DM Handle: Visar Falmaien

Contact Info: visarfalmaien(at)gmail(dot)com

Character Count: 1st

Character Name: Teal Fletcher

Nationality: Altaran (from the Rashad in Ebou Dar)

Age: 23

Physical Appearance: Teal has a very plain appearance, with brown hair, brown eyes, and

olive-toned skin. Most people would not notice his average height or build (5’6”, 150 lbs. or so)

save for one feature: he has a tattoo of the herb Thyme on his forehead, which he tends to keep

shaved or short-cut.

Personality Description: Quick to anger but slow to fight, Teal is an interesting Altaran who

is more than meets the eye. While he has a brusque, blunt manner of speaking that can be quite

off-putting, he is actually quite shy around strangers, and abhors unnecessary violence of any

kind. He loves women of all sorts of appearances and obsesses over them, yet tends to be very

quiet and deferential around them, lest they challenge him to a fight.

Personal History:

Teal’s father was a fletcher, and his father was a fletcher, and his father’s father was a fletcher,

or at least that’s what Teal knows. His mother’s brothers and father were all tanners, so Teal was

brought up with the option of both trades in mind.

Not being one too thrilled to continue the family business of either side, Teal liked to keep to

himself and wander the city. Of course, living as he did in the Rashad portion of Ebou Dar,

violence and dueling was a part of every day life. A boy wasn’t considered a man until he lived

through his first duel and had a scar to show for it, and yet Teal did not have any propensity or

liking for dueling.

The only time he dueled was with a girl, who defeated him because he didn’t want to hurt her.

She didn’t scar him, but did the same kind of damage, as she humiliated him in front of most of his friends in the city, calling him a good-for-nothing coward, among other things.

It became increasingly clear to Teal that he was not welcome where he was. His

family was fed up with him not being decisive on picking his trade, and accused him of being

a lazy good-for-nothing carp. His friends, what few he had, increasingly shamed him for not

becoming a man and having the guts to duel like what was expected of him.

And so one day, rather than face a man who had challenged him to a knife duel, Teal left the

city, taking only what little he possessed and could carry. He had a knife, but didn’t really know

how to use it other than for peeling potatoes and onions and such, and he had some decently

made leather boots.

He traveled for a few years, spending some time voyaging with a Sea Folk family who befriended him. When they parted ways in a less than satisfactory manner, Teal decided to have a tattoo done to remember them and their kindness. They had been almost a family and clan to him, and he would miss them. Their ship was called the Taym, and since that sounded a lot like a certain herb, Teal had the herb thyme tattooed on his forehead.

Next, having not found what he was looking for in the high seas, he traveled inland.

He journeyed north up the river, through Ghealdan and Murandy, or whatever the country was,

and one day months later, he found himself with well-worn boots and tattered clothing close to

the city of Caemlyn, with no money or food, or energy for the journey to better prospects in the

city.

Stopping one day in a village, hoping to beg for food and shelter somewhere, Teal found a

commotion in the town square and decided to take a closer look. Men with black coats had

arrived, asking to see all interested men for a “testing.” Desperate for work, Teal asked to see if

he could get tested.

The testing went by, and something very strange occurred. The man who tested him held up a

small flame, asking him to look at it. Teal didn’t ask how the man had managed to make a flame

appear over his hand; perhaps these were illuminators or performers with some trick? That’s

what he thought at first, at least.

Teal found himself drawn to the flame like a moth, but fire tended to do that for him,

mesmerizing him with its beauty. Sometimes he just wanted to reach out and speak to the flame

somehow, and for a moment it seemed like he did speak to it, if only a faint echo of another’s

distant voice.

To his surprise, the men in black agreed and found him “worthy”, whatever that meant, taking

him with them to their Farm in some undisclosed location in Andor. From there, his life at the

Black Tower would begin.

Arath watched the former Storm Leader over peaked fingers, listening carefully to what he had to say. "Your timing is good, but circumstances make it suspicious. You are the third of the old Storm Leaders to return to us in a very short time. Skechid and Ragnar both arrived within the last few weeks, and I begin to wonder what is causing this. Is it just the pattern pulling everything it needs together for Tarmon Gaidon? Or is someone else pulling strings? It may sound paranoid, but I have the hardest time believing in coincidence anymore."

"Your bones are right though," Arath continued, leaning back in his seat. "Tarmon Gaidon is upon us. The opening blows have already been struck, even if the Last Battle itself hasn't begun. Shienar is gone, and Arafel as well. Overrun by Shadowspawn and Dreadlords. We lost a lot of men in a counter attack on Fal Dara. So much has changed."

"I find it a little strange that you would come back here because you fear the madness. Most men run in the opposite direction when they have that concern. But I am glad you are here. Training standards have become lax recently. Ever since my responsibilities have taken me from the training grounds. We still use your name to terrify new recruits. And some of the Dedicated as well. We need you there, if you are willing and able to return to training."

My guess would be a channeling madman ... but that's just a shot in the dark. Could be a civilian too. Not as much as 'splodiness, but still very fun around here.

Arath waved his hand dismissively, not caring if Koras smoked his tabac in the Citadel. So long as it wasn't in his home, he didn't care. Settling into his chair behind his desk, Arath sat in silence for a few moments, considering the options. In the past, and under normal circumstances, Koras would be considered a traitor. He would have faced a quick execution and a place of his own on the traitor's tree. But this wasn't the past, and circumstances at the Farm were far from normal. They didn't even have a traitor's tree anymore. Arath surpressed a shudder at the strange memory of what had happened there.

"Questions ... I'm sure we both have quite a few. Many things have changed here while you've been ... away." Arath frowned for a moment, then let the shield on his old mentor dissolve. "I'm willing to take your answers on faith, but you should know that your life hangs upon them. First, I need to know why you're here. Light knows we need you, but given recent events, I have to question your timing. Why are you here now, after being gone for two years?"

