Fawn’s mouth quirked in a lightning brief smile as he watched the girl run towards the last rope swing. The night’s sleep had done wonders to her performance and Fawn could see the deliberate care to which the girl took in not falling. She would make a good Infantryman one day, he thought idly as he watched her progress. Solid, dependable and stubbornly infallible: those were the traits of the humble footsloggers that made up the centrelines of the Band. With a sufficient amount of practise and yelling to mould her into shape, Fang could become one of the best. If only the Scouts hadn’t already called first dibs. Shame.

The girl let out a long whoop as she cleared the last obstacle, pumping her fists in the air and bouncing up and down excitedly in exultation. Fawn flashed another of his half-smiles, then determining it would be best to leave her alone to her triumphs without some surly sergeant spoiling the mood, he extricated himself from the tree and began the long walk back to the Citadel. It would be another three hours before the sun hit its zenith, which was plenty of time to get washed and maybe even grab a bite to eat.   

***

“Alright you maggots, fun’s over.” He barked to the general chagrin of the eighth company, many of whom had already made preparations for yet another lazy afternoon. “Get your weapons ready, full packs on, we parade in five.” Groans and mutterings immediately followed the set of orders, and Fawn watched as he hefted his halberd and waited for the hundred and twenty or so men and women to retrieve their gear and line up into formation.

In the busy throng of sword belts, boots and weapons, he could pick out Fang as she straightened up from her tent. She stifled a yawn, one hand cupping her mouth whilst the other rubbed at sleep deprived eyes. Even though she didn’t know it, Fawn had been forced to show her favouritism the previous night. Everyone else in the company had dug their own holes each time they failed, but Fang had gotten away with only digging some of hers. Nobody saw or knew, of course, and Fawn believed in his troops achieving their level best, which meant giving them a hand or two once in a while. But he was also a strict disciplinarian at heart.  

“Private,” he barked after the entire company had formed a parade ground line, a hundred and twenty shoulders wide. “Step forward and present your weapon.” Fawn’s face was a blank mask devoid of any emotions as he watched Fang draw her short sword. There was rust on the tip of the weapon. He had expected there to be rust. “There’s rust on this weapon, private,” he said, stating the obvious to everyone. “Why, is there rust on your weapon?”

“No excuse, Sarge.” Fang’s face was passive, though Fawn detected an undercurrent of loathing emanating from the young woman. The answer had been brisk, and as toneless as she could make it. A smart move. She was attempting to deprive Fawn of ammunition to grill her. “Drop your pack and weapons. Get down on the ground and give me fifty. Then, when I’m next back and if I still see rust on this weapon, you can give me another fifty. Does that sound fair to you, Private?” It wasn’t, and everyone knew it, but a smart infantryman learnt to grin through the beatings.

“Sir, yes sir.” Three bags full, sir, Fawn thought in the back of his mind as Fang gave him a crisp salute.

“I’m your sergeant, I work for a living. The real ‘Sir’s’ coming right now.” And sure enough, Lieutenant Crawsby choose at that moment to appear riding on his large grey stallion from the direction of the officer’s tents. Fawn grounded the butt of his halberd to the floor which emanated a muffled thump as he did so. “Eighth company all present and accounted for, sir!” Crawsby nodded, dismounting and walked up and down the line a few times, inspecting the uniforms, checking weapons and speaking once in a while to the odd soldier about light knows what. After a few more minutes of this charade, Crawsby turned and walked back towards Fawn who still stood at attention.

“Report Sergeant.”

“Sir,” Fawn affirmed the order, snapping in his best parade ground accent. “Eighth company has performed as you ordered, sir. Full complement now able to complete the Obstacle Course.”

Crawsby nodded, a hint of surprise showing through on his face. “Is that so, Sergeant?” He turned and addressed the line of soldiers. “Well done men! It appears you’ve met my expectations.”

He returned his eyes to look at Fawn. “But tell me truthfully, Fawn. How many of them do you reckon could do it again? In one try?”

