Heck, I think I'll just try my hand at RPing with Marak again before I commit to anything. After all, the last time I was here, I organized a massive RP, my life fell down around me, and I was forced to abandon it. Hardly my proudest moment.

Ata - still invincibly chugging along. But, yeah. I recently re-read the first few WoT books, and got back into the series once again. Figured I'd swing by, see if there was anything doing in SG.

It's been awhile. What's happened around SG in the past year or so?

Name: Gaston Waldgrave

Username: Myyrth

Division: Shayol Ghul

E-mail: graydon.larson-rolf@marquette.edu <mailto>

Physical Description

Age: Undecided

Height: 6'0''

Weight: 168

Hair: Brown

Notable Features

-lank hair

-long brown beard

-numerous scars

-large facial scar running from ear to side of mouth.

Born/Raised: Godan, Tear

Past: Gaston Waldgrave was born and raised in the city of Godan in the realm of Tear. His father, a middle class merchant, made his fortune shipping grain to cities along the coast of the sea of storms. When the market began to dry up his fathers wealth began to go with it. Unable to support his family, he turned to gambling to try and make back his money. These where not happy years for Gaston, and though his father tried his buisness fell under. Forced to sell their ship and their warehouse for food, the family fell into poverty. Gaston was a bitter and angry child, unable to reconcile with the changes in his family or his status. Once a popular child, he was viewed as a pauper and a vagrant. Finally after a long year of hardship and poverty Gaston ran away. Angry at his parents for their failure, he joined the Navy.

Gaston was used to the water, having spent much of his young life sailing the sea of storms with his father. Thus it was a natural choice for him return to the sea. His tour in the navy was short though, the discipline of military life chafed and he soon deserted. After jumping ship on one of the southern islands of the Sea of Storms he hooked up with a crew of smugglers running brandy and liquor into Illian. For a while it seemed as though he had found his niche in life, a life of freedom.

The Illian Navy changed things for Gaston; his once carefree life on the seas was shattered. Cornered by a battleship while returning to their home port in Illian they attempted to run. A well placed catapult burned down their sails and left them helpless in the water. Gaston's captain was a stubborn and violent man, when the marines boarded the small skiff, his crew paid a price in blood. Gaston fought with the rest of his crew, but when the opportunity presented itself he threw himself overboard. He preferred to gamble on the familiar embrace of the sea than rely on the mercy of an Illian executioners axe. Tossed for what seemed like a full-turning of the wheel, Gaston was suspended in the black abyss. Unable to breath, unable to see he was cut off from everything except the slithering creatures of the sea. In the depths he cried out to the light, screaming to a deaf creator. When all seemed lost the black of the deep answered his drowned out pleas. For a moment Gaston thought he was dead, drowned he believed Shai'tan had come to claim him for an ill spent life. He begged and pleaded, promised anything for the chance to see the sky once more, pledging his soul to the dark a thousand times over for one more chance at life. Something heard him.

When he once again gained consciousness, he found himself in a run down ward in the slums of Illian. The wise woman of the small and poor community dealt with him warily, telling him little of what had taken place to lead him to these circumstances. From the bits and pieces he could pull from her and the suspicious eyed residents of the small flat he had been found in the marshes south of the city. At first he had been thought dead, but one of the fishermen had perhaps noticed an eye flicker or heard a slight moan of pain. He was brought to the wise woman of the community and cared for. In fits of delirium he ranted about a great black creature that had carried up out of the depths, a monolithic beast of the depths. All the wise woman had been able to get out of him before sleep truly claimed him was "orbs of fire.."

When Gaston had recovered, he was no longer a young man without a care in the world but an embittered angry youth. Despite his traumatic near death experience he was drawn to the sea. Yet where once he had looked to the horizon and the shining surf he now looked down, to the depths. The great abyss drew him with a morbid fascination, Gaston was a changed man. He murdered a man in Tear for his first ship, bribing the crew with stolen jewels and the promise of plunder. Back on the sea, he turned from smuggling to piracy seeing much money to be made in the increasing tensions between Illian and Tear. He hired himself out as a privateer numerous times, never keeping with one contract for long. Gaston was driven by a need, a deep and ravenous desire for life and the life of others. He fed numerous friends and enemies to the black abyss. Gaston Waldgrave, pirate, murderer strove to carve a name for him self in blood and fire.

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

Note that Gaston doesn't identify himself as a Darkfriend at the moment, and he will meet other DFs in up-and-coming RPs.

So, Myrrth, I think I have a Windfinder DF apprentice, although I haven't looked at her for ages..

