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But that was long ago, and much has changed. Even here, in the perfection of Arcadia. You know that. Tor hesitated briefly, as if caught by the demands of rank and formality, then enfolded the sidhe princess in a warm. Valmont stepped up to Tor and clasped him on the shoulder. I am always happy to see you, especially now. His horns, the mark of his kith, curled round his head like a protective helmet — or even a crown— while his blue skin shone with the richness of health and vitality. Too experienced and hardened by his mortal years to be a wilder, Tor appeared as if he had just put his wilder years behind him to embrace the wisdom of an elder.
Many more years would belong to him in the mortal world, while here in Arcadia, he did not age. Valmont and Tor both nodded as the redcap joined them. Too often, in the mortal world, the young redcap, then an impish childling, had driv- en her to distraction. Since his arrival in Arcadia, Edmund had blossomed, if growing into his redcap nature constituted blossoming. Here in Arcadia, his sometimes-grotesque redcap features took on a wildly dangerous attraction, reminding her of the fierceness of animals in the wild. His dark hair hung in tangled ringlets about his sharp-featured face, softening the an- gles while not entirely disguising his potential for cruelty and violence.
Edmund would always need the presence of friends of strong character to keep his feral nature in check. Fortunately, he had found those bonds in both Tor and Valmont. Leigh wondered if she should include herself in her list of positive influences on Edmund. But no; to him, she was still just a girl. His gaze fixed on Tor. Tor shrugged. Edmund looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded his head. After what seemed like hours to impatient Edmund, though was only a few minutes, Rafael appeared over a grassy hillock, walking towards them.
Then known as Rasputin, he had been haunted by a brutal childhood and recurrent nightmares, though he was gentle and kind himself. Brought through the gate by his oath mates, Rasputin had been reborn to his faerie self as Rafael. His time in the Dreaming had since then enabled the pooka to shake off the demons of his past and thrive. Then he began dreaming of the Cup of Dreams just as his oath mates had. For him, it was a clear call to reenter the Autumn World, a place that had never been kind to him. Torn between the two desires, to stay or to go, he had delayed making the decision, which would be why he was late meeting his friends. He knew what their choices would be. They would answer the call, fulfilling their destinies whatever their personal reservations might be — even Edmund.
As he crested the hill, he saw them all waiting: Leigh determined, Valmont seeming always to be on his way somewhere even while he stood still. The prin- cess knight and the princely eshu held hands, together as always. Edmund fidget- ed as if he were still a child, though he had grown into a canny wilder whose experience with Yrtalien had taught him the value of true friends and loyalty. Waiting patiently while standing guard over them all was the rejuvenated Tor, always true, always protective. Aside from himself, the only missing member of the group was Morgan. He remembered her as a small beauty, serious and dreamy by turns, a good friend to him whenever he had needed one. In the end, his friends, these oath mates, were what tipped the scales for him. Raising his. He had given his life for them once and he would do so again gladly if needed. He could not ignore the call. That was the Dream he was made from. Goodbye ev- erybody! So now are we ready? I really need to speak to my parents, and I would like you all to come with me.
There are some things that need to be said before we go. Beside her, seated in his own elegant chair, her father looked on, his expression one of amused agreement. She had hoped to begin the conversation with a little more grace. Beside her, Valmont stood quietly, careful not to betray his desire to insert himself into the discussion to try to make things go smoothly between his be- loved and her parents. He held his peace, though. Leigh needed to take the lead in this conversation. Leigh thought she spied a glimmer of wet- ness in her eyes but decided it must be a trick of the shimmering light in the. Leigh allowed herself a tentative smile.
One of the chairs, Leigh noted with amuse- ment, stood taller, heavier, and sturdier than the others. She watched as Tor ap- proached his chair and sat uneasily, careful not to break the furniture. Valmont inclined his head in acknowledgment. The queen laughed, sounding like tinkling bells. Of those, many were destroyed. But other creations arose from the minds of creators who desired to make items that would serve in times of peace. Yet such was its power that others claim that the Cup dreamed itself into being. We know a few things about the Cup.
We know that it can move between Arcadia and the Autumn World, either brought by someone or else even moving on its own. In the wrong hands, the Cup can do terrible things. Because of this, there are many who desire the Cup, yet only a few have dreamt of it. To everyone else, it remains lost. I tell you this story because you have all dreamed of the Cup, just as your companion Morgania has dreamed of it though she resides in the Autumn World. After a few awk- ward seconds, Rafael wagged one finger in a tiny gesture. He looked away quickly. Both the king and queen looked on the pooka with compassion. It has been both my gift and my curse for a very long time. The king smiled. The queen continued to recite her tale, unperturbed by the interruption. Some say it pronounces a geas upon those who use it. It was once used by some- one to save the life of his beloved. In order to grant his wish, he had to swear never to reveal his love to her, remaining unrequited for the rest of his life.
Be direct, she told herself. They need to hear this in a way that may bring some truths home to them. Both her parents looked on expectantly. It is the same now as I remember it when I left. It is stagnant. I miss the chewy taste of a good Michelin. The expressions on the faces of the king and queen remained the same. A carriage? Perfection cloys without anything to offset it. Enlightened, his eyebrows made a beeline upwards, and he smiled. All except Leigh departed the palace. The princess knight stayed behind to bid her parents farewell. In most cases, the attackers were stealing Glamour in whatever form they could find it; in some instances, Kithain were just being roughed up.
It was bound to be a disaster. Really, Sir Cumu- lus, I thought you were speaking to him about these horrendous incursions, not planning celebrations! They are the newest arrivals to this world, though. Or both! Most of the houses in the neighborhood, which was nearby the Haight-Ashbury district but which lacked the erstwhile reputation of that area, stood two stories high. To her eye, they looked like Vic- torian-style ladies-in-waiting dressed in pastel colors with sharply contrasting trim. Most of the houses held offices: doctors, dentists, a couple of law firms, and a myriad of counselors. A sign in front of the house read: Morgan Daniels, MSCP, Adoles- cent Counseling. She shared the building with a family counselor as well as a mar- riage and couples counseling service. Both her colleagues, changelings like herself, had dedicated themselves to providing help for those children of the Dreaming who had problems coping with the outside world or with their own dual nature.
