"I should have guessed that much; most merchant's guards don't put too much faith in women, like you said." Mehrin was tempted to say no in order to gauge Kiarma's reaction, but decided against it. In all probability, she'd probably attack him, and Mehrin did not want to see the wall guards put any arrows into her; that had a tendancy of ruining a person's day. Rather, he decided on a different approach.

"You've definitely got courage; most would not even consider that steel-eyed stare that you've been throwing around," Mehrin said with a chuckle. "You'd probably do well here, Miss Speren. The scouts, medics, and siege engineers are always looking for a few more recruits, and I'd be more than happy to bring you to their respective captain generals." There, a test. If he had read the woman correctly, Mehrin was sure that Kiarma would either try to cover any upset of seemingly being relegated to three divisions. Or she'd become quite upset.

Mehrin was betting on the latter.

Mehrin

Commander

Mortal Mists

The chill on the air cut like a razor’s edge

The dawn has just broken, and all is as it should be

Morning’s dew glistens o’er grass, tree, and hedge

Workers pause their labors at what they see

The silent hush of morning is soon broken

For at the Ranch, all must earn their keep

These simple-looking workers in Cairhien

Have secrets which from the world are hidden deep

Soon all in the Ranch are at their tasks

Farm beasts call out to each other in their midst

But the day’s tranquil routine will not last

Carnage comes in the form of mist

Already hot and tired from their work

These Friends of the Shadow relish the cool caress

But their comfort turns to concern as they work

For soon they find themselves completely vision-less

Far outside the realms of Space and Time

Behind a weak’ning boundary wove by Men

The Great Lord tests the bounds another time

Out through the seams, dark bubbles seep and run

Throughout the Pattern, these miasma drift

Until they catch on threads and finally burst

One catches in Cairhien, its evil swift

And latches onto mist, as if suffering from thirst

Whiteness and fresh it did encompass

The entire ranch unaware of its feat

Until groaning sounds filled the mist amass

Making the vast whiteness alive and hungry for meat

It started slowly, maybe one or two creatures

A dog, a horse, their panicked sounds muted

Slowly, this dread fog took on new features

Soon, all know that they will soon be dead

A woman’s scream rends itself through the mist

A scream that ends in disturbing bubbling sounds

Something goes soaring, a laborer barely missed

His eyes find her body, mangled and twisted on the ground

One man turns to find his best friend dead

A thing of mist crouched over his still body

It lifts its face to show its blood-stained head

A mist-formed spear, before he warns somebody

The evil takes on many forms and features

May the Great Lord help them survive these creatures

A simple fog, once refreshing and cool

Touched by a bubble, rendering a death drool

Screams...pain...agony...

The delight of the morning's irony

"Help us...Oh help us..."

"Oh fog of death, leave us be..."

Things both man and animal still screaming

The screams and rattles soon abate and still

Slowly, the air of death begins dissipating

Survivors, in relief, watch from the hills

One man ventures slowly into the village

His first place of safety in years

The blood and ichor covers all the foliage

His wife’s half-devoured corpse brings him tears

Movements so sporadic, the Ranch still living

Though random places covered with bloody corpses

Yet the drive to rebuild their sanctum is unyielding

A normal life is all that their hope is

The sun arrived touching the ground...

The wind rolled in freshness abound...

Oh Ranch Rashid, why is this such melancholy

Though this had happened, to rise we hall be

And back through the reaches of Time

The Great Lord still waits for His time...

Ah crap... Howzit goin', Cab?

Good, you still know how to grovel! a part of Janine sneered as she accepted the proffered handkerchief from the Aes Sedai. As she pulled herself together, Janine tried to figure out how the woman had broken her so easily when even her own father couldn't do the same. Probably some trick with her One Power, she thought miserably. There's no way that I can fight that; she'll just get to keep my pipe, then.

"Perhaps I will just send you on your way, past the guards...it would certainly be less bother on my part..." The fear and panic welled up in Janine again. I will not grovel again! she thought stubbornly, though her fear must have shown clearly on her face, accented by her still-red eyes. Light, this woman is cruel, Janine thought. The next words out of the woman's mouth brought a sudden glimmer to Janine's eyes and a mischievous grin to her face. "Unless you can come up with a suitable alternative?"

The woman had given Janine an opening, a chance. Her thoughts returned to her journey to Tar Valon, to some of the stray thoughts that had crossed her mind. Her mind focused on one in particular. "Umm... maybe there is a way, Aes Sedai." The twist of the word 'Aes Sedai' was one of irony. Had it only been moments before that she was ridiculing the woman? "I would be more than willing to stay here as an apprentice or whatever you women take; even the worst job here is better than what my family will do to me. Besides," Janine added, her mischievous smile broadening, "you still have my pipe, and I want it back."

