Post by Elira Flanagan on Aug 3, 2021 10:20:53 GMT
Name: Elira Flanagan
Age: 24
Nationality: Cairhienen
Place of Birth: Cairhien
Place of Residence: The Black Tower (temporarily)
Affiliation: The White Tower
Rank/Title: Accepted
One Power Strength:
Current (⅔ of final) - 4
Air: 4 | Earth: 3 | Fire: 5 | Spirit: 5 | Water: 3
Final - 6
Air: 6 | Earth: 5 | Fire: 7 | Spirit: 7 | Water: 5
Date they were raised to Novice/Soldier: 104
Date they were raised to Accepted/Dedicated: 109
Date they were raised to Aes Sedai/Asha'man: —
Talents: None
Weave Affinities: None
Weapon Skills:
Martial: 2 | Hand-Held: 3 | Stave: 0 | Thrown: 0 | Ranged: 5 | Mounted: 7
Height: 5’2”
Weight: average
Build/Complexion: Small, slender, pale skin
Eye/Hair Color: Brown eyes, brown hair
Face Claim: Rebecca Liddiard
Distinguishing Features:
One might expect a Cairhienin noblewoman to be refined and proper, even if she does come from a relatively minor house. However, Elira does not particularly care what anyone expects. Oh, she knows all the proper etiquette. She knows how to curtsy, how to smile, who to defer to and who she stands above. Frankly, though, she finds Daes Dae’mar incredibly annoying. And stupid. She came to the White Tower hoping to find an escape...and found that Aes Sedai were even worse.
Fortunately, Elira is nothing if not resourceful. Once known for her volatility and immaturity, her time in the White Tower has taught her how to cool off and bide her time. (She’s not any less cynical or sarcastic, though.) Her dream in life has long been to retire to an isolated cottage in the forest—alone, preferably--where she can paint without anyone to bother her. And if anyone does follow her there, she’ll just throw fireballs at them until they go away. At least that’s what she used to want, and it’s what she tells anyone who asks.
What she actually wants, though, isn’t fully clear even to her. She’ll never admit it, but she’s not nearly as selfish and aloof as she thinks she is. She cares about others and about the world, and there’s a youthful, hopeful part of her that would like to leave it a better place. Without that firm belief that people can--and should--help others, she probably would’ve fit right in at home.
She still feels like a perpetual misfit: she’s not as calm and level-headed as an Aes Sedai should be, nor as manipulative and cunning as a noble needed to be. Elira can seem proud and irritable at times, and that partly stems from her insecurity. That’s at least part of where her indifference comes from, too: she feels like she’s not good enough to change anything or to make any kind of difference. She feels like she’ll never be good enough, while at the same time struggling to prove herself worthy of respect. She has a ways to go before she finds her footing in the world--and what she wants that place to look like.
The younger of two sisters, Elira grew up used to feeling as if she constantly came in second. Second to be born. Second to pick out what dresses she wanted. Second to be married--no, nevermind, her sister had somehow wriggled out of that. Wriggled out of it by the simple fact that she could channel. Second to be tested at the White Tower, though that would not come for some years yet.
A different woman might’ve longed to be first. In some ways she resented her sister, Ariel, yet the two girls were never truly at odds with one another. They fought, yes, but those arguments never ran too deep. The ones with her parents, however, did.
As members of a minor Cairhienin house, her family had a taste of power. It was enough to make some of them thirst for more--particularly her mother. The daughter of a wealthy merchant, she had long since envied the nobility. Her marriage to a minor lord had not fully satiated that desire. If anything, it had only inflamed it. Her sister bore the brunt of it as the eldest.
Indeed, Elira would later acknowledge that being the youngest had its benefits. She was less interesting, and in her own eyes, less beautiful; while her sister attracted all sorts of undesired attention, Elira was relatively free to do as she wished. She appreciated her lessons in history and politics, as any lady had to know these things. That did not mean she enjoyed them. Elira picked up quickly on the secret machinations and schemes ruminating around her, and she promptly decided she was bloody sick of it. Honestly, who flaming cared that Lady Catrine was wearing ruby jewels gifted to her by her husband’s cousin? Maybe she’d taken him as a lover. Maybe it was just a bloody gift. (Her language--acquired mostly from servants and stablehands--also became a problem her tutors were frantic to fix.)
