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| Bringing down a Leader (The Black Tower); ooc if you really want to | |
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| Topic Started: Mar 27 2008, 12:58 PM (88 Views) | |
| Rialt Erydinan | Mar 27 2008, 12:58 PM Post #1 |
Asha'man al'N'dore al'Mordero
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“The populations along the border have been evacuated. Dead Zone is from a small village called Faldon all the way to the coast.” The Dedicated had un-notched his high collar of Andoran style, the heat was getting to him. He did not retain the ageless look, but Kris had told him that Acayal was a very ambitious Dedicated. That was why Rialt had sent him along with the Aman Val and Gray dignitaries that he and Sapphira had placed amongst the various General’s and attack leaders along the Dead Zone. They called it that because it was the stretch of land about thirty miles between the armies of Tear and Illian along their mutual border. Nothing went into this area and came out alive. Tar Valon had taken the official neutral position in the escalating hostilities that were slowly but surely making each nation in and around the two enemies to take a side. Tar Valon, while often working to its own ends had not manufactured this feud. How could they have? It was a war over natural resources, food, and now it seemed, land and the right to live itself. Had the Asha’man or Aes Sedai involved themselves, their work would have upset the natural order of the environment. Rialt wondered to himself, but never out loud, if the natural resource depravation that seemed to be at the heart of the struggle was orchestrated by The Dark One himself. The Lord of Chaos it seemed was reveling in the madness taking over the Eastern Lands of the world. Rialt and Sapphira had in some regards ceased to run the Black and White Towers, as it seemed they had tried to temper and influence the growing war. A war which was increasingly becoming a global monster rather than a scuffle between two, it was growing into an amalgamation that no one could sort out. Neighbors were now enemies, family now little more than strangers. Acayal was sent along with various Aman Val to take reports on the peace talks and advising that the Asha’man and Aes Sedai were attempting on the General’s along the border, this way Rialt had his own eyes and ears (as the Aes Sedai put it) and he could pass messages easily back and forth between this point. It was a tactic he felt suited a man aspiring to a Shen rooted in national relations and politics. Acayal didn’t seem to expect his reports would be made directly to Rialt, and his forehead was plastered with sweat. Rialt understood though, and made no mention of it. His job was not to embarrass, but to guide. Rialt glanced around the room, several Aman Val were in attendance, as well as Dieb Cha and a few N’Dore. The N’Dore present though were posing as Aman Val. He wanted them there for this. They needed to know as much as possible about the Dead Zone. Rialt intended for them to be the only living beings within it, and hopefully using the power, to keep both sides at bay long enough to make their political see the error of their ways. Rialt doubted it would work, but he was willing to try any possibility at this point. A flash of pain seared across his sights as he gazed at the Dedicated in front of him. Acayal stared at him aghast, fear splashed across his features. He believed Rialt’s out-burst had been his fault, he was doing something wrong. Now, all eyes in the room were upon Rialt. One moment he had been listening to the geographical landscape of the Dead Zone when a blinding pain had taken hold of him, surprise clouded his mind, and while he had been sitting up straight, he was now leaning on the table, a frown clearly etched upon his forehead. A reassuring hand rested on his shoulder, next to him the shocked face of one of his guards. He hadn’t had any tea, there was no one in the room who would harm Rialt and no one had moved. “Father, what’s wrong?” The man asked of him concernedly. Rialt wasn’t listening. He knew exactly what was wrong. One moment Kiren had been a small bundle of carefully checked emotions, and the next he was fully aware of a searing pain along his back, long and deep. He felt the knife as she had, as if the attacker had taken the blade and cliced it across his back and not hers. Kiren was in danger. She wasn’t far but how was he going to describe to any of the other Asha’man in the room the place he somehow knew she was at? He couldn’t. And curse him had never beeen able to master Travelling. A simple weave that slipped through his fingers time and time again. And now Kiren was in danger, his Warder, his friend of dozens of decades, and he had no plausible way of reaching her. The wolf in her raced to the surface, the deadly viper concentration of the Garrison pervaded her mind. She moved for her sword. Those in the room now were no longer sitting in their chairs, and Acayal had long since realized it was not his report on Tear and Illian that was upsetting the M’Hael. Kill or be Killed Rialt and Kiren seemed to think in unison. Who thought it first would long be a mystery to Rialt as he thought back on the events of that day. He saw the men around him, he smelled the room he was in…and he smelled the racing heart of his attacker, of Kiren’s attacker. He felt something new from her. He felt a slight thread of fear take hold of his friend. All of this in his mind, all of this permeating his thoughts. It was as if time had turned into a slow story of mythology. He knew all of the events before they happened, but the story, the details rooted into his mind made the myth a reality, a history, a fact that he could do nothing about. He was an audience to a tragedy. One of the N’Dore had his hands against Rialt now, delving into him trying to dicipher the mystery of what was wrong with the M’Hael. Rialt Erydinan did not act out, he did not suddenly make sporadic motions and portrayls of madness. He was the M’Hael. He was the mind and voice of reason, he was the most powerful man in the world, and yet he clung to the table in front of him as it kept him rooted to his reality and not her’s. “There’s nothing wrong with him physically” the bewildered N’Dore spoke for the room. And finally someone shouted, “where is warder? Are there guards with his warder?” They had caught on. Rialt heard, but he didn’t care about these people surrounding him. He couldn’t care, how COULD he care? All he felt was this pain, and then, an invisible force lifting, lifting, into the air. Kiren’s mind cried out through the bond to him, Rialt where are you? The betrayl was momentary but it was engraved into his memory forever in the moment she felt it. The next it was gone, confusion giving way to a calm realization that this was no ordinary opponent she was facing. He knew it. “Kiren, its Kiren” He managed to get out to his brothers now surrounding him. One of them was hurriedly speaking with another in the corner, trying to figure