It had been some time since Ellisha had to teach anyone in a lesson, not least a Novice on the use of Saidar. Thayetta embraced the source, the vibrant glow of the One Power surrounding her in a yellowish tinge of light. She looked up, large blue eyes wide in anticipation, as if beckoning her to continue. Ellisha smiled; then, still embracing the source, began weaving together two strands – one of air, one earth – that snaked around one another in a double helix.
    “Watch carefully,” she said, her left hand twirling around in a graceful circular motion as she created the mould that would contain the channelled energy. “The weaves I’m about to show you are a bit more complicated than what would usually be shown a Novice until her fifth year.”
She let out a slow controlled breath, right palm spread and facing up as a small ball of fire appeared at its centre.
    Left hand still holding the double helix, she directed the energy at the base of the chimney. Nothing happened of course at first – they hadn’t got to the fun part yet.
    “Water is often combined with Earth for a variety of different weaves,” she explained as she saw Thayetta take careful note on the structure of the weave. “Combined weaves are complicated and takes years of practise to get right.”
She then gestured to the small ball of fire in her right hand.
    “But watch carefully what happens when you combine a few other simple weaves along with it. Channel fire like I have and hold on to it.” She waited as Thayetta channelled Saidar, with a small ball of fire appearing a second later in between her cupped hands. The girl grinned as she held the flame, as if basking in the heat it provided.
    “Now. Shoot it at the centre of my weave and don’t stop channelling until I tell you to do so.” Thayetta did as she was told, gasping as her single strand of fire seamlessly connected with that of Ellisha’s. Nothing dramatic happened as the complicated weave snaked inside the clogged chimney and disappeared behind its shadows; then, a rumbling, low at first but distinct, began to emit from the device.
    “You see,” Ellisha continued, still holding her own double stranded weave as the clattering intensified. “It is all well and good to use fire until stuff resembles that one time I tried cooking, but the One Power can do… many things, when combined in the correct manner.”   
As if in answer to her words, a large Whoosh of air exploded from within the chimney, as debris and ash clouds rolled at the bottom of the floor, followed by a second larger explosion from deeper inside the stone chamber.  
    Soot and a torrent of other miscellaneous objects flew and rolled along the floor tiles as the rumbling reached its crescendo, then ended as abruptly as it began. Thayetta and a few of the closer Novices coughed as the ash cloud slowly settled in the room.
Walking over towards the chimney, she bent down and looked up at the things interior then nodded as she saw the clog had in fact been removed. Brushing away a few stray ash clouds that had gotten onto her sleeve, she turned and regarded the young Novice standing a few feet away from her.
    “Saidar is both beautiful and dangerous,” she said, her voice turning for once to an icy tone. “And always in equal proportions. You’re only as skilled as far as you understand control.”
    She then walked over to the younger woman and placed a hand on her right shoulder, then in a quieter, softer voice she said. “I meant what I said earlier. Everyone here knows how addictive it can be to embrace the Source, and don’t for a second think you’re the first. We all make mistakes sometimes, the only question is… do you learn from them?”
Pursing her lips, and with her eyes filling up with tears once more, the girl nodded.
    “Good,” she stood, walking back towards the table where her book still lay. “Cause you’ll be cleaning up the mess you’ve created.” She gestured at the soot on the ground – a large circle around the base of the chimney entrance. “With a broom, mind, and No Saidar. I’ll be watching.”

~ Ellisha Falwein
Accepted in the White Tower

Cheers Kronos.

Basic Information
Your Handle : Meridian
Full names of WT characters you already own and their status
(active/retired/dead): N/A

Character Information
Name (first and last) of this character: Meridian Ankarin
State whether this is a Traditional or a Salidar character: Traditional
Age of this character * (Traditional = 14-19 / Salidar = 20-70): 16
(* Returning / Full AS character: age in main time line)
Name of country where this character is from: Cairhien

Appearance
Hair: Dark brown hair, wavy and thick, occasionally tending to unruly
Eyes: Brown eyes with golden highlights depending on the reflection of the light
Skin: Pale Skin
Height: 5'1"
Voice: warm, mid-range: she'll never be a mezzo-soprano. Her speaking voice is a bit lower than is traditionally considered beautiful for a female, but it lends more confidence to what she says. She does not enjoy singing.
Other:

Optional
Special Skills: Meridian does not have special skills yet, but in
terms of her dreams and aspirations she wants to make a difference for
good in the world. On a more personal level, she dreams of one day
training with a sword.
Knowledge Weakness: Domestic skills (cooking, embroidery, etc) – she’s been taught the theory, but she cannot seem to make it actually work in practice.
Physical Weakness: Susceptible to cold (illnesses tend to settle in her lungs making it difficult and sometimes painful to breathe, also they tend to linger and get to know her personally.)
Personality weakness: While her cautiousness is the result of
upbringing and training, it can lead her into not forming/slowly
forming friendships that might otherwise be beneficial. Likewise, if
she misjudges a 'friend' her sense of loyalty/determination may lead
her down the wrong path. However, once she realizes her errors, she
attempts to fix them boldly. Her greatest fear is failure.

Personality:
Cautious: particularly when developing friendships.
Loyal: to those she deems friends.
Fierce: in aiding the helpless.
Determined: this sometimes makes her appear defiant.
Temper: generally in control, but things tend to pile up internally—when she does lose her temper the resultant flare-up is usually hot, but of short duration.
Stubborn: related to determination, but she resists outside attempts to sway her mind, unless she can clearly see the reasons behind the suggestions being made/orders being given.
Proud: in things in which she is confident of her skill (like academic learning). She needs to accept that people who seem to be at a disadvantage, due to background or circumstances, still have knowledge that can be useful to her.

History
Meridian Ankarin is the fifth child of Charick and Ileniya Ankarin,
current Heads of the very minor House Ankarin situated on the
outskirts of the of the “noble district” of the capital city,
Cairhien.She is the third daughter of a mother dedicated to making
something more of their family name; however, due to the size of the
family relative to their income and status as a minor House, Meridian
is not likely to be sought out as a good political investment by those
looking to advance their own House names through the devious
machinations of Daes Dae’mar. Her education, while not profound, has
been thorough. Although her mother has devoted time and energy to
intensive instruction in domestic skills, Meridian has no talent with
cookery or embroidery despite years of determinedly following orders,
and while she can accompany a musician, she does not have the ability
and innate flair/self-confidence to shine as a solo performer.
However, she avidly absorbs more academic knowledge and enjoys
observing the people around her.

