“Quotes are both big and clever” - Anon
A note on Changeling triggers:
Triggers in the context of Changeling
the Lost are free-form associations that a character makes with the time of
their Durance (or such flashes of it they recall). If they come up in play,
they cause a breaking point. Every Changeling has one trigger at start up, and
they may acquire more as their Wyrd increases and they start to recollect more
of their time in Arcadia.
...Man, Changeling is a bit messed up.
The Archon of One Thousand Portals
Favoured Regalia: Steeds
In your nightmares you run, barring
every door behind you before looking frantically for the next. The purposeful
padding of footsteps, the grating jingle of a latch and the relentless
hammering on the door from your pursuer follow just behind. Your lungs feel on
fire and your legs feel like jelly, you haven’t slept nor rested for what seems
like an eternity as the one thought in your otherwise numb brain tells you that
to let up for even a moment will deliver a fate far worse than that you have
endured. You keep running but your body begins to seize up with cramp and
tiredness. You feel a chill breeze on the nape of your neck as something dread
an unimaginable reaches out for you…
You awake sweating and screaming. As
your vision unblurs you see the safety of your own bedroom. You place a hand on
your chest to steady your breath and then you feel it: a cold metal key
dangling around your neck and a chill runs down your spine. You have tried so
many times to be rid of the key, burying it in the garden casting it onto a
bonfire or dropping it down a drain but as soon as you drop it from your hand
and pass it from your mind it returns like a bad penny. In your pocket. In your
hand. You feel the weight of the key strain upon you neck and you curse the
wretched thing, for though it was the key to your freedom you know all too well
that a door works both ways. It may just be the blood vessels in your ears or
the beating of your heart but you are sure you hear the soft and purposeful
padding of footsteps.
Suggested Triggers: Seeing an open door which you were certain
was closed, The sound of creaking floorboards, Being stuck in a small space.
The Chorister of Abaddon’s Lament
Favoured Regalia: Mirrors/Shields
Oh Shit! Not another bloody Christmas
appeal. Turn it off. Oh don’t judge me! I know what you’re thinking, a wretched
old miser too ashamed to even look at the face of human suffering so that he
can go on justifying the blackness of his soul. Well screw you! You don’t know
suffering sitting there in your ivory tower never having to get your hands
dirty in the cesspool of human squalor. You don’t lay awake at night trying to
drown out the music, the wrenching dirge, the choir of inhuman screams the
shear artistry and empathy of its droning torment. You don’t feel it calling
you back night after night; you haven’t felt hunger or thirst or pain and
trauma that cannot be expressed in any more coherent way than the music.
Abaddon’s Lament I have heard it called, the chronicle of human misery, the
seraphim song of judgement. You think me heartless but I have more heart than
any other and that is why I cannot bear to watch because I know I will hear the
music in my head and I do not know for how much longer I can resist…for I have
only been given a reprieve and even now I feel it calling Encore. Encore…
Suggested Triggers: The sound of Choral music, witnessing the
suffering of a Mortal
The Crimson King
Favoured Regalia: Crowns
You’ve seen that film, you’ve read that book.
You know the one. Ordinary Joe gets transported to a fantasy land, and they’re
almost immediately picked out for their skill, or their magic or their
oddly-specific destiny. A few scenes and a love interest later, they’re on top
of the world, beloved by one and all!
The problem is, the Crimson King is
actually good at his job. All the dragons were slain long ago, all the bandits
have been given new jobs better suited to folks who don’t have heads any more.
There’s not actually much daring-do left to do. But you ended up here anyway.
You’re a dab hand with a sword, you used to fence at school! That’s nice and
all, but the land needs tilling. Or sewing. Or harvesting. The feudal system
needs a lot of nobodies to allow the shining armour brigade to do their bit.
Hop to it!
Of course there’s still some troubles.
The odd troll, or witch, or chancer with a knife. Maybe that’s your chance to
prove yourself! Or maybe you’ll be brought to the Court of the Crimson King,
where you’ll have to politely explain why a peasant was wielding the sort of
weapons only a gentleman should have. The Crimson King is very understanding.
Not… not big on compassion or mercy, but he certainly understands. Good luck.
Suggested triggers: The sound of horses running, the shine of steel
plate, overly wrought or ‘hammy’ speech.
The Good Friend
Favoured Regalia: Shields
You met him… oh, God knows when.
Forever ago. School, probably? He’s always been there for you, thick and thin,
right and wrong. Always good for his round at the pub, always there to
commiserate when your team lost the cup. His timing is uncanny, in that
respect. He was already ordering pizzas and beer when you called to say she’d
left you. He happened to be in the area when you got into that crash, ready to
pick you up. If you have a complaint, it’s that he’s a bit… off with other
folks. Like he can’t wait for them to be gone. Ah well, loyalty is worth a bit
of weirdness.
