Traces of Veils [Fallen London/Arknights]

You think it's best if you go into the forest, for now. The city can wait for a bit. You have time.

Hm. First, the food. You'll take just a little bit. It shouldn't be too hard to supplement your diet by hunting, at least. You're not as physically strong as you were before, but you're certainly not weak.

You now have two Supplies for Travel!

Next, the pelts. You pass your claws over one of them- feeling the rough texture. It's unusual material, very unusual, from animals you cannot recognize, and that makes you very much curious. The make is... mediocre at best. Amateurish, compared to your own suppliers. Not bad, given the tools they had at their disposal, but not good either.

Still. You want to know this pelt's provenance, the animal it hails from. You want to hack it apart and stitch it back together, you want to make something about it. It makes a primal, old instinctual part of yours, cut and tailored by the Surface into a more pleasing form, deep within your mind, sing, and oh, how it sings.

That ancient desire- for silks, for cloaks, fabric, garments- it's still there. It will always be there, no matter how much you change, no matter what mask you wear. It has simply... grown, now that you are Veils the Intriguer, and not merely Veils.

That said, you do still wish to merely hoard them, but it is also more. Your desire has, if not changed, grown more focused, in a direction that it already had touched before. The original Veils already held that wish, and you do as well. As you look upon these pelts, you desire to make something out of them. To put them to use. To weave them into something, something appealing.

A guise, an appearance, a self. Os that not what clothes are? Wear it, become something. Do not wear it, become something else. In the eyes of others and in your own.

So, you take the pelts. Of course you do.

A Reveal! You have a Taste for Tailoring. (Your Curatorial desire, shaped and changed by your new identity as an intriguer of the Surface. You wish to, not only find and collect those fabrics- but cut, weave, tailor. To fashion base components into garments of incomparable quality. It is specially pleasing to you to see them worn.)

You now have four Peculiar Animal Pelts! (Pelts of a strange provenance- foreign to you. But you can certainly put them to use, curious as they might be.)

Hm.

You will take the hunter's supplies, as well. And you will go into the forest, investigate the situation. Perhaps taking a look at the local fauna would not be a bad idea?

Not to mention... their skin. Yes. The skinning knives, the fishing rod, the other knives, all of it- you shove it into your bag without thinking twice. The sewing supplies follow shortly after. It wouldn't do to have the pelts and not those.

Though you'll admit the supplies are a bit lacking- iron needles already showing signs of rust, thread of unfortunate quality- it's nothing you haven't worked with, before. You are not the sort to expressly need a completed atelier for your work.

You now have a Kit of Sewing Supplies! Having it on hand may make Silkweaving actions progress faster, or increase their chances of succeeding!

You now have a Kit of Hunter's Supplies! Having it on hand will allow you to hunt or gather food more efficiently! It will also open some special actions regarding what to do with your defeated prey!

Now that you have all the supplies you need, it's time to go-

You pause.

There's still something you can take. Two things.

First, the wand. You are unsure of what it is, or why does the mineral within it sings with the dreams of the dead. But it does, and it is worth investigating. You pocket the piece of wood and try to ignore the whispering.

You now have a Whispering Catalyst!

Turning your head towards a set of wooden boxes near the tents, you focus on something else to claim.

That shrine, before, in the town. And most importantly, those stones... the boxes are full of them. The same peculiar symbol is etched in all of them. They're not standardized, each of them seems to have been manually carved into somewhat different rocks... but they all have the same sensation.

If you had to compare them to anything, you would compare it to touching an Echo. The currency of the Bazaar, embedded, in some level, with her will.

Not that she has any of that by now.

You snarl in disdain. Those stones... They make you curious, but also infuriated. You dislike the uncertainty around them. How you have so little information about them, about this strange power that blankets Kjerag, how you can't make any decisive moves until you know the truth behind them. This squeamishness, this hesitation.

So, you pocket one of the stones, and walk away into the forest without saying a single word.

You have gained a Stone of Kjeragandr! What secrets could it hold...?

---

Work on the pelts

As you walk through the narrow trails, feeling the scents and sounds of the forest, you find yourself growing increasingly annoyed.

Your shoes are marred by dirt now. Such was inevitable, and you didn't care much about that. But your suit has narrowly avoided a mud stain, from that moment you almost stepped into a mud puddle a bit too strongly. You...

You're going to need new clothing. Yes. Certainly. Walking around on this excellently tailored suit is pleasing, certainly, but not for every occasion. You'll need to at least make a cloak for yourself, or something to dress on a bad day.

It'll take a while for your fur to grow enough for you to make clothing out of your own veils-veilet, like you used to. You'll need a substitute in the meantime.

