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A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY
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Tigara

Finally...Lights!!!! [Attn James]

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Tigara sat on the bench outside in the courtyard. It was cool, as it so often was in the Blight. The sky was somewhat yellow, but it gave off a nice ambiance. He fiddled with his wooden hand while he waited. A bad habit he had got into. Playing with it too much would cause infection, and it hurt like mad when that happened, but not quite as painful as seeing Trollocs eat people. He would never be able to stomach that....at least not for a long time. Michael was late, he thought he was at least. Maybe Tigara was just early. He lost trace of time around here often, so he often allowed extra time. People around here had little tolerance for tardiness. He slouched back in the hard metal bench and patiently waited for Michael to arrive to teach him to channel. He was eager to learn to make light. That room was so small to be dark all the time. He had countless bruises on his shins from walking straight into the bed in the dark. It was quiet here.

 

 

Tigara Kazim

Dreadlord Acolyte

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OOC: James went and broke every computer he has access to at once, so for at least this post you are stuck with me. My name is Sam, g’day, pleased to meet you and let’s get going.

 

(Anything that follows is in character, naturally.)

 

Strolling out to the courtyard, Michael thought his self to be early; apparently he was not early enough. His latest charge—Tigara, was it?—was already waiting for him. Fantastic; he loved the eager ones. They were the first to blow an arm or a leg off in their haste for competency, and that was if they were lucky. The unlucky ones . . . weren’t even going to be spoken about, chiefly because it is two am in the morning and my imagination went to bed a few hours ago.

 

Michael swung a stick about in one of his hands, one of those few innocuous items The Blight could produce. He had checked earlier. With a spare boot. When the stick had not melted the boot, attempted to eat the boot or molest it in any other way he pronounced it safe enough for use in this next lesson. The Flame and the Void. I know: you wanted to know what a stick that can’t even bite has to do with the flame and void exercise; the answer is nothing, actually.

 

“Good morning, . . . Tigara.” He said, “You have had plenty of time to rest this morning, waiting for me, perhaps? Good. That means we can get down to business. Notice this stick. It is an extension of my hand. You will close your eyes and if I catch them open I’m going to hit you with it. You would think I could use my hand, right? Wrong. My hand feels pain and your head looks incredibly dense. Thus: stick. Close your eyes.”

 

“Imagine a flame. No, I don’t care what colour, nor what size—and don’t think I won’t notice your eyes open. I am paying attention.” He gave his charge a quick rap on the pate. Tigara’s eyes weren’t actually open, but now he knew Michael meant business. And it was fun. “A flame, picture it. The first thing that will go into the fire is the pain where the stick struck, not that I am convinced you felt anything, but I am certain you didn’t like it all the same.” He thought for a moment. “You will tell me if you enjoyed that, won’t you? I’ll know not to do it again then. Now, feed the pain to the fire, let it be consumed and disappear. Now imagine the fire consuming you dislike of the fact that I hit you.”

 

“Next allow your ambition to become a dread lord to burn. Imagine it, too, being consumed by the fire; then your pride in your own abilities. Firstly, because you don’t have any, or you wouldn’t be here, and secondly because until you can give these emotions up you won’t ever be a dread lord.  Feed every emotion to the fire: fear, anger, excitement; let it sear through your mind until all that remains is the empty void. This will take time, but I have do all day.”

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OoC: Now why would James go and do that? :o Nice to meet you. Very funny post, btw.

 

IC:

 

Finally, Michael got here. And he had a stick. Sticks were never good. Especially not ones from the Blight. A stick almost killed him here once. Who would have thought a stick could have jaws that big?

 

“Good morning, . . . Tigara.” He said, “You have had plenty of time to rest this morning, waiting for me, perhaps? Good. That means we can get down to business. Notice this stick. It is an extension of my hand. You will close your eyes and if I catch them open I’m going to hit you with it. You would think I could use my hand, right? Wrong. My hand feels pain and your head looks incredibly dense. Thus: stick. Close your eyes.”

 

“Imagine a flame. No, I don’t care what colour, nor what size—and don’t think I won’t notice your eyes open. I am paying attention.”

 

He very nearly rubbed the spot he had been whacked with. At least that stick didn't try to eat him. He relaxed his eyes and focused on a bright red flame. Red was a good color. Very natural. Michael started giving instructions on "feeding things into the fire." How on earth were you supposed to feed emotions into an imaginary fire? Might as well give it a try. He "fed" the pain into the red flame...and amazingly, it was gone. He couldn't really feel it. Maybe this guy wasn't as insane as he thought. Next was the dislike of being hit. Up in smoke. He laughed inside. This was fun!

