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Arath Faringal

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  1. Arath felt drained. Tar Valon seemed to have that effect on him. Or more precisely, the inhabitants of the White Tower had that effect on him. Zarinen alone could be exhausting to deal with, but ever since the other ajah's had caught wind of the 'arrangement' his days had been mercilessly busy. Aes Sedai were viciously curious creatures. The Black Tower hadn't changed too much in the time that he had been away. Work on the walls continued of course, and a number of new structures dotted the town. A new Soldier barracks was nearing completion, and the stables that had been destroyed in the battle with Brent had been rebuilt. But it was familiar. A good place to be. And there were no Aes Sedai. Probably ... He wandered the Farm aimlessly for a while, simply glad to be away from Tar Valon. It was a pleasant place, certainly far grander than the Farm, but it wasn't ... home. The Black Tower was the place that he belonged, regardless of Zarinen's efforts to 'civilize' him. Eventually his wandering took him to his own home, the plain but comfortable Faringal Manor. It looked ... empty. It hadn't really seen much use recently. Not since he and Covai had put down Brent in his madness. Michelle had found ways to keep herself busy and was often away for long times, and after Aria had been killed Tai'Dashan had started work on his own place in his clearing, Curious to see how the place was progressing, Arath headed off toward the woods. It would be good to speak to Tai again and see how he was doing. He'd been getting regular reports, but still ... it wasn't the same. It didn't take long for Arath to reach the familiar clearing in the woods that Tai had claimed as his own. A sturdy home filled one end near the spring, and Arath could faintly feel channeling within. Good, Tai was home then. Siezing Saidin himself, Arath wove a simple weave of air, a little snarl of loosely knotted strands that produced a small thunderclap when pulled tightly. The Asha'man equivalent of knocking on the door. Arath grinned to himself as he remembered the last time he had done that weave. Zarinen had been less than amused. With a tug, the weave collapsed and thunder sounded throughout the clearing. A moment later the door cracked open. "Nice little place you have here Tai. Are you going to invite me in or what?"
  2. Character Name: Tai'Dashan Age: 26 Place of Origin: Mayne Hair Color: Dark Brown Eye Color: Blue Height: 5'11 Weight: 130 At 26 years of age, Tai'Dashan is of average height. From Mayene, he is a generally handsome man with dark hair and startlingly blue eyes. The kind that have gained him both favor and trouble, when it came to women, in the past. He was born to his Mother, an averagely wealthy jewelry merchant In Mayene. He adopted the family business, at the age of 16, when his mother was killed in an alley one night. It is believed she was murdered by an unsatisfied customer. His father is of obscure origins. Although what Tai'Dashan can peice together from his mother, he may have been a man of high standing, i.e. a nobleman or possibly a winged gaurd. Around the time his mother was killed, Tai met Aria. A young fisherman's daughter who became his lover. she spent three years with him and then told him suddenly one day that she was leaving. He tried to ask her why, to appologize for something he may have done. But to no avail, she set off out of his life without a backwards glance or a reason why. He later found, that she had set off with an Ogier friend to see the world. Aria later tracked Tai to the Black Tower, and lived there with him briefly before being murdered by Tenim Wulwind, a Storm Leader cronie of the crazed M'Hael Brent Enios. Tenim met a similar end by Tai's hands shortly later. As a young boy he had seen an Aes Sedai pass in the street and told his mother he wanted to channel. She responded that his desire to channel was perversion and he should speak of it no more. Thus at 26 with a small fortune he had saved to purchase an estate of his own to settle down, Tai'Dashan headed to the Black Tower to test, and hopefully fulfil his dreams of channelling to stop the darkness in the world, like the murder of his mother. After joining the black tower, Tai rose through the ranks to Asha'man. He met and befriended Arath Faringal. Together they saw much of the Tower change over time, the Taint eventually giving Tai a peculiar split personality (which he calls Chaos), which Arath helped him tame after a fashion, when Chaos actually took over Tai for a bit. Tai'Dashan met and gave oath to the Dragon Reborn himself, and after participating in disrupting the crazed (and very possibly gone over to the shadow) M'hael was raised to an Attack Leader.
  3. I believe RJ said that the Horn was known in the AoL, but it was more of a novelty museum piece. They had the legends, but nobody really believed it. It wasn't until after the war and foretellings made specific mention of it that it was given any importance. Sort of like if say Exacalibur was placed in a museum. At the outbreak of WW3, who would go running for it? It would probably be the last thing on peoples minds.
  4. — adj 1. deviating, as from what is considered acceptable behaviour — n 2. a person whose behaviour, esp sexual behaviour, deviates from what is considered to be acceptable Not applicable to writing left handed. Or reading fantasy novels (with the exception of the Sword of Truth ... you deviant weirdos). If the behavior makes the majority of society uncomfortable, it is considered deviant. Most people don't consider having only one partner for life to be a strange behavior. It may not be the regular practice for a lot of people now, but the idea doesn't make them uncomfortable. Being tied up, gagged, and struck with a whip for kicks? That's going to make a majority of people uncomfortable, therefore it is 'deviant'. What you personally think of the practice is irrelevant. It's the generally accepted 'societal norm' that determines what is 'deviant'.
