Lakeside Freehold IC

[Aergoth]

Prologue: Arcadia

Come what come may
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day


Alfheimer, Elf-Hame, The Fairest of Lands, Arcadia. Multifaceted, magnificent, magical. Bordered by vicious Thorns that rend the flesh and soul alike of the unwary and unwise. Balkanized into an uncountable number of petty, spectacular and terrifying kingdoms out of dream and nightmare in equal measure. Each wrapped in endless stories, each fiefdom an island crafted to its owner's specification, populated with whatever fancied them, some spun from thin air and whim, others procured from the Iron Lands.

Whether by hook, or by crook, by scheme or seduction, the lords and ladies of Arcadia have taken mortals from their lives, back through the Hedge to serve their needs and desires. Some taken for beasts of burden or swift hunting beasts, some taken for sport of one kind or another, to serve as decoration or simply to serve. Their minds and bodies changed by the needs and whims of their Keepers and their own need to survive. Whatever abuses they suffered, every Changeling began their life as someone else, someplace else. And few enough manage to break the fetters of their durance and survive to make their homecoming.

Your homecoming begins now.

[PsyBomb]

People say that those who can't fight are the ones who go into academia. Those people could not be more wrong.

Once, fairly recently but seeming to be a lifetime ago, a young and naïve William cruised through twin Masters programs at a moderately prestigious university for mathematics and a solid block of theoretical hard sciences. The doctorate program, which would have allowed him a salaried position in any ivory tower you could name, is what got him. Will's thesis and the focus of years of his work and networking happened to absolutely disprove the pet theory of a rising star at his university, and that rising star became a meteor when he was placed on the review board for Will's own thesis. Needless to say, it didn't end well. Cursing luck and fate, Will got a call with an offer to go to a place where what one earns is unquestioned and the fair value of one's work always given. The call was from a privateer, and the place was The Bazaar of Avarice, within Arcadia.

He awoke to darkness, numbness, and hunger. Here, said the Grand Merchant of the Bazaar, everything had a price which must be paid. Not just food, water, and shelter. Light, air, feeling, friendship, and every other concept once cares to name had its own unique cost. The Merchant loaned enough to see, eat, and breathe for a week and a day, and set him loose to earn the rest. What the doctorate had taught him, thankfully, was the value of both a good network and how to use other people's talents. Will made his seed cash by a selling knowledge (which he would still possess after selling), connecting people to favors, and simply doing without things that his previous life had taken for granted. Things like feeling aught but pain and hunger, seeing more than the dimmest he could to get by, and eating any more than absolutely required to keep body and soul together with the faculties to not accidentally kill himself. He pushed his deals as lopsided as he could, knowing that the value of anything is what they would pay for it. His skin darkened to a smoky black, then eventually started seeping wisps of dark gasses which dissipated moments later, densely enough that it was difficult to tell where the smoke ended and his flesh began. His face faded, save for his eyes which turned to embers. He became Will, the Wisp.

After a time unknown, with networks in place and life as secure as it could be in Arcadia, he finally got the time to hatch a plan to escape. He build up a network of debt, until almost none of the residents of the Bazaar could truly state that they owed him nothing. It was at this point that he negotiated with the Grand Merchant. The deal was struck, the Merchant demanding four times all the riches he currently possessed for knowledge of where and how to leave the Bazaar. Will responded with eight words: "I call in all debts owed to me." In an instant, the nature of the place did so. Those who had the means to pay found themselves suddenly without. Those who couldn't found themselves unable to see, feel, and in some cases breathe. The business of the Bazaar nearly halted that day, and in the ensuing chaos Will took his newfound knowledge and left.

On his belt was a green pouch, decorated in patterns of red and gold, that contained the many remaining tokens of the Bazaar's wealth. On his back, a cloak of the same. In his head, he kept the names of those he had just wronged and the sure knowledge that he had damned himself in the eyes of any just or reasonable force in the cosmos in order to go home.

[Aergoth]

@Psybomb

Aspects
A Run on the Market
Everything Has Its Price
Debts and Lies


The Bazaar was in chaos. Deals falling through as currency and valuables abruptly vanished into the Grand Merchant's coffers. Some, unlucky enough to be caught by Will's transaction while particularly short of funds, fell to the ground choking and gasping for breath. The Merchant, as master and keeper of this place had set his seat, his throne atop a bank, in the center of the market, on the enormous cliff that bisected the center of his domain, where one could see the Grand Bazaar stretch to the horizon. The sun rose over prosperous quarters bordering him to the east, and set on the beggars and low markets that scrabbled in the dust and darkness of the west.

The Grand Merchant's own seat was on the market floor, opulant and set above the stalls where any could see, and where he could survey the private dramas and dealings of this, the richest part of his holdings. And, according to the piece of rich, illuminated vellum in Will's hands, exit from the Grand Bazaar was to be had by crossing the market and descending into the Merchant's own vaults, where payment would need to be made to the doorkeeper. Everything in the Merchant's lands had its price and had not Will paid merely for the knowing? There was the knowledge, plain where anyone could read it.

The arcades and stalls of the market were swift recovering now, and heads turned on swivels, all staring towards Will. The door to the vaults, an enormous, grated trap door set at the floor of his throne stood waiting, below and beyond lay freedom.

[PsyBomb]

@Aergoth

That... was not what I’d expected. Glad I paid for full vision today, I may need it

The denizens of the Market would be able to put two and two together extremely quickly, so there would be only a short window with which to make good his escape. Will politely but immediately turned and started walking towards his newfound escape. The center of attention was the precise opposite of where he wanted to be at the best of times. Now? Not the best time. Not until he was well clear of the Bazaar.

And, of course, I have exactly zero idea of who might be guarding the vault gate. Unlikely to owe me anything, even before I called in the debts.

Will paused on his way, taking a single token out of his pouch to give to a suffering debtor. “It is my fault that this is happening. Breathe, and know that treating with the Grand Merchant carries risks beyond the bargain. The token is guilt-payment.” There were more tokens left in the pouch. Many more. Penny-sizes disks made from crystalline air and liquid joy, one enough to breathe all day.

He continued, forcing himself to take step by deliberate step, until he could finally lay eyes on the Guardian and his freedom. He muttered a prayer under his breath, offering a sliver of power instead of money to the Contact that had cost him so dearly to learn, invoking its blessing to be ready.

Will spends one point of Glamour to invoke Hearth’s Blessing on himself in preparation for what may come shortly. He may not target himself again for 24 hours.

[Aergoth]

Hearth whispers its reply, the flow of glamour cutting off. "The ancient trust is honored, Wyrd favor your endeavor."

The Grand Merchant's vaults are part prison, part storeroom, part treasure hold, all security and burnished shine. The trap door opens, broad stone steps descending into the cliff, narrow slits admitting the half-light of the cliffside at noon. Emaciated changelings languish in narrow oubliettes set into the floor beneath, or through narrow grates in the wall to the left. where they reach up and grasp with pale hands and feeble grips, tugging at clothing or limbs as their reach dictates.

A pair of bulky ogres, masked, armored and carrying heavy, long-handled axes with wicked silver heads stands guard over the end of the hallway. They don't seem to have noticed Will yet.



Guard Ogres x2
Masked Guardian
Lethargic

Good (+3) Provoke
Fair (+2) Fight
Average (+1) Notice, Physique

Stress
#1[ ] [ ] #2 [ ] [ ]



The Guard Ogres presented here are refered to as Nameless NPCs. They're intended to fill the role of rank and file, characters of no serious narative significance. Storm troopers, random shopkeepers, office clerks and the like. They have a single stress track, which covers both mental and physical damage, only a few skills, and one or two aspects. When in doubt, a Nameless NPC's name, title or description functions in a manner similar to a High Concept aspect.

The Guard Ogres are also forming a Mob, functioning as a single unit to keep the GM's work lighter. Damage done to the mob spills over from NPC to NPC, making it possible for a big hit to take out a number of members of the Mob at once.

[PsyBomb]

This is it. I am supposed to be here. I cannot allow two guards to stop me... and if I need to pay for a key, I have money left that I probably won’t need to use any time soon.

Will’s stride remained unbroken as he continued to walk forward to the end of the hallway. He had no intention of stopping for anyone or anything besides the last door and gatekeeper. The hands were harder to ignore, Will had known some of them. One or two who weren’t grasping were gasping instead.

Can’t stop, can’t make a scene. Those two may not notice I’m walking by them, or may not even be tasked to stop me, but if I stop myself it’s almost certain they will. Just keep walking.

[Aergoth]

The guards are indeed tasked with preventing anyone from moving further than their post. It's a cushy job if ever there was one in the Bazaar. If you can deal with the pitiable moans and pleading of those who have personally offended The Grand Merchant somehow. They shuffle up a little, blocking the hall and hefting their axes menacingly.

Will is probably the most living person they've seen in a while.

Ogres are physically formidable, but the few that inhabit the Bazaar while cunning are also easier to persuade or trick, though upon realizing that they've been had the erstwhile con man may hope to be far from a crossed ogre.

[PsyBomb]

Of course, nothing is ever easy. Can’t fight them, not with any hope of winning. Next step: the Faerie Truth.

“Guards, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve just finished speaking to the Grand Merchant, and now have business with the Doorkeeper. I need one of you to bring me to him. I assume the standard cost of a Glamour or an eighth-piece for the service holds?”

If this works, there is a power out there that is not finished with me...

Deceive attempt. Hearth’s Blessing automatically expends itself, +2 Deceive for a +4 total. Rolled in Discord due to editing restrictions.
0+++ for +3, total 7

Success with Style

Hearth’s Blessing fades.

Acquired Helpful Guards Boost

[Aergoth]

Rolled on the Discord before I remembered the OOC thread existed. 0+++, with +2 skill and the Blessing automatically going off for a total of 7.

Success with Style.
Rolling to Overcome with Deceive of +7 vs. a passive opposition of +2, success with style.
Will gains Helpful Guard


The two ogres exchange glances, inspect Will for a moment before one of them shrugs, extending his hand. "Pay now, then we see the Gatekeeper." Tokens change hands, and one of the guards beguns trudging down the hallway, his partner remaining behind. The hall winds downwards, a precipitous slope through the stone of the cliffside, and deeper into the rock beneath the Bazaar's heart.

The guard eventually leads Will to a massive stone door, retreiving a small, silver key on a chain around his neck and opening it onto the Grand Merchant's personal treasury.

The ceiling is vaulted in elegent arabesques, and various vaults are set into the walls behind lace spun from silver threads. They overflow with wealth, more than Will has seen in his entire time in the bazaar. Ornate chests overflowing with tokens and bars, one such container could easily sustain everyone whose debts he had called for ages, if you had a team to lift it. Bolts of fine silks and brocades, sit next to vials of spices and sticks of heady incense. One vault seemed to contain nothing but bottles of colourful fluids, until you saw the various grisly payments preserved there-in. Eyes, tongues, fingers and whole hands among the least of these. The impression is that these individual vaults could go on forever, but the sound of water and the floor being broken by an enormous river. There is a rickety bridge, strung across the length of the river, planks visibly decaying, a single figure standing on the opposite side.

On this side, a slick, serpentine creature basks on the shore of the river, its skin is coal dark and spotted with what appear to be gold coins, glimmering in the dim light. Heat seems to rise from the creature's mouth and back, causing the air to shimmer as though under a vicious, unrelenting sun. The guard seems trepidatious about continuing further.


So, two notes here. Difficulty is passive opposition, a flat value from the ladder (https://fate-srd.com/fate-core/taking-action-dice-ladder). The value can be raised or lowered by invoking aspects, and two characters attempting the same action may have different passive oppositions based on their aspects and overall skill.

Will has succeeded with style, which means exceeding the target value by +3 or better. Different kinds of actions provide different benefits on a success with style, in this case, Overcome an Obstacle provides a boost, which works like an aspect, which is free to invoke but consumes itself by doing so. You still have to justify using the boost like any other aspect, but they can hang out unnamed if there's trouble naming them. Of note, boosts can't be compelled against their owners, fate points can't be spent on them, and they don't count as aspects for other rules that require an aspect exist.

[PsyBomb]

What the... alright, this place is even further lopsided than I thought. Grand Merchant doesn’t need any of us, he’s not even keeping SCORE at this point. There is no comparison to be had.

