Chillin' at the Doubletree, looking for some BT peeps at J-Con. Anyone else here?

Hey, those stuck up, White Tower loving...Oh wait, a new pin? Wooo! *Makes a flying dive for the Dragon Pin.* I just want to thank...hmmm...the folks who were involved in all my threads! Thanks, peeps!

Might have been back when the site was in whatever that mode is when only the mods and other cool people can modify the site in any way.

Also, I like to get raised. Can I get raised? I wanna get raised!

The next day, Baran was thankfully free of Soldiers to order about. Most of them had been sent back to the Black Tower to continue their training, now that the need for heavy lifting had passed, at least for the moment. Now, Baran and a handful of other Dedicated were in charge of moving and labeling each Ter'angreal as it was inspected and labelled according to the discoveries of the Asha'man who had examined it. The ends of each table were growing a bit cluttered with inspected objects of the Power, though most sat on top of papers that spoke of yet another failure in identifying the purpose of the object.

So Baran worked, carefully moving the papers and their objects into small crates for temporary storage, doing his level best not to mix anything up. It was difficult for him though, as he had only just learned to read since coming to the Black Tower. A miner didn't need to know how to read, after all, just where to put the earth he dug up. Leave it to the foreman to tally and to men smarter than him to label and ship things. No, Baran hadn't needed to read before coming to the Tower, and he was still painfully trying to pick up the skill.

He was looking at one of the labels, a small ring with an amber stone set in it in his other hand, trying to sound out the words, when his work was interrupted by an outburst from one of the Asha'man. Baran lifted his head, looking over at the older man, who was rubbing his temples and glaring balefully at a familiar looking disc sitting atop the table. Of course it would be that one. Baran saw the Asha'man preparing flows of Fire, Earth, and Spirit, sending them out to probe at the thing in an attempt to get it to activate. Though something told Baran all those would do is give the man an even greater headache than the one he was experiencing.

With that in mind, Baran trotted over to the Asha'man. As he approached the man, he straightened as much as he could and slammed his misshappen fist to his chest. "Asha'man, if I may have a word?" The Asha'man in question looked up at him, irritation plain on his face. Obviously, the man hadn't expected the normally quiet Baran, of all people, to interrupt him in his duties.

"I hope you have a very good reason to speak to me, Dedicated. Are there Trollocs in the Stone, perhaps?" The Asha'man rubbed at his temples again, closing his eyes to sigh for a moment before looking back up at Baran expectantly. "Well?"

"No, Asha'man, there are no Trollocs. I was only going to inform you that that Ter'angreal might not respond well to your probes. Perhaps Air and-" The rest of Baran's advice was cut off by an eruption from the Asha'man.

"You interrupted me to tell me how I should do my task, Dedicated? Perhaps you wish to tell me how I should do the rest of my work as well! I do not often find myself in the position of being ordered about by lower ranking men. What makes you think that I would even entertain listening to anything you have to say at this point? Go back to doing what you've been ordered to do, Dedicated, and leave the job of Asha'man to an Asha'man!"

The other Asha'man had taken notice of the disturbance by now, and most were smirking as Baran was shouted down. Some moved around the table to get a better view of what was going on. Baran, for his part, was just relieved that he had self-control enough to not let his own anger show on his face. Instead, he simply nodded and stiffly turned around, intent on his boxes and papers. Let the man have his headaches then, let the fool choke on them!

"Dedicated, have you forgotten something? Something that should be said? Perhaps something along the lines of 'Yes, Asha'man'?" Baran stopped at the sound of the other man's voice, doing his best to keep his anger in check. In a last ditch effort of defense, he formed the Void and used it to shield himself from his anger. Inside the Void, he knew what must be done and did it.

"My apologies, Asha'man. I will remember in the future." His voice sound cold to him, distant, but inside the Void, it didn't really matter what was said. His anger was outside of him, walled away behind the Void. Still, he could feel it scraping the surface, trying to find a way in as it seethed outside of him.

"Yes you will, Dedicated, because you are going to move these Ter'angreal out of this room by yourself when we are done with them, but first you are going to watch me successful activate this one now turn around and watch! You can do the rest of your work later. Possibly during mealtime." The Asha'man seemed to enjoy taking away food as punishment, but Baran had grown used to that. He hadn't lost too much weight, but there times when he felt like he should have. Still, he turned and watched the fool stubbornly batter the thing with Fire and Earth in vain, each time clutching at his head anew.

Hours later, Baran finally could take no more. The Asha'man had by this time reduced himself to crouching on the floor, glaring at the Ter'angreal as he continued his attempts to force it to work. The fool refused to even try what Baran had tried to tell him to do, refused to even touch the thing with Spirit, but Baran had a growing feeling that it was either Spirit or Air that would get the thing to work.

