God Parent:Hades, Thanatos, Thanatos.
Mortal Parent:Hilda Sheffield
Personality:Konor is a moderately insecure person, only when it comes to his looks. He could never take a compliment, thinking he's always less than, and that nobody could ever love him, let alone like him. Given enough encouragement, he could push himself past his usual limits, though it usually ends up with him in pain somehow. Konor also has an addiction to being in love, a trait very hard to deal with given the fact his morals don't allow cheating. He's a funny person most of the time, but will fight hard for what he believes in. Also am respectful.
I awaken on an oddly cold summer day, to the sound of chirping birds and a light drizzle. Reluctantly, I arise from the soft comforts of the queen sized bed, much too big for the tiny apartment that it is concealed inside. I skirt around the edges of the bed, sidestepping the various clothes and trash strewn about the room. The door from my cozy dungeon to the kitchen (Which is also the living room. it's a small apartment.) is left open, and sign that my boyfriend left in the middle of the night, to his job as a mortician. It's an odd occupation, but intriguing. My kitchen is the complete opposite of my bedroom; clean, organized, relaxing.
On the counter under a window pane, which is peppered by droplets of accumulated raindrops, the kettle whistles on the stove. Gunther, my boyfriend, must not have left long ago. Next to the kettle, lying much too close to the fire, is a note. Written on the top in fancy calligraphy is my name, Hilda. Inside the small envelope are two plane, tickets. For America, none the less. Gunther must have really gone all out for this vacation.
I don the black trench coat I bought a few weeks ago, in preparation for this oncoming storm, and make my way outside. Since I have nothing on underneath, save for a a thin pair of pajamas, I wrap the trench coat against me tightly, and it accentuates my womanly form. I love the stares I get, an the awkward meetings that come when people are too busy staring to actually talk to me.
After a short walk around the drenched neighborhood I stroll into the mortuary where Gunther works. Even though he's instructed me not to walk in several times, I do anyways. None of the bodies or such has any affect on me. Sadly, countless hours on the internet has desensified me to things. I blame reddit.
From the main entrance to the cold room my love works in is a long walk, down an eerily lit corridor with blinking lights. After months of walking through here, I'm surprised they have not yet fixed the bulb, but I'm also impressed that the poor thing has lasted so long.
Peppering the the sides of this corridor are several doors, leading to offices and storerooms, but something odd catches my eye. As I pass Gunther's office, I notice pink cloth hanging from the inside doorknob, and I can hear the throes of passion. I refuse to believe Gunther could cheat on me, and my denial leads me to continue walking to the room he's usually in.
I push in the unlocked double doors, and am relieved to find my Gunther working at a table. His blonde hair and muscular build making him easily identifiable. Silently, I stalk over behind him, hugging him softly from behind. However, what surprises the piss out of me (Not literally) is that when he turned around, it was obviously not Gunther. His face was horribly scarred, unlike the smooth perfection that was my love. Sadly, it scarred me so much I fell back onto my ass, and scuttled back out of the room. I didn't mean to act so shallow but I was just so surprised.
It made me feel awful to do such a thing. I was much to flustered to go back in and apologize, but instead, Gunther's office beckoned my name. I crawled to his door and placed a hand on the cold stainless steel of the handle. Turning created a small click, and I found myself greeted by the naked bodies of Gunther, and one of his clients. The thing is, all of Gunther's clients are dead. Gunther laid on top of a cadaver, and I could tell because of the toe tag, and she wore MY clothes. Stolen from MY closet.
I felt...I felt disgusted. That the same man that defiled corpses has laid with me. However, i was also speechless. Quivering with disgust and fear, I reach into the purse hanging on my shoulder, and remove the same plan tickets he had bought for us. To think he had to ruin this vacation we've been planning for months. I tear his ticket, and only his ticket to shreds, before throwing it in his face and storming out of there, with tears streaming down my face in a continuous river.
After a few stops at a locksmith and a police department, I retired back at my now Gunther-proof apartment. It was here, looking staring out my window at the coffee shop next door that I realized I needed change in my life. Watching the american tourists drag about in the dreary sprinkle of a midsummer's night eve.
