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Post by Xolani on Apr 22, 2005 21:13:41 GMT -5
How long had she walked? Days? Months? Years? Xolani laughed to herself quietly. What did time matter to the Wheel? Certainly, it should not matter much to her. Time was elusive, and often disagreeable. How many times had she squandered time, until she woke up and realized how little time she had left? An interesting thought. It also struck Xolani as somewhat humorous. Even after swearing to treasure every precious minute the Wheel allotted to her, she again began to take time for granted over and over again. Such a vicious cycle...
Traveling was also quite a vicious cycle, Xolani thought with a grimace. It was amazing how the human creature could tire of one environment so quickly, that she puts all her energy into traveling to a new one. Smiling, Xolani realized that not everyone was like that. Just her, along with any other self-imposed nomads. But she figured that she must have lost her love for travel long ago, back when she and her parents -
No. Xolani cursed under breath. She had managed to avoid thinking about any of that for a week, but now she just had to bring the subject up. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she looked up. Judging by the caravans and other travelers on the road up ahead of her, Xolani thought that she must me closing in on a village soon. Quickening her pace, she again numbed her mind to the world.
She tended to do a lot of thinking during her endless travels. Do I have enough money for an inn, or would a bush be my roof tonight? Xolani was walking nearer to one of the trading caravans. And where shall I go after tonight? Apparently, the caravan had broken an axle and they needed to stop for repairs. I can't go north; I won't go north. A sideways glance at the unfortunate caravan informed her that the owner in charge was Domani. Or at least the clamor of his yelling told her so. Heh, I remember when that happened to Father and me...
Xolani's head snapped forward so quickly that you could hear it crack. Twice in one day! Light, what was becoming of her? At this rate, she would be no better than when she first left Bandar Eban. In another attempt to clear her mind, she flattened out the front of her dress. A good, if worn, garment it was, of Andoran style. It would also stick out like a sore thumb in these areas. Perhaps she'll find some new clothes when the arrived at her destination. Whatever that destination was, anyways.
Swearing to keep her mind distracted for the rest of her life, Xolani plowed her way on the road as fast as her feet could take her.
~*~
"Alcruna, eh?" Xolani tested the name on her tongue. She had never been to this backwater village, but if she had, she wouldn't admit remembering it. Alcruna seemed to her to be a facsimile of every other community she had came to recently. It was located in northern Tarabon, near the Almoth Plain. Mostly criss-crossed with mud roads chalked moderately full of traders, a surprising number of the merchants were from Arad Doman. Didn't they know there was a war going on? Given, that war had been going on for three centuries, but all the same!
Grumbling to herself, Xolani felt for the small purse tied securely to her waist. She judged that she had enough for a stay indoors, if it was just a hayloft in the inn's stables. Now the only problem that remained was to locate an inn. A few minutes of walking quickly provided a remedy to that.
She did not bother to even glance at the name of this particular establishment as she half-dragged herself through the door. But as Xolani surveyed the inside, old habits began to kick in. She noted a definite tenseness in the air. To one side of the room, judging by their veiled mustaches, were seated a few sparse tables of Domani merchants. To the other side sat the local Taraboners. Travellers of different nationalities tried to distant themselves from everybody, huddled silently together in an attempt to ignore the uneasy mood of the inn. Every once in a while, one man from either group would look up from his conversation to shoot a loathing glare at someone from the other. Xolani couldn't help but smile to herself. Seems like they did realize that there was a war going on.
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Post by Xolani on Apr 23, 2005 17:37:50 GMT -5
"How much for a room?" Xolani queried the man who she suspected ran this inn. He had the usual bearing of an innkeeper, with a slightly-tired face and, in keeping with Randland custom, a generous waistline. Perhaps it was the slight Domani accent that she was trying to get rid off, but in any case, the Taraboner’s eyes hardened.
“More than you’ve got, for sure,” the gracious innkeeper answered gruffly. Xolani raised an eyebrow as her temper started to flare. However, launching into a fit of good ol’ Domani rage would not be the best idea, especially in an inn where its patrons look about ready to kill each other.
Taking yet another deep breath to calm herself, Xolani reached for her small coin purse. By the weight of it, she figured that she had about three or four silver left. “You are quick to judge, my good sir,” she said to him, her voice having a tired edge to it. “But, I think I may be inclined to agree with you. What with the current troubles nowadays, making prices go up?” she ended with a question, a small smirk on her face. The innkeeper just snorted. Yep, he definitely knew she was Domani. With a slight sigh, Xolani continued, “Well, be there a nice bit of hay I can sleep on? Perhaps I can afford that, eh?”
“For a lady like you?” retorted the Taraboner, obviously mocking her.
“For a lady too poor to afford a room in this fine establishment,” Xolani countered, matching him in sarcasm. She could feel the eyes of the silent patrons gather on the two. With a grin, she decided to use that attention to her favor. “But if that’s the case, then so be it,” she continued, raising her voice for all to hear. “Oh, Light bless me! If this run of luck continues, will I ever return home to Arad Doman?” Xolani grimaced internally, but she figured a lie would be worth it if she could sleep indoors tonight.
Thankfully, her gambit seemed to work. From the Domani side of the room, a fatherly, wizened man rose from his chair. All eyes swung to him as he proudly strode towards Xolani and the innkeeper. He kept a cool countenance, or at least as cool as the notoriously feisty Domani merchants can achieve. “Is there a problem?” the Domani asked, not bothering to hide the touch of anger in his voice.
“None that is of your concern, Master Inigo,” the Taraboner innkeeper replied casually, or as casually as one can when talking to a customer. From the Taraboner’s side of the room, she heard someone mumbling and then the sudden sound of laughter. Grumbles came from the Domanis. Xolani opted for silence, content on watching this little scene.
“None of my concern?” Inigo managed to say in a surprisingly subdued voice. “Why, I dare to argue with you otherwise! Am I to turn a blind eye when a fellow citizen of my country is in need? Of course not!” Cheers came from the Domanis while the Taraboners scowled, exchanging quiet words with each other. “Now, my lady…?”
Xolani brought her mind back to the present as she heard herself being addressed. “Xolani Bronwen, if you please. I am no lady,” she automatically responded, bowing her head slightly. Much as she hated it, it would be wise if she showed some respect to the man who might be providing her with a roof. Perhaps even a meal too, if she played this right.
“Lady or no,” Inigo said with a fatherly grin, “I’ll see you get a room of your own tonight.” The Domanis applauded again as the innkeeper just shook his head.
With a smile, Xolani curtsied. She never liked to do that, curtseying, but a good night’s sleep was on the line. “You give me too much, Master Inigo,” she stated as meekly as she could bear it. Needless to say, it wasn’t as meek as she would’ve liked, but you couldn’t blame her for that.
“Think nothing of it, ma’am,” Inigo insisted with a wave of his hand. “My good man,” he addressed the innkeeper, who responded with a miffed look. “I’ll pay you whatever price you demand for a room for this young lady.” At this, the innkeeper looked slightly appeased, but still annoyed at the fact that he had to house yet another accursed Domani. But all the same, he nodded and told Inigo that he’ll see to it.
With a triumphant smile, Inigo turned his attention back to Xolani. “If I may entreat ye, Miss Bronwen, to join my fellows at our table?” he asked her the most gentlemanly voice he could muster. What he didn’t say was that if she sat anywhere else, the Taraboners would eat her alive. Nodding, Xolani then followed the old man back to his companions, planning on riding this out until she was able to leave.
