RE: Swords Beneath the Starlight
03-01-2020, 06:17 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-28-2020, 12:24 AM by Anomaly.)
NAME: Logan MacDomhnaill
APPEARANCE: A young-ish individual of mysterious and indistinct gender, kind of short but pretty toned from years of Ranch Work. Moderate-length hair pulled back in a ponytail, in a greenish hue that is totally definitely natural. Totally. Dresses like… well, a peasant. Not much else to say on that front.
TRAINEE CLASS: Flyer (wyvern)
WHERE ARE YOU FROM?: The countrysides of Tuathain, formerly a member of the Ilyun League and one of the first nations to fall to the Revotrian offensive.
BIOGRAPHY: Honestly, there’s not much to say about Logan’s life, at least for most of it. They were born the third child in a family of wyvern ranchers, a profession their family had been in for generations. From an early age, they learned the art of wyvern-rearing - and you know what, they even enjoyed the family business. Imagine your standard Horse Person, except instead of horses it’s huge, intimidating not-quite-dragons. Honestly, life was pretty good - and they even learned the basics of wyvern riding while they were at it. Battle wasn’t really something that ever entered their mind.
See, when the Revotrians began marching in the name of Progress, Tuathain was unfortunately right in the line of fire - and even more unfortunately, a wyvern ranch was exactly the kind of thing the invaders would love to take over to fuel their war efforts. So, you know, they did. In the blink of an eye, the ranch was under new management, and Logan’s family was bowing to their whims and vowing to serve the Revotrians. Of course, the alternative was probably death or being thrown in a dungeon somewhere (followed by death), but to Logan, that just wasn’t right.
So, they left. There was no plan, mind you - just a series of things that happened. They took up a pitchfork, fought (or rather, dashed wildly and got lucky) past some well-equipped guards, and hopped on the back of their favorite wyvern, Morven, before she could be taken as some Revotrian soldier’s new mount. And… off they went.
Pretty dumb idea, to be honest, but Logan was never one for thinking things through. Still, somehow it worked - maybe the guards were just too bewildered by this peasant charging past them and flying away to actually do anything about it. So now, woefully unequipped for the trials ahead, they travel, hoping to find something better...
APPEARANCE: A young-ish individual of mysterious and indistinct gender, kind of short but pretty toned from years of Ranch Work. Moderate-length hair pulled back in a ponytail, in a greenish hue that is totally definitely natural. Totally. Dresses like… well, a peasant. Not much else to say on that front.
TRAINEE CLASS: Flyer (wyvern)
WHERE ARE YOU FROM?: The countrysides of Tuathain, formerly a member of the Ilyun League and one of the first nations to fall to the Revotrian offensive.
BIOGRAPHY: Honestly, there’s not much to say about Logan’s life, at least for most of it. They were born the third child in a family of wyvern ranchers, a profession their family had been in for generations. From an early age, they learned the art of wyvern-rearing - and you know what, they even enjoyed the family business. Imagine your standard Horse Person, except instead of horses it’s huge, intimidating not-quite-dragons. Honestly, life was pretty good - and they even learned the basics of wyvern riding while they were at it. Battle wasn’t really something that ever entered their mind.
See, when the Revotrians began marching in the name of Progress, Tuathain was unfortunately right in the line of fire - and even more unfortunately, a wyvern ranch was exactly the kind of thing the invaders would love to take over to fuel their war efforts. So, you know, they did. In the blink of an eye, the ranch was under new management, and Logan’s family was bowing to their whims and vowing to serve the Revotrians. Of course, the alternative was probably death or being thrown in a dungeon somewhere (followed by death), but to Logan, that just wasn’t right.
So, they left. There was no plan, mind you - just a series of things that happened. They took up a pitchfork, fought (or rather, dashed wildly and got lucky) past some well-equipped guards, and hopped on the back of their favorite wyvern, Morven, before she could be taken as some Revotrian soldier’s new mount. And… off they went.
Pretty dumb idea, to be honest, but Logan was never one for thinking things through. Still, somehow it worked - maybe the guards were just too bewildered by this peasant charging past them and flying away to actually do anything about it. So now, woefully unequipped for the trials ahead, they travel, hoping to find something better...