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Propaganda of the Deed (Andrew!)
Wed Nov 15, 2006 19:13 (XFF:

The sky was blazing in its sunset. The heavens had been tended to with the likes of tinder and kindling, and now were afire across the width and breadth of the sky. A horizon once smattered with autumnal blues and wisps of hard, silvered clouds now flared as its molten sun finished the last of its descent. Night was too clear in its approach, and Lysander T’hoth was busier than to distract himself with the light of a setting sun. It could wait, and it would.

He closed the door of his house. There was no need to lock it, nor to place wards; a Dedicated stood guard on it constantly. Guarding the M’Hael’s house was never a stimulating job, though it was an assignment nonetheless, and the bootlicks that wore the Sword pins appeared eternally eager so serve the M’Hael in such an idiom. Nonetheless, Lysander placed little confidence in the capabilities of a Dedicated in defending his manor. His confidence, however, rested within the bastion that was the Black Tower, and its efficiently guarded four walls that warded off the likes of common thieves. If ever there was a place within the world where Lysander felt safe, it was the Black Tower.

One might find it ironic, then, that he would find himself leaving the Black Tower if only for an evening. This was the truth. He was leaving. Alas, a world existed outside these walls, and it was a world that would require his intervention.

Not that his typical duties were bringing him from the Tower tonight, though. Something entirely different. Squinting for the glare of the harsh setting sun, Lysander was prepared to enjoy the events of this evening. Tonight, he would be committing a trivial assassination, though that was not what piqued his interest. He would be shadowed. Dedicated Zander Kilgas would be following him for the evening, and, based on his reports from Ronan–a woman now conspicuously absent–he was progressing well.

So why wouldn’t Lysander play a role in the training of a Dedicated? He had no interest in pursuing a follower of the Shadow, of course, as cleaving Zander into a minion of his did not strike his fancy. Tonight would adhere strictly to training. Illusions, daggers, assassinations–these, and little else.

Though not a tall man, Lysander was not exactly short, either, finding himself at average height. His head was newly shaved, now shorn of the typical stubble to be seen riddling it. His skin was decidedly olive in its complexion, and his eyes were tepid and grey. In short, he was not a man of striking authority, of overbearing command. He was, however, a man who was suddenly noticed. Dedicated and Asha’man alike openly saluted as they passed, backlit by the sunset’s glare, appearing as little more than swarthy silhouettes in the oncoming twilight.

The instructions that had been left for the Dedicated had told him to meet Lysander at the Traveling Yards for sunset. He waited patiently with his arms folded comfortably; none interfered, and none asked for the reasons of his presence. If Lysander T’hoth was a man to be questioned, he was a man to be questioned out of earshot. This was the essential element of how authority worked, he supposed, authoritarianism was not his favourite flavour. He wrote not the Tower Creed.

His wait was not long. Back turned to the sun, Lysander watched the Dedicated approach from the direction of the barracks. The fellow stood just above the average height for a man, his light brown hair tied back in a rigid braid. Nothing of the man’s appearance suggested anything sinister, anything tying him to the Shadow, and a subtle smile curved across Lysander’s cheeks. What with Chogan snapping at his ankles, he didn’t think he possessed stamina enough for another associate.

“Good evening, M’Hael,” the fellow said, bowing deeply and properly.

“Likewise, Dedicated. Tonight, we will be Traveling from the Black Tower, but not before we garner Illusions for ourselves. As you undoubtedly have noticed, the coats, the pins . . . they earn their own share of notice. They will not do. Have you been tested for the Talent of Illusion?”

The fellow shook his head, meaning it. “I have not, M’Hael.”

“Understood. I will perform Illusion on you.”

Touching the True Source, Lysander seized no more of saidin than was strictly necessary. He had come long enough without making a hedonist of himself, and things would not change. Weaving long, ribbon-like skeins of the Power, Lysander channeled Spirit coupled with Air and Fire. Other hues were added, colouring the spectacle in with the like of Water and Earth, too. By the end of it, he had clothed not only Zander in Illusion, but himself. Zander had taken on the image of a man with short, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. Stubble lined his suddenly pallid cheeks, and he was wearing common woolen clothing in earth tones ranging from brown to tawny. Adorning his chin was an unsightly mole, and Lysander thickened the fellow’s eyebrows to a heavy black. Lysander’s hair was now a flaxen blonde, short yet unruly, and his skin had stubble and a rather sickly, sallow colour to it. Bags now sat beneath his now-blue eyes, and his clothes matched Zander’s, though with added shades of green to boot.

