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Arath Faringal

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  1. And that would be fine if this series was set in the time of the ten nations. It's not. 2000 years has passed since that era and the Two Rivers area is repeatedly described as one of the most backwater areas in world. So isolated that they don't even know that they're technically Andoran. Isolation, and a small population, is going to make for a VERY homogeneous population in just a few generations. Racial diversity most certainly will have a place in this show. MUST have a place in this show. The Two Rivers is the absolute wrong place for it. Caemlyn, yes. Tar Valon, absolutely. Emond's Field, not a chance. All they'd need to do to fix it is recast Mat as someone with darker eyes and complexion, and done. Homogeneous Two Rivers folk.
  2. DM Handle: Ash Man Contact Info: aidenking17@gmail.com Character Count: 1 (This is the first.) Character Name: Jeiol Ramureth Nationality: Mayene Age: 27 Physical Characteristic: -Eye color: Emerald green, with a obscure ring of sand-brown around the pupil -Hair color: Black -Weight: 158 lb. -Height: 6'1" Physical Description: Jeiol is of a medium-framed body type, and of a very fit human physical condition. Across the left side of his chest, above his heart, he has a tattoo, of what appears to a crescent half-moon. He has several scars in his abdominal region, along with a arrow wound on his chest, across from his tattoo, courtesy of a dozen different assassins. He keeps his hair mostly uncombed, letting the wind create his hairstyle. As a result, it drapes halfway down his forehead. His face is what can be referred to as average, not very attractive but not unattractive, either. Personal History: Jeiol Ramureth is heir to the High Seat of House Ramureth, a particularly strong House of the Mayener nobility. Because of this, he is a skilled player of Daes Dae'mar, also know as the Game of Houses, or the Great Game. Also because of this, he is the target of many assassination plots and schemes, either as the receiving and of others, or as the instigator. He has been trained in hand-to-hand combat for self-defense purposes, and is of moderate skill in this regard, although is has never trained with blade. As most nobles do, he has served as an officer in the Mayener Winged Guards. However, he has never risen farther than that position. He refuses to tell the story behind the tattoo on his chest, although he has given many subtle hints that it does, in fact, have a story behind it. He discovered his ability to channel while residing in the country Amadacia, where the Children of Light hold great sway. It is unknown what he was doing there, except that he was known to be interested in the militarian and political doings of the Whitecloaks. It is also known that he had not had his tattoo before leaving Mayene to travel there. He had been living there for almost five years, in correspondence with his House, before he first channeled. Immediately afterwards, he traveled back to Mayene, but stayed there barely two days before disappearing. Unbeknownst to anyone accept his fiancé, a commoner, he traveled to Tear, to the Black Tower
  3. DM Handle: Zhon Character Count: 0 Character Name: Gevin Dallor Nationality: Lugard Age: 20 Physical Characteristics: Lightly tanned skin, 5’6 tall with a thin build (130lbs); short black hair and brown eyes; always clean-shaven. Personality: Gevin normally comes across as very friendly and social. He’ll talk about any subject given half a chance, and it can be difficult to make him stop when the subject is something he is genuinely interested in or if there’s some kind of debate or story involved. He rarely takes things seriously unless someone’s life is on the line, and even then tends to meet the challenge with a smile. Note: Suffers from a channeling block. Once trained he can sense the Source and seize saidin at will, but is incapable of actually using a weave unless he is talking or at least whispering while he does so. If gagged or unable to hear his own voice, any attempts at channeling will fail outright. Personal History: Like Murandy itself, Gevin grew up having very little impact on the people or events around him. Born and raised in one of the slightly less bawdy inns scattered across Lugard, he grew up among traders and wanderers of all kinds, even a few gleemen who stayed at the inn over the years. Despite his parents’ efforts, meeting so many people and hearing the stories of their travels instilled Gevin with a strong wanderlust that he fed even more by reading about nearby lands. Sometimes he took the stage himself and retold those stories for others, more for the pleasure of it than anything else – although the extra silvers certainly didn’t hurt – and at eighteen years old managed to draw the attention and friendship of a gleeman who regularly stopped at their inn on his way between Andor and Illian. The man decided to make Gevin his apprentice and take him out into the wide world he had so dreamed about. It took two years of training and practice before the gleeman allowed Gevin perform on his own, though he was very strictly ordered to keep it simple for a first attempt. He performed in a small town in eastern Ghealdan: juggling, some minor acrobatics, and telling a few of his stories in Plain Chant. A number of unusual visitors were at the inn that night, including Children of the Light, as the first snows began to fall following a drought rumored to be the Dark One’s work as well as the torrential rainstorms that had appeared after that. Despite his attempts at entertaining the inn’s guests most of them remained brooding or worried about what had been happening in the world, so on an impulse Gevin decided to step up his performance with a High Chant excerpt from the Great Hunt of the Horn, determined to awe them and make them forget their worries. Everyone looked