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The Shadow Covers the Black... (repost)

Death Incarnate

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Read This - Ok, this RP is not open. If you guys want to change roles, do it now. I know most of you won't be active 'till New Year, and I'm ok with that. However, in January, the following rules apply.


1 - If you can't RP more than once a week, get someone to NPC your character, and instructions on doing so. We have too many people to let one hold things up. Otherwise, the next person to have a bit of spare time on their hands NPCs your character. By posting in this RP, and going through with this, beyond your introductory post, you agree to this.


2 - We haven't got the entire plot set out perfectly yet, thus, the battles at the end aren't set, except for one. Whichever Asha'man gets the flawed angreal will be battling; and then get captured, by Aginor. However, said Asha'man will be rescued. One other Asha'man will be captured by the assorted Shadow types. If, for some reason, you don't want to be captured, either arrange a replacement, or let us NPC you. Also, two NPC Asha'men will be turned the Shadow, and a single NPC Dreadlord captured by the Black Tower. Also, Marak will be captured for an indetermined period of time, but rescued.


3 - I'm going to be submitting a suggested revision to the Weaves List sometime later on, in the course of this RP. I've got some new weaves that could be used, as well as less strict requirements for some of the old ones.


4 - If you want to reply OOCly, and purely OOCly, either use MSN, PMs, or the provided planning thread, which will double as an OOC thread.

Link to OOC thread -


(Note: This is Marak's section. Dal, Ag's section is going to have him already in the Tower, so, if you have any problems with that, just give me a shout over PM)


Marak smiled. It had been an exceptionally grueling day, having to recruit new Acolytes, deal with miscreant Myrddraal, but it was finally over. He seized saidin, the taint sliding off him, his protection letting him dip into pure saidin. He wove Air and Water, his two weakest areas in the One Power, but enough, easily, to clean his clothes. The flows darted skillfully through the dirty jacket, and the dirt and water sloughed off, incinerated by flows of Fire. He took off the jacket, and his boots, and slipped into bed, falling asleep upon the instant.


However.. His dreams... Ah, it had been long since one of the Chosen had chosen to visit his dreams, and this, this was important. A shadowy figure stood in his dreams, the voice deep, and commanding.


"You are to go to the Black Tower. You are to shatter it. Gather Dreadlords there, and split the Black Tower with fear and uncertainty. There will be no Hundred Companions in this Age."


It left, then, his dreams returning to normal, the revenge he sought in his dreams each night. Few things bothered him any more, and the fact that anyone who opposed him would be days in the dying was not one of them.


He recalled the dream, replaying it through his head, concentrating intently. No doubt it was one of the Mae'shadar, or Aginor; they were the two most likely candidates, as for the other Chosen, he doubted they knew he even existed, and he was but a tiny step below the rank of Dreadlord, now. He had the skill and strength of most Dreadlords, and few stood above him; but he was not a Dreadlord yet. This assignment would prove to those above him he was worthy of becoming a Dreadlord; yet he needed... help. It was not something he sought, but, to be serious, there were hundreds of Asha'men. He was one almost-Dreadlord. He could perhaps turn a few, but breaking the Black Tower for the Great Lord? He doubted he could accomplish that, even with a sa'angreal.


He grasped the True Source, the taint sliding off him; it had happened so often now, he barely noticed its lack. He smiled, that would make it easy. Why die of madness, when you could live? He doubted many Soldiers would refuse that offer. After all, they could live in peace with their family, and friends, and have no risk of going mad. Of course, they would have to pay a... price, but, in his opinion, it was worth it.


Of course, it would take him time to gather the help he needed. Hadn't... Ah, yes. Calaadesh. He had seemed sympathetic to Marak when they first met, as sympathetic as rivals for power could be. Of course, the man was stronger than him, and more skilled, and more experienced, which would chafe, but others power coudl not bother him now. It did, but he tried to ignore it. He focused his mind on the Travelling area where Calaadesh lived, the one place where the man would certainly not walk. He channeled saidin, his strength in Spirit, unusual for a man, allowing him to open a Gateway. The silvery slash rotated into a circle in the air, and he had to stoop slightly to walk in. He padded along, into the Gateway, ignoring the sudden change in temperature.


(Note: Osan'gar, I'm taking a few liberties here. I'm going to RP Marak coming in and asking for your aid, and then assuming he got it. If you want to RP the conversation in the middle, that's cool.)


He immediately stopped grasping saidin; who knows what inverted wards the man may have had hidden about the place. He knew about inverted weaves, but, as you couldn't see them, he couldn't puzzle out how to do it. That was the other reason he wanted Calaadesh with him. Without inverted weaves, disguising large uses of saidin in the Black Tower would be all but impossible. Also, he had heard, from an informat of his, the man had secreted an angreal away from him. It was hard, building a network of spies and informats, especially when the Dreadlords watched your every move. Nonetheless, he had succeeded, to a small extent. He had spies in Caemlyn, Murandy, Tar Valon, and Saldaea. It cost him many, many gold crowns, and quite a bit of time, but it was worth it. He would simply ambush a lone Asha'man from a 'recruiting party', or the men that went to villages and towns to recruit for the Dragon Reborn. From there, he would invert a Mirror of Mists, and simply look like the man. Thanks to the extensive network in the northeast of Andor, he had a record of all the towns visited by Asha'men, or, at the least, most of them. It had begun, so that he could avoid recruiting, when moving around. However, it turned out to be a useful hobby. He tied off his gateway, walking down the corridor.

He stopped musing, and called out. "Mae'shadar Caaladesh! Are you there?!.."




....It had taken him the better part of an hour, but he had convinced Caaladesh to come with him. Of course, he presumed, the man wasn't doing it for him. Shattering the Black Tower would raise him among the highest of Dreadlords, especially because it was so risky. For Caaladesh, it would make him the most prominent Mae'shadar, and a small step below one of the Chosen. Next... He had a Myrddraal to visit.


(Note: Death Incarnate. Here, I'm going to the Blight to get your Myrddraal. As you can see, Marak isn't big on being friends with Myrddraal. Oh, and if you want, you can order a fist or six of Trollocs through the Ways. They can't be guided, their chance of ending up at the Black Tower is nil, but if you Trollocs want an RP involving the Ways, I have no complaint.)



He walked back out his Gateway, and Travelled to the Blight. He knew where the Fade was, as he had seen it yesterday. He had to walk about half a mile, to reach his destination, but the wards he had set on himself earlier were sufficient to keep the Blight off him, and the intricate weave, although time-consuming, was useful, although it faded after a few hours.


At the very least, he hoped it was the same Fade. Not that it bothered him, but it would save the time of telling it who he was. It looked up, and, with a voice like crumbling leaves, said "Who are you, little human? Why do you bother me?". Marak smiled grimly, and wove Air around it, tightening around its neck. He didn't like Fades. He spoke, in a voice so soft the Fade had to crane its neck, already wrapped with Air, to hear it. "You will come to Andor. There, you will be, in a place named Madarell, when I need you. If you are not...". Marak's voice cut off. There was no need to elaborate further. He released his weave, and wove a ward around himself, a second one, to protect against any sudden attacks. He wouldn't put that past a Myrddraal. He then Travelled, back to the Fortress of the Shadow. He had several other people to visit tonight...


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Bio(Note: I'm writing a little bio for Aginor's alter ego) -

Name: Tamas Nyak

Description: Tamas is handsome, his hair brown, a brown-blonde beard. He looks about thirty, and probably isn't much older. He walks with a slightly distracted manner; he always has his head in the clouds. He is quite powerful in the use of the One Power, almost as powerful as the M'hael himself. (Note: This is his masked strength) He doesn't seem exceptionally skillful, and is rude to people he doesn't know, for the most part.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Aginor sweated, and pranced about like an idiot with the damned sword. Sammael, or Be'lal, they would've liked this. Mentally, he cursed Lews Therin, he cursed the weather, and he cursed that idiot Dalinar. Why couldn't he have an angreal? He had given a compelling enough case, he thought. Of course, with an angreal, he could've simply ripped his way out of this place of madmen, and became Nae'blis.


His sword clanged against another Asha'man's, and he felt it fly out of his hands, cursing in disgust. "Blood and bloody ashes!". He didn't enjoy the tongue of this Age, but it had some good points to it, especially the cursing. He stomped off, ignoring the jeering calls of others, into his house. As a recently-promoted Asha'man, he had, at the least, his own house. The thatched roof and wooden floor were proof it had once been a peasant's house; but it was finer than most. After he had picked up some goosefeather blankets and a proper mattress from Caemlyn, it was liveable. He grasped saidin, and, inverting his weaves, wove quickly, and in the hope no-one would notice he has grasped saidin. He fell asleep, and let the wards be his guard. Instantly, he brought himself into the World of Dreams,(1) looking through the pinpricks of light that denoted the dreams of others. Ah, there was what he was looking for. Marak, he believed the man was called. A weak and unskilled child, but still useful. He dreamed himself as a shadow, and let his voice take on a strange mixture between his, and that of a Myrddraal. He 'spoke', not moving what he imagined to be his mouth, but, instead, letting it emanate from the air in front of him.


