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Email: lonelywriter04@yahoo.com

DescriptionEdit

Eye Color: Minty, frosty green
Hair Color: So dark it might as well be bl
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 161
Age: 17
Place of Origin: Altara

StatsEdit

Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 4
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:

HistoryEdit

> Character's name: Clive Dentinu (TPC) > Age (must be 18 or younger): 17 > Place of Origin (must be from the mainland of Randland): Altara > Hair Color: So dark it might as well be black > Eye Color: Minty, frosty green > Height: 6’2’’ > Weight: 161 lbs

Clive and his family consisted of his mother, his father, and his little sister Kina. Living in Altara, they were deprived of education and well-being, and illnesses spread through their little portion of the city where the rest of the poor families dwelt. However poor and uneducated though, Clive was very wise for his age, and could see through a lot of lies and trickery that the nobles and higher class people inflicted upon his own lower-standing folk. He never liked it, and even stood out against them a few times, earned lashings for stepping out of place, and then the world carried on as though nothing strange had happened.


He was six years old when his sister was born and his mother died. He had never cried and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—start now, no matter how hard it hurt his little body that his mother would no longer be with them. He spared one tear for her and then vowed to take care of his little sister and raise her right, mimicking his father, who was kneeling beside his wife, his lips pressed against one of her lifeless hands.


Kina grew up quite the contrary to what Clive and his father had worked to do. Instead of being well-mannered she grew up eating with less manners than Clive or his father combined, and when Clive got his silly little blacksmith job—mainly working with loading and unloading things—she wouldn’t leave him alone until she could help him. She did help him, though with no pay, but it made Clive happy. As the months wore, on, all the lifting and hauling made Clive’s muscles bulge and by some off chance as he ate on a break with his sister, who could eat fruit with enough manners, he was offered to actually work with the metal and make swords, etc.


He was a blacksmith for three years, and not even before half a year, he was considered pretty good. The money was still not enough to get them out of that poor little rut they had had for the Light knew how long. Though Clive kept at it, and so did his father, until one of the illnesses that liked to play with the lives along his people plagued his father to death. It was quick, and his father only suffered for two weeks before he passed.


Clive was just-turned sixteen then, but still he spared only one tear. He graced his father’s cheek with a kiss along with his forehead, before leaving his sister to watch the body burn as he went to work the next day.


Life got rough in those next couple months and disease seemed to press itself on all the lower-class people who couldn’t afford treatment. One such person, was little Kina. Pock marks on her skin rose to boils and her peachy skin was a soft off-white color, lips blue and cold to the touch. She was so weak, she couldn’t hardly move, let alone breathe properly. She was ill for about a month, and throughout that whole month, Clive still went to work, refusing to make what had happened to his sister real. One night, though, coming back with an armload of food for his sister and himself, he found her chest still and her colder-than-cold body, lying upon his bed.


It was the first time Clive had shed more than one tear per person. This time, he stayed up hours into the night, weeping for all he had lost, and in the morning, he left. He didn’t know where or for how long, but he packed bread, that was already beginning to get stale, some few coins he had managed to collect while working and, coughing into his sleeve, he left his home, without a glance back. What was past was past and he could never change it, but he still walked away from it.


…He arrived at Tar Valon months later, bruised and ill, and hungry and tired. He didn’t care how he looked, and he didn’t care if he really died. He was never and would never be suicidal, but at that time he felt like giving up—something he had never done. The road was tough, coming here, and he didn’t even know where he was until he awoke incredibly hungry in a room that he learned to be the infirmary of the white tower. He had heard some stories about Tar Valon and the white tower, but he had never thought he would come to be here. As he walked along—only about three months after the age of seventeen—he was struck by automatic dumbfoundedness. It was quite a beautiful city, and as he stumbled his way along, he found himself at the Yards, and before he knew it—after watching Warders and Tower Guards and Trainees train—he was Clive Dentinu, Tower Trainee of the White Tower in Tar Valon.

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