I'm around. Doing very little writing these days as I'm working three jobs until uni starts up again, but I'm still lurking about.

Done and done.

Eeeeeee! That's so awesome! GRATZ!!! *bounce*

Oooh, welcome!

Does this mean you are going to join in the RP? ;)

 

*wegwegweg*

I'm still around! I'm actually in a thread, but it kinda died. So I'm waiting for something new to come along.

Also, I'm a bit behind 'cause of uni stuff, so once I've finished my last major paper I'll be right to actually get involved in something. Which should either be today or tomorrow. ;D

No RPs in September.

Yes! Count me in!

I'm fond of the idea of an aspirants party, if we've got a few.

Hmmm... We could always play out another ceremony in the vault, it's been a while since the last one of those. But that'd be more of a solemn RP than a fun one.

Kaylan is decaying as we speak. I refuse to disclose the exact number.

My info is all correct!

Perhaps a master index could be a good idea? I'd be willing to go through and list out (and send you code with links to) all the marked Greens, so that you could have a master index by ajah/rank/etc up the top? There's so many that it'd be too much work for one person to organise, but if a lot of us did just a few people it could be easier.

Kaylan Morin, Sister of the Green (and never anything more, thank you very much)

I've been thinking about picking up an old Red NPC I wrote up years back what with the new rules, but not sure how I'd go about it. The name is Anthea Luin, the bio might be hanging around somewhere...?

The winter air slipping through the cracks around the windows felt no cooler to the Green than a breeze any other time of year, yet it was enough to set her joints aching and make the report that she was trying to write go excruciatingly slowly. Her desk was littered with paper; half-written letters, a book of ciphers, several slim scrolls that had come in from her eyes-and-ears only that morning. A slight gust ruffled the page she was working on, one scroll rolling to the other side of the polished wood tabletop and coming to rest against a sun-bleached skull that was propped up against the wall. She didn't notice. She was more concerned with the flash of pain that the chill had sent through her fingers. But she was too proud to call a novice to stoke the fire, and did not want to heat the room on her own strength.

Old age was a curse, even for one who had managed to avoid its grasp for so much longer than was usual. No, she did not let them see, refused to show any weakness to the children running around the Tower as though it belonged to them. There were only a handful of women in the White Tower now who could remember Kaylan Morin wearing the banded hem, and even fewer who could remember her in white. Those of an age with her were, for the most part, friends; if nothing else she at least counted them as allies. Rivalries had been lost in time (along, she had to admit, with most of her rivals) and now those who were left... Well, they were some of the only women in the land who Kaylan could even consider trusting.

The only others were, of course, her Warders, those companions of long years who bore her ill temper with a stoicism that, frankly, amazed her at times. They may not have known her as long as many of her Sisters, but they knew her infinitely better, and with a smile she gave each of their bonds a fond squeeze, a 'Hello, I'm thinking about you' gesture that was often returned in kind. Their rapport may have been puzzling to others at times, particularly with the 'disrespect' that Mercury often showed (and in front of others, as well, though what they didn't realise was how far she did hold herself back most of the time in public view). But regardless of what others thought, she would not have given any of them up for the world. She had given only one Warder up, of all hers, and she still regretted it every single day. Still loved him as much as she always had, but Kaylan knew her duty.

She was Battle Ajah. She was a living weapon, and had been training as one for centuries. She could not afford love.

There was a tingling sensation as her wards were breached only moments before a knock sounded at her door. Putting the pen down carefully, and stretching out her hands with no regard for the pain the movement caused, Kaylan stood gracefully and embraced the One Power. Beside her, the chair shifted so that it was facing the door, the feet scraping on the floor as it moved.

“Yes?” She called out, taking her seat once more and smoothing green silk over her knees. The white-haired Aes Sedai would have looked regal, sitting like that, if her dress had not been scandalously low cut by every nation's standards. That was one thing that had never changed. Many were used to it by now, used to her eccentrities, but Kaylan still heard the whispers. It was the simplest misdirection. No-one noticed a dagger in your hand if your bosom was spilling out of your dress. “Come in.”

Hey all, just dropping in to say hi and let you all know that Cass is away in Indonesia for a while doing a youth exchange program with the Department of Foreign Affairs. She doesn't have many chances to get online, so there's a good chance that she won't be able to post anything until she gets back to Australia in February.

She just wanted me to let you all know. Thanks all!

~K

"The invitation came from Phaedra and Nyssa, but it was Phaedra who demonstrated the weave." That was enough information for the moment - Kaylan felt no need to volunteer more than that, and Sirayn's question had not covered who had attended from the other Ajahs.

She picked at a loose thread on her skirt, wishing already that she could be excused to go back to her own business. As lovely as it was to be singled out, as much as there might have been a prestige in being the first of the Green Ajah to learn the weave, the old Green would have refused had she known that it would lead her here. She simply wasn't comfortable around the obvious signs of political power, outranked by a pair of women that she'd practically seen as mewling babes, having to speak rather than letting someone speak for her.

