Handle:  Christine

Email:  gamecox5989[at]hotmail.com

Character Name: Michelle Linwood

Division:  BT Civilian

Age:  20

Gender:  Female

Birth Place:  Lugard, Murandy

Residence of Past 3 Years: Caemlyn, Andor

Physical Description:  Michelle has smooth olive skin with high cheek bones and big pouty lips.  Her eyes are often a hazel, but when she gets angry or passionate, they have a hint of blue.  Her long dark hair, practically black, reaches down to the middle of her back, and is thick, yet still straight.  She lets it loose but on occasion will tie it back with a ribbon or two.  She wears modest dresses, with a simple square top and that reach to her ankles.  She wears simple slippers but prefers being barefoot.  She is often wearing an apron from the waist down.  Her favorite colors are a light blue and a dark rich red, and often wears those.

Personality:  She is proud and fierce and will fight for her opinion, even if she knows she is wrong.  Her tongue often gets ahead of her and she can often act without thinking.  She wants to be kinder and sweeter, but often finds a bitchy side takes hold if things start to go wrong.  She can also be commanding/demanding to get her way, but her way is usually far from insane, and after she takes the time to explain, makes sense.

History:  Michelle grew up one of three children in a merchant’s family in Lugard.  Her father owned a silk shop, selling the finest wares of Murandy.  He would always have fine traders coming into their home, selling the most beautiful fabrics, which her mother would then turn into amazing gowns.  Both parents were obsessed with money and turning their lifestyle from Middle Class to Upper.  So, instead of taking care of their children, they ran the streets, doing as they pleased.

The oldest child, a boy, took up weapons and trained with some of the mercenaries.  The youngest child, also a boy, was nothing more than a street urchin creating troubles.  And Michelle, being a somewhat good child, wanted to make something of herself and actually be Upper Class, OUT of Murandy.  So, instead of sitting around bored or getting into trouble, she taught herself to read, standing outside of class rooms.  She watched the bakers of the city cooking the most amazing deserts.  She watched her father calculate his profits, and saw her mother stitch beautiful dresses, which she picked up as well.

By the time she turned 17, their family was no closer to Upper Class.  Giving up that her family would ever be something, and that she would ever have a chance to ‘make it’ in Lugard, she left home, with her knowledge of cooking, cleaning, sewing, reading, mathematics, and business.  Buying a horse with the money she had made through work in Lugard, and packing a few dresses and necessities into a small pack, she made her way to Caemlyn, set on a new adventure.

Upon arriving in Caemlyn, she came upon a small mess.  A man had been caught cutting off a purse of a fat innkeeper, and she saw the guards coming.  The poor man looked distraught, and she could see that, from his dirty clothes, he didn’t have much.  Hopping to the rescue, she paid the innkeeper a smile and a few coins, and the man changed his accusations to calling it a mistake.  She spent the evening talking with the man she had saved, whose name was Arath.  She got a room a few streets over, and they spent the next few days talking as he showed her the city, and enjoyed each other’s company.

Then one day, he disappeared.  He had promised to meet her one morning outside of her inn, and he wasn’t there.  She looked in all of his favorite places to hang out, and feared that the guards had picked him up for snatching another purse, or worse.  She found a job, and while she tried to forget her friend, he always stayed in the back of her mind.

What became of her hopes and dreams was nothing more than a pan of dirty dishes and a messy apron.  She looked for work, cooking or cleaning or sewing, but instead ended up in a disgusting job carrying food to hungry men in an inn.  She loathed how far she had fallen.  At least in Murandy, she had a proper roof over her head and had hopes that she could achieve something more.  Now, she was just a simple waitress and a toy for men to eye.

After 3 years, she was on her edge of breaking.  She was working in two different inns, barely scraping by with money, trying to prove herself as a baker, when she found that things couldn’t get worse.  The place she was boarding in burned down, and while all of her possessions were with her, she still lost the roof that had been over her head.  She had already sold her horse, and feared that she would have to sell her body as well in order to get by.

Arath supervised his sparring students with a pained look. Most of them weren't taking this seriously. Only a small handful of the dozen or so dedicateds seemed to show any promise. Letting them carry on for a few extra minutes he picked out those who would take part in the next part of this class. Once the choice was made he called for attention. Almost everyone immediately broke away except for a pair of Cairhienen who were too caught up in trying to kill each other to pay much attention. A small earthquake beneath them brought them around quickly enough though, and the class continued.

