Deciding what to do was a very difficult choice for Arath at that moment.  He was torn between the two different options.  The feel of Michelle's back beneath his hand was thrilling, and terrifying.  But when she looked back at him with a smile and a seductive whisper, "Come now, don't be shy," he made up his mind.

Slidding off the bed, Arath removed his hand from Michelle's grasp and maneuvered out of her immediate reach.  "I can't ... I don't ..."  He fumbled for his words, not knowing what he should say, or if he should say anything.  Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, he tried again.  "I ... don't want you to ..."  For some reason, he suddenly wondered if he had any wine in the house.  He didn't think so.  "Please.  This is awkward for me."

I was rummaging around very old posts on the old boards, and came across something I started way back when.  So I thought I'd repost it here.

Back in the day (a good 5-6 years ago), I enjoyed a good game of D&D (Dungeons and Dragons for you non nerdish types) with the good old d20 system. And I was wondering, how would my Asha'man convert over to that system? And then I wondered, how would everyone else's characters on DM convert over?

For those of you who aren't very familiar with how this works, its on a scale of 3-18 (results from rolling 3, 6-sided dice) 3 being laughably weak, 10-11 being average, 18 pushing the limits of human possibility. There are 6 attributes, Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intellect, Wisdom, and Charisma. Some are pretty self explanitory, such as Strength, and Dexterity.

Constitution is how tough someone is. Their ability to take a beating, and/or endure under strain. 

Intellect is pretty easy, the ability to think, rapid problem solving.  Think IQ.  Wisdom is ... how aware, and insightful someone is. Someone with a 3 is a total airhead. Someone with an 18 is a total Confucious.  I think a Brown Aes Sedai would tend toward high Intellect and low Wisdom.  Smart but absent minded.

Charisma is kind of a difficult one to figure out. It's a combination of looks and personality. How well you get along with people, how good you are at convincing someone to your point of view by various methods . . . all affected a lot by charisma. (If anyone else wants to clarify all this stuff a bit, feel free.)

Sooooo ... what say we find out about everyone? Post your aproximate D&D scores for your character!

Arath would be something like this:

Str: 12

Dex: 14

Con: 12

Int: 16

Wis: 12

Cha: 10

So don't be shy! What's your Ashy/Dedi/Soldier/Civy like?

Bah, sorry I forgot this.  Again.

*pulls out the official stamp*

*BOINK*

Hear ye, hear ye!  This man is now approved for a shiny golden pin!

The creator save us all. :P

A slightly distrubing turn of events to be sure.  Arath had always wondered what it would be like to hear voices.  It was a fairly common occurance at the farm, but as of yet it had not happened to him.  A large number of men he had trained, and several of his friends, but never to him.  It was a sign of madness, but not very advanced.

"Bury you?  Hardly.  Unless things get worse very quickly, you'll still live for quite a while.  We don't kill every man who shows slight signs of madness.  No ... once you begin to do what this voice tells you, or when the voice takes control of you ... thats when we intervene.  You recall Attack Leader Talcontar?"  Tai nodded.  "I know he heard at least one voice, probably more.  He was obviously mad in some instances, but we didn't put him down.  We would have soon, if he hadn't ... well, nevermind that."

Arath walked around the desk to his own chair.  He studied his pupil for a minute.  Tai still looked miserable.  "I'll keep an eye on you, to make sure you don't get worse.  The important thing is that you are still able to control yourself.  Your thought might run away at times, but you are still in control of your actions.  However, it's time that you start listening to me and your other instructors.  You WILL stop pushing yourself so hard.  Prolonged exposure to the taint at the levels you set for yourself will only make things degenerate faster.

"Also, in light of last nights events, there will need to be a few changes.  You'll be spending a bit more time at the infirmary to see how much of a talent you have for healing.  Light knows that we need more healers, and you show at least some aptitude for it.  That means less free time for you, but I think it's an acceptable loss."

Arath laughed.  "It's best not to dwell on that.  I've seen some men go mad from their first brush with Saidin, and others that have lived with this for years.  But if you want the cold numbers ... one man in ten dies in training usually to their own mistakes.  One in fifty succumbs to the madness within their first couple of weeks.  That number only gets larger as you stay here longer."

Arath shook his head.  "See?  Best not to dwell on it.  If you wake up sane, or if you wake up at all, it's a good day."