The last words came from a face that did not fit the redness of Janine's eyes. If she goes for this, I swear that I'll make her life a living hell.

-Janine

The song changed to a Metallica piece called The Thing That Should Not Be:

Messenger of fear in sight

Dark deception kills the light

Hybrid children watch the sea

Pray for father, roaming free

Fearless wretch

Insanity

He watches

Lurking beneath the sea

Great old one

Forbidden site

He searches

Hunter of the shadows is rising

Immortal

In madness you dwell

Crawling chaos, underground

Cult has summoned, twisted sound

Out from ruins once possessed

Fallen city, living death

Fearless wretch

Insanity

He watches

Lurking beneath the sea

Timeless sleep

Has been upset

He awakens

Hunter of the shadows is rising

Immortal

In madness you dwell

Not dead which eternal lie

Stranger eons death may die

Drain you of your sanity

Face the thing that should not be

Fearless wretch

Insanity

He watches

Lurking beneath the sea

Great old one

Forbidden site

He searches

Hunter of the shadows is rising

Immortal

In madness you dwell

Call me a Lovecraft fanatic, if you will...

-Asmo

I've had several songs rolling through my head over the past few days. The one that's almost always present though is Camille Saint-Saens' Danse Macabre, a tone poem about Death fiddling around- literally- in a graveyard. The only lyrical one recently has been "Gun Metal Green" by Trocadero:

"Gun metal green

Prettiest that I've seen

I've nothing to hide

And you've nothing to hide

I'd trust you at the wheel,

Even if we're going down

Our love is made of steel

Last us til the underground

Steady and surreal,

In a world of lost and found

Took out the trash

Paid my bills all in cash

Nothing to hide

And it's summer outside

I'd trust you at the wheel,

Even if we're going down

Our love is made of steel

Last us til the underground

Steady and surreal,

In a world of lost and found

Trust you at the wheel,

Know you'll keep us safe and sound

I'd trust you at the wheel,

Even if we're going down

Our love is made of steel

Last us til the underground

Steady and surreal,

In a world of lost and found

Steady and surreal, in a world of lost and found

We don't need a key

We were already free

Cruising along

To a Mexican song"

-Asmodean

The Talented Chosen

Unable to Access PhotoBucket (Dammit!)

I've had several songs rolling through my head over the past few days. The one that's almost always present though is Camille Saint-Saens' Danse Macabre, a tone poem about Death fiddling around- literally- in a graveyard. The only lyrical one recently has been "Gun Metal Green" by Trocadero:

"Gun metal green

Prettiest that I've seen

I've nothing to hide

And you've nothing to hide

I'd trust you at the wheel,

Even if we're going down

Our love is made of steel

Last us til the underground

Steady and surreal,

In a world of lost and found

Took out the trash

Paid my bills all in cash

Nothing to hide

And it's summer outside

I'd trust you at the wheel,

Even if we're going down

Our love is made of steel

Last us til the underground

Steady and surreal,

In a world of lost and found

Trust you at the wheel,

Know you'll keep us safe and sound

I'd trust you at the wheel,

Even if we're going down

Our love is made of steel

Last us til the underground

Steady and surreal,

In a world of lost and found

Steady and surreal, in a world of lost and found

We don't need a key

We were already free

Cruising along

To a Mexican song"

-Asmodean

The Talented Chosen

Unable to Access PhotoBucket (Dammit!)

With a disgusted sigh, Mehrin dropped his pen onto the desk and gathered his equipment. Only about one quarter of the paperwork on his desk was done, and if he had his way, that would be all that was done for the day! Dropping his hat onto his head, Mehrin walked out the office door, slamming it closed as he left. Light, I'm getting sick of reading those same lists over and over again! They didn't die out there to be immortalized in paperwork! It wasn't the fault of the clerks and the company leaders, Mehrin knew. Things had to be ordered in some way, and it led to a lot of repetition. Someone needs to be the scapegoat. "And it sure as hell ain't going to be me this time," Mehrin muttered.

Weaving his way through the Citadel, Mehrin took time to check on some of the big projects. The wooden wall surrounding the Citadel was slowly being encapsulated by the work of the Ogier stonemasons. Their beauty would only be matched by their strength. The city section of the Citadel was undergoing the same change, as were the barracks. Gardeners were attending to the grass and the markers in the Field of the Fallen, and new markers were being placed for those who had been slain at what was already being called the Doubles Battle by some.

