I warned you! (ATTENTION Shannon)

[Sam]

The autumn leaves carried no scent, and yet the smell of wet foliage clung to the cool air. There was no wind and yet the breeze caressed his skin with an embrace of leaves. Like all things they were dying. As his rough fingers rubbed the leaves between them he breathed deep of their decay, their dying breath. The leaves vanished like smoke. Tel Aran Rhiod, the world of dreams, had its advantages, even if they existed solely within the mind.

 

The assassin padded softly, he would make no sound to defile the natural shrine of misery: the perfect scene of life’s end that he laboured so hard to recreate in his victims. His passage stirred not a leaf, displaced not a twig, he would not violate the purity of death. The Great Lord admired such beauty. Talon existed to fulfill his purpose, and sate his desire.

 

The witches held dominion in the city of the woken, but the streets of dreams their vaunted powers were nothing. He was free to roam, to map and become familiar with the layout of the immense city. In secret he had traversed Tar Valon, being so bold as to set foot upon the very lair of the witches themselves. He had nothing to fear from them.

 

Amongst the trees he came upon a clearing, where lay earth, shadowed with the phantoms of flowers, arranged in the pleasing shape of a mass grave—a garden. Nestled amongst the flowers; so white as to appear a corpse herself, kneeled the naked figure of a woman. Her femininity lay bare to full view; the large swell of her hips, full generous thighs; a dark shadow disappearing between her legs.

 

A dagger of excitation buried itself deep into his body, withdrawing to allow long-dormant lust to flow like a wound. He could possess her there in the damp earth, among the flowers that flickered as candles might when breathed upon, possess her utterly. She would be unable to oppose him long … or would she?

 

The first technique a dream walker was taught was to clothe their own bodies. She must have been inchoate; unaware of the precariousness, the vulnerability of her situation; ignorant of her location, or more deviously, a skilled walker awaiting the arrival of a mate. He would go to her wearing the mask of friendship, prey upon her weakness, or destroy her strength.

 

Then he saw her face, ageless, displayed by all Aes Sedai, and a very different part of him burned for satisfaction. Lust turned to algophilia and he hungered for her ruined flesh; longed to mar the freckled whiteness of her skin with the red blossom of her blood, to leave her broken corpse atop her earthen grave. He knew that her power could be turned upon him even here, and even a novice dream walker could challenge him.

 

No. He would not force her to embrace his coupling. He would take her measure, as he would any other mark, and then he would end her life. The Dark Lord would accept nothing less of one of his faithful … and it had been too long since he had hunted last.

 

As he moved towards her his body shimmered, rippled and changed. He wore a brimmed hat of worn leather, a lanyard decorated with the teeth of prey, some lupine; some human. Across his shoulders lay the fur of a wolf, exotic and warm. He smelled of autumn and wood smoke. The predator eyes softened, his smooth, featureless face became more human, long hair strewn haphazardly across along his face and neck.

 

“Madam”, he said, “it is not safe here. There are … monsters in the night.”

 

 

 

[Shaneevae]

A violet and lavender blanket of Ruellia humilis brushed her bare toes as she wiggled them about relishing the cool, verdant earth pliant beneath her feet. Shaneevae often went barefoot among the tubular blossoms to lessen the damage her booted foot would cause.  Unconscious of her lack of clothing, she ran the palm of her hand up and over the fringe-like leaves, furry to the touch. Ovate leaves ran opposite whirling up the tall stalk in a grand presentation of the vivid, majestic blossom.  They were not as vibrant as they had been during late summer, but the hardy blooms fought to flourish in the early autumn coolness.  In less than a fortnight the blooms would shrivel away first then closely following, the foliage, but they would be back, each year they came back. Resilient among the rocky, open woods the outskirts of Tar Valon offered even if they were edible and a main food source for the local population of deer, they continued to thrive, symbolic to the human spirit if one thought as she did.

