Unnamed

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He spent his younger years as an adventurer of sorts - often offering his talents to those in need of escorts and protection. A somewhat merciful soul, he was not overly fond of the more violent actions that his job entailed. Rather, he took pleasure in the act of travel itself and the camaraderie that tended to form among the various guards and clients alike.

If other bodyguards were present he'd often step back and allow them to handle the brunt of the fighting. It wasn't a question of skill but rather a question of accountability. Killing was not something he was terribly fond of. Death was not a foreign concept in his line of work however and he often found himself confronted with it. Generally, if the choice was his to make attackers would often be spared. Now that's not to say they weren't bruised or bloody but as long as they had their lives _____ wasn't too bothered. Although violence wasn't his instinct, he had no problem protecting his comrades and employers as long as the assumed fight wasn't to the death.

While those that noticed his disposition often questioned his choice of career, it was easy enough to argue that his other various talents made it an easy choice. His personality afforded him a friendly relationship with most merchants and travelers that brought plenty of repeat employers and he could still hold his own well enough in a fight. That and he had a pension for playing the lute which seemed to be a plus for many potential escorts.

He built a strong reputation in the various towns and cities he found himself traveling between, often taking jobs that specifically brought him back and forth between them. The sense of camaraderie and family he built with both his clients and fellow bodyguards was something he took exceptional pride in and proved to be everything he wanted out of life.

However, it wasn't just his clients that he gained a reputation with.

While helping to escort a particularly wealthy merchant between cities, the caravan found itself in the middle of an ambush. Even with _____ and the other guards and sellswords, the caravan found itself easily outnumbered. The first indication of the ambush was the body of the caravan driver falling - a large almost spear-like arrow lodged in his side. By the time everyone realized what was happening, the fighting had already begun. The bandits themselves pulled no punches and had little time or reason for mercy. As such, ____ found himself pushed well beyond his limit. While he held nothing back himself, the assault was relentless and it soon became clear that the defending party held little chance.

It didn't take long before the caravan was completely overwhelmed. In the aftermath, those that had not died or fled during the fight were left where they fell - many were left to bleed out and the others to watch with their captors as the merchants carts and wealth was ransacked.

_____ found himself face down in the bloodstained grass - only even vaguely aware of the heavy boot that rested on his back - what he could see blurry and unfocused. The proceeding fight was a blur of blood and metal... and while the other details would eventually return to him the only vivid detail he could recall as he struggled to breath through the blood and dirt was the feeling of his opponents dagger carving its way through his face.

When the boot finally lifted off his back, ____ was barely capable of following what was going on. Incapable of standing in his state he was pulled up onto his knees and held steady by his captor. While the conversation was lost to him, drown out by the sound of his heartbeat pounding against his skull, he could recognize that the bandit that stood before him was one of a higher standing then the one that held him steady. He assumed he was looking upon his executioner.

Sometimes though, your savior and destroyer can be the same person. While most of the conversation was lost on him, what with the fatigue, the blood loss, the pain... he was slipping in and out of consciousness as often as he was blinking. However, what he could understand from the dragon that held him steady - the dragon who's dagger had slit through his eye, the one who's boot had held him down moments before, was not a boast of victory or a call for death... instead he heard a plea for mercy.

Things after that seem to come and go from _____'s memory. Bits and pieces, real or simply his brain trying to fill in the gaps... He can recall the higher ranking bandit leaving him and his captor, most likely going off to judge the other survivors, then he's being dragged into the ransacked caravan. Various visions sprinkle the blackness that follows... wounds being treated, water being given, conversations that have no audible words... These moments feel less like memories and more like dreams but he accepts them as reality none-the-less.

Later in life, he would think about how the dragon held him in those moments. His collar balled up in the dragons fist but the hand that rested on his shoulder wasn't one that seemed to hold any malice... when the conversation shifted and both hands now steadied him, they seemed to be being as gentle as possible with the broken and bloody body that they supported... the body that they specifically broke and bloodied. The care the dragon tried to take with treating him and tending to him... the ruthlessness of how they fought him... He supposed he understood it on some level. He'd left plenty a bandit bloodied before releasing them... but it was something that has always stuck with him.