"Most of you," Arath said loudly, "are horrible. You wouldn't last 5 minutes against a farmer with a pitchfork, let alone a Trolloc or a Fade. Thankfully, not all of you are total losses. Tai'Dashan, you will stay here. Dirk, you too." He surveyed the remaining Dedicateds for a moment then pointed at another one by the name of Jakes.  "And you.  The rest of you, run a Koras lap and assemble back here."

Once the rest of the disgruntled class had left, he addressed the remaining three. "You all have something to offer the rest of the class. Tai, you seem to have had some prior training, and know what you're doing. Jakes, you handle yourself well. Dirk ... you do whatever it takes to win. If we could put the three of you together we'd have a decent fighter.

"What I want you to do then, is explain to the rest of the class when they arrive why your particular trait or ability is useful, and why it will help you to defeat me when I spar with you. I expect you to at least hold your own long enough to make your words credible."

Arath rolled his eyes as Covai dodged his elbow.  "Believe it or not, this is better than if your inn was full of Saldean farmgirls."  He paused for a moment.  "Well, maybe not.  But it's the next best thing anyway."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the silver sword and tossed it to Covai.  "Tell me what you make of that.  I spent all of yesterday making it."

Arath once knew a girl before he ran away from home . . . she was Domani :D

Morning came all too quickly.  Exhausted from the previous day's work, Arath lay in bed until the sun was shining directly into his eyes from his bedroom window.  A much later hour than he was accustomed too. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he climbed to his feet and began to prepare for the day.  He took his time, not in any particular rush to begin.  The most dangerous part of his experiment still lay ahead of him.  Testing.  He'd been eager to do so the night before, but he had spent a great deal of the night dreaming about what might happen when he did.  Had he made the thing correctly?  Was he right in his theory on how to make an angreal?  Did he place the buffer correctly or would Saidin burn him to ashes if he tried to use the thing?

Questions without end, and without answer.  Answers that had been buried and gone for over 3000 years.  If he was right, and he knew there was a very good chance that he wasn't, then this might be able to turn things back in favor of the light.  A few dozen angreal would have made a monumental difference in Shienar, even with the shadow using circles.

Full of hope, anticpation, and even a touch of fear, Arath headed back down to his workshop.  Everything was exactly as he'd left it.  The lump of unused silver laying to the side of the bench.  The silver sword pin resting in the center.  He was almost afraid to approach it, nearly loath to touch it.  And for a time, he was unable to form the void to attempt to channel through it.  Finally, laughing at himself, he gathered up his courage and drew on Saidin through the little sword.

Immediately he noticed a difference.  It was difficult to use.  Like drinking through a cloth.  But it wasn't killing him at least.  Perhaps it needed to be broken in?  He released the source for a moment, and then tried again.  No, it was still dificult to pull Saidin through the angreal.  He pulled as hard as he could, but to no avail.  The angreal was actually making him draw less of the power than he normally could.  About one fifth less.  Arath grimaced in displeasure.  It seemed that he was right in theory, but was badly mistaken on the actual process.  At least the buffer was holding though.  The taint wasn't inducing wildness of the-

Arath's eyes bulged as he finally realized what was different about Saidin.  The power winked out of him and the angreal fell to the ground.  He felt numb.  He took a step away from the silver sword, staring at it with a look of awe.  It cleans . . . it filters . . .

A million different thoughts filled his mind in an instant.  With a laugh he scooped the 'anti-angreal' up from the floor, and pulled Saidin, blessedly clean Saidin, to make a gateway to the training grounds.  He needed to tell Covai.  Out of everyone at the farm, he would appreciate something like this.

~

It was a full half hour before he could pull the Storm Leader aside to speak with him.  Much to Arath's dismay, he had been in the middle of a demonstration and couldn't be pulled away.  At long last though, he had his chance.  Beckoning his friend over, he led him away to a far side of the grounds.  "You'll never believe what I've done," he began excitedly.

Arath sat in the well lit basement of his home at the Black Tower, lost in thought as he gazed at the materials in front of him. The prospect had filled him with awe before. The discovery that he could in fact create ter'angreal had been a shock, rather like recieving an incredible birthday present. He had been frustrated beyond all belief that he was unable to explore the possibilities.

And now that he had time to himself, the thought was oddly terrifying.

So there he sat, Attack Leader of the Black Tower, afraid to touch the lump of silver sitting on the work bench in front of him. Sitting and debating with himself.

So many things could go wrong.

But they didn't last time.

I didn't even know what I'd done last time.

