This is a Simulation- Basic Offence/Defence [Linten]

[Guest Estel]

~I'm impressed~

 

"Thank you"

 

Even pride at a disembodied voice's compliment could not phase Isha this morning. For the first time in a long time, things were going well. The gut-wrenching anxiety he had felt last night had all disappeared the instant Dalinar had cleared Linten's name. Suddenly Isha was getting another chance; another chance at teaching; another chance at befriending the boy; another chance at the life that had seemed to slide beyond his control the minute Aginor's sword had... No! He would not allow memories to ruin this right now!

 

As for what had impressed that strange voice, it was the horde of straw dummies he had set up through the edge of the woods and into the tress beyond. They totaled fifty in all, with forty set up in a fist-type of formation and the other ten were in a row fifty yards from the treeline. Despite not having made the dummies, or even set them up himself, he was proud of his own ingenuity.

 

Too few of the younger men here had even seen battle. How would they handle themselves at Tarmon Gaidon if they had not had any experience fighting Shawdowspan, let alone Dreadlords and Forsaken! Isha had arrived just days after Dumai's Wells but had spent the better part of his time since being raised to Asha'man in the Blight. The rest had only had the Bubble of Evil and that one fateful night with the infiltrators for experience.

 

This would give Linten a taste of what it was really about.

 

He had told the boy to meet him here and to bring his sword. When the smaller man finally trudged up through the pre-dawn shadows, Isha's face contorted into what he called a smile and asked "What do you think?"

[tismeb4u]

Linten had rose early, a mix of excitement, anxiety, and relief had kept sleep sporadic. He had not realized how badly his return might have turned out until they arrived at the Black Tower; sensed the change in his escorts demeanor. Even after his name had been cleared he had remained guarded; would for a long time to come if he ever did feel comfortable here again. How much has changed in this place I had begun to call home? Only time would tell, but time would not find him idle or unwary. He was to resume training under his old mentor again. That had offered a measure of comfort in that he had known Isha before he had left, ~been abandoned to that hellish place.~ He ignored the voice and it's attempts to twist reality. They had often danced, but he would not fall for the dance today.

 

Carefully he strapped the sword to his back, eased the blade in it's sheath. His only true and trusted friend since he had been ... let the though fall to the wayside. He would be training again, knowledge he needed for his future; needed to make them pay. Formless laughter rang from a dark corner in his mind; tried to create an urgency. But he was safe for now. Surrounded by others of his kind, protected once more by the numbers of the Black Tower. The Tar Valon witches would not come here, could not hope to gentle the new ranks that lived here.

 

~Rion ..... what if there are others like him~

 

“Shut up ... they hold power in their grasp and serve the Dragon, a man ... do you here me a man!†His own voice filled his ears in a strangled whisper. Restraint, you must keep restraint until the time is right. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, the voice had touched on a raw nerve that had followed Linten since the night Isha had taken him from here. He forced the voice back into the darkness, ignored the muted buzz of it's poison.

 

Darkness still lay heavy over the yard but the faintest indications of light kissed gently at the eastern horizon and promised an end to nights rein over them for another day. Isha's directions had been clear and precious as to the time and place he was to meet and continue his training in the control and use of Saidin. New weaves were only part of his desire to return to the Tower, to accomplish what must be done he needed to improve; to learn and master everything Isha could teach him and more. Only then would he be truly ready for the Dragon's purpose; if in the process he was able to complete a few of his own all the more better.

 

The tall man looked more shadow then substance as Linten approached him. His shape partially masked in the filtering shadows of the tree line. But when he turned with the twisted smile that took his face, it spoke of the man Linten had known in better times. Turning his eyes toward the sweep of Isha's hand Linten worked to draw straw form from shadow and tree. So many, so very many. “You have been busy since you left me last night my mentor. So many forms must have taken a great deal of time to build and place. I know you asked me to bring my sword; but with so many, you will be teaching me more weaves and control of Saidin won't you?†His eyes continued to study the placement of the dummies; their numbers and points of hight concentrations.

 

 

Linten

Returned mentee of Isha

[Guest Estel]

Isha watched as Linten eyed the manikins and their placements. Again the big man wondered what his mentee had been up to in the year or so that he’d been gone. The question plagued him and it stung that while Isha had been willing to take Linten back and yet the boy still wouldn’t tell him what had happened to him.

 

~You would never tell him what happened between Aginor and you~

 

‘DON’T SAY HIS NAME!’

