Chapter 1 - The Stirring Shadows

[StormWolf]

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades 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. 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 Shadow shall rise across the world, and darken every land, even to the smallest corner, and there shall be neither Light nor safety. And he who shall be born of the Dawn, born of the Maiden, according to Prophecy, he shall stretch forth his hands to catch the Shadow, and the world shall scream in the pain of salvation. All Glory be to the Creator, and to the Light, and to he who shall be born again. May the Light save us from him.

The Karaethon Cycle

The Fourth Age, the an Age anticipated to be golden and glorious in its peace and splendor, but emerged from the ashes of Tarmon Gai’don as something much different. The nations allied beneath the Dragon Banner frayed and tore apart at the seams. The Dark One’s defeat was anything but permanent. While His wounds were most grievous, his defeat at the hands of the Dragon weakened him for the coming generations, imprisoned within the deepest depths of the Pit of Doom. From His domain in the Blight and Blasted Lands, the Dark One continued his war against mortals and the Light. The Wheel of Time continues to turn, and the Age that had come and passed was coming once more. The World is on the precipice of chaos as all bonds of peace and fellowship start to thin across the Westlands, promises and oaths once taken are now cast asunder.
The World is changing; some might argue that the discord is the growing pains of the Fourth Age as the people adapt to the new and frightening technologies and social aspects. So many new things have sprouted up from Seanchan to Sharda, leaving time-tried tradition to grasp on with a grip of iron. Forces are on the move, armies and invisible powers are mustering in preparation for the coming storm.

Tar Valon - The White Tower

Duria Faraen, the Amyrlin Seat, sat at her desk with shoulders slumped in what some could interpret as defeat. Her eyes-and-ears had brought nothing but dire news to her desk and it was starting to wear quite thin. Civil war in Arad Doman between the Seanchan-established government and the bloody Children of the Light, claiming the realm to be theirs generations after their exodus. The Lord Captain Commander was surprising forth-coming with his reasoning, ‘The Children have been kept from what is truly theirs for too long. It is high time we take back what is rightfully ours.’ Duria knew the Children well enough to know that even in this Age, they were not to be taken at their word. They were hiding something as they maneuvered their own secret agendas. Cairhien was on the precipice of revolution, the high-born caste finding themselves outnumbered and surrounded by starving and disgruntled low-born. Caemlyn prepared to march against the Red Wolf banner and the Borderlands were in dire need of weapons and volunteers.

To make matters worse, a most disturbing report flew in from a Brown Sister who was away on assignment at the Stone of Tear. Darien touched the parchment and could almost feel the panic flow from the shakily-scrawled handwriting in to her fingertips. Sister Laeia was always a calm woman, calm enough to almost be considered a White if not for her obsession for the studious.

Mother Amyrlin,
Upon my continued studies at Tear, I have done all that you have asked me to do on my assignment, but I no longer think I have the skills required nor the resolve sound enough to stay on without more Sisters here to assist me, preferably powerful ones. It is the Seal, mother. I inspected the Seal this month already, but after a terrible night-terror, I was compelled to check the Seal again. It was cracked, as if the Wolf King himself struck it with Mah'alleinir.

We both know this can only mean one thing, Mother, and unlike the Age past, we are not prepared. The Dark One is coming once more, which means that there is another... the Dragon walks amongst us once more.

~ Laeia Mar’genna

Deria closed her eyes and slumped her shoulders further until her head made a dull thunk against the desk. What was she to do? So many were calling upon the Aes Sedai as of late to help settle disputes of all kinds or attempt to salvage doomed crops or to heal those wounded in the path of war. There were not enough Sisters and Warders to send off all at once. There was plenty of new blood around the Tower, but could she trust ones so young and inexperienced with something so crucial? To find the Dragon and reel him in? How well did that turn out for the Tower in the last Age? Resigning to herself, Deria stood slowly on wobbly legs, fearing that too rapid of movement would cause her to sick up. Clearing her throat, Deria called out to her Keeper,

“Rhenna, could you come in here please?” The Amyrlin’s voice was steady and calm, but just like the sea, the turmoil beneath the surface was powerful enough to crush the finest of ships. The door to the Amyrlin’s study swung open and Rhenna stepped in, a slender woman of tall stature and hair the color of platinum. She was dressed in a green silk dress of Domani fashion, embroidered with golden vines. The deep-’v’ collar exposing and accentuating the woman’s cleavage just as much as her necklace of fire-drops did. Such a dress was surely a gift from one of her Warder-husbands, just as much as the matching necklace and earrings were. Despite her forward manner and carnal tendencies towards her several wed Warders, Rhenna was a very competent and capable Keeper, her kurt honesty keeping the generosity of Deria in check.

“What is it, Mother?” Rhenna’s voice was soft and feminine, but her tone was firm and the tightness in her eyes made each syllable hit like a blacksmith’s hammer. Deria collected herself internally, her physical self not stirring an inch.

“I have an assignment of paramount urgency, and I need one of the younger, newer Sisters to take care of it. Who would you suggest?” Deria unconsciously twirled the serpent ring on her finger as her green eyes watched Rhenna as if the Amyrlin could see the cogs in the woman’s mind turn.

“If the mission is so urgent, Mother, why not send one of the more experienced Sisters?” Rhenna’s reply was flat, but the skeleton of a smirk could be seen on the woman’s face. fortunately for Deria, Rhenna responded exactly as expected.

“Of what stock, Rhenna? The sad state of the Westlands has all our best Sisters out and occupied for three weeks at the earliest. We need more experienced Sisters, so what better way to make a Sister more experienced?” Deria allowed herself to smile, but Rhenna was quick to reply.

“What manner of mission is this, Mother?” Rhenna’s reply came back as quick as a bullet.

“A simple matter of investigation and retrieval. One of our Sisters has discovered a most interesting man, and I hope to know all the facts about him before making any brash moves. Now, I asked you for suggestions... Someone personable and who will not cut the man’s thread and be done with it.” Deria walked around her desk, crossing her arms over her breasts,

“So that eliminates the Red Ajah altogether...” Rhenna started, allowing the both of them to smile, “I would suggest Sister Dynora of the Blue-”

“Too argumentative, that one. We don’t need another war on our hands.” The Amyrlin interjected, much to the Keeper’s chagrin.

