My Friend of Misery (Attn: Jenn)

[Craig]

Ravak

The Master of Training was not normally comfortable ordering novices and soldiers around - he wouldn’t like it much better if Mirin Sedai or Soti Asha’man started marching around his Drin - but this was a little different. Rav wryly thought the tall, brown-haired soldier would have made a good Drin, if not for that pesky issue with channelling saidin. How many years had he been at the Tower, and he still was uncomfortable with the idea of male channellers. At least the novice didn’t set him on edge. Well, not any more than usual.

Elia had inquired about spending more time near and around the Warder Yard, although why Rav didn’t know and didn’t think to ask. That his big sister had requested it was enough for him. It hadn’t actually required that much effort - a conversation with the Mistress of Novices over some tea - and he had got her assigned to the Weaponry Hall for some chores. Not precisely something he could call quality time, but it fulfilled her criteria, as far as he understood it. That he had to take on a soldier at the same time was bothersome, but a necessary evil. Hopefully this soldier wouldn’t be too bothersome.

“This is the Weaponry Hall,” Rav announced, voice like steel grinding over gravel; no point letting the soldier off lightly just because Elia was present. “As I’m sure you’re aware, weapons require regular maintenance to ward off corrosion and to keep them sharp. Even arms like these-”, he tapped a finger against a quarterstaff, “-need to be checked for damage. I don’t like the notion of one of the Grey Tower’s finest going out with a blunt blade. Nor will either of you, should you mess up.”

They had walked half the length of the hall, Rav instructing without looking back. As they reached one of the workbenches, he stopped and turned. Elia was doing a poor imitation of his stony visage, why he did not know. The soldier seemed somewhat confused... or possibly bemused. Rav could feel a silent growl building. If they had any inclination that they could shirk on their chores just because they weren’t Drin - or because they were related - then they had another thing coming.

“Sit.” Rav pointed at the two stools before the table. As soon as they were seated, he pulled two short swords off of a rack, then slammed one down in front of each initiate. He then drew his own sword, branded twice with the marks of the Tower, and took up one of the whetstones. “Watch and attend. First I shall show you how to sharpen a blade. Then I will instruct you on how to polish and oil each sword, so it looks like, well this.” Of course his own weapons were well maintained, but this common cache needed constant upkeep. “Once you’ve got the knack, I’ll move you onto staves.” But that wouldn’t come until next week.

Elia

Elia Darrow bristled. When she had gently suggested that she would love to spend a little more time in the Training Yards, she had envisioned Rav pulling her away from some tiresome chore. She knew that the chores were necessary, to build character and such, but there had to be some benefits to your little brother being the Master of Training. Elia would have returned the favour if the situation was reversed. It does have its benefits, she had to petulantly admit. She was able to disappear into his office from time to time, and get to relax in front of his fire. Ravak also had a good collection of books, although seldom on anything that a novice or Accepted would study. And there had been two occasions when Rav had pulled her away from something, although they were both educational. Ravak may have to explain the situation to an Aes Sedai if they came asking, but there was merit in learning about throwing daggers and ter’angreal, the latter especially.

So why under the Light are you making me polish your bloody weapons! Had Ravak colossally misunderstood what she wanted, or was he somehow punishing her for something? At least this chore wouldn’t be a total loss. Her motive to amble around the Training Yards had been to ogle - no, not ogle - to watch some of the Drin and Ji. As her brother had said, there would come a time when she would need a Warder, and it was best to start early in considering a bondmate. In her head, she giggled gleefully. Oh how little you know about things, dearest Ravak. The soldier by her side was built, well a little like Ravak, she had to admit. If Ravak was a hand or two taller, with a wicked scar along his forehead, and Amadician unless she missed her mark when he introduced himself. He would have to do in place of the entirety of the Training Yards.

