Cayne

In Depth

• Quick Reference

  Quick Reference
  
  - Cayne is a very old man that is basically forced to relive the same physical twenty-four hours every day. While he can maintain any age he desires for a while, he will eventually have to fully wind the watch. Some could consider living the same cycle of pain and age maddening.
  
  - Due to the nature of his watch, he travels both through time and space. His age is based off of how old he would be in his home dimension. Truthfully, he has lived far more years than that due to travelling back and forth through time.
  
  - Sleep brings both nightmares, as well as an increased chance of slipping through weaknesses or rifts in time.
  
  - The watch enables travel through a mixture of 'chronomancy', and extraplanar materials that were used in its construction. With the strange timepiece fully repaired, Cayne is now able to use it to travel to various points that he has already visited and bookmarked.
  
  - Cayne knows things he really shouldn't. He also goes to great pains to ensure few people realize this.
  
  - When he was bound to the watch, he was undergoing severe withdrawal symptoms. He has to medicate himself a LOT to work normally, and even then, he has problems. He can't eat, can't sleep, without being ill/having extremely severe night terrors. He's always some kind of drunk, and has days or weeks where he can't get himself out of the opium den. He's working on those problems, however, and has a goal of working through it.
  
  - While he appears to heal perfectly from even the most dire of injuries with a simple winding of his watch, some will never fully go away. By the hour as he ages, faint scars appear all over his body to mark many old injuries. He develops arthritis in his joints, especially his hands, throughout the day. His vision goes from perfect, to awful. The cane goes from being a fashion accessory to severely needed, due to extensive injuries that he's suffered to his right leg.

• The Watch

  
  

  T H E W A T C H

  
  
  He almost always has the pocket watch, his most hated and beloved friend. It's usually wrapped within a bit of ragged, poorly hemmed cloth, which serves to block most from sensing its unusual qualities.
  
  It's small, plain, and silver, and the case is unfortunately scratched and battered. There are cracks in the glass covering its face, and the time is almost never right. Even the movement seems a bit off; it ticks unevenly at times, sometimes extremely fast, sometimes extremely slow. The silver Lépine case watch has been repaired and polished, not a hint of damage lingering on it. The crack is gone, the movement ticks on as perfectly as it ever did. Those who bother to listen may even note that his heart beats in the exact pattern of the watch's ticking.
  
  
  His soul is in the watch. He is bound to it, and so long as it is in working order and wound, he will live. Injuries heal (not always perfectly) when it is wound, and if it's over-wound a little, he can temporarily move far more quickly than he ought to be able. It must be wound at least once every twenty-four hours, or it will stop running. Throughout his many years of having the watch, he has aged visibly one year for every four (technically 4.8 years) that he would have existed on his home plane. Throughout the day, he ages about four years for every 'hour' on his watch, if the watch is allowed to cycle through properly. While it follows a general 24 hour cycle, each hour marked on the watch is comprised of an average of two hours, real time.
  
  There are downsides, though.
  
  He was bound to the watch while going through severe withdrawal symptoms from various drugs, and as such, craves alcohol and opium at all times. The thought of food makes him ill, he gets irritable and unless he's partaken of his vices, suffers severe headaches and shakes. Suffice to say, he spends almost all of his time inebriated in some form or other.
  
  As the watch winds down, he ages. It becomes obvious over a matter of hours. Scars appear, gray begins to streak through his hair, and he begins to limp. His hands begin to hurt, and eventually, are too arthritic to wind his watch without risking breaking it. His vision worsens; no glasses can change strength throughout the day to match his weakening eyesight. Immortality lured him into living a hard life, and he pays for it if he neglects to wind his watch often enough.
  
  When Cayne is physically injured, he temporarily steals a boost from the watch, and it winds down much more quickly. In the case of poison, though, his body will fight it but the watch will not wind down any more quickly. He hates poison.
  
  It will begin to chime warnings as it comes closer to stopping, and while they are soft, he can always tell, to the second, how much time he ought to have left.
  
  If it isn't wound, it will stop, and Cayne will die. Of course, while he is dead, maintenance could be performed on the watch. While it could cause the watch to work much better, Cayne fears to replace too much, as he isn't certain what that might do to him. Personally, he fears that it might completely destroy his soul in the event that everything in the watch is replaced. Logically, nothing seems to have happened with what parts have already been replaced. Unfortunately, 'logic' is incorrect in this case. A clever horologist was able to repair the watch, melting down and reusing the old parts. A certain doctor was able to perform further fixes and upgrades, leaving the old doll in better working order than he ever was.
  
