<div class="floatleft">(https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DpG80s-VAAADQMS.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>Alfred Birche<br/><strong>Alias</strong>Leshy<br/>Tagging: Pretty much everybody in attendance, Sam (particular importance), Angel (mentioned)<br/><hr/>It was always a weird happenstance when a villain and a hero got together, and while they had lived short lives, both The Maiden of Seasons and Bloodhound had managed to cram some interesting life experiences into their time actively villaining and heroing respectively. And then some time in their thirties, they had a kid. Not too uncommon for two Supers to have a kid that came out Super, too, but he'd been... not quite sheltered, but rather, he simply wasn't made into a big deal, affording him some minor degree of normalcy--unlike some people who'd had fame thrust upon them since they were little more than kids.<br/><br/>Consequently, little was actually known about Leshy himself, other than who his parents were, and their own accomplishments--The Maiden had been a terror that plagued Europe for quite some time, with blackouts caused by her freak wind storms, wild fires sparked by her pyromancy... and on, and on, all those things done to cover her crimes. Some, of course, would still consider The Maiden a villain, even if she wasn't robbing banks; she was a CEO of a major research company that had fallen under the scrutiny of some regulatory agencies, though no wrong-doing had ever actually been found.<br/><br/>On the flipside, his father, Bloodhound, worked at an institute that specialized in people with shapeshifting abilities. He'd been a part of a para-police force to apprehend Super-criminals, and had earned his nickname based both on his lycanthropic transformation, as well as his ability to track people by their scent over vast distances.<br/><br/>And then there was Leshy... whatever came from those two producing a child. And today wasn't about his parents, or the training he's been through since his powers first manifested. It's not even about how the past week, he's been using the training course at the institute his father worked at; nowhere near as complex and intimidating as Super High, but a rigorous physical regimen nonetheless. Something that had helped him prepare for today.<br/><br/>A great deal of pressure fell upon him as he moved through the other assembled soon-to-be Supers. Of note is his custom tailored clothing, which looked a little odd on him as a human--especially the hole in the back of his jeans, designed for his tail when he shifted forms--but one other student would probably feel pinpricks of chilly cold radiating from the oddly dressed twenty-something.<strong>Faith</strong>. It radiated burning power from him, but not the sort of burning associated with fire; rather, it was that unique burn associated with coldness. Winter. Frost. A silver medallion hung around his neck, and if anybody had knowledge of the Slavic Pagan gods, they might recognize the symbol etched on it; and if they spoke Ukrainian, they might even be able to read the engraving.<br/><br/>The Symbol belonged to Moranna, some times called Marzanna, or a few other names depending on region; Goddess of Winter, and one half of duality that comprised the cycle of Life and Death; she was responsible for the death part.  The engraving seemed to be more personal to him, though, since, if properly translated, it read "Blood for blood, and bread for bread, never forget me." It looked like it was the sort of thing that would open up, possibly containing some sort of memento in it... but all anybody would see right now is the chilly silver pendant, and its strange symbols. And one student might have the ill-fortune of feeling<em>modest discomfor</em>t from both the wearer and the item itself.<br/><hr/>Time seemed to pass too slowly, or too quickly for some, but he kept track of every second as it passed. Soon, he was up and ready for the course, just waiting for its change to 'settle', and for him to be given the signal to go. For him, the first part was great; a straight running section with high hurdles to jump over or slip under. He took a few steps, dropped towards the ground--was he fainting?--no, the human was being replaced with something much more... cat. A very large, still mostly human shaped, lynx like cat-man. And he was charging forward on all fours, tail angling this way and that, allowing him to spin on a dime. Powerful leg muscles allowed him to reach high speeds, and acute focus allowed him to alternate between pouncing up and over hurdles, or skittering underneath them, with little to no slow down. Seven.<br/><br/>The run led up to a simple wall climb of wooden planks, and his claws left gouges in the wood as he scaled it; creaked in protest as he leaped straight off from the top, and shifted mid-air back to human. He hit the ground with a solid impact, but rolled and tumbled in the manner of training gymnasts and Parkour practitioners--most certainly something he picked up from his father. He sprung up the moment he recovered from the tumble, and without a thought, dived into the water, sinking deep like his claws had sunk into the wood. eighteen.<br/><br/>The swimming portion was probably the slowest for him.  He emerged from the pool, wiped water off his forehead and then cleared his eyes. He shook excess water off his body, pushed hair out of his way. Thirty three?<br/><br/><em>Why couldn't it be storming? So calm... too calm.</em>The thought rattled around in his head as he ascended a series of metal bars, then swung along them; dropped down onto a platform, sprinted, jumped up; rinse, repeat.  Average days like these made it hard for him to get fully fired up. Another swing, and... back, and forth, let go, swing backwards, ascend higher. It was 'Z' shaped, and he was moving from the bottom to the top, and he had to purge the thoughts from his mind, and just focus. What awaited him at the top? One minute, ten seconds. Maybe he was wrong about the swim. The bars had been tough, because his hands had still been somewhat slick with water, but he was soon to get dried off...<br/><br/>Fire spewed out in regular intervals from several dragon-shaped statues. To add to that, he was up... maybe thirty, forty feet off the ground, no guard rails, and a beam to cross so thin that he couldn't have his feet side by side. The intervals of the fire spewing dragons could be timed accurately, but that would be a waste.  Maybe watchers would mistake him for having some sort of immunity to flames, but no, it's just that as he focused on walking, he redirected the flames around him.<br/><br/>A zip-line awaited him at the end, back to ground level, and he rode it for only part of the way down, before he dropped again. Seeing the next challenge ahead of him, he again did this mid-air shapeshift back to the 'spirit form'. When he landed from dropping off the zip-line, it was on all fours. He saw targets ahead of him, and weapons arrayed out. Presumably, some people would prefer to take out the solid targets with any of the various slug-throwers or plasma-casters or whatever fancy training weapons--or were they real?--were left out. Not him, though, he just hops over the weapon-counter, bulldozing through one target with his momentum, then bobbing and weaving as he selectively ripped off legs and heads with claw swipes. Hell, he took out one target's legs with a tail swipe, and while it certainly looked intentional, it was just some sort of good luck on his part.<em>Gotta beat mom's record... ten seconds to go!</em><br/><br/>Like it had started, so it seemed to end. It was just a straight shot towards a finish line. He went full speed to cross the distance, shifting back and jumping off the ground and through the ribbon just as he finishes.<br/><br/>His mother's old score here had been two minutes even. When he finds out he was one second off, he is... meh. It's a calm day. He can't be too bothered.  He was sure she'd have minor nitpicks, with some actual critiquing, sent his way when the whole trial was over. For now, though, he'd just go over and find the place where the rest of the people who'd beaten the time limit were; maybe he'd sprawl out in the sun and just have a lil' cat-nap while he waited for the big news.