Will looked around. Two possible Gatekeepers here. One, a Salamander that would turn him to ash if he made a mistake. The other, a person (-ish?) at the far side of the bridge. Unknown origin, motivation, and desires. Presumably intelligent, however, and able to speak. That meant they were good enough for one of those little tricks he’d picked up along the way. Around the time he started sweating smoke, he’d found that some power would let him whisper into just about anyone’s ear. The unwitting guard didn’t need to hear.

And so he did.

“I am on the other side of the bridge, here to make payment to the Doorkeeper for my freedom. If that is you, please raise your right hand and tell your guardian not to kill or eat me, and we can negotiate. If not, please raise your left and I will pay you three Tokens for the information once I get to you.”

Expend one Glamour (3 remain) to declare Traitor’s Tongue, targeting the man on the far side of the bridge.

[Aergoth]

@Psybomb

The being on the far side of the bridge unfolds from what seems to have been a seated position, all gangly limbs and robes. There is a deep sound that resonates from other shore of the river, the creature has struck an enormous bell of some kind, and its tolling reverberates through the vault, echoing on and on.
The Salamander retreats into the water, leaving a cloud of steam in its wake as it vanishes below the surface.

The guard steadfastly refuses to cross the bridge. He agrees to remain on the shore until Will makes the crossing.
On closer inspection, the bridge is a living thing, formed from thick, root-like vines with bits of stone or board or cloth overlying the gaps in the structure. Each section of bridge has a token or valuable worked into it somehow, payment to grow the structure that leads to the opposite shore. Here the vine grows twisted through the center of token, almost obscured but for its shine, there it twines around a garnet the size of a child's fist, rings and silk scarves, a dozen other little treasures, and in one place a small skull bereft of its jawbown, dot the vines on either side.

The bridge holds during the crossing. The guard remains until Will's feet land solidly on the massive stone slabs of the floor. The guardian is tall, even more so than some of the Ogres and the dwellers in the narrow, packed slums, seeming to scarcely have any meat to him. In one hand, he holds a wicked metal spike, pointed, waiting for Will to offer payment. He shakes his head in reply to the offer of tokens, hefting the spike before offering it to Will. It is heavy, and slick.



@Charidan

Aspects
All Work And No Play
Temptation At Every Turn

The Garden of Ecstatic Cheer is in bloom. It is always in bloom, day or night, dawn or dusk some part of the grounds are filled with heady fragrance of ripening fruit or blossoms, fecund and full of life. The sound of the Coronet of Flowering Vice taking their time with one of the other residents is audible here among the hedges and parks and little orchards broken by tented pavillions dotted with stained glass, follies in the shape of ruined towers and temples. Here and there are groups of people (for a given value of people), some of the Coronet's favourites extorting others with their status, knowing how the Garden's Keeper would react if anyone were to leave so much as a scratch on one of those given preferential treatment. Some are sporting, others indulging in the Garden's bounty, many simply toil.

[Domochevsky]

Somewhere there's a dark and ancient forest. In that forest feathers litter the floor and only in the rare clearings the sun ever reaches them. It is day, or what counts as such in Arcadia, beams of light rain down from the purple and blue skies onto the canopy. They carry such things with them as Warmth, Hope, Laughter, Searing Pain, Wrath-

A ray of Memory hits a tendril. A thought stirrs, a feeling carries, a desire rekindles.

Focus.

The shadowy creature extending its limbs in the twisted crown of a tree moves and wraps itself into a humanoid shape. It had spent precious time up therefor what seems like eternity distorting itself to catch the rays of its desires. They remembered their plan. "Return Home." Greifenwald knew as they were they could not achieve it. Too frayed at the edges to remember for long enough. Too much work during lucid moments improving and altering the servants of the Lady of the Feathered Forest. Too addicted to the Sun. The Sun. The Sun.

Focus.

Fueled by the ray of memory, they started moving. A new Greifenwald needed to be made. One that remembered the way Home. One that had the will to return. One that didn't need the Sun. The Sun. Focus.
Nearly all the parts were ready. They had collected them across the years, taking fragments of maps and traits during surgeries and alterations. Replacing pieces of the Lady's victims with better components; keeping details that no one would miss for themselves, bit by bit. As time went on they remembered less and less why. But it had to be done. A wrong had to be righted. Someone had to be saved. Who was it?

Focus.

They carried all the components inside their shape. The last piece they lacked was a Willful Defiance, to be distilled into liquid form. The birds carried mocked tales. A hunter's story ended somewhere in this forest, not even far from here between the dark roots of one more nameless, giant tree. Unsung, but just as strong. The Greifenwald descended the tree, climbling down from gnarled branch to twisted branch, until their form touched the painfully cool moss that had never seen the Sun. Wretched being.

Focus. A new Greifenwald needed to be made. A soul had to be saved.

[Slartibartfast]

But before we get back to the Garden, we should talk about Robert. People say that those who can't fight are the ones who go into academia. While Will refutes this statement, Robert's life gives it credence.

Robert Faust grew up under constant reminder of the need to go above and beyond to succeed. Why settle for an A, when an A+ is possible? Robert's father was always so proud that his son would grow up to be a lawyer, even from before the day he was born. In retrospect Robert might have chosen a different occupation had he been given the chance, but he was a good obedient child and always strove to make his parents proud. He landed scholarships, graduated high school with honors, and was admitted into a rather prestigious law school. This is where Robert's timid capitulation finally caught up to him.

Robert was never good at handling stress. He got through his earlier years by not understanding the seriousness of his actions, and by being able to talk it all off as "something everyone has to go through". That excuse stops working in law school. You have to know you're working on something hard, something a lot of people can't manage. More importantly, it's unavoidable that to succeed or fail is will shape the rest of your life. Not to mention, of course, that law school is actually difficult, and for the first time Robert found himself struggling with material, unable to coast by on his parents pampering him and helping him with his work, suddenly needing to study instead of intuiting the material or working out concepts on tests he hadn't paid any attention to previously. Now he felt the pressure of what he was trying to do, stuck under an overambitious class schedule he'd taken in his arrogance and desire to please. Not understanding an option to back off on his classes to a sane level, he turned to a more conscienceable outlet: drugs.

Finally with a way to unwind, but no practice in moderation or self-control of any kind, Robert succumbed to the obvious pitfall and gave up on his studies to get his next high. He met so many people (and so many women) who were more than ready to commiserate about the tension and struggle of being a law student, all for their own reasons. Naturally, Robert's grades fell off and he encountered a new fear that no high could take enough of the edge off: he was, at this rate, going to fail. It was the sort of slap in the face that could have gotten his life back together, got him to tone down his substance use to a responsible level, actually do his homework and study, learn his chosen craft and profession, and do well in life. Instead, he met Maya. He never learned her last name, only her whispered enticements. There was a way, she told him, a way to have it all. To get his grades back without the struggle, the effort, the sacrifice of doing it sober. At least, that's what he heard. What she actually offered was a way to focus, to let go of his stress and distractions and devote himself to a single task. She failed to mention this had nothing to do with his schooling. Robert, feeling like an angel had offered him salvation from a room with no exits, accepts her offer.

Which brings us back to the Garden of Ecstatic Cheer. Robert has had a long stay here working for the Coronet. Part of him still wonders why anyone would ever willingly name themselves after an annoying teeny trumpet, but such is the nature of the Fey, he supposes. His tasks have been plentiful, serving both the master and the other inhabitants of the Garden who outrank him. He fit naturally into the role, falling back into his old bad habits of putting others before himself until he didn't even realize it anymore. He was one of the special residents who didn't just trade favors but was genuinely helpful. He struggled at first with the task of not grabbing at every pleasure waiting in easy reach, learning the hard way to only accept a gift freely given. He found an older concubine who showed him the secret art of making deals in the Garden that bind enough without removing that ever-important aspect of mutual gift-giving. Without even noticing, he had spent countless days reveling in the delights, quailing at the horrors, and losing himself to the dance of the Garden. Without trying, he accumulated a small fortune in goodwill, the only currency of any value. Until one day he met a new arrival wearing a school uniform. It wasn't one he recognized, but it made him remember school as a concept. Which reminded him of where he came from, and why everything around him was so wrong. He... he didn't want to, but... he knew he needed to go back.

---------------------------

It's not so hard, just... just walk to the edge, vanish into the Hedge. That's all there is to it!

But I knew that was definitely not all there was to it. Regardless, I strode past a pretty cake (off-limits) and a collection of succulent fruit (I could take 1/3 of them) and helloooo rabbit-eared girl, yes I would enjoy another bout of- No! FOCUS!

I'd tried planning for weeks. I think it was weeks? Anyways it hasn't been working. Can't keep the ideas with me long enough. Time to just... man up and do it. I'm leaving. Going home. Nobody can stop me. I got a few things with me, at least. Mostly food. Hope it's enough.

A last deep breath, and I reach the furthest point in the Garden I've ever explored. I don't think it's actually near the edge of the Domain. I've always stayed near the heart of things... Well, no more stalling. I just gotta... keep walking.

No mechanics here, just trying to exit the bounds of the Domain by foot travel. Can't wait to see what obstacle I'll face. My evil pun half is betting on a Hedge maze

[PsyBomb]

Absolute terror grips Will’s heart as the Doorkeeper holds the spike out. An attack seemed imminent, until it became obvious that he wasn’t attempting to thrust it through the leaden weight in his chest. There seemed but one way to pay this price.

Nothing has been quite as it seemed, here. The unwary trapped by debts, the gift coming with severe strings, even debts recalled at times inopportune. I cannot let fear rule me. Not now. Not so close to freedom. The time is now.

Will reached out with his right hand and, for good or ill, grabbed the spike.

[Aergoth]

@Psybomb
Will grips the spike, the Gatekeeper reliquishes his grip, the heavy bronze of the spike is cool against the skin of Will's hand. The Gatekeeper intones a single word, voice a rasping inhuman whisper in the silence of the room.
"Payment." He taps one clawed finger against the palm of his other hand, pressing hard, hard enough that he should be bleeding. But he doesn't.

@Domochevsky
Aspects
A Moonlit Hunt
Contested Kill

The Feathered Forest is filled with movement. The Lady rides this day, and the sun is swift in setting, for she only rides under the light of the moon. The baying of her hounds can be heard from the deep heart of the Forest where she keeps her court. Prey scurries through the roots of the forest, rabbits and foxes and other smaller captives ducking for cover, for hiding places hopefully out of the way. Larger examples, bear-like, or bearing antlers are already trying to get to the furthest points from where the hunt will begin.

In the distance, some of the Lady's birds are cawing, the familiar sound of the crows at feast. The body will be stripped soon, all of the denizens of the forest know what the sound of the ravens means. Easy food.

The site of the kill, one of those Hounds whose kin are even now slavering for the hunt bears bitemarks from several of its fellows, and the marks of the Lady's lash, its teeth still barred in defiance. Birds circle loosely overhead, and roost in the trees greedily enjoying the choice scraps they've been able to get from the body, which is still relatively intact. Two other changelings have arrived before Greifenwald, and are pacing back and forth warily. One, a broad shouldered woman with a ruff of thick black and white striped fur around her neck is growling at the other, a slight cat-eyed fellow who glances nervously back and forth at the dead Hound's body.


Badger
Hungry Hunterheart
Fair(+2): Physique
Average (+1) Fight, Notice

Stress
[1]

Bobcat
Nervous Runnerswift
Fair (+2): Athletics
Average (+1), Notice, Stealth

Stress
[1]



@Charidan
Aspects
The Garden seems infinite, the hedgerows and landscape block the horizon and seem to twist back towards the Coronet's palace, the statuary seems to be watching, and pointing in an accusatory fashion the further Robert walks. Where at first the scantily-clad marble figures formed amorous or at least coy tableaux atop the hedges. The expressions turn from hedonistic smiles and looks of enjoyment, to disgust, fear and anger.
The state of the garden also grows less tame, hedges growing thicker and the path claustrophobic, weeds sprouting from the grounds, trees bearing twisted, blemished fruits.

And all at once, Robert is walking back towards the Garden's center. The sun which had been on his left was now on his right. A small parkette opens up where previously he could have sworn there was nothing but more weed-choked, narrow pathway. It's a pretty thing, stone benches, a gently flowing fountain and a group of changelings enjoying something in a crystal decanter while one of the garden staff attempts to work around them, despite their calls to join them in drinking (not allowed, which all of them know well) frustration obvious on his face. One of them is drawing fragrant smoke through the hose of an elaborate gilded hookah. The fountain's topper appears to be another changeling, marble-skinned and posed.