Shortly after her twelfth birthday, Meridian’s mother discovered her
attempting to convince her two older brothers to teach her how to
fight with a sword. The result of this left Meridian with an aversion
to sitting for several days and has shown her the necessity of hiding
her wishes in this regard. She did not give up immediately, but her
brothers refused to oppose the commands of their mother.  Whenever she
could break away from chores or lessons of her own, she watched her
brothers closely and hoped that at some point in the future she would
be able to make choices of her own about her life.  But for now, while
under her family’s roof, her daily activities were subject to her
parents’ supervision and approval.  In academic studies, particularly
that of history, Meridian found a brief escape from the mundane
repetition of attempting to provide a passable dinner under the
watchful eye of her mother and sometimes snide remarks of her more
domestically inclined sisters.

Whenever she did have some free time, Meridian liked climbing trees.
Perched up in the leafy branches of an elderly oak with the horizon
stretched in front of her she could close her eyes and imagine
whatever she liked. Most of the time these daydreams tended to revolve
around a heron-marked blade, though she did lecture herself sternly
about the reality of a woman ever being a blademaster. She has looked
for records of such a thing, but has not had any luck so far in that
regard.

The most notable deviation from normal routine in the life of the
Ankarin household was the visit of an Aes Sedai accompanied by her
Warder. Meridian watched them both speaking with her mother, and
wondered idly what the purpose behind the visit was. Of course, one
does not lightly inquire into the business of the White Tower, so she
did not dream of asking. A couple days later, before leaving, the Aes
Sedai offered to test the daughters of the household to see if they
could learn to channel. Following instructions, Meridian did manage to
make a small jewel flash with light. A short time later, she was sent
upstairs to pack her things. Only as she was rolling her second-best
dark dress into a small bundle did she begin to wonder if she could
actually be an Aes Sedai herself one day. This made her feel almost
sick. However, she had no time to think about it. The White Tower does
not wait for anyone, and neither would the woman with the ageless face
downstairs with her family. She said goodbye to her family feeling as
if she was a spectator in her own body.

Just that quickly it seemed that life could change. Meridian felt a
pang at leaving her family behind. Her family could be irritating, but
they did care about her. She knew they did. She wondered if she would
choke with excitement. She had never been outside of Cairhien before,
and now here she was, leaving home on the adventure of a lifetime. If
Meridian was to be honest with herself, then she would have to admit
that she was also scared. There were stories about Aes Sedai.

Your Handle: Girt
 

Character Information
Name (first and last) of this character: Girt Salinas
State whether this is a Traditional or a Salidar character: Traditional
Age of this character * (Traditional = 14-19 / Salidar = 20-70): 17
(* Returning / Full AS character: age in main time line)
Name of country where this character is from: Arad Doman

Appearance
Hair: Mousy brown, long and braided.
Eyes: Brown
Skin: She has bad skin. Rough, work-worn hands, chapped, acne scarred face, heavily tanned. She's freckled and generally not particularly attractive.
Height: 5'5"
Voice (low? high? any other characteristics? ie what does she sound like): High in pitch, soft, cringy.
Other: She wears a necklace. It is a thin leather strap, with a bronze pendant with a turquoise set in. It's obviously not very valuable.

Optional
Special Skills: Trained as a scullery maid and many other tasks necessary for the proper maintenance of a keep.
Knowledge Weakness: She can read… after a fashion. She knows her letters, but really struggles sounding out the words, and writing was beyond her before coming to Tar Valon.  

Physical Weakness: She's physically quite capable. Strong, muscular, quick, and lithe. Personality weakness: She doesn't really know how to interact with anyone in a peer to peer type relationship; everyone stood above her, and that is the comfortable place to be.

Personality:

Girt is quiet and unassuming. She keeps her head down, avoiding confrontation at much cost to her, but also has a rather fierce sense of justice. The only thing that seems to arouse her to any kind of significant reaction is injustice, either her own or someone else's. The world works in specific ways, and you don't just mess that up! That's not right!

History:

I have been traveling with the girl since Andor. She will make an interesting addition to my story of the people of Arad Doman; I seldom have taken the opportunity to interview a commoner, an oversight that needs to be corrected.

She said she was born 17 years ago. The waif barely said two words to me for the first week of travel, but set to work each morning, feeding the horses, tending to breakfast, cleaning the dishes, and preparing the caravan for travel. It is remarkable; the caravan master said he would hire her on gladly for a full Andoran crown each trip, but the girl is dead set on traveling to Tar Valon. She almost began to cry when he pressed her on the issue, at which point I intervened. I can never stand to see a woman cry. In gratitude, she agreed to speak with me. It seems she used to work as a scullery maid in one of the noble houses in Arad Doman. My first impression of her life was hard, ugly, and dull, rather like her. Yet, there is something underneath that veneer. A strength inside her. She fights in silence, bowing to every pressure, yet not breaking. It is truly remarkable. In this she is like a willow tree, and is something I've rarely seen.

It seems that young Miss Girt lost both her parents when she was 11, when her father was found with a portion of gold on his person, and her mother an array of precious gems under her bed. Girt insists that they were innocent, and I find myself believing her. The lady of the manor almost cast her out to the street, but the lady's daughter Zilna, a spoiled little brat by Girt's telling, intervened, taking the girl into her service. Thus began a period of quiet, unintentional torment, as Zilna insisted her new charge learn everything anew, and punished her for her repeated failures.

I was most amused by the last story; apparently, a visiting Aes Sedai offered to test Zilna to determine if she would be eligible for training at the White Tower. Zilna insisted several of her attendants be tested as well, and much to my amusement, and Zilna's apparent chagrin, Girt was the only one who had the capacity to learn. The Aes Sedai bought her service away from Zilna, and pressed a purse into Girt's hand, sending her to the Tower. Quite a remarkable story; I hope that I am around in twenty years to watch Girt Sedai confront Lady Zilna and her mother. But, the wheel weaves as the wheel wills, and we shall see.

-from the notes of Karth Takren, itinerant author. 

Special Skills: healing with herbs, but not Healing, well-read for a merchant’s daughter   

Physical Weakness: a bit clumsy when she moves too fast, but it's a naturally clumsiness. She is less clumsy when she takes her time, which isn't often

History

• She is generally kind and tolerant; she has a temper worthy of her red hair and can hold a grudge. She came upon her brother, Liam, being thrashed by three older boys and quickly came to his defence, taking down one boy and scaring away the other two. Upon hearing that the reason behind the beating was her brother’s tendency to prefer males, and being caught with a well-known lady's man, who denied his willingness,  she lit into the three boys verbally and, in the case of his "unwilling" partner, nearly physically. 
• When she was 15, the Aes Sedai came to her village looking to replenish their supplies during an epidemic. The Aes Sedai notised the healer's apprentice and saw that she was healing a little too well for an apprentice using only herbs. She approached Alana's mistress and offered to test the girl once the children had been cared for and Alana was found to be able to learn to reach Saidar.