 

~Are you so afrai...~

 

His mind screamed, drowning out the Voice. He couldn’t face the night and he couldn’t face the truth that he was terrified and scarred to the very core of his being. Despite the revenge he had managed to extract on the Forsaken, he had no closure. Nightmares haunted his dreams, the Voice invaded his thoughts, scars and stiffness in his thighs and groin served as hot steel that would not let him forget.

 

His breathing quickened as claws once more rent his flesh. He screamed yet he could not rid his ears of the maniacal laughter that filled his mind. No matter how much he thrashed, twisted, squirmed or lashed out he only forced the claws deeper and deeper into his own skin and even if he escaped for a few brief moments, it wasn’t long enough to regain his feet. Light, he didn’t even know if he could stand at this point! He was going to die!

 

Another voice dragged him from the abyss at whose edge he was teetering. A voice, not the Voice but a different voice, one with just as much meaning. A voice, the voice matched the hard face of the young man. He looked concerned- why? Who was he? Why was he so familiar?

 

Linten! Light Linten! Isha realised he was holding his head. “Sorry, headache.” he lied, his voice was strained and the big man hoped he had the other man convinced. “What were you saying... Right, the manikins. I had some Soldiers set them up under my direction, being and Attack Leader has its perks. And of course you’ll learn new weaves! This is one of the most important classes you’ll be taught and I’m teaching you in such a way that you will understand what exactly goes on once you leave the grounds and enter the battlefield.”

 

In Isha’s opinion, the Tower should be doing more to prepare these men for Tarmon Gai’don and it should definitly increase its presence in the Blight, one lone Asha’man could not hold back the Blight himself and Kandor needed to be retaken. Why was the Black Tower sitting about doing nothing! All this training was going to waste if it was never used!

 

“We’re going to start with a basic shield of Air.”

 

Isha siezed saidin and took threads of Air, weaving them together into what, to a channeler, might have resembled a blanket but was harder than steel. “This weave is especially useful in blocking arrows and light ranged attacks and it can be strengthened by adding more so it can block larger missiles. Repeat the weave, you can use Spirit to strengthen it if you must.”

 

Ooc: what are your OP scores again? Isha’s going to play mainly to Linten’s strengths in this class.

[tismeb4u]

Something here is not right, I doubt that is just a run of the mill headache; where is the smile and ironic humor you had before you abandoned me Isha?

 

~Did he not offer to bring you back? Did you not decide to stay? What of those woods and your hunting? Have you forgotten so soon?~

 

Laughter cackled in the back of his mind as he studied Isha from the corner of his vision. It discerned him that Isha seemed to be only a shell of the man he had know. The man had placed a great deal of value in life and self worth back then. This shadow next to him seemed at odds with that picture, viewed life in a more twisted and hard reality from what Linten had seen so far. Perhaps he had been right in his earlier thoughts before Isha had tried to change them. Perhaps the new hunt he found himself longing for was the right path after all. He doubted his mentor, with his present views, would hinder that goal if he were to confide in the man. But the thirst for vengeance was far greater then the risk to confide it.

 

~So quickly you forget how it felt to be hunted; to hear them searching for you. So close you could smell them.~

 

Shut up!!

 

~To know if she was to simply turn around and stretch out her hand she could have closed it's delicate fingers around your neck.~

 

I said shut up .... go back to the hell you came from I don't need you anymore!

 

~What will he do when you tell him? If he tries to stop you will you spill his blood as well? Could you?~

 

Linten could not answer the voice; was afraid what the answer my be if he truly took the time to seek it. Instead his eyes swept to the space in front of Isha and he watched intently at the weave being formed before him. The way the threads of air slipped together and packed tighter and tighter. A shield, this would be a very handy weave for the quest he had placed himself on. Carefully each thread's position burned into his memory. I will find you witch, I will find you and you will beg for me not to carve the source from you and leave you like chaff on the threshing room floor. I will find you.

 

That strange little feeling that had help keep him alive while he had been estranged from the Black Tower washed over him and his eyes flicked up to find Isha studying him. The thirst had faded reality from mind play again. Quickly a smile replaced the snarl that had set to his face, “sorry mentor, I was studying the weave so much I missed what you said. Strengthen with Spirit?” When Isha nodded Linten relaxed the tension in his shoulders slightly and turned back toward the field of manikins.