[Domochevsky]

The Greifenwald kept between the roots of the giant trees, creeping (Crawling? Gliding a little?) across deep gashes in the forest floor, where trees had uprooted themselves to lumber away and settle down again somewhere else in the forest. They moved along the edge of the clearing from shadow to shadow, from trunk to bush to hidey hole, eyes (How many? Didn't matter.) on the body. Which of those organs would hold the Willful Defiance...? It was still in there somewhere. They needed time.

Focus. Their eyes wandered to the two figures stalking the clearing. By reflex, profession, or plain a desire to find a way in they focused on both of them in turn. "Tell me, what ails ye...?" someone (Greifenwald?) whispered to themselves in often repeated words when tending to Her subjects in a voice that had all its edges and recognizable markings over time replaced. Did they used to mean something? They couldn't remember. The new Greifenwald would remember.

Soon.

Trying to gain an advantage via Empathy +0 check. Rooled -1. Whelp. Chosing to succeed, since there isn't a lot gonna happen otherwise.

[PsyBomb]

This... is not the debt I'd prefer to have.

"I think I understand," Will says aloud. He raises the suddenly-heavy spike in front of his face, looking at it. The metal gleams, the point seeming malevolent all its own. He raises his left hand to the doorkeeper's shoulder, giving what comfort he can. "You have served, Doorkeeper. For how long I cannot say, but you have done it well or the Keeper would not still have you here. Thank you for the parlay."

Without a further word, Will grips the man's shoulder and drives the spike straight through his heart. The life-debt has been paid, his soul freed, his karma to be carried back to the Iron Lands.

[Aergoth]

@Domochevsky

Rolling Empathy at +0 against passive opposition of +1, dice rolled -1, Success at Cost.


Concealed in the exposed roots of one of the megafloral trees, Greifenwald is startled by the loud hooting of the Lady's owls from immediately above the chosen hiding place The bird is enormous, easily man-sized, and objects to someone using the space underneath its perch to hide. It scratches and nips at Griefenwald, driving them into the clearing.

The nervous, cat-like Beast turns and shouts at Greifenwald! "Mine! You can't have it!" He leans jealously over the corpse of the Hound, attempting to cover it with his lean frame.

The Badger-like woman lunges for the other Beast, wide striking blows with vicious, powerful clawed hands that knock him sprawling into the dirt when they connect, the cat manages to roll with the blow, but is momentarily stunned by the force of the attack.

It's fairly simple to understand that the two of them, fodder for the Hunt if they do not settle their dispute, are quarreling over posession of the meat of the dead Hound, though it is doubtful the catlike fellow would be able to make off with much of the bulky hunter.


The Badger rolls Fight to Attack at +1, total roll of +2. The Wildcat rolls Athletics to Defend at +2, total roll +2. Tie. No Damage. Badger gains a Boost.

Domochevsky had a bad roll trying to figure out what was going on with the pair of beasts. It's less interesting to fail outright (since we don't learn anything) so instead the mechanic of Success at Cost exists to keep the story moving and inject drama. Success at Cost doesn't mean that your character screwed up, since Fate characters are assumed to be competent (though it is always an option) but that something has thrown a wrench into the situation. This could be as simple as gaining a consequence or unneccessary stress in the lead-up to a confrontation, a narrative twist or hitch in your plan like needing to get information from someone who dislikes you, or an enemy gaining a momentary advantage.

The NPCs meanwhile had a brief exchange in an attempt to harm one of them. The defending party took no damage, but the attacker gains a momentary adventage in the form of a Boost, as a sort of consolation prize that might help their next attempt to attack.


@PsyBomb

The spike is sharp enough and Will's arm purposeful enough to pierce tired bone and lodge itself in the Gatekeeper's withered heart. It pumps for a moment, a trickle of blood, far too little for a killing blow like that, spills onto the ground as the Gatekeeper's stretched and emaciated form lands with a crackling thud. The blood seems to be drawn into the dusty floor, flowing without reason towards the far wall where the door to the Hedge is suddenly outlined in one of the ornamental arabesques, the red glow of the Gatekeeper's blood outlining the exit.

The Gatekeeper has a look of stunned surprise on his face when Will retreives the spike.

[avianMeltdown]

The Vivid Canvas has layers. On the surface, Canvas, the Seamstress maintains a world of implausible colors and eternal afternoon sunshine. Beneath this is Underbelly, where the work of maintaining the Canvas never ends. The distance is bridged by the way you look at them.
The Keeper of this place is the Seamstress, a fifteen foot tall fever dream with teeth of interlocking needles and hair that swirls like gasoline rainbows on water. Her favorites stay on Canvas, pleading and jockeying and backstabbing their fellow captives for her attention. Her workers and the rest not beautiful enough for Canvas tend to her creations and craft her supplies in Underbelly.

Parsley, a man once called Gideon Talley, flicks between the two places with relative ease. His position as one of the Seamstress’ Artists requires attention to detail, and so he has trained his eyes to track progress through complex and roughly-translated patterns, follow the shaping of a garment in four dimensions, see the patches of Underbelly bleeding through the divide before the Seamstress has a chance to notice. Working in tandem with Shadow, he can weave a length of Her hair through a Fairest’s skin and bind the beauty to the biological mess underneath.

He’s never seen Shadow. The best surgeon in this place is only ever an impression in his peripheries. He knows they’re real. Nothing fake could stitch him back together after those sharp-fingered things in the corner got to him. (He knows now not look in the corners. The things in the corners do not want to be seen.) Three lines of neat, unembellished stitches stretch from pelvis to collarbone. The rest of his thread are every color under the fake scribble sun. He’s got more stitches than anyone else here by now. He was not always Her Artist.

He was not always short, either, but mistakes get made when one practices their craft. This is true whether one is mortal or changeling or True Fae, and really, he should be grateful the Seamstress cut the rest of him up to keep his proportions correct. A Keeper less merciful wouldn’t have bothered, doesn’t he know.

Shadow, the silent surgeon, is planning something. Parsley doesn’t know what, but he knows deviations from a pattern when he sees them. Shadow’s been his only real companion for years. He worries about what their recent behavior means for him. He’s resolved to follow them today.

[Domochevsky]

"I̦̺̣̼̰͉̰ͨ͐̆̏͛ ͖̝͔͕͕̑̅ͤͦḋ̻̟̥͖͕ͣͣ͑ͮ̈ọ̣̪̻ͣ̑̈́̒ͅn̝̳̩̞̣͑'͍̈ͯ̌ͨ̎̚ t̖ͮ ̫͕͋w̹͉̲̝̪̝ͬ̔ͦ͆͑a͕̪n̖̦͐̀t̼̥̼̏̏̂̑ͨ ̝͕i̊͂ͫț̹̱̮͚̮̄!̳̝͎̻͇͕͌ͅ" the wyrd spilled screeching out of their face where a mouth typically sits.

Focus. Use words.

Their attention was on the bobcat, on the ground in front of them. Greifenwald's eyes (more tendrils right now, as fragile and ephemeral as rays of light) were piercing through the beast's frame, digging underneath their skin. "You." Greifenwald took a step (Strode? Movement was involved. Maybe bipedal.) forward.

"The Willful Defiance. It is mine. Nothing else. MOVE!" their attention was already glued to the dead body, trying to identify the organ.

Where was it...?! Focus!

Invoking Lunatic's Knowing Glance for 1 Glamour and Oddbody for one more, then using the result for an all-encompassing Intimidation attempt. If we get that far in one go afterwards the body gets a Medicine check to identify what needs to be gotten. >_>

[PsyBomb]

The look of shock on the Doorkeeper’s face wrenches what is left of Will’s heart. “Your watch is completed, your debts paid. I have spent myself to buy you this peace, and take upon myself the burdens of guilt you once carried.”

Step. Step. Step. Will, now called the Wisp, takes his staccato paces to the blood-lined door. The Gate, the Threshold that marks the outer limits of this place, the beginnings of the wild and untamed paths home. The shocked guard watches on.

“I have negotiated in good faith and paid fair price. Our transaction complete, I receive that which is now mine. My freedom, the means to cross the Threshold. I carry with me all that which once I was owed, and have paid all that I once owed to others. My own balances squared, I leave this place.”

Will stops one step short. Terror gnaws at him. So much damage had been done, so many deals conducted to unfair advantage, so many dead this day. If there is any justice in this world, if there is any god or force that cares for the actions of those upon the Earth and beyond it, my actions this day have damned me. I will spend the rest of my existence paying back the balance I have accrued upon Karma’s scales. May I manage to make this right before the Reaper takes.

Without looking back, Will the Wisp steps across the Threshold.

[Aergoth]

@avianMeltdown

Aspects
Claustrophobic Twisted Tunnels
Not Always What They Seem

Shadow has been busy. The Underbelly is a cranking mass of moving, churning parts, thrumming pipes that occasionally drip with something red and viscous. The ones who displease the Seamstress, the ones who manage to elude her or only escape so far inevitably make it down here, with those who weren't good enough for the brightly lit nightmare the Seamstress oversaw directly. Most of them wound up mangled by the gears, poisoned by the noxious air in the deeper parts of the Underbelly. The rest she worked on, and the ones who injured themselves above. She was less than they were. Less memorable, less substantial, less... real.
It had been helpful, but it meant that finding someone to collaborate with was difficult even without the added problem of snitches.

Massive looms and wheels and cotton gins, run day and night, powered by hand as often as not, changelings running in enormous wheels, or cranking the gins by hand until they bleed. There's always a shortage of workers, always another, lower position to sink to. The laundries and their enormous, boiling vats and hunry, mangling wringers. All to support the illusion on the surface.

The little hatch behind the wall, one of the ones supposed to be used for deliveries is impossible for the pretty things that occupy most of the Canvas. The ladder is a suggestion, narrow ledges of brick made slick by the humid steam pipes. Parsley is smaller than most of them, but it's a tight fit, Shadow is standing at the bottom, thick leather apron that makes her look like a butcher more than anything else. It has unpleasant stains on it. She gestures down the hallway, steam hissing through the pipes as they carry on through the confines of the Underbelly.

Eventually, they get to a door, a cartoonishly large padlock on it. Shadow taps on it expectantly, and then waves Parsley towards it.

[Slartibartfast]

Did I get... turned around? No, I haven't been here before exactly but... the sun? Did I walk around the entire planet? I don't think planets are supposed to be that small. Damn, of course it's not that easy. Gotta remember how I came here. Maya. No, that's no help. I'm about to walk past the statue, but... well when you don't know, ask. I approach the merrymakers at the table, careful not to breathe in the smoke. This guy is hopefully a little more 'free-spirited' at the moment.

"Hi there! Um, excuse me for bothering you but... you wouldn't happen to know where the edge of the Garden is? Some kind of, er, gate or something? I have something I need to take there, it's important."

Yeah, me. And I gotta take me to the other side. I'm going home. Home. Stupid, keep it together Robert! Eye contact, smile! Good boy.

Tagging All work and no play on a Deceive angle to get the hookah smoker to think I'm (indirectly) running an errand for the Coronet. Total of 3. 2/3 fate points remaining.

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley abandons his efforts to be stealthy once Shadow’s intent to be followed becomes clear to him.

This is so much deeper into Underbelly than he would normally go. He’d carved out a place as Her Artist to stay out. Also to stay not-dead, but that’s the same thing as far as he’s concerned. His estimation of the danger hasn’t improved since then. He can guess what the lower denizens think of the ones close to Canvas.

Shadow leads him through noisy, grimy tunnels Parsley really doesn’t want to inspect too closely. He resists the urge to let his fear unfocus his eyes, to let the grime and darkness melt away from him. He has to know what’s happening. Even if some awful red crap is on his sweater now, he’ll keep shimmying through these tunnels after the indistinct form to their unknown goal. What could go wrong.

Parsley approaches Shadow at the lock, rubbing his backside where he’d fallen from the “ladder.” He can’t exactly give them a look, but he glares at the lock and hopes they get the picture. He produces a crochet hook and a single knitting needle from… somewhere and sets about his burglary. “Hell’s this about?” he mutters.

Burglary roll is (b++-)+1=2.

[Aergoth]

@Charidan
Overcome with Deceive of +3 vs. Passive Opposition of +2. Success
"It's boring over there, better you than me." One of the passel of intoxicated changelings blows smoke rings at Robert, laughing as he does. "I've never been though, guess you're out of luck." As the partygoers return to their merriment the hedge-trimming worker waves Robert over furtively.

