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Everything posted by Kura

  1. Darial's eyebrow arched at this man's request. He was to feed himself to a flame? That... that was not expected. The man's earlier joke sprung to his mind, he wouldn't do so again, would he? Gratingly, the saldean knew there was only one way to find out. Closing his eyes, he pictured a flame in his mind. He began to feed everything into it. His joy, his sadness, his fear, all of it. His anger though, gave him trouble. That frozen shard of hate refused to be melted by such a puny flame, and so the mutt redoubled his efforts, force feeding the glacier into an inferno. It gave way slowly, every so slowly. Though eventually, the half-breed found himself floating in a void, aware of every sensation as it touched him. The hyper-awareness of the heat almost sent him into a fit, but he controlled himself, feeding that too into the flame. He searched within his mind, and looked for the glory of Saidin. Finding it before to long, those spectral pianists fingers grasped for the light within his mind. It was like trying to catch the rain! He tried again and again, after every failed attempt having to reform the void as his anger shattered the delicate concentration. After what must have been a half hour of franticly grasping for the source, he felt himself filled with a molten chill, freezing him to ash. Atop of which was a vile taint, more putrid than the refuge of a thousand horse stable. It forced bile to rise in his throat; and he forced it down. Despite it all though, Darial felt alive. Colors were more vivid, smells sharper, all of life flowed into him. A slow smile crept over his face, and he looked at his teacher. "I've done it dreadlord, what is your next lesson?" He noted the emotionless tone he spoke with, and a laugh fed itself to the flame as he thought of it. He could get used to this...
  2. Arcon was impressed; his student showed up exactly on time. A feat not often enough replicated. Stepping through his inverted weave, the dreadlord presented himself in all his grim glory. "Welcome Alliveer, to your first lesson upon Saidin, the male half of the One Power, the True Source, and the greatest gift you can offer to the Great Lord of the Dark." And me, he added within his scheming Carhienen head. "Let us get right into it, shall we?" Arcon again seized Saidin, taking a moment to appreciate the ease of which he rode those molten currents of ice, of how he himself was free of the taint that coated the male half. Thinking back to the first time he had channeled, all those years ago... The thought rose up the need to suppress a smile, his slight sadism sated by what he was about to introduce to the Acolyte. "Just to make sure you know every proper step of seizing Saidin, we will start with the very first lesson, and that is that of Ko'Di, the Oneness, or more commonly known as, the Flame and the Void." Arcon wove a small fire over his open, upturned palm. "Imagine a flame in your mind, it doesn't really matter the size, or the color, any flame will do." To further the demonstration, he wove all five elements, with a dominance towards spirit. Illusion. He formed a sort of white haze around the flame, the mist occasionally sending ghastly images of people into the flame. Arcon's own memories... One stood out above the others, of a short, blond haired girl in a servant's dress... But she too was quickly fed into the flame. "Feed your memories, all of them, into this flame." He began to alternate the color of the mist. "Your emotions, all of it into the flame." The mist gradually disappeared, until there was nothing left of it. Arcon dropped both weaves, and wove another illusion; that of a perfect black sphere with a small prick of light in the center. "And then the void should envelop you... Try it, as many times as you need. We can not continue until you master this step."
  3. aussuming this is a second charrie, all looks well. Cc'd by CotS.
  4. Sereth awoke the next day fully rested, his enthusiasm causing him to practically glow. Despite perhaps having to deal with an insubordinate subordinate, and a crazy, pregnant warrior woman, he couldn't help but be excited. He'd be channeling to help someone... even if it was in a harsh way. For one who had very little talent in healing, yet the extreme depth of kindness that Sereth possessed, this was a wonderful thing. Plus it'd be fun. A break from the monotony of waking up, channeling his brains out, and trying to stuff them back in with conversation and books. Of course he found ways to spice up his life, and he'd never shirk his duties, but sometimes, well, a man gets bored with his everyday life. Maybe Mathis was right... he needed a woman. All of that however, was for the future, for now he had a maze to build. He seized Saidin, and drew upon earth and fire, raising twin walls of earth, and hardening them with fire. Each wall was around ten feet tall, and thirty in length, completed with an observatory deck sitting atop the end of walls. It was a simple start... he wanted to have Mathis work on the detail work with him, not to mention he needed it to be easily adaptable. This was after all, a weapon versus saidin course, and if one expected the same from a channeler, well, they wouldn't last long to put it plainly. Weaving a gateway to the raised platform, Sereth Arian drew fully upon Saidin. He needed to wake up the siblings, and he needed to make a point. Weaving air, earth, and fire in copious quantities, he called down a searing white lightning strike from the clear blue sky. He held onto this weave for a full five seconds before releasing it, the thunder echoing in his ears long after he did so. The target was the very opening of his twin earthen walls, and he accented it all by weaving, inverting and tying off twin pillars of fire at the entrance. Sereth was not a subtle person. When the pair showed themselves, Sereth stood proudly atop his creation. Weaving an inverted weave to increase his volume, he spoke. "Welcome, Thera Trakelyn, to my little creation. Your brother and I will be fixing it along the way, if you choose to continue with this challange?" His voice altered voice boomed, but there was an honest question at the end. He had demonstrated a portion of the power he had under his command, what she would be up against. "The objective is simple. Take this," he wove Earth, rising up a replica, in both shape and weight, of the sword she carried in front of her, the blade tip stuck in the ground. "And hit me and Mathis with it, assuming he agrees to these terms." Again, he was testing the pair... Sereth would make it an excruciating challenge for the both of them. The Black Tower would never settle for less.
