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>>904794
As you stagger towards the narrower end of the path you can feel the blood running down your legs, pooling inside your battered boots. Your pants, all of spider's silk, are already matted and ruined with it, and they won't survive much longer, but you should - you have pants at home, right?

You're pretty sure home is where you keep your pants. And other clothes. You can't just go out naked in public to get dressed, can you?

You can't. It's coming back to you. You definitely cannot do that.

A sound from up ahead, vaguely canine, makes you peek around a curve in the path. You see a wounded briarwolf, its ankle twisted and mangled, trying to drag itself further along the path. Its claws and fangs are still sharp, and though pain has distracted it, the Hedge Beast's too-human eyes are still sharp and attentive.

Behind it you can see that the path has started to be littered with papers, peppered here and there with discarded needles and the odd, lonely street lamp, which stand uselessly in the bright day of the Hedge.

The signs of home. The Hedge starts to get like that as you get closer to the mortal world. Your world.

Earth.

But the briarwolf stands in your way.

You...

> Have the Ripper's Gift
> Trust in your Contracts of Darkness to sneak past
> Think you can bribe it with the goblin fruit in your pocket
> Veer off the path; the bite of the Thorns won't be as bad as getting mauled

Welcome to Scarred by Thorns Quest, a Changeling: the Lost one-shot set in and around the semi-fictional city of New Avalon. This quest will feature rolling, but at the moment we're defining our protagonist with some of your choices. Once S/he's been more defined, a sheet will be posted to help you understand your capabilities and make further decisions.

> Please greentext your votes

This particular vote is not accepting write-ins.

>>904833
> Have the Rippers gift
Now this is what I like to see.

Let's make sure the briarwolf can't inform others of our passing, permanently

>>904833
> Think you can bribe it with the goblin fruit in your pocket

>>904833
>Have the Ripper's Gift
I hope it means what I think it means.

>>904840
> Think you can bribe it with the goblin fruit in your pocket

>>904833
> Trust in your Contracts of Darkness to sneak past.

Shadowrun agogo!

>>904840
>have the ripper's gift

Any other choice is foolhearty here in the thorns.

>>904833
>Think you can bribe it with the goblin fruit in your pocket

If this tie isn't broken by midnight I'ma just throw a die.

>>904833
> Have the Ripper's Gift

That works. Called, writing. Winner:

> Have the Ripper's Gift.

no option to pull the thorn from the wounded creatures foot?

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>>904973
It's likely a fey creature. Fuck ALL fey creatures.

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>>904833
This feels all too familiar to you. The smell of your own blood, the demanding hunger from days of not eating. The sight of something wounded and weak but still oh so very deadly.

Years of killing in the dark come flooding to the forefront of your mind. The Hedge shivers in delighted response, the limbs at the top of the Thorns moving in to block out the sunlight. The briarwolf's head snaps up, expecting an ambush.

So you rush it head-on while it's trying to pick itself up.

You don't have a knife, having lost the one Master gave you - afraid that he would track you through it, as well - but you do not need one. A little touch of Glamour, a whisper to yourself in alien rhyme, and your fingers remember the shape that Master gave them. Your right hand becomes a mess of segmented blades, blackened with soot and with grime, and you rake them across the briarwolf's belly as you slide beneath its reflexive claw swipe. It cries out in agony as you open up its flesh, your razor fingers skipping off of its ribs and leaving gouges in the bone.

You don't stay to fight. The briarwolf can't chase you with its life's blood pouring out into the dirt of the path, and its misery will attract bigger, hungrier predators soon. You flick the blood from your filthy blades and race down the path, past the street lamps that are starting to flicker on in response to the new darkness of the Hedge.

Kith and Seeming selected: You are a Razorhand Darkling.

You have to find a door. All doors lead in, but not all doors lead back out. You remember that, though you don't remember who told it to you, what other slave of the Master whispered the wisdom in the dark in a fearful voice against the day that you ever escaped the Labyrinth. You can use any door, any portal, fuck, you can use an arch between two trees to get into the Hedge.

Getting back out requires a door someone else has used, though.

Your memories are tugging at you, helping to guide you back Home. Nothing in the Hedge looks familiar, but that's because the Hedge changes. Plenty feels familiar. The path forks, and you know the one that will take you home, where you're going. Home. Home is, home is...

> An apartment, in the Juniper Building, just across the street from the home where you grew up. Not the nicest neighborhood, but...
> A two story, two-bedroom near the beach. Nikki'd been delighted to move in near the sea, even if it meant sharing a house with your mother

>>904973
The goblin fruit option was essentially this. Briarwolves aren't nice, friendly, or even remotely moral, but they're not unrelentingly violent. Just, y'know, usually violent.

>>905039
> An apartment, in the Juniper Building, just across the street from the home where you grew up. Not the nicest neighborhood, but...
The Modern American Middle Class

>an apartment

>>905039
>> A two story, two-bedroom near the beach. Nikki'd been delighted to move in near the sea, even if it meant sharing a house with your mother

>>905039
> A two story, two-bedroom near the beach. Nikki'd been delighted to move in near the sea, even if it meant sharing a house with your mother.

Oh wait, is the MC male or female? It doesn't really matter much, but I'm curious.

>>905125
no

>>905039
>A two story, two-bedroom near the beach. Nikki'd been delighted to move in near the sea, even if it meant sharing a house with your mother.

>>905039
>> An apartment, in the Juniper Building, just across the street from the home where you grew up. Not the nicest neighborhood, but...

>>905051
>>905039
I'll change to the
> beach house

>>905133
That does not answer my question.

Called, writing.

Goddamn these ties.

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>>905039
Home is the old family house, near the beach. Your family's owned the land since, well, since forever, and you've owned this house for three generations. You'd moved back home to help take care of your mother, after your father passed, and Nikki'd been delighted to move in to a seaside view.

Nikki loves the sea. So does your son. Your son...

Why can't you remember his name?

Gripped by a sudden and intense sense of urgency, you rush down the path that smells of the sharp sea breeze. You feel your hand shift back into flesh and blood again, losing its memory of how Master reshaped it, but that's fine. You can't hug your son with knives for fingers.

What in the hell is his name?

Desperate, you wrack your mind. You remember what you did for a living (medical research), you remember your favorite hobbies (horror movies, cooking, and reading, in that order), you remember what Nikki does (Wiccan priestess, co-owner of a shop downtown that caters to the urban witch), hell, you remember your mother's maiden name (Vickers), but you can't remember your own son's name.

Nailed to a tree on the side of the path is the door to a Port-A-Potty. Crying out in relief, you knock loudly on it, then throw it open, plunging through into -

Into the horrible sunlight. You almost jolt back into the Thorns. As it stands, the bright blue sky - unusually clear, for what tastes like autumn - is like a hammer against your eyes. You feel your magic recoil from it, retreating down where the hateful glare of the sun can't reach it.

The beach is full of people. Some of them look at you in concern, and you wave them off, muttering something you forget in the instant of it.

You can't stay to talk. You have to get home.

You stagger away from the crowd, blinking and squinting against the sun, and instinctively find a low-traffic neighborhood to move through. Home isn't far, and though you're hurt, and you're hungry, and you can't remember the last time you saw the sun and why is it so awful, you know everything will be better when you get home.

You have to get home and ask your son what his name is.

You're being followed, the shadows whisper, from their sewer grates and from beneath bushes, and you pick up your pace. You're dripping blood, easy prey for any kind of tracker, but there's nothing else you can do. There's supplies at home.

The shadows murmur encouragement to you, and you give them your best tired gratitude. You can't stop. You're too close.

You see it, in the distance. The front of the house faces away from the water, with a lovely deck and -

And a man, in the yard, a man made all of driftwood and razor blades. He's playing Frisbee with a boy of maybe ten, eleven years (your son was three, a cute little thing), right there in your front yard. You stop, in disbelief, and blink to make sure you're seeing it right.

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>>905252
"Jesse!" Nikki's voice calls from inside, saying your name. You and the razor blade man look at the same time. "Movie's downloaded! Bring Caleb in with you!"

Caleb. Your son's name. But - that's -

"Coming Mom!" the boy calls back. He picks up the Frisbee and jogs towards the steps that lead up to the deck, heading inside with the razor blade man.

You take a step forward when a soft voice stops you. "You don't want to do that, cousin," she says, making you jolt and spin.

She's tall, this woman, with black eyes that have no sign of white or iris whatsoever. She smells like snow, sharp and clean, and has her hands in the pockets of her dress.

"Don't," she repeats, quietly. "You're only going to hurt them."

"That thing isn't me," you insist, pointing angrily at the house.

"They don't know that," the black-eyed woman tells you. "...You need a doctor, cousin. I can get one for you. Is this your first day back?"

You take a step back, wary. "What's it to you? How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," she answers, frankly. "But if you go in that house, that thing will kill you, and you'll never have your family back. Or you can come with me, and see a doctor."

> Finish going home
> Go with the woman
> Find another place to hide and take stock of your situation

>>905271
> Go with the woman
I can't help but trust someone that smells like snow.

But plot to murder this doppelganger. Later, when the time is right

>>905271
> Go with the woman

>>905271
> Go with the woman.

Okay, I may have cheated a little by visiting the White Wolf Wiki. When the mystery box comes up (and it will), we need to take it.

Go with the woman!

>>905334
Vox only sees
> green
When it comes to votes friend

>>905271
> Go with the woman

Called, writing.