Mehrin's rank afforded him rather easy travel through the mass of people near the Citadel gates. Despite the convenience of being able to walk through such a crowd without any real difficulty, Mehrin was still irritated by the fact that he could not escape his rank. Even when he died, he would still be afforded more honors than he deserved; Mehrin didn't try to fool himself when it came to his eventual death. Near the gate, Mehrin stepped out of the crowd and off to one side, near the sparring area. As he surveyed the various men and women working with their partners, he saw a man in a long, black coat approaching. Dash. And a newcomer, by the looks of it. Mehrin smiled slightly; he missed being able to take the new recruits through the camp back when the Band was still a roaming army.

The new recruit, an athletic-looking woman with jet black hair and green eyes who appeared to be about eye-level with his throat, offered her hand and said, "Pleasure to meet you sir, the name is Kiarma Speren, and I've come to join the ranks." Mehrin didn't reply immediately, taking time to survey the woman before him. She seemed a bit uncomfortable, confused, and she seemed to be sizing him up. She has some guts, at least, Mehrin thought. After a bit of an awkward silence, she continued, tugging her braided hair as she spoke. "So, what do I do now... uh, sir?"

That got Mehrin's attention. "I'm going to try to impress this on you before anyone else teaches you otherwise," Mehrin said, his voice a low, gravelly growl. "Don't call me sir, commander, or anything of the type. My name is Mehrin Deathwatch, but you can call me Mehrin." That little task out of the way, Mehrin smiled slightly. "Now that we've got that settled, it's a pleasure to meet you, Kiarma," he said, his voice still low and gravelly and no longer threatening, his hand engulfing hers as he shook it.

Before Mehrin could offer the new recruit a tour, another voice spoke up. "Sir," the new arrival, Carnhain, muttered as he saluted. He then addressed the whole group. "Commander, Asha'man, Miss..."

"Kiarma Speren," Mehrin said, introducing the woman. "And Lieutenant," Mehrin added, "unless you wish to find yourself demoted to sergeant and forced into the Infantry, I'd recommend breaking that habit." Unable to keep a straight face, the last came out as a chuckle. Only two people in the group knew that Mehrin was only half-joking, though.

Returning his attention to the newcomer, Mehrin asked, "What brings you to our little corner of the world, Kiarma?"

-Mehrin

Commander and Band DJ

Janine's smug grin didn't last for long. The woman's eyes grew dark, and an unseen force wrapped around Janine's arms and pinned them to her sides. The grin quickly fanished, becoming fear that was bordering on hysteria. As she felt herself leaving the ground, Janine struggled desperately to break free of the bonds that held her. All she succeeded in doing was becoming tired and scared.

The Aes Sedai spoke, cold words underscored by fiery eyes: "You may have gotten away with such impertinence at home child, but here you are out of your element. Your foolish prattling may lead some to believe you are tough, but I have no doubt a coward lurks behind your bravado." Janine could feel the color fade from her face, her hysterics replaced by a cold dread of what this woman could do to her. "It is little wonder you were going to be kicked out of home. Indeed, I'd be surprised if your brothers didn't also want to teach you a lesson in manners. Perhaps I should turn you over to them?"

The smile on the Aes Sedai's face was simply terrifying. She looked as if she were some predator... and Janine was her prey. Janine could feel herself trembling, yet she didn't even have the ability to attempt to still herself. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you over to your family by the ear. Or perhaps I should turn you over to the guard instead. My treatment of you would be considered mild by their standards, if they were to find out you were trespassing and showing such disprespect to an Aes Sedai."

The last straw was enough to break what little remained of Janine's resistance. She slumped forward, her body quivering with her terrified sobs. Between sobs, she choked out, "Don't... don't turn me over to the... the guards, please! Anything but that! Please!" Her words became unintelligiable through her weeping. In what little rationality remained, Janine knew that she had met her match. She was stuck, and there was no getting away this time.

The thought was not comforting, in the least.

-Janine

Owned

9: Insanity embodied.

Janine knew that she was in trouble when she felt the pipe jerked from her hand. Her eyes followed it as it floated though the air- Blood and bloody ashes!- and landed in the hands of a woman that Janine would have called stunning had she not been glaring frostily at her. "I sincerely hope, for your sake child, that you are merely lost," the woman said, her words clipped and hard.

'Child?!' Any protests were left unspoken, though, as the woman continued. "Though how you would manage to become so lost you make it past the guards at the gate is a mystery to me." The sarcastic tone in the woman's voice was insulting! Woman, if you couldn't tie me in knots with that Power of yours... To make matters worse, the woman put her pipe in her pocket! Then, as if she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, the woman said, "I am in the mood for a tale - why don't you tell me who you are and why you are in the Tower Gardens? Make it interesting and perhaps I won't turn you over to the guard?"

