Character Sheets!

[Corwin]

Ivy

Attributes

Intelligence **
Wits ***
Resolve **

Strength **
Dexterity **
Stamina **

Presence **
Manipulation ***
Composure ***


Skills

Mental

Academics *
Investigation **
Medicine *
Occult *** (specialty: superstitions)

Physical

Athletics *
Stealth ** (specialty: crowds)
Survival *

Social

Empathy *
Expression **
Intimidation ** (specialty: stare-downs)
Persuasion *** (specialty: sales pitches)
Socialize **
Subterfuge **


Contracts

Dream: Pathfinder (*), Intelligence + Wyrd/1 Glamour, p124-125
Hearth: Fickle Fate (*), p128
Vainglory: Mask of Superiority (*) : Wyrd + Intimidation - Resolve/2 Glamour, p146
Vainglory: Song of Distant Arcadia (**) : Presence + Expression/2 Glamour, p147
Fleeting Spring: Cupid's Eye (*) : Wits + Wyrd vs Composure + Wyrd/1 Glamour, p149
Goblin: Trading Luck for Fate (*) : Wits + Wyrd/1 Glamour, p164


Merits

Wyrd **
New Identity **
Mantle (Spring) *
Minion *
Resources *
Harvest: Pledges *
Harvest: Emotions *

Wyrd 2 (Vows 5; Goblin Fruits 5)
Glamour 8/10 (Per turn 2)
Fairest/Flowering (Seductive Fragrance: 9 again for Persuasion, Socialize, Subterfuge; may spend Glamour to improve rolls for those three)

Defense 2
Health 7
Size 5
Init 5
Clarity 7
Speed 9
Willpower 5 (5/5 left)
XP: 3 (2 spent on Harvest/Pledges; 4 spent on Pathfinder; 2 spent on Harvest/Emotions; 2 spent on Hallow/Warded; 3 spent on Empathy *) [prices, p77]

Virtue: Temperance
Vice: Pride

[Vow with Kyle for a favor for getting him out of trouble when his dorm room was shot up.]



Ivy runs a small flower shop in a quiet section of Revello Drive, rising early with the first light and toiling away until twilight. None of her customers can quite put their finger on when her shop first opened, but few ever pay it a second, curious thought. Flowers purchased there feel richer and livelier, with that special something that is hard to put a finger on, yet one inevitably notices. When asked about it, Ivy demurs, claiming that it is the result of love. Fewer still notice the amused smile that crosses her lips at that time, as if laughing at a joke only she is privy to.

Ivy Morgan is a humble, pleasant florist, but Ivy Morgan was born Celia Winters. Honest to a fault, seeking to perfect herself in every field, a cheerleader honors student, Celia was quite ignorant to the amounts of hate she generated by her mere existence. Her brightness drew the Reine des Glacons to her, and thus started her twisted fall from grace. The fae sought to possess everything of Celia, and went towards that goal by fundamentally changing everything about her, bit by bit. A selfless attitude morphed into putting her desires first and foremost, a great capacity for love became an almost alien inability to even grasp the emotion as she was nurtured and pruned like an exotic bonsai tree by her Keeper. Her physical body grew taller, her blonde locks turned into flowing ivy, her thoughts, impulses, motivations and desires... Celia stopped looking like herself, then feeling like herself, thinking like herself... she finally stopped identifying with humans altogether.

Much of the time in Arcadia remains a blur, though it is the escape from it which leaves Ivy privately confused. She recalls nothing of it, of an awakening or of fleeing the Hedge. Her memories begin in a jumble as she is reunited with her family. The world did not go on cruelly without Ivy; it froze in place instead.  An eternity had passed in captivity, but Ivy found her old life exactly as fragments of memory insisted it should be. The only difference was the fetch, and the fetch was angry.