  In the event that the watch is wound back up, Cayne will return to life, as young as he always looks. He's 'rebooted', so to speak, and in a matter of hours, is forced to remember everything he has done in order. While he's not really a -bad- man, he's done some very, very bad things. He will NOT remember his death when he first wakes up. He won't even remember those that he knows, unless he's known them for centuries. He is weak, and bed-ridden until he has fully undergone the process of waking. Of course, such things have a way of changing. The man has been upgraded, and his memories have been 'saved' to avoid the overly long recovery process. He's able to make a 'quick save' in order to skip through remembering the first couple of centuries; remembering a few months is practically nothing.
  
  Traveling through time and dimensions has proven to be an issue as well. Cayne has no control over it, and is always fearful of ending up somewhere and not being able to return. These jaunts are usually short enough, and can be set off by something so simple as tripping, or being struck exceptionally hard, while holding onto his watch. The traveling cannot be performed without his watch physically on his person. Such things are now possible, thanks to the bookmark function of his watch.
  
  Another upgrade has been added. The man is able to set thirteen bookmarks in his watch, set to specific times and places. However, the doll must physically visit each time and place in order to bookmark them.
  
  Speed and Delay of time can be a useful, and new, tool. The former was always one of his abilities, when the watch was overwound. The latter will allow him to create small pockets of slowed time which can effect the local terrain. Anyone or anything stepping through the time pockets may be affected.
  
  Please note, if Cayne is ever separated from his watch, he can track it down with unerring accuracy. He always knows where it is, and even if he's been dead and the watch is wound miles away from him, he will eventually find it. Also...if the watch is ever stolen, he will react accordingly. With extreme prejudice.

• Journal

  • Return August 25th 2013, 1:37 pm

    Return

    I had hoped to avoid the Tether until well after the swarm left. It's a pity I didn't manage it. I have a feeling that I'll be well able to avoid him, though. It's easy to avoid someone that doesn't care to look for you.
    
    Business is booming. My last adventures were profitable, though in varying ways. Taking time to work with a friend proved relaxing, despite the fact that old Misery Whiskers, Savanth, may now know a little more than he used to. We managed to avoid most of the fae, but I had a few run-ins with Naga and the like that I'd prefer to forget. Still, I kept to my word. I went first. Aside from bumps and bruises, the fellow's got nothing to worry his pretty woman over.
    
    I had another acquisition to perform, soon after it. I went off the Island, and with the help of my new sister was able to Travel properly. Two heads are better than one. Two Tinkers are bloody amazing. Aside from the both of us looking absolutely grand and making everything easy as a game, it's been interesting to see how our methods differ. ...that bloody woman could convince Brutus to staidly step into the jaws of Hell to keep her from mussing her hair. I'm impressed. But she's convinced me that I need to get the old ticker in working order. We might be able to manage it. I think I'd given up hope, for a long time, but if she could do it...bloody hell, of course I can.
    
    I've got a new plan for it. I'll need to talk to Sharky about it. I'd prefer to keep it to as few of us as possible. Good lord, as if he didn't think I was bad enough already. Just wait until he gets a load of the both of us together.
    
    ...that reminds me. I wonder if he's figured out who she is. I should probably give him a heads up. He's a good friend, but I'll be thrice damned if I think he'd leer at her as much as she seemed to suggest he did if he knew who she was.

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• The Past

  THE PAST

  The following is scattered throughout various journals, most of them decades, if not centuries, old. It is all written in the adventurer's own hand. Some parts are more legible than others, and some pages are so damaged by time and wear that they are unreadable. The first half of the oldest notebook is missing, presumably burned away, if the scorched off front cover is any hint.
  
  ...though perhaps this is a curse more than a blessing. I feel ill all the time. Sleep is restless. I can barely eat. I had thought things were bad enough with the...Again, it becomes illegible...but I was wrong, and it didn't work. Aebel laughs at me, and I fear that his offers to help are goaded more by sadism than an actual desire to aid me. I may have to begin avoiding him, for...Scratched out gibberish...-e will never let me escape.
  
