Kieran has a tendency to comment on anything and everything, so his comments are in this colour.
Part I: Mundanity
Your Name: Lakshmi
E-Mail: luckgoddess(a)hotmail.com
Homepage: none yet
Nicknames: Kerry, Kier
Pronunciation: kee-YER-an, tal-YES-in, DOV-glass
Birthdate / Astrological Sign: January 16 / Capricorn
Age: 16
Blood Type: A
Even before the division of the Council, Ceridwen was having adventures. Married young to Tegid Foel, she bore two sons who were both horribly ugly and a bit stupid. Now this offended Ceridwen, who didn't like the idea that her sons had nothing going for them, so she pulled together all her knowledge of cooking and sorcery to concoct a potion of knowledge.
Foolishly, instead of tending it herself, she set her kitchen boy Gwion to stir it -- and the potion was so made that only a very little bit had the power in it. That was her second mistake. Gwion wound up with the percious little bit.
Now, this story may be legend now, but part of the legend is pure foolishness. Ceridwen did, indeed, chase Gwion around in a multitude of different shapes, but Gwion had by no means mastered all that knowledge as fast as he'd taken it in, and he couldn't counter her shapes at all. Eventually, she tired of tormenting the poor boy, and graciously consented to take him as her pupil so he could figure out how to manage the library that had just been injected into his brain -- painfully, I might imagine.
Being as Gwion was pretty young, that was probably how it came to be said that he reincarnated in her, and infact he did have a sort of rebirth at the end of his lessoning, renaming himself Taliesin and going off to make his future. Ceridwen was terribly lonely without him, having foolishly (her third mistake) gotten a sort of wifely crush on the boy-grown-into-man, and being not so happily married.
She made her poor husband's life a misery for several months, until that damned fateful Council meeting. Unfortunately, knowledge doesn't indicate precience, and she had no clue what was to occur as the result of that meeting. She chose to stay behind because her tin-plated fool of a husband (it was his fault the boys were ugly and stupid anyway) wanted to rush off and aid the Silver Millennium -- she wanted to spite him. Learnt that lesson fast, she did, not to choose in a rush.
It didn't take long for her to repent of her choice, and she fled Annwn in search of her husband. It didn't take long for her to find he was dead, either. In a fit of despair, anguish, and loss, she fled to Earth itself, and in various guises wreaked havoc for a lifetime. It was the negativity of her emotions that drew the Deity to her, and in the second and most regretted hasty choice of her life she agreed to what It offered.
For another several centuries she wreaked havoc on the human lands; even though she enjoyed the chance to make trouble, in between 'incarnations' she turned her formidable intelligence to finding a way out of the Deity's clutches. No dice; though she fled from form to form and all adown the centuries, It found her every time. From disaster, she gradually drifted into the thing that has become a hidden passion: the setting aright of many of the injustices done by stupidity and hate. She is a secret champion of equality of all kinds, from sexual to racial to class.
Her final 'incarnation' before the current one was also male, living in India at the time of the British Empire. Calling himself Hasin, he posed as a jeweler in occupied Calcutta, and there met a Brahmin daughter named Kiran. For the first time since Tegid died, he fell in love. What started out simply using Kiran's feelings for him as a way to change the caste rules quickly became a passionate romance unlike any Hasin had experienced in other 'incarnations'. He adored her, and adored the children she gave him, and would have died for her.
But it was not to be. Unrest grew against Hasin's radical ideas, and in a riot partially instigated by himself, Kiran and two of their children were trampled to death. Horrified at what he had caused, Hasin retained enough awareness of false identity to fake his own suicide, then fled the life and the country.
Since that time, Ceridwen's passions have been ever more driven into a true and fair, enlightened equality for all people. She allows herself no emotion left over from that goal, and in fact could really care less about whatever the Council is on about now ... save that she is, yet, bound to the Deity, and Its commands do indeed, though it rankles like fire, have power over her.
This 'incarnation' is known as Kieran Dubhglas. Rather than spend time growing up, she shapeshifted into an adolescent form and used her potions to alter the memories of the family she joined. Kieran's family believes he is an orphaned cousin of theirs, of more than average intelligence and rebellion, and less than average drive. Much of this they attribute to the 'loss' of his parents in a disasterous car wreck from which only he escaped. According to their memories, he was born in New York, America, and lived there for fifteen years. Up until that time they had never laid eyes on him.
Then, on a terrible night of rain and storm, the Dubhglas car skidded on an oily bridge and plunged into the ocean. Kieran fought his way free, but his parents and young sister drowned as he stood by helpless. His nearest relatives were the cousins of Edinburgh Scotland, so there he was packed, rather than be shifted from foster family to foster family. He plays to resent his entire life, immersing himself in his chemical hobbies and snubbing anyone who tries to get close to him.
