((OOC: Closed))

Sobren strode into the library timidly, his black uniform coat swishing slightly against the backs of his legs, boots clicking against the tiled floor. He was still dumbstruck by all these books. The very walls were lined with them, and there were even standing shelves filled with them. He had never seen so many of them. He could read of course, one had to learn such to interpret the orders from customers for a smith, and what he hadn’t learned he had learned from Eltan. In the few days since he’d arrived at the Tower, he had already been assigned research assignments, mostly in military history, as the majority of his other classes were One Power based.

Over the last few days, Sobren had made almost no friends. Apparently the Tower was strapped for new Soldiers, and though there were plenty of other Soldiers and even Dedicated in his classes, Sobren didn’t interact with them much, due mostly to his own paranoia. He was still new to the Darkfriend bit, even after a year of having his life pledged to the Dark Lord. Sobren was beginning to wonder if he would ever feel safe among so many people who would declaim him as evil, and very likely kill him. Or worse. That was nothing Sobren had learned of the One Power’s nature that horrified him to the core. Gentling, the act of cutting a man off from the One Power, absolutely horrified the young Soldier.

As these thoughts ran through his head, Sobren had been steadily wandering towards where he thought the history books were. He was to be researching the tactics of the most recent Dragon’s two most notable military commanders, Perrin Aybara and Matrim Cauthon, as chronicled by several of their camps’ officers. The only problem was that Sobren had absolutely no idea where to begin, he couldn’t very well page through every single history book looking for references to the long-dead men. As he rounded another shelf, a title caught his eye. “The Military Minds of the Third Age.” Sobren nodded as he seized the Power, the Asha’man were adamant that he do everything possible with saidin. Weaving a simple flow of Air, Sobren lifted the book off of the shelf and grasped it in his hand, and began browsing the same shelf for other similar titles when he heard another set of bootheels clicking towards him.

Well what do we have in store for us today, mused the delinquent Ildeus, as he ambled through the vaunted premises of the fused Towers. Certainly no stranger to the place, the redden blonde recruit, he considered what to do with himself for the rest of the day. Training was finished, brutal it was, to supplant one's psyche to the will of the washed up Younglings; wannabe Gaidin one and all, by Ildeus' grim account. Those who can, do; those who cant, teach. A sick grin twisted on the pallid features of the half Tuatha'an. He had made some short work of the greener recruits, before coming up against one of the more established lummoxes; a bull of a recruit, whose wrist Ildeus had broken on more than one occasion. Not that physical injury was that big a deal, with all the Aes Sedai around. Training collateral was common place. Aes Sedai the answer. Cruel jokes of the Wheel, that such power be housed in such fragile frames, the miserable halfbreed lamented, noting the lacking physique of more than a few Aes Sedai. At least the Greens have the right of not letting their bodies go to waste, like so many others seem fond of. But they have that disgusting habit of enslaving many hapless males, not that most of them don't deserve their imprisoned plights.

Ildeus invariably found himself wandering into one of the many reaches of the complex, today it was the library. Briefly, he contemplated launching an idle knife into the thick book spine of one of the more flighty novices, just to see them squawk about like geese with a fox in the yard. The hybrid dismissed the notion though, no point in pushing his luck without some sort of greater pay off. There were a lot less repercussive ways to ruffle feathers, and not always of geese, either; crows too. Walking by idly, in between shelves, as he wended his way on light footfalls, he slapped the backs of heads of recruits or soldiers. Most of them, thought it a game of comradery, sadly, or a stern Dedicated's encouragement, not even looking up from their books. No, none of these boys would do; too stupid or too distracted to realize the invitation to ruffling. Short of etching out a new grin for each of them, in their collective pretty little throats, they would doubtlessly remain so. Frustration made Ildeus' footfalls heavier, and at last he came upon a random lad in one of the combat sections of knowledge, perusing with some intent. Ildeus was about to smack the witless soldier up side the head, but then thought better of it. Withdrawing his hand, he turned it, to drape his arm across the shoulders of the lad. Making as if to bring the boy down into a conspiratorial huddle, the half tinker recruit said softly in a near whisper, "Oh no, how now, little lost Crow?" Ildeus gave off the faint odour of herbal soaps, having removed the sweat and dirt, as well as others' blood, he'd earned in training today, long ago. Absently, he poked at one of his pearly canines with his pointed tongue, and made a mildly irritating sucking noise, of inhalation, as if waiting for a response or the effect of his audacious familiarity to manifest.