  5. Darial listened to Arcon's words carefully, his eyes widening in surprise as the power was taken from him. His slanted eyes probed the dreadlord, his rage raising up yet again. Just as quickly as the shield was woven however, it was gone, and once again he was forced to defend against the onslaught of Shadar... The man's weaves were brutal, a huge blanket of Saidin launching at him, trying desperately to cut him off from the source. He wove short, simple cutting weaves to counteract the shields. He wove again, and again, the toll of channeling taking its effect on him. When will it be over? The half-breed ground his teeth, realizing what the devilish Carhienen was up to. He wants me to counter him with a shield of my own... He wants me to counter-attack! The light dawning, he sliced once last time at Shad's shield. Immediatly after he formed his own shield, sending it at his opponent with all the force he could muster. Shad had another in place, and attacked his own incoming shield with his own fresh one. What followed was a battle of attrition, neither one willing to give up. Each one simply attacking the other with shear force of will and strength in the power... The latter of which, is why Darial lost. Reaching the end of his strength, Darial cringed as his shield faltered, and the Southerner's came in like a rushing bull. He felt the power robbed from him, and glared at his opponent with unbridled hatred. He had lost! For all his talent with Saidain, this filthy pig of a man had bested him! The Saldean actually felt bile rise up in his throat at the thought of it, and those narrow eyes turned on Arcon. You did this to me... --- "Shadar, release him." Arcon's voice had to be controlled, lest the mixture of amusement and concern entered his voice. The Saldean had countered, he should have known better. "Darial, you appear to have had a lapse in judgement... Shadar is your superior in brute force, it would have been wiser to twist your weave around his." Examining his favored student again, Arcon noted the glee... What animosity is between these two... and how can I exploit it? Their hatred was yet another tool, one that could be used to propel Shad to even greater heights, though in truth, he thought he saw the spark of potential in Darial as well. The boy was skilled, and that rage of his would make him easily controlled. He'd have to consider bringing him into his merry band of future dreadlords. "We are nearing the end of our lesson, and both of you know the basic weaves you will need in order to defeat an opponent who shares our gift. There is however, much more than simply sitting here and battling with your minds." This was the moment where he had planned to hand out the angreals, but he decided to keep them back in light of some revelations. "This next part, I will simply be acting as a referee. Use whatever you can to shield your opponent, wear them down, distract them, whatever it is that you must do in order to win. Still, if you weave to kill, my earlier warning stands, and I will declare you the looser." There, that last bit had ought to keep these competitive boys in line. "Now... begin!"
  6. Arcon followed close behind the Fade, the warmth of his anger dissuading the remnants of her cold gaze. I won't fall prey to fear again... Realizing that he was walking with the wily gate he had picked up aboard the Merry Pauper, he nearly cringed. That was the walk he associated with swordplay... and true, bitter hate. He corrected, switching to his normal glide, but putting in a bit of an aristocratic flair to show dominance. It was only proper... he would be a general of these things one day. When they arrived at the cages, Arcon suppressed a grin. He recognized the darkfriend within the cage. It was the one he had practiced the spirit weaves pain and sleep upon... Looks like someone came down and got him... He had left the man with a tied off pain weave boring into his skull. Of course, his attention shifted to the other creatures within the room. The Trollocs were... big, and he thanked his endless hours in the library for the recognition of the beast-men. "A bit anti-climatic, with you being the first on display, Myrddraal." Arcon prepared himself ahead of time, encase the Fade again turned it's gaze upon him. "Perhaps a Darkhound is next? The pits are nearby you know... just outside the Fortress walls." Arcon's voice was nonchalant, but in truth he was eager to be outside these walls, and have the Peace of the Shadow lifted. Their were after all always those who vied with him for power...
  7. Darial paired up with a young girl, his narrow Saldean eyes eyeing her carefully. She was another acoylte, and he felt that it would be against his best interest to pair off with an adept... a sentiment apparently shared by his partner. They bowed their heads to eachother; an uncustomary gesture for Darial... but after a day with Arcon, he was learning that masks and subtlety might be the way to go... That however, was for another time. Now, they needed to weave. Darial seized Saidin, drawing on spirit the way that Micheal had demonstrated... and failed miserably... The girl appeared to grin at this, and tried it herself, sending an invisible weave at Darial... Though he scarce felt drowsy. The Saldean mut chuckled in return at her crestfallen features. "Looks like that one is for the older children." His cold voice held a hint of humor... though inside his that frigid rage was settling into place... He tried again several more times... and managed to illicit a small yawn from his opponet... though he was nearly sweating with the effort of it all. Still... it was a victory, even if it was a hollow one. Still, it was time to move on. Darial watched with glee at as the woman struggled to form a rather pethetic looking sword of ice. He'd studied this weave, loving the flavor of a weapon made of ice, and thinking of how it could be changed... The thought of releasing a small hailstorm greatly pleased the sadistic saldean. Again, he chastised himself for not staying on topic. He drew through the stone, a crystal blade of ice forming in his open palm. Finally... something I can actually do! He took a few eperemental slashes, weaving to shift the weight more towards the hilt, and thinning the blade. It was easier to make slashes that way... Michael approached, a chuckle on his lips. "You might want to learn to use that thing, boy..." Darial clenched his jaw, but nodded. He didn't appreciate being repremended. Though the mut reconized there was little sense in fighting back, well, at least not yet. Weaving heat to rid the world of his creation, he awaited his next lesson... ((Will have to proofread later... class is done.))
