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| - Biography |
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Name: Rialt Erydinan
Age: 179
Hair Color: Blonde, long and usually held back by a loose band
Eye Color: Blue
Height: 6' 3"
Complexion: Tanned
Build: Strong, muscular, but not massive
Disposition: Uncaring, laid back, and calm
Social Class: Peasant
Status at the Tower: Former Rei al'N'dore al'mordero, NOW Mahdi al'Tain
Allegiances: The M'Hael and Amyrilin, as well as his brothers in the Black Tower. But he still secretly pledges himself to Andor and its queen as well.
Talents: Healing (Strongest healer at the tower), Warding (the rest undecided)
FIRE: Average
EARTH: weak
SPIRIT: Ridiculously Strong
AIR: Strong
WATER: Below Average
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Rialt stood on a somewhat massive rock, and surveyed the scene that was being laid before him. Below, members of the Shen al'aman val carried on a mock battle for his own former group of healers. Even though he was not the Rei al'N'dore al'mordero anymore, he still made time to teach and participate. The basic idea of the battle however, was to injure someone, stick him or her in the midst of a battle, and have his own Shen al'N'dore al'mordero make their way, unharmed, to the man in distress and heal them before they died. The catch was, if they didn't make it in enough time, that person was effectively dead unless he himself intervened and healed them, which he always did when he was in charge of this particular excersize. Rialt was a hard man, and he believed you needed to be hard on those you were training in order for them to become the best they could. He had never raised a man into his ranks whom he would not trust with his own life.
He closed his eyes in earnest, 2 minutes left until the no return point, and Canyale (a Dedicated), had not yet made it to the dying Asha'man. As the seconds ticked down, he grimaced as he made the signal that he was going in. He darted into the midst of yelling, screaming, and clanging weapons and made his way to were he sensed the fallen man. One of the Val took a stab at him, and he parried it easily with his own short sword. Upon reaching Lindalin, whom had gone a pale blue he gave a huge sigh of relief at the sight of his Mahdi. Wasting no time, Rialt leant down, delved into him quickly and wove the five elements that patched him back together. When the job was done, he helped the man up and signaled the end of the battle, and everything grew quiet around him in a matter of seconds, except the groans of those who needed attending to. He wove in and out of the crowds, with other Asha'man from his Shen, healing those who needed it, and finally came back out to face Canyale. He was to be the example.
"Dedicated, you just let this man die, if I had not been here to heal him, he would be beyond any help now. Even I cannot heal death." But if I could I would... "What do you have to say for yourself?" His gaze stared un-mercilessly down at the poor man, who looked as if he was going to be sick. Just as he had predicted, Canyale leaned to the side and retched, emptying his stomach of that mornings breakfast. "Straighten up Dedicated, you're Mahdi just asked you a question!" He heard Lindalin, his friend and second in command of the Dancers of Death yell at the sickly man before them. "I...I...I..."
"You WHAT Dedicated!? You just LET Lindalin here almost die, you have failed your task and as such you are unworthy to hold place amongst these future Asha'man." He motioned to the line of Dedicated and Soldiers who had lined up to watch the scene. Reaching out he ripped the silver sword pin attached to the man's high collar. "Consider yourself officially removed from the Black Tower. Collect your belongings and leave immediately. Don't you ever let me catch you within sight of these walls again." And with that he turned on his heel, whilst the poor Dedicated looked after him in horror. No doubt he thought that he was out of the Tower, though that was not the case. Rialt just needed an example, and unfortunately for Canyale, he was it. In a few days time, he would send Lindalin to fetch the man back with an apology and a message that he was to continue to be Dedicated until he could prove himself worthy of Asha'man status.
"Must you be so hard on them Rialt?" He turned his head to regard his old friend. "If I am not hard on them, no one will be. They are our defense Lindalin, they must not falter. I am sorry to have had to do that to the man, but it was necessary. Besides, I figured you would be mad at him, he almost let you die." Lindalin grimaced at Rialt who couldn't help a chuckle.
