Kid, we don't just collect secrets, we are secrets. We're not even supposed to exist, so if you've got any plans to go dancing down the street singing, "I'm a Ceilican, I'm a Ceilican," I'll gut you right here. There's a lot of folks who'd put us in chains -- real ones and magic ones -- if they knew we were still breathin, so listen close while I tell you a fairy tale. It's important, kid, so shut up till I finish.
A long time ago, the world was a dream. No, I'm not being cute -- it was. All our kind were dreamed into existence. Well, most dreams didn't like thinking of themselves as gidments of anyone's imagination, and they willed themselves into forms and took credit for their own creation. We call those guys "Prodigals," but that's another story. Have you ever seen a dream walking? Well, take a look in a mirror, kid. King and Queen Cat dreamed us up after a long night of lovemaking, and we became the best and worst sides of passion. Unlike the Prodigals, we never forgot what we were, and that insight let us spin objects out of wishes alone. Our cousins, the fae, shared their courts with us; we did the same for humans with a bit of imagination. We joined their revels in the dead of night and shared their joys and sorrows. While our cousins went south and east, we went north. Those cold folks needed some company.
Well, those cold hearts turned on us soon enough. It's understandable, I guess -- I mean, we danced in faerie rings, but we called witches' sabbats, too. We can be a nasty folk when we set our minds to it, and those who danced with us set themselves apart. Folks called us "ring dansers" when we were happy and "diabhol cats" in darker times. Lots of Ceilican set up shop with hermits and witches on the outskirts of town, and one day, the townsfolk came calling.
Our secrets got out. Supposedly, this chick named Simone babbles a bit too much to an Unseelie lord named Samhach. He bound her in a magic chain and began collecting others. Simone had been pretty free with our Yava beforehand, and we soon found ourselves hunted with cold iron, too. Samhach shared our secrets with a bunch of his cronies, and many of our brothers and sisters were enslaved. We went underground as the Madness grew and Arcadia's doors slammed shut. Some say we passed into the faerie lands, but if any of our kind did, I doubt they did it under their own power.
It was a smart cat named Tyblat deLeon who saved our skins. If we had been born by dreams, he reasoned, we could change our natures the same way. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to re-dream our Yava so the old secrets didn't work. With most of the faeries gone, he managed to out-think the human hunters, too. As the witchfires turned our homeland into ashes, Tybalt led us across the sea. We were pathetically few, I guess, 'cause our tribe's been a bit scarce ever since. But we did survive.
There was a price. There always is. Three of 'em, really. One is that we stay underground. Way underground. Our cousins think we're dead; let 'em. Some of them had the old secrets, and after what the lions did to the hyenafolk, I'm sure they'd do the same thing to us. You remember what I said about our ties to passion? That's the second price. We change our natures like the wind, sometimes willingly, sometimes not. You're gonna go through some changes, kid, and it won't always be pleasant. The third price is this: The Old Yava might've come back into force without us knowing. So keep your head down, kid, and never say what you are. Tell 'em you're Bagheera, or Pumonca or even Bubasti. The Ceilican do notexist. They're dead. Unless you wanna be dead for real, that's Gospel truth. Got it? Good.
Tribal Background
Legends claim this trivbe died out int he great witch-purges of the 1500-1600s. As usual, the legens liel the Ceilican simply went underground. A mercurial breed, these faerie cats danced with the Good Folk and demons alike, and led humans along for the festivities. Their wild ways caught up with them; faerie lords enslaved them and witch-hunters burned them. By the time the tribe's survivors sailed to the New World, they were down to a handful. Common wisdom calls them dead, and they won't dispute the claim.
The Ceilican are a hidden tribe, a fact that's driven through a Tekhmet's head during her fostering. There's no telling how many of the old secrets still work, and they're still in circulation. A new-changed kit often feels like the only one of her kind; byt the time she's appraised otherwise, her family's secret has become obvious. Ceilican pretend to be members of other tribes and keep in touch through an arcane network called "the Silent Way." The name is a conundrum: The Silent Way is actually a musical code. In the old days, bards bore messages between the cats; now, demo tapes or concerts carry the tunes. Messages are hidden in lyrics and chord structures. Most Ceilican consider it a special treat when a Silent Way message actually gets airplay -- especially when it's an insult directed at some other tribe.
Still, these Bastet take their secrecy seriously. There's no telling when the old weaknesses might undercut the tribe one last time. These cats believe Arcadia fell, but claim that a "fasle faerieland" called Doirionn Blair still exists. Within this "Storm Plain," the Unseelie lord Samhach and his allies covet the survivors of the Ceilican. Better to stay quiet and live free, they reason, than to risk an eternity in a fae lord's castle.
Of all the tribes, the Ceilican have adopted best to the modern world. Most of them favor sports, music, mass media and, frighteningly enough, psychology. Passion intoxicates these folk; anything that sitrs up emotions draws thm like ants to sugar, and they're not shy about whipping up a few frenzies now and then just to keep things interesting. Most Ceilican have a natural apptitude for technology, too; no other tribe is as comfortable with computers and mechanical devices as the ring dansers. All varieties of Ceilican favor blades over guns; blades simply have more style. Most Ceilican dabble in magic as well. There's a definite cunning bent to this tribe, a mischievous spark that ignites either playful games or malicious villainy. Often both.