  5. DM Handle: Aelioran Contact info: aelioran@gmail.com Character count: 0 (This will be my first RP character) Character Name: Zek Anshar Nationality: Andor Age: 23 Physical Characteristics: Zek is 5'10, and weighs about 170 pounds. He has green eyes and medium length black hair. He has a medium build, and is broad across the shoulders. Physical Description: Zek has never been considered a big man, but that hasn't ever diminished his presence. Zek is fit, his form slightly muscular from constant work in the weapons yard. He has black hair that he is used to keeping in a short military cut, but is currently grown out at a medium length. He has green eyes that often hold a serious, thoughtful demeanor. The gaze seems to be very intense when Zek becomes passionate about something. Zek carries himself confidently. Personal History: Zek Anshar has never been fond of politics. Being brought up in one of Andor's great houses, he was constantly surrounded by the politics of his heritage. Zek, would rather spend his time training or learning something relevant than bickering amongst bureaucrats or bidding for power. He never had the patience for it, nor the desire. Luckily, Zek was far enough removed from the High Seat that he never had to have the politics forced on him like his cousins did. He did not envy them one bit. Growing up, Zek found he was a quick study and loved to learn. He would spend hours reading on different subjects and impressed most of his tutors with the rate that he devoured his lessons. Early, this meant Zek didn't like to spend as much time outside. His Arms instructors would have to drag him out to the yard for his blade lessons, and Zek would give distracted attempts as he waited to get back to his books. As he grew older, however, Zek found a propensity for military history and strategy that spurned his desire to train with the blade. This proved to be frustrating, as Zek's previous lack of enthusiasm for his physical endeavors left him far behind his peers in both physical ability and skill. Zek often found himself being beaten again and again in his sparring matches. It was on one of these days, depressed and in low spirits after being bested again by a particularly arrogant boy that he was approached by one of his favorite tutors. The man handed Zek a book that covered some of the most decisive military victories in recent history, and asked Zek to find out why they won the way that they did. After a week, Zek returned the book to his tutor, explaining that the Great Captains rarely won battles on brute strength alone, but would discover unconventional paths to victory. Zek began to win more matches. Some of his wins would land him in trouble, and he was branded cheater by his peers on several occasions, but he earned the respect of his arms master. Thinking outside of the box gave Zek an advantage that the others couldn't grasp as easily, and it was soon clear to Zek that a soldiers greatest weapon was his mind, not his arm. When he was old enough, Zek took a commission in the Andoran army. He served as a lieutenant for several years, earning a reputation for himself as a resourceful officer. Zek would find himself tasked to difficult assignments, and managed to find solutions to situations that many had assumed were lost causes. On the battlefield, Zek's soldiers sometimes would comment on how a "miraculous" turn of events would help ensure victory, and that Zek was "lucky". Though Zek often could write it off as soldier's being superstitious, there had been times where his strategy had failed and he should have lost, but something always seemed to swing back his way. A sudden fog to help cover a retreat, or an entire pursuing force tripping over their own feet. Oddly enough, Zek would find himself feeling violently ill after times like this, but he chalked it up to nerves. Zek always figured if he was going to die, it was either going to be on the battlefield or when he was old, in bed, and with a book in his hand. The possibility of dying while being robbed on a visit to his families estates in Caemlyn never crossed his mind. When the six armed thugs ambushed him, he did not have time to think of a clever plan of attack, and as quick as his mind was, he couldnt think himself past all six at once. He managed to strike down two with his sword before being disarmed, and he injured a third with a few well timed kicks. Ultimately, Zek could only put off the inevitable so much, and he took a few hits with a blade and fell to ground. He felt many things as he watched the final blow coming towards him. Panic, despair, regret. And beyond it all...something else. Everything seemed to slow. This time he didnt think. He just acted. He seized whatever that was just beyond his vision and the bandits were consumed. One moment they were attacking him, and the next they were alight with a blaze so hot that Zek thought he could feel the clothes burning off his body. It lasted mere seconds before there was nothing left of the bandits but ash. Zek didnt know how it had happened, but he knew beyond a shadow of the doubt that he was responsible for it. Zek had heard the tales growing up. He knew the superstitions. Madness. I am destined for madness. Light help me. He knew that his family wouldn't understand. His life that he had lead to this point was over. He died on the ground that day. What he was now he didnt know or understand. Zek *hated* not knowing or understanding. It was time for some answers. He remembered hearing something about a place that took men like him in. The Black Tower, they called it. It was even supposed to be close by. I guess time to open up a different book and learn something new.
  6. Rubbing the spot on his head where the soap had so rudely struck him, Arath sort of slumped off his stool and walked toward the distressed Zarien ... Zarnio ... Zarinen! That was it! He walked, or more stumbled really, to where she was wrestling with the bowl of water. The bowl appeared to be winning. Any part of the woman that wasn't covered in food now seemed to be covered in water. It would have been hilarious if his forehead didn't hurt from that bloody bar of soap. Even still he chuckled a little. So ... hold the bowl still eh? Arath wondered for a moment how he was supposed to do that. Every time he reached for the bowl, Zarinen kind of weaved in front of him, blocking the path. The strange little dance continued for a while, Arath trying to reach the basin, Zarinen still fighting it and getting in his way. Finally, Arath came up with a plan. If he reached around both sides, she wouldn't be able to block him both ways! Congratulating himself on his cleverness, Arath stepped up close behind the struggling Aes Sedai, reached both hands around her, caught hold of the basin, then promptly recieved a face full of wet, foody hair. Coughing the hair out of his mouth he yelled to Zarinen, "I've got it! Quick, before it gets away!" Arath Meh ... it's not really a hug ...
