Vykor Temmer, new Soldier for the Black Tower [Repost]

[Kalthandrix]

Kalthandrix

 

OOC:

Hi all- here is my arrival, kind of mixed with my bio. I hope you have fun reading it.

 

IC:

Rising up, I brushed the loose straw from my clothes and grabbed up my blanket and satchel. The sun was an hour or two shy from rising, but it was time to leave- better to walk out of the old stable now then to sleep a bit longer and risk having a groom or the stable owner come in and wonder about why I was sleeping on his property. Also, the sooner started; the sooner finished, my father had always told me.

 

Today I would find the Asha’man that were said to be in Tear and I would join them, or I would finally find peace.

 

It seem almost a lifetime ago, but I used to run free in the low hills of the southern most region of the Black Hills near the mouth of the River Kaevin. The village I lived in was little more then a flyspeck, consisting of about twenty-five or so families, but it is my home, or at least it had been before…well, before I killed my best friend Aaryon.

 

We had just both turned seventeen earlier that season and our two families lived so close together that we basically had one very large farm that both families worked. Life was hard but good, getting by with the crops we grew and wool from the black sheep we raised. Aaryon and I were on the small town Green with the whole village, celebrating another season passing and a decent clip from the sheep, laughing and dancing with a couple of the al’Bren girls who we had a fancy for. Light but it had been a day to remember!

 

Burn me but it is all ashes now!

 

I do not know when, but the Meric boys and their cronies had gathered near us on the Green, talking and drinking the young beer that we made locally. Aaryon must have heard what they were saying because he broke off dancing and began shouting at Ryan Meric, the oldest in the group at just shy of turning eighteen. “You had best shout your gob Ryan!†Aaryon yelled, “My family has no reason to be taking anything from your family’s pastures.â€

 

“Well how do you explain that ten of our sheep went missing before the clip, only to show up again less their wool? And how do you explain that it is your families that have the most wool?†Ryan bulled his way through his friend and stuck his finger in Aaryon’s chest. “I can tell you how. It is because you are bloody thiev…uuha!†The last bit coming out as a grunt due to Aaryon planting his fist in the older boys gut.

 

From what I have heard, most battles are a blur, happening quickly and often fading from the mind soon after, but not so for me. Each detail of those second stands out as clearly as a stained-glass window. When Aaryon lashed out, Ryan’s friends rushed in with fists and feet already flying and I charged in to aid Aaryon, and to stuff those filthy accusations back down Ryan’s throat. It turned bad for us quickly! I had no more then kicked Jak DeArn in the V of his legs when pain bloomed in my jaw and stars dance across my vision. I went down like a bale of wet wool and the shoes and boots of those above me started raining down for what seemed hours; one foot grazed my temple and split my scalp, another loosened my teeth, and a host of other boots bruised my body.

 

I remember calmly thinking that I was going die, but that I would not go without a fight. My anger surged and it seemed that the world was freezing and burning at the same time. Striking from the ground, I broke one man’s knee and cleared a space into which I rose up, swinging. My vision narrowed and my blood seemed to burn with the heat of my fury, making my stomach twist as though I would spew everything I had ever eaten on to the ground. And then it happened. I locked eyes with Ryan and raised my hands toward him as I surged forward, intending to throttle him good, but instead a ray of pure fire seemed to fly from my upraised hands.

 

Time seemed to stop and all eyes were on that beam of fire, watching as it sped towards Ryan. Everyone was frozen, except for Aaryon who shoved Ryan aside and took the full blast of fiery fury. I do not think he felt a thing, as his body instantly turned into a cinder that seemed to explode, showering everyone in the area with a find coating of ash and flaming bits.

 

I ran then and have been running and moving from place to place for a good year now.

