Shadow and Self-Reflection [Attn: Jenn]

[Andy]

The pages of a book flickered this way and that upon the bench next to him, discarded and forgotten as he took a break from its script. He could only read for so long before his eyes felt like they were melting from their sockets. It was a stuffy tome at any rate, filled with descriptions that both contradicted each other and felt like they were stretching limits to the extreme. Shadowspawn, that was what the book was about and as a Borderlander he knew a thing or two. Far from an expert he still knew that facts were facts, the book stretched them too often for his taste. Such a good idea too, wasted. Actually being a student for once and I pick the worst book of the lot. There’s no justice! he pouted to himself and sucked in air through his teeth in frustration. It had been a logical progression of thought - he would b a Warder. Warder’s fight the Shadow. Shadowspawn will be the greatest threat, or largest, in the coming battles. You should learn about Shadowspawn so you’ll know how to win. You picked an idiot to tell you about Shadowspawn. You’re an idiot. The bells in his hair jingled as he shifted position and tried to find the usual peace he could attain in the Gardens. It was proving elusive for some reason. Even if he closed his eyes peace slipped through his fingers. His foot twitched every so often as the birds sang above him, teasing him. “Show offs” he told them. He scratched his beard, a creation of lack of time and annoying enough that he was considering getting rid of it. He hadn’t made his mind up yet as it felt like it was distinguished. Then again his judgement was poor generally. He had considered asking for opinions but he wasn’t quite so vain yet. Training uniform was spotless for once though rumpled from the day’s activities. He had been there for some time now, he was not exactly sire for how long but it felt like a number of months. He had stopped counting when he became aware of how depressing it was to dwell upon the days and the trepidation of the next day. It had helped him deal with things better and as a result he was slightly more disciplined now. Yet every so often something happened - he overlooked a task, he was late for a lesson, he injured a sparring partner without meaning to or he went to the tavern and did something stupid. It was like a time dial, regular and never something major but little things. They added up and he was trying to analyse what caused them. It was obviously him, like self-sabotage. It was getting tiresome and he hated the reputation. He loved the fun. He cast his memory back to his days in Arafel, seeking clues. “Maybe the Pattern just likes a good joke,” he muttered to himself, “maybe the Light needs us to suffer setbacks to make sure we are worthy of salvation, if that is our fate” His vision blurred as thought took control and the outward world faded into the background.

[Jenn]

Zarius Iiro

If anyone had told him during his time as a Soldier, that he would one day come to love the Gardens almost as much as he might a lover, Zeen would have laughed outright in their faces. What use did he have for shaped shrubbery and trimmed grass? He had been able to appreciate the time and effort it took to cultivate them, but beyond that... he had seen very little use for fanciful arrangements of flowers and trees. How little he knew. By some strange weaving of the Pattern, here he was now, relishing the fact that he was surrounded by green and fragrant brightness. He was certain that the Creator was laughing at him.

The Amadician sat on the ground, shoulders pressed back against the rounded edge of a carved stone bench. His head had fallen back, silver-grey eyes staring up at the sky. Whatever he had been working on lay forgotten in his lap; a closed book, swollen along the spine from where he had shut it around his pen to mark his place. His gaze wandered, Zeen idly watching the clouds as they slowly passed overhead, his breathing soft and even.

He found that he strongly preferred the wild untamed places along the very edges of civilization... to actual civilization. But why? He could not articulate why. The tall man shifted slightly. Why did it matter so much? One did not ask another why they liked berries that were blue over berries that were red, or why they preferred one colour over another. His lips quirked upwards. Worrying at it was pointless. Opportunities for him to go out and find the places he longed for were rare; rarer still that he be able to do so alone. And so he retreated to the Gardens instead, when the Power wrought glass that surrounded him began to lean in and press down on him.

“Show offs.”

His brows lifted. He did not know who that had been meant for, but the speaker was close. The M’Hael stifled a sigh. Trust that his limited access to peace would be infringed upon by wandering wayward nublets. He ran his fingers through his hair, a faint smile coming to his face. There truly is no rest for the wicked - Zeen paused as his thought cut off part way, his head tilting ever-so-slightly to the side as he tried to place the brief musical chime that reached his ears. That was unexpected.

“Maybe the Pattern just likes a good joke,” that same someone mumbled. The Amadician could barely make out all the words. “Maybe the Light needs us to suffer setbacks to make sure we are worthy of salvation, if that is our fate.”

