Maryn clutched his hands tight to his side, his fists balled in anger as he fought the frustration bubbling up in him. Oh how he wanted to scream, throw something, anything to vent his feelings; but the reserve of a Cairheinan went bone deep. He was far too conscious of the eyes upon him as he left the classroom, too used to the sneers of peers in ballrooms and parlors to allow anyone the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.
And so he found himself headed towards the Channelling Yard, his thoughts stopping their racing pace when he felt himself standing beside the gate. Light, why here of all places, he muttered to himself as he realized he had taken a wrong turn and not arrived in the Library. That was his usual haunt, the books and scrolls caring not for the strength of the one who held them, but the delicate care their old pages and dusty bindings needed.
“Are you here to practice Soldier? You should be at class with the chime not having passed,” inquired a tall Dedicated, his tone full of questions and irritation at having his practice interrupted.
“Apologies Dedicated, I was struggling with a weave, and rather than holding the class back, my teacher suggested I take some practice,” Maryn lied, his voice carrying a practiced ease.
The Dedicated nodded, and moved over some so that Maryn would have space to practice himself. Realizing it would do little for his story to simply stand there, Maryn decided to at least try the weave that had proven so frustrating. Seizing Saidin was as always a joy and threat rolled into one, the power coursing through him fortifying and threatening to overwhelm and destroy all at once. Feeling no tremor come over him, and hoping his endurance would hold, Maryn held onto Saidin and once more began to weave through the Wards.
The shape of the Weave jumped to mind immediately, in fact his budding ability to read the residues left by others, had given Maryn an advantage in several of his classes. His instructor had remarked upon his keen eye for the shape and style of a weave, it was his strength that continually failed him, Maryn thought with a disgusted sneer. With Saidin in his grasp, he reached into the torrent of power and grasped threads of Fire, Spirit and with loose movements looped them around as the warp and weft. Before letting them come together he strained and struggled to grasp Water. Frayed and slippery, the threads continued to slowly take shape, although yet again he could feel the weave turning into a tangle.
With disgust, he dismissed the weave, allowing the threads to dissipate, although the knowledge of failing once more remained. The worst part of it, was he had sketched the weave many time, his books were filled with the sketches of the most common weaves for Warding. He had been drawn to the class by the possibilities, and it irritated him to be held back.
He ran through the Ward against sight, feeling the headache building after having struggled with the first weave. This ward at least used Fire, Air and Spirit and he was able to accomplish the ward. The air rippled around the stump he had used for his target, and he was pleased to see it disappear from view. The trick had been keeping the Air and Fire apart, as he had no wish to create lightning. Thinking to try one more, he began to grasp threads of the three elements once more, this time sending them out in a balanced trio as he weave laced outwards to create a circle. He was able to cover an area about as large as his bedroll, then the weaves began to slip and twist in his mental grasp. Rather than risking a mishap, he kept the weave small and tied off the weave that would keep shadowspawn from entering the area he had warded. Not that it does much good when a spear can reach farther than my weave, he thought bitterly as he released Saidin.
A racking cough seized him then, and after he was done coughing and cleaning the spittle from his cheeks, he realized the Dedicated had stopped in his practice out of concern. Waving the man away, Maryn couldn’t help but feel as if he was trying to climb a wall with no way of doing so. Sitting outside the fence, he took a spot at a bench nearby and worked on catching his breath, idly sketching the ghostly shadows of weaves that had been woven in the Channeling Yards early. “Maybe I can clerk here at the Grey Tower, they surely won’t keep me as a Soldier forever,” Maryn mused to himself as he wrestled with the frustration another unsuccessful class had born.
And so he found himself headed towards the Channelling Yard, his thoughts stopping their racing pace when he felt himself standing beside the gate. Light, why here of all places, he muttered to himself as he realized he had taken a wrong turn and not arrived in the Library. That was his usual haunt, the books and scrolls caring not for the strength of the one who held them, but the delicate care their old pages and dusty bindings needed.
“Are you here to practice Soldier? You should be at class with the chime not having passed,” inquired a tall Dedicated, his tone full of questions and irritation at having his practice interrupted.
“Apologies Dedicated, I was struggling with a weave, and rather than holding the class back, my teacher suggested I take some practice,” Maryn lied, his voice carrying a practiced ease.
The Dedicated nodded, and moved over some so that Maryn would have space to practice himself. Realizing it would do little for his story to simply stand there, Maryn decided to at least try the weave that had proven so frustrating. Seizing Saidin was as always a joy and threat rolled into one, the power coursing through him fortifying and threatening to overwhelm and destroy all at once. Feeling no tremor come over him, and hoping his endurance would hold, Maryn held onto Saidin and once more began to weave through the Wards.
The shape of the Weave jumped to mind immediately, in fact his budding ability to read the residues left by others, had given Maryn an advantage in several of his classes. His instructor had remarked upon his keen eye for the shape and style of a weave, it was his strength that continually failed him, Maryn thought with a disgusted sneer. With Saidin in his grasp, he reached into the torrent of power and grasped threads of Fire, Spirit and with loose movements looped them around as the warp and weft. Before letting them come together he strained and struggled to grasp Water. Frayed and slippery, the threads continued to slowly take shape, although yet again he could feel the weave turning into a tangle.
With disgust, he dismissed the weave, allowing the threads to dissipate, although the knowledge of failing once more remained. The worst part of it, was he had sketched the weave many time, his books were filled with the sketches of the most common weaves for Warding. He had been drawn to the class by the possibilities, and it irritated him to be held back.
He ran through the Ward against sight, feeling the headache building after having struggled with the first weave. This ward at least used Fire, Air and Spirit and he was able to accomplish the ward. The air rippled around the stump he had used for his target, and he was pleased to see it disappear from view. The trick had been keeping the Air and Fire apart, as he had no wish to create lightning. Thinking to try one more, he began to grasp threads of the three elements once more, this time sending them out in a balanced trio as he weave laced outwards to create a circle. He was able to cover an area about as large as his bedroll, then the weaves began to slip and twist in his mental grasp. Rather than risking a mishap, he kept the weave small and tied off the weave that would keep shadowspawn from entering the area he had warded. Not that it does much good when a spear can reach farther than my weave, he thought bitterly as he released Saidin.
A racking cough seized him then, and after he was done coughing and cleaning the spittle from his cheeks, he realized the Dedicated had stopped in his practice out of concern. Waving the man away, Maryn couldn’t help but feel as if he was trying to climb a wall with no way of doing so. Sitting outside the fence, he took a spot at a bench nearby and worked on catching his breath, idly sketching the ghostly shadows of weaves that had been woven in the Channeling Yards early. “Maybe I can clerk here at the Grey Tower, they surely won’t keep me as a Soldier forever,” Maryn mused to himself as he wrestled with the frustration another unsuccessful class had born.