I stand at the terminal in Frankfurt, annoyed by the bastards in traffic and the long wait to make it here through baggage. My legs are wobbly, as I've been on them non-stop for hours. The "comfort" of the padded chairs near the gate beckon my name, and without thinking I nearly fall asleep in the one I chose.
"7:15 to JFK Airport, New York, now boarding!" Screams out the PA system, rousing me from my semi-slumber. I take the carry on bag I have, and groggily make my way through the gates and onto the first class. Luckily, the seat Gunther had chosen for me was a window seat, but I didn't quite get to relish the view, as I was out within seconds of take off.
Upon awakening, with a kink in my neck and a strange man snoring on my shoulder, I was greeted to the skyline of a sparkling New York City. Lights were all over the buildings, shining reds and blues.
After a few moments in descent, we landed on the strip, and before I knew it i was standing in the new apartment I leased will staying in America. I don't plan on returning to Deustchland, but I doubt New York is the city for me. I find it odd how the people stare at me as if I were speaking another language. I can speak English rather fluently, but I do not see the need to stare at my harsh accent as if I were a zoo animal.
It was hard to start off here, in a new land, but I managed. I chose to leave everything from my own life behind, save for a few outfit i liked. Luckily, Gunther, even though he was a disgusting piece of crap, kept me well stalked with cash and objects. Tis a shame to have to leave those objects back at my old apartment, but the cash could do nothing but help.
After using only a small bit of the small fortune I took (Exaggeration), I already had a well furnished living space and a new wardrobe. Even the new life was not enough to rid me of my affection for Gunther, even after learning of his....habit. So, to forget, I did what any sane person does. I went drinking.
The beer these Americans love so much is absolutely awful. There is NO strength to it. I had to down several shots of vodka before I even felt slightly tipsy. Slowly, my sober mind was flushed out, and replaced by the horndog, slutty Hilda. However, even after shooting down several men, and making out with even more, i came across a man that reminded me of Gunther. Tall, blonde, perfect. This man was also a real gentleman, never touched me, or took advantage of me when we headed back to my place after our night on the town.
Falling back in love
I awaken on an oddly cold summer day, to the sound of chirping birds and a light drizzle. My head feels as if it were bludgeoned while I slept. My pounding head didn't keep me from getting out of bed and stumbling blindly into the kitchen. Inside was a surprising sight, a full breakfast, fapjakes, OJ, bacon. Glorious bacon.
Standing at the stove, wearing nothing but my pink frilly apron and a smirk was the man of my dreams. I rushed to him and snaked my arms around his large, muscular form.
"Good morning, Beautiful.." He said, his voice deep and smooth.
"I'm sorry, I don't believe I've gotten your name." I say, drawing back after realizing my actions were too impulsive.
Suddenly, the mood changed. The feeling in the room went from a light, summery breeze to a cold, dying winter's night. His eyes pierced through my soul, like a harpoon. His face hardened, as if he were about to do something he loathed with every fiber of his being.
"My name is Hades," He replied, his eyes still beaming. His response was so forceful, that as much as I wanted to laugh and nope the f*ck out of there, I felt compelled to stay.
"H-Hades?" I stuttered out, "Aren't you a bit old to pretend to be a god?"
"I'm not kidding, Hilda." He breathed out. As he spoke, I felt as if I was falling in love with him, even though I had just met him, and he pretended to be a god. Around me, the ground cracked and split, even though I'm the fifth floor. Hellfire spewed and roared, but nothing caught ablaze.
As quickly as it appeared, it vanished. The room returned to the silence it had before. His face softened, and he smiled, capturing my heart with his gaze. Even though his acts scared me, all it did was make me want him more. So powerful....
Konor's Early Life
And thus, I was born, a product of my mother's love of power. She's not a bad woman, incessantly nice and pleasant, but also fairly... power hungry.
This is all from what I've been told by my "parents." When I was birthed, my mother's poor heart couldn't take it, though I have no idea how, with modern science and such.
Growing up was painful. From the beginning I was outcast. Black hair and dark skin, a literal black sheep among the pale-skinned aryans. Picked on by the family that took me in, save for my step-mother.
My step mother, or rather, my biological aunt, Bertha, was an angel sent from heaven to protect me. Every scuff I'd get into with my "siblings" would leave me injured, but she'd always lick my wounds and patch me up. However, by the time I was seven, I noticed a change.
