Eye Color: Grey
Hair Color: Red
Height: 5'0
Weight: 120
Age: 21
Place of Origin: Taren Ferry, Andor


Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 2
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:


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.

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