Cass

KK I think ours go back an hour in early April, right @dicetosser1 ?

How long will Day and Night phases be, Ithi?

*pats birthday buddy on the cheek* Errr, yep ... *Prepares the blanket fort/padded cell* 🤣❤️

🤣 🤣 Thank you again for running this, for the spec thread and your magical modding ways! 😂😂😂😂😍😍😍 *Sets up the padded ... playroom... with plenty of crayons* *Hands Ithi the key* Shiny Kniiiiiggggghtt Someone needs to take the red rolls for the team ❤️❤️

GG all! New players, this game is madness and when you're in the thick of it can feel like such a brutal rollercoaster at times, but you all honestly did SO well!! @HeavyHalfMoonBlade , you were FREAKING AMAZING to watch!!!! It's def easier for me to leave paranoia behind when watching from the sidelines, but - FWIW (for what it's worth) your thought processes and tone read SO clear to me ... if (when) you are able to do the same as wolf we are all in biiiiiiiggg trouble 🤣 LOVE that you were the cop, and your reveal post made me lololol I also love that you followed @dicetosser1's hunches ftw. He's generally good at those, and sometimes his gut picks up on stuff no actual mechanical analysis can really explain. @Donchadh and @Gudrean your Town tone was also so pure, and I loved watching your posting pick up as you got the hang of it ❤️ @Andy MacLeod see above for Dice's hunches! You were in such a tough spot, but a couple of your posts had me going back and forth on 'what if' on D2... Well played!

YYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH TTOOOWWWWNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!

Speaking of traps... The more I think about this, the more I remember how much thinking about 'mechanics' hurts my head...

A_trap!.gif Wb RTE!!

Caiiiirrrosssss!! Sorry I didn't get to play with you my Shiny Knight!!! Miss your face!

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZANDERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!! *Tackles, LOLOLOLS, gives up and shares ALL the crayons* But Z-GOATENFPMUSICTWINHYDRAFRAND, I AM just like you... See above. But also, for everyone - this is both truth and a trap that keeps me up at night! Because Zander at least has an inhuman ability to keep going (and going and going and going on) with that WIM no matter what!!! ❤️ Aaah, I see... FTFM/Y 😄 😄❤️

@Clovdyx ... /in?

Also, this sounds like a fun mechanic!

*hides notes in pockets and reminds self of adult responsibilities*

Any chance of a DT/spec thread for this game so I can pseudo play and chat if/when there is time for me to pretend I have even the slightest chance of keeping up and guessing along?

Yeah, I'm loving what I've seen of the folk/current game so far!

1. Could the game be small/low volume and 2. Absolutely not make me mafia 3. Not suck me in and drive me crazy/cause hyperfixation regardless of either of the above? And 4. Would we have to know anything about Among Us?

~ ( Bursts of Light ) ~ The sun slipped closer to the horizon and the last of the day's golden rays bled into the surrounding hues of amber and rose in the furthest corner of the cloudy sky, colouring the entirety of the windswept world beneath. Over the scents of brewing kaf and cooking food, and under that subtle veil of Light and Shadow that twilight was beginning to cast over their camp, Calia watched her Warder brush the horses down. She stood as Elessar caught her gaze and indicated he was done. A small smile played over her lips as Socksie and Stormbreaker nickered in what seemed to be appreciation for his care - and the treats he left them with. Despite the creeping weight of fatigue and wariness that tugged at her body and soul, the threat of storms yet to come, and the biting, bickering breeze that still snatched wildly at her clothes and hair, she felt centered. The path and way forward were not even close to being clear in her mind - but what was in front of her was steadfast. And the next step, at least, was easy enough. Embracing saidar, the Sedai made her way to the horses. Her heart twinged as she reworked the Illusion weaves. For just a moment before the new threads slipped into place, each horse appeared as their true selves: distinct, proud, alert. Just a moment, and then they were, yet again, disguised. Stormbreaker no longer shone with the golden glow of a palomino stallion; instead the weave offered a dusty roan facade. Socksie, transformed from the long-ago-beloved patterns of her namesake, now appeared a dark chestnut gelding of limited value. The weaves weren't quite enough to completely conceal the proud set of either horse's head when they lifted it in curiosity, or the sharp intelligence in either of their eyes, but they were sufficient enough to conceal their true colours and worth at both distance and close quarters, and they were inverted well enough that noone would ever even be able to sense the web of deceit. The fact that the wild wind had already undone a fair proportion of Elessar's grooming work, and had whipped each mane and tail into a frightful mess, made Calia grimace. It would not be as easy a task to work the Finder-woven beads back into place. Especially if this time she intended for them to be both better hidden, and more secure. Socksie's tangles were the first challenge, but Calia hadn't been combing the flailing locks for long before she found herself nudged so abruptly that she stumbled sideways into an involuntary half-step, the curry-comb catching awkwardly in the tangle of the 'gelding's darkened mane. "Socks-!" The horse huffed impatiently in response as if to say,"What?" and nudged again with force at the hip pocket of Calia's split skirts, where a couple of apples were stashed. The force this horse exerts in her search for apples is always enthusiastic, at least! She thought with a half-smile. Out loud she simply cautioned, "You can wait, girl!" At which point the horse stamped a chestnut-coloured rear hoof and swished her tail impatiently, but otherwise stood still. "Thank-you," Calia muttered, finishing the job and then sifting carefully through the pouch of priceless Jakandan Silver trinkets, searching for the two she had previously attached to each horse. She was glad that these, too, had not been lost in Remen's near horse-thievery adventures. The apple-shaped bead found its way to her palm first, and she sighed softly at the sight of it, and the tug of the strings it still inevitably had looped around her heart. She played over the silver softly with her thumb, remembering. The bead was small, but exquisitely carved - like all of the artist's Jakandan Silverwork Aaran had commissioned to be added to the the set, year by year. This one, the first of the eight anniversary beads which succeeded the initial wedding set, was the shape of a tiny apple. Etched into the surface, intricately interwoven branches formed the shapes of the two Great Trees. Between the branches, faintly-coloured depictions of red and Green fruit were so fine that she could almost, almost smell the sweetness of the apples on the boughs, and the moments captured in her mind. Every time she looked at it... A warm summer evening in the orchard at Four Kings… The sun had slipped closer to the horizon and the last of the day's golden rays shone through the surrounding hues of amber and rose across the sky. Aaran, turning slowly from the Great Green to face her, his expression solemn but also full of deep satisfaction and joy. His name, carved into the bark alongside hers. Warder and Sedai. So marked, each beside the other, enduring for as long as the tree should live. Joined, in Light's purpose and intent. Earlier, when the orchard had been lively with the hum of bees, the chatter of family and the peals of Thayet's grandchildrens' laughter, he had carved his name into the Great Red. His name, carved into the bark alongside hers. Metsar and Luin, entwined. Each beside the other, Joined, in Life's purpose and intent. Enduring, for as long as the tree should live. As Husband and Wife. Joem, young and awestruck enough still to duck behind his grandmother's skirts whenever Calia or Aaran looked at him, had danced on the spot with his sister Caliane. And Thayet's hand, as old and papery-thin as it was still warm, had squeezed Calia's own, patting with such matronly, genuine happiness that it had taken the Sedai by surprise. Rain startled Cal abrubptly out of her reverie. She blinked, shaking off the memory as well as the raindrops, and held the bead aloft. If ever a token suited attunement to a Finder Weave for Socksie, this was it. The threads of Spirit wove easily beneath her fingers, flowing like water into the silver, binding anew to the bead, linking them with a bond of direction and distance. With careful hands, she wove a braid into the underside of Socksie’s mane, tying the bead securely at its top end where it would remain hidden, Illusion weave or no. The 'chestnut gelding' shook her head, perhaps testing the weight of the addition, perhaps simply adjusting to the change in weather. Either way, she stilled when Calia stroked her neck. “Steady, girl,” Calia murmured, her voice soft. “There. Now you’re ready to keep out of trouble.” It was no surprise when the 'gelding' snorted. Moving next to Stormbreaker, Cal fetched the bead she had chosen as his. The 'lightning bead' was cool and solid against her palm. Tiny veins of silver crackled across its dark silver surface, mimicking the jagged brilliance of a storm-touched sky. It was heavier than the apple-tree bead, its edges finely etched with spirals of wind and rain. Calia’s mind wandered as her fingers traced the familiar grooves, even as she concentrated on attaching the weave... A storm in the Borderlands, its fury unleashed across the rolling plains. Rain, so thick it blurred the line between earth and sky. Thunder rolling, aptly, like a war drum in the distance. Aaran’s laughter, ringing out as Calia, conserving her energy for the fight she knew was yet to come, refused him the comfort of a weather shield and had forced him instead to wait and shelter a while at her side, beneath an outcropping of rock. “I don't begrudge you, but oh Cal, Dancing is sweeter on the edge of a sword - if one can only see and doesn't have to swim!” he had teased, shaking water from his hair. "Light, the middle of a storm is no place to be dancing on a sword at all!" She had grumbled back at him, her experience trumping his enthusiasm. "Not when we're both going to have to strike faster and harder than the lightning does before this day is through!" And so, they had. Later, when both storm and battle had broken and the night had settled into the sort of quiet that reminded those alive how lucky they were to have survived, she was not the only one with experience that saw such sense, nor carrying the heavy sense of gratitude that they could. The threads of Spirit twined through the bead and glowed faintly before fading to stillness. She affixed it to a braid in Stormbreaker’s mane, weaving the strands tightly to ensure it held fast. The warhorse swished his tail, raindrops and rivulets of water running unheeded over his 'roan' coat. The bead was perfect for him. He too could strike like black lightning when it counted, and he had been around long enough to know that this rain, too, would pass. Calia checked the Illusion weaves on each of the mounts one last time, and then, satisfied, turned back to the shelter Elessar had already arranged. "The Storms will come, but we will stand and dance together, striking like lightning when we must, for as long as we can!" the declaration Aaran had given with the bead floated to the front of Calia's mind. "Indeed. But for now," she thought, "We prepare as best we can, and bide our time." She made her way back to her gaidin. Irrespective of memories and scars from the past and all the illusions and various webs of Power that were being woven into the present and the Age ahead, each of them were bound to the other for the right reasons. And they would continue to be steadfast. Even if the exact path ahead was unclear, it was perfectly clear there was no better Warder alive to have by her side. Later, as she drifted into sleep, the residue patterns of that lightning-bright weave once again burst their way through her dreams. This time, they lit up her mind in time with the storm... each burst seeming to emphasise Cal's understanding, and her belief that the Wheel would Weave as the Wheel Willed, but where there was a will, there was always a Way ... for the Light to come through...

