Eye Color: Light Brown
Hair Color: Black
Height: 6
Weight: 135
Age: 16
Place of Origin: Barlon


Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 2
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:


Current Physical Description: Vanion is a young man of 16 years. An even six feet tall, with long black hair that stops at the middle of his back and his light brown eyes burn with determination uncommon in most his age. He has a muscular, lithe build and moves with a catlike grace, gained from years spent stalking deer and rabbits in the woods. He is normally quiet and somewhat of a loner, yet never shuns the company of others. His care for the katana he carries is incredibly meticulous.

History: Born in the town of Baerlon, Vanion al?Makor has no memory of his mother, as she died bringing him into this world. His father, Kaden al?Makor was a tracker and huntsman. He was quiet and soft spoken. Rarely did he speak of his past, always changing the subject whenever it arose. He had a surprising knowledge of the world however, and taught his son the basics of reading and writing, math and the geography of their continent.

As Vanion grew older, he began to accompany his father while hunting, learning his father?s craft eagerly and enjoying the quiet peace of the forest. By the age of ten, Vanion was considered a fair shot with the bow, or at least he liked to think so. He was praised by his father however for his stealth in the woods, and was on his way to becoming an adept woodsman.

At the age of thirteen, Vanion, now a young man of about 5?7, with broadening shoulders and a lithe, muscular build from his years outdoors, was becoming an exceptional tracker. His father would often joke, as he tussled his son?s hair, saying that in another year the boy would be able to track the wind itself.

By the age of fourteen, the still growing Vanion and his father were inseparable. Often spending days at a time in the woods, hunting deer in which to sell the venison from and earn their living. They were both loners, and could go days without a single word between one another. This suited each of them fine, as Vanion had adopted his father quiet, introspective nature.

Everything changed for Vanion though, shortly after his sixteenth birthday. Having reached a height of 6?0, none of his clothes really fit him, so he was going through his father?s wardrobe, looking for something that would fit him, when he discovered the tightly wrapped bundle. Carefully unwrapping the bundle, Vanion stood slack-jawed, staring at the beautiful single edged sword which rested within, the light of the candle dancing across its lightly oiled steel surface.

Vanion spun around, hearing the footsteps of his father. And there Kaden al?Makor stood in the doorway, a haunted look in his eyes as he stared at the sword. Vanion began to press his father for information about this sword. Where did it come from? Why did he have it? Did he know how to use it? And Kaden slumped to the floor, and taking a deep breath, finally told Kaden about his past.

Vanion stood transfixed as his father relayed the story of his past. His years as a caravan guard, a hunter of men, and a border guard. As the candle burned low, Vanion sat with his father, listening to these wonderful tales of courage and danger, and suddenly the life of a woodsman didn?t seem like one he could be content with any longer. He now hungered for the same life his father had once led. And his father could see it in his eyes.

A few weeks later, Vanion gathered a few belongings and the few coins he had earned over the years. And as he left his little room to begin his journey into the unknown, and start his new life, he saw his father, silhouetted in the moonlight streaming in through the window. As Vanion began to apologize his father motioned him to be silent and listen. And with a deep breath, he told Vanion one thing before pushing a heavily wrapped bundle into his son?s arms. ?When you live by the sword, you must choose to live honorably, Vanion. A true man is only as strong the cause he is fighting for.?

And Vanion left his home, without so much as a single farewell. The words of his father burned inside his mind.

?A true man is only as strong as the cause he is fighting for?

And as he set out towards Whitebridge, his first stop on his journey to Caemlyn, he began to wonder what cause he could make his own. All he had was a bow, a quiver of arrows, a few coins, and his father?s sword, which he had absolutely no notion of how to use. What could a boy who had only seen sixteen summers possibly hope to accomplish?

?When you live by the sword, you must choose to live honorably?

And like a flash of lightning, it hit him. The cause he would make his own, and the honor he would strive for. Tar Valon. Aes?Sedai and Warders. They could teach him to wield his father?s sword with the deadly grace the stories spoke of. What greater honor could one have than protecting an Aes?Sedai from the dangers of the shadow? He would live his life with honor, decided Vanion. He would live by the sword?

And so it was that over a month later, travel weary and penniless, Vanion found himself at the gates of Tar Valon. Hungry, alone and determined to enlist in training, Vanion set off towards the White Tower. That gleaming white spire which reared majestically over the Ogier wrought city of Tar Valon. Yet the marvels of The Builders were lost upon him in his blind determination. Paying no mind to his hunger or travel stained clothes, he pressed on. He would become a Warder one day, and his father?s sword, no, his sword would defend the Aes?Sedai against the shadow. And he smiled as he heard his father?s voice echoing through his mind.

?When you live by the sword, you must choose to live honorably, Vanion? ?A true man is only as strong as the cause he is fighting for?

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