Books by Dawn Elliott. This section provides some insight on how classical creatures of legend fit into the various Seemings and about the different landscapes of the Hedge, with an emphasis on foreign views.
So among the Fairest you get Dancers, Flowerings, Muses and so on. Dice Sinter Roll multiple dice vs target. Again— all great material and ideas, but all stuff which ought to be GM facing. What the character went through in their time in the service of the Keepers shapes and crafts who they become as a Changeling. Victorian Lost. Customers Who Bought this Title also Purchased. Reviews 2. Please log in to add or reply to comments. Terence C. Excellent sourcebook for Changeling with new powers, changeling types etc.
I think White Wolf really outdid itself with a total revamp of the Changeling line. Crisstopher W. If you run, or play in, a Changeling: the Lost game, then this book is a must own. It is chocked full of every gamers favorite stuff See All Ratings and Reviews. Browse Categories. Rule System. Apocalypse World Engine.
BRP Basic Roleplaying. Modiphius 2d Savage Worlds. Product Type. Core Rulebooks. Non-Core Books. Other Tabletop Games. Gift Certificates. Publisher Resources. Family Gaming. Science Fiction. Phone PDF. Virtual Tabletops. STL 3D Model. White Wolf. Pay What You Want. The animal always remains. Many more Beasts are the products of a gradual change brought on by proximity. The Beast is frequently a sterling example of the kind of almost-degeneration that can befall a captive in Faerie.
Even when the change is gradual, 16 Chapter One: Six Masks no other seeming can point as clearly to the point when the person had truly changed from human to changeling.
The Beasts know, because the moment they became Beasts was the moment they lost their human reason. The abstracted nature of Arcadian time becomes even more abstract and unimportant — the now has taken over. In place of human reason comes instinct. The clear mind of an animal, guiding the Beast where abstract reasoning can no longer help them. The Windwing understands the play of air currents simply by feeling them around her fingertips. These instincts are a great comfort to the Beasts, given the now even-more confusing acts of their Keepers.
But the pain goes away when the hunt begins, and the instinct of the chase becomes the greatest joy possible. How does one resist the power of instinct and return to abstract thought? Those who do recover their minds can usually point to some specific trigger that stirred their human memories.
For most, it was a scent. The smell of a flower that grew in their backyard, the smell of a victim that reminded them of a beloved family member or pet — something triggered the powerful association of scent and memory. If not scent, then perhaps another sense memory. A Windwing sees a torn and fluttering red ribbon that reminds him of a scrap of red dress caught on the playground swing; a Venombite scurries across broken glass and suddenly remembers the back lot behind her apartment block.
This potent flash of memory places a deep crack in the wall between instinct and reason, one that eventually gives way. Reason and instinct mix, and the Beast regains some measure of his human self. Memories of home return, and with them the possibility of escape. The instinct never really leaves, though. Why were the Beasts taken in the first place? A pre-existing affinity for the animal one becomes is sometimes present, but far from necessary.
A Keeper may take an already violent and half-wild human as a fighting dog for his kennel, but he might also pick a gentle and passive mother to transform into a vicious hellhound. As the other seemings serve, so do the Beasts. A Darkling is taken for making the wrong trespass and brought up in darkness — and so, too, might a Skitterskulk or Venombite be taken. An Elemental was infused with the stuff of the land, but so, too, was a Beast, only bound to the instincts of animals rather than the essence of raw elements.
The Fairest serve as decorations, playthings and entertainment; the same is true of birds kept in gilded cages and cats on silver chains. Ogres and Beasts may have been born of common violence.
These similarities often express themselves in the different chattel of a single Keeper developing different seemings, which can lead to a powerful bond.
If an Elemental rusalka and Swimmerskin selkie were both kept in the ice-lined moat of a glacial giant, they might retain a particular bond of shared burdens that keeps them close even in the mortal world. On the other hand, rivalries can develop from these associations as well. The Ogre who was raised as a pit-fighter may not get along so well with the leonine Hunterheart whose brethren savaged the Ogre every Arcadian night.
Their Surroundings Beasts are very aware of the world around them. When a Beast walks down the street, he keeps an eye out for alleyways, potential bits of hard cover or hiding places, doors that might serve as bolt-holes and other such things.