He whispers to Robert, still trimming the hedge, can't be idle there's always something to do, someone to amuse. "The hedges move. But the flowers don't. You want to follow the pink ones that climb." The hedge-trimmer moves on down the hedge, murmuring "and stay away from the primroses..." before pretending very carefully and pointedly that Robert doesn't exist.

Sure enough, there is a column at the edge of the park with a twisting vine bursting with pink and white flowers, blade-like leaves sunning in the afternoon light. From the pillar it's easy to spot another pink flower peeking through the structure of the hedgerow. Following the flowers, Robert steps over the edge of the parkette, past the decorative border of primroses that have colonized the raised edge by the path, red and purple, never white. There are never any white flowers in the Garden.

The garden path seems to fork fractally, always presenting more options, curving in a wild attempt to turn Robert back on himself. Finally, a large circular clearing filled with statues and topiary in a variety of shapes and poses. Wild lions, enormous dragons and other powerful beasts sculpted from the green leaves and branches of yew, flowers and mosses provide colour and additional shape to the enormous plant sculptures.

The statues, changelings one and all are frozen in moments of either pain, abject terror or ecstatic pleasure arranged around a long stone table that bisects the clearing. At the opposite end, a wicker gate, overgrown with massive sheets of ivy obscuring the other side and holding closed.


Roll notice.


@avianMeltdown

Overcome with Burglary of +2 vs. Passive Opposition of +2 Success At Minor Cost. Parsley is now Bleeding
The lock responds poorly to one of Parsley's motions with the crochet hook, and a section snaps down at his fingers, drawing blood and trapping them in place until another careful motion with the hook gives a satisifying click. The lock springs open, almost falling to the floor before nimble Shadow catches it. She places it carefully on the floor, and in answer to the question, scratches "OUT ->" in the direction of the now open door.

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley hurriedly rolls the hem of his sweater around his bloodied fingers and squeezes, hissing through pointed teeth all the while. His breath catches when he reads Shadow's message. A series of expressions crosses his craggy face.

“Out, as in-” he starts, but abruptly forgets the English language and resorts to expansively gesturing towards the door. “Out?” he croaks. This is a mistake. He shouldn't be here. He should turn around and hope no one noticed his absence. Except he can't because he is, literally, red handed. He glances over his shoulder, for all that could tell him.

Aw, hell. “Lead the way.”

[Aergoth]

@Domochevsky
Moon responds to the offering of Glamour with characteristic insight into maladies of the mind.
"Look! See how they quail! How she tenses and stops when the hounds bay? See how he pretends death instead of running? Ah, there are the bitemarks, wounds on the flesh deep enough to scar the soul. They've been brushed by the Lady's Hunt, and it haunts their minds still."


Badger
Hungry Hunterheart
Terrified of the Hunt
Fair(+2): Physique
Average (+1) Fight, Notice

Stress
[1]

Bobcat
Nervous Runnerswift
Terrified of the Hunt
Fair (+2): Athletics
Average (+1), Notice, Stealth

Stress
[1]


Domo has used the Create an Advantage action(backed by one of his Contracts) to learn that both the Beasts are Terrified of the Hunt. He has two free invokes to split between those aspects from the success. You can put one on either, two on one, however you want to go about it. You will not have to pay a Fate point to invoke an aspect with a free invoke on it.


@Charidan

Robert rolls Notice at +2 for a total of 4.
The Topiary Lion rolls Stealth at +1 for a total of -1.
The Lion fails, Robert gains a Boost in the upcoming contest.


Robert is apparently quite wary of the scene in front of him, and notices one of the topiary lions is a little more mobile than others, as it creeps from grassy plinth. Upon noticing Robert has noticed its attempt to take him in stealth the lion roars soundlessly and begins giving chase.


But, you say, Robert succeeded by a whole 5 that's Success with Style, right? In this case, Robert was rolling Active Opposition, contesting another roll with one of his own, and success with style doesn't matter here. Robert succeed in no-selling the Lion, and that's getting him a bit of an edge, since the distance between them in the chase is going to be greater than if Robert had been oblivious.

We're starting a Contest here, representing the Topiary Lion attempting to catch (and presumably do horrible things to) Robert. Contests use a victories mechanic, with success providing a victory, and success with style providing two. As the chased party, Robert is trying to escape, and begins with 3 victories, with a further 3 required to escape successfully. The Lion needs to match the number of victories Robert has in order to catch him and end the Contest that the chase represents (where we would then resolve this with some form of Conflict.)


@avianMeltdown
Shadow taps the message again, nodding at Parsley's stammered conclusions, and pushes the door open. It is heavy and takes both of them to make it move enough to admit even Shadow's narrow frame, let alone a changeling of Parsley's dimensions. The heat on the other side of the door is sweltering, humidity making the pipes drip, occasionally clouds of steam rising through grates in the floor, or hissing where a drip of cool liquid hits a hot pipe. The telltale beating of the terrible heart of the underbelly, its churning machines and toiling workers, is louder here, occasional glimpses through a gap in the pipe show Parsley the dim reality of the materials he had worked in the sun of Canvas.

The humidity and heat were a physical weight to deal with as Shadow and Parsley descended further into the Underbelly. Down another crude ladder, into something dark and splashing, below the work floor now. The oppressive heat makes breathing difficult, the smell of lye soap and effluence rising from the floor in equal measure. It's dark, and hard to see, almost impossible to make out Shadow.


The Vivid Canvas
Exhausting Heat
A Churning Engine of Misery
Not Always What It Seems
Approaches
Good (+3): Steam
Fair (+2): Machinery, Filth
Poor (-1): Movement
Terrible (-2): Intelligence



If we want to, we can express anything as a character with aspects of its own. In this case, the Vivid Canvas has aspects and rather than skills it has general approaches that it rolls, things that it is good and bad.
The Vivid Canvas actively attempts to disuade escaping changelings by making points of egress uncomfortable and dangerous to reach, expecting most of them to turn back upon reaching an obstacle they are unwilling or incapable of confronting, but only has so many tools at its disposal. It is a Place, first and foremost, and has to obey certain rules. It has the pipes annd machinery which it can manipulate, but it's not very good at moving obstacles into place, let alone doing so quickly, and it's a place, not a person and doesn't think the same way.

[Slartibartfast]

I get the feeling this topiary ain't open to barter. Time to leg it.

Robert immediately doubles back and ducks out of sight behind a hedge, grabbing the closest thing to hand and chucking it away, hoping to make the maximum of crashing and rustling. With any luck, the plant-lion will think he bolted straight back the way he came, at least long enough to get some more distance between them in a forward direction. Using the hedge as cover as best he can, Robert advances around the topiary's clearing, hoping to pick the flower-trail back up and continue on his path. Albeit perhaps at an accelerated and dangerous pace.

Deception Create an Advantage (Misdirection), tagging the boost for free. (b+-+)+3+2 for a total of 6.

For the chase, stealth tagging the free invoke on Misdirection (b--+)+1+2 = 2.

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley opens his mouth to whisper for Shadow - where the hell are they? - and instead gags on the stench of the place. It's all so much, the heat, the stink, the...

The… materials. He’d seen glimpses. He’d ignored them. What else was he to do? What else was he to do when yarn turned organic in his blood-stickied hands, when the quiet music was screaming, when it was all gone again in an instant? When his reality blurred, should he have gone to the world of a more overt horror? He grabs at his sweater with his uninjured hand, expecting to feel it, too, has transformed, and he finds the fabric unchanged. Is this place real? Is Canvas?

Cripes. Parsley blinks sweat from his eyes and reaches out his hand. “Where are you?” he gasps.

Will roll is (++b-)+3=4.

[Domochevsky]

They took another step forward. Gnashing teeth and the heads and claws of innumerable hounds burst forth from Greifenwald's grotesque body, howling in otherworldly horror into the night. Tonight was the night of the hunt. The hounds were hungry. Greifenwald had no mind for it, nor any interest. Shadowy slobber was thrown around the clearing as the hounds futilely struggled to escape their barely held together shape. Countless hungry eyes were darting all around the clearing, eventually falling on the two Beasts. Their many maws opened.

Focus. There were more important things right now. So much more important.

Claws were striking the ground, snouts sniffing the air. A show of the hunter. Greifenwald's attention was all on the dead body.

Perusing Oddbody for 1 Glamour (reducing me to 3/5), to play on Terrified of the Hunt to... well, terrify them into leaving me alone enough to deal with the body.

[Aergoth]

@Charidan
Robert's exchange is complete, 4/6 victories. Normally the lion would provide active opposition here, but being Misdirected it's not in a position to do so. Technically what we just did was two turns during which the lion didn't quite get to act. It acts now while Robert makes for the gate, attempting to locate its quarry again. Since Robert isn't still actively trying to misdirect it's rolling Overcome against passive opposition. Notice roll at +2 is a tie, but again in absence of serious opposition, the lion suceeds. It is no longer Misdirected. The lion rolls athletics to try to make up in speed what it lacks in precision, gaining 1/4 victories with an athletics of +3 vs. stealth of +2.

Topiary Lion
Predatory Leafy Guardian
Good +3: Athletics
Fair +2: Fight
Average +1: Notice, Stealth

The lion paces about the region where Robert threw the stone (chillingly, a section of broken statue, a hand or foot) off into the bushes, searching and pawing a moment before realizing the ruse and charging back towards the gate, hoping to cut off the intruder before it could reach the gate. The lion bursts by the crouching changeling, not realizing his location but now much closer than it had been.


@Domochevsky
I'm ruling you'll succeed here, but wouldn't it be a shame if the noises made when you shapeshifted and spooked those two attracted the attention of A Moonlit Hunt?
The grotesque display and its accompanying chorus of vicious howls and snarls frighten the two Beasts from the clearing. They scatter into the underbrush, conflict forgotten in favor of surviving until another day, leaving the body of the former Hound relatively unmolested.

I'm offering Domo a compel, based on the A Moonlit Hunt aspect. If Domo accepts, he gets a Fate point. If Domo doesn't want the complication, he can choose to refuse the compel at the cost of a Fate point of his own.


@avianMeltdown
Parsley's hand brushes something thin and skittering before Shadow's slender fingers grip his own and he is dragged through the tunnel. She lifts her finger to her lips, and points down the hallway to where a group of changelings is trudging through the murky water of a dimly lit intersection ahead. Another rail thin Wizened drags the body of one last changeling as the procession moves ahead.

The procession is noisy, feet dragging from exhaustion, dim sobs or moans, but Shadow doesn't follow them. There's a smaller side passage they avoid, filled with gnashing machinery, slender pipes and a narrow brick catwalk. Another locked door rests at the end. The heat is still opressive, but the churn of the machinery creates some motion to the air. The bricks are slick with condensation. Shadow points to the lock, and mimes picking it again, and then to the floor, wobbling her hand momentarily.


The lock will require another burglary roll to overcome, but reaching it could be a problem.

[Slartibartfast]

"Gyaaah!" This thing is so much bigger from close up! Robert stands up from his crouch and just runs.

Athletics (+--+)+0 = 0.

[Domochevsky]

Accepting A Moonlit Hunt. Gaining 1 FATE point. Lesse where this madness goes.

They barely registered the two beasts' hasty escape. The mad hounds still writhing from their body snapped at the air and sniffed the dead body Greifenwald was now hunching over.

Focus. Where was it...

Medicine check to identify and remove the organ "containing" the Willful Defiance. (b-bb)+4 = 3

[avianMeltdown]

The floor is wet bricks, the one wall is also wet bricks, and the other wall is vicious, moving metal. Parsley tests the bricks with his toe, and they’re slippery. There is no way he’s walking across that. He crawls like a baby to the other side, where he clambors to his feet and inspects the lock. Here goes nothin’.

Burglary roll is (+b++)+1 = 4.

[Aergoth]

@Charidan
Athletics at +3 vs. +0, success with style. 3/4 Victories.
The lion is still a ways off from Robert, but two legs are not faster than four, and the ground eating lope of the hedgecat quickly closes the gap, its paws slash through the air, threatening to grab the changeling, but to no avail. The cat sprawls into a momentary heap as it overestimates the distance leaping over Robert, before beginning to right itself and return to the chase.


