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..."

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.

Tiggles, get in your test, and we'll rush any charries you need. CotS needs some dreadies :-P

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."

Posting for approval into Tier 2 for WS.

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.))

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.”

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.”

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...

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...

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...

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.

Sereth waved away any concerns about over-staying her welcome. "It'll be a pleasure to have you here, I'm sure you'll discover that I do enjoy new people to talk to." He left out the fact that it was mostly do to people only being able to take so much of him. That small exchange finally feeling a bit more relaxed around the former-warder, Sereth reluctantly let go of Saidin.

When she continued, he fell again into what was becoming a customary silence around the woman. Feeling a weight lifted off of his shoulders as she herself broke the silence she'd forged, he decided to take his turn in preventing it's return. "Well then, I am not sure if I should offer you congratulations or condolences Thera, so take whichever or both." He chuckled, trying to ease the tension in the room.

"As for a place to practice your sword? Well, I'll be the first to admit I don't know much about pregnancy," he mentally noted to correct that lapse in knowledge, "but you do not appear to be to far along, so I will do what I can to help you, just don't ask me to spar with you. Though I know a bit more than which end goes into the enemy, I fear I wouldn't last a moment against someone as obviously skilled as you are. Perhaps setting up a course for you to run?"

He stopped then, not wanting to lead himself into a rant as he was prone to do. Besides, he thought that perhaps he had already taken to much initiative as he glanced at Mathis, looking for reactions to his sister's revelation.

The Fade made a mistake. It forced one of Arcon's strongest emotions to the surface. Anger. It gripped him, shattering the void. This damn half-man dares to speak to me like this! His knuckles grew white as he gripped onto the longsword on his hip, his left hand itching to draw forth his concealed weapon. By himself, he wasn't sure if he could take the shadow walker, but eying some of the Shienarians present...

Gritting his teeth, the adept got himself under control. Reassuming the void, he stared back at the Myrddraal. Consciously taking control of his breathing, he forced himself to not break the stare. He felt the grip on his sword become coated with a layer of cold sweat, but his will held true as she continued her rant. "You..." He took a final breath. "You are making yourself quite clear." He refused to add any honorific, the beast didn't deserve one.

OOC: Sorry for the delay and the like, Jeh had it right and I pretty much forgot about this thread. >>;

Sereth watched the passionate exchange after taking a couple steps back. Just this once he didn't wish to intrude. Though in truth he was a bit concerned about how this surprise visit would affect Mathis' training; yes the two babbled on all day about next to nothing, but it was after the day's work was done, and his room mate was exhausted from channeling. Ah, well, suppose I'll just have to make up for lost time.

When Thera did take note of him, he nodded his head in respect to her titles, taking note of them all, and the nervousness that prostrating as such usually entailed. Sereth supposed he couldn't blame her; she was about to enter into a place filled with men who had haunted dreams for a thousand years. Again taking a step back as the siblings spoke, his trademarked grin fell onto his features. It would be interesting having these two together.

Still, her nervousness would have to be addressed if she was to stay with him as her brother did. "Hmm, we can go to my house. It is rather secluded from the rest of the farm." Again weaving spirit, he tore a hole through the pattern, pulling the two strands together with the saidin. His humble home appeared in the new hole in the air, sized appropriately for the horse to be walked through.

He turned, and motioned for the pair to step through, trying to hide his scrutiny with courtesy and a friendly smile. What he saw impressed him; she walked through without much hesitation at all. For a woman who was clearly at ill ease with men channeling... it was a stoic act. Then again, she was a warder... Hmm, wonder why she isn't one anymore... The two through, he quickly followed suit, letting the weave unravel behind him.

"I had a guest room, but Mathis is currently occupying it. If it is a problem, you could stay at the inn, or I could raise something small for you." He knew he was throwing the differences between the two towers in her face, but he thought it necessary. He wouldn't have a skittish she-wolf staying with him, especially with him living so far out. If she was going to spook, he preferred it to be when he was awake, and already holding the source. "At this rate I am going to have to higher a stable hand... Here follow me around the side. I hope you don't mind taking care of your own tack?"

Leading the pair, he again fell silent, waiting for her reactions.

Ahh, thought it was a borderlander.

THat done, looks good, and stamp placed.