~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ Of Webs and Winds ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ Somewhere near the centre of Altara, gales of winds amassed in roughly reckoning force. Together and apart they stormed, raging and shifting across boundaries of settlements, towns and fertile farmlands with as much gusto as any other collection of Altarans with origins like theirs were wont to do. North and East they rumbled, unseen forces driving them towards the Damona Mountains. That low range of jagged peaks stood as it ever had - a hilly maze of crumbling cliff faces and rock-crowded canyons; a treacherous testament the Breaking of the World. The winds forced themselves through the Molvaine Gap and thundered through the Malvide Narrows. Roaring, they battled their way into the open spaces beyond, tumbling over each other in a race to cover the land… ~ ~ ~ ~ From the comfort of Socksie’s high saddle, Calia Sedai watched waves of wind buffet the long-stemmed grasses on either side of the road. For hours now, the winds had forced the grasses to bow and scrape across the trampled path from Remen in a way that had hinted at a powerful potential. She had been considering the possibility that perhaps there might have been a storm of some sorts gathering – something dark and almost solid behind the winds, with strength enough to simply flatten, bend and break everything in its place - permanently. But now she surmised this was most likely not the case. The winds were cooler than one might expect for the temperate region, even this far North, but they were not cold enough yet that she felt compelled to close herself off from their chill. And they were rough enough to tug annoyingly at her ‘merchant’ clothing, her still-darkened hair and Socksie’s illusion-lightened mane. But as yet, despite their separate strengths, the winds lacked a sense of any cohesion. True to Altaran form, Cal thought. Plenty of potential - all amounting to little more than a big, blustery, uncoordinated mess! ~ ~ ~ ~ Even if the winds continue unchanged, she decided, steadying Socksie with her knees and pushing a wildly waving wisp of hair away from her face, they're nothing that couldn’t be matched by a strong hand on the reins and a tighter weave… Socksie chose that moment to shake her head vigorously with a soft whinny, and bow up and down several times as they walked – a sign Calia had learned to interpret as an indication from the horse that it was time for another scratch behind the ears. Of course, she thought, smiling and leaning forward to comply, this one doesn’t seem to require a strong hand, from me, truly, unless it’s for a scratch, or to keep her away from a not-so-secret stash of apples! She grinned and gave the ‘grey’ head a good, two-handed scratch until Socksie nickered gently in appreciation and, nearby, Stormbreaker snorted some sort of response. Her heart stretched a little at both sounds. She was more than a little glad that the would-be thieves in Remen had not succeeded in stealing either of these horses - and she was not afraid to admit it! The echo of feelings she felt flowing through the bond at the horses' antics was enough to let her know that her Warder felt much the same way. Studying the flick of Socksie’s ears for a moment longer and then turning her gaze to Elessar and Stormbreaker, the Sedai observed her gaidin and his mount with steadfast appreciation. The ever-changing winds might have been the only certainty left to them on the darkening roads ahead, but Calia had to admit that, by Light, it was good to have these other three along for the ride! ~ ~ ~ ~ The sun hadn’t quite touched the horizon when the last of the travelers around them turned off the road toward the next village. Instinctively, Calia’s eyes turned to Elessar – and his eyes to hers. Their connection beyond the bond was quick, subtle and more than adequate to convey their thoughts. With mutual smiles, but without a word, they continued on a ways, the slow and steady hoofbeats beneath them keeping a reliable tempo for their comfortable silence. At separate points, they each steered their horses from the road, cutting a careful, many-cornered path through the dancing grass so as not to leave an obvious, two-mounted-persons trail. Calia smiled at her gaidin, still dressed as her Murandian merchant brother, came back together in a small clearing that was well out of sight and earshot from the road. Attached. That’s what she was, Calia thought, as she dismounted. Attached. As they each began their now familiar ‘rituals’ for setting up out of the way camp, she contemplated their current situation. The Wheel wove as the Wheel willed, without a doubt. Despite all her intentions and efforts in the years after Aaran’s death, she knew she was inexplicably drawn and inextricably attached to Elessar and these two horses. She felt the connection, the tangling of life threads, between the four of them, down to her core. A core she had deliberately shut off from such connections years ago! There was nothing for it. The world was changing. Even if today's winds were nothing but bluster, she knew a storm was gathering. If her eyes and ears were to be believed, the Pattern had been busy churning out ta’veren like the Dragon Reborn – Light, the DRAGON, REBORN! ! If that was the case, the storms ahead were only likely to get heavier, darker, wilder and more dangerous as the Wheel continued to turn. And, if her thread was as caught up with Elessar’s in the Webs and swirls of this Age's Pattern - as it seemed to be - she could no more suppress that connection than she could smother the sunrise at dawn - nor did she want to. The bond between herself and Elessar was cemented in so many more ways than one, now. Socksie and Stormbreaker, too, seemed unquestionably linked and specifically steadfast as a part of the quartet - and Calia had long ago decided that she was not about to be the fool who looked any such gift horse in the mouth! Clearly, each of their - hers, Elessar's, Socksie's and Stormbreaker's - threads had become tangled together - tightly - with the turning of the Wheel. It was uncanny and unexpected, and against Calia's self-imposed grain, but it still felt right somehow. She had other connections she could rely on, when needed, but with these three, it felt different. As if they had been drawn and plied together by a shifting in the Pattern itself. As if this permanent four-ply thread was, in fact, much stronger than her one might have been on its own. As if their joining was, without question, Ta’maral’ailen. - Pattern-related, pre-destined – One could hope, to bring a brighter, Lighter and more steadfast swirl to this Age's Webs of Destiny. No matter the chaos of the gathering storms and shadows that were sure to rise on the path ahead, or the ways the winds of the world might carry on around them. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amidst the softly whispering leaves of the great Green apple tree, galaxies of light pink and silky white blossoms waved - *s*p*a*r*k*l*e*d* - almost, silver in the moonlight, shifting and spreading their scent across the orchard in the gentle Summer breeze. <><><> The orchard was bathed in silvery light, a big moon hanging low and luminous in the clear night sky. As Calia stepped back from the trunk and bruised bark, she felt Aaran's calloused palm slip into place against her smooth one, his fingers curling protectively around her own. Then he lifted his arm dramatically upwards, her hand still caught in his. She laughed, letting her arm and her body follow his on cue. He guided her out and into a familiar twirl. The jingle of bells in his long, dark hair singing sweetly into the crisp night air, the set of tiny Jakandan silver beads he'd given her as a wedding gift clicked almost inaudibly, just as he had intended for her own hair, making her smile with fond recollection. The turn brought them face to face, but he kept her at a distance, stepping back half a pace. As she raised an eyebrow at the change in routine, he inclined his head in a sincere bow and then revealed a small garland of apple blossoms in his free hand. Gently, he slipped the wreath onto her head and let his hand trail down her spine to the small of her back. Then he drew her sharply close. Warmth spread through her entire body. She smiled up at him, her gaze bypassing the chiseled planes of his face to catch his warm, dark eyes. His own gaze was intense as she had expected it to be, for all the corners of his eyes crinkled into those familiar merry folds as he grinned down at her. How? part of her mind wondered - - And then she was spinning again, and the bells were clanging alarms as blistering heat roared over her skin. The orchard was transformed. All around her, flames snarled at the trees. Explosions of super-heated sap snapped and cracked the silence of the night with a terrifying concert of whips. Red and green apples turned to coal and dropped from their branches, lying as charred and jagged shadows on the melting ground. Instead of sparkling in the trees, the apple blossoms spun from the boughs as molten embers. Aaran was gone. The wreath of blossoms crumbled into ash in her hair. In the distance, a horse's shrill whinny sounded. Lost. Then louder and louder. Closer and closer. Calia tried to channel, but saidar skipped out of her reach, again and again. When she did finally grasp it, the threads melted and slipped from her hands - or burned her - again and again. Suddenly a sound of thundering hooves joined the horse's scream, and a distinct blaze of white socks flashed through the inferno as Socksie raced the spreading flames in a circle around Calia. Her hooves struck sparks from the scorched earth, her mane and tail whipped around her like silvered fire. As Cal watched, Socksie's form shifted - her coat melted into a dappled grey, her socks and patches disappearing, darkening, until her whole coat was midnight black and she was no longer Socksie, but Stormbreaker, Elessar's horse, galloping through the chaos with steadfast determination before the image split, and both horses charged side-by-side, their appearances shifting and shimmering, flickering in time with the flames - pale roans, dark bays, palominos... Suddenly, the flames consumed the scene, roaring higher and hotter until the orchard was gone. Too late, Calia turned to run after the horses, her bare feet pounding against the cracked and crackling earth, but her steps faltered and the world shifted as she fell to the hot, dry sand of the Aiel Waste. Here it was only the horizon shimmering with heat. In front of her was an enormous stone, that shifted form back and forth between solid rock and a blacksmith's anvil. As she watched, a circle formed in the sand around her, closing her in. Water began to drip from the sky, not as rain, just as a steady drip - and she knew her punishment now was to stop even a single drop from going to waste... Calia cupped her hands, catching drop after drop of water from the sky and trying to ignore the way it and her emotions were steadily rising, welling right up to the edges of where they would not be held. The sound of dripping water intensified, rising into a drum of galloping hooves that filled her ears. She turned toward the sound as it shifted into a clanging of bells. <> <> <> <> <> And then she sat upright, wide awake, heart pounding in her chest. She sat for just long enough to catch her breath, and then she pushed the blankets aside. Her room was still, save for the faint rustle of wind against the shutters. She crossed to the small washbasin, splashing cold water onto her face to chase away the bitterness she felt. She straightened, searching beyond her own gaze in the tarnished mirror. He wasn't there. And never would be again. She sighed. And spent the rest of the night, once again, trying to regain her ability to sleep. <> <> “The horses are gone!” Elessar said with consternation. His dark eyes tightened with concern and anger. “Someone has taken Stormbreaker and Socksie!” Gone. Calia exhaled slowly, masking her growing frustration behind a calm façade. Of course, they would target their mounts. Stormbreaker, with his steady endurance, and her big, sock-wearing cart-horse who could outpace most, were treasures too tempting for any thief, illusion-spun or no. To lose time chasing after them now felt like a slap to the face. Light be thanked that she had prepared for this. She closed her eyes and focused on links to the tiny metal beads she had clipped into Stormbreaker and Socksie's manes. The Finder weave she had attached to those sentimental beads was not the same as the tracking thread she had used on the would-be assassin in Lugard. No, the Finder weave was more akin to the warder bond, albeit one-way and much, much weaker. With a sigh of relief she opened her eyes and filled Elessar in on the details. "At least they haven't got far," she said, "And they wouldn't have gone anywhere without a fight!" "Let's go!" <> <> The sense of the weaves dissolved, and Calia froze in the middle of the market square and gave Elessar a meaningful look as worry and disappointment crept into her heart for more reasons than one. She pushed aside the pang for the Jakandan silver beads that might now be lost to her forever. She'd given one to each horse out of fondness as much as necessity. And the beads themselves would be as impossible to replace as the horses. She turned to her warder. "The weaves went dark. Either both horses randomly lost their beads, or whoever took them severed, or at the very least were informed about things they should not be able to see. I feel like we were close, though, and I might be able to keep us heading in the right direction." her eyes scanned ahead in the direction they had been travelling. Until her gaze landed on a dark, glistening deposit several paces ahead of them. And then another patch of something similar quite aways ahead of that. Her brow furrowed softly as realisation struck. A trail of dung! Scattered and irregular, but unmistakable. She grinned. It was almost laughable. Almost. Elessar caught her eye. Her lips twitched upwards. "Clever mounts!" <> <> <> Through the market, then this street and alley and that, through the door and out the other side, the dark deposits led the Sedai and Warder on a merry chase. Despite the absurdity of the method, it worked. They were surely closing in by now - the dung drops were looking 'fresher' with every pile. . Abruptly, they rounded a corner into a narrow rather abandoned alley, only to be were met with a very unexpected sight. Socksie - still disguised as a very large-'dapple grey' carthorse, and Stormbreaker the palamino, still taller and larger than Socksie, with the situation very much under control. This time, Calia did laugh. Because it wasn’t the reunion she had feared - or even remotely imagined... And there, pinned against the crumbling stone wall of a storage house that appeared to form the back end of the alley were two men, wide-eyed and pale - and most thoroughly trapped by the horses themselves! One had the misfortune of being pinned, quite firmly by her mare’s hindquarters, his tunic bunched up around his ribs where the horse’s weight pressed him firmly in place. The other had his collar... and perhaps some of his shoulder... caught in Stormbreaker’s teeth, the stallion holding him steady with an air of what Calia could only interpret as steadfast satisfaction. “Well,” she said to Elessar searching the bond for any hint of his reaction even as she outwardly observed the scene, her voice rich with quiet amusement. “We found them! And seems whatever else the two in custody know or don't know, they failed to consider that their prizes might come with their own sense of justice and both the strength and smarts to carry it out!” <> <> <>