However, her illusion of freedom was rudely destroyed when her sister left for the White Tower. Her family had been invited to a party hosted by one of the more important nobles, to everyone’s excitement, and she and her sister were brought along. An Aes Sedai advisor in attendance noted that her sister had the spark, and Elira ought to be tested, too. Her mother’s plans to match Ariel with a young and important lord would have to be put on hold for now--or rather, transferred to Elira.
Not long after her sister left for the Tower, Elira suddenly found herself being pulled along as if she were a prized mare. She had gone from the forgotten younger sister to the up-and-coming daughter of House Flanagan. For Elira, who was used to being left in a corner to do her own thing, this was extremely unpleasant. Even when she tried to please her family, she could never quite manage it. There was always something wrong with her--with her attitude, with her hair, with the way she smiled, with the things she liked. (Elira enjoyed painting, which was all well and good, except she refused to paint anything ‘normal’, as her aunt put it.)
All of that could have been tolerable had it not been for the Game of Houses. Elira had to play it alone, now--against her parents and against everyone else--and she knew she was wildly out of her depth. House Flanagan was spared the worst of it; their meagre estates had never attracted the same kind of attention the great houses did. But Elira saw more than she wanted. The simplest things could land her in hot water--smiling at the wrong person, ignoring the wrong invitation, or even just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She felt those missteps keenly enough without drawing her mother’s ire.
The worst incident was out of her control.
The High Seat of House Larion had somehow got it into his head that the Lord and Lady Flanagan had designs on his estates. Elira did not know if that was true. She did not know if the rumours that her aunt was conspiring to arrange her marriage to his son and only heir were true, nor if she or someone else had also plotted against the High Seat’s life. When it was laid out for her much later, Elira could see that the scheme made sense in a way. It was crudely simple compared to some of those that she’d heard of. If she married Lord Larion and his father died afterwards, his inheritance would pass to her and him--and thereby into the Flangan family. The problem was that the High Seat opposed the marriage. With him out of the way, his son would be free to marry whoever he wished. And thus in the High Seat’s eyes, the problem was Elira.
At first, she thought little of the near misses beyond a vague sense of dread. An arrow that clipped her cheek while hunting, and no one was certain who it had come from, but it was surely a mistake. A heavy block of stone that nearly fell on her, only missing her because she happened to step out of the way in time. She only realized it wasn’t bad luck when one evening, after returning from a ride, she turned around to give her horse’s reins to the groom. Except the groom was holding a knife at her throat. Elira grabbed his wrist on instinct.
She wasn’t sure what happened--only that, suddenly, the man was slumped against the wall with the knife sticking out of his gut, and Elira’s hands were covered in bright red blood. The guards tried to make the man admit who had paid him, but the man said the stranger had been masked. He died a few hours later.
What should have been a celebration turned into a grim, quiet affair as Elira hurried away from home. Away, and to the White Tower.
A novice’s life was hard, strenuous work, especially for someone who’d never had to do her own chores. Yellow sisters tried giving her different things to help her sleep. None of them worked particularly well. Even so, as tired and angry as she so often felt--she wasn’t sure why she was so bloody angry--Elira was forced to learn to control her temper. The world had taken on a different cast, though. A new, darker cast. It was not safe. Was she safe in the Tower, she wondered? She came to realize that she’d probably channeled that night. Could she develop a block if she’d only ever channeled once? She struggled in her lessons despite the potential they said she had, and as she grew more at ease in her new home, her unruly nature started to resurface more strongly. She didn’t want to be a mouse. She didn’t want to be afraid of the man she had killed. Light, she had killed a man. Aes Sedai did not use the One Power to do harm. She’d broken the oaths before she’d ever had a chance to take them.
She knew it wasn’t really him that she was afraid of.
Her volatile nature sent her to the Mistress of Novices many, many times. The hardest was when she’d been practicing with the One Power when she wasn’t supposed to--and had nearly burned down her bed. That earned her a thrashing like she’d never known. Weaves of Fire came to her more easily than any others did, she came to realize. The only thing that made her change her ways, though, was when she injured her friend. She hadn’t meant to do it; she’d only been trying to show her a weave. The burns on both their arms were healed by Aes Sedai, and neither had a scar to show for it--but Elira would never forget the horror and shame she felt, nor the penance she had paid.
