Akyro Skia, from The Multiverse, a roleplay on RPG

The appearance of a man has nearly always adapted to his role on this Earth. It is no different with myself. Before I came into my present status, I was a small man with a large stomach. My hair was brown, my eyes brown, and my hands soft from my days in the bakery. Since, things have changed. The winds of Time have eroded, shaped, and added to my visage until I became what now my mirrored reflection shows. At first we see dimly, indeed.

I suppose I am taller than the average male at six feet by the New Worlders' reckoning. However, since coming under my Master's rule my appetite has faded quite considerably; thus, I am like a scarecrow with sloping shoulders, straw-thin limbs and a long face. The sun is not pleasant to me as I was born quite pale with a condition called Albinism. It is because of this I wear long dark robes that cover my arms and legs quite well, along with my silver sash of status around my waist. My skin, though seldom seen, is smooth without blemish, my hands without callouses or scars. The hood from the robe serves well to wreath my face in shadows and keep my short black hair hidden. However, fittingly enough, my eyes rebel against shadow with a silver hue that is a shade too bright to be grey, yet too dark to be white. Yes, I am blind. At least in the human sense. But my time spent gazing into the Void has granted me a different sort of sight, among other things. Along with my robes, I wear only my ring. It is made from the darkest obsidian in the shape of two hands cupping an ivory rose.

Personality

Equipment

Black robes
A ring on the right ring finger made of dark obsidian in the shape of two hands holding an intricately carved ivory rose.

History

I remember only faint glimpses of the Before, in which I lived happily in a small village in the countryside as a baker's son. The days were fleeting and full of small moments that I clung to for joy; the quiet contentment of a village life suited me well. I was a curious child, I do remember that. Always I tried to understand the reasons why things were, to impose order on the seemingly chaotic events of weather, emotion and life. Randomness scared me. At night, I shook with fear at the thought of things hidden in the darkness around me; things I could not see, touch or know. Within me there was a deep need to be intimate with all the things and people around me to glean more understanding. As such, I was a very friendly and well-liked person in the village. The girls loved me, despite my Albinism, and looked past my long sleeves and shadowed face to the desire that hid inside me. I was a good listener. I was a good friend and lover. I knew things.

Then the Storyteller came, Il Narratore as he was known. He spoke of all things infinite, of the Abyss and Void and the Shadow. From his mouth came stories of love found and lost, things broken and healed, death and rebirth. Around the fire we sat, entranced by words that seemed to writhe in the air before us before crawling deep into our hearts and souls to stir up things best left forgotten. At one point our eyes met and I found myself shaking beneath my cloak. His eyes were white with blindness, yet he walked without cane or aid. I felt myself falling as if from a great height into that emptiness, leaving the chill night and the fire behind me. I do not know where I went or what happened to me in that moment, but Time lost me along the way. It found me as dawn rose, still sitting by the now smoldering firepit, alone and cold and changed.

All I knew then was I had been wrong. We were all wrong. Patterns do not exist between us all, at least not patterns as we understand them to be. There is only a random assortment of connections that touch upon each living thing fleetingly, leaving traces of ideas and dreams behind. All my preconceptions burned away like the morning mist, living only a deep, deep hunger in my gut. This world, I realized, is not built on Order. It is built on Chaos.

Since then, I have wandered these past seventeen years a Servant. I found, not much longer after my encounter with Il Narratore, that Chaos was a name, not a concept. He/she/it was a God. An old, old God from the days Before when all that Was was Order and Chaos, light and darkness, the beginning and the end. And like the Gods evolve and change in their goals and desires, for they can be quite vain and proud at times in their pursuit of superiority, I changed as well. As my appearance has shifted to suit my needs, so have my ideas and thoughts and dreams shifted. Now I, too, walk without eyes on this Earth, with neither cane nor aid. I, too, sense the hidden dark things in men's souls that hint at a need for Chaos.

I have had many teachers, if you could call them that. We Servants tend to stray from human contact in our wanderings, preferring instead to find our sustenance in the Void that lies within us all. These teachers have taught me the Old Ways of shadow and night. Just as I am able to draw up the darkness inside me to converse with my Master, I am able to draw it up from the Earth, the dusty corners, the hidden places that surround us all and encompass all. For there is a war raging around us and inside of us, a war between the two who began us and will end us. And I seek only the glory of my Master, my Lord of Shadow. My King of Chaos.