[Changeling IC] Time's Wings: Dark Omens

[Raz_Fox]

[At two dice that’s a Failure, huzzah!]

[Elanorin]

Deliberately concealed between the pages of a notebook in a desk drawer is a key. The tag indicates that it's to a safety deposit box in the town's local bank, number 490. It doesn't have any context to go with it but it's the only thing in the room that you've found that shows a deliberate effort to hide.

Lily pocketed the key and after a brief further rummage around the much too neatly kept rooms she checked that the coast was clear and then stepped through the walls of the house, through the neatly trimmed shrubs in the garden and through the wall/fence out to the back alley or street in the same spot she had entered.

It was only then she released the veils of shadow and dream around her and returned to the moment. She clasped the key in her hand inside her pocket as she walked away, making sure to take enough of a detour not to be spotted from Mrs Height's house. Then on to the park where they had agreed to meet afterwards.

[stveje]

Wits seems right, so exceptional it is. I mean, you went to high school with this guy - Bernie Tallside. He scrutinizes your face for a few seconds and then bursts into a big grin. "Hey! ... you!" he said, thinking he's forgotten your name. "How are you doing? I haven't seen you in ages! What's the haps, man?"

Bern is bit of an overgrown puppy - scary looking from a distance but pretty simple and credulous. Last you heard he was dating Rochelle, who was an ice queen. He was a good friend to you back in the day and time or corner-of-the-eye news broadcasts have done nothing to change that.

"... Bern? My god, it is you," not-Jack turned as if in surprise at seeing his old friend, and not like he'd secretly noticed him from across the crowded space. Needless to say, not-Jack was a bit of a puppy himself, and the puppy in him was genuinely wagging its tail at this turn of events. Alas, the hardened criminal holding the chain had to cruelly remind the puppy that this was no time for carefree frolicking with fellow playmates. "Oh, you know, just trying to settle in, without a big splash if you know what I mean." Hint hint, don't announce my presence to everyone and their mother, that would be kind of you. You know how word spreads in a town like this. "So how have you been?" Subtly trying to steer the conversation towards Bern himself, and what's been going on in his life/the town. Partly not-Jack is just curious to hear some news, partly it's more likely to tell him something good to know.

[Anarion]

The troll ponderously stares as it tries to catch up with the rapid fire questions.

Then it starts speaking.

"Rhyming couplets are an ancient troll tradition, and the stories were carried here by English on a mission. The first rhyming troll was Garvelrock who first started rhyming at Sussex Brook..."

He's going to go through every single one of your questions in a slow, boring, monotonous voice, complete with the unabridged history of troll rhyming, how he got his eyes, and it's going to take Literally Forever. If you don't want to spend the next few hours listening to a troll's life story you're going to need to snap him out of it somehow. What do you do?

Uh, Aelas just pulls out a little sand from her pouch and sprinkles it in the troll's eyes from atop her horse. [Dreams of earth. It's vs. the troll's composure+supernatural tolerance. 5, 6, 2, 2, 6, 3, 7, 10, 9. 10 again is a 9. 3 successes.]

If the troll falls asleep, she'll be off (also he's really boring, bet he even bores himself, it's logic, right?). If this doesn't work, she's going to kick Butterfly forward and try to leap past him or over the river, whichever seems like an easier leap.

[Thanqol]

[At two dice that’s a Failure, huzzah!]

You wake up in the Hedge.

And you.

Feel.

Great.

Aches and pains that you didn't even know that you had are gone. Your muscles are blissfully relaxed. The callouses on your fingers have been sanded down. Your spine has been straightened and set. And best of all, the goblin makeup has been cleared away, returning your face and clothes to something resembling dignity. There's a cheery fire burning alongside you, with a large saucepan slowly simmering away a thick, spicy curry garlanded with purple flowers.

The fact that there's an iron ball and chain around your ankle hardly seems to register in comparison.

You're sitting in a beautiful grove filled with a billion flowers. Mercia, the Flower Knight, sits amidst a riotous explosion of colour and scent, absently strumming at an out of tune harp. She looks happy. Not grim-faced as she has been in every moment to this point. Just happy.

[You are bound with Iron. You cannot use any Contracts while it touches your skin. You might be able to break it with strength+athletics at -8, but you'll take a point of aggravated damage for each attempt.

But you've been tended by all the healing and relaxing arts of the Flower Knight in her garden while you've rested. Take the Condition Floral Healing - add +2 to any physical rolls and get an exceptional success on 3 rather than 5. The first time you achieve an exceptional success the condition is resolved.]

Lily pocketed the key and after a brief further rummage around the much too neatly kept rooms she checked that the coast was clear and then stepped through the walls of the house, through the neatly trimmed shrubs in the garden and through the wall/fence out to the back alley or street in the same spot she had entered.

It was only then she released the veils of shadow and dream around her and returned to the moment. She clasped the key in her hand inside her pocket as she walked away, making sure to take enough of a detour not to be spotted from Mrs Height's house. Then on to the park where they had agreed to meet afterwards.

The park is a lovely place this autumn afternoon. Leaves fall in a steady beat in the soft breeze, like rain in slow motion. The plastic of the playground has faded and thin graffiti marks the stone steps. The wind is the regular cadence of sleeping breath. A suspicious sparrow watches you from a birdhouse that's far too grand for it.

It's a lovely place to pause and reflect. What do you think of in this quiet moment, Lily?

"... Bern? My god, it is you," not-Jack turned as if in surprise at seeing his old friend, and not like he'd secretly noticed him from across the crowded space. Needless to say, not-Jack was a bit of a puppy himself, and the puppy in him was genuinely wagging its tail at this turn of events. Alas, the hardened criminal holding the chain had to cruelly remind the puppy that this was no time for carefree frolicking with fellow playmates. "Oh, you know, just trying to settle in, without a big splash if you know what I mean." Hint hint, don't announce my presence to everyone and their mother, that would be kind of you. You know how word spreads in a town like this. "So how have you been?" Subtly trying to steer the conversation towards Bern himself, and what's been going on in his life/the town. Partly not-Jack is just curious to hear some news, partly it's more likely to tell him something good to know.