@Domochevsky
Success, but this could have been a no roll needed situation, but instead we're going to treat it as one where the roll was made to gain some sort of advantage, especially given the compel you just accepted. Remember the format of actions in Fate. Decide what you want to do, figure out the mechanics, determine if a roll needs to be made and lastly, do the thing. Since simply describing the action is a mechanic in Fate and dice rolls only occur when there's at least two interesting outcomes to the roll. If failure causes the story to lose momentum or miss a beat, it's generally a bad idea to roll.
The implanted organ is still fresh, brimming with vitality and glamour despite the death of its owner. The deceased hound's body is cooling quickly, the scent dispersing but opening it further will only have attracted more scavengers... or worse-

The crack of branches and the thunderous footfalls mean other Hounds and the Lady's Hunters are swift approaching, drawn by the scent of the body, the commotion or the sound of what they thought were fellow members of the Hunt, it doesn't matter. Greifenwald is on the verge of become prey to the Hunt, and that leaves few enough options.


@avianMeltdown
Having learned his lesson from the previous lock and showing an overabundance of caution, Parsley manages to open the lock in record time. Shadow emulates Parsley's trek across the slick floor of the tunnel, the churning mechanical thrum of the Underbelly's terrible mechanical heart is enough to cover the horrible, rasping shriek of the door as the two pull it open, its weight or disrepair forcing them to cooperate to make it budge.

The air on the other side is stale and foul. The tunnel leads deeper into the center of the Underbelly, rusted and terrible, eventually emerging as a bridge with thin, unreliable looking railings to either side. Glimpses of creatures, changelings perhaps, labouring to keep the awful engines here running are infrequent, but chilling. Shadow stops for a moment, transfixed by the sight of one of the trudging changelings from earlier falling, or perhaps throwing themself, into the clanking gears with an awful shriek as the rest of the processsion continues to march onwards.

Ahead, the walkway is obscured by machinery from a layer above, each a plodding, stamping rhythm of its own that doesn't ever quite sync with its neighbours. The railing is gone, the mechanicals almost scrape the bridge floor. They're slow, but the force behind them is nothing to sniff at.

Beyond, bridge enters another tunnel, but there is a bright, almost blinding light flooding the other end.

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley is well over his earlier hesitance. He doesn’t stop to watch the changeling fall, barely pauses to utter a curt “come on” to Shadow, but the shriek reverberates down his spine and settles in his gut as nausea. Out. He’s getting out. He’ll suffer the stench, the despair, the heat, whatever he has to do. One way or another, he’s getting out.

The pattern to the machine’s movements are hard to follow, but Parsley is confident. Still, images of jostling or being jostled by Shadow under the heavy metal invade his mind. “Best if we don’t get in each other’s way,” he whispers. “I’ll go first, count to twenty before you follow.”

The light beyond the slow, grinding machines brings Canvas back to mind. Dismissing this, he steels himself and charges into the machines.

[Slartibartfast]

Robert dives to the ground as his body is overwhelmed with shadow, skidding to a halt just behind the lion's tail. His legs scrambling ineffectually across the dirt and kicking up topsoil, he soon gets back on his feet and tries to gain some distance again. Looking over his shoulder at his pursuer, Robert almost runs headfirst into some sort of multilayer cake - wait, actually are those stacked pies? How is anyone supposed to eat that? Not bothering with the logistics, he yanks at the stand and topples the dessert of ambiguous heritage to cover his path. With any luck, the lion will trip on it.

Tagging Temptation at Every Turn for +2 to Create Advantage (+bbb) + 2 = 3.

Remaining Fate Points 1/3

[Aergoth]

@Charidan

The murderous lion stumbles as one of its paws catches in the rack of deserts. It rolls, crushing the rack and smearing the sweet treats everywhere.


The lion is temporarily stalled by the attempt. Give me another overcome roll to try and make for the exit!

[Slartibartfast]

Perfect! With the lion sprawled on the ground...

Robert dives through a bush and skids behind a statue. Checking briefly to make sure this statue doesn't feel like moving around, he mimics its pose and hugs close to its silhouette. Maybe however that lion "sees" won't handle this well.

Escaping with stealth. Free invoke of the lion's stall. (-bbb) + 1 + 2 = 2.

[Domochevsky]

I'm spending a FATE point to tag Contested Kill to attract Something Else for the Moonlit Hunt to deal with here.
That leaves me with 1 FATE point.

Greifenwald stashed the organ inbetween the many hound heads and eyes in their body; the last ingredient among what was needed. Their eyes darted from the dead body to the edges of the clearing. The Hunt was nearing. They had to leave. To anywhere else but here. Time was of the essence.

They looked back to the dead body. Of course. Attraction. The many maws of Greifenwald's body ripped into the corpse, carelessly splaying its bloody components into every direction! Then they jumped up and ran. Away from here. Anywhere else. Time was of the essence.

Focus.

[Aergoth]

@avianMeltdown

Aspects
Claustrophobic Twisted Tunnels
Not Always What They Seem

The gears and pistons of the Underbelly's churning guts are a hellish cacophony, a far cry from the subtle, pleasant noises (and sometimes not so pleasant) of Canvas. Parsley weaves and bobs through the mechanisms, tripping and rolling in a frenetic, almost dance-like line of motion that almost brings him to the far side without incident. Shadow seemed to be close behind at the outset of the attack on this particular obstacle, but there's no time to look back and make sure she's okay.

Offering a compel. It'd be a shame if Parsley's Bleeding Hand posed him some trouble just at the last moment, wouldn't it?

@Charidan

Aspects
All Work And No Play
Temptation At Every Turn
Rack of Shame (on the Lion)


Topiary Lion
Predatory Leafy Guardian
Rack of Shame*
Good +3: Athletics
Fair +2: Fight
Average +1: Notice, Stealth



The lion rolls to escape from the pie rack. +1 against a difficulty of +2, fail. It's funnier and more interesting to have this thing stuck in the pie rack.
The lion does however roll successfully to oppose hiding behind the statue. No successes. Robert 4/6, Lion 3/4. We've got a close race!


The Lion is comical, the smeared stains of cream and berries and assorted sugary confections waft staining its leafy mane purple and yellow and white, like a field of petunias. The wicker rack is still wedged firmly around the creature's neck, obstructing its front paws and forcing it to go slowly. This unfortunately causes it to almost trip over (followed by actually tripping as it atttempts to lunge and encounters the statue) Robert.

@Domochevsky

Aspects
A Moonlit Hunt
Contested Kill
Shapheshifting (on Greifenwald)

The gore flies this way and that, painting more of the clearing with ichor. This will surely attract some of the more desperate scavengers of the Forest into the path of the Hunt, buying Greifenwald time. Retreating to what passed for a safe distance (as though anywhere was truly safe when the Lady's Hunt rode the Forest by night) revealed one of the common fabrications of the forest. Someone had carefully woven a section of plantlife, enticing it to grow around and over an empty space in the center of the bushes and ferns here. A poor concealment, but often the most anyone could hope for to sleep in here at ground level. Screams fill the night air, the Hunt has found suitable quarry for some of their number.

[Slartibartfast]

Robert tumbles to the ground, wiping some sort of berry sauce off his cheek from the lion's near-miss. Grabbing onto the statue's (impressive) abs, he hurls himself forward off the statue's pedestal and trips no less than twice over the flat ground, barely keeping his feet (although not remaining upright). He shouts back, "Hey how about a deal, you stop running at me and I'll never show up here again, huh?" Not waiting for a response, Robert dashes around a corner and ducks under a flock of birds heading in the opposite direction. What they're doing here, he may never know. Not bothering to look back, he puts on a burst of speed and dives into a hedge.

Spending my last fate point on some combination of All Work and No Play with Rack of Shame to summon a janitorial flock of birds to waylay the topiary lion by insistently cleaning it.

Stealth for hiding in the hedge (b---)+1 = -2. Well, it was nice knowing you Robert.

[avianMeltdown]

Compel accepted, new fate point total is 4.

The slow-moving mechanisms are deceptively difficult to avoid. None of them in rhythm with the others, none moving in quite the same ways, and no spaces in between them to rest.

[Domochevsky]

The Greifenwald clambered into the hiding place between the bushes and hunkered down. A rare sense of excitement crawled through their form. A grand change in design was at hand.

Focus.

Their hands began pulling parts, components and concepts out of their dripping body. The beast heads struggled as they were pulled back in, one after another until only the eyes remained. They stared intently at the gathered pieces. Memories of map fragments of the path back home. The will to return. Enough pieces to form a body that didn't need the Sun. The Sun. The Sun.

Focus.

A new Greifenwald needed to be made. Assembly began. Time passed. A body was built and given life. A masterwork of stolen pieces. The remaining hollow shell of the Greifenwald stared down on their work. Shaking tendrils held it vaguely upright. Greifenwald looked back at it. Eyes met for a brief moment. He rose to perform the last bit of surgery on their fading shell. Willpower and an awakened mind flowed through their newly made veins.

The last bits of Greifenwald decayed in a puddle on the forest floor. Dead eyes oozed inbetween leaves, out of sight. Only Greifenwald remained. They-

They? He.

He knew what to do. Greifenwald started moving into the night of the forest. Away from the hunt, towards the path back home. Past gnarled trees, over vines crawling across the forest's floor, through thick bushes of leaves that obscured the vision, until his feet hit a simple dirt path. He knew where to go. His stride turned into a run. The hoarse laughter of crows accompanied him.

Focus.

Removing Shapeshifting.

[Aergoth]

@avianMeltdown

Aspects
Claustrophobic Twisted Tunnels
Not Always What They Seem


Parsley puts his hand out to brace himself when it slips forward, slick with blood. His balance suddenly lacking a firm point to stablizie it, Parsley leans dangerously over the edge of the catwalk, splayed out and occupying too much space when the sound of a mechanism beginning to descend again triggers a burst of adrenaline.


The Vivid Canvas
Exhausting Heat
A Churning Engine of Misery
Not Always What It Seems
Approaches
Good (+3): Steam
Fair (+2): Machinery, Filth
Poor (-1): Movement
Terrible (-2): Intelligence

ReRoll:(bbb-)+2 = +1
GM Fate points for this scene: 0
Vivid Canvas rolls an attack, using it's machinery rating. Parsley needs to defend!


@Charidan

Aspects
All Work And No Play
Temptation At Every Turn
Rack of Shame (on the Lion)

The Lion is indeed distracted by a swam of birds that quickly begin pecking and clawing and flapping about it. There is a sound of wicker straining and foliage rustling as the Lion attempts to escape both its bonds and the birds.


The lion misses a turn, roll again!


@Domochevsky
Aspects
Down Among The Sticks And Bones
Seeking Whom He May Devour
The call of the Hunt grows ever closer. Greifenwald had bought itself, now himself, time to spare with earlier antics, but the Lady's eyes watched all, and she would not be so easily parted from one of the denizens of her dimly-lit menagerie.

No use, Greifenwald had already circled behind the Hunt, making his way to the enormous, ancient tree whose roots concealed one of the few ways of leaving. The deep, dark places it had broken into would purportedly let out into true sunlight, not the oh so attractive fakery that would soon rise again over the Feathered Forest.

Here, down among the, roots and little bones that gravitated here, only a single obstacle would remain. A final guardian between escape and Greifenwald. The shed scales of the Worm littered the grounds around this, its lair, like great plates of ice. The air grew colder and more damp, the ground muddy. The air hissed with distant sussuration, regular gusts of warm wind from deep within the warren of tunnels.

There are no prying eyes here, because there is no safety here. The Worm devours all who trespass, but it is a slothful monster and sleeps often, especially after it has had a meal.

Roll me stealth!

[Slartibartfast]

In pushing through the bush, Robert manages to snap every branch he touches. This is no way to lose the lion chasing him. If anything, he might attract something else with this racket. Popping out the other side, and stumbling without the hedge holding him up, Robert reverts to a more traditional mode of stealth, staying behind the cover that the bushes provide and navigating the maze to get as much distance and as many obstacles between him and his pursuer as he can.

Stealth (--bb)+1 = -1

[avianMeltdown]

Rolled (bbb+)=1 athletics to defend, spending one point of GLAMOUR to invoke the Wizened's blessing for the rest of the scene. 3/4 glamour remaining. Roll modified to 3.

Parsley scoots and shimmies away from the catwalk's edge and scampers the rest of the way through the machinery in a frantic flurry. He staggers out the other side and doubles over, bracing his hands on his knees, breathing in shaky gasps. His heart yet pounding in his ears, he catches his breath and waits for Shadow.