Some Beasts are uncomfortable in the city, and some find it far preferable to the empty spaces of a rural environment. Urban neighborhoods have a different ecology all their own, and a Beast can be quite comfortable as a part of it. A person who was raised in an inner-city neighborhood would be more comfortable hunting there than in the woods when the Wolf came into his soul.
Beasts tend to be very territorial. Even their friends can get a harsh reaction if they call on the Beast without fair warning.
This tends to mean that most Beasts live alone. A Beast often gains heightened physical and mental acuity from his transformation. Many Beasts possess Danger Sense or Direction Sense, representing their intensified sensory abilities. Physical Merits of all sorts are common as well. Some even develop Giant, infused as they are with the nature of a bison or elephant. Those who fight might develop Fixation, Vocalization or Irrationality derangements. Those who flee are more prone to Phobia, Suspicion or Avoidance.
Most Beasts have a nesting instinct. They like their territory to feel like a part of them. They are happier with tangled bedding, clothes strewn on the furniture and haphazard decorations that suit their aesthetic. It might be, of course; some Beasts think nothing of bedding down in roach-infested tenements if it seems safer from their perspective. But many others prefer to keep fairly well groomed and their dens relatively free of filth.
A canine Hunterheart bonds quickly and fiercely with a small group, while a spiderish Venombite may prefer to live on her own. Given their experiences, Beasts are also prone to bond well with mortal animals if given the chance.
Most Beasts react very poorly to animal cruelty, and have been known to arrange… bad things for people who partake in dog-fighting or strapping cherry bombs to stray cats. They have the same issues with potentially being lost in time, having to adapt to a world that has changed more than they expected. People differ in their past experiences and personalities in ways that are very difficult for another person to understand completely. For the Beast, who has been submerged in an animal mind and fought his way back to sapience, other people are that much more distant.
A Beast has a potent animal magnetism, which helps him interact with humans rather better than one might otherwise expect. They tend to go where their kith affinities would be the most useful. A Hunterheart or Broadback might make a fine soldier to call on in times of need, but a Skitterskulk is more likely to be useful as an information broker and spy. Information gathering is more common than one might think at first among the Beasts, due in no small part to their Contracts of Fang and Talon.
Beasts develop keen senses thanks to these Contracts, and can effectively eavesdrop from an otherwise impractical distance. A Hunterheart who can talk to dogs has access to an information network that, though limited in the amount of abstract knowledge it can convey, is quite widespread. If that same Hunterheart can actually transform into a dog, he can be an innocuous observer himself. The Skitterskulk who can take rat form or the Venombite who can become a wasp is even more effective.
In some freeholds, the Lost in positions of authority take great advantage of this. Actual positions of authority may or may not interest Beasts. Their nature compels them to cut to the heart of the matter, and they grow tired of having to appease the various factions within a freehold to get anything done. But others are quite suited to leadership.
Interestingly, Beasts can also make good liaisons with the mortal world, given the right circumstances. But their ability to project animal magnetism makes them useful in the social trenches. A Beast can be the beloved fixture of a blue-collar bar, the honest and forthright old man in the park, the dark and mysterious neighbor.
Where all eyes are on the Fairest, the Beast is able to establish a quick bond of chemistry with a single person. In some freeholds, Beasts are subject to an unfortunate prejudice. Others bide their time, waiting for just the right moment to show their socalled betters just how clever and dangerous Beasts can be. Contracts of the Den A Beast knows the value of a safe home. The Contracts of the Den were struck with forces of cave and tunnel, of the womblike safety of the burrow.
These Contracts allow the Beast to protect himself and those nearest and dearest to him — or to strike into the dens of those who were not prudent enough to sign a similar Contract. The Beast who learns this clause is much harder to surprise in his own territory.
Cost: 1 Glamour Dice Pool: No dice roll is necessary. Action: Instant Catch: The changeling writes his name on one of the entrances to the territory in chalk mixed with blood. This trick allows the changeling to do so, and in some cases elude pursuit as well.
