Ronan was walking toward the Asha’man Barracked when a female Asha’man approached her, Taraboner braids swinging with her pace, beads clicking out a rhythm to her stride. “Dedicated Ronan.” She called out in the crisp, almost petulantly bossy tones that Ronan had begun to associate with most women of Taraboner origins. “Asha’man Girvan said you would be here at this time and I have been directed to order you to follow me. I will be taking a hand in your education for the next four weeks.” Ronan stopped to regard the Asha’man and sized her up. She was of average height, or at least slightly shorter than Ronan, with hair the color of deep honey that had been fashioned into traditional braids. She was fairly pretty except for the hard look in her eye and the full lips that set into a natural pout thinned into a stern line that was pressed together when Ronan merely stared back at the Asha’man silently, not bothering to bow at the sight of both pins on the woman’s high collar. “I’m Asha’manLuana, Dedicated, if you would follow me.”

Ronan followed after the clacking braids, the Asha’man’s command more phrased into that of nearly a question, as if she were uncertain at commanding Dedicated to as she wished. The errant thought was banished when Luana turned and cast a severe glance to check that Ronan had followed her ordered before leading her not to the Asha’man Barracks but back into one of the classrooms of the western classrooms, a building she was familiar with almost intricately. As they passed by a room, Ronan was surprised to glance up and see Faust sitting in his normal room and wave at her as she walked by. So startled was she to see the familiar Asha’man that Rona knew she gaped with a wide mouth without responding.

“Now Dedicated, I’ve been told that you’re in need of an education on weaves.” She spoke the words almost in some sort of “I know something you don’t know” tone that grated on Ronan’s nerves. Of course she needed instruction, she only had one pin on her collar and it seemed a given that the Asha’man would know something she didn’t. Ronan also knew inherently that the position she had placed herself in, the duties she would perform for the Black Tower, would be highly competitive, however, and that it would become a test of who killed the best and who did so in a way that both gained the notice and attention of the M’Hael while drawing absolutely no notice to the Black or White Towers. It was, she understood now, a place where a man (or woman) would rise and fall in the space of a single action, a walk along the tightrope that marks success or failure instantly.

“Yes, Asha’man.” Ronan murmured as they entered a room that seemed almost void of any objects, barren of occupation except for the two of them, furniture that was placed in the room as if to give the appearance of being in use without the actual functionality of being used at all. “If I may ask, what will you be teaching me?”

Luana looked at her in a small display of hidden surprise before a pleased smile softened her full lips a moment. “You may ask, Dedicated. Girvan says that you have become ready to learn how to kill and for the next four weeks that’s what I’ll show you. How to use the Power to disable and take out your target and what you can do in order to escape detection should one of those nosy busybodies from the White Tower suddenly take an interest in the death you were responsible for. I’m going to show you that you can be as careful as you can when you’re weaving and what you’re doing and that if you get a talented Tracer investigating you that you may as well pack your bags and leave town.”

Ronan leaned forward, hands on her knees as she sat in a proffered chair. “Wouldn’t it just be better then to kill with a weapon then rather than with the Power? It seems like if someone were to die mysteriously then anyone with half a brain could figure out they were killed by channeling and then immediately look to our Towers and demand explanation.”

“Good. Girvan was right that you’re quick and clever. And yes, sometimes it’s just better to kill with a weapon or with some other means than channeling, and then sometimes not. I’ve been told you have a Talent for Healing, minor and not prominent but you can heal more than a bruise, and that makes what you learn even more valuable. Because if you can bring a man miraculously back from death by channeling, you can fatefully bring him to death as well and make it look as if your target’s heart has failed or that he suffered a stroke. With you Talent and knowledge, you can make sure that there are no traces of poison to detect in the breath or on the skin after death or no obvious form of death by assassination with the proper weaves.” Luana rolled her neck, a faint cracking emitting from the gesture. “I’m not much for explanations, though. I’m going to show you the weaves and tell you what they do and you’ll do them. From there it’s up to you to figure out how, when and why you would use the weaves; we don’t hold hands when you’re training to assassinate and this is certainly one of those times that I just don’t have the patience. Girvan says you’re clever, then you’ll have to prove that to me. Got it?”