Morgan had the ground floor of the house to herself. Her comfortable wait- ing room was full of lived-in chairs and sofas designed to put her clients at ease, as well as a bookshelf that displayed a variety of titles that showcased the tastes of a fantasy aficionado as well as a lover of mysteries and classics. Her artistic choices lent a whimsical air to the space, featuring landscapes of castles, gar- dens, and fantastic beasts, all executed in colors that breathed spirit and playful-. Morgan smiled every time she saw them, particularly when she noted the small signature in the lower right corner of each painting: A. Daniels, her mother. Now, she hoped they would help her young patients as they struggled to cope with the emotional hurdles they faced from a world unwilling to accept their view of reality.
Morgan tried her best to hide her true self from her counselor but had failed. The hospital was run by Dauntain, changelings who deny their fae heritage and try to rip it out of other fae. Even now, Morgan shud- dered to think of that time. Unknown to everyone, Morgan had switched places with Princess Aliera, the heir to Duke Aeon of Golden Gate, so that the princess could experience life in the mortal world. The switch was undetected. Belated- ly, Gordon saw for himself the reality in which his daughter lived. While Morgan herself had escaped peril, a group of changelings, accompanied by Gordon, res- cued Aliera. Morgan, too, had helped in the rescue, arriving late on the scene.
In the years following her adventures with her now departed oath mates, Mor- gan had remained close to both Layla and Aliera, who stayed behind in San Fran- cisco. Still, Morgan remembered her early frustration at trying to hide who she was from her doctor and from her parents. She determined to help other young change- lings through their difficulties by becoming a counselor herself, one dedicated to identifying young Kithain and easing their journey through both worlds. She saw that she had only one client today, Meena, a young boggan who only needed minimal help adjusting to her dual nature. They need worry no longer about her ability to cope with a new school and new friends, and they should encourage her fascination with food preparation.
Meena had a strength and resilience of character, typical of her boggan kith that would see her through most situations, and Morgan had eased her introduction to the changeling community so that support would never be far away. Although the weather would be fine, not much else was. Reports of break-ins, food poisonings, a gun battle at a local hot spot, and a mysterious body found in a gazebo in a park were the highlighted stories of the day. She winced as she heard how baffled the po- lice were as to what had killed the young man in the park. So many ways to kill people, she mused. Probably drugs, such a waste, she thought sadly.
It was time, she thought, for a sabbatical. She would put her professional life on hold to follow her heart and her dreams wherever they might lead. She faced her guardian, Duke Aeon, attempting to appear taller than her five-foot five stature. Her usually sweet face now contorted with outrage and fury. Even when she was a young child, she never threw tantrums, but she felt very close to one now. As the ruler of the Duchy of Golden Gate, he had had many years of practice dealing with the moods of his courtiers. Aliera, his designated heir and the closest thing he had to a little sister, had always provided him with an oasis of brightness and gaiety, even in his darkest moments. Now, he felt as though his heart might break at the thought of the hurt she felt in the wake of his proclamation. Understand that I speak not as your duke and your liege, but as someone who cares about you and your future. Will you grant me leave to explain myself? She reached within for a sense of calmness despite her anger.
Already I can feel the responsibilities I have borne taking their toll. Glam-rock is their term for what we play. He nodded. His last concert, a few years ago, did not have the same effect. Crowd security, though admit- tedly light for a performance that normally had few disturbances, quickly moved the hecklers out of the venue. The show continued for its enthusiastic fans, but for Aeon himself, the outcries signaled the end of an era. Aeon smiled. His heir had grown into a poised sidhe princess, ready to take her place among her peers. She was ready to rule, too — not a duchy yet, but at least a small holding that would prepare her to take his place as ruler of Golden Gate. His long blond hair fell partly in his eyes and he pushed aside the wayward strands in a familiar gesture. There have been several new arrivals since then, and there are more royal houses that have made their presence known.
I would dearly love to make certain that we build ties to some of these late arrivals. He tried to temper the feeling before it trans- formed into bitterness, a feeling he was becoming more familiar with as he felt the weight of his years encroach upon him. You have your own retinue of companions, some of them commoners, but are they not also there to serve you or guard you, regardless of your closeness to them? Despite their devotion to Duke Aeon, they would never go so far as to consider themselves his friends or intimates. Eventually, she would have to meet prospective dates face-to-face.
She opened the door to her private rooms. Originally decorated to. What had once been ruffled and pink now showed tasteful colors of muted pastels and a more modern décor. She noticed this anew as she entered, thinking how everything changed so quickly. Her friend Layla was waiting for her, seated on her bed. Her puckish face reflected her curiosity and excitement, though she was trying to look innocent. What are you up to today? Aliera stopped, hands on hips. How very exciting! You get to meet a whole slew of handsome princes, get gifts from them, and get escorted out to dinner or dancing or a movie. Go to a nightclub or a concert, wear new clothes. Just enjoy it. She was beginning to see the advantag- es and get excited herself. She crossed the room to enfold Layla in a big hug. Others considered him a thief or a fixer.
Above all, Doyle was a nocker with an affinity with and an understanding for machines and all mechanical or digital gadgets. Lately, life had begun to bore him. Even in a big city like Chicago, someone with his high drive for excitement and low tolerance for inactivity eventually ran out of things to do. He had gone through enough security system designs for clients who barely needed them to tempt him to stage a few break-ins just to test the soundness of his technique. The possibility that he might succeed too well in his designs and incur unwanted repercussions kept him from doing so. That, and the feeling that something big was just around the corner.
Although Doyle gathered the Glamour that enabled him to maintain his fairy existence from his work with machines, he also occasionally experienced mo- ments when he seemed to touch the Dreaming itself. What drew him there, however, was the bartender, a young clurichaun with a real talent for mixing drinks and a temper that told him she had probably seen as many different jobs as he had, her employment probably terminated often as a result of her fighting spirit. He had a strong feeling that the Dreaming was bound to bring them together. The other bar customers still stood, transfixed, not yet certain whether the brief fight was over. As if a bell had sounded, ending the bout, the onlookers broke apart. A few applauded.
