Many would consider the act of creating a child a miracle from heaven. It was the Gods smiling down upon you and offering you the greatest gift. Someone to carry on your name, your work, and most of all, help around the house. A child was to be taken care of and shaped into a proud member of society with hopes of furthering themselves beyond their parent’s status. Of course, that was the ideal thought pattern for most individuals. Cyrus father on the other hand found that producing a child was nothing more then a curse. His wife was heavy with child and often ill. She got sicker then more she ate, slept most of the day, and did little activity. When Cyrus was born, his mother would not survive and he was left with a father that resented him for the death of his love.
He had no idea how to handle a child on his own and often left the small bundle of tears with a neighbor when he went to work. At times, he didn’t return home and when he was out all night he gambled and drank. There was no way to raise a child on the money he made and what better way to gain more then to have a few drinks and gamble with people at the pub. Sadly, the man never own and eventually started to go into debt. As Cyrus grew to and moved from crawling to the walking stage in life his father became detached from him. Now far more worried about money then the tiny thing he created with his beloved wife. He often snared at the child and never showed a fondness for him.
The dislike was so heavy that when his debt became to great he offered his two year old son up as payment. Presented with a young boy, the man took the child as payment figuring that he was older he could get some use out of him. Maybe he would make a great servant or he could sell him off as a farm hand in a few years. Either way it was a profit and Cyrus father was removed of his current debt. It would be the last time Cyrus saw his only family and taken into the home of a man that he only knew as, Twindle.
Twindle was a stern man who took little lip from those below him. What his occupation was or purpose was never known to little Cyrus. He was within the man’s care for only two years but what did concern him was Twindles young daughter that Cy called Kiki. What her actual name was had been lost to him over the years but Kiki was his first friend. They where playmates who did everything together and she was a year older then him. They ran outside, goofed around and did well…what normal four year olds did. Be loud and annoying to adults. There came a time when he was four that Kiki fell on the ground and skinned her knee pretty badly. She cried at the top of her lungs and being a sensitive boy, Cyrus wanted to help her as much as he could. But being four there was little he could do other then take hold of her knee and kiss it like he had seen adults do. It was supposed to make it better and magically, it did.
The wound on her knee disappeared, leaving bright red lines across it but the skin was clean. His own knee however began to bleed and hurt badly. Confused, scared, and not sure what just happened Cyrus began to cry now and Kiki went to get her father for help. Because this event needed an adult! She told Twindle what happened and why Cyrus was crying. Interested in this Twindle had a thought that the boy might be a Strain. Was it possible that he gained a little treasure or a monster? Curious, he tested this out to make sure it was true by reenacting the event with Kiki being intentionally hurt on her hand. The event repeated after a moment of fright on both parties. After that, Cyrus was removed from Kiki and locked away for the rest of the day.
That following night, strange men entered the room he was placed in with Twindle behind them. Words where exchanged and Cyrus was taken away from another home with Kiki watching from the window in tears. Too young to understand what was happening, he smiled and waved goodbye to his friend. Yet again, he would not see her again. Twindle on the other hand would not see him but suddenly sit on a rather large money nest for his family and raise them a bit higher on the social status.
The rest of his life from this point out would not be comfortable. In fact, he was at a loss of what to do now that he no lingered lived in a home as a servant that was merely being used as debit. He had no bed, no extra clothing and by no means was his new sleeping quarters ideal. He was with many others in the same position as him but all much older and only a very few younger then him. One of the woman in the room he shared decided to take care of him as best as she could. She was merely known as Mama K. Mama K sat the small child down and tried to explain things in simple terms for him.
He would never have home, he wouldn’t even be in this place called The Black Market, long either. But life was hard because of what he was, a Stain, and he was going to have to shape up if he wanted to live to see himself grow into the double digits. Of course, as much as she tired he did not understand and only learned what she was talking about as he grew. He was sold for the first time at five and removed from Mama K who taught him a bit on how to read and write. She also was the first to tell him about Strains and how they where special but never went into full detail. However, his owner did not keep him long as he never showed signs of being a Strain. He never took a wound onto himself as advertised. He had ran away twice from him and the man soon returned him for a refund of the money. Which, of course, he did not receive and Cyrus was back with Mama K for another year to learn more about words and people like him.