“Sister Valeria?”

“So infatuated by her Warder she cannot think straight.”

“Sister Randia?”

“Doesn’t know the world outside her books.” The dialogue went on for the better part of an hour, Rhenna calmly listing all Sisters she though best suited for the task, but they were all getting shut down by the Amyrlin. Was this some sort of punishment for the Keeper for being so rigid? Finally, the Keeper huffed,

“Sister Şenay?” Rhenna was getting obviously agitated, just by the tightness in her voice. However, Deria was given pause by the mention of Şenay - a Seanchan and former damane who was potent enough in her channeling to be of notice to Rhenna. The only reason Rhenna had not considered her earlier was that she had yet to find a Warder to Bond.

“She would be acceptable. Fetch her.” Deria turned to return to her seat when Rhenna butted in with an objection,

“Mother, she is meek, and she doesn’t even have a Warder yet? Without a Warder, a girl like her will likely end up raped and killed and dumped in a road-side ditch.” The Keeper was quite firm on her status, and she was right. Deria stroked he narrow chin in thought, walking to one of the stained-glass windows of her study, looking down on the Tower Grounds. Down below, the Warders and the Younglings trained diligently. Even from this height, Deria could see the pride of the Drill Master’s students. Sai’car’mavron, he was called by the Drill Master, a greying Aielman.

“The Golden Eyed Watcher... bring him up as well.”

“The Malkieri?”

“The same. Make it so, Rhenna. Time is not our ally in this matter, and the two of us have already spent more than enough time on this than was needed.” With that, Deria took her seat as Rhenna send two Accepted to summon Şenay and Roraen.

* * * *

Down in the Tower Grounds, Roraer stood at the ready. He was naked above the belt, his steel-chord muscles rippling beneath his pale and scarred skin. The Malkieri’s physique was impressive, powerful and lithe with enough bulk to be intimidating without being a simple wall of meat. Roraen was what many women would find very attractive, even with the several scars from man, beast, and the grotesque things in-between - Trollocs. In his hand, Roraen held a single edged training sword carved from oak, the blade slightly curved to represent the kind of sword Roraen would be using when he entered the field. All around him were fellow Warders and Youngling observers, many dressed in the same manner he was - bare above the waste, sweat glistening on their chests from the toils of exercise and the heat. Many bore scrapes, scuffs, welts, and bruises - most of which were courtesy of Roraen. He was a fine swordsman, his posture reminiscent of a lion stalking in the tall grass, his attacks just as ferocious.

“Well, what are you waitin‘ for? Death will no wait for anybody.” One of the mentors barked, two Warders and a Youngling in to the circle. Battle Masters placed their wagers, as did several of the other Warders who had the Marks to spare.

“Ready...” the lead Battle Master, the Aiel, spoke in a voice like thunder. Roraen fell in to a deep combat stance, two hands on the grip of his weapon, raised over his head with the blade angled towards the ground and facing the enemy at forty-five degrees. The Malkieri’s golden eyes narrowed, focusing on his three targets, picking them apart by their visible weaknesses.

“Fight!” With that the clamor of battle began, but with the clank and thonk of wooden weapons smashing in to one another, not the clashing of steel on steel. Roraer moved with the grace of a dancer with his sword in hand - pirouetting, parrying, attacking, and countering. The first Warder fell with a split over his right eyebrow, wincing at the blood and sweat that now trickled in to his eyes. With a sharp jab to the solarplex, the second Warder crumbled as if he had no bones to hold him upright, lungs emptied of air. The Youngling trembled from the tip of his toes to the tip of his training sword, looking Roraen in the eyes, trying to read the Gold-eyed Watcher. Much to the dismay of the Youngling, Roraen was as expressive as stone, and in the blink of an eye, the Warder’s sword knocked the weapon from the boy’s sweaty palms. There was silence for a time, but then there was laughter, and the Youngling retreated with a face red as a beet.

With the fight concluded, Roraen found his way to one of the many fountains in the Tower Grounds, scooping up the crystal clear water in his hands and splashing it over his face and neck, wiping away the sweat and the blood - other people’s blood. The tap-tap-tap of slippers on stone reached Roraen, giving him pause. He could see, hear, and smell things better than any human or Aes Sedai without the Gift of the Wolf Brothers, making him a very crucial asset to the Aes Sedai and to the Borderland. More than once it was Roraen’s stellar senses that saved a settlement from a surprise attack in the dead of night.

Focusing on the footsteps and now the smells, Roraen quickly came to a conclusion. Female judging by the lightness of her footsteps and the light rustle of skirts, and her smell was that of lavender and rose oil, though it did not mask the smell of apprehension,

“Is there something you need, milady?” Roraen spoke first without looking up, soaking his long hair in the fountains falling streams before turning to face the woman who had approached him. Her dress was a virgin white with bands of color representing all the Ajah’s were embroidered in to the hems of her skirt.

“Um, the A-Amyrlin wishes to see you, ser.” The Accepted was of a dark complexion, but her cheeks were still rose-red with a blush. Roraen was fully aware that he was still topless and the effect it had on some women, so he took the blush as a wordless compliment and pulled on a white linen shirt.

“Very well, I am at her beck and call, and will be up shortly. You are dismissed, milady.” Roraen spoke as he laced up the collar of his shirt before donning his vest, coat, cloak, and bracers. Securing his color-shifting cloak with his Golden Crane brooch, the Malkieri made his way to the study of the Amyrlin at the top of the Tower.

* * * *

“Sister Şenay?” the airy voice of a Novice called out as she searched for the Yellow Sister all around the Tower, first the Yellow lodgings, then the Grounds. It was from a friendly Brown that the Novice was told to search the Tower Library. Struggling with the door, the Novice entered and started to silently search for Şenay.

“Sister Şenay? The Amyrlin has summoned you to her study. It is most urgent.” The Novice exclaimed when she finally found the Yellow Sister surrounded by ancient tomes and books. Waiting for Şenay to put down what she was doing, the Novice walked beside the Seanchan woman as she made her way to the Amyrlin’s Study.

