Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen I on Jan 14, 2010 19:26:54 GMT -5
Name
Breanna Azrae Lor'lie Keelan
1st name Iris Celtic - strong one
2nd name Persian - scarlet fire
3rd name Rover's Stories - siren from the river rhine
4th name Irish Celtic - sirname in marriage
Date of Birth
June
midsummer solstice
Age
unknown
placed between ages 28-45, based on length of tales for the higher and the features of the face for the younger
Height
5'5
Hair
dark-russet-brown
color of rich earth in some lights, in others the red-brown of autumn leaves
Eyes
amber
burnished brown copper in low light, amber-gold in high light
Skin
sun-kissed
Irish lineage denotes a slight paler shade in winters
Marks
dot marks on palms of the hand
hooked, sickle like scar on hips
covered under body paints
web/thread like scars on ankle and leg
Build
lithe, curved dancer's figure
Origins
Ireland
County Clare
Romania
Carpathian Mountains
India Subcontinent
Persia
Origins II - Nationality
Romani - Kalderash
Romanian
Irish Celt
Hindi/Persian
descended of wandering artisan class {hindi} that moved through the desert to {persian} before settling in the carpathians of Europe
Family[/color]
Clairna -{mother, deceased}
County Clare, Ireland
Clarice - {grandmother, deceased}
County Clare, Ireland
Rumer the Traveler - {father, deceased}
Talon the Traveled - {twin brother, deceased}
Emilian - {former husband, deceased}
Emilian and Mihaela {twin children, deceased}
Languages[/color]
Rom {Kalderash}
main
Irish-Gaelic
main
English
secondary
Religion
child of the moon, sun, and stars
patron goddess: brigid
Occupation
fire dancer
story teller
printer's assistant to husband's venture, Flying Dragon and Glittering Gypsy Publishers
acrobat
state-sponsored artisan
two trading posts: Turas Lan & Luib, Isle of Skye, Scotland
jewelry
lanterns, candles, and holders
clothing & fabrics
Traits
zealous
imaginative
creative
vivacious
observant
wistful
warm natured
caring
compassionate
easy-going
fierce tempered when provoked, brutal
liberated
cautious with unknown gadje or overzealous religious persons
expressive
sultry
sometimes wanton
Talents
dance
belly dance, dancing with fire
fire twirling & tools
staffs, hoops, fire clothes, fire rope
aerial silks
tight rope
silk swing
story telling
singing
instrument: fiddle
jewelry design
fabric artisan
metal worker
lanterns, lamps, candle holders
candle maker
bartering
bujo
wool-over-eyes, gypsy art of con for survival
business saavy
Likes & Dislikes
dancing
no motion
singing
summer
winter cold with no fire
fire
fire used for destructive purposes
meeting new people
getting & giving news
traveling by vardo
putting on elaborate shows
apple cider
mulled wine
hare
passionate verbal rows, spars of honor
extreme violence, torment, pain
acceptance based on respect and earned merit
intolerance based on differences in flesh
Attachments
Emilian Feathersong
Romania and Hungary, Vitsa of the Fiery Dawn, arranged marriage, deceased
Conlaed 'White Eye' Keelan
Ireland, Scotland , Europe, Holy Land, lifelong paramour and present husband
Children
Illona Rhianna Bairbre Keelan
age 4 months
1 miscarriage
child of Conlaed in youth
Emilian and Mihaela Feathersong
age 5 at death, murdered in town uprising against the travelers, Romania[/size]
History
'She was wild, she was free. She was calling to me. Sister Gypsy, we're one in the same.'
She is a the exquisite opposite of everything that should be but not quite what shouldn't be. When other Romani do not wear red, she can not help but celebrate with it streaming over her hands every night. Where the Irish have no care for the garish beyond their own outlandishness, she's blissfully uncaring and always has been. When Shelta speakers and Kalderash children shouldn't mix, she already stands a testament to what makes County Claire home to fairy tales and why it was good to cross up, over to the Carpathians, in alleged exile from a distant home. When your head tells you no, her heart says yes, and so do her thoughts for that matter. If the bend in the road looks too foreign to travel towards, she is the one laughing, taking your hand to simply say..
"Follow me."
The daughter of Irish who stayed put, Irish who traveled, and foreigners to Ireland she became what they feared and what they admired. Clairna could no more say no to Rumer than you could say no to breathing. Clarice, her mother, said so often during the courtship. "Clairna, you're but a child, girl! He's..." Finishing her mother's sentences, Clarina would play with her hair while twirling in the skirts of many colors her love's women had made for her. "Going to marry me."