Jaydena should have been the one to demonstrate, to speak. It was only proper. But she was the one with the knowledge at this point, Kaylan supposed, so there was very little choice in the matter for her. She could only hope that they would be finished soon. Sirayn had obviously grasped the weave quickly enough - what more would she require from them?

It took effort to keep a flutter of irritation off her face. But that would certainly not be proper, and even she had some sense. Not much, but some. Not to mention that there was no real reason for her irritation, simply the crankiness of an old woman who was used to her routines. What she needed was a nice cup of tea, something shadow-spawned to study, and a Warder at her side.

Though she looked calm as they rode to the meeting place, Adine al'Thoram Torfinn was a knot of tension... and a little excitement. Daishell was close by, looking rather stone-faced and feeling so tense that she thought he might implode at any moment. He was being ridiculous about her security again, one hand on his blade as though he'd be able to do anything if they were riding into an ambush, and her brow furrowed in an almost perfect mirror of his when a whistle sounded.

Now the excitement was gone, replaced with wariness, and she looked around for the source of the sound just in case Owen and John had decided that they weren't so interested in Manetheren after all? She was still wound up tighter than a clock when the white-haired man appeared, but she greeted him smoothly and followed him a short while until they met with John.

She'd been doing her research - as much as possible - over the days she'd been waiting between meetings. Adine had marked out the approximate locations of all the larger cities of Manetheren on her little map, drawn from memory and was hoping that it would give them some clue as to exactly which ruins they had found.

She didn't believe that it was the capital. All of the stories could not have been incorrect, and every one told of the city's destruction brought about by Eldrene's sacrifice. If a detail like that had been forged... Well, suffice to say that it could mean more than just a few old stories being wrong. What if the descendents of Aemon and Eldrene were still living in the area, and didn't even know it? The nation's destruction was a tragic reminder of how one could only be so strong standing alone... If it had not truly fallen the way that the old stories told it, would it still have been such a powerful image?

It galled, curtsying to a woman who she could remember being initiated, and Kaylan thought to herself as her lips brushed over the Amyrlin's ring that there was a damned good reason that she spent most of her time outside the White Tower. Keeping that in mind, the old Green thought it best to leave Jaydena to do the talking, as she was much more politically minded than her once-mentor. Stepping aside a little to show her deference, Kaylan folded her hands in front of her and waited for Jaydena to explain. Light, why was she even here? It wasn't as though she was needed.

"We are some to bother you Mother, we know you must be very busy but we have some important news to tell you. Since Kaylan Sedai had a part in it I will allow her to speak for the Green Ajah."

That set her to blinking, as though it had been unexpected, although Kaylan hadn't really given Jaydena much of a chance to practice so it did stand to reason that she'd be adopting the position of teacher once more. She'd taught both of these women in the past, and now it felt strange to be even contemplating it again, being the lowest ranked of the lot of them. Well, their rearranged status within the Tower was no reason to be shy, so Kaylan simply shrugged - the tiniest movement of shoulders - and nodded.

"My apologies if you have already been informed of this, Mother. The Gray Ajah invited me to tea, where they demonstrated something rather spectacular."

Without so much as a 'by-your-leave', the white-haired Green embraced the Source, weaving together Spirit and Air and Earth until a portal opened into blackness, green and white tiles this time holding three seats, for the three of them to travel. With a thought, she let the portal close, not presuming that she could take the Amyrlin even so far as Rashima's Garden without at least thirty other people knowing about it. Unless Sirayn commanded it, of course - none of it meant much to her. Politics and power. Kaylan wanted none of it.

"They're calling it skimming, Sirayn. Not half an hour before we came to see you, Jaydena and I were standing at the edges of the Blight." The Three Oaths marked her words true, and the Weave that she'd demonstrated - and would be happy to demonstrate again - testified further, if there was any doubt about her loyalties.

She wasn't frowning because she was wondering who Corik was - she was frowning because he was calling her 'Commander', and the way that he had his shoulder on Arala's shoulder, he was looking like a lover. Analie didn't particularly want to think that the woman had gotten herself one of those.

"A squirrel." Her tone was flat, though the Child's eyes flashed with anger. Arala needed to be tending to her duties as a Child of the Light, not some bloody forest-rat.

"A squirrel." The repetition was in that same flat tone, as though she had let herself think it over for a moment and still couldn't believe it. The once-noblewoman's distaste for Arala's hijinx was obvious on her face as her gaze swept from the woman to the young man they'd asked to accompany them, then back down again. Why had they asked him again? Because he had proved himself in Tar Valon, and could very well be a useful member of the der'Algai d'ma Rahien. But judging from the group of them sitting around the table, the standards had been slipping of late, anyway.

