Meanings (closed thread)

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Jack
"Lord of Chaos"
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Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:01 pm
PC: Malcym Ashe

Meanings (closed thread)

Post by Jack » August 16th, 2020, 10:23 pm

OOC: The following chapter marks the first in the series of Jerid Walker Asha’man’s death, in part as seen from the eyes of trainee Malcym Ashe’s POV. This thread is open for only Malcym Ashe, Lysira Gaidin, Jerid Walker (NPC) and Liana Calin Gaidin (NPC).
ACT ONE: Departure Malcym nearly grumbled as he made his way to the Traveling area near the Channeling Yard, a gray mare laden with saddlebags in tow.

The young soldier might have been dressed to play the part of his former role, but he was far from awake. It was early, still a solid hour from slipping over the eastern horizon. An autumn mountain breeze nipped at his face, still nowhere strong enough to force him from the drowsy mindset he forced himself to shake off.

After three months in this place and six years as a soldier, Malcym Ashe thought he would have been accustomed to an early rise. However, he just had not wanted to get out of bed this morning.

And so there he was, dressed in chain mail and leather, his shock of brown hair groomed as best it could be, his silver-flecked blue eyes still heavy with sleep. He wore simple hunter greens and browns underneath his armor, a mottled cloak to keep him warm. At his side was a slightly curved longsword in a leather scabbard, a fine weapon that had been a constant companion for six years.

And in the hand that did not hold the reins to his horse, a crumpled summons issued just the night before telling him to be at the flaming channeling yards.

If he were not a drin, Malcym Ashe surely would have tried to strangle the bloody oaf who had sent the note. But doing so now would be in bad form.

He made his way past liveried servants, a few soldiers, young learning rank channelers and a few seasoned Aes Sedai and Asha’man and their Warders. None ever spared him a second look.

Before long, the drowsy drin made his way to the exit point ... only to find a red-haired young woman waiting, holding the reins to a black Shineran stallion.

Malcym recognized her in a heartbeat as the Warder present during his private meeting with Jerid Walker Asha’man at Camden Corelle.

Shorter than he, probably as tall as Lysira Gaidin, slender, her red-gold hair down up in a crown of braids. Her dark green eyes could pierce a Trolloc’s thick hide and the expression on her heart-shaped face was ... hard to read. She was of an age with Malcym, perhaps a few years older, armed with a sword on her back and a brace of throwing knives running diagonally across her chest.

She was also the most beautiful woman Malcym had ever seen. But the look she gave the young soldier as she looked at him was one of ... irritation.

He could ... smell that emotion on her. And those green eyes were sharp.

“Gaidin,” he said respectfully. “I was told to report here per Jerid Asha’man’s summons ...”

The young Warder grunted and nodded her head to his left. About twenty paces away, he saw Jerid Walker Asha’man, dressed in earthen tones, and his Lysira Viathene, dressed similarly. They appeared in ... tense discussion by their body language and the rapid movements of their hands.

He frowned. It was never a good start to the day when an Asha’man and his Warder were fighting ... especially when they were married.

“Let me guess, she’s objecting to us coming ...” he never got a chance to finish.

The small Gaidin shot him a withering look. “Never assume where those two are concerned, Master Ashe,” she said harshly. “Never assume anything where channelers and their Warders are concerned, for that matter.”

Malcym’s jaw clicked shut, but not without a sharp glare at the Warder. It was typical of Gaidin her age, looking down on trainees such as him who had hard experience in the military.

Further questions popped into his mind. Why was this Warder her when Lysira Gaidin was present? For that matter, why was he here? Or Lysira for that matter if the note he received stated the Asha’man needed an escort for his mission?

Because Lysira Gaidin is his Warder and because he is the most-watched Asha’man in the flaming Tower at the moment, his brain scolded. It was true, the Asha’man was never without an escort -- mostly his Warder-wife, but even when she was busy elsewhere, a Ji’van was always close by.

The rumor was the Hall was wary of him and wanted to keep a close eye on him, but the red-haired Gaidin was correct in never assuming about a channeler. It was a hard lesson learned after a meeting with Miahala Sedai.

The more likely scenario was that the Asha’man still had enemies, he was dying and it would invite every opportunity to attack if exposed or on his own. At least, he would make that tactical decision if he were this man’s enemy.

And you would be dead. That was a possibility Mal knew was all too likely.

The thought was disrupted when the Asha’man gestured to the pair. Before he could even react, he saw a thin silver line form and then rotate, forming an opening to a forested area.

“Great, a flaming gateway,” he muttered. The Gaidin shot him a dark look before he mounted her horse. Malcym bit his tongue and followed suit.

As they approached the now-mounted couple, he saw the bluntly sharp signals Lysira Gaidin gave.

Five heartbeats before the Asha’man could enter. The younger Gaidin next to him nodded ... and ...

“Drin Ashe, you are to take up the rear,” the Asha’man said coldly with an Ebou Dari accent very unbecoming his obvious Andoran heritage

Malcym blinked and was about to voice his objection and cite protocol when the red-haired Gaidin shot him a dark look. His jaw clamped shot just about the same time as the Asha’man’s Warder looked at him emotionlessly.

“Yes, Asha’man,” he said, somewhat sullenly. If anything, the Asha’man’s look was colder than his voice had been.

SMACK Malcym blinked in pain as the hand came across the back of his skull when the Gaidin rode past him. The brief look she gave him was sharp as the Asha’man’s knife. And the look the Indigo gave him ... was emotionless save for an instant of disappointment.

It was sharper than any crossbow bolt. Before Malcym could respond, the two Warders were through the gateway ... and five heartbeats later so was the Asha’man.