DM Handle: (Otpelk Cainam

Contact Info: Gmarasco@knology.net

Character Count: 1st

Character Name: Jureal

Nationality: Aiel

Age: 18

Physical Characteristic: Red hair, Emerald green eyes, 6’4” tall and weighs 245lbs

Physical Description: Bronze skinned with traditional hair. Has a scar of two puncture marks on his left cheek from being bitten by a red adder as a small child that nearly killed him. Also on his shoulder he has a scar shaped like a triangle from a crossbow bolt.

Personal History: Jureal grew up much like any other Aiel child. He was the son of the wise one (who was a dream walker and who could channel) of his hold. When he was a small boy of about seven he was playing with his friends and fell next to a Red Adder which struck him in his left cheek. His mother frantically worked to save his life and did so just barely. During the first week after he was bitten he was in and out of consciousness.

The next few years he grew into a tall and strong young Aiel. He trained to be a warrior like all the other children. He dreamed of being a great warrior and a clan chief someday. When he was seventeen years old his hold left to follow the Car’a’carn to the wetlands. A couple of months after he was in the wetlands he came across a small group of bandits while he was out scouting. He attempted to approach calmly for that was what the Car’a’carn wished. One of the bandits raised his crossbow and aimed it at Jureal’s chest. Jureal immediately veiled and started to move towards the bandits. As he was rushing forward the bandit loosed the bolt. The bolt should have killed him for it was flying right at his heart but something happened that he could not explain the bolt was deflected up and into his shoulder. When he was shot the bandits charged. As the bandits ran at him the earth erupted and the next thing he knew the bandits were being flung into the surrounding trees. He leaned back against a tree and slid down it tell he was sitting.

After just sitting there for what seemed like days, a small party of Aiel came running up and saw the carnage around him. They asked him what happened, and he lowered his head and explained everything he could. They noticed the wound in his shoulder and took him back to the camp to see a wise one. As the wise ones were treating him word, had spread around the camps. Word had gotten to an Asha’man about the scene of what happened and he went to investigate. The Asha’man had seen this before and knew almost immediately what it was. The one power had been used here. Jureal was in shock he had no idea what to do. He had a sinking suspicion of what he did. But since the Car’a’carn had come what was he to do? The Car’a’carn could channel the one power as well as his army of Asha’man. So what did that mean for him now? He decided to go for a walk and sort things out.

As he was walking through the trees outlying the camp the Asha’man approached him. He told Jureal that he knew about his ability to channel. Jureal was very uncomfortable around the Asha’man, but he listened. The Asha’man told him that he could still serve the Car’a’carn by learning to channel. Jureal told him the honorable thing to do would be to head into the blight and die fighting his way to Shayol Ghul. And to the shock of Jureal the Asha’man said something that made Jureal pause and consider. What better way to spit in Sight Blinder's eye then to master this channeling and fight besides the Car’a’carn in the last battle? Jureal pondered this idea. He could save his honor by fighting with honor in the last battle and if he lived he could go off to die with the knowledge that he was pivotal in the defeat of the Dark One. Jureal told the Asha’man he would think on what he said and find him with his answer soon.

He thought over everything. How would he handle his people who found out about him channeling? Would he feel ashamed? Would he want to dance the spears over the insult? He knew he didn’t want to harm his people. But he also knew that the way they looked at him would be harsh. He decided that he would take each situation as it called. If they came to him with honor he would respond with honor. If they came to him in shame he would show them their shame. He decided he was going to undertake this journey. For the prophecy’s said “He shall spill out the blood of those who call themselves the Aiel as water on sand, and he shall break them as dried twigs, yet the remnant of a remnant shall he save, and they shall live.”

Koras - Paradoxically, being unstable doesn't make you any less solid

Shadar Logoth may be a viable option, but not for too much longer. Light willing we'll be able to destroy the place soon. Recon in Tar Valon is kind of a no go at this point, due to our new bonding arrangement with the Red Ajah. We're pretty much free to come and go as we please we're allowed. The CoL though ... that might be interesting.

Letting the last paper flutter down into the pile, Arath slammed the folder shut with disgust and tossed it to the other side of his desk. Bloody paperwork. He couldn't think of anything he'd rather do less. Other than doing his bloody paperwork in Zarinen's quarters. That might be a little worse. At least she had better surroundings.

Stifling a yawn, despite the early hour, Arath stretched out in his chair, just as the door to his office banged open. "Sir!" Surpressing annoyance, Arath turned his gaze toward the Dedicated who stood panting in the door. "One of the recruiting parties just returned." The Storm Leader's eye's narrowed, implying that there had better be something more significant to it. "They've brought someone back with them who ... they need you to deal with him."

Arath frowned for a moment, wondering what could have happened on a recruiting trip that would require his attention, then pulled himself to his feet. "Show me," he commanded the Dedicated. His escort spun on his heel and took off, the Storm Leader hot on his trail. It didn't take long before the cause of the commotion became apparent. A face Arath hadn't seen in a very long time, standing among the newly returned Asha'man.

Pushing away a sudden urge to snap to attention, Arath pushed forward toward Koras. “I am glad someone here remembers me, beside my brother and my mentee Eldor. Now where’s Dalinar, I will be extremely offended if he decided not to meet his old pal Koras here.” Siezing Saidin, Arath wove a shield and slammed it into place on his old mentor. Things had changed since Koras had left. Many, many things. But some things remained the same, including treatment of disserters. A certain amount of leeway was made for those who had come back of their own free will, but this didn't appear to be the situation this time.

"I'm afraid Dalinar won't be able to meet with you Koras. But you can come with me. I'm sure we have a lot of things to discuss." Motioning toward the Citadel, Arath waited for Koras to make the first move before falling in behind him. He didn't mention the shielding at all. There was no need. Koras had been a Storm Leader, so he knew what was going on. Light send he had a good enough excuse for leaving like he had. "So," he said, breaking the silence of the walk, "It's certainly been a while, hasn't it?"

I've added you both to the user list. Just waiting on the powers that be to make it so.