 

Looking at myself briefly in the glass of a tailor’s window, I could see that the boy I knew had been replaced with a stranger. Standing just a few inches over five and a half feet tall and with dark blond hair, which was going a bit shaggy on me and needed a cut, I was nothing the gleemen would sing about. Farm work had let my body moderately well built, though my cloths were a bit looser now. Moving as I had for the last year, I had taken work when I could and foraged as I could when there was o work to be had, but I always kept moving. The kick I had received to my head had left me with a back-facing crescent shaped scar three inch that began at my temple and curved toward my eye before hooking back. It had also done something to my eye as well, for even though it worked fine, the color had all but bled out of it, leaving me with one eye white as snow and the other a deep emerald green. That eye had kept some folk from giving me work, fearing I was cursed or ill. Light! If only they knew the truth!

 

Turning away from my reflection, I began walking again. I had found out the day before that there were several black coated men staying at an inn called the Silver Pike down by the docks. Traffic was light, as early as it was most decent folk were still abed, so I was making good time. Making a turn down another street, I collided with another man walking around the corner. The first thing I noticed was the black coat with a silver sword on one side of the high collar and a sinuous looking, enameled serpent on the other side. Recovering quickly I stepped back and bowed. Straightening I said, “I heard a rumor of the Dragons Amnesty for men that can channel and I am here to claim it. My name is Vykor Temmer, and all I ask is that you either train me or kill me; at this point I could care less which one you choose to do. Keep me and I will be your man for the rest of my days, or kill me.†And to myself I finished ‘…and let the Light take my soul for killing my best friend.’

 

Estel

 

Walking back to the Stone, Isha kept his head high. To those on the street he would seem nothing more than an insolent veteran, grizzled well before his time. But to those who knew what the black uniform and two pins on his collar meant, he was nothing short of a madman.

 

He kept his mind from the people around him as he waded his way through them on the way to the Stone. It wasn't that he thought himself so far above them, it was just that they couldn't see him as human.

 

Maybe it was his appearance, or maybe his rank, but to anyone who didn't know him- or who couldn't command the Power he could- he was different. Too different to be human.

 

Standing 6'9", he was a good half a foot taller than anyone else. For all he knew, he was the tallest man in the world, never had he met anyone near his height. If he were more concerned with the way people viewed him, he would have cursed the day his mother had given birth to the unusually large baby boy and then died from the rigors of birthing.

 

However, his incredible hieght tended to augment the width of him. Every bit of him was muscled to the point of making him appear almost as large as an Ogier. He would have fit in any managerie as a strongman- or even a freak.

 

The few times he glanced at a man or woman as he passed them, they shivered. A cold, angled face- schooled to hide most of his emotions- held hints of sadness. What could have been a handsome man was marred by scars running the length of him.

 

After half a year of heavy solo missions in the Blight, thin scars crisscrossed every inch of him, though leaving his face bare except for two that he had recieved before ever hearing of the Black Tower.

 

It was these two that destroyed any hope of ever being handsome in the least bit. One curled the edge of his mouth in a sneer as it ran to where it stopped at the corner of his eye. The end of the other was hidden beneath the Shienaran warrior's topknot, and then ran to where it clipped off the tip of his ear.

 

As for the coat and pins, they marked him an Asha'man. A Guardian, in the Old Tongue. Men of the Black Tower were weapons of the Lord Dragon Jarron al'Tannin, Lord of the Morning and saviour of the Earth. A man like them. A man marked for madness and certain death. Men hunted by those who misunderstood them were they.

 

Few things scared Isha Talcontar, a man sworn to giving his life in repayment of a debt he could never achieve. The thing that terrified him most was succombing to the Taint.

 

'The Taint. You feel it already don't you. You feel it now, ebbing away at your sanity...'

 

An angry snarl twisted the scarred face into a bestial expression as he shook his head to rid himself of the thought. As he did so, he knocked down a young man.

 

As the man stared at his black uniform and pins, Isha picked him up as easily as any normal man would a sack of grain and set the boy back on his feet.

 

"Watch where you're going. I doubt you'd want to run into the likes of..." but what he had been about to finsih was cut off as the boy rushed to adress him.

