Email: sable.dragon@gmail.com
Description[]
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Medium Brown
Height: 6'3
Weight: 145
Age: 16
Place of Origin: Amadicia
Stats[]
Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 1
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:
History[]
Character's name: Jaegar Sef (Originally Yarim Sef) Age: 16 Place of Origin: Amadicia Hair Color: Medium Brown Eye Color: Green w/ gold around the pupil Height: 6'3" Weight: 145 lbs. History:
Yarim walked down the roughly paved street of the slightly populace city that he called home. His long coat felt tight around his neck as it was pulled to and fro by the wind. The dark coat was long and ended around his knees as was common for most citizens of Amadicia. He made his way weaving through alleyways away from the main thoroughfare and towards the house he shared with his mother. He walked onto the porch, knocked on the door and waited. His mother Rose answered in short order and let him in. She was fully dressed and her hair wasn't disheveled which meant she hadn't had any "patrons" recently. She wore a smile and trying to make him feel like their life was great since it was a week until his sixteenth birthday. She muffled his short brown hair and asked if she could get him anything or if he had a preference for dinner. He shook his head, he hadn't felt much like talking since his father, Jaegar, had died. It had been about six years. Life was better then, his father was a woodsman and his mother stayed home and took care of a small garden that they had. They lived on the border of Amadicia his father's home country and Altara his mother's. He was close to his father and often went hunting with him and learned what little he could in the short time he had. When Jaegar fell ill he was devastated and even more so when he passed. No one would help him or even try for fear of the White Cloak's inquisition. After that he and his mother couldn't make it on their own. Soon they had to move and after trying a few different jobs she fell into her current line of work. It pained him that he couldn't take care of her as his father did. He had tried but he could only forage and hunt well enough to take care of one. He was a great tracker, a natural his father had said, obviously exaggerating to make him feel good but he could have been. His aim was lacking though. With time that may have caught up with the other skills but one of them would have starved by then. That brought them to the present. He looked up at her and made himself smile. He loved more than anything. She was his whole life, all he had. He knew of no one in his family if there was anyone so she was all he had left. They shared a meal and some conversation. She asked about his job and what he had learned that day from Master Egan, a close friend and his boss. He gave Yarim work mucking out stalls and caring for horses and in return gave him a respectable education in his free time. He was just getting to tell his mother about what he had learned about Artur Hawkwing when he heard heavy footfalls on the porch. Rose gave him a sad and remorseful look and he arose and made his way to the back of their one story house. After entering his room he immediately went to the bed and covered his ears as best he could. He had no desire to hear his mother's feigned sounds of enjoyment or her patron's grunts. He could still barely hear voices and feel the vibration through the walls and floors. They lasted shortly and ended with a load thud followed by brief silence. Hearing footsteps and the door open and close he waited a little while longer then made his way back to the front of the house. When he walked into the living room he noticed his mother lying on the floor not moving. He rushed to her side and his heart dropped when he saw the blood around her stomach. He quickly inspected her through tear filled eyes. Her blouse was torn leaving her chest exposed, she had deep gashes on her hands and arms as if trying to deflect a blade of some sort. Her skirt was streaked as if a sword was wiped off on it and she was completely lifeless. Getting up all his emotions boiled inside him. Sorrow, anger, pain all mingled together. Reaching for his belt his hand found his fathers old knife. A good blade but worn and with a hilt with Jaegar carved into it. Hurriedly he went to the door and went outside. On the edge of town where they lived no one was out except a singular figure making his way down the road white cloak billowing out behind him with a helmet in the crook of his arm. Hesitating only briefly he headed after him with a steady pace. The man made a turn and he followed him. Getting close he couldn't contain himself any longer. Rushing to the man aimed for the man's throat and lunged at him. The man turned and with a look of surprise on his face bore the brunt of the knife in his neck. Yarim could feels his warm blood on his hands and the deflection of the blade off bone tearing the right side of the neck open. Instinctively the White Cloak reached for his sword but it was too late. He collapsed in a heap along with Yarim's entire world. Suddenly he could here his screams and the voices of others from a nearby inn. Wrenching his knife the rest of the way loose he started to run back home but stopped himself. There were White Cloaks stationed in town and it wouldn't take long for them to find out and come after him. He could go to Egan's but he decided not to do that either for fear of putting him in danger. Instead he turned and ran?..
He found himself deep in the woods days later. He wasn't sure if he was being followed but he had a feeling that the Children's fervor would lead them to do so. Just as he guessed that it must of lead them to kill his mother. His heart ached with and he had wept until no tears came. He was numb, he had nothing left. He hadn't eaten since or drank anything since that night nor did he want to. He wouldn't risk a fire so sitting there in the dark he traced his father's blade along his left index finger and moved it down his hand and arm steadily applying pressure until the blood on his hands was his own and mixing with the remnants of the anonymous White Cloak's. A death better than the one that would have dealt to him by the Children's hands. Plus he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of taking his life as they had his mother and indirectly his father's. Laying there he waited for a self inflicted death?..
He could see light through his eyelids and felt a strong burning in his left arm. Opening his eyes disappointment washed over him as he noticed he was still alive. Looking at his arm he could see dried blood covering his arm with a slightly recessed and nearly straight line running from his hand to his elbow. Resolutely he picked up his coat from beside him and put it on. Maybe he wasn't meant to die by his own hand. His father would have never dreamed such a thing and his mother gave everything to prolong his life. No they never gave up and neither would he. He would have to start over. The Children of the Light would surely be looking for him. They could get a description of him from anyone that knew his mother and witnesses from that night. It would be in anyone's interest of self preservation to give him up and didn't fault them for saving themselves from the same death he was fleeing. He would have to go somewhere their hand couldn't reach. It took no time to think of what place would have to be his destination. Tar Valon was the only place to hide from them. You wouldn't catch a White Cloak there to put himself out in the River Erinin if he was on fire. He was a bit frightened of Aes Sedai but his mother had had a good experience with them earlier in her life and had instilled some balance to his father's strict Amadician views. Wasting no time he stumbled off to find food and refreshment and head on his way?..
Yarim had found his way to Tar Valon stopping occasionally for directions. His trek was arduous and long weaving his way through the countryside. He lost track of the days. He foraged and avoided roads and settlements as much as possible seeking only the safety of the city he now stood looking up at. He knew from Master Egan that Tar Valon was ogier built and from outside he relished in it's beauty. He thought a lot about what he would do when he arrived it helped to relieve the emptiness he felt inside if only a little bit. He made his way through the city towards the center. He rubbed his hands together nervously feeling the roughness of the scar that maimed his left arm. Weaving through the crowd steadily making his way to the tower overshadowing him. Night was coming when the gates of the White Tower were in front of him. He wasn't sure if they were accepting or did accept people as enlisted but it would give him a full stomach, a job, a purpose to help the pain, and most important a possible means of vengeance. He signaled to the nearest guard. Mustering up his courage and getting over his reluctant tongue he asked the man in front of him, "Would it be possible for me to sign up for Tower service as a soldier?" "What's your name, boy?" he replied. Yarim froze up he couldn't give his real name it might be on a list somewhere at least that was his fear. In a trembling voice he managed to return the first name he could think of, the same name on the knife he carried, "Jaegar Sef."