Because she knew she needed to.  When she went into the Wise Ones ter'angreal in Rhuidean she saw the only way to save Rand from Lanfear, and set things up accordingly. 

Arath bit his tongue as Covai dismissed him to gather up the Storm Leaders.  No explanations this time?  Fine.  Covai had to have his reasons.  There didn't appear to be any signs of madness in the man right now, so Arath decided to let him be.  Closing the door behind him, Arath hurried downstairs to the common room of Covai's Inn.

Only Haykes Pedrion was still there, the rest of the Storm Leaders having left to fulfill their other duties.  When Haykes saw Arath coming down the stairs the Shienaran broke off his conversation with a pair of Asha'man and hurried over to speak with the younger Attack Leader.

"How is he?  Any changes yet?"

Arath nodded.  "He just woke up.  He said he wants to see you and the other Storm Leaders."

Haykes nodded.  "Good.  The other's went back to the M'Hae- ... to Brent's palace.  As far as I know they're all still there.  They didn't leave that long ago." 

Arath nodded and headed toward the door.  On the way he caught one of the serving girls by the arm.  "Covai woke up.  He'll be starving, so send up a LOT of food."  When the girl had run off to the kitchens with a loud squeak, Arath continued out the door.

Walking across the grounds gave him a little time to think.  What was going to happen now?  Killing Brent and three Storm Leaders had never been part of the plan, and although Arath didn't consider it a bad thing, it did have the potential to change everything.  How would the White Tower react?  The only formal interactions the Aes Sedai had had with the Farm had been through Brent.  It might make things more difficult when they found out that Brent had been killed by the very man who went to negotiate with their Amyrlin.

The quick pace Arath had set quickly led him to the large central mansion of the Farm.  Brent's almost-palace.  As he stepped inside he was immediately accosted by an eager looking dedicated. 

"Baijin'm'hael, has the M'Hael awoken yet?"

Arath blinked in confusion.  "The M'Hael?"

The dedicated nodded.  "Yes, M'Hael Seriba.  Is he awake yet?"

Arath couldn't help but smirk.  How long would Covai stand for that one?  "Yes, he is awake.  He sent me to find the Storm Leaders.  Do you know where they are?"

In short order, they had all been tracked down and Arath delivered his message and Arath found himself outside Covai's door.  All six surviving Storm Leaders were gathered inside, but a quick glance from Covai let Arath know that he was not to be allowed inside.  Leaning back against the wall, Arath resigned himself to guard duty, making sure nobody disturbed the meeting inside.

Actually, we killed the M'Hael off because of his accent.

It matters GREATLY when you are taint crazed. :P

Forgot to mention this.  If you currently are a Soldier, assume you have already learned basic attack and defense weaves.

Alright everyone.  I've started a thread for a massive battle tactics class.  Massive as in EVERYONE at the farm is present.  So dust off your character and get him over to that thread.  I expect for this stuff to be applied to the next large scale battle we're in (probably the cleansing :D), so try to learn something, okay?

Post your arrival to the class and your reactions to what's written, and I'll move on to the actual learning part soon.

Storm Leader Arath Faringal paced the training grounds, his plans rolling around in his mind.  He had known that the training programs needed changing after the first wave of Trollocs in Shienar.  He couldn't believe how sloppy it had been.  There was no reason whatsoever for shadowspawn to get within fifty paces of a fully trained Asha'man, but they had.  Sloppy training.  Arath intended to fix that now.  He intended to fix it every single day until the Asha'man worked together without thought.

The announcement had been made the previous evening.  Everyone was to assemble at the training grounds the following morning.  Arath and the other officers had spent a large part of the night preparing the 'battlefield', raising stone manaquins and other targets from the earth.  The trolloc 'army' took up most of the eastern end of the training grounds.  Today, the Asha'man would learn to fight as a cohesive unit.

Air and fire amplified his voice, allowing the hundreds of assembled men to hear him with ease.