Ushering the man out the doors, the Attack Leader showed him where he would need to go.  "The soldier Barracks are to the north.  There are six of them there, big long buildings.  You will be in the eastern most one.  You can take any belongings you have their and claim a bed.  The other soldiers there will help you get acquainted with the tower grounds.  To the east," Arath pointed to the large field where men were hard at work with sword and Saidin, "are the training grounds.  You'll be spending a lot of time there."

The grand tour didn't take that long to finish.  It took a couple of days for newcomers to get their bearings anyway, so Arath usually let them explore for themselves.  After pointing out a few more vital facilities Arath turned the new soldier loose.  "You have an hour or so until your first lesson.  You will meet at the south end of the training grounds with any other new recruits and you will learn how to touch Saidin.  You're free to do what you wish until then.  Get your things squared away, get something to eat ... whatever.  Any questions before I let you go?"

Arath shook his head.  "No.  The only chance I had was at Dumai's Wells, and I was in a coma for months after that.  One hit on the head and I lost the chance to meet the boss."  Arath tried to chuckle at that, but with the turn this conversation had taken it was all but impossible.  Kill Brent.  Arath hoped it didn't come to that.  The M'Hael was immensely strong, more so than either Arath or Covai.  He had proven his strength already when he had killed the previous M'Hael, a man far more skilled than Brent. 

Arath tossed the nearly empty skin to Covai.  "So when are we going to go speak with Jarron?  I suppose it's about time I did meet him."

Arath had probably never felt so bad in his life as he did right at that moment.  Michelle looked as though she would erupt into tears, which in a way was much worse than he full arm slaps.  He would have gladly taken a slap to get rid of that look.

As she tried to leave the room, Arath released his ward, and the weave holding the door shut.  He had been going to explain a few things to her, about the way things worked around the farm, and his house, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

“I am going to go back to Caemlyn.  I am a stranger here and you have a new successful life here.  You don’t need me hanging around-“  Arath wheeled around as she suddenly thudded to the floor and yelled out in pain.  With a curse, Arath rushed over and knelt beside her.  She was cradling her arm, which by the sound of the impact was probably broken.  If Arath had felt bad before, it was much worse now.  Blood and ashes ... what else can go wrong tonight?

A moment later, Tai'Dashan's face poked around the corner of his door.  Angry at himself, Arath pointed down the stairs and told his mentee to go and get a healer.  To his surprise, Tai strode over and bent over the injured Michelle, siezing Saidin.  Arath nearly siezed the source himself, but paused as Tai took  her gently by the arm and wove air, water, and spirit.  Healing.  When had he learned to do that?  Arath quickly delved the wound, making sure the break was completely healed.  It was.  It seemed he would need to speak with Tai about this new ability he had found as well.

Turning back to Tai, he met the Dedicated's acusing stare with a glare of his own.  "Thankyou  Tai.  Now if you would see to cleaning this up," he gestured at the water pooled on the floor, "so that this doesn't happen again." 

Gathering up Michelle in his arms, Arath carried her into her room and gently deposited her on the bed.  Kneeling beside her, Arath didn't say anything for a while.  After a minute or so of silence, Arath squeezed her shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to scare you."  She was rolled on her side, facing away from him, so he couldn't see her face.  "You need to rest.  And you'll probably be starving in the morning.  I ..." he paused, wondering what to say.  And how to say it without shoving his foot it his mouth.  "I hope you'll consider staying.  I won't stop you if you really want to leave ... but I hope you don't."

Arath did an admirable job ignoring what was right in front of him as Michelle hid the money away.  Ignoring her when she leaned back against him was another thing altogether.  Leaping away from the unexpected touch, Arath felt his face redden.  What was she doing?

A second later, she was sitting down on the bed, with her back to him and her long dark hair over her shoulder.  "You have done so much for me already, but my back is aching and I don't know if I could sleep tonight, the way it hurts.  Is there any chance you will rub the knots out of it?"

Arath, Attack Leader of the Black Tower, a man who had fearlessly faced down hordes of shadowspawn, and had even killed one of the forsaken, had never been more terrified in his life.  "Uh ... I ..."  He tried to take a step back, but ran into the wall.  Light, why did she have to smile like that?  "I ... don't think so," he stammered, holding up his hands.  With a little more difficulty than usual, Arath assumed the void.  It helped.  A little.  "I'm more used to swinging a hammer or a sword, not ... I don't think I'd be much help." 