But it worked perfectly.

It was an accident! I wasn't trying to make it do anything!

And so on. Eventually though, and without too much shaking, he picked up the silver, turning it over in his hands and looking for a place to start. In truth, the only ter'angreal he had made HAD been an accident. A pair of wedding rings for another Asha'man and his bride-to-be had become something more. The linked rings had replicated a warder bond, allowing the bearers to feel the other as though bonded by the actual weave. This had created problems, not because the couple didn't want the bond, but because they already had it. The rings had intensified the bond to the point where it became maddening. Arath had of course replaced the rings with more mundane ones, and the ter'angreal were now in his posession. A constant reminder of what he could do.

This time however, he was going to try something different. An angreal. An object to magnify his own strength with Saidin. He had journeyed to the ter'angreal cache in the Stone of Tear, and managed to find an angreal there. A pitiful thing that increased ones strength to the slightest degree, and so large and awkward that it couldn't possibly be useful to anyone. But it had been enough. Studying that object had allowed Arath a glimpse at how it worked. Hopefully it would be enough.

Taking a deep breath and siezing Saidin, Arath began to weave. Air. The block of silver suspended in mid-air, just at eye level. Earth and fire. The solid piece of metal liquified, the surface rippling and swirling. Air, earth, and fire now, all swirling in, through, around the molten metal, slowly pulling a shape from it. A sword. An exact replica of his Dedicated pin. A suitable form for keeping the thing concealed, provided it actually worked. The silver continued to swirl and ripple as the sword emerged from it. At last, the tiny blade seperated from the contorting mass, and Arath released the flow of fire. Almost immediately the block began to solidify. Arath carefuly moved it to the side, keeping it suspended above the table while it cooled. He couldn't afford for a fire to break out and distract him. Meanwhile, he maintained the flows around the pin, keeping it liquified, but holding its perfect shape.

Now came the difficult part. The part he was only guessing about. Steeling himself, Arath pulled heavily on Saidin, holding close to his full strength. He poured out Saidin into the tiny pin, allowing it to change. He felt the subtle realignment of the metal as the weave began to take effect. It was almost like he was making a hole through the silver. A conduit perhaps. He held the powerful weave, allowing the silver to change slowly, piece by piece. Finally, he released the weaves of earth and fire that kept the metal liquid, and took up one of spirit. Carefully he overlayed the conduit with spirit, creating the buffer that made an angreal safe. He had once seen an angreal in use which had no buffer. The flawed angreal had also increased the taint, temporarily driving the Asha'man to the brink of madness. Arath had no intention of allowing that to happen with his angreal.

Pouring out all of his remaining strength into the weave, he applied the buffer of spirit, making sure that the thing would be safe. For what seemed an age he wove, until finally he could do no more. He released the weave he held, and felt the silver pin shift into what he hoped was a completed form. Then with a sigh, he released Saidin. He resisted the urge to immediately test his creation. He had spent hours channeling, and was exhausted. In the morning, he thought. In the morning, we'll see what I have wrought.

Arath stood in silence as his students returned from the weapon shed. Once all were assembled he walked down the row and wove a solid strip of air over the edges of the blades, to prevent accidents and protect the weapons from his own power wrought ones.

"Now then, as you should all know, these weapons are not your ideal choice for combat. Therefore, this is not the most important aspect of your training. You will most likely never become a blade master here, but we do expect you to be able to hold your own against an enemy soldier. So first off, I want to see just how experienced you are. You will pair off and spar for three minutes. Your objective is to take your oponent down. Get him on the ground, disarm him, whatever it takes. I don't care if you fight pretty, or if you fight dirty. Once you are finished, I'll pick some of the best of you for a special assignment. Three minutes. Get to it."

Arath stood in the early morning sun of the training grounds, enjoying this time of day before the tumult of the Farm began again.  Soon enough the explosions and the shouts would rumble across the cold landscape, but for now, the relative silence was peaceful. 

It ended all too soon though, as the Dedicated began to arrive.  They were to take part in a weapons training class.  Always a messy afair.  Too many Asha'man spurned martial weapon training in favor of Saidin.  He had taught several men who couldn't draw their sword without stabbing themselves in the foot, and he couldn't stand it.  Light willing, this class would go without incident.

