I Now Walk Into the Wyld (IC)

[Recaiden]

As of two days ago, a significant fraction of the East has always been aware of the aeon-old tradition of the Great Pastry Faire. This event is truly beyond compare, a gathering of those legendary pastry chefs whose names are whispered in awe by the masters of chocolate, cream, and sugar. Why, Panicus has been famous for his lemon tarts for decades, and you've known this all your life, though you've been aware of it for half an hour!

The Faire is an opportunity like none other to partake of delicacies beyond the wildest dreams of the gods themselves, and everyone who is anyone (and weak willed enough to realize it) will be hurrying there. Brash young crust makers, experienced artisans in fondants, sage old patissiers... it is a chance to discover desserts like nothing else in Creation, meet friends and rivals, and contest for the wondrous prizes of the Great Pastry Faire.

This year, especially, the competition is intense and towering confections rise by the tents, stalls, ovens, and furnaces of the grand masters. For the prizes are such as to beggar the imagination, and experts in cakes (lies) and other marvels are all ready to begin.

Last year's final event - which you recall though it did not occur or exist before now - was the supreme duel between the Inimitable Danish Princess and her greatest foe ever, the Four Story Tall Death By Chocolate Cake. This year promises to be even more sensational, as chefs from beyond Creation gather to make the Great Pastry Faire an even grander event!

So reads the invitation you have received. And how could you pass up a chance to attend such an important event?
Of course, not everyone is here to be a competitor in the cooking contests. Not even a significant fraction of them.
But you all have your reasons.

The Thief, he's sure to attend. There are foodstuffs here to draw the attention of Primordials themselves.
The Chruch of Balor, every year, it has an adjoining bake sale. Who could pass up a chance to support and/or vilify such a cause?
Butterfly's Wing Heralds the Storm has received a ransom note, informing her that her true companion will be killed and used as a baking ingredient if she fails to meet as yet unspecified demands.
As for everyone else, well, you know why you're here.

The 968th Annual Great Pastry Faire is now open!

This year, the grounds Around the Shattered Table have been chosen to host it. A hugely spacious clearing in the redwood forests, not too far from wherever you were, around an ancient broken pillar of shaped basalt. Just a stone's throw into the Wyld (assuming the stone has wings and/or is launched by siege engine).
Tents, pavilions, and the all-important ovens have sprung up in the clearing, and pastry chefs are hard at work.
All manner of people can be found here, from all around. And all manner of not-people, for that manner. Any number of exotic vehicles are stored in and on the trees at the edge of the fairground. Cooks and assistants rush to and from the Ingredient Repository near the Table itself, while fair-goers mill about, comparing the merits of various cream puffs, competing in the salt toss, and more.

[golentan]

At the opening of the Fair, Spectre is to be found sitting on a bench staring somewhat glumly at the bustle. Hunched over, his bulk shields a tiny macaroon, from which he nibbles now and again, raising the frontpiece on his helmet only a little to bring it too his mouth.

His eyes glimmer behind his visor as he scans the crowd for his target. The church is having a bake sale, after all. It would be rude not to sample their edibles...

"What was that?" he grumbles as someone says something. "I apologize, I was distracted..."

[Kell_tamer]

A young feral girl look around the festivities a bit bewildered. Being literally the only time she's seen a celebration that didn't involve her struggling to not bleed to death while fighting others. "Why we here again?"

She adjusts the large wrapped object on her back to be more comfortable against her shoulder. She glanced up at her partner, Spectre.

[golentan]

Spectre smiles down at Shana. "Two reasons. One, I enjoy sweets. And two, we're going to kill someone before the day is out. Preferably several someones." He reaches into his bag and hands her a macaroon. "I don't think they're here... Shall we wander? Maybe we can find something you'll enjoy," he suggests in his standard gravelly tone, lightened by the audible smile he always has when talking to his friend.

[ChaosArchon]

A figure beautiful beyond belief hovers beside the pair, with her most of her retinue following behind their leader while a few have made camp in an area nearby the main festivities for when their monarch retires. At her side is a figure who looks like an exact replica of her, so similar that not even the two Exalts are entirely sure which is the real Lady. Simultaneously mortals flock to offer their greetings to the maiden, for why should they not, they have always known the Lady, who is so very clearly a mortal.

Above the event, the sky darkens and rain begins to pour upwards. The Lady smiles,"Oh this looks absolutely delightful, I do wish I had one of those cakes. They look good enough to eat whole." As she says so, a few of the mortals wander off to purchase cakes for the fae queen. "So, what do you two want to do here? I'd appreciate if you didn't kill too many of my compatriots, it would be a PR nightmare. Just ghastly."

[Dazhbug]

A large, pale green moth flutters above the smells and sounds of the fair below, wafting gently on the breezes stirred above the ovens and cook fires. Flapping in what can only be described as consternation, it descends delicately to alight on the fragrant drifts of needles which carpet the surrounding forest before bursting into an incandescent inferno. Rising from the pale silver flames is a chestnut-brown young woman, clad in naught but a few shining bits of jewelry and a long cloak which she flings back over her shoulders in echo of the wings she had just worn. Her face broke open into a beatific smile as she inhaled the scent of baked goods.

