I've been an off and on'er for a long while now.  I feel that my activity is by and large driven by the activity of the board over all.  If when I post in an IC thread the response is relatively swift and engaging then I myself feel energized to get back and post again quickly.  When the boards and the RP's go slowly my motivation dies, I start checking back less and soon i'm not checking at all.

I'm more than willing to commit to two or three RP's that I would keep updated on a weekly basis but It needs to be a group effort.  So if others are committed to being active i'll back you guys up!

The seething mass of bestial creatures was held at bay by a ring of steel and stoic courage.  Horned trolloc brayed with stymied bloodlust as battle lines were formed.  What had just a moment ago been a rout had turned with such swiftness that the forces of shadow were left reeling and off guard.  The intercession of the Aes Sedai had turned the tide.  The fearsome spawn of the dark one gnashed their teeth and smashed their wicked curved blades against rough hide shields.  They formed a rolling sea of dark inhumane shapes against the night sky.  Their steaming breath rising in plums as they were driven forward by the cracking whips of their Myrddraal commanders.  Yet the human defenders stayed strong, the clear voices of their officers rising above the din of battle steadying the nerves of the men.  They were outnumbered but not beaten.  The one power was on their side.

Suddenly a howl.  It pierced night air like a sword stabbing into the heart.  For a moment silence followed.  Then on the right flank human screams sounded in the night.  The darkhounds had joined the fray.  The size of small horses and weighing three hundred pounds they burst from the treeline moving at full speed.  Their forms insubstantial as flickering shadows blended into the night, their eyes gleamed with a pale blue light that brought fear into the minds of men.  Yet despite their ephemeral quality they were all too solid.  They bore down on the terrified soldiers attacking from the rear.  In a moment they were through, shrugging off the hasty swing of sword.  They ripped and gouged, tearing out throats and goring stomachs leaving screaming bleeding men behind them.  They lived only long enough to fall to the sword of the fadelings.  Dashing amongst the hulking shadow hounds ran young eyeless.  They leapt and slashed at their terrified enemies with deadly precision.  Humans stunned by the surprise attack of the darkhounds were ripe for the killing touch of the young Myrddraal.  Myyrth darted alongside a darkhound the thick sinews of it's neck flexing as it bite into the head of a soldier who's screams turned to bloody gurgles.  His shortsword held loosely in his hand he delivers a final blow to the skull of a wounded human with his iron sheathed fist.  He turned his piercing gaze upon the channelers.  They stood opposite to the flanking attack.  They would respond swiftly to the darkhounds offensive, they needed to be kept off guard.  A sword narrowly misses his head, he leaps back.

"Come on you monster, come one!" The soldier says, a nasty gash furrowing his brow.  Myyrth was more than happy to oblige him.

The elder Myrddraal closely in tune with the flow of battle urged their monstrous warriors forward.  It took only a moment for them to overcome their fear of the channeling woman and her burning light.  Headless to their own wounded they pushed forward with renewed ferocity.  The line of men began to buckle.  Their morale was breaking, the darkhounds were sowing havok behind their lines.  The shadowspawn smelled blood in the air and like animals they moved in for the kill.

The battle had started with a sudden fury that took Myyrth by surprise.  Months spent in solitary training and small group exercises suddenly exploded into open combat.  They had reached the cusp of a hill, beneath them a haggard band of borderlanders far from where anyone had expected them to be lay camping in the small valley.  Without even a word or moments hesitation the whips of the Myrddraal cracked down among their monstrous servants and with bellows of blood-lust and fury the three hundred Trollocs charge down the hill in long loping strides.  Among them and around them came the shadowy horsemen, black blades held high, their eyeless gaze penetrating the growing twilight.  And at this horrifying hosts feet ran fadelings, quickling youths their pale maggot skin ghoulish in the half-light bared their teeth in preparation for blood.  The Great Lord's Ravens would feast well tonight.

