Name: Sarecer Ramamanid
Age: 230
Nationality: Kandor
Hight: 6'9
Weight: 265 pounds
Hair colour: Silver
eye Colour: Blue

Personality: Sarecer is quick whitted and even quicker to react. He will learn anything he can and use it to his advantage. Early on in his life he showed a ruthlessness towards the shadow that made even the most die hard members of the Red Shen pale. Sarecer is hard as steel and will do anything he has to to succeed in anything he does. Knowing this his rivals sometimes backed down not wanting to get trampled as Sarecer charged towards his goal. The only men ever to stand up to him were Zekieal the once proud master of the Black Tower and his second Rialt.

Channelings info:

Talents: Spinning Earthfire, Blossom of Fire, Fortelling (sporadic)

Original Strength: 66
Soldier: +15
Dedicated +16
Growth with practice: +19
Total Strength in the One Power is 116

Fire: 10/10
Water: 7/10
Air: 8/10
Earth: 9/10
Spirit: 6/10

History:

Sarecer was born in a small village in northern Kandor. He lived life happely with his mother and father, he along with his many siblings helped his parents farm a small plot of land that their family had owned for generations. Life was simple he had few things to worry about other than finishing all his chores on time. But that all changed the day he learned hate. It was early morning the day before his 8th birthday he was excited knowing that he would soon be getting a sword his father had saved up for. It wasn't fancy but it was effective. Walking out into the field he started work picking the few weeds that had popped up over night, the mind numbing work was cut short when he heard screaming coming from the other side of the small village. Running towards his house his father came out the back door and grabbed him. Giving him the large sword he pointed towards the forest covered hills far in the west. "Run Lad, I will find you." His father said in a no questions asked kind of way. Nodding his head he clutched the sword that was almost as long as he was tall and started running away. Turning back he saw his father unsheith his sword and go around the house in the direction of the screaming.

Not looking back again Sarecer soon found himself in the wooded hills. Still tightly clutching his sword he fell against a tree and started crying. Questions screaming in his head. Why did he run away? Why couldn't he help his father, if he was older he could have helped. He sat under that tree all day not moving so that when his father came he would be found. But his father didn't come, falling asleep he awoke in the middle of the night with a start. Jumping he looked around and wondered where he was until he remembered. Grabbing the sword to distract him from his hunger he started walking towards his village. Surely what ever was causing the trouble was gone! When he got out of the forest he started to smell wood smoke and in the distance he could see a number of large fires. Tears streaming down his face he ran as fast as he could, he got to the village just as the sun came over the horizone. Immidiatly he knew something was wrong though there was no one in the streets and the smell of blood was heavy in the air. Turning he made his way slowly towards where the screaming had been coming from the morning before. When he got there he puked at the sight of what he saw. Bodies where piled high both human and Trolloc. The flies made the air around him seem like a sky full of black stars. When the shock whore off and he could again move he ran towards his home. Bursting through the door he called for his Mother and Father but no one answered. Going through each room in the house he found nothing but broken furnicher and ripped clothing. Crying harder he made his way to the back door and out into the field behind his house. What he saw there would forever haunt his dreams. His father still clutching his sword was empaled by a long black spear and stuck to the side of the house. In his fathers other hand he held a piece of ripped cloth that looked like it had come off of one of his mothers dresses. Walking to his father he dropped his sword and pulled the cloth from his fathers dead and bloody hands. Putting the cloth against his face he fell to the ground and cried harder than he had ever cried before. When he was done there were no more tears with in him to cry out. Standing he put the cloth away in his pants pocket and went to work barying his father. He would never see his mother or his sisters again.

After he had barried his father he decided that he could not sleep in the empty house that he had once lived in. Going in side he found all the clothing he could and packed it into a small pack that he used when he went on day hikes. He then found some cheese and bread and a water skin and started out the door. Not sure where he was going he walked along the road until it was dark. When night fell he found a place to sleep beside a quiet stream. But sleep was slow in coming and when it did he wished it hadn't. He dreamt of his father empaled against the house his dark eyes looking into Sarecers soul. "This is your fault boy. If you had disobayed me and stayed your mother and sisters would not be in a trolloc cook pot right now." Saracer tried to look away but he was stopped by his father. "Don't look away" He said as he grabbed the spear and pulled it out of his belly. "I said don't look away, you must be punished. This was all your fault. You killed your family." Screaming he awoke and didn't sleep again for three days when he collapsed on the road weak from lack of sleep. When he awoke he was in the back of a wagon that was slowly coming to a stop. Sitting up he looked around and grabbed for his sword. At first his foggy mind placed him in a trollocs wagon bound for a cook pot but the truth slowly showed itself too him. "Who are you?" He asked the old man driving the wagon. "and where are we?" Holding the hilt of the sword even tighter he thought about drawing it. Laughing the old man turned and looked at him "I'm glad to see that you are awake I was getting worried. I am Cristoph and you are on the out skirts of Chachin."

