Chapter Two: Wyrd and Wooly

Chapter 2: Wyrd and Wooly

The house was molding, the stale smell of old furniture and age. A pile of old newspapers tied up in twine sat by the front door, the worn carpeting sending up dust and dirt with each step. Yellowed wallpaper and an ever-present stink of cigarette reeking from the walls rounded out the lovely abode, and I hated it.

"Granny," I said, gently shutting the door behind her. "It's me. I brought you some treats, where are you?" As I spoke, I pulled the hood of my red hoodie down from my face, scanning the old house.

"In the den, deary, come back and talk for a while," she said. I walked slowly, passing a giant cabinet of nick-knacks that had slowly gathered dust over the decades, smiling rosy-cheeked cherubs and little toddlers fishing in a grime covered pond. It was the kind of house you expeceted to see featured on a reality show, where the kids try to convince mom to stop being senile for one damn minute and clean up. They probably never show the fact that cleaning up once isn't enough to change a person's life forever.

"Hey Granny," I said, entering the den. The furniture was covered in plastic, and I had to make an effort to actually sit on the couch without sliding off. The TV was a wood-panelled relic from the Seventies or Eighties, barely working at this point. "Brought you your lunch," I said, placing the tin meal pack on her sidetable.

"Thank you deary, you always treat Granny nice," she said. Even with her thinning and worn patch of gray hair on her head and thick glasses, I didn't buy the act for a second. Why Granny kept going with it, even when I knew, I don't think I'll ever figure out. "So, what do you need from Granny?" she asked, digging into her meal with the plastic fork.

"I think I figured it out Granny, all those accidents," I said, praying the plan would work. "None of the places you said would give us an answer, none of them knew anything about the kids getting hurt. I don't think they even cared, really." Granny just kept on eating, hand shaking slightly as she brough a pile of peas to her near-tootheless mouth. "Sure, they were bad, but when we got them talking, none of them knew. That's when it hit me. You wanted us running around in circles, didn't you Granny."

Granny's hand stopped shaking instantly, and I knew I'd had her. "Yeah, you thought we'd do the dirty work for you, take out the competition in the area. We really bought it for a little while too. Munchausen-by-Proxy, right? Kindly old lady takes care of all the little kids that come to her door, and the parents give you a nice chunk of change."

"Deary, you'd best not make accusations without proof," Granny said, shaking her head. Her milky eyes started to suddenly clear, and I noticed her hair slowly thickening. "It could get you hurt.

"I'm fine with getting hurt, so long as the real problem gets taken care of," I said. levelling my revolver at her. "Now why don't you tell me about why you fucked with us."

"Damn, I hate your kind," she said, her mouth suddenly sprouting teeth every time she opened it. "You can never leave an old lady in peace."

"An old lady?" I asked. "I thought Red Riding Hood took out the wolf."

That was it. Granny dropped the act, hands turning into claws and eyes going yellow. Her wrinkled nose turned into a snout, teeth protruding out of it haphazardly, cloudy yellow drool staining the carpet. "Whelp," she growled, her legs suddenly bent backwards. "Granny will have to punish you now."

I fired into her face twice, and I know I drew blood, but Granny smacked the revolver out of my hands and batted me into the TV, the old appliance finally giving up in a fizzle of sparks and ozone and a pile of broken glass. "Now look at what you've done! Granny will have to punish you!"

I grabbed the only thing I could, a piece of glass from the screen, and waited. I could at least mark her for the rest of the guys, make sure she couldn't get off easy for killing me.

That was when the guys burst through the door and shot her, Granny screaming in pain and falling to the ground, writhing in agony as the iron burned through her.

"Took your fucking time," I said, pulling myself up. "You needed an invitation or something?"

"Your bug went dead, guess she went for the peas first," Mikey said, taking out a knife and slicing into Granny's stomach. "Now get the rocks and iron shavings, we've got to make sure she can't get up before we finish sewing."

Nodding, I went to the van, helping Sean with the rocks and shavings. Just because I thought it would be fitting, I decided to shove her little figurines in too. Now she'll always have some children nearby.

Set your heart at rest:

The fairyland buys not the child of me.

– William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream (c. 1595-96), Act II, scene 1, line 121.

The Wyrd. To hear the fairies tell it, it’s the force that makes them them, in the sense of what gives them their power. They say it’s just a force, flowing everywhere, that enables them to make their deals, use their powers, and hide themselves from the rest of the world. Too little of it, and they risk insanity. Too much, and they go power-mad.

An average hunter (if there could even be such a thing) doesn’t care about the supposed “force” behind a fairy’s power, because the fairy aren’t Jedi, and don’t know a damn thing about the force. Try telling that to the fairies, though. Still, hunters see the freaks and fairies as monsters just like the rest, so it falls to them to make sure the Wyrd doesn’t get too weird.

Sidebar: Fairy Hunters?

'''Thanks to modern prejudice, the term “fairy” has taken on an offensive connotation in society, to the point where it can cause plenty of trouble. In case it hasn’t been made clear, the term “fairy” in this book has only been in reference to monsters from the lands called Arcadia as well as the escapees from it. It in no way references those who are of any homosexual orientation, or means to insult them. It can, however, be in reference if your gaming group chooses. Make sure you know the sensibilities of your players before you make this decision beforehand, though. One wrong word can ruin a game night.'''

Tier 2

Compacts are probably the best suited to combat the fae in terms of abilities. While first tier cells are limited by manpower, information and supplies, and conspiracies are slowed by their own size, a cell in a compact knows little in the way of central organization, giving it the fluidity needed to combat fae when they need to.

Most compacts have at least some quality information about the fae. The problem is, they almost certainly have picked up a lot of bad and incomplete information as well. For example, most compacts have heard that some fairies were once humans who were abducted by powerful lords. The problem is they've also heard those same “changelings” explain they're really just harmless nature spirits, figments of imagination that got lost and became material, part of a pagan pantheon who are happily retired ever since Christianity took, and even more outlandish lies spread by the paranoid fae to keep themselves safe and hidden.

Perhaps the biggest advantage of having information, even information of dubious quality, is that it teaches hunters to have an open mind. A lone hunter could become convinced of a falsehood from a mistaken first impression. Members of a compact know that whatever the truth is, it's not clear and obvious. This keeps them second guessing and open to possibilities. When the monsters are both varied and delight in trickery that's the attitude that keeps a hunter alive.

"You have to remember that not all faeries were born like they are. Some were once humans, somebodies husband, wife, or child. It can be hard to tell which were human but you have to try"

Melissa Gilbert, Searchlight, New York Chapter

“I'll tell you something weird. I was doing a doc on grays when I ran into another NetZo chasing faeries. This stuff keeps happening, and faeries are meant to be good artists, maybe the aliens buy from them too.”

Heather “Scully” Christian, Network Zero

"Every now and again someone posts the same story on the forum. They're going to help a faerie that used to be human before it was abducted. Half the time we never hear from them again. Look, I don't know what the deal is, but keep your wits about you."

Robert Tompson, the Union, The Trashmen

"Go to your church and dig up the bodies. If the coffins are full of trash you've got faeries".

Reverend Peter Green, the Long Night, The Seven Angels

“I heard that if you do a faerie a favor you'll win the lottery, turn into a supermodel or something. I've invited one to my next party, why don't you come? You could do with losing a few wrinkles dear.”

Catherine de la Haye, Ashwood Abbey.

Ashwood Abbey

''Maria was always one with the more unusual tastes, so when the club brought in their guest, a bestial man with large fangs, a mane, and a tail swinging behind him, she had to be with him for the night. She finally found her chance when he had downed an entire bottle of whiskey with little aftereffect, and hurriedly dragged him upstairs, whispering all manner of ideas and games into his addled mind. Then, minutes later, the screaming drew everyone’s attention. Grabbing their weapons, they ran upstairs, and found Maria nursing a clawed arm and holding her axe, the monster bound with electrical tape, a large cut on it’s chest. It looked to the other members, eyes pleading for help.''

''“I’m fine,” Maria said, a new gleam in her eye. “Just leave me be for the night.” She licked her lips as the other members left. Oh yes, Maria loved her unusual tastes, and that night, she would indulge in three of them.''

The Abbey loves it when it finds fairies. After all, the more exotic the monster, the more interesting the party. What on Earth could top the experience of being with a monster made out of living fire, or a person half-horse where it counts most?

The fact is that the fairies on Earth save some special animosity for the Abbey. Actions made by the Abbey, from kidnapping innocent changelings to killing entire motleys for perceived slights. The fairies level accusations at the Abbey of being just like than the “true fae”, ignoring human morals and beliefs, instead killing or enslaving indiscriminately in the name of bored moral solipsism. The Abbey, par for the course, could care less about what a few freaks are saying about them, just what kind of fun they can get. After all, what kind of a night could you have with a creature that is able to control vines and plants?

Of course, the Abbey is nothing but respectful of traditions. A good many Abbey members often lead a “wild hunt” through their regions, tracking down and pursuing fairies in a game of cat and mouse before killing them. These hunts often tear through an area in sports cars and SUVs, though a few clubs stick to folklore and go on horseback with swords and bows, a pistol on their person for good measure.

If there was an issue with the fairies, it’s that they remind the Abbey, at times, too much of themselves. As often as they try and dress up like they’re doing good for mankind, they see the fae as sybarites much like themselves, and perception is a bitch to behold. So, until the Abbey can rid themselves of the looking glass, they usually just stick with using the fairies as party guests and prey, and try to avoid talking to them while intoxicated.

Story Hooks

A fairy your cell usually gathers with has recently been hanging around with other sorts of creatures, from vampires to witches. While the parties have certainly been more entertaining, you slowly noticed that you never saw your “friend” with any of his own kind. He says it’s just because he wants to protect you, but you smell skeletons in his closet. Who, or what, is he hiding?

The outing last week was amazing, the transition between drug-fueled soiree to bloodthirsty hunt flawless, and you cut down the freaks one by one through the mansion, as your vision shifted from room to room, from Victorian estate to primeval forest and back again. Then you noticed Harold acting differently the next week, shocked when you used the silver broadsword on the werewolf’s manhood. Harold was never a squeamish one, especially when it came to werewolves, and that probably means something changed Harold that night. What tampered with Harold’s head? Or worse, did Harold make a deal himself?

The Long Night

''James waited for the monster to creep from it’s hole, the hollow man. The others waited behind the dumpsters, waiting for the signal. “Yeah?” the man said, cracking the door open. “What is it?” The man’s breath reeked of alcohol, and he had a good amount of stubble on his chin.''

“Good afternoon, sir. I was hoping for a minute of your time to talk with you about the teachings of the Lord.” James smiled innocently, praying he could distract the man from the cell crawling through his window.

“Not even God can help me with my problems,” the man answered, closing the door.

“The kingdom of Heaven is coming!” James shouted, trying to keep the man distracted.

''“Then maybe I can finally sleep again!” the man barked, slamming the door in James’ face. Then, the sounds of a scuffle, followed by one of James’ cellmates unlocking the door. “We got him!” he said. Running inside, James saw they had trussed up the hollow man in duct tape. ''

Quickly, James took the hammer from his coat and brought it down on the monster’s head, until all that was left was straw and hair clippings.

The Kingdom of Heaven was'' coming. One demon at a time.''

Demons walk in human form, it’s true. But sometimes their real form isn’t a horned monster with cloven hooves carrying around a pitchfork and cackling evilly. Maybe it’s a little imp solely bent on weakening a man’s resolve by destroying his life bit by bit. Maybe it’s a seductress with hair literally of gold drawing him away from his proper place with his family and church. Whatever it looks like, it is an evil thing, and must be destroyed.

The Tribulation Militia has heard stories from the captives they’ve taken, of deals and pledges and contracts, and the Long Night members just shake their heads. The Devil, after all, has no control over the soul of man, and if a man does sign his eternity away, then there is nothing the Long Night can do to save them. They have made their choice, after all.

The trick then becomes finding the monsters, and then deciding what to do with them. Some members of the Long Night have attempted to rehabilitate faeries, showing that the lives of these poor people can be rebuilt somehow, as long as they swear off their fairy sides in exchange for the Lord, of course. Others bring out the fire and brimstone, deciding that to speed up the Apocalypse, no mercy can be given to monsters like fairies. All the talk about being kidnapped and changed forcibly is just a ruse to disguise their real natures as tempters and destroyers.

The creatures called “fetches” hold a particular place of loathing for the Long Night, and many a hunter for the Militia will go out of their way to hunt these monsters down at the expense of more valuable or sensible targets. The fact that these monsters aren’t even real people, merely simulacrums of trash and rubbish, kept alive by the Devil’s magic and living the lives of the people they replace gives the Long Night’s hunters a special hatred.

Of course, some Long Night members aren’t all fire and brimstone, after all. Many work at battered women’s shelters and homeless soup kitchens, and know all too well the damage of abuse and neglect can do to the human spirit. So to hear a creature with arms where it’s legs should be and a face made only of mouths speak about the tortures it was forced to endure, they can’t help but feel like they need to help them in some way. Often, they put fairies together with one another, and have secret arrangements with a group of changelings. One is a fae “court” of sorts, trying to reconstruct a semblance of human life without the worry about being kidnapped by their masters again. Others enroll the fairy in a support group of any stripe, letting the poor creature come to terms with it’s captivity in a way where it can talk a little about it’s experiences, and not feel like it’s singling itself out.

The Long Night has little other information about other courts, freeholds, or the Hedge, though, and could frankly care less about this information. Two disturbing trends have emerged, however, in cells that know about the existence of fairies. Leaders have arisen that feel the Hedge is the barrier to the Apocalypse and the Second Coming, and that by tearing it down, they can hasten the return of Christ. Other stories attribute fairies to be really neutral angels, those in Heaven who did not take sides in the war between God and Lucifer, and so were cast out of Heaven, but not sent with Lucifer to Hell. There are others in the Long Night who feel these fallen angels can be remade, reformed to their old selves, elevating them to their status as the messengers of God again.

Story Seeds

A man has come to you for help. He says a doppelganger has been trying to kill him, a man with skin of molten rock and hair of smoke. Good Christian you are, you take the man in, sheltering him as the other members of the cell hunt the monster hunting the poor soul. But then, one of the doors to the Church bursts open, and out of the light steps the man your cell is hunting, the heat nearly unbearable. He says that the man you’re protecting is the doppelganger, and that he needs to die so the fire-man can get his soul back in whole and return to his family. With the others gone, how are you going to protect the very real man behind you?

It’s finally happened. A leader in the Tribulation Militia has gathered enough support and found a fairy willing to take a force into the Hedge, and assault the land that the fairies come from. With a guide and backing, your cell is picked out as the latest recruits. But a group of fairies stop you, warning that an assault on the Hedge is doomed before it could even get off the ground. Can you trust a monster, and betray the work of God?

The Loyalists of Thule

''The iron, fresh from the rail yard in Lansing, is heavy in your pocket as you finish the circle around the door. Jacob’s on the balcony, assault rifle in hand because, hell, why take any chances on a summoning like this''

''Finished, you start chanting the true name of the monster you want the information from, and in seconds, the creature appears through a blinding light in the doorway, laughing as it materializes. “You called me, what will you exchange for my presence?” it booms, holding a massive lance.''

“A gift from my family precious to me,” you say, “But only after you give me the books that I seek, so that I may use them against enemies so hated."

''The monster nods, and in a flash of light, throws you a book. Quickly leafing through it, you knew the book was full of the information you needed. Jacob, looking through his infrared, confirmed the book was also tangible, or at least able to be detected by human technology, which was good enough for now.''

''“A fair trade,” you say, starting to pull your hand from your pocket. “Now, your trade, completely fair.” With a quick toss, you pay the monster. Grabbing the book, you hear the door slam as the fairy flees. With a relieved breath Jacob lowers his rifle and the two of you get to work. Holding iron, you and Jacob soak the house down in gas and run, burning the door to the ground. Now unless someone builds an exact replica of that house, that monster will never find you. It says so in the books you read on him, after all.''

In the early days of the Thule-Gesellschaft, researchers into fairy tales regarded them as differing ideas on the true nature of Thule, an unspoiled wilderness and home to many magical and mystical beings. Even as the Second World War approached, the Thule Society continued to press forward with their research, uncovering long forgotten Germanic and Roman texts about forest gods and animal spirits. Despite the outbreak of war, some of the texts were protected, and in time, the new Loyalists decided to test for themselves just what was in the books.

Finally, after the bodies had been cleared away and the building burned, the scholars realized just how wrong they had been about the old books and stories. They weren’t the precursor race they were looking for at all. Instead, they’d only found more monsters, more dangers, and a wider world than they first knew.

The Loyalists feel fairies are a threat to anyone who lives on Earth, and take care to make sure that if they are ever encountered, great care is taken in speaking. Loyalists rarely talk to the fairies directly, and when they do, they make sure to precisely plan out what to say before saying it. The Loyalists know all to well the power of words to sway and control, and when mystical forces come into play, they tread all the more carefully.

For their part, though, the Loyalists feel they know more than the average hunter when it comes to the various types of fairies. Little house-spirits or massive ogres, they know that each one can be bribed, bullied or destroyed, and those Loyalists who hunt the fae always make sure to go in packing iron on their person. Their archives contain rare texts: Roman treatises on Celtic and Germanic mythology, studies of folklore, even the unpublished journals and stories of the Brothers Grim, and when they decide to use those texts, it’s always for a specific reason thought out well beforehand, and always with a prepared wording so that, even if the fairy gets away without making the bargain complete, they at least can’t harm or kidnap any Loyalist present.



Of all the fairy legends, the one that sticks out the most are sightings of the Wild Hunt, the ancient fae hunting party that is rumored to be a precursor to war or destruction, bestial riders and mounts tearing across the sky and land, baying for prey. Numerous records of the Loyalists state the Hunt has been encountered before, and that each time, it’s appearance heralded catastrophe on a massive scale. So when a report is heard about a hunting horn on a suburban street, or of hoofprints tearing down a road in the country that are literally part of the asphalt, the Loyalists waste no time finding the source and trying to stop it. Because if the Hunt can be called once, it can be called again, and anyone can be the quarry.

As for the other creatures, “changelings”, “fetches” and “goblins”, the Loyalists are more inquisitive, and have taken great pains to learn the differences between each species, as it were. They seek answers from changelings on lore they might know, or study a fetch to find out how a creature with an incomplete soul is able to be so human. Goblins are given trinkets that catch their interest, in exchange for ancient tomes that they feel are worthless. Most hunters would call it collaboration, but when the Loyalists argument is to give their fellow hunters the exact weakness they’ve been looking for when the fairy they’re fighting tries to disappear to it’s hiding place again, the other hunters shut up and listen.

Story Seeds

You’ve managed to track the monsters down to their hiding place in the abandoned factory, and you’re ready to move in. You break down the door and rush in, only to find an empty warehouse and fuel drums rigged with wires in the center. You ran out, and jumped into the river, just as the warehouse exploded. You thought everyone made it out, but Jerry got caught in the blast, and you found him in three different places. You started to carry the remains back to your car, but stopped when you saw the note on the window. “The tomb is where we say it is. 5th St. tomorrow night.” The tomb. That could mean anything, but you know it could mean the number one thing you’ve always been looking for. Should you risk meeting the same people that tried to kill you tonight, even if it’s the biggest truth you could ever hope for?

Now it’s gone too far. You knew the changelings were an odd lot, but they crossed the line when they started plastering swastikas all over. Sure, they’re the correct Hindu pattern indicating good luck and protection, but it’s got the locals riled up and worried there’s a white power group around. You tried to tell them what was wrong, but they said it was the only thing keeping out a powerful ogre, a beast who would tear the neighborhood apart. As you both talked, a group of men with shaved heads and red shoelaces walked up. Now you’ve got a group of white pride idiots ready to make trouble over a symbol. This won’t be easy to get out of, and even if you do survive, you have to find a way to figure out how to get rid of this ogre for good. If there’s an ogre at all.

Network Zero

''“Are you sure that’s all you can remember?” Terry asked, as Patty kept watch from the windows. Terry kept the camera focused on their “guest”, a man that was about as large as the ceiling in Terry’s apartment.''

''“I just know that the thing that took me loves to take people,” the ogre said, because frankly Terry couldn’t think of a better word for the creature. “Wherever it can find the strongest and meanest, it takes them and changes them like me.”''

''“Can you tell us anything about this hedge you mentioned?” Terry asked, as Patty tapped on the wall three times with her gun. That was the signal they were running out of time.''

''“Only that it was sharp, even to skin like mine,” the ogre said, flexing him arm, a massive limb that looked to be made of reptile hide. “But I escaped, and that’s all that matters.”''

''“Alright,” Terry said, shutting the camera off. “Thank you for your time, sir, we’ll make sure this video gets out to the net.”''

''“About that,” the ogre said, flexing his bulk. “I been thinking that maybe I don’t want to be famous just yet.” Before Terry could protest, the ogre reached out and grabbed the camera, crushing it to pieces before anyone could object. “And I can safely presume you’ll protect my privacy, right?” Laughing, the ogre nearly tore the door of it’s hinges as he walked out, his laughter echoing down the hall.''

''“That bastard,” Terry said, cradling the broken remains of his camera gently in his arms. “Why’d he do that?”''

''“Don’t worry, I figured something like that would happen,” Patty said, going over to the kitchenette. Opening one of the drawers, she pulled out her laptop. “You wanted to know why I hid this away earlier?”''

''Opening it, Terry broke out smiling, watching the entire interview unfold. Quickly hugging Patty, he got to work, making sure to use the proper format during the upload.''

The crews of Network Zero believe, that much everyone can tell. They always come out with their cameras of all sizes, their little audio recorders and their EMF detectors, always searching for the truth, no matter what the truth looks like. They look for changes in the temperature, and say it’s a haunting. They see shapes in the distance and call it a spirit. But when the monster walks right up to them and claims it is what it really is, that’s when NetZo’s get all hot and bothered.

Why fairies, you may ask? To the Secret Frequency, the answer is simple; if a faerie willingly bares themselves for the camera it’s the shot of a lifetime. A vampire on film is just a blur, and a witch captured on video looks just like your or me. But a creature that has horns and vines and who knows what else growing from their very skin? Now that’s something the world can’t ignore, especially when you shove it in their faces and force them to see the truth. And when one domino falls, the rest will follow suit.

The issue is the insular nature of fae society. Every fairy seems to be some kind of refugee hiding out in the world of humanity, and the fact that a NetZo can even find a fairy means something in the fairy structure of life has probably gone wrong, and the creatures quickly attempt to fix the situation, often by manipulating the memories of those who witness their real selves. But cameras and film aren’t always affected by magic, and when it comes time to download, no fairy can get the shoot off the ‘Net, no matter how many deals they make.

As for members of the Secret Frequency themselves, they only know that fairies are some kind of abductees, and that they’re severely traumatized by their experiences, meaning that any interview could turn into a bloodbath or worse. So NetZos always take some precautions, whether it be using live broadcasts and multiple cameras to make sure at least some footage can make it out, or simply conducting the interview in a place where a murder is bound to draw some attention. Network Zero didn’t get to where it was without having some level of common sense.

