|
|
Onua Kourina Sayani
Profile: After leaving home, Onua used her small frame and slim build to pass off as a young man to ease her travels, keeping her fiery-red hair cut short with a dagger she kept at her belt at all times. The only hint at her femininity is her small, slightly upturned nose, and her full lips. She travels with a large, shaggy dog named Adriel, her only remaining reminder of her home in Illian. Biography: "Onua! Hurry! Your father be looking for you, girl- fortune prick me, he'll be sore to find ye here!" The girl in question stood, suddenly full of panic. Dorian Sayani's anger was fierce indeed, and known throughout the small estate, and the bounds didn't end with his only daughter, who sometimes had a temper just as fierce as his own. The redhead leapt from the hayloft nimbly, landing softly on a bale of hay just below. A kitten above mewed in protest, but Onua was already gone, her bare feet swiftly covering the distance between the manor and the primary horse stable, a favorite place of hers to get away from the stuffy atmosphere of her home. Since she was a child, Onua Kourina Sayani always preferred the company of animals, often, as a child, she fancied she could understand the animals when they 'spoke' to her. Sometime at the age of ten summers, the animals began seeking her out, instead of the other way around, to the point where she never woke up in the morning without many somethings furry nestled in the bed with her. Of course, her parents never approved of her affection for animals. Her mother was a dainty blonde who loved the court more than her father, a man at least twenty years her senior. Dorian was the source of both Onua's fiery hair and temper, though she had a more pleasant disposition and was rarely pushed to anger. Now, nearing her sixteenth summer, Onua became more and more aware of her mothers considering gaze, looking for signs of physical maturity in her youngest child. Her other two sons, Antony and Gerard, were topics of taboo in the household. Antony, Onua's second oldest and favorite brother, was killed brutally no less than three years previous while trying to save horses in a fire accidentally set by a farmhand. The year previous to that, Gerard ran away in the middle of the night to join the Whitecloaks, and hadn't been heard from since. Thus, Marisol and Dorian's final hopes for a prosperous marriage lay in their daughter, who was obviously lacking in both parent's view, but not beyond help. Conversation topics during dinner always were relative to Onua's unlady-like behavior, a handsome young heir (coincidentally from a family of higher status) at court, or, to Onua's dismay, future events and balls that Onua must attend. These less-than-subtle persuasions were never forgotten to Onua, and she reflected on the look on her mother's face as she made for her fathers study from her room after a quick change into "proper" clothing. After a steadying breath, she knocked politely on the large oak door, picking a last piece of straw out of her waist-length braid. "Forgive my tardiness, father, I was in the kitch-" she began, but stopped when she entered the room. It wasn't just the sight of her father, a rather imposing figure behind his giant antique of a desk, but the visitor seated before him. Jonathan Ta'thain was an ever-present annoyance at any event Onua attended, doing his best to never leave her side for a moment. Her mother, of course, encouraged him, despite Onua's protests that the impeccably dressed, blonde-haired, blue-eyed bane of her existance was just that, because he was the second cousin of one some High Lord or other; a swell marriage indeed, in the eyes of a simple country Lord and Lady. Jonathan's interest in their daughter brought life to their dead hope that Onua would bring honor to her family at last, and catch herself a good husband. "I was helping cook," she finished flatly, her eyes sweeping from her father to his visitor, who was now standing as she approached the desk. When he began to bow, Onua sat quickly, folding her hands in her lap without another glance at her suitor. "Ah, Onua, my dear, I was wondering what kept ye," her father said, pretending not to notice his daughter slight Jonathanas he stroked his fashionable beard, "Jonathan here do bring excellent news, child. He do be wishing for your hand, child, and I have eagerly accepted his offer.." at this point, Onua blinked blankly at her father, everything else tuned out. "You.. what?" she asked, her voice faint. "I knew she would be excited, Lord Dorian, she do be in shock, though," she heard Jonathan laugh as she squeezed the arms of her chair, her knuckles turning white. "No," she whispered, but her protest went unheard. She stood and