- Questions of Balance - The marketplace near the River Manetherendrelle buzzed with sharp scents and sharper voices. Weaving her way through the press of busy bodies, a dark-haired woman with wide brown eyes set in a tanned face that hinted at thirty-something years quickened her pace towards the fishmonger's stall. She scanned ahead, stepping neatly around jostling adults and children alike with practiced precision. As she moved, she wrapped her dark blue-green shawl tighter around her shoulders - as if it alone was a sufficient barrier to keep the chaos of the market and the biting Easterly wind at bay. A rhythmic creak of boats rocking against the docks knocked out a steady beat to the chattering and calling of the crowd as the woman quietly took a place at the back of the queue for the fishmonger's stall. The queue moved quickly, dispersing much faster than she had thought it would have, with many of the patrons ahead of her turning away empty handed, mumbling curses into the wind. "... and bloody ashes..." "... cursed, I tell you!" "... again!..." The woman tilted her head slightly to the side and raised a dark enquiring eyebrow at the man wrapping the last bundle of salted fish in parchment for a waiting customer. His eyes, a little more careworn, but still as bright green as she remembered, flicked briefly her way. He began to shake his head with a tip toward the now-empty table as if to point out that there was no point in waiting - but then his eyes widened in recognition. He handed the wrapped fish to the customer, and waved the dark-haired woman forward. "Mistress Mara," he greeted her gruffly, giving a small smile as he wiped his hands clean on a cloth he'd had tucked into the side of his apron. "Been quite a while since you came around, thought the trade routes away from here must've swallowed you whole - What can I do for you today?" The woman chuckled the way 'Mistress Mara' always had, with the slightly raspy voice and lilting Murandian accent that so perfectly matched her appearance. "You know better than that, Master Basrin. I travel at the whims of the trade, yes - but I could never stay away from here and your good stall for good!" She paused meaningfully. "I was hoping for some of your Ma's delicious salted fish, since I'm finally passing through, but..." she surveyed the bare table with pointed disappointment. "... it seems I am too late and might have to wait 'til our paths cross again?" "Right you are there, and maybe then some!" The man muttered, tension creasing the space between his brows, a slight scowl forming on his lips. "Come, Basrin - you know how long it's been and I've been looking forward to this fish the entire time - I need more of an excuse or explanation than that!" The banter had the familiar ring of their long acquaintance, but the woman who was not really Mara could sense the fishmonger's heart was not in it as it might once have been. "Strange season, this," he told her in all seriousness as he began stacking the few baskets on the table into a pile. "Some swear on the Light that the River's turned cursed: each catch smaller n' the last; good nets tearing or crumbling for no reason, even without loads of fish; boats turning upside-down in calm waters. Catches that seem at first to be good shifting into piles of ash... Folk walking off planks in the dead of night..." He looked back at her then, and 'Mara' drew a sharp breath, her lips parting as though the wind had stolen her words. She clasped her shawl even tighter about her shoulders and shook her head - the perfect picture of a merchant woman horrified by such dark tidings. Basrin, she knew, was a friendly soul who liked to chat and was prone to share gossip as generously as he salted his fish, but he liked a dramatic reaction to his stories, and physical disguises only got one so far - the rest was down to the wearer's ability to act. "No! That's awful!" she rasped softly in Mara's voice. "Though it's not the first of such stories I've heard," she added mournfully, thinking to herself just how true that was, despite the altered persona she wore. The Seals that hold back shall weaken... Not a word of a lie... Both the prophecies and herself always spoke the truth. Basrin nodded, the strained expression still creasing his face. "And everyone says it's worse the further South you go..." With a tight, wry smile he spread his hands and added, "... so the wife forbids me to go even slightly South these days, and by way of it, the salted fish are few..." "I'm both glad and sorry to hear that, Master Basrin. But if those stories are true, it sounds like you'd do well to keep listening to your wife, Light protect you both! Still... save me a small packet of fish over the next day or two, if they come your way?" The fishmonger nodded his agreement as he continued to pack up the afternoon's stall. The woman Mara gave thanks and offered a lingering smile before turning back toward the road. Her steps quickened with purpose, the air of confident merchant-woman clinging to her appearance. Though she was no merchant, her confidence was real. How could it not be, as she followed the sense of her steadfast Warder through the bond? She gave his unfamiliar face and their large, apparently palamino and dappled-grey mounts a small, strained smile as she approached. A strange season, indeed... ● Some time later, Calia squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, sharing a meaningful glance at - and with - her Warder. The wind from the East blustered at their backs, swirling as vehemently as Calia thoughts, carrying dust from the road around Socksie's and Stormbreaker's hooves and tugging at every thread of cloth and every strand of hair on human or horse that was not tightly braided or pinned in place. The market's hum had long since faded behind them, the vibrant chatter giving way to the rhythmic clop of hooves on packed earth. Ahead, a collection of tall, grey stone buildings loomed at the intersection of the ancient river and the Lugard Road. It had been some time since she had last passed this way, and through Remen. Still, the village appeared much like she had expected it would, and much like the others they had come across on this journey - filled with dust and dirt and weary travellers who, no doubt, would have a few more stories to tell of yet more strange happenings that had taken place here and there over the river and across the land. Not that we'll share our own stories, Calia thought, but there's no doubt now that the Shadow's reach is growing. She stifled a sigh. Outwardly calm, her body still bore the truth of the grueling weeks they'd left in their wake. Her thighs ached from endless hours in Socksie's wide saddle, her mind throbbed with unanswered questions and the weight of shadowy prophesies, stories and theories that she was yet to be confident they could safely traverse, let alone solve. Breaks in travel since leaving the shifty city of Lugard had been infrequent, the pair and their mounts trekking as fast as possible through the woods of the Cumbar Hills and spending several rainy nights in makeshift camps to avoid excessive use of roads and inns. Other than providing Elessar and herself with small pockets of dry to sleep in, crafting changes to the Illusions woven over herself, Elessar and the horses and embedding a number of weaves into everyday items amongst their luggage, Calia had limited channeling to the barest minimum - embracing Saidar only in moments and amounts she was confident would not be detected - making sure to lock every thread of every weave she tied off into an inversion so complete and so tight that it absolutely would not be seen, nor sensed by other channelers. Each day had worn the pair and their mounts down a little more — too few moments of rest had been available on their trek from the shadows in Lugard, and those that still haunted her mind from Four Kings. It was time to rest. And The Staunch Ox in Remen would have to do. Calia glanced again at her Warder as they approached the inn together, dismounting almost as one. She smiled at him as her boots crunched on the gravel path and her legs protested the sudden change in position. Despite the weight of their mission, the buzz of Elessar's half of the quite determination in the bond between them remained as steadfast as ever. And despite his own weariness and the disguise she had spun about him, the gaze of the gaidin at her side was still undeniably sharp. It seemed some things were more difficult to hide than others, no matter how tightly one could weave Illusions... "Thank you," she said, simply, as he led the palamino Stormbreaker her way and took Socksie's reins, preparing to walk the pair to the stables around the back. Calia's voice and accent were no longer her own, but neither Socksie nor Elessar reacted in the slightest. So 'common' had the inverted weaves she'd been placing around hers and Elessar's mouths become. She patted the mare's - presently dappled-grey - neck as the trio passed, chuckling softly at the nuzzling she received on the shoulder in response. A short time later, with their new, 'young Murandian brother-sister merchant' disguises still in tact, the Sedai and Warder entered the inn and arranged for their rooms. Elessar went first, carrying their saddlebags as steadily as always. Calia didn't have to see the innkeeper in that first instant to know that he must look like he'd missed more than a few good meals, or that his apron would be badly stained - the most subtle of shifts in Elessar's posture and buzz in the bond gave it all away. When she did finally spy the man, she found he was indeed thin, his ill-fitting apron looking like it would slip at any moment. He had the sour air of someone who spent far too much time indoors, perhaps with his nose in other people's business. She paid him no mind as he passed them to show them to their rooms - Elessar would have the measure of him as soon as she could have, and really, as long as he let them to be, and the establishment had a decent bath available, she would be content. Still, she raised one eyebrow slightly at Elessar as he turned to follow the innkeeper up the stairs. The look he gave her in return only encouraged the spark of amusement she felt even further. "Do try not to scowl so much, brother," she whispered in the lilting Murandian accent which was her newest norm, her now dark brown eyes uncharacteristically wide and innocent-looking. "You'll terrify the locals." Outwardly, the man with the curled mustache and small beard on the tip of his chin gave only a soft huff in reply as he passed her. The bond however, betrayed at least a flicker of humour between them, and Calia smiled. ● There was a bath. It was not overly large. Nor was it fancy. But it was large enough for one, and now, after the simple band of metal at her wrist had been submerged long enough to release the inverted heating weave she'd pre-prepared, it was bliss. Calia slipped her entire body under the surface of the water, closing her eyes and and letting the warmth envelop her completely for as long as she could hold her breath. Rising slowly, she set about soaping herself down from head to toe, washing the dust from her hair and skin, savouring the softness of the fresh lather and the scent of the jasmine-and-apple soap she'd received from Amelie in Four Kings. For a while, she worked consciously on emptying her mind of the pressure of their mission and releasing the related tension she had stored in her body, letting the weight of it all float away in the water, allowing herself to simply relax in the soothing warmth. If there was one thing she was grateful to have learned in all her years of becoming and being Aes Sedai, it was this - the mastery of mind that only a century of practiced meditation could, almost reliably, bring. The half-expected trouble in the shadowy streets of Lugard. The shock of that woman being somehow attached. The twist of reality into a no-longer unimaginable, no-longer undeniable threat. The increased urgency of their mission in response. The frustration that the Tower should have thought of this, should have arranged more for this before now. Who could be trusted now? Who would act? How? She slipped down deeper into the water and let the warmth ease away some of the ache from the long hours spent in the saddle. The strain of covering tracks, laying false paths, making all the subtle adjustments and movements they needed to make to keep their path clear of darkness for as long as they could. The darkness they had left behind. The unravelling of threads ahead, the lines of prophecy that had been circling in her mind since they had left Four Kings... 'There is no salvation without destruction, no hope this side of death... The Seals that hold back the night shall weaken... All that is, all that was, and all that will be shall balance on the point of a sword, while the winds of the Shadow grow...' She let the thoughts wander, weightless, and wash away. For a while. Whilst she could. Until, some time later: ''...The Wheel weaves as The Wheel wills ..." "All things change... until we wake, the dream drifts on the wind... " ''...The Wheel weaves as The Wheel wills ..." "All things change... until we wake, the dream drifts on the wind... " ''...The Wheel weaves as The Wheel wills ..." "All things change... until we wake, the dream drifts on the wind... " Her return to the weight and responsibility of reality had always been inevitable, Cal knew. But she had not expected it to begin in quite that fashion, nor that immediately persistent. She slipped once more under the water as the long-ago voices of her early Tower teachers and a most beloved Wise One from later years in the Waste began bubbling, entwined, to the surface of her mind. No amount of conscious meditation or warm water could wash Shadows or the turning of The Wheel away, she knew. And what was more, the truth and strength of each of those affirmations in her mind were both undeniable and welcome, despite their weight. With near-perfect Aes Sedai poise, she surfaced and exited the bath in a single move, taking extra care to spill as little water as possible onto the floor. Her fingers toyed with the leather cord and ring around her neck as she did so, and she smiled at herself as she realised what she was doing in those two moves, and why. Aiel punishments, it seemed, had left memories at least as strong as their wise quotes, even after all these years. With a twinge of longing for Aaran and the moments of that life that had once been, she released her hold on the ring and reached for her towel. The road ahead was surely paved with all the reasons why the Sisters of the Green and their Warders stood ready, and trained. She had chosen her Ajah for good reasons. And she was clean enough, for now. ● Besides, Calia noted, Elessar was moving from his previously-settled position downstairs, returning to his room with a slight flare of wariness was flickering through the bond. She dressed quickly in response, still taking the time to ensure her 'Mara the merchant' attire and reflection had no noticeable weaknesses or flaws before she entered the hall. Knocking softly on Elessar's door, she called "Brother?" and waited for his reply before entering. Once inside, with the door softly closed behind her, she pulled a circle of knotted rope from the bag she had collected from her room. Encouraging Elessar to stand close beside her, she lifted the circle up and over both of their heads and spreading the circumference as wide as it would go on the floor. The effect of standing in the circle this way wouldn't be quite the same as having wards set to silence the entire room, but she was confident enough that the weave she had tied to it would make all conversation unintelligible to any would-be listeners. Her gaidin's presence was as steady and determined as ever, but she knew him well enough by now to know he was concerned about something, even if she hadn't felt that flash of wariness through the bond. The Wheel alone knew what was being woven around them now. "What is it?" she asked, matching his balance, keeping her voice low and calm, her eyes searching his face as she waited for his reply... ▀▄

