The first of the soldiers were arriving in Fal Haddon. In days past they would have been billeted outside the Khomadori capital, but the Black Fever had left plenty of room in the city. The kingdom was preparing for war with Guaire Amalasan. Watching from the balcony of his unfinished palace King Tefan Takonor, a greying gnarled old root of a man, leaned against the gilded rail. Was he doing the right thing? He thought so. He knew the prophesies of the Dragon well and Amalasan had met so few of them, far too few. But yet many followed him and many more believed. Could they all be wrong? It would have helped if the rumors reaching Khodomar were even slightly consistent.

Amalasan had stormed the Stone and claimed Callandor. No, Tier had been seized but the Stone still held against him. No, he had seized the Stone but Callandor had rejected him. No, Amalasan's forces had been routed and his head now decorated a spike upon Tear's main gate. Tefan shook his head and turned back towards his apartments where Merili Sedai tugged the corner of her red embroidered shawl impatiently.

"My apologies Aes Sedai," Tefan said tiredly, "The mind wanders these days." He went to gesture for her to sit but she sat herself down before being granted permission, peering at him with cool brown eyes over that ageless beak of a nose.

"I can't promise this will work," she said curtly, "In fact this is most likely a complete waste of time."

"You've said," Tefan sighed taking his seat, "Repeatedly."

"It's not my fault if your highness will not listen to sense," she replied. Merili never used his title except to berate him. "I've never known a man who assaulted a Sister to be freed, especially not a man..." she paused, shifting in her seat, "A man like your son."

"He kicked an Aes Sedai in the shin," Tefan said, "Hardly a serious assault all things considered."

"Any assault on a Sister is a serious assault," Merili sniffed. Tefan straightened and picked up his quill and paper. They'd had this argument many times in the past few days.

"Shall we begin?" he said, dipping his quill in ink.

Nicolau Rodik Beliec had not been to the glorious city of Epallene in many a year, yet he was summoned to go today. Because of the urgency of the letter he decided to make the trip with nothing but himself and his guards. He rode in the middle of the square formation of troops that would have to leave him when they reached the city.

Epallene was a safe city, so he wasn't worried about the absence of his guards, although one would stay with him, for his safety if things took a worse turn.

The letter had seemed urgent, and as he saw the city walls - and the palace - rise above the horizon he couldn't stop a smile from reaching his face. It reminded him of when he was a kid, visiting this city with his father, back when he was so young, back when he was innocent.

Innocence may be lost, but the splendor of the city has not changed.

Nicolau Rodik Beliec stood before the gates of the palace and waited, a bead of sweat made a trail down his cheek. His one guard seemed to be sweating as well, in his heavy plate armor he had a good reason to. He almost wanted to chew on tree sap to get all his anxious energy out, yet he stayed the same, stepping towards the palace.

Daylight barely shone through the clouded skies above Epallene. The Royal Palace sat in the bosom of Epallene's Three Hills in the centre of the otherwise flat city. The chronicles of his ancestors had recorded that the site of Epallene was once a simple town that facilitated trade between Almoren and Coremanda, two of the famed Ten Nations that ruled the world before the Trolloc Wars.

Whatever it had been, Epallene was now the jewel of Shandalle. It did not have the grand beauty of Caemlyn or the other Ogier built cities, but it's domes and columns provided another kind of beauty. One that was humble and human.

Artur sat upon the Throne inside the Royal Palace - or the Hawk's Nest, as some called it - tapping his fingers along the gilded gold on the throne's arm.

"Your Highness," Antegonus, Captain of the Royal Guards, ventured, eyeing Belisare warily. "The False Dragon must be defeated, but it is unwise to allow the Tower to use us to goad him into a conflict."

Belisare sniffed, her ageless face serene as she shifted the Red shawl on her shoulders. "Was it not you who kept pushing for Shandalle to go on the offensive? Despite being outnumbered and facing one of the most dangerous men in the world?"

Antegonus's face grew nearly as scarlet as the Aes Seda's shawl. Hawkwing was tempted to laugh. If she were not Aes Sedai, he would have believed Belisare took great joy in antagonising his Captain. Along with Amaline, who sat by his side, the two were Artur's closest advisors.

"This situation is nothing -"

"Silence," Artur cut in before the two could say more. "The Light knows I need it before I get a headache," he added under his breath so that only his wife could hear. She smiled fondly and squeezed his hand.

As always when he spoke, his Captain and Aes Sedai advisor immediately quieted and their eyes turned upon him. Belisare was still uncomfortable at how quickly she did so, but Artur barely recognized it now. "The Amyrlin has acted as she has seen fit. She has chosen wisely."

Both of them knew he had been in contact with Bonwhin several times. Perhaps they did not know the extent of it, but it would suffice. "Enough discussion for today. Amalasan will soon move. Send word to the lords and ladies of Shandalle: Attend the Royal Palace with all haste. We do not have much time."

[M: Letters are sent via pigeon to the noble houses of Shandalle requesting their presence in the capital.]

The columns of men slowly marched north, their mass swallowing the road as far as Guaire could see. To the right, the last stretches of the swamps about Illian faded away, the stink of tanneries and rotting marsh plants slowly outstripped by the soldiers' pace. The People of the Dragon hadn't conquered half of the world by walking at a snail's pace; the men in the ranks knew the Dragon's insistence on a grueling march, and for the most part, they accepted it. Guaire had sat in the saddle at the end of the causeway out of Illian, on display for each of his men as they left on the latest conquest, and though the morning had started fair and even warm for the season, it had grown darker. Guaire had leaned over the saddlehorn and peered suspiciously into men's faces, looking for any flicker of disillusionment. The soldiers' faces had changed by the end, turning from open adoration to frowns of unease. By the time the last man had slipped away, the commander of Guaire's guard had had to remind him that they needed to spur their horses into position.

Guaire's guard rode at the rear of the smallest column, marching on the left flank. Brys Guarale glanced at Guaire over the steel veil pinned to his helmet, the wrinkles at the corners of his warm brown eyes the only expression the Dragon could clearly discern.

"Do you expect to fight the enemy so close to Illian, Brys?" Guaire asked, fighting to keep his surliness out of his voice. It wasn't Brys's fault that Guaire's own men were ungrateful and disloyal. They probably thought he was mad, too.

A dark, soft laugh broke through the Elan Dapori's veil.

"I always expect to fight, Lord Dragon. If I were the hawk king, my best men, they would crouch in the ditches and prowl through the alleys. Never give the conquerors a moment's rest. The guardian of the Dragon Reborn, he must rely on steel as much as the Prophecies, no?"

A tight smile crossed Guaire's face for a moment. Brys came from a mold that no longer existed; for five years, he had been utterly loyal to Guaire without a thought to his own profit. He had slain the king of Elan Dapor in single combat and won his second heron-mark blade. He had torched lord's halls when they had refused to swear to the Dragon. Glorious and ignoble acts elicited the same response from Brys, when the orders came from Guaire. Sawyn Maculhene was cut from the same cloth. Guaire would truly feel safe when he marched with Brys at his side and Sawyn in command.

And so the host marched northward, ever northward from dawn until dusk, until the Plains of Maredo seemed to swallow them in the growing darkness.

Bonwhin Meraighdin, the Watcher of the Seals, The Flame of Tar Valon, The Amyrlin Seat, woke early in the morning to a knock at her door. As always, the rapping was firm, and immediately, she knew who it was. She pushed herself from her bed at the side of the room and sighed, turning towards the windows, which allowed brilliant, warm sunlight to bathe her room. As it touched her, she quickly made her way to her wardrobe and donned a deep red robe, of which clung to her surprisingly well, despite only being tied around the waist. She would’ve taken the time to brush her hair as well, but she suspected that the woman on the other side of the door had important news.

“Mother,” her Keeper of the Chronicles said as she opened the door, dropping into a formal curtsy. Then she reached forward, and pressed her lips to the serpent ring that Bonwhin always wore. “I apologize that I have awakened you. I bring news.”

“Good,” Bonwhin said firmly. Despite having just woken up, she felt ready for the day, and regarded her Keeper with a cool expression, entirely unreadable save by those in her inner circle. “Take a seat. I had a servant acquire us some wine last evening.” She had planned for this meeting, as she always did with matters of this sort. The door clicked shut behind them as she entered, placing her on a seat directly in front of her desk.

This was not her study. However, during late nights, she preferred working here instead of where she was readily available. Besides, she had plans that should be visible to the Amyrlin only, and despite the ward she had placed on her strongbox, preventing almost everyone from seeing it, Bonwhin was nothing if not cautious. Calmly, she made her way to the other side of the desk and sat, placing her hands in her lap. Faeldrin, her Keeper, a stout red with a pretty face regarded her before she finally spoke.

“Mother,” she began, cutting herself off and blinking. “There has been news from all of the nations. I wish to start with news of Guaire Amalasan. As always, Artur’s forces have once again engaged him, and the False Dragon has earned nothing more than a stalemate. Old news, perhaps, but important. Messages from the Aes Sedai in the Stone of Tear say that the Stone is holding well, and Callandor itself is not yet taken.”

Bonwhin raised an eyebrow. “What were their words, exactly?”

“I quote, Mother: ‘The Stone holds. The besiegers are getting erratic, we believe. Their time spent sieging the stone has left them restless, perhaps. Regardless, ships come every day bringing supplies into the Stone. We do not believe it will fall, and wish to reaffirm that Callandor has not been taken, despite previous assurances.’”

Bonwhin sighed. “Do the fools still believe he is the Dragon Reborn?”

Faeldrin blinked. “I believe they have considered all possibilities, Mother.”

She sniffed. “He has fulfilled none of the prophecies. He is a False Dragon, daughter, no matter if half the world believes it or not.” She would not say that Guaire had somehow managed to spin the tales in his favor. He was both crafty and mad. An odd combination. But Bonwhin would get to him soon enough, and prevent him from going deeper into madness. As was the duty of the Flame of Tar Valon. “How holds Hawkwing?”

“He is well,” Faeldrin said. “Reports say he is restless, perhaps as any monarch would be during these times. He will be engaging Guaire again, no doubt, soon. And he is partially distrustful of Aes Sedai, though I believe he understands our uses.”

Bonwhin snorted, frowning, and idly playing with one of her brown locks. “Children do not often trust what adults tell them to do. Yet they do it anyway. Very well. I want to end this war quick, Faeldrin. You have summoned the Hall of the Tower?” She sighed as she finished, already somehow feeling worn out. The war of the Second Dragon – that’s what the world was calling it now – had gone on for far too long. Bonwhin had been raised in the same year that he rose, so she felt that she was particularly forced to deal with him. She had grown hating men. And men who could channel? That was something else entirely.

“The Hall will convene in one hour, Mother. That is why I have come to you. To deliver this information, and make you aware.”

Bonwhin nodded. “Very well,” she said. “I wish I had time for a bath.” Standing, she again made her way to the wardrobe, picking out a simple red gown. That would do. She wasn’t particularly fond of ostentatious displays of power and wealth, outside of her own staff and stole, which she wore almost all of the time. She was Aes Sedai, and she was the Amyrlin Seat. She did not need to dress pompously. “Continue, Faeldrin.”

“An odd proclamation from Rhamdashar, Mother,” Faeldrin said as Bonwhin dressed. She did not seem at all fazed by Bonwhin’s half-dressed state. That was part of the reason she was Bonwhin’s keeper. That, and their friendship during their early years as Aes Sedai. Then, their relationship had been entirely based off of their fondness for each other. Now, it was strictly business. As Amyrlin and Keeper, they had to keep up appearances. “Caraline Sedai intends on stepping down as Queen.”

That made Bonwhin stop. “What?”

“Political unrest, Mother. A letter arrived at the Tower early last evening. I did not find it prudent to send it to you right away, as it is the least of our concerns right now. Caraline Tovanelle intends on stepping down and returning to Tar Valon within two months, after making sure her granddaughter, Kumara, is secure upon the throne.”

Bonwhin groaned. Having an Aes Sedai Queen had helped their reputation in several respects. One, Caraline had been well regarded up until the last few years in her reign. She was an Aes Sedai of low potential, true, but her potential for politics were incredible. Unfortunately, she had lost both of her sons, and through that… “…Is this about her sons?” Bonwhin asked, incredulous.

“Princes Nazar and Agelmar have both died, Mother,” Faeldrin said, sounding displeased. “Caraline believes this is the source of unrest. Outside of her losses, of course. I believe she will be of use in Tar Valon, if not Rhamdashar.”

“Perhaps,” Bonwhin said, finally slipping the gown over her form. It clung tightly, as most of her gowns did, snug around the waist and bosom. Not that she wanted to pronounce any of those features. “Tell her to come to Tar Valon in all haste. Once Kumara is on the throne, I will send a new advisor to her.”

“Very well, Mother.”

“And inform the child Edeyne of her father’s death, please. And that her grandmother intends on stepping down. Perhaps that will aid her in her studies?” Edeyne, unlike her grandmother, had potential almost as high as her own. She was only accepted, but she had spent only three years as a novice, and would spend even fewer as accepted. “In any case, we should not keep the Hall waiting.”

“Yes, Mother,” Faeldrin said, rising. Bonwhin reached for the striped stole of the Amyrlin Seat, running her fingers through the coarse fabric. Of all Ajahs and none. Sometimes, secretly, she had to remind herself of that. Bonwhin turned toward the door. “Shall we, Mother?”

She wrapped the stole around her shoulders, feeling its weight settle on her. “Yes,” she said.

Faeldrin opened the door first, and when they made their way out into the hallways, they found few about. They were in one of the highest levels of the White Tower, far beyond most sister’s apartments. Another reason she enjoyed being up here. It was quiet, if a bit dusty. Their steps sounded in the halls as they made their way down the great spiraling staircase, Bonwhin at the head, and Faeldrin just behind. “Have you considered my proposition, Faeldrin?” Bonwhin asked.

“Which proposition, Mother?”

“War,” Bonwhin said. “An end to it.”

Done so with twenty Aes Sedai and one very important man. Perhaps the only man Bonwhin did not genuinely dislike.

