[attr="class","MABmisc2"]

personality

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

[attr="class","MABbar"]

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

[attr="class","MABbar"]

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

[attr="class","MABbar"]

[attr="class","MAHformat"]

Egil.
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It is the name that he knows but not the name that calls out to him from the reaches of his memory. His mother brushes her fingers against the skin beneath his eye and presses soft kisses to his hair, pointedly missing his horns. In the throes of sleep the spell that kept them hidden lost its hold and his claws ripped into the sheets, ruining another set once again. An apology sits on his lips and though his mother tells him that he does not need to, he apologizes anyway.

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It is the same.
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No matter when he dreams, where or why.
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He sees the same memory through hazy eyes, reaches out for the familiar warmth that no longer will come to him on its own. Silver glinting beneath the silvery rays of moonlight nearly blinding him from their shine. A low rumbling voice akin to a storm's distant cry, warmth exuding from the body curled around him as the slick crimson is cleaned from his skin. He whines and cries but is gently shushed and held closer until neither the howling winds nor the sound of shouting can wake him.
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A deafning roar echoing even after he wakes.

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He cannot sleep that night. Like every night he has that dream, he abandons the realm of dreams for the stability of his reality. Passing by the rooms of his siblings who sleep peacefully, taking either a tome or blade with him as he goes. Second after second, he works through his practices or thumbs through pages he's read a thousand times over. His father urges him to sleep with a hand against his shoulder but he lies that he will.
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Somehow, he knows they know it is a lie but he will not sleep even when he lays down. Instead, he waits for the sun to rise over the treetops and lets himself slip into unconsciousness when his body can no longer move.
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He is ten years old when the understanding seeps into every crevice of his psyche. That he is missing something vital. Something that he cannot live without. But then his siblings wake him, urge him to play or to help, and his parents busy him with chores.
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He is happy with all things considered.
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He is content with just being Egil Long.
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And yet he knows he lies to himself.
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His siblings are an anchor that keeps him from drifting aimlessly in his thoughts. They urge him to have fun, to play, to live, to laugh, to be present and for them he tries. He finds purpose in the little things, throws himself head long into his training and his roles.
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He's big brother when it's needed. Looks after the smallest of their brood when the others pick on him, solves arguments when their parents are busy or the others can't come to a conclusion themselves. His efforts in his training peak and then he rises higher, finding new reasons to keep going.
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Something more. Something greater.
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Until he falls.
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The catalyst is the youngest of their brood. Ejder's appearance reminding him that the norm he has may not be his at all. His wings, his ears, the way he cries when the others pick on him. For a time, it is easy enough to fall into the same habits. Look after the weakest, encourage him, make him smile, but Egil wants to understand. Desperately. Earnestly.
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Where did he come from?
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How could he live so peacefully with his differences?
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And did he remember anything about his home?
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Their parents named him Ejder and he doesn't seem to mind. Egil doesn't comment when he points out the similarities in their name. He doesn't tell him that it isn't the only trait they share. But while Ejder's scales are red, Egil's are not. While they are similar, they are not.
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Manakete. A name, a title, a bond, he isn't sure. The stability he's known is thrown back unto chaos.
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One night he lets the guise fall, stretches his wings and takes flight. He sees a head of red out the corner of his eye. Knows that his youngest brother saw him but it doesn't matter to him then. He'll explain when Ejder is older. When he has teh answers himself.
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It's customary for the Long children to leave home when they are old enough. It shouldn't be a surprise but he knows that it is different at least for him. For a time he wanders, observing people, nature, the world at large. He kills those who try to subjugate him by coercion or force. Frees people in shackles, both mental and physical, disappearing with nary a word with only his shadow to let them know he was there.
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Stories are told of a place where the Manakete worshipped the Old Gods. Where they resided believing their deities would protect them from the outside world. Egil witnesses slavery, destruction, greed, lust, and all of the negative things the world has to offer. And he's curious.
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Perhaps it's cliche, he thought. A young boy who knew nothing of who he was to become curious over everything the world held. Taking up the sword and casting magic to save those who could not save themselves. For nothing more than the idea that he could do it.
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That he would do it. Because why should he not?
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Where did he go from here?
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"Oi, Egil!"
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He opened his eyes and sat up, leaves poking out from his hair as he emerged from the treetop. A few of his familia's members stood at the base of the tree and he remembered. King Yeomra, how could he have forgotten?
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Leaping from the height, he floated down to the ground and folded in his wings, his horns flickering and wavering before vanishing from view. One of them startled at the sudden drop then sighed after the others laughed at his loud shriek.
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"I'll never get used to you doing that," he sighed. "What were you doing up there anyway?"
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Egil tilted his head but otherwise said nothing. The others quickly chalking it up to his usual personality, turning and making their way back down the dirt path, talking loud enough to compensate for his silence.
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"Lost."
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Their laughter died down once he spoke, eyes fixated on him.
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He chanced a look down at his hands, noting how his fingers ached from where his claws once showed. Curling his fingers into fists, he looked up and gestured to the sky.
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"In the clouds."
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A glance is shared between them before one startles out a laugh. "All by yourself?"
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He huffed, pressing on. "Not like you would understand."
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His dry humor has an effect. Peals of laughter rising behind him as his wings unfurl and he lifts into the air, narrowly avoiding the person diving at his back. A fist is shaken at him with cries of how unfair it is that he's using his extremities to his advantage. High above them, he smiles and feels content even if only for a moment.

[attr="class","MASformat"]

ABSORB skill

A skill which allows the user to reflect attacks aimed at them towards their enemy with double the power. This is done by reflecting both the enemies's own power with the user's added to it, therefore the stronger the opponent's powers are, the stronger the attack becomes. The user cannot initiate the attack themselves nor can they reflect an attack that they did not take head-on or was done indirectly. Only by withstanding their opponent's attack, embracing it and returning it can this skill be used.
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It is also difficult to use considering that it requires the user to take a head-on approach which may leave them injured if they are distracted or otherwise late with responding. This skill can only be used once every three rounds to give the caster time to recouperate.

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

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