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DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

In the Dragons Den without a Fire Extinguisher


Tigara
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Tigara sighed as he plopped down on his bed. Today had been rather boring, mostly monotonous chores. He put his feet up on the bed and began to sketch his sister, paper on his thighs. A knock came on the door. “Enter” he said as the door opened. It was Michael. Michael at your door was never a good thing.

 

“Tigara Kazim, come with me.” He pronounced. “Oh no! What now? Last time you said that, I nearly died! Is this another attempt to kill me?”  Michael shook his head. “Yes and no. Come on.” Tigara flowed along. He had never been to this part of the Fortress before, not that we went many places. He avoided places he did not have to go to. The Blight was too unpredictable for him. They approached a tall wooden door, much less ornate than the last door. Michael opened the door and lead them further in. The trip was cut short by Michael gesturing to another door with his hand. This was the place. Tigara took a deep breath and went in.

 

Five dreadlords and four dreadladies sat in a semicircle at one end of the room. The rest of the room was black. Black as the Blight at night. “Tigara Kazim, you have been summoned here to be tested for acceptance to the rank of Dreadlord. You will obey every command given to you here without question. Failure will result in death. Do you understand?” Tigara nodded. It added up now. Another test, another chance to risk his neck for the Dreadlords’ amusement. Nifty. “You will defend yourself for as long as we feel you must in order to pass this test. If we nine do not agree that you are worthy to move on… well, let us not dwell on that. Seize saidin now, and prepare for your testing.” Tigara embraced the Source, which came to him as naturally as breathing now. Two Dreadlords and two Dreadladies rose and came to meet him. The dreadladies were on his left and right, the dreadlords in front of him and behind him. Like dodgeball, but much less violent. “Begin.”

 

As the words were spoken, a fireball came hurling in front of him, a boulder came from behind him, a club of air from the left and a spray of water fro the right. He jumped as high as he could. The water doused the fireball, and the club shattered the rock. Excellent. But the others were quick. No sooner than he landed, a wipe of air came across the floor and grabbed at his ankle. His feet flew out from under him, and his was staring at the ceiling. He got up and quickly wove a shield of all five elements as a whole host of weaponry dove at him. One of the men began to weave a lightning bolt, but Tigara quickly sliced it off at the base. No more lightning bolt for him. But while he was distracted, a club of air dealt a heavy blow across his face. He hit the floor with a thud. His felt blood. His nose must have broke or something. “Hold.”

 

The attacks stopped. He picked himself up off the floor and studied the others. The men till held saidin, and the women must be holding saidar as well. A rest period. A tie to gather his thoughts and make a plan. He had once been told that if in doubt, focus on your strength. Spirit was his strong-point. What could he do with Spirit? Cutting the flows off were all good and well, but he couldn’t see the women’s weaves. He might be able to shield them, if they were startled. They would have to be. Too difficult otherwise. “Resume.” Before he knew it, fire was running across the floor at him. He wove earth and air to block it. Had to get a shield. He had to. A fist of air and earth together winded him as it struck his stomach. He winced in pain and nearly vomited. He made a quick weave and a loud clap accompanied a bright flash. It was then he struck at the women with shields. Strong ones. They both sliced through their connection with the Source. Their mouths dropped in surprise. “Haha! Didn’t see that coming, did ya?” he thought to himself.  He tied off the shields and turned to focus on the men again. By that time, a blot of lightning was rushing at him again. He ducked in panic and it singed his hair. He was angry. No one was going to burn his hair! He readied a weave of earth and fire that would explode violently. “Hold.” He stopped mid weave. A second more and there would have been something blowing up. The four went back up to their seats among the nine. He could see them discussing among themselves, but could hear nothing. Eavesdropping ward. A few minutes passed and they turned to him. “Tigara Kazim, you have been found worthy of the rank of Dreadlord. Congratulations. Dreadlord Daemeau will escort you back to your room and offer you Healing. Sleep well tonight, for tomorrow you go to Shayol Ghul itself.” It was over. Finally. He had made it. The Will of the Pattern.

 

~**~

 

The Traveling rooms were very empty, to say the least. Nothing here except himself and the dreadlady here to make the Gateway. The vertical line of silver appeared and opened into a window to a barren rocky mountain. He stepped through. The smell of sulfur filled his lungs. The woman followed him in. “This is Shayol Ghul. Do not, under any circumstances, touch the Source when we enter the Pit of Doom. Not only is it forbidden, but touching it so close to the Great Lord will kill you.” She started up the hill in a brisk walk that meant business. He followed quickly.

 

They arrived at a hole in the side of the mountain. The dreadlady entered before him and he followed. He found himself very wary of the sharp jagged rocks suspended on the roof. A very discomforting thought. He found himself suddenly in a large open space, with a hole in the middle of the floor. The sky above was a brilliant crimson red.

 

“TIGARA KAZIM”

 

He spoke inside your mind! The voice filled his head and Tigara moaned in agony. He fell to his knees. “Yes, Great Lord.”

 

“TIGARA KAZIM, YOU HAVE FOUND YOURSELF WORTHY TO BE ONE OF MY DREADLORDS. WOULDYOU KILL FOR ME?”

 

“Yes Great Lord! I would do anything for you.” He moaned out. It was exceedingly painful to have someone talked incredibly loud inside your mind.

 

“GOOD. WOULD YOU DIE FOR ME, AYRIK DRAYVEN? WOULD YOU GIVE YOUR LIFE TO SEE ME FREE, TO SEE MY ENEMY, THE ONE THEY CALL DRAGON, DEFEATED?”

 

“Yes, Great lord! I would die a thousand deaths to see you free once again.”

 

WOULD YOU SERVE ME ABOVE MOGHEDIEN? Shock hit Tigara like a charging bull. How did he know that he fancied Moghedien? He told no one! I KNOW YOUR MIND. DO NOT THINK YOUR SECRETS ARE SECRET FROM ME. MOGHEDIEN HAS BEEN USEFUL OVER THE YEARS, BUT YOU MUST NOT SERVE HER ABOVE ME.

 

“Yes, Great Lord! You above anyone else. You are my only master!”

 

THEN SWEAR IT. SWEAR YOUR ETERNAL SOUL TO MY SERVICE. SWEAR TO ME, AND I WILL GIVE YOU IMMORTALITY. YOU WILL BE A RULER OF MEN UNDER ME WHEN I AM FREE. YOUR SISTER WILL ALSO BE REWARDED THROUGH YOUR DEEDS. SWEAR IT NOW.

 

“Yes, Great Lord! I swear to you my body, my mind, my soul. Everything that I have is yours! By the Shadow, and by my oaths as a Friend of the Dark, I, Tigara Kazim, swear my soul to you, Great Lord. I will serve as you see fit, and I will ever strive for the day that you are free!”

 

 

I ACCEPT YOUR OATHS, TIGARA KAZIM. I MARK YOU AS MINE. TAINTED SAIDIN SHALL NO LONGER SCOUR YOUR MIND AND BODY. IMMORTALITY IS YOURS SO LONG AS YOU SERVE ME. GO TO MOGHEDIEN AND TRAVEL THE DREAMS WITH HER. THAT IS WHERE YOU ARE NEEDED. GO NOW, TIGARA KAZIM, AND FULFILL YOUR OATHS TO ME.

 

Tigara Kazim

Dreadlord

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