A Warm Welcome (attn: Eqwina)

[Dasterly]

The evening was wearing on as the sun began to die, burning in a muddy haze as it made its descent. Daedric was growing weary.

 

They’d been riding since day break, and this was his first true ‘ranging’ along the edge of the blight in northern Saldea. It had amazed him, especially in those first few hours of the ride where he looked out, seeing the definitive difference between the Dark One tainted lands and the snow licked edges that still remained pure and free of corruption. He had read about it. He had heard about it. But reading and hearing about a thing were one thing, actually seeing it first hand quite another. It was almost like legitimizing the Dark One. Made him real. Not just something his mother had threatened him with, not just a story, or legend. No. This was real.

 

His father’s wisdom had just proven itself, as, much to Daedric’s chagrin, it always did. Couldn’t he be proven wrong, just once? Daedric squashed the thought as soon as it came. This wasn’t the time for idle musings and lax attention; Trollocs were as real as the Blight’s corruption some half mile distant. Trollocs. Another larger than life story he had yet to experience.

 

The young man, some twenty winter’s in age, was then casually backhanded by the soldier riding beside him, jarring him out of his silent revery and making him focus. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Daedric slid off a glove and put his hand to his lip. It came away red. Just because it was casual didn’t mean it did not hurt.

 

“Pay attention, young Zeramene. This is a ranging. A scouting mission. Not an idle ride around your father’s home or a nice little picnic. Your father wants to make a soldier out of you, and by Winter’s Blast I’ll not have your first experience be an unjust one!” Jerrah, the old, grizzled Lieutenant said. He had served with Daedric’s father back when his father still served. Before the festering arrow wound in his thigh rendered him unfit for Saldean cavalry.

 

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Daedric replied, his dark eyes flashing with fire as he nodded respectfully and replaced his glove. His father’s friends were hard men. Much like himself. Much like he wanted his son to be.

 

Letting his boyish anger cool he blinked, focusing on his surroundings in the slowly dying daylight. Twilight was approaching. The most dangerous time of the day. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. The fore riders had circled around a long pole that looked to have been hastily driven in the ground. Bile rose up from the pit of his stomach, causing his adam’s apple to bob up and down to resist a sudden and very sharp urge to purge his body of the hasty lunch they had all shared earlier in the day.

 

That was no simple pole. And that was no animal splayed there, too human arms outstretched, too human legs lashed together along the length of the pole, lacerated flesh exposed through rends and tears in blood flaked fabric. And that face, smeared with blood and mud, mouth ajar with dark, vacant eyes staring sightlessly to the side as the head and neck tilted without strength. No, this was no animal. This was a human.

 

Bile tried to rise again through his throat before he ruthlessly quelled it, watching one of the soldiers dismount as the rest of the squad gathered around the pole, as if the crucifixion was a part of some dark, malicious menagerie. The soldier silently treaded closer, unsheathing his blade, reaching out to tentatively push it against the person’s leg. Was it male? Female? Low or high born? An un-natural silence precipitated his sword’s extension. The wind died. Horses quieted. Experienced Saldean cavalry watched in hushed horror as the solider lightly tapped the human’s thigh with the flat of the blade.

 

It was the sort of thing to make an impression on a pliable young mind, the sort of thing to make a life long impression. But what followed would follow him to the end of his days with a vividness that was frightening. Muscles of men and horse alike almost perceptibly clenched as the crucified human on the pole shuddered, neck snapping back, mouth opening frightfully wide, as if to try and swallow the world as a deep, guttural sound erupted. The thing’s body twisted and shook against its restraints, flaked blood danced down through the air like corrupted snow, like the blight itself, from the thing’s body as the guttural …noise continued, loud, so loud, combining with the scent of rotting flesh and sweaty bodies, combined with the jingle of armor and the prancing of frightened horses.

 

The solder finally put a stop to it with one fluid motion, performing what Daedric recalled as Arc of the Moon, severing the head from the body, the sound instantaneously stopping as the head rolled on the ground, spinning and spinning until it landed on what should have been a bloody stump, lips contorted into a rictus, eyes that had only moments ago seemed so lifeless now seemed to have a haunting significance. The men looked on in stunned fascination until their dark reveries were banished by a dying scream.

 

“TROLLOCS!” instantly twenty, no, now it was nineteen, swords left scabbards as all eyes swung to the north end of the circle, a spear lodged through their comrade’s body as around twenty, no, perhaps twenty five roaring figures charged their group.

