Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

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Lugh
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Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

Post by Lugh » October 15th, 2018, 6:23 pm

Maryn
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.
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Craig
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Re: Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

Post by Craig » October 23rd, 2018, 4:01 pm

Farah
Farah felt like a packhorse, and not without cause. Over her shoulders were a pair of saddlebags that she was returning to Cathair Asha'man from the stables. The Grey had returned from... Ghealdean maybe? That nugget of information didn't seem as important as the burning strain that was crisscrossing her shoulders. She tried to mutter, but it came out as a short huff instead. It felt like Cathair had put a shipment of lead into each of these bags.

It hadn't helped that she'd taken the wrong route around the Tower. Instead of going counterclockwise, Farah had accidentally taken the lengthier route, passing the Red, Green, Blue, Indigo, and then Brown Ajahs. She would have stopped for a breather by the Indigo's halls, but they were opposite the Great Serpent. As a former novice, she wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her struggle, even if the beads of sweat over her face and arms were a dead giveaway as it was.

Passing the entrance to the Channelling Yards on the left, Farah decided to stop. Her shoulders burned from the strain, and as she dropped firmly onto a bench, her legs informed her of their debilitated state. "Burn me," she grumbled after catching her breath. Dropping her head back, Farah closed her eyes and took in long lungfuls of air until the pounding of blood in her ears dropped to a tolerable level.

She sat up as straight as possible as long as the saddlebags rested on the bench. Farah had only been vaguely cognizant of the bench's other occupant before collapsing. Now she took him in, a Soldier with pale eyes and pale skin. With a book in hand, he was very much her opposite: a man of knowledge and a woman of weapons. Well, once she found something she excelled in other than using her fists and knees.

"What you got there?" she asked, looking at his book. It looked like weaves, although there was no point guessing what type. Aside from saidin and saidar being nothing alike, she was also a terrible channeller. That was the reason she was in Drin greys now. No regrets. Well, maybe a few. Her shoulders still felt raw.
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Elan wrote:Of course, the problems with observing a chain of command arise when the one in command decides to do something unspeakably idiotic, like taking off on his own for no discernible reason in the middle of enemy territory.

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Lugh
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Re: Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

Post by Lugh » October 24th, 2018, 5:34 pm

Maryn
“Burn me,” Maryn heard as someone suddenly dropped firmly onto the bench he had been sitting on. His pencil stroke went wide with his shock, and he forced himself to keep from responding with annoyance. After all, if he had wanted no one around him, he could have retreated to his room or the Library.

Maryn was surprised to see a Drin sitting beside him, and a young woman at that. Oh he knew the Warder Yards took men and women, but he was surprised to see one in the Channeling Yard. Taking in her stretching, and the saddlebags that were draped over her shoulders, Maryn realized she was likely doing some sort of chore.

"What you got there?" she asked, looking at his book, Maryn just barely resisting the urge to slam the pages shut. After all, there was little risk that a Drin would know he was sketching weaves he secretly worried he would never prove strong enough to perform.

“They are just sketches of weaves I have seen. In classes and as I watch the Channeling Yards I can often see the weaves that have been left by those who were practicing. So I draw them and try to help myself remember them. Most of this page is Wards that we were trying in class,” Maryn said as he turned towards the Drin so she could see better. On an impulse, glad to have the chance to talk even if it was just a distraction, Maryn handed her the book.

“I have found Wards to be great Weaves to work on drawing. They use pretty much every thread, and the weaving is often laid out just so. That’s what made me decide to draw them in the first place, it would kind of be like sketching the outlines of a good duel. Then you could look it over as many times as you needed” he said, trying to explain why he would draw them to someone who would have little knowledge of the One Power.

When she seemed interest, Maryn felt himself relax a little. Maybe he lacked the strength to perform the Weaves, but he was keenly interested in the One Power. The things it could accomplish, and the knowledge that had been found, or even created in the Grey Tower awed him. And some small part of him knew, he was worried about returning to his Uncle’s estate, with begging in his eyes.

Some unheard question snapped him out of his thoughts, and he coughed to cover up his embarrassment while looking at the Drin. She seemed small to him, slight of stature although looking at the saddlebags Maryn had to admit, carrying those would likely have exhausted his poor constitution. “It’s nice to meet you, Maryn Dagonred at your pleasure,” he said as he introduced himself to his newfound benchmate.
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Craig
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Re: Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

Post by Craig » October 29th, 2018, 8:43 pm

Farah
Farah had been, was, a poor channeller, but her twenty years in white hadn't been a complete waste of time. She understood the difference between seeing a weave as it was woven and seeing a weave some time afterwards. Reading Residues. She didn't know if how rare a Talent it was, but 'fairly rare' just about covered it.

