Weave as it Will

Name: Salruoth del'Kahos
Alias: the Shienarian, the Panther
Age: 42
Gender: Male
Nation of Origin: Shienar; Borderlands
Darkfriend?: No.
Wilder?: No.
Occupation: Former Warder, considered retired, trains new recruits in Far Moran
Appearance: Build as solid as a rock, Salruoth may be aged, but he still carries the swagger of a much younger man. Moving with the uncanny, but familiar grace, of a Warder, he holds an aura of authority, wrought from years in the Borderlines, working beneath his father, and his father's father. Few scars stain his body, but a particularly vicious one cuts along his right eye, followed by a smaller one along his left. Twice he avoided being blinded - both scars were awarded from a particularly vicious Myrddraal - and twice, he had been marked. He considers both a mark of victory, albeit a very old one - at the time, he had been only nineteen. Far too ripe to understand, fully, what he had been facing at the time.

Time has aged Salruoth pleasantly, with wings of gray touching his topknot styled hair - not long ago, Salruoth wore his hair shortly cropped, but since "retiring" he has adopted the traditional Shienarian style - and few creases lining his face. A degree of haggardness has warped his face, making him almost constantly appearing to be weary. A haunted, dark look still remains behind his deep, blue eyes, hovering faintly in the back of his eyes.

Honed muscles ripple across his body, evenly worked across his entire upper and lower body. Although age has worn down his body, his diligence and effort to continue his fitness has not been shirked. It is quite obvious by simply looking at the man.

Standing at six-foot-four, Salruoth is the image of self control. Generally tidy in appearance, his clothes are made plainly, lacking any particular baubles or gems to be expected from a man of his esteem. Caring only for the simple thinks, the only significant item on his person would be his blade - a story for another time - and a beautiful piece of jewerly, given to him by Natasha, his former Aes Sedai, some time before her untimely, disastrous death.
Personality: As can only be expected of a Shienarian, particularly a seasoned one, Salruoth is a man of honour. While appearing cold on the upside, he is a kind hearted, noble soul, treating the lives of others well above his own. His sense of duty has been bred into him since a boy, but being a Warder for sixteen years of his life has only reinforced that, engraining it into his persona permanately.

Considered by man the most loyal man in Shienar, Salruoth's history has been extensive. Even as a child, he had spent much of his time aiding in his neighbour's chores. Hardworking, and meticulous at his tasks, he was the perfect son. Few disliked him, and many respected him, even as a boy. A capable, quick learner, he adapted to even the most intolerable situations, proving himself a malleable student.

Sharp as a blade, Salruoth's temperment, in the past, had bordered on dark and sinister. The death of his Aes Sedai had not been taken lightly, of which is to be expected. He struggled with her death for many years, the toll it took on him had been tremendous. There were times - bleak, dangerous times - when he had considered taking up his blade, riding to the Blight, and ending it all. That was what he had often heard the Malkier men speak of. That was their final battle, or so they said. To reclaim Malkier. But for Salruoth, he just wanted to reclaim his life.

Those times have changed Salruoth from his childhood self. While he has always been a carefree, easygoing man, his mindset has changed to, what he believes, a far more realistic view. Too much trouble has begun to brew, and he is well aware that the Last Battle cannot be far off. This has caused him to be far more considerate and cautious, when, in the past, he'd have rushed headlong forward, his blade free and his eyes ablazed. No longer is he easygoing, and his sternness - something that has always existed - has increased tenfold. Seen as something as a Taskmaster in Shienar, Salruoth often is establishing his authority over the new recruits - a task he has been given by the King.

That is not all that has changed. Humour comes to him slow now, and his demeanour, while no longer has dark, still has an edge to it. His paranoia is deeply entrenched in his mind, now, and he struggles, at times, to come to grips with reality. His sanity has slipped, but not to the point he would be considered unfit for duty. Even to be bonded again would not be a risk. Stable, still, Salruoth just struggles with nightmares of past fights, and the death of the woman he loved far too dearly.
Weapons:

Heron-marked Blade {} Salruoth was considered worthy of the blade at the age of twenty-four, when he slayed an opposing Warder in combat. The Warder had been bonded to a Black Ajah, and a was Darkfriend himself. When their two blades met, Salruoth recalled the fear that trembled along his legs and arms, causing a nervous shake to racket along his body.

He had only been freshly bonded, and his time spent with the sword had been on the field. Considered repetition prepared you to use the blade, but not against another man. Even being a Shienarian, he had no fought other men. Trollocs, sure. Myrddraal, yes. But another man, a Warder at that, of whom he didn't know was a Darkfriend at the time?

It was tough, but Salruoth was still skilled. He had fought in the Blight, had seen his father cut down and his mother's corpse ravaged. A Shienarian didn't back down, he endured. And with that confidence surging through him, he fell into the dance of blade.

Stroke by stroke, the older, more experienced Warder had gained ground. His footwork was impeccable, his stance bold and aggressive. Even opened up as he was, Salruoth struggled to parry aside the blocks and strike blow. Too much force was being knocked into each strike, and everytime Salruoth's steel touched his foe's, he felt his booted feet dig into the ground.

But as the older Warder pushed his ground, he did not notice the ease Salruoth was falling into forms. The ease came because Salruoth was exerting little of his strength and energy. He kept his footwork minimal, left his eyes on the man's body, not his blade, and danced back and forth, constantly keeping the other Warder at bay. Salruoth gave ground, but he gave it willingly. The older man was tiring, as can only be expected, given the strength he had put into each consecutive blow. Warders grew tired slow, but fighting another Warder was no normal bout. No, Salruoth made intentional movements designed to fatigue the other Warder.

And as the man's blade seem to lag, Salruoth struck. He opened his stance, watching the Warder hesitantly strike, expecting to hit flesh. Flourishing as he made the move, Salruoth ducked the horizontal strike, and smoothly entered Arc of the Moon.

The move was bold. If Salruoth missed, he surely feel the end of the other man's blade in his guts in mere moments. A mere bandit wouldn't understand the blow Salruoth launched, but an experienced Warder could predict, and react, within a blink of the eye. But the man had struck too quickly when Salruoth gave away an opening, he had eagerly launched at Salruoth, putting his remaining strength behind a overhead slash, meant to cleave. Such a blow was something only the ambitious or fatigued would attempt, and it was with almost ease, that Salruoth unfolded into his own attack.

His move took the man's head, cleanly. And with it, came Salruoth's sword. The tale behind the blade is extensive, but since entering Salruoth's care, it has only been used for the Light, and the defense of his comrades; including those he swore to protect.
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