The Grey Tower

The air was cool and crisp, the sun bright but lacking the blazing heat of summer, the gardens she was surrounded by were fragrant and beautiful. Situated beneath such tranquility, Katrie despised it all.

Red-faced and irritated, she glowered at the herb patch in front of her. Her legs were cramping, her toes were numb, and the pristine white of her dress was stained with grass and dirt. She gave a particularly vicious yank and the offending plant came out between gloved hands, roots and all. She tossed it over to where its other unfortunate brethren lay, glaring at the small haphazard pile of limp weeds. Sweating and cursing (silently, of course) in turns, she ploughed her fingers through the black soil, glad that she'd had the foresight to bind her dark hair back at the nape of her neck with a piece of faded ribbon.

She had been accosted shortly after High by a haughty Accepted that deemed her curtsy lacking in proper deference. Several unflattering phrases skittered across her mind while Katrie wished many unfortunate things upon the other woman's head. She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, craning her neck back in the vain attempt to keep it from twinging. She was going stir crazy and it was beginning to show. Though the attempt to distance herself from her House was dubiously successful, she had still been raised as a favourite child of a high ranking member. Headstrong and willful, indulged and treasured, she had rarely been denied anything; she certainly had never been forbidden to go anywhere. And her dalliances were her business and no one else's, though the Aes Sedai disagreed. She was Domani, for Light's sake. She knew how to protect herself, take the necessary precautions. That didn't matter here though. It was yet another thing she was not allowed to do.

Katrie tugged on another thin stalk, twisting it from side to side so as to dislodge the stubbornly clinging roots from the soil. There was a gleeful sort of savagery she took in this... a pity that the prickly emotions plaguing her could not be excised in a similar fashion. A thin rivulet of sweat slid down the side of her neck, slipping down to disappear beneath the neckline of her Novice whites. If she wasn't so bloody hot, she'd happily scream out her frustration.

She was so intent on her misery that it was another quarter of an hour before she realized that a long shadow had fallen over her.

“Didn't know weed pulling was so serious.”

Dark eyes looked up at the speaker in surprise, before she caught herself. “It is,” she replied with mock solemnity, “when you've been told that pulling out anything else will result in your backside getting tanned.”

((OOC: Come play with me! I don't bite. Katrie might though. ))

Daelar was walking in the gardens, as he had nothing better to do. The Warder Yards were jam-packed, his warding class had ended yesterday, and he wanted to see something familiar.
Though his family had never raised flowers, the gardens were close enough. Much more familiar than the imposing and magnificent halls that were the rest of the Tower. Perhaps it was good that the gardens weren't too familiar; he didn't want to relapse into his first few days at the tower. Those had been rather strange, doing one thing, then suddenly doing the opposite, being grateful for the Tower, then wanting to destroy it.

Well, that was the past. The gardens were indeed different than his family's farm, both back in Seanchan and after the Corenne. There they grew crops, here were flowers.

Walking through the tranquil gardens, he came upon a novice pulling weeds as if her life depended upon it. He surprised himself by saying, "Didn't know weed pulling was so serious."

She looked up in surprise, then obviously noticing that he was a Soldier and couldn't get her in any trouble, sassily replied, "It is, when you've been told that pulling out anything else will result in your backside getting tanned.”

Daelar laughed and sat down on a nearby bench. "Well, what did you do to merit a, um, suggestion, of that nature?"
After hearing about the incident with the accepted, he asked, smiling wryly, "Would you like to get one up on her?"
The Grey Tower really had changed him.

(OOC: I really have no idea where this is going. Do whatever you want with it.)

"Would you like to get one up on her?"

Katrie sat back on her heels as she carefully considered the Soldier's question. Do I? A few moments ago, yes, absolutely. Now... presented with the actuality of it, she wasn't so sure. She still wanted Accepted Heria's hair to all fall out, but... this seemed all too convenient. It would be just like an Aes Sedai – or a power mad Accepted – to arrange this kind of set up.