Being the Mahdi al'Tain was not an easy job for anyone, but Rialt took on the joingly, believing it to be his personal quest to improve the Black Tower by whatever means he could. That opprotunity presented itself to him as former Rei of the Death Dancers, and now, in service directly below the M'Hael himself. Lindalin parted, feigning that he needed to strengthen his wits again, no doubt with a good drink and a fine looking woman. He shook his head and made his way to the White Tower through the waygate that connected the two. He found that its walls were much more hospitable and calming than those of the Black, and he wished to find solitude away from everything that had happened that day. Sometimes, everything seemed to be unbearable, and the only way he could relax again, was to visit a bench situated in the halls just outside of the Library. He received quite a few bows and scrapes from the various Soldiers and Dedicated he passed, as well as from Novices and Accepted who knew him from his Healing classes. Then again, mostly everyone would have recognized him, it was important to know rank in the Towers, and that was harshly enforced. He ignored them all.
Upon reaching his bench he sat down before it, on the floor. It must have looked a sight to someone who had never been to this side of the Tower before, an Asha'man sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out before him, and his head tilted back in thought. But he didn't care. The Librarians were kind enough to shoo away anyone who made to bother him. He thought back to before all of his duties, before the Tower had become his home, to when he was only a small child living in Andor with his mother and father. Rialt did not feel his 179 years in this world, not in the slightest did he feel like one of the oldest in the Asha'man ranks, but he was constantly reminded of that fact by the questions he recieved from those newer to the Tower. Some of the more ridiculous ones asked if he had been an Asha'man during the Dragon Reborn's fight against the Shadow. No, no that was about twenty years or so before he was even a twinkle in his mother's eye.
Then he had been wild and carefree, constantly causing problems for his mother and father when he lived with them for so short a time. He lived in Caemlyn, his parents owned a reputable Tavern that had existed since before the Dragon a few hundred years. It was a family owned business and they both ran it with complete honesty and fairness. He had one other sibling of which he was the youngest. His younger brother Latham, was much more calm than he himself was at the time. He was the responsible one, always helping out their parents with the work, and pulling his weight around the house, whereas Rialt couldn't stand the confines of that life style. After a while, they left him to his own devices and he spent more and more time away from the house. Many a night he would come home with cuts and bruises adorning his body. He would fall asleep on his bed and when his mother came in in the morning to wake him, she would ask him what had happened, and he told her not to worry about it. Truth be told, he found himself attracted more and more to the Honor Guard and its practice yards. He would parry with the more experienced Guards there, and eventually he came to the realization that he wanted to join their ranks.
At the age of sixteen, he informed his parents of his intent, and they gave little protest to his request. After all, that kind of life style seemed to suit their son, whereas Latham was going to take over after they died. So they gave him their blessings and he enrolled the next day. He remained there, in the guard, for close to thirteen years. He eventually became a skilled swordsman, and earned the rank of Captain within the queen's guard. He progressed with the assurances he might one day make it to Captain-General, but that was not to be his fate. It wasn't a quiet time in the world; things were still reeling from the events the Dragon Reborn had set into motion. Nations, while having had united for the Last Battle, found themselves leaderless after Rand al'Thor disappeared, and the threat of the Dark One with him. So they warred individually, some eventually coming out with their respective leaders again, and others remained in gridlock with themselves, no true ruler ever being crowned or announced.
Rialt had even had the honor of escorting the prospective Queen herself for a few months before he was moved out to the front line, where his abilities could be used more effectively. His loyalties were set in stone, and he loved his life in Andor. But things weren't quiet; he found himself on many a battlefield in his thirteen years with the guard. There had been two women supported almost equally for the Lion Throne, and the struggle had moved onto the battlefield. It was during one of these many battles that he first discovered his ability to channel. He was nineteen at the time, and Andor was at war within itself. Half the nation split one way or the other.
Things had been driving on for days at a time, and many soldiers on both sides had lost their lives. It was then that he and the Captain-General found themselves being cornered by a group of Vemana's (the opposing woman trying to gain the throne) men. The Captain-General, Ostvel his name was, rode up to Rialt who was fast being overwhelmed by the enemy. "Get on you oaf!" He screamed at Rialt as he gutted a man, and deflected a dismounting blow. He turned, offering his hand, and just as Rialt gripped it, a flurry of arrows struck the horse, and it toppled over, dead. He scrambled over to the fallen Captain-General, who lay crushed underneath the animals hulking mass, but he still lived, if only barely. It wasn't merely just the fall that had almost killed Ostvel, but three arrows that had struck him; one in his shoulder, and two others in his side.
