Sabin

Shhhhhh. Don't tell anyone, but he also has marvelous hidden talents that beg to surface. May even be related to Narumi. Hoping to fence both off at high profit at the opportune time. Maybe to a traveling sultan.

Narumi

Beyond comprehension. Probably born in a foreign land and taken as a baby. Suspect ransom went horribly wrong, to our benefit. Has talents beyond mortals.

Etain of Sutherland

Not to be taken lightly. As fierce a fighter as she is fiercely kind to her friends.

Geldemar

Much wiser and better looking than his brother. Has lurked in the shadows of camp as long as I recall. Occasionally graces us by joining us by the fire for boisterous revelry if the lure is right.

Saphira

Dmitri

http://www.flashbackuniverse.com/

Long years ago, Dmitri frequently camped on the lands of House White Phoenix, the household that took in Dulcinaya when she was orphaned. Dulcy told her guardians he was her older brother.

Well, he wasn't older, and he wasn't her brother.

One day, Dmitri was shanghaid in an alley and pressed into service on a pirate ship, where, suprisingly, he learned to read and write (and make lots of copies). He eventually won his freedom and returned to his lover and her new tribe, Kumpania Painted Wheel.

A talented guitarist and storyteller, Dmitri has the gift of knowing how to make anyone feel welcome at his fire.

Moira

Iago

Iago Gallago (James the Gallician) is (so far) a traveller, based in the north west of Spain in the 16th C. He plays gallician pipes for dancing, and to keep his spirits up, and earns his money entertaining villagers by music, juggling, fire -eating and a little careful legerdemain (take that how you will :).

He travels with Zelda, who is "the Most Powerful Witch in the North", as well as being a lovely singer/songwriter/drummer and various family members. There are a pack of dogs with two stupid spaniels "Zebediah" and "Tobias" as leaders.

Mundane note: Martin is our most far-flung member, residing in Australia.

Thia

Thia is originally from Kumpania Ari Bosh, (which is the same tribe that raised Kazimir and Tsigane after the original Painted Wheel was decimated by soldiers.)

She and her brother Robert the Quill arrived at the camp of the Ven Droma one afternoon after The Twilight Mistress was shipwrecked, intending to visit with some friends they had there. This is when she met the stranded ship's pilot. Yela and Max have been smitten with each other ever since.

Macksi

http://www.drunkenmariners.com/

"Max" is the Romany pilot of the Drunken Mariners’ wrecked ship, the Twilight Mistress. After his family was driven from the land of a noble French household when he was a child, he was found and adopted by that same French household. Growing up, he made his way in varied trades, eventually becoming a shipper for a clothing merchant.

This is what led to him joining on with The Twilight Mistress, a pirate vessel that raided his sloop. These pirates were notorious drinkers and carousers, and one fateful morning, after a month long binge, they went on a raid.

Being drunk, thinking one can conquer anything, and sailing don't usually mix well. The crew failed to notice the signs of foul weather ahead. They sailed headlong into a massive gale. Raven the Naviguesser directed Max (who, ironically, is a tee-totaler, and the only sober man aboard) to steer the ship out of the storm. Unfortunately, he guessed wrong, and the ship ran aground hard!

The bulk of the crew scattered but a small group managed to keep together on shore. As fate would have it, the Kumpania Ven Droma, Painted Wheel’s relatives, were camped in that very spot.

They gave them shelter from the storm that destroyed their ship and in return, the group of gadje who came to burn them out a few days later were surprised to discover a gang of drunken but ferocious pirates protecting them!

Robert

http://www.vendroma.com/

http://www.robertquill.com/

Robert the Quill is Thia’s artistically talented brother. He and his sister Thia showed up in the Ven Droma camp shortly after the arrival of the shipwrecked pirates.

Upon seeing that Rachel the Goatwoman was quite the hottie, he decided to stick around for a bit. They eventually married, and the two of them are now an inseparable pair.

Robert can often be found at Pennsic, in the booth with the sign that reads “Please Disturb The Artist.”

Awards
AoA 7-20-02

Rachel

http://www.enslin.com/rae/pages/stume.htm

http://www.vendroma.com/

Rachel the Goatwoman is the head of Kumpania Ven Droma. She met Painted Wheel while we were admiring her horse, Silvermist, who was grazing outside her vardo one morning.
Her warmth and friendliness endeared her to us immediately, and it is through her hospitality that Painted Wheel became friends with the Drunken Mariners.

Rachel is known as "The Goatwoman" because of the large herd of various livestock* she carts around with her when she travels; notably the very life-like goats she uses for shopping carts in the Pennsic marketplace.

