Ashton Field (http://i.imgur.com/JMF4G.gif) Had gotten onto the lightning rail earlier that day. The city of New Cyre was home to the largest group of Cyran refugees, and yet the situation was deplorable there. Roads were little better than muddy roads that were unusable after a rain, and a fifth of the people still lived in shantys and tents. Ashton himself was lucky enough to have gotten a small home, even if it was painfully small even for one person who was not the most extravagant. Since the last war, it seemed luck was never upon his side. His home was destroyed, his family killed... And a month after witnessing Cyres destruction as he was in the borders of Thrane, he felt a great pain on the left side of his body... Something that grew into an intricate, but ugly design. A dragon mark of shapeless and painful to look at form. Small as a closed fist at first, but it had begun to grow now and then, though it never exploded in growth.<br/><br/>He was in a booth at the moment, dressed in light armor, and geared for battle. He never trusted the rails implicitly, and he was able to be armed as long as he had his weapons visible and secured. A handsome enough man, he was of a good build, standing at six feet even, and short dark hair. His blue eyes looked a tad solemn, but hardly unfriendly. For now, he had just gotten out of a nap, yawning as he looked around and opened his eyes.