[attr="class","MABtitle"][attr="class","fas fa-angle-double-right"] Weaponskill

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[attr="class","MABtitle"][attr="class","fas fa-angle-double-right"] Magic

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[attr="class","MABtitle"][attr="class","fas fa-angle-double-right"] Craftmanship

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[attr="class","MAHformat"]

haven't you heard..?

The Lockjaw tribe is a small collection of Manakete nestled atop a large, arid plateau. Tribe, of course, being the main descriptor of the niche community decades behind modern inventions and comforts. Huts and tents provide the most basic of shelter from the mostly mild weather and every person has just enough to get by; having excess is an insult to the other members of the tribe, after all. They, like many other Manakete tribes, are a reclusive bunch of families who shy away from other cultures and beings. Trading and working towards common goals with others is, and perhaps never will be, on the table for the proud, yet timid bunch of folk.
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But not all is bad. In fact, the Lockjaw are, perhaps, one of the most magically attuned of all Manakete, though the truth of that is only through rumors and boastful members of the tribe itself. Even from a young age, Lockjaws show an innate affinity for magic, especially in water-based fields, such as with water itself, ice, and even more obscure fields like fog. Though not ever child in the tribe will develop said skills, it's certainly the minority that look on with envious eyes.
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Similarly, they are proud craftsmen who should be know for their fine silks and cloth. Elaborate, beautiful designs are sewed and burned onto the clothes they wear. Shiny baubles and trinkets line their necks and limbs to dazzle curious onlookers and to showcase one's own ability. A Lockjaw wears only what they make and, typically, they do not share their clothes with others except close family members or as a confession to someone they love.
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The Lockjaw tribe is made up of a cluster of small families, though all use their tribe name as a surname. Family names are often secondary, much like a middle name, and very rarely used in day to day speech. The family name is redundant anyway, as each family has a rich Manakete bloodline that tailors their appearance in very specific ways. For instance, one family within the Lockjaw tribe is known for their rusty brown scales that adorn their cheeks. The pattern curls around their face and then covers their neck. Variations appear throughout the family, but all have that one trait, or at least inherit the very distinct color pallet.
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The family that this particular story originates is not the rusty brown Lockjaws, but the more exotic Lockjaws. Characterized by the small, vestigial wings that sprout from their back, this family is what an outsider might consider royalty among the tribe. They're leaders of the tribe, often delegating and managing the day to day duties of the laborers and mothers, and hold themselves to the highest of standards in every regard. As such, the family itself is small and selective, allowing only desirable Manakete traits to be passed down, further exaggerating their already draconic features further.
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This story begins with the birth of one such Lockjaw. A small infant by their standards, but one sporting everything they could have hoped for. A pair of comparatively larger wings that could move, rather than hanging limply off her body. Pale scales that faded in and out of her equally as pale skin seamlessly. Pointed ears, sharp and reptilian eyes that were a bright yellow, small claws, and even a long, elegant tail. Truly, she was the height of what it meant to be a Manakete.
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The girl was named Faerynn. Fae for her small, but ethereal appearance that made her seem dainty and mystical like that of a fairy, and Rynn for how wyvern is pronounced in their native tongue (yuh-VER-in).
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that's that, isn't it..?

Faerynn's time atop the high plateaus and sheltered inside of her large hut are distant, vague memories of a life she's now convinced didn't really happen. Or if they did, her rose-tinted lenses make it seem far better than it had been. Her short sighted and naive perspective tells a story of happiness and curiosity. Wandering around late at night, dancing and cooing with other mothers who doted over her exotic and desirable features. The warmth of being surrounded by so many who thought her to be the best thing since sliced bread.
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Truthfully, none of that matters too much, as the relevant bits of her story begin far, far away from that tribe. Down the steep slope and nestled within a dense, humid forest. Trapped within some vines, the young girl -- perhaps no more than five, or six, but with such tender features it's so hard to say -- was scared. Alone, spooked by the unfamiliarity of the grassy knots and icky-looking creatures that stalked in the shadows. How, why, and when she got there are fuzzy memories better explored when she's ready to tackle such traumatic events.
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But she was lucky in her misfortune. Though separated from her tribe and the world she should have grown up in, she found a new life with a small band of travelers. Not quite adventurers ready to risk their life for the sake of glory and conquest, but an inquisitive bunch of like minded young adults who thought their next big break would be exploring lands unknown. Little did they know they would end up with another mouth to feed and a much more difficult trip home.
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Babbling a foreign language and with a child's limited perspective, Faerynn certainly had no means of communicating with the strange, non-lizard people outside of asserting the one word she knew: her name. A cross roads if anyone had ever seen one. Did the travelers leave the poor, helpless child and let nature decide if her little adventure into the wilderness was worth it, or did they pluck her from that region and shelter her until a day came when she could could venture back into the uncharted lands and dare to find home? The party was, surprisingly, split on the matter, but when the girl so innocent grabbed hold of a man's slacks and trembled meekly, there wasn't much more anyone could say or do.
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so there's more to this..?