So, you take the pelts out of the sack. Then the scissors, some needle and thread. You take a deep breath, and get to work almost mindlessly. This is familiar territory, even if you are working with unusual materials. You have fashioned garments out of nothingness itself- this is certainly not going to be difficult.

You quickly settle into a comfortable trance, the fabric folding, bending, tearing under your claws. It bends to your desire as you work on it, and you guide it into life.

Clothing is not merely clothing, and you have no intention for this to be "merely" anything. It will be a masterwork, or it will be nothing at all.


The pelts are changed as you continue walking through the forest. You make no sound as you do so- your steps are silent, and so are the movements of your sole free hand, dextrously manipulating every part of the process by itself.

And for a second...

You are reminded of an old memory. The sight of your Hunter, garbed in paisley... no. It is gone, now. Beyond your touch. There are things you cannot touch, even if you would very much like to... so, best not to dwell on it.

In the end, your inspiration runs dry. You've twisted one of the pelts- this one hailing from something with dark fur and black skin- into a form that... is nothing, yet. But it could be more. You could make it into a different sort of nothing. It could be the starting point for a veil- for a second layer of skin, that you could drape over your own. More then a cloak- a disguise.

You just need to put some more work on it... and perhaps, someone to serve as a model.

That said, you need to give it some last touch, before you shelve it for later. There is a face- partially constructed, but still a face- in accordance to the image of one of the catpeople. You'll need to work some... expression into it. Some aspect of a personality, to make it more credible.

Your disguise will need more then an appearance. It will need a story, a narrative. A cover identity must have exactly that- identity, uniqueness, distinction. People are rarely coherent or uniform. If you are to pretend to be someone you are not, you must write imperfections into your cloak.

[ ] A mocking grin.
You still need the put the teeth in, but the affectations of a smile are there. It gives the appearance of irreverence, disregard for tradition, and the youth that often accompanies those characteristics.

Your disguise will be of young, and daring. Defiance of norms and lack of care for what is proper is expected of the youthful. Not often accepted, or even tolerated, but expected. A certain bohemian disposition also does wonders in making yourself known.

[ ] A scarred hide.
Not resentment, but rather a lesson learned. Slow to trust, reserved, inquisitive. A body laced with marks and the signs of old wounds. You need to place the eyes, but the structure of what will be eyebrows already gives that impression.

Your disguise will be learned, and austere. The signs of experience and many years of suffering will be obvious, for those who know what to look for. They will be more careful around you, and some might show empathy. Those marked by agony also tend to recognize one another. They also tend to have drinks together.

[ ] A simplistic frown.
Sometimes, you don't need to show much. The appearance of simplicity, of a brute, tends to make people write you off in some level. Though the appearance of some simple street tough is a bit humiliating, you don't mind all that much. That said, some people, especially those who work closely with those sorts, might be aware that people rarely are as they seem. Those will likely not underestimate you.

Your disguise will be crude and simple. Sometimes that is what people expect of the lower classes. More then one Constable or neddy man has thought of the common docksman, criminal or unionist as muscle, a crude hoodlum, and paid dearly for it. Being thought as a vacuous follower is always an advantage.

[ ] A proud dignity.
To be above, to be of distinction. A person of some importance. There is no spine in this disguise, not yet, but if there was it would carry the signs of a certain posture. Those who believe themselves to be great can be mocked at times, but the truth is- if your belief is sufficiently strong, others might start believing it too, if only subconsciously.

Your disguise will be noble, and prideful. It will give all the signs of someone who is used to lording themselves over others, who might have power of some sorts, but who is certainly important. Someone of decent descent perhaps, or who made their name in high society. To some, that makes you worthy of consideration. To others, it makes you a target.

[ ] A soft smile.
Charity. A part of you would spit in disdain at the very word, but you have a more nuanced understanding. People have expectations, when they see what appears to be kindness, selflessness. If you carry yourself in just the right way, if you let a certain impression form in their minds... well. Sometimes, it pays to be seen as a magnanimous sort.

Your desire will be small, and kind. It may give the appearance of softness, or of an inviting home. Of someone who would loan a spare room to a stranger in need, offer a hand to someone in a bad situation. Many people see that as weakness, as something to exploit. Other people see that as an opportunity. Many might simply approve.

It is done, at least for now.

You slide the incomplete work into your bag with care.

And then, you continue onwards.

---

Try to feel the power or Kjerag more profoundly.

The stone is cold in your pocket.

You are still unsure of what, exactly, it is. But you intend to find that out.

Taking the piece of rock out of its hiding-place, you gaze upon it, intently, as if you could pry its mysterious out of their mineral shell through pure force of will.

The stone is familiar. Familiar in a way you cannot properly recognize.

You need to think.

What do those stones remind you of?

Hm.

