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Email: shannonmarie_02@yahoo.com

DescriptionEdit

Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Dark Brown/Black
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 130
Age: 18
Place of Origin: Saldea

StatsEdit

Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 3
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:

HistoryEdit

Brenna was born the middle child of 7 to a minor Saldean noble. Her father had dreams when his first child was still in the womb of raising a family of fighters to serve his homeland. He imagined at least six strapping, young men, skilled with their swords, fighting on the borders, but had the somewhat unfortunate luck to have all seven of his children turn out to be girls. Not to be daunted by the twist fait had thrown him, he began to train his children to be warriors, the oldest, of course, staying home most of the time to learn to keep the accounts.

When Brenna was ten, her father took her to the small armory he had built on their land and motiones with his calloused hand that she was to pick any weapon she wanted. Brenna walked through the display of weapons, picking up a few, and trying to feel, like her father and older sister did, the weight and balance of the weapon. She eventually chose a dagger and a scimitar. Her father trained her from that day on to effectively use her weapons. Brenna was taught how to keep her weapon clean, and how to properly defend herself.

At the age of fourteen, Brenna accompanied her father and three older sisters on a hunting trip. Brenna, armed with a bow, her scimitar strapped to her saddle and dagger at her hip, rode ahead of the group to see what type of animal she could scare up. She rode with no luck until she reached a small clearing. Stopping short of entering the clearing, she noticed a group of men sitting around a small fire, cooking a meal of some sort of bird. Brenna quietly snuck up to where she could see the men clearly, careful not to make a noise. After deciding that these men were bandits, and tresspassing on her father's land, Brenna, in her youthful arrogance, stomped in angrily, declaring they must leave her family's ground at once. Eyeing her with a hungry glare, the three men ran to grab Brenna, thinking she would be an easy target, and make them a good fortune in ransom. Seeing her mistake and the intent of the bandits, Brenna backed up into the woods, hoping to get her scimitar before they reached her. She wasn't fast enough, though, and one man grabbed her arm. "Where do you think you're going, love? Come here!" Outraged that any man would dare lay a hand on her like that, Brenna grabbed her dagger and thrust it into the man's stomach before he knew what she was doing. Horrified by the human blood flowing over her hand, Brenna ran to her horse, hoping to mount and ride away. As she grabbe the reins to her horse, Brenna heard the other two men grunt and yell in pain. Looking back, she saw an arrow protruding from one man's neck, the other from his back. She looked up from the dead bodies to see her father and oldest sister ride in- her father looking angrier than he ever had. Her father dismounted, and seeing the man Brenna stabbed was still alive, he pulled out his sword, and thrust it into the man's heart. Pulling out his weapon, he looked up at Brenna, "Are you hurt?" Seeing her shake her head no, he sheathed his sword and mounted his horse. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's continue our hunt!" And with that, her father rode of to find himself a deer.

Since then, Brenna knew that she wasn't a proper soldier, nor would she ever be if she couldn't continue her training elsewhere. When she turned sixteen, she announced to her family that she wanted to train in Tar Valon with the Warders and learn to be a skilled fighter, a weapon herself. Her father looked at her with sadness and pride in his eyes. He would miss his daughter, but was looking forward to the bragging rights that would ensue when she would return home, able to beat his rival family's oldest son in sparring. Brenna left her family the following year, on her way to Tar Valon. She was dead set on being a warder, and nothing could change her mind now.

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