Hey Girt, sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm the new Bio-checker in question and do not fear that you have been forgotten, for that is far from the truth. I've already had a chance to look at your Bio and have made a few corrections, it is currently sitting in my email ready to be sent as soon as our group leader gives the green light (I'm still in my training phase, you see).

As for the rather lengthy time in between responses. It varies dramatically depending on changing circumstances and the RPers in question. People have real life obligations to meet, and at times, life just gives them one too many lemons to deal with. Patience is definitely a virtue, and understanding of other people's conditions will ensure you get along smoothly in this community. 

Hope this helps with your concerns, and feel free to shoot me a private message if you've any more questions.

Puffs of ash escaped her lungs as she wheezed into the sleave of her arm, yet that wasn’t her biggest concern for the moment. Like a rolling mountain – towering and unstoppable – Pavara strode towards the spot where she lay, helpless and having lost her grip on Saidar.
    “That,” she managed a cough, “wasn’t fair.” More blood than words came out of her mouth though and the act only made Pavara’s smile broaden. She had her trapped and exactly where she wanted. Ellisha forced herself to smile back at the large woman through clenched and bloodied teeth, the colour of crimson red. Internal bleeding. Maybe a punctured lung. Broken ribs definitely. An imbedded primeval part of her mind tried to identify which parts of her body were broken whilst the two of them stared into each other. Her only hope was that she had bought that girl Myrrhi – or whatever the hell her name was – enough time to escape.
    “This is just like old times, right?” The bigger woman chuckled once more, though from her current position on the floor it sounded more like demonic cackle. “Finally improved your aim I see,” she retorted, a last desperate act of defiance before she was totally defeated. Her eyelids slowly closed in on themselves as she began to accept her fate, waiting, for that inevitable blow to land and bring it to a conclusion. Maybe it was a product of her already strained mind, but laying there on the floor, feeling the cold marble on her back, Ellisha thought she saw the form of a thin and fragile figure running towards them. What on earth was Myrrhi still doing here?
    “Accepted, you leave Ellisha alone!” the voice cried and for once Pavara seemed generally surprised as she turned around to face this new threat.
    “And what do you think you could do to stop me, little girl?” Ellisha heard Pavara say in a condescending tone. The Accepted embraced Saidar and struck out with it at the tiny figure.
No, No, No, NO!
She lashed out just as the weave was beginning to reach the approaching young Novice. The majority of her strength had gradually been sapped away over the course of the past minute or so, but somehow, Ellisha still found herself clawing at the hem of Pavara’s dress just as the woman made to finish the weave she started. The moment of distraction was just enough; the strike weave, incomplete as it was, only partly connected with Myrrhi as the Novice swung with all her might at the larger Accepted with the end of what appeared to be a broken table leg.
    The blow connected, and for the second time that day, Ellisha heard a crunch that signalled the breaking of bones. This time not her own. Before any celebrations could be declared however, a wild un-aimed fist struck and sent the Novice flying off the rubble pile. Pavara wasn’t close to being finished yet.
    “YOU.” The woman pointed at the figure of Myrrhi, trying to scramble back on her feet. The girl might look small and fragile, but Ellisha has certainly seen her take a respectable share of blows today. “BROKE MY NOSE.” The Accepted was in a state of rage and Ellisha only knew the signs too well. She charged down the small incline of broken furniture and overturned floor tiles and straight at the younger Novice. A look of unrestrained terror flashed across Myrrhi’s face as Pavara made a beeline for her at the bottom. She had lost her chair leg during the fall, though that in reality wouldn’t have done much against a two hundred pound avalanche of meat and furry.
    Ellisha breathed in, then out, controlling her heart rate as she pictured for a moment in her mind’s eye, her happy place. The seas roll high and the waves come crashing in – and In. Saidar flooded in to her as the mental exercise coaxed the precious stream past the blockage of her physical wound. This was the first time since becoming Accepted she’s had to resort back to Novice Saidar tricks. She then did one of two things; the first was to fire a clump of air at the stunned form of Myrrhi making the girl shoot through the doorway and out of harm’s way – the second, was to cause the entire ceiling to come crashing down on top of Pavara’s head. Like most women, Ellisha had never been strong in either fire or earth, but after all the channelling that had been done that day, the roof tiles seemed to her just about as fragile as the now broken floor. All that was needed was a gentle coaxing, and some earth and fire balls. The room shook with the weight of falling roof tiles and the Ellisha saw the still raging figure of Pavara disappear under a cloud of ash and cinder.
    Something shook her with a violent urgency, and it was only after a minute of her name being shouted into her ear that Ellisha finally realised she had fallen unconscious again. A pair of bright blue eyes, full of concern and worry, stared down at her from above as the shaking finally stopped.
    “Oh thank the light you’re awake!” the girl squeaked when she saw Ellisha finally opening her eyes. “I was getting so worried.” She blinked, a sting of pain bringing tears to her eyes as she attempted to prop herself up with one arm.
    “Pavara,” she croaked, officially feeling like she had just aged two hundred years.
    “Haven’t seen her since you… Well I don’t know where she is.” The girl was shaking, one hand resting on top of her other arm as she replied; eyes looking distant. Sure signs of trauma, or at least, in Ellisha’s limited areas of expertise, copious amounts of stress.
    “Come,” she said in what she hoped was a soothing comforting tone. “It’ll be alright. Help me up and take me to my room. We can’t be seen lingering here.”  