Your skin starts to crawl. You've felt danger in social situations before and that instinct is triggering here. Your Fetch is close. You can't see where, but it is here.

"Oh, I'll tell you everything, we've got so much to catch up on!" said Bernie. "Just wait here a sec, I'm going to go grab us some drinks so we can do this properly. You do alcohol still, right?"

Uh, Aelas just pulls out a little sand from her pouch and sprinkles it in the troll's eyes from atop her horse. [Dreams of earth. It's vs. the troll's composure+supernatural tolerance. 5, 6, 2, 2, 6, 3, 7, 10, 9. 10 again is a 9. 3 successes.]

If the troll falls asleep, she'll be off (also he's really boring, bet he even bores himself, it's logic, right?). If this doesn't work, she's going to kick Butterfly forward and try to leap past him or over the river, whichever seems like an easier leap.

Thud.

The main sign that he's asleep is that the spirals have stopped spinning. He's out like a light, remnants of his story trailing off behind him.

Then there's a sudden wild, exuberant cheer.

Hundreds of mice, cats, pigs and billy-goats suddenly burst out of the undergrowth. They're stomping their hooves, braying and snorting, throwing whatever they can above their heads in celebration. Families of cats tearfully re-unite on the bridge and mice scamper up your legs and to your shoulders that they might crown you with a hastily repurposed birds nest, full of tinsel and candy-bar wrappers.

"Great hero!" cries a three-legged bear, tears openly running down his face. "You have saved us from the terrible troll that has kept our people apart for so many years! We will sing of your legendary deeds until the planet dies in fire! We shall hold a grand feast in your honour, and all the night shall be spent in dancing! Tell us, what is the name of our beloved champion?"

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Height blinks first. This is the second time in recent days she has been stared down and she does not look happy about it.

Good. Disappointment builds character. Or something.

"I apologise for my mistake," she said way too smoothly. "What did you come here to discuss?"

"Show me what you got."

Edmund folded his hands. Expectantly. "I want to see what you've got."

[Thanqol]

Good. Disappointment builds character. Or something.

"Show me what you got."

Edmund folded his hands. Expectantly. "I want to see what you've got."

Mrs. Height smiled. She got stuff.

"This is the phone number of a policeman who will make any small scale legal problem disappear," she said. "This is the name of the best interior decorator in Brisbane, and he owes me a favour. Here are cards for a rabbi, a priest and a therapist who know how to keep their mouths shut. Here's a coupon for seventy five percent off any automobile purchase totalling fifteen thousand dollars or more. Here is a folder with photographs of your business partner stealing from a collection plate. Here is the name of a reliable babysitter. Here is a bureaucrat who will do you a fake drivers license."

Mrs. Height sat back a bit. "More besides. Anything you need to live a quiet, comfortable, and normal life - that's what I've got."

[Elanorin]

The park is a lovely place this autumn afternoon. Leaves fall in a steady beat in the soft breeze, like rain in slow motion. The plastic of the playground has faded and thin graffiti marks the stone steps. The wind is the regular cadence of sleeping breath. A suspicious sparrow watches you from a birdhouse that's far too grand for it.

It's a lovely place to pause and reflect. What do you think of in this quiet moment, Lily?

The Summer King.

I fear his recklessness and broken mind. Yet I feel for him and the hurt of the loss of his son. The powerlessness to bring him back must cut so much keener when you are the High King, and the King of Summer no less. She imagined he did not take feeling powerless very well even before he was broken by the kidnapping. She wants to go to his home, she is tempted to go now quickly while Edmund is busy with Mrs Height. But I promised him I'd be here, I should honour that.

I wonder what the house will be like. Will it be messy and chaotic? Or will he surprise me by having a home wholly unlike what you'd expect? Should she bring Edmund? Or maybe... why couldn't she remember his name? What was wrong with her?

[Anarion]

Thud.

The main sign that he's asleep is that the spirals have stopped spinning. He's out like a light, remnants of his story trailing off behind him.

Then there's a sudden wild, exuberant cheer.

Hundreds of mice, cats, pigs and billy-goats suddenly burst out of the undergrowth. They're stomping their hooves, braying and snorting, throwing whatever they can above their heads in celebration. Families of cats tearfully re-unite on the bridge and mice scamper up your legs and to your shoulders that they might crown you with a hastily repurposed birds nest, full of tinsel and candy-bar wrappers.

"Great hero!" cries a three-legged bear, tears openly running down his face. "You have saved us from the terrible troll that has kept our people apart for so many years! We will sing of your legendary deeds until the planet dies in fire! We shall hold a grand feast in your honour, and all the night shall be spent in dancing! Tell us, what is the name of our beloved champion?"

Aelas squirms about atop Butterfly, antsy to be going. She hadn't expected to be swarmed here, and she's absolutely delighted at the sudden rush of fluffy creatures, but she needs to get moving, she's supposed to find Isaac and anything might be happening.

"Um, I'm Aelas, uh, hi! Also, he's just asleep. It's magic, but it will wear off, he'll be awake after a good long nap. Maybe you can use this chance to run away though? I'd love to come back for a feast later, but I need to go find my friend right now, so I've really got to get going, okay?" She moves to get Butterfly going, though she won't force the horse to trample anything cute and fluffy.

[Raz_Fox]

Our friend wakes up with his hands crossed on his breast, and for a lovely moment he does not recognize it as waking. The feedback of the body is alien: he has not felt this way in, quite literally, years. It’s almost disorienting, the loss of those phantom aches making him wonder if it’s still him, if his identity is somehow wrapped up in his pain, the ways his body marks his service.