Faeldrin hesitated. “It is a good idea, Mother.”

“Truth, Faeldrin. Do not give me false ones.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it is bold,” Faeldrin said after some time. “However I fear that if it fails, we will lose credibility, and could steer this war in the wrong direction.”

“Is that so?” Bonwhin asked, amused. “Guaire Amalasan is only one man.”

“A man with a hundred thousand men following him,” Faeldrin said.

“This is true,” Bonwhin said, pursing her lips. “However, one must be bold in order to succeed. If you are not bold, then you will wait for someone else to do it for you. I must be bold, Faeldrin. I am the Amyrlin Seat, and I will have order in this world again.”

“Yes, Mother,” Faeldrin said, disbelief practically oozing from her tongue. Bonwhin suppressed a groan at that. Why couldn’t Faeldrin see? She was a good woman, capable and stern at the same time, but she was not as passionate as herself. And she was good at organizing papers, something Bonwhin was clearly lacking in.

They finally came to the main level. Here, Aes Sedai, Novices and Accepted began their morning routines, scurrying about like fish caught in a net. The Hall would be convening formally today, so no sisters would be able to attend. However, when they finally arrived at the Hall, a whole flock of Aes Sedai were waiting. They parted eagerly for Bonwhin and Faeldrin, delivering curtsies that suited them. Most of them wore ageless faces, masks of truly emotionless regard, while some, new to the shawl, still retained their youthful looks, trying to emulate Aes Sedai serenity.

The Sitters of the Hall of the Tower awaited her inside. Had she really been so close to being late? She sighed inaudibly as she made her way in. The Hall was full today. Every Sitter from every Ajah was present, regarding her with serene faces as she made her way to the actual Amyrlin Seat. They stood. At the center of the room, where she now stood, lied the Flame of Tar Valon. From it spiraled the colors of the seven Ajahs, Red, Blue, White, Green, Grey, Yellow, and Brown.

Finally, Faeldrin announced her. “She comes!” The woman said, her voice loud and booming. The hushed whispers of the Aes Sedai behind them became inaudible, and all fell quiet, save for the words of one woman. “She comes! The Flame of Tar Valon, The Watcher of the Seals, The Amyrlin Seat.”

Bonwhin took her seat, and with her, so did the other Sitters. The massive doors to the Hall clicked shut, and they were alone. The youngest Sitter they had, a small brown named Ashmenaille stood then, embraced saidar, and spoke. “What is brought before the Hall of the Tower is for the Hall alone to consider. Whosoever intrudes unbidden, woman or man, initiate or outsider, whether they come in peace or in anger, I will bind according to the law, to face the law. Know that what I speak is true; it will and shall be done.”

Then she returned to her seat.

Another one rose, this time a yellow. "There are those within earshot who are not of the Hall. What is spoken in the Hall of the Tower is for the Hall alone to hear, until and unless the Hall decides otherwise. I will make us private. I will seal our words to our ears only." The light of saidar surrounded her, and a weave popped into place around the whole of the hall, warding against listening.

The Hall was finally in session. Bonwhin was the first to speak, opening her mouth to indicate that she wished to do so. “Daughters,” Bonwhin said. “Most of you know why I have called you here. If not, then learn this now: I have called you because I want to end this war between nations. So far, everything we have attempted has failed. Guaire Amalasan -“ The name sent shivers through the Hall. The prospect of a man who could channel terrified them. “- still rules half the world. I have called you to propose this. During the next engagement between Artur Paendrag Tanreall and Guaire Amalasan’s forces – or rather, next one we can get our hands on, we will send a total of twenty Aes Sedai; those most talented as a strike force to capture and shield Amalasan. I have taken the liberty of proposing a composition to these Aes Sedai as well: Seven reds, seven greens, three yellows, two blues, and one grey.”

Silence.

Finally, a sitter spoke, from the Blue Ajah. Bonwhin gritted her teeth, managing to keep herself expressionless as one of the red-faced goats delivered their retort. “Only twenty, Mother?”

“Yes,” Bonwhin said. “I am aware there are already sisters with Hawkwing?”

She nodded in return. “Several. However, they are not specialized in dealing with men who can channel.”

“And the reds are,” Bonwhin said. “As are the greens, when necessary. The world faces it’s end if Guaire Amalasan succeeds. It is why I am making this bid. A chance that we can end this in one swift stroke. Get to the heart of battle and shield Amalasan, and then we shall transport him here for gentling.” The thrilling thought that Aes Sedai might once be regarded as great again made Bonwhin shiver. Not that they had lost any reputation recently. Just… their credibility had seemed less lately.

Several of the Sitters nodded. Another spoke up, this time a grey, one of the oldest, and so closest to her. Bonwhin guessed she was in her second century, as when she had peaked in the novice book, she could’ve sworn that her name had appeared somewhere in the seventh century. “And of this composition? Seven reds, seven greens? Of what use are the yellows, Mother?”

“Healing,” Bonwhin said. “In the thick of battle, one can expect to be injured. As such, we would require those most skilled in Healing to provide it for those injured.”

She nodded, understanding as if for the first time what Bonwhin had thought seemed obvious. “In any case,” Bonwhin said. “I would ask for a consensus. Those in favor, I would ask to stand.”

Surprisingly, Bonwhin got quite a few nods of acceptance, and slowly, sixteen Sitters rose. They, like Bonwhin, were tired of war and the False Dragon. The name made Aes Sedai and Novice alike shiver. The thought of him – a man mad, who could channel? She bit down on her lip, imagining him in the Traitor’s Court, surrounded by thirteen Aes Sedai. She would preside over the gentling, of course. She could imagine the look of terror in his eyes. That feeling of loss. It would be wonderful. Guaire Amalasan had caused so much death, and for that at least, he deserved punishment worse than death itself.

Of course, she didn’t voice her opinions.

Eventually twenty-one Sitters rose. This, on the condition that exchanges between her and Artur Hawkwing were made public to the Hall. Bonwhin agreed, of course. She would do almost anything to save the world from the False Dragon. And then she would deal with Hawkwing.

One way or another, Aes Sedai always won.

Aedres pulled his bloodstained sword from the gut of his enemy, entrails flopping out of the gash in the man’s stomach. The man unleashed a final deathcry before he was silent, to await the time he’d be reborn again. Grass crunched underfoot as Aedres sheathed his sword. He glanced around and inspected his work.

“Three dead. Fresh carrion feed. Two escaped. Wounded and bleeding. Won’t get more than two miles. Passersby will likely reject them. Will be dead,” Aedres said in a very flat voice. He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, though his eyes darted around him, from corpse to the woods to another corpse. The only time Aedres didn’t feel his eternal paranoia was when the bloodrage took over, then there was only Aedres and his enemies. Aedres sighed after a few more seconds of outward inspection.

Once his safety had been ensured, Aedres inspected his leather armor for lacerations and was surprised to feel wetness. He raised his hand up to his face and it was stained red. “Blood and bloody ashes. I’m wounded. Those sons of lumpy headed goats wounded me,” Aedres growled. He’d eyed a village a mile or so back, that’d be the closest wisdom. Hopefully. Otherwise Aedres knew he’d bleed out and die.

“Dead from blood loss. Because of these sods,” he barked, cursing the dead. There had been a bounty posted for these men, but two had escaped and he wouldn’t be able to get their heads. Not until after he’d been patched up. Aedres looked around to memorize where he was and set off in the direction of the village.

Aedres stumbled into the village, his hand pressed against the largest gash, a poor attempt to staunch the wound. He walked up to the first person he saw. “Wisdom. I need the Wisdom.”

The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose on the Plains of Maredo. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning. The wind rushed over bleak plains covered in dead grasses the color of silt. Ever southward it blew, over snow-choked defiles and through bare copses. Occasionally it skated through the ruins of villages, kicking up clouds of ash and setting the toppled and blackened timbers to creaking. By the time it reached the Aryth Ocean far to the south, the wind was a mighty gale, carrying the memory of snow into the humid port of Illian. The mighty port was as choked with travelers as ever, but once the wind ducked through the alleys and grand concourses of Illian, it stormed into the Square of Tammaz and rustled the black-and-white coats of the invaders. In an airy chamber at the top of the great palace overlooking the square, the Second Dragon began to shiver. This was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

“And remind them that the kings of Elan Dapor and Balasun thought to defy me, and I made a bonfire of them and their thrones, and not a single torch was needed,” Guaire dictated to his scribe, nodding to himself after he said the words. “Then read the message back to me.”

While his scribe sat with a lap-desk and read through the lengthy missive, Guaire Amalasan paced about the airy chamber he had appropriated for himself from the lord who had held Illian for the kings of Shiota. With his hands clasped behind his back, he checked his progress, looked out through the balcony at the square below, and gave a curt nod of appreciation. In the Great Square of Tammaz, the People of the Dragon drilled in mass formation, their tabards quartered in black and white creating an illusion that rippled across the mass of men and made the eyes ache. Guaire lost himself in the illusion for a long while until finally he was brought back by the nervous throat-clearing of the functionary. Amalasan spun on his heel, almost surprised to see the man sitting there on the stool at the foot of his ornate, gilded bed. The scribe was inured to the idiosyncrasies of royalty, having served in the court at Tear until Amalasan had taken most of the city from the kings of Moreina, but even so, Guaire knew that he frightened the man.

And why shouldn’t he? Guaire was a conqueror, the man who had swallowed the world piece by piece since taking his native Darmovan, and he was still in his thirty-first year. From one day to the next, he wore a different royal circlet in the thick, curly hair that framed his long, serious face. Each of those crowns had been taken from one of the rulers he had deposed. Today, Guaire wore the golden crown of Shiota, the double suns gleaming against his olive skin and the gray hairs that already turned his dark hair snowy. He was tall, towering over the scribe and many of his generals, and though he was also distressingly thin, no one could be in his presence long without remembering that he carried the tainted power of channeling.

“Yes?” Guaire asked, arching an eyebrow.

“M-my lord, the letter?” the scribe stuttered. “I was w-waiting for you to continue.”

Irritation flashed through the calm that the marching men had instilled in Guaire. Amalasan took a few steps toward the scribe, thinking to back-hand him, and then Guaire stopped. The scribe flinched, the scared half-jumped sprawling him across Guaire’s mattress. Guaire looked at the scribe’s abject fear with distant interest, almost like studying an unfamiliar creature. Then he realized that his right hand was drawn back as though to cuff the man, and he laughed. He laughed at the poor man’s fear, at the thought of the Dragon beating his own servant in his chambers, and at the idea of him using physical violence to do so in the first place.

Then the mirth faded, replaced by empty calm.

The broken jug again, said the thought skittering across his mind, and he almost laughed again, nearly losing the void that he’d reached for without hardly noticing. When he’d captured Elan Dapor, the steward at the ancient palace on the Maseta had shown him through the former rulers’ collection of relics from the Age of Legends. In a corner had stood a vase of cuendillar, only it had stood twice the size of a man and had a long, jagged crack along one side. The man had shrugged when asked why it stood in a corner, as though to suggest that cuendillar of such a size deserved a place in the museum, but the crack doomed it to its hiding spot in the corner. Guaire had been fascinated with it, though; unlike the steward, he realized that for it to hold a blemish, it had to have been broken before being made into heartstone. That meant it had to have once been a common object, damaged by negligence, before someone had transmuted it through some means into the rare material of cuendillar in an age long past. Broken, ordinary, before destiny had raised it to greatness.

Guaire had insisted that men carry it to his court for the time he had lingered in Tanchico, and his servants were instructed to fill it with sweet-smelling oils like they did with other, more conventionally sized amphora. It had leaked like a sieve, needing almost constant supervision by a pair of girls with pots of oils, but every so often during court, Guaire had broken off to watch the precious liquid pour out the bottom against the best efforts of his servants. Later in that day, the steward had approached Guaire with the projections for how much the oil was likely to cost at the rate of loss, and though money was no object to him, he had been pleased enough with the steward’s help in procuring the vase that he had happily acceded to the steward’s wishes and ceased the incessant pouring of oils. The courtiers had looked at Guaire askance then, and some had whispered later of madness, and the headsman soon made their acquaintance.

He wasn’t mad. It was madness to conquer the world, and he had done it, or near enough. No, he wasn’t mad. Sane men had little reckoning of madness and ambition both; to them, one was much the same as the other.

Six years and not a hint of madness yet, said the thought smearing across the greasy void filled with the foul taste of rancid oil, and rage boiled in turn, threatening Guaire’s control of the torrents of fire and gouts of icy wind that made up saidin. The rage boiled away just as his amusement had, leaving Guaire alone in the void once more. There were days he felt like the broken jug, that no matter how much his emotions may have threatened to overflow, they slowly yet surely trickled away, leaving him empty in the void. He sought the void too much of late, he supposed, but then again, the flashes of amusement and anger and pain and envy welled up stronger of late as well. Rule treated all men unkindly, and none had ruled to the extent that Guaire did. That though was greeted by amusement once again.

And Guaire realized that he was still laughing. The scribe trembled in his supine position so that he seemed likely to totter off the bed, his eyes wildly flicking toward the door.

Guaire cut his laugh short with a snap, and then he grinned wolfishly as he forced saidin to his will. Long years of practice made work with the Power easy, even though he had little reckoning of what he was doing. Guaire carefully split the flows of the Power, gently lifting the lap desk from the floor and scooping up its contents. The lap desk slowly spiraled in the air, levitating down onto the scribe’s lap while upended items returned themselves to their spots. The bottle of ink was more troublesome, and Guaire tilted it slightly so he could funnel ink off of the cold stone floor and back into the bottle. Finally, Guaire flicked a quill through the air, stopped its point barely a hair’s breadth from the frightened scribe’s pupil, and then lazily swept it into the scribe’s hand.

“I agree that the bed is more comfortable,” Guaire said with a laugh in his voice. “But let us finish the letter before you rest.”

