Son of a Pythian apothecar, Keelan spent his days mixing poultices and refining tinctures. Come night, he’d entertain himself with jaunty tunes on his fiddle. Keelan’s work took him often to the shore of Lake Suibhne, where he’d stuff his pockets with herbs and cuttings. His existence was rigorous yet simple, and simple yet rewarding. No matter how cold the northern winds blew, Keelan found warmth in his life.

He was engaged at a young age to Esme, his childhood best friend. He loved her companion dearly and was to be married on the Winter Solstice, a most auspicious date. When the morning dawned on his wedding day, Keelan was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to most of the guests, he was dead.

Keelan was killed the night before his wedding. His body came to rest in Lake Suibhne, under the ice, barefoot and dressed in nightclothes. He was stabbed in the chest with a hairpin carved from whale bone.

Keelan’s spirit lingered in the waters, tethered by the solstice moon. For many years, he remained in a dreamlike state, not quite deceased, yet not quite alive. When he was finally awoken with the coming spring, he found himself transformed into Tuatha de Dahann, a faerie creature. While most of his early memories remain intact, the details regarding his untimely death are a mystery.

Keelan’s appearance has turned ghostly and unkempt, with wild long locks and a greenish pallor to his skin. He has no facial hair— having struggled to grow it in life, and completely failed to grow it in death. The rest of his hair, however, has gone gangbusters. His ears have grown angular and elf-like, and his eyes have developed a layer of tapetum lucidium. This causes them to refract like a mirror in darkness. Some of his teeth have turned jagged and shark-like. They’re well maintained for a corpse, but frequently have little plant bits wedged between them. His hemline is constantly wet, signaling his ties to the lake. Keelan’s nails are grotesquely overgrown and mud-caked. Keelan has always had a vast population of freckles, an inevitable result of his long work days in the sun. His most notable marking is a narrow scar on his chest, where the bone hairpin stabbed him. Even though the wound has long since healed, it still seems to ache. He frequently dreams of the injury, interpreting his blood as a “…swathe of red ribbon.” He still wears his tarnished wedding ring.

Personality wise, Keelan isn’t quite Keelan anymore. A part of him is wholly fae now and a new being altogether. This has made him more erratic, spontaneous, and curious. He has a tendency to play with his hair while speaking. Some animalistic tendencies have gripped him in his altered state. His taste buds have changed dramatically, now finding cooked food nasty. He prefers wild plants and raw meat, much to the horror of the party’s rogue. Keelan enjoys “reacquainting” himself with textures, dragging his fingers across knotty wood, soft wool, and tall grass. After years of “slumbering” in the lake, Keelan’s body clock is shot. He’s something of an insomniac now, struggling to sleep at night. Once he manages to fall asleep, however, he is difficult to wake. Keelan’s dreams are like looking though murky waters, heavy and dark. He often wakes in distress, having felt torn from his body and being.

Keelan is highly motivated in solving his own murder and finding his father and lover. He is swift to help others along the way, hoping to keep them from a similar fate to his own.

Prior to his death, Keelan was a light drinker. He had little time for debauchery and was never a fan of rowdy crowds. Now that he’s died, he’s much freer with his drink. He’s adopted a “what have I got left to lose attitude?” towards alcohol. The drunker he gets, the more his fae persona bubbles to the surface. He becomes mischievous, unpredictable, and wild with merriment. 13. In life, no. Keelan was quite the goody-two-shoes. In death, he’s playing things fast and loose. He’s committed a variety of petty crimes on his travels, though none have been malevolent or violent. He’s broken into several properties (namely mills, barns, and empty homes) and camped overnight. He’s nicked some vegetables from passing farm fields and gardens. He’s trespassed on grounds belonging to nobles.

As a child, Keelan wasn’t particularly popular, although never entirely outcast. He remained a reserved lad, ever preferring the company of his family over the other children. He was rather sickly throughout his early childhood, often falling behind his peers. This resulted in a great deal of isolation at home, where he began to hone his musical craft. As an adult, Keelan outgrew his childhood ailment, but retained his introvertedness. The only exception to this was Esme, who he was deeply open with.

Keelan’s father’s name was Armus O’Calahan— a walking encyclopedia of herbal knowledge. He was a passive man, always preferring to avoid confrontation. Ever superstitious, fearful of the gods and spirits. A family man, protective and doting over his only child. Melancholy, although he tried to hide it for Keelan’s sake. His days proved exhausting and he endlessly grieved for his wife and daughter. As if life wasn’t harsh enough, he began to bald from an early age.