 

"I heard a rumor of the Dragons Amnesty for men that can channel and I am here to claim it. My name is Vykor Temmer, and all I ask is that you either train me or kill me; at this point I could care less which one you choose to do. Keep me and I will be your man for the rest of my days, or kill me.â€

 

The obvious pain in the boy's eyes was something Isha had seen time after time in other young men with this one's strange, desperate request.

 

"Train you we will. Though don't give your loyalty to me boy. I'm not the one who's amnesty will protect you from death at the Reds' hands, though their murders might very well be kinder than the one you will recieve. Light, I sound like Onyx. There is hope yet though. There are things we can still accomplish. Things that we could never do alone without honing our gifts. Yes gifts. Gift and curse, opposites yet so much alike."

 

Grabbing hold of the boy's shoulder- feeling the young man twst in his grip, he loosened it, it was hard to know how hard to hold when you were so much stronger than the average man.

 

Turning into the Stone, the guards nodded to him not bothering to ask his identity. Few men forgot Isha.

 

"You can channel?" he asked, siezing the Source. "Stare into the flame." Isha easily wove a candleflame. Fire was his best element. "Feed all you emotions into it. You are the flame. There is nothing but the flame..." his deep bass voice droned on as Vykor stared at the flickering bit of saidin in his hand. Finally, the towering Asha'man felt the echo of the boy's ability.

 

"You have the ability. Welcome to the ranks of the Black Tower Soldier Vykor Temmer. Welcome to the Lord Dragon's army, and to the handful of men who can 'Weild the Lightnings.'"

 

Kalthandrix

 

Vykor was silent as the huge Asha'man led him into the Stone of Tear, a fortress that had never fallen or been breached- until the Dragon came. He refused to stare or look around like a country yokel, it would not due to be seen as weak or frightened in the presence the Shienaran.

 

"Stare into the flame. Feed all you emotions into it. You are the flame. There is nothing but the flame..." Isha's deep brass voice droned, calming Vykor with his steady cadence.

 

Vykor stared into that Power-wrought flame and let go. He let go of the flood gate holding back his emotion and fed it to that fire; the pain and guilt of killing Aaryon, the rage he felt over the fight that led up to his death: everything went into the fire. He fed that flame with every remnant of his old life, shedding it like a snake sheds it skin.

 

Soon, there was nothing. Nothing but the flame; he was the flame, sitting within this void of nothing, a solitary monolith of calm and peace. Almost quicker then a thought though, there was suddenly a raging sea of fire and ice assaulting his calm, attempting to shatter him and consume everything that he is. He fought to keep those churning seas smooth as glass, to bend this primal force to his will, and for a moment of time he had it, he held that raging sea within him and it was his to do with as he will.

 

Triumphant, he began drawing in the power, but his concentration slipped for but a second and it was gone, whipping around him again. He sought to grab a hold once more, but it was like attempting to catch the wind in a tornado. This raging sea tore at him and began rising up to smother the flame within Vykor's mind, when he just released the flame and opened his eyes.

 

He had not realized that he had closed them, or that he had sat down, but he was seated on the cold stone floor of a hall of some sort within the Stone. He was panting as if he had just run the whole way to his old village from his parent’s house. Sweat soaked his tunic, making it stick to his back and chilling him.

 

Asha'man Isha stood towering above me. "You have the ability. Welcome to the ranks of the Black Tower Soldier Vykor Temmer. Welcome to the Lord Dragon's army, and to the handful of men who can 'Weild the Lightnings." Gazing up, I smiled briefly. There seemed to be a slight look of concern on the other mans face, which was very calm, along with his voice- a calmness that seemed to stiffen up the scarred man, cutting off all emotion. 'Could that brief glimmer I seen in his eyes been worry...or something else.' Well whatever it had been, it was going instantly, almost like a dream.

 

Pushing myself up from the floor and back to my feet. I said, "I live to serve, sir, and thank you. As strange as it may seem, I am eager to begin training and to learn to control this...gift. Lead the way sir and I will follow."

 

Estel

 

"Not strange Vykor. Not strange at all. Most wish to start training quickly for varying reasons. I myself threw myself into training as soon as I arrived at the Black Tower, though for different reasons than you I think. And please, call me Isha. Only in the field should you use titles."