DM Handle: KorasSendero

Contact Info: Arik.Lalik@gmail.com

Character Count: 0

Character Name: Koras Sendero

Nationality: Cairhien

Age: 31

Physical Characteristic: Eyes are icy-blue, hair is dark brown, and skin is Carihien pale. Height is

medium 6’1 (or 185 cm) slim built with just a bit of muscles. Usually wears a short beard all over

the face. Hair is usually trimmed.

Physical Description: Koras has very distinct blue eyes, like blue within blue, bright icet. He has a

look of a gangster, so people usually keep their distance. Although not very big, he’s high and

well built – athletic. He wears a short 3-days beard. He tends to spit at times, and likes to smoke

a pipe with brandy, so his front teeth are usually brown (unless washed with salt water).

Personal History:

Childhood and First BT period

Lord Koras Sendero was born 31 years ago to the minor Lord Daven Sendero and the Lady Elza

Sendero, in Cairhien the capitol. Since birth he was considered a troublemaker. He would beat

other children including his baby brother Eron, even in kindergarten age, and was punished by

his caregivers on a daily basis. Koras never had trouble in getting what he wanted, since he had

the money and the influence – women, feasts and sleeping were his three favorite doings. But all

this bored him. He got sick of the noble routine and at the age of 21 he joined the Black Tower

(OOC: I am not sure that we exist for 10 years so correct me – anyways I joined the BT when

Mazrim Taim – that was a character name - was M’hael and Dalinar was an Asha’man and it was

10 years ago – so worst case we correct Koras` age).

Koras was not sure he could channel, but he wanted to be around men who could. His mentor

was the legendary Asha’man Michael (OOC: Nighteyes was his wolfkin name). He reached

Dedicated fast, and started to hang out with another troublemaker Zbynek. Zbynek the only dark

skinned Asha’Man back then. Together they had many adventures including a visit in Tar Valon.

He was raised to Asha’man soon, and skilled his One Power made spear, with an icy edge at the

top. He was mediocre with sword but he would kick rear with his spear. Koras always enjoyed

training newcomers. His trainings were harsh, and he invented the famous laps around the Black

Tower – Koras-laps. He gave the trainees a hard time but most of them loved him in the end of it.

He mentored over twenty newcomers.

Koras has lead the BT forces, on attacks in the great battle against the Seanchan (I am not sure

if this RP is collected in our History now so I can delete it), and rose to an Attack Leader after

the battle. Reaching the Storm Leader under Dalinar’s rule was just a matter of time. The other

Storm Leaders – including SL Kagato, the eldest of all said that the world would not survive Koras

becoming M’hael, if anything happens to all the SLs and the current M’hael. One day he left on

a recon mission trying to look for his friend Zbynek (Z). Z, his best friend, disappeared a month

before that, he went to kill the Aes Sedai, or so he said, but he just disappeared. Koras assumed

he died trying, although deep down, he had the feeling that one day he would find Zbynek, drunk

somewhere in some ally, perhaps even in his old town of Cairhien.

Leaving the BT for a quiet life

Koras decided that leading the storm would eventually get him killed, before time. He decided

to start a family and perhaps have children (So it wasn’t really a recon mission), before the

madness will take over. He did not have signs of madness - yet, but then again, he was mad by

his nature, even before channeling. He tried not to touch Saidin after leaving the BT. He naturally

arrived to Arad Doman. He liked what he heard about the women there, and it was a rather

anarchic and distant place near the Aryth Ocean. He had just enough supplies to reach Doman.

There he came to a nice quiet village just near the Ocean, where small vineyards were kept.

He offered to work for nothing other than a roof over his head and some food. The family that

took him in placed him in their barn. They were a family of four – the father – Toar, the mother –

Irgon and two girls Elza (like Koras` mom) – fat as a cow and Murka who was the prettiest of the

village’s women. Koras decided he would marry her, but she wasn’t very cooperative, being only

seventeen. He did not want to upset the parents, so he took a distance from her, and watched

her grow, as he worked in the vineyards side-by-side with her. But then trouble started. It was

summer of that year when Koras left the BT, and some important Domani Lord was visiting his

parents who lived in the village. He fell in love with Murka as well. The Domani women did not like

to hide most of their bodies, so as soon as the nobleman saw her body, through the subtle but yet

revealing dresses, he knew it was love or something like that.

One night as Koras was almost asleep he heard voices. “Thank you so much for escorting me

from the party m’Lord”. “Oh Murka! You’re so welcome. Let us now go to the barn, and you will

show me your lovely errr.. red horse”. “Oh sir, but our horse is a skinny half-dead one… surely

you would rather go home now”. Koras heard voices of struggle, and the barn door cracked open.

The Lord shoved Murka to the ground and started attacking her, trying to rip her clothes off.

Koras was half asleep on a small second floor porch, just above the horse. He channeled. “Damn

you for trying to take everything by force. What is with noblemen these days?” he said as he

jumped between Murka and the Lord. “Who in the name of …” he started to say, but that was

the end of him. Koras weaved Air, creating a sharp and slicing custom wind. The head was alive

for three more seconds, to watch the headless body collapse next to Koras and the shocked

Murka. “Fast, we need to get rid of any evidence of this” Koras said. Maybe cutting the head off

wasn’t so great due to the amount of blood it produced. Koras channeled, weaving Water and Air.

He lifted the blood, cleaning the area on the ground, then weaved Earth, to open the ground a bit

and shoved everything, including the body, blood and head inside. Then he closed the ground

as hermetically as he could. “There…” he said. Murka did not speak of this to anyone, and after

three months, they were married. Murka’s father gave his consent, seeing how much Murka loved

Koras since the nobleman incident. He was her savior. Koras on the other hand, liked the way

Murka looked. He was not in love with her, but she was a good candidate to have children with.

And so two years after Koras` departure from the BT, he was a proud father of two – a boy and a

newborn girl who was born the previous winter. Toar, Murka’s dad built them a nice home, next to

his own. They lived there, and knew no trouble or need, except financial need. But they say that

where there’s family warmth, financial trouble was no burden.