"You are to go to the Black Tower. You are to shatter it. Gather Dreadlords there, and split the Black Tower with fear and uncertainty. There will be no Hundred Companions in this Age."


He stepped out of the man's dream, it was filled with Trollocs, beaked, and clawed, and a few hapless men. He was about to return to Tel'aran'rhiod, when he was rudely snapped out of his dream. One of the children, he couldn't remember his name, had walked into the room. "Hey, Tamas, are you allright? You've been asleep nearly an hour, and it's midday!" (2)


He nodded, and yawned, trying to look as if he had just awoken, and had been lazy. "The M'hael says that any Asha'men shirking lessons, and have nothing useful to do, have to teach two tomorrow!". Aginor swore under his breath, and stalked out of the room. He loathed teaching, he had been a researcher, someone who created new knowledge, discovered new things, not someone who reguritated the most appalling simple lessons. Ah, at the very least, he would be teaching a class on Shadowspawn. Something he knew about. He had chosen a Borderlander background for a reason, and it helped his disguise all the more.


He began revising the class in his head, the new Soldiers needed to know about Myrddraal and Trollocs, and basic things, things any Borderlander would know. He could hardly keep the excitement out of his voice when lecturing about his creations, most people just thought he was slightly crazy already. The taint explained many things.


He walked out, and looked at the many, many things to do. Channeling in distaste, he tidied a large plank of wood sitting in the middle of the path, and continued walking. He had to find a safe haven for Travelling, so he could go to Shayol Ghul when he needed to. He channeled again, and averted a falling bucket from hitting him. He looked around; he was in a fairly inactive part of the Black Tower. It was time to search...


* * * * * * *


Note: 1 - All of the Chosen are dreamwalkers, although some, such as Moghedien and Lanfear, are more skilled at it than others, and don't simply rely on their strength in the OP to use it. Read the meeting in Knife of Dreams for confirmation.


2 - If someone wants to RP being that Asha'man, feel free.




OOC: We do know Traveling/Skimming - Osan'gar/Ishamael taught us when he had the Tower in his grasp for a while. The Dreamwalking for Aginor is more than fine, so don't worry about justifying it. Wink and there would be a group of older Asha'man who might have a feel for the goosebumps - those who were in Dramon's original group and got involved in the conflict with the White Tower when they attempted to capture said 'False Dragon'. They're fairly few and far between these days though. Anyone else who wants to try and justify why they'd know the goosebumps thing is welcome to. Very Happy


OOC: Oh, good. That makes whacking an Asha'man and taking his place lots easier; we can just wait for a lone Asha'man to Travel to a village, and then whack him with saidin.


IC: Marak had been walking for quite some time now. It was annoying, having to walk, and not Travel, but his network told him that this village, Lactan's Valley, hadn't been visited by Asha'men yet. This hopefully wouldn't take too long. He smiled, as he noticed the large, verdant farmlands, and wove a miniscule amount of saidin, watering a few dying plants. He didn't really justify this to himself, but, when he could, why should he not?


He continued walking, down the paved path, which was enroached upon by a few plants and vines, for another ten, or twenty minutes. His legs were growing slightly sore; he hadn't walked that much, and he didn't enjoy exercise. However, he was soon there, walking up the path, onto the crest of hill, below him, lay a small village. He used another flow of saidin to neatly slice a branch from a tree, and use it as a walking stick.




He strode into the village, greeting a man outside the inn with a cheery "hello, friend!". The man returned the greeting, and Marak opened the door of the inn, and simply put a silver coin next to the innkeeper. With a small amount of surprise, the in nkeeper said "two nights. It was exorbitant, but Marak didn't care. He nodded, and replied "Free breakfast and dinner, I hope.", and then went off, to look at the rooms. As it appeared, they were all empty. He chose one looking out onto the main road, and wove, carefully, as inverted was something he had only just had explained to him, and only out of necessity, a convuluted ward of saidin. It would alert him if any other male channelers came through that road, and it would be invisible to them...


OOC: I'm going to write up the death of the Asha'man a bit later.


Death Incarnate


OOC: awsome. looks awsome. I'll have Drenn take up the role of that Asha'man you were fighting as Drenn loves his sword. (he made it after all) i'll start with Nostros though.



Nostros liked the menacing dark of the Blight. As a Myrddraal, a love of the dark was only natural but he enjoyed it within the blight due to the fact that he always had to be ready. He also found it entertaining bringing humans out here to watch it kill them. The sick humour he had discovered he shared with no other Myrddraal was an interesting thing. It never failed to show him a way to pass the time. His boot crushed some small animal and he was torn between humour and annoyance. The squish of the creatures death was ammusing but now he had a mess on his boot to scrape off.


He suddenly heard a squish behind him of something and he turned fluidly ready to draw his sword should he need to. A human man stood there staring at him and he found himself thinking it looked familiar. He contemplated way to kill it but then realized how it held a sort of arrogance towards him. It seemed to think it was superior. He despised humans and loved torturing their weak and frail bodies. The human was obviously a channeler as no other would look at him with that sort of arrogance.


"Who are you, little human? Why do you bother me?" Of all things, the human smiled at him. he began to move towards it to teach it some respect for those greater then it and found himself to be held firm at the neck. Obviously it held Saidin and it moved the weave that held him upward so he had to stand on his toes or be hanged. He contemplated simply fading out and coming up from behind it to break its neck but if this was the Great Lords bidding then he would be displeased that his servant had been killed. Instead he decided to tolerate this humans arrogance. The human spoke in a voice that was almost too soft to be heard and he found himself turning his head to listen more closely before he could stop himself.


"You will come to Andor. There, you will be, in a place named Madarell, when I need you. If you are not..." The unspoken threat was obvious and he didn't doubt that the human would make good on it if he gave it the chance but he had been without entertainment and purpose since he had killed that other Fade that had been annoying him. The thing had made a stupid error which had cost him an entire fist of Trollucs and when he'd killed it for the error it had been assumed that he had been the one to make the mistake. His services had not been called on since then. Now he had an oppertunity to have some more fun at the expense of others health and sanity and he wasn't about to turn it down.


He felt a small drop as the weave that held him was released and the human turned to leave. Completely unconcerned about turning his back on a fade. He smiled as he thought of how he would teach it to rightfully fear a Myrddraal. Now was not the time to teach the lesson though and instead of drawing his sword, as he greatly desired to so he could slit its throat, he turned away and walked off. Disapearing into the shadows as he walked. He didn't understand how he faded into them but he became one with the shadow and for all intents and purposes ceased to exist as he shifted between shadows.


Some time later he stood outside a small farmhouse near some random town in Andor. there were lights on inside the house and he needed to find out where this Madarell was. He contemplated ways of extracting information was the houses occupants. He was trying to decide wether or not he should hide what he was and ask or if he should simply walk in and kill all but the oldest. The decision was an easy one.


He walked up to the house and with a swift kick, took the door clean off it's hinges. The houses occupants were sleeping but several screams later he was certain they were awake. It was a two story house and obviously the bedrooms were on the second floor as thats where all the scurrying was comming from. The first one down the stairs was the father who came down brandishing a staff in a vain hope of defending his family. With the deadly grace of a viper he drew his sword and cut the staff in two with one fluid motion. His second motion was moving past the man and slicing the back of his legs. The man fell to the ground as his legs were no longer capable of supporting him and began to shake somewhat. The cut from his blade would kill eventually but not for some time. Picking up the man casually by the throat he looked him in the eyes and watched with a great deal of pleasure as they widened with pure terror as he realized what he was looking at. Most the the humans down in this part of the world didn't beleive that him or his bretherin existed. The shadow was simple a bed time tale to them. He felt a great deal of satisfaction in bringing the truth to this human.


"Where can I find Madarell?" His voice was like ice cracking in a sudden heat and he was quite certain that it caused the man to soil himself. "Speak quickly or lose whats left of your pitiful little life." The man stuttered for a few seconds but a little more pressure on his throat convinced him to speak clearly.


"There a road just north of here and if you follow it west for about half a day you'll come to it." There were tears in the mans eyes and his voice cracked with almost every word but it was coherent. A creaking noise from the stairs caused him to look away, and to his great pleasure, sqwatting near the top was a reasonably attractive woman who must have been his wife. Dropping the man to the floor he turned towards her. It had been a fair amount of time since he'd had a woman and he missed the sceams as much as any of the rest. The man watched, knowing what was going to happen, unable to do anything.