out where she was, obviously something had happened. But this was all happening in the space of a few minutes, what time did they have to react? Rialt knew this silently. He devoted his attentions to the bond, and felt along its extremities for any trace of thought or feeling from Kiren. She was in Andor. Why was she in Andor? Speaking with the Queen perhaps? Kiren was one of the few who knew of his age old allegiance to the Andoran crown, perhaps she was there for him. Perhaps she had been on to something. He didn’t know, he had not seen or spoken with her for a month at least, quite normal in their present circumstance. “Light Kiren.” He stated matter of factly. The confusion moved to calm, was she assuming the void in these moments? Was this the only defense she had against the Power? Whoever held Kiren was Asha’man or Aes Sedai by their use of the Source, perhaps a Dreadlord? Forsaken? His thoughts thudded violently to a halt, a fire edged pain racing through his skin upon his chest, coursing through and into his heart. Rumor held as truth to most Aes Sedai and Asha’man was that the death of a Warder was the closest one could get to dying themselves. He knew now, she was in Whitebridge. She had been held in ties of thickly woven air, and the life had been extinguished with a swift stab to the heart. He cried out and had it not been for the arms and close bodies surrounding him in the cold room, high up within the Black Tower, he would have fallen over from the shock of it. He passed out, and Acayal, who later became a Dieb Cha instead of an Aman Val, wrote of the account of the death of the M’Hael’s Warder Kiren Thym, and how the impact of this event affected the impending war. He was also the Asha’man who later discovered the architect of her death, a silent and murderous man by the name of Isha. They say you know the moment and manner of death in the event of your Warder’s death, but they fail to mention that it is in some small manner and way, your death too. At least for a little while. It is true however, that such a thing never truly leaves those who experience it. |
 Former M'hael Biography ~ Age of Legends Healing ~ Currently conceiving something altogether memorizing and maniacal | |
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| Rialt Erydinan | Aug 5 2008, 03:57 AM Post #2 |
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Asha'man al'N'dore al'Mordero
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Pain. Blinding exaggerated, never ending emotional pain binding Rialt from assuming the void. He couldn't even imagine touching Saidin now. Even its raging torrent of pleasure couldn't ease the emptiness that scorched every tendon of his being. Kiren. Kiren. Kiren. The name, the image, even the light forsaken smell of her was haunting him. She had always said he was a strong man. Now he mocked himself. There was no strength in what he was experiencing now, there was no honor, nor courage or even any reconciliation. Nothing. Starch, raving insanity of bloody nothing. Kiren, he called through the bond. What bond? The words didn't register. There had been soft rapid speech amongst the N'Dore who stood in his room, looking down on his sweat beaded forehead. His physician's mind already knew the prognosis. He was physically fine, but his mind was a jumble. "The Light only knows when he'll pull out of this..." Whispered a younger man. An older healer held one elbow as his hand supported his head and shook his head slightly. "The M'Hael is a strong man. He was nearly killed many times, he will get through this. What he needs is clear, unadultered sleep and rest." "We can't wait for that you old fool." A middle-aged Asha'man growled to the physician. Rialt knew him well. One of his advisors. "All I need from you two is to tell me whether or not he's still capable to lead. If not, I need to convene the hall and place the Mahdi Kris in temporary charge. Until, the Creator willing, our father recovers enough to do his job." He understood. He could think up a million things that needed to be done and taken care of. He could still think clearly about his job. The problem was not that he couldn't function. The problem was that he did not care enough to do so. His soul had died just a bit more. It was just like when he wife of so many years previous had died in labor. The gut wrenching loss. The emptiness. "Get out." All eyes in the room were on him in a split second. It was the first two words he had said since he had stopped screaming her name outloud. That was perhaps why they had isolated him. The last thing the Black Tower needed was rumor of the M'Hael in a screaming rage of madness and terror. He was calm now. He was of right mind.... He was. "Father, you must tell us what to-" The Asha'man all started in at once. He held up his hand and whispered, "Leave me, or I will MAKE you." His voice was strained. A far cry from its regular timber. They filed out of the room one by one. It was then that Rialt let his tears come. The rage had passed, now, it was nothing but tears of regret. Tears of anger, tears of loss. The M'Hael doesn't cry. He did not sob, he did not cry out. He moved to the window and sat down, staring out over the acres of land below him. Sunlight walked across his face, images of Kiren did much the same. And silent water fell from the M'Hael's face in tribute for his lost friend. It was then that Rialt did something he had not ever had the ability to do in his life. He channeled a gateway, and left. This must have been what Zekieal felt like as he left all of his life behind and wandered into the world. A stupid, rash decision, absolutely. But one that needed to be done. What he did while he was gone is only known to him. He did not find the assassin in the three days he was gone from the tower. But he found Kiren's raged body, motionless. Lifeless. Doubtless parties had been sent over the entirety of Andor looking for her body, but he knew exactly the place she had died. And he spend three days there, even when she began to rot away, back to the earth. The nights filled with the howls of wolves and other beasts he couldn't name. They did not come close though. They knew, he imagined, who he was. After the third day, he took her in his arms, opened a gateway back to the Black Tower, and walked her to the houses of healing. The houses of the dead. He was not the M'Hael in those days, he was a griever and a man only. On the fourth day, he called for a pyre to burn her ashes and send them to the four corners of the world. The fire burned from sunset to sunset in her honor and the M'Hael wore the White. He wore the white for a month, twin dragons entwining his arms. Only Robert and his allies knew to keep the assassin alive when his scouts managed to capture him. Only Rialt knew the horrors that awaited him. |
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Former M'hael Biography ~ Age of Legends Healing ~ Currently conceiving something altogether memorizing and maniacal | |
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10:11 PM Nov 25