“Of course, Asha’man.” Ronan murmured again, a strange thrill of excitement coursing through her. The weaves she’d learn were things that wouldn’t be taught in any other public lesson, wouldn’t be shown to anyone unless it was for the exact reason she was learning now. Angeus had perfectly explained in his stupidity that she couldn’t use just the general battle weaves that every other Soldier and Dedicated would use in the middle of a skirmish. Her talents would extend to something fare more insidious and it excited her to begin learning.

The hard demeanor that Ronan had initially seen was softened first by Ronan’s acquiescence to the Asha’man’s title and rank as well as the rapture involved the moment she embraced saidar. “This is the net you created when you’re Delving into someone, correct?” The layers of Spirit, Water and Air were similar to what another Asha’man had shown Ronan a few weeks prior and the Ebou Dari gave a nod to indicate she understood the weave and what it did. “When this is done, it’s virtually undetectable unless you’re close to a channeler, of course, even if you invert the weaves.”

“Why would I use this weave then against anyone?” Ronan queried as she demonstrated her own dexterity with the delving weaves.

Luana took a moment to critically study Ronan’s technique before giving her nod of approval and continuing in a clipped tone. “To find weakness. The trick is to find what will provide the most probable cause of death to arouse the least amount of suspicion. If someone is obese and you determine that they have a weakened heart and a stomach that is just a hair away from busting the next time he eats too much, then you have options. If you’re dealing with a very elderly target, you can delve to find the strength of his heart and make it appear that he passed away quietly in the middle of the night. If he’s particularly healthy, strong as a horse, you could make him have the appearance of a stroke in a very public place while he’s exerting himself heavily while displaying his healthy. When you delve, you can determine which button needs pushing, card to pull to bring down the entire stack of cards.”

Ronan stored the knowledge away, never considering her Talent of Healing could be utilized in such a useful way. “That makes sense, I never thought of it that way.” She replied, echoing her thoughts.

Luana nodded. “Most Healers don’t and would be livid to learn that not only do we consider that in terms of Healing but that there are those of us teaching it to others. Feel it lacks the nobility of their gift to save people without considering the fact that there are some people who shouldn’t be saved. ‘All life is sacred’ and all that.” Her mouth curled. “They’d Heal a Dreadlord as quickly as the M’Hael. Anyway. Today I’m going to show you two weaves to use on killing someone by stopping their heart. The first method is by simply stopping the heart physically, the second will be to stop the heart by overexerting it and overworking it until it stops all on its own from just the little nudge you give it. Watch my weaves closely and we won’t leave today until you show you’ve perfected the forms. Obviously we can’t practice this on anyone so we’ll have to rely on my proven knowledge and your ability to duplicate the weaves. Now.”

Ronan spent the next two hours weaving and re-weaving the nets of Fire, Earth and Spirit, something that the Asha’man claimed from her own experience to work the best when dealing with matters of the heart. “Something the Yellow Ajah even admits to”, she added smugly. The first weave was a basic form for what the second would emulate with slight variations. A small net drawn almost into the form of a pouch that was laced with the proper ratio of Fire and Earth to Spirit before the strands were drawn tight together to encase the heart. Learning the weave was difficult at first, her weaves heavy in Fire and Earth over Spirit at first until she began to pare down her threads until they had reached the proper ratio and the approval of Luana. The trick was not so much to do the weave quickly but to place each strand slowly and deliberately if the causes were to be considered natural. By first adding the Fire with a slight lacing of Earth, she explained, the victim might feel the first pangs of pain in his chest, just a single sharp jab at first that would increase to a slow burn, as if he’d eaten too many ice peppers too quickly. Another lacing of Spirit and Earth would make the heart flutter slightly with the intrusion of the weave as it closed over the organ with increasing and slow pressure until the mark would gasp for breath and keel over, his heart failing even before someone could reach their side.