OOC: i'll write up Drenn's part later. right now i need sleep.




ooc: a few notes:

1) I will be gone from tomorrow night 'till the 8th, not sure if I'll need to be NPC'ed, but I'll post up a revised bio for Isha with a few char traits thrown in

2) I am the Asha'man with the flawed angreal, Dali already gave me permission and I'll RP as if he's just received the angreal for anothed trip to the Blight...one other thing, hoe strong is the angreal? I need to know wwhat it will change Isha's stats to...

3) unless Dali says not to, I'll RP as if he has the Shielding Talent, since I've heard nothing from him about the application I sent via PM a few weeks ago...not trying to usurp anything here, I can edit if you wnat Dali, it's just I need to get this stuff cleared up before heading off on vacation

4) I'll RP as if Isha knows what the goosebumps mean after a year of at least weekly trips into the Blight, he'll likely have at least encountered a Dreadlady, or some type of femal channeler (even a Green perhaps)




Isha rolled his eyes as he pulled open the door to Tamas' home. He grimaced at it. Though he didn't exactly hate the man, Isha hardly got along with him. For one, Tamas seemed almost weak and lazy to the heaviyl muscled Shienaran. Where Isha practiced everyday with his sword and was accounted one of the better of the Asha'man, it was a known fact that Tamas hated his blade. For another, Tamas shirked his duties, and while most of the Asha'man built their own houses, Tamas had found one of the farm's former buildings and used it.


"Hey, Tamas, are you allright? You've been asleep nearly an hour, and it's midday!" he yelled at the man. Many in the Tower whispered that Tamas was hal-mad already, and Isha wondered whether sleeping at midday fell under the category of laziness or madness.


"The M'hael says that any Asha'men shirking lessons, and have nothing useful to do, have to teach two tomorrow!" the hulking Asha'man glared at the man who yawned and cursed at him.


Isha got along with most of the men in the Tower, but there were a few that he couldn't seem to get along with at all. With Onyx, it was because he couldn't agree with the man's beliefs, and it irritated him that the man had such a low opinion of the whole Black Tower.


Tamas, however, was different. Isha couldn't figure out why he didn't like him. Sure, the man was wek and lazy, but so were Rion and Demitrius- well, Rion was weak, and Demi lazy- and he got along quite well with them. Unwilling to admit it to himself though, he was jealous of the man.


Standing almost seven feet tall, and weighing well over three hundred pounds(1), Isha was the very image of physical power. Tamas came only to his chest, and it would take little of Isha's strength to snap the twig of a man in half. However, Tamas was a handsome man, where Isha was anything but. Trip after trip into the Blight had left its mark, and though none of the scars he had recieved in the last year or so were horribly bad, they crisscrossed his body, turning what could have been a handsome man into an almost disfigured monster.


Worst of his markings though, were the two he had received nearly two years before coming to the Tower. They stood out on his pale face like a Myrdraal stood out in the snow. One twisted his lip into a sneer and ran up to meet the corner of his eye, while the other began under where he braided his topknot and ended where it clipped off the top of his ear.


Most of all though, was the fact that in the One Power, Tamas could brush him aside like a child. Despite being the strongest man in the Tower in Fire and wielding the ability to bend his Shield and therefore Shield anything, Isha was one of the weakest men in the Tower.


As Tamas passed him, Isha fingered the angreal in his pocket. He had been given it for his next trip into the Blight by Dalinar- though he had been told in no uncertain terms that he could use it only if it were a life or death situation. He had not been told why, but the M'Hael had been hesitant to grant him use of the object and Isha wondered over that.


Isha watched Tamas' back until the man was lost from his sight, all the whil fingering the angreal in his pocket.



(1)Sorry if that seems unrealistic. I always get pounds and kg mixed up, comes with living too close to the border


by the way, if anyone is upset with how I wrote Isha as almost a godder char, that's what I want him to become before he's captured. surviving over a year's worth of journey's in the Blight with barely a scratch has inflated his head, I belive Ag's going to pop that baloon.




OOC: Shielding Talent, ok.


Angreal: A dark reddish-brown statuette of a man, though his position and features are vague and indeterminate, as the entire statuette has the appearance of being... 'melted'. It's surface runs with a slightly waxy sheen to it and it is very smooth to touch. It has a multiplication of 1.8, and no limiting factor. WARNING: A channeler using it for more than low-strength requiring tasks risks over-drawing on the Power and burning themselves out!!


Women in the Blight: I'll let Marak comment on that on behalf of SG for me. I DOUBT that you'd have encountered channeling women though, even in the Blight. The WT wouldn't randomly send women there because they don't have the numbers to waste. SG I doubt would randomly send out Dreadladies into the Blight either, but I'll leave SG to have their say there.




OOC: I have to agree with Dal, on that one. SG is very much a minority, and we can't really afford to waste Dreadladies in the Blight, when there are a thousand more urgent duties for them to be doing. He might've met an Aes Sedai, but, chances are, any Aes Sedai he met would try to sever him, at the very least. There are very few channelers who head into the Blight, as it's not exactly a safe place, especially for channelers, as Myrddraal can 'feel' channelling.

Also, 'Tamas's' strength/skill.

OP Strength - 35( 38 ) (F - 8 |E - 8|S - 7|A - 6| W - 6)

OP Skill - 30

OP Potency - 65

IC: Aginor groaned, and stretched, and then, slowly, walked along to his class on Shadowspawn. He seized saidin, and wove a ward of Air and Water, a simple ward, indeed, it had surprised him that these Asha'men knew so little of wards. Even the most basic seemed beyond them, but, after all, the "Lord Dragon" had told them to become weapons, and what did weapons need wards for? Like the so-called 'Aes Sedai', these half-trained children knew only what they were made for, and were good for little else. He had declined teaching classes on wards many times, even though he seemed to have a superior knowledge of them to most men in the Black Tower, even though he tried to hide it. This ward, however, was one taught to Soldiers, if they had the requisite strength. It simply stopped dust, and mud, touching your clothes. A trifle vain, perhaps, but also necessary in this dusty place.


He walked into the field that had been set aside for training, and grasped saidin, weaving the Mirror of Mists, into a Trolloc. Some of the newer Soldiers jumped in surprise, so he wove again, a complex pattern of Air, Water, Fire, and Spirit, 'almost' losing it at one point, as befitted his alibi. The Trolloc morphed into a Myrddraal. Of course, he couldn't make it scare them, so he tied off the weave, and wove again, sinking the eyeholes deeper into the Myrddraal's head, and inducing a tiny bit of fear, in those who looked at the eyes. "Now, it is simple. You are here to learn about Shadowspawn.", he said. He then pointed at a boy, one with sandy hair, one he simply chose at random. "Now. Burn my Illusion". The boy lashed out with Fire, and the Myrddraal-illusion simply slipped away, reappearing in another shadow. "You see? A Myrddraal", by the Shadow, it was hard to keep the pride out of his voice when talking about his creations, but he managed, "cannot be simply killed like a Trolloc, or perhaps a Draghkar. Among all of the creations of the Shadow, they are the deadliest." He laughed, internally, at that. If they saw his Jumara, his gholam... Ah, he would've loved to bring a fully-evolved jumara into the Black Tower. He saw one of the children ignoring him, and talking with a friend. With a flow of Air, he caught the boy's head.(1) "Do you think you can ignore the Shadow, boy?". The boy was worried, now, and he had a right to be. Aginor wove Air, and let the whips of Air club the boy's flesh, up and down, leaving welts on his thighs, his ribcage, and his back. After a few seconds, he stopped. The child was holding a brave face, but tears were running down his face. By the Great Lord! He could not afford a weeping child telling tales about him. "If you are attentive for the rest of the lesson, I will Heal you after it. Now, be silent, and let me continue!".


He continued, as he said he would, and talked about Trollocs, how to kill one, and what they ate, and their habits. He talked about the weaknesses of Myrddraal, explaining the shadowwalking as best he could, and their weaknesses. After precisely one hour had gone past, he waved a hand, and the Soldiers left. The boy, it seemed, had been silent, not risking another beating. Without turning around to look at him, Aginor wove Water, Air, and Spirit, just so, and Healed him. He heard the boy's gasp, and walked off, without another word. It was time to dreamwalk. However, he had another day of classes...


- - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Marak snarled. He had been waiting for half a day, and, to his dismay, six Asha'men came to this flyspeck of a village. Six!. Two stronger than him, he couldn't risk killing one. After they left, he simply drew on saidin, and Travelled to the second village he knew had not been visited by Asha'men. There, he would wait, until one of those filthy Lightfools turned up, so he could follow the Chosen's orders.


- - - - - - - - - - - - -


(1) - When you're that old, you think of everyone as children.




