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| - Biography |
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Age:83
Hair:Darkish brown, extending at least three inches from the nape of his neck, always tied back with a ribbon in Shen colors.
Eyes:Green flecked with grey
Height:6'3"
Complexion:Pale
Build:Long and lanky. Not skeletal, but not really built either.
Personality: Generally very outgoing and warm, with occasional bouts of hermetism(doing research) and absent-mindedness. Practiced, but usally courteous, womanizer.
Former social status:Lord of the Land of House Telarin, of Tear
Fire:strong
Earth:above average
Water:below average
Air:above average
Spirit:above average
Takents: Ter'angreal making (others undecided)
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Laridian Maeronen was born as Lord Laridian Terinth Weiramon Maeronen of House Telarin. A Tairen minor house, but fairly prosperous. Laridian had few financial worries growing up- his problems happened more often because of his father. Or rather, his lack thereof. He learned at an early age that not having a father was not normal. His mother was referred to, more politely, as a 'loose woman', and while she was capable in her position as the Lady of House Telarin, it did little to stop the whispers behind her back or the teases from other boys his age. His mother, Lady Sorbinia, had never married, and wasted no effort in being discreet about her activities. From age seven, he had always been very sensitive about 'bastard' and 'your mother' jokes, and even now, at the age of 83, is rarely able to contain himself when one is directed at him. It had to be looked at from his point of view- his mother was a good woman, she knew her work well, took good care of her lands and people, and was kind to the poor. And she absolutely adored Laridian, her only child. Her only difficulty was her penchant for 'sampling', as she called it. It wasn't anything that didn't happen with every Tairen lord both lower and higher in rank, but because she was a Lady, she was expected to be better than that. "A foolish conception, believing we women are any better than you men." she had told Laridian once. "Don't become one of these idiots who will put a woman on a pedestal merely because she is a woman." She sniffed in distaste. "It's rather insulting, you know. How would you like it if I loved you only because you were very cute, completely ignoring how smart and charming you are?" She had smiled and tickled him, and then they had gone and played Snakes and Foxes.
Still, Laridian's childhood was not without male role models. It is entirely possibly they were not the best ones to have around, but they doted on him devotedly, as all good uncles should. There was his Uncle Sinalren and his other Uncle Meath, both large, robust, cheery men, one always ready with sweets and the other with a dirty joke to set his young ears flaming. His other Uncle Faliren was foppish, and a bit of a dandy, but always treated him as an equal. It was always funny to see his overly elaborate bow to his nephew, as he straightened and winked, and gave him whatever new trinket he thought the boy should have. They were generally books. For all his overly-fancy dress and stylized manners, he was an intelligent man, and wanted to make sure that Laridian would know as much of the world as possible when he came to power. All three of them played an important part in his life. Sinalren had taken him on his first hunt and helped him with his sword-play, and Meath had first taught him the basic principles of wooing women. (Many of which, coincidentally, were later debunked by his mother.) Faliren helped Laridian with his courtly manners, and his smooth-talking. By age twelve he could slip through any argument about who broke what vase with the ease of falling off a log, and convince the other person that he felt badly about it, too.
Amidst the extremely odd tutelage from his uncles, the near adoration from his mother, and the authority of his position as a lordling, he narrowly escaped being a raging little terror. Instead, he merely rampaged. He was the bane of many servant's existence, always breaking things, or giving them pointless orders that would interfere with their work, and when his mother turned up to find the cause of the fuss, Laridian was nothing but smiles and sweet talk. He had driven many of his official tutors to quit- he preffered to study by himself, and played the most excrutiating pranks to rid himself of "the pedantic old hacks who think they know something." Since early in his childhood, he had been instilled with a love for books- his vivid imagination worked with his dislike for other boys his age, and predisposed him to be scholarly.