Story Seeds

You caught some weird stuff out last night in that haunted house. Your cell had the usual EVPs, EMF readings, even a few images of shadows moving on the tapes. But on your own personal camera, you found something that made you realize you weren’t hunting ghosts that night at all. In the picture was a creature that had four arms and a single eye. That didn’t match up at all with the story you were told about the place, and you did some research. Now, you’re going back with some iron, and you’re going to force the monster to tell you why it’s causing a “haunting”.

Your contact in the police told you about it first; an supposed alien abduction in your area, and the victim begging for some help. You went to his house, took his interview, and promised you would get to the bottom of things. After three days, though, you found nothing. Willing to admit defeat after finding nothing at the scene, you came back to his house to find the door open and a pile of leaves, branches and dirt on the floor. Figuring the owner was out, you left, only to have the house explode seconds after you got in your car. Your cellmate said he saw men in black suits running from the house before it went up, and he has it on film. Great, now you’re dealing with the government.

Null Mysteriis

''“Subject shows no negative reactions to the surgery,” Gregory said, observing the man from behind the one-way mirror to the recovery room. “Calcium growths on the frontal bone of the skull have been removed without incident, and subject has reported no issues with medication.” Turning off the tape recorder, he straightened his outfit and stepped inside, putting the stethoscope over his neck as he walked in.''

''“Hey Doc,” the subject said, waving as Gregory walked in. “Thanks again, I was worried that I’d look that way my whole life.”''

''“Glad we could help,” Gregory said, taking the blood pressure gauge from the wall and strapping it to the subject’s arm, as the man/animal lay on the bed. “How’re you feeling today? Nauseous, dizzy, lightheaded?”''

''“Not at all,” the subject said, smiling. “I’m feeling better now than I can ever remember.”''

''“Well, we’ve got a ways to go yet,” Gregory said, taking the gauge off. “90 over 60, you’re doing better this week.” Taking out a pen light, he ran it over the subject’s eyes, as they barely dilated. “Breathing?”''

''“It’s tough,” the subject said. “I think it changed my lungs somehow, I had trouble breathing when I opened the window.”''

''“Probably because your keeper might have had a thing for high oxygen contents,” Gregory said. “Right now it’s like you’re climbing Mt. Everest without a mask.”''

''“Everest…that’s the mountain in Asia, right?” the subject asked. Gregory nodded, taking his stethoscope in hand. “Alright, lift up your shirt?” The subject complied. “Just breathe normally.” Moving the scope, he heard the movement of air and lungs inside the subject, and felt glad the transplants were successful. “Well, you’re good for now. I’m gonna make some notes on your charts, okay?” the subject nodded with a smile, and Gregory walked out, scribbling on the clipboard.''

“Any luck?” Andy said, walking over.

''“The new lungs are inside, and he’s breathing, that’s what I have,” Gregory growled. He just wanted to get some pills into his system and get home. “All I know is that you guys won’t need my services anymore soon.”''

''“Yeah, but we’re lucky you were willing to help with this one,” Andy said, patting his colleague on the back. “Hell, how many vets do you know willing to take a case like this?”''

Null Mysteriis members love a good challenge, it’s part of the mandate the compact has, as it were. No one wants to leave a stone unturned or question unchallenged. “Fairies” are just one question to be answered, one that frankly excites the group to no end. The fact that human beings have been modified in not just body but psyche in such radical fashions is a boon of understanding to the biologists and psychologists in the compact.

Null Mysteriis first found it’s attentions drawn to fairies during the incident of the Cottingley Fairies. Though their numbers were drained by the Great War, a small cell made their way to the village, examining the evidence with hope they would find some evidence of the supernatural and of fairies. Though they could not validate the stories the girls had told, they had found something else. A large beast-man with gnarled hands and fangs, who attacked the cell with gusto, screaming at them for “looking for fairies”. The cell called the local authorities to the area, but constables found nothing. The scientists did find something, though. Tracks, leading back to a warren of trees that contained their attacker. After burning down the trees and finding the remains, they studied the bones to find that the creature was part man and part wolf, but wholly neither.

Like everything in Null Mysteriis, the split in organizational doctrine has come to a head, with fairies especially. The Rationalists feel that those who come back from their captivity have to immediately be treated as patients and returned to their normal state if possible, while studying the mutations and new genetic quirks in their DNA. Open-Minds, however, feel that the key is in where the changelings, as they call themselves, were taken to, trying to analyze a changeling’s story to find the route back to their captors, and find out exactly how these beings managed to do such things. If the answers could be found, the possibilities in medical treatments and genetic modification would be staggering.

Complicating the issue are the changelings themselves, because while some are accepting of Null Mysteriis’ offers to bring them back, even partially, into their former lives, others vehemently, even violently refuse, saying that some kind of mystical force prevents such a thing from ever being a reality. Seizing on this, researchers took a series of Kirlan photographs of changeling subjects who voluntarily dropped their human guise, and in each case, a strange interference was noted, that appeared to be thorns wrapped around the subject. In testing out old folklore, the Open-Minds found that placing unrefined iron deformed this Kirlan signature. Testing further with Rationalist aid, they discovered that iron in any form damaged this “thorn” around a changeling. Some hypothesize that this reaction to iron is in fact a byproduct of the process that transforms them, but evidence is needed to confirm if this is truly allergic or a deeper chemical and molecular reaction.

In studying what the changelings call fetches, Null Mysteriis has discovered that while the subjects show typical human internal structures and DNA, they also appear to, psychologically, have some element of what makes their bodies. Fetches of rocks and gravel are coarse individuals, no matter what, while fetches of trash and refuse are usually dirty, unkempt and unpleasant. Of course there are exceptions, but as far as Null Mysteriis has found, this is the general route. None of their members have had a recorded encounter with a "true" fae yet, but have extrapolated from the emperical reports from the changelings that beings of such parapsychological ability would have difficulty existing in any reality where they could not find a constant source of energy to fuel their abilities.

Of any single possible group of fairies, Null Mysteriis often runs into changelings when investigating new sources of the paranormal, as well as the study of independent “journals” that detail far too much of fairy abilities than any regular person would know. While some of these changelings almost always met with either force or a tactical retreat, others intrigue Null Mysteriis members, since they seem to show quite often a more scientific look on the paranormal. Otherwise, they simply threaten the scientists and members of O.R.A.S., shouting at them to get out of the area while they study the truth. This has led to many Null Mysteriis members fighting with fairies for the grounds they want to study, which has had the effect of making those members of O.R.A.S. who study fairies slightly more militant in their actions.

Story Seeds

You think you’ve succeeded. A changeling has been successfully operated on over the course of a year, including surgery, psychotherapy, and physical therapy. A union of Rationalists and Open-Minds worked for months, and made him a man again. You even went through the trouble of giving him a fake identity and went the full gamut of even getting registered through immigration. You thought you’d finally found the key to bringing the changelings home, as well as maybe bridging the gap that threatened O.R.A.S. Then you found him dead, with a note saying, “Stay away!” Now the two factions are threatening to rip the group apart, and you’ve got a dead subject that was supposed to be your solution. What the hell happened? And who murdered him?

You’ve been keeping track of the “peer reviewed” magazines you discovered, the ones that know too much for you to feel comfortable about. Still, it’s good archival material, and every so often they pan out as truth on a hunt. Only now it’s primary article is about “The Ones Who Hunt For Us!”, and details a list of groups you know about who also carry the Vigil. Someone knows, and your cell has names on that list. Is it possible to trace these articles back to a single source before you’re eliminated as enemies?

The Union

''I don’t know who they are, they just keep getting in our way! Tim said they started a Goddamn riot outside his store the other week, just riled up the people and made them start stealing shit right off the shelves. Cops couldn’t stop them until it was night, they’re saying it’s some kind of flash mob. But Tim says the tape doesn’t lie, he saw the thing make a little dance and off the thieves went.''

''Then there was the theft at Tommy’s workshop, all the fresh metal stolen from his latest work order. Then they decided to pin the blame on Tommy’s cousin Steve, only because the security cameras caught him leaving for the night last, even though Steve swears that he was already home then.''

''Our buddy in the cops told us that they think it’s a new gang in the area, call themselves the “Eight Street Motley”. Well we don’t care who they are, they aren’t just gonna walk all over us like they own this neighborhood. So get your stuff, we’re gonna have a talk with these punks, and tell them they’re not taking away our lives.''

The Union treats fairies like all the other monsters it faces; don’t cause trouble, and we won’t kill you. You would think the fae are a little more immune to such troubles, since their primary goal is to avoid attention. And it’s true, for the most part, since the Union is just as busy working for a living as they are fighting monsters to notice the weird types skirting the edges of their stores and workplaces.

But the Union looks out for it’s communities. When kids go missing, Union leaders are some of the first to organize searches. When crime goes up, so does the call for police action from Union cells. The Joes and Janes notice when the kids in the area are acting funny almost instantly, and can always have a cop or bartender ready to tell if someones using a fake ID.

Like the group itself, though, the Union doesn’t have one set method of dealing with fairies. Unless the fairy is actively stirring up trouble, the Union lets the freaks go on their merry way. When the freaks start causing an issue, whether it be selling drugs or tempting kids or even ruining a man’s life, that’s when the Union steps up and takes action. Sometimes that’s beating it with a pipe and sending it out on a rail, other times it gets a quick arrest and kangaroo court.

Sadly, the Union knows little about fairies and fae lore in general, and has to make do with what they have, their forum page. There are some subsections on types of creatures that are considered fairies, and the top of the list in bold, italics, underlined and in capitols, it’s, “BRING IRON!” Though few Union hunters put little concrete faith in their forum, the fact that it’s the single thread with the most hits and fewest flame wars gives credence to the post.

No one really knows any differences between any fae or if there’s any real governing body to them at all. What they do know is that the freaks steal people, and that has to be stopped. Missing people equals missing lives, and that’s a theft no one can correct.

Then there are the things that are left behind, the “fetch” things. Only a few Union hunters have managed to uncover them, making them a little known part of the Union knowledge base. What they do know is that a fetch isn’t the real person, so what’s the harm in getting rid of’em, right? Trash and rubbish a human being is not, most of the time.

Except, sometimes the Union’s noticed that a fetch is a better replacement. Okay, so it’s a soulless abomination that needs to be wiped from the Earth as quickly as possible, but then there are posts about how a fetch was a better person than the changeling they replaced, how it could hold down work and raise a family in a way the kidnapped victim never could. So, if the fairy is still the waste of space it was before, well, it’s a monster now, not a person. And the Union hates having monsters on it’s turf.

Story Seeds

A new lumber operation is opening in your area, meaning that your community is finally going to see some jobs and life flow in to battle the stagnation. The work began in earnest, but then tapered off. At first it seemed like simple eco-terrorism, from caltrops to spiked trees, but it kept stepping up until a pair of lumber men ran into town panicked, saying they saw tree-men moving around in the forest sabotaging the equipment. Your town can’t afford to let this thing destroy the economy, and your cell is probably made up of the only people in town who can do anything. That cell being only several people large. You need help, but can you really afford to bring anyone else into the cell when you’re facing monsters that you don’t even know how to fight?

Your local police are getting a lot of reports about a new club in the downtown, a club full of drugs and madness and drunken idiots causing trouble. You’ve heard stories about how inside the staff isn’t quite normal, and more than one OD has been rushed out screaming about the “monsters” working inside. You could care less about freaks working a nightclub, though, your problem is that the drugs and drunks are getting to be too much for the cops, drawing them away from the rest of the neighborhood. What’s worse, you’ve caught peaks at the people working inside, and they almost seem high off the feelings of the people inside. How’re you gonna shut this place down when they’ve got the home field advantage?

Tier 3

It’s hard for a conspiracy to really organize against as nebulous a group of monsters as the fae. Most conspiracies need some kind of concrete proof that a threat is out there before committing valuable resources and tools to the fight. Even if a fairy is in the area, though, conspiracies might not commit until there are multiple fairies. Because frankly, fairies stay far below the “normal” monstrous radar. Vampires, werewolves, witches, they all cause major issues. They directly interfere with day to day human lives and institutions. Fairies, though, they often to stay quiet, interacting with mankind in a limited manner that concerns conspiracies less than the other monsters.

That isn’t to say conspiracies don’t fight fairies though, far from it. Fae and their machinations negatively impact the way society functions in every conceivable way. Despite their claims of abuse and torture, refugees that cause trouble aren’t let loose to do as they please. Every person under the control of a fairy is one less able to stand up as a human, and that is something no conspiracy can stand to see. But like an elephant fighting ants, for every freehold a conspiracy stomps down, another seems to rise up in it’s place. Yet like an elephant, when a conspiracy makes it focus ready, it brings incredible weight to bear on the problem, and any enemy caught in their crosshairs are torn to pieces.

As a rule the conspiracies know all the important basics about faeries, and sometimes more than that. They know what a true fae is, why you should always watch your words and how changelings are created. What they also know is that knowledge is worth jack shit if you can't use it properly. Even if you know that this guy is a changeling, and even if you know that some changelings are free while others are still loyal to the more powerful fairies, you're still talking to a freak with a literal sliver tongue and the ability to back his story with illusionary evidence. Are you confident you can tell which side this changeling is on? Confident enough to decide if he should live or die?

Of course some hunters prefer to kill them all and let God sort them out. That cuts though most of the tough questions.

“In this labyrinth we store our knowledge of the Fae. There are over a thousand years of reports, studies, the heads of our best Faerie experts and even a few Relics that give information here. None of it will help you if you fall for the first illusion you see.”

Rupert Quinn, Aegis Kai Doru

“There’s a simple trick; play one against the other. Use the Suits to get two groups together in one location, then pack your heaviest gear just outside and gun’em down when they start asking who called the meeting. When the survivors start pointing fingers, that’s when you get them fighting against each other.”

Gunnery Sergeant Franklin Leaman, Task Force: VALKYRIE, Mobile Response Unit 14-2

“In matters of the djinn only the wisest can tell good from evil. As I am not wise I can only strive with dedication and trust Allah to guide my hand.”

Imam Daud Ismail, Ascending Ones.

“There's no magic that proves which changelings still serve the lords of Arcadia and which are free but there's a trick I use. I agree to meet in a certain time and place and if my word is not bound I will turn up a few minuets late. It doesn’t always work, but if they can't cope I know to be on my guard.”

Kitty Dixon, Lucifuge.

“We will know them as we know other men; by the fruits they bear.”

Sir Reginald Spenser, Lord Stewards

Aegis Kai Doru

''We'd waited too long. Kopis Alexopoulou had said we must remain true to our mission and safeguard the Relics in our care. She would contact Athens and have The Sword send it's warriors.''

''No one came, and now the witches have taken over. They have woven their enchantments over the people and plunder the land for their own. We spoke with our Kopis and she acquiesced to our concerns. I do not fear. The Sword may have the warriors, but we of the Temple hold the weapons.''

''Nathaniel was looking through our collection of tomahawks for one that would never miss it's target. He had already taken sandals that can walk through walls, a ring of invisibility and a cloak of fox fur that bestowed supernatural cunning. You could see what he was thinking, and that it was going to be effective.''

''Céline had taken every Relic that bestows strength in the labyrinth. A plate mail gauntlet which appeared to work by a series of pulleys, we'd only recovered one of them. A belt made from a black bull's skin that pre-dates leather working. A torc shaped like a serpent that sunk it's fangs into the wearer and a necklace of wolf teeth that once belonged to a Norse berserker. The Hammer she was carrying probably weighed more than all of us together and crackled with lightning, no it wasn't Mjölnir. Mjölnir is much smaller, and louder.''

''And as for me, I'm no expert at swordplay but I believed that if the Witches spells couldn't touch me then I'd already won. I was wearing a Corinthian helmet that protected against illusion, on my back was a battered glass shield. We thought it would protect from magic and I was putting a lot of faith into that. All I needed was a weapon, I was heading for a knife that could slip through any defense when a sword caught my eye. I hadn't noticed it before but something told me it was the right weapon for today.''

''“Not that one” said Alexopoulou. “It has it's own fate. This sword never loses a battle, but it's wielder never survives a battle.”''

''I thought for a moment, and took the sword. ''

Some relics are... special. They are the among the most mighty known to the Shield and Spear but it is not their abilities that set them apart. It's Destiny.

Deep within their hidden treasuries the Shield and Spear holds legendary relics. Curtana, “of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal”. Andvarinaut, a cursed ring that produces as much gold as the owner wishes. The Book of Thoth, containing great magic and the reader's own destruction.

There are other relics, just as powerful but unknown to the world. A ring only called Peace, who's wearer can end any conflict only for the fighting to return even worse in eleven years. A small statue, it's features worn away, which will guide any person to their true love with both destined to die shortly after. A soot stained Barbie doll, her owner always becoming the absolute monarch of school as coincidences and fate cause the new queen to grow shallow and cruel.

These relics are of great interest and value to the Shield and Spear, the thought that he who holds the right relic can wield the power of destiny itself. That holding the sword is really does make you the rightful king. It has a certain appeal. Yet the the Shield and Spear are also cautious because for every noble destiny forged into a shining sword there are ten cursed fates. A relic that seems powerful, but anything it builds will turn to ashes.

And what of the fae? They're not witches. They're not werewolves. They're not relics. So why does the Shield and Spear care about the fae. The answer is that the fae and Fate are two peas in a pod. No matter how cunningly the relics are hidden sooner or later the fae are going to turn up looking for it. It's Fate. Explaining that it's Fate isn't likely to help either, the fae usually know it's Fate but when you're daughter is about to be sacrificed to a dragon it doesn't matter if Fate's behind it. You still need Ascalon and the Guardians of the Labyrinth must fight to defend it.

The Sword

The Sword don't know about a lot of the greatest relics, and it's just as well because if they did they'd use them. If you're fated to kill your enemies then die yourself, well a lot of hunters die before killing their enemies don't they? What the Sword don't realize is how many of these relics have effects that ripple out from their use. Nothing good can come of using them as a simple weapon.

The Temple

The Temple has a tough job, not only do they need to keep their fate bound relics safe from thieves but also from fate itself. Fate seems to want a lot of these relics out in the world, and the ones it doesn’t seem to care about can become the focus of a powerful destiny in an instant. Some relics weave the people guarding them into their story, even if they are not used. It's a hard task guarding objects of power.

The Scroll

On this the Scroll and the Temple are in concord. The Scroll study and catalogue the relics owned by the Ageis Kai Doru and what they have uncovered often convinces them that some things are best left alone.

Story Seeds

You managed to capture one of the fae relics during a raid on their safehouse, and are trying to activate it. Prayers, offerings, even an animal sacrifice didn’t work. You think it’s time to give up when you’re contacted by a survivor of the raid, warning you that taking the thing will come at a price. You’ve seen enough “bad” relics to keep from writing it off as an empty threat, so you try to destroy it. Nothing. You tried to ship it away, but it always found it’s way back. Finally, you struck it with some iron, and it shattered. But the fairy came back and said now you’ve worsened the situation. What exactly is coming after you now?

After fighting through all manner of traps a team of archaeologists working for the Shield and Spear found the vault... it was empty. A cathedral sized collection of nothing. Nothing but a single ornate key. The key is definitely a relic, it turns to gold in the firelight and silver in the moonlight. Any woven cloth becomes a thicket of tangles in it's presence, but if that's all it does then why are powerful faerie rulers making lavish promises and dire threats just to get that key locked away in the Aegis Kai Doru's deepest vaults for all time?

Ascending Ones

''“Park it right there,” said Luthor. “We want fucking nobody seeing tonight's business.”''

''His men knew the game. Tonight was the third night with a gibbous moon. That was why Luthor was standing here parking a beaten up truck so no one could see into this alleyway. Not that they were likely to try, there were hoppers on every corner. Anyone from this neighborhood would know what that meant.''

''A church bell chimed the twelve of midnight, the kids on the corners looking around in confusion. No church rang bells for miles. Luthor and his men in the alleyway didn't flinch, they had pledged to the Vigil and heard the mysterious bells every month. With each chime twisted briars grew through the walls and street, vibrant green even in the dark night. On the twelfth chime the hobgoblins came, led by Grippin. A wrinkly olive green goblin wearing clashing suit trousers and waistcoat.''

''Grippin bowed, it was a curious sight, he folded at the hips and bent so low his long nose scraped the street. Luthor replied with a more human bow of his own.''

''“Greetings O mighty Phoenix” intoned Grippin, his voice smooth and oiled. “Greetings fabled guardian of the night, you honor this miserable worthless toad of a merchant with your very presence.”''

''“It is I who is honored, merchant prince of the endless thorns. Custodian of endless wonders from beyond the fields of man.” replied Luthor, once again glad for his rehearsals. “If it were not for the charity you show to grace this rat of the gutters with such wonders I would be forced to profane myself before my God and declare myself unworthy to serve.”''

''“Each word pierces my heart, for I am but a worthless pirate who trades scraps in the hope he can feed his family another day. Why look at my goods!” Grippin led Luthor to his cart and opened a box to reveal the most beautiful fruit imaginable, each deep rich purple with a red blush upon the skin. Just looking at them Luthor could taste dreams of a lover's lips. “Bruised! Wrinkled! Begged from the bottom of the farmers barrel, I shame my fathers and the name of my family by offering such as merchandise.”''

''“Then the bottom of a goblin's barrel are finer than the very pick of the Sultan's own orange trees. Alas, it is I who must grovel for charity. Look at what paltry goods I can offer in return” Luthor led Grippin back to his truck and opened a box of discarded teddy bear eyes. “It is worthless garbage, why if it weren't for your charity we would dig a deep pit and throw them in so they will not offend our eyes.”''

''“Garbage? There must be some mistake. Look at these, can you not see the friendship and loss trapped within each eye? I shall be able to put food on my family’s table, and I owe it all to you, o flower of the night.”''

''Grippin and Luthor gave each other a nod, that was the signal. Both retired to their conveyance while their people exchanged crates and barrels. Not for the first time Luther thought about the business relationship he had with the hobgoblin. It was an unusual relationship, but a profitable one.''

''At the other end of the alleyway Grippin was thinking the same thing. ''

The Ascending Ones have heard stories told about monsters in the darkness long before many conspiracies were even a dream in their creator’s mind. They have battled for centuries against the Cult of Set, defended the innocent from the predations of mad sorcerers, eliminated shapeshifters who dare to take humans for their own. So when it comes to fairies, they're old hands.

Among the desert sands of Egypt they battled with strange hybrids, part man and part beast. In the dark corners of Bagdad's bazaars they traded impossible wonders with mysterious merchants. They bound powerful enemies into baskets and lamps with chains of vows and manacles of promises.

They're still at it of course, millennia of endless sacrifices and the faeries still come. The Ascending One's persist, for their vigil is a sacred mission. They hunt strange gremlins formed from cannibalised television sets in the dark sodium lit alleyways of New York. They offer gifts and appeasements to beings of living sand and glass in the deserts of Iran so that they might leave the people in peace. Over opium in Hong Kong the Cult of the Phoenix talked peace between the Turtle of the North and the Lion of the West so their fighting would not touch the humans. And yes, eventually they joined the fights against and forged contracts of peace with ethereal glamorous beings of impossible beauty in the Emerald Isle. Wherever the Fae come, the Cult of the Phoenix stands ready to defend their communities.

