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DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

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Posted

For all the world he felt like a peacock, and rightly so. His silk coat was a bright viridian blue, awash with a veritable sea of silver scrollwork and embroidery. The soft lace at cuff and collar forming the foam of freshly broken waves. He wore his hair in a rich, honey coloured braid down his back, tied with a black silk bow to match the equally dark silk sash wrapped around his waist. Fortunately his black breeches were, by comparison, plain, even if richly cut and sewn. They gathered just below the knee and fit snugly into snow-white socks which continued into shoes that glittered like well polished ebony with sparkling silver burnished buckles. The hadori at his brow held back the fringe which he constantly tsked and teased to give himself that dashing look of someone who had just got out of bed but nobody looked better doing it.

 

He did not dress so well without reason though. His wardrobe and demeanour were part of a kind of social camouflage, an elaborate duplicity. He would play the part of the pretty game bird too busy preening his feathers and pecking at his own reflection to be of any consequence. It did not mean he was comfortable doing so, though! But in service to the Light sacrifices had to be made, and he could not help but see the irony in his false vanity teaching him a measure of humility. The Creator really did have a wicked sense of humour.

 

The air was cool but the cloudless sky allowed Calen to walk with his coat unbuttoned, not to mention how the sunlight accentuated his hair like spun-gold. Walking the yards he tried to greater accustom himself to his self-assigned role of a dandy. He stopped at a fountain and followed his reflection in the rippling waters before running a bejewelled hand through his watery self. Sitting himself beside the fountain Calen could not help wondering what Aldan might have thought seeing him now, all plumage and pretentious strutting and swaggering. More importantly what would Aldan’s advice have been on Calen’s true purpose? He knew the wise, old Andoran scholar had not approved of the Children of the Light, then again he had not believed that Aes Sedai were wholly entitled to the power and privilege they possessed either. He would no doubt have beaten Calen about the ears with the logical impossibilities of one person successfully standing against an institution, especially one as established and powerful as the White Tower. Then again as Aldan had always said ‘A waterfall starts with but a single drop.’

 

After losing a couple more minutes to thought lost in the curious way the light played through the running water Calen stood and, a bit more purposefully this time, set off over the yards, though only after flicking his fringe just so. Today he would be meeting his new mentor, an Altaran with blonde hair, blue eyes and a very large sword he had been told. Passing an Arafellin with bells in his hair the man stopped in his forms and greeted Calen. “Until the golden crane flies again. May you know peace, one day, young Malkieri.”

Bowing his head slightly and touching hand to heart Calen replied “There is peace in the mother’s last embrace,”

The older man smiled and finished “May she welcome us home, one day,” before moving once more back into the flow of his intricate swordforms. Calen had been forever told he had the look of his mother about him, the look of lost Malkier. There was no doubting his accent was Cairhienin though. He would need every thing he had learnt of Daes Dae’mar in the city of his father, and more, to survive here at the heart of Aes Sedai power. That worry was lost to the turnings of the Wheel as Calen finally spied his quarry and briskly made his way in her direction, although not so briskly that he would scuff his fine shoes. Upon arrival Calen saluted hand to heart and offering a slight bow he made his presence known, “I am Calen Yvresse, sent by the Mistress of Trainees to learn at your side. May grace favour your sword, Tower Guard Cairma Vishnu.” In the manner of Malkier Calen did not quite meet Cairma’s eyes but he was interested to see what she would make of him. His face and hadori pronounced him a Malkieri but his fine attire and musical voice showed him as a rather flamboyant Cairhienin dandy, he wondered which she would take as the more prominent.

Guest Arie Ronshor
Posted

"Oh for crying out loud!"

 

"I didn't mean to!"

 

"The sword goes into the Dummy! Not your foot!"

 

"... if it helps, it kind of hurts... and there's blood... "

 

"...."

 

".. only a little."

 

[Look]

 

"Infirmary?"

 

"Now."

 

"Yes Ma'am."

 

 

Conor slinked away from the yard practically dragging the now sheathed sword, the culpret of the now limping trainee, as Cairma unfolded her arms and sighed. The plump blonde andorian trainee was clumsy and at times frustrating. He was a quick study, great strength, but he lacked something most of her other trainee's had. Sense.

 

".. at least he's not Braxton." She muttered.. often to herself. And as she looked up to the hard, a young boy pranced around in high colours and cairhien clothing. Peacock was the first thing that came to her mind, and silently she whispered to herself. ..don't walk this way.. don't walk this way.... The look in the boys eyes as he noticed her sword, he turned directly towards her.

