[Tyler's gaze turns low, away from the camera for a moment, and he rests his elbows on the counter to wring his hands for a moment. He doesn't want to talk about it, never has. Even Steven didn't know all the details of his durance, just broad enough strokes that he knew not to ask further; and Tyler respected the same in turn, not pressing Steven on his. It was just what Changelings did.
But Solus didn't have any of that context, and while he was sure he'd be willing to drop the subject, Tyler feels more than a bit like he owes the man that much. At least after sharing something so painful even through a second-hand lens.
It takes a moment to give his hands one final stretch as he braces himself.]
...yes, actually. I'm familiar with the nature of tempering, if not your specifics. Your entire story, really, I can see heavy parallels with... with my own.
What I am is a creature known as a Changeling. And they don't... receive their powers by choice. We start as mundane humans, with no knowledge that outer realms of magic and the supernatural exist outside of common stories. Fairy tales. [Though a shudder runs through him even just making that charmingly benign sign.] Until a [he makes the same sign as before, the sweeping devil horns, before he fingerspells it as well:] - a Lord - takes an interest in us, and chooses to take us back to their realm. Arcadia. If they did not temper us in the taking, they do so there, when we are trapped in their private fiefdom, beyond the Hedge barricading their realm from reality.
[A moment's pause, a quiet breath, before he continues.]
Every Changeling's story is different. None are universal, save for three things. The taking, the torment, and the escape. Steven and I run parallel, in that we were held to higher regard than our fellow captives, but the resemblance ends there. When I was Taken, it was with six others, people I held dear to my heart. They were all part of a theatre troupe, casual as it was. And when our Keeper took us, he put them to work as actors again. For stories that... [His hands shake, just for a moment, but he forces them to still and continues.] That I was to write, for his entertainment.
I was... [Another fumble, briefer.] Taught, by him. To write to his standard. To never repeat a story, or bore him. To speak, and enunciate, so I could recite to his audience what I wrote for myself. My friends would play the role of the characters I wrote. Our Keeper had... a fondness for tragedies. Sacrifice, and blood. And so I wrote them. Stories where the only people I had left in the world were forced to murder, main and do horrific things to each other for the entertainment of a higher being.[He almost smiles, a self-loathing little twitch of his mouth.] The deaths were as true as any, but the nature of Arcadia meant we could cure them to no other loss. So the plays never stopped.
[He has to pause, resting his hands flat on the counter to take a deep, quiet, shaking breath. Isis actually hops forward, looking away from the camera to watch Tyler with concern, and it takes him more than a few seconds to lift one hand and give Isis a gentle pat.]
A Lord's tempering is... hypnotic. It's easy to drown in his favour. To give in and become his. Become of his kind. But it's not irrefutable. As my powers grew, I started to see the pattern of narratives in the wider world, and realised I could toy with reality as easily as I could my friends' fates. So before I lost myself completely, I made my attempts to escape. But that kind of magic is... fickle. It only worked on the third attempt, as all stories say it should. And so I tried to leave with three, but my-- [His hands stutter, and his jaw tightens for a moment.] ...one sacrificed himself, and only myself and one other escaped. We had spent unknown years within Arcadia's grasp, but when we left it had been less than one in the real world.
no subject
But Solus didn't have any of that context, and while he was sure he'd be willing to drop the subject, Tyler feels more than a bit like he owes the man that much. At least after sharing something so painful even through a second-hand lens.
It takes a moment to give his hands one final stretch as he braces himself.]
...yes, actually. I'm familiar with the nature of tempering, if not your specifics. Your entire story, really, I can see heavy parallels with... with my own.
What I am is a creature known as a Changeling. And they don't... receive their powers by choice. We start as mundane humans, with no knowledge that outer realms of magic and the supernatural exist outside of common stories. Fairy tales. [Though a shudder runs through him even just making that charmingly benign sign.] Until a [he makes the same sign as before, the sweeping devil horns, before he fingerspells it as well:] - a Lord - takes an interest in us, and chooses to take us back to their realm. Arcadia. If they did not temper us in the taking, they do so there, when we are trapped in their private fiefdom, beyond the Hedge barricading their realm from reality.
[A moment's pause, a quiet breath, before he continues.]
Every Changeling's story is different. None are universal, save for three things. The taking, the torment, and the escape. Steven and I run parallel, in that we were held to higher regard than our fellow captives, but the resemblance ends there. When I was Taken, it was with six others, people I held dear to my heart. They were all part of a theatre troupe, casual as it was. And when our Keeper took us, he put them to work as actors again. For stories that... [His hands shake, just for a moment, but he forces them to still and continues.] That I was to write, for his entertainment.
I was... [Another fumble, briefer.] Taught, by him. To write to his standard. To never repeat a story, or bore him. To speak, and enunciate, so I could recite to his audience what I wrote for myself. My friends would play the role of the characters I wrote. Our Keeper had... a fondness for tragedies. Sacrifice, and blood. And so I wrote them. Stories where the only people I had left in the world were forced to murder, main and do horrific things to each other for the entertainment of a higher being.[He almost smiles, a self-loathing little twitch of his mouth.] The deaths were as true as any, but the nature of Arcadia meant we could cure them to no other loss. So the plays never stopped.
[He has to pause, resting his hands flat on the counter to take a deep, quiet, shaking breath. Isis actually hops forward, looking away from the camera to watch Tyler with concern, and it takes him more than a few seconds to lift one hand and give Isis a gentle pat.]
A Lord's tempering is... hypnotic. It's easy to drown in his favour. To give in and become his. Become of his kind. But it's not irrefutable. As my powers grew, I started to see the pattern of narratives in the wider world, and realised I could toy with reality as easily as I could my friends' fates. So before I lost myself completely, I made my attempts to escape. But that kind of magic is... fickle. It only worked on the third attempt, as all stories say it should. And so I tried to leave with three, but my-- [His hands stutter, and his jaw tightens for a moment.] ...one sacrificed himself, and only myself and one other escaped. We had spent unknown years within Arcadia's grasp, but when we left it had been less than one in the real world.
[...sorry Steven.]