At six, he had a better idea of his place in the world and what it meant to be a Strain. His life would take another leaping step into less then pleasant circumstances when Mama K was finally sold and a new Marketer came into the business. Hervey was hardly pleasant. The thirteen year old was in training to manage Strains, find them, capture them, and sell. He found great pleasure in teasing, mocking, and hurting the Strains that didn’t listen to him. It was clear that he enjoyed power over people lower then him and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it.
Alone now, without Mama K he did his best to keep to himself and make himself less attractive in order not to be sold or noticed. But when nights got lonely, he took to singing to himself the small songs Mama K taught him. The little rhythms often made the boy happy and unafraid of the world around him. He had to be a tough lad. He had to take care of himself and others and to do that he needed to be brave with Mama K’s songs there to help him. Especially, when he didn’t feel so brave in his position or Hervey’s constant pickings. But his songs did not go unheard. The Marketers heard him and so did Hervey who made the joke, “If we cant sell him the normal way why not sell him to a church?” The now teen Hervey laughed at the idea but the others took him serious. They had trouble keeping Cyrus sold and if he was a trouble maker then what better way to keep him sold by turning him into a Castrato? It would make their life simpler and probably make the eight year old easier to handle. Plus, he was at the prime age for that particular way of life. Not to mention profits would double if this idea became a reality.
Without the boys consent, they took him to a local surgeon that could perform the operation at a cheap price. From there, the surgery took place on Cyrus and well, it wasn’t at all a pleasant aftermath of recovery from it. Walking hurt, sitting hurt, doing anything hurt but eventually the pain went away as well as the fever that came with it. Surviving as a new Castrato actually changed his life for the better, kinda. He was treated better in the Market, fed more, and actually got better clothing.
Of course, that wasn’t without a reason and Hervey was the one to take the boy to be sold to a local church who needed a boy such as Cyrus to train to fill the choir with music. They paid a hearty some for him as getting a Castrato was no simple task. Nor was it a simple to train one into becoming a top notch singer. Bought and paid for, for the next two to three years of his life was hell in the church but better then the Market by far. He was always well fed and clean but the Church worked him and others to the bone with signing. His morning contained three hours of singing with others and by himself, his afternoon included over an hour of theory, improvisation, counterpoint, and studying letters. The a repeat after dinner and sleep. It would repeat itself everyday and after two-three years of this it would be decided that he would not make the cut. He had angelic voice but there where others among him far better and more valuable to the church. Having heard that he would be removed and excommunicated from this particular church he fear for his future. But not one to sit around and wait or to be disciplined by a Father, he grabbed what he could and ran.
He managed to evade capture for six months before being taken back and put under Hervey. He was lucky that he was sold again a few weeks later to an elder Lock and Black Smith by the name of Razril. He took the boy with no questions asked and took him home, half the time holding him by the ear. He was no fool and knew of what young boys did who felt their life was out of control. He paid good money for the lad and he wasn’t about to lose his investment.
Razril was the best thing that ever happened to him. He was not treated like dirt or some treasure. He was treated well, like a normal lad of ten. He was given chores to do and lessons to learn Razril’s trade. Surprisingly enough, Cyrus took to it like a fish in water and easily grasped the concepts of smithing. He was started on small objects and then to locks that he showed a real liking. Maybe, it was because he could understand the things that kept him caught or he just enjoyed the puzzles. For five years he lived with the smith who he saw as a father too him. He never once put a hand against Cryus, though a cuffing to the head for being an idiot did happen like with all parents to their children. He took him with him to the markets to purchase items and even had him help with the clients and creating items. Razril believed that it was now time to teach him Black smithing and his training began but was never finished. Six months into the training, Razril died of a heart attack while forging steel. It was a devastating blow to the boy who had finally found something close to family and then leave him. Burying the old man was hard and it was even harder to try and carry on his work while staying under the radar. But staying under the radar when so many knew what you where was difficult. He remained in charge of the old forge until he turned close to his 17th birthday. He is picked up for the last time by the market and sold to a Noble family.