“Done.” With that, Lysander tied off the flows, abandoning the Source in his effort. “We have Illusions enough. Now, pseudonyms. To complete the semblance that we indeed are not Asha’man, we will adopt pseudonyms. After all, we are only going so far as Caemlyn, and my name . . . is known, suffice to say. If you need to publicly address me, you are to call me Oberon D’jheuty. Oberon D’jheuty. In turn, I will call you by the name of Lexan Slauel. Understood, Lexan?”

Zander nodded. “I do, Oberon.” Good.

At once, Lysander turned to Saudade, the Asha’man standing before them. Having already been briefed, Saudade nodded. A gateway stretched into existence, alight with silver. Lysander and Zander passed through it, their feet landing on some cobble alleyway of Caemlyn. As the gateway snapped shut behind him, Lysander paused if only to acclimatize himself, and marched forth.

Into the evening the pressed, and it seemed as though the sky had adopted subtle shades of blue to the east as the sun was tucking in under the horizon to the west. The men navigated through the streets until Lysander found his mark, so to speak. The sign hallmarking the Corpulent Bard was peeling layers of blue paint, but the inn itself would suffice. They made their entrance. At once, a sonic wave of songs and laughs and shouts and hoots coasted through the open doorway. Here, Lysander and Zander did not stand out. Here, among common folk, their stubble and ailing faces invited no suspicion.

Lysander found a small table and flagged down a serving woman, ordering ale for the pair of them. His eyes turned to Zander, and he smiled quietly. “Welcome to the Corpulent Bard, Lexan. It is not an upstanding institution as you may have guessed. I will advise you against ordering food. While the ale is safe, the Corpulent Bard does suffer infestation issues, and they are only lucky the Black Tower plays no hand in sanitation inspection. However, our cause for the evening does not involve the Bard itself, but rather its inhabitants. One of the denizens of this pub tonight, Lexan, will die. That person will die because I will be killing them.” His words were whispered. Over the raucous laughter, it was fortunate that Zander could hear him, though the likelihood of anyone else intruding upon their conversation without the aid of the Power was slim to nil.

“Now, before I get into that, I would like to ask something of you. I would like observations. Anything you see. Everything you see. As much as you would like to say. I would like you to like to say everything. Speak of your surroundings. The people. Their interaction. Their behaviour. Their people. Sight and sound alone are two of your most important possessions past even daggers and saidin and whatnot. What do you see? What can you infer? Tell.”

    • We're Going Back Home...Dedicated Zander Kilgas, Thu Nov 16 06:29
      Zander was taking rather a long time over his appearance this evening compared to the kind of time he usually would. On very other evening, even if he was going out to the inns near the main gates of ... more
      • BloodhoundsM'Hael Lysander, Thu Nov 16 20:26
        The ale was warm, flat, and borderline unpleasant altogether; had his stomach not been hardened from dinner after dinner within the Black Tower’s walls, he did not doubt that he would refuse it.... more
        • Sniffing About...Dedicated Zander Kilgas, Mon Nov 20 15:37
          Zander waited expectantly for some kind of response to his statement. Whenever he had given his opinion to Ronan he had at least been given a detailed reply, no matter whether he was right or wrong... more
          • Crouched in PatienceM'Hael Lysander, Thu Nov 23 14:43
            The house was dead as night itself. Aside of what distant sounds radiated from the floor above, made if only by a particular Dedicated, there was no noise to be accounted for. The billiard room was... more
            • A Conversation in the Darkness...Dedicated Zander Kilgas, Wed Dec 20 04:27
              Lysander walked through one of the many doors that the kitchen contained, glanced around the room once and then settled his eyes heavily on Zander. The man was, if not quite angry, then at least... more
              • A Name to a CrimeM'Hael Lysander, Thu Dec 28 14:26
                OOC: Careful that you’re accurate in your interpretation of the battle. As per the SWRP rules, everyone serving had to have had under their belt some training. That goes for OOC as well as IC. You... more
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