It was dark in the cell. Not pitch black; the front wall and door were simple bars of steel, allowing light from the torches in the hall to filter into the room. Still, they had gone down enough stairs to make Baran feel as though he were back in some mine, back underground. He had to face forward, towards the bars, else he felt as though he had been in a cave-in. It had been one of his greatest fears as a child, to be buried alive in the rubble after a mine collapsed. He knew friends who had lost fathers, some of who by now would no doubt be dead in cave-ins themselves.

With little else to do but watch the Accepted down the hall, Baran continued to work the bonds that held him from the Source, pressing his awareness into the cracks and crevices the Sister had left in the knots she had tied in the Shield. There would be little he could do once he got this off but run or fight and die. He was not ready to die yet, so he would have to skim from here back to the Black Tower. There was little doubt that he would escape punishment for this, the leaders in the Black Tower having bound themselves to the Aes Sedai. Still, they most likely would not kill him.

A buzzing in the back of his mind tried to distract him, but he ignored it, just as he ignored the way he hungered for Saidin, almost needed it's touch, needed to feel the oily touch of the Taint seeping into his bones as he fought against being scoured from the face of the earth.

He ignored it all and worked to free himself from the predicament his adherence to what he had been taught had found him in. He snorted to himself as he remembered what he had learned back in the Black Tower. Give aid to those who request it indeed!

Crule Rotundo could've gone out and yelled at the White Tower, but he was too busy hiding his extra-extra-extra delicious chocolate cake in one the deepest folds of fat on his body. After nestling the cake under the almost continuously jiggling flesh of his right man-boob, went back to the delicious sauce he was preparing for the night's meal.

"Tilda! Fetch a stick and roll me out of this tent! And bring me some of my chocolate cake! I know you have it! It's not in the stove I left it in!" He didn't know why that lazy good for nothing scullion kept stealing his tasty, tasty treats, but when he got the strength, he was going to beat her something awful! He reached into a fold somewhere below his waist and produced a leg of lamb, noisily crunching away at it while he waited for that slow-witted woman to get to him.

Eventually the skin and bones scullion showed up with his favorite poking stick, nice and round on one end, to roll his rotund self out the tent flaps.

"No, no, not so fast, woman! I'm going to crash into that w-" Crule plowed into a hastily-erected wall, every inch of him jiggling more than the entire wall should have been able to. Assorted treats of every sort flew into the air, landing in the hands of pleasantly surprised soliders as they did so.

"No, not my treats! I'll staaaarve without my treeeaats!" Crule wibbled and wobbled with fury as he lashed his limbs in impotent rage.

"Yes, Tsorovan'm'hael."

Baran snapped to attention and saluted, grateful that the questions were over. He had almost felt as though he were being interrogated, though logically the Attack Leader would have been much more insistent had it actually been an interrogation. There might have been more pain involved, as well. Still, he was amazed that his horrendous excuse had worked. He usually had more time to prepare a story when he had to lie. Something to work on, he supposed. Improvising had never been one of his strong points when it came to something as complex as lying well. The thought was what made him stop from repeating that he probably wouldn't be able to find anything. Repeating himself probably wouldn't work here. It would just make him seem more guilty. He wasn't sure what the penalty was for lying to a superior was, but it probably wasn't very enjoyable.

After Arath left, Baran looked around very carefully before letting out a rather loud sigh of relief. He took a few more moments to calm himself before getting back to work, shifting boxes and going through the contents. More dusty artifacts were ready to clog his nose with dust and make his eyes water. Not a particularly enjoyable prospect. Certainly not what he had joined the Black Tower to do. He had expected to be slicing through trollocs and black-eyed Aiel. He had played at Aiel fighting as a child, his strength if not his size making him a good choice for either side. Though he had liked wielding his stick like a sword rather than a spear. How unusual then, that he had learned Aiel techniques for fighting with his hands as part of his training.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Baran got back to work unpacking boxes. Sneezing, he began another careful pile and hoped he wouldn't find anything else that would...do whatever that Ter'Angreal had done.

Baran brought his sword up, angling it down and to the side in the hope that the other man's strange weapon would slide off it, throwing him off balance. He began to dance to the side, the sword whipping around his head as he struck at the other man in a counterattack. The incoming sweep forced his dance to turn into a hop, and the strike to turn into an quick but awkward-looking repositioning of the weapon, bringing back into a defensive position as he landed. He stepped forward, bringing his knee up in the hopes of knocking the other man down or at least forcing him to defend himself.

As he did so, Baran felt the last knot of the Shield holding him give. He tore it away with a short laugh and finally broke down the Shield, Seizing Saidin and weaving a Shield of his own to throw against Gavin. Hopefully the other man wasn't finished breaking his yet. Hopefully he would be able to keep Gavin from Seizing Saidin altogether. It would make the fight much, much easier for him to win if the other man was unable to Channel the entire time. He struck, wondering if the Void made his smile as cold as it made his voice.

"Give up, Gavin. You have no chance to win this fight." The Void robbed his voice of emotion, not something he minded at the moment. The lie was so ridiculous that if he had said it without the Void, he probably would have at least chuckled. He couldn't keep the smile from reaching his lips, though. Hopefully his amusement looked threatening, or at least contemptuous.

