I was born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes" — Alabama 3

---

Appearance
Jonas is a tall and powerful young man, standing at an athletic, muscular six foot three. His dark hair is cropped close, and what might be a thick, full beard upon his strong jaw is usually kept clean shaven, grown out to stubble at most. His eyes are a sharp and lively green, like the deep forests of his mother’s ancestral home, and his face is free of scarring. His body, however, is not quite so spotless— a story of small mistakes and painful lessons. Nothing major has gotten him yet, but it is a worthy collection of reminders that he is not invincible. After all, even his mighty father was brought low by Diomedes. He’ll often have the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a small, relaxed grin, which could just as easily be read as a smirk. Carries himself with a surety of movement granted by near-mastery of the body, and a full knowledge of one's own skill.

Personality
Considering the reputation of his father within myth and amongst the Gods, Jonas is surprisingly... normal in temperament. He is not a smouldering pile of anger or resentment, there exists no chip on his shoulder, and he is no ruthless antagonist towards the weak. Much to the contrary, he tends to be quite cordial and polite with non-threatening strangers, at most engaging in very tame banter until he better understands them and their limits. Amongst his friends, he’ll loosen up like anyone else, needling and getting needled in equally good fun. Only those he truly trusts or truly can’t stand are shown his the full sharpness of his tongue. He enjoys a healthy dose of competition as much as any young, red-blooded man, and considers it disrespectful to go easy on anyone not a novice or child, but he’ll always encourage the pursuit of self-improvement in others.

Respects strength in any form, of body, of character, of will, you name it, if it's strong, he likes it. Admires great warriors, and is absolutely enthralled whenever given the opportunity to learn of them and their methods. While neither being Athenian nor particularly displaying an extreme aptitude for strategics, what he is is a thinking fighter, a veritable sponge when it comes to techniques and the tactics of their implementation. He may not be the best general in the world even amongst his brethren, but he does a hell of a job at getting his hands dirty. Once a fight begins, he won’t back down from it, and if he decides there’s merit to a challenge, he will spiritedly accept. Revelous in the heat of battle, living on the knife’s edge of putting skill against skill, flirting with death while clinging hold of life—it feels like home, and it’s where he feels the most alive, and the most real.

And yet, on the other side of the coin, nothing would feel more hollow than to fight pointlessly. He knows it all too well.

During his time alone, Highwind often thinks about what he wants to do with the powers he holds, and finds the openness of his future daunting. Sure, keeping everyone he knows safe is fine for the interim, but they’ve only a few years left together in the Academy before being tossed into the world, and from there, what will he do? He cannot go everywhere. He cannot keep an eye on everyone. He knows this, but beyond what he is now… what can he be? The names of heroes long past were those he aspired to as a boy.

But could anyone stand amongst those titans in this age?

History
Raised by a single mother, Jonas was stuck from a very young age into a nearby martial arts program, just as much to give him something to do while she worked her hardest to find the cure for cancer as it was to teach him discipline and keep him out of trouble. While throwing you kid at a karate school is always a crapshoot at best given the variety of factors involved, the young Highwind boy took to the martial arts like a fish does to water, always looking forward to his mom getting off of work and being able to take him to the studio after school each day. Especially since, while the discipline did come after a time (along with healthy doses of age and experience), the trouble at school was much, much harder to shake. Despite being a decent enough kid, Jonas always found himself getting into brawls in the classroom, at lunch, behind the playground; anywhere was free game. It wasn't that he started them or sought them out, either. It was like fighting was drawn to him much as he was to the art involved in it. Never one to start a scuffle, he tried to keep to himself, but 99 times out of a 100, he did find himself ending them.

Such was life.

While school and such was hell in a handbasket, he often found refuge in the community of the martial arts studio, growing from a competent, studious little kid into a respected, knowledgeable young man, becoming a mentor as well as a student to those that came after him. Life had begun to turn around: he had more confidence, he was helping his mother tremendously with the new source of income, he even was starting to pick his grades back up--

And then Dad showed up, and everything got flipped-turned upside down.

He’d always appreciated mythology. Since he was a kid, he loved to read or watch stories about Gods, Dragons, Demons, and most importantly, Heroes. Those shining examples of Humanity, those who had etched their names into the halls of greatness with their gallantry, courage, and strength of will— tales of these people, whether they existed or not, were dear to him. He’d always felt particularly drawn to the tales of Olympians and Greece, but had no idea that one of the most infamous of Gods would be knocking on his door and calling himself "Dad".