The shaking scribe dipped his quill into the inkpot and turned back to his work. Guaire paid little attention to his words as they welled out of him and splashed onto the page. Instead, his mind turned to the prophecy given to him after he’d gone through the twisted archway his servants had found in the king’s palace after he’d taken Darmovan at the start of his conquests.

Twelve crowns will you wear, and every one taken from a ruler’s hand. Kings will kneel to you and women will carry your name to the corners of the world. Tens of thousands will call you master, king, and conqueror! Your final crown will be granted to you from the hands of the greatest king in the land, and you will wear it to the Shining Walls beneath the banner of a conqueror, and in your wake, the many kingdoms will become one.

The crown he now wore was one of eleven, after he’d taken the crown from the king of Moreina’s head the year before outside Tear. Only one remained to him, granted by the greatest king in the land. Aldeshar would be his final target, then. Talmour and Khodomar were weakened after years fighting the People of the Dragon, and Tova held no crown for him to take, so although he would have to take those lands, Guaire would hold back until the Ramedars gave him their crown.

And the man his opponents called Hawkwing? For his impertinence, the crown of Shandalle would be melted down. It was a pathetic kingdom anyway, despite Artur Paendrag Tanrealle’s obvious skill. And there were limited places in Amalasan’s collection.

Amalasan sent the scribe from his chamber with a flick of his hand without bothering to hear the final product. The scribe sprinted from the room, and Guaire knew that his fear would only speed the words on their way all the sooner. He walked out to his balcony and leaned on the railing, watching only one fraction of his tireless army honing its skill. Sawyn held the greater force at Fal Moreina, and another army kept the Aes Sedai and the remnants of the Moreinan royalty penned in at the stubborn Stone, but it was the army that Amalasan formed at Illian that would cement his power, despite the Prophecies’ focus on Tear. They would be the knife that sliced north through the last nations that opposed him, straight to the gates of Tar Valon. The last year of his great conquest was coming, he could feel it. It would begin with the first taste of new spring.

Guaire closed his eyes and felt the first warming winds of the season, and he smiled with sudden amusement. It would be some time before the void managed to steal that good humor from him.

Screams.

Screams and smoke.

Domed roofs caved inwards amongst clouds of dust. Columned pillars crumpled as fire gutted the city. The once broad stone roads were now rent and scattered, piles of crushed and bloodied rock littered the red visage. Bodies lay scattered amongst the ruins like rag dolls left by careless children to rot in the sun.

The scene encompassed his entire being. “No... This cannot be.” He tasted blood, raising a hand to wipe his mouth. The man stumbled back with a gasp. More blood; oozing from the gaping wound that had severed his hand from the arm.

The man looked down with frantic eyes to search for something to staunch the blood. Bodies surrounded him, lifeless eyes looking towards the sky, pleading.

No...No...By the Light,no!

The man stumbled forward, tripping over the corpses and rubble. The man’s vision blurred and more blood filled his mouth.

No, not yet. Just a little more!

A figure ahead shrouded in a wreath of darkness stood amidst the smoke and flame. Lightning struck the ground around him, but the figure did not seem to notice. The man called out in a hoarse voice. “Stop!” Blood choked his words as he stretched his bloodied arm towards the darkness.

The figure turned towards the man. “You!” the man managed to get out in a snarl. “Light burn you.”

The figure shrouded in the shadow laughed and gone was the darkness. It was another man with a serene expression, the fire reflecting in his dark eyes. “Why do you despair? All is as it is meant to be.”

And it shall come to pass that what men made shall be shattered, and the Shadow shall lie across the Pattern of the Age, and the Dark One shall once more lay his hand upon the world of man. Women shall weep and men quail as the nations of the earth are rent like rotting cloth. Neither shall anything stand nor abide...

No.

Yet one shall be born to face the Shadow, born once more as he was born before and shall be born again, time without end...

No...

In sackcloth and ashes shall he clothe the people, and he shall break the world again by his coming, tearing apart all ties that bind...

The two locked eyes and the man fell to his knees, his will drained before this...creature. Lightning continued to strike around them with impunity. The man looked up towards the sky and gasped. It all burned. Everything. Not just the city, but the very sky itself.

Like the unfettered dawn shall he blind us, and burn us...

The man closed his eyes, shaking his head.

...yet shall the Dragon Reborn confront the Shadow at the Last Battle, and his blood shall give us the Light...

The world spun and the man’s shoulders slumped. Tears began to flow down his ash covered cheeks. Another laugh and he felt a hand against his face. His eyes snapped open as he looked into the eyes of a madman. “Good, that’s right, all is well,” the madman said in a soothing voice as he brushed the wetness with oddly gentle fingers. He smiled. “Let tears flow, O ye people of the world. Weep for your salvation.”

Artur Paendrag Tanreall woke with a gasping breath. His hand went to his cheek. Whole and unbloodied. Artur sighed and rose from his bed, careful not to disturb Amaline.

Moving towards his wash basin, Artur poured a jug of cool water to splash against his sweat-slick face and chest. Walking slowly, he gazed out upon the city of Epallene from the columned balcony. The domed roofs glistened in the silver midnight and the columns stood proudly whole. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Just a dream.”

Artur barely sensed his wife until she put her arms around his waist, her soft hair tickling his neck as she breathed into his ear. “You are restless again, my dear King.”

His right hand curled into a fist, his left reaching out to touch Amaline’s pale face as he turned to meet her liquid brown eyes. “Amalasan’s position grows stronger each day. He will turn his eyes northward soon enough.”

“The Aes Sedai will stop him, my love. He is only a man,” Amaline replied, brushing a stray strand of his dark hair from his eyes.

Artur growled in frustration. “A man that controls half of the world, with more flocking to his banner each day. Even in Aldeshar the people riot,” he shook his head. “The Aes Sedai cannot stop his armies.”

Amaline hesitated, her eyes flickering from his for a moment. “Perhaps he really is the Dragon Reborn,” she whispered.

“No.” Artur replied curtly. Yet the Prophecies... No. He would not believe it. He could not. Amalasan might be charismatic and a competent general, but he was merely a man who took advantage of the death and chaos the Black Fever had wrought. Thought of the Fever pained him; reminded him of what he had lost.

“No,” he repeated in a more gentle voice. “The Aes Sedai are correct. He is a power-hungry madman.”

“Even so,” Amaline’s voice was concerned. “His armies are large. If the Aes Sedai cannot stop him as you say, who will? Shandalle is small, it might be better to –“

Artur cut her off. “Do not even speak of it. He will bring ruin and nothing more. I will die before bowing to this madman.”

War would come to Shandalle, and Artur Paendrag Tanreall would meet it head on.

This post is for those who wish to claim an Aes Sedai, Accepted, or Novice within the White Tower.

The claim post will officially be open on Saturday, March 25th, 2016, a week after launch. While you are allowed to apply for a White Tower character now, you will not be able to play them until that date as Aes Sedai, Accepted and Novices are secondary characters. We strongly recommend checking out the main character claim post in the meantime.

In the White Tower, Bonwhin Meraighdin rules as the Amyrlin Seat, risen in the year FY 939 by the Hall of the Tower. Underneath her, the White Tower has been spurred to action against the rise of Guiare Amalasan and is currently aiding Artur Paendrag Tanreall in The War of the Second Dragon.

Much like our main character claim post, we are relying on your discretion to create a balanced and interesting character. Aes Sedai alone are strong, and as such, there are several other tidbits of information required when applying for a Novice, Accepted, or an Aes Sedai. Please be careful in choosing potential talents for your character, and we would also advise against creating an inherently powerful character with powerful talents. If a character seems too powerful, we will most likely discuss it with you.

In canon, the relative strength of channellers is judged on a seventy-two number scale, with one being the strongest, and seventy-two the weakest. In order to become Aes Sedai in the White Tower, one must have a channeling capacity of at least 45, and Accepted 52. An example of relative power is that one must have a strength of about twenty-two in order to create a Gateway. Please take note that any Aes Sedai with a power beyond 8 are exceedingly rare and are not likely to be accepted.

Here is a form to help you in choosing your character’s strength:

73+: Unable to Channel

70-55: Beginner Novice, negligible

55-45: Novice, exceedingly weak

45-40: Accepted, very weak

40-30: Weak Aes Sedai, weak

30-20: Average Aes Sedai, average

20-15: Strong Aes Sedai, strong

15-10: Very Strong Aes Sedai, very strong

10-5: Exceedingly Strong Aes Sedai, exceedingly strong

5-1: Forsaken Strength

And here is the form. If you wish to apply, please do so by commenting below after filling in these requirements:

Name: Your character’s name

User: Your username!

Apparent Age: All Aes Sedai, given time, grow into ageless faces. What’s your character’s apparent age upon first or second glance?

Year Born: Detail your character’s year born.

Gender: Female (This is a given, as all Aes Sedai are female)

Appearance: Detail your character’s appearance!

Nation Born: Detail your character’s nation born

Rank/Title: Aes Sedai | Accepted | Novice, as well as Keeper of the Chronicles, Sitter, if applicable

Power Ranking: This is where your character’s saidar power ranking goes. If your character has not yet reached her full potential, please detail her current level as well.

Talents: If your character has any talents, such as healing, please detail it here!

Backstory: This should be a few paragraphs detailing your Aes Sedai's backstory.

Here is an example:

Name: Bonwhin Meraighdin

User: /u/Amyrlin_Seat

Apparent Age: 25-35

Year Born: Between FY 910 and FY 916

Gender: Female

Appearance: Bonwhin is a short woman with a proud air about her. She has a hawk-like face with dark eyes and thick brown hair that curls.

Nation Born: Esandara

Rank/Titles: Aes Sedai, Amyrlin Seat

Power Ranking: 14

Talents: Severing

###HAWKWING Rules 101###

As the RP will, like previous versions of WoTRP, be set in an ‘alternate universe’ setting very similar to the canon story, but allowing for deviations, this means several options to change the course of canon history will be available. The most prominent one is that Artur Hawkwing, the man who would rise to unite the world under his banner, may be killed or fail in his quest. However, there are some limits and rules that will apply to this scenario.

###Hawkwing’s Military Prowess###

While it is possible that Hawkwing may be killed or defeated in some way, we want to make it clear from the very start that this will not be easy. As the ‘prologue’ sets the stage with Guaire Amalasan’s downfall, Artur Hawkwing will start the RP as the hero who defeated the False Dragon who had conquered half of the world. Characters may be distinguished warriors or commanders, but let it be clear: Artur Hawkwing will be the most talented military commander in the world. This means that Hawkwing will have a natural advantage in battles against foes. To preserve Hawkwing’s integrity, while he may not fulfil his destiny, his skill will not be diminished or overshadowed by a created character. He will be for all intents and purposes superior to any general created.

This is in place so players are discouraged from trying to create an OP claim.

###Ta’veren###

Hawkwing, like in canon, will start the RP as ta’veren, and remain ta’veren until he either succeeds or dies. There will be a slight difference between book ta’veren and this ta’veren. While the Pattern will bend in favour of Hawkwing at times, it will not be as invincible plot armour as it is for Rand and co. What this will mean is Hawkwing will not be an easy target. Random assassination attempts will not succeed and he will have luck on his side.

This is in place to challenge the players. Hawkwing is a major historical figure with a lot of influence and power. If Hawkwing is to be taken out, the plan must be very good, not just throwaway assassination attempts with no real planning.

###Loyalty & Meta###

Many players will no doubt want to attempt to kill Hawkwing on principle to change things. As we know, Hawkwing as High King subjugated all of the nations eventually. This may cause players to inherently lean against Hawkwing from the start. So the mods will be keeping a close eye on any plots that involves killing/deposing Hawkwing. Characters must have good reason to be opposed to Hawkwing. Remember, at the start of this RP, the characters have no idea how influential Artur Hawkwing will become. Many of the influential people in various nations simply ignored the young Hawkwing at first.

The second thing to keep in mind is that Hawkwing is Ta’veren, and like all Ta’veren, he inspires loyalty. We do not expect players to automatically bow down to Hawkwing as powerless pawns, however, we do expect people to recognize that Hawkwing was a charismatic and just ruler who has the ability to sway many people to his cause. Once again, this is said to avoid 90% of the claims to be enemies or hostile to Hawkwing because of what we know from the Wheel of Time series. This is not a powers game, and attacking or conspiring against Hawkwing without any valid IC reason will be treated as meta.

This applies to all nations and lords, but due to Hawkwing’s unique position in history, we emphasize this point to avoid power-playing to avoid something that IC nobody should know.

###Military & Popularity ###

a) Hawkwing’s troops will automatically be counted as a tier above other levies. It is not a huge advantage, but Hawkwing’s army was definitely superior. Thus, an evenly matched battle between 2000 of Hawkwing’s men and 2000 Caembrain men would favour Hawkwing’s armies. This is in place because Shandalle is a minor nation, and Hawkwing managed to fend off invaders or hostile forces through superior tactics and discipline. Shandalle has less men than every other nation, but they are stronger than the average soldier. The Lords of Shandalle will be considered 50% stronger (so 150% power) than any other nation’s army. The men under Hawkwing’s personal control will be 100% stronger (so 200% or twice as powerful). This is in place to reflect Hawkwing’s prowess and ability and avoid nations simply ganging up on Shandalle with overwhelming numbers for the sole purpose of killing Hawkwing and changing history.

b) In canon, many lords, peasants and groups of armed men abandoned their loyalties to join Hawkwing’s cause. We will not be taking away levies from any claims, however, there will be mod rolls at intervals to reflect the growing “Hawkwing Sworn” bands. (Think Dragonsworn.) These levies will not share the bonus that Shandalle soldiers have. They will be 30% weaker than normal levies ( so, 70% power).

###Conclusion###

These conditions or rules have been decided upon to enhance the quality of the RP. While it is very much free-form, we wish to honour Hawkwing’s influence and power and to urge players to consider a more developed approach instead of simply choosing a side and fighting with one goal in mind. It is intended not to make things impossible, but to give players a challenge and urge people to create complex stories.

Hawkwing was one of the most incredible men of the Age, leader of the Heroes of the Horn. If someone wants to challenge him, we want to make sure that it is a damn good story.

