Name: Kaiden Tarr

Age: 20

Nationality: Illianer

Height: 5' 8''

Weight: 145 lbs.

Hair: Dirty Blond, Cropped to Shoulder-length

Eyes: Oceanic Blue

A quick overview of personality:

Headstrong and independent, Kaiden was born and raised on the rougher side of Illian, the side that most people avoid out of sheer fright.  With a foul mouth, a quick temper, and the guts to back it up, Kaiden wasn’t one regularly picked on.  Accustomed to pain, he was widely known as the boy who cared as little for himself, as he did for others.  Despite his lethargic view on the world, Kaiden is fiercely passionate.  Never starting things he can’t finish and never finishing things he didn’t start, he is a hard-working and responsible man.

Past his apathy, Kaiden’s loyalty to his friends and family is unfailing.  Due to the area his was raised in though, he isn’t quick to befriend, or trust, anybody, or anything.  Always wary and ever expecting a fight, Kaiden developed a keen sense of observation, constantly surveying his surroundings.

Despite Kaiden's Illianer roots, his years serving at a young age as a hand on a ship broke him of his thick accent.  Although many times it slips, his accent rarely gives him away as Illianer.

Strengths:

+ Physical Prowess

+ Keen Observation

+ Fervor

+ Strong conscience

Weaknesses:

- Stubbornness;

- Unwillingness to extend his Friendship,

- Lack of Trust

History:

Out of five other siblings, Kaiden was from right in the middle.  With two older sisters, a younger brother, and a younger sister, Kaiden wasn’t given the most attention from his family.  To him though, that wasn’t a problem.  Staying out late, getting into trouble, and starting and ending fights was usually the entirety of Kaiden’s day.  Being the eldest boy in the family though, meant that when he became old enough to fish, his days went from play to work.  The Tarr family didn’t have much, and all the extra income brought in from a second set of hands in his father’s boat was enough for them to start saving, although for what, Kaiden was never sure.

One day out at sea, on a normal day of fishing, clouds quickly consumed the sky and the ocean became dangerously choppy.  Kaiden’s father’s small fishing boat wasn’t sturdy enough to take the onslaught of the oncoming storm.  Not being able to row fast enough, the storm rolled in and the boat capsized.  Kaiden’s father had a lame leg, and wasn’t a very good swimmer.  They were too far out, and could barely see the shoreline through the driving rain.  Despite the freezing temperatures, stormy seas, and limited visibility, Kaiden knew which way to swim, and pulled his father along.  Pretty soon though, the swim was too tiring for Kaiden to support both his and his father’s weight.  His father screamed at him to let him go, to get himself to shore, but Kaiden refused to listen and nearly drowned himself.  His father took his knife and slit his own throat at sea, forcing Kaiden to let the limp body drift away as he struggled to get back to land.

Once there Kaiden stopped in an alleyway, too racked in sobs to go home alone.  There he sat for hours, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes stinging from the salt of the sea, and in shock over the suddenness of his father’s death.  The vision of his father's slit throat burned in his mind, and he kept shuddering with the thought that he was soaked in his father’s blood.

When Kaiden finally made it home, he stripped down, burned his clothes, and lied in bed for weeks without saying a word.  Images of his father were so great in his mind that once he even cried out and tore at his own eyes.  His mother had to hold him down as she sent one of his sisters to get a Healer, who gave him some foul tasting, and smelling, concoction to put him to sleep.

After that Kaiden felt strong enough to get around and move again, and after only a few short weeks he was back to himself again, although the pang of guilt over his father’s death still nagged at him.  He never told the whole story about what happened to his father either, not even to his mother.

Not even two months after his father’s death, Kaiden’s other siblings were out playing near the ocean when three big burly men came into his house, knocked him down and went after his mother.  Kaiden was frozen still in shock, when he saw a knife lying nearby.  He waited too long to act, and the third man grabbed him by the throat and pulled his hair as he tried to force him to watch them hurt his mother. When they couldn’t get him to open his eyes, the butt of the man’s weapon slammed against the side of Kaiden’s head, knocking him unconscious.

