It is the dawn of 1899, and traditions that have served the Awakened for a hundred generations are slowly being eroded by waves of progress. For now, it is a philosophical debate between what has been and what could be, but lines are being drawn and rhetoric and blades are being honed to a razor's edge. Amidst the din of this increasingly uncivil debate, ancient horrors predate upon Awakened and Sleeper alike all while a Sixth Tower rises unseen in the Abyss.
All Along the Watchtower
- Thread starter dmclain2
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White Rabbit
A clarion note shatters stillness.
The Hunt is Called.
A small white rabbit blurs through thick tangles of underbrush. The only sign of its passage was a thin trail of pale white luminescence slowly dissolving into motes of silver light. Laboriously and ungainly you pursue, the fluttering fabric of your dress tearing as you crash into thick hedgerows and stumble over half-buried roots.
Silver eyes and fanged grins stir to life in the wake of your passage yet you do not stop. Cannot stop, for the resonant echo wind played across bone and brass draws you inexorably onward.
Through a trackless forest grown so thick that not even light passes through, the rabbit races. Through a primordial woodland untouched by the tread of mortal footsteps, you follow. Slippered feet glide soundlessly across gnarled roots, sending arrogant stalks of thistle into a sweeping bow with the force of your passage. The steps from a dance long-forgotten start to align with your chase as you dip under the grasping branches of a cantankerous oak.
A graceful tumble sends you threading through a narrow passage twixt bramble and blackened thorn. Exhilaration throbs in time to the frantic pulse of your heart. Your breath is ragged, filled with vicious joy. Your eyes burn, casting spotlights of verdant and vermilion beneath the moonless sky.
The Hunt is Called. The chase begins.
The wind whorls around you, singing a playful ditty of ice and entropy. Ribbons of cornflower blue spin out from the soft silk of your dress and dance amidst a dirge of unremitting summer. Opposite ends of duality touch and release sparks of infinity within your soul. Power flows within you, endless as Summer, inevitable as Winter. Your stride grows sure, lengthening such that the forest is naught but a blur of faceless trees and hidden watchers. And yet, despite your impossible speed, despite the leagues that blur beneath each leaping step, that damnable hare stays safely out of your reach.
The howl of baying dogs rip free from your throat and you increase speed yet again. No longer a girl wrapped in brilliant azure threads, you are the arrow soaring through darkened skies. Yet it matters not, for no matter your speed, no matter the hunter, the hunted remains mere steps beyond reach.
The Hunt is Called. The line twixt hunted and hunter fades.
The rabbit's head turns, adding twin streaks of crimson to its moonlit trail. Eyes alight with a sharp, cruel amusement study you as it leaps elegantly over a pit of tar-like blackness. Those eyes pierce through you. Like a spear cast against a rutting boar. Like the rifle shot that downs the fox. You falter, the sublime euphoria of the chase vanishing as your slippered foot lands awkwardly and sinks almost instantly up to the knee in mud and mire. Across the bog, the white rabbit stops and settles back on its haunches to study you.
Incarnadine eyes shift. The burning light of malevolence fades. In its place is something warm. Your mind slows, thoughts wrapped in swaddling of softest red. Your body relaxes as the lapping of warm water rises up your leg. Red embraces you. Engulfs you. Shades of crimson and stale blood and aged wine meld into something somehow far less than any individual shade.
Thought and urgency. Memory and fear. Everything fades from you. Until all that remains is the colour of dried blood offering a final, peaceful End.
Tiny claws draw lines of fire across your cheek. The pain sinks into the mud of your thoughts, drawn down to the bottom by that welcoming embrace. Your body responds though, igniting a valiant struggle against the muck and mire. Mindless you struggle, until the squelching of your foot drawing free pulls your gaze away from the white rabbit's hypnotic stare.
Your mind returns back to you. You look down, watching as mud sluices away as though water. Your foot is bare, the slipper claimed by the bog. In its place, a thin band of twilight wraps around your thigh, marking the farthest edge to which your leg sank into the mud. You look back up and catch an instant of unguarded interest before mocking amusement returns to the rabbit's face. It stands upright, balancing easily on its hind legs, and waves a front paw in a mocking gesture of farewell. Between instants it vanishes, a long streak of moonlight the only evidence that it had ever even been there.
"Damned rabbit." A hair-fine crack appears on the surface of the still-hanging shaft of moonlight in response to your muttered words.
"Indeed Sleeper. That one is truly the most vexatious of prey." a sly, sardonic voice is accompanied by a smug, feline smile materialising in the low-hanging bough of a nearby willow tree. "Yet one wonders what ruination would have been visited upon her had she indeed been caught?"
You frown at the question, but no answer is forthcoming. Why was I even chasing her to begin with? "I don't know."
"All impulse and no intentionality… " the rest of the cat appears with a slow blurring of the surrounding gloom, his bulk dwarfing both the tree and branch upon which he remains perched. "Though I suppose in this place such must be expected."
Blood sprays as fangs sink into a furry throat...
Perhaps I was planning to pet her… yes, that sounds right… Your fingers twitch in greedy anticipation of stroking through pale moonlight. "What's so wrong with chasing a bunny anyways?"
The cat stares down at you. His eyes burn like twinned suns: the left an endless vista of verdant green, the right a fathomless abyss of azure blue. "Were you to capture that Fool, I have no doubt that the Horned One would welcome you. He would clad you in raiments of starlight and steel and tie your soul to his Horn. A part of the Wild Hunt forevermore."
"That would be…" Good? Bad?
"You might enjoy it, dear Sleeper. The Horned One is ancient and his demesne nigh endless. He is, however, a jealous and greedy Lord." the feline drops from his perch, a corona of summer surrounding him as he falls, shrinks. "And the patrons of these twisted lands are myriad… some no wider than a simple bog. Yet all are curious about those who wander somnambulist through the far shores of Arcadia."
"A simple bog?" you look at the quicksand that had stolen your slipper—and very nearly much more—before your eyes fall down to the purple band circling your thigh.
A feline tail whips contentedly as the cat winds between your feet before settling daintily on his haunches in front of you. "Perhaps. One needs to take but one more step to verify."
Your foot hovers over a darkened stretch of muddy soil before thought catches up to action. "I don't think I should do that..."
"Shouldn't you?" an amused face splits in a grin that seems far too wide, too knowing. "The ides aglæcwif of this swamp would almost certainly disagree. After all, did she not offer you a token of her favour for the gift of your slipper."
"Did she..." you look down at the tattoo and notice, for the first time, tiny silver characters banded at the outer edges, "what does it mean?"
Golden eyes flicker greedily, triumphantly, and the cat settles back on his haunches as though about to pronounce some grand fate. An ear flickers in seeming annoyance and he pauses. His head tilts in consideration and he studies you for a long, utterly silent moment. At last, he sighs. A slow purred exhalation.
"That a simple housecat's existence could be overlaid upon my own to even this extent..." He mutters, even as his form shifts yet again: turning to slate grey before blurring into shapeless, refulgent shadow. "Heed this if nothing else as you walk these lands Sleeper: Arcadia is ancient. It was old beyond reckoning when your kind yet cowered in trees. And it is bound by Laws older still. The chief amongst them is this: accept nothing without knowing the cost and offer nothing without agreeing upon the price."
"I don't understand…" The words echo through the shrouded clearing, ringing oddly in your ear.
You listen to the echo, a distant part of your mind noting that despite the passing seconds, the sound is just as loud as when you'd first spoken. Your mind traces that subtle sense of wrongness even as your eyes trace the edges of the clearing, but there's nothing there but an endlessly repeating statement and an amused cat. On a whim, your fingers trace down to the midnight tattoo etched across your skin. A silver rune flares into being only to fade an instant later into quiescence.
As your fingers draw away, the world dissolves into countless threads shimmering in unnameable colours. You see your words, tied back, grafted onto you with strands of mottled blue and purple—the colour of a bruise upon the world. You watch, a growing sense of disquiet scraping at the back of your mind as a cocoon of gossamer webbing crafted from liquid rays of sunlight and a crystalline lattice of ice slowly engulfs that repeating echo.
What is… why would this place respond to words like that? A low, contented purring interrupts the simmering anxiety in your chest. You look down at where he sits. See his feline shape superimposed upon a tangled ball of thread whose strands stretch out in countless thousands of directions. Directions that include a web of golden lace threading through the space between you and him.
The conversation that had just happened between you and him plays with perfect fidelity in your ears. Your words repeat and vanish into the air until an errant question vibrates like a plucked string playing a single note. Gently, that string hums in the background as words continue until a second question plays in harmony with the first. The conversation continues until a third question is severed by feline claws before it could join the first two and form something greater.
A decade of practice done in the stolen moments next to midnight. A craft honed by a faded book that spoke of the magic of scales and notes and chords coalesces into a moment of epiphany. You look again and See your words buzzing like a missed note. See the impossible complexity as the strings of Arcadia gather in a symphony of judgement to cast down upon you for your thoughtless words.
Finally, you understand and know your words for a lie.
"You offer answers." It's as definitive a statement as you've ever made, one as fit for a street corner firebrand or a barrister as it was for this strange place. "And your price is something I might not want to pay."
