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Talavin

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  1. Description Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Black Height: 6'2 Weight: 225 Age: 43 Place of Origin: Tear Stats Rank: Tower Guard Weapon Score: 10 Philosophy: The Flame and the Void Primary Weapon: Quarterstaff Secondary Weapon: Sabre Tertiary Weapon: Long Bow History: When he arrived to the yard, he was a wrecked 16 years old boy who had lost his girlfriend. He was given a mentor to train him into a skilled warrior, and his mentor's name was "Jared Damodred" His training began with choosing his weapons. His mentor was pleased when he choose the quarter staff instead of a sword, and as time went by he got better and better with the staff and got to know new people. When he was promoted to towerguard, one of his goals were completed and his main was getting closer everyday. One day he got his first trainee, and it was a very young girl who did indeed had what it took to become a towerguard. Her name was "Alecta" It didn't took long time before sh was as good as him as a sword man. After a while he got his second trainee "Urien" and that was to be a good learning for him. He had already started his own training in the way of ren'shai. And they became good friends also outside of training. ************************ Updated history: Now an 43 year old tower guard with lots of experience as a tower guard protecting the aes sedai and their tower. But still after all these years still hadn't found someone to bond which was strange or maybe not even though most respected him but still bullied him sometimes for his size. And many people thought him as dumb fool trying to be a tower guard with his disadvantaged size, but he never gave up on his training and actually worked really hard every day and night just to prove that he was not as dumb fooled that they all thought he was. One after-noon he recieved a letter written by his father, telling him to hurry back to Tear to visit them, 'cause his mother being very sick and beyond saving. As he arrived in Tear his father met him at the docks to escort him home to the Elvilmawien house in town. His mother had caught a strange illness making her shiver, spit blodd, rabble on about strange creatures roaming in the city heart which made no sence at all, since the city was well protected from most things trying to get in. Her illness only got worse as Jozan stayed with them for a few days and two days later his mother died in bed with agonizing pain and was buried in the sea as to make sure no one else would get infected with the same illness as her. After the funeral he left Tear and went on a trip on his own to clear his thoughts, and on his trip he met two beggars that became his companions during his journey towards Tar Valon, as he had been gone a long time and needed something to get his resent loss of his mother. And he knew the tower guards needed more personals in the tower, as to help the new recruits to get to tower guards or even warders one day.
  2. Name: Lone Revicana Place of Origin: Kandor, near the Plain of Lances Hair: Shoulder length Dark Brown Eyes: Gray-Blue Height: 6'0 Weight: 195 lbs Age: 21 History: Born of Salvin and Venda Revicana of Chachin. They met when Salvin returned from exploring the world. They fell in love on sight and were soon married. Venda's family disowned her for marrying below her station for she was a close cousin of the current Queen of Kandor. That gave her and Salvin the perfect reason to move to a small town near the Saldaea border in the Plain of Lances. There they started an inn and had a child, Lone Revicana Lone had cheerful childhood. Very few Trolloc raids reached the town if ever, crime was almost non-existent, and Lone had many friends. His father taught what he had learned in his travels and at the age 11, he began taking him hunting, teaching him to use the bow and to track. His mother taught him court etiquette, to dance, and the noble workings of the Borderland countries. Lone helped run the inn. At first, he would help his father assign rooms, take payment, and show people to their rooms. Later, he helped with repairs and caring for horses. It was in his 15th year that an Aes Sedai and her Warder arrived for a stay at the inn. While most were amazed with the Aes Sedai, Lone was more interested in the Warder. He had always dreamed of being a hero; protect his loved and his beloved Kandor. Becoming a Warder seemed to be the way to acquire the skills necessary. It was from that day forward that he trained for even a chance to become a Warder, asking any soldiers and warriors for whatever tips they could give him, exercising daily, and practicing his archery. He found that he favored the traditional Kandori style of battle, dual short swords. For his 18th birthday, his parents bought a pair of finely crafted Kandori short swords with curved, double-edged blades that he wore strapped to his back, as was the Kandori way. Finally, at the age of 21, he told his parents he was leaving for the White Tower. They at first tried to make him stay, not wanting to lose their only child, but he was so determined that they give in and let him leave with their best wishes. Giving them one last hug good-bye, Lone rode out on Sentell, his midnight black stallion and started south for the Tar Valon and his future...
  3. Character’s name: Tavin Hael [Pronounced Tah-vin Hay-el] Age (must be 16 - 21): 19 years Place of Origin (must be from the mainland of Randland): Andoran Farm Hair Color: Mix between Auburn and Chocolate. (#5d2e15 in photoshop) Eye Color: Dark hazel green Height: 5 foot, 11¾ inches Weight: 183 lbs. on an empty stomach Father: Dandar Hael Mother: Endwena Hael (Deceased) Siblings: Dalima Hael (male, age 20, Luneasa Hael (female, age 14) Note: Ages in the following history vary for purposes of storyline. Above ages would be considered “current” as of the end of the history. Brief History: Wrap me in a bolt of lightning Send me on my way still smiling Maybe that’s the way I should go Straight into the mouth of the unknown Success, wonder, adventure and love, fun-filled days and restful nights: a farm and a family; having the biggest barn and the fattest sheep; tilling the best land and producing the largest crop; having a watchful dog and rolling hills bountiful with grass and the seasons’ future harvest. Small things like rolling down a hill and laughing with an older brother. Caring for a smaller sister who reveres you like a king. Perhaps these small things are what most boys raised on a farm could dream of. But the days in which particulars such as those seem but a mere misty memory, lost in the depths of a greater adventure, a larger crop. They pale, in fact, when compared to the thrill and excitement and nerve-racking, jaw-clenching, sweat-dripping tension coursing through the young man stalking softly along the edge of the trees, his footsteps only louder than a whisper drowned out by the wind rustling through the grassy hills. Ahead, Tavin could just begin to make out the slender shape skulking around the base of the next copse of trees; Dal motioned him to the ground as he took to one knee. Picking up a nearby twig and handing it to his brother, Tavin slowly scraped clear a small patch of semi-hard earth, taking care to disturb as little of the natural foliage as possible. Making several hasty scratches in the dirt, Dal motioned this way and that, depicting the current position of the two of them in comparison to their quarry, and how each of them would approach the clearing. Nodding to himself, Tavin wiped away the scratches and attempted to replace the natural foliage of the forest floor; he had never been as good as his father at hiding tracks, but he was a fair bit better than his sister and almost a close match with his brother Dal. Checking the pouch at his waste that contained his precious bowstring, and re-adjusting the quiver at his side, Tavin flashed a quick smile at Dal, eased onto his belly and looked at his brother. Dal performed a quick check of his own bow and quiver, and smiled back. Then he was gone, moving swiftly through the trees, flanking what they hunted. Nodding to himself in time with the sound of his thoughts, Tavin counted a slow count of ten, taking measured breaths in time to try and slow his pounding heart down. Why anyone should not be able to hear his heart drubbing in his chest all around him, he did not know. Still on belly, Tavin began to slither between the forest edge on his left and the grassy mound to his right, towards the small clearing he knew to be ahead. The clearing was a prime camping spot, and it was close enough to the road that any but a blind fool in the dark would stumble into it. Then again, he thought wryly to himself, a blind fool still might not easily find his way even if the sun were scorching overhead. As Tavin approached a tree, he slowed ever further, taking the utmost care to disturb nothing in his path; the element of surprise was critical, and he was not about to ruin the set-up now that they were so close. Hunting the shape ahead had taken nearly all day, following trails and subtle marks. Whoever was covering its trail was doing a good job of it. But not quite as good as they could have, he thought with a silent chuckle. Sliding up beside a tree, he eased himself to his knees and quickly removed the small bow from his back. Tavin had bought that off of old hermit Bayal, when he and his brother visited only a few days gone. No one was