Myyrth ran alongside his fellows, it was an exultant feeling.  Their enemy was surprised and caught off guard, like predators smelling weakness the shadowspawn go in for the kill.  The ground seemed to tremble in terror at their approach.  A cruel grin split his face as he sprinted down the hill.  The sound as the front line of Trollocs collided with the defenders was like thunder.  It echoed through his head and his mind exulted on thoughts of trampled bodies and the splash of spurting blood.

Then suddenly a bloom of reddish light fills the sky.  Followed quickly by another flare of sun bright fire.  A secondary explosion rocks the ground and the charred body of a trolloc lands heavily in front of Myyrth's feet forcing him to leap to avoid taking a fall.  The humans had witches among them.  Darkness gathered over the battlefield as roiling storm clouds appeared over the battlefield.  In the crush it was difficult to know even where the thick of the battle was so chaotic had the melee become.  Suddenly a man crashed into him, scuffling he kneed and punched soldier, it took him a moment to realize that the man was dead.  Shoving him off he scrambles to his feet.  An axe swings in front of his face nearly ending him right there.  Stumbling back he swings his weapon wildly in a defensive arc.  Around them the battle roared, a wind kicked up howling across the battlefield.  The screams of the dying filled the air.  His foe, a brawny bearded man clutched his axe fiercely, an expression of deep resolve on his face, he wore a round wooden shield on his left arm.  Myyrth was not without defenses of his own, he wore an iron gauntlet on his right hand it's ridged finger plates and reinforced forearm guard making it a subtle yet effective offensive and defensive weapon.  His blood up he darts forward determined to kill this man and move on to join the fray.  He meets the man's eyes letting the weight of his eyeless stare fall on him.  The soldier flinches averting eyes and nearly dropping his guard as though he intended to flee.  Without a moment of hesitation Myyrth presses his advantage, with feral quickness he stabs brutally at the mans exposed torso.  The soldier jerks attempting to bring his shield across his body to ward the blow, yet it was a feint allowing Myyrth to redirect his momentum into a rising slash that caught the mans weapon hand.  A fast right hook from his gauntlet smashes into the mans face as fountain of blood spurts from his severed thumb, with a cry of pain the axe drops to the ground and Myyrth finishes him off with a slash across the throat.  Exultant he watches his enemy fall bleeding to the ground before once against being swept up into the chaos of battle.

~~~~~~~

Caught by surprise and disorganized the Borderlanders reeled from the initial charge, but you didn't patrol the borders of the blight without being blessed with great resolve.  With discipline and courage those officers in the camp not killed in the charge forged a fighting force out of the chaos.  Their hope bolstered by the presence of the Aes Sedai they fought fiercely.

Posted to forward the shadowspawn to conflict.  i say we get the fight going soon. 

The fade reined in his black steed, his cowled head searching the horizon.  The strange sense that all Myrddraal possessed was telling him that somewhere nearby a channeler had embraced the source.  His smooth eyeless face turned and faced the distant woman astride her horse.  His hands gripped the leather reins tightly and he glanced back down at the trail that snaked away into the gloomy afternoon.  The sun was falling towards the horizon, soon it would be night.  The time of creeping shadows.

The trail that he had been following continued on west for a ways, the scout had moved on as expected.  Turning his steed around he sets off at a gallop to the northeast

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The main host moved briskly now, spurred on by the whips of the Task Masters.  Word had come down from their forward scouts, an enemy patrol had been spotted.  No doubt they were connected to a larger force.  Stealth was abandoned, speed was no the goal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Myyrth jogged alongside the other Fadelings, his sword gripped in hand.  The stir of battle griped him.  Blood would be shed.

A perfect, me an minisamus are hovering in limbo atm.  I was considering just forwarding the story along without any others but that's perfect. Right now the two forces have not clashed yet though it is imminent.  You can insert yourself however you want.  Thanks for climbing aboard!

When it's up could you post a link to it in this thread?

i hadn't really decided, but considering how serious the general ramifications would be if a patrol of three hundred or more borderlanders got wiped leaving a substantial force of shadowspawn free to ravage the countryside out it'll probably be the bad guys that lose.  How typical... :P

I was hoping it would sort of develop naturally from the conflict.  Considering at this point it looks like no dreadlords will be present on the shadow side, if any Aes Sedai are with the human forces it might end up being pretty decisive.

We could put it to a vote?

For those freelanders interested, an RP is currently in progress (though barely underway) that provides some opportunity for mayhem and butchery.  If you've ever felt the desire to relieve trollocs of their limbs in fierce personal combat this is the time.

A link to the OOC thread is below

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,53715.0.html

and here is the RP thread

