Email: gareth_aytc@yahoo.com
Description[]
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Black
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 184
Age: 17
Place of Origin: Arad Doman
Stats[]
Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 3
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:
History[]
Corban grew up under the care of an Arafellin woodsman by the name of Jarvis Karr. He never knew his real father, and his mother had abandoned him soon after his birth. His caretaker, grizzled veteran of the wilderness that he was, took pity on him when he came across him in a dilapidated hut. He was wrapped in warm wools and left to his own, forgotten by those who created him.
Treating him as if he was his own son, the hunter named him Corban. From the first times that he was able to be taught Jarvis showed him the graceful arts of tracking and hunting. He grew into a young boy with more knowledge in his head then many twice his age. Most of his time was spent hunting and preparing the camp. Corban had quite a few hobbies he thrived on, like his time spent with the bow and arrow. He was adept with it, though not overtly great, and would often forgo traps and snares just to test his skill. Corban also loved to read, whenever he and Jarvis stopped through a town to buy goods he would always weasel his way into finding some sort of book he had not read yet. Yet Corban still lived for the thrill of the hunt alongside his adoptive father.
As the years progressed, Corban grew into a fine young man. He was of good height, a slender build yet hardened from the elements and labor. He wore his sleek black hair in the style of his father, two braids with little silver bells intertwined at their ends. Corban also began to become restless in his days. He was nagged by the sense of adventurer all young men face in their lives. That and the stories his father would tell of his own past. Jarvis had been part of the great army that had fought back the Aiel during the Aiel War. He had been, it seemed to Corban, just about everywhere. Jarvis often spoke of Tar Valon and the splendors of that great city. With every story told, Corban felt the urge of adventure pull harder.
Corban was sixteen when he expressed to his father his wanting to explore something different then the Borderland wilderness. Jarvis had known this day would come sooner or later. Though he had prayed it would not. When asked what he planned to do, Corban responded with the hopes of maybe seeing the Tar Valon his father had told him of. Jarvis had not the heart to deny his son this thing he wanted most dearly, so over the next year he spent teaching Corban all he knew of the customs of the southern folk. He even taught Corban a little sword work, though nothing complicated, just enough so he would at least know how not to chop his own foot off.
When Corban turned seventeen he bid farewell to his father and set off south with a merchant caravan heading towards Tar Valon. His head full of all sorts of thoughts he focused on one in particular. Jarvis had often told him of the Warders. How they were some of the greatest warriors in the land and masters of mind and body. Corban had never told his father this but he held close to some small hope that maybe he could one day join their ranks. Yet Corban held some doubt, he feared he would get to Tar Valon and have his hopes cast aside. Though Corban knew he could not keep such an attitude and strived to do his best to become accepted for training. All his thoughts centered on getting to Tar Valon and seeing his dreams through.