Curious now, Zeen pushed himself to his feet, carefully tucking the small notebook into his belt. He approached the flawlessly manicured hedge that separated him from the unknown speaker, his height granting him an obvious advantage as he simply stepped up and propped his elbows up on the very top of the living divider. He looked across the space to the figured seated on a nearby bench.

“We are all worthy of salvation. No one is so steeped in the Shadow that they cannot come back. Just as no one is so fortified by the Light that they cannot fall and become that which they despise. We are all shades of grey, with only the Dark One and the Creator as the absolutes on either end of the spectrum.”

Zeen smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I apologize for intruding. I could not help but overhear. ” Drin uniform. And there were bells in the man’s hair. Arafellin, then. That accounted for the musical chiming. How curious. Callie was from Arafel and yet she had not a single bell in her possession. Was this a custom that was optional? He imagined so. The Asha’man found it difficult to picture either of his Warders allowing him to go into battle with bells twined in his hair... but, he supposed it was no different than the forked Kandori beards or the ridiculous velvet beauty marks that Domani men sometimes donned. Zeen shrugged inwardly. To each their own.

The M’Hael leaned forward, grey eyes earnest. “Perhaps it is the Dark One that sends the setbacks, and it is the Light that grants us the belief in ourselves to overcome such setbacks. For if you believe in the Light, and the Pattern, then you must also believe in the Dark One for he is the enemy to the Light and the Pattern... to the Wheel Itself.”

[Andy]

Deep in thought he hadn’t noticed any movement in his surroundings, any sound of someone taking notice of him. He was too busy trying to dissect himself, to ascertain what it was that he feared so much. He was sure that it must be fear, it was all he could think would be an influence. He was smart enough to learn, quick enough to get it done at a decent rate and fit enough to get through the level of training that Drin were subjected to. He didn’t hate the Grey Tower and the tutors were not abusive even if they were at times dismissive. His mind kept slipping back to his talk with Ravak. I told him that I was afraid, afraid of getting to the end and not liking it. Is that why I always end up in trouble? Is it a way of keeping myself here but not pushing forwards? Or is it something else? he asked himself as his eyes glazed and fixed on the middle distance. The words drifted to him, heard over a great distance and it took him time to properly hear them. They disrupted the bubble of his thoughts, popping it neatly and causing him to blink a few times, startled. He didn’t turn to look at them at first, he was turning their words around in his mind, tilting his head in consideration of them. Better to do it whilst still in the right mindset and introduce himself than the other way around, this was important. “Are we? I don’t know, maybe the average person. I’d reckon the Forsaken are probably too far gone, if they still exist. And others are so bloody touched by the Light that they don’t see they’re just as bad” he snorted, he had heard of the Seanchan, rumours abounded. As for the Whitecloaks, everyone knew they were a little mad though he had not had chance to meet any in person. “As to the setbacks…not sure I’m comfortable with the idea the Dark One takes an interest in my life, I’d rather he left me alone. I suppose it’s possible,” he conceded, scratching his cheek, “it also means that people who lack self-belief could be said to have abandoned the Light. Or not listening. Not sure that’s right. It would also mean that we dictate our own fate…but then why have a Pattern at all? And who might you be to tell me wh-” His gaze shifted to take in the man now leaning upon the hedge opposite, very tall and broad of stature, short brown hair and a crinkle-eyed expression,. It took him a few moments to realise who he was looking at and immediately shot up out of his seat, book sent tumbling to the ground as he bowed his head as he had been taught. The M’Hael! Light this is all a joke! were all his frantic thoughts assembled as he hoped that he was doing things the right way. “M’Hael Iiro, I’m so sorry I did not know that it was you! It was rude of me…uh…sorry again. If I am bothering you I’ll…I’ll leave. I'm sorry” and with that he shut his jaw and wished that the ground might swallow him. He did some pretty foolish things but talking to the M'Hael like he was a fellow Drin...and he was about to insult him too! At that moment he wondered if he were merely doomed to infinite penance for his past sins. It seem too true to be dismissed.

[Jenn]

Zeen

The Drin’s reaction was both instant and spectacular, grey eyes appraising the Borderlander for several moments. That was unexpected to say the least; Zeen had not elicited a response like that in... well, years. Before he had come to the Tower, in fact. The Amacidian tilted his head ever-so-slightly to the side, his expression more curious than anything else.