 

It had taken her nearly a year to determine without doubt that the Hawk Moth pollinated these showy plants, little sugar fiends that they were.  The petunias produced copious amount of nectar making them positively toothsome and with that thought in mind she plucked a bloom and tipped the pointed end between her lips gently sucking the syrupy ambrosia into her mouth.  Grinning, she flicked her tongue across her lips savoring the luxury that would not come again for a year. The Brown Sister was not sure why she studied the herbaceous little plants.  There was no medicinal benefit to them nor were they endangered, but there was something about them that drew her back each year to monitor their progress.  Tilting her head, she laughed softly, they were her.  Strong, steadfast, purposeful and sweeter to taste than one would imagine.  If she had been a noble, she would have chosen the furry petunia as her sigil, brilliant violet against a field of black.  She could see the banner in her mind’s eye now.

 

Madam, it is not safe here. There are … monsters in the night.

 

A small squeak passed her lips as she stood smoothing the just materialized, unbeknownst to her, pale blue and roughly worn dress over her thighs.  Shielding her gaze from the sun, she eyed the stranger.  Disheveled hair in need of a washing spilled out from a worn leather hat and wolf furs draped his moderate shoulders.  Most assuredly a man that lived off the wilderness given his attire, but what was that around his neck.  Trying to be casual in her assessment something occurred to her.  Did he say night?

 

Shaneevae grinned up at the stranger speaking with humor lacing her voice, “Good sir, I’m not sure where you come from, but here, when the sun is high in the sky, it is day.”  She winked to soften her teasing and allowed her hand hooded gaze to study the hackneyed thong about his neck.  Most assuredly Canidae, but what are the others?

 

Clicking her tongue, she flashed another smile, “Just which monsters might you be speaking of Master…….??”

 

Shaneevae el' Edware

First Chair of the Brown Ajah

Novice Dreamwalker

 

[Sam]

She had clothed herself and he felt a pang of disappointment. Interesting: he was not given to rash action, but the combination of his own experience, her “apparent” helplessness, and her flesh gave rise to ideas unnatural. He had to be more careful. Next time he would know better. He was confident after this brief exchange, that she was new to her gift, and he would not allow her to become a threat.

 

Outwardly, Talon accepted the unintended admonition; inwardly he cursed the small but telling slip. She smiled it away, and he, in response, smiled too. Had she been an experienced walker of Tel Aran Rhiod his presence, however benign, would surely have caused a stir—suspicion or discomfort—their kind were rare: those who entered through the dream and not with the power, though he knew that any witch with the prescribed strength and skill could do so. Even as he smiled he thought how wasted such abilities were ... and such flesh.

 

He noted her curiosity in the keepsake around his neck, the collection plate of his various dream world conquests. Each one a life; each one a victory; each one remembered. He indicated that she may observe it closer, the look of innocent inquisition too genuine to resist. He knew then and there that he would not gift her to his lord. She would not receive the pure death reserved for his worship. No, she was his alone, and would drink her fill from the chalice of terror.

 

He did not answer immediately, not in words. Instead he touched a hand to her cheek, his eyes clouding to opaque black, polished as marble and equally reflective. He smiled with too long teeth, with too sharp points: a wolf in the shape of a man. His fingers reached her soft neck, felt the vibrancy of life beneath, the pulse of her heart, the passage of her breath—and squeezed.

 

His strength was such that he lifted her by that soft throat, until barely he toes remained upon the ground, and then, she toppled backwards as he released the pleasing grip. Finally, fearing his message too oblique for her understanding, was compelled to answer with speech; human still, but delivered with an unmistakably feral edge, the warning growl of domesticated dogs, “Monsters ... like me.”

 

 

[Shaneevae]

Intrigued, she stepped closer to examine the necklace lying across his chest. Tentatively, she reached out a small hand and touched the enameled pieces some gleaming white, others dark with rot and decay. Distracted momentarily by his hand upon her cheek, she brushed the thought away crediting it with a backwoods nature that had kept him sequestered from human contact.  It was natural to crave even the most innocent of human touches when copious amount of time was spent alone. Surely, that was the only reason he touched her so intimately, she reasoned as she rubbed a flattened molar between her thumb and forefinger. Herbivore.