"For the most part, you have all learned how to effeciently kill a single enemy.  We have spent a great deal of time teaching you how to destroy the enemy on your own."  To emphasize his point, Arath spun around and executed attack weaves on the nearest target.  A fist sized fireball streaked toward the nearest 'trolloc', striking it square in the chest, just as the ground erupted beneath it.  Arath turned back to the Asha'man before the thing had finished crumbling apart.  "At Shienar however, it became painfully apparent how lacking your training has been.  The enemy circles overpowered us, and the trolloc hordes actually came within striking range of us.  Why?  Because you lack unity!  You lack discipline!

"What will happen the next time we go to battle?  Can we afford to lose another hundred men at the whims of the Forsaken?  We can't.  And I assure you, I will NOT let it happen again."  Arath paused for a moment, letting his message sink in to those assembled before him.  "You will be learning battle tactics today.  All of you will learn them together, else you will all die together in the next battle we have to face."

Arath continued his pacing in front of the group.  "It is of the utmost importance that you work together, not seperately.  If one man falters in his commitment to his task, all those around him may die for his mistake.  We will spend most of this day working on this.  After today, it will become a part of your every day lessons.  Am I understood?!"  The thundering sound of more than a thousand men saluting him fist to chest was sufficient response.  "Good.  Let us begin."

OOC:  Okay people.  If you want in on this (and you'd sure better ...) Post your arrival and reactions to Arath's speech.  In the next post, I'll start with the explanations of the Asha'man tactics.  I expect to see them used in our next battle ...

Reclined in a chair, watching over the recovering Storm Leader, Arath couldn't help but feel exasperated.  Nearly a full day had passed, and still Covai hadn't moved.  The best healers at the Farm had done all they could for him, even using one of the few angreal the Black Tower posessed.  Severe burns, several cracked bones, even the horrible damage he had inflicted on his own hand with his foolish attack had been repaired completely.  Indeed, there was nothing wrong with him now, but he remained asleep. 

It really wasn't surprising after the healing he had gone through.  It was amazing that he had lived through the collapse of the stables, let alone the fight with Brent.  The man was stubborn, Arath had to give him that.  He had earned his rest.

He would probably need it.  Arath suspected that Covai's real problems had just begun.  So many of the Asha'man had approached Arath, as well as the other Attack Leaders and Storm Leaders, wanting to know what was to become of them.  Arath had assured them that this changed nothing.  Control of the Black Tower had switched around before.  Perhaps not in such spectacular fashion, certainly not with everyone watching like that, but it had changed.  This was no different.

Only this time, Arath wasn't so sure.  The fate of the Black Tower lay in the hands of the unconscious man in front of him, but he wasn't sure how good a thing that was.  Covai had seemed to slip into his own madness during that battle.  Might they be exchanging one crazed M'Hael for another?  Only time would tell. 

As if on cue, the Storm Leader stirred in his bed the first movement he had made in a day.  Arath quietly rose from his chair, stretching out stiff muscles and slowly crossing the distance.  Covai was blinking the sleep from his eyes, and seemed to be getting his bearings.  Arath took a quick glance at the clock.  Twenty three hours, forty seven minutes.  Damn. 

"Burn you Covai!" he said, feigning anger.  "You made me lose the bet.  I said you wouldn't wake up for at least twenty four hours.  Think you can fake sleep for another fifteen minutes?"

Egyptian flu eh?  Hope it goes well for ya!

Novice Requirements

 

• Novice Quiz - Ooc. Must be completed before allowed to RP.
   
  
• Arrival: Meet the MoN: - Rp where the Novice first meets the Mistress of Novices. Make it clear whether or not your character has been tested.
   
  
• Novice life: - Organize an Rp with 1 or more Novices or Accepted about daily life in the Tower.
   
