I'm open to ideas but as an option for now perhaps we could have the camp be spotted and the two Black Ajah noticed in company with Myyrth and the Trollocs. This could either move towards the person escaping and us having to attack a town leaving no survivors or I dunno... something else.

Opinions?

Strange issue, hope it gets resolved!

Well, was hoping to fight something as I enjoy writing action more than anything else : p

How we accomplish that and within what bounds we are capable of acting is up in the air.  It could be that Myyrth was followed by a borderland tracker of some sort who spots them in the cabin.  This would force the two Black Ajah to act in defense of their identities.  Wouldn't want some random guy reporting that some aes sedai looking women were hanging out with shadowspawn.

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 huts small window.  His lip twitched into a smile, the fly reminded him of those he would serve. Human darkfriends, more so even than those deluded enough to worship the Creator, so desperately grasped for power in this world.  It was pathetic. With a sudden twitch Myyrth jabbed his fingernail down through the bugs thorax.  He smiled as it thrashed.  Little scrabbling legs spasming as it attempted to move itself. It was dead and didn’t know it. How pleasant it would be to crush these humans like bugs.  Still, he wouldn’t.  Why he wouldn’t sometimes escaped him.  The thought of the painful death he would experience should he disobey his superiors didn’t always seem such a bad thing if he could only feel the slick blood of a channeler on his hands. Myyrth took some comfort in the knowledge that like this fly, these humans were dead already.  They just didn’t know it.

“This world is broken.” He said to himself.  He released the fly, it continued to spasm for a time before the stillness of death came whirling down. 

The sudden motion of the Trollocs around the outskirts of the small camp alerted him to the arrival of those he had been sent to meet.  The warriors stood from where they crouched around their cookfires.  Reaching for weapons they began to bark at each other.  He heard the words horse, men, and food bandied about.  Myyth reached out to that invisible cord of will which tied him to those Trollocs he had mastered.  He felt along the strange connection, like razor sharp puppet strings.  He tugged hard.  As one the Trollocs fell to the ground, howling in agony.  He imprinted his will upon them.  Be still, or die.

He could feel them now, a sensation which prickled along his spine like crawling insects.  To be in the presence of a channeler was to feel true hatred.  His sneer twisted his face into a rictus mask as he steeled himself for the meeting ahead.  The skin of his head seemed to wrinkle and then smooth as though something alien and wrong moved beneath his maggot white skin.  His face once again an impassive mask, he stepped out of the small hut.  He could feel two of them now, riding horses.  Females channelers, most likely Black Ajah.  The forest was silent.  Only the nervous winey of the channelers beasts broke the silence.

Still not sure yet!  Haha.

We can discuss it here.

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 since they had felt the chilling touch of a Myrdraals gaze.  Myyrth could tell by the way the Trollocs clans females watched him with barely contained hatred. Normally the lesser beasts among the Trollocs turned their eyes down in the presence of a Myrdraal.  Myyrth would need to make an example of some of the children perhaps. There was a palpable feeling of hostility among the feral Trollocs of this family group, perhaps his slaying of their leader and subsequent domination of their strongest warriors was what had sparked it. Myyrth didn't give it any consideration beyond that. This family group numbered sixty or more with about twenty strong warriors. If it was necessary to kill a few to cow the rest into submission he would, until then it was not his concern what they muttered to each other. Until his arrival the Trollocs had been sleeping in and around a dilapidated trappers hut, he was sure that the accommodations would be most unpleasant for those he was supposed to meet. The building reeked of rot and mold, so potent that the odors of shit and piss were nearly but not completely masked.  Myyrth had wanted to avoid being deliberately insulting so he had forced some of the Trollocs under his power to clean out the hut, the pile of animal hides, bones and offal piled behind the squat shelter was testament to that.

Myyrth now had only to wait. Outside, the Trollocs huddled in fear, the females clutching their young to them, the males brooding around their small fires. Despite their own monstrous nature, it was almost possible to feel sorry for the poor and pitiful beasts.

