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Answers Inevitably Questioned
Fri Sep 22, 2006 18:13
209.213.238.160 (XFF: 192.168.1.3)

“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 all. What did colour immolate? It arguably would enhance naught, but it would not immolate. Would not cause ruin. To slash the Tower’s walls with red would not bring it unto annihilation. That transcended the realms of physicality and figurativeness, too.

For what substance Locke Lemain appeared to show, it was infinitely surprising that he came from such a manufactured background. Nobility. Lysander smiled. The world’s most influential people are among nobility, but also the most dull. The most two-dimensional. Juxtaposing a vagrant and a lordling, Lysander would find the vagrant much more interesting in almost every sense, his views not impounded by his tutors, his words not sculpted and determined by his mentors, his third eye not blinded by his instructor. Why, it almost surpassed belief that a noble could survive in the Black Tower as well as had been done.

“Spear was my weapon of choice. Elegant, sleek, efficient.” A nostalgic, even foolish amusement tickled Lysander; hadn’t there been a time when he considered polearms clunky? He would not chance to wield them, but a Soldier’s prejudices had been ironed out with training. “Elegant, sleek, efficient. 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.” There that familiar word was again. “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. 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.”

Explanation had achieved itself without his prodding. Convenient. “You weren’t always so pale?”

“Oh, no, M'Hael. I'm from Tear.” Lysander made the sudden attempt in brevity to recall the source of hearing that Locke was from the southlands. He’d been correct, in any case. “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?” Lysander asked with what now had born into general interest.

“That each person in the world does what he can, as best he can, to the best of his ability.”

Was it regret that suffused him? A philosophy, perhaps, or even a quoted axiom might have done the job, but . . . well, Lysander would not judge mantras. If this was Locke’s, that was the other Asha’man prerogative. Of course.

“I believe,” Lysander said softly, “that this accomplishes the purpose of my question. I will have this transcribed into your dossier, and I believe that will be that.” Peering out the windows, the gentle rays of a near-autumn sun soaked through the glass, through the dust, touching fixtures with a radiance that seemed not to fit. For the hue, for the shade . . . for it, Lysander wondered if it was too perfect for natural existence. Had saidin made it? Had man? “Unless there is anything further you require, I will say that this divertissement has lasted enough. You are dismissed, Locke. Good day.”

  • Questions Already AnsweredAsha'man Lemain, Fri Sep 22 13:01
    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... more
    • Answers Inevitably Questioned — M'Hael Lysander, Fri Sep 22 18:13
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