Feo Sattalan
| Foe Sattalan | |
|---|---|
| F/VEE-oh S/ZAH-t/da-LAWN | |
| Created by | Jessie Vernham |
| Information | |
| Nickname(s) | Ugly |
| Gender | Male |
| Occupation | Asha'man of the Grey Ajah |
| Affiliation | The Grey Tower |
| Nationality | Mayener (Drowned Lands) |
| Attributes | |
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| Weapon Skills |
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| Masteries |
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| OP Strength | 7.0 |
| Affinities | Earth, Water, Spirit, Air, Fire |
Feo Sattalan is a Mayener Grey Oathsworn Asha'man of the Grey Tower.
Description
Anyone who has ever met someone from the Drowned Lands - admittedly, that is a rather restricted group - would recognise Feo as a citizen of that uncharted region instantly. Tall and rangy, with deeply tanned skin and contrasting dirty-blond hair, Feo might be able to pass for a person from some other region, except for his accent. Unlike most of the rest of the Westlands, people from the Drowned Lands typically do not differentiate between voiced and unvoiced sounds. So, consonants like D and T, or F and V, are randomly interchanged or else slurred together into one sound. This can make Feo especially difficult to understand given his unusual, growly tone; he sounds like he has just eaten too many ice peppers.
A person who has been to the Drowned Lands would also know that in that rather secluded culture, men and women beyond childhood are almost never addressed by their first names, but rather by either a nickname, or their surname, or some combination of the two.
And it wouldn't take a person familiar with the Drowned Lands to realise that Master Sattalan deserves his nickname. A badly broken nose, missing eye, and many ragged scars about his face, neck, and shoulder are the legacy of a run-in with a wild cat. His remaining eye is a shade of pale green that while striking, is not particularly attractive, and his chin is a bit too narrow to look quite right.
Of course, Feo's personality more than makes up for his physical lackings. He's a social creature in the most literal sense - he likes people, and has a very keen understanding of them. Nothing bothers him more than the idea of people fighting, and in his mind there is nothing more admirable than convincing people to try to get along.
Since returning from the diplomatic mission to Far Madding, Feo's appearance has changed little. His hairline has receded slightly - five years isn't all that long to a channeler, after all - and now he wears a plain, black eyepatch most of the time out of consideration for others' sensibilities. He still has his baffling accent, though, and years spent in a large city have done little to alter his open, somewhat naive nature.
Biography
In just over thirty years of life, Feo Sattalan had never once left the humid reaches of the Drowned Lands. In fact, it was rare enough that he had even ventured out of Welltown to the neighbouring villages. He had been to Meet a few times, where the Black River met the Bay of Remara, of course, and to Aven's Well, further east along the main course of the Black River. But things were more or less the same in the different villages of the swamp, and Meet wasn't really much more than a Wharf and an inn, inhabited by men or women from one village or another while they waited for the merchant boats to arrive.
It felt a little different, not, as Feo sat on the edge of the bridge with his scuffed, muddy boots hanging just above the surface of the water. Beneath him, swirling eddies of colour formed as the dark, cold water of the bay mixed with that of the river, like cream disappearing into dark tea. He dipped down one worn leather toe, temporarily staunching the flow of river water in one small place and creating a lighter patch. A single salty wave broke over his foot, washing away the evidence of his effort.
It was funny, really, just how little effort it took to stir the smooth water. The Brown sister had come to Welltown as a stopping point on her journey to study the 'fascinating plant and animal life' of the swamp. Well, parrots were fascinating enough, he supposed, but Feo couldn't imagine why anyone would want to spend more time than they absolutely had to around a hooded viper or a swamp lion.
The Aes Sedai had found more than she bargained for, though, when she spoke to Feo. Feo knew more about the animals of the forest than anyone else in Welltown, owing to the fact that he had never quite settled down and started a farm like his peers. Sure, he had a few saltnets and a patch of fruit trees, but the muddy soil of the small island he owned couldn't support indigo or rice. There was a reason for that; if Feo had ever given up his scattered pursuits of hunting and half-farming, he would have had to actually commit some time to staying with his home and tending to his projects.
He almost certainly wouldn't have had time to wander in to the village central and spend his nights telling stories and singing songs, visiting with his family and meeting with his friends. And then what? He could end up like old man Shul, that's what, dragging in the saltnets with arthritic fingers and croaking obscenities at his lacklustre grandchildren. Would they call me Old Man Sattalan, I wonder, or would it still be Ugly?
He hadn't really had a name yet when he'd met up with the swamp lion; he's only been seventeen or so. There wasn't really anything in 'storyteller' or 'singer' that sounded right as a nickname, and that was really what Feo was most known for. He didn't mind his name, really; somehow it was better than being called Scar face or One-eye. At least he could try to pretend that he had always been rather ugly, and the name wasn't just because of getting himself stupidly mauled by that giant cat. He had never been able to remember how exactly he managed to get the animal to let him go; all he remembered was the feline roar as three hundred pounds of spotted tawny monster had batted him in the face like a champion boxer and sunk its teeth into his shoulder. What had happened between that point and staggering into his brother's house was as lost as a Mayener in the deepbog.
It was that incident that had interested the Brown Sister in him as a person, and not as a provider of information. When he had said that all he really remembered was feeling intensely cold, the woman had immediately enquired about any other similar incidents.
Well, he supposed feeling intensely cold in the middle of summer in a swamp was a bit of an odd thing, but he had always attributed it to blood loss. Or shock, such as that time his brother tight-pants had tripped himself into the bonfire up at Shorty Mafee's High Chasaline party. At least it had been winter, then. Looking back on it, there probably was reason to wonder just how it was that his brother had recovered from all of those burns on his back without a single scar or any infection, or how he had recovered as fast as he did.
There were about half a dozen of those, now that he had really thought back on it. And each time, just as the Brown Sister had predicted, he had felt giddy or feverish or somehow strange. This probably meant that the woman was telling the truth, and he was this thing called a Wilder.
Of course, he had to go visit this "Grey Tower" and meet one of these "Asha'man" to be sure. Which is why he was now sitting on the uneven, salt-worn planks of the bridge between Big Island and Dora's Island, leaning his head against the split-rail stanchion that kept someone from accidentally running a hand cart off into the mangroves. For now, he had nothing to do but to watch the bug-eyed crabs scuttle about on the mudflats below, turning over pebbles in search of food. A hulking robber-crab clung to the spindly stalk of a nearby palm tree. The monstrous thing probably couldn't even see the little crabs scurrying about below, but it still looked like a menacing predator.
Glancing at the great ship moored to the nearby wharf, its triangular sails brailed and at rest, Feo couldn't help but identify with the crabs.
Career History
- Soldier
- Dedicated
- Asha'man of the Grey Ajah (12 June 2009)