Taking a seat, Xolani familiarized herself with the faces that looked her over as intently as she did. To their credit, Xolani was dressed as an Andoran though she claimed to be Domani. “This is Anwar Ilom,” Inigo said as he pointed to a man that was probably even older than himself. “He is my business partner for my current expedition. This,” - he pointed to a youth whose mustache was barely beginning to grow beneath his veil - “is his son Haben. And last,” - this time an elderly woman, bedecked in native veil and clinging dress - “but Light burn me if she be least, is my wife Tiaret.” Out of the whole group, Tiaret, eyes hard, seemed to be scrutinizing her the most. It took a few seconds for Xolani to realize that she was smoothing out the front of her skirt.
“If it be alright,” Tiaret more demanded than asked, “may I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Xolani quickly replied, determined to meet the woman’s haughty glare with one of her own. Sadly, it paled in comparison.
“Are you really Domani?”
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Temanin
Tsorovan'm'hael
Posts: 2,020
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Post by Temanin on Apr 23, 2005 20:02:42 GMT -5
Tarac realized how long it had been since he had last ventured from the confines of the Black Tower, for he was a little rusty in the area of distance travel. And this disturbed him slightly. Signs of the little party’s passing could be found if one looked hard enough, and his mind sometimes wandered. To most, this wouldn’t be a problem. To Tarac, it was as if all his skills he had ever developed had abandoned him. Because of this, as well as to produce a more challenging and rewarding trip, he and Vard decided not to use the One Power at all. It was to be a simple camping trip. Calsin saw this as a horrible idea, for he had been looking forward to a more leisurely trip.
Everything seemed to be going great, and soon the men settled into the non-Source trip routines. That is, until their fifth day out, when it started to rain. Though it took Calsin almost an hour to convince the other two men, they finally channeled, making everyone’s life a little easier. It was that next morning that they forwent the normal traveling, and used the One Power whenever it could make the trip easier. This included starting fires, water-proofing and warming clothing and tents, gathering water, and even hunting by using Air to send small rocks sailing at breakneck speeds towards animals.
The trip was, for the most part, uneventful. Calsin faced everything with his cynical brand of humor, while Vard goaded him into more sarcastic remarks. Tarac enjoyed their company, but mostly remained silent, at least while on the road. After about two weeks, Calsin decided that he was bored. To help alleviate this problem, Tarac and Vard came up with a simple game of target practice. Calsin, using his crossbow, would attempt to hit targets that Tarac sent sailing in all directions using Air. Vard was responsible for catching Calsin’s bolts so that, one, he didn’t loose any, and two, because they didn’t want to accidentally damage anything that didn’t belong to them.
The first time they tried this, they spent the entire day out in a field, hoping no one would see them. As they got further west, the roads became less and less populated, and they even ventured to take a few of the roads less traveled. Because of this, they started playing the little game as they rode, Calsin firing, Tarac throwing, and Vard catching, all from horseback. It was, if anything, an entertaining way to pass the time. The only other thing of note occurred roughly a month after they set out, just within the eastern border of Tarabon. Vard was in charge of buying some food. As he was leaving the inn to go do just that, Calsin, who had a small history of this thing before coming to the Black Tower, casually stole Vard’s purse right off his belt. Tarac and Calsin were laughing as Vard crashed back into their room, a murderous look upon his face. Obviously without thinking, Vard raised his hand and a small fireball went sailing from it, straight at Calsin’s head. Reacting with lightning speed, Tarac countered the small fireball, as well as shielding Vard. A long talk that evening settled the matter, and it wasn’t discussed again. Calsin and Vard were still as close as brothers.
The following day, Tarac heard some news that he wished he hadn’t. It seemed that activity along the Blightborder had intensified greatly, and there were many casualties to be had. Shienar, as it was said, was taking the largest casualties, and even their General had been killed. Tarac had known this man well. He had served him. He had been the replacement for Tarac’s father. Without realizing it, Tarac almost showed deep emotion. Luckily, he was able to stop himself. That night, Calsin and Vard saw the pain Tarac carried and knew it for what it was, for they, too, had heard the rumors. After a long silence, he looked at the two. “The Dark shall pay.” Then he simply lied down, and fell asleep.
It wasn’t difficult to find the battlefield, for everyone seemed to know where it was. It was odd, the admitted the war was raging, and yet no one seemed to even care. Though Tarac reflected that after three hundred years, the war wouldn’t be the most important thing to most people. For a week, though, they couldn’t find an actual battle. They were deep within Almoth Plain before they found a standing army. And when they did, Tarac wasn’t impressed. All the soldiers looked bored. This just made Tarac angrier. Here stands an army that would be beneficial to the battles in the north, yet here it sits because Tarabon and Arad Doman want this little plot of land. Without realizing it, he had reached for the Source, and was filling himself with it. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly released it. He had only lost control twice, the first time being the destruction of the barracks and his exile to the south.
They shadowed the army, because it was moving north, if slowly. Tarac said little, and the other two men allowed him to brood. Soon, the army became suddenly more organized; the men had a quicker step to them. “Battle will be met soon,” was all Tarac said. In truth, the battle didn’t come until the next day. And then Tarac was impressed. Their formations were immaculate, execution perfect. Taking many mental notes, Tarac was able to forget about anything but the battle for a time. General Ituralde was a genius, this was obvious. Tarabon won the day, though the men knew that it was to no real end. Senseless slaughter, solving nothing, not being used where it would be more effectively.
Tarac and the others decided to head back to the Black Tower. They had seen enough, and Vard and Calsin had soon started feeling as Tarac did. They were no longer in any mood to sightsee. As they made their way south, Calsin consulted the maps. He soon found a small village just to the west of them called Alcruna. None of them had ever heard of the place, but they decided to head there. Without any fanfare, the trio arrived in the town, and quickly found themselves an inn. The journey home would be much different than journey to this point, they were all sure of that.
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Post by Xolani on Apr 23, 2005 20:51:18 GMT -5
"Yes, I really am Domani," Xolani replied indignantly. She nearly wanted to yell when Tiaret's smile widened. But, if she did, she would most likely have blown her chances for a free meal and room. With an inward sigh, she decided to launch into a story she had designed a while back.
"I was travelling with my father in Altara, when he got on the wrong side of a duel," she started, making her voice quiet to add to the effect. "I managed to escape that wretched country, and slowly made my way north following the Manetherendrelle towards Andor, where I had some family. Sadly, they had long left for Cairhien when I finally got there. So from Andor, I traveled back south through Ghealdan and Amadicia, and have navigated myself through Tarabon." She spit out the last word, to help prove her allegiance.
Xolani's story was mostly true, in reality. She had been circling the Mountains of Mist for many months, now. Perhaps, after this was all over, she would head East towards Illian and Tear. Perhaps.
Tiaret, at least, seemed to accept that story for true. It did not lessen her hawkish stare, however. "Indeed," she finally said after many seconds. "And your clothes?"
Xolani was quick. "In Whitebridge, I worked for a seamstress to make enough money for the journey here. She did not approve of our fashions, however."
Nodding, Tiaret looked satisfied. In fact, she even smiled beneath her veil. "I may have a few extra outfits that might fit you, though I fear you are taller than I am." Inwardly, Xolani groaned. "Or at least a decent veil for you to use."
Again, Xolani caught herself smoothing out the front of her dress. Silently cursing, she bowed her head respectfully to Tiaret. "You are too generous, Mistress Tiaret," she managed to say instead of grumble. Tiaret just waved a hand. Standing up, Xolani announced, "I am in debt to all of you for your generousity. May the Light illumine you! However, I wish to retire, for my day has been long."