Finally, she indicated, the victim’s heart would fail from what would genuinely be diagnosed as a heart attack. The veins and arteries would have been clogged and weakened, blood would have stopped pumping to and from the muscle, until he finally took a final gasp of air and his life was expended.

Ronan listened to her words, soaking up the information and imprinting the weave to her memory. The description when added to each step of the weave helped her to remember the proper order and strength so that after practicing the net several times, Luana declared that she had mastered the weave and moved on to the second. To make the heart overwork until it literally burst and the person died from it was very similar to the initial weave with one single difference: the weave was to be done hard, fast and strong. “Every person can be Healed, but you still have to do it in a gentle process. Too much Healing too often or too weak and when you Heal them you end up killing them. Causing a person’s heart to beat fast enough to kill them is using that theory.”

Ronan went to work on the same form, only this time she used thicker strands in the same ratio in what would immerse the heart in a Healing-type weave that would cause it to beat faster and stronger and repeat that cycle until the heart simply went out from too much exertion. The faster and stronger it beat, the quicker it would wear out and cause someone to keel over from overexertion. This time when Ronan performed the weaves, it was less to ensure that she knew the patterns; Luana had ensure that she would know the patterns by making her do the first weave. Now she was required to do it not only with thicker strands in the correct proportion, but with speed and agility. Once more, after roughly an hour of work and practice, she had been given the nod of approval from the Asha’man.

“Good.” She replied. “You learn quick enough and you have a good handle on the weaves after you’ve practiced a bit. We’ll meet at the same time in this room every day for what will probably be the next four weeks, more or less depending on how quickly we advance your weaving skills. I’m thinking that by this session that we’ll remain fairly on track, possibly finishing earlier. Do you have any questions for me?”

Ronan was tired from the extended periods of weaving; six months ago she might have passed out and it was a testament to her advance in channeling that she had endured so long, but she was still tired and merely shook her head with a negative response. “No, Asha’man. I think you’ve whipped me for the day.”

Luana’s mouth twitched slightly, but otherwise gave no indication of her sense of humor. “Just wait until you start learning weapons, Dedicated. You’re dismissed.”

When Ronan arrived for the next day of her lessons with Luana, she was once more subjected only toward practicing what she learned and increasing her accuracy and speed in the weaves she’d been taught to stop the heart. For two hours she did the same two over and over until Luana commanded her to begin doing it with her eyes closed. Ronan looked to the Asha’man with surprise. “Blind, are you mad? Why would I need to do it blind?”

“Do you think that when you walk into a room that you’ll have the luxury of having the light on and be working with them standing right next to you, Ronan? More often than not you’ll be working in dim to no lighting and you’ll be hiding as best you can, no matter what Talent of Concealment you posses. Once you can do this blind you’re going to have to learn to do it blind and while delving to make sure you find your target’s heart, now close your eyes.” Ronan closed her eyes per the command of the Asha’man and began weaving, feeling like she was a green channeler all over again, fumbling for the right Power, relying on her sense of feel rather than sight to choose the right strand and form it with the proper thickness. For three days after, Ronan was continuously drilled on the weaves until she was performing them fluidly and with precision every time. The lack of sight made working with the threads that much easier to maneuver when Luana allowed her eyes to be open and by the time she arrived on the fourth day, the Asha’man informed Ronan proficient and ready to move on to the next form of killing with the One Power.

Her head ached from working the Power so often and for so long, even with a good night’s sleep but she stifled a yawn and entered the classroom to find Luana waiting for her with, of all things, several sheep bladders that had been inflated and were suspended from weaves of Air. Rather than waste her breath asking what it was about, Ronan patiently waited for Luana to begin. “If you remove the air from someone’s lungs and keep it from entering, you will efficiently and effectively strangle your target without the messy and obvious side effects of thumb marks.”

