Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Brown
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 135
Age: 16
Place of Origin: Andor


Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 1
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:


Brief History: Typ grew up reading. Reading was his favorite thing to do. This was a source of questions that seemed to never end. Through this he began to tire of his life in Andor. He wished to go and see the world. The books left him with images of other lands and one goal in particular, to become a Warder. Typ was fascinated by the tales that he had read, ones of great accomplishments and adventures.

Typs life in Andor was relatively dull. His father owns a shop which had decent profits. Typ has two younger siblings, a brother and a sister. His mother helped his father with the shop. Typ knew his father would want to pass the shop on to him, but Typ didn't wan to stay in the city. Typs ambition o become a Warder had become a driving force in his life.

The day after his fifteenth birthday he began to formulate a plan to leave this land and go join the warders. He had researched near every thing he could on travel and routs over the course of the next year. Was he actually going to go through with this plan, only time would tell? Typ spent most of his off time in the library pouring over maps and books of the land. Would this goal drive him insane?

They day his determination to get out of Andor and to the Warders paid off.

"I have seen you in here almost every day looking over the same maps." An old man said to him one day. "I suspect you wish to get out of here, when I was your age I did. Though I highly doubt you will make it far if you can't defend your self."

Typ had completely forgotten about his ability to fight. This obviously showed on his face, because the old man smiled. Was the man mocking him? What were his reasons for this? It was soon answered however.

"Don't worry, I can teach you some if you would like." The old man said to him.

"That would be cool." Typ said sounding excited.

His uncertainty on whether to carry through with his plan to leave was all washed away. It must have been meant for him to do. The man beckoned for him to follow and Typ stood up from his chair and followed the man out of the library About Ten minuets later they were at a small building with a court yard in the back.

"This is my home, come lets begin some basic training." The old man said again.

Typ nodded and followed the man inside. By the entrance to the court yard hung a claymore, a quarterstaff, and a normal sword and buckler. Typ had seen daggers and axe, once he saw some merchant's guard's spears. Never though had he seen a claymore up close, he had read about them though.

"First off you choose a weapon." The man said waving his hand to the rack. Typ had his eyes set on the claymore. Typ reached forward and removed the claymore from its holder.

"Nice choice, you will not use it though until you get used to handling a weapon." The old man said taking a pair of sticks from the wall. He tossed one to Typ and walked into the small courtyard.

"We begin with the basics: The parry, the thrust, and the slash. Most importantly to be successful is to be fast on your feet and use these basics. They are more useful than extremely complex moves. Now do what I do." The old man did a small routine, thrust, parry, slash, thrust, parry, and slash. All this while moving his feet from side to side. Then the old man added weaving to the combination weaving at every parry.

Typ did exactly that while holding the stick like he would a claymore. He did this routine for about twenty minuets. This was to be the begging to his training every day. His father wouldn't be too happy, but e didn't care, not anymore. This was what he did for two months; he didn't even touch the claymore only the stick. In one month it would be his sixteenth birthday, and then he would depart.

"You now have begun to use the simple, but vital routines these will help you in your future for they are the key to success. Now you may use the claymore. Let us begin" The old man said. The old man never told Typ his name, it was strange, but Typ didn't mind. Typ picked up the claymore and went into the basic routine. Then he set his claymore aside and began push ups and a few other exercises.

Typ had gotten stronger over the past months. He came to the old mans house every day for a few hours to train. The month was slowly winding down and his sixteenth birthday approaching almost time for him to depart. He valued every minuet with the old man. It was as if time seemed to go to fast. Then before he knew it was his birthday.

"I know you are going to be leavening soon. I noticed how you seemed to be anxious. I have had a great few months, the best I have had in a long time. I have something to give you." The old man reached into a trunk and took out the claymore which was in a black and silver sheath. "Take it and use it only when you must."

Typ took the sword and held it in his hands. "Thank you sir, thank you." Typ said smiling. The old man nodded and stood up.

"I will be taking a final journey of my own, so remember me in your travels." The old man mentioned as they walked to the door. Typ could only nod his head.

Four days after his birthday Typ left early in the morning on his journey to become a Warder. The trip was long and exhausting, but he knew he would make it. He thought of his memories when he was training a trudged on across the miles of open road. He camped in thickets always with his sword next to him.

It took him one month to see the White Tower. It loomed ahead like a pure white sentinel. It gave him the energy to continue on knowing his journey was almost at an end. He wondered if his parents were worried about him, but it didn't really matter.

His head only thought those things subconsciously. Most of the time it was searching through the volumes of information he had read and looked at over the past year. It kept him thinking and wondering. Finally he reached the gates of Tar Valon. He stopped and looked up it was when he crossed into the city he knew he couldn't rethink this. Smiling he strode forward into he city.

He made his way through the crowed and reached the Wardens Yard, he knew the way from one of the maps he had examined. Typ knew now it was time for the begging of his new life.

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