Well.. yeah. I've been able to snatch a few DM hours here and there throughout the past term, but I don't doubt we've all noticed that they.. haven't really been that many.

Then again, the last term has been a whirl of assignments, exams, and work, leaving me exhausted and not really 'up to it', for the whole eleven weeks.

But no more! I'm moving house. I now have the internet in my room. I get approximately another hour in the day, due to reduced travel time.

We've finished our work for the year.

You know what this all adds up to?

RPING TIME

So yeah. Anything I've discontinued, I'll be ready to continue. RPs, approvals, helping Ata and Rand getting SG back into top gear.. we're pumped, and ready to go!

I'll be moving in tomorrow, and probably the day after (just cleaning up the new house, and all), but after that, I can guarantee a stream of constant RPing, CCing, and activity from my direction. So.. gotta pick up that BT RP..

*grins*

Marak - Dreadlord

Wow.. It's been some time. It feels good not to have any assignments or exams. ^_^

In commemoration of that, in addition to the fact that I like the bio, (although I have a question about the black-cloaked man, is he a PC within DM right now, or just an NPC made up for the purpose of story?), this be CCed! YAR! SG be on the rise, laddies!

More men were walking into the room. Marak barely noticed them as pain seared across his face. Physical pain was something he was unused to. Emotional pain, yes. Mental pain, and even touches of insanity were bearable.

However, the sheer pain of fire on skin, blistering as it touched, was something he was unused to bearing. He had disliked being hurt, since ever he could remember, and no love of it, indeed, he was somewhat scared of pain.

Rather than let the torture continue, he spoke up, contempt ringing through his tones. "My name is Marak.". He fell silent again. He hurt. Crying, or breaking was not something he could do, would do, he had cried out the last of his tears some time ago.

He waited then, the contempt showing clearly through the clenching of teeth, and pain, as he stayed silent. After all, any torture would be repaid tenfold, he thought, any pain, any scars he received here, he would be certain to repay, every chance he got..

Aginor laughed maliciously. "Lost?! Oh, you pitiful little fool. I have not lost. I have failed to get what I want. Do you honestly believe you are important?!".

He laughed again, in sheer spite. The fool thought that he played a large part in the scheme of things, in truth, he would take his newly-found servants, and leave this.. 'tower'. Upon the Day of Return, the pitiful lightfools would be slaughtered entirely, and those who could not channel enslaved. A minor misstep here, however, could make him weaker among the Chosen.

He spoke again. "You are scarcely worth a minute of my time. Let me tell you something. The world is failing. The Shadow has begun the destruction of the borderlands, the Great Lord awakes. What I do here means nothing, nothing to the inevitable victory of the Shadow. This is merely a.. personal pursuit, an interest, if you will, to occupy myself before the Shadow swallows the world."

He almost left. It was time to gather the ten or so men Marak had gathered, and take them to the Blight. He had not truly expected to conquer the Black Tower, although he had hoped. However, ten new servants, bent to his will, was worth this effort. He did not rule a nation, like the other Chosen, and every loyal servant was a step closer to being Nae'blis.

However, he had a parting.. gift, for the foolish channeler. It was a shield. It was something he'd never tried before, knotting a shield. But this was not a simply knotted shield, which could be done easily. This was elaborately tied off, knotted again, wrapped around itself.. as he walked away, the weave intensified, and, he'd be surprised if the man could break it at all alone, and it'd take him some time, even with help.

He smiled. One more thing. Compulsion. An elaborate weave settled inside the room, on Drenn, like a carpet woven entirely by hand, a few weaves out of place, but still complex, and beautiful. The man would deliriously worship him. No, not him. He made a few subtle changes, hopefully producing the result he wanted. He would see the Myrddraal as a wonderful master, who he wished to serve. Naturally, the man would be too incoherent to answer any but the most basic questions, but, from what he had seen, the self-loathing it would evoke in the man was worth it..

He smiled as he walked away, his pearly white teeth showing as he did so. He was prepared for anything - any attack, any betrayal. In a few minutes, he would drop the Compulsion weave - it amused him to torture the man's mind, especially such an insolent fool's mind..

Now, keep in mind that there's been a few RPs out there that have been planned (I believe Dash was in one of them), that simply never got past that stage.

If you want to come and post an RP outline here, (assuming you want SG members in your RP), whether it be a reclamation effort of Kandor, or your character being turned to the Dark Side of the Force, (I mean the dark side of the channely-ness thing) try and plot it out here, whilst you're still planning it out, to gauge interest, and find out who wants to be in it, and see if you can build a better RP to get approved.