"A little flesh. Some bone and sinew. Wine-red blood or freshest viscera. I am not a picky cat." he smiles in openmouthed glee, revealing row upon row of pointed, bloodstained teeth. "And in turn, I offer meaning and story. And to those deserving, slumber eternal."
"It seems quite the conundrum," you muse to yourself, "that the only being I've met capable of explaining what's going on will only do so if he then gets to eat me."
"To sweeten the pot, dear Sleeper, three answers do I offer freely. First. The flesh of Dreams is different than that of the waking world and none save the Queens know with certainty how alteration in one world transfers to the other. Second. Many and more are the beings who roam these lands. But save for the Lords, I am cleverer than most and stronger than the rest. Finally. The path you must walk through to the heart of this place has been trodden by less than a thousand mortals, and never has it been traversed without a guide."
You watch as those three statements pass without a response from the web-like song your own inadvertent lie had caused. You rather doubt that misleading someone with the truth or lying by omission would trigger a response, for Arcadia seemed the kind of place where the old tales lived on. Still, you'd nearly died or worse twice in the time since you'd arrived. Once by almost drowning in a bog after being tricked by that damned rabbit, a second time as your inerrant words nearly violated the Laws of Arcadia. So perhaps the inevitability of the cat's bargain slowly wrapping around you wasn't actually the worst option—so long as I can keep it from strangling me, at least.
"If we were to enter an agreement," you pause, drawing upon rusted memories sat at the knee of an ancient woman—your caretaker, an Irish widow who had raised you on tales of the dangers of bargaining with the Fae—and dismiss the visceral sort of horror brought on by negotiating a contract where your payment was a body part to be eaten. "I would require three conditions: your Oath that any paths we take as well as any destinations we arrive to will be the most expeditious and safest of those available."
"Were we to enter an agreement, you would have my Oath on that," slitted eyes watch you with a hunger that belies the bland indifference on the cat's face.
"Second, you would need to accompany me and guarantee my safety for the duration of this visit, any subsequent visits required to complete this contract, and an additional period of time to last until I depart this place upon completion of the journey." More than one tale had ended with the hero's protection fading at the moment of triumph.
"Complete safety is a truth that none who yet live in Arcadia can claim," the cat shrugs, an eerily human gesture. "I would alter the terms instead such that I would expend effort to my utmost abilities to ensure your safety."
You study the cat-like fae and see, for the first time, the countless threads that tied him to countless other beings. You nod. "In principle, I could accept that alteration. Finally, I would require that you answer such questions that I have with the most complete version of truth that you are aware of as well as an acknowledgment of any limitations to your knowledge."
"Unlimited answers I would not give," the fae shakes his head in firm dismissal. "Instead I would freely answer such questions as I deem trivial and no less than three questions of deeper significance, with the caveat that there are certain topics I will refuse to answer."
"Too vague. Regarding trivial questions, I propose that you will answer all questions that can be satisfactorily answered by either 'yes' or 'no'. Regarding other questions, I propose that you answer no less than five, with the caveat that you can select three topics that you can decline answering questions to." To give the Fae an inch was to let them take far more than just the mile.
"Were we to agree, True Names, The Queens, and The Exarchs are the topics upon which I would not speak." The lashing of a feline tail is the only indication that he's more interested in this than he seems. "In return for my aid, I would require."
Perhaps unwisely, you have entered into a negotiation with a seemingly ancient and powerful Fae entity. Given that Arcadia (the strange land you have found yourself in) is much more a realm of archetype and metaphor than it is a physical place, the flesh you're offering will likely result in unexpected consequences.
[] "The light of the world."
[] "The songs of life."
[] "The flavour of existence."
Voters can also write in questions to ask of the not-cheshire cat as per the stipulations described in the narrative. Please tag questions as though they were votes so that it's easier for me to find them at the end (also, to determine which are more important in case we exceed the agreed-upon allotment of questions)
[] questions to ask the cat-like fae.
[AN] I've been busy procrastinating on Neon Lights for the past few days (the next update's about half done), but this one has been sitting in draft for a while now and it's been poking at me for weeks now. So with that said, hello and welcome to a quest set in the Victorian Age of Mage: The Awakening. This quest will cover the 52 weeks between New Year's Day and New Year's Eve 1899. I'm planning to run this as a bit more of a quest (with turn votes and whatnot) since I wanted to do something a bit more... open-world than I have been.
On a side note, the not-cheshire cat may have made a rather egregious mistake in the setting of terms. If anyone points out exactly what it was (and what it means for both cat and protagonist), our currently unnamed protagonist will receive a boon of some sort upon completion of character creation. Additional bonus points if you all manage to somehow break the cat's game of questions.
The Hunt is Called.
A small white rabbit blurs through thick tangles of underbrush. The only sign of its passage was a thin trail of pale white luminescence slowly dissolving into motes of silver light. Laboriously and ungainly you pursue, the fluttering fabric of your dress tearing as you crash into thick hedgerows and stumble over half-buried roots.
Silver eyes and fanged grins stir to life in the wake of your passage yet you do not stop. Cannot stop, for the resonant echo wind played across bone and brass draws you inexorably onward.
Through a trackless forest grown so thick that not even light passes through, the rabbit races. Through a primordial woodland untouched by the tread of mortal footsteps, you follow. Slippered feet glide soundlessly across gnarled roots, sending arrogant stalks of thistle into a sweeping bow with the force of your passage. The steps from a dance long-forgotten start to align with your chase as you dip under the grasping branches of a cantankerous oak.
A graceful tumble sends you threading through a narrow passage twixt bramble and blackened thorn. Exhilaration throbs in time to the frantic pulse of your heart. Your breath is ragged, filled with vicious joy. Your eyes burn, casting spotlights of verdant and vermilion beneath the moonless sky.
The Hunt is Called. The chase begins.
The wind whorls around you, singing a playful ditty of ice and entropy. Ribbons of cornflower blue spin out from the soft silk of your dress and dance amidst a dirge of unremitting summer. Opposite ends of duality touch and release sparks of infinity within your soul. Power flows within you, endless as Summer, inevitable as Winter. Your stride grows sure, lengthening such that the forest is naught but a blur of faceless trees and hidden watchers. And yet, despite your impossible speed, despite the leagues that blur beneath each leaping step, that damnable hare stays safely out of your reach.
The howl of baying dogs rip free from your throat and you increase speed yet again. No longer a girl wrapped in brilliant azure threads, you are the arrow soaring through darkened skies. Yet it matters not, for no matter your speed, no matter the hunter, the hunted remains mere steps beyond reach.
The Hunt is Called. The line twixt hunted and hunter fades.
The rabbit's head turns, adding twin streaks of crimson to its moonlit trail. Eyes alight with a sharp, cruel amusement study you as it leaps elegantly over a pit of tar-like blackness. Those eyes pierce through you. Like a spear cast against a rutting boar. Like the rifle shot that downs the fox. You falter, the sublime euphoria of the chase vanishing as your slippered foot lands awkwardly and sinks almost instantly up to the knee in mud and mire. Across the bog, the white rabbit stops and settles back on its haunches to study you.
Incarnadine eyes shift. The burning light of malevolence fades. In its place is something warm. Your mind slows, thoughts wrapped in swaddling of softest red. Your body relaxes as the lapping of warm water rises up your leg. Red embraces you. Engulfs you. Shades of crimson and stale blood and aged wine meld into something somehow far less than any individual shade.
Thought and urgency. Memory and fear. Everything fades from you. Until all that remains is the colour of dried blood offering a final, peaceful End.
Tiny claws draw lines of fire across your cheek. The pain sinks into the mud of your thoughts, drawn down to the bottom by that welcoming embrace. Your body responds though, igniting a valiant struggle against the muck and mire. Mindless you struggle, until the squelching of your foot drawing free pulls your gaze away from the white rabbit's hypnotic stare.
Your mind returns back to you. You look down, watching as mud sluices away as though water. Your foot is bare, the slipper claimed by the bog. In its place, a thin band of twilight wraps around your thigh, marking the farthest edge to which your leg sank into the mud. You look back up and catch an instant of unguarded interest before mocking amusement returns to the rabbit's face. It stands upright, balancing easily on its hind legs, and waves a front paw in a mocking gesture of farewell. Between instants it vanishes, a long streak of moonlight the only evidence that it had ever even been there.
"Damned rabbit." A hair-fine crack appears on the surface of the still-hanging shaft of moonlight in response to your muttered words.
"Indeed Sleeper. That one is truly the most vexatious of prey." a sly, sardonic voice is accompanied by a smug, feline smile materialising in the low-hanging bough of a nearby willow tree. "Yet one wonders what ruination would have been visited upon her had she indeed been caught?"
You frown at the question, but no answer is forthcoming. Why was I even chasing her to begin with? "I don't know."
"All impulse and no intentionality… " the rest of the cat appears with a slow blurring of the surrounding gloom, his bulk dwarfing both the tree and branch upon which he remains perched. "Though I suppose in this place such must be expected."
Blood sprays as fangs sink into a furry throat...
Perhaps I was planning to pet her… yes, that sounds right… Your fingers twitch in greedy anticipation of stroking through pale moonlight. "What's so wrong with chasing a bunny anyways?"
