Chiaroscuro - Kyra
From Changeling Venue
| Seeming | Elemental Manikin |
|---|---|
| Court | No Court |
| Freehold | Open Road |
| Player | [mailto: Nadya Hand] |
Contents |
Overview
Alias(es): None
Real Name: Unknown
Age: Unknown (20?)
Concept: Treasured
Entitlement: None
Physical description:
Relevant Mechanics: Vainglory 3, Striking Looks x4 (Total x8)
Character Information
Known History
Basic Timeline:
Current Activities: Seeking a home away from Scuro because their clarity suffers brutally in close proximity of one another.
Merit Details: Vainglory 3, Striking Looks x4 (Total x8)
Background:
Magatha the Goblin Queen was our captor. She took us as children. She was cruel, and terrible, and beautiful, and generous at times, but her capricious nature made her unbearable. Only my lover, my brother, my twin, made existence worth suffering. Only our hands, tied by ribbon and bound by terror, allowed us to survive Magatha's cruelty. Our world was a marble pedestal, no larger than a bed, sometimes in garden, sometimes in foyer, sometimes in the ballroom. We slept together, ate together, clung to each other in comfort, glass against glass, silver against silver, one body beside the other, knowing something was wrong and that cold glass should not give such comfort.
Magatha replaced our flesh with smooth cold glass, and our hearts with wind-up crystal, ticking away the fire of our life's blood
though we could never know how long. We were too young then, to remember. Are we children still, or are we ancient? What time
passes in those Arcadian Halls? Magatha made us more surely than human parents had made us flesh, and the glass and performance was
daily our price for bread. She made us beautiful. Beautiful beyond beautiful. She made us what art can only exist on living
palette in the world of Faerie and told us we were trash. Magatha the Beautiful, Magatha the Cruel, told us we were not worth her
effort, or her time. Magatha the Wicked told us how her toys had always been such successes, and complained of the poor quality of
material she was offered to work with. Magatha the Vain told us of her skills and her triumphs, of clockwork soldiers and Iron
Knights, of Wooden Horses and dancers made of spun crystal. Magatha the Vile told us of her broken attempts, of her soldiered joints
and her gemstone eyes, shattered and tossed in a heap for such poor performance as we offered her.
We would cry, silvered tears of liquid crystal, our spirits shorn by her sharp tongue and our will crushed beneath the merciless lash
of her voice. We would perform, shameful of our half-finished fate, of our clumsy motion, for all the visitors of Magatha's court.
She would berate us even then, and our sorrow and shame would entertain The Others, whose tinkling laughter would punish us as keenly
as the pealing of bells, shaking our sheer flesh and leaving us aching at every joint, our crystal hearts painfully compressed within
our breasts. Magatha honed and sharpened us, working us diligently, until the day of the accident. All we had known was each other,
our labors, our intimacy. We hardly needed to speak to communicate, and lost in her glassy eyes I could forget for a time our
imprisonment.
I slipped, and fell.
Or he dropped me, I can no longer remember. Only the fleeting feeling of joy at his touch, at our cooperation, and then the sheer terror as
a grip slipped, and smooth glassy flesh found no purchase. He staggered, I fell, and my arm was cracked from elbow to shoulder.
Delicate filigree, our only cloth, sheared away from delicate skin, sticking out painfully from my glass flesh. I had no facility
to repair myself, and Scuro cried. Magatha found us that way, crouched over me and weeping, and went into a rage. Her talons stripped much of the silver
from Scuro's flesh, and not a scratch she made hurt my heart as much as my broken Scuro, my other half, the light of my shadow. I was taken away, and I was for the first time left alone. I cried out for him, and heard him to me, promising to return, to find me, and I likewise to him. I had been sold away, and I was taken in by
I had heard that Magatha the Goblin Queen had labored hard to punish Scuro for the damage done. Further, I would never see Scuro again, he had been sold away to be the statuary of some Other Gentry. That simply would not do. That night as my new Keeper slept I fled, tinkling feet cracking as I ran for the first time in my life. My muscles of glass and silver were made to bear the stress of my art, to hold myself erect and to pull the strings taut as we performed, dancing in summer, music in autumn, still as statues through the winter, fornicating in spring, for the amusement of countless Others. They served once more to allow me to flee from service, racing into the shadowed lands beyond the borders and diving into the thickets, the Hedge. Briars reached for me, but turned away at the touch of glassy flesh, finding no purchase. I was well made, and driven by fear and concern, and today I have flown free of Magatha's grip.
But for how long? How far can the Others be behind me?
Motley
Allies
Please Sign your links if you are an ally of Chiarascuro.
Chiaroscuro - Scuro
Ryhos Whately
Fragile
Schide
Mallory Schadenfreude
Enemies
Character Inspirations
Soundtrack
Quotes
It is not that we did not wish to be free... It is that we did not know how. - Chiaroscuro
Rumors
- Not only are they still loyal to the Gentry, but the crystal hearts of Kyro and Scuro allow Magatha the Maker to scry through their bodies and latch contracts on any who are reflected in their pristine surfaces.
