Juste à l'extérieur du château se tenait Freya, l'un des premiers dragons de la guilde à être pris. Elle, comme beaucoup d'autres, avait appris à s'aligner dans une mesure raisonnable, bien que dans son cas, il était certainement de son propre choix. Elle, vêtue de lin ordinaire comme le reste des domestiques, mettait des draps mouillés pour sécher, tâche qu'elle ne trouva pas de fin.
Il semblait que chaque fois qu'elle ne grondait pas le troupeau, ils avaient passé leur temps à se salir dans des terreurs nocturnes ou à ensanglanter des pièces entières en essayant d'enfoncer la diligence dans un nouveau sang. À maintes reprises, elle a couru dans la pièce au bord de la mort d'un dragon, seulement pour être en mesure de les sauver du mal permanent et probablement de la mort. Toujours à se haïr, toujours à essayer de faire ce qu'ils veulent et rien d'autre.
Ici, même la règle de l'enfant, peut faire droit, peut passer facilement. Et tant que les Riders avaient Celelyrium, ils étaient puissants.
Malgré tout ça, Freya les regardait tous avec une sorte de... long. Elle n'était pas sûre pour quoi faire, mais pour les voir grandir... pour les voir faire des choses...
Elle touchait encore la vieille cicatrice. Résiliente comme elle l'était, sa vie n'était pas toujours si... parfaite, à l'époque. Elle avait une famille une fois. Une famille qui l'a trahie. L'enfant fantôme criait de silence en elle. Pour lui enlever l'esprit, elle a dû se concentrer sur les montagnes...
...ils étaient comme ceux d'il y a si longtemps...
Et qu'est-ce que ce serait au loin? Un dragon dans une cage?
Il y a d'autres Riders déjà? Attendez... les White Doves allaient enquêter sur les météorites, donc...
Pour mettre les choses en ordre, elle allait laisser ces draps accrocher. La viande ragoûtée serait prête en peu de temps, et le soleil ne prévoyait qu'un brunch léger avant que le Maître ne fasse une annonce. Peut-être qu'il laisserait une période de grâce manger?
Aussi vite que l'étiquette et ses jambes pourraient lui permettre, Freya strode à travers la cour et dans la cuisine. Comme d'habitude, elle a été battue sur la cloche jusqu'à ce que quelqu'un la ferme. Même à ce moment-là, certains cavaliers dormaient encore. Comme c'est enfantin...
Name: Lord Avanir Darkwind (His surname is Wornicker to those know his past but not most don't)
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Rank: Battle Master

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-Cellyrium whip: a jagged piece of Celelyrium adorns the end as well as the cord itself being soaked in it.
-His armor consists of black breastplate, grieves, and bracers and helmet. Underneath he wears cotton underclothes, shirts, leather and wool trousers, and black armored boots.
-Skin of Fire-Brandy. Strong enough to numb pain, sterilise wounds and to make you drunk with a few sips if unused to it.
-One dragon arm torque in gold


6ft tall and muscled, but not overly, Avanir cuts a powerful figure. His right leg is heavily burnt and scarred form a run in with a dragon and thus he has a noticeable limp. The only time the limp goes is when he is in battle suggesting the limp is in his mind. His tanned and wind beaten skin is a pale brown. Scars cover his back and chest and a small scar is visible on his cheek. A leather band when not wearing a helmet pulls his long hair back and a small metal torque is twisted around his right bicep. 


Personality: Avanir, known to friends A or Av has a dry humour that can sometimes be misplaced in situations. Over the years he has managed to control his temper problems with various techniques, so now he takes a while to anger but if you do anger him even dragon fire will seem cold compared to his rage. Often he is extremely quiet, sometimes not even talking and requiring paper to write and communicate. He hasn’t told anyone but his dragon why he remains silent. He walks around with a glazed look in his eyes, like he is seeing ghosts everywhere. The only time he is seen with a real smile is when he is fighting. Its just who he is. A warmonger. To get his respect one only needs to prove themselves a good fighter and a true warrior by his standards.

Avanir is of noble blood but you would never guess by his mannerism. Born to house Wornicker who were a prominent house in the land of Ambrosis. His father was away when he was born. He was away for his first birthday. He was away for his fourth and his sixth and his eighth. Overall his father wasn’t around much of his life so he grew up in a household run by his uncle. His father was a advisor and general to the king and was forever away fighting.
His uncle jealous of the power was like a storm and forever thundered and raged at the servants. Avanir’s uncle, the day after Avanir turned 15, tried to seize power of the keep and fighting erupted. Avanir left his room with his small dagger to help defend his fathers seat. Entering through the side door he had seen hisuncle, seated in his fathers seat. Enraged he had stabbed his uncle multiple times then and there, killing him from the numerous wounds.
His father upon return held court and had no choice to banish Avanir from the lands of Wornicker. As it was closer to go to Solis rather than deeper into Ambrosis Avanir slipped into the neighboring country.
There he managed to join the White Doves, first as a servant boy but later on as a recruit. His natural skills with weaponary was honed under the battle master until he became a full member of the Guild 3 years later. On his 5th mission he flew into an ambush with 3 dragons. His dragon had been killed and himself severely injured, but not before the bodies of three female dragons lay at his feet.
He was picked up by another rider and returned to the guild. He was healed, given a new dragon (Kahgon), new weapons. After his healing he didn’t want to return to patrolling and instead help teach recruits the art of weapons. When the previous Battle master died, only a few moths later in a training mission, he was promoted to Battle master and officially charged with training recruits. He only flew now to train warriors or to go on training, hunting or missions were the best warriors are required. This expedition is the first mission he has taken on in a year. With the amount of practice he and Kahgon put in, sometimes they don't even need to communicate to create and execute plans. He respects Kahgon and has never used the whip on him for the one reason Kahgon could probably kill him.

Mount: Kahgon of the tribe Al-Soor (tatszico)
Other:
Theme songs:
-This is War!
-We Ride for Freedom!
-The Storm is Coming!
-Training Music
-Relaxing Music
Motto:"Till the Last!"-Battle Cry
Speeches to motivate people:

Get up...
Fight...
Get up...
Fight...
Get up...
Fight...
Who said you could stop
Who said you could rest
Get up....
And fight
Your were made for this
Your worthless without it
Don't stop...
Get up...
Fight...
Get up....
Or die...


Men that take action become heroes.
Heroes that die become legends.
Legends that die become myths.
Myths cause men to take action.
The only question now, who will be the first to take action?

-Loves to draw, carve, whittle. Anything artistic he loves.
-Wakes up screaming due to some of the things he has seen and done. His memories haunt him.