But her attention was focused on the fancloak and its bearer. Ravak had really acquired a new voice, firm and harsh, appropriate for the Master of Training. Remembering the little boy she had taught to read ousted all of the sternness from her mind. It was just Ravak trying to be commanding and in charge. It was oddly endearing. Still, she jumped and partially stifled a yelp when he slammed the sword down in front of her, but then her brother was back to being assertive and instructive. She listened, she had to listen, but not with any fear of reprisal. She would do these chores well because she always did chores well. It was part of being a novice; it was part of becoming an Aes Sedai.

Finally the muscle-bound form of her brother departed. Even with that impassive look on his face, he seemed pleased with himself. Something about the way he walked back down the hall. Once he was out of earshot, she let out a relieved sigh. Peace, he needs to find a woman. And quick. That the woman may be Sinead didn’t help nor hinder matters.

She turned to her compatriot for whatever remained of the hour with half a smile; the instructional lecture had ebbed away at her good mood. She stretched out a hand. “Elia Darrow. It’s a pleasure to meet you... Zarius, was it?” The Shienaran exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. “I thought he was never going to stop talking.”

[Jenn]

Zeen

It came as surprise to him, but he was actually starting to miss the quiet and the stillness of the Infirmary. If he kept his back to the wall, then he could study who came and went, could mentally prepare himself when he was approached and had to answer odd pointed questions. Not out here. Everything was too open, and there were so many people, too many, and he could not account for them all. They crossed in front of him, behind, left and right, some staying out of arm's reach while others brushed so close that he could have lifted a finger and touched skin.

The scar on his forehead throbbed in response to the ache that gripped his head, and the tall Amadician had to force himself to breathe through his nose. Deep breaths. This was not the Fortress of Light. He was far away from Amador.

Zeen held himself perfectly erect, his body tense, the line of his shoulders straight and taunt. He followed behind the Master of Training, not fully understanding why he had been ordered to attend the stone-faced Gaidin. From what the tall Amadician had gathered, he was not a member of the Warder Yards and should not have had to report to... their training master. Zeen tried not to notice the way he towered over both the redheaded man and the redheaded woman dressed all in pristine white. A... Novice. He himself was wearing the black coat of a Soldier, albeit one that fit poorly to allow for extra give along his shoulders. His back was not completely healed yet, but apparently it would not do for him to run about the Grey Tower shirtless. The Grey Tower. He still could not fully wrap his mind around it. He could channel. He could channel.

He had no earthly idea what he was doing here in the Weaponry Hall, but as he passed over the threshold, grey eyes immediately went to look over the walls, and he felt some of the tension drain out of him. He didn't feel quite so exposed anymore and so long as they didn't force him back outside anytime soon, Zeen did not care so much why he was here. He listened to the Gaidin as best he could, finding it odd that the smell of metal and oil were the same here as they had been – he cut himself off from finishing that thought. Grey eyes flinched as the sword was slammed down in front of him, but he made no further move otherwise. He let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding as the Gaidin finally left.

The Novice immediately began to speak. “Elia Darrow. It’s a pleasure to meet you... Zarius, was it?” Green eyes rolled skyward. “I thought he was never going to stop talking.”

He was unsure as to how to react. She was pretty enough, but... He did not know how to finish that thought. He tried to keep his wariness in check, answering quietly. “He seems very,” Zeen gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders, the little motion causing the stiff fabric of the black coat to rub against his back, tender scar tissue twinging through the layer of bandages and salve. “Serious.”

For some reason, Elia laughed, those green eyes suddenly bright as they alighted on him again.

Zeen touched at the scar across his forehead absently, remembering too late to pull down his hand. Why was she looking at him so? Not knowing what else to do, he reached for one of the whetstones, his other hand grasping at the hilt of the dull, nicked sword in front of him. He had hoped never to have to do this sort of thing again. He grimaced as he began making the familiar motions of sharpening the blade, keeping a firm hold on the shut door in his mind that barely stopped the flood of memories the distinct sound threatened to bring back.

He could not release the quickly rising ride of his rage as he normally did; he had no wish to frighten the girl next to him. Instead, he made himself speak, his voice rough and hoarse. “How long have you been here, at the Grey Tower?”