Hmm, a quick question... Where is Darcius from? Didn't catch that in the bio.

Darial padded through the corridors of the Fortress, practicing his stealth. If that fool Southerner can do it, then I should be able to learn it as well. As always, spite fueled his advancement. Shadar was leaping ahead of him in power, but at least with skill they were keeping close. Even with that fool's private lessons... A smug grin found its way to his lips.

Finding his way in the dark proved to be a task of little difficulty, thanks to his desire to have the fortress mapped out. He felt he still had miles to go, having already been through several sheets of parchment in the months he had been here, but the time had been worth it. Perhaps it was time to move onto the next project...

Chastising himself for not staying on task, Darial entered the library, immediately basking in the scent of old books. So much knowledge... Again curbing his thoughts, he took in his surroundings. He was slightly disturbed to not see any other males present, and was wondering if he'd been made the but of some joke, or perhaps a target for weaves of Saidar... The thought didn't sit well with him, but he decided to wait it out. As even if it were true, they wouldn't be able to slay him... leaving the opportunity for revenge.

My dreadlord Arcon Dadread can play, and maybe Darial if its possible, but he is only an acolyte, so its kinda doubtful. (Though it would fit his theme. :))

There seem to be three standard methods. Either he hears about the farm somewhere, and travels directly there from Camelyn, they go to Tear, hearing that the stone is the base of the dragon, and finally, are picked up by a recruiting party.

bah, fine. I'll try to start it next period. This one is over in like..2 minutes. Also, I'd like to make mention that I am a terrible student.

Sereth was lounging on top of the wall of the Tower, sipping his herbal remedy and looking out over the fields. It was something that had become a bit of a habit lately, a new place to sit and think as the fields around his home were becoming riddled with visitors. Not that he minded; Tai’Dashan was usually somewhere out there, drilling himself into oblivion, but it was nice to have his own place, where others wouldn’t be unless he chose to bring them along.

This was one of those occasions, as Mathis Trakelyn was sitting opposite of him. Sereth has learned to enjoy his company, a bit more of a gruff, womanizer to Sereth’s passive philosophical and historical interests. The contrast however, was what he enjoyed the most. Of course he had been trying to introduce a few concepts to the former Queen’s Guardsmen, with limited success. This was one of those times.

“Mathis, but really why do you chase skirts and drink? Yes the immediate pleasure of it is obvious, but there is a deeper reasoning behind it, I’m sure of it!” Despite the relaxing drink, Sereth was getting quite animated. He just wanted him to think deeper, scratch off a layer of lacquer and truly examine his inner surface. This was only one trait he had tried to get to the root of, his desire to ‘cast his own shadow’ as he had put it was another.

But as he often was, Sereth got distracted. He was holding onto the source, brewing another pot, and his heightened senses saw a small cloud of dust over the horizon. Raising an eyebrow he studied it. As the new rider came into focus, out right astonishment flew over his features. “A woman rider?” He breathed the words, that was most unusual. Thinking back to the letter Mathis had sent a couple weeks ago, he made some conclusions.

Weaving spirit into a gateway, he decided to meet this girl a bit of a distance out. There had to be a reason for her arrival, and if he was right, his companion would be most interested in her. “Come quick, I want to meet her.” He stepped through into the road, a little over halfway, closer to her, from the wall. As she drew closer, he started to see the resemblance, and smiled, closing the gateway at the sound of his friend’s footsteps. This had ought to be interesting…

Weaving to amplify his voice a bit, he shouted, “Hail!” to ensure she didn’t simply run on by. He’d heard a bit of this woman from Mathis, and wanted desperately to meet her, even if he knew he’d have to take a step back initially to let the two have their moment. His part done, Sereth waited for events to unfold…

Actually, a skirt, and I haven't been told to climb into one quite yet dearie. Start a topic and I'll probably get to it next period. This is english, and most of my real posting gets done in programming. :-P

BT seems to be taking a holiday? You guys get new bios all the time!Why is there no love for CotS?  :'(

Also, yeah, welcome to the division mate. I've taken a bit of a break, mostly to write a research paper do tomorrow... that I pretty much have to rewrite, but getting to the point you might get to know me pretty well. I take in interest in newblood.  ;)

yeah, he is a german speaker like me. :-P

Also, can I get off the french list too? >>;