FICTION: A tale from outside the SW Galaxy

[sharyntyre]

Thanks to T-Bone for allowing, us to post NON SW stuff in entertainment, with a nod to Emalin and Cydon for asking for a space for such things.

This is a Wheel of Time story/RPG written by a friend and me back in January 2002. It was popular among our membership then, and still one of the better threads I have been involved in. These are two of many many long standing characters of the serial RPG that ran roughly six years on various boards. For those familiar with Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time, our setting is roughly 100 years after the series ends. (and talk about headaches as the books came out and we had to adapt to what the Creator established) This is a good example of the level of writing I am looking to do with folks around here now. I spent a couple of hours re-editing it, but there may still be an occasional grammatical error.

I give you now Leviathan Behind a Silk Screen By Alex and Randy.




She knew exactly where to find them, so knocking was useless. She used her sword and slashed the rusty handle off of the door of the long forgotten warehouse, and nudged the damp, rotting wood with her foot, opening it and then shutting it behind her and moving into the room quickly and smoothly, like a mist. The men inside leapt to their feet, as surprised as they were angered at the intrusion, and when the figure that had hacked their poorly guarded door was recognizable beneath the dark hood of the cloak, their tension turned to that of another breed, and inconspicuous scowls replaced the surprise on their faces.

"You look so happy to see me," she quipped, lowering the hood and meeting the gaze of each of them, and then finally resting on the man that had stepped forward. They said nothing to her, and she glanced around the old building. "Not exactly appealing conditions for Children of the Light, now is it?" She enjoyed taunting these fools whenever she could get away with it.

The man that had stepped forward snarled at her and a cold grimace contorted his features. Whatever words he had prepared were cut off by one of his companions, a younger man who took a threatening step forward and spat "In a city of witches, we're forced to keep a low profile. You of all people would know that, no, girl?"

Angel kept a cool, level expression, ignoring his cold tone and replying easily, "Oh, shut up, you. You know why I am here, do you not?" She got right to the point, and mentally went over everything in her mind, all her possible options of what to do... she would wait until the right moment. Of course. And she'd not use the Power. No, not that. She had to do this by herself, without Saidar... alone.

"Of course," the man in the front hissed. "Well?" He stood there, impatiently, waiting expectantly for the young assassin that stood before him to say that Ashan al'Disora was dead, murdered, and for her to give them proof of the act.

A slow smirk crept across Angel's face. "He got away." Several of the fellows eyes widened to the point they might explode out of their stupid skulls, but she continued anyway. "Not away from me, fools, no one can get away from me, but he escaped the Tower, and Tar Valon as well, without my knowing prior to it. He is beyond my reach."

The man in front tried to keep a lid on his anger, the White cloaks were rather good at doing so, most of them, at least. Especially this one. "Then you will go after him, chase him, hunt him down, and then kill him," he commanded of her.

Angel sighed, as if this were all a simple trivial matter. "There's the problem. I can't. I have no way of knowing which direction I went, and he's a couple days gone." Normally something such as that wouldn't slow the half blood from accepting the challenge, and such trifles would only hinder her in her hunt, not stop her completely.

A twist of his mouth formed a sneer, "You will find him nevertheless, assassin, he is a traitor to the Children of Light, and carries with him valuable information that is only waiting to be plucked by the Shadow, if it has not already been drawn from his mind as surely as those witches drew blood from his body. His loyalty to the Light is broken, and for that he must pay."

The tall woman walked around as he spoke, her attention seemed to be mostly on this... humble establishment. "I see you're trying for the antique look," she muttered under her breath as she ran her hand over one of the wooden chairs, a chair that looked as though it needed something to hold it up, rather than to be supporting the weight of another. She looked back at them, all of them, and said simply. "No."

The hands of one of the men flew to his sword hilt, but another stopped him before he drew his blade. Angel watched this with amusement, and then left her icy gaze to linger on the one that would unsheathe his blade as she spoke to all of them. Silently daring him to attack her, she mused, "It's impossible."

"You will make it possible, servant of the Children of Light, or perhaps someone will hunt you down." He who was in front said this once again, his anger boiling inside of him.

Angel ran through her options again... she could walk out of here and go back to the Tower, but they would know Ashan was still alive, and they'd know she was not fulfilling her mark... she could try to catch him, and warn him, but that would do no good if someone else got to him first... or, she thought with a spark dancing in the back of her eyes, she could just be absolutely positive that none of them ever lived to tell another soul that Ashan was alive, or that she was going against the Whitecloaks now.

"Servant, is it?..." She stepped closer to the one who had spoken, the commander of this group, of sorts, and her eyes darted over them. Half a score of them would not be hard to champion if she used Saidar... but no, she would not allow herself to. This was something she had gotten herself into without the Source, it was something she would get herself out of without the Source. That was the only right way to do it. Her hand grasped the gold linked necklace, now around her neck, and toyed with it idly as she thought it over, looking as nonchalant and as indifferent as ever. Her thin earrings were back in as well, she had figured that the easiest way to make them believe her long enough was to appear as she often did. With nine earrings total and a cuff, which made ten, the dark, swirling cloak, and of course, the necklace.

She took a step closer and leered at him, and her grip was around the dagger at her belt, hidden from view to the rest of them by both her cloak and the speaker’s body. "I never did like being called that..." Gritting her teeth and sending up a silent prayer to the Light that she live through this, she slammed the small blade into his chest, and he choked, surprised, looking at her with wide brown eyes as a trickle of blood dripped from the side of his mouth. She twisted the dagger and there was a distinguished cracking sound. "Stay away from Tar Valon," she whispered menacingly, so that only his ear could hear her.

His corpse fell to the ground; eyes open in shock, staring up at the ten people that still remained in the room. Angel drew her sword and hoped those times Syn'Zorya had beaten her around the Hall had paid off. Arrogantly, she twirled the blade and threw her cloak off. "Who's next?"

Apparently, all of them thought so, and the Dedicated was surrounded by the swarm as they drew their own blades. Short swords, knives, broadswords, an axe - she really didn't want to go that way - and a couple other weapons scattered across her visage.

She tore through the first man and kicked his lifeless body away, and Lightning of Three Prongs laid another down, and she turned to parry an oncoming attack. Gliding across the floor, she danced with them, cutting them down one after the other, silent and merciless in her step.


ooc: warning. this is grotesque.

Beneath the cloth of her cloak, were now several open wounds... she'd not been as good as she thought, not against them, professionally trained soldiers that were bloody Questioners to boot. They'd managed to slam her against a wall, and when her thoughts turned to the question, Why aren't they killing me, it was soon answered. They wanted to know about the inside of the Tower, as they easily assumed she had been there. She endured their questioning, and their blows, and their maniacal ways of getting the answers they wanted. But she had one thing they couldn't count on. She had Saidar. In her effort not to use it, she had succumbed not only to its calling, but the necessity of wielding the Power. She had not used it long, though, only enough to get herself up... and then she had slaughtered the rest of them.

Every ounce of hate and anger she had ever felt had gone into that battle with the Children, all the sickness that was hidden in the intricate chasms of her poisoned mind personified itself as she cut through them, making them die in painful, horrible ways, and feeling nothing for it. This wasn't only revenge on them, it was revenge on her father, it was revenge on herself. For every time he beat her until she couldn't see anymore, for every woman he raped in front of her before she was old enough - HA, old enough, eight - to be the victim herself. This, this macabre collection of death was for everything.

She tripped out the doorway, blood dripping from her hands, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders. Were someone to look inside the old building, what they would find was, in every essence of the word, a horror. Death hung with the stench of blood in the air, but this death was... wrong. The imagery was much sicker than the smell. None of the men had been so lucky as the first, who Angel had gored with a simple dagger. The other nine Whitecloaks all lay dead on the floor, unmoving, but in a manner that grotesque did not personify. Their eyes, ranging from pale green to dark brown, were all open, if one could even see their eyes. One had too many wounds, even one of them would have been enough to kill him, but there were easily half a dozen more than necessary; a slit throat, a shard of wood sticking out of his eye, the other open in fear and horror, perhaps, one might think, so that he would have been able to watch his murderer. His chest cavity had been carved open, the inside of it was clear in view for all to see.

It was worse. Oh hell, but it was so much worse for some of them. Another, a big man, almost brutish, his stomach was spilled, his 'insides' on the outside, his own entrails wrapped around his throat tightly, a inane grin chiseled into his face by what appeared to be one of the torturing devices used by the Questioners themselves. Another had his own sword pushed through the top of his skull and straight down through his spinal cord, snapping all the fragile bones and making his back rigid, even in death, and from the looks of it, someone had twisted the hilt so that the wound gored, spilling blood across the floor as well as pinkish gray brain matter...

For a moment, the tall Dedicated - she wasn't bloody worthy of that title anymore - looked in on it all, faint from her own loss of blood, but she'd not let that stop her. Clutching onto the Void, hanging onto it for the sake of her own sanity, she moved away from the awful scene, the bodies that lay dead, twisted into gruesome images that ran beyond the bounds of death, the things that had been done because of her. She felt numb to the world, and had to claw to the Void to hang onto it. The world was numb, it was gray in every respect, and her stomach clenched, feeling as though it were to roll over several times and bring up her last meal in her throat.

The straight, deep gashes on her back let lines of blood trickle down her clothes, as if they were not already soaked through with blood, and the under the cloak her wounds resembled some sick kind of monstrous art, as if someone or something had restrained her and used her back as a living canvas for its grisly work.

She didn't know how long she had been in there... the sky was lit with the sentinel stars of the sky, a beacon of hope for some, but to Angel they were watching her, and blaming her, feeding her guilt.

She managed to crawl into an alleyway, and put her head in her hands. For all the world, she wished she could cry, but she couldn't. Emotions she had run from all her life were at war inside of her, and hate was winning, she couldn't cry. But Light, she wanted to.

[sharyntyre]

Syn'Zorya limped back into the Dragon Hall, tired, sweaty and frustrated. She'd been teaching a pack of guardsmen a few advanced forms, and in her arrogance decided it would be fun to see if she could face and defeat a dozen lesser swordsmen at once. Her last instructor back in New Manetheren had done so in an exhibition for the queen once. Obviously she wasn't as good as he had been, not yet. On the other hand, perhaps it just was not her day; she had managed to beat the man once herself after all. It had been a good fight, right up until the last two; she had a lump on her head and a much-bruised knee now. She made it to the Soldiers Barracks and was in the process of disarming and undressing, down to small clothes, so she could go bath and put on a fresh uniform before the evening meal.

The raven haired Soldier gathered a fresh uniform and a dagger and swung around as the door banged open to reveal another raven-haired woman, this one with Dragons on her sleeves. Syn shuffled things in her hands to throw a salute, which was ignored by the woman. Raven looked around the large room " I had been told you and Dedicated Angel were as close to friends as either of you have, I hoped to find you together. You will get dressed and find her for me." The Asha'man waited just long enough for a nod of understanding from the Soldier and turned to leave, as she reached the door she turned back "do not let me see you until you have the willful girl with you Soldier."

Syn'Zorya waited until the door closed, counted to ten to be safe, then let loose with a long stream of curses. She almost just threw the uniform across the room then decided against it, with her luck today someone would come to inspect the barracks and she'd end up costing the whole lot of them. Well, she preferred a real bath but had picked up a few grooming tricks. A quick wash with Saidar took most the stink and slimy feeling from her body, and she redressed and armed quickly. One did not diddle around when given orders from an Asha'man.

The practice hall and roof were both in use, but Angel was at neither. Syn sighed; of course, it would not be that easy. The courtyard was empty, odd that, but it meant she had to venture to the Tower area of the grounds. Not her favorite places to be, unless of course, she was there to beat novice and accepted around the yards. Always amusing that. An hour of walking around produced no Dedicated Angel.

Syn debated briefly in her mind going and telling the Asha'man so, but her last words echoed in the mind so she just turned her steps towards the city. She could wander around all bloody night and miss the Dedicated by as little as the turning of a single corner, but orders were orders and she'd not poke her head back into the Dragon Hall until she found Angel or someone else came looking for her.

