Ah, this looks like as good a place as any to start, Asmodean thought as he seated himself at the corner of an outlying building. Down the street, he could see two children, a boy of about nine and a girl of about 13 or 14, talking to each other. Another boy soon joined them, talking and gesturing excitedly; apparently he'd heard about the gleeman in the Ranch. Asmodean smiled unabashedly; children were often more receptive and appreciative of good music than their adult counterparts.

As the three started off together, Asmodean lifted his flute to his lips and began playing. It wouldn't be a tune that any of the children would know, he was sure; Asmodean himself didn't even know it. He just wanted something upbeat and lively, something that would draw the three in. Something to take their minds off the recent events. Asmodean slowly began to lose even himself in the music, his fingers dancing on the flute, making the instrument do things that the people of this Age probably didn't even think was possible.

He didn't know how long he played, and he didn't know if he would be able to remember it later, but when he did finally return to reality, Asmodean looked up to see three young, bright faces. Smiling amiably, Asmodean said, "Hello, little friends. My name is Jaros Nameros. What would you like to hear: a story or a song? Or do you wish to see me perform?" As he spoke, Asmodean produced three balls from one of his sleeves and began juggling. It wasn't too hard for him to pick up the skill; he'd always had deft hands. As the children continued to watch, the three became four, then five. Smiling at them again, Asmodean asked, "So what will it be?"

It was all that Mehrin could do not to collapse to the ground sobbing. His daughter... Ana Malon's and his daughter. Light, how long had it been since he'd thought of her? Eight, nine years? He could still remember the sheer amount of loathing that he had held for himself after leaving her and her mother in the state they were. Light, Ana, I'm so sorry. Sorry that I couldn't stay, sorry that I left you to raise a child that I didn't even know about, he thought as Renalie spoke. The shock was such that Mehrin could hardly hear what the child- no, not 'the child'- what his daughter was saying. Until her stomach protested noisily. "I'm sorry!" she said, seeming quite embarassed. "Can I please have something to eat? I don't remember the last time I ate on the way here."

That got Mehrin's attention. His previously-important task forgotten, Mehrin stood from his crouch, still quite unsure what to do about this sudden revelation. Light, this was so much easier with Dashiva's daughter. Offering his hand to the child, Mehrin looked at Drea with an expression that was begging for a drink. "You didn't eat at all on your way here?" Mehrin asked, shifting his attention back to Renalie, his voice carrying his sudden concern, his alcohol-starved mind screaming obscenities at the careless wretch who would allow such a thing. "Light, even the food that they serve here is better than that! Drea, would you care to join us?" Mehrin didn't know where his invitation to the woman had come from. Maybe he was hoping that she'd provide some sort of grounding in reality.

Maybe he was hoping that she'd tell him that this wasn't actually happening. Blood and bloody ashes! I've got an army to command; how can I raise a daughter with that? How could I think to even raise a daughter here? How can I get her back to her mother, hopefully with enough coin to see both of them through? I owe her at least that.

Mehrin strode through the streets of the Citadel, occasionally glancing up from the paper in his hands to check where he was going. Absently he counted the days since his last drink: eight. Eight days... and the Red Trench is in two! Blood and bloody ashes, that will be difficult. The report in his hand was the reason why he was out of his office. Reading over it again, Mehrin turned a corner... and ran into something. Backpedaling quickly, his feet tangled into themselves, and only a sudden grip on his elbows kept Mehrin from falling on his back.

Finally noticing who it was, Mehrin resettled himself, thinking, Hmmm, Drea's a bit stronger than I gave her credit for being. Before he could start apologizing- or telling her to watch where she was going, which seemed more likely, given his mood, Drea gestured towards the ground. His eyes shifted down to find a young girl looking back up at him, her green eyes staring up from a red hair-framed face. Something about her tugged at Mehrin's memory, but he couldn't place it. All of a sudden, Drea spoke. "Mehrin this is Renalie. Renalie, Mehrin." Mehrin's brow wrinkled in curiosity at the emphasis that Drea put on his name. She surprised Mehrin again, though, by suddenly stretching up to whisper towards his ear, "Your daughter."