* * * *

Cairhien - Capitol

Nestled against the River Alguenya, the topless towers of Cairhien City rose up like great fingers from within the walls. The golden dome of the Sun Palace glinting in the sunlight, giving all a bright and prosperous aura that belied the current status of the city and the nation of the same name. In the streets of High Town or from one of the many towers, life in Cairhien was plush and fabulous, feasting on the finest the farms had to offer in the form of food and drink. Clothes of silk and velvet and hands powdered with talcum to retain their softness. It was a pleasurable life so long as one remained on the right side of High Town.

The rest of the city was on the verge of collapse, those fortunate enough to eat every night have been reduced to bread and salt. Even the taverns and inns were pressed for decent food and stout drink. It was a sad time in the true Cairhien, the songs of the night more often than not, being the cries of the downtrodden rather than the soft tunes of a gleeman. All manner of man and beast lurked in the shadows of the Towers, brigands and desperate folk driven to crime to keep their family from starving. People go missing and people die every night in Cairhien, and the world could care less. Today in Cairhien, civil chaos stirs and churns stronger than it has in the past several decades, the people of Low Town and Mid Town raising their voices to their ‘betters’ in anger, throwing threats and promises of violent change. The city guard stands on the edge of a knife, given orders not to retreat and to not let any of the lower folk in to High Town, but these ‘lower folk’ were friends and family, and there were so many of them. One gentle push was all that was needed to push the mob in to a riot.

The presence of Aiel in the city also put a strain on already high tensions. Tales of the Dragon and is army of Aielman taking Cairhien and the Westlands by storm are still sung by hearthfires in taverns, and even with the abundance of Aiel acclimating to Westland society, Cairhien still holds a great prejudice against the tan-skinned warrior-folk. In this day and age, the Aiel have the same rights to land as any Westlander, though many would deny them such rights because of deeds done in the past.

* * * *

Saldaea - Maradon

The Borderlands were never an easy place to live. The Blight remains as dangerously close as ever, frequent Trolloc raids keeping tensions high and nerves frayed. In Saldaea, the capitol of Maradon has long since rebuilt it walls but still bears the scars of the Third Age. Life in the Borderlands is cold and harsh and can be quite short. The child-queen rules to the best of her abilities, but many of the greying veterans and the weary soldiers grow discontent with her rule. Hesitant and cautious decisions, being meek in the eyes of the other Borderlands and the whole of the Westlands.

In the heart of Maradon, in a tavern by the name of the Sword and Border, soldiers and civilians gather to wash away the ailments and worries of the Borderland lifestyle. Some occupy themselves with the flow of wine and song while others content themselves with games of cards or dice, wagering anything from coins of bronze, silver, and gold to blades of iron and steel.

To make matters worse, the Children of the Light have decided to investigate Saldaea, assuming that the political turmoil is the work of Darkfriends. The Children, in their usual manner, have taken to meddling with affairs that are not their own. The mere presence of the Children has upset the already tense air of Maradon.

In the Sword and Border tavern, the Children continued their search for Darkfriends, making a point in stick their fingers in to the lives of every man, woman, and child they came across. Strange occurrences have drawn the Children to this part of Saldaea, something more sinister than the political unrest or the Shadowspawn attacks. Odd things have been happening - supernatural anomalies that betray all laws of natures, threads of fate being tugged this way and that. Something, or someone, was amiss in Maradon.

[Edynol]

"That's ten, I win," Branwynn al'Lerin said half smugly as he picked up the two silver and three gold crowns from the table. He had been been in Maradon for some weeks now, and despite the reputation most borderland regions had, he found this place to be quite welcoming, despite the Children being here and sticking their noses into everyone's bloody business. "Here's a little somethin for you, darlin," he said to a serving sitting on his lap. He then took a swig of ale and held up his mug as the girl poured him some more. It had been a good night for him so far. The dice seemed to be rolling his way nine time out of ten and that really tended to make the serving girls more pliable. And if there was one thing he liked about Saldea, it was its girls. Didn't even need to ply them up with ale for them to be up for a good ol kiss and tickle.

The guys at the table though, they were so happy. Bran already owned two of the fat, balding guy's horses, and he just won the peddlers last barrel of Andoran Black. Good stuff, that. "Okay that's it, I know you're cheating. Those dice are loaded!" the man yelled as he stood.

Bran looked at him surprised. "Are you flaming joshing me? These are your bloody dice!" Bran exclaimed. They have your flaming mark on them, you trolloc-face goat kisser!"

"You switched them some how and put my mark on them," the man said.

Bran then motioned for the girl to get off his lap as he stood up. "You've sitting here watching me the whole time, the flaming dice never left the light-burning table! And it would take hours to put marks like those on both dice!"

The man walked up to Bran and stood right in his face, his sickly-sweet, ale covered breath making Bran crinkle his nose. "Are you calling me a liar, boy," the man said in a low, harsh tone.

"Bloody straight I'm calling you a liar," Bran retorted. "Your luck is just rotten and you're trying to cheat me out what I won fair and square by labeling me a cheat when we're using your dice! You shouldn't bloody play if you don't wanna pay." Bran barely had time to react when the man rushed at him, his buddies who had snuck up behind Bran grabbing him as the peddler grabbed his shirt collar. They all then drug him outside and threw him to the ground before gathering around him.

"I'll teach to cheat me and call me a liar, boy," the peddler snarled as Bran got to his feet. Three big guys against one, if only he could use the power. But ever since they shielded him before he left the black tower, he couldn't do much more than spark a campfire. But he was still handy with a sword.

The peddler grabbed a club as the other two pulled out swords. They all came at him at once, but he fought them off pretty easily. These guys had no training, like Bran had while he was at the Tower. They had no form or anything. The first guy he caught on the side of the face, slicing of part of ear and leaving a long cut on his cheek. When he knelt down clutching his ear, Bran gave him a hard kick to the face, knocking him out. The second guy Bran just sidestepped and he ran head first through a window outside the tavern. Two down. Finally, the peddler came at him and Brand just dotted his forehead with the hilt of his sword, sending him reeling back and falling on the butt.