The summer of the second year brought what Koras thought was madness. He loved his wife and

children, but he knew that one day he would have to leave. He wouldn’t have them killed because

of his madness. He started having nightmares. He saw men he killed in the past, screaming

at him, their blood covering him and his family up. His children swimming in blood, while they

themselves were dying, and screaming, blood pouring out of their mouths. Koras decided he had

to leave, but where to? And how would he tell it to Murka and the children? He left his legacy to

this world, two great kids, whom he loved. A wife who would remember him, and be perhaps a

bit mad at him, but then she’ll understand. He will explain everything to her – the madness that

is the burden of Saidin channelers. She knew he was a Male Channeler, and even in Doman

they knew the stories, about the mad men going on a killing spree after drinking too much of the

taint. But where would he go? He wanted to be able to visit his children often. He postponed

the decision, and waited to see if the madness would evolve. It was no madness, just a post-

traumatic syndrome, but Koras did not know that. Men who could channel Saidin were paranoid

about becoming mad – and that was what happened to Kor.

One day, sitting in the village’s inn, a group of three men walked in. Koras knew right away that

it was a recruitment mission for the tower. Two of the men he did not know – new pricks in the

Black Tower. Nice to know that they’re still recruiting. He grinned and looked down, for him not to

be seen. The third man who came a bit later, after paying the innkeeper was his ex-mentee

Eldor. “Blood and ashes” he thought “this one would recognize me even if Eldor himself wouldn’t

want to do so. All the Koras-laps he did years ago – he wouldn’t forget in a hundred years from

now. “Hello good man” Eldor turned to the innkeeper “we need some ale to our table, make it six

pints” he smiled and the men sat down. Koras turned his back towards them, and pretended that

he was taking a nap. He waited for the men to fold and leave to their rooms. They will probably

continue to a large city tomorrow, leaving the village and Koras… and his madness would stay

here, far from the tower. He pondered whether he should join them… what would he say though?

Where did he go? Did he desert the Black Tower? That would be quick death… Trial by Dalinar

probably, then off goes his head.

Only one of the three left, was a newbie. He was tired and Murka probably waited for him. She

never went to sleep when he was not home… worrying sick for him not to get in trouble.

He got up, and started to exit the room. A hand caught him. He channeled creating a small tip

of ice to cover his finger, and went for the man’s eye. “Koras… don’t” he said. “How in the Dark

One’s name you know my name?” Koras asked. “You… don’t recognize me… I‘ve lost some

weight, and changed, grew up a bit, but… “, then the man got up. “Attacking a Dedicated is wrong

Asha’man” he said “It might be considered treason” he got closer, looking at Koras straight in

the eye. “Eron?” Koras smiled. “It runs in the family huh?” Koras hugged his brother. So now his

brother was also in the tower… that made sense to Koras. He wasn’t called an Asha’man… for a

long time. “You will have to tell me all about how you came to the tower, let us go to my house; I

live nearby, and tell me about it there. My wife would love to meet you….” He said and was sorry

for inviting Eron. He did not know what interests he served. Eron shook his head. “I am taking

you home brother… The tower needs you. Don’t worry I won’t tell. We can say you ended up

here… for whatever reasons you’ve had to leave. You are a legend in the tower. It took me only

six months to become Dedicated, because I am Kor’s brother.” The madness was approaching

Koras, and now an opportunity came to return, to reunite with his brother. When he was younger

he couldn’t stand being around his brother. Eron was so neat and well behaved. Koras thought

he was boring and snobbish. And now Eron grew up to become a nice looking, strong man. He

was 28 by now. “How’re mother and father?” Koras has asked. “I will update you on the way

back.” Eron was sure Koras was coming back. He considered running away. But he stayed

nevertheless.

“Why in the name of the Dragon, you think I would come back to this mad hole you call the Black

Tower?” Koras asked. But he knew he would. He missed the missions. He missed channeling on

a daily basis, he missed the action. He wanted to train men. Teach them about the strengths and

weaknesses of Saidin, turn boys into men. You should have never left, said a voice in his head.

“The times have changed Kor. We are in a much worse situation than when it was in your time.

The recruitment is escalating, men died in battles and we lost some to the madness but the tower

has grown into a small city now. Join us. Return to the farm, we need good men. Tarmon Gai’don

is coming closer. No one has to know anything” Eron said. His brother was persuasive. Or did

Koras want to be persuaded? Eron continued telling Koras the news for about an hour more.

Koras nodded at the end of Eron’s speech. He was proud of his brother. Becoming this man, that

Koras wasn’t sure he himself was.

“I will need to pack. Tell Eldor that I came into the inn after he left, we will tell him that I lived here

tracking a friend of the shadow. We will tell him that this Darkfriend killed Asha’Man Zbynek. Tell

him I have recently killed the Darkfriend. Tell him I went home to pack, but be quiet about my

wife… I am a father now you know. Shai’tan knows what can happen to them if the tower finds

out about it”.

Eron was shocked. Perhaps at the fact that Koras was a family man now. Or perhaps it was

because Asha’man did not marry women. Eron nodded. “Come here by dawn, we’re leaving then”

Eron said and climbed up the stairs to his room.

Koras returned home. Murka was not asleep. She was worried, and got even more worried when

she saw the look on his face. “I’ve met my brother at the inn. The Black Tower needs me now.

The wheel weaves… you know. I told you everything before. The madness is near” he took a sip

of his favorite brandy that waited for him by the fire. “I love you dear, you know that” he said. He

updated her on things that he discussed with his brother. Her eyes went wide. “I knew you would

leave one day dear” she said. No tears. The Domani women were strong. “Tell Tomas and Rasha

about their father when they will grow up. They’re too young to understand. Who knows maybe I

will not get mad, and old, and return? Right now, I have to leave for their safety. Tell your parents

I went off to find a place to work somewhere in Doman. To make an extra dime, and return in a

year”. It was common in Arad Doman, for villagers to go look for work in the bigger cities. “They

will not believe us, it is too sudden” Murka said. “Well think of something dear”. He told her the

location of the tower. Although he believed that the less you know, the less are your chances of

getting killed. But he wanted her to know just in case. “You can’t come along dear. It is too risky.