  7. DM Handle: claireducky Contact Info: claire.lattner@gmail.com Character Count: 1 Character Name: Kerris Asech Nationality: New Braem in Andor Age: 16 in the main timeline Physical Characteristics: Reddish brown hair, serious grey eyes. He has a frown line between his eyes that frequently appears when he is deep in thought, which is often. Tall and lithe frame, wiry muscling that belies great strength, especially in his intact left arm. Right arm ends in a smooth stump a few inches above the elbow. Personality: Quiet and introspective, he watches everything around him. He is a great observer of the interactions and small things that happen between people. This is a self-preservation mechanism, as it serves to let him know when he would be best off somewhere else. He is a loner and is afraid to let people get too close to him, lest he lose them too. He is confused about his true identity; he has never lain with anyone and is convinced that he loved Tyr, a childhood friend. It will take much soul searching for him to figure out this part of himself and where his interests truly lie. Personal History: “Hey, Tyr! Wait for me!” Kerris’ bare feet slapped the earth as he ran through the woods. Sunlight, filtered green by the lush foliage above his head, dappled his skin and hair. It was high summer in Andor, Kerris was eight years old today, and he was having the time of his life. His fists pumped furiously at his sides as he fought to catch up with his best friend. Tyr was almost twelve, and more solidly built compared to Kerris’ lithe frame. The combination of age, advanced knowledge of the world, and size made him almost a God in Kerris’ eyes. Finally, Kerris caught up to the older boy. He was standing by a large oak, peering up into its boughs. Kerris caught his breath from the hard run while watching Tyr study the tree. After a time, Tyr nodded to himself, then flashed Kerris a reassuring grin. “This tree’ll do, Ker. Don’t you worry now, I told you that I would take you on your nameday to swing, and swing we will. See that bit of creeper?” Kerris looked above him where Tyr was pointing, and wanted to swallow hard against the sudden fear that crept up in him. The vine that Tyr was indicating was at a dizzying height above the ground. However, Kerris was not going to back out now. He was no longer a child, and he had been begging Tyr to take him along to do this for ages. He carefully scrambled up the tree from branch to branch. Tyr helped pull him to a large limb that easily held both of them. Kerris looked uneasily at the ground some thirty feet below. A wave of vertigo washed over him and he felt Tyr’s strong arm shoot out to catch his shoulder and steady him. “None of that, now. Try to not look at the ground, Ker. I promised yer da’ that I wouldn’t let no harm come to you, so that means you need to listen to me and do as I tell you. Got it?” Kerris forced himself not to look at the ground and nodded. “Good, now watch what I do. I don’t feel like climbing back up this tree again so ye’ll only see it the once.” Tyr let go of Kerris and moved out along the branch to where the strand of creeper hung close by. Kerris clung tight as he straddled the limb and watched. Tyr reached out with his left arm and caught hold of the vine. “Now Kerris, you need to pull up some of the slack before you swing, else you’ll never be able to get down from such a height on the vine. But don’t get too much slack, mind, or the jerk you’ll get when you push off might shake you loose and make you fall. Pull up about 3 spans, no more.” Tyr held the vine in his hands. He adjusted his grip and swung a leg over the limb so that he was sitting with both legs dangling into thin air. Tyr flashed Kerris that grin again, then suddenly straightened his body, letting himself slide off the edge of the branch. “I’m King of the World!” He shouted as he swung forward while clinging to the vine with hands and legs. It looked amazingly fun-- swinging through the air, weightless, letting the vine carry you forward and back until the momentum was spent. Tyr had come to a standstill finally on the vine, and shimmied down the last ten feet or so of the creeper til he was standing. He called up to Kerris, “Ok, your turn now!” Kerris smiled and nodded uncertainly, then scooted out along the branch til he was at the same spot Tyr had been. Kerris reached out and grabbed the creeper, bringing up a couple of spans of slack. He took hold of the vine and wrapped it around his wrist and upper arm a couple of times; he didn’t have the confidence in his grip that Tyr did. Finally, Kerris swung his leg over the tree branch so he was no longer straddling it. “Go on, then!” Tyr called out from below him. Kerris took a deep breath and yelled, “I’m King of the World!” He slid forward and off the branch. He felt an instant of joy and exhilaration, and then it all went wrong. Kerris felt an immense wrench as he reached the end of the slack in the vine; his legs and left arm slipped away from the vine like they were greased. His right arm protested under the strain as the momentum propelled him forward with the vine. When he reached the end of the upswing, his hand could take no more; he lost his grip and went sliding down the vine. The lengths wrapped around his arm cut into him, the vine burning and chewing his flesh relentlessly. Down he plummeted, along twenty feet of creeper. From somewhere, far away, he thought he heard someone screaming. It sounded strangely like his own voice. He woke briefly; dappled sunlight shone down on his face. Tyr was at his side, doing something to his right arm. “What are you doing, Tyr?” Tyr turned those beautiful blue-green eyes on him and Kerris was startled to see fear in them. Tyr was never scared. “Keep quiet Kerris, I’ve got to bind your arm, it’s bleeding.” Kerris nodded sleepily and asked, “You won’t leave me, Tyr?” Tyr kept working furiously, getting the tourniquet in place. “Of course not, silly. I promised yer da’, remember? Promised him I would take care of you, and so I will.” Kerris felt himself being lifted by Tyr’s strong arms and the motion of the older boy’s running lulled him to sleep. Tyr would take care of him; it would all be right as rainwater soon. ~~ Kerris lost his arm that day. The vine had shredded his flesh and cut down to the bone in the middle of his right bicep. From that point down, the arm was a ruin. The village Wise Woman managed to keep him alive long enough for an Aes Sedai to be brought up from Caemlyn. The Sedai saved his life, but the right arm was gone from a few inches above his elbow. Kerris and Tyr remained closer than ever, and four years later Tyr left New Braem to join the Queen’s Guard in Caemlyn. Kerris was only twelve, and he begged for Tyr to let him come with him. “Sorry, Kerris. This is one place I can’t take you with me.” When word came several months later that Tyr had died in a crossbow training accident, Kerris was heartbroken. He had worshipped Tyr, loved him fiercely. He had lost his best friend. The best efforts of Kerris’ parents and friends could not keep him from spiraling into depression. He couldn’t stand the sight of them, of the woods, of the old haunts he and Tyr had frequented. Kerris thought of leaving to join the Queen’s Guard himself, but they wouldn’t take one disabled as he is. The same was true of the Warders up in Tar Valon. Kerris felt worthless. He took up the practice of throwing knives with his left hand; it gave him a skill to pass the time. At the age of sixteen, he heard of the Dragon Reborn’s amnesty. Not able to take it anymore, he bid farewell to his parents and headed south to Caemlyn to enroll in the Lord Dragon’s lists. After being turned away by a rather goat-brained officer in the Lord Dragon's Army, Kerris despaired of what to do next. Before he could contemplate long, he caught the attention of a man in a long, black coat. He gathered up Kerris and a handful of other men, bringing them through a hole in the air to a village. Kerris soon learned that he had been brought for a reason-- he could channel saidin. The thought was daunting, but Kerris turned to the new challenge with the first optimism he had felt in months. He wondered if Tyr would have been proud of him.