A fire exit seems to be a stretch of graffiti-marked brick wall, an attic window appears to have been boarded up for years, a manhole cover just looks like a blank patch of worn asphalt. Roll Results Dramatic Failure: The illusion begins to form, then snaps apart with an audible bang like a gunshot.
Failure: The illusion fails to appear. Success: The illusion is successful. The door or window that the changeling passed through is disguised to appear as a normal section of wall. The illusion lasts for a scene. Exceptional Success: The illusion lasts for a day and a night. This clause does not function if the home Hollow being invaded belongs to a changeling who also possesses Contracts of the Den.
Roll Results Dramatic Failure: The clause fails to activate, and any alarms are set off. Failure: The clause fails to activate, and cannot be used on the location again until 24 hours have passed. The character must risk the security systems normally. He can then bypass the security systems as if he owned the place. Recording devices will show him as one of the residents, no less.
This clause can only gain entry to a given location. Suggested Modifiers Modifier Situation —1 The changeling has never set foot inside the location before.
The changeling calls on the power of Wyrd to excavate a burrow with astonishing speed. Roll Results Dramatic Failure: The burrow collapses partway through excavation. The changeling is likely caught underground and must pull himself free. Failure: The clause fails to work. Success: The clause activates. The changeling can excavate roughly a five foot by five foot by five foot cube of earth, stone or concrete each turn, for up to one turn per success. A burrow dug into soft earth or sand gains hard- 20 Chapter One: Six Masks packed walls, and will not collapse on its own.
The tunnel dug is rough-hewn, and bears what appear to be claw marks around its edges. Exceptional Success: The changeling can choose to conceal the claw marks if he so chooses, making the burrow appear more natural or human-made. What had to be built must now be brought low. Similar to an animal collapsing the entrance of its burrow to prevent an enemy from reaching the heart of the warren, the Beast is able to bring down a section of a building or burrow. The changeling must be standing within or on the threshold of the building in question.
Roll Results Dramatic Failure: All successes are lost. The changeling takes one point of lethal damage from the strain. The character must spend the cost again to restart the Contract. Failure: No successes are gained. Success: Successes are gathered. If the total number of successes reaches the needed amount, the character brings down a section of the building. Depending on where the changeling is standing, this may bring down the entirety of the building.
Exceptional Success: No additional effect. The building was designed as a residence. At least one family calls the building home. Darklings The darkness of Arcadia is not simple absence of light. It is nights that have hungers all their own, shadows cast in the bowels of impossible castles, the grasping fingers of carnivorous forests. The Darklings are changed by the living shadows of Faerie — indeed, Darklings have entered into Contracts with darkness itself.
Some become entirely comfortable with fear and loneliness, and discover that they dislike forging social bonds with all but a select few. Others fight against the shadows that fall over their souls, searching out pleasure and companionship. But no Darkling can shun the darkness entirely. Even if Darklings suffered torments in absolute blackness in Arcadia, the dark is still comforting to them. It hides them from sight, and perhaps aided their escape. Cowardice can do worse. Or run and hope to escape the price of your curiosity?
The trees of Arcadia are older than the world, darker than the night and as miraculous as a dream. There, a crooked path leads to crooked wood where the crow cries alarm and the dark knight guards the lonely bridge over a twisting stream. The Iron Knight rules the domain where the black oaks grow. He challenges mortals to single combat, and those who feel the better part of wisdom is flight he chases down and buries under the ensnaring roots of his forest domain.
Most who come to such a fate die, food for the oak trees that groan and cry in the wind. Those who survive are changed, some core strength stolen Darklings 21 away. They are diminished, shadows of the mortals they once were. But, cocooned in the roots of the forest, those changelings learn the secrets of Arcadian night and shadows. The Black Oak Wilds are never quiet. The trees themselves talk, some begging for mercy, others whispering secret names of power.
Pale flowers bloom where bones are buried, and giant spiders haunt the upper branches of the Wilds, spinning webs and fishing for travelers below. Goblin fruits grow in abundance in the Black Oak Wilds, but harvesting them means braving the Knight, the great spiders and the malicious nature of the oaks themselves.