Of course it was not so easy as just walking out of the gates of the shining Tower, not for a mere Soldier, and one with a bad reputation at that. An accepted, Daicue and a pair of mandin gaurded the gates. Once 'pleasantries' were exchanged they tried to deny her leave of the tower grounds. Syn's hand wrapped loosely around the golden hilt of her sword before she forced herself to relax. A predator playing with it's prey smile slowly spread across her narrow face "I tell you what, I was ordered not to show my face in the Dragon Hall until I have the Dedicated with, so why don't one of you scurry off and in form Asha'man Raven you are keeping me from my assigned task. I will wait here patiently, for her to finish with you and let you come tell me to get about my job."

Of course the Accepted had some choice words about proper tones and respect which Syn just nodded dumbly to and replied with a series of "yes Accepted" in almost mocking tones. She was given leave to leave while one of the Mandin did run off to check her story. The sun was kissing the tops of buildings and Syn let out another deep sigh, she wondered if grabbing a bite to eat was out of the question, after all, Angel could be at any of the hundreds of Inns across the city. Unhurried but quick steps sent the Soldier gliding fluidly across the huge courtyard in front of the gates and with a mental flip of a coin she picked a street to head down...

[sharyntyre]

Of course it was not so easy as just walking out of the gates of the shining Tower, not for a mere Soldier, and one with a bad reputation at that. An accepted, Daicue and a pair of mandin gaurded the gates. Once 'pleasantries' were exchanged they tried to deny her leave of the tower grounds. Syn's hand wrapped loosely around the golden hilt of her sword before she forced herself to relax. A predator playing with it's prey smile slowly spread across her narrow face "I tell you what, I was ordered not to show my face in the Dragon Hall until I have the Dedicated with, so why don't one of you scurry off and in form Asha'man Raven you are keeping me from my assigned task. I will wait here patiently, for her to finish with you and let you come tell me to get about my job."

Of course the Accepted had some choice words about proper tones and respect which Syn just nodded dumbly to and replied with a series of "yes Accepted" in almost mocking tones. She was given leave to leave while one of the Mandin did run off to check her story. The sun was kissing the tops of buildings and Syn let out another deep sigh, she wondered if grabbing a bite to eat was out of the question, after all, Angel could be at any of the hundreds of Inns across the city. Unhurried but quick steps sent the Soldier gliding fluidly across the huge courtyard in front of the gates and with a mental flip of a coin she picked a street to head down.....

She raised her head and shielded her eyes when the sun laughed down at her, searing through her eyelids when she tried to close them. The sharp pain was now receding to a dull ache, a throb that pulsed with her blood, what blood she had left. Laboriously struggling to her feet, she staggered to the wall and supported herself on the graying stones, each breath of cold air painful, like a stab in the lungs. Her mind was fuzzy, unfocused and distant, but through the irrelevant chatter one thing rang clear enough: I have to get out of Tar Valon. Nodding, to herself, again, and again, and again, nodding as she tried to stand up on her own as if affirming the mental statement would make it easier to achieve.

Once she had her legs back under her, though a little unsteady they were, she managed over to the doorway of the lurid corpses, and shut the thick door in its thick frame, praying no one would look in there until she was far, far away... far away enough to be forgotten. Yes, that's what she wanted. To stop being so damn determined to change something she could never even begin to alter... if she stayed far enough away, then perhaps they would all... forget about her. Wherever she went, she had faded into the sands of time, but was also as an ever occurring wind that tormented the grains of a metaphorical desert of peace, riling the dunes to people's lives and reshaping them to the Children's hellish fabrications and accusations of siding with the Shadow. But perhaps, if she just disappeared, she wouldn't have to... fade anymore, and she could just stay somewhere without feeling the necessity to leave, to blur into the crowd... But she had to get away from Tar Valon. That, if nothing else. Human nature was governed by necessity, she knew that about people, watching them as diligently and silently as she had had opened the doorway to learning how they worked, and at the moment, she needed to get the hell out of there.

The bridges. Of course. Looking around and trying to judge her position in the island city, the closest bridge was the one that headed to Darein. She turned around and began moving as quickly as she could through the alleyways, clinging to the ethereal darkness of the Void, keeping her wounds and open pain outside her physical being. It was nothing, everything was nothing. When she came close enough to the bridge to be able to see the water, she heaved an audible sigh of relief and began for it. It was only two hundred, maybe less paces until she'd set foot on the path that would lead her away from here. Away from Aes Sedai, from the Children, from the Asha'man and the Dedicated barracks, away from the Ogier Grove, away from the stupid, stupid training... She winced, flinching as someone brushed by against the jagged, bleeding gashes on her back. She couldn't heal herself, and she wouldn't let anyone else do it, lest they see the brand on her shoulder that marked her for what she was. Once was. But never again.

[sharyntyre]

Syn'Zorya eyed the crowd over the sharp point of her slightly curved sword blade as she slowly inched her way along the wall towards the door. She'd lost track of how many Inns and taverns she'd entered and left looking for the Dedicated, but this was by far the worst. The Soldier had a hard time believing such a place as this could exists in Tar Valon. Or any other light loving city, for that matter.

It did not smell very good and the lighting was poor, which was likely just as well. The section of bar she'd sat down at had a disgusting mix of dirt and spilled wine covering it, making it both gritty and sticky. The Innkeeper a mountain of a man named Joanus, sneered at her uniform and asked what Shawn thought he was doing sending a tender morsel like her into his place. She told him she had no idea who Shawn was and repeated her questions after Angel, when one of the bar toughs grabbed her she kicked him in a tender spot, which is how she ended up facing a half dozen men across sword and knife points.

She did not want to leave a tavern, dive as it was, littered with corpse and burning the place to the ground like the Saldean twins did held no more appeal to her. She managed to stay in hot enough water with the leadership without destroying parts of the city. One of the mean heads got a bit to close and she lashed out with lighting of three prongs, slicing the man's knife hand and arm, nearly running him through with the last stroke. Only an en-elegant backwards leap kept the man breathing. Her blade blurred as she slashed back and forth to keep the rest at bay "you are all bloody fools and I will remember this place and come back when I do not have other duties" she snarled and filled herself with Saidar. Nothing lethal was woven, just Air, but a lot of it, knife and sword wielding drunks were tossed backwards and onto near by tables. for good measure she began picking up tables and empty chairs and hurling them into the now teaming mass of angry drunks and gamblers.

As expected, and what she'd been counting on, the whole common room run exploded into a general free for all. Joanus was screaming at the top of his lungs for his men to control the crowd and she just kept sliding along the wall her back was against until she reached the door. There another, much smaller weave, the door popped open to reveal startlingly bright sunlight. Syn ducked out and shut the door, just in time for it to catch a hurled mug aimed at her head.

Dark tilted eyes darted around while she wiped the sword blade off on her pants. Jules would not be happy about the bloodstains, but her weapon was more important to her by far than the tailor's feelings. There were a few people moving about the streets already and she hurried to join them. Two streets later she she came to a crossing which led to one of the bridges, she did not know which and did not really care, for walking towards the bridge she spied the missing Dedicated. She had much to say to the girl, starting with letting her know she'd been up all night and missed the last two meals because of orders to not return to the Hall without her.

A second look at the Dedicated showed her to be out of uniform and in very bad shape, if she could judge such from the way Angel walked. She'd been around enough wounded to know one when she laid eyes on them. Syn set her steps to intercept the wild half Aiel girl and planted herself firmly in the Dedicated’s Path.

"I don't know what you've been up to, but I have had a long night looking for you. I don't imagine Asha'man Raven will be pleased with how long it took to find you either." Dark tilted eyes looked Angel over, she was very pale and there was a very large amount of blood covering most of her clothes. To much for it all to be hers, no one could loose that much blood and live, much less be up and walking about the city. "Light what in the bloody world have you been up to and where do you think you are going. I know you have rank over me, but even Dedicated are not allowed outside the city without permission. Which I know you don't have, or I'd not have been sent looking for you."

[sharyntyre]

Angel was suddenly stopped in her tracks when a woman who came about as high as her nose placed herself in front of the Dedicated’s path, and began going off on a tangent about something. She narrowed her eyes, and whether she was annoyed or squinting to see who it was would never be known, but either way, a moment later her vision allowed enough so that she could see it was Syn'Zorya. Her words were chatter to the half Aiel's ears, making little sense and not sticking in her mind long enough to be digested, but she picked up a few things, not immediately recognizing the name "Asha'man Raven." Her sapphire stare, instead of looking at the raven haired Soldier, seemed to go right through her, as if Angel didn't quite know where she was trying to look.

She let the woman's words hang in the air, not addressing them immediately, and blinked, slowly. "... You were sent to look for me?" she inquired distantly... Light, but her head was swimming, and she looked down at her hands, not only stained red but dripping with blood. The scent of it muddled her senses, and made her want to throw up her stomach all over again, though she didn't. She felt like she was drowning, drowning in a sea of blood that was and was not her own.

Shaking her head, as if that would make the throbbing pain between her temples lessen, she spoke, a little more clearly. "I will not go back. I have to leave the Tower, and Tar Valon, and I have to leave now." She pulled her bloodied hands back inside her cloak, and looked up at Syn'Zorya again, entertaining the idea of what to say next, but she didn't say anything, she just stepped around the peeved sword handler and kept walking. She didn't get very far, though. She expected that.

[sharyntyre]

Seeing that more of the blood was indeed Angel's than she'd first thought Syn’Zorya was surprised the half Aiel girl was even able to walk. She had to be at least half drained, if she had been bleeding like that for long, and by all appearances, she had been. The girl could not focus on anything it appeared and muttered some nonsense about having to leave the tower and not going back to the Dragon hall. Angel huddled inside her cloak, almost as if hoping she could close it around herself and disappear looked the raven haired Solider in the face, then just calmly stepped around her and headed towards the bridge.

Syn’Zorya knew a couple of things. One, Angel would do good to make it to the far edge of the little town on the other side of the bridge. Two, she had to stop the Dedicated; at least long enough to try to stop the blood lose and get an explanation. Three she would be putting herself in harms way by doing so. Four and lastly, she really did not have a choice in the matter. If she found Angel's reasons for leaving acceptable, in her eyes, she'd go as far as to help as much as she could, if not she'd drag the wild girl back by her hair if need be.

Saidar flooded into her and she lashed out with two weaves at the same time, The first out of necessity was a Shielding weave, and the second simple coils of air to keep the woman from physically attacking her while she attempted to talk some reason into her. The flows of Air caught angel in mid-step, freezing her with one foot in the air. A few passers by noted and stopped momentarily until seeing Syn’Zorya’s uniform. Most folks in Tar Valon knew a plain black uniform when they saw it and these obviously did, wisely choosing to be somewhere else when an Asha'man, even a lowly Soldier began using the One Power.

Syn calmly walked around so she stood in front of the bloody Dedicated. "You can agree to come with me somewhere close, as I don't believe you are going far regardless, and explain this to me, or I can drag your bleeding body back to the dragon hall and you can explain it to the T'sovaran'm'hael." Syn meant it too; she did not like seeing anyone in the shape Angel was in, unless it was an enemy, of course. Light, the girl had to be so deep into the void as to not even know her name, to still be on her feet, by the looks of her.

[sharyntyre]

She did not even sense Saidar when Syn'Zorya took hold of it, so distant and detached from the world was she. She neither felt the glow when the binds of Air coiled around her, or the net of Spirit cut her off from reaching the Source, should she choose to use it... the thought had not crossed her mind, yet. At the realization of being frozen mid-step, instinctively trying to grab for Saidar an low snarl came from the girl; Light, it was nearly inhuman. She visibly tensed up, and stared at Syn'Zorya for a long time, but the minutes were nothing to her. Time had no meaning at this point; it was all just one continuous moment of hell, an unearthly nightmare that exploited a long corrupted mind. It seemed at the time as though all her thoughts were tainted, dimmed by a sickness, something dirty, and hellish. Something people should not be allowed to feel. Something that even the Void could just barely keep at bay.