OOC: Well, today, an Asha'man dies.


IC: Marak hoped Caaladesh's weave was still holding. If it wasn't, well, the Asha'man coming up the road could sense him holding saidin, in which case, he'd be as good as dead. The Asha'man, however, walked up to him, and asked him. "Why, hello there. Do you want to wield the lightnings, and ride the thunder?"


Marak looked up suspiciously, and asked him "Who are you? What is your name".

"Iven Davonter", the black-coated man replied. Marak watched him carefully for a few seconds, inverting a small weave, and making a tiny picture of the man for future reference. The man frowned, as if he had felt something. He then spoke. "So? Do you want to serve the Lord Dragon?". Marak grinned.


The Asha'man looked curiously at him, which was the last thing he did, as, on the instant, six flows of Air ripped out his throat, cut off his hands, and his feet, and a flow of Spirit shielding him from the True Source. Marak picked up the body with flows of Air, and carried it off into a nearby grove of trees. He studied the face, and wove the Mirror of Mists, making his face the same. The carefully inverted weaves had to stand up to saidin, as did the ones changing his body. Luckily, he was the same build as the Asha'man, and, from what he could tell, their voices were virtually identical. He then wove a Gateway, to the Travelling Grounds in the Black Tower. He had found an interesting amount of information from the dead Asha'man, enough, at least, to get him to 'his' house, and find out who he had to train, and so on. Ah, the joys of a diary, he mused...




Death Incarnate


OOC: Wow... that means that Drenn and Aginor are even in strength. of course aginor is more skilled but the strength is even. How interesting. I wonder what He'd make of Drenn wearing a Myrddraals cloak all over the place. kind of a slap in the face that he killed one of your creations. Razz



Drenn flowed smoothly around Tamas dodging his sword and making attacks of his own. The man was alright with a blade but Drenn was better and to any onlookers it would have showed. As their blades met and locked Drenn began "Grapevine Twists" and in another few moments Tamas's sword was flying from his hands.


"Blood and bloody ashes!" Drenn merely laughed. A kind of cold, mirthless laugh He knew most of the other asha'man would have called Tamas on his language but Drenn enjoyed the words himself and had developed a taste for using them all too frquently aswell.


"You're improving Tamas but your guard is still too low." He was ignored as Tamas stalked off to his home. Somewhat annoyed now Drenn went back to somewhat angrily going through his forms. "Didn't have to flaming stalk off like a bloody Lord or something..." he muttered to himself as he held "Heron Wading in the Rushes". He had excellent balance now and could safely say he was one of the more accomplished swordsmen in the Tower. What he really wanted right now was to sparr with Isha. The massive Shienaran was one of the few men in the tower he still couldn't beat but that never stopped him from trying. Even in a loss he enjoyed the mans company and the challenge of a greater advisary.


To his surprise and good fortune he then noticed the man across the yard and called to him. He needed a good fight before his next lesson as his pupils never ceased to annoy him. He was teaching some of the younger soldiers their basic offensive and deffensive weaves and so far he'd only had two burn themselves out and one that just went mad. It was a fairly good track record given how man people burned themselves out and went mad regularly but that one kid stuck out in his mind. He'd first started complaining about how he could feel things crawling around inside his head but then suddenly started flailing maddly and lashing out with both limbs and the power. The kid was relatively strong in the power and since he already held Saidin it made Shielding him difficult. The time it would have taken him to place a shield would have left the kid enough time to kill half the tower if he threw out anything truely dangerous. Making the decision quickly he had ended the boys life as quicklly and as painlessly as he could. When his corpse fell to the ground his head just happened to roll right to Drenns feet. The blank stare on the boys face was a torment to him in his sleep and sometimes when waking. Just another thing that fired his hatred of the Shadow. He truely needed to good sparring match to clear his head.




Myyrth stared impassivly down at the gathered Fist of Trolloc warriors. A young Task Master herded them, flailing a black leather whip at the slow ones. They would enter the Ways, and perhaps they would survive to reach Andor. It was a distant chance, Machin'shin seemed to be everywhere these days. It was only a chance, he had been commanded by the Circle to send Trollocs and Myrddraal to Madarell where they would be called upon at need. Myyrth had learned a little more than that though, it seemed that the Black Tower would finally be delt with.


Turning his cloak hanging dead about him, the Shadow Knight Myyrth strides into the shadow of a tree, in his sight the darkness seems to swirl and writh, a black portal to elsewhere. Gathering the shadows around him he fades from the material world into a dark twisted reflection of it. Time passed strangely here, similar in some parts to the Ways. Yet this place belonged solely to the Eyeless. He would arrive in Madarell shortly.





Rion sat leaning against the front of Dashiva's house, at peace for the moment. He hadn't moved out yet for he had just not thought about it and he had not been an Ashaman for long. He would soon, much as Isha had done before him. He was at peace namely becuase of the simple fact that no one else was around and that he had a nice long book propped open on his knee. It was a simply tale, not about history which was most of them, but a story written about an adventurer from years long past that may or may not have actually lived. Simple enough and yet vastly entertaining for the same reason. While it was fun for books to make you think at times it was nice just to relax. So many things had made Rion's life more hectic and confusing.


Thinking of it brought his hand up to twirk the small sword pin around, and after the dragon pinned to the other side of his kneck. The pins were a blessing and a curse for now he was forced to teach incoming soldiers at time, though it also gave him more freedoms, being an Ashaman had very many perks.


Rion flipped a page of his book a smile on his face. So much better than normal. He looked up for moment shouts drawing him away from his book. He shook his head in disdain as he watched a couple of Dedicated and Ashaman practicing with their blades. He hated swords, all violence really, but swords were the worst. He didn't own one, almost unique here at the Tower, and only touched one when he was forced to during classes. His one willing practicing with a weapon was a single time with the quarterstaff, which had gone very badly. Rion reached up and traced the fading bruises across most of his face, not from the quarterstaves but got on the same day. He had tripped, bloody his nose, blackened his eyes and made a complete fool of himself. Though ironically he was perhaps only slightly worse than an average soldier, it was difficut not to pick up somethings with that many lessons.


Though what did he need a sword for when he could tear ranks upon ranks of swordsman apart using Saidin, if they were far enough away. Even close Rion was sure he could win easily while still outnumbered. He was not weak in the power, though neither was he terribly strong.


Shaking his head Rion emmersed himself again into the world of the lone adventurer, fading away from the troubles and cares of the real world. It was much better in their that in the real world. So much better most of the time. Almost lazily Rion flipped another page and continued to enjoy his hour of respite from the cares of the real world.




OOC: Hate to break to to you, but Aginor's strength is 47, and his skill is likewise. He simply doesn't draw on all his strength, nor use all his skill, as he doesn't want to draw suspicion. When he's pretending to be Tamas, he can only use so much of his strength, in order to make sure suspicion doesn't hit him. The weakest Forsaken(Moghedien)'s Potency is 80. Aggy has 94.




Marak walked out onto the grounds of the Black Tower. His mind screamed at him, telling him to run, to flee, to fight, but he restrained his instincts. He drew on saidin slightly, and affected a stumble. The taint alone would mark him as an Asha'man.


He checked the diary again, it seemed he had a class. Teaching. A pity, that. He was teaching a.. basic class about female channelers? The Shadow consume it! Luckily, he knew a few. Only a few. He knew about the basic effects of shielding, and the tingling along the arms, but not much more.


Sighing, he strode off, trying to adapt to the walk the man he had just killed had used.




OOC: Well, here's the next section of Aggy and Marak's infiltration of the Black Tower! In this episode, Aginor and Marak wear yellow engineer's hats, in order to avoid notice! Oh, and just in case you guys don't have Marak's power scores yet, here they are: OP Potency - 60 - OP Strength - 33 - OP Skill - 27 (F - 8, E - 8, S - 8, W - 3, A - 4)


IC: Marak tried to grasp saidin again, this time succeeding. Maybe it was just his nerves, but seeing so many half-crazed channelers made him wary. Now, what was next... Ah, yes! Sword practice. According to this diary, he loathed sword practice, and wasn't very good at it. That, at least, was a relief. He never had a talent for swordplay, nor any other weapons.


Nonetheless, he had to practice. Walking into the dusty practice yard, he picked up a bundle of lathes, and began experimentally moving, shifting his weight from one side to the other, swinging the sword back and forth, getting a feel for the weight. Another Asha'man walked into the practice yard; Marak prepared himself to spar. The other man looked amused, and then began.


(OOC: Again, in these swordfighting sections with the Asha'men, feel free to RP it. Marak doesn't know anyone, so he can't specify anyone to fight. If you don't want to jump in and and note that the 'Asha'man' is acting strange, likewise, feel free not to.)