As the dedicated began to assemble, Arath promptly shielded every one of them and gave his instructions. "Enter this storeroom and choose your weapon. Today you learn battle plan 'B'; what to do when you can't channel. Move!" As the Dedicated filed through the weapon storehouse, Arath wove his own weapons into being. Earth and Fire wove together into a pair of short blades. He used less fire than usual, since he didn't want to injure his students with the flames, but his weapons still seemed to glow a faint reddish color. An interesting effect. Weapons at his side, he waited for everyone to return. He couldn't wait for this one to be over and done with.

OOC: My bad . . . I fixed it :P

Arath watched the never ending hordes of shadowspawn from the walls of the Asha'man's fort.  No matter how many they slaughtered the horde never seemed to diminish.  If they could dedicate more power to actually killing the beasts, then perhaps this battle would end quickly.  But the unceasing attacks by channelers were taking a heavy toll.  Too much of their effort was spent on defense.

At first Arath had led his own group out to make strikes against the rear of the trolloc ranks.  He had taken the strongest of the Asha'man and Dedicated, only those who could weave their own gateways, and made lightning fast raids trying to sow confusion among the shadowspawn ranks.  It had worked for a while, but then heavy attack weaves had fallen on them.  It wasn't so much the frequency, but the intensity of those attacks that had made him cease.  He had never seen weaves so strong, more than capable of tearing through even the strongest shields.  Either the forsaken themselves were taking part in the battle, or the enemy had circles.  It was the only explanation.  Once they reached the point where each raid cost him the lives of two or three men, he had deemed it a wasted effort and remained with Covai's forces.

Now he was directing the defenses of their makeshift fort, killing anything that came close.  It seemed that whatever dreadlords were out there didn't dare come too close to the fortifications to attack in strength.  Nothing had changed for some time.  A stalemate.

The monotony was starting to wear on him.  The sound of Covai shouting in the courtyard was therefore more than enough to draw him away.  As he approached, he wondered if he might need to subdue his friend.  The way he was trying to crush the hilt of his sword, he looked as though he might cut the next person to bring him bad news in half.  Arath couldn't blame him though after he heard what Covai had to say.

"Arath, I need you to get these people out of here.  Kirrisin's dead, so are all but a handful of the men with him. Fal Moran has fallen to the Shadow. I don't know how in the light they've done it but the bastards have men AND woman channeling. Thats why we haven't had things going our way. It's not a case of us not knowing what weave's they've been using or them being stronger, we can't even SEE half of their damn attacks. The moment the forces that wiped out Kirrisin leave the capital we're as good as dead here."

After hearing about Kirrisin's demise, Arath wanted to kill something as well.  Truthfully, Arath had hated the man.  A fool who had only been raised to Attack Leader because he had supported Brent in his rise to power.  His rage was more for the hundred men under Kirrisin's command who had died for nothing.  Nothing but their commander's stupidity.

As much as his own pride him to take the Asha'man and avenge the death's of their brothers, he knew Covai had the right of it.  If the dreadlord circles could kill 100 Asha'man so easily, he would only be walking straight to his own death.  Nodding his acknowledgement, he turned around and strode off, shouting orders at everyone.  More for the sake of shouting than relaying orders.

The Asha'man continued to be very efficient.  It didn't take more than a few minutes for the soldiers and dedicateds to assemble with their wounded and being to filter through the gateways.  Knowing that there was nothing he could do to speed their progress, Arath returned to the walls.  The shadowspawn wouldn't stop just because the retreat had begun.

Atop the wall, Arath found Covai in a knot of Asha'man, explaining some sort of attack plan.  He raised an eyebrow as Arath approached him, but Arath spoke first.  "You can't ask me to leave with them.  The soldiers and dedicated are on their way.  I can't make them walk any faster."

Digging through the relics of ancient times was hard work.  Especially for someone who had grown accustomed to doing all of his digging with the One Power.  Most of the stuff in the hold was useless.  Merely things that had looked unusual at one point in time.  But the number of real ter'angreal that they found was awe inspiring.

One of the more curious items Arath found was a small cube composed of several smaller cubes.  A half dozen different colors were scattered all over the thing in a seemingly random pattern.  Every side seemed to move independantly, allowing for a seemingly endless number of color combinations on each face.  Arath couldn't begin to fathom what such a thing would be for, though it reminded him of a blacksmith puzzle for some reason.  He played with the thing for nearly twenty minutes, even managing to gather all of the red squares on one side before he set it aside and moved on.