"Simply delightful!" She murmurs, licking her lips delicately and striding into the thick of the faire, eager to sample the sights and sounds (and smells!). "If this is what dear Tulgey smells like all cooked up and crisp, then perhaps I shall be satisfied with a sample! I always did think he was just cute enough to eat." Chuckling warmly, she sweeps up to a booth selling what appears to be softly glowing rock candy and jelly biscuits. "My, but this all looks wonderful! However did you get the crystals to glow like that?" She offers her most disarming smile, the picture of an interested customer.

[Kell_tamer]

The little lunar pops a macaroon into her mouth. "Not bad. We know who any of those someones are?" She follows along. She is rather decently spoken but it helps she hasn't been alone in her journeys.

[Aruetii]

Anaris wondered to himself how exactly he got an invitation to an event such as this. This was going to be nothing if not interesting at the very least, and Anaris had the chance to explore. Compared to everyone else at this 'little' faire he was woefully under-dressed for the occasion. The scents and sights were unnatural, but they were very alluring to his mind. He drifts through the faire, strangely seeing a few 'mortals' amongst the unusual denizens.

Somehow he wound up standing next to a nude woman wearing nothing but jewelry and saying something about eating some poor bloke named Tugley. He was more interested in the food on display than anything else at the end of the day. Showing any real interest in the strange creatures that were in the borders between Creation and the Wyld was not a wise decision.

[Treehawk]

Tzek fits right in here at his 52nd Great Pastry Faire, which makes sense considering he's attended every year since he was born. He's surrounded by a group of his fellow townspeople at their eclair booth, watching the diverse visitors with fascination.

[Myllinnia]

Syrenica has found herself in a very interesting place. She had heard the Thief might make his way here, but hopefully it was him. Not at the center of everything she sat, her dark crimson scaled coils wrapped and twisting amongst themselves as she held a fantastical harp. Her long red hair flowing with the waves of music and glamour, her fair skin almost glowing where she is. No not the center where the cakes and foods and sweets were, no off to the side ensuring all that heard was swept up in the music to give thanks to host of this fantastical event, to thank all that came to give honor to it, to those that would strengthen the stories that was intertwined between Mortal, Exalt, and Fae. And as she softly played her addicting song her eyes scans for that which was hers and the one who stole it. Her eyes glance at several who seem to draw narrative to them, one of them might be the Thief but then would she not know him by sight?

[golentan]

"Fear not, lady. I will, in keeping with the theme of the day, I will simply treat myself to some edibles from the Church's stand," says Spectre, not in the least reassuringly, as he begins wandering the fair.

As he walks, he notes some of the strange customers and often stranger displays and bakers.

Seeing a pair of what seemed unlikely to be Raksha, he approached. "I was wondering the same, truthfully. Cooking is a hobby of mine, but I've never been any good at it!" he proclaims, joining the strange woman in examining the rock candy. "I was also wondering what was used in the icing of those cupcakes, to make them... so... Lifelike." He gestures to a series of cupcakes, crested with what appear to be living, miniature waves, crashing and churning in moving cascades of sugar.

[Kell_tamer]

Shana sniffs around getting a feel for everything in the area. Essence draws in all the scents to her keen nose.

5 motes for Smell Sharpening Change, I get 2 auto sux and multiply all sux I get by 2 as i duplicate Keen and Unsurpassed Smell Technique.

Perception 5 AWareness 3

[roll0]

Stunt if any
[roll1]

[Recaiden]

And so they wander. Their reassurance would mean a lot more if fae weren't on the list of edibles.
Samples of all sorts of edible delights are offered up; giving a small coin is recommended so you can't be considered to have accepted a gift.
"Ah, we cook them with mirrors so there's sunlight on all sides. It gets stuck in the crystals as it cools and then just keeps glowing."
The bear who's selling the rock candy answers in a rumbly voice and breaks off a little toothpick-worth of it to hold out.
"Cupcakes have got water from the Wild River. Just never stops flowing. You wanna buy a batch?"

Meanwhile, our Lunar friend smells every smell.
BAKING. EVERYWHERE. There is every type of flour, egg, bread. Sugar and spice and existential horror. Chocolate, milk, rum, icing, blood, roast pheasant. Snakes and wolves and dreams of flying. Most people here are real people, the next largest portion being mutants-touched by the wyld. Then a bit of fae, detectable by the purity of its olfactory concept. Your friend smells of death, there's a band of people over there who smell of fire, There's an odd licorice-smell behind you.
It's all a bit bewildering. Suffice to say that you smell everything, but processing it all is a bit more difficult.
1 die stunt to Kell.

At the eclair booth, there is a flourish of trumpets, apparently coming from that walking conglomeration of brass instruments that's tromping down the aisle. Behind it a little globe of water swirls through the air, and next to it an unusually large white-furred weasel, which darts up and drops a pouch on the table, from where you hear the heavy clink of coins. It then does its best to abscond with a tray of eclairs.
If you happen to object, roll Dex+Martial Arts against
[roll0]
to preserve the eclair tray.

At the song-place, a crowd starts to gather. This is quite entertaining. The Thief does not appear to be among them. But maybe he has grown cunning and learned to hide his self. A flock of pretzels, drawn by the sound, flies over, flapping their loops like wings.
Roll
Perception+Awareness and
Charisma+Performance, please.

[Myllinnia]

Syrenica loves attention and the attention obviously is entranced by her. Still she looks and scans, of course she plays her clawed fingers plucking glamoured strings that sang their melodies, and the lovely pretzel-flies floating upon the streams of song. And to think Creation think its better than the Wyld!~

So where are you Thief? Here to steal another treasure that is lesser than mine!