 

Disbelief flared across her face when his hand encircled her throat squeezing tighter and tighter lifting her off the ground until her naked toes barely brushed the ground. Struggling to breathe, her eyes flared in realization that the unrecognizable teeth upon the worn leather cord about his throat were, “Human.” She barely squeaked out before he threw her to the ground roughly. Shaneevae lay sprawled upon the ground bare legs exposed and her anger started to burn right along with her fear and like second nature she opened herself to Saidar. Angry with his impudent assumption that he could treat Aes Sedai with such disrespect and violence, she felt the power blaze through her body gloriously, but as quickly as it came, it went. It simply winked out like a candle snuffed out by the wind.

 

Monsters ... like me.

 

His voice. His teeth. His face. Fear marched down her neck and across her shoulders like a million little spiders with a sickening dread and when she grasped for the One Power again it slipped from her fingers like a slippery toad fighting for freedom. What is happening? Shaneevae thought as she fought to swallow the sour taste of fear that had lodged itself in the back of her throat. Then she tried again and again and again until she did the only a thing a woman alone could do in a situation such as this, she screamed, loud, piercing and saturated with terror. Even as the cry for help passed her lips she started scrambling backwards without taking her eyes from the monster that snarled feral-like down at her.

 

Without another thought, she turned, clawing at the grass and pulling herself to her feet. It seemed like an eternity before her stumbling became a true effective stride. Shaneevae ran, ran harder than she had ever run, as if her life depended upon it and with everything in her she believed it did. She ran through underbrush ignoring the ripping of briars across her flesh and knowing that if she could just reach the top of the ridge safety would be in sight.  Her vision would fill with the sight of ivory spires. Home and surely a patrol would be along soon to rescue her. They had always made a special effort to watch out for her as it was well known she frequented the woods and was unbonded and if ever she needed them it was now.

 

Shaneevae

 

 

 

[Sam]

A wolf in the shape of a man in the guise of a dog: that is how the assassin saw himself. Yipping and barking and howling, he loped behind the fleeing Aes Sedai, exciting her fear and feeding upon it, clothing himself it; drawing strength and purpose. He was a predator, thus born and thus maintained, and the graceful body of a wolf was synonymous with intelligence and guile. Talon hated wolves.

 

His manners, his appearance; every part of him capable of leaving an impression was carefully maintained to affront and profane. He clothed himself in their skin, wore upon him their weapons, and in their name committed atrocities and deeds untamed. Noble, intelligent, children of the Creator; thinking beasts—lies. They were weak, engaging a symbiotic and parasitic relationship with men and women too soft of mind to survive the wonders of Tel Aran Rhiod without guidance.

 

Like men they killed for sport. Like men they relished the hunt, the victory, the taste of blood upon their lips. Like men they wasted and destroyed. And just like a man, when one of their kind stumble they fall upon them and drive them into the dust. Why then should man idolize these beasts so like himself, why should he extol and enshrine their familial virtue. They were liars, as were their “kin.”

 

Talon had had encounters with them. Each human tooth around his neck belonged to one, and each encounter was remembered and savoured. They cast him down as wrong, as criminal and evil. They who were every part as bestial as he, what was it they possessed that marked them as righteous?

 

Self-deception: their belief that their inner beast was a thing to be dominated by their humanity. They squandered their gifts, as the Aes Sedai squandered theirs. Talon was not so presumptuous as to believe he was above the call of nature. The Assassin was more a wolf by belief and nature than any wolf-brother by gift of enhances senses and communication. The hunt, the kill, the impulsive desire to draw shutters over the lives of others, these things were to be apotheosized, explored and indulged upon. And he would do so, and cast shadows upon their alighted ignorance.

