OOC:

OOC: I would take offence to that, but I know you only insult to hide your true feelings of awe and worship!  ;)

Insult?

Mon amour, never that! :P All hail your dark glory, Lady of the Tower! *mock mock*

Stupid French. *rofls*

IC: “Serve me you say? Perhaps you will one day……, for now I think we should get you to the Tower.”

Ibram was baffled. Was the woman dull? Was an Aes Sedai this dull?

Ibram never claimed to have been too great a fan of letters. He'd tried to pick up some works that were about this during the time he'd been drifting aimlessly around, haunted by his dreams and memories.

They were not his world, though. His spear was.

This woman seemed clearly...tense...if an Aes Sedai could ever be called. She kept looking at the stairs. She was expecting someone. Someone she'd rather not meet.

“Keep your eyes open child. We are not safe in the Tower yet.”

Ibram was immediately alert. Granted, he found some oddity in that- the City, not safe?! -but questions would have been for others. He'd stood guard at night quite a few times in Treeleaf before joining the army. Regretting the boredom of it, since nothing happened there. Since seeing the wolf, as seemed to be a saying even among Cairhienin sellswords, he knew better, though. He had seen the "true" wolf.

Drill made him wary, looking this way and that.

Where's your unit, then? Back, flank, around the corner? Some malign voice mocked him, somewhere, very small and very low in his head.

Come to think of it, that voice was right. He was trained to fight in formation, rely on the rest of his squad. That had been the extent of militia training, all that was needed to defend a well-fortified town.

Was that enough when clearly the enemy was inside the walls, though?

He did not give in to fear. Instinct made him keep a firm hold on his weapon. Warily looking this way and that.

I am looking for some RP's I need a few willing playmates for Thera :) Accept at your own risk.

 

Also since we do have some new trainee's floating about I am more than willing to teach some classes just let me know  :)

Ma'am, I am more than willing. Never understood why "Playboy" was named that when it's all about girls.

*sniggers*

How am I faring in the intro? Too poetic?

I enjoy writing too much. :D

OOC: Mh...hope it won't be too bad if I should fall back to brevity in this here intro-thread? ;)

IC: Straight to the point. Straight into the face.

For a moment that felt like the long nightmare of his being an armyman, Ibram was silent, still. He calmed down, visibly, mentally.

His grip on the spear loosed. He lifted his hand off his knife. Placed it onto the table.

The girl had run away after he had released her hand. She had not said a word to him all their flight long.

"Your name, girl", he had cried after her, feeling the tears of shame and sorrow slide down his cheeks. Sorrow at all the horror he'd seen. Done to this girl, this beautiful gift of the Creator... Not stopped by him. Stopped too late.

The girl only looked back shortly...Horror? Grief? Loss? What was the expression in those dark, mysterious eyes, that pulled at his soul, made him feel like a wretch despite standing up at last to all the...sickness...he had seen? Sickness of Treeblighter, done by men. Men that claimed to serve the glory of the Tree of Man.

He owed that girl. He owed himself, his own ruin of a conscience. He owed those this.

Whenever he mused over that in a tavern, lost in his thought, nobody would stay near him, for some reason. He was left alone. Rarely did he need to employ his spear to fend someone off that wanted a brawl. In his whole life so far, he had only killed two men. Two men with whom he had joked and laughed in front of campfires before that. They had shown their face.

Finally. Ibram lifted his eyes, looking into those of the Aes Sedai.

"I wish to serve against the injustice of Man. This injustice, you're fighting, Aes Sedai." He finally had picked up the formalities the innkeeper had babbled when ambushed by the Aes Sedai. "You, you're the only ones truly fighting it, every inch of path, you're fighting it, Aes Sedai. I wish to have part in that fight. To serve you, I wish."

He slid into silence. Maybe he would one day see this girl again.

"The wheel weaves as the wheel wills", the noble commander of the expedition had commented coldly, when he had inspected the dirty work done by "his men" in some lone village, somewhere in the Almoth Plain.

Maybe, for once, it would grant Ibram what he wished for. Maybe he would see his father again, or at least his graveyard. Maybe, one day, he would see this girl again, who had had the same, loving eyes of his mother, even in her greatest fright visible. His dear mother, maybe he might see her again, and cry on her shoulders because he had finally understood her grief.

For now, and for however long that might last, he wished to fight the good fight, though.

OOC: Your new avatar is scary. Positively scary. ;)

“Ibram, it sounds like a fine name for a young fighting man.” Eqwina put on her most open smile, the one she used with the sick and invalid that came to the Tower to be healed. It always worked to put them at ease and it was such a rare sight on her face it worked on others as well. It was only a flicker, but her eyes darted to the stairs and up, to where Corwin lay on his bed..waiting.

