Possible Character Idea, Would love feedback from anyone who wants to read through this thing. Just PM me about any thoughts y'all have.

I went for what is basically a magically crippled rider and dragon. Eira has no control of her Ice, which is almost always stuck beneath her skin. And her dragon, Fflam has no control over his flames, which are constantly spewing from between his scales. They are sponsored by a likewise 'cripple' Son of the Shokhanate. The 8th Son, Thokgrim, who is week and frail compared to the rest of his kin. I also went with the assumption that the magic system in the setting was farely freeform and unstructured and therefore assumed that these kind of 'magically crippled' entities could exist. Also, I don't know if the pain in Eira's and Fflam's bonding is normal, I would assume not. I made it so in their case because of Eira's broken empathy and Fflam's inability to control his outward flames and heat. And in a strange twist of fate it is exactly Fflam's flames that let him resist Eira's cold, and her Cold that lets her resist his flames that allowed for their bonding. 

I also wanted to make them have a stronger bond then most due to this constant process of refinement that is happening to both of them when they are in contact with each other. What I was thinking was that they would be able to share their senses and traits. Such as: Fflam would become more intelligent due to his mind coming more inline with Eira's and Eira would become physically stronger, faster, and tougher as her body became more inline with Fflam's. I was thinking that the constant strain that their bond created on the other would pull them more inline with the other in an attempt to lessen the strain. Let me know what you think about this. 

Eira would, of course, not be able to rival a prana user on her own, nor would she be able to rival mages because of her inability to control her mana. I was thinking that her Prana User-like traits would be explain by her piggybacking off of Fflam's soul, since a dragon's power does not come from the World Soul. And Fflam's increasing intelligence is due to the World Soul touching him through Eira, and thinking that he is Eira.

Long story short. The sources of their individual power sees the other as themselves and are constantly trying to change the other to "make them right" due to the brokenness of their powers. (Not powerful broken, but cripple broken)

[hider=My Hider]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/68/31/9f/68319fc69ea9b4f82d289735332356a0.jpg[/img]

Name: Eira Foundling

Race: Half-Elf/Half-Human
Class: Babarian-esque Ice Mage*
Background: 
Gwyn's life began like most do, springing forth from her mother. Unlike most, hers happened amidst a blizzard. Her mother, once the wife of a Norsinian noble had committed adultery with a travelling Elf. The deceit was kept from her husband for several months, but he still discovered the truth. Enraged, the noble decided to put his wife to the sword for said crime. Several servants ushered their forsaken lady from the castle and into the northern wastes. Like this the group travelled for months, always on the move. They knew of the wild tribes farther to the north, of bear-men and savages. That was their goal, to seek refuge among them. Alas, it was not meant for them. No one truly knows what happened to the servants, but Gwyn's mother did not survive the blizzard's fury. She gave birth, unaided and alone, Amongst howling winds and piercing cold. 

The woman only had moments with her bloodsoaked infant before the winds picked up and swallowed them both. Eventually the blizzard died. There was only one body left, that of an infant's. Scarred, and skin as cold as ice, but a fiercely beating heart stayed in her chest.

Eira, as the child would come to be known as, was found by one of the northern tribes. Amongst them she was raised, though never truly excepted. She was scarred, deformed, and her touch brought pain. You see, Eira had inherited her true father's ability of empathy, but, like the rest of her, it was scarred. She could experience nothing from others nor truly show them herself. Only one thing passed through her accursed touch. The cold, biting winds of a true blizzard.

Now, Eira, in the loosest sense of the term, could be called a mage. She does have mana afterall. But she can't use, at least not intentionally. The Northern cold just builds under skin, unable to escape. But it wasn't till that fateful day, where her Rage, all that anger and pain, from years of being treated as less then a person boiled over. It did not come like the Orcish Bloodrage, which is hot, and wet, and red. No, Eira's is as cold as Northern Snow, as expansive as Winter, and as uncaring as the world itself. The girl, only 14 years old, had lashed out. Her power coalescing into great blades of ice as snow covered her eyes. When she could see again, Eira found that the other children, who had been tormenting her, were stuck by frozen spears to great glaciel pillars. The other tribes feared her, and she feared herself. Banished from the only home she knew, Eira was forced to go south. 

And she did, the girl, but a child at the time, travelled for years. She never stayed long in any place, for fear her powers would resurface. A fear that was well-placed. It was in the Yolta that they came in force again. Eira had been drugged and imprisoned by bandits, aiming to sell her a several others across the Stormwall Mountains. 