In the back of the fight, money changed hands. In her mortal form, Fiona stood just five feet tall, with long blond hair in a loose, disheveled pigtail that hung nearly to her waist. He could see her fae essence shine through, revealing her as slightly shorter, her hazel eyes a brilliant green, and her hair a deep honey-blond with red highlights. The crowd drifted back to their seats and drinks, some cozying up to the bar for refills and others returning to their tables, steering a wide berth around the comatose loser of the all-too-brief brawl. Fiona examined the knuckles of her left hand for scrapes, and, finding none, returned to her place behind the bar.
A quick wash of her hands and an even quicker repair job to her distressed pigtail and she was once again ready for duty. She had just served up her third Guinness draft when movement from the back of the bar caught her eye. Fiona took a deep breath and steadied herself for what she feared was com- ing. McRoady did not look happy. From his seat only a few stools away, Doyle busied himself with his drink and a handful of bar nuts, careful not to call attention to the fact that he was lis- tening intently to the young bartender and her boss. Maybe it was because she always jutted her chin out just a little too far, betraying her defiance. Fiona looked at the ceiling, counting her confrontations in her head. Finally, she took off her apron and started to fold it neatly, then changed her mind, wadded it up and tossed it across the room. McRoady had the check in hand for her to pick up, and she left without saying a word, in control of her feelings for once.
As she headed toward the door, the nocker waved at her, catching her atten- tion. He slipped off the bar stool, where he had remained unnoticed, and walked toward the authentic s jukebox that stood against the wall just inside the door of the bar. She shook her head in response. She shrugged. He deserved it. Why do you want to know? If you do, we could head out together. It felt good to put aside her worries. Doyle sidled over to the jukebox, checked its song selection for a minute, then leaned over and muttered something to the machine. He rapped it twice sharply, and Fiona heard it come to life, spitting out a disc into the play position. Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair… Fiona and Doyle left together, the lock engaging with a terminal click in their wake.
Fiona nodded and let the nocker lead the way. Halfway down the block, she stopped short, puzzled. According to the mercenary band that raised him, his parents dumped him in an alley and left him to die. Young Jack grew up with an abundance of fathers and uncles — and one aunt — who taught him everything he knew. He learned to read and write from road signs, maps, and paperbacks with titles like Savage Hunters of the Bayou and Assassin on Call. He learned math and geography from maps. Along the way, he picked up a working knowledge of weaponry, stealth, tactical knowledge, and other practical tidbits his mercenary family shared with him. For Jack, every day offered an opportunity for adventure and an outlet for violence.
Then one of their clients tried to cheat them out of their payment. Negotiations turned into a firefight, and Jack Wilson died in the battle. When he came back to himself, his family was staring at him, aghast with horror. He spent a few years on the run, trying his best to confine his appetite to inanimate objects, scrounging around junkyards. Occasionally he ran into anoth- er changeling who tried to teach him about changeling society. He learned the most from the trolls who were strong enough to beat him and use their powerful personalities to keep him in check. Thus, he discovered the Seelie and Unseelie courts and decided that he valued freedom more than order and honesty over pre- tense. If that made him Unseelie, then so be it. But even rules about not having rules made him itchy. There were some odd creatures out there. The antlered ones seemed uncomfortable in either the mortal world or the Dreaming.
For a while, he hung out on the fringe of their groups, using his learned and innate stealth and disguise abilities to remain unnoticed. They called themselves boggarts and bogies, gob- lins, beasties, and ghasts. The antlered creatures called themselves fir-bholg and claimed to serve greater powers. Then he heard some of them talking about finding a great treasure some- where in San Francisco. That treasure, they said, would bring about the Endless Winter — or the end of the world — and the first to find it would have a special place in the new paradise. He now knew his destination. Passers-by rarely noticed the building at all, brighter stars on the horizon drawing their at- tention away from the flaking paint and cloudy windows.
Feeling a need to visit friends, Morgan sought the cheerful, soothing comfort of the freehold where it all started. Once inside the doors of the shop, she felt at home, though a great sadness filled her as she remembered the friends from whom she had been parted for twenty years. She knew from ex- perience that to Fizzlewig, she would always be just Morgan, and that the title he accorded her was as much an endearment as a formality. As she crossed the threshold, Morgan felt the cares of the mortal world slough from her. Her street clothes transformed into voile of midnight blue, a soft, silken blouse and flowing pants of deep velvet, with a vest of iridescent silver, in keeping with the colors of House Eiluned, to which she belonged.
Her dark curls trailed down her shoulders and framed her face, a study in elfin planes and angles that turned heads. Morgan crossed the room beneath the twin chandeliers that granted the cof- fee house its soft, homey light and took a seat at the bar. The boggan filled the mug from a warming pot on the counter behind the bar. Morgan caught an aroma of ginger, cinnamon, and cloves that teased her senses with the promise of warmth and cheer. She looked around, recognizing many of the patrons as regulars. In one of the back booths sat a mousy woman whose chalky pallor and deep, dark eyes marked her as one of the sluagh, secretive changelings who collected informa-. Ellen nodded her acknowledgement, and quickly buried her nose deeper into the book she held in front of her on the table, quickly making a note in the volume.
Morgan smiled. The years had left little mark on the shy Ellen, and Morgan was one of the few who knew the rea- son. Morgan had raised her eyebrows in surprise. Morgan finished her cider and pushed the empty cup toward Fizzlewig, who refilled it for her. Instead of returning to his interminable wiping of the glass- ware, he regarded the young sidhe with a quizzical expression. Fizzlewig nodded. Morgan smiled, though unshed tears shone in her eyes. How can we be of help? Morgan looked about her at the hopeful faces. Are you all right? Have you been attacked? Ask Me Anything! It was filled with bright colors that indicated a full schedule, not only for that day, but for the foreseeable future. While she spoke, her voice so low Cameron could only detect the occasional word, the Liam sidhe glanced out the broad windows that overlooked the Haight-Ashbury district.