“At ease, Drin. You are welcome to go or stay as you choose. I am certainly not going to tell you which flowers and shrubberies you are allowed to enjoy and which you are not. I do not own them. And why are you apologizing?” Zeen arched a brow, elbows still propped up on the hedge, his weight partially leaned forward onto it. “I believe we were having the beginnings of a most interesting conversation, were we not?”

He did not wait for an answer, teeth flashing into view as he smiled a little. “I am not saying that it would be an easy thing, should one of the Forsaken truly seek redemption. I would be hard pressed to believe it myself, especially with the atrocities they have committed... and I am certain that they have done even more terrible things that have been lost to the weaving of the Wheel that no one alive, save them, remembers.”

The former Green rubbed at the scar across his forehead absently, his gaze thoughtful as he regarded the Arafellin. “What I am saying, however unlikely that it might be, is that the chance for redemption exists. Even for the Forsaken. Just as the chance to fall to the Shadow exists, for those of us that strive to do good.”

Zeen pushed himself upwards, straightening to his full height. “I prefer to believe that it is my choices that help shape my thread in the Pattern, or else why bother living at all? Why struggle at all? Why endure suffering? Why learn, or seek to better yourself, or form friendships, have relationships, love, hate, fight? Why do any of that if you believe that some giant bespoked Wheel is the sole arbiter of your fate? It would be far easier to curl up in a corner somewhere and chant fatalistically while rocking back and forth that ‘the Wheel weaves as It wills’ and be done with it.”

He grinned then, bowing his head slightly. “And now that I have utterly ruined the mood, might I have the honour of your name? If you wish to continue this conversation, I would be delighted to, but I would ask that you give me a moment or two to join you. Speaking over this hedge seems rather rude, given the depth of our topic, would you not agree?”

[Andy]

He was sure that this was not how things were supposed to go. The M’Hael was one of the three major, some might say the major, leaders of the Grey Tower. Yet he was leaning upon a hedge and instead of taking the respectful greeting as required seemed somewhat dismissive of the entire thing, as if it were a charade. Alrim felt slightly unbalanced, he had been carefully instructed about how to treat higher ranks and that instruction crumpled up quite neatly within a matter of moments. He grasped for something more stable - the conversation. Is it a test perhaps? I mean, running into the M’Hael, appearing from behind a hedge no less, seems a bit of a…stretch? he wondered, gaze flicking to the surroundings briefly to see if Ravak or on of the others were about to jump out at him should he put a foot wrong. “Well, because I was rude, didn’t even look at you. Thank you for the conversation, I am Alrim Farshera M‘Hael I am…relatively new here, please come and sit” he stated, a dull response but buying enough time to get his mental house in order, shifting things around and cutting off certain expectations that didn’t seem to fit, gesturing to the empty space on the bench next to himself and not saying another word until the man had made his way around to him. He had listened to the words and he found them difficult things to grasp at and accept completely, he instinctively rebelled against the idea of anything from the Shadow ever getting anything other than a sword and suffering. He was, perhaps being obtuse but a hatred for thinks of the Dark One’s ilk were ingrained into his very bones. He scratched his chin and frowned, wondering it were dangerous to get into a conversation with someone clearly far beyond his own learning and disagree. “I was never a scholar, complicated as a blo- well it makes your head hurt. I still say you stick a sword through the first Trolloc, Fade, Forsaken or whatever else you see. Don’t care if it makes me bad I’d rather them die than me and I don‘t think they‘d give me much choice about it” said instinctively. “With respect, M’Hael, I can see where you’re going with the redemption being possible but I think there has to be limits. I mean, Grey Men are soulless for one so I don’t see them being redeemable but they were still men once, some say. Stories say at least. If the Forsaken are redeemable then it’s only because they haven’t got the guts to give up their soul for what thy stand for, which makes them cowards to me and even more irredeemable” he tilted his head, “but we could circle that until I’m an old man and you probably know more than me. I just get trained to hit things…mostly” he conceded He thought about the comments about fate and the grinding of the wheel, of how his choices were his own and how it brought comfort to see manifest destiny as within his reach. It was attractive, he had to admit, but it was something he found difficult to see as real. He didn’t feel in control of his own fate, then again he had to admit he had not really tried to be so perhaps he was a poor judge in that regard. “I don’t know, it just feels like perhaps we were all fated to be here, no choice other than to be the shield that gets between the Shadow and everyone else. Just stands to reason to me. The Creator needs people to stop the Dark One winning. So he nudges those chosen to stand the line into that path out of necessity. Maybe they have something that is needed for the fight to win or something. Or…maybe someone’s just got to do the job of mucking out the stables of the world. No one wants to do it but you’re getting paid to and if it‘s not done you‘re all covered in it” he finished. “Either way it seems like, choice or not, the Wheel grind people under itself to keep itself on track. I can’t see how people chose to be killed in the Trolloc Wars, for example. Thy just were. Maybe they had the choice to fight or give up but seems a poor choice to me. But I agree with the making yourself better, I’d have run away from here if I hadn’t made that choice. So…I suppose some choices are ours and some aren’t then?” he tried for a middle ground, it was shaky but possible.

