If I could, i'd like Hyena more <3 Name: Alopex Gender: Female? or so she says Species: Cat demi-god Changes: Added stripes (is now a Ticked tabby kinda) Personality: Snarky know-it-all, Story: Alopex was born under the tempestuous skies of a fierce summer storm, a fitting entrance for the child of Ares, god of war. From an early age, it was clear that she inherited her father's fervor and knack for battle. Mischievous and sharp-tongued, Alopex had an opinion on everything and loved to challenge anyone who dared to step onto her proverbial battlefield—whether it be in physical contests or verbal duels. Her snarky wit often left others both impressed and irritated; after all, being right was just another way to keep score in her chaotic world. At Camp Half-Blood, Alopex quickly earned a reputation as neither friend nor foe but rather as someone you’d find yourself reluctantly teaming up with when push came to shove—a fierce ally adorned with quips and unrivaled combat skills. She relished training sparring sessions against seasoned fighters, bouncing back from each defeat with renewed tenacity; after all, what better way is there to shrug off loss than by getting back up swinging? Between swordplay lessons from instructors too stunned by her bravado to stifle their laughter and lightning-fast bouts with other demigods determined not to underestimate the pint-sized warrior holding court among them, Alopex leverages every opportunity thrown at her for improvement—and entertainment. Yet beneath the layers of biting sarcasm lies a subtle yearning: not merely for victory in battle but respect from those around her—a chance to prove she can stand tall amid legends while carving out her own story steeped in valor instead of mere comparison. Unearthing strength during practice fights transforms into camaraderie over campfires where tales are exchanged between heroes; these moments reveal glimpses of vulnerability tucked away behind playground bravado laced within jokes about how snacks taste better once stolen from less astute campers before dawn breaks anew upon destiny’s horizon. Ultimately because even if nothing else holds true—as victories ebb come daybreak—each clash ignited deepens one simple truth: life itself becomes exhilaratingly unpredictable whenever spiced with heart-pumping adventure!
Name: Yaina Gender: male Species: Cat demi-god Personality: shy, quiet, reserved Story: Yaina had always felt caught between two worlds. Born to Hades, the god of the underworld, and a mortal woman with roots in New Orleans, he grew up surrounded by shadows that seemed to whisper secrets into his ear. His name—a traditionally feminine one—was given because his mother hoped for a daughter who could wield kindness amidst chaos; Yaina never quite fit that mold. Shy and reserved, he rarely spoke unless necessary, often preferring the company of books or a solitary stroll through Camp Half-Blood’s forests rather than participating in training exercises against monsters or other demigods. In those quiet moments away from the bustle of camp life, he would find solace among trees and stars, feeling more connected to both worlds as if they were just layers in an endless tapestry. Despite being Hades' son and possessing powers no ordinary camper could dream of harboring—such as communicating with spirits or summoning shadows—Yaina despised violence. Fighting trained warriors left him cold; he saw them as lost souls seeking glory through bloodshed rather than understanding each other’s struggles. This perspective isolated him further at camp where daring feats earned admiration while curiosity about emotions seemed almost forbidden territory among his peers. Encouraged by friends like Bluebell—his only ally who understood this conflict within—the shy boy found comfort when exploring themes buried deep within ancient myths: redemption alongside destruction. One evening after yet another day spent skirting around social activities during dinner at Cabin 13, Yaina stumbled upon an old journal hidden beneath cobwebs underneath a weathered podium near the edge of campgrounds; it contained poetry penned long ago by those similarly trapped in silence—not merely contemplating duty but longing for connection beyond fights and brawn-filled clamor—igniting something deeply rooted inside himself: hope for belonging without having to raise weapons against foes unseen yet present everywhere else within their realm filled with uncertainty—and perhaps adventure ahead awaited not bound by swordsmanship alone but also guided gently forward toward friendship despite fear lingering nearby still today.
