Sereth nodded, listening to Mathis’ speak. “I doubt we’ll ever be something considered normal, think, I bet you still remember nearly ever Aes Sedai you’ve ever met? Perhaps we don’t equal their prestige, but we are their counterpart. You are casting your own shadow from this point on.” The Asha’man chuckled as his companion continued. “I’ll be sure to let you have my guest room, we can work on refurnishing it after you have trained a bit. “

With that, he stood, offering his shoulder out in case the whiskey had spread to Mathis’ legs. Sereth briefly considering walking the six miles to his establishment, but something about walking home with a drunken man didn’t truly appeal to the scholar. As such, he retrieved the hobbled horse, and opened a gateway to the outside of his humble home; he didn’t want to figure out how to get the horse out of the traveling room.

It was a simple place, freshly painted in black, the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai burned into the wood of his door. Double story, with a small stable, mostly for guests as he owned no horse himself, and out in the middle of no where. “Hope you don’t mind… The main of the Farm is about six miles to the east. I rather enjoy the solitude. Should give your horse a chance to stress its legs.” He chuckled to himself, hobbling the horse outside to show his new housemate around.

The first thing anyone would see, were books laying on every available surface, shelves nearly bursting with the volumes he had collected. Large, leather bound tomes, wood covered parchment, and even pamphlets. He read religiously, using his gateways to travel the known world in search of knowledge. The slightly dusted tomes where of history, and some books on philosophy, those laying open on his stand of tactics and battles. “I apologize for the mess; I usually meet people out side.” He chuckled nervously, itching the back of his head. “I have a guest room upstairs, first door to the left. That at least, is pristine. If I ever got guests I wanted them to be at home.”

Sereth waited then, giving him a chance to adjust to his new surroundings.

Arcon forgot his schemes, his devices, every plot he had in his twisted southern mind in the joy of sparring. His blade weaved through the forms, even initiating the series of attacks he had learned to do while on a small raft in the middle of the sea of storms… during a storm. When it was over, his control took a moment to slip back into place. He sheathed his sword, allowing a grin to remain on his lips. “It was a… a good match.”

He moved to rest his left hand to the hilt of his sword, his breathing quickly returning to normal. Briefly he considered challenging her again… this time unveiling the weapon he kept sheathed in his left sleeve, but dismissed the thought. They had shared a moment of joy, lost in the dance of battle, but she was far from being accepted into his circle, and there was no need to show every card he had to her. “If you can get over your repulsion again sometime, I would be glad to continue this session. Perhaps I’ll show you a trick or two I learned on the Merry Pauper.” He didn’t bother to disguise his distaste for that light-blinded ship.

With that he slipped back into the main of the fortress, slipping through the halls with that grin on his lips. Those who’d heard of the new dreadlord stared openly at the unfamiliar turn of his lips. Fools… all. They wouldn’t last a moment back home. Slipping into the confines of his newly furnished dreadlord quarters, he sat at his large mahogany table, reaching for ink and quill. Playtime was over… It was time to return to work.

Sereth didn't break pace as Mathis sputtered out question after question. Wow... first time that one actually worked! Inside he was chuckling, but he decided to keep only his grin for now. No sense in humiliating the man, was there? Well, at least in public. They were approaching the inn, and upon entering the doors, he rose his hand for a drink, throwing in an extra gesture for 'new blood' and quickly a bottle of strong whiskey and two glasses came flying to him. Sereth was busy opening the bottle and pouring a glass while he searched for a seat.

Managing both at the same time, he handed Mathis the drink while sitting. He took the brief moment to launch a counter attack. "We train by practicing, I'll be teaching you how to seize the source, and wield it. Also, swordplay is usually mandatory, but no one expects you to be a blademaster. As for what we do? We train, we live, and we wait until we're called. We stand for one purpose, at least as a body. That being weapons for the Lord Dragon Reborn, Lord of the Morning, and various other titles." He raised his eyebrow, "And that of course means we walk in the light. Please don't doubt that, it could lead to some unneeded complications. As for living arrangements?"