There are many paths through the Wilds, but they change and shift — as if the trees themselves rise up and walk — making it impossible to map this domain. They hunt down other fleetfooted trespassers, and bring them to their Keeper for judgment. When the Knight is bored or greedy, he sends his Mirrormasks out into the forest to tempt travelers off the paths by imitating fair maidens or lost children.
The Knight has little use for treasure beyond his weapons, this armor and the Beast he rides but Archivists must keep careful record of the booty he takes from defeated victims nevertheless. Although the Knight may not use gold or silver, he is driven into a fury should someone lose the least copper penny of his hoard.
The Hedge The tangled branches and clutching roots of the Wilds are nearly as dense and confusing as the Hedge itself. Far too many bones are scattered along the Hedge for that boast to be true.
Hollows created near this domain carry the smell of dank forests and the creaking, often hostile whispers of the black oaks into the dreams of the Lost who sleep there.
The Well of Tears Once upon a time, pretty babies floated down to your arms, wrapped in swaddling, weighted with lapis and silver and gold. They cry but only once, and their voices rise in silver bubbles up to the other world. You rock them in your weed-draped arms, and they whisper their names to you. Memories are more precious than gold, if you can keep them from slipping away. Water is a chancy thing, even in the mortal world, but the silent wells and centoes of Arcadia hand out blessings and curses with equal ease.
The Keepers of these wells are powerful among the Gentry, able to call rain, or banish it, able to swallow boats and rise in furious floods. They have no mercy. The Well of Tears lies near the heart if there is such a thing of Arcadia. The Well is a huge, perfectly round 22 Chapter One: Six Masks sinkhole with water as clear as air, a surface as smooth as glass and depths that hide horror and beauty.
The Old Man rules here, his great staring eyes always running with tears, his voice low as storm clouds and his payment for wishes granted seventh-born sons.
His realm is far, far below the surface of Arcadia, in the sunken tunnels and water-filled caverns that hide from the pale Fae sun. He hoards treasures: Aztec gold, lapis lazuli carved like leopards and the bones of infants. Those who serve him in the black waters swim like frogs and fishes, and die like them, too, if dragged too quickly to the dry air. The servants here take on the aspects of their masters: huge frog eyes, a gulping hunger for drowning victims or beautiful flowing hair that can entangle the unwary.
Webbed hands and frogskin, iridescent scales and fishbone combs, jewelry made from Aztec treasures thrown down to placate the gods are among the trappings found among these fae. The sky is the distant, silver surface of the water, and their home the cool waters of Arcadia. The fresh waters of Arcadia are all connected, bound together by underground tunnels, great subterranean caverns and pitch-black submerged passages. The Fae of the waters draw battle lines down beneath the surface world, fighting silent wars among themselves and using their Darkling servants as spies and assassins.
Life in the Well of Tears is a silent one, sound muted by the weight of water and horror drifting on shifting currents. The Hedge The Hedge grows deep down beneath the water, as thick and deadly as above. The roots are as thorny and dangerous as the branches above, and it is no easier to flee Arcadia through water than through air.
White bones gleam in the dimly lit waters, lost souls trapped forever in the twining roots of the Hedge. Those who cannot breathe water or have Lie Under the Waves, cannot make use of these Hollows — which can be a point of safety and one more way to isolate a vulnerable changeling from her fellow changelings.
The Diamond Castle Everything has a name. Can you? Darkness is not found only beneath the earth, or in sullen waters. It claims the highest peaks of Arcadia, where the stars shine in frozen splendor and the moon is a distant, blind eye. Night can last for years, and the cold, uncaring sky is reflected in the pale eyes of the Lady who measures the darkness and records every shed tear in her silver-bound books. Rising from the highest peak of the coldest mountain in the lost lands of Arcadia is the Diamond Castle.
A dead and desiccated vine twines to its gate, the failed escape route of some fool Jack. The walls shine under the sunless sky and freeze flesh on contact, the bones of princes come to rescue beautiful maidens litter the courtyard.
Dark dungeons and twisting tunnels burrow into the roots of the mountain. The Keeper here weeps tears of ice and drinks sweet, warm blood. She treasures beauty in the form of young boys stolen from their beds and frozen statues still in her hallways and bedchamber. And she knows darkness. Darklings in her thrall can find themselves chained to a single great book, set to tend it, guard it and stand, filed away and forgotten, in her library.