When he sits up, one broad hand splayed in the grass, he is once again almost unrecognizable, his back straight and almost-
don’t say it near Edmund-
lordly. Now his true stature is revealed, and though he holds his shoulders tight in, his broad neck holds his head higher than it has in a very long time.

He watches, for a moment. If this is a trap- it doubtless is, it tastes like vipergrass and danger- bursting into violent action is what is expected. And besides, he feels almost like he floats beside himself (but his flesh, too solid, stubbornly refuses to resolve into smoke).

“Why?” Why spare him, anyhow? Is this an attempt to keep him here while Longarms finds a buyer? Why mend him so? The iron is understandable, but understand this: Isaac’s last thought before the dark fell over him was that he would not wake again.

[Thanqol]

The Summer King.

I fear his recklessness and broken mind. Yet I feel for him and the hurt of the loss of his son. The powerlessness to bring him back must cut so much keener when you are the High King, and the King of Summer no less. She imagined he did not take feeling powerless very well even before he was broken by the kidnapping. She wants to go to his home, she is tempted to go now quickly while Edmund is busy with Mrs Height. But I promised him I'd be here, I should honour that.

I wonder what the house will be like. Will it be messy and chaotic? Or will he surprise me by having a home wholly unlike what you'd expect? Should she bring Edmund? Or maybe... why couldn't she remember his name? What was wrong with her?

The park gives no answer to these questions. Leaves gently fall and the swings sway in the breeze and there is space for thoughts to run out, amok, away, fighting and clawing and playing until eventually they have expressed all their invisible energy and pass along from the mind in peace. The energy rips and rolls away unexpressed and finding no expression it parts, ascends... and for a moment there's quiet.

Quiet and a big, fat, thickly furred cat sitting atop the slippery dip. Red and orange and black and scarred, the kind of uniquely ugly gracelessness that only a creature as beautiful as a cat can pull off.

"Hello," said the cat. "I am Autumn."

Aelas squirms about atop Butterfly, antsy to be going. She hadn't expected to be swarmed here, and she's absolutely delighted at the sudden rush of fluffy creatures, but she needs to get moving, she's supposed to find Isaac and anything might be happening.

"Um, I'm Aelas, uh, hi! Also, he's just asleep. It's magic, but it will wear off, he'll be awake after a good long nap. Maybe you can use this chance to run away though? I'd love to come back for a feast later, but I need to go find my friend right now, so I've really got to get going, okay?" She moves to get Butterfly going, though she won't force the horse to trample anything cute and fluffy.

"You... haven't defeated the creature?" said the bear.

The celebration instantly transitions into despair. Boars burst into sobbing. Cats bid tearful goodbyes to their kittens. Despondent billy goats lower their heads and tromp away in opposite directions. A kangaroo plays a mournful bagpipe dirge.

"We understand," choked Mayor Bear. "Such a foe being beyond you is no crime. We appreciate the brief moment we had together, but now our families must separate again to opposite sides of the ravine. Thank you for trying," he lowered his head and made to turn away.

He watches, for a moment. If this is a trap- it doubtless is, it tastes like vipergrass and danger- bursting into violent action is what is expected. And besides, he feels almost like he floats beside himself (but his flesh, too solid, stubbornly refuses to resolve into smoke).

“Why?” Why spare him, anyhow? Is this an attempt to keep him here while Longarms finds a buyer? Why mend him so? The iron is understandable, but understand this: Isaac’s last thought before the dark fell over him was that he would not wake again.

"You are a guest in my Garden," said Mercia the Flower Knight with all the grace and beauty of deepest Faerie. "And it is my greatest desire that all my guests be comfortable."

Then a storm crossed her face, like a springtime blizzard. "And though you are not my quarry you will still fetch me a fine price in the Market."

And then her face relaxed again, with only a hint of a troubled frown to tell of that strange whiplash of emotions. "So be comfortable for now. Eat, and rest, and wait."

[Elanorin]

The park gives no answer to these questions. Leaves gently fall and the swings sway in the breeze and there is space for thoughts to run out, amok, away, fighting and clawing and playing until eventually they have expressed all their invisible energy and pass along from the mind in peace. The energy rips and rolls away unexpressed and finding no expression it parts, ascends... and for a moment there's quiet.

Quiet and a big, fat, thickly furred cat sitting atop the slippery dip. Red and orange and black and scarred, the kind of uniquely ugly gracelessness that only a creature as beautiful as a cat can pull off.

"Hello," said the cat. "I am Autumn."

Lily had watched the cat, absentmindedly, her eyes distant, seeing but not seeing, the way you look at a pond of ducks without ever noticing how many there are. The moment it spoke however, and revealed itself as other than it appeared, her eyes immediately cast down.

“An honour to meet you,” Lily said softly with a nod but didn’t move from her seat on the bench. “This is your garden,” she said, glancing at the falling leaves and the rustle underfoot, “I thank you for sharing it with me.”

[Raz_Fox]

“Ah,” the Pilgrim says, comfortably. This is familiar ground. It is not exactly cheery news, but it collapses the teetering anxiety of not knowing. To know is to be on firmer ground.

“Thank you.” One always shows gratitude. Then:

The sudden swell and strain of sinews now made mended well.

[Spending WP, plus the bonus from the Garden for 5 Dice. 1 Success. And a point of aggravated damage.]

Every lock has its weak point. Nothing stands under strain forever. When the coffle falls away, it leaves a terrible mark, flaking skin away from the exposed muscle of his leg, and he hisses like some aggrieved thing- but it is done. It falls away.

“There. Comfortable.” There’s a trace of grim humor to the words as he stands, warily, yet looking at Mercia (his death in iron) as an equal. The way you need to, in the wild.

“Yours?” A carefully restrained gesture to the surrounding environs, the stained-glass explosion of living color. An invitation to speak, though not as a hunter and prey, but as travelers. If he wanted, he could explode away into mist and be gone in a moment.