really sure about Bayal, but it was generally agreed that he was from some place called Illian far to the south of anyplace he knew. Lifting open the flap of his pouch, he quickly strung his bow. Checking his quiver once more, Tavin risked a peak around the massive trunk of the old gnarly tree he was leaning on. Quickly, his eyes picked out many potential pitfalls in their plan; there were too many twigs; the wind was not right for his brother, he would surely be caught; there was no sign of anyone else, but the bushes looked thoroughly disturbed as if by more than one person. Taking a claming breath, he eased himself back around the tree. In a few moments, his brother would approach the lone figure he had seen laying against another tree on the far side of the clearing, apparently sleeping, and catch them unawares. What they would do then, neither had thought about in depth. All their focus was on catching their quarry. Straining his ears for any sound or signal of his brothers’ approach, he waited, painstakingly still. For what seemed hours but was surely only moments, Tavin stood there as stiff as a rock, waiting. Patience had always served him well; patience for his turn to food usually saw him eat first, as both punishment to his siblings and reward for himself; patience for being the last one fishing, the others long gone, and yet he usually returned with the most fish, if not always the biggest. Patience, even now, in waiting for the right time to spring into action. Then he heard it. The subtle crack of a twig. He thought it was the direction from which his brother had come from. Otherwise, they had trouble. --- Dalima Hael was considered to be the most light-hearted of his family; although not as smart or as swift as his younger siblings, he certainly made up for his lacks in his sturdy build, brute strength and woodcraft ability. He and his father had spent time in the woods since early childhood. Now was the time to put his fathers teachings to the test. Looking over a small bush into the clearing, Dal decided he liked what he saw; a small figure wrapped in a blanket was sleeping up against the tree. He also saw a flicker of movement on the far end of the clearing. This was a good sign. It meant that Tavin was ready and in place. Casting about, he quickly came up with a small dry twig and – after putting sparse effort into it – snapped the twig. It had been quiet as twigs snapping go, but he was confident his younger brother had heard the signal. --- Starting slowly forward, Tavin brought his bow to bear, sideways, so as not to hamper his crouching advance. He had an arrow knocked and the slack partially drawn up in his string, ready to draw at the slightest twitch of his surroundings. He approached the small, hooded figure wrapped in a blanket leaning against the tree, cautiously crossing the open space, avoiding as much forest debris as possible. Stalking up to the figure, he stopped, looked about for any sign of danger and, finding none, eased his bow down on the ground. Glancing one last time around the sun-dappled shadows cast by the surrounding trees, he reached forward and tapped the figure on the knee. Looking up out of the depths of her hood, Luneasa Hael smiled that beautifully lopsided and childishly innocent smile at him. Tavin could not help but smile back. His smile was gone as quickly as it had emerged when a strong arm encircled his neck. Frantically reaching for his bow but already knowing it was too late, his hand met a boot, pressing his only defence into the tree loam. Cursing under his breath, Tavin struggled for all he was worth. His heart was in his throat and the big, sinewy arm encircling his neck was cutting off his supply of air. Kicking wildly, his leg lashed out and connected with something hard. He heard a muffled grunt from behind him, but the arm did not slacken. Knowing he was defeated, he was mildly surprised when the arm slowly loosed its grip on him and rose behind Tavins head, out of sight. Wonderingly, Tavin turned to peer into the warm and smiling face of his father Dandar, who was rubbing his shin ruefully. Peering back at his sister, who hadn’t really moved, Tavin shook his head and thought about how his father had managed to sneak up behind him without so much as a sound. Glancing behind Dandar, Tavin found the reason his fathers grip had loosened. Dal was standing there, firmly pointing his knocked arrow at his fathers back, only about three paces behind. “Thanks. I owe you one.” Tavin said with a slight shake of his head and a smile. “Whatever do you mean, dear brother?” Dal replied cheekily, “You owe me three!” Laughing at his brother’s sudden grin, Tavin was surprised to suddenly find himself on the ground, gasping for air. What had happened? He could see his brother Dal also on the ground, clutching his wrist and groaning. With a roar of laughter, Tavin’s sister danced over and plopped herself down beside him. “Silly Tav, did you really think you could beat ‘pa at his own game?” She said as she poked him with a stick. “Didn’t ‘pa ever tell you its not polite to poke people with sticks?” Tavin replied. His father offered his hand then, which Tavin accepted gratefully. “The lesson learned here today, my sons, is never to let your guard down, even if you think you have been freed by a friend and are safe. Had you kept a closer watch on me, I would never have been able to put myself between you and your brothers’ bow. You’re lucky that the arrowhead was only a cloth ball and not a hunter’s barb. There’s trouble everywhere, these days, and you must be constantly aware of your surroundings.” He lent a hand to Dal, heaving him upwards. “That’ll bruise a bit, but there’s no real damage done, lad.” He said, turning his head back to Tavin. “Just you remember what I said.” Grinning, Dal held out his hand, and Tavin shook it. “We almost had him that time, Tav! We were so close!” Dal put his arm around Tavin and the small party of four began walking home together. “Next time.” Tavin agreed. “Next time he’s ours, for sure.” Exactly one half and three days later, the Hael family was gathered around their kitchen table. Luneasa was telling her brothers all about her adventurous day, while their father scooped out soup for each of them, bringing three bowls at once, arms laden with their meals. A small fire crackled in the hearth – they never really let it die out completely. It was easy enough to light a new fire, but easier still just to toss another log on and blow at the coals a little. It was not a mark of laziness but rather a practice of consistency that kept up this behaviour. The polished wooden walls of their house dimly reflected the light of the fire, blanketing everything in an omniscient natural orange-yellow glow. Tavin thanked his father for the soup, and waited until everyone had theirs and Dandar had taken his place. “The Light shine on us, and the Creator shelter us in the palm of his hand always.” Dal intoned respectfully. Tavin didn’t fully understand what it meant, only that his ‘pa had said it since they were children, and then Dal took it up one day, long ago. “That saying brings luck, my boy!” That’s what Dandar replied whenever Tavin asked more about it. “You just remember that saying. Someday, Light, you may have need of it. The Light send it not so.” “And daddy guess what?” Luneasa squeaked excitedly. “While I was down by the far back pond, I found a rabbit! It had hurt its leg badly, so I picked it up! I wanted to help it. I don’t know why, but all I did was run my finger gently over its broken leg and then it suddenly squirmed, landed and bounded away as if it was never hurt at all. Isn’t that amazing?” A look of innocent wonder crossed her face. Dal had just slurped his first bit of soup, a grin on his face at the reprimand his father promptly gave him - “Mind your manners now, son. Your mother would not approve.” That was when it began. Luneasa made an odd choking sound and the blood drained from her face. It was understandable, since their mother had been long gone from this world for many seasons. She was a difficult subject at the best of times. She put her head down, coughing, and murmured apologies between racking sobs. She was clutching her arms to herself. Between breaths, she managed to ask to be excused to get some air, and with her fathers nod, she stood up. So quick was she that her chair almost toppled over backwards. After the door closed hurriedly behind her, the men exchanged worried frowns. It was unlike Luneasa to become so ill begotten at the mere mention of their mother. It was a difficult line of thought, to be sure, but this was unnatural of her. Slowly, Dandar went back to sipping on his soup. Dal just sat there, staring hard at the door, looking like a coiled spring ready to unleash on a moments notice. It was the thump that sent all three to their feet, scrambling for the door. Snatching a pot from the counter, Dal surprisingly outpaced the others and nearly tore the door from its hinges in getting outside. Dandar quickly followed. Tavin was behind them, although he covered the distance a little more slowly. The bright light inside the house made the black of night seem even darker than was natural. “Its’s just my bloody imagination,” he thought aloud. Stepping carefully outside the door, he stopped and allowed his eyes to adjust. There, on the ground, was his baby sister Luneasa. Little Luna, who he had comforted during thunderstorms and read to on rainy days. Luna, with whom he had played in the grass with, and taught to shear sheep