~ Ellisha Falwein
Accepted of the White Tower
 

Red droplets plopped rhythmically to the floor as the girl’s nosebleed spilled over the side of her cupped palm. Ellisha held the two in an icy stare, though that was partially just to give herself some more time to think. One thing she had learned over the years living in the Tower was whenever she didn’t know what to do: the best course of action was usually to look disapproving.
    The one who identified herself as Myrrhi was rambling something about her family, and Ellisha caught the words ‘nobly born,’ though she was in fact only listening with one ear. Letting out a pointed breath, she crossed her arms underneath her breasts, and the hastily conjured excuses died on the Novice’s lips.
    The two were in serious trouble, and they probably knew it; judging by the defeated look on Myrrhi’s face, some understood it better than others. Had she observed this from any other perspective and not one of the dutiful Accepted, the situation would have appeared absolutely hilarious to her. Two abashed Novices – one with a nosebleed that did justice to the description ‘Bloody fountain,’ and the other looking like she had just received news that she was to serve on a farm for the rest of her life. The novelty was of course lost to her as, being the Accepted, she was supposed to be the one with the ‘responsibility,’ whatever the hell that meant. She probably had to report to the Mistress of Novices, likely spending her entire free afternoon explaining in that Hag’s office how she had found the two, what they were doing, what happened afterwards and–…  
Of course, she thought to herself, there was the other option.
    “Since I know both of you still have a semblance of what is known as a brain,” she hissed softly in a fairly accurate imitation of an annoyed rattlesnake, “I’ll skip the lecture on just how utterly screwed you’d be if I’d been one of the full Sisters.” The two had the decency to look down at their feet as she said it, even Seralia, though the move only seemed to make her nose bleed worse.
    “But since I’m not in the mood to clean up the mess you two started, and no,” she interrupted Seralia when it looked like the girl was going to interject, “I don’t care if she started it, and neither I’m sure, would the Mistress of Novices.” The girl opened and closed her mouth a few times as she glared up at Ellisha, before finally deciding on sticking with the latter.
Good, Ellisha breathed a sigh of relief, I might be able to get away with the rest of the day after all.
    She was just about to dismiss the two, sending them on their merry ways so she could be untangled from this mess, when the one person who could have undone all her work appeared at that moment from around the corner.
    “What on earth are you three doing?” The seven coloured hem of an extra-large Accepteds dress whisked along the floor tiles as Pavara thundered down the corridor towards them.  
    “Seralia!” Her voice shook the walls like thunder without lightning. “What happened to your nose?”
    Unlike her smaller sibling, Pavara was a big woman. Almost a head taller than even Ellisha herself, she was a full ring broader along the hips and seemed capable of towering above just about anyone. Ellisha groaned inwardly to herself, though showing a measured degree of composure as the woman walked right up to her, their faces only inches away from touching.
    “What have you done to my sister Falwein,” she growled a low dangerous growl, and Ellisha had to train herself not to flinch under that enormous pressure. Wonderful, her mind raced, only then remembering Pavara had a younger sister who had just recently entered the Tower. Just blood and bloody wonderful.
    “I’ve got it handled, Accepted.” She replied, not once breaking eye contact with the other woman. “No need for this to get any more unpleasant than it already is.”
    “She punched me!” Seralia squeaked from the sidelines and both of them turned to stare at her. Ellisha grounded her teeth, and glared straight at the troublemaking little chit who had positioned herself behind her bigger sister. The girl directed one shaky finger towards the figure of Myrrhi and began to make sobbing noises into her hands. She was obviously faking it, but Pavara didn’t seem to notice or care. After patting her sister comfortingly on the shoulder, the Accepted stood up and began walking directly towards Myrrhi.
    “Out of the way Falwein,” she barked when Ellisha took one step to her left and blocked Pavara’s advance. “I said, out of the way!” she yelled. The glow of Saidar appeared around her and Ellisha’s breath caught as she saw a whip-like weave of air lash out towards Myrrhi. The girl let out a squeak and Ellisha saw her attempt to embrace Saidar to protect herself. She was too out of practise however, and startled by the unexpected attacked, did not manage more than to simply hold the source before crashing backwards to the floor. A second whip came, but this time, Ellisha was waiting. Having already embraced the Source as soon as she saw what the other woman was doing, she split the weave with one of her own and the two cancelled each other out mid-air out before any harm could be done.  
    “Afraid I can’t let you do that.” Ellisha breathed out, letting in more of the Source so that she was holding just about as much as she could safely hold. Saidar flowed throughout her; pulsing, flowing and radiant in her vessel. That sweet ecstasy, the unmatched sense of power, the small pain in the back of her head which was an incomparably small price to pay for the absolute sense of joy it bought her.
    The glow surrounded her, she had never held this much of the source before but it simply felt wonderful, like she had never been truly alive up to that point. The weight of it slowly chocked her, yet a part of her craved for the pressure to build just that little more.
    Only the ambient sound of the Tower could be heard in the distance, even Seralia had temporary decided to stop crying. Ellisha could practically hear the tension in the air as neither one of them dared to make the first move. Then, unexpectedly, Pavara smiled.
    “I’ve been waiting for this moment to happen again you know,” the other woman said, and for the first time, Ellisha felt a chill run down the length of her spine.
    “Well I’ve certainly been waiting to replicate last time.” She forced herself to smile back but it took considerable effort. Now was not the time to show weakness, she had to appear like if she too was as un-phased by the entire event.  
    “You got lucky last time. Won’t happen again.”
    “You don’t have your cronies to back you up this time,” she replied coolly to the woman’s challenge. “No more hiding behind the weight of numbers.” Pavara’s smile only broadened.
    “I don’t intend to.”
    Before she could react, the Accepted aimed a shot directly at her. Ellisha had just enough time to split the weave, but did not see the follow ups in time. A solid clump of air knocked the wind from her middle and she gasped as she flew backwards through the air, crashing against a wooden doorframe which splintered under the enormous strain on its hinges.
    The world grew dark for a moment, her eyes involuntarily closing as her mind shut itself off to protect herself from trauma. She landed, head knocked sideways as she rolled awkwardly through the interiors of an abandoned class room. She coughed, blinking her eyes open only to see the mountainous form of Pavara stepping over the ruins of desks and chairs towards her.  

~ Ellisha Falwein
Accepted of the White Tower

In my dorm. Reading textbooks. Eating doritos.

Hi txarki. I'm not an Aiel, but as far as I know, the group has not been very active of late. As to which groups are still active... The WT still has a few Aes Sedai, accepted and Novices, the band also, and the children. The others might still have characters but I haven't seen them for the better part of a few months.