[Craig]

Elia

Elia made a thoughtful sound above the noise of the whetstone. "Over a year now." She wasn't about to go into her time at the White Tower, but... "I've been channelling for two years, however. You can channel too?" Not really a question; he was wearing a soldier's black uniform after all. "I understand that the feel of saidin is not as enjoyable as saidar. Wrestling with the One Power or something, is it?" She watched Zarius with bright green eyes, waiting for a reaction. His body language spoke volumes about the sort of person he was. Taciturn and melancholic were the first two words into her head. If Ravak was too serious, then Zarius didn't seem too far behind him. She thought of giving him a hug - men often melted a little when hugged - but the way he sharpened the blade gave her pause. Trained in arms? He definitely had the body for it, with his broad shoulders. That also gave the scar an origin story. Probably fighting on the front lines of some battle.

The Shienaran knew little about Amadicia. It was far to the west and south compared with Shienar, almost in the Sea of Storms. It was the home of the Whitecloaks, or the Children of the Light as no-one but the Whitecloaks themselves called them. Who had time to worry about the wars of southern nations when Shadowspawn pressed in against you every day? If the Whitecloaks actually had headquartered somewhere on the Blightborder, then they may not have been the subject of such scorn and ridicule. And hate. Whitecloaks hated Aes Sedai, and that hatred had extended onto Asha'man too.

"Wait, you're..." Elia paused to gather her thoughts. "You're Amadician?" She ducked her voice, even though they were the only two in the long building. "How did you escape from Amadicia? There's still the law against channelling, is there not? I can't even fathom that. In Shienar, Aes Sedai are respected. And here, of course, you can't throw a ston- Well, you know how it is. We're both channellers of course." She giggled briefly at her own thoughtlessness. "Peace, it's sort of wonderful, don't you think?" She placed an elbow on the table, and held her hand out. "One day I'll be wearing a ring on this hand. I'm thinking my ring finger, appropriate, no?" Then she moved her hand to tug gently at his collar. "And one day you'll have a cord about your neck. Maybe grey to match those eyes?" She let his collar go, turning to face the sword Ravak had placed before her. Lifting the whetstone, she watched how Zarius was running the stone across the blade, and started to imitate him.

[Jenn]

Zeen

A grimace passed over his face again, Zeen finding that he was making that expression far too often. It was not a pleasant realization; he usually had better control over himself. He flexed the muscles along his torso, forcing his chest to pull down ever-so-slightly, the motion causing him to take in a deep, reflexive breath. He repeated it several more times, finding that this helped calm him. He did not know the why of it; it only mattered that it did.

Head feeling clearer now, grey eyes overlaid with a faint metallic sheen glanced over to the lovely girl. Elia certainly did ask a lot of questions, but he found himself with little else to keep his thoughts from spiraling downwards into places he had no wish to revisit. He watched the motions of the whetstone he scraped over the blade, trying to remember what all she had asked.

“I cannot honestly say that I remember what it is like to channel,” he answered quietly, trying to push away the hot boiling rush of shame and horror that accompanied the mere idea. “I remember what I was feeling, the way the world seemed to slow. The sensation of something happening but that is all. The Asha'man say I can touch this Power though, so apparently that is good enough.” The shrug that followed pulled at the bandages, but he ignored that, just as he ignored the way his stomach churned and the taste of bile that suddenly filled his mouth.

He coughed a little, his gaze steady on her despite the way he shook inside. “Yes, I am Amadician.” He offered a little smile, setting down the sword and the whetstone down onto the table, laying his palms flat out against the table. “You do not need to whisper it. It is not a secret.” A frown came to his face. “To answer your question, I do not remember how I escaped. The last memory I have of Amador is being beneath the shadow of the Fortress of Light. I was...” Zeen hesitated, unsure of how much more he should tell Elia. He chose to exercise caution and left it at that. “And then I woke up in the Grey Tower's Infirmary. I have been there for a little over a month now? This is the first time I have been permitted outside of it, though I do not understand why I am... here.” He glanced up, indicating the Weapons Hall.