This post is for folks to claim their Rise of Hawkwing characters. If you haven't yet, look through the Claims List to find any open claim then set your character from that claim and begin your story!

###Rules###

Each claim has only one Main Character and the rest are supporting characters. The Character Sheet is for the Main Character only.

Only One main character/House can be selected. Secondary characters Aes Sedai, Hero of the Horn) will be opened at a later date.

The claim will be assessed mostly on the biography. There are no skills or trait lists; we will be relying on your discretion to create a balanced and interesting character. While the biography does not have to be pages long, it should at least provide enough information to establish the character and their personality.

Information to provide in the comments for mod approval Main Character from a House

Name:

Age:

Year Born:

Gender:

Eye Color:

Hair Color:

Nation:

Biography describing a little about their history and personality

Information to provide in the comments for mod approval

Main Character from an Independent Claim:

Name:

Age:

Year Born:

Gender:

Eye Color:

Hair Color:

Nation (Current Location):

Nation Born:

Biography describing a little about their history and personality

##Wikis## Please keep your wiki updated and correct, these are the general list of wiki pages. Try to select names that match the inherent region your character is from as well.

##What’s the game about?##

###The Wheel of Time!###

This game is a collaborative story between a whole bunch of users in the Wheel of Time world, specifically Westland/Randland. While we will be following Hawkwing’s journey in a broad sense, there is very little canon information on specifics. In fact, there is a blank slate of 19 years. Players will have ample opportunity to create their own stories, with very few restrictions.

###Nations and History###

The story starts in Free Year 943, just before the rise of Artur Hawkwing. For many, this is unfamiliar territory and our information is sparse at best, however, we believe this allows a great deal of freedom to be given to the users. The world was a much different place in this era, so here are a few links to pertinent information regarding the time we are playing in.

First of all, the Map. You will of course notice a lot of unfamiliar names and nations. Not to worry, the lore of these nations is sparse, and players will be given a fair amount of freedom to build on the cultures. You will find a brief description of the cultures of the main claims below to follow.

Starting in FY 943, nearing the end of Guaire Amalasan, the False Dragon’s dominion, We strongly recommend reading up on the recent history in what would later be called The War of the Second Dragon and also our Introduction to the Story

The rest, for the most part, will be fairly free form, but as always, the mods are happy to answer any questions you may have.

###Naming###

• Shandalle – Consider Ancient Macedonia/Greek or even Roman variations of names. In true Wheel of Time fashion, we encourage you to change the names slightly to sound more Wheel of Time like.

• Caembarin – Relatively simple, look at Andoran names. We encourage people not just to use canon House names, but try out variations that sound Andoran, to reflect that Houses do not usually stay strong for 1000 years.

• Tova – Again, fairly simple. Cairhien names. Again, we encourage people to create their own names based on similar types of names.

• Khodomar – These are the trickiest names as we do not have a base to take from. The names of Khodomari won’t be too strict, but we have set some standard and encourage people to take Polish, Austrian or Hungarian based names, converted into Wheel of Time-esque names. If you have any difficulties, don’t hesitate to ask one of the mods to help with this process.

###Passage of Time###

The passage of time in this game occurs at a balance with in real life (IRL) time to in game (IG) time. Our balance is that 1 day IRL is equal to 7 days IG. This is to promote story telling, to give time for your characters to build up to momentous decisions, and to remove the concern that missing a day or going away IRL will somehow hurt you IG. That should not be the case. RP threads may extend longer than a day and will be worked out as such too. If there's any confusion on the passage of time, please let us know!

###Slack###

Our game uses Slack as a form of instant messenger server. In order to join slack, you need to send an email (you can use a throwaway email account) to the mods. We'll forward the email to the slack admins and get you invited! Any problems, please let us know and we'll try to get them resolved quick as we can.

###How do I play an RP game?###

Have fun! It’s a collaborative story, not a game exactly. You write your character to life giving them strengths and flaws. There’s no winning though! The story goes on and changes. The goal of this subreddit is to focus on lore and RP. This game is not a game of RISK or moving troops without characterizations. It’s all about the characters and the story! If your character is considering going to war with another nation (or some other major decision), it should have a big lead up to that decision in lore to show the character’s motivations and drive.

If you and another user’s characters are having an in-game conflict of some sort, whether it be a plot or a battle, then we encourage the two users to work together to agree to an ending or to free-form RP the encounter and work through the situation. If that just isn't possible at all, then the user or users can tell the mods and the mods will free-form to find the ending of that part of the story.

Lore is a story about your characters from their own point-of-view, which means other characters in the game do not know about the lore stories you write. RP is role playing, or when two or more users have their characters interact in a thread.

Characters should always be limited to the information they would know in character (IC)! While out of character (OOC), you may have read that someone plans to go to war with your character. Your character doesn’t know it so can’t react.

Using OOC information IC is called metagaming. This goes against not only the rules but the spirit of the game. In the example above you can see how using that information would give your characters an unfair advantage. If anyone notices someone doing so, please alert the mods. This can happen by accident at times, but try to make sure the information you work from in character is information your characters would have. If you ever have any doubts about whether your story would be considered as metagaming, contact the mods and they will help you find a solution.

If you make a post that is OOC, whether saying you’ll be away for a bit of time or a question about the game or a discussion for the community. We ask you to ‘Tag’ these posts with [Meta] in the title. For examples: [Meta] Away for a week; [Meta] Question about The Blight; [Meta] Is it time to expand? -- this tag lets everyone know that the post is OOC.

###Limits of Staying in Canon###

The first few ‘months’ of the RP will follow the downfall of Guaire Amalasan and the conflict at Tar Valon. This sequence will be action packed and set up plenty of tension for players to use as they wish. After this ‘prologue’, the RP will take a more freeform approach. Consider this as one of the ‘alternate worlds’ in the Pattern, so the history will be played out however the players decide. There are a few restrictions and limits in this regard; events that occur in the series such as the Cleansing or the re-discovery of Gateways or Healing Stilling will be off limits. Hawkwing may die, or Bonwhin thwarted before she tarnishes the White Tower. However, this will not be easy, and the Wheel weaves as it wills.

Please read this post to make sure you have a full understanding of the way Hawkwing will be played. He is one of the greatest characters of the Age, and will be treated as such, even if his fate is not secure.

###Where can I claim?###

Ok! So this is our Claim List

Note: Artur Hawkwing, Guaire Amalasan and Bonwhin will be mod controlled to propel the story.

If you are just starting or wish to change your claim, then post a comment in the Character Claim Post or Aes Sedai Claim Post. The mods will sign off on it and you'll be good to start writing in the story of this game! Both of the Claim Posts can be found on the sidebar to the right as well.

###Opening Claims###

• Shandalle – The small nation between modern Andor and Cairhien where Artur Hawkwing started as King in the capital of Epallene. Shandalle is based loosely around Macedonia (as Hawkwing has a great parallel to Alexander the Great).

• Caembarin – Lands surrounding Caemlyn and most of Eastern Andor. Caembarin is very much a prototype Andor led by Queen Nesaline. It was one of the strongest nations of its day. The only real difference between Andor and Caembarin is the obligatory female succession.

• Tova – A nation that pre-dates modern Cairhien. The Tovans share the straight laced and prudish temperament of the Cairhien. While Cairhien is ruled by a tenuous monarchy, Tova was governed in Great Conclaves by Councillors, similar to modern Far Madding. Tova is currently led by First Councillor Almindhra Damodred.

• Khodomar – A nation north of Tear that encompassed the north of what was later known to be Haddon Mirk. Little is known about Khodomar in canon, however, we have pieced together a rudimentary culture for you to build upon. The inspiration is that of England and Wales, with a lot of archers because of dense woodland.

###Setting up My Claim & Characters###

Once you've picked your Claim from the claims list. It’s time to set up your characters! As we have decided to take a less ‘mechanical’ approach (no D&D style skills) the claim should focus more on the character’s personality and history. You may add any notable skills or talents at the end of the biography if they are essential to your character’s development. As we will not be enforcing a points based skill system, we will expect that characters are created with balance and trust that people will not create OP characters (like extremely smart, beautiful, strong and skilled in battle.) The claim will be assessed by the believability of the biography.

Non-main characters are the supporting characters, they can be family members or members of your fortress, your dynasty, or whichever your claim is. We would look for the number of characters to be restricted to around eight. Interactions with other players should mostly take place between your main characters, with your supporting characters more for lore purposes.

There is also an interactive map (linked above in the history section) for user’s to keep track of where different characters are currently. Some characters will remain more or less fixed in one location. Others will be more mobile. If you claim a Noble’s house, discuss with your fellow countrymen and monarch where your house should be based, i.e. in the country’s capital or in a different town. Please inform the mods as soon as you decide. For mobile characters, please regularly tell the mods their locations and they will update the map for you.

Every claim has a wiki too! Your claim’s wiki can be found here or by clicking the ‘Introduction’ button on the sidebar. It’s important and helpful to keep your wiki updated with as much info as you can provide. An example of a filled out wiki.

The One The Power,The Knowledge,The Prophecy, The Aes Sedai. All this had comes to pass long before Dalresin or any of his family were even thoughts in the fabric of time. and yet we came and went in our time .Now it was Dalresin's time and he did not know how the one power would lead his life or that of his children. It did not matter what the color of Aes Sedai or the Family or The status. If the Prophecy was to come true everything had to come to pass. And all had to play their part, even if that part made or destroyed all that we knew. All life came from it and was absorbed by it .Anyone could be the one to hold all the power, The one. Dalresin Damodred was a scholar, a student of knowledge and a father .His daughter Moiraine was smart even at this age ,but yet she was still young.He looked at her and her sister wondering which one was the chosen. Aes Sedai and were trained to heal, and it was said that anything short of death could be healed. Aligning the Matrix, making metal stronger, was also a known Talent, as was the making of cuendillar or "heartstone". Other talents such as "Weaving Earthfire" and "Milking Tears" have been totally lost and now what they do is not even known. While the Brown Ajah speculates Weaving Earthfire may be the talent to create or manipulate magma and Milking Tears may be a power over other's emotions, what these Talents did exactly is unknown. Traveling, moving from one point to another without crossing the intervening space, was also commonplace to those strong enough. Those of lesser strength used Skimming, or simply used the transit systems of the time. The ability was there to travel to other worlds, using the Portal Stones. But Dalresin did not know how those would come to pass in his children's time, or how talented Moiraine would become.

Kiriena was eating. If you could call it eating. Mostly she just pushed her food around her plate and took small bites occasionally. She didn't have an appetite. Lately, food just wasn't appealing to Kiriena.

Kiriena also sat by herself. It was a choice. She didn't want to be around people right now. Mostly she was confused, but she didn't want to ask for help although she had friends among the Accepted who would likely listen.

Kiriena also had Aes Sedai who would listen. Chelle Sedai had comforted her when she had cried. Caseilla had taught her many lessons. Surely there were others as well, but Kiriena didn't know how to approach them or what to say.

Everything had changed when she had heard the rumor about Malkier. Kiriena had trouble focusing. She even brought a focus to help her embrace saidar. Without it, she doubted she would be able to even do so. She even tried the oneness. It was just too hard to concentrate.

Worst of all, her studies were suffering. It wasn't that she wasn't completing her lessons, but it took her longer to do them than it should, and she wasn't trying as hard. In her off time, she often kept in her room. Sometimes she cried, and sometimes she just laid on her bed. She often tried to practice the weaves for the Aes Sedai test. Sleeping was difficult too. She had nightmares that woke her up.

Kiriena could feel the emotions welling up again, so she finished her plate and took it to the kitchens before heading up to her room. She had no idea what she would do there. The young Accepted felt like crying, but just didn't know if the tears would come.

( OOC Not too sure where the new order's camp would be, anyone who knows please advise)

Noryor stepped out of his tent into the mildewy morning air and took a deep breath. It had been another night of fitful sleep, but his visions of Aes Sedai were no longer bothering him during the day. Don't look, don't think. He strode forward, his red cloak trailing after him as his new leather armour creaked. They were building something here. Around him men bustled already. Nearly a thousand had come to their banner, although what banner that was they hadn't decided. They didn't even have a true name yet.

Noryor had been lobbying hard for them to name themselves the "Pure Bloods" or "Tai Shar" in the Old Tongue, he was still not sure how he new the Old Tongue, and so he had taken to wearing a red cloak. He firmly believed that the ability to channel was linked to bloodlines, he also wasn't sure why he thought that but he believed it deeply. As such he thought the only way to defeat the Dark One, the only way to rid the world of his touch, was to wipe out all those related to Aes Sedai and men who could channel. Entire villages would have to be put to the torch of course and thousands, a thousand times a thousand, would have to be killed. But they had to be hard, had to be unbending. Anything else was submission, and Noryor would never submit again. Again?

Shaking his head free of his troubles he continued down to the main command tent to talk with the other commanders.

(Paging /u/adfalcon and /u/Revaeyn )

House Damodred is a noble house of Cairhien.

The sigil for this house is the Tree and Crown on a field of blue.

It is said that Laman was one of them that could have started a war. His skill with Daes Dae'mar was well known. but his niece Moiraine will be better at the game. The house of Damodred had been one of the richer houses and noted for it`s rich line of kings and queens, as well as Aes Sedai of the blue Ajah, exporters of grain and wild game, trinkets and household goods made by the local artisans are prised by many of wealth and status. There are great inns were house speciality is leg of roasted venison stuffed with fresh herbs and root vegetables . They are known to many that pass this way.

Description of House: Four narrow, square towers dwarf everything below them and are connected by reinforced, thin walls made of granite. Rough windows are scattered thinly across the walls in a seemingly random pattern, along with overhanging crenelations for archers and artillery.

A sizable gate with huge wooden doors, a draw bridge and archer holes guards the only entrance to the castle build at the edges of a shoreline and it's the only way in, at least to those unfamiliar with the castle and its surroundings.Lush fields of crops surround the castle walls and provides the inhabitants with food all year round. This castle has clearly stood the test of time and its inhabitants are intend on making sure it stays that way for ages to come. The appearance of most of house Damodred are short in stature with dark colored hair and deep dark brown or deep blue-grey eyes.

