Physical & Mental Attributes:

Poettre has blond hair cut in layers to about his chin. He has startlingly blue eyes which he uses at every possible opportunity against unsuspecting females. He is tall, broad shouldered, and lean, coming to about 6’2" by our standards. He's muscular, but he's not the type with bulging musculature—he has a wiry strength. He’s handsome, and he knows it. He tends to be moody, but usually he disguises his emotion with a front of cheerfulness. He becomes cold and distant when angry, and he will not hesitate to reap whatever vengeance he deems necessary should someone provoke him. Poettre has very little conscience of right and wrong—he will do whatever is best for him, so long as it does not harm anyone else, though there have been exceptions.

Poettre would’ve preferred to forget his parents. He would’ve preferred a life that better suited his propensity for melodrama. Instead, it was as if fate had played a cruel joke upon him—he was burdened with a mediocre family and a mediocre life. He was born to Jon and Elise al’Forens, two weavers of the city of Caemlyn.

Elise was from a farm on the outskirts of Four Kings. She was not particularly pretty, but she was attractive enough that she caught Jon’s eye, securing herself a respectable marriage despite her paltry dowry. Her family was composed of rather nondescript cotton farmers, so it was somewhat surprising that their much spoiled youngest daughter would do anything other than marry another man to bring into the cotton trade. Jon was the opposite to what Elise’s family was accustomed – he hailed from a middle class family of weavers in Caemlyn. Elise was more than happy to settle down in Andor’s capital, however foreign it may be, and Jon was content to show his bride how wonderful a home a city could be.

Less than a year after their marriage, Elise gave birth to a baby girl, Sarah. Two years later, a son followed, Poettre. While Sarah seemed content with what fate afforded her, Poettre proved rambunctious and troublesome from the start. He was easily rattled and constantly failed to submit to his parents’ attempts at discipline. Sarah’s angelic behavior was lorded over him from the start, but that was not unusual for such a family. However, Poettre failed to rise to the bait. Throughout his childhood he remained rebellious. He was not a mean child, but even so, his parents were often frustrated by his behavior.

He was more than happy to be apprenticed off at the age of fifteen. It was actually a late age for an apprentice to begin at a trade, but his parents were reluctant to tarnish their middle class family’s reputation by sending him out in the world before he was suitably chastened. At fifteen, they gave up, acknowledging that he was not likely to submit to the pressure of conformity.

Poettre fancied the idea of apprenticing himself to something exciting—he didn’t care what. A blacksmith, an armsman, a carpenter, a fine tailor. . . All would have suited him well. Unfortunately, apprenticeships cost a goodly amount, and the fancier the trade, the more expensive it was to secure an apprenticeship. Jon and Elise thought little more of the trade to which he was to be apprenticed than how practical it would be. They were more than satisfied to ship him off to a writer who had fallen on harder times.

Poettre had to admit that his master, Jakob, made his four years of apprenticeship at least interesting. The man was a poet, a writer, a playwright – if it involved a quill and parchment, chances were that Jakob was well versed in the art. Although low in finances, he was cheerful enough, and he treated his apprentices well. Poettre never lacked for the necessities of life, but what with his family’s relative poverty and Jakob’s stinginess, he rarely had the funds for anything he wanted. Throughout his apprenticeship the only thing he truly desired was a pair of nice leather gloves. He tired of his hands constantly bearing the marks of his trade—dirty fingernails and ink stains. He never got the gloves.

For the first year Poettre refused to show any interest in his imposed trade. Jakob urged both creativity and endurance in his apprentices; he expected them to cultivate their creative writing when they were not supporting themselves through scribe’s work. Poettre was astoundingly creative, enough so that he had difficulty straightening out his thoughts and slowing them down to the pace of his handwriting, leaving him as little more than a passable writer. He gradually became accustomed to the lifestyle afforded him, though, especially when it became increasingly apparent that he hadn’t any other opportunities.

Or so it seemed. After four interminable years as Jakob’s apprentice, a wandering band of recruiting Asha’man came through Caemlyn. Anyone interested was asked to come to an inn close to Jakob’s boarding house to be tested for the ability to channel. Considering the implications of being a male channeler, few were eager to do so. The social consequences of demonstrating interest were enough to cripple a man should he prove to lack the ability. Poettre acknowledged the chance that he would fail whatever their test happened to be, but he was too enthralled by the possibility to fully consider the consequences of failure. Besides, the inn was close to his house; it wouldn’t be so difficult to sneak in and out of it without getting caught.