 

It had been enjoyable up till now to idle behind and soak in the wake of dread; it no longer was. Nipping at her heels and opening numerous small wounds upon her flesh, like red waxed seals stamped upon pale sheaves of paper, was an entrée to the main course. In time she would scream, and then she would beg and finally, she would die. Or he could trap her in a mad flight through the world of dreams until her real body perished. There would be refreshing sense of newness in that.

 

Oh, what to do with his new treasure. Talon gave brief thought to writing a message upon her skin in the hopes that it would find Aran, such a high profile death calling his name was bound to strike the flint of notice, but like all flint there would be sparks, and a legion of Aes Sedai invading the world of dreams in an effort to find him would severely hamper the festivities.

 

He would wait for now, continue his relentless and easy pursuit. Who knew, perhaps given time he could force her to choose her own way to die.

 

[Shaneevae]

Breath coming in great gasps, she ran ignoring the burning sensation in her lungs. Shaneevae had never been what one would consider athletic, entirely too feminine of form to have true athletic grace, but she was graceful and adept at most any task.  Running was no different in that respect as her stride lengthened and her arms pumped at her sides giving her a speed she had never known.  Her flight was no longer one that resembled a frightened rabbit, but of a doe in a flight of purpose. Survival was the only need driving her forward.

 

When the first snap landed upon her heel, she let out a little yelp and when the second nipped at her she felt anger rise up within her spirit. How dare anyone attack an Aes Sedai this close to Tar Valon, but this man, this beast was not just anyone. What the bloody ashes was this thing? Half man and half beast pursuing her as if he planned to make her his afternoon meal and there was no doubt that he did intend that very thing.  He was not Wolfkin.  She knew Wolfkin. She knew Franklin and he was not the same. No amber eyes nor noble spirit resided in this…..thing.

 

Shaneevae saw the log lying upon its side well before, she approached it, but as always if her focus split it would be disastrous.  Just as she leapt, the beast sunk teeth deep into the tendon of her left ankle. She screamed, falling, falling until the earth rushed up to meet her with a resounding thud.  The impact had left her lungs void of breath. Burning and panic seized her around the throat.  Even with no air, she continued to crawl forward on hands and knees until air rushed into her lungs in a great shuddering gasp.

 

Why isn’t he attacking? It was a logical question, but she could not simply count herself lucky. Rolling over, she scuttled backward. There he was crouched low and looking more like rabid dog than any wolf she’d ever seen. Why isn’t he attacking?  The pounding of her heart so loud kept her from hearing the growls, but she could see the snarls and the demented pleasure in his eyes.

 

He’s enjoying this.  She’d seen the look in a man’s eyes before, a look of lust and conquest when a new lover lay in his bed eager for his affections. This….this creature gained some kind of twisted, sexual pleasure out of this game, out of the chase and out of her fear.  He was feeding on her fear.  The bastard growled and snarled waiting for her to scream. Shaneevae could feel his desire. The desire to rip open her throat and bathe in the steaming, fresh blood. Silently, she wondered if fear enhanced the flavor.

 

Breathing deeply through her nose, she watched his eyes, the pulse in his neck and the rhythm of his breathing.  His breathing matched the frantic beat of her heart and she knew.  She knew that he was, indeed, feeding off her fear.  Willing the pounding of her heart to slow, she stood warily. The Brown sister may die, a possibility that was becoming more distinct by the minute, but she would not give him what he wanted. She would not die with fear upon her heart or pumping through her blood just to tickle his tongue. Meeting his gaze with challenge, she promised herself that his meal would be lacking this day.

 

 

 

[Sam]

Talon marvelled at how easily determination could stopper the bottle of fear; how easily the heat of indignation could set fires; how the human mind could, at its own leisure, suppress its instincts and dam its weaknesses. The assassin knew that there was fear and then there was ‘fear’, and that even the strongest dam could burst and send the world to a watery grave.