Suddenly, the Asha'man dropped the Ter'angreal and covered his eyes, letting out a scream of pain and frustration. Baran didn't even realize what he had done until he had Seized Saidin and channeled a Shield around the Asha'man. He thought to himself that perhaps he had spent too much time training new recruits as every Asha'man in the room suddenly looked at him.

The first club of Air caught him across the back of his head, knocking him to his knees. In the space of seconds, too more to the same spot found him on the floor, and he quickly fell into merciful unconsciousness as the pummeling continued.

Georgia, huh? So you'll be at J-Con, maybe? *Shrugs, Dr. Zoidberg style.*

Baran stepped out of the cell, shrugging his shoulders self-consciously. He could almost feel the eyes on his back, could almost see the Aes Sedai glaring at him as he straightened his clothing and dusted himself off. Looking around, he was surpised to see shock on some of those ageless faces, and even more surpised to feel the emotion echoed in his own mind. It had been a strange conversation with the Amyrlin, made even stranger by the other Aes Sedai, some of whom had some rank within the Tower, if the way others deferred to them was any indication.

"My thanks, Aes Sedai, for your kind hospitality." Baran quipped, making a leg to the collected women in clumsy irritation of the bows he had seen other Asha'man perform in the Black Tower, though they usually did so for the occasional sweetheart or wife. Perhaps the taunt was not the best of ideas, but he couldn't keep himself from it, his injured pride demanded some kind of revenge, however small it may be.

He turned and began to walk, forcing his legs to stiffness in an effort not to quicken his pace. They may have been able to Shield and cage him, but he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing him run! He only got a few steps away before he was nearly waylaid by a Novice and Accepted, the pair of them making sure he made his way to the exit, and no other location within the Tower. He supposed they wanted to make sure he didn't fulfill his promise to that man, or whatever was left of the man after what had happened to him.

He soon found himself back out in the yard he had been in before, and looked around for a moment before turning back to his escorts. "My thanks for your assistance. The Light shine on you both." He couldn't help himself. Some old habit, so deeply ingrained in him from his early years back home, forced him to mumble the curtesy to the pair, though their expressions changed the beginnings of irritation into amusement.

He turned back and Seized on Saidin, relishing the feel of the One Power as he never had before. After another moment of simply enjoying the feel of being alive, he began to weave a Gateway. Inside, a small platform of bare earth, like the floor of a hovel, hovered in an expanse of black. He blinked for a moment as he felt the Power quaver in his grasp, nearly losing control as the gateway lurched and wavered for a second that seemed to last centuries. Then it was back under his control, and he stepped through hurridly, hoping no one had seen his brush with death aside from his escorts. He allowed the Gateway to close as the platform carried him through space without the sensation of movement, Skimming the Pattern back to the Black Tower. As the Gateway into the Travelling fields opened, he held no illusions that he would be in trouble. He just hoped he didn't end up executed.

Hey, I'm not dead. Just...limited as far as computers go. Also lazy.

Only one character,Dedicated Baran Dholwin.

As far as what all I've done...well, I've completed most of my raising requirements, just need to crap out a final post in the Interdiv in the White Tower that's been running forever. And the Asha'man Duel, of course.

Hey, if we're allowed to burn up Darkfriends, what say we go find ourselves a Darkfriend version of Emond's Field, replete with horrific initation rites for the children and the occasional Trolloc cookpot being used by more than just Trollocs? Who doesn't love a bit of cannibalism every now and again? Oooh, and maybe it could be an interdiv! Throw in some Aes Sedai, Warders, maybe even some Children to make it interesting. But then, it's just an idea.

Anyway.

Not dead. Just sleeping.

Baran Dholwin strode down one of the earthen roads that wound through the whole of the Farm, his boots crunching the occasional clump of frozen dirt. His foot slipped on a particularly icy patch, and he stumbled a step, almost falling before he righted himself. After a quick shake of his head and a mumble that improving the conditions of the roads would be a fine task for new recruits and Dedicated, he walked on. The reports weren't going to carry themselves, after all. Not that fetching and carrying such things was work for a Dedicated. Especially one so close to being Asha'man. He could feel it, he had felt himself growing stronger recently, though he still wasn't sure he would be able to defeat a full-fledged Asha'man. More a matter of skill than strength, though.

Still grumbling, the Cairhienin continued his fast-paced walk towards the Citadel, so wrapped up in his self-important rambling that he was oblivious to most other people on the road.

