An Aranian Cairmic Antonesis

[Wayfarer]

Collapsing onto his bed, Aran stared up at the ceiling of his room as he made himself comfortable. It was a moment for thinking, contemplation and trying to figure out why the wheel was trying to shaft him. The Creator too for that matter, for a being that was good he had a quirky sense of humour which Aran didn't think was good at all. In fact, if the Creator had been a small child Aran would have felt entirely justified by kicking him. Or her. Most likely a her, there was a certain cruelty to what had just occured that Aran liked to think was beyond men. Not that men weren't cruel, but this was just twisted.

 

Reporting to Brand early this morning, he had been surprised as well as somewhat suspicious when Cairma had joined him in their Commander's office. They had only returned a few days prior from their trip where he had managed to bare some of his past to her along with Lyssa, and in the process bungled what he had with Cairma. It wasn't with friendly eyes that Cairma looked upon him anymore, but she had kept what she knew to herself. No, Brand instead had decided to send the pair of them on an extended tour of the Borderlands, because that was really just what they needed, a full year together. That of course assumed that Aran would survive the first week, Cairma might possibly arrive at the Borderlands unaccompanied if she gave her temper reign.

 

And then they had been dismissed. Cairma hadn't even looked at him as she had left, and Aran hadn't tried to interrupt her. She was deliberately avoiding and rebuffing his attempts to talk to her, it was something he was going to have to wait out and try and find an opportunity. Of course, there was the problem that Cairma was incredibly stubborn when she set her mind on something, whether he could get her to open up again or not he wasn't sure. Still, at least she hadn't reverted to how she was, though that was more of a consolation prize than what he actually wanted.

 

A full year together out on the Borderlands. Maybe it wasn't so bad, she had been avoiding him after all and she'd been rebuffing his attempts to bridge things. Their orders meant they had to work together, maybe she would relent after a time. At least, he hoped that she would, but that remain to be seen. Not that this spurred him on to pack straight away, he needed longer to think on things. When he was done he would then pack and get ready, most of his things were ready in case he ever needed to go anywhere after all, A few changes of clothes, his weapons, herbs, pick up some rations before going. A couple of packhorses between them, they would be able to take what they needed. Borderlands though... Maybe some armour would be required, he would have to swing by the armoury before he left.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

A full bloody year with Aran. How in the light had she been cursed with such an atrocity. Was Brand stuffed up on mead that he would think that it was, in any way, beneficial to the Tower that the two of them.. her and Aran.. would be of any use in the borderlands. Accepting that assignment with the face worthy of an Aes Sedai, She could not help but grimace inwardly that over the very simple idea that She.. Cairma.... was going to be spending a full YEAR with Aran...... bloody and bloody ashes.....

 

Cairma would fully admit that she had not approached Aran since her last confrontation with him. And there were reasons for this. She had not meant to admit to him of what she had done in that previous 4 years that she had never told any one.. but she had said other wise, in the anger that she never seemed to be able to control. . .. not that she could conceive of why, but that, was the reason of why. Possibly.. But this was not a way she could see them patching things up. Not that she didn't want to patch things up with him, she didn't feel entirely ready for any sort of criticism he would send her way. The lecture about Jaz was nearly enough to make her cry. It hurt. And it was there she was at a deadlock. The worst part.. She was no better than him. Her accusations were not just directed at him, but also at herself. It made it that more difficult to admit she was wrong, or accept forgiveness when she knew she was just the same.

 

Leaving Brand’s office, she headed up to her room and packed all that she needed for the trip. As always she packed lightly as she had very little need for possessions. Clothes, Flint, herbs, a few bandages. Light only know what sort of scars they may return with. her frown deepened.

 

Bloody hell.. what was Brand on?!

 

Tossing her saddlebags over her shoulder, Cairma headed out to the Yards, already stocked up heavily with blades on her person.

 

Cairma Vishnu

BladeMaster

[Wayfarer]

Aran wasn’t sure how long they had been on the road but it had been nigh on interminable. While he had traveled with Cairma the entire time, the trip had been far more lonely than if he had actually been by himself. Not even able to hum to himself because he knew that anything beyond necessary communication would only arouse his companion’s ire, silence that was complete and utter had dominated their travel. The only music and comfort were to be found within the halls of his mind rather than expressed in a carefree way that would have been reminiscent of a tinker.

 

Still, with horses the miles melted away with the days that passed and they were soon in the Borderlands. Something that was made readily apparent as everything was obscured by snow and a ridiculous amount of clothing was required to keep warm. That and whenever they stayed anywhere, there was little to no wenching to be done. Oh, that wasn’t to say that there weren’t any women to be found, but they preferred their soldiers to a man who was traveling with a woman who carried a sword that would be put to better use in a quarry than a battlefield.