Fawn hesitated a moment before answering. “Unit will take seventy-five percent casualties, sir.”

“Ah! Good. Good. Then let’s see it.” Fawn nodded, waving the line into a marching column.

***

When they reached the Course, Fawn was feeling worried. He caught Crawsby looking towards him a few times, a malicious grin plastered across the man’s face which quickly disappeared as soon as he saw Fawn looking in his direction. Crawsby was up to something, and Fawn didn’t think he would like it when he found out. A few minutes later, he was proven entirely correct.  

“Company, halt!” Fawn barked as they filed into the clearing that housed the Course. Crawsby trotted up behind him and remained mounted, a magnanimous expression on his face.

“Company may begin the course,” he said, issuing the final instructions. But when Fawn was half way to repeating the order, the Lieutenant suddenly interrupted him. “The Company, includes you too sergeant.”

Ah crap. “Sir?” he raised an eyebrow, and was forced to look up at the Lieutenant. “I don’t understand sir.” He understood perfectly; the Lieutenant was punishing him for something he did. Unlike the people in the rank and file, Fawn’s position as a Noncom meant he wasn’t as easily punishable. His expression was neutral, but inside he was snarling.

“You are to lead the men through the course,” the lieutenant further explained, the sneer coming back as he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Oh, and for the record Sergeant. I know you weren’t sharpening the tools of your trade with that wine. Now, give the orders and let’s go.”

“Sir.” Fawn snapped his boots and about turned. “Company, fall out!”

“Oh, and if anyone falls from the course. You can expect latrine duty for the next week!”

Sergeant Edward Fawn hasn’t had to do latrine duty for nearly ten years. Neither, for that matter, did he have to do the obstacle course. It was going to take all the field experience he’s got to compensate for his old and aged bones.  

~ Edward Fawn
Sergeant of the Infantry. Band of the Red Hand.

Posts still required:

Fang (Finish course)

Fawn (Lieutenant's inspection)

Fang (Final thoughts)

The next part is up. I'll admit it's not my best writing, but I reckoned you'd be getting impatient so... yeah.

Just write whatever you feel like, finish the course now if you want and I'll tidy up after you're done.

Yeeeeelllppp! Splash! Flop! That was the collection of sounds a recruit makes when he or she loses their balance and falls into one of the course’s various mud pits. Fawn had quickly grown acquainted with that sound as the day wore on. Leaning against a tall oak tree, protected from the majority of the mid-afternoon sun, he watched as another recruit – this one a tall blonde girl – do what was essentially a mid-air cartwheel as she too fell victim.

He shook his head, raised his mug of Kaffe to his lips then took a sip. He frowned at the weak unsatisfactory taste, looked up towards the position of the sun then judged it was probably late enough in the day to start drinking again. He then fished out a small hip flask which he poured into the mug.   Splash! Yet another recruit bites the dust. Fawn takes a sip from of his beverage.

It had become a continuous cycle. Out of the hundred and twenty or so members of the company, only a quarter or so had managed to complete the course by noon of that day. The rest, all of them already muddied from head to toe, were either digging holes with their shovels or climbing back on the course for another attempt.

By late afternoon, that number had shrunk again until only thirty were left. Fawn watched as another recruit, fists pumping triumphantly into the air, crawled out and instantly ran back towards the direction of the citadel. A few of the remaining recruits shot resentful look towards the man, but he was already too far gone and tired to care what the others thought of him.

The corner of Fawn’s eyes flickered as he turned to see one of the remaining recruits scramble towards the beginning of the course for another try. He had taken notice of this specific recruit for she seemed to be having the most trouble out of the entire company. She was on her twelfth attempt, though no one was really counting.  She navigated the rotating floors, blocked with the length of her elbows the incoming mechanised staves, then did a forward roll into a long tunnel which she had to crawl through. But when it came time for the rope swings, she missed a jump and came hurtling down to the ground once again. Fawn sighed as the girl let out a frustrated chocking sound, extraditing her mud, rage and voicing her unfairness to the world. Fawn saw her running up towards the beginning of the course again, evidently planning to backlog the digging portion of her exercise until later, and once again falling helplessly once she reached the rope jump.