And the truth was, it had been her fear that had gotten them both injured. If she hadn’t let go of the Power so quickly—if she hadn’t panicked and lost control—neither of them would’ve been in danger.
When she returned from the farm, Elira approached her training in a very different light.
She advanced swiftly. Her complaints were mostly gone: she became a model novice, at least on the surface. Quiet and quick as a mouse. Determined and hard-working in her classes. She never lost her penchant for causing a bit of chaos, of course, and she would see the Mistress of Novices again for her pranks--but Elira was determined not to be a coward. She was determined to learn, and to never lose control again. She’d learn everything she could and then she’d run off and find somewhere she could get some bloody peace and quiet.
Yet in spite of that promise to herself, she did not balk at her Accepted test. Something compelled her to stay. And she did.
She did more than stay: she listened. The Black Tower was on many sister’s minds. It always had been spoken of as something to be feared, and given their history, Elira could see why. Yet it seemed strange in comparison with accounts of the Age of Legends. Once, men and women had worked together. Even not so long ago, men and women had fought the Dark One together.
When an exchange program between the White and Black Towers was proposed, Elira tentatively agreed to go along. A few sisters tried to talk her out of it, which only served to annoy Elira more strongly into going. Also, the Mistress of Novices was on the hunt for whoever had somehow turned the water in one of the fountains in Tar Valon into tea, which Elira absolutely had nothing to do with.
Even so, she could not deny that she wasn’t at least a little bit afraid. She’d steeled herself as much as possible to deal with these strange men in their grim black coats. She’d studied their rank structure, their hierarchy, and the way they trained. And if she could face Asha’man, that was something more than her sister had ever managed. Nothing would be able to faze her then.
TIMELINE
Books read: all, including New Spring
Age: 24
Nationality: Cairhienen
Place of Birth: Cairhien
Place of Residence: The Black Tower (temporarily)
Affiliation: The White Tower
Rank/Title: Accepted
One Power Strength:
Current (⅔ of final) - 4
Air: 4 | Earth: 3 | Fire: 5 | Spirit: 5 | Water: 3
Final - 6
Air: 6 | Earth: 5 | Fire: 7 | Spirit: 7 | Water: 5
Date they were raised to Novice/Soldier: 104
Date they were raised to Accepted/Dedicated: 109
Date they were raised to Aes Sedai/Asha'man: —
Talents: None
Weave Affinities: None
Weapon Skills:
Martial: 2 | Hand-Held: 3 | Stave: 0 | Thrown: 0 | Ranged: 5 | Mounted: 7
APPEARANCE
Height: 5’2”
Weight: average
Build/Complexion: Small, slender, pale skin
Eye/Hair Color: Brown eyes, brown hair
Face Claim: Rebecca Liddiard
Distinguishing Features:
- Elira has shoulder-length wavy brown hair. She usually leaves it down.
- On the rare occasions where she is permitted to wear something besides the seven-banded Accepted’s dress, she usually chooses a Cairhienin style--dark dresses slashed with her house colours.
- She doesn’t bother with much jewelry beyond her Great Serpent ring and a pair of earrings.
PERSONALITY
One might expect a Cairhienin noblewoman to be refined and proper, even if she does come from a relatively minor house. However, Elira does not particularly care what anyone expects. Oh, she knows all the proper etiquette. She knows how to curtsy, how to smile, who to defer to and who she stands above. Frankly, though, she finds Daes Dae’mar incredibly annoying. And stupid. She came to the White Tower hoping to find an escape...and found that Aes Sedai were even worse.
Fortunately, Elira is nothing if not resourceful. Once known for her volatility and immaturity, her time in the White Tower has taught her how to cool off and bide her time. (She’s not any less cynical or sarcastic, though.) Her dream in life has long been to retire to an isolated cottage in the forest—alone, preferably--where she can paint without anyone to bother her. And if anyone does follow her there, she’ll just throw fireballs at them until they go away. At least that’s what she used to want, and it’s what she tells anyone who asks.
