Just a question...

If you should get started with the RP before my one character's biography is approved...

...May I be so bold as to have it checked by, err, someone else?

I'd like to participate, yet I don't want to hinder the whole thing, so if that's too much extra-ordinary to be accepted, I could understand if I'd get kicked out of it. :D

Cheers and thanks for any answer to this!

Master Kaldun kept instructing him, while they were on the way back to his cot. For a cot it had been he had slept in, with no sheet or pillow to soften up sleep.

He could not sleep too well anyhow. The Aes Sedai still troubled him, although he thought that stupid childish. That nearly laughing guy had left his impression as well.

He could not help compare the man to one overly...eager...sergeant that was laughing out loud all the time while beating away at a poor boy. He beat untill blood spattered.

Filling out a lake, what good does THAT do then? Ibram wondered. He thought it enough to get a grip of your weapon, and to somehow keep pace with the rest of the column throughout the day.

He guessed there was more to being an excellent soldier than that, now. Maybe far more to being a Warder, at that.

"The first few months are always the roughest since they try to weed out the weak. I am not sure who you upset on your first day to end up on our squad but I dont envy you that. You either really made someone mad or you made the mistake of making it clear you have experience before the yards in which case they intend to push you until you bend or break."

"Upset? Good Master...I think only now, I see, it, the...training...I got back in Tarabon was a poor boy's joke." Ibram laughed at his own saying that. He thought it a great joke. He still needed to force out that laugh. Literally.

Reaching the cot, Ibram took up his meager possessions. They weren't much, really: Only some thin book he forgot the name of, some hard bread, a bag with a few coins he had left in there, and his mail-veiled, iron helmet. All put together into one bundle.

He was not after riches. He had literally put the last he had into getting on that merchant's train to Tar Valon.

As soon as Ibram had his things in hand, Master Kaldun set off running. Ibram could do naught but follow.

"If we dont hurry we will miss breakfast and have to spend a day bringing food in to the storage and cleaning out animal pens."

Run for your lives! He remembered someone he once met saying. He did not know anymore whether that had been one of his "comrades". Or a villager.

Run for your bread. He thought, idly. Come to think of it, he hadn't eaten much of a thing these last few days.

As good as he could, he tried to keep up with Kaldun. It wasn't long before his lungs felt leaden and he had to force his breath to keep going. Hard.

He had his spear in one hand, his knife at his belt, and the bundle in the other.

He was used to mindless marching along. Yet never had he been forced along like this.

Except when he had run away with the girl. And then, pain, thought and many things else seemed to have vanished.

OOC:OOC I hope this is an ok start Smiley I chose the challenge theme for this one. Sandres going to challenge you in various activities as he tries to show you how to do them so you dont get your squad in trouble and you can RP how you meet them.

Aye aye, let us begin the dance, then.

:D

IC: Ibram felt very much like a boy again, looking at all the activity around him. He had thought the few tricks he was taught back in the day quite quick, quite effective. Some of what he did see on his way where he stood now this fine, cool morning made the exercises he had gone through look like stiff, lame prancing.

It made the butcher's work he still had in front of his mind from time to time look all the more clumsier. And all the more brutal.

He could recall some of the cavalrymen, mostly men-at-arms, but there were also some minor lordlings among those, driving a flock of people in front of them. Like so much "bleeting sheep", as they used to say. They had their "sport" with them, as they said.

The Lord Commander let it happen, since he believed that "idleness in soldiers, it needs to be cleansed". And if that meant killing some useless mouths that would either cry for food or else cry "their" presence out to the Domani...

The man had been cold about it. Cold as the winds that gusted the wide, open yard.

Ibram was told to stand attendance for one Sandre Kaldun who would see him through his first few days in the Yards. Or weeks. Or months, if needed.

"Ibram Mizra?"

Ibram flinched at that, torn out of his thoughts.

"I am Sandre Kaldun. I am on your squad and here to show you how to act and a few things of whats expected of you."

"Good sir, me, I have been told as much."

Ibram just had his spear in hand and his knife at his belt. He had left his helmet and other things at the place he'd gone to sleep in. He did not quite know what to make of the answer the Mistress Thera had given him the day before.

Then again, he hoped he could retrieve the things the day he was raised to the Warders. He had seen some of those. They seemed to go by their preference instead of same old, same old, when it came to their arms.