 

~He knows. He knows and he is watching. Are you sure you can face him if the wheel wills it?~

 

A low growl escaped his throat softly as he forced the flame into the center of his mind and drew the void around him. Stretching out an invisible hand he reached out to the orb without hesitation and seized Saidin with force. Felt the rush of sweet power and ecstasy sweep through him. Each strand of straw in the closer manikins drew a new level of clarity; Isha's steady breathing echoed in his head as his senses became sharper. Then the taint, the acidic stench that scoured another layer from his bones and tried to force the contents from his stomach. The wave was stronger then before, each time seemed to be. But it passed and the blur that had hazed his vision briefly slipped from existence. Saidin pulsed in his control and begged for him to draw further from it's sweet drink. Pulling out a thick thread of air he began to follow the weave Isha had formed, interlaced it with spirit to add more strength to it as Isha had allowed. The weave was slow and time consuming as it was with all new weaves. But this one would earn special practice in quiet hours; he would know this weave intimately before long. Slowly the thickened air began to spread in front of him as he continued to add to the weave. Once he had it large enough to cover the space in front of him he turned his attention back to Isha but maintained the weave and a solid hold of Saidin. This was the true feeling of life; filled with Saidin everything seemed more, seemed better.

 

OOC: OP is as follows Air 5, Spirit 8, Water 5, Fire 7, Earth 5.

[Guest Estel]

Worry creased Isha’s scarred forehead as Linten stared off at the distance while instructions were given. His concern grew when the boy asked him to repeat himself. This wasn’t like Linten at all. Linten had always been the perfect mentee; attentive, eager, quick to learn and cooperative. Isha had never really had a ‘bad’ mentee, persay, but none of them had ever really compared to Linten, at least not to the Linten Isha had known before the boy had begun associating with Onyx. Onyx was dead now and a part of Isha felt guilty for saying “Good riddance.”

 

~Why under the Light- you are of the Light, aren’t you?- are you worrying about him? Look at you bloody self! You’re listening to a Voice in your head, or rather I’m listening to a Voice in my head. Which of us is real?~

 

‘OF COURSE I’M OF THE LIGHT! AND OF COURSE I’M WORRYING! I WILL NOT LOSE HIM TO THE TAINT!’

 

The Voice retreated to the dark confines of his mind muttering philosophical questions on the subject of reality, which left Isha with a furious look on his face.

 

When Linten completed the weave, the big man nodded, moving on immediately. No praise for the quickness with which the boy picked up the weave nor any criticism for not listening to instructions the first time.

 

“Now, manipulate the weave and find three different ways to kill a person with a variation of the weave. Then demonstrate it on the dummies.” he said gesturing towards the set of ten dummies outside of the woods.

 

Ooc: By manipulate, I mean have Linten sort of figure out how to turn the weave into like an Air Razor, Air Club etc. and use it as a weapon.

[tismeb4u]

Kill silently a thrill raced through him at the thought his mentor's words brought to mind. A chance to even the field; dispatch justice on the witches in their glorious white tower. They sat in it's stone confines and dictated to the world how it would form; who would live and who would be subject to a misery worse then death it's self. Now he would learn further ways to educate that blood red falsehood of women who believed themselves equal to the creator himself. It was a gift from the creator that he could touch Saidin and he would never let them take that from him; not with out staining the ground in a river of their vile blood. A image of an ageless face, small rivulets of blood flowing down to mix with the shawl of equal crimson color; the eyes begining to take on that long distance look of death's hold. There would be no mother earth's embrace for them. They would be scoured in fire and sent back to the Father of Lies from whence they came. Only from his mind could such vile and venomous creatures be spawned. A smile twitched the corners of his mouth; curled the edges slightly as he focused on the weave.

 

“Change the form to kill,” a warmth touched his voice; as if almost a fondness wanted to be known. The weave floated before him and Linten carefully looked at it's shape; studied the way the threads interlaced one another and cascaded out to build the shield in front of him. After a long period of idle study he began to pull at the threads; never removing them only changing the way they lay in connecting and opposing layers. The thickened air began to warp and fluctuate in front of him. At one point it almost collapsed back in on it's self and Linten was forced to pour thick flows of Spirit wrapped air into it to keep it's shape as he corrected the weave. Each time he could sense Isha stiffen, feel the older man's grasp on Saidin tighten in preparation. Finally the weave rolled over on it's self and formed into a hollow ball. Looking back down at the manikins his left arm motioned and the ball rose high overhead and out toward a small cluster of straw dummies awaiting there intimate fate. Satisfied the ball was in the place he waited and poured further energy into it. It hovered momentarily; oblivious to any eye save that of a channeler of Saidin. No one would see this fate until to late. With a sudden gesture the ball was pulled from the sky above to crash down on the stiff straw forms crushing them as a boulder of rock might. Splinters and debris blew out in all directions from the force, knocking over a manikin that had escaped the initial blow. A flick of Linten's wrist sent the ball rolling toward the escapee. The edge opened as it rolled over him; closing behind to encase it inside the ball. With a slight chuckle Linten pulled the weaves tighter over them selves; watched as the ball began to shrink until it made contact on the straw. His fingers closed suddenly into a fist; the ball collapsed in on it's self to form a small solid form of air, the straw inside pressed into a small tight ball surrounded by the thickened air. With a flick of his finger the ball rolled toward the base of one of the tree's and he let the weave dissipate. The small lump of matter that had once been straw nudge against the base of the tree and stopped.