Malcym followed, leaving the Tower grounds for the forests beyond Hama Valon.
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."

Jack
"Lord of Chaos"
Posts: 470
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:01 pm
PC: Malcym Ashe

Re: Meanings (closed thread)

Post by Jack » August 16th, 2020, 10:24 pm

Act 2: Riding Conversations The ride through the forest had lasted less than half a candle mark when Malcym decided to open his mouth.

It had been silent up until then, save for bird calls and other noises of nature. The red-haired Gaidin had since fallen back in pace with the young soldier, while Lysira Gaidin had taken up the position just forward of the Asha’man.

And none seemed happy that he was present. Well, two of them. Malcym could ... smell the disappointment from the Asha’man and the disdain from the young Gaidin. From Lysira Gaidin ... nothing.

That woman downright scared him. Nothing came of her except for a sense ... of something that was off. That she was skilled with a sword and lethal with a bow was nothing to doubt ... it was what she was likely capable of that concerned him most.

There was little doubt she would kill anyone who posed a mere threat to her Asha’man without hesitation. And with little evidence to support that threat.

Despite the negative tingles he observed, Malcym had to voice something. He was not used to riding into a situation without knowing the mission ahead.

He was a soldier, and soldiers survived by knowing what lay before them. And who they rode with.

“I never caught your name, Gaidin,” he said simply, softly, casting a sideways glance at the woman before his silver-blue eyes focused one more forward.

The woman grunted and was silent for a long moment.

“Liana Calin, sworn sword to the Lord Cade Walker of Camden Corelle,” she muttered after a moment. Her green eyes were only forward.

Malcym blinked at the response. “I didn’t know Lord Walker was an Asha’man,” he murmured.

“He’s not,” she said sternly. “His wife, the Lady Calyndra nee Sohyn Walker, is an Aes Sedai of the Brown Ajah.”

“So you’re ... “ He stopped midsentence the second those green eyes turned on him.

“No, I’m not her Warder. She has one in Aisalyn Gaidin,” she said simply. “I was sent by request by Lady Walker to act as Lord Walker’s protector and since he was the son of an Asha’man and Gaidin, and the request came from an Aes Sedai, the Yards acquiesced.”

Malcym cocked his head, slightly confused. It was not unheard of for Warders to protect certain lords on request. Very rare, but not unheard of. Even more strange was the name of the of Lord Walker’s wife.

“I don’t recognize the name Sohyn, it’s not of any Cairhieien House I’ve ever heard of ...”

The Gaidin sighed in frustration. “There is no House Sohyn, you flaming fool,” she said in irritation. “The Lady Walker is a blacksmith’s daughter born in Elman’s Creek, of an age with her husband. She was raised to the Shawl about the same time he was named lord of Camden Corelle and appointed his advisor within a year. They fell in love, married, had children.”

“But I thought the heir to House Walker was ...”

“Supposed to marry some noblewoman from a high house?” the Gaidin finished. She nodded to wardthe Asha’man and his Warder. “Light, but you are thick. Just because those two have noble blood in their veins does not mean their child has to subscribe to flaming ritual. That pair certainly didn’t, and their lives were hard before the Tower, his especially given the fall of Ebou Dar.”

Malcym’s jaw dropped ... and clicked shut when he couldn’t find the response. Bloody Warders and their sometimes confounding logic.

He was silent for another ten minutes or so before he decided to speak again.

“Gaidin, where exactly are we going?” he asked. The Gaidin shot him another dark look.

“Does it matter? The Asha’man is going somewhere and Warders protect.”

Malcym frowned but before he could speak further, the young Warder signed in exhaustion.

“Today is the anniversary of his son’s death and for the first time in 15 years Jerid Walker is making the pilgrimage to the cairn of his son’s scene of death,” the Gaidin said.

Malcym tilted his head. “I thought Sojin Majere Gaidin’s ...”

Ahead, he heard the Asha’man’s horse give off a disturbing sound. He noticed the Asha’man tense. Malcym reached for his sword but the Gaidin beside shook her head .. and sighed again.

“Boy, you don’t know anything do you?” she asked mockingly. “Beric Cuelain-Walker died as a Soldier during the First Seanchan Siege of the Grey Tower, when Hama Valon was but a dream and Amora en’Damier still enjoying her first round as Amyrlin Seat. Asha’man Walker was but a Dedicated, in self-exile far away in the Caralain. His son died in a failed rescue attempt of Tower initiates, one of four to stay behind to hold off an enemy hellbent on protecting its forward flank.”

Malcym blinked. “But that was ...”

“Long before you, I or even likely Lysira Gaidin were even born,” the Gaidin murmured. “For people like us, it’s history, tales told to children. Him, he still lives those memories and the regret of not being present for the defense of his home. Legend tells that had it not been for a young Yellow Asha’man calming him on delivery of his son’s death months after the assault, he would have waged war on the Seanchan Empire.”

Malcym scoffed. Legend and stories were one thing, but there came a limit to such things, even with Jerid Walker. The Gaidin smirked. “Most of the stories about him are from the Battle of Lights onward,” she muttered. “Before that ... the Seanchan feared him and for good reason. Their name for him in the Old Tongue was ‘Golden-eyed demon’ or ‘ageless terror” He looked the same 15 years after he decimated an entire camp in the rescue of two Tower initiates and a Green when they saw him next ... and he was still a Dedicated at the time.”

Malcym admitted to himself that he didn’t know much of Jerid Walker’s story before the Battle of the Lights. Not many stories about him survived before that point, except perhaps in some obscure part of a royal library or lost among the Tower’s library.