 

“I have only traveled once to Tarabon, perhaps you would like to sit tell me about your home and why you have journeyed all this way to Tar Valon. For one such a long way from home it can be good to talk things out.” Something in his stance told her that the child would not refuse her offer, but if he did she would have to use other more “persuasive” measures to make him stay.  Her Warder was an unpredictable man in all but one aspect of his personality. Eqwina had always been able to count on his jealousy to make an appearance, and it was always at its hottest with young fighting men. Before she could stop it a bubbling laugh, sounding only slightly wicked, escaped her lips and she was forced to plaster another smile on her face.

 

“Do not look so afraid boy, I may be Aes Sedai but I do not bite.”Light only knows what fool stoires the boy had in his head about Aes Sedai. Sliding her arms through his she half dragged the shocked young man to the table that had been pointed out to her and pushed him towards his seat. “If you don’t learn to use your feet better you’re not going to be of much use to anyone.” Sitting herself so she could keep one eye on the stairs and the other on her new caught prey she prodded the child into conversation.

 

“You will learn that I do not like to repeat myself” Eqwina said quietly. “ So why don’t you tell me why you came to Tar Valon and about your home.” Her emerald green eyes sparkled with intensity, barring down on the boy; willing him to speak.

 

"I..."

The woman pulled him along like a sack of oats. Her smile was disarmingly sympathetic, and seemed to grace those weirdly disturbed, fluid features of hers too rarely. Her laugh was doubtlessly meant to mock him, mock his stupidity and his being a stupid, ignorant oaf in general to her.

She had a right to that. She was Aes Sedai, after all.

The stairs, he wondered, somewhere in the solidly cramped mass of his thoughts. Why does she eye them, the stairs?

He looked back as he was dragged along by this woman which could command kings to come and beg to follow her on her knees...Why did she look the stair's direction? Was she expecting someone?

Pushed into sitting. He loosed his grip on his spear and knife-hilt somewhat. Not too much, though. He felt decidedly uncomfortable where he sat. Which was not the chair's fault.

“You will learn that I do not like to repeat myself”

Quietly. No non-sense.

“ So why don’t you tell me why you came to Tar Valon and about your home.”

"Mistress Sedai, me...I came to Tar Valon to join the...Warders?" It slipped out of his mouth before he had fully formed the sentence in his head. "Me, I mean...Mistress Sedai, from Tar- dove-brained idiot me! -from Treeleaf I come, Mistress. In the militia, and in a campaign, I served. Campaign, it didn't go well, see..." No lie there. The poor girl...he could still see her in front of his eyes, ofttimes, clearly, her beauty...and those pigs, they...

"Disrespect I did not mean, Mistress, course meant to join Tower Guards, I..."

He rambled. He rambled like some Tree's shade-forsaken, fly-brained ox. A headless, worthless dog.

But then, what was a man to do in front of an Aes Sedai?

GAH!!!! Enough talk about scores!!! Scores scores scores!!! *totters off to set up her scores so she stops feeling the guilt*

Indeed.

Damned obsession in numbers...*grumbles*

;)

Fine. :P

Might I say that your biography was a very nice read? Nitty-nitpick things aside, it was more than just plain solid. ;)

The standard-routine now to proceed would be for you to get an introduction post up, covering either your arrival in Tar Valon, the Warder's Yard, or both. Should you be at a loss at how to do that, I'm certain the division staff, and us others, will be eager to help. It'll take time though, I wager, so best be patient. :)

Hope you got a great time here, and looking forward to our alter egos crossing each other's path. Cheers.

*knocks on the door*

*closes it- silently*

Uhm...May I still bootlick bask in the glory of the Dragon as well? With Simmen?

*licks his lips, waiting for the inevitable outburst*

: P    ;P   :D

EDIT: I'm such a sore loser...here's the formalities added:

Name: Simmen

Rank: Soldier (raw, bloody n00b recruit)

Attitude towards Aes Sedai, the Servants of All: ...How would you treat Aes Sedai when you see them as near mythical and all-powerful? ;P

In other words, it'll be...interesting...to watch what he does.

Seems like people log on rather randomly :) Such busy lives! However while I almost... almost have enough RPs on my trainee to meet the reqs for tower guard twice over none of them are complete yet... well ok a couple are. Just the same your only a trainee once so if someone wants someone to post with that will be able to post at least a few times a week let me know :) This goes out to Aes Sedai as well though what a trainee could do for you I am not sure. Let me know what point of his trainee training you wish to RP in... in the beginning he was kind of an ass (Unless your Balyn or Dagen) and progresses towards less of an ass and less of a temper towards the end.