The words seemed to ring in Mehrin's head like the reverberations of some sadistic bell. My daughter? Faces and names began flashing through Mehrin's mind; the child appeared to be about ten years old, which could only fit one of the three names on that list. Kneeling, Mehrin looked the child in the face, pulling his hat back to allow more light between the two. Light, it can't be true... but what if it is? "Your mother," Mehrin said, his normally gravelly voice now a touch broken and empty, as if he had been hit in the chest with a forge hammer. "What is her name? Is it Ana Malon? Is she well?" He knew that he sounded harsh, but Mehrin couldn't help it. That was the only possible choice, and his greatest failure ever if it was the case.

We're here. These wetlands have just dulled your senses :p

Yay! Thanks for the plug, Mat :D

*sigh* I can't remember who it was, either... Anyhoo, yeah, I'm special. My mommy even says so :D

*DJ Mode*

Hey, long time, no yak! Of course, it's Quibby here, the obnoxious and overly-underachieved. It seems that the Band has a new girl on the block. Everybody, make sure to say hello to Jatasha when you see her, and keep the booze flowin'! Just make sure that that funny-lookin' commander guy doesn't get any. Aaaaaand on that note, I'm throwin' a tune at all y'all, a tune by yet another blonde bimbo... err, bombshell, Britney Spears, and "Hit Me Baby, One More Time." If you ask me, she didn't get hit hard enough...

Mehrin gave the man a cryptic smile at his answer. "Yes, indeed it is," he muttered. Plucking the knife off the desk, Mehrin slid it back into its sheath under his desk. Then, shifting a pile of papers aside, he uncovered a black-bound leather book with the Band's insigia imprinted on the cover. It was smaller than the one that was used in the recruiting office, but it served the same purpose. Sliding it across the table, Mehrin set a pen and a bottle of ink on top of it. "Well, then. If you think that you can do the job, sign the book. Before you do, though, remember this: once you sign that book, your old life no longer exists. You are no longer a noble, you can no longer make your own choices."

Mehrin reached across the desk and opened the book to the first page with a blank line available. "Sign your life away," Mehrin said.

With a humorless smirk, Mehrin replied, "Duly noted, but you would be wise to show your good intentions in the future by not drawing steel." Unconsiously, Mehrin noted a slight pounding in his head. Another headache was coming on. Sparing Drea a look that shouted his lack of enthusiasm for his new life, Mehrin continued. "The scouts are typically either former farmers or criminals. They take some of the greatest risks in the Band, as they are almost always deployed."

Taking his hand out from underneath his desk, Mehrin dropped the knife that he'd drawn on the desktop, the heavy weapon bouncing heavily as it hit the worn wood. "Being aware of what is going on at all times is a vital skill. Without it, you will die. The scouts gather strategic information, such as troop numbers, camp layouts, and location. Your information will either save lives or cost lives."

Fixing Caeran with a hard gaze, Mehrin asked, "Do you think that you can handle that pressure?"

We used to have somebody in the Band about 3 years ago who would hand out straight jackets to all the new folks, and I'm kinda partial to tradition. Y'all have seen the 'Band DJ' that I occasionally tag onto my signatures; ask Drea where that came from.

And you're right: blondes tremble at the sight of me. Everybody else kinda likes me.

*blink blink*

Hmmm... I'm not sure whether to be tempted or worried...

Welcome to the nuthouse, Taea. Basket-weaving is over there, aimless wandering is over there. If you need anything, ask the friendly guys in the white coats; they're here to help you. Also, you must wear this at all times. *hands Taea a straight jacket*

Nice to have you in the Band!

The winds and oars of the cargo ship Blue Breaker were both needed to force the ship upstream from Cairhien. As men swore and labored under the hot sun, a simple gleeman sat in the bow of the ship, his eyes closed, his fingers dancing across the strings of the harp in his hands. Occasionally, the voices of the crew would go quiet for a few moments as the strains of music reached them, their eyes shifting to the strange man in the bow. The silence was never long, but the yelling never returned to its full volume, either. As engaged in the music as he was, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he played on. Absently, the man wondered what the men thought of it; there was no doubt in his mind that it was unlike anything that they'd heard before. The composer had died nearly thirty-five hundred years ago. The gleeman had only known him from the histories that he had studied in his youth.