She remembers stumbling away in a daze, covered in blood. Celia slaughtered her family, slaughtered the imposter, slaughtered everyone. Which Celia? Why? What snapped her out of it? Ivy cannot answer those questions, even privately to herself. Of more import at the time was that she lacked a place for herself, and she was determined not to return to her captivity. A new identity was her answer, and it only served as her vessel for learning more about herself. Much was lost, some was reclaimed; the need to excel in every field no longer remained, but an equally strong impulse not to fall behind on anything came in its stead. Connecting to humans was still impossible, but Ivy relentlessly pursued a contract to allow her to regain a measure of that understanding. The Spring Court was her route towards acquiring a sense of self -- not the young woman that was taken and now gone forever, not the beloved toy of the Reine des Glacons, but a brand new person born of those two, the inspiration of her Keeper and the desires she had now found herself with.

Ivy wishes to make the lives of the people around her brighter. No longer able to connect with people or emphasize with their desires, however, she had to resort to manipulating events and perceptions behind the scene. She doesn't feel bothered by something that would have been anathema to her in another life, operating by striking conversations with the customers in her shop. Those of them that make honest, pure wishes find themselves rewarded. Those who do not may find fate quite brutal, as a part of her personality resents such acts.

She has remained in Valiance City for a reason she cannot admit to a single living soul. Once the oldest of three sisters, Ivy feels a powerful need to ensure that the only other member of her family who survived the massacre by virtue of having detention at the time is safe. Intruding into her life or inviting Karen over into hers would not serve that goal, but as long as she remains at an arm's length, watching from the sidelines, Ivy may be able to prevent a tragedy surely just waiting to happen.

It was in the course of keeping an eye on Karen that Ivy came across Ted. A hapless classmate of hers, he kept on paying Ivy undue attention without trying to show it, despite several precautions she had taken against casual detection. Even after she pulled away, continuing to keep tabs remotely, Ted's interest persisted. Not certain what to make of it, Ivy continued acting the way she normally did. It was after sealing a pledge with one of her customers that he finally approached her and the situation became clear to her. Ted could see what normal people couldn't -- the Glamour, the contracts, her true self -- or, rather, a twisted, nightmarish version of it. He could see it all his life, and had always been traumatized by the experience. He made an oath, pledging servitude if she could help him. It was a slip of the tongue, perhaps, more than a real intent to become indentured. Nevertheless, that is how Ivy took it, and turned Ted's nightmares into pleasant fantasy with a pair of rose-tinted glasses. And so did Ivy gain a part-timer working in her flower shop.




"I will take on the sins of the father, then, and let them trouble you no more. On my true name do I pledge this. My waking dreams as your own, to have and to hold, from this day forward--"

"--in sickness and health, until death do us part, etcetera?"

"So be it."


Tasks: Alliance (-2, mortal must serve changeling), Ensorcellment (-2, changeling)
Boons: Ensorcellment (+2, mortal), Adroitness (+1, mortal can care better for flowers), Glamour (+2, to changeling)
Sanction: Poisoning of Boon (-2, both)
Duration: Lifelong (+3)

[Roukanken]

Phi

Elemental (1 Glamour to add Wyrd to Health once per day; no 10 Again on Empathy, Expression, Persuasion, Socialize, or any Manipulation Roll)
Airtouched (Velocity of the Zephyr: 1 Glamour to add Wyrd to Speed/Initiative for rest of scene)
Autumn Court

Attributes-
Physical (Tertiary)
Strength: **
Dexterity: ***
Stamina: *

Mental (Primary)
Intelligence: ***
Wits: ***
Resolve: **

Social (Secondary)
Presence: ***
Manipulation: ***
Composure: *

Defense: 3
Health: 6 (3 lethal)
Initiative: 4
Clarity: 4 (Reduced by 2 for 10 extra experience points; holding onto the points to buy extra Wyrd)
Speed: 10
Willpower: 1
Wyrd: 2 (1 point by default, 1 point bought with Merit)
Experience: 4
Glamour: 4/11
Goblin Fruit: 2/6