"Without any dinner?" Inigo asked, eyebrow raised.
"I fear I am more tired than hungry, Master Inigo," Xolani replied. "Besides, I do not wish to abuse your generousity." With a final bow of her head, she took her leave.
~*~ Later that night... ~*~
Xolani actually never went to sleep. As soon as she had located her room, she simply just fell atop her bed. Facing the ceiling, she just stared up at it. Just stared and remembered.
She found, after she first left Bandar Eban, that she never really got a full night's sleep. Even when Xolani managed to find a bed, she just couldn't will herself to close her eyes and drift off. Perhaps the reason for that was that eight out of ten times when one falls asleep, that person dreams. Xolani's dreams have never been pleasant, even after she had abandoned the Shadowsworn. The dreams that were the most vivid were the ones that kept her from sleeping, though. Dreams of a Whitecloak with pity in his eyes...
Slowly sitting up, Xolani glanced around the room. Despite the late hour, she just couldn't rest. Sure, she was pretty fatigued; it was a battle just to keep her eyes open. With a sigh, she slid off her bed and slowly walked towards the door. The best thing she could do now was to find a way to distract her mind.
Making her way through the silent inn, Xolani walked down to the first floor. There was no sound, no movement, save for her footsteps. She involuntarily shivered. Blinking, she looked around. Xolani did not shiver without good reason. But, deciding that it must be the cold, she continued her aimless wanderings. Eventually, she made her way outside.
The moon shone clear overhead, but not brightly enough to dim the stars. But paying little mind to any of that, Xolani stared at her feet as she walked about. Even in the streets of Alcruna, everything was silent and still. Xolani shivered again. Looking up, she took a deep breath. Exhaling, she shrugged. What would want to bother with her here?
Continuing her solo parade, Xolani decided to circle the inn. No use getting lost in the night, anyways. To cold made itself very present, and Xolani was glad that she still wore her Andoran dress. Making it to the other side of the inn, she found the stables. The smell of horses and leather hit her like a rock in the face. With a smile, she decided that this was exactly the place she needed to be. There were lots of distractions for her mind to play with until she finally felt the need to sleep. Thinking it was empty, save the many horses, she decided that she would have ample time to think, as well.
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Temanin
Tsorovan'm'hael
Posts: 2,020
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Post by Temanin on Apr 23, 2005 21:34:08 GMT -5
The flames seemed to reach towards the sky without end. Trollocs, Myrdraal, and Darkfriends circled the flames, adding to their intensity. The light of the fire did not reach the fiends’ faces, yet their wicked smiles and snarls could be seen as clear as noon. Again the fire surged, and there appeared a sword. Spinning in a slow arc, the Shadowspawn fell away as the light of the fire began to find them. They were still present, always present, but for the time, they were pushed back. Soon the blade stood on end, and beyond all possibility, the fire grew stronger still, until the very metal of the sword began to be compromised. Suddenly, from the cross guard, blood began to run down the blade. It bubbled and hissed, yet still it flowed on, until it began to pool upon the ground. And so the blade quaked. The pommel fell away, the cross guard falling soon thereafter. All that was left was the blade, and within moments the flames consumed it, the molten metal mixing with the blood. And then, just as suddenly, the fire was gone, and only darkness remained.
With a start, Tarac awoke. Looking out the window, the moon hung clear in the sky, a beacon to his troubled mind. Settling himself, he sat up. Normally Tarac found himself dreaming of the day his father was killed, or the day he took revenge for that act, or his first channeling and subsequent exile. Never before had he dreamed in such a way. Though he didn’t know what they may be, he knew his dream held deep meaning in his own life. The symbols within the dream were too obvious to be overlooked. The sword which had been consumed was the ceremonial sword he was given when first initiated into the Shienaran army. He still had that sword, though he no longer carried it into combat. It was a symbol of his commitment to the destruction of the Blight, and he would not risk its destruction. And that was why the dream troubled him so. It had turned back the Shadow on numerous occasions, and yet the dream seemed to indicate that in the end, it would fail. Failure was not something Tarac wished to accept. Longing to clear his mind, he slipped on his garments and cloak and headed for the door. On an impulse he grabbed up his sword. In such times past, his weapon had brought him comfort. Perhaps it would help him once more.
The night air was crisp, his breath misting slightly in front of him as he made his way aimlessly through the town. Tarac had gathered from the beginning that this was a sleepy town, but he was still somewhat surprised by utter silence the night brought. Even at the Black Tower, with only a few hundred people living there at a time, there were noises to be heard at all hours. Yet here, even the air seemed to be afraid to move, lest it disturb the silence. This sparked a memory within Tarac, and it took him a moment before he was able to put his finger on it. This is what it felt like in the Blightborder before the Shadowspawn attacked a village. Tarac had been on the receiving end of such an attack more than once, and he couldn’t dismiss the similarities. But he knew there would be no Trolloc fist rolling through the town that night. The Blight was too busy smashing into the Borderlands. If only this sleepy little town and all other sleepy little towns all over the world realized what a great service the Borderlands do for them. Where would the southlands be without them? They would be overrun by Shadowspawn, kneeling before Myrdraal taskmasters or waiting their turn to go into the Trolloc cauldron.
But it is our duty to all men to see to it that doesn’t happen. No one had assigned this task to the Borderlanders, they had simply taken it upon themselves. A sense of duty could be felt in all Borderlander, from a child to a grizzled old man. And Tarac’s sense of duty was no less potent. He vowed to himself, not for the first time, that he would lead a group of men into the Blight again, and strike at the Shadowspawn that had taken so much from him and his people. The Shienarans have a saying, “Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain.” It was the mantra Tarac tried to live his life by. Duty to country, duty to self, duty to all those who followed the Light; these are the things that drove him. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He returned from the inner turnings of his mind and realized he didn’t know where he was. Sighing slightly, he continued in the direction he had been heading. He would eventually get back to where he needed to be, he knew.
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Post by Xolani on Apr 24, 2005 15:14:06 GMT -5
One...two...three...four...five...six...
Six.
Yep. There were definitely six horses in the stable. To double-check, Xolani counted them again, this time starting from the left-most horse. And - praise the Light! - the number remained the same. With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall. The dirty, dusty wall. The dirty, dusty, and slowly deteriorating wall. Xolani laughed. She was getting too good at distracting herself. Soon her mind would be too distracted to be distracted anymore. Or was it too distracting to be distracted anymore? Why was she even thinking about that?
In any case, Xolani decided that she had completed her first mission. Her mind busy at being distracted, she focused what little remained of her attention on her sleeping problem. Tired as she was, she did not even feel drowsy. Suddenly Xolani stopped distracting herself. Too tired to feel drowsy? Now that’s an odd statement. But mentally shrugging, she resumed distraction operations and came back to the situation at hand.
It was then and only then that a certain fact dawned upon her. Why try to fall asleep in the stables when one had a warm, mud-free bed back inside? And at no cost to her, to boot. The stable’s setting had done its purpose very well. In fact, Xolani’s mind was as distracted as she could manage at such short notice. And with that over and done with, she had no obligations to this stable. That’s not too say that it was a bad stable, by the Light! It was a very good stable indeed. Very homely, the stable was.
Shaking her head, Xolani laughed softly. If her distracted mind continues to be so distracting, she herself might be too distracted to go back to the inn and ultimately to sleep.
But just as she crossed through the stable’s wide doors, a sudden chill spread through Xolani’s body. There were no sounds to be heard, nor any movement to be seen. The wind was still. Again, Xolani shivered. That would be the third time that night. Frantically looking around, she could see nothing out of place, nothing to give her any alarm, save for the fact that everything was perfectly, entirely still. Time to head back to the inn, methinks.