Vaguely, she struggled to think over the options the Blademaster (or at least, she who should have been) had presented her with, loosing her viselike Void enough to enter conscious thought, but still trying with all her will to push everything else away. To go back to the Dragon Hall was... at the moment, insufferable. She didn't even know if she could walk that far, though stubborn determination tilted her standing otherwise. She could not face either one of the M'haels, not at the moment, what would she say to them? 'Excuse me, I have to leave Tar Valon, and by the way, I just cut down and brutally slaughtered ten Whitecloaks because I couldn't kill someone for them. I hope you don't mind. Farewell.' Even in the state as she was, her wry attitude did not fail her. And there was, as was explained, telling Syn'Zorya. She supposed she could lie... if she had enough rational thoughts to find a feasible one, but she didn't really want to lie to the woman. Angel knew - somewhere in the back of her mind - that the fork tongued woman had undergone the involuntary servitude through the Sisters of Truth, the lost Red Ajah, and maybe she'd relate, maybe she'd get it. Maybe not. Either way, she thought she stood a better chance explaining it to Syn'Zorya, than to the Tsorovan'm'hael, and not by much. But she was, after all, already on Asha'man Shain's bad side.

"Very well..." she nodded numbly, and the woman gruffly nodded herself and released the Air weaves, giving Angel mobile control over her limbs again, and they ducked inside a sparsely populated Inn. Most of the regulars were asleep in their mugs, or groggily waking up, only the bartender looked more than half awake.

Sitting down was a relief, as she had felt as though her legs might collapse under her at any moment. She dropped her head on the table, blonde hair spilling forward, the tips of it stained in an odd way with wine dark blood from the wounds under her cloak, for a moment just barely visible. Raising her head after a moment, she sat up in her chair and gave the Soldier another long, silent gaze, but spoke up before she could repeat her questioning.

"It's a really... long... story," she said wistfully, and as she did she sensed the heightened glow of Saidar and suspected Syn'Zorya had woven a small shield, as she had seen her do before, that neither allowed sound in or out of the designated area. Which, for the time being, was the small round wooden table they were sitting at. The minute dragged out before she spoke again, staring at the wooden table. Angel was not a person to drop her gaze, but maybe she had forgotten that. "When I was sixteen... maybe seventeen, I started assassinating people, for a living. I'd been on my own for only three, four years at that point. It made enough sense, to me. I didn't freelance for very long, and shortly I began doing contract work for the Children of the Light." -- even with the raised shield, her voice seemed to drop on those few words -- "It was... easy enough. No one suspected someone as young as I was, as young as I am. You simply slip into a town, maybe in the dead of night, and stay with the shadows until you find who you are looking for. An arrow to the head, the throat or base of the neck, or a slit throat, and it's over. A quick way to go."

She shook her head to pull herself out of the disgusting cavern of memories not forgotten. "And then something went wrong, on my way to Caemlyn. Someone caught me. I was in a cell, maybe a week, maybe two, and then they let me out. I don't know who it was owed to, but I still suspect there was an Aes Sedai, or Asha'man behind it... someone who knew I could channel, because the terms were that I come to Tar Valon and have word sent once I arrived... I hated it, but, still, it was better than dying. Kind of. A while passed, and after such a mellow time at the Hall, I began to get a little hopeful of the fact I might be rid of them." Shaking her head again and smiling, a forced smile, a wry and rueful grin that took some amusement at her own naiveté. "I was wrong. You are never rid of the Children. On the eve of the day after Red Night, I was in the city, coming back from a patrol of the bridges, and, unexpectedly, I saw someone I knew I recognized, and followed them. It was the person for whom I had often done commission work, a well ranked man of the Hand of Light... bloody Questioners, I always worked through them. Ruthless *******s... but, they found me. And by a matter of force, you can imagine how unwilling I was, they 'requested' that I assassinate someone... inside the Tower. I will not say who. That is their secret to tell, not mine." She didn't mention the brand on her shoulder. She didn't want to.

"In short, that person is now... unreachable, beyond my ability to find, and ultimately kill. In response to that, I went looking for the members of the Hand who had found me previously. They weren't... very pleased with the results I had for them, and demanded I go to whatever measures it took to get my mark, and, I refused the 'offer'." She shrugged. "And then I killed them," she said with a bit of finality in her voice, thumping her head back down on the table. If she kept doing that, she wasn't going to be able to get up again.

[sharyntyre]

Syn'Zorya sat listening to the girl's story with a cold sinking feeling, it was much worse than she'd allowed herself to think possible. Angel's story did explain, fully, why the girl was so cold and distant, down right unfriendly at times. Assassin. White cloak agent.

The raven-haired soldier had to repress a shiver at the thought of what Angel could have done on Red Night. Light she could have ghosted through the Dragon Hall and killed both Sharyntyre and Kendria, if she'd played it right. Both had been found in pools of blood in their offices. Angel had a gift for wrapping silence and perfect stillness, almost to the point of becoming invisible while standing in plain sight. Syn, from personal experience on the practice yards, knew the girl was more than quick with very good instincts when using the sword. As a former file leader from New Manetheren she well knew what a skilled archer was capable of, though she herself was only competent with a long bow.

She well knew the mixed blessing of being in Tar Valon for training, though hers was by choice rather than to avoid a hangman's noose. She also knew well about forced service, having endured about two years of it herself. She'd often felt she and Angel had much in common, despite the age difference, despite the fact that the two of them were about as unfriendly a pair as could be found in the city, or likely anywhere else for that matter. Syn wondered who her 'mark' was, she half suspected it was the former M'Hael, though that made little sense. Kendria had been severely wounded and had laid up in her rooms for a couple of weeks before leaving, for where ever she went to heal. She did not agree that her target was a secret of the white cloaks, but as long as Angel's target was gone and safe Syn would let that little detail slide.

Angel finished the story with a very dispassionate "I killed them." Just killed a handful or more of white cloak questioners, no big deal. I went out of dinner. The girl's head hit the table, again and Syn wondered if she was unconscious. Syn did not know what to do about all this, on one hand, she should report it to the M'Haels, on the other if she did, at best Angel would be put to question, something she'd not wish on anyone, and then made to swear oaths. Syn did not like the idea of anyone having to bind themselves like that with the power, on the other hand how much could one trust a professional assassin.

Thankfully, the few customers and the Innkeeper were wise or just courteous enough to not attempt invading their space. Syn'Zorya eyed the crowd and the innkeeper. She wanted to get Angel out of the public eye, not that they were drawing a lot of attention, but if the customers woke up before they were somewhere else, someone would begin asking questions. She figured her uniform was the only thing keeping the Innkeeper from being in their faces right now. She made a couple of quick decisions and glanced back at her companion "stay here." Angel did not even stir, so she thought the girl might behave for the next five minutes.

Syn'Zorya unwove her wards and left the table to speak to the Innkeeper. Knowing she had to compensate the man, both for the mess angel was making and for the favors she was about to ask she dug into her pouch and pulled out her meager purse. The dragon hall was not a way for one to get rich, though with food, lodging, meals and weapons provided, there was no reason for them to dish out large amounts of coin either. She weighed the purse in her hand and thought she had enough to keep the man happy, or at least keep him from filing a complaint. One of those in a day was enough, she thought wryly.

The innkeeper was in the middle of ordering one of his serving girls to clean up the trail of blood leading to their table and grimaced when she approached. She asked to speak to him privately, and the best she got was lead to an unoccupied corner. A few minutes conversation and handing over most of her coin got her the few things she asked for you. Syn thanked the man and just for good measure assured him he had her and her companions gratitude and she felt she owed him a debt on top of the coin paid for services rendered.

Syn returned to the table and had to shake Angel to regain her attention. "I have made a few arrangements to try to help you. I am not letting you leave and we will have to come up with some sort of story to cover your wounds." Syn'Zorya frowned 'You owe me big for this, but I'd like to believe were the shoe on the other foot, you'd do the same for me." Syn'Zorya eyed the girl's unfocused eyes "Do you hear me Dedicated, can you walk up a flight of stairs, or must I carry you."

[sharyntyre]

Though her eyes had been positioned on the table, she had seen the sick feeling wash over Syn'Zorya as surely as it would anyone, despite her similar cold demeanor. It almost amused Angel to a point, to have not told her the whole story and wonder what reaction that would get... the foul affliction began to contaminate her mind again, at war with the Void, either one gaining ground in the struggle before simultaneously retreating.

While she sat emotionless, she added a few moments later, from her uncompromising place on the table, "Sharyntyre knows, I think. Kendria did, and so did Asha'man Brianna..." a small laugh escaped her, but it was not mirthful. It was cold, and forced, like a murmur of masked pain. "Funny, it is, how all three people that know... are no longer in Tar Valon. Pity I can't take credit for that," she added sarcastically. She blinked a few times, urging the unceasing headache to disperse, as well as the aching throb of the deep cuts between her shoulders.

Angel voiced her complaint when Syn'Zorya returned and shook her, as one of her hands found a good hold on an open gash. "I bloody well hear you... I can walk..." She raised her head groggily and paused. "Maybe not with very much direction, but I can walk..." The thought process was slowing down on her, and she reached into her cloak, arching an eyebrow and almost laughing when a suspicious look crossed the dark haired woman's face. She must have assumed Angel was going for her sword... not a bad assumption, except there was no one to attack. She pulled out a leather pouch weighed down and bulging with coin and tossed it on the table, tempted to flop down again. "It does make quite an earning..." she mumbled, "I have more at the Dragon Hall... if I am returning." She sounded as though she intended to not be very open to the suggestion of returning.

Standing was a bit of a chore, but she managed, and began her ascension of the stairs... damn stairs, it was almost as if they were shifting on purpose underneath her gaze, trying to topple her, though she did not. Halfway up, she turned around to look down the stairs, mostly just because she was curious to see if she was still bleeding all over the place, but what she did notice caught her eye and held it. A few well-dressed men entered the Inn, eyes prowling across it, a look Angel recognized as one a person carried when they were looking for someone. "Oh, hell," she muttered under her breath when their prying eyes flashed over the staircase, picking her up, if not the bloody trail. ...I'm dead. "Hurry," she commanded quietly, despite her own condition. She picked up her pace, and stared down the empty hallway before turning into it, all the doors shut, and hopefully they'd stay that way.

"It always ends like this. Dammit, dammit, dammit." Syn'Zorya was probably wondering what she was raving about, but there were three more Children on the lower floor, and they were headed for the staircase, and that was enough reason for Angel to start getting antsy, especially as she began to draw her blade.

[sharyntyre]

Syn'Zorya could barely hear the girl talking, and not make out what she was saying. What with Angel having her face on the table as she did. Knowing the girl, it was likely best she could not make out the muffled words. Her hand came away wet and sticky when she shook the Dedicated. Angel worked her way to her feet dropping a heavy purse on the table, which Syn picked up when the girl just turned her back to it and made her shaky way across the floor to the stairs. No doubt once she was healed and thinking clearly she'd want the coin back, if she did not inquire after it, Syn would give it to the M'haels until such time as Angel needed it for.... whatever.

Syn’Zorya had the unenviable task of hovering near the walking wounded girl, hoping she made it to the room but more than ready to catch her if she fell. Saidar filled her, as much as it ever did. She knew she was far from the strongest woman in Tar Valon, somedays she wished she could not sense the bloody Power at all. How differently would her life had been if she had not been born with the bloody spark? She stayed a couple of steps behind Angel on the stairs, not wanting the girl to fall and take them both down in a jumble of tangled limbs, that would be embarrassing, both for herself, and for the dragon hall.

About half way up the flight of stairs, Angel stopped and turned around. At first Syn was afraid the girl had changed her mind again and was going to try to leave. She noted the taller girl's eyes fall on someone down stairs and could see alarm on her face. Angel mutters, "hurry" and did her best to follow her own order. Syn paused to look back and noted three well-dressed and armed men making for the stairs.