 

Still, the first couple of months were not so bad once they were settled in. Most Tower Guards at some point received instruction about the Blight and now it was time to put such things to practice even as they learned more. Learning was as much from experience as it was from tales and teaching. A reason for why they were soon sent further north to continue on, past the Borderstones and into the Blight itself after two weeks.

 

The first of the Blight denizens they soon became familiar with was what was simply known as the stick. A snake that was easy to mistake for its namesake, they had been warned that the only sure way to defeat its venom was to amputate the limb that had been bitten before the poison could spread. A fairly harsh as well as probably unnecessary solution, Aran nevertheless didn’t want to put it to the test and they had taken good care with where they had camped specifically to avoid them.

 

Trolloc tracks were soon found though luck was on their side in that they were not downwind of them. Trollocs favoured their animal sides and some were able to take advantage of their heritage to make good trackers with keen hearing, sight and smell. On the otherhand they were lazy, if it wasn’t easy to track down it wasn’t worth it, so either they were unfound or they were unworthy.

 

Jumara they had been warned of but their fluting cries were not to be heard. In fact, the worst thing to contend with was the thunderstorms that emerged from the Blight seemingly from nowhere. Depending on how close they were to the Borderstones, this meant the difference between a blizzard to a torrential downpour in the heat that was more akin to a monsoon. Lightning was the worst part of it though the mounts they had been supplied were more used to the strange whether and not so quick to scare. Aran made sure to leave his spear well away from the camp however, made entirely of metal he didn’t want to be the link between the heavens and the earth.

 

So things continued for two months, going back and forth over the Borderstones as they learned more of the corrupted lands and how to survive in them. It was miraculous that they had lasted so long without incident in fact, but it was a run of luck that could not last. On the way north on another of their trips, they heard the cries of trollocs from over a hill. They didn’t sound to be too many, perhaps a claw, a group of five trollocs, give or take a few. Raiders, no doubt they had their scent. Still, it sounded like a number they could take and they made their way up the hill, hoping to crest it before their opponents.

 

Instead, when they reached the top they were confronted with a strange sight. It was a claw, but they weren’t after them. Instead they were after a man who seemed to be armed with nothing but a stave who was running from them like his life depended on it, rather fitting all things considered. At the speed the trollocs were going it, it seemed more like they were toying with the man, keeping up with him, rather than chasing him down. Maybe they were hoping the man would lead them to other humans they could take with them.

 

It was an easy decision for them now as the man was running around the hill rather than at it and his pursuers had their backs to them. Lifting his spear as Cairma hefted her mountain cleaver, they charged.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

How do you feel? That is the question

But I forget.. you don't expect an easy answer

When something like a soul becomes

Initialized and folded up like paper dolls and little notes

You cant expect a bit of hope

And while your outside looking in

Describing what you see

Remember what your staring at is me

Through the Glass - StoneSour

 

'Do me a favour and stay away from me. Your lecture has more than proven its point. Report me, I don't care. Just leave me be...'

 

The words haunted for weeks after they left the Yard. Silence road them all the way into the norther country, past Arafel borders and into the Blight. It was suspected that Aran would not last past the first week, skewered on the tip of her sword and left impaled behind a tree in the middle of nowhere. It was quite possible that she would wait until the Blight, leaving him behind for Trollocs and saving the blood from her sword. But the fact was, regardless of rumor, she was not about to inflict bodily harm on Aran. Not again. Not in a blind rage. Jaz was enough to snap her back to reality and the sheer nature of what she was. What she could be. And every part of that was in no way beneficial to anyone. That and if she returned without Aran, no Trolloc would be blamed, --of which felt undoubtedly unfair.

 

Only she wasn't sure what was worse. Spending the beginning of the trip angry knowing that it was going to be a very long year with just her and Aran. Or Aran being uncharacteristically silent. Both irked her to no end and contributed to her silence. Was it even possible to not speak a word for a whole year?

 

Yes. Yes it was..

 

Taverns and townspeople were a blessed relief but still felt lonely as even fewer traveled as far north that required the unexpected cold spells. Was it even possible for there to be snow?! And even Cairma's seemingly cold heart caused her to pull on extra layers of clothing to keep the dry chill at bay. If only everything else could be a as easily made better.