What she actually wants, though, isn’t fully clear even to her. She’ll never admit it, but she’s not nearly as selfish and aloof as she thinks she is. She cares about others and about the world, and there’s a youthful, hopeful part of her that would like to leave it a better place. Without that firm belief that people can--and should--help others, she probably would’ve fit right in at home.
She still feels like a perpetual misfit: she’s not as calm and level-headed as an Aes Sedai should be, nor as manipulative and cunning as a noble needed to be. Elira can seem proud and irritable at times, and that partly stems from her insecurity. That’s at least part of where her indifference comes from, too: she feels like she’s not good enough to change anything or to make any kind of difference. She feels like she’ll never be good enough, while at the same time struggling to prove herself worthy of respect. She has a ways to go before she finds her footing in the world--and what she wants that place to look like.
HISTORY
The younger of two sisters, Elira grew up used to feeling as if she constantly came in second. Second to be born. Second to pick out what dresses she wanted. Second to be married--no, nevermind, her sister had somehow wriggled out of that. Wriggled out of it by the simple fact that she could channel. Second to be tested at the White Tower, though that would not come for some years yet.
A different woman might’ve longed to be first. In some ways she resented her sister, Ariel, yet the two girls were never truly at odds with one another. They fought, yes, but those arguments never ran too deep. The ones with her parents, however, did.
As members of a minor Cairhienin house, her family had a taste of power. It was enough to make some of them thirst for more--particularly her mother. The daughter of a wealthy merchant, she had long since envied the nobility. Her marriage to a minor lord had not fully satiated that desire. If anything, it had only inflamed it. Her sister bore the brunt of it as the eldest.
Indeed, Elira would later acknowledge that being the youngest had its benefits. She was less interesting, and in her own eyes, less beautiful; while her sister attracted all sorts of undesired attention, Elira was relatively free to do as she wished. She appreciated her lessons in history and politics, as any lady had to know these things. That did not mean she enjoyed them. Elira picked up quickly on the secret machinations and schemes ruminating around her, and she promptly decided she was bloody sick of it. Honestly, who flaming cared that Lady Catrine was wearing ruby jewels gifted to her by her husband’s cousin? Maybe she’d taken him as a lover. Maybe it was just a bloody gift. (Her language--acquired mostly from servants and stablehands--also became a problem her tutors were frantic to fix.)
However, her illusion of freedom was rudely destroyed when her sister left for the White Tower. Her family had been invited to a party hosted by one of the more important nobles, to everyone’s excitement, and she and her sister were brought along. An Aes Sedai advisor in attendance noted that her sister had the spark, and Elira ought to be tested, too. Her mother’s plans to match Ariel with a young and important lord would have to be put on hold for now--or rather, transferred to Elira.
Not long after her sister left for the Tower, Elira suddenly found herself being pulled along as if she were a prized mare. She had gone from the forgotten younger sister to the up-and-coming daughter of House Flanagan. For Elira, who was used to being left in a corner to do her own thing, this was extremely unpleasant. Even when she tried to please her family, she could never quite manage it. There was always something wrong with her--with her attitude, with her hair, with the way she smiled, with the things she liked. (Elira enjoyed painting, which was all well and good, except she refused to paint anything ‘normal’, as her aunt put it.)
All of that could have been tolerable had it not been for the Game of Houses. Elira had to play it alone, now--against her parents and against everyone else--and she knew she was wildly out of her depth. House Flanagan was spared the worst of it; their meagre estates had never attracted the same kind of attention the great houses did. But Elira saw more than she wanted. The simplest things could land her in hot water--smiling at the wrong person, ignoring the wrong invitation, or even just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She felt those missteps keenly enough without drawing her mother’s ire.
The worst incident was out of her control.
The High Seat of House Larion had somehow got it into his head that the Lord and Lady Flanagan had designs on his estates. Elira did not know if that was true. She did not know if the rumours that her aunt was conspiring to arrange her marriage to his son and only heir were true, nor if she or someone else had also plotted against the High Seat’s life. When it was laid out for her much later, Elira could see that the scheme made sense in a way. It was crudely simple compared to some of those that she’d heard of. If she married Lord Larion and his father died afterwards, his inheritance would pass to her and him--and thereby into the Flangan family. The problem was that the High Seat opposed the marriage. With him out of the way, his son would be free to marry whoever he wished. And thus in the High Seat’s eyes, the problem was Elira.
