Changeling - Broken Mirrors game

[ArghMark]

Nightime, December the 19th, 2009.

It is hot. The air drifts lazily through the apartments that you live in. Eventually, despite the heat, you sleep.

Your dreams are strange. You feel yourself being pulled through the dream, through a succession of odd images, but all seem to have an element of clarity that you haven't seen before, or at least not often.

You sit in a pub in the Central Business District. It is an Irish pub, obviously renovated recently. You see a burning man bring the light of truth to you, but shadowy figures try to pour water over him. A local band, the Yalla Boys, are playing their rendition of 'The Holy Grail'. A poster shows them being live at 7.

You are at the Center, the Summer King's Court. Around you dance the Summer King's advisers in a mockery of his leadership.

You see the Royal Brisbane Children's hospital. Despite the colorful walls, a festering darkness grows within.

The Brisbane Arts Theatre is filled with shadows, all clapping and laughing at the play that you are enacting. A door, opening.

The Hedge. The Burning man is here; and as the fire of truth consumes him, it also consumes you.

You each wake early, the odd dream spinning in your head; you know it showed a possible future.

Each of you know each other by sight, if not by name; you are each new to the Riverhaven Freehold, and so are relatively new to the Changeling courts here.

Each of you may have joined a court, but you have not yet joined the Freehold with the commendation oath, which must be given by all four of the monarchs of Brisbane. The commendation oath is not so simply given, however; the monarchs require you to have demonstrated your willingness to serve the freehold in some way.

Silhouette, you are expected to join one of the courts; this has been made clear to you. However, no-one is forcing you to join before you get to know the courts. (In terms of game stuff, you get a free point of mantle as a part of making a Changeling, so if you do choose a court you get that point for free.)

I'd like you to describe where you're living as you wake up. If you haven't thought of it, the Winter Court has an apartment block for fresh out of the thorns types.

 

[Orochi]

Christian awoke in a sweat, his breath catching for a moment in his throat. The sweat wasn't unusual in the heat of summer. But the dream...the dream was disconcerting.

He got up slowly, letting his mind settle, looking around his apartment as though to establish that he was here and not anywhere else. The place was almost spartan, but what was there was of the highest quality he could manage with his diminished means. A few pieces of art hung on the walls, representing various artistic periods. He made it to the bathroom, the cool marble of the counter top refreshing against his fingers. He ran the tap, splashing his face briefly and taking a deep breath. His mind went to work, looking at the pieces of the dream. Dreams had meaning to those like him, as he knew all too well. Was this something crafted for him, or a vision? And if it was made, by whom? And for what purpose.

He went to the living room, sitting in the leather recliner in front of his TV. The room was dominated by a piano, a cold black testament to the talent Christian so longed to possess again, and his current performance obsession. He considered attempting to play, but music no longer came without effort, and he wanted to try and piece things together.

The places were somewhat familiar, at least some of them. He'd seen the hospital before, though never the interior. The theatre he knew quite well, having watched performances there on numerous occasions, and seen auditions there even more frequently. But he had never performed there himself...he hadn't performed in years, in point of fact. He had worked with an acting coach back in the States, but he never felt like he had ever gotten back to a place where he felt it would be worth trying to act before a crowd. The coach had disagreed, but he was being paid, so how could Christian trust him? But he set that aside. It wasn't the time to recycle that issue.

The burning man...that was the big piece of all this. Was it purely symbolic? Truth as a danger, truth blocked by others, truth that would eventually destroy? Or was it something more directly sinister; a Keeper, or something else from the Hedge?

He went to the kitchen and got some water from the fridge. He drank deeply, starting to cool. He looked out of the window, saw the first pink traces of dawn starting to from.

(as far as where Christian lives, he'd be in an artist's community of some kind; feel free to fill in an appropriate neighborhood/part of town)

 

[Shayuri]

On awakening, Silhouette reached instinctively for her face, pressing both her palms to her cheeks and clutching at them. It was there, solid and comfortable; a thing of flesh and blood and bone that hid the howling emptiness beneath that she knew was there.

A dream.

In another heartbeat she was out of bed and ready to throw what clothes she could into an overnight bag and flee. She'd done it before, when she thought a Keeper was near. Her apartment was all but empty, with the threadbare sofa and table bought from yard sales and neighbors moving out. There was a microwave in the kitchen, and she kept her clothes either hung in the closet, or in wire-frame drawers she'd bought for a pittance from Walgreens. Her conditions weren't because she had no money, or any way to make money. They were because, in her mind at least, she was a fugitive and always would be.

She stopped herself from packing, though she couldn't stop the shaking in her hands. Sometimes a dream was just a dream. And even if not, it was unlikely her Keeper would announce herself in nightmares before appearing. That Silhouette had awakened at all was convincing evidence that the dream, whatever it's origins, was not that.

Knowing that whatever remaining sleep that morning was lost to her, Silhouette drifted into the little kitchen; thin and vaguely ethereal even to mortal eyes with her pale skin and dark hair and shift. She could make herself beautiful to look at, but at home by herself she clung to her old shape...plain as it might be.

As she put together a modest breakfast, Sil's mind returned to the dream and expertly picked it apart into its pieces. As she chewed and swallowed, she organized the pieces and began to tinker with them. The fear gone, all that was left was an intriguing puzzle. She was rather fond of those...though she realized now that that was one reason she was in the situation she was in now.

(OOC - Argh, do you have a preference for how new we are in town? If Sil just arrived, she's probably looking for work. If some time has passed she may have found some. I'm fine either way.)

 

[ArghMark]

Orochi: Christian probably lives in West End.

Shayuri: You can be new or old to the town, as you prefer. You are pretty fresh out of the thorns though, in terms of being a Changeling. However you work it, its up to you.

Just waiting on the others..

 

[JamPaladin]

The Shadowling awoke on a ragged couch, coming apart at the seams. The room was unfamiliar for a moment, a small uni student flat with none of the furniture matching. Then, fear faded to wakefulness, faded to recollection, faded to understanding, faded to fear. Dream images hung at the back of the smoky mind, the shadowling unsure which part of the mind was real.

The shadowing dragged himself from the couch, the three piece suit of his seeming uncrumpled. Hazel, wasn't here. Maybe out, maybe sleeping in the other room. Broad daylight, didn't mean much.

Pumpkin sat on the coffee table, decorating it.

"Well, Pumpkin, it seems like there is never any rest in the shadows"

He picked up Pumpkin, any protests falling on deaf ears. Leaving by the front door, he strode deliberately towards wherever the Autumn court might be - staying as much as possible in the shade.