 

Nodding to himself he began the weave again in front of him, once complete he began to pull at it's shape as before. It took less time before it began to take the form he wanted. Slowly the large flat space slipped into what appeared to be a long thin stick like shape with a broaden disk one foot back from it's lead end. Focusing his attention on another form he pushed his hand out, finger pointing toward the manikin and watched as the stick flew to it's target; impaling it at the base of the neck. The disk section hit the form and pushed back against the tree to hold it pinned there. Sweat beaded and began to flow down from brow and over his cheeks, but he offered it no notice. In the clarity of the void there was just himself and that voice, a presence without eyes that watched silently the mayhem he was learning. The thought sent a chill down his spine that served to spur him on further. He giggled slightly as he worked to pull the weave into a new form. Tried to keep the stick in place and pull the disk into a elongated blade in which to rent open the target from sternum to naval. But in his glee and fledgling skill the weaving slipped loose, threads unraveling. It dropped before he could catch the cause, to focused on what he wanted it to do rather then it's state. As the weave unraveled it exploded shearing tree and bush, straw and dirt flew into the air and raced toward him as he threw up and arm to protect himself. An instant before the debris hit it stopped inches from them and slipped to the ground. Looking over he noted the air shield his mentor had slipped around them and the stern look; a cold eye bore down on him. “I am sorry Isha. You said to try and I thought I could create something that appears still to complex for my skill set without added practice. I see that now. I will be more careful with the next. The air shield dissipated in front of them but his mentor's cold stare remained fixed as Linten turned back toward the field and the large crater left by his slip. Well at least now I know I can always let a weave collapse and rent the same effect if cornered; they will not take me.

 

~You're mad, let the weave dissipate? Never let it collapse! Fool, you're mad, mad I tell you.~

 

Indeed, I am not the bodiless one ranting in another mans head. Who is crazy? the voice stuttered at the insult but he ignored it's ravings as he focused once more on building out the weave that would make the shield. This time his tactic was different, he simply tipped the shield on edge horizontally. Rotating his finger in a circle the disk of air began to spin, slowly gaining speed until he was satisfied with it velocity. With a grunt he threw his hands forward as if to push something heavy. He disk whirled toward another group of straw forms, slicing off heads and toppling the tree behind it before he could release the weave and have it dissipate. A grin sat happily on his face as he turned back to Isha once more. “Is that what you were wanting Isha? Did I do it correctly?” He had to make sure the man thought him simply eager to prove himself to his mentor; to please the man who taught him. Knowledge was power and he would need all he could scrap from the man and any other's he could find if he was to succeed at his personal mission of vengeance against the witches of Tar Valon.

 

 

Linten

Mentee of Isha

Thirsty for Revenge

[Guest Estel]

“Change the form to kill.”

 

The strange warmth in Linten’s voice sent a shiver down the big man’s spine. What had his mentee become in the time he had been away from the Tower? The boy still hadn’t told him what happened and Isha was finding quickly that Linten was far different than the sobbing boy he had left in the Boderlands. Whatever happened had made Linten much harder, practically as hard as him, and there were... other things, as well.

 

The Voice laughed at him. ~You find his thirst for violence creepy? Hypocrite, you are exactly the same~

 

Isha suppressed the Voice but he squirmed guiltily.

 

Now was not the time for idle thoughts, though. His remaining eye focused on Linten as he held the Source, playing with the threads to create different shapes. This was dangerous and things could easily go awry but it was the best form of teaching. While the White Tower watered everything down for their initiates and took every precaution, the Black Tower pushed its initiates hard. Sure, there were casualties but this was an army, not the local women’s circle.

 

Several times Isha very nearly had to slam a Shield between the boy and the Power but when Linten finished, it was worth it. The boy had formed a ball of air and used it like a boulder to crush the dummies. No appraisal showed on the twisted face, though.