  
• One OP Related RP taught by an Accepted or Aes Sedai (must be approved by the MoN)
  * Introduction to Saidar (may be done in 4 threads, 1 post of 250 words per thread)
  * One Power Weaving & Application
  * or Submit a different option for approval to DMWTBIOS@gmail.com
   
  
• Choose 1 of the Following:
  * Meet the Roommate - RP where the Novice first meets Roommate. (note: There will NOT be an official list of roommates.)
  * Freeday - Organize an RP with 2 or more Novices or Accepted, about a specific activity that takes place during your Freeday.
  * Homesickness - Adjusting to life in the Tower, your character reflects on missing home. (How does she deal with the loss of her family?)
  * Chore RP - A chore given by either an Accepted or Aes Sedai - the chore must be role played.
  * Recovery - Your character must deal with a minor/major set-back or loss and must find a way to deal with it. (Will she approach a fellow Novice or Accepted, Mentor or another Aes Sedai?)
  * Prankage!  - You character has been involved in a prank of some kind! (How will you deal with it. Are you the prank-er or the prank-ee? Will your thread include an interview with the MON for punishment? (suggestion: you can do the Chore thread as a follow up on this.) Must be approved by Staff.
  * Create your own Character Centered RP - An rp that centers around your character and not someone else, in which you learn something important about yourself - Must be approved by Staff.
  * Introduction to Roleplaying Class - OOC - only once per person.

 

and finally:

 

• Three Arches - Only to be completed when previous Requirements are completed and marked.

• Novice Quiz - [Complete]

• Arrival: Meet MoN - HERE - [ 4 / 4 ] [Complete]

• Novice Life - Here - [ 4 / 4 ] [Complete]

• One OP Related RP [ 4 / 4 ] [Complete!]
  * Class 1: - Here - [ 2 / 1 ] [Complete]
  * Class 2: - Here - [ 1 / 1 ] [Complete]
  * Class 3: - Here - [ 1 / 1 ] [Complete]
  * Class 4: - Here - [ 1 / 1 ] [Complete]

• Choice RP:
  * New Beginnings (Meet the Roommates) - HERE - Word Count / [ 4 / 4 ] [Complete]

• Three Arches - HERE - Word Count-Lots [Complete]

That gives us a problem with the high end penalties then.  Any score after 32 is penalized (assuming regular distribution).

Average female strength is 28 and she can get up to a 33 if she has a maxed buying allowance.  Giving her up to 5 points higher than the average score.

Men, start at an average of 32, meaning that anyone gets above average is automatically penalized.  And if maximum buying allowance is 38, that makes the male maximum score a 35.  Only 3 points greater than average, and only 2 points higher than a maxed out female.

When you add in skill scores to get potency, what do you get?  For maximum strengthed characters you end up with:

Female - 33 Str, 38 Skill = 71 potency

Male  - 35 Str, 34 Skill = 69 potency

So women can get within 1 point of maximum strength, but men can only get halfway.  After skill is added, any above average female gets an advantage over an above average male.

Bonus strength points for men are penalized even further because of the 2-1 trade for scores of 9 or 10, forcing him to dump the points into a air or water.  There are no penalties attached to bonus skill points, are there? 

So long as Geirrin isn't plastered like he was for the Brent fight ...

Rochel listened thoughtfully as Clair spoke.  It was interesting that Claire Sedai had given such a long answer, but she still seemed to dodge around the question somewhat.  The comparison seemed a little off to Rochel.  There was a fundamental difference between a woman who was physically and mentally crippled by a disease, and a person who was severed from the One Power.  The cripple continued on with a desire to live.  She had heard that Aes Sedai actively denied death to a gentled man, not allowing him to even take his own life.  It seemed even more cruel somehow.  Rochel wondered what Claire Sedai would prefer.  Death, or a forced existance without Saidar?

She was about to pose that very question when the bell rang outside, abruptly ending the class.  "That will be all for today, ladies.  I will see you for your next lesson, don't forget your assignment!"  Rochel picked up her papers with a sigh and filed out of the room with the other girls.  A report on a burnt out novice or accepted?  Where in the world would you begin to find that information?  Glancing down at the list of women stilled for their crimes, Rochel pursed her lips in thought.  Did they really keep records of all these incidents for the last three thousand years?  The library had to be massive.  With another sigh, Rochel set off toward where she thought the library was.  If she had to do this, she might as well get it over with while she had some time.