 

Aes Sedai may want to wait for the latter half... he didnt like them in the beginning

I'd be more than just interested, really...need to steer my Taraboner guy into some direction as far as his character goes(stiff lone soldier? Likable fellow that does not want to talk about his past? Silent boy at heart? Not sure yet).

Although I am still stuck in my intro-thread yet, as soon as I am done feel free to whisper me for anything you'd like to do. I am online quite regularly- too regularly, even; not healthy when I live an ocean's worth of length away from where this board is located. *laughs*

I'm in my final year of school now, though. Except for the Graduation, I don't precisely know what else is in check for me there...So should I be absent for a longer time this next six months, you would have an idea why that would be so.

In the mean time, I'm looking forward to the possible RPs with ya. Cheers.

Into the dirt Simmen went. Been clear as hens' eggs...Simmen tried to struggle from the ground again, trying to wipe away the grimy, white slosh covering his coat.

"Group one. You have a good eye for this though."

The tone of that...utterly cold, colder than the winter air. Simmen turned to the instructor, wiping away the last of the less notorious snow mud. Had death had a face, Stonebridge's it would have been. Emotionless, distant, blade-arm casually at his side. The same knowing eyes were set into that face- knowledgeable of life? Of dealing death? Both?

Old Duke...Simmen shuddered, and obeyed the order. Good, Ol' Duke..., the thought numbly went through his head when he saw the blade at the last student's throat again. He shivered again. Not for the cold.

"Right. On the tables there are wooden lathes for training. I want everyone to get a lathe matching the weapon they picked, after which the people of Group three will spar each other while groups one and two are watching. Try to learn from what you're seeing people, it really does help to have an idea of what you're training to become."

Simmen replaced his sword on the rack- holding the thing had begun to ache in earnest, and Simmen thought that likely he would have a fine nice cramp from it. On top of all those that he had had the day before when he finally dropped into bed.

He took one of the sticks that more or less equaled the shortsword in size, and waited attentively, thankful for the light weight of the wooden weapon, nearly empty of thought, watching one sparring duel or the other.

Likely most of them could send me to the ground like some fool goat getting ripped by a wolf as easily as the instructor did.

Some of...Group 3?...came to his group, as was directed by Stonebridge.

Let them have their fun with me, then, I guess. With that, Simmen sighed, waiting for one of those to approach him.

OOC: Keep 'em coming, Jehaine. :) Else, I think this would be a nice possibility to join in now for y'all others, y'hear? *nods*

;)

EDIT: Deleted the quote-box in the post for more aesthetic look...I need to go to bed. Take a shower first. *grumbles* signed January ninth, 2009

EDIT THE SECOND: Added some further content when pointed out by Jehaine. :D signed January 12th, 2009(yes, it's a new day, in the middle of the night...)

"Tarabon, I come from, Mistress Sedai." He bowed. Deeply. "The name, it is Ibram Mizra, Mistress Sedai." He hoped he was as steady as he seemed to himself, as steady as he had been when he got officially conscripted into the Expedition.

An Aes Sedai.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The question he had put to the innkeep had earned him an amused smile from that one. "I presume you mean the Tower Guards by that, not the good Gaidin, young Master." Ibram half understood what she meant by Tower Guards- the Aes Sedai's own army, they; even though most stories and tell-tales that involved those accredited most of the Aes Sedai's accomplishments to the prowess and selfless devotion of their fearsome Warders and their own command of the One Power, what he had heard during his time soldiering about the Guards had put them well above most if not all other soldiery between the Ocean and the Dragonwall. He guessed that it made sense enough that not just everyone could come and join the legendary Warders' ranks, and had to start within the Guards first. He was at a loss about just what the woman meant by...Gaidin?

That seemed to show. But just as the innkeep was about to speak, doubtless to sue him for not knowing what was likely most obvious here in the City of Cities, a woman glided in on them, tinier than most every other woman he had come across. Barring the few Cairhienin women he'd seen in Caemlyn and other places.

There was something very...queer...about the woman's face, but the innkeep's naming of who this woman was pushed aside any thoughts he had about that. Aes Sedai. He felt almost numb, now that he was directly in front of one of these women, that could make thrones crumble and destroy Treeblighter's servants and his deluded followers by the score. This woman, you will serve. His first time seeing the noble that was the Campaign's commander had at first set Ibram off balance as well. Study your future superior, your future officer. Any other time, he might have mistaken the woman for a highborn lady of wealth and power: Her drilling, clear green eyes spoke of that, as did that jewel dangling onto her brow, the fine knife-sheath... He let the innkeeper's stammering wash by his ears, and did not listen to the Aes Sedai's instructions too closely. They were not instructions for him, but for someone else. He stood still, attentively, waiting for orders.