The Ceilican curse manifests in a divided nature. While most Bastet affect a Pryio, or moon-favor, which indicates their overall personality, the Ceilican shift Pryio unpredictably. A friendly dancing cat may become sullent and conspiratorial without warning, which makes friendships difficult for them. Even the most freewheeling Ceilican have a manic, unstable air; add this to their extreme deep-cover antics and you get and enigmatic and volatile tribe.
Tribal Home
&nsbp;The original tribe hails from the northern lands of Europe. Their cousins were the maneless lions and wildcats that inspired the ancient kings. As their original cousins died out, the Ceilican grew closer to the fae, with whom they supposedly share a bloodtie. During the 1500s, tribal refugees fled Europe for North America, where they interbred with the Pumonca and the wild cougars. The modern line calls America its home; although some Ceilican return to Europe, many of them feel that the old enemies are just too powerful in their native lands.
Culture and Kinfolk
Even today, Ceilican gavor their Old World roots. Most speak Gaelic, French or Old Norse as second languages and live by mock-archaic codes. The fae cats are romantic to a fault, and love to make a production of everything they do. Passion is the key to atraction; Ceilican's love to be around people in glamorous positions. Rock musicians, actors, artists, cultists, gangsters, politicians, atheletes, wixards -- thsi tribe's Kinfolk are a stimulating dangerous lot. Some cats prefer bohemian subcultures, while others go for high class jet-setters. Like their changeling cousins, these cats love to inspire their Kin to great works of art or passion, and often work as muses, patrons or entertainers. The subcultures they embrace bring out all the tribe's best and worst qualities, and they rarely stay in any place or relationship for any length of time. "Come in with laughter, leave in tears and always keep 'em guessing" is a common sentiment among this tribe.
Like the Bubasti, the Ceilican have lost their original feline Kin. For the last few centuries, they've bred with leopards, cougars and wildcats, producing a wild mix of pelts and features. This, of course, makes it easy to hide in plain sight; few Bastet have reason to question a Ceilican's parentage.
ORGANIZATION
Like many Bastet, Ceilican wander. Unlike the others, they maintain network and meet as a tribe once a year on Halloween. This Samhain revel gathers on the Scottish moors and lasts until sunrise. The locals still lock their doors on that night, and no one dares to go a-spying. During the rest of the year, the hidden cats stay in touch through the Silent Way. While they never act as a tribe on a grand scale, each member knows how valuable cooperation can be.
At least once a year, each Ceilican shifts personalities, changes her looks and lifestyle and takes another name. She may return to her old ways eventually, but cannot settle into any role for long. Before she leaves, the changing cat sends out a series of clues to her new identity. In time, her friends track her down again. A changed cat remembers who she once as, but until she returns to that persona, she recalls her memories like movies she once saw, not like things she has experienced.
SECRETS SOUGHT
Ceilican love gossip, folklore and personal secrets. Elusive as they are, they love digging up dirt about others.
YAVA
While stories claim that Tybalt undid these bans, it's very possible that they came back into force over time. Pure iron makes Ceilican uncomfortable, and affects them as if it were silver. The fourth Yava came into being recently. Thus far, only the fae cats know of it, though it affects everything they do. The other secrets rest in troves of certain faerie folk and witch-hunting groups for the day they might come in handy again.
The faerie cats fear the touch of cold iron. It burns them like a brand.
Reciting a Ceilican's bame backwards three times causes him discomfort; recite it six times thus, and he will die.
The sound of a silver bell or church hymn strikes a faerie cat deaf for three days after.
The race's passion undoes them. Each year, they must forget who they are and become someone else. Some cats must do this often, and by their landless ways, you shall know them.
APPEARANCE
Of all Bastet, the Ceilican most closely resemble domestic house cats; they are, however, much bigger -- the size of small panthers -- and can be quite fierce. Many have patterned fur -- stripes and patches are common -- although most favor a predominant color like black or white. Rebels at heart, lots of fae cats enjoy punk and pseudo-medieval fashions. Such clothes allow them to be their flamboyant selves and get away with it.
QUOTE:
Art is the expression of a dream. And dreams, my friend, are what we are at heart.
STEROETYPES
Bagheera: Oh, yeah, a lot help they were when we were stuck. Still, they're pretty Folk and good to talk to.
Balam: Shut up, hothead. At least you've still got your own name.
Bubasti: Oh, yes it is fun to play in the dark, but you have to come up for air eventually.
Khan: Brutal and mean. I respect their courage, but light up, guys!
Pumonca: Wise. Very wise. When one speaks, listen up. These are the closest we have to brothers, so make nice to them.
Qualmi: Hmm. Intriguing balls of fur with just enough guts to make them good company. Don't try to figure 'em out though -- you'll get lost.
Simba: Yeah, yeah, I guess they're noble and all, but what an attitude problem! You won't catch me playing toady for a Simba, that's for damned sure.
Swara: I saw one go by once. Damn thing outran my car. Must be nice.
