Strider

Neiran Rask was the heir to the Rask Barony, the ruling power on Karomeer, a primarily agricultural planet at the fringes of Karrakin space. He is the eldest among 4 brothers and 2 sisters. He had just begun the first stages of training to inherit the family chassis, a great honor among the baronies and a formality to indicate he was soon to take the throne. Neiran never found out who started the rumor that he was a bastard child born of a poor farmer's daughter, not a prince of royal blood and with no claim to the throne. Perhaps it a political rival seeking to destabilize the Rask seat of power within Karrakin territory, or perhaps it was a simple case of sibling jealousy from an impatient little brother who scoffed at waiting patiently for his chance to rule. Ultimately, it doesn't matter who started the rumor, because all of the wrong people, the court of nobles and even some of the other Karrakin Barons, believed the slander to be true and his father would not jeopardize what little power the Rask name held among the Baronies and House Companies by standing against them. Baron Varsimius' habit of bedding peasant women who struck his fancy was a poorly kept secret after all, and Neiran's late mother was unfortunately unable to testify on his behalf. Within a two days and without ceremony, Neiran was cast out from his ancestral home and left with nothing but the clothes on his back and the GMS training chassis he had been sparring with when the news came in. Neiran found no allies or sympathizers among the common people. He had done little to sway public opinion in his favor during his time as a prince, as his ascension to the throne was all but guaranteed before this tragedy. As such, the people he once ruled over saw him as an entitled brat, or even worse, a liar, who finally got what was coming to him. Neiran had no choice but to leave. This place was no longer his home and he was no longer welcome.
The past few months have been hard on the once lavish, pampered noble. Silk sheets have been replaced by dirty rags and straw cots. Weeks long parties sprawling the entire palace were replaced by cramped nights spent sheltering from the acidic rain within his chassis. The team of stylists and artists at his beck and call were replaced by the harsh rays of the twin suns beating down on his face. Neiran was forced to learn how to survive like the common folk that he never gave so much as a single thought to before he was stripped of his birthright.
It is not so surprising then that Neiran found his way into bloodsport, hoping to make a name for himself, a desperate attempt to reclaim some of his lost honor using the few skills he learned in his training. The Grid Iron tournament welcomes the noble and the pauper alike.

Eyes

Light Brown

Hair

Dark Brown

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

White

Aligned Organization

Firebrands