Out of the corner of her eye was a sudden movement. Whipping her body about, she looked to where she thought it was. Not a soul to be seen. The moonlight cast tall shadows across the empty streets. Heart beating, Xolani couldn’t ignore the obvious facts. Something was there, somewhere, and she was alone with whatever it was. Her years as a Darkfriend have taught her that lesson, at least.
It wouldn’t be that much of a waste if she died, she had figured. Xolani had no friends, no family as far as she knew, and no plans of dire importance. Naturally, this realization did little to lift her spirits.
Again, movement, this time to her left. Xolani snapped her head towards that direction. If a shadowspawn was going to kill her, she at least wanted to meet it when she did. But why go through all that trouble, when a simple knife in the back would do? Perhaps she was just putting on airs, thinking someone would bother to send a trolloc or the like after her. She was never that powerful as a Friend of the Dark.
Out of the shadows, something stirred. This time, Xolani managed to capture the figure in her sight. She yelled, but bit it off as she froze, paralyzed with fear. That cloak should have rippled as the man walked, even if there was no wind. Though it wore a hood over its face, she knew there would be no eyes underneath. You did not need to be a Borderlander to recognize this creature of the Shadow.
But why a Myrdraal? Xolani thought numbly as it slowly strode closer.
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Temanin
Tsorovan'm'hael
Posts: 2,020
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Post by Temanin on Apr 24, 2005 20:07:35 GMT -5
Tarac continued to wander, and he soon found himself reflecting on the past. Reminiscing was not something he often did, because of the pain the past harbored. But sometimes, on nights such as this, he recalled despite his will. The day his father died, for instance, happened to coincide with the happiest day of his life. He could remember like it was yesterday, and perhaps even better than that. The proud look on the face of his mother, the shinning armor of all the military men in attendance, and the cool, crisp breeze that slightly stirred the new topknot upon his head: all these things and more were forever grained into his mind. But then, he also recalled another set of memories. He remembered the look of terror and grief upon his mother’s face, the dented, blood-stained armor of the fallen, and the smell of death and decay that same breeze carried.
Though he had never been exceptionally close to his father, he had held him in high regard and respect. When assigned to hunt down the group of Trollocs that had slaughtered his father, it was a bittersweet moment. On one side he simply wanted to turn his sword and armor back in and head south, hoping never to see another Shadowspawn again. And yet he also suddenly developed the strong sense of duty he had been considering earlier. If he did not destroy the beasts, they would hurt others. Personal pain had to become secondary to his duty. And so it did. Never did he shed a tear for his father, never did he wail openly to anyone. Certainly, he comforted his mother, but was never anything but strong. That was the way it had to be.
His mother’s death drove him more deeply into the slaughter that he would attempt to wreak on the Blight. And he remembered well the battle that had resulted some time thereafter. Alka, the only real friend he had ever had, the only person that had seen anything but strength in Tarac, was killed. Again Tarac wasn’t able to save someone he cared about. He had also walked away from the battle with a real pain, the hole the arrow shaft had left in his right shoulder. He marveled sometimes over how convenient it was that he was left-handed. Almost as if thinking about it brought it to life, his shoulder stiffened, and he began rubbing it, trying to work out the pain. The cold air did this to him from time to time, and Tarac hated it. It was nothing but proof of his weakness.
Again he took stocks of his surroundings. He had managed to turn down a narrow street running between two three-story buildings. Even at this small event he marveled. On the Borderlands, the towns only had narrow roads, so that they could be easily barricaded against attack, and one would never find oneself strolling down one at night. Granted, the streets were never as dark as this back alley. Torches and lamps burned everywhere, so that never would one of the Shadowspawn be able to slink through the city of town undetected. Very rarely was there a shadow to be found at night. Fades loved the shadows, and had been known to quickly overwhelm an unwary guard, opening the gate for his fist of Trollocs.
Fades. It had been a while since Tarac had encountered one of those perversions of nature. They were the epitome of the evil that lived within the Blight; the epitome of everything Tarac reviled. He had crossed blades with a Myrdraal before, and though the fiend’s stare still induced fear, he had found ways to work around it. “The look of the Eyeless is fear,” as they say on the Borderlands, but it is only fear. Fear can be put aside. Fear can be examined and mentally destroyed. There were many ways to face fear. The trick was finding the way that seemed to work for you.
As he came to the mouth of the road, a sudden chill ran through his entire body. He had felt such a thing before, that same night, even. Out of instinct his hand went to his sword, and he loosened the blade within its scabbard. He accused himself of an overactive and paranoid imagination and nothing more, yet Tarac could not get the feeling out of his mind that something foul was present in this little town. Fully emerging from the road, he turned left, a little more focused on the area surrounding him. And because of this awareness he was able to spot the slight movement some way up the road from him. Whatever it was, it moved quickly, too quickly for any human. Tarac, more curious than anything else, followed as quickly as he could. Ducking down the alley the thing had taken, he stopped short as he heard a sharp yell and then silence once more. The silence worried him more than the yell. Creeping forward slowly, sword drawn, he prepared himself mentally for anything. And then he saw it, striding forth confidently, not caring who saw.
For the second time that night, the world had spawned the object of Tarac’s ponderings. First it had brought him the pain in his shoulder, and now this. A Myrdraal. There was no time to challenge the fiend to a duel, or continue to follow it, for a breath later Tarac located the fiend’s target: a small woman standing stark still, terror obvious upon her face. His mind only came to one solution, and though he had taken vows against such an act, at the moment, he didn’t care one single bit. He reached for the Source, and filled himself with it. While a small fireball would have been able to do the job, Tarac had always been a proponent of overkill. Channeling, a fireball roughly three feet in diameter quickly formed and went rushing at the Myrdraal. The impact caused a slight shockwave, as well as a little more noise than he would have liked. He knew he would quickly have to leave this place. As the creature fell burning to the ground, he rushed forward, and severed the head from the shoulders. Pesky beasts, the Eyeless were, about not dying. Sunset would see the end to this one.
He paused for only a moment as he took in the woman before him. Wiping off the blade and sheathing it, he turned and bowed to her, a small smile upon his face, then dashed back into the alley from which he had emerged, determined to be on the other side of town by the time the first person found the smoldering corpse.
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Post by Xolani on Apr 25, 2005 19:24:30 GMT -5
For a good few moments, all Xolani could was blink. Blink, and remember to breathe. A Myrdraal. Then fire. Then a man.
A man.
A man who channeled.
“Light…” Xolani barely spoke as she reached a hand towards the nearby wall. Touching it, she leaned against it. It couldn’t have been…one of them. Fighting to breath, she looked up at the blank sky that was peeking out from over the buildings. She closed her eyes, trying in vain to calm herself. A Myrdraal was enough. Why one of them? There’s no way…It was already incredulous that the Shadow would bother enough about her to dispatch an Eyeless, but how did a male channeler suddenly pop up in the nick of time? Could they have sent him? As impossible an idea as the Myrdraal. But a Myrdraal had come.
With one last deep breath, Xolani stood up. No need to present herself as a target for another Fade. The one the channeler had killed still twitched and writhed as much as its charred body could allow. With a shudder, Xolani quickly left the scene. The Myrdraal would not truly die till morning.