Thokgrim meeting Eira
[hider=My Hider]
(From the POV of Thokgrim, 8th Son of the Shokhanate)
		My body hurt. My flesh was bruised and my bones would creak. I had been stuck in that caged carriage for several months now. How had everything gone so wrong? Well, obviously one of my brothers had attempted to sell me to these brigands. But, that is a musing for another day. I was no great warrior like my father, or the multitudes of my siblings. I was quite unlike them in that regard actually. Frail since birth, I grew to be a scholar, a tactician. Though I could not wield a blade with any strength or finesse. 
		I winced as a loose nail dug into my back. Across sat the only other occupant of the carriage. A woman, young, maybe only 20 winters. There was something strange about this woman. And no, I'm not talking about the scars that seemed to cover a good portion of her body, or the strained way in which she held herself because of them, no doubt in pain. She was quiet and still. Almost unnaturally so. She had not cried or wailed when she had first awakened, nor has she said one word in conversation since then, though I have tried to engage her attention several times. Her eyes were always glued to the brigand's leader. A man who went by the moniker Grim. A little pretentious sounding if you asked me.
		It was in the middle of the night when it happened. Several of the men had gotten drunk and when they noticed my companions unflinching expression those men took it as a personal insult. And they tried to discipline her the only way men like that knew how, carnally. I did not move to help my companion as she was dragged away. Not from cowardice, I assure you, but from the knowledge that nothing I could do would help her. But I noticed something that they had not, as the joked about her being as cold as a corpse. It was the frost upon her breath. And that scared me. For it was in the middle of summer, and the heat almost unbearable in this humidity. But her she was, with Winter's breath escaping her lips.
		She roared. It was not the roar of a woman fearing for her life or safety. Nor the roar of a wild animal like that of my father's bloodrage. No, it was a roar unlike any I had heard before, but my very bones knew what it was. The very world around me vibrated from it. I had read of this roar. For it was the roar of the great ice storms of the north.
		
			- So, it was upon this night, on the 16th day of the 8th month, just two years before the first talks of the Sunpeak Alliance, that Thokgrim, 8th Son of the Shokhanate, found his Dragoneir.

[img]https://preview.redd.it/l4pb4buclo341.jpg?auto=webp&s=6af08ccb6aaa01ad3c5b40cea1d1d2c6454e7e9d[/img]
[/hider]


[img]https://lookbetterandfeelbetter.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/0000001890-2-768x492.jpg[/img]

Name: Fflam

Race: Scaled Long-tailed Fire Drake
Class: Flame Juggernaut
Background:
Fflam's raising was fraught with accidents and misshaps. Unlike the rest of his mother's brood, Fflam could not control his body's flames. None of the Shokhanate's Dragon Breeders could figure out how to stop the young Fflam's flames. None of the Dragoneirs could bind with him for the flames of his body would scorch and burn all who tried. That was, until the only friend of the young drake brought another. Fflam could not touch his only friend, this he new, but that did not mean he did not like his friend being with him. Fflam's friend was smaller than the other green stick things that walked around, even though he was green himself. Fflam did not understand why the other green stick things seemed to not like Fflam's friend. After all, Fflam's friend came and spent time with him, and that meant he was good, right? Anyways, Fflam's friend brought another, thoough they were weird. They were smaller than Fflam's friend, who was already pretty small Fflam thought. And they were pale, almost white. Fflam had never seen a white stick thing before, but Fflam was a smart boy. He would not touch the pale stick thing, even though he really wanted to. He knew better. This made him a smart boy. His mother always told him so, and so did Fflam's friend, which must mean that Fflam was really really smart, right?

Fflam was lost in his very smart thoughts while looking at the pale stick thing when he felt it. He did not know what it was. He could see the pale stick thing touching his snout. As he focused on it, confused because his flames just went around the pale stick thing, a pulse shot through his head. Fflam wanted to roar, to recoil from the pain that this pale stick thing brought, but he couldn't. His body was stuck. His wings would not unfurl at his command. He needed to get away. Pulse. Run. Pulse. Roar. Pulse. Pain. Pulse. 

Fflam's eyes shot open, but he did not see the pale stick thing. He saw himself. He knew it was himself, though he knew not how. And he knew what that pulse was. Ice, Cold, Winter. He knew this because he still felt the pulse. But it came from him and it was Fire, Heat, and Summer. Fflam's vision swam back and he saw the pale stick thing. No, this one was no stick thing. This one was his and his alone. This one was Fflam's rider. And as Fflam's recognition of this fact sparked, so did Eira's, and that ancient magic of Bonding, still not understood since the days of the first Dragoneir, coursed through and around them. 