He invited you to a getaway. Bed and
board, hot and cold flowing booze, some place you’ve never heard of. It’ll make
Ibiza look like Blackpool he says. “A lads’ adventure for the ages,” he says.
Perfect, right?
Suggested triggers: Lad banter, the smell of beer,
overfamiliarity from a stranger
The Final Theorem
Favoured Regalia: Mirrors/Jewels
Right…breathe…keep your head down and just get
to the party. They’re not watching you. They’re- Oh! Where are my manners: Good
M-Morning Mr Magpie and how is your lady wife? Close call that one... Just
muffle yourself under the sound of the cogs…nothing to see here…just don’t step
on a crack or you’ll break your mothers back…Don’t think! J-J-Just don’t think
about it or they’ll hear you. Think banal thoughts…Be the sheeple. Be the sheeple.
Be th- oh a lucky black cat. Here puss puss puss…No! Where are you going?! No!
don’t go that way. Don’t you fucking dare go crossing my path you bastard! HERE
PUSS! P-P-PUSSSS! PU - FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!! WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?! HUH?!
They’re watching…they’re always f-f-fucking watching…they’re-
***
Patient #5002893
Patient was brought in following a
violent episode. Patient attacked a man who confronted her for swearing at a
cat in the middle of the street while children were about and bit a sizable
section of the man’s ear off. Patient seems to suffer from severe anxiety and
paranoia, evidenced by the fact she will only allow herself to be referred to
as ‘Jane Doe’ – an obvious pseudonym. ‘Jane’ in her more lucid moments talks
about a “Final Theorem” which she sees as justifying her actions. ‘Jane’
appears to have a strong addiction for Conspiracy Theories that have most
likely aggravated her condition.
Recommendation: observe for 72 hour
period with view to section under the 1983 Mental Health Act.
Suggested Triggers: violating a superstitious law (e.g. passing
someone on the stairs), Conspiracy Theories, “Coincidences”
The Gourmet of Gluttonous Mastication
Favoured Regalia: Jewels
Not long now to the end of the shift,
you think as you stand there quietly peeling onions and holding back the tears,
not long until you can get the hell out of here. Why the fuck did someone order
fucking onion soup? Don’t they know that you have to marinate them in their own
tears; that’s how the best juices are unlocked… Fuck, you suppress the urge to
scream as the knife nicks into your finger. Every fucking time! Why can’t
people not order the onion soup. You try your best you ALWAYS do your best.
Even if it is just raw consumption: the taste, the flavour the spark of the
human soul in the craft. It’ll eat anything but if it’s absent it’ll know…Shit!
Shit! The chef’s coming. Third time this week. Third fucking time…I can’t take
this I- I’ll Grind your bones to make my Bread… I-It was an a-accident, look
I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment a- if you won’t…if you can’t create
then you can be the next course… I PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THIS!! I-I-I HAVE
LITERALLY DRAINED MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THIS. The licking of those
lips…getting impatient…getting h-hungry… I’m not going back there. I’m not
going to be consumed. You won’t grind my bones again. I can do better. I-I-I’ve
got a knife…what have I done?!
Suggested Triggers: Criticism of the characters artistic
abilities, The scent of spices, The sound of Chewing.
The Huntress
Favoured Regalia: Swords
Joining the Huntress’ Club was
something you’d worked a long time for. An exclusive group for the finest shots
around, the whispers say. Eventually she met you out in the woods, gushing over
the size of the deer you brought down. She offered you membership, to be taken
into her Hunt. Naturally, you accepted. She whisked you away on horseback to a
lodge… somewhere. Mountains, forests for days, things to hunt you swear don’t
actually… well, exist. Probably Canada.
The actual hunts? They’re everything you hoped
for. Whooping crowds chasing foxes (you think) through land that seems purpose
built. Staking huge lumbering things for hours to get just the right angle for
the shot. Competition is fierce though, and it’s some time before you actually
bag something yourself. The Huntress is overjoyed, mentions she’s never seen
such a shot. Well, except herself, of course.
And now, she explains, it’s your turn
to do the tricky bit. Everyone takes their turn, she explains. Well, except
herself of course. You’ll be back before you know it, there’ll be a good meal
waiting. And next time it’ll be someone else, anyone! Well, except herself of
course. She lets you out into the yard, and you hear a horn blare. Time to run…
Suggested triggers: The sound of horns, dogs barking, distant
gunshots
The Lady of Coal and Diamonds
Favoured Regalia: Jewels
Once upon a time, there was a fair
Lady. Beloved by all the land, she was sadly struck by a terrible curse,
driving her to sleep for an age. All the people lamented the loss of the Lady
fair. But worse was to come!