It did not take a genius to put two and two together and come up with the answer to the unasked question why hurry. Obviously these men were White Cloaks, or at least agents of the Children of the Light. She did not know whom she felt worse, them or the Reds, but a bird would starve on the difference. The scale tipped to the Reds being worse, in the split second she gave to the matter. At least the Children stayed true to their oaths for centuries, where as the Reds foreswore oaths to the Tower.

Instead of following Angel up the stairs, she let the girl go alone and turned back. There was much more room down in the common than in the hallway upstairs. Having her hand full of a couple of pounds of coin she threw the purse full in the face of the first man, an average sized fellow with a droopy mustache and launched herself down clearing steel with a serpentine hiss. A booted foot connected with his face and he staggered, falling into the second man, who was shorter than average, but as thick as a barrel. Both men went down in a tangled heap, which she leaped over at the bottom of the stair.

The third man had not began climbing the stairs so was clear of his fellows and was clawing for steel as the Raven haired Soldier landed lightly on her toes and slightly bent knees. This is what she lived for, what she trained hour upon hour for. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as her mind took in all the variables in the room.

The few men and one woman in the common room were turning to see what the commotion was about. The Innkeeper, knowing he had at least one Channeler being threatened was calling for the light to preserve both him and his establishment while also yelling for everyone to clear the room. 'Fool' she thought 'better to just crawl under your tables.' Chairs scrapped back loudly across the wooden floor and the woman screamed. Mustaches and barrel-wide were untangling and cursing. Dark tilted eyes made note of the placement of the tables and chairs even as she whirled into blindingly fast and liquid smooth motion.

Whirlwind on the Mountain saw her in the air spinning, blade slicing through the man's neck as easily as a knife through a loaf of bread. He had just managed to clear his blade when his head separated from his body. Her feet hit the floor and she flowed a few paces away from the stair and his falling body. She turned to face the other two as his head bounced off a table and hit the floor with a thud and his body collapsed between herself and the other two with a wet smacking sound. The sword falling from his dead fingers clattered jarringly, outside the void.

The common room was now empty save combatants, corpse and assorted furniture. She could hear the call for the city watch receding in the distance. No doubt the Innkeeper envisioning a burning mess before this was over. Filled with Saidar as she was, it did not inter her mind to use it. Not against a mere two swordsmen, though she was wise enough to not take them lightly. She did use the One Power though, just in case she lost this fight. Flows of Air blocked the stair floor to ceiling and she tied the flows, again just in case. Now no one but a Channeler was going up those stairs, and not until the sliced her wall of Air.

"I'd have thought Angel leaving a bunch of your friends bodies to rot would teach you, but I guess any fool can be a white cloak." She told them as they got to their feet and drew weapons. "I am real sorry I am going to have to kill you. To many loose strings and wagging tongues otherwise, I am sure you'd rather die cleanly in a duel than in being questioned with the Power." She was taunting them while shifting from defensive stance to defensive stance. Both to try goading them and to show them they were up against a woman who knew what she was about.

Her throw had been a good one, droopy mustache’s left eye was already swelling shut, and he had a nice red boot print on his forehead as well. Barrel-wide snarled something in coherent as he foolishly rushed her, instead of waiting for mustaches so that they could come at her from two sides. In the nao seconds before he closed she thought it remarkable that white cloak training did not give them better discipline.

There was nothing wrong with his sword work though, and for a few moments, their blades clashed loudly and quickly. He simply was not as good as she though, and he bore several shallow cuts and gashes to prove it. She would have been able to finish him much quicker if she'd not been also working to keep him and the furniture between herself and droopy mustaches. Finally, he made a fatal mistake over committing to a highline horizontal slash. She ducked under going to a knee, River under cuts the Bank ended his Channeler hunting as his innards spilled out across the common room floor.

Mustaches charged in as she was cutting barrel-wide and she barely managed to deflect a blow that would have cut her shoulder to breastbone, if not further. She tucked and rolled away after his blade slid down hers in a shower of sparks. He followed closely Raining blows down. Once, twice, three-four-five times his blade hammered down, as he raised it again she slipped into Lizard in the Thorn Bushes and slid her blade completely though his gut just below the belt buckle. A surprised look crossed his face as she rose to stand toe to toe with him. She gave her sword a savage twist stepped back and kicked him off her blade.

Glancing around she noted with some surprise that not a single piece of furniture had been destroyed, though several chairs had been knocked over. She knelt down to wipe her sword blade clean on the man's cloak before sheathing it and turning to the stairs. A quick flicker of the power untied her weaves and she bound up the stairs two at a time to find Angel...

[sharyntyre]

...Leaning against the wall, gripping her bare blade in one hand and staring at the lifeless bodies on the floor. She guessed that they had seen the bodies, the horrible, massacred bodies of their companions, and had deduced the culprit of the maudlin scene, ultimately deciding to come after her. They must have followed the trail of blood, as well; it was an accurate way to find her, that was for damn sure. When Syn'Zorya had launched back down the stairs, Angel had made no move at all, but to hold the blade of the long sword in her hand, and as she watched the battle progress, her grip on it had become tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until it was most of the way through the flesh of her skin, pressing against the bones of her hand and a line of blood ran down the flashing steel.

It was becoming more difficult, more pressing to stay on her feet. Something, some invisible force that rivaled in mystery with the Power threatened to pull her down to the floor, and to close her eyes. It reminded her of a dream, a nightmare she had had once, not so long ago... running through the pitch black dark, with mist surrounding her feet, thick enough that she couldn't even see the earth beneath her, and some dark force pulling at her feet and legs, trying to slow her down and make her give in... falling to the wet ground, blades of grass she had thought to be coated with an after shower dew, but was really blood. Blood that was, and was not her own.

She'd leaned against the wall for support not long into the fight, as soon as Syn had thrown the pouch into the faces of one of them, a fellow with mustaches that bordered looking like an old cat's shaggy whiskers. The truth of the matter was, she didn't really need the money. She had enough to keep her alive, whether she left the Hall or not... But then again, Angel, it's never been about the money, has it? She asked herself - was it really her saying this? Or some foreign voice that lulled like death scratching at the window, sniffing under the door? ...No, it had never been about the money. It had always been about the battle. The hunt. The death. The risk she took every day and every night when she crept into houses and courtyards and waited silently for her pray... oh, so silently, never moving, but being as still as the death she intended to inflict. Just as she had told Syn'Zorya... "an arrow to the head, the throat or base of the neck, or a slit throat, and it's over. A quick way to go..."

She took some kind of twisted pleasure in the lives that she stole, a reverberation of the life that had been stolen from her. Light, but she felt as though she were already dead, and had been all of her existence. Not walking wounded, but walking death. The pain from her own blade as drew another line in her flesh, in her hand, was all that made her believe she was still on the plane of the living, though she didn't even seem to notice it. She needed the pain. And, in her mind, it was all she needed.

Angel blinked, slowly, and instead of being greeted by the darkness and the back of her eyelids, she saw the dead White cloaks again, lying in pools of their own death, their bodies mangled and their images twisted into nightmarish conditions. The vision lasted for not even half a moment, but it was enough to leave the imprint of it in her mind for the rest of her life, whether she lived to be a hundred or died this very day. Without closing her eyes again, her mind began to show her bits and pieces of darkened yards, narrow alleys, silent bedrooms, each with a person, a body, a corpse lying face down in a puddle of blood. Light, was she dying? No... not yet. She knew she would die, eventually, but it'd not be today, nor the day after, nor the day after that. She still had time. For her retribution, and for her redemption. She still had time.

When the raven haired woman, as lethal as Angel if not more so, bounded back up the steps, the Aiel girl's icy blue stare didn't even acknowledge her presence but washed past her and seemed focused on the dead bodies below, though it was not them she was looking at. The former vice like grip around her steel blade loosened, and it clattered to the floor, and the Void collapsed around her. Pain seared from her back through her entire body, and her nerves were ablaze with the tormenting sensation. Her hand shot out to catch the wall, something to support her stumbling form, and she squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw simultaneously.

Her strength faltered, and her consciousness began to fade, and she opened her eyes long enough to glance back down at the corpses of the White cloaks before she was overcome, and fell forward, leaving the long trail of a bloody handprint on the wall.

[sharyntyre]

Syn'Zorya made it back to Angel just in time to see the girl loosing consciousness and slide down the wall. she lashed out with flows of Air and caught the girl, wrapping her up as gentle as she could and lifting the nearly dead girl back up so it appeared she still stood on her own two feet. The smaller woman was not going to physically carry the wild Aiel girl. She left Angel's bloody, literally, sword lying were she had dropped it. Angel wouldn't not like that, and in reversed rolls, neither would she, but there were priorities here. She glanced up and down the hallway and found the room the innkeeper said was the closest empty one. Four down on the left.

As she made her way, pulling an upright but unconscious Angel along beside her. A door on the right side of the hall opened up. a curious face poked out, took one look at the blood covered pair and slammed the door shut again. The sound of furniture being moved followed quickly. Syn just shook her head and slammed the door to her room open, which produced a muffled cry of terror from a near by room. She quickly floated the Dedicated to the bed and laid her out on it gently.

She had taken a healing class, but it was a set of weaves she did not practice much. She carefully shaped a delving weave and sent it through Angel. What she found was enough to make her stomach heave. Light the girl had a masters' control of the void to have been able to leave where ever she'd gotten all those wounds, much more so to be able to sit and have a conversation about her past. Syn had thought, and hoped really, that the majority of the blood covering the girl had been someone else’s. Now she was not so sure, and less sure the girl had enough blood in her to last until Dedicated Sanatha showed up. There was still a heartbeat, faint as it was, and Angel still breathed, though shallowly.

Summoning every ounce of strength she had with Saidar she formed the basic healing weaves and sent them into Angel. It was not nearly enough, of course. It would take someone with a Talent to heal this mess, but her heartbeat was a tiny bit stronger and her breathing a little bit deeper. Though still far from making Syn count on the girl making it. The sounds of shouted inquires and boots stomping on the floor down stairs made her whip around and look to the door.

Knowing there was little more she could do for Angel, other than guard her slowly dieing body she dashed back out of the room and scooped up Angel's sword as she made the head of the stair. It was not her sword, and the balance was slightly off for her, Angel had a longer reach and more height, so her blade as nearly a hand longer than Syn's own Andorran steel. Still the sight of a Soldier wielding a bloody sword should be enough to stop the city watch, if that was who it was, from doing anything rash. If it wasn't there'd be hell to pay, on all sides.

Curses and praise to the Light were shouted with equal fever and the sound of two men coming up the stairs came to sharp ears. Syn rounded the corner where the hallway met the straight flight of stairs with Angel's blade ready. The city watchman nearly ran himself through the neck as he threw both hands out to brace himself against the walls to stop his forward momentum. A drop of fresh blood welled up where the sharp tip of the sword met his flesh. "What in the bloody pit" he stammered as the other behind him raised a heavy club.

"Oh calm yourselves, I have the situation in hand, now" She growled. With warders and tower guard often roaming the streets, the city watch was likely the most ineffectual group of arms men in the world. She supposed they did cut down on petty crime some, though from some of the stories she'd heard they were not even good at that. "Collect those bodies, have a cart brought to take them to the Dragon Hall. Lucky for you fellows I managed to stop an assassination attempt." That was not exactly the truth, but it touched on it, they had been meaning to kill an Asha'man after all. Never mind Angel's former ties to the Children, that bit of news the city watch was unworthy of.

Of course, it was not so easy as that, especially with her holding a blade to the man's neck. Belatedly she lowered the sword and stepped back, though she did keep herself between them and the room in which Angel laid. No reason the white cloaks could not have a spy in the city watch, and all the reason in the world for them to do so. The pair came up, of course, and asked where the other woman was. Syn told them no one but an Asha'man or Aes Sedai was passing her to see the girl either. They did not like that, but with a Channeler standing between them and what they wanted there was bloody little they could do about it. That and the fact that there were three bodies down stairs to attest to her skill with a blade.

