Eyston hails from the peaks of distant snowy mountains that the community of
Avians he belonged to called the distant winds. It was a small, tight-knit
hunting group with the occasional wooden cabin or tree house dotting the
landscape. Nothing they built ever lasted for too long, abandoned for the snow
and ice to take apart whenever they began to fall apart rather than fixing
things as soon as a failure appeared imminent. The best way to describe the
place that Eyston had heard came from a song written by a bard who hailed from
one of the closer cities to the bottom of the mountain- a cycle like the
seasons, temporary but beautiful.
Avians moved through it as often as they stayed, or left. According to tale,
every Avian who had ever resided there had a stronger wind in their hollow
bones than the rest. Some called it the soul of a hurricane, others simply
different stock. Either way, the way that history and myth were passed down in
the community- through song and storied words in the air, not distinguishing
between fact or fiction or even time- made accurate record-keeping impossible.
(After all, the wind does not distinguish between fact and fiction- simply what
carries the farthest.)
Growing up on the stories of wings and blood, Eyston had no particular
attachment to their parents more than the rest of the inhabitants of the
village. It was as expected for anyone to leave as they were to stay- some
winds cycled back, others flew far and never turned away from the distant
shores.
He had been adequate at hunting, but his real talent was weaving theads into
narrative and song. Though not the best in his village, he had been improving
quickly- and then, one day, he decided to leave for newer horizons.
Capriciousness had, after all, been a quality long attributed to those in the
distant winds. Eyston had, as with others who had done the same, left without
saying goodbye. It was expected for one's last flight out to be uninterrupted
and with that tiny bit of further lightness to it as someone left behind their
ties to the place- and, in that last tiny hunting trip out, he had simply flown
away.
Description:
This young Avian's feathers encompass more than just his wings, mottled
cream-brown stretching from the dark feathered crest on his head to just
above yellow-white claws. There is a gradient to his feathers, darker brown
on his back and closer to alabaster on the front from the beak down. Pale
yellow eyes, undeniably those of a predator, lend a sharpness to his face
further enhanced by a hooked black beak. Long fingers tipped with fine but
dulled black talons move with a surprisingly delicateness whatever the
occasion, while the talons on his claws come to a much crueller point. The
positioning of his wings betray an impressive width to them, each feather on
the backs lined with white due to his youth. A few on the bottom edge are
pierced through, tiny charms of various materials hanging from them on
everything from fine chain to pieces of twine. The few specks of dirt and
grime on him he wears like finery, his footsteps graceful as his wingbeats
and a lilting tone to his voice.