Arath stepped inside the room and leaned against the door frame.  "I don't really know.  The Soldiers and Dedicateds, the lower ranks, have to do all of their own chores with the power, including washing their clothes.  I kind of just stayed in the habit."  With great effort he maintained his gaze on Michelle's eyes.  "I know some of the married women refuse to let their husbands use the power on their clothes, so there must be something."  Only a few weeks ago Arath had seen an Asha'man being beaten over the head by his wife for channeling a stain out of one of her dresses.

Arath shook his head.  "Sorry.  I can't really help with that.  While you were in your bath though, I did find out where you can get some new clothes.  Tomorrow morning you can go and get whatever you need." Eyes, eyes ... stay with her eyes you fool ...  "If you don't like whatever is available here we can always just go somewhere else.  It's not like it takes me long to get anywhere."  Reaching into an inner pocket in his coat, Arath pulled out purse full of silver and tossed it to his friend.  "I'll be busy in the morning, but you can poke around and if you find anything you need, go ahead and get it."

Giving up the eye contact, Arath let his gaze wander out the window where the rain splattered against the glass.  Not quite as pleasant a view, but a great deal less uncomfortable.

Arath was slightly taken aback from the outburst from his mentee, but kept the surprise from showing.  Tai was changing.  His entire attitude and demeanor were shifting away from how they'd been a year, or even a few months before. 

"I'd rather you didn't burn yourself out at all.  But truth be told, I would rather you die in the last battle, fulfilling your purpose as an Asha'man, rather than pointlessly destroying yourself in a secluded part of the woods.  You say you don't mean to throw your life away, yet you seem to be trying hard to do just that.  What are you trying to accomplish?  I've seen you fill yourself to bursting with Saidin, over and over again, pushing yourself beyond your limits in your weaker elements with total disregard for the warnings all of your instructors have given you.

"So what is it?  What is it that I won't understand?  What are you afraid of?  What personal demon is so horrifying that you push yourself to the brink of destruction to escape it?"

Arath nodded.  Good questions.  Surprisingly few people asked them.  "You're expected to follow orders to the letter, like I said.  You will begin learning to channel today, and you will be pushed to your physical and mental limits.  You will perform all of your chores with the power, prepare your meals with the power, and do just about anything else you can think of with the power.

"In the end, we expect you to be a weapon for the Dragon Reborn.  To be able to slaughter his enemies and help win Tarmon Gai'don."  Arath smiled. 

"It's pretty simple really.  Follow orders and win the last battle.  Nothing to it."  He made a few last notes in the log book and closed it, rising to his feet.  "Any more questions?"

"Cleaner?  I should hope so with the amount of water you slung around the bath room."  Arath grinned.  "Yes.  You much cleaner."  And much prettier too.  He was having a hard time not looking at her in her shirt and breeches. 

"Umm ... here.  I hope you like this.  My cooking has improved quite a bit in the last few years, but it's still not one of my best skills." 

Arath stared pointedly at the recruit for a moment, then deliberately returned to his book.  He quickly scratched in a few notes. Desires power.  Watch closely.  He looked the other man over again before saying, "I am Attack Leader Faringal.  I oversee training here at the Tower."  He stood and walked over to the closet against the far wall and began rummaging through the black coats within. 

"Once you walk out my door you will be a Soldier of the Black Tower.  You will obey orders without question, or you will probably be killed.  Pay heed to anyone with pins on their collar and you should do fine." Pulling out an appropriately sized coat, Arath tossed it to the man and returned to his desk.  "If you have any questions, now would be the time to ask them."

Arath frowned as Tai spoke.  Training.  He had been doing an awful lot of that lately.  More than Arath could safely allow.  Training at the Black Tower was already a dangerous thing, where the students were pushed to their limit.  Pushing yourself further was asking for a burn out.

He watched Tai for a moment, wondering what was going on in the other man's head.  He seemed upset, though he did a fair job of hiding it.  There were signs though.  Rapid blinking, slight quivering.  With a sigh, Arath spoke.  "Training.  Tai, you know what I've said about over extending yourself.  You're given more freedom to study what you want as a Dedicated, but that doesn't mean that you should push yourself that much harder.  Light, the death rate among trainee's is already high enough without people intentionally pushing themselves over their limits.