Illusions ►▼◄ The bracelet on Calia’s wrist had thrummed with a barely perceptible hum, that subtle tension only she could feel, the invisible tether guiding her to their quarry. She could sense the would-be assassin’s movements as if they pulled on a thread knotted between them, stretched just tight enough to relay faint impressions of distance, direction, and motion. Each shift reverberated against her skin, a rhythm she felt as surely as her own pulse. Her fingers had traced over the plain silver arrow charm beside her dragonfly—a simple decoration to most, but she treasured the masterpiece of Spirit and delicate whispers of Fire she kept kindled within it - and the ability to form and track powerful connections such as it had. As well as the knowledge on how to keep the weave so finely woven for both responsiveness and inversion that even another channeler would miss it upon their person if they didn’t look for it. That delicate balance had taken years of practice, testing, trial and perfection between herself and her closest Sisters. Now - she had severed that link - as quickly, completely and as discreetly as she knew how. But a sense of dread still snaked and bit at her from those Shadows with every heartbeat. She knew she had felt only a glimpse of the woman's strength in the One Power, seen only a glimpse of the figure in the cloak, but that glimpse had been enough to make her blood run cold. The angle of the woman’s face beneath her hood, the intensity of her aura and the piercing feeling that accompanied her presence like an impossibly sharp, heavy weight pressing down; the embrace of saidar that was palpable and wrenching in a way that was once-felt, never forgotten - The details had come too fast to be logically sure of anything. But they were unmistakable. Light! Only twice before that internal prayer had felt so immediately, impendingly overshadowed. Once near the Plain of Lances, and then, more recently at Four Kings. Now here. There is no certainty yet, she reminded herself, breathing deep, calming her thoughts. She couldn’t afford to let fear guide her mind's steps. But she knew, in her heart of hearts. And the possibilities alone were enough to turn their mission from dangerous to near impossible. “Do we continue with our plan?” Elessar whispered, shifting his gaze to the two figures in the distance and then meeting her eyes squarely. “Or should we reassess the situation?” A surge and flash of saidar pulled Calia's glance back toward the Shadows. The woman was gone! Darkness remained. Again she caught a faint residue of that complicated weave! Calia turned her eyes back towards her Warder, and the Light, focusing on what was still plainly before her, rather than what had vanished and what was yet to be. Regardless of the risks, their task remained the same: retrieve the seal before it fell into the wrong hands. No matter whose hands those might be - Her heart solidified the resolve her mind was yet unable to comprehend. She forced herself to be calm, to breathe as if they weren’t mere steps away from something that could end... everything. She felt the silent connection between herself and Elessar - both concerned, both steadfast, both unwavering. She trusted him with her life, trusted his thusfar unwavering calm and resolve to counterbalance her own fervor with his own. He would follow her - had followed her - to put his life 'before' hers. And despite how well she knew he chose that path wholeheartedly, the weight of that knowledge deepened her determination to do things right, and make sure they would always do the dedications they had sworn justice. “We need to leave,” she said, her voice a measured tone that belied her inner storm. "Now." Elessar's eyes, dark and steady as the earth beneath their feet, searched her face and her own electric, icy blue resolve. She felt the silent connection between them as a subtle warmth—They had committed to 'standing ready', and Elessar would need to see that she was just as steady and dedicated to that end as always. ● "So, we move, fast. And we change as often as night turns into day," Calia's summary of concerns and the bare outline of her plan was succinct. They moved immediately, with purpose, as soon as Elessar nodded his agreement. ● The stables of the Hanging Noose loomed ahead, shadows creeping here and there about the walls in the dim light of early evening. Even from a distance, the structure smelt of dirtied straw, damp hay and worn leather. Calia knew that the stablehands would have retired to their dice and taverns by now, but tonight at least, she was grateful for their bad habits. A glance exchanged with Elessar confirmed their sentiments were shared. "Ssssh girl, shhhh now," Calia soothed the skittish mare at her side as they crossed toward the building and she felt the horse's ears flick back, "We didn't have the luxury to be too picky, but it's a better place than where you both came from, that's for sure!" The mare gave no reply. Beside them, the stallion led by Elessar was also silent. Well, Calia thought in response to the lack of equine argument, At least these two have the right heights and weights, if not the right temperaments, to do the trick ... Illusion weaves, it was true, worked best the closer one kept to what was there before in size and shape - and these two had fit the bill at least. As far as anyone watching would be concerned, the Warder and Aes Sedai were leading their very distinctive socked-and-flaxen chestnut carthorse and dark stallion back to the stables, as they had done before. At least that's what Calia had intended with the careful, inverted weave - and she had been quite proud of the results - as far as she could tell, the only 'easy' distinctions to be made at this point were in the horse's temperaments. And she doubted many had got close enough to their mounts for that to count any time soon. In fact, if the Light was with them and Elessar and herself had their way, Calia hoped it would be quite some time before anyone realised the Aes Sedai and Warder had departed Lugard, despite having left 'their' distinctive mounts behind. Together, the Sedai and Warder slipped, silent as wraiths, into the stables. Elessar took the lead, rearranging the horses and packing provisions and belongings on Socksie and Stormbreaker with practiced ease that disguised any tension he might have felt. His movements as sure as they had ever been, his hand resting loosely by his side, sword within instant reach the instant he was done. Calia followed, her steps light, her senses acutely aware of every creak of wood and scuff of her boots against the stable’s earthen floor as she embraced the source and prepared for the next installment of their plan. "Well my girl," she murmured to Socksie, who snorted appreciatively. "I told you we'd have to be careful here - but did I tell you that when in Lugard, there's a better rule?" "Trust no-one but your self, and yourself not too much,'" she confided, and then set to work. ● A good deal later, they were packed and mounted upon two very different-looking beasts than the ones they had ridden into Lugard on. Elessar remained stoic - even beneath his woven disguise, his gaze always watchful, ready. Calia felt a flicker of warmth as she looked at him. Disguised or no, this fierce Warder would lay down his life fighting for the Light and for her without hesitation. But he also knew when to leave the fight to live another day. He’d said nothing yet in response to the threat that had driven them from Lugard, but she knew he saw the implications almost as well as she did. "Trust no-one," the Lugardians might have proffered, but Calia decided that in this, she would keep her - and Elessar's own - council. “We won’t look back,” she said softly. “And we’ll keep our heads low until we’re far, far from here.” Elessar’s solemn nod was enough. Together the pair eased their horses from the stable, making their way out of Lugard in silence, melding into the dim alleyways with practiced caution. ● As the faint glow of twilight gave way to deepening shadows, two perfectly non-descript travelers left the stables atop two perfectly non-descript, yet plucky horses. They moved out of the yard, all sense of them soon lost in Lugard's winding alleys, the sounds of raucous merrymaking, arguments and twisting shadows. If the dark woman atop the large grey horse looked exhausted from creating, inverting and tying off a series of complex weaves in a short space of time, or the young blonde man atop the dull roan looked wary enough to be a Warder, nobody - not even a channeler - could tell why. ● Finally, they reached the edge of Lugard, where the dense buildings began to thin, giving way to open fields and the distant silhouette of the hills. Together, they guided their mounts onward, the faint, raucous sounds of the shifty city fading into the distance behind them, leaving only the shadows and the open road ahead. Only then did Calia allow herself a deeper breath, releasing the immediate tension in her body as the night air wrapped around them, cool and almost refreshing. But there was no true rest in her bones; the threats in Lugard's shadows still clung to her, and the journey before them was still fraught with dangers they had barely begun to contemplate. She glanced at Elessar, who met her gaze with a look of unyielding resolve. "We," Calia said, drawing her horse close to Stormbreaker and looking up at her gaidin, "are going to need some serious speed on the path ahead." And, Light help us! More allies with iron resolve down the track, if we are to turn the tide against this rising Dark!

