Dafydd Llewellun

Email: swisstony2004@dragonmount.com
==Description==
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Brown
Height: 5'11
Weight: 180
Age: 15
Place of Origin: Baerlon
==Stats==
Rank: Warder
Weaopon Score: 8
Philosophy: The Flame and the Void
Primary Weapon: Quarterstaff
Secondary Weapon: Katana
Tertiary Weapon: Bow
==History==
Dafydd was born into a poor family, in an small overcrowded housein Baerlon which was shared with two other families besides his own. He was an unplanned child, and a strain on his family?s limited resources. Left mostly to his own devices, he had nothing in the way of education, and at the age of 6 was sent to his uncle?s farm in the country, on the grounds that he would be less of a strain on the family, and would receive a better upbringing in the less-impoverished surroundings of the country where he would hopefully learn something of farming.
The life was not as he had expected. Dafydd was as neglected on the farm as he had been in the city. When any notice was taken of him, it was either to load more work onto his young shoulders, or to beat him for failing to carry out some task or other. Often, there was no real reason for the beating at all. Dafydd learned to ignore the abuse, or at least endure it, and spent increasing amounts of time staying as far away from his uncle, and his uncle?s strap, as he could. As he got a little older he began to spend several days at a time away from the farm, having built himself a small shelter in the hills some miles away. Staying here he taught himself to hunt and fish, to make a fire and survive, and made himself a bow, which he also taught himself to use.
He took an unused long tool handle from one of his uncle?s barns and used it as a quarterstaff, practising on trees and bushes around his small shelter, which over the years he gradually made more solid and permanent. He began to feel more at home here than at the farm, and the happiness he felt here in his solitude made up for the beating he always received on his return to the farm. Eventually, at the age of 14, he ran away from the farm altogether. He spent four days living in his shelter, before realising that it would do him no good to stay here, because he would be found by his uncle sooner or later.
Dafydd gathered his things ? his belt knife, his quarterstaff, his bow, and the handful of arrows which he had collected, along with a blanket, a bedroll, and some food, and turned his back on his shelter, the farm, and his uncle.
For a week he wandered, not really knowing where he was going, as long as he was heading away from his uncle. After the third day the novelty of being his own man had worn off, and he had begun to accept the harsh reality of being alone in a world that cared no more for him than for a leaf fallen from a tree. He finally settled on a hillside which ran down into a small lake, and built himself a new shelter, until he was found by a group of men who stopped to camp nearby. Hiding in the bushes, watching them, wondering if he would be able to steal some of their bread to supplement his meagre rations from hunting, he was grabbed from behind by one of the men, and dragged over to their fire. They questioned him for a while, before taking pity on him, feeding him, and decided that he should come along with them.
The men turned out to be a small band of brigands, and for the next two years Dafydd roamed with them. They taught him a little more with his quarterstaff, as well as how to use a sword and ride a horse. None of their crimes were on a large scale, and none of their victims was ever badly injured. They preyed mostly on wealthy-looking merchant types, with few guards to minimise the need for voilence, and although Dafydd knew it was wrong, the fact that nobody was ever killed kept him from leaving them and making his own way through the world. 
One day, however, the band got greedy. An opportunistic plan made with an acquaintance who worked on a boat but wanted to leave led to them kidnapping a lady and her servant, leaving their guard drugged and beaten on the river bank. The plan was to find out where the lady was from, and demand a ransom from her house, but she was clearly made of strong stock and refused to answer their questions. The servant escaped, and when she was not found, their intentions towards the lady became increasingly unpleasant. Dafydd was ashamed of the turn of events, and risked himself to sneak over to where the lady was tied with some food and water. He apologised to her for what had happened, and promised that he would fight to defend her if the rest of the band tried to harm her.
He didn?t need to defend her, as it turned out. The following day her guard turned up, wearing a cloak with colours that shifted and changed, making him almost invisible in the forest. He burst into the camp like a furious whirlwind of steel, his sword spinning and flashing about him with a deadly fluidity that spoke of years of hard training and practise. The lady freed herself somehow, at his arrival, and he tossed her a slightly curved sword with a straight handle, and she fought with similar ferocity, if less skilfully. Within minutes, the entire band lay dead, or unconscious around him, and Dafydd knelt, his hands clasped in supplication, tears in his eyes, as the incredible guard raised his sword above his head. So this is it, a miserable anonymous life ended early, to lie unloved and unknown in a forest, and left for the beasts
?Urien! No! Stop!?, the lady shouted, and Dafydd cautiously opened his eyes. The Lady was standing with one hand outstretched, and the guard was standing several feet back from where he had been, his sword half buried in the soft ground, an angry scowl on his face. The lady positioned herself quickly between him and Dafydd, taking his hands and helping him shakily to his feet. He cast his eyes downwards, ?M..My lady.. I..? he began, but she silenced him with a finger. ?You showed me kindness when none other would.?, she said, ?You risked danger to yourself, to preserve my life. For that I am grateful. Your actions were close to what I would expect from Urien, my Warder.?. The man snorted indignantly and Dafydd?s eyes went wide. He had heard stories about Warders, and that meant that this lady must be?
He fell to his knees again, ?Aes Sedai, forgive me!?, and she grasped his hands, pulling him back to his feet. ?That?s right,? she said, smiling, ?I am Sister Sasra Sedai, of the White Tower. And you are??. ?Dafydd, Aes Sedai, Dafydd Llewellun.?. The Aes Sedai reached into her dress, and removed an oiled leather pouch, which jingled with coins as she dropped it into his hands, ?Well, Dafydd Llewellun,?, she said, still smiling, ?take this, with my blessing. The Tower always rewards those who assist it?s sisters. Take it, and one of those horses. Go from here, go to a city, find a place to stay, and get yourself an honest job. Make something of yourself, Dafydd Llewellun. You have a good heart, I know this, and I know that you will not fail me.?, she smiled, a warm motherly smile, as he nodded and thanked her, before turning and taken the best of the band?s horses and riding off through the forest.
5 weeks later, with last of the money the Aes Sedai had given him, he found himself finally in Tar Valon, looking up at the shining walls of the White Tower. Make something of myself eh? An honest living? Yes, this is the way to repay her faith in me.
Category:WS 8
Category:Warder
Category:Biographies
Category:Warder Bios