DM Handle: DhaiMon

Character Name: Simmen

Email address: fohs@gmx.de

Age: Around 16

Gender: Male

Physical Description: About 6' tall and pale, the word that comes to mind to describe Simmen is unkempt: He doesn't seem to care overly much about his wildly growing, darkish hair and beginnings of what might pass for a beard, and his clothes mostly got a worn look in short order. Despite his size, he is gaunt, even weakly, and the permanent expression of distance and worry in his face and dark green eyes just do not belong on one supposedly so young.

Place of Raising: Horn's End, a flyspeck village on the southern slopes of the Black Hills, most notable for an ancient skull's top sprouting horns erected on a pole in the middle of the village as well as for its inn, The Mountain Breeze, which is frequently traversed by travellers from the nearby Tower road. Despite the location of Horn's End, its' inhabitants are known to be more suspicious and close-mouthed around strangers than even the usual run of rural folk.

Character History: Simmen was brought up an orphan, and from the very beginning he got to feel it: Rumour and gossip in the village had it that he turned up as an infant on the doorsteps of the Village Crone's home when a blizzard raged, streaked by lightning and booming with thunder, something perceived to be an ill omen among the villagers heralding hardship, lack of game and failing crops. And indeed it seemed as though events turned to the worse from then on, as many believed: In the following years game got ever scarcer, the piteous fields of the village yielded less and less and word of tumult in the world, worse than ever before, reached Horn's End more frequently, talk of False Dragons, disastrous wars raging in distant lands, horrors and madness unleashed everywhere. Truly, the Ladies of the Storms' ire had been evoked, and the Father of the Night's shadows lengthened. The Creator meant to put them to the test, but for what?

Pinned as the one responsible for all the ill that had befallen the villager's world, he was shunned by most and a favorite target for bullying youths. In addition to that, he was sickly as a child and simply no good for work in the field and woodcraft. The only people in Horn's End that would look after him were the Crone Sandr, who would try to prevent the worst transgressions against him, and the innkeeper, Jos, who at Sandr's "suggestion" grudgingly took him in as a scullion. Even though Jos let Simmen feel that he would rather not have him and Sandr seemed to look after him exclusively for duty's sake, he started to see in both of them the parents he never had.

Unsurprisingly, Simmen grew more and more used to being isolated and started to prefer solitude above the company of the other village youths that mostly would either mock and insult him or, in rare cases, offer sympathies and vainly try to "cheer him up". When he was not buried into washing dishes, busy fetching ingredients or daydreaming about the stories he snatched up, he would try and practice the shortbow in the inn's backyard. He had aquired the bow on his one and only ranging into the woods when the Elder's Circle probed for his abilites, and was allowed to keep it after he had asked for it and the Crone, for some reason, backed him up. A bow fit for a child really, and as the years passed and he grew ever taller some boys would regularly gather to make fun of him right there and then. Still, it served to distract Simen from the harsh realities, and he could lose himself in a sense of calm, solely concentrating on his mark.

Handling a bow too feeble for him was not the only oddity he was remarked for: Even though mostly he would work rather ineffectively, at times he finished cleaning the piles of plate in front of him in surprisingly good time, and sometimes would run errands through a downpour without coming down with the cold as he usually did, without even a cloak on himself. On another instant, he was staring intently on a plain bookcover, faded by age, looming out of a peddler's wagon. When asked what the matter were, he asked what that book, "The Shifting Border", was all about. The only people in the village able to read were the innkeeper's family as well as the Crone and her apprentices, and they never bothered to teach anyone else their letters, as there was "no need to". Reluctantly, Jos permitted Simmen access to his miniature collection of books when it became apparent that Simmen truly could make sense of the written word, and the village youths started to nickname him "scarecrow scholar"- mostly not merely meant as a joke, though.

It was some time close to his supposedly 16th name day that he would abandon the village forever, never turning back: While he was practicing the bow, the expected mob of bullies arrived. They just stared at him while he worked the bow, utterly ignoring them. Simen knew them all, if not by their names- he was no real good at remembering names -then by their looks. Tmas, a broad-shouldered fellow, was the one most prominent among them, the one most notorious about bullying him, and there was heat in his gaze, hot as the furnace he worked, as his eyes rested on Simen, silently accusing him of yet another crime or ill he was surely responsible for. And then, the silence broke.