 

The first month was difficult for her mindset but afterwards it became easier and easier as their daily tasks of eating hunting and riding became a automatically unspoken ritual from dawn to dusk. Without need of much sleep as the Tower hours had trained into them traveling was swift and without much event. Each writing their own respective notes, Cairma forced her focus to the tasks at hand, the day-today of recording all that happened around her. From town morale to rumors that were but only whispers, each with as much significance as the last or none at all, as were the way of things. But it was enough. Asking basic questions of where fists were rumored to be, the different ones in the area and how to distinguish each, little more was spoken and certainly not between the two Tower travelers. Even the sudden shifts in weather, unfamiliar to both of them, were given little thought or substance as the days rolled into more months that were merely notches in a year going by.

 

Sitting in the taverns gave her momentary lapses of pause as she regarded all that was around her. Silent as they were, Aran still moved through the crowds as easily as he would have back home. Sipping back warmed cider she contemplated on the very thing that nagged her. Aran very well let everyone what he thought, but never what he felt. But that simple fact would never really be worked out, she concluded easily. Because it would require him to actually contemplate his own actions and how they affected others as well as himself. Watching thoughtfully, she sat silently as another night rolled on and the whispers of the days blew past her ears.

 

The first real sign of 'life' or interest that were ever sparked in her - and in the blight is such a way of posing the point could possibly be - was coming into contact with sticks. Horrendously venomous - Not poisonous.. as she pointed out to herself in her mind on one of uncountable times - snakes there blended far to easily into the indiscriminate yards of blight that stretched endlessly. Curious by the mere properties she almost spoke out loud as if to ask if Aran knew of a way to dissect such venom for study purposes. However the nature of such a thought would only provoke argument or more silence, both of which would start with her actually speaking to him. Furrowing her brow is simple momentarily frustration the simple rapier that she brought with her was swift to cut it down and remove the threat as easily as Aran had done some nights before. The worse part being that sticks were completely inedible.

 

As the months went by, Cairma's craving for 'real' food and her bed (even though shared with Lyssa) and her friends and delightful conversation weighed heavily on her heart. It was no longer a matter of 'really' being angry with him. She just didn't care anymore. So swiftly sent away, she had allotted herself no time to approach any one else of what had transpired. More simply put, she didn't know what to do. Instead Cairma became more and more lost in her thoughts as she dwelled into darker sides of her personality while allowing Aran to do more leg work as they travelled. Despite the lack of verbal communication the fared quite well they avoided Trollocs, large and small fist of them, by staying thankfully down wind of them.

 

However, as all of Cairma's luck became, it turned just as easily. As her ears perked by the distance of the sounds only miles away, she pulled up her horse as she listened. Could be only a few, but the speed that they traveled and at the weight of the sound, it could only be Trollocs, ones that she had only read about. Although instead of a fist, it was merely a claw of them, 6 in total, by the sound of it - Three each.. - that must have caught their scent.. And were hungry. Or so she suspected at the pace that the were running towards them.

 

However she had guessed wrong, but what they had expected to see as they both held their weapons was not the sight that the came upon. The poor unfortunate being scrambled away running from his pursuers without even known of their existence. It would have been easy to meld into the back ground unnoticed. But of like mind, and their weapons already at hand, the claw moved away as the man turned away from the mountain and the Trollocs rushed past them and opening themselves from behind. Trollocs really were dumb.

 

The first fell the easiest as Beast completely cleaved through the head of the first that she reached, surprising the others into a guarded attack. Still on horseback, She parried the attack just as easily, only falling back a little by the sheer amount of strength of the Trolloc. Dumb they may be, but they hit hard. Gripping her sword tightly, she used the element of the length and weight of her sword to counter the Trolloc blade as she twisted in her saddle and hefted beast overhead to balance herself and divert the attack of another Trolloc. Using the momentum she moved easily into Striking the Spark. Aware of Aran, she lost sight of the other man as the claw fall to the pair.

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

BM

[Wayfarer]

It was simple butchery as far as Aran was concerned. While Cairma closed with the trollocs and trusted the weight of her weapon to see her through, his own approach did not involve going pound for pound with monsters that were nearly twice his own height. Even as Cairma cleaved through her first trollocs, Aran’s spearhead slipped under the helmet of a hawk faced trolloc easily passed through muscle and sinew.

 

Ripping the spear free even as the creature tumbled, Aran guided his horse to the right as the trollocs turned upon their new attackers with the closest going for him. A heavy handed slash by the boar face found nothing and was repaid with a thrust catching the monster under the armpit and finding the lungs. Aran needn’t have bothered freeing his spear as his steed whirled about. Cairma had dispatched another two of the trollocs and the last one had fallen to the stranger who had taken advantage of the trollocs turning their back on him.