 

Ambition. Ambition wasn't too large. That one went easy. Pride? That may be harder. He always prided himself in his looks. The smile to drive women into bed, the shiny golden hair, the captivating eyes. How could he burn that up? "I'll come back to that one."he thought.

 

~**~

 

Several hours later, his eyes were still closed. Everything was in the fire, except for his pride. He couldn't get it to go. It was bolted to his mind or something. It just would not go. His love for his sister, his hatred for Aes Sedai, his fear of going crazy, and his anger at the Whitecloaks who cut off his hand. All gone, but not his pride. He started to picture himself. His hair was gone, his skin was dry and flacky, his eyes dull and hollow, his lips pale and dry. He was bluntly hideous. Suddenly, there was nothing. His pride was gone. In the fire. He nearly pulled excitement back out of the fire. He finally got it. The void was here.

 

"I have attained the Void, Michael."

 

 

Tigara Kazim

Pretty boy

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OOC: He thought it would be funny joke to play on the rest of us.

 

(Yes, you know what this means)

 

“Are you sure?” Michael was unconvinced and knew how to find out. The stick whirled like a marching band baton: thwack, smack, pow. Okay, 'pow' may have been a slight exaggeration, he isn’t Batman. When no wincing, withdrawing or cursing occurred, Michael was satisfied. “Well, what do you know, you aren’t completely useless . . . or your head is really thick.

 

“Regardless I want you to explore the void. You will find you are not alone. Without giving you any clues, that other presence is saidin: male half of the source that only we may touch without fear of contamination. Thus does the Great Lord protect His faithful. I’m not sure why he bothers, really. Your first task will be to seize it. Unlike our female counterparts who submit to saidar, we must wrest saidin under our control; force it and direct it. This will not be too difficult for you, I don’t think. You should be used to wrestling barmaids by now.

 

“Have a care for the lure of the source is strong. You must fight and win or be swept away. And since I am standing close to you, I’d prefer you not do something rash like blow up. You would stain my clothing and it would take many washes to come right. Never attempt to seize the source without the shield of the void or it will destroy you. Try to and you will die. and worse, be in too many pieces to hear me gloat about how right I was. I also won’t be sweeping you up.

 

“Once you have successfully taken control of saidin I will give you further instruction. Do not be afraid to fail, or to let go. Your survival is more important than immediate success—apparently. Be patient. I will give you what aid I can, but in the end it must come from within yourself. On the bright side, if you fail utterly, you can go back to your little on-foot tour of the blasted lands.”

 

 

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Search? How in the Light would you search a Void in your head? He supposed he couldn't say that anymore. But what would he replace it with? Shadow? But, it was not important as of now. The important thing is trying to search his head for a light, one that he was only supposed to see out of the corner of his eye. Peachy. But there it was! A shiny light just out of sight. Very shiny. Tigara liked shiny things, but once again, this was not the time. He reached out to it. He wasn't really sure how exactly he reached for something in his head, but he did it.

 

 

Michael made a comment about wrestling barmaids, which almost made him lose the Void. he was so easy ot get along with before. Maybe it was the time of day. Let's see him try to wrestle a burly merchants guard with his arms are full of melons that he couldn't let break. He grabbed saidin firmly and felt a tornado blaze inside his head. This was about as hard as the guard, maybe more difficult. But he had it. It was his. He wasn't going to let it slip by.

"I have it, Michael. No stick necessary this time."

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“ Nonsense, lad.” Whack! “If you cannot maintain your grip on saidin because of a stick then you aren’t going to be much good anywhere else. Not unless target-practise is an option . . . is it? No, no I didn’t think so. Holding saidin is draining in many ways and it will be some time before you may gain control, safely, for an extended period of time. You are welcome to practise in your room. The walls are very thick. But as my life is infinitely more important than yours, we are going to play it safe for now.”

 

Michael could not trust that the boy would be too tired to speak. They never were.  Talk, talk, talk without the age or wisdom to just stay quiet. Michael was not about to have his beloved silence intruded upon by a neophyte. No. He’d ruin it himself, first. There was no reason to waste precious moments of what-could-be-solitude if he could shorten this lesson further by speaking now.

 

“Your next task—no, not yet—is to separate the power into its five basic elements: earth, fire, water, air and spirit. This is not as difficult as it sounds . . . for most people. You, though . . . hm. To make it easier the elements will appear to you in colours and there is, believe it or not, a standard pattern that tends to emerge. Be forewarned that to you this standard may not apply and they may to appear to you in different hues. “

 

Michael embraced saidin—more like a bear hug and with deliberation wove a simple light. “This is what you want, fire and air. Together they create light. We will build up to this. For now we will try something simpler."

 

Michael raised his stick and wove fire around its tip until it caught fire. He then tied the weave off.

