To whittle not cleave (Fanfic)

When channelers need to channel and don't want to risk breaking the Tower into a million pieces, this is where they go.
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Damon
"The Shadow Rising"
Posts: 195
Joined: January 25th, 2017, 5:14 pm

To whittle not cleave (Fanfic)

Post by Damon » May 10th, 2017, 6:45 pm

Olin

Olin stood, his body leaning against the fence as he cooled off after his practice session. The other Soldier departed, a wave of thanks to Olin for the spar but Olin was lost in thought.

His body felt good, tired after the exertion but it was a good tired after having been stuck in lessons and duties for the day. Chuckling to himself, he watched the Soldiers as they scurried to their next chore, their eagerness to depart his gaze reminding him of a conversation he had shared with Miahala Sedai and Ravak Gaidin just prior to his Three Arches.

Fingering the scar that now covered his left eye and cheek, he recalled both the naive confidence with which he had barged into the Captain General's office, as well as the horrible vision of both pride, incompetence and violence.

They say you're washed clean of all sins after the Arches, but light it's hard to shake the feeling of being that man, thought Olin to himself with a shake of his head. Angrily he tried to shake off the feeling of regret and shame his visions brought to him, and instead decided he would focus on correcting what he could. Real or not, the visions had shown him two vital lessons, and with that in mind he walked through the Warder Yard.

Many of the Drin and Ji were exercising, their growing prowess obvious even to Olin's untrained eye. But it was a pair of Gaidin who immediately drew his eye when he noticed them. The pair was sparring, their match surrounded by a ring of both Novices and Accepted, and Olin cough to hide his mirth when he noticed a few Sisters doing a better job of keeping an eye on the fighters than their charges.

Olin did not know the men's names; he had yet to make a point of getting to know the more martial arm of the Grey Tower, something he made a mental note to correct. However the one man's size and colouring clearly denoted an Aiel. The other man was a bear of a man, his arms large and muscular. He moved well despite his bulk, and the great sword he carried was a formidable chunk of steel for any man to wield.

Olin joined the crowd, and as he watched the reactions on the faces around him, he realized the larger man was the favourite to win. Olin watched intently as the two men exchanged initial thrusts and parries, each man attempting to weigh the other with careful eyes. The Aiel man bore a spear, a weapon Olin recalled many of their warriors were familiar with and Olin frowned as it seemed a mismatch to the other Gaidin's weapon.

The crowd cheered and hissed along with the flow of the fight, and over time it dawned on Olin that the clear favourite was perhaps not so destined to win. As the spar wore on, the Aielman was able to often dodge the heavy blows of the other man, his spear then darting in to strike an elbow or wrist with its blunted tip. Each blow was marked by a growl of anger from the other man, who continued to poor more strength into his powerful thrusts and blows. The Aielman took one great hit on the shoulder, his body tossed backwards by the flat of the greatswords blade. He waved off the Sister who stepped forward, and in a flurry of jabs and darting attacks he struck the other man's knees and wrist. Soon the swordsman was overwhelmed, and he signalled the end of the spar with a raised hand and a smile. As the two men collected their jackets, the spell of their fight was ended and the rest of the crowd dispersed.

Olin followed along with the others; his mind replaying the fight as he considered the advantage of speed and precision over straight strength. There were many things to admire in both men's fighting, but he couldn't help but ponder how much strength could be built with practice.

The thoughts bounced in his head as Olin walked, and it wasn't until he sense the vague menace that accompanied a man holding Saidin; that he realized he had walked towards the Channeling Yard. There he saw Dedicated Ollindar teaching a group of Soldiers as they practiced weaving Threads of Earth against a large hunk of granite.

As Olin watched, one of the students stepped forward and struck at the rock with thick weaves that lacked the power to bust open the thick slab. Red faced he strained for more, the sense of menace increasing as Olin could see the Soldier attempting to hold more and more of Saidin. Again the young man struck the stone, his weaves thick as clubs and there was a large crack from the slab. Smiling the Soldier turned to his peers, fatigued and red faced. Olin had seen the weaves and was impressed at the Soldier's strength, indeed he hazarded a guess that the man was stronger in the One Power than Olin himself.

