A Bitter Homecoming [Attn: Marla/Open]
Posted: July 22nd, 2016, 12:03 am
Lucien Mantear
Trotting Gallant along the winding path through the Mountains of Mist, leaving behind the Two Rivers, Lucien unscrewed his water flask--sipping sparingly at the cool liquid and savouring the smoothness of it on his tongue. The water from the Manetherendelle was always stunningly clean, and the rushing tide of the river never left him wanting for a source of hydration. Capping the flask after another careful sip, he slipped it back into his saddlebag, heeling his stallion and clicking his tongue for encouragement. Well-trained, the grey horse shifted to a canter, ascending the gradual slope with commendable pace; pondering as he did so. His return to Andor had been abrupt; a sudden call for his presence with the ill health of the Mantear High Seat had prompted a rapid flight from Hama Valon, only to arrive and find the matter essentially resolved. A few days rest, a feast to celebrate his raising to Dedicated, and a week longer to pay his respects to the Andoran throne--and then he had departed, setting off at a more measured pace to return to Hama Valon. Smiling to himself at the memory of his farewell gala, he crested the rise of the slope which would bring Hama Valon finally into view.
Drawing rein to slow Gallant back to a halt, Lucien frowned as Hama Valon came into view, eyes widening in stunned disbelief. The city, a jewel he remembered forged by the union of male and female channelers, had been decimated--its beautiful vista rendered to a crater-riddled horrorscape. Black smoke rose from the remnants of a dozen fires, belching obsidian smog into the air like the gaping wounds of some once-beautiful beast. Nothing had been spared; the once-towering walls had been massively damaged, with a large chunk simply gone as if struck with some impossible large fist. The elevated grounds of the tower itself were a mess, with the damage mitigated only around the tower proper and the areas closest to it.
Spurring Gallant into a gallop, Lucien traversed the rest of the distance to the city in near-to record time, drawing the horse back to a walk only when they had finally entered the city, eyes scanning the devastation in utter disbelief. Numb. Staggering residents and ragged soldiers milled here and there in clusters of grim-faced survivors, searching rubble and devastated infrastructure for the slim chance of survivors, while the power was used in pockets all across the city to heave aside collapsed masonry and demolished residences to try to salvage what could be salvaged. Large swathes of ground had been essentially demolished, the faint thrum of power in the air a tell-tale sign of the force that had been responsible for the devastation.
Had it not been for the corpses of insect-helmed soldiers and large, winged reptilian bodies, Lucien would have been unsure what to believe of the situation--but the bitter truth of the attack was painfully clear in the lightning-slashed attire of many of the women sprawled dead in the dirt, male and female a'dam still coiled to their wrists--sometimes connected to dead damane, sometimes empty. Head slowly moving from one nightmarish image to the next, he led his horse through the city in stunned silence, the trained stallion weaving around dazed and vacant-eyed survivors that didn't even appear to notice its existence, or that of its rider.
The nobleman's pale blue eyes, normally filled with warmth and mirth, darkened with a mix of anger and sorrow, and lips often on the edge of a smile or laughter twisted with the emotion in his breast. Pain lanced him like an aielman's spear, coupled with a rage that set his teeth to a grit and his jaw to a handsome, if wrathful lock. His gloved fingers curled angrily on the reins, squeezing the leather with barely-restrained fury. Here and there, he noted children grouped and crying, or looking simply dazed and lost, watched over by soldiers and matrons little more composed themselves.
His trip through the city took him past wailing widows and broken men, past Gaidin stalking like angry wolves and Aes Sedai and Asha'man looking at the desolation as if they could scarcely believe it themselves, or worse, fidgeting and glancing around in a disturbing display of unease. It was not simply an attack, it had been a defeat, a sound one--and no amount of dead Seanchan or, from the looks of them, western mercenaries could account for the soul-shattering reality of what the assault symbolized: weakness. Vulnerability. The Grey Tower had been violated, its hallowed city-home ransacked and decimated. All their vaunted strength, all their professions of security, and still this had occurred.
Lucien's trek to the city ended in his arrival at the Tower's stables, the tall Andoran dismounting and handing his reins to a groom with eyes too young for the fear and sorrow within them. His left hand gripped his sword hilt, right curled in a fist for lack of anything to hold. The black riding coat and cream breeches he'd attired himself in seemed too clean to Lucien, too untouched. In his heart, he knew there was no true aid he could have provided, yet the Dedicated felt worthless--guilty. He was strong, terribly strong, strong enough that perhaps his presence--if not stopping the clearly relentless onslaught--could have worked to save more lives, keep more families from being torn apart.
Lifting his eyes to the towering structure before him, he squared his shoulder and strode forth, towards the open doors to the Grey Tower. Towards the boiling mass of channeling that heralded the insecurity and rage and pain of those he'd come to call his family. His polished boots echoed on the flagstone path, and to him it was the sound of shattering walls, and a dream crumbling around him. The flurried movement of tower servants and the hurried forms nameless Asha’man and Aes Sedai washed over him without notice, the tall Andoran making his way into the tower proper without a word to any of them--entering through the Southern Gate of the tower and raking his eyes over the absence of the food storage building.
Where once it had dominated the view to the left, now only rubble remained, with the remnants of the food stores blackened and strewn across the pavement. Even here, the devastation was tantamount, with bodies and large power-wrought potholes smoking and belching death. The stench of burning and acrid scent of smoldering earth filled the air, while Aes Sedai and Asha’man moved with their wary Gaidin, clearing rubble where needed and tending to the wounded and suffering--checking bodies for signs of life, and moving along when there was none. It was a grim scene. A hard scene.
Lucien swallowed back bile at the stench of it, and crushed panic at the sight of the decimated area. He had not grasped saidin yet, despite the raging urge to do so, despite the way his hairs stood on end from the echoes of the power wielded in the area. He would not so easily give in to fear, and from what he could see, the battle had long since been resolved. So he walked, and he watched, and his heart bled.