up as his voice suddenly seemed to fill the room, more so than any normal man’s voice should have been able to. His skin felt like it was on fire, or was it frozen solid? He assumed it was simple nervousness at having so many eyes on him as well as his mentor’s angry glare from offstage, and ignored it as he continued. But when he reached a certain line in the tale – “And thus the lost Heroes wouldst join the fight, bathed in an eternal golden Light” – the room itself was suddenly bathed in light as well, emanating from a point somewhere above Gevin’s head. He glanced up in shock, no longer speaking as the light grew brighter and then vanished like it never was. The gleeman was the first to react. He grabbed Gevin and was out the inn’s back entrance before the Whitecloaks in the audience could draw their weapons and follow, and out of town altogether by the time a full alarm was raised behind them. The two fled east back toward Murandy, and a week after that incident Gevin came down with alternating fevers and chills that left him incapable of going further than the next inn they passed. His mentor cared for him through the sickness, but after it broke he told Gevin that his apprenticeship was over and that he should go find a black-coated recruiter for the Dragon Reborn’s army. They’d be able to help him if anyone could. The man left early that morning while Gevin was still too weak to follow. Left with no other real options, Gevin did as his mentor suggested once he was well enough. He found a recruiter almost a month after the sickness and joined up with the Black Tower, figuring that fighting for the Dragon Reborn had to be better than just letting himself go mad or being gentled at the White Tower… didn’t it?
  4. DM Handle: Jozan Character Count: 1 Character Name: Jerid Kovar Place of Birth: Tear Age: 37 Eyes: light blue Hair: short dark brown Height: 5’4 Weight: 140 (thick built though) Personality: If you get past the wall he puts up, you’ll meet the charming, intelligent, and witty prankster that he is. He loves singing to himself but will always stop when someone comes. Jerid thinks that his looks would only scare people off. Therefore he puts on his mask and a cool exterior. He has never walked up to a stranger and held a discussion going. Because of his wall people tend to leave him alone. Physical Description: Jerid is short, well built, with thick beard and short dark brown hair. In a fire when he was just a baby he lost his family, and burned his half face severely. He wears a mask, hat, and coat, and also walks with a staff even though he doesn’t actually need one. He has a burn scar over his left side of the face. His skin tone is dark, but unlike most people from Tear he has light blue eyes. Jerid’s voice is actually quite smooth and many would enjoy listening to him. Some say he could easily be a glee-man if he wanted to. History: Jerid and his family had lived in the outskirts of Tear in a small village. Most people in the village had moved in to the city or moved elsewhere. One day three young men had come to the village looking for Jerid’s father, and a small fight erupted when he didn’t want to sell his property to them. The fight ended with them putting the entire house on fire, and killing Jerid’s father and mother. But unbeknownst to them Jerid was inside the burning house. Luckily some people coming to visit the city of Tear saw the burning house, and heard the screaming of a baby crying inside. For quite a few years he had to live on the street and pickpocket, steal food, and sometime work as a stable boy to get by. But when he turned eighteen Jerid decided he would learn to be a glee-man and move from city to city. Jerid learned to sing, play flute, joggle, and acrobatics. Even though he didn’t earn a lot of money he survived on his own that way. He wandered aimlessly for years under the protection of his coat, hat, and mask. He only stops to sing at inns for money and a place to sleep, and eat warm food. He came upon Tear on his vagrant journey one day, and decided to find a place to stay in for a while. He hadn’t been back since several years. Jerid noticed that the city hadn’t changed much since his last visit. He usually didn’t tell many stories, but for some reason this particular day he wanted to tell a story. One he had heard during his journey in Illian about two brothers loving the same woman, and in the end marrying her as well. To Jerid it made no sense and was probably a myth. In the audience he noticed two men clad in all black sitting together and the pin they both had told him they might be soldiers of some sort. They both oozed of confidence as they sat there eating and drinking. Jerid envied them for a reason only he could understand. Jerid did not have any family, no goal, nor had he any one to call friend. He just plodded wearily through life and stopped only to earn some measly money so he could survive another harsh day. But there was one thing he wanted more than anything else, a place to call home and people to share it with. He decided that he would follow these two black cloathed men at a distance, to at least get some company even if it was from a distance. After a while of traveling they came upon a place where people came and then disappeared. Jerid stared in awe at the scene in front of him, and didn’t know what to think. Suddenly the both men came up to him from behind, and surprised him. They told him that they had seen him earlier, and was curious about him. One of them asked Jerid if he had ever wondered if he could learn to channel. To the question Jerid just shook his head, but it did make Jerid curious if it was possible. After a moment he asked gestured his willingness to be tested. The test told them that Jerid could be taught to use the one power. When they told that to Jerid, he nearly smiled within thinking about it. This was a fresh beginning for Jerid. A new place where he might find a way to fit in.