The order came- after the sister bumped into him. For one so small, she did indeed possess strength. Has she used the Power? Swaying a little, he tried to comply as was fit enough for a spearman.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An Aes Sedai...Light's truth, he was not too certain anymore whether he didn't rather look the scared soldier-boy instead of someone who had slain two men and deserted his comrades. For the right cause, he had deserted. He could not fail here, now.

Skill also increases incrementaly, but we're more lenient on how it works.  I usually do it with 1/2 skill at Soldier, 3/4 at Dedicated.  I do it that way so that just about every Soldier will still be able to weave a basic fireball (13 skill).

Half thought so, so that the lottery might not spew out stats that allow a certain Soldier to weave some, say, mean-o, purely Air-based web* or something.  :D

Anyway, my initial take on that is put up above via edit. He might not be able to send shiny fireballs on their way as it is now based on that, there's other Fire weaves open to him still, though. Besides, a third-by-third development there just looks that much straighter to me. :)

*PS: Wonder if it so happens that Moghedien, the Spider, herself advocated the usage of that term in her age.  ;D

His first sight of Tar Valon was the White Tower. White, and pure, it reared into a crystal-clear, blue sky. White, where the ominous looking pile of Dragonmount was black. As white as bone.

Trying to shake off dark thoughts, Ibram looked down at the snow-covered ground in front of him, rumbling past as the wagon he lunged on steadily moved towards the city. White as bone. A wintry gust rose, straight into his face. Cold as death...two years has it been, and still...As quick as that, the thought faded away.

The other guard snored away beside him, a scarred fellow that claimed to have seen "the witch's den" more often than he cared to count. The wagondriver remained silent as ever, intent on his reins and horses. The sight of the Aes Sedai's city was grandiose to Ibram, putting to shame what he had seen of Caemlyn, where he'd enrolled as a merchant's guard for this trip, even this far off. Gazing into the distance wasn't what he had come here for, though. He propped his spear in front of him, checking the point's edge. Soon, now. Drawing his belt-knife, he did the same there. After weeks of travel, he would finally reach his destination, at last have a meaning to his life again. He had drifted for too long.

Reaching beside himself, he found the bundle of his meager possessions. For the last couple of years, he had never traveled with too much more. The spear, the knife and the iron-veiled helmet bulging inside his bundle- they were all that he had left of Tarabon. Along with his memories, and dreams. And nightmares.

The landscape drifted past, the merchant's train rattled onward, towards the closest town at one of the numerous bridges that arched toward Tar Valon itself. Anywhere else, the town would have been noted for its size. The Great City's sheer presence dwarfed it, though. The Shining Walls glimmered in the sun, almost too bright to look at. The White Tower, already imposing from far, far away, was even more intimidating this close. The train rattled through the town, not stopping once. Master Eben meant to do as good a time as was possible given the weather, and he wanted to be in Tar Valon today, now. So did Ibram.

Crossing the bridge, the column was halted by guards, who demanded to check Master Eben's papers and asked about what his business was in Tar Valon. Smooth and quick, the guards were satisfied, and waved the train through.

The City's noise woke up the guard beside Ibram, who muttered about a "man needing his good night's sleep" and stretched himself erect, resting a hand on the sword at his side. Ibram took the buildings' sheer beauty all around him in silently, the sounds, the many different people and even the smells. The City not only looked clean, it almost smelled clean.

In what seemed to be a marketplace, the train came to a halt.

Ibram shouldered his bundle of belongings, took a firm grip of his spear and jumped off the wagon. He marched to Master Eben, who was directing the unloading of his goods.

"The contract, it is fulfilled, good Master." Grudgingly, Ibram was handed his coins. "Light and the Tree's shade on you", Ibram murmured, despite the man turning his back toward him, attention back to his craft. Without further ado, Ibram turned and walked off.

Getting off the train was only the first step. Now he would need to find the Warders- he doubted he could do that on his own, not in a city of this size. Seeing what seemed to be the sign of an inn ahead, he started there, quickening his pace. Inside the inn, there didn't seem to be too many people at this hour, large as it was. Not wasting any time, he strode to who seemed to be the innkeep, and asked:

"Good Mistress, the Warders, where do I find them?"

OOC: Eqwina, it's your call whether you happen to be the innkeep herself or just one of the patrons. Same goes for your motif to be there, of course. :D

All others, jump in wherever you like. :)

Well...with the biography approved I guess a proper arrival-thread is in order for me to get started, no?

Anyone interested to participate? I am not certain whether I should lay it out myself...might get things a little wrong, after all. So if someone of you would like to take the lead with the outline, I'd be all open for that. :D

EDIT: It's up and going. If you should feel like posting, people, hf doing so here. ;)

Well, guess I should finally put this up as well, then. *shrug*

Arrival: Heat (just for possible interest...)