With a smug grin, Janine said, "Very well, I'll humor you for the time being, Aes Sedai." The last came out as if she were calling the woman's mother a prostitute. Without pausing to let the tone sink in, Janine continued. "If you absolutely must know, my name is Janine Alastarn. I'm here because of a small family tussle that could have very well gotten me kicked out of my home anyway. My brothers were sent to retrieve me, and I ducked into the first place that I thought would be decent, bypassing your rather pathetic guards and hiding back here until the coast was clear."

Janine cast a baleful eye around the rather lush and beautiful surroundings. "If I would have known that I'd be jumping into such a diseased rat-hole as this one, I'd have chosen a different spot." With a feigned innocence, Janine added, "Now, was my story satisfactory, you flaming, goat-kissing milksop?"

-Janine Alastarn

Welcome to the Band all official-like! I'll take you up on that Bandweiser... if you're buying :D

-Mehrin

Commander and Band DJ

Tar Valon. I made it, and my brothers haven't caught me yet! Janine Alastarn made her way through the streets of the city, her eyes wide with awe and greed. The city was so rich, so beautiful... so ripe for the picking. Janine's course shifted to the right, closing in on the vendor stands on that side of the street. Without slowing her pace, her hand darted out and seized an apple from a cart, and she was back into the middle of the street before anyone knew differently.

The little foray to the outside of the crowd had cost Janine, though. She suddenly heard raised voices behind her. Thinking for a moment that it was the treadesman from whom she'd liberated the apple, Janine glanced back just in time to duck the grasping hand of Yori, her older brother. Light, Deved will be nearby, too! Janine darted into the crowd, shoving men and women aside, rolling under a carriage, and finally dashing into an alley and through a gate, dodging the two guards with ease.

Janine found herself sitting behind a row of high hedges a few moments later, smoking a pipe and laughing quietly to herself. Wherever she was, it was definitely not a bad place. The gardens appeared to be immaculately kept by young girls in white dresses, with the occasional woman in a banded white dress appearing to supervise or give orders. "Odd," Janine muttered, "The only two men that I've seen were those two deadbeats at the gate."

Everything was white. The dresses, the wall behind her, the paving stones, all of it. Even that huge, cylindrical tower was white. Realization hit Janine like a ton of bricks. Light, I've broken into the grounds of the White Bloody Tower! I am in so much trouble if they catch me... The word 'if' brought some calm to her mind. No one could catch her, not even her brothers. Still smoking her pipe, Janine leaned back against the wall, content that nothing could catch her.

-Janine Alastarn

Soon-to-be Novice

The Aes Sedai called a halt for dinner. The order surprised Mehrin; he had lost track of the time during his thoughts. Many of them had dwelt on Emond's Field, his first battle as the commander. It had been a few months, but the pain was still there. Many of his memories still dwelt on Anya.

Not here, not now! Mehrin thought angrily. This woman- if she is what she claims- could pull that little lever if you give it to her. With another guarded look at the woman, Mehrin settled himself against a tree and examined his right hand. The deep cut on the palm of his hand refused to heal properly, probably because Mehrin refused to let it.

Sighing, Mehrin stopped examining his hand. It was only a distraction, anyway. Something to keep him from thinking about the situation. His eyes went again to the woman. "Forgive me for asking, Mistress Ata, but you must have a reason for wanting me around. What is it?"

Even better, Mehrin in a dress!

A knock sounded at the new oak door. Mehrin took a moment to admire the sound before calling, "Come in." The door opened to admit Carnhain and... no one else. Judging by the size of the silhouette behind the other man, Mehrin stood and said, "Let me guess: another of the Ogier?" A smile crept onto Mehrin's face, one of the few real ones that he ever let out. He liked the Ogier; they had an air of knowledge and unhurried peace about them. After Carnhain's affirmative, Mehrin stood and retrieved his gear, then stepped outside.

Despite his height, Mehrin still had to crane his neck to look the Ogier in the eyes. Having met the other's gaze, Mehrin bowed and said, "Glory to the Builders! Welcome to the Citadel, Master Ogier. I am Mehrin Deathwatch, the commander of this mad bunch of degenerates." The last accompanied a smile and a finger pointed at Carnhain. "If you would like a tour about the Citadel, I would be most happy to oblige."

Mehrin's belly felt like it was on fire, and the pain only became worse with every breath. There would have been quite a bit to complain about if he would have been anyplace else than where he was. He could already see the medics rushing to meet him, though the world seemed to be draining of color. No, that's just blood loss. That tends to happen when you walk around for ten minutes with a gaping hole in your belly, Mehrin thought wryly.

