What if Revak Jestrol was never married?

Revak Jestrol enjoyed a simple life as a soldier. He fought more than his fair share of battles, but such was his duty.The Blight stretched farther every year, growing ever forward. Trolloc raids seemed to always grow worse. Such was life in the Borderlands.

When the trollocs came to Tarwin's Gap, Revak rode with the armies of Shienar, not a single man among them not knowing they would not return. The horde that descended from the Blight was the largest that had been seen in thousands of years, at least ten times the size of the army that had tried to pass through the Gap several years ago. It had taken a pure miracle of the Light to save them then, and Revak did not believe that they would be so lucky this time. Tarmon' Gaidon had come at last.

For several bloody days and endless nights the forces of Shienar stood their ground against the fearsome foe that bore down on them, but they were inexorably pushed back. The number of humans was falling continually lower while the seething black horde seemed to grow ever larger. Even when the armies of the other nations of the Borderlands finally arrived it made little difference.

As the trollocs began to break through the Gap, Revak felt something stir within him. This was the end, not just of his life, not just of Shienar, but of everything. In an instant it seemed as if his bones had turned to ice, yet flames raced through his veins. Light seemed to pierce his body, blinding his closed eyes, burning away all thought. A wave surged through him and he felt the ground tremble under his feet. Another wave was followed by another after that, and another, and there was yet another still. Each surge made the ground tremble ever more violently, he could here men shouting, horses whinnying, but it all seemed so far away.

The waves increased, becoming more than painful. He tried to stop it, though he didn't know what was happening to begin with. He fought for some shred of himself, trying to grasp onto his stubborn core, but it was washed away in that flood of light and pain. From far away he heard a man howling in unimaginable pain. After a moment he realized that the anguished voice was his own. There came one final surge and Revak watched with that odd sense of detachment as his own flesh burst into flames...

What if trollocs had never attacked Revak Jestrol's town?

Revak enjoyed his married life. Karnina was as beautiful as ever and his son Verdan was growing into a strong young man. Senel, his daughter, had left less than a year ago, bound for Tar Valon and the White Tower after she had suddenly begun to channel. He missed his daughter sometimes, but his duties as Captain of the Guard in Tirado left him little time to dwell on anything. Trolloc raids continued as usual and the Blight seemed to grow outward every year, but these things were normal in Shienar.

One day, word came of an army that mysteriously appeared somewhere in the west, supposedly from across the Aryth Ocean. No one paid it much mind, figuring it for exaggerated rumor. The stories continued, becoming more detailed, and including more lands that had been occupied. Many people, Revak among them, began to listen more closely. When word came that Tar Valon had fallen, the White Tower torn down and the Aes Sedai enslaved, Revak knew that all hope was lost. He never learned his daughter's fate. Revak had always imagined the armies of Tarmon Gaidon would come from the Blight, but apparently it was these mysterious Seanchan that would prove to be the undoing of this Age. Perhaps under their Imperial rule they would stand a chance against the hordes that would eventually come forth.

Only one thought gave Revak any pleasure. These Seanchan could control woman who could channel, but he had never heard anything about them controlling men. With that thought in mind, Revak drew out his sword and ordered the charge...

What if Revak Jestrol had never gone to the Black Tower?

Revak sat in his small room on the second floor of the rundown inn, staring blankly out the cracked and dingy window. It looked to be a fine day, but he cared not. He didn't care much about anything these days. It had been nearly six months since he had overchanneled, burning himself out. As hard as he had tried not to use the One Power, it had kept creeping up on him, almost as if it were seeking him out. As much as he had hated his curse, now that he had known what it was like, it was worse to be without it.

He shifted his vacant gaze to the small knife that he absently rolled between his palms. Was today the day? Would he find the courage to do it this time? Courage... He had considered himself brave once. Fighting trollocs and halfmen along the Great Blight, wandering the wilderness for years, living off the land. But no more.

Now he sat in his cramped room, earning a meal and a bed by breaking up fights for the innkeep. He was drunk more often than not, and every couple of days he found himself holding this knife, wondering if he should just end his misery. A fine time way Sheath the Sword.

With a wordless growl, he hurled the dagger across the small room, sinking it hilt deep into the battered wooden wall. He grabbed his bottle of ale and drained it with a large swallow, throwing the bottle against the wall with a shattering crash. No, today wasn't the day, maybe tomorrow.

What if Revak Jestrol was a Darkfriend?

Revak Jestrol lounged comfortably against the far wall, watching the Inn's patrons going about their business. He took a drink from his mug of ale and set it down on the nearby table with a slight sigh. It was fine ale, rich and dark. It was a shame he had to destroy the place, but orders were orders.

Awaiting the appointed time, Revak wondered again why his master had told him to be sure everyone recognized him as an Asha'man before destroying the small village. He figured it was most likely a move to start an uprising against the Black Tower. Double treason on his part, working for the Shadow and going against the Tower.

Finishing his ale, Revak decided that it must near the right time. Those who stayed must deserve their fate. Casually, he made his way to the door, leaving it open as he stepped just outside. The village folk were mostly in their homes or drinking at the Inn. It would be a quick job. He channeled a stream of Fire into the common room, waving it about in smooth, sweeping motions. Within seconds the entire room was engulfed. Next he wove a wall of Air in the doorway, ensuring no one would escape. Turning his attention to the scattered houses, he cast down several bolts of lighting, shattering the wooden homes and setting them ablaze. People ran screaming into the dirt streets and he struck them down with clubs of Air or blasted them with balls of Fire.

Within minutes the entire village was in flames. Revak knew that at least a few people had escaped, but that had been part of his orders as well. Sighing, he opened a gateway away from the burning village and stepped through.

What if Revak Jestrol had gone insane?

Chuckling softly to himself, Revak Jestrol strolled through the new hills that he had risen up just moments before. He had thought the countryside was too flat, it needed more character. Whistling a soft tune, he stopped and stared curiously at the the people standing around and looking at his beautiful hills in amazement. Scattered piles of wood that might have once been houses lay strewn about.

The people began to look at him, watching him warily as he approached. He smiled, but still they eyed him darkly. Some people were just unbelievably rude. He had been nice enough to give them some new hills, to liven up their dull fields and they had the nerve to glare at him?

One person simple disintegrated in a spray of red mist, another burst into flames, while still another was thrown high into the air to come crashing down in a pile of shattered wood. Revak made short work of the insolent fools before continuing on his way, whistling once more.

It was a fine day, perhaps he should go fishing.