As Simmen nocked another arrow to loose at his marking on the wall, they started to tell one another of this and that: The fields would hardly yield enough to provide for everyone, and that with winter approaching. The hunting parties had returned, and there was as good as no game around. The few merchants that still bothered to stop at the village instead of rushing to their destination told tales of imminent doom and chaos, of the Dragon's return and the Last Battle on the horizon. All the while, they looked accusingly at Simmen, who did his to pretend that they were not there at all.

Then, Tmas stepped forward, planted himself in front of Simmen when he was reaching for another arrow he had planted into the ground. "You even listening, scarecrow?" Tmas' voice literally pulsed with threat.

Simmen tried to look through him, not acknowledge him.

"All that's your fault. Ever since you crawled t' our doorsteps you have brought misery to us. Winters been hard these last years, and it'll dead sure be even harder this time 'round. You don' scare 'em crows 'way, you draw 'em t' us 's what you do! I sure don' see why you feeble weaklin' still walk aroun', while good Zamel died last year. You're no good for a one here, and the Pit take the Crone!"

Simmen tried to look anywhere but at Tmas. The blacksmith's apprentice then grabbed Simmen's chin, forcing Simen to look at him.

"No idea where you been spawned, crow." His voice lowered, at the same time dripping with ever more contempt. "For all I can see some tavern wench and a lame drunkard did it, and with no wanting it."

Inside Simmen, something...cracked. He had heard as bad and worse before, but somehow, he would not simply let it pass this time. This time, he would...strike...back.

He tried to free himself from Tmas' grip- tried, and, surprisingly, succeeded, even violently pushing him back. Tmas landed sprawled on the ground, his face showing murder and surprise at once. He pushed himself up again, and launched himself at Simmen's throat.

Instinctively, Simmen nocked an arrow. Before he loosed, however, a...gust...threw Tmas back, sending him to the floor. Bones cracked.

Tmas' eyes stared at the sky, with a now glazing look of baffled surprise. It all seemed to have gone by so fast that not a one of Tmas' friends could make a move, and now they just stood where they were, stared, eyes wide.

At first, Simmen was numb with shock. Then, he ran, bow and arrow still clutched in hand and quiver at his hip. He ran past Jos who was shouting to know what had happened, Sandr who tried to intervene him and ask what the matter were, others who stared at him, called after him. Excepting the Crone, noone so much as tried to block his way. He did not heed any of it.

He ran, past Horn's End's boundaries, ran, into the woods surrounding the village, without any sense of direction, ran untill he collapsed to the ground, left with but one thought: It was not chance that had killed Tmas. It was him. Him.

Sleep took him, and with it came nightmares, of madmen killing people by merely pointing at them, breaking the earth open, calling down thunder and lightning to dwarf all the storms that would ever be. And every single one of them had Simmen's face.

The next day, Simmen just wanted to die. But something made him keep going, made him try and pick up what food the forest offered, made him take aim and loose arrows at animals too old and slow to try and escape the pathetic range of his toy bow.

After what seemed years, he finally came upon a village located beside the Tower road. There, what seemed to be the whole village were gathered around the center where a small troupe of black coated men, some of them sporting weird pins on their collars, seemed to make a grand speech, waving and gesticulating around. One of them, with a silver sword and a snake-like creature at his throat, boomed with a voice too loud for any human: "Who of you would step forward to serve the Lord Dragon?"

It was the last thing Simmen wanted to do, and the only thing left to him. Wriggling through the crowd, he stepped forward.

Well hello there.  Not that there's much to add after whats been said, but since I check the bio's here, I'll put in the *ahem* official word.

If you want a long bio, knock yourself out.  I enjoy reading.  The problem is that the more you write, the more space you have for potential error.  9 times out of 10, I kick back long bios a time or two for corrections. 

As far as making up a village in the Black Hills ... so long as it's realistic I have no problem with it.  No Aiel or Seanchan superstitions and such.

Arath watched from a distance for a while as a Dedicated fussed around with a pile of building materials.  It was always interesting to see what a Dedicated would do with his free time.  Inevitably, it always tended to be something that he had done before the Farm, or what he wanted to be with his newfound powers.  Either way, he tended to learn a lot from the observations.

Not that it took a lot of power of perception to see what this man was up to.  Judging by the things he had so far done, and by his build, the man was a blacksmith, and intended to build himself a forge to continue his former trade.  Something he himself could relate too.

After thinking for a moment to come up with the other man's name, Arath approached at a leisurely pace.  "Any particular reason why you chose to build here?" he asked.  "Seems a bit out of the way to me."