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>>905271
You're wary. This could be one of Master's tricks, or a thing from the Hedge. But she doesn't look like a hobgoblin, and you can't shake that smell of snow that comes from her, somehow both subtle and sharp. Her expression is gentle. Understanding, even.

The blood from your arms drip-drip-drips onto the sidewalk, leaving behind too-red stains on the concrete that spell out, without words, what you already know: you're dying.

"I..." you hesitate. "I do need a doctor," you agree, at last. "But I have some conditions."

"Name them," the black-eyed woman agrees.

"I want a knife," you tell her. She pulls her left hand from her pocket and, without a word, flips the (sheathed) switchblade on her hand, offering it to you hilt-first. You blink in surprise but take the weapon. You thumb the catch and note, with approval, that the knife is sharp and well-built. Then you put it away, tucking the blade back where it belongs.

"I will need that back when you are feeling more safe," the black-eyed woman says gently. "I have another knife, which I will be keeping. I know you'll understand, cousin."

"I do understand," you agree. "I want to know where I'm going."

"You're going to the Midway Clinic, through the back door in an alley we've paid good money to be hidden in the city records, to see Sally Sticks in a place where they won't tell the police how you got hurt or why," the black-eyed woman answers. "Sally is sworn to Autumn but a friend to all Courts and a servant of the public good. She will not burden you for her service, not on your homecoming day."

"I..." you pause. "How do you know you're safe with me?"

"I don't," comes the frank answer. "But if you don't mind, I'll make a call, and let people know who I'm with, and where I'm going, and that way I can feel a little safer knowing that if you kill me, I'll be avenged."

You nod. It makes sense. She takes something out of her pocket which you swear looks like a cell phone, except its screen is entirely too big. Sure enough, though, she makes a call on it.

"It's Moira," she says to the quiet, indistinct voice on the other side. "Listen, I found a new guy. Yeah. No, he's in a bad way, I'm taking him to see Sally. Darkling. No, I stopped him before he could cause an incident. There'll be a bit of a dustup about him showing up all bloody at the beach but nothing we can't pass off. He's here, yeah. The Rook? He's a little nervous, you know. Are you - no, I'm not questioning your orders, I am clarifying the situation. Yes. Mhm. If you insist, but it's on your head, do you hear me? I'm not going to leave him alone in the care of the Rook. Yes, that is me questioning orders, and if you want to push it we'll see what Raven has to say about it. That's what I thought. Please, enjoy your day."

The black-eyed woman - Moira? - jabs the screen with her thumb. "Cunt," she mutters.

"You didn't tell them where you were," you point out.

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>>905446
"I know," Moira agrees. "You're doing very well, cousin. Do I need to distrust you?"

"No," you admit, at last. "Let's go."

Moira offers a hand, which you refuse politely, and walks alongside you. She puts her phone back in her pocket but leaves her hand there. It's likely near her other knife.

Yours would be, if you were her. Hell, your hand is still on the switchblade she gave you, there in your own pocket.

"You keep calling me that," you speak up, needing to focus on anything besides how miserable you feel. "Are we related?"

"Mystically," Moira admits. "Not by blood. We're Darklings. People of the shadows."

"You smell like snow," you say quietly.

"That's because I serve Winter. That's something I chose, not something I am."

You nod, and let yourself be led through the city. Moira stops in an alley, where she hauls a watertight bag out from beneath a pile of trash. From it she extracts a variety of clothes, and in minutes your wounds are concealed beneath track pants and a long-sleeved windbreaker, with a baseball cap over your dirty hair. Right now you could be just about any guy on the street, provided no one gets too close.

It's good enough for Moira, at least. She repacks the bag, seals it, and hides it beneath the trash. You go through a maze of alleyways and spaces between buildings, slipping through the urban maze by utilizing the forgotten areas that exist because this property or that one ends a bit past where the actual building does. Whenever a gate or door bars your way, Moira produces a ring of keys and opens the path, letting you observe the way ahead before you commit to entering it.

At length, you arrive at the clinic. Moira lets you in to the hidden alley by putting a key in a crack in the wall and turning; the secret door turns on well-oiled hinges. When you pass through you turn around and see the cleverly constructed facade and give it a low whistle. That's craftsmanship.

Moira gives the back door a series of precise, rapid-fire knocks in what you think is probably code. The door is opened, and you're ushered in by a male nurse who shows you, wordlessly, to an examination room before leaving.

Within a minute, the doctor arrives. She can only be Sally; she's a goblin thing, tall and hunched, with a body like she's been made of sticks poorly coated in stretched skin. Her fingers are long and dexterous, her eyes sharp and attentive, and dried leaves swirl in her wake as she starts to pace around you.

"Sally is mute," Moira says helpfully. "But trustworthy. This is a house of hospitality. No one will hurt you here."

You shrug off your shirt and let the doctor get to work.

"Listen," Moira says, as Sally starts to disinfect the cuts left by the Thorns. "You kind of came at a bad time. And a good time, in a sense, but also a bad time. Summer went and pissed off some...something like the thing that Kept you," she says carefully. "Your old master."

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>>905479
You shiver, prompting the doctor to grip your shoulder and give you a hard glare. You give her a guilty look and try to relax.

You're going to need stitches on your arms and legs. You know it already, and she's getting out the supplies for it.

"The Freehold...I should start from the top," Moira decides. "Forgive me, cousin. I don't normally greet the new arrivals."

"Why greet me?" you ask.

"No one should be without a friendly face on their Homecoming," Moira answers, a hint of reproach in her voice. "...Anyway. People, we escape sometimes. From over there. From...the other place."

"The Fairest of Lands," you murmur.

"Yeah, that's the one," Moira agrees, making an odd sign across her chest. It's almost like a cross, but the motion is curved and it's missing the downstroke from the chest. "A few people every year, sometimes a lot of people. We band together to...to help out. To protect ourselves, to have each other's backs, to socialize, to understand, you know? We call those societies Freeholds. Ours is ruled by the four Seasonal Courts - Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. I'm Winter. You're currently Courtless. With me so far?"

You nod.

"This thing, she wants revenge on the Freehold. So we're gearing up for war. Gathering resources, making pre-emptive strikes, getting intelligence, that sort of thing. This is what Freeholds are /for/. So it's bad, because you've come home in the middle of a war and I know, trust me, I know that what you want to do is try to make sense of all of this and get back to your own life. But it's also good, because all of the Courts could use a pair of hands attached to a brain, and this is a really good chance to advance a lot faster than a new guy normally could."

"Assuming I want to be part of this Freehold of yours," you say, dubiously.

"Your family is here," Moira murmurs, and there's a pain in her voice that takes all the gentleness from it. "What kind of heartless bastard would you have to be, to leave them?"

You say nothing. She's right.

"Plus if you help, your Court - and the Freehold - can help you deal with the thing that's living your life," Moira continues, after a moment to collect herself. "So how about it? I can tell you about the jobs that need doing, or I can describe the Courts and you can try to pick one out based on how the idea sounds to you."

"How long am I stuck with what I pick?" you ask, dubiously.

"You don't even have to join up right away, honestly," Moira admits. "But even if you don't join the Court you help, you'll be earning their friendship. It can pay to think about what kind of friends you want to make."

"What about the Rook?"

"Fuck the Rook."

> Get the job list
> Get descriptions of the Courts
> Moira's superior(?) clearly wanted you to meet this Rook person. Insist.

And to aid you in your decision, I present Jesse's character sheet. It indicates his current state after (largely handwaved...) medical treatment

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

You'll have the chance to rest up before doing any, ah, heroics.

>>905490
> Get the job list
Side quests and delicious world building? Sign me up

>>905490
>Get descriptions of the Courts
Because knowing is half the battle.

>>905490
>> Get descriptions of the Courts

>>905490
> Get descriptions of the Courts
This might give us an idea of how each court is holding up. We don't want to get attached to one without knowing if it's three seconds away from imploding.

As you likely surmised by now, I need to sleep for awhile. Votes remain open; I'll update in the morning.

Questions, comments, discussion, feedback, and criticisms remain welcome and appreciated.

Thank you all for reading and participating!

For those of you who may have missed it, this is the second one-shot in this setting. The first, King of New Avalon Quest, is here: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/710213/

>>905490
>> Get descriptions of the Courts

>>905490
>Get descriptions of the Courts
We need some time to process all of this.

> Get descriptions of the Courts

Hmyeah, let's get an overview first before we commit to anything. A good nights rest (without horrible nightmares) would be nice too. But the odds of THAT seem fairly low in comparison.

I'm alive. Called, writing. Looks like our winner is to determine this philosophically.

And give me an excuse to offer DELICIOUS WORLDBUILDING

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>>905490
You decide that Moira has a point. You can do a lot of different kinds of work, but if you're going to be making friends, and maybe thinking about joining an organization, then you ought to know what these people are like.

"I would like to hear more about the Courts," you tell Moira, while Sally removes your pants with a professional air and works on cleaning out the cuts there. It hurts, but it's like most pain - mild in comparison to Master's displeasure.

And you remember this pain. It's good, clean; you can hear the fizzing of the disinfectant as it chatters merrily to itself, dutiful and eager. It puts a little smile on your lips.

Moira gets more comfortable in her chair - she's near the open window, in easy leap-out-for-her-life distance. "Let's start with Winter, then, since I know it best. But first you need a bit of context. Each Court rules during its own season, and passes power to the next on the appropriate solstice or equinox. So right now, Raven - the Autumn King - is ruling, but come December, Misery Monroe rules."

"...Misery," you say flatly.