One long, weird talk later, and he was the son of the Greek God of War, going to be sent off to Olympus Academy, and was a demigod walking amongst mortals. And hey, Dad's really, truly is sorry he can't be there for you or your sister, but those shits in the middle east have been keeping him so damn busy these days.

So, that was new.

---

"I don't often get the chance to say it, but remember this: you will never meet a fiercer opponent than yourself, son. Remember who you are, and remember who he is. It will take you further than any spear's throw or sword's reach. Trust me. If you can keep that steady, I know you'll always be able to move forward." — Ares

---

Godly Parent
Ares, The God of War, Father of Rome, minor guardian of agriculture and the wilderness. Patron of military virtue, the soldier, aggression, courage, physical might, Scyth, Thrace, Tylos, Rome, and Sparta. Symbolized by the dog, the chariot, the spear, the helm, the boar, and the vulture.

Relationship With Godly Parent
Rather hands-off, and out of necessity as opposed to any real lack of willingness. Turns out, with all the conflicts the world's constantly going through, Ares is a busy son of a bitch. The two are amicable enough, but there's a definite air of awkwardness between them whenever put in the same room, a byproduct of the unfortunate distance between them. Nonetheless, Ares has always found a way to, if nothing else, at least keep an eye on the boy, even if he can't always be there for him, and he is proud of him for sticking to his guns in the face of life. It's a rough world out there.

He, of all the Gods, would know.

Demigod Abilities

Make Savage the Body: Already notably physically gifted and tirelessly trained even amongst his half-god peers, in battle Jonas's athleticism skyrockets even further beyond human capability. Every parameter imaginably useful in man-to-man combat: strength, agility, senses, speed, toughness, even reaction time, all are further augmented into a being that becomes an ideal soldier. This may be outdone in one area by a specialist, such as an out-and-out speedster outpacing him, but he'd be the king of all trades to their ace of one.

Glorious Eidolon: The crystallization of a legend. No War can be fought without weapons, and thus, no demigod of War can truly exist without a weapon. Jonas can call forth replicant images, much like the shadow on Plato’s proverbial cave, of historical, current, or indeed mythological weapons. These are thought to come from the Armory of Ares himself, with the selecting factor being Jonas’s own understanding of the weapon he calls for. The more completely he understands it’s legend— wielders, blessed or cursed properties, construction, and so forth, the more “accurate” the replica he is given. Should he ever be blessed enough to see, or better yet, wield a legendary item like that, then an ideal replica is almost a sure thing.

Courage of the Front Line: "Drive away bitter cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of my soul."—(Homeric Hymn to Ares). The ability to retain one's fighting skill and experience no matter the situation. Even in a terrible, heart-rending predicament, even under the influence of a berserker's rage, or other affectation of the mind, no sense for battle analysis and action is dulled. It is the strength of will to fight out a hundred-to-one comeback without being routed, to stand against titans while quelling great fear, and maintaining awareness under any outside duress. Even a grievous injury, should it not be immediately fatal, is something you can draw a win out of with the correct course of action. This is an ability honed by his natural experience in fighting, years of accumulated spars, street altercations, and true life-or-death combat that have granted him an active presence of mind even in conditions most dire.

Black Hawk Down: More a boon than an outright ability, a daily collection of the stray molt from the Ornithes Areioi, the birds of Ares that drop arrow-like feathers and guard the Amazon shrine to Ares on an island off the coast of the Black Sea. They appear by his bedside when he wakes each morning, and with a little work, they can be fashioned into proper arrows. Due to their inherent tie with Ares and his domain, however, they have changed in the face of modern warfare. In response to the will of Jonas, Ornithes Arrows can optionally explode upon impact, at the natural cost of utterly destroying the projectile. Depending on the molt of the flock, daily restock yield ranges from two to five dozen arrow-worthy feathers.

Al Iaquinta | ed1c24

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

Al Iaquinta.

Olympus Academy // A School for Demigods and Demigoddesses

これはこれは

EDIT: Son of Ares.

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG]

MgRonalds, District 7

@Crimmy@GreenGoat@Plank Sinatra

"Agh!"

Just as much surprised as he was pained, Karasawa let out the natural reaction to having your hand, wrist, elbow, and shoulder torqued at angle they weren't supposed to go. What was formerly a grip was now something more like being caught in a net as the man's hair had quite truly transformed around him, his thumb seized and twisted away from his body. A fan of mixed martial arts or submission grappling may have called it a passable attempt at and americana, but our lavender lad had other names in mind.

