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The large hall was deep, deep below ground. Deeper than the depths of most dungeons found far to the south, deeper than the deepest of mines dug into mountains and hills. It was so deep that even the faintest idea of sunlight even warming the very rocks that formed high overhead and beyond didn't hold an imagination. And yet, for as deep as it was, it was still a large room, constructed by Man so long ago. Ages ago. It predated the Breaking of the world, predated the War of the Shadow, and predated even the Bore. Any Brown Aes Sedai would have spent her liftime studying this enclosed architecture, enraptured by the sheer history that was held here. and yet, if an Aes Sedai were to have found her way into this same room, she would not be very long for the world.
The man who walked along the wall, passing by the numerous sculptures of men and women, names and feats forgotten to time, the sculptures remnants of a bygone era that heralded strength and unity for all; the man cared not for these things. For him, there was merely the here and now, the present.
And in this present, they awaited him.
He was not alone as he walked past the sculptures. His gaze lifted, as they always did as he passed, the rows of the statues lifting high up into the above; the lights of torches and fires unable to pierce even the darkness high above. and yet, he knew there were more statues and scupltures. One of the acolytes, the madness seeped into his core and rotting his brain to mush, drew deep, too deep upon the power and unleashed it upwards. The fireball had lit up the entire hall, the light pushing back all of the darkness within, showing to the man rows upon rows upon rows of these stone carvings lifting high, all set within individual alcoves. He had noticed narrow bands of something at the base of each. Those found lower, found down here amongst the fire light, held only a defaced base. Whatever was written has long since been lost to destruction.
The air inside this hall was heavy and moist. It stank of dirt, sweat, excrement, musk, urine, and more. yet, as pregnant the mixture was, it rolled away through the void, observed but unremarked upon. The shuffling of feet, hooves, claws, pads, and more, was loud, as were the grunts, bleats, growls, purrs, and guttural voices that attempted the mere communications of the twisted spawn that stood within this very room.
He walked down the side and suddenly stopped, his path blocked.
nightrunner a small voice sounded within his head, oozing across the blankness he held within his mind. Kill him! kill them all! spit- the voice cut out as another, larger more domineering presence enforced itself to the forefront of the mans psyche.
the man lifted his hand to his head, and released the fold that held the blood red veil across his face. It dropped and hung over his chest as he simply looked at the Myrddraal.
One heartbeat, the Myrddraal stood there. the next, it was crushed savagely together, the black blood of the creatures squeezed out of it's body to rain out wildly. It splashed near and far, coating the man and the Trollocs that stood nearest to the former Myrddraal. The man blinked, parted his lips, and ran his split forked tongue out. Each individual appendage licked a part of his lips, cleaning off the Myrddraal's blood. He brought them in, and the taste of bitter hatred and corruption filled his mouth. A part of him wanted to vomit up the filth, to spew up everything that was corrupted within him. And yet he didnt. He knew the sight reinforced mastery over the herd and scum that stood beside him. he stepped forward, the bottom of his boots squishing as they strode through the black gunk and entrails that had been the Fade.
He walked a hundred paces more along the wall and finally lifted his legs to step up upon the raised dais that held a chair and brownish black cauldron upon a metal trivet. He strode to the large pot and gazed into it, to observe that all was as it should be, and it was.
An hour before, the Trollocs that stand in the hall now, all strode foreward in a line. They cut deep slices into their forearms with their corrupted blades. The held the arm over the pot, and squeezed hard. the dark brown blood that pumped inside their bodies oozed and flowed out from the wound, and dripped into the vessel before them. One after another, they all did the same. More and more the cauldron filled, until finally it was nearest the top without overspilling its contents. Those trollocs that were left over, without the cuts, were sent out to await the next opportunity. The man looked down, and watched as the blood bubbled as if it was slowly boiling; large bubbles grew and popped without the presence of heat nor flame. He nodded once and stepped onto the next higher step, to look upon that what he was about to wrought.
Bring them in He said simply.
Striding out from behind the raised dais, bare of armor, cloak, shirt nor eyes, five pale skinned Myrddraals stepped out and surrounding the cauldron.
Cut yourself and submerge your arms to within the blood. The bonding shall begin! the man instructed, his chiseled and sharpened teeth flashing in the firelight upon the platform.
Blades were withdrawn from sheaths, cutting upon the same forearm as the trollocs, the left, and then immediately they knelt. The slipped their arms into the cauldron without a second thought, and waited.
The man, red hair blazing while his dead eyes looked upon, channeled. strands of Spirit, fire, and earth, all intermingled into the cauldron and its brown contents within. He could feel the weave, alight upon each unique donated blood, Fire for wrath, earth for strength, and spirit to bind. Again and again, it twisted and wove, drawing more and more from the man. He stood there, staring, channeling. The weave grew larger, and larger still as he tried to intermingle and properly bind with all of the bloods found within. He pushed himself, just a bit more, and felt the telltale limit of his strength. He grimaced slightly, his sneer catching his lip between his teeth and being pierced. Blood filled his mouth yet he paid no heed to the pain, as it was minor compared to what he was feeling as he channeled.