“If that’s the case, why does Jerid Asha’man need anyone but his Warder to escort...”

The red-haired Gaidin gave him another sharp look. “Because the Yards were given requests and we were available,” she said coldly. “And if for one flaming pure moment in the Asha’man’s mind occurred and he requested of the Hall, there would be an honor escort of a dozen Asha’man and Aes Sedai from four Ajahs marching with us.”

Malcym tilted his head in curiosity. “All that for a Soldier?”

Liana frowned and looked forward. “For a child of the Tower, born of a Dedicated and a Warder of the Yards, for a man who sacrificed everything to ensure others could alert the Tower of an assault by the Ever Victorious Army,” she said sharply. “The Tower and the Yards may hold rank sharply in mind, but they also respect the sacrifice made during wartime. And if the former Keeper of the Archives requests it, an honor guard will be committed. The Hall of Sitters still remembers Jerid Walker, and Captain-General would send her finest if he asked.”

Malcym rolled his eyes. “And how would you know?”

“He told me as such, and so did his Warder, in her own way,” she responded simply. “He is my Asha’man and she ... appreciates that I don’t worship the ground he walks on while being respectful of his status as an Asha’man.”

So stunned was Malcym that he unconsciously pulled the reins of his horse, causing the mare to stop in her walk. The Warder looked back at him as she passed by and murmured, “You know nothing, Malcym Ashe. And for that I pity you.”
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."

Jack
"Lord of Chaos"
Posts: 470
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:01 pm
PC: Malcym Ashe

Re: Meanings (closed thread)

Post by Jack » August 16th, 2020, 10:25 pm

Act 3: Disdain Three hours had passed, with Malcym in the rear. Liana was up ahead with Jerid Asha’man and the pair seemed to be conversing quietly ... out of the drin’s hearing.

Up ahead by a dozen paces, Lysira Gaidin was scouting the immediate area and ... well, serving as the Asha’man’s Warder. Logically, she was the wise choice to do so because she could likely drop any threat with an arrow at hundred paces before it could even breathe.
Malcym was still in shock over Liana’s last words spoken hours ago. That she was Jerid’s Warder. For some odd reason, it made sense, or so he tried to rationalize.

But how could it be so? Only Green channelers bonded more than one Warder ... and Jerid Walker was not known for cooperation with Warders, bonded or not. Or at least so the stories and rumors went.

How was it that a Warder so young was his bondmate? Or that his Warder-wife actually approved? How was it that she was a Warder at her age in the first place?

Those and other questions plagued his mind up until they reached a wide river with a narrow bridge. The Asha’man held up a hand, signaling for a stop and an opportunity for rest to water the horses.

A sharp look from the Asha’man was enough for Malcym to lead his horse downriver a few dozen paces. As his mare took the opportunity to drink, Mal looked around. The forest was serene, quiet and yet full of life ...

... when he sensed, rather than saw, Liana Gaidin approach him with her horse and the Asha’man’s.

She was silent, her dark green eyes hard as she passed by the young soldier. Streaks of sunlight pierced the forest canopy and for a few brief seconds, the crown of braids looked ... like something more realistic.

Before she could shoot another glare at him, Malcym’s gaze went elsewhere ... toward the Asha’man and his Warder. They were arguing again, silently, their hands moving too quickly for him to discern anything intelligible.

“What in the Creator’s name are they arguing about ...” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t finish the thought when the pinecone hit him hard. He turned and saw a frowning Liana glaring at him.

“What those two bicker about is none of your concern,” she said harshly. Malcym blinked, wondering whether the reaction might be due to his curiosity or if she was the subject of conversation.

Either way, the hostility projected toward him did no favors for his attitude.

“And yet, here you are, his other Warder, assigned the task of watering his horse,” he said. “Nice to see some Warders still get to do the menial tasks and get their hands dirty alongside common soldiers.”

The woman rounded on her heels and was within two paces of the drin before he could notice it.

“What is your flaming problem?” she said through clenched teeth. “Light, but all the news had you pegged as a solid recruit given your background and the nature of your arrival. Instead, you’re throwing out insult after insult.”

Malcym stiffened and returned the Warder’s gaze, though it meant lowering his head to do so. Light, but she was short. Well, Lysira Gaidin was her height, but that one could cut and gut him and leave him to die without a heartbeat.

This one seemed ... more able to be knocked down a peg.

“How old were you when you joined the Yards?” he asked. “How old were you when you were Raised?

The woman blinked, but her eyes were still hard as diamonds. “I was 16 when I assigned the rosters, 22 when I earned my fancloak,” she said simply. “What matter does this have to do with such disdain?”

“Because it’s disdain that begets such,” he said harshly. “Those who came directly into the Yards and were Raised to Warders ... they look down on people such as myself.”

Liana blinked, an incredulous look on her face. “What on Light’s ...”

She couldn’t finish as Malcym spoke over her. He was already incensed as it was and his anger had finally been given fuel. “I was 17 when I joined Murandy’s military. I fought for nearly six years, earned my way up the ranks without favor, lost men in my charge and bled ... and I come here and I’m treated much the same way as a Tarien fisher is by a Tarien lord. I see the same in nearly every other soldier who joined the Yards after years of military service.”

The woman looked like she wanted to slap him ... or clobber him, given her clenched fists and clenched jaw.

“You see nothing but the foolishness of your own vanity, pup!” she said, perhaps a bit too loudly. She took a step closer, her finger on his chest. “I earned my fancloak. It was not easy. And the battles and loss you suffered? I was assigned to the Tower Citadel my first month as Ji, ate, fought and bled with Borderlander soldiers and Tower Guard. I went through training that would curl the toes of most of your Murandian soldiers. And when I earned my fancloak I was requested by the Lady Walker herself ...”

