Words like violence; open.
Everything was gone -- from the peace of mind he used to have, to the structure of humanity as a whole. If was enough to make the God of Silence scream at the top of his lungs -- not that Harpocrates would give into the temptation, but the temptation was there nonetheless. With a heavy heart, the wayward god made his way through the rubble of Athens. He had taken it upon himself to attempt saving what humans he could, but it was hard to find any that had survived the initial wave of Hades’ army. Most had either been killed or turned by the creatures that destroyed everything in their path. As he moved through the rubble, his footsteps were soft whispers as Harp explored the city. He carried no weapon, just a backpack with supplies for when he did happen to find a human to help. So far there had been nothing, no soul to save, not even bodies worth attempting to bury. Just ashes and blood, parts of what once were people, left strewn across the landscape. It nearly made the kindhearted god sick, but he had to trudge on. There was no time to mourn when there were others in need. When passing one of the few buildings still partially standing, a faint sound caught his attention, forcing the curious and worried god to investigate. Carefully he would inspect for signs of life, venturing in despite the strange feeling in his gut. Harpocrates was sure that he had heard something. He needed to check it out, possibly help out whatever humans might still be alive, and get them to somewhere safe -- he couldn’t leave them out there to deal with the new creatures that Hades had released from the underworld. After a few moments of finding nothing, the quiet god had wondered if he really heard something or not. Maybe his ears were playing tricks on him, hearing traces of hope where there were none. With the faintest of sighs, he turned to leave, and that’s when he caught sight of a child hiding in a darkened corner. Moving forward, Harp tried to inch closer, but it was very clear the child was afraid. Giving the widest of smiles, he knelt down to the same level as the boy. He let out a scared whimper, and instantly the god brought his hand up, pressing his forefinger to his lips. The sound would cut off, and the little squeak which had been forming in the boy’s throat, would be choked off as well. His powers might not be impressive, but they had their uses. Slipping the backpack off his shoulders, he unzipped the front pocket and dug out a little breakfast bar thing, something sweet and no doubt filling for small tummy. With the same wide smile, he opened the bar and held it out to the boy. Nodding a little, he urged the child to take his offering. Just as the kid was about to grasp the bar, another sound alerted them both -- again his finger would press to his lips, as the god spun around and searched for the source of the noise. Panicked, Harpocrates looked for anything that might be used as a weapon, just in case. What he would do with it he wasn’t sure, but it was better than holding a useless granola bar to fend of whatever the threat might be. He might not be a fighter, but the last thing Harp would allow to happen, was for something or someone to hurt the child.