Baran almost told him what he thought of the Ter'angreal. A moment of thought made him hold his tongue, though. What if this was some sort of test Maybe the other man was expecting him to say no. If he said yes, would that be a telling sign of insanity? You couldn't trust a man who felt things that weren't there. What if his ability to set wards was the same? What if he felt that humans were darkspawn?

Gritting his teeth, the Dedicated cut off that particular line of thought and forced his mind back to the conversation at hand. If he had some kind of Talent it wouldn't hurt him, but if he said yes and it was a trap, he would be that much closer to being dead.

"Me? Oh, I don't really get any feelings from it at all. I just...well, it was in a hidden compartment in one of the chests. Just figured it had to be special if someone had gone through all the trouble of keeping it hidden. That's all." He took the Ter'angreal back and looked at it again, doing his best to ignore the notion of touching it with flows of...what? Resisting the urge to shake his head to clear it, Baran handed the Ter'angreal back. "Well, that's another one for the Black Tower, eh? Well, no use in me just standing around. Better get back to work." He gave a grin, not thinking that the expression was so out of character for him and turned around, plainly intent on getting back to the piles.

Baran jerked at the sound of another man's voice. He straightened, tearing his gaze from the small artifact in his hand. He turned around, his eyes widening as he realized it was Arath Faringal, not one of the Soldiers he was used to dealing with. Of course the Tsorovan'm'hael himself would be the one to walk in on him staring at...whatever it was he was holding. Flustered, he tried to salute with the hand holding the artifact, only to realize what he was doing at the last minute. He quickly fumbled the thing from one gnarled hand to the other, finally bringing his fist to his chest.

"Oh! Well, I think so, Tsorovan'm'hael. Er, that is to say, it might be. Well, I don't really know, Sir." His shoulders slumped as he offered the artifact over for inspection. No doubt this would lend to the already growing legend of insanity, if the man didn't just kill him on the spot. Thinking of insanity made him wonder about the strange ideas that had come to mind when he had first held the thing. Was that the form his insanity would take? No matter. He would hardly be the first one to develop strange quirks from wielding Saidin. He could still be of use, though. He could still do what he needed to do to be remembered.

Baran brought himself under control with a grimace. How had he allowed himself to become so flustered? He hadn't been so surprised in years. Some small part of him expected the children from his childhood to pop up from behind the piles of trash to laugh at him for allowing that much emotion to show on his face at once. It had happened once, when Keri Rondin had jumped out of a tree at him and scared him half to death. Light, it had taken years for him to live that down, if he ever had. Some of his friends still brought it up back home. Probably still drinking to their health and laughing at him even now. The Light shine on them and their somewhat happy lives.

With a shake of his head, Baran brought himself back to the present. "What do you make of it, Storm Leader?"

Baran stiffened as soon as he felt the Shield slam between him and the Power, ostensibly because that was how channeling men were supposed to be treated in the Tower. He didn't recall any such restrictions on Aes Sedai back on the Farm, but then he hadn't seen any there either. Probably afraid they would somehow be infected by Saidin. He probed at the Shield, trying to force the panic he felt building down. He gripped the hilt of his sword as soon as he found the...point of the Shield hard. She wasn't holding it. Fool woman. He probed further, quietly thankful for the lessons he had learned in Arath's class. He just had to break free long enough to channel a way back to the Black Tower. A Skimming platform would do as well as any, he supposed.

He ignored the woman's digs, as she obviously wasn't interested in any real conversation. More interested in putting him in a hole somewhere until she could get enough Sisters to Gentle him. Why the Black Tower had ever allied with these women was beyond him. No, he wasn't going to go with them unless they dragged him off. He tried to think of something he could do to distract them while he worried at the knots of the Shield.

"Judge me, Aes Sedai? You speak as if I've committed a crime instead of trying to give aid as requested. After all, while I would hardly be the first channeler to kill an unarmed man in the White Tower, I would probably be among the rare few who did so by request." He smirked again, though it was a more half-hearted one this time around. He was busy trying to break free, after all. "I have made no aggressive moves towards either of you, so there is no reason to Shield me unless you have some other reason for doing so." He kept the smirk up, hard as it was while wrapped in the Void. This Shield was...different than the one Arath had woven, different than the ones any man had woven around him. It made sense. He had been told all the time that men and women channeled differently from one another, that even the weaves were different. It would just take him longer to work the Shield out.

Getting ready to sleep, but before I do, figured I'd throw up a snazzy new welcome thread for our two new Soldiers, Jahier Shiwon and Tomoyuki Sarenda, played by Arafellin Wolfbrother and Leala Gymorraine respectively.

So, welcome to the Black Tower! May your stay be long and fruitful. *Raises a glass* Q'plah!

No...wait...something isn't right there.

Anyway, if you guys need help working through requirements, there are (mostly)friendly non-staff members up for running classes and non-educational rps. Don't be afraid to drop me a PM if you're looking for help.

*Character whoring ends*

Baran Dholwin sneezed for what seemed like the thousandth time, squinting in the flickering light cast by lamps hung around the large room. This had to be a punishment for what had happened at the White Tower. It was the only thing that made sense. He wiped a hand across his sweating forehead, grimacing at the feel of dust smearing onto his face. He had thought he had escaped that feeling, but apparently even in the Black Tower there were opportunities to get your hands dirty, even if you didn't want to.

