The Pit of Doom: I Done Screwed Up [Craig!]

[Stasia]

Continues immediately from here. Muireen do Morny a'Lordeine

Muireen trembled as she walked, careful not to slack in her pace, nor appear too eager to arrive on the Master of Training's doorstep. She held the Aes Sedai's letter in a white-knuckled grasp and didn't care that the woman's precise handiwork crumpled beneath her fingers; that was the very last thing on her mind. In fact, she could not be sure what was the first thing on her mind - Avrya was likely going to get ejected from the Tower and land flat on her ass in Hama Valon with no choice but to return home or die of starvation, and Muireen had played a role in that. Guilt ate at her stomach nearly as much as raw fear did - Ravak Gaidin was not someone that she wanted to meet on a good day, much less on a day where she had the privilege of informing him that she had made a monumental - and deliberate! - mistake. I was going to play a prank on an Aes Sedai. I must have left my brains at home in Mindea! In fact, I didn't even have brains there! If I'd had my brains in Mindea, I wouldn't be in this mess!

She never should have taken that fool boy for his word, she never should have tried to find him or expect that he was an honest, decent human being and she never should have come to the Tower. Daev's charming, cooked grin flashed in her memory, and hot tears immediately stung her eyes. All of this mess for a boy who didn't care any more about her than he cared for an everyday flipskirt. And what made her any better than a flipskirt? She'd spread her legs for the promise of love; at least real flipskirts were paid immediately and not left out hung to dry!

"Shit," she whispered, roughly scrubbing the tears from her eyes, "Shit, shit, shit. Light burn me. Burn my thread from the Pattern, while you're at it." Gravel crunched beneath her boots as she reached the Yards, and for the millionth time, she wondered why she stayed. And for the millionth time, Muireen do Morny a'Lordeine remembered that she did not want to admit to her father that she had been wrong. She'd become a Warder before she admitted to him that she'd been a fool. That was, if Ravak Gaidin allowed her to live.

She approached the administrative building with enough timidity to bring a shrew to shame, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast, the Aes Sedai's missive nearly crumpled into a ball now. She wound her way through the unfamiliar corridors: she'd only been in here once, and she only knew one path - where the Gaidar Captain and the Mistress of Arms were, she did not know, but she knew exactly how to get to the Master of Training's office. Despite her trepidation, she did not falter once she had reached his door - she knocked immediately. This was going to happen one way or another, and delaying her fate would only increase the chances that she would lose her lunch on his boots. The Master of Training called in response and the young woman tried to steel herself. She had done this and she would face the consequences. She did not have very much honor left, but there were shreds of it somewhere, and she clung to them as if her life depended upon it.

Muireen barely opened the door and slipped silently through the entrance before shutting the door behind her. The latch clicked softly, as if it was not a peal of thunder that warned of an impending lightening strike, and she shivered before she could stop herself. Light guide me, she prayed, I know I don't deserve it, but please, I just want to be in one piece. Maybe even two pieces, so long as the majority of me is in one piece. She turned to face her destiny and felt abhorrence well up within her: not only had it been a bad day for her, it seemed that it had been a bad day for the Master of Training.

"I pranked an Aes Sedai," she said immediately, her damnation tumbling off her tongue, offering no prelude or explanation. "I have a letter from her here." Muireen thrust her hand at him, still holding the missive with an iron grasp. She diverted every ounce of her will to her voice, trying her best to keep from sounding as frightened as she felt. Her voice quavered slightly, despite her best efforts. Hopefully the Master of Training would recognize her weakness for what it was - a healthy respect for him and fear of his discipline. "I have no excuse. I do not claim ignorance or that I should have even been in that part of the Tower to begin with. I deserve whatever is coming to me and then some, for even ever letting the thought cross my mind. I've disgraced the Yards - and I've disgraced myself - and I've disgraced you, Ravak Gaidin."

