Fionntan

The enthusiastic youngster ran to his uncle’s side the first time he had watched the healing process be completed, a gorgeous light that was able to soothe wounds and help patch up the seems until the healer could turn to more traditional methods. From then, for a few nights in private, he worked at his own abilities; he had not been taught magic yet by his mother nor father as surely they considered him too young, he did not know what to expect but all he knew was he wished for the same light as he tried so hard to emulate the healing light that the experienced medic had just used.
And he did just that.
Flames; but they were not the amber glow of the fireplace the clan shared, no they were different… White, surely holding the same gentleness as the soft yellow light of the healer he had watched. Once he was able to bring the flames to his will, Fionntán ran excitedly to Gealán, to show him what he could do, and how he too could help the clan.

It was not gentle. It was not kind. It was wild and vicious, it did not help, only harmed. Catching the wrist of the person he had been so keen to show, Fionntán was left wide eyed and mortified as Gealán recoiled back in pain. Panic only drove the flames wilder; but though Gealán winced and muttered under his breath at the pain, he was calm and was able to bring the youngster back to the same peace. Together they were able to tame the flames to the air, and see to the wound inflicted; Fionntán in tears and whimpering apologies but Gealán could only shake his head and show the lad how to heal the burn with more traditional methods, herbs and wraps to sooth.
And that was how Fionntán helped for the time being, gathering herbs and making supplies for the healer until he found the bravery within him once again to bring forth his flames under Gealán and his Father’s careful eye.

It took time and patience, something not found easily in a curious hatchling but he did the work, it was rare to find the youngster without his head in a book if he was not helping the experienced healer who had officially taken him on as apprentice.

He worked to tame the flames within and do what few believed possible, the young lad had learnt to heal with fire. To rid the gashes of infection and to bring the flesh back together, just as the healing light he had first witnessed did.
Though, while able to tame the fiery magic… Taming his own temper was a little harder.

From his uncle’s he had gained the nickname Fanta, short for ‘Fantastic’ due to how often the youngster ran to them both first whenever he had a new skill to show them. The rest of the clan shortened his name to Fin, a nickname that soon overtook the more formal ‘Fionntán’- reserved for when the youngest of the lair needed a scolding… which was often.

When not helping out in the healing den, or wider clan, Fin was often found running around with the dark feathered twins. The three nested at the same time, and so had grown close and were often found in trouble together; the three became rather experienced with roaming the forests close to the lair, all looking for their own individual treasures, Fin’s being the herbs and roots he needed for Gealán. Colmán and Rí-Rua often giving him tips when they had explored further than he had managed before needing to return to the lair, and to his responsibilities.

As Fin grew, his confidence and abilities also grew. The teenager could have been described as cocky and arrogant but he never thought so of himself because he always had the skills to back up his words. Or, he would start an argument trying to prove himself right. This often left to disagreements with the healer he had once looked so much up to; now at equal height the two often bickered around healing methods and while Fin did not understand at the time, it often came down to Gealán being worried the apprentice was pushing himself, and his abilities too hard… a habit the stubborn and determined Fin never truly let go of, even with his talons holding the burn marks of his magic, he still pushed through the pain until even his fiercest flames did not bring pain, even if they still left marks.

Once old enough to leave the lair fully, or at least… in his eyes, he would often sneak out and trail behind his other uncle whenever the shadow mage left on his own adventures, each month as he got older, he managed to get a little closer until Calx finally relented and allowed it. It was better that the boy explored with him, than on his own and unknown to the wider lands. The two of them were close, Calx understood the teenager’s curiosity and rebellious streak more than he would let on, but that also meant how to bring sense to the lad more than others could. Calx would tell stories of his own adventures, how he and his husband had explored, and the pink forest of arcane that they had trailed through the first time they met. While he did not go into full details…He enjoyed sharing the tales he held dear with the youngster he was so close with, often in return listening to how the fire mage’s magic was getting on, and sharing his own tips from his experience of shadow magic… it was not exact, but experience was experience.

Despite being born to Ice, Fin holds the temper and fury of a fire dragon through and through, and this often leads him to finding trouble; but it meant that he too learnt to defend himself and throw a decent punch when needed. He holds a scar above his eyebrow from the first time he had allowed himself to become overconfident and cocky in a fight, returning to the healing den with his pride broken while receiving care from the uncle that had taught him what he knew. There’s a small scar there, but it doesn’t cause bother, only striving the lad further on to not allow it to happen again.
As an adult he carries blades around himself, though this is merely for appearance as the knives have been sharped for the purpose of cutting fabric, thread, and bandages and are rarely used against the flesh of an aggressor… but it’s never out of possibility. The confidence and passion he holds as an adult, can often lead to such trouble.

When old enough to venture out on his own, to share the healing he knew and to expand his own knowledge, Fin always wrote home often, he always returned often. The Clan by the Cliffs was his home, and while his Mother had never pressured him into taking a complete interest in the leadership of the clan, naturally he felt a warmth towards every individual to the clan… even those he could easily butt heads with. He cared, and wanted to make sure they were doing well, and once he felt his travels had provided him with enough knowledge and experience wider Sornieth, he would return for good to share… and boast, about all he learnt.