  5. Name: Kaelin Elan Norinth Gender: Male Class: Channeler Age: Early thirties Origin: Cairhien Occupation: Guardsman in the mining town of Edgehill, Andor. Family: Andoran mother, Cairhienin father, a twin brother, and a Cairhienin wife; all deceased. Appearance: Uncharacteristically tall for a Cairhienin at 5'11 (due to his Andoran blood). Slim and lithe in build, short black hair with white at the temples, pale skin, and dark eyes with an angry red scar running horizontally between them. Personality: A quiet individual, with a serious demeanour, a clipped Cairhienin accent with faint Andoran overtones, and a penchant for formal speech patterns. Quite friendly towards those who take the time to get to know him. Brief History: Kaelin was once an Asha'man and a committed disciple of Dramon Calgar. Kaelin's twin brother Reimond died of the Taint shortly after the brothers joined Dramon's nascent Black Tower. Kaelin later became a mentor of sorts to Koras Sanderos. Kaelin remained with the Black Tower for some time, and during Dalinarius' leadership of the Tower, married his childhood sweetheart and brought her to the Tower. Not long afterwards, she was brutally murdered by a mad Asha'man under the influence of the Taint. This event marked the beginning of Kaelin's own slow descent into madness. During a skirmish with the enemies of the Tower, he briefly lost control of his sanity for the first time, and although he was able to quickly re-establish his grip on reality, he realised that he could no longer trust himself. Fearing that he might harm his friends and comrades under the influence of the Taint, he Skimmed to a distant location before battling back his madness for the final time. With his mind as clear as he could make it, he used saidin to commit suicide. The suicide attempt failed to take his life. It did, however, put a composite block on his connection to the Source, as well as obliterating his memory. He was found battered and bloody by a guardsman out on patrol, who took him back to the infirmary in the nearby town of Edgehill. Fragments of Kaelin's old memories began to return, mostly just images, meaningless and out of context. The only one that made any sense was a name, which he presumed - wrongly - to be his own; Reimond. After a long period of convalescence, he recovered from his physical injuries. With no memory of his past, he elected to remain with his new 'family' and joined the town guard, where he discovered an aptitude for polearms. However, his long recovery from his injuries has all but wiped out the martial skills he developed at the Black Tower, and working in a quiet mining town, he's had no occasion to develop them further. This afternoon, a pair of Asha'man of the Black Tower stopped off in Edgehill on their way through. As they entered the local Inn, where Kaelin was on guard duty, he spoke a quiet greeting to the pair. One of them turned to acknowledge him... and paused. There was something very familiar about this guardsman. Something very familiar indeed... The One Power: During his time at the Black Tower, Kaelin's above average skill with saidin was balanced by a relative lack of strength compared to his fellow Asha'man. His skill was greater in Air and Fire, and exceptionally weak in Earth. Before his descent into madness, he discovered a Talent for Cloud Dancing, but that Talent, along with all of his knowledge of the One Power, is now gone. When he is brought back to the Black Tower, he will need to break the composite block between him and the Source, and relearn the use of saidin from scratch. Whether he will ever regain his full power or his Talent is impossible to determine. Plans: It's not likely that he'll ever get his full memory back, but the parts he does recover should make for some interesting interactions with his former comrades at the Black Tower. It also gives him an opportunity to make new memories, by starting fresh friendships with those who didn't know him before.