Sighing, Baran got back to work, tossing half-rotted baskets into a growing pile of trash. Trash was what most of this room was, this supposed Great Holding. True, they had found numerous sculptures and strange carvings, not to mention the bizarre furniture, pots and pans that had already been crated up and taken to the Black Tower. They had only gone through half the room though, which meant they still had to sift through dozens of piles of rusty chests and rotted sacks. He knew the High Lords had no love of the Power, but why treat anything so finely made with such disdain? He selected a heavy hammer and a chisel from the leather belt tied around his waist and knelt in front of a chest.

He positioned the chisel where it looked like the lock had rusted almost completely through. A few hits from his hammer was all it took to bash the lock away from the rest of the chest. Baran carefully lifted the lid up and back, but it wasn't enough to stop the hinges from snapping from the strain after being in one position for so long. Baran let the thing fall to the ground in disgust before reaching down into the chest to paw through another rotted sack for something of use. A small vase almost tumbled out of the thing before he caught it, fumbling awkwardly with the thing before he was able to get it under control. He tilted his head to look at it, wondering what it did, if it did anything at all.

Turning to bellow for a Soldier, he set the thing down next to the chest and went back to searching. A small statuette and a dagger had joined the vase before the Soldier arrived, inquiring as to what he needed.

“More artifacts for the Tsorovan'm'hael's crates.” Baran said, gesturing to the small pile. “Burn me if even half of this junk is of any more use than what you can find in the market.”

“What do you think he thinks we'll find down here, anyway, Dedicated?” The Soldier, a Domani, asked, looking down at the smaller man.

Baran grimaced at having to look up at the Soldier. “Ter'Angreal, I suppose. Something to make the Black Tower more equal with those women in the White Tower. Not a bad goal, but it's bloody sweaty work. Not even a breeze in the place, and we can't even channel to move the air around in here.”

The Soldier shrugged and scooped up the items before scurrying off. Baran turned, ready to move on to the next item in the pile, this time a small covered basket, when his foot caught on the lip of the broken lid, and he tripped, stumbling forward a few steps. He threw his weight backwards when he realized he was about to stumble into an unsorted pile, and somehow managed to send himself into the trash pile, covering himself in rotted reeds, spiderwebs, and dust. He stood, spitting what he could out of his mouth and walked over to the lid, giving it a swift, angry kick. To his surprise, the inside of the thing cracked, revealing an inner compartment. He blinked and bent down to brush the pieces away from what was hidden inside.

He stood, holding what looked like some kind of small carved stone sculpture, or maybe an amulet. It was smooth to the touch, and as he wiped dust away, Baran saw a kind of spiral pattern on one side. Standing there, looking at it, made him wonder what it was for, which didn't make sense at all. Who said it was for anything? Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had a use, whatever it was. He traced a finger along the spiral, almost entranced by it. It made him think of far-off places, but nowhere in particular. Something about speaking, but that couldn't be right. Maybe sending messages?

He wasn't aware of how long he had been standing there, resisting the urge to Seize Saidin and channel at the thing until he heard the sound of someone else entering the room.

*Is thwapped* Bwah! What the heck, man? I'm not even a Soldier...*Rubs his head*

While I'm not a petabe (Power that be), I'm interested in your character. In fact, I volunteer for class duty for this character! If elected, I promise an-er-ah cruel, unfair, uncompromising class run by a Aes Sedai...disliking individual!

Grimm

Character: Baran Dholwin, Dedicated.

Baran looked up at the man he had been paired with, already frantically at work on the new Shield Arath had just placed on him. He had taken to working on it as soon as the Tsorovan'm'hael had told them that they would be sparring while Shielded. Baran wasn't sure if he was supposed to have started working at the thing so early, but he wanted to be ready, especially when he saw who he had been paired with. Baran hadn't realized how much taller than him the Andoran was, hadn't realized that the other man looked like he had more than a few pounds advantage over him. He was probably more agile than Baran as well, what with all the tumbling he seemed to do. And those knives, those bloody knives! No, definitely not someone he wanted to fight while he was still Shielded from the Power.

He hefted his blade, still softened by that weave of air, and stood, wondering how much longer the other man had on his shield. Undoubtedly Gavin was taking advantage of Baran's inaction to do the same thing he was trying to do. Baran's mind raced as he tried to figure out a strategy while worrying at the knots the way he had the last time, trying to find a crack to slip through and out to the Power. Light, he would need his added muscle if Gavin attacked before he was free, the other man's height and weight would be more than enough to beat him if he hadn't worked in the mines for most of his life. Bloody Andorans raised giants in their homes, it seemed.

Baran gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and brought it up to his shoulder, ready to defend himself in case Gavin struck first, and ready to copy Lir's early demonstration if the other man got his Shield off first, if only to distract the larger man long enough to allow him to get a few dirty hits in.

"Boy? Child? Really, Aes Sedai, who is calling who names?" Baran said, heaping contempt on the two women. He shook his head, trying to clear it after that ridiculous display. He had felt the woman Embrace Saidar, had been sure that he was about to be Shielded on the spot, but instead all that had happened was a simple thunderclap. He hadn't seen the Weave, but the lack of birds flying from trees, of people running to see what the commotion was, told him that something had been done to keep the noise of it from leaving the small circle the three of them had formed.