  I should write what I know.
  
  I am bound to the watch. Every death I have suffered soon sees me being called back to life when someone winds it. I have heard myself referred to as a 'clockwork doll', and I am beginning to feel it's true. I've been bound for a decade, and every 'morning', I feel less human than the last...
  
  A few pages are so faded and damaged that it's impossible to read them.
  
  ...-een decades since I have written last. I escaped Her, but not before finding out what she's done to me. I don't have a soul. It's inside the damnable watch...This time, angry scribblings have crossed out the majority of the text, and the next page has been torn out.
  
  I will have to let it go. If I can't live as a normal man, I don't know how else to live. I've a wife now, and children....
  
  ...twenty years, but I have barely aged at all. My wife now looks older than me. I will have to disappear, or I fear my family may be targeted by the rest of the town. Lynchings have taken the place of witch burnings, and I can't stand the thought of anything happening to them. I can still check up on them once they think me dead, I have ways of disguising myself.
  
  The next page is wrinkled and worn, but just barely legible. It seems to have been damaged by water and ash.
  
  She took her. My daughter. She did something and now she's gone. She looked the same, spoke the same, laughed the same, but it wasn't her. She turned my daughter into her hound, and sent her after my watch. It was instinct, I was protecting myself. It wasn't really her anymore. That is what I tell myself, as I look at her grave, but the lie tastes like ash. It was my fault. It was my fault.
  
  The final page repeats the same phrase, over and over, before the notebook comes to an end. The next seems far newer.
  
  The watch is becoming worn. I had an associate take it to a shop to effect repairs, and was told that a few gears had to be replaced. I feel strange now. Thin, and drawn, but I look no different. Perhaps it was simply because I was dead for so long?
  
  Much of what follows are simple, every day transactions. Notes about artifacts and clients are interspersed with sarcastic commentary on various acquaintances. It isn't until well over half way through the pages that the author begins to mention his watch once again.
  
  I haven't slept in weeks. I can't bring myself to. I don't know if it's from the nightmares, or from the what happens if I awaken. I woke up in Rome, the last time. Centurions charged me, shouting things in what I can only assume was Latin. I was thrown into a pit when I blacked out. I awoke in Spain, in my own time. I don't know what it means. I don't know how to stop it. I'm afraid to go to Her, or to Aebel, for help.
  
  It happened again. I wasn't sleeping this time. I was exploring ruins, and one of the mules stumbled. It pulled me down, and when I cleared my vision, I was in a huge silvery hallway. Strangely dressed people wandered by, men and women wearing tight clothing in bright primary colors. They must have noticed me; a group of them surrounded me. I fear I wasn't at my best, and panicked. ...when next I awoke, I was once again in the ruins, and being trod on by a mule.
  
  A few more entries follow along this theme, before it seems he has learned enough to write with anything more than confusion. It is in the newest of the notebooks, which is still far older than most of the papers scattered across the man's desk.
  
  I'm traveling through time. Not only time, but planes as well. It started when my watch was damaged. My watch feels strange to me as well, now...heavier, darker. I almost feel as though there are spider-webs connecting me. They are stretching slowly, becoming thinner and weaker. I suppose it's not all bad. I can feel things through it, now. I know when Wrong things are near. I'm learning what magic feels like. It sends a shiver up my spine that is positively wrong. It's weak. But it's there. ...what am I becoming?

• The Beginning

  THE BEGINNING

  It began over two hundred years ago. A young man addicted to life, to drugs, and to debauchery lays on a plain metal table. Straps keep him secured and don't budge in the slightest as he comes awake with a start. His body has changed in his sleep; old scars have been erased, and the memories linger on in the back of his mind, a blood-filled nightmare that couldn't, shouldn't, be real. Days have passed since he first found himself in the room, and as drugs and alcohol work their way out of his system, a painful withdrawal sets in.
  
  This, unfortunately, is the best he'll ever feel again.
  
  The room was dark. No light…no sound save for the soft ticking of the watch. The watch. He could feel it on his chest, cool and impersonal as it counted away the seconds of his life. How long had he been there, strapped down and stupefied? How long had it been since Aebel’s words had poisoned his mind. Poison. He knew it for what it was, finally. Cold, alone, trapped…where was Aebel now? Where was Aebel now that the numbing drugs had finally worn off? Where was Aebel to dull the pains of withdrawal, to speed his recovery…or even better, to feed his addiction. Nowhere! He was alone.
  