 

Isha wondered whether the man would have any idea by what he meant by 'field'. It was apparant from the boy's apprearance tha he had been on the run for a long time, though what he was before Isha didn't know. His shabby clothes would try to mark him a farmer or tradesman, though few ever kept anything of worth when they were on the run, and silks and weaponry could buy them room and board.

 

Then, turning away from Vykor, Isha seized saidin and wove a Gateway to the Travelling Grounds. It was early morning, and he saw another flash as one of the Recruitment Parties arrived- empty-handed. "The M'Hael will not be pleased with that. Nor Dash." Isha muttered to himself

 

"Follow me." he told the young man as he stepped through the Gateway and stepped over the rope separating it from the rest of the Tower- the rope was waist high on most men, though the giant of a man had only a little trouble getting over it.

 

"This is the Farm, what we affectionally call our home, better known as the Black Tower. The only place in the world we know of that harbours men like ourselves who can channel. Few dare to live here, and the world thinks little of those who call this place home but that is what it is once your training begins, and every man who wears the black is your brother."

 

He pointed off through a sparse trees to the ramshackle farm buildings and hastily built barracks. The Black Tower was the beginnings of a large town or small city, though it had far more order to it's buildings and too few women. Not to mention the general lack of tradesmen, though a few brave souls had set up shop.

 

Kalthandrix

 

"This is the Farm, what we affectionately call our home, better known as the Black Tower. The only place in the world we know of that harbors men like ourselves who can channel. Few dare to live here, and the world thinks little of those who call this place home, but that is what it is once your training begins, and every man who wears the black is your brother." Isha said.

 

Vykor gaze around him as Isha strode off. The Black Tower was...nothing he had expected. It appeared to b nothing more then a growing village. To one side there were several low, thatched roofed buildings that had several groups of men going in and coming out, all with black coats on, though none bore a pin that Vykor could see. 'Soldiers.' he thought, 'Like I am now.'

 

Isha had been in rather deep though when he had stepped over the roping that correned off this area, and had disappeared from Vykor's sight. He stood there, unsure of what to do, and took in all that he could see. 'This is my life now. The old one is nothing to me now but ashes and dreams that have been scatterd by the wind.' Shivering slightly from a chill that had crept upon him he decided to try and find the huge Shienarian. Picking the direction he had seen Isha heading, Vykor started off. He had no more then taken his first step when a hand settled upon his shoulder.

 

"Where you off to, sonny?" The hand, calloused and heavy with liver spots, was attached to a wizen figure of a man. Intense, watery blue eyes that were as sharp as a hawks, peered out from beneath thick shaggy eyebrows. Long white hair was held back from the old mans face by a braided leather cord tied around his brow and a beard, split by a grin, fell almost half way down the fellows chest.

 

"Well...I...uhaa...truly have no idea grandfather." I admitted, slightly flustered that this old man had gotten the drop on me like that. 'Light! I must have been standing there with my mouth open and straw in my hair!'

 

"Ha! It's just like them to leave a raw recruit dangling in the breeze as it were. Not that they do not care, the Asha'man that is, because they do. It is just that there are so few of them with the strength to Travel and they are the ones that have to run the recruiting partys. And oversee the training of the Soldiers and Dedicated. And, well, whatever it is that they must do. Don't you fret thought sonny, I will get you squared away. Names Braen by the way!" The old man's offered hand was hard with calluses and the grip surprising strong.

 

"Vykor Temmer." was the only reply that came to his mind.

 

Eyeing Braen's clothing, a thick weave of good wool made up his tunic and throusers, with a clean cotton shirt underneath. He old man did not wear a cloak but though it was brisk enough to call for one. "Uh..so are you.."

