Wizened

A Tale of Cunning

Once upon a time, a clockmaker toiled for a hundred days and a hundred nights to perfect the ultimate timepiece, a pocketwatch that kept the hours so accurately, it could speak what was about to happen precisely a minute before. When the work was done, she came blinking into the sunlight to share her masterpiece with the world, only to find that time had no meaning here, and all her toil was for naught. Her heart was broken. Despairing, she pried open the watch’s casing and scattered its pieces on the cobblestones. Only afterward did she realize she could use those pieces to repair her broken heart, and thereafter her thoughts were always precisely a minute ahead. With that, she out-schemed her wicked Keepers and pledged her nimble fingers in service to the courts of the Lost.

The Wizened is happiest when she’s busy. When her hands and mind are idle, she can’t help feeling like she ought to be doing something. She keeps her wits about her in a crisis and pulls miraculous solutions out of the most vexing problems. If she chatters or complains, it’s only because she’s glad of the company while she works. And if she gives a little too much advice, it’s 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.

Clever and industrious, the Wizened are the other half of the glue that holds the freehold together, pairing helpful manipulation and a delicate touch with the Fairest’s overwhelming force of personality. Their pragmatic approach sometimes misses the forest for the trees, but no one can beat the Wizened in sheer accomplishment. They work for fun, they scheme in their sleep, and they refuse to allow a problem to go unsolved or a hole unfilled. Others may call them overachievers, but the Hatters build and plan because to do otherwise is to feel helpless.

The Gentry reshape palaces and gardens according to their whims, lifting nary a finger. They pluck trinkets from mortal dreams to adorn their shelves and brows. They want for nothing. To what end, then, does a True Fae steal away a human only to put her to work with meaningless chores? Every Wizened asks herself this question countless times, shackled to an anvil forging the links to her own chains or dutifully crafting gifts for Goblin Queens who burn them immediately. Is it malice that drives her Keeper to change the rules of her slavery every time she thinks she’s almost completed her task, or some perverse jest? Her escape is fraught with mazes and trickery, forcing her to bend her mind in irrational ways to out-think a logic that never made sense in the first place. By the time she’s free, she’s vowed never to let anyone take advantage of her again. She puts her constructive talents to use for herself, or for a cause, and all she has to protect herself are deft hands, a quick wit, and a cunning mind. Refusing to take her seriously or dismissing her work’s worth is a good way to shake her confidence — or earn her spite.

Once

Promises are worth less than nothing without a contract to back them up. You know, because you heard so many and every one of them was a lie. “Of course you can go home, if you build one toy for each good little moppet on Earth. ‘Tis child’s play, for one with your skill!” “I’ll set you free as soon as the war is over, my dear, but I so desperately need you to bring all my dead soldiers back to life each morning.” “Be my lady-in-waiting for a hundred and one years, just that! and soon you’ll be on your way.”

You worked your fingers to the bone, hunched over your workbench or running yourself ragged in the fields, day in and day out. All that, for a glimmer of hope — surely this time your Keeper would cleave to his word. He never did. For all his insistence that he took you for your unique talents, for all his hollow praise, as soon as the job was done he laughed in your face. Or he scolded you, inventing faults where none existed; wheedled and flattered, passing you along to the next master like some prodigy apprentice; or even released you, on the face of it, only to reveal in the end that you’d never left Faerie at all. 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. In the end, you beat him at his own game, poisoning yourself at guile’s teat in the process.

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 colors 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 marvelous things you make. You bring a little piece of Arcadia into the world every time you cook up something new, and you hope the roses you grow won’t bring fae thorns along with them. Your canny — and uncanny — mind works overtime to keep the freehold running smoothly and your motley’s pockets full. 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.

Tales

With her fae tools, she roams the Hedge’s winding paths, seeking the seeds of compelling dreams and redesigning them to her own specifications. For those who dream in fear or sorrow, she builds fantastical landscapes and adventures under a shining sun. For those who dream of crushing the weak and innocent beneath their heels, she builds devious labyrinths and cruel games the dreamers can never win. The Dream Engineer hands out her business card to all the nearby freeholds. They keep it handy and hire her on commission to craft nightmares for their enemies or reveries of loves past for themselves.

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 wild goose chases to maneuver 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.

She tends bar at a little place downtown they call the Spinning Jenny, on the corner of 3rd and Main. Everybody knows to drink there if they’re desperate, if they need something they can’t get anywhere else. She listens to their problems and sometimes, when the hour is right, she makes an offer. She can help, she says, for a price. No, she doesn’t want money. Nothing so crass. Just a trifle, something meaningful but small, you’ll never even miss it. She performs miracles and collects their keepsakes, singing as they are with memories tender and sad. It’s only after her customers leave that they realize — they never caught her name.

She finishes your sentences, stealing the words right out of your mouth and transforming them into art on the page. By the time you hand over your cash, you’re dead certain this was all your own idea.

Nicknames: Domovye (singular: Domovoi), Hatters, the Shrewd

Blessing: Gain an additional dot of one 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 tools 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-die 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 over it 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 offguard.

Regalia: Jewels

Huff and puff all you want, you’ll never blow this house down.