Several of the mundane items caught his eye just as easily as the ter'angreal he sought.  A large, oddly shaped box with one side made of dark glass and what looked like copper wires coming from the opposite side.  A small yellow tube with three white holes on the darker bottom.  The thing was squishy, and contained inside a transparent wrapping.  Some sort of white substance came out of the holes when he applied pressure to it.  He somehow got the impression that this thing was older than most of the ter'angreal, though it clearly had nothing to do with the power.  Odd.

A grey, palm size disc drew his gaze after a while.  When he picked it up he immediately felt the One Power latent within it.  Carefully, he turned the object over and examined it.  There was a thumb shaped depression in the middle of the disc, and a complex design sprialed outward in blue and yellow lines.  Gingerly, Arath touched his thumb to the indent and flinched when a loud noise errupted from the disc.  A deep, low, moaning sound filled the air, along with an odd gurgling sound.  Almost as if he were listening to something singing under water.  What startled Arath more than the sound though, were the thin flows of spirit that the device seemed to draw by itself.  When he touched his thumb to the center again, the noise ceased and the flows coming from the ter'angreal cut off.

Delighted with the discovery, Arath continued examining the device, hoping to discover what made the thing work, and hoping even more fervently that he might be able to duplicate it.

Daevis Thelandran was not a fool.  Which is why he hated being under Attack Leader Kirrisin's command.  The large Shienaran man knew that something was amiss with the city before the goat-kissing Andoran leader had given the command to enter the city walls.  And yet he had no choice but to follow, or Kirrisin would have his head as a traitor.

It came as no surprise at all to Daevis when the ambush came.  Trollocs and the Eyeless streaming out of the alleys and converging on the enclosed Asha'man.  That in itself wouldn't have been a problem.  The streets funneled the shadowspawn into convenient killing corridors that the Asha'man could easily handle.  No, the danger was coming from the dreadlords raining death from the sky.

Cursing Kirrisin with every curse he could think of, Daevis fought for his life.  Sometimes he bemoaned the fact that others were more skilled with Saidin than he.  Finesse was often more desirable than brute strength.  But now was not one of those times.  Waves of fire poured down the streets, incinerating trollocs where they stood.  The earth rippled and bulged, sending shadowspawn reeling, impaling many of them upon their fellows blades.  He saw one of the Eyeless go down when a trolloc under its command fell and cleaved its captains skull in half.  Despite the grim circumstances he smiled at that.  Poetic justice if he'd ever seen it.

Constantly changing his location as the group shifted, trying to find a more defensible position, Daevis took note of his comrades.  Here a young Tairen soldier, still a teenager by the looks of him, fell to the ground clutching a wound in his shoulder.  An older Kandori man with the silver sword on his collar and a snarl on his face was barricading an alley, trying to stem off the flow of shadowspawn.  Another Tairen man simply stood there, watching his brothers die.  Daevis was about to slap some sense into the man when a powerful lance of lightning crashed down in front of him.  Dazed and disoriented for a moment, he picked himself up off the ground and looked around.  A half dozen charred and smoking bodies were scattered before him, with another dozen picking themselves off of the ground.  His eyes fell upon the Tairen man he had noted before.  He was walking calmly toward the frantic Attack Leader who was screaming orders as loud as he could and rubbing his shoulder.

Daevis never expected what came next.  The small Tairen man abruptly changed into a woman?  A burst of flame from her upraised hand tore right through the man's chest and Kirrisin slowly toppled over.  Daevis was only a shade too slow.  A tightly weaved bundle of fire, earth and air screamed forward to strike the murderess, but missed as she sped off down a deserted alley.  Instead the missile struck the dead attack leader, destroying what was left of him in a gorey explosion.  Cursing, Daevis launched another arrow of fire at the retreating darkfriend, but missed again as the missile streaked inches in front of her and burrowed right through the wall before exploding.

With a furious yell the Asha'man let the dreadlord go and turned back to the raging battle.  The carnage was terrible.  The unending death from the sky had shattered the 100 man strong group into a few struggling fragments.  Even as he watched, one of the groups were over run, the trollocs blades rising and descending in a terrible rythem, sending blood and gore flying.  Lightning flashed again, punching through an Asha'man's shield, killing him and the three others with him, along with over a dozen of the trollocs that surrounded them.

With a quick glance at what remained of the Attack Leader, Daevis made his decision.  He quickly fought his way to the largest group he could find, a mere dozen exhausted men, and brought them toward a large building with solid walls and a small doorway.  He tried not to hear the screams of the few men still dying out there as he reached into the ground with earth and raised a thick stone wall in front of the building.  There was nothing to be done to save them. Angry tears welled up in Daevis' eyes.  His homeland was lost.  And there was nothing he could do to save it.

