Acheron
The strongest steel is forged by the fires of hell
Even though he was the youngest when he died, Acheron was the first Dark-Hunter ever appointed. He is also the writer of the Dark-Hunter Creed and of the Code we abide by.
Because of his Dark-Hunter age and the fact that he fought the Daimons alone for thousands of years, he is more phantom than real. He interacts with the other Dark-Hunters on a whim, and his sage advice is often sought.
Eccentric and idiosyncratic to the extreme, he is a legend among legends. The Dark-Hunters never know what to expect when Acheron enters a scene. He runs the full gamut from friendly to intimidating to downright scary.
It is said of him that there has never been a mortal born who could equal his physical perfection. He possesses a raw, rare kind of charisma.
To look at him is to want him. To see him is to ache to touch him.
Artemis herself once said of him:
He had been built to please, and trained to pleasure. Everything about him from the sleek muscles that rippled to the deep, erotic timber in his voice seduced anyone who came into contact with him.
Like a lethal wild animal, he moved with a primal promise of danger and masculine power. With the promise of supreme sexual fulfillment.
Sunshine describes him as:
He had such a deadly, graceful swagger. A predator’s lope. There was something intrinsically sexual about Acheron. Something compelling, seductive. Just being near him made her want to reach out and touch him.
It was as if he were putting off some powerful pheromones and at the same time, she was scared of him. He was like a lethal, beautiful animal in the wild that part of you wanted to cuddle while the other part of you knew he was just as likely to rip your arm off as he want to cuddle back.
He was magnetic and fierce and he made her want to run for the door
No one knows why he became what he did. Then again, no one knows much about him. Period. And he likes it that way. Trying to get any personal information out if him is an impossible task.
No one even knows what his real hair color is.
Born: 9548 BC
Birthplace: Atlantis or Didymos (depends on who you ask and how Ash feels when he answers)
Motto: Just because you can doesn't mean you should.
Favorite Song to Hunt by: Awake: Godsmack
Current Location: Constantly moves, and we make weekly bets on where he is or where he'll turn up.
Quote from Dance With the Devil: "I'm the top of the food chain and well...you're the food."
Interesting Fact: Acheron originally appeared in the short story Night Play (1987) as the leader of the Daimons
Excert from: The Legacy of Acheron
"‘Tis a shame they did that to you," Artemis said quietly. "You are far too beautiful to be made sterile. Shall I fix you?"
"No. There's no reason to. I told you, no one would ever welcome a child conceived from me."
It was the pain in his silvery eyes as he spoke that brought an unfamiliar ache to her chest.
Her poor Acheron.
He looked spectacular lying back against the white linens that only emphasized the wide expanse of tawny masculine skin. Every muscle of his body was a study in perfection. He was so inviting. Warm. And he was completely unabashed about his nude sexuality. About what they'd done. He wasn't cocky or arrogant that he had touched her.
He treated her like she was...
Human.
Most of her family couldn't stand her. Humans feared her. Even her handmaidens laughed amongst themselves, but kept their guard up whenever she drew near.
But this man...
He was different. He held no fear of anything or anyone. Like a powerful, untamed beast, he was defiant and bold. Unyielding in her presence. He was docile now, but the power of him was undeniable. It was frightening even to her.
"Have you any friends?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Why not?"
"I suppose I'm not worthy of any."
Artemis frowned at his reasoning. "It can't be that. I haven't any either and I am more than worthy. Perhaps there is a flaw to us." She paused as she thought about that. "No, that can't be right either. I have no flaws and yet I'm as alone as you are."
Never before had Artemis realized just how alone she really was. Her twin brother had friends. He had lovers. Apollo was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever known, but even he was afraid of her. Apollo never invited her to do things with him unless it involved destruction or punishment. He didn't laugh with her or ask her to go out carousing or gaming.
"Will you be my friend, Acheron?"
Acheron was utterly stunned by her unexpected question. "You would befriend me?"
She cocked her head as she watched him with a small puckering of her divine brow. She was shimmery and ethereal; far beyond the reach of something like him. "Well, yes. I mean, we can't let others know it, but I like what you have shown me. I wish to learn more about this world and about you." She smiled warmly at him as if she were truly sincere with her offer. It reminded him how rare such a thing as sincerity was. And friendship...
It was an elusive dream he dare not allow himself. People like him didn't have friendship. Anymore than they had love or kindness. And yet he found a foreign part of himself aching for want of it.
Aching for want of her.
"So, are we friends, Acheron? I promise you, you'll never regret it."
Name Pronunciation:
The correct old Greek way to pronounce Acheron Parthenopaeus is Ack-UH-rahn Pahr-thin-OH-pay-us. Over time and because it was difficult for some cultures to correctly pronounce it, he used the more "modern" Ash-UH-rahn. Since Asheron and Acheron are both old names and he didn't feel like explaining it to people, he started going by Ash roughly 150 years ago. Personally, he prefers Ash and always refers to himself by it. But he will answer to any and all three names. Whenever he gives his full name in the contemporary books, he pronounces it Asheron.
