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DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

devon

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  • Birthday 06/27/1987

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  1. Character’s name: Letair Narasam Sar-Orani Age (must be 16 - 21): Place of Origin (must be from the mainland of Randland): Saldaea, but of mixed Saldaen/Andoran descent Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Blue Height: 180cms Weight: 80 kilograms Brief History: Letair was born in Saldaea, to a Saldaean mother and an Andoran father. Over the years of their marriage, his mother grew to hate his father, for not behaving as she believed a man should, how she had be raised to expect. She abused him more and more in private, become severely physically violent to try and exact the response she so dearly craved, but his father had been brought up to never raise his voice to a woman, and to never put a finger upon her in anger. Her anger spread to her only child, and at the tender age of twelve, Letair snapped. In a rage, fuelled by his Saldaen upbringing he stormed in on his parents with a wooden knife he had taken from their meagre possessions. He entered their bedroom to find his father mangled, his arm broken in two places and his legs both bleeding all over. His mother turned to face him, and he saw madness in her eyes. She advanced toward him, malice dripping. Fear, anger and horror flowed through his already tall body as she closed, he was certain he would not survive the encounter. His hand slid forward and the knife plunged into her heart. His mother, his poor, dear mother collapsed onto him, pushing him to the ground, blood pouring out in a rush all around the knife. Completely horrified, and on the brink of retching, Letair backed away from the corpse, soaked in blood. Before he could panic, his father’s calm voice reached out to him, and stopped Letair from fleeing. Mind going numb to avoid the pain, Letair followed his father’s instructions to pull the bloody knife from the dead body, and he walked over to his father. The one good arm left to the man reached out and closed around Letair’s shaking hand and the knife. He then slowly plunged it into his own heart, whispering that this was better than the life he would have had to live as his lungs emptied for the last time. Letair, left the room, knife still in his hand. He left Saldaea, and the Borderlands entirely, living off of what he could scrounge from the charitable and steal from the unwary, though he never was a good thief. The bloodstained knife remained always around his neck, covered in an enamel to protect it from water. He drifted between towns, and the Great Cities, never staying too long for fear of being caught by a thief-taker, but even so not avoid a fair share of brawls. After four years of wandering, Letair ended up in the Cairhienin Foregate, on one of the rare occasions that he had enough money to stay at an inn he fatefully chose the Fat Cat Inn. Sitting in the cosy common room, he noticed two rough looking men acting shifty, not unlike himself, and he followed them when they tried to slip up the stairs unseen. Upon remaining undetected after following them to the top floor he listened at the door they had entered. Through the mutter he could understand, he deciphered that they had kidnapped innkeeper’s daughter. Cursing his knack for attracting trouble he flung open the door and took on the kidnappers, really only glorified bandits, and knocked them both unconscious. After tying both of the scum, as he thought of them, he grabbed the band of keys that the uglier of the two had held. Raising his voice to a conversational tone, he managed to exact a squeak from the kidnapped girl. After his frustration exploded after not being able to open the cupboard door with any of its keys, he ripped it off with adrenaline-fuelled strength. He spent the rest of that night comforting the terrified girl. Letair spent the next six years of his life taking care of the girl particularly after the death of her father. Her name was Ceridwyn Taereth, and it took a lot of effort keeping her out of the brawls and fights she seemed to attract. When she was discovered by the White Tower, and taken there to be entered as a novice Letair was forgotten, but he followed on foot, and hopes to become a Warder to defend his close friend. She had left only a brief note, saying where she had gone, but his new-found fatherly (or at least elder-brotherly) instinct made him follow, trekking cross-country to Tar Valon.