There is a pay off, a reason that holding a Vigil against the faeries is not just a sacrifice but a benefit to the Ascending Ones. Goblin Fruit. The denizens of the Hedge have communities, a society, an economy, and most importantly, they have exports. The Cult of the Phoenix is a rather rich organization, and in darkened alleyways and obscure shops they import the produce of other realms for ingredients in their alchemical laboratories.

The Order of the Southern Temple

The alchemists and occultists of the Southern Temple benefit hugely from their dealings with the fae. From under the hills comes a wealth of mad and impossible ingredients to form their elixirs while the fae themselves are often all to happy to barter in occult secrets and alchemical formulas for favors and a share of the Southern Temple's own discoveries.

Knife of Paradise

While the Jagged Crescent reaps the material profits and the Southern Temple acquires occult knowledge it's the Knife of Paradise who find themselves left with the task of upholding the Vigil. Though the fae are usually content hide away those who do not present a unique challenge to the Knife of Paradise. Their knacks for stealth and subtlety match the knife's assassins, every faerie a lawyer who will graciously agree to sulha and stab you in the small print. The Knife of Paradise rises to these challenges and overcomes them, the will of God demands nothing less.

Jagged Crescent

What do a drug dealer and a hobgoblin at the market have in common? They're both businessmen. The Jagged Crescent are experts in stealthily moving goods. Cocaine from Columbia, heroin from Afghanistan, fruit from the Hedge. All around the world cells of the Jagged Crescent have business relationships with hobgoblin merchants, in the dark of night they import goblin fruit in bulk for redistribution to the Conspiracies drug labs and alchemy labs.

Story Seeds

The vampires own this town, and you own the vampires. A new goblin fruit is in season and it makes drugs the leeches just can't resist. Funding for community charities? You get it. Keep those fangs away from necks in your part of town? It's a deal. Some are even quitting blood entirely, your product is just as nourishing and frankly it tastes better too. Only it seems the good times might be ending. Changelings are moving in on your turf and undercutting your prices. You have to get rid of them or come to some sort of deal, before the vampires play you against each other.

The Ascending Ones know how to make “Genie Lamps”, it's so simple pretty much everyone knows how to do it. Get a faerie to promise it'll stay in a lamp and obey whoever holds it and you're done. Only there's a reason you cut that shit out when Arabian Nights was contemporary. A faerie can cause just as much damage by interpreting wishes as it can leading a wild hunt. It's better, safer and cheaper if you get the fae just to promise to stay away instead. Unfortunately there's still a few lamps hidden in the Southern Temple's stashes, and after a particularly bad attack there was no one left to tell a young hot headed initiate to keep her hands off. On the surface it's working: The fae have gone into hiding, the vampires that aren't dust have fled the city, and the witches aren't leaving their warded towers. But beneath the surface the “ironic consequences” are starting to pile up. It falls to you to put a stop to this before anyone gets some bright ideas to break out the other lamps.

The Cheiron Group

''“Well this is interesting,” Perry said, looking up from the exam table. “Seems this one’s left ventricle is actually made of some kind of plant fibers, not muscle.”''

“Can we use it?” Gretchen said, not looking up from the microscope.

''“Don’t think so, there’s not enough left to really get a decent culture from.” Sighing, Perry got up from his chair and walked over to where Gretchen was examining part of the thing’s brain. “What about you?”''

''“No dice, big boy,” she said, shaking her head. “Thing’s just more plant fibers, albeit plant fibers designed to look like human neurons. Like someone was trying to make the most detailed horticulture in history.”''

''“I’m pretty sure you’re screwing up your terms,” Perry mused. “So what can we tell the boss lady?”''

''“You can tell her we did everything we could, I’ll stay down here and keep Johnny Appletree here company.” Perry nodded. Despite the week-long session, they hadn’t been able to find anything of use from their latest subject. Admitting defeat, Perry went to hang up his surgical smock.''

“H-h-help…me….”

''“Oh Christ, he’s out of the anesthesia again,” Perry said. “I told them to keep it a constant drip, now I know they’re just screwing with us.”''

''“It doesn’t matter, just put it out.” Nodding at Gretchen, Perry went over to the “Johnny Appletree” and smiled. “Sorry buddy, slight change of plans.” Taking a scalpel in hand, Perry cut the veins leading to the heart, watching the light fade from Johnny’s brown-green eyes.''

“That reminds me, I have some gardening to take care of when I’m done here.” Gretchen said, going to hang her own gear up.

Cheiron loves fairies, absolutely. They’re a grab-bag of new implants to dig through, and a new jumping point for new company expansion. It’s an uncharted area of study, and Cheiron wants to lead the way.

First, there’s the profit to be made. Like Null Mysteriis, Cheiron is excited about what the fairies can offer in terms of human medicine, from gene therapy and potential manipulation of human/animal genomes, to the introductions of new life forms and seeds of alien plant species. A new way to modify their agents, without the time consuming surgical procedures, or the risk of agents dying in the process. Yes, Cheiron loves fairies, especially on the operating table.

What Cheiron has tried to do is a strategy similar to what park rangers do with wild animals. It’s all about not spooking the prey. If a fae runs and hides it will probably escape, it’s the patient hunter that gets the prey. They follow at a distance, track it carefully and move in when the opportunity presents itself.

Over the years, Cheiron has started to learn the difference between the different creatures that fall under the term “fae”. The changelings are the ones that interest them the most, the humans changed in such ways that seemingly require no surgery at all. Whatever this method is, Cheiron is willing to go to great lengths to have it. Goblins and other creatures that were never human can go either way, though the possible implants to be gained do pique the interests of some of the higher ups, and the board has authorized limited collections.

The most powerful fae, however, are sought with the greatest interest, and the greatest force. The Company Handbook contains a highlighted section on the true fae, detailing the enormous rewards offered for a live true fae, though with little on how to actually capture one. Even though Cheiron has never successfully taken one of these beings alive, the siren song of money continues to lure the Field Projects Division and hunters of a mercenary bent into trying.

Retrieval

They’re starting to get in hot water over in Retrieval. Cells tasked with bringing in fae have never exactly been great at meeting quotas, and it’s only seemed to get worse. The fairies almost seem to know when a Retrieval team is coming, and the second they do, it’s time to bail the hideout and go elsewhere. So Retrieval’s been making some desperate bids, but one takes the cake. They’re trying to get people kidnapped. Someone found a way to call up a fairy for sure, and now they’re gonna use all they have to grab what comes out. They think that as long as they plan out the situation, they’re always gonna come out ahead. Almost none of them see any problem with this.

Recruitment

There’s not really a reason for Recruitment to worry about the fae. After all, they’re looking for other hunters, not monsters. But every so often, one of their people goes off the handle about how they’re gonna be killed by their double or doppelganger or whatever. That’s when it hit that some of their people were already compromised. Now everyone is combing the records, trying to root the monsters out before things get really out of hand.

Field Research

Field Research has been doing just the opposite. They’ve actively been looking for fae to come in and help Cheiron with it’s “research” on their fellows. So far, few takers, but they’ve encountered a group who seem to share Cheiron’s interests, a large group of changelings who are willing to work with Cheiron to unlock the secrets of the source of a fairy’s power. Field Research hasn’t taken the offer up yet, but if they feel there is some very real gain to be made, they’ll take the chance and start up relations. Like in Retrieval, the Directors aren’t very happy at Field Research’s progress with the fae.

Story Seeds

The bosses had a fellow cell of yours try out a new implant last week, and at first it worked out well. You heard they managed to start bringing in the freaks by the dozens, and you were there as backup and getting the credit too. It seemed like they knew exactly where the freaks were going to be any second of the day, and it kept working. Until last night, when one of them was found dead and hanging from a streetlamp in front of the office. The company managed to get them down before anyone could call the cops, but then a second member of the cell turned up dead, it’s body and head found in two separate locations across the city. Now you’ve got to round up the cell, and figure out why the freaks want them dead.

You’ve hit paydirt now. A whole group of fairies who didn’t even know you’re coming. You and your cell were loaded up with tranquilizers and enough drugs to take down a raging werewolf. You got in, took them out, and got’em back, dollar signs already flashing in your eyes. But as you started walking towards the exit, things go into lockdown. Seems a freak with water for hair managed to short circuit the electronic locks in the room, and now all hell’s broken loose. Now you’re trapped in a multi-story lab with panicked civilians who don’t know a thing and a bunch of monsters looking for blood. This is so not worth that bonus.

The Lucifuge

''The thing, the “goblin” looked over the gun I was offering, weighing what I knew was it’s emotional weight and power inside. It stuck it’s eye down the barrel, throwing it around in it’s hands. “This could fetch a price, but I need to know what you want,” it said, putting it down on his empty table.''

''“I’m looking for the Grimmory of Azaphel,” I said. “Written in 1134, in Bagdad, by Musharaf bin-Gazari.”''

''“I’ve heard of that book,” the thing said, smiling. It’s crooked, pointed teeth were stained and yellow, and the smell out of his mouth wasn’t all that different than rotting meat. “But what makes you think I have it here?”''

''“Your sign says you have all the needs a customer could want,” I answered. Truthfully, his was the only stall that didn’t have a dead body on the table, so I figured it might be a little more trustworthy. It may seem stupid now, but at the time, I figured it was my best chance. “And I want that book quite badly.”''

''The thing smiled at me, and I could feel it’s eyes in my soul, looking me over to decide whether I was a good customer. That it smiled even wider made me all the more uneasy. “Of course. Just wait one moment.” Taking the gun with it, I felt a tug at my mind, and knew that something had been taken. If I had been blessed with better luck, it would have been meeting my “father” for the first time.''

''“Here you go,” it said, placing a musty and ragged book on the table. Flipping through it, I found what I’d needed. “And I hope I can see your business again.”''

''“I doubt that,” I said, leaving in a hurry. Sparing a final glance back at the stalls, I realized that the overpass it was underneath was slowly being encased in vines. That’s why we’re going tonight. We need to make sure they can’t go back there again. We need to destroy those vines.''

The Lucifuge knows what it’s like to be hated for who you are. Not many hunters are willing to work with a person who can summon up demons and throw hellfire, even if they explain that they’re fighting Hell itself. With a reputation like that, it’s little wonder that the Lucifuge are the most merciful towards beings called changelings.

In the Lucifuge, mercy is just as valued as combat ability, and they do their best to understand the changelings and their situation. The changelings, they didn’t ask for any of their new lives, and neither did the Lucifuge. There’s almost a kindred spirit between the two groups, as the Children of the Seventh Generation will often go out of their way to understand the changelings, their fears, and getting them away from the bright lights of other hunters, unless, of course, they’re the loyalists who are attempting to help their fae masters, or the privateers who decide they’re better suited selling their services doing evil. It’s part of what the Lucifuge see in themselves. Some rise above the madness and slime they find themselves in, becoming part of something higher than what they are. Others fall to their natures, and they are sought out and killed without a second thought. It is as old a tale as the Lucifuge, and they pity those in the same fate.

The true fae, however, are as terrible a creature as the “parents” of the Lucifuge, and the Seventh Generation do their damnedest to hunt them down. No deals, no bargains, no contracts, just iron and hellfire, neither of which the fae can control. Lucifuge hunters with access to the Lady’s special libraries especially take an interest in combing through records and lists of names, discerning just what is demonic and what is fairy, since the two at times share frighteningly similar characteristics. Sometimes there’s a lucky strike in particularly old tomes, and some have succeeded in striking a few names from the lists. Hell’s record keepers, so to speak.

Fetches as they are as pitiable as the changelings to the Lucifuge, if not more. They are non-people, constructs meant to imitate life, and so they are doomed to either die without rest or be killed without knowing. The Lucifuge makes it’s own judgments on a case-by-case, and if the changeling is deserving of it’s life, and is able to reintegrate into society, the Lucifuge engineer a way for the fetch to be destroyed, ensuring the changeling a way to return to their old lives. Many times the process has failed in utter disaster, but the few cases where there is success makes it all the more poignant that, to the Seventh Generation, redemption and rebirth can be found.

Two things have gained the attention of the Lucifuge, though. First, the fae contracts and bargains is close to the use of contracts and deal making in demonology. To get the knowledge, some occultist had to pay the price, and to get anything from a fairy, someone had to make a deal. So a select section of hunters has been combing the “files”, looking up deals to make sure there wasn’t any mix up between the thing making the deal. Hell's record keepers, as it were.

The other issue is more complex. After years of spying, trailing, and many lost hunters and allies, the Lucifuge found out about the goblin markets, locations where hobgoblins and fae trade everything, yes everything, for a price. From a video game console to the arm off of the world’s best shooter, everything’s for sale, even lives, as Lucifuge have spotted chained changelings being herded about for sale. The first time, the rescue failed, as the changelings were literally dragged through a forest and over a train track, with one unfortunate changeling being run over by a freight car. So the Lucifuge learned, finding that there must be a trade. The Lady Lucifuge had two ideas that night; one, study the hobgoblins. They’re too much like demons for comfort, and she wants information on what they are quickly, thank you very much. The second is trickier. She’s secretly trying to negotiate with the most powerful of fae lords for an offer no one can refuse.

Sidebar: A Certain Tithe 

'''Long ago there was a war between the legions of Hell and the courts of Faerie. Perhaps the demons were victorious, perhaps they were tricked or perhaps the faeries thought it would be more convenient to bribe the demons than fight.'''

'''The truth of the matter is irrelevant, what matters to the Lucifuge is that the faerie courts sued for peace and by virtue of their infernal blood the Children of the Seventh Generation are bound by the treaties. The pacts are long, and written in dense legalese but the gist of the rules are rather simple: There is to be peace between Hell and Faerie, neither side may attack the other physically or magically, nor may they cause harm to another's status or property. Both parties must hold to a standard of decent behaviour with each other, etiquette must be adhered too and hospitality offered. The penalties are strict, and anyone who breaks the treaty loses all defence against Castigations or Dread Powers used by the offended party.'''

'''The treaty covers all demons and their children among the Lucifuge and Les Enfants Diabolique. From the faerie side only the true fae are covered by the treaty. Anything else, from changelings to all sorts of lesser fae creatures can only claim the treaty's protection as property of the true fae. The Children of the Seventh Generation also enjoy protection for their property. Both for their goods and any employees, followers or cultists they may posses. Their mortal family also enjoys protection as property of the nearest demon or Child of the Seventh Generation in their ancestry.'''

'''So can a Lucifuge march right into Arcadia safely? Well yes they can, if they can find a safe road to carry them. They can even request food and lodgings but they better follow all the rules of etiquette expected of a guest or the true fae would be entitled to kill them. Can a Lucifuge claim ownership of a changeling to protect them from their former keeper? Again yes, but this doesn’t mean the true fae are without options. They might simply turn up and offer to buy their former slave with riches, powerful magic items or secrets that could be the difference between life and death. They could use the very treaty as a weapon, requesting hospitality and attempting to trick their host into breaking etiquette whereupon they will demand their escaped slave as recompense, or kill their host and just take their slaves.'''

'''The more changelings a Lucifuge attempts to protect the more likely they are to end up with someone the Gentry want back, and if you have 100 faerie servant’s on paper then when the Gentry drop by you'd better be able to offer the kind of welcome it takes 100 people (or half-people) to prepare. '''

The Denial

There’s a reason the Lady Lucifuge wants to negotiate with the fairies that every other member of the Lucifuge doesn’t know. It’s the idea of playing one against the other, of the enemy of my enemy. The Lucifuge is directing the Denial to start contacting the Gentry of the fae, trying to strike a new contract on behalf of mankind. It seems that there were a few mistakes in what the Denial is convinced the last one was, a contract that the ancestors of man made with the fae. It’s in the research they’ve done, the fae can’t really act without a contract, and stealing men, women, even children, well that’s some serious screw-ups in that deal. So the Lady has a plan; rewrite it, or write a new one. Have the fairies steal the monsters away. The vampires, the werewolves, even the demons, they feel the fairies might be the ones who can clear them away from earth. And then, once they’re gone, the Lucifuge can get closer to it’s goal of destroying the monsters and their evil from the world.

The Reconciliation

Fire and sword are two words the Reconciliation live by, and to try and show kindness to creatures who lost themselves the way changelings and fetches did are unworthy of any redemption. It’s not like they’re people anymore, and if they choose to give to their monstrous natures, to follow the path of their “fairy” selves and forgo their own, then they are to be sought out and destroyed. Only, there’s something different about the knives they use after killing a changeling. Oh, it still smells of sulfur and roses, but when they press their ears to it about an hour after killing a changeling, they hear not roars and rattling chains, but a content growl and freezing wind. Try as they might, destroying hobgoblins, other monsters from the dimension the fairies come from, even the true fae, none produce the same result.

The Truth

Members of the Truth are looking for the existence of the gentry, the fairies who kidnap and kill at a whim. Everything has a reason for existing, after all. Demons came as the angels who decided to buck God’s commands to let humans take the Earth and follow Lucifer in rebellion. Werewolves have legends about a mighty wolf-god who had lain with the spirit of the moon and so brought about hybrid children. Witches spin tales about lost Atlantis, etc, etc. But there’s no great tales about how the fairies came about, no stories or facts. There’s ideas that they’re dreams given form or maybe even humans who found a way inside and managed to survive in their new world, but they haven’t found a fairy who can tell them. So they’re burning through the books, looking in the oldest tomes for answers. The only ones they can’t access are the ones in the Lady’s library. But they’ve got a few ideas how to get those.

Story Seeds

There’s a rumor among the Lucifuge that Hell and Arcadia are just different sections of the same dimension. Though “conversations” with demonic parents try to put an end to such ideas, few are willing to put much faith in those “truths” put forward by their demonic ancestors. After all, the tales told by the changelings tell of tortures at the hands of beautiful women or perfect men, if not machine-creatures or watery nymphs. The truth is rumored to lie in a bottomless hole in Montana, even if it was featured on a silly radio show that doesn’t know half of what it’s talking about. Unfortunately, one thing it did get right were the men in black standing guard over the area. Something’s definitely up, so what now?

A recent trip by one of your fellow Lucifuge to Germany’s Black Forest yielded some interesting results, not the least of which was a changeling, literally made in the image of the cartoon fairies, a dancing light that on closer inspection is a human woman with wings. She claims that the fairy has been tempting women away for centuries, holding them captive for it’s own amusement. Only it says that the contract was cosigned by a man who could shoot hellfire from his fingertips, and that the family is still running around. If you’re lucky, it’s a member of L’Enfant Diaboliques causing the trouble. If not, then you’ve got some digging to do through the Lucifuge genealogies.

Malleus Maleficarum

''“In the name of God, the Father, creator of all things, I commit these actions to His holy work.” With those words, Fr. Hennessey pressed the hot iron onto the monster’s body, the creature letting out a great shriek of pain, the sin released from it’s form. “Confess, or be damned to hell for eternity!”''

''The monster shrieked in agony, as it’s human face shifted into one of plastic, glass eyes rolled up into it’s head. The hot iron melted the left side of it’s face, plastic dripping onto the concrete of the church basement. “Please!” it screamed, it’s face distorted in pain. “I don’t know anything, I just wanted help!”''

''“We’re giving it to you, you monster,” Fr. Hennessey said, as James and Karen stood by the door, keeping the other instruments hot in the kerosene burners. “Now tell us where the others are!”''

''“I told you,” the thing cried, as it’s wound slowly solidified. “They’re gone…you killed them all…why are you doing this!”''

''“This is the work of God,” Hennessey said with conviction, turning and walking back to the burners. “Any word from the others yet?”''

''“No, Father,” James said, putting his phone back in his pocket. “But my cousin in the police just texted me, they’re putting out the fire now.”''

''“I see,” Hennessey said, taking a set of iron pliers from the burner. “And your contacts, my dear?”''

''“Nothing, Father,” Karen said, putting the iron on the burner. “What happens if we can’t find them? What if…Oh God, Father, what if she’s lost forever?”''

''“She will not be, my dear,” Hennessey said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We will have the faith to see this through, and not even the servants of Hell can keep us from this task.”''

''“Amen,” they both said. Nodding, Hennessey turned back to the monster. “Now, before you start losing your teeth, tell me where they are.”''

To the Shadow Congregation there is an order to things. First vampires, then witches, then demons. Bauldino, and by extension most of the Shadow Congregation's hierarchy does not care greatly about faeries. They have a party line, but it’s rarely enforced or even explained unless someone goes out their way to attract their attention. However this disinterest does not extend to the entire beliefs of the Malleus Maleficarum. Away from Bauldino and his Order of Longinus the Hammer of Witches can be very interested indeed, and without a stern hand on the leadership the Shadow Congregation engages in theological and doctrinal dispute as heated as any argument over the scripture.

Over the centuries, the Shadow Congregation has learned that there are indeed differences between the various fae creatures, and there is some difference in handling them. The changelings cause the biggest divisions between the Orders. Opinions range from changelings being victims in need of support, no longer human but still able to accept God and one day ascend to heaven. Others say the changeling is just another monster wearing a humans identity as a mask, at best it's simply not hurting anyone, yet. The “true” fae rarely get such benefit of the doubt, whatever they are their actions speak clearly. The gentry are monsters to be purified with iron and fire. The doctrine is like that of all other monsters; it is not of God, but of evil and sin. The Bible, or the works of the Church, do not mention them, and with how they behave towards God’s creation, it’s little surprise that they’re seen as evil.

There is one case guaranteed to attract the Shadow Congregation’s full interest, rare though it may be. Some of the fae set themselves up as gods. They thrive on worship, feed on it like it’s a drug, and some of the followers are too happy to comply with calling their false lords their gods. The issue is telling genuine faerie worship from bored teenagers gazing into crystals and drinking crappy organic tea. Or knowing the difference between the followers of a changeling who just wants maypole dancing and free beer and the cult that follows a member of the fae who demands human sacrifice. The Malleus favors using it's community links to uncover the truth; put 13 good Catholic children in a coven and at least one of their parents is only too happy to talk to a reassuring member of the Church. If they’re just taking drugs and talking about seven circles of Frali, then they’re just idiots and it's the not the Shadow Congregation's responsibility; they are the Church’s' soldiers. It is for the local priest or missionaries to bring wayward sheep back into the flock. If they are followers of something darker, then things take a turn for the drastic, as police raids on their homes and jobs discover drugs, weapons, and sometimes worse. They’re taken away, and even if nothing can be proven in a court, the disruption is more than enough time to show their so called gods the wrath of real divinity. When religions start hurting people, especially false ones, the Hammer of Witches takes a very keen interest.