and milk cows. Luna, who was sprawled on the ground shaking, the tremors racking her body up and down. Dal cradled her head in his lap and Dandar had dashed back inside to fetch a cloth and the herbs they bought from the city that would supposedly cure mild stomach ailments. He rushed back to his daughters side and laid the cloth across her forehead, brushing hair from her eyes and whispering in her ear. Tavin just stood there feeling numb. He had been just a little boy the last time he had seen anything like this, and that had been the last time he saw his mother alive. Dal remembered, although they seldom talked of it. Luna had been much too young at the time. Suddenly he became aware that Dal was looking at him funny, and his father looking at him expectantly. Desperately he racked his brain for what he had not really heard. Then it came to him. Dashing inside, he went to fetch blankets for his sick sister. The next day, Luna was up and about as if nothing had happened. A tension remained in the air however. Luneasa did not, however, stop having these sicknesses coming down on her. They came a separated seasons at a time, at first, but then became more frequent. Too frequent. One day, Luna didn’t come down to breakfast. They found her shaking in her bed, blankets thrashed aside; no matter what they did, she would not open her eyes. The fever took her, this time, and nothing they tried seem to make her any better. “Have you ever seen anything like this, ‘da?” Dal asked his father, a worried frown now permanently etched on his features. “Only once, my son.” He sighed in response. “And I fear that it was my pride and her stubbornness that made her leave this world.” That last was quiet, probably meant only for himself, but Tavin just heard it. He shuddered. That was how Tavin, Dalima, and Dandar found themselves taking turns driving the cart pr caring for a sick and near-delirious Luneasa in the back while the others walked onwards to Tar Valon, where Dandar said they would find someone who could make her fever break. Who could make it all go away. He also said it was as good as loosing their sister, his daughter. Neither of his sons understood, but Dandar assumed an air of grim determination and it soon became apparent that he would say no more. One night, a night that none of them would ever forget, they sat by a fire in silence. Perhaps it was a measure of their weariness that they never heard the approaching footsteps of hunters in the night. Perhaps it was that. Regardless, they scrambled to their feet as the sounds of shouting men fast approached. Dandar quickly shoved his sons towards the trees, yelling in a hoarse whisper that they hide and keep silent. They all three worked to heave their sister out of the back of the cart, away from the warmth of the fire, and safely into the thick bushes on the fringe of the oblong clearing. They watched first in fear and then in horror as four very large, very mean-looking men, surrounded their father, each with a knife or a sword or a clube; they looked on as Dandar explained that he was by himself, just a weary traveler trying to escape hard times. Tavin knew it had gone sour when one man, who seemed to be the leader, spat in Dandars face and brandished his bared steel blade by his throat. Dandars’ hands went up in defenceless process, explaining that he had a family to return to ahead. Then their leader slit Dandars throat. With a sickening thud, his body hit the ground, his eyes staring unblinking at the stars. Dalima cursed before he could catch himself, and the bandits turned their heads sharply to listen. Silence. So they left, with the cart and donkey, in search of more easy prey. So Dalima and Tavin brought their sister back to the fire, and the bloody scene. So they grieved. So they became lost. After burying their father, they agreed that although they might meet more bandits, their sister would surely die if they didn’t press on. Without their father, they had no way to know where this Tar Valon was. They had some coins, though, and would ask for directions. Using tree branches and their fathers old cloths the pair fashioned a litter and bore their sister to the next town, where they stole a small cart. They pulled the cart themselves, though – stealing a cart was one thing, a living animal a whole different matter – and carried on. What happened next, Tavin was never really sure. Everything blended together into this nightmare. After many restless nights and long, tiresome days; after many asking of directions and many nights under the stars, the trio reached Tar Valon, desperate and ragged from their long journey north. They had long since run out of coin and lost a lot of weight when they could not afford to eat. A stream with fish or a rabbit caught in the woods was not always available; sometimes it was roots and berries, if anything at all. The healing ladies - Aes Sedai, they were called - said they would help her, but they needed to take her away where they shouldn’t follow; they would only be distractions. Grudgingly, they acceded and eventually found their way to an inn. Thankfully, the Aes Sedai had given them enough coin to buy a decent meal and rooms at an inn. The whole scale of the city would have awed them, if they were not so numb from their journey. They still gawked a little, but only a little, at the amazing palaces, golden domes and shining walls dominated by the awesome presence of the White Tower. The next morning, Tavin awoke with a start. His cloths stuck to him with sickly chilled sweat – he knew he had been dreaming, but couldn’t remember what it had been. The memory of his heart pounding as he ran was still fresh in his mind. Rolling out of his small bed, he pulled out some mostly-clean clothing from his pack. He washed at the small washstand before going to look out the solitary window. Not even noticing the white-washed walls of his room, nor the splendour of the marvellous city around him, his eyes locked straight at the tower. I’ve never even been beyond my home and yet here I am, taking in palaces and inns that would fit the inn in the nearest village to his farm three times over. He thought ruefully. Eyes still riveted on the white tower, he wondered what hand had created such a great work. In the same moment, he knew he would go to the tower and explore, if only a little, while he waited for his sister. Glancing over at his brother, still soundly asleep on the other bed, Tavin ran a hand through his hair and eased out into the small hallway of the inn. Wandering about the streets in the general direction of the White Tower, but in no particular hurry, he let his feet guide his footsteps wherever they pleased. Upon reaching the tower, he mounted the steps and entered the broad, open doorway, where sunlight filtered through windows further up and danced on the ground. After a time, a girl dressed in white with many colours on the hem of her dress asked if she could help. After explaining his purpose, she told him to wait and she would be back. Eventually she returned and informed him his sister was recovering, but would still need some time. Nodding to himself, he thanked her with an awkward semblance of a bow and left the large, round room. Once outside, he decided to meander his way towards the sound of rapid clacking, like wood striking wood repetitively. Passing underneath a stone archway that shone with the sunlight and then rounding a corner, Tavin’s eyes beheld quite the odd site. Men of all ages stood all around the yard; some were shirtless and trying to hit each other with sticks – shaped like a sword! He had only ever seen a real sword once before on a merchants guard when the Hael family had visited the city – while others jogged in groups around the open area. Older men, looking hard and imperiously around the yard watched silently, standing as implacable as a stone, barking the odd command or showing a younger man – boy, really – how to hold himself differently. It took him a moment to realise his jaw was open before he closed it with a slight click of his teeth. Soldiers. They must be soldiers. That’s how Tavin Hael found himself in the training grounds of the infamous Warders, Guardians of Aes Sedai and the White Tower. What happens next? We’ll just have to wait and see.
  4. OOC: Ahaha... only three months wait... I'm horrible I know :P Anyway, Mat's sites are down, so that means no My One Power Weaves site. I'm just going to wing it and assume that it would be a really difficult weave for Kassian/Ze'el IC: Ze'el could definately see the uses of the weave that Sereth showed him. Illusion and trickery were more his style than the huge explosions the rest of the Tower seemed to favor. It was also a weave that "Kassian" would prefer, because it wouldn't harm anyone. Of course, Ze'el knew that there were many ways of hurting someone other than phsyically, and using illusions was one of them. The weave seemed simple in theory but was much harder in practice. It required all of the elements to use, and was one of the most complicated weaves that Ze'el had ever used. However, he was lucky that he had around the same strength in each element, because if he had been weaker in one it would make his task much harder. Ze'el could do nothing but grit his teeth and keep practicing. He tried to create an image of an apple, but didn't do so well to start. Eventually he managed to get a red, round blob. After a while, a green oval became a leaf. Although it was far from the design that Sereth had created, it was definately an improvement.