The gleeman opened his eyes and glanced at the men laboring below, and another small smile crossed his face. Though busy, they were still an attentive audience; he felt the need to reward them in some minor way. His eyes flicked up to the one large sail, its canvas loose and almost undisturbed by the gentle breeze. His talents did not include working the weather, but it would be a simple matter to fill the sails with air... The Oneness came almost of its own volition, and the gleeman reached out to tainted saidin. Drawing it into himself, the gleeman smiled again as the taint fell away from saidin as it poured into him, filling him with the struggle for life that he had long ago mastered. A simple weave of Air filled the sail, pushed the ship forward. Quickly making certain that his disguise was in place and that the weave masking his ability to channel was holding, the gleeman released the Source. With a smile, Asmodean strummed his harp once, then began plucking "March of Death." Another melody that these primitives wouldn't know.

********

Asmodean stood on the bow of Blue Breaker as the captain shouted orders to his crew. Men on the nearby docks in Southharbor stood waiting to catch mooring lines that the muscular deckhands threw to them, towing the ship nearer to the stone pier and tying it in place with speed that spoke of practiced action. Gathering his things, Asmodean looked again at Dragonmount. So... the mighty Dragon met his fate there, eh? The bastard always did like to be overdramatic. I wish I could have seen him in his last moments of despair. His features, though disguised, were still quite handsome, and the smile that was on his face would have been dazzling, had it not been directed at the mountain.

A tug at his sleeve pulled Asmodean's attention from the smoking volcano and to the captain of the ship. "Its been a pleasure having you onboard, Master Nameros. Are you sure that you will not travel back downstream to Tear with us?"

Asmodean smiled at the man. "Please, just Jaros. I thank you for the offer, Captain, but I'm afraid that I must refuse. I must replenish my purse before I go anywhere else. I do thank you for the speedy journey, though." With a final nod, Asmodean pulled his patch-riddled cloak about him and stepped off the boarding ramp and onto the docks. The finer establishments would be near the White Tower, and Asmodean had no intention of staying in a loft somewhere.

None of the tension had faded from the air as Mehrin found himself on the grounds of the Black Tower itself. If anything, he was more tense than when he had stepped through that hole in the air. He could almost feel the apprehension from the soldiers that had come with him. "A man does not let fear rule him. He rules his fear." "Thank you, Father," Mehrin muttered, his voice so quiet that even he could not hear it clearly. For being a shepherd, Alben Mahrvon had been quite wise; Mehrin was thankful every day for being raised by the man.

The tension in the air would have been tangible to even the simplest of men when Dashiva stopped before another man. A brief exchange took place before both men shifted their attention to each other. The man that Mehrin saw before him didn't look much different from the Asha'man that he knew. The man was dressed in flat black, with a similar coat to those that Dashiva, Isha, and the others wore. His sleeves were worked with a silver-threaded serpentine shape, almost identical to the things that had been on Jarron al'Tanin's arms. The man wore a sword belted around his waist, and from the look of him, he could use it if he had to; Mehrin highly doubted that he ever did.

The silence grew longer, more tense. Mehrin couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Fortunately, the tension was broken by the most unexpected of people. "The embassy is through, sirs, and all gateways are closed." Isha saluted in that odd way that these Asha'man used, fist to heart. Mehrin was about to shift his mind back to the matter at hand when Isha spoke again, all formality gone from his voice. "I daresay the Infantry seemed a little cowed by the Gateways." The comment from that man, of all people, broke Mehrin of his silence.

Grinning widely, Mehrin chuckled and replied, "No, Isha, they weren't cowed. They were waiting to catch the Gateway if one of your men lost their grip. Judging by the lot of them, I'm surprised they didn't have to carry all of you through, too." Those few spoken words were enough to get Mehrin going again. Turning stiffly back to the leader- Dalinar, if what Dashiva had said was true, which was likely- Mehrin did something that he never did: he saluted. "Mehrin Deathwatch, Commander of the Band of the Red Hand. It is my honor and pleasure to finally visit the Black Tower."

