The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass leaving memories that become legend, then fade to myth, and are long forgot when that Age comes again. In one Age, called the Fourth Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind gusts lazily over the Aryth Ocean. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning. From the west it came, flowing slowly over the small ripples and large whitecaps over the grey ocean body. It ebbed and flowed, influenced by the waves, the clouds, and other currents, joining with and escaping from the flows of wind that intermingle upon the vastness of the sea's natural seascape.
It made landfall, cresting as a wave crashes upon the beach, over a small community built upon a outcrop of land piercing the otherwise smooth coastal ridge. Ships, many in number, small and large, sail north and south along the shore line, intersecting at this thriving, growing, threatening community. A community that bore witness to great events, a sea invasion, a battle between three forces, a man who became blademaster, a man who fought the Dark One in the heavens above, a man who declared himself The Dragon Reborn. The city of Falme, unwitting participant in the first invasion of the Seanchan, (The Return for those who favored the Seanchan). Through this city the wind blew, tussling papers inside houses with windows left open, wind chimes cry in joy for the movement, people shiver from the cold breeze; through this the wind blew, impeded, but not stopped.
Over the Almoth Plain it blew, bending exposed tall grasses, weeds, small bushes and scrub plants that be-speckle the unending countryside, brown spots upon the white plain. Snow, light and dusty, moves across the open space, cutting into the small snow banks that have built up around upthrusting items on the vast grassland. Passing over, the wind grows cold, colder than it's used to, and it picks up moisture, mixing with the dense sea air from it's origin. It gathers itself, a quicksilver force, unseen, yet growing in strength.
It slams hard into the large mountainous rocks that block one side of the continent from the other, a large dividing line that seperates the inhabitants, creating individual cultures since time before. The wind rolls on itself, forced up and high into the thinner air, where the rocks attempt forever in vain to pierce the sky, hard fingers piercing the horizon as a childs finger pierces the water of a bucket, seeking the easy gold fish held within. The wind whistles and roars through the passes, creating a symphony of sound, cascading through the granite, basalt, and limestone formations. Wildlife, attuned to the gregarious nature of the weather in these mountains huddle in shelter, conserving warmth and energy as the now storm winds penetrates the highlands.
Over and through the Mountains of Mist the wind, snow, and cold unleashes itself upon the eastern edge of the mountains, and the surrounding landscape beyond. Snow, heavy and thick, falls upon the land, quickly building upon itself in large clumps, bending limbs, bushes, trees under the great weight. The system itself, stormy, heavy, settles itself over the Two Rivers area, unloading it's accumulated wealth of precipitation upon the residents.
Yet stray winds escape the area, breaking free, and flowing north, over the land. The quickness of movement freezes the skin of those not wearing proper clothing, faces, noses, cheeks, and ears all chill in the steady cold breeze.
It flows north, through forests and farmlands, until finally it overtakes land claimed only by nature and her residents. It flows through these lands, until it comes across a hill. It was a high hill, commanding a great view upon the surrounding area. Commanders would have fought great battles to sieze upon this hill for it's strategic value; have fought in the far distant past, forgotten in expense for greater named wars.
It is upon this hill, in this freezing cold, with a storm to the south, that you step out upon, hope with a minor case of defeat heavy upon the mind. Your first thoughts to mind are Blood and Ashes it's cold!, the second is where am i?. You cast your gaze near and far, attempting to discern a recognizable landmark. You spin about and see it...
A city, no, a ruined city. A ruined city near a river. A mighty river, large, free flowing. A bend from west to south moves off to your right. The ruins, buildings collapsed, stands defiant within the natural landscape. Yet, for as odd as it is that a city would be here, abandoned, it's what catches your eye that makes you pause.
Where other ruins are quickly consumed by nature; signs of shrubs, grasses, ivy, vines, trees tall and small, would dot the layout, growing amongst the man made structures.
Uh oh...Ryvin says suddenly, her voice piercing the wind blowing through the area. That's...That's Aridhol she says, her voice quivering slightly. The other's look at her blankly for a moment. More commonly known as Shadar Logoth
Ryvin grunts and clutches her forehead. Her thoughts are ... fuzzy. 'How did we get here?'
Reflexively, she slips into the Void, forcing the confusion out. In that instant of clarity, she reaches for saidar with her mind while her hands seek the hilt of her sword.
"We need to get out of here before dusk falls," she mutters. "Need to keep away from Shadar Logoth..."
