12-11-2022, 06:14 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-13-2023, 04:28 PM by Adrian Kane.)
They were all there. Yes, he caught on to the theme. One battle that they didn’t even fight in, and all the little girls were traumatized. Those children in the White Tower were too pampered. Too protected. Even these pathetic warders that followed the Aes Sedai around were green around the neck. Talk to him after dozens of wars and brutalizing countless battles. Talk of terror when the horrors of the Blight were unleashed. The children of villages along the blightborder were a hundred times more hardened than the novices that fetched water and ran messages through the streets of Tar Valon.
“Good that Elsae was there. You three should all know exactly who you’re dealing with,” he reminded. “It wasn’t the Chosen leading an army of horrors. It wasn’t Demandred's strength that opened portals you three do not even know are possible. It was me who commanded legions of myrddraal, endless waves of trollocs and walls of dreadlords. Can you even fathom what it takes to earn such a position in service to the Great Lord? Can you even fathom a war council with a dozen Myrddraal? To pitch a General's tent close enough to control the demons but not so close as to constantly smell the spoils of war bubbling away? To command and keep that much power? Tell me your battle-hardened tales of woe again. Then remember who it is you’re sharing in tea time. How desperate you must be to even consider an alliance with me. The White Tower must truly be crumbling from within.” The oration was delivered without even baring a turn from the window. Whatever outburst from before was carefully bottled back up. The only release was that of vile and venom. Threat and memories.
Nythadri left with her warderess, but the open and closing of the door was only a slight release to the pressure that built within the room. He continued to hold onto the One Power, but only to enhance his sights to watch their silhouettes reflected in the window through which he gazed. Talin’s question probed callously factual. Reminded him of that first encounter. When she encountered a dying wretch of a man but just before she realized who he was. That hut in the Tairen countryside was sure to become Arikan’s tomb if the Yellow hadn’t followed word of mouth to his location. When she did, she found a shell clearly subjected to physical tortures. He was bare more than a skeleton, having shriveled to survive on the metabolism of his own muscle. The gory oozing of infected cuts dripped pus and putrid. The nails on his hands and feet were plucked away. Holes opened pits in his jaw where teeth once occupied. Burns and pincers plied at the most tender of flesh beneath his short-clothes. Sockets swung in and out of their joints.
But above it all, the furious gaze of vengeance flamed his gaze when Talin found him on his death bed. It was hate that kept him alive. Hatred and the strongest of will to use the One Power.
The mask of that same gaze was lifted from time to time. It did her well to remember his temper was contained by willpower, and to not test it farther than she was willing to risk. Yet as he dwelled, they were all still alive, but the semblance of trust was still not going to be extended to drinking her bloody tea.
He was silent for a long while, but when he chose to speak, it was with as much unfeeling as Talin’s question. His hands were clasped behind his back by then, although hidden by the lay of the cape. If she could see them, she would find them stable and unmoving. He was a mountain again, impenetrable and unconquerable. His voice was that of stone, and the release of emotion from before was buried so deep not even the whims of the Chosen’s probes would have located it.
“Something is in my head. It’s making me reconsider what should be natural,” he said, knowing it was an indecipherable explanation. “I’d accuse you of Compulsion if I thought you had the knowledge or strength,” he added on spite. But then, after another moment, his shoulders released a breath and he added a longer confession.
“It’s like a noose has been wrapped around my throat for my entire life, as long as I can remember, beckoning me into a darkness I was eager to plunge. One misstep and I would fall to my doom, but I reveled in executing the bidding of my Master. I was overjoyed by His attentions, even at the worst of His malice, because it was beautiful and terrible and my soul yearned to serve Him. Then, when the Chosen were released from the prison at Shayol Ghul, the Great Lord cast my leash aside for others He deemed more worthy. I served Demandred instead of the Great Lord Himself, and while I loathed them both for it, I was desperate for the Great Lord’s approval. And I obeyed like a pathetic child yearning for the attentions of a father that has cast him off. My entire existence has been in that service until shortly before you found me. And now, what pushed me to grovel for the Great Lord’s favor is gone. I will see Him destroyed. I will see all of them destroyed. I don’t care by who, myself or the Creator if one exists. I will see them destroyed,” he said, voice ceased with abrupt closure.
He turned then, finding the plug of her eyes. The fire within his own that she first beheld in Tear remained, emboldened now by fresh reconciliation. “But this voice," he seethed angrily. "It’s like a whisper that makes me pause. That voice kept me from killing all of you when I should have done it out of sheer spite for the way you talked to me,” he glanced at the warder, making sure that he wasn’t about to rush him for talking about it.