But then he will not understand this riotous knight of petals. Then he will be staked with iron and slain the next time they meet. No. For now, an invitation for words.

All faerie things have a story they are dying to tell you, if given the chance. It is a law.

Health 8/9, 1A
Glamour 4/10
Willpower 4/6

[stveje]

Your skin starts to crawl. You've felt danger in social situations before and that instinct is triggering here. Your Fetch is close. You can't see where, but it is here.

"Oh, I'll tell you everything, we've got so much to catch up on!" said Bernie. "Just wait here a sec, I'm going to go grab us some drinks so we can do this properly. You do alcohol still, right?"

"Does a bear sh't in the woods?"

not-Jack is already subtly positioning himself to be less obvious, in anticipation of disappearing completely into the crowd the moment Bernie is far enough away. He's thinking: if he disappears, Bernie will probably run straight into Jack and think he's not-Jack, because that's how Stories work, and Jack is a creature of Stories ... at least, that's how not-Jack imagines it going. And that's Bad, obviously. But it's also kinda Good, maybe. It's good because not-Jack can just shadow Bernie and find Jack when Bernie inevitably runs into him.

So that's what not-Jack intends.

Shadowing someone is Wits+Stealth. Modifiers?

[Anarion]

"You... haven't defeated the creature?" said the bear.

The celebration instantly transitions into despair. Boars burst into sobbing. Cats bid tearful goodbyes to their kittens. Despondent billy goats lower their heads and tromp away in opposite directions. A kangaroo plays a mournful bagpipe dirge.

"We understand," choked Mayor Bear. "Such a foe being beyond you is no crime. We appreciate the brief moment we had together, but now our families must separate again to opposite sides of the ravine. Thank you for trying," he lowered his head and made to turn away.

"I...uh..." Aelas lets out a sigh and reins in Butterfly. "We've got a minute. I'm really, really uncomfortable with stabbing this guy while he's, uh magically asleep. Can you tell me why you're all separated by the troll? Maybe I can fix it some other way?"

[Thanqol]

Lily had watched the cat, absentmindedly, her eyes distant, seeing but not seeing, the way you look at a pond of ducks without ever noticing how many there are. The moment it spoke however, and revealed itself as other than it appeared, her eyes immediately cast down.

“An honour to meet you,” Lily said softly with a nod but didn’t move from her seat on the bench. “This is your garden,” she said, glancing at the falling leaves and the rustle underfoot, “I thank you for sharing it with me.”

The cat walked down the slide. It didn't slip and fall in a funny-pet-videos way - it just took every step extremely deliberately and made its way down, demonstrating its total contempt for the concept of fun in the doing.

It walked up to Lily. And then it issued a command it didn't even need to lower itself to speaking English to get across: "Pat me!"

All faerie things have a story they are dying to tell you, if given the chance. It is a law.

There is no arguing with a truth like this.

The Flower Knight's Tale

"Once upon a time I lived in Old England, and I grew wild and beautiful - but I also grew tough and small. I was more thorn than flower and I clung to the dirt viciously, at war with all the weeds.

"Then one day a Kindly Lord came across me and saw my beauty and my fierceness. So he plucked me from the soil and took me to his mansion. There he had a garden bed built for me, strewn thick with blood-marrow and the offal of royal bulls, and set me to growing. And so I grew. I grew tall and I grew beautiful and I grew tame. The dirt was so rich that I was able to flower like no other thing had flowered before, unfolding in layers and layers. But I kept my thorns, and I grew them so sharp that when the Kindly Lord tried to pluck me again he cut his hand and fell bloody and dying into my garden.

"At first I resolved to consume him as well - his blood was thick and rich and oh, I was so beautiful, did I not deserve everything that came to me? But as he bled out he would tell me how beautiful I was. And I was vain, and loved his flattery, so I slowed his bleeding so he could lie and whisper praise to me for longer.

"Long he spoke his honeyed words but his breath grew faint again, and I was vain, and I did not want him to cease telling me of my beauty. So I blossomed with fruit and honey and fed him, and served him dew-drops from my leaves, and he would lie and whisper praise to me and I did so love it. I loved it more than eating, more than being beautiful. When his enemy came by to kill him I ensconced my garden in thorns and he praised my valour in defense. No longer was I eating of blood and bone meal. Now I was eating flattering words, drinking compliments to my kindness and blessings upon my hospitality. And you are what you eat.

"I became thick with gentleness and kindness, and the Kindly Lord began to whisper how much he missed walking through his home and running freely under the fields. So, kind as I was, I parted my thorns to let him out, and he blessed me, and kissed me, and went from me gently.

"And he returned with a scythe and with clippers and with chains. And he beat me and ripped me from his garden and declared that I would live as his prisoner as he had lived as mine. And he knew nothing of kindness and no flattery would ever cajole him to learn. So I am his knight of flowers, prisoner and gaoler both."

"Does a bear sh't in the woods?"

not-Jack is already subtly positioning himself to be less obvious, in anticipation of disappearing completely into the crowd the moment Bernie is far enough away. He's thinking: if he disappears, Bernie will probably run straight into Jack and think he's not-Jack, because that's how Stories work, and Jack is a creature of Stories ... at least, that's how not-Jack imagines it going. And that's Bad, obviously. But it's also kinda Good, maybe. It's good because not-Jack can just shadow Bernie and find Jack when Bernie inevitably runs into him.

So that's what not-Jack intends.

Shadowing someone is Wits+Stealth. Modifiers?

Funnily enough, this is going to be opposed by your exact same dice pool. 4 successes.

"I...uh..." Aelas lets out a sigh and reins in Butterfly. "We've got a minute. I'm really, really uncomfortable with stabbing this guy while he's, uh magically asleep. Can you tell me why you're all separated by the troll? Maybe I can fix it some other way?"

