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  2. Mehrin was silent for a long moment. What was happening? A Dreadlord had decided to drop whatever he had been doing for the past several years to murder him. But in this way? A whole platoon of Children? A Darkfriend assassin? This was convoluted beyond stupidity. Why didn't Ayrik just step out of a gateway and incinerate him? He found that he didn't have a good answer to Eb's question. With all honesty, Mehrin answered, "I don't know for certain. All I know is that this will only end when either he is dead... or I am. And I certainly have no intention of dying." A small smile crossed his face briefly. "I fully intend to kick the Dark One in the stones before I die, and I can't do that if this bastard kills me." As quickly as the smile appeared, it was gone. "Expect everything, and you won't be disappointed." **** It had been four days since Deathwatch and the woman had left Whitebridge, and Gerrain, Sabeth, Roshan, and Erebit had not left the basement of the mansion since Arlynn had been killed. Only a master mason would have been able to spot the small rectangle in the wall where bricks had been removed and a hollow dug out to hide the body of the assassin, then replaced. Gerrain and Roshan had been hiding outside the inn when the big man had hurled Arlynn from the window, and Roshan was still occasionally sick whenever he remembered the popping sound that her head had made when it struck the cobbles. Arlynn's features had only grown worse in the brief time that it had taken to remove her from the street and into the basement. Before they had begun to pack in the clay around her corpse, her head had turned purple and her eyes were bulging grotesquely. Roshan was happy to set the final bricks between the assassin and himself. "So," Gerrain started before falling silent. He seemed to be trying to find words. But what was there to be said? They had failed, and one of the best assassins that the Shadow had ever known was rotting behind a wall of bricks. Roshan was wondering what he would add, hoped that it would be something that they could draw some inspiration from. They were behind, true, but there were other assassins that they could recruit. They could come back from- "You failed." The cold pronouncement drew angry glares from everyone present to the figure that had just stepped from a hole in the air. "You had your orders," the Dreadlord Ayrik Drayven hissed. "You let Mehrin and that new wench of his escape. I understood that you were the best that the Shadow had to offer." The Shadow-blasted raven that seemed to follow the man around croaked harshly at the assembled Friends of the Dark. "It seems that I was mistaken." The slim features narrowed in contempt as Ayrik's gaze fell on Gerrain. "You are the leader here. You will explain yourself to me, worm." Roshan's guts twisted in fear. A Dreadlord was an enemy that no mere Darkfriend wanted. However, Gerrain's gaze never wavered. "No, Dreadlord. You will explain to your superiors." Drayven's features twisted in rage, but Gerrain continued without concern. "Our circle was one of the strange ones. We are five- I mean, four. And we are experts in our area. Assassination, discord, chaos. These are our areas." An expression that Roshan had never seen on Gerrain's face appeared: rage. Rage and despise. "We were contracted by you, and we all contacted our circles. Every single ally that we have knows of the contract you gave us. And we know that you have driven us to assassinate a man who you wanted dead." Gerrain's face grew hard. "We pursued your personal grudge, and as a result one of the Shadow's greatest asset is now dead behind that wall. You can threaten us all you want. You can even destroy us right here. We know that." Roshan was not fond of Gerrain's seeming disinterest in their fates. He fully intended to live until the Great Lord was free. "What you don't know," Gerrain continued, "is that our message has spread through the Friends, and we have had replies." He leveled his gaze on the upstart Dreadlord. "What do you think your master M'bela would think of this? I can assure you that any retribution you drop on us will be revisited to you tenfold by the one who holds your leash. As far as we are concerned, we are through. Find some other circle, if one will have you. As far as we are concerned, you can cast yourself into the Pit of Doom and leave us be." Roshan expected the Dreadlord to react beyond the growing redness in his face. The rage was there; he could almost feel it like an oppressing heat in the room. But there was no retaliation. There was no physical reaction at all. The Dreadlord merely opened a gateway behind him, and as quickly as he had appeared, Drayven was gone. Gerrain nearly collapsed as the facade that he had shown fell apart. Sabeth was there almost as soon as he hit the floor, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as if she could protect him from whatever might come. Roshan could see him trembling, see the tension of what he had just done twitching out of him. However, with a single nod, Gerrain told them all that they were done in Whitebridge. Their chapter in this... this idiocy... was over. The Dreadlord was on his own.