Fawn decided he would go and have dinner then, the sun having already dipped below the horizon. When he came back an hour later, now carrying an oil lantern, he saw everyone had left except for the girl who was still trying the rope swings. She let out another moan of despair as she failed to grab hold and toppled to the floor once more. Fawn’s eyes were hooded as he saw her climb instantly back up again, and once again fail hopelessly to the floor.

She huddled curled herself into a tight ball then. On the floor, her arms wrapped around her locked knees and after a moment Fawn realised that the girl was crying. The girl – Fang, that was her name he finally remembered, made no sounds as she laid down on the floor, huddled up in a fettle position. Standing there with his lantern, Fawn suddenly felt like he was somehow intruding on something deeply personal. She must not have seen him, for she made no move as the large burly Sergeant tiptoed silently away. When he came back an hour later, he saw she had fallen asleep, still curled up in fettle position.

He sighed. He had to keep reminding himself not to get in the habit of doing that. It made him sound like a tired old man sometimes. Fawn walked next to the recruit, looking at the girl’s smooth yet mud caked face, then fished around his pack for a blanket. Inside he produced his old campaign roll which he draped carefully around Fang’s body to cover her from the night’s chill. Then, when that was done, he pulled the shovel from the mud bank nearby then walked towards an empty patch of ground.  

***

Fang awoke the next morning to find someone had draped a rough blanket around her. She felt surprised, though admittedly still feeling groggy from sleep deprivation, she didn't think too much on the subject. She yawned, then looking around at her surroundings, noticed the fourteen freshly dug holes, each roughly the size of her head.

~ Edward Fawn
Sergeant of the Infantry, Band of the Red Hand.

Well poops sorry about that. I don't really know what else is going on with the command hierarchy, but i do know some of our staff have been away for quite some time. Evidently somewhere down the line the system has broken down for one reason or another, but I'm sure it will eventually right itself.

In the meantime...

I guess what i can do is gazette you to the rank of Accepted (pending approval from the higher-ups), which means you can start RPing as an Accepted if you wish. 

This isn't technically part of my job, and thus anything I authorize here could be revoked at anytime, so just keep that in mind. Seeing as I appear to be the only staff member around though, I don't think anyone would mind. 

Ok... how about this.

Plot: One of the characters notice band supplies going missing and decides to do a little digging. One night, he/she catches the culprit who turns out to be one of the company quartermaster. The man sets off in the middle of the night with a wagon full of supplies and two lackeys.

The character reports the incident to a Captain and is given permission to set up a small squad to find out just who the supplies were being sold to. Squad Assembles! Sets off the next week, when the same quartermaster makes another trip. The squad follows, but gets ambushed along the way when the exchange was taking place. Everyone gets captured.

Characters are taken to a warehouse and a man looks like he wants to do the torture on the peeps, or something. Everyone escapes, somehow (I'll leave that up to everyone else), and then fights their out again. Characters capture quartermaster and he confesses it was the CAPTAIN ALL ALONG! He was the baddie. We then return to the citadel and beat the shit out of him.

Sounds fun?

Jeral's still around. He's short, hot tempered, plays with short swords and a bow. (I'm seeing a pattern here in the band...).

I also technically do Sergeant Edward Fawn of the infantry, so whatever you need.

Good golly that was fast! Guess i can't spend the next week or so drinking myself to death as I wait for the next post.

Alright, you better know something about me. When I start something, I don't settle for anything short.

Have a read of what I've written so far and tell me what you think. I do have a plan for this RP but I'd like to hear your opinions and input as well. Also, I'd like your character to struggle really badly with the course. I have a few more posts waiting to be written up but it involves your character having a lot of difficulty with it.

(Quibby) If this turns out to be a success, I'd like to turn it into a regular thing in the Band to help train the new recruits.