As briskly as she could, still being in a state of shock, Xolani traveled back to her room. She never looked in any direction but forward the whole way there. Fortunately, the chill that had haunted her before had vanished from the air. Locating her door, Xolani flung it open. She quickly lit the only candle in the room before conducting a thorough investigation of the premises. Finding nothing out of place did not alleviate her worries, however. After placing the candle on a table, Xolani slowly sat atop her bed. She looked up suddenly to check if the door was closed, which it was. Laughing quietly, she shook her head. If another Myrdraal were to come, it would not come through the door.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she sighed. No chance of sleep tonight. Turning her head, she stared at the feeble light the candle gave off. Smiling, her mind slowly lost itself in thought. Would it matter if she died tonight? Probably not. Except to her. Oh yes, Xolani’s death would be of exceeding importance to Xolani herself, but that was a given. But what if it wasn’t death that awaited her tonight? What if it was capture instead, and then a quick ride to those who would punish her for leaving…
Hanging her head, Xolani grimaced. She’d rather be killed, even by a Myrdraal, than have to face that. Looking up, this time to the ceiling, she let her body drop fully onto the bed. Tucking her hands beneath her head, she continued to ponder.
But who would bother with me when I had only gotten a moderate position among the Friends of the Dark? Light, the only things who knew anything about me are in Bandar Eban. They have no reason to go after me, unless they were told to do so. Xolani turned onto her side, now examining the wall. And even if there were Darkfriends after me, how did they find me? And in the boondocks of Tarabon, for the matter? Sure, I didn’t exactly cover my tracks when I left Bandar Eban but, Light, I had made sure to keep low since! Frustrated, Xolani sat back up.
Those Domani, it has to be them, she continued to brood. Why did I trust them like a child? Light, I know to be more careful! With a snarl on her face, she stood up and began to pace. As much as I would like to accuse Tiaret as a Darkfriend, she was too obvious to be one. More likely the whole group’s a cartload of Shadowsworn. Collapsing on her bed, she tried to calm herself down. They’re probably all Darkfriends. Maybe even the Taraboners. Light, it could even be some of the other foreigners! Sitting back up, she cursed mentally. It was then that she remembered her savior.
The channeler… Just thinking about that man made Xolani shiver. It was his kind that broke the world. Leaning forward, she rested her arms on her knees. With a shake of her head, she decided not to think about that if she could help it. Why bother with any of this? she thought angrily. Sooner or later, she was going to get caught. Whether it was by a Shadowspawn or someone else, someday the world would know that she had once been a Darkfriend. And once that news got out, it would be either a trolloc cook pot or the gallows, depending on who got to her first. What’s the point?
The point was a Lord Captain of the Whitecloaks wanted her to be saved. Sebast Jepar wanted her to be saved.
“Light burn me,” Xolani spoke, looking again at the closed door. With these thoughts swirling about her head, there was no way she was going to get any sleep tonight.
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Temanin
Tsorovan'm'hael
Posts: 2,020
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Post by Temanin on Apr 25, 2005 21:38:43 GMT -5
“Well that was…interesting,” Tarac commented as he weaved through the narrow bystreets. Coming to an area he believed was safe enough; he stopped, and caught his breath. Alright, so I just broke one of the major laws of the Black Tower. That woman saw me channeling. Maybe I should go back and see…no. How would I talk my way out of that? ‘Fireball? What fireball? I didn’t see any three-foot diameter fireball.’ That’ll work… He thought for a time more, then suddenly realized something profound. No one would believe the woman if she started proclaiming she saw a male channeler kill a Myrdraal. By dawn all evidence will be gone, and she’ll just be thought of a crazy. That put Tarac’s mind at ease. He had no intentions of revealing any such secrets any time soon.
He also bolstered his confidence by noting that he had done the right thing, no matter the rules. The Eyeless was determined to kill that woman, this he knew, and he couldn’t let that happen. Being sworn to the Black Tower to fight against the Shadow, as well as his upbringing as a Borderlander, had contributed to the rash decision to destroy the thing. The next question that came to mind as he turned over the night’s sudden activity was why was the Myrdraal after her in the first place? He suddenly regretted running away so soon. There was something to that woman, if she was being attacked by such a fiend. But what would bring a Fade out to a place like this? The only thing he could think of was that she was a darkfriend, and perhaps a powerful one at that, and she had upset someone up in the chain of command. But that didn’t make too much sense. What would someone of high standing in the Shadow be doing here in this hole of a town?
At last he decided he wouldn’t solve anything standing on the corner of the street. He slowly made his way back to the inn, and up to his room. He checked on the other two men, but they didn’t seem to have stirred in the least. And that suited Tarac just fine. Lying down in bed, he took the time to weave a simple ward around the room; something that would warn him of Shadowspawn. One could never be too careful, after all.
The following morning Tarac awoke to a slight commotion taking place on the first floor of the inn. It wasn’t his first time staying in such a place, so he simply ignored it. Drunks didn’t always wait until the night to fight. Slowly packing his things, he went to the others and woke them. “I’ll go on down and pay the innkeeper for a meal. Meet me down there, and then we’ll head back home.” Doing as he said, he left the room and went down to the first floor. And there, near the center of the room was a slim, weathered man holding piece of a very familiar-looking cloak; the kind of cloak that didn’t move when worn. The piece moved now, fiercely as the little man flailed his arms in the midst of story telling. And to Tarac’s horror, he was describing a burnt body he had found a little before sunset. A body that still moved.
He tried to ignore the man, and quickly ordered the three men some breakfast. Calsin and Vard soon descended the stairs and began to eat. But the longer they stood there, the more they began to listen to the man. And soon they were able to piece together what the rumor was. Slowly both heads turned towards Tarac. Shying away from their stares, something he could never imagine himself doing at any other time to any other person, he got up and asked the keeper about buying some supplies for the road. The Myrdraal had been found, and his companions knew how it had died. Oh what an interesting return trip this should be.
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Post by Xolani on Apr 26, 2005 17:00:38 GMT -5
“I insist you take at least one of the dresses,” Tiaret said, shoving a bundle in Xolani’s hands. “I don’t know what has possessed you to make you want to leave so fast with so little, but you honestly can’t expect to survive long in that old rag.”
Silent, Xolani just nodded, impatient to get this over with. The very moment she set foot outside of her room this morning she had bumped into the elderly Domani. She mentally grimaced. Experience told her that it hadn’t been a chance meeting. With a silent sigh Xolani stared outside the only window in Tiaret’s room. By this time, she had planned to be at least an hour outside of Alcruna. But if this impossible woman didn’t stop chattering soon, she may never leave town at all.
And where would she be then? At the point of another Myrdraal’s sword?
Unclenching her teeth, Xolani replied, “Please, Mistress Tiaret, you and your family have already done too much. I can’t ever repay you for your generosi-“
“Yes, yes,” Tiaret interrupted, waving a hand. She bent over, searching among her traveling bags and parcels. Cursing to herself, Xolani realized that she had not met Master Inigo all morning. He was probably out setting another trap for her. If he was a Darkfriend. Which he probably was. They all probably were. Light, what was she doing?
Snapping back up, Tiaret turned around briskly. Her eyes still had the excruciating intensity of a Whitecloak Questioner as she looked Xolani over. It was more than enough to make the poor girl jump. Unexpectedly, the old woman tossed her a small bag, which Xolani nearly missed catching. Judging by the jingling sound it made, there had to be a nice little sum of money inside.
“I could not accept such a gift, Mistress Ti-“ Again Xolani was cut off, this time by Tiaret.
“You’ll change that view by tomorrow,” Tiaret said, her voice having a slightly angry edge to it. “Imagine, a little girl like you wandering about with naught but the clothes on her back, and with no one around to make sure that back doesn’t get a knife in it.”