“ ... and now you find yourself the lower-ranked Warder to Jerid Walker, while those two argue ... and I think over the fact that he did take a younger lover only to realize you’re not worth ...”

The expression on young Gaidin’s face was complex -- disgust, outrage, shock -- but disgust and anger was clearest as her hand connected with his face in a powerful slap. And her other hand in a clenched fist to his gut.

Malcym grunted at the slap, but was able to catch the blow to his stomach ...

... but was caught unaware by the sudden invisible force that caught hold of him and swept him into a nearby tree. He grunted at the impact, but found he could not move.

“That. Will. Be. ENOUGH!” Malcym’s eyes began to focus from the sudden jolt of pain ... and on the source of the voice.

There, near the young red-haired Gaidin stood Jerid Walker Asha’man. His gold-flecked forest green eyes were silent, emotionless. Except for one small detail. They looked at the drin as if he were prey ready to be killed.
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."

Jack
"Lord of Chaos"
Posts: 470
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:01 pm
PC: Malcym Ashe

Re: Meanings (closed thread)

Post by Jack » August 16th, 2020, 10:26 pm

Act Four: An Asha’man’s Lecture Malcym studied his situation, studied the fact that he could not move. Realized somewhere he must have erred. Then realized he must have spoken some unbidden truth.

“Asha’man, he didn’t ...” Liana began. She was silenced with but a look.

“Liana, take all three horses and return to Lysira Gaidin’s position, then range ahead,” he said simply, his eyes still coldly focused on Malcym.

“Yes, father,” was all the woman could muster before she took all three horses’ reins and left. Beyond, Malcym could see an ...equally dispassionate small Gaidin waiting.

When the Warder was behind Jerid Asha’man by several paces, Malcym could feel the invisible ... hand tighten around him. He couldn’t utter a word before the Asha’man spoke. And it was with a cold, level anger that could freeze most souls.

“You arrogant, whiney pup of a boy,” he said. “First you upset a friend whom I went through so many ... battles together, and then now, you make blatantly unsubstantiated accusations against the Yards, insinuate that my daughter never earned her right as a Warder and then insult my both she and my own wife and Warder by insinuating that I had taken another as a Warder and lover and was juggling ... affection.”

The Asha’man’s eyes were like stars, cold, harsh, distant. But he gave off a smell of someone who was suppressing a very simple desire.

The force that held him against the tree flung him toward the side of the stream, several paces away. And he landed hard. But he could move again.

As he attempted to stand, a hard force knocked him back down.

“You want to know why I was arguing with my wife?” the Asha’man said. “It was because I did not want you here. I had only requested my daughter ... you were assigned by a flaming Gaidin who did not know when to butt out of his own business. I insisted that you be sent back to the Tower Yards because of your actions in front of the Captain-General ... she said the Yards’ actions were necessary.”

The force holding Malcym in place left, but he dared not stand up.

“Stand to, Drin Ashe!” Malcym was on his feet in a heartbeat at the order, instinct taking over. He stood straight for but a heartbeat before he rounded on the Asha’man ... and found himself in front of the Indigo channeler.

“Asha’man, I did not know she was her daughter ... she said she was your ...”

A glance silenced him. “That she is my Warder? Yes, but in name only. She is not bonded. She” ... he pointed back toward Lysira without looking away. “ ... is my only bonded Warder and will remain that way until the day I release our bond. Never assume otherwise, and never assume that I have taken another lover since my return.”

Malcym’s jaw clenched and he stiffened. That urge to punch the Asha’man welled up in him ... but he knew better. If the channeler didn’t burn him to a cinder, he’d likely find an arrow in his heart.

“She never said she was your daughter ... I thought all your ...” An invisible hand smacked the back of his head.

“My daughter shares one thing common with me and Lysira Gaidin - we are all very private people,” Jerid said softly, harshly. “In my daughter’s case, she was born of myself and my Warder Sienna Calin ... and it was a painful birth as my Warder bore the strength to live through four months after being severely injured by a Trolloc. Sienna died in childbirth, my daughter lived and I bore the strength to hide her from all my enemies by giving her up and letting an uncle of hers raise her as her own. She was named in honor of Liana en’Damier of the Indigo Ajah, a dear friend of mine who finally convinced me that I needed a Warder, especially one who had been for so long my sworn de facto Gaidin.”

Malcym saw Jerid cast his eyes toward a quickly fading redhaired Gaidin.

“She was told the truth of course, but by then ... I was gone again from this place, after returning, after re-connecting and then leaving again my wife, after so much more ...”

Malcym smirked. “So she did become a Warder based on ... “

A look silenced him. “On her own merit,” Jerid said harshly. “She might have been Towerborn, her mother a Warder of the Yards, but she earned no favors, no privileges. She caught the eye of my son’s wife as someone who could serve the Tower by protecting an Aes Sedai’s husband, who happened to be her brother.”

The Asha’man stepped closer ... until he was face to face with Malcym Ashe.

“My Warder earned her own way, and she was not a soldier. She endured much before she signed the rolls, was trained by the Lord Caden Ives himself, who played so flaming favorites to any, even someone he considered as a daughter and endured ... more than you could ever imagine when she was a trainee,” he murmured. “And I bonded her because she is the best the Yards ever produced.”

Again, Malcym was silenced before he could speak.

