Penny

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

An hour later Mave was dressed in a simple dress of bleached linen. Though it had originally belonged to Ali's mother, he was true to his word and had made the necessary alterations with the skill of long practice. The dress still didn't fit perfectly, but it had been bought in significantly to accommodate Mave's wasp like waist. There was an old pair of stockings and shoes that didn't fit to badly also. Having been under a strain of urgency for a long while, part of her wanted to be off that very moment, but part of her realized that rest and preparation were better uses of her time than blindly rushing off in the general direction of Illian. She needed to take the time to gather supplies from the peddlers and figure out the best route to take.

It was nice too, she had to admit, to be in the company of someone her own age who was both handsome and was ignorant of all of the peril and politics that had been her life these last weeks. For a moment, at least, she could pretend that she was a normal person and this was a normal day. It was surprisingly fun. Ali was fussing about the stitching of the waist coat he had found and was in the process of fitting it when the door swung open without a knock. Two boys both unfamiliar to Mave, though Ali clearly recognized them both stood at the door mouths hanging agape to find their friend alone with a girl none of them had ever seen, his hands on her hips as he fitted to the waistcoat.

Before ALi could speak they both turned and bolted down the drive way hooting and hollering with the mirth of boys with a secret they had just uncovered.

NSA - NSFW 18+ MxF or MxM RP

@Headless

Two NSA agents fall in lust while listening in to phone sex from another couple with two separate warrant less wire taps.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave nodded gratefully, while she was fully prepared to pay for the food and aid, her supply of coppers was meager and she didn't know how she would gather more in the near future. She cleared her throat looking down at her ruined dress. Ali seemed young to her, but she knew that familes often began early in such rural environs. The house around here was obviously that of a family but there might be several generations living here.

"A bath would be lovely," she agreed. It had been a very long while since she had last taken one. Not since leaving Tar Valon weeks ago. Of course she was able to channel herself clean but that wasn't the same as a relaxing soak.

"Do you have family here?" she asked looking around. She hadn't seen or heard anyone but perhaps they were merely out for the day. The passage of seasons had slipped more or less from her mind and she hadn't known it was nearly Beltane. Perhaps they were out preparing for the festivities.

"You have already been very generous but if you have needle and thread or perhaps a spare change of clothes?" she plucked at her ruined dress in embarrassment.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave felt a surge of relief to at last have some notion of where she was. She hadn't heard of Tarren's Ferry but Whitebridge was familiar to her. Supposedly there was a great bridge of heartstone there which had been erected in the Age of Legends. The city of Baerlon was west of Whitebridge from which a road ran south into what had once been Manetheren though there were no major cities in the area now. Mave wasn't sure how best to procced from her but at least she had a point to start from.

"No, I'm not travelling with anyone," she said shaking her head. Even at this early stage there were folk travelling. She wondered what Ali would say if she mentioned that she set out from Caemlyn yesterday afternoon and had traveled a thousand miles in a few hour. The thought made her supress a giggle that was part amusement part hysteria.

"There will be peddlers you say?" she asked, her mind turning back to the task ahead of her. She didn't want to wait a few days but she needed to equip herself for the journey.

"I need to buy some new clothes and.." she paused as a thought struck her.

"Do you need money for the food? I have some coin.." she went on uncertainly.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave opted not an answer, instead taking a bite of sausage and savoring the hot juices that spurted into her mouth. She had never heard of the Two Rivers and it helped her not a whit to place where she was. It could be anywhere from southern Saldaea to Amadicia itself, though she suspected that it was rather closer to Amador than it was to Maradon. The Children of Light could be found anywhere of course but it made sense that they would be closer to home.

"Well there was a lot of confusion," she said around a mouthful of food, evading the thrust of the question, "I'm just glad you were there to help me." She laid a hand on his for a moment.

"Very glad," she amplified.

"The Two Rivers, that is part of Andor? I'm afraid that my geography is a bit muddled," she confessed.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave took the offered seat with a smile. It had been a long while since she had eaten anything besides the dried fruit and trail rations she had managed to find in Camelyn. Her last real meal had been a hasty mouthful of cheese before she had fled her inn to search for the Caemlyn waygate.

“My name is Mave Kashana,” she said, taking a drink of water to give herself time to concoct a believable lie. Not knowing where she was made any attempt at fabrication difficult however.

“I’m a traveller from Arad Doman,” she said after a moment, “I got lost in the mountains and then I stumbled across those men…” she trailed off, not a word of that was untrue, her instructors would be proud.

“Speaking of whom… you managed to fight them off? I’m afraid I don’t remember everything that happened on the road.”