“And you could strangle someone far stronger than you because you won’t struggle to maintain a stranglehold on them.” Ronan responded.

Luana’s trademark small smile widened just a fraction. “Yes. So you’re going to learn how to both block the air of your mark or to simply remove the air from their lungs totally.”

“What’s the difference? Why should there be two ways?”

The Asha’man gave her a long look, whether it was for the questions or the interruption, Ronan didn’t know. “One is far quicker than the last. If you simply block the mark from breathing, the body will still have air in the lungs that will allow them to last a little longer, which means they may struggle against it longer as well, but it the body will show a lot less signs of strangulation this way. There will be less discoloration of the lips and it would give every appearance of someone dying in their sleep if you were to arrange it to appear so. But if you’re in a rush and need to complete the mark under a strict deadline, then you would want to just remove the air from their lungs. It will cause their lips to discolor and their tongue will swell far quicker and it might look, to the casual observer, that the person was poisoned and raise more questions than you’d want, but it’s a little more effective. Are you ready now or are there more questions?”

Ronan heard the blatant sharpness to her tone and merely shook her head to wait for the Asha’man to display the next set of weaves to learn and master – most likely to be done blind as well.

Luana was surrounded by the glow of saidar almost immediately and within moments she was weaving pure flows of Air into strange, cushion-like double layer net that wrapped around the bladder. “What I’m doing is allowing air to flow out of the bladder but I’m keeping the air from flowing in by creating what is almost like a polarized weave that will let the person exhale all they want, but if they want to draw in air, the weave would block it right at their throat and let them slowly exhale themselves to death.” She demonstrated the flow of air going out by releasing a small valve of Air on the bladder and let it slowly deflate; Ronan watched once more with intrigued curiosity, interested by the way Luana had twisted and cross-hatched the flows by her double layer so that the air could move in one direction but not the next. Within moments the bladder was empty and deflated and she quickly re-inflated it for Ronan. “Now your turn.” There was a glitter to her eyes, knowledge that she knew Ronan would succeed and when she began working the flows of Air, the Dedicated knew she wasn’t disappointing Luana.

Although it took her a couple of tries to lace together the Air in the proper pattern before moving them together into the cross-hatch pattern that the Asha’man had shown her, as soon as Luana gave her nod of approval, Ronan placed it over the bladder and flipped the valve as she’d seen the Asha’man do. Almost immediately she could feel the weave begin to work, the flow of air brushing against her senses and the threads. There was a pressure that she could feel on one side that wasn’t there on the other side. Beyond feeling it working, the air slowly deflated from the bladder, slower than the Asha’man’s had but still losing air in the meantime. She saw the flow from the Asha’man a moment before Ronan realized what the woman was about to do, and then a moment later, there was a stream of air that pressed against her weave, trying to force its way into the opening and—fortunately—failing.

When the bladder deflated Ronan released the weave and watched as Luana’s stream of air re-inflated the bladder again, but the demonstration was pointless; Ronan knew she’d succeeded, but the Asha’man seemed intent on at least making the point. After four days of spending time in the Dedicated’s company, Ronan certainly hoped that Luana didn’t think that she needed contant reassurance and encouragement. If she did it right, it was done right, if she failed, then she did it wrong. As with the first time Ronan had learned how to make the weave to stop a heart, the Asha’man insisted that she continue to practice the weave until making the cross-worked weave was as easy to her as any other weave she knew.

“So now you can suffocate a man,” Luana spoke with a soft voice. “By denying him air, the next thing is to take it away from your mark. While the reaction of one suffocating is far more violent, because he will struggle as if he could somehow get free of our grasp, taking away his air will kill him within moments rather than up to a full minute. Denied air, his heart will stop, his brain can hemorrhage and death will be the end result. The weave itself is far easier and is used often enough to keep our food from spoiling to fast in some rooms by removing the air itself.” She looked to Ronan who merely looked back at the Asha’man in boredom. What did she care about how the food stayed fresh? It was edible and that was all that mattered. “I see that this matters little to you, eh? Well then watch my weave.”