"What's goin on here," yelled a voice behind Bran. He then turned around to find two Whitecloaks with their swords drawn.

"The peddler pointed at Bran. "This guy robbed me! I'm just an honest peddler trying to sell my wares, but this guy comes along, ambushed my companions, and takes my gold and beats me up!"

Bran sighed in frustration. "No no no, listen. This is my gold. I won it fair and..."

Bran was cut off as one of the Children spoke. "Wait, I know you. I've seen your poster. You have been causing trouble all over this city! And now you attack an honest peddler? One whom I myself have done business with? What other trouble do you plan on raising, darkfriend?"

Bran scowled at the man. "Hey I ain't no darkfriend, you misbegotten son of a trolloc," he said as he raised his sword. Suddenly, the peddler got up and pushed him from behind, making him accidently stab one of the whitecloaks through the chest. "Ginely! You will die for that, friend of the shadow!" The man then charged at him, landing a glancing blow on Bran's upper arm. Bran thwarted his next attack, but then got nailed with an elbow to the face, sending him reeling a few feet back.

Now it was his turn to charge. Silverpike meets the Kingfisher. He spins under the whitecloak's swipe at his head as he brought his sword up, slicing right through his arm pit and severing the mans arm at the shoulder. The ,man screamed in agony and the peddler ran off as fast as he could. Bran frowned as the whitecloak slipped into unconsciousness. He then sheathed his swords and stood there as he tried to catch his breath. He didn't care much for killing, but better tham than him.

[P.K.]

the white tower

Senay had been enjoying reading though some old tomes she had found in the library. Despite being a yellow she dearly loved to read and to learn most anything from the passed to things that where said to happen in the future she had learned much at this time and could be considered a brown in a way. But no Senay's true joy came from using her power to heal and make things better... The might very well be that she had only ever been able to use her power to hurt and destroy in the passed but upon arriving at the white tower she had learned, and quickly, that her power could be used for something else... something better. Quite frankly that's all she wanted to do.

Senay's thoughts where interrupted. She looked up at the young novice surprised that the Amyrlin would call for her specially if it be as urgent as it sounded. Setting down the old tome she had been reading she quickly got up brushing any dust that might have gotten onto her simply made yellow cotton dress. she quickly followed the girl worried of what it may be as she pulled her shawl up over her shoulders as if cold. What need could she have of me? Senay thought fearing the worst yet hopping the best. As best as she tried she could not seem to hid her feelings when they where so high and many times she had been chided for it still she tried and there was nothing more she could do.

Fidgeting with her dress, well made and in the same style as the dull gray dress she had once worn it did little to show her form only pronouncing that she had a small one and nothing more. Fine silks looked nice but Senay was content with more simple things finding them just as good if not better and if comparing it to her passed life it was. Still these thoughts did nothing to ease her mind as she drew ever closer to the Amyrlin's study. though it seemed like forever she arrived at the doors quickly enough leaving the novice behind as she sweeped in. Senay had just as much grace as any other sister she just didn't have the same calm out word appearance as them.

