Beast

A Tale of Abandon

Once upon a time, a wild creature lived in a wild land. It had food to eat, shelter from the elements, and confidence that nothing would ever prey upon it. One day, it fell into a hunter’s trap, and for the first time knew fear. A morsel of food came along, with a sharp fang of metal that brought pain. Another meal carried a pane of silvered glass. In the glass, the creature saw itself and knew the truth: it was a dread monster laid low, and its prey had become the predators. Its heart was cowed. Despairing, it submitted to a cage’s bars and a whip’s lash. It begged for food and pleased its masters to earn shelter. The next time it saw itself in the glass, it understood the cruel joke of its false freedom, and the crueler one it now endured. Its savage heart pumped human courage and forgotten wisdom through its veins. With that, the man who was a wild creature devoured his masters whole with his mighty jaws, and set out to keep vigilant watch for the courts of the Lost.

The Beast is as clever as he is wary, as fleet of foot as he is keen of eye. When he wants something, he takes it. When he feels an urge, he satisfies it. He knows that life doesn’t have to be as complicated as people make it. All he has to worry about is himself; everything else is someone else’s problem. If he’s crude, it’s only because social graces are far less important than needs. And if he’s aggressive, it’s only because he’d rather be the hunter than the hunted.

Beasts are less likely than other changelings to put much stock in the freehold as a government or organization, but they devote themselves fiercely to the fellow Lost they perceive as “theirs.” Sick of leashes and expectations, they decide what’s best for themselves and their loved ones first; anything else they agree to is a bonus. They have little use for high-minded philosophies or ethical codes, viewing survival and immediate gratification as priorities one and two, with everything else trailing at a distance. That doesn’t mean they don’t care or can’t be kind and generous — they’re just ground-level thinkers. Lofty principles sound nice, but they won’t fill a hungry belly. Beasts are opportunistic because they refuse to rely on anyone. They don’t like owing favors and they keep their eyes on the prize. Others may consider them heartless, but the Grims look out for themselves because to do otherwise is to give up control of their fates.

A Beast spent his time in Faerie unable to think beyond the next meal and the next danger. Whether he lived in constant mortal fear or in the lap of luxury, the basic gifts of language and self-awareness were denied him. The untamed fury of jungle drums or the summons of a master’s whistle dictated his comings and goings, and come and go he did — always moving, always running. Fight, flight, and a longing for true freedom were all he had. Now, faced with the choices and rules of the human world once again, he’s dumbfounded. It’s easier to revert to base instinct, to let others do the thinking for him and lash out or flee whenever threats rear their heads, regardless of cost. He must work to keep visceral impulses from ruling his actions, and he wonders whether he might just be faking the rest. Sometimes, despite his pride in having clawed his way back to humanity, the temptations of a simpler time and wilder place linger still.

Once

The Gentry took away the bright spark that made you human and replaced it with savagery. Perhaps your body remained while your mind slept, or you roamed the treacherous fae wilderness in animal shape — or you were something in between. Your awareness condensed down to sensation and survival. Pleasures and pain ruled you as pillars in place of right and wrong. Your Keeper gave you gills and a fish’s tail, and you swam behind glass in her aquarium and performed tricks for food while childlike goblins watched in delight. You lived in a kennel with other hounds just like you, fighting over scraps and rutting whenever the urge took you, until your master chained your collar to a post while you guarded her door. The Fae kept you in a dark, dirty pen, but you preferred that to when they turned you loose in the unforgiving forest without clothes for warmth or tools for defense, and bid you evade their hunting party to keep your skin.

You learned to run and hide, to kill, to obey. You were a beloved pet for a Fae princess or a hooded hawk on a Huntsman’s arm. Whenever you showed a glimmer of independent thought, your Keeper punished you until instinct subsumed it again. But something jogged your memory, and you woke up from your animal haze. With honed senses and swift feet, you seized your opportunity when it came. The wild roads and midnight dangers of the Hedge didn’t stand a chance.

Now

You do what you want, whenever you want, and you won’t apologize for stepping on someone’s delicate toes while you do it. You don’t take orders and you’ll never beg for anything again. You endured enough humiliation at the hands of the Others to last you a lifetime, and you’ll die before you let it happen again. But you’re no lone wolf — you put your survivalist skills to good use for your comrades, keeping watch while they sleep and tracking enemies through urban jungles. When your motley is mired in complex intrigues and moral conundrums, you remind them to take life one day at a time and savor the little things. Your friends know that when cages need breaking and knights need devouring, you’re the one to count on.

Tales

He doesn’t cut the most impressive figure, and people tend to forget he’s in the room. He doesn’t speak out much. It’s easy to underestimate him, and his enemies do it all the time. But he makes it his business to collect friends in high places. CEOs with fat wallets, changeling court rulers, vampire princes; he’s not picky. He sniffs out their troubles and provides unexpected solutions, proving his worth and hoarding favors. That way, when the True Fae come knocking at his door, he’s got a host of powerful allies just a phone call away. And if any of them ever want to betray him, they’ll have to find him first.

She makes the circuit of elderly homes, coming by each week to sing comforting songs to the lonely old folks and keep them company. They all say her voice is the most beautiful sound they’ve ever heard in their long lives. Sometimes she stays the night to help out the nurses, and whenever she does, the residents all talk the next day about the lovely dreams they had. No one knows where she lives or how to reach her, but she always comes just when someone is about to pass away. Her lullaby eases the dying to their eternal rest, and she basks in the emotional release it brings.

His reputation sucks, but he doesn’t care. He knows everybody whispers about him luring mortals onto trods, kidnapping kids and selling them to the Gentry, whatever else they think he gets up to. He lets them think it because it earns him a healthy respect. If they knew he was tracking troubled dreamers to their Bastions to devour their demons, they’d say he’s gone soft. And if they heard he was going into the Hedge and enticing lost wanderers to stray from dark paths so he could take them home, they’d call him a hero. He’s sure he’s not a hero. He’s a bloodthirsty predator, and that’s the side of himself he shows them when he picks up a Huntsman’s trail and stalks it right back. It hasn’t occurred to him yet that he could be both at once.

His earthy scent, his arresting gaze, his rough-edged grace. You never do this, but just this once, you take him home. In the giddy rush of it, of him, you feel alive. Morning comes like a lazy blush, and watching him sleep, you know you’ll do this again.

Nicknames: Coursers, Grims, the Savage

Blessing: Gain an additional dot of one Resistance Attribute at character creation. Your character gains +3 to Initiative rolls and Speed, and may choose to deal lethal damage with unarmed attacks. It costs a point of Glamour per three consecutive turns to enjoy this benefit if he has the Shaken or Spooked Condition, or another Condition that imposes fear.

Curse: In addition to your character’s other breaking points, he risks Clarity damage with a dice pool equal to half his Wyrd (rounded up) whenever acting without thinking causes significant harm or complications for someone else.

Regalia: Steed

Don’t quote your rules at me, I don’t need ‘em. Frankly, neither do you.