*whistles*

Link:

http://www.dragonmount.com/forums/topic/80247-long-shadows-gathering-open-rp-attn-liitha-kathleen/

As far as I care anyone is welcome to participate.  We sorta need a goal but at the moment we could just do some posts getting our characters acquainted.  For my part, Myyrth only knows that he has been ordered by his masters to go south and meet with a DF Cell and is to submit himself to the authority of the ranking Black Ajah member present.  

I'm open to suggestions beyond that!

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 weapon for the Dragon reborn. Many men think that training with the sword is good in case you lose the Power. While I suppose this is true, the training and discipline that come with learning the weapon, will shape you into something. Shape you or break you in the process. I will not stand for any lack of self control, is that understood?"

"Understood Sir, It is my wish to serve the Dragon Reborn with my life.  If a task is set before me I will master it!"  Sender said.  He endeavored to look every inch the grim and self-assured figure that he saw in the senior Asha'man.  It was hard though, sword training... really?  He wanted to sneer but kept the feeling contained. What use was a sword?  He doubted a Black Tower man could have the Source so easily taken from him.

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 you would be expected to to use the power in all things.  Still aside from extremely basic training in the most simple of weaves he had not yet learned how to life a bucket with Air, let alone kill with the power.  Wasn't he being trained to be a weapon?  What if the Tower was attacked now and he was helpless to defend himself?  He scratched at his beard and shifted his stance.

He had to suppress a smile, the thought of Myrddraal and Trollocs raiding the tower still filled him with skepticism.  Despite the deadly serious looks on some of the senior Asha'man as they talked about their encounters in battle with Shadowspawn it seemed a farce.  Sender straightened his coat and pulled at its tight high collar, it squeezed his neck and made him feel self-conscious.  He was the bloody thing made him look like he had a double chin.  Sighing he rocked back on his heels and looked round.  Seeing no one he cupped his palms and embraced the Void.  He was becoming more practiced at this, though it still required him to stoke a hot fire of anger.  Tentatively, trying to grasp barely a tendril, he seized Saidin.  Weaving a small thread of fire he cupped the small ball of heat in his hands.  The scar tissue on his wounded hand was easily visible under the flickering flame.  He smiled, he could feel the heat steady and almost unnatural in it's intensity pulse with the movement of his consciousnesses.

"Soldier Filk I presume?"  The flame winked out immediately and with it the void, he let his hands drop to his sides.  Snapping to attention he turned and looked towards the source of the voice.  He felt immediately embarrassed feeling the heat rise in his face.  With the void gone his emotions welled up again like a geyser, all the hate he had used before to feed the void seemed to lash back at him.  Mother's milk in a cup, blasted light-forsaken fool, don't be weak.  He felt the voice rise up inside him, hateful and loud it seemed for a moment to roar in his ears like the thump of his own heart.  Cowardly milk-heart, turn your head up, bloody idiot.  Straighten that chin, look him in the eye.

"Sir!" He said.  Blinking he stared at the mans nose.  He felt his lip quiver and worried for a moment that he might start to cry.  Die if you do fool, milk-hearted wretch, be a man.  He struggled against the anger for a moment, shoving it down in a brief internal struggle.  "Yes Sir, Soldier Filk reporting for weapons training sir!"  He was in control now.  Weakness was nothing to him, a foreign concept.  He would be strong.

Well I have a post I can use now.  I can pm it to you and see if it works for the goals you have in mind for the RP?

I have an introductory post which i think would fit in well if this current RP is going to continue.  I will wait on Liithas response.

I shall read through it.  How would you like me to insert myself though?  Shall I just post an introduction or shall you provide a thread to link him in?

Waiting on any follow up.  I'll keep checking in.

Certainly, he can either appear solo or with a small fist of trollocs depending on your goals.  Just let me know what you'd ask of me (as a very young fade I'm certain I'd be far below you in the hierarchy so just make your wishes known)

Also which thread would we be building from?

Sent.  Thanks!

I need to get my Fade talking and working with some dreadlords, he's still young so he needs to be tested.  Serving under a Dreadlady and a Black Aes Sedai would be perfectly fine.  Mayhaps we can brainstorm something for them to do.