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,54373.0.html

Any questions, clarifications or requests can be directed to the OOC thread.

Anyone is MORE than welcome to come.  I'd love as many people as possible.  The engagement is intended to be relatively large while still remaining manageable.  a couple hundred of soldiers on each side in a brutal engagement.  It is up to each participant to come up with an explanation for why they are part of either party or perhaps just passing through.  The actual occurrence is some indeterminate time post Bowl of Winds, so winter is coming on and it is damn cold.

There is a list of soldiers that make up the shadows forces in the first post.  I'll post a link in the FL section.

Alert:Shameless Plug

Just here to advertise a current open rp that could use some people.  Current active members are myself and Asfaloth.

OOC Thread: http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,53715.0.html

and RP Thread: http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,54373.0.html

it seems we have been abandoned comrade.  :-\

Okay took me a while to get around to this, but I'll post the advancement by tonight.  I'd also like to encourage the other people who expressed interest in this RP to at least put a scene or two in sometime this week or next week.  We are all busy people i know it, but if you find that you really don't have time for this then just let me know and I can take you off my list of active participants so I'm not waiting for long periods of time for other people to post before continuing the story.

“Wake up.” Brand threw a rock at Tanith.

“Huh?” Tanith’s eyes snap open; he looked around as though expecting arrows to spring out of the trees at him at any moment.  “What?”

“I said wake up.” Scowling Brand breathed warmth into his hands, “Bloody ashes boy, you know what a forward scout is?”  Stamping his feet he glares at the forest, rubbing grimy fingers through a rough salt and pepper beard he kicks the young man.  “On your feet.”

“Oh give it up; we’ve been out here for hours.”  He stood up, shivering in the brisk air.  “I bet they’ll start cooking the evening mess soon.”  He glanced hungrily back towards the main company, barely a league to the west of them.

“You can barely grow a decent set of whiskers and you think you know when enough is enough.”  Brand chuckles to himself, his rough voice laced with humor.  “You’ve got a lot to learn boy, someday a trolloc I’ll come and grab you in your sleep.  Then you’ll be on the menu!”

“You think they’d actually come down this far?”  The hint of fear in the young soldier’s voice assuaged Brand’s growing annoyance.  It seems the lad did have some respect for their job out here.  Unlike most of the rest of the land, who thought that Fades and Trollocs and other foul creatures of shadow were merely myths conjured up to frighten children, the borderlanders new that sometimes stories could be all to real.

“I’ve never seen the beasts this far south before, but I got a friend on the northern march that says that raids have been picking up.  When the blight moves, it’s best you keep your eyes wide open.  You never know.”  Both men stared out intently into the dark, the shadow of fear resting lightly on their backs.  Tanith jumps when a chuckle erupts from Brand’s throat.  “Bah! Lets move.  Orders say we need to hit the highlands before too long.  Let’s get out of these damn woods.”

Untying their horses from a small sapling tree, its leaves withered and sickly they depart at a brisk trot.  The ground was rocky and uneven, often dipping down into small ruts and ditches that forced them to take routs that lead them away from their patrol.  At one such point they were forced to divert almost a quarter mile to the north before coming up onto a low rugged hill.  By this point they were almost a mile north of their intended destination.  Brand lit a small oil lamp and scanned a rough map of the area.  He turned a dour expression on the landscape scanning for an easy path south.  He froze.

Tanith, preoccupied with fixing a lose buckle on his sword harness jumped with a curse when his partner grabbed his arm.

“Bloody ashes Brand wha-“

“Shhh!” The expression on the old soldiers face as he quickly snuffed out the lamp light was something Tanith would never forget for the rest of his short life.

Carefully dismounting Brand hunkers down, he motions to Tanith to take the horses back down the hill, confused and concerned the boy complies.  The old soldier, rubbing his beard lays flat on his belly and stares fixedly north.  He couldn’t be sure, he couldn’t be.  It was true what the boy had said, the shadow was never seen in this rough and open country.  But for a moment he could have sworn he saw a man astride a black horse on the crest of a nearby hilltop.  For what seemed a year’s time he laid there and watched.  His eyes dry with fatigue and strain blinking little.  It was quiet on the hill, only the howling wind for company.  He felt like he was drifting, he was sure that he had seen the man.  A man clad in black, riding a black horse.  Yet his mind didn’t want to reach the inevitable conclusion.  A halfman.  No, more likely a delusion of a mind that spends too long in the wilderness.  In the night one could dream up anything.  He spent another few minutes watching the hills, but he was sure now.  It had been nothing.  In any event, if he had seen what he thought he had seen.  Wouldn’t something more have shown itself?