He focused upon the Caldron, upon it's contents. He ignored and blocked out everything else. The cauldron, the blood. The blood. The blood of trollocs, the blood of Myrddraals. The sickly taint of Trolloc Blood, the refined, distilled evil of Myrddraal blood. He pushed himself, harder still, to force the bloods of trollocs to bind to the bloods of the Myrddraals. The strands of Earth and Fire fell away, and the man focused upon the Spirit. It wove in upon itself, over and over, pale clear in color to his eyes, and it went from the contents, deep inside the cauldron, and then out it flowed. Thin cables of woven Spirit flowed out from the blood soup, and snapped out into the large hall, connecting pot to Trolloc. 10, 20, 30, 50, 80, 100 strands connected blood to Trolloc. five thick cables of Spirit, interwoven with individual strands of connected Trollocs, wrapped and twisted, laid upon each Myrdraal's head. Slowly the coils tightened, and submerged into the Myrdraal's mind. The man immediately released Saidan and stepped back, for he knew what would happen next.
the room suddenly exploded with noise!
howls of pain!
bleats of agony!
roars of anger!
the shriek of shock and surprise!
It wailed on and on, Trollocs falling to the ground and kicking as the Myrdraal clutched at their heads, mouths open in agony. The Trollocs kicked and screamed, some with claws upon their hands, immediately began to claw at their faces and heads. Musk, excriment, urine, all released into the room as the Trollocs lost all control of their actions. Some, driven insane from the binding, turned upon their kin and fell upon them. Claws and fangs all tore flesh and let more blood flow, adding more twisted scents to the air.
The Myrddraals were the first to regain their composure and stand up. Their faces screwed up, wincing, anger evident upon their half formed faces.
Control them! Force them to stop! the man said, loud enough to be heard over the noise.
One by one, each Myrdraal lifted his right hand and clenched his fist. A silent command was given, and the sounds of horror cut off. Trollocs froze where they were and what they were doing. Slowly, those that could, stood up. Those that couldnt were either dead or dying, and would be processed later. The trollocs reformed themselves into long columns in front of each Myrdraal that stood upon the platform.
Lead them out. The man instructed.
THe Myrdraal, one at a time, turned and stepped off of the platform, and out a door. A silent command was given and each column proceeded behind, following it out of the hall.
Soon enough, the hall was empty, allowing the man to sit upon the chair and relax.
He breathed deep several times, enjoying the rest that the chair afforded him, yet he knew there was one more thing he had to do. It didnt happen often, perhaps once every 10 times he performed the binding ritual. But it did happen, and he could feel it when it happened. He still held the first result in a cage deep below this room as well. He could feel the first one below him. Just as he felt this one.
Either come forward or die. he commanded into the empty hall.
A long pause filled the air, the sound of burning logs and death rattles the only noise. But slowly, hesitant at first, the sound of hooves stepping onto the floor strode forward.
It was a Trolloc, larger than most. It displayed wild blue eyes, bright purple feathers upon it's head and shoulders only to be replaced with thick black fur with two white stripes running down its back to a short stubby tail. Its legs were scaled as found upon an eagle, which mimicked the large bird beak upon the Trollocs face.
Well. Speak. the man said, waving his hand in encouragement.
In a loud squawk, it replied Where-what? it stopped a moment, and thought. why do you sit upon Agit Shulam Inrikertin's chair? the Trolloc asked.
The man blinked in surprise. He expected the usual "where am i?" or "how did I get here?" or similiar questions. Not this.
What? who? the man replied, surprise evident with his tone.
Agit Shulam Inrikertin, Third Servant for the Pashnitooko region, Third Rod of Dominion for the Hall. His chair. You sit upon it. the Trolloc squawked and hooted in anger and annoyance.
The man stared, dumbfounded.
This is the Hall of Servants within Collam Dan. The greatest thinkers and researchers of the world, all of them found here, within these alcoves. The Third Rod ensured their continual care as they slept here within the Hall.
The man looked up and around at each statue, at each alcove within sight, and imagined the ones high up above. His mouth opened slightly.
they are entombed here? he asks in a detached voice. the position he found himself in has now been reversed. He was the surprised one, while this Trolloc spoke of things in the ancient past.
The Trolloc hooted and chirped in agitation.
Yes!
The darkness within the man's mind, the overwhelming taint that twisted his mind into service of the Dark One, the Dark Lord, reasserted itself. He looked back at the Trolloc and sneered.
It seems that you may have more information that I had originally expected. From a time long, long ago. Perhaps it would be best if you were to reside...elsewhere....
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