Arath grinned.  "Just so long as you're buying," he said as he snatched the mug away.  He didn't remember much about the last trip there.  Considering how much the two of them had drank he was surprised either of them had been able to weave a gateway home.  He did remember the pretty girl who had been serving them though.  That was more than enough reason to go again.  Hopefully he would remember what the food tasted like this time as well.

"Try to keep the lewd jokes to a minimum this time, okay?"

OOC:  There IS a wood stove in the kitchen you know ... just because the place is full of channelers doesn't mean he didn't plan for normal people.

IC:  "So if you just tone the fire down a little bit, it shouldn't be so hard to control the weave," said Arath, explaining a rather problematic weave to Tai'Dashan.  "Sometimes you need to sacrifice a little power for control.

It had been a long day.  Between a great deal of testing, and a full blown duel, the both of them were exhuasted.  And dirty.  Getting one's clothes messy didn't seem overly important when dodging a fireball.

As they tromped back to the house, Arath spent a great deal of time explaining exactly what mistakes Tai had made during the duel.  Slight things that had given Arath the advantage.  All in all, he was pleased with the results.  Tai had come a long way since his arrival at the farm.  It was always fulfilling to train someone up to reach their full potential.  Arath believed that it wouldn't be long before Tai wore a Dragon pin on his collar along with the sword.

When he opened the door, Arath wasn't expecting Michelle to be there waiting to drag him inside.  It was still strange getting used to the fact that she was there.  He also wasn't prepared for the friend she had with her.  "Arath, I hope you don't mind, but I have a new friend that needs somewhere to stay."

Arath blinked and shook his head.  "Uh ... what?  I ... I guess ..."  He took a look at what was apparently the newest resident of his house.  She stood with a grin and waved at him.  Feeling a little confused and helpless, (since when did I lose control of my own home?) he turned to Tai.  At least HE was still normal, even if everything else was changing around the house.

Arath nodded as he took another bite.  It sounded simple enough, but from the little he knew of women, he suspected that this simple little list might expand quite a bit before the day was done.  Especially if they were making a trip to Lugard rather than Caemlyn.  She had to have something in mind.  He was suddenly very glad he had another purse with him, this one full of gold.  He felt sure that it would be needed.

Apprehension suddenly began to gnaw at him.  Shopping had never been one of his favorite passtimes.  Probably one of his least favorites.  Though it might be fun to see Michelle try on different clothes ... no.  Not something he was really looking forward to.  Bt it would be worth it.  Especially after scaring her so badly the night before.  A hint of a smile play across his face as a thought occured to him.  Perhaps Tai'Dashan had gotten off a little bit too easy for his part in that fiasco.

Coming back to his senses, Arath noticed that Michelle had finished her second bowl, and was eyeing his as yet untouched one.  With a laugh, he pushed it toward her.  "One was enough for me.  Though I might just go see about getting something to take along with us.  You might be like this for another couple hours or so."  Pushing his chair out from the table, Arath made his way toward the kitchens.  On his way he caught a young soldier by the arm to have him relay a message.  "I need you to go to the infirmary and tell Dedicated Tai'Dashan that he is to meet me at the stables in ... half an hour.  Tell him to be ready to travel.  A lot."  With a nod the soldier took off toward the Black Tower's hospital.  At the very least, Arath wouldn't suffer alone on this trip.

Arath looked at the candle in front of him for a moment.  It was an interesting challenge that Covai had set before them.  A very curious puzzle.  How does one make fire from something else?  The same way anyone else would do it probably.  Making a spark seemed the most logical.

Siezing Saidin, he wove earth deep into the ground.  Stabilizing the earth under the candle so he wouldn't knock it over, Arath raised his hands and brought up a column of dirt and stone right beside the target.  Shaping the earth with heavy flows of Saidin, he bent the column over the top of the candle.  Two rocks of different kinds flowed through the column, pushed by individual flows, until they were positioned right above the wick of the candle.  Tightening the flows around the rocks, Arath began to grind them together. 

Tiny sparks began to fly from the grinding stones.  Not nearly as big as he would have liked, but they were still there.  Lowering the column down until the stones were almost touching the candle wick, Arath began again.  It took a little while, but soon a spark stuck and the candle sported a small dancing flame.  Carefully withdrawing his weaves, Arath let the earth fall apart after pushing it away.  The activity had been more exhausting than he had anticipated, but all things considered he was satisfied with the results.