Faces began appearing around him, some he knew, others he didn't. Their voices were fuzzy and entirely unintelligable. Funny, I don't remember falling. How did I end up on the ground, then? Vaguely, Mehrin felt hands seizing hold of him, lifting him off the ground and carrying him away. It felt as though he was flying. Heh. This would almost be fun if I didn't hurt so badly. "I trust that you know what you're doing, then?" he muttered. At the man's nod, Mehrin said, "Good. I think I'll sleep through the worst of it, if you don't mind." Despite the sudden look of worry on the medic's face, there was also some amusement. The small smirk was the last thing Mehrin saw as he surrendered to the blackness that had been threatening him for quite some time.

***************

Mehrin was floating in blackness. There was no sense of time, nor of pain, only silence and peacefulness. "Is this what its like to die?" he asked no one in particular. He never expected an answer.

"Aye, it do be quite similar," a female voice with a heavy Illian accent answered. Even as Mehrin turned, he knew what he was going to see. "I did know that ye'd be seeing me sometime, Mehr." The woman he saw behind him had shoulder-length gold hair, braided into several small braids with beads woven into them. Her face was heavily tanned, with brilliant blue eyes. She was beautiful.

"Anya..." Mehrin smiled sadly, tears coming to his eyes. "You have no idea how much I've... I've..." Emotion stopped his throat. It was all he could do not to break down and cry right there and then.

"I know, Mehr, I know." Anya's smile echoed Mehrin's, regretful and sad. "If it do be any consolation, I did no die without a fight, and I did die without any pain." Of all the knowledge that the world offered, of all that there was to learn, that was the only thing that had mattered to Mehrin, all he had cared about for the past year.

It was more than Mehrin could handle. The tears came freely, and he felt himself collapse. Feelings that he had been fighting since the first battle at Emond's Field finally broke free. He never even noticed when Anya kneeled next to him and wrapped her arms around him. Finally, the wave of emotion dwindled, and Mehrin could control himself. One question remained, though: "Is it finally over, then? Am I dead?"

Once again, that sad smile. "No, Mehr, you do no be dead. As a matter of fact, you will be waking up soon." She smiled one of those smiles that Mehrin remembered so well, the ones that meant that she was about to do something that could get her into trouble. "I did want to tell you that I love you. I also wanted to tell you that you do need to loosen up!" With a laugh, Anya slapped the back of Mehrin's head. "You do be going to drive yourself insane if you do no get on with your life."

The darkness was brightening. Anya took Mehrin's face in her hands. "Do no kill yourself over me. Live and love again." A gentle kiss, and she was gone...

**************

"...der? Commander?" Mehrin's eyes slowly opened, revealing a young medic with a worried look on his face.

"Don't call me that. What do you need?"

The man looked uncomfortable, as if he were trying to decide how to say something. Finally, he worked up the courage to say it. "You were muttering a name: 'Anya Tarin Winter.'" The man tilted his head to one side, probably hoping for an answer.

Mehrin smiled weakly. "Just a woman whom I loved and lost." Any further comment was cut short by a loud clamor from outside. Mehrin looked at the medic again, his face twisting into a slightly mischievous smile. "Me. Outside. Right now."

************

Mehrin hadn't even bothered with clothes; he wrapped a bedsheet around his waist and staggered out of the medical building and to the scene of the uproar. Apparently, someone was not happy about- Mehrin's eyes finally discerned the features of the man standing on the scaffold. This is going to hurt, Mehrin thought as he felt the freshly-stitched wound on his belly throb in protest to a deep breath.

"Carnhain," Mehrin yelled, "Don't do it, man! Whatever happened, it is not worth it! Come down, let's talk this over!"

OOC: Not much for the ending, I know, but Mehrin has no idea what caused this.

The Warder didn't seem to trust Mehrin; that was understandable. It was the man's job to be protective of the Aes Sedai to whom he was bonded. And there was no way that the man could be doing anything but protecting Ata Sedai; he was on foot, making it easier for him to get between Mehrin and the Aes Sedai if he were to try anything. Coupled with the fact that he was holding his bow in the wrong hand so he could be on the right side of the horse, the evidence suggested a lack of trust.

It took very little effort for Mehrin to maintain a silence that stretched for hours. The Aes Sedai troubled him; speaking could possibly betray things about the Band that should not be publically known. Besides, Mehrin had never been comfortable around people who could channel. Even if they were his own age.

Mehrin's eyes went back to the Aes Sedai's face. Her long, black hair framed a face that was still puzzling to him. It lacked the agelessness that was always apparent on an Aes Sedai that had been with the Tower for any amount of time. She must be newly-raised. There's no other explaination. Or she's lying. Ata's eyes flickered over to him. Caught... Mehrin's eyes locked onto the woman's for a brief second before returning to the road in front of them. Let her make of that what she will, Mehrin thought.