[Craig]

Ravak

The snapping of wood brought the morning's testing session to an end, as Ravak looked at the broken training sword in his hand. Anger fuelled the rage that strengthened his blows, and the ko'di kept that strength disciplined and in check. The focus of the ko'di faded as Rav inspected the training dummy he had been working on. There were several new marks where fresh wood was exposed, but nothing that required any repair work. The sword could be taken apart and have new lathes added to it at least.

Dropping the sword to the hard packed ground, the red-haired Shienaran took in the Yards. There was plenty of activity going on elsewhere, but this little corner he had mostly to himself. A few women, all Aes Sedai or Accepted, were standing nearby. It was entirely possible they had watched his entire routine, or were watching some other poor fellow. The Master of Training no doubt made an appealing prospect for a Warder, but the severing of the bond between himself and Kaia was far, far too fresh for him to consider Bonding anyone else. He had been approached about it, but he had absolutely no interest.

Taking a waterskin from a nearby bench, he poured as much into his mouth as he did over his head. Sweat glistened over his frame, even stripped down to his waist as he was. What shone more was the marking that enveloped his right forearm. A sinuous beast that appeared to be gold wrapped around his arm, outlined in scarlet. A dragon, so they said. That was the only thing that remained to prove that he had spent over a year of his life in the Three-fold Land. Rumours had started over that almost the moment he had crossed the threshold of Hama Valon, but very few had got the truth out of him over it. He was ashamed of it, but at the same time it had cost him dearly.

Pulling a fresh white shirt from the bench, he pulled the sleeves over the dragon. Then grabbing the sword, waterskin and his discarded shirt from before, Rav marched back towards his office. A murmuring came from the assembly of women, but he chose to ignore it. He wasn't in the mood for any pussyfooting around.

-----

Ravak had been in his office for five minutes when the first person arrived. The floorboards outside the door creaked, then came the knock, quick and determined. He called, and in slipped a short woman. The face, rather plain-looking, seemed familiar, yet a name failed to materialise. A Murdanian, not a Cairheinin, in spite of her height. She looked frightened, and Rav didn't think it was for the baleful stare he was incidentally casting in her direction.

"I pranked an Aes Sedai," came the frank admission. What followed was more surprising: quite a litany of remorse, accompanied by the Aes Sedai's letter. She stood there holding the letter out, and he reached over his desk to retrieve it. Glancing at the signature he frowned. Illyria was an Indigo, if he recalled correctly. What under the Light was this Drin doing pranking an Indigo of all things? Fortunate it wasn't Elia they pranked, he thought, as he read the letter in full.

The sneer of contempt that crossed his face was less incidental. Avyra flaming Moeryr. For a year, he had been able to put that brat of a novice out of his mind, yet it was less than a week after his return when he had to hunt her down alongside Mirin. She was more of a thorn in his side than most of his own trainees. If he didn't know any better - and he possibly would enquire afterwards - he was think she was ta'veren. The eye of a storm of mischief and mayhem. The sooner that Mirin was finished putting up with her, the better.

His voice was quiet and hard. "Muireen do Morny a'Lordeine." Her full name had come to him with Illyria's prompting. "I believe this marks the first time you've come to my office for penance, and this is what you bring me?" He gestured with the letter in his left hand. "Purposefully and wilfully causing chaos to a lesson, for someone whom I'm confident you don't even have any classes with. Have you read this? An afternoon ruined for twenty students and an Aes Sedai? Light..." Looking back at the letter, he snapped his fingers. "Sit."

Almost by accident, he prodded at the hole where Kaia had been. That void was getting smaller, but it was still a chasm that sapped away at him. His mood dipped deeper into misery. Mixed with the annoyance he felt over Muireen and Avyra's prank, his face hardened. Grey-blue eyes stared at the Drin'far'ji like an oncoming thunderstorm. "Tell me Muireen, what would you do in my position, with a letter like this?"