Kedyn was in charge of setup for the Red Trench, but Mehrin was more than willing to take any excuse he could to leave his office. The road to the Trench was starting to grow over; Mehrin would see to it that somebody cleared it up. Though, he thought, with the number of people that will be coming this way in a while, that may not be nessecary. It was nice to take a walk without the constant hustle and bustle that was commonplace on the streets of the ever-growing Citadel. Mehrin had no doubt that there was at least one set of eyes on him as he made his way through the tall grass. The scouts were better and smarter than that. His eye catching on a shrub, Mehrin waved to the empty forest. A slight rustle from the shrub demonstrated just how empty it was. Mehrin couldn't help but smile. Taking the leather-wrapped flask from his belt, he took a mouthful of the water that he had started keeping in there. That'd be a report for Drea to figure out.

Even his one week of sobriety could not dampen Mehrin's spirits, though his body and mind screamed for relief. The hypersensitivity was beginning to fade, but it seemed to Mehrin that for every side-effect overcome, there was another to take its place. He had noticed the increasing feelings of restlessness over the past few days. His hands seemed to move of their own volition; he couldn't focus for thirty seconds. Hell, he needed a good fight to get his mind working again. Maybe two or three of the non-commissioned officers...

A rustle in the grass behind him made Mehrin whirl about, the whip attached to his belt in his hand and spinning in the air before his eyes had managed to focus. Scanning the grassy ground, Mehrin searched for any sign of what had caused the noise. Even after the slight sharpening of the world that he had found after giving up the bottle, Mehrin couldn't discern anything that was out of place. However, he knew that there was somebody there... "Or maybe its another hallucination," he muttered irritably as he attached the whip back to his belt and continued on. There would be spots near the outside edge of the cleared grounds around the Trench where Mehrin could sit and think away from everybody for a while, and he had every intention of doing just that.

Hey! Chemicals had nothing to do with it! They got into the room where I keep the landmines. You have any idea how hard those things are to come by?

*chirp chirp*

*chirp chirp*

*chirp chi-*

*BOOM!!!*

*mutters* Bloody crickets...

Mehrin's unconcerned look hardly changed when the man drew the knives from his sleeves. The only discernable difference was in his eyes: they went from half-hooded and bored to half-hooded and hard. He made no effort to conceal his motions as he reached under his desk and drew the knife that he kept there for such occasions. It never hurt to be prepared.

The man set the knives on the desk. Drea leaned towards the man and muttered something that Mehrin couldn't hear, and punctuated it with a wink and a grin. For the first time, Mehrin noticed a scar on the corner of her mouth. Apparently whatever she had said had done something to the man from the way he was staring. Mehrin couldn't see his face well enough to identify the emotion. It didn't matter. Seizing hold of the two knives, Mehrin balanced them in his hands and examined them. They were a bit worn, but they were decent. Throwing knives weren't one of Mehrin's strong points, though he could hurl his belt knife pretty well. Sparing the new recruit a level stare, Mehrin hurled the two knives at his office door. One stuck fast in the hard wood, the bounced off its pommel and landed on the floor with a clatter.

Maintaining a level voice, Mehrin said, "For future reference, never draw weapons before a superior officer unless he is training you or unless you've been ordered to do so." Mehrin fixed his gaze on Caeran again. "Many of us higher-ranking officers have seen a lot, and we become paranoid because of it."

OOC: Sorry about that misunderstanding. Neither Drea nor myself noticed it until you pointed it out to us. I edited this post to accomodate for that error; Drea's is still functional, albeit in a different way. I'm going to delete the post informing us of that in order to keep the thread in character as much as possible.

After hearing the man's name and interest in the scouts, Mehrin stopped listening and made a closer examination of the man. He stood about two inches shorter than himself and was far more slim in build, though Mehrin would not call the man scrawny. Something about the way that Caeran carried himself spoke of some sort of nobility; Mehrin didn't like nobles in the Band. His experience with them had always been a bunch of whiny good-for-nothings who would complain about everything that came with a soldier's life, from the food to the close living conditions. Dispite his misgivings, Mehrin was more than willing to let the man have a chance. Though he'd better learn to control that temper of his, Mehrin thought, ignoring the laughter at the back of his head at the thought. He had a good excuse.