So, in any case, if you're interested in RPing with SG, but you don't have a outline worked out yet, and want to see who might be in it, just post here, and we'll round up some members to RP!

Well, it's not a Mary-Sue, and she's certainly got enough oddness to make her a spiritual brother of SG! Er, spritual sister. One of those characters that doesn't appeared to be defined by their love of something..

Cmon, people!

I know it's been a bit down right now, what with Mat having her baby (Osan's going to be a daddy as well!I mean, a parent. 'cause Mat's not a daddy. I think.), Rand away overseas again (He gets to go for work, meeting exotic women, exotic men, exotic Trollocs.. I'll stop there), myself having the annoying time of being made to think carefully about what I'm picking for next year.. the list goes on and on!

However, we're all busy, but I think it's time to inject a little adrenaline into SG. So, I've got a temporary gameplan. Well, not much of one, but hopefully it'll help us up on our feet again.

But,for now, let's just get posting in our forum, and spewing out that delightful SG randomity that all but defines us!

Let me start.

TROLLOCS ARE TRYING TO DO HORRIBLE THINGS TO RAND AND HIS LOYAL ENTOURAGE OF MUTANT TOAST MAGICIANS!

...AAAAND SG swoops in for a CC!

CCed by SG, I must admit,I like it.

OOC: Letting Nostros torture Drenn means that you don't need to wait on anyone else, gives you complete creative control. Plus, I feel Nostros would have a grudge against someone wearing one of his cloaks..

"Ah, Fade. What absolute and utter perfect timing. Tell me, would you like to take care of this.. guardian for me?"

Aginor didn't really have time to continue torturing the man. He didn't really see the point in it, either. It was a means to an end, he didn't take the pleasure that Semirhage, or most of the other Chosen took in their torture of others.

The man was obviously not going to tell him what he needed, and probably didn't know, to boot. Aginor reached out to the True Source, and filled himself, head-to-toe full of saidin. He would be like a beacon to any Asha'man, but, at this time, he didn't care.

He settled new weaves of Air on the hapless man, tying him down securely. Without moving, he spoke. "I will give one last chance. Look at it this way. You tell me what you know, and I'll just knot my web, and leave you somewhere quiet. If you continue to refuse me.. You will be among the foremost of my servants."

Aginor cursed internally. If he had any Talent with Compulsion, this would be much, much easier. As it was, the best he could do was make the man deliriously obedient, but, if he used that much Compulsion on the man, he'd be too incoherent with joy to answer any questions.

He was ill-suited to the task, but he doubted if any Fade could not outdo him in the art of torture. After all, they delighted in it, and, as he well knew, you were generally good at what you liked.

"Oh, yes. I'll give you a few seconds to answer me. After that, I'll turn you over to the tender ministrations of my gentle friend here."

Aginor smiled. It was something that did not evoke fear by itself, like a Myrddraal's smile, or better described as a grim, humourless stretching of the lips, did. It was something that looked perfectly harmless, like a somewhat gentle old man, smiling almost grandfatherly at the man.

It was made all the more frightening by the fact the gentle old man was wielding enough saidin to level a town, and was spattered with the occasional dot of blood, his somewhat wrinkled hands pressed together, not in eagerness, or in nervousness, but almost as if he was praying..

Aginor, of course, did not intend to give that impression. However, he was a scientist, not an actor. There really wasn't much more to do, he knew. Nonetheless, he shivered briefly as he waited, he would not truly call in the effort of thirteen Dreadlords, and thirteen Myrddraal, they had recruited enough new Acolytes here that such a wasteage of effort would simply not be feasible, especially considering the fact it'd risk far more than he stood to gain.

However, he turned, and began purposefully striding to the door. He strode slowly, however, waiting for the man to speak..

OOC: Everyone gets tortured at some time in their life. I call it a character building experience. Of course, I define 'character building', as 'mad urge to destroy world', but, what's the difference, in the end?

IC: Marak looked up the man, and spat. It was a silly defiant gesture, but the pain he might endure now was worth it.

Although he couldn't move, and he was shielded, he tried another small gesture. He pushed against the shield, and was easily rebuffed. The Shadow consume him!, he thought, and kept his silence.

No-one else was there, and he snarled, and spoke. "You want to know something?", in a compliant, suddenly almost 'nice' tone. "Fine". His lips twitched maniacally as he began to spoke, his syrupy tones overtaken occasionally by the tiniest bit of laughter, hiccuping out through his voice.

"Your pitiful little Tower is going to burn. The Shadow will consume it!".