Character Name: Olivia Tamedo

DM Handle: Lavinya

Email address: lavinyasedai@gmail.com

Age: 24

Gender: female

Place of Birth/Raising: She do be from Illian, Illian

Physical Description: (One paragraph; height, weight, eyes, hair, other outstanding features)

Olivia is passing pretty; she will never be called a great beauty, but she looks well enough for most indiscriminate tastes. She is of average height, with shoulder length, dark brown hair which falls in large waves. Her eyes are a bright blue, framed with dark lashes. Not particularly thin, she is what she would describe as pleasantly rounded in all the right places, especially that place. (Buxom tavern wench, anyone?) She is relatively strong and has a very thick accent, and a ready smile.

Character History:

Life for Olivia was simple. She had inherited an inn; well won in a drunken game of dice, if you want to split hairs, and had spent her days since running it. Happily. Her family was not one of consequence, and she had made her way by working hard since she was old enough to wipe tables. Good, honest work. Well mostly honest. A few cuddles and stolen kisses barely counted as dishonest, really. Life was swell. Olivia worked hard for her pay, serving and cleaning and smiling for the sailors, and spent the rest of her evenings playing just as hard to spend that hard earned coin. Her work had paid for her lodging with several other girls, off the kitchens, and food was easily grabbed on the run between ferrying drinks.

Her big turn of luck came with the dice game that would offer her a lifetime of riches on a platter. She was almost as well into her cups as her opponent when he bet with his inn, but enough almost sober witnesses had stood account that the bet held, and Olivia found herself the new mistress of an extremely run down dump. Nothing that some hard work couldn't fix of course. Slowly she repaired the inn enough to gain some custom, and she was content. She had all the wine she could possibly drink, an endless supply of entertainment in her common room, and even several workers who obeyed her. Life was sweet.

Was. Until the debtors started to demand she settled her overdue accounts. Having gambled and drunk away almost all she had earned, Olivia had no way to cover her debts. Not that she didn't try with a few suggestive smiles and a flash of bosom, but ultimately  she could not pay. Furious with anyone but herself for her stupidity, Olivia saw she had no other option than to flee, particularly after the last attempt to torch her inn. Bundling up all her worldly possessions and all the drink she could make fit, she stowed them in the rickety old wagon out back, and hitched them to the old nag that should have long ago been put to pasture, and made her escape in the quiet of the night, out of Illian, to wherever the road would take her. Or failing that, to the first safe place where she could dice and dance in peace.

Nice.

Question though.  Shouldn't the upper limits be kicked up a tad?  I believe the 38/34 limit on strength is for final distribution, not buying strength.  So in order to actually reach those strengths, higher numbers have to be available.  Barring bonus strength points, a male character needs ... 44 points to max his strength.  Assuming relatively normal distribution.

It's not cross dressing.  It is a 'cross Tower infiltration kit'.

And I look sexy ...

Wait, what?  Arath has no children.  He's only 20!

I believe you're talking about Martyn, Jeh's Ashie.  He's the 80 year old :P

For anyone still interested, I'm allowing anyone of dedicated rank or higher to go.  Dedicated's can count this as your inter-div requirement.

Asha'man, or Dedi's that have already done interdiv, can apply it toward your bonus STR points.

Covai hath been poked.  He's working on the post.

Handle: Kalthandrix

Name: Vykor Temmer

Age: 20

Nationality: Unclaimed territory in the southern arm of the Black Hills at the mouth of the River Kaevin.

One Power: Fire 10, Earth 7, Air 5, Water 5, Spirit 8; Strength 35; Skill 26; Potency 61 (as of 6/4/09)

Weapon Skill: 5 (as of 6/4/09)

Physical Description: Standing at just over middling height (5’9”) and with dark blond hair, which was going a bit shaggy. Farm work left his body moderately well built, and hours of swords practice and physical conditioning from his mentor Asha’man Isha had toned and sharpened his muscles to not only possess strength, but also speed.

A backward-facing crescent shaped scar begins at his left temple and ends just under his eye. Vykor’s left eye, due to the head trama, is completely devoid of color though it works just as well as his other which remains a verdant, deep emerald green.