Gingerly pushing the crack with her right palm, Ellisha Falwein – dignified, disciplined, obedient Accepted of the White Tower – snuck her way into the now empty dining hall. Night had well and truly fallen, and Ellisha’s stomach was giving her the rumbles. She’d missed out on dinner, due to some confounded Aes Sedai’s task she’d been forced to endure. Browns were always so flaming distracted, that they constantly forget who they were dragging along with them. By the time Valet Sedai had realised it was way past Ellisha’s supper time, the kitchen had already been scrubbed clean and the cooks gone home.
     No matter, she thought, taking caution not to make a noise as she ducked between tabletops. It wasn’t going to stop her from getting a midnight snack from the kitchens at least.
     The hall was quiet this time of the night, and Ellisha knew from her past experience sneaking about, that the Tower Guards hardly patrolled in these areas. For who would spend valuable manpower guarding a few crummy biscuits and the odd can of tinned beef? The kitchen door lay just around the corner, and if she could just reach it, she’d be in and out before anyone would know.
     Reaching the doorway, she found a padlock fastened around the L shaped doorhandle. Ellisha smiled, drawing a pin she’d kept in her hair then rummaged around in her white belt pouch until she found the shiv she’d hidden there. She’d be in a lot of trouble if anyone found her with that, but she hardly ever took it out from underneath the loose floorboard in her room. This night however, she’d expected she would need it, and it appeared she was right.
     Raising the hairpin in front of her, she bent the small piece of metal slightly until it formed a small hock; then, using the pin and the small shiv, she began prying the padlock for its sweet spot. A noise, sudden and abrupt, broke the dead silence of the hallway. Someone cursed behind her, and Ellisha’s heart and hands froze in place. Uh oh.
     Turning very slowly, she crouched down and peered into the darkness of the hallway. Someone else was in the room with her, and it was very likely an Aes Sedai. There wasn’t much illumination in the room, for the moon was yet to rise and no candles were lit. Which meant whoever had just knocked over a chair could not have seen her, yet. She had a problem however, there was only one exit from the room, and it lay back from where she’d come.
Oh you confounded idiot, Ellisha. It was time to get risky.
She’d be lashed till she cried for her mother anyway, what more could they do to her?
     “Who goes there?” she called into the darkness, putting on what she hoped was a commanding, yet serene tone of voice. It didn’t exactly scream Aes Sedai, but Ellisha prayed it was at least passable. After a moment’s silence, a voice answered back.
“Miranda Sedai of the Yellow Ajah, and you are?” Oh crap, an actual Aes Sedai. Ellisha had been fearing this was the case. If it been an Accepted or Novice, or maybe even one of the servants, she could’ve told them simply to leave. She shrugged, shifting her position to the back end of one of the high tables.
     “I’m…” her mind raced, her heart feeling like it was going to pound through her chest. She looked around herself, trying to find a source of inspiration. She should have at least come up with a confounded name before she tried a stunt like this. Moon, chair – my blasted sense of–
     “I’m Moonchara Sedai of the Blue Ajah. What are you doing up so late, Sister?” she added that last part, for it seemed appropriate. Blast it, how was she ever going to get out of this one alive?

~ Ellisha Falwein
Accepted of the White Tower

OCC: In response to of thread, made by Kathleen

It was the sound of loud banging that woke Ellisha up from her slumber, head leaning against the writing desk as the early rays of sunlight filtered through her window. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the small ornamental clock that sat beside her dressing drawer. Eight- thirty. Letting out a long yawn, she slowly stretched her back muscles and wrist. It was during the process of this stretch that a part of her mind finally processed the information that lay before her. She snapped her eyes wide open and stared again at the clock with an expression of incredulity.
   “Oh, for f –  ” The sound of banging came once again, this time accompanied by the squeaky, yet urgent voice of Aril from the other end.
“Ellisha, Ellisha! We have to go, we’r –”
The Accepted was pushed backwards as the door to the apartment was thrown violently open, followed by a wild haired Ellisha as she attempted the task of dressing, packing and running, all in the same movement. The two of them rushed down the corridor, jumping entire flights of steps in an effort to minimise travel time.
   It was on account of the creator’s mercy that the two Accepted found themselves entering the classroom being only slightly behind the rest of the class. Yet as the rest of the students were handing in their essays to Desandre Sedai, Ellisha remembered she was yet to finish hers.
   “Mother’s milk in a cup,” she muttered a curse, which was received by raised eyebrows and abashed looks from the other Accepteds. Scrambling to find a way out of her predicament, Ellisha rummaged around the satchel she carried and produced a piece of paper which looked similar in length to the homework she was supposed to have finished. She’d do the actual thing during the lesson if she had to, and pretend the two essays had been accidently mixed up.
     Taking a seat as far away from the Yellow Aes Sedai as possible, she sat down and produced her quill, ink and paper, as their teacher began the lesson. “Who remembers what I said we would discuss this class?” Ellisha sat with her back straight, and occasionally gave the Yellow blank looks – just to keep up the impression that she was still listening.
     The personal impressions of an Accepted concerning the Yellow Ajah, she quickly scribbled at the top of the blank piece of paper. There, she mused, already killed ten words before I even started, now I just need another five hundred. “Traditions,” she heard the Yellow say at the front of the room after some of the Accepted gave hesitant replies to one of her former questions.
Traditions, Ellisha wrote on her essay. The Yellow Ajah are a group of people dedicated to upholding their long traditions and stubbornly pointless ways – She quickly scribbled out that last part as she realised what she was beginning to write. Come on, woman. Concentrate.
     The lesson continued and Ellisha struggled to squeeze the words out one at a time. My initial impressions of the Ajah were that they were healers, with a strict set of rules. She paused, lost yet again on how she was to proceed. At around this point, had she still been in her room, she would have probably put down the essay and gone done something more entertaining. Which upon reflection, was most likely what had ended her up in this predicament in the first place. She sighed, then continued writing.
     “I could go into detail on the small reasons the many traditions exist and passed along through time, though I suggest you find a White or Brown if you want to have an in depth discussion on that.”
Ellisha certainly wouldn’t mind having a chat with a Brown at that moment, not a White, mind; those particular women creeped her out, what with their airy logic and hard pointed stares.
She wrote down what came to her mind, and stuck to it. So what if the Yellow found my answers to be unorthodox? She could send me to the Mistress of Novices, and as if I cared. It wasn’t like she was missing out on an appointment with that woman anyway. She was already due to meet the Mistress of Novices that very afternoon.
     At the end of the lesson, I didn’t feel much has changed about my opinion on the Ajah. They are still, in my mind, healers, and though it is admittedly a definition which leave much out on what a Yellow does with most of her time, it would still be that of their primary function. She was making progress for once, and as she scribbled to finish her middle paragraphs, she heard words coming from the front of the room that nearly made her enter cardiac arrest.
     “I think the best place for us to start is in the Yellow Ajah Halls. So come along girls, let’s go for a walk.” Oh flame and bull. As the other Accepteds made to rise, Ellisha brushed off with a conclusion that may as well have been copied from the encyclopaedia of generic answers.
The Yellow took her students out through the Tower hallways, and as she did so, Ellisha popped her hastily completed essay near the bottom of the stack. Hopefully, she prayed, the Yellow would be too tired to care much about her essay once she’s had to mark twenty other essays before it.  
     They walked through familiar pathways, until the little group, headed by the tall Yellow, found themselves walking among the section of the Tower quartered for the woman’s own Ajah. Ellisha raised an eyebrow at the gaily coloured wall and floor tiles, and nodded at the comment that the Yellows were either colour blind, or mad with fever. Either, and or both, would probably explain it in her estimations.
     The group continued down the halls, crossing the Sister’s own personal chamber, which was brightly coloured like the rest of the floor, then proceeded to what appeared to be a vegetable garden. All the while the Yellow rambled on about traditions and the like, talking about how the Ajah had a wide array of them for the purpose of solidifying a community. Again, she wasn’t particularly interested in the Yellows, or their silly traditions. To her, it seemed more hassle than what they were worth in the end.
      She smiled as finally, the woman dismissed them and told them to run off for the rest of the day. The yellow had not set them any homework, which was perfectly fine in Ellisha’s books. She only hoped the Aes Sedai wouldn’t look too closely at the scribbled over lines in her essay. She found she was often a bit too liberal with her opinions on her first draft. Upon finding Aril, who wore a pleased smile on her face as the two made their way back to the Accepted Quarters, Ellisha gave thought on what Ajah she would eventually choose upon gaining the shawl. Probably Blue, she decided. I like Blue. The colour suited her, and that was probably a good enough starting point for now.