  6. "No." The simple response seemed to stun the Soldier. Before he could muster a response, likely an angry one, Daevis continued. "I will show you how to be a weapon, rest assured of that. You will learn how to deal death with Saidin every day. Your ears will ring and your body will tremble from the force of the explosions you will unleash. You will learn to tame fires so hot they will melt the rocks your enemies stand on. But that is not your purpose. "Killing and destruction ... they are tools you will use, not what you will be. Death and madness ... those are the price we pay, not what defines us. Becoming a weapon ... that is our method, not our purpose. "We are Asha'man. In the old tongue it means Guardian. Not just a common merchants guard or keep defender, but a guardian of great importance. A defender of an ideal. A man who stands for something and will defend it with his life. Remember who you are, and what you stand for. That is where you'll find your purpose." Daevis let the Soldier think about that for a minute. Defining yourself was a tricky business, and it would take some time to figure out. Hopefully he would spend the next several weeks learning just what his purpose was. Only then would he be able to find some measure of peace. The sky was brightening further by the minute, and the daily bustle around the Farm was beginning. Already Daevis could feel channeling from all directions as the men prepared for the new day. "So what say you? Are you ready to truly begin?"
  7. Daevis nodded his understanding. "There is no easy way to cope with your situation. Almost every man who comes to this place has the same dilemna, but each also has his own solution. In the end, you have to accept the lot you've been given; accept what you are." He paused, frowning down at the Soldier in thought. "That's a lot easier for some than for others. I flaming leapt at the chance to come here, though in my case I had nothing left to lose." His voice took on a harder note as memories welled up inside him. "Soulblighter took everything from me, and this was my chance to punch him in the bloody face. A chance to make a difference in the Last Battle. One soldier can't hope to do much when facing a fist of trollocs. The best he can do is take a few of them with him before dying on a trolloc spear. One Asha'man though ... he can make a difference. Save those who couldn't be saved otherwise ..." He fell silent again, letting his anger subside. The memory of the day he'd lost his family always hurt, especially when he thought of how differently that day would have gone if he'd known how to channel. "Accepting what I am was easy for me. I wanted this. But what about you? Why exactly are you here?"
  8. "That's a shame," said Daevis, rubbing his chin. "As I recall, sleep was a rare and precious thing as a Soldier." He leaned against the tree, looking out at the slowly brightening sky over the tree line. "I've trained a lot of Soldiers during my time here. Usually we manage to work them so hard that they don't have the time or energy to think about anything at all. Sometimes though, a Soldier just can't help but dwell on things no matter how hard we distract him." He paused, giving the other man an appraising look. He looked to be about the same age as Daevis himself, and had a sort of hard look about him. Not a warrior like Daevis had been, but someone who was no stranger to hard work and hardship. He also looked like he was only here because he had nowhere else to be. "There are only a few things that can occupy a man so," he continued, adjusting his position against the tree. "If I had to guess, you're thinking something along the lines of 'Light blind me for a bloody fool! What have I gotten myself into?' Does that sound about right?"
  9. Daevis Thelandran enjoyed the quiet times of the early morning. Before the daily training began and the sounds of power wrought explosions filled the air, the Farm had a downright peaceful air to it. Not at all what you would expect for a place filled with hundreds of potential madmen. Wandering the outskirts of the Farm, the Asha'man took note of those few others who found themselves out and about. A couple of dedicated reaching the end of their night watch, and a handful of Asha'man preparing for the days lessons. The usual people he encountered on his morning walks. This morning, however, he spied someone unfamiliar. A soldier, wandering about rather aimlessly, and all on his own. A strange sight indeed. Most new soldiers tried to get every last minute of sleep they could before their long day of training. What could have roused this one? Deciding to investigate, the tall Shienaran made his way to the tree that the Soldier had perched himself under. "I've yet to meet the southerner who enjoys this 'cold' weather," he said amicably. "So I wonder, what brings a new soldier out of bed so early to sit in it?"
