As a child god, he was found wandering the streets of ancient Sparta, a mysterious orphan.
Taken under the wings of Aphrodite and later a humble house servant in the household of Zeus.

He never revealed himself as a figure of note. Unrecognized in the annals of mythology for any peculiar gifts or exaggerated human qualities.
Mediocritus blended into the godly crowd and watched with simple and inconspicuous curiosity as gods performed dramatic spells and feats while he cowered in the shadows. They rained godly accomplishments down upon the planet and Mediocritus stared blankly as they fell form the sky.

Mediocritus dug a hole for himself in the dirt ground amidst a ravine deep in the countryside.
No one knew of him nor saw him. He spoke to no one and no one saw fit to trouble themselves for his benefit.

He survived on ants, beetles and mice.
Possessed of little virility, he grew little hair and boasted a sunken chest which glimmered like pale leaves in the sun. He did not long to make a mark upon the godly canvas.
Aphrodite forgot completely forgot of him after he left the palace.

He wandered the countryside alone and psychically removed from those he intercepted on the roads.

Those who encountered him forgot of the lonely figure once he passed.
His visage and frame, unremarkable. Forgettable as the rows of trees dotting the edge of the paths. Gnarled and leafy and dusty and burnt, his skin and limbs rattled in the gentle Mediterranean breeze.

Once, he tried to make a mark by scraping the blue sky but instead a branch cracked and tumbled to the ground and he found himself one less. Close to bare.
Armless, he waited to grow another. He lost the courage to bellow at the heavens.

Mediocritus became one with the soil and no one heard of him again.