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About Myyrth

  • Birthday 03/25/1987
  1. Myyrth watched. In the way of all Myrdraal he seemed preternaturally still, as though no effort by man or nature could touch him, as though he wasn’t really there at all. Tall and black with the white crown of his head turned at a slight angle towards the window he studied the trees and the movement of the Trollocs as they lurked quietly about the camp. His lips were a thin line which never wavered, the smooth flesh where the eyes of a human man would be facing turned ever so slightly at the sudden buzzing movement of a fly. He watched it for a time as it flitted about the warped glass of the
  2. As the land swept north away from Tar Valon and the open fields that surrounded it like a rolling sea gave way to sparse groves of trees and then to a deep and heavily wooded forest. Here the small villages and hamlets that dotted the land were divided by dark roads overshadowed on all sides by looming branches. Unknown to men, in the deep and secluded reaches of the forest, shadowspawn lurked. More Trollocs than even the most canny of borderland woodsman suspected lived and hunted south of the blight. These feral tribes were far removed from the influence of Shayol Ghul. It had been long si
  3. The blight border was quiet normally, few natural creatures which buzzed and hooted in the night moved there. Quiet save for the repetitive knocking of what sounded like a wood pecker, though no such bird lived in that forsaken land. Under a tree at the edge of a forest a pale skinned man stood hacking the knife into the bark of a sickly looking conifer. A tall and lean figure he struck, swathed in a black cloak, girded in black maile. Yet this was not remarkable in itself. What was remarkable was that instead of eyes there was smooth white skin. The Myrddraal stopped a moment, examining
  4. Control... control... he WAS in control. Who was this man, he didn't know him. Where was.... Sender reigned himself in. He didn't know what was coming over him. His thoughts seemed volatile, like the rising and falling of a storm wracked sea. This man, Fanten, was speaking. He stared at the mans mouth, watching it move, the flapping of his lips seemed disconnected from the words which floated past Sender's ears. "I am almost twice your age. I am fair, but you must understand... I have been tasked with training you in the sword, but it is only a preparation for training as a weapo
  5. Filk had waited for the last thirty minutes, schooling himself in every manner of discipline he knew. The last week had been a long harsh lesson in the ways of his new life. He woke up early with the rest of the boys in his barracks, as the most junior of the Soldiers many menial tasks fell to him. It was galling, considering the age difference between him and some of the others that he should have to carry buckets of water and wash floors while much younger boys could sit and train or study at their leisure. Most of the lads told him it got easier as your mastery of Saidin improved, then
  6. Sender sat in the infirmary ward of the barracks looking at the scars on his hands. Half a smile was splayed across his face and his eyes were far away. It was amazing, his fingers ached but they still worked. He remembered how charred they had looked before he had slipped into uncounciousness. At the time his euphoria had been too great for concern, but his nightmares while uncouncious had been horrible. His hands had been charred stumps. Blood was seeping from the ruined but cauterized limbs and he sat at the bottom of a shallow crater covered in black tar. He remembered tearing hi
  7. Sender tears ran dry as he watched Sereth intensely. He had not yet seen such a spetacular display of force. He was stunned into a moment of intense clarity. This power wasn't some magicians trick; these men were not pretenders in some farcical and overproduced theatre show. These men were Channelers, like the witches of the White Tower. He had seen them before, the Aes Sedai, with their burly and rude Warders. They commanded men like they were sheep. He remembered his father had been forced to part with a dozen silk rolls of cloth at a fraction of their worth. He remembered sitting
  8. He listened to Sereth. He held himself tight. He closed tight the doors to his mind and shut every bit of fear and self-doubt inside it. Then he tried. He imagined a candle flame flickering. Looking at the table he imagined that it was sitting there in front of him. It had a wick that was black like his coat and it rested in a silver candelabra like the nice ones his mother saved for special occasions. It sat there on the table and he tried to feed the roiling terror which coiled inside the shuttered windows of his mind. There was... nothing. They sat in silence for a minute or mor
  9. Sender's apprehension had grown once the great gates had closed behind him. It was an apprehension born of fear and ignorance but for him it was plain and simple fear. Fear which, by the next day, had become terror. Still he kept his face clear and his hands steady as he walked to the trianing ground. Perhaps the only thing that had kept him from trying to climb the walls of the Farm the previous night was his hope that it would Sereth who led his training in the following days. The eyes of the men in the Farm were not always filled with the kind and welcoming intensity that he had grown
  10. Sender Filk was not sure what he expected to see when they reached their destination. In his mind he envisioned a great black fortress breaking free of the surrounding forest to peirce the sky like some massive obsidian dagger. So it was a surprise when he found out that the Black Tower was less a tower and more a sprawling military camp. A great stone wall was beginning to be erected around the perimeter of the camp and the foundations of other buildings could be seen. Someday perhaps this place would be one of exceptional magnificence. For the moment, the most exceptional thing about th
  11. It had taken Sender the whole morning after the event to work up the courage to take the horse. It wasn't his families only horse, his father was rich after all, but his old man was not one to trifle with when it came to his property. He probably wouldn't have gone at all if his father hadn't left for the market on urgent business. Even then, if his mother had caught him and asked him to do chores or his aunt stopped by asking for help lifting crates he would have chickened out. The day aligned perfectly to leave him alone with his thoughts. So it was easy for him to avoid his brothers a
  12. I noticed as soon as it was posted. I pm'd to see if I could repost it myself so I could edit it. Normally I take more time in revising and I rushed it this time
  13. The threshold to the ancient stone fortress was pitch black, no light escaped the massive stone gate. To Myyrth's eyeless sight the darkness seemed to possess depth, as though the gate was more a portal into some ancient and empty void. A space completely absent of light from it's very beginning in creation. The creeping darkness of the doorway drew at some deep part of every Myrddraal's being. Soulless though he was Myyrth felt something call out to that darkness from within his chest. Twin voids circling each other. Tearing his sight away from the gate he looked up towards the pinnac
  14. The heat of the sun blistered over the valley of Thakan'dar. Stretched out under it's oppressive gaze the blistered bodies of a thousand men and woman stumbled slowly towards a collection of low sun baked stone structures. These buildings were scattered around the valley, positioned next to murky streams as black as tar. Greasy smoke billowed up into the air from these structures and deposited ash in a steady trickle on the sweating backs of those forlorn walkers. Pacing alongside these lost souls the trollocs loomed, snarling and whipping at their charges, moving them inexorable towards t
  15. Awakening This Follows the Blood on the Leaves RP. The battle was over. Another bloody massacre ending in defeat. Always the humans fell back on their only saviors in their weakness. Always they turned to the Aes Sedai. Myyrth’s thin lipless mouth turned down in an expression of vehement disgust. Even now he could feel the itch of the one power crawling along his spine. It filled him with a white hot rage. He wanted nothing more than to pick up a sword and start killing. He would find every Aes Sedai that walked this light forsaken world and put them to the sword. No, that would
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