Bio/Arrival:

Rising up, I brushed the loose straw from my clothes and grabbed up my blanket and satchel. The sun was an hour or two shy from rising, but it was time to leave- better to walk out of the old stable now then to sleep a bit longer and risk having a groom or the stable owner come in and wonder about why I was sleeping on his property. Also, the sooner started; the sooner finished, my father had always told me.

Today I would find the Asha’man that were said to be in Tear and I would join them, or I would finally find peace.

It seemed almost a lifetime ago, but I used to run free in the low hills of the southernmost region of the Black Hills near the mouth of the River Kaevin. The village I lived in was little more than a flyspeck, consisting of about twenty-five or so families, but it is my home, or at least it had been before…well, before I killed my best friend Aaryon.

We had just both turned seventeen earlier that season and our two families lived so close together that we basically had one very large farm that both families worked. Life was hard but good, getting by with the crops we grew and wool from the black sheep we raised. Aaryon and I were on the small town Green with the whole village, celebrating another season passing and a decent clip from the sheep, laughing and dancing with a couple of the al’Bren girls who we had a fancy for. Light but it had been a day to remember!

Burn me but it is all ashes now!

I do not know when, but the Meric boys and their cronies had gathered near us on the Green, talking and drinking the young beer that we made locally. Aaryon must have heard what they were saying because he broke off dancing and began shouting at Ryan Meric, the oldest in the group at just shy of turning eighteen. “You had best shout your gob Ryan!” Aaryon yelled, “My family has no reason to be taking anything from your family’s pastures.”

“Well how do you explain that ten of our sheep went missing before the clip, only to show up again less their wool? And how do you explain that it is your families that have the most wool?” Ryan bulled his way through his friend and stuck his finger in Aaryon’s chest. “I can tell you how. It is because you are bloody thieves!” The last bit coming out as a grunt due to Aaryon planting his fist in the older boys gut.

I barely remember more than just a blur of those first moments, it was, happening quickly. I have heard that some battles often fade from the mind soon after, but not so for me. Each detail of those second stands out as clearly as a stained-glass window. When Aaryon lashed out, Ryan’s friends rushed in with fists and feet already flying and I charged in to aid Aaryon, and to stuff those filthy accusations back down Ryan’s throat. It turned bad for us quickly! I had no more then kicked Jak DeArn in the V of his legs when pain bloomed in my jaw and stars dance across my vision. I went down like a bale of wet wool and the shoes and boots of those above me started raining down for what seemed hours; one foot grazed my temple and split my scalp, another loosened my teeth, and a host of other boots bruised my body.

I remember calmly thinking that I was going die, but that I would not go without a fight. My anger surged and it seemed that the world was freezing and burning at the same time. Striking from the ground, I broke one man’s knee and cleared a space into which I rose up, swinging. My vision narrowed and my blood seemed to burn with the heat of my fury, making my stomach twist as though I would spew everything I had ever eaten on to the ground. And then it happened. I locked eyes with Ryan and raised my hands toward him as I surged forward, intending to throttle him good, but instead a ray of pure fire seemed to fly from my upraised hands.

Time seemed to stop and all eyes were on that beam of fire, watching as it sped towards Ryan. Everyone was frozen, except for Aaryon who shoved Ryan aside and took the full blast of fiery fury. I do not think he felt a thing, as his body instantly turned into a cinder that seemed to explode, showering everyone in the area with a find coating of ash and flaming bits.

I ran then and have been running and moving from place to place for a good year now.

Looking at myself briefly in the glass of a tailor’s window, I could see that the boy I knew had been replaced with a stranger. Standing just a few inches over five and a half feet tall and with dark blond hair, which was going a bit shaggy on me and needed a cut, I was nothing the gleemen would sing about. Farm work had let my body moderately well built, though my clothes were a bit looser now. Moving as I had for the last year, I had taken work when I could and foraged as I could when there was o work to be had, but I always kept moving. The kick I had received to my head had left me with a back-facing crescent shaped scar three inch that began at my temple and curved toward my eye before hooking back. It had also done something to my eye as well, for even though it worked fine, the color had all but bled out of it, leaving me with one eye white as snow and the other a deep emerald green. That eye had kept some folk from giving me work, fearing I was cursed or ill. Light! If only they knew the truth!