That did not make the Tower Guards look any less intimidating. Soldiers could not be expected to be as formidable as legends.

Compared to the swine Ibram had seen, though, they were excellent. Clean.

When motioned to follow, he followed this man.

Ages, they come and pass, Ibram thought, idly.

The tree is lost, yet it will be found again, so it is said. Train I did, in the past, yet now, I need to start again, I do.

He let that slide, and came along. Hoping he would not get quite so battered as some of the others he had glanced here already.

"Your training will be handled by many, myself included. Anything else?"

Another thing dawned for Ibram at last:

He did not enroll here to be a merchant's guard or anything. It was no mercenary company.

He had caught a glimpse of what seemed to be men on watch duty. They all were quite much the same type of uniform. The same type of armor.

He took a short look at the spear he had propped beside himself, at his bundle, which he laid on his lap, feeling for the forms of his helmet, and drew his belt-knife.

"This...this equipment, good mistress", he began, hoping to not sound too fond of the things. They might have been given to him by the lord commander's armory, yet they were of fine make. They were the last things he had left of Tarabon.

"Will I be allowed to keep it? With it, I am familiar."

He sheathed his knife, drew away his hand from the helmet, and put a thumb to the point of his spear.

"Far too familiar, maybe.", he said, in a low voice, almost absent.

Looking at the spear's point, he almost thought that he could still see the blood and gore on it that he'd taken out of his two countrymen. How he'd stared at that later on, when he had been all alone and tried to get away from the place as quickly as he could, pushing aside at first his thoughts of the nameless woman.

He had speared them for the right reason. He hoped he could claim as much of the things that were to come.

Mh....mind if I'd try to drop in there with Simmen?

Just think it odd that the Tower seems to have all these "private lessons" going on all the time- even if it's more convenient as far as time efficiency is concerned. :D

If I should just KTHO because Simmen's a mean Soldier still...Could understand it. ^^

"Sit!"

There was a sharp edge to the woman. She was used to command.

Not the harsh bellow of the bannerman in charge of Ibram. Rather, it very much reminded him of his dear mother's sharp, cutting cries when he'd done something stupid as a young boy. His earliest memories were made up of such, mostly.

That was before his father had gone missing, whom he had barely known.

His dear mother....he hoped he would see her again.

One day.

"So you have come to enroll in the Yards?"

The woman lifted a heavy book as if it were just so much paper. Easily. Ibram was used to the weight of something as handy as a spear, but he doubted he could have lifted the thing this easily. In the militia, the instructor had pointed near all his charges to the spear. "Spears, they won' make 'e famous as swords. But lads, them spears, they do take down some nosy nobleman." The man had barked a laugh at that, his face contorted by wrinkles. Wrinkles earned by laughing more often than not. "And you were sent by an Aes Sedai? A rather grand way to arrive." The woman smirked. She was in charge, he was not.

That much was plain.

And she was right. He had not gone to war. He had blindly stood by while mindless pigs had slaughtered their way through people that were lucky if they could pick up a butter-knife in their defense.

“Ibram Mizra” All business as usual, the woman noted down his name. In a precise and quick way, far as Ibram could judge.

“If it were not so late I might have made you work a little harder to be admitted, but since I also wish my bed its done.”

That made Ibram shake himself awake. Was he that blind to not have noticed the waning light?

Near enough dark, in here, at that...

Her remark was all too right...A sister would have her reasons for looking past her own shoulders. Reasons that were not those to concern men.

“Any Questions?”

"The one who will train me, who will it be?"

He hoped that did not sound too boyish.

OOC: The things you do for numbers...muhar. ^^

Thanks, ma'am. :D

"Simmen, go stand guard outside the door. If anyone enters the room before you, they're dead."

Simmen did not know the man's name. Yet his manner spoke of authority. His bearing, his gestures, everything.

He seemed to be the one driving all this. Whatever this might be.

It did not matter. The man was in charge, he commanded, Simmen had to obey.

What orders might the Dragon, give, then...? He wondered, there where his thoughts drifted along. Apprehensively.

"...If anyone enters the room before you, they're dead."

Dead by whose doing? Simmen wondered. Mine? Yours? These others'?

He did not want to know what in the Creator's name these others were capable of. He knew well what he himself could do.

If anyone was fool enough to enter...Simmen hoped he could somehow scare them away by the mere fact of what he was, that the name "Asha'man" was known everywhere, and feared.