"As to surviving Tarmon Gai'don, of course I don't expect to. I just told you I don't expect to survive that long, though it would make sense for you to not want us to think about the aftermath if you were planning for it yourself. And when did I threaten either of you? You speak, Aes Sedai, but you don't listen." He shifted his gaze to take in the two of them, both as smooth-faced as any Aes Sedai he had seen. True, he hadn't seen many, but the ones he had seen all had the serenity to match those ageless faces. Still, he had made one shout, had broken that serenity if only for a moment. Even better, they were both plainly not as calm as they seemed, if their speech was any indication. Their barbed replies spoke of irritation, of guarded hostility. He had heard the Aes Sedai had invented The Game of Houses, but he had learned enough even in his simple village to understand the meaning of words.

He blinked, wondering, reining himself in again. Maybe that was only what they wanted him to think? No, better not to make this more complex than it was. They wanted to know why he was there. He could keep the information from them, but why? It would serve no purpose other than frustrating them. It would have been amusing, but foolish as well.

"Why am I here? I was delivering a message, as ordered. Believe me, I do not enjoy being here at least as much as you don't enjoy having me here." He paused again, fingering the hilt of his sword as he gathered his thoughts. "And just so you know, it isn't the executions that bother me, Aes Sedai. It's that you kill men and pretend it isn't murder just because they live a little longer. You lie to yourselves to without lying, and accuse the Asha'man of having no honor. Is it name-calling if the name fits, or is it simply naming?" He finished, staring at the woman in Yellow, more because she seemed to be the weaker of the pair as far as control went.

Normally, he would turn and leave, but he wasn't about to turn his back on these two, especially when he wasn't even sure he could get through whatever the Sisters had done to keep sound from escaping.

Excellent. *Rubs his hands together in a Mr. Burnsesque fashion.*

Baran stood stock still for a moment, shocked. Not at being dressed down by an Aes Sedai, he had been expecting something like that from the moment she had shouted at him and the Accepted to stop what they were doing. Not because his attempt at dissembling had failed. He was obviously not going to get anywhere with honey with this woman. No, he was surprised because an Aes Sedai, someone who by every account he had heard should have been serenity and poise incarnate had lowered herself to the level of shouting at him. If not for the Void, he would have been grinning like an idiot. The distancing nature of the Void made sure his mouth only quirked in a smirk. Outside the crystal shield of the Void, beyond the amusement, lurked anger of his own. He gave it voice, though the Void again made sure that the words were empty of passion. His quiet, cold tone made for a stark contrast with the woman's own heated response.

"How dare I? How dare you, Aes Sedai? You, who belong to a...sisterhood that has hunted and murdered men like me since the Breaking? That man asked me for his death, something you seem unable to do. Not surprising, since you lot seem to have been unable to do it for thousands of years. You and those like you have killed us and then pretended that you did not, that it was the 'will of the pattern' that we die. How many, Aes Sedai? How many corpses does your White Tower hide behind it's skirts?" The Void trembled, and Baran wondered for a moment if it was about to break, about to shatter and leave no buffer between him and the Source. He concentrated and brought his anger back under control, at least enough to steady the Void before continuing.

"And after we win the Last Battle, what then? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you won't turn around and stab us in the back? That you won't try to Gentle us all in one place while we're still regaining our strength?" His smile was gone now, and he realized that his grip on Saidin was causing him pain, that he was dangerously close to either channeling or burning himself out.

"So yes, I do believe that I have the right to dictate to you the treatment of men who by all rights should be my Brothers in the same way you two are Sisters." He looked between the two of them.

"We are dead from the moment we touch the One Power, I have no illusions there. I know that I will go mad, that either my fellows will kill me or my body will rot away until it can go no further. Still, every man has the right to choose his own death. When I die, I hope it will be a quick one. I would not wish your kindness upon any Asha'man, Aes Sedai. So no, there is nothing to live for but death."

He turned his head to look at Eben's departing back. "I could kill him even now, regardless of what you would permit. I am holding Saidin. It would not be the first time." He turned to look the Yellow Sister in the eye. "Or would you have me break my word? Would you even take that man's last choice away from him? You claim to serve all? You hypocrite. How does forcing that man to live serve all? Or does it simply serve your conscience?" The glare he shared between the two of them should have burned right through them and into every member of the White Tower.

So, are we down one Marquis or what? Anyone heard anything?

The sense of tingling continued, which meant that either the Accepted or the Aes Sedai who had approached them was holding the Power. Neither possibility made him want to release Saidin. He continued to cling to it with a death grip, tightening it even further when another Aes Sedai made her way over to them. He looked between the three woman, sure that he looked like a fox cornered by three dogs. He didn't like being outnumbered, especially not here of all places, and especially by Aes Sedai. He had heard that some men had even allowed themselves to be Bonded to the Witches, not an idea that he found especially appealing. One of the Aes Sedai asked what was going on, and the Accepted answered even as Baran began to open his mouth, pointing at him with an accusatory finger as she did so.

"He was going to kill Eben, Carys Sedai! You remember Eben, the burned-out man we took in?" Her finger swept to the other man, turning into an upturned hand mid-sweep. "And he seems to think that it's some sort of mercy."

Baran nodded his agreement with her statement.

"Better a quick death than...that." He nodded again towards the man, Eben, who was staring at the ground again, barely aware of his surroundings. Suppressing a shudder, Baran looked back at the three women. "Men like that die anyway. Why not give it to him with some dignity than forcing him to waste away for want of the Power?"