Fia eyes the ruins dispassionately, outwardly seeming to be unaffected by the sudden cold. "Is it? Ours, I mean?" Her eyes search their surroundings, habitually looking for any threat while attempting to get her bearing.
A blue sky rolled overhead, a crisp, hazy shimmer of ice visible in the distant sky. Rhoekk couldnt remember ever having been so cold, even in the dead of night, running naked in the Three Fold Land. The nights were as cold as the days were hot, and yet he'd never felt the cold settle in as deeply in his bones as it was now.
He sat up, and as he did, something white and powdery clung to his clothes, and a blast of cold shot down his back. He near leaped from his resting place on the ground, landing on his feet facing where he had lain, his spear and buckler in hand, and his face veiled.
A spray of the same white dust followed him through the air, clouding the air behind him, and settling only slowly to the ground. The ground he had been on bore an imprint, as though in soft and powdery dust or sand; messy, but still visibly an impression of where he had lay.
No foe presented itself. The air was dead quiet, with no hint of wind, nor any sign of birdsong.
A quick glance around revealed him to be standing in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by thick bows of trees. To one end of the space stood a massive tower, tall as the Stone of Tear, but narrow and alone. And the skin of the structure gleamed like silver, or the finest polished steel.
His wonder at the thing waited as the shock of seeing such an oddity was once again displaced by the cold. His fingers were numb, and he found they didnt want to grip the shaft of his spear. They felt sluggish and weak in a way he had never felt before.
The cold white powder coating his clothes was made up of tiny crystals, he could now see. Picking it up he found it cold, colder than even the fridged air, but as he rubbed the odd texture between his thumb and fingers, they began to run with cold water.
Snow? he thought to himself, the word still coming slow and foreign to his thoughts, though wetlanders talked about it fiercely enough.
He had seen ice in the Threefold Land. Many a time he'd found a thin crust of the stuff covering a hidden watering hole if he came upon it in the hour before dawn, but that would break at a touch, and melt away in moments if held. This was… completely different.
He stopped in his musing to turn his thoughts toward survival. Even in the Threefold land a man could die of exposure if bereft of garment and skills, and this was so much more… just more.
His mind turned to shelter, and he looked back to the strange, thin tower. How had he even come to be here? The last thing he remembered was talking to those strange things in that strange world where nothing seemed to make sense. He had asked questions and…
There were no footprints to show how he had landed where he was, and no door on this side of the tower. Perhaps he had been thrown from a window higher up? But there didn't appear to [b]be[/i] any windows, at least that he could see from this close to the tower; he'd have to back up to see higher up, but then if he'd been thrown out from that high, he should have bounced when he hit the ground, not to mention the broken bones. The imprint in the snow looked as though he could have merely lay down upon it, and clearly not as though he had been defenestrated from a hundred feet up.
He moved to the base of the structure, and touched it, feeling for a hidden door, but if one existed, it was too finely hidden to see. He walked in a quick circle about the base, the movement both serving to help to move the cold blood in his legs, but reminding him how pervasive the chill was. His movements were slow and clumsy, like a wetlander dancing the spears.
He came back upon his tracks and his image in the snow without seeing any sign of an opening. He thought of rubbing the edge of his dagger along the metal skin, trying to catch the lip of an edge too fine to see, but his shaking hands made him think better of it. Even if he found such a lip there was no guarantee he could force his way in, and a thought of those sharp toothed creatures made him consider whether he would even want to. If this was their home, or even an outpost, would any sane man actually want to return?
Instead he thought about the shelter offered by the trees. He might be relatively new to the wetlands, but he had been a quick study when it came to learning the secrets of forests. Shelter, cover, and an abundance of prey animals and wood for burning would be found there; if only he could live long enough to take advantage of them. He felt in his pouch for his flint and tinder, and found it safely where it had been stowed. His second caden'sor was bundled tightly in his pack, and he thought that as soon as he found a spot, he'd don both as quickly as he could manage. A sheltered spot and fire was his next concern. He had food for travel, two quivers full of fresh arrows for the raid on Tar Valon, so if he could merely survive the next few hours, he would not yet wake from the dream this day.
He set off into the dense woods.
"I see you, Ryvin Altessar. I see you, Fiallain, of the (?) sept of the (clan) Aiel."
The voice calling out from the hidden woods greets in turn any others he knows in the group present.