“Channeling.” He was using that word frequently as well. “I... am not certain it is wonderful, like you say. But again, my experience differs from yours.” He flinched back a little as Elia's hand came near his face, his attention snapping to the pale fingers that hovered far too close for his liking. He forced himself into stillness, exhaling softly through his nose. She gave a little tug on his collar and he released a soundless breath as her touch retreated. He had no idea what the cord she spoke of meant; why would it be grey to match his eyes? “As you can imagine, finding out that I can channel is a very strange thing.”

Zeen met those pretty green eyes again, unsure of what to do or say next. “What is like in Shienar?” came the awkward question. He felt entirely out of his element, but thought of lapsing into silence would be even worse. “There are... stories, but like most of them told by the Children, I imagine they are lies and partial truths at best. Will you tell me more of your homeland?”

[Craig]

Elia

Elia tried to arrange her thoughts, but most of her concentration was going into working on this short sword. She always tried to accept her chores with the best of graces, but being under Ravak's oversight was making her sweat. Figuratively, at least. I don't have anything to prove, little brother. The thought was bitter, but she still watched what she was doing with care.

She worked the whetstone attentively as she answered. "I'm afraid you are here because of me." She didn't feel any contrition at that; her lummox of a brother was to blame if anyone was. "I somewhat asked for a favour from the Master of Training, and this was the end result. Not exactly what I had in mind, so I'm sorry you were dragged into it." She spared a brief moment to glance at a weapon's rack, and winced. "At least chores only last an hour, usually. We don't have to sharpen all of these weapons." Elia turned the blade over to work on the other side. "But you must be thankful to be outside of the Infirmary? It smells of bleach and disinfectant and... bleh. The Light preserve me if I ever become a Yellow; I don't think I could stand to deal with that all day." Despite her tone, the regular mechanical action of working with the whetstone was strangely soothing.

She decided to skip over any questions about channelling. Her reaction upon finding out she could channel - had channelled - was of elation, only tempered by the fact she was leaving home. And channelling was still a blissful experience; just holding onto saidar was like drinking honeyed wine. If Shienarans weren't exactly enthusiastic about the One Power, they were suitably respectful of Aes Sedai. That was in harsh contrast to Amadicia, where channelling was outlawed. It seemed barbaric to outlaw something that was natural - as well outlaw children, or grey hairs! - but wants didn't make something true.

"Shienar, hm?" She set the whetstone down, and pulled the cleaning kit towards her. "It's... well, it's cold and it's grey and, well my hometown is right by the Blightborder. Our men take their duties to guarding against the Blight with the utmost seriousness and devotion, as you may hope and expect. There are skirmishes between Shadowspawn and the army almost every day, but it is our lot to defend the rest of the world against the Blight. At least until Tarmon Gai'don." Focused on the task as she was, Elia's tone was entirely too conversational. "The streets of Fal Dara are lit before sunset, and are kept lit until a while after sunrise. With the Shadow so close, everyone is wary of Fades and other Shadowspawn creeping into the city. No-one is allowed to go about with their faces concealed for that reason. A completely different place than the Grey Tower." The weapon was oiled now, but the slickness across it did not look like Ravak's sword had. She retrieved a cleaning cloth and started to wipe it down. "I fully intend to return home, one day. I know there's that thing, where Aes Sedai and Asha'man feel bound to the Tower, like it is home, but I'm not going to just forget about my parents, even if Ravak is here." The blade was a little better now, albeit not quite right. "Some sisters live outside the Tower, and there would always be some good to be done near the Blight. Maybe I will return to Fal Dara, serve the Lord there as an advisor or..." She trailed off, and admired her work. Ravak, I make you proud. She closed up the cleaning kit. Sliding it back towards the end of the table, she finally looked up at Zarius after what seemed like an Age. Grey eyes stared into malachite green with a worrying expression.

Oh...

OOC: As if it wasn't clear, Elia was not watching Zeen through that entire post, and was forgetting herself at the end there.