  5. Name : Davel Iiyanach Age : 17 From : Tear Hair : straight black Eye : grey Height : 5' 8 Weight : 155 Brief History : Davel was born the son of a pirate captain mother who made her living raiding the coast of Illian. Although his childhood was far from ordinary, he grew up happy. He never met his father, his mother being of questionable appetites and tastes, but the men working the ships, if not fathers to him, at least were well-intentioned uncles. He learned the ways of the sea early, and the rough and tumble lifestyle of a sea-faring outlaw was ingrained so deeply in him that for fifteen years he neither knew nor wanted anything more. This changed with the deliverance of a new sister, Lyss. Before her, the extent of his goals was to one day earn the right to a ship and crew of his own, but now he found love and caring in a previously reckless environment. Although he was content with his upbringing, he was unwilling to let this innocent and beautiful child grow up around the violence, bloodshed, and hungry-eyed sailors his mother seemed content to surround her children with. So one night he packed his few belongings, wrapped his sister in blankets and jumped ship in Ebou Dar. Unfortunately, his confidence and optimism soon faded in the light of that harsh port-city. Within days he was without money, his possessions limited to the clothes on his back and an infant sister to care for. Unwilling and unable to give up, he scrounged for food and coin, reduced to begging and stealing where he could to feed Lyss, often at his own expense. Living in Ebou Dar culled all the love out of Davel save for that for his sister, and he grew more violent and angry with each passing month. Learning to fight with a short sword and knives as well as bare handed in the rough streets, he developed lean muscle tone that belied his size and stature. He never properly learned the use of weapons, but his tenacity and ferocity partially made up for his lack of skill. Although things were not going as pleasantly as hoped, Davel settled into a routine and adequately provided for Lyss and himself for nearly a year and a half, living as they could in the Rahad. Until she took sick. None of the healers could, or would, help bring down the fever the seemed to set his baby sisters skin of fire, and everywhere he turned he found only people unwilling to aid two dirty children with no money. He stopped eating, sleeping, and wandered aimlessly carrying her in his arms around the city. He could no longer feed her, and all she could drink was the filthy water found in the streets. After several days her cries had stopped and she hung limply in his arms, barely breathing, and his eyes glazed over from weakness, hunger, and hopelessness. He had all but given up when he heard the rumors. People spoke of a Aes Sedai staying in a inn not far from the docks. Although fear and hatred of Aes Sedai and the One Power were as embedded as deeply within himself as in nearly every other Tairen, he knew he had this one chance, and after following rumors and gossip, he finally found the inn where the Aes Sedai had been staying. As soon as he entered the common room, he was hustled out by an angry innkeeper who didn’t want her business disturbed by two obviously sick and poor children. So, not knowing what else to do, he waited. For hours he sat dejectedly outside, occasionally wandering up and down the street, but never straying far, and always keeping one eye on the doorway to the inn where salvation for Lyss might lay. He waited until the appearance of a woman with a face he could not put age to and man with a sword on his back, and who stalked like a leopard and seemed to be watching everything at once. “Pardon...” his words stopped as the man who he assumed to be the Warder turned his dangerous eyes to him. He nearly ran, but love of his sister stilled his feet. “It’s Lyss,” he stammered out, “She’s taken sick, and no one can help her...I heard that Aes Sedai...that you may be able to help.” The ageless woman turned to him now, seeming distracted to the point of being unaware of her surroundings. The Rahad seldom suffered such foolish attitude's for long, but he supposed an Aes Sedai and her Warder had little to fear. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of his sister weakly clinging to him, arms feebly wrapped around his neck. She put a hand to Lyss’s tiny forehead and stood momentarily, looking at nothing. After several moments she glanced at the man to her side, who was still eying the streets around them, then back to Davel and Lyss. Davel now as still as his sister, and his eyes had begun to take on a feral light. “Come. I will see what I can do,” was her reply, and with that she ushered the two children inside, past the shocked eyes of the swordsman and quickly upstairs to her room. At first unwilling to release his hold on his sister, he finally let the woman take her and rest her gently on the bed. “She is in very bad condition,” she seemed to be talking to herself. “I am not yellow, but I may be able to...” she trailed off, hand once more resting gently on Lyss’s forehead. “You do be from Tear,” came a soft, gentle voice from behind him. Davel jumped, unaware that the swordsman had entered behind them. “Yes,” was all he said. He felt no fear at hearing the accents of his countries oldest enemy. After the fear he suffered for his sister, there was no room for more. And the warder, as warder he could only be, had a comforting voice that did not match his hard face and stance. “How do you end up in Ebou Dar, with not but yourself and an infant sister? And sick at that.” “I...my mother...I didn't want Lyss to grow up...I just...” he trailed off, suddenly nervous under the clear eyed gaze of the Warder. “I thought that I would be better to raise her than pirates,” he finally said, a defiant tone creeping into his voice. “Ah,” was the only response. Before any more words could be said the Aes Sedai turned from the bed on which Lyss lay. “She is healed. My ability’s were stretched to the limit, and she nearly died but...she is healed.” Davel and Lyss are in Tar Valon now. The hard eyed, gentle voiced warder had given them coin to last them a month in Ebou Dar, but Davel no longer wanted to live on the streets. He took the coin and used it to buy passage by ship to Tear, then upriver to the White City. The gratefulness within him had not died, and his attitude towards Aes Sedai had changed completely. He now wanted nothing more than to repay his debt to Aes Sedai, and to one day become like the gentle warder whose name he had never learned.
  6. Handle: Kura Character’s name: Adamin Naurel Age (must be 16 - 21): 19 Place of Origin (must be from the mainland of Randland): Mayene Hair Color:Black Eye Color: Midnight Blue (almost black) Height: 5’10 Weight: 173 lbs. General Description: In contrast to his sister, Adamin rather likes the attention of the opposite gender. His strong, angular features and deep blue eyes only helped in the pursuit. Of course muscular yet lithe frame he boasted didn’t hurt either. He has the unfortunate habit of using these traits, combined with his quick wit and silver tongue almost excessively. For this reason he has been labeled as a skirt chaser, womanizer, and several other rather unpleasant titles, all of which he of course wears proudly. Still, though the most outwardly dominant feature Adamin has, to call it his only pursuit would be far from the truth. He is unquestioningly loyal to those he deems worthy of, and a family man at heart, stemming from his own close knit relationship with his twin sister Adela. However, he has his hands in some minor lucrative dealings, getting a taste for the underworld and its workings, one bit of trouble he dearly hopes to keep his sister out of. Brief History: Adamin is the baby of the three children of Yaural and Ximina Naural, a fact that his older-by-minutes twin will not allow him to live down. He grew up in a well off family, mind you he didn’t dress in silks, but his cotton was of a wonderful cut. Freedom from financial trouble helped him grow up in a relaxed environment, allowing him to spend time in play and trouble with his siblings. Unais usually headed them off on the latter, but the twins followed suit without complaint. It seemed to Adamin that it was all just a game, and besides, he looked up to the older brother. This continued for years, all three taking up hunting and fishing, and every other pastime a trio of young boys, regardless of his sister’s actual gender, do. He was actually thankful one of their rag-tag group was a girl; she could sew up the various tears in their clothing, her skill in the art helping deflect much of the trouble on the grounds of lack of evidence. Besides, even when they got caught, their father’s stern reprehend was countered by their mother’s loving embrace. Why the latter seemed only to irritate Unais, Adamin didn’t know. Naturally, as they grew up, the two boys discovered girls, and did what they could to aid the other in this all important pursuit, much to the irritation of the never exactly boy crazy Adela. From some of these nights, particularly when they managed to sneak in a bottle of their father’s brandy, Adamin heard some stories from the girls about his brother. Scars, lots of them, all over his legs. The youngest wrote it off; seemed a minor detail. There was one other thing that the brothers shared; Unais was involved with some of the shadier parts of the town. Nothing major, but if something came up missing, there was a good chance that the older boy knew about it, and how much it would cost to get it back, and even the merchant stall to find it in within the city. Adamin followed in his footsteps, getting a taste for the underworld, believing that this sort of knowledge could be a useful tool. He never took to it as Unais did, but his dexterous fingers earned him an extra coin or two. When they aged further, their father brought them each a special gift. A longbow and a dagger, telling them to become strong warriors and protect Adela, bringing up a laugh from them all except the sister. Seeing her rage, he added with a wink, “And when they fail, you’ll need these to bail them out of trouble.” They were practicing in the yard that same day, Adamin finding that he had a good eye for the bow, practiced a bit from years of hunting. He heard hoofbeats and thought nothing of it; his father owned a large farm and temporary help was common. It wasn’t until he heard his sister scream that he paid attention. His eyes opened in shock, and he fumbled for an arrow, screaming for his father. Quickly his mother was added to the list of victims, his father emerging with a longsword naked in his hands. He’d never seen his father fight before, and was amazed as he managed to cut down two of these armed men. Unais added to the fray half-heartidly, Adamin thought he almost saw a smile on his lips as his mother was strapped over a horse. He ignored it, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. He was quickly overwhelmed, his arrows finding their marks only in bucklers or thighs at most, missing any kill shots. Frustration built up at his helplessness. Still, between his bow and his brother’s dagger he managed to distract them enough for Yaylor to retrieve the women. Unais turned on them as he saw his mother being carried to safety; he leapt at his father, slicing a ragged cut along his mother’s side. Stunned, Adamin nearly dropped his bow, and was subsequently knocked out cold. He woke up by his father, all of them bandaged by the local wisdom. As he healed up, requiring a bit of bedrest from the worse lacerations. He thought of his brother, thinking of how he cut at Adamin’s mother, and the scars on his thighs. Realization dawned on him, but his mind couldn’t accept it. His mother was too sweet, wasn’t she? Hatred started to form, stemming from betrayal, and how his brother was making him think of his mother. A part of him, though he’d never admit it, was simply hurt that if it was true… his brother didn’t share it. Adamin practiced with both dagger and bow every chance he could after he healed, he didn’t want to be caught like that again. He maintained his dubious connections, thinking to save up for a good quality sword to purchase in the city. When his sister insisted on finding him, he was reluctant. He never wanted to see his brother again, but his desire to cling to the only sibling bond he had left warred with it. He eventually gave in, and that summer they set off to find the bandits that had attacked their home, and the brother that had betrayed them. After six months of failure, getting mugged and beaten at almost every turn, they decided to get some formal training. When Adela suggested Tar Valon, Adamin couldn’t agree fast enough. An entire city, filled with woman… And so they found themselves on the path to Tar Valon, to the Yards, and in Adamin’s case, the surrounding taverns…