“My son Sojin was raised by the finest captain in the Tar Valon Tower Guard, joined Matrim Cauthon’s Band of the Red Hand when he was fifteen and rode with them for four years before he joined the Yards,” Jerid murmured. “He underwent the same training, the same onerous tasks, as both my wife and my daughter, the same training as you now endure. Make no mistake that his tenure was easy ... he was trained by Lord Ives, and went through much. He was bonded by Saphire en’Damier of the Green Ajah, by a Keeper of the Chronicles and for a time by Miahala Sedai herself whilst she was Amyrlin Seat.”

Malcym was overwhelmed by information ... information not available in stories. Well, some were, including that of Sojin Majere ... but Light.

Still, the drin attempted to hold his ground and his now shredded argument.

“But then why do Warders sneer at common ...”

Jerid’s eyes flared with anger. “Nothing gets through that skull, does it?” he said. “The Yards welcome and benefit from soldiers. It’s you they sneer at because of your supposed superiority. Pup, you were born into a life of ease, no matter how much you claim otherwise.”

He paused and Malcym could smell something else ... a sudden surrender.

“I thought you a worthy addition to the Tower Yards, given your actions and bravery prior to our arrival here, but I fear I was wrong,” Jerid murmured. “Instead, I find a vain, selfish, ignorant child who makes assumptions, intrudes on the private life of the Captain-General and makes insult of the very Yards he serves in. And if the Creator has any mercy, the Master of Training will grant my request that you are dismissed from the Yards. Now do your duty and take the rear after you retrieve your mount, child.”

Before Malcym could even defend himself, the Asha’man had turned on his heels. And it was within earshot that he heard the Indigo’s words. “Lysira, if he so much as unfolds those peacock feathers of his, shoot him in the rear and send him back to the Yards,”
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."

Jack
"Lord of Chaos"
Posts: 470
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:01 pm
PC: Malcym Ashe

Re: Meanings (closed thread)

Post by Jack » September 1st, 2020, 6:44 am

Act Five: Conversations The next few hours were filled with tense silence as the quartet rode through the alpine and oak forest. The two Gaidin were up ahead, the Asha’man behind.

Malcym took up the rear, a position assigned to him by the younger Gaidin. She had only applied four simple, very curt words before she joined Lysira Gaidin at the fore.

The animosity coming off at least two of his companions seemed unbearable. It filled his nostrils in such a way that it seemed like he was neck-deep in horse dung.

Lysira Gaidin was ... as impossible to read as ever. It was like a void existed where emotion would normally dwell.

Mal couldn’t explain it but accepted the fact that she too might suddenly have a lesser opinion of him now. And it was justified.

The Asha’man’s words had gone deep, like a brigand’s arrow that pierced mail and flesh alike. And everything was based on assumptions he made, and an arrogant attitude projected on others. But he was not entirely wrong, he thought, at least as far as how some in the Yards perceived new recruits who had years of military experience.

Given the Asha’man’s words, however, Mal would likely see his career in the Yards over before it had truly even begun. And it was for the most his own fault because he waged a war of words with a still influential Asha’man and lost.

They crossed a sturdy rope bridge -- slowly but surely leading the horses across -- that ran over a gorge that dropped into a river beneath and continued on.

A half-hour passed before he saw Lysira hold up her arm, hand open. The Asha’man nodded slightly and then turned his cloaked head, a gold-green eye focused wholly on Mal.

And then he beckoned with but a single nod. Mal didn’t question the order and moved his horse closer to the Asha’man just as Lysira and Liana approached from the other end.

“Liana, secure our rear,” the Asha’man said quietly. “Lys, forward of the marker, but within visual range of the site. Master Ashe, you are with me.”

Malcym blinked ... and saw the reaction of the two Gaidin in front of him.

Liana merely nodded her head and nudged her horse onward without a look at Mal. Lysira Gaidin gave him an even stare before raising an eyebrow at her Asha’man.

Malcym saw ... something change when the Asha’man merely looked at her. If Malcym were a betting man, he suspected it was one part asking permission, one part trust between the two.

But then he did not dare to presume. Not when it came to the bond shared between Warder and channeler. There were some things even he did not make assumptions on.

The diminutive Gaidin nodded and turned her horse about, riding quietly forward.

“With me, Malcym,” the Asha’man said curtly. Mal only nodded, taking up a slightly forward position in front of the Asha’man. It was brief ride before they apparently reached their destination ... a single, elaborate marble obelisk under a stand of trees in the middle of a small clearing.

He looked behind him and saw the Asha’man dismount, his hood still hiding his face. His weathered hands reached into the folds of his cloak to pull out a small package.

Malcym dismounted, curious but respectfully quiet. The Asha’man’s body language took on a much more ... nuanced tone, less stringent, more calm and level.

The young soldier gripped his sword and nearly drew it when the Asha’man waved a hand.

“You will not draw steel in this place,” he said simply, forcefully. Mal blinked but relaxed his grip instinctively. If there was ever an order the Asha’man issued that held consequences for disobedience, it was that one.

Serious consequences at that.

His eyes narrowed on the marker. It felt ... old, but it looked as if had just been lain. The site itself beckoned a calm, unnerving quality to it, as if something tragic yet heroic occurred here so many years ago.

And then he read the inscription.

In memory of Beric Cuelaen-Walker
Beloved son and brother
Soldier of the Grey Tower
May the Creator grant him peace.


“Light’s Blighted mercy burn my bloody ashes...” he whispered. He winced the second a hand collided with the back of his skull.

“Mind your language, Master Ashe, always in this place,” the Asha’man admonished as he passed by the young soldier. “Here, you respect the soul who died and never uttered a single bad word.”

Malcym murmured an apology, his eyes still on the obelisk. It had to be preserved in time by the One Power. Something so old ... was it old? His racked his brain over what history he knew of the Grey Tower, about Jerid Walker Asha’man ... but nothing came to mind.

