al'Harradin, Saran

[Kensaki]

Name: Saran al'Harradin
Age: 26
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11''
Weight: 214 lbs.
Nationality: Vaelian
Occupation: Freed Gladiator

Appearance: At first glance, were he to stand still, Saran could be taken for a sculpture meant to capture the epitomy of a warrior. His exotic skin is the rich color of bronze, with dark brown eyes and short hair dark enough to almost be black. He has a heavily muscled, yet lean build, appearing to have achieved a perfect balance of mobility and strength. His body is laced with scars, the product of six years spent fighting as a gladiator.

Demeanor: Saran's honor is everything to him. He believes in the value of justice and the dream of peace. As all of the Harradin did, however, he understands that sometimes peace is only won by the sword. His demeanor and personality reflect these beliefs. He is stoic and dependable, but is easily roused to anger by the sight of injustices. He will do all he can to right perceived wrongs.

History: My name is Saran al'Harradin, and I may well be the last of my kind. I come from a land that no longer exists, in the south of the region I now know to be called "the Uncharted Territories". The kingdom of Vael had existed for centuries in a fertile valley that produced enough crops for our people to subsist independantly. Vaelian society prized peace and knowledge above all else, but our people learned early in their existance that freedom and peace did not come without a price when you had something others wanted.

And so, in the interest of protecting the people and the land they worked and loved, the Harradin were created. From each generation, the best and brightest were taken to train to be great protectors of Vael. Trained from childhood in martial combat, strategy, anatomy, medicine and general athletics, the Harradin were forged to a man into warriors of the highest caliber. Or perhaps 'warrior poets' would be more apt, as each member was also taught to hone their mind as well, through everything from philosophy to literature and poetry. Wit was prized just below combat in Harradin society.

It was in this world that I grew up, selected at the age of six to become one of these elite warriors. At that time, my original surname was stricken from the records, and I became Saran al'Harradin, a true child of Vael.

I cannot say that my childhood was easy, for the Harradin were harsh masters. We were often reminded that our training, along with the honor that came with it, was a privilage, to be taken away should we prove unworthy. Our lives belonged to Vael, to the very soil on which we stood. However, each of us also was to spend time walking amongst the people as strangers, to observe their peaceful ways. This was what must be protected at all cost! And that is what we all believed fervently.

I was soon to learn, however, that not all the world understood this concept. Some men crossed paths with true peace and freedom and saw only weakness to be exploited. So it was that after years of defending our people against bandits, barbarians, and the soldiers of the other small nations that rose and fell over the centuries, Vael finally fell under the shadow of a foe she could not match. I was nineteen years old, only a full Harradin for two short years, when the Great Army of """" swept from the north like a great tidal wave, destroying everything in its path and devouring land to feed their King's ego.

For the first time in their history, the Harradin were helpless in the face of this monstrous army. Oh, we fought valiantly, to be sure, and slayed many enemies! But at some point numbers will always overcome even the greatest skill, and so we fell, to a man. Except one. I had been sent back to reinforce the gates, our last bastion of defense against the invaders. When they eventually broke through, I was surrounded with my back to the gatehouse wall, no one soldier daring to come near the one who had made corpses out of so many of their fellows. I heard a voice shout in a language I couldn't understand, and men came with great nets weighted with metal hoops that forced me to the ground. I felt a sharp crack on the back of my skull, and my world went dark. My last thought was of gratitude to the spirits for at least granting me a warriors death.

As you can guess, it was not to be. I awoke in a steel caged wagon, part of a caravan that snaked north carrying home the bounty of Vael among countless other peoples. At first I railed against the bars, fought my captors when they brought food or water, but I soon learned it was useless, and the beatings I received grew worse with each offense. Day and night my eyes roved, seeing no other of my Harradin brothers, in fact no Vaelians at all. It seemed either my captors had kept the populace as slaves to work the land, or possibly worse. In a matter of months I found myself on a slave auction block, inspected by wealthy men who, from what I gathered, staged fights between men such as me for the amusement of crowds. I understood none of their language, but some gestures and tones are universal. I knew that I was property, that my freedom had been taken, and that I had apparantly fetched a large sum.

I don't like to speak of my years as what I came to know was called a Gladiator. My pride, my very sense of self was slowly stripped away as I was forced to kill my fellow slaves to the cheers of the crowd. My only pleasure came at the rare occasions when some noble of the land of my captors thought to prove something to himself by fighting in the pits. Even though everything was stacked in favor of the noble, I always volunteered for these fights. And as you can tell by the fact that I am still here telling you this, I always won. The crowds loved me, even as I hated them, calling me 'the Barbarian', for they knew I was from the supposedly uncivilized south. Little did they know how far advanced above them my people had been. Eventually, I received the ultimate honor for a gladiator, the silver gladius that meant freedom from the arena. Now I spend my days wandering, hoping against hope that a remnant of my people survive.

Flaws: Self-Rightiousness: Whether or not it is true, Saran considers the society of Vael superior to any he has so far seen, believing that his particular code of ethics, namely the Vaelian Code, to be the only acceptable way to live. Those who do not follow it are to be punished according to the severity of the offense. Punishments in Vael range from public admonishment, common for low level offenses, to death.

Single-Mindedness: Once Saran has set his sights on a goal, it can be very difficult to dissuade him.

Equipment: Saran wears very little armor, consisting of guards on each shin extending from ankle to knee and a light metal armguard that connects to a light gauntlet on his sword arm, and extends up to cover the shoulder. He carries a large shield, several spears meant to be used with one hand or thrown, and a gladius strapped to the inside of his shield, perpendicular to the arm with the hilt facing up.

His gear was a gift from the nobleman who had owned him after he had started making the man enormous amounts of money. The light armor was extremely well crafted, and allowed high mobility while still providing good defense. His spears were simple, although razor sharp. The shield was a marvel of craftsmanship, designed specifically for Saran's style of combat. It was round, heavier than a normal shield, and appeared to be covered with a series of overlapping plates, each plate tipped on the overhanging edge with a razor sharp bladed point. The shield was meant for bashing attacks, but any hit scored could allow the points to find purchase in the opponents skin, and could be used to slash muscles or tendons. HIs gladius is the only piece of gear that was not gifted to him by his owner, for he carried and used the silver gladius that meant his freedom. The blade appeared to be actually crafted from silver, but had been hardened somehow so that it was as strong as steel.

Combat: Saran is the last practitioner of the Harradin combat style. For the Harradin, everything is a potential weapon, evidenced mainly by their offensive use of their strangely styled shields. Generally, the spear is used both as a ranged weapon and for close range fighting. The gladius is generally used as a last resort after spears have been thrown or broken, but some Harradin use it far more extensively.

Saran's combat stance takes full advantage of his shield and light armor. With knees slightly bent, his center of gravity is low, and his shield presented, covering all of his body with the exception of the legs below the knees, the weapon arm, and the top half of his face, which can easily be ducked behind the shield. His armor is designed to cover exactly these places, making it difficult to penetrate his defense.

The defensive stance can be deceiving, however, for Saran is always prepared to explode in attack at the slightest hint of an opening, using shield and main weapon, either spear or sword, for Saran is equally proficient in both, to launch a flurry of powerful attacks designed to batter through the opponents defense.