"Yes, I'm sure that Arala needs to tend to her pets." Piercing green eyes shot back up to Corik's, one slim red eyebrow raising just a fraction. It could have been amusement, it could have been questioning, or it could have been her daring him to start an argument.

Whatever it was, he'd never know, because Analie immediately swept out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

[OOC: And, that looks like a good spot for that one to finish. So, next round then, Estel? Want to bring the Blue Sisters into it?]

Character Name: Lijah Opeth

Age: 26

Division: Seanchan

Subdivision: Civilian: Voice to the Lady

Height: 5'6

Hair: Gold, grown long

Eyes: Grey

Character history:

You know how funny it is when you pretend to understand something…

He was more than a Voice.

…while belittling other people's problems, not caring, and they'd hate you for showing it?

He worked on the move with grace and remained elusive, as the hunter pursued his prey with the absolute relentless confidence of his own abilities.

Once you cared so desperately to now cut yourself off to wallow in the pity as the world turns apathetically.

With every fibre of his body he stared at the ground as if his very existence depended on it.

You feel bored with the people you're with, getting drunker and drunker by inches as you crawled toward your bed, pouring out the intoxicated world.

He was listening half-heartedly, yet close enough with a mind to memorize and recite the whole song in high chant if need be. Two characteristics, when separated proved to be virtuous, when together, hideous. Righteousness, and Efficiency… he was not asked to interpret the law, or take pity when he was becoming the listener, but to be a Listener, he must find the truth. The truth was paramount, the truth his friend. He takes no sweetheart, for his Truth is his devotee. If he erred, he would have placed himself on the rack.

O Anita, my child, why'd you go? Now the sun has ducked away in fear of my desolation, as the clouds rush in taking advantage, growing to fill my mind with a fog, Haze in my eyes once clear with desire is stormy with lust as I struggle to live, living myself to die, killing myself to live, and ultimately loving myself to death.

Forget about your daughter, they said to him. He willed himself away to Court, and even as he became a lesser man, length of his belt stretched greater as he indulged in the pains of others, people who come to him with preconceived notions come to him doubting and left behind a condemned wreck. They had rushed into his cynicism, and even as they splintered against the wall, their barbs dug in. They hurt.

Alqam was where it all began. Wearily he moved through crowds with this leaden smile, until one day he saw beauty in a cup. The sight of these half moons under his was startlingly intimate. I have sensitive eyes, he insisted, and they laughed into ripples.

The loneliness seeps in, the constant beast as words came, unbidden, forbidden. He spent his life pursuing dangerous ideas and practices, to protect the children from the monsters within.

Some could never fight the silence. Lijah Opeth made ready in the quiet. The pale dress gown was exchanged for a simple robe of grey, matching the washed out look of his face. He swiftly but surely fastened his mass of golden hair into an elegant tail with seven decorative beads strung through the braid. The wood of his jewelry was rich and warm, and it pleased him that he had carved the middle one, of a raven, himself. The craftsman in Alqam who had produced the others was highly skilled and his work reflected that excellence of quality.

Flecked eyes, hooded with kohl and speculation, surveyed the world outside, where the Return would take place. The image of the map remained in his mind. He studied thoroughly the first time, but repetition was never a waste because once could be better prepared. Checking his vials of poisons he procured that were secured into the folds in the voluptuous robe, he smiled into the looking glass at the impression. The blush delineated the protruding angle of his cheekbones, and he appeared the very projection of a well-groomed woman with shining hair. He glided from stillness to motion.

Nobody kneeled in the busy Market Square when he walked in the gate. The last thing he looked like was a dreaded Listener. His average height and youth did not wake suspicions that he was not what he seemed, which was a mix of contrasts. For the time being, he was a lass in her twenties known by the name of Kisha. Kisha's golden hair was loose about her narrow shoulders. Her curls dazzled in the sunlight and her grey eyes sparkled, naturally filled with excitement. Her face was composed and slightly drawn, as if she was worried about the possible dangers for a young woman to go unescorted. She was not wearing her customary leather boots but she glided silently and smoothly in the silver inlaid slippers. Her feet were small enough to fit comfortably in the soft slippers of a girl's. Her chin was lifted haughtily, but her gaze trained on the ground as if she had been conditioned to a demur upbringing. Why should the Hawkers crying to sell their amazing wares and baubles be intimidated by this vision before them, the lovely but thin peasant girl?

The long shabby skirts swished and a heavily patched cloak covered the woman, suggesting she was so poor that she could not bear to part with her possession even when she had to endure the heat of the summers. Poverty was all too common a sight in these hard days of preparing for war. Her slender hands were kept protectively on her sturdy pouch, which hung on a snug belt that hugged her slim waist. Her back was ramrod straight but she swayed irritably as the wind blew strands of her hair ribbons to tatters and ran past the Roseland tavern she always frequented as if on an errand, kicking up the dust and spreading her feet awkwardly. Suddenly she stopped in front of an Apothecary and bowed her head, permitting the earliest patrol of evening's guards to run past her, their feet drummed a furious tattoo on the drought-toughened ground.