The Whitecloaks were scattered after Amador was taken. Pedron Niall dead and the Fortress of Light abandoned. Many Children died valiantly defending Amadicia against the Channelers and the Shadowspawn from the south but Amadicia was well and truly broken.

Many wandered to distant lands, drowning their sorrows in mugs of ale.

Some resisted.

Rumours travelled the land: A new order was rising.

(OoC: Anyone in the Tower who may come into contact with her or may hear her may join in)

Kiriena had returned to the Tower. As Accepted, she was allowed to leave the Tower grounds at certain times of the day, and although she didn't leave often, today she had felt like seeing Tar Valon. An Aes Sedai had asked her to run an errand as well, and asking might as well be telling.

Since she had gotten back, Kiriena's mood had been downcast. She attended the lessons she was supposed to, but had trouble in them, something that didn't happen very often. She was unfocused, and was unable to hold on to the Power long, and she knew why.

While she had been in town she had over heard people talking. Only whispers. Kiriena hadn't tried to eavesdrop. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time. She overheard the words "Malkier," and "Blight." Those words in themselves wouldn't have bother her so much. Malkier had fought against the blight for as long as history could remember. It was the rest of the words "Trolloc attacks increasing," that set her on edge.

Kiriena was upset and now in her room, she began to pack, throwing clothes into a bag. She wasn't sure what she would do for food yet, but she had to leave. She just had to figure out what was happening.

It was night. The cover of darkness would help. She took less used corridors in the tower to make her way down. Her trail taking her past the corridor leading to the Yellow Ajah quarters.

Kiriena paused and looked down the hall. She thought of Caseilla Sedai and Chelle Sedai - Kiriena had figured out that the one to greet her after her Accepted test was named Chelle - were both Yellows. They had both been encouraging and helpful.

Struck between two decisions, tears began to well up in Kiriena's eyes. She turned and ran back to her room.

The Malkieri said "Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain." But the saying never said how to know what your duty was. Kiriena was struck between her duty to Malkier or her duty to the White Tower. What if they were the same? How would she know.

Kiriena ran into her room, dropping the bag in a corner and curling up in her bed as she began to sob. In her haste she hadn't closed the room to her bedroom.

Primary Character Sheet Name: Dalresin Damodred Age:28

Born: 928

Gender: male

Eye Color: dark brown

Hair Color: dark brown

Nation: Cairhien

Nation Born: Cairhien

Gift: towering

Skills: swords,bow

Negative Trait: Discription: He is very tall for Cairhienin, almost six feet. His hair is more gray than not and worn in a club at the base of his neck. He has a gentle face. Bios: Not following the family's norm, even being trained for the remote possibility of leadership. Dalresin rather be reading one of the many books in the library. swords and bow he was trained. Still he being a fourth in line he married for love against the better judgments of his family wanting him to marry for land or wealth. as a young lord, he learned the game well, knowing it led to power and prestige and of course land. it was the art of the gameThe Daes Dae'mar, he loved the thrill of the hunt and the chase,only rival was the noble art of falconry.

A high ranking Cairhienin noble of House Damodred. Brothers Aldecain, Moressin, and King Laman. Father of Taringail, Anvaere, Innloine and Moiraine. He is a scholar.

(At first this is a solo RP - please do not reply yet)

Kiriena was reading quietly in her room. The room was chilly and Kiriena pulled her cloak around herself as best she could. It was more difficult as she had been trying to read, but she made it work.

The day's chores and lessons were done. Kiriena was reading before heading to bed, although she wasn't paying much attention to the words. It was some sort of love story she had gotten from the library.

The day was done she thought until a light rapping came from her door. Kiriena's brow furrowed in confusion, wondering who would call her at this hour. She placed the book on the nightstand, not bothering to mark her page and stood, moving to answer the door.

The Mistress of Novices stood before her, and Kiriena offered a curtsy out of reflex. "Come with me, Kiriena," she said. "And quietly."

Kiriena obeyed, wondering what had happened. The young woman didn't think she had done anything wrong. The pair descended stairs in silence, deeper into the White Tower.

A final door and they entered a domed chamber. Three arches stood on a silver ring on the floor. More Aes Sedai were there, but Kiriena's attention wasn't enough that she saw their faces. She had finally understood what was happening. She was being tested for Accepted!

The Mistress of Novices spoke. "Two things that no woman hears until she enters this room. Once you begin, you must continue to the end. Refuse to go on, no matter your potential and you will be very kindly put out of the Tower with enough silver to support you a year, and you will never be allowed back. Second. To seek, to strive, is to know danger. You will know danger here. Some women have entered, and never come out. When the ter”angreal was allowed to grow quiet, they – were – not – there. And they were never seen again. If you will survive, you must be steadfast. Faltering leads to a failure.”

Kiriena swallowed feeling nervous as she understood what was about to happen and the dangers she was about to face. Part of it was that she didn't know what to expect.

She listened as the Mistress of Novices continued. “This is your last chance, child. You may turn back now, and you will have only mark against you. Twice more will you be allowed to come here, and only at the third refusal will you be put out of the Tower. It is no shame to refuse. Many cannot do it their first time here. Now you may speak.”

Kiriena swallowed again, but this time becoming resolved. Casiella Sedai had thought her ready, and now she felt the same. "I am ready." Kiriena spoke as the ceremony continued.

The Aes Sedai standing by the table spoke. "Whom do you bring with you, Sister?"

The Mistress of Novices replied. Kiriena knew the litany by heart. "One who comes as candidate for Acceptance, Sister."

"Is She ready?"

"She is ready to leave behind what she was, and, passing through her fears, gain Acceptance."

"Does she know her fears?"

"She has never faced them, but now is willing."

"Then let her face what she fears."

The Mistress of Novices faced Kiriena. "Undress," she instructed.

Kiriena obeyed, slowly removing her clothing. She would take the test protected only by the light. She approached the first arch as the Mistress of Novices continued her instructions. "The first time is for what was. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."

Kiriena stepped forward, a soft glow coming from the arch in front of her. The novice closed her eyes and opened them once more before stepping in.

Dorsy had spent a long time traveling from Andor to Cairhien, and he had important news to impart to Queen Avilea. His message had come from the Queen of Andor, Mordrellen Mantear, herself and he'd been entrusted with its safe keeping and delivery. It hadn't been written, at least not on paper, though Dorsy's memory could be considered writing, at least in some parts of the world.

Passing into Cairhien was easy enough, but reaching the Queen would be a bit more difficult. Openly announcing his presence as a messenger of Andor would put a target on his back and Dorsy had never been one to be very tactful.

Maybe I can approach the palace gates and let one of the guards know I'm here to on Andor's behalf?

Dorsy nodded to himself, that seemed to be the best plan. And that's what he did. He hadn't been in Cairhien in years, but the city hadn't changed much. Death of kings and lords aside, Cairhien would always be Cairhien. As long as Daes Daemar was avoided, he'd be fine.

Dorsy hailed a guard near the entrance of the palace, "My name is Dorsy and I'm here to meet with Queen Avilea on behalf of Queen Mordrellen of Andor. I request safe passage into the palace and then an audience with the Queen," Dorsy said, a ball of anxiousness growing in his stomach.

Lord Captain Seve Arene, a lofty title for a man who looks no higher than the dirt beneath his boots. He'd kept a low profile ever since what happened at the Slaughter of Amador, he couldn't have the Darkfiends find him. But, now was the time to get rid of the profile he'd spent so long to build. He walked slowly with careful, calculated steps up to the palace and stopped before the guards and the door that lay before him.

He took a breath, calmed himself, and began to speak. "Hello, guardsmen I need to speak with your Queen of a very important matter that deals with the whole of the realm."

The two guardsmen looked at each other, then back to the man as they laughed. "Really now? You've got some nerve to try and see our queen with a story like that."

Seve simply shook his head and rolled his eyes before he continued. "Listen up," he said with a bite in his voice, "I'm Lord Captain Seve Arene. I barely made it out of the Slaughter of Amador and worked my way here. The Darkfiends that took Amador could blow the head of a man from a hundred paces without a sweat, could break down the walls of Amador with ease," he looked them both in the eye before he continued. "I need to see your Queen to give her this information. It. Is. Vital."

The two guards again looked to one another before relenting and opening the massive doors that led into the palace. Seve walked in and was immediately assailed by a whole slew of people as they flew around him.

"God, he smells simply terrible and his clothes are a mess, take him to be bathed and clothed before he sees the Queen," said one of the busy-body maids as she judged him with her gaze.

Seve got pushed immediately through the castle and through this way and that before he was violently stripped of his clothes in a disturbingly quick time.

"Oi, what in the Light do you think you're do-" He could barely get the words out of his mouth before he was shoved into the tub and scrubbed with the force of five maids. The water was scalding, the brushes coarse and the soap smelled oddly of berries and flowers, lilacs, maybe.

All of a sudden a maid busted through the door and into the room with a change of clothes. Tunic, pants, boots, simple stuff. The maids, seemingly done with their assault on the poor man, left him and told him to get dressed before slamming the door behind them.

Seve gingerly left the tub nearly scrubbed clean of his skin and soul before grabbing the clothes where they were put on a nearby table and getting dressed. He wandered for what seemed like a small eternity before finding his way to what seemed to be a throne-room and the woman who sat upon it.

He quickly took stock of how he looked, nodded and turned his gaze from his clothes to the queen. "Hello, I have some news for you, highness."

Lacile do Avriny a’Roihan watched as the rolling hills beyond Cairhien slowly transformed into lands dotted with farms and people. Where commoners had been few and far between on her journey from Tar Valon to here, they roads nearly seemed packed to bursting now. Winter made it like this in most places. Those farms lacked for people now, and those less fortunate brought themselves to the warmth of the city. Not that she could blame them. She had seen a great deal of winters in her years, but nothing could prepare her for… this.

What was the Amyrlin thinking, sending a Green instead of a Red? Of course, she had considered the Red Ajah more than any else before choosing Green, but there were a hundred other reds in the tower perfectly suitable to handle a False Dragon, but her? She was not sure if she was powerful enough, granted she sat somewhere high among her own Ajah. Of course, she would have the aid of a fellow Aes Sedai once she was in Cairhien, but what was she supposed to do? Pursing her lips as her mare followed the straight path through the snow, she sighed, a small bit of agitation on her ageless face.

“What upsets you?” One of her warders asked, flanking his stallion up beside her. Named Tovar Dagorin, the tall Shienarin’s hard face told nothing of the worry he could also feel. That feeling passed between them tenfold before it was finally finished, and she could feel the worry in her other bonds as well. Light, what am I going to do? Her gut growled at the thought. Maybe this False Dragon couldn’t channel. And then all would be well. Ageless Aes Sedai serenity drew over her, flooding through her like the worry had, and then it was gone. She would not let herself be scared by a simple man.

As they came to cross one particularly large hill, Tovar groaned and rode ahead. Then he heeled his stallion and looked at her with a satisfied nod. “Cairhien, Lacile.” He was one of the three men in the world who would dare address her as her name rather than Aes Sedai, and she allowed him. She loved him, loved him with all her heart, and loved the other two as well. It was very hard to decide which one to marry, and at the same time make sure the other two did not feel neglected. “Five miles, judging by the hills. We could be there by nightfall.”

“Perfect,” Lacile said in a perfectly moderate tone. Her mare, Johdein, trotted up the hill at a somewhat lazy pace, before stopping beside him. Only now could she see the nearly topless spirals of Cairhien’s pristine palaces, the walls and the perfect geometry that had made the city. Snow blanketed a large portion of the landscape, but she could see shapes, distantly moving, and the minor buzz of commotion. She almost considered embracing the Source then, but no, it would be too childish of her. Ten years as a novice had taught her how bad being childish could be. She was Lacile do Avriny a’Roihan, once contender for the Amyrlin Seat, almost a sitter for the Green Ajah, and she would not be foolish.

Lazily, she jerked Johdein’s reins to the side and watched as seventy-five Tower Guard strode down the road, within unison of each other. She was their commander, technically. If anything, Tovar or Dovaine, her Tairen warder, or even Gawen would suffice for that role. Seventy-five men, all hers and ready to obey an Aes Sedai’s command.

She grinned almost placidly. Turning Johdein once again, she rode. The hills before Cairhien started getting less and less high, the city now in plain sight. The miles grew less and less until, at nightfall, they were riding through the foregate, drawing the sight of onlookers. Surely, an Aes Sedai was more than enough to draw eyes, but… this? Seventy-five of the Tower Guard too. She found herself wondering what they might be thinking.

Pushing it out of her mind, they made their way through the unpaved streets until they came to the Jangai Gate, and Lacile dismounted before it. The topless spires of Cairhien were a beautiful sight from here, nearly disappearing into the clouds above. Though it did not match Tar Valon in it’s splendor, it did have a vague familiarity to it. The gatehouse itself was large, and when she approached it, twilight casting large shadows across the thatched roofs of the foregate, she almost looked menacing.

Flanked by three warders, Lacile announced herself with all the dignity she could muster, managing to make herself sound both full of pride, and completely moderate at the same time. “I am Lacile do Avriny a’Roihan, Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, envoy of the Amyrlin Seat herself, here upon the behest of Taylin Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah. Would you deny me entry?”

They would not, evidently. Lacile had no problem mounting Jodhein again, completely unaware of the long, sometimes fearful, sometimes hateful stares of the commoners. Inside the walls, the city became much more pretty. Tiered terraces hosted a hundred large mansions of the Houses of Cairhien. Damodred, Riatan, and Saighan came to mind immediately, though the lesser houses were not far from her thought. Peasants and merchants got out of her way once they realized who she was, and even merchants stared goggling. The arrival of an Aes Sedai must have been unexpected.

Indifferent, the palace became closer and closer, until the high walls and the gate were before her. On Jodhien, she addressed herself again. "I am Lacile do Avriny a'Roihan, Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah. I request access to the palace. I have come upon the behest of Taylin Sedai." Would Avilea Saighan take an audience so late in the evening? Would she be let in? If not... Pursing her lips, she looked expectantly towards the gates. Avilea Saighan. What would this woman be like?

