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Daivon Sydias Caspian
Profile: Sydias Caspian is somewhere in his mid twenties. He has long, raven black hair that reaches to mid back. He often wears this down, but if he is outside in the summer heat he will put it back in a pony tail. His eyes are a deep blue, like sapphires. This, along with his black hair is a rarity in the world. Most people see this as a form of inbreeding (This is possible OOC. Most people with this phenomenon have some inbreeding somewhwere WAY back in the family line), but no other evidence would point to this assumption. He is what one would call ruggedly handsome. As stated above he keeps his hair way too long for the tastes of most society, he wears a beared that he keeps trimmed, and he always wears all black or all grey. (though soon he'll be wearing that Soldier uniform, anyways) Syd is freakishly tall at 6 foot 6 inches, and he is lean, more toned than outright muscular. Syd is a nice guy, but he has a short fuse. It doesn't help that he doesn't remember who he is. Any mention of this to him in a belittling manner will result in an icy cold tone and possibly a breakout of a brawl. Above all else he wants to know who he is and wants to make friends. If you help him with either, you will have a very loyal friend very quickly. Biography: The last thing he saw before black was a stone wall rapidly approaching his face. As the band of Whitecloaks pranced about with delight, the ring leader pulled the unconscious form up and away from the wall and turned the face to his. A bloody mess looked back into his eyes, skull cracked and jaw dislocated from the impact. But perhaps this story would be better if started from the beginning…If there was a beginning of the story to tell. The man wearing black awoke on the shores of the Shadow Coast. Behind him, stretching out far into the ocean was Windbiter’s Finger. The sun was low in the Eastern sky, an hour or so past dawn. The sky was a cross between a bright red and a dull grey, and the clouds showed signs of an impending storm. The man stood on his knees and tried to collect his thoughts, but his head was swimming. His clothes were wet, and he assumed he had drifted ashore. He noticed his long, raven-black hair draping over his frame, also soaked, and he found a cloth band near him that he soon placed back in his hair where he felt it belonged. He took a look at his hands as he finished, noticing the watered down blood that dripped down onto the sand. He was very cold, and a slight fog escaped his mouth with every breath. His beard and mustache need some serious grooming and trimming. He hasn’t shaved in weeks. Very slowly, he stood to his feet, only to fall over and vomit. His head was still spinning, and doing anything but avoid the contents from his spilt stomach were now the least of his priorities. He lay down on his back a moment, breathing heavily and grunting, trying to stop the world from spinning. BLACK Once again his dark blue eyes opened. The light filtered in slowly. The sky was mostly grey with the sun nearly one fourth of the way through the day’s journey. He rolled over onto his stomach and tried to stand again. As he rose, he noticed a piece of white cloth fall from his all black attire. He picked it up and noticed one word sewn into it in blue thread: CASPIAN. A FLASH of light. A boy with similar features to the man in black stands before a king. He wears a mixture of blues and silvers, cut from very fine cloth. To his right is another boy who looks identical to him. Behind them both is another man, smiling and talking. To the boy it is gibberish. The king nods, and motions to the side where a feast is laid out. The boys are led to the table, where they dig in like they haven’t eaten in days. The other boy turns to the younger version of the man in black and speaks with his mouth full. “Pass me the sugar, Sydias.” The man in black falls forwards into the sand again, holding his aching head in his hands. He opens his mouth and attempts to speak, trying to find his voice. Suddenly it comes to him. “S-sydias C-c-cas…pian” The words sound familiar, as does the voice. It must be his name; he must be the boy from the vision. *** Four months have passed, and Sydias is no closer to knowing who he is than he was that day he awoke on the shore. His hair is kept in a long ponytail that reaches to mid back, and his beard is finely trimmed, but he is still worse for wear. Each night he dreams of those boys in the palace, each time it turns out exactly the same. Each time he thinks he recognizes the king, the face changes in the next dream. So does the man behind the boys, talking. Sometimes he’s fairly young, others the man is very old. Still others the man appears to have a face beyond age, a face carved from stone that gives away no emotion, no age, and no life. Syd had found his way to Amadicia and found a way to get inside the King’s thrown room. He planned to find out if maybe this was the man he saw every night in his dreams. Still wearing all black, he made his way through the main gates. He carried with him a satchel with rolled up pieces of parchment, made to look like he was there as a diplomat with urgent documents for the king. The king’s guard, the Children of the Light, checked him at the gate for weaponry. They gave him the go ahead, and Sydias made his way