 

Looking at Cairma to see if she was alright, she seemed to be ignoring him in favour of the man who was putting a blow with the butt of his stave into the trolloc’s head to make sure he stayed down. She seemed well though so Aran turned away and looked to the stranger as he dismounted and walked over to him. “Are you alright?”

 

The stranger quickly looked to Aran from beneath his hood as the stave fell from his hands. “Arry?” Ripping his hood back, the stranger laughed as it was Aran’s turn to be shocked.

 

“Ant!” The exclamation came from Aran without thinking and before he realised it he’d dropped his spear and raced forward even as Anton did and embraced his friend in a bear hug. Laughing as they asked questions of how each other had gotten to be where they were and how each other had been, no answers came in the flurry, there was simply happiness at having found each other again. It had been at least a few years since they had last seen each other, back when Anton had visited Tar Valon in tow with Lyv and Lonrick as the pair escorted Aes Sedai back from Caemlyn.

 

Breaking away from the embrace, Aran’s smile died suddenly as he saw Anton’s eyes. They had once been a brilliant green and flecked with brown, but now all that was there was a burnished gold that Aran could not recall ever seeing before. Not on a person anyway. “What happened to your eyes?”

 

The smile faltered on Anton’s part a little as he responded. “It’s a long story, who is your companion?”

 

”Oh!” Turning about Aran gestured to his companion who was still in the saddle as he spoke. “This is Cairma.” Remembering the strife that was between them, his tone became more subdued as he gestured to his friend. “This is Anton, one of my closest friends.”

 

“Closest.”

 

Aran turned and grinned at Anton, he always said that. “So, it seems like we are going to have to take you back south. Grab your stave and lets go.”

 

“I think not.” Smiling as Aran turned to him, Anton shrugged as he walked over to his stave and retrieved it. “I’m looking for a friend of mine about here. We have been separated for a time, he should be a day ahead of us at most right near the Borderstones. I’ll happily escort you that way since you’re going in that direction, it’s the least I can do.”

 

“Escort us?” Aran laughed as he took up his spear and swung himself up into the saddle. “Alright, I’m curious to meet this friend of yours, and you have much to talk of.”

 

“Agreed.” And so they spoke as they set off towards the north and the Blight, Aran glad of the fact that after all this time, he had a familiar face that would talk to him.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

Night had fallen in the Borderlands and soon camp was set up a measly eight hours from the Borderstones. If there had been a fire that could warm the skin, Cairma would be lost staring at the shifting embers within as thoughts would flow through her mind in an endless stream of confusion and loneliness. But it would have been suicide. There was no fire. There were not even stars that could hit the whispers that they say from so far away. Instead the night was cold, dark and silent save for the even breathing of Aran, and the added companion who was still awake. Silent, but awake. Cairma took first watch that night. She could probably take the whole watch and still be fine the next day as the would ride into the Borderstones. But protesting would require speaking, and she still couldn't bother herself with the simple notion of breaking the silence. Words, after all, were merely lies and deceiving ways of throwing one off from the truth of what was never real in the first place.

 

The horses rested in soft silence as the pawed at the unrelenting earth that grew nothing of substance, nothing of life, that would lend them that taste of sweet grass that the undoubtedly craved. instead sufficed on the rations of sweet oats that they had brought along, only enough for each journey as was needed. As did they, although the small rations of now stale bread and cheese became no more than dust as the desire for a warm meal echoed in her otherwise settled stomach. But even then, it would all taste the same.

 

Closest. they had said. Friends. Companions.. Closest.

 

It left a bitter taste that was only followed by the quick meal after their small skirmish. Although it never occurred to her that Aran had family, friends outside of the Tower, she had not expected a man with golden eyes in the middle of the borderlands to be his closest. Arry he called him. Just as they had been ordered to do in Murandy. Confusion or a more profound curiosity fought for control within her as she questioned Aran's very identity. Could it be another name or a simple derivation of the first. Not that it mattered if there was an answer, but it did cause her to question the very nature of a simple name. In truth, it was never something that she bothered to change, even though her father was an Andoran Noble, she never met him, but she carried his name. But very few made comment with it. It truly meant nothing to her. But was Aran the same or different. It was, after all, a name.

 

And the way they greeted each other?! She watched with a distant outer coldness, but it made her feel very alone. There were few that she let into her inner-self, and none that she would call her closest friend. She had friends, and she dearly loved them, but she had no connection the way they seemed to have. Greeting each other as long old dear friends should. The smile had been far from her eyes as she had nodded her greeting allowing the two of them to strike up a chat that she so very missed hearing. Much like that banter back home in the yards, it was light hearted and filled with simple words. She wanted to participate, to join in the smiles, but she felt out of place as the two of them carried that look, a look of understanding. Had she shared that with him as well?