 

Quick reflexes were all that saved both of them when the next weave, a sort of Air sword, collapsed, creating an explosion that only a shield of Air kept from killing them. Isha’s glare bore into his mentee’s head. It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence that a Soldier should accidently let a weave collapse, but Linten had an awful lot to prove.

 

Finally the boy’s last weave, a sharpened disk, dissipated and Isha immediately moved on.

 

“As you can see, Air is incredibly useful on the battlefield in both the offensive and defensive. Earth is also very useful.” Isha had always found that too much talk tended to distract pupils from the point of the lesson and so rather than bother explaining the weave, he simply let Linten watch as he wove a trickle of Earth into the ground at the boy’s feet. Suddenly, the once-flat ground around them seemed to take on the consistency of a pool of water. Not having expected the sudden “rippling” of the ground under him, the other man was knocked to his feet.

 

“Very useful for distracting an enemy.”

 

Before Linten had the chance to regain his feet, the Earth around him rose into six foot high walls, trapping him. “Also a useful distraction.” The weave dissipated.

 

Almost as soon as the ground became “trustworthy” again, Linten found himself standing in calf-deep mud from a nice combination of Earth and Water, strengthened by Spirit because of Isha’s lack of talent in both Elements. “One of the few battle weaves that uses Water. And once again, very useful in slowing down your opponents to cover your retreat or hinder their movement while you take them down using other weaves.

 

“And lastly,” The ground fell out from beneath the boy, dumping him in a five foot pit.

 

“These are defensive weaves. Rather than waste the dummies, you can try them against me.”

[tismeb4u]

Still nothing showed on Isha's face. There had been a time when the man would have offered small praise, a smile; reassuring nod at a job well done. But now he offered cold and separated distance, dark glares and quick changes. The man Linten had trained under seemed to no longer exist. As if to emphasize that the ground became unstable under his feet as he tried to study the new set of weaves his mentor now spun out before him. Worked with exceedingly difficult concentration to see how each thread was laid to the other while his body was bounced and buried and dropped. Agitation battered the smooth surface of the void begging to be let in. Spider webs of cracks and chips cascaded over it's surface. A piece of him, a very dark piece wanted to embrace that agitation; feed from it's supple hatred and anger.

 

~Does the coppery taste of blood sooth you so now?~

 

Desperation drove his mental mind to lash out at the poisonous thought, to crush it to the dark depths of some distant corner. Desperation in the fear that it spoke true, that he had felt a momentary warmth from it's sardonic words. His mentor's words only served to fan those flames with a brief gust of air as the weaves dissipated. I'll show him waste of dummies, he could not avoid the dark caress as eyes focused on the rapid pattern slipping into existence before him. Like a feeding frenzy of flesh eating fish he could feel the need to prove he was more then what Isha remember. To put some kind of emotion on the man's face, make him pay for those frightful nights when worse then nightmares had roamed around him; hunted him. Even as the weave settled into place on the ground around Isha's feet Linten was in motion scrambling from the depths of the hole his mentor had created while the same mentor dropped his full hight in an equivalent tomb. But that subtle caress of anger already had the next weave in progress. Threads of earth and water slipping over and under each other set tight and settled on the sides of the earthen hole creating a thick cascade of mud that filled it to Isha's waist.

 

Were work and uncertainty had held his ability with the weaves loose and slow. Anger and it's heated embrace raced the pattern to mind and forced the threads into being. No!! ... No this is not right. Linten's hands reached for his head as if to catch the thought and keep it; like a life line to sanity. But still the next weave had begun to form. Not a weave of earth or water like had been show to him but one of the earlier weaves of air. I ... I must stop this .... it's wrong.

 

~He will kill you just like the witches. He left you in the blight to die, to twist like the vegetation; rot from the inside out.~

 

No!!! His head shook visibly, no you are wrong. He is my friend ... my only friend. His arms swung out from the middle away from him and the weave dissipated; the spear melting back into nothingness. A slight tremble edged his voice as he fought to regain control. “My apologies Isha, I have confused the weaves. I will continue with earth as instructed.” The tremble was minute but there, with luck the man would think it from the effort of the weaves only. But Linten could not pull his eyes from Isha. Again he drew earth from the sweet warmth of Saidin and formed out the first weave Isha had shown him. Placed the threads as thick as he could to one another; felt the pain of pressure as he pulled deeply on Saidin and felt it call to him more.