Order of St. Ambrose

The Ambrosians are learning more and more that the changelings are not creatures to be feared, at least most of the time. Mostly, they deserve pity and mercy, both of which the Order has in ample supply. For the true fae and those changelings loyal or mad enough to serve them only the Lord’s justice will suffice. They’re gathering data on the changelings, secured by their knowledge of technology that the other orders still need to gain. They’ve learned there’s a structure to the changeling life, that courts and freeholds and brotherhoods are major players to the kidnapped and abused fairies. They’re building a database of all they’ve found, spread across a variety of computers over dozens of networks. That way, even if their others find the truth, they can’t see the bigger picture unless they find the other computers. Why go through the trouble? Because the Ambrosians have noticed that there was an upswing of changeling returns over the past few years, same as a few changelings. They fear something big is       coming.

Brotherhood of St. Athanasius

Like everything else, the Athanasians look at fairies through the eyes only a fanatic can possess. To the Athanasians, the changelings can only find their redemption in death, and whether that death is quick or slow, it still has to die. Fetches, hobgoblins, true fae, they have no human self, and so they are destroyed without remorse. Archbishop Gallaher has made it clear, no fairy can be allowed to live. Plus, it provides ample proving grounds for how loyal an Athanasian really is, because Gallaher still plots war against the Longinians, and the fae provide an ample testing ground to prove the skills and abilities of loyal brothers and sisters.

The Sisterhood of St. Wisdom

The Sisterhood is not like the others. The Sisterhood has a merciful purpose, and they keep the Vigil by tending to those who have been harmed by the supernatural. To the Sisterhood every changeling has been harmed, taken to Arcadia and suffered torment perhaps only exceeded by Hell itself. Every changeling is therefore within their remit to help and heal. Some among the Sisterhood think that since a changeling is still mortal they need only help them rebuild their lives until they reach St. Peter with a clean slate. Others seek tirelessly for a way to break the “curse” that makes changelings what they are. None have taken the dangerous and risky task of offering mercy to one of the true fae. They, more than the Ambrosians, clash with the Athanasians on the treatment of those changelings that are found.

Sidebar: Someone’s missing

'''What about The Order of St Longinius? Simply put, they’re not here because for the most part they don’t care about the Fae. They’re vampire hunters, not goblin killers. Some have petitioned their leaders to start widening the scope of their abilities, but Baudolino has set his foot down. The Order will continue to stake and bring in vampires, no matter the cost.'''

Story Seeds

“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” It’s written in stone, for God’s sake, and yet you’ve seen them everywhere in your town. A bunch of pagan idolaters preaching of the beauty of nature’s perfection, and their nature god who is to be worshiped in the forest. Frankly, you could care less, and went about protecting the area. A weird cult springs up, fine, at least it’s not killing anyone. Until the dead pets start turning up, with a strange language carved into their fur. The parental groups are crying Satanists, but you’ve seen real Satanists before, and this isn’t their work, it’s too amateur. Maybe it’s time to find out why these cultists are going out in the woods.

The boy died young, and you were there saying the rites as he was laid in the ground. You thought that he would find peace in heaven, but then the newspaper reported a grave robbery the other night, and that his coffin had been opened along with others. You comforted the parents and went to see things for yourself, but the police said the body had been replaced with a few loose bits of garbage and rocks, when all the other coffins were empty. They also said the boy’s coffin was also the last one to be dug up, which means whoever it was found what they were looking for. Maybe it’s time to look around for anyone who would have need for the body of a boy who died so young.

Task Force: VALKYRIE

''“Colonel, would you mind explaining to us why you felt it necessary to commandeer several Abrams tanks for this latest mission? We’re still fighting off inquires from the base commander.”''

''“Sir, the issue was concerned with a large extra-dimensional breach in the vicinity of Fort Indiantown Gap, sir,” Wilkins said, standing at attention. “I deemed it necessary to commandeer the tanks to prevent the forces from the gap spilling onto the base and into the surrounding area.”''

''“So there was complete containment?” the official said. His face was just out of the bright light of the room, obscured by shadows, but Wilkins could see the smoke from his cigarette wafting into the light.''

''“All subjects sighted were either eliminated or sent to China Lake for further study,” Wilkins said. “We’re currently investigating what caused the breach, but we’re not going to hold our breath.”''

''“Satisfactory,” the official said, taking a drag on the cigarette. “Return to your cell for you, Colonel, we’ll call you when needed.”''

''“Sir,” Wilkins said, snapping to attention. Quickly he left the room, and met his adjutant, Cpl. Jens. “Let’s just get out of here, we’ve got some trouble to fix.”''

“I just got a text from Helkowski, she said there’s cops in the area reporting weird graffiti popping up in the towns around the base.”

''“I figured as much,” Wilkins said, checking his pistol. “Let’s get ready for a long night, Jens.”''

VALKYRIE knows there’s more out in the world than just vamps and wolves, that sometimes those things don’t even obey any kind of basic biology. They are creatures not meant to be in this world, things that, if revealed, could upset every basic tenet of human existence as man knows it. So VALKYRIE holds it’s Vigil with as much conviction as it can, damn the torpedoes and monsters from another dimension.

Until 1947, TFV’s mandate was to handle simply the monsters and madness that lurked in the darkness, but something happened. Of course, everyone knows about New Mexico and Roswell and the like, but that was the cover up, of course. VALKYRIE just got lucky when that weather balloon went down and the farmer who found it didn’t know a thing about what he saw. The real bodies turned up a few miles east of his property, and the government went to work on obfuscating the truth. They drummed up false stories about aliens and flying saucers and metal sheets that couldn’t bend so everyone would be busy focusing elsewhere. They even went the whole route of making a secret base to draw attention away from the real work on Extra-Dimensional Entities at Naval Air Weapons Station China Lake.

Despite the suicides and rates of defection that were quickly handled, VALKYRIE realized they were facing a possible invasion force. Creatures that could hop back and forth between dimensions and steal whoever they wanted, change them into what they needed, or even whatever whim there was. And that there were more than the few that VALKYRIE had captured in this “Arcadia”, enough to overwhelm the world if they weren’t careful. So VALKYRIE eliminated the captives and moved on, constantly on the lookout for fairies, looking over local legends and folklore, since the qualities of the prisoners eerily fit quite a few urban legends that TFV had been looking into.

So how does VALKYRIE handle the fairies? How they handle domestic terrorists of every stripe; observations, report, and containment. Ever hear about Van Eck Phreaking? TFV has. Hell, they practically pioneered the technique. Cell phones have become a boon to TFV, and not just because of the Patriot Act. DCSNet? It wasn’t all VALKYRIE. But that black budget was a big bonus. Fairies have never had it worse. Laser microphones bounced off windows, drones over American airspace, it’s all there. They only keep the black vans because of tradition, but those vans are still packed full of observation equipment.

That’s the hard part, though. Once they find the fairies with certainty, TFV finally gets to break out their tools and get to the real work. Thanks to FORT research into trans-dimensional capabilities, they’ve found out ways to block fairies from jumping between dimensions. Materials that would normally be wasted is finding new use on the front against fairies. Maybe it’s not as direct as certain cells would like it to be, but just because you can’t always shoot a problem doesn’t mean it can’t be solved with good old fashioned intelligence and paper-trails.

So why go through all this trouble for what are essentially a group of abused refugees? They’re subversive, they’re manipulative. They use and abuse patsies and enslaved, draining America dry in a way the conventional authorities can’t handle. So it’s up to VALKYRIE agents to move in and take out the fairies before the lampreys drain the nation dry.

Project: TWILIGHT

TWILIGHT is the closest thing TFV has to “ground pounders”, the go-to faction when it comes to the heavy lifting. TWILIGHT agents are called up for every kind of problem imaginable, including the fae. So TWILIGHT is constantly observing, tracking, and eliminating fae hideouts. There have been casualties, but the agents of TWILIGHT have seen little difficulty with the situation, since they actually feel something is being done against this threat. Busting markets, breaking up fae gatherings, it’s the one thing a TWILIGHT agent feels is a success.

Operation: ADAMSKI

ADAMSKI almost finds the fae laughable. No one believes in them anymore, or if they do, that they’re just little women flitting about, little gnomes working mountains for gems and singing. So ADAMSKI rolls them together with other abduction stories, creating tales of aliens and flying saucers in areas where the abductions are heavy. For now it’s worked, but the Network Zero idiots are trying to bring them up more often, so ADAMSKI’s been working on doing what the NetZos hate; claiming it’s all a marketing tool. So far it’s worked. How long it can keep up for is anyone’s guess.

Project: FORT

FORT, however, knows the fae aren’t something to laugh at. Combing through tales of abductions, strange phenomena and the like, FORT investigators have encountered enough EDE’s (Extra-Dimensional Entities, “Eddies”) to know that they’re too dangerous for people to be around. So FORT agents have advised all VALKYRIE cells to start carrying some kind of iron weapon on their person, if only as a last resort. They’ve also been to the Hedge. It seems using the Gatekeeper in areas of high fairy activity trigger the agent not to enter the Shadow or Underworld, but the Hedge, the barrier between the fae dimension and the one mankind inhabits. What worries FORT agents is that the barrier is weaker in areas of fae activity, meaning that something is possibly weakening the border between worlds. Until they figure out what that weakening is caused by, though, they’re going to keep trying to educate the conspiracy’s other hunters on just exactly how the fae can change a man without even trying.

Story Seeds

TFV keeps track of various abduction support groups, knowing that for every ten crackpots, there’s probably one legitimate story in the group. So you constantly listen to the droning tales of new life and inner beings, until one story clicks. The abducted mentioned being taken to a kind of forest, through thorns and wild woods, experimented on by bizarre rock-things and then dropped back in his car without any time having been passed. He even gave a location of where it happened. Looking back, more than a few people have disappeared from that lonely stretch of highway. Maybe it’s time to take a little road trip.

Your cell’s been tasked with cleaning fairies from the area you’ve been posted in, and so far it’s gone well enough. By giving the cops the psychological profiles of the freaks, you’ve managed to keep a lid on things. Then one night you woke up with a knife at your throat and one of the freaks over your bed. “Don’t try to fight our war.” With that, it ran from your hotel and out into the dawn. The threat didn’t get to you, what did was the word “war”. If someone is going to war, that could make the people see the truth. You’ve got to head this trouble off at the pass before it’s too late.

Tier One

No hunter can be worse off against the fae than a lonely group of people in a single cell without the means or connections to help them in battle. A hunter at this level barely has anything to help them except their wits and their cell in this case.

Cells mostly don’t have the ability to really differentiate between the fiction and the reality of the monsters, on the ground the distinction between various fae creatures can be confusing at best. Add in the innumerable lies and fictions created by paranoid fae trying to hide, unscrupulously manipulative creatures of all stripes and fantasy authors trying to entertain and the truth can be impossibly obscured leaving hunters with nothing more than a few lucky guesses that might be right in a few old books or new age crap.

First impressions can count for a lot with cells. A hunter who first hears the story of faerie slavers from a manipulative changeling is less likely to believe that story when another changeling genuinely means it. Even when a hunter is convinced that abduction is the cause of faeries they are hardly going to know the whole picture: How do the kidnappers choose their slaves? How do some escape? Was it even an escape or were they aloud to leave? Even the fae don't know everything, so how is a hunter supposed to piece together the capitol T Truth from scraps of third hand information and lies? No, it's far more likely that a cell will end up with some stitched together idea from folklore, faerie tales, and what scraps of information they got from the fae. Full of wards or behaviors that might at best be effective against a particular faerie.

It's not just the big issues that can be confusing. The little ones are just as obscure. If a hunter with The Sight sees a group of graceful elves rescue a child from a band of gruesome ogres what will she conclude? She might think that “elves” are good and “ogres” are bad. She could even extrapolate: Pretty faeries are good, ugly faeries are bad. That's usually how faerie tales go, Cinderella was beautiful but her stepsisters were ugly. What she probably wont think is that this was a battle between those who oppose the true fae, and those still loyal to them. She might even try to work with the elves.

That’s right, work with fairies. Since a lone cell isn’t usually bound by any mission statements or restrictive dogma, they are able to make their own choices about which monsters they could possibly trust. It’s not easy, and a lot of lone cells make the mistake of thinking that the fairies they know aren’t capable of the evils other monsters are. The tightrope is long and thin, and the fall into being a slave to a fairy’s whims is far. Still, it’s part of the Vigil, and the risks are often overlooked if it means saving lives. That’s all a tier one hunter has a lot of the time. Then again, they could learn to specialize….

On this job you've got to be careful the pressure doesn’t get to you. A guy I ran with for a few years snapped, he started seeing monsters, “fairies” he said, everywhere he looked. No matter how he tried to prove it they were human. I had to call the cops on him.

- Billy Houston, The Paladins

Last week I dreamed of a boy I used to date. We just talked about my life, he seemed so heartbroken when I told him about my husband. I just found out he's been murdered. The boyfriend not the husband. Someone shoved a blackberry vine down his throat. What's going on?

- Shauna Brown, The Sixth Street Slayers

Iron doesn’t work! I beat a faerie with an iron railing and she just laughed at me.

- Louis Williams, Brooklyn Heights Neighborhood Watch

Does anyone know which folk tales about changelings are accurate? My son's exact double came home yesterday saying he escaped from the faeries. I need to know how to protect my boys, both of them!

- Clare Fisher, lone Hunter.

A faerie told me the secret! If you want to tell good faeries from bad find a proper blacksmith and get a nail made of iron. This is important! The nail must never be heated, work it cold with hand tools only. All you have to do is prick a faerie with it, if they're good they won't feel any more than you or me. If they're bad they'll be in agony.

- Duncan Smith, God’s Demons 

Story Seeds

It’s game time. You’ve found a goblin market, and you’re ready to make the raid to end it. You’ve grabbed your iron, your cell is ready, and when you arrive, you all go over the plan one last time. You went around the corner ready to battle, and stopped dead. There in front of you were police, patrolling the stalls, unaware that monsters are lurking among them, selling bodies and living people and other things alongside the mundane and normal. The police have been infiltrated by the monsters. Now you’ve got the local authorities on your ass if you try to shut this place down. This will not be easy.

After months of dodging tricky contracts and questionable pledges, your cell has struck a deal with the local fairies for information in return for leaving them alone. It’s working out well so far, but there’s rumor a new cell has rolled into the area, shaking down other hunters for information on local fairies and their dealings. Just who are these guys? And can you keep them off long enough before they see your cell as sympathizers?

THE SONS OF Cú CHULAINN

The Hounds

''“In the name of St. Patrick, the glorious apostle of Ireland, and invoking our patron, the warrior Cú Chulainn, I hereby declare this meeting to begin,” Jonesy said, sitting down with the other officers. “Now, any new business?”''

''“Yeah, the charity food drive has to be moved to next week, the high school is having a basketball game that day.” Kenny shrugged. “They had to reschedule everything thanks to that pipe bursting.”''

''“That’s acceptable,” Jonesy said. “Do they still need us to fix that pipe?” Kenny nodded. “Paul, you’re still doing the job right?”''

''“Yeah, I can try,” Paul said, speaking up from the other club members. “But you’re gonna need to give me all the time I can to fix that.”''

''“That’s fine, just keep us up to speed,” Jonesy said. “Now, is there anything else? No? Okay, James, what’s the status of the unseelie on Corson street?”''

''“The fairies are using a cover of an ordinary family,” James said, getting up, walking to the front. “Mother, father, two smaller ones as children, one even acts like the family dog, for what that’s worth.”''

“Dangerous?” Paul asked.

''“I saw three kids in the past week get taken into that house, and all of them were reported missing later that night.” James shook his head. “They don’t appear to be armed, but I’ve seen small shapes running around their garden at night ; little yellow eyes and such.”''

“When is the best time to prepare the trap?” Jonesy said.

''“During the day, they all either have day jobs or go to school, looking for victims.” Paul turned to Lenny. “Lenny, can you get inside without your boss getting suspicious?”''

''“I have a job in the area, yeah,” Lenny said, his job as a utility worker perfect for such missions. “Gas line explosion, or just a spark and raging inferno during dinner?”''

''“Dinner, and don’t give’em a chance to get out, break all the doorframes you can and jet.” Satisfied, Jonesy nodded for James to sit. “Alright, now that the unseelie are handled, the softball season is coming up.”''



Cú Chulainn was an ancient hero of the Ulster Cycle of Irish mythology, a mighty hero known for his great deeds in protecting the kings and people of Ulster from their enemies. Like the ancient heroes of the great epics, he too dealt with great gods and creatures from beyond man’s understanding, and fairies were part of it. Despite Cú Chulainn’s love for the fairy Fand, following her to her lands would destroy the fairies totally, and so Cú Chulainn and his wife drank a potion made to help them forget they had ever encountered fairies.

Of course, the Irish immigrants to America had bigger things to worry about than a few old stories, with hatred and suspicion weighing against them. Many banded together, forming fraternal orders to protect themselves and their communities, insular groups who fiercely stood against the outsiders that would push them back to famine and hatred. One such group called itself the Sons of Cú Chulainn, a force of ex-soldiers from the Civil War, recent immigrants, and children of immigrant parents that was created to protect Irish communities along the East Coast. Theirs was not a Vigil against the darkness of the unknown, but the darkness of human evil, of man’s cruelty towards his fellow man.

In fact, until 1957, the larger organization had known nothing of the darkness lurking behind mankind. As predjudice against the Irish fell away, they became a force of charity and kindness to their communities, though some of the more monetary members would aid certain connections in the homeland with certain goods. Then, in September 1957, a group of them left on a trip to see their ancestral homeland for themselves, traveling through the four provinces up to Ulster. It was in Donegal, on the shores of the Poisoned Glen in Dunlewey, that the men made a discovery.

Walking along the shores of the lake, the men noticed that the woods became thicker and thicker, thorns impossible to avoid along the way. Then, a growl from behind them alerted them to the presence of a wolf-thing, which they knew were supposed to be extinct in Ireland. The wolf things closed on them, but then a mighty roar erupted from the thorns, and a group of men came from the forest and killed the wolf things, the men covered in ancient clothes and tattoos. If it weren’t for the fact that one of the Sons knew Gaelic, they might have been killed as well. As it was, they managed to make their way back to where the men came from, and from there, they realized just what was going on in the world. The chief of the village explained what they were, a small community sent to live in the area by their lord, as a buffer against the unseelie, fairies that were evil and hurtful towards men. There they had lived for only a short time, it seemed, and had thought that their land had been overrun by the unseelie months ago. After weeks of discussion and trading knowledge, the chief of the village made the decision to let a small group of warriors leave with the Sons, to learn about this new world they found themselves in.

Sidebar: Home away from home

'''The Son's access to a village in the hedge and authentic iron age lore is perhaps their greatest asset. It provides them with their endowment and their ability to see the fae for who they are. It also provides an easy way to escape from trouble ; a short ten minute ritual can turn just about any door into a gateway to the Son's village. Upon arrival the Son's are likely to be greeted by friends, for it is a true living village (Safehouse Size 5+). They can requisition supplies for there is ample storage space for imports and the village is fully self sufficient with farmers and blacksmiths (Cache 5). If they need to they can lay low for a while and help with simple domestic tasks, there is little risk of being found when hiding in an alternate dimension (Secrecy 5 against fae, just assume no one else can find it without help from a Son or faerie) and though the village has no Traps it is defended by a thick wall, watch towers and resident warriors, all administered under the watchful eye of Chief Áed mac Néill (Status OOOOO+) '''

'''All this comes with a small catch. There are only two ways back to Earth without risking a journey to the Hedge, leading to Quincy, MA in America and the countryside in Donegal, Ireland.'''

Once out of the thorns, both the Sons and the villagers saw fairies and monsters everywhere, and by some miracle they managed to find their way to America, a few well placed bribes and favors helping them. It was tricky, wrangling the forged passports and papers for the villagers, and a few times they had to make up admittedly thin explanations to the authorities as to why their friends only spoke the Irish. They wouldn’t have made it past a border patrol if one of the villagers hadn’t been wise enough to bring with them some gold from the Hedge. They all agreed that the British lust for riches for once worked out in their favor. Finally, they were able to make it to America.

At first, no one at the Sons clubhouse the men came from believed the tale, until the village warriors decided to show the proof by dragging three mutated bodies into the clubhouse. Seeing these bodies, the Sons membership decided their legacy needed to be carried out. There was a lengthy discussion that night, trying to decide whether or not the membership needed to tell anyone what had happened. In a battle of words that carried on long into the night, and right through the morning, the officers of the club asked the members to vote on the proper course of action; cover it all up and pretend it never happened, or contact their other clubhouses. Arguments were given for both sides, and the entire house nearly came to blows. But in the end, the vote swung in favor of informing the other divisions. The possibility that the creatures their grandparents warned them about could be preying on their community, their own families, and were even more dangerous than they had been led to believe, was all the reason they needed to return to the brotherhood’s founding purpose.

They contacted the other clubhouses in the East Coast, and presented the evidence in the forms of the bodies of the fairies. With the knowledge of the villagers in their possession and modern arms and tactics at their fingertips, the Sons started to seek out the fairies in their cities. They had connections in the police to protect them, the Church to guide them, and their families to support them, or at least not question why their husbands and fathers were coming back at one in the morning with strange stains on their clothes. They even managed to find a way back and forth into the village, though at times it was nearly closed off by thorns. Still, the village sends it’s young men out into the world to combat the fae, seeing it as the duty given to them by their lord. Eventually, the club went international. A few houses have started in Canada and at the request of Chief Áed the Son’s are making a special effort to reforge ties to their ancestral homeland, giving them a steady base to draw on manpower and support should the need arise.

Since then, the Sons have constantly been guarding their communities, under the guise of their charitable fraternal actions, making food banks for the needy and community renewal projects to prevent decay in their towns. They use their connections to the needy to gauge what is happening in their areas, and when they do, their true selves show. They drop their kindness and generosity and pick up their iron, the ancient bane of their fairy enemies. They cover themselves with ancient Celtic war paint and tattoos, along with donning modern bulletproof vests and rifles, setting out to find and destroy their ancient enemies.

To even become a member of the organization, a prospective member must prove first that they have Irish roots in their family, mother's side preferred. Once these traces are confirmed, the prospects are looked over to see if they can be counted as members who will hold good standing. If they have no major criminal charges, and if no one in the house brings to light any unsavory business, they member is sworn in at the next possible meeting. Induction into this battle is another matter. Not every Son knows about their connection to hunting fairies, and to even be allowed to know, they must have either seen the monsters in their true form, or become an officer in the organization. Thanks to the incidents of fairies attacking clubhouses and gatherings, though, most of the organization knows the truth by accident rather than design.



'''Neart i Bráithreachas. '''

Strength in Brotherhood.

The Enemy

It’s the fairies, plain and simple. The Hounds have gathered up files over the decades of their various enemies, and each clubhouse sends its representatives and files to the national meeting held in Quincy, Massachusetts, to compare notes with other clubhouses and cells in the compact. Their current national president, Kenneth McCullugh (Status: 00000+), has been dedicated to turning his organization into the top fairy hunters in the world, because they’re the only ones who seem to be dedicated to doing any real fighting. What they have found has raised eyebrows.

