Arenvalde Redsteele

Quick Info

Height:5"9 or 180cm
Weight: 160 Ponze (Pounds)
Age: ???
Eyes: Pale Green
Birthday: 9th sun of the Second Umbral Moon
Scars: One underneath his left eye, which is usually covered
Sexuality: Bisexual
Top or bottom?: Fluent Switch, but teasing made manifest
Brief Summary: A male Viera who is a Veena in terms of appearance. A simple, gentle sway perpetuates his movements reminiscent of the gentle winds that blow through the boughs of trees. This easy going and slow behavior gives the idea that he is incapable of harsh words or swift movement, but it's fairly apparent that he is well practiced in reserving all of his energy for key moments

Many would find a rather amicable and happy wandering Samurai.

The Shimomasa Clan

The clan that Arenvalde hails from. It is a clan that differs from most Viera clans in that they do not live in the trees like most clans and have opted to operate closer to what one would consider a typical Hyuran village. It is said that the clan itself is mainly prevalent within Hingashi itself but has had many families and smaller subsets branch out across Eitherys. For Arenvalde, he would born of one such branch. Though still a primarily matriarchal society, the clan as a whole was devoted to the ways of the blade. Where other Viera were deadeyes with the bow, these trained their whole lives in the arts of the blade.

But even within the clan there were disagreements in how to best fight. One would argue that, in order to fight well, one must be in tune with their emotions and fight accordingly. Without that drive and motivation to fight, what desire was there to improve one's bladework without someone to protect? The style known as "The Hearth's Edge" sought to perfect their fighting style through drive, emotion, and motivation.

Another style argued otherwise. The presence of emotion was a hinderance to the mastery of the blade. How could anyone coldly and ruthlessly calculate the perfect path for a sword to cut if they were angry or high on emotion? To reach the pinnacle of swordsmastery, one has to do away with feeling and emotion. The only way to reach the fabled absolute zero of cuts, the user themselves would have to close the gap between themselves and "nothing". This called "The Sorrowful Blade" for others often lament how robotic and calculating it's wielders can become.

In particular, the clan Arenvalde is from hails from a location closer to the Garlean border. The women and men lived in separate homes but otherwise not far from each other. The women, though able fighters as well, were tasked with leadership and roles fitted to supporting and guiding the clan. The men, were in a lot of ways, purely of the warrior type. From the minute one is born, they are trained in the ways of the blade and culture/literature until their teens where they begin to diverge slightly in terms of practical focus.

Early life and Exile

Arenvalde was born in 1,443 in Othard with the Shimomasa clan. He was the product of one of the strongest males mating with one of the 3 female leaders who led the clan and shared this accolade with a brother and sister. Needless to say, the pressure and burden of being someone strong enough to leader, whether female or male was strong and vital. Before his teens, he would train with his father, named, with the blade and nights would be spent learning literature and culture from his mother leaving often to him and siblings bonding together to stave off the exhaustion as they struggled through life. Arenvalde himself, was rather good at literature over fighting and it was promising until the divergence of training where, him being male, meant much less focus on books and stories and a greater focus on the wielding of the katana.

Regardless, the small Aren did have good relations with his family and the clan as a whole. His father was named Ashina and his mother, Miyabe. Arenvalde was known as a rather gentle boy with concern whether or not he could actually kill. Miyabe constantly fretted over his ability while his father, Ashina, assuaged her fears time and time again. "He's your boy" He would say. "When the time comes, he'll do what must be done. You and I always have."

This growing burden strained his relations with his father, whom as most children do, took for granted. "You have my brother! I needn't be the leader!" he would cry, sick of the brutal training and the lack of enjoyment he had in life. The days ever seemed grayer and more boring and though his skill grew, his interest in life was beginning to fade. What was the point of life if this was all there was? It eventually culminated in a desire to leave. Someone like him leaving was unheard of and he could hear his parents already disallowing even the thought of it. He planned to escape.

Yet, in the end, he was caught by his dad who was rather sympathetic. It tore at Aren to see his father tear up, something that he had never seen. "You know, you'll never be allowed to come back. You'll never see me again boy." Ashina would say to a sobbing Aren. But the child would nod. "I.. I think this is the right path father." Much to Aren's suprise, his father would acquiesce and bequeath his short sword to him as a gift. "Stay safe son. I know you're doing the right thing."

Taking his leave, the small and emotional child would look to Hingashi. Wondering what it would be like to return there.