The first sentence, he spoke in the same tone, the second, his voice grew quickly to rage, and malice, his voice raised to a yell as his voice quickly gained in volume and anger.

As the man looked at him, Marak laughed. He had never been tortured before, and nor would he welcome the experience, but let the Shadow take them! The Shadow would take them all, and, when he was rescued, he would exact vengeance for this slight that he had endured.

His body trembled as he stopped shouting, partially out of fear, partially out of anger, and partially out of excitement, as he stood there, not trying to escape, simply waiting, waiting for the man to make his move.

His hair was dirty, and jumbled, his face had a thin layer of dust on it, he was short, and he was hardly intimidating in any form of physical prowess, but.. something about him was frightening. Perhaps it was the madness that stemmed from the Shadow, the hate, and the will to dominate. Or perhaps it was simply the strangeness of his behaviour, acting in ways he never himself expected when particular situations rose up upon him..

68 - Because of my plans to invade Austria, and slaughter the populace down to the last man. Riiiight after Rand moves in.

OOC: Of course! Bring on the Myrddraal! (Of course, we won't turn Drenn to the Shadow, but it's an awesome threat, especially for someone who hates the Shadow)

IC: Aginor's face was marred by a sudden expression of sheer hatred, his face twisted into monstrous rage. After a moment, however, the remembered blow to his pride was quickly overtaken by his self-control.

"Hmph. Pitiable. With training, you would've risen high in the Shadow. It matters not, however."

Another weave of Fire, Aginor's face impassive all the while. He had never been the best at torture, but, after all, his speciality was to make new creatures. And to create anew, you must know of the old. And he knew human physiology very well, perhaps the best of his Age.

He felt a jerk at his shield. Strange. Someone had the power to resist him, if only by a tiny bit. He wove again, the strands of water streaming together to douse the man's body in cool water. It was simply to constrast the pain, heat would seem far more devastating on a cold man than on a hot one.

Aginor allowed himself to stop talking, and let a little chuckle escape his lips, before rubbing his hands together in glee.

He didn't intend to take the time to actually carry out such a turning, but the threat had frightened hardened men and women in his Age, frightened them more than Semirhage's delights, or Sammael's hordes, or Graendal's Compulsion. To be turned to willingly serve the Shadow, to be twisted to serve the Shadow, was the greatest fear any of the true brave, he had found. Everyone had a weakness, and some were pitifully easy to find..

He ceased moving his hands, and spoke, intoning each word slowly so that the man he was torturing would manage to hear every single word.

"Tell me. Thirteen Myrddraal, and thirteen Dreadlords. Have you listened well to your bards, Asha'man? Their tales are truer than you might know.."

- - - - - - - - - -

OOC Note: Could the people who are now around Marak please.. well.. do something? It'll be a bit anticlimatic if I torture Drenn, he gets rescued, and Marak wanders out of the Black Towers because no-one's there to interrogate him.

OOC: Ah, ok. I was just a bit confused. And then busy. And then.. Well, I'm definitely posting now! I've still got writer's.. well, somewhere near block, but I figure the best way to break it is to try and write!

Marak ran, and felt a shield slam onto him. He reached for saidin, but it was gone. Whips of Air went 'round his legs, and gagged him. He struggled, but it appeared the person who had captured him...

Had done a good job. He couldn't move, nor could he shout out. He kept struggling, vainly, it seemed, as he was dragged along the ground, his heels bouncing on rocks, and..

A door opened. A man stood inside. Marak had seen the man once, he knew who he was. The leader of the Black Tower. If he could've whimpered, he would've.. Aginor wasn't going to be happy about this.

He struggled against his bonds desperately, squirming and trying to release himself. There was still a chance. If he could get away, he could tell Aginor. Surely the Chosen wouldn't kill him... He froze. He suddenly heard ghostly words echoing at him from a few minutes away.. "Fail this, and I may give you over to Semirhage so she may entertain herself"

Marak stopped moving, and shivered. Hopefully that was just a threat, after all, not even the Chosen could afford to waste Dreadlords like that..

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

OOC: Drenn, could you just reply to the torture?

Aginor snarled. "A boy. He'll be the next to die. Now, tell me what you know. I'll give you an option. I could quite easily turn you over to Semirhage, and let her have her gentle way with you. Or you could tell me what you know now. Make the choise."

He stopped speaking, and decided to do something Semirhage had known as well. He had only ever used it for experimental purposes however, so he wasn't sure just how to tweak it. In fact, he had only ever used it to breed pain resistance in his Trolloc hordes.