If it wasn't for a small respite in the battle around him, Mehrin would probably have died before he knew what was happening. The sound of hoofbeats drew Mehrin's eyes from the milling mass of chaos to the lone figure on horseback approaching him. A quick check pegged the armor as Amon. Good. Between the two of us, we could probably tilt the odds in our favor significantly. The figure came nearer. It wasn't slowing down. As Amon came closer, details began jumping out to Mehrin. One detail in particular: Light, that isn't Amon's horse!

Without waiting, Mehrin threw himself to one side, his claymore coming up to sever tendons in the horse's hind legs. Horse and rider fell to the ground, with the armored man landing several yards away. Mehrin stood quickly and turned to face the false Amon. Without taking his eyes from the rising figure, he walked forward mechanically and thrust his claymore through the screaming horse's heart, silencing its cries. No matter how much he dispised the creatures, he could not watch the horse suffer any longer. The lack of an advantage from horseback seemed to irritate the mirrored image of Amon. The sound of steel sliding from twin sheaths seemed abnormally loud in the hellish conditions of battle.

Mehrin and Amon had sparred in the past, and a vast majority of their duels had ended in draws. The remainder were split down the middle, with each man winning the same number. The only difference was that Amon never sparred in his armor, and neither man had been out to kill the other. As the two began the dance of death, Mehrin looked at the copy's armor regretfully. That'll make using the whip difficult.

The copy of Amon moved quicker than Mehrin suspected was possible, and was on top of Mehrin before he knew what was happening. Reflex and luck were all that kept him alive as his claymore shifted to catch the two scimitars as they scissored for his neck. The swords had barely contacted before the false Amon attacked again, his ambidextrious assault striking low and high at the same time. They passed through empty air as Mehrin hopped backward. Mehrin's full-armed return swing was enough to knock the blades aside, but they missed any contact with flesh or armor. As the two began to circle again, Mehrin realized that he was going to be at this for a while.

The next attack came from Mehrin, a heavy downward strike that passed through the space where the shadow Amon had been. The copy danced out of the way, and Mehrin felt sharp pain as one of the scimitars bit into his thigh. He only spared a brief look at the cut before renewing his attack. A weaker vertical strike found itself caught between both of the specter's blades. As planned. Stepping forward quickly, Mehrin shoved the handle of the claymore forward, hitting the copy's armor with enough force to dent it. Staggered by the blow, the copy took a step back... and caught a kick on the breastplate. The air left its lungs in a rush, and Mehrin whirled back for the killing blow. He struck only air again, and barely had time to shift his grip to the blade in order to catch the return strikes on the handle of his claymore. A quick shift in the angle and focus of its attack, and the copy sent Mehrin's claymore flying. It knifed into the ground several yards away.

A glimmer of triumph shone in the otherwise dead eyes of Amon's antithesis. A look that was replaced by its typical deadpan stare as Mehrin's bullwhip curled around its left wrist. A quick pull, and Mehrin's knife slid along the inside of the copy's wrist. With the tendons severed, the thing's scimitar fell from its useless hand. Mehrin quickly disengaged and danced out of sword range, his bullwhip in constant motion. I wonder how good Amon is with only one weapon...

Mehrin's answer came soon enough when the thing launched a string of rapid attacks that kept Mehrin dodging out of range, all precise and deadly. Oh. The thing attacked again, only to be cut short by the crack of a whip and a sudden cut across the face. Try as he might, though, Mehrin could not catch onto the copy's right hand. It would either knock the whip aside or slip out before it caught. One of these failed attempts led to a series of cuts across Mehrin's chest and shoulders. Light, this thing's fast! It was time to shift tactics again. Suddenly dropping the whip and knife, Mehrin threw himself backward, rolling to his feet next to his claymore. "Let's get this over with, you Shadow-spawned bastard," Mehrin growled before charging headlong, his weapon making an intricate blur.

Either blood loss was slowing him down, or the copy was quite fast. Strike after strike was deflected within an inch of flesh or armor, but none fell. In the meanwhile, new cuts and punctures began to appear on Mehrin, one even finding its to his left cheek. The glimmer of triumph returned to those dead eyes, only to be replaced with something resembling shock a moment later. The copy deflected a blow that was not as heavy as it expected, and Mehrin shifted the claymore's course, striking the thing's right leg at the knee. As the blade bit into the muscles surrounding the copy's knee, Mehrin's right foot connected with its other knee, resulting in a sickening crunch. The thing didn't seem to want to give up, and even as Mehrin's final blow came from above to bisect the copy, its right arm darted forward, planting its scimitar in Mehrin's belly. Both doppelganger and scimitar disappeared as it fell, but the wound remained.