He took the moment to pour himself a drink, and took a sip. He nearly winced as the fire curled its way into his belly. Sereth had never developed a tolerance for alcohol... "The usual answer is throw you in the barracks, but I could talk to some of the higher ups, maybe station you in my personal home. If you are not opposed to the idea?" The offer was for a simple reason; the man was scared, and he looked as if he would need some extra help adjusting to the his new life style. The personal liking Sereth had taken to him was just a bonus. "Also, I promise to get to your other questions in a moment... For now, just enjoy this." He raised the bottle and refilled Mathis' glass...

((At Tai's request, I'm stealin' this one from ya' Arath.))

Sereth sat at a table at the inn, idly sipping an herbal tea of his own concoction. Well, at least it was a recipe from his teacher, from which he had added a spice or two. That man had wanted everything so... bitter. It had taken the then student Sereth years to get used to anything that he prepared for him. As of course, he was to taste test everything before he served it, even though he himself had prepared it. "You can never be to careful!" Chuckling lightly at the memory, wondering briefly if his old mentor had gone fully mad with the power yet, or perhaps started having things fall off of him. Ah, oh well. Sereth had done his duty and recorded his ramblings in several leather bound volumes...

His thoughts continued in that pattern for some time, before a man with curly black hair, bound but obviously of decent length, entered the Inn. No coat... Hmm, wonder if he has been tested yet? Doing his duty as an Asha'man, and perhaps sating his own curiosity, he approached the man. "Hello, my name is Asha'man Sereth Arian. I wonder, have you been tested yet? You look a bit to calm for someone who has just been told he can channel Saidin." A trademarked grin splayed across Sereth's seemingly innocent features. Still, he doubted those tilted eyes would miss the glint in the rather plain looking Andorian's eyes.

Of course, instead of leaving the man to answer, Sereth's tendency to rant took into effect. "If not, I would gladly help you. Scary or not, it really is a wonderful feeling... not even the taint can fully counter the full joy of weaving the power... It's as if..." He let out a nervous chuckle, and scratched the back of his head. "Oh, sorry, ranting again. Don't worry, my old philosophy teacher chided me for this for years, even before it was discovered I could channel. Oh! And I'm doing it again! So yes, have you been tested?" Another nervous chuckle later, he actually waited for the man's actions.

((Thought I'd take the chance the retro provided and show how Sereth's rantiness has become...focused a bit more over the years.

If you don't notice a difference, it's subtle. :-P))

Arcon watched with his one good eye as three students were humiliated. He didn't bother to conceal his amusement. Oh yes..unconventional. I know that word rather well. Before he could stop himself, he touched the silk eyepatch over his previously scarred flesh. Mr. Sweeper... may you be diced into the finest sushi... but I'll be damned if you didn't get a couple points across. His gaze fell upon Rebecca, and he tossed her a grin.

He had the feeling this woman had witnessed him practicing the previous class, and as such knew about his little surprise. Still, he had both hands on the hilt of his longsword and his mind floating in the void as he opened with Unfolding the Fan, extending it out into a diagonal slash from bottom left to upper right, in a controlled cut. Letting go with his left hand, he drew his dagger from the hidden arm sheath, keeping the shorter weapon lashing out in Courtier taps the Fan, while his longer blade moved back into guard.

The battle was interesting from there, she seemed insistence on dodging blows, rather than meeting each with a parry. Amusement flickered across the edges of the void, Interesting... She is biding her time... He admired that kind of style, in fact, it was something he had incorporated into his own style. He slipped through the forms without effort; he had gone through them under various rather unpleasant conditions, and on solid ground, with no projectiles flying at him, it seemed almost like child's play.