 

Why me? Maybe she should take a lesson from Aran and start pranking Ginae in hopes of getting less Trainee's. It seemed to be workign for him as there are other more compliant tower guards to take on the mentoring responsibilities. Of course, that would be out of the norm for her, and anyone would be a better mentor than Aran, so in part she could not blame Ginae at all for that. But still....

 

Reaching her he bowed, Cairma made not of his attire and inwardly flinched at the bright colours and shiny buttons. Malkier. But his voice suggested a far lighter, less favourable, voice that almost made her wince. Formality was never her strong point, and light burn her, this boy was it through and through. Just please don't be anouther Braxton!

 

"May the Light favour yours, Calen Yvesse." She said, shifting her weight to give herself a little more height without appearing too uncomfortable. It almost seemed that the boy was a walking contradiction in his attire and his voice, but there was something about his eyes and as she looked into them in a more calculating manor Cairma found them to be calculating back. Cocking her head to one side by a barest of a movement, she smiled without it reaching her eyes.

 

"Welcome to the Yard. Please call me Cairma." She paused, not sure where to go from here. This was always the awkward stage. She regarded him carefully. "For someone who came here to train, your dressed up mighty fancy. What brings you here, Calen? And what do you know about how to use a sword?"

 

 

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

TG

  • 2 weeks later...
Posted

It was strange that Cairma did not make Calen nervous, her voluntary service to the White Tower said that she was more then likely the worst of Darkfriends and she could probably split him in two with that large sword of hers without batting an eyelash. In fact it was a certain surge of adrenalin that the young Cairhienin felt. He had felt it before when visiting the Sun Palace with his father, who while not noble was more then wealthy enough to earn the respect of most lower, and even some high, houses. The rush came from that need for a certain mental clarity, a need to watch and weigh every exchange of words. Calen had thoroughly enjoyed his time spent at the Sun Palace, though too young to be of any real threat to each other the children his age had plotted, connived and traded double-edged words and entendre with more compliments being backhanded then meant to be interpreted as true praise. He was not quite sure what to make of this Tower Guard however and that fact excited him. There was no doubting the feeling of being weighed as her eyes moved over him. Whether she was actually appraising him and measuring his worth as a possible opponent or simply admiring his grandeur remained to be seen. His father had always taught him to regard new acquaintances as the most fierce of enemies until proven otherwise. That was not to say that you should treat them coldly though, in fact quite the opposite.

 

Calen smiled back at Cairma, she did move fast but he supposed the questions she asked were part of stock and standard for her. “Well Cairma, it seems I may be a touch over dressed. However, it is as they say about first impressions and all that.” He was rather vague on the first impression he intended to give though. “As for my being here, I am here for the simple reason of all great men and women, this is the only place that can make me better then I already am.” That may have been a touch arrogant, but arrogance often went hand in hand with vanity. “Oh and I am here to serve the Light and all that too, at the pleasure of the Flame of Tar Valon and what not.” Now he had to be careful. Being flippant over religion and the Amyrlin was dangerous on the verge of foolishness given his circumstance and company, Cairma really did have a very large sword. “As for swords, I seem to know a little bit more then that other young man you were training, in that I know generally you want to put the pointy end in the other person.” His instructors at the Whisper of the Light had insisted that swords were needlessly inefficient. It had been their teaching that should you desire a man dead a simple slight of hand and poison poured over his ale would do the trick, and much more neatly then running in heroically with swords waving.

 

Offering his hand in gentlemanly fashion Calen proposed the next move “Shall we go and select an appropriate sword and then perhaps you could chaperone me around the yards and instruct me in the intricacies of Trainee life here at the White Tower.” Whether Cairma would take his arm Calen was not certain but he would learn much from this first encounter and he had as so far offered up little of himself more then most would have guessed from his mode of dress, he was but an arrogant young popinjay, obsessively vain and too busy peck, peck, pecking away at his own reflection to make it far in the rigors of life in training for the Tower Guard. The Great Game had well and truly begun and as he waited Calen felt all the thrills of new beginnings.

Guest Arie Ronshor
Posted

Ooc: sorry for keeping you waiting! i'll try posting this weekend, but hopefully tomorrow.. I had a touch of a burn out from too many projects finally being completed and i needed a small break. :) Slowly picking things up again. Just lettin gyou know that i'm around and have not forgotten you!!! :)

 

Let me know if you need anything. I do need to discuss something with you so hopefully i can catch you online soon! :)

 

 

Cairma/Andrea

Guest Arie Ronshor
Posted

Ooc: I went searching for your Bio for Calen. It was formerly on the old Freelander webpage that is no longer even available. If you could please send in a new bio to freecastle.bio[at]gmail.com so I can update the FL website with it, i would be a very happy Mentor. :)

 

Ic:

 

 

She regarded his outstretched hand for the briefest of moments before she grasped it in hers. Although they had just met, Calen seemed to put her a little on guard as his eyes spoke so much more than his demeanor. Shaking his hand firmly, she continued to smile.