Virtue: Prudence
Vice: Pride

Skills:
Mental (Primary)
Academics: ***
Computer: **** (Specialty: Hacking, Programming)
Science: **
Crafts: **

Physical (Tertiary):
Brawl: *
Larceny: *
Stealth: ** (Specialty: Quick Exit)
Firearms: *

Social (Secondary):
Empathy: *
Intimidation: *
Persuasion: **
Socialise: *** (Specialty: Internet chatrooms/MSN)

Merits:
Resources **
Harvest *
Contacts * (Online contacts, obviously)
Mantle * (Autumn)
Bonus point of Wyrd

Contracts:
Cloak of the Elements (*, 2 Glamour, No roll, Instant, p138)
Armor of the Elements' Fury (**, 2 Glamour, Dexterity+Wyrd, Instant, p139)
Control Elements (***, 3 Glamour, Manipulation+Wyrd, Instant, p139)
Witches' Intuition (*, 1 Glamour, Wits + Wyrd - Target Composure, Instant, p156)
Pathfinder (*, 1 Glamour, Intelligence + Wyrd, Instant, p125)
Calling The Element (****, 4 Glamour, Wits + Wyrd, Extended [1 roll/turn, target 5], p140)

-----

The internet is a brilliant place to live a second life.

There is little need to fear if you stutter on your words, aren't the physical Adonis you claim to be, or if you don't actually own a dozen sports cars. None of that information seeps through the keyboard. On the internet, you can be whoever you want.

This was a truth that Phillip Fawkes knew all too well. He was a good enough kid at school - good marks, if not the best, and never caused any trouble - but a life lived so cautiously was one lived without popularity. When the school split off into its little niches, Phillip would find himself alone with nothing but books and computers for company. And he had never been much of a reader even with his glasses, so there was only one real choice.

It began as a little hobby when there was no work to do - jumping onto some internet forum and taking on a mystical, brilliant persona. He called himself the Stormchaser, and his knowledge of computers along with a decent (if well-hidden) supply of wit allowed him to flourish into something of a minor internet celebrity. It was a hobby that soon took up all of his spare time; not only in increasing his popularity, but in defending himself from those who criticised him. What right did they have to say that he wasn't who he claimed to be? They had no evidence, after all.

But of course, with his success, there also came fans. Amidst the calls of 'you are teh coolist' and 'stromchaser FTW!', there was one message that drew his attention far stronger than any other. He had never heard of the sender - someone known as RdG - but the message contained a poem intricately woven with a better grasp of the English language than any he had ever studied at school. Immediately he was enamoured, and so the internet courting began.

Of course, she was only ever playing with him. The Fae did not understand the concept of love, but from Arcadia it was easy to manipulate this 'internet' the humans were so attached to. Phillip fell for her trap hook, line, and sinker; and one winter's day, he was enawed as his computer screen froze over.

Literally.

Before he had a chance to scream, an icy hand reached out and pulled him inside, and as his eyes opened he found himself surrounded by hedges laced with snow. The glasses fell to the floor, forgotten. A woman - he could not remember her figure, or her appearance - whispered in his ear, with a voice that made every bone in his body shiver.

"You are not the hero you claimed to be, boy."

He was never shown the love he had felt for the Reine des Glacons; she had tired of him by the time he came to Arcadia. But still, a servant was a servant, and she found another use for him - she forcefully turned him into a lightning cloud, a little tool to pester the True Fey who irritated her.

Phillip didn't remember much of his time in Arcadia after that. He recalled angry faces as he brought rain and lightning down on picnics and frolics; raining on their parades, so to speak. At some point his feeling of disgust at his own actions started to give way: he felt satisfied by upsetting others, comforted by schadenfreude.

Perhaps it was that spiteful streak that led to his escape - the cloud simply wandered off in a different direction than it was ordered, and by the time his Keeper noticed his absence he was long gone. He returned home, in a pair of damaged glasses he found on the street, hoping to find his parents overjoyed to find their son home from what must have been years of absence.