He chided himself for the thought, refocusing on his opponent. If they kept it up, perhaps Arcon could have won, but it would test his skills in a way that he had no wish to be done in public. So, he did something quite foolish and issued another diagonal slash, this from upper right to lower left, and immediately followed through with a reverse-gripped thrust from his dagger hand. The move left his right open, and like the assassin she was, she moved in to deliver the blow. At the last moment he brought his arm in to his chest, trans forming it into a slash designed to take off her head. And so, they reached a stalemate, her daggers at his throat and chest, while his was at her neck.

"Ten days, meet me in the courtyard at midnight, if you desire a true test of your skill," the words were whispered, but managed to hold a tone of anticipation despite the void he drifted within. The invitation sent, he retracted his blade and made his way for the door, bowing his head slightly to the weapon's instructor.

He left with a hint of a smile playing across his pale features, And so yet another has been baited...

my new boy needs two optional reqs in acolyte phase, if anyone wants to snag him up?

It took the twenty five years of experience in the Game of Houses to keep his face with that mock smile. This girl was infuriating, and seemingly quite dense. Still, she was someone to test his mettle against... and that was something he desperately needed. "Good, then lets begin my dear." He chuckled to himself, no doubt she was beginning to build up quite the revulsion for him at this point...

He met her step with a slash from Unfolding the Fan. As expected, she blocked. Good, it won't be a waste of my time... And so the dance began, each met sword form with sword form, dancing around the other in something approaching grace on both parts. Still, either probably would have been cut down by your average Trolloc. He kept this up for a long time, both hands on the hilt of his longsword, meeting her dagger thrusts, and was actually pushed back a step or two.

It was to be expected, she was wielding her preferred weaponry. As one of their teachers had taught them though, sometimes slipping from the forms was a good thing, and with that at mind he used his greater size to his advantage. As he parried a slash meant to take out his throat, he met it, and pushed hard, putting most of his mass behind the block, hoping to push her off where his longer reach would mean more. He wasn't disappointed, and for a few strokes kept her out of her reach, keeping strikes around her midsection to encourage her to step back.

((Alright, your turn, take a stab at him... Also if I took to much liberty with it, tell me and what not...not quite sure how fighting works on DM lol.))

The Fade looked down at the lathes he was given, rotating his wrists to test their weight. They were a bit lighter than the blades he was used to wielding... but he supposed that was inevitable. He was undaunted that he was supposed to attack the legendary assassin... He was beginning to see that word had reached her ears before he had arrived. Must have been either an elder fade or dreadlord who delivered the news; he doubted even a man who ran each horse he owned to death could have outpaced him.

Mentally chiding himself, he focused on the task at hand, beginning a slow circle strafe around his opponent, stepping into the dark shadows. Now or never. He relied on the one advantage he had; he was a Myrddraal, if a young one. He would always be stronger, faster than a human counterpart. This in mind, he uncoiled his legs and lunged a straight thrust at her heart, which was quickly batted aside. Without hesitation Dhjorn launched a flurry of attacks with both hands, while keeping the attacks controlled. No need to be foolish.

He kept up the attack for a few moments, his eyeless gaze examining every movement of her quarterstaff, watching both ends for any sign that he had a chance. Launching an attack with his left at her face, he saw it. She parried by lifting the infuriating weapon, leaving her open for a low strike. His opposite hand however, had already been knocked wide. As such, he lashed out with a quick knee to the midsection. He felt a surge of pride as it connected, but quickly squelched it, taking two steps back.

"On my way here I saw warriors in Shienar who would have cut me down without a moment's hesitation. You are holding back, Shar Mahdi" He put a strange emphasis on her title, speaking it with a snake's slithering tone to his voice. Still, the fade's daggers were kept ready. He realized it must have been some kind of test... but the warrior in him was a bit angered at being treated as a child... a human child at that...

((Yeah, and I was working on a paper..forbidding myself from going to DM till I got it done lol, so I suppose I should apologize as well.))