Arath leaned against a nearby tree, watching the crowd as they listened to Covai.  His words made quite a stir among them.  "Light a candle without fire?" "Is he crazy?"  "Are we going to have to raise the dead too?"  Arath chuckled softly to himself.  Some people had no imagination.

He had been debating for a while on whether or not he would join in the tournament.  On the one hand, it might be unfair for someone of his rank and ability to enter in among the dedicateds and soldiers.  On the other hand, this whole tournament was more an excuse to try new things, and challenge people's way of thinking.  To make the Asha'man more creative.  And a little challenge never hurt anyone.

Pushing off of his tree, Arath meandered over to Covai, who was quite happily ignoring the many questions being thrown at him.  "I don't suppose there's any harm in me joining?  Give the new guys a run for their money?"

Arath considered telling Michelle about Kassian, but then decided against it.  The dedicated would be short on time, and frankly was a little disturbing.  Not the sort of dress maker that Michelle would want to be seeing right now.  He didn't know if she'd like Amadician styles anyway. So instead, he simply nodded in agreement.

"Anywhere from Tear to Tanchico to Maradon.  Even Tar Valon if I was feeling particularly stupid.  Lugard won't be a problem."  He paused for a moment, thinking about anything he might be needed for that day.  "I don't believe I'm needed here today, barring any great emergency, so after we eat we can go to the stables and grab some horses."  He smiled as confusion briefly flashed over her face.  "We might be able to cross most of the distance in a single step, but the gateways still need to be opened away from anyone's vision.  Most people don't appreciate channelers stepping in completely unannounced.  Plus the edges of the gates are very dangerous.  They can slice a blade of grass in half lengthwise, so I'd rather not take the chance that someone will be standing nearby.  We'll come out maybe a mile from Lugard, and ride the rest of the way."

The soup finally arrived, and the talk slowed down as the delicious smells wafted up from the bowls.  Arath handed the serving girl a silver coin and asked her to bring more.  At Michelles indignant look, he simply laughed.  "What?  You'll probably eat at least three.  Healing does that to you."  Digging into his own bowl, Arath fell silent for a while.  Finally, after swallowing down a particularly hot piece of meat he asked, "So just how much do you think you'll be needing?  Clothes, not food," he added with a grin. 

I'll pop in on him.  Help out a fellow smithy :)

Arath dumbly watched as Michelle run back up the stairs.  What in the light?  A few minutes later she came running back down to where he waited in the kitchen.  She had her boots on now.  And her purse.  "You spoke of this inn last night.  Can we try that?"  He nodded his head, and she held out the purse of coins.  "And this I cannot accept.  It is generous, but I can't take this from you."

Arath shook his head.  "It's yours.  Consider it advance payment."  He laughed at the odd look in her eyes when he said that.  "If you're going to be staying here, you'll probably end up doing the cooking.  I saw how much of mine you left on your plate last night."  He paused for a moment, thinking.  "Or consider it overdue payment for saving my sorry hide in Caemlyn years ago.  I never was able to return the favor, so now I am.  Please don't insult me by turning my gift aside.

Opening the door, Arath offered Michelle his arm again, ready to lead the way to the inn and breakfast.

As far as linking, it shouldn't allow you access to additional weaves in my opinion.  It only increase the magnitude of your weaves not you strength in the elements.  So if someone could only make a fireball the size of a horses head before linking then they should only be able to make a slightly larger one when linked.  Hope that makes sense...

I don't think so.  Take Traveling for an example.  In the books, a lot of the rebel Aes Sedai don't have the strength to make a gateway (ie, score of 8 in spirit) 2 linked together can.  I think the way to do it is to take the new strength score of the circle, and divide it points out proportional to the strength of the members.

For example, if two channelers with a strength of 30 link, the circle strength will be ... 45 I believe.  So treat that 45 like a strength buying allowance and distribute the scores accordingly.  If both people are strong in spirit, the circle will be strongest in spirit.  If both are weak in fire, the circle will be weaker in fire, though stronger than the individuals.

DM Handle: Kura

Contact E-Mail shadowfreak0000[at]yahoo[dot]com

Character Name: Kain Arioth

Place of Birth: Andor

Age: 19

Appearance: He is reasonably tall, standing around 5’11, with short cropped blonde hair, and a pair of blue eyes. He spouts a set of shoulders an axe handle across, and has the heavy muscles of a blacksmith, ironically, he is slightly anemic and is quite pale.