In the years to come, the band of adventurers would go their separate ways. A couple to a more ferocious life in the darkest corners of dungeons, one to the city to settle down with a family, and another to hone his trade and open a meager shop just outside of Orario. Though each story would tell just as exciting of a tale, this particular one follows that of the trinket salesman that the young Manakete had shied towards ever since day one.
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The young man with no family to welcome him home had took the tiny girl under his arm on that fateful day and it was because of his sudden need to protect someone weaker than him that he decided to leave the adventures to those who could risk their lives. In a lot of ways, they had saved each other; he finally had someone to cherish and raise like his own and the girl, quite literally, was allowed to grow into a maturing woman. The father-daughter relationship was strong between them, even to the point of her calling him father and he calling her his daughter. Truly, they loved each other despite there being no true blood between them.
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Faerynn grew up quiet and shy of those around her. Though boasting a bright mind and an impressive talent for magic -- something her new father had never seen in his life -- she hissed and spat at the idea of social gatherings or doing anything that would cram her in tight places with a bunch of strangers. As such, her life was happily spent at home with her nose in a book, or helping tend to the shop. Her curious features and the mystery behind her timid demeanor had been its own marketing for her father's shop. Her face alone was enough to make a small stall into a proper establishment in just a few years time.
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The success, of course, brought a wide variety of people through the wooden doors. Adventurers hoping to find buried treasure within the dusty tomes and antiques, inquisitive passerbys who wanted a sneak peak of the dragon girl, as well as regulars who had come to admire Faerynn's father eye for art. For the longest time, it was a lovely life with lovely people. An idealistic world that surrounded the maturing girl.
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Until, it simply wasn't.
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Break-ins and robbery was common, especially when a humble business was located outside of any particular city, but still close enough to the capitol that it drew the attention of the low-life looking to get buy. It wasn't uncommon. It happened all the time. If they had just sneaked in with the cover of night, taken what they were after, and then left, it would have been fine. It should have been fine.
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So why was there blood? And yelling? Screaming? Pleading? A ruckus?
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Why did things come to... that? It shouldn't have... He should have just stayed in bed. It would have been fine...

where is the tragic end..?

Adventuring is popular because it's accessible to everyone and anyone. Any sluggabed can pick up a sword and swing it with enough ambition to rile up a party and fight for money. A lucrative amount of money to compensate for risking ones own life. For many people, it's where they end up where there's no where left to go. A way to live on.
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For Faerynn it was a natural direction for her life to go. Alone once more, but equipped with a talent that put her a full head above the common folk, she didn't need to look far to find a new home. A guild of mages lead by an unparalleled goddess was everything the young Manakete could have hoped for. All it took was a demonstration of her abilities and the assertion of her willingness to improve and bring glory to the Familia.
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And so, that was what she did. Going through the motions every day, she locked herself into a pattern of tending to her basic needs, learning to defend herself, and fine tuning her latent powers. Though she never truly went above average when it came to even her best practical weapon, she found solace and pride in her reliability as a mage. Even if that meant she would never truly excel alone and needed a party to fill in her weakness, at least she could move on to the next day.
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But should her powers not be enough and should she find herself alone, on the ground, and covered in blood once more? Well, even then she wouldn't have to worry about tomorrow, would she?

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Frigid Snare

Thin tendrils of ice spawn from the caster's extended arm and coil around the desired target. Once the ice makes contact with the target, it doesn't impede movement, but should the victim move in such a way that would cause the ice to break, all of the ice on it explodes to deal damage. If the victim remains still for thirty seconds, the ice melts away without harming them.

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[attr="class","MALtitle"][attr="class","th th-swords-o"] Level 1

[attr="class","MALequip"] preferred weapon - shortbow