*Note: The Australian Shepherd out in front of the vardo isn't alive and never has been alive. The fake fur and plastic it's made of has never been alive. Anyone accusing her of animal cruelty may well get themselves run over by a large, Ledge-style, white and green vardo.

Tsigane

Dulcinaya’s and Kazimir’s sister, Tsigane is the level head, the reliable shoulder, and the healing hand of the Kumpania. Usually content to pursue more quiet pastimes than her tribesmen, Tsigane is often the calm eye in the storm.

Raised by her Aunt Savina, Lochlann’s mother, she, like Kazimir, was reunited with their sister as an adult, and the three siblings are fiercely protective of one another.

Awards
AoA 9-1981Order of the Coill's Tripaliare

Baroness Morwenna

How were we kidnapped by the gypsies? Did I say kidnapped? Well, not really kidnapped…. It’s a bit more complicated than that.

Have a seat my friend, and for the price of an ale, I’ll tell you a tale…..

By nature, I’m an ordinary seaman with just enough talent to be a second mate. While not a lavish life, it was tolerable enough. Tolerable enough until I happened to take a shine to a Cornish lass.

That girl had a mind for merchanting. ‘Tis known that not many need a keg of nails and fewer yet have the money to buy a keg of nails - but everyone needs a few nails now and then.

It wasn’t long before she discovered that when you sold nails by the dozen, you could earn more than the money it cost to buy the same number of nails by the keg. Pretty soon, we had a profitable ship chandler business.

What does any sailor with too much money buy? No, not whiskey - a ship! We bought a run-down, old merchantman that brought us a tidy profit in trade with the Dutch - which of course we used to buy another ship - and in turn, another!

Do you remember that splendid little war we had with the French a few years back?

I do.

Some sorry Frog man-o-war boarded my ship and stole my cargo!

Facing ruin, I did what a man had to do. I turned privateer - I was not a pirate you understand; all my vessels had a proper letter of marque - signed by the King himself! We showed the damned French what happens when you steal from an Englishman!

That privateering was rather rewarding made the revenge sweeter. Riches and honors came in abundance. My lady & I were proclaimed Baron & Baroness by the King - however, with no Baronial lands they were perhaps empty titles….

So far, so good. ‘Tis said however, that good fortune will test you as surely as any adversity.

Well, the old king (God rest his soul) dies and his idiot son marries a French princess, and just like that, the French are now our allies! -

And just like that, French ships are no longer fair game and I’m now a pirate! How’s that, you ask? When the they steal your cargo, it’s a “prize of war” - when you return the courtesy, well, that’s piracy!!

It seems the damned Frogs were also a bit upset that I sank a few of their ships.

How many? - perhaps a dozen, maybe more…..

Not finding a gallows to my liking, we hid from the French in the only place a Frenchman would never look…..

France.

One dark and stormy night, the Baroness and I took our comfort in what might be generously deemed a tavern - it was “The Old Brown Cow” - or some such name. While the ale was tolerable enough, the port sherry truly pleased my palate and I indulged more than a gentleman should. That’s the only excuse I have for what follows….

The “entertainment” on that evening was an odd lot of gypsies. One woman danced and tried to coax a few coins from the patrons. Three others tried to coax a danceable tune from instruments that had clearly seen better days.

The dancer might have succeeded were it not for a man that sat close by. He seemed pleasant enough, but would always favor any patron that paid too much attention to the dancer with a deadpan glare that warned any man to keep his distance. That he also kept a rapier within arm’s reach didn’t help her income a bit.

The Baroness yawned, looked bored, and excused herself.

Moments later, ‘twas then that six men entered…..

By the look of them, they were the Sheriff, four bailiffs, and a somewhat aggrieved-looking farmer.

“That’s her! - That’s the thieving wench!”

The dancer froze but a moment, then ran for the kitchen door - and right into the arms of a waiting bailiff. He spun the woman around, seized her by the scruff of the neck and pinned one arm behind her back.

“Release her.”

It was the fellow with the rapier who spoke. It was a simple, dry, matter-of-fact command that a prudent man would heed.

Prudent men were in short supply that night.

“Or what?”

May the Gods save us from such idiots. The idiot in question was the youngest bailiff. The youth compounded his lunacy by drawing a sword and turning to face the seated man.

With a speed I would not have credited to a mortal, the man rose, and unsheathed the rapier. One fluid blow stuck the sword from the bailiff’s hand and the return stroke pinned the fool against a wall.