"Just trust me on this one. The point is, the transfer of power is peaceable, and while each Court rules, it has its own way on how to keep the Freehold safe. All of them do their jobs in all Seasons, but the hows, the whys, the wheres, the whens, those all change. In Winter, for instance, Summer might find itself escorting sensitive cargo, whereas in Summer its knights lead open attacks against the enemies of the Lost."

"Which is us," you hazard. "The Lost, that is."

"It's a poetic name," Moira agrees. She pauses when Sally starts to stitch you, then blinks in surprise when you don't flinch or otherwise show any pain. "...Anyway. Winter is called the Silent Arrow and the Onyx Court. We're the Court of Sorrow; our pact with Winter gives us power from, and power over, sorrow of all kinds. We're stealthy, quiet, and cunning. Winter courtiers stay safe by staying hidden in plain sight."

"...But you've been forthcoming," you point out.

Moira shrugs. "Do you want a dissertation on information security and the different kinds and classifications of data and its protections, or do you want to know about Winter?" You give her a guilty grin. "That's what I thought. Basically, Winter avoids trouble whenever it can. We'll teach you how to hide, how to evacuate safely, how to prepare for trouble and how to get out alive when no one else can or will. And if you're willing to go into trouble for the Court, well...Winter rewards you for what you put in. When you take on responsibilities, you get rewards. Winter's never going to not pay you, and never going to not pay you up front."

"What about your ideals?" you ask, glad to have something to focus on besides the pain.

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>>906316
"Those are...a bit harder to talk about," Moira admits. "But basically, we're in it to survive. We serve the public good because it helps everyone survive, and because we're not, you know, heartless. We're just good at acting like it. We see to our own safety first, the Freehold's second, and the mortal world third, and everyone knows that. The higher-ups would prefer you to be a stoic instead of a liar, you know? Being a liar just makes it harder to deal with the other Courts."

"Stoics aren't very personable," you point out.

"Which is why we have a lot of liars," Moira admits, with a guilty grin. "...Basically stay fast, stay smart, do the work you say you'll do, and Winter will help keep you safe and make sure you don't run out of work as long as you want it."

You nod. "Spring?"

"The Court of Desire, the Emerald Court, and the Antler Crown. Spring believes in the idea that you can abandon the pain of your past and make a new life for yourself, free from guilt and pain. It's a pretty idea, and sometimes they even manage it, but there's an awful lot of sorrow there for people who think they're over their shit. Though I suppose that's why there's a whole Court for it instead of everyone just doing it..."

You cough.

"Right," Moira says, snapping out of her contemplation. "Spring encourages its members to figure out what their desires are and fulfill them, and to fulfill or stoke the desires of others. They want you and everyone to be happy, which is hard to argue with, but their power structure is pretty chaotic and they can be kinda selfish and kinda hard to manage. Their queen, Ramona Rabbit - don't say it - is a strong monarch but she's also a diehard believer. In the Freehold, Spring Courtiers supplement the other Courts in their arenas of interest, and Spring itself also helps provide resources, social connections, and influence over the mortal world. They're very good at making friends."

"Magic?" you hazard.

Moira wobbles a hand. "Their Court does give them a mystic nudge, yes, but it's mostly that Spring helps teach you how to make friends again. They want you to have all the beautiful things you lost when the Others took you."

"So why aren't you Spring?" you ask, dubiously.

"...Some of us don't like the idea of just abandoning our past like nothing that matters is there," Moira answers in a hard voice. You let it drop.

"Summer?"

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>>906341
"They're assholes," Moira answers, making a face. She catches the look on yours and holds her hands up. "Alright, alright. Summer, the Court of Wrath, is called the Crimson Court and the Iron Spear. They're soldiers. More than soldiers, even, they believe in solving their problems directly and in using strength. They defend the Freehold and train, maintain, and field full-time warriors. If you think, gee, this sounds like an army, congratulations, it is one. They've got a fresh young king, Arthur, who's been reforming his Court ever since the last guy died and left it holding the bag."

You wince as Sally starts in on your left arm, suturing with patient dexterity. "He was a weak king?"

Moira shakes her head. "Too strong. He was bad at delegating and Summer didn't know what to do with itself when he died. Arthur and his advisers are making sure that doesn't happen. He's also been big on making Summer work closely with the other Courts, which is credit I'll give him. His majordomo is an Autumn courtier -"

"How does that work?" you interrupt, blinking.

"It just does, leave it. Anyway, she's Autumn, he's got some kind of semi-formal alliance with Ramona and she appointed her young buck as her legate to Summer, and he's even managing to stay civil with us, which is fucking amazing considering how much the two Courts hate each other."

"I...can see why?" you hazard. "If they like to fight and you prefer to hide..."

"There's not a lot of love lost, yeah." Moira rolls her eyes. "So basically, Summer is forthright, strong, and Takes Action. If that sounds like you, Arthur's hungry for soldiers. No accounting for taste but, y'know, we all need each other. Autumn?"

"Autumn," you agree.

Moira lets out a long breath. "Autumn is the Court of Fear, the Leaden Mirror, and the Ashen Court. They're witches."

"Rude," you comment.

"Literally, cousin."

Sally stops long enough to pop you on on the top of your head, like a naughty kid. You cringe.

"Autumn formalizes the study of the magic we gained in the other place," Moira continues. "They love magic. It's not their only tool, but it is the one they take as their specialty and their purpose. Autumn collects knowledge, forges new Contracts, and otherwise exploits the power we've all been given. They also terrify our enemies and sometimes our allies, using fear to keep people safe or sharp. They can...have...difficulties, at times. They go crazy a lot. And there's the other problem..."

"Tell me," you ask.

"They don't fully understand the Wyrd. No one does. And sometimes the things you don't understand blow up in your face, and people get hurt. They die, or worse," Moira explains, frankly. "That's part of why Autumn practices fear. A good Autumn Courtier is wise enough to be scared of themselves. The trouble is, a powerful Autumn Courtier and a good one are not even remotely the same idea."

"What's their king like?" you ask.

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>>906383
"Old," Moira admits, frankly. "I don't even mean it as an insult. Raven has been a strong king, a wise king, a terrifying king, and a glorious king. His service to the Freehold is beyond compare and his majesty is beyond question or doubt, but he's also pushing a hundred and ten years old -" she pauses so you can sputter in disbelief - "and feeling it. His Court loves him, and they'd never act against him, not even the ones that covet his throne. But the moment he drops dead, there's going to be blood in the palace of dust, you mark my words. I just hope it doesn't happen during Autumn or we're all going to suffer for it."

"This is a lot to take in," you admit.

"I know. But they want me to take you to one of aforementioned assholes looking for Raven's throne, and I don't like the Rook. If you don't decide to go somewhere else soon - giving me a plausible excuse as to why I didn't take you to the Rook - you're going to end up with him and working for Autumn by default.There...is...a fifth option. A Courtless one."

"Not having a Court is a political faction?" you ask, confused.

"No, not having a Court is a default state of being. But there's the Margravate of the Brim, a militia that rejects the Courts and protects the borders of the Freehold - the Brim they take their name from. They're hard people to know, and hard people in general, and they despise the Courts, but they selflessly protect the Freehold. You'll earn some animosity, working for them, but they remember their friends. They don't have many to begin with."

"If I choose Autumn, were would you take me?" you ask. "Or send me, I suppose."

"Probably to Suzie," Moira mulls. "She works as a private investigator. She's one of our cousins too, a leechfinger, and she investigates unusual magical happenings. I can't imagine she'd turn down another pair of hands, and she doesn't have a side in the fight for Autumn's throne."

You need to make a choice.

> Work with Spring
> Work with Summer
> Work with Autumn (Suzie)
> Work with Winter
> Go see the Rook
> Meet the Margravate of the Brim

>>906401
>Work for Winter
Having a guarantee that favors will be paid back on full will be a boon in the future, and of the lot they seem the most neutral at the moment.

Though some aspects of Spring might be interesting to look at later.

>>906401
> Work with Winter

Does not mean we cant work with others at another time.

Plus, its anti plant, so if the place we came from is any way trying to get us, we can freeze the fuckers.

>>906401
>Ask her to honestly tell you what she would do in your place (remember she may lie)
>Go see the Rook
> Meet the Margravate of the Brim
We've only got one persons opinions on the factions so far and while she seems nice she's also undoubtedly biased therefore we need more data and points of view before we should commit to a decision this important.

>>906431
Please vote for only one option. Remember, this isn't a permanent decision for Jesse's life. However, this quest is meant for a shorter run and I'd like to be able to move the plot along.

>>906431
Can't meet the whole town, anon. Time's a tickin'

>>906401
>> Work with Winter

>>906401
>Work with Winter
Payment to secure a foothold and we'll see from there.

>>906401
>> Meet the Margravate of the Brim

>>906401
>Meet the Margravate of the Brim

Called, writing momentarily. Need to hit some dishes.

>>906563
I was tempted to say we should meet with some of the guys from Summer, and I'm curious about the changes (and the potential consequences) caused by Arthur's decisions.

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>>906401
"I...think I might fit best with Winter, in terms of their jobs and what I'm good at," you decide, as Sally is finishing her sutures. You gratefully accept the clean clothes that Moira had given you and get dressed gingerly.

"We end up in Winter and Autumn quite a bit," Moira admits. "Darklings, that is. We're good at what they do. Are you sure?"

"I...I'm sure," you agree. "When do I start?"