The cat stares down at you. His eyes burn like twinned suns: the left an endless vista of verdant green, the right a fathomless abyss of azure blue. "Were you to capture that Fool, I have no doubt that the Horned One would welcome you. He would clad you in raiments of starlight and steel and tie your soul to his Horn. A part of the Wild Hunt forevermore."
"That would be…" Good? Bad?
"You might enjoy it, dear Sleeper. The Horned One is ancient and his demesne nigh endless. He is, however, a jealous and greedy Lord." the feline drops from his perch, a corona of summer surrounding him as he falls, shrinks. "And the patrons of these twisted lands are myriad… some no wider than a simple bog. Yet all are curious about those who wander somnambulist through the far shores of Arcadia."
"A simple bog?" you look at the quicksand that had stolen your slipper—and very nearly much more—before your eyes fall down to the purple band circling your thigh.
A feline tail whips contentedly as the cat winds between your feet before settling daintily on his haunches in front of you. "Perhaps. One needs to take but one more step to verify."
Your foot hovers over a darkened stretch of muddy soil before thought catches up to action. "I don't think I should do that..."
"Shouldn't you?" an amused face splits in a grin that seems far too wide, too knowing. "The ides aglæcwif of this swamp would almost certainly disagree. After all, did she not offer you a token of her favour for the gift of your slipper."
"Did she..." you look down at the tattoo and notice, for the first time, tiny silver characters banded at the outer edges, "what does it mean?"
Golden eyes flicker greedily, triumphantly, and the cat settles back on his haunches as though about to pronounce some grand fate. An ear flickers in seeming annoyance and he pauses. His head tilts in consideration and he studies you for a long, utterly silent moment. At last, he sighs. A slow purred exhalation.
"That a simple housecat's existence could be overlaid upon my own to even this extent..." He mutters, even as his form shifts yet again: turning to slate grey before blurring into shapeless, refulgent shadow. "Heed this if nothing else as you walk these lands Sleeper: Arcadia is ancient. It was old beyond reckoning when your kind yet cowered in trees. And it is bound by Laws older still. The chief amongst them is this: accept nothing without knowing the cost and offer nothing without agreeing upon the price."
"I don't understand…" The words echo through the shrouded clearing, ringing oddly in your ear.
You listen to the echo, a distant part of your mind noting that despite the passing seconds, the sound is just as loud as when you'd first spoken. Your mind traces that subtle sense of wrongness even as your eyes trace the edges of the clearing, but there's nothing there but an endlessly repeating statement and an amused cat. On a whim, your fingers trace down to the midnight tattoo etched across your skin. A silver rune flares into being only to fade an instant later into quiescence.
As your fingers draw away, the world dissolves into countless threads shimmering in unnameable colours. You see your words, tied back, grafted onto you with strands of mottled blue and purple—the colour of a bruise upon the world. You watch, a growing sense of disquiet scraping at the back of your mind as a cocoon of gossamer webbing crafted from liquid rays of sunlight and a crystalline lattice of ice slowly engulfs that repeating echo.
What is… why would this place respond to words like that? A low, contented purring interrupts the simmering anxiety in your chest. You look down at where he sits. See his feline shape superimposed upon a tangled ball of thread whose strands stretch out in countless thousands of directions. Directions that include a web of golden lace threading through the space between you and him.
The conversation that had just happened between you and him plays with perfect fidelity in your ears. Your words repeat and vanish into the air until an errant question vibrates like a plucked string playing a single note. Gently, that string hums in the background as words continue until a second question plays in harmony with the first. The conversation continues until a third question is severed by feline claws before it could join the first two and form something greater.
A decade of practice done in the stolen moments next to midnight. A craft honed by a faded book that spoke of the magic of scales and notes and chords coalesces into a moment of epiphany. You look again and See your words buzzing like a missed note. See the impossible complexity as the strings of Arcadia gather in a symphony of judgement to cast down upon you for your thoughtless words.
Finally, you understand and know your words for a lie.
"You offer answers." It's as definitive a statement as you've ever made, one as fit for a street corner firebrand or a barrister as it was for this strange place. "And your price is something I might not want to pay."
"A little flesh. Some bone and sinew. Wine-red blood or freshest viscera. I am not a picky cat." he smiles in openmouthed glee, revealing row upon row of pointed, bloodstained teeth. "And in turn, I offer meaning and story. And to those deserving, slumber eternal."
"It seems quite the conundrum," you muse to yourself, "that the only being I've met capable of explaining what's going on will only do so if he then gets to eat me."
"To sweeten the pot, dear Sleeper, three answers do I offer freely. First. The flesh of Dreams is different than that of the waking world and none save the Queens know with certainty how alteration in one world transfers to the other. Second. Many and more are the beings who roam these lands. But save for the Lords, I am cleverer than most and stronger than the rest. Finally. The path you must walk through to the heart of this place has been trodden by less than a thousand mortals, and never has it been traversed without a guide."
You watch as those three statements pass without a response from the web-like song your own inadvertent lie had caused. You rather doubt that misleading someone with the truth or lying by omission would trigger a response, for Arcadia seemed the kind of place where the old tales lived on. Still, you'd nearly died or worse twice in the time since you'd arrived. Once by almost drowning in a bog after being tricked by that damned rabbit, a second time as your inerrant words nearly violated the Laws of Arcadia. So perhaps the inevitability of the cat's bargain slowly wrapping around you wasn't actually the worst option—so long as I can keep it from strangling me, at least.
"If we were to enter an agreement," you pause, drawing upon rusted memories sat at the knee of an ancient woman—your caretaker, an Irish widow who had raised you on tales of the dangers of bargaining with the Fae—and dismiss the visceral sort of horror brought on by negotiating a contract where your payment was a body part to be eaten. "I would require three conditions: your Oath that any paths we take as well as any destinations we arrive to will be the most expeditious and safest of those available."
"Were we to enter an agreement, you would have my Oath on that," slitted eyes watch you with a hunger that belies the bland indifference on the cat's face.
"Second, you would need to accompany me and guarantee my safety for the duration of this visit, any subsequent visits required to complete this contract, and an additional period of time to last until I depart this place upon completion of the journey." More than one tale had ended with the hero's protection fading at the moment of triumph.
"Complete safety is a truth that none who yet live in Arcadia can claim," the cat shrugs, an eerily human gesture. "I would alter the terms instead such that I would expend effort to my utmost abilities to ensure your safety."
You study the cat-like fae and see, for the first time, the countless threads that tied him to countless other beings. You nod. "In principle, I could accept that alteration. Finally, I would require that you answer such questions that I have with the most complete version of truth that you are aware of as well as an acknowledgment of any limitations to your knowledge."
"Unlimited answers I would not give," the fae shakes his head in firm dismissal. "Instead I would freely answer such questions as I deem trivial and no less than three questions of deeper significance, with the caveat that there are certain topics I will refuse to answer."
"Too vague. Regarding trivial questions, I propose that you will answer all questions that can be satisfactorily answered by either 'yes' or 'no'. Regarding other questions, I propose that you answer no less than five, with the caveat that you can select three topics that you can decline answering questions to." To give the Fae an inch was to let them take far more than just the mile.
"Were we to agree, True Names, The Queens, and The Exarchs are the topics upon which I would not speak." The lashing of a feline tail is the only indication that he's more interested in this than he seems. "In return for my aid, I would require."
Perhaps unwisely, you have entered into a negotiation with a seemingly ancient and powerful Fae entity. Given that Arcadia (the strange land you have found yourself in) is much more a realm of archetype and metaphor than it is a physical place, the flesh you're offering will likely result in unexpected consequences.
[] "The light of the world."
[] "The songs of life."
[] "The flavour of existence."
Voters can also write in questions to ask of the not-cheshire cat as per the stipulations described in the narrative. Please tag questions as though they were votes so that it's easier for me to find them at the end (also, to determine which are more important in case we exceed the agreed-upon allotment of questions)
[] questions to ask the cat-like fae.
[AN] I've been busy procrastinating on Neon Lights for the past few days (the next update's about half done), but this one has been sitting in draft for a while now and it's been poking at me for weeks now. So with that said, hello and welcome to a quest set in the Victorian Age of Mage: The Awakening. This quest will cover the 52 weeks between New Year's Day and New Year's Eve 1899. I'm planning to run this as a bit more of a quest (with turn votes and whatnot) since I wanted to do something a bit more... open-world than I have been.
On a side note, the not-cheshire cat may have made a rather egregious mistake in the setting of terms. If anyone points out exactly what it was (and what it means for both cat and protagonist), our currently unnamed protagonist will receive a boon of some sort upon completion of character creation. Additional bonus points if you all manage to somehow break the cat's game of questions.
Character Sheet
Mage the Awakening is such a cool and underrated setting, really happy you are making a quest for it @dmclain2.
[X] "The songs of life."
This seems interesting and the safest given the other choices are flavor of existence and light of the world.
[X] What is Arcadia?
[X] How can I survive and leave Arcadia?
[X] What are the Laws?
[X] "The songs of life."
This seems interesting and the safest given the other choices are flavor of existence and light of the world.
[X] What is Arcadia?
[X] How can I survive and leave Arcadia?
[X] What are the Laws?