Inside the Citadel he passed more black-coated men, most with the dragon pin glittering on their collars, which only made him more conscious of his own lonely silver sword. He jammed his gnarled hands into his pockets and increased both the speed of his walk and grumbling, only vaguely aware that he had crumpled up the small packet of reports he had been clutching.

He would have missed the odd pair of men waiting outside of Arath Faringal's office if they hadn't been in his path as he raised his head to look at the door. He still almost ignored them until he saw something he had not thought to see here in Andor. Indeed, he had not thought to see one in his life.

"An Aiel? Here?" His shocked whisper was the only reaction he was aware of, though he was holding Saidin in an instant, the weaves for a ball of fire readying themselves in the back of his mind. Within the Void, Baran took hold of himself and tried to ignore a lifetime of stories about the Aiel, of playing at the Aiel war. Although in their games, Cairhien always defended itself successfully.

He approached the pair, his voice cold through the Void. "I would not suggest bothering the Tsorovan'm'hael without a good reason." Though he was forced to look up at the two men, he did his best to appear to be looming over them, not a trick of the Power, more a trick of attitude. At least, as he understood it.

*Cough cough* I have some ideas...

I still like my old idea about going into a true village of Darkfriends...and exterminating people. Come on, Darkfriends, let us kill some mooks! You don't really need that family of cannibals, do you? *Adorables*

Baran blinked, surprised to find three Aes Sedai gathered around his cell. Had he been concentrating that hard? He must have, to have missed the three ageless faces staring at him. He thought back, trying to remember what all had been said while he wasn't paying attention. He didn't like missing information when people were talking about him, and because he could channel, he knew that they would have been talking about him. After a few moments of careful thought he decided he hadn't missed much. They hadn't been there that long. He had only been thinking for a moment.

He gave his most winning smile and gripped the bars of his cell, still idly working his way into the chinks and creases of the Shield that held him. It was difficult to concentrate and talk, he had not practiced doing more than one thing while weaving enough, most likely, but it seemed he would be forced to do so here. If, no, when he got out of the cell, he decided he would practice that a bit more diligently. Swallowing the anger that threatened to well up at his treatment by these women, he forced himself to be as civil as he had before. He would not stoop to the level of these women.

"Greetings, Aes Sedai. How may I help you this fine day? As you see, it doesn't seem I'll be going anywhere for a little while."

Baran gestured to the three walls of his cell with one hand, the other gripping the bars as tightly as they could. He would show these women his strength. If he was going to die, he would die facing his executioners, with a smile on his face. He smiled, and tried not to grind his teeth.

Well, I'd like to get Baran's Talent threads underway, so I'm throwing the gates open for people to join in the fun! Just send me a PM, I'll send you an outline, and we can figure out ways to work people in.

Baran frowned. Was the Storm Leader done? Was that all he had been trying to do? Was he supposed to let down the Air Shield now? He hadn't been ordered to, and the other man still held the Power, so he decided to keep his own grip on the True Source and simply open a hole in the Shield for the weapon to pass through. If the Storm Leaders wanted more, they would tell him as much, and he would obey.

For now though, he simply allowed himself to enjoy the struggle for life, the feel of being an ice crystal in a flow of magma, the feel of the Taint poisoning his soul, Baran savored it all, and waited.

Baran almost snorted. Keep the Air Shield tight? Why was he needed for this work? This was a job a Soldier could do! Still, he had been ordered to do it, so he fed his irritation and the underlying nervousness into the Flame, fed himself to the Flame until everything had been scoured away but his mind and the Void. In the Void, he could feel Saidin, could feel it pulsing just out of reach. With practiced ease, he reached out to Seize the Power, weaving a Shield of Air around the two of them. It made sense to include himself in the circumference of the sphere. It would give him added incentive to maintain the Shield's integrity, and hopefully encourage the Storm Leader to be careful in his weaving.

Filled to brimming with the Power, Baran could see the flows being woven over the other man's shoulder. Well, bits pieces. The fellow's body obscured some of what was going on, but what Baran did see was worked on a level so minute he really couldn't even see what was being done, so he wouldn't be able to replicate what was going on, even if he wanted to.

Crafting weapons wasn't something he wanted to do, so it was no loss that he didn't seem to have the Talent for it. He still wasn't exactly sure what he would be able to do, but he hoped it would be something great, something powerful that would let him be remembered for at least an Age. Something that people built statues about.

With a shake of his head, Baran brought himself back to what he was doing, forcing his mind to focus on keep the Air Shield secure.

Dedicated Dholwin, you are ordered to the Old Forge to assist a Storm Leader.