Sereth passed on the opportunity to make an introduction to the Lord Dragon, instead watching everyone else's like a hawk, examining the effect of such a potent Ta'veran. He doubted he'd have to many times to study it. Then the exchange started between Covai and Jarron. Years of studying people let Sereth know just how rushed the man's report was given, even if he hid his stress well. Always the leader Covai, never show a hint of weakness to your men... or your superiors it seems.

Then Jarron spoke those sickening words, and the normally passive Asha'man made a move for the Dragon himself, but the Storm Leader beat him to it. He was undaunted by the amount of power the Dragon could hold, filling himself to the point of pain himself. He couldn't beat him outright...but maybe if he overloaded himself... He knew his thoughts were possibly the first signs of madness, or maybe the Dragon's presence, but he didn't care.

"Pillars of blue flame, torching nearly a hundred men. Lighting hunting us out like some light-forsaken hound, not to mention women managed to infiltrate our ranks, and strike down an attack leader..." His voice was ice, and the void was close to bursting around him. "We weren't 'boys', my Lord Dragon. We were soldiers up against a superior force. Male channelers against circles that were lead by someone whose weaves could only be described in terms of the most elegant of dances..."

Sereth clamped down his jaw, remembering his oath, wishing he had the opportunity to meet this man before he had sworn it. He doubted such an arrogant wretch could save the world... A deep breath later he transformed the hot anger into a cold wrath. At least this way, he could think. I will be your blade until the battle is done Lord Dragon... I will not go against an oath.

Sereth watched the man closely, recording every emotion he went through, nodding to himself with a bemused smile. "Yes, yes you can channel." Sereth took a sip himself; he had the feeling he might be teaching today after all, and it wasn't good for the teacher to be intoxicated. "Formalities? Hah, you'll learn that we have very few of those. Just follow one simple rule. The more decorated a man's coat is, the more respect you show. Speaking of which-" Sereth seized Saidin, the battle for survival as he rode those putrid currents of ice and fire second nature by now, and wove a gateway. "Let's get you one, then I'll show you the inn, deal?"

He didn't wait for an answer, and he dearly hoped the man realized that he had purposely made it large enough for him to lead his horse through, but not ride. "Watch the edges, they'd cut through your sword like it was butter." The gateway lead them near the center of the farm; specifically the tailor's house. As a courtesy, he weaved earth to raise a post to hobble the horse at, and stepped inside.

He gave an aged man a nod of his head, turning his neck to include the black coated man with a sword pin as well. Sereth grabbed a long, black silk coat off of a long row of them, and tossed it at Mathis. "Try it on, we'll get your exact measurements later, and three full uniforms will be made for you. Till then, I promised you a drink."

Sereth knew all of this must be happening a bit to quickly for the Andorian to register, but he also knew that he would have to get used to being pushed hard. Very hard. He heard it took 30 years in the white tower to do accomplish what was usually done here within a year... Of course their mortality rate was much better than it's ebon counter part. He set a medium pace for the inn. "Alright, now I know you have some questions."

Darial put this man high on the list he kept in his head of everyone who had wronged him, which directly translated into those who would find themselves at the wrong end of a intelligent, spiteful mind. Still, now was not the time. This man held to much power over him. That, however, would one day change. The saldean mut suppressed a grin as he walked off, inwardly laughing at the fact that this southerner would give him the tools he needed to overthrow him. It was moments like these when his paternal heritage truly shined...

Finding his rooms to be...quaint, he let out a long suppressed sigh. I'd best get used to it... No telling how long I will be here. After stripping out of his winter gear, that sigh turned to a breath of relief. He'd been burning up; the transition from Saldean winter to the blight was rather severe. Furthering the cooling process, he splashed some water from the wash basin onto his face, grateful to his new master that it was in fact cool water.

His temperature temporarily sated, he once again looked over the room. The reality of how far he'd come in just a few days was finally striking him, this being his first time to sit and think. He had killed a horse, a man, run from his home, sworn his soul over to the Dark..Great Lord, he corrected himself mentally, and was now in a place very far from his home, where he was told he would become a male channeler. He sat, not trusting his legs to support him with so many realizations hitting him. Taking a calming breath, he laid down, running through the calming exercises of imagining what he would do to all of those who had wronged him. He knew he'd need such serene thoughts to aide his slumber this night...