 

NO!

 

She shook her head as she heard the rustling of dirt from the companion and friend of Aran. He was still awake. Her eyes followed the simple sounds of inaudible foot steps. She knew he was there, and where he was. He was coming to talk to her. It was only plausible as it was not yet his watch. She let his offer of the second watch stand with full intention of taking it herself as sleep was still very far from her mind. However the golden eyed companion thought differently. Preferring to be alone, she spoke her greeting first.

 

"It is not necessary for you to take watch, Anton. I will be fine until Aran's watch."

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

BM

[Wayfarer]

Laying down in silence though far from sleep, Anton was thinking about the turn the day had taken. He had thought the wheel was going to end his thread this day to be rewoven when the wheel wished, but fortune had favoured him. Or perhaps it was fate, the wheel weaved as it willed and now it had woven him into the company of his closest friend, Aran. A friend who was traveling with a woman who bore a blade more at home in a trolloc’s hands than woman who was of a size to them.

 

It hadn’t taken long to feel that something was wrong, the woman spoke no words at all and Aran did not speak to her in turn, yet they were both Tower Guards. If it had been simple dislike, that was something that Anton could have shrugged off, but beneath those outward appearances there was far more to be found. Even without the senses that he had been gifted with when he had inherited his golden eyes, he could have ascertained that much. While Aran could have hid his feelings from Anton if he actively chose to, Aran did not and there were certain little things that hinted at his distress. If he had simply disliked the woman he would have heckled and ridiculed her, but she wasn’t even there.

 

Except in the glances he stole at her on occasion, always when Cairma wasn’t looking but Anton saw them. Not ones of dislike but ones of concern, that and more threatened to clog Anton’s nostrils. More still revealed itself to him when it came to Aran, but those were things he would have to take apart piece by piece. There were so many things going on beneath Aran’s exterior that Anton was surprised he had even been able to notice the concern standing out from amongst it.

 

The woman was also a mess. Cool and calm on the outside, seemingly without care and content, the scents that Anton caught from her were bewildering. Anger was definitely a big one he had noticed, but that in term stemmed from two things that equally seemed to be the source of the rage. There was an inner hurt, like something was slowly twisting away inside of her, and the other thing was loneliness, a need for someone. He could have made all the educated guesses that he wanted, but Anton doubted very much that he could figure out on his own what was going on.

 

But one question came to him repeatedly, did it have anything to do with him? Whenever he spoke with Aran extensively, her pain and anger seemed to increase up until the point that Anton almost choked. If he had something to do with it, maybe it was better that he went ahead alone, after all he could find his way in the dark far more easily than the other two could hope to.

 

Getting to his feet quietly, Anton made his way over to Cairma who was looking to him. She chose not to greet him until he was close, the scent was stronger now that they were closer and it made it a little difficult for Anton to concentrate but he managed to formulate a response as he stood next to her. “It is necessary but I don’t think you will sleep even if I do take watch, no?”

 

Regarding her with his golden eyes as she turned to him, the light from the crescent moon caught them as Anton spoke on. “I wanted to ask you about what is going on. Even if I wasn’t… sensitive, to certain things, it wouldn’t require a genius to realise that something is wrong. I was wondering if I had anything to do with it, and if so why?”

 

 

Anton Averdal

Farpaw

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

She looked at Anton carefully as her green eyes flickered to Aran and then back to him. What should she tell him? What could she possibly say to a stranger that had a deeper knowledge of the one person that she was absolutely clueless about. However, the fact that he had the gall to approach her and ask.. But even in her train of thought, she could not blame him. Any other would have asked them what was wrong as their usual banter was depleted to a non-existant level.

 

Before she dared herself an answer she took a deep breath, not yet reaching for the cool waters of the Spring, but enough to try to focus her scattered thoughts and emotions. She suspected the golden eyes was sensitive to more than he let on, although she didn't understand why. "Sensitive?" She paused. "There are always things wrong between Aran and I. But do not fret over it being your fault. We have not been talking for months now."

 

Anton nodded at Cairma’s answer as he noticed the change in her. The scents were still there, especially when she said Aran’s name, but there was a certain resigned nature to it now, or was it calm or control? While he could figure out some things, he knew that his abilities were by no means foolproof. “Maybe you should talk then. You’re hurting, and underneath all of his show he is as well. You are one of his friends, no?”