For the first time in his short life, he felt the stab of panic; he was going to die here. He was going to fail his Queen, fail his brothers in arms, and fail his General...no. No he wasn't, he was going to give it his best, and if he fell, he fell and he had done the duty he owed to Andor. A barrage of thoughts rushed across his mind, each as different as the next. "Get out of here Soldier, go protect the Queen." He only half heard his superior say to him. With a grim determination, he turned his gaze behind him, a glare of fire and hate in his eyes. How could they do THIS!? They, all of them, were going to pay... But he turned back to the dying hero before him, and rushed to pull him from underneath the animal that pinned him down so mercilessly. He pulled the three arrows out to a sickening scream from the man; the pain must have been unbearable. Blood seemed to flow like a river from him, and he stared at the gaping wounds. How could he help the man, he couldn't, he wasn't a physician, he wasn't Aes Sedai.
He was just a normal soldier, lost in the midst of a battle. Without even thinking of what was happening, he touched the man, perhaps for a comforting presence before they both were delivered back to the Creator. And he knew, he knew what was plaguing Ostvel, knew as if it was spelled out in front of him, somehow he knew, though he had no idea how. He seized upon the force that seemed to be guiding him through those slow agonizing moments, and as the enemy let loose another volley of arrows, they struck at an invisible wall, and fell to the floor just a few inches before they would have killed the two men. Ignoring the revelation, he grabbed the horse, again trying to budge it enough to pull out his General. It seemed years before he felt some progress, and finally fell backwards as he was freed of the burden. He immediately opened the lid to a bottle of water, and poured it over the wounds while he applied pressure to the bleeding holes.
It stayed like that for hours, the enemy too afraid to approach the wall that surrounded the two, and Rialt worked, with no thought except to fix the dying man before him. Eventually, it happened that reinforcements arrived and drove off the assailants, but Rialt did not budge from his spot, the barrier astrong as ever. Years later, he found out that he had created an impenetrable wall of air, and nothing could breach it beyond that of balefire. Had he not been so involved with keeping up the defense, the man before him would have been healed far more quickly. But Rialt labored on, and as night began to fall on the two, he stopped, and sat back. He knew that he had healed the man, had healed him so efficiently that a limp that had plagued the man most of his life was forever removed from Ostvel's walk. He collapsed next to his general, and awoke the next morning to an extremely grateful Captain-General.
After that he became the quasi on the spot physician in the guard, a valued asset to the Tower and its cause. Even though he was male, even though he used what had only been tainted forty years earlier by the Dark One himself; he was respected. Though all knew of the decree that he should have gone straight away to the Black Tower for training did nothing, so he stayed on in that life for ten more years before he was discovered by an Asha'man embassy that had been visiting Andor on business. He was told that he could either go with them willingly, or unwillingly, whichever was necessary.
So he left the guard, with assurances from his men that he would always be remembered for what he had done in his service there. Before he left, he bowed before the queen and swore his unfaltering loyalty to her and to Andor, a bond that still carries with him to this day, though only a few other people know of it. Upon reaching the Tower, he excelled easily in the art of Healing and Warding, the two things that had kept him alive that day. He stayed a Soldier for two years before being raised Dedicated. It was then, as a Dedicated of the Black Tower that he met and fell in love with a servant of the White Tower. Her name was Gennadi, and she could not channel at all, but that didn't matter to Rialt who was head over heels, madly obsessed and in love with her. He would steal away sometimes, when he was supposed to be in class or training, to be with her. Five years later, he became Asha'man of the Shen al'N'dore al'mordero, the Dancers of Death. It was said that he was the strongest Healer the Tower had seen since Breaking, even more powerful than the famed Nynaeve Mandragoran who had done wonders in her time, even finding a cure to stilling. It was a natural choice for him to go with that Shen. A year later, he shocked the men and women of the Tower with his announcement that he was to be married, to an non-channeler no less.