licked her lips, shaking her head. "No," she said, louder this time, drawing looks from both her father and Jonathan, "No!" Horrified, she whirled around and ran from the room, leaving the shocked men behind. "Oh, Adriel," Onua whispered into the neck of her favorite companion, an older sheepdog that was always curled in the place of honor at Onua's feet in the morning. It was several hours later, and the early afternoon had succumbed to the darkened sky. A short time ago, Mana, the head servant in the household, had knocked at her door to convince her to dine with her family and Lord Jonathan. Denial was beginning to settle into resignation by the time twilight triumphed over the sunlight, and crickets chirped lazily outside her window. "I do no see myself being a Lady, Adriel, I canno.." turned to "perhaps it will no be so bad, my friend, perhaps after I give him an heir he will no bother me; leave me be in some country manor to live my life as I will." But by the time twilight began to fade, and Onua stared up at her ceiling, surrounded by not only Adriel, but several cats, and a raccoon that had scratched at her door hours ago, indignation and resolve renewed with the coming sun. "I will no marry Jonathan Ta'thain!" she burst out, her chest suddenly no longer feeling as though a vice were tight around her diaphragm. She disrupted the cats, raccoon, and Adriel as she flung herself out of bed. A scant hour later, Onua faced herself in the full-length mirror in her dressing room, a sharpened dagger from the blacksmith's forge clenched in her fist. Deliberately, she brought the blade up to neck level, squeezing her eyes shut as she slashed once, quickly. The braid fell to the floor with a minute thud, the weight on her shoulders and chest lightening still. She surveyed the damage with a smile, trimming the still-too-long ends. When she finished, the reflection of a young man with short hair, an aristocratic nose, and flashing green eyes stared back. She whistled softly for Adriel before leaving her room, a rucksack hung over her shoulder. The breeches and tunic she wore, and stored in her pack, had been secreted deep in a drawer. The saddlebags were filled with her necessities, food, a small pouch of gold, a blanket, and spare clothes. With one destination in mind, Onua wheeled her buckskin mount westward and set off, away from the rising sun. "Who is that young girl sparring with the brunette?" Astarael Sedai asked a nearby Warder, her sharp eyes watching the fight. The redhead was keeping her own, the Green noted, she had talent. The Warder, however, didn't share her observation, and was barking orders to the scrawny "boy". "The redhead? He's small enough to be a girl, isn't he? Light, he actually claims to be sixteen!" the man said, laughing harshly. The Green didn't reply, and, instead watched the spar. The larger boy finally tripped the redhead up, placing the butt of his staff on his chest. "I give," said the redhead in a raspy voice as "his" head turned, locking eyes with the Aes Sedai. Her eyes narrowed, Astarael turned and walked away, her pace crisp, her face a storm cloud that suggested no interruption as she made for the Mistress of Novices office. The summons came later that afternoon, pulling Onua out of a training session with her Light-blasted sword. Her training sword was too long, too heavy, and too bloody sharp for her liking. Though she had the feeling that the sword training was the lesser evil, Onua went to the Mistress of Novices office, her knock quickly answered with a firm "enter". When she did, the woman behind the desk motioned for her to sit without looking up from one of the papers on her desk. When she finally did look up, it was to survey Onua closely, her penetrating gaze firm. "What is your name, child?" she said. When Onua opened her mouth to give the fake name she'd offered the Gaidin, the Mistress of Novices merely looked at her. "And do not give me a male name. I know perfectly well that you are a girl." Confused, Onua reluctantly gave her name, licking her lips nervously. "I- I'm sorry for lying, Aes Sedai, but fortune prick me, I did no think anyone would know, and it would have made things less complicated, I thought.. how did you know?" she asked, biting down on her lower lip. The Mistress stood, holding a quill, and turned to take a thick volume out of the cabinet behind her desk. "You are no longer of the ranks of the drin'far'ji, Onua Kourina Sayani. Child...." the woman turned, "you can channel saidar. You are now a Novice initiate of the Grey Tower." the woman said, answering the question in a round-about way as she looked Onua in the eye. A smile appeared for the first time as she continued, "welcome to the Grey Tower."
|
|
|