Pulling deeply on shadow tainted Saidin, the silently weeping Asha'man turned to the survivors.  "Are any of you still able to fight?"  A few of them met his gaze, but otherwise nobody moved or spoke.  He motioned to the only other Asha'man in the room.  "You take the rest of them back to the farm.  I need to warn the Storm Leader." 

The Saldean Asha'man nodded grimly and limped to the other side of the room.  A silvery blue flash revolved open into blackness.  When they were all inside the portal, the Saldean man looked at Daevis again, sorrow showing in his eyes.  "Tai'shar Shienar," he said softly as he let the gateway close. 

Daevis stood quietly for a moment before opening his own gateway and skimming back to the main force.  His own battle was far from over.

Character Name: Dearidh Hawtrey

Age: 24

Home: Caemlyn

Physical Description: Almost six feet tall and quite muscular.  He has a full head of curly brown hair and deep penetrating eyes of a brownish hue.

History:  Dearidh Hawtrey was born and raised as the son of a farmer in a small village on the outskirts of Caemlyn.  As the youngest child on the farm his father did not really need Dearidh to fulfill the chores around the farm so he sent him to Caemlyn to be the apprentice of a farrier.  He wanted to give a least one of his children a chance at a life above that of a simple farmer.  So at the age of 12 Dearidh traveled with his father to the big city.  They met with the farrier the night they arrived.  They set up Dearidh’s living arrangements and Dearidh’s father was gone while the night was still young.

   The farrier, John Tunstill, was a very nice man.  Unlike other men Dearidh had met, John was very excited to have an apprentice, and that did not mean happy to have someone to do all the light work for him.  Mr. Tunstill truly did enjoy teaching Dearidh everything he knew about his profession.  Being only a 12 year old boy Dearidh did not absorb everything he was taught but he did learn to care for the animals and he always looked forward to the swordsmanship lessons that John gave him every night when the chores were through.  John Tunstill had been a soldier in the Aiel War and was very proficient at sword handling.  John was a Kandori and as such wielding two swords instead of one and a shield was his preferred method of attack.  And thus this was how Dearidh learned to fight.  Tunstill had taught him not only about horses and swords but all about the world and the experiences he had had on his many travels during the Aiel War.

   One night on his way home from the grocer Dearidh saw three men gathered around a smallish woman in a nook between a blacksmith’s shop.  He could tell she was struggling and was not about to walk on by and leave these brutes to their devices.  He walked across the street, set his groceries down on the ground and tapped one of the men on the shoulder.  “Excuse me sir, but I do not think that this woman truly does wish to have anything to do with you. Sir,” Dearidh said to the man.  All three men turned to face the man who had decided to act as their conscience.  “Whats it to you small fry?” the man in the middle said, “I think we should just squash you like the little bug that you are and go about our business.  Unless of course you have another idea?”  The brute sneered and shared a laugh with his cohorts.  It seemed to Dearidh that he would not get the chance to offer another idea as the three men advanced toward them. Dearidh felt naked without his swords, he had no real idea how to fight without them.  He squared up against the first brute and instantly realized his mistake.  The man on his left had kicked him square in the stomach, bringing Dearidh to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.  The man in front of him kicked at Dearidh’s face, the point of his boot connecting with Dearidh’s chin sending him into the air to land on his back and skid backwards a few feet in the dirt.  He rolled over and got to his knees as the man came to a halt right in front of him.  The brute grasped Dearidh’s hair in a fist and yanked his head back till he was lookin directly in his assailant’s face.  “No, I don’t think we will let you offer another idea,” The man said, his breath reeking of stale brandy,  “In fact, I think this is just what I came out tonight for.  A little taste of some foolish vigilante blood.”   Dearidh dug deep inside himself as the man drew his fist back.  He needed to think of something to get himself out of this. He did not want to die as a victim to some drunken street toughs.  As he kneeled there in the dirt cringing against the blow that he knew would descend upon his face he heard a horrifying scream.  The man let o of his hair and staggered away from him, his hands covering his face.  He held his hands away from his face now, as if staring at them, but all anyone else could look at was the man’s face.  It was engulfed in flames, flames that had begun to spread all over the man’s body.  The brute was screaming like a man being dragged against his wishes into the depths of the underworld.  The man was screaming and people started opening doors and poking their heads out of windows as they watched the man burn alive.  The other men were trying hopelessly to put the fire out.  They finally gave up their efforts and pointed to Dearidh.  In voices loud enough for everyone in the square to hear they denounced Dearidh.  “Darkfriend!  Darkfriend!” They yelled,  “He set our friend on fire with the power.  He will break the world again! Darkfriend!”  With everyone shooting accusatory stares his way Dearidh did the only thing he could think of, He turned and ran home. 