She took ahold of the book when it was offered to her. The sketches could have been Wards. She didn't squint at the pages, but in her mind she tried to twist the coloured drawings this way and that. Ultimately she got nowhere with them. She'd never been able to make a Ward that would hold on its own. Farah just nodded in that polite fashion one did when failing to understand, but at least appreciating that something intelligent was being said.

"Maryn Dagonred at your pleasure."

"Farah. Farah Kattan," she said breathlessly, still looking at the book. There were familiar shapes amongst a lot of meaningless confusion, but those weaves wouldn't have done anything using saidar. "It looks... nice?" She sighed. Staring at the pages wasn't going to unlock some unfound potential.

She returned Maryn's notebook. "I've never seen someone draw it like that. It's normally all..." She tapped her temple before wiping her face with the sleeve of her shirt. It came away damp.

Lightly patting the saddlebags, Farah listened for the sound of clinking glass, but to no avail. "You don't happen to have something to drink?" she asked hopefully, but without expectation.

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Lugh
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Re: Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

Post by Lugh » October 30th, 2018, 3:48 pm

Maryn
Maryn was surprised to see that Farah was more interested in his sketches and drawing than just a simple glance. It made little sense to him, as she wore the grey of a Drin’far’ji, one of those who had determined they would serve the Grey Tower with fist and blade. Still it felt nice to have someone enjoy a product of his labour, and he was content to let her look through the book.

She returned Maryn's notebook as she introduced herself, still a little breathless from hauling the heavy bags. "I've never seen someone draw it like that. It's normally all..." She tapped her temple before wiping her face with the sleeve of her shirt. Maryn watched in confusion as she lightly patted the saddlebags, "You don't happen to have something to drink?" she asked.

“No sadly I don’t Farah. To be honest I hadn’t really planned to be here, I left class early and sort of stumbled my way here,” finished Maryn quietly. Then he once more looked at the bags, and the sweat beading her forehead.

Knowing he would pay for it later, but not wanting to force any learning rank; let alone a woman to labour while he rested, Maryn gestured towards the saddlebags. “If you would like, I can help carry some of your chore, that way we could find one of the fountains nearby. Will be less work, and easier in the heat if two of us tackle it,” he offered, glad that the jacket of a Soldier helped to hide some of his bone thin build. He hoped the classes he had taken with Beron Gaidin paid off, the strengthening had helped his channeling improve somewhat.

Standing, he grabbed the loops of one of the saddlebags, and slung it over his shoulder. A little wheezy, he asked Farah, “Have you been at the Grey Tower long?”
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Craig
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Re: Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

Post by Craig » November 11th, 2018, 9:45 pm

Farah
Farah didn't flinch in response to Maryn's question, but she did draw in a deep breath before answering. "I'll be coming up to my twenty-first anniversary in Hama Valon in a few months." She capped that with a shorter, somewhat sulky sigh.

Had she never been discovered, Farah would have still been in Kandor. By now she would have a husband and children, and a house to call her own. Instead, she had to share four walls with a stranger and didn't own the clothes on her back. Taking into account her 'progress' at the Grey Tower so far, Farah could have been a grandmother before she earned a fancloak.

Another sigh. "I was a novice until recently. Twenty years." She rolled her tongue around her mouth. "If I sound tetchy about it, well I am. But I won't hold that against you," she added with a roguish simper. "How about you? Wards are tricky stuff. Must have been here a bit."

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Lugh
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Re: Unable to shape the Clay (Open)

Post by Lugh » November 12th, 2018, 9:53 pm

Maryn
Maryn felt embarrassed when he realized he must have touched on a sore subject, especially as Farah continued to explain. A novice for twenty years, and they still let her move over to Drin grays? thought Maryn to himself puzzled, and a little worried for himself if he was honest.

Light if she could struggle for that long, how long might I be here? he mused until she simpered against him and he felt himself flushing for a different reason.

Coughing, although this time it was blessedly brief, Maryn shrugged as she continued talking, “I am glad you won’t hold it against me, I can only say that I hope you find the Drin yard a little more to your liking. As for me, I’ve been here a little over two years now, I had fallen ill for awhile, which the healers took some time to aid me with; then it was back to trying to catch up to my studies. Wards were something that always interested me, so I thought I would try it. Clearly that was too deep a cut too soon,” Maryn said with his own spike of bitterness.

“Still I suppose knowing that many of the channelers here can live well beyond a man’s years, it is little enough to toil in the jacket of a Soldier. I have little hope of making a move to the grays you wear, and I will not return to my uncle’s estate. How did you know it was time to consider a different path?” Maryn asked, his voice and face filled with clear emotion.
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