  7. Character’s name: Adela Naurel Age (must be 16 - 21): 19 Place of Origin (must be from the mainland of Randland): Mayene Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Midnight Blue (almost black) Height: 5’8 Weight: 142 lbs. General Description: Adela never had an interest in learning the art of attracting men, though her looks had made it a task of no effort. She was tall and willowy, but with deep set, serious eyes. Her shiny black hair was always kept back from her face, wound in an intricate piece of leather she’d taken from her father as a child. Her dress was not typical of Mayene. She still wore the off the shoulder gowns but shortened them to stop just at her hips. With them she wore fitted pants and knee high boots that give her an extra two inches of height. Learning to make her own clothes had been the one joy she took in knowing how to sew. Brief History: Adela was born as the second child of Yaylor and Ximina (heh-mina) Naurel. She was a full 5 minutes older than her twin Adamin, a fact that she lorded over him mercilessly. While she had garnered the distinction of being the oldest twin, he suffered with being his mother’s baby boy. Ximina adored all of her children, even her step-son Unais, who would not return her love and adoration. While the family was never rich enough or influential enough to be noble they did not want for much. The family home was a two story sprawling building taking up several acres of land on the out skirts of Mayene. It was more furnished that many of the homes surrounding and there was always enough money for the children to have new toys and clothes. It became apparent early that while Adela loved to sit and sew with her mother, she would never be a domesticated woman. For as much as she loved quiet afternoons with Ximina she loved to go riding and hunting with her father and brothers. It was natural for her and Adamin to be close, but she shared a relationship almost as close with her half brother Unais. The three of them were inseparable; when one got in trouble it always included all three. Just as when one was rewarded they all were. You could as sooner separate them as make the sun rise at night. Which is what made what happened that spring day such a shock…… The three children were outside making a pretence at chores, but in fact were to enthralled with the new weapons Yaylor had brought home with him; a short bow for each and long daggers as well. They all knew the basics of fighting with hands and feet and all had been hunting, but that was the extent of their knowledge. When a group of mounted men rode up to the house, they thought nothing of it. Visitors were always stopping to ask if they needed help for a day or a week. Setting aside her dagger Adela walked out to greet them and was treated to a backhand that sent her flying. It all happened too quickly then. Adela and Ximina were knocked unconscious and thrown over saddles like pieces of meat, and by the hungry look in the men’s eyes they would not enjoy being the meal. The Naurel ‘men’ were not still. Dad had managed to kill two, but the rest were getting the better of the boys. While they were still distracted Yaylor rushed in and fetched Adela, laying her gently back up by the house but as he tried to return for Ximina the remaining men rushed at him. Adela woke to find both her brother and father bleeding badly, but cradling their mother’s head in his arms. Unais was nowhere in sight as she scanned the yards. She tried to run to her family, but battered and bruised it looked like more of a lurch. Falling to the ground her eyes searched her mother for the injury, but could see only a large lump on her skull and cuts and scrapes. Half crying, half screech she pushed her father away as her fingers felt along the knot. Nothing felt broken, but she knew her meager knowledge of poultices and bandaging would not help here. It wasn’t until the Village wisdom had bandaged and repaired her mother that Adela heard what had happened while she was rendered unconscious. Apparently Unais had turned against the family, blocking her father from rescuing mother. Shock came first and then anger, how could he have betrayed them this way? Weeks later as mother was walking again, on her way to a full recovery, Adela began to worry about her oldest brother. Betrayal or not, what life could he find with bandits? He knew nothing of the world or devious ways! It was that idea that made her think that he needed rescuing from his own rash actions. It took more days to convince Adamin, his grudge ran deeper, but within a month the pair was on the road in search of their rouge brother; both intent on bringing him home and healing their broken family. It was after months of searching and being robbed and beaten, with Adela narrowly escaping men’s unwanted attentions in several villages that made the twins realize that they needed to learn to defend themselves. In this decision her brother had needed no coaxing, just the idea of Tar Valon, a city of women made him drool. At the end of that same summer, just after turning 19 that they reached Tar Valon and enrolled in the Warders Yard.
  8. Aha! I knew I forgot to put something. Yup, this is his second charrie.
  9. Weapon Score 12 to 13: Complete 2 Reqs Training Trainees 1: (Complete) Helped two trainees raise one WS each i. Basic Forms (open to all who want it) Complete ~Link~ Arath taught Edana the Basic Forms. ii. Basic Forms (open to all who want it): Complete ~Link~ Arath taught Ibram the Basic Forms. Overall: 1 complete, 2 necessary.
  10. Character’s name: Dante Kaldun Age: 18 Place of Origin: Aldor with Shienaran heritage Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Green Height: 5'10 (Still growing) Weight: 180 Dante Kaldun repeated the process of smithing he was so familar with. Heat, shape, quench, heat... There was something simple about the shaping of iron. Which suited him fine. (Let the complicated world be the province of my brothers) he thought idly. He should have been inside. Learning trade or something. He knew enough of it to not get a bad deal and that was fine with him. Removing the heavy leather apron he wore he picked up a iron bar and met the family armsmen out on the small training field in front of the manor. They trained every day. While he was not the best he was great with exercise. He took pride in his appearance and treated his body well. It didnt bother him that both of his brothers and even his little sister had a better education than he did. When Sandre had left he looked thin and sickly. He didnt want that for himself. When they started the women from the small village nearby came to watch as always. Some of them liked him and had made advances his way in which he kindly found another reason to be somewhere else. Maybe his eldest brother was smart enough in trade and the Game of Houses to be one of the most dangerous men in Caemlyn, maybe Sandre would one day be a great General, no one would question though that Dante would be the most loved. After the work out and a jump in the river Dane returned to the manor. His father was looking over a letter and looked up as Dante approached. "Your brother Sandre wrote... hes been in the Tower for a year now training." Dante looked at him straight faced. He didnt hate his brother, he just felt he had been abandoned. Sandre's letter was not the only one in his father's hands. "It looks like our little family secret it out... they are asking if any other males are available to train or go there for study I imagine." he stood then staring at the letter. "In exchange for our service a deal on a manor in Tar Valon and land to trade on will be set aside for us for purchase at a reasonable price as well some lands near our mines should we want to sell in Tar Valon... bloody persistent arent they?" Dante nodded. It was a deal too good to pass up. What the heck did Sandre do over there? It was a few months later Dante found himself packing for his trip to the white tower to start his new life there. His father and brother already were dealing with a Aes Sedai the family that decended from an Aes Sedai was once again being tangled up in the Tower. He travelled light in peasant clothes. Bandits were becoming more and more common and he didnt need any trouble on his trip over there. He had a scimitar on his side and was competent with it from training with the house men at arms every night. A horse of only medium quality so no one would be temped to steal it and large saddle bags that looked almost empty. It was all he decided to take. His father had said this generation of Kalduns had served the house well. Both houses in Shienar and Andor alike were prospering and new branches of the family were coming. His cousins in Shienar were all married and most with their second child. Sandre had apparently even found a woman he loved. His eldest was married and expecting their first. Only Dante was single in this case, though he was in no rush to be tangled up so. His view of Tar Valon was more like a dream. Interesting design and the massive White Tower over it all. The Tower Guards seemed to be plenty and were easily identifiable in their uniforms. He was surprised at the varied weapons. Approaching the yards he was set to begin his life anew. ***************************************** The meeting with Thera well... apparently no one enjoys that if you are doing it to be a trainee. Training was not easy. He was fine with the physical part of it all but struggled in the academics. Rumors had said Sandre had breezed through both which made Dante a little more than irked that that pasty skinned twig of brother could do that. The first time he saw Sandre though he saw second brother was no longer pasty white skinned or a twig. The man was enormous. Dante kept to himself for a long while until Sandre was raised and left on multiple trips away from Tar Valon and that is when Dante came forth and starting meeting people. By this time he had been on the yards for a full year. He had found the hand to hand combat classes were to his liking. He learned to use his body to be more effective with that and gave his fellow trainees waves of fists and feet in addition to his scimitar. It was like having a weapon on every limb. He had to choose the spring as his philosophy because of the uncontrollable joy he felt in combat. He always smiled despite any wounds he may have had. He began to pick up meditation and enjoyed training with the bow when he wanted to relax. After his Tower Guard ceremony he was stuck with another recently raised guard named Visar. The two have a competitive friendship and are both quick to capitalize on the other mistakes for endless hours of playful quips.