 

The Aes Sedai squared her shoulders and faced him, coals of defiance burning inside her eyes. In the end it would offer little variation in the outcome of the situation. Afraid or not she would die; afraid or not he would feed upon her. Flesh only, if she behaved herself. Something in her look told him surrender was not on the cards. He did prefer to hunt.

 

The assassin wasted no time in leaping forward to strike her in the side of the face with an open palm, his claws carving tokens into the softness of her cheek. A rapid succession of open-handed blows brought her to her knees, nose bleeding.

 

Talon would not change the seen, would not bind her or trap her in any way. If she ran he would find her, he did have her scent. At first she would beg him to spare her life, he was certain of that, but when he was finished with her she would beg him to let her die. Power was intoxicating; over this particular Aes Sedai he had a chalice of very potent wine

 

[Shaneevae]

On her knees, she blinked, the warm liquid making tiny rivulets on her dirty face.  The feel of blood registering long before the searing pain, her eyes widened when the connection finally clicked. Breath lodged in her throat, a primitive gurgle barely passing for a moan issued forth as her hands flew to her face.  What they encountered was no surprise, but the amount came near to making her light headed. Blood in general did not affect her, but her own blood was a different matter.

 

Shaneevae swayed forward barely catching herself with her hands. A great drop of blood plopped upon the back of her hand. The brightness of it against her pale skin a striking contrast.  She watched briefly as it seeped into the fine lines and spread like the weaving of a spider’s web. Would she die out here in the woods she called her home? With the ivory towers in view?  If only she could grasp Saidar.  If only she had a weapon…..

 

The two-handed claymore materialized before her.  The hilt tucked beneath her palm. How? What? It wasn’t that she was ungrateful, but how did it appear from nowhere and how was she supposed to wield a sword almost as long as she? A short sword would have been more suited to her frame and as soon as the thought materialized in her mind the short sword appeared in her hands.

 

Hesitating only briefly, her eyebrow arching in question for only a second, she brought the sword two-handed in a straight line catching her attacker in the chin. Cursing, she got quickly to her feet and backed away. She had taken him by surprise, but her cut had been middling and would hardly slow him down.  Settling her feet firmly on the ground, her eyes glazed slightly waiting for his next move; she had only a brief flash to wonder if she had stumbled into Tel’aran’rhiod unaware.  “How could that be possible?” She thought as she swung a solid slice towards his mid-section, a slice that he easily avoided by hopping backward. It didn’t matter. Shaneevae knew enough about the Dreamworld to know that she could die as easily here as she could in the waking world and either way, she had a weapon now. 

 

Stepping defensively, she was rewarded with a snarl and a hair-curling growl when she made a clean slice across his outstretched hand.  There were no fingers lost, but she knew it had to hurt, as sensation was highly concentrated in the hands.  He lunged for her, his intent clear in his eyes as well as her reflection.  Shaneevae’s mouth opened slightly resembling a small “o” What happened to my damn clothes?

 

 

OOC:  Arie/Andrea will step in after your next post to try and help.  ;D

[Sam]

Talon smiled thinly. He had almost been caught in a trap of his own making. His surprise had caused him to momentarily forget where he was. He rubbed his chin, feeling the thin wisp of wetness and pain. It was not a mortal blow, for certain, nor glancing nor painful. Slipshod and amateur at best, the apprentice craftsman ‘s first step toward proficiency; she would not be given further opportunity.

 

He had shed his disguise and stood once man as a man, less fearsome but more awful still. The same cloud of malice capped his broad shoulders and the song of evil played in his heart. He had intended to play with her, a dog worrying its toy until the toy fell into too small pieces. For striking him in return, for catching him off guard: she would be charged interest on his folly.

 

Her weapon vanished. With a thought he knocked her back half a dozen ells, tossed like flotsam upon the tide. She attempted to stand; very brave; very stupid. He sent her tumbling again. There was defiance in her and this he would see broken before granting her release from her suffering. And she had not even begun to suffer.