And so, he quickly fell asleep.

---

He woke up... oddly rested. He'd expected to to sleep terribly, but the small tremor of glee at finally escaping that damn ice pepper farm had apparently countered his other thoughts. Rising, he did his best to wash up, running an ivory brush through his raven locks. He set the task of replacing the small on yet another list he kept, clouded mirror that had been provided. He rather liked looking his best, something both parents had bred into him. Besides, when in the presence of those with a disheveled appearance, when you yourself looked absolutely pristine, it made the task of looking down on them that much easier. A task the small man garnered much pleasure from.

That done, he made his way out to the mess hall, taking stock of all of those eating with him. They varying levels of personal grooming, quality of clothing, and all the different races of people was rather disorienting. He was from a small town, and there was at the top of the social ladder... Here he had no idea where he stood. Eating quickly, he decided that establishing his place would be yet another thing to do, after doing his best to map out this forsaken place. First however, he made his way to the courtyard.

Unsurprisingly, Darial arrived before the southerner, and was forced to take another calming breath. The saldean added yet another offense under the man's name on his list of grudges.

He had the feeling it wouldn't be the last entry by the time the day was through...

Just to let you know, I got this far with no mouse, and consider it worth the extra effort. Approved by Cots...but can someone please change the topic title for me...

Sereth nodded, again listening to the man speak. His grin was eternal, but it grew sombre as he began to speak. "There will be plenty of time for drink afterwards, hell, there is an inn that is free of charge for our use. As you can imagine, it is the social hub of the tower." Letting out a quick laugh, Sereth ran his fingers through his own hair. A nervous habit that he was afraid made him quite easy to read. "Lets begin then."

Sereth held up his hand, palm up. "I will channel a small flame above my palm. All I want you to do, is focus on it. Focus with every bit of will you have, and wait. If you have the ability to channel, I will feel a sort of echo of the power within you. I won't however, be able to tell you how strong you are. That is a gift that only women have."

With that, he drew on Saidin, air and spirit in equal amounts, with fire threaded through it. The result was as promised, a small blazing ball of fire. It was gentle, yet still alive, crackling even without fuel. Sereth's eyes watched the man, focusing on him even as Mathis concentrated on the ball of fire. He was measuring his potential for dedication, seeing how he would waver when put to any sort of test. Even though he was beyond the point of no return; if he could channel there was no going back, Sereth still wanted to know what kind of man he had invited into the tower.

Then he felt it. A distant echo of what he felt when another man grappled with Saidin. Closing his fist, and letting the fire die, his grin widened. "Well, break out that flash, and welcome to the Black Tower."

Sereth had solid bands of air woven around Mathis as he moved, but he made sure to keep them in a wide ring. No need to threaten the man unnecessarily.

As mathis continued, detailing that he had nearly slit the asha'man's throat, Sereth's chest expanded slightly in a chuckle. He is a brave one, or perhaps foolish. Perhaps both? Oh, those are always the most troublesome, if fun. Then he exercised his second best skill, and he listened. He was relived to find that the man did not have the crippling tale of how he grew up in the streets, and this was his way out.

In fact, this was quite the opposite. This was a man trying to make something with his life, when he had comfort. Sereth found himself admiring that in the former Queen's Guardsmen. "Its not much of a life here; I find myself having to go out to search for books nearly every day. Though I somehow doubt that is quite as much a concern for you as it is me." He chuckled, continuing "But if you are looking for something with meaning, you have come to the right place. Each man you meet in there, has come to fight for the Light. To battle with the greatest weapon we have ever known, to defeat an enemy who wants nothing more than to destroy reality. If that sounds attractive, then I can test you for the ability to channel, but if you have any hesitation. Mount, and be gone, for once I test you, there is no turning back."