For fear was the only thing that male channelers inspired. In Horn's End, anyway.

Might be that everything else is crazy enough to not fear 'em, the thought slid along the edge of nothingness. Dryly. Dully.

Alone in front of the door, Simmen was left alone with his thoughts, wondering about this and that...They were in Tear, then? So this is the Stone? He had heard of this mountain of a fortress, that never fell to enemies. Untill the Dragon came.

It was a place fit for a children's tale: Gold and sparkling metals Simmen had no name for everywhere, rich carpets, pillows that could likely buy enough food for half Simmen's home, as far as he knew and his eye for that served...

A servant glided by, some tray in his hand.

Simmen eyed him. Warily. Attentively.

Got to be ready.

He reached towards the source, shining and slimy as it was. He more or less knew how to do what he was most familiar with.

A gust, neither cool nor warm went through the corridor.

The servant passed...making a point of ignoring Simmen. And speeding up his walk.

Ladies be thanked, not yet, then. That which was Simmen sighed, relieved, as the servant vanished out of sight.

He regained alertness quick enough.

All the while, the buzzing of voices in the room behind the door continued.

Ibram stepped inside, somehow reminded of his drilling-time by the sound of that command:

“Come!”

It was obvious that this time, this was a woman, though.

He had asked people that happened along the way where he was to go exactly, and now he had found the room. And found the Mistress Thera. A hard woman. A hard voice for a hard job. The room told as much. A rack of weapons on one side. A tidy, spartan table on the other. Tidy, so that track could be kept of records.

A better show than the militia sergeant's study in Treeleaf, it was.

"Light and the Tree's shade and seed in your favor, Mistress Thera." Ibram made the best bow, leg or whatever a nobleman would call it as he could. "Ibram Mizra, the name is. My wish, it was to enlist myself in your rolls. Directed I was to your person for this.

From this, aside, something else, there was: Someone seems to be following one of the sisters. Very small, that sister, Cairhienin, I think. That sister seemed to be...troubled...about something. This someone's bearing too bright, I found."

He tried to stand attentively and relaxed at the same time. He hoped that "humble" was still fit for his stance there. "Humble", and "experienced".

Well...

"Uhm...Mistress Thera, me, I did not ask their names, I did..."

So much for that.

Sow-brained fool me...

EDIT: Sorry but I removed the quote of my post you had at the start here, its still at the top of the page so there's no need to use the quote feature. If you want to recap something someone's posted, just tell it again from your character's point off Reference  ;) ~ Covai

OOC: Omfg...usually manage to do that...stupid me. >.<

Thanks for the correction.

IC: Simmen still felt far, far away.

He hadn't embraced the calm before the shot yet. But he felt as if he were in a dream. A nightmare, almost.

He was dragged along by Attack Leader Arath, to the open field. There, he found himself in a troupe of people. In the middle of them. When a gateway was opened to some place dark and black, blacker for the daylight shining bright in a crystal clear sky, yet somewhat warmer. He would have called it cold some other time, yet it was warm. Very warm.

The troupe pressed through the gateway, and Simmen was pressed in with it.

By the 13 times damned father, the Ladies and the Creator, what is this place?

It had to be inside. Inside somewhere. It was huge. Even with all the shadows dancing among the columns, the room spoke of heights and depths hidden behind the shadows.

Simmen felt as if he were pushed into a cave. A dark cave where some beast was lying in waiting. A wolf, maybe. A bear.

"Tell me Asha'man, is the Lord Dragon in Tear at the moment?"

Simmen just went along with the group of blackcoats, having no other choice. When he heard that, instead of fright and horror gripping him like a cold winter-night in the mountains, he grew calmer yet.

He reached the calm. And the light and warmth of the Power whispered into his ear, from somewhere behind his back. Whispers of power. Whispers of death. Whispers of madness.

But he resisted the urge to reach for that. Grab it. Grip it. He was none here. Nothing. Floating in the distance, far away from true thought, he watched impassively as they proceeded, through a doorway with two Asha'man standing guard, one of these Asha'man answering the question:

"Tell me Asha'man, is the Lord Dragon in Tear at the moment?"

"Yes, Storm Leader, he is. I'll bring you to his waiting room and notify him immediately."

Simmen let himself be brought along. He would meet the man he was sworn to now, then. A man that could channel. A man that claimed to be the Dragon born again into this world.