I agree with my brother, the Tarmon Gai’don is near. I can feel it in my bones. And after we win,

I will come back I promise. You know that if anyone survives it would be me”. They said their

goodbyes and Koras left at first light, after kissing his sleeping children goodbye. Eldor grinned as

he saw Koras. “Eron here told us your story. Great job dumb-nut! One Darkfriend less in Doman,

but a thousand more in Andor, that we need to kill. Where the heck have you been?” he hugged

Koras. Koras smiled. “I see that my mentee is doing great. Leading recruitment missions was

never easy; they’ve always chosen the best for this job”. And then they rode. And rode some

more. They visited two more cities in Doman, and recruited three more newbies. The Black Tower

awaited him in silence. Koras took a deep breath and tried to get ready to meet his destiny.

Alright, first off, I am on an extended, semi-LOA. I'm entering the last month or so of my Arabic training, so things are getting very intense and time consuming. I won't be around as much as I would like to be. Mostly popping in to take care of important business, checking bios, cracking skulls ... that sort of thing. If you have any questions/concerns, feel free to PM them to me. I'll be able to at least check that almost every day.

Second, due to my diminished ability to be around here, I find myself in need of an active, reliable assistant. If there are any volunteers for this, applications are open.

Third, I am aware that things have been ... less than busy around here lately. I want to change this, despite my own lack of activity. So I want your ideas on what we can do to change things around here. We have a number of solid members from the early days of the BT, Skechid, Ragnar, now Koras, and a few enthusiastic newer members. We have plenty of people to make things happen around here, so we simply need to get things moving. Any ideas?

Well hello my mentor. Good to see a face that can strike terror into the existing Storm Leaders.

I've not done a lot of RP lately, but I'd be more than happy to jump in on your return thread. Just replied to your bio email and answered your questions there. Shoot me a reply and we'll get the bio posted.

Otpelk, I'm not showing any bios in the email logs from a month ago. The spam filter may have eaten it. Try sending it again, or PM it to me and we'll get you squared away.

Bio of Leyrann Therian

Name: Leyrann Therian

Hair colour: Blond

Eye colour: Blue

Build: average, but some inches (two, maybe three) taller than most Andorans

From: Caemlyn

Age: 20

In 979 NE, Leyrann was born in a small family. He has one younger sister and one younger brother. In spring 999 NE, his younger sister, being 17 at that point, leaves their home and travels to Tar Valon, hoping she is able to channel. Leyrann, who has just heard of the Asha’man, also wants to channel. His parents forbid him, but when they weren’t home, he wrote a note and left his home. Because he had no horse, he just went walking from Caemlyn to Tear. After more than a month, at the first day of the Feast of Lights, he arrived in Tear. He walked to the first Asha’man he saw, and asked him to do the test. The Asha’man said he didn’t have time then, but if Leyrann could come to a certain inn the next morning, he could be tested. The next morning he went there, and three Asha’man were in the main room. One of them was the Asha’man he met the day before. This Asha’man said he should come a bit closer, and then he told what he was going to do to test him. He would make a small flame, and Leyrann had to concentrate on it. After wondering where in Tear the Asha’man lived, Leyrann concentrates on the flame. After what seemed like hours, the Asha’man let the flame disappear. And he told Leyrann was able to learn! When Leyrann asked if it always took this long, the Asha’man said it only took twelve minutes, and that Leyrann was fast. Then they went to the Stone, to a chamber without any furniture, and the Asha’man created something. A golden line, splitting, and making a portal or so to another place. The Asha’man walked through, and Leyrann followed. Then the Asha’man told Tear was not the real place where the Asha’man lived. They lived at a place they call “the Farm”. Then Leyrann asks where this place was, and the Asha’man said: “Near Caemlyn.” A bit irritated it was this close to his home, Leyrann walked further, and entered the Black Tower for the first time.

DM Handle: Aemon

Contact Info: acadfael[at]gmail[dot]com

Character Count: My first one

Character Name: Flynn Mantlear

Nationality: Andoran

Age: 19

Physical Characteristics: Green eyes, brown hair, 5’10’’ tall

Physical Description:

From his work as a carpenter’s apprentice, he is lean with a decent amount of muscle, thought nothing out of the ordinary. His demeanor is usually light of heart and casual, able to joke easily and is happy to meet new people. Recently though, with the discovery of his…”gifts” he is much more reserved and brooding than he once was, often quiet and not quite meeting people’s eyes.

Personal History:

Flynn grew up in a small Andoran farming village near Four Kings. His father, the town’s carpenter, was rather well known in the area near their village for the quality of his goods and has been teaching Flynn his craft since he was small. His mother was a typical country wife, taking care of house and children (and her husband, though he would say different). Flynn has one younger brother, Elam, who is eleven summers old. The two are close, and have spent much more time together lately now that Elam has begun learning their father’s craft as well.

Flynn had assumed that he would grow up to be the next village carpenter, and that the most interesting thing in his life would be an occasional trip to Caemlyn to sell some of his finer wares and browse the markets there. Fate did not quite have that in store for him, however. While working in the shop one day, only a week ago now, his brother had stumbled while carrying a large handful of wooden boards to put away. While doing so, he knocked a lantern off the table, shattering it and throwing the oil about the shop. Needless to say there was plenty to catch fire in the home of a carpenter, and the blaze was quickly out of control.

Flynn dashed from the burning shop, seeking aid and assuming his brother was right behind him. Once he began to look around, however, he realized Elam was nowhere in sight. With a curse, Flynn threw himself back into the building seeking his brother. It is still hard for him to remember exactly what happened in the next few minutes, but the villagers watching told him that at almost the same moment Flynn had returned to the building, the flames had gone out…..all at once. On top of that, he has carried his brother out a few moments later, with not a scratch on the boy. Flynn found that part the most interesting…and terrifying. The one thing he could remember is that there had been a good many burning boards trapping the boy to the floor.

At first the villagers were overjoyed, none more so than Flynn and his family. However, even though the villagers had started to claim that the event had been a miracle, there were a few who whispered darker ideas, that perhaps Flynn had done something of his own to save his brother.