Following the voice a few moments later, steps a tall man, near 7 foot, dressed in greys and browns, here and there tied with a stripe of green or soft yellow. His clothes are puffed out, as though stuffed with straw, and his hands wrapped round with strips of cloth in similar colors. A cloak of new leather, the fur of the hide turned in and the outside freshly scraped covers his shoulders against the wind.
His face is uncovered, as he has not come here to kill, though it is red with exposure to the cold. Still, the bright green eyes identify him as their friend.
"I have no idea how you've come to be here, nor a solid grasp of where this might be, but to wonder at it is a task for storytellers. I've been here perhaps a day. I have shelter nearby."
As they walk, he asks about what happened to them since they were separated in the white tower. If asked about his own path to this place, he gets a bit of a distant, haunted look in his eye, and suggests most of the story can wait for later.
"I awoke about a few leagues from here, near a shining metal tower. There was not much sign of how I'd gotten there exactly, but I wasn't in much shape to wonder."
He gestures at his ramshackle clothes, evidently made with strips of one caden'sor covering the gaps in another, more pieces tied about his hands and bound around his soft moccasins. Evidently, he was able to make due.
"In the night I saw a queer glow on the clouds, like the lights of a city, or the open fires of wetlander armies. With no other sign to follow, I followed it here.
His nose wrinkles, and here nearly snarls the word, 'here,' his distaste evident.
"This city is not just dead, it rots. Every shadow watches you, though not a thing moves. I can't explain it."
Fia turns and for a moment there is the slightest hint of the upturning of the corners of her mouth as she returns greeting, "I see you, Rhoekk of the Jagged Spire Sept of the Tardaad Aiel." Then she is stone-faced once more, black flecks swimming in one eye as she stares down at the ruins.
"Ryvin says we must be away from here before night descends, and I have no objection to that. I... do not know how we came to be here, or where 'here' is, for that matter. Have you seen any of the others?", she asks hopefully. "You two are the only ones I have seen."
Through a whole in the air, steps a massive being. Larger than an average Ogier by half again. A giant even among his own kind, Chen finds himself in the winter wind outside a city he's never seen on a river he's never heard of.
Standing in snow, there was snow in the empire so he was less shocked than his Aiel comrades, he looked at he eerie ruin, tall and ominous walls seemingly untouched by any sort of life for a long time.
"By the Empress. What sort of place is this?" he muttered under his breath. A muttering that sounded like a human shouting in direction away from facing you. Quiet wasn't super possible for him.
Seeing Rhoekk, Ryvin and Fiallain several dozen yards ahead, he strides up making a soft crunching sound in the snow. His masked helmet hangs from his belt along with his etched steel mask. His large and drooping eyebrows, the same sandy red as his shoulder length hair build up small drifts of the falling snow.
The cold didn't bother him. Having fought several campaigns through the winter, so long as we find shelter in a day or two, we should be fine. Chen thinks to himself.
"Rhoekk, ladies." he rumbled as he approached. Rhoekk was an honorable warrior, exceptionally tall for a human Chen thought, he came up to his above waist at least. The shortest of women seemed to barely reach the top of his thigh. It made buildings difficult to say the least. Except palaces, it seemed to Chen that most palaces were designed to be correctly sized for him, which was odd as they were occupied and designed by humans. Ryvin was a woman he respected and was a fond of as he could make himself to be for a marath'damane he would have to think of a better term, as he no longer believed that they must be leashed. Fia, he did not know her so well, but she was of a people with Rhoekk and that counted a great deal to him as the Aiel seemed less rudderless as did the others he had found after the Return.
"Have we returned to our rightful world? Do you know what city this is?" he asked quizzically. "If there is shelter to be had there, we should..." he cuts off as he hears Fia finish saying that they should away before night.
"Ah, a hostile fortress. We are exposed here. I might recommend moving away to at least a sparse tree covering before we make plans. I would hate to take an arrow just standing out here. My red and near black armor certainly do me no favors of camouflage in this new whiteness."
You feel it like a sudden presence, a beacon. Strong, powerful, radiant. You shift on your feet, turning to the north. North, not in the city, but beyond. You take a step to the north, and feel it grow stronger yet.
And it grows stronger.
The channeling increases in magnitude.
It keeps growing.
It reaches a point well beyond what you feel youd be capable of channeling if you overchanneled, and still it grows.
It grows beyond the point of your recollection of the strongest channelers youve ever met.
And still it grows.
More and more powerful.
You both take one, two, three steps backwards as the sheer magnitude of Saidar being channeled increases, fear beginning to tickle the back of your brains.
