Honestly not sure how I feel about this, but is is probably the first piece of roleplay I've written in four plus years. Here is the first character. Let me know your thoughts.

[color=662d91]Yseult Ní Eidirsceóil

Le Fantôme Rouge
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[img]https://orig00.deviantart.net/9f94/f/2011/106/e/3/the_sun__tarot_by_invalid_option-d3e3huc.png[/img]
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[color=662d91]The Date they Joined the Circus (The Circus began on January 1, 1634)
June 24th, 1638[/color]

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“My act? I’m a mystic, but not a fortune teller.” [/color]

“A mystic? What exactly does that entail if you’re not a fortune teller?” Daniel asked the red-haired woman who stood before him, stretching her limbs in a slow, graceful fashion, that she claimed helped to keep her link to spirit world open and clear.
“Traditionally,” Yseult began, the faintest trace of an Irish accent on her lips, not pausing in her fluid movements, “a mystic is a person who pursues truth beyond that of human experience. It is a spiritual link between the divine and the physical. But here? In this circus? My role is not that of a true ‘mystic’, but what people now believe one to be.” Yseult paused, arms stretched overhead, staring at the stars littering the night sky. After a beat, she continued, “I ‘cleanse souls’, whatever that means. Crystals, so called rituals. Hokum, you know. But it makes them feel better when I wave burning sage and chant in ancient tongues. And then they feel better when they leave the circus anyway.” Yseult drew her arms down, resting one hand on her hip; clearly she was done with stretching for now, “I also commune with spirits. Clients like to believe they are the souls of oved ones or guardian angels.” Yseult shrugged.

“Spirits?” Daniel barked a laugh, “As hokum as your cleansing I suppose?”

“Not at all. I can speak with spirits as clearly as I can with you here now.” Daniel could see from Yseult’s features that this was a question she had been asked before and one she was weary of answering. Before Daniel could speak again, Yseult cut in, “and no, it was not the powder granted to me by the Contract. I am a druid, I was long before the circus; I was a mystic. I can bridge the link between realms.”

“So what is your power then?” Daniel queried.

“Healing.” Yseult stated simply. She did not want to divulged further than that. It was no secret that Yseult had an interest in healing and alchemy (when she was not performing she would sell her lotions and potions and sometimes a snake oil or two), skills she had developed before the circus. The circus had just enhanced this power; Yseult could heal nearly any wound in minutes. Unfortunately, this was also her Conviction and it was this that she preferred to keep to herself, for any wound that Yseult healed, she did so by transferring the wound to her own body.

Clearly, Yseult did not want to linger on the matter, so Daniel moved the conversation on.

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“Why did you join the Circus?”[/color]

“Why? Why did I join?” Yseult repeated the question back to Daniel, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “To save my son.”
“You have a son?” Daniel asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes. Well, had, I suppose.” Yseult let out a soft sigh, tears forming in her eyes as she sat on the bench next to the lion tamer. “I doubt a child born in 1635 would still be alive today.” Yseult forced a laugh, although there was no joy in the sound. Wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, Yseult continued, “He caught a terrible sickness. I tried everything, every potion, every ritual, I spoke with every spirit who would come to me but… Each day he got a weaker.” Yseult paused, straightening her posture, and turning to look Daniel in the eyes. “I approached The Ringmaster; I heard he could bring wishes true in return for,” she gestured a hand at their surroundings, “this. I asked him to save Cathal. And he did. Although I never saw him again, he remained with his father in Ireland and I… Well.” Yseult smiled again and, although her voice was still laced with melancholy, it was clear to see that she felt her sacrifice, leaving her home and her family, had been the right thing. Even now, hundreds of years later, it was as clear as the night sky that Yseult loved her son dearly.

“But the contract,” Daniel began, as something crossed his mind, “it lasts seven years. Why did you not return to your family then?”
“Cathal’s sickness was not the kind that you cure once and never see again. It was a sickness that lasted a life time; were I to break my contract, so the spell that prolonged his life too would have been broken.” Yseult’s words hung in the air between them, bittersweet. Finally, Daniel broke the silence,


[color=662d91]“Tell me about yourself. You know, your history.”
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“I was born in Ireland. I was a druidic priestess; a woman of healing and faith. Druidism has mostly been replaced with Christianity by then, but we were still around, we still existed on the outskirts of civilization. I was married to a wonderful man, Aodh, who I cared for very deeply. He was a druid, if not a mystic, too.” Yseult paused, resting her chin on her hand, a look of fondness creeping across her features. “I love him, even still. Then we had Cathal, who I’ve already told you, got sick and then…” Yseult trailed off and spread her hands, “Here I am.”