And marry her Rumer did, making her a Queen among his people. This made Breanna the daughter of gypsy nobility, though it makes little difference to the likes of those with manors or estates. It merely meant that if a wagon train should pass she might ride in the front, and you would know her different from the others. If she should stay with her grandmother, the blending of her features made her a subject of some village talk while the lads forgot their own sweethearts to chase after her.
She tried to live the way of being settled but it was to no avail. It was hard when everyone loved you, yet you couldn't quite tell where it was you belonged. In the end, that mixed blood proved too much and she departed County Claire with a jaunt in her step.
Her adventures are too many to name but were financed on the ability to do something both sides did well: tell a story. It was illustrated with her father's ability to dance with fire. Now some say that the illusions are too good to be an illusion, and she's must be a changeling child. Some say the illusions are too good to be illusions, so she must be a witch who dances the Black Sabbath often to keep the devil pleased. Some say the illusions are too good to be illusions, but that genius knows no bounds if you don't constrain it.
It is amazing what good practice can conjure by way of thought.
On foot, on horse, on the backs of long wagons she traveled with others. She traveled alone. Only to travel with others again. What can be said is that there are none like her nor will there ever be anything like her again. Some ancient ways are reborn inside of new forms to meet the demands of a new era. That's all.
Along the path she met Conlaed, a vagabond man of knowledge who was able to put on the page what Breanna could put in the air A tinkering fellow of sorts, he tinkered with a bit of smoke until it fired, and he ate the flame from it and spew it out again. Friendships have been built on odder foundations. It is unnecessary to say that they remained friends, for they are wed and live in the village of Luib. The Flying Dragon and Glittering Gypsy Publisher's and Trading Post is akin to wandering in their heads and bypassing a dream in your own without ever leaving the island.
As for the rest...
"Time has a friend; what will become dust I will keep whole. What will fade, I will keep brilliant. What matters little will matter to me, and because of this I will love you forever when the world no longer remembers your name."
and so we begin our story again, the between times.
She took on the gypsy life with all of its charms and its many, great dangers. It is one thing to be pointed at, to be a supposed Satan's hussy, but an entirely other thing to be welcomed to a small, sleepy village where the entire vitsa settled into the regularity of life. Plague had been put upon the village. People moaned, people cried, people died. The village was in her father's Romania. It was spring, the flowers bloomed, but hardly anyone had noticed.
The alleged children expelled from Egypt endured the plague better than their land locked cousins because of being strict in matters of cleaning, their dead, death, and all relations with persons, animals, and life. One of the village folk shared bread with the Rom Baro's son, and in return he gave plants that his wise grandmother kept as ward from illness. The sick member of the household was revived, and so for once in dark, wild Romania civility reigned for a few years. Vardos were as good as cottages, so they always returned to live for many months beyond the usual, and even stayed full years.
As time went by new people came to the village, and the old kindness was forgotten. Given one of the many edicts by the king that the gypsy should be banished if he did not settle and become Christian, it was better that they be killed so they had no chance to return. Tempers flared, people were ripped from their families. One such person was Breanna, parted with a lover she kept of her father's people, and the children she had with them. People were put to stakes, people were beaten. Her children's heads cracked open like broken wine casks and she was one of many who's mourning cries flew up into the night with the sudden pyres.
It was one of many such nights for gypsy folk, neither the first nor the last. Yet out of that night, Breanna became the last of the caravan to survive. To this day it is believed the vitsa itself, the completed caravan of many families made of two..perished as well.
This was no easy burden to bare, for Clairna had already died of heartbreak when Rumer died, and Clarice died of age. As for Conlaed, an agreement struck with the gypsy man stated he would give him Breanna to marry in so that one day, he when he could, he would come for her. They had handfasted but were pried apart, you see, by the same sickness of malnourished souls that burned what it had once adored. In order that his Breanna not be dishonored, he picked a husband for her himself. Emilian Feathersong took the place of Conlaed, understanding that one day he would come back for his bride. Until that day Emilian would love her. Breanna learned to love him, bore him children, laughed among her father's people until it all ended.
They met again, somewhere in England, to begin what they had finished, Conlaed and Breanna. She was always his. He but had to wait a little.
That was all.