Emergence (Fanfic/Open)

[Jack]

Morgan Cade It had been months.

Or so he thought.

It could be less. It could be more. But his eyes were nearly blinded when the doors opened and light entered his cell.

He would have lashed out with the One Power, but it was beyond his grasp, hidden behind an invisible barrier.

He was clad only in drool grey garb, the color of prisoners apparently. For as long as he had been held here, it was his color, along with the gruel he was forced to eat.

It wasn't it his fault. His colors had been different soon after joining. Soldier black, a type of life he wasn't accustomed to, but one he was willing to live.

And then this Asha'man made a pass at her, in plain view of only him. And it wasn't a whimsical flirting. He was promised to another of course, but he couldn't ignore the incident. The other party was a Novice, new like him, only not so experienced in the world.

When she said no and the Asha'man persisted, he had no choice but to intervene. He might have been used to looking the other way on other scenarios — a nobleman getting robbed, a drunken brawl in which one man was vastly outnumbered — and he himself was a thief. No scruples to speak of when it came to stealing people blind or conning them out of a few coins.

But this was different. He couldn't let it pass. When he addressed the Asha'man politely, the Novice attempted to escape but was held fast in a iron grip. He was a Green, as obvious by the color of the cord.

“You will be the proper Novice and show some respect and do your duty of whatever I order,” the older man said with a leer. His eyes became hard when he looked at the Soldier. “Go away, now Child, or I will have you in irons. And she will not be so pleased ...

He hadn't budged and shook his head. The Asha'man started to channel and he had no choice but to flee or fight.

Instinct took over and the overwhelming flood of fire and ice seeped into his bones. He lashed out and an invisible arm smashed the man against the wall. He heard something snap and the Asha'man fell limp against the wall.

The next thing he knew he was being escorted away by another Green, two Warders and a contingent of Tower Guard.

Pray he lives, Soldier, or else you face the wrath of the Hall, were the only words spoken to him before he was tossed into this hell.

The time that passed was unbearable, nearly on the verge of insanity at some points. He was denied visitors, denied seeing his love, the young thief with the round face and round eyes. His only visitors were the guards who brought him meals, the occasional interrogator and the Green who had arrested him.

Some meetings were less than stellar, with him going without food for days at a time, or an injured rib and bruises.

A bundle of clothes was thrown into his cell.

“Soldier Morgan Cade, you are summoned back to duty and you have been cleared of all charges,” said a familiar voice.

Morgan's mist-colored eyes were defiant. He reached up to scratch the scraggly beard that had grown on his face. His brown hair was likewise a curled mess, having grown longer with his incarceration.

He spat on the bundle. “Burn you and your flaming summons, you goat-livered cowards,” he said.

Morgan stood, daring the person to enter. And to the shadowed individual's credit, he entered the cell.

It was him, the man responsible for bringing Morgan to this wretched place. A Jerid Walker if he remembered the name right.

“You're being released, son, and this is the only option you have for your freedom,” the Asha'man said sternly. Something about the man had changed. He was … harder.

“I will not serve a regime that ...”

The man was in his face then, two feet from the young thief. His intense gold-green eyes flared.

“You killed an Asha'man without thinking, son, despite the laudable intent you did,” the man said. He was of a height with Morgan, but seemed ten feet tall. “The Novice only just spoke out, five months after your attack.”

Five months? Light. Had it been that long?

He stepped back, picked up the bundle of clothes and shoved it in Morgan's hands. “You will serve, Morgan Cade. And because of you, I sent someone who I thought was a good man to his death because he was a Dreadlord, not the Green I once called friend.”

Morgan blinked. Was there regret in this man's voice? And did he mean the Green Asha'man who interrogated him?

“I called in a lot of favors for this one last chance, son. You have but one other option: banishment from the Tower and a return to the authorities in Lugard. You will be hanged for your crimes there and I assure you not before you are gutted like a pig.”

The Asha'man turned, but not before Morgan's curiosity got the best of him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I was a thief once, too, Morgan Cade. And like you it was a hard road from the man I was to the man I am today. You have potential, Morgan Cade, and I will not see it squandered or worse, bled out in some back alley in some city. You report to me until the Master of Soldiers finds a suitable mentor.”

Morgan clutched the bundle and asked one last question. “How did this Green die?”

“Like all men and women of his kind do in the end. Alone and unwept, except by me. Pray you never have to face those decisions.” The man turned slightly and murmured, “Bathe, shave and sleep. You report to me in the morning and the Master of Soldiers shortly thereafter.”


His parting words were more simpler: “Do it for her.”

- - -

OOC: The first portion of this is a fanfic explaining Morgan's absence shortly after joining the Tower. Our thief is apparently not as cold-hearted as he would have some people believe him to be. After the second post, it is wide open.

[Jack]

A clean-shaven, clean-cut Morgan Cade overlooked the Yards of the Grey Tower. From his perch, he could see the training yards were trainees sparred or practiced.

It had been a day since his release, and already he had been ordered to report to the Master of Soldiers study. But the Indigo he was forced to report to didn't mention exactly when he was to do so.

So he wandered afield, to the place where he would find her.

The conditions of his release were simple: He would not channel unless explicitly given permission to, adhere to a strict schedule and curfew … and stay away from her.

Natlya had been his world for years, more than he would care to admit. They were young when they fell in love, or so what love might be, and before that, he had a healthy respect for her skills. Together they managed to amass a small fortune.

He had to see her at least once.

And see her he did, participating in drills. She was as lovely as he remembered. And she appeared to deviate just slightly from the instructor's drill to cause some irritation.

That was Natlya.

He smiled.

And then he saw her look up and he quickly turned away. No. This wouldn't work. While he was one to thumb his nose at rules, this particular one was for her. If he was returned to Lugard, then so was she.

Instead he walked away, prepared to head toward the Master of Soldiers office.