He was the Dragon. And Simmen was his servant, whether the man headed the world into the Father's Pit or cleansed it in his fires.

Ladies to watch, Creator to make, Dragon to cleanse, Father to break. Dragon to cleanse, Dragon to break.

An old rhyme, told in Horn's End since time immemorial. He let that flow through his mind, far off, far away. He was alone in the void. Alone among his kin.

Uhm....

Not certain whether it belongs to any of the categories in the first post, however I guess I should give a link to it here:

Participation in the "Approaching the Boss- The Illianer"-thread...1 post there. In "The Legend"-thread, 2 posts so far...

"Ahh you are looking for the good Mistress Thera.  A tough woman I hear but very kind, very kind indeed."

Ibram did not need to be a juggler of words to hear the lie there. At the very least, it was the complete counterpart to what he had heard of woman commanders.

What that might tell of the like or dislike of this fellow as far as the woman was concerned, Ibram did not dwell on too long. You did not need to like your superior to obey them. He had learned as much during his campaigning.

"Yes, if the Aes Sedai directed you to see her you best be about it.  You will find her in that building right there."

Ibram's eyes followed the direction the man pointed to, and nodded. That was all he needed to know.

"Tree's shade and seed", Ibram said curtly.

He made his way to the "office", letting the man's "excuse me"-ing slide past his ears. He hoped that Mistress Thera would listen to his telling of some suspicious fellow stalking a sister. He did not know the sister's name, however he hoped that his description would help there.

So he strode towards the office, spear in one hand, his other on the knife-hilt. Relaxed. A soldier's saunter, a soldier who was about important business.

"Tree's shade upon you, good Master, you would-"

"The Light illumine you good Sir."

Ibram had just been about to go look for someone to get going with his signing in. And getting directions. It caught him off guard that this fellow seemed to come out of nowhere, all friendliness and smiles. Just when the Mistress Sedai went off.

That was...weird. If even an Aes Sedai was on edge, then she had reason. Very good reason. He could recall some very suspiciously friendly fellows coming up to the gates of Treeleaf at night. They were sent away out of sheer principle. They had been as non-descript as this fellow, mostly, claiming that they had lost track of the hour and failed to make it in time. Daylight was still there, but Ibram could not shake that off.

First impressions are important. Something, it is off about this one.

It was of no matter. The man seemed to be all too eager to be gone, eying the way the Aes Sedai went. Mumbling something about an "Aes Sedai having his hide".

"My apologies Master, how may I help you?"

"Me, I won't stop you then, good Master. Just tell me: Where would I find the Mistress Thera? The good Aes Sedai, she told me to be on my way to her to sign in for the Guards."

Ibram remained in a neutral stance, loosely holding his spear one-handed, his other hand behind his back, away from his knife. Only because the man's appearance seemed somewhat suspicious did not necessarily mean too much.

But he hoped that he could somehow get word to the Aes Sedai that this someone seemed to have followed her. Patiently, he waited for an answer.

Mh....

I'd have a Taraboner noble at the ready as well- whose biography I sent off in December....still no sign that it was received. :/ I still got the biography on my lappy here, so I guess I could always resend. But to whom? He's Freelander after all.

He's fallen on hard times, and what with the Dragon and all can't get straight back home although he wants to. So there would be a possibility for him to be in the right place at the wrong time.

Interest would be there, though. Very much even.

Although I want him to end up some sort of "liaison" for the Seanchan in the end, he is not there yet.

People, if you're interested in pushing this forward, I think I left a wide gap open there...Just check the last post of "White".

;P

EDIT: And oh, yes: Link is here...go ahead, click, you know you want to :P

OOC:"Siezing hold of the shocked Dedicated's arm"

Arath...I hope you can forgive me if I assume that he just assumes it's a Soldier on duty in the wrong place. Or that he pays Simmen less than half a mind. :P

IC: It's been only a few days ago since Simmen had received his most important lesson at the Tower so far.

The lesson was not weapon-mastery, that much was clear. For that he could have joined up with the next best merchant guards, mercenary company or army.

He had an ability, a curse, that he bore with him. That was part of him. A weapon deadlier than any hundred swords.

And since that training session a few days ago, he finally could wrestle for control of this weapon.

