Name: Tronlor Tekan

Age: 39

Nationality: Tar Valon

Allegiance: Althia Thui

Occupation: Warder

Appearance: The job of a Warder is difficult, and the training required to reach that status is nigh insurmountable. Tronlor Tekan was a prime candidate to take on the challenge from a very young age, being naturally very agile. And now years of constant work and training have honed more than his mentality and unique skills.

Due to his height, an even six feet, the Warder’s body is long and lean. There is not a single ounce of spare fat to be found on his perfectly molded body, and his muscles, while not intended to be overt, are well developed and intimidating when displayed. His skin is the shade of cream with the slightest dark hint. It will forever be Tronlor’s bane, his inability to tan. Beside his clear, white complexion, his dark brown hair suits him well, looking elegant and well kept on the best days when it curves down around his face and obscures his ears and forehead. The slightly wavy locks frame high cheekbones and a well sculpted jaw. His nose is directly proportionate with his graceful, slender face, and his wide mouth is often graced with a quiet smirk. His obsidian eyes match his typical expression well, failing to give any secrets away.

Tronlor’s physical appearance does not give much away about his inner person until his mannerisms and expressions can be observed. Lack of expressions fits the bill better; he is very careful about giving away what he is thinking. His body is always alert and steeled for anything, and his gloved hands are always hovering near the hilt of his weapon. His face is as revealing as a closed book; it is cool and blank, a clean slate of distance and aloofness. In a glance, it shows absolutely nothing except everything he feels one needs to know.


Personality: Tronlor takes his duty seriously, holding the responsibility Althia bestowed him with more dear than his own life. However, his cold demeanor will tell one anything but this truth.

The Warder is well satisfied with his stoic indifference to the feelings and circumstances of others; he learned from a very young age that the world was a hard place to live in and resolved early to make the most of himself regardless of the others around him. His introduction to The Tower was a result of his relentless efforts to better himself and be useful to the woman he always looked up to and never stopped watching. Althia was his main focus from his adolescent years, serving as fuel for the fiery determination that lay beyond his impassive, cold dark eyes. Even today, his desire to do everything possible to aid the Aes Sedai drives him on, allowing life to flicker in an otherwise stony facade.

Tronlor's loyalty to Althia is as clear as day, the only discernible characteristic in the silent man. He keeps his thoughts to himself and speaks only to those who he believes deserve his attention. Often he comes off as haughty and aloof, but that is simply because he does not wish to entangle himself in the affairs of others and risk distracting himself from his primary duty. To those who know him- there are pitifully few- Tronlor is firm in his beliefs and never yields once he has taken a stand on something. He can be bold and outright when he needs to be but prefers to use a more effective tact when dealing with others, wielding intimidation to his advantage. His demeanor, often rude or brusque, is a display of the indifference he holds for anyone other than Althia. The opinions of those around him do not matter in the least, and he rarely changes.


Items: Tronlor possesses a color-shifting cloak, a standard possession for a Warder. Its flickering, ever shifting colors give away only a little about his own personality. He is always wearing it, and while it does not show, he is proud of the symbol because it marks his relationship with Althia, which he likes to think is more than just that of a Warder and Aes Sedai.

Aside from his cloak, he carries only one other personal effect: a ring on his right finger. It is a simple silver band set with two stones, one clear and one black. In between the two sits the form of a hawk against a crescent moon. He wears it all the time, but will not tell anyone where it came from.


Weapons: Tronlor does not carry an excess of weapons with him as it would be unpractical for a journeyer such as he. His standards weapons are a sword and several small knives ideal for throwing.

The Warder's sword is long and slim, with a blade as sharp as ice, a wicked curve manipulating the silver metal. It is an awkward blade for anyone without practice to wield as it is longer than a normal sword, throwing off the sense of balance a warrior develops when handling a typical broadsword. It is also slimmer than normal, changing the weight as well. It takes finesse to handle such a blade, and Tronlor has spent years upon years perfecting the art of wielding the fearsome blade.

For stealth purposes, Tronlor carries four smaller knives within easy reach. They are ideal for throwing or for creeping up from behind and noiselessly slitting a few throats. He will use them for whatever is necessary, although sneaking around is not his favorite pastime. The blades also come in handy in a heated battle when the end is not coming soon enough.


Talents: Tronlor's focuses have always been on matters of battle and war, so there was very little time for him to develop any special skills in anything besides wielding a blade and evading an enemy. However, when he was a child, he was often praised for his nimble fingers: he was adept at handling many tools. His ability to create lilting, often haunting melodies on his small harp was admired frequently by the guests his father would bring to the house.