[Jenn]

Zeen

The Amadician pursed his lips thoughtfully. Zeen was meditative when he spoke next, his voice echoing his expression. “I would not say that I know more than you... perhaps ‘I have seen and experienced more than you currently have’, is a more accurate statement.”

He smiled a little, reclining back on the bench as best he could, long legs stretching out in front of him. “And for whatever it is worth, I am not disagreeing with you. I was raised from the Green Ajah. I am sworn to defend the Light and its people. I am sworn to fight the Shadow. In those instances, I much prefer to set Trollocs and Fades and Draghkar and whatever else that comes at me on fire first and ask questions... well, never. But the lines are only that clearly defined in the Blight.”

The male channeler glanced over at the Drin. “Everywhere else, even in Hama Valon... it is all shades of grey. Light willing, should you choose to accept the offer, you will be bonded to an Aes Sedai or Asha’man when your training is complete. Despite what we prefer to think, we are not infallible; we make mistakes. And the cost of those mistakes is oft times high. A Warder is more than someone that just goes around hitting things. A protector yes, but also close friend and trusted confidante. Your bondmate will need your help finding where the lines are drawn and redrawn, especially when encountering those shades of grey. And if they happen to misstep, they will need your help finding the right path to walk again.”

Zeen’s teeth flashed into view as he smiled, the corners of silver-grey eyes crinkling. “I find that these unpleasant thoughts and questions on morality and of redemption, whether or not anything remains of that particular individual to redeem, helps me stay honest. Admitting that I am not perfect keeps it so that my head can still fit through doors. It reminds me that I am not always in the right, and that I must be vigilant to keep from becoming the very thing I am sworn to fight against.”

He shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the small leatherbound journal tucked into his belt jabbing at his ribs. “Also, M’Hael is my title and one that is unnecessary between us at the moment. Do not call me ‘Father’ either,” came the abrupt warning, accompanied by an equally hard stare. “My name is Zeen. If that is too informal for your tastes, Asha’man works just as well.”

Long, thick fingers traced idle patterns in the air as he gestured absently. “You are correct in that I doubt that anyone chose to be killed or slaughtered during the Trolloc Wars. I think, at times, that the Creator must be a cruel bastard that delights in our struggles and trials, and that the Wheel and the Pattern exist for His amusement. Sometimes there is no easy or pleasant choice. Sometimes, it is to die so that others may live... to fight, so that others do not have to... to bleed so that others might know peace and safety.” His voice dropped then, grey eyes going flat. “Sometimes the only choice we are afforded is how we meet our death, whether it be on our feet or on our knees. And yet, it is still a choice. A horrible, unfair one, but a choice nonetheless.”

The Asha’man’s expression shifted and warmth returned to his gaze. “I do rather like the idea of life being a combination of the two possibilities though, some being ours, and some not. I still have some control over my life and the direction in which it goes, yet it is not entirely left up to random happenstance.”

Zeen turned to face Alrim fully, his head tilting to the side ever-so-slightly yet again. “I do believe that the Creator needs men and women to fight to keep the Dark One from winning. By virtue of you being here, I would like to believe that you are one such man. You said you chose to stay. Knowing the difficulty of the training, knowing that you will be placing yourself between channelers and danger... you chose to stay. Do you truly think your life’s purpose is to muck out the stables of the world?”