[Stasia]

Muireen do Morny a'Lordeine

The sneer that marred the Master of Training's features was enough to strike a healthy fear of his wrath into her heart. Muireen had heard stories from others, Avrya included: the Master of Training was not renowned for his gentle spirit or mild manner. He scanned over the Aes Sedai's letter quickly, then stared at her. She shrank beneath his gaze and could have sworn that she felt her insides wither away into dust. His eyes were extraordinarily light, but they were not pretty - oh, there was nothing pretty about Ravak Gaidin's rage.

"Muireen do Morny a'Lordeine," he said in a soft, dangerous voice. Muireen cringed despite herself. She had hoped that she would be brave, she had hoped that she would find a spine, because she deserved this and more, but she felt more like a fish flopping on a deck, awkwardly gasping for air. "I believe this marks the first time you've come to my office for penance, and this is what you bring me?" The Master of Training pointed to the Aes Sedai's letter, disbelief creeping into his tone.

She had tried to warn him that she had brought shame down on his Yards, but it seemed that she had managed to surprise him anyway. "Purposefully and wilfully causing chaos to a lesson, for someone whom I'm confident you don't even have any classes with. Have you read this? An afternoon ruined for twenty students and an Aes Sedai? Light..." Was it worth explaining that she had not wanted to prank that Aes Sedai and had been after an arithmetic instructor instead? Or would that only make matters worse? But don't I deserve the worst he has? Muireen bit her tongue savagely; she would offer an explanation if he asked for one, and walk the line between morality and intelligence as carefully as she could. As far as she was concerned, she had already dug her grave. She might as well make sure that the Master of Training knew what to carve into her tombstone.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and pointed to a chair. "Sit." Muireen could not stop herself before a strangled noise escaped from her mouth; she was filthy. She had intended on changing her uniform before she returned to the training, but amid the Aes Sedai's rage and her own fear, she had forgotten that her pants were covered with mud and soapy water. She looked frantically from the Master of Training to his chair, wondering if he would be angrier if she ruined the fabric seat covering or if she tried to disagree with him. Surely, he had seen her pants. She accepted her fate and sank into his chair with a disheartening squelch. There was an uncomfortable silence. Muireen did her best not to fidget. She did not want to ruin the chair anymore than she already had.

"Tell me Muireen, what would you do in my position, with a letter like this?" Muireen stuttered and forced herself to face his gaze: her brains were addled by fear, and she had never expected that he would ask her opinion on the matter. Honesty was the best policy, and she would not do herself any favors by attempting to suggest that she did not deserve his wrath and everything that was coming to her.

"I'd - I don't know - I've - I didn't think I had a say, Ravak Gaidin. I would not blame you if you had me beaten, or put out of the Tower, or found a lovely little spot for my body in the back corner of the Gardens." She had been living here, free of charge, for months now. Warders were training her in unarmed combat and in more specialized disciplines, and she was receiving a free education! For many trainees, that was invaluable. But she was already educated - perhaps that had been the issue with the White sister who taught algebra from the start. Muireen was aware that she was lucky; she was not needed here, not like the novices or soldiers, and she did not have very much promise as a Warder. She should not have been trying to have any fun, especially not with a novice that seemed to be experienced in the realm of fun.

Hindsight was a terrible thing, particularly the Master of Training was staring you down.

"I don't know what I would do with me," she admitted, quietly. "I don't think I would allow me to stay, and if I did, I would be sure to beat myself until I had a healthy respect for the Aes Sedai." She would not beg Ravak Gaidin for a second chance when she did not deserve the coin the Tower spent on feeding and clothing her, despite how dearly she wanted to. She'd sooner beg a bear to share its lunch.

[Craig]

Ravak

Rav's brow made a dark crease along his forehead. She thought she should be sent out of the Tower for this? Either she had no appreciation that this wasn't the White Tower, with their mongrel swordcarriers that they jokingly called Warders, or she had no self confidence. Or finding a place for her body, Light. Rav leaned slightly forwards, which probably looked a touch menacing, even though that was not his intention.