"After you catch some sleep and food, you look like hell," Moira tells you. She holds up a hand to silence your protest. "I don't care if you think you can go on or not, the Freehold is extending its hospitality to you and nothing is so urgent that we have to throw you into the grinder before we can be good hosts. So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to step outside and make a phone call while I have a smoke break. You're going to wait out front and get in the car that comes for you, while I am, of course, too distracted to stop you."

"...You've done this before." It's not a question.

"I really don't like the Rook," Moira says by way of explanation, shrugging her shoulders. "I'll catch you later." Your (fellow, evidently) darkling gives you a steadying smile before she leaves the room and slips out the back door again.

"Do you trust her?" you ask Sally. The doctor nods and offers her hand to help you off of your seat. You turn her down, as politely as you can, and slip off yourself. The jolt of pain through your legs is bracing.

You give Moira a minute before you let Sally escort you out the front door. There's a car waiting there, a somewhat dingy sedan being driven by a - human? Normal person? You don't need this question in your life right now.

He rolls the window on the passenger side down. "Moira said you needed a lift?"

You nod and limp to the car. You get in the back seat, buckle in, and let yourself be driven in silence. The man in the front seat adjusts the mirror so he can keep an eye on you, and you try not to think about the last time you were actually in a car. It feels so fast now that you can't believe you used to drive one yourself.

The car parks in the driveway of a three-story home. A sign up front proclaims it Lifewise Grief Counseling, Walk-Ins Welcome. You thank the driver, absently, and head up the steps and into the front door.

The young woman behind the reception desk has hair made of braided, lambent flames that flicker and flow slowly, and sad blue eyes that light up when she sees you. She moves around the desk and gives you a firm handshake that makes you stiffen in discomfort.

"Moira said you'd be coming," she murmurs. "We have a guest room done up. Do you have any food allergies?"

"I - no?"

"Good, good. We'll send a meal up. Please, rest. Take your ease. Someone will be in to see you after dark. For your comfort."

You nod, dimly, and let yourself be escorted upstairs.

File: The Thorns.jpg (42 KB, 236x609)

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>>906877
Despite the hunger and the pain, you drift off to sleep only moments after you crawl into the bed and the receptionist closes the door behind you.

* * * *

It's dark, in your dreams. It's always dark. The darkness is your blessing and your curse; it's inside and outside, a part of you and apart from you, and it is more home to you now than the house on the beach.

You're not sure where you're going or what you're doing. The darkness smells like salt water and Autumn chill. You can feel sand beneath your feet without really being able to see it, but you know something else is here with you. Something, someone -

You pull up face-to-face with the razor blade man.

"Who are you?" he asks, incredulous.

"You first," you growl.

"Doctor Jesse Miller," the razor blade man answers firmly. "You...you're actually here, aren't you? In my dream."

"You're in my dream," you growl. "You -"

"Listen," the razor blade man interrupts, putting his hands on your shoulders (the blades dig in, without him really meaning to). "Listen, if you're really here, if I'm not going crazy, something is wrong. I need help. Something's wrong and it's coming for my family."

Your blood goes cold.

"Caleb won't stop drawing these pictures," the razor blade man continues, his metal-on-wood voice thick with fear. "His teachers are worried about him. I was worried about him too, until I saw it for myself."

"Saw what?" you whisper.

"Thorns," the razor blade man answers.

* * * *

A knock on the door jolts you, screaming in fury, to wakefulness. You have the switchblade out and moving through the air before you remember yourself and the events of the last few hours.

Thankfully, the person knocking stayed on the other side of the door, well out of reach of your reflexive attack. "It's alright, cousin," Moira says through the door. "It's okay. You're back in New Avalon."

Right. Right, you're - not home, exactly, but you're where you're from.

And Caleb is drawing Thorns.

> I have to go (abandon Moira's offer of work)
> Continue as you'd planned; maybe Winter can help if you get this done fast enough

>>906929
> Continue as you'd planned; maybe Winter can help if you get this done fast enough
I am tempted to distrust this.. this, copy.

If possible, ask Moira if something can be done about Caleb. Well, ask what the price might be first.

>>906929
>Continue as you'd planned; maybe Winter can help if you get this done fast enough
Tell Moira what just happened. Maybe Autumn can help with something like this?

>>906929
>> Continue as you'd planned; maybe Winter can help if you get this done fast enough
>Moira, I need favours that I can trade and FAST. What do I need to do?

Called, writing.

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>>906929
It's coming back to you. The conversation in the clinic, your agreement to work with Winter. And - oh, right.

"Did you get in trouble?" you ask, blearily.

Moira laughs; the sound is oddly bright but, you think, genuine. "No, I didn't. The Rook will grumble but not much. He knows I don't like him, and in any event I made you my problem, which is almost as good as him having you."

"Thanks?"

"Feel free to be offended. New Lost can be...a handful. Shower's down the hall, along with some new clothes. I took some educated guesses about your sizes. Then we'll talk work, on the next floor down. Follow the scent of coffee."

Moira walks away, deliberately making noise so you know she's leaving. You smile, despite yourself. That's a nice touch, and you appreciate it.

You proceed to the shower. New clothes are hanging up for you, and you even remember how to adjust the water temperature properly. You've spent most of your life on Earth, after all, even if you...

You were gone for nearly eight years, weren't you? That's why Caleb is older. That's why you feel older. There was no such thing as regular, measured time in the Labyrinth, but you aged. People who got too slow died and had their possessions taken by the other rats scurrying in Master's maze.

You scrub down quickly, the realization making you feel in more of a hurry. In all of that time you were gone, Caleb has been raised by that thing, that razor blade man who introduces himself with your name. The faster you can earn those payments, the faster you can get this settled. Winter will understand about needing to keep your family safe.

The new clothes are nondescript - jeans, a polo shirt, and a jacket, the inside of which has many pockets. It comes with a blue-green baseball cap that reverses into a grey one. You put it on grey side out, then follow Moira's advice. The scent of coffee takes you into a small staff kitchen, where you find Moira and an older gentleman with a decidedly demonic look about him - red skin, pointed features, a black goatee and, as it turns out, a rich, many-layered voice that seems intent on making you question your sexuality.

"Welcome, Mister Jesse," the seemingly literal devil greets graciously. "I am Louis, known through the Freehold as Luscious Lou. My subordinate -" he gestures to Moira, and a faint flurry of snow passes between the two of them before vanishing into nothing - "tells me that you have a desire to make yourself useful in these trying times."

"Yes, sir," you agree, politely. Moira pulls out a stool for you and slides you a cup of creamed coffee, which you accept gratefully. You take a sip. "I understand that new arrivals usually take some time to themselves, but Moira says you could use more help than usual."

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>>907433
"Moira is absolutely correct," Luscious Lou agrees. "As I am certain she intimated, but did not have the opportunity to state, Winter assigns its responsibilities based on a system of trust and merit. You, through no fault of your own, have not yet had a chance to earn this trust or merit, and certainly cannot be asked to bear our secrets or the burden of such trust. However," the devil raises a hand to arrest your incoming interruption. "This is not to say that we would turn away your aid or your friendship. King Raven is making much use of the Winter Court, and with good cause, and this means we are shorthanded in certain...internal roles."

"Winter's new recruits usually serve the Court as messengers," Moira explains. "With opportunities given to volunteer for further work. Those that volunteer catch the attention of a mentor, who provides further work in exchange for aiding in the advancement of their student. That's the relationship between Louis and I; he promotes me, and in exchange I serve him, to the benefit of both."

"I see," you agree, before taking another sip of your coffee. "And you have so many volunteers at the moment that you're short on message runners?"

"Precisely," Luscious Lou agrees. "And that, my good man, is where I would like you to come in. Winter stocks bolt-holes and safehouses of various levels of both secrecy and supply, known as our Winter Cottages. Some of these Cottages are Hollows in the Hedge, but many, perhaps even most, are here in the mortal world. In this current clime of conflict with the Others, we are pulling out of the Hedge-based Cottages and secreting their supplies elsewhere. If you are of a mind to, I would have you carry the sealed orders to one such Cottage and assist in its evacuation."

You shift on your stool, looking the devil in the eye. "Moira says that Winter pays."

"Miss Moira remains exemplary in her transmission of factual knowledge," Lou agrees, carefully.

"I want the Court to investigate my family," you tell him. "I believe that they are in danger."

"We are not in the habit of murdering fetches for their...other halves," Lou says warningly, a little frown on his sharp features, but he raises an eyebrow when you shake your head.

"Leave the razor blade man alone," you tell him, hazarding at what he means by 'fetch'. "He thinks they're in danger too."

"I see," Lou answers, thoughtfully. "...You are, potentially, asking more than the task is worth."

"I can owe you," you answer, without hesitation.

"It's his family, Louis," Moira adds, stressing the word.

"Very well. We can determine the relative worth of your work against the favor at a later time," Luscious Lou decides. "I will have this thing done for you, to the best of the Court's ability. Do you know the source of the danger?"

"My son, Caleb, will not stop drawing pictures that depict the Thorns," you tell him. The devil frowns, and nods.

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>>907466
"Dire indeed," he says in a solemn tone. "Moira, call in our favor with Ms. Suzanne and inform her of the situation. She should be happy to have her debt cleared."

"On it," Moira agrees, dropping down from her own stool and slipping from the room to make the call. Louis, for his part, sets a small backpack on the kitchen counter. From it he produces a thick envelope with a white wax seal, a stout survival knife, and two jars of what appears to be jam.