His voice had grown somber during his monolouge, but the chipper tone he was known for returned at his fellow Andorian's next question. "And yes, there are in fact women who love a strong man, many Asha'man have wives with them, others, mistresses." He laughed again to himself, and waited on the man's next move, releasing the weave of air. He somehow doubted he'd need it.

Asha'man Sereth Arian sat atop the wall, contemplating the mysteries of life. The sky... so blue. I wonder why? It doesn't look sad, at least not right now. So why the color of sadness and despair? Perhaps it is more the creators sadness, than the world it self's? Maybe he and the Dark One were close before... His thoughts continued in this direction, simply enjoying the ability and time to think. He had been quite busy training raw recruits lately, and that did cut into his private time. So he had to use every bit of it with his favorite thing to do; ramble nonsense in his head until something interesting game along to pick apart.

Even this however, was interrupted.  As a man atop a horse appeared to be riding for the gate. Like everything else even slightly out of the ordinary, this immediately drew his gaze. More so when the man appeared to turn back. A reluctant one, hmm? I wonder why he is coming here? Does he know he can channel? Or maybe he doesn't even know if he can channel at all. Putting on his signature, sideways grin Sereth prepared himself to go out and satisfy his never ending curiosity.

Of course, at that moment, he was gripped with terrible uncertainty. How was he to reach the man? There were horses available, though truth be told he had never been a gifted rider. He could walk, of course, but that might startle the man into getting away. Well, if I am going to startle him... A chuckle escaped his lips as he seized the molten, taint covered chill that was Saidin. Weaving pure spirit, a gateway twisted and cut through the very fabric of the pattern, and Sereth stepped through.

Not ten paces from where Mathis stood.

"Please don't run, I am Asha'man Sereth Arian, philosopher and historian. I saw you from the wall, and was wondering what the Black Tower could do for you?" His voice was light, friendly. Still, the Andorian supposed he had to be. It wasn't everyday men stepped through holes in the air to make introductions.

Well, at least not anywhere but the Farm.

Haha! I get the point for thinking of the whole thing MUAHAHAHHAHAHA-cough cough wheeze- haha?

Just to check, do I qualify? Since I was kinda in and out during that whole thing...

Dhjorn almost laughed at her conditions. "If I could not avoid the notice of a few light fools or children Shar Mahdi, I doubt very much that I am worth your time." With that he did as was bid, it wouldn't do well to appear an unwilling student. In fact, he had every intention of proving quite the opposite. He would  devour every lesson she had for him, until he knew all she did. Then he knew, he would be better. He was faster and stronger than any human could be, he could meld with the shadows. One day even the smallest laceration of his black blades would kill.

That however, was a long way off. For now he kept to the shadows, making scarce a sound as he slipped through the woods, heading in the direction of her abandoned house. It didn't take him long to find the place, as she said it was only a mile out. Stepping into the exposing moonlight, his putrid hand was laid upon the door. Dhjorn, who was labeled as emotionless even by his own cold race, allowed a smile to spread over his lips as he stepped into the building.

His training would begin soon.

OOC: Hmm, some sort of test to see where he is at with his daggers might be in order. Might as well start if off simple with some actual weapons training. We'll get creative down the road.  ;)

Even Sereth was beginning to be affected by the mounting tension. His eyes traveled to those in the room, making his mind work to dissuade the growing unease. There is no reason for it. You are here to meet your leader. The thought sat uneasily with him. Something about it wasn't quite right... You are the tool who is to be made aware of the hand which wields you. Closing his eyes at the thought, careful to not change his features for fear of being thought mad at this critical juncture. Yes, that feels just right.

Turning his mind outward he studied Covai with his plain, yet intense, gaze. He admired the man, that much was certain. Regardless of his normally care free nature, the man deserved the coat he wore. He was a strong and gifted leader, yet still one of the men. He had proved that at Shienar, and that was what was important. He would lay down his life without hesitation for the cause of the light, and for the man whom they served.