What a spectacular view. He had intended to pay his respects to whoever ruled the freehold. Now, he noticed a crowd that had gathered in front of the in- conspicuous building; a group of individuals was becoming increasingly unruly. His fae sight revealed the true nature of the rough-looking group, and a chill went through his body. He had expected to see a gathering of Unseelie redcaps, nockers, and perhaps a few trolls, but these creatures, while fae, were like nothing he had seen before, except in nightmares. Among the throng, he could pick out tall, thin, sickly individuals that called to mind distorted versions of the eshu; others resembled warped versions of pooka — wilder and much more feral in appearance than Unseelie pooka; still others appeared as twisted versions of boggans and nockers; while some caused such a wave of horror to wash over him that he could not identify their nature.
Some things, he reflected, took more than diplomacy to handle. Rubbing his hands together and whistling a traveling song, he flashed from the stairwell to an alcove just a few yards away from the angry, roiling group of strange fae. Born to the cold of the northlands, he paid little heed to the deep snow and icy winds. Glancing up, he frowned at the gray-black clouds dominating the white, overcast Norwegian sky. They suited his mood. How could his father command him to go to San Francisco to marry some snippet of a princess? He sighed heavily, smelling the snow on the air. Mist rose from the lake as he passed, curling inland. A rustle from the nearby forest caught his attention. A few dozen yards off, a magnificent elk emerged from the snow-laden trees. Wulf crouched and froze. More antlers followed close to the elk and he saw four fir-bholg, servants of the Jotuns —what many called Fomorians — bolt from the forest and attack the elk.
His first impulse was to cry out a challenge and attack them. With an effort of will, he curbed his impulse and remained still. His heart ached for the death of the noble elk as the fir-bholg tore into it, slashing and tearing chunks of bloody meat from its still-living body. Snow fell more heavily now, threatening blizzard conditions. As the last vile invader passed into the trees, he stood, shook the snow from his shoulders, and followed in silent pursuit. He nodded re- spectfully and offered a short eulogy to the bloodied remains of the elk as he passed. Your troubles are over, your time done here. The theft of your life will be avenged. As he tracked the antlered foes through the heavy snow, the blizzard tapered off, resolving into heavy fog. The trees he knew faded from sight. He was now in the middle of a busy modern port city, its sights, sounds, and smells totally different from those he knew at home. Was this a terrible joke?
A trod opened here? He laughed without humor as he caught sight of the sign overhead. In En- glish, it read: Port of San Francisco. Wulf made certain to stand safely away from the rush of cars, vans, buses, and other vehicles reeking of horrid fumes. He was here for a reason which had nothing to do with marriage, political or otherwise. The thought steadied him. He closed his eyes and opened his heart to sense any pull of Glamour that might tell him where to go. For a few seconds he could detect nothing but the banal reek of steel buildings; the noise of traffic deafened him. Then, he felt it, soft, otherworldly strands of fae magic. Some came from the collection of kiths that called the city home. These traces felt disconnected, spread far and few be- tween throughout the metropolis. As he concentrated, deepening his senses and closing out external stimuli, he noticed a strong pull of Glamour, one that bore some familiarity with the trail that had led him to this accursed place.
A sudden, blaring sound, unlike anything he had ever heard, startled him into open- ing his eyes. One hand reached for his weapon, then stopped as he beheld a strange purple and yellow vehicle pulled up to the curb alongside him, its rear door open. The driver made a noise in her throat to catch his attention. One even tried to kick a feral cat slinking along, cursing as it ran off. Swearing, the bully followed his companions who laughed at his near-miss. They formed a menacing group gathered outside the decrepit building that housed the Toybox Coffee Shop. An intoxicating thrill of Glamour called to them from the faerie treasure inside, its potency driving them to itchy anticipation as they pre- pared to storm in and take it. Mortals walked to the other side of the street to avoid what they perceived as a nasty gang of unkempt toughs, reeking of garbage and excrement.
While none of the passersby recognized the faerie nature of the group, they certainly recognized their potential for violence. Oddly, none pulled out their phones to take pictures or alert the police. Even the least imaginative pedestrians sensed something off and ugly about the group, enough that they knew better than to interfere. The Thallain kith ignored the few mortals passing nearby, intent as they were on trashing the coffee shop and grabbing its treasure, whatever it was. Two twisted ogres anchored the pack, while exaggerated horrors called ghasts loosely patrolled the outer edges of the pack of boggarts, bogies, and beasties.
Oh, well. Same old, same old. Despite recognizing that, even together, they were outnumbered and outclassed in terms of fighting skills, Cameron pulled together his sidhe Glamour and entered the fray. Fiona punched a boggart, then slapped him sideways to crash heads with a nearby bogie. With a disgusting urp, the bogie vomited dark ichor on all of them and pulled a short, dirt-encrusted knife. Doyle lost sight of Fiona as he was confronted with two frothing beasties, rabid seeming, their tongues hanging out of mouths filled with long, horrid teeth. He manifested a short, sturdy metal tube and flicked it out. Lurking in the shadow of a nearby building, Jack October watched the battle unfold. He wondered what to do: join the group attacking the Toybox Coffee Shop, help the three battling the Thallain, or try to sneak past them all, get inside, and nab the treasure while everyone was distracted.
She was punching, kicking, and biting the ears of four of her opponents. When the bogie pulled his darkness stunt, Jack leapt out and took advantage of the confusion to bite him in the back. Careening into the street, Georgia steered her cab straight at the riotous fae spilling over the sidewalk. I am Wulf, son of Ragnar, warrior of House Aesin! Stop this assault and meet your doom! Wulf had wanted a target for his wrath since the death of the elk. The ogre screamed and fell but pulled Wulf down with it. A crazed scream almost deafened the ogre as a weight landed on its back, scratching at its face and clawing its arms. Blinded, the ogre yelled in pain. Reaching backwards with a grub- by fist, he flipped Georgia off his back. She hit the concrete with a bone-jarring crunch, groaning. Her injury, however, had bought Wulf the time he needed. Doyle had finished off the beasties and caused a handful of Thallain enough pain to send them running.