She slipped passed the Keeper with a nerves node before quietly entering into the room. "Y-you called for me mother?" she asked her words where still slightly slurred in the seanchan speech but much more understandably the it once was. She soon came to realize there was some one else in the room A tall broad shouldered man with long strait Black hair. Handsome many would say and muscular but what caught her of guard was his eyes. She had seen him many times before as she walked boy of stopped to watch the warders but never once had she seen those eyes pure gold with the hidden dangers behind them if it so need be brought out. she knew those eyes though this was her first time actually seeing them. wolf brother. she had read many things about them but had never thought there was one in the tower. Senay realized she was staring and flushed quickly turning her gaze to Amyrlin and folding her hands in front of her tightly to keep them from fidgeting with her dress more.

~~~

Cairhien

Akiko set on a high bough of a tree that had the perfect view of the city in front of her. Cairhien. "Its beautiful but with what I hear its not better off then most others" she said out loud. "Come down from there young one you are no bird" she heard little water chide her in her mind. Akiko looked down "your just Julius Because I CAN get up here" she said but started to make her way down. "the branches are made for the birds the shade is made for all creatures" little water replied turning and trotting back to the rest of the pack. Akiko followed with a sigh "well that one made some since" she muttered. not all the wolf sayings made since to her but that one did...partly. little water's ear twitched but he mad no reply.

"Rowen!" Ducking she felt soft underfur brush the top of her head and then there was a thump on her other side as young jack landed awkwardly and flopped over on his side. "Nice try" Akiko said with a smile as she set back and looked at her friend. Young jack had been only a young male when she had come they where around the same age roughly and had become great friends and mischief makers from the start. she always thought of a rabbit when ever some one said jack so instead of young rabbit she had just called him jack and it stuck. The light tan wolf got up shaking his fur out then set down. "not fair" was all he said. Smiling she ruffled his ears playfully.

The playful gesture ended up as a rough house wrestle with her friend with playful nipping and rolling around harmless fun until the pups decided to dog pile them. Akiko was suddenly tackled off Jack by two playful pups. "Ack" surprised by the sudden attack she landed flat on her side with them scampering around and over her. jack two was being piled on by a small swarm. With that it turned into a game of play hunting in which both she and jack where the pray. Not that she minded this playing with the pups was mostly her job specially when the rest of the pack was out hunting.

However energetic she and jack might have been they where soon worn out by the younglings and flopped down on the ground as they where swarmed once more. In this part of the day the older wolves where resting under the shade of the trees speaking with each other some telling the younger ones tails or even just napping. This was her world now and it was relatively peaceful though they had had to move some times to keep away from large groups of people and white cloaks. she shivered for a moment and laid back to look up to the sky through the leaves. Her father was one but... she did not even know if he was still alive let alone looking for her. She did not want to be found not anymore ... fear drove her to stay away from people if they knew her or recognized her there was always the chance she would be found. She could not bare to think what her father though of her now ... a darkfriend.... she closed her eyes and sighed. this pack was her family now and so she wanted it to remain.

[Setsa]

Location: Maradon, Saldaea
House of Bashere Estate

The Children of the Light made the Bashere house very uneasy… They had no right to be here, Setsara’s younger cousin did have much to learn about ruling like a good leader. Having been thrusted into this when her parents died in battle in the Blight, answering the call of aid as recent reports a couple years ago. Told of the Trollocks and such growing more bold and causing unneeded trouble at the border. The Children thought it odd that Setsara was outside with the people helping them to establish a better system of irrigation before the heat took much hold into summer. An unwed noble lady helping the local people, the farmers and citizens? Surely was work of a Dark friend in order to gain more people onto her side of darkness. Since then they were always watching her from a distance until they decided she may have just been helping the people as an act of kindness and not of the dark friends.

The captain did however show interest in the young lady as fighting for the light had not given him time to start a family of his own. He was a younger Captain, having advanced through the ranks at a fast pace, yet still a good many winters older than her in his 30s. Having an audience with Lord Bashere about such proved to be interesting. He was most reluctant in thinking of him a suitor for his daughter….but the captain was quick to remind him that such a union would appease both beneficial for Saldaea as it would prove with the right words of course. That the Bashere house had nothing to do with the Dark friends except to killed and keep them away from the borders as much as possible. The bordering countries were already setting their gaze on Saldaea some with judgmental thoughts, waiting to see how the queen handled things… Some wanting to extend their reach and power to take a little of the country herself. Afterwards the Lord had much to think about…a lot weighing on his mind to where in the morning he had his beloved daughter summoned to him.


~ ~ ~ ~


“No father, I have not chosen yet, there are still seeds to plant to assure good crops for the people. As well as watching Saldaea’s borders and keeping our people safe and assured during the reign of my cousin who sits at the throne.“
Setsara was pacing back and forth some while marking each thing on her fingers until she stopped before the throne to face the aging man with some grey starting to blend in with his raven hair more and more these days.

“My daughter… you need to choose amongst the suitors for a husband to rule at your side as the head of the Bashere house and help you with such things. It’s already been two winters too long that you have accompanied me into battle alone. If you don’t choose soon then I shall have to for your own benefit. Believe me I have a select few in mind my spirited flower…”

The young woman tucked a long strand of the same raven hair behind her ear. Having been called from the training grounds where she was practicing hand-to-hand combat against 4 men as is her daily routine to keep her skills sharp. “This isn’t right….not for the people who are already shaky enough with our Queen and not for me.”

Lornius stood up straight…taking a few moments before stepping down from his elevated seat to cup the shoulders of silk pant suit wearing woman with his strong, battle worn hands. “That’s just it Setsara…. The people in our territory of Saldaea need to see our house strengthened by a marriage to help renew hope into their minds. Our people can only be as”

“...as strong as their leaders... Yes I know that, you don’t think I do father?!” The man chuckled and kissed her forehead with love and pride for his heir. “Then don’t force me to do this….you had suitors visit our house for 2 years now again and again…. You shall have 3 days to choose a man to court and wed or I will.”

Even Setsara knew when and where to pick her battles…and a heated discussion now would not be to her benefit. Bowing shortly to her father before kissing his right cheek, the heir to the Bashere House left the room to blow off some steam. Not long after, being seen practicing her deadly accurate knife throwing from horseback.

[SikstaSlathalin]

Maradon