“I wanted to kill you, but I didn’t. Maybe I still will, but that’s what is wrong with me, Talin. What weakness has infected me? ”
“Good that Elsae was there. You three should all know exactly who you’re dealing with,” he reminded. “It wasn’t the Chosen leading an army of horrors. It wasn’t Demandred's strength that opened portals you three do not even know are possible. It was me who commanded legions of myrddraal, endless waves of trollocs and walls of dreadlords. Can you even fathom what it takes to earn such a position in service to the Great Lord? Can you even fathom a war council with a dozen Myrddraal? To pitch a General's tent close enough to control the demons but not so close as to constantly smell the spoils of war bubbling away? To command and keep that much power? Tell me your battle-hardened tales of woe again. Then remember who it is you’re sharing in tea time. How desperate you must be to even consider an alliance with me. The White Tower must truly be crumbling from within.” The oration was delivered without even baring a turn from the window. Whatever outburst from before was carefully bottled back up. The only release was that of vile and venom. Threat and memories.
Nythadri left with her warderess, but the open and closing of the door was only a slight release to the pressure that built within the room. He continued to hold onto the One Power, but only to enhance his sights to watch their silhouettes reflected in the window through which he gazed. Talin’s question probed callously factual. Reminded him of that first encounter. When she encountered a dying wretch of a man but just before she realized who he was. That hut in the Tairen countryside was sure to become Arikan’s tomb if the Yellow hadn’t followed word of mouth to his location. When she did, she found a shell clearly subjected to physical tortures. He was bare more than a skeleton, having shriveled to survive on the metabolism of his own muscle. The gory oozing of infected cuts dripped pus and putrid. The nails on his hands and feet were plucked away. Holes opened pits in his jaw where teeth once occupied. Burns and pincers plied at the most tender of flesh beneath his short-clothes. Sockets swung in and out of their joints.
But above it all, the furious gaze of vengeance flamed his gaze when Talin found him on his death bed. It was hate that kept him alive. Hatred and the strongest of will to use the One Power.
The mask of that same gaze was lifted from time to time. It did her well to remember his temper was contained by willpower, and to not test it farther than she was willing to risk. Yet as he dwelled, they were all still alive, but the semblance of trust was still not going to be extended to drinking her bloody tea.
He was silent for a long while, but when he chose to speak, it was with as much unfeeling as Talin’s question. His hands were clasped behind his back by then, although hidden by the lay of the cape. If she could see them, she would find them stable and unmoving. He was a mountain again, impenetrable and unconquerable. His voice was that of stone, and the release of emotion from before was buried so deep not even the whims of the Chosen’s probes would have located it.
“Something is in my head. It’s making me reconsider what should be natural,” he said, knowing it was an indecipherable explanation. “I’d accuse you of Compulsion if I thought you had the knowledge or strength,” he added on spite. But then, after another moment, his shoulders released a breath and he added a longer confession.
“It’s like a noose has been wrapped around my throat for my entire life, as long as I can remember, beckoning me into a darkness I was eager to plunge. One misstep and I would fall to my doom, but I reveled in executing the bidding of my Master. I was overjoyed by His attentions, even at the worst of His malice, because it was beautiful and terrible and my soul yearned to serve Him. Then, when the Chosen were released from the prison at Shayol Ghul, the Great Lord cast my leash aside for others He deemed more worthy. I served Demandred instead of the Great Lord Himself, and while I loathed them both for it, I was desperate for the Great Lord’s approval. And I obeyed like a pathetic child yearning for the attentions of a father that has cast him off. My entire existence has been in that service until shortly before you found me. And now, what pushed me to grovel for the Great Lord’s favor is gone. I will see Him destroyed. I will see all of them destroyed. I don’t care by who, myself or the Creator if one exists. I will see them destroyed,” he said, voice ceased with abrupt closure.
He turned then, finding the plug of her eyes. The fire within his own that she first beheld in Tear remained, emboldened now by fresh reconciliation. “But this voice," he seethed angrily. "It’s like a whisper that makes me pause. That voice kept me from killing all of you when I should have done it out of sheer spite for the way you talked to me,” he glanced at the warder, making sure that he wasn’t about to rush him for talking about it.
“I wanted to kill you, but I didn’t. Maybe I still will, but that’s what is wrong with me, Talin. What weakness has infected me? ”