Madel Havanin

DM Handle 
==Description==
Eye Color: Dark green, with hints of brown around the edges
Hair Color: Brown, curly, a little less than shoulder length
Height: 5'6
Weight: 154 lbs
Age: 19
Place of Origin: Tirin, a village on the northern side of the River Haevin. (Caralain Grass?)
==Stats==
Rank: Trainee
Warder Weapon Score: 0
Paths and Disciplines: Not Chosen Yet
Primary Weapon: Not Chosen Yet
Secondary Weapon: Not Chosen Yet
Tertiary Weapon: Not Chosen Yet
==History==
The moon was just rising as Madel slipped out of his bed, taking care not to wake his brother, who was sleeping on the other side of the room. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at the thought of leaving his family like this, in the middle of the night, without so much as a goodbye, but the feeling quickly subsided. They wouldn't have understood his decision, much less supported it; besides, his mind was already made up. The moment he had seen that woman's face, beauty that defied age, he had known she was one of the Aes Sedai. And by that measure, the man accompanying her had been one of those legendary warriors, a Warder. Light! An Aes Sedai and her Warder, here in Tirin! That man had been so full of deadly grace, moving with such fluidity and confidence, Madel couldn't have helped being awed by him. And when the man had stared down Lem Dove rs, arguably the roughest, meanest dog that called itself a man, Lem had slink ed off into the shadows with tail tucked between legs. Nobody ever stood up to Lem, and the Warder had sent him running with just a look!
Carefully pulling the wrapped bundle from its hiding spot under the bed, Madel eased it over his shoulder and tip-toed barefoot out the bedroom door, boots in one hand and walking stave in the other. Curan mumbled something, and Madel froze, holding his breath. Light, if his brother woke now as he was sneaking out, like some foot-pad in the night, how could he explain himself? But Curan just groped sleepily for his thin blanket, and then rolled over onto his side. Still, Madel waited a few more seconds before allowing himself to breathe again. At least his parents' quarters were on the opposite end of the farmhouse from the front door, so there was little chance of waking them, but he took his time creeping through the shadows anyways. This would possibly be the last time he ever saw this place, where he had been born and raised, and where he had worked the fields for so long, and he wanted to drink in his last few moments within these walls. Finally he pulled on his boots, sturdy leather with thick wooden soles, and stepped out into the night air.
The road before him was a silvery ribbon in the moonlight. He could see that path stretching out before him, across miles of low rolling hills where his neighbors grew crops and raised animals. The path that would lead him to Tar Valon, home of the White Tower and the Aes Sedai. And thus, home of the Warders. As a skinny farm boy that had been constantly pushed around by other boys his age, the sight of Lem Dovers being cowed had been one of the greatest things Madel had ever seen. And the thought of attaining that power, that skill and self-assurance, filled the young man's mind. He wanted it; he wanted to be capable of fighting a hundred men. But more than just being capable of it, he wanted to know he was capable. He wanted to look at his reflection and see a lion staring back at him. His father would have told him to stop dreaming, that there were chores to be done, crops to be tended; his mother would have absolutely forbidden him from even talking about it.
And so he walked out into the night, with nothing more than a grey wool shirt, tanned hide trousers, his boots and staff, and several days worth of smoked ham and bread rolled into a thin cloak. Well that, and a small bag he had tucked into his waistband. He tried not to think of where that bag had come from, but the faint, almost imperceptible clinking of coins rose up to drown out all the other sounds of the night. Blood and ashes, I'll find some way to make it up to them, he promised himself, but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach didn't go away. It's my own coin, anyways. Just because I'm not using it the way they would have wanted doesn't make it not mine. Does it?
Category:Warder Bios
Category:Biographies
Category:WS 0
Category:Trainee