Kazimira Gullmar

The Cirkus Oroja has been roaming the land in their signature coloured wagons since before most could remember. They know no borders, nor kingdoms, and they follow no one but their whims and ringmaster. They live to entertain and distract, visiting little towns and filling them with vivacious energy before spiriting away, on to the next destination.

The acts have always been dominated by aerial acrobatics: from silks to high wires, to the dramatic flips of the trapeze, their antics will make many an audience members' hearts flutter with fear and anticipation.

Always accompanied by the lively pipes and flutes of their musicians, the arrival of the circus is often much venerated. The clacking of wagons and the whinnying of horses provides a sonorous accompaniment, carrying the bevy of acrobats. Enter Kazimira Gullmar, one of many.

Kazimira has a lithe, compact, and athletic figure with very little body fat, the product of her active lifestyle as an acrobat, aerialist, and trapeze artist. Though short in stature, at the equivalent of 5'2", her strength is not to be underestimated. Her figure has never been particularly shapely; Kazi has often jokingly compared it to a 'box.' Her hair, dark brown and slightly curly, is often bundled up and out of the way in a tight braid or bun. In the rare moments that it is down, however, it hangs just below her scapula. Kazi's face is defined by an average-sized nose and full lips, as well as slightly close-set brown eyes.

This acrobat has never been one to be particularly finicky or strict regarding her appearance. Nonetheless, she has a few staples in her wardrobe: a pair of soft leather slippers with rubber soles, breeches, a long sleeved shirt, and, when not working, a scarf wrapped around her upper body. While Kazimira may not care much for her clothing, she certainly cares for her hair. Thick and glossy, it is one of her greatest prides, and she will spend as long as she needs every day washing, oiling, and intricately styling her locks.
Kazimira has always been, at her best, bright and cheerful, quick to see the good in even the worst situations. She has never hesitated to help, or offer a shoulder to cry on. Being raised as a part of a traveling circus has left her open-minded. As a result, she never hesitates to try new things; this goes along with her bravery. Though Kazi has never faltered on even the most difficult of tricks, this may manifest in foolhardiness. She doesn't know her own limits, and will push herself far beyond them, to the point of danger, to please others. Her bouncy personality, accentuated with her adventurous spirit, often results in impatience and a flighty nature. Kazi is never good at commitment, and is often quick to lose interest in things unless they offer constant, changing stimulation.

Kazimira did not have an illustrious or priviledged childhood. Abandoned on the doorstep of a Nzari temple as a baby, she was raised by the monks until age ten. However, her being her, Kazi found the pious lifestyle to be boring and restricting. So, she slipped out in the dead of night, hid in a hay cart bound for the capital, and started a life on the streets.

For all her flaws, Kazimira has always been a quick learner. After a rough first few weeks, she fell into a routine: she would wake up and swipe breakfast from a vendor. After playing with the street children for hours, swimming in the river, she would scrounge lunch from another vendor, and play some more. Dinner? Swiped. Nights? Cool and dark, long, peaceful sleeps spent holed up in an abandoned building. No irritatingly selfless monks, no calls to prayer in the witching hour.

But of course, that's not how it went.

The capital of Ahm Nzar, Kitilan, was an enormous, bustling metropolis. In it? Extreme wealth: glittering palaces that housed only a few people, parades of gilt-laden chariots and horses brought by boat from the finest stables within a thousand nautical leagues. With that, as always, came extreme poverty. Run-down mud cottages housed several families at once. Food, for some, was scarce, a far cry from the elaborate banquets that the nobles dined from three times a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

While not overtly opulent, Kazi had had a comfortable existence thus far. She received meals, clothing, a warm bed at night, and respect from her caretakers. On the streets, she was simply one more dirt streaked face to the many vendors and guards that patrolled the area. The merchants plying their wares had long grown wary of the children and other thieves, and had become far too vigilant to steal from; a warden always seemed to be around the corner. To thieve was to invite a whipping.

To sleep? To rest? That was not safe, either. In moments of vulnerability, darkness seeped in the cracks.

People would gain your trust, offer food and clothes and shelter. Then? Then you would be gone. Snatched, spirited away, put in the belly of a ship and never see again.

To loaf, to loll, to slow down, to drop your guard for a moment invited kidnapping.

Kazimira learned to never not be vigilant, to be slow to trust and never rest. She swiped nuts dropped by tourists, careless folk who cared little about waste, and who was hiding under the table, waiting for that drop of nourishment. Meanwhile, the scars across her back multiplied, white strips of thickened skin, reminders of each time she got too bold.

But you had to be.

She tried to go back, but the city was too large and winding, and no one seemed to know where 'the temple on the cliff by the water' was. So Kazi stayed. Learned.

When she was sixteen, salvation came in the form of flute music and drums, and the clopping of hooves. The Cirkus Oroja had decided to visit the big city. Kazimira watched in awe as the performers flipped and tumbled and walked across a hair-thin wire with impossible balance, defying gravity at every turn. The next day, the ringmaster was in the market, watching as she nimbly avoided an angry shopkeeper, burnt flatbread swiped off the oven clutched in a dust-streaked hand. She dropped, rolled under a table, hopped over a wall, dodged and weaved with the grace and agility of his most skilled acrobats. He bought the flatbread, and, a few minutes later, Kazi was a member of the circus.

Once more, she learned, adapted, allowed herself to ease into a pattern that did not involve avoiding the wrath of an angry watchman or vendor. She learned trust. Kazi had finally found her people.

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