Verilene Edherin
| Verilene Edherin | |
|---|---|
| Created by | Toby Selwyn |
| Information | |
| Gender | Female |
| Occupation | Accepted |
| Affiliation | The Grey Tower |
| Nationality | Ghealdanin |
Verilene Edherin is a Ghealdanin Accepted of the Grey Tower.
Biography
A sob racked Verilene's body, and her chest heaved as she drew in breath for another scream of rage and frustration. Only a few spans away, on the other side of the rain-slicked cobbled street, tears trickling down Edelia's face mingled with the lightly falling drizzle as she beat her white-knuckled fists helplessly against the chest of the ragged street tough pressing his weight against her body. Verilene threw all her strength into trying to reach her sister, but the two burly men holding her back twisted her arms cruelly, forcing her to cease her struggles. She could smell their rotten breath on the back of her neck as they chuckled throatily.
"Edelia!" Verilene screamed, but her sister could do little more than roll her eyes in terror as the attacker hoisted Edelia's long skirts up around her waist. With a snarl, Verilene kicked backwards sharply, and her sturdily-booted foot landed squarely in the crotch of one of her captors. The man leaped back with a yelp of surprise, and the release of his grip from her arm gave Verilene the opportunity she needed to wrench free from his cohort. Both men lunged at her, but Verilene ducked away swiftly, reaching at the same time down to her belt, from which she plucked her small knife.
She lifted the blade high above her head and spun around to face the men. One of the thugs reached for her, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. He had probably expected Verilene to not know how to wield her weapon, but moonlight danced across the blade as Verilene swiped it across the man's face, scoring through one eye and his nose. He jumped back with a pained and surprise yell, tumbling to the ground. As he did so he became entangled in the other man's feet, and the rapist found himself sprawled on the cobbles alongside his companion.
Verilene took advantage of the respite to turn towards her sister, raising the bloodied blade once more as she aimed it at the grunting man who was still pressing Edelia against the rough wall of a tall inn. But as she stepped forward she felt a clawed hand grasp her ankle and pull, and suddenly she was flat on the cobbles. Twisting over onto her back, Verilene brought her knife around in front of her just in time. Her attacker threw himself onto the tip of the blade as she held it above her chest, and a sigh escaped his lips as it penetrated his ribcage. His eyes were already glazed with death by the time Verilene pushed him away and scrambled to her feet.
The silver archway appeared.
Coming awake with a gasp, Verilene sat up in her bed, panting as if she were still fighting the rapists of her dreams. The sweat soaking her dark red hair turned it a shade darker still, and her linen shift was similarly drenched. The experiences of that dream had happened more than seventy years ago, but more nights than not Verilene was haunted by dreams of her failure. For four long years she had pushed herself hard in the White Tower, all for it to be taken away from her in one night. Her quick learning, her intelligence, her strength. All had counted for nothing when she refused to continue the test of the Arches. She had been put out of the White Tower and sent back to Ghealdan for the sole crime of not wishing to be put through something as painful as the memories of the night of her sister's murder.
Verilene dragged herself out of bed with a sigh and stood in front of her tiny mirror. Her pale face was that of a woman in her mid to late twenties, but those serenely dark hazel eyes staring back at her held all the experiences of her ninety-three years. Less than a month after returning to Ghealdan, Verilene had been approached by a woman claiming to be able to and, indeed, to be wishing to help and support Verilene. It didn’t take long for Mistress Maderril to persuade Verilene to accompany her to Ebou Dar. The expelled novice was slowly introduced into the ways of the Kin, once her reason for leaving the Tower had been certified, and the Knitting Circle aided her in learning to trade as a silversmith. Verilene stayed in Ebou Dar for nearly thirty years, but eventually the life there no longer satisfied her – the Kin could never replace her desire to be Aes Sedai – and she left Altara. She was still a Kinswoman when she returned to Ghealdan for the ! second time and set up a business in Abila, but she had always doubted she would ever return to Ebou Dar.