The would-be assassin’s silhouette shifted deftly across the face of a building at the far end of the narrow alley. Elessar breathed a warning to Calia, his second knife half-raised, determination gleaming sharp in his dark eyes despite the man’s swift retreat. Calia’s hand came to rest lightly on her Warder’s shoulder, the smallest shake of her head enough to still his action. His knife lowered a fraction as the faint echoes of the assassin's footsteps faded into the general hum of Lugard’s city streets. She offered Elessar a small smile, glad they had thwarted the assassin's plans so far - and that nothing was lost. She had the beginnings of a plan, and she would share it with him soon, once the other attacker’s fate was confirmed. After several moments, the Aes Sedai and the Warder moved as one, alert to their surroundings. Cal kept the warmth of saidar flowing through her like a river ready to be unleashed. But nothing stirred. The two of them approached the spot where Calia suspected the second assassin had fallen, and she wasn’t disappointed. A single well-placed knife had found its target in the critical upper left portion of the man's chest. Calia exchanged a smile with Elessar. It had been an excellent throw in the dark. The dead man’s features and clothing offered no immediate answers beyond what her Warder highlighted after a short study - “This was no simple thief,” Elessar murmured, crouching to inspect the body more closely. “These men were professionals.” Calia nodded silently, her thoughts mirroring his own. She could feel it too. These men had known what they were doing. “The question is,” Elessar added after a moment, his face pensive, “did they know who they were trying to kill?” “I don’t think so…” Calia replied, glancing down the dark alley. “After all, who would be fool enough to attack an Aes Sedai and her Warder as they stroll through the shifty shadows of a backstreet alley?” she gave him a lopsided grin as she asked *** Her voice was calm, but her thoughts turned inward. The bracelet at Calia’s wrist hummed ever so slightly beneath her skin, a delicate reminder of the tiny weave she’d tied to the fleeing assassin—barely there, yet potent in its subtlety. The sliver of Spirit, anchored to the small, plain silver arrow-shaped charm beside her dragonfly, was so finely tuned to the man’s body temperature that he would never notice its presence. The weave was a masterwork of patience, one she had perfected over many, many years — Spirit twined with a touch of Fire, hidden in plain sight. And then inverted, so that it was truly hidden from all. She flexed her fingers absently, feeling the faint threads of the weave stretch, pulled taut in the direction of her prey. The assassin was moving, and she sensed the pulse of that movement through the weave—its tension like a spider’s thread, whispering a distance she could feel but not really see. Her gaze drifted back to the corpse at her feet, then to the shadows beyond the alley. The face of the assassin who had escaped gnawed at her—the flash of those sharp, cold eyes, the set of his jaw. She’d seen his likeness - at least - before, in another dark alley under a different sky. The night she and Elessar had first crossed paths in Tar Valon, when they were hunted by men who had possibly known far more than they should about what the Warder and Sedai had discovered. The resemblance was strong, if not unmistakable, in her mind. The more experienced, sour-faced man from that night… Could it really be him? Was the Pattern twisting threads she couldn’t yet - would never- see, or was her own mind playing tricks on her? Her chest tightened at each of the options, but she pushed the uncertainty aside. There would be time for questions later. For now, the weave hummed softly against her wrist, a steady reminder that while the assassin had fled, he was also now caught in their web. Behind her, she felt Elessar shift, his presence as steady as the earth beneath her feet. She felt his gaze on her and turned, the weight of his unasked questions as palpable as the weave linking her to their quarry. His eyes, too, flicked down the empty alley, searching for answers. Calia’s fingers flexed again, testing the tautness of the weave like a marionettist might test a puppet's strings. “We can find him - if we want to,” she murmured, her voice just low enough for Elessar’s ears alone. “When it’s time.” *** "It's potentially risky," Calia acknowledged, "depending on who the men were and why they targeted us as they did. And..." her voice trailed off as dread dragged at her heart and the pit of her stomach. "... who they might ultimately be linked -or have been linked- to..." She kept her gaze connected with Elessar's. With effort, she inhaled and exhaled, determined to shake the tension her thoughts caused before she continued. "So. We only act on this if we are both in agreement. Do you want to follow him?" Calia asked Elessar, emphasising the facdt that she would not be acting further on this matter without - or against - joint input. *** To Calia's mind, the streets of Lugard bustled with every iota of its usual shifty, dangerous energy, a stark contrast to that of the calming, reassuring presence of the Warder bond between Calia and Elessar. Together, they moved swiftly but without urgency, blending seamlessly into the crowd as if the attack in the alley had been nothing more than a minor disturbance. Calia’s eyes scanned the marketplace they entered, though her mind was focused elsewhere—on the thread of Spirit tied to her wrist, stretching in a subtle line toward their mark. The weave hinted at distance, and at the assassin moving steadily through the city, unknowingly guiding them through the labryinthiney streets. “Still moving,” she murmured, barely turning her head to address Elessar. Her tone was casual, but her focus remained sharp. There was too much at stake here. Elessar nodded, his steps in perfect sync with hers, eyes always scanning. “We need to find out who sent them.” His voice was low, but there was an edge of steel in it. They both knew this attack was no random encounter—it was targeted. As they approached the end of the marketplace, Calia flexed her fingers again, feeling the thread lax slightly. The assassin was slowing. “He's either hiding or meeting someone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We need to be ready.” They reached the corner of a narrow side street, and Calia could feel the tug of the weave stronger now, a direct line leading them into another shadowed alley. Her breath caught as they reached the mouth of the alleyway. The assassin had stopped moving. As in, had become completely paralysed. Elessar met her gaze, his dark eyes unreadable but alert. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and she knew with certainty that he would be ready for whatever they would find. Cal, for her part, resisted the urge to hold saidar as her and her Gaidin made their approach. As it was, Calia's every sense was on high alert—the murmur of voices from a nearby tavern, the smell of freshly baked bread mingling with the tang of damp stone. They turned a corner, and there he was—the assassin, speaking in hushed tones with a second figure, cloaked and hooded, their face hidden in shadow. Calia’s eyes narrowed as she observed the would-be-assassin's posture - the tension in his frame unmistakable. This didn't just look like the man was simply reporting to a superior—he was vehemently pleading. The hooded figure stepped forward, voice cold and low, though Calia couldn’t hear the words. She felt someone embrace the source. Her heart raced. Whoever this was, they weren’t just some cutthroat. They had the ability to weave—and they were unbelievably powerful and dangerous. She exchanged a look with Elessar, her heart pounding in her chest despite herself. The weave on her wrist felt like a lifeline, but it was clear now that something far more sinister was at play. If they were to strike, they had to be careful. One wrong move, and any of them could die before the truth was actually uncovered. The air between them hung thick with tension, the decision looming. To strike or to wait? To uncover who was behind this? The choice would define their next move. And for once Calia was not going to make these moves alone! * ^ *