 

The weave settled to the ground and everything in the near vicinity around him shook as if in deaths throws save for the ground he stood. Eyes still lock with Isha's; bewilderment in their edges. I must find the control I had ... I need. Control, peaceful empty control. His eyes closed and he worked back through the exercises he had been taught to reach the sanctity of emptiness in the void. The voice buzzed and battered it's surfaces but the void's clear smooth glass like surface held. A slow steady breath exhaled from him evenly as earth began again to weave in front of him. The threads were thinner, closer to what Isha had used for demonstration and they melted into the ground around the Hole Isha still stood in. Linten was calm again and in his mind he could picture the exact spot the man stood; placed the weave around him and heard the ground rise up around his mentor as if a giant invisible hand had reached down and pulled the ground up into form.

 

Slowly his eyes opened; empty, void of the earlier emotion. His face held blankness as if a barren painters canvas. With a sweep of his hand he laid a weave upon the hilled soil and watched as it returned to the smoother surface it had been. He had found himself once more; found peace and purpose in perfect balance. His voice carried the hollow empty sound of the void as he bent his head. “My mentor I am sorry for my foolish confusion earlier. If it pleases you and the light I would like to continue. You have such wealth of knowledge and I am but a seed in the ground waiting for the water of life to bring for germination.”

 

~Yes, learn. We have much work ahead of us.~

 

Linten forced his body still to keep the shiver that raced his spine from becoming visible. He could almost envision the cold and calculating smirk in the dark that produced those last thoughts.

[Guest Estel]

Shock lanced through Isha when he dropped a full seven feet, landing hard on his already partly ruined legs, forcing them to collapse under him. ‘The boy’s stronger than he used to be. Dalinar will promote him soon.’ Perhaps in a gentler setting the thought would not have been so out of place, but when your mentee was trying to kill you...

 

~Your mentee is trying to WHAT?~

 

‘Kill me.’ he told The Voice calmly, his shock rendering him stupid.

 

~You’re mad~

 

‘You’re mad.’

 

~Listen to yourself you idiot, your mentee is trying to kill you~

 

‘My mentee is trying to WHAT?’

 

The Voice stormed out of his head in exasperation, leaving Isha dumbfounded. What in the bloody Pit of Doom was Linten doing? Linten! Clever, strong, quick, golden Linten was trying to take his life! The question that kept the completely stupefied Asha’man from asking was “why?”. Why under the Light- or was Linten no longer of the Light? Had abandoning the boy in the Blight driven him to the Shadow? Had Isha created a Dreadlord? The big man would never be able to live that down. His own mentee... a minion of the Dark One?

 

Mud began to fill the hole and Isha was forced to jump to his feet to avoid being drowned. Immediately his mangled thighs cried out, giving way and forcing his arms to support his weight. As the murky water crept up his legs, it agitated his ruined thighs, setting them afire. Fear, panic and confusion jumbled his thoughts, making it impossible to come to a rational decision to act on.

 

Years in the Blight should have honed his instincts to perfection and indeed in most cases they could keep him alive better than any amount of quick thinking. Now those instincts were confused. Had it been anyone else, the attacker would have been lying in a charred, twisted mess or else Shielded and on the ground begging for their life. But this was Linten. This was his beloved mentee into whom so much work and so much time had been put. Blood and ashes, the boy was like his so...

 

~Even after this you will call him your son? A father’s love is blind. What happened to your father?~

 

He was trapped again and could feel her claws on his thighs, feel her crushing weight atop him... He thrashed out, desperately seeking to knock her off him. Creator save him, this couldn’t be happening! Why was this happening? He walked in the Light, never straying from that path, fighting the Shadow with every breath. Isha had always known his death would come at the Shadow’s hands, but like this? Beaten and bloody by a mere Trolloc? Torn to shreds by a creature’s libido? Oh the irony, no woman would look twice at him because her first look would set her to running and screaming! Yet here he was, being killed by a female Trolloc in heat.

 

~They always said the Creator had a dark sense of humour~

 

‘Where the hell is he?’

 

~Don’t ask me~ The Voice left and he was alone again... well, not quite alone.

 

And then it all stopped. She was gone and her claws with her, though the agony in his legs did not abate much. Light help him- it didn’t- it was over and he still breath and fought on.

 

True sanity, or as much of it as was left to him, finally hit him as he was pulled from the bowels of the earth. Linten stood there looking confused himself and... was that fright?

 

“My apologies Isha, I have confused the weaves. I will continue with Earth as instructed.”

 

Isha stared at the small, in comparison, boy in front of him. The boy nearly killed him and all he managed was a sheepish- SHEEPISH!- “Oh I accidently screwed up the weaves.” Right about then, Isha was probably as close as he had ever come, or ever would come, to actually killing Linten. The big man longer to rant and rave at the boy but iron self-control and the curious eyes that Linten’s stunt had already attracted meant that any anger would have to be expressed later away from prying eyes and behind the protection of a Shield against sound. Despite the murder attempt, Isha wasn’t willing to risk Linten’s fragile foundation here.