Besides his talent with music, he was good at modeling things. As a young boy, he would make frequent visits to the closest carpenter, using his scraps and small knives to whittle little figurines and statuettes. When he was thirteen, he fashioned a graceful statue of the beautiful Althia out of hard cherry wood, his best piece by far. A word of praise from her for it was all it took to convince him that he did possess a few skills. However, his desire to please her drove him to set aside these childish pastimes and take up more serious matters. But he still retains some of his former talent for sculpting and playing instruments, even if it is a bit rusty.

Setting inconsequential matters aside, Tronlor's skills with a blade are on par with a veteran Warder's. His expertise with weapons surpasses most soldiers', and his quick eyes pick up the little tricks and patterns displayed by his combatants, allowing him to defeat most of his competition with relative ease. He has worked hard to become so quick and cunning, and while he still has a ways to go, he makes a formidable figure on a battlefield or at the shoulder of Lady Althia.

History: Tronlor's family has been rich for as long as he can remember. Tar Valon is a safe city, and city of refuge. The shining walls of the city are famous for their strong reputation. Therefore it is a busy, bustling place, and crowds of people require food and clothing and the various accessories required to live comfortably.

Tronlor's father was a merchant of good repute in the city. His caravans always came through, and his connections could bring anything from anywhere. He was famous for retrieving unique and exotic things, and his regulars would always debate among themselves about his next shipments and what he would be bringing back. He was trustworthy and dependable to the public, and many relied on him for favors and special things.

Despite the riches of the Tekan family, Tronlor was raised stringently. Master Tekan was a strict, controlling man, and his word was law in the large, empty house they lived in. Tronlor's mother was a weak, quiet woman who did and said nothing against the master's orders, giving him free rein over the boy. In the years before her death, Tronlor came to resent her for remaining so distant. When he was only seven, she died of some unknown disease. The household did not change very much. Tronlor's tutors came and went as normal. His meals were eaten in an enforced silence, his father towering at one end of the table while he slouched at the other end. His days were uniform and unremarkable, changing only when his father felt benign enough to give him a break from his lessons.

On those days, he would wander about the city alone, soaking up any knowledge that he could. The life of Tar Valon was an extraordinary thing to him those first few years of his limited independence; the only hints of the world he received at home were his father's frequent lectures on the complexity of business and the evils of greed. At first Tronlor tried to befriend a few of the poorer children that scampered through the market playing odd games and making use of the five finger discount, but he was always rejected. Commonness was not good society for a rich boy like him to be associating himself with. That was always their claim, in varying words. When he was old enough to understand what these children were born knowing, he avoided the places poor children frequented.

Prowling by himself through the streets of Tar Valon with heightened knowledge, Tronlor matured rapidly. His father let him out more and more often as he saw his son growing up, attributing his recent sharpness to the teachings he himself administered to the boy on a daily basis. So it was on a permissible venture towards The Tower that Tronlor collided with fate. Her name was Althia.

The Tower's gates were standing wide open, so where was the harm in simply venturing up to them to take a peek inside. Tronlor's busy mind had often wondered about the rumors that accumulated in regards to this place. It would not hurt just to see.

But a glance turned into a few cautious steps inside, and that caution turned into a walk into the gardens, where he stumbled over a pearl pendant lying forlornly on the white stone. And after a hasty perusal of the garden, he realized there was only one woman who could own such a beautiful gem.

The meeting of the Aes Sedai and the merchant's son could have been no coincidence. So in awe of her he had been, and that awe turned to instant loyalty that would flourish into other things in the years to come. That day, he promised her that he would come back to the Tower and make it his home so he could dedicate himself to the same cause that she was a part of.

Tronlor made good on his promise. Informing his father that he intended to become a Gaidin had been a hard task; it was the first time he had ever seen his father speechless. Taking this as a bad sign, he removed himself from the household to begin his training without his father's blessing.

What followed was ten years of hard work and intense training. At first, the strict routines that Tronlor was forced to succumb to were taken for granted: he was, after all, only there to see Althia. But as the months began to pass, his attitude changed. He witnessed many of the older Gaidin, those who had already passed through their training, become bonded to Aes Sedai, and realized that his hopeless infatuation might not be so hopeless after all.

Six, seven, eight, nine years passed in a blur of time. All that was on the young man's mind was becoming the paradigm of a perfect Gaidin; more specifically, becoming the perfect Gaidin to suit Althia as a Warder. Her steady friendship only served to fuel his desires, and what had started as simple dedication turned into an irrational passion for the willowy woman. And what he achieved in ten years was impressive considering his furious drive.