He wove quickly, and strands of the power floated into Drenn's mind. He couldn't modulate it, but it would cause a brief moment of extreme pain. He looked into the man's eyes as he did so, waiting for the man to speak..

57. Because Rand writes good poetry... LIKE A SQUIRREL!

Yar, my haiku be

completed in RP form

Go back to your homes

Hurrah! More Dreadlords for me to play wit-.. I mean, make friends with!

Come one, come all, let me revitalise your bio with the livegiving fluid.. or at least electronic bits of SG!

OOC: Well, I'm confused right now. I'm trying to figure out exactly what's happened, but can't seem to get my head around it. If someone could just recap what happened after Kalthandrix's post, I'd be mightily obliged. (Note to self: Next OOC post will result in self-whackin')

OOC: For those of us who do not know the delightful form of poetry known as haiku, let me introduce you to it. :D. By the by, this isn't Marak, it's a random Dreadlord.

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

A journey begins

To the Ranch it brings me, now

A respite beckons

I walk in, and look!

Grey mist smothers the whole Ranch,

and I am dismayed.

Screams sound throughout

the grey mist of death, swirling

as if to catch me

It pounces, fire shoots

from my hands, burning the mist

as my heart nigh-stops

I grow grim, and halt.

The mist recedes, I live!

Fire tears once more

The red-hot glow burns

the death-mist as it flees

from my new-found wrath

Fire springs from my hand

As soft death strikes from behind

I fall, and cry out

Fire quenched, I fall

Feeling life's vibrancy ebb

My spirit shatters

There is nothing left

My life taken by revenge

I sink into death...

There is quietness

Naught but silence and despair

The Great Lord calls me...

--Character Name: Angelica Rahjal

--User Name: Angelica Rahjal

--Email address: angelica_catpaws@yahoo.com

--Division: Shayol Ghul ~ Dread Lady

--Physical Description: A Domani woman, who stands 5'10" and weighs 126 lb. her Green eyes always seems to look down her pert nose as if she thinks she is better then most people around her. unless there is a man in the room whom she is trying to get close to, then her eyes are full of warmth and twinkle with hidden promises of pleasure to come. Dark red hair, that flows down to the middle of her back, frames her olive complexioned skin that fits snugly inside a Domani Dress that most people(other then Domani) consider scandalous.

--Place of Birth/Raising: Arad Doman

--Character History: Angelica was born to a well-to-do merchant family only a single days ride east from Bandar Eban. Her family had built its reputation with its trade success between Bandar Eban and Saldaea. Her mother started to train her to take up the family trade at an early age, by teaching her the many ways of seducing men for that trading edge. But not all was happy for this young woman. A rival merchant managed to take up several of her mothers clients and soon the damage to the family coffers forced them into debt and poverty. At age 16 Angelica's parents suffered from a strange illness. her father died only a few weeks after and her mother didn't look like she would last much longer. Angelica cared for her mother and called on the Creator for help. She almost thought she felt something, a glimmer of hope on the edge of her consciousness, but it was only a false hope and she wept openly as she buried her mother in her grave. Standing over the twin mounds of her parents graves she forsook the Creator and cursed his name. She packed up what few belongings she had and left her home, heading west to Bandar Eban. it was there that she was approached by a Darkfriend, albeit not right away. He was watching her for several months, and even "befriended" her before he was satisfied with Angelica's resolve. In the basement of a local Inn she swore her oaths to the Dark Lord. 2 years passed until the spark of the one power manifested it self. she was Seducing one of the merchants from her family's rival that put them in poverty and led to her parents death, when something happened. The man was resiting her urges and was about to turn away from her, ruining her attempt to get close and kill him when a wonderful feeling came over her and the world seemed sharper, but that wasn't all. the man turned around, glazed-eyed as if he was sleep walking and stepped into her arms and into his death. the feeling of triumph washed away the sensation of whatever it was and left her gasping. she longed for that sensation again, she knew she had done something maby she even used the one power. She thought of going to the white tower to see if she could harness that power, Oh the things she could do, with the One Power behind her, but she put the thought aside. If she went to the Tower, they may find out she is a Darkfriend, who knows the power Aes Sedai have, they might be able to do that, so she brings up her revelation to her friends of the Dark, to see if there is anything else she could do.

OOC: Argh! Had this up two nights ago, and my computer went down. I'm just posting this here (damn OOC posts, stop replacing my IC ones!) to let y'all know I probably won't be on for awhile, seeing as my %^%*#%@ computer has had.. let us say severe problems.