"We-" < ! X ! > A sudden <stab> of heat bloomed at the center of Calia's throat. Her entire body jerked hard to the right. ● The streets of Lugard had grown darker as the evening settled in, the city’s bustling energy slipping away with the last rays of sunlight. The narrow alley they found themselves in now was a world apart from the dusty, crowded marketplace they’d passed earlier. Here, shadows pooled in forgotten corners, and the soft scuff of their boots seemed to echo louder than it should, as if the alley itself were holding its breath. The oppressive quiet had gnawed at Calia’s awareness, pressing in closer with each step. The alley was closing in around them, narrowing into a dilapidated unpaved path of dirt, stone and shadow. The tall buildings that flanked them loomed overhead like silent sentinels, their worn facades watching, waiting. The air felt heavy, dense with something more than just the humidity of a Lugard night. Her senses strained to catch any hint of movement, any sound out of place. She had pushed aside thoughts of her mission and the day's affairs, focusing instead on the shadows ahead. Who else she and Elessar could possibly trust at the Tower was a question for later - likely much later - than tonight. They needed to focus on what was directly in front of them first. She had checked, again, that the warning wards attached to her circlet were still in place, a flicker of irritation shooting through her at the fact that she couldn't remember doing so in the first place. Burn it, woman. Lugard! Focus! Their mission had brought them to here, deeper into the heart of what was becoming a tangled web of rumors and half-truths about the Shadow’s movement. She had hoped that the further South they'd traveled, the clearer answers they might find, but so far it had not been the case - the streets and her contacts had offered little more than cryptic whispers. Too much noise and too little substance, she thought. Too many broken links... She scanned the shadows before them rather than allow her mind to wander back into the recent past. No way back. She shut the thought down, as she had since the day after leaving Four Kings, forbidding it to surface at a time that was not solely hers. It was not the first time she'd borne scars courtesy of the Shadow. And it would likely not be the last. But there were new scars now. There forever more, unlike her loved ones and family, whether she hid them deep or not. Such was the life of an Aes Sedai. And many others. And so, as Cal had vowed, she would fight with everything she had left. She'd scanned the shadows before them, Elessar moving ahead of her, his silhouette tall and steady in the half-light. She could feel his vigilance through the bond, the subtle thrum of alertness that had become a constant presence between them. And she'd considered, appreciatively, how much had changed since their first alley-way adventure back in Tar Valon. She just hadn't expected so many things to also stay the same. ● Saidar flooded through her, enhancing her senses, catching the flash of silver in the corner of her eye as the knife flew past - too close—too close—and the blade buried itself into the wood behind her with a solid thwuck. And then, the world lurched as Elessar tackled her to the ground, his body a blur of motion, instincts perfectly timed with hers. Her heart raced, saidar humming in her veins, and she set to searching the shadows for the source of the attack. < ! X ! > Another knife! Following the second! Eyes wide now, on full alert, she scanned the areas of Shadow ahead, in the direction of where the blades had been coming from. A shift to the right! A grunt as her gaidin's new knife found its mark. Good, she thought with a nod. Now they probably needed more light there. A globe would do it, if she set it far enough away that it wouldn't light her and her Warder up like targets in the dark. A low, nearly inaudible hiss escaped her lips. “Elessar.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but the Warder’s head tilted ever so slightly, a signal that he had heard. She made hand signals indicating a ball and burst of light and pointed to the high point down the lane, knowing her gaidin would see what she meant to do, and could protect his own field of vision when she did. She felt the familiar ripples of saidar pooling in every fiber of her being, like a current waiting to be unleashed. The bond with Elessar hummed with alertness beside her. He was always there—steady, watchful, a blade in the darkness ready to strike. He had moved instinctively to shield her, placing his body between hers and the knives, putting his life before hers, just as he had vowed. Not on my watch, she had thought, prepared to protect him in the instant the threat had made herself known at her neck. She setting a shimmering wall of Air and Spirit around herself and her gaidin the instant his knife had left his hand. “Keep low,” she signaled. She wove the orb using everything but Fire - that she kept separate until both her and Elessar were ready. Her eyes flicked toward the spot where Elessar had thrown his knife and she felt a brief surge of pride at his unerring accuracy. There was no sign of further movement, only the stillness of the night around them. Yet, she remained poised, waiting, the bond between them vibrating with the silent agreement to remain cautious. Through the bond, she sent a pulse of acknowledgment to Elessar. And then she flung the orb towards an overhang on the side of the building where the grunt had come from and filled it with a burst of Fire and Spirit that spotlighted the area just as they needed. Her fingers instinctively sought the hilt of her dagger, its cool metal a reassuring weight in her hand. Calia stared intently into the glow that Shadows had all but fled, wondering who their would-be assassin might be this time, and for some reason, finding it impossible to shake the young man they'd met previously in an alley setting - dark haired and dark eyed with a crooked nose and a long scar down his face... Calia stared into the newly lit alley, her mind racing. Who was their attacker this time? Her instincts whispered a warning that there was absolutely potential that there was more at play here than a simple robbery. She didn't know what, exactly, was happening here, in this alley, on this night. But she did know that her and Elessar would handle it together. And that maybe some things, some people, never changed! ...