"Much of what was needed saying has already been said." She paused as she looked away from Anton. She could see Aran's sleeping form as well as hear is even breathing, was that a near snore?.. "You could almost say that too much was said. We are friends, and i will always regard him as my closest but that does not mean that it will ever be reciprocated. I never would ask that of him." She looked to Anton with a nearly warm smile that would have spoke of years of understanding, feelings that she's accepted no matter how painful. "I doubt that how he feels would ever come to light." ..ever.

 

So that was how things were. The feelings that Cairma had made much more sense to Anton now, the moment she gave him that smile it said it all. Yearning and hopelessness, not the first time a woman had felt that way about Aran but as far as he knew it was the first time that Aran had been so troubled about it. Reaching over to her and giving her shoulder a squeeze, Anton favoured plain words as his hand fell away. “Maybe, but he has changed since I knew him. I grew up with him in fact, what do you know of his past?”

 

"Not all, but I know of the training that his father put him through." It was more of an inner twitched that would normally cause her to flinch from the mans touch, but it did not bother her that moment. Maybe it was that mutual understanding that she could actually talk to him. "But I don't think it's just that. The man ..cares deeply for those that are around him. I have no doubt that Tar Valon has become a home to him. And not just a place where he would lay down his head." She chuckled softly under her breath. "But as for changes, I may not have known him before, but i doubt that his sleeping habits have changed any. Not from what I have heard."

 

That was a surprise, and further more it meant that he didn’t have to watch his tongue nearly as closely. He still remembered the time he had visited Tar Valon when he had traveled with Lyv and Lonrick. Sharing lunch with Aran, Lyv and Rosheen had been a careful affair, trying to let as little slip as possible so he didn’t land Aran in trouble. “Then he’s told you more than he would tell most, and if you know that much then perhaps a little more wouldn’t hurt. You didn’t know that his mother was a whore did you?”

 

 

Although it should not have been a surprise, for some odd reason it was. She didn't remember him saying it, and if he did it was probably in a string of words of other things that she had thought to me more important to store. Her voice was quiet. "If he did say something, I don't remember." She paused as anouther thing about Aran clicked into place. "But the news of it doesn't completely shock me. I'm finding him and I are more and more alike." And yet very much not.

 

Nodding, Anton didn’t ask her to tell him of that but instead continued on with his own story. “He used to live in the whorehouse, saw a great deal by the time he was six that most don’t see in a lifetime. He also saw his mother murdered, the next day he was thrown on the street by the madame. When I met him, even then he could charm people and he along with a couple of other kids ran a small group of boys and girls, stealing and doing what they could to get by. In Foregate… Well, no one cared about orphans from the war, except for the few that like to make a profit. You know what a Hell is don’t you?”

 

Her eyes grew cold as her mind flickered to her own misadventures after leaving home. As if she could even call it that. She only nodded.

 

Sensing the feeling that washed over Cairma, Anton wondered how alike they were indeed. “Aran was taken when he was nine and he was made a pit fighter. Orphans aren’t missed and those street urchins that were caught were made to fight in a pit, armed with weapons and to the death. We thought he had been lost and when we found that he was still alive, we managed to conspire a way to free him. That was over a year after he had been taken, a lot happens in that time. When we got him out, you can imagine that he wasn’t quite the same.” Anton had suspected as he had grown older that Aran had been more than just a pit fighter, but that was something that didn’t need to be said.

 

She wasn't entirely sure what to feel in that moment. She had been so angry that her challenged her trust. So angry that she had trusted him so deeply and accepting all that he was, fearing that he would not accept who she had been and become only to find out that he felt the same. Feared the same. It was not what he was but who he was that she... loved. Yes, it was safe to admit it now. She said it to him after all. "You didn't need to tell me this to help me understand him better. But I thank you either way." She listened carefully, as she was still on watch, Nothing. "But I doubt that he may understand that with me." Light only knows what Aran really wanted. Too many walls. Not that is was a surprise to her either, with multiple walls of her own.

 

What he said seemed to throw her into more confusion, less anger but so many other things that Anton struggled to understand it. That was until he made the decision not to even try, while he did have the ability to sense things about people, it didn’t mean he should use it. Then again, his senses usually gave him little choice in the matter. “I think I did. He does care for you, if he didn’t he would have heckled and made fun of you without a worry. I do know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t want you to think that you weren’t worthy of it, its just him.”

 

Something in the way he said it just made one last piece of part of the puzzle fall into place. Worth. Neither of them felt of any worth to anyone, or that they would be good enough. She wanted to laugh at the irony, but it wasn't the place. "You care for him deeply, do you not Anton? You are a good friend to him." She returned the touch of his hand. "I would wish you no sooner leave of our company than is needed." Yawning a little, she felt the emotions that had torrent through her subsiding a little as a touch of fatigue weighted heavily on her eyes. "I thank you, though. I did not doubt his caring, but between Aran and I, I don't feel right being the first to approach the subject." I did, after all.. say i loved him.. foolish..