When everything stopped moving, the room was full of bared steel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the blond gypsy woman that had played the fiddle had chosen her targets and was quietly readying two throwing knives.

“Gentlemen…..”

I stood and walked to the center of the room, clearly unarmed and brandishing only my purse.

“….there’s no need for this to end badly.”

I held out the purse to the farmer and shook it so that all could hear the coins inside. I saw no reason to reveal that those coins were but a handful of coppers.

“What was taken? A few eggs - perhaps a chicken or two? Surely those things are not worth a man’s life.”

“The first man who moves, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

A familiar feminine voice - the Baroness had returned. She stood in the kitchen doorway brandishing a wheel-lock that I had given her some time ago.

“Put the pistol down, my dear - there’s no need for that. I’ll explain later.”

“I step out for a moment to visit the loo and when I come back you’re surrounded by armed men while holding your purse out! And this is the thanks I get? I’ll be damned if I ever save your sorry Saxon arse….”

She never finished the tirade because a deafening report filled the room. The Sheriff’s hat was shredded, but thankfully the head below it was spared.

I really did intend to have the pistol repaired someday. Whenever the clockwork was over-wound, the trigger pawl had a nasty habit of slipping, causing the gun to fire without actually pulling the trigger.

In truth, I can remember but snippets of what followed - things did happen faster than the most even-tempered of men could observe.

I’ll give the gypsies credit for being a quick-witted lot - everyone of them seized whatever opportunity the confusion provided.

The dancer broke free when she came down hard on her captor’s toes with her heel. She then wheeled about and settled a private debt. While I didn’t witness what she did to his nethers, his bulging eyes bespoke the result.

I don’t recall which of them grabbed the Baroness & I pulled us out the door.

We were guided along a path through the woods that I could not have found, let alone followed in the dark. Presently, we entered their encampment and were given food and drink and a place to rest.

“The Sherengro wants to meet you two. Address her as the ‘Rani Bari’. She’s been told what happened at the tavern.”

The woman sat at the edge of a campfire and barely took note of our approach. Her attention centered on some cards that were spread out on a small carpet.

“You two are bit old for brawlin’, eh?”

“I fear we’re at the mercy of your hospitality, Rani Bari. Everything we had is back at the Tavern. We dare not return for it.”

“This Kumpania honors its debts and its friends.”

The woman fell silent and scowled at the cards. She gathered them up and laid them out again. Whatever was divulged did not please her, for she quickly gathered them up again. Suddenly, her face brightened - as if seeing something obvious for the first time.

“Well damn me for being a fool! The cards can’t reveal unless I know your names!”

“We are Bardulf and Morwenna, Baron and Baroness at your service.”

The Sherengro paused. Clearly she suspected the vagabonds before her were of a couple of loons. She then favored us with a gently tolerant smile that is used in the company of small children.

“Baron? Baroness?? Forgive my lack of manners! I’m Dulcinaya, The Queen of Egypt! Welcome to my royal court!

Dulcinaya shuffled the cards one more time and laid them out.

“The cards say you’re going to stay with us for a while.”

Baron Bardulf

http://bordervalekeep.com


How were we kidnapped by the gypsies? Did I say kidnapped? Well, not really kidnapped…. It’s a bit more complicated than that.

Have a seat my friend, and for the price of an ale, I’ll tell you a tale…..

By nature, I’m an ordinary seaman with just enough talent to be a second mate. While not a lavish life, it was tolerable enough. Tolerable enough until I happened to take a shine to a Cornish lass.

That girl had a mind for merchanting. ‘Tis known that not many need a keg of nails and fewer yet have the money to buy a keg of nails - but everyone needs a few nails now and then.

It wasn’t long before she discovered that when you sold nails by the dozen, you could earn more than the money it cost to buy the same number of nails by the keg. Pretty soon, we had a profitable ship chandler business.

What does any sailor with too much money buy? No, not whiskey - a ship! We bought a run-down, old merchantman that brought us a tidy profit in trade with the Dutch - which of course we used to buy another ship - and in turn, another!

Do you remember that splendid little war we had with the French a few years back?

I do.

Some sorry Frog man-o-war boarded my ship and stole my cargo!

Facing ruin, I did what a man had to do. I turned privateer - I was not a pirate you understand; all my vessels had a proper letter of marque - signed by the King himself! We showed the damned French what happens when you steal from an Englishman!

That privateering was rather rewarding made the revenge sweeter. Riches and honors came in abundance. My lady & I were proclaimed Baron & Baroness by the King - however, with no Baronial lands they were perhaps empty titles….

