Born from mixed blood, Mauna exudes a graceful, dignified, and refined aspect of his heritage. He’s neither stocky nor light, but a warrior-esque physique somewhere in between. Despite his father’s smaller stature, he seems to have embodied more of his mother’s height, stretching to a moderate figure. He’s not domineering, overwhelming, or imposing, but there, an obvious presence, an entity noted.

His coloring is more grulla oriented, with silver dominating a majority of his hide. Here and there, especially on his head, shoulders, wings, and flank, he has a peppering of darker gray.

His legs are black with a tinge of blue radiating from the top. His wings do the same along the tips, a touch, a ghost, a whisper of ancestry, of days by oasis beds and plunging darkness.

Despite his father’s gentle gaze, Mauna’s stare only represents blood, fire, and crimson, a veritably fury and flurry of untouched, unleashed fire.

Other notable markings include a blue-hued whale fluke tattoo emblazoned right in the middle of his forehead, branching out over his eyes like the arch of a brow. He also has a large car directly behind his right wing that stretches across his barrel and along his shoulder, but he says nothing of it.

Positive: Curious, friendly, forbearing, honorable, determined, and calm.

Negative: Impulsive, bitter, ferocious, and furtive.

Mauna has spent the greater part of his short, fledgling life as a refugee, wandering from place to place in search of family and friends, that likely no longer exist. He’s been shaped and honed, sculpted and carved, by waves of forbearing and honorable statutes, patient, tolerant, understanding, and mostly benevolent, as he’s withstood trial after trial, and tribulation after tribulation. From this, he’s become a very calm, compassionate, and stoic individual, and while the world still hurts him, he strives not to show it. It’s led to a more furtive degree, as he holds a lot close to the heart, and never on display. While he can be candid and forthright in some emotions, he can also hide the sheen of vulnerability very well.

As the son of the Mountain that Knows, seeking wisdom and sagacity is an inherent nature, forged in his bloodlines, in his bones. He encompasses the unknown, and doesn’t fear it, constantly wondering, pondering, and reasoning out the shapes of lands, the flora and fauna, and anything else to snag at the insatiable need for knowledge. This sometimes blends into a more impulsive contortion, especially with his youth, occasionally drawing on inquiry, and acting on thought, either in charming or catastrophic endeavors.

Friendly and honorable, likely due to the events of his childhood, he’s always had a craving for companions, and some sort of found family, given that his was destroyed. Mauna tries to make allies and comrades of everyone and everything. His ethical, principled, and righteous nature has been honed by watching worlds shift themselves into brutal, tempestuous ways, and he has tried to steer himself, and many others, out of harsh, vindictive cruelties. He has a strong moral compass and code.

However, the boy can also be ferocious, bitter, and conniving when it comes to adversaries. For all his understanding, compassion, and fortitude, once someone has wronged him or someone he is close to, it’s very difficult to obtain his trust again. He can become a rancorous, seething thorn in someone’s side, and isn’t above being petty to honor the notion of vengeance. There is a temper layered underneath all of those walls and fortifications, and while not often seen or exposed, the feral machinations have the inclinations towards treachery, danger, and deceit. A fury, with nothing to hold him back.

He’d come from the earth – woven from entanglements of deities and mortals, molten fortitude and metal, wisdom and strength. Born to Zekle and Isopia of the Dragon’s Throat, christened in Helovia’s fortresses of might and upheaval – unaware that it would all come to a striking end quickly, swiftly.

Mauna had always known loss. It scratched at his bones and intermingled with his lungs, came out amidst inhales and exhales, ghosts from the corners of his eyes. He’d been granted from it, when grieving eyes roamed and friendships became something more – and had no ability to comprehend it when days later their kingdom of salt, sand, and dragons collapsed and fell apart. When his mother passed, sacrificing herself to the cosmic sway of greedy, deceitful, seething false gods and paragons. When his family fled. When everything he had suddenly became nothing at all.

There was the Rift, falling through portals of time, space, and hell. Mystery, duplicity, locked corridors, and furtive, specious glances, a realm, an empire carved out of treachery and torment. From within, the boy met more family, realized selfishness and anguish, instantly removed from the innocence he’d sprung from. More phantoms, more wraiths, more foes, and the plight was too much, too numerous, too debauched, too menacing, and his father couldn’t take it anymore. Gone too, were the essences of a blessed family, when everything else succumbed. Here, he understood survival.

But then he stretched his wings and flew, flew for more promise, for something that wouldn’t always haunted, wouldn’t always punish, wouldn’t always tarnish; and the rest of his bloodline called to him, one by one (find us), because they’d all escape together…

They’d run and fly and launch and dive.

Or so he believed, so he dreamed, still holding onto some vague wish, notion, that the rest still lingered.

So he searched, and searched, and searched, covering globes and realms, until he touched down here.