He had turned his attention to two others and was making his way toward Fiona when he saw a redcap help her up from a pile of her own victims. Think we should go in and see or wait for the god of thunder over there to finish off the ogre? He slipped toward the door. Special blend. That worry you? Beckett: Not nearly as much as it ought to. I see the interplay of chemicals and the Beast boiling in you. Remarkable self-control for someone under the influence. Back at out of your gourd and still keepi ng polit e. Malcolm: Your fangs are showing. Beckett: How embarrassing. Can practi- Malcolm: No shame. The goblin roads have that effect ogue and grin. cally hear Rod Serling monologue and grin, monol prise? Beckett: What brought you to such a hazardous enter [chuckles] Malcolm: Needed something to do. A focus. Fresh air. a real aveng ing angel. Was there ever anyth like my life never ended. Guess I was trying to live Beckett: What happened? was bull- Malcolm: We all grow up.
Realized the War on Drugs was I aveng ing? I was no kille r of killers. Who the fuck. I was a user of users. Still am. Malcolm: Terrified. Beckett: But excited. Malcolm: Yeah. way plac- Beckett: I like to get into frightfully out of the envir onmen t, even for our es too. Still, this is a hazardous pedigree. from wolves. Beckett: Hmm? Read that somewhere. Out here fear. Even as a another flavor of a ne hides breather. As a narc. Saw what happens when someo bag son, and the stash of junk inside their living infant s to you.
Then I died. I saw worse. Chicago dread cling aroun d your head like Seeps into the pores and marrow. Wraps ed, And the only time I notic cellophane. Beckett: Freed? hate that Malcolm: I get to asking myself, why do I suddenly I suddenly Lick? Had nothing to do with her a month ago. Then cated Casab lanca plots wax. Then I notice, despite overcompli is flowing in choking the city, all the blood in the gutters Then the alley pavem ent turns to one, maybe two directions. soles , and the sky is all eyes looking tongue meet, tasting my gigantically down. Malcolm: No. Just the wolves and the weird and me. Sudden death in the briar patch , and I keep run- ning.
Beckett: I think— Wait. What was that? Beckett: Can you get around? Malcolm: Shhh. Is that the blood y corn? Beckett: Drive. Beckett: Drive! The road only gets weirder. Malcolm drives. I jot down these notes as best I can. I compulsively look back, certain some Grimm boogeyman or black dog is in pursuit. Insane, really. I myself have played both the black dog and the boogeyman. This fear is In this peculiar wilderness, there is an oasis for the dead. Volo Bog - Ingleside , Illinois. Malcolm dropped me off at the bog, before driving away with Cesare to refuel. The light flickered under the impressive response of leathery wings. They returned a minute later. I shouldered my bag and proceeded. The motion, combined with the sloshing of water and the sound of boot to wood, reminded me of walking on the decks of old ships.
Sphagnum moss formed a layer over the water, supporting plants and even trees. One could walk on that quaking surface, but one would never know when it might swallow one up. In that obsidian mirror, I counted two sets of glowing eyes other than my own. Xaviar stared into the water, arms crossed. He glanced up at me with that pinched bat face. Inyanga perched on the boardwalk railing, as perfectly balanced as a resplendent bird. A sandhill crane called out, a positively Mesozoic sound. Fitting, I suppose, to announce the meeting of three old things. Vitae, like bog water, preserves the corpse indefinitely. Xaviar: [grunt] Beckett: Mother Inyanga, always a pleasure. Inyanga: Likewise, Beckett.
I am pleased you made the journey from Milwaukee in safety. Beckett: Thanks to you. Though I have to ask, are you aware that your driver is a high-functioning junkie? Inyanga: I am. In fact, it was I who steered him to a particular mixture of plant extracts, to make his mental journ ey more… pro- ductive. Xaviar: What do you want, Beckett? Beckett: Not an entirely inaccurate — Xaviar: What do you want? Beckett: I thought it was an oasis. But why? What do they know? Thousands hing very old ago, a glacier buried something in the earth. Somet hing that suffoc ated all the fish traveled in a coffin of ice, somet preda tors, and every time I come here and turned the plants into guts. So bury your bante r and get to it. I feel a wriggling in my Eye of Hazimel. Beckett: I prefer firsthand data when I can get it. You tomb thief. I was not present Beckett: My business is to piece together events young Torea dor sculptor named for.
All the evidence suggests a Leopold stumbled upon a very nasty artif act. Were I Justi t three Anted iluvi ans if a Torea dor neonate told everyone I fough had thrashed me. Beckett: [choked] Easy…Xaviar. Xaviar: …yes. faced something Beckett: Xaviar, I do not doubt that you and yours does not an Anted iluvi an make. There are truly powerful. But that it to know that. other terrors in the world. still spins. We Beckett: Look about. Years later and the world have not been devoured. Gehenna never occurred. Inyanga: You all speak of Gehenna so singularly. Beckett: Beg pardon? Death and birth. Inyanga: Everything has its seasons and cycles. s anoth er Gehenna coming. The world is always ending. There is alway endur ed, escap ed, or reshaped. The question is which ones can be y, then?
Yes, Beckett: Shall we call that the Poly-Gehenna theor to that effect in the mythologies I recall having heard something of the Laibon. Xaviar and Inyanga: [simultaneously] Yes. Inyanga: What? Xaviar: But you already have all the information. Beckett: I came to the realization, long ago, that I would never have all the information…and I never got over it. Every tiny detail gives bette r context to the whole. Xaviar: Very well. For the boon I owe Inyanga, I will tell you everything I can. But first, you will turn that off. Xaviar also gave me the name of the only other survivor of that encounter, a Gangrel neonate by the name of Ramona.
Inyanga joined Malcolm, Cesare, and I, and we made the remainder of the journey to Chicago without incident. Cesare has taken lodgings in a hotel. Inyanga brought me to Graceland Cemetery. I will sleep the day away in the grave soil of Kate Warne , the first female private detective in the United States. I like to keep good company. Always testing. Beckett: Yes. Inyanga: Even now. Mother Inyanga? know that in his Beckett: I did not. I younger days, Xaviar traveled Afric a exten sivel y. Inyanga: Yes. It Beckett: He made acquaintances among the indigenous of their super natur al trick s. is said he even learned some Inyanga: I have heard the same. yourself have Beckett: He must have had at least one mentor. You to the mysticism displayed strange abilities that you attribute calmed a crea- of your mortal days.