Marak jumped back from an initial hard swing, clumsily moving the sword foward with all his might. After all, the man looked rather slow, a good hit would finish him! The man simply.. flowed, with a lethal grace, to one side, his sword coming down, and hitting Marak hard on the ribs. Thankful he had woven the Mirror of Mists so strongly, Marak raised his blade, and managed to intercept what he thought was a blow headed for his head, until that was proven wrong, with a loud *thwack* on the lower leg. Marak yelped, and drew his sword parallel to his body, he remembered reading a book on swordfighting, once. He swung his sword sharply at the man's chest, and then, at the last second, twisted his body, and hit him on the knee. He smiled, he had managed to do something well. However, as this unbalancing attack took place, he got hit, again, again, ad again! Four times, once to the head, once to the chest, and twice to the legs. Marak sighed, and put down his blade, the tip on the ground. The man nodded, seemingly satisfied, and walked off.


Marak tossed the blade to the side, and tried to find his quarters. Luckily, the man who he had killed had drawn a map of the Black Tower, and written in an excited entry, when he was raised to Asha'man. From there, he plotted, where did he sleep? Ah, good. He had a place alone. It wouldn't do, to have some Lightfool interfering with his plans.


He walked into the house, channeling the door open with flows of Air. He looked around, it had fair amenities, a bed, a chamberpot, a lock on the door. Two windows, curtains with them, and a bookcase. Not perfect, but not half bad, either. He settled down on the bed, after all, it was evening, and decided to go to sleep. No doubt one of the Chosen would be trying to reach him in his dreams.



- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Aginor snarled. By the Great Lord! He loathed those damned idiots. The big 'Shadow-Killer', and the other idiot. When the time came, they would both die, horrible, horrible deaths. He drew deeply on saidin, near to 'his' full capacity, although, in truth, nothing near what he could truly draw. He split his flows, weaving six different weaves, extinguishing a candle, grabbing a pillow, making his bed, slamming the door shut, and locking it, and then, finally, an inverted ward, hidden by the other channeling. The ward would warn him if anyone came near, and, if anyone tried to weave saidin within it, it would knock them unconscious. It was only a small ward, but enough to keep him safe from any mad Asha'man tonight.


He settled down, looking for the telltale pinprick, which showed dreams. He skimmed the dreams of the Asha'man, and finally found the dream he had been looking for. Only one Dreadlord in the tower. It was not nearly as well as he had hoped for. He needed at least three, and, hopefully, those Shadow-taken Myrddraal would arrive soon, as well. Myrddraal did not dream, so he could not contact them that way. However, this particular Dreadlord did. Assuming his typical guise, a mere cloak, filled his shadow, he spoke, in a sibiliant voice, one that hissed, and sent tingles down your spine. "You wwill rrecruit for the Ssshadow. Go to the villagesss, and townss, and recruit Sssoldiers for our cause. The time will soon come when we need to dessstroy the Assha'men. Do not reveal yoursself, or act out of the ordinary..."


Aginor stepped out of the dream, to a night as black as pitch. Sighing deeply, he lay down to sleep...




OOC Notice - All RPers must post, at the least, their intro, by the end of January, or be cut out of the RP.




Aginor (RPed, active)

Nostros (Intro RPed)

Katarzyna Nicholaieva (Hasn't RPed yet)

Marak (RPed, active)

Caladesh (Hasn't RPed yet)

Myrrth (RPed intro)


Nakor Zorrander (I, RPed intro)

Serge Karminov (I, hasn't RPed yet)

Brand Ishmar (B, hasn't RPed yet)

Urosein Tiel (B, RPed)

Drenn Kolgren (B, RPed intro)

Jarreth Albesta (BI, hasn't RPed yet)

Isha Talcontar (B, RPed intro)

Rion Adamar (B, RPed intro)

Dashiva Somtaaw (BI, RPed intro)


Link to OOC thread:





Dashing his signature on a few reports, Dashiva leaned back in his chair and ate some more of his sandwich. Nearly all the Asha'men who had gone out for recruiting had at least left him a general overview of what happened, but one hadn't.


Checking his records, Dashiva sighed. Asha'man Iven Davonter again. Growling softly, he made a mental note to have a firm chat with the man to turn in regular reports of where he had gone and general reaction.


Sighing heavily, he pored over a few more reports before pushing them back in disgust. Training in general was starting to slack, and he was falling behind in his own reports to Dalinar.


Getting out of his chair, he straightened his tunic as he left his office in the Inn and set the inverted wards to protect everything inside. Settling into a jog, he reviewed everything he would be doing the next day.


Speak with Asha'man Iven Davonter about his overdue report, and speak with all trainers. Nodding to himself, he finished his nightly exercises and turned in a little early to write down a note to have Asha'man Iven Davonter see him shortly before lunch.


OOC: Marak, if you care to choose a name for the Asha'man you bumped, I'll edit and insert his name in this post.

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Marak wrote:

Iven Davonter



Marak lay down to sleep, thumbing through the journal as he did so. It seemed a good idea, after all, he had not had the foresight to interrogate the man before killing him, which was a pity. Training, practice, recruiting... It seemed the man he had killed was a busy one, and had little time to himself. Flipping to two weeks ago, he read the heading "Recruitment Report". Strange, the man had written a report, something he had failed do. He cursed under his breath, "blood and bloody ashes!". A young man, probably a Soldier, arrived, and, breathlessly, said "Asha'man Dashiva wants to see you after lunch, something about a report."


Pulling out a quill, and a piece of parchment, he looked back the man's journal continously, and tried to imitate his handwriting, as well as his style of writing.


"Recruitment Report - Yesterday, I went to three villages, Malven's Cove, Horid's Ford, and Tigara. Two young men, upon finding out I was recruiting for the Dragon Reborn, agreed to come with me, however, once I told them they were going to be taught to channel, one ran, and a mob of angry villagers attempted to attack me. At Tigara, I met a young man named Marak, who displayed the ability to be taught, but an Aes Sedai was channeling nearby, thus, I Travelled back to the Tower, in order to avoid the possibility of capture. Malven's Cove seems empty of talent, but Tigara, a larger village, seems to be rife with it. Three or four Asha'men would have a much better chance of recruiting there."


He signed it "Iven Davonter", and then channeled Air and Water into the signature, carefully molding it into the exact shape of the single signature he found in the diary. He then handed the report to the boy, and said "Could you run this to Asha'man Dashiva, and ask him if it is truly necessary for him to see me?"


The young man nodded, and ran off, towards wherever Dashiva was..




ooc: alright, ill post


Streatching out lazily, Brand puffed at his pipe. More then a month had gone by that he had been promoted to Dedicated and this was his first real time off. So there he was sitting in front of the Inn, feet kicked up on a pile of wood, contemplating his trusty pipe. Frowning he watched a class of soldiers sprint by, being harrased by an older dedicated and once they had passed out of his view, his eyes drifted to a class sword training. Catching a glimps of his friend Drenn, he smiled as his bud side steped his opponent and landed a good hit. To his supprise, he man left in a rage and a puzzeled by smilling Drenn stode watching him.


Lifting his head back and taking another puff, Brand thought of what he could do to pass the rest of the day. Grasping saidin, he wove a dancing bolt of lighting that bounced off his finger tips. Smilling he tosed the small bolt into a stray log, that cought fire imideatly.


Death Incarnate


OOC: I'm not sure if you noticed Marak but i have posted with Drenn. 5 posts above your list. If there was nessecary things missing for his introductory let me know what kind of things need to be added and i'll throw them in.


anyways i'll continue with him in a few days to give estel a bit of extra time to respond. I've got exams coming up next week so my time will be stretched thin.




ooc: I'll post hopefully tonight...sorry...been busy with exams etc...




Death Incarnate wrote:

OOC: I'm not sure if you noticed Marak but i have posted with Drenn. 5 posts above your list. If there was nessecary things missing for his introductory let me know what kind of things need to be added and i'll throw them in.



OOC: Ah, sorry about that. I was in a bit of a hurry at the time I made the list, and sorta skimmed the thread, I'll edit that. Also, we're doing well, now! We've got over half the people in the thread!


IC: Aginor looked at his class, another class, did they think he was one of the 'Lord Dragon's' lapdogs, to do their bidding? He drew deeply on saidin, a little more than 'he' should've been able to, and quickly let it out, the joy and life passing unnoticed, the glory the world had become little more than a useful tool.


He began his dry lecture, the same one as last time, it was amazing what these pitiful children did not know. He knew the Great Lord's counterstroke had demolished all vestiges of his Age that remained, but he did not think that a few madmen would've destroyed all knowledge from the world. He hoped his last instructions, by way of a note, had got through to the Friend of the Dark, he needed those Myrddraal prepared. He continued droning, in the most inane voice he could muster; teaching Lightfools well was not what he wished to do here. The class was routine, nothing exciting, simply the nature of some of his more successful creations, and, when he left, he dismissed it all from his mind.