"The message, a weapon with which to defend yourself, and surgeonberry jam," the devil tells you. "Mind that you eat the entire jar."

"For what?" you ask, puzzled.

"Healing your hurts in the field, my good man. It is not called 'surgeonberry' idly. It may keep you alive when you would otherwise be dead."

You slip the jars into your jacket pockets and belt the knife to your side. You keep Moira's switchblade, for now. She never said when exactly you needed to return it.

"What, precisely, am I to do?" you ask, expecting to be bound into a pledge. Lou doesn't let you down.

"Do you, Jesse the darkling, of no particular Court, agree to bear this message to the Hollow Tree Cottage in the Hedge and deliver it, with its seal unbroken, to the keepers of that cottage, and further to aid said keepers in removing its valuables and relocating them into the mortal realm, or else, to the best of your ability and with mind given to your personal safety, determine the fate of the keepers in the event of their absence and provide such intelligence solely to the Winter Court?"

"I do," you answer formally.

"Then may your feet bear you swiftly, your hand strike true, and know that Winter will, to the best of its ability and knowledge, investigate and report, solely to you, the circumstances and threats surrounding your mortal family." You clasp hands with the devil, and feel a rush in your heartbeat as the Wyrd seals your oath.

You've gained the MESSENGER'S PLEDGE.

"I cannot spare a driver to convey you to the appropriate Hedge gate," Lou confesses, while you tuck the letter safely away. "And the streets of New Avalon are not safe at night. I leave your approach, and the fulfillment of your word, in your hands. May fate be kind to you, Jesse the darkling, of no particular Court."

> Move through the Hedge, seeking the cottage (Wyrd + Occult + 2 [hedge gate sense] at difficulty 10)
> Pick your way through the streets to the closer Hedge gate (Stealth at difficulty 12)
> Stop to try and harvest Glamour first

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

Current health: 6/6
Current Glamour: 4/10

If you want to expend Glamour as part of a roll, include it in your vote. Most rolls will be 1d10+appropriate modifiers vs. a set difficulty; once the option is locked in, I will call for rolls. Best of first two rolls will be used for the calculations. Degrees of success and failure are relevant.

>>907528
> Stop to try and harvest Glamour first
Refill the stocks before we go and be useful

>>907528
>Stop to try and harvest glamour first

>>907528
>Stop to try and harvest Glamour first

>>907528
> Stop to try and harvest Glamour first.

Well that's fairly conclusive. Called, writing.

>>908165
All future reference, this is a subject I'm grappling with. Harvesting Glamour is a thing that requires active participation, generally speaking, and as a result should be both dramatically appropriate and, y'know, an actual decision to be made.

At the same time, quests are not tabletop, and shit will drag on forever, and ever, until the end of fucking time, if I make every trip to get Glamour a challenge in the longer-form quest.

So for this one I'm just gonna narrate it, mainly for The Worldbuilding, but if folks have thoughts on how to approach this problem I am all ears.

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>>907528
You're starved of Glamour, and you know, instinctively, that unchanged people can provide it to you. You remember the feeling, the rush of terror that meant you could survive just a few hours longer, back in the Labyrinth. When Master had brought in new pets that hadn't changed yet.

Lost in fragments of memory, you nod vaguely to Lou and head out the front door and onto the streets.

The night is misty and cold, and you zip up your jacket and tuck your hands into the pockets. You move quietly, as is your habit, with your eyes up and your nose perked. It's hard to smell anything over the sharp sea breeze but that's just because you're not used to it yet. You'll adapt.

You catch a woman walking across the street, but something stays your hand. A half-remembered string of words, in a solemn voice. Where had you heard them?

"Ultimately, if they don't transgress, they can't be punished."

This woman isn't doing anything. You turn your gaze and keep walking. You wish you could remember where you'd heard that. It sounds so, so correct. You're taking time away from the task with which you've been entrusted, but it's important that this be, that it be -

Correct.

Small, metallic sounds catch your ear, which you recognize distantly as the sound of picks in a lock. You move towards them, shrouded in the evening fog, and catch a pair of young men trying to pick the lock on a bicycle. Why they don't have bolt cutters is beyond you, but this is perfect.

You glide in from behind and press your knife into the small of one young man's back. He stiffens, providing a rush of terrified Glamour laced with guilt, and you breathe it in.

"Beg," you murmur.

The young man's friend - well, "friend" now - is already running. He breaks down sobbing, shaking in your grip, and you take pity on him. You let the boy go, though not without putting the toe of your boot into the back of his knee. He collapses back to the ground, covering his head in reflexive terror.

"What have we learned about stealing?" you demand, in a hiss.

"I won't, I won't! I'm sorry!"

"Good boy."

You slip into the fog, leaving your wailing victim behind you, and savor the taste of Glamour on your tongue before moving on.

You gain 4 Glamour

You tuck your knife back into your pocket and let the scent of the Thorns lead you to an already-extant Hedge gate. It's a garden gate, battered and locked, but the lock is a simple catch and running your knife through the crack between the gate and its frame flips it easily enough. You knock, letting the Glamour flow from you to open the way, and push the door open into the Thorns.

You expend 1 Glamour

It's a moonless night in the Thorns, and the path you're let onto from the garden gate is crowded by trees that block out the feeble starlight. Street lamps, marks of the mortal world, line the path, and you keep an eye on them as you move through.

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>>908265
Something is wrong. You can scent blood on the air, and you pick up your pace. The path seems to widen for you, the Hedge tasting your urgency and responding in kind, and you soon come on what has to be the Hollow Tree Cottage.

Or, rather, its wreckage. Whatever happened here was swift, violent, and without pity. The hollow tree that housed the Cottage has been broken open at the front, and laid out in the dirt in front of it is the mangled corpse of an elfin man, still lightly dusted with snow. Carefully, you pick your way through the debris with your knife in hand (you don't quite remember drawing it). The inside has been tossed, with books, tables, and supplies flipped through and ransacked. The food hasn't been touched, but you can't find a single thing made of metal anywhere in here. You frown, until you hear the groan.

At first you think there's a survivor, but when you reach her it's quite obvious that there really is not. The young woman's legs are a good four feet from the rest of her body, and her life's blood is soaking its way into the floor.

That she's still alive now is beyond belief.

She croaks something, and you lean in closer, straining to hear her.

"Skeleton key," she manages, before she collapses, eyes wide and staring.

You look around, fear pounding in your chest. A trail of blood - maybe from something being dragged? - leads away from the Cottage.

> Search the area and report back; you don't have to risk your life (Perception against difficulty 12)
> Track the attackers (Perception against difficulty 11)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

Current health: 7/7
Current Glamour: 7/10

>>908287
> Track the attackers
Get intel on the raiders, and fall back later if the threat appears to be too much to handle.

> Spend a point of Glamour

>>908287
>Track the attackers (Perception against difficulty 11)
"We can determine the relative worth of your work against the favor at a later time"
perhaps we can even earn some credit here.

>>908287
>Track the attackers (Perception against difficulty 11)

>>908287
> Track the attackers (Perception against difficulty 11)

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As you may have guessed, I need to be kill for awhile. Votes remain open.

Questions, comments, discussion, feedback (especially mechanical feedback) and criticisms remain, as always, welcome and appreciated.

Also if anyone has Changeling-appropriate images my Google-fu has failed me beyond measure.

Thank you all for reading and participating!

>>908287
>Track the attackers (Perception against difficulty 11)

>>908287
>> Track the attackers (Perception against difficulty 11)

>>905330
Good

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>>908398
I have np idea what a Changling appropriate image actually is, so bear with me.

>>908657
Well it's not inappropriate.

Votes called! Give me two dice at 1d10+6 (Perception + tracking specialty + Hedge Gate Sense + circumstance bonus); remember, I'm taking the best of the first two rolls.

Rolled 10 + 6 (1d10 + 6)

>>908687

>>908691
Hot damn.

>>908691
Welp.

Writing.

Rolled 7 + 6 (1d10 + 6)

>>908687
>>908691
I hardly think we have to roll more but what the heck.

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>>908687
So just like, spooky people, or...?

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>>908287
CRITICAL SUCCESS

You close the dead woman's eyes; that's something you remember from before the madness and the pain. When you do, you notice something just beneath her collar. Gingerly, you lift her torso by the shoulder and find half a piece of paper - no, parchment - torn from a book.

"The Key of Death opens all locks and all portals; it respects no man's protections, and no trap or ward may foil it, for in it is the Lord's writ of passage..."

You tuck the paper into your breast pocket and move quickly. Whoever did this will be close, especially as burdened as they are, and you have a terrible, foreboding feeling about what it is they've stolen.

Though if you're right, what was it doing in a minor bolt-hole, insignificant enough for Winter to trust you with its location?

The drag marks eventually stop, but you're able to pick up on the faint impressions of boot prints in the hard dirt of the path, as well as the scent of drying blood. You move quickly, silently, and your diligence and speed are rewarded when you reach a circular clearing - a pause in the path, essentially - in which you see it.

The man-thing is tall, broad of shoulder, and clad in a curious sort of plate armor that seems to be made all of water. Minnows swim inside of it, darting to and fro and eating insects that dart to avoid them. Coiled at his side is a long, thick whip made of lashed-together spines.

The man has no head, not that it seems to be an obstacle for him. He holds up a small key in one hand, its grip a stylized skull set with flecks of sapphire for eyes, and drags a thick, bloodstained sack behind himself while he contemplates.

He doesn't seem to have noticed you.