Looks promising.
So, first, probably out-of-character, given that it is only 1899, but unlimited amount of yes/no questions allows to ask a complex questions past allowed limit, by going "If I would have asked you the question XXX as my first question and expend one of guaranteed by our agreement non-trivial questions, would the first/second/etc letter be in the first half of English alphabet (inclusive) if the transfer were to be recorded, and, if necessary, accurately translated to English?"
It's not completely impossible, the earliest examples of binary search dates all the way to Babylon, but it did not enter formal curriculum until the middle of XXth century.
Anyway, you probably want to think a bit more carefully about the wording, but in general with five questions per symbol of answer you can get any non-banned answer. We probably don't want to abuse it, but if necessary it is a possibility. If we would instead go "if the topics you would choose as those you would decline to answer on was muffins, bread and sugar, and if I asked you the question XXX...", depending on how declining clause is read - that is, does it modify only complex questions or all questions - it may be possible to bypass the blocks.
That's trivial enough to check with another yes/no question, through.
I am not saying that those loopholes are wise to use, but they remain a possibility to consider.
On the topic of possible loopholes, accompany clause does not seem to end on death of our protagonist, but rather until the contract is fulfilled. So, between the moment the bargain is struck and the price is received by the cat-like fae at least, and possibly indefinitely, depending on how it is read, they may be compelled to accompany us to someone's belly, or even into death in general, for as long as it happens in Arcadia.
I may be wrong, English is not my native language, and what the cat-like fae offers exactly isn't quite clear, not clearly worded at least, but it seems to be this way.
Not like it would necessary kill them for good, I don't know enough about their limits, but it might. It should be easy enough to check, though.
As for the prices, huh. I may be wrong, but I think a sense is offered. Sight, hearing and either smell, taste or both.
Possibly, they would eat our eyes, or our ears, or our tongue.
I think, I might be wrong, but it would befit a fae.
I'll need to think some more.
So, first, probably out-of-character, given that it is only 1899, but unlimited amount of yes/no questions allows to ask a complex questions past allowed limit, by going "If I would have asked you the question XXX as my first question and expend one of guaranteed by our agreement non-trivial questions, would the first/second/etc letter be in the first half of English alphabet (inclusive) if the transfer were to be recorded, and, if necessary, accurately translated to English?"
It's not completely impossible, the earliest examples of binary search dates all the way to Babylon, but it did not enter formal curriculum until the middle of XXth century.
Anyway, you probably want to think a bit more carefully about the wording, but in general with five questions per symbol of answer you can get any non-banned answer. We probably don't want to abuse it, but if necessary it is a possibility. If we would instead go "if the topics you would choose as those you would decline to answer on was muffins, bread and sugar, and if I asked you the question XXX...", depending on how declining clause is read - that is, does it modify only complex questions or all questions - it may be possible to bypass the blocks.
That's trivial enough to check with another yes/no question, through.
I am not saying that those loopholes are wise to use, but they remain a possibility to consider.
On the topic of possible loopholes, accompany clause does not seem to end on death of our protagonist, but rather until the contract is fulfilled. So, between the moment the bargain is struck and the price is received by the cat-like fae at least, and possibly indefinitely, depending on how it is read, they may be compelled to accompany us to someone's belly, or even into death in general, for as long as it happens in Arcadia.
I may be wrong, English is not my native language, and what the cat-like fae offers exactly isn't quite clear, not clearly worded at least, but it seems to be this way.
Not like it would necessary kill them for good, I don't know enough about their limits, but it might. It should be easy enough to check, though.
As for the prices, huh. I may be wrong, but I think a sense is offered. Sight, hearing and either smell, taste or both.
Possibly, they would eat our eyes, or our ears, or our tongue.
I think, I might be wrong, but it would befit a fae.
I'll need to think some more.
It's something I've wanted to do for a while since I really like the whole WoD setting. There's just way too much to fit in and make it seem not too... crowded. I do think we'll see bits and pieces of some of the other games as well.
This is very much in line with a way to break the cat's game.
Vote closed
A Tower of Silver
-[] the flavour of existence
Since we were at a tie, GM fiat chose this option.
Since we were at a tie, GM fiat chose this option.
You open your mouth to provide an answer to the catlike fae, but before you can speak, it—he— grins. Claws flash, a blade curved like a crescent moon, silver and luminous. Pain blossoms in your mouth. You spit out a piece of raw meat and watch, horror and revulsion stirring within you as a bit of pink flesh and muscles falls to the ground—your tongue.
The cat stands, lifting from his haunches to prance toward your sacrifice—his treat. Gorge rises in your throat as the cat daintily bends over and plucks your tongue off the forest floor with a delicate motion. He looks up at you, his feline face stretched in a grin that seems far too wide for his skull. A grin made grotesque by the sliver of your flesh dangling from his mouth.
The cat's maw opens, and your tongue disappears down past rows of serrated teeth into his gullet. "Thus is our agreement written. Thus is our bargain made. Answers to questions three and safe passage to the Tower of Silver Thorns in return for a sacrifice of flesh."
Wha… you open your mouth to speak, but words fail to form. All that comes out are guttural sounds, "urragh."
"Oh, dear me," the cat grins the grin of a satisfied cat. "Without a tongue how can you speak."
Your eyes narrow as you stare at the smug fae. Speech may be lost to you, but you were refused to be so easily defeated. After all, you had grown up on tales of the casual violence and inhumanity of the being that now sits in front of you. And as your mind flickers across thought and story and memory, your face shifts into an insouciant sort of grin.
You drop down to your knees, ignoring the way the hem of your dress pools in the dirt. Leaning forward, you draw a line of characters across a spot of earth bare of leaves and grass.
what is Arcadia?
Below that…
cad é Arcadia
And below that…
dè a th' ann an Arcadia
You look back up, a mocking eyebrow raised at the quickly banked fury in the cat's gaze. "A clever mortal to test the bounds of our bargain, yet unneeded. I speak all tongues."
You scowl at the smirk that engulfs the cat's face, "Ahh, perhaps a poor choice of words given the circumstances." The cat hisses out a soft noise that sounds almost like laughter "Nonetheless, answers were promised and so answers shall be given."
"Arcadia is…" the cat settles back on his haunches before kneading at the ground in front of him. "Think of a realm without form or shape… endless in expanse and infinite in power. A realm not unlike a lake just waiting for something to disturb its crystalline surface. Arcadia is one such disturbance. A stone tossed into the infinite expanse of the Supernal that by its mere presence propagates its reality."
The cat pauses to lick his paw with a sinuous tongue, "Six such stones were cast unto the Supernal, each with such laws as to describe reality. Arcadia is the realm of Time and Fate, anchored by the Moonsilver Thorn and the home of the Fae."
The words filter into your consciousness, settling with a heaviness that you didn't have words to describe. It was the truth. No, it was Truth. You could see it, in the dance of bare branches against a moonlit sky. You could hear it in the soft susurration of the wind in your ears. You nod, accepting the cat's words, despite the confusion his words engender, and sketch your next question.
Magic is real…
All you receive in response is a fanged smirk. You grin ruefully and scratch out the words. You hadn't expected such a simple trick would work.
What are the Laws of Arcadia?
"Surely you have heard of our stories," the cat's head tilts in a mocking mimicry of curiosity. "They are all true, dear Sleeper. A favour owed must be repaid. An oath made must be fulfilled. To lie is to invite destruction. Hospitality, once granted, is sacrosanct. All beings meet their Fate in the end."
The cat's head continues to tilt and its mocking smirk grows even wider. "Time waits for no cat… or Sleeper."
You're inclined to let that comment go as idle mockery, and yet. To lie is to invite destruction…
How do I survive and leave Arcadia?
"Oh Sleeper," the cat's body fades, leaving behind a gimlet smile and a pair of burning eyes. "Etch your name upon the Moonsilver Thorn. Pledge fealty to one who would let you return to your waking life. Die."
How do I etch my name upon the Moonsilver Thorn?
The cat looks at you and you know that you no longer have questions to ask of him, and yet he answers nonetheless, with a sly smile and a flick of the tail. "Simply follow me, dear Sleeper."
With those words lingering in the air with an almost physical presence, the cat turns with a graceful swagger, hops daintily over a shaft of pale moonlight, and fades into the gloom.
With a sigh, a shrug, and a smirk that's intrigued almost despite yourself, you find yourself following the path traced out by the cat's paws. As you step forward, the cadence of one bare foot and one slippered foot marking your stride, the darkness seems to swirl around you, the moonlit sky your only source of light as you join the cat along its darkened path.
As you follow a white-tipped tail, the only spot of colour against the unremitting grey cast by the gloom, you find yourself slowly falling into a dream-like trance. The surroundings shift and morph, blurring the boundaries between real and unreal. Each step feels distant, wrapped in the fog that surrounds you. Almost dreamlike. As if you're walking atop the edges of a world wrought from smoke and fog.
Without sight. Without anything to set your eyes upon save that bobbing tail, your other senses unfold within you. In your ears, the echoes of the cat's footsteps resonate, landing upon the forest floor with a rhythm that beats in time to the pulse of your heart. The scent of a forest at midnight, covered in a gauze of dew. The faint breath of wind, dancing along your limbs with the gentlest of embraces. Touch and scent and sound setting your path and drawing you ever onward.
