Grumbling Shannon? Tut, tut. I'll take ten! Actually, I'll take none. Give me a month or two, see where I am in February and I may do it. I cannot sign on for any more responsibility until I know how shifting into a little shack with no power and building a house is going to affect me. After that though, well, I'll be available.

(One week later, you'll have practised that form with both hands every day since, as well as still doing your shroud climb)

Mr. Sweeper swung his training lathe. It was such a puny thing and barely more than a toy. Why use such a useless, fine contraption when a great, brutal halberd could cleave a man in twain with nary an effort. (I stole that off wo de nai just then) Later he would show his recruits how a real weapon was handled, right this moment he would give them a glimpse of true battle and its demands on the mind.

It was unfortunate that sea-combat called for fierce and quick melee combat for it denied a sailor the pleasure of clobbering his enemies into puddles with a great maul, punching a hole clean through them with a spear or generally eviscerating them with an axe. Sweeper himself, while aboard, used two maces; one was flanged, the other spiked. Their names were “Thud” and “Splat” respectively.

“Today, ladies, I’m goin’ to make ye all men. No, not ‘ow yer mothers did; a better, more mutually pleasin’ way: we’re goin’ to spar! That’s right, ye and me in-divid-ually. The art of combat is glor-ious, swift and bru-tal. There is no time fer muckin’ about, there is no time fer second guesses and there is no time fer mercy or consideration. Yer job, and yer only job, is to survive; usually this is done by ensuring that yer opponent does not.”

He motioned for the first recruit to step forward, which he did. Mr. Sweeper held his sword in a nonchalant way, not all too concerned about being struck. The recruit watched him warily but did not move. It was plain that he was thinking and thinking hard; Mr. Sweeper waited. The recruit, having decided on a course of action sprang forward, halting suddenly when Mr. Sweeper moved.

About half a second later the recruit in question was flat on his back. His breathing was pained, and would be, for the next few hours. Mr. Sweeper waited to see if he would stand again and when he made no movement to, looked towards the next recruit. “Do not second guess!”

The second recruit stepped forward and moved in a cautious defensive movement. Mr. Sweeper snorted and then closed the distance between them too rapidly for the recruit’s comfort, grabbed his sword arm with a vice like grip until the sword dropped and all but threw him across the deck. He slid a fair distance. “Do not hesitate!”

The third recruit stepped forward and didn’t wait; he ran at Mr. Sweeper’s exposed side and struck hard with his sword. Mr. Sweeper bellowed and bent over, clutching his ribs and groaning. The third recruit came forward quickly to apologise, having seen what happened to the last person to strike him unannounced. When he got there, Mr. Sweeper met him with the flat of his blade. It was amazing how quickly the recruit dropped when the wood struck his forehead. “Very good, but show no mercy! When yer enemy is ‘urt  ‘e is less likely to ‘urt  back!”

And so Mr. Sweeper moved down the line.

OOC: Right, so here is your first spar and you're going to lose. He's bigger, meaner, and better, but don't mind striking a blow if you think you can land it. If he knocks you down you may also get back up and keep going, whatever you like. Just remember I get to impose the rule of "this is my ship" and inject reality if I have to. Have fun!"

Gee, the natives are friendly. Sorry, I was looking for the White Hall and I seemed to have stepped into the Green one.

Unhand me, wench!

I'm not a spammer. I'm a healthy and helpful and productive member of WT society. I have a badge that proves it!

That's right. all your base are belonging to us, the White Ajah. Well, except those two locked threads that I couldn't touch but in my defence that was completely unnecessary and unfair. Now, tremble all ye supplicants and go make white ajah bios for we are awesome and full of win!

Me, I'm here! Autobots, roll out!

Hah, no responses for you!

There is a yellow ajah? You lie!

I'm not a voice in your head, so no!

No, thanks!

Hello, hello!

I am WEASEL!

No. I refuseth. Refuseth!

Lies, you aren't sorry . . . yet; you will be. You. Will. Be!

Shadowspawn? WHERE?!

You're a turkey!

Bad, bad!

Awesome. Now give me free stuff!

Do I look like a lady to you? Well, do I?

I second that notion. You'll not find a greener green . . .

I say we paint the white tower a new, up to date colour! White is so Age of Legends. I get it, white symbolises purity and virtue, well, let's be fair, no one here really fits that description. How about red, with a big curtain? A curtain for the big giant dish we're going to have so we can block out the sunlight every time commoners get lippy.

The floor is open? Oh no! I'm going to fall through! Ayyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeee.

Estel, don't be a hoser, eh.

Hahah.

I could add a few more 'basic wo'man's duties' to that list.

And on that note I have three (possibly four) people interested. Rory sedai is so there, Saline Sedai . . . we'll see, Accepted Tirzah, and Rossa Sedai are also onboard tentatively. I figure Whtie Ajah led, but since there aren't many of you lot well, we should open it up. No men though. No men, and absolutely no bloody Arans! I don't need Abigail blamed for a sudden surge in pregnancies because I took him camping.