> Leave and make your report
> Attack (melee against difficulty 7)
> Snatch-and-go (athletics against difficulty 12)

You have gained SURPRISE (+2 on your next roll)

Current health: 7/7
Current Glamour: 7/10

Remember that you can spend up to 1 Glamour per roll and to include any proposed expenditure in your vote.

Write-ins potentially welcome

>>908814
Probably helps if I include the sheet:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

>>908723
Not exactly? To give you an idea, the following posts are used official art from the various supplements in the setting.

>>908287
>>908265
>>907466
>>907433
>>906929
>>906401
>>906383
>>906316
>>905490
>>905479
>>905446
>>905252
>>905039
>>904833

Most Changelings themselves are visibly near-human and recognizable if you squint as the people they used to be. Plant and especially thorn symbolism is common. Hobgoblins and other things of the Hedge can be pretty inhuman, and the True Fae run the gamut from 'idealized humans radiating power and majesty' to 'who gave Lovecraft acid and a copy of Sumerian religious texts', but the Lost themselves are just-off-human. A Beast is more likely to be a catgirl than a furry (I know, I know), an Elemental has traits of an element rather than overwhelming personal transformation, etc. Exceptions exist but if I want art of one of those exceptions it's depressingly easy to find.

>>908814
>> Attack (melee against difficulty 7)

>>908814
We could attack, but I feel that doing so without figuring out how to make it count might be unwise. Can we look for weak spots or some sort of but on it that looks important?

Really, it's more to disable than kill since I don't fancy our chances against something that probably soloed a winter bolthold. Can our knife even get through its armor?

Failing that, I say a snatch and grab might be best.

>Observe for weaknesses/vulnerabilities or general information.

>>908814
>Attack (melee against difficulty 7)
Can we spend a glamour to make our knives able to cut through metal? Otherwise aim for joints and joins in the armor (does this count as a bigger opponent?)
Also try and take out the whip first if this does all go to hell we want to be able to run with our legs untangled.

>>908874
Oh and if we do end up needing to run we should slash the bag and hope to cause a delay that way.

>>908874
He is in fact larger. Glamour is expendable in the fashions described on your sheet. You can expend a point on the sneak attack or the snatch-and-go.

>>908814
>> Snatch-and-go (athletics against difficulty 12)
>Spend Glamour

>> Snatch-and-go (athletics against difficulty 12)
>Spend Glamour

>>908814
>> Snatch-and-go (athletics against difficulty 12)
>>Spend Glamour

>>908814
>snatch-and-glamour
Opponent is
-Armored
-Armed
-Likely to be more magical than us
-Used to murdering
-Clearly able to kill multiple opponents, and do so with extreme force
A head-on fight is likely a godawful idea even with surprise. Best bet is to grab the key and get the fuck out.

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> MRW random anons, some of whom have never played Changeling, are already acting more Winter than any of my players who made Winter Courtiers.

Called, writing.

You expend 1 Glamour.

Roll me 2 dice at a total of 1d10+8. You lose SURPRISE after this roll.

Rolled 8 + 8 (1d10 + 8)

>>908942
Are we bolting in the next post or the one after?

>>908951
That would be telling.

Rolled 1 (1d10)

>>908942

>>908956
Forgot your modifier there, friend.

>>908956
So, Vox, you, uh, don't do critfails, right?

>>908955
Invoking Night’s Subtle Distractions if Thorns right now counts as night and outdoors, if it benefits us.

>>908962
When I said 'best of two' I meant it. I'm not decided on critical failure but even if I decided to use it the system is slanted towards it not happening; you'd have to roll two ones.

Rolled 2 + 8 (1d10 + 8)

>>908942
MASTA, NOT DA WHIP MASTA

8 + 8 = 16; Success with Style

Writing.

Cant remember, could you invoke 2 different contracts at the same time? If so we should remember to activate Nevertread(1Glam) and Night’s Subtle Distractions(hopefully 0Glam) once we ARE bolting.

>>908995
In the base game, no. I haven't quite decided for the quest format yet but I'm leaning towards 'if you have the Glamour for it and the Clause itself isn't a kind of action'; that is, like, various attack or armor Contracts that take up your focus and effort might not be compatible with other such Contracts in a single action.

TL;DR I'm taking thoughts on the matter.

>>908998
Also Night's has no duration so I'm assuming its upkeep based, if you do decide that we cant double activate we should start with Night's and when we can use Nevertread.

>>909016
Well I dropped the ball on that one. It lasts for a fairly fuckoff amount of time though; the folks you tag with it get hit for an hour.

Lemme go edit that in. Aaand the others.

>>908981
Grab the Ultimate Key, run away... hopefully the Headless Knight isn't faster than us or knows which Magic Door we want to run to...

File: The Huntsman.jpg (132 KB, 624x613)

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>>908814
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gz2GVlQkn4Q

You succeeded with style! You gain HEADSTART (+1 for this chase)

Your memory of the briarwolf (was that really only earlier today?) fresh in your mind, you draw your knife and free it from its sheath before tucking the sheath back into your pocket. Careful, silent steps move you into the clearing, closer and closer to the headless thing.

You slash the bag, making it rip loudly and spilling a scattering of metal objects - forks, coins, metal-rimmed plates, a letter opener, and more besides - onto the dirt. The man-thing turns just enough for you to snatch the key and leap back from its water-armored fist.

You turn and run, your heart pounding in your chest with adrenaline, fear, and fury. The inhuman thing lets out a screech behind you. There's a thunderous crack, but that terrible whip of spines falls just short of you, and the chase is on.

Or is it? You pause when you realize you're not hearing footfalls. Then the man-thing whistles, and you hear hooves from beyond the path, and the horrible cracking of breaking Thorns.

Fuck.

> Run flat-out; maybe you can beat it to the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 12)
> Plunge off of the path, he'll never expect it (???; injured by the Thorns)
> Duck into the Hollow Tree Cottage and hide, then sneak away later (Stealth against difficulty 12)
> Your fear and the chase will attract something bigger and meaner soon. Run him into it (Occult against difficulty 9; risk complications)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

Current Health: 7/7
Current Glamour: 6/10

>>909079
>Your fear and the chase will attract something bigger and meaner soon. Run him into it (Occult against difficulty 9; risk complications)

Let's run him into something and slip off in the confusion

>>909079
>Your fear and the chase will attract something bigger and meaner soon. Run him into it (Occult against difficulty 9; risk complications)

>>909079
>> Duck into the Hollow Tree Cottage and hide, then sneak away later (Stealth against difficulty 12)
>Invoke Night’s Subtle Distractions (For being Outdoors at Night if Thorns counts as such right now)
I have to sleep but someanon please invoke Nevertread on next post if this wins, it absolutely fucks tracking.

>>909098
If this wins, wait untill we get both of them under Night’s Subtle Distractions

>>909107

That and Nevertread for when we duck out of their way

I must go be Gainfully Employed. This vote will remain open until approximately 1 AM EST.

Questions, comments, discussion, feedback, and criticisms remain welcome and appreciated.

Thank you all for reading and participating!

>>909133

I know you called it a one shot but how long do you think the arc will last, because I like this a lot, never seen a changeling quest before

>>909163
Essentially this will cover Jesse "coming home", whatever that ends up entailing. I'm running this as a brain break from Dungeon Life Quest, to help refine the mechanics I'm using (hence the requests for feedback thereupon) and to help flesh out, and familiarize my audience with, the setting before I run Cinderella Sanction.

About five hours to call, give or take.

>>909079
> Run flat-out; maybe you can beat it to the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 12)
Even I know staying in enemy territory is a bad idea. The longer we're stuck in the Hedge, the harder it will be to leave. Need to get the fuck out now, while we still can.

>>909079
>Your fear and the chase will attract something bigger and meaner soon. Run him into it (Occult against difficulty 9; risk complications)

>>909079
> Run flat-out; maybe you can beat it to the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 12)

Called. Winner -

>Your fear and the chase will attract something bigger and meaner soon. Run him into it (Occult against difficulty 9; risk complications)

Roll me 2 dice at 1d10+3.

Rolled 5 + 3 (1d10 + 3)

>>911124
Why fight the headless whip man directly when he can get coiled up with something else?

Rolled 2 + 3 (1d10 + 3)

>>911124
Rolling

Welp.

5 + 3 = 8; Success at consequence.

Writing.

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>>911160
As taken from DLQ

>>911165
We probably get snagged by some Thorns, or maybe escape from the bad guy but run into a Briarwolf. Still a better alternative to being caught by the Headless Horseman fucker.

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>>909079
The sound of hoofbeats echoes in your memories, bringing back thoughts of Master and his steed. You won't be ridden down, and you won't try to hide; both are just waiting to earn Master's wrath. Or this thing's; you focus while you run, shaking off the memories that threaten to cloud your mind.

You aren't back in the Labyrinth, and there are things here worse than this rider. You hope.

You veer away from the remains of the Hollow Tree Cottage. The rider isn't expecting it, and you grin when you hear him pull his mount up. The thing screeches again, its voice a high-pitched whine, and turns to pick up your trail again.

You tuck the key into the inside pocket of your jacket and run for all your life is worth. The path, darkening further as the Hedge closes in around you, is lit now only by the vine-coated street lamps that tell you the mortal world is close.

One flickers on ahead of you, revealing a sharp ridge that splits the path. You pull up short, turning to see where the rider is, and manage to duck the lash of his whip just in time.