She also commanded them to send a runner to the Dragon Hall, in case the Innkeeper forgot in his haste to summon them. They did not like that either, but knew even a Soldier held more sway and power than even their commander did. Of course, a few precious moments were wasted as that order was delegated and re-delegated down to the lowest man on the poll. She sighed thinking she should have told one of them to do it personally. Of course she likely would have spent the wasted time arguing with him over it anyway.

"Let no one but an Aes Sedai or Asha'man pass you on this stair or I will know the why of it, after I carve a pound of flesh from your hides." She snapped, then turned flowing fluidly back into the room where she slammed the door shut. She tossed Angel's sword to the floor with a metal on wood clatter. She crossed over to the bed, not that it was that far of a distance, this was far from the best and largest Inn in the city, though clean. A knife cleared leather and she began cutting clothes off the Dedicated, She did not want to move the girl's limp body more than she had to.

She discovered a hefty array of weapons, most of it of the stealthy death delivering variety. Syn grimaced in distaste but with a since of admiration for the girl as well. She did not like assassins, in fact hated them, usually, but Angel had been proficient in what she did. Syn was glad her unnamed target had slipped passed her though. Nothing could have saved the girl if she had killed a Tower member, regardless of what section he or she was affiliated with. The weapons went in a pile on the floor with the sword and the bits of blood soaked clothing went in another pile.

Once she had everything cut open and as much of it off the girl as she could get she used a flow of air to lift the girl and pull off the remains from her backside. Angel was covered in blood, as expected and covered in wounds, also expected. Light seeing them was somehow worse than feeling them. That was likely due to knowing she'd hold the memory of this site for a long time, it would be added to the nightmares that haunted her. She let the girl's body gently back down on the bed, and rewove the delving weave to be able to better monitor her condition. No worse, her little bit of healing skill was enough to momentarily stabilize the girl, no better either.

She decided she might as well stay busy, or she'd dwell to much on the remaining unanswered questions she had and how she was going to explain this to the T’sovaran’m’hael. She crossed back to the door and yelled at the watchmen to bring her as much hot water as the inn had available along with clean cloth. While they were busy filling that order she spent a moment cursing. Where in the light was Dedicated Sanatha anyway?

The buckets and cloth appeared before the Dedicated did and Syn opened the door just enough to accept the requested items, slamming the door in the face of the watchman who tried to peer past her. Besides telling them no one but an Asha'man or Aes Sedai was coming in here, she did not think Angel would appreciate her allowing a simple watch man to ogle her naked body.

Syn soaked the cloth and began wiping off the blood, being extremely gentle around the many open and slowly seeping wounds. "Light girl, you are a bloody mess" she said repeatedly as the more she cleaned the more wounds she found. Finishing her front side she again created a cradle of Air, lifted the girl, and rotated her so she could tend Angel's backside. Four blood soaked rags and three buckets of steaming water later she finished with her job.

Nothing to do but wait now, so she opened the door again, and put out the now blood stained buckets of water, ordered them removed and more brought up so she could wash herself. She also ordered food and hot tea, which produced bulging eyes but a nod of comprehension, if not complete understanding. She had not eaten since lunch yesturday and was famished. A long veteran, eating with a wounded body near by did not bother her in the least.

[sharyntyre]

Bright green eyes turned about to look at the panting Soldier, stuttering over his words and looked more afraid of not delivering his message than running himself to death. "De...dedicated, you... you're needed, at.. the front gates... messenger from an Inn.. the... the Leaky Bucket? Yes... go..." The Dedicated arched an eyebrow high into her forehead but finished her work quickly, replacing the jars of various herbs to their properly stocked shelves. She'd been more than pleased that the Yellow sisters had allowed her to spend the majority of her free time, as well as perform her chores, in their Hospital wing, as she did have a Talent, one still being cultivated to a fine point she hoped to wield with immaculate grace in due time.

Waving off the Soldier as she exited and allowing him to return to whatever task he'd been whisked away from to find her. She made her way hastily towards the Grand Courtyard, and just beyond that, several men had a cart - oh Light, that couldn't be - a cart with three, gory bodies in it, claiming that a Soldier of the Dragon Hall sent them. The Dedicated involuntarily shuddered when she saw that one of the corpse's head was detached from his body, leaving only a glaring wound.

"Are you the bloody Dedicated?" one of the men, standing as far away from the bloody cart as he possibly could without actually looking as though he was trying to avoid it, positively glared at her. From his garb, she could tell he was one of the worthless city watchmen.

Inwardly huffing, she replied in just as strong a tone, "Yes, I am Dedicated Sanatha, and to whom or to what do I owe this?"

"You've been particularly asked after for some mishap at an Inn near the Darein bridge, the Leaky Bucket," the guard continued. "If you'll follow me, please," he added, gruffly dismissing the men with the carts as a servant was given instructions to hunt down an Asha'man, or one of the M'haels themselves. Light! What was all this?!

With a million questions, all unvoiced, running through her head the short moments as the guard led her as quickly as possible to the Inn passed as nothing, and the Dedicated looked around only briefly at the servants cleaning up what seemed like buckets of blood off the floor. A battle had taken place here she knew it. Looking expectantly towards the stairs, she darted up them, where two men stopped her, but they instantly retracted their halt, urging her, in once again a gruff manner, to proceed to the room fourth down on the left. Her uniform gave away that she was as good as an Asha'man, in their foolish eyes, and she went on, looking down at sloshing bucket on the floor, filled with cooling water tainted crimson by what could only be blood.

Sanatha pushed the door open and the first thing her eyes saw was Soldier Syn'Zorya grimacing over an empty plate with not enough crumbs for a rodent left on it, standing fierce guard against... something. The door, it seemed. The next item her vibrant green eyes absorbed was a long, unmoving and bare body on the bed, with open wounds gaping at the ceiling, wounds that by seeing them was enough to make her want to wretch. She instinctively fell into the Void - she had a strong feeling she'd be needing it - and queried the Soldier on what in the bloody Light had happened to, Light, it was that crazy Dedicated, Angel. She stepped over a pile of bloodied clothes and around another of various weaponry, a couple of them bloodied beyond the recognition that they were steel at all.

Embracing the infusion of life that was Saidar, she sent a long tendril, a delving weave, into the girl's slashed and cut form, her gaze enveloping the wounds on her back. She knew what a few of them were from, she could tell by the crooked, uneven cuts in her flesh; a scourge. A torturer's weapon. What she found with the delving weave made the sick taste of vomit come up in her throat, but she forced it back down, biting her tongue to keep from crying out. Her Talent allowed her to feel a fraction of the pain the injured did, and she wished she had not been able to. Only the sight of it rivaled the feeling of the infliction upon the golden haired Dedicated, she concluded, releasing the weave.

Her eyes washed over a marking on her upper shoulder, and widened at the recognition of the symbol. There, branded into the Rhuidean born girls skin, was a sunburst with an aptly distinguishable shepherd's crook protruding from it, but she made no query of the strange marking. It was not her immediate concern; her concern was Healing the half Aiel woman before what little blood she had left drained out.

It had taken longer than she had expected, the delving weave, to find all the wounds on the girl's body. Light, but she wished she had some of those herbs now - but once she had, she sucked in her breath and drew in as much of Saidar as she thought was safely possible, and began to tentatively form the weaves, slowly, one at a time, slipping them gingerly into Angel's weakened form. Sweat beaded down Sanatha's forehead as sinew rewound itself and torn muscles were reshaped, a fractured rib bound and reformed, inhumanly warped flesh repaired... the whole process stretched on for forever and a day too long, and even with her strong Talent, Sanatha was feeling the ache of nearly being pushed to her limit. Light, this girl was inches from dying, it was like trying to Heal death itself, something that could not be done, but the bright eyed Kintaran would not give up, neither for herself nor Angel, whom she barely knew but recalled seeing before in classes, or mostly in the Courtyard.

The last jagged cut sealed itself up, replaced by flesh slightly paler than that that had been torn, but the Healing was far from over. The wounds were sealed, of course, but the girl was insanely weak from loss and lack of blood. Another weave was formed with saidar and slipped into the girl's body, and managed to ameliorate only some of the weakness. The rest could not be healed by any amount of channeling, only time would put the Dedicated back on her feet, but at least the crazy girl was no longer in immediate danger of dying from her wounds, at least, none that Sanatha found after probing her one more time with a delving weave.

[sharyntyre]

Syn’Zorya ate the meal in silence, as there was no one to talk to. Unless you counted Angel, unconscious now, and not the best conversationalist at any time. Much like herself, really. The raven haired Soldier had never been one for meaningless chatter, though she had learned to do so as a file leader, there just wasn't much else to do but talk after dinner around a camp fire.

She hoped that between her and Angel they'd killed any and all agents in Tar Valon who might know of her connection to the bloody white cloaks, though that flaming tattoo on her back suggested, at least to Syn, more than a few contracted jobs. Syn was not going to ask, at least not anytime soon. So she had to come up with something as to why she killed the three she had, instead of just wrapping them with air and holding them until they could be dealt with properly. After some thought, and about half the meal she decided just saying she did not think about using the power when she had a sword on her hip was the best, everyone who knew her would easily believe that.

Syn also wondered how long it would take that fat sloppy inn keeper to report the disturbance in his establishment. She had not started anything, but from his comments, he thought he knew someone of importance at the Dragon Hall. She made a mental note to mention this Shawn to the M'Haels. Either one of them was going around in disguise, or they possibly had a male Channeler running around the city claiming to be an Asha'man. She had a sneaky suspicion it was the M'Hael. Sharyntyre had a wild reputation.

The door came open and she looked up ready to tear into the watchmen, only to half swallow her tongue and snap off a salute, which got ignored. Dedicated Sanatha's green eyes glanced over her and moved to Angel without much in the way of acknowledgement. The Dedicated went right to work, and Syn watched for a time, trying to follow along. Though the woman's weaves quickly outclassed any Healing she'd want to attempt.

Syn’Zorya decided her time might be better spent tending the weapons and such. There was nothing to be done about Angel's clothing, even if she had not cut them off the girl, no amount of cleaning would get that much blood out of the cloth. She started to use Fire to dispose of the clothes, but did not want to risk distracting the Dedicated from her work. With a grimace of distaste, she decided this was one of those things she had best deal with by hand. With a grimace of distaste she began picking things up.

[sharyntyre]

Sanatha sat down in the only other available chair in the room, breathing more heavily than she had been when she arrived as she grudgingly released Saidar, the effect of drinking in more of than she often did enticing her not to let go, but she resisted succumbing to the urge. She'd heard enough tales of those who burnt themselves out, killing themselves, or stilling themselves, which, she had been made well aware of, was a death within a life itself. She stared across the table at Syn'Zorya for a moment, as the woman finished collecting and gathering the clothes with a strong look of disdain etched into her features. Her green eyes, still vivid in color but not so in their sparkle after the monstrous effort it had required to heal the crazy half Aiel, shifted to the fallen Dedicated and studied her for a moment. Sanatha opened her mouth to speak, but whatever words she had had were lost when there was a frantic barrage of rapping and banging sounds at the door; it sounded much like an idiot trying to knock with his head.

In her wearied - but not weakened - state, though she did rise, Sanatha had not taken two steps before Syn'Zorya had risen from her previous task and whisked to the door with the fluid grace of an animal on the prowl. The raven haired woman embraced Saidar with a vice like grip and tentatively opened the door to glare menacingly at the two watchmen that had been ordered to stand guard at the hallway. Both of them made a visible attempt not to flinch when they were met with her curses, and simply blinked in the face of the fork tongued verbal whiplash. One of the men's eyes widened as he tried to peer over the Soldier's shoulder, and she forced the pair of them out into the hallway, and the two louts bowed and saluted clumsily, tripping over apologies and excuses for their intrusion.

