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She had always been naive, even after her Exaltation. A Twilight of some reputation in the North, she was only known as Glitter and Dust. Her so-called claim to fame was her rather uncanny understanding of the workings of the Wyld; mostly though wyld barbarian contact (usually violent), but sometimes through direct treks into the very depths of the lands held tight in Fair hands. She would talk, she would watch, she would barter things for information... usually useful tidbits of Creation's goings-on or a rather unruly captive. All these things that she learned she wrote, creating a sort of Fair Folk journal that she referred to as the Writ of Wyld Days. Considering how slow the pace of Fair Folk culture could be, she had quite a grasp on what was going on in the North, and had gathered enough information on all the other raksha-held areas to form a rather interesting and somewhat informative document. Originally submitted to her intellectual peers as a sort of study on the raksha, the Writ became something of a field guide that found itself copied and put into the hands of those braving the North, even going so far as to get Glitter and Dust a fair spot of funding from the Guild in order to broaden her work.
The one thing she did not let on was that the Fair Ones were generally unaware of what she was doing. They would have remained as such, except that one of Glitter's travelmates fell for the bewitching beauty of an Entertainer, and allowed him to read Glitter's latest draft.
For most raksha, this would have provoked a laugh and a bit of an uncaring shrug, but this particular Entertainer's Heart lay in the grip of a noble, a Crusade-minded Strategos known as Festival of Hearts, who had little love for those of Creation, and was only showing Glitter's entourage courtesy because she was an Exalt of some note. Word of the Writ drove him into a histronic, blood-boiling rage for reasons only he knew, and before Glitter could even figure out what was going on, the tundra around her boiled with his army. The outcome was a foregone conclusion, as she was no fighter, and Festival made certain to eat her heart while she lay dying below him. Her equipment, the campsite, and everything for a mile around was burned to ash or stolen, and only then was his rage sated. The only thing that remained was an older copy of the Writ that lay buried below Glitter's destroyed tent.
For days, raksha and Creation-born avoided the site. Which was just fine by the slowly-coagulating mass of... wyldstuff that was taking shape within. A little bit of fury and blood and battle... a dash of adventure and hunger and wanderlust... and the dirty remains of that book, that old Writ of Wyld Days. All this was mashed together into a ball that throbbed with what sort of life the Wyld could inject into it, and with each throb, that want-ball sucked in more and more, growing and molding and shaping itself. The ball, one particularly cold night, burst open, and spat forth a thing. It was female, like its mother; tall and of polished marble with curious accents of polished brass. Around it---no, her, formed through sheer will, were her only real organs, her Graces, her collective soul. For the longest, she lay there, senseless, thoughtless, simply a massive man-monkey statue with metal orbs for eyes and smooth stone for skin. Finally, as the moon reached its apex, she rose and let loose a cry of unadulturated joy, only to start clawing at the ground with stone fingers. In seconds, the Writ of Wyld Days lay in her hands, pages dirty and slightly moist, but nonetheless readable. Of course, she did not have to read them, for they were a part of her very being, in some twisted shape. The need to enjoy, to know, to strive, to survive, to explore.
Thus, the Child of Wyld Days gathered her belongings and strode towards where here mind told her was the closest Freehold. She did not hurry, for she wanted to enjoy the scenery, the feel of the icy wind biting at her stone-skin, to understand her first few moments of existance. After all, this moment only happened once.
Wyld Days, Indeed
Her trek led her, after roughly a year of wandering, to a Freehold that had only been a week's journey away. This was, perhaps in a stroke of immense irony, the Freehold of the raksha that had fathered her. Thus, as Festival of Hearts beheld the Child, a feeling of disgust, mingled with pride and fear, pulsed through him. For reasons only he knew, he accepted her into his Freehold without a word... and in a show of unusual kindness (for raksha, anyway), he allowed her to possess a Cyst from the Chapel of Liar's Ice. His only demand was an oath that would seal them away from each other for all time, as he was both disgusted by her presence and afraid that she might try to slay him one day. Without many options, the Child accepted, placing her Heart within the bonefire and making the Freehold her own.
As she solidified her self and her role within the Chapel, she found the urge to explore tugging at her being with ever-increasing force. Such urges could not be denied for long and, gossamer tools and miracles in hand, she ventured into the realm of the shaped, in the body of a monkey-woman. Her fate tied into the methods of Creation's martial arts, she sought both news of the ways of the North, as well as someone who shared her desires. She did come across numerous men, but none lasted too long against her, either in duels or between the sheets. That changed one day, in a sleepy inn somewhere near the Inland Sea.