[Aergoth]

@avianMeltdown

Aspects
Claustrophobic Twisted Tunnels
Not Always What They Seem

The scything, implacable machinery presses down on the spot where a moment ago a prone Parsley lay, clanging the whole while. Scrabbling ahead in a mad dash, half-rabbit or rat, half scurrying crab or spider, the nimble Wizened clears the threat completely. Moments later, Shadow joins him, panting quietly from the exertion. Ahead, the brightly lit corridor remains, Shadow begins to step towards it.

@Charidan

Aspects
All Work And No Play
Temptation At Every Turn
Rack of Shame (on the Lion)


The lion clears the area around it, unseen by Robert, and follows the sound of crashing leaves and shredding turf.


The lion manages to Succeed With Style against Robert's stealth (+2 Notice vs. -1 Stealth), for another two successes, the Chase ends. Conflict begins. Roll Notice to determine turn order here. We'll try to give Robert a sporting chance.


@Domochevsky

Aspects
Down Among The Sticks And Bones
Seeking Whom He May Devour


Deep within the burrows beneath the tree are set to rumbling, dirt falling from the rough ceiling of the tunnel. The Worm is on the move. Time is not on Greifenwald's side. There are side passages here, natural fissures or desperate hollows dug by foolish or brave changelings that had chanced to enter the Worm's lair, perhaps with the same aim as Greifenwald had now.

[Domochevsky]

Greifenwald started moving towards his goal. He knew where he had to go and the will to do so. This change in his life is happening, either with his freedom or his death.

Unfortunately, the path through the tunnels he took was also where the rumbling was apparently coming from. He watched the snaking tunnels and side passages, just out of sight, eyes twitching at every movement. With his body pressed against the crumbling dirt and bone walls like a shadow he pushed ahead.

Focus.

Going for a basic "let's not be noticed" here for now.

[Slartibartfast]

It's not clear if Robert tripped or dove for the ground, but the lion's paw swipes over his head as his pursuer emerges from around a taller hedge. He rolls awkwardly to the side, folding over and catching his knee on the ground. Performing an act somewhat reminiscent of a kip-up, Robert succeeds only in flattening himself onto his back and bruising his neck. Another quick scramble and he's back on his feet.

"Alright, that's enough! You want a piece of me? You get a piece of me!"

Yeah, Robert shouts in his mind, you didn't hunt me down, I hunted you down! He fails to convince himself. Robert lunges straight at the lion and grabs hold of the pie-rack, swinging himself onto the beast's back. His posture straightens, and his clothes (while no less shabby, and still torn and covered in leaves from being dragged through a bush) project a more regal air. His voice rings out with a sense of Command.

"By my authority as an honored servant of the Coronet of Flowering Vice, and as a custodian of the Garden of Ecstatic Cheer, I demand you convey me to the Gate!"

Please work please work please work I AM SO DEAD IF THIS THING ROLLS OVER.

Casting Mask of Superiority to Create an Advantage with the lion.
Deceive (b++-)+3+2 = 6.
4/5 glamour remain.

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley relaxes the tiniest amount on Shadow's safe arrival. He nods in the direction of his associate and squints ahead. Compared to the rest of Underbelly, the corridor is blinding. Like... the difference between Underbelly and Canvas. He feels a sudden need to fill the silence. And to find something to use as a weapon.

"Lights at the ends of tunnels," he breathes. "How did you find this?" His eyes dart around the catwalk for discarded pipes, bars or hand-sized chunks of concrete. He continues, not expecting an answer, "Go down deep enough and you fall out the other side, tunnels to other domains? Only doorway I know is the one I came in by up top."

[Aergoth]

@Charidan

Th Topiary Lion halts. That is the Voice. Or something very much like it. It doesn't have much in the way of intelligence. But that is the Voice of Command, employed by those who are In Charge. it is momentarily confused as to whether or not it should employ its considerable talents of ripshredkill on this trespasser before settling on the path of least resistance. The trespasser speaks like someone who is In Charge. Trespassers cannot be In Charge, so this cannot be a trespasser. The Lion knows nothing of Gates, but it is supposed to guard a particular place, and begins walking towards that place.


So the lion rolled a -2. Success with style. I think we're just about sorted here with Robert. Wrap up time!



@Domochevsky
Down Among The Sticks And Bones
Seeking Whom He May Devour

The tunnels are devoid of life. This is not a good place to linger. The rumbling intensifies, and through a small side passage, the bulk of the Worm is visible as it passes, glittering, moon-white scales shedding as it travels. It is vast, and seems to take ages to past but soon is gone. This tunnel seems less stable now, dirt falling from the ceiling, walls presenting cracks. The bones begin to settle and great clods of dirt begin to rain from the walls as the feeling of the Worm's transit begins to emanate from somewhere behind the Greifenwald.

[Slartibartfast]

Okay, keep calm, you've still got a grip on this pie rack, when it braces you can roll to- wait where's the lion going? It's... it's walking. Okay? Okay. Wait... did that just work? It worked! We're going somewhere.

Robert glances about surreptitiously, trying to look for pink flowers without disturbing the lion's course. Or really doing anything to remind the lion that he's here. Everything will be... fine. Yes. He shakes his head, trying to prepare himself for whatever is up ahead. He reaches a hand into his pocket for a quick snack, but thinks better of it. Not on lionback. His imagination failing him for what could possibly come next, Robert steels himself to wait.

Oh god is it worse? What could be worse. What guardian comes after a lion-bush? Can I get the lion to fight it for me? I hope so. Probably not. Oh no what have I gotten myself into? This was a terrible idea. I should have stayed. I could have just stayed!

[Aergoth]

@avianmeltdown

Shadow is transfixed by the light at the end of the literal tunnel. It's almost blinding in intensity, never seeming to dim to the point where one could see the actual egress. She walks towards it, shading her eyes. She doesn't see the threads, slender and white, crisscrossing the space in front of the light, a tangled web to catch those entranced or blinded by the illumination. They cut and too red blood stains them, making small portions visible as Shadow tries to pull back, only to find herself stuck. Man-shaped pincushions with twisted sackcloth faces and coarse twine to give them shape and definition emerge from the wings as she struggles, bleeding the more she tries to escape. A cool, fresh breeze blows from the left, familiar in the way the cracks in the facade of the Canvas was. It had been another trick, another pleasant misdirection hiding the ugly truth. The exit, cramped and dark, lies in the shadows there.


@Charidan

The Lion half drags Robert to the gate as he retains his grip, before pawing at the ground before the wicker, flower-twined structure. It's held shut by tough, grasping creepers that grow up the center, leaves obscuring the split. Barely visible through the gate are twisted thorns, and a bed of pink and white climbing flowers growing up the opposite side of the gate.

@Domochevsky
Down Among The Sticks And Bones
Seeking Whom He May Devour

The tunnel begins to collapse as the worm's tail whips against the adjoining wall, turning what had been small gaps in the otherwise hard-packed earth into a gaping hole, clods of dirt falling from all sides.

[Domochevsky]

He knew where he had to go and the will to do so. But right now Greifenwald didn't have the means as the earth increasingly rained down on him. A decision was made, a movement started. He jumped through the newly formed gap in the wall, closer to the Worm.

Greifenwald knows where to go, I do not. This puts me as a player at somewhat of a self-created disadvantage. Where are ya headin', dawg? >_>

[Slartibartfast]

Staring at the gate, Robert belatedly remembers his death grip on the lion, and slides down. Massaging his arms, he eyes the lion nervously and gives it a dismissive nod.

Probably won't be getting more use out of it, and no need to give it a chance to remember it was supposed to eat me.

Facing the gate once more, he bends down to observe the creeping flowers woven through the seam that would allow it to open. He reaches for them uncertainly, drawing back just before touching them. Is that... safe? Do they... want something from me?

Rolling Lore to suss out the flower lock: (+-+-)+2 = 2

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley hefts a length of ancient, corroded pipe with a satisfied smirk, and he looks up. Shadow is trapped by some web, struggling uselessly again bonds he cannot see until drops of blood turn more and more of the thread red. The taste of fresh air from some concealed opening tells Parsley what he needs to know.

He ducks into the shadow, weighing his options. The pin-men only see Shadow, or the signs of their presence. Killing his friend (and surely, friend is the right word?) is only a matter of aiming for those tell-tale red stains. Parsley creeps close to the wall, pulling a pair of scissors from his supplies as he nears where he estimates the threads to be attached. The grimy pipe trembles in his white-knuckle grip.

Stealth roll (-bb-)+1=-1. Oh, dear.

[Aergoth]

Charidan
The flowers are wound around the gate very precisely, a pattern that Robert has doubtless seen before. Concealed beneath this seemingly innocuous binding is a much less pleasant form of flora, vicious and thorned. Failing to untangle them properly could be very painful. The Coronet occasionally uses such bindings as punishments for those who displease them.

Lore or Burglary seem appropriate here, but suggest away!

Domochevsky
The ceiling continues to collapse, evidently the structural weakness is outrunning Greifenwald.

New Aspect: Tunnel Collapse (+3)

I don't think we've covered this. Basic action the fourth is Overcome an Obstacle. This works a lot like the traditional D&D skill check. The end result is often that it removes or modifies an aspect in some way, such that it no longer affects the scene the way it used to. The Locked Door is now Kicked Off Its Hinges or simply taken off the table as an aspect. Most of the time the opposition is passive, a flat value to beat. In this case the collapsing tunnel is at +3.

There's a few ways I could conceive of beating this, but let me here what you want to try Domo.


avianMeltdown
The Pincushion Men can't help but hear Parsley's rusty pipe rattle against the ground as he fumbles it momentarily. Or so it seems. If they are aware of the noise, they don't react.

[Slartibartfast]

Robert rubs his fingers. "Oh no. Not these again. That's it!" He turns around, and starts back the way he came. He makes it about seven steps before stopping and glancing furtively over his shoulder at the gate. He takes a halting breath and sighs deeply.

"Screw it. I didn't jump in front of a goddamn lion to get stopped by... okay, let's be honest, one of the most evil creatures in existence. Yup that's all I'm going up against. C'mon Rob you remember how to do this..."

Robert crouches low, approaching the flowers softly so they can't hear him. That always seemed to help before. Probably. A more rational, calm mind might suggest that the focus and caution was more useful, but that wasn't the sort of mind Robert had available at present.

"It's very simple. You pick away the safe parts and don't touch the pain parts. Yeah. Yeah! Yeah..."

Robert reaches his hand towards the flowers. He freezes in place. Nothing happens. He belatedly remembers to breathe. Robert drops his arms and shakes out his wrists. He pats down his pockets, you know, just to make sure everything is still there.

"Alright here goes."

Robert gingerly pinches a flower and gets to work.

Going with experience here: Lore roll (-+-+)+2 = 2

[Domochevsky]

Greifenwald looked up. This was a place fit for a Worm, not for ...him. His current being. He leaned his head sideways for a moment of thought. Everything could be changed to fit its environment. So could he. He began to rapidly change his body as he moved. Bones extended to prop up the walls in criss-cross braces, interwoven with his flesh. Skin stretched over Greifenwald's increasingly grotesque frame. Bones folded and unfolded like 3-dimensional scissors around newly formed joints, propelling Greifenwald forward through a wall into an adjacent tunnel.

Focus. The way out was near.

Invoking Mirror 4 (1 Glamour) and aspect Everything Can Be Changed, One Way Or Another to overcome the obstacle.

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley hesitates. Either the Pincushion Men are hard of hearing, or they don't think his interference is a problem.
Well, screw it. He's already here.
He starts snipping threads.

[Aergoth]

@Charidan
Taking apart one of these bindings was like unpicking elaborate embroidery. That also happened to be made of pain that could cause you to wish for a death that wouldn't come. Because the relief of that pain would feel so much better than everything just ending. Every sensation you could feel afterwards could be scaled against that pain. And wasn't that just lovely? The Coronet had an awful sense of humor.

It takes longer than Robert would have hoped, wracking his nerves a little. If someone were to happen by? If the Lion were to realize that something was wrong? And then the gate sprang free, almost startlingly so. The path on the other side broad and true, leading out into the deep places between the little principalities and fiefdoms of the Gentry.

@Domochevsky
Down Among The Sticks And Bones
Seeking Whom He May Devour

The scissor-like, insectile limbs that Greifenwald had crafted into himself made awful, popping noises as he followed the Worm's passage. More of those glimmering, white scales dotted the floor and walls, like specks of quartz or silver littered through the dirt. Great scratches told of the enormous claws with which the beast dragged itself through the structure of the roots below this enormous tree. Up ahead, something flickered in the distance, at the side of the wall.


