The Grey Tower

Rhykana slumped in the alley outside the Hungry King Tavern, nervously readjusting her dirty brown cloak. The only dress she had been able to steal was a kitchen girl’s; much better than her Accepted dress, but still recognizable. And she was getting impatient. Dakson Torellion was the perfect choice, and he was late. The man was new to the Tower; neither Lydie Sedai nor Halliene Sedai would know him. If only he would leave the tavern. She leaned her head back against the disgusting brick wall and sighed.

It would have been far preferable if she did not need the services of such a man. But there was no way around it; Rhykana did not have the necessary skills, and to be caught spying was a risk that she did not know the punishment for. If she was to be Black Ajah, she needed to understand the Black Ajah. Before she became a sister, she needed to know what she would pay to have the freedom she desired.

Rhykana shifted, impatient and eager for what was to come. Even this was a risk, to channel in such a way where an Aes Sedai might see, but it was a risk she needed to take, was willing to take. She had the tool to trap and use Dakson, and she hungered to do so. After the arches, Rhykana had lost the ability to lie to herself. It was easier to face the truth; Dakson had more than a passing resemblance to Derin. It would be… refreshing to be the one in control, the one who could and would take his free will away.

All of her ached to embrace the One Power, to reassure herself that she was no longer the girl who had to submit to her master’s desires. But for the moment, it was enough to press her palm to the Great Serpent ring resting against her chest, strung around her neck on a ribbon. She was an Accepted now. She was something to be reckoned with now.

She stiffened at the sound of footsteps and girlish laughter. Quickly, Rhykana tugged the hood of the cloak forward to hide her face and adjusted her posture to that of a slumbering drunkard. She peered out from under her cloak with hooded eyes as the man and woman stumbled into the alley, handsy and drunk and boisterous.

It was Dakson.

Rhykana embraced saidar in an instant, delicate threads of air binding their mouths shut so they could not scream. She wove thick flows of air, binding their feet together and hands to their sides. She stood, her heart a drum in her chest. There was nothing else to do, now, nothing else but to use her talent as it was meant to be used. But still she only stood, hands useless at her sides, as she faced the reality that she had so painstakingly planned.

Who was she, to take their will and use them as she wished? Who was she, to force them?

The Hungry Lion had become one of Dax's favorite places to spend his evenings. The innkeep hired pretty girls and good entertainment, served decent food, and maitained a strict "if I don't see it, it didn't happen" policy. That suited the former sell sword quite well indeed.

On that particular night, he sat at a table in the center of the room. Malorre sat sideways in his lap; he had an arm around her waist, and she had one of hers around his neck. To his delight, even the Drin'far'ji were welcomed by the women of Hama Valon, and the Saldaean dancer was no exception.

Someone called for a toast, for a reason that got lost in the resulting cheer of approval. As he drank, Malorre ran a long fingernail down his neck, and leaned in to whisper, "There are better places to be, don't you think?" With a pointed wiggle of her well proportioned bottom.

The Drin'far'ji put his cup down and smiled at her. The world was a little fuzzy around the edges; he supposed he may have had a little too much to drink. He leaned in and captured her lips with his, biting and nibbling to the sound of raucous calls from the crowd. She clung to him, smelling of wine and sweat and everything undeniably female, and his body responded to her closeness in a way he could not ignore. He gathered her in his arms, stood, and headed for the door.

She laughed, kicking her feet; he swung her in a wild circle to disguise that he had nearly fallen over, then carried her into the darkness beyond.

Once outside, he set her down; she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the dark space between the Hungry Lion and the merchant next door. He grinned and followed, his free hand giving her bottom a swat as they passed into shadow.

"My lord!" She said in a falsely shocked tone. She turned to face him as if to admonish him, but he wasn't really in the mood for any more verbal play. He pushed her against the wall and kissed her, silencing her objections with his lips.

Abruptly, the darkness felt heavy, wrapping around him and binding him as tightly as any rope, filling his mouth and ensuring silence. Dax stiffened, his eyes meeting his companion's. Malorre was terrified, her mouth working to release any sound at all.

He tried to move, but he couldn't so much as wiggle his smallest toes. He was trapped with one hand on the serving girl's bottom and his lips pressed against hers. Whoever had caught him could certainly channel, the only question that remained was how long it would take him to recover from whatever ridiculous punishment they chose to give him for behaving in "a manner unfit for a trainee of the Grey Tower" this time.