The night of the bonding caught Tronlor completely unawares. His day had been long, and he was preparing to settle down and rest when Althia came to him for advice as she sometimes did when her other Sisters were occupied. Letting her in, he was immediately aware of an air of indecision about her. And when she told him that the Mother wished her to bond a Warder as soon as possible, he knew he was out of time.

"Take me," he had said. And the rest was history. It had been a night he would never forget, the night the bond was woven.

During the many years following, Tronlor accompanied Althia anywhere she went, aiding her in every way possible and protecting her with the zealousness of a lover. Their travels spanned many lands, and both grew in knowledge, strength, and devotion, the bond between them unbreakable save for death.


RP Sample:
Sleep had been a fickle friend to the Warder the past few days, and tonight was no exception. He had tried every method he could think of to quiet his mind, but it took all of his concentration to calm his emotions as it was. He did not want to risk worrying Althia too much, and the bond tying them together was like a window into his soul. Even his stony demeanor could not ward off her suspicions about the state of his mind. They were too well attuned to each other.

Tronlor lay silently under the single sheet, his black eyes invisible in the oppressive gloom of his room. The moon lent very little illumination to the night, and there were few stars out, obviously too timid to venture outside. Only a thin strip of moonlight pushed its way through the crack in the window hangings, trailing weakly towards the bed pushed against the opposite wall. But the light did not hold any interest for him. He preferred the dark, enjoying the sense of freedom he found when the candles had been snuffed and the windows covered. There were more sensations to feel at night, more thoughts to meditate on, more time to be still and gather himself together again.

But for the last half of his life, Tronlor had never been alone, not even when the darkness was closing peacefully around him. He could always feel her there, in his mind, tugging unconsciously at his thoughts through the bond. Even now he could sense her, her thoughts quiet and restful as she slept. His breathing slowed a fraction, and he allowed himself to slacken his tight hold on the feelings of anxiety and restlessness plaguing him.

But it was only a moment's respite. As soon as his eyelids slid slowly over his black eyes, Tronlor felt a sickening sensation hit his stomach, and fear was rapidly filling his mind. He flew upright, clutching his head with his right hand. "Althia."

Even as he slid from his bed, the Warder knew what it was that tore at her mind. She was having yet another nightmare. They came too frequently for his taste, leaving her frighteningly distressed. She was a strong, capable woman, and it was unnerving to the cold-eyed man to see her come undone.

Tronlor dressed quickly, not pausing to heed what he pulled on over his bare skin. Stopping only to grab one of his longer knives from the mound of weaponry on the chair by his bed, he went for the door, slipping quietly into the hall barefoot. The Tower was quiet, and there was little noise coming from the barracks, but Gaidin were light sleepers as a rule, so he took care to be silent as he hurried through the halls towards Althia's room. She was still caught in the throes of the dream, her emotions unstable and troubling.

It did not take him long to reach her room, nestled in an entirely different part of the building. He had taken this path more times than he could count in the past twenty years. Taking care to open her door quietly, he slipped inside, all of his senses alert. But nothing stirred save her slender figure in the bed, the nightmare wracking her body.

He hurried over to her side, placing the knife on the low table by the bed. It was not likely that he'd need it tonight, but it was best to be prepared for the worst. Kneeling silently on the bed beside her, he glanced down into her face, the pain that he was feeling scrawled clearly across it. Reaching down to gather her up into his arms, he bent his face to hers, whispering softly, "Althia." Through the bond he urged her to wake up, shaking their mental connection with urgency.

But it would have taken less to drag her from her stupor. She could always feel him, even through the mind-numbing nightmares. Her grey eyes were startled and wide as they took in his face, comprehension beginning to register.

His smile was slight, virtually unseen but felt nonetheless. "T'was just a dream," he breathed, caressing her side gently in an effort to calm her. He ran a hand through her dark curls, adding gently, "Sleep." His hands, rough and callused from years of handling a sword or gripping reins, were gentle as they lifted her and lay her among the rumpled sheets, bringing her head to rest on a snowy white pillow. She complied easily, soft and pliable under his tender administrations.

When Tronlor was sure Althia was slipping back off into a calmer sleep, he slipped down next to her, resting his head on the mattress beside her gently heaving chest. his obsidian eyes flickering up towards her face several times before they rested satisfied behind heavy eyelids. For the moment, everything was again right with the world.