Altair

its supposed to be Altaïr, actually

role: brawler

Altair is the second child of Nyx amd Heracles, although most dragons easily mistake him for the eldest. Calm, collected and wise where Connor is brash and slightly reckless, Altair can usually be found discussing battle tactics with Clymene, his younger sister. He does not rush headlong into battle, preferring instead to analyse his opponent's moves beforw striking. He is the healer as well as the strategizer of the team, effectively planning out his moves. This could prove to be a weakness, as he is not used to changing tact in the middle of a fight. His quick wit and quiet charm place him among the more friendly dragons of the clan. Although he is a mirror, Altair tends to protect those around him with an almost Guardian attitude, certainly from his father's side.

Altair slammed his claws on the map, and let out a howl of rage. "Where the hell is he?" The pale mirror paced the length of the room, tail flicking in agitation. "You know Connor," Aveline, his younger sister said. "He's probably off hunting again, or trying to take on the coliseum. You know how he is." She was sprawled out in the corner of the room, claws beating out a nervous pattern on the smooth stone floor. The two were in the map room, anxiously trying to figure out where their hot-headed elder brother had gone. "That serthis clan has been unexpectedly bold lately. Think he's there?" Altair speculated, throwing out the suggestion. Aveline merely tilted her head to one side. "Maybe. We can't afford to act on guesses though. And we can't tell anyone. Mother and Father won’t be happy." Altair shook his head at Aveline's curt reply. "We don't have a choice. The Rotrock Rim is where he most likely is. I'll track him from there." His sister nodded, getting up from the floor. Minutes later, they were ready, with a few healing potions tucked in the back of his white wraps. Aveline was forced to stay behind to conjure up an excuse for her brother's disappearance. She could handle it. The guardian could be convincing when she needed to be. Altair scrutinized the ground for some sign of his brother. His sharp eyes picked out a faint trail. The prints were clearly that of a mirror, and an angry one at that. And there was only one dragon who fit the bill. Altair followed the trail, leaping and flying, and as he flew, he thought. There was only one place that Connor could have gone. The Wyrmwound was a dangerous place, and he couldn't afford to delay. Another dragon corpse wouldn't make much of a difference in the Scarred Wasteland. The tracks ended abruptly, but a scuffle was evident. But he could not identify his brother's claw marks.. Altair scanned his surroundings, frustration bubbling up inside him. Please be here. He howled, more out of sheer desperation than anything else. He hadn't expected an answering cry. It was faint, of course, but it was there. Altair felt his hopes rising and sprinted to the direction of the cry. There was another mirror right in front of him. Hooded, and covered in wraps and birdskulls, and lying in a puddle of blood. Connor. Altair leapt forward, skittering on the dry, dusty ground. Connor looked up feebly, as Altair fed him the health potion. His brother was very weak, that much was clear. It was lucky that he had more than one health potion with him. And just as he was about to give Connor the second one, he heard a screech.

[see Aveline's bio]



Art by @KitKatPurrPurr!

Poison/Daub/Crackle
Dump a lot of contrast rogue gear on this dude