Fucker! What the hell is this shit?! An extenzo-pompadour and now an aikido-fade?

However, a little discomfort never stopped a Shinjiro Smackdown, nor did it turn off his searing heat. If anything, the anger would make things worse.

He grit his teeth, clamping his jaw shut so as to not allow Vital Sassoon the pleasure of knowing he'd caused any more pain. If his arm was being twisted, he knew it best not to antagonize the rotation by moving any direction that wasn't along with it. Twisting to his right, towards the that same twisted shoulder, he braced—

And took the hit intended for his liver square in the taut abdominals instead.

He exhaled, shortly, sharply, and in a manner most controlled. This wasn't getting the wind knocked out of him; this was the culmination of years of Kyoukushinkai, where punches were only allowed to the body, and streetfighting, where taking hits was as commonplace as nitrogen in our atmosphere. He knew how to handle a harsh impact to the gut.

Still, though, what business did hair have feeling like a solid shovel hook? This guy was trouble. Especially if Karasawa hadn't yet run him over with the help of Party Popper over there.

Next, he rolled, diving over that right shoulder. More than simply looking fancy, this had a simple and entirely reasonable purpose.

As he somersaulted over his back and landed on one knee, Karasawa found his whole arm feeling much more natural. The whole body had to rotate to match the twist, and now that everything was properly aligned?

"Shoulda let me go, dumbass!"

Kara-han was free to use that burning grip and YANK, lining up a livid left straight of his own for Bad Hair Day's jaw.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

hey, add in expanded universe and it's roughly correct

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG]

MgRonalds, District 7

@Crimmy@GreenGoat

"Oh, shut your damn mouth!"

It was unclear as to whom these words were addressed in the tumult of action, but Karasawa's voice rang true through the fast food joint nonetheless. With everything happening at once, he really only had time to pin Hisui with a glare that intensified upon her retort, before their more mobile prey sped off in the scooter, dodging Anti-Skill and tearing up pavement—

Then something dark grew into the corner of his eye, sending every fighter's instinct he'd either trained in a dojo or on home turf ablaze. Was it a punch? A kick? He had no time to tell, but his reactions were sharp enough to defend against either. He turned back towards Pompadour, raising his right arm in a folded block, hand meeting shoulder and head protected behind the crease between bicep and forearm. Just as well, too, since he'd not quite managed to move his head off-line. The attack mercifully had skidded off of his arm instead of potentially clobbering him a new one.

Though, if this schmuck's got hair so hard he's willin' to clobber a man with it, I bet that shit's got a whole load of spray caked in.

Before the Pomp could retract his 'do for another strike, if that was indeed how it worked, Kara-han's smirk turned into something more savage than humorous.

Why not introduce it to a curling iron?

The grape-flavored lad helped himself to a fistful, and turned the heat up to something close to three hundred degrees Fahrenheit.

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG]

MgRonalds, District 7

@Crimmy@GreenGoat

In fairness, a negotiation was never Karasawa's strongest suit. He had made more than a token effort, but anyone that knew him knew that talking one's way out of things was against such a brawler's nature. He had been convinced for a long time now that knuckles did a better job of convincing than words ever could. It was inevitable that it would turn out this way, and thus, he was ready.

The glass shattered.

Shinjiro Karasawa was always a man of action.

He launched forward as the Bazooka-Brandishing-Beyblade freed herself from Pompadour's aim, building up speed with one, two long strides. This guy needed to be taken care of quickly if he intended to be gettin' in his way, because Shinjiro didn't plan on lettin' ANY of the bozos escape.

How quickly, you ask?

Steam rising from his pores, his third stride was one that took to the air, springing off of his rear leg while chambering his front, knee almost rising to chest. Though the flying side kick was a move he'd been taught for fun rather than competition within the specific ruleset of Kyokushin Karate, Masutatsu Oyama would doubtlessly approve of one of his wayward former students using it against that which put others in danger. Sailing through the air, the apex of this leap ended up directly in front of the man with extending hair—

FMOOSH!

And in another moment of synchronicity, our unruly hero's foot lanced out like a piston, driving his heel straight towards his opponents chest with all that weight, momentum, and raw physical leg force behind it at the exact same moment as his compatriot did the unthinkable by firing the RPG.

"What the fuck— What the hell is wrong with you!?" he demanded after he'd returned to terra firma, "You tryin' to get people killed!?"

Unfortunately for her, he was a simple high schooler from a simple high school. He did not share her knowledge of propelled explosives, for to laymen such as himself the subject was esoteric beyond what a video game could teach you.