After perfunctorily dragging a brush through her hair and donning a fresh shift and a plain white dress, Verilene swept out of her room. In the corridor outside a gaggle of novices huddled together, tittering behind plump hands. Verilene frowned; no doubt the girls were giggling about the newest Warder, or making comments about one of the older sister's dress sense. Can’t these children talk of sensible things? Verilene asked herself with an exasperated inward sigh. In her eyes the majority of the Tower’s novices were naïve little girls, fresh from their manor houses or farms, not yet ready to be let off their mother's apron strings. They didn’t understand the real world, not its true pleasures or its horrors. The thought reminded Verilene of the recent years of her own life, and the other novices were immediately forgotten.
Her business in Abila had, for a time, been successful. The town was prosperous, and although it wasn't one of Ghealdan's largest trade centres a fair number of merchants and other travellers streamed steadily through the town all year round. After a few years Verilene's wealth had grown to the extent that she could afford a manor house of her own, servants, and many of the other materialistic pleasures of life. Nothing could replace the White Tower, but Verilene dared to call herself happy. But Abila was by no means distanced from the troubles that were slowly spreading across the continent; bandits claiming to be doing the work of the Dragon roamed Ghealdan, making life for any traveller perilous, and there was the constant threat of the Seanchan. With the most southerly nations already conquered, Ghealdan would surely be an easy target for the invaders.
Then Masema – Verilene refused to call him a prophet of any kind – had arrived, and the distant threats and rumours were, literally overnight, made very real. Verilene's manor house, grounds and servants were all seized for the use of Masema’s men. She was forced to give away all of her jewellery, and even her business was taken from her; silverwork was, according to the Shienaran, a luxury unnecessary for any common human, and therefore its production was to be stopped. Verilene found herself housed in a dingy hostel with other women of the town who had been similarly displaced from their homes, owning nothing but some clothes and a horse. She considered herself lucky that the beast hadn’t been taken as well; the animals of the local nobility had all been seized by Masema’s followers.
Verilene had quickly realised that staying in Abila would have been futile, and now, as she glided through the halls and corridors of the Grey Tower in the direction of the dining hall, she reflected that this was a good thing. So she slipped away from Abila, hoping that this was the last time she would be forced to leave what she considered home. Choosing a direction proved easy; to the far west, Tarabon was in the hands of the Seanchan, and Verilene was hardly attracted to the prospect of a leash around her neck. To the south, Amadicia was similarly under Seanchan control, and Verilene wouldn't have been welcomed by the Whitecloaks even if the nation had been free. Murandy in the east was not appealing either. The country was notoriously in the shadow of Andor, and Verilene couldn’t be part of such oppression. Besides, she would probably have had to settle in Lugard, and every goat in Seleisin knew of that city’s reputation.
So Verilene had headed firstly west, into the Mountains of Mist, to be free of Ghealdan. Aiming to eventually make a new life for herself in Arad Doman, or possibly even Saldaea, she then struck out north. Travelling through the mountains was tough, and many times Verilene met the unwelcome feeling of despair. But she had been through far too much in her life to eventually give in to rocks and the weather, so she persevered. It was many weeks before she came across a village where she could find shelter and fresh supplies, but the news she heard there made the days of endless travelling and hunger easily worthwhile. Groups of Aes Sedai from the White Tower – or possibly from the rebels in Murandy, nobody seemed sure of that detail – and Asha’man from the Black Tower had united to form a new organisation of channelers. They had made their base in the Mountains of Mist, not far to the north of the village where Verilene first heard of them, and they were ! eagerly accepting any man or woman with the ability to channel, training him or her to become Aes Sedai or Asha'man, and join them in their fight against the Dark One and all inhumanity.
As Verilene joined the short queue of novices and soldiers lining up to collect their breakfast, she looked around herself, and allowed a small smile to touch her face. The crowds of laughing youths mingling with more seriously faced Aes Sedai and Asha’man were testament to the efforts of the Grey Tower, her home of the last few months. The Tower had expanded rapidly in its first years of existence, and was a force to rival even the White Tower. That knowledge gave Verilene a small sense of satisfaction. She had finally found something to fill the hole in her mind left by her expulsion from the White Tower. More importantly, she had finally found a place she could call home.
Career History
- Novice
- Accepted