Saidin-related training: This time we'll do it right... Yep, we will. And we've done, no? Post-count is 6, hope the word-count meets the requirements as well, in the end.

Other training: Blades, started by myself with instructor's consent, 5 posts so far with intro-post included...requirement complete, but not finished yet; "promotion" of the WS up to your own leisure. Can drop the free-for-all tag if it should stay a two-man session if it is wished for.

Free RP number 1: So far, none.

Free RP number 2: No number one to begin with. :S

Weapons Score...He never touched a true weapon so far, so without further consent, I'd think that WS 0 would just be fair since it's the lowest...right...?

Power Score: I hope a progress by thirds, parallel to being raised to Dedicated and Asha'man will do here:

Strength: 35

Air: 3/5/7

Earth: 2/4/5

Fire: 3/6/8

Spirit: 1/2/4

Water: 3/5/7

EDIT: Now that's cleared, here's the skill-distribution:

Skill Score: 29, divided 11/20/29

Well...

For one, you would...surrender...yourself to the mercy of us mean-o-men-in-black with magic at their beck and call and all that.

Since quite many of us already seem to have advanced symptoms of shizophrenia/split personality, or other signs of madness and if not are likely bound to develop them, I guess it makes for a thrilling combination, that. So, if sorcerer-types that are even less stable and predictable than the common run don't turn you off...

That aside, I guess it would be quite fun to approach them as a psychiatrist-type, try and drag them to a couch...that kind of thing... :P

"Don't worry about it, it's what i'm here for. Wouldn't be much of a class if everyone here knew how to hold a sword after all, now would it?"

Simmen slowly looked up, his level with Stonebridge's eyes for a moment. The look the man gave spoke of mirth, and...somehow, they had a familiar depth to them. They reminded him of Sandr's, in an odd way.

As quick as that, he let his thoughts shift again, was fully aware of the sword's weight dragging his arm down.

... I know most of you are wondering why you are here training in regular weapons when you came here to learn how to channel. The reason is actually quite simple. ...

So he knows about the little use of this, Simmen thought, while listening to the instructor's speech.

... Some may recall this as being the Flame and the Void, but it's no shame if you haven't. ...

What by the Duke is the "Flame and Void", now? Whatever it was, he was still strangely familiar with its results...Aim, draw, loose...It did sound familiar, for a wonder. He guessed the man was right about the usefulness of it all as well, in the end. But why would the man let his charges hit him?

Whatever the reason, many of the other trainees launched themselves at him after he'd given his instructions. Others had mind enough to wait. They foolishly charged at him, like some fool bull, and didn't get anywhere with it. Stonebridge used his slighty curved sword with expert skill, easily parrying the boys' strokes with his blade or simply dodging them. The greater fools would continue in this manner, trying to run Stonebridge over as if the man would stay still before them. Quite quickly, they were panting from the exertion. Others had more sense, and learned, slowly probing the instructor's defense after their first attempts.

Lastly, Simmen decided that it would be his turn when none of those around him would step forward. Carefully lifting his one-handed blade, he cautiously stepped forward, slowly, circling Stonebridge. His teacher did not seem to be too exhausted, and his weapon had a greater reach, Simmen could clearly see that.

There's no other way, Simmen thought, resigned. Sighing, he launched himself at the man, as if trying to strike straight ahead. His "plan", if it even was one, was to cut sideways at the very last instant. He did not think it would take him aback. He hoped that it would count for something, though.

OOC: Minor corrections. I "though" too much. :S

Thoughts were still whirling inside Simmen's skull; potential madman cursed with the power to break the world he might be, but certainly those that were his superiors now had a very sensible reason for this exercise.

Or did they?

There were many stories of men doomed to channel, madmen thinking themselves powerful enough to carve out their own kingdoms, to proclaim themselves the Dragon returned, or stark raving mad enough to destroy all around them for no apparent reason, to even fight once the Ladies came over them as a storm would, to scour them from the face of the earth. Even then some of those fought, according to the stories, with blade and bare hands-

"So... Need help picking a weapon, or are you just a bit lost on where to start?"

Simmen flinched at that, unaware of his instructor stopping next to him at first. You're a soldier now, the realization came to him then. Soldiers don't do the thinking.

"Might be, good sir", he replied, stiffly formal, at the same time grabbing the blade he had eyed. Casually touching the edge, he saw that it was as blunt as any rusted razor. As sharp. Despite being quite short and slender, it did possess quite some weight, which seemed almost ludicrous to Simmen as he eyed the swift motions of some of the more seasoned Soldiers going through their motions and stances.

"...Instructor..." He paused, fixing the worn edge of the blade once more. "It's best if you show me how to make use of this, I...don't know how to meself..."

Well, welcome back then, and happy new year to ya. ;)

May I direct you to this RP's general direction? *poke poke* You can also pm me about how to further proceed there.  :)

and what levels and all that.