He walked casually into the Friend of the Dark's new house, and, using tiny inverted flows of saidin, snapped the wards he found there. The man jumped up, quickly drawing on saidin. Aginor chuckled, a dry, rasping laugh. "My, my. Aren't we sure of ourselves?". Aginor wove a ward against eavesdropping, inverted it, and let go of saidin. The other man relaxed, but only by an iota. That was good. It would not do to have his servants growing inattentive and complacent.


He spoke, again, ignoring the other man's protests. "I just came to let you know, that some have been chosen, in a village called Madarell.". He wove a tiny skein, a mere mimicry of the ward it was meant to be, which would shield Shadowspawn from the natural sense of a channeler. "Go, now, and return when what must be done is done.". He walked out, releasing the ward against eavesdropping, letting it dissolve harmlessly.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Marak was startled, when the man walked into his room. By his bearing, however, Marak could have been an ant, or some other insignificant bug. He listened carefully to what the man had to say, noting the code words. He laughed, weakly, and went to the Travelling grounds, to go to Madarell. He wove, carefully, his weave taking him some miles away from Madarell, in the middle of nowhere. He stepped through, and released the gateway, annoyed that he had to walk.


He walked, and continued walking, for some miles. Finally, he arrived in Madarell. It was a small village, and, although it appeared fine on the outside, it was obvious that most of the villagers would be dead by now. He wove, letting the Myrddraal's channeling sense find him. It would not be long, now, before they appeared. He steeled himself, preparing to meet the Myrddraals' fearsome gaze.




The Myrddraal that stepped forth from the darkness of an alley was a tall and imposing, his cloak hanging dead in the breeze. A dead black hood obscured it's features, slug pale like all of his kind. When he spoke, his voice sounded like the rasping of dried leaves.


"Get it done human..." The Myrddraal reaches up and throws back his hood, smooth white skin where eyes should be. That eyeless gaze settled firmly on the humans face.




Marak wove slowly, each thread slowly being pulled into place, Marak taking his time to make sure every thread of the Power was placed perfectly. It was a difficult weave, and the weave itself took up all of his attention, until it was done. There.


With a quick 'jerk' of the Power, the weave was inverted. Marak spoke, quietly, so only the Myrddraal could hear. "I cannot weave with the skill of one of the Chosen, so this weave will only last about a week. Either tell me of a new meeting place, or return here at the end of the week."


Marak turned around, and was about to go, and then, he remembered. "Was there not another of your kind here?"




"Servant enter the Black Tower, I feel there is some plot going on there by a Rival Chosen, discover it, and stay unnoticed as long as possible."


The words echoed within Caladesh's head as he walked out of his stolen room. Assuming the life of an Asha'man had been easy, No wonder Osan'gar is not concerned about these Lightfools. Capturing the fool had been easy, and the nterrogation took hours, but he knew all he needed to go unnoticed.


Weaving past Asha'men he walked to the class he was ment to be teaching, Advance Offencive Weaves, shaking his head he found the class. Looking around at the faces of the Asha'men he took hold of the source, then wove and inverted ward over the class.


It was something he had come up with the day he had arrived, a weave that detected the use of Mask of Mirrors, the only problem with it is the ward alerted the user by giving them pins and needles on the back of thier hands. One day I will fix that, but not today.


After his hands started to tingle he started the lesson, Which one damnit! I must find the other Dreadlords. Quickly finishing the lessons, he was careful to be fair with all of the students, and not to treat any harshly, as his victim Kyle Stoma had taught.


Leaving he returned to his room, contemplating his next move.




Isha smiled and picked up a lathe. Assuming Lion on the Hill, he watched Drenn. The black-eyed man was forced to block Unfolding the Fan, as Isha used the normally passive- if any form could be passive- form to begin the spar. The Flacon Swoops darted from Lion on the Hill, and to The Creeper Embraces the Oak. The Falling Leaf met a series of Drenn's attacks, before Isha attempted to 'decapitate' Drenn with the River Undercuts the Bank.


Isha wasn't as quick as most with his sword, but what he lacked in quickness he made up for in sheer power. Drenn was lucky to be a strong man as the Courtier Taps his Fan came down with enough force to break most men's arms.


From Leaf Floating in the Breeze, Isha noticed Drenn still slightly off-balance from the Courtier Taps his Fan and Lightning of Three Prongs found its mark in Drenn's chest.


"Well fought." Isha said with a laugh, giving the man his customary slap on the back. "Now what you need to do is try to take me in a wrestling match." this produced an even bigger laugh from Isha, Drenn was a large man, but still half a foot shorter and about fifty pounds lighter.




Nakor stepped through the gateway into the fenced in area known as the Traveling Grounds and stepped to the side to allow the new recruits to follow through. It was a rather routine recruiting trip to a rather small village but he was still dissapointed that he'd only found a dozen men able to channel. Men, ha! Half of these were young enough that they had no need to shave and the others were grandfathers. A pitiful village if he ever saw one. Nakor actually enjoyed recruiting, but he despised these small towns and the commoners he had to endure there. he would much rather have gone to a large city, or at least a middling size town. Somewhere that might have had at least a few nobles, someone worth speaking too. Maybe he'd try talking to Dashiva again, the man had to know how it pained him to be with these ignorant louts. "Welcome to the Black Tower. You are now all Soldiers of the Dragon Reborn. Go down to the barracks and sign in with the Dedicated in charge. And no dallying, I have more important things to do with my time than babysit you louts, but so help me if I find you took your time you'll regret it. Now go!" Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep the grin from spreading across his mouth as they all, young men and old, scurried away.


When he got to his cabin he wrote out his report for M'Hael Haran Dashiva and handed it to a passing Soldier to deliver for him. He had some time yet before he was expected anywhere so he went out the back door of his cabin to where he had his own private practice yard. He had surrounded it with a wall of stones eight feet high to keep others from seeing in and made it large enough for him to work through all the forms he'd learned.


He made a habit of practicing back here, with both the sword and the power, to keep others from seeing what he was capable of. He was short and despite all the muscle he'd accumulated since he came to the Tower, wiry would be the best way to describe him. When he wore his uniform he appeared to have no muscle at all. Once, this was something that often frustrated him, but now he'd come to enjoy being underestimated. Rather, he enjoyed proving people's estimations of him false, and it never hurt for your opponent to be over-confident.


His time since being promoted to Ashaman had been spent recruiting and teaching classes, with very little time for himself. This was in fact the first real break he'd gotten, as he'd finished the morning recruiting earlier than expected and for once didn't have any classes scheduled today. And so, after practicing with blade and power, he decided to go to the inn and get some food.


Death Incarnate


OOC: Sorry it's taken me so long to respond here but my computer crashed and this is the first oppertunity i've had to post.



Drenn took a breath and steeled himself when Isha picked up a slightly larger practice lathe then most. He loved his matches with Isha for the challenge they provided but he was far from skilled enough to approach a fight with him with a relaxed manner. He was immediatly thrown off balance as the man merely drew the lathe with more force then most men could put into a full swing. It took an incredible amount of effort to keep Isha's blade from reaching him as the man went through several offensive moves before slowing for a moment, giving Drenn enough time to mount an offensive of his own.


Drenn was obviously the faster of the two with his blade but unfortunatly he wasn't fast enough to get past the large lathe guarding Isha. Suddenly he saw the blade going up high and recognized Courtier Taps his Fan. It wasn't hard for Drenn to get his blade up in time to block the attack but with the force Isha brought his own down it made little difference. He was struck with enough force that it sent waves of pain through his body from the force of the impact. He came to his senses just in time to watch Isha's Practice lathe strike his chest in what seemed like slow motion though he was helpless to stop it. As he recovered from the blow he was brought back to wheezing by the usual hard slap on the back from Isha.


"Well fought." Isha laughed. "Now what you need to do is try to take me in a wrestling match." Drenn clapped Isha on the back in a combination of wheezing and laughing at the idea. He had done that once before and although he had put up a decent fight, in the end Isha had tossed him around like a child.


"Maybe another time my friend. I'm afraid as it is i'm in no shape for a match with anyone." He surreptitiously rubbed his chest where the lathe had struck him. "Another time... A good match all the same. I'll get you one of these days." He laughed as he slapped Isha on the back once more before heading off to the inn for a decent meal.




It was time, now, time to begin. Marak, after teaching another class, it seemed there was a veritable influx of Soldiers, and very few Asha'men to teach them, left the classroom he had just taught in, and waited for the Soldiers to leave.


As they left, one, straggling, vainly trying to pick up a pile of books with a pitiful flow of Air, dropped his books and they went flying into the air. Marak quickly wove flows of Air, and encircled them, slowing their ascent enough for the young man to pile them in his arms again.