Light save her from having to do this.

He wasn't going to vomit.

He wasn't going to vomit.

Noryor Mathonne leaned against the back door of the Leaky Tap, one of Cairhien's less reputable establishments but one of the few that let him drink there despite his odour. Several weeks sleeping in the street with little more than ale for sustenance would do that to a man. He could not afford to foul their door and get barred from here too. Where would he drink his life away then?

Noryor filled his lungs with more of the rancid back-ally night air and pulled up straight. He staggered and the nausea rolled over him again but he kept his feet. This behaviour is shameful, a small voice told him This is unbecoming of one of the Gai... He blocked the voice out. No need to think about what he'd been. He opened his saddle bag, he'd put off selling his horse for ale as long as he could stand it, and saw he had enough left for one more round. He tried the back door, it was locked and he cursed quietly.

“Old man!” Noryor turned carefully, to see four men standing at the other end of the ally.

“Oi! Old man!” the man at the front repeated repeated. Were they talking to him? He was barely thirty years old, did he truly look so bad? The men stalked towards him, he noticed clubs and daggers in their hands. They spread out, blocking his means of escape. “What's in the bag old man?” said the nearest man. He had a squashed face. Fresh bruises marked one side and the nose looked like it had been broken weekly since he was in swaddling clothes.

“Just a change of clothes,” Noryor slurred, “Nothing to interest fine gentlemen such as...” the leader, club in hand, wrenched the saddle bag from Noryor's hands. Noryor started towards him and was struck full the gut by the man's club.

“Bloody Andoran,” muttered the leader.

Noryor doubled over and emptied his stomach onto the ground. The men around him laughed but the leader didn't look up from the saddlebag.

“Look at this,” he said pulling out a shimmering cloak, “What do you think this is?” He threw it to one of his fellows.

“No idea,” the man barked back studying it, “Bet it's worth a fair bit though.” The leader continued to riffle around.

“Oh looky-here!” he said, “A hidden pocket.”

“No...” Noryor rasped, “Not in there...”

“Quiet you or you'll get another!” the leader waved his club menacingly before reaching his hand into the saddle-bag and drawing out the long slightly-curved sword hidden within. He pulled the blade out just a little and almost dropped the sword in surprise when he saw the heron mark on the blade, just above the hilt. The four men took a step back in almost perfect unison.

“He's a bloody blade-master!” said one.

“A Warder maybe, don't Warders have funny One-Power cloaks?” said another.

“Look at him,” said a third, “Does he look like a light-blinded Warder to you?”

“Yeah,” chuckled the first man, “He probably stole it or inherited it. Do you really think Menon could take out a blade-master?”

“Shut it, all of you!” said the leader, Menon, “Blade-master or no I have his sword.” He drew the blade fully. “I've always wanted a sword like this,” he said rapturously, “He's no blade-master but this could've been a Warder's bag once. I found these two rings too which look a lot like...”

Noryor was on his feet, he didn't remember standing up. The first blow broke Menon's sword arm, the second knocked the man on his back. Noryor caught the two Great Serpent Rings out of the air with his left hand and his sword with the right. The men around him were startled but attacked quickly with dagger and club. Noryor fell back, shifting his weight to his backfoot and keeping his right wrist loose. The Oak Shakes Its Branches said a half remembered voice, Deals non-lethal blows. Good for fighting a group with varied weapons. He lashed out, taking the nearest man out at the legs and turned, parried a blow from a dagger and cut across the top of the man's arm. Causes pain, weakens the arm, doesn't kill. The last man hesitated and was knocked to the ground by a swift kick to the chest. Noryor felt ribs break beneath his ragged boot.

“You are a bloody Warder,” mumbled Menon from the ground through his bloodied mouth.

“I'm a what?” Noryor stormed over to the man, “I'm a what?!”

“A... a Warder?” stammered Menon, his eyes wide.

“I am not!” Noryor lashed out with his sword, “A blasted!” he swung the blade into Menon's face again and again, “Warder!” Noryor stumbled backwards looking at the bloody ruin that had been his attacker. He looked down at his sword, covered in fresh blood and flecks of old. Old blood her blood. He cried out, remembering. No no no. Not that, forget that. Must forget. He fells to his knees and felt the club hit his head before he saw it.

Brandel Tomares was a Lord Captain of the Children of The Li- no, he couldn’t call himself that any more. He had nearly forgotten. Yet when he thinks it has gone away from him it juts in his mind again, a painful memory that hurts him worse than any damned male channeler could.

*May the Light curse them,” he thought, pounding his fist on the table. The patrons around him looked at him oddly, but went back to their drink soon enough. No one here cared about anything but the drinks. Well, the drinks and the women, and perhaps that stew that was broiling in the kitchen.

His stomach rumbled as he thought of it, but he pushed it out of his mind. No, he nearly growled, I must save my coin. He had not eaten for days now, his coins growing more meager in his purse. He had not known how many Children had survived, a hundred at the best. Amadacia was no longer theirs, there influence was slipping. The world was being overtaken by the Dark One.

He may be their last hope.

The Children were all that was good in the world, and they had been nearly destroyed. Perhaps he was the last one alive, but he hoped not. He had always been a good leader, but not one to lead the Light to the Last Battle, which was surely coming soon.

He took another swig of the beer as a bar fight went on behind him. One of the men - a tall man with a hook nose who looked like he was from Tear - took a swing at a swarthy sailor. The sailor dodged and threw a heavy uppercut which dropped him to the floor.

Sounds of explosions rang throughout his ears and he bit down on his tongue. A thick taste of copper filled his mouth as they wouldn’t stop. He could hear the screams of him, his friends, everyone he had known had been killed. He knew the Creator had a plan, but this plan seemed to achieve nothing. He spat blood out of his mouth - ignoring the looks of those around him - and took another large swig of his drink.

The sound of explosions still filled his head and the room smelt of burnt flesh as he took another long drink, it would be a long night.

The Lords of Tear had all gathered tonight for the wedding of Maecolin Damara and Seluena Saighan. There had been no stone unturned to bring the greatest of extravaganzas to Tear. There had been a wedding in the distant past, a wedding of King Laman Damodred and Cynith Saighan, but this wedding in Tear would send the rumors of the insanity of that great wedding into the Aiel Waste. Monarchs from all nations were expected to attend, though there had been initial doubt over whether the Queen of Andor would attend or not, as war had ravaged her country.

War had torn much of the land asunder, but this wedding would be like the hands of the Creator reaching down into the world to bring peace, stability, and movement once again. It was only natural for a lowly servant, especially one by the name of Saeron, who had somehow become the head of the servants to be worried and tense over any failing on his part. He would bear the responsibility for much that happened tonight, both good and ill. Many doubted the abilities of the servants, but Saeron knew true. It was them that raised and destroyed houses and tonight it was his job to raise House Damara into legend. The palace servants would be stretched thin this night, but they had prepared long and hard for the festivities to follow.

"How are the preparations looking?" Saeron asked another who had their back turned. "Hey, you'd best respond when I call! I don't have time for obstinance!" Saeron walked over to the person and tapped their shoulder until they turned around.

Kneeling beside a brazier, Leandra brushed her hands idly together, sucking in the heat that the fire gave off. The ice-cold winds still howled outside, occasionally sending in drafts that made her shiver. The fire got rid of that cold, though, and the feeling of emptiness never really went away either. She only wished she could fill it with something. That feeling of emptiness came when she realized how little she could do to this… this Dragon, and his followers. She was left to being a pack mule! Or rather, someone very close to it. Elmar - the false Dragon - had insisted that they speak, but she saw no reason for it, so he ordered her nearly to the back. Men.

Sighing softly, she got ready for another night spent alone. Her ten was small. A brazier, stacks of rugs to keep her feet from the ground, and a bed. She had nothing to write with, no knife, no flute. She had requested those back at least, but she hadn’t gotten a response. At least she had her clothes, though, or whatever she could carry. It was no more than three growns and one split down the center for easier riding, but that presented a problem in itself. Maybe she would do better with leathers, like a boy would wear. Few wore what she did whenever the false Dragon said they would ride, but it had also become a point of pride for her as well. Make up your mind, you idiot! She thought, frowning at herself. She wish she had a mirror now too, and a table.

She was sitting at the edge of her bed when someone walked in, seemingly without the permission of the two men standing guard outside her tent, and she knew why almost immediately. “What do you want?” She asked, her voice seething, teeth grating. She hated him with all her heart, truly, she did. Could no other man be such a fool? “You who would destroy my town, my family, my everything?”

Elmar a’Barlion flung up his hands. “Apologies, mistress,” he said, half-mockingly. Leandra’s stare shot cold ice, but he did not seem to care. Her expression showed him though, of just how much she hated him. Then he bowed, which set Leandra off.

“You are a fool, Elmar a’Barlion!” She shouted, and suddenly one of her guards was peering in. She was standing, all to quickly, swinging her fists wildly in his direction… only to find herself blocked, completely motionless.

“A fool,” he said, as if he were testing the words.

Leandra sucked in her breath. He was using the One Power on her! She bit down hard on her lips, trying - trying - trying too hard… and in the next moment, she felt numb. Her cheek had slammed against the ground in her fall, and she was aching everywhere. “I did not want this,” he told her, as she gripped the rugs and pushed herself up to her knees. “I did not want Saidin as much as any other man. I know what will happen to me, but I am not mad yet. Is it for that reason alone that you spite me, or have you some other fool’s fancy-”

He could not continue before Leandra cut him off, snarling. Rage boiled up in her quicker than a flash of lightning, and for a brief moment it felt as if she could hurl lightning at him, and decimate the entire camp. Oh, how she loathed this man. If she were Aes Sedai, not even the three oaths could have stopped her. Yet she did not strike him. If she did, she had no clue what he might do next. Gag her with the one power? Do things that she could never have thought of? Rage nearly brought her to the brink. Nearly. “I would have your head for what you did to Diam! It was my home, not yours to ravage! Nor your… Cousins either.” She could barely make out the thought of Reodan a’Barlion without seeing red.

To her surprise, he responded with an even face, not even one bit unhinged by her rage. “I did not do it,” he explained in as mild of a tone one could possibly produce in such a situation. “Nor did I order your Lord to do it either.” She watched as he took a seat on her bed. She felt as if she could do nothing. Her face was darkening still, but he seemed fully and completely convinced he could talk himself out of it and have her on his lap before the night was through. “Light illumine my soul I am telling the truth, Leandra.” The fact that he still knew her name drove nails into her heart. How? Had she known him?

“Light illumine the welts I’ll give you if you don’t-”

He cut her off again. Again! His eyes were piercing in the light of the brazier. “When I proclaimed myself…” He trailed the words off, testing them. His left eye flinched. “Reodan had already gone through with this… Diam of yours. I had little knowledge of it, until I was told,” he said with a sigh. “It was a slaughter, or rather, a slaughter of those who refused to follow me.”

“My father!” Rage had barely dissipated.

“Your father was a fool to speak in front of a man who had so many men under his command. How many swarmed in Diam that night? Two-hundred, three? Oh, Leandra, you’re lucky you made it out.” His words left him with a slight grin of satisfaction.

Clenching her fists harder, she demanded explanation. “And what were you doing to stop it, hm?” Her voice was shaking suddenly, not of rage, but of something else. It began in the deepest part of her throat. “So many innocents. Men who would - women! Children even!” And then she was hitting him again, toppling over like she had just pushed some immovable object. He had laid his hands on her, and was suddenly flashing the same spiteful eyes she had shown him. He stood over her, like a King addressing his subject.

“Damn you! I do not want to use the Power. I did not this time, but I might be forced to again. Do not. Allow me to explain myself before you go on your tantrums. In truth, you are little different than the girl I last knew. Leandra Damwen, the fool girl. You don’t know when you overstep yourself. Diam is spared, but for ten, twenty men, maybe. Your precious town is as pristine as it was, girl. Go back to it, if you’d like, but lastly…” He pulled out something. A letter. Small, seemingly insignificant. “This. Something for you from that man Ellisar. Seems he was out as quickly as he could be, and as for… well, I’ll leave you to it.” He flung it to where she lay on the ground, announcing his leaving with another strong gust of wind.

Quietly, on the brink of tears, whether or not it be from anger or not she was not certain, and grasped the letter. When she opened it, her eyes narrowed, and she wept.

Elmar sighed as he made his way back to his tent. The woman refused to see reason. He had gone there, in vain hopes that he might be able to at least persuade her that he was not entirely evil. Well, at least she knew the destruction of her village was not entirely his fault. He had sweetened things here and there, but if she decided to go, she would be out of his hair. He had so much to deal with, so little time. For the Dragon Reborn, there was little time for anything, actually. But he had made time for her. What was so different about her that drew him to her? Elmar found himself hardly interested with any woman now of all days, yet her dirty blonde hair…

Instinctively, he pushed that thought from his mind and drew on Saidin. The one power made everything existent, and non-existent. He could feel the taint as well, the taint that would eventually have him going mad. Well, not yet, he thought. But Saidin was a part of him now. Thoughts were distant, replaced by an awareness of everything going on around him. The snow that tricked against his skin, but left no cold. Hairs on the back of his neck. It felt perfect.

Reluctantly, he let go of Saidin, or rather, it seemed to completely vanish from his grasp whether he liked it or not. He would have to practice that part more. Without a teacher, he would have to learn on his own, and on his own, how much could he learn before Cairhien? So many things to consider, so many variables. Once he was inside his tent, he stripped away from his shirt and sat in a chair. A servant followed him, clad in a garment of incredibly thick wool. “Bring me wine,” he said, not caring if his voice was harsh or not. Once that woman was gone, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, running his hands over the small scruff he had obtained.