 

Smiling slightly as he felt her achieve some real calm as opposed to what she had enforced upon herself, Anton spoke softly. “That is up to you and I hope he will speak. He is the brother I never had, and even after all these years that much has never changed.” Pausing, Anton inclined his head towards the camp. “Go get some rest while I take this watch. It’ll be a fair journey to reach my companion tomorrow.”

 

She nodded with a small smile. She wasn't sure how much sleep she was going to get, but if she was tired it would be best if she did while she could. "Thank you Anton. It was about time for a switch in the watch anyways. You will be fine?" He nodded and she acknowledged it, "Then have a safe watch, my friend." She smiled and headed to her roll on the opposite side of the camp of Aran - as they had always done. Laying down her eyes closed as she drifted. Eventually sleep claimed her as even her restless heart could not break away from the loneliness she still felt.

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

BM

 

Anton Averdal

Farpaw

[Wayfarer]

Squatting down next to Cairma, Anton sighed as he reached for her shoulder. His watch had passed uneventfully but his dreams as he had taken his rest had offered him little respite, indeed they’d offered him instructions and a very pointed directive not to bring his new companions with him. Anton had specifically avoided speaking about his eyes except to say that it had just happened and he wasn’t really any different for it. Cairma hadn’t questioned him about it and Aran had taken him on his word, for which he was grateful. There were times to ask questions and times to simply accept things between friends, the mark of real trust. Grasping Cairma’s shoulder lightly, he shook it gently as he said her name repeatedly.

 

'..Cairma.. Cairma.. Her eyes flickered awake as she saw Anton hovering above her. Her mind was settled as emotions, as always in the morning, were far from her mind as it slowly woke to the day. Even in the borderlands it was difficult to wake without having a cup of dark black tea to perk herself up with. "Morn."

 

Smiling as he saw how dazed she was, Anton offered a hand to help her sit up which she took. Giving her a moment to rub her eyes and get her bearings, he waited until he had her attention before speaking. “There’s been a slight change of plans Cairma. I spoke to my companion after you went to sleep and he has now headed off again. We’ll be going in different directions now so it seems we part ways sooner than expected. I decided to wait until you’d gotten some sleep before saying goodbye.”

 

Blinking back the little bit of sleep left in her eyes she smiled with a bit of a sad smile. "I'm sorry to see you go. It was not nearly long enough and I will miss your company." She started to get herself out of the roll, and glanced over to look at the 'camp' that Aran was already taking apart. She wasn't sure if she was put off that Aran did not wake her, or endeared that Anton did. "Perhaps we shall meet again"

 

Smiling, Anton nodded at her even as he was aware of the mix of feelings that were beginning to emerge. Offering his hand to her, he clasped arms in the Borderlander fashion as he responded. “I hope we do, Cairma. Take care of yourself and may the Light illumine your path. And take care of the miserable sod for me, even if he is being a painful git.” The last was said with a grin though there was an understanding behind it.

 

Her heart warmed but his wishes. "And Light be with you, Anton, wherever it may send you." She chuckled a little, "But I'll make no promises on Aran. I'll do what I can, but he does have a nasty way of refusing help." She smiled at him with a simple understanding that she would take his words to heart, regardless of how Aran may feel about it. Like it or not, Cairma would always care. "Be well, Anton."

 

Chuckling at her last words, Anton reached over and clapped her shoulder. “Always.” Standing, Anton made his way over to Aran who he had already said goodbye to. Exchanging one last hug and goodbye, Anton took up his stave which was on the ground nearby and set off toward the northeast, with luck he would find Burrich by the end of the day and they could continue on their mission. He just hoped that the two he left behind were able to sort out their problems.

 

 

Anton Averdal

Farpaw

 

Cairma Vishnu

BM

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

Once again the silence was golden between the two as their scouting adventure came to anouther end back in Arafel's smaller Borderstands. Although the words did not rise their communication slowly grew a little as if a small bridge was breeched. Only breached, but it was at least something. And for that, Cairma would thank Anton a thousand times over. However, the small claw of Trollocs was enough to cause Cairma worry and it weighed on her mind.

