Rossana Kirikos
| Rossana Kirikos | |
|---|---|
| ross-AHN-nah KEER-eh-koes | |
| Created by | Heather |
| Information | |
| Gender | Female |
| Occupation | Novice |
| Affiliation | The Grey Tower |
| Nationality | Illianer |
| Attributes | |
| Affinities | Spirit, Air, Water, Earth, Fire |
Rossana Kirikos is an Illianer Novice of the Grey Tower.
Description
With her slight frame and pixie features, Rossana looks a good bit younger than her sixteen summers. She’s even been mistaken for a boy a time or two. She has small features, a big smile, a fair complexion and dimples that could swallow the rest of her face. Her dark unruly hair is straight as a stick, and cropped short enough that it doesn’t even cover her ears. Her wide eyes are nearly the same shade as her hair, just a touch lighter. Though she always does her best to keep herself presentable, there seems to be an air of uncaring about her appearance. Her expressions are fluid, typically settling into a pleasant or happy face, but when upset she cannot hide it. Those dark eyes of hers sparkle with either mischief or, on rare occasion, fury, no matter how hard she tries to hide both.
She likes being at the Tower, since she finds she enjoys learning now that she's been given a chance. She has something close to an eidetic memory, and perhaps with practice she could hone that skill. Though she knows she’s at a disadvantage being not being literate, Ross is certain she will be able to pick it up in no time. She's got an incurable curious streak that lends itself to getting her into trouble. And though she has a mischievous side to her, it's a rare thing to get a mean or angry reaction out of her. She's rather ebullient and chatty, with a snappy sense of humor and a surprisingly clever mind when she chooses to use it.
Biography
Curiosity killed the cat, or so the saying went around the Perfumed Quarter. Rossana had heard it all her life: from her mam, who knew by the age the girl was three that she would be nothing but trouble; from her da, Light rest his soul, before he passed from tannery lung at the ripe old age of thirty-two; from her friends, particularly Arista and Durien, who had pulled her out of any number of scrapes that her “nosiness” had inspired; and from her fellow maids, who threatened to turn her in if the mistress of the house began to notice that her desk was no longer in order.
She’d heard it all, and dismissed it just as quickly. She knew what she was doing. After all, she was careful when poking around Mistress Annica’s things. And with her perfect memory, she always managed to put anything on the desk right back the way it had been before. Besides, it’s not like she was looking for state secrets to sell to Tear or anything. Instead, she wanted to know what the day-to-day life was really like for someone in the Assemblage. Didn’t have to be highborn to earn that position, nossir, and Rossana knew she could be creative, industrious and savvy enough to get there once she saved up enough money.
Little did she know those plans were coming to a quick end. She had been trying for weeks to figure out how to get into the new lacquered balsam box that sat innocuously amid some other equally nondescript boxes on a bookshelf in the house’s study. Though it had a keyhole, it appeared to not have a key. She even borrowed Durien’s lock pick kit to take to it, to no avail. She studied it from every conceivable angle, felt for every possible hidden latch, even wondered if perhaps it was a puzzle box, as she’d heard some of the Tinker’s that had set up wares in the Square had been selling. But even as good at puzzles as she was, she couldn’t figure this one out.
With the tip of her tongue pressed against her top lip, Rossana glared at the box. Whatever was inside would be important, which also meant that it might be something more than even she wanted to know. Ambition was fine until it landed her in a cell, and she doubted that Mistress Annica would let the infraction slide. “She did no become the top silk importer by playing nice,” she muttered, having felt the back of the merchant’s hand a time or two. What she ought to do was put the box back on the shelf and leave it be.
But now, as frustrated as she was, she couldn’t do that. No way. Besides, the longer she touched the box, the more right it felt in her hands. As if it belonged to her. That dangerous thought was almost enough to make her put it down, but she didn’t. Instead, she frowned at it, her lips puckered in comic fashion as she wondered why. Was it cursed, the way they said pirate treasure was? Or was her imagination running away with her again? Probably the latter, as she believed she was beginning to see an etched pattern on the lid.
Nonsense, of course, and she rubbed her thumb across that spot to prove to herself the lid was smooth. But to her eyes, the pattern grew more distinct. It looked like the number eight, though from this angle it lay on its side. And…was that some sort of head on there? She swore it there was a mouth and eye near the junction of the loops. When that eye winked at her, she shrieked and dropped the box.
Its clatter echoed across the room as she clapped her hands over her mouth. Blood and ashes, everyone in the house had to have heard that, she thought with dismay. As she stooped to pick it up and put it back, she heard rapid footsteps coming in her direction. By the time the door flew open, the box sat back in its usual place, and Rossana was across the room, pretending to dust the fireplace mantle.
“Child, are you the only one here?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
Rossana turned and found herself curtseying to the stranger without thought. The woman’s height was not imposing, standing only a few inches taller than the girl, and she barely looked old enough to be married. But something in her bearing made Rossana feel as young and small as she was. “Aye, mistress, I do be the only one.”
The woman’s pale grey eyes studied the room, lingering where Rossana had dropped the box, and a faint smile creased her face. “What do you know about that? It worked.” She pushed her pale curls back out of those uncanny features and burst into a delighted laughter. “It worked!” That imposing demeanor melted away for an instant, making the woman look like Rossana’s equal. For her part, the Illianer managed a wavering smile, unsure if she was caught thief or spy.
Just as quickly as it had come, the joy in the stranger’s face slid back behind that stark exterior. “What is your name, child?”
Child? Is that no what Whitecloaks call people when they’re trying to scare them? With a gulp, she curtsied again and managed to speak her name without stuttering.
“You will be coming with me.” She stood there, clearly expecting Rossana to hop to her side. Rossana didn’t hop, but she didn’t cringe either. Whatever happened, she would take her punishment like a woman. After all, she’d known better. “I’ll be sure to inform Annica that you have come back to the Tower with me.”
“Excuse me,” Rossana interjected, confusion writ large on her face, “but tower? They do not take in prisoners there in Illian, mistress.”
The blond woman paused, not quite understanding what Rossana had just said, before that ebullient laughter resurfaced. “Oh dear, child – you’re not in trouble. But you’re still coming with me.” When it was clear Rossana still had no clue as to where, she added, “To the Tower. The Grey Tower, in Hama Valon? That box you dropped was an object I made to see if it could effectively find women who can channel. And it found you.”
“The… Grey Tower,” Rossana said, stunned. A channeler – her? Not exactly the life she’d pictured for herself, but it beat prison. And it was a way out that she wouldn’t have to save her pennies for. When the woman – Aes Sedai – gave her an expectant glance, Rossana managed a tiny smile. If nothing else, it would be an adventure.
Career History
- Novice (11 April 2015)