His thoughts were side tracked as the Storm Leader spoke, and Sereth nodded once in agreement with his choice. He had nothing against Simmen; in fact he was quite intrigued by the man from the black hills. His culture, and more importantly him personally, were foreign to a man who prided himself on his vast knowledge and the ability to apply it. Despite his desire to know the man better, Simmen seemed unpredictable, perhaps waiting for something to happen to him, and that wasn't something needed in the presence of the Dragon.

Covai's next proclamation however, caught Sereth off guard. Swear my loyalty to the Dragon above the Tower? Are there those who think is more than tools in his hand? That value the organization above the cause? The image of the M'Hael sprang to his mind, and suddenly understanding flashed through his mind. That explains why he stormed out of Brent's office. Nodding agreement with Tai's oath, Sereth rose to speak himself. "I can't say it any plainer than Tai'Dashan has."

He fell to his knee, assuming his fellow channeler's former permission. "I, Sereth Arian," he left out the title for the nature of the oath. It was given by the Tower, and he was the Dragon's man. "Swear by home hope of rebirth and salvation to be naked steel in the Lord Dragon Reborn's hands, until such a time as I can rest comfortably sheathed, or lie broken and forgotten in a field of battle," a grin spread over his lips, "surrounded by the bodies of his enemies." His face again grew somber as he continued, "I swear this above any oaths or loyalties to the Black Tower."

Rising, and taking his pillow seat once again, he thought about the words he had spoken, having to suppress a laugh at them. He had known this since the day he had taken his first steps on the farm, known that he was to be the Dragon's sword. He supposed he had nearly forgotten the true meaning of that, at least, until Shienar. This second remembrance served only to strengthen that resolve. I vow never to forget it again, he added, watching the next man take his vows.

Beautifully put together. CC'd.

Sereth's eyes widened at Covai's words. The Dragon Reborn... The man of legend, the one hope between us and the Dark One! So many more titles, and even bits of the Prophecies of the Dragon burst through his mind. He couldn't believe he was actually going to meet the man! The one responsible, if indirectly, for giving Sereth the gift of Saidin. Altering the course of his life forever... I'd be a merchant by now, if not for him... His iconic grin widened. Oh! And there is bound to be a library here as well!

So happy was he at the thought of perhaps acquiring another copy of the probably destroyed book, it actually took the Asha'man a moment to realize that they were being escorted. Willing his feet to take a couple dashed steps, and falling back in line, his mind continued to race, before settling on wondering exactly what Storm Leader Covai was up to. Something important... probably something about Shienar. He must have taken it harder than I did... Are you blaming yourself Storm Leader? We don't... His grin faltered a moment at these thoughts.

After the battle he had personally thanked the man for giving him one more shot at the shadowspawn, covering the retreat. Sereth had stayed until his mind was far to exhausted to handle channeling, and still he was dragged. It had been his first battle. He had even been a part of the destroyed group... Blinking away the memories, he focused on the present. He trusted Covai, and by extension his mission here. Whatever it was.

As such, he was comfortable resuming his sideways, innocent grin. Watching every stone of the Stone, where the Sword-that-is-not-a-Sword, Callandor, was kept. Where it had all began. His inspection continued as he was led to the waiting room, suppressing a chuckle at the pillows on the ground. Aiel custom... if I'm not mistaken. He had found very little in the way of information about these mysterious people, but he prided himself on not being completely ignorant.

Finding a finely embroiled and silk cushion for himself, he crossed his legs and lowered himself into a sitting position, elbows resting on his knees. He found it far more comfortable than he would have thought. So there he sat, awaiting the Lord of the Morning. Or perhaps Car'a'carn would be better suited for this occasion, he mused. 

OOC: Fixed

IC: Dhjorn was pleasantly surprised when he wasn't knifed. He figured that this was about as good of a start as he was like to get. She has children, hmm? Maybe... no no, its best to leave this one alone. He somehow doubted that threatening one who had earned such a title would work out in his favor. As such, he decided to do an unusual thing for his race. More so for himself, and go the direct, honest route.