 

“This one is easy but still may be beyond you on your first day. You may try it, but don’t get too hopeful or over extend yourself, and  do not be surprised if you cannot do it now, or tomorrow, or even in a week from now. These things happen; the first steps on any journey are the hardest. Unless there is a very steep hill involved. Or a long swim.”

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Nifty. There were five parts to it, and they used different combinations to make stuff work. That's the trick! He started grasping at what seemed straws, but he finally got a starnd of something. It was kind of clearish with a touch of blue. That was not Fire. It seemed rather subliminal. Spirit perhaps? He pulled at another. This one was a rusty brown color. Not Fire either! This one was hard, like Earth. He pulled at another. This one was clear as well, but more whitish than the first. This was definitly not Fire. It looked more like the second part of the light. Air. Yes, this must be Air. Only two left, one must be Fire. There it was! A strand that was red and very warm feeling. This was the Fire he was looking for! And the last one was blue, and had a cool feeling. Must be Water.

 

He tried to move that thread of Fire, more like wrestling with a snake. It refused to go where he wanted and was trying to do something else. Suddenly a small ball of fire was dancing around his head, at the tip of the thread. It flailed about violently! Then there were two more balls of fire around the first, and they were spinning around it. Faster and faster they span. Fire raged and flew towards Tigara's head. He panicked and ducked. Fear filled his mind. The Void was gone, but so was the fire. He looked up at Michael as he peered down at Tigara in his crouched state.

 

"Ummm, I found the Fire." he said in a very cautious voice and gave a worried smirk.

 

Tigara Kazim

Panicking

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Laughing, Michael prodded Tigara with the stick. “That nicely brings me to your next lesson. Channelling has limits, and if you go beyond your limits of strength or endurance bad things will happen. Like that, only lethal. Congratulations are in order. You managed to not completely screw up and in a way that I’ll accept as a pass, completed your assignment. You’ve had enough for one night. Go get some rest and you’ll be here the same time tomorrow and we’ll continue. If you are late, I expect to find you a stain on your chamber wall. Clear? Good. Go.”

 

Michael wandered off to do something more important: comb his hair.

 

The next day Tigara was again in the courtyard before him. Thankfully, despite Michael’s misgivings the boy had not given into temptation and gotten himself killed. It was a nice start. Now if the boy could continue that same trick for the next five years he just might have a shot at survival. For a time.

“Yesterday you channelled fire. Today you will channel the other elements. One of, maybe two, but no more. Do not be worried that you tire easily or that your stamina is not what it should be. Familiar territory for you, I’d say. And thankfully, unlike your other problem, this one will go away with time and practise.

 

“I think to start with we will go with water. I do not have a cup so you are going to use your hands. Watch me, and do what I do.” Michael channelled another simple weave, that of water, into a cupped hand (one of his own, of course), showed his student and then let the water run off his palm. “Males are naturally weaker in the elements of water and air. This is a general rule like the colours of the elements. There are exceptions. Do not feel bad if this one is harder than the last, though it seems simpler.

 

"And I still have my stick.”

 

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Oh no! Not water. With a sigh, he embraced the Source with the usual struggle. He started to look for water. Spirit. Earth. Air. More Spirit. Fire. More Air. More Earth. More Spirit. More Spirit. More Earth. More Fire. He felt like he was trying to find a single blue bean in the bottom of a bean jar, but he could only take out one bean at a time to get it. More Spirit. More Earth. More Spirit. Water. More Fire. Wait a minute! He quickly back tracked and grabbed onto that thread of Water with all the might that he was not using to hold onto saidin. He wrestled that thread. He put his hands in a cup shape, but his hands quivered violently. It refused to be tamed. It wanted to make a fool of him. Water fell out of the sky right onto Michael's head and soaked his hair. Tigara didn't notice. He was still trying to get the water to appear in his quivering hands. Water fell down the back of Tigara's neck and soaked the back of his clothes. Still not noticing. Michael jumped as water shot down his trousers. No notice.

 

Finally, there was a small puddle of fresh, clear water in his cupped hands. He was exhausted. he turned around to show Michael the water in his hands. He looked up at his head, then down to his trousers. They were soaked. "It's what you get for making me use my worst Power on my second day of channeling"

 

Tigara Kazim

Not a water weaver

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"Remarkably aimed for a simple accident," Michael responded casually. He side-stepped, grasped saidin and flooded Tigara with water until he spluttered, and then he did it some more. He smiled helplessly and said, "Sorry. I am not very strong in water either, and at times I simply cannot control myself. You will have to work on that, I'm sad to say, as we cannot allow little slips like that to occur too often.

Michael got his stick, made as though to strike Tigara with it, but instead walked further into the courtyard before weaving a column of air to attach the stick to, horiztonally of course, like a coat rack.