Cha + Perform [roll0]
Per + Aware [roll1]

hmm...
Well I'm at a loss... I do not know how to roll...

[Kell_tamer]

Shana blinks a bit licking her lips at the smells. Despite the sensation however she visibly shuffles. "Don't like it here. Too many smells, too easy to lose track of someone..."

[golentan]

Glancing down at his friend, Spectre offers her his hand. "Do you want to step away, little one?" he asks, concerned. "I can pick up my quarry elsewhere, if you're concerned..."

[Kell_tamer]

She scrunches up a bit. But she shakes her head. "nah let's just get it done with." She looks around. "Know what they look like? "

[golentan]

"No..." he says, regretfully, shaking his head. "But I don't associate the Balorians with subtlety." The irony appears lost on the 6 and a half foot man sheathed entirely in moaning black steel. "Actually, have you seen the Church of Balor's stand?" he asks, turning his gaze on the merchant, and then addressing others nearby.

[ChaosArchon]

The Lady sighs and leaves the two Exalts to their only sub-story while she goes over to the encampment her retainers set up for her. Once she arrives she draws up a table from her vase and sets it down ready to remind the Wyld of her formidable skill in baking cakes. But not any ordinary cakes, but rather the most exquisite cake in all of existence. Even in the Time-Not this cake was talked about, in fact some raksha believe it is the reason the shinma came into being, so that they too could enjoy in the existence of this cake. From this day forward, and this day before, anytime a cake is birthed into existence, it will offer supplication to this cake, the Cake.

And so her magic begins, through her rhetoric the blessed flour is woven into existence as all realize that since a cake is being made, surely flour would be needed, and the Lady was making a cake, so therefore flour should be present. And so it was.

The Lady's voice sings through the air, informing existence that it was her decree that three chickens must lay an egg for her cake. In obedience to the Queen, three heavenly hens descend from the sky and courtesy to Her Majesty before laying their eggs and retiring from the festivities. She then lays a similar stricture upon five cows, and true to her command, shortly after do five celestial cows appear before the crowd and provide the Fae Maiden with the milk she requires.

Now all that was left was the frosting, and oh what frosting it was, is, and will be! As the Lady mixes the flour,eggs, and milk together, she pressures the cake-to-be into shape and her sweet words crystallize into frosting as the cake rises and rises. Until at once... it was done! It stood before the crowd in all its immaculate glory, a pristine vanilla cake laced with the most intricately designed chocolate frosting Creation had ever seen.

Staff-shaping roll, using Manipulation and Occult (god cake is magical right?), here goes nothing:[roll0]

stunts as necessary:[roll1]

hope I did this all right, first time actually using any Wyld Shaping

[Dazhbug]

"Many thanks, kind Sir Bear," Butterfly beams and reaches forward to grasp the small piece of glowing crystal, popping it into her mouth and enjoying both the flavour and delightful crunch as it shatters between her teeth. Her eyes flutter briefly closed as she focuses inward on the moment.

With startling speed she flickers her attention back outward, catching the contrasted pair present with a sparkling smile. "Oh my, what have we here?" She lightly taps fingers against the tall one's odd armor, shivering at the soulsteel's chill. A tiny frown flickers over her face, and she chews her lip as she peers up at the grim helmeted form. "I don't think I've ever met anything quite like you before. Did you know your armor is-" A pause, her ears perking up as a loose cloud of notes swarm past them like gnats, and then her face splits open in a trickster's grin. She twirls, laughing, and tugs at the armor-clad figure. "Music! Oh sir, come and dance with me! Your friends as well!" Her other arm swings wide, the expansive gesture catching both the small figure accompanying the dark-clad knight, as well as a random passerby, who seemed humbly mortal upon first glance.

"Come and do the thing! YAY!" Charisma + Presence of 10, and Appearance 5 as it pertains to relative MDVs. No need to make this a formal initiative thing, I don't think; Butterfly just wants to have some fun with new folk! Well, and maybe she's thinking a bit about needing some folk on her side to help Tulgey. But it's mostly to make friends!

Roll: [roll0]

[Kell_tamer]

Shana narrows her eyes, she didn't know why but she was overly protective of the large armor clad individual. She stifles a growl. Instead she just crosses her arms and lets whats about to happen happen. She continues to watch the environment.

[golentan]

"Oh, no, I can't really..." says Spectre, but he allows himself to be dragged by this new person and begins shuffling his feet, awkwardly... He gives Shana a plaintive look as she releases his hand to cross her arms, and begins bobbing his head out of time to the shuffling of his feet, his powerful arms seeming to have no idea where to place themselves or move, but the entire display is oddly endearing: charming in its awkwardness.

Charisma 2 + Performance 0 [roll0]
Any Stunt [roll1]

[Dazhbug]

Laughing and encouraging the poor awkward fellow, Butterfly deftly herds the group towards the source of the sound. They weave through stalls selling towering architectural masterpieces composed of taffy and brittle, buzzing swarms of marzipan airships, and finally all tumble into an open market square depressed into a shallow amphitheatre. Here the music skirls into a physical thing, whirling about the gathered throng as windblown scarves and glittering aurora. At the center, the shimmering crimson coils of a beautiful figure gently writhe in time with the music pouring from the harp she skillfully plays.