He was silent as the Asha’man knelt in front of the grave and unwrapped the small cloth package. His eyes picked up the sight up a small green object glinting with gold and he watched as the Asha’man created a deep pocket in the earth, placing the object in its depths and sealed the breach once more.

For a long time, the man kneeled quietly, eyes closed, only the wind and the birds to provide sound. For once, Mal didn’t dare disturb the moment or speak.

“My son,” the Asha’man said as he stood, breaking the silence after a while. Malcym blinked but couldn’t formulate the words to speak. “Beric was my first-born son, the youngest of twins, born to me and my first wife so long ago. He was the Walker in the Tower at a time when I was in exile as a Dedicated ... at a time when I should have been in this Tower.”

“Asha’man, I don’t understand ...” No words could describe the lack of even remote hints of what Jerid Walker disclosed to him. His silver-blue eyes were filled with confusion.

“I was young then, for a channeler, young and arrogant, thinking I did not need the Tower, and so I went into self-exile, without the Tower hunting me down to bring me back,” the Asha’man said. “My daughter went with me .... but Beric stayed because he had discovered he could channel. He made the conscious decision to stay and become a Soldier. He knew the rules, knew the risks, knew while I could train him, it would be a risk that Asha’man from the Tower would come for us as a potential risk.”

The Asha’man’s eyes were always on the marker in front of them, his face obscured by the hood.

“Three years later, the first Seanchan Siege occurred and the Tower was nearly brought to its knees,” he said. “This was before Hama Valon was even a dream, a century before Camden Correlle was even founded when only Elman’s Creek lived to serve the Tower’s needs. My son was part of a small group who volunteered to scout the area and potentially rescue any stragglers.”

“The Seanchan attacked that group ... and my son was the one who disobeyed orders and stood his ground to screen the enemy attack. His party escaped ... but the best that investigators from the Tower could tell was that he was executed after he was captured -- what Seanchan did toevery male channeler.”

Malcym cocked his head, confounded. “But why wouldn’t the Tower recall you ...”

“Because a good friend, a Yellow Asha’man, ran interference and didn’t inform me until months after the Siege ended,” the Asha’man said simply. “Perhaps the best decision he ever made.”

“But surely your experience with the Seanchan ...”

The Asha’man was in front of the young soldier, mere inches from his face, within a heartbeat. Despite the youthful look beneath the cowl, Malcym could see the ages in the Asha’man’s gold-green eyes. They were as old as Miahala Sedai’s ... and more weathered.

“My boy, it was a mercy that Aden Cole showed me in delaying the news, and for the Seanchan,” the Asha’man whispered. “Whatever stories you’ve mentioned to Miahala Sedai about me ... whatever myths your mother spun whilst you were in swaddling cloth, they are all true and so much worse. Had the Tower informed me of my son’s death and recalled me ... the level of damage I would have wrought would have ended the war much sooner and the Ever Victorious Empire would have sued for peace.”

The Asha’man’s eyes flashed. “And I would have been severed from the Source and executed for the carnage I would have wrought, and the weaves I would have used,” he said harshly. “I lost a child who showed so much promise, who was so much ... better than his father in every way and for that I wanted to burn the world to a cinder. That news of his death came long after I could do anything that mattered, when there was a peace of sorts between Tower and empire ...dampened the blow of revenge, even if the pain remained.”

Malcym blinked again, in part anguished as old memories swelled up. He knew a similar loss to what the Asha’man spoke about. Had lived it ... but how could he constrain such raw emotion?

He didn’t need to ask because the question was in his eyes and the Asha’man answered.

“Child, I was young and impulsive, and the latter attribute remains with me to this day ... and sadly it passed on to many of my children,” he murmured. “Beric and his sister Angel, my son Cade and Liana are the only four who have ever had the common sense inherited by their mothers to resist certain impulses and urges.”

Malcym’s face grew in confusion and his mind began making assumptions again. “Sir, are you saying ...”
“No, I’m not your father, Malcym,” the Asha’man said, cutting off any such nonsense. “What I’m saying is that my son’s grave here serves as a reminder to what I began to become, someone who was more logical in some ways, putting the Tower and its people before myself. It cost me dearly in many ways, yes, but those loved ones I sacrificed my connection to have survived. My Warder-wife and our son are still alive, as is my daughter Liana.”

The question about what this had to with him was on Mal’s tongue when both men stiffened. Malcym noticed the Asha’man tense ... but for him it was the sudden silence of the birds --- and a blinding flash of images in his mind.

The grip on his sword tightened ... just as the force of a small body slammed into both him and the Asha’man. All three fell to the earth as the first volley of crossbow bolts whizzed by, followed by a second.
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."

Jack
"Lord of Chaos"
Posts: 470
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:01 pm
PC: Malcym Ashe

Re: Meanings (closed thread)

Post by Jack » September 1st, 2020, 6:45 am

Act Six: The attack Lysira Gaidin was on her feet first with blade drawn, but Mal wasn’t far behind. Sword in hand, he scanned the area just as the Asha’man grunted.

“Channeler,” the man said harshly, holding up a bolt. Had the man snatched it from midair? “Seanchan ... Seeker!” he spat the words as if they were poison. He smelled something strange then ... a darkening -- from the Warder.

Mal saw Lysira Gaidin flash numbers with her hand. Fifteen ...

“Twenty-five at least,” Malcym growled. He saw the questioning look both shot him. “It’s in the air, the scent of men, the sound of steel and leathered feet on the ground ... the blurs ...” His eyes glinted, silver-blue and then a flash of gold flecks.