She lifted her layered petticoats prudently to stride after the Apothecary servant, making sure to pant a little at the quick pace he set. The owner - an old man - was chuckling lewdly as he leered, "There was a woman here this morning, I remembered her particularly because she was bundled in a cloak much like yours. Her voice was considerably deeper though, almost as if she was a man. But she was really pretty like you. Just between you and me, it's always the beautiful vixens a man should be on his guard about." With a wink, the man rambled on. "Though she bought a vial more lethal than that stomach ailment you selected." Kisha widened her already large eyes, blinking lengthy lashes at the mirthful speaker. Her full lips trembled as if struck with terror.

"Ah yes?" Her drawl was in a high giggly pitch. Her long slender fingers, with the fingernails clipped short though, clutched the colourful hand-woven basket tighter until her knuckles were white. Kisha's feigned nonchalance evoked another self-satisfied chuckle from the storeowner.

"Ah yes." The man brought out a transparent liquid and smirked as he repeated. "Whoever the woman gave this costly tonic to would not be suffering from a merely tummy ache, he'd be past these … mortal concerns."

The frightened expression, perfected many hours in front of the looking glass, that Kisha promptly sported would not have led the owner to expect her to be armed to the teeth with tiny razor sharp blades that could instantaneously kill, or worse, paralyse a man if placed in the right segment of the spine. At this range of closeness, Kisha could hardly miss. She did not need the vials of night-bane that was secreted about her person. Kisha had already pilfered from the palace stores what it had to offer in forms of quick acting poisons, and had covered up the gradual theft so that even a daily inventory would miss the lethal amounts she secreted about her. But she did not kill the man. He did not need to die. Kisha always remained contemptuous of how co-workers wasted their resources by ending the lives of the informers. It was true that a dead informer will not tell another soul, but an ignorant one was blessed with the possibility of gaining more knowledge and giving the precious morsels away freely, if the Listener knew how to sift through the plethora of information to the truth. Besides, the very aim was in being unobtrusive.

Kisha, or so Lijah let himself to be, was prepared and armed to her teeth, with a sword and throwing knives. The lass had thick pettyskirts on, which was no uncommon for pretty girls to dress up prudent and avoid attention, and so attract more, which was what the Listener hoped for, he who stays more in sight is less noticed. Or she, he thought with an innate chuckle as he walked through the streets, still one large step ahead of the rest. Most Listeners were a rabble-some bunch when no instructions came from the top. He understood how to wait in the silence and listen to the unspoken in order to gather his evidence.

As a woman the Listener did not raise any questions and significantly lowered other peoples' guard, as they perceived the Seekers being a predominantly male society, which it was. Also dressing up as a woman meant that the Listener did not have to resort to torturing for information like the Seekers do. He did not approve of torture. Not that the man had any moral objections to subjecting the person to hot irons or starred nails. If the prisoners are placed in the Tower of Ravens, then most often it is apparent that they deserved the incarceration. The reason of enforcing stability justified any methods of extracting the truth. Yet prisoners often would make up lies if they were under the duress of pain. No, torture just was not effective enough. He was capable to create such a network of information alone because he made the people want to please him, and it was usually his wanderings around the locals, the lower more common rabble which gave insight into his truths. Part of his training had been causing and enduring pain both as a torturer and victim, but he usually avoided the extremes unless it was absolutely necessary. Often it was better to utilise more productive methods.

In his work he was allowed to conceal his Voice identity and today he foiled and twarted the suspicions set on him, the notorious tattle, tricking them by ingenious creativity and great deal of audacity. His golden lush hair had been pulled into a tail and his sparkling eyes complimented by the lovely robes of a female. Lijah looked all of a few summers and a lass at that, though if the men in the crowd busy admiring his enhanced figure had studied his grey eyes more carefully, he would have chilled their heated blood. But none had expected the improbable, so no one looked.

She paid for the concoction, throwing a penny on the table and rushing out in her eagerness to vacate the unpleasant and scandalised remarks, which caused such a horrifying effect in her countenance that she staggered out into the daylight, unsteady as if thoroughly drunk.

Lijah assessed the situation he gained as he climbed a garden wall to gain entry to his private cupboard through the Lady's chambers.