"There are acceptable losses here at the Black Tower, and there are unacceptable losses.  Acceptable losses, or perhaps inevitable losses, are those that we can't control.  The soldier who goes mad after his first brush with Saidin, or the man who burns himself out through the regular training regiment.  Unacceptable losses are the fools who try so hard to become the best or the strongest at the Tower, and kill themselves or others in pushing themselves too far.  I spend a great deal of time trying to stamp out the later of the two."  He stared Tai in the eye, making sure that his message was sinking in.  "I will not allow you to be one of those."

Finally finding a pen, Arath quickly scribbled 'Toram Eldin, Andor' into his book.  "Alright Toram, what is it that you want from the Black Tower?"  This question always threw off new recruits.  "What do you expect from us?"

Arath organized the messy pile of papers that had accumulated on his desk over the last week while he waited for Tai to come down.  Where on earth did all of it come from?  He briefly considered setting fire to the whole mass, but quickly dismissed the thought.  He'd only have to fill it all out again later.

He had just about finished when the door cracked open and Tai'Dashan's head poked around the corner.  Waving the Dedicated in, he motioned him to take a seat.  Sitting on the corner of his desk, he took a good look at his mentee before speaking.  He seemed nervous.  "So."  Arath paused for a moment, thinking.  "Wanna tell me why you came in so late?  And looking as though you had rolled through a mud puddle?"

Arath left the inn just in time to see an Asha'man abandon a new recruit, easily identifiable by the lost, slighty awed, and overwhelmed look on his face.  Shaking his head, and making a mental note to reprimand the Asha'man next time he saw him, Arath walked up and spoke with the new man.

"I assume you've been tested already?"  A quick nod of the head.  "Very well then, come with me."  With that, Arath turned off and walked briskly toward his house where he kept his office.  In short order, Arath was seated behind his desk and rumaging around for a pen to write down the man's information.  "Well then.  First off, what is your name?  And where are you from?"

Arath released all of his weaves and waited for the inevitable explosion from Michelle.  He was not disappointed. 

He held his tongue for a bit, letting the two of them release more steam and watching how they reacted to each other.  From the looks of it, they might have to stay seperated for quite a while.

As Tai'Dashan turned to leave with an uncharacteristicly heated comment, Arath finally spoke up.  "Tai, I want to see you first thing in the morning in my office."  The dedicated had been acting different lately.  Pushing himself too hard.  It seemed as though it were wearing him down.

Tai nodded and walked away.  Arath heard his door slam a little harder than strictly necessary.  Shutting the door, Arath wove a silenceing ward around the room and turned to Michelle.  "And you ... blood and ashes!  I know you're upset but ... light!  You're lucky Tai didn't incinerate you on the spot!  It's well within his abilities to do just that."  With a start, Arath realized he was yelling.  Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself and continued.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you about him earlier, but you kind of ended up here rather suddenly, and I hadn't seen him all day.  And I didn't expect you to be patrolling the hallways at night either." 

Usually our testing is done on site.  This is because we don't have a legion, and we really don't need thousands of extra people milling about the farm.  This way we take what we need and move on.

So unless circumstance require otherwise, assume you are tested before leaving home.

Character Name: Toram Eldin

DM Handle: Dragon420

Contact me at: Mossberg420[@]Live.com

Age: 23

Height: 6'2''

Weight: approximately 200 lbs.

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Hazel

From: Four Kings in Andor

Personality: Toram is easygoing, able to get along with most people, slow to anger but once he does get angry he will explode in a violent rage although this can be contained with a great force of will. He is a shy and almost timid person, not outgoing at all, sometimes he is accused of being too nice. He is fairly intelligent for not having any noble's "fancy" schooling, a quick learner. Toram likes to have fun, but does not drink to excess except on very rare occasions. He tends to keep his feelings/emotions contained inside. He would rather study than go out on the town, although he does enjoy his few friends company. He is loathe to break his promises. Toram wears clothing in the Andoran fashion preferring medium blue coats and dark trousers with a white shirt, he does not wear a hat.

Physical Description: Toram is tall, with wide shoulders and a thick chest, while not heavily muscled he is not fat either somewhere in between such as stocky. He has shoulder length hair that he wears tied at the base of his neck. While not very athletic he has some hidden reserves of stamina that may surprise some of those that do not know him. Not being very strong he has some good reflexes, and for being a sort of large man can walk fairly quiet when the need arises. He has fair skin, though not too pale, from his preferred indoor activities.