Shifting Shadows ►▼◄ Calia and Elessar rode from the camp in silence. Her bay and Stormbreaker moved on with a mostly steady rhythm, each as unfaltering as ever despite the residual fatigue and events of the previous day. The sun rose lazily, glimmers of sunlight sneaking into the world with the beginning of dawn. Soft nocturnal shufflings and other sounds quietened in the woods around them, stilled. For a time, silence hung heavier in the air than the rustle of leaves in the wind or the fall of hoofbeats on the ground. Long shadows clung to the road like a reluctant farewell to night. Then, little by little, the veil of darkness and obscurity lightened and lifted from the road and surrounding countryside, and the colours and details of the day emerged. Calia processed sounds and scanned ahead automatically as they rode on, as she always did. In a practice born from long experience, she tried to appreciate the blessings and wonder of the day as it began - the first hints of dawn, the soft calls of first one then two, then three - then all - birds to chorus, the gentle spread of Light and warmth. The serene beauty of the day did not go unseen. Still, her heart ached. A large part of her focus returned again and again to Four Kings, and she felt the sense of growing wrongness with the world as a heavy weight that had now reached - and irreversibly smothered - a space of importance at her very core. She had felt that same devastating weight before, too many times to count, in over a century of nightmares since her arches. She had endured the pain twisting through her entire being like a spear had stuck in her heart, every time. This time though, It. was. all. real. and There was no way back ● Tears stung her eyes, threatening to spill with the impact of each hoofstrike taking her further away from what had once, and against all custom and expectation had somehow always still been home. "There is always some reason not to return, something to prevent you, or distract you. ...You must want to be Aes Sedai more than anything else in the whole world, enough to face anything, fight free of anything, to achieve it..." The Mistress of Novice's voice gnawed at her mind, as it had for many years following the Arches and each of her recurring nightmares. As it had after the deaths of Shem and Joesh, Aaran. But this time, Calia refused to let the words twist in her mind. 'Being Aes Sedai' only mattered because everything else in the world mattered so much. Because every scrap of connection to joy and Light that was - and should remain - close to one's heart, was utterly important. It wasn't about 'being Aes Sedai', Calia thought, it was about becoming as equipped as possible to face anything, fight free of anything, achieve anything - to ensure that darkness never entirely won the battle, never grew stronger than the love for everything else in the world, never outweighed the hope that Light could remain. Too late, the deeper costs of pouring her energy into 'being Aes Sedai' by maintaining deliberate separation from all else in the world for so many years - including the various lights that had remained to her in Four Kings - became clear. Joem and Amelie, the orchards - those lights had deserved more of her attention while they had shone in the world. Now they too were gone, for good. The years of deliberate distance hadn't spared her any loss of light - they had kept her world unnecessarily dim. She might not have known and loved her great grand-nephew and his wife as much as the family members she had maintained active connections with - but she could have. She could have fought for the Light, and lived in it too. Despite the pain, she did her best to keep her head high, and her sights on the road ahead. Even when the tears began to fall. ● Some time later, Calia glanced over at Elessar and Stormbreaker, keeping pace beside her. The Warder's face was a mask as he surveyed the road and surrounds. Neither of them had spoken since leaving the camp, but the bond held the space between them with a combination of care and determination for which Calia was grateful. She had kept the greater wash of her emotions somewhat free of the bond to reduce the subsequent impacts on Elessar as they had travelled, but out of trust, respect and a determination to not fall into old habits, she had not masked the sense of the bond itself entirely, as she might once have done. Each of them deserved the light and honour of the connection they had chosen to serve in, and she was not going to be the one to make the mistake of keeping that at bay. As the road curved gently downhill, the sound of rushing water drifted toward them, faint at first, but growing louder as they travelled on. Soon, the shimmer of a river came into view, its surface glistening under the midday sun like a ribbon of silver threading through the landscape. The river meandered alongside the road for a short stretch, its waters clear and fast-moving, tumbling over smooth, worn stones. Tall, leafy trees cast patches of dappled shade along the bank, and wildflowers bloomed in clusters, their soft fragrance carried on the breeze. Calia slowed her horse, her eyes drawn to the cool waters as they eddied in a shallow bend, forming a gentle pool between the rocks. The peace of the scene offered a quiet respite from the road’s dust and the weight of their journey. The thought of slipping into the river—of feeling the cool, rushing water wash away the heaviness of the last few days—was tempting. A rest here, even if only a short one, would be welcome. And a wash in the pool would likely be both more effective and refreshing than the rinsing from water barrels they had managed at Four Kings. The idea took root quickly - a small, practical indulgence that seemed more necessary with each passing moment. Calia cast a glance at Elessar, gauging their pace and whether a brief stop might be acceptable. The road ahead stretched far, but the river here, peaceful and inviting, felt like a small moment of respite waiting to be seized. Voicing her thoughts to Elessar, she was glad when her Warder had not objected in the slightest. ● "...You are washed clean of Calia Luin from Four Kings." Calia lifted her chin, stubbornly, at the memory of the words. Just as she had after the first time she'd witnessed the Shadow take Four Kings and felt the torment of the people and world she loved snuffed out by the dark. The woman was wrong. Then and now. "You are washed clean of all ties that bind you to the world..." Calia Luin, Aes Sedai of the White Tower and of Four Kings, closed her eyes let the water of the river rush and swirl around her. The ties of her past - her family, her home, the sweet smells of the inn and orchards - had been scorched and ruined by fire and Shadowspawn, not washed away by being Accepted or Aes Sedai. She held tight to the memories of home and kin that had brought her light, and rubbed at her skin as if to chase away the smell of smoke that clung in her mind. The river lapped at her, its current strong but comforting in its embrace, and she pushed off from the bank, determined to be unmoored on her own terms. A rustling noise from the bank, heavy and persistent, brought her back to reality as she drifted. Her eyes snapped open. A snort. A loud, insistent snort and heavy movements in the underbrush near where they had left the horses and the saddlebags. She couldn't see the area from where she was in the pool. Embracing the source, she waded towards the bank, and catching Elessar's eye for less than a second before - "Socksie?!" The name flew from her lips before her mind had caught up. But sure enough, amidst a trail of squashed underbrush, her nose digging around Calia's saddlebags stood Socksie, refusing to be pushed aside from the search for apples by the second cart-horse for even a second. >>>>>><<<<<< Several weeks later, despite the difficulties of the journey South, Calia still grinned every time her thoughts wandered back to that moment by the river - and the antics that had ensued. Even now, as wagon after wagon clattered through the Shilene Gate, her thoughts drifted back to Socksie's reappearance and the memories sparked warmth in her heart. The dirt, dust, and din of Lugard—Murandy’s twisted, disreputable capital—pressed in on all sides, but not even the city’s lack of charm could dim the lightness that memory brought. Luin cart-horses had always been known for their intelligence and gentle, easy-going temperaments, but it had been no easy feat getting the two escapees - particularly Socksie - to leave the apples in the saddlebags alone, or to follow Stormbreaker and the bay rather than take at least equal lead on the road! And then there had been the drama, days later, of trying to leave them both behind at the Hilran Estate for safe-keeping as Elessar and herself continued on to Lugard and beyond. Not that the caretakers of the estate objected in any way - Calia Sedai was well-enough known to them and the head of the house they served that they gladly offered their services for as long as she might require. Socksie, on the other hand, had done her best to make her disagreement with such an arrangement very well known. More than once. Calia ceased her reminiscing as they ventured deeper into the city, making sure the wards on everything of importance were still in place and holding strong. Here the streets grew of Lugard more crowded, and the faces that passed them were harder, filled with weariness and suspicion born of experience in this city. She watched the passers-by from the questionable comfort of her saddle, sensing the wariness of both horses and her Warder as much as her own. She couldn't speak for the horse, but she knew it was no great secret to Elessar that in this melting pot of trade, commerce, danger and deceit, trust was a rare commodity, and foreigners - even Warders and Aes Sedai - all made a 'fair' marks. 'Yes, we have to be careful here, girl', Calia spoke softly as she patted the strong chestnut neck stretched out in front of her. A single ear flicked back in her direction was the only response from her new, stubbornly self-appointed mount. Until the big mare swung her head sharply to the side and snorted a very clear warning at a stranger that dared to get too close. Outwardly, Calia kept her gaze and demeanour as sharp as ever, but internally, her heart still felt more full than she had thought possible for days after Four Kings. Whoever had coined the Lugarder saying "Trust no one but yourself, and yourself not too much" had obviously never had a gaidin like Elessar—or horses like Stormbreaker and Socksie—by their side. She caught Elessar's eye briefly as they each navigated with practiced ease through the throngs of vendors, cutpurses, visitors - and most of those who simply lurked in the shadows, waiting for a chance to spring. As they approached the Hanging Noose inn, Calia dismounted, her hands moving in fluid motions to tie off wards around the tack and horses. Socksie, ever aware, followed her movements closely with big brown eyes, nosing at pockets with expectation as soon as Calia lowered her hands. Cal grinned. Fishing the apple from her pocket she leaned close to the mare to whisper, "Be good then," as she handed over the reins. The big horse let out a huff at that, shaking her head vigorously and stamping a hoof in a way that seemed to promise no compliance. Calia chuckled softly. 'An entirely appropriate response,' she thought to herself as she waited for Elessar to return, 'We are in shifty Lugard, after all'. ▀▄