She kept her gaze fixed on him, studying him quizzically. He looked young, almost too young for any sort of duplicity. But wouldn't that be the point? To appear harmless? He was first rank, like her, dressed in unrelieved black with no pins on his collar, next to her white with no ring or bands of colour. She took in the wry smile still on his lips, the way in which he occupied the bench, and the easy way in which he'd laughed.

She resumed her onerous task of weed pulling, her motions slower than they had been, one eye on the plants and weeds, one eye on him. “I don't know,” she answered cautiously, trying to gauge his reaction. “If I did... well. Suppose you were in my place.” And here was where she smiled, white teeth jumping out from the warm shade of her coppery skin. “What would you do to her?”

((OOC: I have no plans either. Have fun with it.))

"Well, if I was in your place,... Hm. I don't know. There's not much you can do alone, not without being easily caught."
He thought for a second, then looked up. Light, but she was pretty! All the more reason to be careful.

"There really is not much you could do. You can't channel against them in any way; they're more experienced. I, however, can. They can't tell if I weave something there. There is a weave that I invented that I've wanted to try out. Just a simple alteration of the ward against intruders."

Daelar glanced at her. She was bent over, hardly weeding at all. Listening intently. Perhaps thinking about it.

"Think about it. When she walks in the door of her room she gets covered in water." Then an idea struck him. "Why water? I could just as easily cover her in ink from her own inkwell!"
Now he was caught up in his idea, hardly noticing the novice.

"It would be hard to sneak into the Accepted's quarters though. I suppose I could weave a ward of unseeing, but all this could get me in big trouble,..."

If I'm going to risk weaving without permission in a place I have no permission to be in, I ought to at least know why.


Suddenly he remembered he wasn't alone.

"You certainly have a say in this. Do you really have an interest in this?"
Suddenly he laughed quietly. "I've been talking to you for a while, and I haven't even learned your name! Would you please tell me what your name is?"

Katrie shrugged slightly, giving an easy smile. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested... that inkwell idea is fantastic.” And it really was. To think of pristine whites with the banded hems drenched in so much splotchy black was almost scandalous. The stains would never come out. Just like these stains never will... she thought ruefully, glancing down at the irrevocably discolored skirts. Maybe there was a trick of the Power to get them blinding white again.

“But,” Katrie continued, “channeling without permission seems unnecessarily risky. Someone's bound to catch you.”

She looked thoughtful. “Maybe something less chancy, like putting the ink in her tea. All we'd have to know is when she takes it – if she takes it, I mean. Hm. She might not even like tea. And then I suppose there's the issue of getting it to her, and making sure that nobody else drinks it...”

She gave a half-hearted tug at the weed between her fingers, adding that to the pile. “It's certainly no less complicated... so I guess if you're dead set on your idea, don't let me stop you,” she said almost cheerfully. “My name's Katrie.” She used her shortened name and completely omitted her second name on purpose. “And it's very nice to meet you...?” She looked pointedly at him and waited for him to give his name.

"My name is Daelar. I'm glad to officially have met you. However, the idea of putting ink in her tea is, well, rather imprecise. For all the reasons you pointed out. Channeling is also very risky. Mainly me getting in and out of her chambers..."
Daelar was silent for a moment, thinking about all the ways to get in and out of the Accepted's quarters. Suddenly and idea hit him.

Excitedly he whispered, "I don't need to sneak into her chambers! I just need you to! I'll make a weave right now, tie it to the object, and... Do you have an inkwell on you? No, I don't suppose you do. I'll try it on this flask I have..."

Daelar walked over to the fountain and filled a little flask. Concentrating, he let Saidin fill him, and forced it into shape. He wove water inside the flask, took eight flows from it, as well as eight strands of earth, and braided one of each to a strand of spirit. Like a ward, but not woven into a net. If he had done it right, when someone touched one of the eight braids, water would spurt out onto whoever touched the weave. He knelt down, grabbed some dirt, crumbled it, and was about to place it in the water. He thought better of it and dropped it. He would put it in if he used this on the novice. He put the flask down on the bench, backed away, and arrayed the braids into a shape like a compass rose. Then he tied the weave off.

