Gunnar Sanuin

Email: skomel@hotmail.com
==Description==
Eye Color: Dark Brown
Hair Color: Black
Height: 6'2
Weight: 190
Age: 18
Place of Origin: Andor (Caemlyn)
==Stats==
Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 2
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon: 
Secondary Weapon: 
Tertiary Weapon: 
==History==
Character Name: Gunnar Sanuin
Age: 18
Origin: Andor, Caemlyn
Hair: Black, cropped short
Eye color: Dark Brown
Height: 6?2
Weight: 190
History:
Gunnar is your average Andoran youth. His parents are simple people, his
father is a baker he is the proprietor of a bakery which is prospering
nicely, but nonetheless it is just a bakery. It isn?t a renowned bakery, nor
was there any special secret recipe, just bread, cake and the like. His
mother is a seamstress of great talent, but in Gunnar?s opinion all her
talent is going to waste seeing as how most of the time she makes dresses
and skirts but doesn?t charge for them or gives enormous discounts. He
wasn?t opposed to charity or anything but there was always a limit for such
things.
 Gunnar?s occupation of choice was just to help his father out with the
buying, selling, delivering and carrying of ingredients from the various
outlying farms to the bakery. He didn?t do it for free or ?helping the
family out? he bargained with his father for a fair wage. All the hauling
around of heavy sacks had given him a good back for carrying things, not to
mention a sense of lightness when he wasn?t so heavily encumbered. In
addition to the physical advantages to his livelihood, he acquired a
mercantile sense from haggling for prices and ingredients. But besides
ogling at farm girls, sometimes making a bit of extra profit and the
occasional interesting rumor, he found this all pretty dull. To make up for
his monotonous life, he would normally submerse himself in books. Anything
he could get his hands on, he read, but his favorites were the stories of
great warriors and epic heroes. He was so passionate about them, that
eventually he took up to reading scrolls on the various types of weaponry.
He?d never had any practice, but if it were up to theory, he was almost a
weapons master. He had a sword but it was only for show, a warning to
thieves. He sometimes practiced the forms in the scrolls with it, but it
didn?t feel like he was doing it right, and the scrolls did say you needed a
mentor, so he just supposed he was doing them wrong.
 But in addition to reading, he had another escape from the mundane:
taverns. This was really his reason for living the day to day. As soon as
evening was upon the walls of Caemlyn, Gunnar was in a tavern, drinking
heavily and listening to tall tales and vulgar jokes. For him that was his
place, half drunk, laughing out loud, calling someone a liar, telling a few
of his own fabrications and generally flaunting anything he could flaunt.
When those drinks started running through his blood, he?d do and say
anything to impress. But that was just preparing for what he really enjoyed,
brawling. He metaphorically loved poking bulls between the eyes, just to get
a rise out of them. But literally, he?d drop a drink on anyone?s head, knock
anyone to the floor, spit in anyone?s drink and his personal favorite call
anyone?s sister a pig. That last one always riled them up, but he?d always
let his opponent throw the first punch to get himself into the spirit of the
melee. After that, well he never did remember what came after that, once the
fight took him, his consciousness just turned off. It was all battle rage
and instincts after that. Since he never did want to actually hurt anyone,
especially himself, he didn?t use the sword, and because of this, his
fighting evolved into a hand to hand style or anything he could get his hand
on, chairs, table legs, mugs, bottles, anything became a weapon to him,
there was this one time with a fish? but that?s another story. In short he
became a common, everyday brawler. He?d end every night with a heap of new
bruises and a few cuts, but if you asked him about it he?d just say, ?You
should see the other guy.? His injuries didn?t escalate not because he was a
skilled fighter or anything, but just because since it was his nightly
routine, the repetition of it just developed a sixth sense towards where his
opponent would kick or punch next.
 But there was one day that instincts, battle rage and table legs didn?t
matter. As soon as he woke up that day he knew that there was going to be a
fight that night, and not any kind of fight but a dangerous fight, a fight
where he could get seriously hurt. It excited him and terrified him. He
could always not go, but the excitement got the better of him. That night he
drank more than he?d ever drunk. He insulted more than he?d ever insulted.
But no one rose up to his bait. And then it happened. A head entered the
tavern. Or more like it seemed like a head had entered the tavern. It was
actually a warder with his color shifting cloak. This was the fight, Gunnar
knew it. But now that he knew it was a warder he hesistated. So he just let
it go, there?d be other great fights eventually he thought. But the wheel
wills as the wheel will. And the warder went directly towards Gunnar. Seeing
him up close, Gunnar noticed that the warder looked gaunt, frustrated, and
miserable and the most noticeable of all there wasn?t an aes sedai in sight.
That?s when he remembered the rumors he had heard, there was a warder in the
city that had lost his aes sedai at a confrontation in the Blight and he?d
been picking fights all around Caemlyn.
?What are you looking at?? asked the warder. And Gunnar knowing he was going
to get pummeled anyways decided to at least get one shot in and responded,
?Your ugly mug? and threw a mug at the warder?s face and connected. The
warder reflexively responded with his fist. After that there was just Gunnar
on the floor taking a good beating and getting in a kick to the warder?s
shin occasionally. When the warder was content he drew his sword at pointed
it at Gunnar?s neck, smiled in a menacingly way and was about to put it back
into its sheath, when Gunnar drew his sword and clanged his sword with the
warder?s. That?s when the warder took a stance Gunnar had seen in his
weapons scroll. The warder wouldn?t tolerate being defied, he wanted to
break someone, not have a little punk stand up to him. But Gunnar took his
own erroneous stance, and when the warder came at him he actually parried
one, two of his attacks. And then the warder broke Gunnar?s sword and with a
careful flick made Gunnar?s broken hilt fly through the air. And then Gunnar
knew that the few blows he had parried had been the warder?s wretchedness
that allowed it. ?You really do think too much of yourself for your own
good? the warder told him before he cut Gunnar?s right little finger off and
took it with him out the door.
 After that, all Gunnar remembered was being sewn up by a Wisdom and
waking up the next day with out his little finger. After that incident, he
frequented the taverns less and was really setting into his drab life
without the brawling, when he read a book that contained information about
warders. And that?s when all his fury rose up from that night and he decided
he would not live in fear. And he certainly wouldn?t let a rebel warder
wander around with his little finger in his pocket. There really was nothing
for him in Caemlyn anymore, no ties, and his parents could get on without
him. Not to mention there was glory in it all, there would be excitement and
adventure and maybe even learn to use all the weapons he?d been reading
about all those years. So right then and there he met up with a caravan set
out for Tar Valon and his new life which promised to be all that he?d read
about.
Category:WS 2
Category:Trainee
Category:Biographies
Category:Warder Bios