[Jenn]

Zeen

I would rather be in the Infirmary than here. Try as he might, he only answered Elia in his mind.

Zeen attempted to follow along as she spoke but the words spun and twisted away too quickly. He picked up bits and pieces of what she said: Shadowspawn, streets perpetually lit, Fal Dara, uncovered faces. She showed no signs of stopping, nor did she give any indication that she needed to breathe. It was as fascinating as it was worrisome. Was she like this with everyone she encountered? Or simply with him? He let out a soundless sigh of relief as the jarring noise of the whetstone scraping against metal finally, blessedly stopped.

His gratefulness was short-lived.

Nostrils flared at the familiar scent of polishing oil, his hand inching forward until it wrapped around the nondescript hilt of the sword on the table in front of him. His fingers clenched, fisting over the worn leather; it did not fit his grip, the grooves not matching the calluses along his palm that time had not yet erased. It was not his. No, not his. His entire body tensed, the muscle between his cheek and jaw twitching in response to the strain. Never again. He had thrown it away. Thick brows lowered and the tall Amadician forced himself to relax. He had thrown it all away.

“I fully intend to return home, one day.”

Grey eyes remained fixated on the redhaired Novice in front of him, but her words no longer made any coherent sense. The ache in his head intensified and as it did so, the scar that slashed across his forehead resumed its pulsing throb. No, Father, no! Do not call the Inquisitors, she did not do anything, I swear it!

Home.

It only lasted a moment. He saw not walls of the Warder Yard's Weaponry Hall, but pillars of pallid veined marble. A whiff of incense. The pure white cloak lined with gold pulling down at his shoulders, choking around his neck. The golden sunburst burning a hole through his chest. The golden stars, sharp and gleaming, along his shoulders that denoted his rank. A moment was all it took, and reality washed away in a surreal haze of white and gold.

The crack of the whip. The sound of his skin splitting. Agony, like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life. His breath hollow and ragged in his chest. Fire. So much fire.

Zeen visibly flinched. Within the confines of his mind, he began to scream. He pushed the sword away from him with a violent heave, his feet planting solidly on the floor as the soles of his boots thudded down. He had to... get out. He had to save her. He could not...

Larissa!

He shoved himself back away from the table, metallic grey eyes wild and not entirely sane. The world palpably slowed and the sensation of something happening prickled along his forearms and his neck. Agony of a different kind seared into the very marrow of his bones, setting him ablaze and he seized it, wresting from it control and dominance.

He took a step back, and then another, and the ground beneath the long wooden planks... trembled and quaked in time with him. Zeen turned on his heel, finding that his way was blocked obstinately by a wall. He stared at it for long moments, his mind chittering angrily, before he simply flexed his will against it, shoving against it as hard as he could. Something... gave, a horrendous splintering sound groaning and echoing all around him. He saw the table topple over, saw the way the swords and weapons and armour along the walls rattle and drop from their neat stacks and piles... he even saw the way the pretty Novice - Elia - scrambled out of the way of the falling objects. None of it truly registered.

A feral smile curled at his lips. His attention returned to the wall in front of him. The tall Amadician prepared to push again.

[Craig]

Elia

Oh...

Those grey eyes seemed pained and frantic. Zarius pushed the short sword roughly across and off of the table's edge, the weapon hitting the ground with a clatter of steel that mutely reverberated down the long hall. He bounded out of his chair, his eyes going wild like a panicked gelding. There was a tightness in his features that spoke of fear and agony. Elia glanced around quickly, her braid whipping back and forth. There was no cause for this, no other person in the room. She moved to her feet with far more hesitance than Zarius had. Something was wrong. She just didn't know what was wrong.

Then the ground shook.

As Zarius moved backwards, away from Elia and the table, the wooden supports by his feet warping and snapping like twigs. The very floor lurched like a boat caught in rough currents, and it wasn't just around the two of them; Elia heard the sounds of weapon racks tumbling over from halfway down the room. She had to dance on the uneven timbers, careful to avoid any newly formed gaps in the flooring, as she looked for open ground. The Weaponry Hall was tightly packed with weapon racks and tables and chairs and-. There was no-one safe to stand.

