Full Name: Aodhán Ó Maoilriain
Description: Aiden is a small, old hare, his fur completely silver in stark contrast to his hazel eyes. Contrary to what might be thought, however, he never hunches over, and instead sits up straight, still having a surprising amount of strength in his upper body – enough to propel himself in his chair, although his age has its limits.
Aiden typically wears an old brown tunic, in place of a habit like an elder of his age often would don, and a comfortable, woolen grey cloak. A pair of silver spectacles, with rectangular lenses, perches on his nose, but tends to constantly slip down his face. One of his ears is always flopping down over his eyes, as well, and he has a habit (not the clothing article) of flicking it aside with a paw as he reads something.
He has a number of old Long Patrol and Rogue Crew medals, from friends and the like, that he’s pinned to his cloak. His wheelchair is bedecked with all sorts of scrolls and books, piled on top of each other in baskets attached to the back of the chair and the underside.
Speaking of the wheelchair, it’s a very ornate device, with carvings all over from his loving friends at the Abbey. The carvings tell stories, depicting adventurous figures such as Martin the Warrior, Lord Brocktree of Salamandastron, and other such heroes from the tales that Aiden loves with his whole being. These help to comfort him when he remembers that he never got to go on any adventures of his own in his latter years, as he lost the use of his lower body when he was in his mid-years.
Possessions: Aiden doesn’t have much in the way of personal items – a lot of what he has came from the Abbey. He does, though have one distinguishing thing: an enormous collection of weapons.
This and one other thing actually compose his entire group of possessions. The collection is huge, ranging from swords and shields to Eastern Island metals and Senshan blacksteel, in the form of daggers, slings, bows, crossbows, spears, throwing knives, etc. He’s rather proud of it (the collection), having acquired it through a network of travellers he’s befriended, who bring them back for him. His favourite pieces are an Eastern steel spear with a curved blade and intricately bound shaft, and a set of blacksteel senbon.
The aforementioned “other thing” that he holds as a possession is a small, round piece of polished hardwood, with a loop of cord through it. It depicts a pair of pawprints, with the word “Perilous” engraved underneath. On the day that he lost the use of his limbs, this was given as a memorial for his last battle (see below). He’s carried it with him since then.
- Highly intelligent
- Extremely sharp memory
- Excellent strategist
- Brilliant cook
- Good writer
- Lacking the ability to walk
- Not much stamina
- The limitations that come with age
Aodhán, or Aiden, is an eccentric old hare, his mind often in many different places at once. In leu of his ability to travel or adventure anymore, he lets his mind do the wandering for him, and can often be found just sitting in his own world, thinking. However, when brought out of such a trance, he can throw himself with a passion into any activity at hand – at least, until he falls asleep.
He is a lovable creature, often entertaining the Dibbuns (often accompanied by older creatures) with stories of bravery and peril. He has the ability to cheer almost anybody up with a story or an unexpected word of sage wisdom. Also, as I mentioned before, he has the ability to cook, so it’s not uncommon to find a cluster of creatures at the door of the gatehouse, eating a midday snack that he’s made in the small structure’s kitchen and listening to some tale that he has to tell.
Aiden harbours a love of reading that would astound many creatures, often going through as many as nine or ten books in one day. This is complimented by the fact that he loves to write. He composes songs, poems, and stories that captivate anybody willing to read them.
However, on the negative side, Aiden carries a great burden -- an incredible amount of regret. It’s amazing that he manages to stay so cheerful, considering that he has dreams every single night about how his life could have gone, if he’d just . . . changed something about the day that he lost his ability to walk.
He also has a fierce, yet slow, temper, which is surprising for a creature of his age and build. This is inspired by his old warrior tendencies wishing tor rise up on occasion, but he usually manages to keep it under control.
Aodhán Ó Maoilriain was born to two esteemed members of the Long Patrol, who were descended from great fighters of the Northern Mountains – hence his long-and-difficult-to-pronounce name. He became a Patrol leveret the moment that he learned to walk, and from there was trained to become a formidable combatant with and without a weapon. He from there joined one of the Patrol’s traveling . . . er, patrols.
He traveled everywhere, from Sampetra to Southsward to the Islands to Senshan to Mossflower . . . always loving each new thing that he encountered, and the thrill of battle as he found both friends to fight beside and enemies to fight against. Typical adventurer story, for the most part. At least, except for the fact that he never visited Redwall in all of that time.
It was the day that, after ten years of travel, he was called home to Salamandastron that his life changed completely.
He and his company came back from where they’d been staying (managing a small vermin outpost on the southern coast) without much, and as soon as they’d returned to the mountain, the Badger Lord took Aodhán aside.
The wise creature’s face was somber as he turned to look at the hare. “M’Lud?” Aodhán asked, cocking his head questioningly. “Wot seems to be th’matter?”
The badger took a deep breath, then said, “Aodhán, your parents . . . well, they were inspecting searat activities a bit up the coast, and . . . I’m sorry . . .”
Not grasping what the Mountain Lord was getting at, Aodhán stared up with a confused look on his face. “M’Lud?” he repeated.
The badger sighed. He didn’t want to be the one to deliver this news, but . . . “They . . . died,” he finally said.
Aodhán stared. “Wot?”
He took off through the front gate of the mountain.
Running for days, he reached the camp of the searats who’d killed his parents. Three days later, he stumbled back to the mountain, covered in wounds, and completely exhausted. He fell to the ground outside. Nobody found him until the next day.
He never walked again.
His journey to Redwall turned out to be his final journey that he’d ever take. He buried himself in books and studies, submerging the pain under words and writing, until he eventually became who he is now.