He's not sure how he got back to town. The explanation that the healers give him is that he was brought in on a cart by a traveler who'd come across the bloodied caravan and found him alive. He hears them question why the traveler even stopped in such a spot, news having since traveled to town about the actual state of the scene - the ground there will probably be stained for weeks to come. While he never shared the specific thought, he had a very clear idea who that 'traveler' was and just how they managed to 'find' him.

As far as his wounds were concerned the recovery process seemed simple enough, the only thing the healers magic couldn't really do anything about was his eye. It would take time but with proper care he would heal. While his wounds were deep and jagged enough to leave scars they almost seemed to blend in with his natural coloration once they did heal. The doctors and healers saw it as a good omen of sorts. _____ saw them as yet another reminder.

While he wasn't the only guard, he was the only survivor - at least the only one obvious to most people. It would make sense that some of the merchant's civilian passengers would have fled the battle... possibly other sellswords or guards... he wasn't aware of them though. Truthfully he never really sought them out if they existed. If they had survived then they either hadn't fled to the town he was taken too or otherwise never crossed paths with him. Either way, being the only surviving guard of a massacred caravan wasn't something easy to live with. His mind blamed him plenty for not fighting hard enough or tried to convince him that he had otherwise failed the party. Not to mention that being the only survivor of a massacred caravan who is also relatively well known for letting bandits free isn't exactly great PR.

It didn't take long after he was dragged back into town and news of the attack spread for the rumors to start. Was he working with the bandits? Was he in on it? Did he survive because he doesn't like fighting them and tried to run away? There were a plethora of different stories... different scenarios, most of which had him as the secret mastermind or the snitch.

By the time he recovered enough to defend himself against the rumors the damage was already done. It didn't help that his wounds had left him partially crippled. Half blind and slow to move, he wasn't exactly top pick on the escorts charts. Coupled with the rumors that if hired, he'd set up fake bandit attacks to make himself seem more capable and then 'spare' the bandit - his days of fulfillment had ended.

There was still some sense of camaraderie between him and a few of the guards and clients that he'd known particularly well, which offered him some respite at the very least. However, with his vision crippled, his body weak, and his mind scared there was little he could offer besides company if he offered to tag along.

Eventually, as his body healed, he found that his mind didn't seem to completely follow. Both his dreams and occasionally his waking moments would be plagued by visions of the ordeal. He would remember the sounds of fighting and of death, sometimes he would swear to hear even the sounds that seemed to elude him in the moment. The conversation between the bandits, the sounds of the other bandits killing their captives - as none of the others he saw alive in those blurry moments seemed to have been so lucky as to survive - the sound of his saviors voice... sometimes that voice would haunt him and other times he would find himself comforted.

The whole matter was one that brought up to many questions. To many different philosophies.

Sparing the bandits along his travels was probably what got him spared. A bandit that he wishes he could remember more of was allowed to flee and then later decided to offer the same kindness to him... but was it kindness considering the result? Would he have rather died? Would it have been a more fitting end then whatever he path he was on now? If he hadn't spared the bandits would they have attacked at all? There wouldn't be as many - even if it's a somewhat ridiculous notion to think that the handful he spared would have made a difference in the attack - What if?

Would killing the ones he originally spared simply because an event that many of them might not have even been a part mean anything?

It all left him more tired than anything else.

Regardless, he continued doing what little he could bring himself to do for his comrades and the few clients that would hire him - pity or no. He was always careful to avoid routes that would take him back through that path... sometimes he'd question whether he was simply avoiding the painful memories or instead avoiding the chance to see his savior again.

Eventually though, he gaining enough funds to leave the areas that he had traveled in for so many years. Like many who are hiding from their pasts, he found himself in the Tangled wood and eventually here in the Shadowhide clan, taken on as an advisor for Alexia's various bands of sellswords and mercenaries. It being a rather non-committal position he's mostly left to his own devices - only really doing any actual work when large coordinated missions are being set up, something involves his previous 'territory', or... well, someone actually needs advice.

