Full Name: Amelia Iona Faelan Sharp
_____Palisade Alias: Amelia Sharp
_____Old Castle Alias: Faelan Sharp or Fallon Sharp
_____ *Rarely does Faelan allow anyone to call her Iona, though she treasures the name.
Age: Late 20's-Early 30's
Appearance:
Average height, sturdy build. Green, hazel eyes. Freckled with pale skin. Strawberry blond hair -- short and semi-wavy; could pass for female or a fine-featured male in the proper clothes.
Personality:
Compassionate, insightful, humorous, stubborn, secretive, bloodthirsty.
Faelan is a creature of the twilight, naturally born with both a strong sense of compassion and, paradoxically, a killer instinct. Had she been born a man, her life's path may have been very different. Dealing with these opposing aspects of herself has greatly shaped her personality and firm belief in balance.
Along with Faelan's natural sense of compassion and her killer instinct, she also exists suspended between several major polarities: she is a daughter of both local and foreign origins; frequently experiences the lifestyle of both upper and lower classes; and her education is a blend of the Old Ways and modern thinking. These dualities grant her a wide lens through which she sees the world, but each comes with its own conflict. Even so, her ability to perceive and understand multiple viewpoints enhances her insightful nature, and generally allows her to be less judgmental, to observe people and situations more objectively.
Faelan's Path:
Though she understands some might consider her a "hedgewitch", Faelan does not refer to herself as one. She believes few, if any, of the superstitions taught by various flavors of the Old Ways, nor does she wholly subscribe to the materialistic attitude of the scientific mind. (Thus, fully relating and opening up to anyone else of either camp can be a challenge.)
Faelan does, however, believe in the spiritual nature of reality, which she often perceives intuitively. She is fond of and often speaks to rocks, plants, animals, etc. Interested in both matters of spirit and mind, she is also an aspiring dreamwalker.
As a truth-seeker, Faelan "speaks" to hearts. Among other uses, this allows Faelan to glean the particulars of an individual's potential. She cannot, however, see the future, read minds, etc. She cannot say when someone will be their greatest good; she can only see what sort of person they will be when they have achieved such greatness (or, on the flip-side, what sort of person they will be at their very worst).
Faelan's Family History:
To understand Faelan completely, one must understand Faelan's lineage. Her father was born from the marriage of a poor, local noblewoman to a wealthy "Scottish" merchant. Working as a merchant himself, he fell in love with a foreign woman from his father's homeland ("Scotland"), much to the chagrin of his noble mother.
The woman he married, a daughter of Clan Faelan, was from a very different world than that of the local nobles. The culture she came from placed more emphasis on beliefs similar to the Old Ways of Sunderland.
Faelan derives her name from her mother's clan. She is both proud of her foreign heritage, and a shrewd protector of its secrets...
The Secret of Clan Faelan:
Above all else, Faelan is protective of the myths and history of her mother's birth clan. Legend holds that there once was a kinship between members of Clan Faelan and the wolves that roamed their homeland. The particulars vary widely from story to story, but they generally maintain that Clan Faelan descended from wolves. As such, Faelan holds these creatures in high esteem, though she has never seen one alive. Aside from a generations-old skull she keeps locked away, they only exist for her in stories and dreams. To Faelan, wolves are not the monsters Sunderland remembers them as. This is her most guarded belief.
Faelan's Personal History:
(I'll write it up later, but her only living relatives in Sunderland are her grandparents on her father's side. )
Faelan Meets Solace:
Faelan met her familiar as a young woman. Shortly after her mother's death, she spent several says mourning by the ward-tree in Wardwood. She always felt drawn to the tree and always admired the totems, but never felt right about taking one. On the ninth day, a leucistic rook with glowing eyes appeared to her, and Solace has been her closest companion since.
Familiar's name: Solace
_____*Note: Solace's full name is more an impression of the collective essence of the rook's being, inexpressible in mere words; it is learned only when freely given by Solace to those who can glean such information. The name Solace is more of a nickname, a rough approximation as best can be described in two syllables. No one but Faelan knows either names of her familiar. She has never spoken the bird's name aloud, and likely never will.
Familiar's Gender: Ambiguous (It is a mystery!)
Other Notes: Solace carries a very special key on Faelan's behalf.
Personality + History: To be further developed and written later. :3
Solace was a semi-custom won from the hedgewitch concept contest during the Midsummer's Eve Meta (2012).