It was not until a week later that the man in the dark coat came to Flynn’s house to speak with him and his father. He had a strange pin attached to his collar and had heard rumors regarding the incident with the lamp at the village inn. A short discussion and a short test later, he and his family were in tears…..he could channel. He was one of the accursed men doomed to die and go insane. He wasn’t sure what was worse, his certain fate, or the fact that his family couldn’t decide between tears and pity for him, or revulsion. He could tell, they were stricken all right, crying and arguing that this just couldn’t be, but never once could they really look at him, really hold his eye.

He was given an offer by the black-coated man, and he took it. He would go to this “farm” of theirs. He wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to learn more about this thing, this curse, but at least he would be far away from his family, far enough not to hurt them….he hoped.

Arath hated linking. At least, he hated the process of linking. Putting himself on the brink of Saidin without touching it would be difficult at the best of times, he was sure. As it happened, that brink was where the taint rested. For the couple of seconds he waited for Zarinen to link with him, he felt only the foulness of the taint, without the sweetness of Saidin. After those first moments were passed it became bearable again, but it was not a process he enjoyed in the slightest.

A few moments later, he felt Zarinen shift control of the link to him, and he had to fight the instinctive urge to fight Saidar. It was difficult, but manageable.

"So what is it you wanted to show me?"

Reaching up to his collar, Arath unfastened his silver sword pin, showing it to the Red. "What I did, I had no intention of doing. I stumbled across it almost by accident. I have ... an unusual talent. Something I hear has been lost for a long time. Several months ago, I created this. I'm not quite sure what I did wrong, but it never worked as intended. It was supposed to be an angreal. I thought I had reasoned out how to create one, and so I gave it a shot. I made a mistake somehow. It functions more or less like an angreal, but it has the reverse effect. Instead of making me stronger, it weakens me. It steal about a quarter of my strength. It also puts a little more strain on me, and makes me grow tired much faster. It's like drinking a glass of water through your cloak. However ... it does have its benefits."

Letting the link dissolve, Arath fastened the pin back on his collar. "You felt the taint? How all invasive it is? Well this time, draw on Saidin through this, like you would an angreal."

Zarinen looked skeptical, but she seemed curious to see this through. Placing himself on the brink again, Arath kept his eyes firmly fixed on her face. He felt Saidin rush through him again, though not as strong as it had before. Within seconds he began to sweat and breathe harder, the strain of the connection taking a toll on his body. But the taint was gone. Zarinen's eyes widened, and Arath forced a smile through his discomfort. "You see? It can be beaten. Light blind me if I know how, but there IS a way to get rid of it."

A summarizing post would be nice. And no, no double credit. Though you can apply it to either requirement since the line was blurred.

Arath arrived at the barn that Ragnar had appropriated as quickly as he could. Which meant he was very late. By the time he slipped in the door, the other Asha'man was already beginning work in front of the assembled students. Some of them looked bored, though a number of them were quite interested. There had been a strangely high number of men arrive recently who had a background in smith work, and many of them were in attendance today. Maybe a few of them would have Ragnar's talent for shaping metal. Most wouldn't, but perhaps a few.

Noticing Skechid standing quietly to the side, Arath walked over to join the other Storm Leader, taking care to avoid the notice of the students. He'd rather they focus on the lesson than worry about the officers. "Did I miss much?" he said softly, keeping his voice low enough to not carry.

He watched intently as Ragnar worked, taking careful note of the weaves being manipulated. Fire, earth, spirit ... traces of air and water at times ... As a smith himself, Arath understood most of the "why's", it was simply the "how's" that eluded him. Manufacturing ter'angreal was a tricky bit of work, and seemed to go by a different set of rules than conventional smithing. Ragnar's talent with metals wasn't the same as Arath's own talent with ter'angreal, but Arath was confident that there was a significant amount of overlap which they could learn from eachother. It was simply a matter of figuring it out. A puzzle which Arath looked forward to solving.

Just a thought. Did you want to include the Asha'man in a night of combat training? Or would that be the advanced training course?

I'm still here ... just waiting for something to do.

Nah, Baran can only identify ter'angreal and their purposes. Arath on the other hand, can craft them. Part of why I wanted in on it. Help Ragnar make something nifty, and get help figuring out a problem with angreal.

And I'll get the list up soon Grimm. Most of it has been approved already, and I just need to make my lazy self post it.

Arath watched all of the matched pairs in their respective duels, taking note of the winners in each case. He paid most of his attention to Gavin and Baran, since they seemed the most likely to do something foolish. Indeed, it looked as though Gavin had deliberately avoided breaking his shield until Baran had done so. The fool. Arath had also taken note of Baran's impressive fire weave. It was a deadly weave to be sure, but it had a very limited range, and surely Gavin wouldn't be fool enough to step inside of his range without disrupting the weave first.

A cry from one of the other pairs drew his attention away from the more interesting duel. The fool with the mace had managed a lucky swing, and despite the cushioning weave on his weapon, he had shattered the collarbone of his opponent. It was a nasty looking break, but nothing that couldn't be repaired easily by the Healers. Confiscating both weapons, he sent the injured man off to the infirmary, his sparring partner escorting him there. No sooner was that done, then a power amplified voice rang out, calling for him.

As it turned out, Gavin WAS foolish enough to step inside Baran's fiery weave. He tried to protect himself by encasing his body in rock, then flinging his prison away. And he'd managed to crush a number of his bones in the process. Bloody wonderful. Siezing Saidin, Arath began several weaves. The first, Travelling, to the emergency travelling room of the infirmary. The second, a weave of air wrapped firmly around Gavin's body, lifting him from the ground, but keeping him immobilized. In a matter of moments, he was deposited onto a bed, and some of the best healers in the world began their work. Satisfied that the fool boy was in good hands, Arath turned around and went back through his gateway, where Baran was still waiting. "I believe I specifically instructed you all to not injure yourself or your partner. Care to explain what happened?"