Fire and Ice, Cold and Heat, Summer and Winter, swam from and around the two. And Thokgrim, 8th Son of the Shokhanate, knew he had made the right choice.
[/hider]

Oh, and if we can get some more information on the structures of the different factions, or at least any historical counterparts that we can look at, that'd be awesome.

I got bored so I wrote more...
Thokgrim's History
[hider=My Hider]
Thokgrim, 8th Son of the Shokhanate, also known as, the forgotten son, the scorned prince, and the Shokhanate's bastard. Thokgrim is not the son of his sibling's mother. His blood is different, and it is seen, known, felt in every action he takes. His shoulders, too narrow. His tusks, too short. His bones, too weak. His strength, too frail. No one knows from whose loins he sprung forth. All that is known is that after coming back from a skirmish along their southern border the Father of the Shokhanate held the babe in his arms. Thokgrim himself has no idea who his mother is, for his father refused to tell him. And the only woman who could take her place refused to Thokgrim her own.

And so, Thokgrim grew. Hated and refiled by the scores of his half-siblings. How the Mother of the Shokanate pushed them all out, Thokgrim had no clue, but push them out she did. As he grew, the ridicule continued. He could wield no weapon with any skill, nor would the orcish rage come forth. The only solace the young Thokgrim had was in the palace's great libraries. They were, thankfully, empty of his siblings. It was in these halls that he excelled. His knowledge of other cultures and magicks growing by the day. Of lands far across the seas where naught but the saltiest sailor has been. Of beasts seldom seen by the mortal races. Of the words of ancient elves and great leaders of the Shokhanate.

It was here that Thokgrim learned his version of War. He was not to fight and bleed on the frontlines. No, it was in these hallowed halls that Thokgrim learned his place was among the maps and informants. He was to push the different pieces, to trust in those under his command rather than his own strength in arms. To lift the capable to where they needed to be rather than to try and force his broken body to perform adequately.

His brothers and sisters scorned him for his propensity to be in the libraries, but his father took notice. Thokgrim was removed from the standard practices of his siblings. Many took this as a sign that his father had given up on him, much to his step-mother's delight. Thokgrim thought this too. He was a mere 22 years of age when this happened. And, believing that his father had forsaken him, Thokgrim attempted to drown himself in naught but alcohol. It was during one of these episodes that his half-siblings conspired against him and had him bound in chains.

However, That was also the event that lead Thokgrim to meeting his Dragoneir. A woman of such fiery rage as to overshadow all of his siblings. No, Thokgrim would not wield a blade or hammer. His weapon is his Dragoneir.
[/hider]

Thokgrim and Eira, halls of the palace. Eira POV
[hider=My Hider]
	He walked in front of me. A strange man with strange notions. He wanted to make me a Dragoneir. Not just any Dragoneir, but [i]His[/i], and his alone. I remembered his face, looking down on me. It was after I had lost control of myself. Apparently he had been the only one to survive. Honestly, I didn't quite believe, still don't. I also didn't believe him when he said he was a Son of the Shokhanate, but here we are, walking the halls of his very own palace.
	I couldn't help but to release a sigh, mist on my breath. I was annoyed. This man knew I was annoyed. After all, he had basically blackmailed me so that I'd follow him. I didn't need another population chasing me down. Already had that in the north.
	"-is yours," My head jerked up as he finished talking. The orc was giving me that infuriating half-smile of his as he gestured toward the open door.
	"What'd you say" I cringed inwardly. While I could speak common orcish with a decent amount of fluidity, High Orcish was a completely different beast. It was flowing, like elvish, but unlike elvish every sound came from the bottom of your throat and tore you up. How these greenskins spoke it all day, I couldn't figure out.
	He laughed. The fucking orc standing before me laughed. "Oh dear, you really can't speak High Orcish can you?" He took a breath to steady himself, still shaking from laughter. Thankfully, he had changed to speaking the common tongue, which was another language I was merely adequate in. "No matter, we will get that fixed. As I said, these quarters are for you. Your wardrobes have already been stocked, though I doubt anything will fit you. We have the tailor and seamstress coming in a few days. And yes, I assure that is the earliest they can come." Thokgrim, for that was his name as every person in this damned oversized house like to say every five seconds, continued into the room. "As you can see, one of your walls doesn't physically exist. It's been enchanted to keep the elements out, but to let anyone keyed to it through."
	I tried to keep my expression schooled as I walked into the room, but it was impossible. The room was huge, bigger even than the chief's igloo. Off to one side was a great big bed, one that could fit no less than six of me side by side. There was a desk and a vanity. Their craftsmanship undeniable. What struck me the most about the furniture though, was that unlike every other part of Thokgrim's palace, they weren't covered in gold. No, my furniture had silver, and I thought they were far more beautiful for it. But the strangest part of the room, besides the invisible wall, was that the majority of it, a good 5/6ths, was empty.
	"Hey Thokgrim, why is this room so large when all of what is apparently mine fits alongside that wall?"
	"Ha, I thought, for a moment that maybe you didn't remember my name again." I scowled at the prince's smirk. I may have called him a Greenskin a few times during their journey. "Anyways, enough on that. The rest of the space, is for your dragon."
	I gulped. This scrawny orc had been serious. At first I had thought he had just taken some 'curiosity' to me and would soon throw me aside. But no, this idiot was serious. Wait! He can't be, right?
	"Thokgrim, you can't honestly be expecting me to be a bloody Dragon Rider of all things!"
	"And why can't I?" He smirked, again.
	"Because I can't control this, whatever it is." I gestured with my hands, the small crystals of ice on my palms clearly visible. "Dragon Riders are supposed to be the greatest warriors of their generations. I'm broken, Thokgrim." My eyes looked up into his. I thought I had been tall, and yet this scrawny excuse of an orc still towered over me.
	"And that is exactly why you will be my Dragoneir." He said softly, his smirk having fallen away. And then, he was gone, and I was left in this great big empty room by myself.
[/hider]