And still it grows.
with each heartbeat it grows in intensity, in magnitude, in severity.
This goes beyond the feats of channelling even the Forsaken could ever hope to achieve.
And still it doesnt stop increasing.
Chen, Rhoekk, you stand upon the hill top and see ryvin and Fia turn and look to the north, and then start to walk backwards, their faces equally paling.
And then you feel it, making you come to a sudden stop.
A surge of a male channeling to the north. One second, it wasnt there, and the next, it was. Awesome! Powerful! incredible! The sheer intensity of the amount being embraced is enourmous! you have heard legends of what Aes Sedai of old could do, but you dismissed it as fairytale, as campfire stories told to children.
Yet, you feel it. And you feel it surge to even greater immensity within a couple heartbeats.
The image of you holding a cup of water in one hand, dumping the water upon the ground as you stand next to the River Arinelle as it surges past is how your mind rationalizes the immensity of what is being channeled.
You turn on your heel, and look to the north, where this surge is coming from. Your first thought is The Dragon Reborn is channeling!
Your second thought is Who...who are those people upon the ridgeline?
The orders are simple. [b]Protect the Lord Dragon at all costs. Any who are in this area, beyond us, are Darkfriends. Kill them. Kill them all.[/i]
"Someone ... or something is channeling an INSANE amount of sai'dar. Creator shelter me. They keep channeling more every moment!" Ryvin gasps, holding onto the Power as best she can and hurriedly drawing her sword.
Chen quivers involuntarily. An insane amount, Ryvin had said. Truly aware of the offensive capabilities and destructive powers of channelers, Chen offered, "I would recommend moving away from it, and not towards it. Do you believe it to be a ways off or drawing near to us?" he asked in a slightly shaken, for him, voice.
Scanning the trees and the surrounding area with a keen and trained eye, Chen draws his sword absentmindedly as Ryvin had drawn hers. Taking several slow sweeping swings he worked heat into his quickly chilling arm muscles.
"It's coming from over there somewhere, that's all I know," Ryvin says, pointing.
“It… that… must be a circle channeling, surely?” Fiallain asks rhetorically, her face uncharacteristically pale as she stares in the direction of the beaconing saidar. The Aiel woman knew better than many what it was like to hold an unhealthy amount of the one power, having once drawn upon an insane amount to hold up the better part of a mountain above them while she and her companions escaped some caverns on one of the mirror worlds. She had been ill for weeks after, and it made her queasy just thinking of guiding that much flow. Yet it seemed now a paltry flow compared to what was being drawn upon out there.
Rhoekk drops into his easy crouch, the kind that Aiel can hold for hours, if not days, if needed. His eyes squint, trying to make out any details visible in the indicated region.
"I ran the circumference of the city, while I was scouting it. That point you indicated is one of the hillier regions. It offers one of the best views of the whole city. It's where I made that shelter I mentioned... which is the exact reason that I made it there."
His voice sounds a bit tired, as if almost to say that he was tired of being the pattern's plaything, or that perhaps he should be used to it by now.
"I've seen thirteen women linked, once. They didn't get anywhere near this. Maybe a master circle, with men and women together, and a sa'angreal? But even then... this is MADNESS!"
'I'm glad I'm wearing my best pair of boots, I didn't expect to be walking but Finn had a good idea about leaving the bay with the other horses. If I get in a fight, it would be hard to concentrate and ride at the same time.' Holding his black leather coat closed, the wind causing his long dark hair to swirl around his face. Taldo shudders at the surge of Saidin ripples through him. "They've started, do you feel it boy?"'Shut up! Blood and ashes, of course I feel it, Shut up and let me do my job.' Turning his face into the wind, towards where he knew his friends were, trying to purify Saidin, Taldo embraces the one power, the sensation of sheer joy rippling though him., increasing the realization of the waves of Saidin that are coming from the north. "Yes, Yes, yes!" 'Shut up! Shut up! I need to concentrate, I can't have you screaming in my head! I need to focus! Flinn said to expect an attack! How am i supposed to concentrate with you screaming in ...'