As a Voice himself he was indignant that a fellow Voice had been the assassin. It felt like a slap in the face. Yet what would be a political reason for this Voice's betrayal of the family? Whoever hired the Voice to kill this member had chosen either an amateur or an idiot for a pawn. It was not even cleverly executed, this poisoning. If Lijah was assassinating a personage of the Blood, he would at least attempted to cover his tracks, perhaps find an alibi or at least a decoy. Light! The Voice did not even bother to disguise her voice very well. But he supposed that in his time, he had been acquainted with and unfortunately had to work with people who are the intellectual inferiors of grolms. He was a Listener, and though he operated alone, in the name of Justice he must collaborate with the Seekers. However, he would not have his identity known even to them. There would be no question of his loyalty to the Lady. He dressed opulently to distract, though anybody who saw him would have thought him a mouthpiece. As he changed to leather boots and a handsome green velvet jacket with lacy sleeves, he reminded himself that he should cast away his woman guise soon for another disguise, since sooner or later the others would catch on to what he was doing, though she was useful to him in many ways and one of the many reasons why he was the most capable at what he did, which was to root out the truth for others to carry out justice.

As for himself he would never betray the Lady. Ah, but will you? The Voice wondered.

He learned to love the Lady even as he feared himself. That he aimed to please was terrifying.

"I do not want to be absorbed by you."

"I won't let you be." Came the reply.

He startled from the waking dream. The sun lit the tops of the trees, and as he fell into the prevalent embrace of the ones he loved to hate he could see though the entire world was finally afire, he was still cold.

Name: Ahtuk

Age: 35

Email: Belalshallshatterthewitchtower@gmail.com

Division: Seanchan

Subdivision: Warriors

Physical Description: Ahtuk's skin is a weathered tan, his black hair secured tightly by ligatures. His eyes nondescript brown; his jawline square and firm; his nose flat and his teeth filed and pointed. He stands at six feet, roughly, with a broad and powerful build. His body is also covered with a mass of battle scars, tribal markings and the same double dao tattoo facing downward tattoo on the back of his right shoulder that adorns his rescuer, mentor and friend, Jia Mingzhu.

Origin: A tribesman from the Kaensada Hills in Seanchan

History:

Ahtuk was born the son of a powerful barbarian chieftain Border raids, skirmishes and war were daily affairs, part of the life of a warrior. At a young age men picked up their weapons for the first time, even though they were barely old enough to walk. It was a simple life, the warriors hunted and battled, the children dreamed of blood, battle, and glory; waiting for their ascent to manhood, so they too could carve a name for themselves in the burial places of their ancestors.

Ahtuk was a typical Chieftain's son. Brave. Strong. Taught the rigours of command and leadership in preparation for the day he would make his bid to succeed his father. As soon as he was able, he followed his tribe into battle with customary ferocity and intent.

Life would have continued by the kill or kill ethos, had he not slipped down a ravine while hunting. When he regained consciousness night had fallen. He was dizzy and disorientated, and the darkness, combined with his befuddlement, rendered him unable to make his way back to his village, and so he wandered aimlessly until morning: only to be set upon then by a group of optimistic brigands bent on ransoming him back to his father.

He fought savagely, but their numbers, and their strange confusing fighting style rendered his ferocity useless, and after a few nasty cuts and bruises, he found himself securely bound and gagged. After a several hour journey lying over the rump of a horse, and then a brief scuffle as an Imperial patrol met up with the brigands and questioned them most heartily as to why he was tied up, and just where they were taking him, he found himself rescued. The leader responsible for his rescue was Senior File Leader Jia Mingzhu.

After such an embarrassing defeat at the hands of the brigands, and his rescue by the hands of the Imperials, Ashtuk felt compelled to honour his debt to this army and join their ranks. It seemed like a simple enough decision. He went home to relate to his father his defeat, and his discovery of this superior fighting technique. With consent he joined.

His age marked twenty-two summers when he became a raw recruit. Barbarian blood lust coursed through his veins, thoughts, and decisions and as such his progress in this foreign and strict army was slow. Too slow. He was assigned to the banner of the same woman who had rescued him, Jia Mingzhu, and It took him three times as long to learn and retain his lessons. This shamed and galled him, further restraining his progression. With the aid of his Banner Captain, he eventually learned to open his mind to strategy and calculation. It was difficult.

The disappearance of Jia Mingzhu struck him hard. Struck them all hard. No one seemed to know where she went. She had simply vanished. Soon to be followed by Lilune Zarvayas, another member of Jia's company. He had known them for only a small time, but that small time had been fraught with battle and glory, the two things that made life worth living. He searched for them as much as he could, but his low rank was not sufficient to recieve answers. Finally accepting, Ahtuk had a tattoo of remembrance placed upon the back of his right shoulder. His heart told him that their disappearances were related, and portentous . . . but he had to be careful, lest he also 'disappear.'

After ten years of grueling struggle and perseverance he was finally promoted to the rank of banner man. He wished he could have celebrated his promotion with Jia, and during his promotion ceremony he felt her absence keenly. All he could do was toast her in solitude. Eventually the daily duties of his new appointment quashed his feeling of loss. Though Ahtuk wears the Imperial Seal upon his uniform, his animal nature lurks barely checked beneath the surface. Frightening and unpredictable he carries the respect of his men . . . and a measure of their fear.