The terrain immediately below her heaved, and she only realised she was prone after all of the air was knocked out of her. Panic streaked through any vestiges of composure she once had as she scrambled under the nearest table. She had never experienced anything like this, had no clue what was going on. Weapons were now toppling freely from stands, and she shrieked as a halberd's axehead sunk into the tabletop with a solid thud.

Zarius! She found him easily, still standing, but with his back against the wall. He was sure-footed in the midst of this roiling chaos. How...? It dawned on the novice that he was the cause. She couldn't see it, but saidin must be pulsing through him like a surging river. She sought out saidar, but the female half of the One Power was sealed away by her block. There was no chance of remaining calm as the entire world seemed to pitch and sway.

"Zarius!" she cried out over the noise of destruction. There was dust falling from the ceiling, tens of feet above them. Oh Light, don't do this! "Zarius, stop!" She called out a few more times, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. The tall soldier merely grinned, his lips curving into a feral grin. He turned away, his hands pressed against the hall's outer wall, as if he meant to push against it. Oh Light, oh Light!

Against what may have been better wisdom, Elia darted out from under the table. If he somehow took down the wall, the ceiling would fall in on them, and she didn't dare trust the sturdiness of the table over the relative safety of the outdoors. If she could get to the doorway before he destroyed the place...

Something bumped into her shoulder as she staggered along the uneven flooring, splinters piercing through her soft slippers. She didn't stop, instead moving a hand out blindly to push the offending object away. There was a sharp cutting pain across her fingers, and when she pulled her touch away, a huge line of red blood ran across her hand. She looked over her left shoulder, and saw that the bump had been an axe, which was still lodged in her back. Uncomprehending, she continued to twist round, looking for something and- Once more she was on the ground. The weight of the axe seemed to come loose, replaced by a flare of indescribable pain across her back. She howled until her lungs were empty, then drew in a ragged breath just to bellow out again. She was dimly aware of the red streaking through the white of her dress, of her bloody hand pressing against the sharp fractured edge of a wooden beam.

She howled, nothing but pain filling the world.

[Jenn]

Zeen

He was burning from the inside out. Zeen reveled in it even as he instinctively grappled with it. It was a battle against some living, writhing, yet unseen thing. It felt... as if the Light had been made real, real enough that he could touch it. Use it. Shape it. The pain that came with it did not surprise him. It was only fitting that the Light would be harsh, brutal, unyielding. Any mistake, the slightest slip, and it would simply eradicate him. He could not say how he knew, only that it was true. And it felt right.

He was coming undone. The very marrow of his bones blazed, the path of fire devouring and hollowing out his veins, searing along his braincase, licking at the roots of his hair. What was left behind was ash and ice, swollen hot skin, the whites of his eyes visible as he bore down against the wall that blocked his path. Out, out, he had to get out. He could still save her... Larissa... they could not have taken her far yet...

He did not notice the way the floor bucked and heaved all around him, nor did he see the way the support beams overhead buckled and snapped as if they were nothing but matchsticks and tinder. The foundation beneath him groaned and shifted. Time itself had slowed, his senses oddly sharp, every detail intense and magnified in a way that he experienced once before. The Fortress of Light. Fire had come then. That same fire was here now, but contained within his body. He was drowning in it.

He did not acknowledge the destruction happening around him; even as metal and wood and stone crashed down all around him, he was unmoved, steady, a fixed point. The dust and debris and rubble that rained down over him bounced away, as if deflected by an unseen barrier. The space around him remained pristine and untouched, a perfect dome of eerie, untouched stillness.

