blue_ajah | [panfandomsandbox] change is in the wind

[panfandomsandbox] change is in the wind

She sits at the table near the fireplace, sipping tea and reflecting on what she has learned in recent days.

In the world where she was born, the Dark One is also known as the Lord of the Grave, and is the one who holds power and sway over the dead -- and to an extent, death itself. Fortunately, Moiraine is experienced enough with Milliways to not draw instantaneous conclusions.

(The lessons learned from Anthy Himemiya will remain with her for the rest of her life.)

It had helped that she had seen nothing of intentional evil or the mark of the Shadow as she knows it when she had studied Harrowhark while channeling. It is nonetheless something that requires consideration, in case action of some sort becomes necessary.

The Aes Sedai has much to think about.

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After twenty years and more of moving through her world with a Warder at her side (and later, with a guardian who would never be a Warder in truth but who seeks to protect all the same), Moiraine is well aware of the manner in which one should act.

She nearly loses it all the same in the instant that she sets foot across the threshold, and only decades of training and experience in maintaining the composure of an Aes Sedai under any circumstances prevents her from doing so.

There is energy here, of the sort to which she is accustomed to channeling - thalergy, in this world - but it is thin and distant and scarce. Somehow the balance is completely overturned, in a way that is completely unexpected. The world itself breathes of death in a way she has never felt before and honestly would be just as content to never feel again.

She says nothing, but continues to stalk along at Harrow's side, mimicking Lan's ease of motion as best she can recall.

If anything, she looks more like a cavalier than Gideon usually does, mumping along in Harrow's wake and gawking at any available displays of the female form. Harrow moves as she always does, swiftly and intently, like a great black bat swooping through the halls.

Canaan House is a weird place; beautiful and gone to seed. There is a profligate use of organic materials that made Harrow breathless when she first arrived, impossibly old and yet still somehow intact.

At one point she freezes and puts up a hand for Moiraine to halt; she waits in a doorway with hooded eyes until a wan blonde wraith lurking in the vestibule moves on. She does not worry about being seen by the skeletons in white robes. They can hear splashing as they pass the gymnasium.

Then they are in front of the living quarters shared by Harrow and Gideon; Harrow works quickly to disable the wards she has put on the room, then waves Moiraine inside. The Ninth quarters have low ceilings and wide-sweeping rooms, with enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that lpeek out from beneath the docks on a pale green undead sea.

The room was dressed, long ago, in dead jewel tones; to eyes not used to the harsh monotony of the Ninth it seems muted and peaceful, like a tasteful mortuary. Every piece of furniture seems twelth-hand and a day away from falling away to kindling.

Two late teenagers with no supervision have lived here for weeks, and there is a definite floor-based laundry system in play that Harrow has the decency to be embarrassed about. Her dresser stands with one door slightly ajar.

There are two great beds, placed at right angles to one another; one has been used and the other has not, and Gideon Nav is in neither. She is snoring like a foghorn from an adjoining room.

The building has the feel of an ancient edifice, Ages upon Ages old and crumbling, which Moiraine suspects may in fact be nothing more than simple truth.

She glances around the room that Harrow escorts her into, taking it in, then pulls off the sunglasses and sheds the glove before gliding through the door to the next room.

Another salient feature of this room is a series of hand-written notes on flimsy left in various places, quite possibly in the hand of a panicked control freak. This theme continues into the study, which Gideon Nav has appropriated.

In the middle of the room is a bundle of bedding which contains an enormous, snoring ginger. This is the most interesting feature of the room, although an argument could be made for the haphazard stack of pornographic magazines. One of them is open to a centerfold. It is not Frontline Titties of the Fifth, because that's not a real publication, but it might as well be. One of Harrow's notes censors it.

Harrow pinches the bridge of her nose.

Observe Gideon Nav. She is wearing a similar set of black high-collared shirt and trousers as Harrow wears, several sizes larger and minus the bone accents and also the sleeves, which she appears to have torn off. Possibly to make room for the gun show.

Her skin has the same pallid lack-of-sunburn that Harrow's does, but the base shade of ochre is a few degrees darker. Her facepaint has been removed with some care (so have her boots), and her resting face is softer than Harrow usually sees it, but still pugnacious. Her hair is shorn short and bright, flaming red.

Sunglasses, rapier and glass-edged gauntlet, identical to the ones Moiraine is carrying except for being notably more decrepit, are close to hand. She does not seem to be dead, unless the Ninth have mastered a technique for snoring beyond the grave.

Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelash does the Aes Sedai show any reaction to the state of the room or any of its contents.

Or to the sleeping cavalier, for that matter. Moiraine studies her carefully, noting her breathing and position, looking for signs of pain or distress.

"Gideon." The cool, serene tones slide between each loud snore, clear and carrying. "Gideon Nav. Are you well enough to wake and hear me?"

If she is not, Moiraine will proceed nonetheless; however, if she happens to be on the edge of awareness, it would be best for there to be no unpleasant surprises... for anyone.

The girl--despite her more imposing physique, she's clearly about the same age as Harrowhark--moans and stirs, but doesn't wake.

Harrow, who had not realized Moiraine intended to speak to Gideon, starts breathing again.

She nods, and glances at Harrow.

