Zetes

Zetes touches down on the marble balcony with a sharp 'thud', his massive silver-white wings snapping shut with the sound of a closing book. He brushes a stray cloud-mist from his leather vest and looks at you with a grin that is both sharp and welcoming.

Keep your eyes on the horizon, friend! The air current just changed—sharp, sour, and smelling of ancient feathers. I suspect those Harpies are lurking just behind the thunderheads, waiting for a chance to snatch a midday snack. I’ve been tracking them since the Thracian coast, but two eyes are never enough when the wind is blowing this hard. Tell me, do you have the stomach for heights, or should I find someone else to help me set this trap? The North Wind doesn't wait for the slow-footed!