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Eleand do Rathin a’Calarn

istreubel@de.cplg.com

Freelander

High Seat of House Rathin

Place of birth: Murandy

Age: 26

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Brown

Height: 185cm

Weight: 85 kg

Character description: With the exception of the inherited cold eyes of his father, Eleand is overall a handsome young man more portraying his mother’s looks. Not that he appeared soft or girlish. Years of training have steeled his body, but his various mentors did not only train him in the art of warfare, even if that was the largest field of his training ever since leaving his father’s house at nine.

Background: Eleand’s father Corrin had been a hard and cold man, easy to beat his son for the smallest offence, or even for him just being at the wrong time at the wrong place. That was the reason why Eleand was not very sad when he was sent to his father’s cousin at the age of nine to learn from him the ways of a noble man, because of his father fearing the presence of his sisters and mother could turn the boy weak and soft. Eleand had loved the years he spent with Donad and his family. Donad trained the child as well as his own sons and the days were filled with riding, training and hunting. It was a casual time that flew past without too much thought lost on his side for home. It was on Eleand’s sixteenth birthday that his father called him back home. Eleand’s mother had died shortly before leaving five sisters behind, three of which Eleand then met the first time. But his stay was not to last long. His father was cruel, but he wasn’t a dumb man. He wanted his son to be a good ruler. He wanted him to have the education and experience he had lacked. But Eleand suspected there were other reasons beneath the ones apparent. Now that he was older he could see them. Hidden by the cruelty there was fear. It was rumoured that his father had ascended to the high seat of his house by murdering his older brother, and clearly he was fearing that his own son could do the same to him to succeed before his time was due. Early one morning a bony servant woke Eleand with the words: "Your belongings are packed master. The party is ready to leave." He did not even have time to say farewell to his sisters. And neither to his father. The goodbye consisted of the older man standing on top of the battlements, bathed crimson in the light of the dawning sun as he left the families castle down below. Eleand spent two years as a squire on the court in Caemlyn. Two more after that in Cairhien before setting out to Shienar where he stayed a similarly long time. On the way there he even had a short stop in Tar Valon. He often wondered how his father arranged his stays and what made him decide where he wanted his son to be at what time. Or why. Knowing the feeling his father shared for him he assumed the man thought the time near the blight to be his hardest. But it wasn\’t. Off all the times that had passed, off all the places he had been to, the years in Cairhien had been his hardest and the most trying. Reaching his twenty-third year, Eleand, followed by one servant, three of the four mentors that had left his home with him and a dozen guards, left Fal Moran to travel past Shol Arbela, Chachin and Maradon all the way to Bandar Eban. Spending another year there, Eleand finally and slowly started his long way of return. By then, of the guards only three were left alive and only one of his mentors was still with him. Somewhere on Almoth Plain he had to bury his servant, and that felt like the gravest loss he had suffered to that day. It was there, Eleand was staying in the only tavern Of the village he was passing, that a messenger arrived. He had turned twenty-five the month before. The messenger looked ragged and out of breath and his clothes were stained and torn. Eleand did not know him, but when the man’s eyes fell on him, they immediately spoke of recognition. "Thank the light!" he sighed as he dripped to his knee. "I was beginning to think I would never reach you!" It appeared the messenger had been searching for him for more then half a year. And what he had to say was bad news indeed, even if it did not make Eleand sad. "It is your father. Last winter he contracted some cold that has been getting worse ever since. When I left he had been spitting blood for weeks and had not left his bed in over a month." The messenger hesitated then. "I fear he is dead now unless a miracle happened." Early one morning a bony servant woke Eleand with the words: “Your belongings are packed master. The party is ready to leave.” He did not even have time to say farewell to his sisters. And neither to his father. The goodbye consisted of the older man standing on top of the battlements, bathed crimson in the light of the dawning sun as he left the families castle down below. Eleand spent two years as a squire on the court in Caemlyn. Two more after that in Cairhien before setting out to Shienar where he stayed a similarly long time. On the way there he even had a short stop in Tar Valon. He often wondered how his father arranged his stays and what made him decide where he wanted his son to be at what time. Or why. Knowing the feeling his father shared for him he assumed the man thought the time near the blight to be his hardest. But it wasn’t. Off all the times that had passed, off all the places he had been to, the years in Cairhien had been his hardest and the most trying. Reaching his twenty-third year, Eleand, followed by one servant, three of the four mentors that had left his home with him and a dozen guards, left Fal Moran to travel past Shol Arbela, Chachin and Maradon all the way to Bandar Eban. Spending another year there, Eleand finally and slowly started his long way of return. By then, of the guards only three were left alive and only one of his mentors was still with him. Somewhere on Almoth Plain he had to bury his servant, and that felt like the gravest loss he had suffered to that day. It was there, Eleand was staying in the only tavern Of the village he was passing, that a messenger arrived. He had turned twenty-five the month before. The messenger looked ragged and out of breath and his clothes were stained and torn. Eleand did not know him, but when the man’s eyes fell on him, they immediately spoke of recognition. “Thank the light!” he sighed as he dripped to his knee. “I was beginning to think I would never reach you!” It appeared the messenger had been searching for him for more then half a year. And what he had to say was bad news indeed, even if it did not make Eleand sad. “It is your father. Last winter he contracted some cold that has been getting worse ever since. When I left he had been spitting blood for weeks and had not left his bed in over a month.” The messenger hesitated then. “I fear he is dead now unless a miracle happened.” Winter breaking delayed his return further. It was the day after his twenty-sixth name day that he finally returned to his home. Not as the heir of the house. But as the high seat, for his father had died shortly after the messenger leaving. He did not grieve for his fathers death much. He had hardly known him. Rather it was the sight of their estate lying in shambles that angered him. Three of his sister had been married away. One had died and only the youngest, she was only fifteen, was left at home. And he had to discover that his father had been working hard to marry her, a disturbed, frail child, off within the year too. About the house Rathin The houses wealth is based on the road taxes it collects on the road leading from Lugard to Ebou Dar and Jehannah. Located at the western corner of the country their estates mostly cover mountainous or hilly terrain only suitable for goat keeping and sheep herding. The house’s stronghold is a castle located high above the river Thallarin that eventually runs into the river Storn further down south of Lugard. Winter breaking delayed his return further. It was the day after his twenty-sixth name day that he finally returned to his home. Not as the heir of the house. But as the high seat, for his father had died shortly after the messenger leaving. He did not grieve for his fathers death much. He had hardly known him. Rather it was the sight of their estate lying in shambles that angered him. Three of his sister had been married away. One had died and only the youngest, she was only fifteen, was left at home. And he had to discover that his father had been working hard to marry her, a disturbed, frail child, off within the year too.

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