At the age of 18, he was
sent to a school to practice his courtly manners, learn the law of Tear, swordplay, and everything else a young lordling was supposed to know. He was somewhat glad to be out from under his mother's and uncle's wings, but still missed them- it was a fairly hostile environment he had stepped into. His obvious disdain for his teachers met with no liking on the administorial side, and the fact he knew a great deal more than any of the other students, and was younger, as well, gained him quite a few grudges. He wasn't totally without friends, however- he was still a smooth talker, and, having been in the business of wooing women for several years now, had the respect of some of the more socially inept. He helped them out, seeing it as a societal good, and his ring of friends grew as some of the grudges held against him deepened and worsened. Things finally came to a head when one of the other students, began spreading the 'rumors' about his mother. Laridian became increasingly tense as he heard the whispers behind his back. Finally, those who hated him confronted him, and made likely the largest mistake of their lives. Now, as a child, if someone were to insult his mother, he would snap, and try to beat the person, unsuccesfully, of course. When they beat him, and called his mother "a raging slut, worse than any Saldean farm girl," (amongst a host of other such things) something inside him just fell into place. The intense hate directed at his tormentors, fueled by years of inner bitterness, solidified itself and made itself palpable in a raging torrent of saidin.
Laridian just stood there, as they laughed, tauntingly, derisively. His fists clenched, his brow furrowed, his jaw tightened, and he began to shake. Something inside him was reaching out, reaching out for something just beyond him, just barely out of reach, and it was coming closer, and closer, and...
Saidin filled him, and within seconds all went to Shayol Ghul. The statue behind the group in front of him, one of an ancient High Lord of tear, exploded. The base was in flames, the pieces were on fire, and the shrapnel had gone into several of his enemy. There were bushes on fire, windows that had been broken, curtains that were catching fire, people screaming, wounded groaning. Laridian himself had been hurt, taking a hit high on his left shoulder. The pain was searing- the piece of stone, boiling hot, had semi-cauterized the wound, or at least the point of entrance. He fell to his knees, feeling the incredible power that had welled up within him die away, leave him, and the pain became clearer, worse. Blood welled out of his wound as he gave a brief thanks to the Creator that it hadn't punctured his lung. With a dazed line of thought about what happenes to a punctured lung skittering through his shell-shocked mind, he passed out.
The aftermath had been about as pleasant as getting wounded. The Creator had chosen to shine on him, and no one had died, but several sons of Tairen Lords were now hurt, some disfigured for life. And... he was a channeler. The years since the Dragon had softened the law on channelers, and he would not be required to leave by the next day- he was promptly sent back to his mother's estate, where he was allowed to heal. Within a week, an Ash'aman had come to claim him, and dragged him to the Black Tower.
Being a Soldier in the Black Tower was not a particularly happy experience, at first. Even among fellow lords he had been rather snobbish. It was to be expected- he'd been doted on, his mother considered him the Creator's gift, and he'd been spoiled rotten. He had never been interested in sword fighting either. It seemed especially silly to him that an Ash'aman, who could merely call up fire, the elements, or tie his opponent up in a weave of Air, would have to learn to use a sword. For a while he was rather vocal about this, until his superior officer caught him at it and had him doing so much penance and sword practice that his calluses had calluses and if anyone said the word "scrub", he would jump. The harsh discipline of the Black Tower helped to knock a great deal out of his over-inflated ego, and eventually he began to mold himself to the Black Tower, to find his niche. Of course, once he had gotten used to the system, he began to find ways around it. The amount of penance he had for consorting with the Novices became increasingly less, and his reputation as a Ladies' Man among his fellow Soldiers became increasingly great. He learned quickly, and studied more than most of the other Soldiers. Indeed, he had even been gifted with a large amount of power that he worked to increase. Grudgingly, he was soon passed by the Master of Soldiers to Dedicated, and immediately made his decision to join the Shen al'Dieb Cha. It seemed such a no-brainer. Not only were they scholarly, they even put less emphasis on fighting. Well, fighting without saidin, anyhow. He remained a Dedicated for several years, earning a reputation as one of the better (or at least less didactic) teachers, willing to help Soldiers out, and especially good at sneaking out.
Upon attaining the title of Ash'aman, he began earnestly working with ter'angreal, making several interesting discoveries in the theory of ter'angreal creation, and in a few short years became a person to be reckoned with when it came to knowledge of ter'angreal. His career in the lab became strained when he made an effort to change the system of guarding ter'agreal and sa'angreal, and he started dabbling in administration. Soon he became embroiled in running the Shen, becoming the man who did all the work for the Rei, barring the major diplomatic work. After all, appearances had to be kept. Things went that way for several decades, until the recent death of Latham, the Rei he'd been working under. No one else in the Shen wanted the job, so it was his. Now at least he is Rei in title, and can have the few perks and the recognition that comes with it.
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