His nostrils flared, his throat moving up sharply as a smell that he recognized yanked his attention away from the wall before him. Metallic. Rich. Blood. He scented the air, shoulders back, head lifted, grey eyes rolling about as he tried to find the source of it. A blur of white there on the floor... red... red where there was not supposed to be. A girl. He... had he not been speaking to a girl... before... before... His mind went blank again. She was not Larissa. No Father, please! But he could not leave her there. He stretched out his hand and from across the distance, the girl was pulled towards him, stopping when she lay at his feet. Grey eyes met pain glazed green for a moment, Zeen frowning. How had he... he had not walked over to her. He had not even touched her. But he had brought her to him, as he willed it.

For a brief, surreal moment, wrist thick lines of colour appeared before his vision, flaring briefly all around him, crisscrossing above and below him, all around him. He reached out hesitantly to touch these shimmering lines, but before he could, they vanished. Zeen frowned, but shook his head. No, this was a distraction from his purpose. He had to remain focused on his purpose.

Light... Light!

He placed both of his hands flat against the rough wall, his mind curiously empty and devoid of all thought. His legs tensed as he pushed up with the balls of his feet. His shoulders screamed in protest as he shoved with all of his might, his arms bearing the full brunt of his weight. He felt something... split up his back in between his shoulder blades, the sensation unpleasant but oddly painless. He slammed his hands against the wall, his teeth grinding together at the impossible resistance that welled up against him. He pushed again, harder this time, sticky warmth trickling down his back. His gaze was panicked, grey eyes not fully sane as he glanced around, searching... searching for... There. There! A weakness, a slight indentation. He brought the full force of the fiery Light he held to bear against that spot, striking against it as hard as he could. Instinctively, he flexed his will against it.

Let me OUT!!

The section of wall simply blew outwards and then apart. Zeen wanted to roar in response. The sound of metal scraping against metal was as terrible as it was satisfying. Mind still swimming in emptiness, still burning from the inside out, the tall Amadician bent to lift the girl, stepping out into the light of day, sunlight reflecting off wild grey eyes overlaid with a metallic sheen. There were people gathered around, he noticed, a lot of people. Immediately he tensed, his head rearing up. Larissa. He growled, a low harsh sound that rumbled in his chest.

OOC: Zeen says all the Warder Yard peoples are very lovely and that he is sorry for wrecking the Weapons Hall. >_> <_<

[Craig]

Ravak

Ravak had been conversing with a pair of Gaidin when the first reverberations shook the Warder Halls. Alongside other uncertain faces, he stepped outside to seek the source of the rumbling. When the windows from the Weaponry Hall began to crack, his pace had quickened to a jog. Fear for the two people inside - fear for his sister - streaked through his thought processes. Silently he urged them both to be heading out the door. When the wall facing out towards the Training Yard exploded in a blast of masonry and glass, he broke into a run. It was an hour after High, a time when everyone aside from the full ranks had chores to attend to. That fortunately meant that there was no-one in the immediate blast radius, but chunks of stone scattered as far as the Armoury. Something hit against Rav's face just above his right eye; he didn't even raise a hand to check the damage.

Something primal and human roared from the detention point. A tall form stood beyond the clearing dust cloud, head raised to the heavens, the sound coming from its mouth. Zarius. Of the two that had been inside, it clearly wasn't Elia. In the soldier's arms, he carried a bundle of red and white. It took a moment for the Shienaran to recognise that bundle of rags as his sister. That moment retrospectively seemed like an eternity as his legs moved him as quickly towards the two initiates as possible. That the soldier was growling and unharmed didn't register in the slightest. Rav crossed the uneven ground in four long bounds with only two thoughts in mind: getting Elia and finding Kaia. The Red sister was somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but adrenaline stopped him feeling along the bond.

Skidding to a stop before Zarius, the Gaidin pulling Elia into his own arms, feeling the warm, slick blood along the sides and back of her previously white dress. Her breathing was shallow, green eyes vacant and unseeing, skin paler than snow. An ice cold grip enveloped his heart as time ceased to move.

El fixed her brother with a cold glare, her head resting against the bedroom door they shared. "And what about me? What am I to do with you gone?"

"You're going to outlive me," the Gaidin replied calmly. "Even with the benefits of being a Warder, you'll live long enough to see my grandchilden. My grandchildren's grandchildren.