Trouble always came wearing heels, and in one late September afternoon as the autumn winds blew against the sides of his tent, it came sauntering in unannounced. Sergeant Edward Fawn had been about to subject himself to an hour of frankly undeserved drinking, the confiscated wine already half way to his lips, when the tent flaps opened. Fawn was the company sergeant, a non-commissioned officer and the only person who could enter the establishment in this way – apart from bloody Calder himself… “Sergeant!” the boyish lieutenant with the astonishingly feminine face gasped as he straightened up and saw what Fawn was holding in his hand. “Is that alcohol I see?”

Ah crap, the weathered sergeant thought and struggled desperately to come up with some lame excuse. Fawn was technically still supposed to be on duty.  “Yes sir,” he replied with only half a plan worked out in his head. “Just sharpening the tools of my trade sir.”

He unsheathed his arming sword, a one handed weapon which he used as a backup to his halberd. “It’s an old technique which my gran used to teach me,” he continued, now committed to the lie. “Soak the whetstone in wine she used to say, until she passed away of course, god bless her soul,” he pulled out a small rectangular block of hardened sand then inwardly winced as he poured the richly textured liquid onto it. “Then sharpen it and reapply every few minutes,” he began whisking away at the edges.

“Yes, yes, very good sergeant.” The lieutenant evidently uncomfortable with the sound, said as he began pacing around the tent’s single supporting beam. The ends of his riding boots, which to Fawn’s eyes resembled heels, clicked as he circled round and round the same spot. “I’ll be blunt with you Sergeant,” lieutenant Crawsby said after a few moments of awkward silence as he continued his pacing. “The state of this company is a disgrace.”

“An excellent observation sir,” he quickly replied, “and my precise sentiments.” In reality, Fawn didn’t have a single bloody clue what the man was on about. The officer was young, twenty-one and with the air of someone who had something to prove. “In fact,” he continued “I was just telling Donald the other day that exact same thing. But err…” he needed to broch this carefully “Just which part of the company are you referring to sir?”

Crawsby, his confidence bolstered by Fawn’s words beamed as he began pressing home his charge. “The part sergeant, where every company apart from ours can complete the obstacle course!”

The sides of Fawn’s face twitched, “Ah! Yes, of course sir.” He lie, giving a smile that never touched his eyes. The only reason every other company could do it, he thought gloomily, is because they have seasoned veterans. Those men could avoid the various obstacles put in their way by using their extensive campaign experiences. Half of Fawn’s company on the other hand was comprised of newly initiated recruits. He wondered how he was going to relay this information to the over enthusiastic lieutenant, whose purpose here today Fawn was beginning to induce. “It’s none of the lads and girls fault. They just need a bit more training and some more experience out in the field,” Fawn said, cleaning the last of the wine residue away as he sheathed his sword. “I’ll be sure to have them doing extra drills and patrols by the end of the week.” He said, satisfied that would get the lieutenant off his back for now and leave the rest of them to doing some proper soldiering. Crawsby though had other ideas on his mind.

“Actually Sergeant,” the lieutenant said, a silky smile touching the corner of his lips. “I want it done by the end of the week.”

***

Fawn spit a stream of tabac juice from the corner of his mouth and glared across at the front ranks who returned his gaze with dread in their eyes. Fawn understood their fears, he had ordered the entire company into parade column, packs and weapons scrubbed for inspection, and even the new recruits could see where Fawn had taken them. It was the morning following his confrontation with the lieutenant and Fawn wondered again, as he had done throughout the entirety of the previous night, how he was ever going to achieve the man’s ridiculous demands in under three days.

“Eighth company, -tion!” he barked, and was pleased to see every last person click their shoes and stand straight in rigid obedience to his call. He was proud of the progress this company had made. More than half of them had been civilians; thieves, rogues, outlaws and runaway princesses just three weeks prior, but now they paraded as well as any company in the Band.

He never showed any of this pride on his face however, and the hundred and twenty or so men and women stood in silence as their sergeant strode up and down along the line, picking out small imperfection in this man’s pack or that woman’s spear. On the whole however, he had to admit they had done an admirable job. And Fawn, being ultimately a soft hearted person, would have wanted nothing else in the world but to commend them on their efforts. Instead, he was going to have to force them to hate him.