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave dreamed. As she often did her dreams took her back to the terrible night she had passed through the arches. Naked and shivering, her novice dress left behind and the trials ahead of her. The trials had been hard on her. She could remember them only in dreams, but she had stumbled from the final arch bleeding from dozens of cuts. She would certainly have died if the Aes Sedai hadn’t been there ready to heal her. For weeks afterwards she slept only in snatches and work screaming. Her room mate had been moved to a different chamber and another Accepted had not taken her place.

Wakefulness cae back to her in stages. First there was a dim awareness of warmth, welcome after hours spent in the mountain cold. Then the memory of the three bandits came back to her and she sat up with a start, snatching at Saidar as unconsciously as she drew the blankets up to cover herself. After a moment it became clear to her that she was in no bandit camp. The room was small but lovingly built out of dark wood. She lay upon a bed beneath several cheap but clean blankets. There were several chests along the wall and a book shelf that contained some bound volumes that she recognised: The Travels of Jane Farstrider, The Legend of Brigette and several other stories on the same general theme. A hand full of toys, whittled from wood or simple peddlers craft were propped on a shelf, momentos rather than items of everyday use.

Her chest and arms were scraped but clean, something that must have been done to her after she lost consciousness. Vaguely she remembered crashing into a traveler on the road. It must have been he who had bought her her. Foolish, she should have killed all three men and been on her way. The thought made her vaguely queasy. She had never killed anyone before but she could still feel the blood of the man whose throat her weave had cut pulsing over her. The Three Oaths were not to be transgressed lightly, she might never have a chance to win her shawl, she certainly wouldn’t if she couldn’t prove she had been right to run away, but she didn't want to be stilled. The thought of life without Saidar was too much to bear.

Reluctantly she climbed out of bed. Her dress was hopelessly torn and she hadn’t bought any changes in her flight from Caemlyn. Reaching into her pouch she touched her great serpent ring and the fateful map and felt relief that she hadn't realised had been waying on her. Holding her ripped dress up she stood up and moved to the rooms single doorway and looked through into a warm farmers kitchen. Burnished copper pots hung besides drying ropes of garlic and other herbs. A few bowls of spring berries were set out on the counter, probably the first forage after a long winter on stored food.

A young man was slumped against the doorway, his dark wavy hair rumpled and messy. He looked to be in his early twenties but Mave was herself no judge of such things. He looked up at her and froze as though he had been bought face to face with a ghost. She froze too, uncertain as to what she should do or say. After a moment she cleared her throat.

“Ah, thank you sir, for taking me in. I am uhh sorry to have put you to any bother.” It seemed like the mother of all understatements, but what else could she say?

Spells in the Dark (18+ for Dark and suggestive themes)

The Prince of Peshwar moaned uneasily in his sleep, his hands, swollen with years of dissipation, clawed at the silken sheets. Writhing atop the supine potentate was a thing of nightmare. In its form it was a woman, evident by the curve of breasts and hips and the long lean form of its limbs, but it substance was that of abyssal darkness, black and inky as the dark beyond the grave. The thing had no eyes and its features were vague suggestions. In his dream the Prince lay with a beautiful woman, enjoying her favors as so often he had enjoyed those of his perfumed harem. He knew that this was different, greater even as the light of the sun outshines the firelight, his hips rocked with need, melding and twinning with the shadow thing in a hideous mockery of passion. His breathing grew ragged and he tore at his bedding in his somnolent madness, sweat pouring from his tanned skin as his body heaved. At the last moment his eyes opened and saw the thing above him and then, as suddenly as a lighting strike on a clear night, he tumbled over the edge of an abyss. The Prince spasmed took one final breath and lay still, sightless eyes fixed on nothing in this word.

Cassilda gasped as her eyes came back into focus. A pleased purr rolled from her lips as she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Warmth returned to her body with a delicious slowness as her spirit slid back within it, crossing the vast and inky depth of space with the speed of a shadow fleeing before sudden sunlight. A prayer had been answered this night. Somewhere, far from here, a courtier had prayed for a death. He had sought amongst the temples for a means to make his desire manifest, until, in hushed whispers he had met a man who told him of a way that his wish might come to pass. A small price to pay to offer up a little of his blood under the waxing gibbous moon. To speak a gibberish phrase in a blasphemous tongue. Shortly, that courtier would wake and find that his prayer had been answered and begin to worry that the debt that he had incurred might someday be called due. In time he would speak of what happened to another desperate man and another bargain would be struck. Thus, death by wished for death, her influence spread. Growing like a great tree, spreading forth its branches into the heavens and reaching its roots into the dark and secret places.

A raven cawed nearby, inquiring if it could partake of the meal that lay chained to the slab that Cassilda had just vacated. She looked back at the body of the young man, rigor already setting in. Sighing at the wastefulness of it she gathered her silken clothing about her naked form and nodded to the two hooded servants who waited to dispose of such things.