His name was Tarnished Gold, and he was a bit on the portly side, even if his arms and legs were sculpted muscle. He was slightly bald, and his hair never seemed to fall right. He loved boiled beef, cheap ale, and bar fights. Few would believe that a man like him was a Chosen of the Sun, as he acted much like a washed-up fighter... well, until it mattered, anyway. Then, he was a terrifying fighter who could shatter stone walls with his bare hands and shrug off direct swordblows, even while drunk.
The particular evening was cool, and he was enjoying a nice meal when he felt the presence of the Child before he and anyone else saw the Fair One. Most of the bar's patrons cleared out, and the rest drew weapons reflexively. She simply waded through the crowd, dancing through what few surreptious stabs were aimed her way, and stopped in front of Gold as he finished off his sixth tankard. The two exchanged glances, a faint smile, and then the bar practically erupted as they dueled then and there.
Tarnished Gold was a master of a number of styles, but was infamous for the cavorting style of the Celestial Monkey. Even then, he was hard-pressed to handle the raw talent and undeniable power of the Child, who refused to fall even after a fair number of fierce blows. Three hours passed, and the bar was partially ruined. There, in the middle of a sea of overturned tables, Gold and the Child stared at one another. Gold's war-beast anima flares brilliantly, and the Child looked to be quite worn down, but nonetheless stood tall, smirking through torn lips and broken teeth.
"... nice style," she said, after a long moment.
"Thanks." Tarnished Gold offered the Child a grin. "You're a tough faerie, y'know?"
The Child grinned in reply... and both proceeded to right a table, sit down, and demand ale from the barmaids hiding behind the counter. There they shared a drink, and a rather unusual friendship was forged. The Child didn't hesitate to ask for Initiation, and then tutelage in the style of the Celestial Monkey... that she managed to eventually mutate into her own technique, called Snow Monkey Style. Occasionally, she even escorted him to her Freehold and showered him with booze, entertainment, and regular romps in the sack. Needless to say, Tarnished Gold quite enjoyed his payment.
The Child is quite the curious being. Upbeat, occasionally flightly and oftimes more than ready to violate personal space, she is the raksha-painted example of the classic touchy-feely friend. She nonetheless is rather capable of being serious and even somewhat thoughtful when the time calls for it... and only then. Otherwise, she is too busy enjoying... enjoyment to care about looking like she's an important noble. Her Entertainer and Warrior selves seem almost balanced, as she can switch from a husky-voiced lover to a grinning beater of heads at a moment's notice--or simply be both at the same time.
In her natural Wyld form, she appears to be a rather large cross between snow monkey and masculine woman, six and a half feet of perfectly-sculpted white marble covered all about with thin, elegant brass inlays that twist and whirl along her skin like the tattoos of Man. Her eyes and round ears are solid brass, and her sculpted hair sweeps back dramatically, coming to a point of sorts. A long, heavy-looking tail juts from her tailbone, and is usually the most animate part of her body. In this form, she wears nothing more than a necklace of human teeth (from those slain in the attack that spawned her) and the Cyst Binder on her right forearm.
When she passes through Nirakara and takes on her Air-shape, her form does not change too much. Her skin shifts from stone to tan flesh, and a monkey-mane of frost-white hair frames her face and rounded ears. Her tail also remains covered in white fur, along with small tufts along her forearms, shins, and on the tops of her hands and feet. The brass inlays and designs remain, and her eyes retain that curious bronze-mirror look. Her body, unlike the more masculine natural form she possesses, walks the thin line between power and grace, well-defined muscles and a solid frame mixing flawlessly with supple curves and a quite... ample bustline. In this shape, she does wear clothing spun from fine gossamer; a thick white vest lined with some unidentifiable golden fur, baggy breeches lined with the same fur that rest just low enough to make room for her tail, heavy boots of peerless design and simple white bindings over her chest.
The Child's Heart takes the shape of a rolled up series of scrolls made from paper that is so transparent as to almost be invisible, bound together with a length of brass ribbon and a brass locket set in a lump of wax. Her Cup is a tankard, covered with ivory, that is empty but otherwise smells of brandy and fried plantains. Her Ring is a loop of brass, roughly six inches in diameter, that one can see clearly though one way, but that shows whatever's on the other side burning to ash if looked through the other. Her Staff is a flat marble tablet with a marble pencil imbedded in the middle of it. Her Sword is a strange dagger with a thin metal blade surrounding mirrored brass; looking into the brass would show some unknown being eating a lump of pulsing, bleeding flesh. The Child owns all of her Graces.