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About Sam

  • Birthday 01/01/1
  1. "If you're quite finished!" Michael was feeling a little rushed, today. Rushed mainly due to a feeling of impending doom that was settling about his shoulders for certain reasons not involving Tigara at all. That being said he was determined to finish off this last part of the lesson before something inexplicably terrible happened such as suddenly finding himself barred from the fortress. That would have been unpleasant and not so entertaining. "Now we move onto spirit. Spirit does not often affect the material world. It is used to combine and strengthen other elements into weaves,
  2. After returning from wherever it was that Michaels disappear to, Michael released his student for the night with the command that they meet again the next day. Michael saw no reason why the entire introduction to Tigara's new powers could not be completed over a span of three days. I will add the minor exception of force majeure moments. There isn't a whole lot anyone can do about those. Not even a dreadlord. The next day proved, again, that life was unfair and Michael was still stuck with a student. It could have been worse: Tigara could have been a complete idiot rather than only half
  3. If you were to compile a list of the top ten—in no particular order—things not to do, then interrupting a person who was doing a push-up would be somewhere around the middle, which says it all, really. The first thing you would notice about that person is how their brow furrows with concentration as they try to ignore you. If you are particularly persistent and this fails they will no doubt express their displeasure by glaring, yelling and generally having a whinge. Not that Braxton particularly felt like glaring, yelling, or generally having a whinge, a thing that used to have its own s
  4. Braxton was mad. Real mad. Really mad, actually because real mad sounds very hillbilly and though he may have been from the country, it was flat, even depressed and most certainly not a hill. Also, he had all his teeth. They were straight. We’re getting off the subject. Braxton was mad, and he was doing something about it. Pushups. More or less. He was trying to do them, and that is what counts. Trying, you know? Parents lie to their children with that rubbish all the time but we know better, don’t we: it doesn’t matter how much you try, you’re a loser until you’re a winner and at n
  5. It did count, as a matter of fact. Not that this is important in any way to this new post but I knew you were all curious and wondering and I just couldn’t leave the thought unanswered. So now that we have that out of the way I will cast a few more useless facts and we can move on. Less than ten percent of the recruits managed to pass on their first attempt, only sixty percent passed by the end of their fourth, there were six broken bones in all and a lot of bloody noses. Yes. I made that up. Sorry. Mr. Sweeper was happy with the way it turned out. He was surprised by the level of compet
  6. The targets were set nicely and Rory was ready to begin her 'practise session', consistenting, as a rule, of ways to blow things up. There were other ways of doing business, burning, slicing, imploding, and she used them all. One explosion may look the same as the next, but there were infinite variations between them. A little shift in the weave here, a slight touch there, and you had a completely refreshing and unique reaction, even if they did look the same to others. The first time Rory lined up a row of effigies they had been constructed, rudely, of wood. To her thinking the idea was
  7. Mr. Sweeper was awake before Captain Redpath. No. This was a lie. The only way anyone aboard The Merry Pauper could do that was to exploit a little trick called ‘not going to bed’. Mr. Sweeper had done so on this particular day, spending hours planning his next assignment for his students. He was very proud of this lesson and excited to see how it would turn out. There was going to be pain, sure, but if he could get a spot of blood then he would really feel as though he’d achieved something. When the sun rose above the horizon, and his charges (after taking their daily dip in the frozen
  8. Damion walked briskly through the antechamber. No one stopped him, nor questioned. Guards, few obvious and most hidden, moved to let him pass. He nodded to them each but did not slow. He had bad news to deliver and he was not the type of man to sit on such things for long periods of time. It had been too long already. Returning home was meant to be a happier occasion. Calpene Peninsula was nice as always, though. He found his master in his exercise chamber. He announced himself and bowed respectfully, as always, but not so much as to appear meek and subservient. Duram Laddel Cham, the
  9. Teehee—pants! That’s right. You heard her. Rory Sedai, still not over the pants revival and why should she be? Sure, she looked swell in a dress, or so Saline kept telling her, but when you needed to deliver a swift foot-to-groin manoeuvre, dresses only got in the way. This wasn’t to say she expected to have to use one on Aran, but preparedness for any situation was the key to the lockbox of Green Sisterhood. And Rory was all green! Shawls were for nanas and Rory wasn’t old, not by standards in The White Tower. Saline had been horrified when she caught Rory trying to take to hers with a p
  10. Damion would have spent weeks with Arette Sedai, given the opportunity; neither time nor duty permitted it. The four hour schedule was optimistic in the extreme, but he was sure he would have gleaned something useful in that time. He was pleased that Rasputin was giving him access to the city for a longer period of time, and without penning down a specific timetable. The best part was that the open-ended stay had been Rasputin's idea, and Damion had not even attempted to influence the outcome. Not that he was stupid enough to try. The stipulations were fine by him. His intentions we
  11. Against all probability and likelihood he had forgotten the Brown Sister’s name. How embarrassing. Damion could remember why he was going to see her, could say with pin-point accuracy to the second how long he intended to stay (he was a very busy man), and he could even rate on a scale of one to ten how excited by the prospect of this visit he was. For the record, one was the lowest, ten was the highest and it rated a nice, round, eight. He grinned like he had just been caught by his mother stealing pie. “All right. You’ve got me there. I cannot for the life of me, hoping it won’t come t
  12. A blur as far as Drak was concerned but not a blur to the Captain, who wasn’t nervous and hallucinating. No, actually, he could see fine. And what he saw was a nervous Drak still not using the ability Bobby knew he had developed. Telling Drak this repeatedly would only cause rash action on his part, and Bobby didn’t want this enjoyable spar to end on a bad note. He would wait for Drak to relax on his own. Many who used foils, rapiers and sabres used the lunge as an offensive manoeuvre. That was fine. They found something that worked for them and he wasn’t going to argue. However, from pe
  13. “Agent . . .? I consider myself more a happy employee.” Damion supposed he ought to be used to suspicion whenever he showed up among unfamiliar people. Paranoia was chic. The sad fact was that it was in no way limited to followers of The Great Lord, who by minority should be more trusting than others, but was virulent everywhere. There was not a city he could step into without it upsetting someone, and unlike his fellows, Damion was very seldom called upon to act in any way detrimental to the happiness of anyone. Just the way he liked it. “My name is Damion. M’aeshadar Damion if you feel
  14. When Damion stepped through his portal into the fortress interior, shadow’s peace settled around his shoulders like a mantle. No, not really, but it certainly made him feel better. Too often he was on his own: a lone m’aeshadar in a very hostile land. For a peace loving man he did not approve of conflict, least of which between his brother and sister channellers. Shadow’s peace made him feel safe. And safe was nice. The room he entered through was well lit and well guarded, but his passage was not impeded. His knapsack was over one shoulder, and thin stave was in the opposite hand. Havin
  15. She sniffled, a very immature trait in a soon-to-be bride. Her nanny gave her a stern look in the mirror and Emelia’s face dissolved in misery. Her eyes squeezed shut to stop the tears that would spoil her make-up and her hands clutched one another in her lap. Nanny ran a gilded, ornate brush through Emelia’s long hair, clucking reproachfully at the curls. The band was practising downstairs. She heard laughter, loud voices, and fancied that the sound of toasting champagne glasses was there, too. The men would be in the parlour drinking champagne and smoking cigars. The women would be tog
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