Post by Milea Lanar on Apr 11, 2020 1:55:37 GMT
Name: Milea Lanar
Age: 14
Nationality: Muradian
Place of Birth: Lugard
Place of Residence: The White Tower
Affiliation: The White Tower
Rank/Title: Novice
One Power Strength:(1) 8
Air: (1) 9 | Earth: (1) 7 | Fire: (1) 6 | Spirit: (1) 10 | Water: (1) 8
Date they were raised to Novice/Soldier:112 FA
Date they were raised to Accepted/Dedicated:
Date they were raised to Aes Sedai/Asha'man:
Date they were raised to any other rank:
Talents: No
Weave Affinities:Unknown
Weapon Skills:
Martial: 1 | Stave: 2
Height: 5’2”
Weight: 105 lbs.
Build/Complexion: Lighter skin, that’s losing its weather-worn look the longer she spends in the tower. A bit of a stocky build.
Eye/Hair Color: Short, wavy red hair and light green eyes.
Distinguishing Features:
Milea is someone that’s quick to make friends. Or, at least, decide someone is her friend and act accordingly. Spending most of her life going between the towns and cities of the Westlands, she had to make friends quickly every time her parents’ small cart stopped for a few days. Make, and say goodbye. Sometimes they’d be there if her family returned in a year, or not, or they’d have forgotten the peddlers’ daughter on her return. She learned to never take it to heart, be friendly to them regardless, and enjoy what she could.
Because of this, for those scant days, Milea would try to explore every nook and cranny of whatever town she was in. An abandoned shed, a crawlspace under the inn, a nearby cave. She wanted to see everything, do everything, especially because the rest of her time was filled with rolling countryside. Not normally the one for pranks, she was always conscious about harming her family’s trade, she nevertheless would get roped up in whatever the local children were doing, or lead it herself.
She’s also never really had anywhere to call home. Whether her birthplace of Lugard, or her mother’s home of Far Madding, they were just places on a map to her than anywhere she felt attached to. The idea of living in one place for a long time, like the White Tower, with the same people every day, is something both exciting and scary.
Milea was born in Lugard, though she wasn’t for the city for very long. Her parents were travelling peddlers: successful in their own right, but not well off enough to settle down in one place. Theral Lanar, her father, was a Lugarder, the son himself of a successful merchant. Yet, as the third son, his inheritance was enough to buy the cart in which he sold his wares.
Her mother, Zerena, was from Far Madding, and had longed to leave the city-state well before she met her future husband. They were as much business partners as they were a couple, and within two months of Milea’s birth, they were on the road again. Her early childhood was a blur of open skies and moving trees. The cart never stopped in one place very long. A week at most, in the outskirts of Ebou Dar, before heading west up the coast. Most times it would be a few nights in a town whose names would blend together.
As she got older, Milea was given simple tasks. She would count and sort the money, separate it all into the different currencies. With her parents’ permission, she even started collecting them, one coin from each nation and minting that she could find. After she was taught how to read and write, she helped her mother with taking notes on their own stores and of local prices. All the work normally happened between towns, so when they arrived she was free to play with the kids in the town. Some saw her as an outsider, some parents would keep their kids away from her, yet she was always able to find a few to make mischief with.
Usually, she never got in trouble that resulted in more than a reprimand from her parents. Her mother would sometimes say that it was the Atha'an Miere in her, while her father would counter that she had no Sea Folk ancestors whatsoever.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure my grandmother was.” Zerena would respond with a smile, and Milea would get off without much of an argument. The only time she had really argued with her parents was when she was twelve, and her parents’ cart shared a grove with a group of Tinkers. After a night of dancing and singing, Milea declared loudly to her parents that she wanted to take up the Way of the Leaf. Her parents shot her down and forbade her to speak of it again, and they left the next day with tense smiles and forced words.
By the time they reached the next village, Milea had realized her parents were right. She liked mock-sword fighting with sticks with boys in the village and, while she didn’t believe in hurting people, she didn’t think she could promise to never do it no matter what. Still, some nights she dreamed about living with the caravans. So much like her own life, but with more people than just her parents.
On their way north from Illian, a few months before her fifthteenth birthday, Milea misplaced her coin pouch, the collection she had been keeping for almost ten years. She practically tore the cart apart, and the stables in the town they were in, for two days before they left. It was nowhere to be found. Yet, when she woke up, her hand was clutched to it under her pillow.
Less than a week later, she fell almost deathly ill. With uncontrollable shivers and being so dizzy she couldn’t walk, her parents rushed for Far Madding. Her mother’s family had a small shop next to the Nethvin Market, and Milea recovered in a soft, stationary bed. Yet something about the city felt wrong in a way she couldn’t explain. She had been here before, never for very long: her family here felt more distant than some of the friends she had made in the towns across the Westlands. She couldn’t shake the feeling until, once given a clean bill of health, her family left a week later.
Milea put it down to staying in the same place for too long. A month later, they stopped at a town near Caemlyn. There was not much trade to do there, as the townsfolk had easy access to the capital of Andor, yet before they could leave there came a knock at the door of their cart. A woman with an ageless face and a red shawl glided inside, and explained that she had sensed someone with the spark attempting to channel. There really was no debate on what to do. No one on either side of her family had ever been a channeler, and the only two choices were to go to Tar Valon or hide in Far Madding for the rest of her life. Milea chose the former, riding north to the White Tower and entered her name into the Book of Novices.
Books read:
Technically only the first five, listened to the Audiobook for the rest.