Others dance and caper in her shadow, waiting for the command to spy upon her enemies or capture other mortals for her pleasure. There is no warmth to be found anywhere in her domain, except in the blood and fear of those who stray uninvited onto her lands. Everyone is eager for a chance at those poor victims, and Darklings haunt the lightness dungeons, hoping for a chance to lick blood from the fingers of their cruel Lady. She keeps a stable of Antiquarians to maintain her library.
Some find themselves physically bound to books — bonds they rarely find a way to escape — and others may be trusted with minor tasks of annotation. The Hedge Here, the Hedge is razor-sharp, its Thorns sheathed in bitter ice. Changelings defeated by the Hedge hang like pitiable rags amid the thorns, helpless and hopeless; the Lady rarely bothers to collect strays who become trapped in the Hedge.
Darklings who creep along the ground claim the path is easier there. The lower you are, the better your chance of escape. Leechfingers follow the warm trails left by the living, or torture captives to uncover the path out.
Hollows near this domain are always bitterly cold; even fire burns blue and chill. Becoming a Darkling Curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction brought it back to life. Darklings know the joke. When he tosses those pearl dice, the Other he calls will be displeased to see who calls her.
The Fae take trespassing and thievery very poorly as well, and what may seem to be an abandoned orchard to mortal eyes may very well be a Fae treasure. Stealing a single flower, or one fallen peach, can bring the wrath of the Fae down on a day hiker. Treasure hunters also fall afoul of the Gentry; treasure hunters may research old stories, hoping a myth will lead to far from mythic gold or antiquities. Unfortunately, what seems long abandoned may be anything but, and the Fae take poorly to treasure hunters pawing through Fae property.
Not all who are caught by the Gentry intentionally trespass but claims of ignorance or innocence are more likely to draw contempt than mercy from the Fae — who are not known for their mercy under the best of circumstances.
Many Darklings remember years that stretched lifetimes of imprisonment in total isolation and darkness, until that silence and darkness became a part of them. Others recall a world so full of treachery and deceit that they could trust no one and spent their durance looking over their shoulders and anticipating betrayal. The Gentry create Darklings by stripping away that part of mortal life that loves light. They replace it with nothing.
Sometimes the way the Gentry do this is physical, using drugs or sensory deprivation, or strange experiments. Other times, they coax their captured mortal to make the necessary changes on her own, with lies, promises and — always Darklings 23 for the Darklings — fear. The Gentry may offer the Darkling a glimpse of her lost family if the Darkling consents to a potion made from ghostly blood.
Bit by bit, Darklings trade, bargain or simply have stolen away pieces of what they were as mortals and learn to accept the strange things they receive in return.
Though not all Darklings remember it, there is always one loss that is never replaced and that, they believe, is what makes them Darklings as opposed to some other seeming. It makes mortals what they are to Darklings; beautiful, tempting and… appetizing.
That emptiness becomes part of what a Darkling is, stretched thin and hollow. Some Darklings try to fill themselves with the life of others, becoming Leechfingers.
Others pursue knowledge, either to reverse what has been done with them or find something else — better — to quiet the soft murmur that reminds them that they are not what they once were. Born in Darknes s Darklings often possess Merits that enable them to avoid conflict. As a further means of keeping themselves safe, many attempt to gather Allies, Contacts or a Retainer upon their return. When a Darkling starts to slide into madness, one of her first instincts is to retreat.
When these derangements shift in severity, it can be difficult even to find the Darkling to offer her help. Even when necessity demands such things, Darklings often have a secret bolt-hole whose location only they know.
However, they crave the stability a home represents and the conflict between their fears and their long-denied hunger for connection means many Darklings have two or more places they call their own — some are known, others remain private.
On the one hand, this shell game can make other Lost feel mistrusted, but on the other it almost always means that a Darkling can come up with an emergency bolt-hole should it be necessary. Darklings favor goblin locks and entrances hidden behind sliding panels, or piles of garbage. Sometimes, traps are bought from fellow Wizened, trap burglars. Darkling homes are only subtly marked with their Court and affiliation, if at all. Within their homes, Darklings reveal much of their inner, private lives.
