an Ogier has a bloody big fist [ATTN: Daemon, Arie?]

[Myth]

Forge needed a place to get away, and the Grove was the only place he could think of.

 

He and the other Stonemasons had finally finished their work, but it had been like walking naked through a briar patch. The other times he’d visited Tar Valon it had been to do something or other for the Aes Sedai and had always gone smoothly, but this time a wealthy innkeeper was looking to expand his business and wanted to advertise that Ogier had built the premises. Of course, in the end he hadn’t wanted to pay their rates, so the last several days were exercises in frustration. The situation had resolved itself late this afternoon when Forge calmly asked good master Aydare if he would prefer that his fancy new inn be pulled down on his head or pay for the construction. He paid.

 

Maybe Forge hadn’t asked that calmly, after all.

 

Regardless, tomorrow the other Ogier were planning on heading back to the Stedding to get away from all of these impetuous humans. Forge, on the other hand, didn’t mind the humans at all. His opinion differed drastically from that of his comrades, but he needed a place to cool his heated blood before he did something hasty. So he was heading for the Grove to relax.

 

The12-foot tall Ogier was unusual in many regards, not just his attitude toward humanity. He was a giant, even among his kind. Decades of working Stone and Steel had shaped his already massive frame into a muscular behemoth who was nearly as tough as the materials he worked with. He moved with a cat-like fluidity that belied his massive size, a gift from a Creator who had otherwise taken so much.

 

More important to most of his Ogier kindred was another difference. While Forge could almost make Stone blossom into life and make Steel bloom like molten joy, he couldn’t do what was even more cherished to the Ogier. He couldn’t connect with the Trees.

 

While few Ogier in this Age had the Talent for Treesinging, all of his kind still felt a spiritual connection to the forest and especially to the Great Trees. Those towering pillars of nature were almost like the Creator’s hand on earth for his people, but to him they were just pretty. Where they had an almost rapturous relationship with the trees, Forge merely found them to be soothing. Only Lily had never looked at him as if he were some sort of cripple when he was young and first discovering his shortcoming, but his feelings of isolation had long since passed him. His feelings for Lily still remained the same, though.

 

The Creator had made him to blaze a different trail, and even though it was often difficult he wouldn’t have it any other way. His Masonic brothers didn’t understand it very well, either, but they still accepted him. Any more they rarely thought about the giant prodigy’s lack, instead they relentlessly teased him about keeping his mustache shaved off and about the short, pointed patch of hair called an imperial that he cultivated beneath his bottom lip. He was the only Ogier he’d ever met who didn’t grow his beard as long as possible. He was definitely one of a kind in more ways than he cared to dwell on.

 

Even so, he still enjoyed meditating under the forest canopy whenever he got the opportunity, and today that meant the Aes Sedai Grove. The heat of the day was finally passing by, and a gentle breeze provided the first hint of evening, as the Ogier strolled toward a clearing he had visited several times before.

 

He was already looking forward to relaxing against a large elm that leaned in just the right way to make for a comfortable napping spot, when he heard an unusual sound. His tufted ears perked up at the repeated sound of short grunts and a sort of whistling.

 

Coming to the edge of the clearing, Forge stopped and looked on in awe. He would have called it dancing, but the fellow held a sword. The whistling he had heard was the sound it made as it cut through the air, and the grunts were verbal punctuations as he flowed from stance to stance.

 

It was beautiful and deadly as a serpent’s strike.

[Ghaul]

ooc: Well I made you wait long enough, so it's about time I posted

 

Daemon liked the Groove, it was quiet here, and one could be left alone to gather their thoughts, or practice in peace. Such was the case today with Daemon.

 