“Company. At ease!” the soon to be soldiers relaxed their postures somewhat, though Fawn could still see from the quick sideways glances and rigid postures that they were on the whole still nervous. “As many of you are well aware,” he began, both hands clasped behind his back as he strode nonchalantly up and down the line, making sure every single person in the company could see and hear him. “Eighth company is the only company in our Division who has yet to pass the obstacle course.” He paused for emphasis. “As such, the lieutenant and I have devised a plan to knuckle all of you down to some proper practising.”

He stopped his pacing and looked up, as he knew every person in the ranks would look, towards the colossal tangle of ropes, pullies and counterweights that made up of the dread obstacle course. It almost spanned the entire length of one of the citadel’s walls, a hundred metres long and thirty in width, it was a truly remarkable piece of creation. Fawn still remembered keenly the first time he had been forced to tackle the course, and he inwardly chuckled at the memory. The experience had given him a slight phobia of cushioned staves for the next few months, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. Since those faithful years however, the course had been constantly improved and renovated to fit the latest horrors the engineers could think of.

Trip wires, spinning wheels and moving floors, not to mention the many pit falls made up the dangers of the obstacle course and Fawn knew it took more than strength or agility alone to navigate safely amongst that massive tangle of the hurt and shame. A small windmill which was also connected in the same building to a paddle pump gave the moving parts their drive and Fawn walked over and pulled a lever to turn the entire contraption on. They all knew what was coming, but Fawn had one last piece of news he needed to share with them before this was all over.

He turned his head back to looking towards the men of the eighth company, and waited as the inevitable question was asked. “What are we doing with these, sarge?” the man gestured towards the entrenching tools Fawn had instructed them all to carry before the short march.

“Why, I’m so glad you asked Timulton!” Fawn barked and gestured for them to pull out the wide bladed shovel out from underneath their packs. “These, gentlemen and ladies,” he gave them all a wicked smile, “are your tickets to light duty this afternoon.” He gestured to Timulton who handed Fawn his shovel. “Every time you fall over or into a pit on the course,” he explained, “I want you to dig a hole large enough to bury your head in. Whether you actually do it, perhaps out of shame, is completely up to you.” A round of nervous laughter rippled along the ranks as the eighth company fidgeted and fumbled with their tools. “You are to keep running the course until you complete it, and I don’t care if I have to keep you here all night. You may dig the holes whenever you like, I do expect them to be done by the end.”

Fawn knew everyone’s head size was different, which was how he planned to balance out the work and not give an advantage to the larger men. Yet even still, the average time it would take them to dig a hole that size was around an hour a piece. They could all do the maths, and a few grins popped up as the more confident members of the group realised the sergeant was telling them the truths. If they could finish the course within a reasonable number of tries they could have nearly the entire afternoon to themselves to do as they’d like.

“You have what’s in your pack to sustain you. The water pump is over there if you need it,” finally, he gestured towards the course. “If there are no more questions, you may begin the run. Good luck,” he added the last part in, for he knew most of them would probably need it.

~ Edward Fawn

Sergeant of the Band of the Red Hand. Infantry Division.

About halfway through writing the first post. Sorry it's taking so long.

All good. take as long as you need.

Right, awesome. That's not part of my jurisdiction as Bio-checker (pretty sure anyway lol). Best of luck getting raised! Be looking forward to RPs in that department in the near future.

As for the Band, sounds like you'll want Sergeant Fawn. I'll write something up later today. I hope your character enjoys meaningless labour duty, because there's going to be a lot of that.

Sure thing. Got anything in mind? Which part of the WT character thing are you stuck at and who are you waiting on?

Hope you're alright with where i took the story. Thought it'd be an interesting relationship for future RPs, Ellisha not channeling when she's around Janine and pretending to be an informant to an Aes Sedai. lol. 