With the aid of some of his father’s old friends, Kaiden buried his mother before his siblings made it home.  They mourned when they learned of their mother’s death, but Kaiden was, by now, numb to the pain of loss.  His mother’s sister took them in, but Kaiden never had a liking for her or his cousins.  Soon after they moved to live with her, Kaiden packed his things and left in the night, he was only thirteen years old.

Kaiden somehow ended up as little more than a recruited slave aboard a cargo ship.  After several years of mistreatment on the boat, Kaiden set off for the second time to find a job on a farm.  Luckily, after not too much traveling, Kaiden found a kind family with a large farm on the border of Illian and Altara.  Without asking any questions about his past, they took him in, and treated him as family.

The farming family had a daughter named Cara, whom Kaiden grew very fond of.  After three years though, a group of bandits came through the area, and they were far too many for Kaiden and Cara’s father to hold at bay, they took both Cara and her mother to the barn where they too were raped and murdered as Kaiden and the father lied unconscious in the house.  As soon as Kaiden awoke, his heart sank at seeing both Cara and her mother hanging naked, bloodied, and partially dismembered, from a tree.  In a blind rage, Kaiden felt a strange power boil up within him as he fell to his knees.  An ear-splitting scream came from his lungs just as the entire barn flew up flames so hot he could feel the heat from hundreds of yards away.  He was sure the entire nations of Illian and Altara could see the blaze.

Kaiden couldn’t figure out how he had done it, or how to do it again, but both luckily, and unfortunately, at that time there was a very small company of Asha'man nearby.  They tracked him down and told him they were taking him back to the Tower for proper training, because he would be a danger if he didn’t learn to use his power properly.  Out of fear, Kaiden ran.  He had been feeling ill from the nights events, he barely made it a few yards before doubling over.  His body shook violently as his stomach heaved.  Wracked with pain, he lost consciousness.  He woke in a small uncomfortable bed, there was a male Asha'man sitting in a corner reading a book.  The man smiled at Kaiden and explained that they were at the Black Tower.  When he tried to sit up and run for the door, he found that he couldn’t move.  Kaiden gave up his struggles, and agreed to remain at the Tower for proper training.

He won't have time to make purty flames. He'll be occupied carrying around Jas's train of hair. She hasn't cut it in over 50 years. ;D

*Ponders the possibilites*

Hmmm ... a Saidin-tainted, possibly crazy male channeler who plays with fire on a daily basis, with a background in blacksmithing, and often has a short temper, AND is immune to warder compulsion, and you want to trust him with 50 years of hair?  ;D

*Is struck with the foretelling*

I see scissors, weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth in your future ...

:'( :o >:( ;D :-X

Since breaking his block he will channel to do a task if able rathern than stooping to manual labor.

That's good, since if you stoop to manual labor at the farm we beat ya >:(

Character Name: Arath Faringal

Character Age: 20

Character Height: 5'10

Character Build: Slender but strong

Character Nationality: Andoran

Physical Description: Green eyes.  Short, messy, brown hair.  Has a large dragon fang scar over his heart, but rarely ever lets it show

Personal traits: Focused.  Arath always tries to finish off the task at hand before moving on to the next.  He sometimes comes across as arrogant (but what Asha'man doesn't?) and a loner, but he just takes a while to warm up to new people.  Friends find him to be pretty laid back and more than willing to joke around.

Personal Habits:  His family were blacksmiths/jewelcrafters, a skill he also learned and now continues as a hobby, which ties in quite nicely with his new found skill of making ter'angreal.  He also enjoys sword training more than many Asha'man.

I'm waiting for the first Asha'man to start whining about ALSO getting a nifty shifty cloak:

Well I'm waiting for the first warder to start whining about ALSO getting a nifty vorpal sword of fire  :o

What if we randomly start setting fire to cloaks so NOBODY has one?  That's fair, right?  :D

Well if you come and play thats one more person.  We have to start somewhere!

Actually, we've got quite a few people at the moment.  What kind of character are you going for?

Not blow anything up?

That's like asking a warder to run around without a shifty cloak or sword!  Or a whitecloak to wear a black cloak!  Or a tinker to eat a pork chop!