   By the time Dearidh had made it home Mr. Tunstill had already heard the news. The commotion from the square was loud enough to be heard several  streets down from even where they lived.  Dearidh looked questioningly at his mentor, watching him pack provisions into saddlebags and a large pack .  “What are you doing John?” Dearidh asked him, “Where are you off to at this hour?”  The man spoke without ceasing his packing, “I’m not going anywhere Dearidh.  I heard the yelling in the square. ‘Dearidh the Chaneller. Dearidh the Darkfriend.   Kill Dearidh!’  I will not have that. You are going away.  You will go to Tear and find the Dragon. He is granting clemency to male channelers as long as they promise to learn to control and wield their power in support of him.”

And so Dearidh left for Tear in the middle of the night.  Mr. Tunstill, having always treated him as the son he never had, had given him their best horse to travel on and all the provisions he could carry.  The journey was long and by the time he made it to Tear it was near the end of spring and the temperature was rising with the fast approaching summer.  He needed to find the Dragon.  Walking down the muddy streets of the city his gaze fell upon a huge rocklike structure.  Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a massive fortress with banners flying from every parapet.  One banner flew above all the others.  It was a white banner with a red and gold snake with four legs on it.  Dearidh knew that was where he would need to go.  He would find the Dragon there.  It was within this massive fortress that he would begin his new life and learn about his fearful power.

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?

And uh . . . someone wanna CC the Pikachu bio there?  I'll take what I can get :P

*bumpity bump bump*

One month now and only 1 bio . . .

It's so sad.  :'(

You don't even need to make a channeler!  You can have a regular civilian and have just as much fun.  I don't quite see how, since I love blowing things up and civi's can't do that, but still. 

Make a Saldean farmgirl and dance the sa'sara for the Soliders!  :o

Be a blacksmith and collaberate with a Dedicated to create truly amazing weapons and armor!  Or horseshoes!  8)

Or be a guinea pig for my characters mad ter'angreal experiments!  :-X

So.  Bio's.  Now. :P

Light help us all.  :'(

Approved for shiny silver sword pin.

Wouldn't be dedicated in the same thread for sure (after he can finally channel he'd have to learn all the basics :P), but shortly thereafter :D

Approved pending ability to touch the source :P

Arath wasn't sure what to think when they first entered the storeroom on the lowest levels of the fortress.  It was almost as if they had stepped into another world when they had opened the door.  Where the rest of the Stone was kept exquisitely clean under the direction of the first servant, it appeared that these rooms had seldom seen a living human for many a year, let alone a duster.

Puffs of dust leapt into the air every time they moved, and the air felt stale.  Underneath the vast amount of dust lay the most massive assortment of junk that Arath had ever seen.  Tables and chair were piled high with huge amounts of random clutter, much of it in various states of rot and ruin.  As his gaze swept over the assorted clutter, Arath took a deep breath.  And promptly choked on the heavy dust cloud he had kicked up.  Feeling a little embarassed, he tentatively reached out toward the source, drawing only the faintest amount of Saidin.  Thin tendrils of air and water swept down the path in front of him, carefully avoiding contact with any objects, even the most mundane looking.  Moisture from the air saturated the dust as it was swept up into a small pile, turning the dust into mud.  A quick touch of earth and fire turned the mud into a small dry pile of clay.  Not an elegant solution to the problem, but effective.  And the most he dared do.  Even with that tiny amount of channeling Arath had felt the vast number of artifacts responding to the proximity of the one power.

He shuddered as he looked to his companions.  "Be careful in here.  You never know what might set off a ter'angreal.  You don't even need to channel into some of them."  As they acknowledged his warning, Arath turned back to the daunting task at hand.  First, they would need to sort things out.  Seperate the mundane from the magical so to speak.  Then began the even more dangerous task of examining.  With a shrug, Arath set to work.  Hopefully he could find his answers quickly and be gone.

OOC:  Start digging :P  Have fun with it.  Describe things you pick up, maybe have a funny misfire or two, describe some random thing from our age that made it into the stores.  I dunno.  Imagination is the limit on this one.

So your bio has been approved.  Now what?  You need your OP scores, that's what!