~ Ellisha Falwein
Accepted of the White Tower

Whoohoo! I love paperwork.

Welcome back, sort of...? Happy to see you either way.

Jeral smiled at the newcomer. He visibly relaxed, glad now that the subject had turned to areas he was more comfortable with.
“You’re allowed to wield? Lass, you’re allowed to wield whatever the hell you want. Though, if you were asking for a suggestion, I’d stick away from anything that weighs just about as much as you.” He stopped leaning his foot against the back wall, and sauntered towards the girl and the weapons rack. “Oh, and you can stop trying to clean the room up, I might need it in a second for… something else.” A little revenge for someone who hasn’t paid Jeral his money back.
     He went up to the weapons rack and pulled down a selection of weapons and laid them on the now once more upright table.
“Daggers are fine for throwing,” he explained, pointing a pair of diamond shaped weapons with little red ribbons attached to the end of them, “but they’re practically useless when going up against someone with a pole-arm or sword. You might try and cut into the person’s blindside – if you’re quick.” He gave the girl a look, entailing that wasn’t always possible. “And not to mention risky if you ever try it against multiple opponents.”
     He picked up one of the smaller side swords. “Now this is something which you might find useful.” The weapon wasn’t curved like Jerals, but its guard enveloped the front portion of the wielder’s knuckle – an effective tool in case one needed to backhand someone. “This you could use to block, and notice the edging along its side? Those are used to catch and hold the edge of a broadsword.” He threw the weapon towards the new recruit and she caught it, then weighed it experimentally in her hand.
     “But as with anything, a good battle plan is a safe battle plan.” He hefted one of the full war bows on the rack and handed it to the girl. “Try and draw that, use one of the arrows if that helps you pull.”
She did as she was told, and as Jeral suspected, only managed a wobbly half-draw. “Not bad, you’ll probably want to eventually be able to pull one of those. I’ve seen one of the older archers fire off eight arrows in under a minute and put an entire squad of heavy cavalry to route before they even managed to reach him.” The girl sounded impressed, though Jeral knew he himself was still a long way from that goal.
     “Anyway, for now you can start with something a bit easier to handle.”
He picked up one of the other bows.
“This is a recurve shoulder bow. Some of the cavalry scouts use it whilst on horseback, but it can also be quite useful for firing on the run.” He let her test the weight, the pull and the feel of the strings for the moment.
“Well, take your pick, I’ll still be here if you need me. I just need to do something to shift the blame on someone else.”  
     Rummaging around inside his pockets, he found a pair of loaded dice and haphazardly placed them in a corner of the room. It wasn’t so obvious, and whoever searches the room later would surely find it eventually. Yes, Jeral decided, that should be sufficient punishment for that old drunk.

~ Jeral Ahan
Scout in the Band of the Red Hand.

Ellisha breathed, drawing in the scent of the Tower around her – its multitude of voices, the sound of shuffling feet and the aroma of freshly picked sun flowers. As much as he hated its inhabitants, she had to admit the Tower – In its singular form – without all its political and social implications – really wasn’t a bad place to live in. Breakfast was being served down in the kitchens and she noticed a new patch of eager Novices gliding – or attempting to – towards the smell of food. She sighed, letting the tension wash over her, then proceeded to pointedly stomp past the line of Novices.
     She walked towards her quarters, which was situated exactly one floor above her old ones – the ones she used to occupy as a Novice. Her eyes glazed over and her mind began to wander as her subconscious took over the task of locomotion. She really missed her days as a Novice; she figured what with the exclusion of any more mandatory classes, the ability to set her own times of study, her days as an Accepted would breeze by a lot easier. Oh how very wrong she was on that point. She had realised something was wrong when she found an entire mountain of textbooks sitting atop her now slightly bigger desk; the use of which, she was sure, was precisely to accommodate for the heightened workload. She sighed, yet again, noticing an Aes Sedai – of the Grey Ajah – walk past. She would pray for the swift coming of her test, if only to cause a reduction in the insurmountable amount of flaming books she had to read.
     Her ears pricked up as she heard something out of place in the general conundrum of the hallway. Shouting, no, argument, she decided. Glancing towards one of the wall clocks, she probably had some time before she is pressed to return to her room and study. If this distraction would give a further excuse for procrastination, then she’d happily take it.  
A group of Novices curtsied to her as she walked by. She still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. Certainly the Novices held the Accepted in the highest regard – perhaps not far off from the Aes Sedais themselves. But Ellisha certainly didn’t feel any different when around Aes Sedais. Evidently they still saw them as mere children.
     The voices grew louder as she turned yet another corner. This section was slightly less often used, and hence less frequented by most people in the Tower. She was curious as she drew close to the source of the commotion. What could anyone be shouting about, and so… passionately? She slowly peaked out from one side of a corner – It wouldn’t do to be seen eavesdropping on two potential Aes Sedai having a shouting match – and saw two white clad Novices seeming to be on the edge of tearing each other’s hairs off. One had light brown hair; of Andoran decent, Ellisha guessed though it was still too early to tell. The other had straight sleek black hair and an angular face which at that moment was contorted into a scowl. She stepped around her corner and stepped up towards the two.
      “Alright, what is going on here?”   

