12-23-2021, 03:30 PM
Arikan was not familiar with the territory. He had a long history with Illian, living as a member of the Council of Nine for a number of years decades prior, but that masquerade occupied courts and cities. There was a town half a day’s ride away that he knew, and it became the base of the gateway that connected one bloody backwood countryside to another. The only difference were the hills and stink on the air.
It was why he agreed to this pact at all. Well, that and one more thing. But first, he was ready to be out of the saddle.
Torches flickered in the distance. This path of the road wound close to the mountainside, climbing ever higher and more treacherous. These mountains were nothing compared to the peaks of the Spine of the World, and their shale slopes were a walk in the beach compared to the Mountains of Dhoom.
By the hour, it was still some time till dawn. The fortress was old, and by the state of the road, not often visited. The land belonged to a family of little import, clinging only to old olive groves and patches of useless forts. Illian’s peace treaties with Altara probably bankrupted this house. When he seized the One Power, the outline of the fortress came into sharp view. Even if the House fell into poverty, he quickly concluded the fortress was solid as ever. Turrets and arrow slits made for respectable defenses. The mountainside made for impenetrable walls that could not be scaled by mere man. Arikan assumed there were escape passages to the valley below, otherwise the fortress was a killbox.
Leave it to an ignorant Yellow to pick a killbox to rendezvous with a former dreadlord. He shook his head in the dark and dug heels into the stallion’s flanks, urging the steed onward. Luckily for her, he wanted Talin alive and well. She served his needs for the moment and according to their pact, he would accelerate his campaign in exchange for the gift she promised. Should he change his mind, murder was hardly something he would hesitate to carry out. Right? he blinked suddenly at the intrusive question. His first murder proved his allegiance to the Dark as a mere boy. Untold numbers of bodies followed. Since his release from service to the Dark One, he’d not anticipated a conscious to suddenly erupt. Moral dilemmas weren’t exactly the thing that kept him up at night. But if it came to it, would he hesitate to kill Talin? What a strange thing to think.
Given their pre-arrangements and vague promises of arrival tomorrow, Arikan wasn’t sure if there would be a watch set out for him yet. Nevertheless, he continued to channel Saidin, and in the shadows his penetrating gaze found a shape. The horse made enough noise to signal an approaching army, but stealth wasn’t Arikan’s goal.
The fortress gate was closed for the night probably to keep out the bears more than brigands. Not that any journeyed so far from civilization – If you can call Illian civilized.
“Who goes there?” a voice called from the wall.
“Talin expects me,” was all he said in response. Orders were given and the gate opened a few minutes later. One pull of the Power could have rent the gate from its frame, but Arikan always defaulted to concealing himself until it was necessary. He did not know who else may be within.
He rode in, dismounting only upon reaching the courtyard. Someone came to take the horse, he assumed, and offered the reins.
“Make sure he’s well fed and groomed. And have a farrier check the rear left shoe,” he said, expecting a complaint reply. When none was given, he slowly turned to decipher the cause. Only to find a broad-chested, brooding peacock of a warrior. Arikan knew in an instant that the young man was formidable. An instant level of respect was earned simply by the way the man held himself in the way one killer recognized another. It wouldn’t save the lad if it came to that, but Arikan nodded none the less.
“You’re far from home, are you not, borderlander?” he asked. The man’s attire might as well writ his lineage in ink across his forehead.
“And are Tairens not the mortal enemy of Illian? Perhaps you are a spy.” He replied with cautious retort and an obvious allusion to Arikan’s attire. Though he travelled all day, the style of his clothing and hair was obviously that of his natural preferences even if his natural accent was blended away a hundred years ago. The majority of his clothes were shaded with black and gray. There was velvet and silk on the doublet he wore and a gentleman's velvet cape cascaded from one shoulder. Even the triangle cap belied his preferences.
“If I were a spy, why the blight’s name would I be here?” he asked and managed to conjure up a smirk just to put the Shienaran at ease. “You’re the warder?” he added, offering to shake the man’s hand if he would accept it. Arikan was long accustomed to gaining the trust of his hosts and he did not yet know if the warder knew exactly with whom he dealt. With the exception that he handled himself with confidence and there was a sword strapped to the back of his saddle, he hadn’t yet filled out the muscle that was wasted away by Lythia’s torturer. A gentleman's appearance helped others underestimate him. He wasn’t a soldier. Not like that.