  3. Mehrin's morning exercises were an hour behind him, and the two boys were still asleep. Patience was never his strongest point. There was no fresh water nearby, so Mehrin couldn't simply douse Rovan with a water skin and start the day. Instead, he pushed the sole of his boot against the boy and gave him a shove. "Wake up. We have a long way to go today." Out of the corner of his eye, Mehrin saw the other boy stir and rolled his eyes. If he woke up and chose to follow, Mehrin wouldn't stop him. There were enough dead fools in the forests without him making it easier to add to the number. However, he was not concerned with the boy as much as he was with this... this foundling. He waited for the boy to eat the meager meal that he had provided- it was more than he had eaten, but the supplies were beginning to run low- then dropped his pack at the boy's feet. Between clothes, the remaining food and water, and the small fortune in coin that he carried in the sack, it weighed nearly forty pounds. "You'll be carrying this today. As you saw yesterday, I don't take the easy road. You will be miserable by lunch. Enjoy." Mehrin spared a look at the other boy. "I won't say to not follow us. I will say that you might regret it if you choose to follow. Your choice." He waited until the boy had lifted the pack. "As for us," he finished as he nodded towards the path forward, "we're going that way. Try to keep up."
  4. I haven't forgotten this. Been jet-lagging after a transatlantic flight and setting up a new PC. The post is in my head, just need to get it out.
  5. While Caldazar sat looking at the dancing flames, he thought of dancing with Endara at his birthday party. Everything had been perfect: Rogosh had given him the sword, Endara was there, life was perfect. But, then came that coven of hags to ruin everything. They came for Endara... They took her, took her away. They stole what he had loved from him. And he would steal theirs. He would kill that queen of the damned that they love so much. He would kill the Amyrlin seat. With each laugh coming from his throat, his soul cracked. Sometime in his trance he heard. "You have first watch. Wake me in six hours." He got up feeling like the flames themselves were in him; he danced a jumping, spinning dance towards a cluster of flowers. He ripped them all from the ground, and he tucked them in his pockets wove them in his hair and threw the rest in the air. As the man in black laid down he started in a dance. A silent dance. For six hours he danced and for six hours he felt happy. At the end of it he bowed and went to wake the man...
  6. Oh btw the bios https://drpsw.fandom.com/wiki/Mehrin_Deathwatch https://drpsw.fandom.com/wiki/Owial_Volor_Merran aka Rovan in this rp though he probably a couple years older by now...tend too fuzz the age thingy
  7. Riven finished his meal and pay down, he lingered trying to keep awake watching the training a bit. He had seen enough transgressions and so are growing up in the Children to recognize the skill of the man and cursed invardly, no wonder he was so bruised and battered. He had not expected training vise to hold up against someone experienced, he was young he knew he had lots to learn. Shrugging he turned around, if he didn't need the sleep he should be watching he knew his dad would said, but he also knew he lacked the skill to learn much from said observance. he remembered his dad bringing him to see someone training towards future herrons, this man easily would be at their level, beyond that he wouldn't be able to tell, he would have to see if he could get a chance for a better look of the details of the sword. At least he felt more relaxed at the idea of sleeping, this was no mere low-key soldier, sleep should be as safe as could get still being on the run and not kno wing who or how many was chasing him.
