Tyrian Trakas

Name: Tyrian Trakas

Age: 34

Gender: Male

Race: Human (From Vacuo, if it matters)

Height: 6'7"

Weight: Varies. somewhere in the area of 270lbs when not focusing

Hair: The little he has is brown.

Eyes: Deep green.

Appearance: Nearly irrelivant since he almost never takes off his armor. he's covered from head to toe in scars, many of which are on his head and arms. The scarring prevents a lot of his head from growing hair, so he just shaves it from time to time. Built as hell in terms of muscles, and very strong, square facial features.

But, again, it doesn't matter. He keeps himself encased in armor most times, and when he hasn't got his armor on, he keeps most of his body wrapped in bandages to prevent people from seeing his scars, since he hates them himself and thinks they look hideous. The armor he wears is a platemail with a sort of goldish bronze color, and purple lining on each individual plate.

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Personality: No amount of paragraphs will ever describe how a character acts in any given situation. That being said, Tyrian tends to try to maintain as much of a level head as he can in any situation. His mind is racing with strategies both in the midst of combat, and during tense situations. He's a very down to earth person, and he enjoys talking to people and helping them out with any problems they have. He can be stubborn, and has trouble taking advice when he needs it, though.

When he's not in his armor, he's a different person. He's nervous, and all the stratagy he had before turns into anxious thoughts, thinking up situations that would probably never happen. even the simple removal of his helmet causes him to be on edge. The more important the piece of armor missing, the more stressed he gets.

Weapon and Abilities: His weapon he keeps in a specially made slot in his armor. it's a shield (Rough image to be uploaded later, just so people can get an idea). it starts as a bar about the length of his forearm, and just a bit wider. two other bars of the same size deploy from the sides, and two spike like plates deploy from there. one at the top and one at the bottom. metal braces appear from the farthest ends of the shield, and scales are deployed into them, locking into place once reaching the end of the braces, forming a spiked layer at the top and bottom of the shield. the shield can be deployed to various stages of this transformation depending on what he needs at the moment.

His semblance allows him to control gravity, to an extent. He uses it very often, either making his armor heavier for training, or lighter for convinience and mobility. it's also useful for the storage of his shield, which is still incredibly heavy when folded up and tucked away. because of this, he'll often use his semblance without thinking about it, explaining the varying weight. (Doctors hate him! find out how with this one simple tip)

as for everyday abilities, he's very strong by himself even without the semblance. he'll often be seen helping people with chores if they need it, carrying heavy loads and such. he loves to cook, and a happy hum will echo from his armor while he's doing it. as stated before, he has great tactical knowledge, and uses this to both command troops and dismantle the enemy's.

Backstory: Tyrian doesn't know much about where he came from. only that he was left in the harsh desert by his parents to die at a very young age. He never knew why, because his parents were very well off and could easily have afforded to raise him. a pack of beowulf saw him there alone and thought him easy prey. they had nearly killed him when a shot rang off and the pack leader fell to the ground. the rest of the beowulf turned to the source of the shot, growled, and ran away. the very young boy, around 5 or 6 at the time and bleeding heavily, heard a kindly old man say "lets get you cleaned up now. he was scooped up and brought to the man's house.

He'd suffered grevious injuries, and was just barely saved. his legs were broken in several places, and some things had been torn. the doctor said he would never walk again. as he grew, he began to grow frustrated. no one wanted to be around him, and they all attacked him, just like the wolves. he hated it. he covered himself in bandages so they might not notice the scars. when he was around 15, he'd had enough. His life had been taken from him and he was going to take it back or die trying. he pulled himself up out of his wheelchair, fire in his eyes, clinging to a railing in his house. any amount of pressure he put on his legs sent him into great pain, and they wouldn't hold up. every day he tried this, and every time the results were the same. He was going to make himself walk again, screw nature! He began to yell, and ever so slightly, he was able to support himself. Through pure force of will, he was able to control how much he weighed. he felt as light as a feather. putting the barest amount of weight on his feet, he began to walk, still clinging to the railing as he went.

he trained like this every day, until he stopped needing the railing all together. he could walk. it was stumbling and crude, but it was walking. he started walking everywhere, hoping to get better. when he had mastered walking, he tried jogging, and then running. This wasn't enough. he wanted compensation. Interest. he made himself heavier, put more of a burden on his legs, and the rest of his body. every day he'd do this to build muscle. soon, he was one of the strongest in his village. he heard about a school known as "Beacon." and thought it'd be a fresh start. no one would know him there. But he needed a weapon. He commisioned the blacksmith to make him a set of armor, and a shield. he vowed to never let anything touch him again. he would be a tide of iron.

He passed the entrance exam, throwing around the instructors like they were nothing, and deflecting any blows they threw at him.