 

"One of the blackcoats? Oh Light no. I came to serve the Lord Dragon in whatever manner I could, but the ability to use the One Power is beyond me. No, I run some of the work crews here on the Farm and oversee some minor aspects of the day-to-day operations. Like seeing that new recruits left on the traveling grounds get off of them before another Gate opens and cuts him in two! Follow me sonny." Vykor did as he was told and refrained from pointing out that he would have been off the... Traveling grounds... minutes ago if not for being stopped by the old man. 'Some battles are better left unfought.' his grandfather used to say when one of the women at the farm would get on the men for tracking dirt into the clean kitchen.

 

Vykor was led off the Traveling grounds, none too soon it seemed for another of those vertical lines of light appeared and seemed to turn as it opened and two men stepped out. Turning back to ensure that he did not loose sight of Braen, he shook he head. 'So much to learn. It is like being born again.' But with that thought he tasted the ashes of his best friend upon his lips again and smothered his feelings.

 

Braen led him through a storeroom, pulling out several sets of small clothes, a new pair of black boots, a belt, cloak of black oiled leather, and two sets of pants and shirts. From another he threw a blanket, sheets, a mess kit, and several other items on the growing pile of things that was threatening to completely block the young man's sight. He was then led to one of those single story thatched roofed building that he had seen upon his arrival.

 

"This will be where you sleep." Braen said. "You have a bed, footlocker, and those hooks to hang your cloak and coats on."

 

"Uh, sir..." I started.

 

"No need to sir me to death sonny, names Braen, and that will do well enough!" the old man interjected.

 

"Well then...Braen. I do not have a coat."

 

"I know that young man. I am old, not senile! You will be given your black coat by your mentor. Now follow me! I am sure that I heard Asha'man Isha tell you to follow him. I will show you to his house." The last was said with a slight grin, telling Vykor that he was most likely in for it when he found Isha. Putting all of his clothing and gear, except for his sachel, into the footlocker, Vykor practically ran out of the barracks to catch up to Braen.

 

The walk was rather short and before Vykor knew it he was standing before a door with Braen knocking on the thick wood.

 

Estel

 

Wondering where the boy could have possibly disappeared to, Isha waited for him in the small courtyard his home made. He had just been informed that the boy was to be him new mentee, so someone would eventually have to direct him towards the house.

 

It had taken Isha over a month to build the entire home, even with Linten and Ben's help, all assisted by the use of the One Power. It was large- compared to the houses of the other Asha'man- about as big as Dashiva's. Completely made of stone, it almost had the lookings of a tiny fortress.

 

After campaigning hard in the Blight for the last six months, Isha had become more and more concerned with the safety of the Tower. The Dark One wouldn't let them gain strength unopposed for long. Sooner or later there would be a clash, and Isha would be ready.

 

The small house was on the North end of the Tower Grounds, with the small archway to the miniature courtyard- as large as a medium-sized room- facing south. His living quarters made up the North wall of the fortress while his stable fabricated the west wall. Attatched to both stable and home was another wing running North-South opposite the stable consisting of rooms for four men-in-training.

 

The giant Asha'man had been forced to create the house to match his size, and therefore the cielings had ended up being ten-feet high to accomadate him. With high doors, and broad hallways, you'd have almost thought it was built for an Ogier.

 

Though the entire house was only one floor, two tiny towers created a second floor, the roofs standing twenty feet above the ground. From each tower you could see the entire Black Tower spread out around them. With a windown facing each direction, you could rain destruction on any enemy coming at you from the forests.

 

Leaning against the wall of his home, Isha awaited his new mentee.

 

Kalthandrix

 

Braen knocked several times, but there was no answer. "Hummm. Well maybe we should try around the other side. His house is pretty big and it could be that Asha'man Isha is occupied at the moment. So around to the front it is for you sonny. You shouldn't be lurking around people’s back doors anyway. It's rude! Go on now; I got some other work to get finished before I break my fast for the morning." And with that the old stick of a man walked off, leaving Vykor to once again swallow his words. Shaking his head and signing softly, he walked around the house to find the front door.

 

He was reminded that he had yet to break his fast for this day yet when his stomach rumbled. He sighed again. He had a heel of dark bread and a half of a sausage in his satchel, along with a bit of coin and other personal items. The small bit of coin he had was salvaged from the few jobs he had had that actually paid, hoarded against those times of dire need. Signing, he knew food would have to wait.

