Uthar Ayrin

Email: arbryan@cox.net
==Description==
Eye Color: Grey
Hair Color: Black
Height: 6'0
Weight: 185
Age: 17
Place of Origin: Andor
==Stats==
Rank: Tower Guard
Weaopon Score: 13
Philosophy: The Flame and the Void
Primary Weapon: Sabres
Secondary Weapon: Martial Arts
Tertiary Weapon: Bola
==History==
In the deep forest at the foot of the Black Hills a leaf fell from the
security of its branch and began to drift slowly towards the ground. The
falling was not the beginning. The Wheel of Time has neither
beginnings nor endings. But it was a beginning.
The leaf fell past branches and other leaves as it made its descent. It
broke free of the high branches that formed the overhead canopy and nearly
reached the ground before a gust of wind whipped it chaotically through the
air. The gust carried the leaf over the river Ivo in northern Andor, where
it landed softly on the water. Torn and spinning it flowed down the river
and past a small town located at the split. The leaf continued on until
finally it came to a stop upon the shoulder near a black haired young man
crouched behind a small shrub. He was stalking a rabbit and had the animal
locked in his sights through the branches of his cover. Without taking his
grey eyes from his prey, the dark haired hunter concentrated. He raised his
bow and drew an arrow to his cheek. Free from all emotion it was just the
hunter and the prey. He released the arrow and knew before it cleared the
bow that his aim was true.
In the quiet dawn the sound of several horses pounding through the forest
was as loud as if someone had begun banging pots with wooden spoons, and the
silence made it sound as if it were being done right at the hunter's ear.
The rabbit heard it too and it darted off leaving the arrow racing along the
dirt and vanishing into the undergrowth. Like the rabbit, the hunter had
already changed his focus and was moving swiftly along the edge of the river
trying to keep pace with the strangers while remaining out of sight. He was
only able to catch small glimpses of them between the trees, but they were
like nothing he had ever seen. There were four of them. Two smaller forms
that rode with their hoods pulled low and two larger that wore cloaks that
hurt his eyes to look at. The cloaks made them appear all but invisible, as
if their heads were riding over the horses without the benefit of a body.
Color shifting cloaks like those only existed in the stories, and the hunter
smiled to think that a real adventure had finally found its way into Abor.
The horses quickly outpaced him, and he slowed to a walk while his mind
recalled everything he knew about Aes Sedai and their Warders. He knew only
a little, the same stories every child in Abor had heard growing up about
Tar Valon and the Power. The stories made them out to be larger than life
and if they were headed straight towards Abor it wasn't by accident. In
fact, if they changed their course only slightly they would be riding
straight towards his home.
His father and mother would likely be there, and he doubted that either
would believe him if they didn't see the strangers with their own eyes. Both
of his parents had seen to his education and they had both strengthened his
mind and perception so that he did not fall victim to what others said or
the face value of what was seen, even with his own eyes. His father had
taught him to move with stealth, stalk, and track, fight with his hands and
feet, hunt with a bow, and how to fight with swords. It was his hope that
his son would one day take over for him as the protector of the town and to
wisely sit on the village council. His mother had taught him how to read and
write and the use of each herb that she spent most of each day tending.
Together they had left him little time to actually enjoy his youth, but it
just taught him to cherish every free moment that he had. He would tell them
what he had seen, and then they would want to see for themselves these
strangers that had come. They would not call them Aes Sedai and Warder until
they knew that for certain. He shouldn't either. They had often cautioned
him on the danger of assumptions and their difficulty to be changed once
made.
As he approached the cottage that he called home, Uthar had a strange
feeling that something was wrong. Instead of going straight to the door he
remained a short distance into the forest, using the trees and underbrush as
cover. He circled the farm and on the opposite side of the house he noticed
four horses. The riders must be inside. Use your mind, not your
eyes. The voice of his father drifted through his head. He looked again
and noticed that the door was not just open but hung at an awkward angle.
One of the hinges had been broken and where the handle used to be was a
hole. He pulled back from the tree line a little more and concealed himself
in the underbrush and was thankful he had when the four strangers burst from
the house. They mounted their horses, and after a quick scan of the area
they rode off towards the north.
As much as he wanted to rush into the house he held his position and
silently counted to one hundred. At sixty, one of the Warders rode back into
the small clearing mad a circuit around the cottage scanning the forest as
he went before riding back into the forest after his companions. At one
hundred, Uthar slipped out of his hiding place and crossed the open ground
to the porch. He was careful to avoid the first two steps, because of the
noise they would release. His father had always known when someone had
arrived and Uthar could still recall the day that he had figured out how. It
was the last day he had used either step. At the door he took a deep breath
before stepping inside.