  8. Mehrin was beginning to believe that there was a higher power that somehow managed to lead young people with shiny swords and years of inexperience to him, and he was creating a new collection of blasphemies to hurl at said power if he should ever encounter it. He wasn't sure if it was the laughter, the loudness that Mehrin was hoping wouldn't bring a stray pack of bandits down on their camp, or the fact that the boy had actually named his bloody sword, but the boy was starting to grate across his nerves. The boy Rovan's pants were mostly dry by the time Mehrin had finished his stitching, so he simply tossed them across to him. As Rovan dressed, Mehrin looked at the boy who had seated himself next to the fire. He was still laughing, though Mehrin could not see any reason for him to be doing so. "Keep the noise down," he growled as he slid his knife back into its sheath. "That one's running from somebody," he added with a nod towards Rovan, "and I would rather not bring more attention to ourselves than necessary." Dinner was hard bread, hard cheese, and a piece of hard sausage. Mehrin handed Rovan's share to him when he had finished dressing, then sat back with his own share. The new face would have to fend for himself; Mehrin hardly had enough for one, and he was stretching it for two. He ate in silence, drank some of the water, then tossed the skin to Rovan. He quickly swapped his shirt for a loose vest from his bag, then picked up the oversized claymore that had been laying in some taller grass. Giving the heavy sword an easy twirl in his left hand, Mehrin stepped away from the fire and into a small clear space and began moving through the complex motions of his evening exercises. He began slowly, his feet and legs moving slowly and precisely. As he shifted his balance from foot to foot and from step to step, his arms moved the sword in a slow and steady choreography, the blade moving in straight lines with no wavering or pauses in each motion. Faster. Mehrin could feel the blood moving through him, feel his muscles warming to the exercise. His breathing was calm and steady. The sword was beginning to sing in his hand, a slight hum that was more felt in the hand than heard in the ear. There was an occasional rustle from under his feet as he disturbed a dead leaf or dried grass. Faster. His skin prickled as a sheen of sweat began to form. Sometimes a bead of sweat would trace the line of one of his scars, a tickling sensation that he ignored. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing deep and heavy. There was a constant humming swish of sound as the claymore sang its way through the air. Faster. His muscles burned, and sweat was stinging his eyes. He felt hot as a forge fire. Faster. After an hour, Mehrin's dance slowed back to the stately pace where had first started, the motions still crisp and smooth, then finally stopped. Mehrin stood in his final stance for a handful of seconds before kneeling, his breathing heavy and ragged, goosebumps raising on his body as a cool breeze swept across his sweat-drenched skin. He stood again as his breathing slowed, then went and pulled a towel from his pack and wiped away the sweat. Another shirt from out of the pack, and Mehrin was back to the fire. Settling his pack behind his head, he laid back and lifted his broad- brimmed hat from the grass beside him. He spared the new boy another look as he laid back against the pack and said, "You have first watch. Wake me in six hours." Without waiting for a reply, Mehrin dropped his hat down over his eyes. He was asleep within minutes.
  9. Owial looked at the boy, who was he, another darkfriend. He looked around to see if there was more ariving, he knew he was not in the clear yet. He thought of his father, he learned him well but our here, alone without the other children, no if he was to get to serve the creator he had to live. Which first meant finding his way back. He swallowed his comments, they would be wasted no better to keep to his plan, let the man deal with this. He sat down and picked up his tea, he hoped his clothes would be dry soon. not for that he lamented again, they really should be burned, but he needed them for now so he could sleep, the training had been hard in his state, he needed his health back. It always was a war to eat and risk drugs or not and loose weight, they would all pay in the end, he would make sure to report it all. They saved him once, maybe other children could be saved too, he kept staring into the flames as his mind d wandered. Happy to leave the talking to the others, he had given a false name but even still the less they knew the better.