Mayor Bear's Tale

"Once upon a time there was a mighty wizard who had sworn to always walk east. Not one step left! Not one step right! He was an east-walking man seeking east-facing lands and nothing could stop him from his east-walking plan. So when he came across a ravine he built a bridge rather than take one step across, and he continued east ever still. All the creatures of the forest rejoiced, and raced back and forth, and celebrated the wizard who had given them this bridge.

"But the east wraps around, and one day the wizard returned to the bridge and found it occupied. A man was pushing his cart across the bridge when it had broken down, and even worse, he was going west. And the wizard exclaimed, not only are you interfering with my voyage to the rising sun, you are tracking your dirty westward footprints across my glorious eastward footprints! But the man just told the wizard to wait, or worse, to take a step to the left and squeeze around him."

All the woodland creatures listening winced.

"Of course this was an unforgiveable insult to an east-going wizard, and so he cursed the man to become a troll and stand in place forever - or until he saw the error of his ways and the superiority of walking east as opposed to west. But the man must have been very stubborn, or else he must have had a very good reason to go west, because he has stood atop the bridge ever since and guarded it and no one has passed either west or east since then."

[stveje]

Funnily enough, this is going to be opposed by your exact same dice pool. 4 successes.

Wits+Stealth = 8: 1, 7, 3, 8, 4, 10, 4, 7 ten again 4

Welp.

[Anarion]

Mayor Bear's Tale

"Well, mayor bear, seems to me that your probably would be fixed if you just had another bridge over this chasm, one for going any direction you please!" Aelas smiled and she literally glowed with pride at her genius solution, her hair shimmering a merry yellow. "Now, I'm not a builder, but I bet I could find you one!"

She strides a little ways away to the forest and looks for an appropriate little cottage or cave. Perhaps Mayor Bear's home even has a nicely painted little front door? Regardless, she'll make do with what she can find. She knocks once, twice, and says out loud "Why it appears we have a guest! A master builder, indeed, and one who I'm sure will be more than happy to build you all a lovely new bridge! And in exchange, I promise to help the builder find a rare building material of her choice and get it for her!"

Then she opens the door...

[TheAmishPirate]

Mrs. Height smiled. She got stuff.

"This is the phone number of a policeman who will make any small scale legal problem disappear," she said. "This is the name of the best interior decorator in Brisbane, and he owes me a favour. Here are cards for a rabbi, a priest and a therapist who know how to keep their mouths shut. Here's a coupon for seventy five percent off any automobile purchase totalling fifteen thousand dollars or more. Here is a folder with photographs of your business partner stealing from a collection plate. Here is the name of a reliable babysitter. Here is a bureaucrat who will do you a fake drivers license."

Mrs. Height sat back a bit. "More besides. Anything you need to live a quiet, comfortable, and normal life - that's what I've got."

"Good stuff, good stuff." Edmund poured over the little hoard approvingly, and then snapped the folder closed. "Alright then; where's Borgit?"

He looked from face to face, looking for whoever could answer his question.

"Borgit? The Squealer? Now that might not be his real name, but I'm not one to just assume. You at least have his number, right?"

A hard task, to be sure. Since Borgit died squealing on Edmund's sword in the very first arc.

[Elanorin]

The cat walked down the slide. It didn't slip and fall in a funny-pet-videos way - it just took every step extremely deliberately and made its way down, demonstrating its total contempt for the concept of fun in the doing.

It walked up to Lily. And then it issued a command it didn't even need to lower itself to speaking English to get across: "Pat me!"

"Of course," Lily said, raising her right hand up, waiting for the cat to come to her and nuzzle her palm and get a good sniff before proceeding to pat, stroke, scratch and gently ruffle. The feeling of soft warm fur gave her thoughts new momentum and they continued to tumble.

She thought about the King of Winter, whose face she had yet to actually see properly. On the very odd occasion that he'd appeared from his bedroom he'd had a hoodie drawn over his face so low that she'd barely seen anything of his face. It was an odd arrangement. He seemed to tolerate her being there, she'd more than squatted by now, she basically lived there and little by little taken over the house simply by default since he was just never out of his room.

She'd tried to talk to him and he seemed to respond, albeit strictly monosyllabically. She'd been hoping that patience would pay off, that if she just waited him out, being available and There... that it would cause him to eventually emerge and open up so that they could start to communicate. At the moment he was just a wall of sadness and anything she tried just seemed to slide off and sink in the puddle around him. She didn't even know why he was so sad.

Did it have anything to do with all the other insanities going on? Was it because of the kidnapping? Had he been involved? She'd been so wrapped up in looking elsewhere for the blame that she had all but forgotten her own court, her own King. Did he know the Summer King's son? Was it guilt that locked him in sadness? Or heartbreak? Perhaps it was entirely irrelevant. Maybe Mrs Height had done something to him. Maybe she had thrown someone he loved to the Faerie wolves.

She needed to find a way to speak to him, to understand his role in all of this. She simply could not take silence as an answer anymore.

She smiled at the cat.

Autumn really had been the lesser of all the evils here. They had a heap of issues of their own but at least you could reason with them, at least they didn't terrify the living daylight out of her. Considering the other courts, that was saying a lot.

"Is there anything you want, Autumn?" she asked. "Other than pats."

[Thanqol]

Wits+Stealth = 8: 1, 7, 3, 8, 4, 10, 4, 7 ten again 4

Welp.

The Wyrd is indeed a thing of stories, but it resents being predictable in exactly equal measures to it's predictability. The strands of fate twist and snap...

You think you see something through the crowd. For a moment your attention is far ahead on that shuffling shape - and then "Jack! Oh, what a coincidence running into each other like this..."

It's not Bernie's voice. It's Jessica's.

She's smiling obliviously at the rotting pile of bones, meat and Hallmark greeting cards that looms over her. A crocodile skull leers down at her with bright crimson eyes.

"Haha yeah," it said in a voice that was so monstrous it didn't seem right that nobody screamed. "Fate sure is funny like that."