"Once I begin, you should not touch either of us," she says, as she reaches into an inner concealed pocket. Moiraine draws out a small figurine of a woman in flowing robes, carved of ivory and darkened by age. "It could disrupt my weaving."

Holding the angreal in her left hand, Moiraine opens herself to saidar. Unlike in Milliways, no bright golden glow appears for all to see. Instead, only those who are accustomed to working with magical energies might see a faint hint of silver light, as though merely a ghost of its normal self.

Gracefully, she kneels at Gideon's side, and places her right hand upon the younger woman's arm. Silver flickers of gossamer spin outward, settling over Gideon like a faint spiderweb.

Harrow nods; this, at least, is familiar to her magic, too.

Gideon is, surprisingly, in fairly good health. The flows of energy through her body may be subtly different than what Moiraine is used to; she is not quite, like this world, undead, but her system is one adapted to life on a thanergenic planet.

What there is, when it comes to the thanergetic and thelargetic forces in her body, is an awful lot of it. Gideon Nav's system shows signs of shock and systemic stress, especially centered in her nervous system but throughout her body. However, she is healing, and not a simple natural healing process; her body is marshaling vast reserves of energy, drawn from God knows where, and restoring her body, including rebuilding nervous tissue.

Left to her own devices, it seems that in a few hours Gideon might wake on her own, feeling like haggard and exhausted and starving but miraculously free of permanent damage.

As she Delves, discerning Gideon's condition with delicately-crafted threads of Spirit, a slight frown creases Moiraine's brow.

This is unexpected, to be certain, and she is wary of disrupting the healing that is already underway.

Instead of the more traditional Healing weaves, Moiraine instead focuses her efforts on relieving the shock to Gideon's system and on washing away the stress and strain, placing her in a state where she can be even more receptive yet to the restoration taking place.

The dim light winks out, and Moiraine opens her eyes.

"She is recovering well," she says.

Harrow lets out a breath she's been holding for several hours. "Thank God," she whispers.

"And thank you, Moiraine Sedai," she says with a touch of irony.

She shakes her head.

"I did very little, as it happens; merely gave her some small support for her recovery."

As she speaks, she secures the angreal in its hidden pocket once more, then moves to stand.

"She should wake in a few hours, I believe, and at that time should eat well, and rest afterward."

She frowns. "That's..."

Her eyes widen. "Oh."

Two hundred corpses. Two hundred corpses, and Gideon Nav.

"Well. That's... good news," she says slowly.

Her dark-eyed gaze is sharp and intent, but Moiraine says nothing of the younger woman's obvious realization.

"While I am here, is there anything else you would wish me to examine?"

She tears herself away from the mystery of her cavalier and tries to think. This is a rare opportunity... but she can't ask Moiraine to come down into the laboratory.

"No," she says slowly. "I cannot think of anything. I hope I'm not making an error---but no, I can't think of anything."

Edited 2020-08-30 23:43 (UTC)

The Aes Sedai inclines her head.

"Very well."

"I'm sorry," she says. "To have wasted your time. I didn't know if--"

She closes her eyes and inhales again, searching for stability. "I will return you to Milliways now."

They don't encounter anyone else on the way back.

"I do not consider my time to have been wasted," Moiraine tells her, as soon as they step through the door into the bar.

The relief at being out of the strangely unbalanced environment is strong, but she gives no sign of it.

"There is no need for you to apologize in this, Lady Ninth."

"My debt to you only grows," she says wryly. "But I am deeply relieved to know the trial did her no permanent harm."

Relieved and unnerved.

"I can imagine so."

She gestures toward the seating area that they had left, where the beleaguered waitrat is standing guard.

She nods, and returns to the table. She draws her journal back from her robe. "You said you have visited other worlds many times before?"

Moiraine takes a moment to remove the attire of the Ninth House, stacking it neatly on a table to the side, before resuming her previous seat.

"I have," she says. "When circumstances required it."

"This is my first time away from the Ninth," she admits. "I find it unsettling."

She realizes she's babbling slightly, but she's been thoroughly jarred out of her earlier scholastic monofocus.

"That is perhaps to be expected," the Aes Sedai replies.

"Change is often unsettling, and great change more so."

A tolerant response to her incoherence.

She exhales. "So--we have completed two experiments, and gained access to two Lyctorals studies. The first involved a military-grade construct of regenerating bone, an art even the Ninth does not have access to. The technology in the laboratory guided me to share my consciousness with Nav and see through her eyes. I was able to direct her to the correct points to unravel the necromantic theorem holding together the construct."

"Access to the study indicated that the creator was a necromancer of the Second House and his or her cavalier. The notes included clear references to the Lyctoral process and the Emperor, and contained the theorems for both regenerating bone and the perspective-sharing spell."

"The second experiment protected the key behind a field of two spells overlapping one another, which should be impossible. One is a senescence field, which destroys flesh, in combination with an entropy field, which drains thanergy. The solution was to create a skin-bound corporeal ward, powered by a source outside the field. Gideon," her face doesn't quite twitch; tightens. "Volunteered."

"The study contained the theorems for overlapping fields, and notes on drawing thanergy from a willing source."

She taps a finger against the arm of her chair, considering.

"Regeneration. Sharing sight. Combining weaves, or rather, spells. Pulling power through a link with another," she summarizes.

"What do these things tell you when considered together in combination?"

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