  …no, no, not quite alone. He could feel eyes on him. Eyes that could pierce through the dark and detect everything. Aebel’s eyes? Or something even worse. Those eyes glittered invisibly, malice rippling in them as they traced the bound man’s movements. Cayne’s fear was obvious. There was a tremor in the bared arms, running along them, through them, as fingertips scraped nails nervously at the table. He hadn’t signed up for this. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t wanted this. His eyes, pale and cool, darted about the room blindly, head attempting to turn and failing thanks to yet more constraints.
  
  Every shuddering breath sliced through the stillness, every grunt that announced muscles straining to pull him free, every whispered curse, every crack of tendons and bone as he fought. Cayne was not a willing test subject. He would not be played with, he would not be…be whatever it was they (whoever they were) wanted him to be! He had to hand it to them, though; they sure knew how to keep a man down.
  
  It wasn’t until exhaustion had finally spread across his body, and he’d closed his eyes, that light came. And what an unwelcome light it was. Bright and impersonal, revealing white walls and metal tables, cold and clinical—an odd sight for the times. The room was an anachronism, as was the woman that stepped in, and the little man that followed her. Cayne recognized her.
  
  Dawn. Tall, strong, independent—she was everything a woman of that age was expected to not be. Impeccably dressed in the finest of gowns, hair pulled up and back in a graceful, but secure, bun, she was the very picture of refinement. Ebony flesh glistened even in that unforgiving light, and even as glossy black lips quirked into a lovely smile, her cold violet eyes glistened with ill-concealed madness. He’d never hoped to see such malignance in a woman’s eyes.
  
  Byrnn was a different story altogether. Short, unfortunately delicate, and nearly blind, the redhead couldn’t have been any less intimidating. Nor could he have been any more terrified of the woman. …or any more dismayed at the state of nudity Cayne was currently in. He quickly averted his eyes, face flushing as he lifted up a handful of papers and booklets to hide behind. “M-mistress Dawn, the subject has…has….h-h-has been prepped. All…All factors capable of…of being problematic are as out of his system as they will get for now, and…and he seems to have stopped trying to escape.” What was that accent? Foreign, whatever it was, and far more foreign than anything he’d heard, either as a child or an adult.
  
  “Excellent, pet.” The smoky voice was low, sultry. Everything that a man could have hoped to hear from such a lady. “Do you hear that, poppet? My pretty tells me that you are ready. So soon, kitten…I would have thought that you’d fight to get free for another few hours, at least. Tsk.” Her tongue clucked against the roof of her mouth as the woman shook her head, expression and voice akin to that of a gently disappointed mother. “Are you becoming acquainted with your new friend? The pair of you will be quite inseparable from now on.” One of her hands descended on him, a deceptively long finger tapping at the watch settled on his chest.
  
  “I’m not a man to struggle when it is futile, madame.” His voice, while calm, couldn’t hide a tremor. He was afraid. Young…still in his twenties, still hoping that Aebel would have second thoughts and bring him out of this…whatever it was. “Why waste my efforts on your bindings when they are so well put together? You obviously do not intend for me to escape. If you had wished for me to try, you should have made it a little less impossible.” Terrified…but still himself, and still hoping that it was all simply a misunderstanding. It was quite possible that this was…just…..another one of Aebel’s jokes. Possibly? He hoped.
  
  “Oh, kitten, you say such sweet things. It is an absolute wonder that you are not already married and the father to a full litter of little brats.” She needn’t have sounded so bored. She also needn’t have been running her fingertips down the center of his chest and over, seeking for the solid thud of a heartbeat. “Mmm, this will not do. Human bodies are so very contrary. I do believe that I will have to solve this problem on my own. Byrnn, monitor him.”
  
  …Monitor? What in heaven’s name could the mad woman be talking about? And…”What are you doing? This has gone quite far enough.” Even as the pair’s hands descended about him—Byrnn moving one first to his forehead, and the other slipping about his wrist, and Dawn settling both upon his chest—Cayne had begun to move again, to struggle against unforgiving bindings. Dawn’s head lifted, her eyes glittering unnaturally as she let her head dip low, ear soon pressed to his skin…that didn’t feel like an ear. It felt like feathers. But it must have simply been her hair.
  