@avianMeltdown
Claustrophobic Twisted Tunnels
Not Always What They Seem

The threads begin to snap, flailing wildly as the tension is loosed, snapping back towards Parlsey and the Pincushion Men both! Shadow is caught by some of the receeding traplines and makes a wordless sound of pain. One of the horrible mockeries is neatly bisected by a flailing cord, and falls to the ground, twitching soundlessly. Its husk is filled with something writhing and disturbingly organic.


The Vivid Canvas rolls to try to attack everyone in the zone (including Parsley, the Pincushion Men and Shadow) Unfortunately, it's not using Machinery or Filth so it rolls at +0. The result is (b+b-) or 0.
Everyone in the zone needs to defend against flailing threads of pain and evil! Athletics is probably the most appropriate.
The pincushion men take 2 shifts of damage, rolling (--b+)-1 for a -2. This takes one of the Pincushion Men out of the picture!
Shadow rolls a 0 and ties, taking no damage, but granting the GM a boost. Let's call it Intense Pain.

Pincushion Men
Skills
Violence: +2
Silence +1
Motion: -1
Stress 1 [x] [x] 2 [ ] [ ] 3 [ ] [ ]

[Domochevsky]

Greifenwald stopped for a brief moment, to pick up one of those white glimmering scales. He glanced at them. Maybe something of use. Maybe of value. Maybe the moon.

Focus.

He tucked the scale away somewhere in his body and continued to pull his grotesque shape forward towards the flickering something. It had to be here somewhere. The path back home.

[avianMeltdown]

4df=(bb+-)=0 then +2 for the Seeming blessing. Total = 2. No damage taken.
The strings snap back towards Parsley, who ducks and holds up his pipe. The strings wrap harmlessly around the metal. He drop it, grabs one of Shadows arms and runs for the fresh air.
Something hot and wet covers his hand.
He'll deal with it later. The Pincushion Men are coming.

[Aergoth]

@Domochevsky
There is a low mist in this tunnel as you approach the flicker. The haze at ground level catches the light distractingly. Shapes seem to move in the shadows cast by the light of brazier atop a roughly hewn stone pillar. The light extending outwards is warm, true fire held in a rough, bronze bowl, not the ghostly, constant and pale imitation the Lady favours for her lanterns. The path it occupies seems like it should have intersected with the tunnel Greifenwald had just been, but there had been no light, no mist.

Distantly, the rumble of the great Worm grows louder again. Further on, deeper into the mists, another glimmer of firelight flickers. Scattered throughout the darkness between the two beacons, like so many false stars are ever more scales and bones glistening silvery with a sheen of damp.


@avianMeltdown
The burning, brilliant light at the end of the tunnel seems somehow sickly now, made wan and sallow with the knowledge of the trap it serves as bait and camouflage for. The Pincushion Men are momentarily checked by the sudden lashing threads and the disruption they cause. Parsley is capable of dragging the bleeding Shadow to the passage. It's thick with cobwebs and dust, but the hint of fresh, green air from somewhere else. Hopefully, somewhere better.

Parsley dragged the delerious bleeding Shadow through the Hedge. The memory of transit through the cramped, dangerous reaches of the Thorns is a blur. There is noise and motion but no focus. Only a slender thread guides them back into mortal climes. The Hedge Gate dumps them into an open field, bounded with chain-link fences. After a moment of bewilderment, a cow moos, obviously concerned by the appearance of two people from a door that had no right going anywhere else.


@Psybomb
The Thorns were not easy or kind. It isn't in their nature to be so. The wide, well-kept roads of Arcadia never lead home, only further in and to further danger or temptation. And so through brambles and thorns Good Will, fearful and with a bag full of regrets and debt, clawed his way back into the daylight of the iron lands. The door opened, spilling out into cold and wind at the side of the lake. The Hedge lurked behind the door of a public restroom at the lakeshore. The city stretched tall and deep to the east, and fairgrounds and amusements, the Exhibition Ground, Center Island, Ontario Place, all stood dead and empty at the end of winter.


@Charidan
Robert's trip through the Thorns is full of sound and noise. The sound of others moving through the Hedge, occasional glimpses of other wild and fantastic figures, harry him as he progresses. There are screams and cries of pain and an ever present sense of something stalking the Thorns, stalking the changelings. The door appears suddenly, depositing him in a cold, February street, up to his ankles in slush. The surroundings are quiet, marked by parked cars, unused and grafitied garages built on the back of properties that this alley abuts on. It is damp and unpleasant.

[Domochevsky]

A familiar smell. Fire. Smoke. A warmth that vaguely felt like the sun. The sun.

Focus.

Greifenwald took the impossible path and went through the gate out of these tunnels. Bones crunched under his many feet while he reconfigured his scissor-like limbs back into proper arms and legs.
It was easier to move like that outside of these tunnels.

Together with his humanoid shape a question formed in his head. What was the mist hinting at? This was the path back home, but he was not there yet.
A familiar feeling added itself to the familiar smell. A human feeling. Old nervousness.

Focus.

[PsyBomb]

@Aergoth

Scratched and scraped, exhausted, having nearly given up hope many times, Will stumbles through one last arch. The light came smoothly, the air was brisk, the smells varied. Water and grass, dusty with the hint of snow either coming or past. Will stood straight and breathed.

He breathed!

A place where his every breath wouldn’t be measured and shallow to preserve his Tokens. A place where he could eat and sleep and see and feel! He was back in the Iron Lands! Home!

And then the enormity of what exactly he had done caught up with him. He had not left in Winter, this was a world that had long left him behind. Where he had just (yesterday? Last year?) left was a mess of ruined lives and livelihoods, and others who may want to leave now couldn’t. Most of all, he was alone. He would need new networks, new resources to live. He’d need them soon, too.

But for now, it was enough to just breathe.

[Slartibartfast]

Robert stumbles forward. The relief of escaping the Hedge gives way to exhaustion and he can only think about keeping going to get out of the Hedge. He makes it a few blocks before those two ideas collide in his head. Looking around, everything seems strangely familiar, like being in a dream. Or, was Arcadia the dream? He loses track, and fumbles his way down to sit on the sidewalk.

Robert knows this intersection. He came through it every day on his way to school. Every day, before- It was real, wasn't it? He squints, as if he can almost see the memories, as if that makes them real. His hand bumps into something in his pocket, and he fishes it out. Could it be? Candies. The last of them. Surely, these prove he isn't insane? That it all happened? But, no... they could just look like that. It could be- He has to try them. He has to be sure. Robert has never needed anything so badly. A voice in the back of his mind is screaming to stop, and it's right, but he has to know. He swallows the delights without even tasting them. The nervousness intensifies. He starts feeling foolish, having allowed himself to imagine that, that f- that fa- that the Gentry were real. That he went away.

Then the colors start, and the sounds. He wasn't crazy! He jumps to his feet and shouts, "I'm not crazy! I'm not! I am REALLY GODDAMN HIGH!" Then the Experience begins in earnest, and whatever Robert was trying to say loses all coherence. He runs off into the night, screaming and yelling in an incomprehensible mixture of joy barely buoying him over the crushing realization that none of it was fake, until he finally loses himself in the waking fever dream.

[avianMeltdown]

The light on the snow is blinding, but the colors are dull. Gideon- Parsley? has stepped into a world of well-lit monotone, and he's giddy with the relief of it. Some fluffy bovine moos, startling him bad enough he loses his footing in the snow and lands on his butt. The person he'd been supporting lands next to him.
Right. Shadow. She's hard to look at, even in the light, not that he doesn't want to see her. She blends into her surroundings like a piece of scenery, but the blood that stains the snow around her draws his eye like a magnet. He doesn't know where to begin trying to help.
"You with me?" he croaks. He clears his throat. "We made it."
He thinks they made it. He's not convinced.

[Aergoth]

@Domochevsky
Seeking Whom He May Devour
Down Among the Sticks and Bones
The mist grows thicker, the sound of crunching bone underfoot more obvious. One brazier at a time, Greifenwald proceeds into the cloying haze. The path seems to bend slightly and dip downwards, steeper and steeper, onwards forever, and still there is the ever present rumble of the Worm somewhere nearby. At last, a final brazier provides dim illumination of an enormous cavern. The gaping maw of the enormous, toothed skull, eye sockets big enough for a man to stand in sits in the middle. Ribs are scattered about, shattered and casting grim toothy looking shadows against the scales of the Worm. Slumbering amdist the deadly, shattered spikes of bone and under the eyeless gaze of a something that could very well have swallowed the Worm when it yet lived.

There is a path of clean, cobbled stone leading deeper into the skull. The mist does not cling there. Faint rays of light tantalize. Escape.
But the Worm's enormous body blocks the way.


@et al
It should come as no surprise to anyone that the known Hedge Gates are watched, as carefully as one can manage. The Hedge Gates in public, frequented places are watched somewhat more carefully. But even in deepest Winter, and even with complete co-operation from their fellows in other courts, there are only so many watchful eyes in the freehold. Things slip through the cracks. On this night, more than most. Winter is spread thin, and its agents are cautious.

Will is accosted as he wanders the streets by the lakeshore, by an affable woman with burnished copper coils of wire for hair and delicate silvery tracery on her skin. The air around her tastes of fresh falling snow, and she seems remarkably clear even without the matter of, despite the lack of weather. "You're going to catch your death out here, dressed like that." She keeps her distance, but she carries herself in a way that makes her confidence in catching Will if he should fuss quite clear. She has broad shoulders and a statuesque build. Part of Will can't help but calculate the sheer value inherent in the materials... "We'll get you a coat at least, but come hear me out, it's not safe out here alone."


It's hard to tell if the person with hair like wind driven clouds, pale skin and piercing blue eyes is male or female. They fawn over Shadow, obviously wanting to take the injured woman from Parsley, but aware enough to realize that the little man is still holding a pair of bloody, chipped scissors. "She's bleeding." Of course she is. It's obvious to everyone, including the cow. "They'll ask questions you're not going to want to answer if we take her to the hospital." There's a faint catch of something floral in the air, but it quickly vanishes under the growing notes of blood. "Can I help?"


Someone would have stopped Robert, probably an errant bus given his manic disposition and proximity to the lines that service the university. The scarred, diminutive fellow stops him before campus police can. If he'd shown up a month later, they might have been able to just quickly slide someone like this into Spring, goodness knew that there were enough hedonists, but bounding around high as a kite and blathering on even this late in Winter meant that even Mack would want to take him to the Winter Crown. Thankfully, Robert wasn't on a bad trip it seemed. He could sleep off the worst of it in the back room of the Speakeasy before that though, right? As long as Lawrence didn't have to take this guy himself, that would be great.

[Domochevsky]

Greifenwald stood between the jutting bones, overlooking the body of the Worm. Sizable. An obstacle like a wall. Impossible to defeat. One more thing to be overcome.

Focus.

He pulled the white, glimmering scale from his body and glanced at it. The shape, the material, the construction... once more Greifenwald began reshaping himself. This time he followed the image of the worm, turning his arms, legs and skin scale-like, resembling the Worm, with hooked fingers. He began to climb the Worm, pressing himself against its massive frame.

He knew where he had to go, and the will to do so.

Focus.

Invoking Skinmask/Mirror 2 (with the scale) to stealthily clamber over the Worm.

[PsyBomb]

Will is accosted as he wanders the streets by the lakeshore, by an affable woman with burnished copper coils of wire for hair and delicate silvery tracery on her skin. The air around her tastes of fresh falling snow, and she seems remarkably clear even without the matter of, despite the lack of weather. "You're going to catch your death out here, dressed like that." She keeps her distance, but she carries herself in a way that makes her confidence in catching Will if he should fuss quite clear. She has broad shoulders and a statuesque build. Part of Will can't help but calculate the sheer value inherent in the materials... "We'll get you a coat at least, but come hear me out, it's not safe out here alone."

Will comes up short. He had been distracted by the sudden taste of the unfamiliar, wandering about, but the lady had a point. It was starting to get cold, now, and he could feel it. Not like... before? He didn't want to think too hard about it. Didn't like how she held herself off, but she was obviously like him. Oh, not EXACTLY like him, but close enough. The networks he once had were gone, and new ones would need to take their place. Preferably quickly. Comfort would probably be a long time coming, but there are a lot of steps leading up to that.

"I will come with you, but that's all I can guarantee. Who are you, and why is it not safe?"

Will's stomach growled. The last thing he ate had been far too long ago, and more than one thing had tried to eat him since then.