Ceridwen's eyes are silver and tip-tilted at the corners in an oddly Asian appearance. She can't change them. It's the only thing about her appearance that stays the same when she shapeshifts -- assuming the shape she chooses has eyes, of course, but the concept remains. They are deep and shadowy and appear to carry the memory of lifetimes of painful knowledge. The comparison to depthless pools of rainwater comes to mind.
Her hair is equally silver, falling in watery ripples to her waist. Completely unbound and miraculously untangled (she's a magical warrior, come on!), it cloaks her slender form in shining waves. Amusingly, when she shapeshifts, whatever colour she chooses for her hair is IT -- she cannot dye it any other colour. It might seem a bit odd for her to actually shift it into another colour as if dyed -- the roots would never ever show.
Ceridwen's skin is dark, her face delicately heart-shaped. She stands at 5'3" 130 pounds, but nevertheless packs a wallop if she decides physical chastisement is what you need. She's more likely to sweettalk you into whatever corner she wants you in, and it's very difficult to resist anything said in her clear mezzosoprano.
Kieran:
Kieran is supposed to have dark hair -- but his repeated attempts to dye it something other have resulted in a rainbow of colour shadows which show up in direct light. As he's not in the sun often, more often a random flash will jump out at anyone working with him. The stuff is massively curly, which no doubt accounts for part of the trouble in dyeing it. If it were straight it would hang all the way to his shoulders, but the curls keep it kinked right up around his ears. He has the habitual motion to toss it out of his eyes, and won't stand to have it fastened in any way.
Kieran's eyes are naturally very pale gray -- so pale as to be called silver. To hide this feature, he wears violet contact lenses, which make his eyes leap out at anyone he looks at. This, combined with his habit of rarely looking anyone in the eyes, and his further habit of wearing a heavy-lidded expression, makes his gaze startlingly powerful. Light arched brows give his face an incongruously pretty look.
At 6'1", Kieran couldn't hide in a crowd if he wanted to -- not that it matters since he detests crowds. With a build somewhere between an anorexic weightlifter and a high-metabolism college student, he'll never win any awards, either. His hands are unusually well-shaped for a guy, if terribly ill-kempt and scarred as much as his feet by his chemical playtoys. He is his own favourite test subject. Kieran's skin is Celtic pale, and the lightness of it is unfortunately accented by his tendency to stay inside, out of the sun. Doubtless he'd burn like a candle and then peel like a snake, but he's never taken the time to find out.
Kieran wears black. Always black. Only black. Neck to heels solid. Tshirts, jeans, whatever. Only rarely will an item of his clothing have a slogan or design on it. He goes barefoot more often than not and his feet are marked with the scars of his chosen pasttime -- glass cuts, burn scars, heavy callus. He will only ever wear shoes when the location and time/event call for it -- usually by law. He absolutely despises the uniform of his school. His hair hides the silver hoop in the top of the right ear. He won't wear rings because they might interfere in his chemistry experiments.
Kieran is fortunate that he rarely has to shout, because his voice is so damn deep he'd need a microphone to be heard more than a few feet away. Bass, with an edge of a velvet purr, what girls are attracted to him usually cite the way he talks and sounds as the first thing they noticed.
Kieran possesses a somewhat reserved personality, but one that is well concealed by the rebellious and outstanding image that is shown to the world. He bluffs easily the appearance of being sure of himself and his purposes. Unfortunately, he has a great deal of difficulty making decisions and his self-assurance is pretty thin by now. Ambitious, serious and dedicated to duty, life may be difficult at times, but he is the type of person who must triumph and achieve success at any cost. His aptitude to persevere, no matter how difficult the road, sets him apart from most of his peers. His patience is never ending.
He does best in activities in which the rules of the game are well established and decisions play a minimal part in the evaluation of success. He is a very thoughtful and serious person, thinking everything through carefully before he sets off in any direction. He possesses excellent reasoning skills, and can be counted on to select options that are practical. He's very smart, possessing a logical, systematic, analytical and discriminating mind. His strong point is in analysis or analytical criticism, and he prefers a strictly rational foundation of thought.
He doesn't handle chaotic situations very well and seriously needs to lighten up a little and not take life and everything else so seriously. Despite his severe self-discipline, at times he wallows in self-pity. Change frightens him at the same time as he welcomes it with open arms, due to his pessimistic overanalysis of any situation. He keeps his feelings and emotions in an iron grip. In all emotional matters he's so careful and controlled. Much of the time he is content to be pretty much a loner. He is not an easy person to talk to or to live with because he is so aloof, reserved, and cautious.