One of them spoke up at once, "Some of the patrols of the city watch just found ten bodies in one of the older warehouses nearer to the docks, south east of here. Coincidental evidence points to..." he sneered briefly, "Whatever or whoever you are hiding in that room. You should pray to the Light that it is incorrect, but I have been informed that it will be our privilege to escort you there, as you have already confirmed this to be a matter of the Dragon Hall." He almost seem to puff his chest out with an air of self importance, but the notion was cut off as quickly as it appeared while he tried to seem un-intimidated in the face of a Channeler, as well as trying not to anger her. For this particular man, it was difficult.

Sanatha, having overheard a majority of this, forced the door open and stepped fully into the hallway, a surprisingly hardened expression alighting her eyes and face. "And I suppose we are just supposed to leave the girl here, under your men's profuse care?" She did not bloody heal someone half dead to leave them under the poor charge of these goat kissers, but the men, surprisingly quick for one of such seemingly short intelligence, offered an alternative.

"Only one of you need come, the other, stay and tend this girl of yours, if you must." He ignored the narrowed glares from both of the Dragon Hall women, and awaited a response.

Sanatha was the one to speak up this time, before Syn'Zorya had the chance. "I will stay with Angel, and Gate back to the Tower in a short while. Return there after... this," she gestured flippantly at the first guard, and it was his turn to glare.

As the guardsmen saw this as an acceptable conclusion, they turned and began to walk towards the end of the hall, where one panting messenger decked in the liveries of the city watch awaited. Scowling and muttering something under her breath, Syn'Zorya followed darted back into the room and returned shortly to follow them, strapping her ornamented sword around her waist, as she was loathe to leave without it. She gave an ice-cold glance to the messenger, who sniffed loudly in return, began to lead her down the steps, and through the common room, now filled with only curious and lowly guards of the watch. The messenger gave them no regard and stepped over an upturned chair no one had bother to right up, continuing about his business, which would turn out to be a lurid business indeed.

The man had a spring in his step and ever so often would get spurts of speed and trot a few paces ahead before he resumed his normal pace, as if he was vying to get to his destination and relieve himself of this particular task, and in fact, he was. The walk was short, not ten minutes, and it was unnerving to see the splashes of blood along the far side of the street, coming out of the alleyway, an ominous and leering fact that Angel had come this way, unless there was someone else that was bleeding and staggering about the city. It was doubtful.

When they approached the warehouse men were swarming outside, making themselves seem as important and official as possible, warning people to stay away and not mind it all, but not a single person was daring to go inside. Not yet, anyway, and the heavy door, thick and old, was wedged over the doorframe, dissuading all from entering. There was a jagged line where someone had forced the handle away, leaving a small peephole that gaze in upon the dusty warehouse, old crates lining the walls and dust fraying the sunlight as it filtered in through the cracked window panes.

A city official regarded the dark haired Soldier for a moment before speaking to her, and said as calmly as was possible, "You are from the Hall, no? I will not leave this, as it is in my hands, and I will do all in my power to personally assist you and the Hall, as well as I expect of my men. Nevertheless, I cannot ask any of them to go once again into that building. The poor fool who found fainted at the sight, if not the stench, and he is not one of my weaker men." He watched her for a reaction, and didn't even notice as the messenger made his way as far away as possible, searching for something to do, or stories and gossip to spread, something that would surely not be needed. The official himself opened the door, pulling it open only enough for Syn'Zorya to slip in, and then pushed it shut without closing it all the way, but enough that no curious eyes could peer inside.

The bodies were almost unrecognizable.

The stench hung in the place, heavy and intoxicating, poisoning the air and nearly dizzying the senses, and though a blind man could have marked the place for grisly, it was not the worst, and some who would look in at the scene would wish themselves sightless. The closest corpse lay five or six paces from the doorway, staring at ceiling. Well, almost. The entire right side of the man's face was caved in, and ripped open, exposing the inner workings of his eye socket, skull, jaw, all the way down to his collarbone, where the gory insides of his neck were exposed. The thick cords of muscle, vein, and air pipes cut and clouted with drying blood, some of the sinew ripped so terribly that the white of his spine was visible, if one looked close enough (not that anyone would).

Bones protruded cruelly from the bodies of several, and more than one had their innards smeared across the floor, and one poor fellows own guts were encircling his throat, and by the looks of it, he had actually choked to death, meaning the killer must have been swift... so fast in their gory work. One figure was headless, and the head itself lay on the other side of the room, being dragged away slowly by a massive rat with half an ear.

Flies crawled along the exposed flesh, each trying to get a piece of the ripe meal, but there was plenty to go around. More than enough, and even a couple of rats had decided to invite themselves to the middle of the room, ignoring Syn'Zorya when she entered and continuing their feast, savoring the dead bodies as a human would fine wine. A toast to death.

[sharyntyre]

Syn'Zorya followed the man without giving the appearance to be, it seemed to any who bothered to watch, as if she were merely walking in the same direction as the twitchy watchman. She glided over the cobblestones in a fluid motion, feet rising just enough so that she would not stumble on the uneven paving stones. Her right hand perched on the golden eagle hilt of the sword, to keep it from tangling with her legs as she walked. She chuckled a couple of times at the man's uneven pace and slowed hers just a hair, just to annoy the self important little man a little more. Dark tilted eyes of a scout had little trouble picking up the watchman's 'coincidental evidence' light angel left a trail of blood a babe could follow.

Upon reaching the 'scene of the crime’, she let a grimace of distaste slide across her narrow face. Militia was useless for the most part, and always had been. They were good for scaring away livestock thieves and the like, but not much else. There were dozens of citizens gathered around, just because there were dozens of city watch making a scene out of it all. A couple of men posted near the door, and maybe a few more at each corner around the building would have been more than enough. Light the stink alone would have kept any honest person from interring.

She carefully blanked her face when she was led to yet another self important seeming man, who eyed her with a look she did not at all care for, but given the situation he had on his hands, she could understand it. For the most part. She did not even blink an eye at his little speech giving him one tight nod at the end of it. Nor was she surprised by the fact he did not follow her into the warehouse, who would given a choice. The stench was as bad as any of the three battlefields she had been on, all of which were mere skirmishes along the borders really. Still any time many dead bodies littered an area there was this stink to it. In a closed in space it was amplified. Dropping deep into the void she was able to ignore the smell, though she had her doubts as to whether or not it would ever come out of her uniform.

It was quite the nightmarish scene, made all the worse by the fact that it was done by one quite pretty, if snappish, young lady. More girl than woman really, by age if not by life experience. After the tale she'd heard from Angel's own mouth, she knew the girl, in her own way had had as rough a life as she had. Different circumstances, to be sure, with different results of course, but both had been shaped early in a forge as close to the Pit of Dhoom as anyone could get and retain their sanity. Of course a good look around this warehouse and one would have to question angel's sanity, and hers as well for lingering here.

She walked around slowly, not bothered by the rats, flies nor the stinking bodies of former white cloaks, now so much cold and slowly rotting meat. She figured they'd weigh quite a bit less by the time the rats were done with them, if any of the watch could work up the belly to even come in here and clean this up. She would wager against it, not if one of the 'not weakest men' fainted from looking. What she was doing was trying to piece together how it happened, in what order her friend had killed these men. It took little thought to deduct that the one's nearest the door were the last to die, and the one with a scourge still clutched in a death grip likely the first.

After a couple of loops around the corpse she thought she had a clear picture in her mind, partially from where and how the bodies laid, and from knowing what she did of Angel's fighting style. There did not seem to be any reason behind the methods of death, other than some insane need for each to unique, and grisly. Bracing herself, despite the void, she was turning pale and green around the mouth and eyes, she approached a body. Snapping out with Saidar, weaves of Air to batter the bravest of the rodents away, most scurried to another corpse when she approached, but there were some who'd not move on there own.

The raven-haired Soldier knelt down and began rummaging through the coat pockets and belt pouches of the dead agents. She was not after their coin, little of that as they had on them. Apparently, the White Cloaks did not pay very well, that or these men kept their money somewhere else other than on their persons. Which made little sense, Tar Valon, despite recent events was still most likely the safest city in the lands, well perhaps Rhuidean had less crime, the Aiel were notoriously harsh on lawbreakers.

She did find a few things, which would bear further investigation. Two of the corpses had books tucked in their coats, and surprisingly, neither had all that much blood on them, though there was hardly enough light in the warehouse to read by. For that she was thankful, what light there was showed her more than enough of the macabre scene. Several of the men had silver worked flashes, upon inspection, proved to be nothing more than spirits they no doubt consumed to keep their guts while working in a city full of witches. One more item caught her attention; the man closest to the man with the scourge had three small vials. She was not going to taste them, but she was willing to bet they were some sorts of poison. White Cloaks loved to use poison, especially on witches.

Saidar pulsed in her as she worked; it made the smell worse, though in the void she did not notice that much anyway. With Saidar humming through her body, filling her with light, with life, it made so much death somehow seem deader. She knew that made little sense, as did the feeling of cold dread. It was not as if she could be attacked in here, and light help the fool who tried if she were. That did not keep the feeling of being watched, the feeling of danger away though. Deciding there was little else she could learn from the bodies, she moved on to inspecting the surroundings. She was thankful the watch did not have the belly for being in here, she wanted to be sure there was no evidence that pointed to any connection to Angel and the corpse, other than the fact that she had created them. No one had any doubt about that.

There was a semi circle of chairs, some turned over, as if those sitting in them had left them in a hurry. Barrels seemed to serve as tables, with several holding cheep lanterns, none that burned. Inspecting them, she found they were dry; amazing that none had been over turned in the struggles. She found several jugs of wine, inspecting them showed her where at least some of the coin had been spent.

She also found nearly a score saddlebags and wondered where the bloody horses were. However, that would be easy enough for the watch to track down. Besides most Inns having their own stables, there were public stables where one could leave mounts. If there men were foolish enough to all gather and stay in one 'hideout' perhaps they had been foolish enough to store their horses together. She dug around in the saddlebags and found a larger stash of coin in one, a full saddlebag to be precise. So one of these men had been the ringleader, or at least the group treasurer. She took that saddlebag, put the books, and poison in on top of the several bulging purses.

With a final glance around the scene, she decided to leave the warehouse; fresh air was sounding better and better. A weave of Air pushed the doors wide open and she calmly glided out, with the saddle bag hanging over her right shoulder.

"Well," the city official began as soon as she was far enough away from the warehouse doors so that he would not accidentally see the mess inside "What have you to say about this. Be sure a report will be filed and handed to your M’Hael. I understand the new one is Aiel as well as the last was. One would think you Soldier's and Dedicated would show a bit more discipline." A few of the watchmen standing around nodded in agreement, a couple looked at the man is if he were dressing down an Aes Sedai. Any fool knew the least ranked Channeler was capable of doing all kinds of things without twitching.

Syn'Zorya, knowing she and Angel both were neck deep in the rending kettle as it was, choose to not rise to his baiting, though her left hand did wrap around the hilt of her sword. "You can rest assured, watch master, that I to will be filing a report, it shall start with the fact that your bloody people are useless." That caused his face to begin changing colors, OK so maybe she was taking his bait. What was in that warehouse would be enough to put most folks on edge. She firmly took a grip on her razor sharp tongue even as her left hand tightened on the sword hilt.

"If any of your men have the belly for it I suggest moving those bodies and disposing of them somewhere. We are all lucky the Dedicated showed the restraint to not burn down half the block in her escape. I would have." It would have made things somewhat simpler, though it would have caused more trouble with the citizens than either M’Hael would appreciate. "Offer then double pay, I am sure you will get some volunteers." She shrugged her shoulder and began to walk away "I have been ordered to return to the Dragon Hall when I was finished with this, do you want to send someone along to make sure your people get fair words from me."

The watch master looked like he had plenty to say, but several things seemed to keep him from speaking for a moment. Five steps away Syn'Zorya paused "I am waiting mister, though the longer I wait the less patients our Aiel M’Hael is going to have with the both of us." Sharyntyre wasn't even in the city, unless he had reappeared sometime in the night, which was possible, he could be hard to find at times, and blood everywhere at once others.