Just as many Lost, Darklings may hoard money, or food or something else they were horribly deprived of by their Keepers to ensure they never again suffer such want. Darklings take their responsibilities as a host very seriously and are quite sensitive to any insults, no matter how slight, to their hospitality.
They choose locations based on convenience, and defensibility, so they might be living in the new subdivision outside a large city, or in a long-abandoned sewer off-shoot. This can result in awkward meetings between a scruffy, skulking Leechfinger heading back to bed after a hard night harvesting fear and a mortal soccer mom taking her plump and oblivious children to school.
It can be equally difficult — intentionally so — for anyone trying to track down and capture a Darkling because there might always be one more hideaway to investigate. Interactions with the Mortal World Darklings have a bit more trouble adjusting to the mortal world.
Darklings have lost, just as many changelings, a certain security about their place in the world. Unlike the mortals the Darklings hide among, they are very aware that more powerful and crueler minds exist — and they have an unpleasant interest in humanity.
The result is that Darklings mistrust most mortals for their ignorance, and therefore come across as untrustworthy themselves. Mortals are best viewed from afar, most say. Mortals who anger Darklings face long, terrifying nights when every shadow can hide a changeling whose natural home is the darkness.
Darklings fall back on old fairy tricks, with a malicious twist. Most mortals who gain the serious enmity of a Darkling never know who is systemically destroying their lives. Darklings 25 They want their victims — deserving or not — to suffer, to lose their family, their homes, the lives that they knew. Freehold Roles Suspicion never quite leaves Darklings. Most Darklings are also aware they are prone to mistrust and paranoia, so are they really under constant suspicion or do they only think that?
If you need to do something while your back is turned, the saying goes, get a Darkling to do it for you. Their natural aptitudes, their innate Contracts and their servitude among the Gentry all combine to make Darklings naturals at spying, thieving and assassination. All claims of sunny innocence aside, the Spring and Summer Courts have as many Darklings as their gloomier opposites.
Darklings may be drawn to those brighter Courts as a way to fill their own need for brightness in their lives, or they may imagine it will be safer to hide behind the brilliance of Summer in full power. Contracts of Shade and Spirit At some point in the past, the Gentry apparently bargained even with Death itself. While changelings may not have access to the great boons of immortality and unaging eternity granted to the True Fae, changelings can access lesser boons agreed upon between fae and death.
This clause allows the changeling to see, hear and speak to any ghosts in her area same room, or conversational distance outside in Twilight for a scene. Roll Results Dramatic Failure: The clause fails, but the changeling thinks she is talking to a ghost and holds a conversation with empty air. Failure: The changeling cannot see or speak to the ghosts. Success: The changeling sees, hears and can speak to ghosts in the area as if they were living.
Exceptional Success: The nearest other living individual is also affected by the clause — whether the changeling wants him to be or not. This clause thins that barrier. With Dread Companion, a ghost is given the ability to affect one sense sight, touch, hearing of everyone participating in the clause for one scene. If Dread Companion is cast indoors, everyone in a single room is susceptible to the clause; if the clause is cast outside, everyone within sight of the changeling using the clause is affected.
Roll Results Dramatic Failure: Instead of giving the ghost the power to interact with the living, a minor, malicious spirit gains the freedom of sensory interaction for the scene. The spirit will act in as cruel and vicious manner it can, with the sense available, for the duration of the scene. Failure: The ghost is unable to interact. Success: The ghost is able to interact with the living for the scene. Exceptional Success: The ghost can be seen as well as whatever other sense has been selected.
If sight was the chosen sense, then touch is the one added for free. A changeling who invokes this clause gives a ghost one more chance to speak and be seen by the living. Roll Results Dramatic Failure: The ghost is not made manifest to the living; severe poltergeist activity is generated instead. For the duration of the scene, the location is full of loud roaring noises and horrible smells, hair and clothing are pulled and the like.
The dishes are thrown and shattered; fragile objects are particularly subject to the poltergeist activity. Failure: The ghost is not made manifest.
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