He couldn’t explain it ... only see those visions in his mind’s eye and smell it. “Trust me, please ...”

He didn’t have time to explain as the first of three men burst into the scene. They were the first and by a distance, wielding curved blades ...

Mal was already on one of them, narrowly avoiding a blow as he brought his sword up in a sharp arc. The man dropped to his knees only to be finished by a sharp slash to the neck.

The other two men were already dead and dropped, Lysira’s sword dripping with blood.

“More coming,” was all Malcym could say before a large tree nearby fell down with a large thud. It was soon blazing on fire ... in a very unnatural way. It was contained but spread beyond them ... controlled.

Only ... a shadowy form emerged from it, unburdened by the fire. Mal could sense ... something worse than what he sensed in Lysira Gaidin at this moment.

“Siea cain daemen,” the shadowed formed hissed, sharp blue eyes looking directly at the Asha’man. Mal’s understanding of the Old Tongue was limited but he knew those three words. Golden-eyed demon.

And then ... invisible bands seized him ... a quick glance sideways showed the other two were likewise incapacitated.

“Asha’man ...” Mal said with some urgency. The Asha’man shook his head and mouthed one word. Shielded.

Great. Flaming luck that he had to encounter a flaming Seanchan male that could channel and entrap the only flaming Asha’man in their group.

Blood and ashes, but did he wish a contingent of other channelers had come, burn the Asha’man’s pride. While the “what-ifs” rolled through his mind, Mal watched as the Seanchan walked slowly closer, hatred shining in dark brown eyes.

And then he smiled wryly as he wrinkled his nose. “You know, for a Seanchan, you’re pretty stupid,” he said suddenly. “I don’t know if it’s plain pitiful education or that flaming fact your goat-faced father bred with a Trolloc, but really, here of all places when there’s bleeding curse on Seanchan ...”

Three sets of eyes looked on him with either absurdity or well ... something akin to thinking him touched in the head all while he smirked.

He heard the first whirl and whistle of an object flail past the suspended trio ... only to be blasted away by the Seanchan channeler. A smirk appeared on the man’s face -- and promptly vanished as the second object smashed through a particular large but precariously hanging tree branch. The branch came crashing down all too fast on top of the Seanchan ... and Mal felt his invisible restraints vanish.

The other two were quick to respond as Mal turned to see a young redhaired Gaidin holding an empty sling approach from the other side.

Before any words could be spoken, Malcym picked up the scent of more men coming. He couldn’t explain it ... just that they were coming. He turned back to the trio and toward the now angry Asha’man.

He was stepping toward the still stunned Seanchan downed by the tree branch.

“Run, now!” he hissed. He looked at the Asha’man sharply and added, “We need a gateway, not lightning. I won’t have an Asha’man too weakened by channeling lighting to provide an escape route!”

Lysira’s eyes seemed to clear, as much as those dark orbs could but the other Warder’s eyes hardened. Before any words could be exchanged, more crossbow bolts flew in their direction, missing by a wide margin thanks to the enclosed fire.

Mal looked sharply at Liana and he whispered harshly, “You might be his daughter, but I traveled with him for two months and saw what happens when he conjures lightning and fire. He does that now and we’re all dead because we can’t get back through a gateway.”

He saw the dark look Lysira shot him and he simply muttered, “Gaidin, if you want to punish me, fine, but do it back at the Tower.”

Malcym’s eyes switched to the Asha’man, who looked at him with cold, clear eyes. “How long, Asha’man?” he asked.

“Too long,” the man whispered as if struggling for breath. “Moments ... several ...”

Mal’s mind was racing for answers, just as he heard and smelled men trying to breach the flames ... and his mind snapped to an idea. Stupid, risky ... but ...

“I need two horses.” He looked at Liana Gaidin. “Yours. Can you ride on the Asha’man’s ...”

“Yes.”

“Good. You two take the Asha’man far enough along until he can open a gateway and I’ll go the other way.”

The comment earned a sharp look from Lysira Gaidin and her dark eyes seemed to grow darker. “With respect Lysira Gaidin, he’s not my Asha’man, he’s yours and given the number of people who will breach that fire, running is the only option. You need a distraction, you’re not my superior, and I’ve done this before.”

He heard Liana snort and he shot her a dark look. “Gaidin, I led men into battle and sacrificed them and me to ensure civilians could flee their homes in safety. Multiple times. For this man, for you two, I do this willingly.”

Mal tensed then as a new odor flooded his senses ... and dark shadows in the mind. Two ... three ... He saw the Asha’man tense then, and by reflection Lysira. “Three channelers, three Dark ones,” he hissed. “As powerful ...”

He looked at Lysira. “Please ...” and then was on his feet, seizing the now-near horse belonging to Liana along with his own. He was quick to mount his own steed and binding the reins of the other horse to his own mount.

The horse was in full gallop, with the other one following as it lept through the flames.

As he rode, his vague recollection of the Old Tongue rang true. “For Light and glory of the Flame of Hama Valon!” His next words, meant to be “Mercy to the surrendered” unfortunately rang as “your mothers are old soiled cabbage farts.”

If there was any justice in the world, it now fell upon Malcym Ashe as he shouted those words.
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."

Jack
"Lord of Chaos"
Posts: 470
Joined: May 25th, 2015, 9:01 pm
PC: Malcym Ashe

Re: Meanings (closed thread)

Post by Jack » September 1st, 2020, 6:52 am

Act Seven Bolts flew past Malcym as his horse galloped through the woods, the other horse keeping up. After a few moments, he drew a knife and slashed the reins, and the mount veered off in another direction in search of survival.