 

Daedric blinked as his fellow Saldeans formed up and met the charge as best they could. Twilight had fallen, casting shadows as the last of the sun’s dying light slowly began to ebb away. It was too late to form up. It was too late for anything except survival. Daedric looked on as a few more soldiers died in moments to the Trollocs’ surprise attack.

 

“Daedric! Fight, boy! Fight for your life!” Jerrah screamed, charging into the fray. Daedric’s sword was in his hands as he hesitated, battle swirling around him, horses and sword and axe wielding beasts carrying him into battle. He’d had instruction with his weapon, but his was no sparring field. Life and death swirled around him with grunts and yells and screams.

 

The Saldeans were holding their own after the initial shock, slaying the Dark Touched beasts even as their own still fell and died around them. Suddenly one of those crooked, Thakan’Dar forged blades swung at him, and Daedric found himself reacting by instinct, deterring the thrust with Moon Rises over the Water. He deterred another slash, and another, muscle coiling as adrenaline filled him, doing everything in his power to keep the snarling, eagle faced Trolloc at bay. His personal battle seemed to last forever, until finally, Jerrah, dear old Jerrah, slashed down from his mount, behind the Trolloc and into its neck, causing it to twitch and die.

 

Jerrah met Daedric’s bright green eyes with calm blue hues of his own before instantly turning and finding another foe. Most of the Trollocs had been dispatched by that point in the battle, but, so had most of the Saldeans. Daedric looked on as the last few Saldeans, including Jerrah, encircled what could only be a Fade. Dark blade flashed with amazing speed and accuracy, deterring thrusts just as it delivered its own. And then Daedric saw its face. Met the eyeless’ stare. And he felt fear. Paralyzing, all encompassing, fear. Fear he hadn’t even felt when fighting for his life.

 

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t react. Couldn’t do anything except stare in horrified, catatonic silence. Someone had wounded the thing, and then, with a snarl, the Fade swirled and decapitated the man. It was then Daedric was knocked from his horse, a catchpole blindsiding him, catching him along the ribs, sending him sprawling to hard, snow licked dirt, his sword rattling as it hit the ground a few feet away.

 

Blood bubbled on his lips as he coughed, trying, Light!, how he was trying, to catch his breath, watching as the menacing horn-headed creature approached him with glee, running toward his inert form. No! No no no! His mind screamed, his eyes blinking, his body torn apart in agony as he tried to operate his fingers, as he tried to move his arm.

 

Was this the end? Was his thread in the pattern to be snuffed out, just like this? Severed, forever. No. He would not die. He. Would. Not. Die! There.. yes, there, his fumbling fingers at his waist, freeing his long dagger. One shot. That was all he would have. The Trolloc was close now, having had to momentarily stop to slash at his horse, which was on the ground, feet kicking, body twitching.

 

Mother… I hope you taught me true. Light! Lend me strength.

 

Muscles coiled in his arm as he brought his hand back, blade against his palm as he stared into the thing’s face, stared into those gleeful eyes as it approached. Yes. One shot. Impatience caught the shadowspawn at last minute, its hunger for death too strong as it went from fast walk to sprint. As Daedric released the dagger, sending it in a swirling arc.

 

The thing’s greed for blood was what saved Daedric. As its head leaned forward in the midst of a spring, his blade penetrated the thing’s eye, buried to the hilt, causing the Trolloc to buckle to its knees, and then, finally, to fall face down, life leaving its body with a twitch.

 

Grunting in pain and spitting up yet more blood, Daedric rolled over, reaching out and taking his sword as he struggled up to an elbow, dark hair matted with sweat and blood to his brow as his eyes looked out, seeking comrades, Trollocs, anyone. It was then he realized he was alone, except, there, yes…

 

The Fade’s body was twitching on the ground, spasming, arm swinging as it fought death. One arm decapitated and head missing the spawn was surrounded by those who had died to kill it.

 

Dead flesh surrounded him. Nothing alive was in sight. A horse. He needed a horse. Yes. Horse. Home.

 

Dark had enveloped the land, a pall taking over the field, adding to the death, adding to the destruction. And with that Daedric closed his eyes, fingers clutching his blade as he fluttered on the edge of consciousness, blood and spittle dotting the side of his mouth as his mind spiraled out, churning in dark and horrific wonder as his body shut down for a time, heart beating a weak cadence. Weak as a whisper dancing in a crowded room.

 

[Eqwina]

Kabria’s eyes were heavy and dark shadow’s marred the normally smooth skin of her face. It had been four days since she’d had proper sleep, and nights spent outside so near the Blight were never pleasant. Her blonde hair was lank and her cloak was soiled, giving her something of the look of a peasant; if you ignored the commanding grace in which she maneuvered her horse. Silks skirts and jewels had been replaced three days gone with more practical clothing for battle. Dark pants, and a well fitting coat gave her the look of a warrior queen, especially if you noticed the sword strapped to her saddle.