The Lady’s snores rent the land with
terrible earthquakes, tearing huge gouges out of the landscape. The people were
distraught, but they also saw their chance. The wicked person who had cursed
the Lady had promised the spell would be broken when the finest Diamond in all
the land was brought before the Lady. So now the people dig and claw in the
ever-changing ravines brought about by the Lady’s continual snores.
Suggested triggers: Snoring, underground spaces, the glimmer of
polished stone
The Lord of All things Lost &
Found
Favoured Regalia: Crowns/Shields
All things which are now unseen,
Fallen through the cracks between,
Tarnished jewels and tales of old,
Faded dreams, secrets untold,
Forgotten souls and lore arcane,
All wind here in my domain,
Those abandoned, unloved unfound,
To serve my court are duty bound…
-Incanted by a panicked Lost searching
for their keys.
Suggested Triggers: Misplacing an important object or one that
holds sentimental value to the Changeling, Finding an important object
serendipitously, Getting lost.
The Marshall of Talons
Favoured Regalia: Swords
Oh shit is the last conscious thought
on your mind as you hear the pool cue snap. It is a last desperate plea not for
your own safety but for sense to prevail amongst those who are present as the
rational part of your mind begins to glaze over.
It’s a matter of survival. Kill or be killed.
Nothing else matters in the maelstrom of blood and visceral. For you’re in the
Marshall’s army now boy. There is no respite, no leave, no mercy. As a pack you
pounce upon your victims the pain of your wounds and the relief of the kill the
only things you feel against the deafening fury…and the guilt. You see their
eyes, defiant, whimpering pleading. You want to stop but to stop would be to
stop being the hunter and to be hunted by the Marshall. To be punished for your
weakness. “Make it stop!” Every fibre of your being screams, the hatred and
resentment for the guilt you feel. For the pain you cause. If you can’t stop
(and you know you can’t) then you will simply have to gouge out those accusing
eyes. The rage and fury reaches a crescendo and the cycle starts again.
Amongst the thundering and the ecstasy of the
rage you hear a brittle crunching sound. Through the drunken delirium of the
kill you see the face…what was the
face of the punk in the bar as your fist, raw and bloody, hammers again and
again. Oh Shit you stagger back Oh SHIT!!
Suggested Triggers: The smell of gunpowder, Large quantities of
blood, A sudden and aggressive loud noise.
The Most Excellent Timekeeper
Favoured Regalia: Mirrors/Steeds
The Most Excellent Timekeeper appears
to people who want to do things over. A genie in a bottle, albeit one who only
offers one sort of wish. They offer a simple deal. The timekeeper will give you
time. Maybe an hour, maybe a year. Maybe that hour will be right now, to get to
that interview on time, or maybe it’ll be an hour three years ago, to spend
more time with that sick relative. The only thing they ask in exchange is that
you pay that time back. People always want more, the Timekeeper has discovered.
Ten minutes to catch a bus becomes a couple of hours to shop on the way there.
That hour at the relative’s bedside seems to end up as days or weeks. And
eventually, the Timekeeper will come to collect their owed debt...
Suggested triggers: The ticking of a clock, the sound of church
bells striking the hour, the anxiety of being late for things
The Myrmidon of the Chimerical
Menagerie
Favoured Regalia: Steeds/Swords
It was another wet October day and she
must have been talking for a good ten minutes before something actually made me
pay attention to this sob story. “The most dangerous game” is what she said and
I instinctively reached under the desk for my knife- conversations like this
hardly ever go well. Not when the past’s involved. I feigned ignorance and
asked her to repeat her story so I could properly hear hit. Not for the reason
that made her frown with all the disappointment of a mother who’d seen her
little Johnny knee deep in jam thinking it would disguise the fact he’d smashed
all the fine china – though that was a perfectly valid reason. My otherwise
dawdling mind had decided to sprint a marathon replaying memories with such
urgency even I was befuddled. Finding dark caves and sheltered groves to nest
and rest knowing full well relaxing just for a moment and you’d be done for.
Feasting on rotting carrion with one eye always over your shoulder. Eyeing
hungrily at another who was either too new to realise or two jaded to care, feeling the tastes of
warm blood &meat on your lips as you savoured the kill. Running for what
seemed like an eternity to afraid to look at what was yapping and snarling
behind you for fear you would seize up in terror. Lying still in your own filth
and muck for hours on end knowing it was right on top of you. That at any
moment it would stand right on top of you and you would scream an overture for
the symphony of screams you would perform at its pleasure. The Drums... Oh the
Drums and the Horns! Beating and braying as hard as your flittering heart
trying to flush you out. Make you run…and make you suffer if you did…
…she looked at me expectedly. I hadn’t
heard a thing she said. My scaly fingers were drumming out a samba on the desk
to bring me back…no…to bring me BACK…cause that’s the thing with that
place…even here in my office where it’s safe and cosy and nothing ever happens
you’re always running… because it’s still out there and it hasn’t given up on
the most dangerous game…
Suggested Triggers: The sound of Drums, Having a firearm drawn
upon you, The Braying of pack hounds.
