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DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

A traveler ((open))


Maurelle

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Tyr was beyond exhausted. He had run out of the cream he had stolen two days ago and the burns on his back were tight enough that he was worried about cracking the little new skin he had. Thankfully, the burns seemed bad enough that he wasn't in pain. That didn't mean the overland trip had been easy. Far from it. Food was already short and winter had barely begun. He had stretched the limited forest survival skills he had as far as they would go and both he and the dun he was leading were thinner than when the trip had started. Thankfully, they had spotted the place known simply as "the Farm" this morning. He didn't know what waited for him there. The horror stories of men who could channel were as deep in him as they were in any Light fearing man. He knew what waited at the end anyway. Madness. It was why he left no word for his mother. If she hadn't lost both her children to death there, she had lost them in spirit.

 

A wicker from the horse brought him out of his dark musings. He removed his hand from his pocket and the locket containing a lock of his mother's hair. "A little more and hay for you, warm food for me, yes?" Tyr rubbed the horse's nose and was treated to a puff of warm air from its nostrils. He watched as it turned into a grey mist and danced away on the wind. They were close enough now that the horse could smell the welcoming scents of a stable and Tyr could make out the people now as they went about their business.

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Skechid's eyes were cold as he regarded the scene before him. The men had grown complacent. Especially the guards who thought that Saidin made them invincible. It didn't. His Infirmary was proof of that. But every day more men came. Word had spread amongst the nations that male channelers were welcome here and those who turned up... well, few were prepared to face the power that the Black Tower wielded.

 

"Storm Leader." Skechid turned to the man who saluted fist to chest. Kisharni Goromund. A Soldier. Pretty enough face, but his ability to Heal was already starting to manifest itself in surprising ways. Skechid nodded for the man to continue. "There is a new arrival. Amongst the woods. He has not quite made contact, but Dedicated Rakaresh has a fist of Soldiers monitoring him."

 

Skechid nodded and traced the lightning embroidery on his black coat with his finger. Being a Storm Leader meant that deference to him came from almost everyone at the Camp. With the M'hael away, Skechid's authority was king. It also meant that he was responsible for almost every other thing. A fact that annoyed him to no end. He was a Healer. And the Spymaster of the Black Tower, controlling a network of eyes and ears that stretched to distant lands. Decisions like what to do with recruits distracted him. He didn't like that.

 

And now, a new comer.

 

"Get Rakaresh to bring the man to me. We will get him tested and see where we can fit him." Skechid waved a dismissal and turned to walk back into his office. His twiddled with the ring on his middle finger. It was promising to be a rather busy day.

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He stopped when he saw the group of men approach. He was in no condition for a fight. He probably was in no position to stand either, but he was on his feet anyway. He patted Horse's soft nose as it tried to keep going after he stopped. They'd be on him soon enough. It wasn't likely that they would kill him before he made his intentions to join known. Tyr scratched his chin under the soft black linen of his veil making the decorative coins tinkle as they softly touch one another. He was starting to grow a beard thanks to the lack of a mirror to shave and it frequently itched. Maybe they'd have someone who could do something about the burns on his back. It was said Aes Sedai could heal, and apart from the madness-he was trying very hard not to think on that-couldn't they do the same things?

 

"Come to take me in there, yes?" he asked as they came within speaking distance. His voice was soft, though he was pleased that he had raised it louder than the almost whisper he was normally given too. He didn't want them thinking him timid. Years of dealing with merchants had taught him how important first impressions could be. "On with it then." Tyr started walking towards the people and buildings again leaving the men who approached to stay or follow as they wished. He didn't doubt that they would herd him towards where they wanted him. 

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"Tyr." Skechid's cold voice spoke softly but it made one of the newer Soldiers turn away. Skechid was used to it. "A simple enough name." Skechid looked at the man standing before him, gaunt faced and bony thin, there was a slight sadness about him. But these days, the Black Tower seemed to be a harbour for the desperate and the needy. It irked the Storm Leader that the world now found the Black Tower as a refuge.

 

Skechid stood up and walked over to the man. "You come to the Black Tower willingly?" The man nodeed silently. "So many come these days, and so many leave. And many die. Those that die, we consider it a mercy. Those that live on, many wish they could die. But weapons for the Dragon must fight to the bone." Skechid placed a hand on the man's cheek. A flinch. Whether it was because the hand was cold or whether it was because of fear, Skechid did not care. His face turned even colder as he reached for Saidin. The filth roared through him like a river of molten pain. "Have a care, young man, once you enter these ranks you enter a cavern of darkness." Skechid channeled the weave of Delving. The man shuddered as Saidin pulsed within his body.

 

And then the resonance began. Somehow it worked when Healing was woven. Not the regular Healing that some of the other Ashaman used, but this was a more powerful Healing that only 2 people in the Black Tower employed. With people who could channel, the weave resonated.

 

It ended as soon as it began. "You can channel. Bring your things to the room that these men will show you to. Welcome to the Black Tower, the Light have mercy on your soul." SKechid said it not unkindly, but even then it sounded ominous enough.

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It was like ice rolling down his skin cold enough to take his breath away. Then the he had been living with ever since he had woken up on that makeshift cot was gone. Just simply not there like it had never been. The loss of the physical allowed a different kind to flow. He had been working so hard at dealing with the physical wounds he had been able to push the thoughts of his sister aside. He barely heard the confirmation of the fact that he was one that had caused the explosion. He shoved the pain back in his mind the same way he had done the physical pain in order to be able to walk. I was like swallowing a large ball of wet sand. But he did it.

 

"Thank you," his voice had gone back to the near whisper it normally was. He took Horse's reins and followed the men to where he could find shelter and perhaps give the word something before his final peace.

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