Jump to content



Approved Warders Bio for Gunnar Sanuin--WT CC


Recommended Posts

Character Name: Gunnar Sanuin

Age: 18

Origin: Andor, Caemlyn

Hair: Black, cropped short

Eye color: Dark Brown

Height: 6’2

Weight: 190



Gunnar is your average Andoran youth. His parents are simple people, his

father is a baker he is the proprietor of a bakery which is prospering

nicely, but nonetheless it is just a bakery. It isn’t a renowned bakery, nor

was there any special secret recipe, just bread, cake and the like. His

mother is a seamstress of great talent, but in Gunnar’s opinion all her

talent is going to waste seeing as how most of the time she makes dresses

and skirts but doesn’t charge for them or gives enormous discounts. He

wasn’t opposed to charity or anything but there was always a limit for such



Gunnar’s occupation of choice was just to help his father out with the

buying, selling, delivering and carrying of ingredients from the various

outlying farms to the bakery. He didn’t do it for free or “helping the

family out†he bargained with his father for a fair wage. All the hauling

around of heavy sacks had given him a good back for carrying things, not to

mention a sense of lightness when he wasn’t so heavily encumbered. In

addition to the physical advantages to his livelihood, he acquired a

mercantile sense from haggling for prices and ingredients. But besides

ogling at farm girls, sometimes making a bit of extra profit and the

occasional interesting rumor, he found this all pretty dull. To make up for

his monotonous life, he would normally submerse himself in books. Anything

he could get his hands on, he read, but his favorites were the stories of

great warriors and epic heroes. He was so passionate about them, that

eventually he took up to reading scrolls on the various types of weaponry.

He’d never had any practice, but if it were up to theory, he was almost a

weapons master. He had a sword but it was only for show, a warning to

thieves. He sometimes practiced the forms in the scrolls with it, but it

didn’t feel like he was doing it right, and the scrolls did say you needed a

mentor, so he just supposed he was doing them wrong.


But in addition to reading, he had another escape from the mundane:

taverns. This was really his reason for living the day to day. As soon as

evening was upon the walls of Caemlyn, Gunnar was in a tavern, drinking

heavily and listening to tall tales and vulgar jokes. For him that was his

place, half drunk, laughing out loud, calling someone a liar, telling a few

of his own fabrications and generally flaunting anything he could flaunt.

When those drinks started running through his blood, he’d do and say

anything to impress. But that was just preparing for what he really enjoyed,

brawling. He metaphorically loved poking bulls between the eyes, just to get

a rise out of them. But literally, he’d drop a drink on anyone’s head, knock

anyone to the floor, spit in anyone’s drink and his personal favorite call

anyone’s sister a pig. That last one always riled them up, but he’d always

let his opponent throw the first punch to get himself into the spirit of the

melee. After that, well he never did remember what came after that, once the

fight took him, his consciousness just turned off. It was all battle rage

and instincts after that. Since he never did want to actually hurt anyone,

especially himself, he didn’t use the sword, and because of this, his

fighting evolved into a hand to hand style or anything he could get his hand

on, chairs, table legs, mugs, bottles, anything became a weapon to him,

there was this one time with a fish… but that’s another story. In short he

became a common, everyday brawler. He’d end every night with a heap of new

bruises and a few cuts, but if you asked him about it he’d just say, “You

should see the other guy.†His injuries didn’t escalate not because he was a

skilled fighter or anything, but just because since it was his nightly

routine, the repetition of it just developed a sixth sense towards where his

opponent would kick or punch next.


But there was one day that instincts, battle rage and table legs didn’t

matter. As soon as he woke up that day he knew that there was going to be a

fight that night, and not any kind of fight but a dangerous fight, a fight

where he could get seriously hurt. It excited him and terrified him. He

could always not go, but the excitement got the better of him. That night he

drank more than he’d ever drunk. He insulted more than he’d ever insulted.

But no one rose up to his bait. And then it happened. A head entered the

tavern. Or more like it seemed like a head had entered the tavern. It was

actually a warder with his color shifting cloak. This was the fight, Gunnar

knew it. But now that he knew it was a warder he hesistated. So he just let

it go, there’d be other great fights eventually he thought. But the wheel

wills as the wheel will. And the warder went directly towards Gunnar. Seeing

him up close, Gunnar noticed that the warder looked gaunt, frustrated, and

miserable and the most noticeable of all there wasn’t an aes sedai in sight.

That’s when he remembered the rumors he had heard, there was a warder in the

city that had lost his aes sedai at a confrontation in the Blight and he’d

been picking fights all around Caemlyn.


“What are you looking at?†asked the warder. And Gunnar knowing he was going

to get pummeled anyways decided to at least get one shot in and responded,

“Your ugly mug†and threw a mug at the warder’s face and connected. The

warder reflexively responded with his fist. After that there was just Gunnar

on the floor taking a good beating and getting in a kick to the warder’s

shin occasionally. When the warder was content he drew his sword at pointed

it at Gunnar’s neck, smiled in a menacingly way and was about to put it back

into its sheath, when Gunnar drew his sword and clanged his sword with the

warder’s. That’s when the warder took a stance Gunnar had seen in his

weapons scroll. The warder wouldn’t tolerate being defied, he wanted to

break someone, not have a little punk stand up to him. But Gunnar took his

own erroneous stance, and when the warder came at him he actually parried

one, two of his attacks. And then the warder broke Gunnar’s sword and with a

careful flick made Gunnar’s broken hilt fly through the air. And then Gunnar

knew that the few blows he had parried had been the warder’s wretchedness

that allowed it. “You really do think too much of yourself for your own

good†the warder told him before he cut Gunnar’s right little finger off and

took it with him out the door.


After that, all Gunnar remembered was being sewn up by a Wisdom and

waking up the next day with out his little finger. After that incident, he

frequented the taverns less and was really setting into his drab life

without the brawling, when he read a book that contained information about

warders. And that’s when all his fury rose up from that night and he decided

he would not live in fear. And he certainly wouldn’t let a rebel warder

wander around with his little finger in his pocket. There really was nothing

for him in Caemlyn anymore, no ties, and his parents could get on without

him. Not to mention there was glory in it all, there would be excitement and

adventure and maybe even learn to use all the weapons he’d been reading

about all those years. So right then and there he met up with a caravan set

out for Tar Valon and his new life which promised to be all that he’d read


Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 3 years later...
  • Create New...