[color=662d91]Their Connections[/color]
(Unbeknownst to Yseult, Daniel is her ancestor. More connections to be added later.)
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Their Audition[/color]
[i]The tent was tucked away behind the main circus big top; it would have been easy to walk straight past it, had it not been a gaudy shade of green. A glass lantern hung outside, casting a hazy orange glow on a sign that read ‘Le Fantôme Rouge, healer of souls, communion of spirits’, while thin tendrils of grey-blue smoke twined their way from the entrance. The smoke smelt herbal and inviting.

The customer had to duck and push past heavy curtains to enter. The inside was dim; a single glowing orb hung from the centre, while tiny lights flickered around the walls like fireflies. The source of the smoke came from the many filigree baubles that hung from the ceiling of the tent, filing the small space with its evocative aroma. The floor was strewn with pillows and throws, all in shades of inky black or stormy grey, intricately embroidered with golden thread. On a pillow at the far end was seated a woman, robed in white silks, curled, red hair cascading down her shoulders. She looked at the customer and smiled, gesturing in a single, graceful movement for them to sit before her.

“I sense your aura. It is not shining as brightly as it should be, is it?” She asked softly, the vague trace of an accent clinging to her words. The customer shook their head, silently; the atmosphere inside the tent was tranquil, but it felt like if anyone other than the mystic spoke, it would shatter into a thousand shards. The mystic reached into a wooden box to her left and retrieved two crystals; one coloured black, the other clear.

“Onyx, to protect and absorb negative energy. Quartz, to focus energy and encourage balance.” The mystic pressed the crystals into the customer’s palms. “These crystals have been charged in a full moon, the most powerful of all moon phases. Feel their energy surrounding your aura,” as the mystic spoke, the onyx pulsed with a subtle heat, while the quartz produced a cool sensation.

“Now, close your eyes while I invoke the presence of your guardian angel, for they will aid the healing of your aura, they will see it brighten and lift the worries and fears from your shoulders.” The customer did as they were bid, as the mystic called out in a clear, strong voice. Her words were foreign to the stranger, but they sounded like Latin. There was a dip in the ambient temperature of the tent and a breeze was felt, winding its way around the walls, ruffling the customer’s hair and causing the burners above to brush against one another, creating a dull chiming noise. As the mystic’s voice grew, so did the wind, faster and faster, cooler and cooler until suddenly. It stopped, replaced with a quiet rustling of feathers. The customer felt a warm hand on their shoulder, causing them to jump and open their eyes, looking behind them; there was no one there. The mystic was still in her spot opposite, hands folded in her lap, a serene smile gracing her lips.

“Can you feel them?” The mystic asked; the customer nodded, while opening their mouth to speak, but the mystic hushed them, “shh. Relax. You are protected now. Just breathe.” The mystic mimed with her hands a deep inward breath and then a slow exhale; she repeated this several times, as the customer mimicked her. “Your aura is already much brighter.” The mystic spoke softly, her gazed focused just behind the customer. “They say that you should not doubt yourself so much. That you should trust your instincts; they will guide you, they won’t let you go wrong.” As the words left the mystics’ lips the feeling of contact left the customer’s shoulder, and the faint rustling of feathers sounded again. The mystic returned her gaze to the customer and, taking their hands in hers, brought the two of them slowly to their feet. The mystic carefully took the crystals from the customer as she led them to the entrance of the tent.

“How do you feel?” She asked, pushing aside the heavy curtains, allowing the cool, night air to wash over them both. The customer nodded.

“Relaxed. Calm.” They spoke with a crooked grin. The mystic smiled her gentle smile again.

“Good. And so it shall be. Your angel is watching over you.” The customer nodded again, a mumbled thank you, before turning and disappearing into the crowds. The mystic watched them retreat, silently, before slipping back inside her gaudy tent, letting smoky tendrils coil into the air.[/i]