  8. Arcon actually let a chuckle roll off his tongue. The boy thinks to play me? He'll learn... "Teach you to be strong? I can teach you something akin to that my young friend." Teach you to be a strong, valuable tool... Yes, he'd use Alliveer like he used the others, well, and perhaps there were few exceptions... namely Shad and Terra. "Though in truth, the power you seek will have to be found within you... Though there are techniques to help you along. Perhaps I'll lend you a few." Arcon kept a stretched smile over his skeletal features, a rather unnerving impression, made ever more so by those whom Arcon allowed a glance into his scheming mind. "Now, however, is not the time for such things. You must be quite exhausted, having traveled so far... and seen so much today. Retire to your rooms, maybe grab a bite to eat. Meet me at first light back here. your training begins then. --- The next day Arcon was again standing in the courtyard, his ebony silks pressed to perfection, his entire look a model for gentlemen perfection. The only things marring his appears was those gruesome scars... though some have been known to comment that it rather added to the darkly handsome look he pulled off... Some, indeed even he thought so in his early days, that these were unimportant facts. They were wrong... and he would teach this as well as Saidin this day. Of course, all of this was masked. As Arcon chose to show Alliveer a trick or two that he would one day be able to accomplish... assuming he'd grow into any competency. And so, he waited, hiding behind a wall of folded light, quite invisible to the naked eye. On the off chance that Alliveer could see flows... they were inverted and tied off, Arcon having let go of Saidin. And so lay the spider, waiting for his chosen prey to fall into his web...
  9. Arcon turned on the youth, eying him with a sideways smile. "Yes, we all serve the Great Lord of the Dark, don't we Alliveer?" This one would have to be watched carefully. He was arrogant, and desperately wanted power... but he was clever enough to hide it as well as he could. It hardly mattered; he doubt this one would ever be a threat to him. "Follow me." Arcon led him around the Fortress; the main parts anyways. He had been here for an excruciatingly long time and every time he decided to go exploring... he found a new twist or corner. He half suspected the proximity to Shayol-Ghul to be to blame... "There are some things you will need to know. First of all, you are currently an Acolyte. The lowest ranking member within the Fortress." They had approached the messhall, and Arcon led the acolyte through the process of getting fed, remembering how much of a mess it had been for him, when he had walked the halls as an acolyte... "This essentially means that you will be watched like a hawk, lest you kill yourself or a classmate with the one power. Which brings me to the next point." He floated over an end of bread, nodding to the baker, and tossed it to Alliveer. "The peace of the shadow is in place. Which essentially means if you kill someone, the retribution will be swift, and severe. Eyes are everywhere, my young friend. Do take care to watch yourself." Arcon led them back into the ever twisting halls of the Fortress. "The next rank up is Adept, they are allowed some freedom to study, and mostly study by themselves or in one on one sessions with dreadlords. Finally," turning a corner, he brought the young Kandorian to the dormitories, "You have dreadlords, fully ranked channelers of the shadow. We go mostly unsupervised, and do what we will. I suggest you address us with respect." He turned a cold, calculated smile upon his companion. "We can do... terrible things, that leave you fully capable of continuing your training." Taking him back out to the courtyard. "If you have any private lessons with me, there is a good chance they will be here. Now, any questions?" Arcon turned on his booted heel to face Alliveer, his face passive, tightly controlled. With his hands clasped behind his back he made his mere five feet six inches to their fullest, managing to turn his air of authority into intimidation. Yes, he was lording his power over the new acolyte... but it would push him to close the gap, and Arcon needed to know quickly if he could use Alliveer...