History: Kain was born to a wealthy weapon’s smith in Andor, an expert at quickly producing weapons suitable for the queen’s guards and others who have no need for a heron mark blade. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t produce such an exquisite piece of steel; he simply learned that quantity with a dash of quality yields far more profit than the opposite.

Kain inherited his father’s broad shoulders, and of course, his trade. He took to it quickly, starting off making simple forgings of horse shoes and pots, but quickly moved into weapon and armor smithing, making spear heads and the like for years, until his father let him forge his first sword at fourteen. He instantly fell in love with this higher level forging.

He produced a blade of passing quality, sold to a newly raised officer of the Queen’s Guards, and was allowed to keep the full profit of the sale. With a pat on the back his father told him to go out and spend the money on whatever he wanted. He spent all day searching for something worth spending his coin on, something he could set in his room and be nostalgic about, but turned up nothing. Finally, as he was standing beside a meat pie vender, a young woman approached him. She held out a book to him, a sad smile on her face, obviously in dire straights. “Please sir, you wouldn’t happen to be interested in this would you? You look like a big warrior, and I thought the topic might be to your liking.”

Feeling a mixture of pity and attraction, he took the book and looked it over. It was an ancient book on war, flipping through he saw weird weapons, quarterstaffs with what appeared to be single edged sword blades instead of spear points, and other oddities. It had, to be honest, piqued his curiosity, and he paid for the volume in silver, much to the delight of the young woman.

Going home and flipping through the pages, he saw another weapon that caught his eye. A huge double bladed beast of a sword, laughing to himself, he thought that was the sword for him. Big, not designed for fancy dipping of blades, but straightforward killing blows that could sever such fantastical creatures as a trolloc in twain. He wrote it off as a joke at first, but gradually the idea to actually make the behemoth sword grew on him, and so, at fifteen, he went down to the forge and poured every bit of skill he had gathered over the years, spending hours working on the sword, sizing it for a slightly taller man than his father, believing that he’d grow into it.

When it was done, his father looked at the blade, whistling. “Now, that is a fine hunk of wasted steel boy, there is no way we’ll be able to sell it.” Kain laughed, shaking his head, “I don’t want to sell it, I want to learn how to use it.” His father eyed him up and down, sighing, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have you know how to wield a weapon… Just don’t neglect your duties son; you’re a smith, not a swordsman.”

Years passed, Kain splitting his time between his two passions, admittedly having far more skill with a hammer than sword. One day, as he was relaxing at a tavern a man came in, wearing a long black coat. He labeled himself Asha’man, and wanted to know if any man wanted to defend the world from the shadow, protecting the people with the power. Kain was curious at the very least, knowing that Aes Sedai were the only ones who were supposed to be able to use this gift, and thinking the monopoly was a little unfair, even if the source was supposed to drive men mad. 

He decided to take the risk, and after approaching the man he was told to focus on a fire that hovered over his hand. After a few minutes of intense concentration, he was told that he could learn to channel, and later found himself looking through a silvery gash in the air. Sword in hand, unprepared for what he had just done...

Ummm ... I would recommend not using your favorite PC for this, since anyone who attacks an Attack Leaders guest will more than likely be getting the wine.  Or worse.  But if anyone wants to do a TPC for this, just drop me a quick bio for it and have fun.

Arath let the fireballs streak past him and met Tai'Dashan's onslaught squarely.  His twin short blades danced around in intricate patterns, poking through Tai's defenses and just barely missing him several times.  Arath had been told many times how infuriating he was to fight against with those twin blades.  The frustration showed on Tai's face too.

With a final poke at Tai's shoulder, Arath danced backwards out of range and pulled deeply on Saidin.  A light rain had picked up, so with air and water, he pushed the moisture in the ground away from him, leaving a small space around him dry, and pooling water on the ground beneath Tai's feet.  Using a couple of fireballs to keep the other man distracted, Arath pulled air, water and fire into a long thread.  The makings of lightning.  He saw recognition of the weave flash across his mentee's face, and he immediately wove a shield above his head, grounding it deep in the ground.

With a smile, Arath threw the weave out, causing lightning to flash down a good thirty feet off to the side of them.  And to course through the water to hit Tai'Dashan from beneath his shield.  The effect had weakened passing over the ground like that, but it was still more than enough to knock the Dedicated over in what Arath was sure was a rather painful convulsion.  Calmly walking over the short distance seperating them, Arath placed a shield on the other man and pulled him to his feet, wrapped in air.  He quickly delved for injuries, and satisfied that nothing more than his pride had been hurt, he allowed the grin to slide back onto his face.