The wind blew lightly through the trees boarding Maradon,crouched with his back to the tree sat Dasher Wolfgrain. Thief catcher extraoridinare and Wolf Brother. The large man had been hunting down this target for a number of weeks. Branwynn al'Lerin, cheat, womanizer, disgraced Asha'man, and a general pest from what Dash gathered even though his employer didn't seem like a saint himself. The Wolfgrains rarely care about the motives behind bounties unless it stunk of cold blooded capture and or murder. His green cloak danced slightly in the breeze normally he would've wasted no time in getting into the city to catch this guy but the sight of the zealots calling themselves the Children of the Light stalking around the city gave the Hunter pause.

The last thing he or his family needed were Children interrupting their business looking to crucify them for being Wolves. Sometimes it couldn't be avoided and fighting was the only way to end the problem, he didn't kill them if simply wounding or disarming did the trick and the Wolfgrains never took a job that someone either in the psychotic group or associated with them was the target that was just a stupid reason for the wide-spread genocide that would occur after the fact.

He'd been sitting for a bit waiting for night to begin it's trip across the land so he might be able to slip into the city unnoticed. As it finally descended he changed into the clothes of a normal bounty hunter and exchanged is highly distinctive green cloak and antlered hood for a simple black one. After resettling his weapons he flipped the hood up and walked into the city following the likely suspects of tavernhounds asking a question here and there about Bran. Soon following his leads he found his target standing over the bodies of two dead Children... great now both of them would be hunted down.
"You must be Brannwynn al'Lerin, I can see why you're wanted more dead than alive. Lucky for you my family aren't fans of catching a dead body. Now throw down your weapons and lay on the ground, we'll make this as painless as possible." He had drawn one of his pistols and was aiming it right at the other man's head.

[Jacogos]

Cairhien

At this time of day, the Strutting Rooster was usually empty, save for a few lonely patrons with silver to blow. Today, however, it was even more barren, perhaps because it was the no-so-lucky temporary home to a certain man whom had grown accustomed to solitude in the crowded city of Cairhien.

As an Aiel, Rondc was, at best, met with sneers and open hatred in the city of the Sun Throne. At worst, men met their Creator a little earlier after testing their steel against the outlander. So the Wheel weaves. Currently, the owner of the hovel so-named the Strutting Rooster was giving death glares at his single patron of the day, though he had not the guts to walk up to the Aiel and ask him to leave. Whether it was the fact that the man had single-handedly intimidated his bouncers into letting him in, the cold look that he was returning the owner as if to say 'Come on, TRY and throw me out', or the fact that he had set three gold marks in the man's hand and asked how much that would get him, one couldn't be quite sure. Nevertheless, Loren, the owner, wasn't about to approach the dark-skinned man.

That was all fine and well for Rondc. Recently, he had been sure that he had found a hideout that belonged to the anti-Aiel radicals, the Defenders. An interesting name, Rondc thought, as the original 'Defenders' had been those who stood at the Dragonwall to try and stop the Aiel from coming over in the last Age. Now, these ones' only problem was that he was in Cairhien. Anywhere else, and he'd meet no resistance. Foolish wetlanders... Even he, an Aiel, knew their past better than they. Of course, he had managed to slip into the Great Library a few times without arousing much chaos. He was probably better read than some of the nobles there. That might be a stretch, though, he mused.

Rondc returned to the present when a rather large shadow passed over his sight. Peering up from his drink (which wasn't nearly strong enough for the Aielman), Rondc was met by the gruesome sight of one of the bouncers, a heavyset man with more gashes across his face than a raven-ridden corpse. He had been in five too many knife-fights in his time, even if he had only been in four.

"I'm gonna have to kindly ask ya to leave." The man drawled, as if he had drank as much alcohol as Rondc had. Of course, even if he had, Rondc was still much more focused, as the drinks barely affected him even at that amount.

"Dare I ask why, wetlander?" Rondc said quietly, returning his gaze to his drink. He didn't feel like dealing with this right now.

"Because you're scarin' away Loren's bloody customers, and I'll be taken by the Shadow before I let the man find a reason to fire me." The meaty man reached for Rondc, but that was all he had time to do.

Rondc's muscles coiled and recoiled as his right arm crossed his own body and landed his flat hand right in the center of the bouncer's chest. Air escaped the man's lungs with a audible whoosh, but Rondc barely gave him time to realize what happened. Exiting the table as he did so, Rondc lunged at the man and pinned him on the ground, delivering a sharp blow to the temple. The blow knocked the man unconscious before he had time to think about retaliating to the first attack.

Removing himself from atop the man, Rondc cracked his neck as he retrieved his drink. He then moved toward the door of the inn, turning once to take in the owner with a sharp gaze.

"I will be leaving now. You may keep the rest of what I paid you. Good day."

With that, he left the Strutting Rooster and was once again amongst the chaos of the Lower City

[Edynol]

When Bran heard another man's voice behind, he sighed. Blood and bloody ashes! Who isn't out to cause me grief today? He thought to himself. He was ready to fight again and had his sword ready but paused when he saw the guy holding one of the mini-canons he'd seen around. If only he weren't bloody shielded. He'd seen those pistol things in action before and knew he wouldn't be able to take much more than a few steps before he'd fire that thing into his chest. So out of sheer self preservation, he dropped his sword. "Light bloody blind me," he said to the stranger. "You know, I don't go looking for flaming trouble, it just always has a bloody way of finding me." At least in jail, he could live to find a way out of this flaming mess. "Bloody bounty hunters. Wait til a man's tired and bleeding before you take em. And then you can't even use a real weapon like a sword or axe or anything," he said defiantly as he raised his hands in the air.

Dash shook his head keeping the weapon trained on his target. At least he didn't try and fight or bargain his way out of the bounty. "Yeah life has a way of ruining everyone's day, but I must say you're smarter than most of my catches. They try to charge down the firing line." He walked over to Bran keeping the weapon leveled. "Now be a peach and put your hands behind your back so I can bind them." He asked still half expecting this target to bolt.

Bran sighed as he put his hands behind his back. "Well I have no beef with you. At least you're doing yourself an honest living, unlike that crooked peddler and those crazy Whitecloaks," he said in a plain tone as if they were talking over a few ales. "Just remember I'll remember this. You'll be in some kinda trouble one day and I'll walk by and not raise a hand to help ya. Burn me if I will." Flaming bounty. He wasn't the one who burned down that inn, but who would believe a wandering gambler over a captain of the queen's guard?

Dasher rolled his eyes quickly binding Bran's hand behind his back then ties them to a rope around the man's waist. All the knots were strong and even the rope was of a special mixture his family developed over the years extremely light but still extremely strong. He quickly padded down Bran crushing all the folds and pockets looking for any thing he might be able to use against Dash aside from some dice and a small knife he found nothing. He left the dice but pulled the knife out and put it in his own belt.
"If you say so lad now come on, I'd like to collect my bounty and get out of here before those "crazy Whitecloaks" come looking for their friends." He holstered his weapon gripping Bran's thumbs firmly waiting to twist the man to his knee and knock him out. Using his free hand he pulled off Bran's scabbarded and dropped sword. Inspecting the blade closely before sheathing it in his belt he pushed Bran forward aiming toward the lord who called the bounty out.
"Nice blade looks like Black Tower make. Never met an Asha'man that hadn't used Channeling to escape me, usually that's the first thing you people use."