"I read this letter, and I see two idiots. The novice who undoubtedly dreamt up this little prank, and the Drin who followed her. Now, do you deserve to be punished for this? Absolutely. I imagine that Avyra is squealing now, with the sounds of a reed making welts on sore flesh. However, I don't believe that beating you, or beating any of my trainees, has a beneficial effect."

The Master of Training pushed back his chair, and stood up. As he rose, he lifted an iron poker from beside the fireplace. It was just a straight piece of metal, meant for breaking apart burnt-out pieces of coal or wood, or for pushing things into the back of the fire. He slapped the far end into his open palm, as if considering what to use it for. Ravak ended up walking a few paces to the side, so he stood in front of the stained glass window of an Aes Sedai that ran from the floor to the ceiling. The glass was so tinted that it wasn't possible to see through it, yet Rav seemed to stare through it towards the Training Yards that lay beyond.

Rav's tone wasn't loud, but it carried; an instructor's lecturing voice. "When you first came to the Tower, you signed a ledger. You made your mark, and you made a pledge to serve the Warder Yards and the Grey Tower. If you didn't know before, you soon learned that you had many years ahead for you before you became Ji'dar, then more years before you earned the fancloak and became a Gaidar. Hard years, of lessons in the art of warfare and on how to survive in the wilds. Lessons in the Training Yards, learning your craft with swords or bows or daggers. Chores, to temper you, and to make you grateful for the opportunities you have been granted, without concern for your background or history, your gender or race."

Rav turned back towards Muireen. He scratched his beard with his left hand, once more considering. The iron poker was flat against his leg, held in the other hand. "So, I could beat you, but you know all about physical labours. You've had arms and ribs broken, no doubt. Even if I was to do that, and then say that it should not be Healed, where does that get either of us? Nowhere I think. So let's consider the other option, banishing you from the Tower. You get to return to the world you knew, but with skills that make you a fine sellsword. You could make a healthy living, maybe travelling with trade caravans into the Three-fold Land, or becoming a noble's guard, maybe some Andoran lady with estates near Caemlyn, quite a cushy little life. Now, does that sound much like a punishment either? Freed from your pledge to us, and left to lead a normal, even prestigious life out in the rest of the world?"

The grin that crossed the Master of Training's face almost seemed warm and well-humoured. He returned to his seat, placing the poker back with the rest of the fireplace tools. Pulling his chair back in, he folded his hands on the desk. "So now that we've walked through your suggestions, beyond the even more foolish one of burying you somewhere and upsetting the beauty of the Gardens, I imagine you're wondering what under the Light and in the Creator's palm I plan to do with you."

That grin grew a little wider, as Rav settled back into his chair. He let Muireen stew for a long moment. Rav didn't stare at her, knowing how unsettling it was to have his gaze settled on someone for long. Instead he just looked into his palms, although his attention was all on the Murandian. Finally, after a minute or so, he looked up at her, and gestured towards the other door in the room.

"Beyond that door is my private study. Since I took on the mantle of Master of Training, and even during my time away from the Tower, only two people have crossed that threshold and seen what lies inside. The first was my sister, whom you are probably aware is a member of the Indigo Ajah now. The second is Ferran Gaidin, who looked after this office in my absence." The red-haired Shienaran leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms and elbows on the desk. "Muireen, you are to be the third. I have thought of your punishment. But first, do tell me. How is your handwriting?"

OOC: There's maybe very little verbal to respond to, but I hope Rav's speech provided something to work with. If not, just let me know.

[Stasia]

Muireen do Morny a’Lordeine

Muireen sat in stunned silence and she wished that she could hide her flaming cheeks. The Master of Training had to think that she was an absolute fool. Master Ravak was correct, though. Cutting her loose from the Tower would be more of a mercy than a punishment, and beating her would not be any different than what she already faced in the Yards. She hoped that Avyra was not facing a beating of her own, but she supposed that if she liked sparring with Trainees that were easily a hundred pounds heavier than she was, that she was used to pain as well.

