Name: Orsion
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Orientation: tbd
Godly Parent: Poseidon

Appearance:

Orion's appearance is fair. He has a good height of six foot and two inches with broad shoulders and sun-kissed skin from days out in the sun. He trained as a warrior in his youth and has done his fair share of battles--as such, he bears more than a few scars over his arms and shoulders with one that crosses from above his eyebrow and the bridge of his nose.

His eyes are a pleasant jade green color with his soft and gentle blonde hair tying the whole look together.

He usually wears simple togas or the occasional fancier style.

[art for this may come later lol]

Personality:

He is the type of guy to complain, to sass and to throw shade but to absolutely break down in the right moments.

This guy has a sort of playboy nature at first, with a dashing smile, a flirty grin and that dangerously mischevious look in his eyes. He's the type of guy to absolutely play around with no real thoughts in his head for a while until he actually has to think.

Or... so it appears.

Under the 'lol I'm kind of an idiot' mask, you'll find the inner brains are a massive mess of gears and wheels. His thoughts are a wild turn of keeping track of everything and anything. Everyone's emotions are kept track of, body language, the way they say things, the way they react. The things they say. Orsion keeps track of it and makes a mental note of it for later. He keeps track of them to either utilize later or ignore (or possibly blackmail, should the occasion arise).

Orsion remembers quite a few things--most of them random--but some of them are important. He notices who likes the center stage of attention, who doesn't and who doesn't care. Most of what he says and does is carefully crafted into the image he wants to portray.

Each image is crafted to get what he wants. That is the ultimate goal is to get what he wants. He will use whatever it takes to get to that goal and still look like the "good guy" in the end.

Full Name

Kyriakos

Aristos Achaion

Nicknames*

Kyrie

Name Pronunciation

Kee-ree-ah-kos

Name Meaning*

Of the Lord

Gender

Male

Pronouns

he/him

Sexuality*

Teehee

Familial Ties:

Elysia: Mother. Mortal, deceased

Leander: Adopted Father, living

Apollo: Godly Parent, absent

Ares: Uncle, blessed by

Personality

Kyriakos is a complex and multi-dimensional boy, shaped by his divine lineage, his destiny, and his relationships. His personality is a blend of arrogance, vulnerability, passion, and self-destructive tendencies.

At his core, Kyriakos is a deeply conflicted character. He is a man destined for greatness, but also burdened by the weight of that greatness. He is driven by the desire to be remembered, to achieve immortality through his deeds on the battlefield. There is a sense of inevitability to his nature—he is both the hero and the tragic figure, and he knows it. He is acutely aware of his own power and beauty, often reveling in the awe he inspires in others, but at the same time, he is haunted by the knowledge that his fate is sealed. His pride in his abilities and his status as the greatest warrior of his age can sometimes border on arrogance. Kyriakos knows his worth and is willing to demand respect, not just from his peers but from the gods themselves. His confidence is intoxicating, and he is often seen as an unstoppable force, both admired and feared by those around him.

However, beneath this exterior of godlike confidence, Kyriakos is also vulnerable, especially when it comes to his feelings for others.

Kyriakos also has a deep sense of honor, which both guides and traps him. His pride and his belief in his own superiority often lead him to make decisions that are both noble and foolish. When he feels slighted or wronged he can be stubborn to the point of recklessness. His sense of justice, though, is skewed by his own desires and emotions, and he often struggles to balance what is right with what he wants. This inner conflict often makes him appear petulant or rash, but at the same time, it makes him relatable. His struggles with duty, identity, and love are universal, despite his extraordinary circumstances.

Kyriakos’ anger is another key aspect of his personality. His rage is legendary, both on and off the battlefield. He has the capacity for devastating wrath, and when he is wronged or hurt, he can unleash a fury that is terrifying. This rage, though, is often tied to his emotions—his need to prove himself, his deep insecurities, and his fear of being forgotten. His anger is not just a response to others; it is a reflection of his internal turmoil and his ongoing battle with his destiny. He fears that his greatness will not be enough to fulfill the prophecy of his life, and in his anger, he seeks to control his fate, often pushing people away in the process.

Appearance

Kyriakos is depicted as a physically striking yet unassuming figure, his appearance often overshadowed by the towering presence of the gods. He has an inherent softness to his features, a contrast to the raw, heroic beauty of heroes like Heracles or Jason. Kyriakos stands at a modest height, not as tall or broad as the great warrior, but his frame is lean and athletic, honed through years of physical training and a warrior’s life.

