| ⠀⠀ | The Calatori people are called by many names. Seekers. Wayfarers. Vagabonds. Thieves. Mystics. Oracles. Performers. Nothing ever quite sticks for long, perhaps due to their ever-fluctuating nature, disappearing as quickly as they appear. Nomads since the Day of Creation, the Calatori travel the continents in routes that seem to be constantly changing, ebbing and flowing with the cycles of the moon, the seasons, and the tides. They settle in place for a week or two at a time, trading wares and stories, offering glimpses into fate, and the unseen, before drifting on. Almost like a dream, they leave behind nary a trace but their memory, letting them fade and turn muddy with the morning light.
Whether you may believe it or not, think it truth or lies to sell, the Calatori are said to keep a gift amongst them. In the story of creation, it is foretold that a Calatori child born within the solstice, upon which the Sun God Azem embraces his wife the Moon God Nhama, will be blessed by their reunion. Marked with eyes that reflect the skies of the Gods, they will see the divine threads upon the tapestry of fates.
It was within the Summer solstice that Iasmina, daughter to Aishe and Mihail, was born. With hair as dark as Nhama's night and eyes as bright as Azem's sky, Iasmina was gifted. Yet, unlike those of her ancestors, who could read the story of fates through cards, or were whispered the future through dreams, Iasmina's gift manifested through touch.
And it was overwhelming.
From an early age, she felt the truth hidden behind words. Felt the actual intention covered by lies. She could see the story in objects, and the future in palms. Sensitive, she was called. So, for much of her childhood, she spent it hidden, alone, in the corner of her parent's Vardo, digging into books, and anything she could read. Books and words allowed her to fall into a different story, away from the cacophony of fate all around her that often engulfed and drowned her. Instead, she learned of the world outside her home, of so many things, eagerly consuming whatever literature her family could retrieve for her.
For she was loved. Her people were warm and kind, and her home never needed to be tied to a piece of land, to a city, or country. Home was her family. And, in turn, Iasmina loved them.
As she grew older, she learned better control of her gift, and grew a better tolerance. For her people's survival, she entered the craft of fortune-telling, reading palms and the lines of fate held in their cracks. She brewed potions and poultices, sold for gold coins or traded for crafts her people needed. As far as Iasmina was concerned, life was wonderful. It was warm, filled with kindness, and laughter, dancing and merriment.
But it all came to a sudden stop, when the camp was raided.
Unlike many that believed the Calatori gift for soothesaying was a mere fleece for coin, an evening of entertainment, the burgeoning Empire knew of its magic and truth. In a small village where the Calatori settled for a few days of respite, Iasmina unknowingly read the palm of the Empire's General, and thus, sealed in her own fate.
As dusk settled upon the encampment and under Nhama's eye, they were raided by the Empire's soldiers. The Vardos were broken open and set alight, men were beaten, and women and children pulled from their beds by their hair. Iasmina was captured amongst the smell of smoke and blood, and the screams of her people.
The tears of her mother, her weathered hands reaching desperately for her, was the last sight she saw of the Calatori. Of her family. Of her home.
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