"My men all have plenty to do as it is, Soldier. I will send my report through normal channels." The man tried to make the word Soldier sound demeaning, she was in the lowest ranks of the Dragon Hall; somehow, it did not work when she replied with "have it your way militia man." She had to shoulder her way past a line of watchmen, though none tried to keep her. Lucky for them, and her. Teaching them a lesson in manors would not be worth the trouble she would find for it at the hall. Glancing up she was surprised to find she had been in the warehouse for well over two hours. "Light I will never get that stench out of my nose, nor the scene out of my mind." She proceeded up the streets towards the massive graceful tower that dominated the entire city, the entire world really.

[sharyntyre]

Thanks for your PMed responses guys :)

I have a few other pieces of Wheel of Time writings featuring other characters if anyone is interested in seeing them.

[Miasmo]

Few questions.

Would you rather have people PM you or leave comments here?

Will this contain spoilers if I'm only on Lord of Chaos?

What on earth were you thinking, setting it after the end when the end has yet to come!? :P

[sharyntyre]

It does not matter where comments go, unless they are mean, I'd rather those be private, for everyone's sake.

NO Spoilers. We had a very strict NO cannon characters, no relations to cannon characters. All of it is original fanfic/RP writings, only a bit different from what goes on here.

Lord of Chaos is one of my favs of the series so far! Enjoy it my friend.


What on earth were you thinking, setting it after the end when the end has yet to come!? :P


I joined the site in it's 2-3 year of life back in 99, they had things well established. It only caused a few problems, the mods had figured out most of the Prophesy so it was more an issue of adding things rather than going, opps RJ just erased that city from the map. The Seanchan did create a few major wrinkles....I think the War of Power would be a killer time frame for some WoT RPG

If our Mod ever gets the Domain issues straightened out I intend to invite a handful of the writers here to check things out there. Only a handful of writers active when we went down, but we were really enjoying the writing and THAT is the point,well and honing writing skills.

[empire21]

Agreed, Lord of Chaos is by far the best of the series, have fun, Miasmo.

[Jarl]

Great stuff Shar! Definitely makes me wish I had joined back in the good ol' days when Angel and Syn were stomping around establishing the ground work for what they both became. I definitely miss what we did have going on over there before the domain problems.

To anyone Shar intends to invite over (when the aforementioned issues are worked out) : This is the type of writing that went on over there that made me feel so proud to be part of that site. There were people that could produce great writings, drawing out better jottings from me, which in turn would get them to keep their writings great; turning everything into a cycle where we fed of each others posts.

Like I told you on that site Shar, your posts inspire me. Never stop writing man!

[sharyntyre]

I do have a couple of other pieces featuring other characters. I'll start editing my sloppy spellings and such and slap up one that features my lead character and name sake. An Asha'man, a Theif-catcher and Warder trainie go after a nest of White Cloak spies on Tar Valon.

[Cydon]

This is very good material sharyn.

[sharyntyre]

this coversation takes place roughly seven years after the first piece, same to characters and writers. This is a much shorter piece so I'll post severl posts in a section seperated by a little ~~~

Old Friends by Alex and Randy

Buttery smooth cotton sheets with a thread count somewhere in the thousands rippled intermittently as a gentle breeze breathed in to Angel's bedchambers from the open balcony window. Heavy lidded eyes clad with dark and thick eyelashes opened slowly to reveal oceanic blue eyes. Exhaling audibly, she drew herself up in her lover's arms, brushing her lips against his neck and reaching around for the blanket, cast off sometime in the night, to take refuge in its warmth.

They hadn't exactly been holed up in her quarters for the past few nights, but sufficed to say that Angel had not so frequently been spotted prowling the corridors at all hours of twilight.

Though, the reverie was to be short-lived. The young Asha’man had much to attend to that day, and grudgingly pried herself from her sleepy lover's embrace, drawing stray silver wisps of hair from his face and pressing another kiss on his brow before standing and removing herself to her wardrobe to dress for the day.

Smirking in the mirror and running a slender-fingered hand through her tousled locks, she idly watched her Krek'ra sleep through the silver glass's reflection.

No sooner had she drawn her eyes from the mirror than a sharp knock came at her door. Arching a cool blonde eyebrow, she walked from her bed quarters to her main chambers, gently pushing the door that divided the two shut to ensure that any callers would not be made aware to the presence of a sleeping and naked Seandari in her bed.

"You may come in," she called from the side of her chambers, tugging on the black Asha'man tunic as she spoke.

Syn'Zorya woke up in a chamber quickly made ready for her, she'd been told she could chose one of her own later, if she wished. A room was a room to her. Tossing back sheets and blankets worth more than her war horse she climbed out of the comfortable bed. Dark eyes still somewhat blurry from sleep found the washstand; light graceful steps carried her across the room. After a couple of moments of splashing, the world and her mind came back into sharp focus. She crossed to the wardrobe and quickly changed into a crisp fresh Asha'man uniform.

She wasn't sure she liked the feeling the clothing brought her. It almost felt as if a missing part, a part she was not aware had been missing, was back and she was now complete. The cloths did not make the woman, the heart and soul did. The feeling stayed there in the back of her mind anyway. Knives were tucked here and there, most hidden from the casual eye. Then she belted on her sword, a finger tracing the herons on the hilt and sheath. Lastly she quickly brushed her nearly waist length raven hair out then spent a few minutes twisting it into a fancy braid nearly as thick as her wrist.

Outside Angel's chambers she paused on the verge of just barging in, back in the old days she would have, as Angel would have done visiting her. Back then they considered each other rough equals, if with a different batch of skills. After being away for so long she was not sure what the fierce woman thought, both had changed in five years. Knocking on the door, she reflected on some of those changes within herself.

Angel called out almost immediately, and Syn let herself into the room. Dark eyes glanced around seeing everything, but not really paying it attention to it. The memory would be there if something in the room was important. Her friend, maybe the only one left in the region looked much as she had five years ago. Strong, proud, hard as stone. there was something in the eyes that had not been there before though. It sort of reminded her of Sharyntyre's eyes. Eyes that had seen to much, eyes that sometimes did not like what they saw in the mirror either, but accepted.

"Hello Angel" she flashed what was as close to a friendly smile as she had "I tried to find you last night but was told you were not to be disturbed."
~~~
Before so much as a response came, the door opened and a short, lithe woman strode in, and an odd silence hung in the air while recognition registered in Angel's mind.

"Hello Angel," the woman greeted in the same no nonsense voice the blonde Asha'man had always known her raven-haired counterpart to use. "I tried to find you last night but was told you were not to be disturbed."

"Syn," she responded as an uncommonly genuine smile broke out across Angel's face, and she took a few steps towards Syn'Zorya, placing her hands on either side of the smaller woman's shoulders. Neither of the women appreciated excessive invasion of their respective personal spaces, and theirs had been a friendship that never required such sentimentalities.

"You're back, when did you get here?" The woman looked the same as she had when last Angel had seen her, if a little... bored. I would be too, the blonde half-blood thought to herself gruffly.

[sharyntyre]

Syn's smile softened a bit more at Angel's warm welcome, she returned the taller woman's casual embrace a moment then stepped back. Neither was the type to display much emotion, or soft emotions anyway. Dispite the younger woman's back ground, there was no one else, living, that she would trust more at her back.

"Yesterday afternoon" she let the smile fall from her face "it only took six months of near pleading to get the court to bless my leaving" she wanted to spit. Public acknowledgement of advisors of her 'sort' was not seen in most lands, so officially, she'd been retired from the Dragon Hall, serving her former nation as she had long ago. She could have just left of course, no one there was capable of stopping her from Traveling anywhere she wanted. Duty, obligations were harder to get around.

"The Compact is more than peaceful, and I've watched enough harvests brought in. After the war against the Jenn I thought I'd had my fill of battle. Five years of training the Guard and overseeing the property we were granted has me feeling old enough to be my own grandmother."
~~~
She let her arms fall and listened as Syn'Zorya spoke, the wry nonchalance that usually accompanied her casual attentiveness absent from her golden features. She had wondered about her friend's whereabouts on her return, accepting the short answer that she was still on "duty" in New Manetheren, but had never anticipated being able to see her once again so soon. It was the second "surprise" arrival in but a fortnight, and Angel could not help but idly wonder if perhaps the tide of her fortunes had shifted.

"Pleading, ay?" A smirk danced on the edges of her pretty lips, her eyebrow arching humorously; she was somewhat curious to know what Syn'Zorya's idea of "pleading" looked like, but didn't say as much. She could not help its quick demise into another, and still more beautiful, smile.

A moment of silence, not awkward, but merely reflective, passed between them, and Angel spoke again. "It's been too long," she said quietly, the traces of her smile still glowing on her face.
~~~
Syn'Zorya was not used to all this smiling and warmth coming from Angel, maybe the woman has found a heart after all, she thought flashing her friendliest smile. The smirk and comment about pleading was the Angel she remembered. After a couple of seconds she realized she'd likely changed somewhat in five years as well. Only the dead do not change, that strange little man Mitote has told her that the last day she'd been on Tar Valon. She wondered what came of him, but it was a small curiosity, quickly buried by her desire to renew ties with Angel.

Dark eyes glanced around the room idly, then returned to the tall beautiful woman. "It has been too long, nothing is as I remember" she snorted and shook her head "Well, the Aes Sedai still look at me like I'm a dirty dog they wish they had the nerve to run off their farms." they both chuckled at that, neither were much liked on the island.

"I did ask the Queen, nicely several times for a leave, then finally blew up and told her I would vent my frustrations on her guardsmen if she did not relent." The members of court were shocked, scandalized, and the few who knew their way around the sword grew nervous the few days between that argument and Syn'Zorya being given leave. Her stomach chose that moment to announce it's displeasure.

"I think I need a meal, do you want to eat here, or..." she trailed off, walking into the city to visit an Inn wasn't an option anymore, and she'd heard some nattering about rules regarding Traveling between Tower and Dragon Hall. Then again, Tar Valon was hardly the only city in the world, not even the biggest or best to her mind.
~~~
Angel nodded slowly. "Much has changed," she said, her voice a touch quieter than it had been. Reflecting momentarily on the events that had transpired what seemed like so long ago, she inaudibly exhaled slowly before shaking off the thoughts.

Smirking at Syn'Zorya's stomach as it bore a deep rumble, Angel shrugged. "Since it's no longer a part of the Tower, the Hall's amenities have become much more encompassing and holistic. But if you'd like to venture into Tar Valon, we can do that."

Gesturing towards the door, she added. "But there's always Quon." It was horrible to think, but she was grateful Quon's cafeteria and kitchen had been located far enough away from Angel's previous quarters that he had avoided the fallout of her explosion. She only wished Gregori, Brianna, and others had been so fortunate.
~~~
"Quon’s cooking is as good as any" Syn'Zorya replied "better than the cooking in the palace in New Manetheren." that was simple truth, for all it's grandeur she thought the cooking only fair, at best.

Small yet strong hands adjusted the belt around her waist supporting the sword riding her right hip. "I wouldn’t mind seeing Tar Valon again, though it might be wiser for me to spend some time around here" her right hand waved to taken in not just the room, but the whole mountain. "When I left there was nothing but a few caves, a well and the exotics we'd captured from the Jenn Seanchan. I've heard a wild tale about you destroying the old Dragon Hall...." she trailed off at the look on her friends face.

"You don’t have to tell me about if you don’t want to talk about it" she could see Angel was not pleased with her choice of conversation. Her left hand began to slide towards the hilt of her sword, but she hooked a thumb behind her belt buckle and waited for whatever response was going to come.
~~~~
Trying to repress a scowl that slipped over her and darkened pretty features, her eyes glanced askance at Syn, and she sighed silently.

"You don’t have to tell me about if you don’t want to talk about it."

"Were that the case," she replied soberly, "You wouldn't have asked." Syn'Zorya was the only person who had had the gall to ask in the past five years since Venus had queried the same.