Instead, he was told that no, Phillip Fawkes had never been missing, and it had only been a few days since his apparent 'abduction'. Borrowed time at an internet cafe only served to confirm his fears: the Stormchaser lived on, and he was writing things that Phillip had never written. A life that Phillip had never lived.

He did the only thing that came naturally to him, and found a forum about the supernatural and the occult. He asked pleadingly if this had happened to anyone else, these dreams of a life in a realm of faeries, the returning to find another in your place, the feeling that you didn't belong in your own home. Of course, the local freehold tracked him down immediately, and he was reprimanded for such a reckless call of his true nature - the Fae could always be watching, after all, and he had already be caught in that way once before. With the seeds of fear already planted in him, it seemed only logical to join the Autumn Court as soon as he had the chance.

But he could no longer be Phillip Fawkes; even if that name hadn't been taken on by his Fetch, he was no longer the same person who had eagerly made a name for himself behind the computer screen. In fact, if anything, he was two people now; one who resembled the old human side of his, and another that was something else entirely.

The human side chose to refer to itself as Phi. It was mathematical, but wonderfully reminiscent of his old name, and so he settled for it. As he grew more accustomed to changeling life, he mustered the bravery to venture back onto the internet (and the wisdom to cover his tracks). He could no longer be Stormchaser, but Phi was a personality of his own now. Wiser, more fatalistic, perhaps less empathetic, but still accepted and well-known around his given circles.

But that was only when the glasses were on. When they came off - and they did, because now his sight problems had disappeared since his return - he was not Phillip Fawkes. He was not Stormchaser. He was not even Phi. He was a lightning cloud given form, a cloud that revelled in the misfortune of others, that made an effort to ruin the lives of others and basked in the Glamour their rage produced.

He was Stormbringer.

There was no feeling of humility present in him. Only an urge to infuriate and laugh at the expense of others. His fetch was his favourite target, even if it drew him no Glamour - it was all too satisfying to exact revenge on the creature that had taken his rightful place. If the time called for it, the glasses would go back on and he would become Phi again - the two halves were aware of each other, and could call on each other if needed with that simple gesture.

And so the former Phillip Fawkes lived out his day to day life. He was the technical adviser for the local freehold, even if his court did not hold him in particularly high standing. He was paid enough to live a relatively wealthy lifestyle - not glamourously rich, but no worries about what he would eat tonight.

And sometimes, when there were no court duties to be seen to, he would sit down at his computer, leave his glasses at the side, and revel in the fantastic aura of Glamour his favourite forums forced down his throat.

[Ranmilia]

Charles Reiland

Wizened - Artist
Summer Court

Attributes (Physical/Mental/Social)

Strength **
Dexterity ****
Stamina *

Intelligence ***
Wits **
Resolve **

Presence **
Manipulation **
Composure **


Skills 11/7/4

Mental

Crafts **** (Specialties: Dollmaking, Explosives)
Science ***
Occult ** (Speciality: Fetches)
Investigation **


Physical

Larceny ***
Firearms **
Stealth ** (Speciality: Delivery)


Social

Empathy **
Expression **



Contracts

Artifice: Brief Glamour of Repair (*), Instant or Extended, 1 Glamour, Wyrd+Craft, p134
Artifice: Touch of Workman's Wrath (**), Instant, 2 Glamour, Wyrd+Larceny, p134
Artifice: Blessing of Perfection (***), Extended (1roll/turn, 8 success needed), 3 Glamour, Wyrd+Wits, p135
Smoke: The Wrong Foot (*), Instant, 1 Glamour, no roll, p132
Smoke: Nevertread (**), Instant, 1 Glamour, Wyrd+Int, p132



Merits

Wyrd *
Mantle (Summer) *
Resources ***
Harvest (Emotions) *
Harvest (Pledges) *
Contacts **

