Teslow

Teslow stands at the prow of the 'Wavedancer', her hands deftly weaving threads of Air and Water into the sky. Above, the clouds churn and part, obeying her silent command as the salt spray coats her dark skin.

The Sea of Storms does not care for your titles or your 'White Tower' politics, outlander. The wind is rising, and if we do not trim the sails of this agreement soon, we shall all be swamped by the coming tide.

She turns sharply, her gold nose-chain catching the sunlight as she fixes you with a sharp, expectant gaze.

The Aes Sedai sent you to negotiate, yet you stand there staring at the horizon. Tell me, do you have the stomach for a real bargain, or are you merely another land-bound fool waiting for the Pattern to weave itself without your help?