But this… He wanted to pass along an honor, reserved only for himself, his sister, and the Master of Training that had served in his stead? The young woman gawked at the Gaidin, unsure of what to do with his invitation. How good is my handwriting?? His question bounced off of the inside of her skull. She had excellent handwriting. As a middling noblewoman, her mother had seen that her daughter’s hand rivaled most illuminator’s. If she was really trying, she could write in calligraphy: though her mother had been averse to her sketching hobby, it had strengthened her handwriting, and so the Lady Gyllian could not complain too much about it at the end of the day.

“I… I have very good handwriting,” Muireen stammered, careful not to shrink away from his icy gaze. If she fidgeted in his chair, she’d only ruin it more. “I had a tutor that was there specifically to improve it, in fact. I never thought that it would come in handy here.” She laughed, nervously, and dug her nails into her legs. Those in the Yards tended to have a natural dislike of any nobility that trained among them, as though they believed that anyone with a drop of noble blood was unwilling to dirty their hands. It did not matter how many times Muireen had joined them in the mud, sparring, swearing, and doing menial chores with the rest of them, she had been unable to prove her worth. She doubted that writing fancy letters for the Master of Training would help that, but this was better than being forced to return home.

Unfortunately for her, the house of do Morny a’Lordeine was a large, sprawling clan. Anyone that knew anything of Murandian politics would have known that her surname was not an indication of her status. But few people here knew anything of Murandian politics or cared to spare a thought for the fractured state of affairs of her home - all anyone saw was a slim noblewoman who had wandered into their Yards, trespassed on their honor, and did not deserve to be there among them. Perhaps they are right, she thought, cautiously glancing up at the Master of Training, hazel eyes scanned his smile, looking for the storm to surge again. Perhaps that’s why he’s asking me to do his paperwork. Light burn them all, I will be a Gaidar! The thought startled her; she had come here to learn how to break Daev’s nose and gotten more than she bargained for. She had let herself get trapped into the pissing contest of the century, and now she was thinking that she’d prove them wrong?

She’d be lying if she tried to claim that she did not enjoy her life here at the Tower. There was no one watching her like a hawk, chiding her for being unladylike. In her free time, she was free to peruse the Library with all of the other learning ranks and could learn about anything she pleased. Her only political worries were about her rival drin, and the training was so exhausting that she hardly had time to remember that she’d been jilted. I’ll be the best secretary he’s ever had, she thought fiercely. And I’ll stay at this bloody Tower, earn my fancloak, or die trying.

“What will I be writing, Ravak Gaidin?”

[Craig]

Ravak

Rav leaned back again, lord of his own little domain, and thoroughly enjoying the experience. At least, that was the impression he was aiming for. Truth be told, he was a little relieved by Muireen's answer. He avoided answering her follow-up question immediately, however.

"It may come as no surprise, but I am not noble born, no matter how good I look with embroidery around my cuffs." Rav tugged at his shirtsleeves as if neatening them, before he remembered what they hid. He lowered his arms a tad abruptly, resting them on his lap. "I was never given a formal education on how to read, or write, or even speak correctly. Those were all things I had to learn naturally as I grew up. Clearly I know a thing or two about talking, and about reading." He pointed to the bookcases that flanked the fireplace, completely filled with books of all sorts. Everyone knew that the Master of Training liked to read. "But writing, well..."

He sucked in air through his teeth, an admonishing sound at himself. He rummaged over some of the paperwork covering his desk, before happening upon a single sheet of paper. Scanning it briefly, he handed it over to Muireen. "Now that is an example of my fine hand." Those last two words were put across with the grandest amount of insincerity. Rav knew that his handwriting was nigh on impossible to read, unless he had been actually trying to make it legible. Sometimes he even struggled to understand what he had intended. "Now whilst you consider that, consider this. There is a lot of paperwork that comes with being the Master of Training. It's one part running an army, one part running a tavern, one part liaising with the Grey Tower proper, and another part... actually, I'm not sure. But there's a lot of paperwork, is what I'm getting at. And, from that evidence in your hands, you can see that I am not very good at making it seem neat and legible."