He began with a small concentration session, to clear his mind.Daemon sat down, with his eyes closed, he sword was resting on the ground on his left, the hilt at the same level as his knees. His hands in his lap, his breathing was slow and hardly noticable. Calm and collected, he took his sword in hand, putting it on his left hip, and stood up, bowing at an imaginary opponent.The the blade flew out of its sheet. Daemon started of simple enough. Basic slashes and thrusts were performed again and again and again, thousands of times. Repeats were the key to getting the body to perform the strikes effortlessly, after many repeats, it did them with the minimum amount of effort.Having worked through all, Daemon moved to a more dynamic excercise, one call kiri-kaeshi. Daemon suddenly leaped forward, striking what would be a possible's opponent head, then he body slammed the said opponent, pushing it back and a series of blows to the head followed. These blows were different though. His initial blow went down the centre line of the body, these ones were comming down in an angle, but all were aimed for the head, and were ment to split it. It was somewhere in the midsts of this exercise that Daemon noticed he had audience. Still he continued with his practice. The sword left an shining trail in the air, becoming visible for a second or so as Daemon stopped each strike at exactly the same height - precision acquired after many many years of practice. Each strike was a dead blow and though lethal, each strike had some beauty in it. Once his practice was over he turned to his audience. And it turned out that his audience is an Ogier, big even by Ogier standards. He was almost as twice as tall as Daemon. What Daemon found surprising though, was that the Ogier still had the enchanted look on his face, Ogier usually frowned upon him when they saw him practice in their Groove. Daemon bowed towards the Ogier respectfully.

 

"I hope I have not offended you, friend Ogier, with my habbit of practicing here"

 

Daemon Ronshor

[Myth]

OOC: no worries, bro. Sadly, real life keeps us too busy to have fun sometimes.

 

Forge smiled openly toward the swordsman, his wide grin nearly splitting his face in two, and waved off any concern with the human’s presence here.

 

“There could be no offence taken, good sir,” the muscular, 12-foot tall Ogier answered pleasantly, his deep bass voice sounding like it should come from a giant bull. “While it is true that we Ogier planted this Grove for our comfort and to remind us of the Stedding, it would be shameful if my kind were the only ones to seek solace under the shade of its trees. Especially now, when so few Ogier venture forth from their isolation. Hidden away from the world of men, we have allowed you humans to nearly forget us completely. No, there is no offence at all.”

 

Approaching the warrior, Forge noticed the slight sheen of sweat and regular breathing of the human. Despite the furious pace and long duration of his training, he didn’t appear to be the least bit tired.

 

“There is beauty in the Grove, is there not?” he asked. “Your practice added its own element, as deadly as your blade can be. Much like a serpent’s strike can kill, there is still a kind of beauty in the elegance of its strike.”

 

He paused thoughtfully for a moment and came to a decision. “Would you mind if I sat and watched you practice for a bit longer? I have a feeling that in the days to come, it would be good if more people knew how to use a weapon. The Shadow lies heavy across the Pattern.” The last words were spoken very softly, but in the serenity of the forest clearing they were clearly audible. Dismissing his dark thoughts, Forge looked down at the man with a smile.

 

“Ah… where are my manners? I am called Forge, and if it pleases you perhaps we can speak further when you’ve finished your work with the sword. I certainly don’t want to interrupt a man at work.”

[Ghaul]

“Ah… where are my manners? I am called Forge, and if it pleases you perhaps we can speak further when you’ve finished your work with the sword. I certainly don’t want to interrupt a man at work.”

 

It has been quite a while since Daemon has felt compared to someone. But then again, the ogier was almost twice his height, and Daemon's hand was lost into his. The grandmaster now had an idea how his sons felt comapred to their father, as Daemon was a big man.

 

"My name is Daemon, I am pleased to meet you, Forge. I have not met many Ogier. I guess I am not as lucky as some people are." - by the expression of the Ogier Daemon could see that Forge doubted if his last meetings with humans can be described as lucky. - "And no, you're not interupting, I am almost done. There is only one kata from my morning practice left for me to do"

 

The Ogier remained silent, obviously he was intrested in what Daemon had to do. He probably expected something like kiri-kaeshi again. But he was in for a surprise as Daemon kneeled down with the katana on his belt, and if Forge was expecting Daemon to go through meditation again, he was in or a bit of a surprise. What Daemon had in mind, had little to do with a meditation.

 

The sound of the blade leaving it's sheet was the only indication that something happened. At one moment, Daemon was kneeling with the katana resting on his hip, the next the weapon was drawn, in a blinding arch, that would have split a head in two, still on one knee, Daemon did a quick stab, taking down a second imaginary opponent. The blade then was slowly raised diagonaly to the right, only to be brought down the same way it came up very fast, with a sudden stop, as if to shake off the blood on the blade. With another slow motion, the blade slided down the outside of the sheet before sinking into it. Everything was done in a few heartbeats. Such was the way of the Ren'Shai - strike fast, strike hard. There was rarely a need for a second strike, or a time for it, at least when two Ren'Shai fought.

 

Daemon got up and turned to the Ogier.