The day after he was told to imitate certain "weaves", as they were called, of the different elements. Of those that he was more capable of, anyway: That he had better control of Air and Water that most was a fact that was not entirely too common. Personally, he felt that making flames and things such as that felt slightly easier. More tempting.

He was still more used to Water and Air. Air, mainly. He knew what he could do with that. He did not entirely trust himself playing with Fire.

He was to carry a report on supplies to some official or something now. The Asha'man who sent him on his way hadn't been too specific about it, and Simmen didn't bother to ask any questions there. He was a Soldier. He was to follow orders. Not pick them apart for what they might or might not mean. And he was to pass the "M'hael's" quarters, on his way there. Whoever this "M'Hael" was. Didn't seem to bother to show up at the gatherings, anyway. And it was just important so far that Simmen had an idea of where he was to go, anyhow.

"The Game of Houses", some of the higher born fellow blackcoats would talk about. Simmen couldn't help feeling that he was in a similar tangle here. If not worse.

"The Game of Houses" caused wars, feuds, ruled out who was in power or not. Together with the actual power to destroy, here, in this Black Tower...

It was a thought that would have sent Simmen running, once. He could not run anymore, though. He was part of this Black Tower now.

Brooding over this and that, idly brushing his Air-shaved cheeks, he bumped into a man that looked certain death. An Illianer, by the sound of his voice and talk.

An Illianer ready to devour something, something as lowly as a Soldier.

"Be out of me bloody way!  You light blinded fool!"

As quick as that, another Asha'man dived in, shoving Simmen up his feet.

It was Attack Leader Arath. And he looked fit for bloodshed as well.

Simmen didn't really listen to what was going on. Not with his whole attention, anyway.

So. I have bumped into the M'Hael. The Attack Leader and that one both seem to be ready to kill one another. They're men who can channel.

And so am I.

Simmen had the absurd urge to just laugh out loud at all of it. He did not even think of freeing himself of the Attack Leader's grip, who just dragged him along, past a M'Hael who was on the verge of striking out and killing something. Anything.

I'm on the Father's mercy now. I've always been ever since I ran away.

Sorry for the *bump*, but...

I realize that the Saidin-training went by quite very fast and all that. So I hope it was no complete knock to the head, seeing how fast it was "over". :P

Just wanted to ask...is it "officially" complete as far as the requirements go?

Be assured as well as far as Simmen's "abilities" go...I guess he'll never really get used to commanding such power, given his past.

He won't become another "Rand". Don't you worry. ;)

My smith or philosopher both can do your intro to Saidin, or the free RP. Let me know what you want, unless I'm taking one of my sporadic LoAs, I'm usually pretty fast with posting.  :)

Kura...

Thanks for dancing the dance this far. Hope we can continue it. *bows*

Anyway, I'll add the link to the thread up above, in the first post.

OOC:

"((You made word count, and I'm kinda tired and hungry. Finishing this up, but if you want you can extend it for conversation and the like, it'll just take me a while longer to respond lol. ))"

Nah, not at an end, yet.

Just adding something to show off that that...experience...nearly finished the poor boy. xD

Feel free to leave it at that there, or else do whatever you feel like. ^^

BTW: Nice move on the though-ing. xD That's something I need to work on, still.

IC:

"Good Simmen. I know how difficult that was for you, but I can promise that it will get much, much easier. You just need practice, and with time it will come as naturally as breathing. As such, I suggest we go back to town, and you practice. There is very little I can do for you at this moment in time."

Simmen could not bear the strain any longer. Violently, he retreated from that raging storm, from the eye of the storm, into his own self.

"Can't be serious, good sir", Simmen panted, holding his middle, trying very hard to not think of the bad taste on his tongue.

"I can escort you back if you desire. Though I'll be walking, not traveling to get back to the farm. Never ignore your body, just because you can channel. The source draws on your endurance, both mental and physical."

"Can see that, good Asha'man sir. Can see that." Simmen tried to breathe in the clean air, to get rid of that foul odor...

"Could you help me? I doubt I can do that walk. Much less do that...err...traveling?"

Likely, the man meant gateways by that. But Simmen's head was too full with the foulness he'd felt, so he could not really grasp at that any further. That rotten stench still lingered, and ate its way through him.

"Now, select any two, and simply spin them together, this will be your first exercise in weaving. These are simple training spirals, and won't actually make a visible effect, however they should demonstrate the basis for channeling quite well. Begin."

Spin them together? Out of that Father-accursed mess?, the thought slid through his head.