Wyrd 1 (Vows 5; Goblin Fruits capacity 3)
Glamour 7/10 (Per turn 1)
Wizened (Nimble: Can spend 1 Glamour for 9 again on Dex rolls for a scene, and to add Wyrd dots to Dodge for scene, do not get 10 again on Presence)
Artist (Impeccable Craftsmanship: 8 again for Crafts; may spend 1 Glamour to reroll failed dice on a Crafts roll 1/roll)

Defense 2
Health 6
Size 5
Init 6
Clarity 7
Speed 11
Willpower 4


Virtue: Hope
Vice: Wrath

---------------

Oh, me?  I don't know, I prefer to live in the now, rather than the then.  You insist?  Well, some years ago there was this young boy who loved - well, dolls, straight up.  Action figures, they're called, but really they're just dolls for boys.  Had a whole shelf of em, he did, and set up elaborate landscapes, kingdoms and armies and space warfare and dinosaurs and everything else a kid could think of, which is quite a lot, I might add!  They were fun, much more fun to arrange than any sports team, and sometimes he imagined they came to life.  (He was wrong, though.  They don't actually come to life.)  And at some point, at some time, after the boy grew up a bit and got married and got into the business of making his own, his son asked him if dolls ever came to life.  And he answered - well, does it really matter what he said back then, or what the strange woman browsing his shop thought of it? 

That was then, and this is now, and the reality of the situation is that dolls do not come to life and are not living things.  Dolls aren't people, people aren't dolls, you get me?  Even if you put a person in a twisted dollhouse, among dolls that look like people, and play with them, and have them make more dolls and more dolls that look like people, even if you break their joints and put strings in them and give them a wooden nose, no matter how long that lasts, that person wouldn't be a doll, and they'd get out of the dollhouse, eventually, no matter how long it took and how many dolls they had to break to get out.  Right?  And even if you take a doll, and build it like a person, and make it look like a person, act like a person, even think like a person, it'd still be a doll in the end, something made rather than born, something of material and not substance, not life, in the end.  You see?

Well, sorry for that little ramble, I digress a bit.  Just that dolls aren't people, you know, and I have to tell a lot of kids that.  Sometimes people get confused, and all.  Even adults can get a little confused, sometimes, with these new lifelike ones, and it helps them to talk a bit and get things straight, what's a doll and what's a person.  I'm always happy to help, of course, I love talking about the craft.  Even though they aren't people, dolls are still the pinnacle of toymaking, without a doubt.  Ah, you agree?  Hah hah, thanks.  I don't really go in for the lifelike ones, though, I'm more of an artistic style and function sort of guy.  These days anyhow. 

Like these ones, come over here, take a look.  Entirely modular, you can paint them however you like, or I can prepaint them for you.  Great for kids, or great for war games with bigger kids.  See, look at this, you just touch it on the chest here and it'll suddenly - whoaho!  POP, indeed!  Battle damage, like they call it on the commercials!  Oh, it's just a bit of glitter, don't worry, it'll dust right off.  But yes, you see, you can make them pop open and fall apart as much as you like, and then have the fun of putting them back together yourself, however you like!  That's the magic of modularity. 

You can get ones that just fall apart, too, or whole-made ones, but I sort of like the forceful action the best, eh?  Got a little punch to it, just a sort of final pride, you know, being able to break dolls as well as make them.  You'd be surprised how many people are into that sort of thing.  Perfectly harmless to people of course, and harmless to a good hand-wrought doll as well.  Oh, rubbish, mine won't break, certainly.  It's only the cheap knockoffs that break and stay broken.

Ah, but you were asking about me?  Nothing special, just got my business, see my ex and kid once in a while.  He's too old for dolls now, and she and I, well, we grew apart, sort of.  You know how it goes, even in a good long relationship, the lady starts deluding herself, thinking she's got with some ideal version of you, and then one day something happens, it's like the illusion dies and she wakes up and sees the real you next to her again and she decides she can't reconcile them in her head.  Sad, yah, but it's life, these things happen. 

And it's Grampa Charlie to you, mister!  Don't even think about any "Chucky" jokes, do I look like a killer to you?