Check the sig for character and "level".  ;D

I haven't been to Dragonmount, much less the Black Tower, all that long myself. Glad to see an RP-oldster on board.

Welcome to the Black Tower, and let's hope the Cleansing will come to pass soon before we all go irretrievably nuts. :S

the return is happening, it has not happened, and they havent landed yet

 

i'd pm Quisalas the freelander DL to get some help on figuring out the differences in the psw to the books, i know that we got a female Dot9M

 

i am sure there is an outline somewhere of how the landing will go down, which would affect how the people there would see it

Ah, alright. Guess things will have to be anti-chronological then for it to work at all...

...or else, I'll leave it on standby until the Return has officially begun, if that's more convenient.

Thanks for the important input.

The Domani, not the Seanchan, are 'the enemy that once overran them'.

I take it you mean Taraboners by that. ;)

I'd be interested, though: What would this previous war be called where Tarabon rolled into Arad Doman? Is it officially named here somewhere? Else, I might construct something out of that, if I may.  :D

Then there's another faction in Tarabon that sees the Seanchan as invaders, and ally with Rand's forces in an attempt to drive them off again like what happened in Falme.

Guess it won't be that dramatic, short of the equivalent of Mat here blowing the Horn in order to do that, or al'Tanin bringing down all the might of the nations sworn to him on the Seanchan...

More to the point, this means a nice rebellion going on in Tarabon. I'll take that into account. Thanks for enlightening me there. :)

Now, if the RP-admins do not mind this interpretation of events too much, I'd still have my other question left unanswered: Would anyone be interested in taking part in the introduction-thread of the character once his biography is approved, someone of the Seanchan, for example? I could of course include that in the bio already, but I just think it would be more fun to do it the other way.

Cheers.

Well...hey there people,

These past few days, I've had this thought buzzing around in my head to create a minor Taraboner nobleman entering the service of the Emperor- as far as I understood, the Seanchan empire has a male on the illuminated, sacred Crystal Throne in this RP-board, no? -, may he live forever. I hope I won't blunder too badly when it comes to his exposition that makes the prospect of doing this the most "favorable" option to him. However, before I proceed to put it down on paper only to realize that it's so much non-sense, I had a few questions:

1. I've read this  thread so that I more or less have the outline of events right...what I wanted to ask, is the meaning of the following:

Proof of the Seanchan return has truly galvanised the nation into action, the merchant houses setting aside most of their politics in favour of danger posed by the enemy that once overran them.

and

Working in tandem with the forces under the command of Darian Tiandar, the combined force continually frustrates the Seanchan advance.

About the first quote...is my guess correct that before their "return", the Seanchan received a sound slap into their face in similar fashion to what happens at Falme in The Great Hunt? Only here, they are driven into the sea in Arad Doman?

Then, the latter: How exactly do they frustrate the Seanchan advance? Military genius as seen in the book with Ituralde, or before or during this, additional support by either the White Tower or the Asha'man to overpower the Seanchan's damane, the latter of which would be similar to al'Thor's campaign in The Path of Daggers?

Were that the case that al'Tanin had done a similar deft move against the Return and beat them bloody, would the Seanchan forces be in completely disordered retreat for a time at least?

2. Another thing: What exactly had been the prelude to the Seanchan's taking over shop in Tarabon? Was Tarabon ravaged by civil war? If it wasn't, I'd guess that the population would likely be rather indifferent to their new rulers, similar to what's described in The Great Hunt about the Seanchan occupation of Falme. If the latter is true, then the Taraboner's loyalty would be a given, right?

If the second would be the case...would there be room for resistance? I am not set whether I would go into that in any great detail, but for either the biography or the introduction of the character, it might be something to consider.

3. and last: I had in mind for "my" nobleman to get "recruited" to the Seanchan's cause while he is on his way home...it would involve him coming to the aid of some Seanchan ambushed by brigands, or rebels, or even skirmishers from Almoth Plain/Arad Doman. What tips him into assisting them, you'd wonder? I thought about the Seanchan including a sul'dam with damane, which he at first mistakes for Aes Sedai...Would that work, and would there be anyone interested in participating in such an intro?

I hope all this is decipherable to some degree, and would be glad for any input, comments etc.

Cheers

Hey there, good to see a new face. ^^

Am quite new myself, so I don't claim the right to speak for everyone else here. xD As soon as your bio is up and approved, I'll be sure to check it out. Should you have any questions, best ask the good Division Leaders, like Arath.

Again, welcome to the Farm.

PS: Don't be surprised if activity is kind of low now around Christmas...that's pretty much the norm, it would seem.