Through a labyrinth of a labyrinth of forgotten memories and hidden desires you wander, ever a step behind that bobbing tail. From the corners of your eyes, you catch glimpses of fleeting images—fragments of thoughts and emotions that seem both familiar and yet utterly alien. Time loses its grip as you continue to follow the feline guide. The boundary between past, present, and future blurs. Becomes a fluid concept. Above your head, the moon's glow waxes and wanes, casting an otherworldly light on your path.
In some ways, it's mesmerising. Surreal. As if you've slipped beyond the bounds of all that had once been familiar. As if you'd fallen into a different realm altogether. The swirl of sensation around you becomes more pronounced even as your world collapses down to shades of grey. The faint touch of the breeze as it ruffles through your hair. The distant rustling of leaves. The soft hush of your own breath.
As you traverse this shifting landscape, the imagery continues to warp. Scenes flicker in and out of your perception—moments of joy and sorrow. Longing and uncertainty. They're not your memories, and yet they resonate nonetheless. A soft voice, an Irish brogue, telling stories beneath pale moonlight of beings beautiful and monstrous in turns. An echo of countless mortal lives woven into the grandeur and splendour of the Fae.
Like smoke, the stories fade, and with it your nanny's voice. Instead, you stare straight ahead. Fixated on the cat leading you through this leaden land. Through a monochrome tapestry you walk. A weaving of emotion and experience. Of story and myth. At once unfamiliar and yet strangely compelling.
The path carved out by your footsteps—and that bobbing tail—feels both timeless and profound. Imagery dances on the edge of your perception. Wonder and unease stirring within you as you peer through wisps of fog into a world just beyond understanding.
With every step, the cadence of the cat's footsteps resonates louder and louder within you. Above your head, the fluctuations of moonlight—the only constant in this strange land save for the cat's bobbing tail—cast down, an ethereal light guiding you through this shifting landscape.
As scenes and fragments continue to morph around you, you become acutely aware of the thinning barrier between reality and unreality. Golden figures drink from golden goblets. Gaunt beings dance beneath luminous skies. And with them, emotions stir within you, called forth by memories buried deep within your thoughts, resonating with an intensity that defies explanation.
Throughout it all, your nanny's voice, a melodic brogue, whispers in your ears of tales Lugh and Dagda and Morrigan. Of War and fate and traditions ancient beyond comprehension. But even as those echoes fade. Even as you fall into a morass of grey and the flicker of legend, the cat's tail remains your steadfast guide.
In the space between moments, the world of grey that surrounds you fades. In its place, the moon hangs heavily above a tower of luminescent silver. Without conscious thought, your hands stretches forward, a desire to touch the impossibly smooth edges of the tower burning within your thoughts.
"Through paths of time and myth we have arrived, dear Sleeper," the cat's voice halts your palm mere inches from silver stonework and draws you from your fugue. "You have but to add your name to the Tower's base to return to your world of bounded time."
Your eyes track across the names already carved upon the Moonsilver Tower—upon the Lunargent Thorn. Most are unfamiliar, unknown, and yet you can hardly ignore the name traced out in flowing script just beneath your outstretched palm.
Myrddin Emrys
Your mouth opens to speak. Words don't form. Or rather don't need to.
Of course he would be here…
If his name was etched upon this tower. If the architect of Camelot had walked this path in ages long past, then you could hardly do less.
You turn to look at the cat and offer a grateful bow. You ignore the flicker of uncertainty that moves across that smug, feline face. Instead, your finger stretches out, to etch your name in the open space left just beneath Myrddin's. Perhaps that was arrogance… to even place yourself within the same space as one such as he. Yet you cannot find it within yourself to care. With a flourish that would have done your tutors proud, your name joins his on the Lunargent Thorn.
Alice Carrol.
We're abstracting a number of the mechanics of M:TA to better fit a narrative approach (and to reduce the amount of dice that I have to roll). To that end, we won't be picking out individual spells, rather Alice will be able to access the arcana of Fate and Time as well as a third Arcana chosen here in a fashion that allows her to replicate "spells" in line with the depth to which she has delved into a given Arcana. We'll see the specifics of this later on, but for now, it's enough to say that the Arcana provide the aesthetics of how Alice uses magics.
[] Matter. The Arcanum of Matter deals with the transmutation and shaping various forms of physical matter.
[] Space. The Arcanum of Space deals with both physical and metaphysical space.
[] Force. The Arcanum of Force controls all forms of energy and force found in the material world
[] Life. The Arcanum of Life grants control over the physical forms of all living things
[] Spirit. The Arcanum of Spirit governs interaction between the material and spiritual realms.
[] Prime. The Arcanum of Prime deals with magic in its raw and unrefined state
[] Mind. The Arcanum of Mind connects with the minds of all thinking beings
[] Death. The Arcanum of Death deals with the powers of death and undeath.
[AN] Apologies for taking so long to update. I've been busy at work and working on other quests. At the very least, I plan on continuing for the rest of the prologue. Hopefully we can pick up a few more voters by then.
- Location
- France
[X] Spirit. The Arcanum of Spirit governs interaction between the material and spiritual realms.
CedeTheBees
Probably high right now
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Space. The Arcanum of Space deals with both physical and metaphysical space.
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Looks like we asked good questions, I'm happy with that.
The scene where Alice etched her name onto the Tower was really cool. Especially with how Myrddin Emrys was brought up.
[X] Prime. The Arcanum of Prime deals with magic in its raw and unrefined state
I feel like Prime is fitting given Myrddin Emrys was brought up and his thing is magic, it only makes senes Alice would follow in his footsteps.
The scene where Alice etched her name onto the Tower was really cool. Especially with how Myrddin Emrys was brought up.
[X] Prime. The Arcanum of Prime deals with magic in its raw and unrefined state
I feel like Prime is fitting given Myrddin Emrys was brought up and his thing is magic, it only makes senes Alice would follow in his footsteps.
- Pronouns
- Reader
[X] Space. The Arcanum of Space deals with both physical and metaphysical space.
WhoTheHeckity
But no one ever asks HowTheHeckity
- Location
- Murica 🦅
[X] Space. The Arcanum of Space deals with both physical and metaphysical space.
Space and Time are a fun combo
[X] Death. The Arcanum of Death deals with the powers of death and undeath.
But i also think Death complements Time and Fate well. It's the Fate all things meet in Time, after all.
Space and Time are a fun combo
[X] Death. The Arcanum of Death deals with the powers of death and undeath.
But i also think Death complements Time and Fate well. It's the Fate all things meet in Time, after all.
mynameisyouQQQ
Miss Brightside
- Location
- A Hell of my own making
- Pronouns
- Fae/Any
[X] Spirit. The Arcanum of Spirit governs interaction between the material and spiritual realms
Vote closed
[X] Space. The Arcanum of Space deals with both physical and metaphysical space.
Waking from Dream
New Year's Day 1899 - minutes after midnight
You snap upright with a gasp. Your heart races, its staccato beat pounding against the cage of your chest and throbbing in your ears. Shaking hands fumble for the oil lamp you knew was sitting on your nightstand, and strike a light that casts its fitful light across the pale wood and pastel colours of your apartment.
With a stumbling lurch, you leave behind heavy woollen blankets and soft silk sheets. With a frantic sort of motion, you throw open thick velvet drapes and the double-paned window that sits beyond them. The cold, damp London air flows into your bedroom and washes over you, cooling down the hot, sticky feeling clinging to your skin in the aftermath of that dream… nightmare…
There was a cat… a Fae and he ate…
You scramble back from your window, ignoring the faint scent of smoke slowly curling into your bedroom in favour of rushing toward your dresser. Feeling equal parts afraid and foolish, you open your mouth and, more than a touch hesitantly, look down to stare at the reflection of your tongue.
It's still there… thank the Lord…
Before the foolishness of standing in front of a mirror with your mouth open can fully settle into your thoughts, a stylized branch, marked by thorns and bearing silver berries flickers into visibility on your tongue. You blink, rubbing at the grains of sleep caught in the corner of your eyes, and the symbol fades.
It was just a dream… wasn't it?
There was one way of knowing for sure. You had lost a slipper in the muck of… what did the cat call it… Oh, right… an ides aglæcwif. In return, you had been marked by a band of silvery characters.
But do I really want to know?
Your first instinct is to let it go. Wrap yourself in wool and silk and return to the safety of your bed. In the morning, things would make sense again. Your strange, impossibly vivid dream would be gone and you could go back to an idle life full of casual, easy friendships in the West End.
And yet, despite the siren call of complacency. Of normality. Your feet don't move. Instead, it feels as though you are once again standing on the white-walled cliffs of Dover—as you had in childhood before plague and death and inheritance had conferred upon you a life you had never expected—the wind whipping through your hair and your chest swelling with a nearly undeniable urge to jump.
You hadn't jumped that day. Sense and sensibility had won out over the desire to cast yourself into the arms of Fate. But today, at this moment, you stand poised between two worlds. One familiar and comfortable and boring. The other weird and dangerous and beautiful. There is only one choice you could make.