He stared at them for a moment longer before realizing that he had forgotten to introduce himself. He forced the grimace from his face, forced a smile to replace it, though he wondered from within the Void if it didn't still look like a grimace.

"But I have forgotten my manners. I am Baran Dholwin, Dedicated of the Black Tower."

He had been right. Arath had let them talk, let them give own opinions and ideas, and then beaten them. Maybe he hadn't done it to show that he was stronger, though in Baran's mind that possibility wasn't very likely. He did not like losing, did not like failing, and everything that had happened during the sparring match just served to irritate him. Arath had continued toying with him instead of ending it quickly, had stood with his foot planted on Baran's back while he lectured, and had then rubbed Baran's face in his superiority by lifting him with the Power! Baran was almost grinding his teeth together as he stalked back to the rest of the Dedicated. Most of them avoided looking at him, some with looks of studied concentration on their faces. The ones that did look at him were the ones that considered him a rival. Some of those were smirking. Hours of planning, ruined by a loss to the Tsorovan'm'hael. He would have to start from scratch just to get those idiots to leave him alone again. Just another thing to add to his irritation.

It was difficult for him then, when Arath gave the Dedicated their next set of instructions. Try to break a Shield. Even listening to what they were supposed to do in order to accomplish this feat, Baran wanted to roll his eyes. Break a Shield? Really? He had done it a few times, broken through purposefully weak Shields woven by Asha'man trying to make a point. But he had been straining at the thing that Arath had woven around them within moments of starting the class, had been straining at it the entire time Arath had been humiliating him in front of the other Dedicated, and he still had been unable to break the thing, no matter how hard he had tried. Of course, the anger had actually made him lose the Void a few times, which only served to irritate him more. He had thought himself past such simple mistakes long ago.

It took him longer than normal to assemble the Void, to summon the concentration necessary to feel along the edges of the Shield that Arath had woven around him. His attempt was half-hearted at first. After all, this was probably just another attempt to humiliate not just him, but the entire class now. No doubt to show them that they weren't ready to be Asha'man yet, no doubt. Then he felt the hardness, the knot of Spirit that kept him trapped behind an invisible wall. He blinked his eyes open, only realizing just then that he had closed them.

He turned his gaze inwards again, trying to probe the knot, poking at it with his consciousness, thinking of it as he would a flow of the Power, even if it wasn't actually that. Like a real knot, there were multiple small cracks to slip into, but not all of them led anywhere. In fact, most of them didn't. He almost through up his hands in frustration more than once, even lost the Void a few more times when his irritation blossomed into full-blown anger before he could force it back down. It came back though, the way it always did eventually. He worried at the knot like a dog with a bone, even tried to rip it apart, but nothing seemed to work!

Baran finally managed to find the right crack, to worm his way down into it by compressing his awareness, which he still imagined as a flow of the Power, into it. As he felt more of himself going into the crack, he almost had to wonder if he would be able to slip through entirely. Impossible, as it turned out. Still, he had managed to worm himself into the right crack. He knew it! Now he just had to...what? Flex? What was that supposed to mean? He tried to take the Power into himself, which didn't work. Even now he could feel the strain of touching it and yet getting nothing. When he stopped straining though, the knot felt...looser. He strained again, feeling the knot starting to weaken further. Confident that he was on the right track now, he continued to work at the knot, elation starting to replace anger.

Then, with a final mental shrug, Baran felt the Power rush into him. He filled himself with as much as he could take, savoring the near-pain the way a man dying of thirst savored sticking his head into a bucket of water long enough to make him gasp for air. He looked around, seeing a few other faces mirroring his grin. One of them was that one fellow, Gavin. The only one among them who had actually seemed to throw Faringil off enough to force him to channel. He would have to look into whatever that man was doing. He might be dangerous.

Them? Baran's head quivered as he suppressed a shake of his head. How was it that this man, an Asha'man of as much note as any he had seen or heard of, had decided that the rest of the lesson was to be taught by his students? What reason could there be for it? Did he expect them to fail miserably? Was he trying to break them down in front of the other Dedicated as a reminder not to try to rise too far, too quickly? Baran gave the Asha'man a carefully weighing glance as he revised his opinion of the other man. Maybe the reason he had become so powerful was because he had used every opportunity to persuade other Asha'man that he was not a man to be trifled with. Even training classes. What better way to instill a sense of fear and respect then by beating the most powerful men in every class into a pulp?

The thought brought Baran up short. Did he really think of himself as one of the most powerful men in his class of rising Asha'man? After some careful consideration, he realized that he did. Maybe not the strongest, but among them at least. He shook his head and tried to compose himself. He would have to address the other Dedicated when they came back for their run, after all.

By the time the runners got back, he was cool, calm, and collected. Inside though, he was terrified. He had addressed single students, ones who had been cowed into obedience more by the silver pin on his collar than by anything he said or did. Here, though, he was addressing men he had learned to Channel with, men who had seen him try and fail more times than he would have liked to admit. These men knew him in a way that no Soldier could have. He was nervous, and the sweat starting to bead up on his face gave the lie to the calm expression he had forced across it.

The men lined up, some panting despite the fact that they had most likely been doing the same thing since reaching the Black Tower. Baran's eyes sought out the man he had sparred with. Their eyes met for a moment, and the other man quickly broke the contact, looking away and down at the ground. Baran's lips pressed against each other until they became a thin line, and he nodded to himself. Arath wasn't the only one who had struck fear into the hearts of at least some of these Dedicated. It hadn't been his intention to do so, but the Wheel weaved as the Wheel willed. He use this to his advantage.

