Barracuda

This is more of a headcannon, I hope you don't mind!
Hmm... Mechanical you say? Ok here's a quick idea for him- a skilled warrior (he looks battle hardened). He was severely wounded in battle, and handicapped- I'm thinking something like his wings/ back legs were hurt, such that he can't move. He invented mechanical parts for himself so that he could get back to his feet. I'm going to write about when he was injured, and when he decided to invent mechanical parts for himself.

Clashing steel and the roars of dragons filled Barracuda's ears. Ice filled his veins, sharpening his senses, filling him with the cold calm of battle. He watched as a dragon charged at him, claws tinged in blood. The blood of his fellow comrades.
With a snarl, he lunged forward, driving his sword into the enemy's chest. They went limp, crumpling to the ground without a sound. Barracuda drew his sword back out, now stained red. He continued to cut down soldier after soldier, creating a path for himself, leaving behind a trail of corpses. He acted mechanically, like all his inventions.
There was a cry, quickly overwhelmed by the sounds of war. Barracuda turned his head to see one of the dragons, gesturing wildly at him.
"What?" he shouted, straining to figure out what he was saying. He narrowed his eyes, trying to read his lips.
Behind... you...
Barracuda whipped his head around, a moment too late. He caught a glimpse of cold steel as it flashed down, in an arc, and a burning pain in his back. He choked down a roar. Tears of pain filled his eyes as he fell to the ground, gasping. It was a well placed blow, he thought to himself numbly. Right between the shoulder blades. The sounds of steel against steel were fuzzy, as if he was underwater. He saw the dark shadow of someone standing over him, caught sight of light as it bounced off a blade.
This is where I die.

A light burned behind his eyes, and Barracuda groaned as he opened his eyes. He was in an unfamiliar room, pristine and cold. A dragon sat at a table next to the bed, scribbling down something.
He forced himself to sit up, ignoring the protests of his limbs.
"Where am I?" His voice came out cracked, and he cleared his throat.
The dragon at the table immediately rushed over, asking him to lie down. He caught words like "hurt", "wings" and "battle".
He couldn't move his wings, couldn't even feel them-
Barracuda's breath came fast, in harsh, ragged gasps. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, thumping, thumping, getting louder and louder. His wings; they were numb.
"What- what happened? Why can't I feel my wings-" He fought the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm him. A feeling of pure helplessness washed over Barracuda as he strained to move his wings, to feel anything in his dead limbs. The harsh reality crashed down on him.
Barracuda slumped back onto the bed. He could hear the dragon speaking to him in soft, soothing tones that were mixed with an undercurrent of worry, but the words blended together into a dizzying, incomprehensible whirl of noise. He would never fly again, never feel the wind on his face, never experience the adrenaline rushing in his veins, the giddy exhilaration of freedom.
Unless...
Barracuda raised his head to look at the metal armor lying near the bed. His gaze fell on the wingplates as his inventor's mind whirled. He could fly again. He would fly again. And nothing, nothing would stop him.


mmm that was long. oof. Anyway, I hope that's fine! Just a headcannon, like I said! as to why he was in battle even though he's an inventor, I'll leave that to you (I'm kind of tired so I'm sorry D:)