Olin noticed one Soldier who did not seem impressed with the show of force however, and he watched as the second man stepped forward to take his place at the slab. Olin watched as the Soldier began to cast a thin web of weaves, that somehow seemed to sink into the stone itself. While he watched, at first the granite showed little signs of wear, but suddenly the stone began to crumble and flake as if struck by a chisel and hammer. Olin echoed the excited chatter rising from the rest of the learning ranks, and he realized then that though weaker in the Power, the other man must possess an Earthsinger's talent.

Soon the class cleared out, bound for another round of the chores that helped to curb curious impulses from the Soldier's minds, and Olin found himself alone on the sand of the Channeling Yard.

Once the Yard had cleared, Olin once again considered the lesson he had observed twice today, and through the increasing haze he recalled an impression from the last of the Three Arches. He knew he stood relatively weaker in Saidin than most male channellers. In fact his classes in Travelling and Wards had showed him that he stood more with the female channellers. But twice now he had witnessed skill and precision win out over brawn, and he was determined to try that himself.

Threads of Air grabbed several logs that were kept for the purpose of practicing and held them in place with a simple weave. Grabbing threads of Air, Olin struck the log, his threads thick as sword blades. The log split as if struck by an axe, and Olin continued to chop the pieces until fatigue forced him to release the weave.

After a rest, Olin seized Saidin once more, but this time he sent his Threads of Air much thinner. Almost without thought he used several Threads of Air to attack the log, but rather than striking in one large blow, he instead used the threads as a woodcarver would use his tools. Each Thread struck a smaller blow, but as he was able to layer more weaves together the effect was the same.

His focus was strained, his mind taxed as he tried to keep every Thread seperate but luckily the demand on the amount of Saidin he required was not as hard to bear. Olin finished cutting through the log with a flourish of sawdust. Tired from the long day, Olin retired for the evening.

----

Later that week Olin had returned again to the Channeling Yard, and continued the practice with both weaves of Air and Fire. He was using his strongest elements, helping him keep the threads separate as he continued to work on speed, precision and an approach based on weaving more and more threads. On attack that was becoming much easier, the weaves required to strike an enemy with flame, or with a knifes edge of Air were simple. It was when he began to add defences that once again he noticed the strain. Catching a thrown object with a Thread of Air was simple enough, and he had practiced using fire to burn projectiles from the air, but when attempting to practice fighting another channeler, it became apparent to Olin that using a third element would require practice in juggling five or more weaves. And so each afternoon found him practicing; whether working towards layering smaller threads into a pattern that mimicked what a stronger channeler could accomplish, such as boring through stone or thick wood, or practicing with both attacking and defending while holding a shield ready to unleash as well. The techniques taught to Dedicated of the Grey Tower aided as well, as the sword pin came with expectations of prowess with the One Power.

Olin continued to push himself over the next moon or so, and he was pleased to note that the practice was slowly paying off. Although his overall strength with the One Power remained the same, he soon found he was able to utilize both Wards and other weaves in concert, the weaves coming together with an elegance and precision. Finally Olin decided he was ready, and after spending a brief time considering how best to test his abilities, he opted to join a patrol that was heading into the wildlands created by the Seanchan attack.

---

The sky was grey and overcast as the Grey Tower patrol rode through the shrub lands that helped to define the edges of the land seized by the Seanchan forces. Olin rode comfortably, helping some of the Ji'val practice their horsemanship. He was fortunate enough to have ridden most of his life, and so he took the chance to help alleviate sore legs and thighs by showing the men how to seat their horse properly. As the patrol followed the rise and fall of the land, Olin followed the soldiers lead and kept his head on a swivel, watching the crests for signs of enemies.

A silver flash in the grass was all the warning they received, Olin slashing out with threads of Spirit, a shield trying to form, while other threads cut where he imagined the weaves coming from a Damane would strike. Once the men saw the lightning forking down onto the hillside they sprinted into action. Charging up the hill, their swords drawn the men engaged the Seanchan in a fierce melee.