The ancient Celts divided their fairies into two distinct courts, the Seelie and Unseelie courts, the Seelie generally benevolent and merciful, the Unseelie cruel and malicious. It has been these two distinctions that have guided the actions of the Hounds since 1957, particularly in a strange diplomacy. The Sons often attempt to meet Seelie fairies halfway, knowing they generally help mankind. These “changelings”, as they call themselves, generally respond with suspicion, and the Sons are cautious when meeting them. They make no contracts or agreements. When they do meet, they merely give an ultimatum. “Do not harm any man, woman, child, or other in this town, and you shall be left alone.” They emphasize the point by killing any fairy who decides to ignore the warning, and take a stand against the fairies.

The Unseelie are worse off, and hunted like dogs. Fetches, goblins, the “true fae”, they’re all hunted and destroyed, with each clubhouse storing a small stash of hand forged iron weapons, taken directly from the smiths of the village, along with an arms cache and medical supplies. They lure the Unseelie into battles they cannot win, using booby traps and even mundane law enforcement to combat the Unseelie. Because the monsters don’t want the truth to be found, and so they usually force themselves to go along with the police, if only to save their own hides. They never realize that their hideouts are bombed until it’s too late.

They know that there are different types of fairies too, from ones that can manipulate water to bird-men to skeletons draped in tight fitting skin. Their abilities are usually documented, and when the time comes to battle, the cells in the compact usually know what to expect. They also know of goblin markets, and take every chance they can to break them up with fire and lead, scavenging the wreckage for anything useful.

In battle the Sons of Cú Chulainn show a unique mixture of modern and iron age. They go into battle with a iron sword in one hand and a gun in the other, wearing Kevlar and camouflage above blue war paint. Sometimes they fight fairly or even arrange a duel of champions against the Fae. Other times it's an ambush or a bomb. Like any true warrior the Sons are practical and favour what works, and against an enemy as tricky as the Fae what work's isn't always the weapon that makes the biggest explosion.

As for the other monsters in the world, the Sons do combat them, but without the fervor they battle fairies with. Vampires are shot, werewolves are shot, it doesn’t matter. Witches, however, earn a strange place in the group. While not trusted fully with the secrets of the Hounds, they are consulted, especially if they have the knowledge of fairies the Hounds seek. This may put them at odds with more militant witch hunters, but the Hounds have learned to take every advantage they can. The fairies sure do.

Sidebar: Conflict of Faith?

'''Anyone who knows the Irish knows that they’re pretty much all Catholic now. Even if they’ve gone and become atheists, they’re still Catholics, for Christ’s sake. Only Catholicism came after the villagers took their place in the Hedge.'''

'''Slowly, more of the villagers are converting to Catholicism, but it’s not overnight. The headmen of the village still cling to their old ways, following the gods of their ancestors. They accept that the White Christ is powerful, but fear that their gods will be angry should the entire village convert. McCullugh and Chief mac Néill don’t want it to become an issue, so the issue of the village religion is left alone, and the villagers are free to worship whoever they wish. But as more and more warriors from the village are baptized into God’s Word, and fewer and fewer observe the worship of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the headmen fear that their protection from the Hedge will vanish.'''

Hunters

Your father was a member. The teachers in your high school were too, along with a few of your neighbors. When you took your oath to get in, your chest was nearly bursting with pride. You went to help with the kitchens, you took up the toy drives outside the local stores, you felt like you were doing something good. Then your Dad came to you one night asking for your help with some club business. Since then you feel even prouder of what you’ve done. You’ve never once felt guilt.

You lost your son to a monster with scales and fangs. Your brother died when he got dragged away through one of their doors, and your cousins have all either gone nutty or died in the fight. Whatever the case, you’re the last male in your family that still knows the truth, and the truth is starting to weigh on you whenever you see your grandkids, nieces and nephews.

You were born in the village in the Hedge, and your first encounters with the modern world took some getting used to. You still don’t quite understand how the “television” works, and the giant metal boxes called cars frighten you a little. But you understand fighting just fine, and you smiled when your brothers introduced you to the “flamethrower”. It feels comfortable using fire against the monsters.

You've been a police officer, and before that a soldier. You've used a gun for more years than you can remember, so when they put a sword in your hand you were skeptical. Then they showed you how to swear a geasa. Sometimes you still need the last two thousand years of weapon development on your side, but you've never had a weapon feel so right in your hand.

You’re one of the women in the auxiliary, and you know that it’s mostly a “boys club”. You’ve had to fight to prove yourself every step of the way, including proving that you could take down a giant ogre like the rest of the men. It actually seemed easier to get respect from the men from the village than the guys you knew from the club, but either way, they always listen when you start telling them what to do. Little surprise, you’re also still single.

You’re the lead singer/bassist in a regional Celtic Punk band. You also handle all the scheduling and managing. You always keep your brothers informed on where the fairies are moving in the local music scene, and sometimes you still pick up your sword and protect the lingering fans after the show.

Stereotypes

The Union: A man has the right to protect his home and his surroundings, and these ones certainly have no problem with that. But they’re too sloppy in their battles, and there’s too much of a chance of innocents dying. Not to mention the stories I’ve heard about how they can get a little too overzealous.

Malleus Maleficarum: Br. Maynard came back to us after a long trip to Rome, and he seemed different. We found out why when he used a brilliant flash of light to literally send the fae running from our position. He said that he would still be our brother, but I have to wonder just what that trip to Rome was really for.

Null Mysteriis: They follow us every so often, scientists and doctors with equipment and tools meant to study our enemy. Our brothers from the village often have trouble understanding their terms and sayings, but they take the time to explain it to us when the fighting is over. It’s as we say. The smart warrior learns about his enemy, the foolish one dies from his lack of knowledge.

The Lord Stewards: They’re in league with the fairies. We don’t know which ones yet, but they’re certainly in some kind of partnership. They met with our chapter in Belfast, said they wanted to negotiate a truce between our men and the Unseelie they were fighting. Fucking fools are gonna pay one of these days. And I doubt we’ll try hard to save them.

Divisions

The Hounds usually divide themselves up in accordance to their specialty within the group.

The Song of Erin (Amhrán na hÉireann), are the record keepers and directors of the compact, ensuring that the many encounters their cells have are taken down and studied: so that their victories might inspire the Hounds to further victory, so that their fallen are properly honored, and so that they’re able to combat similar enemies effectively and without loss. Membership in the Song of Erin is disproportionately drawn from the village, due to their knowledge of fairies from the ancient times. Free Specialty: Occult (Fairy Lore) or Expression (Heroic Tales)

The Hand of Ulster (Hand Uladh) are the charitable members of the organization, organizing soup kitchens, food drives and clothing distribution, keeping an ear to the ground for unusual activity. Often, the homeless are the first ones to notice something off, and their intelligence is invaluable when proven true.

Free Specialty: Streetwise (Homeless)

The Red Branch Knights (Laochra Brainse Dearg) are the greatest numbers in the group, handling the hunting and elimination of fairies on a cell’s territory. They are mixed of both those born in the modern world and those warriors the village sends out to learn about the world.

Free Specialty: Weaponry (Iron Broadsword)

'''Sidebar: There is also one more division, The Daughters of Cú Chulainn (Iníonacha na Cú Chulainn), the women’s auxiliary to the Sons formed in 1967. It is just as involved in the Vigil as their male counterpart, and many of the women in it are capable fighters in their own right, and act as a ready reserve in case numbers are needed. Does this split really affect the operations of the compact? No, but it is a pretty heavy boys club in there. If your character is a part of the Daughters, their free specialty is Streetwise: Local Community'''

Status

Status in the Hounds is easy enough to earn. As long as a member is in good standing, and is either capable as a planner or fighter, they are accorded the respect they deserve, though only officers can rise past three dots. Becoming an officer is a process attending specific classes that teach members on the finer points of the organization and fairies themselves. Losing status is just as easy, though. Harming civilians purposefully in pursuit of a fairy enemy, or betraying club secrets can often mean severe reprimands and even expulsion and arrest by the police. One thing the Sons are not short of are police able to produce the evidence of a person’s wrongdoings.

Status 1: Freshly inducted into the organization, you gain access to the clubhouse in your area, which equals a two dot safe house, the dots to be spent as you wish.

Status 3: You’re seasoned well enough to figure out a few things about fairies, but you’ve also trained in the village and gained a “sixth sense” to see the fairies for what they really are. You gain the Merit: The Sight. If your character already has this, take Unseen Sense: Fairies. If you already have this, you may instead use '''Unseen Sense: Wyrd. 'If you actually have both'', apply whatever specialty you see fit, as long as it applies to the hunting of fairies.

Status 5: You’re a big dog now, and you’ve got the attention of everyone in your house. Treat this as the Inspiring merit, regardless of the prerequisites.

STORYTELLING THE SONS

The Sons are warriors, that’s essential. Some of them keep the lore, some of them keep an ear out, but at the end of the day, when you compare a Hound to a first tier hunter, the first tier would be lucky to make half the hits a Hound would in one turn of combat.

If you’re telling a story with the Sons, play up their connections with each other. Show them with their families when they aren’t on the hunt, and compare that with when they’re with their brothers on the Vigil. Contrast their usual natures with how they are in battle. Show the men they are to the world, versus the men they are towards the fae and other monsters.

A Hound isn’t against teaming up with other hunters in a temporary alliance, but don’t count on that being long term if they have the same morals as a drug dealer, or the lack of concern for the innocent shown by throwing the supernatural in people’s faces. They will, however, show a great deal of respect to those who protect their own, who seek to understand what they’re fighting, and the members of the Catholic Church.

The Potion: Legend says that since Cu Chulainn would have destroyed the lands of the fair folk, he could not go with his love Fand to her lands, and he and his wife drank a potion made by the druids to make them forget the whole affair ever happened. Mostly, it’s one of the first cases of a deus ex machina in storytelling. But you’re not so sure anymore. After running into the potions of some “Cult of the Phoenix”, you think that the druids sold some of their secrets. If you can find it, maybe you could have a way to help everyone who’s ever had their lives ruined by the fair folk once and for all.

Brother From A Fairy Mother: You couldn’t believe it. You have a member who knows his mother isn’t his real mother. Only it’s all Norman Bates like. He willingly brings his mother people to sell to the Unseelie. He says that they’re just the dredges of society, dealers and abusers of the worst kind. This guy’s trying to play vigilante in a way not many in the house feel comfortable with. Only turning him over would not only mean breaking the geasa of every member of the house, it would also implicate everyone in a string of murders that a few police officers who are also members have helpfully kept concealed.

Conscription: Sometimes, it’s not enough for the house to accidentally find out about fairies. If the leadership of a house feels they need to, they’ll orchestrate a fairy encounter that will bring in a trusted member to the Vigil. But one house in the Southwest is taking things too far. They’re forcing fairies to attack the entire clubhouse every few years, and drafting the members into battle. McCullugh’s pissed, and he’s tasked your cell to take care of things. Can you really fight your own brothers?

ANTAGONISTS

Despite their usually boisterous and kind natures, the Sons are quite easy to show as antagonists. Their admittedly ancient knowledge of their enemies has so heavily colored their perceptions to the point that the second they see a fairy messing with a person’s head, they’re liable to break out the broadswords and call it a night, even when the fairy was helping that person break an addiction or work out some memories they wanted to deal with. Add in their codes and rules of behavior, and you have a person with a cell who’ll die for them, and possible connections to the local police that will make life a living hell for their enemies. Enemies who can include Hunters working with the “wrong” fairies.

There’s also the fact that constant war is not healthy for the warrior, or his mind. If a Hound is lucky, their brothers and sisters will catch them before they fall, but too often, the only warning sign is when they march right into the middle of town and start killing fairies one by one.

The Riastrad: Some crazy bastard is running around your town killing people. A slum downtown lost five of it’s residents, and later that week, a high-class McMansion was found caked in blood. The police say they found the guy, but a month later, they were at it again, tearing through the forest and a popular campground nearby. One of the few survivors took a picture, and thanks to the net, you recognize the markings on the killer’s arms as Celtic war tattoos. The cops lied about having this guy under control. Time to find out why.

Sean Finn Brothers: You prefer to fight monsters, but there’s word that a terrorist group in Europe is getting supplies from your area, and after 9/11, your cell promised that it was going to fight those monsters as well. So you’ve staked yourselves out where you hear the deals are going down, in a nearby stone quarry. Well, you found the deal, but saw your area’s police making the deal, not to mention some local priests, and some weirdos who were wearing kilts and nothing else. They were all carrying swords too. What the hell?

Looks Deceiving: You were out the other night when you thought you say these guys ganging up on some homeless with swords. You thought you were gonna call the police, but then they started shouting in some weird language and opening doors that led to some kind of forest. You’ve got some looking in to do now. Why attack the homeless? Where’d that door lead? And who were those nuts?

THE WILDE SOCIETY

The Bohemians

The click of the tape recorder cut through the silence.

"This interview is being tape recorded and may be given in evidence if your case is brought to trial. The time is 2100 hours on Monday 12th May 2008. Location is the Sandford Sheriff’s office."

"Interviewer is Sheriff Mike Target, chief of the Sandford Police Department. My role today is to interview you in relation to the offences you've been arrested for, and I will be making notes during the interview purely for reference. Also present is Deputy Joan McCollins.

“Can you give your full name, your date of birth and can you confirm for the tape there are no other persons present in the room please.”

''Across the desk sat the archetypal tall dark stranger. He looked at Mike silently with an expression of disinterest, or as the Sheriff thought bitterly, he might just be on drugs. Eventually he answered the the air somewhere above Mike's head.''

“My name is Lauren Philip Willem Abraham’s, there are only three people in this room”.

Joan passed her boss one of Lauren's portfolios.

''“Rather impressive work here: Trolls and bums warming themselves by a barrel fire. A blind knight with a crown of dead leaves, a sword and an apple. A terrified little girl being dragged underground by unseen monsters.”''

He leaned closer

''“I used to fancy myself a bit of an artist, until it turned out I couldn't draw for shit. Maybe you could give me some pointers. Like where do you get your inspiration?”''

''At the word inspiration Lauren's expression became even more vague. He took a pen from his sleeve and his portfolio from the desk and began sketching.''

''The click of the tape recorder cut through the silence. “Maybe you'll feel more comfortable talking about that off the record?”''

''“Can you do that? I thought the real equipment was part of the room.”''

''For a moment Mike was stunned into silence, it wasn't that Lauren knew how police interrogation rooms were built. It was that he seemed to have missed a blindingly obvious fact.''

“That's why we're having this interview in the cafeteria, dipshit!”

Lauren looked up, even as he continued to sketch, after a moment he seemed to conclude that they really were in the cafeteria, then he went back to his sketching.

''“Lets not beat about the bush Lauren. You know this town has a problem with faeries, hell you probably know that better than anyone. I need your help, I need your help to save lives. Human lives, aren't they more important than art?”''

''Lauren replied without even looking up. “They don't last as long.”''

''With a huge sigh of frustration Mike got up and walked around the desk, but then he paused. “I need a coffee, be a dear will you Joan.”''

''As soon as Joan left for the kitchen Mike ran as hard as he could through the other door. A few minuets later Lauren decided he had been forgotten entirely, he collected his portfolio and walked away. All he left behind was a sketch of Mike looking exhausted in his uniform, standing next to Joan who had a look of cruel cunning, a dress of dewdrops, icicles adorning her antlers and one hand possessively upon Mike's eldest daughter.''

''Two nights later the first shot was fired in the war between Sandford's hunters and fae. Much blood would be spilled on both sides, but Lauren was not among them. He was enjoying an opera in Sydney at the time. ''



In the middle years of the reign of Queen Victoria a young impoverished artist encountered a mad beggar woman. To her delight she learned the man was an artist – for in truth she had not suspected such a thing existed so far from the Brugh – and to his horror she immediately accosted him with all sorts of promises if only he were to marry her: That she would be a dutiful wife, they would live well and never want for money or comforts and that she would inspire him to greater art.

This was the last anyone heard from either the artist or the beggar until a solicitor arrived at the Albemarle Club some thirty years later. He politely informed the porters that he was an executor of a last will and testament which stated the club had been bequeathed a large body of artwork and a set of personal journals. The news caused quite a stir among the artistically minded patrons for the bequest was indeed large and included many pieces of the finest qualities.

In his journals the deceased artist spoke at length about his wife; describing her as a fire in his breast that burst forth onto canvas and a madness he preferred to all sanity. He spoke about the times they shared together, seeking out the fair folk who inspired him more than anything else. Enchanted by tales of adventure and the beauty of the bequeathed artwork three members of the Albemarle Club dedicated themselves to the search for the Fae.

The first artist followed accounts from the journals to found the hidden faerie courts within London. He demonstrated his skills and petitioned for membership, but unaware of the faeries subtlety in words he was soon bound to serve as poet and consort to the faerie queen for the rest of his days.

The second artist travelled north to find a hidden door mentioned within the journals. On the night of the full moon he crawled into a barrow. He opened a hidden door with a glass key and entered an endless maze of thorns from which he never returned.

The third artist studied the paintings themselves for many years. Aided by laudanum and opium he began to discover secrets of the brush no others had seen. He saw how the portraits of a comely woman revealed the truth of her faerie nature in the most subtle details and he interpreted the meanings of faerie ceremonies captured on canvas. With what he learned the artist went out into the city. He set out his canvas and his paints and with opened eyes he could see the faeries for what they were.

He was inspired and that very day he promised to teach all who wished how to see the world as he did so.



We're mad,

bad

and dangerous to know

The Subjects

The Wilde Society considers the fae not enemies, but subjects. Paintings, poems, even dramatic plays. It's not about protecting people, it's about finding inspiration. The fae are the greatest inspiration an artist could hope for, and the Society would only be too willing to help others find this inspiration too.

Yet for all that they might delight in the affliction of beautiful madness the Wilde Society are no dumber than the next man. They know that the fae can be capricious, fickle and deadly. Overcoming these dangers is the reason the Society can be can be called a hunter compact rather than an art circle. The Society exists to help it's member's gain their fix safely.

Experienced members guide the beginners through their introduction to the faerie courts; helping them gain a stable position before they're eaten, cursed, sold or tricked into a pledge so tight they're practically slaves. Others know the secret ways into the Hedge, and how to survive long enough to return with strange fruits who's unearthly flavour is the subject of many poems.

When the fae become more threatening and dangerous than usual, when mad ogres kill and eat those who trespass upon their bridge or goblins steal peoples shadows and courage during the night, the Society's usual response is to take a holiday. They stop making new art and start getting their old art into a gallery, they travel and see the exhibitions they've read about but never had a chance to enjoy or just seek safer pickings elsewhere.

All this frustrates and occasionally disgusts the other compacts, and even some conspiracies to no end, for the Wilde Society have a unique advantage: Intuition. While other hunters must scrape and struggle for the least bit of faerie lore the Society understands their subject through an impossible mad insight. Other hunters know the Society has the knowledge they need to uphold the Vigil. They try to cajole, appeal, bribe and occasionally strong-arm members of the Society into lending their talents.

Hunters

You were a hack who lucked onto one masterpiece of poetry. Your fans and publisher were hounding you for an encore and you didn't have one in you. But you'd heard of the Wilde Society in your literature class, who hadn't. They could give you the edge you needed. You knew it was risky, but you could quit if it ever got dangerous. The only thing is, you're not sure you can any more.

You didn't know it, but your boyfriend all through art collage was a changeling. He was your muse, your inspiration and then he was your ex. Only after the breakup did you realise how much you needed him for your art. The Wilde Society told you the truth, and helped you find a new muse.

You still love him, even though you know you should hate him. If he never brought you into the society you wouldn’t be... this. Living in a condemned one bedroom squat on what few paintings you can bare to sell, what you can steal and what you can beg from your parents. Using heroin to get through the patches without glamour and glamour to get through the times without heroin. You still want to see him again, even though you know it will be three months of passion ending with you waving guns and getting committed to an asylum again. You should hate him, but this is who you are and you’ll always be grateful he showed you that.

You spent most of your life bouncing between psychiatrists and asylums. Nothing would make the delusions go away. Just as your family gave up hope you met a member of the Society on the Internet. They showed you how to channel your madness into art. You're mostly functional now.

You were a hunter. An independent hunter without a cell. You became a hunter ever since a changeling tricked your friends and neighbours into signing away their lives and settled in your community. You tried to fight back but it was always one step ahead of you. A rumor led you to the Wilde Society, you heard they could teach you to understand it, predict it, think like it. They could, the job is done and now you can go back to your life. Only the things you understood, they were so beautiful, and terrible, you're not sure you want to go back.

You’re living the high life. You’re paintings are displayed in the most fashionable galleries. Your days are spent mingling in the garden parties and dinner parties of high society, debating form and meaning over french champagne and hard drugs. When you work you slip some cash and invitations to your friends in the society, in return they introduce you to faeries happy to model.

Stereotypes

Null Mysteriis:

A gentleman of science, and reason too

Will have questions for a man like me or you

What is the natural philosophy of the fair folk?

But he did not hear, when of beauty I spoke.

Ashwood Abbey:

The poet and the painter must all confess

That sometimes his work is not his best

Yet men of great wealth may impress

A yearning to line his decadent nest

Not for art, nor substance nor beauty

But for, the subject was a faerie

Ascending Ones: 

The muse is beloved tyrant

And the silvered needle

A friend when she is silent

I met a man of mystery

a goodley Arab fair

who promised that two

would become sisterly

He spoke plain and true

of that wondrous love

I told him all I knew

Then, away he flew.

The Office of the Lord Stewards: 

Once whilst waiting upon a faerie glade

By some chance I did meet a ministerial aid

Gray all through, gray man, gray suit, gray hair

How could he not see the beauty there?

Status

Status in the Wilde Society is a simple thing based entirely on your reputation with your peers. Producing good artwork and providing access to “inspiration” for your fellows both increase your reputation. However Status is also very easy to lose in this compact. A series of poor quality works, or if your inspiring trip into the Hedge gets someone killed, well then you can expect to lose some Status.

Status 1: As a member of the Wilde Society you have access to their galleries of past artwork. This counts as a dot in Library applied to faeries. The information is not stored in books but in paintings, poems, sculptures and all manner of artwork. This means that while members of the Society benefit from an exceptionally high quality Library about the Fae, anyone unable to see through the lense of Beautiful Madness can only benefit from it’s artistic beauty and not it’s practical information.

Status 3: Your involvement in the Wilde Society has paid dividends to your art career. You get a dot of Fame and a dot of Resources. Not to exceed 3 and 5 respectively.

Status 5: Long term exposure to the fae and their topsy turvy way of thinking has given you a peerless knack for knowing when you're under an enchantment. This works like the Merit Second Thoughts except that it comes from experience and intuition, not logic and introspection.

Muses:

The Wilde Society is far too loose an organisation to formally divide itself into groups, but there are several methodologies that have become prominent. Artistically minded members of the society, which is to say all of them, often use poetic language to describe these methods. Naming them after the Greek muses is common.

Melpomenens try their best to join faerie society. As the court artist, the human liaison, the rich person who bankrolls the new identities or even just the person who sweeps up after the spring dance. More than that, they try to make introductions and ease other members into making their own links to the faerie community.