 

Sitting back in a sparse copse of trees, she waited. To the North she could feel Perivar, he was strained and tired, but he would no sooner give into fatigue than she would. He would return soon….

 

Adjusting her cloak, Kabria lowered the cowl to give herself a better view. Just because she would feel when Trolloc’s were near did not mean, other things couldn’t catch her by surprise. She’d taken to holding Saidar and having weaves prepared when they scouted along the Blight, but her fatigue had finally made that impossible. She could only channel with great need now. That was why she’d allowed Perivar to go North alone, with her ability to channel so limited she would only be a hindrance to him and he would need all of his skill as a Blademaster to return safely to her.

 

When she breathed in it was almost as if she could taste the Dark One on the air. The Borderlands were increasingly restless these days, everywhere along the Border raids were more frequent and often they penetrated the lines of patrols. That was why she was here, she and her Ajah Sisters. To lend aid and push the Shadowspawn back where they belonged.

 

Suddenly to the West her ears caught the sounds of battle. Embracing Saidar she did not weave or move, with enhanced hearing she could hear the cries of men. Her hands twitched on her reins, and she ached to lead Blade towards the fight. She could do nothing though, nothing but die. Less than an hour ago she’d had to kill a Trolloc with her sword, because she could make a fireball large enough to do him harm. Her heart broke with every gut wrenching scream, and each time she heard a man die a piece of her died as well. She was here to help these men, to save them and their people and she was nearly helpless as a child. Shame made her cheeks heat, and before she could think she squeezed her knees and let Blade rush towards the dying sounds of battle.

 

The carnage she saw would have once made her empty her stomach, but too many battles had passed for her to do more than grimace. Every where she laid eyes, there were dead solders many deformed or missing limbs. Letting her warhorses’ reins drop she climbed down to see if she come in time to save any. Here and there a Trolloc twitched, but when they moved she used a single thread of fire to stop their hearts. It was more mercy than they deserved, but it was all she could do to manage that. Quickly her boots were caked with blood, and her hands were stained, but still she went and knelt by each body; even those that were too obviously damaged to be saved. She had failed them, and they deserved at least her attempt at healing. She knelt beside a young man, who couldn’t have been more than twenty; his face still boyish if no longer innocent. Reaching down she laid fingers lighting along his forehead and was surprised to find a tiny flame of life. Weaving healing she laid it on him, as gently as if he was still a babe.

 

She was weak and even using Saidar sparingly she was forced to sit down in the midst of the dying ground. It took all of her strength not to fall on the young man whose life she’d just saved. She couldn’t embrace the source, but laying fingers on his neck she could tell he still lived. He had a strong pulse, but his injuries had been serious and he would need time to rest.

 

Closing her eyes Kabria sent feelings of urgency to Perivar, she knew he was headed straight towards her, she’d felt him moving the moment she’d gotten weak. Pushing herself onto her knee’s and up to her feet she brought Blade over near the sleeping solider; using her horse as a crutch to support her weight she searched for another mount. Many had scattered after losing their riders, but a few whinnied nervously in nearby trees. By the time Perivar reached them, she had both horse over near the boy. It took Perivar to get him lain over the saddle, and she was shamed when he had to lift her into her own.

 

They made camp not far from the killing fields, and when Perivar was satisfied that Kabria was settled he took up position to guard her sleep. Much as she tried to stay awake, wanting to make sure the boy would be okay; her eyes closed of their own accord and she was soon dreaming a dreamless sleep.

 

[Sieve]

Perivar sat calmly in Nightdancer's saddle scanning the mangled darkness for signs of shadowspawn.  Darkness suited this place though it made it exponentially dangerous.  The small rise combined with the moonlight allowed him to see for a few miles to the North, East, and West though his view to the South was completely obscured by a dense mangled forest.  Despite his sight being obstructed Perivar could sense Kabria to the south, another “gift” of the bond between Aes Sedai and Warder.  Perivar had not felt anything unusual through the bond or a change in her location so she was still safe in the copse of trees where he had left her. 

 

Kabria, his Aes Sedai and the Light of his heart was not in the Blight instead choosing to remain behind.  Still she was close enough to the maelstrom of the Blight for him to be concerned about her.  Normally Perivar was more at ease when she was by his side but she was too exhausted for a foray into the Blight's madness where so many of its denizens could maim or kill.  Horribly mangled limbs twisted unnaturally could impede your travel, or worse a tiny prick of their thorns could kill.  The Blight held worse surprises for novices and veterans alike.  It was best not to think on them but remain ever vigilant.