  10. Arcon was bored, hating this duty with a passion. He was sent out as a messenger boy to pick up another initiate. True, it allowed him first chance to snatch up new blood into his merry band of dreadlords, but it also took him away from his schemes, and tightening his hold on those already ensnared by his elaborate web. From the Fade-delivered message he received, he recognized Alliveer immediately. He let the man enter the city, tailing him until he found a moment that he could speak to the boy alone. Seeing this chance as the future acolyte turned a corner into an alleyway, Arcon closed the distance. "Hello, Alliveer. I am Dreadlord Arcon Dadread, and I will be escorting you to your new home." The other man dwarfed Arcon's short, Carhenian body, but he had him beaten in scares. A long, smooth scare cut from his forehead, stretching to a boy hidden from view by his garments, that same eye covered by a black silk eye patch, from a different wound ironically. The tone he used however, was another story. He spoke with a tone only used by those who were certain of their ability, their gifts. Arcon knew that he was a spider, capable of weaving a web to ensnare countries and the shadow both, pulling himself forward upon those wrapped in his thin silk threads... Though that was not the reason for his tone. He had been told of this man's insolence, his lust for power. If he was smart, he'd know that the way to come into power was to attach yourself to those who had it... Already he was trying to bring this man to his side, though his future performance would decide if he cut him loose. "Follow me, if you will." Arcon seized Saidin, inverting the weave on the off chance that this man could already see weaves, and wove a gateway of pure spirit. Arcon stepped through, not looking back to check if he was followed. On the other side of the gateway, they stood in the main foyer of the Fortress. Dressed stone surrounded them, large double gates of solid oak, bound with Thakan'dari steel were at their backs. "Welcome to the Fortress, Acolyte Alliveer De'govrine. This is where we will teach you to wield your power..."
  11. Darial gritted his teeth at the man's words. "Why yes, my father managed to fit that in between teaching me how to plant ice peppers, and dance at the local inn." His tone was quite literally dripping with sarcasm. As Tigara continued, his mood only darkened. Yes, he knew he could channel, now he just needed to learn how... "No, I can not seize Saidin at will." He grated at the weakness, but this one promised to remove it... Darial supposed everyone had some redeeming qualities. Maybe if he did a fine enough job the impudent half-breed would even remove his name from his great list of slights. Wouldn't hold your breath on that one though.
  12. DM Handle: dragonsworn1991 Character Name: Alliveer De'govrine Email address: far2jones@yahoo.com Division : Dreadlord Physical Description: My character is of average height of around 5'11, he is around 175 lbs and all muscle. His eyes are pitch black. His hair color is blonde. He has a thin scar running from the corner of his left eye down to his mouth turning it into a permanent scowl Place of Birth/Raising: He was born in south Kandor and his parents moved to Andor when he was young after having to rebuild their far for the 12th time either from a few stray darkfriends or bandits Character History: Alliveer De’govrine looked out the dusty window in what once was his home in Andor. This wasn’t his first home or his last but this is where his life changed. Alliveer began to reminisce with a glint in his eye. It all started in Kandor, on a small farm on the plain of lances. Many people considered his father crazy, a once noble man, who forsook his tittles and distanced himself and his family from their powerful relatives. Yet in the mind of Dalgar De’govrine he was doing the right thing, his brother, the high seat of house De’govrine, was said to be corrupt, and he worshiped the shadow, which led to Dalgar moving out to the Plain of Lances. Alliveer thought back to his very ordinary childhood on the plains, yet there were a few moments that always struck him as odd, one instance a few stray trollocs made it to his family’s farm and burned it down. The strange thing about that was Alliveer fell from the window in his second story bedroom, trying to get away from the flames, and he stood unhurt. A few other trolloc raids and the loss of everything and having to rebuild caused the De’govrine family to move south to Andor. They moved to another farm located on the outskirts of Braem Wood, north of Four Kings. Shortly after they moved Alliveer’s mother Sallandra gave birth to twin girls. They were named Resdendre and Dalgandra. Alliveer lived for his sisters; he loved them with everything he had. One day just after Alliveer’s 18th name day, his sisters were approaching their 6th naming day. They went, outside and found themselves in a pond just outside the farm. Alliveer saw them but he was too late. His sisters passed on and he never was quite the same. Alliveer dragged them up and tried to restore their life. He then felt something deep inside him a kind of fiery presence. He reached out to it and got swept into it. He tried to force it out into his sisters hoping it would bring them back to life, yet he failed. “The wheel weaves as the wheel wills; the creator has a plan for everybody.” Alliveer said in disgust mocking his father. Alliveer returned back to his past, to the day his mother died. She was a very pretty woman who always smiled, and she enjoyed the beauty of all the creator’s work. One day while visiting Four Kings she stopped by an inn after visiting the market. She dined there and drank a little wine. When she returned home she fell to the floor upon entering the house. Dalgar called sent for the nearest wisdom, and she said it was poison. That’s when Alliveer realized the pure evil in the world. His mother had never done anything against anyone yet she was poisoned, and she died shortly after his sisters. One year for his 19th name day Alliveer and his father visited Caemlyn. Alliveer then saw what real power was. It wasn’t owning a farm, it was ruling. Alliveer then thirsted for more he dreamed at night of the power he wanted to wield. About a few weeks after his trip to the city his father was walking around the farm, inspecting the sheep, and doing some of the task it takes to run a farm. When he found a crossbow bolt through his chest from brigands who wanted to make an easy kill, and pick up some quick loot. That was Aliveer’s last day in the light. The next day Alliveer went to Four Kings and he noticed this shifty looking merchant who seemed to flinch when one of her patron’s told her about how the creator saved her son. Alliveer followed her and was led to small gathering of people he introduced himself, and said he was tired of walking in the light. He took the gamble and it paid off. A few weeks later a dreadlord visited the circle and tested Alliveer and another man who had joined the darkfriends. Alliveer told the dreadlord of his encounter with saidin, and the dreadlord told him he had the spark. After that encounter Aliveer knew he wanted to be a dreadlord, and help the shadow, and earn his immortality. Bringing his mind back to the present Alliveer, said “I can’t believe it took me so long. All people who follow the light are week. They are susceptible to death; only in the great lord is there salvation, and immortality.” Alliveer clenched his fist around a small picture of his onetime family and walked out of the skeleton of the house leaving only the crumpled picture.