Age: 14
Nationality: Muradian
Place of Birth: Lugard
Place of Residence: The White Tower
Affiliation: The White Tower
Rank/Title: Novice
One Power Strength:(1) 8
Air: (1) 9 | Earth: (1) 7 | Fire: (1) 6 | Spirit: (1) 10 | Water: (1) 8
Date they were raised to Novice/Soldier:112 FA
Date they were raised to Accepted/Dedicated:
Date they were raised to Aes Sedai/Asha'man:
Date they were raised to any other rank:
Talents: No
Weave Affinities:Unknown
Weapon Skills:
Martial: 1 | Stave: 2
APPEARANCE
Height: 5’2”
Weight: 105 lbs.
Build/Complexion: Lighter skin, that’s losing its weather-worn look the longer she spends in the tower. A bit of a stocky build.
Eye/Hair Color: Short, wavy red hair and light green eyes.
Distinguishing Features:
- An impetuous smile at nearly all times, even when she’s caught.
- Bright red hair that she seems to never be able to straighten.
- An accent that seems a jumble of different places and cities.
PERSONALITY
Milea is someone that’s quick to make friends. Or, at least, decide someone is her friend and act accordingly. Spending most of her life going between the towns and cities of the Westlands, she had to make friends quickly every time her parents’ small cart stopped for a few days. Make, and say goodbye. Sometimes they’d be there if her family returned in a year, or not, or they’d have forgotten the peddlers’ daughter on her return. She learned to never take it to heart, be friendly to them regardless, and enjoy what she could.
Because of this, for those scant days, Milea would try to explore every nook and cranny of whatever town she was in. An abandoned shed, a crawlspace under the inn, a nearby cave. She wanted to see everything, do everything, especially because the rest of her time was filled with rolling countryside. Not normally the one for pranks, she was always conscious about harming her family’s trade, she nevertheless would get roped up in whatever the local children were doing, or lead it herself.
She’s also never really had anywhere to call home. Whether her birthplace of Lugard, or her mother’s home of Far Madding, they were just places on a map to her than anywhere she felt attached to. The idea of living in one place for a long time, like the White Tower, with the same people every day, is something both exciting and scary.
HISTORY
Milea was born in Lugard, though she wasn’t for the city for very long. Her parents were travelling peddlers: successful in their own right, but not well off enough to settle down in one place. Theral Lanar, her father, was a Lugarder, the son himself of a successful merchant. Yet, as the third son, his inheritance was enough to buy the cart in which he sold his wares.
Her mother, Zerena, was from Far Madding, and had longed to leave the city-state well before she met her future husband. They were as much business partners as they were a couple, and within two months of Milea’s birth, they were on the road again. Her early childhood was a blur of open skies and moving trees. The cart never stopped in one place very long. A week at most, in the outskirts of Ebou Dar, before heading west up the coast. Most times it would be a few nights in a town whose names would blend together.
As she got older, Milea was given simple tasks. She would count and sort the money, separate it all into the different currencies. With her parents’ permission, she even started collecting them, one coin from each nation and minting that she could find. After she was taught how to read and write, she helped her mother with taking notes on their own stores and of local prices. All the work normally happened between towns, so when they arrived she was free to play with the kids in the town. Some saw her as an outsider, some parents would keep their kids away from her, yet she was always able to find a few to make mischief with.
Usually, she never got in trouble that resulted in more than a reprimand from her parents. Her mother would sometimes say that it was the Atha'an Miere in her, while her father would counter that she had no Sea Folk ancestors whatsoever.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure my grandmother was.” Zerena would respond with a smile, and Milea would get off without much of an argument. The only time she had really argued with her parents was when she was twelve, and her parents’ cart shared a grove with a group of Tinkers. After a night of dancing and singing, Milea declared loudly to her parents that she wanted to take up the Way of the Leaf. Her parents shot her down and forbade her to speak of it again, and they left the next day with tense smiles and forced words.
By the time they reached the next village, Milea had realized her parents were right. She liked mock-sword fighting with sticks with boys in the village and, while she didn’t believe in hurting people, she didn’t think she could promise to never do it no matter what. Still, some nights she dreamed about living with the caravans. So much like her own life, but with more people than just her parents.
On their way north from Illian, a few months before her fifthteenth birthday, Milea misplaced her coin pouch, the collection she had been keeping for almost ten years. She practically tore the cart apart, and the stables in the town they were in, for two days before they left. It was nowhere to be found. Yet, when she woke up, her hand was clutched to it under her pillow.
Less than a week later, she fell almost deathly ill. With uncontrollable shivers and being so dizzy she couldn’t walk, her parents rushed for Far Madding. Her mother’s family had a small shop next to the Nethvin Market, and Milea recovered in a soft, stationary bed. Yet something about the city felt wrong in a way she couldn’t explain. She had been here before, never for very long: her family here felt more distant than some of the friends she had made in the towns across the Westlands. She couldn’t shake the feeling until, once given a clean bill of health, her family left a week later.
Milea put it down to staying in the same place for too long. A month later, they stopped at a town near Caemlyn. There was not much trade to do there, as the townsfolk had easy access to the capital of Andor, yet before they could leave there came a knock at the door of their cart. A woman with an ageless face and a red shawl glided inside, and explained that she had sensed someone with the spark attempting to channel. There really was no debate on what to do. No one on either side of her family had ever been a channeler, and the only two choices were to go to Tar Valon or hide in Far Madding for the rest of her life. Milea chose the former, riding north to the White Tower and entered her name into the Book of Novices.
Books read:
Technically only the first five, listened to the Audiobook for the rest.