Xolani raised an eyebrow as high as she could dare. Tiaret knew about last night, but that came to no surprise. She was most likely a Darkfriend.
“And while I’m at it,” Tiaret mumbled, breaking Xolani out of her thoughts and suspicions. Again the old Domani leaned over her things, rummaging though them until she found her target. With another toss, a notably lighter satchel nearly missed hitting Xolani’s head. “Herbs and bandages and the like,” Tiaret explained as she rose to her feet. She misinterpreted Xolani’s blank stare as a confused one. “For healing, you silly little girl.”
With a barely noticeable shake of her head, Xolani’s eyes hardened. If she was called a ‘little girl’ one more time…
“Again, you give me too much,” Xolani barely managed to say without a snarl. “You never had any obligation towards me.”
“You’ll pay your obligations in full if you just wear that dress,” Tiaret replied with a smile. That smile grew as Xolani’s eyes widened noticeably in surprise. There was an awkward silence between the two, until Tiaret walked closer towards Xolani. With her mouth close to her ear, the elder Domani cautioned, “They look for a Domani in Andoran clothes. They will pass over any Domanis in Domani dress. Are we understood?”
Xolani looked at her, eyes full of suspicion. She had to be a Light-blinded fool to trust her. But Tiaret looked back at her with eyes free of the usual malice and judgment. Instead, there was naught but complete sincerity and a touch of hope. However, Xolani had only trusted a person’s eyes once, and that was with a man now long dead.
Silence again reigned over the two women as both stared at each other, one incredulous and the other almost begging. “Fine, you old hag,” Xolani grumbled. “If it’ll get you out of my hair, I will.”
Tiaret smiled.
~*~
Feeling more self-conscious than she ever had in her life, Xolani slowly descended to the first floor. She picked at her clothes, amazed that they even fit her at all. Though she herself was short, Tiaret had been tiny. She judged the clingy dress must be at least as old as the weathered leather satchel slung on her back. Along with the patched cloak she wore over all of this, it was all compliments of Tiaret the Philanthropic. Light, she was like the overly-indulgent grandmother Xolani never had.
Arriving at the first floor, she found the area in a state of near-complete chaos. There was a crazy, old nut in the center of it, waving a piece of cloth around and speaking passionately something or another. Though Xolani muted out the noise, she couldn’t help but smile. Anything to distract people from noticing her escape was fine with her. Tiaret probably planned this to happen. Glancing about, she noticed that neither Inigo, his business partner nor his son were to be seen. Tiaret definitely had a hand in that, as well.
But wisely not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Xolani strode up to the innkeeper. The man in question looked caught between contentment from having his common room filled with paying customer and dismay from those paying customers looking about to start a riot. It took two “Excuse me, sir”’s and a loud cough to get the poor man’s attention. Once attained, Xolani asked for some bread, cheese, and other dry foods that she could carry along on the road. After having received and paid for the supplies, she decided to bother about breakfast once she was long gone from this place.
It was no sooner than she turned around that she saw a sight that was enough to make her mouth drop open in shock. Sitting with two men was the channeler from last night! Xolani stood there, in shock, until she managed to pry her eyes away. Light! she thought frantically. Light! What is he… How did he… Coherent thought left her as she intently stared at her feet.
She was only broken from this when someone suddenly yelled, “A Fade!” Xolani’s head snapped up so fast it cracked. Spinning in the direction of the yell, she found that it was the old man with the cloth who had given the false alarm. Xolani was glaring at him indignantly until she began to listen to what he was saying.
“Yes, that’s only what it could have been!” the crazed man yelled, waving the tattered fabric energetically. With a start, Xolani realized that it belonged to a Myrdraal’s cloak. “Just like in the old stories, an Eyeless from the north…” Turning away, Xolani blocked out the man’s words. So, someone had found the corpse. Did they realize that it had been killed using the One Power? Did they realize that it had been killed by a man who could channel?
As she pondered these things, Xolani subconsciously found herself staring back at the channeler. No doubt the men with him could also weave the Power. Light… One was enough, but three?
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Temanin
Tsorovan'm'hael
Posts: 2,020
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Post by Temanin on May 31, 2005 13:17:01 GMT -5
Tarac found himself facing questions he would rather not answer. And how could he? He had violated the most important rule of the Black Tower: do not reveal yourself. It would only be a matter of days before the Aes Sedai rolled in, hunting for the mystery channeler. He was able to calm himself with the fact that they would be far away, even before the sun set this day. Sighing deeply, he looked to Calsin, who he knew would have something to say on the matter.
He paused some time before speaking. “I think we’ll just skip the obvious questions, as that madman there,” he said, gesturing towards the old fellow with the Myrdraal’s cloak,” seems to have the basics covered. What were you doing out there in the first place, and why did you have to cook the bloody thing?”
Even now Tarac had to smile at Calsin’s approach to certain situations. By all rights, Tarac was his superior in rank, and such talk within a formal army wouldn’t be tolerated. The lower soldiers do not question the upper ranks, they but follow orders. Tarac didn’t mind, however, for he didn’t put too much stock in rank, himself. He quickly decided on how he was going to handle this. “I was out for a walk. I believe I’m still allowed to do that when away from…home.” There was no reason talking completely openly, even if the commotion in the room was great. “And I had to ‘cook the bloody thing’ because it's the most effective way to kill them that I've found.” He just left it at that, as he took a drink of water.
“Your ‘tricks’ will be the death of us all…” Calsin muttered to himself. Vard suddenly spoke up. “They found the thing, but that cannot link it to us. What’s important is if anyone saw you. So?”
And there’s the problem, my friend, he thought to himself. He pondered a moment on the best way to handle this. The whole truth is better than half the truth, he decided. “There was one person, a woman. She was the target of the Eyeless. I had to do something. People of the Borderlands don’t sit idly-” Calsin cut him off.
“Spare us, please. Vard’s from there too, and I’ve heard you run on about it so much, I’ve started to think I used to live there, too!” That got a chuckle from everyone at the table. Tarac did have a habit of spouting his Borderland speeches on occasion. “We only have one choice, as far as I can figure. We have to get as far from this town as we can, and you never again come across the Mountains of Mist, just for good measure. Alright?”
Tarac nodded his head. “Alright. But I think I did the right thing. It would have killed her had I not…” His words trailed off as his eyes, which had been wandering around the crowded room, fell upon a surprise. There, not thirty feet away, was the woman he had saved!
Vard and Calsin were talking amongst themselves about Tarac’s little adventure. “I wonder why the beast was after the girl.” “They don’t send those things out on a whim. She must have been someone pretty important.” “She could have been one of them. The…Dark doesn’t always treat its members with hospitality and friendship.” “Then perhaps he should have cooked her, too.”
Finally, though, the realized that Tarac was staring at something. They followed his line of sight, and soon saw a small woman with black hair. And they could both picture her with a Myrdraal staring her down. They quickly turned their attention to their food, as did Tarac. But he couldn’t help looking over occasionally. He was in deep water now.
“We need to leave now,” he stated suddenly, a few moments later. “She saw me.”
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Post by Xolani on May 31, 2005 17:43:16 GMT -5
Xolani could not help but to continue staring dumbly at the trio of men until she realized that they had noticed her. Quickly she averted her eyes, yelling explicative after explicative in her head. It seemed like every step she had taken in this backwoods town had been for the worse. Light, every step since leaving Bandar Eban had been a series of misfortunes and mistakes. Perhaps that appears rather cynical, but for all Xolani cared, it was the truth. Without another glance at the …channelers, she darted out of the inn, hoping that it did not look like she sprinted.