"Dedicated of the Black Tower. The Tsorovan'm'hael would like me to tell you why I won. The answer is simple. I won because I did as he instructed all of us to do. I did not hold back. I won because I had chosen a weapon I knew over an unfamiliar one. I won because I did not try to fight fair. In battle, in a real fight, a trolloc isn't going to care if you drop your sword, or trip over a root. It will kill you." He turned and started to walk as he spoke, trying to keep what he intended to say in mind. Not looking at the men as he walked seemed to help the nervousness.

"Some of you who saw me sparring will probably think I used more force than was necessary." He paused, walking a few more steps. "Those of you who think that would be right. As I figure it, if you beat a man once and then help him up, you'll get one of three things: An apology, a knife in the back, or another fight. You might even get all three. It makes sense to me to want to eliminate the chance of having to fight again. Now, if you beat a man badly enough, I think he'll stay beaten. Beat him worse, and he'll never raise his hand against you again." The words made him think of Jholan's body lying in the snow, for some reason.

"Now, if I understand our mandate well enough," Baran glanced back at Arath, hoping he wouldn't receive a worse beating because of what he was saying, "The Lord Dragon wants us to be living weapons for him. We're not here to learn to Heal and aid others. We're here to kill, not to pat ourselves on the backs and tell ourselves that our enemies had a fair chance. So it seems to me that if we're going to go about defeating the enemies of the Lord Dragon, we should be willing to crush them so far into the dirt that they will never get back up again. If he wants them alive, we should be willing to put the fear of the Light into them to make sure that they will do no harm to the Dragon Reborn. Now, the Tsorovan'm'hael has asked me to demonstrate before he pummels me into the ground." Baran nodded as he finished. The last bit had earned a chuckle from a handful of the men. Did they understand, though? His words had made sense to him, at least. Whether or not they had made any sense to the rest of the Dedicated was another matter.

He turned and faced Arath and saluted him with his sword, closing the distance between them as he did so. Suddenly he charged straight at the other man, hauling the blade back and unleashing a full-armed swing that dipped towards his legs as the young man dropped to his knees, sliding past the Asha'man. The attempt did no damage of course. Apparently Arath had seen moves like it before, because he jumped as soon as Baran had fallen to his knees.

Baran stood, watching the other man warily. Arath just waited though, and watched. Baran strode forward, Low Wind Rising bringing his sword up into the air before Striking the Spark brought his blade to bounce several times off Arath's power-wrought weapons. Baran used the rebound of the last blow to bring the sword in a wide arc, planting it in the ground behind him. As the sword sank into the ground Baran let fly with a savage kick to the other man's groin. All he got for his trouble was a sore leg as Arath batted the leg away with his weapon. The momentum carried Baran behind his sword, which he pulled free.

Pulling his weapon up into Lion on the Hill, Baran tried to think of a way out of the beating that was sure to come. It only took him a moment to realize that there wasn't. The thought made his grimace turn to a scowl. He didn't like losing, even when it seemed he had no other choice.

"Fine. You've had your fun. Get this over with so I can drag myself back to the Healers." At best, it was a muttered growl, but there was no doubt in Baran's mind that the Asha'man had heard him. Scowling even deeper, he braced himself for the pain he was no doubt about to endure as he battered vainly at the Shield that kept him from Saidin.

Baran walked out of the Tower and onto the grounds it occupied, belting his sword back around his waist. He looked around, almost contemptuous of what seemed to him to be the gardens that surrounded the White Tower. It was a sharp contrast to the Black Tower, which was surrounded by training fields scoured by the Power and the buildings that housed the Asha'man. It was soft, softer by far than the conditions he was used to. Even their newest recruits only slept two to a room. He was a Dedicated, and he still shared his barracks with a handful of other men. He shrugged irritably and self-consciously touched the sword pin on his collar. How much longer until he received his Dragon? He hungered for the thing, for the glory that went with it.

He stepped off towards the exit, fully intending to leave. He had delivered the message, there was no need for him to stay here, in the home of the Witches, any longer. As he walked, Baran had to wonder if the mission was supposed to be a lesson. Was he supposed to learn humility from the work? Was it supposed to teach him that the Aes Sedai weren't his enemies? He hadn't been allowed to wear his sword inside the Tower, and a good many of the Aes Sedai that he had seen looked at him like he was some kind of monster. Whatever he had been supposed to learn, the one thing he had gotten from the experience was never trust the Aes Sedai. Enough of them viewed him and the other men like him as a threat, a madman to be Gentled or killed as soon as the Last Battle was over.

Lost in his thoughts, Baran almost passed by the man standing in the grass, his eyes on the ground. Almost. When he did see him, it made him stop right where he was. He had seen that kind of man before. He had seen that hopeless look in the eyes of dozens of Soldiers who were unfortunate enough not to die when they burned the ability to channel out of themselves. Looking at him, Baran realized that this man must have been one of those men the Tower had Gentled! The man looked up at Baran as though he hadn't been standing there, staring at him.

"Help me?" The words were filled with a quiet desperation that made Baran shudder to hear the man speak. He obviously didn't have much time left before he simply stopped eating and died. Unless the Aes Sedai were force-feeding him. The idea of forcing a man to live on after ripping the will to keep going from him curdled his stomach.

