|Affiliation||The Grey Tower|
|Affinities||Earth, Spirit, Fire, Air, Water|
Asan is a handsome fellow, his skin is sun-darkened and his eyes are warm, but deep. It is easy to get lost in them, as many have found themselves doing. He dresses after the style of the Asha'man, dark, flaring black coat, utilitarian garb only suited for soldering, but even in that drab attire he looks more stately than dangerous. His lips are normally poised to smirk and his brow is largely unfurrowed- it is easy to mistake this manner for soft and not easygoing. This mistake largely works to his advantage in combat. A Tinker at heart, the young man can be seen dancing and enjoying life- though conversely, combat and combat situations are deadly and require 100% of his focus. In a combat situation he is cold and calculated, outside of it he is lighthearted and fun.
Asan hunted for the song like the rest of his camp in peace as accords with the Way. His parents were grand professors of the Way, and they never stepped outside of it. As the world grew into a darker place, violence seemed to follow their camp. Claiming life after life as they were caught in the cycle of running and fear. Asan began to question the way because of the natural urge to protect his sister Danai before she was slain by a Trolloc. The Way of the Leaf demanded that he fight that urge- and the shame he felt simply could not be explained away. He was nearly becoming a man. After about 3 months of wrestling with his faith, he was picked up by an Asha'man testing for the spark. His goodbye was abrupt- there was no feast and no grand celebration. As quickly as he'd thought to question his faith, he'd become something else- something more.
He's just arrived at the Farm, where the next chapter in life begins.
Dark magics beyond Asan's comprehension expelled him from the tower one night, (this was an IC event) and Asan was unable to find his way back. He, perhaps because of his weakness for homesickness, tried to live with a Camp for a short amount of time before coming to the realization that he, beyond all other things, belonged to the Tower now. He had tried to adopt another name, and another life- but alas, Asan of the Grey Tower was too strong a persona.
Wolves. Snow. Freezing. Asan's dreams swirled and and blanketed his mind- a woman danced in and out of them her tanned skin familiar, her face blurred beyond recognition. He knew not where he was, nor the way home, but then that was adventure. He dreamed of snowy pastures, of cold so present it hollowed his middle- he hungered for a hearth, a bed, blankets. He hungered for stone walls, for windows of glass. He marvelled at how quickly he'd adapted to life inside the tower.
Asan's found himself sleeping next to a fire that he didn't build. Surrounded by the familiar scents and sights of the Tuatha'an camp. It was all a dream! He'd woken from this terrible dream- one that killed his sister, that destroyed his camp. One that sent him into the Dark One's hand- with powers to commit violence.
As the haze of sleep left the young man, the scene began to shift. It was not his home. The Wagon's colors, though garish and perhaps even jarring to the un"Tinkered" eye were not his own. Those colors- flower petals in bloom- birds in spring- that combination of colors- a sky in early summer- would never be again. Asan sniffled and heard the voice of a woman.
"Garon, you'll be up for breakfast?" The voice belonged to Sela, daughter to the Seeker of this camp. Her voice was filled with the excitement one has when they fall in love. Asan felt sorry each time he heard it.
"I will." He heard his voice and grimaced to himself. Garon was a name he'd given himself when he "escaped". It happened in a panic really.. the lie was the only way he could find to get a life he wanted back. He could follow the Way, he could embrace peace.. he could be everything he was supposed to have been.
But it was a lie. It was, as Sinead would have told him, without honor.
He never did know what breakfast was that day. Setting off for the Grey tower was the first step in regaining his honor. Without that, he was less than nothing.
- Soldier (1 December 2015)