  13. Arcon loosened his grip upon his sword hilt, mastering his body the way his father had taught him. Do not loose yourself against Arcon... Do not. He chastised himself mentally, he would have to stare down the strongest of their vile race, and command them. He couldn't do so if he was scared witless by nothing more than a glance... from the lowest Tier. "No questions Myrddraal." He kept his voice neutral, mastering the pit of fear in his stomach and following her lead, staying a step behind her as she made her way through the fortress. Now now...this brings back memories. He thought of his days as an acolyte, of the days he spent in a darkhound pit, cleaning the sands of any rouge saliva to make them...safe. He thought of the loyal pit fiends who had risen with him, and what they had done in those pits to survive. Not darkhounds mind you, but each other. The place lay just outside the fortress... where the peace of the shadow held no sway. He suppressed a grin, having slit that vile woman's throat himself... He doubted they'd be going to those same pits, but the memory was a fond one none the less. Those were they days he had discovered the value of his father's lessons... The day he had truly began his scheming. Her death had caused the birth of a new Dreadlord, one stronger than that antisocial punk could ever have been. It had been a worthy sacrifice.
  14. Sereth kept his gaze locked on the standing man. He took a deep breath, and stood himself, having put up a shield of air to repel any drink from landing on his silk coat. His voice was unusually cold, controlled for the rambling asha'man, as he spoke. "I do not jest over such matters. I am sorry for what I have caused you, but in all honesty, I believe you will thank me for it one day. For in truth, I have given you the gift of Saidin. Look around," he gestured with his hand, sweeping it out to encompass all the men present. "Each one of us knows we will be put down from madness, perhaps taking some comrades with us, die a slow rotting death as the taint of Saidin literally knaws our flesh, or we will die in battle, in the service of the light and the Lord Dragon Reborn. There will be no growing old, no buying a farm and raising two dozen children. We will die." The ice in his voice grew colder, deeper as he strove to make his point. "Now ask them if they would trade Saidin for the life. Go ahead, I'll cut them off from Saidin myself if that is their desire, but you won't find a single man who would give up the One Power. Despite everything... it is a gift." Sereth exhaled sharply, bringing warmth back into his voice. "Now, follow me Solder. I will get you your coat, and show you the barracks, as well as a few other important structures. You will be spending a lot of time here..."
  15. Sereth nearly felt sorry for Mathis as he was instructed to find fresh fruit and vegetables... Better take your horse, friend... He made a mental note to start a small garden in the future, to account for guests and his own enjoyment. He wove death, perhaps he could bit a bit more life into the world... As she addressed him, sadness entered his eyes. It was his fate to face the dreadlords, and perhaps even the chosen in, hopefully, an open field. Each doing their best to slay the other enmasse. He was an Asha'man, that was what each man had to accept when he asked to be tested. This woman though... she had picked up a sword. She was as much, if not more so, a weapon than he, but her foes should fight with blade as well. A trolloc's axe, thakandari steel, these were what she would cut down in a fair world... But the world wasn't fair, and even if she had the benefit of Aes Sedai at her back, there was every chance that she would have to place sword against the power... If anyone can do it... she can, and I'll help her in every way I can. "Though Mathis might not speak to me afterwards, but I will do everything in my power to test you... Fear not though, there are some excellent healers on the ranch, and your um," he glanced at her stomach, thinking of the child within, "Lightning and other elements will be pulled." Sereth was truly shocked when Mathis returned so quickly, must have gone to the forest... Haven't had wild food in a while. "Hmm, tomorrow we'll set out to start your specialized training Thera." The asha'man's eyes fell on a grouping of books, laying on a counter. Each contained some briefing on tactics, and he'd have to devour them tonight in preparation. Oh well... I would have liked to fully enjoy them... These unpleasant thoughts were put aside as Mathis' sister laid out a feast. Sereth blinked, not once, but twice, and offered his kind smile to the warrior. "Why... Um, thank you for preparing this for us Thera." His stomach roared in protest at his delay for pleasantries, and Sereth's face reddened, his hand moving to scratch the back of his neck. Without another word he dug in, savoring every bite. He ate in silence, one of the precious few moments that he was as such. He ate until his stomach protested, despite the desires of his taste bloods. He made a mental note to reprehend Mathis, he said his sister couldn't cook field rations... Thanking her once again, he excused himself. "I've got some studying to do for tomorrow. I'm sure Mathis can lead you to your room." Grabbing a few books off of shelves, tables, and counters, demonstrating his mastery over his own chaotic organization, he retreated to his room. Despite himself, he was almost giddy. It'd be his creations against a seasoned warrior, mental vs. physical. Thinking of the the wolfish grace Thera moved with... it would be a close match. OOC: Alright, figured I'd end this hear to get to the fun bits. Either continue here or post a new thread, don't care which.