He tries not to let the question of "why even have such a position if the majority of the rather experienced 'staff' aren't usually in need of an advisor" enter the self-destructive side of his conscious... but considering what he's learned of his current employers past, the other somewhat low-maintenance positions that spot the clans job market, and the fact that he is being useful to those that do come to him he chooses to think of it as more of a blessing than anything else.

Now, when he's not advising he spends most of his time around the communal areas of the clan. He finds it rather hard to socialize like he used to and his mind seems to be more interested in making as much noise as possible rather than actually being useful, but he still enjoys the atmosphere those areas bring. Even if it can be rather bitter-sweet sometimes.

His favorite being the small club-like area called the "Neon Nest". The music helps distract him and the workers took a liking to him after he helped throw out a rather unruly patron. So if anything, he sees it as the start of something good. They also let him practice playing his lute - which he very much missed doing after the incident.

While his guilt remains and his 'savior' still gives him pause he doesn't seem to question whether or not he should have been allowed to survive so much anymore.

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• The teardrop necklace he wears is supposed to represent a waterflight based pendant. He wears it as a good luck charm because of the connection the flight has to prophecies and the fact it's his birth flight
  
  
• Has a slight limp due to not taking the best care of himself or his wounds after he left the aid of the healers/doctors. The story itself focuses more on his eye wound but he did sustain other injuries in the fighting. That and being dragged/carted to the city probably didn't do him any favors - even if his saviors goal was to keep him alive
  
  
• Speaking of, he has very confused feelings about his Savior. While he can never be 100% sure he suspects he remember the incident that he spared them originally. Thinks about it often, in both good times and bad episodes. Is highly conflicted on whether or not to ever go back or otherwise try to get into contact. Has the occasional urge to travel back and learn about or meet them again. Has no idea what he would do if he ever actually did.
  
  
• He has been working with his familiar (Triple-Sighted Firebug) in the hopes of being able to see a bit better in some circumstances. While obviously not the best, he finds it somewhat comforting an idea to have the use of two eyes again. Even if one of them is off in another room or otherwise not attached to his head
  
  
• While Alexia isn't particularly known for her merciful tendencies, those she employs - and those ____ advises - all have their own quirks and tendencies. While he usually gives the most well rounded advice he can, he does still tend to go for a more merciful approach. While the jobs that involve assassination can't really benefit from that sort of thing, it can in regards to advising the sellswords and mercenaries. He's also good at giving advice about how to deal with certain personalities and the like - having experience from his various employers. So he's still useful to a wide assortment of those he's meant to advise.
  
  
• Is absolutely an unofficial club bouncer
  
  
• While writing this story, whenever I visualized anything, it was mostly in 'anthro' based forms. Gijinka works as well but I tend to view dragons in more anthro forms since it's easier. So if stuff doesn't make much sense in non-anthro form... whoops. Generally, my personal lore has dragons able to shift between feral (site-art) and anthro in order to get around some of the size difference issues and just general ease of use stuff. This doesn't really have anything to do with the actual character but feels worth mentioning
  
  
• It's also worth noting that in my general lore the world is of very mixed technology. Obviously with Lightning, Arcane, Fire, and Light there is tech and advancement. There's also no need for dragons to have certain tech though - so it's a mixture of new and old. The general vibe of the 'adventure and travel' that this boyo did is more like... medieval style - carts and wagons patrolled with guards either on animal (boar, elk, etc) or walking/riding alongside. "But dragons can fly" yes... but some dragons canonically can't - they could potentially pay others to fly it for them but idk... I honestly just sat down to write like 3 little blurbs and ended up with this whole thing, lol. So we're just here now and while I can try to morph it, I think it works. That or we can make it all air travel. The incident took place in the air until boyo got slashed and then ended up on the ground. Probably not but eh, We'll just go with the explanation that Anthro form dragons prefer ground travel for specific goods/situations and leave it at that for now :P
  
  
• There's also a club at the end - I don't specify what type of music but again, mixed technology. I don't see why dragons wouldn't have figured out how to record sound yet, why not? So recorded music is a thing. So the most obvious answer is synth music of some sort but I think it's also sort of a place you can come to play your own instead of listening to specific stuff. It's a fancier neon based bar more than a 100% techno pumping laser lights flashing bounce party.