The Winning Concept:
"Amelia, you ought to have been married years ago," her grandmother scoffed, "Keeping a household and raising children is your duty. Making soap and candles in that shack of yours is no place for a woman. It is not the life your father wanted for you. What would he think?" The old woman was shrunken with age, but her dark eyes were sharp and her tone firm. Clashing with her only grandchild tried her patience worse than any courtier.
Iona gritted her teeth; as a child, she had hated being called Amelia. Now, the younger woman tolerated it only out of respect for her grandmother, whom she had been named after. In a simple dress of blue cotton, Iona stood out starkly amid the rich furnishings of her grandmother's home. Even the wide hall where they spoke now was filled with embroidered tapestries, and every table and chair was finely carved, touched with gilt, and gleamed under the flickering light of numerous oil lamps.
"I should think my father would be proud that I followed after him as an entrepreneur, proud how well I manage the estate he left my mother," Iona replied, her voice level, if not a bit tense. "And I should think my mother would be proud as well."
Grandmother Amelia sorted and pursed her lips, glancing over her granddaughter from head to toe as if taking measure. The woman had never been fond of Iona's mother. She had been a foreigner, though why that should matter was beyond the younger woman. Her grandfather -- Grandmother Amelia's own beloved husband -- had emigrated from the very same country as Iona's mother.
Nearly all of Iona's visits with her grandmother involved haughty debates, and rarely did either bend to the other's views. Even so, they always parted on fair terms. Grandmother Amelia accepted a gift of Iona's rose tea, and Iona accepted riding home in her grandmother's coach. Even if she preferred to travel with her donkey.
* * *
The moon was high in the sky as the coach came to a stop near a cottage near the edge of Wardwood. Iona was helped out of the cabin by the coachman, and her donkey's tether was handed over to the woman. The old, shaggy donkey h'yawed. "Yes, Elanore, we'll get you right to bed," she cooed, patting the jenny. The coachman suppressed a grin as he went on his way. Amelia Elanore Abigail Sharp was her grandmother's full name. It was Iona's mother who had named the donkey Elanore.
Murmuring comforts to the donkey, she lead Elanore to the silhouette of a large barn, its shape illuminated only by a silver ribbon of moonlight. The warm scent of hay and innumerable, dried herbs washed over them as Iona hefted the barn door open. Inside, she lead Elanore to her stall for a bucket of water and a quick brushing. As large as the barn was, its primary occupants only included Elanore and a single milking cow.
The remainder of the building served as Iona's workshop. Dried bushels of herbs hung from the walls and rafters, each carefully picked with gratitude, the way her mother had taught her. Iona used many to produce scented soaps, candles, and perfumes, which she often sold to Palisade shopkeepers.
Selling such luxuries was only a means to an end, however. Her greater passion was in healing, and, like her mother, Iona believed healing should given as freely as a tree gives its fruit. It was a motto she was known for in Old Castle, just as her mother before her.
Iona slipped outside and shut the heavy barn door. Wings fluttered in her mind as she strode toward a fair, mossy cottage of rough stone. As Iona took her first steps up to the door, a white blur landed with a muffled croak on her shoulder. She smiled and her hand reflexively reached to stroke the rook's feathers. Greetings passed between their hearts. Even though she knew the crow had been keeping watch from afar, Iona always felt better with her companion much closer.
Once inside, Iona locked and bolted the door, lit a fire in the cold hearth, and moved toward a heavy, wooden chest, which sat against the far wall near her bedroom. With intricate knot-work carved into the wood and innumerable creatures both familiar and strange, it was the most ornate furnishing in Iona's household. The trunk had come with her mother from beyond the shores of the Iron Sea.
Iona's heart sang to the rook, and Solace fluttered gracefully forward and landed on top of the chest. Iona smiled, stroking her friend's cheek. Solace bowed, and gently, Iona slipped the blue ribbon from around the bird's neck. She sang her gratitude into the rook's heart, and Solace jumped from the chest to Iona's shoulder.
Iona sat, unlocked the chest, and lifted the lid. Deep in the bottom of the trunk, a very old pelt rested in a bundle. Iona lifted the treasure, closed the trunk, and placed her parcel on top. Tenderly, she unfolded the pelt to reveal the skull of a strange canine, larger than the skull of any dog. Iona cupped the skull with both hands and sat in silence, her heart listening to the songs of her mother's ancestors. Over ten generations of Clan Faelan's history resonated within the skull's song. Impressions of glory and ancient wisdom washed over Iona and mingled with the mirth that bubbled in the heart of Solace. The rook was always pleased to see Iona reconnected with her roots.