  10. Caldazar looked at the man for a moment considering him. "Why, you mistake my actions! Why should I bother with the lad, when the leader sits where you are?!" Chuckled Cal. Caldazar noticed the crude knife laying besides the man. In a easy-going way, he slid his sword from her scabbard. " The Queen's Revenge." He said fondly caressing the edge of the fine sword's blade with his forefinger. " I am trained with it, you know." Cal whispered like a threat or a joke or both. Turning on heel, Cal went to the still have half dressed boy. "I'm terribly sorry for the way I acted towards you." Wrapping one hand around the back of the boys neck and pulling him into a whisper. "I should have known that you WERE the leader. He really doesn't seem too bright." And with a chortle Cal added. " And do put on some clothes. Your birthday suit really needs more suit..." Releasing the boy Caldazar al'Aemon lowered himself near the fire, staring into the flames. And then he started laughing.
  11. At the sound of birds taking flight out in the forest, Mehrin shifted a little bit around the fire so that he was more squarely facing in the direction of the disturbance, then drew the heavy knife that he kept in a sheath on his leg and set it on the ground next to him. He then began stitching again as if nothing had happened. When the cause of the startled birds stepped out of the forest, his eyes flicked up for a brief moment to categorize the boy who had stepped out of the forest. Inwardly, Mehrin groaned. Not another one... The boy was tall and lithe and had the cocky swagger of someone whose inflated opinion of himself had yet to encounter the real world. This snap judgment was further supported when he shoved his way past the boy Rovan and stood in front of Mehrin, waving and fiddling with his sword. "Mind if I camp here?" he asked with a laugh. Mehrin didn't make any effort to hide his sigh of irritation. He spared the boy another glance and said, "I'll consider it as soon as you apologize to the boy over there for being rude." Nodding at the sword on the boy's belt, he added, "Walking around with a pointy piece of metal doesn't excuse bad manners."
  12. With a Cheshire grin Caldazar noticed the fire. Who made the thing surely wouldn't mind company, would they? The thought chilled Cal but never the less, he fixed his face in it's best smile and walked towards the camp as lithely as a cat. A small flock of birds took flight as Cal moved by closer. He noticed the boy first, standing there naked half covered with a blanket. The boy wore on his face a look akin to hate and disgust. Frowning slightly through his smile, Cal tilted his head. That is if one can smile and frown at the same time. The boy was whip thin and sprinkled with long thin welps. The next thing Cal noticed was the man sewing a pair breeches near the fire. He was a gruff man with the air of a soldier. Next to the fire a pile of clothes lay steaming. Shoving past the boy, Cal walked to the man. "Mind if I camp here?" Caldazar laughed. Fingering the hilt of his sword with one hand and waving with the other.
  13. @Caldazar al'Aemon Owial looked into the fire, he knew it made sence to dry the clothes, better yet he should washed em but they were black not white so didnt show as well. Also he couldnt bring himself to care for clothes he intended to burn as soon as he could get hold of proper clothes. He mulled a bit about the question, not sure if to answer or how, he still wasnt sure he could trust this guy fully. He had just decided to answer it was fine, just be agreeable when he heard birds take flight in the distance with a shriek. He was on his feet instantly, crouching as he tried to look into the dark forest as if he could look through it. The fact he was merely wearing a blanket forgoten, he was not going back, himself he didnt even hear the snarl in his troath as he tried to listen for any other sounds.
  14. focus The pain was only excruciating. And it was everywhere. The whole world seemed to consist of red tendrils of agony crawling across his brain. focus Something was calling him from the red, the dark. FOCUS There was something holding his hand. He seized onto the feeling, used it to crawl from the depths. There was ringing in his ears, but there was more than that. There were things that almost sounded like it might be talking. open The light was blinding, and his eyes burned as blood that had pooled around them oozed in. There were people, a girl and a man. The man was trying to say something. Eyes burning, he focused his eyes on the man's lips and muttered, "Slower." At least he hoped that he had. It was hard to tell. There was still somebody holding his hand, but he couldn't see it. blood in eyes. fix it His free hand slowly crept its way up his chest and across his face until he felt metal. He pushed. There was pain as something pulled free from his face. He felt liquid running down his cheeks. crying. Blood? Thoughts floated quicker. He was hurt. He had been exploded into a wall. He had a name. But maybe not a job anymore. A single cough of laughter made Pahl- I knew I had one- grimace. "Anyone hurt?" he asked slowly. At least he hoped that he had. It was still hard to tell.