"... and is there food?" he asked, slightly sheepishly.

[avianMeltdown]

Parsley doesn't know much right now, but he knows accepting help from some shiny weirdo is the last thing he wants to do ever. He also knows he needs to protect the bleedy-person beside him.

He lunges.

Athletics roll for to stab this nice person: (bb+-) = 0.

[Aergoth]

@Domochevsky
The scales flow over Greifenwald comfortably, the last scraps of glamour leave a hollow, empty feeling in his metaphorical guts. It's slow going over the Worm's body, the scales are suprisingly smooth and don't provide a great deal of purchase, but eventually the creature's body is behind him, and the enormous skull with its' cobbles and promise of fresh air beckons.

When Greifenwald arrives in the west end of the city the door opens onto a heavily grafitied alleyway. The walls are covered in brightly coloured paint forming elaborate murals, rather than collections of competing tags or mere vandalism. Words and pictures climb at least eight or nine feet up the wall, stained in a few places with runoff from roof gutters. The alleyway extends towards a street in one direction and down to a corner. The alley is largely unlit, and filled with melting slush, but evidence suggests someone uses it as a footpath infrequently even in winter.

@Psybomb

"Is it your first day back, neighbour?" The filigreed woman smiles, her tone is deeply conspiratorial, even if she has to keep her voice raised a little to be heard over the intermittent traffic going by. "We can be polite and exchange names then. People call me Sarah, what do you want to be called?"

She begins walking along the street, heading north and west, away from the lake. "We can find you food, depending on what you mean by 'food'." The air-quotes slot around the word as she says it, both of them understand. Some of the Bazaar's residents didn't bother with spending tokens on food when they could take meat and drink from the flesh and blood and bone of their fellow residents. "It will mean a detour though, better if we avoid public misunderstandings."

"To be honest, it's not safe for me and mine if you're out here getting in trouble, how's that saying go? We'd rather not have you outside pissing in."


@Charidan

Robert wakes from his metaphorical fairyland with his head aching and his stomach empty. Somewhere nearby there is the smell of grilling meat, the sound of clanging dishes, clinking glasses and cutlery. He's been deposited in a rather cool room, the stained concrete ceiling has exposed pipes and bundled wires, and the walls are lined with wire shelving loaded with cardboard boxes and crates. A stack of empty beer bottles in their boxes has been precariously placed in a corner. The fluorescent lights pulse unpleasantly; someone outside is having a conversation in what they probably believe are hushed tones, and maybe they are to people nearer to what has to be a kitchen. The low din coming from further off suggests a number of people eating. A restauraunt perhaps? At least half the conversation is audible.

"Look what did you want me to do? He was high as a ****ing kite and about five minutes from wandering into-" Another voice tries to calm the speaker before they're cut off abruptly. "Do you want to have to call Winter? Or do you want to wait until Mack gets here and let the crown deal with it?" A pause "That's what I thought."


@avianMeltdown

The chipped, bloody scissors jab out suddenly and catches the other changeling unaware. They hadn't been expecting someone in his state to have the wherewithal to try and actually stab someone. Stupid. Someone was going to get a good laugh out of this. They hiss at the cut, covering the wound with their other hand and backing off a ways. Their gaze never leaves Parsley and Shadow, even when they pull something out of their pocket and begin speaking. A phone.

"I need the welcome wagon." Pause, obviously listening to someone. Definetly a phone. "Two of them, out at the bleeding petting zoo, the one looks hurt bad and the other just cut me with a freaking pair of scissors." Another pause. "What do you mean they're already dealing with someone!" The shock is plain on their face as the person on the other end communicates information. "How many!?" The cow moos in alarm at the outburst, the changeling's voice having grown increasingly loud as the conversation has continued. It has also roused several other animals in adjacent enclosures. The one of the cows has decided to amble away from the phone call and towards Parsley, who at least is not moving or shouting at the moment. Perhaps he has food.

[Slartibartfast]

Robert levers himself off the floor and pats down his pockets nervously, ensuring nothing has fallen into them he might take by accident. The food, as always, is tantalizingly too close, so he makes sure to forget it is there. Perhaps he can offer something for a bite. But first, they've offered him something he's taken, time to reciprocate.

"Uh, heghh-" Robert chokes on a dry throat. "Hey, uh, is there anything I could do for you guys in honor of last, um, I think night?"

[avianMeltdown]

Parlsey wants to check on his bleedy companion, but he does not take his eyes off of the shiny, incongruously floral-smelling weirdo. He's surprised that his clumsy lunge actually landed, and even more surprised when the weirdo doesn't prepare to hit back.

Parsley grimly wonders what a "welcome wagon" entails, preparing to find somewhere he can hide when they show up, before he feels warm, wet breath on his ear. He spins on his heel, scissors brandished and two rows of pointed teeth bared in a snarl to face-

It's a cow. He's not sure of that at first. It's got long, curved horns and fluffy brown fur that nearly obscures its eyes, but it's a cow, alright. He meets its soft gaze, its dark eyes framed by long lashes, and his own filthy, panicked expression softens in turn. Some great cosmic force tells him that, when a person finds themself in a strange new place without their memories, a cow is a good omen and a fine friend to have. Cow is friend. Friend is cow. He reaches out his free hand to pat the snoot....

Parlsey shakes himself, blinks a few times and turns to face the weirdo. He croaks, in a voice like a bullfrog with tonsillitis, "You said you could help?"

[Domochevsky]

Greifenwald stood there for a long time in the dark alleyway, observing the murals and graffities. He did it, didn't he?

He did it. He returned. He smelled the city air. Gazed upon the structures in sight. The people walking by in the distance.

From where? Arcadia. What happened? He wasn't so sure anymore. ...and where to, even? This wasn't his home town. There was no attachment there. No, a different place of wonder. The postcard. What was the place called... Toronto? That's where he was. He always wanted to visit this alley at least once in his life. Now he was here.

...fully naked. Greifenwald looked down. His feet stood bare in the fading remains of snow. This is a place where being clothed matters. His increasing shivering supported that notion. The feeling of being cold stirred old memories in him.

Focus.

The main street was not an option. That'd give him too much attention too quickly. He had to find a safe place to rest at first. Gather himself. Sort his thoughts. See what modifications needed to be made for this new environment. He turned around and started walking the other way. Aquiring clothes was just another step.

...what was his plan again? Something about the sun.

Focus.

[PsyBomb]

He thought for a moment. The phrasing was careful, to be sure, but that was probably wise given all he’d been through. What was harder was remembering his own name. Eventually, he gave it up. He had one that he had become, anyway.

“I would like to be called Will. Will, the Wisp. Food sounds good, especially if it comes with a side of peace. Lead the way, I’ve obviously not been around here recently.”

[Aergoth]

@Psybomb
"Hasn't been the same since they closed the park down anyways." She gestures back off in the direction of the waterfront. "Come on then Will." The remains of plastic waterslides and the amphitheatre sitting out over the water are all that's left of what used to be an amusement park. The filigreed woman nods, and jerks her head to follow. "Where we're going you're not expected to pay at your Homecoming. It's tradition. If you insist, they'll put you to work doing dishes or mopping floors." The owners of the Speakeasy were understanding. The filigreed woman, Sarah, narrated out of force of habit and an evident desire to not startle the newcomer, one part GPS and one part tour guide.

The walk takes a little while, mostly north at first and west through Little Italy (the narration is at least marginally helpful in this regard) before the path starts to dovetail with the subway tracks and veer north-west. Shortly after crossing over, Sarah guides Will down an alley between a storage facility and a little corner bar and raps on the fire door quickly.


@Charidan
The voices cut off abruptly in response to Robert. One of them, the louder of the two but obviously the shorter, steps into the storeroom. “C-Consider it a matter of the…” The graceful little man stumbles a bit on his words, obviously trying not to curse. He moves with a grace that is all-too familiar to Robert, there were many such individuals in the Coronet’s Garden, who were pretty but only truly beautiful when seen in motion. And this man had been poorly used it seems. Scars give his lip an upturned corner, and cover the back of his hands. When he stops moving they tremble, a physical equivalent to the stutter he finally overcomes.

“P-p-public benefit.” He curses, seeming to have no difficulty with the stutter when it comes to profanity. “You were high as balls on something from the Hedge and we really don’t need you getting k-k-killed.” The talking obviously takes a toll on him. “There’s food, come on if you want to eat.” The little man (he must be five feet tall if he’s an inch), is accompanied by an equally large, hairy and gangly looking man who just shrugs and follows after his companion.


@avianMeltdown
The cow is amenable to having its snoot patted. And then attempts to chew on Parsley’s hair to no avail. It licks his dirty face and then ambles back away when the loud changeling decides to return. Their facial expression is obviously amused, but not letting it carry through in their voice. “Look, just round up whoever you can from the Speakeasy then. As long as they’re not Summer or Autumn’s we should be fine. There’s no one need’s any butchering over here. Looks like the thorns that job already.”

They shove the phone into a pocket in a way that suggests they’d rather pitch it into the nearest wall. Being unable to slam the phone is one of the failings of cellphones.
“I can’t do much, but some friends of mine, they should be here soon. Just, don’t stab anything for a bit, okay? They know, okay?” The pale-skinned person is concerned, but trying not to show it. "You have a name Stabby?"

[Slartibartfast]

Hm, they intending to hold this one over him, or... Robert's brain itches like he's missing something. Maybe it'll be easier to see with food, and maybe everything is fine enough. He shrugs and follows along. Their assessment of his situation definitely wasn't wrong.

Public benefit, he'd said! Robert couldn't believe he'd missed that. Not... that it clarified anything. Nothing to do but see what comes next.

[avianMeltdown]

Weirdo is walking over again. Parsley's lips pull back, revealing his pointed teeth for the moment before he forces himself to breathe. "So long's your friends keep a distance," he grunts. He pauses, and adds "No promises.

"I'm... uhm. Parsley. Not my Christian name." He says this fast and quiet, embarrassed. "This is Shadow." He crouches slowly next to her, tries to check her pulse, feels his own heart skip when he can't find it. Then he checks his own wrist and concludes that he doesn't know how to check a pulse.

"How 'bout you, Weirdo?"

[Aergoth]

@Domochevsky
Nudity is a little challenging in winter, even at the tail-end. It's damp and chilly and the pavement is unpleasant to stand on with barefeet. Obviously clothing of some kind is in order. The grafiti-filled alleyway is barren of passerby, but there are assorted garbage receptacles in one of its branches. Some of these buildings appear to have residences above them. Others have rather shoddy looking back-entrances, albiet without exterior handles.

The street is quieter on the west end, opening up away from the intersection and without a the same frequency of traffic. Most pedestrians seem to be carrying on east-west on the street to the north, or travelling north-south to the east but even these are few and far between and hurrying in the cold.

@Charidan
The basement of the Speakeasy was, at one point, an actual speakeasy. It still holds some of the trappings. The rafters and banister are solid pieces of wood and old and dark with smoke and hands many layers of varnish. There's a chill, and a large fire against the far wall from where the three of you enter the room. The same wall has a number of old, wooden casks stacked up against it, as well as a slightly more modern bartop with the associated hoses and pulls, though it's not large. Glass bottles, some labelled, some not, sit under, behind and around the bar in a chaotic mess. The furnishings have been put together on the cheap: from restaurant surplus or thrift stores. They're not much to look at, nothing quite matches, but they're sturdy. At this time of the evening, it's fairly full. 6 or 7 tables of varying sizes have changelings around them, some alone, some in small groups of as few as three and as many as seven. As many more sit empty. People are drinking, conversing and generally minding their own business. A few people are moving from table to table. The aprons and trays are the only thing that suggest they're staff of some kind.

The stuttering changeling waves one over. He tries to speak before giving up and elbowing the tall, hairy one and muttering silent curses. "New face. Probably needs real food before introducing him around. Just got in today, seems like. Joe found him playing in traffic." The gestures suggest Robert's previously intoxicated state. The tall fellow's voice is deep, and resonant, but doesn't seem to carry the way you'd expect.

@avianMeltdown
"Nice to meet you Parsley. I'm Kris. My friends are going to want to get a look at, Shadow you said?" They gesture to the unconcious, almost painfully thin woman on the ground. "And then we're, all of us, going to head somewhere we can get patched up. I'm all thumbs when it comes to blood and guts I'm afraid." They laugh as though this is high humour. Probably just nerves. "They'll call again when they're close, and we'll have to walk to the edge of the park. Can you walk?"