"So, another scout, eh? You'll be in decent company, then," Mehrin muttered after a few minutes of silence, still analyzing the man to the best of his abilities. A shift of the man's arm revealed a slight disfiguration in his sleeve. With a smile, Mehrin spoke again. "You have the look of a noble, though a minor one, Caeran. You may have seen some fighting, and the knives in that sleeve, coupled with the ones on your belt and the bandolier on your back attest to the fact that you are at least armed."

Sitting back, Mehrin added, "What useful skills, however rudimentary, would you bring to the Band?"

"I'm here to join the Band, Commander," the man said suddenly. Mehrin's eyes shifted from Drea to the man, somewhat startled at his boldness. He was sure that Drea would take care of that little mess as soon as it was all said and done. Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, Drea piped up, "I over heard him talking to a Private on the training grounds and offered to take him here. Afterall, you're in chage and know what to do with them all."

Shaking his head, Mehrin muttered, "I swear your driving me as hard toward the bottle as you are pulling me away from it." His voice carried some of the amusement that he felt. Did she have to bring up that conversation every time they talked? That wasn't important at the moment. Shifting his eyes back to the new recruit, Mehrin said, "I see. Well then, recruit, your first and only standing order is to never address me as 'commander,' 'sir,' or any other rank or title. My name is Mehrin. Mehrin Deathwatch if you feel the need to use my surname." Taking a deep breath, Mehrin modulated the anger out of his tone. He wouldn't apologize for it if it would work. "Okay, so let's start with the basics. What's your name, and what division are you interested in?"

I'm always up for more; as Asmo, I only have the undercover at the Ranch thing going.

Four days... four days without a drop of alcohol... Mehrin was definitely not at his best. The previous night, he had been unable to resist the call any longer, and he quickly found himself at his favorite tavern. With a smile on his face, he ordered... and was flat-out refused. It had been the same at the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Purchasing a bottle from any of the merchants turned out the same way. The one link: all had received orders from Drea not to allow him so much as a drop. I'm either going to thank that woman or kill her, Mehrin thought as he shifted grumpily in his chair and forced his attention back to the document before him.

Five minutes of staring at the document brought Mehrin no further than the second sentence. I really hope that this is normal, he thought. This was not the worst of it, by far. This morning, he had woken up feeling as if his skin was covered in ants. He could see that it wasn't, but that didn't change the sensation. And then there was the hypersensitivity. He felt as if he could hear better and see better. Unfortunately, he could smell and taste things better, too. Trips through the chow line would never be the same again.

Steeling his resolve, Mehrin lifted the sheet of paper again and started plowing through it, only to hear a knock at the slightly ajar door. That was immediately followed by the squeaking hinges that announced someone opening the door. Absently, Mehrin wondered why he had never noticed the squeaking before. Gladly putting the paper down, Mehrin looked over his visitors. Unsurprisingly, one of the two was Drea. Since returning and being named as one of his advisors, Drea was typically pretty close to hand if Mehrin needed her. With her was a man that Mehrin had never met before... though from the smell, he had failed to miss one of the many piles of horse dung on the street.

"Who's this?" he asked, his voice gruffer and more angry than he had hoped for. Mehrin shook his head once and started again. "Sorry, Drea. I swear that the alcohol is going to kill me before it lets go. Anyway, how can I help you?"

Oooooohhhh.... Krachend is so dying in this one if they're doing the balefire resurrections...

What in the world is going on? Krachend thought as he roused himself from his blankets and dressed. The hold wasn't under attack, otherwise the gongs would be sounding. Nonetheless, the pounding on his door had been quite emphatic. Ensuring that all his gear was in place, Krachend dashed into the hall and to the Sovin Nai's gathering hall and took a seat next to Boran and Datarrn. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Argono has some sort of announcement that he wishes to make," Datarrn answered. "Other than that, I have no idea." A glance at Boran told Krachend that the other man was just as clueless. Gradually, what little noise the assembled Aiel made went silent as Argono stood and took his place at the front of the hall.

"I see you," he began formally, no hint of his typical self to be found. Light, what's going on? "Recently, you may have noticed that I haven't been myself. I wish to apologize for that. I have had certain... issues come up that I need to sort out. Unfortunately, this means that I cannot properly do my job as the Sovin Nai Society Leader." A series of astonished murmurs rushed through the crowd. Argono leaving? Argono?! Krachend found himself wishing that Argono would crack a smile or anything to indicate that this was a joke of some kind, yet the man stood firm as a statue.