The scene in daytime Alcruna had changed little from when Xolani arrived yesterday. Dirt from unpaved roads nearly made her choke and the sun beat mercilessly overhead. A few trading caravans passed by, though more were simply still and silent, with small bands of guards hired by the merchants watching over them. A familiar scene to Xolani. Having walked a few paces from the entrance of the inn, Xolani shook her head. No use running about like a startled hen, even if it was because of Shadowspawn and male channelers. Calming herself, she settled into the apathy she had fine-tuned over her self-imposed exile.
The best thing to do is to leave, she thought, and the obviousness of that statement was proof to how flustered she must’ve been. Mentally berating herself for her temporary lack of common sense, Xolani then pondered over where she should escape to. Though she was previously making a course for the north, she decided that she should go south. Even if it meant traveling through hostile territory in Tarabon, it might throw off whoever was chasing her. Momentarily. From there, she could go east to Illian, and maybe Tear. It had been ages since she had last haunted those locales.
Head bowed in thought, she then realized that no matter where she went, she had to keep moving. Given the light of recent events, there would be no more stops, no more rests. Just endless walking. With a wry smile, Xolani realized that seemed to be all she had done lately. But no sooner had she taken a few steps from where she stood, her eyes chanced upon a man who sent a chill running through her spine.
It was Inigo, and his face was twisted in a look of cold fury. But as soon as the Domani Darkfriend noticed that Xolani was looking at him, his countenance changed to a dry smile. Xolani felt her body tense, much like last night when she was confronted by the Myrdraal, but she realized that Inigo wouldn’t dare try to kill her in broad daylight on a busy street. However, a quick glance told her otherwise. The streets seemed deserted, and the only living creatures about seemed totally absorbed in whatever they were doing.
Light… Not another trap.
As Inigo was but a few spans away, rational thought once again kicked in. Not wasting a moment, she slipped right back into the inn. She sighed in relief when she found it still crowded, noisy, and smelling of smoke and ale. The crazy old gent was still raving, though his crowd had thinned and he was no longer atop a table. A glance in the direction of the channelers announced that they hadn’t left yet, though they seemed to pay more mind to their food than anything else. Managing a sigh and a grimace at the same time, Xolani plopped down at one of the only empty tables. She sat so that she could have one eye on the door and the other on the rest of the room. First chance she found when she could sneak out in a group of people, she would take it.
Xolani heard someone sitting down besides her, causing her to spin around in her chair. Glaring at her was Tiaret, her normally ardent eyes now looking worried, even frightened. “Why didn’t you leave?” the old woman growled, barely above a whisper.
With a sigh, Xolani cupped her chin in her hands. “Inigo sort of got in the way.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Tiaret said, her voice quite tense. “Why didn’t you leave immediately?”
“I was…distracted,” Xolani answered lamely. Tiaret sighed heavily while leaning back in her seat, mumbling something about “fools” under her breath.
After a short moment of silence between the two, Tiaret asked, “So what do you plan to do?”
“Leave,” Xolani answered bluntly. She did not need Tiaret picking her apart at the moment. Rather distracting, it was.
“How?” Tiaret continued.
“I’m working on that part,” Xolani admitted begrudgingly. Tiaret grumbled something unintelligible, but Xolani tried to pay no mind.
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Temanin
Tsorovan'm'hael
Posts: 2,020
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Post by Temanin on Jun 1, 2005 15:44:30 GMT -5
“Let’s just keep cool for a minute,” Vard said, as they other two started to stand. “She knows we’re over here. We shouldn’t appear as though we are going to run away. Confidence on out part will make her think twice about pointing us out.” Tarac and Calsin couldn’t help but agree. They waited until their meal was finished, and then calmly gathered their things. As they did, Tarac motioned to the innkeeper. The man quickly shuffled over carrying two large bags, presumably full of foodstuffs.
Tarac thanked the man, and took the bags from him. “For your service,” he said quietly, pressing a silver mark into the man’s hand. The innkeeper began to protest, as he had already paid, but Tarac just waved him off. Resigning to the fact that he was a little richer, the innkeeper made his way back to the bar, a large smile upon his face. Tarac then looked at the others. “Perhaps if anyone asks him anything, he’ll be a little less willing to give up information concerning well-paying costumers.”
They were soon ready to go, and so they headed for the door. In instinct, Tarac looked over to where the woman had previously been, but found the table empty. He surmised that she had run away because she was afraid he would do something to her. Tarac stifled a sigh. Everyone knew of the heritage of the male channeler: to go mad and destroy the world. He had long ago resigned to the fact that he would die either from the maddening consumption of the body, self-inflicted destruction, or another of the Black Tower doing his duty when the madness came. Even so, he longed to change the opinions of the people. The Black Tower was an organization of solely male channelers, and it has existed for some time, though it had never before reached its present strength. It was a self-governing force, not requiring the assistance of the Aes Sedai for regulation. The unspoken agreement between every member was the binding force of the group. When one fell to the taint, another was obligated, as both a friend and compatriot, to help take that pain away; be it stilling or euthanasia. He longed for people to realize that, if trained and guided properly, a male channeler is no less dangerous than an Aes Sedai, though perhaps shorter lived. The Asha’man would be a valuable force, if only the world could learn turn.
He had to laugh at his own musings. Men broke the world, killing a third of the population, and destroyed the balance of the Pattern, itself. No one will ever trust us, again. Quietly, the three men walked out the door, and turned for the stables. Saddling up, they headed at a walk down the road leading east, leading home.
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Post by Xolani on Jun 1, 2005 17:44:34 GMT -5
Beneath the general buzz and clamor of the inn, Xolani thought she heard the sound of chairs sliding across the floor. Out of instinct she glanced at where the channelers had sat. Apparently they were about to take their leave, the man from last night handing the innkeeper a silver coin. Quickly she looked away for fear that they might again notice her stare. She did not escape Tiaret’s notice, however.
“Know them?” she asked in her usual grating voice.
Xolani sighed inwardly before answering, “I know as much about them as I know of you.” This caused Tiaret to laugh quietly as she leaned toward Xolani.
“Do you think you could escape with them?” she whispered in Xolani’s ear.
“No,” Xolani replied bluntly. The very though sent shivers down her spine. Better to face a Myrdraal and hundreds of Darkfriends then ask for assistance from a male channeler. Though one of them had saved her life last night, it did not mean that she was willing to beg for protection from them. In all reality, he probably had an ulterior motive to her rescue, though she currently could not fathom why.
“They’ve left,” Tiaret said, interrupting her train of thought. At this, Xolani glanced back at the table where the channelers had been last, but she did not see any sign of them. With a wry smile, Xolani figured that must’ve been the only positive thing that had happened today. You were never truly safe with any of their kind around.
“You could’ve gone with them,” Tiaret continued. At Xolani’s shocked look, she added, “They’re foreigners. One of them looks to be Shienaran, even. They wouldn’t know what’s going on, and I’m sure Inigo hasn’t had any dealings with them. I’m sure-”
“Tiaret,” Xolani interrupted, her vexation apparent in her voice. “As much as I appreciate all you’ve done to…help me, I can’t trust you. For all I know, you could be a Darkfriend.” She finished the last bit in a whisper. Given the fresh news of Myrdraal from last night, if anyone overhead their conversation they could find themselves hanged.