 

Reality, if such a state could be said to exist within Tel’aran’rhiod, fluttered, and once more she lay before him. He crouched, his rough hand against her soft cheek. Such beautiful skin, oh, how he would break it! His hand was led and her groan of pain from his blow against her jaw made him giddy. Pity she would not live long enough to see it swell.

 

He reached for her hand. She resisted; he broke her arm and revelled in her misery. He reached for her hand again and broken as her arm was there was no strength to resist. The hands were very sensitive to pain, he knew this from experience. It was fascinating how rough her hand was compared to the smoothness of her cheek: a witch who knew the meaning of true labour.

 

He smiled into and brought his other hand down, dagger and all, through her palm and into the soft soil beneath. That would hurt. Once more his hand encircled her fragile throat and squeezed. He did not approve of the look in her eyes ... he would remove them later. “Scream for me ... and I will let you live.” His voice was neutral as the rain; he knew she could not.

 

 

 

[Shaneevae]

No more than a man stood before her now in place of the fearsome wolfman hybrid.  In the blink of an eye her sword vanished from hand as she was thrown backwards by some unseen force landing solidly pushing air from her lungs upon impact.  Shaneevae scrambled to her feet, but the bend of her back did not lengthen before she was sent tumbling again. 

 

The mossy, verdant mattress met her fall once again, but before she could even refill her famished lungs he was upon her. Crouched over her, eyes delighted, a pleasant smile all to ensure her terror, all to confirm his evil sickness. He grabbed for her hand. She resisted, struggling to free her smaller hand from his larger one.  Balling her hand into a tight fist trying to interrupt his progress.  It was futile and counterproductive for his strength greatly outweighed her own. All of this was evident in the snapping of her arm and the sharp cry of anguish that filled the air.

 

She lay with her head turned to the side panting in pain.  Focus. She had to focus. Sinking into a pain-induced delirium was not a luxury she had at the moment, not if she wanted to survive. Did she?  Did she want to survive? When her broken arm was forced over her head and the dagger plunged into the soft, tender center of her palm, she did indeed want to die.

 

His hand snaked out to grab her neck, crushing, collapsing her windpipe.  His movement forcing her gaze to his, a feral grin on his face as he spoke, “Scream for me ... and I will let you live.”

 

Scream? How could she scream when she had no air to even breathe? Son of a bitch!  I will live and I will see you dead!

 

Anger flared through her blue-green eyes and Saidar rushed into her body in a scorching, fluid heat. Shaneevae would have screamed with the joy of it if the son of a bitch’s hand weren’t still wrapped around her throat. Without another thought, she slammed a force of Air between them, lifting his body from hers and sending him flying through air. The force of it all lifting her body from the ground as his hand was loath to release the tender flesh of her neck, but let go he did. Struggling, she finally managed to pull that much needed air into her lungs.  They burned, but there was no time to fully recover. Grabbing the hilt of the dagger, she winced, took a deep breath and pulled freeing herself of the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

OOC:  I know I said Arie would come in next, but I got over excited! ;D

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Sam]

The witch’s power spoke and its tone was not one of humour; Talon pin-wheeled through under the influence of the same mood. He had never before hunted a walker alive with the power and he had forgotten this one was a witch.  The game was no longer fun and needed to end, the final score heavily in his favour.

 

He vanished.

 

The air around the woman began to shimmer, a curtain in the breeze. Reality itself could almost have been said to be turning and in truth it was. The air thickened, moistened becoming more and more difficult to breath; the ground softened as melted wax. Playing fair was for those who found no fault in loss; Talon was not one of them.

 

He laughed dramatically; harsher, louder and more maniac than his natural acknowledgement of mirth, designed to inspire fear than any sense of camaraderie. Tel’aran’rhiod became the ocean: dense, cold and breathless. Fitting that a witch should reach terminus in a watery grave. Of Talon there was no sign and only laughter remained.