Unable to resist any longer, Butterfly lets her feet lead her out into the center of the listening throng, her hips sinuously gyrating as the tune grips her. As her motions flow more and more freely she seems nearly to glow, limbs elongating slightly and moving with the graceful curves of jungle vines. Her cloak swirls around her, now hiding, now revealing in dark shades of rich brown and verdant green, and her long dark hair flies free in a soaring cloud. Jewelry flashes in the sunlight, and as she lifts up her voice in counterpoint tiny flowers burst forth through her hair, their scent something of the deep jungle canopy, her motions a celebration of the savage dance of the forest floor.

Look (http://music.sjtucker.com/track/were-owl) long enough into the eyes of any creature,
there's no knowing what you'll find.
We all seek the light one way or another,
mostly flying blind.
Everything flies at the mercy of the moonlight,
lovers more than most at times.
You've sought the light where few have ever found it,
captured deep in tawny eyes.
Little one seek and ye shall find.
Take care what you find
in the tawny eyes of a hunter by night.

Who, who, who is it dares
to find these feathers, stroke this skin?
How, how, how can you dream of
the night she spreads her wings to hold you,
shows you all she knows and lets you in?

I've heard it said none but fools will ever count on
shifting shapes and flying dreams.
Foolish the heart that lights upon a love who's
never what she seems:
Shows one face at dawn and another in the twilight,
kings have worn her shape before
(kings have worn her wings before).
Lady of the evening, so handsome in the sunlight,
leaves you wanting so much more.
Child, death is a dance on the forest floor!

Who, who, who is it dares
to find these feathers, stroke this hide?
Why, why, why set your sights on
the night she spreads his wings to hold you,
shows you all her heart and bids you fly?

shifting shapes and flying dreams
love is never what it seems
wears another skin by day
be her love and not her prey

Who, who, who is it dares to seek the sun
and still want more?
How, how, how can you trust that she'll
open up her wings to hold you,
leave you brighter than you were before?

Butterfly is triggering Elegance Beyond Imagining as she starts to dance, as well as spending an additional 2 motes to boost to Appearance 6 and a further 2 on the First Charisma Excellency, adding to a Charisma+Performance roll (with specialty in this case, I think):

Roll: [roll0]
Stunt (as needed): [roll1]

Personal Motes: 13/23

[Treehawk]

At his booth, Tzek notices the large weasel attempting to take a tray of their eclairs and tries to intervene. "Good weasel, while I am sure that absconding with these treats is well within your power, I beg of you to leave them be. True delights such as these should be enjoyed by all creatures."


Charisma+Survival+Disney Princess Mode!
[roll0]
Possible stunt
[roll1]

[ChaosArchon]

Despite the cheering of the crowd, the Lady frowns. The cake felt... false, this was not the Cake but a feeble foreshadowing of its true glory. No, the spectacle she had just performed was just a precursor of the true advent of the Cake. With the pleasantries dispensed at last, the Lady begins awakening the cake, so it could be ready for the transubstantiation of a meager baked good into to a the god of baked goods. The Cake always existed, and yet had not been made yet, just like that curious bird-book the Lady had heard about.

Since none but She knew when the Cake was to be formed, it was a simple matter of convincing reality that this was just a cake. That her work's true majesty had yet to arrive and so too did all the crowd agree. With a flourish, she engages in a sparring match between reality and herself; as each side debated the merits of the Cake and Cake-Not, with reality mimicking the Lady's form but as a straw replica of her.

After some rigorous verbal word play, reality relents and the Lady sings the true cake into existence.

ok, reshaping the cake, Manipulation+Melee [roll0]

stunt:[roll1]

[Recaiden]

If the Thief is here, he is hidden well.
What if he isn't here? What if he has avoided the call of these culinary treasures? What if he's dead, and her diamond lost somewhere in the universe, untended?
The crowd seems to enjoy the music at least as much as the pretzel-flies. Flowers and cookies are tossed before Syrenica's coils.
And soon, the moment for appreciation has passed, and the people start to dance.



The bear nods. "They're on the other side of the Table, near the edge. They're feuding with the Repository at the moment, somewith about ingredient purity."
He then turns away to pitch the flowing candy to a trio of nervous-looking tree folk.
As the customers sweep each other up to go hear the performance, the bear laughs.



Distantly, the Cake takes form. People nod in recognition to the Cook as they pass by, thinking of the taste of this wonder. But they take no more action than that; it matters little to them. It is not nearly as meaningful as the treats all around them, an ancient memory, an outdated recipe, best forgotten.
Have a 2-die stunt though. [roll0]



The weasel listens, confused. Supposes it didn't pay enough, it releases the tray just as it grabbed it, and takes just a single eclair, swallowing it in a single bite. It looks around and notices the hovering orb of water is leaving it behind. It squeaks a few concerned sounds, before apparently being reassured by something. And the grand weasel slinks around to behind the table, looking for a way to help.
As for the orb, it is going to enjoy the music, so it appears, bringing its one-man-band.
1 stunt die to Tzek if he has any motes to regain [roll1]



The Cake is being re-baked. But this time it has attracted some attention.
"Let it collapse, and not be so."
A woman with the trappings of a wolf: ears, tail, odd legs, and teeth that shouldn't quite fit in her mouth speaks up. She is dressed in an apron and chef's hat (and nothing else) and hold a whisk of unreasonable size. Is this a commoner attempting to challenge the Lady?