The crack you hear isn't stone. It's flesh. The ridge that splits the path gets up, shedding dirt from its angular features. In slow horror you turn your head and see the bleeding, wedge-like face of the beast. Its legs are devoid of claws, but its wide mouth is filled with fangs, and the lashing tail it uncoils is tipped with shards of glass.

"Surrender the key and I will spare your life from this beast," the rider offers in its high-pitched, whining voice. It cracks its whip into the air, threateningly. "Swiftly, slave!"

> Give the rider the key
> Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)
> Try to move past the beast and get the hell out of here (Athletics against difficulty 11)
> Destroy the key (???)
> Write-in?

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

You lose HEAD START.

Current Health: 7/7
Current Glamour: 6/10

Sorry about the long write time, work kicked my ass. I'ma get some sleep now.

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>911329
>Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)
Don't know what the modifiers are.

>>911339
Generally the rolls are called for once the votes are handled, friend, and Vox will give us the necessary roll. The link in that post has the character sheet, which should be readable enough. We're rested, so Melee should be 1d10+4 (plus an extra 1 with knives), rolled twice? Your roll wasn't called for and will not be counted against us.

>>911329
> Write-in
> Feed the beast the key

>>911329
>Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)

>>911329
>> Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)

>>911329
MYSTERY BOX OPTION! Seconding this; >>911344
> Destroy the key by throwing it into the beasts mouth. Then, fucking book it like hell is nipping at you heels (because it pretty much is).

I'm am damn certain that this thing is no good, and none of the Winter Court can blame a freshly free Changeling from getting rid of magical shit that already cost the lives of their kin. And we're keeping it out of the hands of the Fae, who probably have some bullshit prophecy concerning it.

>>911344
>>911361
Optional: Magically enforce the command-promise first.

>>911329
>> Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)

>>911329
>> Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)

>>911329
>> Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)

>>911329
>> Attack the rider's mount; the scent of blood should put the beast into a frenzy (Melee against difficulty 9)

Well that's pretty clear.

Give me 2 dice at 1d10+7.

Rolled 1 + 7 (1d10 + 7)

>>911887

>>911897
And so my luck runs out...

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>911887

>>911903
Dude...good role, you forgot the +7 though.

>>911906
I hope it still counts

>>911903
>>911906
>>911910
I didn't count it last time and I traditionally have not. I'm not gonna count it here; we can revisit this topic later, but I already set it down for this run.

I'm still in need of a die. 1d10+7

>>911910
Vox wanted two roles, I am sure you made up for this guy>>911897

>>911931
You should check the ID's on those posts

>>911930
Oh come on Vox, he rolled>>911903
how come only missing the plus 7 makes it not count? It not like we don't know what it would be.

>>911934
Didn't notice till now, the numbers and colors blended in to much.

Rolled 9 + 7 (1d10 + 7)

>>911952
Thank you.

>>911952
Hot damn, good work.

9 + 7 = 16; Success with Style.

The TL;DR on melee attacks is additional successes get piled onto your weapon's base damage. Most people don't have an awful lot of health, as you noticed with Jesse himself here, so getting nailed for 1-5 from a knife shot is pretty damn bad. Wound penalties can cause complications to either side (though, notably, Jesse doesn't suffer them) and form weaknesses that you can prey on later.

So in this case you've done 3 damage (base difficulty + 1 for every 3 you blew over) and also accomplished your objective.

Writing.

>>911986
>also accomplished your objective.
Exelent and we can use Night's on next post followed by Nevertread in the one after.

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>>911329
The rider has no face, but you can feel the sneering expression on the one that isn't there, the arrogance. He thinks he has weak prey cornered.

One day, your enemies will learn to expect you to lunge head-on from a position of weakness, but today is not that day. You dart forward, slashing once, twice, on either side of the rider's mount. The long gouges in its pitch-black neck rip like cloth rather than flesh, and the blood that spills out in gouts glows brightly while the witchsteed rears and shrieks in pain.

You jab the knife into its chest, opening up yet another hole, before you leap away, diving for cover at the base of the Thorns. You feel the air parting just above you; the beast is swinging its heavy tail, and you wince when you hear the oddly papery sound of the rider's steed being struck. Its bones crumple, folding its side in and throwing it into the Thorns.

The rider's watery armor protects him when he hits the dirt of the path, and he rolls away from the bite of the beast. The headless horseman rises into a savage uppercut, catching the beast in its lower jaw. The monster's tail comes up, and it flicks shards of razor-sharp glass from the tip of its tail, forcing the rider to give ground to dodge.

You know the deal you murmur to the darkness around you.

All three of them? the shadows ask. Very well.

The shadows swirl at the feet of the three combatants, thickening their perceptions. The darkness is deceptive, but the darkness is also your friend.

You rise to a half-crouch, only to hit the dirt immediately when that glass-tipped tail lashes right where your head just was. You're not out of this yet.

> Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)
> Just wait it out. You can fight down the survivor, right?
> Attack the rider; his corpse will occupy the beast while you get away (Melee against difficulty 10; suffer a counterattack unless you succeed against difficulty 13)
> Attack the beast; the rider will be too weak to chase you (Melee against difficulty 10; risk getting trampled or thrown against the Thorns)
> Write-in?

>>912181
And I forgot the breakdown.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

You activate NIGHT'S SUBTLE DISTRACTIONS via its CATCH

Current Health: 7/7
Current Glamour: 6/10

>>912181
> Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)

>>912181
>> Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)

>>912181
>> Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)
I'll take a Nevertread for 1Glam please!

>>912181
>Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)

Also go nevertread

>>912181
>> Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)

>>912181
>> Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)
> Activate Nevertread for 1 Glamour

Slipping away in the confusion, never to be found again? Yeah, that's pretty much what we're made for.

>>912181
>> Attack the beast; the rider will be too weak to chase you (Melee against difficulty 10; risk getting trampled or thrown against the Thorns)

Called. Winner:

> Try to crawl away (Stealth against difficulty 10)

You activate Nevertread, spending 1 Glamour

Give me two dice at 1d10+6 (+2 bonus from your enemies being DISTRACTED).

Rolled 2 + 6 (1d10 + 6)

>>912370
I assume the bonus is already incorporated.

>>912390
Correct. Otherwise you'd be swinging at +4.

Rolled 2 + 6 (1d10 + 6)

>>912370

>>912390
>>912404
aww geez, is this bad?

File: Get the hell out of there(...).gif (1.2 MB, 400x259)

1.2 MB GIF

>>912390
>>912404
WAMP WAMP

>>912390
>>912404
Two times the same number counts as successful, I hope.

File: 1445142648339.gif (245 KB, 400x200)

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>>912406
2 + 6 = 8; Success at Consequence.

Writing.

>>912466
Eh, the great rolls had to end some time.

At least it isn't a critical fail.

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>>912181
You crawl. You don't need to be in the sightline of your enemies, not while they're so merrily busy with one another. You offer up a shard of the fear you gathered earlier, glimmering with the edges of guilt, to Smoke, and it honors your agreement. You look behind yourself and smile sideways when you see the lack of drag marks left behind.

You try your best not to get caught up in watching the battle, but the sounds you hear from the struggle ring in your ears; the harsh crack of the whip, the oddly bell-like scrape of teeth against the rider's watery armor. The beast growls breathlessly, its massive lungs heaving like bellows, and the two part with a flurry of fleshy impacts and the crack of breaking bone.

Then the tail gets you, high on the shoulder. The shards of jagged glass tear open your skin, making you cry out in shock and surprise as you're hit by pure blind luck. The beast yanks its tail free in irritation, and you stagger up, moving to get the hell out of the combat zone.

You suffer 3 points of damage.

"Coward!" the rider shrieks. "Drown him! Bring the key to the Lady!"

You turn your head and see the watery armor flow off of the rider. The beast lunges, crushing the man-thing's torso between its teeth, but the headless horseman refuses to die. It circles the monster's throat with its whip, pulling with inhuman might to choke its enemy.

The armor, freed from its wearer, begins to sprint after you. God, does it ever end?

You take off running. You need distance from the battlefield, regardless of who wins. The armor isn't as fast as you are, but you're willing to bet it won't get tired, and you're already starting to feel the burn of exertion.

> Make for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)
> Find a spot to stand and fight (Perception against difficulty 8)

AND

> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)
> Do not

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

Current Health: 4/7
Current Glamour: 5/10

>>913031
>Make for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)

We're just a tad too squishy for a stand and fight option

>Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

>>913031
> Make for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)
> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

I gotta go be Gainfully Employed; I'll be back just after 1 AM. Short shift today, and votes, obviously, remain open. I'll address questions from my phone if I can.

Questions, comments, discussion, feedback, and criticisms remain welcome and appreciated.

Thank you all for reading and participating!

>>913031
>> Make for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)

Out, out, out.

> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

There's basically no chance we won't run into /something/ else unpleasant and/or frustrating before we have a chance to really catch our breath.

>>913031
>> Make for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)
> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

>>913031
>Eat the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)
> Make a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

>>913031
>Run for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)
> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

You should run Mummy some time.

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>>913771

>>913859
...What.

>>913859
I feel like I am missing some context.

>>913821
That would require expertise and experience with Mummy which, sadly, I lack entirely.

>>914023
Niiiice. Thank you anon.

>>913031
>Run for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)
> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)
The headless whipman likely did not murder the Winters just because: someone likely sent them for this key.

Our primary objective is to ensure that this key is returned safely. Only then can we inform Winter of what happened and from there we can try and track the source of this strike.