Life and journeys post exile

With little to his name outside the food he packed, the clothes he wore, and his father's blade, Aren would return to Hingashi stowed upon a ship. Though he had the merit from his clan to prove his presence to be just in the xenophobic and locked-to-the-outside-world Hingashi, he lacked the funds to do so. Arriving in the city, it was the first time he was in any real place surrounded by so many people that had nothing to do with each other. A real country boy in a big city. Though he took oddjobs, he soon took on a position within the Sekiseigumi as he reveled in his bladework. Through there, he would refine his clan's techniques with ones from the outside and developing his own style which was summarized as a beautiful and flowing technique added with brutal efficiency. He thought little of the lives he would take of criminals and the people who would offend the governing magistrate.

The first of many hardships would occur as he took what would be his last job with the Sekiseigumi. They were to bust a peasant operation that was hording food for a insurgency group from another province. Upon arriving at the location, it would have been a simple job except that it was completely setup. Aren and his unit were completely wiped out.. Or so he had thought. He would awaken on the bank of a river, sputtering and gasping for life. The blade in his body narrowly missed his vitals and miraculously did not sever any organs or critical veins. He would take this as a blessing of the kami to seek work elsewhere, saddened by the loss of those he had called first friends.

It was at this point that he would first undertake the wanderer's life. Forsaking the need for gil, he would spend his time helping local villages, receiving food, and continuing to find the stories and cultures he craved in exchange for his blade and work. This would continue for the next 40 years or so as he continued to learn and adapt to the world.

The Tragedy

As it always starts, it was just a rather normal day when he heard the news. In the year 1521 was the year the Garleans would push into Othard and begin their expansion. Aren would hear of the news and immediately begin travelling home, knowing full well the consequences of an exile returning to his particular clan. Regardless, he had made peace with the supposed outcome. When he arrived home, he noticed the bodies and the carnage. Though the causalities for the Garleans were high, this was the first time for many to see the works of Magitek weapons. The clan was relatively small and would not have been hard to wipe out had they been less skilled.

Still, it was then he would learn that his mother had been killed. An indescribable amount anger and grief flooded through him and he would spend the next few days helping a doomed fight. Each day had brought new causalities and it was starting to look like they would become one of the fallen clans, doomed to obscurity for having lost to a foreign threat to maintain the prideful dignity of the Viera tribes. Aren spent every day and waking moment ambushing and killing Garlean patrols, subsisting entirely off of their rations and cloaks as it reached the cold winter months. It took nearly a month before his own clan/tribe found him soaked head to toe in the blood of their enemies., staining the white landscape red.

They had managed to kill so much that retreat was no longer seen as dishonorable or cowardly, yet, they had found the exile within their lands. It was a common practice for exiles to be killed on sight but their clan had a different take. For the path of Blademastery was key, so instead, it was a duel. The exile would face off against the strongest of the tribe, as a test of the skill of the outsider versus in. Very rarely would an exile win against someone who could train comfortably every day, and a veteran at that. It was less a duel and more affirmation of the clan to being on the correct path.

Yet, this day, his strongest opponent was to be his own father, Ashina. Aren had resolved to die here, so that his services could end and his life, paid back to the clan he had left so long ago. For failing to protect his mother. The father would request a private duel away from private eyes. In the solitude of the snowy wastes, blades drew, and even as Aren stayed his hand, blood spilled onto the fresh snow. His father had committed suicide, taken his own life.

Crying, Aren would rush to his father's side. As Ashina stroked his face, he smiled despite the blood gushing from his body. "You are free, evermore child. Go. I know you can take our art a step further.. And know that Miyabe loved you, as strict as she was.

Aren cried. He felt ever the small child as he felt the heat leak from his father's body. Tears could no longer run his face, frozen against his skin yet he could not stop wailing for he had lost the people who had not given up on him when he had on them. Eventually, the others would come to see who had won and in shock that, the exile had. As per custom, he was allowed to go free. He was clean of sin for his strength, yet his brother cursed for being a kinslayer, threatening to end him had he ever appeared again.

Since then, the cold would always bring wretched memories of bloodshed, sin, and grief. He continues to blame himself for not only the fall of his clan, but for the death of his parents. To have left his brother and sister as the next heads of the clan. The only remainder of his previous life, the blade his father used.

In time, he would discard even his clan name in favor for "Arenvalde", after an Ala Mhigan monk who had helped him further his proficiency with the blade but could offer him no internal solace saying that peace must always begin within, as for a flower that does not grow naturally in the right place would simply wilt after a small period of time.