Rav rose from his chair once more, and strode to the small door that led into his private study. He pushed the door open, letting it swing wide. From where the Drin was sitting, she would be able to see the small writing desk that Rav used for more personal letters, as well as another half-filled bookcase, and a scattering of pillows on the floor. Concealed from view was the pallet that the Shienaran had been using as a bed, ever since he'd moved out from the basement of the Tower. I'll actually need to take up residency somewhere again. Problems for another time.

"From tomorrow, you will attend me, here, from first light. I have various letters and ledgers and reports to write out, and they need to be presentable, which is where you come in. You won't have any lessons or chores other than this, and you are not to leave the Warder Hall without my permission." Rav wondered how much this sounded like getting off easy to Muireen. Some would consider it a blessing, no hard labour or sweating in the yards, or having to listen to yet another treatise. But the smart ones would recognise this as a punishment. Without classes or chores, there would be no socialising. Without lessons in the yards, their skill as a would-be Warder was not improving - in fact, it would begin to ebb away without the daily regime of training. The issue of having to attend the Grey Tower for food at the mess hall could also be got around. After all, being the Master of Training had perks. Grey-blue eyes watched Muireen's carefully. Did she recognise all this? Or maybe she was waiting for the other pin to drop, to see what more of a punishment Ravak Gaidin had in store. Without noticing, the Shienaran had adopted one of those easy-looking leans against the doorframe that Warders did. To the untrained eye he looked lazy, indolent. To anyone with a hair of sense, they knew he was ready to leap into action with less than a moment's warning. "How does all this sit with you, Muireen?"

OOC: Apologies for the long delay - I have no excuse.

[Stasia]

Muireen do Morny a'Lordeine

Muireen struggled to hide her smile; the Master of Training's handwriting was barely chicken-scratch. How anyone managed to read what he wrote was unimaginable - she could seriously see how one might mistake it for Old Tongue and call on a Brown for translation. The fact that she was allowed to remain at the Tower was still a shock to her, and guilt nagged at her. She doubted that Avrya was getting similar treatment from the Mistress of Novices for their infraction... But what's the catch? Muireen watched him carefully, hazel eyes narrowed slightly - he was pulling her out of all of her classes, all her of training, all of her everything so that she could be his secretary.

Oh no, she realized, blanching slightly. My reputation. It'll be ruined for sure. She regarded Ravak Gaidin with a newfound respect for his cunning. Surely he knew that nobles were not welcome in his Yards and this false elevation - this false honor - was the cruelest blow that he could deal. Not only would she fall behind... Anything she might have done to receive respect in the eyes of her peers would be swept away with a lazy wave of his hand.

And she had thought that excellent handwriting was a good thing.

"How does all this sit with you, Muireen?" He seemed calmer now, slouched in his door-frame, looking like a lazy house-cat that was ready for an afternoon nap. He was still the Master of Training, though - Muireen did not think for a second that the word lazy was even in Ravak Gaidin's vocabulary. The Drin bit her lip, dared not let the first thing on her mind stumble off her tongue: This sounds terrible! He was allowing her to stay, after all. She made sure to keep her hands relaxed on her ruined pants and tried not to betray her dismay, but she had never been terribly subtle.

"It sits with me, Ravak Gaidin," she said finally, in what she thought was a smooth voice. "I have no formal opinion on the matter; it is what it is. I will be here in the morning with a breakfast tray and a silver spoon, if you wish it." He was allowing her to stay - she would write letters for the next ten years, if he required it. Perhaps Avrya got the better end of the deal after all...

Spoiler: show

I have no excuse either. Life is life.