Keelan’s mother was Erin O’Calahan. She passed when he was only ten years old. Erin died in childbirth, along with Brid O’Calahan, her second child. More outgoing than Armus, Erin was a lover of music and art. Ever a free-spirit, Erin worked hard to build a joyful childhood for Keelan, celebrating his successes, scraping together gifts and toys. She veiled her worries of debt and dying, much like Armus. She found comfort in her own spirituality, trusting in the gods and their doings. She maintained the ‘everything happens for a reason’ mentality till the day she died.

Keelan’s only sister, Brid O’Calahan, died in infancy. Though Keelan never knew his sister, he was old enough to understand the great loss of her. He never blamed Brid for his mother’s death. As a boy, he’d often imagine the wonderful adventures his mother and sister were having in the afterlife. Sometimes, when feeling weary of the harsh north, Keelan wished he might have left with them. As an adult, Brid has become a good luck token for Keelan. He’ll often invoke her name (“Brid be with me, guide my hand…”) in times of hardship.

While he never had any official schooling, Keelan learned well from his parents. His father taught him about gardening, medicine, and running a business. His mother taught him to fiddle, sing, and appreciate the gods. The O’Calahans worked together to impart reading and writing on their son. Keelan worked at the apothecary from a young age, sweeping up, corking potions, and harvesting herbs. His tasks grew more challenging with age. Soon, he was keeping store ledgers, handling their taxes, and mixing the tinctures himself. He also had a constant role in household management, tending the hearth, working the family garden, and making small repairs. Following his death, Keelan has turned to fiddling for a living. Though he doesn’t think of himself as a true fili, he earns a few coins for his songs.

Keelan venerated all the traditional Pythian gods as a child but never latched on to a singular divine. He regarded the pantheon as a part of nature, operating independently in the bones of every day. After his death, Keelan’s faith has grown fuzzy. His lack of afterlife has diminished his trust in Morrigan and the natural order of things. He cannot help but feel forgotten by the gods. A part of him longs to be properly put to rest, so he may once again belong to the divines. As a child, he believed the sky to be Morrigan’s domain. There, the honored dead would make their homes. After dying himself, Keelan doesn’t understand why he’s not been collected yet. He wonders if Morrigan will one day reach down from the stars and yank him up. He’s started to think space an empty place, devoid of any afterlife or magic.

In life, Keelan was decently well-liked by animals. He was fond of a feral cat that wandered the village. In death, his popularity has decreased. Animals seem to sense that Keelan isn’t a natural being, removed from the regular cycle of nature. This often manifests in fear or hostility.

In his undead state, Keelan’s hobbies include: practicing the fiddle, writing new songs, and floating in natural bodies of water. He also enjoys touching things to become reacquainted with textures— knotty wood, soft fabrics, cold glass, etc. Post death, Keelan’s diet has changed considerably. Nothing tastes quite like it used to and all his favorites have turned bland. He’s become increasingly drawn to raw plants, fish, and insects. Though he fights such urges in an attempt to appear respectable, the faerie in him longs for “fresh” fare.

Keelan regards his unknown killer with animosity. He also abhors murderers, water monsters with a penchant for drowning, or anyone wielding a hairpin as a weapon. Keelan would like to spare others a similar fate to his own. He’s decided to stand his ground and fight, no longer thinking much of his own mortality. If he dies, then he dies—he’s already done it once. Maybe it’ll work out better this time! He’s motivated by vengeance and his will to protect others. His faerie persona also craves chaos in all forms that it takes.

While he likes the cold, he’s more of a “cool swamp” man than a “frozen north” man. The heat makes his hair frizzy and his skin dry. Likewise, the cold makes him think of his wedding day, which bums him out. Were he left to his own devices without Zoe, Armus, and Vasilles, he would likely return to the lake forever. The water beckons him constantly, dangling the gentle allure of death. Were he to retire to such a place, he’d likely forget his human self altogether. Keelan O’Callahan would eventually fade from his mind, leaving only a savage faerie in his place. Dry, arid places are unbearable to Keelan, who grows despondent when too far from the water. He loves all things cold, damp, and dark.

Keelan dresses simply, given that fashion in this region is of ancient Irish-Celtic origin. Specifically, 14th to 15th century. “…In the north, they still wear brightly colored checkered patterns in cloaks, pants, and tunics. One or the other, if they have checkered pants for instance, they wear a white or solid color top, and vice versa. They don't like to be too busy. They have their decorated scabbards and prefer torcs, and bracers for jewelry.” His wardrobe consists of the nightclothes he was murdered in, scavenged bandit garb, amd a handful of old garments stored away by his father.


© Katherine Steffeter