By day she may entertain visitors in her small home, apologizing for having the blinds drawn, offering by way of reason that the sunlight hurts her eyes. She does keep sufficient, if somewhat dim light available for her guests. Permanently lit magical orbs softly bobbing overhead, drifting in the air currents. Most of these daytime meetings are between her and potential entrepreneurs seeking funding for this trade deal, or for that business opportunity. So far, her instincts have been more right than wrong, and the occasional failure has not stopped her from continuing to be bold in her selections.
By night, Margarite attends the social events of her newly found noblelady friends. Her adept social maneuvering has quickly lead her to have both a clique of loyal friends and the antagonism of those she finds boorish. She puts falsehood to the common claim that all silk elves are long-winded storytellers, instead offering cutting criticism, quick retorts, and gleeful wit. Many parties are jeweled in the laughter she sparks late into the night.
Margarite doesn't remember what her name used to be, but she thinks this one might be close. It's good enough for her purposes, which for the moment are, in order: maintain her cover as a silk elf, gain in power and wealth, and feed when necessary.
Her cover as a silk elf is, she believes, a necessity given her condition. She has no name to attach to what has happened to her, no does she remember how it has come to be. Her skin and all her soft tissue are made of solid silver. Her hair is of pure gold. But it wasn't so even seven weeks ago.
When this unnamed woman awoke in the fields near Gnoshing, she was wounded, her head bleeding, a dull roar in the back of her skull. Had she been beaten? Where were her clothes? Had she been assaulted? She could not recall. Surrounding her were the bodies of several halfling farmers, men and women. How were they involved and what had sealed their fate?
Stumbling in the darkness of a full moon, and unsure of what direction to travel, it was hours before she came upon a road. Dawn was approaching, but rather than relieve her, it brought her dread. She did not want to be found on the road naked and alone, but it seemed a better fate than dying of exposure on a cold Frostthaw morning. She picked a direction on the road and began to walk.
The next passerby on the road was a caravan of silk elves heading for home, and seeing her state, rushed to help her. They quickly realized this woman had no memory of self, and knew nothing of where she was, or where she belonged. She was wrapped in blankets, herded onto a wagon, and offered food. That was when things went poorly for them.
The smell of the food turned her stomach, and as she retched, she retched liquid silver. Aghast and unsure of what was happening, one of the elves attempted to steady the woman, one hand on her shoulder, one to hold back her hair. The gaping wound beneath her hair was apparent, and the elf drew back a wet, silver slick hand. Her scalp fell from her skull, revealing a gleaming silver dome. Her wounds, and the empty pit of her stomach pushed her from scared, vulnerable woman into an instinct driven animal. Thirteen died. Merchants, wives, and warriors, none survived to flee. Most were eaten, digested by acids pouring from her wounds.
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| French Silver Leaf over Gesso Sculpture of a Mother and Child- A. Godard |
Regaining her composure after the attack, she gathered some of their clothes, and disguised herself. She left, traveling in the direction they had come from, which she now knew to be north. Over the next days her skin fell away, always revealing silver bones and flesh beneath. Eventually her skin grew back, but it was now the same silver. After weeks, her hair grew back in, at first silver, and then later, in gold.
Now, Margarite knows that it is not the appearance of these metals, but the actual metals. At first, and in a gambit, she offered to pay for her home with a solid nugget of gold, which she had collected by cutting her hair and melting it into a single piece. Although she was amazed when the merchant proved the metal pure, she immediately saw the opportunity.
When needed, Margarite cuts her hair, or scrapes her skin, or in one case, lopped off the end of her finger, at the first joint. Though her hunger nearly overtook her, she recovered and the finger grew back. She's discovered that she only hungers when wounded, and the life of a minor noble affords her the privilege of being relatively safe from harm.
What Margarite does not remember is that her name was Margo Stillwater, and that she is the wife of Gnoshing's mayor, Ismail Stillwater.
Ismail was a doting husband, and when Margot fell sick, he arranged for the most expensive doctor he could afford. He would have been better served by arranging for the BEST doctor. The charlatan that answered the call was named Snively. Snively promised Ismail the sun and moon, and all of the newest and most expensive treatments possible.
From the beginning, Snively had little idea of what to do. He made a great show of drawing humors, and comparing them to the colors of flowers and wild animal fin, fur, and feather. He mixed herbal poultices and wrapped them to Margot's head, though the complaint lie in her chest. With the money he was grafting, Snively purchased a number of tomes of medical and magical remedies, most of suspect authenticity. He even penned a few himself.
For years Snively secured money and made arrangements in secret, and his reputation grew in Ismail's estimation. He was named town vasir, a position Ismail hadn't previously been aware he needed to have filled. But it says right here in the town's bylaws...
Despite Snively's "ministrations" Margot's condition predictably worsened and Snively convinced Ismail that Margot needed to be moved to Second Breakfast, in order to have his "associates" tend to her care. In reality, Snively had Margot moved to his dungeon under the town hall.
One of the books Snively bought was, against the odds, real. The dark practices, alchemical reagents, and magical potions within its covers had had their effect upon Margot's body, and Snively's mind. He had begun seeking a cure for mortality, and was convinced that liquid mercury was the key. His handling of the material had made him lose his grip on reality, and there were days he sent requests to the Raven's Guild to investigate his own doings, and to kill the undead he was trying to raise.
On Margot's end, things went differently. She kept her mind sharp, remembering riddles and puzzles, chanting prayers to all the deities she could, chanting her mantra to herself "Margot means pearl, Stillwaters are calm, I will endure." When her body could take no more, and the potions and illness killed her, her mind also broke. The injures were many, over many years, and compounded by quackery, but modified by real magic.
The now nameless being broke free of her cage, and began to feast upon the halflings of the town, only to be attacked and nearly killed by members of the Raven's Guild. They were investigating, in fact, at the behest of Snively, vasir of Gnoshing, having killed him for his crimes only minutes prior.
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