  8. It didn't take long to incapacitate the whitecloaks in the house, but by the time he was done everyone else had disappeared down the city streets. He hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to go with Olmena and Kathleen, but in all honesty it was Loraine and her warder that needed the most help. Still ... he had already defied Loraines orders enough as it was by staying to deal with the whitecloaks here. If something were to happen to the other two Aes Sedai there would be trouble. Hoping that Loraine had the good sense to avoid trouble, Arath siezed Saidin again and wove spirit. Thick strands quickly coalesced into the form of a gateway, the silvery flash of non-light twisting open to reveal a stand of trees a short distance from the main gate. Dashing through the gateway, he glanced around quickly to see if the others had made it yet. It took him a moment, but eventually he spied Kathleen running away from the gate, hugging something close to her chest. Olmena was nowhere to be seen, though there was a sizeable commotion being raised in the town. If that was Olmena, she was certainly making a scene. He considered taking off after Kathleen, or even Traveling in front of her, but the road seemed clear ahead and nobody was in immediate pursuit of her. She would be fine on her own for a while. Taking off toward the gates, Arath let Saidin surge within him. There would be more killing before this was done.
  9. Arath considered that for a moment, then nodded. It was similar to what he had been told recently. A technique the Red Ajah had used for quite some time, minus the gateways of course. Zarinen had told him of the search patterns herself. "A good suggestion, Sereth. We've already implemented something similar in the last few weeks. Using the Red Ajah's tactics. Say what you will about them, they are quite thorough with their job." He took a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. "Speaking of which ... I don't know how much you know about what's been going on here since you left. There have been significant developments in our relationship with Tar Valon since you've been gone." Over the next few minutes, Arath went over the highlights of the 'developments'. The bondings with the Red Ajah were still hard to believe, even for those who had been part of it. "So now I'm bonded to the head of the Red Ajah, and spend quite a lot of my time at the White Tower," he finished, scraping the last of the breakfast from his plate. "I think that about covers the important parts." He paused for a moment. "If I recall correctly, you were the type who might enjoy a little trip to the White Tower. They have quite the library there."
  10. The tinkers show up singing the song and they win the last battle. And it turns out the song was the Macarena. Or the Hokey Pokey.
  11. True, not all Wise One's can channel, but all female channelers are Wise Ones.
  12. Arath enjoyed a short time to himself, enjoying a quiet breakfast at the inn. Sometimes it was nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of the White Tower and enjoy the ... well, quiet was never a good word for the inn, nor peace, but they seemed to be the most appropriate for the situation. And so he found himself there, slowly eating his food and drawing out the moment. He was a little annoyed then when someone approached his table. Until he realized who that person was, however. Sereth had been away from the Farm for several weeks, since he had been raised to Attack Leader. Arath didn't know much about the particulars, except that his departure had been of a personal nature, and he had gone with Covai's blessing. From the few reports Arath had seen, Sereth had been tracking a former friend who had ended up a channeling murderer. Arath listened intently as Sereth took a seat and began to speak. He simply nodded at Sereth's apologies, noting the worry that he was trying to keep from his voice. "You did what had to be done Sereth. Nobody can blame you for taking longer than expected to complete your task. So long as the situation is resolved, I see no reason for any apologies at all. "So tell me, Attack Leader," the Storm Leader continued around a bite of food, "where did the chase carry you, and what did you learn from the experience? Anything you'll be able to pass on to the rest of the Asha'man?"