The Asha’man was right, the weave was very similar to many of the other Air weaves she’d performed, some surrounding cooling the air, some in dousing a fire and she picked up on the making of the weave faster than the other three she’d learned. The difference in what she did compared to the other comparable uses was that it was designed specifically to rob the lungs of air and kill the person nearly instantly. Their session was cut shorter than the normal two to three hours because Ronan was only required to repeat the weave another couple of times before Luana felt she was proficient enough with it. “This weave, I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me say, will rob your target of their air and therefore kill them quickly, but it does leave more noticeable traces of the person dying from other than natural causes, but the remaining evidence is ah—“ she paused to search for the word.

“Misleading?” Ronan prompted.

“Yes,” there was the slightly wider small smile again, an indication Ronan was beginning to equate with the Asha’man being pleased. “Misleading. Someone might feel the mark was poisoned rather than strangled, something that may direct suspicion from an extraordinary assassin to someone who might have been hired directly from the streets by anyone. We’ll wrap up for the day but tomorrow we’ll work on perfecting that first weave and maybe move into blind weaving. Dismissed, Dedicated.”

Dismissed, Dedicated. Every day she said those words and every day Ronan was forced to bow and leave rather that remain behind and ask questions that burned in her mind. What was it like to kill with the Power? How many had she killed? She kept saying ‘him’ or ‘the man’ when referring to the marks, did that mean the Black Tower didn’t kill women?

Ronan too lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the swaying man waiting for her in the hallway, his bloodshot eyes blazing with indignant anger, fits curled up into wavering balls before him, at her. “How could you have become so evil, Ronan? What does it feel like to have evil running in your veins?” Ronan halted, his breath reaching her even three paces away and merely stared at her drunken friend; he’d fallen back off the wagon again, drowned himself into drink once more. “Don’t look at me like that!” He slurred, spitting at her with carelessness and anger. “I’m like this now because of you, Ronan! How does that feel? Knowing that you’ve driven me to this! With your evil nature and your selfishness!”

He sneered at her, but the hateful gesture was lost beneath the veneer of alcohol and she merely leaned back with a cold glance, furious at him for blaming her for his own inability to cope. As she moved back, he leaned forward, moving into her space and threatening her with a fist, swinging ineptly. She merely twisted and grabbed his arm, slamming him into the wall and feeling him grunt in pain; he didn’t pass out with the impact because she hadn’t thrown him necessarily hard, but he slid down, stunned. “Listen to me, coward. The only reason you’re not dead right now is because at one time you were a great friend to me and saved my neck. But the more you pull stunts like this, Angeus, the more you repay that debt until there is nothing left for me to do but put you out of my misery.” He tried to rise, but she merely gripped his hand and turned it, lifting it behind his back and eliciting a cry of frightened pain. “I’m going to walk out of here and you’re not going to follow me. If there is love for me left in you, you’ll leave me alone, Angeus.”

“Evil whore! Using your evil tricks and wiles on me to toy with me, huh? Play with me like a cat plays with the mouse until you just gobble me up! Evil!” He spat up at her even through the pain and she was emotionally startled to see the hatred that lay there when there had only been accepting love. How close love and hate are. The thought came unbidden with a clarifying wisdom far beyond her years and experiences and she drew away.

Stepping back, she moved toward the end of the corridor and looked back at the man she used to call friend, pausing at the doorway to look at him sprawled along the floor, head lolling in drunken stupor. “I’m no more evil than the lion stalking its prey. Once I would have thought you a lion yourself, but you’re nothing more than a mouse.” Shutting the door, she walked out with sadness.

Track RP V: The Path Chosen
Fri Aug 12, 2005 10:30am

“Ahaha.” Luana laughed lightly, her eyes dancing as her braids clicked with amusement. “Oh yes, Kyran is a very dangerous and exciting man. I’ve always wondered what sharing his bed would be like, but rumor has it that he spends very little time in it anyway.”