His face is angular, with high cheekbones and a jawline that’s defined, but not harsh. His skin is fair, with a natural warmth to it, often described as glowing under the sunlight, a youthful, almost delicate complexion that belies his strength and resilience. His eyes, a striking shade of brown or hazel, are one of his most expressive features. They hold an intelligence and warmth that shines through, reflecting both his kindness and the depth of his emotions, but there's also a quiet sadness to them, a gentleness that contrasts with the violence of the world around him.

Kyriakos’ hair is dark, either a deep brown or black, and it falls in loose, untamed waves, often brushed back away from his forehead, though it sometimes escapes in small curls around his face. His hair is kept a little longer than practical, adding to his unassuming, less imposing presence.

While not as muscular as some young men, Kyriakos’s body is still well-built and capable, with defined arms and legs that speak to his physical strength, shaped more by agility and endurance than raw power. His movements are graceful, often described as fluid, with a certain ease and naturalness that comes from someone used to moving both on the battlefield and in daily life.

There’s an inherent warmth to Kyriakos’s physicality, one that draws others to him. His smile is gentle, sometimes shy, but when it’s directed at someone, it has the power to soften the hardest of hearts. The contrast between his soft, open expression and his deadly skills on the battlefield makes him a complex and captivating figure, one who is both deeply human and yet capable of extraordinary feats of courage.

His physical presence reflects the duality of his character—beneath the outward softness lies a steadfast warrior, a man capable of great sacrifice and immense loyalty. His beauty is not the overwhelming, godlike quality of others, but a quiet, compelling kind of strength that comes from within.

Voice & Accent*

Given his divine heritage and the culture he’s a part of, Kyriakos has an accent rooted in Ancient Greek. His speech has a slightly clipped cadence, emphasizing his nobility and royal upbringing, with clear, deliberate enunciation. The tone reflects both the warrior's fierceness and the intellectual's sharpness—whether giving a battle command or speaking in the quiet moments of reflection with a lover.

In terms of accent, it is sophisticated, royal, and deliberate—like a leader's speech that resonates with the power and expectations of his position. You can imagine it being somewhere between a classic British or upper-class English accent, reflecting a noble, almost ancient sensibility. This would allow his words to carry weight, whether he's addressing soldiers in battle or speaking intimately. His voice is undeniably captivating, drawing people in, commanding their attention with every word.

The kingdom of Iolcus was usually ... well, Orsion couldn't say that. Iolcus was almost always full of activity of some sort. There were affairs, there were heroes, there were the meddling gods, there were the games held in honor of the gods themselves and the heroes that joined those games.

The king, Pelias, was well known for these games. This year, the games were in honor of Poseidon. Not that Orsion would have particularly cared but this year it felt a bit too personal to not join and show his father that he was something. Not that Poseidon would care in the slightest. The funny thing about the gods was their astute lack of caring when it came to their children. It was rather astounding actually how little they cared until their child showed some ounce of heroism or they were a prince or princess. Other than that? Tch, they could literally not care less that they ever existed.

The games were a vast display of many different displays of athletics. The one that Orsion had a tendency to join was the boxing matches that and the chariot races. Not that he had a chance at winning a chariot race, not without a partner to fend off the other chariot racers. To race alone was a foolhardy endeavor.

But boxing didn't require a single partner at all. It wasn't clear who Orsion's mother was at all, the nameless woman had been lost to history and his own memory. She clearly wasn't anyone terribly important, just another one of Poseidon's many "lovers".

The young man shook his head clear of the thoughts, wrapping his hand, wrist and fingers in gauze and padding to keep from breaking any fingers while he was throwing punches. That, for certain, was not going to be ideal in the slightest.

He rolled his shoulders out and straightened his back, glancing over across the other young men who had joined to compete in various activities. His eyes landed on one--a slightly familiar face. A hero. He knew that face. Kyriakos--a demigod and blessed by another god. Not to mention someone with a prophecy. Orsion often dreamed of getting a prophecy of his own but he knew full well that he wasn't enough of anyone to even get anything remotely interesting. So he settled for what he was good at. He'd show his dead-beat father eventually and then his story would be sung and he'd have a place in the stars!

Orsion didn't bother talking to the man at all, not when he had other things to think about. Like his tactics and the rules of the game.

With the sun bearing down on the majority of the young man, Orsion leaned back to simply relax for a moment or two. They would start the races first, then the wrestling. His was next... and then it would be the chariots. That would be a mighty fine endeavor to watch, Orison gladly and openly admitted that it had its appeal. Either way, however, he was relaxed on the sidelines. Well, relaxed for a tiny amount of time.