Character Name: Lilune Zarvayas

Age : 28

Email address : Hingstman@gmail.com

Division : Seanchan

Subdivision : Seekers for Truth

Physical Description : At 5'8" Lilune doesn't stand out in a crowd. She has an athletic build, but that isn't a strange thing in Seandar either. Her black hair is cut short, in the style of a soldier or perhaps a busy merchant. Her face might draw some eyes to it. She has delicate features. Someone ence remarked that she bore a resemblance with a member of the blood, which Lilune mocked that person for. Her eyes are a pale blue that is quite common in Alqam, from which her family originated before moving to Seandar to be near the centre of power. Though most would describe her as at least moderately handsome, none of her features are really remarkable. She blends in well.

Place of Birth/Raising : Lilune was born in Seandar, in a moderately sized house, as close to the imperial home as merchants of her parents rank could get.

Character History : As a child Lilune was always reminded to walk straight, and bow deep when necessary. Her family had moved to Seandar two generations ago, and since that day their wealth had grown. They weren't in the upper echelons yet, but they had good hope that soon one of their children would be accepted as so'jhin. Lilune's mother had those hopes for Lilune. She was a pleasant child to look at. Not too pretty, but certainly not repulsive either. This meant that Lilune's days were filled with a lot of etiquette study. By the time she was ten, Lilune could not only read and write, she also knew at least a dozen ways to bow to a member of the Blood, and a dozen more ways to appear meek while also appearing determined.

Lilune's father spent little time at home, always working to better the position of his family. He traded with the families that traded with the empire. Lilune grew up without her father's strong hand to guide and restrain her. When Lilune turned fourteen, the effects of that started to show. Meekly yet with undeniable determination, she informed her mother that she would join the imperial army, with the aim to become a death watch guard to the imperial family. Before her mother could talk her out of it, she had already packed her bags and enlisted. She was one of the youngest soldier trainees present, but as always, she was determined to succeed.

It was around this time that she set out on the path that determined her future. She befriended another young rising star in the army. Jia Mingzhu became more than just her friend, she was her mentor and acted as an older sibling. Under the wing of Jia Mingzhu, Lilune improved as a soldier. She eyed the death watch guards with envy, wondering when the day would come when she and Jia would bear the raven tattoos as well. That day did come for one of them, but not for the other. One day Jia just… disappeared. Lilune was numbed by the sudden disappearance of her friend, and numbed even more when the high command installed a new senior bannerman in her place, without even the smallest hint about Jia's location.

Determined to find the truth, Lilune set out on a search for her friend. She asked questions where she could, and listened when the asking of questions became to dangerous. What she heard didn't give her much hope. Jia's name had been erased from all records. She had seemingly ceased to exist. That could only mean one thing. Before she could confirm this, Lilune was contacted by a different organisation. Through their listeners, the seekers of the truth had discovered that Lilune had a talent for uncovering the truth, and doing so discretely. Within the next day she was accepted as a seeker trainee. With this new purpose in mind Lilune soon pushed the thoughts of her friend and mentor out of her mind. She had been removed from the records, and for the longest time it seemed as though Lilune had managed to remove her from her heart as well.

Three years later Lilune was promoted to Seeker for the Truth. She had beamed with pride when the ravens and the towers were tattooed on her shoulders. With the marks still fresh and aching on her shoulders, she wandered out onto the streets, carelessly. No one noticed her, save for perhaps a few who noticed how content she looked. Short hair, average height, not overly pretty, but certainly not repulsive either. She blended in with the crowds perfectly.

Ten years later Lilune still fulfils her tasks with pride. She is good at what she does, uncovering the truth, at times with brute force, and at times with a gentle hand. It is rumoured that a promotion is at hand, but Lilune doesn't look that far ahead yet. First things first. The return. Lilune has requested to be allowed to join it, to keep the darkness from the sinful continent at bay.

Name: Jia Mingzhu

Damane Name: Chali

Age: 30

Origin: Shon Kifar, Seanchan

Physical Description: 5’0â€, and 51kg. Dark hair that ends at her jaw and green eyes. Athletic build with broad shoulders, she has a tattoo on the back of her left shoulder of a Golden Hawk with three lightning bolts. On the back of the right shoulder, a pair of dao crossed and slanted downward.

History: Born to a family of tailors, childhood was more work than play, mainly spent learning the use of needle and thread and practicing it from the crack of dawn till after the sun had set. It was a hard living, but it was the only way for her family to continue to survive in Shon Kifar. While she certainly became adept at what she did, for she did little else, she had no love of it. Nor did she look forward to her fate of being married off when she was older, a fate her sister already endured as the wife of an abusive blacksmith.