They feel like currency, in the very least. Some sort of... promise? Not carved by the power itself, but by a representative. The three families? Something like it, or the abstract authority invested upon them.

Yes.

Yes, you are reminded of something. For a brief sliver of an instant, you tremble and lean on your cane for support.

A coin forged of some strange, silvery material. A motto on the back- ONE DAY YOU WILL FORGIVE. You recall Mr Fires' proposals, and your looming debt, its weight choking, stifling. The fear of liquidation. Yes.

This is currency.

It is the mark of a promise by the power of Kjerag. A promise... of what, though?

You wrack your mind. You feel the stone grow colder, if only slightly. There is a power, an essence, sealed within them. No, not sealed. Invested. It gives the stone its value, it enforces, it is a mark of commitment. If the stone were to lose its value, if the promise was to be neglected, it would be simply lost.

But what is the promise? What did the goddess Kjeragandr promise to her people?

This stone... you contemplate it even more deeply. The carving on it was made by a representative. It was carved by hands, by mortal hands, by hands that were not of divine origin. It is flawed, and made with imperfect, ancient tools. The carving shows the marks of a worn chisel, and of twitching, aged hands. It does not carry power, not by itself. Like you thought, a representative.

It is akin to the ancient seal of the Bazaar, or, more relevantly, her Marks of Credit. Machines of mortal manufacture printed those certificates, and neither you nor her were involved directly on the process beyond giving approval and financing, but that was enough. The authority of Kjeragandr is imbued on those stones, and they carry her promises.

There is a hint of safety, on them. The carvings- you do not understand them, but their meaning is familiar. That she will keep the land protected. It is not as cold and impersonal as a contract or a treaty. Neither is it an oath, because it is... perhaps less mutual? You are unsure. But its meaning is clearer, now. Safety, and protection. A promise that Kjerag would be kept safe.

Ah.

The promise, you realize, is almost the same one that you received, so long ago.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

You pause.

You look at your hand, and at the stone in your hand.

"REALLY?" you spit out, the syllables hacking their way through your throat, coarse and dry. You stop walking.

You laugh. You laugh, and laugh. You cough out a scream that is both a roar and a shrill cackle. You laugh until you almost fall, until you have to hold onto your cane. And then you laugh some more.

Again, again, and again it all repeats.

That promise will not come true. It never does. You almost pity Kjerag for entering this bargain.

Almost- pitying it would imply that you, yourself, regret entering it, that you believe you should have not done as you did. That you doubt your own choices, that you still hold some hesitation.

You do not. Regret is for lesser beings.

And Mr Wines.

You have a Mystery of the Snow! In time, this may be used to gain an understanding of certain great powers, or perhaps something more.

---

Go into the forest


After your brief outburst, which was followed by a certainly not hesitant check on whether or not the power had noticed you...

It did not, there is no alteration on the power blanketing you. It hasn't even noticed your presence.

Nevertheless, you have been walking for quite some time, and taken a bit of it to examine the animals already. They mostly seem to avoid the trail, but you can catch glimpses of their presence. Occasionally, an herbivore will slip into the path, and stare at you with something between placidity and hesitation.

They seem... different.

Not Neathy, for sure. Not strange enough. Not adapted to an environment where the Law is loose, forgiving and fragile, where light may be shattered and crimes against the Great Chain are simply allowed to wander freely.

Hm.

You probably are one of those crimes yourself, now. You have no doubt that even the most tolerant of Judgements- and those are not common- would declare you to be unworthy of continued existance, on the grounds of abomination and untolerable hybridization of beings in distant positions amongst the Chain.

Nevermind what the rest of you have been doing. If they caught wind of what Hearts gets up to in a slow day, counting just its... amorous persuits, yes- the entire Neath would be declared unfit to live immediately.

Well, the local Judgement doesn't seem to care about you enough to annihilate you. That is a positive, in the very least.

Now, the herbivore. It resembles a deer, if a deer had the horns of a mountain sheep, and its proportions were twisted- just enough to make it unrecognizable. The scent is all wrong, and its eyes- its eyes are strange.

The eyes are too small. Its fur is a darker shade, and far too thick.

You move towards it.

Every movement of yours exudes the signs of an unthreatening presence. The creature continues to stare. It finds you strange, but not strange enough be a danger.

You calibrate your body language for it. The signs are universal. Your muscles are relaxed. There is no sign of tension and no anticipation. If you wanted to leap towards it and tear it limb from limb, you would have to waste a few precious seconds in preparation, and it would be able to escape first.

Or so it thinks.

For the moment, the "deer" is unconcerned with you. You are utterly unthreatening to it.

You tap your cane on the ground and touch its forehead with your claw, taking care not to let its sharpness show, even for a brief moment.

It twists its head. It is now curious. It has never seen anything like you, and it foolishly decides to come closer.

