I find myself wondering why someone would be so terribly stubborn about that, but thats just me :)

Graendal doesn't need to ask, she can just compulse :)

Duram Laddel Cham was slightly surprised to find that he was the first of his fellows to arrive at the meeting to which they had all been summoned. It was a surprise to find that Shaidar Haran, a Myrddraal, could walk the dream, and it also served to confirm his earlier suspicion that something was new when Shaidar Haran had first revealed himself and demanded the sword from him, as well as the cour'souvra. He could have brought the rest to heel or destroyed them with those items, yet Shaidar Haran had levelled the playing field, quite deliberately.

 

Still, the matter of the meeting place was at hand. For the moment, it was nothing but a formless grey, without shape but easily malleable. Whoever arrived first had the right to create the meeting's 'place', for lack of a better word. Whoever arrived first could form it into any shape they wished, and create anything they wished within it. Anything that wouldn't harm another, or so had been decreed after a Chosen had used the right to create the setting to create one that was lethal enough to kill those who weren't quick enough when they arrived. That individual had been killed shortly afterwards, and the prohibition enacted.

 

Besides, Duram had a much better idea, a memory to draw on in fact. Unlike Lanfear who had a penchant for meetings under an endless night, Duram chose a different setting everytime and this time he chose one that was a bit more personal for him. Rather than something famous that all would recognise when they entered, he had decided on something a bit more humble, the livingroom of his first home in M'jinn.

 

His home had been shared between ten people, but the livingroom had been designed to hold twice as many with four lounges of varying colour and a couple of rocking chairs. The livingroom also merged into the kitchen, as there was no wall between them, just a white marble counter. Behind it were a pair of appliances of particular interest that no longer existed in the current age, but were used to keep food and more importantly, drinks. Such were the wonders of the age long gone.

 

Helping himself to a couple of bottles, he took a seat at the lounge closest to where the drinks were. Twisting the first bottle open, with the second sitting at his feet on the dark floorboards, he took a sip as he relaxed. There was alot to be said for his first home. He'd just come from one of the nearby villages, and not having the resources to secure a home for himself, he'd ended up moving into the floor of an apartment building with separate rooms but a common living room and kitchen.

 

He'd been lucky in the floor he had ended up on, they'd all been rather friendly and parties were quite common between work. While he'd been studying both as an Aes Sedai and a legal advocate, the others had been long friends who had been aviator mechanics and pilots. They were the ones who had gotten him interested in sho-wing racing, in particular competing during the Festival of Winds. Ah, but those were the memories of another day and age, or so he mused to himself as he took another sip from his bottle.

 

It was then that something else occured to him. When he'd been living in this house, none of his fellow Chosen had even been born. So help him, the thought just made him feel even more ancient. That thought fled from him as he realised what else he had recreated in the room. Finding the remote, he switched on the box before him only to burst out laughing.

 

He hadn't been quite so retro with his setting as he realised. While what surrounded him was definitely the M'jinn of his childhood, what he was watching was from much later, during the Collapse as it had been called. A particular show had risen to prominence, The Family, and it had pushed all 'reasonable' bounds when it came to depictions of violence as well as the improper nature of their jokes and satirical comments, all communicated through a single family just making its way.

 

That and it was damn funny. Duram eased in his seat as he proceeded to laugh the time away until the next person arrived, surprised that his memory for such things was still so good.

 

 

Duram Laddel Cham

Be`lal, The Netweaver

Meetings between the Chosen were always a big ordeal, you never knew what underlying plot there would be. Who was striving for what and why were they doing it. It was a game of Power, who would be the best amongst the thirteen most powerful men and women of the Age of Legends, and now of whatever this age will be called in the future. Semihrage preferred to go by her new identidy in Murandy. It lessened confusion amongst her servants. Through her victims knew who they were dealing with.

 

Semihrage left the blood covered room and the woman screaming behind her to ready for the meeting. Wearing blood to a meeting was less than tacky, there were standards to uphold, even in the World of Dreams. Semirhages room was laviously decorated in red and golds. They were the kings favorites and she intended to impress him enough to marry her. Her own plots and schemes would unfold one day. Discarding her blood stained leathers she doned a black gause dress of the finest degree. She prefered to be opposite of Lanfears shimmering whites.