"Well then.  I wish you had come a bit closer to hitting me, but I think that was a pretty good fight.  How about some breakfast?"

Arath was caught a little off guard by the incoming line of flame.  When had Tai learned to do that?  As the ground lurched beneath him, Arath decided to play along with things.  Adding his own weave to Tai's, he dropped the earth into a pit beneath his feet, falling inside moments before the column of flame passed overhead.  Knowing that the fire weave would temporarily blind Tai to his postion, Arath took advantage of the situation.  Reaching forward with earth, Arath tore the ground apart in a long raged line straight toward the Dedicated.  Arath couldn't help but smile as he heard a yelp and the flame column disappeared.

Raising the pit back up to the surface, he laughed.  "Better!  But not good enough."  Racing forward, Arath watched with a grin as Tai sent another shield his way.  He pulled deeply on Saidin and ignored it, feeling the spirit weave bounce off of his connection to the source.  He grinned evily as closed the distance and began to make lightning quick strikes with his swords.  Tai's excessive practice with the sword paid off, and he managed to parry all of the blows, though some of them just barely.  Arath tested his sword play for a few moments more, then feigned a slip in the mud.  As Tai predictably lunged forward to seize the opportunity, Arath's fall turned into a perfectly executed sweep of the leg. 

The Dedicated came crashing down, but to his credit, rolled immediately away and out of harms way.  Rolling his head around to stretch out a little, Arath dropped back down to his ready stance.  "Ready to give up?  Or do you still think you can beat me?"

Arath grinned again as a he sent a quick flash of fire to sever the water weaves aimed toward him.  At least Tai was playing to his strengths this time, not over extending himself in earth like he typically did.  Spinning backwards out of the mud puddle that the Dedicated had created, Arath dropped down into his ready stance again.  "Come now.  Surely you can do better than that." 

Deciding it an ideal moment to test Tai's abilities with protective shields, Arath began to spin air and fire in an intricate web around himself.  A bubble of flame enclosed him, and began to spin around in an ever faster circle.  With a shout, Arath fueled the weave with more air and fire, pushing it onward until it exploded outward in a burst of flame.  Light willing, Tai would have the sense of mind to shield himself heavily enough to withstand that.

His breath caught in his throat as Michelle began to dress herself right there in his office.  What in the light was she thinking?  It wasn't decent for a woman to-  His eyes threatened to pop from their sockets as she began to pull the shirt off.  Quickly averting his eyes and turning away, Arath did his best to maintain the void.  It quivered frantically, threatening to collapse, but in the end it held.

After what seemed several long minutes, but must have been only seconds, Michelle had thrust his shirt back toward him.  “Thank you for letting me borrow this.”

"Any time," he said automatically, immediately regretting the words.  They brought to mind images of situations where she might need it again.  He looked down at the shirt in his hands, then deposited it on his desk.  He'd probably never be able to wear it again without a myriad of thoughts running through his mind.  "Umm ... you must be starving after ... last night.  Your body did six weeks worth of healing in your arm in about six seconds.  Come on, lets go get some food."  He offered her his arm as they walked out of his office.  "Would you rather eat here or at the inn?"

Arath awaited in training grounds, gazing up at the dreary, cloudy sky, and ignoring the chill.  Today was not about comfort.  It was about preperation.  Being ready.  Being a weapon.  An Asha'man.  Seated on a small platform of air, Arath waited for the Dedicated to arrive. 

Soon enough Tai'Dashan ambled along, clearly still unaware of what was about to happen.  Good, thought the Attack Leader, he needs to be ready without notice.  Siezing Saidin, Arath wove earth into the ground beneath his hands.  Smooth earthen hilts rose up to meet his fingers.  He grasped them and pulled, tearing a pair of smooth blades wrought from earth and fire from the ground.  Rising slowly, Arath turned to his suddenly hesitant student and quickly explained.  "Today you are to be tested.  Full out combat.  You continue until you are no longer capable of fighting, or once you have shielded me."  He dropped into a ready stance, bringing both of his glowing blades up in front of him.  "You have until the count of three to prepare yourself."  He grinned, hoping that it might unnerve the Dedicated.  "One ... two ..."