“Boy!” he calls, perhaps a little softly despite his certainty.  “It’s alright come on up.  Bring the horses.”  Patting himself down as he stands up he yawns despite himself.  “I think it’s about time for us to head on back.”  When no response was immediate the gnawing worm of fear crept back into his gut.  Rushing down the hill he stumbles back in horror. 

There was blood everywhere, spread across the rocks in what seemed like a carpet.  In the darkness it appeared black, but the old soldier knew blood.  He could taste it in the copper tang on the air.  He knew that Tanith was dead.  Why hadn’t he heard anything?  How could this have happened?  What could have done this?  Where was the body?  All of these questions failed to touch the horrified mind of Brand, for he had only one thing on his mind.  Escape.  He had to get out of there.  The horses were gone, perhaps some of the blood was theirs.  So much blood.  So much.  Yet it hardly mattered, he was three miles from the rest of the men.  Even with a horse on this rocky ground he wouldn’t be able to cover the distance quickly.  Mind paralyzed with fear he leaves the bloody ground behind, hoping against all probability that whatever had killed his friend would not find him.  He struggled through the dark night, stumbling over rocks and pushing through thorny hedges as he makes his way west.  Unaware, or perhaps in denial of the gaze that followed his every step.  The eyeless gaze that pierced the nights murky veil and hounded his steps with suffocating fear.

Awesome!  Curious about the boy though  Mind divulging your plan for him?

Well Minisamus has got them HU-manz up and running i'm going to wait a little bit longer before advancing to the conflict.  If nobody posts tuesday (tommorrow) i'll drop in an advancement.  Thinking it will be of a pair of saldaean outriders that get attacked by the vanguard of the raid.  One of them escaping to bring the bloody tale back... maybe that's too cliche.  ::)

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,54373.msg1528284.html#new

Also have this currently in progress skirmish RP.  Borderlanders vs Shadowspawn pitched battle.  take no prisoners,(except for us if we win we will take prisoners!)

Planning Thread is in the Discussion Board.

Opening post is up.  Merely a brief introduction to the Shadowspawn force with some narrative exposition from Myyrth's perspective.  Details on the force are in the post along with expectations for what comes next.  I really want this story to grow naturally from our shared experience.  I leave it to those more experienced and involved than I to set the scene for the Borderlanders.

It's labeled as Open so anyone can just hop in, I just ask that if someone not currently listed below jumps in that they could post their forum name and their character name here so I can keep an up to date list of active players.  I would be grateful if you feel like dropping out that you inform me so I can move you from active to nonactive.  My goal for this story to keep it moving along is perhaps 1 post from each person involved a week if that would be possible.

Let's all have a bunch of fun!  If you want me to do anything with the story, or change anything or clarify anything please ask.  This isn't just my plot afterall!  ;D

Link to RP Thread.

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,54373.msg1521281.html#msg1521281

Over the Mountains of Dhoom a high wind howled down out of the north.  As it went it kissed the sharp mountain peaks racing down towards the southlands.  It crossed the blighted lands of the north, the sickly sweetness of decay clinging to its speeding currents.  As it entered into the northern kingdoms it grew colder, the unnatural heat of the Blight leeching out.  These were human lands, and within these lands an enemy stalked.  A raiding party of shadowspawn marched, the northern wind tugging at them urging them onwards.  Down into Saldaea they marched looking for blood.  The foul Trollocs snuffled at the air emboldened by the smell death carried on the wind.  The Great Lord walked with them, watching, always watching.

Among the ranks of the hulking Trollocs lithe figures road atop black horses, cloaks hanging dead in the high winds untouched by the gale.  The Myrddraal watched the darkness around them, eager for blood.  The dark ones, eyeless gazes hungry gripped their swords tightly.  Eager.   They, the horse mounted ones, numbered few, yet among them was more of their ilk.  A dozen or so fadelings unmounted walked isolated from the rest.  They did not speak their youth plain to see as they stood apart under the watchful eye of their elder overseers.   Among them Myyrth walked, clad in crude leather armor but holding a sturdy iron blade scanned the line of the trees watchful.  In these hostile lands, the slightest shadow could be a human drawing a bow for the kill.  He lightly touched the suppurated twin scars that marked his stomach, the memory of their barbed arrows returning to him.  The humans would not surprise him again.  Through the night his eyeless sight could see as keen as an eagles.  He was a Myrddraal and the darkness was home.

The sound of metal rasping against leather, swords clinking and boots and hooves thumping rose as a muted rustle over the trees.  They were on the hunt, yet it was impossible for so many to move in silence.  Yet according to spies within Saldea the border patrols should all be farther east, far away from their location.  Still, in the pit of his stomach something felt wrong.  He could feel it in the old wounds, reminders of past carelessness.  Something was going to happen that was unexpected.  Well so be it, he thought to himself.  Gripping his sword more tightly still he prepares himself for bloodshed.