  15. If he was to be honest with himself, Mehrin was impressed with how long the boy had held out against him. However, it didn't take long after the first blow passed his defense for him to come crashing down, and his attempt to stand again resulted in yet another tumble. Mehrin left the boy where he was for a moment, then offered him a hand and pulled him easily back to his feet. "Well done," he said simply. A soldier would have gotten a rougher response, but the boy was no soldier. Still... A small smirk crawled onto Mehrin's face. "However, the pain that you're currently feeling? That means that you didn't do well enough." Mehrin waved the boy towards the fire, then turned to his pack and found a water skin and a blanket. He dropped the water skin on the ground by the fire, then threw the blanket at the boy. "Get rid of the wet clothes and get covered up with this. We'll dry the clothes so you don't have to sleep in soggy breeches." As the boy dealt with the clothing, Mehrin began pulling a meal out of his pack. He also found a needle and thread that he used for stitching injuries. He didn't notice any cuts on the boy, but he had definitely noticed the tear in his breeches. The boy's shirt went onto sticks in front of the fire to dry. His breeches ended up in Mehrin's lap for stitching. His eyes focused on the tear in front of him, Mehrin said, "You seem to have some sort of training, though I can't say I know what kind. What are you comfortable handling? I can try to change the training to help you with what you know."
  16. DM Handle: Calindra Character Name: Calindra Hejaran Character Count: (1/24) Age (must be 16 - 21): 21 years old Place of Origin: Caemlyn, Andor Physical Appearance: Calindra appears youthful and delicate; has dark brown eyes; full bodied lips; pale silky skin; a slender neck and delicate brows. Her raven tresses have been captured and braided into a ponytail that lands in the small of her back. Those wisps that remain uncaptured, wave gently in the breeze around her ears. She often wears plate armour and steel greaves to protect her torso and arms. In exchange for higher mobility and agility, she prefers wearing riding leather pants instead of wearing plate on her legs. (Bear in mind this will be after training in regards to the armour. Training equipment/armour is generally standard for everyone. ~Tay~) Personality: Calindra is deeply spiritual and has espoused the belief that life is a never ending struggle between life and death, dark and bright. "Sometimes the Light must brave the darkness. Sometimes the Shadow wins." She is brave and idealistic, which often leads her to rush into a fight without thinking of the consequences. Character History Hailing from a well established merchant family from Caemlyn, Calindra was schooled in the rudiments of business from a very young age, in the hopes that she'd take over the family business. She accompanied her father wherever trade brought him, and was busy seeing a lot of the mainland, its various peoples, traditions, and dialects as she learned how to conduct negotiations, how to value goods, and about the local economies and business mathematics. As with any trade convoys, some of the voyages required mercenaries to protect the convoys. At first, the sword carrying men-in-armour didn't really interest her, unless they had horses. As she grew, however, it became more and more apparent that she was starting to enjoy watching them as they practiced sword handling. Not being one to stay on the sidelines, she decided to take up the sword and begged her father to let her join the mercenaries in their practices. He refused, claiming that a mercenary life wasn't good enough for his daughter, but he had seen the passion in her eyes and knew better than to assume that it had been the end of the discussion. Unknown to her, her father purposely brought them to Tar Valon. He saw how his daughter watched the Warders as they practiced, and he knew that he'd held onto her for as long as he could. Still, he made sure she helped finish their trading business within the city. He eventually turned to their task master, "Get us ready to leave within the hour, will ya? My daughter and I have one last bit of business to do before we get going." "If you're to espouse the blade, daughter, then you will learn from the best masters in the land," he had said when they finally reached one of the local smithies. "I will not stand in the way of your dreams, lass. I see how you look at them as they practice. Smith! No daughter of mine will handle a sword until I'm satisfied that she'll be protected." He turned to her, tears in his eyes, and held her in his arms. He paid the smith when he was done and accompanied her to the Tower gates. "I know you'll do yer ol' father and mother proud, love. I’ll visit when next I can."