“When they are done with it,” she said to the Raven, pausing to ruffle its coarse black feathers with her ivory fingers. At the end of the long chamber stood a leather bound book. Already the name Tamil of Peshwar was inscribed in it, though no quill stroke had made the notation. A smile curved her full sensuous lips.

“They have returned from Goldencrest,” the raven cawed, its words both intelligible and animal at the same instant. Cassilda gazed into a large silver mirror set with flecks of polished jet and raked her fingers through her hair, setting herself to rights as best she could after her exertions. Of course she had heard of the intended raid, she had even been asked along, though she had politely declined. A foolish thing, attracting attention like that. Far better to steal out alone some dark night and take care of such things. There was little to be gained and, if she were any judge, much to be lost by such an action. Alexia was rather a prude about such things.

“Dress me,” she commanded, waving a hand imperiously at the servant who were returning from disposing of the body. Silently both women went about the task of draping her in a gown of silk so sheer that it neared translucence. This accomplished they girdled her about the waist with a simple cord of gold and silver. Cassilda did not relish leaving her subterranean lair, but it was the correct action to take. Better to appear than to have it put about that she had been involved somehow. Properly garbed, she walked the halls of the castle on soft silent feet until she reached the courtyard just in time to see Alexina tear the throat from some luckless fool. Cassilda let out a low moan as she saw the soul bleed from the shattered body.

“Perhaps this will be more interesting than I thought…”

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda sprang onto the back of the hoverboard, uncertain exactly how the thing functioned but willing to trust Neil’s expertise in a pinch. She looped an arm around the pilots waist and they began to rise up out of the cave like depression. Canek was a fool to have encamped here without a proper sensor watch. The site offered concealment and cover from the sun but it also gave enemies ample avenues to sneak up and ambush the small force, which was just what they had done.

Neil’s attack had thrown the attackers into confusion, which was a very good thing, because otherwise they might have wiped out Canek’s force at a stroke. As it was they were pouring small arms fire down from the lip of the opening. Sayeeda saw a merc go down, his body riddle with slugs a heart beat before a spurt of blue fire from one of the plasma lances detonated on of the lighter fighting vehicles in a spectacular orange white fireball. The drive fans on the tank were spinning up and the turret was swiveling, though Sayeeda knew that it would never be able to elevate high enough to hit the rim where the enemy were concentrated.

The hoverboard sped upwards through the malestrom. Sayeeda pursed her lips. Fire from either side could bring them down just as easily. The cave system certainly had another exit but she didn’t want to risk her life on the fact that the enemy, whoever they were, hadn’t laid a second ambush there. If it had been her she would have simply placed charges to bring down the rock formation when the quarry tried to escape, trapping them in a kill box. Sayeeda flicked the safety off the plasma gun Neil had given her. Holding it one handed like a pistol, her other arm around Neil’s waist, she blazed away at anything that looked remotely like a target. The rapid fire eroded the barrel and the gun heated to white hot, but this wasn't a time to go easy on the gear . Bullets and plasma blast whipped passed them like hail. Neil was cursing under his breath as he wove a path for them. A bullet hit the end of the board, nearly toppling them over but he fought it back under control and a moment later they burst from the opening like a cork blasting from a bottle of carbonated wine.

Below them Sayeeda could see men firing down into the hole. A few pivoted to follow the hoverboard but the two of them were small fry compared to the main event below. The tank’s gun reached the maximum extent of its elevation and Sayeeda threw a hand over Neil’s eyes and closed her own tightly.

“Hey what the..” There was as rending crash that sounded like mountains screaming as the tanks main gun fired. Its six inch plasma cannon, spurting megajoules of energy into the side of the canyon wall, excavating a massive divet of rock in a blaze of plasma and molten rock. Sayeeda could see the flash even through her closed eyes, and it would have burned her unshielded retina if she hadn’t looked away and closed her eyes. With the dazzling purple after images still dancing she looked down once more. A stretch of rock glowed bright white and the attackers had stopped firing, burned or blinded by the back blast of the plasma cannon even though it hadn’t been able to hit them directly. Sayeeda didn’t like to think about what the blast had done to the mercenaries in the cavern below. Those that hadn’t boarded vehicles or found cover had probably been killed instantly. Even those that had were probably burned or concussed. Sometimes you had to make hard decisions. When the xenos on Benson had been swarming her lines Sayeeda herself had called artillery in so close to her own position that she knew her own men were likely to be killed by the blasts. You did what you had to do. She wondered if it were Canek who had given the order or if it were some panicking tanker. SHe supposed it didn’t matter.

The hoverboard was arcing back down towards the ground, out of the line of sight of any opportunistic snipers. That had been way too close.