  10. "Very well." Arath motioned the other man forward to the edge of the desk. "This test will awaken your ability if you can indeed learn to channel. Once you begin, there is no going back." A barely perceptible nod signaled agreement with those terms. "To channel requires singular focus. You will learn that in time, but for now concentrate on this flame. There is nothing but the flame. Feed all your doubts and fears into the flame and leave nothing to distract you." The test didn't take as long as many did. After ten minutes Arath felt the echo in the flame, Baren's latent abilities awakening and unconsciously responding to Araths own channeling. Arath quickly dismissed the flame and released Saidin. The sudden absence of the object of his attention seemed to startle Baren a little. "Congratulations," Arath told him, rising from his desk and moving to a closet on the side of the room. "Your winter journey was not made in vain." From the closet he retrieved a black wool coat much like his own the n turned around to give it to the new recruit. "You are now a Soldier of the Black Tower. Your life is now to be dedicated to The Lord Dragon, and your brothers here at the Farm. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them. If not, the Soldier outside my door will take you to the inn for a hot meal before getting you settled into your barracks"
  11. Arath listened to Baren's short introduction, then waited silently for more. It didn't appear that more would be coming at the moment though, which was understandable. Many of the men who came here were trying to escape a painful past. Especially those who started channeling on their own. Still, Arath would need a little more to work with. "Generally speaking, there are two kinds of men who come looking for this place. There are those who, through no fault of their own, have begun to channel. They see this place as their only hope. The other is the man who, Light only knows why, chooses this life for himself. " Arath paused for a moment, letting the newcomer absorb that. "So which are you? Do you already know your fate?" He seized Saidin and channeled a small flame into the air above his desk. "Or do you need to be tested?"
  12. Arath stewed over the stack of papers that had grown on his desk over the last few weeks. Bloody Aes Sedai, demanding all his time ... he'd never catch up at this rate. He didn't know which was worse, the incessant attentions of every Aes Sedai with a spark of curiosity, or the endless paperwork. For the hundredth time he wondered why he hadn't passed some of his duties off to an Attack Leader. Light knew he could use a little relief. Then again, if he had less to tie him down at the Farm, he may never get away from Zarinen or her sisters. He tested the knot of emotions in his mind, but the distance was too great to feel anything but a vague sense of direction. A knock at his door drew his attention back to the present. "Enter," he called. A Soldier poked his head through the doorway. "Newcomer sir. Just walked out of the woods trying to find us." Arath frowned. That had been happening more and more frequently as of late. He supposed the secret had to get out sometime, but how was it that every farmhand in the world seemed to know exactly where to find the Farm? The amnesty had been declared in Tear ... why did everyone come to Andor now? It was a mystery, but one for another time. Maybe. Arath nodded to the Soldier, and the newcomer was quickly ushered in. By the looks of him, he hadn't known exactly where to go. He was pretty ragged looking, and appeared to have been travelling for quite some time. It was hard to tell where this one was from at a quick glance. Behind all the travel grime he could have been an Aiel for all Arath could see. "I'm Storm Leader Arath Faringal," he said, motioning the new recruit to come forward. "Welcome to the Black Tower. So tell me, what's your story?"
  13. DM Handle: Andrej Character Count: 0 currently Character Name: Baren Katse Nationality: Amadacian Age: 31 Physical Characteristics: 6’0”, 190lbs, straw colored blonde hair and gray eyes. Physical Appearance: Baren is of average height and broad across the shoulders. He is heavy set both with age and years toiling as a farmer. Baren’s hair is the color most commonly associated with hay or straw, unruly and thick although he keeps it cut short which helps make it more manageable. His face is broad, with creases at the corners of his uncommonly ocean gray eyes from years of squinting underneath a hot sun. A closely cropped beard covers his cheeks and jaw line, connecting with a bristling mustache that encircles his full lips. His skin is fair, although his face and neck hold a reddish hue from sun exposure. His demeanor is of a calm nature, often seeming sad, and he is soft spoken despite his gruff tone. Baren only has 9 fingers, the smallest finger on his left hand was lost in an accident attempting to repair a grain mill as a young man. History: Baren was raised on a farm along the outskirts of Amador, working the same plot of land that had been in his family for generations. He is from a humble upbringing, having not lived in poverty but by no means luxury either. He had two siblings growing up and was the eldest. Reaching the appropriate age, his brother left the farm to enlist with the Children of the Light in Amador and his sister, the youngest, had died at the age of 7 from illness one particularly harsh winter. His parents passed away within the same year after Baren’s twentieth nameday, leaving him to tend the farm by himself along with his newly wedded wife, Nari. Being a farmer had taught Baren many valuable lessons in life such as patience and perseverance; crops would occasionally go bad and the only thing a man could do was pick up his tools and work the land again for the next planting. He was used to working hard, but gradually over the years it had started to take a toll on him. With his age now, he often woke up with sore hands and creaking joints; which he ignored behind his quiet mask. The primary crops he grow were grain and tabac and with his experience he was able to recognize good soil when he saw it. Along with his knowledge of agriculture, Baren has a familiarity with farming tools and equipment. He was no craftsman, but when things around the farm needed fixing he always found a way to rig them back into functionality. At the age of 25, Nari died in childbirth along with his unborn son. For 5 years Baren had mourned her loss in a drunken solitude. He struggled understanding why the Creator would take his beloved wife and drowned his sorrows in grain liquor from the family still; another trade his family operated although less openly. Those years had gone by in a haze, the worst time of his life, where Baren spent his days drinking instead of tending the crops as he should. Slowly, the farm descended into a state of disrepair. He stopped harvesting crops and the only income he gained to keep food on the table was through the illegal making of grain alcohol. He had heard in passing one day from one of the buyers about a new place that was taking in men and giving them a new way of life. He had heard the rumors from others, but each told a different tale. He no longer had a direction in his life, a purpose, but one evening while he sat on the steps of his rickety porch he made the decision. He would join these men, despite the damning rumors of them being men that could channel, and therefore resurrect the life he had thrown away. He would go to this Black Tower, as he had heard it called, and have himself tested. That night he drained the last of the clay bottle’s contents and packed the few belongings he had left to his name before burning the farmhouse in which his family had lived in for generations. He had watched the house burn until it was nothing but a heaping pile of embers before he turned away from his old way of life and began the journey towards his new one.