Looking at the huge walls surrounding the city he grabbed his packsack and jumped off the wagon. "Thank you for the ride sir." He said and started running towards the open gates. Slowing to a walk when he got close he passed into the city with out a second look from the guards. Wondering the mad house that was a city he was awestruck by the number of people that fit into one place. He had never been to such a place before. Not knowing where to go he wondered the city for hours. Not having any family in the city nor any friends he started to steal bread and apples to survive and soon found himself living on the streets. His only posessions, his sword and the clothing on his back. As he grew older he had stopped growing at a younger age than most. He was very short but well muscled. Picked on by most of the other street boys he was pittied by the rest. At the age of 14 he grew tired of the constant bullying and lost it one evening. Pulling out his sword he sliced into the older boys throat killing him instantly. Watching the body drop to the ground he felt sick and dirty. Cleaning his blade off on the boys dirty shirt he shiethed his sword and ran. A few days later he decided that he had enough of the streets and found the nearist Army barrack and signed his life away for the defense of a people he cared little about and that cared little for him.

His life in the army was not to exciting at first. It consisted of training for many hours a day in everything from horse back riding to marching to sword training and combat. He was good at the later having to prove himself many times as people questioned his small size. He was aggresive and wouldn't stop until he won. After three years of training he had grown tall and filled out. He finished his training and was sent north towards the blight to guard it from attack. At first his days were boring doing odd patrolls with nothing really happening. It had been quiet on the boarder for many months nothing really happening anywhere. Then one day he was awoken early in the morning and told to get dressed and ready to meet death head on. Pulling on his armour and strapping on his sword he joined the rest of the men and started toward the blight. The forced march towards death was silent other than the fall of heavy feet on decaying ground. It was silent for most of the way towards the battle field but as they got closer they could hear the hordes, the thousands upon thousands of trollocs marching towards them screaming their beastly war cries.

Sarecer stood his face drained of blood as he looked out over the dark mass of hairy flesh that threatened to over take and crush them all. He wasn't sure what to do as they started charging the beasts of death closing with them almost to quick for Sarecer to comprehend what was going on. Though when the enitial shock wore off he drew his sword and cursed loudly as the first trolloc died by his fathers blade. As the battle went on more and more of his brothers in arms fell to the trolloc hord. It was disheartening to say the least. When only he and about two hundred men remained his commander started to speak the last rights. As each man picked up the words it became their battle cry as the last of the trollocs charged ready to whipe them out. As more of his brothers died Sarecer felt a part of him snap, it felt as if a dam had been burst letting forth a firey current willing to destory him faster than any trolloc could swing a sword. Knowing that if he didn't unleash the river it would distroy him he dropped his sword and let go. A torrent of fire rose out of the earth the heat burning his face, the fire spread in all directions killing every trolloc that it touched. When the river subsided he fell to the ground drained of all his energy. Slowly rising to his feet he looked around at the men around him. Some stood in shock and others looked at him with anger and disgust while others were releaved. Picking up his sword he held it in his hands tight not knowing what to expect from the exausted men around him. He knew what he had just done and he knew that they knew as well. Turning he started running not wanting to have to fight the men he was moments ago fighting beside. Not knowing where to go he fled the boarderlands.

In the days following the battle he found himself wondering slowly south. He had no idea what he was doing or where he was going. His family had all died long ago, his new family would kill him he had nothing left. As night fell he sat down under a tall tree laughing coldly he remembered the tree he had slept under when his father was killed. "I should have died with them." he stated flatly and drew his sword. Placing the but of the hilt on the ground he held the blade gently in his hands and leaned forward. Closing his eyes he felt the cold steel poking against his throat cutting slowly into him. Frozen, blade against his throat he had a vision he would never forget and never speak of. He didn't know where the vision came from but he knew it was real he couldn't say why he knew he just knew. Opening his eyes he pushed the sword away from his throat and fell to the ground hugging his knees. He now had a reason to live a reason to awake in the morning he must stop a possible appocolipse. Still unsure what to do with himself he fell asleep thinking dark thoughts.

When he awoke the next morning he continued south, still wearing the blood stained armour he had been wearing during the battle a few days before. When he found a road he followed it and continued following it the next day and the day after that. For weeks he followed the southward road eating what he could find and what was given to him by passing strangers. He had given up hope one night of ever making it to a city, he knew Tar valon laid to the south of him but he knew not how far it was. Sleeping roughly he awoke and started walking, he walked for a few hours and by lunchtime he could see something shining in the distance. Hope renewed he walked a little faster his hunger ignored for the time being. By night fall he could see it, the White Tower off in the distance he knew it was a dangerous city for a man like himself but a city that he could find food and shelter in. When he finally made it to the city it was far to late to find a inn besides he had no money. As he walked the lonely streets he went into a tavern to find company. In the tavern there was talk, the main subject was a Black Tower being constructed beside the White. Not knowing what they were talking about he forgot about the company he had seeked and paid attention to the men speaking. He learned of the male channelers called Asha'man and how they had been accepted by the White Tower, a little about the dragon and so on. Now excited he left the inn and walked the streets trying to find this Tower.



(((note this is only part of the bio I plan on writing and i'll update as I get more done :) )))

so he had a vision about an impending apocalypse. I'm getting a very lone wolf figure from this so far. The story is plausible, one thing after another in his life falls apart, and he becomes the wandering soul, never really finding comraderie and never really regaining the part of himself he lost the day his family died. The eternal coward trying to compensate if you will. I would like you to go in depth about his choice to keep on living. He clearly has no drive at all, so how is it that he managed to keep on going for so long? Even if its minute, there has to be something perhaps?

I know this is not finished. You still have a few hundred years to write up :P (a bitch when your character is old, I should know :P). I look forward to finding out the next phase in his life. also, you need to re-read it and fix some sentance structure, spelling errors (like apcalpise), and puncuation.