 

 

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

I hear it fading

I can't speak it

Or else you will dig my grave

We fear them finding

Always winding

Take my hand now

Be alive

Forsaken || Disturbed & k0rn

 

 

    The threads of silver and gold hair settled for but a moment as the rain poured down around her. Blinking the drops from her eyes she gazed into the nightmare around her. Shadowed and repressed as all nghtmares were. The woman frowned, a simple otherwise invisible frown as the simple known fact was made known to her. This Nightmare had not yet run its course and the dreamer still existed in Ter'Aran'Rhoid. Pulling on the whispers of the air around her, the compelling nature tried to force her to choke on her very breath.

 

|| Breathe! ||

 

Commanding thoughts, and the Katana that had been at her hip was now in her hand. Poised and ready to use. Not alone there wa smore than one, and a battle beyond the immediate sphere of the nightmare. Carefully she had watched these dreamwalkers, the new ones from where she was safe. Revealing herself to any within the Tower could cause a stir greater than she wished to have occur. She had given up everything for the precious Tower and thier precious causes. Until the Light was brought forth and the Shadow dismissed, she would forever stay away.

 

|| HELP! ||

 

The thoughts called to her.

 

|| I am coming.. ||

 

|| HELP ME! ||

 

|| Just Breathe.. ||

 

|| I Can't! ||

 

|| BREATH DAMNIT!! ||

 

Chocking, the woman coughed, the air growing thicker and thicker as water consummed her very lungs. There was a small smile to her lips. Two could play this game. She did not need Air to breathe. She could breathe the water as if it were her own Air. || Need. || She will find her charge, and pull her away. Tugging on the dream, she allowed her will to submit to the pull of the Dreamer herself. Pulled and consumming, the woman found herself surrounded by the very water that threatened the life of the Child. Furiously workign her mind, the woman pushed the dream back enforcing the water to take it's intended shap. Using thing moment to gather what she could, the woman flung herself around the Child, clothing around the naked body as Arie struck at the form that had once been water.

 

"Create a Ward, Child! NOW!" The command of her voice showered a wave of precious demand that she carried. One strike and the woman retreated to the Child that had embraced Saidar. Pain threatened to pull down the craving she missed from that very touch. || Do not Dwell. ||

 

The form that was no longer water tried to reach within, but the ward held.

 

"Be gone. You may do no more damage here." The fierce blue eyes of the tall blonde haired woman, hair woven with colours of gold and silver and dress as white as snow and a Katana held with a steady hand, looked level at the form. "You are compelled to go."

 

 

 

A Dreamwalker

[Shaneevae]

At first it was dim like the faint roar one found when they held a seashell to their ear.  Louder and louder until the roar became deafening in its ferocity. That’s when I see it, a wave terrible in its height, dwarfing me by dozens of feet. Small. How small I feel in those brief moments. Screaming as the wave breaks over me, I close my eyes, my mouth as it pulls me under beating me against the ground over and over again.  Rolling, toppling end over end in the violent churning, I struggle. Fighting the tide as it has its way with me. My lungs burn so. I reach desperately for the surface. There is no surface. Air. I need air.

 

Panic. I’m dying.

 

My mind screams, “Help! Someone help me!”

 

A voice within my mind answers, I am coming.

 

I latch onto the voice like a beacon in the night. A ship tossed in the storm and seeking safe harbor, “Help me!”

 

Just breathe…

 

I try. I try to breathe, but the salty brine fills my lungs.  It burns.

 

“I can’t!”

 

Breathe damnit!

 

I try again. I cannot.

 

In a rush the water recedes as the tide pulling me, dragging me with it.  The last of it washes away caressing my body like a lover’s hand until it leaves with a lingering touch.  Air.  Sweet air fills my lungs and a form shelters me, warms me, holds me.

 

Create a Ward, Child! NOW!

 

I do as she says.

 

Be gone. You may do no more damage here. You are compelled to go.