The other woman stayed silent for a long moment, puffs of ringed smoke escaping from the tip of her pipe as her green emerald eyes searched Ellisha for… something… a recollection, perhaps. The Green gave Ellisha a piercing gaze, which conveyed her suspicions as loudly as if she’d shouted them across the table. Yet only Ellisha’s experience as Aes Sedai allowed her to detect these subtle signs, for her companion’s expressions barely changed at all during the silence.

Janine was older than Ellisha, though inexperienced eyes wouldn’t have placed the two woman apart by more than ten years. Aes Sedais stopped aging after a while, their faces becoming smooth and free from wrinkles: a side-effect from years of channelling with Saidar. Ellisha was already in her 30s, but was still considered a child by Aes Sedai standards, her face yet to bear the ageless mask.

She kept up her own smile. She had no intention of being recognised here as Ellisha of the Blue instead of Margerit, trusting both in her ability to apply the makeup as well as weave the shield that prevented the other woman from seeing the tell-tale glow that surrounded her body.” She thought she had met Janine before; her own Ajah, the Blue, and Janine’s Green were on cordial relations with one another and thus knew the other’s sisters quite well.

Janine returned the smile after a moment, a much more comely expression replacing the stony look of weariness that had been plastered across the other woman’s face. Edently, Ellisha had passed some sort of test for the woman seemed to visibly relax two notches and even offered her the bottle of wine that had been sitting on the table. Ellisha had a split second of indecision when she contemplated whether or not to pour the wine. It could be poisoned, she thought, but quickly shook aside that line of thought for it was she who had actively sought out the other woman and for no other reason than to find civilised company after a night of cussing and blaspheming with a crowd of dockworkers. There was thus no good reason to suspect Janine was working for the Black Ajah, or at least, she hoped that was good enough deduction.    

She knew very little of Janine. Apart from the few occasions when she had sparred with the other woman on the warder’s practise yard, the two of them had only met each other in passing. Her bruises, long having healed, nevertheless throbbed unconsciously and reminded her the Green was a mean fighter.

She didn’t fail to notice the lack of “Sedai” at the end of Janine’s introduction. Most Aes Sedai flaunted their title and took every opportunity to remind everyone around them of the difference in social station. Janine’s absent title said something about the woman; that and the manner to which she talked – a plain straight forward voice that neither flowered nor cheapened her words – gave the impression of a person who was confident with who she was, and doesn’t give a rat’s rear hide what others thought of her. She found herself respecting that aspect of the woman, though she made sure nothing of her inner observations made it onto her features.  

Janine glanced at the table from where Ellisha had just made her exit. “So, any luck at the table? Those dock hands look a bit disappointed.” The woman was obviously trying to make conversation with her, perhaps as a way of making up for the awkward silence earlier. “Gambling has never been one of vices, sad to say.”

“Neither is it mine,” she replied, a hint of mischief evident in the grin she gave Janine. She took out three bone cubed dice from a pocket in her skirt and placed it on the table. “Loaded,” she explained holding up one and showing it to Janine. “One the bastards back there was using one of these until I caught on.” She quickly made the dice disappear from underneath her sleeves using a trick she had picked up from a street magician. Many woman in the towerrelied too much on their ability to channel the One Power. They would look down upon simple things like pickpocketing, sleight of hand, or just plain old fist fighting as too low a practise for their station. Ellisha disagreed, she choose to rebel against common practise, and it had paid off by saving her life on more than one occasion.

A thought suddenly struck her: an idea to make this an even more productive night than it already was.

“Besides,” she continued, draining the remaining contents of the cup in one gulp. “I wasn’t there to win silver.” One of the Green’s eyebrows rose; an unspoken question for her. “I win by making people talk,” she went on. “And believe me, people do talk around me.” The rings of smoke paused for a moment then resumed again.

“Talk?” the Green asked, tapping the pipe residue onto the table.