"What do you want me to do, man? I can't very well fight a way clear for you." Not that he was even sure he would if he could. The repercussions from killing White Tower personnel would not be good for either Tower. Besides, the man would just wander off and die even if he did get him out. The man was already dead, his body and mind were still struggling with it.

"You have a sword. Use it. Please." The man almost begged, forcing Baran to step back. The men he had seen hadn't been this far gone. They just seemed listless, tired. This man yearned for death. But it was obviously what he wanted, and Baran wasn't sure he wouldn't ask the same thing if he could no longer touch the One Power. His mind reflexively flinched away from the idea, refusing to let him ponder something so terrible.

He had half-drawn his sword before he even knew that he had decided to do as the man requested. He paused, looking at the man.

"Are you sure about this?" The man nodded and went so far as to bend slightly, offering his neck to Baran. Baran just shook his head and drew the rest of his sword, raising it up above his head. The man closed his eyes and gave a grateful sigh of relief. It was enough to send a tingling sensation through him, to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What are you doing?" Something hit Baran with enough force to bowl him over. He lost his grip on his sword as he fell, and the inertia of his fall carried the weapon a few feet from him. He seized Saidin as he stood, refusing to allow the foulness of the Taint to show on his face. His eyes settled on a young Accepted even as she tried to Shield him. He was strong enough in the Power now that most Accepted would have trouble Shielding him while he held it. He shrugged off her attempt and gave her his best blank stare. He found that a blank stare worked well to disconcert people, especially if they were worried about the person doing the staring being a madman. It worked, and she backed off enough for Baran to speak.

"I was doing what this man asked me to do, no doubt what he's asked you to do as well. Really, you people have already killed him, so why not just let me finish the job if you don't have the stomach for it?"

The girl did her best to look indignant and confused at the same time. "What? We didn't do anything to him, you blockhead! He did it to himself and his family brought him here to see if we could help him. We can't of course, but the least we can do is make him comfortable, not kill him! Besides, the Three Oaths prevent us from killing anyone but Shadowspawn or in defense of our lives."

Baran rolled his eyes. "You know just as well as I that an Aes Sedai can kill someone without doing it herself. What else do you have Warders for? And you're not even an Aes Sedai yet, so why can't you kill him?"

The girl flushed and opened her mouth for a hot retort but closed it again as he opened and closed his thumb and forefinger in imitation of a human mouth. Her face darkened even further, and he felt that tingling along his skin again. He had been taught about it before, of course, he had just never felt it. This was the feeling of a woman holding Saidar nearby. He tightened his grip on Saidin and wondered how well an Accepted to fight. Before they could get to it, though, another woman's voice called out for them to stop.

The tingling across his skin stopped almost immediately. He looked over at the Aes Sedai coming nearer and glanced away long enough to channel air, lifting his sword from the ground and bringing it to his hand. He sheathed his blade and waited for the tongue-lashing he was no doubt about to receive. Not that he worried about what these women thought of him. He was more worried about what would happen when he got back to the Black Tower. He already had a reputation as a bit of a madman there. He wasn't mad, though. Not yet. He knew it. There were still things he had to do before he could die.

Baran was unsure what it was that Arath would do to the blade he had chosen. As he watched the Storm Leader moving up the line, he was glad he had not brought his own sword for this. For some reason, the idea of another man channeling at his weapon disturbed him. He discounted the strange thought and instead concentrated on the weave Arath was using, trying to memorize it so he could use it to practice in the future. It would make sparring much easier if he could cushion the blade with air instead of bringing a practice sword with him wherever he went. He had refused to practice with real blades ever since Jholan's death. No sense in having to kill another friend if he went mad, after all. This, however, would make it safer to practice with real blades, so he wouldn't have to worry about killing an ally anymore.

After his blade had been...cushioned, he supposed, they were told to pair off and prepare to spar. Baran almost wanted to roll his eyes. This was almost exactly like Skechid's class. He glanced over at the Asha'man for a moment, trying to understand what he would do next. If he was anything like Skechid, he would have them all attack him after the sparring, which meant the whole purpose was to tire the students out before the melee. Well, not this time.

The other Dedicated blanched as Baran pointed at him. The man had chosen a mace, and was obviously unfamiliar with the weapon. He would be easily beaten, which meant Baran would have more energy in case Arath decided to offer yet another beating to the group of Dedicated. Not that they hadn't received enough of those in weapons classes. He brought his weapon up as he faced the other Dedicated, who was looking more nervous now than he had minutes earlier. He didn't understand why people had been acting so strangely around him recently. He certainly hadn't told anyone about Jholan's death, yet they all acted like he was going to murder them at any moment. He certainly wasn't a madman, yet people seemed to treat him like he was already halfway there.

A thunderclap sounded the beginning of sparring, and Baran's opponent wasted no time. He stepped forward and swung his mace in a horizontal arc, obviously intending to take Baran's right arm out of the fight immediately. Baran danced back, surprised. He had expected the other man to wait for him to attack. It made sense, though, attacking first. Baran was familiar with his weapon, the other Dedicated wasn't. Better to strike first to try to eliminate Baran's advantage than wait for an attack by a better prepared opponent.