Turning away from my reflection, I began walking again. I had found out the day before that there were several black coated men staying at an inn called the Silver Pike down by the docks. Traffic was light, as early as it was most decent folk were still abed, so I was making good time. Making a turn down another street, I collided with another man walking around the corner. The first thing I noticed was the black coat with a silver sword on one side of the high collar and a sinuous looking, enameled serpent on the other side. Recovering quickly I stepped back and bowed. Straightening I said, "I heard a rumor of the Dragons Amnesty for men that can channel and I am here to claim it. My name is Vykor Temmer, and all I ask is that you either train me or kill me; at this point I could care less which one you choose to do. Keep me and I will be your man for the rest of my days, or kill me.” And to myself I finished, and let the Light take my soul for killing my best friend.

Bio Continuation:

Several years hves now passed since I was a fresh recruit looking to prove my worth in the training yards of the Black Tower. Time and strife have left their marks upon me more now than any of the scars I carry.

After discovering that the Black Tower had been infiltrated by Darkfriends and entering into battle with them actually upon the grounds, I had been tasked by the M’Hael Dalinarius Traachanshield to find the roots of this cancer and dig it out. Of course, I was only a new raised Dedicated then, proud to the bone of my silver sword pin and more than willing to give back some of the hurt those Light-forsaken fools had inflicted upon me.

But times change things and the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. Darkfriends I found and fought, but never to the heart of those controlling those had I found. Friends died or disappeared, some taken by other duties while others vanished like smoke. Even the M’Hael fell after a time and I, without a guide and at this time practically alone, found my self attached to the Dragon Reborn himself for a time. The Lord Dragon knew of what I was doing and supported it, but weapons are needed in a time of war and letting one wander about in hopes of striking at shadows was not something that the Lord Dragon needed.

I have now seen worse things then I could ever have imagined before and the strain has been eating, gnawing, at me. A weapon I might be, but even a weapon needs to be resharpened at times, so I have been sent back to the Black Tower by the Lord Dragon to refocus and complete training that has gone neglected for too long now. Training and focus will reforge me, or I will be shattered by the hammer that is falling…

Rochel tried to keep the tears from her eyes as she made her goodbyes, she really did.  It was inevitable though that some should leak out.  Resanna cried like a fountain, alternating between happy and sad.  It had finally sunk in that she wouldn't be seeing her only daughter again for quite some time.  It took several heartbreaking minutes, more than a few false starts, and a promise to write home as often as possible, before Resanna finally exited the room, leaving Rochel alone in the office.  No more than a minute after her mother had left, the Mistress of Novices returned with a pile of neatly folded white dresses.

“Go try those on in the storeroom, child, and pick the set that fits you best. I will have the seamstresses adjust another pair for you once we have your correct measurements. You will be wearing only these clothes for as long as you are a novice. You may keep everything you brought with you, except for what you are wearing right now – make a bundle of that, please. Novices and Accepted are discouraged from wearing any jewellery, or anything that is not white. Go on, then.”

Rochel frowned for a moment.  She hadn't brought anything with her at all.  Everything she owned was either at home in Arad Doman, or in the room she had shared with her mother at the inn her in Tar Valon.  She supposed that would just make things more simple.  After being chased into the store room, Rochel picked one of the dresses at random, trying to stall for as long as she could before coming back out.  To her dismay, the first dress fit perfectly.  Just the right length, neither too tight nor loose around the chest and hips.  Like the dress had been made specifically for her.  She briefly considered trying on another, just to waste more time, but decided against it.  This Mistress of Novices didn't seem like the kind of woman she wanted to agitate needlessly.

Scrubbing the last of the tears from her face, Rochel pushed open the door and left the closet.  The dress she had been wearing, a fine cut green wool suitable for traveling, was neatly folded and tucked under her arm.  The Aes Sedai was sitting at her desk again, waiting expectantly for her.  "This one fits nicely Aes Sedai," she said weakly.  She handed over her old dress, and noticed her silver ring still on her finger.  A pretty little thing her father had given her on her last naming day.  She hurriedly pulled it off, meaning to put it in a pocket.  Finding she had, she simply kept it in her hand, and awaited further instructions.

