"Come and see! From the exotic lands to the East of the furthest sea, Roshario! half horse! half girl! All talent! "
That’s the barker’s call that helped Roshario learn who and what she was. It’s not her tribe’s hooves, but the squeak of cavan wheels. Not the faces of her mother and father, but of Oldra the beardless dwarf lady, Kerris who tamed three displacer beasts, and of course, Master Menlo the Majestic, the traveling faire’s ringleader, owner, and paymaster.
While the townies saw only the glamor, pomp, and flash of the faire, those who traveled with it lived with a family of outlaws, outcasts, brigands, and worse. Oh, family was family to be sure, but it was a dysfunctional one, at best. Menlo, the halfling at the head of it all, kept his employees firmly under his employ with threat, with guile, and with debt. Roshario was not ill-treated per se, but she was as captive as all the others. Though browbeaten, she felt the call for freedom more and more as she grew older and became more aware of the world in which she dwelled. The only problem was, where can a half-horse woman hide in this land, if she were to run?
It was a storm that provided the solution; a coastal journey, a return trip from attending one of the self-appointed dukes of the Pirate Isles suddenly came under heavy weather, and was blown towards southeastern Iberica. Theship that Roshario was aboard went down in the gale, and it’s only by sheer luck that she remained breathing long enough to be cast up among the flotsam on the beach near the Iberican port town of Salou. That was several months ago, and she has been making a living off her performances since. She still harbors two fears – first and foremost, a mad fear of ever being lost at sea again, and second, a creeping fear – knowledge, really – that Menlo isn’t going to let one of his prize “entertainers” go so easily…!