Sobren nearly jumped as the arm was draped across his shoulders, and he very nearly readied one of the rudimentary combat weaves he had learned, before he remembered where he was. Violence would not do here. “Oh no, how now, lost little Crow?” The stranger with strange reddish hair and eyes spoke to Sobren, and the Soldier nearly jumped out of his skin. Dark! Does he know? Crows are the eyes of the Dark Lord, as am I, but I’ve never met this man in my life, how could he possibly know? Unless…unless Eltan had told someone higher than himself, and that someone had told this man that there was a new Darkling in the Tower. But if that was the case, how would either of them, Eltan’s higher up or this newcomer know what I looked like? Oh bloody bloody flaming ashes! Sobren shrugged away from the man’s arm, taking in the scent of herbs and soap, he had just bathed then. For what purpose? He knew many of the Recruits, students of the Gaidin, often trained hard in the yards, that would be cause for bathing. But then, people bathed all the bloody time, you didn’t need much of a reason.

“I- I- No, I’m not lost.” Sobren stammered out. His sudden bout of paranoia was beginning to subside. He had thought of some way to test this man, whoever and whatever he was, for his loyalty. “If you don’t think me too terribly bold…to whom do you owe your allegiance?” It was not a totally absurd question, many Andori owed their allegiances to different lords and ladies, Sobren didn’t see why it would be any different in other nationalities. If the man walked in the Light, he would likely respond with some noble’s name. But if he walked Sobren’s path, that of Shadow and Greatness, then he would hopefully provide some sort of answer that would clue Sobren in. As he thought of this, Sobren jumped again at his apparent impoliteness. “Oh1 And do forgive me for being rude, I only just arrived here. My name is Sobren al’Cora, of Andor.” The Soldier extended his hair, watching, listening, waiting for some clue to the man’s allegiance, some clue as to whether he could be trusted.

Alarm, perhaps even duress, erupted from the boy; each delicious wave of anxiety Ildeus envisioned as it's own vintage of ecstasy. The black clad soldier, the little crow, was behaving much in the way the recruit wanted, and he fed off this overt reaction. Eliciting a rise out of the victim, out of the little crow, before you snapped it's neck, and gorged on it's innards, was all part of the value of the reactionary games of cat and mouse; so to turn a phrase. A game that few but Ildeus saw in almost every action he made, for right now, after work having being completed, the bastard recruit was in the mood for such games; yes, Ildeus wanted to play. What do to with this one? What merriment should we make? How far can I push this toy, before it breaks? Wondered the shorter male, long hair rolling off his pale pate, like strands of liquid red-gold. Then the flighty recruit shrugged his way out of Ildeus' grasp, breaking the contact. Ildeus feigned a crest fallen look, as if this was not what he had expected, not the actions of old friends, or new cabalists with a secret to kill for. Well, thought the bastard tinker, this will not do at all. If Ildeus wanted to sink his claws into his prey, so he would. But for now, let the man think himself free in whatever distance he finds comfortable; it would only serve for all the more devastating when the self wrought illusions were shattered.

"I- I- No, I'm not lost." The words fell off the man's tongue in a grievous stutter, confusion perhaps in his visage. Ildeus reacted instinctively to the tone in the man's voice, taking it in as sweet nectar. Complimentary words rolled off the feigner's tongue, with a disappointed and almost disciplinary inflection. "A pity, little crow. If you're not lost, then that means you've slipped the bonds of your cage; and as we all know, bad birds must be punished." Ildeus broke that inflection and train of tirade, with a hearty and deceptive chuckle, almost unnerving in the rapid contrast between it and former apparent dispositions. However, it fast became the lad's turn to be random. "If you don't think me too terribly bold…to whom do you owe your allegiance? Oh. And do forgive me for being rude, I only just arrived here. My name is Sobren al'Cora, of Andor." Ildeus' emotional predation broke off for a moment, and he slow blinked visibly. Allegiance? Well, not all toys can be bright; I shall state the obvious if I must. "Is it not already self evident, little crow Sssobrren?" Ildeus played with the man's name, balancing it upon his own sharp tongue; as if tasting it poignantly. The S came out as more of a hiss, and he certainly rolled the R. "I hold allegiance to that which is Greatness Incarnate....!" Ildeus would have continued, and clarified that he was of course referring to himself; but the change that came over the boy, at his turn of phrase, bid Ildeus pause. Curious. Most curious crow. Do you have a secret?! He considered, somewhat intrigued, but mostly not caring for any secrets, beyond the amusement proffered in hunting them down.