Academically he is outstanding, especially when it comes to facts and realities, but not so much when it comes to theories and hypotheses. His real strength comes out when he is allowed to focus his capacity for concentration on a single objective.
Good Points: caution, intelligence, ambition, dedication, loyalty
Faults: pessimism, caution, seriousness and lack of overt emotion
Shapeshift
Ceridwen has the ability to shift her form to anything she chooses. The single constant is that in any form that has eyes, her eyes will remain the same silver shade and the same shape, so one can always recognise her by the eyes. Also, her alternative forms will not accept alteration, so forms with hair cannot dye the hair, skin tone cannot be altered by chemicals, etc. However they can be altered by her shifting form again. Ceridwen doesn't exercise this power very often because it hurts like hell when she uses it. She can feel every change in her body as she shifts form, including bones realigning, skin liquefying, and muscles lengthening. Fortunately for the sanity of persons around her, the shapeshift is hidden by a silvery mist.
Potions
Given the appropriate equipment, time, and ingredients, Ceridwen can concoct a potion for anything. Almost anything? A great many things, anyway. Love potions, shape-change potions, knowledge potions, truth potions, healing potions, sleep potions, you name it and she'll try her hand at it. As Kieran, he rarely carries any potions around, because you never know who might turn out your pockets and find stuff in there. Ceridwen, on the other hand, is pretty much festooned with bottles of different potions. Typically, she bears a contact-sleep potion, several healing potions of varying strengths, and at least one trap-potion.
Trap-potions usually entrap the victim in some kind of paralysis spell. Another favoured potion is the potion of pain, which causes the victim to feel as though they had swallowed broken glass. To use the potions in battle, Ceridwen tosses the bottle at her victim. The bottles are designed to shatter on contact with something hard, usually the ground, and most of her potions are effective on contact. Those that are required to be drunk are usually love or truth potions, and she will use her silver tongue to coax the victim to drink them.
As a desperation move, Ceridwen will summon up a handful of labbooks from an alternate dimension and throw them at the target, in hopes of gaining enough time to escape.
Basic Levitation
Ceridwen can do the basic villain hover-over-the-ground trick, but only in her natural form.
Poitiers, France 1176
The woman stared at herself in the mirror. Shapeshifting was the worst part of establishing a new identity; anyhting else was just acting and mind-fucking magic. So what shape should she take for this era? She wished these barbarians would hurry up and give women rights, so she could stop changing genders. Being a male was tiresome; but Eleanor of Aquitaine would be fun to play with.
A grey swirl subsumed the form of the woman.
Mecca 1431
The woman -- no older -- twitched the draperies required for women in this backward culture. Taking a female form had allowed her to do much damage this past few centuries -- helping spread the Black Death not being the smallest part -- and she planned to vanish quietly in the Islamic culture for a while until the furor over Joan of Arc's heresy (her doing too) died down.
A grey swirl subsumed the form of the woman.
Japan 1607
The woman -- still the same age -- reviewed her lines one last time. If her theatre innovation was to survive, the very first performance had to be absolutely perfect. Only the Emperor's personal approval could bring the other nobles to her Kabuki theatre. And only the approval of the nobles would protect her from the other Broken Council members ... and the Deity.
A grey swirl subsumed the form of the woman.
Philadelphia 1791
The woman -- never changed -- reread the Declaration of Independence once more, then let the document roll back up. Some of her best work in all of history had gone into that scroll. Now a new nation had been born, a nation that would turn all its resources to the freedom of all people, regardless of the cost. She was sure the cost would be high, but the tragedy of the past could not be allowed to repeat itself.
A grey swirl subsumed the form of the woman.
India 1899
The woman -- still young -- tangled the jewels between her fingers. British officers were good for one thing -- buying presents for their wives back Home. The more money that came into India, the more possiblities there were to throw off the British yoke. She bared her teeth at the polished bronze mirror. Soon her wife would be home, and she could not be caught in this shape.
A grey swirl subsumed the form of the woman.
Edinburgh 2000
The woman -- beginning to look aged in the eyes, if nowhere else -- studied the young girl whose family she would soon be joining. She had run throughout the centuries to escape the Deity, but it was too late now. The entire Council had returned, and the showdown that had been postponed a millennium ago was at hand.
A grey swirl subsumed the form of the woman.
Kieran pulled a curl down before his eyes. His silver eyes, damn them for never changing. Something would have to be done about that this time, or his cover was gone, and no shape would hide him from the wrath of his deserted Council members -- or the Deity, did he choose, finally, to fix the mistake he'd made all those many years ago.