 

Vykor turned the corner of the large stone house, realizing that for the first time that is had a bit of wall encircling the sides and front of the house- like a small fortress. He found a small archway that led into an open courtyard and there, lounging against a wall of the house was Asha'man Isha, looking for all of his ease like a huge lion, watchful and ready to strike.

 

With nothing else to do, Vykor walked in, head held high and all signs of emotion gone from his features. Locking his mismatched eyes on the Asha'man's scared features he stopped a pace away from the other man and bowed slightly, unsure of what was to come next.

 

Estel

 

Isha nodded as his mentee finally showed. Gesturing with his head, he opened the door and Vykor followed. "You can put your things in one of the rooms in the East Wing. You'll be living in my house during the course of your training, which I suggest you throw yourself into whole-heartedly."

 

Isha sat down at his high-backed armchair and began to read a book- on tactics used in the Blight by some of the greatest campaigners to ever grace the Borderlands. The rooms Isha had built onto his home to house mentees were relatively small, with a bed, wardrobe, and chest of drawers topped by a basin of water and a mirror. Each of the fours rooms were only about ten feet by ten feet, with a small window facing east in each one.

 

When Vykor returned, Isha closed his book and scrutinized the boy for a minute before telling him to sit down in one of the other chairs that were crowded around the fireplace.

 

The boy was decently built, which would help with his physical training, and he seemed quiet and reserved, which was quite different from his former mentee Linten. Isha couldn't place his dialect, which meant he wasn't a Borderlander.

 

"So, you are Vykor Tremmer. From where, and what drove you to flee?"

 

Kalthandrix

 

"So, you are Vykor Tremmer. From where, and what drove you to flee?"

 

"Well sir, there is not much to tell really. On the day I discovered I could channel I left my village." 'because I killed my best friend with the Power, damning my soul!' The words beat at his mind but he refused to give voice to them. "I had been wandering from place to place for about a year when word of the Anmesty came to me and I headed directly to Tear."

 

It had been a lonely year too. Never staying in a place too long or getting too close to anyone. His first thoughts when he fled the Green in his village was that he should die for what he had just done and he ran until he could not run anymore and just collapsed in the dirt. He did not sleep; the sight of that ray of fire hitting Aaryon kept running through his mind. He was covered in a fine gray ash, streaked where runnels of sweat had made tracks, but the taste of them was still thick on his tongue. When he was able again, Vykor had gotten back up and ran again. He had no particular place he was headed, but his feet took him to a bend in the river that had a thirty foot high bank and a field of sharp rocks the water thrashed through, whipping the water into a white fury. Looking over that bank and at those rocks, he stood there for hours, just looking. 'I deserve to die.' was the thought that kept running through his mind, but in the end, his courage had failed him and he was not able to throw himself over that edge.

 

Looking at Isha and then swiftly refocusing his gaze to the fire he said, "That is about it really, sir."

 

'Better to keep it buried.’ he thought, ‘I do not think I could stand it if he knew the truth.' So he sat there, rubbing the leather of his satchel, and watched the flames lick at the logs in the fire.

 

Estel

 

Isha simply nodded. Then after a moment's silence, he broke it and spoke. His voice sounded tired and worn, and so he was for the topic of which he spoke always left him that way. The war he could not win and the debt he could not repay.

 

"You are one of the lucky ones then, boy. Few can tell of such an easy life here. Most were driven here, or taken from their homes. Others ran from deeds they did, and others came to learn to command Power for their own benefits, and still other to gain Power that could help them better accomplish something that could not be accomplished. I am one of the last."

 

Rather than look at Vykor, Isha stared out the window. North, towards the Blight and where his work lay.

 

'You truly are a madman to try and win this war. You won't settle for anything less will you. You are mad. MAD!'

 

Isha didn't quiet the voice though, and it was difficult to ignore it. Was it true? Even if it wasn't, how far from the truth was it?

