From Whom the Bells Toll (ATTN: Sean)

[Nick]

Dedicated Boril lead him into the Great Serpent at last, and Oen practiced at keeping his face relaxed, unconcerned. He succeeded in so far as not being stopped - again - to be asked if he "felt well enough to continue." Oen was a pale young man, travel-worn, and thin, but not necessarily sickly. He was tall, quite tall for southern standards, and his black, shoulder-length hair glistened healthfully as it swayed in his walking. Bells tinkled quietly at the ends of a half dozen or so braids, the rest of his hair loose. It was the slight purse of his lips that gave away his discomfort, and perhaps a hint of apprehension in his eyes.

To cover this, Oen kept his gaze lowered, or averted, from those of the soldiers and novices they passed along the way. It made him uneasy to think that each and every one of them could channel. It seemed rather dangerous, to keep so many untrained creatures in one enclosure, no matter its proximity to the Tower. The Light alone knew what dangerous and immature thoughts these children had brewing.

Oen tried to focus on the stones under his feet, or along the ceiling - anywhere but eye level - as they walked. The corridors were immaculate; no doubt the result of dozens of chores performed by as many initiates, most likely as punishment, as was obvious for at least the one boy cleaning the floorboards with a brilliant pad no larger than the tip of his finger. The task made him look a fool, as though he was tickling the wall, though neither it nor the boy were laughing.

When they stopped at the half-open door of the Master of Arms, Oen remained a few steps back, to give Boril room to knock. He listened closely to the three short raps, wondering if he would need repeat the knock in his own time. After a call from within, Boril slowly opened the door wide and motioned for Oen to proceed.

Oen entered, and this time his gaze automatically sought out the room's only inhabitant. He bowed deeply to the Master of Soldiers, his near but glanced back over his shoulder to find only an empty doorframe, Dedicated Boril nowhere to be seen. Oen waited for a prompt before launching into the introduction he'd rehearsed again and again over these past few days.

"Suravye ninto manshima taishite, Master," he said, in a tone that signified he spoke these words often. "I am Oen Harida of Arafel." He interlaced his fingers behind his back, to keep from fidgeting, and stood at attention. "Ameli Sedai may have written you on my behalf." In fact, Soti would have received a report from the traveling Green almost a full two weeks before Oen's arrival. "Kent Asha'man tested me for the spark and said I must join the Black Tower. However, Ameli Sedai convinced me to come here, to you, instead." He ventured a look from the wall over Soti's shoulder to meet the Master's solid copper stare, but looked away again shortly enough. "I have traveled a great distance, and I am prepared to submit myself to your training, if you will have me." He bowed his head, then, and, with a final jingle of his bells, waited for the sword to fall as it may.