~ Ellisha Falwein
Accepted in the White Tower

We could start a fire. Inter-Ajah rivalries?

Serves you Greens right for stealing the Blue's cookies.

Jeor waited as each recruit had said the oath. “Now for the final step.” He said, once the words had been given sufficient time to settle in. “As recruits, you’ve learnt about our three divisions – the Army of the Light, the Hand, and the Eyes.” He noticed the expression turn from uncertain weariness to open eagerness at the prospect of finally being emitted into a division. In essence, each branch of the Children were a separate family. These new recruits were soon going home to their families. “Now is the time to choose.”
     At that, the doors to the Dome of Truth swung open to admit three clerks, each carrying cloaks of different colour and symbol. “You’ve all earned these, you’ve done well. Now step forward and bear this weight of responsibility proudly upon your shoulders.”
There was no need for any more instructions. The Children each donned the respective cloaks of their profession that were handed to them.
“Well done. I formally acknowledge you as members of the Children of the Light. Welcome home, Brothers and Sisters. May the Light forever shine true in your hearts, whatever your calling may be.”

~ Jeor Alroel
Captain in the Army of the Light, and Master at Arms

Sheathing his knife back into its belt loop, Jeral gave the girl Fang a bemused look.
“Flames, woman. You’re telling me you tried to cut my head off just because you’re afraid we might send you back to your father?”
Fang slowly nodded, looking for once sheepish at what she had done.
“Well be assured, no-one is going to do any such thing. You’re probably older than half the recruits that come here, and obvious capable of handling yourself – judging from the state you’ve left this room.” He chuckled, looking around once again at the bits and bobble lying around.
     “As for your backstory, I guess I won’t pressure you to telling me more if you don’t want to. And I’ll keep your secret, so long as you promise not to bite anymore. Also,” he continued, heaving with both hands to lift the overturned table back into place. “You can stop pretending to be a man, you’re just not good at it.”
Again, Fang seemed embarrassed by Jeral’s comments. For a person who had the will and instincts to stab and ask questions later, she certainly did blush a lot. He shook his head to clear it. He never had been very good with women in the first place.
     “I’m uhhh… also sorry about the comment about your hair.” He said. Now he was blushing! “It’s just that…” What should he say? That he had never been in relation with a woman before? That there had never been a time when he felt himself in control around anyone of the opposite gender? Stop it, he scolded himself. You’re drifting again. He didn’t have trouble talking to her when he still thought her a boy, why did he find himself tongue tied now? He cleared his throat.
Fang raised an eyebrow, and Jeral felt himself shifting uncomfortably on the spot.
“What I’m trying to say is…” he tried pushing on. Is that uhhh… well, I’m just not very good at all this.”
He felt foolish. An idiot again. Surely this Fang person will simply fall over laughing at him. He probably deserved it anyway.

~ Jeral Ahan
Scout in the Band of the Red Hand

 

Is the position for the head of the Blues still available?

Jeor stood quietly by himself in the dome of truth, hands clasped behind his back, contemplating. He often did this when he needed time to think – to ponder about his life – the decisions he’s been forced to make. The fortress was always a drone of activity and noise, the recruits sparing in the practise yard, the soldiers drinking and laughing in their barracks. Not the Dome of Truth though. This, was one place where a man could actually hear himself think.
     It had been over twenty years since he joined the ranks of the Children. Twenty years of his life he had given away to the Order. By the Light, for it seemed a long time to him. The only regret he had was he probably didn’t have twenty more to give. The Children was his home. Would be, and always will be. Though at times the call of Malkier would also ring strongly in his ears. Maybe he would retire one day; pack up and finally seek the peace, and the Blight with its Shadowspawn. To die a true Malkierie death.
     His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by the opening of the main entrance to the Dome. A line of fresh faced recruits entered, their breastplates gleaming brightly against the late afternoon sun. They had obviously polished them thoroughly before coming here. Their expressions looked eager, though a few produced worried looks as they glanced about. Jeor smiled to himself, though his facial expression remained the same – the placid indifference of the Master at Arms.
     Without even having to give a word of instruction, the eight soon would be Children stood facing him in a line. They were no longer wet behind the ears, for they had trained long and hard for this moment. Jeor certainly remembered how eager he had been to prove himself as one who worthy of taking the oath. He began to perform the ritualised lines, and though he only spoke at a normal volume, the shape of the domed chamber made his voice echo as it rollicked into every corner and space.
     “You all have been summoned to take the Firth Oath of the Children of the Light.” He said, and the line of recruits stood instantly to attention, their eyes wide with excitement. “If you have any reservations about joining, now is the time to leave. For this is your last chance to do so before swearing.” He paused, and waited the necessary amount of time before continuing. In all his years serving with the Children, Jeor had never seen anyone back out on the night of being sworn in. The initiation process usually weeded out the unsuitable candidates long before they got this far.
     “Now, since you’re all still here. We meet at days end and night begins to seal your commitment to the Light. Repeat after me:
By the Light and my hope of Salvation and rebirth, I swear fealty to the Children of the Light. I vow to serve, respect, and grant obedience to the high command. In the name of the Creator, I swear it.”
     He waited as each and every recruit repeated the first vow spoken by all members of the Children ever since its foundation.

~ Jeor Alroel
Captain in the Army of the Light, and Master at Arms.