 

The time drew near and Semirhage made her way into the World of Dreams in the flesh. The fool Aes Sedai of this time had lost the skills that Aes Sedai of her time once knew. Her thoughts were scored with distrust and anamosity towards any who claimed to be Aes Sedai, particularly those of this time. They were weak. The chosen meeting place was constructed in a home and since Bel'al was the first there probably in form of his own home. Semirhage smiled at the man as he watched the box in front of him. The days of technology were gone and there was no point trying to live in the past, even if it is only in a dream. "Duram, your home I take it?" It was a bit guady in her opinion but she wouldn't say it to his face. Drinks were freely available and Semirhage mixed a strong gin and tonic and sat down in a lucious blue lounge chair. Semirhage sipped at her drink as she waited. Conversations amonst her peers were not something she enjoyed, she prefered one way conversations interrupted with screams of pain and agony.

 

Semirhage

Aginor sighed, as he slipped into the World of Dreams. He had always hated Tel'aran'rhiod, where reality was as malleable as thought, and natural law meant nothing.

 

He found himself in the Blight, where he quickly moved to the meeting place. Before he did so, he clothed himself in the traditional garb of a scientist, a simple coat, with several protection measures underneath, in case something went wrong in an experiment. His mind went back to the day of the Sharom's death, and the Great Lord's release, and chuckled, quietly.

 

He stepped, and found himself in a house. It was a small house, with a pitiful array of what once was. He dismissed his old garb, dressing himself in a nondescript cloak, and other clothes, and walked grimly into the room. The other Chosen sought to strive between themselves, to gain power. He had simply stopped playing. At the moment, his only goal was survival, rather than to become Nae'blis. He ruled the Blight, and controlled hordes of Trollocs, and, in the end, it was Trollocs who would shatter this fragile little Age, his creations who would further the Great Lord, not their pitiful schemes.

 

However, at this time, it was wise to make allies. He sat down, reclined, and looked at Be'lal, ignoring Semirhage completely, and spoke. "A lovely little abode, Be'lal. Yours, I presume?"

 

He sighed, and gave the impression that he was relaxing. As it was, his nerves were incredibly tense. He'd never had the mettle to attack someone without overwhelming odds on his side, and the rest of the Chosen knew it. However, his command of the Fortress would bring the jealousy of some, and.. Well, no-one here would not jump at the chance to bring another down for even a petty slight, let alone power.

 

He pulled at his robe, finding it rather uncomfortable. He looked at the wine, and mentally declined. Even a second of unawareness, although it would not mean death, could mean valuable knowledge lost. He sighed loudly, and reclined further into his chair, waiting for the arrival of the other Chosen..

 

Aginor

Joar Addam Nessosin stepped through the gateway he had woven and into the Unseen World. The gateway closed behind him, and Joar Addam looked at the meeting place created by the first arrival. Apparently, someone did not want to let go of the past. The furnishings were those of an average home in what the primatives of this current Age called the Age of Legends. Joar Addam took in the comfortable surroundings and those who had already arrived.

 

Duram Laddel Cham was seated on one of the lounges nearest the kitchen, sipping some sort of drink. No doubt he had been the first on the scene, judging by his relaxed demeanor. Nemene Damendar Boann was seated in a blue chair, with some sort of strong drink. Her black gauze dress was attractive, but Joar Addam couldn't help feeling nervous around the woman. Ishar Marrad Chuain was shifting in his chair as if he had just sat down.

 

Nodding and muttering greetings to those other Chosen, Joar Addam sat in one of the cushioned chairs and concentrated. Conversation was not likely in this company; none wanted to give anything away that could be useful to those among them. And Joar Addam Nessosin hated silence. He had also hated the show 'The Family.' He took up the pen that he had manifested and began writing notes. The tension that was beginning to mount was inspiring.

 

Time had lost their names, but these primatives remembered enough. They remembered the names given to the ones who survived. Dead were Duram Laddel Cham, Nemene Damendar Boann, and Ishar Marrad Chuain. Dead was Joar Addam Nessosin. They were Be'lal, Semirhage, and Aginor; he was Asmodean.

 

Asmodean took a moment to manifest a bottle of a fine wine of which he had been fond. Despite the danger he was in simply by appearing, there was no reason not to enjoy things while he could.

 

Asmodean

Smiling to herself, Karamile held up a few dresses as she gazed in the mirror. Most of her "allies" dreaded meetings between the Chosen, but she was never so defensive in her mind. Of course, even she understood the threat that would be presented if an argument got out of hand or one them felt they had the upper hand, but she didn't worry too much about the headgames. Those were her area of expertise. As she turned to look at one of her servants, she smiled wider. A dark green would be the perfect color. Besides, she liked the way the light shimmered off of it. She turned to kiss the servant who had handed her the dress before she walked off to her room to be alone.