The house was in shambles. The kitchen table had been overthrown and there
were slash marks on every wall he could see. The bow was raised and ready as
he began to search the house. A quick scan of the main floor revealed
nothing, and as he came upon the door that led down to the cellar he noticed
a tiny flickering light. He descended the stairs and entered his parent's
bedroom, where he found his father hunched on the ground beside a small
lantern. His sabres were resting on open hands and he was bleeding from more
than a dozen wounds. His head bobbed as he tried to raise it to look upon
his son. Uthar moved one of the swords and knelt down by his father,
wrapping his arms around him. Tears were already streaking down his face.
"You're going to be alright, aren't you? Where's mother? No, don't try to
move father. Who were they?" Uthar's father wheezed and coughed before he
could get out an answer, and after his chest rose and fell painfully a
couple times he managed. "An-swers. Un-der me. Your mo-ther's, gone.
Re-mem-ber..." And with that his head rolled forward so that his chin was
resting upon a chest that no longer moved.
Uthar sat there in silence with his arms wrapped around his father for what
felt an eternity. When he woke up early he had thought today was going to be
special, but it turned out to be the worst day of his life. He should have
been here. He could have helped. His father was dead and despite the need to
mourn he still had so many questions. He carefully lifted his father onto
the bed and in the light from the lantern noticed that one of the
floorboards was missing. Answers. Under me. Uthar tore at the floor
and several more pieces easily came away revealing two long slender chests.
The first one took him a moment to open, but when he managed to finally see
what was inside his eyes grew large.
The first thing he noticed was a thick leather belt that had a scabbard
attached to each side. Rising out of each scabbard was the hilt of a sword.
Uthar knew that his father was an exceptional swordsman, but he had no idea
that he actually owned swords like these. Each weapon was black, with the
grip being wrapped in soft grey pigskin leather being the only other color.
At the base of each handle was a large onyx stone that seemed to drink the
light and make the room appear even darker than it already was. He loosened
them in their scabbards and then slowly drew them out. The black steel of
the swords made a slight hissing sound as they were extracted. They both had
wide sweeping blades that were thirty-five inches in length and felt
amazingly light in his hands. He had never heard of black steel and wondered
where his father had ever found such magnificent weapons. He carefully
tested the sharpness and cut his finger despite his caution. Sliding the
blades back into their sheaths he noticed that they were also dark black
leather on one side, and the same grey leather as the grips on the other.
They were sabres, though they were definitely unlike any he had heard of
before. He also found several leather pouches each full of gold and silver
coins from a different kingdom. As he was about to close the lid of the
first chest something caught his eye. He hadn't noticed it before and it was
still difficult to see, even looking straight at it. His hands closed onto
soft silky material and as he raised it from the chest he realized that it
was a cloak like he had seen on the two strangers. It was the color shifting
cloak of a Warder.
In the second chest Uthar found a heavy white-gold signet ring with the same
symbol that even now he was aware of on center of his upper back just below
his neckline. It was the Ayrin sigil. His own mark was more than a simple
tattoo and looked as if the art were alive beneath his skin. Four arms
seemed to grow in the shape of an X out of a small black disc in the center.
Each arm ended in a hand that gripped a black sabre, with the blades all
running counter clockwise in the same direction and coming to rest
tip-to-hilt forming the inner circle of the sigil. The outer circle was a
thick band of white gold, as if the moon itself wreathed the rest. His
father had never told him what the sigil meant, just that males in the Ayrin
line had all been born with the same mark. The chest also contained several
outfits of strange clothing. Tight black breeches, soft grey shirts, some
black vests, two cloaks that could be worn either way - black slashed with
grey or grey slashed with black - each with a clasp that was a larger
version of the signet ring design, and a dark black coat. They were of an
unknown style and the soft supple material was like leather yet finer than
anything he had seen, and felt more durable than the sturdy clothes that he
was wearing.
The only items remaining at the bottom of the chest were five small books.
Flipping through the books he found that they were in some foreign language
that he had never seen before. Each page had images that depicted a man
holding two swords and he had the feeling they were instructional. Some of
the images from the first book were all too familiar, but he had never seen
some of the stances and movements hinted at by the rest. Most of the
pictures in the last two books showed an opponent with four targets, or six,
or eight, each being struck simultaneously by the same person. The
impossibilities didn't stop there and Uthar's head began to hurt just
looking at the images.
He spent the majority of the afternoon digging a grave. The spot he had
chosen to bury his father was beneath the tree that had been planted by his
parents when they arrived in Abor, long before he was born. He had never
found his mother's body, and that fact disturbed him deeply. After his
father had been buried he was faced with the most difficult decision of his
life. The first decision he would be making as a man. What do I do
now? There was only one place he could think of that might have the
information he needed, Tar Valon. And if his fears were correct about how
his parents died he would need to be on his guard.
After a sorrow filled visit to the mayor of Abor, Uthar set out on horse
back across The Black Hills and finally arrived in Tar Valon. He was there
to learn. To honor the memory of his father by following in his footsteps,
and the light willing he would learn what he could about the life and death
of his parents.
Category:WS 13
Category:Tower Guard
Category:Biographies
Category:Warder Bios