Pesha Shebari
mother of Mara the Blessed
Pesha Shebari was born as Nyra Crandall, and grew up in Nab, in the Duchy of Brandorn, on the Great Trade Route. The only child of a tavern owner father and barfly/server mother, Nyra began her gypsy life when she was 8, as her home life became progressively unbearable. Her father drank too much from his own stock, and her mother didn't have time to care for her, as she as she felt Nyra the reason she was no longer desirable. Nyra ran away one evening after her father beat her for spilling his goblet of watered-down swill while she tried to sneak a morsel of food from the table. She ran right into a wagon train on the Great Trade Route heading out of town. The nomadic Shebari Clan sheltered Nyra, and secreted her out of town. Nyra was devastated, but not surprised, when her parents made zero attempt to locate her.
The Shebari took in Nyra, and she quickly assimilated. She became everyone's child, and no one's child. She was fearful at first, as her mother would hassle and insult any gypsy that entered the tavern. She would call them cheaters and thieves, cutpurses and baby stealers, and try to sweep them out with her broom. A gypsy didn't get a chance to place an order before Nyra's father would heave them into the street, usually followed immediately by a kick and an insult.
Nyra was amazed to find that the clan members weren't at all like she was led to believe. The clan, while subsiding on pick pocketing and thievery, were still more loving than her parents ever were. The sense of family was strong, like nothing Nyra had ever been exposed to before. On her first 'new birthday', the day Nyra joined the clan, the members fully received Nyra as one of their own, with the granting of new name: Pesha Shebari. Once and for all, in that moment, her past was completely erased.
Each clan member was special. Some were educated in a great many skills, sometimes learned before they also ran off with the wagon folk, and weren't shy to share their knowledge with the rest of the family. Pesha learned different skills from each member. She thrived in performance arts, singing and dancing while keeping perfect time with her tambourine. But it was clearly her dancing which garnered the most admiration. As she grew older, her routines became more and more elaborate. Pesha never felt more alive than when she was dancing. Music flowed through her, guiding her body, captivating all who were privileged enough to observe her energetic, rhythmic movements.
Pesha also learned to play the recorder and lute. She learned enough about juggling and tumbling to fill in when another member was injured or ill. She managed to get the oldest members to teach her to read. She spent many an evening in the back of her wagon, reading and re-reading the same poetry book, until the words were committed to memory.
As the wagon train made its way across the lands, covering most every major travel route (and some minor), it would stop at each town to resupply and perform. The typical evening routine would be for the wagon train to set up just outside town, flyers and criers advertising the big show. Pesha would sing short numbers and dance through the square to drum up interest, batting her large brown eyes and flashing her beaming smile. She even set up a small tent with a table, and gave free 'visions of the future' readings, told through her deck of magic (tarot) cards to anyone willing to brave the unknown. Believers swore her predictions would come true, while skeptics heckled and jeered. But Pesha only heard the sounds of success, as each shout, whether a razz or cheer, only served to gain the attention of another citizen.
It was a rare occasion that a show was not teeming with townsfolk packed elbow to elbow to see the jugglers, acrobats, magicians, and clowns, with a quick song and dance by Pesha in between sets. While the acts were keeping the townfolk busy, the real performances were taking place in the audience, with cutpurses and pickpockets relieving the commoners of their coin. On a rare occasion, a team would infiltrate the now-vacant homes to help themselves to the coffers and strongboxes of the wealthy. The wagons and crew were almost packed up by the end of the last act, and before the crowd totally dispersed, the train was off to the next town.
Pesha did enjoy the fun parts of the nomadic life. She was always in a new town, meeting new people, none of which knew, or even cared, of her terrible childhood. She had the opportunity to be new person every day; she could change her name, background, marital status, her whole past, like the wind changed direction. The freedom was liberating.
But there many parts of nomadic life that worried Pesha, even terrified her. Because they were nomadic, if one of the crew turned up missing, who would know, or even care? On a few occasions, the mysterious disappearance of a performer after an altercation with another clan member instilled genuine fear in her. No one, not the local constabulary, not the peasant farmers, not even the clergy, cared about the gypsies. Only gold made someone care. And the gypsies weren't about to part with theirs for no one.
One evening just as show was wrapping up just outside of Portown, the townfolk grew angry at the excessive thievery in the crowd. Most of the cutpurses were caught, and the wagons and performers were detained. The Wisewoman and leaders received the worst beatings, with the others getting off sightly easier. A few broken fingers were dispersed among the thieves, and most of the wagons were set ablaze. The clan quickly dispersed into the dark night, and Pesha was lucky to escape relatively unscathed. She swore to return to an honest life.
With the few coin she managed to put away, Pesha moved from town to town, finding jobs as a street performer, or musician in a tavern, making enough in tips to keep afloat. While visiting the Citadel at the Vilmar Estates, she caught the eye of a widower farmer, Derrick Hannin, and after a short courtship, the two were eventually married. Pesha helped support his blacksmith shop with occasional performances, and worked their tiny plot of land. She bore two daughters, Maragold and Violet, named in the tradition of her clan. Pesha spent every waking moment coddling her daughters, swearing the two would never suffer or want like she had when she was a child. Songs would constantly flow from her lips as she and the children helped with the meager crops. Every evening, Pesha would tutor the girls in reading, mostly her beloved poetry, and just before bed, the trio would perform songs with singing and playing of music, all to the overwhelming approval of her husband.
Along with her creative skills, Pesha also gained a few coins each month from a special few who wished to communicate with spirits. Her knowledge of the Tarot deck, while thought to be a gimmick, revealed bona fide answers to her questions. She kept this skill mostly hidden, as even though not completely frowned upon, the skill was thought to be sinister. By hushed word of mouth, Pesha had developed a reputation of being a 'dark artist', and would embellish the persona with her clientele when she thought it beneficial. She even saved one gypsy outfit, complete with gold coins hanging from every fringe, jingling at her every movement, just to round out the atmosphere, only worn when that last special vibe was expected by her client.
Pesha still lives with her husband Derrick in their modest home and Smithy shop, always wishing the girls would stop by more often. When passing through the Vilmar Estates, be sure to stop by the pond by the Citadel near the broken windmill to water your horse, and close your eyes and listen. You're sure to hear the dulcet tones of Pesha's song riding the gentle breeze.