He wouldn’t go so far as to inquire of the warder's name because he didn't care, but he did lead his horse to stable and kicked the door of a slumbering stable-hand to tend to the weary beast. He unceremoniously carried his own belongings inside while the warder kept sentry without. Before disappearing, Arikan turned, “There are none other on the road but me, I assure you. You might as well let the gate do its work,” he said with a nod and shrugged off the response either way. For himself, he intended to catch a few hours of sleep. He wanted to be fresh for his morning party, and there was exploring yet to do.
Threads of the Power wafted forth as he was shown to his arrangements, barely skimming the doors for warmth within and wards without. None were triggered, but he noted where the Sisters may already be sleeping. The warder's destination would tell him for sure, but once he was satisfied with the lack of threat, Arikan’s own wards were laid, and he was ready to rest. Tel’Aran’Rhiod was his first destination, setting off to explore the layout of the old fortress. There was other business to attend in the world of dreams as well, and he eventually passed into sleep shortly before daylight.
The next day, he waited in a decrepit library. A tray of tea and biscuits sat undisturbed on the table. He’d chosen to consume only the food he packed himself – not being so foolish as to ingest poison on his first day. There were a few shelves of old books, probably the minimum amount to qualify the space as a library. The fire chased the chill from the morning windows and from such a vantage he had his first glance of the valley below. The previous night’s exploration found the escape tunnels he correctly assumed to exist. He had no intention of needing the old passageways, but he knew before most that even the best plans could be ruined. In fact, he counted on it.
He wore the same clothing he’d arrived in the night before. The doublet was black and finely cut. The adornments were functional. A well-worked silver clasp held his cape across one shoulder. Belt buckles were finely worked as was the leather of the belts he wore. A glimpse of lace peeked at the sleeves and the collar, but just enough to imply the underclothes were of a certain quality. The attire would not pass in court, but for the road and appearances, it served his purposes well. Nevermind the fact that he wasn’t here impersonating a fictional man. He was himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. Perhaps not since the day he nearly conquered the Tower, until Lairona betrayed him. ’Look at you. Wearing his colors. You think you’re him, don’t you.’
He should have killed her when he had the chance.
It was why he agreed to this pact at all. Well, that and one more thing. But first, he was ready to be out of the saddle.
Torches flickered in the distance. This path of the road wound close to the mountainside, climbing ever higher and more treacherous. These mountains were nothing compared to the peaks of the Spine of the World, and their shale slopes were a walk in the beach compared to the Mountains of Dhoom.
By the hour, it was still some time till dawn. The fortress was old, and by the state of the road, not often visited. The land belonged to a family of little import, clinging only to old olive groves and patches of useless forts. Illian’s peace treaties with Altara probably bankrupted this house. When he seized the One Power, the outline of the fortress came into sharp view. Even if the House fell into poverty, he quickly concluded the fortress was solid as ever. Turrets and arrow slits made for respectable defenses. The mountainside made for impenetrable walls that could not be scaled by mere man. Arikan assumed there were escape passages to the valley below, otherwise the fortress was a killbox.
Leave it to an ignorant Yellow to pick a killbox to rendezvous with a former dreadlord. He shook his head in the dark and dug heels into the stallion’s flanks, urging the steed onward. Luckily for her, he wanted Talin alive and well. She served his needs for the moment and according to their pact, he would accelerate his campaign in exchange for the gift she promised. Should he change his mind, murder was hardly something he would hesitate to carry out. Right? he blinked suddenly at the intrusive question. His first murder proved his allegiance to the Dark as a mere boy. Untold numbers of bodies followed. Since his release from service to the Dark One, he’d not anticipated a conscious to suddenly erupt. Moral dilemmas weren’t exactly the thing that kept him up at night. But if it came to it, would he hesitate to kill Talin? What a strange thing to think.
Given their pre-arrangements and vague promises of arrival tomorrow, Arikan wasn’t sure if there would be a watch set out for him yet. Nevertheless, he continued to channel Saidin, and in the shadows his penetrating gaze found a shape. The horse made enough noise to signal an approaching army, but stealth wasn’t Arikan’s goal.