A pack of wild dogs bursts from under a nearby awning, setting upon reality's surrogate and tearing at it with their teeth. This is not up to the world to decide; it's up to the true people within it, each of them greater than a world.
"Perfection is a foolish goal. To make such a thing as this would mean an end to cakes!"
She turns her whisk to the crowd, stirring them up and dispersing them. Don't you have elsewhere to be? Don't you have better things to eat?
The Lady finds her attempting cake falling into disarray. The ingredients are missing, the dreams are all out of order, she can't even remember the recipe!
Contesting the fantasy-cake

Staff-Shaping, Intelligence+Bureaucracy, enhanced with King of Beasts Method.
[roll2]




'Listening to Syrenica's music' has become an event of its own. A crowd surrounds the more central dance, some enterprising man has started selling Syren merchandise, and nothing is being baked right here.
A trio of skeletal figures in regalia bearing the Scorpion-on-heath symbol of the Crusade are approaching. They don't look terribly happy, but then, it's hard to look happy with just a skull. Maybe they just want to dance too.
Behind the performer, one can see the closest redwoods swaying in time to the music.
Everyone who went to the music and dance, roll Perception + Awareness as well, with a -2 internal penalty from the crowd.

[Kell_tamer]

Shana sighs and glances around... smell wasn't going to help. Maybe sight. She quickly climbs up a nearby tree and as she passes through some leaves at the top she transforms. The keen eyed jaguar now surveys the area.

Shapeshifting, 3 motes for a form not human. also dropping the smell and popping up 5 motes for sight. Utilizing the high ground to get a better view.

Perception 5 Awareness 3 +4 sux. Sux on roll double.
[roll0]
Stunt if any
[roll1]

[Myllinnia]

Doubts flood Syrenica's thoughts though the doubts tremble in fear should it interrupt her music.

Where could her Treasure be... where is the Thief so that justice may be served... like those cakes... Syrenica resists a sigh her music softening for the dancers allowing her though the chance to nibble on cookies. Ah to be the admired and desired, but not the spotlight covered actor, it allowed her to see, allowed her to hear though her ears were enjoying her music. Her eyes briefly note the dancers, but eventually come to rest upon those that would bend her reality to theirs. Exalts.

Perhaps it would have been best to have brought something of more value than herself. But then... what could be more valuable than she? Well perhaps she and the Diamond of Time Desired, yes but the Thief only took half of that already. Her tail tip plays the strings while she nibbles a cookie as she leans upon the wonderful harp. Nodding she finishes a cookie. "Perhaps I shall have to inquire the Exalts of his presence. Though it looks as if they look for something as well, I wonder what that might be, hmm." She frowns and nibbles another cookie.

[golentan]

As Spectre continues his awkward work trying to keep up with the dance, he glances around. Knowing there are enemies about, he keeps his eyes alert and moving, skimming over the crowd to pick out quick impressions of weapons, armor, and other signs of hostility, the irony of his own attire not lost on him...

"You dance so well," he says. "What were you going to ask me?"

He feels his shoulders tensing as the nervousness of the unusual situation begins working its way through his system. Tenser and tenser... tenser than muscles have any right to be... agonizingly tense, tendons bulging up... "Oh, sweet neverborn... I'm in fight mode... This must be how shana feels..." he whispers.

Over the course of the dance, activating Corpse Might Surge for a total of +4 to his strength at a cost of 12m committed.

4/4 personal (12 committed), 31/31 peripheral (8 committed)

Perception awareness at an internal penalty: [roll0]
[roll1]

[ChaosArchon]

The Lady pauses for a moment and so too does the world. Silence takes hold of the crowd, motion ceases, and the color of the world fades as its protagonist takes a moment away from her story. But just as soon as it all stops, the Lady reenters the tale and all continues as has been written. Normally she would be merciful to this fool and simply write it off as a poor commoner, but she is the Lady and all those who she surveys will either kneel or be knelt.

A cold laugh fills the air as she chuckles at her feeble opponent,"I have good news for you, you no longer need to wonder where your leader in this tale is. Because she's right here! And she's fresh out of mercy."

As in an instant, the rain begins to rise even more rapidly than before as the clouds in the sky seem to draw even closer until it seems to hover imperiously over the entire fair, thunder crackling ominously, while an entire legion of her loyal soldiers loom behind the Lady, ready to strike down the fool who thought to attempt to embarrass her before the eyes of the Wyld.

Beginning Sword battle, Join Shaping roll:[roll0]

stunt dice:[rollv]3d10[rollv]

[Recaiden]

High above, nestled in a lonely redwood, a jaguar looks down on the fair, and sees everything. Unlike scent, this is much easier to interpret.

You see a trio of birds, disturbed from their perch in this very tree and now flying away.

There is a being spiraling through the dance, wearing the archtypical regalia of the World-Devouring Warlord. None see him except you. He has named himself a King of Thieves, and his passing must go unmarked. Currently he is relieving the dancers of their pastries, but you can see his attention flickering between the serpentine performer and the mighty armored deathknight. Which should he make his enemy?

Song and storm gather near where you came from as two petty lordlings of the fae challenge each other.