“Talk.” Ellisha agreed, and smiled. She had the Green’s undivided attention now. “My trade does not only involve fish and nets, but with people and information.” She dropped the south dock accent suddenly and instead adopted a clipped silky tone of a Cairhien aristocrat. Learning the accents of the different continents was another of the skills that she doubted many women in the Tower possessed. “I’m sure a lady of your position could always use someone with my particular skills.”

She wasn’t sure where she was going with this exactly. From her perspective, Janine on first impression seemed an amiable enough sort of person. She certainly wouldn’t have offered her service if she had turned out to be like any of the other stuck up woman in the Tower. Ellisha simply couldn’t stand the sight of most of them. If the Green agreed, she thought, then she was going to get something out of this arrangement too, for information always carried both ways and the more closely linked she was with the cobweb, the more likely she was to picking up something about the Black Ajah.

“Well. What do you say, Janine Sedai?”

~ Ellisha Falwein
Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah

Golly gosh, it's been a while. Alright, I promise i'll finish my bit tomorrow. (said me for the fourth day in a row).

sorry, but the thing is going to be a bit late. School work is kicking my ass.

Nope. She isn't. The only reason she is using her dockworker name is because that's what she was invited to the inn as.

On second thought, it might be more interesting if she is masking her ability. Yeah, we'll go with that instead. Reckon that would be more interesting.

Yellow, Green and Blue seem to be the most represented. Followed closely by Red it would seem.

Brown and White and definitely a scarce commodity these days.

Sounds fun. I might be tempted to get involved with my Blue if you need her. Not sure how you plan to stage the 'rescue' or how many others would be involved.

Depending on what you define as active, really.

I know there is at least another active Blue, not counting yours truly.

Kat has a Yellow which also doubles as a Black. I think there were also a few Accepted who were aspiring to the Yellow but I don't know exactly what happened to them.

Lor and Quibby have Greens.

I honestly can't remember anyone who has an active Brown though. We also have a few Novices and Accepted still around, but that seems to be about it.

Having a Brown around might prove to be very interesting since the Tower seems to have an overabundance of people in Ajahs who follow the philosophy of shoot first and ask questions later.

Apologies for the slight delay. It's been a while since i wrote fiction, but i think it turned out alright.

There a particular plan we aiming here, or is this just shoot and hope we hit something in the dark?

Four dice rattled in the cup Tom was holding by his palm.

“Bet you all two silvers I’ll get it this time,” he said, holding up the contraption to the other occupants of the table. He waved it back and forth, shaking it as if he were a knight and the cup was his battle axe. “Come on! Are there no takers?” he bellowed, but the others stayed silent.

Most of them had already spent their nightly allowance, and those who were still conscious – that being about half the number that had started the night – preserved enough common sense not to spend the rest. Largely out of fear for what the wife would do if they went home drunk and penniless. The night was drawing to a close for this particular crowd Ellisha sensed, but it might as well end with another round of drinks.

“I’ll do it, you flaming bastard,” she stood. Her words were purposefully slurred so as to give the impression she was heavily influenced by the drink. “I’m all out of silver though,” she went on, showing them all her empty purse.  This was a lie, of course, for Ellisha Sedai of the Blue Ajah kept a second pouch full of fat Tar Valon Marks hidden beneath the folds of her skirt. Yet, although it was a lie in essence, it was a lie in which an Aes Sedai could tell without breaking her oaths.

To speak no word that is not true.

She was out of silver, true, but that did not mean she was out of money. Everyone would assume this was the case when she showed them her empty money pouch, but people could assume whatever the hell they want. She’d grown good at playing these word games these past few years. Ever since attaining the shawl, such methods had become second nature to her. She hardly even noticed when she was doing them anymore.

Tom gave her a savage grin, whose effects were somewhat spoilt when his eyes went crosswise into each other. He promptly shook himself awake.

“How about you give O’ Tom here a kiss,” his grin widened, and a dangerous glint in his eyes conveyed he didn’t just plan to stop there. Someone on the other end of the table let out a low whistle. “If you lose, that is.”

“Give me your best then,” she grinned back, un-phased by the implied provocation.  “Show me what a pig eyed goat-kisser like you could do.”