  14. DM Handle: Maurelle Character Count: None. First attempt Character Name:Tyr Gerryn Nationality: Taraboner Age:19 Physical Characteristics Hair color: Ash Blonde Eye color: Chestnut brown Height: 5’6” Weight: 125 lbs (lean like a runner) Physical Description: Tyr keeps his hair cropped close to his head after seeing the long hair of his sister used against them in the riots in Maracru, and he is oddly clean shaven for a Taraboner. He still wears a half veil made of a sheer black linen and held in back with a chain made of copper and small copper pennies-his sister’s favorite veil on him. He never seems to smile more than the lifting of the corner of his lips. His voice is deep and is never raised in anger. Instead it gets softer-almost to the point of whispering. His hands are slightly calloused from working just enough in the olive oil extraction mills to have an understanding of the process. He keeps his appearance immaculate and is polite to everyone because his mother believed that there was never an excuse to not be either. He has a series of thick, mostly healed burn scars on his back he never talks about. When seen thinking or staring off into space, his left hand disappears into his pocket to rub his thumb over the surface of a gold locket. Personal History: Tyr is the son of a fourth generation olive oil mill owner and seller in the town of Meler a two day trip outside the city of Maracru. He had one younger sibling-a sixteen year old sister named Lilin who was adored by everyone in the family. He had a normal happy childhood spent learning the ins and outs of the olive oil business, until his father died during a hunt by being gored by a boar. He was then forced to take over the business with the help of his mother at the age of fourteen, proving to be both level headed and good at reading people. He and his sister were in the process of finding transport for the year’s crop of oil when the riots broke out. Enraged, the mob set about showing its displeasure but setting fires and looting. Realizing what was going on as the mob approached, Tyr grabbed Lilin and tried to shelter in a an alley between a chandler and a lamp maker’s shop. A majority of the mob passed the two by except for a gang of thugs more intent on seeing what they could get away with than actually expressing displeasure. A brief fight ensued, during which Tyr, who was no trained fighter, took a hit to the head. His memory of the next few events fade in and out. Mostly, he remembers hearing his sister screaming and an intense almost frantic need to protect her. He remembers touching something cold, burning that had him vomiting and flinging it out. He remembers blood, flames and a pair of familiar eyes looking at him in horror. He woke up three days later in a makeshift clinic, back a mess of burns. In intense agony, he asked about his sister getting no response other than more herbs to ease the pain. It wasn’t until some time later that he heard the healers whispering about how he had been the only survivor of an explosion of a lamp makers shop during the riots. Fearing the worst-that he had not only channeled but killed his sister-he left the clinic that day, stole a horse, and rode for all he was worth towards the one place that might be able to help him.
  15. Both of them accessing the sa'angreal may have had something to do with the fact that the male CK was being accessed remotely through a ter'angreal. Such a setup might have introduced a flaw which allowed multiple people to draw on it at once. Now that I think about it, that might actually have been by design, since there were multiple keys to begin with.