  11. DM screen name: The winds of time (presently active) Warder bio information Character name: Belig Zu' Katsu (Be-lig) (Zue) (cat-sue) age: 18 Place of origin: Shienar Hair color: brown eye color: brown Height: 6' 0" weight: 140lbs History: Born to a middle class family of 8 brothers under the watchful eye of his father, Belig grew up in the harsh borderlands as the runt of the litter. His father was a soldier of some merit, being one of the few men who lived beyond 10 summers of working along the blight hunting down shadow spawn that tried to intrude upon his countries borders. Beligs mother was a woman of fair beauty and sharp mind, being a strong scholar and one who constantly observed that around her. As Belig grew up, he lived through the harsh winters of exploding trees studying under his mother and learning about the world about him (having a special talent for herblore and history). during the times his father was home, Belig would watch as he trained his 7 older brothers in the ways of the sword and shield. However when his father wasn't home, Belig's older brothers would continuously pick on him and occasionally a fight insued where Belig had to defend himself. As things were Belig grew up in a world of harsh lessons of pain from his brothers, isolation from his father, and a thirst of knowledge only sated when he was with his mother. All that changed on the day Belig turned 10 summers old, when his father died from a darkfiend blade in the streets of the village. Belig's mother was so distraught with grief that she began to waste away, not eating nor sleeping until she finally died. Having no memory as to how he survived Belig was then taken in by his eldest brother (who was nicknamed Bronze) Belig spent three summers under the roof that Bronze had earned. and during that time Bronze had shown Belig the proper use of a shield and sword the way that his father had shown the rest of the brothers. However, Bronze soon died from a unknown disease in the dead of winter. Belig being 14 summers old was then taken in by the local drunkard. For three more summers did Belig live in his village, but constantly being attacked by his caretaker in his drunken stupor. Belig grew stronger from each fight with the man, teaching himself to fight not only with his fists, but his sharp mind. at the age of 17 summers, Belig left his village travelling south. Belig had heard from an old traveler about a great white tower in the heart of the plains, where women commanded "the one power" and men went to become the women's protectors. Belig felt a yearning when he heard this, and thus decided to look for himself. Belig spent one year traveling to Tar'Valon. traveling alone and continuously running across bandits and vandals as he went. Belig developed a strange knack for thinking his way out of trouble, He soon approached the great tower, and felt a sense of awe and power. Power that seemed to appeal to him. The white city was abundant in life that Belig never dreamed possible. Yet as he wandered the streets Belig saw the mysterious men he had heard of, men of the color changing cloaks with their women charges close by all the time. Belig felt awestruck as he watched the deadly grace of these men go by, and felt his fate change. He was going to train, and become one of those men. Belig wanted to become a warder.
  12. Weapons Score 11 to 12: Complete X Reqs Open RP: (Complete) Obstacle Course (Open) Complete ~Link~ Arath set up an obstacle course for anyone in the Yards to join in on. - Note: There was no responce, but it was up and advertised for more than the required amount of time. Training Trainees 1: (Complete) Helped two trainees raise one WS each i. Challenging the Enemy (Evaluation) Complete ~Link~ Arath Evaluated Sandre to see whether he was fit to become a Tower Guard. ii. Basic Forms (open to all who want it): Complete ~Link~ Arath taught Elyan the Basic Forms.
  13. After watching the trainees practice for a while, Arath decided to stop them. They could all preform the forms passably, and they knew the motions well enough to continue by themselves. Once they all had haulted and gathered around him, Arath spoke. "You've all done very well today. This is the end of the lesson, but that doesn't mean that you're masters yet. However, as far as I can see you all are proficient enough to practice on your own. Make sure that you do so." Arath paused for breath, and to look each trainee in the eyes to convey his seriousness. "You all have potential. I don't know if I'll personally be teaching you another class, so good luck in the days ahead. You're all dismissed." Arath watched the trainees go their own ways, and felt satisfied. He had been afraid that it would be a day wasted drilling trainees who weren't really listening. Luckily he had guessed wrong, and he had ended up having a pleasant day. Arath gathered his drawings and made his way back to the barracks. OOC: And you're done. :)
  14. OOC: Dhai, I had you attacking the whole time because Arath doesn't need to practice his basic forms. :) IC: Arath nodded approvingly at Ibram when the trainee disarmed him the first few time. All three of the trainees had done very well, and Arath was pleased with their progress. His day could have been significantly more trying if they were the type to slack off. Arath found himself feeling a little regret that the lesson was close to over. Gesturing for Ibram to stop, Arath waved Elyan and Edana over. "I've taught you forms that you can use to attack, and one to disarm, and now I'll teach you the forms defend. Both of the ones that I'll be teaching you today can double as offensive forms as well. The first is The Kingfisher takes a Silverback." Arath demonstrated, stabbing downwards. "Obviously you can use this to attack, but it can also deflect a strike towards your chest or middle. The other form is Parting the Silk. It is mainly an accurate block, but it can be used offensively as well." Arath demonstrated Parting the Silk as well. "Go ahead and work with your partner again, this time trying to use these forms to block the attacks." Arath turned to his partner. "Ibram, we'll be alternating this time, so that you can practice attacking and defending." Arath nodded to the trainee as a sign to start. This would probably be the last thing that he taught them today, he hoped that they learned it well.
  15. Character’s name: Jairn Donail Age: 19 Place of Origin: Altara Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Nearly Black, Brown Height: 5'10 Weight: 135 Brief History: Born in a large town within two days walking distance from Ebou Dar, Jairn had lead a simple life until his father's merchant wagon was set upon by brigands. Along with Jairn's father Ryar his merchant guard Goshor had died in defense of the wagon, Goshor had been a family friend since before Jairn was born, becoming like an uncle to the boy, he had taught Jairn the basics of fighting with short swords but the training progressed no further after his death. After his father's death Jairn had taken up work in a local inn to support himself and his mother. Four years later his mother, Edaie, remarried the very innkeeper Jairn had worked for all of those years, who quickly found his way into part of the family. Pleased that his mother would be cared for well Jairn left his life behind, not knowing where the winds would take him on his journey he set off for Tar Valon, center of trade, power, and home of the Aes Sedai. With a map he acquired from his foster father and Goshor’s short sword, Jairn made his way over the land. Travel progress differed widely by the day, some days he would get a ride on a friendly merchant or farmer’s wagon, he slept under bushes, in hay lofts, and when the chance came, he juggled and danced for his supper in an inn, a talent he had inherited from his father. Seasons past and time went on, Jairn grew lean, tough, and although the life was hard he never lost his sly wit and clever plans, his ever-present winning grin had won him more than one chance to eat a real meal. He hunted when he could, setting basic traps and learning to track rabbits and other small game, he made his way across countries, through woods, across rivers and streams, through villages and towns and the spectacular capitals of mighty empires, his skill in the short sword grew slowly as he fought thieves and mugger’s in the streets. As his passed through the countries he slowly lost his accent until all that was left was but a hint of his once thick accent. His skill at juggling and dancing grew as villages and towns grew more and more frequent as he neared his destination of Tar Valon, his pockets grew wider as he earned his keep gambling and performing until he had a small neat pile of silver coins stored away in his sack of belongings. As he arrived at the gates of Tar Valon he was awestruck by its majestic towers and bridges, the fantastical shapes of Ogier-built dwellings and shops, and the sheer mass f people, men and women from Lugard, Cairhien, Andor, Tear, even his native Altarans where present in the mass of people. But the object of his desire, his determination, was the gleaming white streak that rose higher and higher, forming at a majestic gleaming white peak, the power-wrought White Tower itself. At first he had plans of traveling the world, eventually settling down to have a wife and kids, over his journey he started dreaming of life as a soldier, fighting for a just cause, but after all of the fighting he had endured on his yearlong journey he had learned there was no just cause for violence, only out of necessity was violence the answer. Scrubbing a hand through his shaggy brown hair he approached the gates of the city itself, and then to continue on, toward the heart of Tar Valon, to the base of the White Tower itself, where he would fulfill his new dream, one decided upon the second he lay eyes upon the Tower. He was going to become a Warder, and nothing would stop that, nothing.