Tom shook the cup, once, twice, three times before letting go.  The gathered on-lookers tensed as the four bone cubes tumbled onto the table, spinning and skittering before finally coming to rest. Unseen by any of them, a faint glow suddenly surrounded Ellisha. It was faint; so faint that if one were not watching the young woman with close narrowed eyes they would have missed it completely. It lasted for the merest of seconds, and the final dice, which had been spinning peculiarly on its axis, fell loudly down and pronounced the final die roll.  A One.

Tom groaned loudly as Ellisha scooped up the two silver pennies. All four dies had come up the same result: all of them ones.

“I don’t bloody believe it,” Tom huffed, sitting down and glaring at his now empty mug of ale. “I swear Margie you’ve got the ill cursed luck of those women in the Tower. Ellisha suppressed a sudden snicker that threatened to bubble over throat, so she instead coughed then shrugged in reply. “What can I say Tom, guess you’ll just have to shove that prick of yours somewhere else tonight.” This brought a general rumble of amusement from the other occupants.

She briefly contemplated what would have happened if she had allowed the game to be lost as she called over the barkeep for another round of drinks, paying with the last of the game’s silver. Tom, she observed, was not a particularly bad looking man and it had certainly been some time since she’d let herself indulge in life’s other pleasures.  

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a woman appeared through one of the many entrances which the bar sported. The woman wore simple linens. A cloak with its hood down over a simple green dress whose fabric looks as if it had been washed many times. It wasn’t shabby and it wasn’t prim either, yet the young woman – who looked to be somewhere near Ellisha’s own age – was on the whole rather unremarkable. So if it hadn’t been two words which had caught the Blue’s ear, Ellisha wouldn’t have given her a second glance.“Janine Sedai.”

So another Aes Sedai coming to visit the bar. She thought woollenly, finishing the last dregs of her mug. I wonder what business she has here tonight.

It wasn’t terribly uncommon to see other women of the Tower visiting this unnamed bar, for the establishment saw both men and women from all stations of society. Ellisha had gained entrance through rather unorthodox means. She often went out to Tar Valon under differing names; always in the hopes of collecting information and establishing contacts with people from both up high and down low. One of these outings had ended with her head-butting a burly dockworker, and to keep a long story short, events led her to being invited as a permanent patron to the bar.

She observed the other Aes Sedai closely. The woman sat in a relaxed posture, taking out a pipe and satchel containing what was undoubtedly tobacco and lighting it with a slow flick of her hand. Her face was nearly as unremarkable as her dress, and say for a pair of bright emerald eyes, there seemed nothing else worth describing about the woman. After a minute or two, Ellisha decided the Aes Sedai was simply out to relax for the night. She looked around at her scattering of companions, all of whom were in varying degrees of unconsciousness by now, and decided she too should probably call it a day’s work and throw in the towel. It had been a productive evening and she thought she had gathered enough intelligence to work with for a while at least.

She made her excuses with the others just as the next round of drinks were being brought up then made her way to the table where the other woman sat.

“This seat taken?” she pointed to an empty chair opposite the Aes Sedai, then dropped herself down into it before the other woman could even reply. Janine Sedai raised an eyebrow as she watched Ellisha slouch down in her seat, puffs of smoke blowing out of the end of her pipe in a steady rhythmic pattern like that of a blacksmith’s billow, but otherwise said nothing.

“Fine evening to be about,” Ellisha said into the lingering silence, smiling whilst maintaining her Southside dock accent which her current persona – Margerit – used.  She had dyed her woodland brown hair a dark temporary black, and though the dye washes off easily with water, that in combination with the small dabs of foundation she had applied before coming here had changed Ellisha Sedai of the Blue Ajah to Margerit Cornsworth: fisherman’s daughter and patron to the unnamed bar.

“What’s your name? I’m known as Margerit, though my friends call me Margie.”

~ Ellisha Falwein

Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah.

Thanks! looks great btw.

Which program did you use to make it?