  16. Arad Doman. For someone who didn't like the One Power much, Michelle was certainly going to take full advantage of it. Who else in the world would be able to take a stroll on a beach in Mayene, and then go to dinner on the opposite end of the world? Not that Arath was going to object. Her fear of the Power was understandable given what she'd been through, but she needed to get used to it. Saidin was a part of him and what he did. There was no avoiding it. "Arad Doman sounds great," he said with a smile. "I know a great place just a little outside Bandar Eban. Covai and I stopped there a while ago, on a quest to improve the food at the inn. We couldn't persuade any of the cooking staff to come back with us, but Covai likes to make attempts every few weeks." Indeed, Covai was beginning to annoy Mistress Bidawa with his repeated efforts to acquire a Domani cook. "Then after dinner, we can go back to the Farm," he agreed. "Whatever you want to do together." He held out a hand to Michelle and drew her away from the water's edge. Releasing his heating weave, the Asha'man wove spirit into a complex travelling weave. The familiar silvery blue flash split the air in front of them, rotating open into utter darkness. They'd wandered too far from the place where they had arrived, and he didn't know this area well enough to Travel directly to Arad Doman, so Skimming would have to do. He could feel Michelle's hesitance to step through the gateway. She had travelled like this before, but in her rush of emotions at reuniting with Arath for the first time in years, and the prospect of escape from her horrible situation, she had been willing to go along with just about anything. This time she had a chance to think it through. Gently pulling her to the gateway, Arath concentrated for a moment, forming the platform on the other side. A soft, sandy surface, not unlike the one they currently stood on, materialized in front of them. After a quick weave of air recovered their shoes from the beach, Arath gently pulled his friend through the gateway, letting it snap shut behind them. Immediately he felt the vague sense of motion as the sandy platform moved through the void. Given the distance, this trip might take a while. .
  17. OOC:Sorry for the delay ... again. Kerris seemed to regain his senses quickly, which was a good sign. He would need to be watched for ... well ... always, just like any other trainee at the Black Tower, but no more than the others. He still didn't seem all too eager though. Arath couldn't blame him for that. Who wanted to become something that the world had feared for the last three thousand years? "You will begin training immediately. Once you get settled into the Soldier's barracks you'll be taken to the inn for your last hot meal for a while. Today will be filled with physical labor, but starting tomorrow you will start working with the Power. Everything you do here will be done with Saidin, right down to cooking your own food, so unless you like your meat extremely rare, I suggest you learn quickly. We will push you hard; harder than you've ever been pushed before. But we will make you stronger for it." Arath looked down at one of his notebooks, searching quickly for a name. "Your first lessons will be with ... Dedicated Fanten Do'Abryn. He will prepare you to work with the Power. Kerris' gurgling stomach growled loudly again. Arath stared at the young man for a moment, then added, "Perhaps we'd better feed you first, then set you up in your quarters." Siezing Saidin, Arath split the air against the wall with threads of spirit. The gateway revolved open to the travelling ground across from the inn. Gesturing the boy through the gateway, Arath followed on his heels and let the gateway snap shut behind them. A few moments later, Kerris was seated at a table, with a bowl of stew and a quarter loaf of bread in front of him. "Eat as much as you want. Or perhaps as much as you can. Like I said before, this may be your last hot meal for a while. Now then, did you have any other questions for me?"
  18. I suppose this needs a WT CC, but I'm feeling like ignoring protocol *BT Stamps the crap out of the bio*
  19. Arath was silent for a moment, not sure how to respond. Tai's focus and conviction was right. They were supposed to be weapons for the Dragon, dedicated to winning the rapidly approaching Last Battle. So why did that feel so wrong? Nothing left to live for? Granted, that life might not be very long, but still ... it felt like something was missing. "There has to be something," he said finally, looking down at his hands. "If you have nothing else, you risk losing yourself." He thought to say more than that, but words utterly failed him. He'd never been in Tai's position before. He'd lost people before, but in different ways. He'd lost his mother, but he'd been very young when it had happened. He'd killed his own father when he first started channeling, but that had hardly been much of a lose. Since then he hadn't really had many close attatchments, with the exceptions of Tai and Michelle. And now Zarinen he supposed. Hmmm ... Zarinen ... "I don't know if now is the best time, but maybe you should think about spending a little time in Tar Valon. It hardly seems like the best place for our kind to go, but believe me when I tell you that you will have absolutely no time to dwell on your problems. The Aes Sedai run me ragged ... and don't get me started on the one I'm bonded with."
