Created sometime in July or August of 1995, Angharad is my oldest character (not counting a few MUD characters and one on a very dead Riva MUSH that I never played), and the only one to (so far) have gone through a few ‘incarnations’. The first for pre-development shutdown Tales of Ta’veren, the second for post-development Tales of Ta’veren, the third (never really RPed) for Tales of Ta’veren II and the fourth (the current, also never RPed) for the next interesting Wheel of Time game I come across.


Angharad Maelwydd is the bastard daughter of the late Rhiannon Maelwydd and the grand-daughter of Lady Richara, the High Seat of House Maelwydd. Though once a student of the White Tower, she now stands to inherit after her grand-mother. She is the mother of the twins Valery and Alienor.


Lustrous hair so very pale—cool, liquid silver, by the warm tint of gold unsullied—spills unbound in a rippling cascade of moonlit tresses over her shoulders and back, past that sinuous line of waist and hips. Straying curls of argent hue caress and in brightness edge a face all steep planes and angles, a union of features both fineboned and strong. High, prominent cheekbones, defying a classically oval mould, define its character—favouring exotically handsome rather than merely beautiful—and a straight nose, a sensual mouth by smiles rarely touched and the sharp slant from firmly set jaw to narrow chin complete the image. Conspicuously dark, slender brows and a lush, lightly upswept fringe of lengthy lashes frame slightly tilted eyes, vibrant indigo a mere shade away from lightless ebon, but obscure neither the undauntable boldness of her gaze, nor the maelstrom of emotions that smoulders just beneath that inky surface yet ever so rarely reflects upon her duskily gilded countenance. Of build she is sleekly toned—her form a smooth, pleasant blend of soft, feminine curves and long, lean muscles—and she moves with a fluid, lithesome grace that is belied but not inhibited by the air of aloof unease which often lingers about her, yet never hints at even the faintest trace of timidity. Indeed, fiercely proud, haughty even, is her demeanour; it more than suggests the defiantly wilful disposition of one who, stubbornly unyielding, would break before she ever bends.

Emeraldine silk of a dark hue graces her slenderly curvaceous form—admirably well set off by the cut of the short, fitted coat and the narrow, for riding divided skirt—and the rich nuance of green compliments the contrast of light and dark which she herself embodies in the colour of her hair and eyes, and in the dusky tone of her skin. Buttons of tarnished silver, a row of them from right shoulder to the garment’s end, seal the fabric tight about her, the soft swell of her bosom in a tastefully elegant manner accentuated, and black and argent twine together in lavish embroideries upon the broad cuffs that finish off the sleeves, as well as upon the stiff and chin-high collar, a narrow V in front left open as if to avoid a too strict appearance. Hugging close to the inviting curve of narrow waist softly flaring into wider, pleasantly rounded hips, then falling in shallow folds about well-toned legs to just above her ankles, the skirt flatters her lithe and feminine figure, though remains practical still. Boots of supple, ebon leather are revealed below the hemline, and a matching belt is worn as well; tucked in behind it a sheathed knife with a rather plain handle and a pair of gloves of soft, black skin. Completing her outfit is a dark, knee-length cloak, trimmed with fur along hood and edges.


The key characteristic of Angharad’s is that as a rule, she trusts her horses far more than she trusts people. Unlike most people they’re loyal, dependable and likeable. Furthermore, they like her just fine. Of course, this has a lot to do with the fact that she treats her horses a lot better than she treats most people. In general, she appears (at best) aloof towards other people, and if they persist in encroaching on her personal space at the wrong time (which is a lot of the time), she is likely to get more than a little temperamental. She likes to be on her own and to mind her own business. That is, she has at least convinced herself that this is what she likes; after all, it is easier to avoid getting hurt if you don’t get close to anyone in the first place.


Angharad’s mother, a runaway Novice, died giving birth to her. Her father, also a former student at the White Tower, did not feel capable of raising the daughter he had suddenly been left alone with, and so he persuaded a family living at the foot of the Black Hills to take the child in. Somewhat reluctantly, they did so, although they never revealed anything to Angharad about her real parents. If her parents had had some kind of disagreement with the White Tower, something Angharad’s father had alluded to, they wanted to leave all that in the past. They did not, however, hide the fact that she wasn’t their child, which in any case would have been hard to claim, as she looked nothing like them. And naturally, when she grew older, Angharad started wondering who her real parents were, but until she was about eight she assumed that her foster-parents knew nothing about it. Then, however, she overheard an argument between them that made it plain they had known more all along than they had revealed to her. Learning this made the young girl furious, and over the coming months her anger and resentment built up until she one day ran off and took up with a group of Saldaean horse-traders who passed through the area from time to time.

For the next seven years, she remained with the horse-traders, learning all there was to know about horses and riding. This, she loved, even though she did not get along well with everyone, and especially not with the nephew of Mihram, the man who had more or less adopted her. This nephew, Devrim, was jealous of her greater skill and of how his own uncle seemed to trust her so much more than himself. Eventually, this lead to a confrontation between the two, as a drunken Devrim tried to force himself on her. Angharad fought him off, although not without some unexpected help in the form of one of the horses she was training. However, following this incident, the tension between her and some of the other members of the band grew until she felt staying was too uncomfortable. Barely sixteen years of age, she set out on her own, and for the next year worked as a groom and a trainer in various stables. Then word was sent to her that Mihram had died and left most of his horses to her. She rejoined the horse-traders to collect her inheritance, and then she was also told that Mihram had put in a good word for her with a companion of his in Andor who was looking for a partner.

Since Devrim’s presence made it impossible for her to stay with the horse-traders, she left for Andor and for about a year she worked in the stables of Mihram’s companion. Then, Devrim showed up again. Inevitably, this lead to another confrontation, and this time it ended with him dead. Angharad was forced to lie and hurriedly leave to try and cover her tracks. Although it had been self-defence, her temper was well known and Devrim was not without friends. And so, left without a home once more, she made up her mind to try and learn something of her real parents.


All material associated with Time of Illusions MUSH, Cuendillar MUSH or Tales of Ta'veren MUSH is available with the permission of Robert Jordan for usage only in conjunction with Time of Illusions MUSH, Cuendillar MUSH or Tales of Ta'veren MUSH. The Wheel of Time setting and all references to it are copyright © Robert Jordan.