"I realize that this comes as a shock to you, and if there were any way that I could ease that for you, I would." Argono truly sounded saddened; Krachend could understand. The man had given his life to the society, and now he was leaving them. For a moment, Krachend caught Argono's eyes, and the two looked silently at each other. Suddenly, a twinkle came to Argono's eyes. Krachend had an odd feeling that he knew what it meant.

"Yet my absence means that there will be a void in the leadership of the Sovin Nai. Which means that we must raise somebody to the position of Sovin Nai Society leader." A few sadistic chuckles eminated from the crowd, and a few heads turned towards Krachend. The Society Second looked at Argono with an unreadable expression as he laughed inwardly. "As my final act as Society Leader, I raise Krachend to the rank of Sovin Nai Society Leader. Krachend, come forward." Rising stiffly, Krachend made his way to the front of the hall. As he turned to face the man, Krachend muttered softly, "Well played, old man. Well played."

Argono smiled, a brief thing that became the same face they all knew and loved. "Lead them well, my friend," he said quietly. "Are you ready?"

"Of course not. Get on with it," Krachend said lightly. It was no surprise when Argono's fist crashed into his belly, winding him. Krachend barely managed to stay standing, and a smile came over his face as he gasped. "My turn." With that, Krachend struck Argono in the chest with the heel of his hand, staggering him. Looking out over the Sovin Nai, Krachend did a quick count. Approximately 300 were present; some were out scouting or visiting relatives, some were from different holds, septs, and clans and staying at the Sovin Nai roof. Still smiling, Krachend looked at the gathering, which was already assembling itself into a line by age. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

********

"Congratulations, Krachend. Lead us well," Herxo, the newest Sovin Nai warrior, said. A bruised and bloody Krachend nodded, and Herxo delivered the last punch, a heavy blow to Krachend's face. Staggering slightly, Krachend shook his head and locked his eyes on the lad. Muscles sore from being beaten, then forced to work, flexed one last time, and Krachend's punch sent the kid sprawling.

"It is done!" Argono intoned. From one side, two Sovin Nai rushed out with knives. Each one seized hold of Krachend's cadin'sor and pulled, tearing his shirt off his body. Each then drew a knife and set to their assigned task. The shapes they carved into Krachend's chest- a series of symbols arrayed around a knife- would mark him as the Society Leader. A handful of dried ink rubbed into the wounds sealed his fate. "May you lead the Sovin Nai well, until duty draws you away or until you wake from the dream." Argono then knelt. Looking at Krachend, he asked, "What does the Society Leader order?"

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves and emotions, Krachend said the one and only thing that he knew he must say. "Throw open the oosquai cellars! Let none who do not bear the knives on his arms enter the roof until tomorrow. The first one to pass out will help the gai'shain clean up tomorrow!" A loud cheer erupted from the gathered Aiel. Offering his hand to the former Society Leader, Krachend said, "You have no idea how badly you are going to be missed, Argono."

"I know. I hope that I will be able to return one day, but I am not sure, my friend." The urge to ask what was wrong welled up again within Krachend, but he didn't ask. "You're missing your own party, Society Leader. Get going."

"Thank you," Krachend muttered. Again, Argono smiled. Then he turned and walked out of the roof. Despite the number of Sovin Nai present, Krachend felt more alone than he had on any of his wanderings.

-Krachend

Sovin Nai SL

"My criticisms are few; you worked most of them out on your own. However, we still need to deal with the relative slowness and weakness in your left arm compared to your right." Mehrin grinned as he wiped the sweat off his face. That had been quite fun once Eb had figured out what she was doing. "That's relatively simple to do, but far from easy. I recommend that you attach some sort of weight or something to your left wrist, nothing too big, but enough to work the muscles in that arm."

As he spoke, Mehrin made his way to one of the nearby rain barrels. "I've seen some trainers tell their students to do everything with their off hand. I'll recommend it, but I won't order it. Maybe some sparring with the newer recruits using your left hand only. If nothing else, it'll teach them a lesson; its rare to face a left-handed opponent in combat." Taking the dipper that hung in the water, Mehrin took a mouthful and dumped the rest over his head. "The faster and stronger your left hand is, the less likely it is that you'll be defeated the same way next time."