  20. Following Tai inside, Arath couldn't help but scrutinize his former student. He trusted Tai, and knew that he was more than capable to perform his duties, but promoting him to Attack Leader had been a risk. Given the loss he had recently experienced, and his particular symptoms of the taint, the extra strain of Attack Leader duties could have broken him. There was also the chance that it would give him something else to focus on and prevent him from dwelling on his loss. Arath was counting on the second option. He hadn't counted on leaving Tai on his own for the first few weeks. Arath siezed Saidin as he moved through the house, delving the foundations and getting a better look of the structure than he could with his eyes. There were wards around some areas, which he left alone, but he noticed that the house was very solid. A little more so than strictly necessary. "Interesting ... you fortified your basement walls a little bit more than my house. Didn't feel like having someone dig you out again?" He chuckled slightly. During the construction of Arath's own house, back when Tai was a new soldier, Tai had worked on the cellar walls but hadn't fortified the walls enough. Arath and one of the dedicated had had to dig him out when it collapsed on him. "So how have you been Tai? I hear you've been splitting your time between the training grounds and the great store in Tear. Keeping busy?"
  21. DM Handle: Richie_Bean Character Count: 0 Character Name: Kavrey Paerlyn Nationality: Ghealdean Age: 22 Physical Characteristic: Blue eyes and blond hair. 6 foot 1. Fairly solid. Physical Description: Kavrey is good looking. He is tall, but not intimidating, often with a downcast gaze. He has a shy smile but distant eyes. He is graceful in his movements and has no scars or tattoos or other distinguishing features. Personal History: Kavrey was born to a family of modest means. His father was a furniture maker and had a good reputation among those in their town, Samara, in Ghealdean. He had an elder sister, Moiwyn, who he looked up to and adored while growing up. His mother raised them lovingly and his childhood was a happy one. He spent much of it playing with the other children, down by the river Eldar, and they often dreamed together of what it would be like to take a ship and sail off down it and see where it took them. As Kavrey grew up he took on work at an inn called The Blue Bull at the age of sixteen. The owner had no children of his own to work the tables and Kavrey’s father was a regular enough customer that he knew Kavrey to be a trustworthy boy. His sister had already worked there for a number of years. About the time that he began this job, his father began getting him to spend the mornings and afternoons in his workshop with him. He wanted Kavrey to learn his trade so that he could eventually take over the trade once he became too old. Yet Kavrey had never shown much interest in furniture making. The work felt so mundane. Yet he did enjoy carving the intricate details, those additional flourishes that set a piece of wooden furniture apart from any other. Still, much of the work that his father was commissioned for did not require such fancy detailing and Kavrey often lapsed in his interest and work. His father responded harshly to moments like these and it brought a rift between them. Evening dinners were awkward for the family as they could all feel the tension between the 2 of them, but the father was too strict and Kavrey too stubborn to sort through it. This continued on for over two years as Kavrey grew to silently resent his father, and became more withdrawn. He found solace in the company of his sister, who, although she never said anything to their father, understood Kavrey’s position and didn’t wish it for him. One evening , while working at the inn, after having spent a horrible day with his father where they had clashed once again, Kavrey was caught in a foul mood by some patrons who began to make sport of him for no other reason than that they could sense his anger. He snapped, and what happened next he could not explain, but the metal mugs of ale that the three men were drinking from exploded. The shards imbedded in the wooded tables and pillars and floor around the room, but one also found its way in the neck of one of the drunk men. His sister, Moiwyn, had been present and looked at Kavrey who stared at them in shock. The men began trying to help their dying friend and Moiwyn brought rags to help slow the bleeding. One of the men looked back at Kavrey and accused him of channeling, of being cursed. He threaten to alert the nearest Whitecloaks he could find and Kavrey knew it was not unusual to find them in Samara. His sister took came to his side and shook his shoulders, snapping him out of his shocked stupor. He knew he had been responsible for what happened. Moiwyn seemed to read his face and know this too. She told him to flee the city. His life here was over. She told him that maybe it was for the best, as he wasn’t happy here anymore. He nodded woodenly and they parted, hugging, while she cried. He fled the town with what little money he had and took passage on a boat up the river Eldar. He didn’t try to deny or hide from what he had done. He had channelled. As much as he had heard the terrible stories of men who could channel, his sense of self-preservation made him no longer view it with such distaste. For the next three years he travelled, working in inns, taverns and stables to keep himself alive. He did not withdraw from people, he simply kept his temper in check, as he feared that when he lost control last time it was what had caused him to channel. While passing through Caemlyn he heard of the Black Tower. At first the idea of going there seemed dangerous. People did not speak well of those who could channel. Yet his curiosity about it made him wonder. A Tower for men? To train and learn to channel? He'd been alone for so long that the need to find others like him, who could help him, not just to channel but to feel accepted, led him to the gates of the Tower.
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