As he pushes thought the waves of power, Taldo having turned toward his friends now focuses on the ridge line. 'Who are those..."Kill them! Protect the Lord Dragon at all costs!" 'We don't know who they are! "You child, you must protect Rand and Finn and the others. Kill them!"'Shut up!' Running through the snow, towards the ridge and the group of strangers, His coat blowing open, Taldo draws his sword as snow finds it's way into the top of his well-made leather boots, he weaves earth and fire channeling 'wand of fire' onto the longsword, tying the weave off. 'I will do my duty! I would have rather stayed near the others and help Flinn heal people, but I will do as ordered!' As Taldo weaves Earth and Fire together he can feel Lucian's smug smile. As soon as he is within range he points his left hand at the ridgeling, releasing a wave causing the ridge itself to open up.
"We stick out like painted targets on this bald hill. I do not know what is going on over there, but I suggest we withdraw and then figure out how to proceed."
Protect the Lord Dragon at all costs. Any who are in this area, beyond us, are Darkfriends. Kill them. Kill them all.
Do we need Initiative? I assume so:
The very earth errupted beneath him. The Power, its always the power with these people Chen thought ruefully to himself. He saw a black coated man.
The mountainous Ogier started towards the man down the ridge. "Stop that at once! he roared at the top of his lungs.
As the earth suddenly erupts around Fia, her maiden training instinctively takes over. She hits the ground and rolls, already surrendering to saidar before her body touches the roiling earth. She peers down the slope below, eyes following Chen as what remains of the grasses cover her. The power fills her, and she gathers herself to move.
Ryvin grunts as the full brunt of the weave hits her -- and then she draws a bead on Taldo, down in the distance.
"What's good for the goose," she says as she draws on saidar and hurls a weave at the stranger: Riven Earth.
At over two hundred foot, the figures were not as easy to see as he would have liked. As the larger one neared, Taldo begins to identify the creature charging him. 'Is that an Ogier? Blood and ashes that's a Seanchan Gardner..."Immolate it! Immolate that Seanchan back over the sea!" Shut up! Shut up! let me think!'
As the boy tries to decide what to do about the giant armored Ogier charging down on him, he feels the ground rumble underneath him. Catching his balance as a large rock bouncing down the hill crushes against his leg and side, breaking ribs and injuring his hip. 'Someone must be channeling....' "their forsaken! Of course someone..." The inner dialogue between the two halves of the Asha'man stops, as he is thrown into a frothing panic. Holding his sword in a death grip for a last line of defense, he flees south from the hill, the darkfriends atop it and the charging Ogier.
because of the above, i'll give Chen an opportunity to, if he wants to, redo his previous round as the above does affect his action. Otherwise, he can keep it and move on.
Taldo, from his hidden spot under the trees atop his horse, strikes out, following the command given to him by the asha'man commander, and rips the earth from the ground underneath everyones feet.
Chen recovers quickly, twisting his head rapidly to find out who or what attacked the group. spotting a shadowy figure, chen charges down the hill like an oncoming boulder driven before an avalanche. Ryvin, seeing where Chen is running, and recognizing the effects of the weave, hurls her own down at the figure ahead of Chen. The ground ripples and rolls under the figures horse, forcing the man to fall to the ground.
Chen bellows a loud roar that is heard for miles around, even making the trees quiver in fear as snow falls from the overhead boughs.
The figure regains his feet and draws his sword, standing firm before the oncoming steel behemoth.
Ryvin draws a bead on the enemy, and calls on one of her new weaves. Thrusting one hand to the sky, Ryvin draws down its fury -- and then sets off running after Chen, sword in hand!
The figure regains his feet and draws his sword, standing firm before the oncoming steel behemoth.
Fia grimaces as half her companions chase after their unknown assailant Said assailant appeared to be retreating, though whether in flight from the bellowing Ogier, or to draw them into a trap wasn't immediately clear.
Wetlanders! She mutters to herself and begins to head east, using the rocks and grasses for cover and calling out loud enough that Chen and Ryvin should be able to hear her, "Possible ambush, don't get drawn into it!"
"Why do you think I keep blasting him from a distance before closing in?" Ryvin calls back.
Heeding Fia's call and warning of ambush, Chen concurs and stops his charge as the lone black clothed man flees into the forest.
Knowing that literally any of his companions, especially the Aiel are more suited for a pursuit through a forest in the snow. Chen keeps his sword drawn but stops and waits for the group to reach him.
"You seem to have scared him off." he says to Ryvin.
"Yeah," Ryvin deadpans. "I'm terrifying. Now let's get out of here; Shadar Logoth gives me the heebies, someone is still channeling an unholy amount of the One Power, and I didn't invert what I did just then. This place is like being stuck between a tar bog the size of an ocean and a volcano about to erupt."