The beast approaches, and looks you directly in the eyes. It turns its head towards the direction which you came from, and next to you. It gives you silent permission to touch its head yet again. You do so.

It turns its horns towards you. Is it telling you to touch them? Is it truly this trusting?

You do so, and cease masking the sound of your breath. Your contempt for this animal grows by the minute.

And as you tap the horn with your clawed hands, it seems to come off. Much like a deer, this creature is capable of shedding them. You are left with an one-horned deer, and a curved horn in your hand.

You hold back a snarl as it turns its head away from you. It is so soft. So weak. It is prey- it should not be this trusting of you.

Even with the effort you placed on masking your contempt, it should have felt something. The fact that it did not shows how worthless of an animal it is.

You glare at it, and it- finally- catches the hint. It trembles.

You draw closer, and breathe deeply. You are smaller then you were before, but you still are large enough to loom over it. The animal realizes the mistake it made. It stares at you in fear. It does not attempt to run, or gore you with its remaining horn. It knows it made a mistake. It knows it is at your mercy.

The mask you were wearing comes off, and your contempt for this weak, feeble animal, not even invested with the lowliest of minds, peeks through your skin, bleeds into the air, singes the ground with its intensity. The creature is shaking.

You feel slightly tempted to kill it, but no. It is below you. You are not a creature of naked violence, not a beast of long wings and sharp teeth. You have certainly never bitten anyone, or stabbed anyone, or torn anyone apart with your claws. You have never sold the flesh of your enemies.

All such matters have been accomplished with a pen and a legal document, and with a respectable deniability.

You turn your back to the animal. There is a decision you can make, now, before you continue on your way.

[ ] Cow it further.
Terrify the animal deeply enough for it to follow you. Etch that fear deep into its bones.

You will gain a Throughly Cowed Hornbeast. It is a companion that may be trained into a more useful agent in the future.

[ ] Let it go.
Why would you want this creature to stay around you? Scare it off. It will learn its lesson.

You will gain a Memory of Fear. Memories of Fear may be spent for a bonus in all intimidation-related checks. (Those tend to require Iron, or Wines.)

The forest seems more open, afterward...? You do not smile.

You catch glimpses of various creatures, though they leave you untouched. Small winged animals in the trees, what seems to be a rodent in the ground. A large creature, a cross between a bull and a moose. Strange animals- are those wolves, or house? They have white fur, and they watch you with a gaze that is marginally more intelligent then that of their brethen.

You continue to follow the trail.

And eventually, you find yourself on the end of the path, on the other side of the forest. It seems that the forest path is more efficient of a shortcut then you thought it was.

You notice something in the corner of your vision- a cabin in the outskirts of the woods. Hm. Was that on the map? You have the feeling it should be on the map, if there are people living there. Perhaps there aren't?

You have no real reason to not at least try and find out what lays there. You throw the horn into your bag, and check the map for anything.

No. It doesn't seem to be here. Most of the forest is rather elaborately mapped, but this cabin does not seem to be anywhere in here. Perhaps those small dots on the map...? No, none of them line up with its position.

Nevertheless, you march onwards.

You now have a Shedded Horn. For now, this is a mere curiosity, but perhaps you can make something of it, in the future...

---

The cabin is... well, in obvious disrepair.

Even though there is someone in there- you can notice that by the telltale glow of the fireplace within, the outside of the house is actively decaying. The doorframe is in urgent need of replacement- the wood has cracked and splintered. One of the windows seems to have been broken and not repaired- in this climate, it must get very cold inside.

This cabin is nowhere to be seen in the map, as well, though now that you take a better look, the region is very well detailed.

It seems that they left the cabin out entirely.

There's a story here, certainly.

Now... you take a peek through the window.

There is someone there, certainly. An old, aged... wolf?

That is certainly a giant bipedal wolf, wearing a heavy fur coat covering their entire body, and a pair of boots. And a very old one, going by the fading colours of its fur, and the missing teeth. It is sitting in a rocking chair, staring at the fire, seemingly unaware of your presence.

[ ] Knock on the door.
Perhaps you and this wolf could have a conversation. Even listening to someone speak in a more... relaxed context would be helpful in deciphering the local language.

This will require no check. If you took the Throughly Cowed Hornbeast, it will wait outside, by the door. It will not flee- it would not take the risk.

[ ] Break into the house unnoticed.
The house is in disrepair, so it shouldn't be too difficult to slip through the window. The wolf doesn't seem to be aware of your presence- keep things that way, and scour their house for anything of use.

This is a simple Veils challenge (Threshold 5). You are guaranteed to succeed, unless something extremely unexpected occurs. If you took the Throughly Cowed Hornbeast, it will wait outside, by the window. It will not flee- it will not take the risk.