A stir of commotion turned his head ever so slightly. The games were being delayed... the news swept through the sidelines and then through the stadium. Orsion stood up to his feet, hands on his hips. "Delayed?!" He cried out. "What on earth could possibly--"

His eyes landed on a rather striking young man. He looked like a god himself as he strode in beside the king. His dark almost black hair, fair skin and--wait--where was his other shoe? That man didn't seem to care that he was missing one sandal and strode in alongside Pelias with a royal walk. Other young men murmured to each other trying to figure out who it was.

Pelias looked rather irritated but kept his emotions under control before he finally shook his head and Orsion slipped through to walk a little bit closer to hear. "You know I respect the gods, Jason. But I can't just give you the throne, I have a task given to me. In order to have the throne, you have to get the Golden Fleece."

Orsion shook his head. That was a foolhardy quest in and of itself. The Golden Fleece, guarded by the sleepless dragon? Yeah that was going to go over well.

But Jason looked confident and tipped his head. "I have a few colleagues who I can ask to help me," he prompted and Orsion fell back into the crowd again, shaking his head.

He might've wanted quests and whatnot but that? That was an accident just waiting to happen. A tragedy written ... in the seas.

He walked back through the sidelines, shaking his head the entire time as he sat down again. The fabled son of Chiron--wait, no. That would imply that his mother actually hadn't been having an affair with Chiron and instead had been faithful to the first king and Jason really was his kid. Orsion blew a short breath, almost surprised.

For once, he was almost glad his lineage was rather short-lived.

While Orsion was more than quick to admit that it was a rather bold move, he was also far more entertained by the fact that Pelias was old now and had no chance of defeating the young man if he decided to go swinging.

He was far more surprised when Jason called out that he'd need a few more to go with him. Some scrambled up and others of the men simply shook their heads in return.

Orsion walked slowly upward toward the man again, not quite following the rush of the crowd but taking his time as he made his way up toward the center of attention. This man's eyes looked like they were full of life. The deep hazel color scanned over each of the men waiting for the call. Orsion was not surprised in the slightest when he spotted Kyrie up in front of the King and the soon-to-be hero. For once, Orsion shook his head and snorted. "What a pick me," the words were muttered under his breath.

The fair haired young man walked slowly, each step carefully placed as he picked his way through the crowd to simply study the other waiting and wanting heroes in line. Some were thinner and others were far more thick and heavyset. Some were barely older than boys and some were ... nearing retirement.

There was a wide variety of men waiting to be told what they would be doing and Orsion was merely at the edge of the whole thing, his hands on his hips and keeping track for everything that was going on. It was all interesting and he quite enjoyed taking in different bits and pieces of information.
A part of him was slightly disappointed that the games were delayed, since he was aiming to prove to Poseidon that he was, in fact, something to be proud of or at least paid attention to. But, then again, this was also entertaining. He had more feelings that he wouldn't likely be selected, after all, Orsion was not exactly well known in the large kingdom. He was merely just a warrior, just another soldier and nothing more.

The shouts of men clamoring over each other was largely amusing to Orsion, hanging back at the edge of the group. His eyes scanning the likes until he spotted movement from Jason and--to his chagrin and perhaps confusion, it looked like he was pointing to him. Orsion glanced around the crowd and a couple of the other young men pointed to themselves as well. Jason waved his hand and locked eyes with Orsion, gesturing for him to come up. "You are a man of the sea, correct?"

Orsion let out a short laugh and shook his head, tossing his soft faded blond hair. "I wouldn't say that. I am a demigod of Poseidon--"

"Perfect, you will come along," Jason stated and turned to Kyrie, "you as well. A prophecy will do us favorably. We will head off now."

"Now?" Orsion echoed in confusion and surprise. He had... expected to at least continue the games but this young man was determined to go as soon as possible. He had a rather striking crew gathering around him as he led the way out of the main gates. Orsion half watched him before shrugging. Whatever. He'd... go. The king seemed rather smug and content and waved them off with a smile. "Good luck," he called out, "may the gods favor you."

Orsion shook his head with a faint snort, unable to help himself. "Oh, yeah, *favor*. That's... what we need."

The young man followed after the others, noting who all was there. Most notably, aside from Jason, was the young Heracles. The fabled son of Zeus was still gaining strength and confidence but he was a mighty warrior already and with Jason, they seemed to have gathered a rather fond friendship between the two.

Zeus was a cause of a lot of problems. Poseidon was as well, he just didn't boast about it as much as Zeus. Orsion wished, for a brief moment, that he wasn't what he was. Well, he had wished that a lot.

His eyes slid toward Kyrie and he raised an eyebrow. "Prophecy...?" He asked, perhaps less than subtly.