into the palace. He walked down a long hallway as he was led to his destination. Liveried servants carried food and wine on trays, offering samples to all guests within the palace. Syd just walked on, following the two Whitecloaks ahead of him and staying weary of the two Whitecloaks that brought up the rear. When the main chamber door opened and the group walked in, Syd’s heart dropped. Nothing in the thrown room matched anything from his subconscious visions. He had made it this far and gotten nothing out of it. Now he was here and he had no back up plan. Had this been the same room he had hoped the king might recognize him. As this was far from the same thrown room, he now had nowhere to go with Whitecloaks surrounding him and fake papers in a satchel. He was in more trouble than he had anticipated. When the gathering realized the horror on his face, one of the Children grabbed him and held him while another grabbed the satchel and looked inside. He grimaced. “They’re fakes, sir. I’ll get rid of him. A fist flew straight at Syd as he was being held, and he felt the impact as his jaw was dislocated. BLACK He awoke in a back alley, the Children of the Light still dragging him along. He tried to fight back, kicking and screaming to passersby as they took him. He managed to break free and started to run… right into the face of one of the Whitecloaks on horseback. Now having nowhere to run and being backed into a corner, he did what any wild animal would do in such an instance; he fought for his life. Moves he didn’t even recognize seemed to come to life like second nature as he managed to grab and toss one unsuspecting Whitecloak and disarm him in the process. He now had a sword in his hand. The Children circled him and closed in, all flashing steel now themselves. One of them leaped at him. The enemy started high and slashed downwards and arched of with a slight diagonal motion right at Syd’s face. THE BOAR RUSHES DOWN THE MOUNTAIN Syd didn’t know where he knew that from, but he found himself parrying with his own move. He began high and moved with his opponent, blocking each diagonal slash brought out of the swing. THE CREEPER EMBRACES THE OAK Syd shook his head in confusion. A moment that nearly cost him his life as the other three men joined their comrade in the battle. CAT ON HOT SAND Syd tried to protect against all four attackers, but soon found himself cornered again. Then it happened. In the midst of trying to parry all of them, a quick thud came down on his head as the hilt of a sword found his soft spot. He crumpled to the ground, dropping his sword. One of the Whitecloaks picked him up and the lot of them started punching and whipping him right there in the alleyway. The last thing he saw before black was a stone wall rapidly approaching his face. As the band of Whitecloaks pranced about with delight, the ring leader pulled the unconscious form up and away from the wall and turned the face to his. A bloody mess looked back into his eyes, skull cracked and jaw dislocated from the impact. The main Child of the Light spit into Syd’s face, covering it with a thick layer of saliva and snot. “Light, but he was a clumsy mutt with that sword.” “Aye. Knew some forms, but a little slow with the upkeep. All in all I’d say that was a worthy fight…. Awww, who am I kidding? He was horrible! He obviously had very little training and thought he could take on all of us? Ha!” They all burst into gut-shaking guffaws. The Whitecloaks left the body in the alley as they all headed off. One man wearing a cloak spotted the dying man and made his way to him. Making sure no one was looking his way; he placed his hands on the body and embraced The Source. A torrent of power enveloped him, and he kneeled before the other man and set to work. He Healed the cracked skull first… and was shocked when a bit more probing revealed a great find to him. The mind was fractured into many pieces, which showed mental scarring and possible long term amnesia. But what shocked this cloaked Asha’man the most was that ONE of these fractured pieces of the mind held the spark for channeling saidin! He moved on to Healing the jaw and then tried to wake the unconscious man. Another six months had passed. Sydias was now in the company of Javier
Mor’aatdoni, an Asha’man of the Yellow Ajah at a place called the Grey
Tower. Something told Syd he should be wary of a man who used the One
Power, but he pushed this back into the nightmare that was his broken
mind. Javier had been trying to Heal his mind himself, but had been
unsuccessful. It took a lot to convince Sydias, but he was now going
to come with the Asha’man back to the Grey Tower and hopefully be accepted
as a Soldier. He would need to be studied in the infirmary to try to
Heal his mind as Javier believed this fractured mind was blocking Sydias
from touching the Source. Syd just went along with it. The man had Healed
him, fed him, and given him shelter and money during the last six months,
and the least that he could do was go along with this and let it run
its course. Soon he would enter the gates and the Tower itself, and
then only time would tell what was in store for him. Yet all he wanted
was his memories. If these people could help him with that, he’d gladly
fight alongside them in this Tarmon Gaidon that Javier spoke often of.
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