  16. Handle: DhaiMon Email: Removed by request Name: Seymor Samarkand Gender: Male Nationality: Cairhienin Age: 22 Outward appearance: Seymor is the rare apparition that is called "whiteling" by some, "albino" by scholars...And "fadeling" by the angry mob that happens to get its hands on one such a boy. Red-eyed, white-haired, not quite reaching 5", he could still be considered normal apart from that, a well-fed, noble, young man. Biography: The blade slipped into the woman's chest, stopping her heart's beat. She did not even know who it was that had come to kill her. Nor could she have defended herself. The blade slipped out of her, and the assassin did not quiver doing so. He did not quiver for fear, shock or wrath. He had left that somewhere along the way, a long time ago. It was of no matter. Slipping into the bustling street, he knew he had a purpose. A purpose for which he would kill. Kill anyone. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Despite his weirdness, people finally got used to the young Lord Seymor's appearance. His father had been gifted with lordship for his deeds in the Aiel War, a war that was sorely lacking honorable deeds on the Cairhienin's account, never mind the savagery of the Aiel. Deep in their bones, Cairhienin hated the Aiel. And feared them, ever since that War. The people of Sunset loved their Lord and Lady and accepted their son. Who had prospects of becoming as great an heir as Lord Samarkand could wish for. If there wouldn't be his...vice. As usual, he rode out to meet his...friend...that day. His loved one. His heart and love. Reining the horse in in fron of the lonely house, he cried out her name. She would not come. She would not answer. Worried, he slipped down the horse, continuing his shouts. He knocked at the door. No answer came. Opening the door, he saw why. She was dead. Her father was dead, her mother, her brothers, her dear, little sisters...they were all dead. He was numb with shock and horror. For a long moment, he sat there in silence. She had been my only love in this Light-forsaken existence, he thought, staring at his deathly pale hands, letting the tears slide down his milk-white cheeks unnoticed. Everyone else would make fun of his appearance, call him fadeling, shout at him, beat him...it had been too much. Now, it was too much. Determined, he tried to cover her murdered relatives, covered her as well, with his cloak, a fine piece from Tarabon, as his father had claimed when he had presented it to him...it was the only thing that would do to cover her, there and then. After racked sobbing over her dead shape, he finally walked away, like a lost ghost. He never even looked after his horse again. "Lost the way, Master?" He was in the middle of nowhere, yet the voice seemed...understanding. Suddenly a man emerged beside him, confident...sympathetic. "What would you do to have it back?" "Everything." He would. Light and Grace, he would. "Then follow me, my friend. Serve the Great Lord, and you will have it back. Promise."
  17. Dhjorn sat cross legged on the floor of the shack he'd been assigned. He was still, hardly seeming to breath. The fade appeared dead, the pasty white skin of his kind doing nothing but enhancing that image. Inside however, he was in turmoil. He had been beaten before, but never embarrassed like last night. First she had taunted him, letting him have his moment, landing a single solid blow against the Shar Mahdi, but she had been holding back. Holding more back than a dozen of himself could match. Then Cari had taunted him, telling him not to underestimate her kind, naming herself treacherous. What did she know? Every single Myrddraal killed their parent one day, every last one of them. Treachery was quite literally a part of being a Half-man. To add injury to insult, she had continued to pummel him, the source of the rainbow of bruises that covered his seemingly rotted flesh. Tender yellows, flaming reds, deep blues, and purples just beginning to rear their ugly heads under his obsidian robes. All of this amounted to an unfamiliar emotion; anger. Seething, boiling beneath his flesh. Despite that, twin lances of glee and admiration filled him. If she was this good, with her frail human body... what could he do with her skills? Who could stand to him when his powers would come to fruition? The thought of bounding through the shadows, paralyzing a squad of veterans with nothing more than his gaze... and then weaving through them, his twin Thakan'dari blades death... He was getting ahead of himself, and he calmed the unfamiliar burdens of emotion, trying to lock them deep within himself, but failing. He had heard of certain states of mind that the humans used, one burning emotion, the other wielding it as a weapon... He wondered if he could learn one of these from the Shar'Mahdi. After all, emotions were powerful, he had seen enough trollocs lost in a berserker rage to know the truth of that, but unfocused they were a burden... ((Figured we should get this sort of thing out of the way. Philosophy and weapons forms this time around, if you don't mind.))