 

"Certainly." She released his hand and then motioned in the direction of the Armory. "The Yards are fairly open, and you are better off snooping around yourself. Of course within Limits. After I help you select weapons you will have the day and most of tommorrow to yourself. The White Tower itself and the Warder section of the Barracks are off limits to trainee's unless I or one of higher rank than you either grant you permission to do so. Of course the odd Aes Sedai may request your assistance, but that is rare and they are more likely to go to a Tower Guard than a Trainee. They are far too busy and you fall under their radar. However you are to show them the utmost respect and do as you are told by them. If there is an issue with anything you are to come straight to me.

 

"Within the Yard you will be supporting my colours to label you as my student, and I expect nothing but the utmost perfect behavior. I firmly believe in respecting your privacy as I expect you to respect mine. If you can do this and not be late to your lessons than we shall get along famously." She chuckled. "I have not had a problem with any of my other students, and I'm fairly approachable, contrary to rumour. If you are in need of anything my door is always open." and unlocked.. burn Llugh... .

 

They arrived soon enough at the Armoury, of which Cairma pushed open the door and motioned for Calen to enter.

 

"Take a look around and see what you can find. Ask any questions you wish, as I'll be able to answer them all, or so I hope." On the walls hung weapons of every variety, from axes to bows, and even whips. Swords of all types filled the racks covering the floor, and armor of various sizes hung on wooden mannequins forming a ring around edge of the room. Stepping over to a rack holding training lathes and placing the ones she carried on it, Cairma said, "But bear in mind that the weapon you choose now will be the weapon you work with the most. Be it a long sword or a stave, that will be what I teach you. Possibly some of another, but if that is what you wish to learn now, I'll be sure that you learn it."

 

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

TG

  • 2 weeks later...
Posted

It may have been a simple misinterpretation, when Calen had offered his hand he had meant it so that his mentor and he could walk the yards arm in arm as gentlefolk do. He doubted there was any further meaning behind the handshake; Cairma must not have known what he intended. Following like a lost puppy or perhaps a confused duckling Calen listened to what his mentor told him. As he scanned the yards he repeated the useful pieces of information to himself. The Aes Sedai would think themselves’ too high and mighty to bother with him. That was certainly a relief. She would respect his privacy. Another relief for the life of a spy has a great need for privacy.

 

The ring of hammer and anvil floated towards Calen and behind it came that curious mix of smoke, sweat and steel that accompanied armories. Surely enough when they arrived at the armory Cairma told Calen to make his choice of weapon. Inside the armory the smells were stronger as the air was thick with the tang of well oiled and polished weapons and armor. Judging by the sounds and warm glow emanating from the back of the building Calen would have placed his sizable inheritance on that being the adjoined smithy. Surely enough a man with shoulders broad enough to put an ox to shame emerged with soot covered hands and burnt leather apron announcing his occupation. The smith barked a laugh as his eyes fell on Calen; a disrespect for which Calen gave him his most challenging stare. “Ah, now, now, my young Malkieri friend I meant nothing by it there was no dishonour intended. The…wealth...of your attire just surprised me.” The man was not afraid of him in the slightest but he obviously had enough of a mind not to make enemies of prickly young men wearing the hadori. “Let us start again. I am master-smith Farrel, there is always welcome here for you, young Malkieri. May you know peace one day.”

 

Grimacing inwardly Calen returned the courtesy “I am Calen Yvresse, Son of Marcel Yvresse, of Malkier and Cairhien. There is peace in the mother’s last embrace, master-smith.” It seemed he was doomed to repeat these words as long as his hadori sat upon his brow.

“May she welcome us home, one day,” returned the older man “until that day however let us find you a proper sword for from henceforth today shall be your nameday young Calen.” The man was right from now on Calen would have to count his age from this day as was borderland tradition.

 

Calen tested and swung a few swords. Some felt wrong and some felt right but looked wrong; after all to appear the delightfully fine person of fashion he was meant to be aesthetics were everything. There was no use in choosing the wrong weapon and the master-smith as well as Cairma did their best to instruct him in what to look for in terms of length, breadth and balance. The rapier it seemed while fine looking and the perfect accessory for any gentleman would snap like a fine looking steel toothpick under a trolloc blade. He lifted a large two-handed blade similar to Cairma’s just to feel the weight of it. It surprised him that his mentor was not hunched over with that much steel strapped to her back.

