Post by Temanin on May 5, 2004 20:35:42 GMT -5
***
Tarac rose early that morning, not really wanting to do his morning exercises. Since he had first entered into the service of the Shienaran army, he had been required to do morning calisthenics: running a couple miles, pushups, jumping jacks, moving through sword forms. Yet lately he had grown tired, not really wanting to do any of the things he once had done for the seer enjoyment of them.
For a couple of weeks Tarac had been doing nothing more than moving battalions of the Legion in basic field movements. While not the most stimulating work, he had once considered it enjoyable. But now so much time had passed, so much time stuck on the Farm with little to do that he truly valued as important. I haven’t even been to the Blight in more than half a year. What am I doing down here?
With a determination that could only come from years in the service, Tarac routed himself up once more, put on his training gear, and headed out the door. His home was of modest size, as was everyone’s at the Black Tower at the moment, but it was bigger than some. His position as mandarb’m’hael had led to a few perks that he had not expected. One of these had been a slightly larger house. Another had been the ability to sit in on the Storm Council’s meetings. While he was not permitted to vote, let alone speak at all, he was still able to watch and learn many things. One topic he truly stayed focused on was of this al’Thor character. Every day that passed he grew more and more confident that this man was the true Dragon Reborn. How else could he do the things that they say he does?
This and other things ran through his mind all until he was finally finished with his morning warm-up. He made his way back to his house and promptly changed clothes into the normal black coat. He made sure his dragon and sword pins were straight before strapping his sword onto his waist. This had been one of the few changes in Tarac since his arrival. Instead of on his back, he now wore his blade at his side. The only other noticeable change was that he had removed the topknot upon his head. Some had begun questioning his loyalty to the Black Tower, and he thought that cutting the last tie to his old home would settle things.
He walked slowly across the field, the area slowly beginning to fill with men of all ages and races. He looked across the training field and saw about twenty men, all in simple black, with neither the dragon nor sword pins, running laps. They were either recruits or Soldiers, he couldn’t tell. He had planned to get something to eat, but was stopped by a short man with a sword upon his collar.
“Milord, the Storm Leader Nero would like to speak with you as soon as possible.” The man was obviously nervous, as me continually shifted his weight from leg to leg.
“Thank you, Dedicated. You may go.” Putting his plans on hold, he slowly turned and began making his way to Nero, the Dedicated jogging off in the opposite direction.
It only took a few minutes to arrive at the man’s house. He walked up to the door and entered without knocking. Blade Leaders were normally required to announce themselves in the presence of a Storm Leader, but Nero was different. He was only one of the few men on the Farm that Tarac considered his friend. He had first found him in the woods, alone and worried. He had been the one to introduce him to the now previous Dragon Reborn. He had been the one who had taught him much of what he knew about the One Power.
He stood before Nero’s desk for a moment, not wanting to disrupt his friend’s work. After a bit, though, he cleared his throat, finished waiting for the man to finish. Nero looked up at him as though he hadn’t known he was there at all. “Oh, hello Tarac.” Without waiting for him to response, Nero jumped right on into his point. “I’ve noticed you are looking quite bored with what we have you doing here. Don’t seem to like running the men in formation very much. Because of that, I’ve decided to let you get out a bit. There is a man somewhere in the forests outside of Far Madding. Reports say that he can channel. Now we believe that he travels into Far Madding for the protection of the ter’angreal there, but for some reason he comes out and ravages the forests and outlying homes. We want you to go down there and either bring him here or eliminate the threat.” The last words came off his tongue like venom. “My runner Simon will have more specific details for you once you arrive in Far Madding. You are to leave by noon.”
“I will do my best.” With that he turned and walked out. To the casual observer, one would not be able to tell that the two men were friends. When on official business, they did not fool around.
Within a few hours Tarac had packed what little he planned to take only one of the pack animals, as well as met up with the others going with him. There was an Asha’man named Herlic, two Dedicated of whom he didn’t take the time to learn their names, and a few men from the Legion. At high noon Tarac, Herlic, and the rest of the men and pack animals rode out of the Black Tower towards Far Madding, and, for Tarac, towards some possible action.