"What is there to tell that you've not already heard?" she remarked, letting the dark episode bubble to the forefront of her mind, settling on the surface of her conscious.

"It is as you likely already know," she went on. "Certain... factors were playing many roles, and I lost control of the Power when my Bond broke."

She let the words settle and hang in the air. The dark haired woman probably had not known of Angel's Bond to the Chosen, Krek'ra Jer’jk, but this was certainly one way to find out.
~~~
Angel's answer was more than she'd expected. "It is as you likely already know," she went on. "Certain... factors were playing many roles, and I lost control of the Power when my Bond broke." The somber cast to her friends face matched the flat toneless voice she replied in. Syn felt as if her eyes were going to pop out of her face. Not only was Angel confirming the rumors she added a broken bond to the whole mess.

"Who’d Bond you, the Dark One" Syn'Zorya snapped back without thought. She gave a rough chuckle "No offence, but..." she trailed off with a shrug. The thought of Angel Bonding anyone was as alien as she herself Bonding.

"Light woman, all I was told is that you went mad and took out half the Dragon Hall, including my Mentor and Asha'man Gregori, who was likely the best thing to ever happen to the Asha'man." The dark haired woman's voice was growing rougher by the word; she pursed her lips as if to spit, then decided against it.

[sharyntyre]

She nearly winced at Syn'Zorya's questioning as they continued walking down the long hall, and supposed an eavesdropping ward was in order. With impressive and nonchalant dexterity, she pulled on strands of the Power and wove an impervious shield against any wayward listeners.

"Something like that. I did not 'go mad' nor did I 'take out half the Hall.' There was an accident, a horrible accident, my Bond mate tried to burn himself out and the reverberations and the recoil of the broken Bond..."

She shifted her eyes from the hallway before them, and paused, looking at the raven-haired woman for a moment. "You have to understand how powerful I had become, Syn. I don't say this in arrogance or self-righteousness, I know I could be a god and you'd still call me on my wrongs or point out my flaws, but... the Bond changed everything. It made me stronger, and for some time I didn't know why."

Looking away once again, and moving to lean against a wrought window frame, she exhaled. "I'm not saying what happened is excusable. Only that the transgression is explainable." She let the words hang in the air until they had permeated the space between them, and sighing inaudible, she continued.

"His name was... is Krek'ra Jer'jk. But you likely would have known of him as Cueran sa'Dein." Even in the far reaches of Manetheren, Syn'Zorya would have known the name. The older, and more experienced Asha'man who had worked under Sovin, Shain, and Gregori all knew the names. "He was Chosen." As if needed to be said, but having it validated by speaking the name out loud made the gravity of the situation all the more shocking and terrifying, and real.

"A spy. For a long time, the Dark One's minions had infiltrated the ranks of the Light, permeating our most sacred covenants. Even here. So it was time for the reverse." She looked towards the ground, and crossed her arms, casting her gaze out the window towards the sun as it stretched is long, ray-like arms across the expanse of land.

"He was a slave. He didn't want it, Syn. He only ever wanted to be free of the Dark One." There was a tone of sincerity - and sadness? - in Angel's voice that was uncommon and out of place.

"He tried to break the Bond, burn himself out, make himself useless to the Dark One. He couldn't take it anymore. The Dark Lord had found out, and R... Krek'ra feared he'd come after me, too. So... it was an accident, Syn. I couldn't control it."

~~~

The raven haired Asha'man felt her companion embrace Saidar and channel, briefly, but deftly. The bad feeling deep in her gut worsened, any who knew either of them would go out of their way to be seen not trying to listen in to their conversation. What could she not want even accidentally overhead Whatever it was Syn'Zorya doubted it would change much between them; she already carried a secret for Angel, and would to her death.

Angel began explaining things, and Syn'Zorya quickly came to understand and agree with the Wardings. Why in the Light would a man want to burn himself out Syn'Zorya knew a little of Bonding, enough to know there was some sort of sharing of strength, and emotions as well. She'd never agree to a Bond to anyone, the Oaths to the Dragon Hall still grated at times, even after all the years.

"His name was... is Krek'ra Jer'jk. But you likely would have known of him as Cueran sa'Dein." She had in fact heard both names, wishing she knew nothing of either. Unconsciously her left hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword. "He was Chosen." Angel added, quite unnecessarily, to her mind. Blood and bloody ashes, and I call her my sister

Black tilted eyes narrowed to mere slits, Angel finished with what sounded like an apology. Why does she want my forgiveness that wasn't what had her blood near boiling. Dropping into the void she embraced Saidar as well, in an attempt to cool the raging fire inside of her. Angel's words seemed to hang there between them for an eternity before Syn'Zorya trusted herself to speak.

"He was a Forsaken Angel, not a slave" The words came out in a low growl "the Dark One cannot lay claims to your soul unless you invite him in. Cueran sa'Dein " Syn'Zorya chose to use that name instead of the other "gave himself to the Shadow at some point in his life." She did spit then, though not in Angel's direction, then went on before the taller blond woman could respond.

"Did Sovin and Shain make you do this, or was it by choice. At least now I understand some of Sharyntyre's actions in his last days as M'hael. I cannot see him being any part of that." The Aielman was a good enough man, though a little to.....untamed to lead a group such as the Asha'man. He'd hated and fought the Shadow with his every breath though.

"You are telling me the Dragon Hall accepted a Forsaken, a pack with someone tied to the Shadow. You Bonded a Forsaken, and by the way you speak, you even cared for this......" her lips curled into a sneer shaking her head "blood and flaming ashes woman, you are telling me I've sworn Oath to a group that doesn't mind dallying with the Dark one’s servants."
~~~
Angel shook her head, much like a schoolmaster or caretaker would at the curious, but misguided, inquisitions of a young child. "Sharyntyre's knowledge of the matter was minimal. He was already beginning to lose himself when the agreement was made, and the Bond was formed barely days before Gregori became M’Hael and I, Baijan'm'hael." This revelation seemed to make little difference to the dark-haired woman before her, who was taking deeper and more heated breaths with every word.

Her thoughts drifted to the sleeping, and naked, man in her quarters, whose unflagging love for her had been the same force that had put her life in imminent danger as well as the one that had saved her. "You are telling me the Dragon Hall accepted a Forsaken, a pact with someone tied to the Shadow. You Bonded a Forsaken, and by the way you speak, you even cared for this..."

"Syn'Zorya, listen to me, this was not a pact with the Shadow. Would you call human Darkfriends who spy on our organizations and report back to Shai- to the Dark Lord, would you call them representatives of the Light? Of course not. He was doing the opposite, spying on the Hoards and reporting to us.." She exhaled dolefully, dropping her gaze, her eyes searching the floor for some kind of answer; well aware that to proceed was useless. "Syn, you don't understand." She said heavily, her level gaze sliding back up to meet her former mentor's. How could she say this to her? To someone who hated the Shadow with every breath in her body, who could never accept anyone who had once been under their employ, whether by force, exploitation, or slavery - how, how could she say it to the one friend she'd always been able to rely on, no matter who else had been more than willing to cast her aside... how?

"He was my lover."
~~~
This was certainly not the conversation she had thought she would be having with Angel. [/I]Light help us all[I] she mused as Angel began defending the Bond with the Forsaken. Her words made it all seem so logical, so simple that only a fool would not understand. Syn'Zorya had never thought of herself as a fool, she could understand the leadership wanting a spy among the Dark One's servants, but this...

"Your lover" she shouted in disbelief "and you say Sharyntyre lost himself." She shook her head, she did not like the feeling she was defending the Aielman, she had many bones to pick with the man over the way he'd handled things. The thought of Angel being romantically involved was as alien as the Bond was, for either of them. Disbelief played openly across her face, along with open anger.

"You are bloody right I do not flaming understand, Angel. This whole thing is madness, and you are a mad fool to let yourself have been used in such a dark way. How do you know the Dark One has no ties to you because of this...Bond" the word came out like a vile curse. The woman fairly quivered in anger, her left hand wrapped in a white knuckled grip on the long hilt at her slender hip.

Dark eyes glanced down and forced her hand to release her grip on the weapon "I think of you as the sister I never had Angel, but by all I hold sacred I swear I barely know you at all now." Her fists were clenched tight at her waist; she wanted to lash out, at the M'Haels, at Angel even, for being so stupid, so utterly foolish. Sometimes being in control of yourself has it's disadvantages, she mused, it would feel so good to pound the woman’s head. Of course there was no guarantee she could beat Angel, in fact there was little chance of it really, but the want was still there. An awkward silence filled the air between them as Syn's tilted black eyes glared confusion, hurt, and anger at her friend.
~~~

[sharyntyre]

Angel took Syn'Zorya's exclamations stoically, each word a harsh, backhanded blow that the blonde assassin seemed unfazed by, her visage unwavering and constant. Inwardly, however, beyond the ostensibly calm veneer, she was reeling from those word-blows, and the anger, the hurt, the bewilderment, and the near-hatred behind Syn's sentiments were overwhelmingly convincing and unsettling.

Every breath that was uttered by the raging woman sent flickering memories flashing across the dark surface of Angel's mind, like a shooting star fading in and out of existence across the midnight sky, before another, brighter star catches the attention of the onlookers beneath, and the former is forgotten.

She held her temper in check, gritted her teeth to slow her breath and hold her tongue, but Syn just didn't understand... she didn't.

"I think of you as the sister I never had Angel, but by all I hold sacred I swear I barely know you at all now."

At that, Angel could reticently endure no more.

"Not everything is so black and white, Syn'Zorya!" she spat back, a low growl on the underside of her words. She shed her well-groomed skin of composure and traces of an ancient rage reared forth. "It's not as simple as you'd like it to be, as you're pretending it is! There isn't just good and evil, us and them, you and everyone else, or haven't you gotten past that? Has five years of playing politics really taught you so little?" She repressed a sneer, and looked away to keep herself from going on, finding some solace in the abysmal grays and earth tones of the Dragon Hall floors.

"Krek'ra never lifted a finger against the Asha'man. He did nothing but try to help us, and in the end he destroyed himself to prevent the Dark One from tainting me. What happened to the Hall five years ago was a shadow's breath of what could have happened."
~~~
The fire in Angel's icy blue eyes matched the blazes in Syn'Zorya's heart, the assassin's tone scored deeper than her words. They'd argued before, and would again, she was sure, but the girl sounded on edge of doing something violent. Much like you sounded a second ago the voice sounded much like Asha'man Brianna, calm with no sence of judgement, just an honest observation.

With that echo from the past a wave of calm washed over the small dark woman, she let out a sigh from the soul and changed her aggressive stance to just standing there arms folded looking at Angel as if unsure of what, who she was. Her tones were as cool and calm as a pond "five years of playing politics taught me to digest things that would normally make me spew my guts up. Simple was helping you hide your history with the White Cloaks, simple was following the crazy Aielman Sharyntyre into Tarwin's Gap against those renegade Channelers, and the battle with the Jenn Seanchan, that was fairly simple, in comparison."

Dark eyes looked away, glancing around without really seeing anything beyond a long bloody past with a future that did not look much brighter. The years had finally stopped touching her, so she appeared no older than the day she'd left the Hall, right after the Jenn were crushed, as a matter of fact. Her eyes held that ageless wisdom associated with Aes Sedai, though with more fire than most from the Tower displayed. Right now she felt as if she'd lived through all the ages.

The glance away did not last long; burning pools of obsidian locked into icy orbs of fire " I guess the only other thing I need to know is what you would do now, if the situation presents itself again. If you were one of the M’Haels would you... ask or command one of us to Bond a Forsaken, for some perceived advantage in Das Da'mar."
~~~
Angel suppressed a guttural snarl, catching the growl in her throat, and let Syn'Zorya finish. Every muscle in her body tensed, like a great cougar anticipating before the strike. She had come to the Hall at such a comparably young age, that even after all these years; the agelessness of the Power had not yet begun to touch her face. Now she was hard