OOC: Feel free to post anything you like, people, whether it is merely noticing the troupe of Soldiers marching past, pointing out what sort of greenhorns the lot of them are or watching them or one of them in particular train.  ;)

IC:Through the "Farm", which bustled as much as any fully-fledged village- Simmen was startled to actually see women and children; who had brought them here? -now that yesterday's winter storm had ended, Stonebridge brought them to what looked like an armory, and as he had promised, all sorts of weapons were arrayed there on racks, not only swords, but from clubs to warhammers, from short swords to two-handers, from hatchets to battle-axes, quarterstaffs to broad-headed spears about anything could be found there. The state of these were just as varied as the weapons themselves were different from each other.

Some of the Soldiers went straight for one weapon or another. Most chose the sword, and drew the blade with something that at times very much looked like awe- and pride. Simmen had heard the talk among some of his fellow "Soldiers"; some dreamed about glory, about making "da' " and "the Lord Dragon" proud by slaying the Father of the Night himself, fancied themselves to be the heroes of the legends told in ages to come.

Simmen was disgusted by these: They actually chose to come here for fame? They abandoned their homes, their families, their former lives to come here and go mad on their own accord? That instead of trying to seclude themselves to some spot where they couldn't harm anyone?

It was different for Simmen. He knew very well why he had come here, knew that there was no home to turn back to- he cut off that thought before he reached too dangerous ground there. He also knew that he owed Horn's End at least something more than to just crawl into a hole and die. He owed his parents, wherever they might be, whether they were alive or dead. He owed the world.

Not all of the recruits were such obvious goats. A precious few, mostly older fellows, went straight for this and that weapon of choice, immediately starting into what seemed an elaborate dance to Simmen. Whereas some of the younger fools clashed and dashed every which way, those men knew what they were about. They did what they did with something akin to...order, as if following the rhythm of some music only they could hear. In a way, it fascinated Simmen. Somehow, he thought it useless, though.

With the ability to channel, why did they need to bother with this? What by the Old Duke is the point?

Suddenly, Simmen realized that he was about the last one left to not have taken up any weapon. He knew all too well why: Beyond his miniature short bow (if that even counted), he had never touched any other weapon in his life, barring a hunting bow that one of the huntsmen of his village would let him try and shoot with, and that he couldn't manage to even draw. He eyed one of the swords, one that was worse for wear, covered with rust. He couldn't make himself take it up, though. He felt lost.

Wind, shouts, the woods, a limp body, "some tavern wench and a lame drunkard did it", accusing eyes, accusing faces, accusing stares, Jos, Sandr, eyes, glazed, dead eyes-

Panting, Simmen woke, throwing his blanket off him. It was still mostly dark, and it seemed that Simmen had produced enough noise to wake up one of his neighbors. Through the darkness, that one glowered sullenly at Simmen, no doubt wanting to know why in the Light he had robbed him of his sound sleep and dreams.

Simmen did not really know himself. Ever since fleeing Horn's End, his dreams had been decidedly dark and murky, if he could remember them at all after waking up. Ofttimes he couldn't. He did not know whether to be thankful for that, or to be frightened.

Muttering angrily, the other fellow buried himself into his blankets again, trying to get some more sleep before the day fully began. Yesterday had been quite hard a day indeed.

Shortly after he had been done with his bath and had just finished putting on his new clothes- which seemed too wide for him -, the Attack Leader returned to take him to the inn. "Don't forget your belongings", he added, "You'll be shown to your place in the barracks right after that."

After hurrying to the inn- the downpour seemed to go on and rise in intensity endlessly -Arath took his leave, saying, "Need to be gone now. Your meal should be ready, just say your name and they'll bring it. After you're done, someone else will take care of you." He patted Simmen's shoulder. "Don't worry, lad, you'll do fine." With that, the Asha'man turned and was gone.

How can someone that stares pure death and is fated to go mad be so...friendly? Simmen still did not know the answer to that. Ladies take me, maybe I'm already mad myself to think him that...He shivered at that.

Going into the inn, he told one of the tavern maids his name and promptly received his meal. It wasn't too much, and usually would have been called barely lukewarm- for Simmen, though, who had had to feast on raw flesh and cold, shrunk fruit for Old Duke knew how long it was hot, delicious, a feast.

Right after he was done, he flinched when someone suddenly tapped him on the arm. He was too oblivious in cleaning up the plate and emptying the mug of barely warm tea in front of him to notice much else. Turning around, another black-coat stood there, small of size but broad. He did not wear any pins, just the same as Simmen.

"There you are, then", the man said in a brisk, faster-than-usual way. "Name's Simmen, right? Go get your things and follow me, I'll show you to your spot."