Flashes of Light ►▼◄ The darkness of the woods was interrupted only by the faint glimmers of moonlight filtering through the canopy above. Save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the soft sounds of Stormbreaker and the bay mare shifting in their sleep, the night was still. Calia lay curled in a blanket, asleep on a bed of moss, her face half-hidden in shadow. Her gaidin kept a stoic and quiet watch close by as the night wore on and dawn grew ever closer. The night was still, yes, but there was no stillness in the Aes Sedai's mind. Old nightmares clutched at her, dragging her deeper into a dark, twisted world where scenes from silver arches and the horrors of the Shadowed Sunday she had witnessed earlier mixed and replayed with merciless clarity. Between each torturous scene, a | | ! FLASH ! | | of disappearing, channeled power, and the fading residue of the weave she had never seen. ~●~ ! FLASH ! The slice of light in the air imploded and instantly disappeared. With it the sense of saidar use that was not her own. Remnants of the twisted pattern etched, deeper still, into her mind. ! FLASH ! Four King's villagers: surrounded by fire, snarling faces, rending claws and gleaming black blades. A myrddraal's eyeless face turning towards Elessar and herself as they arrived, its lips stretching back over bared teeth in a grotesque, Shadowy smirk. ! FLASH ! A shield of Air and Spirit slammed around the villagers, separating them from smoke and Shadow alike. The myrddraal's body fell in separate, severed pieces even as the beast flew towards them. Saidar hummed in her veins. ! FLASH ! ... The way back will come but once. Be steadfast... Except there was no way back. Not this time. Joem and Amelie lay before her, their bodies broken and lifeless on the ground. But in her mind, they weren’t just Joem and Amelie—they were also her Da, her Ma, and her little sister Thayet, lying as she had found them so many times before. The nightmare played out in a cruel loop, merging the two scenes until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. She knelt beside them all... Never again. ! FLASH ! Socksie, Thayet's beloved horse-doll was there in her hands, whole and unburnt this time. She lifted the patchwork toy to her cheek, the touch of soft threads bringing a warmth to her chest. For a moment, she was just a girl again, playing in the orchard with her sister and her best friend, laughing and carefree. The scent of sweet apples floated on the wind. Then, the scene shifted and toy-Socksie became the real cart horse, big and calm, gentle and trusting, leaning alongside her cheek-to-cheek, nuzzling at her hand. Calia leant into the memory, letting it soothe her - a promise of something to hold onto, something that hadn't been taken by the Sunday Shadows. ~●~ The nightmares retreated. Calia's eyelids fluttered as she drifted back into consciousness, the faint rustling of leaves and the distant call of a nightbird coaxing her from the depths of exhaustion. For a few moments, she lay still, her body heavy with fatigue, processing the fragmented images that swirled in her mind—fire, smoke, the shattered remains of the orchard, and the faces of those she could not save. The scent of charred wood clung stubbornly to her senses, and she inhaled sharply, pushing away the memories on the exhale, thankful there did not seem to be any actual fire nearby. She shifted, sitting up slowly, and the blanket she didn't remember seeking slipped from her shoulders. Instinctively she turned towards the comforting presence of Elessar nearby, grateful that he had obviously taken care of her when she had not been in a state to do so for herself. Just how tired was I? The Warder sat close by, his posture alert despite the stillness of the night. His eyes swept over their surroundings, his vigilance a silent reassurance. Calia could sense his concern through their bond. She felt their gazes meet in the dark, and she managed a small, weary smile. She wasn’t certain if he could see it or if it was lost altogether in the dim light, but she could feel the bond between them, still humming with shared understanding. Exhaustion, grief, determination—it all melded into the sense of a silent exchange that words would never quite fit or capture. She was simultaneously sorry to have brought him to this, and deeply grateful to have him by her side. The cool night air brushed against her skin, a sharp contrast to the searing heat of the flames that haunted her memory. Elessar held out a waterskin, and she accepted it with a thankful nod, drinking deeply. The cool water soothed her parched throat, bringing her back more fully to the present moment. But even as she tried to keep herself in the present, questions gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, refusing to be dismissed. How had the Shadowspawn appeared so quickly? The attack had been sudden, too well-timed to be a mere coincidence. And just as swiftly as they had come, they had vanished, leaving behind only death and destruction. How? The images flashed before her eyes again: Trollocs, the Myrddraal’s eyeless gaze, and the unknown figure disappearing through what appeared to have been a sort of channeled doorway. The presence of that weave lingered in her mind like an echo, the memory of that sudden flash of vertical light, twisting and imploding into nothing - taking that impossibly strong channeler with it, haunted her. It was a weave she had seen only once before, at a distance too great to discern any detail, in the valley battle near the Plain of Lances. It had stunned her then, and it stunned her now. The complexity was both mesmerizing and unsettling. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recall the precise structure of the weave, the way the threads had twisted and coiled. The image in her mind was detailed and clear, but the secrets of the weave remained frustratingly elusive. It was as if the pattern had burned itself into her memory, yet refused to reveal its secrets. And then there was the question even she was afraid to touch: Who had channeled it? Was that nightmare really, truly real? The figure disappearing through the slice of Air and Light into ... nothing... flickered in her memory, leaving her with more questions than answers. Her thoughts moved ahead with a sense of growing urgency. The weight of their mission pressed heavily on her. And, she found, so did the mantra that had carried her through the recent chaos: Be steadfast. It wasn’t just a reminder; it was a vow, one she had to uphold no matter the cost. Too much depended on them now. The bond and Elessar's quiet presence anchored her again, pulling her back to the present. She took a deep breath, re-asserting herself in the here and now. She would hold onto these questions, but they had to keep moving. They had to stay ahead of the Shadow. Cal passed the waterskin back to her gaidin, meeting his gaze again. “Thank you, Elessar." She paused a moment before adding with quiet sincerity, "For everything." She rose then, every muscle protesting the movement, and stretched. The unanswered questions lingered like shadows at the edges of her mind. Despite the fatigue weighing down her limbs, she forced herself to stand tall. There was no other choice. They had to continue. She could not allow the Shadows to win—not here, not now. Not ever. "We should move soon," she murmured, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside her. With a determined breath, she walked toward the horses. The moonlight cast a soft glow over the camp, and the gentle sounds of the night were soothing after the chaos of the day. Her bay and Stormbreaker stood nearby, their coats shimmering faintly in the pale light. Calia approached them, her hands gentle as she checked them over. She ran her hands along their flanks, feeling for any signs of strain or injury from their recent journey. The Healing she had administered them and her gaidin earlier should have helped, but she wanted to be certain before they moved on. She whispered soothing words to each horse while her fingers traced muscles and joints, checking for any lingering discomfort. Her touch was light but deliberate. Both animals were clearly tired, but still seemed in good condition, and ready for whatever lay ahead. She turned back to Elessar. "What do you think?" ▀▄