[Make a clarity check at 2 dice for the abrupt threat to your Touchstone. And while you're at it, tell me a little about Jessica.]

"Well, mayor bear, seems to me that your probably would be fixed if you just had another bridge over this chasm, one for going any direction you please!" Aelas smiled and she literally glowed with pride at her genius solution, her hair shimmering a merry yellow. "Now, I'm not a builder, but I bet I could find you one!"

She strides a little ways away to the forest and looks for an appropriate little cottage or cave. Perhaps Mayor Bear's home even has a nicely painted little front door? Regardless, she'll make do with what she can find. She knocks once, twice, and says out loud "Why it appears we have a guest! A master builder, indeed, and one who I'm sure will be more than happy to build you all a lovely new bridge! And in exchange, I promise to help the builder find a rare building material of her choice and get it for her!"

Then she opens the door...

Brombly's socks go up to her knees. Brombly's toes are the length and shape of drinking straws. Brombly's hat rotates in the breeze. Brombly's hands have a personality test in folded green paper.

"Brombly will make this quick," said Brombly in a brumbly way. "You can't cover a pot just by putting a lid on the top. You can't sail the ocean by balancing a ship on the surface. You can't build a bridge by stacking it over a hole. There is only one way to do these things properly - it's to go down to the bottom of the hole and carry the bottom up to the top. Once I've got the bottom of the hole I can make it so that the top is the bottom. That is how you make a bridge."

All the animals nodded sagely at Brombly's wisdom.

"You," she said to Aelas, "need to climb down to the bottom of the ravine and then bring the bottom up to me. Then I can build your bridge."

"Good stuff, good stuff." Edmund poured over the little hoard approvingly, and then snapped the folder closed. "Alright then; where's Borgit?"

He looked from face to face, looking for whoever could answer his question.

"Borgit? The Squealer? Now that might not be his real name, but I'm not one to just assume. You at least have his number, right?"

A hard task, to be sure. Since Borgit died squealing on Edmund's sword in the very first arc.

"Nobody by that name lives between here and Brisbane," said Mrs. Height with smooth confidence. "Though I am sure I can find him if it is necessary."

"Of course," Lily said, raising her right hand up, waiting for the cat to come to her and nuzzle her palm and get a good sniff before proceeding to pat, stroke, scratch and gently ruffle. The feeling of soft warm fur gave her thoughts new momentum and they continued to tumble.

Autumn bats you with a paw. "Not there!" he grumps, making it plain just how deeply you have offended him with your abysmal failure.

A slight adjustment seems to resolve the matter and the cat sinks into contented being-pattedness and purrs a selfish purr.

Autumn really had been the lesser of all the evils here. They had a heap of issues of their own but at least you could reason with them, at least they didn't terrify the living daylight out of her. Considering the other courts, that was saying a lot.

"Is there anything you want, Autumn?" she asked. "Other than pats."

"I'm really angry about Halloween," said Autumn. "Can you believe Spring gets Halloween here? Halloween and Autumn are meant to be the same thing," he grumps. "What do I get instead? Easter! When people see me they think, 'oh cool, chocolate eggs and hot cross buns' instead of 'how are we going to survive the winter?'. Hrmph! Stupid upside-down country."

[Elanorin]

Autumn bats you with a paw. "Not there!" he grumps, making it plain just how deeply you have offended him with your abysmal failure.

A slight adjustment seems to resolve the matter and the cat sinks into contented being-pattedness and purrs a selfish purr.

"I'm really angry about Halloween," said Autumn. "Can you believe Spring gets Halloween here? Halloween and Autumn are meant to be the same thing," he grumps. "What do I get instead? Easter! When people see me they think, 'oh cool, chocolate eggs and hot cross buns' instead of 'how are we going to survive the winter?'. Hrmph! Stupid upside-down country."

"You also get April Fools, does that not amuse you?" Lily said, smiling a little at the indignant cat. There was something lovely about Autumn being in cat form and her meandering thoughts went on to imagine a cat for each season. A big red Mainecoon for Summer, A prissy little Siamese for Spring. A silver tabby would be the cat of Winter, she reckoned.

She pictured them all meeting together on rooftops, holding a little Council of Cats.

She wondered if Edmund liked cats. He probably didn't. Though, she reckoned, if he did approve of any pet it would be a cat, with their tendency to be as haughty, self involved and arrogant as he. Then again, such creatures rarely enjoy the company of their own, such creatures likes the loyal, devoted, unquestioning and positive. They like dogs.

She could see it now, a basset hound lying in a basket in the corner behind Edmund's bar. He'd probably name him something like 'Duke' or 'Bud'.

Perhaps Kent could do with a cat? Oh, now, there was an idea. Surely there was an animal shelter in town?

[TheAmishPirate]

"Nobody by that name lives between here and Brisbane," said Mrs. Height with smooth confidence. "Though I am sure I can find him if it is necessary."

"It is. Along with..."

And Edmund proceeded to rattle off the name of every Dragon he'd slain. Great or small, strong and weak, by every name he knew them. Which, coincidentally, gave any surreptitious visitor plenty of time to finish their business and make themselves scarce.

"Find them. Let me speak with them. And once I have, you and I will have much, much more to speak of."

[Raz_Fox]

There is quiet in the glade for the span of a moment. I would say silence, but for the plucking of the harp strings, the stir of the branches by the lonely wind, and the hum of the grass under the warmth of the sun's eye. The Pilgrim sits on the grass, one arm thrown over his knee, and ponders what he has heard. Then he makes his own offering.

The Pilgrim's Tale

"I was a bad person. I don't remember why, but I was.

"So I was judged. Exiled. The pilgrims took me in.

"Taught me the rite. To follow the stars. To seek their falling.

"A star burns cold. Hateful."

"Scouted. Traveled. Cleared trails."

An interlude; our friend hums an old campfire song.

"You can't die there. Every time, they bring you back. You're not done until you're free.

"So why...?"