  13. DM Handle- Kudaran Dragon Blooded Contact Info- jmjkronos@gmail.com Character Count- 0 Character name- Kudaran of the Bent Peak Daryne Nationality- Aiel Age- 22 Physical Characteristics- Red hair, bright green eyes, 6' 8'', 250 lb. Physical Description- A very tall man, lean and hard, yet with an air of nobility about him. He moves gracefully, like a panther, red hair dancing on his neck. He is a handsome man, with a muscular build and a straight back. He often looks distant, but always has a smile for any who pass by, and is a very genial man in general. He is at the center of every conversation, and is well liked by all. Personal History- Even before Kudaran learns to channel, he is a strange boy. He is always searching, looking for something he is missing, even though he has all anyone could want. His mother is the Roofmistress of a strong hold. His father is a famed warrior, a Stone Dog, veteran of a thousand battles. Though he grew up in the midst of a terrible feud, it's corrosive influence never gained hold on his thoughts, and he lived without malice for his hold's blood enemies. His father is the biggest thing in his life, teaching him ancient values and training him for a hard life in the waste. Kudaran finds that the arts of war and survival come easily to him, and his natural talent is praised by his hold. He and his father are bonded by their time together, but he bond goes deeper than that, to a secret that none else know, or could ever know. Kudaran's father can channel. He is a rare kind, one who is resistant to the taint's effects, and has held off the madness for years. He has tried several times to follow his duty and seek death in the Blight, but when he reaches the border, he simply can’t go in, some part of his mind telling him that that is not his destiny, and he believes it so strongly that he lives with his channeling for 20 years. When he thinks he can go on no longer and will die of shame, he discovers Kudaran can channel as well. This gives him new focus, and he devotes himself to making sure that Kudaran does not fall to the madness and can control his power. For a month he teaches him, showing him how to control the flow of saidin and resist the Taint's influence. Then the worst happens. Kudaran's father's mental defenses, after holding for so long, snap and the madness takes control. Ten people die and many more are wounded before he becomes himself again. When he sees what he has done, he is devastated. He says his goodbyes, and heads for the Blight. Kudaran wanders in a haze for many hours. When he recovers from the shock, he goes out into the Waste for a time to find his focus again and to recover. He returns some weeks later to find his hold destroyed, huts burning and all it's people slaughtered. Trollocs are the only possibility, but there is no way they could have gotten there. Life and mind shattered, he wanders again into the Waste. He crosses the Dragonwall and goes into the wetlands, rebuilding his mind as he goes. He travels through many countries, and is chased out at every turn. When it seems that no hope is left, he hears of an amnesty, a truce for men like him, men who go mad and could kill everyone. Wondering if even wetlanders could be so foolish, he follows the trail of rumors until he finds the Black Tower.
  14. DM Handle: Myyrth Contact Info: graydon.larsonrolf@gmail.com Character Name: Sender Filk Nationality: Andoran Age: 26 Height: 5’ 11’’ Weight: 192 Ib Appearance: Sender is a man of many averages. His dark brown hair and short brown beard are unkempt and with no distinguishable facial features beyond a sort of bluff affability he has been described as “easy to forget”. An Andoran, he lived in Whitebridge for most of his life the son of a moderately successful merchant. Physically Sender Filk is not an active man but he possesses a form built to put on muscle. Broad shouldered but thick around the middle he has a solid posture. Now that he has traveled to the Black Tower he wears a subdued black coat and pants. Sender’s only remarkable feature is a pair of penetrating dark eyes which see much and reveal little. History: As the son of a merchant, Sender Filk had spent much of his life being educated in one way or another. When he was young it was sums. He had hated that; numbers, sitting in a hot room with his father stepping slowly around him slapping his palm with a stick in time to the multiplication tables. Looking outside earned him a rap on the knuckles. When he was older his father tried to impart on him the business acumen of years spent in the commercial textile business. Often he would reprimand Sender about the noble work that merchants like him did, bringing wool and linen to people to cloth their backs, never mind that they didn’t actually make clothes or blankets. Sender was bored with his life but felt resigned to taking over after his father. Undoubtedly, if that had been meant to be, he would have driven his father’s business into the ground. For Sender truly possessed no business savvy whatsoever. As a young man more prone to dreaming than hard work he was not destined for outrageous success. That is, until the Black Tower began recruiting. The first time a black coated stranger entered town Filk and his parents had been in the square shopping at the market. Filk’s two young brothers, Gillan and Orick, ran straight into the man. He was shorter than average, probably standing 5’ 8’’ at the tallest. He wore a black coat despite the heat and had a glittering silver sword on his collar. A very real sword rested on his hip. He had ridden into town on a horse but few beyond the gate guards had marked his passage. Word had gone through the watch that there was a stranger in the market and a few of them were standing on the outskirts looking in. Gillan and Orick were running and ducking between the stalls playing some game of their own devising when Orick rushed ahead and tripped, stumbling straight into the stranger. The stranger fell into a cart of metal ornaments surprised by the hurtling 12 year old boy. The clatter and sounds of cursing brought a sudden quiet to the market. Senders mother was rushing towards her sons as everyone else looked on. Sender held back apprehensive but curious. After a moment the Man disentangled himself from the cart and apologized to the storekeeper who just stared mutely. With her sons gathered up Senders mother was apologizing to him “I am so sorry sir, please forgive my boys.” She said. She was frightened that he might be some noble or rich soldier. Instead the stranger smiled. “It is no trouble mad’am. By the light, I am not hurt and your little rapscallions were only playing.” He turned to the stall owner. “Here man let me pay you for any damages.” The thought of money drew the man closer and they negotiated out a quick price. The money slipped into