So far, so good. ‘Tis said however, that good fortune will test you as surely as any adversity.

Well, the old king (God rest his soul) dies and his idiot son marries a French princess, and just like that, the French are now our allies! -

And just like that, French ships are no longer fair game and I’m now a pirate! How’s that, you ask? When the they steal your cargo, it’s a “prize of war” - when you return the courtesy, well, that’s piracy!!

It seems the damned Frogs were also a bit upset that I sank a few of their ships.

How many? - perhaps a dozen, maybe more…..

Not finding a gallows to my liking, we hid from the French in the only place a Frenchman would never look…..

France.

One dark and stormy night, the Baroness and I took our comfort in what might be generously deemed a tavern - it was “The Old Brown Cow” - or some such name. While the ale was tolerable enough, the port sherry truly pleased my palate and I indulged more than a gentleman should. That’s the only excuse I have for what follows….

The “entertainment” on that evening was an odd lot of gypsies. One woman danced and tried to coax a few coins from the patrons. Three others tried to coax a danceable tune from instruments that had clearly seen better days.

The dancer might have succeeded were it not for a man that sat close by. He seemed pleasant enough, but would always favor any patron that paid too much attention to the dancer with a deadpan glare that warned any man to keep his distance. That he also kept a rapier within arm’s reach didn’t help her income a bit.

The Baroness yawned, looked bored, and excused herself.

Moments later, ‘twas then that six men entered…..

By the look of them, they were the Sheriff, four bailiffs, and a somewhat aggrieved-looking farmer.

“That’s her! - That’s the thieving wench!”

The dancer froze but a moment, then ran for the kitchen door - and right into the arms of a waiting bailiff. He spun the woman around, seized her by the scruff of the neck and pinned one arm behind her back.

“Release her.”

It was the fellow with the rapier who spoke. It was a simple, dry, matter-of-fact command that a prudent man would heed.

Prudent men were in short supply that night.

“Or what?”

May the Gods save us from such idiots. The idiot in question was the youngest bailiff. The youth compounded his lunacy by drawing a sword and turning to face the seated man.

With a speed I would not have credited to a mortal, the man rose, and unsheathed the rapier. One fluid blow stuck the sword from the bailiff’s hand and the return stroke pinned the fool against a wall.

When everything stopped moving, the room was full of bared steel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the blond gypsy woman that had played the fiddle had chosen her targets and was quietly readying two throwing knives.

“Gentlemen…..”

I stood and walked to the center of the room, clearly unarmed and brandishing only my purse.

“….there’s no need for this to end badly.”

I held out the purse to the farmer and shook it so that all could hear the coins inside. I saw no reason to reveal that those coins were but a handful of coppers.

“What was taken? A few eggs - perhaps a chicken or two? Surely those things are not worth a man’s life.”

“The first man who moves, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

A familiar feminine voice - the Baroness had returned. She stood in the kitchen doorway brandishing a wheel-lock that I had given her some time ago.

“Put the pistol down, my dear - there’s no need for that. I’ll explain later.”

“I step out for a moment to visit the loo and when I come back you’re surrounded by armed men while holding your purse out! And this is the thanks I get? I’ll be damned if I ever save your sorry Saxon arse….”

She never finished the tirade because a deafening report filled the room. The Sheriff’s hat was shredded, but thankfully the head below it was spared.

I really did intend to have the pistol repaired someday. Whenever the clockwork was over-wound, the trigger pawl had a nasty habit of slipping, causing the gun to fire without actually pulling the trigger.

In truth, I can remember but snippets of what followed - things did happen faster than the most even-tempered of men could observe.

I’ll give the gypsies credit for being a quick-witted lot - everyone of them seized whatever opportunity the confusion provided.

The dancer broke free when she came down hard on her captor’s toes with her heel. She then wheeled about and settled a private debt. While I didn’t witness what she did to his nethers, his bulging eyes bespoke the result.

I don’t recall which of them grabbed the Baroness & I pulled us out the door.

We were guided along a path through the woods that I could not have found, let alone followed in the dark. Presently, we entered their encampment and were given food and drink and a place to rest.

“The Sherengro wants to meet you two. Address her as the ‘Rani Bari’. She’s been told what happened at the tavern.”

The woman sat at the edge of a campfire and barely took note of our approach. Her attention centered on some cards that were spread out on a small carpet.

“You two are bit old for brawlin’, eh?”

“I fear we’re at the mercy of your hospitality, Rani Bari. Everything we had is back at the Tavern. We dare not return for it.”

