|The True Story of Shaidar Haran
contributed by Ariella of the WOTA BBS, better known as the Great Mistress of the Dark
The Dark One sat staring moodily out the window of the Bore. The fate of the world was *not* progressing according to plan. That blasted farmboy Rand al'Thor was developing far too quickly, the Chosen were so busy scheming to be Nae'blis they'd forgotten all of their instructions, and to top it off, those bloody girls had gotten their hands on the Bowl of the Winds. With that, they'd be able to tune in to the Weather Channel and find out that the changes in the climate had nothing to do with the Shadow, but were simply the result of an unusually strong El Nino. "There goes my facade of omnipotence", thought the Dark One, sighing pensively. Too bad gholams had no bones, or I could have broken them all one by one. Shai'tan had had to settle for tying him into a granny knot, but that was not nearly as satisfying as hearing bones crunch.
In a distant corner of the world, one of those puny human darkfriends was renouncing his allegiance to the Dark. "I renounce you, Father of Lies!", the man cried out. The Dark One snorted with disgust. "After all these millennia, they still think I'm a *man*!" She reached out with a tendril of thought, and stopped his heart. "Renounce *that*!" she chuckled wickedly.
In another part of her vast mind, she heard the distinctive sound of a male channeller going mad, and her mood lightened. She'd had no idea, when she put the spell of PMS over the True Source, that those weak-minded men would go totally mad from it. After all, all it did to the women was make them crabby for a week or so every month. "Guess it's a good thing I didn't give them labor pains, instead" thought Shai'tan. "Dumb men probably would've curled up and died at first touch!"
The Dark One turned away from her window. "Maybe I'll go into the kitchen and cook up a new nasty" she thought. She'd been meaning to tweak that Myrddraal recipe a little; now was as good a time as any. She padded to the kitchen, and looked over her pantry. "Let's see... if I double the recipe, and simmer in Ogier stock instead of human..." She was feeling better already. She made the dough, then rolled it out with her best Trolloc-leg rolling pin. "Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, Baker's man. Bake me a Fade as fast as you can. Pat it, and roll it, and mark it with a "D". Then put it in the oven for the Dragon and me!" She laughed, an evil little laugh. "Let's see how you like *this* batch, hayhair!"
She popped the Myrddraal into the fires of hell to bake, then rummaged through her soul rack for the final ingredient. "Hmm, let's see here. I need a real b**ch for this one. Aahh -- Bonwhin! She'll do nicely!" She reached for the jar containing Bonwhin's soul, but suddenly doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.
When the spasm had passed, Shai'tan straightened up, furious. "Ishamael! That pr**k is using the True Power again! I HATE being tickled!" She looked over at a shelf above her stove. Once, it had contained 13 ragdolls, but two were now little more than ashes. Two others wore intricate caps of golden wire and bloodred gems. She picked up one of the dolls, and casually backhanded it across the room. Somewhere, on the plains of Earth, Moridin was seeing spots in front of his eyes...
The timer rang -- the Myrddraal was done. Distracted, the Dark One grabbed a soul jar and ran to the flames. She pulled the body out -- good! Still pasty white! Last time, she'd let the edges get too brown, and the Myrddraal had become too human. He'd eventually been turned from the Shadow, and was now living as a Warder named Dave. Oh well, no one was perfect...
Once the body had cooled, Shai'tan prepared to add the soul. This was the trickiest part, so she took a deep breath. "I christen thee Shaidar Haran" she intoned, "for thou wilt be mine handmaiden upon this world." She broke the soul jar over the Myrddraal's head, and said "Wake up!" "What is thy bidding, mistress?" said the unmistakably male voice. "What the..?" screamed Shai'tan. She gathered up the shards of the soul jar, and peered at the writing there. "BEIDOMON?! Oh Nooooooo..."
And so now you know the True Story of Shaidar Haran.