The man's swing went wide, and he stumbled to the side as he compensated for the weapon's weight. Baran stepped forward, eschewing common forms in order to end the fight quickly as he had been ordered. He swung the blunted weapon low, knocking one of the fellow's feet aside, bringing the weapon up in an arc and slamming the pommel down on the base of the man's neck. The extra force was all that was needed to send the overbalanced Dedicated to the ground. Baran continued the assault without mercy, kicking his fallen opponent as he tried to stand. The blows forced the Dedicated to roll onto his back. Baran lowered his blade to point at the man. He quirked an eyebrow in question. His opponent shook his head and reached for his mace, which had fallen nearby.

In response, Baran stomped on the outstretched fingers and pivoted on the foot, kicking the other Dedicated full in the face. The man fell back, unconscious. Baran kicked the mace away and Folded the Fan, though he wasn't wearing the weapon's sheath, and so was unable to actually let go of the weapon. After a few moments, he realized how foolish he looked holding a weapon in place and instead rested the sword on his shoulder, waiting for his next order.

Had an idea (obviously, lol).

I like the idea of Baran being sent on a routine mission between the Towers, something like a courier or escort mission. The trip to the Tower goes off without a hitch, despite Baran's less than positive opinion of the Aes Sedai. On his way out of the Tower, he encounters an Accepted taking a Gentled Man for his daily constitutional or whatever. The man asks Baran to kill him, and Baran begins to draw his sword to comply. The Accepted flips out and calls Aes Sedai over to intercede, and an incident between the Towers begins.

Where it goes from there is really up the participants, though I'd like it if Baran wasn't brutally executed. lol

I like the idea because of the range of rping possibilities it could provide, not to mention the way it could alter relations between the Towers.

Excellent...yes...

Now I must ponder ideas for this interdiv.

Also, I care even less than Rash about the internecine politics of the White Tower. *High fives Rash* Glad the Asha'man haven't tried to do the specialization thing. Rash will probably try to say we're all Greens in the Black Tower, anyway.

Baran shivered against the early morning breeze and tried to shrug deeper into his coat. The weather had made him glad that he had chosen a stout wool uniform instead of the silks he had seen some of the Asha'man wear. Whatever trick they had learned that let them ignore the elements couldn't be worth walking around in a material that seemed better suited to sleepwear than anything else. He closed the door to his barracks behind him, casting an almost wistful glance back at the building as he started to walk to the Training Yards. The other Dedicated the building housed were all still asleep. And warm.

He snorted, his breath turning to steam as soon as it left his nose. His thoughts seemed dangerously close to whining. He had been raised better than that. He forced himself to unclench, despite the shivers that wracked his body. Baran could hear his father in the back of his mind. "If you're cold, work harder!" The memory made him grin, and he started to jog towards the Training Yard.

Baran was warmer when he reaches his destination, the breath coming out of his mouth in long, slow breaths. His earlier training in the Black Tower had helped him increase his endurance on foot. So much so that he looked to be the first one to the Training Yard. It wasn't a race, of course, but that didn't stop a warm feeling of victory from welling up in him. Ahead, he saw the instructor, a man named Arath Faringal. He had heard about the instructor, had heard that he had done great things in the service of the Dragon Reborn, even going so far as killing one of the Forsaken. The Forsaken! It wasn't the first time Baran had felt nervous during his time at the Black Tower, but it was certainly the first time he felt nervous for a reason other than facing down an Asha'man. Now he had to face down an Asha'man that had survived Dumai's Wells.

He stopped in front of Arath and saluted. "Dedicated Baran Dholwin, reporting as ordered, Tsorovan'm'hael." The title was unfamiliar on his tongue. Baran hardly knew a word of the Old Tongue, but he had made sure to learn the correct terms of address for his superiors. He had hoped the effort would impress the higher ups and help him advance more quickly. It hadn't so far.

Two other Dedicated arrived soon after him. He had heard more were supposed to participate in the lesson, so he was surprised when Arath decided to start the lesson early. He was a little surprised when the other man Seized Saidin, this was a weapons class, after all. His surprise quickly flashed to panic as he tried to emulate the Asha'man. He was Shielded! He couldn't keep himself for battering at the Shield in the first few seconds, but quickly reigned himself in. The Storm Leader had done it for a reason, but what was it? He had heard he had let himself be Bonded by one of those Aes Sedai. Was he going to force it on them? Then Arath gave them their orders. Baran almost sighed in relief.

He jogged over to the shed and chose his weapon, a sword. It was the natural choice for him. He had been practicing the forms, most of which were fairly useless with a different weapon. He had tried with a mining pick, and it hadn't worked out very well. The Healers had laughed at him when he told them how he ended up with a hole in his thigh. He hefted the weapon and swung it a few times to get a feel for it. Unfolding the Fan swept up into Lion on the Hill, which left the weapon up in a ready position near his shoulder. Baran allowed the blade to fall again with a nod. It wasn't a bad weapon. He took a few more swings and jogged back to where Arath was waiting for them.

He stopped when he saw what Arath had done while waiting. Those blades had to have been made with the Power. He tilted his head, studying them. Definitely Fire and Earth, but what else had he woven into the things? What did he plan on doing with them? Besides beating the Dedicated to a pulp, of course. He grimaced, remembering the "training" he had endured in Skechid's class. After what he had heard, Baran didn't think Arath would be any easier on them.

'Gratz to everyone involved! *Hands out the congratulations*