"I'm not a flaming blackcoat. Left that place first chance I got. Can't channel a lick anyway, can barely light a fire, all the good it does me. Easier to use a flint or match." He then eyed his sword as the man put it in his sheath. "Just so you know, I will be getting that back one day." As the man took him to the bloody noble to collect his bounty, Bran offered no resistance. And just his luck, the guard captain happened to be that faming nobleman.

The man lifted Bran's chin forcefully as he looked his face over. The man gave a smug grin and sniffed. "Yeah that's the guy," the captain said. He then grabbed a pouch full of coins and threw it at Dasher. "Here. Take your money and go. I have no more use of ya." He then called for a few guards to take Bran away. "Put him behind bars. I'll deal with him later."

Dash caught the gold and remembered why he didn't like this guy, he could see the arrogance and foolish bravado in the man's eyes but it was out of his hands now. He pulled Bran's sword and sheath from his belt and handed it to the Lord.
"Here I never keep the effects of those I capture do with it what you want. Good luck Bran." He shouted to the captured man heading back into town to find someplace to rest for the night. He had friends in the town that would keep the Children of the Light off his tail.

As the guards took him to the jail, Bran decided not to struggle. The captain gave his sword to one of the guards, who laid it right inside the doorway leading into the prison. When they threw him in the cell, one of the guards slammed the steel bar door shut and turned his key in the lock. "Come one guys," Bran said, a tad whiny. "I don't belong here! I didn't do anything wrong."

"Tell it to the Master of Law," one of the guards said.

Bran then grabbed the bars on the cell door and shook it. "You can't keep me in here forever," he yelled, and as he shook the door, it came open partially. Bran stared at it for a brief moment before shutting it back before the guards noticed. Well ain't a good run of luck, he thought to himself. After a few hours, when the night watchman finally dozed off, Bran opened the cell door and snuck out quietly, grabbing his sword and sheath from the doorway. There was a single guard standing watch outside, but Bran knocked him out with the hilt of his sword before the guard could react.

He then ran into the city, grabbing a hooded cloak from a wagon that happened to belong to that crooked peddler. "Well he owe me at least that much," he said to himself with a chuckle. About ten minutes later, he heard an alarm sound. He walked casually so as not to draw attention and headed to the nearest inn he hadn't been to yet.

(An Edy and Siksta co-post)

[Setsa]

Location: Maradon, Saldaea

Setsara's mind raced with many thoughts as she took a hot, jasmine scented bath in the privatcy of her chambers. Three days.....with one day already nearly past, was not enough time to choose. Well, it could be but the main issue was the fact that if she didn't, he would...this time no matter how she worked it over with reasoning either calmly or allowing anger to overrule. Her father wasn't going to budge, she wanted the best for her people two but this was one thing she dreaded...needing a man around that will try and control...govern, and take her down a few notches cause he felt she was too strong minded and cunning?! Well, controling at the right place and time would be quite....attractive for a Saldaea woman, even arousing in matter of fact.

Stepping out of the hot water clean and with a clear head the Lady made a decision that wad going to be carried out as soon as possible. Setsara would prove to her father that she can protect her people without a male counterpart! Knowing that the town of Kayacun were have some trouble after the Children of Light visited, she would come to their aid, to prove to her father..as well as show what really happens when these over grown, chest pumping, blood and ashes fools were not challenged from a stronger force. Locking her doors informing her hand maidens that she was tired and didn't want to be disturbed, Setsara grabbed one of her traveling bags, bedroll, supplies for the journey, enough food...everything that she'd need to make it to Kayacun. Armor would send the wrong impression so the young woman decided upon some traveling silks that were heavier and more durable. Dropping towel from the smooth, soft skin it once laid around she clothed herself in a more common dress of oriental fashion before braiding her hair back. One last look in the mirror while fastening her cloak on that would do well to hide her eyes that were a dead give away of her identity, and she jumped over the balcony to silently land on soft grassy ground. Staying in the shadows to remain unseen she was quick to ready her horse, checking behind her shoulder at every sound as fingers worked fast to secure the saddle bags.

So far no one suspected a thing, she's locked her door many times before undisturbed as she worked out her own issues. Doing such now would give her till dawn to put as much distance between them as she could. This wasn't forever afterall, she told herself riding out past the Bashere House gate archway. Only till she had proven herself a self-sufficent Saldaea woman, not so hard...she was taught well and been to countless battles this wasn't impossible. With hood doing well to cover her eyes from the looks of others she rode fast into town taking the main roads to make the best time, avoiding confrontation would be key as well as not being remembered. Memory can be a blessing, and the greatest strength of a foe.... something she learned at a very young age. Not wanting to look behind her shoulder and attract attention, that was a mistake as 3 men had the woman in their sights...in their hungry, riches for all, thieving sights.

She was nearly out of capitol with open land well within her sights she the leader walked in front of her as if he was just crossing but instead of moving out of the horse's path, he grabbed the reins with a firm grip.

"If you don't want us to call you out to the people around rich snob..... I'd give over that heavy coined purse of yours now... Before my friends comming from behind get hold of you themselves, they may not just be wanting to split what gold you have..."

Pulling back on the reins in a struggle for power she felt a hand on her right ankle trying to get her foot out of the stirrup as the other man placed a hand around her waist trying to casually pull her off. "Unhand me you thieving pigs!!!!" Kicking the one on her right hard to the stomach as she tried to pry the short fat fingers digging into her hip off.

[P.K.]

Cairhien

Akiko leaned back on a tree running her knife over a stick to sharpen the one end making sure to keep it well away from the pups who where playing around her. It what that time of day where most the pack went off to hunt and in most cases Akiko was one left behind to watch and care for the pups in the absence of some of the others wolves. She of corse never minded this it gave her time to think, which sometimes she dreaded to do, It also gave her time to make sure her knife was sharpened and make new arrows as she was doing now.

Jack was laid out next to her with pups climbing up and around him, gnawing on his ears and jumping on his tail. Akiko some times wished she could paint just for the shear remembrance of the look on the poor wolfs face. He looked utterly board... Jack was almost never taken on huntings ever since he had slipped up on his first three. Jack just didn't seem to have the patients to wait for the right moment he would sooner leap out there chase the thing down and tackle it... if he could keep up. Akiko was left behind for more or less the same reason... she could hunt and well but not the way the packs did so when she hunted it was by herself.

Akiko placed the stick she had been working on down next to her with a few others she had finished as a pup jumped onto her lap then was tackled off by another. She watched with a smile then looked at jack "cheer up" she said nudging him Jack however continued to brood over not being taken along this time... again. Akiko shrugged to herself putting her knife away away from the pups and leaned back against the tree again watching all the young furry lot in front of her carefully.