"Looks like I win..." Mehrin muttered as he dragged himself towards the rear. The battle seemed to be nearing its conclusion, with one of the two Bands winning. A quick self-check told Mehrin that the belly wound wouldn't kill him immediately, that he had some time. Good. I would hate for this fight to turn into another draw! Mehrin thought as he dragged himself towards the forest. Most of the medics would still be nearby, and Mehrin had every intention to live and fight another day.

-Mehrin

Commander and DJ

"I think that its the best plan we can come up with in the limited amount of time we have. If you'll lead the cavalry in, I'll join up with the infantry." Mehrin chuckled grimly before adding, "I'll be damned if I'm sitting this one out. Assemble the troops; we attack in five minutes."

**********

Mehrin looked to all those who would be leading soldiers into the battle. One by one, they gave him a nod or a gesture signifying that their respective divisions were ready. Taking a deep breath, Mehrin looked back to Amon and nodded. All had been informed of the situation. It was now or never.

Mehrin's right hand moved up to eye level and extended straight out- the signal to charge. As one, the true Band of the Red Hand began their forward march, gaining speed as they neared the treeline. By the time the cavalry broke cover, they were at a full gallop, with the infantry running for all they were worth behind. The distance was maybe one hundred yards; the imposters had no time to react before the full force of the cavalry blew into their ranks. Yelling wordlessly, Mehrin dove into the fray, his oversized claymore a blur of death. The battle had begun.

OOC: I'll post my battle tomorrow. Get going, folks, this has to be done on Monday!

Asmodean had always appreciated Elan Morin's thoughts and opinions; the man was the most brilliant philosopher of his Age, and likely any other Age. Even as the entity Osan'gar, the man was still brilliant. At times though, he seemed to be talking down to everybody. You bloody coward! You're only delaying the inevitable. The inevitable. Shaidar Haran.

The only warning that he'd had was the sudden disappearance of saidin, a feat that could only be compared to entering one of the Ogier stedding. Then it had appeared. Being the weakest of the Chosen meant that Asmodean always felt a little fear, but it was nothing compared to the terror that Shaidar Haran had brought. That such a creature could command even the Chosen was... unsettling.

Bringing himself back to the present, Asmodean listened to Bel'al tear into Osan'gar and his plans for the White Tower, and Aginor's defense. A defense that fell upon deaf ears, Asmodean noticed. Despite being a good general, Bel'al couldn't see the genius in the plan. Of course, a general and an athletic man could not be expected to understand all the subtiltiles that a thinker like Osan'gar was capable.

Quietly, Asmodean broke his long silence by saying, "I agree with Aginor. It was a brilliant move. I honestly don't think that your man will succeed against the Tower, but if he is of the so-called Guardians, then there will be no chance of an alliance. But then again, that's the opinion of an artist, not a general." Asmodean had survived the War of Power by playing sides off each other and remaining out of the way. Hopefully, the same strategy would work here.

"Our shadows? Men in the uniform of the Band, I can understand. It's not that I don't trust your judgement, but a fighting force consisting of copies of the Band seems a little far-fetched. Because I have no reason to doubt you, though, we'll proceed as if that's what they are." Despite the last, Mehrin couldn't keep some incredulity from his voice. The thought of fighting mirror images of the Band was ridiculous. Isn't that what you said about fighting Trollocs? an accusing voice said in his mind.

The trip was spent in quiet planning, working out how to fight an enemy that was probably starting to move into the village. As they came closer to the village, the reports became more and more detailed, telling that the enemy was indeed sending in small parties. Most of the group was amassed outside the village in the same formations that the Band used. And the reports spoke of the people in the uniforms. All of them agreed: these people looked exactly like members of the Band that they all knew. One scout even reported seeing a man wearing a black hat and carrying a claymore.

****************

In the brush outside the village, Mehrin, Amon, and the leaders of all the present divisions overlooked the situation. As the gathered people began discussing, Mehrin put a looking glass to his eye, and the group of people below jumped closer. "So, Kedyn and the others were right..." Mehrin snapped the looking glass closed and turned back to the group. "Since we're evenly matched and, from all appearances, fighting an opponent who will know all of our strengths and weaknesses, we're going to need to change our normal battle plans. If my personal copy knows what I know and does what I do, he'll probably hold back about a quarter of his forces until a weakness exposes itself." It was one of Mehrin's preferred tactics. It did have its problems, though.

"He'll also expect a cavalry charge followed by infantry, with the archers whittling away at the flanks and the rear." Another of Mehrin's preferred tactics. "Our first priority needs to be protecting any villagers that are still in there, so any planning must be around that idea. Any suggestions?"