[Andy]

"Zeen," he said the name, trying to keep the surprise from his voice and resisting to follow it with a query about the reality of that name. It was odd but, he supposed, he was not so far travelled to judge such things, "okay...Zeen it is" As much as it seemed strange to b so familiar with the M'Hael he was damn sure not going to disrespect his wishes and he had caught the flash of his gaze at the mention of titles. He wondered why a man who seemed to dislike the rank was, in point of fact, at the rank. The Grey Tower was a strange place indeed if it had unwilling leaders. Though, he reflected, it also did not mean that it was weak. Or that the leadership was weak. Just so abnormal as to seem so to a fool. Or maybe it's an act, either way he gets what he wants he reminded himself sternly. "One day those lines might be much farther south than the Blight, though I have a tough time thinking it will be easy to break through my homeland. Still, it is possible but largely irrelevant. I take your point about things being Grey. Grey things in a Grey Tower, fitting" he sighed. "Not sure with my current knowledge that anyone Bonding me wouldn't be scraping the bottom of the barrel" he chuckled, it was not strictly true but he had difficulty seeing himself as a competent Warder, "perhaps in time. I guess I can talk back if needed, not sure about guiding. Never been one for lading others. Not really had the chance though so might be decent at it...maybe. Long shot" he continued, mostly stalling as he considered the rest of what had been said. It was a thorny thing to consider, the idea that he was not entirely in control of his life but also in control of it. How could he ever hope to know when it was which side of the coin? Would he have to take responsibility for everything until proven otherwise? It all seemed so unfair, so lacking in moral fairness that he almost thought it better to just give up. But then he would be a coward, a quitter. He was neither, for all of his faults. He already knew he would die fighting one day, tavern or Trolloc it made little difference besides the circumstance. "I think I've been mucking out stables all of my life, one ay or another, and the only thing that's changed is the shit and the scenery," he mused, "I will die fighting. One day. It is not in me to quit. Laziness, as I tried to point out to the old man, is not the same as cowardice. Didn't listen then, probably won't now. I chose to say but had little choice to make" "Ravak said it was still a choice so maybe you're right, a bit at least," he shrugged, "if that's my job then what's your job Zeen? Making sure it's the right stables? Is it different when you get up high? I must be" he nodded, he would likely never see such heights but it was nice to think there was somewhere that offered more control over one's self. "Either way I still think it's all a joke, it's how I get through the days training. It becomes a game, one where if I am clever enough I can get the sticks out of their arses and maybe not get smacked about for an hour or so"

[Jenn]

Zeen

The M’Hael snorted loudly, dark amusement flitting across Zeen’s face for several dangerous moments as teeth flashed into view.

“Shit is shit, Alrim Farshera, whether it is from the latrines or from the pampered backside of a soft nobleman. The only difference is that if I happen to make a mistake from my lofty perch ‘up high’ as you put it,” the Amadician did not bother to moderate his tone, “I am not the only one covered in it.” He paused, grimacing faintly. Light but there was an image that he did not wish to ever have again. “My people, my Tower, my city do not deserve that.”

The former Green glanced over to the Drin, warmth returning to the icy depths of silver-grey eyes. “Laziness can be remedied, sometimes even excused. A man does need time for himself, every now and again. Cowardice, however...” His brow arched. “The Grey Tower is a poor fit for those that lack a spine. From what I have seen of you so far, however, I do not think you will have that issue.”

He shook his head, stretching out as he leaned back on the bench again. Bottom of the barrell, indeed! Light, but that reminded him of the doveling. Zeen’s eyebrow ticked. Were all the learning ranks so down on themselves?

“Sometimes, the situation will require that you to lead your Aes Sedai or Asha’man, whether you wish to or not,” was what he said instead, hands folding over his stomach. “I am certain you will get your chance to see if you are indeed adept at leading.” The corner of silver-grey eyes crinkled as the Amadician smiled. “Perhaps you will surprise yourself.”

He shifted and the sigh that came was one of genuine frustration. “I cannot give you news about your homeland as I have not yet had the pleasure of visiting Arafel, but I was present at Tarwin’s Gap for the spring thaw.” Zeen’s words were quiet. “From what I was told, the Blight has not advanced any farther, but there has been precious little of it retreating.”

Restless, he moved his legs, eyebrows going up as his foot bumped against something unexpected. He sat upright again, leaning forward to see what it was that he had inadvertently kicked. A book...? The Browns were going to have his head. The broad shouldered man reached down and picked it quickly up off the ground, brushing the stray granules of dirt off of the cover. He flipped it open, his eyes immediately crossing at the cramped, tiny script. Thumbing through the pages, he was able to glean enough of its purpose before he shut it with a snap.

“Yours?” He offered the tome out to Alrim Farshera, expression inquisitive. “Not many learning ranks study up on Shadowspawn. Half of my nublets are still convinced that Trollocs and Fades exist merely in the stories their mothers and nannies tell, made up things of fancy to frighten them.”

