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AshFalcon Everything changes. Anyone who survives beyond childhood knows that, yet a large enough change - or too many small ones too close together - can still surprise you. Too much change will drive the knowledge out of your head and straight into your guts. Nothing lasts. Everything fades. Life is a dream. If the world were as unchanging as we like to believe, I would still have a hold, a sept, a clan... a name. I would still be a Knife Hand, a young warrior with the skills and potential to one day speak for my clan or society. Everything changes. When the Wise Ones told us that He Who Comes With The Dawn had returned from Rhuidean, I took up my spears and went to the gathering of the clans. When the Car'a'carn led us across the dragonwall and into the tree-killer's land, I followed. I fought well, and gained much Ji. When the Car'a'carn went to Caemlyn, I rode his platform-across-nothing, and stepped out into an ambush. In the heat of battle, pressed hard on every side, we fought against trollocs. Alduin fell to an axe, and Chanin and Meir to swords, but we held against their numbers. I broke the last of my spears driving it into one of the Eyeless from behind, and drew my knife. I saw a trolloc sweep the legs from under my first-brother, and I threw my knife before it could bring its poleaxe around for the kill. Something ignited within me as I threw. The knife passed through the Trolloc's chest and out the other side, to bury itself in a wall. My brother rose and tossed me a spear, and together we finished the battle. But everything had changed. It happens, from time to time. A young man in the Threefold land will discover that he can touch the Source, and learn that he will go mad and die. To protect the Hold and the Clans, such men take their spears and go into the Blight. Once, I would have done the same. Everything changes. The Car'a'carn had spoken what once only chiefs had known; the bleakness claimed many. He brought the clans together and led us into the wetlands; there was no easy way to the Blight from here. He Who COmes With The Dawn met his Toh by slaying Lord Gaebril; and I found that I could channel. Rand Al'Thor announced an amnesty for Wetlander men who could do what I had done, and I knew that I must wait to spit in Sightblinder's eye. I must wait, but I could no longer be Aiel. I renounced my name, and listened from afar as my brother sang my death-song. I scavenged clothes from among the fallen, and went to meet my fate. Once I was Aiel. Once I had a hold, a sept, a clan. All things change, and I have changed with them. My hair is no longer short; it hangs to my shoulders. I do not wear the cadin sor; my clothes are those of wetlanders, though cut for my height and build. Once, I was numbered among the Spears; now I have taken up the sword. My name is gone; I let others call me AshFalcon, after a species of hawk from my homeland. AshFalcon is 6'2" and around 180 pounds, with a lean, rangy build. His features are pure Aiel - dark skin, auburn hair, and dark grey eyes - but dresses in mixture of Wetlander fashions. He is eighteen, though his age is somewhat hard to tell. He learned of the Grey Tower while travelling with a small band of Hunters for the Horn, from whom he learned the basics of swordsmanship. He is young and agile and learns quickly; despite his inexperience, he can hold his own with a blade. He has no qualms about using other weapons, though he would not take up the Aiel short-spear unless nothing else were available. He can channel, but he has a bar: his channeling is tied to himself and his weapons. He could, for instance, use the power to channel Fire through his blade, but he cannot throw balls of fire. He could heal someone, but only if he was touching them. He does not know yet how strong he is or may become in the Power. For AshFalcon, coming to the Grey Tower is just a means to an end. Instead of going into the Blight, he waits for the last battle. While he waits, he hones his skills. If he is to be a thorn in the Dark One's side, he will be as sharp as possible.
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