 

When she closed the door, Karamile turned around and concentrated a bit before entering Tel'aran'rhiod. The warming sensation coming out from the room that the others were meeting in was very pleasing. She closed her eyes and allowed the feeling to wash over her as she gently pushed the door open and walked in. After she took a few steps, Karamile opened her eyes and smiled serenely at the others before saying, "Good evening Be'lal, Asmodean, Semirhage, Aginor." With each name she smiled wide at them and nodded before choosing the perfect spot. There was a chair with a long ottoman covered in a fine cloth that felt incredibly soft. Daintily, Karamile sat down on it and swung her legs around her, smoothing her dress out before she allowed herself to relax with her hands clasped in her lap.

 

Inwardly, she smiled wider. The air was so tense she could almost smell it. This was almost funny how pathetic the others were being. At the same time it was almost cute. Closing her eyes for a couple of seconds, Karamile let the smells and feelings of nostalgia wash over her. This place would almost be cosy if it weren't for the others being poised for a full assault on each other, she thought to herself. "So, how have you all been? Still finding new ways to torture your friends, Semirhage? What have the rest of you kept yourselves busy with?" Karamile smiled her usual coy smile to each of the others as she looked at them. Might as well put them on the defensive now, she figured. "This is a nice place. Who created this image? Oh, I hope whoever it was thought to put something to drink in here. Would anyone be so kind as to mix me something?"

 

Graendal

Aginor stood, and poured her a drink. He normally didn't bother disguising his contempt for Graendal, her and her pets, but, right now, it paid to be civil. At the very least, it'd rein the mood in. Of course, he could've always simply created her a drink, but he preferred not to showcase his ineptitude in the World of Dreams.

 

As Graendal spoke, Aginor replied. "Of course. Keeping busy is the only thing to do until the Day of Return". He smiled. "What about you, Graendal? Still... playing with your pets?". As he sat back down, he relaxed once more into the chair. Absentmindedly, he used Tel'aran'rhiod to move the cup over to Graendal, as it hovered in front of her face. Ostentanious, but, hopefully Graendal would simply think him somewhat rude, rather than unskilled.

 

He formed his face into a smooth mask once more, and waited. This myrddraal, this... thing, that called itself Shaidar Haran, was bound to arrive soon. He almost snarled at the thought of it, someone tampering with his creations, even if it was the Great Lord..

 

Aginor

Navies aren't really developed by the mainland nations. The Seafolk in comparison are a couple of centuries ahead of them easily. Geography wasn't really conducive to encouraging the development of navies in comparison to say, the Mediterranean. Furthermore, RJ also made sure the navies didn't didn't catch up to the SF due to major things such as Trolloc and Hundred Year Wars destroying any advances. Hence why they could make ships to cross the world in Hawkwing's time, but the mainland no longer has the same capacity.

Sitting at the roots of an oak, his back settled in a comfortable niche against the trunk, Aran was watching as Jin worked through the forms. Aran had taken his time with the man to make sure things were done right the first time, which is to say, Aran had just been taking his time. His student didn't seem to mind a more relaxed pace though, and Aran preferred to treat his student as someone who could instruct themselves through careful attention to their own action rather than requiring him to watch all the time. Aran preferred this because he had terribly important duties, like walking the wall, gambling and drinking extensively. With such priorities, he had to juggle his many responsibilities, such was his burden.

Still, his student was ready to move on to the forms. The lad moved through the drills easily enough, and forms were merely another form of drill. Not that Aran completely agreed with forms. He'd mastered them, but he still disliked them, they trained a person to fight in only one way. He preferred a greater deal of unpredictability in his fighting, but Jin would be able to make that choice for himself when the time came.

"Well, thats enough for today." Getting to his feet, he walked over to his student as he dusted his pants off. "You know, there comes a time when a man realises they are ready to move on to the next stage of their training, you aren't there yet." Grinning at the man, Aran clapped the man on the shoulder "just kidding bellboy. Tomorrow we're going to start your form work, which you'll need to have under your belt before you can take on the crimson cloak. Take the rest of the day free, oh and I have graveyard shift tonight, so we'll be starting later than usual. About midday or so tomorrow I'll be able to crawl out of bed, so I'll expect to see you in the mess hall. Well? What are you waiting for? Take the day off."

Laughing, Aran turned about and went to attend to some other matters. Sleep was a high priority amongst them, even for an hour or two so he'd be more awake for the night, so help him he hated graveyard shift.

Aran

Tower Guard

OOC: Rightio, take it to the next day and be about in the yards, that way Muzza can pick you up.