Reading the short note written to him on a scrap of paper again, Baran strode down a not-so-frequently traveled path to what a few of the more experienced members of the Black Tower called "The Old Forge". It was an old barn, apparently repurposed for use as a forge. Why they had felt compelled to build a new forge if they had a perfectly good one before was beyond him, but Baran had been in the Tower long enough not to question the decisions of the Storm Leaders.

He slipped inside, amazed at the small crowd that had gathered inside the barn. After running his hands along his black coat to make sure there was nothing amiss, Baran stepped forward, walking up behind the man nearest the Forge with the assumption that this was the Storm Leader he had been ordered to aid. He saluted, pounding his fist to his chest loud enough for the other man to hear it behind him.

"Dedicated Baran Dholwin, reporting for duty as ordered, Tsorovan'm'hael!"

Blah, on my way.

Baran continued to wait in the cell, worming his way through the Saidar-woven Shield preventing him from touching the One Power. He leaned against the bars of his prison, his eyes closed as he concentrated on maintaining the Void, on forcing back the sheer terror that gibbered and scraped along the Void as though trying to shatter his concentration. The buzzing at the back of his mind was growing louder as well, as though a swarm of gnats were hunting him down. He ignored them all and concentrated on his work.

It was much harder breaking a Shield when he had to feel blindly for the knots instead of being able to sense them. It was much more involved, and it did not help that he had to keep himself from scrabbling at the knots of the Power that held the Shield together. Still, he was making progress, something he had not expected to make much of. It was, after all, his first experience with countering a female channeler's weaves.

Focused as he was on his task, he did not hear the low voices coming up the hall, did not hear the quiet footsteps of slippered feet of Aes Sedai as they padded towards his cell.

He wondered if any of the Storm Leaders would even come for him if he failed to escape. Light, he had heard the rumors about him in the Tower, heard the whispered accusations of madness as the Soldiers and other Dedicated tried to explain his "erratic behavior". This would no doubt simply feed those rumors. He frowned at the thought for a moment. He could use the rumors, maybe turn them to his advantage, but he would rather not be suspected of insanity at every encounter. He would not be able to do anything great if he was not trusted to perform his duties.

"Light burn you to ash, Baran Dholwin." He swore at himself as he lost his grip on the knot he had been working, his awareness snapping back from the crevice he had found and back into his body.

Baran stumbled into a large room safely within the Asha'man's Quarters within the Stone of Tear with the last crate of Ter'Angreal gleaned from the Great Holding in his arms, sweat covering his face. He carefully laid his burden on one of two tables requisitioned specifically to hold the Ter'Angreal before they were sent to the Black Tower. He stretched up, his back arching as he pushed his fists into the muscle just above his hips and resisted the urge to yawn.

Other men in the room were doing the same, Soldiers for the most part, all of them tired from another day of fetching and carrying Ter'Angreal from one room to another. Baran looked around the room, his lips compressing in distaste as he realized that he was the only Dedicated in the room. Eight Asha'man lounged indolently in rough circles at each table, pawing through the crates as they made rough examinations of each suspected Ter'Angreal.

"Good work, men. Dedicated, find these Soldiers something to eat and a place to sleep. There's more work to be done tomorrow." One of the Asha'man said, waving a dismissive hand at Baran after a quick glance at the Sword pin on his collar. Schooling his face to stillness, Baran saluted and turned to the Soldiers, his mouth open to issue commands. His charges, however, had been here as long as he had, and knew where to find their food and beds. They had already assembled into a rough line and were making their way to the kitchens. Baran felt an odd sense of satisfaction that his men knew exactly what to do. He hardly registered his nod as he turned around to salute the Asha'man again.

"Halt!" The Asha'man who had spoken before rounded on Baran with an expression of cold arrogance. Behind Baran, the line of Soldiers stopped. "Your men moved without your command, Dedicated. It seems they need a lesson in discipline. We don't want them wandering off deciding what to do in battle, now do we?" He shifted his gaze to address the Soldiers. "Now, why don't you men grab another two more loads before you go to your supper? Maybe that will teach you to listen to your commanding officer before going off and doing what you think should be done!" The last bit was shouted loud enough to drive spittle into Baran's upward tilted face, forcing the younger man to blink or be blinded by spit.

Grumbling, the Soldiers obeyed. After a moment, Baran turned to follow.

"Dedicated."

Fighting back an irritated sigh, Baran turned back to the Asha'man and saluted. "Asha'man?"

"Your men must lack discipline because you do not enforce it strictly enough. Bring back a third load by yourself before sleeping."

Baran nodded and saluted again, very carefully making sure he was out of earshot before beginning to grumble about the fellow.

ONLY identify Ter'Angreal and how to use them? Pfft, it's a necessary talent.