He hoped he was the Dragon Reborn. He really did. But with doubt came consequence, and… He nearly threw himself forward, slamming his fist on the table closest to him. Why did he have to channel? This could not be hopeless, could it? Yet he believed himself the Dragon, and he had to show all the men beneath him that he meant to keep to that belief. Nothing happens in a day, he told himself. He would not go mad in a day, and he would not conquer Cairhien in a day. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, each one quicker than the rest. Saidin was there too, a dim flicker in the deepest recesses of his mind, begging him to touch it.

“Damn you!” He growled. Maybe he was going mad. The servant had returned, and stared at him with a petrified face. “Not you,” he said, standing. He was done with moping around. If he was the Dragon Reborn, he was the Dragon Reborn. If he was not, well… A grin flashed across his features. He ordered the servant out, and began sketching a plan in his head. A plan to unite all the nations under one man, one leader. He would march to the steps of Shayol Ghul if he had to force the Last Battle to happen, and…

As the night went on, Elmar started laughing to himself. Yes, a plan. A plan that would do himself well, and he did not care if it would work or not. The White Tower would not stand in front of him. Tear would not. Nor Andor or the dozen other nations that blotted the land. Beside him in the conquests, a wife, and a child in her arms. Would that not be perfect? His smile was nearly a snarl.

And by the time he was ready to sleep, he was satisfied with it all. Yes. The world would bow before him.

Taylin gave us his story idea for getting an angreal or ter'angreal or paralysis net during Taylin Sedai's 40 years away from the White Tower. This will be the roll to determine what that is and all that:

1 - gets nothing

2 - +1 boost

3 - +2 boost

4 - ter'angreal (I'll look up various ones)

5 - ter'angreal (I'll look up various ones)

6 - ter'angreal (I'll look up various ones)

7 - ter'angreal (I'll look up various ones)

8 - paralysis net with angreal she identifies (+1)

9 - paralysis net with saidin detection she identifies

10 - paralysis net with both above that she identifies

“The ice is deep enough,” Ellisar called from the other side, once he had arrived at the far bank. “You can cross! It is safe!” Safe was a word that was hard to come by these days. Far too many times had they been in danger where Leandra would’ve preferred a warm bedchamber, and milk to tide her over. The party looked uneasy. Where there had once been warm faces and gentle smiles, only hardened, battered expressions remained. Her father was the first to start across, clutching a maple staff to his side, to help him stand. Her mother followed. Laida held onto him as close as she held her footing. Even more weary, the children crossed, clutching their mother’s skirts. They all looked so, so tired. So worn.

Leandra did not know how pale she looked if Elbar Annon hadn’t commented on it. Ellisar’s father, he was a tall and slender man, with a youthful look despite his obvious age. He looked… different than the rest. Less weary. “I take it you’ll be crossing after the horses, yes?” He asked her, that somewhat high-pitched voice telling every inch about him. He had a Cairhienin accent, for what little she knew of Cairhien. “Watch your step, Lady Leandra, the-”

“Don’t call me that,” she sputtered, cheeks growing hot. Whatever he believed her, she was not a Lady. “The ice will hold if it can carry horses across.” Or at least she hoped that was how it would be. In her youth, she remembered playing in the ponds during winter. How old those memories seemed now, like a flicker of a distant past. Was she so far removed from Diam? From her home?

Elbar started across without another word, carrying four horses with him, and what little supplies remained, trailing behind them. The cart had been abandoned long ago, favored for more traditional travel. Too many times had Elbar complained, though, about having to buy a new one once he arrived back in Cairhien. He wagered it would be worth a few horses, little less than what he owned on his person. Well, Light let us see Cairhien, at least, she thought to herself as Elbar safely made his way across the small river.

Leandra followed calmly. The ice was deep enough. In Murandy, it scarcely grew more than a few inches, but here? What could she say for Andoran countryside? If her father was right - Light she hoped he was, they were in the middle of the hills of Kintara. They were never too far away from Diam that someone couldn’t ride to see them and be back in a week, but they were in different lands, under different rulers. Andor and Far Madding. Far Madding, which hadn’t seen too much war in it’s time. Andor, who was in the middle of a war right now. So many dead. So many broken. And for what?

Her feet found snow on the other bank easily enough, and the others were already mounted. She growled at her father, and gathered her own mount, which she had taken to naming, Heart. There was no reasoning behind it, really, but she had linked it to Heart of Winter - for her shaggy white fur. The saddle seemed perfect for her as well. She slipped into it quicker than a falcon nosediving towards it’s prey, and gripped the reins hard enough that her knuckles turned white. “Well,” she began, breaking the silence that had radiated through the group. “What direction, again?”

“North. East.” Her father said, running a hand through thick brown hair, gesturing with the other to where the sun barely reached through the grey-capped clouds. “We’ll ride as far as we can, and hopefully we’ll run into some old road. Maybe that can lead us to Aringill, and then…”

The Peddler spoke up, interrupting him. “We can make road by nightfall, Sir Culen.” Gesturing in a different direction, he grinned. If anything, he seemed to know his bearings. He had gotten them this far. “Maybe we can run by a farm, yes? Good folk. Men, women, willing to aid us.”

“And what might we have to… oh, better on road then countryside in this winter. Light, anything would be good. Imagine some place warm, for once.” He turned his rock-hard face into a grin, for just a moment. Then it faded, and he clutched the wound on his side that still seemed to be bothering him. It was bandaged and had an ointment on it, and Laida had cautioned him against moving so quickly, yet he did it anyway. Leandra only hoped he hadn’t torn it open again.

No one else spoke. It was too cold to speak. Leandra wore three - three gowns over each other now, each one a different color. She might’ve passed for the Amyrlin Seat, if only she knew what the Amyrlin actually looked like. All she knew was that the Amyrlin Seat gave up her old Ajah to become one with all the Ajahs. Blue, Red, Green, and all the others, and wore something according to it. Hers were brown, green and gray. The others wore something according to their tastes. The two young boys, clutching their mother still, each had a blanket surrounding them. Culen protested fiercely at wearing anything more than a coat, and the two Peddlers that led them wore matching black attire, which was flecked with flakes of snow. Laida wore little more than she did, but even then, it seemed like it was not enough. The winds that came through were howling, and worse, bone-chilling. It could kill a man in a night if he - they were not dressed properly.

They rode up the bank, watching as white landscape transitioned into more white landscape. Occasionally, patches of grass flared up where snow should’ve been, often shrouded by the trees - which carried more loads of snow. There were boulders as well, as large as any man and twice as wide, which stuck out in the hills. It seemed to be the only thing that could actually make them tell that they were hills. White. Pure white. Everywhere. It was terrible. Occasionally, she thought she was going snowblind, until she stared down at Heart and sighed protectively once she saw her black mane.

They rode past three hills before they came to a small thicket opening between two hills. If it were a better day, maybe in the summer, they would’ve stopped here for the day and enjoyed the warmth of the sun and danced in the meadows. Not here, not today. Diam was lost. Diam was lost. Her home, gone. She reminded herself of that now, and her expression visibly changed from cold to anger, and then to sorrow. They had killed some men, according to her father, hanged those that did not side with this False Dragon - the Dragon Reborn, or so they called him. Light save us from him, and that fool Reodan a’Barlion! She growled fiercely. Their Lord, or once-Lord now, had proclaimed himself for the Dragon.

Ellisar seemed to notice her pained expression and stopped his horse until she was by his side. He was a handsome fellow, but that did not dissuade her thoughts. No men, she turned her anger the other way, directing it at the snow beneath Heart’s hooves. Men were - well - simply put - not worth her time. “Troubling thoughts?” The young man asked, seeming half-amused. “You always seem to look like that when you are thinking.”

And what do you presume to know about me, hm? She almost said, straining not to. She wanted to hurt something, but she denied herself that very thought. Her knuckles were white again. “Yes,” she said quietly, eyeing the ground.

“I am - I am, truly, sorry. I do not know what it is like to lose a home, but I can share some sympathy. My mother was taken from me when I was young, A madman did it, if the stories are to be believed.”

Just who was this man? Her eyes found him, stare for stare. Pale blue met piercing blue. “I am sorry,” she said with emphasis. She could sense another pair of eyes on her now, likely Ellisar’s father. When she looked away - only briefly! She did find his eyes on her, before they drifted away. Elbar spurred forward, refusing to speak. “The days are too long, and I hunger for revenge.” She could hardly deny that in the wake of her home being destroyed. Where was the innkeeper now, without her? She was a dancer and a singer and a player of the flute. He must miss her, and she missed him, oddly enough. She wanted to sing.

“I have no doubt you will get it in time,” Ellisar muttered, doubt ringing in his voice. “Do you believe he can…?” The question that was not a question. It almost seemed as if Ellisar’s eyes were ready to bulge from his head. He was staring so wide-eyed at the ground she thought he had run something over.

But she knew what he spoke of. A man who could channel. Doomed to the fate of so many before him. Madness. The taint on Saidin, the male half of the True Source, was known to everyone from the spine of the world to the Aryth Ocean. If he could channel, he would be doomed to the fate of being gentled. A kinder fate than going mad, sure, but any man who could channel did not live years past his gentling. Maybe he could not channel, but Leandra frowned anyway, just thinking of it. A madman leading an army. Light, what has the world come to?

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, and left it at that.

“Well,” Ellisar said after a time, when they came to the peak of a hill. “If anything, we’ll see first-hand.”

First hand? What did he mean by that? He was riding up to meet his father now, and did not seem to notice Leandra’s full-grown frown. Her glance found herself eye to eye with her mother, who looked at her sorrowfully. Well, if there’s anything I can do, it is be strong, she thought. Strength was for the weak. No, she would not be strong. She would endure. For her family, if not anything else. For Diam. She straightened herself and gave her mother a decent smile.

Up ahead, she saw Ellisar and Elbar had already covered ground. “Oh, look!” One of the men said. “A farm! A bloody farm!” Laughs followed, and Ellisar’s grin almost split his face in two. Culen gallopped forth, and then her mother followed next, followed last by Leandra. “Blood and ashes!” One of them said, earning a frown from more than one other person. “ Blood and bloody ashes! What’s it doing so far out in the country?”

Leandra found herself frowning. Farms in the countryside were not unheard of, but this far out? Hesitantly, she kicked Heart forward.

Reodan a’Barlion sat amongst three other men, each carefully examining a map of Andor and Cairhien. They had been arguing for hours, and among them, the Dragon Reborn too. A man prophesied to both save the world and end it, bickering. It was all pointless. After their first town taken, they had agreed on a path. Cairhien. Aringill, if they could, and Maerone if they couldn’t. And then, to Morelle. Reodan had no idea what the strength of each town was, but he gathered that a man who could channel, and six-hundred…

“Reodan,” a man’s voice spoke, harsh and commanding. His eyes fluttered away from the map in awkward grace, observing the room around them before eventually finding eyes upon Galdred Timon. “Have you been listening?” He asked, emphasizing the world ‘listening’ and adding a growl at the end. He was angry, but Reodan did not care.

“I have,” he lied. “And yet, all I see are fools bickering.” A roll of his eyes set his mood, and he placed one firm hand upon the city of Cairhien. “This is our goal, is it not? How many-” He hesitated for a moment. Sweat beaded on his forehead. It was too hot inside the tent. “-I mean, it will not easy. If word is right then the Queen has an advisor of the Red Ajah.” He spat the words out. Everyone knew he hated Aes Sedai, ever since his sister - his own sister! - was carried away by an Aes Sedai at a young age. He did not know where she was now, but he gathered she was dead. She had been deathly sick since before she left, anyway.

Either way, it would’ve been nice to lay his sister in her grave beside his father and mother. It was what she deserved. The a’Barlion estate was deathly quiet now. He was the only one left now, save the Dragon Reborn. Elmar a’Barlion. “She will do nothing but seek to put an end to my cousin so long as the Wheel of Time turns.”

Elmar himself looked distraught. He hated the Red Ajah too, and all Aes Sedai for that matter. He hadn’t lost anything to them, really, but he hated them anyway. Was it because they wanted to gentle him? The thought of it twisted at Reodan’s stomach, threatened to turn up what he ate for breakfast. He had to remind himself that Elmar was not mad yet. Not yet. “He is right,” Elmar sighed. His eyes were narrowing upon the small dot that marked Cairhien on the map. His hands were balled up in fists. “An open battle against the Red Ajah - or any Aes Sedai for that matter, could prove disastrous. They will use the One Power-” He blinked after that. “- to defend themselves, and kill me if they can.”

Reodan knew what he was thinking. Only in defense of himself had he seen Elmar use the One Power. Saidin. Sometimes, he wondered what it was like, but most of the time, he did not want to know. “That,” Elmar continued, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Or they will gentle me.”

Silence cascaded over the tent faster than a flash flood. Everyone’s eyes were down now, save for Reodan. He watched with eager anticipation for someone to say something. His fingers, index marked with a ruby and silver ring, tapped idly on the table. Finally, when someone did speak up, it was Galadred Timon, who banged his fist against the table and exclaimed in an angry voice, “We will not let that happen!”

“Aye!” Another man, an Illianer cried. “We will not! The Dragon Reborn shall soar again on the winds of time, and no Aes Sedai can stop us!”

“Aye!” Galadred said. Elmar was smiling, oddly enough. It had been too long since Reodan had seen him smile since the taking of Diam, that one infernal village in Murandy. The one he ruled over. Still ruled over. Half of the men were banging their cups on the table and the others were chanting a familiar chant. “Elmar! The Dragon! Elmar! The Dragon! Elmar! The Dragon!” And outside, familiar cries were sounding as well.

“We ride!” Elmar announced, in a now-commanding voice, less sullen and sulky than before. The grin that split his lips showed his teeth underneath. He looked like a Lord like this, in his gold-and-black tunic, the sword and scabbard that swayed on his hips looking as if it fit him well. “East! To Aringill! To Maerone!” His Cairhienin accent displayed the words perfectly.

