This is Cymoril, my Daughter of Cacophony who I truly like. I have been playing Vampire the Masquerade for over 12 years now. I have played as every single playable clan. I have DMed/GMed in every single period, story-arch, multitude of different groups and dynamics. I have killed characters, I have made them suffer. But Cymoril is special. There is a narrative inside her that I like. I am not one for exploiting female attributes such as beauty and sex appeal with my characters – I’m hard-core, I kick ass, that’s what I do! But then I thought of giving myself a challenge.
The entire character has also been inspired by the art work of the amazing and undeniably good Maciej Kuciara. His character concepts for Showtime allowed me to understand the true nature of Cymoril. And this shows in her story – which I leave with you now:
My life is somewhat a lane of memories with twists and turns I will never be able to fully comprehend.
I do not remember my parents – sometimes I doubt I ever had any. The chasm of the 1920s spanned many on Earth, and some born to the ungrateful ended in cold crates awaiting someone to find them a home. Vague details of a hospice come to mind every so often…But all I can tell you is that my childhood didn’t matter much, except for the Jazz. Oh boy did I love hearing the bluesy notes coming out of the bars and cabarets of Quebec city center…I remember dancing around with the other girls while an old cranky witch would boss us around…I use to escape through the window quite often…Music was The Thing, if you follow me…When the war started, I entered the service – didn’t understand why all these people had to die and bleed…What was the point? Life seemed so short…I used to sing a lot while in duty, helping the typist at the office, making the coffee, cleaning, anything to earn a few dollars so the system would give me my independence and precious freedom away from the cranky house, with the cranky witch, in the middle of a currently infested with people old town; Quebec.
…And perhaps wishes come true. I took the habit of singing while feeding the ducks on my way back to the hospice. One evening, it was getting on, but I didn’t want to go…I kept on hearing things around me, I wasn’t feeling very well…Then I saw her. It was the 15/05/1950. I remember it because word in town was nothing but the conception of a rocket being able to fly to the moon as Dr. von Braun had announce on the papers the previous day…This woman, with her ruby-red curls, her polka-dotted dress and her bright crimson heels walking along the lakeside with 2 gents, like if they were her escorts. My sight followed her for a moment, while words of a song came to my mouth out of nowhere, some kind of swing, but with edge…
Next thing I remember the woman was inviting me into her car. She took me to a gig she was playing. She was a singer, you see, like we all are. She went back then by the name of Kassie. She roared on the stage full of soul and charm, she loved the limelight and everyone knew it, and everyone loved her. The chorister that accompanied her invited me to the backstage. Everyone was seriously mesmerized by her. How could one woman who I had never heard of before hold such power…? …The Siren signs and Ulysses gets lost at sea…That’s how. Before I realised, this woman turned to be not a woman at all, but a creature of the moonlight. She promised me another life, and afterlife before death. And the possibility of a song that would never end…No more hospice, no more cranky, noisy, grubby Quebec no more…So I took it.
Cassandra ‘K’ taught me all one can possibly ever know of the voice, of human psyche, desire, power, control, and otherworldly things. She said I would need them “for when you grow up”…Growing up…I’ll always be 21…And so, the showed carried on: we moved to the States, she went off to do some voice acting for Hollywood and I found myself in Beverly Hills…Too much glamour for my liking…And that soul, swing with edge captivated me…So here I am. It’s 1980, I am the lead singer of a post rock-grunge-drone band, and my name, is nothing but a memory…Twisted and lost, somewhere…In a lonely, quiet park, in Quebec old town…