Marak looked at him, inspecting him; it seemed that he was a jittery, and uncertain young man. He spoke, mustering the most friendly and gentle tone he could, "Does the taint bother you, Soldier".


The Soldier looked up at him, then looked from side to side, checking for nearby people, and, on being certain there were none, he cleared his throat, and said, "Yes, Asha'man. I loathe the taint. I would nearly be willing to be gentled to avoid it".


Marak smiled. This was going to be easy. "Come with me", he said, quietly, and then walked back into the classroom, and waited for the Soldier to follow him, before shutting the door.


The Soldier looked around, uncertainly, until Marak wove a ward against eavesdropping, inverted it, and then barred the door with two pieces of wood. The windows already had blinds on them, as to push away the ceaseless heat, so it was a fairly secluded place.


"If I told you there was a way to avoid the taint, and to live forever, would you take it".


The Soldier looked at him, amazed, and then his face swept into a jumble of emotions, hope fighting anger, and outrage. As the Soldier's face settled into a mask of anger, Marak heard him hiss "Darkfriend."


Marak smiled, and wove, a quick shield slamming itself into place on the untrained Soldier's link to saidin, and then he spoke, quietly. "Yes, some call us that. Tell me, though. The Creator has seen fit to let you go mad, and let your body rot, and allow you to destroy all that you love, and hold dear. The Great Lord offers you freedom from the taint, life everlasting, and revenge against the Aes Sedai, who created the taint in the first place."


The Soldier looked surprised, and then asked, in a hushed whisper "The Aes Sedai created the taint?".


Marak smirked, the bait had been taken, now to reel him in. "Indeed. In the great War of Power, the Shadow was rising, and had taken most of the world. In a last act of desperation, the Dragon called together the Aes Sedai, and proposed a plan, a plan with which both men and women, in a great circle, would seal the Great Lord's prison, once and for all. However, the women refused, afraid for their precious saidar, not wishing to let it fall under the taint. They knew, then, that, if they succeeded, the Age of Legends would be restored. However, in their spite, and cowardice, they let the Dragon go alone to Shayol Ghul, and try to seal the prison. Without saidar to shield it, and saidin to shield saidar, the backblast, which normally would've only killed the Hundred Companies, and devasted the surrounding area, brought about the Breaking."


The young man looked amazed, and shocked, as well. He looked suspicisiously at Marak, for a moment, and then asked one more question. "How do I know you're not lying? How do I know, as a Darkfriend, you tell the truth?".


Marak smiled, and pulled in the line, with his last few words.. "You see, you could go out there, and proclaim to all and sundry that I am a Darkfriend. However, they would attribute it to your madness, the madness which they accept as a normal part of being. Think on it, I have no true records of the Age of Legends, apart from the tomes I have found. However, the Creator lets you rot, and the Great Lord rewards you. Tell me, which one is worth serving?"


The young man, mislead slightly by the answer, knelt. He spoke, quietly. "I swear my service to the Great Lord of the Dark.".


Marak's face smoothed itself out into an implacable mask. "Very good. At the first oppurtunity I receive, I will weave a gateway, and we will go to Shayol Ghul, and link you to the Great Lord, for your protection against the taint."


The boy looked crushed, for a moment, and then realised he had little choice. Marak dissolved his weaves, and let the boy go. Even if he denounced him; well, the boy had shown signs of being affected by the taint. Those were the ones he sought, the ones that could not denounce him.


(OOC: I'm asking that no-one else NPCs that Soldier, as I have a few plans for him, ok?)




Aginor sighed. It had been another boring day, and still, nothing had happened. He had only two Dreadlords, and only one in the Tower, the other, Mailkai, was a weakling, and simply recruited Darkfriends from the outer villages.


He knew it was the best thing to do; a cadre of channeling men, all sworn to him, would make him the most powerful of the Chosen, and, if he could gain Osan'gar on his side, he would become Nae'blis without doubt.


However, he required more followers. He did not approach any of the Soldiers, or Dedicated. He knew, though, one had been recruited. He fell asleep, and spoke, into the dreams of his servant.


Bring my newest scion to me. I shall bind him to the Great Lord.


He stepped out of the dream, into a deep, deep sleep.. Soon, his plans would come to fruition..




Marak walked up to his recruit, Josef. He only had one, as yet, although his plans had only just begun. He fully intended to turn the entire Tower to the Shadow, indeed,why bother with the Chosen? Ten, even a hundred Asha'men loyal to him would make him vastly more powerful and influental than any of the Chosen. He could see it all, now. He would recruit, but, as he did not know the name of the Chosen that had recruited him, why bother recruiting in their name? He could inspire loyalty to him through careful condition, and fear, and then... well, he would have no further need to serve one of the Chosen.


His lips moved up, in a dry smile, as he invited the Soldier in to his room. He wove an inverted ward against eavesdropping, and sat down, proffering a chair to the Soldier.


He looked at 'his' diary, good, he had no classes to teach. However, it would not be well, if he was inviting Soldiers into his house, at least, it would look strange. He quickly penned a note, and walked out, handing it to a nearby Soldier. He looked at the man, he seemed fairly capable of carrying a note. He said "Deliver this, will you?". The person it was addressed to was on the note, so the Soldier would have no trouble finding out where to carry it.


(OOC Note: I don't know where such a note would be delivered to, but, ICly, Marak does. So just assume it reaches the appropriate authorities)


The note read, simply, "Soldier Josef Narin is having some minor trouble controlling the taint. I thought it would be best if I aided him with some of the techniques we use to hold it back, so he does not succumb to it quickly."


He signed the note with his assumed name, and turned around, and walked back into the house, breathing in a mouthful of dust, spitting, and cursing. He closed the door, and turned to look at his newly conscripted Acolyte.


He bent down, looking the Soldier in the eyes, and said, quietly, "You will bring more Soldiers to me during the classes you have me for. Find out who is affected by the taint more seriously than others, and bring them to me. Those you recruit will be under your authority. You will have power over them."


He wove, not bothering to invert, no-one could see the flows, and someone channeling in their own homes was hardly strange, here. He wove a tiny amount of what he had been taught was a simple form of Compulsion, hardly enough to make someone subservient to him in all things, but enough to bend their will somewhat to what he was saying. Normally, a moral, Light-serving man such as Josef would've simply refused, however, the flows touched him, and seeped, like a noxious poison, into his mind, maligning his intellect, and weakening his willpower.


Marak smiled inwardly. Josef was his. He opened the door, and Josef walked out, slightly dazed. It was time to go to work. It was time to recruit. Must recruit. Must get power. The monotonous lines constantly bored into his mind, slowly becoming ignored, worming their way into his subconscious.


Marak looked at him, slightly worried. Perhaps the combination of rudimentary Compulsion and the taint had damaged Josef's mind. Ah, well. Insanity was hardly a problem, at least, when kept in check by sufficient fear. He sat down, and decided to catch another hour of sleep, or perhaps two, before his next class. He dissolved the eavesdropping weaves, and plumped his pillows, before unlacing his boots, taking them off, and slipping under the sheet. For once, his dreams were untroubled...




While others dreamed, Myyrth stalked the night. With the ward blocking the guard's sense Myyrth could have been standing right in front of their noses and the so called Guards of this place would never have noticed him. He considered killing one of them, but discarded the thought a moment after. The human would certaintly be noticed. Rocking forward heel-toe in smooth rolling motions the Shadw Knight infiltrated into the town, his keen eyeless sight noting guard houses and defensible hard-points. The great obsidian wall that was rising up around the "Farm" would be night impenetrable once it was complete, but in it's current state huge gaping holes where available for exploitation.


Killing these Asha'man will be a great pleasure in my service to the Great Lord. A door bangs open not ten feet from where Myyrth stands surveying the wall. Sinking back into the shadows Myyrth draws on the power of his nature and fades from the natural world.


The Shadow World was a welcoming sanctuary, as black as pitch no light existed to lift the unrelenting darkness. It was a place where shadows lived, a place where nightmares stalked. It was the place of the Myrddraal. Similar in so many ways to the Tel'aran'rhiod yet the diffrences could not be more radical. Myyrth begins to travel, it was not walking and it was not running, Myyrth slid through the world of shadows. A Myrddraals sense of direction in the Shadow World is more intuition than it is anything else, their is something within them that guides to their destination. That connection was strong within Myyrth who, drawing the shadows around him fades back into the material world. A faint regret passes through Myyrth as the realm of primordial shadow becomes distant.


He stood in an alley in a town, deserted by it's inhabitants and overrun by the spawn of Shadow.

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Death Incarnate


OOC: Okay time to pick up on the myrddraal end of things. Sorry for the lateness all but my computers been @#$%ed for the last few weeks.



