Jorality Al'garanna

Email: cassbat@hotmail.com
==Description==
Eye Color: Grey
Hair Color: Red
Height: 5'0
Weight: 120
Age: 21
Place of Origin: Taren Ferry, Andor
==Stats==
Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 2
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon: 
Secondary Weapon: 
Tertiary Weapon: 
==History==
Character's name: Jorality Al'garanna
Age (must be 16 - 21): 21
Place of Origin (must be from the mainland of Randland): Taren Ferry, Andor
Hair Color: Red, Curly, approx. waist length.
Eye Color: Grey
Height: 5 feet even
Weight: 120lbs, an acrobat's build
Appearance:
Jorality is Andoran by birth and descent, her mother from Taren Ferry, her
father unknown to her. Petite at five foot even, she has an acrobat's build
and musculature. She is fast and agile, with sharp grey eyes, surrounded by
thick black lashes. Her hair and brows are both a ginger red color, her
hair long and curly. Jorality has a quick charm about her, often laughing
and joking when she's not doing serious work. She tends to hold back a lot
personally, trusting very few. But those who earn her trust, respect, and
affection are considered to be her family, and she will go to Shayol Ghul
for them if it's needed.
Brief History:
Fleeing Taren Ferry and the man who got her pregnant, Jorality's mother
Cissa Al'garanna gave birth to her daughter in Caemyln, during the spring.
Following her birth, her mother used her as a tool for pity when begging on
the streets. When Jory grew old enough and could speak well enough, her
mother put her on the streets to beg for herself, while she turned to other,
more lucrative methods of earning a few coppers. That line of work saw
Cissa in an early grave within a year. Only five, Jory had nothing, and no
one.
She was taken in by an old beggar woman who took pity on her. Between the
old woman's rapidly deteriorating health, and Jory's pitiful youth and tiny
size, they manage to squeeze a little more pity than usual out of passerbys
in Caemlyn. Members of the Watch were slow to hustle the old woman and her
'granddaughter' away from richer folk, and would sometimes give a copper of
a bit of food to the pair. As winter of Jory's first year on the streets
drew near, the old woman took a turn for the worst. When she did not wake
up one morning, Jory covered her face with a scrap of cloth, took everything
of value that she could, and went to find a new place to beg.
Begging was a way of life until Jory was six. After that, a group of small
time thieves and pickpockets saw her potential usefulness. A young man
named Jimmy the Quick brought her into their small gang, where they taught
her how to run interference on the wealthier citizens of Caemlyn,
distracting them while their pockets were picked clean by the rest of the
gang. Jory quickly learned to take advantage of the situation, and began to
pick pockets as well. She kept her prizes secret from the gang, and by her
seventh year, had a small savings buried in a secret place under the
flagstones of her old squat. As she began to look less and less pathetic,
the gang began to mistreat her, telling her it was part of the ruse. They
would withhold food, telling her she didn't look hungry enough to the marks,
or hit her, saying she needed to appear more pathetic. About a month of
this continued before Jory, not a stupid child, struck upon a plan of her
own. Often she would sneak out of their hideaway at night, while the others
slept. But in order for her plan to work, they needed to be absolutely
certain not to wake up.
Jory found her way to an apothecary. With a few of her nicked coppers in
hand, she pleaded to the apothecary for something to make a big man sleep.
She wove a sad tale of a beaten mother, and a brutal father. She told the
poor woman that she and her mother were going to run away, but he needed to
be asleep, and he was a very light sleeper. Taking pity, the woman sold her
the bag of herbs for a single cup of Sleep tea for a large man. She told
Jory to mix it with a regular tea to hide the taste, and that it would make
him sleep for the whole night, and most of the following day. The little
girl gave a wobbly smile, and hurried away. That night, she mixed the herbs
with their evening teas, and passed out cups. Suspecting nothing, the gang
drank the tea, and went to sleep a short while later. Quickly as she could,
Jory raided all their private stashes, bits of jewelery, trinkets and coins,
and popped them in a satchel. Bundling it carefully under her ragged
clothes, the girl took herself into the night, and out of Caemlyn, onto a
merchant wagon bound for Cairhein.