"Of course," Arath said, nodding in agreement. "You'll be returning to regular duties as soon as possible. The number of new Soldiers is always increasing, and we're hard pressed to find enough men to train them. There are nearly a thousand of us now, but too many are not trained well enough to fight off a Tinker, let alone anything more dangerous. And come to think of it, I'd be interested in learning a little about your particular talent. I've run into a few problems with some of my work that you might be able to asist me with."

Giving his report one last disgusted glance, he continued. "But that will have to wait for a bit I'm afraid. Time to catch you up on recent events.

"I told you that Dalinar is dead, killed by Brent Enios. Well, Brent's coup was triggered by an incident with the White Tower. Thirteen of their sisters, and a number of warders, travelled to the woods outside the Farm, right on top of a guard patrol. Within moments, it escalated into a full scale battle. Several soldiers and dedicated were killed, along with a few of the Aes Sedai. The rest, we captured, by forcibly bonding them. A couple of days later, Brent staged his coup, saying that Dali was too lenient on the Aes Sedai."

"A month or so later, another Aes Sedai arrived and negotiated the release of the captives, in exchange for the White Tower formally recognizing us. Brent caved too easily, but we followed his orders and released all of them. Things slid downhill from there with Brent. He grew more irritable and unpredictable. Then ... Shienar.

"A recruiting party in the southern parts of the borderlands came back early and told us that Shienar was being overrun. We gathered up 400 men and Traveled to Fal Moran. A couple of hours later, a little less than 300 of us came back. Dreadlord circles controlled the entire region, and we couldn't stand up to them. We found out the next day that Arafel had been overrun as well. Brent's final mistake it turned out.

"A couple days after the battle, Covai and I reported our failure to the Lord Dragon. He ordered us to make peace with the White Tower so we could stand together against the Shadow. When we attempted to go to Tar Valon, Brent and his closest supporters attacked us." Arath did not like to think of that fight. It had been a close thing. "Once we recovered from that, we went to speak with the Amyrlin, and the Red Ajah, and negotiate an alliance. Surprisingly, they agreed. To make a long story short, we're now allies with the Red Ajah ... bonding each other as warders." Arath shrugged, as though it was simply an oddity. "I bonded the head of their Ajah as my warder, in front of the Amyrlin and a number of Sitters."

He paused for a moment, trying to think of anything he might have missed. He was pretty sure he'd at least touched on all the important parts. "So ... anything you'd like me to elaborate on?"

Arath noticed the aprubt change of subject, but let it go. It wasn't likely that the conversation would remain civil if it continued along that path, and he needed to build up ... if not a friendship, than at least a civil alliance. As the Red Sister brought up linking, Arath simply shrugged. "There isn't really much that I can tell you about it. A few of the sisters who visited us last time were willing to attempt linking with some of us. From what they told us, there is virtually no difference between adding a man to a circle and adding a woman. So long as you're ready to handle Saidin that is. Women have to be the ones to add people though. Even if I'm controlling a circle, I can't add anyone to it." He paused for a moment, wondering if he had forgotten anything.

"As for the taint ... I know it can be removed. I can do it, for myself at least. Though I'll be the first to admit, I'm not quite sure how it happened ..." Arath trailed off as he realized what he was feeling through the bond. She must think I'm mad, he thought, almost laughing to himself. "I suppose the only way to explain this is to show you. Link with me, and I'll show you what I mean."

OOC: Well that was a lot less involved than I thought it would be

About half an hour later, as Arath was finalizing his latest report to the rest of the Guardian Council, he heard a tap on his door. "Enter," he called, not taking his eyes or pen from the paper. He would finish this thing if it killed him. And it might just come to that. His assignment in Tar Valon was one headache after another.

Tossing his pen aside as he scratched in the last words, Arath shook his head and sighed. "I can't bloody stand this stuff. I spend more time writing about leadership than actually leading anything anymore. I'm more afraid of the next report than I am of the taint these days." Motioning to the chair on the opposite side of the desk, Arath leaned back in his own seat and locked his gaze on Ragnar. "So tell me then, what have you been up to since you left? You said you only wandered as far as Murandy, but I can think of an awful lot of trouble someone can like us can get into between here and there."

DM Handle: Delrian

Contact Info: luciddragonofthestars[at]hotmail[dot]com

Character Count: 1st

Character Name: Delrian Nastean

Nationality: Cairhienin

Age: 24

Physical Characteristic: black hair, green eyes, 5'6", 160 lbs.

Physical Description: Delrian has short black hair, cropped close to his head. He has dark green eyes under a strong brow that seem to perpetually have dark circles underneath, which make him always look as if he hasn't had enough rest, or is perhaps haunted by something. It also gives him a somewhat imposing stare for a man his size, and is easily his most notable feature.. He has the smooth, pale skin common to Cairhienin and a strong, square chin. He has a series of scars on his lower right ribs which he keeps hidden. He might beconsidered handsome by some, although his stare somewhat ruins the effect, but otherwise is a airly unremarkable looking Cairhienin.

Profile: Delrian is a stoic young man. Cairhienin to the core despite his humble origins, he is skilled in the art of observation and in controlling his emotions, enough that some believe he has hardly any emotion at all. He can be stubborn and determined, and yet can feign humility and deferentiality with ease. He is not especially zaelous of any cause, Delrian is a pragmatist, and will often change his position if he thinks there is some advantage to do so.

Personal History: The Nasteans were a modest family living in the city of Cairhien. His father Alric was a pikeman in Cairhien's army who was killed during the Aiel War, as was his uncle who ran a small inn in the Foregate called the Rosewood. The inn was badly damaged in a fire during the sacking of Cairhien and Delrian's uncle and three cousins were killed.

His mother Theodora sold their house to pay for repairs to the modest two-story inn, and they along with his older brother Rudric moved in there to manage it.

As soon as he was old enough, Delrian began performing many tasks around the inn; currying horses, cooking meals, turning down rooms, even donning the white apron, though usually it was his older brother who performed that task, the rare times when their mother was not availiable.