Last I checked Sereth was a full Asha'man, so yep!  Any new Ashy you make starts as Dedicated.

Yep, not a problem.  Just PM me.

And also, if you could include your OP scores for Sereth, that would be great.  I was poking around and couldn't find them anywhere.

Arath looked over the notes he had written in his log book.  Tai's condition was a little disturbing, but still acceptable.  He would keep the voices a secret for now, but had recorded the information in case something happened to him.  You could never be too careful at the Black Tower.

He had just finished when the he noticed a flicker of movement at the doorway.  “Good morning,” whispered Michelle, pushing the door open.  “Is there any chance you can wash my clothes from last night?  You said you could do it, and I need something to wear if I am going to go looking for new clothes.”

Arath smiled.  Until he put his book down and saw what Michelle was wearing.  Or wasn't.  His smile slipped a little as he fumbled for the void.  He'd need it to channel anyway.  "Sure.  It won't take a minute."  He took the ball of clothing and turned slightly away from Michelle, holding out the shirt first.  It had a large mud stain smeared across the front and back.  Arath raised a wondering eyebrow.  My floors aren't that dirty ... he thought.  It must have been a footprint left by Tai. 

There was enough humidity in the air for Arath to do the job right there.  Flows of water worked through the cloth, drawing in water and saturating the shirt.  Air and water on the dirty spots to work out the dirt.  Air and traces of fire to drain the water out and dry out and the fabric.  Another quick flicker of fire and air to warm up the shirt and smooth out wrinkles.  A small globe of dirty water hung in mid air, and Arath launched it out the window where it splattered to the ground.  Quickly checking over his work, he handed the shirt to an interested looking Michelle for her approval and began the process over with the breeches.

"There we go.  I hope that will do for you.  I've been trying to figure out a weave that will prevent clothes from getting dirty, but I haven't perfected it yet.  Lost one of my coats to it."

Character name: Aria Airn

A Contact Email: eric.health[@]gmail[.]com

Age: 23

Basic Physical Description: Aria is about 5'2" Blonde haired, blue eyed. She of about a medium build, slightly curvy and quite attractive.

Place/Nation of Origin: Mayne

Personality Summary/History: Aria was the daughter to a fisher in Mayne. As such she has a rougher side at times. She did however, fall in with some of the nobles daughters and they befriended her after a fashion. She was constantly dissastisfied with the life of a Fisherman and dreamt of something more. The nobility she had fallen in with fed those dreams. Even after their father found out about them and humiliated her, forbidding her to associate with his daughters, She still dreamt of something more. Beautiful for one so young, she caught the eye of a jewelry merchant's son at the age of 14. The man had had a rough childhood with his father gone and his mother murdered at 16 years of age. He was lonely and had found a companion in her. They spent the next 3 years together, until she befriended a passing Ogier from Stedding Jenshin who offered to take her to see the stedding. It was a hard descision for her but she was young and an adventure was just what she had been yearning for all those years. Taking her friend up on it she left Mayne, and her young lover behind. Years later her heart aches and she misses the man. She has returned to Mayne asking after him. Heartbroken she finds he has left, headed to andor some say. Packing her things she finds herself searching for him only to find him at the Black Tower. Now she must face her past, and her present. What he is and what he will be.

Arath nodded as he thought on Covai's words.  Now that he thought about it, almost none of the men at the tower had met al'Tanin.  Those who had were mostly gone.  It was odd to think that so many of the old pillars of strength were no longer around.  Even stranger to think that he held their rank now.  Maybe it was fitting in a way.  The Aes Sedai were a relatively stable group, calm like Saidar was supposed to be.  The Asha'man, a chaotic, ever changing group to match Saidin.

More than grateful to change the mood of the conversation, Arath followed Covai out of the room.  "So tell me Arath... ever wondered about the air speed velocity of an unladen Heron?"

Arath pondered the unexpected question for a moment.  "What do you mean?  A Tairen or an Amadician heron?"

Arath nodded and left Michelle's side.  He had made it back to his own room before he finally noticed what he was wearing, for which he was grateful.  Nobody would see his face redden so much.  Quickly jumping into a pair of breeches, Arath grabbed a large shirt from his closet and carried it back to Michelle.

He thought about offering to channel the moisture out of her own clothing but decided against it.  With all the channeling that she had seen in the last few minutes, some of which had been directed at her, he thought she would rather not.  Handing her the shirt he asked, "Anything else you need?"