Then he turned to the the Novice - Katrie, wasn't it? - and said, "Go pick it up and tell me what you think." He watched nervously, hoping he had woven correctly.

From what she could understand, Daelar had just channeled.

Katrie stilled, gloved hands going to her lap for a moment. It wasn't as if the garden section they were in was particularly crowded, but Light! Hopefully he hadn't used a lot of the Power, but the idea of possibly being caught in something terrible if he lost control of saidin stormed to the forefront of her mind. She really didn't want to end up hurt... or dead... or Stilled, like her mama.

The tall Cairhienin barely caught herself from asking him if he was crazy – best not to suggest that with any male channeler – instead watching him for a long moment. She wasn't sure why he seemed so... eager. She couldn't help the way her eyes narrowed as she glanced over to the flask sitting so innocuously on the bench. It didn't look at all deadly... She shifted her gaze back to Daelar.

“I don't think I want to,” she answered carefully, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. “I'm not comfortable with the idea.” She wasn't prepared to divulge why, and tried to smile apologetically. “Thanks for trying to help though – ” She bit through the rest of what she was going to say as a long shadow suddenly fell across her face.

“I trust all is going well, Novice, Soldier?” A new voice addressed them both coldly.

To her credit, Katrie managed not to clear her throat as she was at the perfect angle to catch sight of the banded hems. Her hands flew out of her lap and went to dig into the dirt with renewed relish. “Yes, Accepted,” she responded smoothly. “Everything is going well.” The quick expressionless glance she shot Daelar was rife with warning. “The Soldier was just commenting on some of the weeds.” It wasn't her best, but she was too flustered to come up with a better excuse as to why he was here as well.

((OOC: Life is still crazy, but yay, reply! You can finish it off and that will make 4 for us both. Thanks for the RP. ))

Daelar smiled at the Novice's obvious reluctance to go near. She probably thinks I'm crazy. Well, I am, a little at least. He glanced over at the bottle. He frowned. The weaves were gone, and the bottle looked different.Light! Maybe I am going crazy!

The novice, Katrie, stopped her sentence halfway. He glanced up. There was an Accepted. Katrie shot him a glare. Obviously she thought she would be in trouble because of him. He decided that if Katrie wouldn't test out his weave, the Accepted could for him. "Indeed I was. Also, I noticed a very strange looking animal over there. I saw it while I was standing by the bench. Could you please identify it for me?"

The Accepted sniffed haughtily and walked over. Daelar watched with bated breath as she walked closer to the bench. He couldn't see the weaves, so he didn't know when she would touch them. He didn't even know if the weaves were still there!

She stepped up near the bench. Dismissively she said, "I don't see anything except the Tower. I should hope you can recognize that."

"No, no, a little to the right. It was right next to that enormous tree."

She took another step. "I still don't..." She screamed, a very shrill sound indeed. There was a reddish brown patch on the back of her dress, and the water was gone from the bottle. The Accepted ran away, screaming bloody murder. After she had disappeared around the corner, Daelar went over to the bench. He felt the substance. Blood! How in the world was there blood in the bottle! Turning back to Katrie, he said, "You know, if I change this weave a bit I could make a mighty good inkwell. It could refill the quill all on its own. I do need to find a way to make it turn the water into ink instead of blood, though. On the other hand, that Accepted will have a nice brown dress."

He slipped the bottle into his pocket. He then turned and bowed formally. "I am most grateful for your company. However, I must go see about chores of my own. I hope to see you around."

After a few niceties, he turned and walked away. He didn't actually have a chore, but he had to go to the library. Not only did he want to see how he could tweak his weave, but he really wanted to go and continue reading the history of Artur Hawkwing.

(OOC: Thank you! This was fun. By the way, the weave was Daelar accidentally manifesting his Talent with Ter'angreal!)