  18. Darial had woven with every ounce of skill he possessed, spinning his clubs as deftly as he could to try to bypass Shad’s defenses. For all his effort, he got one touch…but had the buzzer not been called…. “Darial, you are on defense now. Begin.” Instantly Shadar was on him weaving mauls of air as opposed to the clubs Darial had used. Gritting his teeth, the saldean wove line after line of the cutting weave, weaving more than he needed, keeping them in reserve. As the battle progressed Darial thought he noted something of extreme import; he could handle an extra weave than his opponent. As such, he lashed out, sending out the southerner’s max weaves to intercept, and keeping one in reserve just incase he managed to slip one by his defenses. Breathing hard, he was beginning to think this filthy pig-sweating ox would beat him on pure endurance. Was it lasting longer than his assault? Was Arcon favoring Shadar… or testing him? He felt his anger skirt the edge of the void, and used it to keep him going, unfaltering. “Stop. Good. Now for the next weave.” --- Arcon was impressed. Shad had managed to hold off a more skilled opponent in what could only be described as a test of that element, and had even managed to put Darial on the ropes with his counter assault. Darial’s tenacity in both defense and offense was also quite impressive. “Time for the second of the bread and butter weaves against fellow channelers. Shielding.” Drawing heavily on the source, Arcon wove two strands of spirit, into a sort of spectral helmet. “The specifics of this weave are… complex, and I am not here to teach you philosophy. What you need to know is this, it is near impossible to shield someone who is holding the power.” Arcon slammed a shield onto both students, shutting them off from the source. “Unless you are much stronger than them…” To be honest, Arcon might not have been able to perform the weave he had just demonstrated so effortlessly, except for what he held in his pocket. His hand gripped one of three stones that he felt might come in handy, but was reluctant to use. Looking at the animosity between the two… he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of handing out these small angreals… Only time would tell however. “Shadar, again, you are up first. Try to shield him, Darial, take note that you can use a shield to defend against a shield.” Arcon let go of the shields and mouthed, “Begin.”
  19. Arcon looked at the two, noting the tension around Darial’s eyes. Oh? What do we have here? A bit of previous hostility would only aide in this exercise, but I might have to watch for killing weaves… fun. “This will be a simple exercise. Shadar, you are familiar with the format, but for Darial I will explain it.” The Carhenien’s eyes went to the saldean, wondering how he’d take that. “It is simple, first I demonstrate a weave, and then you perform it in a context of my choosing.” He chose a stern tone for his next words, “Though today, there will be a match using all you have learned thus far in your training. I will warn you, if you weave to kill, you will find yourself on the receiving end of an advanced spirit weave known simply as pain.” He didn’t have to look to know that Shad perked up in his ridiculously unresponsive way at the mention of that weave. Not yet my friend… not yet. “First weave up for today. Cutting. Used simply to stop an opponents weaves. Shad, club of air.” As his favored student did as instructed, Arcon seized and sliced the weave in half, eliciting a small grunt from Shadar. “It does have the feedback effect.” His voice was clipped, having already explained this to Shadar before, but trying to even the field between the two. “Shadar, you’ll be cutting first, Darial, try to avoid his weaves and get in for an attack. Do not press the attack; a light touch should be sufficient.” He needed to demonstrate the difference in skill first, establishing a base for Shad to leap off from. “Begin.”
  20. Sereth was suddenly very glad he is an only child. Watching the exchange, and catching Mathis' look he resisted the urge to chuckle. Yes, it was a high tension moment, but to an outside observer... Suddenly panic gripped him as she went for his pantries. For three years now he had been a bachelor, living alone, in the middle of nowhere, with the ability to travel anywhere in the world instantaneously... That did not add up to well stocked pantries. He thought quickly to what was liable to be stocked. Bacon... some bread maybe? Oh, definitely some eggs... "Well, um. Cook what you can find. I think I have something green somewhere in here... I just hope it was supposed to be that color." Nervously he scratched the back of his head. "As for the obstacle course, I really have no idea. I can whip up something pretty quick, for you to run through, and I'm sure I can make it test your limits..." He looked at Mathis, wondering how this next part would go over. "Especially if me and your brother worked together to make it, he does need the training... It'll be good practices for erecting mobile fortresses and entrenching." Sereth sat, taking a breath and watching her actually find some food. "Cooking ware is above the slate, oh, and um, here is some fire to work with." Seizing Saidin he wove a small cooking flame and tied it off, letting the source go. "Though to make it truly challenging for someone of your skill... I was thinking Mathis and I could channel while you go through the course, changing it, and maybe launching some projectiles or the like." Catching his friend's glare he quickly stammered on. "Of course nothing like turning the earth to lava under your feet, or calling down bolts of lightning, but basic earthen projectiles, maybe shake up some of the structures while your in them." He got the feeling he just allied himself with Thera in the argument, and wasn't quite sure how well that would work out, him living with Mathis and all... He'd have to smooth things over if he had any hope of getting to the root of the man's drinking and whoring...
  21. Guys, it wasn't Kari. The dark one brings people back in a new body, at least from what we see of the forsaken's revival. He takes the soul of one person, and puts it in another's body. Kari's body is dead...shes gone, even if he wanted to bring her back to mess with Rand, her body is as many graveworms by now.
