11-02-2017, 07:54 PM
Oh the decor was beautiful. There was no question about it. Green has always been the color associated with life, after all. It was found in nature where every bright green stalk and leaf radiated the essence of flourishing life. But it was also found in the heart and if not tamed, like an unculled overgrowth of vines growing up a building, could leave an emotion that could take over even the strongest of women. For these reasons- life, passion, and emotion -the Green attracted a wide range of Accepted to this shawl where even the coolest of serene Aes Sedai had at their core a reason to see life continue and stand ready for the Last Battle's commencement. But first among all, every Green must bear a love for men. Not necessarily be in love with every male figure, but harbor more of an appreciation for them. Their strong hearts, their pure dedication, their pride, their endurance, their characters, their companionship; however, no shortage of Greens knew what it was to also be in love with one (or two). These women would also not want it any other way.
For these reasons, and others that only an initiated Sister of the Green would know, the decor was beautiful. The colors, the life, and the tributes toward men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice to see that life continue as it was. Tapestries depicting scenes from every war could be found in these halls. Crests and emblems from long lost families and armies forgotten everywhere else except for the Tower's long history hung in identification next to archived weapons, helms, plumes, or here and there a full suit of armor. (Many shaped for the figure of a woman as well).
There was a camaraderie in these halls. Outside Lythia's door pairs of warders walked together, often greeting in shoulder claps and light-hearted words. Here, even the broodiest of men cracked a smile and appreciated the moments of relaxation. In fact, until recently, even Caia'li's tall warder was known to join in on the atmosphere. Sisters walked with heads together and unlike in other ajahs, the Green seemed to always put forward a face of unity. Not every pair of women were the deepest of friends, but largely everyone's respect for one another could be seen. They were a unit, after all, and would be in battle just as they were in times of peace. Here, like in other armies, rank and file was an accepted way of life, and it bred harmony, not jealousy.
And then, perhaps what was arguably the Ajah's most beautiful decoration opened that carved out door and peered with beautiful blue eyes across at Nythadri, breaking into a small smile that could stop the heart of a woman to imagine it was she who inspired such a smile. A chiseled, beautiful man....no, nobleman. His blonde hair swept perfectly from that breath-catching face. The slope of his shoulders beneath spoke to a lean, strong man who was perfectly able to fill the role the Amyrlin asked him to fill. A figure of browns and grays might be plain on another, but Blake was pretty enough without needing a flashy wardrobe. And his smile was enough to court the women of the Tower into his palm, without seeming to court them, of course.
Whatever keen thoughts were behind the lifting of one sculpted brow and inspired a sense of coy formality to his smile, his greeting to the Accepted was likewise just as fulfilling. "Good day, Accepted."
Behind his shape could be seen an angled hint of the room beyond much the same look as in the hall but harboring a great deal more ironwork: warmth radiating from blackened lampstands, hooks and mantles to position weapons of her own, and the sculpture-art worked curling along the ceiling. Baerlon was, after all, in Lythia's blood and part of the realm in which her warder could have ruled as king, had she not snatched him up, of course. There was more, but it would not be revealed until Nythadri stepped fully within.
For these reasons, and others that only an initiated Sister of the Green would know, the decor was beautiful. The colors, the life, and the tributes toward men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice to see that life continue as it was. Tapestries depicting scenes from every war could be found in these halls. Crests and emblems from long lost families and armies forgotten everywhere else except for the Tower's long history hung in identification next to archived weapons, helms, plumes, or here and there a full suit of armor. (Many shaped for the figure of a woman as well).
There was a camaraderie in these halls. Outside Lythia's door pairs of warders walked together, often greeting in shoulder claps and light-hearted words. Here, even the broodiest of men cracked a smile and appreciated the moments of relaxation. In fact, until recently, even Caia'li's tall warder was known to join in on the atmosphere. Sisters walked with heads together and unlike in other ajahs, the Green seemed to always put forward a face of unity. Not every pair of women were the deepest of friends, but largely everyone's respect for one another could be seen. They were a unit, after all, and would be in battle just as they were in times of peace. Here, like in other armies, rank and file was an accepted way of life, and it bred harmony, not jealousy.
And then, perhaps what was arguably the Ajah's most beautiful decoration opened that carved out door and peered with beautiful blue eyes across at Nythadri, breaking into a small smile that could stop the heart of a woman to imagine it was she who inspired such a smile. A chiseled, beautiful man....no, nobleman. His blonde hair swept perfectly from that breath-catching face. The slope of his shoulders beneath spoke to a lean, strong man who was perfectly able to fill the role the Amyrlin asked him to fill. A figure of browns and grays might be plain on another, but Blake was pretty enough without needing a flashy wardrobe. And his smile was enough to court the women of the Tower into his palm, without seeming to court them, of course.
Whatever keen thoughts were behind the lifting of one sculpted brow and inspired a sense of coy formality to his smile, his greeting to the Accepted was likewise just as fulfilling. "Good day, Accepted."
Behind his shape could be seen an angled hint of the room beyond much the same look as in the hall but harboring a great deal more ironwork: warmth radiating from blackened lampstands, hooks and mantles to position weapons of her own, and the sculpture-art worked curling along the ceiling. Baerlon was, after all, in Lythia's blood and part of the realm in which her warder could have ruled as king, had she not snatched him up, of course. There was more, but it would not be revealed until Nythadri stepped fully within.