"You are the Shar Mahdi, and I wish to learn from you." His voice was an icy death, emotionless yet still promising a slow and torturous end. Perhaps this once however, it was an empty promise. At least for now. "Teach me to wield these." His daggers appeared with a flourish, "Make me silent enough to creep into an Aiel's den, and all other things that go into the trade we have chosen." With his gaze still low, he sheathed the daggers once again. "I have come a very long way for this Shar Mahdi. Will you train me?"

Darial was not amused. In fact, he felt the icy rage flow up into his chest at the man's impudent speech, and once again he was filled with that chill, deeper than any Saldean winter. He whipped his wrists, knowing that this power would be yet again unleashed. "You will not-" His self righteous scream was cut short with a wince. He felt the power ripped from him.

Glaring up, those icy blue eyes still managing to promise death. Despite his size, despite the fact that his power was taken from him. The man returned the stare. Taking a deep breath, Darial thought. Wait... Ardicus had known my name, and he did not seem one that would go through unnecessary trouble... His rage nearly doubled as he realized what had transpired here.

"You were trying to trick me." His voice was filled with the wind's of his northland. Low, with an icy bite that bit to the bone. Darial was surrounded by more of these bullies, these arrogant fools who thought him inferior. No! He would get this one as he got the others! No one would ever walk all over him again!

Arcon was busy inspecting his fellow classmates a bit further, getting the feel of the area. He noticed something odd, those hailing from the borderlanders stared at the instructor with an odd mix of fear and hatred. What is that all about... Then she spoke. Her voice was like nothing he had ever heard... it was an evil sound, that was the only description he had. Every borderlander present moved their hands to the hilt of their blades.

Then she turned.

Fear gripped Arcon as he realized what was standing in front of him. He almost tried to reach for the source, but resisted. I wouldn't be able to break through the shield... Instead he followed the example of the north men. His hand went to the hilt of the longsword on his hip, prepared to enter Unfolding the Fan.

All of this  before her eyeless gaze met his own.

He kept his hand locked into position; he was simply no longer ready to draw the sword. He wasn't prepared for what this beast could do, and the pale adept was shaken to the core. Steeling his will, he returned the gaze. He felt fear... but he was returning to his senses. Thats what a Myrddraal can do... Fearsome, but not strong enough to keep me from blowing its head off...

Despite his strong thoughts, not even a single muscle twitched in Arcon's body.

Dhjorn had come a long way.

He began his journey in the blight, on the traditional night of his and Calaun's meeting. Each had spent time in the fortress of the dreadlords, and each had learned much. Calaun had even taught a group of the channelers about their species, her amused as she compared the bunch to Trollocs. Dhjorn had learned something deeper though, as he learned his letters, and made his way through the library. There was a group of humans who specialized in assassination, the best that the shadow had to offer.

The Shar Mahdi.

Once he learned of this dark guild, he made it his mission to seek them out. He asked around, getting the names of the ranking members, and their specialties. He had no use for the poisons of some, the Thakan'Dar forged daggers he would gain would take care of that. Besides, as non-channeling humans, there would be only one worth taking the skills of. The best of them.

He decided he would learn from Cari herself.

He traveled far, all the journey on foot. His face remained passive over the length of the journey, but inside he was seething with rage. Never before had felt the need for the black steed of the Myrddraal so keenly. The borderlands were the worst, avoiding detection was easy enough, but the bitter chill of the northland's winters. Never would such cold touch the blight.

Still, after far to long, he had made it to this accursed ranch. He had made it to the Shar Mahdi herself, and he would receive his training. At least, he hoped. There was the chance that she would turn him down; or slay him outright. Unlike most of his race, he did not fall into the trap of arrogance. Her species meant little; she could kill him. He raised his pale, pasty hands and knocked once on the door, his black hood pulled tight.

He prepared himself for death.