Short raven hair sits on this young man's head, trimmed shorter about the base of his neck and around his eyes for practical purposes. His eyes are a light golden brown, under dark thick eyebrows on an oval face. His mouth is pulled down into a perpetual scowl but the lines and wrinkles about his eyes betray his grumpy appearance, otherwise. Tall and slender is his form with some muscle showing through and hands having many rough callouses and cracks upon his tanned skin from turns working with the TannerCraft.
A simple brown tunic is worn over this young man's torso, tied at the waist with a thick dark mahogany leather belt showing turns of use and abuse. Black suede pants conceal his lower half, tucked into knee high leather boots showing their own wear and tear with laces tucked in each leg. Upon his shoulder bears his knot and insignia from the Tannercraft.
Legan spent the beginning of his somewhat reckless and troublesome childhood along with his four younger brothers and two sisters at High Reaches Weyr. Running through the snow and doing typical things the aunties would frown and shake their head at. Typical. At least, until he met her. Another girl he met on the roads, and not the usual weyr fare. She was different. Special. Young Legan straightened out his rebellious ways just a little, if it meant he could visit someone he would spend the next few turns courting. His Mother spent most of her time away from home assisting in the kitchens while the man they thought to be their father left them behind to gain an Apprenticeship in the Minecraft Hall. That fateful day, however, a fatal error was made. The man left behind his beloved jacket, an old and worn piece of leather. Due to the natural curiosity of boys taking things apart to see how they work, this young man did just that. Legan took it apart piece by piece, hem by hem and slowly caught on-working with this wasn't hard at all… Neither was getting into trouble, seeing his curiosity extended over to his other interest… Women. At sixteen turns, he was making women's clothing (rarely decent) out of his own home before joining the Tanner's as an Apprentice to better his skills and to gain some more of that…conservative style. For the turns that followed, he refined his skills, using the woman he loved as motivation to advance and do better. To make better things if it meant making enough to start a life together…
A life that never came to be as life and tragedy tend to court one another when you least expect it.
Three turns later he was asked to walk the tables once more and became a Journeyman. No thanks to alcohol, Legan nearly walked the tables in the literal sense. As soon as the effects wore off, he made it where he wanted to be in life. Only now he was alone. He threw himself into his work, less into garments and more into the processing and tanning of hides. The dirty jobs no one wanted. The jobs best left down wind and left alone without interference… Until the search riders came. Without hesitation he agreed, having idle hands and idle hands led to idle minds. Idle minds led to thinking of a past he would sooner leave behind him. To Telgar he stood on the sands with many people. The change of pace was a welcome change and for a while, he was able to reconnect with people and gain back some sense of self. What he couldn't get back, he was helped along by a young grumpy curmudgeon bronze hatchling on the sands. Granaeth didn't have patience for dawdling. Things to be done and done they were briefly in Telgar, some side jobs from his craft in Ierne and finally L'gan and his lifemate had settled into Xanadu where they reside to this day.
A Hint of Wild Winter Green Nyx
She pauses, distant and cold. She is a mysterious creature from the woodland depths, a wild thing caught in a moment of pure perfection. Light hints of blue-green rain gentle kisses like fallen leaves across the deeper winter green hide of this chill little beauty. She is a dainty thing, all sylvan grace and waifish build. Tendrils of blue-green trace the fine lines of her tiny face and accentuate the curve of her neck. They curl into the shadows of her slender back, sprouting new growth over what little muscle she has. Tiny limbers slip along on even tinier paws tipped by dark red talons. Gossamer wings of winter green glimmer with speckles of golden light, sunlight breaking through the canopy above as light filters through the sails and spars.
At first glance, it is difficult to determine what color this firelizard is. His entire topside appears to be black, including a pair of unusually large wings. But the random striking of light flickers with metallic sheen that turns matte black into ancient worn bronze. A wash of pale cinnamon cross his chest and belly which would make him seem two toned, were it not for the mottling of blackish bronze helping to break up the cinnamon. From the tight beak of a muzzle to his stubby short tail he's short and lean, nearly all wing. His is an arresting build meant just for speed and striking power.
Old Grumpy Wise Soul Bronze Granaeth
There is a feeling of great age to the dragon, a fragile wisdom belied by the sleek, supple form. His is not a very metallic bronze, rather sporting the dark patina of time and weather. He runs to clean, sharp lines and wiry strength. His head is a narrow wedge held as though supporting a great weight and touched by a frosting of ice blue on muzzle and jowls, as if he were already turning gray. The sinuous neck is mimicked by equally sinuous limbs and tail and they meet at the trim, springy chest and flanks. A delicate pattern runs from throatlatch to tail tip, randomly crossing every meter of hide. Curves and crescents of darkest bronze mark a leathery wrinkling across the entire hide, creating that illusion of age. The wings especially take on an aged leather look and they seem as if they should drag along the ground. Yet he moves with quick, energetic motions that emphasize his most striking feature: nearly pitch-black claws, long and curled, almost disproportionate to his wiry limbs.