Biography: Toram Eldin is the son of John and Sara Eldin, owners of the Red Roof Inn in Four Kings. He has two sisters Johanna four years his elder, and Jessa one year younger than him. The home life foe him was pleasant but too normal. He craved adventure. Some may call it wanderlust, but he just simply referred to it as boredom. After years of helping around the inn doing minor clerical duties, cleaning, and carrying things, he got tired of it all and and wanted to see some of the world. So he started his journey to the east heading towards Cairhien and after spending a couple weeks in the capital got bored once again and headed south to Illian and warmer climates. After spending a couple months working at an inn doing menial work for food, lodging, and a little spending money, the boredom sank in once more. He headed east again, this time to Tear. After only a week or so he befriended a man who always wore a black coat. He learned a couple weeks later what he was. An Asha'man. But instead of being terrified of knowing a man who could channel he was intrigued. The man asked him if he would be willing to serve the Lord Dragon. While hesitant to agree, he finally consented to being tested for the ability. He passed. Afraid of going mad, but also wanting a change in his life, he went to The Farm. And now who knows what will happen. Will he go mad, or die in battle? Maybe he would live to fight alongside his new lord in the Final Battle.... Only time will tell. Long live The Dragon.

DM Handle: Almain

Character Name: Faerim Saedrian

Age: 68

Email: mustafakamil88[@]yahoo.com

Place of Birth: Amadicia

Physical Description: Faerim Saedrian once stood tall at 6'1”. However, the last few years were not good on him and he's now stooped forward making him shorter than he really is. Albeit looking skinny anywhere else, Faerim has a slight pot belly from his late-bloomed habit of drinking. His eyes were once a clear sapphire blue but now have lost some of its glow. Once, a full set of silky dark hair covered his head, now the front of his head is bald and the thin hair he does have in the back is snow white. Wrinkles cover his skin from head to toe, not so bad as others but another testament to his old age. His only saving grace was the fact that he did not have spots on his face or any other part of his body like other old men usually do. All in all, nobody who sees him now would believe that Faerim Saedrian was once a very handsome man.

At his age, clothes are close to the last thing on his mind. His set of clothes was filled mainly with long white shirts that stopped short of his knee, and a brown wool coat that stops past the knee. His trousers are many but most are white like the color of his shirt. For comfort, he wears sandals most of the time.

Personality: Faerim Saedrian is first and foremost a positive old man. What he had experienced in life made him feel like anything is possible for him with dedication and hard work. However, even though he knew that, Faerim has a tendency of giving up and is a bit on the lazy side.Going along with that, Faerim is a confident man, albeit he has a big fear of losing his life that hinders him to taking life-threatening risks. Faerim is an overall nice man, and can be counted on in most occasions. With his old age came a calm demeanor, and an ability to control his emotion better than those that had not lived as long as himself. He knows that he has a potential to experience another melt down like he had before, and is working hard to prevent that.

Character History: Faerim Saedrian was born to what nobody would call a good family. His father works as a strong man in an Inn owned by Faerim's mother, the only inheritance from her dead parents. Faerim's mother was young and working as a maid in her parents' respectable inn when she met Faerim's father, a dashing man full of spirit at that time. Almost at first sight Faerim's mother fell for the spirited young man who bolsters with confidence and big plans for his future. It took longer for Faerim's father to fall with the pretty maid, but it happened and a few years afterwards, they got married. At first, life was great, and Faerim was born to a happy couple. After a few months, Faerim's father left the house with big dreams, to join the Whitecloak and return to his son a proud officer. Then things started to fall apart.

A drunken fight started in Faerim's grandparents Inn between two Hunters of The Horn and their followers. Faerim's grandfather got hurt really badly trying to calm the situation, and soon things got worse as a fire started inside the Inn. That stopped the fight and everybody managed to get out safely, but half of the Inn was burnt. A few days passed, Faerim's grandfather never woke up from his knock out and passed away. With half of the Inn burnt and the family grief stricken over the loss of Faerim's grandfather, rebuilding was slow. And when it was done, the Inn would never again rise up to the popularity it once had. Faerim was one and a half year old.

