[attr="class","lvappbody2"]

[attr="class","lvappbody3"]

they say you're the bad one

behind blue eyes

They said that a child born wrapped up in storms was an unlucky child. That the heavens were outraged, weeping, and yelling the next. There is some reasoning to this, since Lars cannot remember his parents nor wish to since he was abandoned and left in the woods for a group of people to take in. There was a certain mystique to his existence. His eyes were bright blue, but as he got older they became a stormy mix of emotions. They were a warning to others: do not tread the path to me for it will bring you immediate disappointment. It was a safety precaution. Being hurt again wasn’t something he enjoyed.
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When he was young, he played in the woods surrounding the camp and when it stormed he persisted in going outside. He wished he was a summoner that way he could make storms any time he wished. Sadly, that wasn’t the case later in life, but nothing something he has dwelled on. It would be foolish to chase after a dream if it can’t become a tangible reality to grasp and use.
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The nomad group that Lars had ended up with since he was born seldom had a proper name. Most labeled them savages, donning masks and transfiguring their bodies to suit their own beastly image. Noble however, were their efforts in monster hunting and keeping them at bay. It is a thankless duty, but it was never one that sought out credit anyway. It was a way of life and every night when each one could sit around the campfire alive meant that things were good.
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When Lars was of age, the transfiguration ceremony, hailing himself as one of them had begun. It was a vivid memory, permanently changed with traits of a snow leopard at his disposal. The long tail was luxuriously long and was an adequate blanket during cold nights. His ears now being on the top of his head was a bit hard to get used to though.
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It wasn’t a case of rebellion when he went to the leader and asked if he could venture into the city. The shock on his face was most obvious, but the concern was thinly veiled. Lars knew it to be hard to let him go, he was treated like his son, but Lars craved knowledge. Despite how much was given to him, it persisted until it was running over.
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The decision to join Leviathan was not without some consideration, for even the influence of the great covens had reached the beastly ears of his nomadic group. There was mystery in someone different, but with talent to back up the exterior. As if it wasn’t weird enough that people outside of his group didn’t have animal traits like his own, but the fact they look down on him like he was some freak? Well, this adventure would take time to get used to.