Also, with a single word, you the simpl e fear we ture as tempestuous as Xaviar. I can tell might have for an elder; he respects you absolutely Eye of Hazim el absol utely. I the difference, because he fears the other a very long time. think you and he have known each Inyanga: Perhaps. straight to you. I find it surprising that so many Laibon have lived, unknown, in a Camarilla domain for so long. Even more surprising that one should ascend to such prominence as a cuckoo within a surrogate Clan. He was teaching a class, and I was permitted to sit in as a visitor. I sit now, at a desk, penning this entry. The lecture hall is mostly empty, save six Brujah and myself. Critias sits, mostly silent, behind a great desk, occasionally commenting or writing notes.
His protégés, Dre and Damien, stand in as teachers tonight. Three neonates sit as students. There was a lesson in Ancient Greek, followed by history both Kindred and kine. The class grew more active with lessons in debate. Critias joined in these. The man has a dizzying intellect for rhetoric. Sophr osyne. Critias: Entelechy. I think we will adjourn here for the evening. Dre will give you your assignments. I will see you all next week. Beckett: Thank you for letting me observe. Critias: Thank you for honoring my request not to record it. Beckett: I know better than to try pull a trick against a mind like yours. Critias: Flattery, Beckett, will get you everywhere. Please sit. Tempering the iconoclast kids with philosopher ide- als? Bearing the torch for Carthage?
We all did. We raged and we mourned for something old, cracked, and dead. We buried it in the mausoleum of our heads and hearts. What stung us the most was the knowledge that it was broken. But globe. Some say they aim for a full-fledged Path of Enlightenment, silencing the Beast with disciplined intellect. revolutions turn in a full circle. Old becomes new. Beckett: You are just the second elder to say as much in the same number of nights. Critias: It is true. Old ideas can rejuvenate. Carthage, the ideal, is old and new again. It is something we no longer pas- sively mourn, but actively live. There are new, vital minds being born in this new age. Old ideas run through young minds. That is true immortality. Carthage is the invisible structure that bridges our old minds to their dynamic youth. Beckett: Idealism is not always my strong point, but I can respect erudition. But why the renewed pedagogy, Critias? Why now? Critias: …do you not tire of the fighting?
Do you not wish to build? Critias: …I apologize. My mind wandered. Beckett: So is council rule by the Primogen part of your en- lightened experiment? Critias: More of a serendipitous opportunity, I would say. Better that than that disgrace of the Blood, Balthazar. Beckett: I would have thought some brazen Ventrue would have risen to claim praxis of such a prized city. I heard Capone made a real run for it a few years back. Critias: That brute? Beckett: He has a famous name, among living and dead. He has a famous pedigree. Ballard would have as- cended were it not for recent scandals. Capone and Jackson are next in line, on the Ventrue side. But no, no I do not think Chicago needs a Prince. Critias: You know… In an enlightened age, a mind like yours would be most welcome, Beckett. Beckett: Flattery, as a wise man once said, will get you any- where. Critias: You must teach a class here.
Beckett: Perhaps that could be arranged. I do have a favor to ask, though. Critias: Yes? I entered the art gallery perhaps a touch underdressed, but my name earned me entrance, and a man with no neck led me through the gallery, to a private section in back. This room contained only a single painting, and a little boy in a dark suit. He stared at the painting with rather chilling eyes. A cursory glance of his aura showed the vibrant, innocent colors of a living child. However, I knew that the dead thing filling that suit was far from innocent. A Warlock trick? He held a moldering teddy bear in one hand. Nicolai: Mr. Beckett: Nice teddy. Nicolai: Is it? A ritual component. an audience. Beckett: DuSable said I might find you here and have to beseech my Nicolai: DuSable had best not be sending emissaries five minut es suffice? backing his praxis claim. Will about Carna and Beckett: It will have to. I wanted to speak to you Milwaukee.
You see, I— [Sound of stomping steps and a slamming door] A fucking kid? Nicolai: You do not belong here. I do not. Allow a mind like that to enter the playground of centuries, with blood magic as its toy, and see what happens. I have all the other s. te that they had Nicolai: The rules of the auction did not dicta to be sold as a set. spoiled brat with inheritance took a shine to the Do you know who I am? how to breathe. Nicolai: Please do me the kindness of forgetting [CHOKING SOUNDS] Beckett: Is he…? Did you just…? not so easily Nicolai: No. When he loses consciousn forget He will likel y wake up and again. But my control is strong. again, and again, and again. Should we move… regarding the Nicolai: He is fine right there. You are not here contentious Princedom then.
re of Milwaukee. Beckett: Yes, well…I want to talk about the Treme Mortius. Talk about Carna. The Book of the Grave-War. Nicolai: Do you know where he is? The doctor. Nicolai: Pity. stern ional ly invit ed vario us Midwe she fled Milwaukee, she occas Tremere to meet in her chant ry. Have Beckett: … would you know anything about that? Did hing watching you seen the book? Is there somet us from the skylight? Carna is now an Nicolai: [whisper] Yes. tended those meetings. Milwaukee has always been off limits to most of my Clan. Only Tremere specifically sent to that city are authorized to go. sessi ons just to spite my wishes.
had attended several of these Beckett: Are you saying…? Beckett: Thank you, Primogen Antonescu. For your [CONTINUED CHOKING] [RECORDING ENDS]. There exists a wickedness of such purity, one only ever finds it in serial killers and children. It was disturbingly human. Was that fear? I thought the Gargoyles were the timorous slaves of the Warlocks, not the other way around. The rest of the night, I found myself Ublo-Satha is one of the oldest Gargoyles still looking fearfully up. in our service. Cunning and dangerous. She has served as the personal bodyguard and I dined at a city park. agent of at least one Inner Council member. I found something in my pocket that had not been there a moment ago, a little wooden box.