Jinnah enjoyed the luxury few trainees had the opportunity to enjoy; an entire room to himself. This meant that he usually kept two of the rather cramped beds slid close together and could often be found sprawled at an angle across them. Another added benefit to this situation was that he could do all of the above without clothes on. He had only been “training†with the Warders and Tower Guard for a few weeks, but he was already enjoying himself. Just yesterday he had been told by his new teacher, Aran, who always made him think of lilacs and lavender scented soap whenever he talked, that he could sleep in until nearly midday. Really, the only downside was that he missed breaking his fast, but that would soon be remedied with the mid-day meal.

“And there’s the bell!†Jinnah grinned, shrugging into his freshly laundered training uniform. He had managed to convince one of the younger female trainees that he was really a Tower Guard and she was doing his washing for him every day. Sure he would be in a lot of trouble if he was caught, but the word if holds a lot of possibilities. After stamping his boots into place, Jinnah proceeded to nearly fall head first down the stairs and only just managed to catch himself with one hand and try to make it all look intentional for the benefit of his fellow Trainees.

Jinnah was making his way across the yards, trying to avoid any eye contact and clutching his stomach like he was about to show everyone what he’d eaten the night before. Really, he was just trying to mask the loud growling sounds his stomach was making. He paused a moment, looking a the sky and noticing it was a lot earlier than he had originally thought, the sun only half way between the horizon and directly above.

“So that wasn’t the mid-day bell, but the mid-morning bell. Damn!†Jinnah kicked at a clod of dirt, sending his multitude of bells jingling softly.

Jinnah

Damn right... I'll even give you little sweets if you do :twisted:

About time you showed up Roka :P You ready to sell your soul and try RPing again? :D

Apart from the fact that'd be illegal, wombats are priceless, they can't just be traded like that :)

Its ok, after careful deliberation I have come to the conclusion that your statements were made out of ignorance for all things great, so no action shall be taken against you at this time. I, and the quality control panel that consists of myself, wish to take this opportunity to forgive you for your mistaken ways. :)

And in other news, Canadians can fly, their gliding could use improvement though. Several days after that particular Olympic experience and it still makes me chuckle :)

The Hawaiian shirt is a truly beautiful and noble shirt, your stubborness will wear away with time as you come to realise this basic truth :)

As long as you have your towel it should work out :)

Badgers are no Beavers *nods vigourously* CC'd!

A brilliantly balanced bio and highly entertaining 12 out of 10 and CC'd!

Name: James the Black

Email: Sertorius@gmail.com

Division: Divisions are no place for a mighty troll

Age: 21

Physical description: A Troll of dashing looks, this force of nature is often sighted in a loincloth and sporting different Hawaiian shirts depending on the occasion. Sometimes sighted with a cricket bat depending on his mood and level of boredom.

History: From where this magnificence specimen came from, only some know, yet it is clear that this being is without peer. While some would discriminate against him for being a rampaging troll that knows no fear, or moral qualms for that matter, those that get to know him are struck with awe at his amazing abilites.

Blessed with the ability to RP a staggering amount of characters simultaneously, spin an RP concept out of thin air, and smite stupidity with his cricket bat and diamond wit, he is clearly indispensible. Truly, one of him isn't enough, there is no such thing as too many James'. Indeed he is in such demand that there is talk of setting up a manufacturing line for James the Black clones as there has been an untapped market for many years.

Even if these plans go ahead, there shall only be one James the Black. While there are many forms of praise that may be heaped upon his name, he can simply be summed up as perfection incarnate. Should he ever depart, the site would truly be that much poorer, for without his Hawaiian shirt and entertaining repartee, the site would never be so colourful.

I've watched most of West Wing, its just that Monkey Magic remains the superior show. West Wing is about politics, but Monkey Magic is about people and virtuous life. While I'm not a moral person myself, its nice to watch what it'd be like :)

Make a list for all you want, even when I change my mind about something I'm still right, its part in parcel with being perfect like I am :)

No appreciation for military history :P

Its only a battle if there is a fight, there isn't any because I, as always, am right. Accept your status peon and genuflect in my honour! *uses the voice*

Heh, I don't even need the Weirding Module, for I am the Kwisatz Haderach.

Maybe I've been playing Emperor a little too much lately.

Swiss Pikes are fearsome, refer to the SG Org thread :)

And they also make watches.

Onward! Drive them back to France!

You, and you just messed with Switzerland, bad move Frenchy :P

Clearly the Freelanders are the most active div! :)