  17. Merdyn’s eyebrows climbed up towards his hairline at the ‘greeting’ offered to them on behalf of the Band. Was this the Eb mentioned in the missive? He opened his mouth, ready with a snide comment to lob at the woman, but Nox pulled him forward and jumped in before Merdyn was able to utter a word. He closed his mouth and resigned to being towed along by his Warder. The woman jabbed a finger towards the barracks, informing them that they could stow their belongings there. Merdyn did not bother to inform her that they would be returning to the Black Tower at day’s end. Nox pulled out the cloth bag that contained the leavings of their food wrapped in oiled paper and cord. He didn’t exactly offer it to the rude woman, but he may as well have. Merdyn wasn’t sure why this all bothered him so, but it did. Growing up as a noble had hardened him in regard to social situations. Light, even his time spent at the Black Tower had only served to strengthen his backbone. Why should this woman get under his skin so? Perhaps it was due to the prestige he had felt at being called to both the White Tower and The Citadel to serve as an ambassador of sorts. Or perhaps it was the disregard she had shown to both Nox and himself. Or maybe she just had one of those personalities that gave a chafe to one’s good mood. Whatever the reasons, none of them mattered. This Eb, whoever she was, would have to be dealt with as if she were the Queen of Andor herself. Merdyn and Nox were here to represent the Tower and its interests. Nothing more. If Eb didn’t like them, or if she refused to treat them with respect- well, that was of little consequence to the powers that be. They would just have to bear it. Merdyn clenched his jaw and forced a smile onto his face. Nox would no doubt feel the irritation through the Bond, but he would just have to endure it as Merdyn tried to squash the emotions. You are essentially a male Aes Sedai, man, Merdyn thought to himself, Buck up and act like one. Those women of the Tower wouldn’t be cowed by some brutish captain. No. They would be doing the cowing, they would- Merdyn shook his head and banished the thoughts. He was not Aes Sedai. He was Ashaman. What those women could get away with was more than any man of the Black Tower could dare dream of. No. It would be better to woo this woman into compliance. Get on her good side. Charm the living Light out of her. The smile was coming a little easier the more he thought on that. “Oh, yes, we are quite stuffed,” Merdyn called out in a cheerful tone to the back of Eb’s head, “You are more than welcome to the food we brought. Although we would be just as fine sitting with you while you break your fast in the city, perhaps we could have some tea instead while you do so?" This was going to be a long day.
  18. M'bela looked up as the door opened, Elmira looked drained and tired, she would have to work on geting on her good side. She smiled, but at least now she would have the chance. And then the kids came in, she waited only too the door closed before she got up and knelt down, the older boy stood by his mom trying to look mature, but it seemed the girl remembering her bringing candies and stories the few times she got to visit still had that easy childhood about her. M'bela huged her, she looked so good. At least these kids had an easier life then she and their mother, oh she made sure to place her child so she would be better off then the orphent she herself had been, but she had not been able to give her all she wished for. She followed them to a house with a vegetable garden at the backend of the town. The kids soon ran off to explore the house, as she took out food and channeled to heat it before motioning for her daughter to sit so they could talk.
  19. Having a new victi- new character might make it easier, actually. I just realized that my reply was eaten by Trollocs, so I get to start over again on that.
  20. Thanks for helping out, Lii. I don't have any Freelander chars myself and I'd rather not have to pull out NSW's. It's not as much fun for Cal if I have to do that.
  21. will see what he says to having another rugrat in there... i just draged him into it to get my char to gain some ws skill so... but this the rp i am talking about in case he dont know cause sometimes he is dence like that other then that if you check my profile i listed all my chars there so has various freelanders laying about
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