It was not a common thing, for men or women of the Tower to wed, it was understood that they had sacrificed their lives to the service of the Tower. It was not forbidden, just discouraged. But he didn't care; she was a light in his life, she sustained him through all the difficulties of being Asha'man. So they were married in his 36th year of life, and she in her 21st. But the gap between them was illustrated as she grew older and older, and he changed not at all, his face a mask of agelessness. He kept in touch with his brother, who had taken charge of the Tavern where he grew up and was invited back to Andor to see him again. So he went, taking Gennadi, who was heavy with child, with him. Needless to say, his brother was dumbfounded by the knowledge that his younger brother was an Asha'man now; he had simply thought that Rialt was taking up residence in the Tower to learn something of the art of war from the Warders there. He allowed them to stay, but clearly made it known that he wanted nothing else to do with a male channeler.
Yes the taint was gone, and everyone knew that, but the fear of a thousand years was still there, and could not have been wiped out in fifty years. So they returned to the Tower, Rialt angered at his brothers prejudice, and his wife worried over the encounter. Within a few days of arriving back however, Gennadi went into labor. It lasted for roughly fifteen hours, Rialt at her side the entire time. He did his best to keep her out of as much pain as he could, but with this kind of thing, it was a useless feat. Finally, she gave birth to a girl. In that moment, Rialt swelled with pride and beamed with joy. But it was short lived as he realized the strain was so much for his frail lover, that her body couldn't handle the stress anymore. She was dying, and he could do nothing to stop it, no matter what manner of weave he tried on her. Gennadi Erydinan died that night, and was given back to the Earth the next day.
It was as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest, and burned in the pits of Shayol Gul. He clung to the fact that he still had his daughter, but loyalties at the Tower meant everything. It was then that realized he could never be Asha'man and a father. He berated himself for being so foolish, for knowing the risks and doing it anyway. He had been neglecting his duties as member of the Dancers of Death. It was ludicrous, the whole situation. He was a weapon, something feared throughout the world, and he found himself being ripped apart from the one thing he loved more than anything else. In those days, he was a walking phantom, he never smiled, he never laughed, and nothing could make him happy again. He had given his daughter to his brother to be raised, for he could not have children with his wife, and they raised his own daughter in Andor as he continued on in the Tower. They did so reluctantly at first, wanting nothing to do with Rialt, but they gave in eventually, and took her in, severing all ties with Rialt in the process.
So he went, often taking on the more dangerous and difficult assignments within his Shen, and made a reputation for himself as the embodiment of what an Asha'man was. On his 121st birthday, he was raised to Rei al'N'dore al'mordero after the death of the former. He followed the life of his daughter from a distance, though she never knew who he was and he watched as she had her own children, one of which he couldn't help but notice looked almost exactly like himself. But he retained the distance, and focused on his duties at the Tower.
It was inevitable that a man of his age was to experience a power change, but he was completley surprised when it actually happened. The M'Hael died, and with him and not too far apart the Amyrlin. So those two were replaced, the Amyrlin by Sapphira Calren a member of the Red, and the M'Hael, also a Red, Zekieal al'Kith. It was to his surprise however, when he was summoned to the M'Hael's study shortly after he was raised. He stood there, at attention. It was the first time he had ever interacted with the man as his M'Hael. To his surprise, Zekieal asked him to become his Seeker, an honor that Rialt had never even dreamt he would one day have. He accepted, knowing he could help even more now than as Rei. So he gave up his title, and became the Black Tower's second in command, working directly underneath the M'Hael. He pledged his life, and his hope of rebirth to the man that day, and intended to keep that oath, as well as the one he swore upon the Oath Rod. And it was that he left behind his days as Rei and became the Mahdi al'Tain.
All of that was so long ago, so far back in his memory. He was devoted entirely to his duties at the Tower now, and would gladly sacrifice himself in service of it. It had been about thirty minutes since he sat down before the bench, and he knew he needed to get on to one of the advanced healing classes he made time to teach. So he stood up, wiped his mind clean and made his way down the hall to his destination.
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