He gestures helplessly. Why does Longarms claim that he is wanted? He is free. He played by the rules. He burned for them. When did the rules change?

The wind curls in the cattails. The Pilgrim stands, and he stands tall, a giant that walked the earth in those days.

"You will kill me." A tilt of the head, a side-stepping of destiny. "Unless you don't. Unless you have your heart. Nothing to lose." And this is what he means: if you entrust me, I will find your heart. Not just because it will save others, and because it will save me, but because I don't know any other way but to help someone who is hurt in the wilderness. I am the Pilgrim and I am the guide for the caravan. Nothing can hide from me forever. Let me help you.

I am sorry for being wicked.

[Thanqol]

"You also get April Fools, does that not amuse you?" Lily said, smiling a little at the indignant cat.

The cat gives you the haughty glare of a cat who knows that you are teasing it and will get its revenge by knocking your plates off the shelf later, after it has finished being patted, and had a sleep, and the whim strikes it.

"I also have to put up with ANZAC day," the cat sighed. "Everyone getting all weepy and patriotic. It's awful. Still, I guess not as bad as Winter - she gets nothing at all. You know how the only good thing about Winter is Christmas? Well in Australia she doesn't even have that. She's just spiteful and envious and bitter and the only thing that gets her out of bed is the Queen's bloody birthday, which doesn't do anything for her ego. It's not even the Queen's actual birthday! So Winter thinks that makes her the Queen in question!"

"It is. Along with..."

And Edmund proceeded to rattle off the name of every Dragon he'd slain. Great or small, strong and weak, by every name he knew them. Which, coincidentally, gave any surreptitious visitor plenty of time to finish their business and make themselves scarce.

"Find them. Let me speak with them. And once I have, you and I will have much, much more to speak of."

"Finding people is my speciality," said Mrs. Height with a thin smile.

"You will kill me." A tilt of the head, a side-stepping of destiny. "Unless you don't. Unless you have your heart. Nothing to lose." And this is what he means: if you entrust me, I will find your heart. Not just because it will save others, and because it will save me, but because I don't know any other way but to help someone who is hurt in the wilderness. I am the Pilgrim and I am the guide for the caravan. Nothing can hide from me forever. Let me help you.

I am sorry for being wicked.

Mercia thinks.

Three warring instincts twist within her, three iron laws play across her face for a while. But two find an uneasy alliance and the third is only invested as a matter of convenience, so the fight can be won. She might yet be your death but you are not her quarry.

"Fine," she says. "I will accept it as an oath sworn on iron chains. Find my heart and return it safely to me and I will release you from my grove. I will not trouble you again until you again come between me and my hunt. Fail and I will yet find a use for you."

She offers her hand. Iron mail. She makes no concessions and offers no weakness. It will hurt.

[Shaking her hand to seal the oath will inflict 1 Aggravated damage]

[Raz_Fox]

Mercia thinks.

Three warring instincts twist within her, three iron laws play across her face for a while. But two find an uneasy alliance and the third is only invested as a matter of convenience, so the fight can be won. She might yet be your death but you are not her quarry.

"Fine," she says. "I will accept it as an oath sworn on iron chains. Find my heart and return it safely to me and I will release you from my grove. I will not trouble you again until you again come between me and my hunt. Fail and I will yet find a use for you."

She offers her hand. Iron mail. She makes no concessions and offers no weakness. It will hurt.

[Shaking her hand to seal the oath will inflict 1 Aggravated damage]

Suffering pain is something that the Pilgrim is so familiar with, any reputable therapist would raise it as a concern.

The touch mars lines of poetry and doggrel seared across his palm.

Now, the sound of that- the heart would be within the grove, yes? This would be a good time to ramble upon the subject of Huntsmen and, most specifically, how Changelings go about the process of hunting them.

[Elanorin]

The cat gives you the haughty glare of a cat who knows that you are teasing it and will get its revenge by knocking your plates off the shelf later, after it has finished being patted, and had a sleep, and the whim strikes it.

"I also have to put up with ANZAC day," the cat sighed. "Everyone getting all weepy and patriotic. It's awful. Still, I guess not as bad as Winter - she gets nothing at all. You know how the only good thing about Winter is Christmas? Well in Australia she doesn't even have that. She's just spiteful and envious and bitter and the only thing that gets her out of bed is the Queen's bloody birthday, which doesn't do anything for her ego. It's not even the Queen's actual birthday! So Winter thinks that makes her the Queen in question!"

"I can see her logic," Lily said, not about to insult her own patron, never stopping the gentle pats and strokes. "Besides, there is a King of Winter, surely there has to be a Queen also." She was starting to get a feel for how this cat liked to be treated and she was getting better at avoid in the batting paws. "Sounds like there is a need for some new Holidays, don't you think?"

"What does Winter look like?" she asked softly as she stroked long strokes from the top of his head to the tip of his tail.

The urge to buy a cat was becoming much too strong. She half hoped Autumn would just decide to move in but she highly doubted he would, he was Autumn and not only was she of the Winter Court but lived with the Winter King no less.

[Anarion]

Brombly's socks go up to her knees. Brombly's toes are the length and shape of drinking straws. Brombly's hat rotates in the breeze. Brombly's hands have a personality test in folded green paper.

"Brombly will make this quick," said Brombly in a brumbly way. "You can't cover a pot just by putting a lid on the top. You can't sail the ocean by balancing a ship on the surface. You can't build a bridge by stacking it over a hole. There is only one way to do these things properly - it's to go down to the bottom of the hole and carry the bottom up to the top. Once I've got the bottom of the hole I can make it so that the top is the bottom. That is how you make a bridge."

All the animals nodded sagely at Brombly's wisdom.

"You," she said to Aelas, "need to climb down to the bottom of the ravine and then bring the bottom up to me. Then I can build your bridge."