Trusting the men to keep the bandits occupied, Olin knew his task would be to act as a counter to the Damane as she wove attacks. Each strike of lightning proved too much for his meagrely strength in Earth to counter, but he managed to slice through some of the unseen weaves judging by the lack of strikes against his men. Feeling the strength, Olin knew there was no way he was going to be able to shield what amounted to two women in a link. Remembering the duel between the greatsword and the spear, Olin continued to maintain pressure against the pair. Going on the offensive he was able to keep their attention by using threads of Fire, Air and Spirit. Three or four threads soon became six, then eight as he attacked with blades of Air and Fire. Through the Void Olin smiled when he heard a cry of pain, and he watched as the pair fled, the Sul'dam holding her arm where he had managed a burn. He watched, holding Saidin and the weave for lightning ready but the women fled without further attack. Olin dissolved his weave, and went to check on the wounded patrolmen.

Trusting the men to keep the bandits occupied, Olin knew his task would be to act as a counter to the Damane as she wove attacks. Each strike of lightning proved too much for his meagrely strength in Earth to counter, but he managed to slice through some of the unseen weaves judging by the lack of strikes against his men. Feeling the strength, Olin knew there was no way he was going to be able to shield what amounted to two women in a link. Remembering the duel between the greatsword and the spear, Olin continued to maintain pressure against the pair. Going on the offensive he was able to keep their attention by using threads of Fire, Air and Spirit. Three or four threads soon became six, then eight as he attacked with blades of Air and Fire. Through the Void Olin smiled when he heard a cry of pain, and he watched as the pair fled, the Sul'dam holding her arm where he had managed a burn. He watched, holding Saidin and the weave for lightning ready but the women fled without further attack. Olin dissolved his weave, and went to check on the wounded patrolmen.

Knowing he lacked the strength to capture them, and with wounded of their own to handle, Olin took the wounded back to the Grey Tower with a small gateway, the rest of the patrol ordered to return and report when they could as he lacked the strength to maintain a gateway large enough for all.

----

"The flaming casks have all spoiled, whatever woolheaded merchant sent these didn't have the casks sealed with Wards," cursed the guard in charge of surveying supplies as they entered the Citadel.

Olin watched as the man scooped and poured out handfuls of barley and oats meant for the horses, the cascade of grains black with mold and weevils. "Thank you for catching this Soldier, you know how the farriers get when they don't have enough for the horses. Clerk mark this shipment down, the Whites can deal with the records and payment later," Olin said as he grabbed the casks in threads of Air and moved them away from the Travelling square.

Later that afternoon, when his shift at the square was complete, Olin grabbed the casks and moved them to a sheltered nook outside of the Citadels walls. The guards at the gate merely waved him through, as they were used to him practicing his skills on free time. Olin knew from firsthand experience how much a horse required for food, and these were battle trained and bred horses at the Citadel, with poor grazing nearby Olin had no desire to waste fodder if he could help it.

Seizing Saidin, Olin grabbed the first cask and with threads of Air cut the lid off, and began to send the barley twisting into the sky. With his weave funnelling the grain in a tumbling tower that spun and spun, Olin once more grabbed threads of Fire and sent them to he base of his column. At first it was easy to seperate the weevils and rotten grain from the good, his weaves of Fire consuming handfuls of the fouled food at a time. But as the bulk of the rot was removed, it became more of a precision task. To that end, Olin changed his weave of Air into a mat, which spread and agitated the grain constantly. The area covered was large, but luckily he was able to use his strongest elements in the weave. Then Olin seized as many threads of Fire as he could hold, and began striking the rot out from within the tumbling grain. Four weaves became eight as he used lances of Fire to purge the weevils and rot, the Void strong and sure despite the focus required. Each thread needed to only be thin as a needle's pin, so the hum of Saidin within this bones was insulated by the Void. As one cask was finished, he shifted the grain into the cask, resealing the cask with a Ward of his own.

Olin sighed in relief as he sealed off the last cask, and released Saidin as he turned to retrieve a cart for the grain. To his surprise there were several men there, men who had witnessed the column of wind and fire, and had come to see what could cause such a towering spire. "Light burn me Dedicated, but could you do that to a Fade?" asked Thoran, one of the veterans at the Citadel. He had survived many raids and attacks over his service, and knew first hand the dangers a Halfman could inflict.

"I suppose I could Soldier, although there would be little need to make it as dramatic. Let's hope we never have to find out," Olin replied to the man, his mind turning on the various ways a deft hand could be turned to fighting with Saidin.
"Every man is the hero of his own song," Tad Williams.

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