In your mind, the wind howls through your ears as you finally, finally, jump—set yourself free. In reality, your fingers dance down toward the hem of your nightgown and pull up, revealing pale skin just above your knee.
You're not sure what you're supposed to feel—not sure at all what you actually feel—when you look down and see symbols intertwined like so much Celtic knotwork as they wrap around your thigh.
It was real… the Tower, the Fae, Magic. It's all real.
The backs of your knees collide with your mattress and you collapse onto your bed. Your mind feels too full and yet empty at the same time. Your thoughts splintered in a thousand directions. Your heart races in your chest. Your skin feels tight. Too hot. The walls are closing in on you. You can't breathe.
So hot… I have to… have to…
You turn toward the open window, barely noticing as the thick velvet drapes ripple in the winter breeze as you lurch toward it, half stumbling, half crawling on your knees.
Your arms land with a painful thud on the windowsill and you pull yourself up just far enough so you can stick your head out the window and breathe. The cold slaps you, a short, sharp shock that hits with an almost physical force. And yet… the panicked sweat that had formed on your brow pricks as it dries against your skin. The scent of smoke surrounds you. Wafts into your nose. Your fingers dig into coarse brickwork. The thinner layer of silk curtains brushes delicately against your forearms.
You start to breathe. In and out. Your thoughts beginning to slow from that breakneck pace, enough that you can focus past the static in your head. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
For a long moment, you just sit there, your forehead resting on the cool wood of the windowsill. Until finally, you find yourself back within the confines of your body rather than trapped inside the chaotic swirl of your thoughts. As the sharp pulsing of your blood in your chest, fades away, a wave of relief so strong it causes you to shiver replaces it.
You smile, a weary and half-timid sort of thing, and nod your head against the windowsill. You could manage this. One day at a time. Just as your father had always said. The largest problems are made up of countless smaller ones. Your mother's advice. You'll never plough a field by turning it over in your mind. Your caretaker's words.
Your smile turns a touch more genuine as you let the advice circle around your thoughts. They were right. Whatever it was that had happened to you, worrying about it would amount to nothing. All you had to do at this moment was decide where to start.
But where?
Almost as if summoned by that very thought, you feel a presence land on the windowsill beside you. A glance to your left shows a familiar smirk etched across the features of a cat, coal dark except for twinned spots of colour, one green eye and one blue one.
A frisson of shock runs through you, but you refuse to panic. Not again. Not after your earlier attack and your resolution to move forward.
"Ahh, it looks as though the erstwhile Sleeper is in fine fettle this wondrous dawning of the new year." The cat's voice is smooth, almost a touch sibilant, with none of the resonance it had held in your dream.
You lean back, noticing that the cat's paws trace a careful line upon the windowsill, not moving an inch past the line formed where the window latches shut. A smile, quickly stifled, suffuses your face as you realise the truth. The rules of Arcadia must bind him even here. He couldn't come inside unless invited. And once invited in…
"Would you like to come inside?" your own voice is touched by the subtle rise and fall of a childhood spent in Cornwall.
"Polite, to offer hospitality before even names have been exchanged." The cat accepts your offer with a knowing smirk. "But then you are no longer what you were when you went to sleep, are you, my erstwhile Sleeper?"
"What do you mean and why have you come to visit me?" your head tilts as you watch the cat hop gracefully from his perch upon the sill to where your woollen blanket had bunched up on your bed.
The cat merely blinks his mismatched eyes and offers you a smug sort of grin. You frown in response to that, not so much out of irritation at his dismissive silence—although you were feeling a touch of that—more so out of confusion as to why the Fae you had met in your dreams was even here at all.
But it seemed clear as though he was content to sit and wait and stare mockingly at you. Fortunately, despite all that had happened to you in Arcadia occurring in a dream, everything that had happened there was stuck in your memories with an almost crystal-like clarity. And so, you cast your thoughts back toward the exchange you'd had with the cat and search for any hint as to why he was here.
Your lips move silently as you replay, in your mind, the dialogue of the bargain you'd made with the catlike Fae. You frown again, this time a mixture of confusion and a determination to solve the puzzle of the cat's continued presence. By all accounts, he should be gone, and yet there he was, sitting upon your bed as though without a care in the world.
Perhaps it was merely his way—or perhaps the way of the Fae in general—to keep an eye on those with whom they had made bargains. It was a behaviour that would certainly fit with the stories your caretaker had told you… and one that fit with the stories you had read of the Fae after she had passed away.
And yet something about that conclusion rang false to you. After all, why would he visit now, mere minutes after their bargain had been completed? Perhaps he was looking to make a second bargain? That almost made sense, but if that was the case…
Why did he look so… mundane…
You look. Truly look at the cat. Ignoring its smug look you try to imagine in his place the Fae you had met in your dream. Your mind twists as you try and overlay the common alley-cat currently reclining in your bedding with that shapeshifting being of refulgent shadow. And for a moment, you see it. Two smug grins overlapping perfectly. Cat and Fae. Waking and Dream. Fallen and Supernal.
Something in your soul clicks into place. Your tongue buzzes. The taste of blackthorn and holly fills your mouth. You speak, as you had in the dream, a pronouncement of truth, bright and inevitable. "Our bargain hasn't ended."
That smug grin vanishes. In its place something ancient, inhuman stirs. Mismatched eyes glow incandescent as power, once a placid lake and now a raging storm, floods through the catlike Fae.
You watch, confident in the Oath that binds the two of you as his power buffets your chambers, tossing bedding and yesterday's dirty clothes about without care. The window bangs shut. The oil lamp you'd lit earlier is snuffed out, plunging your bedroom into near pitch-darkness.
You stand, unmoved. The power lashing out from the cat whips violently at your nightgown, but stops short of brushing against your skin. "I didn't fully leave Arcadia, did I?"
Your mind flickers between the silvery brand on your tongue and the tattoos wrapped around your thigh. "I left a piece of myself there and brought a piece of it back with me."
Between one moment and the next, the storm raging in your bedroom ceases. In the next, everything reverts to what it had been before the cat's display of rage. The lamp sparks back to life, and you watch as the cat settles back down.
Annoyance paints across his face as he nods a feline head. "Indeed and while the journey to the Tower has fulfilled certain parts of our bargain, some yet remain."
You accept his concession without allowing any of the emotions bubbling within you to show on your face. The last thing you needed was to alienate the catlike Fae. After all, you had little doubt that there were any number of things he could do to fulfil the letter of your bargain while also making life exceedingly difficult for you. "Then if we are to remain together, is there a name you would prefer I use for you?"
"You may call me Puck."
We'll be using the CK2 stats as a starting point. As a bit of a tabula rosa, Alice is a perfectly even spread of base stats.
It's worth noting that when selecting traits, the narrative impact can be as large or larger than the bonuses provided.
Martial 5 + 1 [Fae Bargain] = 6
Diplomacy 5
Learning 5 + 2 [Fae Bargain] = 7
Stewardship 5
Intrigue 5
Piety 5
Please vote for as many options as you want. The top 4 options will be chosen.
Martial Traits
[] Strong. Alice can impart more physical force and endure physically demanding activities longer than expected due to her appearance. (+1 Martial)
[] Brave. For better and, perhaps, for worse, Alice is not subjected to mundane fear and is resistant to supernatural causes (+1 Martial)
Diplomacy Traits
[] Attractive. Alice is fair of face. Characters who are attracted to them, as well as those who can appreciate aesthetic beauty, will often favour her in interactions. (+1 Diplomacy)
[] Polyglot. Alice has learned multiple languages used throughout Europe and finds it easy to learn additional ones. (+1 Diplomacy)
Learning Traits
[] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[] Scholar. Alice prefers books to most people and will most zealously hoard the former. (+1 Learning)
Stewardship Traits
[] Polymath. Alice has delved deep into the art and science of mathematics. As a result, she is able to both calculate complex sums quickly as well as craft equations and formulae to assist relevant actions. (+1 Stewardship)
[] Diligent. Alice is willing to work harder and for longer than most of their peers. (+1 Stewardship)
Intrigue Traits
[] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[] Gossip. Alice is always willing to stop and chat and has a good ear for things going on in their vicinity, especially any potential irregularities (+1 Intrigue)
Piety Traits
[] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
You snap upright with a gasp. Your heart races, its staccato beat pounding against the cage of your chest and throbbing in your ears. Shaking hands fumble for the oil lamp you knew was sitting on your nightstand, and strike a light that casts its fitful light across the pale wood and pastel colours of your apartment.
With a stumbling lurch, you leave behind heavy woollen blankets and soft silk sheets. With a frantic sort of motion, you throw open thick velvet drapes and the double-paned window that sits beyond them. The cold, damp London air flows into your bedroom and washes over you, cooling down the hot, sticky feeling clinging to your skin in the aftermath of that dream… nightmare…
There was a cat… a Fae and he ate…
You scramble back from your window, ignoring the faint scent of smoke slowly curling into your bedroom in favour of rushing toward your dresser. Feeling equal parts afraid and foolish, you open your mouth and, more than a touch hesitantly, look down to stare at the reflection of your tongue.
It's still there… thank the Lord…
Before the foolishness of standing in front of a mirror with your mouth open can fully settle into your thoughts, a stylized branch, marked by thorns and bearing silver berries flickers into visibility on your tongue. You blink, rubbing at the grains of sleep caught in the corner of your eyes, and the symbol fades.
