Vyrio Vhassan

Vyrio Vhassan is a criminal made Fool by the court of Aegon Targaryan, inured to practice parlory and acrobatics in lieau of his past. Decorated as being 'especially willing' and 'morbidly entertaining', the fool appears to dwell well in the shadows of far greater souls - providing a mockery for life itself.

Born in 393, the weathered man is a mute by severed tongue in the direct employ - by no direct announcement - of Aerys Velaryon.

Appearance
The Nobles abound would only know Vyrio the Fool by his gilded mask. Apart from it, a weary and aged man of paling olive complexion stood under most men, made worse by a visibly twisted spine. By defect at birth, he is utterly hairless. This fact is made up for by theatric flair, his facial hair often drawn on or applied in different styles in consideration for the current task or affair.

Though struck silent forever, his body language and expressions are grossly exaggerated to compensate, often performing every minor gesture as if still upon the stage.

Granted, he never was.

History
Under the eyes of waning stars, a nameless child was born of a Myrish courtesan of unsounded repute. His coming brought her death, making a ragamuffin child, uncrying and slow breathing. Instead he stared, watching the moon over the sands as if all answers were in its pale face.

Much like his own, bald and hairless, featured in such a forgettable way.

By childhood he was a stranger to his own World, stealing and playing favors with local gangs of equally derelict children. Often he was paid to play pretend as a victim, nursing coin from unwatched purses and from secrets seen as needed by men of far greater designs.

By adulthood he had long since taken a life to live, watching a slumped form drain against an alley wall, his coin divested for the greater cause of his killers own survival. Many fell in a similar way - as a life of banditry bled deeper as the man embraced his own emotionally absent talent;  Apathy at the loss of life.

Learning of the Pattern only deepened how he justified his blooded ways.

It wasn’t until one fateful night that his life ever changed. A contract for an unnamed client of high coin and little pity had brought him to the bedchambers of a most unfortunate man. He had scorned the wrong soul, clearly, as he now stood over his bed. Knife in hand, he watched him breathe slow beside his wife, readying himself to smother a long pillow over the pair to better fill them full of holes. That was when their bodyguard, clad in dark leathers, rushed in from behind. A barbute fight became a flurry of blades, as the killer quickly learned that his brutality meant nearly nothing in the face of a warrior truly trained. With a few short counts he was disarmed, incapacitated, then arrested by morning.

By the afternoon, he had a visitor. One of the cell guards entered, wearing a face he did not recognize, brandishing a knife burning orange from cooking in the brazier coals.

His cries were far stranger after he’d been freed of his tongue.

Stranger still, he awoke that night, face cold against the wind, bound and bouncing upon the back of a well bred horse. Two truths became apparent to him that night, plain as the hidden face of the new moon above. He established three laws:

Never accept killing for naught but coin, as gold and blood were equally foul. Never trust a smiling man, as his intents were never kind. And most importantly, never fight a man where he can reach.

Vyrio decided, upon the back of that steed, that he would need to find other ways to level life and best better men.

It is after a decade of lesser known years, that he sits behind a porcelain mask, dangling with colorful silks and ringing bells - posing merry for the peoples of power.

Kneeling to a Sphinx.