Can we at least cause little earthquakes?  :-[

Arath waited in silence as the men arrived, first Martyn, then Geirrin.  After a while, when it became apparent that Kassian wasn't coming, the Attack Leader motioned for the other two to follow him and began the short trek to the travelling grounds.  As they walked, he explained a few things.

"The Tearen's should ignore us for the most part.  They prefer to pretend that the Stone never fell, and talking to us more than absolutly necessary reminds them of the fact.  So unless you go looking for trouble, we shouldn't have any.  Just keep your coat on so they recognize you.

"When we get to the ter'angreal cache, don't channel!  I didn't bring you along just so you could burn the three of us out.  Be very careful when you touch anything, since you never know what might set a ter'angreal off.  Some of them can be used by non channelers as well.

"You'll usually be able to know a ter'angreal simply by touching it.  They feel different than normal objects.  I hear that there is a lot of junk down in the holding as well, so we'll need to sort through and dispose of some of it."

They reached the travelling grounds and Arath wove the gateway to the travelling room in the Stone.  "Basically, don't do anything stupid, and ask me before you even think about touching the source."

OOC:  If you wanna make a reply here, fine.  Look for the next part on the East board.

Attention everyone!

*Trumpets, fanfare, and much ado.  Everyone stares in awe*

It is proposed that we raise Dedicated Geirrin to the most exalted rank of Asha'man, with all the rights, priveleges, and explosions that come with such rank.

All in favor say 'aye'.

*listens to aye's*

All opposed, shut up cuz this isn't a democracy anyway :D

*Bonks the official rubber stamp on Geirrin's forehead*

Congrats.  Here's your key to the liquor cabinet.  Oh, and the dragon pin.

And don't worry about the feedback form.  Jocelyn thought that one up, but I don't think she ever actually made it.  If you feel the need anyway, send any of us a PM with suggestions to make things better. :P

Not that it really matters though, since by the time people figure it out IC everyone will be bonded with both sides standard weaves anyway :D

Arath gathered the volunteers to him and walked out onto the bloodied fields.  Here and there he saw brief flashes of movement, as badly injured shadowspawn struggled to move.  Quick flows of air or fire stilled their movements forever.

"Remember what we always tell you about not tying off fire weaves?  Forget that for now.  Start at the far end of the field and work back toward our center.  There may be dreadlords in the next wave, so try to invert your weaves, but be careful with it.  We can't afford for someone to blow their bloody leg off because of a fool mistake."

With that, Arath set to work warding the battlefield.  He set a variety of killing weaves all over the place.  Small weaves of fire, set to detonate when anything walked through them.  Larger weaves which would explode in a firestorm only after nine or ten enemies had walked through.  Working with another Asha'man he dropped a large pit twenty feet into the ground and lined it with sharp, fire hardened spikes.  An inverted illusion made the ground look as solid and body strewn as the rest of the field.

One particularly nasty ward he was very proud of.  When triggered, this one would set spinning a large air razor at about waist hieght, which would quickly begin to spiral around in an ever widening circle.  It wouldn't last long before unraveling, but it would be brutally effective while it lasted.

Keeping a close eye on those who accompanied him, Arath kept at the task.  The wards would be needed all too soon, and he wanted to be back to the relative safety of the main group quickly.

One semi-important side note.  According to the books, Asha'man are immune to warder bond compulsion.  Aes Sedai are not.

Can be a very unpleasant surprise for a red sister who thinks she'll be in total control of her crazy warder :D

Not allowed to go to battle?  Pfft.  We send soldiers to battle as soon as they know how to touch the source!

Even Asha'man need cannon fodder :D

Arath shivered as the gaze of a Fade slid over him.  Even within the void, and with prior experience with the evil creatures, it was a horrible feeling.  A fiery arrow shot from his hand and drove through the middle of the eyeless head, exploding as it came in contact with a trolloc right behind it.