In sacrificing her tongue and ability to speak within the strange dream of Arcadia, Alice has gained the following trait.
Arbiter of Oaths
At will, Alice can transform a spoken or written agreement into an Oath. Once made, an Oath is enforced by the Arcana of Fate and any party who reneges on the deal will suffer an ill fate in accordance with the severity of their breach of the Oath.
An Oath must be made by individuals capable of rejecting the Oath. Thus an Oath can be compelled by inebriants or by threats, but not by actions that remove an individual's volition.
Arbiter of Oaths
At will, Alice can transform a spoken or written agreement into an Oath. Once made, an Oath is enforced by the Arcana of Fate and any party who reneges on the deal will suffer an ill fate in accordance with the severity of their breach of the Oath.
An Oath must be made by individuals capable of rejecting the Oath. Thus an Oath can be compelled by inebriants or by threats, but not by actions that remove an individual's volition.
It was just a dream… wasn't it?
There was one way of knowing for sure. You had lost a slipper in the muck of… what did the cat call it… Oh, right… an ides aglæcwif. In return, you had been marked by a band of silvery characters.
But do I really want to know?
Your first instinct is to let it go. Wrap yourself in wool and silk and return to the safety of your bed. In the morning, things would make sense again. Your strange, impossibly vivid dream would be gone and you could go back to an idle life full of casual, easy friendships in the West End.
And yet, despite the siren call of complacency. Of normality. Your feet don't move. Instead, it feels as though you are once again standing on the white-walled cliffs of Dover—as you had in childhood before plague and death and inheritance had conferred upon you a life you had never expected—the wind whipping through your hair and your chest swelling with a nearly undeniable urge to jump.
You hadn't jumped that day. Sense and sensibility had won out over the desire to cast yourself into the arms of Fate. But today, at this moment, you stand poised between two worlds. One familiar and comfortable and boring. The other weird and dangerous and beautiful. There is only one choice you could make.
In your mind, the wind howls through your ears as you finally, finally, jump—set yourself free. In reality, your fingers dance down toward the hem of your nightgown and pull up, revealing pale skin just above your knee.
You're not sure what you're supposed to feel—not sure at all what you actually feel—when you look down and see symbols intertwined like so much Celtic knotwork as they wrap around your thigh.
In the lands of the Fae, there is no such thing as coincidence, only inevitability. In travelling there, Alice's Fate was written and a gift was received for an offering made.
Fairy Grimoire
In the interlocked symbols tattooed on Alice's skin are channels through which her soul is connected to the arcana of Fate, Time, and Space. Through meditation, study, and other means, she can increase both the amount and potency of magic she can access.
The Fairy Grimoire allows Alice access to:
Fate 1
Time 1
Space 1
Fairy Grimoire
In the interlocked symbols tattooed on Alice's skin are channels through which her soul is connected to the arcana of Fate, Time, and Space. Through meditation, study, and other means, she can increase both the amount and potency of magic she can access.
The Fairy Grimoire allows Alice access to:
Fate 1
Time 1
Space 1
In order to let me have a bit more freedom in writing (and reducing some bookkeeping I don't particularly want to do), instead of having a discrete list of spells, Alice instead has an ability to cast spells that corresponds to her Fate, Time, and Space stats.
For example, a Fate stat of 1 allows her to cast magic that is reflective of the Initiate tier of spells in Mage: The Awakening.
This makes Alice relatively more powerful and versatile in this setting than she would be as a character created in the base game. This is countered by the fact that magic doesn't directly impact any dice rolls. Rather it enables options and flavours the narrative
In order to keep some aspects of the mage aesthetic. Alice will at some point learn how to perform rituals (e.g. spells that are assigned as part of various turn votes and do provide bonuses to various dice). For instance, Alice may learn a ritual to improve her luck in a specific action that occurs over the course of a turn.
For example, a Fate stat of 1 allows her to cast magic that is reflective of the Initiate tier of spells in Mage: The Awakening.
This makes Alice relatively more powerful and versatile in this setting than she would be as a character created in the base game. This is countered by the fact that magic doesn't directly impact any dice rolls. Rather it enables options and flavours the narrative
In order to keep some aspects of the mage aesthetic. Alice will at some point learn how to perform rituals (e.g. spells that are assigned as part of various turn votes and do provide bonuses to various dice). For instance, Alice may learn a ritual to improve her luck in a specific action that occurs over the course of a turn.
It was real… the Tower, the Fae, Magic. It's all real.
The backs of your knees collide with your mattress and you collapse onto your bed. Your mind feels too full and yet empty at the same time. Your thoughts splintered in a thousand directions. Your heart races in your chest. Your skin feels tight. Too hot. The walls are closing in on you. You can't breathe.
So hot… I have to… have to…
You turn toward the open window, barely noticing as the thick velvet drapes ripple in the winter breeze as you lurch toward it, half stumbling, half crawling on your knees.
Your arms land with a painful thud on the windowsill and you pull yourself up just far enough so you can stick your head out the window and breathe. The cold slaps you, a short, sharp shock that hits with an almost physical force. And yet… the panicked sweat that had formed on your brow pricks as it dries against your skin. The scent of smoke surrounds you. Wafts into your nose. Your fingers dig into coarse brickwork. The thinner layer of silk curtains brushes delicately against your forearms.
You start to breathe. In and out. Your thoughts beginning to slow from that breakneck pace, enough that you can focus past the static in your head. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
For a long moment, you just sit there, your forehead resting on the cool wood of the windowsill. Until finally, you find yourself back within the confines of your body rather than trapped inside the chaotic swirl of your thoughts. As the sharp pulsing of your blood in your chest, fades away, a wave of relief so strong it causes you to shiver replaces it.
You smile, a weary and half-timid sort of thing, and nod your head against the windowsill. You could manage this. One day at a time. Just as your father had always said. The largest problems are made up of countless smaller ones. Your mother's advice. You'll never plough a field by turning it over in your mind. Your caretaker's words.
Your smile turns a touch more genuine as you let the advice circle around your thoughts. They were right. Whatever it was that had happened to you, worrying about it would amount to nothing. All you had to do at this moment was decide where to start.
But where?
Almost as if summoned by that very thought, you feel a presence land on the windowsill beside you. A glance to your left shows a familiar smirk etched across the features of a cat, coal dark except for twinned spots of colour, one green eye and one blue one.
A frisson of shock runs through you, but you refuse to panic. Not again. Not after your earlier attack and your resolution to move forward.
"Ahh, it looks as though the erstwhile Sleeper is in fine fettle this wondrous dawning of the new year." The cat's voice is smooth, almost a touch sibilant, with none of the resonance it had held in your dream.
You lean back, noticing that the cat's paws trace a careful line upon the windowsill, not moving an inch past the line formed where the window latches shut. A smile, quickly stifled, suffuses your face as you realise the truth. The rules of Arcadia must bind him even here. He couldn't come inside unless invited. And once invited in…
"Would you like to come inside?" your own voice is touched by the subtle rise and fall of a childhood spent in Cornwall.
"Polite, to offer hospitality before even names have been exchanged." The cat accepts your offer with a knowing smirk. "But then you are no longer what you were when you went to sleep, are you, my erstwhile Sleeper?"
"What do you mean and why have you come to visit me?" your head tilts as you watch the cat hop gracefully from his perch upon the sill to where your woollen blanket had bunched up on your bed.
The cat merely blinks his mismatched eyes and offers you a smug sort of grin. You frown in response to that, not so much out of irritation at his dismissive silence—although you were feeling a touch of that—more so out of confusion as to why the Fae you had met in your dreams was even here at all.
But it seemed clear as though he was content to sit and wait and stare mockingly at you. Fortunately, despite all that had happened to you in Arcadia occurring in a dream, everything that had happened there was stuck in your memories with an almost crystal-like clarity. And so, you cast your thoughts back toward the exchange you'd had with the cat and search for any hint as to why he was here.
Your lips move silently as you replay, in your mind, the dialogue of the bargain you'd made with the catlike Fae. You frown again, this time a mixture of confusion and a determination to solve the puzzle of the cat's continued presence. By all accounts, he should be gone, and yet there he was, sitting upon your bed as though without a care in the world.
Perhaps it was merely his way—or perhaps the way of the Fae in general—to keep an eye on those with whom they had made bargains. It was a behaviour that would certainly fit with the stories your caretaker had told you… and one that fit with the stories you had read of the Fae after she had passed away.
And yet something about that conclusion rang false to you. After all, why would he visit now, mere minutes after their bargain had been completed? Perhaps he was looking to make a second bargain? That almost made sense, but if that was the case…
Why did he look so… mundane…
You look. Truly look at the cat. Ignoring its smug look you try to imagine in his place the Fae you had met in your dream. Your mind twists as you try and overlay the common alley-cat currently reclining in your bedding with that shapeshifting being of refulgent shadow. And for a moment, you see it. Two smug grins overlapping perfectly. Cat and Fae. Waking and Dream. Fallen and Supernal.
