|Affiliation||The Grey Tower|
Avram is almost extremely ordinary. He is roughly average height for a Cairhienin man, has average length brown hair framing an ordinary face. He wears ordinary clothes, simple pants and a shirt, with sturdy boots. He has an ordinary dagger on his hip. He also has several daggers in much less obvious and ordinary spots: boots, small of his back, coat sleeves when he wears them, as well as several throwing knives in his shirtsleeves.
His face is relatively immobile, as most Cairhienin faces tend to be. His expressions are subtle, understated, and brief.
His eyes are a different matter, never quite seeming to settle on one spot. He thinks he misses little, though he's not always right.
As ordinary and unassuming as he tries to be, anyone who looks at him when he's not actively aware of an observer would notice that he is uncomfortable and on edge. Under almost all circumstances. When he turns and does notice the unseen observer, his hands flit towards knives for just an instant, telling most who know what they're looking for at least what his hands are looking for before he controls them. His hands are marked with tiny white lines, the remnants of long, inexpert practice with the hidden weapons.
Avram licks his lips before launching into his story for the interviewer. "I was born in Cairhien, last son of a house with too many sons. Not that they would still acknowledge me. The short version is I tried to play Daes Dae'mar... and well, I lost. I was young and foolish, and thought that I wouldn't be caught. House Nolaisen couldn't protect me from my own stupidity. Or House Damodred, after I was found on their property bribing servants for information. House Nolaisen has one less son now."
He pauses, staring into space for a second. Internally cursing himself, though nothing showed on his face. The interviewer gestures, and Avram continues.
"For a while I thought to build up my own power base. I had grand dreams of, of taking a street gang and making it into a force to be reckoned with in the city. I thought I had the savvy. I thought I was brilliant. I spent a night in a cell, surrounded by everyone who thought to follow me.
I admitted defeat... but some part of me couldn't stay completely away from the Game. I had some training and knowledge in the way of war. I eked out a living with my wits in the back alleys and got some rather rough training on how little, but I survived. Sought work as a bodyguard for a very, very minor house's scion. Got it. Work experience can do a lot for you. Eventually I worked for less minor houses." A small smile flits across his face and is gone in an instant. "Still small. But I got back into the rooms where Daes Dae'mar is played. Even the smallest fish can tip a scale if the pans are evenly matched. Inevitably, I suppose, I came to the notice of my... family."
A fist clenches, relaxing as quickly as he realizes it's clenched. "They were displeased that I had dared to stay after embarrassing them so. I left Cairhien the next morning. With a new set of bruises and a few cuts." He glanced down at his hands and their collection of thin white lines. Most of them were his mistakes. One way or another, all of them were his mistakes.
"I had heard of the Warders at the White Tower of course. They wouldn't take me for sure. The Aes Sedai had standards. A second-rate bodyguard with delusions of grandeur? I'd be shown out when one of them set eyes on me. But this place. The rebels couldn't have as many options. Maybe I could have one last chance to... to do things. To matter."
He falls silent for a second and then grinned savagely. "At the very least I could put a big bloody finger into the eye of the House of Nolaisen."
- Drin (5 March 2016)
- Ji'val (15 August 2016)