In the distance, he heard the howl of wolves ... and smelled the scent of men in leather and metal. He heard men scrambling after the other horse ... could smell the dread and intense need to capture it.

All the while, in his mind, he knew that he had to distract the man-beasts from reaching their intended prey.

He saw the first glimpses, the first outlines of his enemy, and his sword hummed in the air like a steel claw. Six years a soldier, three years a cavalryman. Enough training to take down footed soldiers. On foot, he was a decent swordsman, nowhere near what most experienced Ji were capable of, but on horseback ... he stood a chance.

The curved longsword cut through two men, blood splashing against his face. He could taste the copper, smell its scent ... and he fell into instinct. His silver-blue eyes began flashing with hints of gold, even as he heard screams in the distance ... he could see or at least sense for brief seconds men falling to the ground, throats ripped, blood in the throat ...

Nowhere near enough ...

.... he saw and smelled a dark figure, reeking of darkness deeper than what the Asha’man could ever produce.

The man raised a hand ... and Mal cut through him like soft butter, his sword slick with blood as he passed. He heard the soft drop of a body against the forest floor.

Two dark souls were left, one close by ... one being stalked as it pursued three souls ... and then ...

... he felt a wave of sudden confidence. As if whatever stalked the dark one sensed its abrupt irritation. He saw flashes, images too vague to make out, wolves escaping through a hole ...

... and the sensation of blood as a trio of wolves bore down on the dark soul. It was a great source of comfort for the wolves ... and relief for Malcym. Men who could produce uncontrolled danger and fire in the hunting ground were unwelcomed.

Only Shadowthief, who could control the fire he created, was welcome ...

When he saw the image of Shadowthief pop into his mind, he immediately knew it was the Indigo Asha’man ... the memory was long, ancient ... a friend to wolves and their brethren ... his scent flowed throughout everything, defending lone wolves and packs alike from men with sharp sticks and fire ...

The memory pervaded Mal’s brain as more men came into view. The steel fang in his hand sung in the air, slicing through flesh of one man as the horse beneath rode over another.

And then the gorge ahead. Mal knew it was coming up even before he saw it. Actual knowledge came into mind .. the maps he had studied in class and in the Library of Hama Valon’s surrounding geography.

The part of him that was a soldier took over even as he could sense enemy soldiers surround him ... along with four additional dark souls.

What was the Indigo Asha’man worth to the Seanchan beasts? He growled, his blunt white teeth ready to tear flesh from skin. In the distance, he could hear men scream as wolves --- his brethren -- tear them apart.

The rational part of him took stock of what was projected in his mind. One dark soul ... seven men in steel skins ...

... he threw himself from the horse, landed and rolled with sword in hand ... and slapped his mount into a full gallop to the left of him ... away from danger before he made his way to the bridge.

A Seanchan in leather scaled armor popped up in front of him, swinging a wicked sword in the process. Mal didn’t bother to counter as the blade cut across his waist, through his own armor and into flesh. Instead, he leaped forward and sunk his teeth into an exposed part of the man’s neck and pulled hard. Blood filled his throat even as the other man howled in pain and sank to his knees. Mal ended him with a thrust of his sword.

Six men behind him ... and he rushed for the rope bridge overhanging the ravine ... two crossbolts whistled past him ... and a third caught him in the side.

He grunted, but adrenaline moved him forward ... he ran across the bridge without much thought, like an animal looking to survive ...

... when the first bolts of lightning came down around him. They crashed against trees and earth, sending up showers of dirt and shards of wood. He had made it across the bridge when he turned and saw all six men pursuing him on the flaming crossing.

Mal didn’t hesitate. The sword whacked one cord of rope tied to one wooden pylon ... a second whack and it was cut loose ...It swayed violently and two men fell into the depths below.

A crossbow bolt caught him in the left and he grunted as he was forced to kneel ... the steel talon in his hand lashed toward his right ... and struck the rope bindings dead on. He was distantly aware of the screams as men fell to their deaths. Was it five screams or ten?

And then another crossbolt pierced hsi armor and sank into his front ... somewhere ... below his upper ribs ... a second in his left shoulder ...

Through hazy vision, he saw a man walk on invisible air across the gorge, holding a loaded crossbow ... and then dropping in it in favor of a curved long knife once he reached the other side.

Mal gripped his sword tightly and made a move to stand ... only to find the blade ripped from his grasp and his body crushed by an invisible hand.

“So much trouble caused by a simple soldier,” the man preened in a thick accent. “The demon may have alluded us, but we still have a prize he might desire for his own ...”

Mal spat at the Seanchan, blood mixing with spittle as breathing became harder. The bolt had pierced a lung.

“I’m nothing to the Asha’man, you preening cocktail of a flaming goat-faced pig,” he said sharply. “Your demon is gone, as is his Warders. Wolves snapped your men’s throats and my claw cut more down ...”

The Seanchan Seeker paused as if toying with his prey. “What loyalty to a demon ...” Other Seanchan were surrounding him ... including one who reeked as much as the man in front of him.

“I am a loyal servant of the King of Murandy, a soldier of the Warder Yards of the Grey Tower, a son of Mayene -- and the sworn sword of your demon,” Mal shouted. “My life before his or any others, my soul for the safety of the Grey Tower ...”

He felt the invisible bonds press against his chest ... his already shallow breathing grew worse as the young soldier saw the Seanchan draw closer.

Malcym felt himself slip away from ... well everything as the loss of blood took its toll. A new odor however caused him to smile slightly.

“Time’s up for us all ..” he whispered before he blacked out. The last sounds he heard were howls of pain and desperate last-minute words. And then darkness.
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."

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