  22. Dreadlord Arcon Dadread stood in the courtyard of the fortress, mulling over the idea of leaving the home of the dreadlords, for the home he had been born to. He had set up the web to snare that light-blinded city, but he had made mention of a pair he would be bringing home with him... Sighing, he refocused his thoughts on the present, specifically getting one of those two up to a level where he could safely leave the fortress. He was close... Arcon even thought he should already have been tested for Adept status, but now was not the time for that. Now was the time for advancing his favored student. To do that however, he had made note of another promising youth, a counterpoint to Shadar. He was weaker, yes, but from all reports and Arcon's own spying, he appeared to be one of the more talented male acolytes. Shad would no doubt be facing channelers one day... and he would have to learn how to defeat a more skilled opponent. Speaking of the boy, Arcon spotted the saldean mix walking through the corridors... --- Darial was excited. He had been invited to a private lesson, one designed to test his skills, and to teach him how to defeat a rival channeler. He had no idea who the other student was, but he doubted that would matter to much. He had been advancing quickly through his studies, the power coming to him with no effort, and he had quickly realized he was a cut above most of his companions in his weaves. He was perhaps a bit weaker... but he could weave circles around them. He hoped that ability translated into being a skilled duelist with the power, as there were many here who had earned his ire, and he knew he would have to be better than them in order to accomplish his goals of revenge. Arriving in the courtyard, he bowed low in respect to the pale-faced instructor, whom he'd been informed was named Arcon Dadread. His name however, was already known to Darial... many adepts and acolytes both spoke of him in awe, looking to him as a leader. He would be a good man to model, and perhaps complete the education his father had begun. All that was left to do was wait for his opponent to show up, and thankfully he didn't have to wait long. Though as he saw who it was he was being asked to duel, his narrow eyes became slits. The Southerner... His eyes returned to Arcon, wondering if he was aware of the distaste the two had for each other. He doubted it; neither he nor Shadar, as he had learned his name from other sources, were particularly social, and it was doubtful that either spoke of the chance meeting in the halls. He almost slipped into the litany of the 'wheel weaves'.. before chiding himself. He was a servant of the Great Lord now, and soon the wheel's will was to be irrelevant... Returning himself to the present, he listened for either Arcon or Shadar to speak. He had no desire to break the silence...
  23. Sereth shook his head, sobering himself up immediately. Again he had put a man on edge... He let out an audible sigh. He opened his hand, palm up. Seizing Saidin, he channeled all five elements into a sphere of light. "Can't do this? Well, to be honest I don't know and neither do you, not without testing you at least. I must apologize for my earlier straight forwardness. I have a habit of being brash..." Biting his tongue before he let his now considerably calmer speech spiral out of his control yet again. The ball in hand began to take shape. "A hunter though? For the Horn? Why would one such as you be here on the farm?" The color changed from white, to a pale gold, and began to spiral into itself. "I assure you, we do not keep it around for special occasions, well, at least to the best of my knowledge." The spiraling sphere took on the shape of a horn, radiating that soft golden light. "Or perhaps it is the thought of the dragon being here that lures you? If such a legendary artifact is to be found, surely his great ta'veran powers will be at the heart of it." Just for kicks, he added an ivory inlay onto the miniature horn, watching as his companions eyes were fixed upon what Sereth imagined the horn to look like. "Alas, I've never heard of him being here. Not in my years of being on the Farm at least. Still, it is a note worthy thing you do." Sereth began to slip into what he remembered of the epic poem that was the Great Hunt, taking Fanten's concentration on the horn, which now had the engraving included, as an opportunity to slip into a rant. Then he felt an echo inside the void, and his heart fell. Closing his fist and extinguishing the illusion, he looked purposefully at Fanten. "You... are quite wrong, and I must apologize... The ability is so rare I didn't think any harm would come from putting on a bit of a show..." Taking a steadying breath, he spoke the next words very carefully... "Welcome to the Black Tower, solder. Your classes on controlling Saidin will begin tomorrow..." He held onto Saidin, preparing to be attacked...
  24. Darial gazed at fires malevolently, it had never been a favorite element of his. That wasn't to say he lacked potency in it... he just preferred the cold to the heat. Then the dreadlady spoke, and he caught a small red stone in his palm, gazing at it with a hint of reverence as it was explained to him what it was. A certain longing built within him, realizing that when he reached his full strength, this stone would be an incredibly useful tool... it would give him the power to pay off all his debts. He let a sigh escape his lips as he realized they would take the stone from him. It looked as though he would need to work through subterfuge after all. Grinning as he watched the dreadlord weave, and keeping an ear open to the dreadlady, another revelation hit him. This would be a perfect weave for the work! Drawing through the angreal, basking in the far increased power, he began to weave. The weaves proved... difficult for him to accomplish. His first illusion was a fairly simple one; a throwing knife poised in mid air. He had meant to make it appear sleek, deadly, and polished to a shine. Instead it appeared distorted and dull, not quite the weapon he had envisioned. That chilling anger rose up, and he bit down, stifling a curse. He needed concentration. He tried again... And failed again, and again, and again, and again, until finally a perfect knife appeared in the air. He took a steadying breath, and worked on a couple others, again failing multiple times before succeeding. He was one of the most skilled acolytes, at least among the males, but he was beginning to realize that perhaps these weaves were supposed to be beyond the ability of the lowest ranking members in the fortress. That thought in mind, a certain pride built up at being able to accomplish them at all. Refocusing his attention on the dreadlady, he waited for the next weave.
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