The Pattern, the lace of Ages, a twisting, ever changeing series of stories and events decided by the past, present and future. The Pattern is made up of billions of threads, billions of lives, each one unique and diffrent. One of these such threads belongs to Aladis al’Toraine, a young man of mixed heritage who, through a series of sometimes cruel, but ultimately necessary events, sought his destiny in the great city of Tar Valon.

Aladis spent the earliest years of his life travelling in peaceful bliss with his parents. His Mother, a well respected Merchant from Caemlyn, traded in Furs, Ice Peppers, Inks and Dyes from the Aryth Ocean to the Spine of the World and beyond. His father, a pure blooded Malkierian Swordsman, oversaw the men who worked as Caravan Guards for the Merchant train. He often hand picked men from Town Guards and Mercenary bands, offering stability, excitement and a chance to see the world, as an incentive to join them on the road.

The richness of his upbringing knew no bounds. He played ‘Spears’ with the children of an Aiel hold, ‘Tag’ with the street urchins of Tear, ‘Hide and seek’ with the Orphans of the Rahad and ‘Snakes and Foxes’ with Tuatha’an children. It was not all fun and games however, too young to pick up the Sword but not the pen, his mother educated him extensively in History and Geography, even manageing to impart a partial knowledge of the Old tongue to her young son. His youth was spent in joy and everywhere the family went they received a warm welcome. This, however, could not last forever!

The eve of his 10th nameday brought more horror and pain to his life than he had ever known. On a routine trip from Caemlyn to Illian, by way of Aringill, Whitecloak Questioners seized almost every member of the Caravan during the night, appearing out of the shadows like white spectres. He himself had fled like a coward, leaving his parents to their fate in an attempt to save his own hide. He took flight to the East and kept running till he couldnt force himself to carry on. As a young man, newly orphaned and destitute, he had found himself in Cairhien, rudderless, without a future or any reason to live.

He spent his next few years suffering from that night. He had been awash with guilt, lost in a torrent of anger, both at himself and at the Light. He was not the only one to blame… The Light had abandoned his parents also. He was only human, he could be forgiven for his weakness, the Light couldn’t… His anger at himself subsided with his time on the streets of Cairhien. His anger at the Light, however, grew till it eclipsed everything else in his life. No longer did he feel sadness at his parents’ death, fear for the future or longing for the past. All he felt was anger, anger and hate.

This anger, coupled with the experience and connections he gained on the streets of Cairhien, was the last nail in the coffin that would seal his fate forever. He would have his revenge on the Light, no matter at what cost. On the eve of his 17th nameday he swore himself to the Shadow. He spent the next two years working as a Shadow Operative within the Noble houses of Cairhien, being employed from time to time to gather information or ‘visit’ one Noble or another, during the night. His time as an employee of the Houses taught him some little about intrigue and the benefits of a drop of Poison over a well wielded sword.

His colorful, happy upbringing was a thing of the past now, a distant memory, one that had faded so rapidly it almost seemed make believe. No longer was he the carefree young lad, set to take on the world as a brave Champion of the Light or a Merchant King. All that was left now was what was of use. ‘Spears’ and ‘Tag’ for balance and co-ordination, ‘Hide and Seek’ for the art of Stealth and, most importantly, ‘Snakes and Foxes’ for the ability to cheat and lie. He was on a fast track to becoming a serious threat withing the Nobility of Cairhien and would have, if the Great Lord had not seen fit to assign him a new task.

It was during his 20th year that he received his next set of orders; Infiltrate the White Tower as a Gaidin in Training and wait for further instructions. With these words fresh in mind, he sets forth for the White Tower of Tar Valon, hell bent on assimulating himself seemlessly into everyday life, before helping to tear it apart from the inside.

One seemingly small twist of faith in the Pattern, with an unforseen future. Ages come and pass and the Pattern weaves on.