But he did get caught. He wandered into the inn doing his best to appear both ignorant and nonchalant. However, that proved somewhat difficult—there were myriads of people there, many of them so frighteningly fanatic that Poettre was tempted to sneak back from whence he’d come. But then he caught sight of a pretty waitress with whom he’d flirted before and changed his mind.

Before he could properly antagonize her, a burly man dressed him in black pulled him aside. Confused, Poettre attempted to pull away, but it was then that he noticed the glowing sphere languorously rotating in the man’s palm. Both disgusted and enchanted, he stared at the phenomenon. His fixation on the object was such that it began to spark curiously, almost as if by an outside influence—this was how Poettre discovered that he could indeed channel.

The man barked a call to one of his companions, and immediately a gaping nineteen year old Poettre was swamped by men in black. There were a number of congratulations and cheerful pats on the back; there were a number of skeptical glances unerringly aimed to discourage the youth. He had no idea what was happening until he was unceremoniously dumped at a table, similarly occupied by bewildered gentlemen, a bowl of hearty stew, bread, and ale sent to occupy him. Eventually the group was greeted by a young looking man, one pin at his black collar, and they were told that they could channel, and that they were being called upon to serve the Lord Dragon, should they choose to do so. They were given a few days to gather their belongings and bid their farewells.

Typically, he signed himself up under a different name—Poettre Valis. From that day forward, he also altered the pronunciation of his name. His parents had always called him plain old Poettre—pronounced 'Peter'—which, naturally, did not suit the man in question. So he told everyone that his name was pronounced somewhat like the word 'poetry,' giving him an entirely new name.

As Poettre tended to do, he took advantage of the opportunity immediately, scarcely pausing to consider the implications of his commitment. His family was less than enthused. Poettre assured them that he would be well funded; for example, he could repay them for the money they’d wasted on his abandoned apprenticeship to the makeshift scribe. Despite their worries, they acknowledged Poettre’s excitement and allowed him to go his own way. He was a grown man, after all.

At first he relished the change. The Black Tower was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Jakob had been demanding as a master, but the Dedicated and Asha’man who served as his teachers were extraordinarily challenging. The thrill of proving an anomaly quickly diminished. Poettre discovered that he demands of the Black Tower upon its denizens were significantly less than romantic. For a while he even contemplated desertion. The fancy was erased from his mind when a Dedicated attempted to do so—he got almost as far as Tar Valon, where he thought to beg asylum, before his body became just another decoration on the Tower’s infamous Traitor’s Tree. He began to regret his commitment, but it was far too late to do anything about it.

It was with the women’s introduction to Black Tower hierarchy that Poettre found purpose. As ridiculous as it sounded, the establishment of female Soldiers reminded Poettre that he could find amusement even here. He vowed, only half jokingly, to introduce every woman to his charms, and he began to make a sizable dent in the Tower’s female population. His newfound determination earned him rapid placement in the Dedicated rank.

Life as a Dedicated was not what Poettre had anticipated. He found little to make his days interesting, and interest was an important part of Poettre’s routine. With little else to do, he found himself frequenting the Black Tower’s numerous inns, becoming intoxicated almost every evening. He would stumble to his room and stumble to lessons the next day. Both his moods and studies suffered for his distraction. When on one of his forays he encountered a stunning Soldier by the name of Saro, he thought her the perfect solution—not only was she beautiful, but she said she loved him. Poettre was head over heels within a few days, even before he knew the woman’s name. But Saro was the manipulative sort, ever searching for men to serve as entertainment, with their vows of love and commitment—she had her eyes set on another man, a Soldier who had mistreated her and was suffering estrangement as a result. Poettre was her distraction.

The current M’Hael, Canin al’Pazi, heard of Poettre’s dalliance and chose to caution him against Saro. He suspected that the Soldier had other plans, that she wold ruin Poettre’s life if he let her. But Poettre took the M’Hael’s interference as a personal attack and chose to ignore his advice. Poettre hastened his plans with Saro to the point that he suggested they desert to live a life of their own elsewhere. Unfortunately, Saro had other plans. They planned to run away together one night, but Poettre spent the entire night on his own—Saro never appeared. Before he could confront her on the issue, he was summoned on a mission to return and kill a deserter. He discovered that the deserter was the man whom Saro truly loved—he had deserted because she, like Poettre, had told him that she would run away with him. When she did not show on the same night that she ditched Poettre, the man stayed away from the Tower in the vain hope that she would come to him. Poettre was righteously angry at this new development. When he alone encountered Liam, Saro’s love, he saw that the man met his death and told the others in the expedition that it had been done in self defense. No one disagreed. Poettre never forgave Saro for her betrayal, and his love affair was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