The ground rumbled once again, almost in tandem with Rav retrieving Elia from Zarius, stirring the Warder into action. Instinctively, Rav knew that Kaia was nearby. All he had to do was get to her, then everything would be alright. Everything had to be alright. Tears flooded his vision, but nothing registered aside from Kaia's presence in his mind and Elia's weight in his arms.

[Sunny]

Jaryd

The first flare of saidin brushed Jaryd's consciousness as he and Kaia walked past the Yellow quarters on their way around the Tower. He arched an eyebrow, his head swiveling to the north. No one in the Tower is rude enough to channel in the Yards, he thought, interest piqued. That interest quickly grew to concern as he realized how much of the One Power had been channeled. It shone like the sun in his mind, more than any average channeler could handle. Still less than he, and yet....

Kaia tapped his shoulder, giving him an inquisitive look with her green eyes, their bond showing muted curiosity. "Trouble," he said shortly, his full attention focused on what might be happening. "A male channeler is going mad in the Yards." His feet had already turned to the path leading to the Warder Yards, and Kaia followed without missing a beat. "He's channeling enough to alert anyone in a two mile radius to his presence," Jaryd added, his shock reflected in his tone. The Aes Sedai's brows drew together, but she said nothing further, concern heavy on that line between them. He held confidence around him like a shield, and she looked up at him with a smile that betrayed none of her inner thoughts.

He felt the beacon of saidin spike as they approached the weaponry. It was inside that building? How odd. The ground rocked beneath their feet, and Jaryd channeled, flows of Air lashing out and sweeping everyone between him and the hall to the side. He heard curses and shouted inquiries, but Spirit and Air were already alive in his hands, a protective wall wrapping around the open space. "Stay. Out." He said coldly, his voice rolling through the open space and silencing the voices. Everyone knew who the two figures in red were, and no one could ignore the shaking earth.

AAbruptly the wall facing them blew out, head-sized chunks of stone scattering like they weighed no more than feathers. Jaryd tensed, Spirit looping into his grip once more. A black-clad man head and shoulders taller than Jaryd himself strode out, wreathed in saidin. Zeen, Jaryd thought he was called. Although the Tower held many tall men, there could hardly be two built like this one. He had been at the infirmary for nearly a month, and the Yellow Ajah twittered like birds about him; more than one report had crossed Jaryd's desk in that time, but he had not yet found the time to visit him. Too late now, he thought grimly.

The soldier carried a small figure in white, and his hands were stained crimson with blood. The sight of it held Jaryd's gaze for a moment, but his main concern lay in stopping whatever the man had decided to do with the flows of Earth and Fire thrust into the ground. The Asha'man's eyes flicked to Zeen'a face and for a moment the world stood still as he sensed, rather than saw, the flat emptiness in those slate gray pools.

Jaryd channeled again, gentle flows of Air wrapping around the giant to hold him still, Spirit working its way through the soldier's flows with a surgeon's precision. If he senses my presence before I am done... He had ways of neutralizing the man he faced regardless, but they would not be pleasant. Weaving nearly complete, he glanced up and realized that Ravak had joined the tall channeler. Bloody fool, Jaryd thought, I cannot guarantee your safety! The Master of Training held the woman in his arms now, the Keeper realized; the look of devastation on his face could not be an act. Thankfully, Kaia had already started towards them.

Knowing the Aes Sedai would take care of Ravak, Jaryd turned his attention back to Zeen, saidin lashing out once again. This time the flows he had had in place contracted, slicing through the other man's weaves. Spirit slammed between the man and the True Source, and Air hauled him away from the others with brutal force. The flows hit so hard that the big man flew, rebounding off an unbroken portion of the wall before he fell to the ground on his hands and knees.

Jaryd strode to join him, face and mind cold and distant, vaguely aware by the tingling on his skin and the sense of concentration in his mind that Kaia was channeling. "Would you care to tell me what in the bloody Light is wrong with you, or will I have to pull it out of you by force, soldier?" he asked with deceptive calm.