Inside the box, a scarab amulet of brass. I looked about the graveyard, with all the senses at my command, but found no one. The statue of a broken-winged angel failed to reply. Nicolai has a rebellious childe. Nicolai is curious about what Carna is up to, but is under the burden of too much stone monster oversight to risk a trip to Milwaukee. Nicolai orders his childe to go there? More likely, he would not have to, simply bait her, tell her not to go. enough, and she was surprisingly In fifty years, Ms. Graves might tire of rebellion eager to meet, though she made sure it and run her own chantry. A British-style pub how quaint across the street from where John Dillinger was killed. Erichtho: I am certain, Beckett, that your power s of banter are the stuff of legend, but for tonight, let us keep things simple and swift. Beckett: Very well. Erichtho: Yes. I have been to Milwaukee.
I saw her book. And there are many thing s I could tell you, but… Beckett: But you would like a favor first. Beckett: How may I be of service? Erichtho: There is a woman. Beckett: A woman? Erichtho: A young Toreador. She goes by the name of Portia. She… She has her hooks in Nicolai. Completely blind. Beckett: And what do you want done? I want her gone. I… What? Erichtho: I am no such thing! He is a year old magus, not some foolish whelp. She lurks in the Chantry at all hours. And Ublo-Satha just keeps her distance and watches. It is not natural or right a neonate should have that sort of sway over an elder. Something is terribly wrong. She is just too…much. Beckett: The Toreador have a knack for seeming to be more than they are.
But point taken. Perhaps I can look into it What do you think of this? A beetle, perha ps a scarab. There is a mystical energy to it. Beckett: My assessment as well. And the nature of the enchantment? Erichtho: I would need more time and study to be sure, but at a guess, based on the feel and these markings…a prote ctive charm. Protection from a malevolent influence or attention, perhaps. Beckett: Thank you. Erichtho: You will investigate Portia then? She must be stopped. Beckett: My god. You truly are jealous. And I heard that your re- lationship with your sire was antagonistic. Did… Oh. Did Nicolai blood bo — Erichtho: I said to keep it simple and swift, Becke tt. Do as I have asked, and I will tell you everything you want to know. And effective. I find myself detestably entangled in a love triangle between a child-elder, an Anarch Warlock, and a young Toreador punching above her weight.
Beckett, you do It is, however, the most direct way to know about the current state of the original Succubus Club? I know just where to find this Portia. I am about to enter the Succubus Club. I put on the scarab amulet tonight. A hunch. It's the perfect book to any edition of vampire, as it covers a lot of ground, and consequences to [ See All Ratings and Reviews. Browse Categories. Rule System. Apocalypse World Engine. BRP Basic Roleplaying. Forged in the Dark. Modiphius 2d Old-School Revival OSR. Savage Worlds. Product Type. Core Rulebooks. Non-Core Books. Other Tabletop Games. Gift Certificates. Publisher Resources. Family Gaming. Science Fiction. File Type. Virtual Tabletops. Creation Method. Japanese 日本語. Korean 한국어. Zhongwen 中文. Onyx Path Publishing. Pay What You Want. See all titles. Publisher Website. Follow Your Favorites! Sign in to get custom notifications of new products!
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Written by: Jackie Cassada and Nicky Rea Developed by: Matt M. McElroy Edited by: Maria Cambone Art Direction: Michael Chaney. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, me- chanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of White Wolf Entertainment. Reproduction prohibitions do not apply to the character sheets contained in this book when reproduced for personal use. White Wolf, Vampire and Chronicles of Darkness are registered trademarks of White Wolf Entertainment. Vampire the Requiem, Werewolf the Forsaken, Mage the Awak- ening, and Storytelling System are trademarks of White Wolf Entertainment.
All characters, names, places and text herein are copyrighted by White Wolf Entertainment. The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages is not a challenge to the trademark or copyright concerned. This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernat- ural elements are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. Reader discretion is advised. com This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. This book contains mature content. To my nephew and niece-in- law, Barry and Marie, for helping me keep the Dream alive.
From both of us: To Tadd McDivitt for his unending enthusiasm, inspiration, and friendship. May he continue to enact brilliantly the role of Yrtalien, the Forsworn Prince, in any Changeling: the Dreaming: 20th Anniversary Edition games we play in the future. To Greg Freeman, a most kind and dedicated friend, who has always helped when we needed it. To all those who have written, edited, and developed for Changeling the Dreaming and all the artists who have contributed so much to the game. To all the fans who love Changeling the Dreaming and have made it what it continues to be — one of the most innovative and hope-filled games ever at- tempted — while not ignoring the darkness which gives it meaning. Nicky joined on in writing this book, though she has lurked behind the scenes like a sluagh on the first three.
This version was written by Jackie Cassada. Two sidhe brothers stood blocking the gate, each claiming precedence for his followers. Neither would give way and they turned to stone as the gate closed, cutting off all the sidhe, commoners, and other Kithain trying to escape. The gate sank beneath the waves as she distributed the gems with instructions to take each to a place of safety. They became known as the Immortal Eyes. Into this mix are thrown a group of changelings, who will unravel the plots and achieve much more before their tale is told.
Leigh Dame Eleighanara of House Fiona is awaiting her knighting ceremo- ny. The eshu Valmont is a proud commoner and semi-Unseelie who has a finger in every pie. Tor, a troll losing his fae soul and memories to age, accompanies his granddaughter Morgan, a year-old sidhe childling who is a baroness of House Eiluned. He is a troubled, tor- tured pooka who cannot tell a complete truth, and who dreams of the horrors of his past. Finally, there is Edmund, an unruly 8-year-old redcap street kid whose Unseelie leanings are a constant trial to the group. Then, he flees. Furious when he discovers the satyr is the banished Malacar, Duke Aeon charges Leigh to track him down and re-banish him. While trying to geas her to do so he discovers a stronger geas already lies on her. Nevertheless Leigh, Mor- gan, Valmont who feels responsible for bringing the satyr , Tor, Edmund, and Rasputin all accept the quest.