Turning back to his troops, he was pleased to see that they all still stood.  More or less.  Some were actually kneeling, or doubled over as they emptyied their stomachs, but all still lived.  Seeing a few of them covered in blood and gore, Arath rolled his eyes.  Did none of them remember their basic training?  He had thought that shielding yourself from explosions had become second nature to everyone during Saidin training.  He would need to remind some of them apparently.

Looking out over the fortifications, Arath was surprised to see that there were almost no attackers remaining.  A few dozen were still foolishly persisting, driven on by livid looking Myrdraal.  Most were attempting to leave the battlefield however they could, though the effort was generally futile.  Confident that the Asha'man could clean up the remaining shadowspawn on their own, Arath wheeled his horse around and set off in search of Covai.

As he closed in on the Storm Leader, his gaze swung apprehensively to the north as several more horns sounded.  "I don't think they're going to be so easy to repel this time," Arath said to his friend.  "I can't believe it was so easy with the first group."  A little ways off he saw the healers pull a spear sized trolloc arrow from the shoulder of an unfortunate Dedicated who screamed in agony.  Other than him, there didn't appear to be any other serious injuries.  "What should we do to get ready for the next wave?"

OOC:  Feel free to start the much scarier second wave at any time.  We can take it :D

hehehe.  *fetches popcorn*

That oughta be a fun one to read.  I remember Covai beating the crap out of Arath back in the day.  During regular training, much less a duel :P

Looking around at the defenses that had sprung up since he had left, Arath coudln't help but be impressed at the speed which with the Asha'man worked.  He idly wondered why nothing was ever built so quickly back at the Farm.  He wound his way through the spikes and clustered Asha'man as he rode toward Covai, who was busy overseeing the final touches on the defenses.

Covai saw him approach and with a last shouted command turned toward him.  Arath shook his head as he approached.  "I don't like this.  They know we're here.  And they can't be too far away.  A fade must have seen us by now and relayed a message.  We ran into maybe a dozen pairs of trollocs, scouting us out.  We probably missed some of the smarter ones."  He quickly rehearsed what had happened on his brief foray to the west, then paused for a moment and stared out to the west again.  "There's something about the city that makes me nervous.  It almost seems like there isn't enough damage done to it.  Has Kirrisin returned yet?"

Covai didn't have time to respond to the question before the awful sound of a trolloc horn rent the air.  As one, their gaze swung to the north, to the source of the sound.  Cresting a nearby hill came a swarm of shadowspawn.  Trollocs with their hideous, bestial faces and cruel, massive weapons were quickly crossing the distance to the Asha'man's defenses.  Spurring their horses forward, the battle leaders yelled commands to the Asha'man.  "Keep them at a distance!"  "Fire and riven earth!" 

Leaving the front line to the Storm Leader, Arath turned off to the west and rejoined his own squad, just as the first volley of fireballs left the grim faced channelers.  It looked as though this wave was a relatively small one, only a few fists of trollocs, but doubtless it would be the first of many.

OOC:  Lets get this rolling.  Start blowing up shadowspawn!  And make it look easy!

DM Handle: Sieve

Email: blade4hire(at)live(dot)com

Character Count: (In this division) This will be # 2

Character Name: Valeran Kertovni

Age: 37

Place of birth/raising: Saldaea

Physical Appearance:   5’10” with Stocky build.  Has black curly hair, dark tilted eyes, hooked nose and a thick hanging mustache in the Saldaean fashion.  He has hints of grey in his hair above his ears.  His mouth seems set in a perpetual frown.

History:  Valeran served faithfully for nearly 20 years as a Saldaean lancer.  Despite his bulk he sat a saddle well.  He served for several years as a Bannerman then as an Underlieutenant.  He was known as a stickler for protocol and discipline.  His sharp tongue lashing out whenever he spotted an offender.  His temper was legendary amongst the troops.  It was rumored that he ate rocks for breakfast.  His sharp-eyed gaze was known to make men tremble.  He was known as a lover of women, ale, and gambling.

One day on patrol his company stopped in the town of Irinjavar.  It was a cold, the midday sun did nothing to warm the air.  After making sure the horses were cared for and his orders had been followed he made for the inn intent on ale and a game of dice.  A woman too, if he found one who fit the bill.  On his way he found a group of his men huddled around two outlanders in high-necked black coats.  He cursed the fools silently then went to see what they were about.  He was about to call them down for being foolish boys when he saw a small flame in between one of his men and one of the black coats.

