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 [younguns] Rowan Snow

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SilverBones

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Posts : 41
Join date : 2013-01-20
Age : 23
Location : California

PostSubject: [younguns] Rowan Snow   Wed Jun 12, 2013 10:54 pm



Night gathers, and now my watch begins.



photo Henry_Cavill-Tudors_S3.jpg
Name: 
Rowan Snow
Age:
17
Gender:
Male
Species:
Human
Allegiance:
The Night’s Watch
Personality: 
Silent and tactical, he would rather listen to someone speak than speak himself, although when he did speak, his voice was low and his tone abrupt. His silence hides the ghosts that haunt him. He was never given the luxury of tutelage as a child but his mind was still sharp and his eyes did not miss much. 
The temptations of men had little appeal to him, though through his hard shell beat the heart of adventure, making him bold and ready.
Physical Description:
The man stood, if you could call him that, barely past his seventeenth name day, standing just and inch shy of six feet, Rowan was tall as a man surely, But his arms small and his ribs stuck out his sides as if he hadn’t been fed in weeks. His brown hair tangled past his shoulder and on his face he donned a scruffy, patchy beard . His clear blue eyes stood out on his muddy face like two pale blue sapphires catching a glimmer of the dim candle-light. Two distinct scars on his chest and his back hinted at the hardships that life had thrown his way. The one on the left side of his chest was old, shaped like a crescent stamped on flesh. On his back was the monstrous mark of what must have been a most terrible wound. Still not fully healed the scar was the size of a closed fist and a bit of a scab still clung in the center.
“the man is weary from his travels and is most likely starved” a voice said in the darkness “rest and a hot meal will do him well. The boy will be a man.” The observer said abruptly.
Powers and Abilities:
If I can be a warg (spirit enters an animal like bran) I don’t see it on the species list. But if not ill have no powers, just swordplay and archery

Strengths and Weaknesses:
Rowans strength is his Heart, , nothing stops him from his goal. His body tough and durable. He is a survivor, self-trained with a sword and a dead show with a bow, an excellent tracker and efficient hunter. Rowan is quick witted and cunning. Perfectly suited for the harsh winter ahead. His weakness is his memory, of what he left. The ghosts that followed him everywhere he went. 
Weapons and Armour of Choice: 
Rowan wears a longsword but his choice weapon for combat was a valyrian steel dagger with a gilded steel hilt and an eagle etched into the blade, he also carried a bow and quiver of arrows.

Background History:
Rowan was born a Bastard son of some small river Lord in the south, but his father meant nothing to him but a story his whore mother told him as a child. Who his father was mattered not if he was never there, that had been his philosophy. His mother was a maid in service of the House Stark and he spent his childhood wandering the Wolfwood or exploring the great keep and it’s secrets. The boy remained invisible throughout most of his childhood, finding solace in solitude and as he grew, he grew strong.
He was larger than most boys his age by his 13th year and continued to grow, his endless running through the woods made him strong and fast kept his wits sharp.
Rowan lost his mother when their wagon train was attacked by mountain raiders in the east. They descended in the night slaughtered tens of men in their sleep. Rowan awoke to the sound of hooves beating the ground and women screaming. The riders held torches and spat insults at the scared folk and began to kill them one by one, saving the women for their feasts. Rowan could not let them take his mother and stood before her vowing that he would die before they took her. One of the riders jumped off his teed, a crude mace with a menacing spike hung lazily in his hand, challenging Rowan to fight and earn his mother’s life. 
Rowan picked a sword up off the ground and his mother shrieked in fear. He plunge in, lunging at his enemy, waiting for him to swing his heavy mace and open himself to attack. The men huddled around hooting like wild dogs at the prospect of bloodshed. The fight went on, blows exchanged, Rowan missed a step that almost cost him his life, but the sharp tip of the spike grazed on his chest, leaving a nasty tear where it had hit his flesh. Rowan did not flinch, he seized the moment and drove his sword right into his attackers neck, killing his first ever man. As he turned to face his mother, he was instead faced with dread, there she stood, blood spilling from her mouth as she gave her son one last look, her eyes seemed broken with pain and fear. As she fell a man behind her shrugged. “you killed my brother. He hissed, taking in the sweetness of his vengeance. Rowan tried to charge at him, but before he could move he felt a sudden blow to his lower back that sent him down sprawled on the muddy earth. A man walked up to him, bent over and pulled the mace of his killed enemy out from his back. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced he could feel the hole in his back where the blow struck. Blood poured out like wine staining the ground under him. The raiders collected their spoils and left him to the wolves. That night, Rowan lay clinging to life, the trees around him creaked in the wind and the stench of death already hung low in the air. The wolves would come soon, and his end be reached. He had dragged himself laboriously to a fallen tree and rested his wounded back against it. “You’ll have to work for your dinner!” He shouted out into the night, “not so hard though” he said more quitly, wincing from his wound. The night was cold and his flame burned lower with every passing moment. The bushes rustled, they had come. He grabbed his dagger, holding it close, eyes fixed on the dark when a tall figure emerged, a man, or something else. The figure was a Druid charged to protect this wood, the news of death must have called him. The druid took Rowen, applied ointments and salves and murmured spells and incantations. The wound healed in time and the druid placed an amulet into his hand and big him go North, to the wall and beyond. To what avail he never said but to him Rowen owed his life, and He travelled North to the Wall and beyond as his savior bid him.






I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against cold.
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