The situation she had placed herself in made her stomach turn. Dakson was tangled up with the girl, and the very sight of it made Rhykana ill. How many times had Derin held her that way, while she stood, passive and terrified, with guilt and shame churning inside of her? Gritting her teeth, Rhykana pulled them apart with violent threads of Air, leaving them hanging in the weaves that bound them and swaying like ragdolls.

This was necessary. If she did not begin to understand the currents of the Black Ajah, she would become nothing more than Lydie’s pet when she finally gained the shawl. She would as powerless as Derin had made her, a servant dressed as an Aes Sedai. It was a disgusting thought, a future that she would never allow to take place. Rhykana would be powerful, as an Aes Sedai and as a sister of the Black Ajah, and this was but a first step.

She channeled, the tangled weave of Spirit she had discovered as a novice seeming to shape itself before her. It was a matted tangle of silvery threads, twisting and undulating towards the pair bound before her as if it had a mind of its own. It was a terrifying struggle to stop herself, to create only what she needed and no more. It would be so natural, so easy to create the monstrous, magnificent weaves to wipe away free will and memory and thought, to master the people she had trapped utterly and completely.

The weave she settled over the mind of the serving girl was not that weave. Still, Rhykana could not stop the feral grin as the silvery threads tunneled into the girl’s mind, wrapping around her thoughts and desires. She allowed herself only a small pleasure, and split her weaves to create a few thin, delicate strands of Spirit that would make the girl view her as a goddess, beautiful and terrible and powerful.

Rhykana’s breath came quickly as the girl’s expression changed, melting from terror into glazed devotion. Her eyes were glassy, and her entire body leaned toward Rhykana, as if she could shake the weaves that bound her and attend to her mistress as she should.

“You will return to the tavern,” Rhykana told the girl, flexing and twining the strands of Spirit that held her mind to ensure that her orders would be obeyed. “If anyone asks… tell them this man insulted you.” It was only a second of work to rearrange the girl’s emotions, planting seeds of anger and damaged pride. “You will not remember me.”

She hesitated for only a moment before tying off the weaves of Spirit and letting them dissipate. The girl sagged into her bonds of Air before Rhykana removed that, too. The girl did not look at her as she whirled, running the way she had came. Rhykana savored the sounds of her sobs; it was the sound of a weave well done.

She turned her attention to Dakson, chewing at her lip as she readied herself. This weave would not be as simple.

Dax stared at the person who had so unexpectedly interrupted his tryst. She was shorter than he by a half a head, and held herself with a dignity that seemed familiar, though her clothes were nondescript and ill-fitting. She looked, in fact, like any not-so-wealthy woman walking the street.

Except, of course, for the fact that he floated in mid-air, held motionless by bindings he could not see. This woman, whoever she was, could channel. His skin crawled, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to shut out the sight of her. She was speaking to the girl he had been with. What was her name again? Malorre. The girl's eyes were large and foolish with devotion. What in the bloody Creator's name is going on?

The answer came immediately. "You will not remember me," the strange woman said calmly, and Malorre nodded eagerly before she abruptly dropped, shook herself, and ran away crying.

His instructors had briefly touched on the matter of channelers who served the Shadow and could control the minds of the unwary; he had no doubt that the blue eyes staring so fiercely at him now belonged in that category. He thrashed, struggling to break her hold on him, but the bindings held. He could not speak. He could not move.

No one in the Tower knew where he was, and what was worse, no one cared. He had already set a precedent for absence from classes; it would take some time before anyone realized he was missing at all. Creator help me. Somehow, the Creator seemed very far away and small.

His struggles slowed, then stopped. What good would it do to exhaust himself? His captor laughed, the sound splitting the silence like the chime of silver bells.

He found himself staring at her in awe. He could not imagine anyone more perfect than she. She ought not to be wearing that rag- a royal gown in deepest blue would suit her better, with a golden crown atop her chestnut tresses! How terrible, that one so glorious as she should be forced to stand in such filth. If she would but allow him the privilege, he would lay before her so she might stand on him and attain her rightful place above the grime.

Something felt odd. He had just been thinking about something else, but he couldn't put his finger on it, and after a moment he shook the stray concern off. What could matter more than her? He gazed at her, waiting for her to speak. Light, she is beautiful!

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OOC: Aaaand Dax is easy pickings.

Since I agreed to this entire RP, feel free to RP Dax doing /saying whatever. That's how Compulsion works, after all. ^_^