That ball of water at the edge of the dance. There's a Lunar inside it(!), folding himself up into the smallest shape you've ever seen, but there's no mistaking the miniscule moonsilver tattoos on his tiny crustacean shell.

The dead things too are coming to trouble your friend. But what might not have gone seen is the booth of the Balorians, the scorpion banner raised high, far across the fairegrounds. They're really hyping their reality-free danishes, which do seem to be selling well. Best of all you see, at that bake-sale booth, another watcher. A glob of irridescent un-stuff, lacking eyes or features, and you aren't quite sure how it's sustaining itself here with a form that alien and unreal. But what you are sure of is that it is watching, nearly as intently as you are. It sees a deathknight, and it it worried. It sees a jaguar watching from the trees, and it is worried. It sees a god and a demon arguing over the cost of eclairs, and even this harmless amusing scene leaves it worried. The fair has always gone well before, but it's never too late for disaster to strike.

You see something great and terrible to the east. Two tree trunks, rising above the trees to merge, then to break through the clouds and scrape the dome of heaven. One of them moves, crossing a hundred miles in a single step, at speeds to make the pattern spiders weep. A Chaos Lord walks towards Creation. Too far away to be heard or imagined, it should be too far away to be seen, but it does not care for distance, and allows you a glimpse, at the edge of your vision, of its terrible self.



The crowd is, for the most part, unarmed, unarmored, and unconcerned. The orb of water and the Balorian scouts manage to project wariness, if not outright hostility. Rather a feat without a face to express with.



The rainclouds fine themselves constrained by suggestion to a single area of the fair, where the two raksha stand in unreasonable proximity. A Fantasy and a Destiny each of considerable strength stand against fair-wide disruptions like this. But she can certainly cover her own cooking-ground in ominous clouds.

A beam of sunlight illuminates the anti-cake challenger, and a flourish of trumpets (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQNwVKy6H1I) sounds. "Stand aside, Lady, for you have seen many things, and yet they cannot compare even to I, who am but a footnote in the greatest story ever told."
The whisk vibrates and vanishes, replaced with a crackling howl by a bow strung like a harp. The impossible thing has three arms, dozens of strings, and is ornamented with the snarling faces of ancient predators. With one hand, the woman holds and spins the instrument/weapon, and with another she plays.
At the same time, there comes a presence behind her. She might be the only figure you can see, but she has not come alone.

Facts impose themselves on the kitchen: When you complete a thing, it is done; When an action is done, it cannot be performed; When an action cannot be performed, it is lost.

You aren't at a fair. You're at home, asleep. You're having a pleasant dream.
Music notes rain down, cracking the earth. No, you're having a nightmare.
The cake-baking ground is made a desolate hellscape of eternal toil. For daring to emulate the Prince in the baking of the final cake, the Lady has been condemned here, to cook for eternity but find her works no closer to becoming edible. Ingredients flee from her grasp, abuse is shouted from her fellow chefs; she's ruining everything!, ovens fail to heat, mixers fail to mix, and mere honeyed words fail to persuade an uncaring world to bring about the confections she set out to create.


Join Shaping: [roll0] + 5 from Swift Wings of Song
She pulls out a significant number of stops for a first strike at a non-chosen grace.
Activates Wyld Communion, for you face a nascent God-Monster.
And flurries with a Ring-shaping Attack, dual-wielding a Resonant Chorus Bow and a behemoth (oh, the accuracy penalties!).
Pulling Style dice to counteract the penalties.
[roll1]

[Dazhbug]

Butterfly sets her laughter free upon the breeze, twisting and moving with the masterfully-played music. She whirls through the crowd, her voice carrying over the general bustle, her words and tone that of a smiling friend. Everyone here is so happy! Well, except perhaps those three...

The murmured question from one of her new friends wafts passed her, but remains uncaught; she glides one hand across his armored shoulders (cold, so very cold, as if divorced from the concept of temperature) to draw him along in her wake. Without pausing to glance back, she gyrates her way towards the incoming trio.

"Such delightful brooding, my good sirs," she delights, dancing among them, her cloak and hair brushing here, then there, calculated movements to generate curiosity and enticement. "But come, this is a fair and festive day! You make even the skull's eternal smile seem grim." The music is slowing, softening, and she takes the moment to pluck a flower from her hair, presenting it to the apparent leader of the group.

Butterfly is smiling, peaceful, easy-going; she's trying to get the trio to loosen up, no frowns here! There are enough thunderheads forming over in that other spot of the faire, after all.

WEA/EBI are still in effect, with Buttefly's Appearance modified as such (based on the trio of Crusaders); if their MDVs are low enough post-Appearance comparison, they start building a positive intimacy or spend WP as per TAW. Butterfly is going to spend another 2m to boost her Appearance/mein to a base of 6, as before, and then roll to convince the three to relax, open up, chat as if among friends. The specific argument she is making would be, "I am a friend! Let's have fun!"

Roll: [roll0] (w/ Appearance 6 base, increased as per WEA, double normal App cap, intimacy starts building if their MDV is less than 3 post-App)
Stunt: [roll1]

[Kell_tamer]

Shana keeps her eye on her mate. Nothing would sneak up on him. Not while she watched.

[Recaiden]

((2 stunt to Butterfly))

The skull is smiling, and now so are the scouts. They take an immediate liking to this whatever she is.
"It's not even at every year's fair that one sees a deathknight. Do they have business with the living again?"
"Now, now. You can't have too much fun. There must always be a counterpoint."