By her eighth year, Jory had reached the Foregate of Cairhien, a warren of
dirt roads and slapped together wooden buildings, housing all manner of
folk. Jory found what she thought was an inn, a petite but tough looking
woman its proprietess. Upon asking for work, cleaning and the like, the
woman gave her a hard look over, and then nodded her head, once. Room and
board for cleaning; she would get no pay. In Jory's mind, that was fine.
She had a plan. For months, she established herself as a hard worker, if a
little stupid. She put up with the occasional cuff from the brothel
mistress, and put up with the simpering and coddling of the whores. She
felt badly for the whores; she understood now that her mother had been this
kind of woman, and being it had gotten her killed. Then, slowly, Jory began
to use the information she learned. Names of people and places. Her night
ramblings took her all around the Foregate, and she found herself a fence.
Slowly, she began to trade her trinkets for coins. Sometimes, on her way
back, she would buy food, and share it with other street children. Mostly,
she hoarded her coins away, and watched people.
One of her trips found her watching a juggler not far from the brothel where
she worked. The man tossed shining blades up into the air, whirling and
tossing them fearlessly. When a burly drunk tried to take his cup of coins,
without missing a beat, the man threw two daggers in front of the cup, a
silent warning. The drunk staggered off for easier prey, shoving Jory down
on his way. Jory scowled at the mans back, and then approached the juggler.
 When the crowd thinned, she snuck closer, and he warned her away from his
cup the same way. She picked up the blade carefully, and tested the edge.
It was indeed as sharp as it looked. Carefully, she flipped it, end over
end, and caught the hilt in her palm. She looked up at the juggler, and he
grinned, and she tossed the blade back into his arc of shining metal, and he
took it back into the loop. Juggling blades with one hand, he tossed her a
blade. She caught it by the hilt, and he began to teacher how to juggle it.
As the sun crept over the horizon, he bought her breakfast at a stall, and
gave his name simply as Arrin. He gave her one of the small blades, and
told her to come back for another lesson the next night. Eager for this bit
of knowledge, Jory agreed, and ran off.
Her juggling lessons from Arrin continued for a few weeks, until one day, a
girl at his favorite inn read her a note. He had run afoul of a pretty lady
inside the city, and had to leave for a while. He left her a second dagger,
and wished her well. Saddened but not surprised, Jory took the gift for
what it was, and didn't look back. She was almost ten, and had grown to
expect such things in her life. Deciding to move out of the brothel she had
called home for two years before the Mistress turned her into a whore, Jory
attached herself to a circus caravan travelling through the city, and left
the
Foregate with her twice stolen treasures.
Her meager juggling ability got her bunked with a pair of jugglers, who
added to her
learning. While on the road with the slow moving caravan of entertainers,
Jory batted her lashes and pouted her way into lessons in knife throwing to
accentuate the juggling. She trained with the tumblers and acrobats, and
one
of the hostlers for the caravan horses taught her a bit of brawling, but the
boy was
much more interested in giving the girl a pinch or two than teaching her
anything.
She got more adept at dodging his advances than brawling. In each village
and town,
she pawned a few more of her trinkets, erasing her past, and turning it into
coins.
Jorality stayed with the circus caravan until she was twelve. By the time
she left the
carnival in Tear, the girl could throw knives and juggle passably well. She
was a skilled
pickpocket for her age, frequently being employed to lift from the crowds,
but felt guilty
taking from her fellow poor folk. Most of her money went to attiring
herself appropriately for the lower city; not so fancy as to be a mark, but
not the rags which drew attention to her as a thief. All went well for the
girl in Tear; she had uncommonly good fortune with the choosing of her
marks; gamblers and foolish nobles and merchants sons.
One particular night, her uncommon luck attracted her to a rakishly handsome
man she had seen a number of times before, but never had the courage to
foist from. As
she was slipping a hand out to cut his purse off with her tiny blade, he
caught her wrist, smiled, and winked at her. He introduced himself as
Martin, and said that she did well enough, but he would show her how to be
better. A fellow thief, a professional, had caught her trying to nick his
purse. Jorality, relieved he was not the watch in disguise, readily agreed
to whatever he asked.