 

Kalthandrix

 

"Something that cannot be accomplished, sir?"

 

The fire popped suddenly as the sap inside ignited, sending a blazing ember shooting out of the fire and on to the floor before the grate. Hopping up from his seat, Vykor took up the small coal shovel standing beside the fireplace and scooped it back into the fire.

 

As he put the shovel back in its rack, he said "My grandfather always said 'Do what you can, when you can; Light willing, it will be enough.'" Taking up the fire iron, Vykor stabbed it into the flames, poking and shifting the burning logs. It was not something that needed to be done, but it kept him from looking at Isha. "I guess I don't know much of the larger world sir, but those words always seemed to ring true to me, if you don't mind my saying."

 

Estel

 

Isha shook his head bitterly. "This is something I must do, though I know it is impossible. ' Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather.' This is my duty, and I will die doing it. The scars of my body attest to the fact that I am working, but Blight's existance mocks me. It is the very thing I'm trying to destroy, and yet nothing I could ever do would destroy it."

 

The Asha'man suddenly felt old and tired. He knew what his life held: nothing but war- blood and steel- and madness.

 

Kalthandrix

 

Tugging on the neck of his new black coat and looking into the fire, Vykor reflected upon the grim comment made by Isha. 'Is this what awaits me?' he thought.

 

Before he could continue he contemplation, his stomach gave a huge rumble. Turning red with embarrassment, he smiled sheepishly at his mentor. "Ahha...sorry. I have yet to break my fast sir. I did not have time this morning and well, with everything that has been happening so far today, my head spinning with it all and I plumb forgot, though to my embarrassment it appears that my gut has not. Is there anything to eat around here?"

[Guest Estel]

Isha smiled, returning from his dark thoughts. "There's an inn, run by Dashiva, in the middle of the Farm. Dash is a good cook and the ale's good. Let's go."

 

Then, Isha strode out the door, Vykor in tow. It took only a few minutes to walk to the inn as the Farm was only about as big as a small town. A feeling of warmth and comfort sunk in as the towering Asha'man ducked in the door- public buildings just weren't built to accomodate him.

 

"Two ales Dash!" called Isha to his mentor, "And bring out whatever you're cooking as well, we've got two hungry men here!"

[Kalthandrix]

A short time later, Vykor heaved a sigh of contentment and pushed his plate away. Isha had been right, the food was very good and the ale refreshingly cool. Looking across the table at his scared mentor, he felt a moment of unease. 'I should not have lied to him.' he thought. 'I need to be able to trust these men and have them trust me too if I am to learn to wield the One Power.'

 

Swirling the last bit of ale in his mug, Vykor gazed into it like a man searching for answers. Unfortunately, there were none to be had in the bottom of his drink. Sighing again slightly, he tipped his mug and head back, savoring the last bit of ale and letting it slide down his throat. Setting the mug down, Vykor looked again at Isha, the tall man was looking at him as if trying to make up his own mind about something. 'A man who has no friends stands alone in the storm.' his grandfather had always said.

 

'I am here to learn and to hopefully make up for the wrong I have done, and I cannot do that without Isha and the others here at the Black Tower.' Nodding to himself, Vykor cleared his throat and looked the tall Asha'man in the eyes and said "Asha'man Isha sir, I have not been completely forthcoming about...well about how I came to be here and I would rather you know the full story then to begin my training here with a lie on my lips."

 

Looking away, he focused his gaze upon the hearth where a fire was steadily eating away at the logs within it. The he began his story; telling Isha how his old life had ended that fateful day in his village and how he had killed his best friend with the One Power. Telling the story of that day, Vykor could again taste the ashes of Aaryon's body upon his lips and wished he had more ale to wash the taste away.

 

He told him about that day and the whole year of running and traveling from place to place, but he did keep a few details to himself. He did not tell his mentor about the hours immediately after he had began running or about his thoughts of ending his life in the river. Nor did he talk about the day after. 'There is no reason to mention that.' he thought to himself as he shifted his satchel into his lap and laid his hand across the smooth, faded leather.