The Queen of Crimson Crowns
Favoured Regalia: Crowns/Jewels
Another morning, another migraine.
Perhaps you should cut back on the drinking arsehole – oh look! Another one of
your “conquests”. You stumble into the bathroom to get some aspirin when you
see it in the mirror; Her mark. Her love nailed to your forehead for the entire
world to see. You instinctively try to remove the polished red crown from your
head and suppress a scream as your head feels on fire. Nope, same as every day.
That crown was nailed on good. You wipe the blood from your eye and take a long
look at yourself in the mirror, the drunkard’s remorse, and then you begin to
remember as your eyes focus once again on the crown…
…She told you it was because she loved
you, as she held you to the ground and the crown was nailed to your skull. She
caressed you softly though her skin felt like cut glass as she told you she had
to do it as it would make you happy. Because it would make you happy. She would
be happy. So you must do everything to appease your queen and in turn she would
lavish her love upon her consort. You would make the perfect consort, with hot
coals in your shoes and knives down your spine so that you would become the
most elegant dancer. You would dine with her though the meat and wine tore at
your insides like poison. You would
charm her though he would slice out your tongue and force you to eat it for
every faux-pas, however slight. You would stay by her side and do all that she
commanded despite the pain and the terror: and in return you would receive her
excruciating intimacy…
…you hear the bedroom door creak and
the soft padding. Well that must be a new record. And then you feel a deep sinking
in the pit of your stomach. Because the “Queen of the Crimson Crowns” broke you
again and again until you became her perfect consort. You were hers and she was
yours, no other can make you feel the way she made you. She broke you so much
that she still hurts you even now for the spite and the rejection you showed
her love. In your darkest moments you look at that crown and remember that you
were made for her. And though she will hurt you for your selfishness she will
love you once again. Because you are her Prince Charming…
Suggested Triggers: Finding oneself in an overly formal
situation, Rejection, Emotional blackmail.
The Queen of Eyes:
Favoured Regalia: Mirrors/Shields
“Phew! That was close. We’ve got to
tighten up our act people, the pigs were almost on us before we could breach
the vault.” That was no ordinary pig
waggon. They had fire and cold iron…shit the silent alarm triggered. But I
swear I shut it down. Fuck fuck fuck! The Cameras were also working the whole
way through. I’ve still got the back door into the system, where the fuck is
that broadcasting to. We can still wipe the server and lay low for a while…No.
NO! T-t-the Lidless eye watches all, its panoptic shadow looms large over
all it surveys. It sees, it knowns all your secrets…it will find you and all
shadows and covers will be stripped before its unrelenting gaze…
*Thud* *Thud* *Thud*
“Oh Shit! I-I’m S-s-sorry guys…I’m
sorry. I’m sorry…”
Suggested Triggers: Being under the gaze of a camera or some
other recording device, the triggering of the danger sense merit, being coerced
to share personally sensitive or compromising information.
The Siren Upon the Night’s Plutonian
Shore
Favoured Regalia: Mirrors
The salt laced breeze cuts deep, the
bitter kiss of winter. Shambling upon a shoreline of obsidian shingle, lonely
cries of anguish smothered by the cruel black sea. Cold and hungry, you have
wandered here along this featureless beach for all eternity occasionally
attempting to quench your thirst on the inky pestilent water that rots both
mind and body. You hear it in the distance and stumble onwards on blistered and
bloody feet. The sweetest nocturne that numbs the pain, the siren song of
oblivion calls to you across the infinity of perdition, tugging playfully upon
the chains around your heart. After so many times to feel her final embrace
maybe this time you will be released. This time…
You awake from yet another night of
weary slumber. As you place your feet upon the floor you suppress a scream as a
hundred tiny shards of obsidian shards pierce into your flesh. You fall back
into your bed. Maybe it’s just the blood rushing to your head from the shock-
but it sounds to you like the rumbling of an all too familiar shore.
Suggested Triggers: The sound of crashing waves, Numbness or loss
of feeling, Music in a minor key.
“Tim”
Favoured Regalia: Steeds
Tim is very old. Tim has been every
creature of whimsy you could think of. Aliens, cowboys, dragons, a brief but
memorable period as a moon. And now Tim is… well, Tim. Office life is Tim’s
great fantasy now. And you can be Caroline from Accounting. It’ll be great, he
swears.
Suggested triggers: Boredom, Endless paperwork, awkward
socialising with others