There were only so many ways one could avoid such a fate. To become the property of another was out of the question, positions that would advance her station were beyond her reach, those that were available to her were far beneath her. Her needlework wasn’t exceptional, she had few other skills beyond a basic capacity to read and write. She did have something though, a strong will and a natural courage that led her along a path that would put these things to good use. Not long after her fifteenth year she left her family for the Imperial army.

For two years she served as an Imperial soldier. At first just a lowly recruit, her zeal and level head led her to rising to the rank of file leader. Soon after acknowledged as senior file leader, she rose to bannerwoman after their previous bannerman and several of his closest companions were arrested by the Seekers of Truth, an arrest in which her file assisted. Shortly after her seventeenth birthday, she was acknowledged senior bannerwoman.

It was not long after she was cornered for testing as a damane, something she had deliberately avoided for fear of being found to be tainted. Her fears were confirmed and in that moment her world was shattered. Stripped of her rank and position, any record of her was expunged from Imperial documents and to her family and those she knew she ceased to exist.

Displaying uncharacteristic resistance to becoming damane, or even accepting that she could channel, brought with it a heavy price. While some damane might have had gentler teachers, hers was not one of them and so incensed with her new damane she went one step further. Robbed of any name, her personality, her will, all these things were broken and driven from her. In its place was simply left a malleable being, a lifelike doll that would do as it ordered with little thought. What glimmer of personality and will remained of her was buried under perfect obedience and submission.

Used in a variety of works, she kept no track of her accomplishments as they are not hers, she was simply a tool for different mistresses to achieve distinction. Passing through several hands, she was eventually purchased by Ikena Adelar. Given the name of Chali, by the time of the Return she has begun to discover a new sense of self, a fledgling thing that could easily be crushed, but it is there nevertheless.

BIO: Ikena

Position: Der’sul’dam

Name: Ikena of House Adelar

Age: 25

Born: Imfaral

Parents: Dorak, a listener and Amara (mother). She has 3 older brothers and a pair of twin sisters who are older as well.

Hair: Black

Eyes: Green

Height: 5’3â€

Build: Petite with very little curve

Appearance and Clothing: Always immaculate and well manicured. Wears her sul’dam clothing when on the job. Off the job she prefers rich colors such as purples and reds.

Background: Ikena was born into a middle level noble house in Imfaral. Her parents had more money than political influence but her mother was constantly plotting to change that. She was very good at meeting the right people and making sure they put in the proper appearances, but it was hard from Imfaral. When Ikena was still young, they moved away from their family home and purchased an estate in Seandar. Ikena was supposed to marry at age 14, an arranged marriage for political gain, but before it could take place her fiancé was killed. There was some question as to who would have killed him, but as the head of a noble house, the political machinations were undoubtedly at work. So at 14 she was free of that. It was at the same time she tested true to the bracelet. Her mother was quite upset that she couldn’t arrange another marriage that would gain them more prestige, but having a daughter as a Sul’dam was another sort of honor and she was happy with that part of it.

Her father was a silent figure in her life, never taking too active a role in her upbringing, but being an imposing figure when things went wrong. He could be affectionate from time to time and Ikena, among her brothers and sisters, felt it more than any other. She was beautiful like her mother, with her father’s sparkling green eyes and a tendency towards seriousness. Most find her easy to talk to though and she seems to make friends easily.

With training to become a Sul’dam she left behind her family and turned her attention to that. She studied hard and learned quickly, putting her determination to work. She was working with the damane when most of the other girls she had tested with were barely figuring out how to work an A’dam.

At 20, her father passes away and though most of his belongings were given to his eldest son (who happened to be the most capable of running their House), a large sum found it’s way to Ikena, the daughter he adored about the others though had never expressed it in life. A letter from him informed her that he had been a Listener and he told her much of his life and why he had been the way he was. The letter is kept as one of her most treasured objects and remains safely on her at all times. She was a sul’dam with little need for anything else in life, so with the money he left her, she bought herself her own damane. She shopped around for quite some time before settling on one. Though damane on the market were few and far between, she wasn’t about to rush in and buy the first she saw. She knew what she wanted to do with herself and she sought a damane that would help her to that end. The preparations for the Return had begun long before and she wanted to be a part of that. She chose a damane with a beautiful face, but with a reputation of being good in the battlefield and with little disciplinary problems. What she found, was an unnamed damane that she deemed had great potential. She named her Chali (Chalinda is ‘sweet girl’ in the old tongue) and they began working on her training.

She gained much respect from her peers and many rewards in her career, but it was after she purchased Chali that she was recognized as one of those that seemed destined for great things. Of these was the title of der’sul’dam at an extremely early age. It seems the gamble to purchase her own damane worked and the close relationship between master and pet showed them both to their best advantage. Chali’s excellent behavior and abilites began to make Ikena an oft requested trainer for new damane and sul’dam.