  16. Wonderful bio! Consider it CC'd! [shameless advertising] Feel free to visit the Yards [/shameless advertising] :P
  17. OOC: No problem, feel free to listen at the door if you’d like ;D Arath clenched his jaw when he heard Eqwina trying to play coy with him. Another time it would have infatuated him, driving him further under her charms; however, he was on a mission and he would not be distracted. Her next, more patronizing remark had him sitting down with cold eyes. He was a man and he would not allow the Yellow to treat him like a child. Arath felt like a fool- had Eqwina really been leading him by the nose the whole time? He was about to lay his accusations at Eqwina’s feet, and demand an explanation, when a man came in. Arath was too far gone in fury to comprehend what the man asked, nor did he care to know. Another young Tower Guard entering Eqwina’s quarters? Just how many was the woman hiding from him? Perhaps she was courting the entire Warders Yard behind his back? Perhaps they were all having a good laugh at his stupidity? Without giving the Aes Sedai a moment to reply he cruelly responded: “Be gone; I have things to discuss with Eqwina Sedai.” The moment the man had exited Arath launched his tirade. “A Warder, Eqwina? How long were you planning on keeping this a secret from me? Were my intentions not clear enough? Did my obvious hopes of being bonded to you somehow escape your notice?” If Arath had been thinking clearly, he would not have dreamed of verbally assaulting an Aes Sedai, especially not Eqwina, but anger had a way of clouding a man’s mind. He could not think but for the accusations- any cognitive prowess that would have gone to logic and sense instead manufactured more and more fantastic scenarios. What was worse than the anger though was the hurt. Arath had practically worshiped the woman- she had taught him so much about Aes Sedai and about himself. Arath’s pride didn’t let him acknowledge the pain that the betrayal caused him, and instead turned it into anger. Anger was good because with anger he didn’t feel hurt, and without hurt he didn’t feel humiliation. “What explanation can you possibly give me, Eqwina? I mean, it’s not all that hard to mention that you had a Warder, is it?” If Arath stopped for an instant he would realize how unfair he was being. He was confronting Eqwina about rumors, attacking her and not even giving her a chance to get a word in. He had no proof of their accuracy, and was making a fool out of himself. Unfortunately, Arath didn’t stop, even for an instant- his traitorous mind was cooking up scheme after scheme, each one demonizing Eqwina more and more. Arath opened his mouth to continue his barrage, but found that there was nothing left to say. Somewhere in the middle he had rose from his seat, and was staring down at Eqwina angrily. His entire body was tense, as if he was holding himself back from shaking the woman, demanding answers. He tried to hold onto his anger, yet his body betrayed him, causing tears to prickle at his eyes pathetically. Arath cursed himself with the strongest oath he knew for his weakness- right now he needed the strength to see this through.
  18. OOC: Ugh. I wrote it all out and then my browser lost it. Sorry for the delay. IC: Arath hid his smile behind his hand when Elyan lost his lathe, but didn't comment. There was no shame in dropping a lathe during practice. Arath remembered that when he was a trainee he managed to cut himself in the leg while showing off in front of an Aes Sedai. They were all doing well, but Arath was sure that they were getting bored of the mindless drills. Basic Forms only had so much excitement to them before they lost their novelty. He decided that it was time to change things up a little. "Alright, time for something new. Edana and Elyan, you're partners. Ibram, you're with me." Ibram's longer weapon would make it harder for him to train with his peers until they got more experience. "Now we're going to be practicing on a real person- slowly of course. Hopefully this will give you a feel of where on an enemy you are striking. There's no need to do more than tap your partner, if that. Edana and Elyan, alternate between who strikes. Ibram, you'll be attacking the whole time." Arath had to admit that he was a little nervous about being a trainee's test dummy. Polearms were harder to control and any Guard worth his salt knew that a trainee could be dangerous because you never knew what they were going to do with their blade. Nevertheless, Arath got through without any injuries. He glanced over at the other pair regularly and they appeared to be getting it well enough. He reminded the trainees to practice all of the forms before allowing them to continue. Finally, he decided that they were ready for the next one. "Alright, now I'll show you The Grapevine Twines." He proceeded to do so, demonstration how to twist a sword to preform the disarm. He let Edana and Elyan go on and practice, before turning to Ibram. "This one is a little different with a spear, but it's still doable. You just have to be a little further away than one would if they had a shorter weapon."
  19. OOC: Dhai, I'm fairly sure that the majority of the sword forms can be adapted for use with a polearm or spear. Obviously some can't, but feel free to be creative with it. :) IC: Arath watched the trainees train with varying measures of success. Edana obviously had some experience- she was by no means excellent, but she wasn't cutting her foot off either. Ibram looked like he was struggling a little with his large "weapon", but it was nothing that practice couldn't fix. He was getting the concepts just fine. Elyan was new to weapon training- that was obvious, but he wasn't doing poorly. He was more stiff than his companions, but he was progressing nicely. All in all Arath could confidently say that there shouldn't be any problem with these three trainees. "Excellent. Now that you've all learned those we can start on a few more. However, remember that you've by no means mastered them- you still have to practice. We'll learn a couple more offensive forms next." Arath held his lathe out in front of him and struck forward swiftly, as if stabbing an invisible opponent. "This one is called Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. It's just a quick stab forward, generally into someone's face or neck. The key to this one is speed- it's a fast stab intended to surprise the opponent and catch him off guard. Go ahead an practice that; if you feel confident enough you can go ahead and find a nice tree to try it on." Arath waited until it looked like they were all getting the hang of it, before he interrupted with the next one. "Alright, here's Arc of the Moon." Arath demonstrated, arcing his practice blade through the air. "As you can see whoever named it wasn't very creative. Start around mid-body, then arc upwards as if you're trying to chop someone's head off- which you are." This form caused a little bit more trouble, as it was more complicated that the other ones. "For now, just do it slow and worry about getting the technique down. You always have to work on your technique before you can add strength to your blows. This is probably the first time you've done it so don't feel bad if you need to work through it slowly." OOC: Once again, just practice the forms. :) I've got a really busy week ahead of me so I doubt I can post again until this Sunday at least. Sorry if this post is a bit disjointed :P
  20. Character Name: Ayve Levati Division: Warders Age: 21 Place of Birth: Coramen, Altara Appearance: Ayve (pronounced Ivy) is 5'4" tall. Slim but muscular, she has a dark olive complexion making her white teeth seem brighter. She has long dark brown hair, nearly black in shade, that comes down to the middle of her back, which she almost constantly keeps in a long braid wrapped in a bun to keep out of her way. Her eyes are a shade of hazel, green and brown, uncommon in Altara. She has three scars: one horizontal on her left hip, another along a rib on the same side and the last vertical and short along the back of her neck, usually hidden by her thick hair. She carries the standard marriage knife between her breasts. Hair Color: Dark brown, long and thick. Eye Color: Hazel, green and brown. Height: 5'4" Weight: 120 lbs. Personality: Fierce but quiet she can be almost invisible for all the notice she acquires. She is open about who she is, believes in honesty almost to a fault and is slow to anger. Once you raise her ire or anger however, it can be an inferno nigh unquenchable. She hates crying and rarely shows emotions other than anger or irritation though she feels deeply. She can be oblivious to any romantic attention, finding herself plain though not unattractive in her own way. Strengths/Weaknesses: Stubborn in her loyalty, once you gain it you have it for life, even if it comes to harm her. Slow intellectually, she has never learned to read or write and can only perform basic math. Loves horses and cats, prefers using long knives when fighting. Character History: Ayve was born the bastard daughter of a tavern wench. Her father was a foreigner who left Cormen, and her mother, behind without a backward glance. Cella, a cold hard woman by the time Ayve was old enough to know her, worked all the time in order to support the two of them. When she was old enough, Ayve was put to work as well. She ran errands, cleaned rooms, washed dishes and other things in order to earn her keep. Because of her work, she had an almost non-existent childhood, never learning to read or write. What math she