Will be adding more as I write more...And proofreading them...

[hider=Eira and the little spirits]
Eira POV
	I tossed about, unable to find any comfort. So used was I to sleeping upon hard rock and gravel that a truly soft bed felt torturous. Finally, my eyes snapped open. I could not stay in this bed. It seems that no sleep will come to me this night.
	A wind tousled my hair. Wait. What? Bolting upright I stared at nothing. It was the empty wall, the very one that Thokgrim assured me nothing would pass through. So, either Thokgrim is a fool, payed for shoddy craftsmanship, or this wind is something else. Standing from the admittedly luxurious bed, I went over to the pile of clothes on the floor. It was strange. To be surrounded by such finery, given to me by a man I had only known for a handful of weeks.
	"Daughters, keep the winds at bay," I whispered. It had been years since I had sent a prayer to any of my gods, but here I was. In a foreign land and amongst strange people. Oh gods do I feel truly lost.
	Despite my whispered plea, it seems the Daughters had a different idea as the wind blowing into the room grew. It wasn't cold. Though, I don't rightly know what the cold feels to anyone else. The wind moved. Twisting inside my too large room. The papers stacked neatly on the desk were picked up and carried along, scattered throughout the room. Seeing the sight, a strange bubble of joy spread in my core. Memories of being a child amongst the ice and snow rose to the surface. I tried to bury them, to forget, but much like the scattered papers the winds brought those memories up with them.
	I had been no more than 7 Winters. Still shunned by the entire tribe I would find myself running to the old spirit lady. I had heard rumours about her once being the tribe shaman, but those couldn't possible be true. After all, she was always old. That stray, childish thought brought a smile to my face. That was not all I remembered though. The woman claimed to be able to talk to the spirits. When at first I asked her about it I had thought she spoke to our gods. Apparently that was wrong. She spoke to the little spirits. The small creatures of ice flurries and water ripples. Of the little embers and the sharp stones. She showed me how once. My body moved as it remembered that age old dance and song.
	At some point my feet carried me out to that oversized balcony, but I didn't know. All I could see were the snow plains of my youth, and of an older woman guiding my arms and legs. The steps varied often. Some times they were slow and ponderous, like stone. Other times they were fast and fleeting like the winds themselves. My body contorted strangely. I could still see the old woman as she danced. Sometimes it would look as if she disappeared, other times she looked more solid and real than she did normally. Sometimes the colors of her body would dim and gray while others they'd be more vibrant than the sun itself. My body groaned and protested as I tried to mimic her dance. I knew I could complete it, even if I was nowhere as proficient as my old teacher.
	I had never seen or spoken to the little spirits that the old woman talked about, no matter how much I danced. And tonight was no different.