The fortress gate was closed for the night probably to keep out the bears more than brigands. Not that any journeyed so far from civilization – If you can call Illian civilized.
“Who goes there?” a voice called from the wall.
“Talin expects me,” was all he said in response. Orders were given and the gate opened a few minutes later. One pull of the Power could have rent the gate from its frame, but Arikan always defaulted to concealing himself until it was necessary. He did not know who else may be within.
He rode in, dismounting only upon reaching the courtyard. Someone came to take the horse, he assumed, and offered the reins.
“Make sure he’s well fed and groomed. And have a farrier check the rear left shoe,” he said, expecting a complaint reply. When none was given, he slowly turned to decipher the cause. Only to find a broad-chested, brooding peacock of a warrior. Arikan knew in an instant that the young man was formidable. An instant level of respect was earned simply by the way the man held himself in the way one killer recognized another. It wouldn’t save the lad if it came to that, but Arikan nodded none the less.
“You’re far from home, are you not, borderlander?” he asked. The man’s attire might as well writ his lineage in ink across his forehead.
“And are Tairens not the mortal enemy of Illian? Perhaps you are a spy.” He replied with cautious retort and an obvious allusion to Arikan’s attire. Though he travelled all day, the style of his clothing and hair was obviously that of his natural preferences even if his natural accent was blended away a hundred years ago. The majority of his clothes were shaded with black and gray. There was velvet and silk on the doublet he wore and a gentleman's velvet cape cascaded from one shoulder. Even the triangle cap belied his preferences.
“If I were a spy, why the blight’s name would I be here?” he asked and managed to conjure up a smirk just to put the Shienaran at ease. “You’re the warder?” he added, offering to shake the man’s hand if he would accept it. Arikan was long accustomed to gaining the trust of his hosts and he did not yet know if the warder knew exactly with whom he dealt. With the exception that he handled himself with confidence and there was a sword strapped to the back of his saddle, he hadn’t yet filled out the muscle that was wasted away by Lythia’s torturer. A gentleman's appearance helped others underestimate him. He wasn’t a soldier. Not like that.
He wouldn’t go so far as to inquire of the warder's name because he didn't care, but he did lead his horse to stable and kicked the door of a slumbering stable-hand to tend to the weary beast. He unceremoniously carried his own belongings inside while the warder kept sentry without. Before disappearing, Arikan turned, “There are none other on the road but me, I assure you. You might as well let the gate do its work,” he said with a nod and shrugged off the response either way. For himself, he intended to catch a few hours of sleep. He wanted to be fresh for his morning party, and there was exploring yet to do.
Threads of the Power wafted forth as he was shown to his arrangements, barely skimming the doors for warmth within and wards without. None were triggered, but he noted where the Sisters may already be sleeping. The warder's destination would tell him for sure, but once he was satisfied with the lack of threat, Arikan’s own wards were laid, and he was ready to rest. Tel’Aran’Rhiod was his first destination, setting off to explore the layout of the old fortress. There was other business to attend in the world of dreams as well, and he eventually passed into sleep shortly before daylight.
The next day, he waited in a decrepit library. A tray of tea and biscuits sat undisturbed on the table. He’d chosen to consume only the food he packed himself – not being so foolish as to ingest poison on his first day. There were a few shelves of old books, probably the minimum amount to qualify the space as a library. The fire chased the chill from the morning windows and from such a vantage he had his first glance of the valley below. The previous night’s exploration found the escape tunnels he correctly assumed to exist. He had no intention of needing the old passageways, but he knew before most that even the best plans could be ruined. In fact, he counted on it.
He wore the same clothing he’d arrived in the night before. The doublet was black and finely cut. The adornments were functional. A well-worked silver clasp held his cape across one shoulder. Belt buckles were finely worked as was the leather of the belts he wore. A glimpse of lace peeked at the sleeves and the collar, but just enough to imply the underclothes were of a certain quality. The attire would not pass in court, but for the road and appearances, it served his purposes well. Nevermind the fact that he wasn’t here impersonating a fictional man. He was himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. Perhaps not since the day he nearly conquered the Tower, until Lairona betrayed him. ’Look at you. Wearing his colors. You think you’re him, don’t you.’
He should have killed her when he had the chance.