With the Inn, their family managed to get by, but life was a lot tougher. For one, Faerim's grandmother had fallen sick. Over the years, the illness got worse and worse. Secondly, it's been more than two years since Faerim's father left to join the Whitecloack, and one and a half year since he had last written a letter. Although not voicing it, Faerim's mother feared that her husband was not alive anymore.

Half a year went by, and Faerim's grandmother passed away, looking more peaceful and happy since Faerim's grandfather's death. With that, their family was reduced to two. However, a bare three weeks afterwards, Faerim's father came back. Faerim's mother initial reaction has been pure joy, but that joy was soon turned to despair as she realized that Faerim's father came back a changed man. He had experienced a near death situation in the years with the Whitecloaks. And while his body healed almost to its previous state, his spirit was broken. Thus their life began.

Faerim grew up watching his father waste time away with brawls and beer. There's no doubt that his father still loved Faerim, and tries to spend time with him, but the older he became the less inclined Faerim was to spend time with his father. His mother worked had taking care of the Inn, but it was clear that the only reason left why she was still working was because of Faerim. In fact, their mutual love for Faerim was the only thing keeping them together.

Something that Faerim would remember and laugh about in his late years was about how both of his parents taught him the same thing, and how Faerim understood it before they even taught it to him. His mother told him to not be like his father with bitterness in her eyes. His father told him not to be like him with regret in his voice. And Faerim promised to himself not to be like his father with fiery determination in his heart. That is why, despite of the hard life he led, and the bad example his father set for him, Faerim grew up a confident and spirited boy, with big dreams ahead of him. His father, seeing this was happy, and he felt hope that Faerim would one day make a name for himself. However, his father did not recognize what his mother did, and that was the likeness of Faerim to his father when the latter was young. Indeed, Faerim grew up handsome and strong, with a face that's an almost exact mirror of his father's when he was the same age. The way they acted, the words they spoke, the things they do, they were the same as Faerim's father at his prime. Faerim's mother just hoped that her son would not make the same mistake.

Years passed by, and Faerim spent almost everyday training his Swordplay. It seemed like he had the talent for it and soon enough, he decided to join the ranks of the Whitecloak with a dream of one day becoming an officer. His father saw him off with pride in his chest, but his mother's was full of worry. Almost a year went by, and Faerim had proven the be one of the best soldier in his corps. A gossip started at the camp at how soon Faerim would be raised in rank to be an officer and in truth, his superiors were planning for it. Then, a small scaled battle ensued, a battle that would prove to be Faerim's last.

The battle was almost done and The Whitecloacks were winning. Faerim were fighting a bandit and it was clear who was the stronger. Faerim was ready to deal the finishing blow when he suddenly tripped and fell down on his knees. Alarmed, he looked up just to see a sword slashing down at his face. Desperately, Faerim managed to dodge a killing blow but the sword managed to cut deep to his right shoulder. As Faerim shouted in pain, he slowly got up holding his heavily bleeding shoulder. But before he could retaliate or run away, he felt the sword stab his stomach. There was pain, more intense than anything Faerim had felt before, and then darkness fell.

A few days later, he woke up in the camp, bandaged in his stomach and shoulder. The army's doctor managed to save his life. His friends and superiors were glad of his recovery and thought that soon enough, Faerim would be up an about, staying true to his reputation. Nobody but Faerim knew at that time how wrong they were. He was indeed his father's son.

When the sword plunged inside Faerim, it had missed the vital organs, but the blade of fear had stricken true at his heart. Faerim was broken, just as his father was broken. After a full recovery, Faerim resigned from the army and came back half of the man he once was.

When Faerim arrived at his home and related his story, his father felt like he had been slapped hard in the face. Faerim had been his only hope of redemption, but now that hope was gone. What worse, he thought the reason Faerim became like that is because of his faults. Starting from that day, Faerim's father drank more than ever, drowning his sorrows. In less than a year, he died of Alcohol poisoning.

Faerim's mother was just flad that her son came back alive, and urged him to get a safe job or maybe even a wife. However for a long time Faerim did nothing constructive, only lumbering around the Inn and doing odd jobs. Until one day he spied his mother crying alone in her room, then he started to get more serious with his work. He found one of his interest, that is in the profession of Hedge Doctor. Thus for years, Faerim became an apprentice to one very good Hedge Doctor and fount out that he was a natural with the herbs. So, life goes on normally, and when Faerim became a Hedge Doctor, it seemed like his mother became content. Not so for Faerim, he looks at himself ten years prior and compared it with his state now, and realized how low his standards has fallen. Soon, his mother passed away from old age and Faerim was left alone. He sold his inn and with the money opened a place where he can practice his herbs lore, and thus began a life of tedious routines and boring habits.