Suddenly, Tiaret looked up towards the inn’s entrance, fear etched on her face. “You can trust me,” she said hurriedly, “because if you don’t, you will die. Inigo is here. He has not noticed us. Do not look back.” With those instructions given, Tiaret grabbed a protesting Xolani by the arm. Dragging her through the ever-present crowds of traders and travelers, Tiaret forcibly lead her to the inn’s kitchens. After mumbling an “Excuse me” to a red-faced cook, Tiaret opened a door that lead them outside. The smell alone told Xolani that she must be somewhere near the stables.
Once outside, Xolani yanked her arm away from Tiaret, who offered no resistance. “What has gotten into your head, you senile hag!” she nearly yelled, habit being her only restraint.
“Just an interest in our mutual survival,” Tiaret retorted nonchalantly. Without another word she walked towards the street, leaving a rather indignant Xolani behind her. As she was never one to allow someone the last word, Xolani quickly strode towards the little woman until they both stopped at the where the alley met the street. She noted that people again were out and about, despite the scene being nearly abandoned only a few moments ago.
Suddenly Tiaret again walked off, heading east along the road the split Alcruna in two. Xolani soon caught up with her. “Where are we going?” she asked the old woman.
“Wherever they go,” was Tiaret’s reply. When Xolani inquired about whom this “they” were, she simply motioned her hand in front of her. Looking ahead, Xolani nearly stopped walking. The channelers from before were a few spans ahead on horseback and didn’t seem to be aware of their presence. Yet, anyways.
“You’re crazy,” Xolani said in a hushed voice, though there was little chance the men could here her through the noise of the village.
“Are you so sure of that?” Tiaret asked in answer. “At least one of them is a Borderlander, and I’m sure their honor would oblige them to come to the aid of two helpless women if someone attacks them.”
“And they’ll be willing to help complete strangers?” Xolani argued, though she had the feeling arguing with Tiaret was like squeezing water from a stone.
To this, Tiaret simply raised an eyebrow. “You are Domani. You’ve traveled, and you’ve been to the Borderlands, or have come across those who hail from their. You should at least have a faint idea of their sense of honor. Knowing all that, you’re hiding something. And,” she continued, ignoring Xolani’s protests, “I’ll not ask you, simply because there isn’t the time. You know them, they probably know you, and there must be something up to make you jump like a scalded fish whenever you look at them.” There was silence for a while, before Tiaret added, “You are surprisingly transparent. Just though you should know.”
Clenching her firsts, Xolani glared daggers into the side of Tiaret’s head. The old woman seemed not to notice, which only added to Xolani’s growing ire. Working hard to achieve calm, she figured that she’ll just have to do like what she has been doing as of late. She’ll ride this through, see where it takes her, and hope it doesn’t kill her in the end.
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Temanin
Tsorovan'm'hael
Posts: 2,020
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Post by Temanin on Jun 3, 2005 10:21:15 GMT -5
Tarac’s sword slipped silently from its sheath, the blade faintly catching the lavender glow of the setting sun. The beads of sweat upon his forehead too caught the light, shimmering slightly. He wore no shirt and his feet, too, were bare. The pants, the color of which was only slightly darker than his tanned skin, were tight but flexible, perfect for sword play. The meadow in which he stood was circular, roughly twenty yards in diameter before running into the think woods of the Mountains of Mist. A slight breeze stirred the leaves, making the branches sway as though the trees were spectators in an arena, cheering for the fight to begin. His opponent stood ten feet off, dressed just the same, with a short sword in each hand. His face shimmered with perspiration as well, but both men’s breathing was steady. It would be obvious even to the trees, simply from stance and attitude, that these were two skilled and seasoned warriors. They came together in a rush, blade meeting blades. The fury of the battle was intense, the men moving as fast as the wind, their blades like tongues of fire, whipping to and fro in a seemingly effortless dance of death. The first hit went to Tarac’s opponent, a glancing bow landing upon his previously wounded right shoulder, sending a lance of pain shooting throughout his body. He recovered quickly, however, delivering a direct blow into his opponent’s right rib, causing the man to stagger back. The fierce tradeoff continued for minutes unrecognizable to the fighters, until they finally stepped back to recover. Both men’s chest heaved, and their entire bodies now glistened with perspiration. At last, the opponent charged. Acting with lightning speed, surprising considering his exhaustion, he rolled to the side and threw out his blade, bashing the man in the shins. With a cry of pain, the man went sailing forth, his legs cut out from under him, only to crash face-first into the ground a moment later. Both men were motionless for a time. “Vard,” Tarac said between breaths, “you alright?” “Well,” Vard moaned as he rolled over onto his back, still breathing heavily. “My side hurts, my arms are sore, my thighs burn, and it feels like a cow sat on my shins. Other than that, though, I’m fine. How about you?” Struggling to his feet, Tarac walked over to Vard and offered him a hand. “Never felt better.” They started limping their way back to camp, just a few yards further into the woods. “I’m just glad for these,” he said, lifting his blade, “otherwise I wouldn’t have a shoulder, and you’d be cut in half!” They both laughed as they untied the threads of Air around their blades which had kept them from true bodily harm. “You’re getting better. But you still hold onto that principle that everyone you fight fights like a Trolloc. You still have some trouble reading my movements. We’ll work on it.” “Done beating each other up yet,” Calsin asked they entered the camp. The two just laughed and nodded. “Madness is getting to the two of you, I tell ya. Two sane people wouldn’t bash each other senseless every other night.” They started to protest, but he just threw out his arms. “I know, I know, you Borderland folk train all the time to stop the flow of the Shadow into the South or something like that. Just don’t get yourselves killed. I’ll be damned if I have to take all this stuff back to the Tower all by myself.” He walked over to the supplies and started getting the food for dinner ready. “Hmm. It looks like we’ll have to start hunting soon, or find ourselves another village.” He lifted and shook the water bags, then threw them at Vard. “And it looks like you’ll be filling those up. There was a stream a little ways back up the road. Go see if you can find it.” Vard was used to Calsin’s habit of issuing orders, and simply grabbed the bags and disappeared. “You really shouldn’t order him around, you know. He outranks you,” Tarac said with a small smile on his face. “Yeah, well I’ll stop ordering him when he realizes that for himself. And I’ll be glad if you don’t point that little fact out to him.” Again Tarac just laughed. * * * The sun was making its last attempts to stay aloft when Tarac, thanks to a simple ward, felt Vard coming. He dropped the ward and went to wake Calsin, who had slipped off into a premature sleep. As Vard came into the camp, Tarac grabbed his coat and started pulling it over his now dry skin. “Cal has the food ready, so we can eat…” His words trailed off as he turned to see two women with Vard. One of them he had seen before. For a moment they simply stared at one another. Tarac yet again found himself bewildered. What was she doing out here? The only thing that he could quickly come up with was that they had been following them. But why? Most people ran the opposite direction when they have an encounter with a male channeler. At last he blinked a few times, and then looked to Vard, the questions obvious by the look in his eye. “I found them out in the woods, a few hundred yards from the stream,” Vard answered. “They were making quite a fuss. Some sort of argument, I’d imagine. Leave it to women…” He then simply walked off to the fire pit to get some food. Calsin was awake, but he remained silent. “So,” Tarac finally brought himself to say. “You’ve been following us.” It wasn’t a question. Then, even surprising himself, he started to laugh. “Someone needs to teach you two how to track. One of the first rules is ‘do not make noise.’ Hmm. Have you eaten? Perhaps you would like to sit down and tell us what you’re doing out here.” There was less hospitality in his voice than in his words. He, too, turned and walked over to where the others were sitting, and plopped himself onto the ground. “Come on,” he said, patting the ground beside him. And seemingly as an afterthought, he added, “You didn’t bring anymore Myrdraal, I hope.”
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