~~~~~

OOC:   The shadowspawn are not in the Blight, they are they are currently crossing sparsely wooded highlands, the terrain is rough.  It provides a great deal of cover in the shallow dips and rocky terrain.  A forest is to the west and I would place the current location of the force as north and east of Maradon just above the Plain of Lances heading south into central Saldaea.  Link to a map below.

http://www.sevenspokes.com/images/wallpaper/map-1280-24.bmp

At this point I leave it to the first poster who is accompanying the Borderlanders to set the scene for their side of the conflict. For the Shadow if any Dreadlords are coming with then it would be nice to see some small part dealing with the distinct separation of the shadowspawn from the channelers.  At this point I imagine the force consisting of this.

5 Myrddraal (1 Shadow Walker, 4 Task Masters

20 Fadelings

300 Trollocs

1 Pack of Darkhounds

So if anyone is bringing an evil channeler you will need to insert them in.  Any other questions can be directed to me through the planning thread in the RP Community Board.

First draft of the opening post is prepared as of this moment.  Can i get a roll call of the people interested/still interested.

I can post the opening three paragraphs here if people want to see how i presented it.  I can then add anything.  At this point it is only from the perspective of the Shadowspawn raiding party.  Leaving it up to you lightfools to flesh out your side of the deal.

I have a long inactive DF pirate who is currently in hiding in the Tearan country side.

I'd love to, but despite my humanoid shape I have no eyes and my skin is pale and maggot like.  Also and Aes Sedai may suspect something if I walked into the tavern and ordered a drink  :-*

TILL ALL ARE ONE!

anyone ever think that the old cartoon Transformers had a sort of creepy overmind sort of thing going on behind the scenes?  Perhaps they were just biding their time before the eventual robotic takeover of humanity.

Most definitely my favorite fight scene's involved Lan vs Myrddraal or Thom vs Myrddraal early on in the books.  It's sad you see so few shadowspawn in these latter books.

There was no sound or light in the room where Myyrth sat clenching and unclenching his hands, digging his fingernails into the skin of his palm.  The sharp pain distracted him from his ruminating.  It cleared the suffocating darkness from his mind, allowed him to focus.  He needed focus now more than ever.  It had been months now that he had spent in the cold darkness of this dungeon.  Months without contact with another creature other than the shadowy and commanding figures of his instructors.  They came and went, never the same teacher.  They hurt him, they pushed him.  Yet he was getting stronger, more sure of himself with every passing week.  He was not the same as the creature that had dragged itself out of the blight, wild and without discipline.  He was becoming hard, lean, a true tool of the Great Lord.  