Ronan sat at a special table in the mess hall with Luana and leaned back thoughtfully. “Sure he didn’t start those rumors himself? Light burn me, Luana, I thought for a second he was going to forget it was just a game and really kill me!”

“Nah,” she disagreed, throwing a piece of meat into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t know that he’d ever considering ‘lowering himself’ to such a barbaric course of action. You know, I don’t know why they chose Kyran as one of your targets, unless it was to find out exactly how extensive his web is, and if he found out through sources that who you were, then I’m thinking that his feelers are relatively thick here in the Black Tower. Unless the M’Hael knows this already, I can’t think that it bodes well for any of us.”

“Bah.” Ronan scoffed and took a bite of a sweet, enjoying the honeyed flavor of the treat. “So you’ve shown me all you’re supposed to show me, right? Besides the obvious things such as making a thin stiletto of Air or striking someone down with lightning, I suppose.” Ronan looked to the Asha’man speculatively. “I have one question for you though.”

“Go for it.”

“You always refer to your marks in the male sense. Am I to understand that I’ll only be killing men?”

For a while, Ronan thought the Asha’man might not answer her question. Luana sat back in her chair, clasping her hands behind her head and stared to the ceiling without really seeing anything for a few long moments before she looked down at Ronan again. “I only kill male targets. My family was closely related to the Panarch, or who used to be the Panarch before the Seanchan came, and one night, near midnight about five years ago, an assassin came in through a Gateway and murdered everyone in their beds. My youngest sister wasn’t even three years old at the time and even she wasn’t left out when it came to wiping out my family.” Ronan remained quiet but lifted her brow in question. “It was someone at the time who had been part of the Black Tower but had broken from it and was trying to flex his muscles and force the Panarch to give up all her artifacts in the Palace. When I found out I could channel, it wasn’t even a question of where I would go to learn – I came here and I was intent on trying to find the man but I was too late. The Asha’man, Ben Kenobi, had been killed by the man who ascended to M’Hael and justice for another crime had been served.”

“Then why did you become an assassin, Luana? There had to have been other things you could do here. Even if you were just a Jack.” Ronan couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

The Taraboner stared back at Ronan frankly. “Because this is what I’m good at. It’s what I did for the Panarch and why I’d managed to escape five years ago. I worked as an assassin for her, getting into places and doing her deeds for her when she couldn’t trust anyone else to do it. I used to feel no remorse at killing a rival of hers, male or female, or wiping out a hereditary line, but after that night, I refused to kill women or children ever again.”

Ronan made no reply but she withheld the opinion that women and children were just as capable of committing evil and being guilty as a man was. Luana had made her own opinions and Ronan wouldn’t be the one to make her change them. “Then what happens to me next, Asha’man? You’ve finished with me but I can’t be near the end of my training, could I?”

Readjusting her seat she shook her head. “No. You’ll still learn a few skills that I won’t teach you. I deal primarily with killing with the One Power so it’ll be up to Girvan again to show you the weapons you can and will most likely use and other such things. That you have a Talent for Concealment will make you somewhat of a rival to me when it comes to contracts on men and women. If they don’t see you coming, they’ll never see you leave. Now get out of here and go find those friends of yours, Ronan. You’ve spent enough time in the maudlin company of an old, tired Asha’man and you need to take a break and appreciate life again.

Although she stood with the dismissal, Ronan couldn’t stop from shaking her head. “My friends have left me, Asha’man, thinking what I do is evil. And you’re not so very old, I don’t think, but maudlin? Definitely.” Pausing as she passed by the Asha’man, Ronan asked, “Is it generally this lonely? Being an assassin?”

She saw as Luana’s eyes closed for a long moment before she nodded and looked up at the Dedicated. “Usually.” Her smile went wide, lighting her plain features. “Unless of course you’re with the Webweaver, in which case I would think life would be more interesting.”

Ronan laughed and left the mess hall to enjoy the sunshine before she headed off to a lesson in the afternoon.