“Rubbish” he exclaimed “You light blinded fools”  He admonished them.  “You worthless sons of goats you don’t know a trick when you see one.  This is nonsense.”  He exclaimed taking them all in with a sweeping glare.  Leave them alone for a few minutes and they fall victim to tricks of the eye.  “What is the trick here man!”  He spoke sharply to the black coated man.

“Just concentrate on the flame”  The black coated man said.  Val did not know how long he stared at the flame but he had enough.  He was about to tell the man that his trick had failed when he felt a tingle through his body.  Light he was not usually affected by the cold.  He was born with cold blood in his veins.  “This is ridiculous” he said as he turned to walk away.  He was wasting time and wanted that drink.

“You can learn”  The man said.  What? Valeran stopped dead in his tracks refusing to look back.  He just stood there.  “You can learn, the Dragon Reborn has announced an amnesty on all such men.  You do not have to fear your ability … or hide from it.”  He could learn, black coats, the Dragon Reborn, Blood and ashes he could channel?  He was about to round on the man, he did not fear anything.  He certainly didn’t hide.  Val walked to the inn.

That night he got sloppy drunk.  In the morning he left his troops in the care of his Bannerman with a note for his lord.  With that business taken care of he followed the black coated men through an opening in the air.  He warily stepped through the opening to a place they called the “farm”… 

Looks good to me.  *BT stamp*

Making sure he had everything necessary for the trip was turning out to be a frustrating task.  Every time he thought he was ready, Arath remembered one more thing that he would need, and raced around his home looking for it.  After an hour or so of preperation, he believed he had everything.  Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't Travel back home and get it if he needed something else.

Finally satisfied, Arath shouldered his pack and locked up his house.  It seemed foolish to use locks in a place where someone could just open a gateway to the inside of your home, but old habits died hard.  With a small laugh at himself, Arath strode off toward the travelling grounds.  He glanced up at the sky.  He still had an hour or so before the others would arrive, but that was fine.  He liked the time to think under the open sky.

Absently, he toyed with the rings in his coat pocket, pondering exactly what he was going to do in the Stone.  He had recieved permission to investigate the ter'angreal cache in the Stone of Tear once it was discovered that he had the talent to create objects of the power.  Events had conspired against him since then, postponing the journey, but at last he could finally do it.  He had decided to take a small number of soldiers and dedicateds with him to assist in the sorting process.  And perhaps one of them would have some useful abilitity concerning ter'angreal as well.  Stranger things had happened.

Character Name:  Arath Faringal

Rank: Attack Leader

Would you like to hold the bond, be bonded, or are you willing to do either?  Either way is good.

If you are bonded, would you be willing to be bonded to an Aes Sedai who holds bonds to other BT Chars?  If there was a really good reason.

If you are holding the bond, are you willing to bond more than one Aes Sedai?  Only if my life and/or sanity depended upon it.

Do you have any questions or concerns? If so please state them here or PM them to me.  None that haven't already been brought up.

About Arath:  Arath is the epitome of awesome and has attracted special attention on the Psychic Dating Hotline (that was uber-creepy btw :-\ )

Seriously though, Arath is a 20 year old, fairly good looking Andoran.  And an Attack Leader to boot!  His pass times include blacksmithing, instructing wool-brained soldiers in the art of explosions, and making ter'angreal.  8)

Arath also has the distinction of being the one who killed the Forsaken, Ja'varan ...  :o

About Me:  I'm online every day (internet and computer fixed now, hooray!), but I don't necesarily make a post.  I like to work out the major details of an RP on MSN, but it's also fun to just wing it when something comes up :D 

I like a lot of detail in the RP, so feel free to have at it.  Just don't over do it.  IE, don't start talking about the frothy lace cuffs on the red silk dress ... :P  After WoT I can't stand hearing about lace ...

