Caracol of Kaleidoscopic Visions unending

Ascendant

I am Caracol of kaleidoscopic visions, I was chosen by Schiaravell, who knows the shape of things to come. I am otherwise uninteresting, I was chosen during the conquest of Thorns, my parents, recent adoptees into the V'neef family, and trying to keep the Satrapy of Thorns in good financial order with the help of their cousin Pandora, who was a trusted associate of the Autocrat and his brother.

Schiaravell came into my dreams, preparing me for the role he had in mind, whispering the secrets of the future in my mind, girding my soul with a small imp, playful, mischievous, someone to share in jokes with me.

I grew to enjoy having someone adding snarky comments to every sad event in my life, including the dances I was subjected to, spending a month in Malfeas, in dances and parties and orgies and the like. I didn't partake of everything, don't look at me like that! But I could look! All that before the Imp convinced me to cross the desert, saying 'it was ordained'. As I did, my limbs hardened, turning into malfean brass and green stone, a plastron glowing green every once in a while, until, at the end of the fifth day of my journey, it opened a portal to Creation.

I walked out of Cecelyne's endless waste, to the spectacle of Thorns burning, the Corpse-Fortress Juggernaut in the distance. I was away from danger though, and safe, and there met Daddy and uncle Snow. They told me auntie Wandry had predicted it, and we'd become rather friendly after that, but she wasn't there, she didn't leave Nexus often, they said.

I took to religious debate like a natural, my parents had, after all, been fervent immaculate philosophers and daddy had been a Wyld Hunter before he courted mother. For, although he was born a lost egg, he had taken the razor and enrolled in the Cloister of Wisdom and became a monk of great scholarly knowledge.

I had lost time of the moments, in Malfeas, where I had orated in a feverish haze, proselytizing the word of Schiaravell, to their great applause, when I did it to mortals, it was much more subdued, but I still noticed the odd person reacting as if touched deeply by my words. I feel emboldened to continue.

— Memoirs of Caracol, as told to Stelsor, 769.