He stood looking at the house, which had once been home. Surrounded by tilled fields, pastures and paddocks, it was proclaimed a farmhouse. Not a large one by any means, but for the likes of Murandy, not bad. Watching the cows mow the grass in their pasture, and the ducks and chickens splashing around in the pond, he felt a surge of loneliness. Quit it! he told himself. I'm not even gone yet! No, he corrected himself. I'm not gone yet, but it's no longer home, either. Nobody wants to live with someone who can Channel. And it wasn't even like he could Channel - he had just been told that he had the ability, and he would go mad if he didn't get it changed. Same thing, he thought wryly. You know your family really loves you when they refuse to live with someone who may go mad any day. With that final thought, he turned and walked away, heading towards the Black Tower, where he could get training, and maybe even stay sane. A while later, he was a victim of his thoughts yet again. What's the difference between being a Darkfriend and being able to Channel, or an Asha'man? he asked himself. Either way, you're getting closer and closer to the Dark One, by your own free will. With touching saidin, you have to reach through his taint. Being a Darkfriend speaks for itself. Light - what has happened to me? He mulled that over for a while, before coming up with a new thought. Why should I ask the Light for forgiveness? I've forsaken it. Oh, Light, I feel so alone . . .

His days of travel were filled with thoughts such as these; day in, day out. He didn't even get a reprieve in his sleep: his dreams were filled with thoughts of the Children of Light hunting him down and Questioning him, proving that he was part of the Dark. He dreamt of Myrdraal and fists upon fists of Trollocs, of jails where officials put him to stop him from hurting people which he broke out of and destroyed the world. No, he did not get peace of mind. He didn't even blame his family for sending him away, for disowning him. He remembered playing with his little sisters, being dressed up like a doll by his older sister Mariana, and his other sisters saying how cute he was, with his blond hair sticking out every which way from the doll's bonnet. He remembered playing hide-and-seek in the thin woods that they had near the farm with the boys from the village, and swimming in the duck pond, much to his sisters' disgust. He remembered everything. But the life that he remembered wasn't his anymore. When he arrived at the Tower of Will, he realized that he was home, or as much as he could get. They could stop him here; they would take the necessary measures if he did indeed go mad. He wouldn't be able to hurt people. Walden Muriat was where he belonged, whether he liked it or not.

But that was way back then, thought the stocky young man as he walked through the woods. He had no idea where he was, and was just trying to get . . . well . . . somewhere. His staff in one hand, and his scratchy black jacket and other clothes were just about all that he had left from the Tower of Will. And that other world. Because the Tower of Will didn't exist anymore. For that matter, neither did the Tower of Wyrd or the Tower of Way. It had been his good fortune - or bad - to have been outside the Tower of Will when one of the men went mad. It hadn't been a seeping thing, slowly, like it normally was. Or maybe it had. Jile had shown signs of being slightly strange for a long time. Walden had just passed it off, as probably the other inmates of the Tower of Will had, as a strange personality. That entire episode with him Channeling too much of the One Power, and nearly killing himself . . . That little incident had really struck sparks in the Tower of Will.

Walden had been the first one to see him asking for help, and had done his best . . . which was pretty much nothing. The Soldier grinned at himself at the memory, then sobered up when he remembered what came next. He had not been able to help his fellow Soldier, and Jerad, yet another Soldier, known as second in the Tower for his insolence, and also for his Healing abilities, had come to the rescue. He had taken one look at Jile, and, preparing a draught of some kind, had thrust it at Walden, with orders to make Jile drink it. At that point in time, the mild-mannered Murandian was still very shy. And he had a pronounced stutter, which made it pretty much impossible to understand him. So he had taken one look at the thrashing Soldier on Jerad's bed, and stuttered to himself through the time it had taken Jerad to get back. Things had gone downhill from then on in. Jerad had brought three Yellow Asha'man with him, who also took one look at Jile, and huddled together to discuss. However, it was then that Jile decided to really start thrashing, as in dangerously. Walden did not really remember much from after that, as he found himself later on the floor of the tiny room, with blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth and nose. It turned out that it was broken. He felt as if he had been kicked in the ribs by a mule. When he forced his eyes open, through a screen of blood, he could see the flows of Air that Jerad used to tie the Soldier down - and the murderous looks on the face of the Yellows. Soldiers are not supposed to channel on their own, Walden sighed to himself. Of course, he had, since he was on his own . . . it was survival, after all. The Yellow Asha'man had given Jerad the tongue-lashing of his life, and absolutely ignored Walden.