The wisp of air that had obeyed him had done so like something almost alive. It had been all Simmen could do to make it obey.

It was a struggle for life and death, Saidin was.

Far off, that that was his body seemed to shake convulsively, the core of that in his guts.

The heat, and the cold air called to him, and he tried to force them under his fist.

Unconsciously, Simmen did just that. Ball his hand into a fist.

The power to destroy.

The Power to kill.

Without that, Simmen would have been nothing. Less than nothing. A murderer. Scum. Creator-forsaken, scum, as bad as any misguided fool that favoured the Night.

Inside the head that did not seem to be his anymore, some bone-deep sad thought seemed to rise. Some bone-deep furious one.

I need to hold on, whatever it takes. I need to hold on.

"Good, though it appears you have skipped a step in my tutelage. That feeling you are experiencing, it is the fight with Saidin. Never succumb to it, that way leads to death, or worse, loosing the ability to channel. That flilth is the taint covering Saidin, which will drive you mad, or cause your body to rot while you still live. it is not an easy life for us."

Simmen knew what the man was talking about.

He felt empty. He felt filled to bursting at the same time, though.

Rivers of burning ice. Fires of frozen ice.

And above all, the...stench...of death. Like the corpse of a goat shot two months ago.

Distantly, he felt his middle groan for that.

"Careful how much you draw, to much and you run the risk of burning yourself out, or loosing the ability to channel. Now, I want you to examine the power, you will notice that it is not as solid as it first appears. You should discover five distinct pieces of the power. These are the five elements. They are fire and earth, the two most men are proficient with, water and air, the so called woman's elements. The final, is spirit, which is generally split pretty evenly among us."

He could see that now, as well...Veins that were...earthen, veins of fluidity, veins of fire, veins of...something...not seen yet seen, as solid and visible as all the others.

And above all, the sickening stench.

"Now, grasp one of the strands, and try to extend it. One. At. A. Time." He punctuated each one of the last words, he didn't want the man waving around multiple flows just yet. "Some will be easier to use than others, tell me which you find the easiest to use."

Simmen felt more familiar with the crackling fire, the flowing water and the airy air, for some reason.

Guess Tmas and companions were right, a wry thought went through his head. A thought farther off than it would have been had he not this...sight...in front of him. This swarm of disorder and death.

Earth was...not unfamiliar, just too...heavy, barring any other description. The other, invisible flow seemed to slip out of his hands, like a ghost.

The heat called to him the most, somehow.

Still, it was Air Simmen chose, as it felt so very...familiar.

Through the darkening stench and sickness, through the storm, he tried to force a bit out of that tempest to...obey...his gesture. A tiny spark.

Compared to the sea.

His stomach rumbled, again. Far off, far away.

"Simmen, I didn't say you were no good. Ignorance does not mean inferiority, especially when one is working to correct it."

That's right, Simmen thought at that. Else I might as well have stayed in Horn's End, and let them hang me.

Question was, had he been too cowardly to do that? He did not want to dwell on that.

"Very few can do this, but I feel I must tell you. Your old life means nothing when you come here, I am sure you have met Attack Leader Arath. He is a great man, and a fantastic leader, but from what I can gather he was a slummer in Camelyn. I was a merchant's son, but my families wealth bought me nothing here."

It's not that sort of thing, sir, Simmen wanted to say, driven to it by some...sad? Angry?...vein inside his head.

Not that at all.

"Ironicly, the first step to channeling may help you in particular. You see, when we wield Saidin, an intense battle wages in our mind, and we can not allow our emotions or thoughts to distract us from that battle, but at the same time can't ignore the world around us. As such, we use a swordsmen's concentration technique called Ko'Di, which translates into 'the oneness', but is far more commonly known as the Flame and the Void."

"Aim, draw, loose", Simmen whispered.

He did not want to say it out loud. It just happened, though.

"What I want you to do, is picture a flame in your mind. A candle flame, a bonfire, or hell a forge fire if that is what suits you, just picture a flame."

Picturing what Simmen knew, not so much picturing, but repeating, was easy enough.

It settled into him, that silent calm before the shot.

He was aware of...something...more now, though.

"Now, feed everything you are into the flame. Start with your past. Then let it consume your emotions. Last, your thoughts. When this is done, a void will be in your mind, and you will have achieved Ko'di."

The past fed Simmen, indeed.