Nostros stalked the alleyways of the town Learning things from the small rodent spies of the Shadow the lurked everywhere now. He was not the only Myrddraal in the city and found himself disgruntled by the fact that he had not been aware of this before now. Either way he was to meet the fdool human whom he was currently taking orders from. Oh how it irked him to be below one of those pitiful and soft creature. Even with Saidin a knife or other blade would still slide through its throat in a satisfactory way. That thought made him smile. He would not think in such a way of one of the chosen. They had well earned the respect they were given. But, this human was only a mere pawn serving a higher purpose as was he. But he would serve the higher purpose and not the pawn. The pawn was a means to an end. And with that thought in his head he made his way to their meeting place.


Upon arrival he realized that he was arriving after the other fade which brought him back to a state of annoyed malcontent.


"Was there not another of your kind here?" that irksome feeling returned as he heard the tone in the humans voice. Walking in the utter silence that graced him and his brethren he whispered in its ear as he passed. "Yes, there is." The man jerked around but he had already flowed to the side so he was standing beside the other fade. When the man turned back, Nostros had a sickly smile on his face just barely visible beneath the deep cowl of his hood. the smile was well earned as the shock on the mans face at suddenly being faced with two fades was priceless. The though of how much more frightening his cold calm exterior was, was the only thing that kept him from laughing a sound to make men claw at their ears in terror.


"We will meet here again in one week." His voice was like white hot steel hitting chilled water and oh how he loved the effect it had. Maybe had it been only him there the human might have tried something with the power to put a stop to his insulence but whatever the reason he quickly formed his weave and parted. As he himself left he whispered to the other Fade. "Hunt well, kill slowly, and may their screams bring you pleasure Brother." They certainly did him.


He left now in the dead of night to reach his final destination. But first he would attempt to quench his unsatiable desire for blood and screams. Fading into the shadows he Flowed through time and space to a place far away where none would know or miss. Standing on the edge of the forest bordering the house he gazed eyelessly into the house where a father and mother tucked their children into bed.


"Sleep tight children." He whispered, a smile creeping onto his face as he flowed towards the house.




As Myyrth walked the abandoned streets, a deep seated insomnia filled him. A frantic energy suffused him, coiled about his heart leading him to huge bouts of manic energy. He had been cooped up in this town for too long with nothing to do, and he was denied the pleasure of the kill when he entered the Farm because of this dreaded secrecy. Why they did not force thousands of Trollocs through the Ways and put this horrible place to the fire and sword eluded Myyrth.


"It's those lightspawned Dreadlords and their scheming, fools" his voice scritch scratch of crawling spiders a chilling sound yet no creature heard besides the rats.




Marak sat, and taught. There was little for him to do, except teach, and recruit. A second Acolyte had been taken from the Tower, now, and was his. Namar was his name, and Namar, to put it quite simply, was a fool. He had sworn to the Shadow for life eternal, and little else. The man was weak in the Power, and weak in the mind, Marak had not even required a single thread of the Power to convince him to join him.


He had less classes, these days, for some reason. It appeared that they fluctuated, there were more weaponry classes in spring and summer, for obvious reasons, and more channeling classes in summer and winter, so they could escape the equally biting heat and cold. He sat back, and hoped that the Chosen would give him instructions. Managing two new Acolytes was stretching his abilities, even though they were taught by Asha'men, trying to make sure they kept away from mention, or even hinting at the Shadow.


He needed help. Managing six, he figured, he would have to put them under the older one's command, but, could he trust them that far? He sighed, and slipped under the covers...


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Aginor snarled. The idiotic Soldiers, the pathetic Dedicated, and the untrained children who called themselves Asha'men were grating on him, day by day. He wanted to gain himself an order of loyal Dreadlords, and leave this worthless dusthole.


He slipped into the waking dream, tel'aran'rhiod, and looked for the star the signified his pet Dreadlord's dreams. They were rudimentally warded, and he shattered the warding, and looked inside. He saw the man commanding a legion of Dreadlords, and becoming one of the Chosen. He smiled. All thought to be one of the Chosen. However, this fool had inadvertently informed him of his intentions.



The voice boomed hollowly within the dream, and Aginor slipped back into the waking world, and began to think.. This man had ambition. Ambition was best used where he could control it. It was wise to leave Marak under his hand, where he could control his every move. However, he would have to be more active, in ensuring his new Dreadlords were loyal to him, and him only..

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OOC: I'll follow up with a 2-4-1 deal.


IC: Drenn found himself quite refreshed after a meal at the inn as Dash always made sure there was excellent food available. How he manged it aswell as all his other responisbilities was beyonf him but all the same he was thankful. That new girl they had helping out was also nice on the eyes.


He was still feeling somewhat tense though from his dual with Isha so he decided he'd take a run around the outer walls to stretch out his muscles. As he entered the forest though he began to feel... wrong. He wasn't sure how else to describe it. He remembered his talks with Isha and Brand about their suspicions... Emptying his mind he formed the void and focused on his suroundings as he ran. He didn't want to be caught off guard.


As he drew close to the end of his third lap he just barely caught the shape of a cloaked figure stepping back into the woods. It was quick enough that he almost thought he had imagined it but he trusted his eyes. Flipping up the hood of his cloak he drew his sword and moved closer to the spot where the shape had disapeared. When he reached the spot he stopped and looked around but whatever it was had disapeared. Gone or not though he had an unshakable feeling that he was being watched. Deciding that enough was enough he thought it best to return to his home.


He'd decided to be a little unorthodox in the making of his home in comparisson to what the other Asha'man had done. To the naked eye his home didn't exist. All there was, was a small patch of bare ground on the edge of the training grounds that rose slightly to for a small hill. As he approached the spot at the peak he had marked off with Saidin he stopped on a small circle of somewhat darker dirt and embraced Saidin. Weaving earth strongly, the ground beneath him began to shift and the circle he stood on began to drop below the ground. He dropped roughly twenty feet down in a hole he had previously dug out with Saidin before it opened up into a reasonable sized room. He had added fire to his weaves at this point in the construction and had turned the surounding dirt into one solid mass for roughly 5 ft on all sides to make sure it wouldn't collapse on him. It wasn't very well furbished yet as all he really had was a simple bed, a chest for some belongings, a small closet for his cloak and uniforms and a weapons rack for some of the weapons he'd been playing around with. The sword was still his primary focus. He wasn't too worried about furbishings as he could make more at anypoint using Saidin so he remained content with what he had. reasonable mpty space also privided him with ample room to test some smaller weaves privatly.


Turning around he wove earth again and the shaft began to fill itself up so it would once more conceal the entrance to his home. Now plumeted into darkness he wove a small orb of light and tying it off, locked it onto a centre point on his cieling. Readying himself for bed he finally released Saidin once more creating darkness and tried to get some sleep. the little he did get was plauged with dreams that were all too real...


(several hours earlier)


Nostros wandered the edges of this "Black Tower" getting an idea of what kind of fortification these litghtfools had managed to create. He found himself somewhat surprised that these humans, even channeling humans, had managed to come up with something like this so quckly without the servant of the Great Lord of the Dark having discovered it. He would have gladly come earlier and spilled a little blood in the night. Either way he was only here to gather useful information tonight. Blood would come all in good time though he longed for screams. Closing his eyes he stepped into the darkness and felt himself shift and with the vague sense the he had moved, opened his eyes to see the inside of the base.


It appeared to be little more then a farming community but he could feel male channelers and Saidin to strongly here to mistake it for such. He made his way through the yards and took in suroundings, making not a possible places where he could fade away should the need arise and places where he could wait in the shadows for the perfect time to strike. He noticed quite a few people as he moved around but thanks to that weave that had been played on him the fools were oblivious to him. Truly useless creatures. How could such pathetic things have manged to imprison his master? It seemed laughable yet somehow they had manged.


He was just about to leave when something caught his eye. For a moment he thought he had seen another of his bretherin walking about but when he caught what it was again he began to feel anger course through him. One of the creatures walked openly with the cloak of one of his brothers! he almost betrayed his cover to persue it but instead stepped further into shadows and faded back outside the walls. From the forest he watched the human for some time. It ran laps around the battlements of the "Black Tower" for well over an hour without breaking stride and Nostros found himself itching at every moment to strike at it. At one point he let himself get drawn out a little too much and it seemed that it actually manged to notice him. No matter. Within the shadows he faded once more and re-entered the world about twenty feet behind the human. Oh, it would be so simple to come up behind it and slide his blade so smoothly through its throat. The red would so lovely and delicious.


With a sigh he faded away once more into the night to view another point of this "Black Tower", but he would remember that human. when the time came it would be his. He would taste its blood and remove that cloak from its unwrothy shoulders. He almost laughed at the thoughts of what he would do...

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