The group adopts the Toybox, a homey coffee shop and freehold in the Haight as their home base, since they have become friends with Fizzlewig, the boggan owner. When Malacar unlocks the old steamer trunk, an army of chime- rical escapes into the streets. Each enchanted toy is a faerie treasure that helps to keep the Toybox Coffee Shop englamoured. Finding and returning the toys is a triumph for the group. Unknown to the rest, Edmund pockets a toy clown. Morgan experiences many trials as she navigates being both a human child and a faerie baroness. This is resolved with the help of her companions. Morgan enchants her parents so they will understand her true place in the world. None of them know that a Dauntain named Cyprian Ryder Chevalier has been set on their trail by this turn of events and means to track them down to force their fae souls from them.
Ryder, himself a sidhe, has one of the Immortal Eyes, a blue gemstone, embedded in the palm of one hand. The gem causes him agony when exposed to enchantments. He attempts to capture Edmund but is rendered unconscious and put on a plane to Boston. From beyond, in a place neither of the Autumn World nor the Dreaming, the exile, Yrtalien of House Ailil, has been directing both Lady Glynnis and Malacar through their dreams. The group discovers due to meddling from Yrtalien and his cohorts that a gate exists in Golden Gate Park. The Forsworn Prince steals the body of a mortal Glynnis has compelled to go to him. Leigh remembers that she and Yrtalien used to be lovers. They had tried to unseat the ruling powers of Arcadia. As punishment, he had been imprisoned while she was exiled to the Autumn World and placed under a geas. Although they still care for one another, the two are on differing sides.
Meanwhile, in Boston, Ryder is recalled to himself by his supporter, Signe. He, Signe, an eshu, Diana, a troll — both Dauntain as well — and Vargas, a mor- tal who once wanted to be a priest, decide to return to San Francisco and take up the quest to capture the changelings who defeated Ryder. Weaving together the storylines of the companions, Yrtalien, and the Daun- tain, the book opens a month or so after the first one. When they arrive, he tells them that they must travel to Point Reyes to meet with Kithain who have information about the Immortal Eyes. Morgan has a waking dream about a white swan chasing a black one across the water.
She realizes they are boats, and the black swan can only be Yrtalien going for the other stones. They depart the next afternoon for Point Reyes. Ryder and his companions arrive and begin their search for the fae of San Francisco. He uses his Eyestone to locate sources of Glamour. He and Signe as- sume their fae miens and enter the Toybox Coffee Shop. The powerful Glamour of the toy chest inside the shop sets off his stone, bringing him down in agony. The shopkeeper, Fizzlewig, orders the two to leave. Unable to do anything else, the Dauntain comply. He does so and sets up what he calls his own Shadow Court there, encouraging other Unseelie to join him.
Espousing the free use of Glamour, he Ravages mortal artisans. Yrtalien considers it the right of all fae to rule mortals and take whatever they want. The companions meet at the Toybox Coffee Shop the next day to exchange Yule gifts. She gives them tokens they can use to convince strange sluagh to trust them. Trapped in the car, Rasputin and Morgan help by casting cantrips against the foes, who outnumber their friends. As Tor takes a heavy blow from a chimeric. Tor wanders away. Morgan runs off into the darkness looking for him. Though the companions fight bravely, they sustain some serious wounds. The outcome is in doubt until the selkies who have come to meet them there join the fray. Once the fight is won, the selkies escort the oath mates to their clifftop freehold of Stony Point where they help to heal the companions. He resents how everyone else treats him, especially in contrast to Morgan. He goes outside and pulls out the painted clown he stole. He has named it Mr.
Dumpy and uses it as a confidante. Although Mr. Eventually, Edmund goes back to bed. Inside the cave, Morgan has a prophetic dream of the Dauntain trying to capture the group and learns that one of the oath mates will betray the others. She loses the dream as she wakes, unable to recall the name of the traitor. They each lose consciousness and have a dream particular to their pasts, either reminding them of their failures or testing them in some way. They awaken and slide down a waterfall into a grotto. There, they meet the Menehune, who are decidedly unwelcoming. A fight be- gins, but the Menehune sorcerer entangles and captures them in foliage.
Morgan, knowing they are not supposed to fight, surrenders; they all surrender in turn. Tak- en to a village, they are given shell necklaces that allow them to understand the Menehune speech and speak with the chief, explaining why they have come. The companions tell the chief and tribe about their quest and what they in- tend to do with the stone possessed by the Menehune. They agree to stay in the village while the chief decides their fate. While there they make friends and learn many crafts and customs. Finally, the chief calls them to him and says that, because of their respectful and friendly behavior, he believes their story, but he cannot give them the stone. Someone else had already claimed it.
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WebApr 3, · V20 Beckett’s Jyhad Diary Pdf Download. Posted by Minedit. v20 beckett’s jyhad diary pdf downloadThank you for reading Minedit. If you have any questions, WebJan 11, · Now available in PDF and print from DriveThruRPG: Beckett’s Jyhad Diary for Vampire: The Masquerade 20th Anniversary Edition! It’s ever been a loaded word WebFeb 6, · Download Here - blogger.com v20 beckett's jyhad diary pdf download WebSave Save Cup_of_Dreams_(Download) For Later. % (1) % found this document useful (1 vote) views pages. Cup of Dreams (Download) Original Title: WebApr 9, · Download "V20 - Beckett's Jyhad Diary" We are a sharing community. So please help us by uploading 1 new document or like us to download: UPLOAD Web30 thg 1, Beckett's Jyhad Diary serves as the definitive book of setting and plot for Vampire: The Masquerade, containing 30 chapters spanning. Contribute to help give the ... read more
One of the chairs, Leigh noted with amuse- ment, stood taller, heavier, and sturdier than the others. Mortals walked to the other side of the street to avoid what they perceived as a nasty gang of unkempt toughs, reeking of garbage and excrement. Prester and Velvet patrolled outside. Talley: No, indeed. All my father said to me was that I was to come here and marry you. I shouldered my bag and proceeded.
On the heels of this discovery came a more startling realization: he had a chance to start over here. In one of the back booths sat a mousy woman whose chalky pallor and deep, dark eyes marked her as one of the sluagh, secretive changelings who collected informa. Beckett: Why were you not surprised by her departure? in our service. I shouldered my bag and proceeded, v20 becketts jyhad diary pdf download.
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