Aoibheal (uh-veel), daughter of Soibhear (she-uhv-air)

[brandy]

Soibhear was first drawn to the clan while trading her wares among the merchant tents erected at the corner of the settlement. Winter neared, and she had need to replenish some of her stocks. She did not like to travel in the cold. She had heard tell that this clan specialized in furs and leathers. She went to the market hoping to barter some of her medicines in exchange for thick pelts with which she could make warm clothing for the coming season. As she neared their tent, her skin had prickled and the sharp scent of ozone washed over her in sweeping waves. Power. So much potential power in that tent. 

She broke her first rule and intermingled with the nomadic group for weeks as they packed up their tents and moved along to their next stop along the trade route. She was careful not to wear the same face too long so she would not be remembered. She had been following them for weeks. Waiting. The perfect time would present itself, she was sure of it. And she was patient. 

On this night, the head of the clan had his turn at watch, so she arranged a diversion that drew him away from the camp and into the darkness, leaving his eldest son to keep watch in his stead. She watched the from well outside the ring of light cast by the dying embers of their small fire. Yes, she was very patient. 

After some time, Soibhear had glamoured herself as the clan leader and waved the son back to his bedroll. Once sure the boy had fallen asleep again, she went into the bigger tent and emerged moments later with a bundle securely tucked under her arm. She donned one of the more recognized faces she had recently used and smiled at the head of the clan as they passed in the dim light cast from the various campfires in the settlement. 

Once again masked by darkness, Soibhear transferred the bundle to a sling she had concealed under the cloak she wore, her smile broadening at the sound of the quiet cooing of the sleeping baby inside the sling. 

***** 

Mother is rumored to be one of the Pengik line who was cast out of her tribe for suspicion of working darker magicks. I have asked several times about the validity of these rumors. Her answer is always the same. People will always have stories about those they fear or do not trust. This is all she will offer as explanation for my inquiries. 

We have never really followed any of the caravans of the other nomads, yet we always seem to find ourselves near where they congregate at the outskirts of the tent cities or makeshift settlements. However, unlike the other nomads we do not travel with our belongings or sleep in tents or under the stars. Mother always finds a small, two-room, mud walled hut. There is a larger room with a fireplace which serves as a common area and a smaller room with two pallets heaped with cushions and furs and scraps of odd fabrics for sleeping. The furnishing and decor are sparse and utilitarian, yet always identical. 

We travel light; packs for food, herbs and ingredients for medicines and poultices, and one or two changes of clothing. Sometimes mother has horses for us. Other times we walk. Though we travel the way we do, once we arrive at our new destination, the huts we find contain all of our belongings just as we left them. This is some trick of Mother's that results in the same kind of cryptic, circuitous, non-answers I get about her banishment. She guarantees we will eventually cover this during my training. 

We are extremely seclusive. Any time not spent traveling is occupied by chores or by Mother teaching me the ways of our gifts. Did I mention I have talents similar to Mother's? I do. We have spent countless hours training. Chanting. Mixing potions and poultices. Calling the elements.  

It's rare for us to cross paths with any other nomads or travelers, which is why there is an almost palpable crackle of static excitement in the air on the days we have to venture into one of the tent cities, or, if I'm very lucky and we're close enough, to go to Censure for trading. Today is one such day. 

Mother always insists we glamour ourselves or don hooded cloaks because the Others would recognize us, and their jealousy could be dangerous. My aptitude with this skill is, at best, novice, so mother alters our appearance in a way that those who notice us at all would only see poor beggar women and not the wild witches of the Hinterlands. 

Mother insists we spend as little time as possible mingling among the Others. We each have a list of items we need to trade for, and we part ways on the outskirts of Censure with a plan to meet up at twilight. 

The city is awash with the sights and smells that are always a delight. Silks, spices, weapons, succulent meats being grilled or stewed. I weave my way through and among the tents and stalls for a long while. I stop at one stall and trade my cloak for a bundle of jewel toned silks. Another merchant trades me dried meats and fruits for a tincture that will ease her cough. Burn salve and some other minor healing agents get me an abundance of jewelry. By the time I have made all my trades and bundle all of the items on my list into a satchel, I exit the city almost opposite the location I arranged with mother.

*****

Aoibheal, daughter of Soibhear, stops to retrieve the travel pack she tucked into the hollow of a fallen log in a thicket of trees outside Censure. She drops her beggar glamour and sheds the rags she wears. She twists a riot of dark brown waves into a knot at the nape of her neck and decorates her head with coin chain and glass gem bands procured in Censure. She rubs musky, spiced oils into bronzed skin and uses a palm-sized mirror to smudge khol around very pale, yet deeply green eyes before gathering and twisting a rich jade green silk with an intricate, metallic gold design embroidered along one edge into a pant that is fitted low at the waist, blooms loose through the legs and ties at the ankles. She wraps a second, smaller, patterned silk that compliments the jade pants around her torso and ties it in a halter style behind her neck. She affixes a third, lighter, gauzy fabric edged in a coin chain at the back of her bun and pulls it around her shoulders like a cape. Bracelets are stacked on her wrists, chains strung around her neck. A colorful sash tied around her waist, upon which scarves and scraps of solid and patterned fabrics are hung. Embroidered slippers are exchanged for a soft pair of travel boots, and she tucks all of her belongings away and affixes her pack on her back so she can have her hands free while she travels.

She walks with a carved oak quarterstaff with a wrapped leather grip threaded with semi-precious stones and metallic charms and capped in iron on both ends. The only direction she has in mind is away, and away is precisely where she intends to go. She travels until the rest of the light bleeds from the sky then veers off the traveled path to set up camp for the night. She sets traps and wards before unpacking her bedroll, eats some dried meat and a handful of nuts and dried fruits, then curls under a warm pelt to rest.

When she wakes just before first light she stretches, has another quick meal of dried meats and fruits, and idly arranges her pack while trying to decide if she actually heard a raspy, lisping "Ehtzaraaaa..... " as she fell asleep or if it was something she dreamed. 


Aoibheal, Daughter of Soibhear
Human Druid (Circle of the Moon)
Early 20s
5'8", 185 lbs. - ample, but solid
masses of wavy, dark brown hair
pale green eyes
sun-kissed bronze skin

Personality - Driven by wanderlust that led me away from home.
"I'm tired of living under mother's thumb. I want to see more places and experience life."

Ideals - Self discovery and independence.
"I don't know who I am, only what I've been told, and I'm determined to 'find' myself."

Bonds - I am not the monster I think they am.
"Ehtzara does not equal evil."

Flaws - I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies.
"You waste your time trying to befriend or scare me. I don't trust or fear you."