 

Although a small claw, the implications of how close they were brought worry and deep concern. It was rare for one to be found near by, especially one with a sigil that Cairma had pulled un-notably off one of the Trollocs. Bhan’sheen, the Borderlanders called their tribe. Purestrain wolf-breeds dominate the Bhan’sheen; pack hunters, pack killers, they are some of the most feared Trollocs in the Blight. However they were most likely separated from their clan, probably due to their stupidity, but due to the Clan type, it could be for many different variables. But they were no more closer to knowing the answer as the month wore on. Even months later when they not only had contact with the Bhan'sheen but also the Ghraem’lan that took out Cairma's horse in the skirmish. Thrilled with the idea of battle they had charged into the traveling pair and as Cairma fought closer in battle than Aran the loss of her horse was more inevitable. But skill won them out and Cairma and Aran arrived safely back along with the badges of their respected clans. After showing some of the Watch, learned more of the different Tribes -not clans, as Cairma first thought they would be called as they were only a portion of a particular Tribe - and what each sigil/badge signified, In all there were 12 Trolloc Tribes (Ahf'frait, Al'ghol, Bhansheen, Dhjin'nen, Ghar'ghael, Ghob'hlin, Gho'hlem, Ghraem'lan, Ko'bal, Kno'mon, Dha'vol, and Dhai'mon).

 

On occasion they would find sites where battles were fought. Fists - a portion of a Clan that travels in search of battle or easy food - of Trollocs would fight other Fists for domination (although apparently it was all about the food) and against the Arafellians and other borderstands, (Also for food). Most, if not all, Clans were nomadic and did not stay in the same place for very long due to the limiting supply of food and 'resources'. It was only a matter of time for them to start traveling South. This, of course, was very discouraging and was writing in one of many letters to the Tower.

 

Looking up from her own notes, Cairma sipped her black tea with a sigh. Only a few more months lefts and then she could go home. Although it would not be the same, it was still a place that she felt more at home with. Looking at her journal and then shutting the cover and then placing it into her pouch she pondered on the implications of what was being learned. And how much was still only a speculated theory..

 

 

Cairma Vishnu

BM

[Wayfarer]

While things were relatively quiet after Anton left, who Aran found he missed the moment he left, Aran had to wonder what Anton did. He'd seen the man speaking to Cairma before he left and there was familiarity there. Had Anton spoken to her at some point? He couldn't remember it but Cairma was different for the visit, the black aura that had hung about her wasn't quite so terrible. Something that gave him hope but there were still no real words between them beyond the necessary, but then beggars couldn't be choosers. It was a matter of patience after all, something would have to give and things would be fixed then. Especially now he had a little bit more hope that he hadn't previously possessed.

 

But, while those concerns were constant, there were other things that had to be addressed. Namely, doing what they were meant to be doing while they were in the Borderlands. It seemed that there was a proliferation of tribes in the region, the Bhan'sheen and the Ghraem'lan in particular but there were others. What always fascinated him in a strange way was the surprisingly few dead Kno'mon that one found. They were dominated by breeds that were not natural predators, and as the months went on they were informed that the Kno'mon were actually used as a worker tribe. The only reason they weren't subjugated was because they were tied closely to the Gho'hlem, something proven when they found sites where Kno'mon were found amongst the dead there were Gho'hlem alongside them.

 

There also seemed to be very few Dhai'mon to be found. Whether this was a testament to their skill or the that there were just very few of them around, that was a different matter. It was also evident that there was something different going on from what was normal. The Borderlanders said it was like the Trollocs were uniting, but they still fought each other. Hence why in some battles there were multiple badges to be found, different tribes were united together with mixed fists. From this they could see that the Trollocs entertained alliances with one another. They no doubt fought between themselves still, but such events were limited with different enemies to fight.

 

Not that such wars distracted them from raiding the Borderlands. Occasionally they would come across small claws and the like and destroy them where they could, or if there was a force too large for them to handle they would make for the nearest outpost or encampment and inform the Arafellians of the sighting. As the months rolled by, more often than not they fell in with different groups that were patrolling from place to place. As they did so they learned of other things. While there were a substantial amount of trollocs north of the borderstones, those that ventured over did not tend to be accompanied by Myrddraal. Those who did venture over tended to be fadelings, a younger variety with limited powers. Some postulated they did so to prove themselves, much in the way that younger warriors raided the Blight to try and garner honour for themselves.

 

Ten months passed and by that time, the experience had left the pair of them well versed in Blight lore. If they hadn't been then they would not have survived for nearly so long. Despite the constant danger, both managed to avoid harm and as far as things went they had been fairly charmed not to have been harmed at all. In fact by the middle of the tenth month, they had made a particularly dangerous trek without an escort to a place they would find refuge until the next patrol came by.

 

They would find refuge at Adalon Tower.

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard