Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

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Sunny
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Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Sunny » January 18th, 2018, 10:59 pm

Owen Andarin
Pale fingers smoothed over paper, dragging trails of dark gray dust in their wake, then were replaced by a stick of soft charcoal. With this the artist tipped the contents of his imagination onto the page, dancing and swirling over the page in a chaotic storm of light and shadow, curves and valleys, motion and stillness. Owen sat back and cocked his head to the side, chewing on his lip as he stared at the composition, then reached into his belt pouch for a different bit of coal. This one was firm, dark, smooth against his skin. It would not erase as easily as the other so he took care in filling in the areas that should be darkest. There, and there… he hummed softly, lost in his work.

“Andarin?”

He rubbed his cheek with the side of his hand as he looked up, vaguely aware he had probably left a streak of soot across his face, but more interested in getting his hair out of the way so he could see the speaker. “What is it?” he asked in a distracted tone.

“Soldiers generally have classes at this time of day, I believe.” It was both statement and inquiry.

Owen blinked, head tilting to the side as he squinted up at the figure in black who stood over him. “Generally, yes,” he responded in a lazy tone. “What of it?” The Shienaran had settled against the wall below a south-facing window in what he had thought was a fairly disused corridor in the Yellow Ajah quarters. The lighting had been perfect before his new companion’s appearance; now the sun caught in pale hair, glowing madly against the much dimmer backdrop of the long corridor beyond. Which paints could I use to capture that?

The prolonged silence warned him to look further. It was only then that he realized the other man bore a dragon pin on his collar. “Shit, shit, shit,” Owen muttered frantically, tugging his sketchbook against his chest and pushing himself to his feet in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs and hair. A lifetime of court training finally kicked in once he stood, numbing his mortification behind a wall of glassy smiles and perfectly enacted bows. “My apologies sir, I did not see you.” Not true, obviously, but the other seemed to understand what he meant. At least no reprimand appeared to be forthcoming.

A horrible thought occurred to him. “Am I supposed to be in your class right now?”

The Asha’man’s face twitched into a smile. “No, not mine.” He actually sounded kind. Going by the yellow knot at his shoulder, perhaps he was. “Jaryd mentioned he’d assigned you to a class on our history today.” As the other man continued, describing probable location of the course and how to get there, Owen forced his body to relax limb by limb...only to stiffen again when he realized that somehow this stranger knew about him specifically. He, a soldier who had arrived only three days prior. Why? I am no one special.

“Thank you sir,” he said finally. That was the safest response.

“My name is Jaren. Welcome to the Grey Tower.” He hesitated a moment, then met Owen’s eyes and gestured at his own face with one extended finger. “You might want to- yes.” The youth scrubbed at his stained cheek with his cuff, red-faced with embarrassment, as the Asha’man strolled away.

~~~

‘Late’ did not begin to describe Owen’s arrival time in the specified classroom. He stared at the door in front of him for a moment, then shrugged and pushed it open, strolling in with a confidence he did not truly feel. The people within turned out to be a mix of men and women dressed in variations of black, white, and gray. They were taught by a slender woman in brown who scrawled hasty notes on a big board as she spoke. The students seemed intent on their work, the Aes Sedai focused on her lecture.

He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or abashed that no one so much as glanced at him. He hesitated, uncertain, then finally ambled about the room to an empty desk and slid into the seat. The movement was graceful, but the result was a sprawl of lanky legs and arms that could not (or would not) be contained by the confines of his assigned furniture. He gave up trying after only one attempt and flipped his sketchbook to a fresh page. After that he spent his time scrawling notes in charcoal, lacking any other writing implement.

When the Aes Sedai called a short break, he glanced around thoughtfully, then flipped his fingers in amiable greeting to the only person who met his eyes. “Name’s Owen,” he said. “Would you happen to have notes from the beginning of class?”
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Lugh
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Lugh » January 19th, 2018, 4:05 am

Beron
Beron was working hard to follow along with the lesson. He had received the basics from his mother and family; but scholarship had never truly been his driving passion. On the farm and in the army, that had proven to be hardly important; but there was a vast amount of knowledge to learn here at the Tower; and he was feeling the strain.

Past midway through the class, Beron was surprised to see a student stroll in through the door. Judging by the uniform he was a Soldier, and Beron had heard whispers of how hard their training could be. The young man sat and began to write, and Beron wished him luck catching up as his mind was a jumble of places, dates and other facts.

When the Aes Sedai called a short break, Beron took the chance to stretch his wrists, the constant writing had given him a cramp. He noticed the other student’s glance and waved a greeting.

“Name’s Owen,” the Soldier said. “Would you happen to have notes from the beginning of class?”

“Nice to meet you, Owen. You can look at mine quick and see if they help,” said Beron as he handed over his notes. He knew the ink had smudged in many places, and his penmanship was hardly fluid but it would still be better than nothing.

“Beron Faim, I just arrived at the Tower so sorry if I had missed you in other classes. It’s been a whirlwind.” Beron said with a grin and a wave that encompassed the classroom and students.
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Sunny
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Sunny » January 19th, 2018, 8:23 pm

The man was a Borderlander, probably Saldaean by the nose, and unquestionably a soldier. A real soldier, not the Grey Tower titled version, with muscles and calluses and that ‘I watch for threats in my grandmother’s kitchen’ expression in his eye. At least the other man didn’t appear to think less of Owen for being nowhere near the same. Judgment no longer bothered him in the conventional way, but seeing it in another’s eyes did limit the potential for friendship.

“Thanks!” the Shienaran youth said with true appreciation as he accepted the stack of papers. He hunched over his desk for a moment, scanning Beron’s notes. There were places he had to pause to extrapolate the meaning of a scrawled word he couldn’t determine, but for the most part… “Doesn’t look like I missed much,” he commented as he jotted down a reminder or two into his own book. “There are benefits to being a bookworm after all." He smiled as he looked up at Beron, an easy, natural expression that transformed his face from lazy introspection to a thing of inviting beauty. You smile like a woman, his father had once told him. It had been meant as an insult, but Owen certainly had not taken it as such.

He passed the notes back, then linked his fingers together behind his head. “I’ve only just arrived myself,” he commented, in reference to what Beron had said last. “Three days, give or take a few hours. Asha’man Jaryd gave me some time to...acclimate.” He snorted delicately. “I don’t know what he’s worried about, this place is bloody paradise as far as I’m concerned. How are you liking it so far?”
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Lugh » January 22nd, 2018, 5:05 am

Beron
Beron was glad that his notes were able to help Owen. He knew just how hectic the chores and classes were at first. “Take any copies you need,” he replied to Owen’s smile and the warmth that washed over the other man’s face. Soon Owen passed the notes back, and relaxed with his fingers laced behind his head.

Beron was surprised that Owen knew an Ashaman by name, especially give he had only been here three days. Still Beron had to agree with the sentiment Owen expressed.

“Well it’s less of a paradise when you land kitchen duty,” Beron chuckled as he recalled his first afternoon spent elbow deep in soapy water.

“But the Grey Tower is amazing. It’s history and deeds make my head spin to imagine, and the wonders here will take years to discover. Just the other day I found a waterfall spraying from a stone with no river.”

Beron stopped for a moment, the students had been moving pages around and he paused to collect one for himself and Owen. “The Warder Yards are hard work, even for someone used to weapons work. But in a few short days I feel like I’ve grown more than years in Saldaea.”

Thinking of that had Beron considering his winding path that led here, and had him wondering on the man’s paradise comment. Curious as to the sentiment, but reluctant to pry, Beron chewed upon his words for a moment before asking, “Did you know of the Grey Tower before your arrived? Or was it the legends and bar room tales that drew your feet?”
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Sunny
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Sunny » January 27th, 2018, 5:52 am

Owen’s light laughter lilted like music as his companion talked. Beron had a subtle kind of humor, he thought...or perhaps he simply didn’t know he was amusing. Either way, he was good to listen to and the young Shienaran was content to let the words wash over him. Many things to think about, some questions to answer...he had missed easy conversation like this in the last few years.

“I knew of the Grey Tower,” he admitted. “I read about it a lot, actually, but I had no reason to suspect I could channel and no desire to be Gaidin, so I thought the best I could hope for was a diplomatic visit or two.” His smile twisted a little then, sardonic self-deprecation leaking through momentarily before he smoothed his face back to affable friendliness.

“But a week ago this man came to visit out of the blue, an Asha’man from the Grey Tower. I think he could eat five horses for breakfast, seriously, Rodric is enormous and I was terrified of him.” Owen chortled. “He came by on some business or other, and while my father was out of the room he looked at me funny with that one eye of his and dared me to stare at a candle. I thought he was mocking me, because everyone di- I mean, I just thought he was. It was a silly request! So just to spite him and my father I said yes. And then he said I could channel and I was coming with him, just like that.” Owen huffed out a breathy laugh as he snapped his fingers.

“So that’s how I’m here. I don’t feel particularly wiser than I was before, but that may change as time passes, I suppose. I don’t mind the dishes so much. I spent my shift this morning imagining my mother’s horrified expression if she knew her only son was elbows deep in wash water. It was satisfying on so many levels I can't even express.”

He realized he had been twirling his hair around his fingers as he spoke and jerked his hand away. “Wow, I talk a lot,” he commented, without a trace of apology in his airy tone. "What of you? What’s your story?”
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Lugh » January 29th, 2018, 7:43 pm

Beron Beron was enjoying the conversation with his classmate. He noticed that Owen’s laughter lilted like music, his voice a pleasing timbre. Beron found himself wondering if Owen sang, there was a warmth and life to his voice that put Beron in mind of singers he had seen at the capital.

Beron noted the sardonic grin as it washed over Owen’s face. It seemed somehow so out of place there, and yet Beron wondered if someone who appeared so gentle had struggled under expectations.

Beron couldn’t believe it when Owen mentioned the visiting Ashaman and the resulting test. “They Test you with a candle? And you did it on a dare?” Beron asked incredulously, he couldn’t imagine doing so just to spit mockers. But as Owen mentioned his mother, Beron got the feeling that the Grey Tower might provided Owen some room to be truly himself.

He waved away the other man’s words as he mentioned talking too much, “Not at all, if the Tower hadn’t found you, I think a gleeman might have snagged you. And we learned early on to enjoy a friendly tale, the winters can be bitterly cold, and stories passed the time by the hearth well.”

“My story is easy enough to lay out,” said Beron as he relaxed against the back of his chair. “I grew up farming in Saldaea, if the nose didn’t already give it away. We were lucky enough in that the mountains surrounding our land kept the raids to a minimum, although many of my relatives served the watchtowers and such to help other areas. I was lucky enough to have an elder brother who took on the mantle of learning the farm, and younger cousins to keep watchful aunts busy.”

“I did well at training, and with my heart being called to spend every waking moment outdoors, I learned to climb and hunt and watch over our few animals. So long as no duty was shirked, my parents were content to let me roam,” said Beron with a pause as he considered the next phase of his story.

“I guess I joined the army with as much thought as you might have given the candle. I was growing chaffed with itchy feet, and a desire to see more than the fire falls and ice peppers of Home. Again, serving is an honor so none minded and I was content as a scout. One month though, I spent helping an Aes Sedai and her Warder track a renegade down. The strength and skill both showed was awe inspiring, and I realized that I could perhaps see the world and do more good than merely scouting. And that’s what landed me here, although I’ve seen more inkpots and stables than anything. One drawback to being Saldaean, is that everyone thinks you speak horse!” Beron finished with a laugh and a good natured grin directed at Owen.
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Sunny
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Sunny » February 2nd, 2018, 6:10 am

Owen perceptibly brightened at the mention of glee men. There had been few enough of those so far north and his father had been less than inclined to waste good coin on room and board when one did venture near, especially given he seemed to believe Owen's lessons satisfied their quota of musical need. It was such a striking difference in experience from what Beron was telling him...and both of them Borderlanders, too. Curious.

Questions piled up as Beron went on, but the boy found he didn’t even know where to begin to ask. Was Saldaea really so different from Shienar? Or was it the divide between farmer and lordling? Somewhere deep inside him lurked the thought that perhaps blame lay at his father’s feet, but even in the silence of his own mind he couldn’t put form to that idea.

Beron’s life seemed simple, wholesome. Filled with love for his family, for nature, and for the world itself. The soldier tugged at a loose thread on his cuff as he listened to the tale, filing each detail away like a raven hoarding coins. “It sounds as though your Aes Sedai was somewhat less intimidating than my Asha’man,” he said at last, his tone first droll, then shifting to a more serious note as he continued. “She must be a good woman to attract your interest...and your loyalty, unless I miss my guess? I’m glad she helped you find your way here, Beron. The world needs more people like you.”

Before he could expand on what he meant, the Aes Sedai at the front of the room cleared her throat. “Later?” He hissed as he straightened in his seat. Beron gave him a nod, and Owen smiled, already reaching for his charcoal.

---

The rest of the class was exactly as boring as Owen had suspected. At first he tried to pay attention and take good notes, but there was nothing specifically new in Areana’s lecture and his mind wandered away despite his best efforts. Thus he found himself sketching instead. He didn’t put a lot of thought into it, just quick studies of the students about him. He captured the drape of that woman’s skirt, the wrinkles in that man’s fingers...so on, and so forth, covering page after page with small sketches.

When at last the bell tolled high above and the Aes Sedai waved them away, he flipped his sketchbook shut with a sigh and followed Beron out of the room. The other students seemed of the same mind: it was time for food. Owen allowed himself to be pulled along with the small sea of bodies, exchanging meaningless quips and the occasional facetious jibe with anyone who showed interest as they went. Eventually they traversed a staircase and the rest of the class spread out a bit, leaving him alone with Beron once more.

“So you came to study with the Gaidin,” he commented. “Do you intend to be a Warder then, like the one you worked with? Or will you earn the fancloak and do what you can to save the world on your own?”
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Lugh » February 3rd, 2018, 12:26 am

Beron
Beron finished his story, unaware of the thoughts making their way across Owen’s mind. He would have been regretful to know any of his tale had caused doubt, but his joy and surety was present in his tale. Luckily he had grown up among those who saw his strengths, and nurtured them, even when they caused his mother to worry. Of course she had always assumed a strong willed Saldaean woman would help rein him in eventually.

“It sounds as though your Aes Sedai was somewhat less intimidating than my Asha’man,” Owen said at last, his tone first droll, then shifting to a more serious note as he continued. “She must be a good woman to attract your interest...and your loyalty, unless I miss my guess? I’m glad she helped you find your way here, Beron. The world needs more people like you.”

Beron coughed in embarrassment from the compliment, and the questions about the Aes Sedai. However before he could form an answer, their teacher coughed to demand quiet. Beron nodded quickly to Owen as he mouthed “Later.”

—-

The rest of the class soon became a buzzing fog in the back of his mind as Beron considered everything. He had arrived not long ago, cocksure and proud of his ability; and since then he had learned just how much lay between him and the fancloth. He also realized that while he respected her immensely, the Red Sister he had escorted had merely set him on a path. Maybe it was the difference in ages or duties, but he truly held no designs on serving her in particular.

Lost in thought, he was surprised but grateful to hear the last bell toll. It meant he could finally grab a bite to eat, and with that in mind Beron followed the flow of bodies as the learning ranks eagerly filled out of the class rooms. As the press lessened, Owen and Beron were able to actually walk side by side, and Owen asked “So you came to study with the Gaidin?”

“Do you intend to be a Warder then, like the one you worked with? Or will you earn the fancloak and do what you can to save the world on your own?” Owen asked as they made their way to the Kitchen.

“I hope to be a Warder yes. But I have found out since arriving that not ever Aes Sedai or Ashaman bonds with a Gaidin. To be honest I had half thought that Warders were assigned, so that came as a shock,” laughed Beron as a pair of Novices looked backwards. He waved at the young women to ensure them that they were not the object of his laughter.