I'd post, but I figure it's probably better to allow someone who actually needs OP lesson credits to have first crack. That, and I should probably get back to Operation: Baran's Talent.

Which reminds me, I should probably harass Arath about that Ter'Angreal list at some point...

Baran stood as Arath stepped back through his gateway, bracing himself for a blistering tirade on his foolishness. Instead, the Tsorovan'm'hael asked him what had happened. Surprised, Baran blinked for a moment before saluting in an attempt to stall while he gathered his thoughts. He decided that the truth would be best here, they had been in full view, and he did not have anything to gain by spreading misinformation.

"I...miscalculated my opponent's willingness to attack, Tsorovan'm'hael. I only sought to keep him out of striking range and distracted while I prepared a Shield. I did not expect Gavin to actually step inside the weave. Any could see that it was suicide to even try to reach me!" He thought for a moment before adding, "I believe I stand corrected on that count, now." He looked back to the pile of rocks that had been the armor that Gavin covered himself in for a moment as he attempted to recall what else had happened during the sparring match.

"His own defense did most of the damage, I think. I was busy trying to maintain the weaves at the time, but I know what a rock heavy enough to do damage looks like." He gestured to the pile of stone. "Still, I will try to make my strategies more...fool proof in the future, to minimize casualties." He looked back to the Storm Leader, wondering if his explanation was enough, or if the other man would press for more details, or levy a punishment on him for his inexperience.

Baran blinked in shock, unsure of what had just happened. Still holding the Power, he advanced on his fallen opponent, his sword held low in case Gavin was merely pretending to sleep to lure him into a trap. As he got closer, though, he saw the extent of the other man's injuries. Thrusting his sword into it's scabbard, he knelt next to Gavin, his woolen pants drawing wetness from the ground into them. He put an ear to the other man's chest, careful not to put too much pressure on it, to listen for his heart. Still beating, which meant Gavin still lived. Good. He was no doubt going to be in enough trouble for putting Gavin in this condition without the added charge of killing him. Sitting up, Baran shook his head. Even when he didn't mean to, he injured his fellows. He could practically hear the rumors spreading from the practice yards.

With a grimace, he stood, channeling to amplify his voice. "Tsorovan'm'hael!" His shout echoed over the sound of the other combatants, hopefully reaching their instructor and imparting a need for speed.

This done, Baran settled back down next to his former opponent. His expression darkened as he looked over Gavin's body again. He had little talent for Healing, so there was little else he could do but wait. He would have moved the man, but he didn't know if there were any internal injuries he couldn't see. He had seen men that looked perfectly fine to the eye die because there had been something wrong inside them that broke when they were moved.

So Baran sat, and waited, for Arath.

Baran walked the paths of the Black Tower without any real destination in mind. He needed time to gather his thoughts. Two of the five Soldiers he had been instructing in the use of Saidin had gone mad. Two! They had only been in the Tower for a few weeks. Baran had heard tales of men going mad without becoming violent, but he had yet to see such a thing. He didn't enjoy killing, despite what rumors there were of him still floating about the Tower's Grounds. Faerin Borlal, and Charad al'Moran. He would have to report to one of the Asha'man about this no doubt, if not one of the Storm Leaders. Whatever they decided, he would no doubt deserve it. Those men had been his responsibility.

Maybe something to eat would make his stomach stop roiling. If it didn't, well, there were plenty of men sicking up daily in the Black Tower. Some never got used to the Taint.

Suddenly there was a hand at his arm, grasping it firmly in an obvious attempt to stop him. Baran turned a somewhat frosty glare on whatever Soldier thought he could stop a Dedicated, even if the Dedicated didn't seem to be doing much beside wandering. Then he saw the Dragon pin on the other man's uniform. His demeanor changed instantly, the glare altered slighty, melting into an attentive stare. His back straightened, and his fist pounded to his chest almost reflexively in salute.

"Asha'man, how may I serve?"

*Crawls out of bed, blinking* Huh-what? Something's going on? *Toddles off to check the boards*

As mud spattered against his pants and jacket, Baran concentrated, weaving flows of fire, sending four finger-thick bars of flame out in front of him as though splayed from a giant skeleton's hand. He wove air into the mix, moving the bars to the side until they disappeared, creating new ones as they did so, giving the impression that he was at the center of a mostly obscured wheel of flame, and the bars were the spokes. The move would give Gavin something to think about while Baran readied another shield of pure spirit to hammer against his connection to the True Source. Of course, such extravagant use of the One Power would drain anyone, and Baran was no different. His display lasted less than a minute, but he hoped the minute would be enough to put the other man off his guard.