  2. And don't fret about the metric units. We have those converted on our end!
  3. Character’s name: Gayden Tishar Age : 18 Place of Origin: Saldea Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Brown Height: 1.6 meters Weight: 51Kg Brief History: Gayden was born in Maradon, Saldaea, with a twin sister, to one of the city guards and a merchant’s daughter. His mother was killed by trollocs when visiting her sister in a village. When he was 15, few Aes Sedai visited Maradon looking for new novices. They found out his sister could channel, and they said they would take her to Tar Valon. Before his sister went to the tower, he promised her he would train with the sword and come to become her warder. After 3 years of two-handed sword training, his teachers finally decided he was ready to go to the White Tower. Near Dragonmount he met two Aes Sedai on their way to the Borderlands to find new warders. One of them went back with him to the Tower, and one of them continued on her way to saldaea. More information: Education: since of being a son of a city watch, Gayden don’t know reading and know very little math. Battles: Weapons: Gayden mainly uses his large Two-handed sword to knock his enemies and stab them. Weakness: Gayden can be very easily angered, which is used against him in battles. Cloths: even of being a guardsman’s son, Gayden love wearing fancy cloths, but since his mother’s death he wears most of the time black cloak and cloths. Personality: Gayden can be described as a nice and kind person. He is a very stubborn person, if he will decide the sun is blue, well, then the sun is blue. He is very loyal, and once he gives a promise, it will not be broken. As every Borderman, he hates the shadow, and since of his mother’s death, he hates it even more. (one of the reasons he wants to become a warder)A
  4. Name: Casdegere Constantine Age: 18 Place of Origin: Andor, specifically White Bridge. Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Ice Blue Height: 5’11 Weight: 195# Brief History: Someone once said, “A man can leave the Borderlands but the Borderlands never leaves the man.” Casdegere (Kazz-deh-gear) was such a man that had seen more than his share of blood and war. He was Andoran in truth but he had not stepped foot in Andor for most of his 18 years. His father, Egan always had an unnatural thirst for war and the men of the Borderlands were more than happy to oblige him. He took Casdegere, a babe then and his mother Ilenia into Shienar, to the city-fortress of Ankor Dale. There his father fought alongside the Shienarans for many years and when Casdegere was old enough to hold a blade he, along with the other boys were taught the basics of combat and also how to survive in the blight. Years passed and Casdegere had not improved much as a warrior next to his father against men and darkspawn and he had seen many men die. After his father was killed his mother passed one month later due to grief for she had loved his father dearly. Casdegere was given his father's blade and armor but he had lost his taste for war. Scouting and the blight was all he knew but he had never done anything for himself. Having no other motivations to give him a reason to continue there he decided to head to Tar Valon where he thought he might be allowed to learn by the famous Tower guard he had heard of if it be the will of the light. Physical Description/Possessions: "Impressive weapon…can you use it?" Casdegere is 18 years old with an almost constant tanned exterior. His eyes show an age much older though, a piercing blue below a dark, stern brow and a mass of raven black hair held by a leather cord. His face holds narrow cheeks and sharp edges that mimic his purposeful demeanor and his chin and face are always well kept. He is quick and lithe and possesses a greater deal of endurance compared to strength, something that kept him alive in such places as the blight. He prefers lighter cloth and leathers colored in browns and greens which have served to hide him from unwanted eyes. He carries with him an old, ornate Bastard Sword, a matching long-knife and a set of Dark brown, studded leather armor that has been well cared for. He chose to gift his father's horse to a friend that chose to stay and retained his own, a fast, Dark Brown gelding named Corson that was given to him by the Lord of Ankor Dale himself.