When the Murandian had managed to struggle to his feet, and nearly fallen back down again from dizziness, Jerad, without hesitation, had seized saidin, and Healed him. Which incurred the Yellows' wrath yet again. Even though if it hadn't been for Jerad's quick thinking, Jile would have died. His sentence was to write a letter to the M'Hael, explaining what he had done, and suggesting his own punishment. With a wince, Walden remembered what he had done.

Still tired from Healing, the timid Soldier had faced down three Asha'man. He told them simply that he believed the entire incident was his fault - because it was. He still believed it. So it was he who had laboriously written the letter to the M'Hael, and he who had delivered it himself, even while the recovered Jile and Jerad were trying to stop him. And that was when things really got bad. The M'Hael had absolutely exploded at Walden, especially after he had Jerad dragged into his office to give his side of the story. The end result was that Jerad was to be publicly birched (he had chosen it himself), and Walden would help him clean out the stables. Then they were dismissed. Which, as Walden remembered, he had pointedly ignored, and then proceeded to rant at the M'Hael. Without a stutter. Without even a hint of a stutter. He told him how stupid he thought he was, for not listening, for not understanding a simple thing of honor. That a peasant wasn't even supposed to have. The result didn't change at all. Except that the M'Hael yelled back at one point, which still didn't shut him up. He left, though, when he was threatened with being thrown out by the power of saidin. Walden couldn't help grinning as he remembered the crazy plan that he had come up with, though.

His staff thudded softly into last year's leaves as he walked onward, destination unknown. Walden had found a Dedicated, who was allowed to channel without permission, and who had the strength that the Soldier needed, who was sympathetic to his cause. It did just happen to be a fellow Murandian, but that didn't really matter. And on the day of the birching, actually, before dawn on that day, it had come into action. Jerad had been disguised as Walden with Illusion, and Walden made to look like Jerad. Therefore, it was Jerad who was in Walden's place at the birching, tied and gagged with Air, and shielded, held by a competent Asha'man. And it was Walden who was in his place, in front of the entire population of all of the three Towers, ready to be birched. However, at the last minute, the M'Hael had stolen his honor. And his pride. His foot snapped a twig. Asha'man Quince al'Pillan, M'Hael of the Tower of Will, had cut the weaves of Illusion, and shown that Walden was on the platform, and not Jerad. With no time wasted, the Soldier was in his correct seat, shielded and bound like a child. And he was angry. Of course, after the birching was over, the M'Hael went with his two new children - twins - to visit his parents, and left a new Asha'man in charge.

So Walden decided to escape, with the help of a new Soldier, Jericko, who had decided he did not like the Tower of Will. Their escape was good . . . until another Soldier, Slider, a.k.a. Kai, caught them, and tried to stop them. However, someone killed Kai, and the blame fell on the two Soldiers, who were captured, and then escaped again. Actually, Walden escaped. Jericko didn't. Walden shook his head. It was a shame, and he had been the one to get lucky. It could have gone the other way. As soon as he had seen the open door to freedom, he ran for it. He wasn't guilty . . .but there wasn't any evidence proving it. It had to have been Jile who went mad, though. Because Walden had felt saidin filling somebody until it felt like they were going to burst, and when he was running away from the Tower of Will, he had looked back, and seen one lone man, standing in the middle of the ruins, screaming.

The voice had sounded too familiar, and still echoed through his mind; that dying scream, even today, three days later. He had run into the forest, and ran for as long as he could, before he collapsed. When he woke up, everything was the same. Except that the sun was out. So he started walking. Maybe he could stay sane for a while. Maybe. Then he stumbled out into a clearing. A slim black tower rose in the middle of it. Men were training with swords, in forms that he recognized. And a feeling of men channeling was laced everywhere through the air. Walden walked forward, wondering what he had found.

OOC: Whew! The nearly life story was not the intention! I just sort of started writing everything that had happened at the other game, and it all came out. ;-) He's traveled through a Portal Stone, even though he hasn't realized it yet. If any of you know the Mirror of Mists, that's where he's been. Short and blond, Walden is stocky. He is best with his quarterstaff and bow. He always carries a bow on his back. In general, he doesn't talk a lot, but is extremely stubborn and has a bit of a mischievous streak, which tends to get him in trouble. He also doesn't believe that he is a good person, because he can Channel. So after getting himself into trouble, he feels horrible.