Thokgrim POV
	Damn it all. Hundreds of thoughts flashed through my head. Which of my siblings had it been? Why had they done it? After all, I had dropped from the race by that point. And my father. What was he thinking? The light of my candle was burning low. Taking a breath I decided to get some fresh air. I liked to stand out on my balcony. The cool night air helped me to focus. But tonight was to be different then most.
	I smiled at that thought. Everything had started to change ever since I met her. Doors that I had thought locked to me were starting to creep open in my mind. I would be the first of my siblings to sponsor a Dragoneir. Oh yes, several of my brothers and one of my sisters had Dragoneirs under their leadership, but that was not the same. I knew that if I went through with this plan that my fate would be tied to hers. Her victories would be my victories, her defeats my defeats. It, of course, didn't help that she wasn't an Orc. While most of my father's court wasn't outwardly racist, they were condescending and dismissive of any they thought weaker than themselves. Which ended up being practically everything other than orcs.
	Shaking my head of these errant thoughts movement caught my eyes. It was across and below me, at the base of the second spire. I already knew who it was. It was her. The woman was dancing in naught but one of the oversized nightgowns I had procured for her. And yes, she was dancing. At first I had thought she might've been going through some sort of weapon forms, but there was no glint of steel in her hands. I became entranced as I watched, unable to pull my eyes away. I was not pulled to her like a man is to a woman, no it was something else. Like a moth to a flame. Something so bright and ethereal that my eyes could do naught but look. I had never heard or seen of a dance as complex and strange as hers. Not in the entirety of mine or my father's libraries. I had thought that I had been a skilled dancer. I would find myself comfortable in the ballrooms of every nation that currently stood after all. But this, this was something else. Like the moth's flame her form seemed to flicker and jump. My eyes would try to follow only to be wrenched towards her when she moved into an unexpected form.
	Eventually, as I knew not how long I stood there watching, she stopped. And with a final look up at the moon, we both went back inside.
[/hider]



The following are not from the POV of Eira, Fflam, or Thokgrim

[hider=The fall of Avalan]
Arvel POV
	My hand tightened on the shaft of my spear. There was something unsettling about the southern stretches. It was still cold, but they did not have the great ice plains of my home. It was nights like this, when the Sky Father's torch does not hang in the sky, that I missed my home the most. Gulping, I stared out over the wall. It was unnatural, wrong to have us out here on a night like this. If I was home, then I'd be wrapped in furs with my family around me. Not here, standing like a beacon for all the dark things to hunt. I feared them not because I was coward. No, I feared these dark things because why else would the Sky Father keep his torch in the night sky. We were not meant to fight these things of moonless nights.
	I spun, my spear already coming down as a hand touched my shoulder. My breathing was already ragged and my vision unfocused. When my eyesight cleared I realized who I had just tried to attack. "I-I-I'm sorry, Lieutenant!" I flinched as my stammering turned into a shout. The older man just looked back at me as he held my spear firmly in his grasp. I wouldn't be able to take it from him even if I wanted to. The Lieutenant could use Prana. I had seen him cleave a Great Bear in two with one swing before.
	"Arvel," he said, his voice filled with the assurance of experience, "what fool put you on the wall tonight? I know we're mostly Wildermen but we have enough southerners for nights like this." The man seemed truly concerned. It reminded of my how lucky I had been to be sent to his company. 
	"Some of the men fell sick, sir. I was told that I'd be taking their place." We both knew it was a lie, and we were both powerless to do anything about it. Those soldiers didn't fall sick, they just found joy in being able to harass one of the northerners when they could.
	"Is that so? It's a rough night tonight."
	I followed the man's gaze as it went back over the wall. The mountains loomed in the distance. I knew most southerners thought of us as being superstitious fools, but they had never felt one of the Long Nights. There are things in the dark. Things that feast on all manner of beast. As my fear began to spike a saw movement coming over one of the rocky ridges.
	"Lieutenant, there's something out there." I nearly whispered, hoping not to attract the attention of whatever creature prowled this moonless night.
	"Don't worry Arvel, there are no beasts..." the Lieutenant's voiced faded to nothing as flickering lights appeared across the ridge. "Stand your guard." His voice commanded as he ran to gather the men.
	I stood there, like a statue or an elk that realizes it's been spotted. This was it, I thought. The torches kept appearing, but I saw no glint of worn steel, nor were there lines straight and ordered. And, as I watched, I noticed that their torches flickered and bobbed. They were not steady in the least. Then slowly, disorderly, the mass of torches came to a stop. One of them left the group and came to the wall, right to were I was. I saw her as she approached. I knew at once what she was, an elf. I had heard my grandmother's stories of them. I had never seen an elf myself before.
	"Guard!" She shouted, her voice carried unnaturally across the winds. "We seek asylum!"
	"Why would a company of elves be seeking asylum here? Why not Avalon?" I shouted back. I could see her face in the flickered light of her torch. It was cut and bruised with dirt smeared into her hair and clothes. And yet, despite all this, this woman glowed with a beauty that I had never seen before.
	She looked up at my and I saw pain in her forest green eyes. I saw fire and lightning. I saw great fathers of the forest being felled by war chasing axes. I saw dire drakes rush across the skies tearing through Dragon Riders. I saw an exodus of a people banished from their home.
	"Avalan has fallen."
[/hider]