 

Years ago traveling through the Blight its gruesome sights would have saddened him though he barely spared a thought for the immense destruction.  Growing up in the Borderlands he had watched the Blight consume more and more of his homeland each year.  He had faced Trollocs, had even seen Myrddraal up close and personal.  Close enough to feel the fear of their eyeless gaze.  Now that he was a Warder and a Blademaster the eyeless gaze of Myrddraal no longer had the same effect.  Even so he still had to be mindful of their prowess with their dark blades.  Myrddraal were as quick as vipers and often refused to die even after being decapitated.

 

There were worse things about the Blight than the presence of Trollocs and even Myrddraal.  The ruined landscape seemed alive, sensing disciples of the Light.  Vines and limbs, even entire trees like agent’s of the Dark One reaching out for you attempting to entangle you or your mount or bar your path hoping to make you change direction and lose your way eventually trapping and devouring those foolish enough to travel there. Tens of thousands of people must have lost their lives in the Blight over the years.

 

Now that Perivar was older and more experienced he was mostly numb to the destruction, very little truly moved him any longer.  He was not a complete fool though, he still knew the dangers were real.  They just did not worry him as much as they once did.  There were hundreds of ways to die in and out of the Blight, some of them in the blink of an eye.  It was just a way of life, he was resigned to the concept of death.  One had to be in order to be a Warder, especially bonded to a Green.

 

Perivar continued his surveillance like a predator but if he wasn’t careful he could just as easily end up being the prey.  His eyes could not penetrate all of the Blight's corruption though if any shadowspawn were close enough he would be able to sense them.  It was a gift from the bond.  It would be like detecting a nearby midden heap.  Perivar was not as concerned by the presence of Trollocs or Myddraal.  He could handle them but the Shadow touched Blight held worse creatures like worms where his only chance of survival would be to outrun them.  The fluting cry of a pack of worms would make the most hardened warrior tremble.  Best not to think on those either lest the Dark One send a pack his way. 

 

Perivar was about to go deeper into the Blight though instead he wheeled Nightdancer to face south and uttered a curse.  Almost as bad as the presence of a pack of worms was what he now felt through the bond.  Perivar spurred Nightdancer to a gallop, his faithful warhorse rising to the occasion.  Kabria had moved, he was not close enough to precisely determine what she was doing but she seemed to be focused, concerned, and weak. 

 

Kabria was not moving closer so where had she gone and why?  What had she seen or heard?  What was she thinking, she was far too weak to do anything.  That was why she had remained behind.  Perivar cursed himself for not staying by her side.  He never should have let her talk him into scouting for fists of Trolloc though she was determined to see them all destroyed.  Her fervor for fighting the Shadow was unmatched.

 

As Perivar galloped through the chaos he felt her weakness, she had almost used up the last bits of her reserve.  Well she had already used up hers so now she was tapping into his.  Reaching the Light blessed ground of the Borderlands Kabria finally came into view.  A skirmish had occurred though she had not been a part of it, thankfully so as her exhaustion was already sapping some of his strength reminding him how weak he was at the moment.  They could not keep this pace for long.

 

The bloody carnage littered the trampled ground.  Limbs and corpses lie all about the blood soaked ground as if a giant creature had just flung them about while the corpse of a Myrddraal still thrashed about the hard packed dirt as it refused to die.  Perivar was aware of his surroundings, aware of everything though he only had eyes for Kabria.  She was the one sign of normalcy amidst the chaotic place.  Like a ray of light breaking through a cloud covered sky.

 

Perivar was surprised to find Kabria standing vigil over the lone survivor, a younger man a few years younger than himself.  The stubborn woman was using her warhorse Blade to support herself while holding the reins to another mount.  No words were spoken as they prepared to depart.  Neither of them were in any condition to face a band of Trollocs. 

 

Kabria begrudgingly allowed him to help her into her saddle before hoisting the survivor across the saddle of the spare mount.  They travelled in silence a short distance from the carnage before making camp.  After seeing to the others Perivar took up a position from where he had a good view of his surroundings while keeping within a close proximity to Kabria.  Periodically he made circuits around the camp though nothing stirred in the dark night.  Before he knew it the sun began to illuminate the horizon and he began to prepare breakfast.  The crackling of the newly lit campfire and the smell of the food must have made its way about the camp as Kabria and the survivor of last nights skirmish began to stir...