Amon had just left the office, his plans unknown. Mehrin poured himself a few fingers of brandy and picked up the next report on his desk. He had only started reading the report when the door burst open. Mehrin's eyes shifted from the document to the scout Kedyn. The look on his face told Mehrin that he was not going to like what was happening in the least. Before Kedyn could start speaking, Mehrin said, "Don't bother with the extra lip-motion. What is it?"

As Kedyn began his report, Mehrin felt his face fall. There had already been too much death at Emond's Field; what did the Creator have against that little village? Before the man had finished two sentences, Mehrin was out of his chair, buckling the bandolier bearing his claymore over his shoulder, and walking out the door, putting his broad-brimmed hat on as he left. His cloak would only get in the way where he was going.

The Citadel looked like a kicked anthill, with people running about as if the place was burning around them. No one in the Citadel could look at the confusion without seeing the organization to it, though. There was no wasted movement, and the whole process was quite time-efficient. Mehrin waded his way through the bustling soldiers, making his way to the gates, where he was told Amon was waiting... with his bloody horse. If he had thought that doing so would alleviate the inevitable pain that he was about to go through, Mehrin would have thrown something at Amon right there and then. The fact that the other man seemed to be laughing internally at the situation didn't help. With a grimace, Mehrin took the reins to the black steed and swung himself into the saddle. "I guess our restful day has just been blown away like smoke on a breeze Mehrin?"

Despite the situation, Mehrin couldn't help but add, "I'd rather be stabbed through the guts by some bandit than read another paper today, anyway." The levity in his face was gone in an instant as he took in the progress that was being made. Seeing where the scouts were gathering, Mehrin gestured to the nearest one. "Five volunteers. Get to the bloody village and find out the situation. We don't want to run into any nasty surprises." The man nodded and rode back to the group, and before long there were five horses tearing out of the Citadel as if the Dark One were on their heels.

-Mehrin

Commander

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mistress Ata," Mehrin said. It was rare to find anyone who didn't believe that the Band was anything more than a group of thieves naming themselves after a legendary fighting force. As they walked, Ata's Warder finally spoke. It was the first timet hat Mehrin had heard the man speak. How do I even begin to address that question?

"Why do I use the claymore?" Mehrin reached over his shoulder and drew the weapon, grabbing it at the band of leather on the blade. Holding it out, he offered the hilt of the weapon to the Warder. "It was given to me in lieu of payment by a blacksmith in Lugard. The weapon was made for a much larger man, hence the oversized nature of it. As a matter of fact, I had to specially make the scabbard in order to even be able to draw the bloody thing.

"Due to its oversized nature, I've had to alter the normal style. Fighting with it is like using a broadsword, a quarterstaff, and a club all in one. The weight is enough to crush steel plate with a heavy blow, and the edge is well-sharpened. I essentially use the whole thing as a weapon, but you're right. Dealing with more than four at once can be a bit too hairy." Taking the weapon back, he resheathed it, taking off his heavy cloak in the process and stuffing it into his bag.

This action also revealed the bullwhip and heavy-bladed knife on his belt. "I'm surprised that rumors of this didn't reach you about this," Mehrin said lightly, tapping the handle with his right hand. "As dangerous as I can be with the sword, most of the stories say that I'm surgical with a bullwhip. One of the few things that they've actually gotten anywhere near right. I'm also pretty competant in hand-to-hand combat." Mehrin paused for a moment to kick a stone that was in the road and watched it bounce ahead of the trio. "Does that answer your question well enough, master...?"

-Mehrin

Commander and DJ

"You're right, of course. It won't come to arms unless your-" Mehrin's mind had caught up with his mouth, finally bringing with it Ata's last comment. "I am allowed self-defense..." The break in Mehrin's sentence was barely perceptible. "- associate there. A male-female pair, both Tower trained, would be a losing battle, of course, for one such as me."

Mehrin allowed the conversation to drift into silence. The stakes had just been raised. Now he was in with an Aes Sedai and what was quite likely her Warder. A wrong move could see him dead, or it could see the Band dancing to the tune of an Aes Sedai. He would kill himself before he allowed that to occur!

"Am I to assume, then, that your lack of jewelry and his rather plain, dark cloak that your allegiances are to remain unknown?" Like my own. Mehrin's mind began racing again. The woman lacked the agelessness, so she must be newly-raised. There was no other way to explain it. That would put her age around his, unless the Tower had come up with some new way to hide the ageless look.

A sudden thought struck Mehrin. "Rumor has it that the commander of the Band hates to be reminded of his rank."