Reodan had leaped from his seat and made his way towards the flaps that shielded them from the midnight winter breeze, smiling. It was all coming together. If only he could find a way to get rid of that advisor to the Queen of Cairhien. That would do him well, yes, and the Dragon Reborn well too. One less Aes Sedai, and one less advisor to-

“Reodan!” Elmar said as he pulled the flaps open. Sudden cold battered at his face, and made him regret every moment he was standing like this. They were at the top of a hill, overlooking at least a hundred other tents. He did not know where they were, truly, but Galadred had very much insisted on bringing them through this way. The Hills of Kintra, or something like that. They had to avoid Andor, and as much recognition as they could. But, with that, they had already announced that the Dragon was reborn once again. Reodan sorely doubted it mattered.

a’Barlion had started a brisk stride down the hill before his cousin caught up to him, all smiles and livery. “Damn you, you old fool. Don’t leave just yet.” His grip was tightening, and for a moment, Reodan feared. Then it was dispelled when the grip loosened. “Do you believe Cairhien a more easy target than say, Far Madding?” It was a serious question, judging by his tone. Reodan raised an eyebrow.

Sometimes, Elmar was too pretty and no brains. Other times, he had simple strategic brilliance. Right now, he seemed the pretty boy, with curly brown-near-black hair, and light grey eyes. He was handsome, though. That was something the a’Barlions had passed down for so many generations. “I have no doubt,” he said with a smile, taking Elmar down to his own tent. His was not large, but it was warm. Warmth is what he needed. “Far Madding has hardly been wracked by civil war. Cairhien is not united. Cairhien would suffer two attacks before she knew what to do about the first one.”

He was not entirely convinced on that, though. The Queen - he forgot her name - seemed competent enough. If she were not, then she would not have been able to consolidate her rule. Reodan frowned suddenly, but put on that calm face he was so used to giving. He entered the tent, Elmar on his heels, and ordered a servant, one of his little lovelies, to light a candle for him. She was shivering, but Reodan hardly cared. The candle, and if not that, the brazier in the corner would be enough to keep her warm.

“Perhaps you are right,” Elmar said, taking a seat in one of the corners. Reodan shadowed him, sighing. “These days are far too long. I wish for a bed, Reodan, but I have no other choice. I wish myself a wife, and I’ve no other choice. I must be the Dragon Reborn, if I am not, then who am I?” His questions brought that sullen look back to his face. Did he not believe in the cause as Reodan did? Reodan, who had all but given his life for this man? When Reodan did not respond, he continued. “I can channel, Reodan. Channel!” Elmar still seemed to be adjusting to that. A year he had known, and for how many before that had he not known, but did it unwillingly? If he was not willing to adjust soon… The first doubts reached Reodan’s mind, malignant and growing. He forced them to the back of his head as best he could.

“You are charismatic,” Reodan said, trying to sound sympathetic. “A man who can charm as easily as he can channel.” A laugh emerged from his lips then, softer. “I have no doubt you will get what you seek. You may be our doom, but I fully intend to live my life before - ah, what was it?”

“Tarmon Gai’don. The Last Battle.” Elmar grinned, oddly. “I’ve read enough to know - to an extent, what must happen before it happens, though. Cairhien is our first stop. Once we have that, none can stand against us save for the White Tower itself. Tear, perhaps, afterwards?” He said the words, played at them like they were child’s play.

Ah, Reodan thought. The Stone of Tear. Bound to fall when the Dragon Reborn came, and Callandor. The sword that is not a sword. Maybe he would take it. It was only the first of many destinations before the Last Battle itself - and, luck willing, they would actually get there. But when was the Last Battle? He raised an eyebrow at the thought. One year, two? Would he have the entire world united under a single banner before it happened, or would there still be stride? Reodan did not let himself wonder.

“Tear is as good a destination as any,” Reodan said. “Caemlyn, I think, though.” He had no explanation for it save that the nation was in a state of war as it was. If anything, war fed off war, and Elmar knew all too well he brought war.

“We will discuss it at a further date.” Elmar blinked, rubbing his hands together, staring at the scarlet carpet below. “I have much to think on. Tomorrow, at daybreak, we ride. To fortune, maybe.”

“Let’s hope,” Reodan laughed.

“Or not. We shall see. The road to Cairhien is hard, fraught with troubles. We will persevere. The men of the dragon shall.” And then Elmar was up, striding towards the curtains that separated them from the cold night. “Reodan, thank you.” He turned and gave one nod before he was gone.

Reodan frowned. He was too soft yet, he decided. Pursing his lips, he turned to the servant in the corner. “Well,” he said. “I may as well enjoy this night. You are a Domani, are you not? I would like a dance.”

Eyes full of hatred, the girl acceded. Reodan could not remember her name.

Peeling away from her blankets slowly, Leandra woke, gasping at the cold air. Of course the fire had to have gone out. The abandoned farm, for how many months it had gone without tending, was still sturdy, and the home itself, had been stripped bare of everything. Culen, her father, guessed whoever was here before had been gone for months, and thus claimed this place for the night.

It was warm enough when he lit the fire, but that slow crackle had eventually faded in the early hours of the morning, leaving her not only sweaty, but shivering underneath what blankets she had. Lazily, she reached forward. Everyone still seemed to be asleep. Her hand caught on cold wood, and she forced herself from the blankets, embracing the cold, shivering violently. She tiptoed her way to the fire, where she reached the poker in and sighed. Nothing but black remained, some soot had even covered the floor for a few feet outwards.

“Up so early?” A voice asked, and she recognized it for Ellisar. Gasping, she remembered she was still only in her shift, and nearly threw the poker at him. Her frown could’ve thrown daggers, but he didn’t seem care at all! “Dawn just came. We best be off soon.” From what she could tell, he was tired, but so was she. Maybe it was his tiredness that did not make him care for her response. She still wanted to throw something at him. Men.

“Go away!” She almost shouted. “I know, I know! Can you at least give me a moment to dress myself?” There was no doubting it any longer. Leandra was upset. Upset with herself for allowing this to go on for far longer than it needed.

Ellisar grinned at her in that way he always grinned. Her eyes narrowed. But then he was gone, and anger was fading from her, replaced with the cold. Cold and more cold. She slipped into one gown, and toppled another over quickly. Then the last came, each one a different color than the last. Last, she put on her boots, which had been left near the door. Knee-high, they kept her warm enough when she was riding, but occasional drafts that fluttered up her gown were the problem.

Once she made her way out into the hall, she turned and found herself eye to eye with her mother. “Did you forget something?” Leandra asked her, glancing back into the room behind her. Only then did she purse her lips. Mother will take care of it. She always did. In Diam, her mother would’ve ordered her to make it neat and tidy, as if some man intended to barge into her room and marry her on the spot! A frown crossed Laida’s stress-covered face.

“Elbar very well seemed ready to forget you!” Laida grabbed her by the arm, not tightly, but hard enough to send a message. “We told you at dawn, girl.” For a second, she felt as if she were being berated by a Lord! Not her mother, of all people. “We’ll be at- oh, what does it matter? Get your things and go outside. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

She did not expect to be on the ride so quickly. Nonetheless, Leandra gathered her things and packed them into what bag she could, dragging it outside. The winds were harsher than last evening, and she was sure she heard someone shouting. Something about the wind, no doubt. The horse's, Heart included, seemed to stir at the blizzard as well, if this could be defined as a blizzard. She was sure that somewhere up north, this would be worse.

“We ride!” She heard Elbar say. “We ride! Come now, we need to go quick!”

“Why?” Ellisar demanded. Once she rounded into the stables, she could see the younger of the two shadowing the older, who was already on a horse. “Why, father? Can we not stay another night? There is food, and-”

“Someone is at our heels! Oh yes, I saw them last night, I did!” Now he was babbling like a madman. Leandra shivered. The thought of it made her think of a man who could channel. Why? Why was she thinking of it? She scowled at herself, and walked close to Horse, brushing the horse with trembling fingers. “I call them bad men, but… who can say?”

“Who?” Culen came walking in as if he owned the place. Maybe he did, now that everyone was gone. “Light, who, Elbar?” His voice shook with… something. Some emotion that Leandra could not define. That made her brows furrow.

“They had a tent. Hundreds of tents! We need to run, else…”

A horn sounded in the distance, followed by children’s screams. Her brother’s screams. They were safe in the barn, weren’t they? Oh, Light, if something happened to them… The horn sounded louder this time. Simultaneously, Leandra, Culen, Elbar and Ellisar found themselves out of the barn, staring at one - no, two - three - four, five! Ten, then twenty, then forty horses. In the middle of them, a horn sounded, as if they were attacking something! Leandra looked to her father, who still carried his staff by his side, clad in that tunic he wore the day before.’

“Father!” She shouted. The ice-cold crack of the wind slicing the air hit her then, harder than she had ever felt. Her eyes nearly bulged from her head when she hit the ground, winded. Groaning, she watched as the horses bucked into the air. One trotted off, and Elbar…

It was so blurry all of a sudden. Ten, no, maybe fifteen paced in front of her, men were conversing on horses. Hands gripped her tighter than she could ever imagine, but she felt as if all strength were sapped out of her. She was done fighting before it had even began.

“Culen Damwen,” a voice said, snide and pruny. “I did not expect to see you here, but I must thank-” She heard nothing through another slice of air, colder this time. Leandra trembled. “Had you have not gotten away, I would’ve executed you. I would’ve executed you now, too, if I did not recognize how much of an asset you could be.”

Who was he? Who was this man? Her head felt like it was spinning, and she felt like throwing up. The hands made her look, though, and she recognized the banner better than anyone else. a’Barlion. Three eagles, flying around a spear, plastered on a white field. Reodan was here? What did that mean? Oh, Light, she did not know what to do.

“Have you been hunting me for so long, a’Barlion?” Culen spat, grinding his feet into the ground. “Forty, no, fifty? How many men do I see, damn you? Have you convinced your False Dragon -” He was cut off suddenly by something. His mouth froze, and he contorted in anger. What was holding him there? And then she knew.

“Silence,” the other man said from atop his horse, glancing to her family and the peddlers. “Elbar, you have honored our agreement. Thank you.” A coin tossed into Elbar’s hands did have her eyes bulging this time, gaping at a man she once considered a friend.

“Father!” Ellisar gasped too, and then she realized practically everyone was gaping.

The man on the horse continued. “Few know me here, so I should introduce myself.” He was handsome in his own way, but pure rage shot through Leandra as she glared at him. “Elmar a’Barlion. This man speaks wrong against me. I am not a False Dragon.” His voice seemed so full of assurances. Assurances bought by one man. Reodan a’Barlion. Followed by them, a few hundred men came streaming from over the hill, one every so often waving the banner of the Lord.

Suddenly, her father was gasping again. The idiot used the One Power on him! Damn him! Madman! Madman! She tried to scream those words at him, only to realize she couldn’t as well. Neither could her mother, or her brothers. Culen grasped his neck, coughing. “I give you a very easy ultimatum… Culen.”

Reodan a’Barlion shifted himself uncomfortably. Everyone was watching now, silent.

“Acknowledge me as the Dragon Reborn and spare your family. Do not, and you will-”

“You are the Dragon Reborn!” Culen shouted. “You are! You are!” He was grasping his head. Her father nearly looked on the brink of tears. And then he was gone, gasping again. “You are the Dragon Reborn.”

“Good,” Elmar sighed, riding close to Leandra. His eyes watched her for a moment, judging. She saw the snow-capped brown-black hair, those grey eyes of his. He was a man who could channel, doomed to go mad for the taint on Saidin… “Leandra!” He nearly cried, as if he had seen her again for the first time after twenty years. “It has been far too long. We will have to speak later, when we have found the road.”

What? Leandra looked towards the snow-covered ground and licked her lips. What did he want to do with her? Half of her wanted to rake her own skin off for allowing these two men manhandle her. She only wished she had a knife. It could be over in an instant. An instant, and the Dragon Reborn would be dead. But then she asked herself, did she have the courage to do it? Could she? Her mouth watered as he approached her mother, and brothers.

“I am sorry,” he said, seemingly releasing whatever held them. Both children went to cry into their mother’s skirts. “It was only a precaution. I mean you no harm.”

Her eyes briefly shot back to Culen, who looked as if he were about to drive a blade through the false Dragon’s neck. “Of course,” he continued. “Everything will be well. We ride for Aringill, or at least in that direction. You will be delighted to know you will be warm and have other human company for the trip, you included, Elbar, until we can get you a new cart.”

Elbar pursed his lip and nodded silently. Ellisar’s head was nearly red. “Why?” Leandra demanded. “Why did you do this? We didn’t hurt anyone. We don’t want to hurt anyone, why?”

Elmar turned to her and raised a brow. “You’ll not hurt anyone, and won’t be hurt either, unless you are an Aes Sedai. You don’t look one though, Leandra.” How did he know her name? “We provide a safe haven--”

“My Lord!” Shouted one of them from behind, and Elmar raised a hand to them.

“A safe haven,” he continued. “For those without a home. I understand what happened at Diam more than anyone else. It was my home once, but not anymore, but it was yours.” He nodded solemnly towards her, heeling his horse forward. “I trust you all have horses? We ride hard and fast, for a road. And then, Maerone.”

Leandra cursed everything that existed then. Her hands finally broke free, and she was nearly ready to run, only to realize then that the men that held her did not have their grip locked tight as she had thought. Maerone? She thought the name felt vaguely familiar, but she could not decided. “I do not expect you to leave,” Elmar said, once the family had started embracing. Leandra herself was nearly in tears. “But if you do, I warn that blood may be spilled. Word of me can not spread further than necessary, and I do not need you spreading word to Far Madding or Tear, or wherever you are going.”

“Half the world already knows,” Reodan groaned beside Elmar. “This was a waste of time, cousin.”

“We shall see,” Elmar said, turning to the hugging family. “We shall see.”

If anything, Leandra was ready to rip Reodan’s tongue out from his throat. But this Elmar, she was conflicted on. No, he had hurt her family! She could not let that slide, no matter how much she wanted to… felt compelled to. One of them had to pay, though. Or both. Either way, they would pay.

Heya all,

I've tried to post lately, but life just keeps getting in the way. Sorry I've not participated. Janan and Kiriena are currently unavailable and I don't know when I'll be getting back to actually post. Sorry all :-(