[b]Looks:[/b] 5'9", 170 pounds. His face is weather beaten and he appears older than he actually is. His short, very straight and professionally combed brown hair is often obscured under a rattan stetson with a dry and dead rose tucked into the hat band. His slightly small and narrow eyes are a violent shade of green, and he appears to be a very, very tired man.

Typically wears Carhartt boots, old and beaten jeans, plaid shirts, and a thick beige leather jacket.

[b]Name:[/b] John MacLeod

[b]Age:[/b] 24

[b]When they came to the academy:[/b]  21

[b]Type of egg they've gotten:[/b] A true-black egg. It absorbs all light that strikes it, rendering its details invisible to the eye, but it feels very rough and scaly to the touch.

[b]Magic Affinity:[/b] Dark

[b]Weapon of choice:[/b] If forced to fight, he uses his great-great grandfather's repeating rifle, rechambered for .45LC, and a bowie knife.

[b]Personality:[/b] He's often viewed as a quiet, thoughtful man by those who don't know him. Truth be told, he's just not paying attention. His thoughts are turned towards his music more than anything else, these days, and when given a chance, he will pull out an old, worn-out blue acoustic guitar and start playing along with the music in his head.

He dislikes fighting, but he won't hesitate to argue - but this sort of thing tires him out greatly. Everything about him feels broken down and worn thin, even if he tries to put forth effort into everything he does and be friendly to others.

He is slow in speech, slow in thought, and slow to forgive. He never forgets, and tends to have vindictive and petty thoughts about those he dislikes, even if it often feels like it's too much effort to act on it.

[b]Likes:[/b] Melodic death metal, folk rock, apples, sleeping, people, good bourbon, and though he refuses to admit it, being close to others and hugs.

[b]Dislikes:[/b] Jerks, cheap liquor, eating meat, history lessons, gardening.

[b]History:[/b] He discovered his affinity for dark magic one day when he was watering a rose bush he had planted on his mother's grave. The roses died instantly, and he took one of them as a keepsake, taking it as a sign that he should move on and work harder to keep her spirit happy. He would have chosen another element if he could, but when he thinks back on it, it's really not surprising. He had been shut in for months after his mother's passing, only getting up to make sure the crops were still growing.

He began to focus on his music, playing shows at bars for cash. At his home, what had once been a cattle ranch, the grass had been slowly dying off over a period of several weeks. Every time he played with all of his heart and soul, a weak thunderstorm grew around him and wilted the land, just as it had with his father.

It took him months to realize what he was doing, and ventured to the academy where his father had gone, to gain control over his affinity and find a suitable egg. The egg seemingly came to him instead.