Eye Color: grey
Hair Color: Black
Height: 5-5
Weight: 180
Age: 16
Place of Origin: Arafel


Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 2
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:


Character's name: Aren Machnaran Age (must be 18 or younger): 16 Place of Origin (must be from the mainland of Randland): Arafel Hair Color: black Eye Color: grey Height: 5-5 Weight: 180 Looks: of medium height and blocky, with a hooked nose and long hair braided and covered with black and grey beads.

Brief History:

"But what of the chance involved in the encounter? Sure that would take away from the essoteric nature of the movements,"

"I do not agree Ceranos. The randomness in the movements is something to consider and factor into the movements and the fluidity. The economy of motion of the one man is the advantage he will have. But the question is, does he have the right to win?"

Ceranos launched into one of his rants about the nature of the world in relation to man, and how the heavens affect the wind, which in turn effects man. Aren had heard this a thousand times before and focused on the two combatants in the street below. Aren and his mentor sat on the balcony that sat in central Shol Arebella. He had spent more time in this place than his home. His parents had sent him to a mentor to learn philosophy. Since he was a boy, he had gone over the minutia of the ways of men and nature as well as art and the form of the world. Aren thaught his parent beleived that being rich merchants made their son different from everyone else, and sending him to be a philosopher and man who would one day work behind a desk, would save him from battle like most other borderlanders. Aren was beggining to reconsider his parent's choice.

A grunt from below woke him from thaught. Focusing again on the two men fighting in the street below. the smaller of the two had just broken the other man's arm, effectivly ending the confrontation. Ceranos was still droning on about the effects of color on the mood of a man and how the browns in the street would favor a man who ate more meat than vegetable. His mentor was an amazing man, but Aren belived that even at 16, he was a smarter man than his mentor.

With the fight over, Aren watched as the the crowd that had gathered tried to stop the smaller man from killing the larger. A man's death did not concerns Aren. What did concern him was the nature of the battle. Being a borderlander, he had practiced his share with the sword and bow. He had even manned the ramparts to defend against torlloc raids with his bow. As of late, He had spent alot of time in meditation on the mind and spirit that a person must have as well as the movements involved in confrontation. It was this thaught that had put a rift between him and Ceranos.

"Are you even listening to me? Aren, the nature of..."

Ceranos would go on like this for a long time. Aren tuned him out. Ceranos could speak on anything, but he could act on nothing....

Aren had spent the past year working on the sword and training with several of the men around the city. He was good at the sword, but not as good as he liked. And only on par with the average borderlander teen. Aren would proctice the movements as his instructors told him, but even more, he would think about the weapon, the use, and the world that the wepaon created.

His knowledge of philosophy and his practice with the sword made Aren think he could become great with it one day. Several weeks ago, Aren had had a dream...

A blood red raven flew through the sky towards him.

To the left lay a land of decadent luxury, wine, women, and complacency. The sky was blue and a large home lay among green grass, no doubt paid for by his fathers wealth.

To the right lay a land of strife. Death and battle, andan uncertain future. In the distance a large white tower shown in the horizon. The sky striated with clouds and the red of dawn.

The raven cawed as is closed in on him, and in a heartbeat, Aren had to make the decision on the direction of his life. Otherwise, the bird was to end it. Without thaught, he jumped to the right. The bird flew by, and as it winked at him as it passed.

Aren woke up with a gasp. The dream stayed with him. Most dreams faded in his mind quickly, but this one stayed. even weeks later, causing him to meditate for hours on it. even when that meant losing sleep after his classes with Ceranos and with the sword.

Ceranos droned on and on. The mob below had cleared, aparently saved the man, and either arrested theother or ushere dhim away. Aren knew what he needed to do. Without a word, he stood and walked into the room adjoining the balcony. Ceranos snapped his jaw shut in supprise. He had never known Aren to be informal or spontaneus. But his Mentor was about to learn much about his apprentice that he did not know.

"Where are you going? What are you doing?" He followed Aren into the room. Aren did not speak while he pulled on his heavy cloak and packed his blanket roll for travel. Ceranos followed him pleading for an explanation as Aren went down the roade to the stable, preparing his horse. Aren mounted the horse, and Ceranos touched his leg, "Aren, what are you doing, where are you going, I cannot understand these actions?"

"Ceranos, you have taught me well, but if you cannot understand why I am leaving, than you must meditate on it. I have, And maybe one day you will understand why without the action, a man can not truly understand the world." Ceranos backed up, and shook his head. Despite his immense knowledge of the nature of man, the older man could not see beyond his own nose.

Aren kicked his horses ribs, and gallopped off, leaving Ceranos behind. Aren would learn the nature of battle, and he would master it...

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