If you have not yet recieved your Str/Skill scores yet, please post here once, and ONLY once to request them. 

Please don't spam this thread.  Superflous posts (and their posters) will be balefired.  >:(

Wandering servants barely noticed the silvery blue flash of the gateway as it spun open into the Stone of Tear.  Still not comfortable with it perhaps, but accustomed nonetheless.  It was a fact of life when the Dragon Reborn ruled the place.

As the gateway finished opening, Arath led his small group into the fortress.  After asking a frightened looking servant girl for directions to the Asha'man quarters they sped off down the meandering hallways.  Not much was said as they walked the massive corridors.  This was the first time visiting the Stone for his companions, and they seemed to eagerly drink in the sight.  Even after the Aiel had taken off a large portion of the riches that had been here, the Stone displayed an impressive amount of wealth.

In short order they had located their rooms and stowed their belongings.  They would only be here a few days, but it was good to get comfortable first.  Arath found it difficult to concentrate if some of the less important details were not first taken care of. 

Within an hour of arriving in Tear, the small group set off for the great cache of items of the one power, hidden away from the world for so long by the Tearans.  At last, a chance to study the work of ages past and relearn their secrets.

OOC:  Post your arrival/reactions, and then we'll have fun with the trinkets. :)

OOC:  There are 300 Asha'man several miles west of Fal Moran, in what was a big field.  They're fortified themselves against ground forces pretty well.  There is also a group of 100 Asha'man currently entering Fal Moran.  They are the ones that get almost completely wiped out.  They get wiped out because the attack leader Kirrisin is an arrogant moron and doesn't follow orders.  He still doesn't know that the city has fallen, and he's a big enough idiot to think he can do whatever needs done by himself.

So feel free to start killing them.  Just not all of them.  Like I said before, there is at least one PC in the group, and there will be an attempt to rescue them before the BT flees completely.

And yeah, if you could get Aslan to stop that storm that Tig decided to start up, that would be great.  He was in the first part at the farm, so I know he's out there :D

Just so everyone is aware, none of the current bonding arrangements are set it stone.  Many of the people involved will have a chance to interact with their bondmate BEFORE the bonding takes place to see if they click IC.  If your character WOULD NOT get along at all with a crazy, darkfriend Rapunzel for example :P, you can change the arrangement.

So learn all you can about potential bondmates before this actually happens.  Plenty of time to re-work things.  Once bonds happen they will be stuck that way, so make sure you're happy with how things stand.

*BT Stamp*

Attack Leader Kirrisin grumbled to himself as he led his forces around Fal Moran.  He didn't care much for this borderlander weather.  Freezing rain was not something he usually had to put up with in his native Andor.  An easy weave kept the water from touching him, but the chill remained in the air.  Ignoring heat and cold was all well and good, but it didn't change the fact that he could no longer feel his nose.

Personally he didn't see why he had to be doing this in the first place.  Yes, the surrounding countryside had been ravaged by the enemy, that was obvious.  But the capital city?  There hardly appeared to be any damage at all.  Surely if the trolloc armies had taken the city there would be far more damage.  Even from the outside Kirrisin could tell that relatively little had happened to the city itself. 

Nevertheless, he followed his orders.  Splitting his forces in two, he had sent them around the outer walls, meeting up on the opposite side near the eastern gates.  Nobody had seen anything of note.  No trollocs or fades, no enemy channeling, nothing.  Oddly enough, there were no friendly people on the walls either, but that didn't bother the attack leader too much.  The Asha'man's reputation had spread, and people probably just didn't want to be seen.  Nor would they challenge the black coated 'monsters'.

Aware that his alloted hour and probably past already, Kirrisin decided to change his plans.  "Alright men, we're going inside.  We haven't seen hide nor hair of a bloody trolloc since we started looking around the city.  We're gonig to talk to the people inside and see whats really been going on."  Ignoring the startled glances of his men, Kirrisin channeled.  A large gateway appeared in front of him, opening up on the other side of the walls of Fal Moran. 

Not waiting for his men, Kirrisin took the first step through the gateway onto the deserted streets of the Shienaran capital. 

OOC:  Okay, feel free to start beating these guys up.  There are about 100 of them, so it won't be a simple thing, but give em a good harassing until phase 3 starts.  There are some PC's who are with this group, so don't slaughter everyone.

What?  She's gonna turn to the dark side of the dark side?

And what did that do for her?  Dark One grow her hair out?  :D

*I really wish we had a hysterical laughter smiley ...