At first, she thought little of the near misses beyond a vague sense of dread. An arrow that clipped her cheek while hunting, and no one was certain who it had come from, but it was surely a mistake. A heavy block of stone that nearly fell on her, only missing her because she happened to step out of the way in time. She only realized it wasn’t bad luck when one evening, after returning from a ride, she turned around to give her horse’s reins to the groom. Except the groom was holding a knife at her throat. Elira grabbed his wrist on instinct.
She wasn’t sure what happened--only that, suddenly, the man was slumped against the wall with the knife sticking out of his gut, and Elira’s hands were covered in bright red blood. The guards tried to make the man admit who had paid him, but the man said the stranger had been masked. He died a few hours later.
What should have been a celebration turned into a grim, quiet affair as Elira hurried away from home. Away, and to the White Tower.
A novice’s life was hard, strenuous work, especially for someone who’d never had to do her own chores. Yellow sisters tried giving her different things to help her sleep. None of them worked particularly well. Even so, as tired and angry as she so often felt--she wasn’t sure why she was so bloody angry--Elira was forced to learn to control her temper. The world had taken on a different cast, though. A new, darker cast. It was not safe. Was she safe in the Tower, she wondered? She came to realize that she’d probably channeled that night. Could she develop a block if she’d only ever channeled once? She struggled in her lessons despite the potential they said she had, and as she grew more at ease in her new home, her unruly nature started to resurface more strongly. She didn’t want to be a mouse. She didn’t want to be afraid of the man she had killed. Light, she had killed a man. Aes Sedai did not use the One Power to do harm. She’d broken the oaths before she’d ever had a chance to take them.
She knew it wasn’t really him that she was afraid of.
Her volatile nature sent her to the Mistress of Novices many, many times. The hardest was when she’d been practicing with the One Power when she wasn’t supposed to--and had nearly burned down her bed. That earned her a thrashing like she’d never known. Weaves of Fire came to her more easily than any others did, she came to realize. The only thing that made her change her ways, though, was when she injured her friend. She hadn’t meant to do it; she’d only been trying to show her a weave. The burns on both their arms were healed by Aes Sedai, and neither had a scar to show for it--but Elira would never forget the horror and shame she felt, nor the penance she had paid.
And the truth was, it had been her fear that had gotten them both injured. If she hadn’t let go of the Power so quickly—if she hadn’t panicked and lost control—neither of them would’ve been in danger.
When she returned from the farm, Elira approached her training in a very different light.
She advanced swiftly. Her complaints were mostly gone: she became a model novice, at least on the surface. Quiet and quick as a mouse. Determined and hard-working in her classes. She never lost her penchant for causing a bit of chaos, of course, and she would see the Mistress of Novices again for her pranks--but Elira was determined not to be a coward. She was determined to learn, and to never lose control again. She’d learn everything she could and then she’d run off and find somewhere she could get some bloody peace and quiet.
Yet in spite of that promise to herself, she did not balk at her Accepted test. Something compelled her to stay. And she did.
She did more than stay: she listened. The Black Tower was on many sister’s minds. It always had been spoken of as something to be feared, and given their history, Elira could see why. Yet it seemed strange in comparison with accounts of the Age of Legends. Once, men and women had worked together. Even not so long ago, men and women had fought the Dark One together.
When an exchange program between the White and Black Towers was proposed, Elira tentatively agreed to go along. A few sisters tried to talk her out of it, which only served to annoy Elira more strongly into going. Also, the Mistress of Novices was on the hunt for whoever had somehow turned the water in one of the fountains in Tar Valon into tea, which Elira absolutely had nothing to do with.
Even so, she could not deny that she wasn’t at least a little bit afraid. She’d steeled herself as much as possible to deal with these strange men in their grim black coats. She’d studied their rank structure, their hierarchy, and the way they trained. And if she could face Asha’man, that was something more than her sister had ever managed. Nothing would be able to faze her then.
TIMELINE
- Autumn 88 FA: Born in Cairhien.
- Autumn 104 FA: Arrives at the White Tower and begins novice training.
- Winter 109 FA: Raised to Accepted.
- Spring 113 FA: Elira arrives at the Black Tower as part of the exchange program.
Books read: all, including New Spring