“This Kumpania honors its debts and its friends.”

The woman fell silent and scowled at the cards. She gathered them up and laid them out again. Whatever was divulged did not please her, for she quickly gathered them up again. Suddenly, her face brightened - as if seeing something obvious for the first time.

“Well damn me for being a fool! The cards can’t reveal unless I know your names!”

“We are Bardulf and Morwenna, Baron and Baroness at your service.”

The Sherengro paused. Clearly she suspected the vagabonds before her were of a couple of loons. She then favored us with a gently tolerant smile that is used in the company of small children.

“Baron? Baroness?? Forgive my lack of manners! I’m Dulcinaya, The Queen of Egypt! Welcome to my royal court!

Dulcinaya shuffled the cards one more time and laid them out.

“The cards say you’re going to stay with us for a while.”

Kazimir

Kazimir is actually the adoptive son of Dulcinaya’s and Tsigan’s Uncle, their father’s twin, but the girls will call him nothing but phral, or brother. He was raised with Tsigane and Lochlann, his cousin, by his Aunt Savina after his parents were killed in the raid on their camp. Sly, charming, and a skilled and graceful dancer, Kaz is as popular with the ladies as his late adoptive father was.

Kaz’s father (and his wife) had no children, so he who took in the illegitimate half-French son of his younger sister. Kaz has a half brother, the French court jester Geldemare LaFacaeur. The two appear to get along, but always seem to be missing one another. The resemblance between the two is uncanny. Both Kaz and his brother can fence, and are also skilled archers.

Awards (Geldemar Le Farceaur)
AoA 10-21-95Nottinghill Coill- Baroness' Award of Courtesy1-12-02Order of the Gordian Knot 1-18-97

Ivar

Ivar is the son of one of Dulcy’s favorite foster uncles (Turin Ulfsson, of the Truly Tasteless Ulfssons, a Scandindavian rowdy) and a gypsy girl named Keomi Boshengro.

He is a Chess wizard, is quite competent with both rapier and bow, plays drums and pennywhistle, and can also be found around a drum circle at night.

Some of Painted Wheel’s funniest stories involve Ivar, including the time he bobbed for beer without getting wet, and the time he passed armor inspection using a plumber’s helper for a cup

Katherine

“It all began nine long years ago. The people who had raised me told me their dark secret. I had a sister somewhere!

They told the story of how my parents had been poor and sold their children to different families to get money to live.
My parents were Scotch/Irish, and the family I had lived with most of my life was Irish.

Since I was returning home to stay with them after the death of my husband, they thought it was a good time for me to try to find my siblings. I suspect they were just trying to get rid of me.

“I eventually learned that my younger sister had also been widowed, and had run off with Gypsies a few years back; at least, that’s what I had told by her late husband’s family. I was told her name was Bekka, or something like that, they couldn't remember exactly. She was running from a man she feared and despised, so they begged me not to tell anyone else where she might be hiding. I decided to take off on my own to try to find my sister.

“I traveled across the country till I met a Frenchman named Vincent D’Orleans in a pub one night. He was kind. I told him of my quest to locate my sister. He listened intently, offering in the end to be an escort, to protect me from the perils of the road. He had a nice voice, and strong kind hands. I thought I would trust him and travel with him. We traveled together for eight long years and grew quite fond of each other. Finally, while waiting in a small ocean village for the Gypsy troupe to make their annual pass through the town, we were married.

“Just this last year we have joined with a traveling Gypsy group, after some initial tribulation. I think one of them, who calls herself Aysha, could be my sister. Vincent thinks so too.”

Vincent D'Orleans

Vincent D’Orleans is French. This is why we don’t let him be alone with Silvermist.

Seriously.

He is always trying to either sell her, or worse, serve her for supper. Look at this recipe he came up with.

Sick.

On the upside, Vincent is an amazingly talented songwriter. He sings, plays the djembe, and has created and arranged the Painted Wheel Song, to name just one of what is an impressive collection of tunes.

He is also the beloved husband of Katherine D'Orleans.

Denys

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit, sed diam nonummy nibh euismod tincidunt ut laoreet dolore magna aliquam erat volutpat. Ut wisi enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exerci tation ullamcorper suscipit lobortis nisl ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis autem vel eum iriure dolor in hendrerit in vulputate velit esse molestie consequat, vel illum dolore eu feugiat nulla facilisis at vero eros et accumsan et iusto odio dignissim qui blandit praesent luptatum zzril delenit augue duis dolore te feugait nulla facilisi.