  5. The boy was terrible. He got his sword mixed up with his limbs, he had no balance, and was generally in more danger of stabbing himself with his sword than getting stabbed by his opponent. But no matter how many times Kalan smashed his lathe into Grey, no matter how he cursed and spat, Grey never quit. It was frustrating (the raised vein on Kalan's forehead could attest to that), but the lad would not stay down! Anybody could learn how to hold a sword or swing an ax, but the one thing Kalan couldn't teach was bravery. The minutes stretched into an hour, and Kalan could clearly see that Grey had little left in him. At least he's not stabbing himself in his feet now. Still a milk drinking sop but at least he's learning. Kalan held up a hand and grunted at Grey to follow him. The two of them left the yards and went towards one of the stone barracks that surrounded the yard. The one they approached was three stories of off white stone, not nearly as nice as many of the buildings that dotted Tar Valon, but still nice than one would expect lowly soldiers to inhabit. Kalan pulled his pipe back out and begun chewing on the stem, irritated at this babysitting he had to do. It came with the territory, but it didn't mean he had to like it. They came upon a door on the second floor which Kalan kicked open. Inside were a number of beds, some chests, and a small table with a bowl and bucket for water. "Grab any bunk you want. We'll have some more grunts arriving soon, so don't enjoy the solitude. If you want grub, you bloody better ask someone where the mess hall is. I don't care what you do tonight, but I expect you to be out in the practice yards shortly after first bell." As he hustled himself out of the room, Kalan looked back at Gray. "Oh yeah, I forgot, welcome to the yards. I hope you know what you are doing." And with that, Kalan left the young man alone with his thoughts. ooc. One last post by you and you are all set!
  6. Character name: Damon Ilather Age: 18 Origin: Illian Hair color: Black Eye color: Brown Height: 5’11 Weight: 175 Brief history: It was his 18th birthday, Damon looked around at all the people he had known growing up. Something within him rebelled against everything that should feel normal. “This do be wrong. I should no be here,” he had told himself that on several occasions. It had started 2 summers earlier when he had met an Aes Sedai and her warder They never gave him their names but ever since then he had felt a pull telling him he was destined for greater things than to just be the pompous brat of some noble family. This, his 18th birthday, was the day where his life would change. “I do be leaving Illian today,” He told the people gathered to celebrate. “There do be things I wish to be doing with my life, I wish to see the world and become a Warder.” Damon stepped away from the group gathered his things he had set aside prior to going to his party, and grabbed the bladed quarter staff that was hung on the wall near the door. He knew not the name of this weapon but he figured if he could master it he would have the upper hand against any sword wielders out there. With all his bags packed and all his affairs set in order Damon left the house and all the people he knew behind. Damon’s journey consisted of all manner of experiences. He traveled with merchants he met up with going in the same direction as he was. At times Damon would travel alone if there were no merchant trains going towards Tar Valon. He made camp at night wherever he could find a clear spot to sleep. “I do be grateful that I listened to me instructors when they taught me about travel life,” he thought at times when it got tough on the road. Weeks went by on his journey across the land to Tar Valon. As time passed he started to toughen up and feel more like a man than he ever had living a comfortable life as a noble’s son. At last he reached Tar Valon, White Tower looming over head. “Well, it do be time I made a man out of myself,” he said as he headed towards the tower.
  7. Kalan grabbed the knife out of the air and slammed it back into its sheath, grunting. "Is that all you want? Had a whole room full of free armor and you taking that flaming thing? You boy, are daft. But the dumb ones can fight just as well as the smart ones, although they tend to get stabbed a little more, so I guess we'll take you." Walking over to another bin, this one full of small bundles of reeds strapped together with leather straps and covered with a leather handle, Kalan pulled two out and tossed them over his shoulder. "Anyways, we should probably get out of here. Still got a lot to do today to see you enrolled here in the Yards and can't wait around here." Kalan led the two of them back out into the yards where people milled about, practicing the sword in some cases, just being lazy in others. Kalan didn't like the layabouts, but even though he would have liked to get them working on something he had to figure out just how good of a trainee he was dealing with. Tossing one of the practice swords to Grey who caught it in midair, Kalan explained what was going to happen next. "All right then, lad. I need to figure out what sort of muck has shown up here. If you would kindly take that practice sword in your hand and attack me, that would just be grand. Don't be shy about hitting me, I'm sure you couldn't hurt me even if your life depended on it." Grey looked terrified, sword visibly shaking in his hands. Snorting, Kalan walked over to him. "You're doing it all wrong. I need you to attack me. Swing your sword, try to knock my head off. Like this." Kalan swung his reeds down at Grey, who blocked them and jumped back. "There, that's better. Come on now, let's dance!" With that, the two men started to duel.
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