Free Speciality: Socialise (Faeries)

Calliopeians track down faerie glades and rumours of fae activities to find the best places to watch the fae from a distance. Their investigations often lead to Hedge gates and their number includes most of the dedicated "Hedge tour guides".

Free Speciality: Investigation (Faeries)

Thalians are mostly dependent on other members of the society to provide access to their fix of Beautiful Madness. This limits their Status within the compact to the quality of their art. They must prove it's worth spending time and danger on them with results.

Free Speciality: Pick any art.

STORYTELLING THE WILDE SOCIETY

The Society are artists, not fighters. They look for great art and the fae who can make that art happen. If a fairy is messing with people’s heads and controlling their actions, the Society would exclaim that they are artists not fighters and let someone else deal with the problem while they peruse their art elsewhere.

With the Society, it’s important to remember that, yeah, they’re certifiable. Even when they’re starting out a member of the Society is clearly a little odd in the head. The most experienced members don’t even think like most people anymore, since their minds are so warped by Beautiful Madness that to try and think like a regular person again would be like trying not to breathe. They’re experts on knowing how fae think, but not on what humans do.

Despite all that, if the Wilde Soceity eventually do get involved in the Vigil they can make incredibly effective hunters. The Society possess knowledge, intuition and The Sight. If one member joins a mixed cell their talents can multiply the effectiveness of the other members. Some of the most effective anti-faerie cells have had a member of the Society serving as the brains of the group. If you missed it, this is an invitation to play members of the Society as the brains of an external Cell.

Frankly, a lot of hunters who know about the Society strong arm them, bribe them, or just plain drag them along when hunting fairies. The Society might not like going into battle, but as intuition for all things fae is an invaluable asset to the Vigil others might not give them a choice. Mainly, it’s those hunters with a federal or governmental background, with the Society’s tendency towards drug use a focus point for hunters with access to that information.

A Group Portrait: Your club got a very special gift the other week; a portrait of the founding members of the Society in the early days of the Victorian era. At first, it became the focal point of the club, members and visitors looking at the massive work with awe and respect. Unfortunately, something appears to have taken up residence in the picture. The members in the portrait decided to leap off the canvas one moonlit night and flee into the city, replacing themselves with a group of random people, including one or two apparently influential city players. If there is a way to put everything back, you have to find it before the police find your club.

Drama Therapy: A respected member of the society pays a social call. She is a particular fan of your group’s work and believes you can help her with a rather unusual project. A favoured nephew of hers is suffering from a mental disorder, and not one of the fun ones. He is suffering from sever anxieties and she believes dream therapy is the answer. She’s already contracted a faerie to do the dreamweaving, but she needs somebody with a more thespian background to write a plot and play the characters. That’s where you come in, a whole world as your canvas plus a sizable commission fee.

Star Crossed: Your mentor in the society taught you that the safest way to seek inspiration was to remain hidden and watch from a distance. That was before you realised it, after a month of watching the same Faerie you were shocked to realise you'd fallen in love. It's time to come out of the shadows.

ANTAGONISTS

Let’s be frank, the Society aren’t antagonists you would expect. They’re peaceable drug addicts who would rather paint than take on a fairy who’s using their abilities to do unspeakable evil to innocent people. But that’s what makes them good antagonists as well. During a string of disappearances where the only clues are twigs, trash and rocks, it doesn't matter if the Society are peaceful. They’re still the only ones with a clue what’s going on, and their pacifism is costing lives. It's time to show them what happens when pacifism costs lives.

The Match Girl and other Paintings: A common trope in Victorian stories is the idea of the pure innocent maiden who dies before she could be corrupted by the world’s sin. When the Society paints “dying” maidens you don’t mind, but now somebody has gone right off the deep end and is killing people as a work of art. For once the Society are being responsible, they’ve given you his name, address, and told you which faerie is commissioning these macabre works of art. But if you want any real help from them, you’re going to have to make them see reason.

The Prophecy: Since you weren’t able to strong arm any of the Society into helping your cell you kept them under surveillance instead. The precautions paid off. You were attending a public gallery opening held by the society, a series of paintings commemorating the history of your town. The Society was at first fascinated by a reoccurring motif, but then someone pointed out it should be reoccurring again soon. Now the entire Society has skipped town, can you bring one back in time to find out what they know? Or maybe, their clubhouse is deserted. Perhaps you could steal their mad techniques to put to better use?

Art Installations: It took a while but you've tracked down the cause of the sudden increase in the local faerie population. A member of the Wilde Society has been creating a series of artwork “each perfectly capturing the spirit of a generation in our town”. It turns out that each one is a beacon to guide changelings home. You're talking about an artist, not a fighter but making a famous artist disappear is a whole different question to a fae with no legal identity.

Searchlight

Loved Ones of the Lost

''Little Plumb ran as hard as he could through the streets behind the warehouses. The gunfire was still ringing in his ears as he rounded the corner on Franklin. They shot up the privateers, the people in the trenchcoats.''

''It was sheer luck that Little Plumb was already making his escape that night, the attack was just the diversion he needed. Sure, he’d learned a long time ago that his hands were able to unlock almost any door, but the privateers hadn’t been stupid. They’d bound his hands and broke his fingers. If not for the attack, he’d have been found for sure.''

''But the trenchcoats hadn’t stopped shooting. They just stormed the building, beating the captives into submission. Anyone who fought or panicked was beat down. “Who were they?” Little Plumb thought, tears starting to form in his eyes.''

''Grizalda, the seer, she’d started screaming at the sight of them, and they’d beat her. Ridgeback had punched one of them, and got tasered. Fear for what had happened to those who’d helped him escape forced him to look back.''

That was when he collapsed to the ground crying.

''The warehouse was in flames, black smoke climbing into the early morning sky. He couldn’t hear any sirens, but it didn’t matter. If the smoke was that big...''

''“Peter,” a soft voice said behind him. Spinning around, he saw a woman, wearing a trecnchcoat, staring at him, her shotgun falling to the ground.''

''“Get away!” Little Plumb shouted, scurrying away, flattening himself on the wall of one of the buildings that formed the alley. “Please, don’t kill me!”''

''“Peter, it’s me,” the woman said, taking off her trenchcoat, slowly moving towards him. “Don’t you remember?”''

''“I’m not Peter!” Little Plumb whimpered, but then memories started to come through. His favorite toys. His school. A house with a shed behind it...''

“Oh Peter, you’re so dirty,” the woman whispered, doing her best to wipe the blood off his face, licking her thumb and rubbing it on his cheek.

''Little Plumb froze. “Mom?” The woman nodded, smiling through her tears.''

Peter wasted no time hugging his mother again.

There's nothing in life more painful than losing someone you love, especially when you're left without answers to what happened to them. Hope is a source of strength, but its also a source of pain. Closure - however painful - comes with the chance for healing to begin and the opportunity to rebuild a life. Around the world, advocacy groups fight for the families of those disappeared by faceless thugs in the night, and even in stable democracies families organize to relentlessly push the police and media to keep the cases of their loved ones open. The drive for answers is a powerful thing. Meanwhile the pained turn to one another for support, trapped in a cycle of grief that can never reach acceptance without the closure of answers or their loved ones' return.

Searchlight was founded in Newark by Bearnard Anderson as just another such organization, a support group mobilized to keep pressure on media and police and even branch into their own neighborhood watch search-operations. They even had some significant victories in those early days, finding lost children working the streets or living in drug dens. It was one of those wins though that would change everything. His name was Kevin Telby, and after over a year in Searchlight, his mother Cassandra tracked him down. She found her son near frozen to death, unconscious in an alley, and in desperate terror and relief she grabbed him, thinking she'd never let go. That was the last moment of peace she'd know. When Kevin came home he was different. It wasn't addiction, it wasn't trauma, it wasn't any of the things that the counseling had prepared her for. He was perfect. He was the son she'd always wanted. And it was wrong. The fear crept on slowly. Asked later, she wouldn't be able to put her finger on when exactly she knew, but eventually she was certain. He wasn't her son. The question of her own sanity occurred to her of course, but she knew on a fundamental level that he was wrong. He wasn't who she had spent the most painful year of her life looking for, and somewhere her real son was out there, and this thing was standing in her way.

Even when the blood was on her hands she still didn't doubt. She called the only people she knew she could trust. Of course her Searchlight group-members were initially horrified to find a woman who they'd helped reunite with her son standing over his bloody corpse, but that didn't compare to their horror when before all of their eyes his remains collapsed into foil and twigs.

And that's how it began.

Word spread slowly. Many not believing at first, of course, but the word is that it was Professor Everett in Boston, who had for years been silently certain that he had been mad when he saw his sister dancing away with beautiful mad-eyed stranger that night, so long ago - who put the pieces together. He was the first to utter the "f" word, and turn to the stories for answers. He began to publish his theories, discreetly of course, in the hope that someone else had experienced what he had.

Meanwhile, another Searchlight group in New York, which had no knowledge of otherworldly creatures had had their own battles wrestling lost friends away from a blood cult that worshipped a member of the gentry. They noticed Prof. Everett's theories slowly making their way across victim support groups and missing people discussion lists, and they saw how his ideas matched the practices of the cult they fought. Cautiously they sent out feelers, inviting Everett to explain his ideas in person.

Professor Everett had the knowledge. Searchlight had the organization and the experience to put that knowledge into action. Together they executed a plan to attack the faerie when it was at it's weakest and drive it away before it could renew it's deals for another season. The result was Searchlight's biggest success so far and made Professor Everett's theories of faerie abductions into Searchlight's reading lists. And so, slowly but surely, up and down the Atlantic seaboard, Searchlight transformed from mere support and advocacy group into one of the most fanatical compacts of hunters the world had ever seen.

Perhaps Rumplestiltskin was lucky he didn't see what would have befallen him if he'd gotten away with the princess's baby.

''' [ Picture: A middle class mother is standing in a blood stained trench coat and combat trousers. An assault rifle is propped upright on the floor next to her feet. She is taking off her trench coat to reveal a sports shirt with the writing "Coach - St Mary's soccer Team" surrounding an eagle's portrait. She is standing by a mantelpiece covered in photos of her teenaged son.]'''

I am looking for my children.

The Enemy

Searchlight has been on the trail of the fae since Cassandra's fateful night, even if they didn't realize it till Professor Everett put it into words. They want answers about what happened to those the Fae take and their not going to stop until they get them. Until then, anyone or anything that might provide them a lead to those they love is a potential target. They don't yet realize the potential scale of the power of the beings they're setting themselves against, but that's not going to slow them down. They know enough at this point for wrought iron to be a popular material of choice for adornment in their searches, and faerie tales to be an important source of research.

In their search the compact is ruthless and even fanatical. They favour a hands on approach, walking the street – often armed – talking to informants and shadowing suspected faeries. So long as they're doing something the grief is that little bit easier to bear. Many members don't object to leaving fae corpses in their footsteps, but Searchlight draws a distinction between the abducted and “born fae”. They kill to find their loved ones, and spare the loved ones of others. Killing is not revenge or hatred, so they tell themselves, but every dead faerie is one less place their loved one could be kept hidden. One more family who will not have to go through what they do.

If there is anything in this world they hate more than the fae, it's the fetch. Any rediscovered loved one is now subjected to rigorous testing, often over the objection of the connected Searchlight member, but just as often under their own administration. The thought that there could be countless other families out there who don't even know that someone they love was even missing to begin with is something that keeps Cassandra up at night.

Following leads from the New York chapter, Professor Everett has discovered sub-cultures of those touched by the fae who may be able to provide answers. However these communities seem more than a little terrified to talk with outsiders. On at least two occasions, a Searchlight member has discovered a lost loved one hiding amongst these groups. On one occasion it was a joyous reunion between Mooncalf and her father Mike. The other time, the lost boy - Jack Candlelight - fled and the secret community rallied to prevent him from being brought home. The conflict was vicious - in the end the entire local sub-culture seemed to vanish without a trace.

Things fae are not the only forces in the night that Searchlight throws itself into conflict against. The Baltimore chapter's first Vigil was a conflict with the blood cult of an undead succubus. There are many supernatural horrors that claim human beings, especially children, for their own ends, or who recruit them into their ranks. Witches and lycanthropes may believe they are doing someone a favor by separating them from the human beings who love them to bring them into the fold of their "own kind". Whatever excuses these things may use, Searchlight will never give up.

Stereotypes

Network 0: Ever since Kevin Telby there's been a regular debate that occurs in nearly every group support meeting - what about all the other impostors out there? Not just the past returned who might be fakes - those we can track down and check. I mean the ones whose families never even knew they were gone. How can we begin to deal with that nightmare? Is it even our place to do so? Is it better to leave as many people in blissful ignorance as we can, at least until we find where the stolen have gone, and then we can worry about reuniting them with the real people? There's talk of trying to spread the word of the phenomena so more fakes can be uncovered. Apparently some Youtube channel specializes in this kind of thing. I don't know though, I worry about the panic and baseless suspicion we'd be sowing amongst families if we did expose the whole thing. Maybe we should wait till we have some solid shareable proof and cross that bridge when we come to it.

The Union: I love my neighbors. Ever since I lost Dan, they've been there with all the support I could hope for and more. The neighborhood watch they organized is something great, and I can't endorse it enough, but there's a difference between protecting our families, and going out there and getting back people who are already taken. I don't blame them, after what happened to me I understand that most people's response is to make sure the same doesn't happen to their families. I'm sure I'd feel the same way if the shoe was on the other foot. I volunteer to help the watch when I can, and in return they can be trusted to help out if anything turns up locally, but when it comes to digging up answers far and wide, I know who I can really trust.

Ascending Ones: Just because we discovered stranger things lurking the night doesn't mean we've forgotten about all the other horrors that can separate families and friends. Drugs, gangs, the sex trade, they're as terrifying as any alien horror lurking in the mists. That said, we can't turn down leads wherever they may creep up, and you can't learn anything that goes on on the street's seedy underbelly if you aren't willing to talk to people who live in that underbelly. Drug dealers make for fairly regular sources if you can pay. There are even a few who seem strangely eager to help - offered to act as a go between and come back with information from one of those runaway communities. I'm not sure how much we can trust them though.

Task Force: VALKYRIE: The government is worse than useless. If they know anything they won't share, and once the Feds come in on the investigation you can count yourself completely out of the loop. Even trying to get answers in one of these cases will get you threatened with obstruction charges! I made the mistake once, about three years ago, of sharing some of what we'd uncovered about some sort of street gang that seemed to know things with the agents assigned to my brother's case. After not hearing anything back for a few days, I took a few friends to look into it. The entire building they'd been squatting in was burned to the ground! And what we heard on the street was that men in black SWAT uniforms were responsible. I don't want to leap to conclusions, but suffice to say I won't be trusting anything we uncover to any fed or cop again.

Hunters

Ever since you're husband disappeared only one thing matters, getting him back. The network helps of course but an the end of the day there's just four things in your world. You, your husband, your gun and anyone standing in your way.

It was hard, but after two decades you've had to accept that you're not getting your wife back. To thank Searchlight for all its help you remain a member to support the new generation in their search. Mostly you provide counselling and help keep the infrastructure running but when there's a lead you're the first to get your coat on.

You've told the network that you're here because faeries took your siblings, two older brothers and an older sister and it's true but it's not the whole truth. The faeries took you too and you made it back, you're still human too. Perhaps you're immune, maybe you escaped before you were transformed. It doesn't matter. Survivors guilt is eating you alive, so long as you're on the hunt you can ignore the little voice saying you abandoned your brothers and sister.

To everyone in town you're a single mother and a full time carer for a severely autistic daughter. You're on the parent-teacher association, contribute to every bake sale and manage the local kids soccer team. They don't know about the secret compartment under your kitchen filled with guns, that most of your income comes from mail in contests; you never lose after a little promise with your daughter. They don't know that your daughter wasn't autistic before the fae got her, and they certainly don't know you spend your nights killing any fae you can get your hands on. You say you want to make sure no body else has to go through what you went did. Keep telling yourself that.

When your wife vanished after just a moment alone in the dining room didn't suspect anything supernatural. Why would you? Then you began dreaming of her, she said she was kidnapped by the fae and how to rescue her. Your tale reached Searchlight and you're something of a golden boy within the compact under the direct tutelage of Everett himself. The professor can name exactly which faerie tale you seem to be living and thinks you might be the key to, well everything. You just want your wife back.

You're one half of a husband and wife team and you have all the advantages. You're both in public relations, your daughter is beautiful, pre-teen, blond, blue eyed and caucasian. You've kept her disappearance on the front pages for half a year now, made finding her a hot political issue. You've even helped finance your search with million dollar book deals and exclusive interviews but so far it's come to nothing. You didn't believe it could be faeries at first, but now you're starting to think it's the only explanation.

You're the worst kind of cowardly scum imaginable. If the others in Searchlight knew you sold your own husband to the fae to cure yourself of cancer they'd kill you, slowly. You still go to the meetings and help the network on their searches because every night you're pointing a gun at some confused changeling for taking your husband is a night you don't have to confront the real monster. With Searchlight's emotional training you're starting to believe your own lies.

Status

Formally speaking, there is no hierarchy in Searchlight at all. It is still organized as a series of support groups in major metropolitan areas up and down the American East Coast (and they're expanding, making contact with others who have lost loved ones without answers to the night across America, and there's even some chatter in Europe and Australia via online support groups, but there's still only a half dozen to a dozen or so members in any major city where they organize a group). All organizational work is done by members who volunteer for the job. There's generally no "policy" decisions being made other that scheduling meetings - the few cases where there's actually been a question of whether to exclude anyone or not it is generally put to a vote of the present members. Still, there are members who have risen to prominence like Cassandra Telby and Professor Everett. Status is generally earned by making connections or providing resources that are put to the disposal of other members in their own searches. Those who give the most are the most trusted with the help of others.

Status 1: The people in the support group you started attending are able to give you more answers to what may have happened to the your loved one than the police will ever be willing to. Your desire to find your loved ones has been reinforced in the group sessions, perhaps to an unhealthy level. Whenever you risk Willpower to gain a clue or further your own search, if you succeed you gain one additional Willpower from knowing you're on the right path (in addition to the usual point, for a net gain of two willpower) – even if this pushes you beyond what your Willpower pool will normally allow.

Status 3: You can be trusted to regularly go out and support other members in their searches, and as such are more likely to gain the same support. Gain 2 points worth of Allies in Searchlight.

Status 5: You have proven yourself, uncovering major information to help others, or reuniting a member with a lost loved one. You are something of a minor hero in Searchlight. You can are trusted with virtually any information that Searchlight members can provide for you. This is the equivalent of 3 new dots of the Contacts merit applied wherever you wish.

Agendas

While all Searchlight chapters and hunters are united in their struggle, there are different tactical agendas that guide their vigils.

Most search on a case by case basis - driven primarily by the search for their own loved one, but organized together to support each other in their respective hunts. Cassandra Telby is something of a defacto organizer of these Stalwarts, helping unite people with the right knowledge and resources with the fellow Searchlight members they can best help, and vice versa. All the decisions of which of course are still defined by her own search for her son.

Free speciality: Streetwise (Missing People)

Other members take a broader view, hoping that answers will be more effective in helping them achieve their reunion, or at least bring them closure - or revenge. Professor Everett was the first of the Priers. Understanding the nature of what is taking people, where they are being taken, and what happens to them forms an overarching goal independent of any individual case.

Free Speciality: Occult (Abductions)

Finally, there are those members who have achieved some form of closure or another (or at least come to terms with their own lack of it) and focus on providing support for other members still struggling with their what happened or their vigil. Bearnard Anderson is a teacher and an unoffical leader for the Councilors. They also work to help those who returned with overcoming their trauma - there's a lot of good research toward this end coming out of an organization on the West Coast that is becoming required reading for Councilors. This also gives them the role of uncovering the Fetch and other imposters wherever they may lurk.

Free Speciality: Empathy (Trauma)

STORYTELLING SEARCHLIGHT

Searchlight's motives are refreshingly simple. A faerie (or a vampire, a witch, a mortal criminal, or something else) has taken somebody they love, and they're going to get them back. Telling a story about Searchlight can be simple as deciding who has taken their loved ones, and what obstacles must be overcome before they can be rescued.

Yet there is another side to Searchlight. The delicate balancing act between the Vigil, employment and family life has always been a part of Hunter: the Vigil. Searchlight puts extra effort into walking the razor edge, for many members feel that they didn't choose to take up the Vigil. They never chose to sacrifice their comfortable existence for the greater good. Their chance for an ordinary life was stolen from them along with their loved ones, and they believe they can take it back. Searchlight's Endowment allows them to protect their normal life from the stresses of the Vigil, keeping it pure until they hopefully can return to it one day.

When portraying Searchlight take time to show the duality of member's lives. On the vigil they're driven, even fanatical hunters. At other times they're regular people, seemingly free from (or at least less affected by) the Tells and stresses hunters get on the job. The occasional scene at work, home or volunteering in the community can help show what was stolen and why Searchlight fights so hard to get it back. Seachlight's use of contacts and informants to look for leads provides a way to include glimpses of mundane life without putting the plot on hold, but be careful not to let the Vigil intrude into a scene that's supposed to be about the mundane. Using mundane scenes to acquire dots in Allies or Contacts and Vigil scenes to make use of them is always a safe option.

The light, the rock, and the hard place: Ever since that faerie crime lord threatened your son into a pledge of servitude you've been tearing his organisation down piece by piece, until he realized who you were. Faeries like to make bargains, and he's holding all the cards for this one. He'll let your son go, he'll simply stop giving him orders under the pledge. In return he wants a pledge of servitude from you, since you've clearly shown yourself to be a far more valuable resource. Just to make sure you agree you're son's sitting with a gun pointed to his head. You don't have a choice, but you don't intend give up now. It will take all your daylight social skills to arrange your own rescue beneath your new boss' notice, and all the skills you learned on the vigil to survive for long enough.

In the Public Eye: The worst day of your life was when your son vanished, and the best day was when the police returned him alive and well. Yet you couldn't shake the feeling that your son was not your son. The police don't believe you. Your family don't believe you. Even the DNA tests do not believe you. But Searchlight does. It all made so much sense when they explain that the boy living in your home is a fetch. You know you have to get your son back, but until you do you're going to have to pretend all is well. With your family concerned, the police eager to protect a much needed boost in public approval and the media eagerly reporting every moment, there's just no way you can get rid of the fetch until you're son's ready to take his, its, place.

Playing Politics: Your town has always been blessed with peace and prosperity. Imagine your surprise when you realise it was literally blessed, by a powerful faerie. All that good fortune comes at a price, one teenager per year. This year it was your daughter and no body wanted to believe she was abducted, everyone insisted that she was with her father or that she had run off seeking fame and fortune. You knew better of course, and when you started investigating other so called “teenage runaways” you saw how deep the rabbit hole went. Enough of the parents just waiting to join something like Searchlight, all they needed was someone to believe them. Now you're going to get your kids back, but to get your kids you need to get to the faerie, and to get to the faerie you have to go through the town council and a town too guilty to face the truth.