At some point in her life Akiko never would thought it possible for a young lady to live out here like she was doing now... now she found she liked it a lot better then living in a city. At one points she also would have thought it crazy if any one had told her she would one day speak to wolves... now she just never felt alone.

[Edynol]

Location: Maradon, Saldaea

"There can be no doubt," Mira Svanni, Aes Sedai of the Brown Ajah said to Garim, a full rank Asha'man who considered himself more of an Aes Sedai than a black coat from past two years working with the White Tower. "You were born on the battle field near the Mountains of Mist, so everyone knows. But details can always be muddled during battle, you could very well have been born in those mountains. 'Where the ancient blood shall rise to take again what's theirs, shall Morning's Lord be born anointed.' That's what the prophecy says. 'Twice the decade from that day hence, shall the weeping stone cry out his wake.' You just turned twenty two weeks ago," she continued after reciting the passage. "I just received word from my eyes and ears in Tear that the stone has cracked, and it usually takes around two week or so for their reports to reach me here. 'The weeping stone' has to mean the stone of Tear. You are also one of the strongest channelers alive today, perhaps the strongest we have seen in ages! And you said it yourself you feel more like an Aes Sedai than an Asha'man, and the histories tell that he was Aes Sedai, is Aes Sedai, no matter his title given in another life."

Mira then let out a deep sigh. "There is no doubt, Garim al'Kair," she continued, her lips trembling and her voice shaky. "You are the Dragon Reborn."

Garim stood silent for a time as he processed the information. He had recently started having dark dreams, where he was visit by a man cloaked in shadow. 'The shadow is rising once again,' the figure had said to him. 'Are you the one I seek? My old friend, my old rival whom I've faced over countless ages since the beginning of time? We always fight, and I always win. You always die, and I always live. But only when you decide to join me will we both achieve ultimate victory.' He had never spoken about the dreams, shrugging them off as just simple nightmares or some young dreamwalker playing a prank on him. He know two dreamers, one a young novice who just joined the White Tower, the other a Dedicated who enjoyed a good joke, Chote was his name. "Very well," Garim said finally, his voice deep and tone hard like steel. He then did a weave of water and air, not his strongest elements, but he was stronger than any other man he knew with what were the female elements, even stronger than some women. When he finished the weave, it was enough to carry his voice across the whole city of Maradon.

"People of Saldaea," he called out, several heads turning towards him. "My name is Garim al'Kair, and I am the Dragon Reborn! The prophecies confirm it! The shadow of the Dark One is rising once again, attacks from the Blight have been increasing and are worse than they have been since the Age of Heroes," which was what they now called the Third Age. "For years I have considered myself more Aes Sedai than Blackcoat, and the Dragon is Aes Sedai, I am the strongest channeler alive today, and was born in the Mountains of Mist twenty years ago, my last birthday on the day the Stone of Tear cracked! I have helped keep the Borderlands safe during the increasing trolloc raids, but more has to be done! It is time to unite the kingdoms under one banner once again! The Banner of the Dragon! Follow me, my people, and see our lands purged of the shadow once and for all!" The people who had gathered cheered as others stood in silent disbelief. It had been many years since anyone had declared himself the Dragon Reborn, the last one over a hundred years ago, who eventually got brought down after it was made clear he was nothing more than a tyrant seeking power. But though status and power did appeal to Garim, it was not his driving force. he wanted to fight the shadow and keep the lands safe. And if he was Dragon reborn, he take up the mantel and do whatever it took to defeat the Dark One's minions. And so word went out as fast as the wind, spreading from city to city and nation to nation that the Dragon had been reborn.
__________________________________________________ _______

As Bran approached one of the few inns he had yet to visit, he noticed a girl being set upon by a group of cut-purses. Bran had never been one acting the hero, preferring to mind is own and not get involved in other peoples' troubles, but he would be damned if he'd stand by while a girl, and a pretty one at that, got assaulted by common thugs. "Hey," he yelled out, causing the men to pause and look at him. All of them were larger than he was, the smallest one about half a hand taller then him. "Let her go you trolloc-faced goat kissers!"

The largest of them looked at him and laughed when Bran drew his sword. "Well well, it do look like we have a hero," he said in a thick Illianer accent. "I will be taking care of this guy. I will no have witnesses to spread our descriptions." He then drew his swords and approached, two other following him as the leader held onto Setsara.

Oh bloody ashes, Bran thought to himself. Fine mess you got yourself into this time, Bran. Escape from the jail and now here I go drawing attention to myself when I should be keeping low. And all for a pretty face. Bloody brilliant, Bran. As the large man rushed at him, Bran side stepped and tripped him, making him fall on his face. He then parried a swing from one of the others and kicked him in the gut before back-handing the other guy with the hilt of his swords, knock him out as well as a few of his teeth. The large man got back up again swung his blade at Bran, but he dodged. The man swung again a few more times, Bran dodging each one until he got caught by the other guy from behind, cutting the back of his shoulder. He then turned around quickly, blindly swinging his swords and caught the man across the throat, killing him. But then the large man planted a huge boot to Bran's back and sent him to the ground. Bran got up quickly, not want to be caught off his feet by the big guy and dodged another swing from his sword. "Okay, time to go on the offensive," he said to himself. he then lunged at the large guy, surprising him a bit as performed numerous forms. As the man tried to parry Bran's last swing, the blade went right through his arm, severing it. Bran then hit him in the head with the hilt, knocking him out.

Bran then turned to the leader who was holding the girl. "Once more step and I cut her bloody throat," the man said as he held a dagger to the girl. Bran paused then. he didn't know what to do, but he couldn't let the man hurt her. Finally, he got an idea and embraced the source. he cold do much of anything, but maybe he could do enough. Suddenly, a small flame appeared on the man's shoulder, causing him to give a start and drop the dagger as he tried to pat it out.

"That was just a warning," Bran bluffed. "If you don't leave right now, I'll have you begging to join your buddies there." The man decided not to call his bluff and ran off as fast as he could. As Bran released the source and sheathed his sword, he turned to the girl. "Are you okay, miss? You bloody well should have more flaming sense than to walk around these parts unprotected. Anyway, while I would normally invite a pretty face like yours for a little kiss and tickle, I am afraid I must be going as because of your bloody lack of sense and those bozos' trouble making, I have drawn attention to myself which is the last thing I want." he then started picking the pouches the men were carrying off their bodies, they wouldn't be needing them anymore. "Bloody women, you always tend to get me into trouble and make me act stupid. Would bloody serve you well if I just let those guys flaming have ya for a few..." He then got cut off when he heard a large deep voice echo through out the city.

Garim? He thought to himself. He new him, they both arrived at the Black Tower around the same time, though they were almost opposites and often bumped heads. But now he was proclaiming himself the dragon? Bloody, flaming idiot! He should have more sense to do something that stupid! He then sighed. "Burn me to bloody ashes. What in the hell is he doing? The flaming ideas some people get in their heads. Even if the dumb prophecies are true, I doubt the Dragon will ever be reborn in our lifetimes. Bloody Aes Sedai devices again I bet. They are always up to something."