He now knew how he had done it.

Cold called to him. Heat called to him.

Death called.

OOC: Up to you whether he does something...stupid. ;)

"Queer woman, she", Ibram muttered, watching the Aes Sedai glide through the shadows.

He knew better than to disobey her. Or question her.

Suddenly, it came to him that he had donned his helmet. Instinctively. He did not even notice it, once the Mistress Sedai had commanded him to go. Command it was.

He stuffed the helmet away, into his bundle that still hung down his back.

To Mistress Thera, he was to go then?

The White Tower certainly did have its share of splendour, even up close, that he saw: Fine steel, much of it. And battlements and fortifications that not only looked fit for palaces, but seemed to be build according to one goal: Defense.

Compared to that, Treeleaf's walls had been a sad, pig-headed joke.

He did not know where to find this "Mistress"...Or why he wasn't sent to a captain instead.

He had heard about woman captains before, though. In stories.

Some of those, they made meanest men look like toothless piglets.

He let that slide for now, and looked around for someone to ask for directions.

OOC:"...through the Shadows..."

Beautiful. You make Liandrin look like a scared little girl.

Same goes for all "official" Black Ajahs we've seen so far. :D

"Oh, and I do apologize for lack of familiarity with your home's customs, and here I prided myself on knowledge of all the lands."

"That's no problem, good sir...nobody's heard of the Ladies, it would almost seem."

Except for me, and Horn's End, anyway. He added in his head.

"...the greatest weapon the Light and the Dragon have to wield. It is a sad truth, but no less true..."

True?

Simmen grew up knowing that shame was a virtue. Given the Ancient Debt.

He let it slide, though. For him, there was no "Light", as was claimed. There was only the Ladies of the Storms, the Creator, the Father of the Night...

...And now, the Dragon Reborn.

"Unless you have other questions, we should begin. Tell, me, do you know anything of seizing Saidin? Or even what it is? Or will I have to start from the beginning?"

"Good sir Asha'man...I think you'd better start from the beginning."

It had had something to do with me bow... Simmen had mused often about that day. Somewhere far, far back in his head.

When that "voice" grew louder, he quenched it. He could not use it now. Not yet. Not here.

"It's no problem, Asha'man Sereth. Been told that I'm no good quite often..."

With that, Simmen slided into silence. Waiting.

"Good sir Sereth. Uhm, Asha'man Sereth, I mean.", Simmen added hastily.

"Name is...Simmen."

He'd been with these men in black for some time now. A time that seemed to not be very long. Yet it did just that.

Not men in black. Asha'man.

I am one of them. A Soldier.

A Soldier that was not without thoughts, though.

The harsh exercises had continued day after day. Simmen thought that he'd be able to slowly get used to them. He already did. The cramps when the day was done didn't bother all that much anymore. Nor the cold. Nor the eternal seeming runs.

He'd received more lessons in weapons, as well. Not just sticks, though.

Several times, Asha'man and...Dedicated(that's their name) would try to teach a mob of "pupils" the...One...Power...

On one such occasion, the teacher started to become...weird...

Other black-coats stood at the ready, eying the teacher warily.

Then, suddenly, when the teacher started to mumble so much non-sense and to gesticulate around, they grabbed him. Dragged him away.

That was worrying. Very worrying.

Of no matter now, though.

The teachers before "had been insufficient", another Dragon-and-Sword had said, so now Simmen had been sent to this Andoran, by his sound. "The Tower no wants to waste your strength, Soldier."

So there he was, the Soldier Simmen.

"What is your name, and have you any questions?"

"Asha'man Sereth, you heard about the incident? Did the Ladies take him, or something?"

He would know what Simmen meant by that; the story had been all over the Farm in no time.

"Tea will do, thanks, good sir."

Earthen tables, earthen chairs...Simmen started to take those in in stride.

Same with men succumbing to madness and needing to be taken down like rabid beasts.

EDIT: Corrected...Team to time.

Rofl at me, omfg.

:D

Mh....alright, I guess it'll be enough if Simmen knows how to use a short-sword for a butter-knife. *giggles*

Anyway...I take it the "other training"-thread is complete, yes?

If so...anyone willing to try and beat how Saidin works into the boy? Or should I try and do the free RP first, stressing the fact that the Tower has an all-time low in teachers?

Any interest, comment, slander(;P) welcome. ^^