The thief, just behind our deathknight, is frustrated. The man has nothing to take!
That won't do at all. Now, this friendly one...

The wind gusts, rustling down through the tree branches and across the dance. It sets Butterfly's cloak fluttering, and then snatches the garment right away.
[roll0] A larceny action. Not sure of the opposed mechanics and precise results as I'm away from my books, but if you know them, feel free to respond.

This definitely entitles Butterfly to a new awareness check.

[Dazhbug]

Butterfly pouts delightfully, tucking the flower jauntily into the zygomatic bone of the leader and hanging herself on his arm. "Oh, there will be time enough for all that later. Come now, meet my friend here; you all have delightfully matching taste!" She chuckles like bells, clacking her teeth in skull-like imitation at the stygian motifs which adorn her deathknight friend. "Perhaps you lovely gentle-bones will show him the steps? He's still just learning!"

She claps her hands to the music, feeling the breeze catch her swirling cloak and pulling her back to the dance. As it ripples and tears away, she descends on one of the flanking scouts, her curves suddenly laid bare beneath the shimmering sweep of her hair. Vines ripple in her swaying locks, and her skin reminds those who see her now of wrinkled bark, now of rippling fur. She draws him to her, swirling with the music as she murmurs, soft and private in his ear. "Surely your burdens and quarrels can be put aside for a song's length? But I know how important it is to have proper ingredients, on a day like today; were you fellows off to the speak with the Repository?"

First off, let's see if Butterfly notices the actions of the Thief; she's super focused on the crusaders at the moment, so I didn't go out of my way to add much for stunt dice. If she *does* notice it, then she's playing off her sudden disrobing in her speaking with the guard (I'm assuming she notices her cloak is torn away; the question is if she notices it was stolen:

Wits+Aware: [roll0]
New awareness roll: [roll1]
(I don't forsee her noticing: per the book, she would have to have a higher threshold than the Thief to notice; he's at at least Diff 4-5, but got 9 successes. Meanwhile, there's a reason Tulgey has high awareness/perception!)

Next, let's see how she does at convincing the scout to rant about the feud with the Repository: she's putting strong evidence on the last phrase, in a "tell me about your troubles" sort of way intimately familiar to bartenders and cashiers. WEA/EBI are still in effect, with Buttefly's Appearance modified as such (based on the trio of Crusaders); if their MDVs are low enough post-Appearance comparison, they continue building a positive intimacy or spend WP as per TAW. Butterfly is going to spend another 2m to boost her Appearance/mein to a base of 6, as before.

Roll: [roll2] (w/ Appearance 6 base, increased as per WEA, double normal App cap, intimacy starts building if their MDV is less than 3 post-App)
Stunt (as needed): [roll3]

Personal: 17/23
Periph: 37/39 (1-3 range)

[Kell_tamer]

With a leap over the gathered the leopard springs from the tree. Passing through the breeze she snatches the wayward cloak so as its owner wouldn't lose it. Landing behind the Thief however is a child, small in stature but powerful in frame. She keeps the Thief between herself and the Deathknight. "I would step away from the armored one... if you intend to keep those light fingers of yours." Her hand rests upon the hilt of ... something, something large wrapped upon her back. The cloak resides in her other hand, gripped like a vise. There is no telling if she knew the taking the cloak was an act of thievery or just snatching the cloak.

She is easily the smallest person here.


Ok so odds are she would be able to parse the theft given she already can see really well and gets double successes on any sight based perception roll, 4 successes automatically given she has sense sharpening change at full meaning 2 auto x2.
(Roll anyway)
8 dice 5 perception 3 awareness
[roll0]

She already knows this is the King of Thieves so whether this was an attempt is not what matters. Hes near her bond. She doesn't like that. She's a bit protective of her mate even though he is Exalted and easily two and a half times her size.

So she leaps at it and snags it and then shifts back as she hits the ground for a mote. IF i need to roll something let me know.

[ChaosArchon]

Weeks pass in seconds, as a lull overtakes the tapestry of Her tale. The narrative grinds to a halt, as without its hero, what good is a story, what interest can be gleaned from it without its avatar. However in her opponent's reality spun by falsehood does the Lady remain trapped, her character forced to gaze at a universe where she is not the supreme apotheosis of perfection. Her instruments, constructed of nightmare and umbrage, mock her by failing her at just the wrong time in the baking process. They jeer at her and perform the tango with one another, a scurry to and fro until she falls to the floor in defeat.

Outside the kitchen it begins to rain, and a steadily increasing pitter-patter can be heard on the windows and roof. It begins as light love taps but soon assails the house with a spray of aqueous bullets, smashing into the house. Nature raging against the unnatural with all the force of the storm of mythic proportions. Krackacoom . The thunder echoes throughout the room but there is no lightning to be seen yet, as the Lady remains in her moment of doubt, frozen by the laws of this fantasy. Krackacoom. The thunder strikes yet again, and again the Lady continues to wallow in this fable of her enemies. The silverware continues to cavort with itself, mindlessly ignoring the antediluvian cloudburst wreaking havoc outside their tiny little world of debauchery and merriment.