 

"Take your shirt off and place it over this. You're going to spend the rest of the afternoon drying it off with air."

 

Tigara did so, and Michael showed him the opproriate weave to use. With Tigara's ability it would be like blowing the water out of a puddle with a hair dryer. Shouldn't take long, four, maybe five hours. What Michael was not about to tell Tigara is that his shirt would dry on its own in that time anyway, and this exercise was mostly just to waste time and tire him out.

 

"You will need to break frequently, or you're going to fail in ways that'll have us finding parts of you about for weeks. I'll be back in about . . . whenever I decide to be, really. Have fun."

 

 

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Soggy. Tigara felt very soggy. Somehow, he also felt mocked. And now, he had to dry his shirt. Lovely. He peeled it off himself, as the wet shirt clung to him like skin on an apple. He marched over to the stick, boots squishing at every step. He draped the shirt over the stick and spread it out evenly. Muttering, he embraced the Source and reached for Air. Much easier than Fire or water, but not as easy as the other two. He weaved a single thread of Air, making the shirt blow in the wind, snapping it to create a spray of water. He was tempted to add Fire to the weave. It would be much easier, but he knew his..."capabilities" with Fire.  So, Air is t was, drying the shirt ever so slowly. 4 and a half hours later.

 

Tigara Kazim

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After returning from wherever it was that Michaels disappear to, Michael released his student for the night with the command that they meet again the next day. Michael saw no reason why the entire introduction to Tigara's new powers could not be completed over a span of three days. I will add the minor exception of force majeure moments. There isn't a whole lot anyone can do about those. Not even a dreadlord.

 

The next day proved, again, that life was unfair and Michael was still stuck with a student. It could have been worse: Tigara could have been a complete idiot rather than only half and then the lessons would have been even more torturous.

 

Ritual gripes aside it was time to go to work. Tigara had only two elements left and then he would be ready to increase his knowledge through time, practise and care. Unlike other careers, Michael found that the first few lessons in saidin were the hardest and that although later on Tigara would be asked to complete more difficult challenges, he would be more experienced and used to dealing with them.

 

Today they would begin with the element of earth, and Michael told Tigara so in that way that circumvenes the need for double inverted commas because they're all the way on the right of my keyboard and I'm too lazy to venture all the way over there to get them. In order to satisfy Michael, or at least not be a total bore, Tigara only had to form a ball of solid soil.

 

Michael grasped the source and wove a simple weave of earth, bits of stray dirt and mud drawing together from the courtyard into they had formed a roughly spherical shape. There was nothing difficult in it so much as new. Tigara needed to accustom himself.

 

"Now," he said, with double inverted commas, "you try it."

 

 

OOC: Sorry for the delay on that. I didn't see that you'd posted.

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Refreshed and renewed, Tigara grasped with relative ease today. Earth came to him very easily and he moved it around, collecting dirt and grit from the ground. It rotated on the ground and formed a perfect sphere about the size of a teamug. A large one. Tigara altered the weave a little, and the ball started rolling in a circle around him. Another alteration, and it raced off through the air and pegged a tree right in the center of it. "At least that was my doing." he thought. He started gathering more dirt in the ground, forgetting himslef in his enjoyment. Several more balls pegged that tree in the same spot.

 

"Wheee!"

 

Tigara

Having a whimsical moment

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"If you're quite finished!"

 

Michael was feeling a little rushed, today. Rushed mainly due to a feeling of impending doom that was settling about his shoulders for certain reasons not involving Tigara at all. That being said he was determined to finish off this last part of the lesson before something inexplicably terrible happened such as suddenly finding himself barred from the fortress. That would have been unpleasant and not so entertaining.

 

"Now we move onto spirit. Spirit does not often affect the material world. It is used to combine and strengthen other elements into weaves, to shield and to cut flows. What I will show you, briefly, is how you may cut the weave of an enemy and render their attempted thread useless, although you'll probably be hiding behind a rock when actual combat takes place and not need this at all. Still, orders are orders."

 

Michael quickly wove a basic weave of air and tied it off so that it lay shimmering in front of Tigara. He then sent a blade of spirit cutting through the strands in just the right way so as not to cock up royally like he expected Tigara to do.

 

"Right. Your turn."

 

Michael moved about ten paces away and watched.

 

 

OOC: Sorry it's not so great but ah, I am working on a time limit. Post to this and you're done for the class. Woohooo.

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Spirit came easy to Tigara. He was strongest in Spirit. He crafted the blade of Spirit and sent it speeding through the weave. The weave split in two, if not looking ragged, like a ripped cloth. he had done it. He looked to Michael for his strange sense of praise, but he was not there. He guessed the lessons were done.

 

Tigara Kazim

Dreadlord Acolyte

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