 

"So, Forge, what brings you to Tar Valon if you do not mind me asking?"

 

Daemon

[Myth]

The calm serenity of the violence, the beauty of the deadly force mesmerized Forge. Like the thorns of a rose, he thought.

 

Daemon was a large man, as humans reckoned things, and his hands were heavily callused from working with the sword. His soft voice and quiet manner were a thin covering over the hard core and power within, much like a sheath covered a sword until it was drawn. It struck the giant Ogier then that Daemon was the kind of human that his fellows never got to know with their isolationist beliefs. Forge wasn’t a philosophical type of Ogier generally, that was the realm of his friend Jeran, but he wondered if his kind missed out on more than enough beauty to offset the human chaos, sheltered as they were in the Stedding.

 

He waited patiently and watched avidly as Daemon finished his weapon exercises and returned to chat a bit more. “So, Forge, what brings you to Tar Valon if you do not mind me asking?”

 

The 12-foot-tall Ogier answered in a deep bass rumble that sounded like a bull talking. “I came to build an inn, to tend the reputation that we Ogier have grown over the years, and to reap the harvest our toil has earned. Our work here is done, finished this morning, and my brethren have left. They don’t care for the frantic pace of you humans, and so they are returning to the Stedding. But I chose to seek solace in the eye of your city’s human storm here in the Grove. Here I sought to get away from the frenetic goings on, and soothe myself for a time.”

 

An idea blossomed in Forge’s mind like flowers after a spring rain. “Perhaps the Creator saw fit to lead me on this path to meet you. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.”

 

Laughing suddenly, a sound that boomed comfortably through the peaceful wood like thunder rumbling during a warm rain, Forge shook himself. “I sound like an Aes Sedai. Tell me Daemon, shall we find a place to eat and share conversation?”

[Ghaul]

  A place to eat eh? Well Daemon knew of such a place.

 

  "Yes friend Forge, I know of such a place. It's quite close near by and it has Ogier size rooms, furniture and utensils. I believe you'll find it most comfortable. You'll have to excuse me that I will not be able to sit on the same table as you though. Ogier tables are a bit too big for me. I will look like a child on such a table. I will be right next to you though.Follow me and I will take you to it."

 

  Daemon led Forge away from the tower grounds, and into Tar Valon. The inn he had in mind was just a few blocks away. It was, of course, the Green Advocate.  A large, three story inn, made mainly of wood - cedar trims to be pecice. Daemon led Forge in through the main entrance, which was ment to be lare enough for an Ogier to pass, but since Forge was a big even by Ogier standards, he had to bend in the knees a bit. They entered into the large common room, which served as both restaurant and a bar. The place however, was much neater than your ordinary bar. And behind the counter was a blonde woman, not a day over 30 by her appearance. Daemon smiled warmly at her, and she replied with a smile just as wamr.

 

  "Come in come in, and welcome to the Green Advocate, one of the best inns in Tar Valon and also my humble home." - Daemon welcomed Forge. - "The woman who runs it is my wife. So feel free to order what you wish, Forge, it is my treat. I assure you, the food is wonderful!"

 

 

  Daemon

 

 

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

 

"Tia avende alantin."

 

Arie Ronshor greeted the Ogier with a warm smile, placing a small tray of freshly baked cookies on a table that was just barely large enough for the Ogier to sit comfortably. It was a fairly good day, but even the fresh baking could not hide the smell of sweat from her husband. She gave him a small eye of reprisal but her smile never wavered.

 

Dressed in a light pastel Tairen gown with a dark green apron laced with white ribbon around the edge. Her platinum blonde hair pooled out of a loose bun that sat at the back of her neck while her silvery eyes held a sort of hollow reserved smile. They were warm, and held a love for the sight of her husband, yet they were cold to any that looked deep enough. A burnt out Aes Sedai that lived as long as she without the One Power scarcely lived long. Her secret of being stilled meant even less. But neither of which mattered.

 

Daemon should be thankful the Inn as quiet or she would have made him to up and cleanse himself. But even she had to admit that the earthy smell to him was pleasing. Although that comment would have to wait until they were alone.

 

"It is an honour to have you here, Alantin. I do not remember seeing you in any of my visits or in the building of the Cairhien School. To which Stedding are you from?"

 

 

 

Arie Tarou Ronshor

Wife, Mother & Innkeeper

Dreamwalker