the man’s pocket quickly and the shopkeeper smiled a bit. The stranger turned back to the market and stepped forward. “My apologies good people of Whitebridge, my name is Killian, I am an Asha’man. In the old tongue this means Guardian. If you would listen for one moment I bring word from The Lord Dragon Reborn.” Every sound in the square was suddenly silenced. “I do not mean to cause alarm but you must head me. Darkness is alive in the world again. Strange and horrible things happen everyday, you all know the stories. The dead walk, and children disappear in the night. Tarmon Gai’din approaches! The Last Battle. The Dragon Reborn needs soldiers to help fight the Dark One. Soldiers who can Channel.” Gasps could be heard around the square. Age old fear awoke in many people’s eyes. Killian continued. “The end is coming, and brave men must take up a power that they have long been denied. The Dragon knows that times are hard. He also knows that we must be hard in order to survive them. I will be outside of the city gates a mile down the road. All those men, young and old, who wish to be tested for the ability to Channel are welcome. I will stay for the night and the morrow. Good day. With that the man left, striding with a close group of city watchman trailing far behind. As soon as he was gone the square exploded with the sound of voices. Fear and surprise ran through the people in the town and perhaps in some a little bit of curiosity. When Sender saddled the horse he had finally know that he would be going. Throughout the day he had tried to push it from his mind. There was no way, why go all that way when you most certainly would end up failing the test. Then everyone would know. His father would be furious. His brothers wanted to go see out of pure youthful curiosity, not really understanding what was happening. Sender’s hopes were much different. It was only when he was sitting down and the black-coated Asha’man was staring him straight in the eyes did he begin to doubt himself again. In the middle of the table a black candle sat, the wax dripping slowly down the side had formed a large puddle on the table as dark as midnight. The flame flickered slowly in the slight breeze. “Focus on the candle flame,” Killian said. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sender woke up in a cold sweat. It was dark and around him was the sound of snoring and shifting. He was in a barracks for applicants, not even a Soldier yet as they marked their ranks. Tomorrow would be the last little step and he would be signed over to the Black Tower body and soul. Sender didn’t know much about the Dark One or battles, but what he knew was that he wanted what the Dragon had. Power. For the first time in his life he wanted more and knew he could take it. Now that he knew true power existed in the world, power beyond just coin. He would master it.
  15. Siuan's warder I believe. Right after she was arrested by Elaida she saw him dead on the floor with the knife in his back.
  16. Arath decided that Zarinen could be pretty smart. Making a spoon from the one power ... why hadn't he thought of that? And then she set his food on fire, flashing it into ashes just before it touched his lips. He jumped backward, nearly tiping his chair over in his retreat. The tip of his nose was burnt ... it felt sore, and very tender. Forget the smart part then ... maybe she was just pretty. After spending a moment trying to see the tip of his nose, Arath redirected his glare at Zarinen, who sat there barely surpressing giggles. Well, wasn't that just great? She almost sets his face on fire, then laughed at it? Concentrating very hard, Arath siezed Saidin. It was difficult; the source kept trying to slide out of his grip. Focusing very hard, Arath channeled a touch of fire into the woman's sursa. The tips burst into flame as she grasped at a few slivers of vegetable. "Aaaayyeeehh!" Zarinen shrieked and flicked the sursa so the burning vegatables flew across the table. And landed in Arath's hair. For some reason this set her to laughing so hard that she couldn't get a word out to warn him that his hair had started to smoulder. The best she could do was point the now sizzling sursa at him with one hand, whilst clutching her tummy with the other. When this didn't work to alert him to the fact, it seemed perfectly logical to her to stick her burning sursa in her own hair. Arath figured it out pretty quickly, clawing the smoldering vegetable from his hair before it could do too much damage. In the moment he was distracted by his own problems, Zarinen had managed to stick the flaming sursa into her own hair. The thick hair had damped the flames significantly, but they were still smoldering. And now so was her hair. Almost in a panic, Arath lunged for his wine glass to put out the flames, but his fumbling grasp knocked it over into his food. Not missing a beat, he grabbed the plate itself and upended it over Zarinen's head. Things seemed to move too quickly to follow, yet at the same time in slow motion. Zarinen started to clap her hands in delight when Arath finally figured out what she'd been trying to pantomine to him, but then the next moment things were dripping off her head and down her face. She licked at a sliver of something that was slowly sliding off the tip of her nose, her eyes crossing in an attempt to focus on it. Hmmm ... pork, she believed. She looked up at Arath with big eyes. "Why did shoo ... jooo ... you do dat?" Arath was in the process of figuring out his response when Mistress Bidawa decided to make an appearance. She was hard to read right now ... she looked a little upset at the mess they were making, and more than a little amused at Zarinen's appearance. "I take it that you are done with your meal Master Faringal? Or did the lady upset you so?" She gave them both a fairly stern look. Arath looked a little chagrined as Mistress Bidawa glared at them. "She started it," he mumbled, looking down at the empty space where his plate had been. Zarinen blinked owlishly at Mistress Bidawa. Where HAD the woman come from so quietly, anyway? And why would she think Zarinen would try to upset Arath? Arath was her friend! A feeling of warmth flooded through her, bringing tears to her eyes. Her BEST friend in the whole wide world! Somehow it seemed vital that she tell them both this, but the words wouldn't quite form. That is, until he uttered the fateful words "she started it". Quick as a flash she replied with the utmost dignity. "Did NOT!" She accompanied that with a stomp of her foot. Unfortunately at the same time as she was trying to hug Arath to express the depth of her friendship. The result of this atempt at two mutually exclusive actions was to land her face first in his lap. Mistress Bidawa's face tightened as she tried not to laugh at the rediculous scene. Arath was simply frozen in place, trying to interpret the entirely confusing sensations coming through the bond, and Zarinen's odd reaction. The innkeeper decided it was past time to get these two out of the common room. Entertaining as they might be for the other patrons, her establishment had a reputation as being a very quiet, family friendly place. "I think you've both had enough for now," she said mildly. "Perhaps you'd prefer to take a room now?" It was a struggle to get herself upright, but she managed to eventually prop herself on the table. "I don't want a room! Thish is a vely nice prace right here!" Zarinen stared defiantly at Mistress Bidawa's raised eyebrow. It was a very nice eyebrow, actually. Eyebrows. She'd never seen anyone with four eyebrows. One set above the other. Fascinating! Something the woman said eventually penetrated through her focus on the eyebrow matter. Food in her hair? Why on earth would she have food in her hair? Her hand flew up to feel for herself. Unfortunately her aim seemed to be off for some strange reason, and her left fist hit her left eye with an almighty thwack. "OW!" Blinking through the tears that immediately sprang into both eyes, she gingerly felt with her right hand. Something slimy and wet slipped through her fingers, and Zarinen shuddered. She also screamed. In a piercing voice. "Get it off me! Get it off me RIGHT NOW!" Mistress Bidawa must be able to channel, thought Arath. It had literally taken her less than a minute from the time Zarinen had had her melt down, to getting the pair of them bundled up the stairs into a room with soap, a basin of warm water, and a large copper tub. Zarinen was still making a scene, plucking at each piece of food caught in her hair as though it were a shadowspawned slug. Arath dropped down onto a stool, still trying to work out just how they had gotten up there so quickly, and watched with amusement as Zarinen extracted a sliver of chicken that had fallen down the front of her dress. He knew he probably shouldn't, but he started laughing at the rediculous sight of the Aes Sedai, covered in food. He might regret it later, but for now this was the funniest thing he had ever seen!
  17. If the Dark One can fix the seasons in place, something that would logically require manipulation of the orbit or axis of the earth, holding the earth and moon in place for a longer than normal eclipse probably wouldn't be a problem.
  18. DM Handle: Bathemal Name; Pavil Sidoro Age; 20 Height; 5' 11" Weight; 185lbs Eye Colour; Brown Hair Colour/Style; Brown, Windbraids Skin Tone; Coppery Body Type; Slight Build, from hard labour Nationality; Domani When his mother disappeared at the age of fourteen, Pavil set out from his native land of Arad Doman with his father, Risa Sidoro, a Stone mason. They had far-fetched hopes of apprenticing under the fabled Ogier stone masons working on the topless towers of Cairhien. Surviving their journey only to find Cairhien in relative disarray and construction of the towers ceased they took boarding in a nearby village, taking on restoration projects in and outside the city of Cairhien. The next few years were rather profitable and successful for the son and father enterprise. Their skill and dedication attracted the attention of many minor lords and ladies in the city, who commissioned them to work on their own holds. Pavil, during his apprenticeship decided to take his career in a more creative direction. While remaining under his father employ, he decided to pursue the knowledge and skill of Stone Carving. Pavil, still internally enraged over the unexplained disappearance of his mother found a great outlet in the carving process. As he neared adulthood he found himself obsessing over the event and started to take into fits of rage that could only be quelled by the sound of his chisels splitting stone. Many a time he found himself hammering a way at a large slab of granite with no intentions or direction. When the ding of the hammer found reprieve he would stand staring at his creations. When did he make that cut? Did he remember adding so much detail to the filigree? He did not ponder too much over it and considered his carving therapeutic. His carvings, which he initially kept hidden from his father out of fear of disproval from his father, a talented yet rudimentary and fundamental mason, immediately captivated the attention of his father when discovered. His talent was quickly recognized by Risa and together they started taking on more decorative commissions from more powerful lords and ladies. As Pavil and his father started working more and more together on the decorative projects, the uniqueness to Pavils' talent did not go amiss to Risa. He observed the way Pavil's Chisels and hammers could shear off larger amounts of stone than he considered possible. How when adding detail to his carvings, Pavil's chisels seemed to flow through the stone, rather than shear. One Particular evening just after Pavils' 20th Name day while he was on the scaffold working on an archway on what was the be the entrance to a rather influential Lords manor, Risa sat watching his son. His son was becoming increasingly infuriated with this piece of work and the intricacies involved. A stray hammer blow directly to the stone sent a definitive crack through the arch. Risa jumped up to berate his son for ruining weeks worth of work but was cut short. With a shout of pure rage Pavil hit the face of the stone intentionally with his hammer. What happened next shocked the pair equally. Instead of cracking it further, or sending a chip of stone skittering across the cobblestones, the whole of the archway seemed to shimmer. The stone took on the appearance of molten liquid and in a matter of seconds hardened into one solid peice. as if it had never been broken. The crash of Pavils hammer and chisel hitting the floor broke them both out of their trance. Pavil looked towards his father, mouth agape. "Fath-" "Quiet Pavil. Grab your things, I know where you need to go."
  19. Arath shrugged, more willing to agree then to argue that point. "I thought we were the lucky ones," he admitted. "I never thought that the Aes Sedai," he paused for a moment thinking of something funny, "that the Red Ajah, would be crazy enough to go along with it." He sipped his wine again, then laughed himself. "And I never thought that I would bond with their leader!" Now that was a funny thought! Another piece of beef escaped from his sursa, bouncing off his chin and falling to his lap. He glared at it for a moment, then at the sursa, then at Zarinen who wielded the light forsaken sticks with ease, then back at the sursa. Finally he gave his plate a sad look. So much food that would never get eaten at this rate. He directed his look at Zarinen again. "How do you do it? Why do they do it?" Bloody sticks. No wonder Domani's were so skinny.