Could someone participate in a training exercise with my soldier Sender Filk?

He's done the initial channeling encounter but now needs some more advanced schooling to get him on the path towards promotion to Dedicated.

Any Darkfriends or Shadowspawn want to plan and execute something?

I have a Fade and have a hankering to cut people.

Well, i'll be watching.

I've only got a couple of classes done with my soldier. He's really at the age of majority yet.

Been very inactive, but I am here.

I'm just going to sidle into the room here and raise my hand.

I've got a wet-behind the ears Soldier who could do with seeing someone die.

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 his eyes away from the ruined image of his hands and looking up at the sky. Rolling black clouds spat heat lightning at each other like massive ships of war locked in ruinous battle. The sky was choked with carrion birds that filled that air with a cacophanous sound like the screaing howl of the damned. Time seemed to be moving so slowly, each bird was swimming through the air in slow motion. He could feel great heaving cracks in the earth as though some ancient fault were slipping taking everything with it into some yawning dark void beneath the earth. The world was fraying apart around him.

In the distance he heard deep and rumbling laughter that brought with it a sickening nausea which crawled into his gut and nested there planting the seeds of its corruption.

He had woken screaming clutching his hands. One of the camp wives who volunteered as a nurse had pushed him back down almost immediatly.

"Calm yourself, it's only a dream. Some of the men get them." She didn't seem concerned. A solid woman not prone to hysteria.

"It was..." He didn't elaborate. He didn't know what the dream was. It had been so vivid, dreams like that... how could you tell that they weren't real? He could still feel the blood dripping down his forearms. He could hear the sound of the birds like a vibration still humming through his ears. A world of desolation. Still, the nurse was right. Like all dreams it faded. They let him stay in the infirmary for another hour, one of the more skilled healers in the camp checked him over, probing gently with Saidin

"A healthy young man." He said. He slaps him on the back. "I heard you gave yourself a little scare on the training field. Well done. Not everyone touches the power on their first day." Sender smiles and thanks the man. Pride swelled inside him. He realy had done it hadn't he.

Outside the barracks he had clenched his fists and examined the mottled burn scars which covered them. The intense heat had left the skin of his hands discolored and raw. The scars would probably never go away, an ugly reminder of his accident. He felt a laugh erupt from his chest sharp and giddy. He squeezed his hands into fists until they ached and the blistered skin on his right hand broke open and bled. He embraced the pain.

"I have it. I have it. I have it. SAIDIN!" He shouted. The word both a declaration and a pure expression of triumph. Suddenly self-councious he looked around. No one was paying attention to him. He kicked the ground and skipped and waved his hands about. He could channel and nobody would take that away from him. He didn't know anything about this war they were talking about. Tarmon Gai'din or whatever nonsense. His mother had told him the same stories. And stories were stories until you had the evidence in your hands. Looking at his hands he thought he had all the evidence he'd ever need to prove his power.

Still, a felt something cold and ration settle into the back of his mind, cooling his excitement.

You haven't learned anything yet. You need to focus. Sereth could cut you off form this power if he wanted to. He did it before.

Sender remembered the strange sense of being blocked or forced away from Saidin almost immediatly after the explosion had happened. He wondered if there was a way to bypass that. He didn't like the idea that someone could take his power away from him.

Right. So you need to be smart Sender. You need to learn. You're a clever man. If you apply yourself the instructors will trust you. They'll give you more responsibility. They'll give you more power.

He let the tension leak from his body and he shook out his aching hands. This place was a school. He was here to learn. He needed to be careful and take things slowly. He started walking towards the Soldiers barracks, some of the other black coats were giving him looks. Fresh meat like him probably had duties to be attending to. Still it was impossible for him to avoid trying one more time. As he walked he tried to conjur up the Ko'di, flame and void. He felt the spark of the flame start to light in his mind, fueled by his emotions and will. He felt the void that surrounded the flame and within the flame he felt the burning... He stopped. He glanced at his hands.

"Maybe i'll wait." Somewhere deep inside himself the terror still lurked.