learned was from the work she did for the inn. Her only friend was Fabio, an orphan boy and all around general pest to the community. Together they roamed the streets, in what little free time she acquired, pulling pranks and playing games. When Ayve was twelve years old she was cornered by two boys, a little older than herself. She was held down and forced to do horrible things. They left her broken and bleeding and she has never recovered emotionally from that experience. Fabio found her and carried her home but she couldn't look into his eyes. After that she didn't see Fabio for two years. She became quiet and withdrawn, almost like a ghost. The kids stopped bullying her after she stopped reacting, just standing still as they called her name and threw stones at her. When Fabio returned she was a sunken shell of the child she used to be but he had not been idle in his time away. With him he brought two simple but sharp knives with engravings on the hilts. One engraving was of the crescent moon and a tiny star. The other engraving was of the sun… "I don't understand…" anyone else would think that her voice was that of someone dead inside but Fabio could hear the note of interest as she gazed upon the blades glittering in the midday sun. "I couldn't help you years ago and seeing you so hurt destroyed me. I ran away, ran away from the pain and guilt. I fell in with a group of men. Rough, dangerous men but they taught me how to defend myself, how to fight. I've come back to teach you those skills as well so that what happened to you, never EVER happens again!" Ayve's eyes brightened as she ran a fingertip along the hilt, tracing the engraving. She whetted her lips with her tongue and looked up into his eyes, "When do we start?" Ayve's skills grew gradually but it was obvious she had a knack or a natural talent for the blades; soon they were another extension of herself. She practiced day and night, pushing herself to be better. She became obsessed with the blades, sleeping with them every night. At seventeen, Fabio dueled one of the young men who had desecrated her and lost. Their love had been simple and yet hard to understand to others but themselves and as she held his dying body she closed her heart off to anyone. He was the only joy in her life, the only one who had believed she would ever live up to anything, he had loved and cared for her and now he was gone. Killed by a vile man, it just wasn't fair! She practiced harder with the blades, swearing revenge. One day, when Ayve was twenty-one years old, she heard tell of a place where one could train to be a Warder, to defend an Aes Sedai if they so chose you. She examined her life; it was barren, without meaning. She yearned for more training with everything in her being. And so one night, two young men of Cormen were found mysteriously murdered, both apparently by blades. To throw off suspicion she waited another couple months before she embarked on her journey to Tar Valon.
  21. OOC: Heh, funny story- so somehow I completely missed Jain's post, and I mean completely. Sorry for the slight wait :P Anyway, this link - http://digitalglitch.org/drpsw/index.php?title=Sword_Forms - will give you all the descriptions for the forms. IC: Arath watched with a keen eye as the two trainees made their way over to the pile. The woman- Edana- seemed to have an idea what she was looking for, while Elyan on the other hand looked rather lost. No matter, there was another class for selecting your weapon, and the trainee could adapt later if he decided to chose a weapon significantly different from the lathe he chose. Seeing that the three trainees appeared ready, Arath deemed it time to begin. He himself was using a training lathe rather than his sword, and he bent into a basic ready stance. He stood one foot in front of the other, knees slightly bent, elbows tucked in, and lathe held about shoulder high. "This is your basic ready stance, called Lion on the Hill. If you already have your sword drawn this will more than likely be the position you'll be in when not attacking or defending." At least as a beginner, that is. "Go ahead and try it out yourself." Arath observed the trainees attempting the form, some doing better than the others. "And remember that elbows make excellent targets if you're foolish enough to stick them out. But be careful not to tuck them in so tightly that you restrict your movement." Satisfied with their progress, Arath waved his hand for them to stop. "Alright, for now this will be your general stance. If I tell you to 'get ready', I expect you to be in Lion on the Hill. Of course, there are other ready stances, but they're primarily for sheathing and unsheathing a sword. We won't worry about those until you start using a real blade." Now it was time for them to move their "blades" a bit. "The first offensive form I'm going to teach you is The Courtier Taps His Fan. This one is fairly simple, just an overhand blow. The obvious purpose for this one is to split open someone's head, but if you have an opening it can strike right here," Arath said, patting the tendons between his neck and his shoulder. "But that's a harder target. For now, just worry about going for the head." Once more, Arath sat back and watched the trainees get a hang of the form, making pointers where they were necessary.
  22. One would think that an organization of warriors dedicated to fighting the Shadow would have better things to do with their time than gossip. However, that would be a very wrong assumption. No one gossiped more than a group of men and women forced to stand guard at a wall all day. The best way to pass the time was to listen to the news travelling through those gates, and no news travelled faster in the Yards than the death of a Warder. Arath had no reason to expect that this day would be different from any other day; it was a cloudy day, but warm enough that it wasn't dreadful. In fact, it was the type of day that would pass unremembered by those who had lived it. The fact that he was assigned to guarding the Tower Gates made the day even more forgettable. It was perhaps for this very reason that Arath found himself paying much more attention to the gossip travelling through than he normally would. The news that a Warder had died shocked him of course, he had been familiar with the man. Corwin was one of the first people that he had met when he started his days as a trainee (although he didn't meet the man so much as run away from him). The death of a Warder was tragic, but what the masses were more interested in was the Aes Sedai. Apparently she was a Yellow, and that made people wonder even more. After all, very few men died when a Yellow was around. Even though the gossip was travelling at light speed, there were still some facts that eluded Arath. For one, the name of the Yellow Sedai was a mystery. In fact, it wasn't until near the end of his shift that Arath was graced with that particular knowledge. "Aye, it was my good friend who told me, who I would trust with my life. He heard it from his sister, who is friends with a maid who works in the Tower. She heard it from another maid who was cleaning a Yellow's room. She told her friend who told my friend's sister who told my friend who told me that she overheard a couple of Aes Sedai talking, and that the name of the Sister is Eqwina Sedai." There was more chatter after that, but the world seemed to shatter around Arath. His first reaction was worry for Eqwina- he knew that loosing a Warder was very hard. However, after that initial reaction was through, Arath realized that he had no idea Eqwina even had a Warder. No, the fool of a man must be mistaken- Arath knew Eqwina; he knew her very well. If Eqwina had a Warder she would have told him. However, as the man continued to swear to the Light that every word he spoke was the truth, doubt began to creep into his bones. Surely Eqwina- kind, sweet, Eqwina- would have no reason to lie to him... right? The rest of his shift seemed to pass slowly, as if every instant was a lifetime. The boring job gave him all the time in the world to loose himself in his own thoughts, and loose himself Arath did. His initial skepticism seemed to wear away with every passing breath, like a burly mountain being washed away by the sea. Arath's heart began to beat faster. If Eqwina had lied about having a Warder ("Had led him on without the slightest remorse" a small voice whispered) what else had she lied about? Did she even plan on telling him, or was she planning to allow him to continue making a fool out of himself? Mutinous thoughts continued to rape his mind, until finally the torturously long shift was over, and Arath was free to leave. He pushed the accusing voices to the side of his mind; after all, he only had rumors to go by. Surely if he went to Eqwina she would be able to explain everything- to eviscerate his foolish doubts. His feet traversed the well-worn path to Eqwina’s room, following the same steps that they had taken many times before. What was initially a calm controlled journey grew frantic the closer he got to his destination- his steps matching his erratic heartbeat. Looking back on the incident, Arath would wonder how they ever let a man in his state into the Tower- let alone the Sedais’ rooms. Nevertheless, doubts continued to assail him as he burst rudely through Eqwina’s door, crying: “Eqwina! Are the rumors true?” OOC: Yeah, I kinda went all out with this one ;D
  23. Oh man, it's looking like there's gonna be a party pretty soon in the Threefold Land :P CC'd
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