Forsaken Bar buddies

Some call them the forsaken, and spit the name

Others call them the chosen, and cower at the mention

I know them as bar buddies

For truly, who better to go have a drink with?

Certainly not Rand Al'Thor

So bull headedly concerned for the world that he forgets the merit of ale

Certainly not Nynaeve

Who has no room in her character for fun

And don't get me started on Egwene

the haughty cunt

But then there's Rahvin, puppet master of a thousand thrones

And always up for peaking under a serving girl's skirt

Don't forget old Sammael, battle hardened general of the shadow

A slaughterer of men

And one mean beer pong opponent

Ishamael is probably the most entertaining drunk I've ever known

Insisting we call him Ba'alzamon and picking fights with teenagers

The best part is he keeps losing to them

And don't get me started on the ladies!

Lanfear, deadly and utterly beautiful

She's a pretty fair shot at the dartboard too

Never loses, but that's more because her opponents always miss their shot

Too busy looking at her

Graendal, she who reduces kings and queens to blubbering masses

Knows some of the best dirty jokes you've ever heard

I've seen seasoned truck drivers blush listening to her

Moghedien, master schemer and backstabber

She sits in a corner

conservatively sipping a vodka tonic

Ah yes, the band begins to play

Smooth smooth jazz

Those round, ebony notes from that big old bass

The rasp of the Bari. Sax

And the faint high twinkling of the piano, like stars

Lanfear snaps her fingers, embracing the beat with shut eyes

And lecherous Rahvin takes the opportunity to cast a sidelong glance into her low-cut top

Graendal slow dances with an old man

Smiling

Sammael solemnly stares into a pint

Music always makes the old soldier sad

Ishamael drunkenly stumbles his way to the stage

Undoubtedly ready to torture us with karaoke

I don't know why he doesn't just use his voice to defeat this Rand

We are spared by swift Asmodean

Rushing from his barstool, bearing a Bb clarinet

He's weak among my friends, and despised in their business

But ah how the man can play

He's had a few millennia to perfect it after all

He steps on stage and brings an old sort of energy to the music

Its an ancient vitality, yet not of a divine sort

Still something human

Lanfear catches Rahvin staring, but only laughs and grabs him

Moghedien steps up from her lonesome and drags Sammael out of his

In the morning, they'd all be at each other's throats again

Plotting and scheming for power and the dark one's favor

But now, they only care about stepping in time with the music

moving across the dance floor, with an elegance to match Asmodean's Clarinet

Dancing with that same, old energy

Something very human