Krackacoom. The third strike is deafening, the house is lit by a sanguine glow as a crimson bolt of lightning strikes right outside the window. Finally the Lady rises from the dirt and straightens herself out, she is the Empress of Dreams Passed and Nightmares to Come, it would not do to be lounging about in the pipe-dream of some half-bit noble. With a flick of her wrist she sends an wave of air to smack the fiendish flatware against the wall, while in the same motion flinging the door of the kitchen open and stepping through it's opal frame. The false reality crumbles around her as the Lady reclaims her story, maroon arrows of light arcing throughout the pathetically flimsy scene.

For a moment there is nothing as the dust of a fallen fable settles, the fragments of a nightmare now necrotic falling apart. Silence descends upon the onlookers as all are drawn to the edge of their seats, wondering what the next spectacle of this duel shall be. Then a melodious laugh rings throughout existence,"I suppose it was inevitable really. Your little lie could never last, I imagine the shinma themselves were enthralled by such a perversion. The idea of me being helpless, a failure... then again I suppose it does tell everyone gathered alot about you my dear. It must be so easy for you to tell tales of others like that when you have such well versed experience in the subject. Sorry to add yet another notch in that area for you dearie but I suppose you'll get some experience for your troubles. Now then," her voice takes on a much heavier, darker tone,"your turn little one."

The Lady begins the rise in the chaotic, warring skies above. Rather than buffeted by the velocious winds of the weather, she is blanketed by them as the offer their allegiance to the Reverie Monarch. Encircled by rain and veiled by the fog, a cacophonic melody of thunder flies through the air as a crimson bolt of primeval plasma fueled by fury and forged by majesty stops at her outstretched hand.

The vicious goddess hovers there, her form ready to smite the impudent heretic at her feet as in an instant the Queen is joined by a glorious retinue with more of her than the eye can count. Darkness covers the empyreal company as their wings shimmer, their forms silhouetted by the raging storm as the seraphic host gaze at their foe. Mortals all bow before the regal regiment lest their eyes be burned for looking at a sight beyond their ken for too long. The winds whip up into a symphonic howl augmented by the soldiers themselves (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7wJ8pE2qKU) as reality and raksha announces the arrival of the Vicar of Victory's forces.

As it watches the arrival, her foe cannot help but be assailed by the inherent glory of the sight. She is the hero, and surely a display of this scale is a signal of her foe's approaching defeat. Wave after wave of the Her legion's glory overpowers her until she can do naught but join the mortals in prostrating herself.

activating Endless Armies of the Storm (-5m, 1wp) and First Sword Excellency (x6) (-6m) (7/20 motes remaining, 4/5 willpower)

Sword attack, Dexterity (7)+Presence (4)+ Accuracy (2)+FSE (2 for each)

Attack 1:[roll0]
Attack 2:[roll1]
Attack 3:[roll2]

stunt:[roll3]

[Recaiden]

The leader raises a withered hand to touch the flower curiously, and then swings into the dance. Butterfly of course knows something is amiss, but it must have been the wind and only the wind - except this little child seems to disagree.
"For the sake of a song the whole world can be set aside."

"Those fools? Making physical objects, no! We've no need for their work; that's for the poor doomed visitors who nevertheless try their hand at cooking. Why, if things were better we wouldn't consider having the faire this far into Creation. At least, we should be in a Freehold, but all these local cowards couldn't bear to let this many outsiders in. They've been collecting wyldlife, bandersnatches and gryphons and all, for baking with, as if that's an attraction."
He shakes his head, setting bones rattling.
"These are damn sad times, song or silence."


Butterfly remains unaware, Kell's sees.
At this point, Kell, presume Shana(?) was aware of things as soon as possible without a roll unless I say otherwise.




The thief stops abruptly, hand not quite onto the cloak.
"Be careful with your words, child, or you might find your friend gets lost behind them." He looks down at the girl and smiles.
"I believe that was on its way to me, if you would kindly let it go."
He's not threatening; he's amused. Well, he's only threatening out of hand.




2 stunt for the Lady
1st and 2nd attacks were parried, 3rd attack hit with 3 Threshold.
You never actually said but I presume you are attacking with your best behemoth.
16d10
You have almost certainly defeated them in Sword combat, so choose something to take from them.
A grace, an artifact, a mundane possession or any waypoint they might control.


The clouds are sectioned, packaged into neat cubes, and go their separate ways.
The lightning, shot out of the air by music notes as swift as the crashing waves of reality.
But the sight of the Lady in her finery does something, and the challenger scowls, eyes briefly shut against the pain.

"Yes, I have failed. What do the successes mean of those who have never known anything else? You call yourself a hero. But you're playing the villain's song. Here, fail alongside me. A shine is brighter that was once dark."

She looks up with a smile on her face.

The dream shifts.
The crowd is angry. The Soldiers are howling something else. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_oS8zsO2nU) Her retinue is turning on the lady, eager for their own share of the glory. Everything calms, growing serene and empty as the glory flows away, the food is all eaten, the Lady is left with nothing. Just her and the Wolf in an empty kitchen.


Excellency, Stance charm, and of all things a virtue channel, seeking to even the fight up before it ends.
One super-enhanced Ring-Attack
22d10

[Kell_tamer]

The girl not one to take kindly to raksha threats whips the large weapon from its covers. The massive Axelike weapon is pointed at the Thief. "Be careful with yours or they might be the only thing you can reach out with..." She now holds the cloak away from the raksha, her hand an iron grip upon it.