Almost thirty five years have passed till then. forty years of the same thing over and over again, of being a nobody. Thirty five years with no accomplishment. Faerim had managed to live decently as a Hedge Doctor, but he was as dull as his life, with none of his youth vigor nor dreams left. He was reduced to a man that lives to survive.

One day, Faerim went out to look for herbs and in his musings, found himself thinking of days of old, when he had all those ambitions and confidence in himself. He could not help but feel sorry for himself. Lost in thoughts, he found himself deeper in the woods than usual. Then, he heard some strange sounds, and found a deer giving birth to her fawn. Faerim watched as the newly born fawn tried to stood but fell. However, it kept trying and trying and however many falls it had, it kept getting up until finally, the fawn stood, proud at his accomplishment. Faerim watched that with a startled look on his face, and an epiphany came over him. The fawn, while failing countless of times, never failed to get back up until he finally did what he wanted to do. But Faerim had given up on all his dreams and ambitions after only one fall. One fall! It was so clear now that Faerim didn't know how he had not realized it before.

Faerim walked back to Amadicia with his minds working furiously. Inside, he could feel his heart pumping faster, his dreams of young coming back to him, the vigor back in his steps. It was as if Faerim was renewed, washed away of all of his fragility. Then it came to him as he was walking on the main road of a small village, and he smiled sadly. How ironic that he would regain his dreams and confidence at such an old age where he's in no physical condition to accomplish them and might fall dead any day. Despite the fact that Faerim was in a busy village, his eyes started to water and Faerim started to drop a few tears. His chest hurts, and he cried. He cried for how he gave up after only one fall, he berated himself for it, but most of all, he cried for all of the time he wasted. The times he would not get back. Trying to calm himself down, Faerim though, Aah... If only there was a way to extend your life... But of course not... I'd have to live with the fact that I wasted my life... He felt like crying again.

Then, he accidentally overheard two women gossiping. One woman said, “Hey, do you know who those people are? The one in the black coats? I think it's those men, the ones that the Dragon Reborn is giving amnesty to.” The other agreed, “I think so too.” Then she sniffed, “Look at them all, so arrogant in their black cloaks. What do they want here? If only the Whitecloaks were here...” Faerim looked at the group they were talking about. They were all wearing black coats and were talking to some young men of the village. Suddenly, some memories began to flood back, of books and stories that told about the One Power and how it affects its users. A realization came on Faerim, and he carelessly dropped his basket full of herbs and ignoring the screaming of his old joints he started to run toward the black coated men with a big hopeful smile on his face. There is a way! There is a way to extend my life! Faerim knew that the chances were small, but for a man as desperate as him, he saw it as a saving grace. With spirit and confidence that he had never felt since almost 50 years ago, Faerim ran to the black cloaks, he ran towards his hope for redemption.

Actually, in regards to the slowing, I believe RJ said that the effects of aging would begin to reverse somewhat on an older person who learned to channel.  A 80 year old woman who is taught to channel would gradually look younger and younger as the slowing took effect.  So she would eventually regress in age back to ... mid 30's maybe.

Covai.  In the books, thousands of men came running in response to the amnesty to see if they could channel.  Whoever tested true went with the Asha'man.  The majority who couldn't were given to Davram Bashere to form a more mundane army.  The Legion of the Dragon.

But as far as I know, the Legion doesn't exist at DM.

Sounds to me like an overhaul of the OP system.  :-\

Hmmm.  I really don't have any idea why they couldn't.  It's not like the whitecloaks would actually be a threat to a group of Asha'man.

That being said, I really don't have any idea why the WOULD.  Given the attitude towards channeling/channelers ... too much of a headache.

But what the hell?  This is a Portal Stone World and we gain a certain amount of artistic license.  If Jehaine can have a female fade, we can recruit out of Amador :D

Joyful day indeed!

Yes on both counts.

If he decides to find the Asha'man himself, he goes to Tear.  Or he can be picked up by a recruiting party and come straight to the farm via gateway.

We're very accomodating. :D