Arath murmured incomprehensibly to himself as he led his troops to the west through another series of gateways.  He didn't like this.  Not at all.  He had hoped that the trolloc armies had only begun their attack.  Now he realized that the recruiting party must have come from the southern parts of Shienar.  They were probably far too late.  He couldn't help but feel that this mission would turn into an effort to save whatever survivors remained.

Nudging his horse forward, Arath and his group entered what remained of a small town.  So close to the capital, they hadn't had much in the way of defenses, assuming that they could reach the safety of the walls well before any enemy was upon them.  It was hard to tell if anyone had made it out.  A blanket of snow covered everything, including the tracks of those who had last been here. 

A loud squawk to his left drew Arath's attention.  A raven was perched upon something which lay mostly buried in the snow, glaring at him indignantly.  He moved his horse closer to the foul bird, expecting it to dart away.  Instead it held its ground and squawked again as though challenging him.  It shifted it's black feathered body a hair as though settling in for a staredown, allowing Arath to see what it was perched upon.  A child.  A young girl, no more than five or six years old.  And it looked as though he had interrupted the raven's meal.  With a snarl, he wove spirit and fire at the evil bird.  It seemed to realize what was about to happen to it and flapped its wings frantically for a second before exploding in a small cloud of blood and feathers.

Revolted, Arath turned away and led his men onward.  His gaze kept returning to Fal Moran, only a short distance away.  He could see the walls and western gates, and could vaguely make out the tops of buildings beyond them.  Something didn't seem right about it.  He puzzled at it for a while before moving on, knowing that something important was eluding him.

It wasn't much longer before the first shouts and sound of battle reached him.  A bestial roar and the clash of metal drew him like a fly to honey.  Shouting commands to his men he raced through the remains of the nameless town and found the cause of the disturbance.

It was over by the time he reached it.  A pair of trollocs lay dead in the street, one with its throat slashed open, one with a smoldering hole right through its head.  One of the dedicated clutched at a bloody gash in his arm.  A pair of Asha'man stood at his side, one cleaning blood from his sword, the other already tending to the dedicated's wound. 

"We saw something moving in the trees behind that building there," said the one cleaning his sword as Arath reined in.  "Jumped out at us when we stepped closer to have a look."

Arath nodded.  "Next time, blow it up first, then ask questions later.  I don't think we're going to find any survivors here."  Turning away, his gaze fell on the city in the distance once more.  What was it that was so wrong about it? 

There were a few more incidents with shadowspawn afterward, where his forces stumbled upon trollocs who were attempting to spy on them.  Fortunately, there were no injuries among his men, though many of them looked rather ill upon seeing their first trolloc.  Messengers arrived from the groups he had sent north and south, reporting more of the same.  Telling the messengers to give the order to return, Arath called in his own group.  As they gathered to him, he wove spirit, opening the silvery blue gateway that would lead him back to the main group.  Giving one last look at the distant city walls, Arath hurried his men back through the gateway, eager suddenly to be back to the relative safety of numbers.

OOC:  I'll try to post again later tonight.  With something much more fun and interesting :D  :o

And that would be why you would channel instead ...

Silly Tearan

What we do here is allow your new characters to start one rank below your primary character.  So if you have an full Asha'man, new characters start as Dedicated.  If you have an Attack/Storm leader, they can start as Asha'man.  If you play the M'Hael . . . what more could you want anyway? :P

Then you should join the Black Tower!  Seriously.  Fun stuff.  And we want more people.  A lot more.  Like, all of you more.  Yup.

You get to blow stuff up, and set stuff on fire, and impale stuff on spikes ... and blow stuff up ... and did I mention explosions and blowing things up? ^{(Black Tower staff is in no way responsible for death, dismemberment, and/or disembowlment of individual characters)}

And with all the nifty RP's that are forthcoming (Cleansing the taint, bonding time with the Red Ajah, the just-started-today Answering the Call with CotS ...) you'll never lack something to do!  So check us out and submit a bio today!

Seriously.  Send me a bio.  ;)

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,35110.0.html

A little later than I'd hoped, but it's up!  Come show us BT boys what you're made of  8)

Continued here.

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,35110.0.html