 

So the Asha’man let it boil within himself and gave the boy the most murderous stare possible while the rest of the weaves were finished without incident.

 

“My mentor I am sorry for my foolish confusion earlier. If it pleases you and the Light I would like to continue. You have such wealth of knowledge and I am but a seed in the ground waiting for the water of life to bring for germination.”

 

“Neither I, nor the Light, am pleased with you stunt earlier. Your grounds here are shaky, Linten, don’t do anything stupid that you will regret. As for what happened, we will talk of that later.”

 

~It’s awfully hard to talk when you’re trying to crush your own teeth~ Isha was in no mood for The Voice’s annoying humour and sent it off with such force and violence that he actually heard the intangible thing yelp in pain.

 

“But there will be no talk if we don’t get on with the lesson.” his sarcasm was dry and lacking its usual lightness and twisted smile it was practically a threat! Light, was this what Aginor had turned him into. “Since you’re so good with Earth,” the sarcastic twist on that made Linten come as close to wincing as Isha had seen since his mentee’s return “here’s another one.”

 

Seizing saidin, a few threads of Earth, strengthened by Spirit, forced the ground up in sharp spikes, breaking one of the dummies. “The better your skill, the sharper and harder the spikes.” Isha had to burn his harsh sarcasm in the flame of the Void.

 

“Now, add some Fire and Earth to the nearest rock.” A hazel eye checked to see that the student was paying attention as he used Fire to heat the core of the rock to the point that it exploded, sending burning chunks of the targeted dummy flying into the air.

 

“And now, my personal favourite, the classic fireball.” Air and Fire were woven together, much like with a Globe of Light, but the ratio of Fire to Air favoured Fire heavily now and it was far more concentrated. “Depending on your level of concentration, you may or may not need the actual action of throwing it with your body to force it at the target. If you feel your concentration is strong enough, use your mind to will it towards the target.” The way Isha phrased it, it was practically a challenge.

 

Ooc: wow...REALLY long winded. Sorry ‘bout that, btw, the Bts involved in a battle down in Illian if you want to join in that, was too busy laughing last night to remember that.

[tismeb4u]

Linten could feel the sarcasm in Isha's voice, feel the weight the tall boarderman added to his words; the underlying threat. It appeared he was indeed on very shaky ground and not just with the powers that be either. It seemed his own mentor had misgivings and perhaps second thoughts on his one time bright mentee's future.

 

~Can you really blame him after trying to kill him ... could you trust yourself~

 

Linten flinched from both Isha's words and the dark voice in his head. He knew in this instance the voice spoke truth and had on occasion before. What is truth and what is not. It was becoming hard for him to differentiate anymore. They all seemed to blend together and form an eye jarring gray pallet of half truths and lies. But time for self pity and reflection would have to wait as Isha once more began to weave a pattern of earth wrapped in spirit and forced it into the ground. The resulting spikes of earth destroyed the straw dummy from below and caused a faint chuckle to resound in his head. Was that his voice or the shadows? He moved on without hesitation now. Linten recorded the weave as best he could remember to his memory as Isha began the next weave. Studying the way the threads slipped into form and lay intricately woven around the others was a difficult feat but Linten was determined to get all the weaves. To understand how the weaves were to form and how they would work to the end he needed of them. Tarmon Gai`don was coming and the Dragon needed those witches firmly in hand; that was the part he would play.

 

 

Even as he watched the weave settle on the rock he could feel his eyebrows draw down. The frown from his thoughts flicking across his face for the span of a heartbeat before he could wipe it back to the emotionless mask that he had to maintain. He felt Isha's eye studying him and hoped his slip had gone unnoticed. Whether it had or not Isha gave no indication as he continued the lesson in rapid succession.

Watching with intent interest Linten recorded the process for the fireball, this was a weapon he could find much use for. Between that and the core heating weave his mentor had just demonstrated there were a great many purposes he could fashion them to.

 

~Cooked from the inside, properly done no one would notice the cause. Lungs charbroiled and unable to transfer life giving oxygen to blood or a heart cooked to a solid unwaivering mass.~

 

Linten's mind added faces to the voices dark thoughts, found a twisted pleasure that should not exist in the thoughts of watching a person slowly suffocate and not know the why. The corners of his mouth had twitched toward a twisted smirk as Isha sent the fireball crashing into the center of a dummy; the underlying challenge grating on his bones like a saw.