Rudric also did most of the dealing with merchants, purchasing food and drink. He often joked that Delrian's face would frighten them away, but he began teaching his brother the art of barter, as well as the Cairhienin way of clearing on'es mind, hiding one's emotions, and observing even minor details. Rudric often said Daes Dae'mar was life's blood for Cairhienin. Knowledge is power, he said, and since one couldn't know what was useful and what was not, the key was to absorb everything and give away nothing.

Delrian didn't have a difficult upbringing, but there was always a somberness, a darkness to him. He rarely smiled, though showed cordiality and pleasantness quite easily. Even as a boy, he had his characteristic dark circles under his eyes that no amount of rest could dispel. He always worked hard, never complaining.

Living in the Foregate seemed to make him try all the harder to become a proper Cairhienin, as did of course his natural demeanor. Listening to tales, gathering information, bartering it grudgingly for even more information, more knowledge. He learned how to glance across a crowded common room and be able to recite what each patron wore, where they came from, sometimes even what they were doing there.

He had no real formal weapons training, though Rudric taught him how to defend himself with knife and quaterstaff, even if he was clumsy at best with either. Delrian did however become quite adept at wrestling, a neccessity as his brother was known by friends of theirs as the 'half-Aiel', based on his extraodinary height for a Cairhienin, as well as his adeptness with his fists.

Delrain had debated joining the Royal Army for years, as five generations of his family had before him, but he always hesitated at an army life, especially serving an army that may have to face black-veiled Aiel. However, events over the past few years began to change his opinion. The Dragon Reborn leading the Aiel across the Dragonwall, armies swearing in his name, battles raging across the land. However what convinced Delrian to leave his home was much more mundane. When the Shaido crossed the Dragonwall, they razed the Foregate, and while Delrian's mother and brother fled unharmed, the Rosewood was again burned to the ground, their livelihood ruined.

So while Rudric and Theodora found work in the city, saving their coin to once again rebuild, Delrian sold his father's armor, bought a scraggly horse, a shortsword and some supplies, and set out for Tear, to join the armies of the Dragon Reborn.

He had made good time, avoiding towns as often as possible except to buy supplies; to spare himself the temptation of wasting his coin at inns. He slept on a bedroll in copses and under hedges, and through the journey was unplesant, he was nearing his destination.

A few hours' ride outside Tear itself, he came across a merchant's wagon with a handful of guards. Right then, the wagon was stopped as a small host of brigands materialized out of the woods around the road. They slaughtered the merchant guards with crossbows and pulled Delrian off his horse before plundering the wagon.

The brigands worked quickly, obviously conscious of their proximity to the city. The merchants were spared, as was Delrian who obviously was not considered a threat, especially after he had been cudgelled and stripped of his sword and horse. Still, a man kept a crossbow trained on him and Delrian felt shame that he had not fought, had not resisted somehow, when that small patch of road erupted into chaos.

Fire blossomed all around, the ground erupted, winds began to whip. Half a dozen of the brigands fell right there. The man watching Delrian burst into flame, and his crossbow loosed, sending a bolt deep into Delrian's side.

Even as his legs gave way, his periphrial vision dimmed as though he was suddenly in a tunnel or at the bottom of a well. Is this how it all ends? he wondered, as the well was covered and darkness became all.

Ice water rushed over and through him, saturating his consciousness and stabbing into the darkness. He heard sounds, voices, indistinct but gradually coming into focus. His side was a sea of fire, fire which was rapidly extinguished by the cold. The sounds became more distinct.

'...and that one, Dedicated?'

'He lives, barely. Healing was never my Talent, and he did lose a lot of blood.'

Delrian opened his eyes, slowly. His vision swam and he saw double, but gradually things came into focus. A sun-haired man in a black coat, a pin at his collar in the shape of a sword. And those eyes! Delrain had been told he had am imposing stare, but Light, this man's eyes unnerved him. Like being nose to nose with a hawk.

The man scowled faintly at something. He held Delrian's head between his hands. He realised he was laying on the ground. He moved as if to stand, but his arms and legs felt like jelly. His stomach growled as if he hadn't eaten in days.

'Indeed, he lives. Seems to be some fight left in him, yet. Get him back to the city. Make sure he's fed and find him a bed. He'll need plenty of food and rest.'

'Yes, Dedicated.'

Another man in a black coat, a Tairen with nothing on his collar, saluted fist to chest from a few feet away, and strode over to help support Delrian. Behind the man, Delrian saw a... a hole, inside the hole were buildings and people, yet all around the hole was road and woods.

The man called Dedicated made as if to rise, but hesitated, staring deep into Delrian's eyes into his soul.

'And, once he's recovered... have him tested.' The man smiled darkly. 'If he is willing, of course.'

'Yes, Dedicated.'

His smile deeped, like a wolf eyeing a hen. 'Welcome to Tear, boy.'

Arath walked silently alongside Ragnar for a while, not sure where to begin. Had he really been gone so long?

"Dalinarius is dead. There was a rather large incident with the Aes Sedai a few months ago, and in the aftermath Storm Leader Brent Enios pulled off a coup. Dalinar was killed before anyone had really figured out what was going on. Brent became the M'Hael, but didn't last for long. Covai and I killed him just a few weeks ago, after he went mad and attacked us."

Knowing he had just raised for more questions than he had answered, Arath shook his head. "It's a very long story ... several of them really. What's important to know right now is that there is no longer a M'Hael at the Farm. Seven Storm Leaders form a council which answers directly to the Lord Dragon. We divide up the responsibilities that the M'Hael once had and keep things running. The Attack Leaders take care of the day to day affairs underneath us.

"As for the Borderlands ... I'm in charge of taking care of that mess. That's an even longer story though, and I'd rather not tell it out here in the cold." Easy as it was to ignore the elements, there were still there. A smart man would get out of it as soon as he could, regardless of whether it bothered him or not. "Since there's no M'Hael," Arath continued, "you can give your report to me. After that, I'll brief you in full on what's been happening here. Drop your things off, get something to eat, and meet me at my office in half an hour. Any of the soldiers can show you where it is."

OOC: Anyone else who might want to jump in, now's your chance. Even to simply escort an ex-Storm Leader around.