The True Story of Shaidar Haran, version 2
The Dark One sat staring moodily out the window of the Bore. Events in the world were simply not progressing according to plan. That blasted farmboy was conquering nation after nation, the Chosen were so busy scheming amongst themselves to be Nae'blis that they'd forgotten all their instructions, and worst of all, those half-trained girls had gotten their hands on the Bowl of the Winds. With that, they'd be able to tune into the Weather Channel and learn that the disruptions in the climate were simply the result of an unusually strong El Nino and not part of some master plan of the Shadow. Shai'itan sighed. So much for the appearance of omnipotence. Not for the first time, the Dark One wished Gholam had been made with bones; hearing them crack would have been so much more satisfying than just tying the thing into a granny knot.
The Dark One's reverie was broken by a distant, mortal voice. Shai'itan listened intently; somewhere on the plains of the world, one of those puny human Darkfriends was renouncing his allegiance to the Dark. "I renounce thee, Father of Lies!" the human cried. Shai'itan sniffed disdainfully. "You think by now, they'd have figured out that I'm a woman! Stupid mortals!" Reaching out with a tendril of thought, she stopped the man's heart in mid beat. "Renounce that, you son of a goat!" she said, chuckling wickedly.
Casting about the world, she found the distinct echo of a male channeler going hopelessly mad, and laughed delightedly. She'd not known, when she'd placed the spell of PMS over the True Source, that it would affect the males so dramatically, but it certainly was fun to watch. After all, it merely made the women a bit crabbier for a few days each month. It was probably a good thing she'd not used the spell of labor pains, as she'd originally planned. The males probably would have died on the spot, and where was the sport in that?
Her mood somewhat improved, Shai'itan moved away from the window and drifted into her kitchen. She'd been meaning to tweak that Myrddrahl recipe a bit, and now seemed as good a time as any. Hmmm... let's see, if she doubled the recipe, and used Ogier stock instead of human...
Humming happily to herself, the Dark One set about her baking. "Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man. Bake me a Fade as fast as you can! Pat it, and roll it, and mark it with a 'D'. And put it in the oven for the Dragon and me!" She laughed evilly. "Let's see how you like this one, hayhair!"
Finishing up the Myrddrahl's body, the Dark One popped it into the fires of the Pit of Doom to bake, then went over to her soul rack for the final ingredient. "Now, then," she said to herself. "I'll need a real b**ch for this one. Hmmm.... ah, yes! Bonwhin! She'll do nicely!"
Just then, the Dark One doubled over in a spasm of uncontrollable laughter. Once she had control of herself again, she was furious. "Ishamael! That pr**k is using the True Power again! I hate being tickled!" She reached up to a shelf above her pantry, where a series of rag dolls were neatly lined up. Once, there had been 13, but two were now little more than piles of ash. Two others wore caps of intricately woven wire and gems. Picking up one of the dolls, Shai'itan casually backhanded it across the room. Somewhere out in the world, Moridin saw spots floating before his eyes...
The timer rang -- the body was done! Distracted, she grabbed a soul jar and ran for the Pit. Last time, she'd left the body in just a fraction too long, and the edges had started to brown. Every time that Fade had tried to disappear into the shadows, it had walked smack into the walls, and she'd had to recycle it. It seemed happy enough in its new life as a horse named Bela, but still...
She pulled the Myrddrahl's body out of the flames and sighed in relief. Still totally pasty white -- perfect! Propping it up against the counter, she took the soul jar and drew a deep breath. This was the trickiest part, and it required all of her concentration. Raising the soul jar high above the Myrddrahl's head, she intoned formally, "I christen thee Shaidar Haran, for thou wilt be mine handmaiden in the world!" Breaking the jar over it's head, she said, "Wake up!"
"What is thy bidding, Great Mistress?" it said in a voice like rotting leather -- a male voice like rotting leather. "What the..." cried Shai'itan, shocked. Gathering up the shards of the jar, she peered at the writing there. "BEIDOMON?! Oh, NO-O-O-O-O!!!!"
And now you know the true story of Shaidar Haran!