Something in your soul clicks into place. Your tongue buzzes. The taste of blackthorn and holly fills your mouth. You speak, as you had in the dream, a pronouncement of truth, bright and inevitable. "Our bargain hasn't ended."
That smug grin vanishes. In its place something ancient, inhuman stirs. Mismatched eyes glow incandescent as power, once a placid lake and now a raging storm, floods through the catlike Fae.
You watch, confident in the Oath that binds the two of you as his power buffets your chambers, tossing bedding and yesterday's dirty clothes about without care. The window bangs shut. The oil lamp you'd lit earlier is snuffed out, plunging your bedroom into near pitch-darkness.
You stand, unmoved. The power lashing out from the cat whips violently at your nightgown, but stops short of brushing against your skin. "I didn't fully leave Arcadia, did I?"
Your mind flickers between the silvery brand on your tongue and the tattoos wrapped around your thigh. "I left a piece of myself there and brought a piece of it back with me."
Between one moment and the next, the storm raging in your bedroom ceases. In the next, everything reverts to what it had been before the cat's display of rage. The lamp sparks back to life, and you watch as the cat settles back down.
Annoyance paints across his face as he nods a feline head. "Indeed and while the journey to the Tower has fulfilled certain parts of our bargain, some yet remain."
You accept his concession without allowing any of the emotions bubbling within you to show on your face. The last thing you needed was to alienate the catlike Fae. After all, you had little doubt that there were any number of things he could do to fulfil the letter of your bargain while also making life exceedingly difficult for you. "Then if we are to remain together, is there a name you would prefer I use for you?"
"You may call me Puck."
In a stroke of Fate, the bargain Alice struck while in Arcadia carries over, in part, unto the waking world. And due to certain inerrant wording, the bargain is more useful than expected
Fae Bargain
Puck has a wealth of knowledge about a truly staggering number of topics, and while capricious in nature, he has made an Oath to answer certain types of questions that Alice asks. [+2 Learning]
The Oath Puck made to keep Alice safe on the journey to the Lunargent Thorn was partially fulfilled when she etched her name upon the Tower itself. What remains of the Oath is that Puck will occasionally bestir himself to offer lessons in self-defence [+1 Martial]
Through a bit of clever trickery, Puck can be compelled to provide an answer beyond the scope of "yes" or "no". Doing so will anger him severely, however. [Autopasses all relevant rolls in a scene at the cost of permanently ruining Alice's relationship with Puck]
Because the thread was able to figure out a way around the limitations of the bargain, Puck is more willing to share information than he would have otherwise been (e.g. the first part of this trait). Discovering this loophole also opens up the third part of this trait.
Fae Bargain
Puck has a wealth of knowledge about a truly staggering number of topics, and while capricious in nature, he has made an Oath to answer certain types of questions that Alice asks. [+2 Learning]
The Oath Puck made to keep Alice safe on the journey to the Lunargent Thorn was partially fulfilled when she etched her name upon the Tower itself. What remains of the Oath is that Puck will occasionally bestir himself to offer lessons in self-defence [+1 Martial]
Through a bit of clever trickery, Puck can be compelled to provide an answer beyond the scope of "yes" or "no". Doing so will anger him severely, however. [Autopasses all relevant rolls in a scene at the cost of permanently ruining Alice's relationship with Puck]
Because the thread was able to figure out a way around the limitations of the bargain, Puck is more willing to share information than he would have otherwise been (e.g. the first part of this trait). Discovering this loophole also opens up the third part of this trait.
We'll be using the CK2 stats as a starting point. As a bit of a tabula rosa, Alice is a perfectly even spread of base stats.
It's worth noting that when selecting traits, the narrative impact can be as large or larger than the bonuses provided.
Martial 5 + 1 [Fae Bargain] = 6
Diplomacy 5
Learning 5 + 2 [Fae Bargain] = 7
Stewardship 5
Intrigue 5
Piety 5
Please vote for as many options as you want. The top 4 options will be chosen.
As Alice interacts with the world and attempts to overcome the challenges set in front of her, she has a set of stats that inform her ability to do so.
DCs will be rolled with a 1d20 modified by the relevant stat.
Martial. Alice's ability to deal with physical threats, both using magic and mundane tools and weapons.
Diplomacy. Alice's ability to influence and persuade others toward their way of thinking.
Learning. Alice's ability to learn new things, whether mundane or not.
Stewardship. Alice's ability to understand commerce and make money.
Intrigue. Alice's ability with clandestine tasks, ranging from stealth to breaking ciphers.
Piety. Alice's ability to interact with non-human beings.
DCs will be rolled with a 1d20 modified by the relevant stat.
Martial. Alice's ability to deal with physical threats, both using magic and mundane tools and weapons.
Diplomacy. Alice's ability to influence and persuade others toward their way of thinking.
Learning. Alice's ability to learn new things, whether mundane or not.
Stewardship. Alice's ability to understand commerce and make money.
Intrigue. Alice's ability with clandestine tasks, ranging from stealth to breaking ciphers.
Piety. Alice's ability to interact with non-human beings.
Martial Traits
[] Strong. Alice can impart more physical force and endure physically demanding activities longer than expected due to her appearance. (+1 Martial)
[] Brave. For better and, perhaps, for worse, Alice is not subjected to mundane fear and is resistant to supernatural causes (+1 Martial)
Diplomacy Traits
[] Attractive. Alice is fair of face. Characters who are attracted to them, as well as those who can appreciate aesthetic beauty, will often favour her in interactions. (+1 Diplomacy)
[] Polyglot. Alice has learned multiple languages used throughout Europe and finds it easy to learn additional ones. (+1 Diplomacy)
Learning Traits
[] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[] Scholar. Alice prefers books to most people and will most zealously hoard the former. (+1 Learning)
Stewardship Traits
[] Polymath. Alice has delved deep into the art and science of mathematics. As a result, she is able to both calculate complex sums quickly as well as craft equations and formulae to assist relevant actions. (+1 Stewardship)
[] Diligent. Alice is willing to work harder and for longer than most of their peers. (+1 Stewardship)
Intrigue Traits
[] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[] Gossip. Alice is always willing to stop and chat and has a good ear for things going on in their vicinity, especially any potential irregularities (+1 Intrigue)
Piety Traits
[] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
CedeTheBees
Probably high right now
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Polyglot. Alice has learned multiple languages used throughout Europe and finds it easy to learn additional ones. (+1 Diplomacy)
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
This looks like a good trait combo.
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
This looks like a good trait combo.
- Pronouns
- Reader
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Diligent. Alice is willing to work harder and for longer than most of their peers. (+1 Stewardship)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
Eidetic Memory: Remembering every word we say to a fae or have said to us might be critical.
Diligent: I suspect we have a lot of hard work ahead of us. Being prone to putting in the time and effort to get it done will come in handy.
Observant: Good memory ain't worth much if we miss the important things.
Occultist: Knowledge is power, and knowledge of the occult when interaction with supernatural creatures is just good sense. The less ignorant we are the better.
On a more general impact someone who notices a lot, works hard, and knows what she is getting into, would make for an interesting story in my opinion.
[X] Diligent. Alice is willing to work harder and for longer than most of their peers. (+1 Stewardship)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
Eidetic Memory: Remembering every word we say to a fae or have said to us might be critical.
Diligent: I suspect we have a lot of hard work ahead of us. Being prone to putting in the time and effort to get it done will come in handy.
Observant: Good memory ain't worth much if we miss the important things.
Occultist: Knowledge is power, and knowledge of the occult when interaction with supernatural creatures is just good sense. The less ignorant we are the better.
On a more general impact someone who notices a lot, works hard, and knows what she is getting into, would make for an interesting story in my opinion.
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Eternal_0bserver
(Unverified Bookworm)
- Location
- Earth, Northern Europe
[X] Brave. For better and, perhaps, for worse, Alice is not subjected to mundane fear and is resistant to supernatural causes (+1 Martial)
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[X] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[X] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
We did pretty well for ourselves in Arcadia.
[X] Polyglot. Alice has learned multiple languages used throughout Europe and finds it easy to learn additional ones. (+1 Diplomacy)
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[X] Polyglot. Alice has learned multiple languages used throughout Europe and finds it easy to learn additional ones. (+1 Diplomacy)
[X] Eidetic Memory. If allowed more than a moment to focus on a thing, Alice will almost certainly remember any relevant details (+1 Learning)
[X] Observant. Alice has an eye for even the smallest of details, and as a result, is able to notice when things are not as they should be. (+1 Intrigue)
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
SleepyCaterpilar
Just a Rapariga
[X] Patient. Alice has a deep wellspring of patience and the things that infuriate or frustrate others rarely bother them. (+1 Piety)
[X] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
[X] Diligent. Alice is willing to work harder and for longer than most of their peers. (+1 Stewardship)
[X] Brave. For better and, perhaps, for worse, Alice is not subjected to mundane fear and is resistant to supernatural causes (+1 Martial)
[X] Occultist. Alice has dabbled in a wide variety of occult teachings from both Western and Eastern sources. (+1 Piety)
[X] Diligent. Alice is willing to work harder and for longer than most of their peers. (+1 Stewardship)
[X] Brave. For better and, perhaps, for worse, Alice is not subjected to mundane fear and is resistant to supernatural causes (+1 Martial)