Wizened
"Oh, I've got compassion running out of my nose, pal! I'm the Sultan of Sentiment! Dr. Hayward, I have travelled thousands of miles and apparently several centuries to this forgotten sinkhole in order to perform a series of tests. Now, I do not ask you to understand these tests, I'm not a cruel man, I just ask that you get the hell outta my way, so that I can finish my work! Is that clear?!" - Albert Rosenfield, Twin Peaks
You can cry
for the mechanical man, for the machine girl, for the person made by their own
hands, but they won’t cry for themselves. The Wizened doesn’t know to, or care
to. She’s found a way to cope and live, and it works for her. Wizened are
crafters, makers, creators, endless invention embodied in a body or mind that
is otherwise incomplete. She’s a jigsaw puzzle missing the edge pieces, and
because of it, or related to that, the puzzle can go on forever, adding more
pieces, moving pieces around, endlessly creating, always building, and never
complete. The tinkerer is the toy with the Wizened, and the sculptor can be the
sculpture.
The Wizened
is happiest when she’s busy. When her hands and mind are idle, she can’t help
but feel like she ought to be doing
something. She keeps her wits about in a crisis and pulls miraculous solutions
out of the most vexing problems. If she gives a little too much advice, its
only because she’s been there and done that. She made the t-shirt, and she doesn’t like to see the same mistake made
twice.
Once upon a time: Before the Durance, many Wizened
already had their craft. She had a skill or talent that drove her and made her
unique and different. She excelled in this particular field, and it made it
stand out. Maybe because of this, or simply connected to this, she has always
had a problem connecting with people. Among normal people with normal lives she
felt different, outside, and maybe even a little broken. There was something
everyone around her seemed to have, and she was missing. Maybe it bothered her,
maybe she didn’t even know it exactly, but that missing something is what they
used to lure or trick her into the Hedge.
In Faerie
you worked your fingers to the bone, hunched over your workbench or running
yourself ragged in the field’s day in day out. All that for a glimmer of hope –
surely this time your Keeper would cleave to their word. They never did. As
soon as the deed was done they laughed in your face. Or scolded you, beat and
punished you faults where none existed. You drove yourself to distraction learning
impossible crafts and following endless convoluted rules, but inevitably the
bastard manipulated you into sabotaging yourself over and over…
The Escape: The Durance isn’t easy for anyone,
but for the would-be Wizened the change is just too much. In the hands of her
Keeper, there is no pattern, no safe routine to fall back to. Even if the
Keeper brought the would-be Wizened to perform her art, the very nature of the
unreality means that pattern, order, routine are impossible. This is a natural
cruelty that makes all other concerns seem secondary for the would-be Wizened
who may have a strong need for comfortable repetition. The reality of the place
itself breaks down the would-be Wizened, literally, they fall apart a piece at
a time, unable to handle the chaos. Fingers snap off, limbs wither and drop
away, her heart shrivels and a wind carries it off like ash pushed away by
bellows. She leaves that part behind. But for the would-be Wizened, she has
something outside of herself.
As terrible as the chaos and the conditions
are, something inside can’t be taken away. She knows how to do a thing, she is
good at it, and it drives her. Even as she found herself in pieces, the tool of
her trade is a comfort, the symbols of her skill fills the gaps. And so, with what’s
left of her hands, her arms, her mouths, she sows herself back together. She
binds the tools into her body. She joins with her art, rebuilding herself from
the ground up. With this new body, the choice to devote herself to the thing
that brings safety, comfort, and praise. She abandons the human parts that
failed her, and with that choice, she escapes.
Now: You’re Wizened because you have a
way about you that reminds the others of a withered old seamstress: nose to the
grindstone, with a jaded air and a half-empty glass. But for all your talk, you
still mix ethereal colours into your palette and build wonders that dazzle even
your fellow Lost. Though you’ve tried to bury that spark of mad inspiration,
fearing eternal disappointment, it pulses in your heart and betrays your hard
boiled manner in the marvellous things you make. Your canny - and uncanny - mind
works overtime blurring the thin line between genius and perfection, and more
often than not the considerable talent that you have devoted yourself to can
also consume you. Your friends admire your creations and put them to good use,
but they know you’re not just making gadgets. You’re building a better world.
Nicknames: Domovye (singular: Domovoi), Hatters,
the Shrewd
Regalia: Jewels
Blessing:
Gain an
additional dot in a Finesse Attribute at character creation.
Your
character can take a Build Equipment action to transform one kind of material
into another, as long as she has the appropriate tool to work with what she
has. For instance, she could spin straw into gold with a spinning wheel, or
forge steel into diamond with an anvil and hammer. This counts as a five-dice
bonus for purposes of determining the required successes. This ability costs a
point of Glamour per action if she’s jury rigging, but in this case she can
improvise her tools as well; she might spin straw into gold by running it
around a ceiling fan, or forge steel into diamond by running it over with a
car.
Curse:
In addition to your character’s other breaking points, she
risks Clarity damage with a dice pool equal to half her Wyrd (rounded up)
whenever an unpleasant surprise takes her off guard.
Tales
He hides behind his online handle and
never lets anyone see his face. With careful research, blatant hacking, and a
little social-media stalking, he tracks down fetches and documents their every
move. He drops anonymous tips to Changelings seeking their false selves and
plays cryptic benefactor with the unknowing scarecrows, sending them on a wild
goose chases to manoeuvre them into their Changeling doubles’ paths. His
paranoia drives him to collect dirt on everyone else, too, to keep them from
tracking him down in kind and exposing his operation to the world.
If only he could do it himself! His
vision is clear, his tools are perfect, it’s the models that keep failing! Why
can’t they hold still longer? Why can’t they smile just the right way?! He’s
considering alternative paths to the perfect tableau…
She can’t hear your words, and while
she can read lips when she’s paying attention, she’s almost never paying
attention. The music is in her head, and she doesn’t need hearing to confirm if
it’s correct. She just knows. All other concerns are secondary.
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