Letting his grip relax he examines his palms, despite the pitch darkness he was able to make out the welling blood.  He could feel it run down along his wrist before falling to splash quietly on the stone floor, consumed by the dust and dirt.  Is this what runs through my vein’s; this bitter blood?  He felt numb to the insistent whispers of the night that called to him from beyond the edges of his waking mind.  He felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach, as though he lacked something fundamental to his being.  He knew that like all of his ilk he was unable to experience the confusing muddle of images that are known as dreams.  He only had the vaguest idea of what a dream might be, pictures in your head.  At least that’s what the Trolloc mystics would say over the blood sacrifice, as they saw the future in its entrails.   Myyrth didn’t think he was missing anything, he preferred the emptiness of his sleep.  It was like floating in a black abyss devoid of all light or sound.  To wake again to this world of shape and contrast left him feeling hollow and cold.  It made him want to kill something.  This was the first time that a nights rest had left him uneasy, unfocused.

“Great Lord, give me victory over my enemies, let me drain their blood for you,” he murmured to the dark.  What was this that he felt?  Never before had a moment of self doubt clouded his clarity of purpose.  He was a killer; he had no time for this.

“Come fadeling.” The deep and basso voice vibrated through the door; out of sight his summoner called to him.   Taking his blade, an unadorned steel weapon, he sheaths it and steps out into the dark hallway.  Only the rare torch giving off a rancid black smoke broke the pitch darkness of the hall.  He was wearing a leather tunic now, a gift from his patron to “give him a chance.”  Myyrth wasn’t the sort of fade to turn down even the smallest advantage when it came to armed conflict.

He didn’t know who was following behind him; the presence of a watcher was there but unseen.  No doubt one of the Myrddraal that rotated through the training pits.  One could never be sure what eyes were watching.

“Stop.” The same deep voice rose up in command as he approached a tall iron banded door.  Myyrth didn’t look behind him, there would be nothing there.  “Enter and prepare yourself, the test will begin shortly.”  The door opened easily.  Entering he shut the door behind him and surveyed his surroundings.  The ceiling was high and vaulted; numerous torches lit the room in a flickering murky light.  The ground was covered in rough stone, in the center a circular depression of sawdust and sand stained with rust brown blood stains.  somewhere above a vent took the smoke up and out.   He didn’t need to wait long, another Fade entered the room.  The Eyeless was clad in the black armor of the initiated.  He didn’t speak and crossed to a weapon rack that stood against the far wall.  He seemed to melt against any dark background, seemingly losing his three dimensionality.  Almost as if he wasn’t fully present, no doubt that was a dangerous assumption to make. For Myyrth  this towering warrior represented everything he desired to come.  Everything, that he desire to conquer and make his own.  The menacing personal power that his self-actualization would bring was an intoxicating goal that haunted his waking hours.  He would achieve recognition, status, power; he would kill anything that stood in his way.

“You have been training with the longsword.” This Myrddraal’s voice was rough and gravely, like perhaps his throat had been damaged.   Curious.

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t a question.”  From within his cloak the instructor produced what appeared to be a metal cestus pared with an iron vambrace.  “Use it.”

Upon closer examination Myyrth realized that it was far more than just a simple piece of armor.  The vambrace itself was reinforced; beneath the iron forearm plate was padding that consisted of a layer of soft leather and a second hardened leather sleeve.  The cestus, a metal glove designed both for offence and defense had a protective plate on the palm and delicate but strong looking articulated section that protected the fingers.  Small edged ridges ran along the back of the hand and along the knuckles.  Myyrth first slipping on the cestus and fitting it firmly he straps on the vambrace.  The new weight felt unusual on his arm, but also solid.  He could do some damage with this.  Flexing his fingers he was astounded by how much dexterity he still possessed.   He wouldn’t be tying many knots with it on, but it would be adequate.  Turning his attention back to the instructor he waits quietly.