ANTAGONISTS

Searchlight's goals are so understandable and sympathetic that it can be hard to see them as antagonists, but that is the very reason why using Searchlight as antagonists can add so much depth and drama to a story. Searchlight has a good justification for anger, that's undeniable, but how far can they push things before even rescuing a loved one isn't enough of a justification?

When portraying Searchlight as antagonists play up the way members will go to any length to rescue their loved ones and give a little extra focus to members motivated to "make sure no one else has to go through what I do", or revenge in less polite language. Most members will at least ask if a faerie was once human or a "born faerie" because the last thing they want is to kill somebody else's stolen loved ones. If you focus on members who don't care you have an effective antagonist who's motives are sympathetic but who's methods are suspect.

Searchlight's Endowment can be very useful to a storyteller using Searchlight as antagonists. Members are protected from the drawbacks of The Code: It is possible Searchlight it is possible to have a large personal Code yet still function normally in mundane society. Seeing members of Searchlight as ordinary, kind people while off the Vigil can help players see them as a character rather than just an antagonist. More directly, a member of Searchlight can be a pillar of the community while carrying around a Code large enough to socially isolate other hunters. When Searchlight is able to break the rules of society without repercussion and the protagonists are not, interesting drama is sure to follow.

Searchlight vs Searchlight: You were so close, you almost found your brother. If you were one week earlier you would be having a joyous reunion, not a funeral. Then you heard what killed him. Another member of Searchlight put a bullet through him for not revealing information. Searchlight is still young enough and small enough that this problem hasn't happened before, how will the Compact react? Will it be civil war? Will people start taking a stricter line on when violence is accepted? Or will Searchlight turn on you to protect the integrity of the compact?

The Good Woman: Social workers are telling a story they've been hearing from kids up and down the country. It's about The Good Woman who protects abused and neglected kids. If a child hides under their blanket and calls for The Good Woman with tears in her eyes then she'll come and take them to a better place, leaving the abusive or neglectful adults torn to pieces. Stories, abductions and supernatural activity. It sounded like a faerie to you, but then you discovered the missing kids alive and well at an orphanage run by a member of Searchlight. Has the matron perfected Searchlight's Emotional Compartmentalisation to the point where part of her is a serial killer without her knowledge? Even when they seem justified killers always end up broadening their targets until the innocent die, this one already kills on no more justification than a child's say-so, but if you take care of her what will happen to the kids?

Missing White Woman Syndrome: Every monster who isn't lucky enough to have a supernatural solution to remaining secret learns at least something of understanding the media. That includes the golden rule: Avoid the mysterious disappearance of a pretty, white, well off woman at all costs. However it seems somebody didn't get the memo. When the opportunity presents itself Searchlight makes as much use of the media as they are able, so far they've kept things hush about the supernatural. Who wants to look crazy? But you know what they say about desperate times. You've gotten word that the parents of this years high profile disappearance are planning to go public on prime time TV. However the media spins this one it's going to be big and that is something your Conspiracy cannot allow. Now, how to silence an international celebrity with nothing to lose? Without creating an even bigger story?

The Office of the Lord Stewards

Keepers of the Queen's peace.

“Look at the Birds” said Oliver “and tell me what they are saying.”

''Harry listened for a moment, trying to understand. “Nothing, all I hear is crowing”.''

''“I said look, not listen boy. You saw the contract, hold it in your mind, remind the birds of their promise. They'll let you understand”.''

''Harry looked again, and this time he saw. “The way they're moving. It almost looks like writing... They're hungry, and demanding, I think they're saying we owe them.”''

''Oliver gave a laugh, it was warm with pride. “That's it my boy, that's it. We do owe them, this very spot was a battlefield, 1182 if I recall. Two barons, one of them promised to leave the dead for the birds if he was granted victory. That's why we're standing out here in the wind, and will be every year until the thousand's anniversary.”''

''Harry had stopped listening earlier. “Did you say the dead?”''

“Yes I did” he pointed his cane at a car in the distance “here they come now”.

''The car was driven by a nervous neat looking man dressed in a trendy tracksuit, clearly trying to look as little like himself as possible. Oliver handed the driver a thick brown envelope while Harry unhitched the trailer.''

“Take a look.”

''Harry took a look, on a bed of ice were a dozen dead bodies. Men and women, mostly old, all ethnically oriental.''

“What are we doing?” Harry said quietly, fighting the urge to run.

''“Have you heard of Tibetan Sky Burial? Illegal in this country of course, it's always best find two people who have what the other wants. Don't think of the phrase, you might offend the birds.”''

“What are we doing here?” repeated Harry, increasingly uneasy at what was happening.

''“Us, we're just waiting. The funeral party will be here soon. We watch and make sure the treaty is fulfilled for another year, shake a few hands say some solemn words. By my reckoning we'll have just enough time for tea before the next job.”''



There is something living inbetween each second and within the forests of Essex. A groquesque squirmous grub, grown fat on human life. Once she was called a goddess. Now she has many titles: Goddess, spirit, great power. Under any name she is dangerous, cruel, and enormously powerful. Yet she is a slave to her nature, and through her nature she was bound in chains of treaties, promises and agreements. Who forged these chains?

For generations a family of farmers had leased their lands to a freehold of changelings, they kept visitors and ramblers away from the secretive fair folk. For honoring their contract they were rewarded with good health and bountiful harvests. When the farm and burgs alike were to be flooded for a new reservoir, and when honest workmen were struck down by curses and ill fortune, who was brought in to mediate, and who forged a new agreement that was beneficial to all?

When a senseless act of murder and a witch's dying curse blanketed a Lancaster town with ill fortune until the jobs closed and the dole lines stretched for streets, who noticed the signs, who learned the names and natures of each power supporting the curse, and who appeased those powers one by one until the curse was lifted?

Near the border between England and Whales lies a garden. It is a peaceful and tranquil place, hidden from the world by a rough hewn stone wall that rests in a perpetual dew dusted dawn. At it's very heart a natural spring feeds a series of wells that were built before the Romans. Magic flows into and from these wells, their health governing the balance of magic for much of the region. Who could be trusted to keep this garden for the public good, unswayed by greed or favouritism.

Every seven years a faerie queen steals a man from Selkirk to tithe to Hell. She favours her victims young, with musical talent and a name that sounds like Tom. It is an old story, and one often told. The narrative is strict and the rules are clear: Tom can be saved. So who is it that trains brave women to play the other role, to rescue this cycle's sacrifice from the faerie queen before he is condemned to Hell?

If you look behind the comfortably mundane, the world is a far stranger place than people realise. The trees we walk by every day, the clouds we hope wont rain on us, even the buildings we live in, they're all alive. It's not life as we would recognise it, but it is life. If you look into the shadows we share the world with more than we realize. There are vampires infecting society, werewolves in the forests, faeries living under the hill.

It would be nice to pretend that they didn't exist, that humanity sat alone and unchallenged gazing over his dominion of the Earth. It would be nice, but foolish. Somebody has to sit down and discuss how we're all, human, monster and the land itself, going to live together because if we don't. In war nobody ever wins.

The Lord Stewards take this task upon themselves. Their job is simple: Keep the peace. Originally they kept the peace between the land and it's inhabitants: They bribed the rivers not to flood, paid the fields for the bounty of the harvest and negotiated with the hills. Now their remit has expanded and the Stewards must keep the peace between people of all species. There is an outrageous amount of champagne and vol-au-vents involved.

And if you were to ask what gives the Stewards the right to negotiate on behalf of the public they'll tell you that they are public servants. They are part of her Her Majesty's democratically elected government and that gives them the right, and duty, to govern the nation's supernatural affairs.

History
Who pays the fields? Who bargains with the great powers? Who talks peace with the monsters?

If you asked long ago the answer would have been everyone. Long before man claimed dominion over the lands, before electricity and gunpowder, before effective transportation or communication, the world was much more dangerous than the one we know today. Danger lurked in every shadow, and not just from monsters. Famine and diseases were an ever present threat. To survive these threats, kings, villages and families formed pacts and alliances with the lands they lived upon. They paid the fields for bountiful harvests, they sought allies to guard against pestilence and against the monsters lurking in the shadows.

In return the people held festivals in honor of their allies, they offered gifts and followed codes of behaviour. Payment for services rendered. Families, village councils and even kings knew the treaties and pacts that protected them, and what was needed to uphold and preserve those treaties.

Times changed, and as the years turned old threats ended and the protections against them faded into irrelevance. Pacts turned from well understood contracts into folklore and superstitions. Once honored treaties were only casually upheld or broken entirely. The consequences were subtle, but severe as broken pacts resulted in penalty clauses. The rats were gone, but the piper must still be paid.

It was Doctor John Dee, court magician, philosopher and spy to Queen Elizabeth I who noticed the problem, and foresaw the potential catastrophe. In the year 1560 he advised his liege to bestow upon him a royal charter, naming him the steward entrusted to manage the royal affairs on matters relating to treaties with the land. Before it was too late.

The proposition was accepted. With his new charter and position John Dee toured the land. Wherever he travelled he questioned the people about their folklore and he observed their customs and superstitions. As a skilled magician John Dee was eminently qualified to sift through folklore looking for forgotten occult bargains and contracts. His personal library at Mortlake was soon filled with the records of his discoveries.

Everywhere he uncovered old pacts John Dee selected trustworthy local men and invested them with the Queen's authority, and the duty to uphold the pacts in Her Majesty's name. But he also made a second discovery. He was far from the only magician working to preserve the treaties. Most of John Dee's counterparts were very different in character from himself, born far from wealth and the royal court and using a practical earthy tradition of magic which centred on their community and the land around them. Through these bonds they had seen the threats of broken pacts and had taken it upon themselves to uphold the bargains for the good of their local communities. Many of these witches and warlocks were fiercely independent, but enough saw that their talents were desperately needed and so they agreed to join in service to the crown.

The practitioners recruited by John Dee took on his work: travelling, recording treaties, and appointing stewards to maintain the pacts. By the weight of royal authority and good old fashioned hard work the basic structure of the Lord Stewards was formed: Local residents employed by the crown to uphold the pacts, supported by travelling magicians who went where their talents were needed, all managed from a central location which archived the old treaties.

Dr John Dee did his work well, under his leadership the Stewards thrived. They fulfilled their royal duties admirably, but his tenure eventually came to an end. And though John Dee's successor ran the Stewards competently he lacked the genius of the Steward's founder. To compensate for the lack of John Dee's leadership the Stewards turned to what they knew best; pacts and alliances. The Stewards had always made casual use of any benefits they qualified for, but now they made it official policy. They searched through their libraries for useful treaties and spread the methods of their use across the organization. When they couldn't get what they needed from existing arrangements they simply signed some new ones. The system would suffice for a good three centuries.

SIDEBAR: London Bridge is Falling Down...

'''Folklore and tradition isn't always family friendly. The years have sanitized and whitewashed a good many of the more unsavoury traditions ancient and medieval societies followed. Immurement, the practice of imprisoning a person inside a structure, was practised well into merry ol' England's history, and elsewhere in Europe well into the Age of Reason. Folklore ascribes vicious personalities to the rivers, who must be appeased with sacrifice to prevent floods. As an organization dedicated to occult traditions and practices, the Stewards can be easily bound by such treaties. If it was only a building than the Stewards would simply let it collapse, but some treaties have far more riding upon them. The Stewards don't like it of course, but their attempts to renegotiate for more ethical payments aren't always successful. If you're running a game with the Stewards, don't be afraid to throw in some of the more ancient, lethal traditions found in folklore.'''

Joining the Service
The industrial revolution hit the Stewards hard, an organisation that by it's very nature focuses upon the past will always have trouble adapting to a changing environment. A minority of Stewards believed that they were truly living in the last days of magic, and they should allow themselves to fade gracefully as science and technology rose. Most felt that abandoning the pacts now would be just as dangerous as it would have been during the reign of Queen Elizabeth but even they were divided into those who believed they could, must, adapt and those who felt a successor would arise. Central to the argument was the fact that the Stewards own royal charter was soon to expire. Though the charter was not in itself magical, for a group who's lives revolved around treaties this was a grave omen indeed.

Though the Stewards debated their future, the decision was to come from far outside their organisation. In 1860, three hundred years after their founding, representatives of the Lord Stewards were summoned before Parliament to explain the nature of their work. There they met with a nearly empty chamber, only a few backbenchers were in attendance. It was hardly a sight to inspire hope, but barely a month had passed before the Stewards were called back and presented with an updated charter attached to a wide reaching plan to modernise the organisation.

In an era of social upheaval, relying on local citizens across the realm was no longer feasible. Instead the Stewards were to reassign their magical practitioners from a support and oversight role onto the front line. A campaign of aggressive recruitment and training would be implemented to build the necessary numbers. Modern transport would allow a members to cover a larger area than ever before, personally seeing to each treaty.

If the plans to were ambitious, the plans to expand the Stewards' remit were nothing short of radical. Urbanization had an enormous impact on the monsters living in the shadows, as faeries, werewolves, witches and who knew what else were forced into closer proximity with tensions building. The threat of all out supernatural war was looming and the consequences would be dire for everyone. War had to be prevented, and Sir Robert Peel had shown that heavy handed tactics could only go so far. If a lasting peace was to be obtained somebody would have to talk to the monsters and remind them why it was in their best interests to play by civilized rules. As the only officers of the crown who had experience at negotiating with the uncanny, unbelievable, and unexplained, the Stewards were just the people to do it.

Modernizing and expanding a, to put it politely, traditionalist organisation would require skilled organisation and management. To that end the Stewards were to be brought into the recently formed Civil Service. There they would benefit from working with people who had experience in governance, and the government would benefit from being able to negotiate with the land for assistance in implementing their latest policies.

Even to this day the Stewards wonder who was behind this radical plan. There is some evidence that a trusted advisor to Queen Victoria was responsible, but the evidence is contradictory and can't even agree which advisor it was. The Stewards did have their supporters in parliament, mostly from rural constituencies, but none of them have claimed credit. The Office's continued existence is protected by subtle enchantments, though the Stewards know very well that those arrangements were created after the reforms some wonder if John Dee might have had the same idea all those years ago. There's no record of him doing so but the Stewards have to admit, it does sound like the sort of thing he would do.

Personnel
A Lord Steward needs to possess two skills. She must be educated in occult principles and she must know the give and take of diplomacy and law, whether she is to negotiate with members of the occult community, in the courtroom, or with the land itself. The Stewards are always glad to offer a position to an occultist who has been trained to bargain with otherworldy beings or Oxbridge graduates with the proper extra-curricular education (it's amazing what you can learn in the right drinking clubs at the really old universities).

The problem is, there just simply aren't enough people with the necessary skills. The Stewards have to settle for hiring people who are trained occultists or qualified civil servants and train them up. Aside from the odd subject matter the Stewards training looks begins like any other government or corporate training program. However there is really no substitute for experience, so after completing their formal training a Steward can expect to be partnered with an experienced member for a period of apprenticeship. There they will supported as they learn what can only be taught by experience; how to navigate the tangle of supernatural politics and how to make use of the arrangements outside the safe and stable classroom environment.

With recruitment looking for one of two very different skillets it is unsurprising that Stewards tend to come from one of two very different backgrounds. On the one hand you have the trained civil servants, professionals who grew up in a suit and read serious and weighty subjects like law, politics or classics. They were often only dimly aware of the Stewards at best before they were offered a job or transferred. Learning what their job entails is often quite a shock, but they wouldn't have been given a place if somebody didn't think they'd adapt.

On the other hand there are the occultists. A hodgepodge of everybody: Tweed wearing academics and gentleman scholars who took the classes not advertised on the university curriculum, urban shamans, people who grew up with not-so-imaginary friends, and of course lots of hedge witches, some of whom have family ties to the Lord Stewards dating back to John Dee himself.

Most occultists who join the Stewards tend to have skills or natural talents that focus on the land itself. Many of them have an even larger culture shock than the civil servants when they start their employment, but the Stewards are patient. The supply of skilled occultists is smaller than the supply of qualified civil servants and they are far more likely to have rare or unique specialities. Taking the time to help them adjust properly is a worthwhile investment.

Sidebar: So I Can Play a Magician?

'''Well yes. Sir Harold Langley, gentleman magician, is a perfectly valid character concept for a Lord Steward. Playing a magic practitioner is nothing new for a Hunter conspiracy: The Ascending Ones have alchemists, Les Mysteries are full of witch-doctors, bokor and just about everything else. '''

'''The Lord Stewards usually draw from traditions that have a strong tie to the land: Shamans, aristocratic magicians who know the land and it's ruler really are linked, but mostly hedge witches who not only have magic ties to the land, but who also come from the same thematic root of superstitions and folklore that underlies the Lord Stewards. '''

'''However the assumption is that whatever background you play, your abilities will be represented by Arrangements, the Occult Skill and some of the more esoteric Merits available to hunters. With the favour of the land a Steward rarely needs to rely on a long cumbersome ritual (Witch Finders p140) and we recommend not giving Stewards access to Gnosis.'''

'''Instead a hedge witch's familiar would be a Retainer combined with Loquere Animalibus. Vox Loci can be used to represent a Shaman's natural connection to the land. A gentleman magician is distinguished by his personal Library and if he's old school nobility then maybe Allies or Retainers representing his connection to the family land. '''

When it comes to the division of labor there is less of a split between the occultists and the civil servants than one might imagine. Most of the non-routine duties performed by the Lord Stewards require both skills: An occultist might know something about what changelings care about, but a trained diplomat is the one who knows how to leverage those desires during negotiations. It's common to see Stewards of both backgrounds working together. As a Steward gains experience they often begin to acquire traits typical to both backgrounds. A warlock learns how to talk to politicians and look good in a suit. A civil servant is initially shocked to learn that magic exists, but after a few years she's proud to have learned a new skill and adopts habits that come naturally from her knowledge: Once you know that it actually is bad luck to walk under a ladder you stop doing so.



It's quite all right...

We have...

An Arrangement.

For the Public Good

Ever since the office was modernized in 1860 the Lord Stewards have been a part of Her Majesty's Civil Service. During their tenure they have been moved around and reclassified, as has nearly every other department. Today they are part of the Department for Culture, Media and Sport – a rather minor department for what many in the supernatural community consider to be the most, or only, relevant part of government – and have been since 1995 (when it was known as the Department for National Heritage).

Despite their official location the Stewards' responsibility to keep the peace between the nation's supernatural population and occult societies is unofficially part of the Home Office (Unless something goes badly wrong, then it's usually DCMS' fault.) Maintaining the old pacts does fall under the DCMS, or it at least fits there better than anywhere else, with the exception of those Arrangements that were created on the request of another department.

The difficulty of classifying the Stewards into the divisions of regular governance – and their immunity to being divided until they fit – has long since ceased to be frustrating, and is now an accepted eccentricity of the Civil Service. This does not prevent the occasional skirmish over budget, control or assigning blame. Shielding the rank and file from getting sucked into turf wars is an important job for high ranking Stewards. Many managers in the Office find that after negotiating with faeries, dealing with Whitehall politics is refreshingly straight forward. To them the Stewards' ambiguous position only makes it easier to avoid red tape.

In general the rest of the Service treats the Stewards an I.T. department or a similar highly technical department. Mostly the other civil servants agree that the Stewards are necessary but have no real idea how their job actually works and don't make much effort to find out. They are prone to underestimate the work required and assume that the Stewards are overstating any problems. When a new government initiative, civil service policy or budget cut rolls around it is often extended onto the Stewards without anyone asking if the Office's unique role should be treated as a special case. Since the answer is quite often “yes” the Stewards management have lots of experience at arguing against inappropriate changes or finding clever ways to work around them.

The Stewards' unique expertise may well be enough to keep them safe in the turbulent seas of politics, but with the stakes so high and their job so poorly understood they're glad to have an ace up their sleeve: When the Stewards were restructured during the Victorian Era they put quite a bit of thought into remaking the Office into something sustainable for the long term. To this end crafted subtle enchantments to protect their continued existence.

Simply put the Stewards are essentially impossible to get rid of. When no one's looking they seep into the cracks of the civil service and take root. Their names appear in human resources' files by magic (literally). ID cards and keys arrive in unmarked envelopes. There's nothing so vulgar as mind control but coincidences conspire to prevent anyone questioning their continued existence or implement any policies that would cause too much damage – there's a reason no one managed to split maintaining the Arrangements and diplomacy with the supernatural into separate departments. If anyone asks the Stewards are happy to show the documents that entitle them to do this.

The General Public

Stewards don't think of anyone as the enemy. As they see it everyone's on the same side; everyone wants the same thing and for the most part they're correct. Human, inhuman or true monster; nobody wants to see the country – or just it's supernatural underworld – burnt down in the fires of civil war. The Stewards have kept those fires at bay for centuries; their name gets around, their word carries a lot of weight.

When faced with a threat to the peace the Office relies on diplomacy, negotiations, compromise and when necessary, shameless bribery. The Stewards tend to be utilitarian, impartial and non-confrontational. They have to be, with so many hunters, occult societies, and all manner of monsters crammed into a tiny island, a single spark of conflict capable of spreading like wildfire across interwoven social networks and through shared resources. Anyone could be that spark: It could be one of the great powers slighted by an unfortunate insult, it could be a single vampire who just wants more opportunities to feed, or just as easily the father of that same vampire's latest victim. In the middle of this are the Stewards, trying to keep the peace.

There is a simple principle that guides everything the Lord Stewards do: The peaceful status quo survives only as long as everyone prefers it to the risk of war. Why would the hunters agree to a treaty that only protects the monsters and their abuses? Why would the monsters follow the rules of a country that denies their right to exist? Sacrifice one person for the greater good, and you have one person with nothing to lose and everything to gain by sounding the call to arms.

The Fair Folk

The Office has known about the fae almost since their founding. Pacts with and protecting against the Gentry, often the same pact, were among the most common treaties that the Stewards uncovered. This suggests that the true fae have been a problem with no answer for a very long time. For the most part the Stewards feel the same as anyone else does about the gentry: They're powerful, dangerous and a threat to any decent person. Since the early days the Stewards have opposed the gentry in their own manner, at first they made real progress at slowing the tide by repairing treaties with the True Fae and ending penalty clauses but now the low hanging fruit has been picked, and the Gentry remain.

In their archives the Lord Stewards keep records of all manner of alliances and treaties forged for protection against the True Fae's hunts, and as they admit, The Gentry come despite them all. The Stewards believe, well hope really, that these treaties at least slow the number of abductions but there is no proof, and for obvious reasons no body has suggested ending the pacts to see what happens. As a consequence, when the Stewards come across a threat from the Gentry they are more likely to attempt to try and negotiate a contract forbidding it's return then to create wards and alliances. It's much riskier, but when it works the results are clear.