 

Closing his hand around a hilt black as midnight and long enough to fit both his hands Calen drew forth a blade that glinted steely-blue in the light. There was a slight curve to the single edge and a length not quite long enough to really require two hands. Upon the blade, near the hilt and crossguard, was a beautiful dancer captured amid her twirling skirts and hair. As Calen turned the blade he saw the other side captured in almost life-like detail the dancer’s back, perfectly fitted to its opposite.

“Now there is an interesting weapon,” began the smith “not quite as much reach as one might want against a trolloc or fade but still useful indoors. I didn’t quite know what I was up to when I made this blade, it was meant to be a wakizashi but I ended up nearing a katana in length, though it’s still a couple inches short. Not power-wrought but the way the steel is folded over and over means it’s as close as I can come.” Calen shuddered he would never wear a blade made with the One Power on his hip, it was enough that he had to sleep near the witches and their blasphemous use of the source. “The hilt is covered in sharkskin, better then leather and damned sight more expensive too. It’s very rough and won’t slip with blood and sweat but she’ll cut your hands up nicely until you build some calluses. The dancer on the blade is a story all in itself.”

Seeing that Calen was interested the man took a seat on a nearby stool and motioned Calen and Cairma closer so he could begin the tale. “A few years back out of nowhere a young man walked into the armory. Now this was not too uncommon as we often have young men walking in and out of here on a daily basis but this young man just walked in and no matter who spoke to him he’d not utter a word. He wouldn’t leave either, so we had to have food brought to him and he slept right over there on the floor.” The broad man’s shoulders rippled as he motioned with his head towards the corner of the room. “Eventually he found his way out back to the furnaces and got hold of some tools.” The smith whistled through his teeth “He couldn’t have been much past his twentieth nameday but I’ll tell you I never seen work like his before. At first I had him set up just engraving herons for new blademasters but once I saw the quality in his work I had him move on to gilding and embossing armor for my more expensive custom commissions. Anyway a few years on in one winter’s night, with snow about four or five feet even on the ground, the young man, still yet to utter a word, drew out that there dancing maiden on the blade. I didn’t even see him do it, I wish I could have, it is perhaps the best I’ve ever seen. No, there is no perhaps about it. Unfortunately before I could ask about it our mute young man just up and vanished the next morning, gone as mysteriously as he came.”

 

As Calen looked down on the blade he could not doubt the truth of the smith’s words the detail in the dancer was exquisite. She was incredibly beautiful and her steely eyes seemed to glint as she looked back up at him and smiled. Knowingly Calen said “This is my sword.” He did not ask, just stated. Running the blade along his palm he felt her bite cool into his skin. Bringing his hand away, the blood quickly pooling, he then closed his hand and squeezed it into a fist. A single drop fell from his hand and dotted upon the dancer’s forehead, the ki’sain. So it was sealed, his union with the sword. With this symbol I thee wed, A’dore. The red ki’sain of a married woman marked the dancer as his wife, A’dore, as Calen knew her name to be. The symbolism may have been beyond master Farrel and Cairma, if either of them made anything of it they chose to remain silent for the moment. The smith rose and excused himself saying “I was happy to help you make the right choice Calen. Cairma, as always it has been a pleasure but I must return the forge before one of my apprentices burns this place down. If you need anything else don’t hesitate to yell or just help yourself.” The man made his way back towards the glowing doorway of the smithy before Calen could offer his thanks.

 

Smoothly Calen slid A’dore into the silk of the sash around his waist and she nestled there comfortably warm against his hip. Choosing out a few knives and daggers and wrapping a white cloth around his bleeding hand Calen picked up a short recurved bow and a quiver full of arrows before leaving the armory on Cairma’s heel and waiting to see what new discovery awaited him next.

  • 1 month later...
Guest Arie Ronshor
Posted

Cairma watched carefully as the boy mved through the armoury with eyes not nearly as wide as she had expected. Peacock in nature, he contradicted his nature by failing to play a part in whatever role he was attempting to play. Clearly he was an inexperienced swrodman. Not even an expert could hide the things that define as BladeMaster. That and the boy was far too young. However his eagerness, danty soft unworked hands, his clothing just threw his whole character off balance to her. She never needed to judge a trainee so adamantly before, however this one just pulled at her in a way that she could not put her finger on. Again, she pushed they unease away to be something that will be measured anouther day.

 

"Got everything you need?" Calen nodded. "Interesting ceremony. Not one I have often seen from one such as yourself. Maybe one more trained. How did you know it?"

 

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

Tower Guard

 

Ooc: I thought of something! ^_^

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