Stare at the stone?  That was it?  Well that wouldn't be too bad.  Rochel had come up with a half dozen nightmarish scenarios which could have served as the testing.  Looking at a glittering gemstone wasn't that bad at all.  But what was supposed to happen?

Almost against her wishes, the Aes Sedai's voice soothed Rochel's stubborn will to fail, and he found herself gazing intently at the floating stone.  Her mother dealt in gems sometimes, and this one looked particularly fine in the light.  As it hovered, slowly rotating in the air, it sparkled brightly.  One particularly bright flash of light broke Rochel from the near trance she had been in.  Where had that one come from?

She was about to refocus on the gem, afraid of angering the Aes Sedai in front of her, when suddenly it floated back to her hand and was quickly replaced in the desk drawer.  She heard a sigh next to her, and turned to see a disappointed look on Resanna's face.  Rochel tried hard not to roll her eyes.  Her mother had been focused on that stone even more than she had.  When Rochel swung her gaze back to the Aes Sedai, she grew worried at the disgustingly pleased grin on the woman's face.

"Welcome to the White Tower, child. I sense a fine potential in you – with hard work and dedication, you should be able to wear the Shawl one day. Let’s get your details down, then – your full name, age, and place of birth?”

Rochel opened her mouth, ready to stammer out that there must be a mistake, when her mother spoke up for her.  "Oh, her full name is Rochel Dion.  She just turned sixteen a month ago, and she was born near Bandar Eban."  Resanna turned and wrapped her daughter in a tight hug.  "I'm so proud of you dear!  My little Rochel is going to be an Aes Sedai.  What will your father say?"  She paused for a moment, frowning.  "Well, let me worry about what your father will say."  She wrapped Rochel in another tight squeeze.  "Oh, isn't this wonderful?"

Resanna turned her elated gaze to the bemused looking Mistress of Novices.  "You will take good care of her?  Won't you?"  She didn't even wait for a response before chiding herself.  "Oh of course you will.  Asking an Aes Sedai if she'll take care of a new novice."  Happy tears were flowing from the corners of her eyes. 

Rochel on the other hand, felt like throwing up.  "Mother ..." she grumbled quietly.

Resanna suddenly realized how she was acting in front of an important Aes Sedai, and dropped back into her seat with an embarassed smile.  "Sorry.  I'm just so ..." she trailed off with a contented sigh, wiping the tears from her cheeks, not quite meeting the gaze of the Aes Sedai across the desk.

Rochel wondered if she could have slipped out while her mother had been making a fool of herself.  She doubted it, but almost wished she had tried.  She definitely did not like the look she saw every time Aes Sedai laid eyes on her.  It reminded her too much of her father whenever he had managed to make a particularly profitable deal.  With a sigh, she settled further into her chair with her arms folded.  She just knew she wasn't going to like this.

Name: Serge Karminov

E-mail: muirenn[at]gmail[dot]com

Division: Black Tower

Age: 24

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 180

Country of Origin: Illian

Physical Description: Serge has blond hair and blue eyes, he has a

short cropped beard, with a bare upper lip in the Illianer style. He

is stocky and well-muscled, from working in the harbour since he was a

boy. There is a thin white scar running from his collarbone to the

egde of his shoulder.

Personality: Serge is rather submissive, and is vain to a fault.  He is pretty and he knows it.  He does just about everything he can with saidin, preferring not to get his hands dirty.  Apart from the whole messiness of channeling and the ensuing insanity, he much prefers life in the Black Tower to peasantry in Illian's Perfumed Quarter.  He hates being used as a weapon, but is a natural follower and takes orders well.  He tries not to kill unless there is no other option.  He is not especially smart and is somewhat lazy.  He shirks chores when he thinks he can get away with it, which often backfires.  He has some aptitude for Healing, but not enough to be considered a true Talent (moderate Healing from the weaves list).  Being from Illian, he doesn't believe in trollocs or snow.  The unseasonably warm weather has yet to convince him differently.