Aelas takes a deep breath and holds it, her hair and her glow turning an angry shade of red before she lets it out with a deep, resigned sign. "I...just...want, to go meet my friend. Ugh, fine, fine. I'll go talk to the ravine. Just, uh, try not to wake up the troll, I guess? Or do, I dunno, whatever, I'll be back."

Aelas mounts Butterfly. "Lets go girl, down to the base of the valley, quick as a bolt, alright? We've got a conversation to have with a ravine." Butterfly leaps down the side of the valley, taking every deer trail and jutting bit of stone like an expert, and one gallop later, Aelas gets off.

"Now then, Mr. or Ms. Ravine. I'm sure that you really like being a ravine, and I understand that. But! I bet you've had a good long time being all down low. You can barely see anything from down here. Did you know that mayor bear has a beautiful cave up there? And there's an eastward walking wizard that I bet you've only seen the soles of his feet. Oh yes indeed."
Aelas brushes her feet along the dust at the base of the ravine to emphasize how much it has experienced soles of feet and not much else. "But, if you were to come up high, you'd have a whole new view! Doesn't that sound exciting! I'm excited just thinking about it! You could meet all the animals, and the trees up there, and see the big, big sky instead of that narrow little sky on either side of the bridge. So, whaddya say Ravine buddy? You've tried the low, now try the high and come see the sky!"

[TheAmishPirate]

"Finding people is my speciality," said Mrs. Height with a thin smile.

"I think you'll find my word good and my company incomparable." He retorted with a sly wink and raised teacup.

Edmund would spend the dwindling remainder of the conversation on curt pleasantries before excusing himself to go rendezvous with Lily.

He made sure to swipe enough roast chicken for later.

[Thanqol]

Suffering pain is something that the Pilgrim is so familiar with, any reputable therapist would raise it as a concern.

The touch mars lines of poetry and doggrel seared across his palm.

Now, the sound of that- the heart would be within the grove, yes? This would be a good time to ramble upon the subject of Huntsmen and, most specifically, how Changelings go about the process of hunting them.

Hearts aren't in the Hedge. If they were the Huntsmen could just stumble across them and set themselves free. But they're not not in the Hedge either - they're close enough to be felt. And the place which touches on the Hedge without being in the Hedge is, of course, the dreams of humans.

This means that, firstly, the Hedge is a total dead end. No searching here will find the Heart or any hint of it's place. No faerie magic will trace it back to its source. You can't even do a warmer/colder thing with the Huntsmen. You need to do your searching in the mortal world, entering people's dreams as they sleep and exploring those strange lands. A dream is much like the landscape of the Hedge, except its logic and stories are far more personal and perhaps even more dangerous.

That means that trial and error is not a great way to go Heart-hunting.

But having the heart of a faerie thrown into a mortal's dreams is definitely the sort of thing that impacts on the mortal. That means they spend a third of their life in direct contact with the beating heart of one of the fair folk and that results in all kinds of changes. Search for people who are growing to resemble the true heart of Mercia the Flower Knight and you'll narrow down your candidates a lot.

For what it's worth, it is possible to hide a heart in the dreams of a Changeling. Changelings are natural oneriomancers, though, meaning that is risky - they'd need to have sworn an oath to hide the heart on behalf of the Gentry to not just go in and pluck it out themselves.

Aelas takes a deep breath and holds it, her hair and her glow turning an angry shade of red before she lets it out with a deep, resigned sign. "I...just...want, to go meet my friend. Ugh, fine, fine. I'll go talk to the ravine. Just, uh, try not to wake up the troll, I guess? Or do, I dunno, whatever, I'll be back."

Aelas mounts Butterfly. "Lets go girl, down to the base of the valley, quick as a bolt, alright? We've got a conversation to have with a ravine." Butterfly leaps down the side of the valley, taking every deer trail and jutting bit of stone like an expert, and one gallop later, Aelas gets off.

"Now then, Mr. or Ms. Ravine. I'm sure that you really like being a ravine, and I understand that. But! I bet you've had a good long time being all down low. You can barely see anything from down here. Did you know that mayor bear has a beautiful cave up there? And there's an eastward walking wizard that I bet you've only seen the soles of his feet. Oh yes indeed."
Aelas brushes her feet along the dust at the base of the ravine to emphasize how much it has experienced soles of feet and not much else. "But, if you were to come up high, you'd have a whole new view! Doesn't that sound exciting! I'm excited just thinking about it! You could meet all the animals, and the trees up there, and see the big, big sky instead of that narrow little sky on either side of the bridge. So, whaddya say Ravine buddy? You've tried the low, now try the high and come see the sky!"

The ravine thinks about it.

[This is, uh, presence+persuasion. -6 because it's a ravine and +2 because you make a convincing argument.]

"I can see her logic," Lily said, not about to insult her own patron, never stopping the gentle pats and strokes. "Besides, there is a King of Winter, surely there has to be a Queen also." She was starting to get a feel for how this cat liked to be treated and she was getting better at avoid in the batting paws. "Sounds like there is a need for some new Holidays, don't you think?"

That gets a serious purr. But the words it says are, "I just want Halloween. It's mine. I want it."

It's the halfhearted complaint of a cat who knows it's not going to get what it wants but damned if it's going to surrender the principle that it should get everything it wants.

"What does Winter look like?" she asked softly as she stroked long strokes from the top of his head to the tip of his tail.

The urge to buy a cat was becoming much too strong. She half hoped Autumn would just decide to move in but she highly doubted he would, he was Autumn and not only was she of the Winter Court but lived with the Winter King no less.

"Inferior," said Autumn in the bored tone of a cat talking about something that isn't itself.

"I think you'll find my word good and my company incomparable." He retorted with a sly wink and raised teacup.

Edmund would spend the dwindling remainder of the conversation on curt pleasantries before excusing himself to go rendezvous with Lily.

He made sure to swipe enough roast chicken for later.

Lily is in the park, talking to an ugly cat who gives you an ugly-cat-stare.