“You have a habit of showing up in the nick of time!” she yelled to Neil over the rush of the wind.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

The curriculum at the White Tower was noticeably lacking in any mention of wood craft. As she stumbled her way through the brush, Mave bitterly wished she could trade one of her lessons on Tarien politics for a little practical pathfinding. Great trees loomed around her as she pressed onwards, motivated by the simple reasoning that if she kept going down hill she would reach the river she had seen from the mountain and that once she found the water all she needed to do was follow it down stream until she came upon some settlement or another. That theory had felt a lot more promising before the canopy of fresh spring leaves closed over her and the slope of terrain began to level off. Having grown up on the wide plains outside of Bandar Eban she found the dense forest alien and oppressive.

She had spent the previous night in a small hollow beside a stream carved by the fresh snowmelt. Not wishing to risk the smoke of a fire in such unfamiliar country, she had heaped a pile of river rocks and channeled flows of fire into them until they radiated enough heat to keep her warm. The food she had bought from Caemlyn consisted of hard baked bread and dried apples, and though there were ample mushrooms to be found, she hadn’t dared to eat any of them. She was careful to ration her food, though even so she would only have enough for two or three more days. Bringing down game was theoretically possible, though given the way she moved through the woodlands, she would have to stumble across the world's only deaf and blind deer in order to get close enough to strike it down.

At dawn she had set out again, following the stream besides which she had camped. The going was easier where the water had already cleared a path and she had a sense she was making better time. Abruptly, the sound of voices startled her and she froze in place. Creeping forward over the mossy rocks she looked down over a small waterfall which fell a dozen feet into a pool. On the rocky shore was a small untidy camp that sprawled around a rude hut of sticks and mud. Two men sat around a fire they had built between the hut and the water, a joint of meat, possibly venison was roasting on a spit. Both men were bearded and unkempt and one was wrapped in a filthy but recognisable white cloak, a golden sunburst nearly invisible beneath months or years of grease and dirt.

Mave pursed her lips. These men must be deserters from the Children of Light, the frothing zealots who followed the teachings of Lothar Mantelar. Unconciously her hand went to her pouch where her few coppers and her ring, a gold band fashioned in the likeness of a serpent eating its own tail, were concealed. Deserters or not she doubted they were any friends of hers. Did this mean she was in Amadicia? That would make the mountains behind her the Mountain’s of Mist, which was good, though finding herself in the heartland of her enemies was not.

“Enjoying the view?” came a voice from beside her. Mave’s heart nearly leapt from her throat as she started, spinning to find a man watching her from the other side of the small stream. Like the man below he wore the remnants of a white cloak and a heavy beard. In his hands he clutched a short bow and there was a sword at his hip, though he didn’t as yet have an arrow knocked.

“I’m lost,” she said, her mind spinning like an upended wagon wheel as she tried to come up with some sort of believable story for how she had come to be here. The men below started at the voices and looked up too the waterfall where Mave was concealed.

“Well now you are found,” the stranger said mildly, though Mave detected something unpleasant in his voice. It must have shown in her face because the man sprang at her without warning. She screamed as his body struck her driving her into the icy water with a splash. Below her she heard shouts and curses as the men below rushed for the waterfall. The stranger outweighed the young woman and pinned her easily, his broad hand encircling her throat, a feral grin split his lips and he grabbed the neck of her dress, tearing the fabric to expose her bosom.

“Our second young doe in as many days, lucky us,” he laughed, leaning down as though to kiss her. The serenity and euphoria of Saidar filled her like the warmth of a rising sun. Everything stood out in incredible relief, the feeling of each individual rock and patch of moss on her skin, the varying currents of water, the rough calluses of her attackers skin. A smile split her lips inspite of the dire situation and her attacker, confused by the reaction hesitated for a fraction of a second, his grip loosening. A single weave of air, tiny and sharper than any razor lashed across his throat. A crimson wave washed over Mave’s face as the blood gushed from the wound, staining the waterfall red. The deserter stumbled back, clutching vainly at his neck as blood spurted between his fingers. He tried to stand then sank to his knees and pitched forward into the water, his body to heavy for the stream to lift over the lip.

Gasping for breath Mave pushed herself to her feet. The men below were shouting as they rushed towards the small rocky rise. Picking a direction at random she fled blindly into the forest. Killing with the One Power was about as serious an offense as could be imagined, though even the Mistress of Novices herself couldn't have claimed that this instance hadn’t been in self defense. Branches tore at her as she sprinted across the uneven terrain, trying with one hand to keep the ruin of her dress in place, less from an instinct for modesty than to prevent it from tipping her up. She could hear her pursuers shouting behind her as they crashed through the brush in pursuit.

Without a plan Mave ran, picking her path wherever the undergrowth was thinnest, hoping to find somewhere to hide long enough to evade her pursuers. Hurdling what she thought were natural rocks, she burst unexpectedly onto a rutted but well traveled road, realized belatedly that it had been a low stone wall, and crashed into a young man who had paused, obviously hearing the commotion in the woods and sending them both sprawling to the dirt in a tangle.