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Fri Sep 22, 2006 13:01 (XFF:

Bonding. It was something that Locke had considered, but in reality, would probably never submit to. He could not sense Shadowspawn, true, but he had his own powers, in kind, that allowed him to do many things during the night that weren't sleep. It's called insomnia. People knew. It wasn't that it was a secret - at any given time, five or six nights a week, one could glace up at Locke's loft window to see that dim illumination of a stand lamp next to a desk, or the flickering of several cheap wax candles. Night after night, weeks upon weeks; months had turned into years. Locke hadn't slept more than four hours in a night since he was thirteen. He never felt tired; it wasn't a problem for him. It just was. But the M'Hael didn't know; he was not one to look through windows, or to inquire into sleeping habits. Not if it wasn't affected performance, and, with Locke, it never would. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

“I know little of your history, Locke.” Lysander channelled, taking his pieces from the board and replacing them in his cup, and then taking the entirety of his stones and letting them clink into Locke's outstretched palms. “You were born in the southlands, though I would not hazard a guess as to which, and the dossiers hold little more than that." Ah, so nobody knows, to this day. Locke was an Tearman. His family was of noble lineage; not of the bloodline of Kings, no, but his was, as the Seancah would say, rather High Blood. He'd received the best schooling, all his life, the best tutors, the best books, the best... everything that money could buy, for a boy-genius. It had seemed to everyone that Locke would be capable of leading the family by the age of fifteen. That was, of course, until he'd discovered that he could channel. Tear was rather narrow on the idea of female channelers, and, when it came to males...

I can still feel the heat from the flames, when I sleep.

"How did you burn the melanin from your eye?" Locke was taken away from his momentary reverie. It had taken only a mere split second, for all that to wash over him, but it was vivid enough. Locke smiled.“Furthermore, why do you choose not to amend them with tied weaves of Illusion? You’re not listed as having the Talent, though I am.” Lysander was channelling; a Concealment weave. You wish to fix me, then?“I would think that an Asha’man, a member of a unit, would want to blend in. Do you find necessity in setting yourself apart from others, Locke?”

"I don't correct it because I don't practice self immolation." Locke considered sidestepping the first part of the question, but it would be rude, mistrusting after being trusted. "I burned it out practicing with my spear, Prodigy. I was always training in something - books, tactics, poetry, music... war." Lysander perched his fingers, listening intently. He was putting it together. A wealthy family, a healthy lineage. If the M'Hael wanted to, he could have all the pieces put together in mere weeks. Perhaps less. "Spear was my weapon of choice. Elegant, sleek, effecient. I found a kind of impossible fire in myself when I practiced. So much so that my father commissioned the forging of Prodigy for me - the spear I carried into battle against the Seanchan under your banner twice, now. It was the day I learned I could channel. I had no idea what was going on, only that I felt like I was being immolated. My concentration with the spear enabled me to touch the True Source, and, in that instant, I took in saidin enough to flatten me. I thought I'd died." Locke adjusted himself in his chair, slowly. "When I woke up, I was still next to the spear, and physically, I was fine. But the Power had taken my skin tone, and my eye."

Lysander cocked his head, observing casually, but at the same time, like a hawk. "You weren't always so pale?"

"Oh, no, M'Hael. I'm from Tear." Locke smiled at his obvious surprise. Locke was pale enough to be from the north pole, it was true! "And as for fitting in... I don't believe in sticking out for the sake of sticking out, but what I do believe in necessitates that certain individuals stand taller than others."

"And what is it that you believe?"

"That each person in the world does what he can, as best he can, to the best of his ability." Locke's two colored eyes met Lysander's, and there was silence.

  • The Games We Play and, Oh, the Questions We AskM'Hael Lysander, Thu Sep 21 17:47
    It was a drowning battle–drowning in that he was aware of the threat around him, conscious of the water pressing in on him from all sides. One would wonder if this was a rehearsed play, and they were ... more
    • Questions Already Answered — Asha'man Lemain, Fri Sep 22 13:01
      • Answers Inevitably QuestionedM'Hael Lysander, Fri Sep 22 18:13
        “I don't correct it because I don't practice self immolation.” It was regrettable that Illusion, sitting gloriously among the Talents, was cast in such a negative light, or bathed even in no light at ... more
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