They were well liked among the others, Ikena even allowing her precious pet to be borrowed when other girls were training to be Sul’dam. She did this only on occasion though and only with young women she particularly liked.

Strengths/Weaknesses: Ikena is very intelligent and quick witted. She had a good mind for teaching and for leading. She can be patient and kind.

She’s sometimes too lenient with her damane. She didn’t have this tendency until she bought her own and now she pampers her a bit too much sometimes. This is only with her damane as with the others she is still very tough.

She’s not good at hiding how she feels about things and she has a bad habit of taking it out on inanimate objects. It’s become a small joke between herself and her eldest brother. From time to time she’ll receive gifts of incredibly ugly pottery or dishware for her to keep close by. When she gets upset she throws or smashes them instead of anything expensive.

Thanks must go to Claire for proving the hosting for us.

Unfortunately, you will have to re-register. But as you can see the boards have been simplified, so hopefully we can actually make use of them. Come do some plotting!

www.domeoftruth.com/forum

~Kaylan

[OOC: Kids do rock. I love you guys. *wipes away a tear*]

Oh, dear Creator, was Arala drunk??? The giggles, the slightly slurred words, the vacant stare... All Analie could do was shake her head and give her fellow der'Algai a look that showed her distaste.

Of course, she might just have been bored. Analie didn't bother to change the look, though.

Their animosity was no secret, and certainly hadn't improved any when Doeshan had made his decision and started to openly court Analie. It was still hard for her sometimes, being alone with a man, but she had always trusted Doeshan and was determined not to let Ethin's madness ruin her life.

Her determination wavered sometimes, though. She could only be glad that Arala did not know of it - the woman would gloat and prance about as if she'd won a prize had she known the more intimate details of Analie's relationship with the Drillmaster.

"I do not intend for us to be having this conversation tomorrow." It took all her willpower to keep from clenching her jaw at Arala's insinuation, and Analie knew that she'd stay there all night rather than come back with the same news. Just to spite the stupid chit of a girl.

"Perhaps you'd like to come with me, Arala, and make sure that I'm doing my job properly. Provided you're sober enough, of course." The words were said with an almost sickly sweet smile, and as soon as they were out Analie regretted them.

Yes, that was probably going to lead to a fist fight. Or worse.

The old Green and her once-mentee marched through the halls of the Tower. Well, Kaylan marched - or perhaps it would be better called a stalk - and Jaydena sort of glided in that graceful way that Aes Sedai were supposed to walk.

It seemed to Kaylan that they were probably on a fool's errand, that the Amyrlin Seat had no doubt already been approached by no less than a dozen Sisters trying to curry favour. She cared little for how Sirayn viewed her - the blonde Aes Sedai could still remember both her Amyrlin Seat and her Ajah Head as wide-eyed girls. Well, she probably would have remembered them like that if she'd ever paid much attention to the novices and Accepted - as it was, Kaylan remembered Jaydena's novicehood only because she'd mentored the woman, and nothing before Sirayn's initation into the Green Ajah. It was enough for her - or perhaps too much. Sometimes it was difficult to push those memories aside and remember that her seniority meant nothing in such company.

Still, in this case, she would once again be the teacher - she was the most experienced with this weave. Assuming, of course, that there was anything to teach. Sirayn could very well throw them out without so much as a thank-you for the thought, after all.

It didn't take long to reach the Amyrlin Seat's office, where they were greeted by the Keeper of the Chronicles. Kaylan felt that she should probably let Jaydena do the talking - the last Keeper she'd had many interactions with had been Arette, and that had ended with a spectacularly red cheek from the slap Kaylan had given her. From memory, Arette had gotten one of her own in before Kaylan had slammed a shield over the woman and taken full advantage of her Talent.

Somehow, that didn't seem like such a good idea now. Not that it had been a particularly good idea back then, either, but at least it had made for a good story.

Yet, here she was opening her mouth.

"We have important news for Mother, if she can possibly accept us."

That was respectful enough, wasn't it?

~Kaylan Morin

Aes Sedai of the Battle Ajah

Bonded to Mercury Sansiria, Calya Gille and Jada Sellick

Not to you, I'm sure.

Elia nodded her acquiescence.

"If Fawne wishes it, I will join you for dinner, but I am more than willing to dine by myself so that she may spend some time with her mother."

The once-Commander had a deep dislike for all of the political manouverings that Tar Valon seemed to concern itself with - she preferred the sword to the word. Still, she could not duel Matalina, not least of all because she hadn't been practicing seriously for some time, so Elia would do her best to observe the pleasantries with Fawne's mother. Provided the girl did want her there - Elia hoped that she had not made Fawne uncomfortable, leaving the choice in her hands, but Fawne was old enough now to be able to decide and should know that Elia would take no offense. She had lost her own mother, after all - she wished now that she could have had one more day with her. She would understand if that was what Fawne wanted.