Taking up his possessions, Simmen followed the man through the winter storm. Their destination was a huge pile of a building, which had to be one of these "barracks". Inside, the barracks was one huge room, with beds against the walls and in front of those chests, doubtless meant for storing things away. Beds and chests, they did not fit together at all: Some of the beds were two-storied, some broad and somewhat elaborate, some so worn and old it was unlikely that they still would offer any comfort at all. Much the same went for the chests: some seemed to have been spirited away from a well-to-do merchant, others were a pile of rust and half-rotten wood.

The man pointed Simmen to one of those beds, telling him to leave his things there for the time being. "It's drilling time now, Soldier. Come along."

After some time, Simmen found himself on a wide, empty field, usually a pasture he guessed, which now was covered with ice and snow. The steady torrent of snowflakes still would not waver. He stood in line with other men-in-black, all without pins. Some of them he knew from the recruits that had arrived together with himself, at least as far as looks went. On the whole, it seemed that men from every end of the world were gathered there: Some were tall, others stunted, some dark, black-haired, others bright and blond. They all were stirring in one way or another- some doubtless worrying what would come next, yet others seemed to be...anticipating something- whatever that "something" was.

Finally, a man-in-black as broad as he was tall came out of the never-ending torrent and strode past the lot of them. As far as Simmen could see, he only had a sword-pin at his throat. Passing him, he thought he heard him mutter something along the lines of, "So that do be the replacements?" That in tones of wonder and...resignation? Replacements for what?, Simmen half thought to ask before he could rein in himself.

After Silver-Sword was done with his inspection, he planted himself in front of them, and let his instructions pour over them: They "do be the lousiest lot he did ever see", and were it for him, they all would be sent on their way home. "Since you do be all I got to work with, though", he continued in a somewhat soothing tone, "let me see what you do be made of. Run around the Farm a half a hundred times, and do return to the spot here."

For a long time, it went on like that, even though the snow still fell and the light started to fail. Simmen thought that after that long a run he would collapse and not be capable of anything else that day. There came more, though. He ordered the lot of them to sprint from one end of the field to the other and back, demanded them to contort themselves into every which kind of absurd position, and finally ordered them to line up in formation. Finally, when they were arranged in some sort of order, Simmen truly did feel ready to fall over in a heap right where he stood, to be embraced by snow and Creator-blessed sleep right there. Vaguely, he saw that others did not fare too much better, but there were those that still seemed as steady as before. Beyond that, Simmen wasn't capable of too much thought.

The instructor, from somewhere south, Simmen thought, judging by his tone, strode past the lines of "Soldiers"- he had always addressed them as such, and Simmen did notice the "S" in that -once more, either just nodding in approval, shaking his head or talking to one of his charges in low tones.

When Silver-Sword passed Simmen, he stopped for a while, silent. Then, he said: "Lad, do know, you do have potential, I do see that. You ever did take up some weapon?"

Simmen's lungs felt leaden and he had to struggle to breathe. Still, Simmen managed to reply- somehow. "B-bow, sir...as...child..." Coughing and sneezing at the same time, Simmen couldn't stand straight anymore and doubled over. Silver-Sword caught him.

"Bow, that do be it? Anywhere else, I would have put you behind a pike, lad." He barked a laugh, and told the other "Soldiers" to go, and that they would be receiving their swords on the morrow. Finishing that, he grabbed Simmen by the shoulders and let heat flood through Simmen, so hot in all the cold that it came as a shock. As quick as that, it ended, and Simmen felt numbness and the cold all the more. Despite that, he didn't have to constantly fight down a sneeze anymore, at least.

"Fortune prick me, you will no be dying of a cold with me here, lad.", Silver-Sword said. "You do be dismissed for today, feel free to either go get yourself some drink, or do get some sleep if you want. Tomorrow, you do be going to receive your blade and practice in it from some Soldier, Martyn Stonebridge do be the name. You do be getting directions once the Creed and Morning Directives do be done. Do hurry up now, before I need to Heal you again." The instructor barked another laugh, and with that pushed Simmen on his way.

So now, Simmen lay awake, not able to sleep although he wanted to, staring at the ceiling above him. When finally a door opened and some three black-coats, two without pins, one with a sword-pin, strode in to rouse the bone-weary Soldiers, Simmen immediately got up and dressed. During the Creed, again something about "losses" was mentioned, and guidance asked of the Light to let "disaster never happen again". Simmen started to have a foreboding feeling as to what was meant by "losses". He could not dwell too long on it, though. The Morning Directives were curt and quickly done: Simmen as well as other "new" Soldiers were told to follow Martyn Stonebridge, a man as tall as Simmen in his middle years, with a build that spoke of strength. He did not waste too much time and strode away to where he was supposed to hand out swords to them. While he turned around, Simmen caught a short glimpse of his eyes.

Something was odd about them. Although he couldn't put his finger down on what exactly that was.