Thirteen year old Jorality became Martin's shadow. She watched as he wooed
ladies and charmed men, foisting their goods while the laughed at his wit
and
good looks. He made her buy herself a nicer dress, and introduced her to
people as his
niece after a while, using her to distract, and attract women. He taught
her to read, and dance, and to do things that young upper middle class girls
should know how to do. When she wasn't learning to pretend at being a lady,
he taught her knife fighting, twists, holds, and grabs. Her favorite was a
single punch he'd taught her, which for her, needed a weighted fist or a sap
of some kind. He called it a 'nap tap', and for her, to knockout in one hit
was the best option, given her youth and small size. She was fast and
agile, but would never have much power to her, and he made that clear from
her first lesson. Four years passed, and when she was bigger and more
skilled,
he began to tear her his true art; Catburglary.
Martin And Jory spent weeks just covering the city rooftops alone. They had
to watch out for city watch, personal guards, and the unique Thiefcatchers.
They could, he told her, sniff out wrongdoing and violence. Thus, it was
vitally important to be unseen, and if she was seen, to escape with as
little violence, and preferably no bloodshed. Jory remembered that lesson,
thinking back to the greasy man in the Foregate. At seventeen, Jory was
given
permission to work alone; to choose the mark, stake them out, and enter the
house alone. After three successful years at his side, Martin pronounced
her a
proficient cat burglar, and told her to leave Tear. Jorality was shocked
and hurt; she'd been his apprentice for seven years, and didn't want to
leave.
 He was like family, and she told him so. Martin insisted, and though he
loved her like a daughter, told her that a city could have only so many of
their kind. She needed her own city, to spread her wings. Sullenly, Jory
agreed, and made travel plans.
Her year took her through three cities, ending eventually in Tar Valon. She
knew better than to even look at the tower; Tairens had instilled in her a
healthy respect for Aes Sedai, and it was said they could catch a thief with
a thought. She refrained from petty thievery, having enough savings to set
herself up, and maybe lead a comfortable life as an investor. Often while
in the city, she would see Gaidin at inns; she thought them strange. They
were uncommonly good fighters, powerful drinkers, and counted both men and
women in their ranks. It was this that interested her most about the
Gaidin. Thieves weren't concerned about Gender, but it seemed every one
else was. That Gaidin took women into their ranks made her seek out Inns
they frequented, watching and listening as she worked the other custom in
the room. The final turning point for Jory was, of all things, a dinner
party, held by a very gullible mark who had invited the charming young
redhead right into his home. For...investment purposes.
As the meal passed, she shared idle chatter with her Mark's little sisters,
parrying thinly veiled comments about her station and upbringing with sweet
comments about their farm animal dispositions. Her real attention was on
the Tower Guard that was also a guest. He was unbonded, so not a Gaidin,
but that was where his training lay. Though he ate, he watched everyone,
just the way that she did. Her Mark, the Guardsman's brother, tried to
charm her as best he could, but she made is kindly plain that she found his
brother more interesting. She batted her lashes, and asked rapid fire
questions about his training, and way of life. He answered them all with a
care to the secrecy of the tower, and after the meal, asked for a moment in
private. She readily agreed.
On the balcony, the Guard demanded to know why she asked such questions,
and what she was doing in his family's home. Jory debated the truth, then
smiled, and produced one of her daggers. She spun it across her knuckles
like Martin had taught her, tossed it in the air, and caught it, sheathing
it all in nearly the same motion. Then she stepped up on to the balcony
rail, and gave a theatric curtsey. "Professional Intrest," she claimed, and
nimbly found her way to the garden wall, over it, and away.
A few weeks later, Jory put her ill got gains in a bank, replenished and
refurbished her gear, and presented herself, somewhat nervously, at the
tower gates, asking after the Guard she had teased. When it was told to her
he was out on patrols in the Blight, she asked to be accepted into the
Guard.
Category:WS 2
Category:Trainee
Category:Biographies
Category:Warder Bios