Good thing we kept the lasher alive: if he survives his brawl, that's a definite starting point for the later investigation. He'll probably be more than a little hurt as well, though likely still dangerous.

Home. Gonna call and write after I get the chance to make my dinner and eat it. You've got about twenty minutes.

>>913031
> Find a spot to stand and fight (Perception against difficulty 8)
> Shadowy Guile (1 Glamour, +1 on rolls based on stealth, deception, or perception)
> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

Called. Winner:

>Run for the mortal world (Athletics against difficulty 8)

And

> Eat a jar of the surgeonberry jam while you run (-1 on the roll)

Roll me 2 dice at 1d10+4.

Rolled 1 + 4 (1d10 + 4)

>>914941
gl hf

Rolled 3 + 4 (1d10 + 4)

>>914941
You know what Jesse needs right about now?

Peanut butter

Rolled 7 + 4 (1d10 + 4)

>>914941

Someone roll another one, hopefully high enough.

>>914950
Welp.

Writing.

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>>913031
You fumble a jar out of your pocket while you run. Opening it on the move was clearly not a consideration for whoever canned this thing, but you manage to twist off the lid and throw it behind you. Some insane part of your mind feels guilty for littering; the rest of you is eating as fast as possible. You have yet to encounter a healing fruit that doesn't taste awful (not that you've had many) and surgeonberry seems to be no exception; even the sweetened preserves taste entirely too much like curdled blood.

Still, the foul taste and the sting in your shoulder means it's working. The jam pushes shards of glass from your wound, and they drop to the ground behind you with faint tinkling sounds as they break the rest of the way.

It's taking too long to find a way out. The watery armor is gaining ground on you. Up ahead, gleaming in the hesitant light of a streetlamp, you see a window handing from a branch of the Thorns - good enough! You knock loudly on it, then wrench the window open and jump through.

You expend 1 Glamour

The window lets you out.

Into open air.

A human would resign themselves to death at this point. You turn in the air, getting your feet under you, and see salvation beneath you - you've entered out onto what seems to be the property of someone affluent, and you're hurtling as fast as gravity can take you towards their trampoline. You hit the toy feet-first, feel it give beneath your body weight, and fear that it might tear and dump you onto the ground anyway when it snaps back and launches you back into the air. You go sailing over the wrought iron fence that protects the yard and land with a painful roll that, while leaving you soaked and bruised, at least doesn't break both of your legs.

The foggy night is wet and cold, and this is not yet finished. You hear the trampoline creak as the armor hits it, and then the wet thud of it landing ahead of you, its fish-filled form obscured by the mist.

> Keep running (Opposed Athletics)
> Tackle it into the fence (Opposed melee)
> Find a place to hide (Opposed Stealth)
> Smash the key (???)

You heal 2 health

You lose RESTED

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j1acQdUzpxvWPNOJQ6OlX61dc4JLWJ5dmQcQ_EB18Lw/edit?usp=sharing

Current Health: 6/7
Current Glamour: 4/10

>>915066
>Find a place to hide.

We're back out of the Hedge, so we just need to break away and report. Plus, we seem to be having shit luck with running.

>>915066
>Hide!

>>915066
> Smash the key

>>915066
> Find a place to hide (Opposed Stealth)

>>915066
I'm not that familiar with this setting how effective is say wrought IRON fencing against fey beings?

>>915104
Iron ignores all forms of defenses that fey magic creates; iron damage ignores your bonus health, cuts through Contract-made armor, burns through Hedgespun clothes, makes mock of your fey-enhanced speed, etc. It also deals damage that the True Fae cannot heal with sorcery, a fact which, while not applicable here, is one of the reasons Changeling society tries to keep the stuff around.

As you may have guessed, I have a pressing need to catch some sleep. Votes remain open.

We're nearing the end of this one-shot's arc. I realize it's compact; however, the primary purpose was always gonna be to help refine the mechanics. I'd love a post-mortem on those when we get there.

As always, questions, comments, discussion, feedback, and criticisms are welcome and appreciated.

Thank you all for reading and participating!

> Find a place to hide

Also, since it is night,
> enable the thing. Night’s Subtle Distractions. That should make it just that little bit easier to hide.

>>915066
>> Find a place to hide (Opposed Stealth)

Outdoors, at night, when our primary objective is just to report back safely? Definitely

> Activate Night's Subtle Distractions

and disappear.

>>915066
>> Find a place to hide (Opposed Stealth)
If it it's not under Night's use it.

>>915066
>> Find a place to hide (Opposed Stealth)

>>915066
> Tackle it into the fence (Opposed melee)
We've been running and it will keep running; I suspect it has some sort of enhanced senses.
But with an Iron fence maybe we can panic it; /hurt/ it, then run for good, not just gain round.
(Do we have a cellphone to, ya'know, call for backup with?)

>>915066
>> Smash the key (???)

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>>915066
> Find a place to hide (Opposed Stealth)
One of these days we'll be able to lose contact and disengage. This will be quite the story once we return to Winter, one that likely won't receive much fanfare. If the response is a few degrees above deadpan, then I'll be suitably impressed.

All in all, this whole chase has been quite enjoyable.

I still think we should have destroyed the key when we had the chance. Shit like that is just asking for trouble.

>>915500
Once Jesse gets away and is out of immediate danger, he could theoretically crush the key then. Smashing magical items while in the middle of dodging whips and running from magical armor just doesn't seem like the most appropriate time.

Then again, what do I know? It is a mystery box, after all.

Called. Winner:

> Find a place to hide (Opposed Stealth)

You activate NIGHT'S SUBTLE DISTRACTIONS, doubling the environmental penalties that the armor suffers to its perception and concentration.

Roll me 2 dice at 1d10+3.

Rolled 8 + 3 (1d10 + 3)

>>915677
Once more, with vigor.

Rolled 5 + 8 (1d10 + 8)

>>915677

Rolled 1 + 3 (1d10 + 3)

>>915677
Wrong mod here >>915681

Rolled 1 (1d10)

>>915680
And our opposed roll with literally all of its bonus swallowed by the penalty, you'd best be thanking >>915147, >>915167, and >>915181
for thinking fast.

>>915684

Get rekt water armor

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>>915680
>>915684

>>915684
>1
Wait, this is opposed STEALTH, right?
Does that mean a fey entity just horribly botched stealth in the mortal world?
Is that really fucking bad news for us?

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>>915684

>>915688
In this case, opposed by its Perception.

Writing.

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>>915066
8 + 3 = 11 vs. 1; Critical Success, Overkill

This one too you tell Darkness, and the mists shift for you, fouling up the armor's 'vision' and muffling its hearing. You take a step back on silent feet, listening to it fumble through the fog as it tries to fulfill its charge.

It's just going to keep hunting you, but now it's out of its element. This is your home, your birthplace, your world, and you know it better than any Hedgespun automaton.

You click your tongue as you retreat. You hear the rattle-ring of the metallic water as the armor seizes up in attention and then starts to stalk towards where it heard the sound, but you're already moving again. You walk backwards, your ears perked, and keep an eye on your surroundings. You turn, clicking your tongue to keep the armor following , luring it down the sidewalk and into New Avalon proper.

It's a quiet night, but no city ever truly sleeps. The lights from the streetlamps can't cut through the Autumn mist, and you pass freely under them, letting the armor catch a hazy outline of your form. It moves cautiously, suspecting a trap.

When you enter downtown, after nearly an hour of this game of cat and mouse, you cross the street and let out a strangled sound of pain. The armor lunges, barrelling into the road.

The truck that hits it never even slows down.

You check the road for more cars before you walk casually into the middle of it. The minnows from the armor flop on the soaked street, desperate for water. You crush them flat beneath your boot, one after the other, and grind their tiny bones and blood into the pavement. When the last one has been silenced, you go back to the sidewalk and move into an alleyway for some semblance of privacy.

The key doesn't feel out of the ordinary, despite its look. Still, the silver has not tarnished - not even the faintest trace of black mars it - and it gleams even in this low light. Two people died for this, and you still don't know why.

Now you need to decide what to do with it.

> Keep the key for yourself; Winter was promised a report, not a Token
> Destroy it. If it's what you think it is, no one needs to have this power
> Return the key to Winter. It's theirs by right
> Give the key to Autumn. They have power right now
> Write-in?

>>915758
>Return the key to Winter. It's theirs by right

Plus as the Court that holds on to secrets and deals defensively with things we can vaguely trust them not to immediately abuse any power here, they'll think about it first

>>915758
> Return the key to Winter. It's theirs by right
We got a job to finish, in a terrific way to boot.

>>915758
SUCK IT WATER ARMOR! Anyone else picturing the Old Man Henderson thing, or the end of the first Toy Story movie?

>>915758
>> Return the key to Winter. It's theirs by right

>>915758
>> Return the key to Winter. It's theirs by right

>>915758
>> Keep the key for yourself; Winter was promised a report, not a Token
Make a report omitting anything about the key. "I found the cottage destroyed and the inhabitants killed, followed the killer, he noticed and chased me, I lead him in a trap." But if they ask about the key, give it to them.

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>>915758
> Return the key to Winter. It's theirs by right

And really more importantly, we're busy currying favor right now to achieve our greater objective of protecting our family.

>>915758
what do we need to roll to identify the token?

>>915908
There's no general magical sense that can help. There's Contracts that can do it (which you don't have); beyond that you need access to research materials, someone with said Contracts, some manner of prophet or expert, or blind luck.

Called, writing. Winner:

> Return the key to Winter. It's theirs by right