The pursuit of a long term solution to the true fae remains the domain of a small minority of self appointed Stewards, nicknamed "Grail Knights" (because they are searching for something nigh unfindable, and because by the time they have enough status to get away with spending all their time on a quixotic quest they've usually been knighted). The Grail Knights, and indeed most of the Stewards, believe that the true fae would be unable to take slaves unless they had made some sort of contract with humanity. If this contract could be found it might point the way to the banishing the gentry forever. As the name implies, they've had no luck finding the holy grail of ancient contracts.

In contrast to their keepers, the Stewards quite like changelings. Indeed they feel a connection to them that goes beyond any other kind of supernatural being. They both live lives that revolve around contracts and pledges. Though a changeling will twist and warp an agreement they rarely break them, which is more than the Stewards can say about most of the monsters they deal with. What's more, the Stewards and the fae both perceive a world where everything is living and draw their powers from pacts with the world around them.

Over the years the Stewards have won the trust of enough changelings to be fairly certain about their origins as human abductes, and like most people they feel sympathy for the horrors changelings endure in Arcadia. As part of the government the Stewards are uniquely positioned to help changelings return to normal life after their escape. Creating a proper legal identity for changelings is a small part of the Stewards' duties. The office also maintains a list of therapists and mediators who are willing to help changelings heal and reconnect with their friends and family.

This does not by any means imply that the Lord Stewards and changelings have each other on speedial. Like many who have gone through terrible ordeals changelings carry emotional scars and often find it hard to trust, with only a small minority taking up the Stewards' offer. For their part the Lord Stewards must remain impartial, and they know that changelings are crafty and often dangerous. Feelings of companionship must be put aside, for changelings are always willing to use their shared connection or their tragic backstories to score points in negotiations.

The fetch occupies a unique place within the thoughts of the Stewards. On the one hand the average fetch is no where near as bad as some of the monsters a Steward is likely to see across the negotiating table. On the other hand the fetches were directly created by the true fae, who are both sinister and incredibly powerful. Mostly though, the Stewards don't think about fetches at all. Fetches rarely organize, and unless you are a changeling it is hard to notice a fetch as anything other than human. When the Stewards do encounter a fetch they tend to judge it on it's individual merits, as they do with most monsters. The Stewards' offer of referring changelings and their fetch to mediators is rarely accepted, and even considered distasteful by most changelings.

Other Monsters

The Lord Stewards don't limit their vigil to faeries, in fact it's quite the opposite. Officially the Stewards remit covers any monster that can be negotiated with, and the Stewards' opinion on what can be negotiated with is much broader than most peoples. Unofficially the Stewards do keep note of who simply isn't worth negotiating with: Monsters too alien to reason with, who simply wont keep to their agreements and of course monsters wiling to kill the Stewards. Sometimes they oppose these monsters in their own way, invoking or creating pacts and alliances to imprison or ward against the monster. More often, monsters who cannot be negotiated with are left to hunters among the police, army, and in desperate cases, those sick fucks at MI18.

Vampires are inherently political creatures who stalk the negotiating table like a wolf eyeing up the weakest deer. A vampire's natural food source is humans, this causes some slight problems for the prospects of peaceful vampire-human relations. The Stewards' history with vampires can be seen as a long running battle over who the vampires get to bite. The Stewards would ideally like some system of willing paid blood donors, while the vampires want a free reign. The compromise between these positions shifts over time as the two sides battle it out, but for now both are content to have their battles across the negotiating table. Ironically the vampires' traditions of, and need for, secrecy makes the vampires strong supporters of the Stewards when it comes to keeping the peace. The Stewards avoid accepting their help if they can, for when things are settled you can be sure a vampire will call in the favour.

In contrast werewolves could be described as savage. If they are political, it is the violent insular politics of the animal kingdom: Protect your territory and trust no one but your pack. In many ways werewolves have very different concerns to humans and the two species could coexist just fine by mostly ignoring each other. The problem is that there just isn't enough space on the island. There's always somebody trying to develop property on a spot sacred to a pack of werewolves, or a coven of witches competing with pack's supernatural resources. The Stewards would like to try and work something out, but there is no “council of elder werewolves” to negotiate with. Most of the Office's official dealings with werewolves is damage control when the Stewards are brought in as impartial negotiators after someone's created a conflict.

The Lord Stewards don't think of witches as a group. Because the Stewards are concerned with the misuse of magic and not the mere use of magic, the Stewards just think of witches as people who happen to know magic. Much like themselves for that matter. So when a Stewards sees a witch, he's more likely to base his assumptions on what magical tradition she practices, or what occult society she belongs to rather than the simple fact that she is a witch. A lot of witches are independent practitioners who simply live their lives, the Stewards rarely need to negotiate and compromise with individual witches. Instead they simply get the present themselves as representatives of the government and ask the witch to agree not to do anything criminal with magic. Larger occult societies are more likely to take a seat at the negotiation table and range from model citizens to hubris blinded sorcerers as bad as any monster.

The Stewards also consider hunter groups, as well as occult societies in general to fall under their remit. At least they do if the group knows enough to be a genuine part of the supernatural community. As with witches, occult societies and hunters are just too varied to be described in broad strokes, and the Stewards usually think of them on the level of the individual organisation.

The Land itself

Since long before they concerned themselves with monsters the Stewards held vigil over ancient treaties with Briton. The land isn't exactly what you'd call tame but it has been inhabited for a long time. Like two neighbours who can't see eye to eye but forced to live with each other the land and it's inhabitants have learned to co-exist.

The Lord Stewards spend just as much time maintaining this peaceful coexistence as they spend maintaining the peace. They perform rituals to honor old alliances, they pay the land for services rendered, and they build relationships. A trained Steward can talk to just about anything, including animals, trees, buildings, even the wind. In the grand scheme of things most of these are no more important than any individual human. It will surprise no one to learn that a typical rabbit or potted plant is not a font of occult power. But like people, even if an individual tree is unimportant, collectively they are important indeed. A network of contacts or allies among the trees and forests is a very valuable asset. Some features of the land are individually important: Personages such as the four winds, major rivers, and some that seem deceptively unimportant, wield enormous power and influence.

Much of the Office's remit to maintain peaceful relations with the land are routine; the treaties were signed long ago and the payments are the same year after year. As for the rest, there's always something that keeps the job interesting. Some property development or cultural shift that interferes with a pact, or a request from above to negotiate some new advantage on behalf of the government. It is for this reason that the Stewards build relationships with the land around them. It keeps their fingers on the pulse, and ready to deal with whatever their duties require.

Treaties with the land are more than a duty to the Lord Stewards. They are the source of the Office's magical power, and a great boon to any who keeps the peace. Friendship with the land keeps the air clear, benefits the mortal public, helps ensure there is enough supernatural resources to go around and as they admit only in low voices, the land is even more dangerous than a war.

Hunters

You've had three things in your adult life: Your family, your garden and your service to the Lord Stewards. After a long and distinguished career you're running the department and you take great pride in your position and your accomplishments. However, mandatory retirement approaches, and in your sunset years you have turned your attention to training a successor.

You were born to a family of werewolves, and you were not a werewolf. You were treated worse then dirt, so when the Stewards were invited to witness some contracts you took your chance and stowed away. It turns out you always had the right to leave if you asked, a compromise agreed to on the assumption no one would get the chance to ask. Your family filed suit, several hunter groups filed counter suit claiming the werewolves were acting in bad faith. Just before violence erupted it ended with a couple of token cousins being freed and everyone being bribed large amounts to drop the matter. Since you had no where else to go you stayed with the Stewards, now how can you get the rest of your family to safety?

Your grandmother was a hedge witch and determined that you wouldn't grow up wilfully ignorant like your parents. Your parents were equally determined you'd grow up to be a lawyer and a proper member of society like themselves. After you'd graduated the Lord Stewards seemed like a natural career for your skills.

Your ancestors once signed a deal with a vicious faerie queen, and the consequences falls upon your head. Ever since you were a child your parents taught you how to uphold your family's end of the bargain or else you would be snatched away in an instant. Living by a pact became so normal to you that when a casual acquaintance was taken by the fae you were shocked to learn he hadn't broken any pact, he didn't even believe in magic. Ever since that day you made it your mission to teach people how to use the traditional protections. When your application to the Stewards went through, it was your job as well.

You were a regional manager at Tesco and you thought this court case was just the usual hippies, anti-capitalists and local groups protesting against a new supermarket. You were surprised to see the civil-service among the plaintiffs but you won the case anyway. The Stewards tried a different angle, they scheduled a meeting and told it to you straight. They needed regular access to the new store so they could get a virgin to dance naked and satisfy an ancient treaty with the hill you were building on. Of course they only said that after introducing you to the hill personally. In for a penny, in for a pound. You were looking for a more challenging career anyway.

You graduated with a double first from Oxford in language and history. When you joined the Civil Service you had hoped to become a diplomat, see the world a little. Unfortunately for you there was an open position with the Lord Stewards and your degree pushed you right into it. When you first saw your new department you thought it was either madness, a joke or possibly a racist sub to keep you from the proper jobs. You don't think that at all any more, but you're still trying to transfer to the Foreign Office.

You were raised by the street and you learned to survive. You weren't tough or dangerous so instead you learned to be smart, to read the signs and to feel danger coming. The street had never felt nearly as dangerous as it did all last week, just as you were thinking of skipping town the Stewards found you. It sounded like a whole lot of mumbo jumbo “natural sensitive”, “especially in-tune with the local area”. What mattered was that they were paying. Cash, half up-front. Afterwords you asked if they might have more where that came from. Turns out they did.

You're a professional administrator, your job is identify and take care of all the logistical and political problems getting in-between the Stewards and doing their job, then remove them. You're a practical sensible woman, the sort of person who always gives the impression of wearing a business suit no matter what you're actually wearing. Which is why your friends outside the Stewards still find it odd that you casually obey all sorts of superstitions, and they would find it really odd if they knew after coming home from the office you relax by talking about your day with your husband, kids, and the family dog.

You have blue blood, not literally of course, but you are nobility. You have a title, ancestral lands and a genealogy that stretches back to Charlemagne. When other treaties were fading into folklore your ancestors never forgot, your family always honored their deals and you are no exception: Your father taught you magic and your obligations ever since you were a boy. Technically you're not a Steward, but there's been an informal arrangement between your family and the Stewards dating back to John Dee himself. You take care of the treaties on your lands and if you ever need help the Stewards will be happy to offer assistance. In return the Stewards can call you if they ever get a little short handed.

Stereotypes

Aegis Kai Doru: We have dealings with many occult traditions. The Aegis Kai Doru were always willing to negotiate so long as we had artifacts to offer. In truth we had allowed ourselves to become complacent, as we discovered when a representative arrived to request assistance as per an ancient treaty we had no record of. Quite vexing, but the treaty was legitimate and our hands were tied. In truth the failure of our records worries me far more than the Ageis Kai Doru. Who else do we owe unpaid debts too, and who owes us?

The Union: In this country we are no strangers to firebrand shop-floor activism. When the unions turned their eyes to the Vigil we feared the worst. I admit the Callaghan and Thatcher years were... stressful. Fortunately things have settled down. What they want is to keep their own neighbourhoods safe, and when you know what someone wants you can come to an arrangement.

Cainite Heresy: We know that various groups have been slipping information on vampire's they want killed to the Cainites. We suspect that some of those groups are other Vampires. That's just how things work around here, when someone breaks the treaties the first thing they do is pin the blame on someone else. Of course who's desk does it all arrive on the next morning?

Long Night: That's the third complaint this week! We told them before, The Racial and Religious Hatred Act forbids harassing: Pagans, Wiccians, Hindus, Druids, Witches, abortion clinics, neo-pagans, Muslims, us, Kemetics, Jews and even Satanists! How did this even end up on my desk? Shouldn't religious hatred be with the Home Office?

Offices

The Office of the Lord Stewards is subdivided into further offices. Each office serves a separate purpose and all work together to preserve the Queen's peace.

The Office of the Wardens de L'île deals directly with the land. They maintain a library of treaties, pledges and agreements made between Britain and it's inhabitants. It is their job to ensure those agreements are honored whenever it coincides with the public good, and whenever the pledge was made by the Stewards personally. If they lose the respect of the land, they lose the ability to serve. The Wardens de L'île are also in charge of making new Arrangements for the Conspiracy and bargaining for the lands assistance to assist the mundane government.

Free speciality: Occult (Folklore)

Meanwhile The Office of the Marshal of Ceremonies handles diplomacy between people. They try to keep the various factions of hunters, monsters, and occult societies from descending into war or preying on innocent civilians.

Free Speciality: Persuasion (Negotiations)

The smallest Office is The Office of the Crown's Justice. Officer's of the Crown's Justice work pro bono as lawyers and advocates. While most of the established players are quite happy representing themselves the smallest parties and individuals – especially individuals who were previously ignorant of the supernatural – have no such recourse. The Stewards know that if the smallest parties were considered “too poor for justice” they would lose all stake in fitting into the system, and so they assign them advocates.

Free Speciality: Empathy (Clients)

Status

Officially Status within the Office is done on according to purely objective measurements of a Stewards performance assisted by regular career development meetings between a Steward and her manager. Unofficially the idea that there can be an objective measure for performance in such an unusual job is laughable. So the Stewards unofficially-officially supplement the official systems with a mixture of reputation and personal relationships that defines who's really the person to go to for certain topics. Gaining the right reputation increases Status as surely as a promotion. To limit confusion the managers try to game the paperwork to promote the right people, it's helpful but not without problems of it's own.

As part of the government membership of the Stewards grants several advantages such as access to government databases. An ID badge to flash around. Cooperation (but not obedience) from police, local and even national government, most of the time anyway. Higher Status members often have little trouble getting a chance to talk to other high ranking civil servants or government ministers. If a Stewards remembers her skills she is likely to invest in building personal relationships with the people who really get things done.

One thing Status does not do is entitle the Stewards to carry guns. If the Stewards need firepower they are expected to ask for assistance from the police or the army. Stewards who often need firepower are likely to take the time to make personal relationships with one or two squads. When they submit the requisition paperwork their Allies help ease it through their own bureaucracies, often know a useful Arrangement (like Pact of Protection) and allow the Steward to skip past convincing people that the supernatural exists. Such informal arrangements tend to work in reverse (like any use of the Allies merit) as the Steward's Allies call in for advice or help over suspected supernatural occurrences, or to ask a Stewards to facilitate a minor supernatural blessing or warding.

O: As a member of the Stewards you are entrusted with keeping the peace and may claim from your accorded benefits. You may purchase the Endowment Arrangements.

OOO: You have achieved respect and prestige for your dedicated service. If you work in the Office of the Marshal of Ceremonies or the Crown's Justice your job has given you the chance to pick up a few names and faces. You get two dots in the Contacts Merit each applied to a different type of supernatural being, hunter group or occult society. They must be living in the United Kingdom on this plane of reality. At this Status members of the Wardens de L'île have a slightly different benefit. They gain the Unseen Sense Merit which enables them to spot any active supernatural effect caused by the land. This includes any use of Arrangements.

Regardless of Office at this level Stewards gain some measure small of respect from the land itself for their services. Generally they are less likely to trip over loose paving stones, touch stinging nettles or get bitten by insects. This might inflict some penalty to make the land attack them but what, if anything, qualifies is up to the Storyteller.

OOOOO: You're mostly in an administrative role now, but sometimes you have to negotiate personally with the political leaders of the supernatural or vast powerful forces. You can command no power, but after a lifetime of service you need only ask; the roads carry your feet swiftly. The buildings form around in your defence. The very stones rise up to crush those who threaten you. Mechanically treat this as the trait Contract with a couple of differences. Firstly the purview is Briton, broader than what is normally aloud. Secondly when make a Contract you don’t (and can’t) make payments to balance the cost. Instead you have +3 to spend (at once or separately) representing the favour you’ve acclimated from a lifetime of service, any spent points refresh at the beginning of the next Story. Finally the Stewards don’t actually gain supernatural abilities, the Dread Powers they ask for represent the land rising to their aid. The mists or shadows gathering to hide the Steward can provide Lurker in Darkness. A Steward’s reflection rising from a still lake and running justifies Scarper. Tendrils will come not from the Steward’s body, but from the forest around her.

Storytelling The Lord Stewards

Portraying the Lord Stewards as heroic protagonists is straightforward. Their goals are to prevent violence and maintain supernatural pacts and treaties for the public good. Their methods are diplomatic. It's not hard to justify the Stewards as having a positive effect on the average man.

The three offices of the Lord Stewards exist to let you and the players decide what sort of story do you want to tell. If you want to play a game of folklorists uncovering ancient treaties, performing rituals, and bargaining with the land itself then join the Wardens de L'île. The Marshal of Ceremonies lets you play a game of diplomats and negotiators engaging in realpolitik with the varied and often dangerous characters inhabiting the shadows of the World of Darkness. Finally playing as part of the Office of the Crown's Justice gives you supernatural courtroom drama.

Playing mixed offices is of course an option, and the Stewards frequently experience overlap between their roles. The Crown's Justice could find themselves in the courtroom opposite a monster who broke a treaty with a Marshal of Ceremonies or a property developer trying to build upon a place of power tended to by the Wardens.

No matter which office you play, when using the Lord Stewards as protagonists the most important thing is to make sure that their diplomatic methods work. They do not need to be superior to the more violent methods used by other groups, but they should not be notably inferior either. In many works of fiction diplomatic solutions fail in order to justify the action hero going in guns blazing. This is fine, but it's best avoided when the diplomats are protagonists.

If your group is playing Stewards it is always worth taking the time to read a bit of folklore. You can form an entire plot for the Wardens de L'île by reading about an interesting superstition, imagining that it points to a forgotten pact, and thinking of a payment that must be made or a problem that must be fixed to keep the pact healthy. For players any office you can use the presence of superstitious omens to foreshadow and set the theme and the mood; a theme for the Office itself and a mood for the current story. If you want to build a tension have a black cat cross the players path or draw their attention to a solitary magpie. The players of course can take part in this themselves. Carefully not walking under ladders or touching wood after tempting fate is all part of the fun.

It goes without saying that when playing with members of the Marshal of Ceremonies it is important to create a colorful cast of supernatural beings, occult societies and hunters each with their own goals and desires to negotiate over. But remember that the Lord Stewards Endowment let them talk to just about anything. Consider describing animals, objects and even places with the sort of language used for characters. Give them moods and personalities because after a few years of using Arrangements, that's how a Steward tends to start thinking about the inanimate.

The Castle in the Forest: An ally of the players asks for a little informal favour. Three children, siblings, stopped attending school shortly after repeatedly getting into trouble by insisting that the other students protect themselves from faeries. Upon investigating the players find the children safe and well in their forest home behind some incredibly strong wards (a strength of six). If pressed the family admit they don’t feel safe leaving their wards but are strangely hesitant and try to get the players to leave as fast as possible. Asking any of their possessions is useless; they’re too loyal to reveal family secrets. The forest is slightly more helpful, admitting that there are faeries around but it’s too scared to say more. What is going on, and why is the family unwilling to accept help freely offered?

Tree speaks to Stone; Stone speaks to Water: At almost the same time the Stewards notice two worrying facts. The first is that the land has suddenly become a lot more vocal. People up and down the country are receiving messages giving them advice and occasionally teaching Arrangements. The second is that trying to ask what’s going on – with the Arrangement Vox Britannia – isn’t working. The Arrangement has gone haywire, with all attempts to invoke it resulting in either nothing or a Dramatic Failure. Have the Stewards lost favor with the land? Just a temporary surge in magic? Is this the equivalent of a country shouting in panic? And if it is, what’s causing it?

Pugio in Averso Pax: Several years there was a rather messy incident involving a failed PhD student who figured out a way to grow clones without any brains. He tried to sell his research to the vampires as a risk free source of blood, and get them to pay him to research ways to improve the “flavor”. It all turned sour when he turned out to be planting microscopic trackers in his blood and tried to blackmail the vampires for millions. After some political manoeuvring and calling in a few favours the Lord Stewards have acquired the research notes, and they’ve found someone who should be able to repeat the work. The vampires were willing to talk, this looked like it could be the breakthrough in human–vampire relations that generations of Lord Stewards had been working towards. Then somebody killed everyone at the meeting, vampires and Stewards alike. Clearly somebody doesn't like the idea of peace, but who? And can you figure it out in time to salvage the talks, before a power vacuum in the vampire courts leaves unpoliced fledglings draining people dry in back alleyways?

ANTAGONISTS

For a group of diplomats portraying the Lord Stewards as antagonists is not as hard as one might think. As civil servants and lawyers there is a wealth of battle hardened tropes. From red tape and obstructive bureaucracy getting in-between a hunter and an evil monster, to lawyers more interested in winning the case then justice. If you remove any genuine concern for the public good then the concept of running a country based on informal arrangements and personal relationships can easily lead to all sorts of dark places: It's the old boys network, rife with favouritism, elitism and idolisation of the status quo.

You do not even need to twist the Lord Steward formulae into something darker to make them suitable antagonists. The Lord Stewards tendency to seek peace treaties and coexistence between humans and the supernatural could easily be enough for other hunters to dislike the Stewards. Whether that's because they are devoted to extermination or simply because they feel the Stewards offer too many concessions and breaking out the firepower would remind the monsters who's in charge of this planet.

Whatever reason makes the Lord Stewards the Antagonists it is important to remember that the Lord Stewards are part of the government. Even though your protagonists could probably prevail in direct combat, attacking government officials is a quick way to the top of the most wanted list. A more subtle approach is recommended.

And Bob's Your Uncle: You're willing to work with the Stewards as far as keeping peace in your area. They keep the monsters in line, and you police your own cell to make sure no one's stepping on any toes. Hey, it's a good deal that's worked out the past few years. But something went wrong. A mysterious fire in the government offices, and the treaty you all signed is ash now. The Stewards think they can fix it all with a few words and tell you they'll take care of everything. That's when Traci, who works in catering, you saw one of them take a chatting merrily with a vampire at an collage reunion. The monsters have the government in their pocket. Time to work some "magic" of your own.

International Incident: A friendly hunter that your cell worked with has just sent a desperate text from Britain; the government is horribly compromised. Monsters are running free, in public even, and sometimes they’re even allowed to show themselves for what they really are. People are inadvertently starting to realize the truth, and none of them see the danger inherent in getting to know a monster as a “friend”. You can’t believe it yourself when you step off the plane, and see a witch using their magic like it was a cheap party trick, followed by the vampire that some woman was just letting suck at her neck outside a nightclub. Your flight doesn’t leave for another few days. Time to hunker down and figure out who’s a friendly in this snake pit.

Against the Realm: You’ve served the crown for decades, and when you realized that darker things existed than rioting young fools, you stepped up and made efforts to dismantle their animal society. Only a civil servant from some frivolous department came to you, saying that your plans needed to be put on hold, and he offered you a new position. You couldn’t believe that he would be peaceable with such creatures, and you knew your government was no longer of the people. This office, these “Lord Stewards”, they’re a threat to the continued safety of the realm if they keep these monsters alive and continue to let innocent people die at their hands. The government must always be held accountable, so you’ve started digging through the archives. If these “Lord Stewards” are as ancient as they claim to be, they’ve got as much dirty laundry on their operations as any other branch of the government.