 

A silvery image, ethereal. I cling to her. An avenging angel in white, brandishing a katana in her vengeance. The Light has sent me an angel, a guardian. I hold tight afraid of what might happen if I do not.  She is my anchor…..my refuge. Tears fall.

 

 

Shaneevae

[Sam]

Compelled to go ... the strike did no ‘damage’ in the sense that one would normally apply the word; however, there was a heavily connected pause. Bold words with no follow through. Confused, he looked to the woman who would be saviour and the woman who would have been a meal. They, in turn, looked at him. When he realised that no great calamity was about to befall him, that no powerful opponent arrived to cut him down, he laughed.

 

This was a laugh like no other. It had focus. There was no humour, only mockery, contempt and a measure of chagrin that the recipient of his attention was still breathing. The pair appeared under the impression that saidar had dominion in this realm, his realm: foolish; easily remedied. And this one dared to order him like a child at his mother’s knee. Her nerve was delightful.

 

Talon reached out a hand to the shield so lovingly made, so inefficient and ineffectual in the world of dreams. Why would they bother? One only needed to see the truth of the matter to dispel such petty weaving: there was no shield. He did not doubt that the walker would try and hold him at bay if he attempted to dismiss this crude product of a crude power. It was an insult to draw upon saidar in the realm of the mind. It would not go unpunished.

 

“Compelled, am I? By what authority do you command me?” He laughed again, “I loved the entrance. No fanfare, no ‘illuminations’? I am almost disappointed. I do not suppose you will come out from behind that feeble little shield. It would be a shame to dirty your dress.” Talon kept one hand against the ward as he walked around it, inspecting.

 

“I dare say we have reached some form of stalemate. Both of your lives are most assuredly forfeit. I know you now and can find you whenever I choose. That is, if you survive the present. I cannot very well let you live. I am sure you understand.”

 

 

 

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

 

The look brought a shiver to her spine. Eyes cold, like the very ice of the bleak Borderland winters, unyielding and without a hold of sanity stared at her from the other side of the Aes Sedai's shield. There had been a look like that, staring back at her, once. A look that made her wish to wince, to turn away and flee. A hundred years or so she may have done so, but it no longer could such eyes bring a pause, or a flicker of doubt to her steady hand. Her Katana glinted in the ethereal light of the dream, naught a flicker in it's well maintained reflection.

 

There was a memory in the man that tugged at her, but it eluded her. Burn her, elusive facts could only attribute to future mistakes. Too much of her previous life had been forsaken to her, lost with that of her abilities, her affinities. Memories, missions lost to household chores.

 

|| My husband is going to murder me. || She mused sorely. Leaving no room to doubt whether she and the Aes Sedai would escape this place alive, it was the consequences that could follow that had her worried. A novice Dreamwalker with a man hunting her, it was a story that could only spill out into a world of disaster. It simply was not good enough.

 

"I understand. Your allowance soothes me. If I were afraid of death I might have actually quivered in fear." Her words spoken in a calming tone, lilted in a near-sopranic musical note. "It is a pity that your threat is wasted."

 

She needed to move fast. Although her eyes never left the form that walked with a hand on the shield, Arie thought with a firm tone to the Aes Sedai, clear and extremely precise instructions.

 

||You will wake, scream and bring a Yellow to your bed if you wish to live beyond this world. Your pain here will be there outside of this world. You will have little time before your pain will overcome you. Do not speak of here. Do not speak of me. Your life will depend on it.||

 

There was a nod of understanding. If little else, perhaps the Aes Sedai will remember once she was gone.

 

||Go, and wake.||

 

With the body of the Aes Sedai leaving, Arie did not wait for the shield to drop before leaving this dream. The Aes Sedai would wake, and the man would not find her here when the shield no longer held him apart from here and could not bind her to this place.

 

It was then Arie Woke. There was no longer a need for her to exist in Ter'Aran'Rhoid.

 

 

A Dreamwalker.. with a past.