Post by Rymara Orelaev on Jan 9, 2022 20:37:12 GMT
The pools of candlelight flickered throughout the bowels of the White Tower as a tiny silhouette wound its way through the maze of corridors, draped in sea green and blue silk which left little to the imagination. Dark hair framed her face casting strange shadows over high cheekbones as Rymara Sedai marched towards her destination. Despite the urgency in her gait the only sounds that travelled in her wake to betray her presence were the sounds of silk brushing against cold stone and her breath coiling through the cool air. She could hear the soft sounds of Accepted talking in their lessons as she passed various chambers filled with young women in dressed with rainbow hems, then there were the novices many of whom practically jumped to get out of her way or be out of sight, as if she might burden them with yet more tasks or take issue with their presence. She remembered being in their shoes like it was yesterday, and in the grand scheme of things it might as well have been, and so she offered them a small warm smile. Hoping that it might soften their image of the Aes Sedai, make them realise that not all of the sisters would be hard on them or cold towards them until they became Aes Sedai themselves, they were as flawed as anyone else despite the image of the ageless woman striding with authority.
She turned the corner and began to ascend, up from the belly of the beast towards the sunlight and into the true heart of Tar Valon. As she reached the top of the stairs she could feel the cool air as it disturb the light layers of her dress and it sent her hair out in her wake like a fan. She revelled in it for a moment before crossing the antechamber into which she emerged and out into the courtyard then through the gardens as the noon sun scorched away merrily. Not a cloud in the sky. She made her way to the edge of the gardens and paused for a moment to appreciate the blooms, a strange moment away from the constant buzz of life within the most influential city in the Westlands. She took that moment of peace to really think about it, the way that a small collection of incredibly powerful women could essentially decide the fate of the world for better or for worse.
And then the moment was gone, shattered by the bellowing of a warder sparring just twenty-five meters from her.
She smiled and turned the corner to see the gathering of warders sparring, the yardmaster bellowing orders and even one of her sisters changing the playing field as four young men traded blows. Rymara noted, slightly impressed, that two of the boys appeared to be moving like dancers together, three blades between them like wicked thorns dancing in and out of their foes' reach. She circled the training yard thoughtfully studying them as they danced their bloody dances. She could see a few of the trainees watching her with interest, when they realised that she noticed their attention most of them quickly turned their gaze away with a deference and respect often shown by even unbonded trainees towards the full sisters. The ones who did not look away at first did once she turned her fierce gaze upon them in earnest, letting the full weight of the way she carried herself and her presence bear down upon them despite her stature.
Their reactions made her smile, shaking her head. The way they quickly turned their eyes away and then she found herself face to face with a stern, very tall sister of the Red Ajah. Camina. Both women smiled cooly at one another before laughing and hugging warmly, after years of suffering through their training together the boundaries between Ajahs meant nothing to either of them, especially Rymara. Then they parted and Rymara quickly made her way over to the very edge of the yard where she perched upon the edge of a chair, the fabric of her gown pooling over her crossed leg as she watched the training session quietly and thoughtfully.
She turned the corner and began to ascend, up from the belly of the beast towards the sunlight and into the true heart of Tar Valon. As she reached the top of the stairs she could feel the cool air as it disturb the light layers of her dress and it sent her hair out in her wake like a fan. She revelled in it for a moment before crossing the antechamber into which she emerged and out into the courtyard then through the gardens as the noon sun scorched away merrily. Not a cloud in the sky. She made her way to the edge of the gardens and paused for a moment to appreciate the blooms, a strange moment away from the constant buzz of life within the most influential city in the Westlands. She took that moment of peace to really think about it, the way that a small collection of incredibly powerful women could essentially decide the fate of the world for better or for worse.
And then the moment was gone, shattered by the bellowing of a warder sparring just twenty-five meters from her.
She smiled and turned the corner to see the gathering of warders sparring, the yardmaster bellowing orders and even one of her sisters changing the playing field as four young men traded blows. Rymara noted, slightly impressed, that two of the boys appeared to be moving like dancers together, three blades between them like wicked thorns dancing in and out of their foes' reach. She circled the training yard thoughtfully studying them as they danced their bloody dances. She could see a few of the trainees watching her with interest, when they realised that she noticed their attention most of them quickly turned their gaze away with a deference and respect often shown by even unbonded trainees towards the full sisters. The ones who did not look away at first did once she turned her fierce gaze upon them in earnest, letting the full weight of the way she carried herself and her presence bear down upon them despite her stature.
Their reactions made her smile, shaking her head. The way they quickly turned their eyes away and then she found herself face to face with a stern, very tall sister of the Red Ajah. Camina. Both women smiled cooly at one another before laughing and hugging warmly, after years of suffering through their training together the boundaries between Ajahs meant nothing to either of them, especially Rymara. Then they parted and Rymara quickly made her way over to the very edge of the yard where she perched upon the edge of a chair, the fabric of her gown pooling over her crossed leg as she watched the training session quietly and thoughtfully.