“I know channellers are strong, but in my time with the pair, I saw many things the Aes Sedai could do for everyone but herself. And when the storm breaks and the skies darken once more, I believe each channeller will be worth a hundred soldiers. And with luck I will find the right partner to bolster and aide in that fight,” Beron said simply, his voice calm and even. Let the southerners fret and plot, all in Saldaea knew one day they would be called upon.
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Sunny
"Knife of Dreams"
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Joined: July 18th, 2014, 3:23 am
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Sunny » February 17th, 2018, 6:38 am

Assigned Warders? Owen’s head tilted slightly to the side at that idea. He knew from his reading that Gaidin traditionally served one channeler from the moment they agreed to bond (whatever that involved) until they died in the line of duty. Being assigned to such service seemed a thankless lot for all parties involved...in fact the whole thing seemed terribly morbid. If one were to give one’s sovereignty to another forever, surely common sense dictated that one should get to choose the owner oneself?

At least the Grey Tower appeared to agree with that assessment. Owen wasn’t entirely certain what he would have done had that not been the case. Not like I can leave now.

His companion’s next words reinforced the soldier’s growing opinion that Beron was everything Owen had failed to be in his father’s eyes. That did not make him think less of Beron by any means; his dedication to his path was more than admirable. That the path had to exist at all, however…Owen’s empty stomach churned uneasily. Fighting, always fighting, and never a glimmer of light in this mess. Surely there had to be a better way?

Beron was giving him an odd look. The young man stared at the Saldaean in blank confusion, then realized a breath too late that he had been speaking his thoughts aloud. What's more, he had no idea when the transition began; exactly how much had he shared with his new friend? Heat burst through Owen’s face immediately, embarrassment pooling in his cheeks like twin lakes of fire. “I don’t stand in judgment of your choice to become a Warder,” he stammered, fingers digging into his sketchbook for comfort. “I am Shienaran. I know the danger of the Shadow as well as you, and certainly better than most in this southern haven. I merely...mourn the necessity of violence, I suppose.”

He wasn’t entirely certain that he had explained himself clearly, but it would have to do. “And...you’re right, about channelers,” he added quietly. “Both about their worth in battle and their need for support. They’re not all-knowing...even in the stories, the Aes Sedai need their Warders to survive. You’ll find someone, I’m sure of it.”

Abruptly Owen stopped short, lips slightly parted and his face painted with shock. When Beron looked at him, he just said “Creator help me, I’m one of them,” as if somehow, despite his black uniform, the thought had truly never occurred to him before.
OOC: I'm sorry, sorta. He is 100% bona fide teenager. *rofl*
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Re: Enter the artist... (attn: any learning rank)

Post by Lugh » February 22nd, 2018, 5:09 am

Beron “Fighting, always fighting, and never a glimmer of light in this mess. Surely there had to be a better way?” Beron was surprised to hear the young Soldier utter, a look of surprise washing over his face.

Beron schooled the look of shock off his face as Owen began, eventually realizing the other had spoken a thought meant to be private. As Owen continued to twist his notebook in his hand, Beron felt his shock and irritation cool, replaced by dawning understanding.

“Quiet your worries Owen. It’s not the first time that’s ever been said I’m sure of it. One time we met a Tinker family on patrol,one of their wagons had gotten caught in a rockslide and the men were unable to free it. With a lot of curses and sweat we were able to help them, so they fed us in thanks. I won’t pretend their way of the leaf made much sense to me, but I can think of ideas I like a lot less,” Beron said as he gently touched Owen’s hands so he would stop twisting the work he held.

“I’m certain I will if the wheel turns that way, but I’m learning a lot here at the Grey Tower. There’s a lot all of us can do beyond the conflict, so I’m going to take the chance to explore the Infirmary later,” said Beron as a sudden inspiration striking him.

Abruptly Owen stopped short, lips slightly parted and his face painted with shock. When Beron looked at him, he just said “Creator help me, I’m one of them,” his face unreadable to Beron.

Used to other soldiers and a family of stoic farmers, Beron was unsure of what to say or do. Frozen for a moment, he looked in vain for help from those around before gently leading Owen over to shade and a place to sit. “I know you said you’d found out on a whim, and have only just settled in here. But even just looking around here you can see a wonder only possible with the strength you can learn. Building, healing, maybe even Art,” Beron offered, his voice warm as he sat by Owen and allowed him space to sort his racing thoughts out.

OOC: It’s great! Was so well written and let’s Beron try his rusty bedside manner.
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