He didn’t fit there and with a taste of what life was as a normal person he refused to become another pet or object. On the second night of owner ship, he waited until everyone in the home was asleep. Once he was certain of that he went to work on the locks in the home to enter the room he desired, the Masters. There he kept the paper work to show owner ship of another. Cyrus took his own papers and left the house and took nothing else other then his own things.
He left the city and traveled, always moving to avoid anyone and everyone. He recalled the one of Razril’s top clients lived up in Piro. Maybe they could help him find some place away from the eyes of those who saw Strains as monsters or high priced pets. The journey was not easy and finding food on the way was even more tricky. He hadn’t planned very well in his escape. He stole no supplies or extra clothing, let along a blanket. He spend nights out in the cold, in trees and eating whatever nuts he could. By the time he came half way to Piro’s the poor thing was starving, tired, and well just wanted a damn bed to rest in thought that wasn’t possible either. He had not a single dime on him.
The idea of suddenly making it to Piro’s seemed like a fantasy of a child. It wasn’t going to come true and he was going to die before he even got there. With a heavy sigh, he settled down for another night of brutal weather without food. Having located a small cave, he took shelter there. He was half asleep when shouts brought him back to life. What on earth was going on? Wait, if there were voices close by then that meant people. Curious and hoping for a bit of food he went in search of the voices but what he came across was not what he had in mind. He indeed did stumble upon a small camp but of the four men there one was wounded and he didn’t look the greatest. It seemed that the three healthy men where arguing on what do to. The group had been out on a mission to clear out a monster and they had done the jump but paid the price with heavy wounds on one of the team members.
From Cyrus prospective, he could tell the man was in bad shape. He could either safely walk away and not chance getting caught but the man might die from infections. The choice was obvious. He couldn’t leave someone hurt and so he ventured forth. The three men where in such a heated debate that they didn’t even notice the under feed Strain enter their camp, let alone inspect the injured. The man wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought but was still in no condition to travel. Looking back at the three who seemed to be as lost as Cy felt, he decided then to try and make life easier for the group. Hell, he wasn’t going to make it to Piro so he might as well give this guy a better chance at it.
Sighing softly, Cyrus rubbed his hands together to warm them up. It had been a long time since he used his ability of wound transfer and was never a fun thing to do. This was going to hurt like a bitch. Taking one last deep breath he placed his hands on the man and let the “magic” happen. The burning sensation, the stabbing pain made him want to faint but the fact he hadn’t ate at all made it ten times worse. He could feel the wound close up on the man and reopen on his own skin in the same position but less worse. The victim below would be left with tender, red, and swollen skin with some scuff remaining as Cyrus could not take all of the wounds. But he took a majority of it and felt the fever hit him like a wave.
To be honest, he had no idea when the three arguing men took note of what was happening or when the injured man stirred to life only to be as shocked as the others. All he knew as that his world was spinning into darkness. When his world became full of light once again he had no idea where he was at but he knew one thing for sure, he wasn’t lying on the ground dying. He was on a bed, bandaged and a person staring down at him in disbelief.
He made it to Piro. He didn’t even have to go and find Razril’s clients as he was among them all ready. The four men he had encountered knew Razril and so did their King who would have his weapons repaired by the smith. They had heard of his passing but when they went to town to see Cyrus about what was going to happen to the smithing, he had vanished. Taking time to heal, he explained to them during his times of being awake and passing out due to still recovering the events that happened. He also explained how the other was living and not the one in bed looking like hell. The Red Clan didn’t seem too bothered by the fact a Strain was in their mist. It was strange really. None tired to find a title on him or sell him. It was just normal being not giving two shits.
It took weeks for Cyrus to heal and during that time he stayed with the Clan and learned from them. One the day he was able to leave he informed them he would like to stay and if the King would have him. Lucky enough for him, he was accepted and the Clan’s marking would appear behind his ear. He now had a new home and family. He wouldn’t have to worry anymore about his life or where he was going. He was home now and loyal to his Clan. However, trust was a small issue as he kept his papers hidden from them and never spoke of it.
