Gray Masters

Gray Masters has lived a very average life, for the most part. He grew up in the city, like most shooters, accustomed to technology and civilization, with the expectation that he would eventually join the military to help keep them safe from those strange, feral dragons who flung magic about as easily and thoughtlessly as breathing. They didn't even know what they were doing, really, so it was best for everyone That the shooters stay in charge.

As a young man he had various on and off flings that never really went anywhere. When he finally joined the military ranks it was practically a relief. He did best with someone above him telling him what to do and when. Being bossed around didn't suit everyone, but it did suit Gray. At least, he thought it did.

Active Service, when it came around, proved to be a very different animal. it wasn't as if he was a gem hunter, but ground troops were still deployed periodically and borders were still maintained. It was all well and good, slaughtering lesser life forms, but the thing was, up close, it was curiously easy to forget that they were lesser. Dashers certainly screamed like shooters when they were ground into the dirt. Weavers certainly begged for their lives like shooters would. Sweeper children cried for their parents in exactly the same way he once had. So much so that he started to have nightmares about it. He developed strange tendencies and obsessive habits, like washing his paws over and over and over and over (why did they still smell like blood ? he could still smell it-), and always turning his ears to listen for sounds that weren't there. His obsessive compulsive habits only worsened, until people started to look at him funny.

It may have been a psychotic break, or a nervous one, but eventually something in him snapped. He fled his military compound in the middle of the night and fled, leaving behind military life and shooter society. Making his way was difficult at first, and many dragons were as keen on destroying shooters as all the children's stories said they were. But it turned out that many more still were as willing to help someone in need - shooter or no - as anything. Gray eventually wandered to Ivoryhelm to secure a position in the city guard, where he could comfortably be ordered around and break up street brawls without fear of anyone ordering him to pull gems out of still living flesh. He still has a litany of nervous ticks and obsessive habits (he can still smell it-) but he's doing his best to get them under control, and he's good at his job.