  “Oh, Cayne, dearest darlingest of little puppets. It will only have gone far enough when I tell you that it has gone far enough. Do be a dear, and stop talking. I find it immensely distracting when I have to silence my patients.” Something else was wrong. Her fingertips raked down his skin in their mysterious search, tingling hotly. What the hell was going on? …why the hell couldn’t he move? His body had relaxed, and try as he might, the man simply couldn’t force his muscles to tense. “Whatever you’ve given me, witch, you had better hope it lasts, because I-“ Silence. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t blink. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe. Panic welled up in the pale eyes.
  
  “I did ask you to be quiet dear. As I said, I find it distracting when I have to silence my patients, and I do need to keep my mind focused for this. I’ve never done it before.” He was beginning to notice something about her voice…some depth, some hint of a second tone as she whispered. “Read him, Byrnn…seek me out.” His skin was tingling, where their hands rested. Tingling, and their hands seemed to both warm and chill him. Her hands were unnaturally warm, whereas her minion’s seemed noting save damp and cool from anxiety. “Yes, mistress Dawn. I am beginning to feel you. Now, I believe it will be easier if you time his heartbeat properly wi-“
  
  “I know that.” Her voice had begun to hiss out, and the redhead silenced himself with a shuddery gasp of ill-concealed fright. By that time, Cayne’s eyes were already painfully dry, but something seemed to be stopping tears from forming. Indeed, he was surprised that he could still breathe. …it was probably a product of the dry eyes, but the room seemed to be dimming. It was as though some sort of shadow was passing across him, over him, around him.
  
  Then came the pain. It was mild at first, a mere twinge in his chest. But it was followed by more. His breath tried to catch in his throat, but something kept his lungs functioning in that slow, relaxed pace. It felt as though his heart was trying to tear itself out. “You feel that, do you, poppet?” Her voice was a coo, gentle and sweet as her head turned so she could peer at him. Cayne’s heart continued to wrench in his chest, its painful beating slowing from a panicked rate, to something slow and methodical. It was nearly a mechanical beat, unrelenting as he stared helplessly at the smiling face. He could see something was wrong with her, now.
  
  “Ahh, and he begins to awaken. Test him, Byrnn.” Her eyes were wrong. The pupil was going gold, the white going black as the iris grew and darkened still more. Stormy, dark…dangerous and otherworldly. Dawn’s head dipped downwards, lips pressing themselves lightly to his collarbone. “Let Dawn kiss it and make it better, pretty doll. There, there, the pain will all go away now, mmm?” Something in him hated that the pain left with the heated brush of her lips. The rest of him welcomed it. Then he noticed that strange, feather-soft touch once again, and then…he saw them. She didn’t have proper ears.
  
  Wings, graceful, strong, and large, rested at either side of her head in place of human ears, fanning outward as she peered down at him with that cold look of satisfaction on her face. The entire room seemed filled with dark feathers, from a second, larger set. “H-he is…it’s beginning, mistress Dawn, he can sense you. B-b-but I think it is only because you are using…using so much power, if he were to pass you in the street he’d never see you.” The academic tone was interspersed with squeaks and stutters, but Cayne couldn’t turn his head to see the speaker’s face. “His vision is…is limited right now. I don’t think he can sense all of us. All…all of what we are.”
  
  Cayne remained silent despite his attempts to the contrary. He had no idea what was going on. None! What matter of sorcery was this? How could she cause pain, and stop it, with merely a touch? What had she given him, what was going on? He wanted out! He wanted to struggle, to shout…to cry. Anything but this damned supernatural stillness!
  
  “The time for that will come later, kitten. Do try to keep your mind from wandering too far; I would very much like to be able to concentrate. You really are a distracting little thing, you know. But I wonder, precious doll, if you will work as I have foreseen.” Dawn’s voice still held that coldness within it, but, finally, she was drawing away from him. Only a single fingertip remained, resting on his collarbone as she turned and reached out for something not quite in his visual range. “You should feel honored that I am allowing you to watch. Very few are allowed to watch me work.”
  
  Quite frankly, Cayne would have preferred not to watch.
  
  He would have accepted being able to scream.