Surprisingly, Poettre’s participation in the expedition impressed al’Pazi. Shortly after the assignment, the M’Hael commended him on his participation and consequent success and raised him to Asha’man. He was sent on the first of many recruitment trips, this time to the Borderlands. There he gained his first real battle experience in a Trolloc raid in a town in Saldaea. Afterwards, he was no longer certain if it had been a good idea to join the Black Tower—he did not know whether he could bear the massive bloodshed. Much to his surprise and dismay, upon his return, the M’Hael raised him to Tsorovan’m’hael, Battle Leader, so that he might assist in training the bulging number of new recruits.

As time passed, Poettre became more and more introverted—and more and more bitter. Saro had left a hole in his heart and self-estimation that left him empty and insecure. He compensated for the loss by blaming Canin al'Pazi, succoring the idea of bringing about the man's downfall and using that as his misplaced recompense for all that had gone wrong with Saro. His hatred for the M'Hael increased manifold, to the point that he thought it his right that when the man injured himself. It was in a mission to rescue a party of Aes Sedai—among which was the M'Hael's own wife, Briar Rose Sedai—that the man incapacitated himself to the point that he could no longer realistically serve as M'Hael. Though neither of the men really thought Poettre a fitting successor, he was next in line. So he fulfilled his promise to surpass al'Pazi in power—but oddly enough, the triumph brought Poettre little pleasure. 

Later, Poettre bonded an Asha'man named Jasper Kielle, the woman who had preceded him as Tsorovan'm'hael. In truth, she had been suspected as a deserter from the Black Tower. When she returned, she threatened Poettre and even attempted to kill him, so Poettre had bonded her to keep her within his control. It wasn't until later that he began to harbor emotions he hadn't ever expected to feel again, not after what Saro had done to him. 

He raised Byran al'Korwyn, a newly-raised Asha'man, to Tsorovan'm'hael, unknowing that the man was secretly a traitor against the Black Tower, if only in deeds. He discovered this later when he assigned a woman, then a Dedicated named Tahmelah, to hunt down the murderers of a Soldier named Derral Tobari. Though he had not expected the Dedicated to identify the murderers, she labeled them indubitably as Byran al'Korwyn and his lover, Iris Lyingade, a woman Poettre knew as a teaching partner through his days as a Dedicated. But unfortunately, Tahmelah had suffered a bit of an infatuation upon Byran, so she could not help but confront him and give him the chance to run before she told Poettre who had killed the Soldier. 

Byran secreted his lover away but returned himself to the Black Tower, trusting himself to Poettre's love of his own reputation to keep him safe. He knew that Poettre wouldn't execute the only man he'd had the misjudgment to raise to his second, not when it would tear his reputation to shreds. So Poettre let Byran live, but he watched him like a hawk, waiting for the day when the man would inadvertently reveal Iris's location. 

He did. Poettre ordered both Jasper and Tahmelah on Byran's trail, and he led them straight to Illian, where Iris was in hiding. After a difficult night, Jasper eventually returned to the Black Tower with all of the culprits in tow, though all of them were the worse for wear. 

That night, Jasper did two things that Poettre had not been anticipating: She asked him to pardon both Iris and Byran for their crimes, and she asked him to still her. The first she did because Iris had uttered a very well-pointed insult earlier that night—she had accused Jasper of being Poettre's whore, no more free than Iris was in Jasper's grasp. Furthermore, Jasper knew more of the reasoning behind Derral's murder, and she was willing to think of the situation in shades of gray rather than in Poettre's black and white. He granted that he would let them live, though he did not specify what he intended to do to them in the meantime. He also granted her second request, although he knew—and she didn't—that her loss of the One Power would sever their bond. But it was all well in Poettre's opinion. He would miss her, but he understood Jasper's reasoning. The Seanchan had taken her in as an informant, wanting to know about the Black Tower, and they intended to take her overseas to Seandar to train her for an indeterminate amount of time. Poettre knew he wouldn't have been able to bear feeling Jasper yet not, due to the huge distance between them. 

Poettre did just as he had planned: He had Byran conduct the execution and interfered before Iris could die, cutting her to the ground. That way, he severed whatever relationship Byran and Iris could possibly have and simultaneously assured that both of them would remain beneath his thumb for the foreseeable future. It worked. Poettre wasn't the M'Hael for nothing, contrary to popular belief.