With a shrug, Mehrin finished, "That's all that I have for you today. In one month, I want to see you back here with live steel. You'd better be ready to use it." Mehrin strode over to where he had left his gear and collected it, dropping the hat on his head before he left Eb to her work. He'd make sure to check up on her progress on occasion, though.

*******

The night still clung to the earth, daring the sun to appear over the horizon. It would in about fifteen minutes. Perfect. The early hour served two purposes: the rising sun would serve as a timer for the duel, and there were very few people on the training grounds at this hour. Both good for what was about to occur. Not bothering with a shirt or cloak, Mehrin wore only his breeches, boots, and a light vest, the bandolier holding his claymore on belted around his chest. He wanted as little interference as possible. This would be difficult enough without having to deal with a tightly twisted sleeve or collar.

Eb appeared right on time, which made Mehrin even happier; things needed to be timed just right. As she began limbering up and checking her weapons, Mehrin spoke. "This test is very simple. If I draw blood before the sun breaks the horizon, you fail. If I don't draw blood, you pass. If you draw blood, you pass." Mehrin chuckled grimly before continuing. "I'll try to avoid doing any permanent damage, so if you'd be so kind as to extend the same courtesy, I would appreciate it."

Drawing his weapon, Mehrin undid the bandolier and let it fall to the ground outside the ring, his mind dancing. There was about a three pound weight difference between the claymore and the training lathes. It would make him a bit slower, but harder to block. More then even the shape of his weapon, Mehrin hoped that Eb was ready for this; if not, this would end badly for her. The predawn air seemed to hold some sort of tension as Mehrin said, "The sun will break the horizon in about ten minutes. Hold me off until then. Whenever you're ready, Eb."

OOC: Pretty simple: two or three posts from you, depending on how the mood suits you. You know what to avoid. Have a blast.

His left cheek still burning, Mehrin stared at the door that Drea had slammed on her way out. Her order came through the solid wood, but Mehrin couldn't even think clearly enough to register what had been said. Or, at least, for the following ten seconds. Mehrin was on his feet as soon as he could find them again. Pacing the room, he thought about what Drea had said. "There are things besides drinking that will give you relief. You just need to find them."

When Anya had been alive, Mehrin had not had this problem. Those few weeks that she'd been there when all of this had started, the pressure had not been so bad. A simple word, a kiss when he needed it, more... He had never crawled into the bottle to hide from it until after Emond's Field, when she could no longer help him. The bottle took the place of Anya in my life. The best thing I ever had was replaced by mere alcohol! If she was here, she'd stab me. "Anya," Mehrin muttered, "its probably a good thing that you and Drea Raylin never met."

The soldier that Drea had ordered earlier walked in to find Mehrin striding towards the heavy glass bottle that he kept the wine in for special guests. "Commander, I'm sorry, but I can't let you have that. Banner Captain Raylin's orders."

Mehrin looked at the man for a moment before saying, "Yeah, well this is Mehrin Deathwatch, a slightly inebriated and very irritable man, telling you that if you take one step closer, I'll toss you out in the street the same way I tossed that whining noble earlier." That gave the man a reason to pause. Mehrin seized ahold of the bottle and turned towards the door, nearly running over the confused guard, who turned to follow with a confused look on his face.

With his glistening hair and soaked shirt, Mehrin looked quite the sight as he stepped out into the street. His eyes scanned the crowd before locking onto a woman striding off into the distance. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Mehrin shouted at the figure, "Drea! You win!" Not even looking to see if he'd been heard, Mehrin turned his attention to the stone wall on the other side of the street. The crowd seemed to part as they saw his arm draw back. With as much strength as he could muster, Mehrin hurled the bottle at the wall. The heavy glass didn't stand a chance. Without a backward glance, Mehrin turned and walked back into his office and sat down behind his desk.

The guard, now completely and utterly confused, took a moment to follow Mehrin in and ask what was going on, but Mehrin wasn't paying attention. His eyes were fixed on where the bottle had been. He sighed heavily and muttered, "Oh, Light, what have I done?"