 

~Show him ... what does he know .... use him as the demonstration. See if his mind can grasp the depths of your wanting.

 

The cackle that followed the voice raised the hairs on the back of is neck and he forced his eyes shut, concentrating on the flame. Feeding everything into it; falling into the safety of nothingness. The voice on the outside of the glass, for now at least. He floated in the abyss; control in his grasp and Saidin singing it's alluring song to him; carrying him on it's torrent of ice fire and pleasure. Reaching in he pulled out the brown earthen thread and began the weave from memory; added a thick wrapper of spirit . The threads slipped past one another weaving the patterned lace he had seen Isha make. But it's shape was wrong and he was forced to change the weaving several times before the pattern took on resemblance of what his mentor had created. Opening his eyes as his hand swept out smoothly toward a tight cluster of straw forms he watched as the weave settled into the ground and then added a quick burst of added energy to the spirit threads as his hand closed quickly into a fist. Spikes burst up from the ground four feet in hight splitting the straw forms almost in two.

 

Pleasure coursed through him as his mind added blood and flesh to the now impaled forms. The spikes were thinner then Isha's but they served the purpose well. This was just a taste of the power he could harness through Isha's teachings. The man had moved well up the ranks; there had to be much knowledge for Linten to squeeze from him; to leech every morsel possible and then convert that knowledge to the tools he would need. But he still needed something in which to trap and hold the witches, how to shield and enslave them so that they could server properly the Dragon's needs.

 

You mean your needs.

 

He had already begun the next weave when the voice spoke. Fire woven in thin intricate weaves as empty eyes seemed to study the rock outcrop under a pair of the target dummies. The weave was slowly forming but much slower the Linten wanted, needed. Shut up, you know nothing of it. Where were you when they hunted me? The threads of fire thickened as anger began to pulse on the void. What good were you in the blight when we were lost, alone, left to die? The pattern formation quickened and settled on the rocks. A low hiss escaped him before the sound of the exploding rock masked it. Who kept us alive!! Rocks and debris tore through his pant legs and sleeves; rent cuts where the projectiles found flesh in there travel. While others simply rebounded away from him. He still did not have the familiarity of second nature with regards to the air shield and so had only been able to complete enough of it to cover his torso and head before the cache of edges exploding out of the rock formation reached him. Pain slithered on the surface of the void, lunged at it's surface trying to gain access but he ignored it's futile efforts and raised a hand in front of him.

 

Fire and air met and entwined around each other, curled and twisted to fold around that which had started. The ball began to take shape over his hand; yellow, orange, and red colors swirled and mixed like a violent storm inside the ball. With the shape formed he pour fire into the weave, felt the intensity grow and build as his eyes sought out it's victim. Glancing back at his mentor he noted the intensity of the gaze he now held on Linten, the edge the gazed had held following his initial challenge with the fireball. Studying the ball he tried to push with his mind, tried to visualize pushing it away from him. Sweat beaded on his face as the heat continued to pulse from the orb before him. Closing his eyes Linten took a deep breath and imagined the ball floating to the target he had selected, moving like an arrow to it's destination. The heat remained in front of him and he was now conscious of Isha's eye on him; his mind added mocked cynical laughter at the failure of such an easy task. Put jeers in his mentor's voice and flung them in his own face. Anger seethed like a coiled snake on the void's surface. Desire and need beat on the cracks. The void shook under the barrage of emotion and hatred for a moment and then crashed in splintered shards of glass. With a scream Linten flung is arm forward as if throwing a ball, his eyes flying open in crazed bewilderment as the fireball raced across the distance and enveloped the middle of the manikin he had been facing. Need still pulsed in his body, desire to see that contact flesh; watch it's form fall to the ground flailing in agony.

 

Only as his eyes followed the smoke's rise to the sky did he become aware of the spittle dampening his chin, the forward lean of his posture and once more the intense gaze of his mentor. Drawing the back of his hand across his mouth he stood up full and smoothed the front of his shirt as if nothing had transpired; hoped it looked like nothing had happened, prayed that Isha had not noticed. “You were right, it is not an easy thing this throwing without motion. You must teach me this some time yes?” His voice had started out a little strained but he quickly reined it back in, finishing with a flat and steady tone as eyes barren of emotion once more met his mentor's. “Thank you for the challenge Isha, you have reminded me firmly that I have a long way yet to go.”

 

OOC: np mentor O mine .... I took sometime and got a little chatty also. ;)