[Andy]

"I can see that it would be...difficult," he nodded in response to the darker tones, it crossed his mind that he was having difficulty balancing the informality with the rank of the man next to him, he was not very good at diplomacy, "but everything seems good here. Peaceful even. You're clearly good at doing it. And I take your point" he stated simply, trying to move on and balance himself again. Careful, he seems nice but you don't want to annoy him. I don't think he'd purposefully make things difficult but still...there is a line he told himself as his eyes scanned their surroundings. The rest of what was said washed over him, absorbed and filed away for later consideration. He was having a particularly bad day, as evidenced by th fact that his muttering had attracted Zeen in the first place. He knew he wasn't all that bad but it was difficult to see it that way right then, he would assess their conversation again in a few days and would likely se things differently. Frustration, that was in enemy more than anything these days. He tried harder than he had at anything and yet it still didn't seem enough. Maybe having standards is difficult when you haven't had them...well, ever. Maybe I'm setting them too high he mused, though he would argue that according to his instructors they could never be too high. "Might do, might do. We'll see if I do, and thank you for telling me of the Blight holding firm. We don't need any more problems. Maybe, one day, I'll show you around. There is a beauty there, despite all things" he flashed a grin then, a genuine one and filled with warmth. His mind conjured up the images of his homeland, the taverns and farms, cities and plains. He was bias but there was nowhere finer. The harshness of the lands merely served to emphasise its virtues. When life hung by a potential thread you learnt to enjoy yourself and appreciate, sometimes too much. So distracted was he by his memories that he didn't not hear the other man at first. When he was brought back he blinked at the book and his lips curled into a wry smile. "Ah...yes. That was why you heard me the first time. I was trying to be a good student, picked the wrong thing. I do not think it knows what it is talking about," he shook his head, "but no, I know they exist. Trolloc, Myrdraal, the rest. Not all, I think, never all. They still scare me too, probably more from the knowing" "I figured that it was best to learn how to fight them, learn about them properly. If I am to be a Gaidin I'd think I would need to. As it is it seems that the book thinks the same things as most" he chuckled and took it from Zeen, pacing it in his lap to be safely returned. "I take it that you have studied them, then? Seen them? Which books would you recommend, because I seem to have bad luck choosing. Wait...nublets?!" he asked, his tone one of a person who had heard the word but it had taken a while to register.

[Jenn]

Zeen

The grin that came to his face was unfeigned, Zeen’s look one of genuine amusement as he lifted his brows almost playfully at the Drin. “Indeed. I do not like the term ‘learning rank’. It sounds... stilted. It does not flow off the tongue as smoothly as I would prefer. And as fun as it is to have to differentiate between Novice, Accepted, Soldier, Dedicated, Drin, or Ji’Val every third or fourth sentence I utter it seems, I rather like my word.”

The Amadician leaned back again, hands going to fold and rest over his stomach. “It is all encompassing,” he laughed. “Think of a ‘nublet’ as a combination of nubbly and little. I know that they are not children, but many of them arrive here with no prior knowledge of channeling or martial combat. Under the Light, I am sworn to protect and defend them, as I am sworn to protect and defend my Tower and my city.” A pause, silver-grey eyes cutting askance to Alrim Farshera. “That includes you. All from my lofty perch up high.” The words lacked any heat, meant to prod and nothing more.

“You are obviously no child,” the Asha’man continued with another smile, “and less nubbly than most. But until the Mistress of Arms says otherwise, you are still one of my nublets. You have come here to learn and I will do my best to keep things safe and running smoothly so that you, and those with you, can do exactly that.”

The former Green’s expression shifted, his large frame following suit over the stone bench. “As to your original question... yes,” he answered simply. “I have seen them.” There was no need to clarify what he meant. “I have fought them. I... did not study them,” came the slightly sheepish admission. “I read no books on them. I still have not, truthfully. I knew something of them after I attained my cord. I chose the Green Ajah, after all. But I did not have much in depth knowledge.”

Broad shoulders shrugged. “I have learned about each different type of Shadowspawn as I have encountered them. Foolish perhaps, but there are perks to being a channeler and having a Blight veteran as a Warder. She has earned the title of Dreadbane.” The fierce glint that came to his eyes matched the pride in his voice.

“If you wish it, I would be happy to share what I know. I could even show you. I am not very skilled with Illusion, merely passable, so do not expect stunning realism. I offer, however, because... well, if you wish to learn, then perhaps it will give you an idea of what they are truly like in size and scope. Nothing I say or do, however, will be able to prepare you for the smell.” Zeen grimaced faintly. “Trollocs do not bathe. Ever.”