Bio:

"Serge!"

The boy sitting on the edge of the dock looked up, brushing a thick

strand of golden blonde hair out of his eyes. He was barefoot, which

may not have been the best idea, given that the perfumed quarter was

not known for its cleanliness. But he liked to dangle his feet in the

water and watch the boats. He had just come in from one of the fishing

boats himself, and was watching the last rays of the sun on the water.

He hadn't needed to turn around to see who was calling, he recognized

the voice of his sister. She was probably calling him home for dinner.

But he was preoccupied with other matters. He dropped his head into

his hands again and stared as the sky went from firey orange to deep

purple.

The past few weeks had been strange at best. Events seemed to favor

him, a chance wind in the sails, a rich cache of oilfish, various

small things. He hadn't realized what was happening to him, hadn't

realized even after he began getting the blinding headaches at the end

of the day. He thought it must have been some illness that was going

around; such things were common in this part of the city. But there

had been no denying, no way to deny, what he was when during one of

those headaches a crate had burst into flame. He made some excuse,

about a spark from a pipe, and had paid for the cargo out of his

wages. But it had happened again, this time without the headache. And

he knew that he had to go, had to leave his home, his sister, his

parents. He just couldn't get the stories out of his head. The stories

of Lews Therin Kinslayer, the one they called the Dragon. Stories of

those who had claimed the title of Dragon falsely thoughout the years.

And the worst of it was that Saidin was tainted.  There was nothing

safe about this destructive Power he was somehow using without knowing

how. So Serge knew he could not stay here. He would not risk harming

his family, unintentional as it would be.  He could not save himself,

but he could at least spare them.

"Serge! Mother did send me to bring you inside, and I do be certain

that she would be having my hide if I did come back without you! So

you best be putting back on your boots now!"

Serge sighed, pulled his shoes over, and began putting them on. This

would be the last night he spent at home, and no one yet knew it but

him. He stood, taking one last look back at the sea he so loved, and

turned his back on it, not knowing if he would ever see it again, much

less when. He would leave on a ship early next morning.  He would go

north.  As far away from here as he could manage.

"Deidre!" he called, "Wait, I do be coming with you."

~~~

When Serge arrived at the Black Tower after meeting a recruiter in Tear, it was discovered that he had a block to seizing saidin.  He could only channel when the situation was completely out of his control.  Which meant that for all meaningful purposes, he couldn't channel at all.  Instead of a usual Asha'man mentor, he was given into the care of the Weaponsmaster, Marden.  A raging drunk, Marden was nevertheless very skilled at his craft.  Serge was taught the sword and was pushed hard in his training and in his chores in hopes that it would break his block.  It wasn't until Marden took him out one day and beat him within an inch of his life that he was finally able to channel to defend himself, nearly killing Marden in the process.  The shock of it made him rush to help Marden, who he delved without thinking.  Since then he has been able to seize saidin at will.  His training progressed quickly, and he was raised to Dedicated within the year. 

A few months ago, he was out on patrol and was part of the group of Asha'man ambushed by a group of Aes Sedai who Travelled from the White Tower.  The orders were given to subdue the women, not to kill.  Since Serge had been abysmal at his shielding class, he ended up bonding one of the Sisters in order to pacify her, a Red named Maegan Ryanne.  Being naturally submissive, he was an equally abysmal bondholder, and apart from ordering her not to attempt escape or to harm any of the members of the Black Tower, he stayed away from her as much as possible.  Which was pretty easy to do since he could tell when she was coming.  It also meant that he spent much more time in classes than was usual for him, and even took to instructing some of the soldiers.  She tended to stay away when she knew he was channeling.  That suited him just fine.  He was thrilled with he treaty agreed to with the White Tower that allowed him to release the bond and get that bloody woman out of his head.

A few weeks after she left, he was awarded the dragon pin.  Most of his responsibility is helping to oversee the infirmary and teaching soldiers and Dedicated.  He is rarely sent on patrol. 

Someone who speaks a little slower should probably go confirm the message anyway.  Nobody at the garden would know where she had run off to.

ROFL!