  20. Considering that Lanfear and Moghidien are both mindtrapped, and Graendal is likely about to suffer the same fate, I doubt any of them will be returning to the light. Moggy may be do whatever it takes to survive, but right now that means making sure she doesn't anger whoever is holding her mindtrap. Someone sneezing wrong while handling the thing could be fatal to her. Any of them betraying the Shadow is unlikely. For more than the time it takes Moridin to find out anyway. Demandred ... not likely. I really don't think he's been hidin for this many books, only to show up as a good guy in the end. Lamest. Forsaken. Evah.
  21. A couple other points that have been brought up. I'm pretty convinced that the back end of a deathgate has to be in motion as well, in order to obey laws of conservation of energy. Say the deathgate runs over a rock. That rock has no kinetic energy. The deathgate passes over it in the full open state, so the rock passes through unscathed, but how does it pass through? Unless the gate somehow transfers kinetic energy into the rock and propels it through the other side, spontaneously generating a lot of energy in the process, the back end has to be moving at an speed equal to the front. As for the shifting location, I seem to recall that when you were rebuilding the gateway from the residues of another, you had to copy the weave exactly, and it had to be on the exact same location. Duplicating the weave exactly but shifting the location only few feet away could result in a gateway to a very different destination. That would be why deathgates shift to a new destination every time. The weave is exactly the same, but since it's sliding along a linear path, sitting in a different spot every time it flashes open, the exit is in a random spot. I also believe that it is the motion of the deathgate itself that causes the open/close effect. Like was mentioned before, men travel by pulling two points of the pattern together and boring a hole. If you keep shifting one end of the pattern around, the gateway will destabalize and close itself. The modification of a gateway to create a deathgate forces it to reopen until the weave unravels. Simply a feature of the weave, not necessarily one designed into it. An additional question. Assuming that you can indeed fix a gateway to a moving location, such as the deck of a ship, can you attach the other end as well? Technically speaking, there isn't even a weave to attach before the gateway is opened, so how would you fix it in place on the back end?
  22. Rochel made her way to the dining hall, glad to be rid of the fool novices who had taken up most of her day. Her leg was hurting, which it often did after a long day of sitting. She also believed that she was alergic to stupidity, which tended to float freely in the classrooms. Certainly, she herself had been nothing like these little ... she couldn't even think of a suitable word. So she was not in the best of moods as she reached the large dining hall. At least the cooks seemed to sense her foul mood and refrained from saying anything. As she made her way back to the seating area, she noticed the odd gathering of shawls at one of the larger tables. Quite a lot of colors ... most of them in fact. Rochel had worn her shawl exactly twice in the short time since she had earned it. She hated the thing, and only brought it out when she had been ... advised to, by Larindhra. Larindhra happened to be among the group actually ... strange. Her curiousity getting the better of her, Rochel carried her tray forward. To her great misfortune, the first thing she heard was Larindhra asking about what everyone else planned to do with the Asha'man. That set her teeth on edge. Rochel had joined the Red Ajah because it had seemed the most useful of the seven. Actually, the yellow had seemed pretty useful as well, but her abilities with healing were mediocre at best. She doubted they would have had her. So Red it had been. And while she had been swearing her oaths, a gaggle of men had gone and formed their own Tower. Now, not even three years later, the entire purpose of her ajah had been turned on it's head. Rochel had been livid to say the least. She wasn't sure exactly what the punishment was for phsically attacking another Sister, but she had been dangerously close to finding out. In retrospect, her anger had been foolish. She hadn't really had time to settle in to her Ajah's role. She hadn't been allowed to go out and help capture or gentle any men yet, so it was hardly a life changing occurance when the Ajah had no longer been allowed to do so. But still ... it was what she had planned for. She hated her plans being disrupted. "Indeed," she said, speaking in a voice that was just a little, or maybe more than a little, too sweet. "I would very much like to hear about what the other Ajah's have to offer ... to the Asha'man."
  23. DM Handle: Mushroom Troll Name: Roland Khein Nationality: Saldean Age: 23 Physical Characteristic: Light brown eyes, Dark hair, above average height, thin build. Physical Description: Roland being slightly taller than most of his countrymen is really his only distinguishing feature. He possesses the usual prominent nose and tilted dark eyes of the Saldeans but prefers to remain clean shaven rather than sport the long moustaches favoured by the men of Saldea. He has a scar the length of his hand up the left side of his neck ending just below his ear which he gained from being robbed on his way to Tear. Personal History: As the son of a not so successful fur trader Roland and his two younger brothers had spent the majority of their youth helping with the family business. Even as the eldest and expected to continue with his fathers trade, Roland has always been one to daydream glory and battles, hoping to get away from the life of a trader which had been pushed upon him from a young age. Making up his mind around his 20th birthday Roland departs from his hometown in search of adventure. He sets of towards Ghealdan with the vague idea of becoming a hunter for the horn. His journey was a disaster resulting in him being attacked and robbed by bandits at around the halfway mark losing all of his possessions and gaining a hand long scar across up the side of his neck. After barely escaping with his life he is taken in by a group of travellers who nurse him back to health and give him a ride the rest of the way. On arriving in Ghealdan with no money or supplies he set to finding some form of employment. During this time he takes a few jobs working in inns and hears constant rumours of The Dragon and his recruitment of an army in Tear. After working odd jobs over the next few years he finally saves enough coin for a sword and gains employment with a group of mercenaries guarding a caravan of merchants to Tear.
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