Life once again became grand and wonderful for him. It was like a dream and one that he never wanted to wake from. He produced locks for them and did his best to mend weapons with the tools provided even though he never got full training on weapon repair and making as a Blacksmith, he still had the idea. He remained in Piros and had his own living area with the money he saved from repairing weapons and soon started his own smithing among the Clan. Things carried on well for a good couple of years. He did missions, pick locks, grab food and more for them.
It wasn’t until a few months after he turned twenty-two that fate would once again ruin the best times of his life. The King had a mission for him and a group of two others. It would be a simple one. Find a lurker near by, kill it, take the hide and come home. It should be a rather simple task and be done in two days time. Feeling pretty good about it his group packed up and left to take care of business.
Getting rid of a single Lurker should of been perfect but of course, nothing ever goes as smoothie as planned. One minute you think you own the world and suddenly you and your team mates are being tossed around by a pack of creatures you didn't expect! Which is pretty much what happened once they found their target. One Lurker became a whole lot more then what was originally known and they burned rather well. Two of the members had been wounded but not to badly, Cyrus had slight damage to his body and the last member came out looking like death and rested off to the side near a raging river. Nothing thinking much about it, Cyrus rushed to his side to heal the man while the other two remained fighting the last three lurkers in the group.
Cyrus had thought it was safe transfer wounds at that time but boy was he wrong. Half way through the process and taking on much of the damage a Lurker came for him and the other member. Maybe it was the smell of blood or that it believed Cyrus to be an easy target. It didn't matter in the end with the amount of damage divided between the two. The lurker came flying at them and smashed a limb into Cyrus bleeding side which sadly, hurled him into the raging river and cracking his skull on one of many rocks.
Heavily damaged, drained from transferring and now suffering from new wounds the Strain was taken down river, unconscious and the fate of his group, unknown. It is strongly believed they survived and went looking for Cyrus but unable to find the body, they return home with fear of the Strain having died. However, Cyrus had not died and was found miles out by an individual who took him to Lilla. There, he and other cared for him to bring him back to health. When the man awake he was without memory and unsure of where he was then. The man who took him in named him Starling and is now his keeper.
He is currently in custody of the Purple Clan who knows that Cyrus is of the Red but has made no attempt to return him. His keeper telling him nothing but lies and who wouldn't want to keep a Strain with his abilities as a Smith and "Healer" The sadiest thing though is that he isn't treated too kindly among the Clan who sees him as just some cute pet with a much needed skills as well as an expensive conversational piece while others find him nothing more then a monster.
| TIMELINE Age 2
Traded to clear fathers gambling debt
Age 4
- Strain abilities become apparent, transferred a friends wound onto himself.
- Placed on Black Market after prier event to gain money.
Age 5
Sold and Ran Away, then returned to market with no signs of powers, false advertisement.
Age 6
Sold and Resold, First encounter with Hervey.
Age 7
Dealers noticed he had a wondrous singing voice.
Age 8
- At Hervey’s suggestion as a joke, Cyrus is castrated for his singing voice
- Sold to a local church to become a Choir boy for double profit
Age 10
Failed after two years of training, didn’t get top marks.
- Ran way from the church, caught by Hervey, and returned to the Market.
- Sold to a Metal / Lock smith in need of a hand
Age 11
-Learned Metal / Lock smithing
- Ran away in two months, returned to Black Smith
Age 12
Sees Razril as a father figure
Age 15
Razril passes away from heat attack, Cyrus takes on his last name in memory of him
Age 16
-Runs Smithing by himself until Market picks him back up.
Age 17
-Bought by a Noble in Chrysos and promptly runs away six months later after abuse with his own papers that he stole. Hervey back on the case.
- Travels to Piro’s while avoiding Traders and the likes, ends up in Red Clan territory.
- Helps a Red Clan member in need and taken in by members who recognize him as Razril’s apprentice.
Age 18 - 21
Cyrus joins the Red Clan. Hides his papers stating he is a Strain and history
Age 22
Sent on a Mission to kill a lurker, More then one show up. Group gets injuried and Cyrus goes missing.
Current
Amnesia, lost, and found by a Purple Clan member for reasons unknown as of yet but Cyrus is being used by member for personal gain.
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52
Female