It started with an odd buzzing in my ear, while I was at play on school grounds, awaiting my Aunt to come pick me up. After an hour I was worried, and after a second terrified. Luckily, after 2 and a half hours, my name was called out over the PA system, saying I was finally being picked up. Excited, I sprinted my scrawny legs to the office, only to be greeted by the police, and my uncle.
The ride in the Polizei's car was absolute torture. Forever before, ein Polizei would be there to protect, or at least that's what I always though. This time, they shattered my world. Aunt Bertha got into a car accident miles from the house, and her neck had broken. No matter how many times they reminded it was painless was enough, nor has it been since.
Becoming a son of Hades
At 10, I had just begun going through puberty. However, a dimly lit walk home from the school I was enrolled at quickly taught me it was not the only thing going through my body. Eerie red lights following my movements from beyond the viel of a thick fog.
Onkel had warned me, that the local ne'er-do-wells would get me, but it was something much worse. From the shadows sprung a beast, the size of a forklift, and barked so loud trees visibly shook from its strength. The mere visual I was witnessing was enough to make me crap my pants, and the force of its roar dropped my to my back.
Scared and shivering, I started to crawl away, when I felt extremely weak all of a sudden(I later learned this was a result of summoning a skeleton, which felled the hellhound). A few moments after, I passed out, thinking of how hell would look.
It looked like a hospital.
My awakening was less than ideal. Migraine? Check. Bruised tail bone from the fall? Check. Scared that I'm probably dead? Checkidy check check. However, the heart monitor next to me proved else. I turned my head weakly, greeted by the sight of grieving "siblings" and my uncle. Uncle Fran's hand rubbed my leg sweetly while a tear gave way and trailed down his cheek.
T'was when I learned my adopted family truly cared.
From then on, no body picked on me for my darker skin tone, or my black hair, and I was never even bullied anymore at school, having gained a bit of muscle and self-confidence (Though sadly, I can admit to it not being the best when it comes to my physical appearance).
However, my growing age caught the attention of some rather unwanted guests. At 13, yet another hellhound had caught my scent while I ventured off in the forest as a rebellious adolescent. The small stick I picked up along the way did little to fend it off, even when I used it as a fetch stick >.<
Cornered and certain this was FINALLY my time, I rose my hands in defense, only to be surged by a weakness again. In front of me, rickety and hollow, surged from the ground a skeletal warrior. The blade in its hand was a glowing bronze, which cut the beast as if it were made of butter.
With the hostile element taken care of, the undead fighter took a knee in front of me, offering to me the weapon with which it had vanquished the hellhound. Reluctantly, I took a hold on the hilt, which was balanced perfectly and fit my hand like a glove. Amazingly light and perfect, it immediately felt like an extension of my own hand, naming it Sterben, Death in German.
The moon shone a ray of light through the gaps between the skeleton's bones. It's mouth rattled and opened, spewing a green mist. Words that were not my own entered my head, speaking in a low, gravelly voice.
Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141. Long Island, New York 11954," The voice, which I had pinned as the skeleton's, moaned from within my mind. The address, which I assumed had something to do with these new found powers, stayed deep within my mind, and I can recite it perfectly to this day. After these words, the skeleton fell apart, sinking back into the ground.
Though I very much wanted to, this "Half Blood Hill" would have to await my arrival. From 13-16, I did very much weight gaining and training, teaching myself to summon a skeleton warrior without being in danger, and even using it to train with my sword, learning the tactics of people from back when swords were more popular; Greece, Rome, Etc...
Several times during that three year traning montage, several monsters sought me out, and with my speedy training, they would rarely be anything more than a nuisance.
Arrival at Camp
Now, unlike some of the other stories I have heard, my arrival at camp was anything but extravagant. With the blessing of my family, I travelled from Germany to New York, just as my mother did when she became pregnant with me. At the Kennedy Airport, I summoned one last undead warrior, sadly a demigod like me, whom has attended this camp back in the day. With its guidance, and the memory of the address, I found the camp with little difficulty, claimed on the spot as a son of Hades.
Weapons:Sterben (Death, Xiphos)
This needs a sig01:41, August 25, 2013 (UTC)
So you're given another 7-day extension upon request. Be sure to finish it on or before the deadline.