“With this you will have yet another weapon in your arsenal.  No servant of the dark should ever be without a plan to fall back on.  If you are disarmed, or your sword is locked or you are facing multiple combatants this tool will give you options.  Now.  Come at me.”  That hoarse voice bleeds menace.  Myyrth suspected that this lesson would end in pain if he didn’t stay on his toes.

“Yes Lord,” he murmurs in quiet acknowledgement.  Moving across the room he takes a training blade from the wall and raises it into a guard position.  Shifting into a light and mobile stance he keeps his weight firmly centered ready to move in any direction.  His teacher merely stood observing hands hanging loosely at his sides.    He had done remarkably well in his previous training exercises, becoming stronger, more agile and skilled with each passing day.  So had his confidence grown.  He would show this Fade that in Myyrth was a force to be reckoned with.  Darting forward he fakes a lunge with his right foot before retracting his blade from a high attack and striking low at the instructors unprotected waist.  Apparently he hadn’t been quiet as sneaky as he had hoped, in a flash of movement his sword was knocked across the line of his body and the hard wood smacked with bruising force against his arm.  Moving like a snake the instructor slams his fist into Myyrth’s throat and pins him to the ground.

“You forget the tools at your command Fadeling, you stand before me a dead man already!”  The vicious contempt in the Myrddraal’s voice caused Myyrth to grimace.  The cold flower of rage blossomed in his chest and he shoved back against the older Fade.  Striking out with the metal cestus he lands a glancing blow that forces the other Myrddraal back.  He stands silently a short few feet away, studying his charge.  “You embarrass us, a child could kill you.  Now again.”  They square off, once again his teacher leaves himself open, arm resting easily at his side.  Mastering his anger Myyrth gets to his feet.  He would not be made a fool of again.

He lunges forward blade held at a slight angle to cover his body and give him reach.  His attacks were ferocious; he worked the strikes high and low trying to keep his instructor off balance.  The sudden blow that strike him in the stomach knocked the wind out of him, doubling him over.

“Every part of your body is a weapon.  As you seem to so easily forget.  You waste your gifts!  You are faster than a human, stronger.  You are more cunning and vicious.  Yet you fight like one of them, so narrow minded.  If you have a sword, you use the sword.  You forget where you are.”  A sharp wet smack sounds in the room as the instructors fist connects with Myyrth’s face, blood spatters in the sand.  “The hand is a weapon.”  Myyrth grunts as the other Fade’s foot slams into his side throwing him onto his back.  He reached weakly for his sword.  Too far away it sat, mocking him.  “The foot is a weapon,” gripping Myyrth by the jaw he wrenchs his head around till his eyeless face bore down on him.  Even though he could not feel the fear that paralyzed lesser creatures, the pressure of this elder Fades attention was suffocating.  “We are more than human, we are superior.  In the eyes of the Great Lord you are dirt, you are the worm the burrows through the dung.  Only the strong may gain glory before the end.”

With a suddenness that stunned Myyrth his oppressor was gone, so little time had passed!  Wasn't he worth more than that?  A wrenching cough rips out of his throat.  Heaving himself to his feet he stumbles wearily over to his blade.  Gripping the handle loosely in his hand he exits the room.  He encountered no one on his return to the small cell that served as his room.  At times it seemed like this great structure stood empty, haunted only by ghosts.  In the silence he brooded on his shame.  No matter that he was still a fadeling, no matter that he could not be expected to defeat such an opponent.  Myyrth had come to a crushing realization, the Great Lord didn’t care.  Nobody cared, and he was weak for expecting acknowledgment from his betters.  As all must, so did he need to forge his own place in the Great Lord’s plan.  Ambition flared inside his breast.  Holding up the iron gauntlet that sheathed his hand, he laid his head down to rest.  Dreamless, empty he floated in the void.

Well I'll get started on the opening post then, so we are ready to go when the time comes.

not sure, do you think we have an appropriate number of people now? If so than it could be quite soon.