The table crashed towards him and Jeral was only just able to roll out of the way in time. Panting, he regained his footing and stared across the room at the girl. Light blind him, but he was in this situation yet again.
“For the thousandth time Lass, I’m not trying to hurt you.” A single throwing dagger zipped through the air towards him and imbedded itself in the overturned table. The other Tairen had moved over towards the weapons rack and was throwing daggers as fast as she could pull them down. His curved hunting knife rested at the centre of his right palm, but he didn’t really intend to use it. He couldn’t hurt this young woman – Edward would surely would have his skin for soup if he did.  
     “I don’t know who your father is.” THUNK. “And honestly I don’t really care.” Another loud clank signalled two more throwing daggers being hurled in Jeral’s direction. He had to find a way to disarm this woman without doing any damage to her – no permanent damage anyway. The daggers had stopped for the moment; she must be conserving her ammo. How long did she think she could keep this up? The quartermaster certainly won’t be pleased when he returned. The small room was now littered with scattered debris; books, overturned ledgers and fallen pieces of armour.
Why the hell was he thinking about the Quartermaster at a time like this? Blood and Ashes, there was a crazy woman just on the other size of the room who thirsted for nothing else but his blood. He needed a way out.  
     Using his right hind leg as an anchor, he heaved the table across the length of the floor. The wood was relatively light, so it was easy to push, and it acted as a makeshift shield – separating Jeral from direct line of sight. The girl let out a gasp of surprise as the table suddenly rushed towards her. She dodged out of the way; her reaction was good, but Jeral hadn’t been counting on the thing ramming into her. Still holding his own knife, he swung it at the girl’s right hand. She instinctively blocked, but the force of the blow – plus the sideways angle – made the weapon fly out of her hand. Jeral had his opening.
     Without missing a beat, he pivoted on the girl’s now exposed side and twisted the hand that still held a knife, bring his short sword to sit across the length of her throat. “I really didn’t want to have to do this,” he said, panting slightly from the exertion and the adrenaline. “But please stop struggling, and especially stop trying to grab that dagger I know you have in your boot.”

~ Jeral Ahan
Scout in the Band of the Red Hand

Ellisha rolled her eyes. Great. She breathed, letting the sound fill the now quiet room. She glanced towards the other Novices, who watched with intent frightful eyes – as one probably would if a bear had wondered into the room and they weren’t particularly sure what it planned to do. She allowed the silence to foster for a moment; a part of her secretly enjoying the experience of toying with Novices. After all, only a few years back she had been the one on the receiving end of those angry stares.
     “All of you,” she barked, and the collective ring of Novices had a moment of synchronised jumping. “Back to work.” They obeyed without missing a beat, the twenty or so girls scattering like snow pedals as they returned to their respective tasks. Now to deal with this one, she thought as she returned her gaze back to the trouble-maker. Thayett.
      The girl was still crying, though she no longer wailed – only emitting the occasional sob from the back of a dampened dress sleave.
“Stop crying.” She ordered, and the girl obeyed, be it with evident difficulty.
“I’m… s..sorry, Acc..c-” the girl began, and to Ellisha’s surprise she found herself warming up to the woman.
     “Oh don’t do that,” she lowered her voice, giving the Novices in closest proximity a furtive glance to make sure they weren’t listening in.
“You don’t think anyone who’s walked herself into a bloody shawl has channelled whilst not under supervision? I know, girl.” She continued, staring into a pair of blood rimmed eyes which now looked up at her with an expression of curiosity. “How tempting it is to feel the source; Saidar flowing through your veins, and I don’t blame you.” Hell, I’ve channelled more times in the garden than I care to count as a Novice. “The important thing is, you don’t bawl like a five year the first instant you get caught. Now,” she said, straightening until she was once again standing at her full height. “I’ll have to make a show of scolding you, else the others will start talking.”
     She cleared her throat, forcing her face to adopt a look that demanded the obedience of the storms itself. “How dare you, you insolent fool!” She screamed. “How dare you disobey the Tower and its sacred traditions?” The Novices around her shied away, a few eyes popping open with looks of absolute terror. “You foolish girl, you stupid girl! You’ve endangered the lives of everyone here. Not only do you put yourself at risk of being burned out, you could have killed everyone in this room!” Thayett raised a hand to shield her face and Ellisha realised she had unconsciously embraced the source whilst on her verbal ramage – the glow of Saidar surrounding her in an aura of bright yellow light. “Apologize.” She hissed, letting the words slivering and chill.
     “I’m sorry Accepted! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”  Either the Novice was a superb actor, or the girl was somehow still terrified of Ellisha’s improvised scolding – even knowing it was all an act. In any case, she felt it was sufficient to satisfy the occasion. She turned towards the rest of the Kitchen.
“Did I tell any of you to stop?” She barked as she saw twenty motionless faces with mouths hanging half open. They immediately went back to scrubbing, washing and drying.
     After a few minutes, Ellisha allowed the tiniest flicker of a smile to touch her lips.
“Now, since you’re under my supervision.” She said to Thayett, Saidar still aglow around her. “You might as well help me channel this blockage away.”

~ Ellisha Falwein
Accepted of the White Tower

Tan looked down at the list given to him by the Captain at Arms. Another anointment, then. It had been six months since the last one had passed. Recruitment for the Children seemed down from last quarter, but why should he really care? He was just a servant – to be used by the officers in carrying their wine and parchment. He scurried down the corridor, past finely hung tapestries and polished marble walls, until he reached a section of the fortress that was not as highly decorated as the others. The recruit barracks.
     The things appeared quite empty these days, though Tan suspected it had something to do with it being the weekend. He really should consider using up the long term leave he had saved up and get away from this place for a while. He stopped in front of a door made from stout oak then knocked, not glancing up as a figure came to answer the call.
      “Kyle Kirnan, you’ve been ordered to report to the Fortress at Eighteen-hundred.” He said in a loud and crisp enough voice. “In order to take your Oaths and be admitted into the Children of the Light. Please be prepared and on time.”
The recruit hesitated at the door, then even more hesitantly took the sheet of parchment from Tan’s hand, which outlined the requirements for the ceremony.
He bid the lad well, then quickly retreated from the doorway, leaving the recruit to his own thoughts. He had another eight of these to deliver, and he was looking forward to getting off work for the day.

~ Tan
Master-Servant in Service to the Children of the Light

“Pain? Wha- oh, yeah. Right. No, I’m fine.” His shoulders ached, and he could feel little beads of sweat rolling down the side of his back. “Really, doc. I feel fine.”
The man didn’t look particularly convinced, scribbling another note on the clipboard before setting it down at the end of Jeral’s bed.
“Sure you’ll be feeling even better after a few days’ rest. Losing that much blood, we’re not going to take any chances.”
      Jeral let out a groan of protest, but it looked as if the older man would have none of it, so he eventually gave up trying to wiggle his way out of bed. Jeral hated hospitals, and hated being stuck in them even more. The smell of the forest and the cool evening breeze was the medicine he really needed. Bed rest just simply didn’t sit well in his stomach.
At least the others are ok, he thought, sitting back down and pulling the coverlet higher so it covered his chest.
“What happened to the other one?” He asked the medic, as the man was looking over the condition of the patient one bed over from Jeral’s. “The crazy one with the dagger eyes, and well… daggers.”

~ Jeral Ahan
Scout in the Band of the Red Hand