'On Guard'

I am doing proper work, but all for things I cannot show. Here is a very basic concept for a kind of quiet, still, ‘para-venture’ made up of quiet, strange moments; only things which happen in the night.

The PCs are hired as the Night Watch for the rear entrance of a Magical Academy. Their shift runs from sunset to sunrise and their only job is to guard a particular door, manage entry, and, if there are more than three PCs, patrol the perimeter.

Pieter Neefs the Younger

Concepts

Stay In Place

The PC’s cannot move. They do not go anywhere. They have to stay by the door, stay alert and stay On Guard. In case of a serious emergency, they could perhaps, walk down the alleyways behind the college, to investigate a fire, a dying man, a crashed cart or the like, but they better be back On Guard fast. But there won’t be a ‘Serious Emergency’.

No Drama

Almost nothing dramatic happens. There are dramas, conspiracies and crimes happening in the College, in the city, in the night, but the PCs are simply ‘extras’ in these plots and happenings. A man runs down the alleyway, veers into a side-street. Then a second man, perhaps a Hero or Detective, runs the same way; “Did you see where he went?” The PCs can answer however they like. This will be the limit of their interaction. They do make some decisions, which will have some effect, but they are not the main event

Long Term Awareness

A long time is meant to pass. Certainly months, perhaps a few years. The PCs have to save up money (and not get fired). One effect of this is the depth and detail revealed by the ever increasing familiarity the PC’s have with their small patch of space.

This area, around the rear wall and the rear door, its locality, everything near it and everything they can see, hear and smell, everything they experience in this place, they perceive with incredible depth. The details of the alley itself, its shifts and changes over seasons. Its stones and flags. Details of the view - like 'Rear Window' they see the same view every night and grow accustomed to its patterns, so much that when they change (the wrong light going on at the wrong time, a dog that doesn't bark in the night), they notice. Details of the soundscape - they hear the city round them, night after night, and know its rhythms and patterns, from market nights (lots of rats from the lost produce), post-festivals (vomit and people passed out), the regular closing times of pubs nearby, the brawls and drama they hear on Saturdays, religious holidays and the timing of bells and sacred services, through months and seasons, all of this becomes deeply familiar to them, so much that if the pattern changes, they notice. And minor things; the fortunes of a stray cat (regular visitor), corrosion of the brickwork, (“somebody needs to have a look at that”), a broken drain, a banging gate a mile away.

Minor Situations

The PCs have a list of people who are allowed to go in and out, and are definitely meant to keep a list of anyone who does.

What if someone 'very important seeming' turns up, but they aren't on the list, but they say its ok? If the PCs don’t let them in, they could get into trouble, but if they do let them in, they could get into trouble for that. What if this sets a pattern and someone starts taking advantage? What if they offer a distaff bribe? What about horny students climbing the walls? What about the woman you see in her window? The noises from the sewer? The sound of a thief fleeing in the darkness a street away?

After the Night Watch by Erik Henningsen

What Kind of Characters?

The players could make PCs specifically for ‘On Guard’, but if incorporated into a wider campaign the ‘Player Characters’ of ‘On Guard’ could be;

· Old; PCs who have simply aged out of adventuring, but who are not so rich they can fully retire.

· Injured; PCs who received a substantial injury it will take time to heal. This could have permanently altered their employment prospects (‘Took an arrow to the Knee’) or they may simply need some time in a less-stressful position.

· Mentally Traumatised; or even cursed.

· Young; those who have not yet started their adventuring career, (and if they stay in this job, perhaps they never will).

· Under Cover/On The Lam; the Adventurers are hiding for some reason and have taken on false identities. Either as part of a larger scheme or simply to avoid the Law until the heat dies down.

If the PCs are still adventurers, they should have no particular scheme or idea in play regarding the College of Magic, or any nearby organisations. This would ruin the character of ‘On Guard’, which is meant, fundamentally, to be ‘about nothing’ or about what happens between and within people who are ‘doing nothing’.

Antoine Auguste Ernest Hébert - On Guard

The Rules of the Job

You stay On Guard from Sunset to Sunrise. This means in Summer, hours are short, but the work is easy as its warm. While in Winter, hours are LONG, and the work is hard, (but at least you get paid more).

You take over from the Late Shift, who are supposed to maintain the gate, the record and the Watch House, (but often don’t), and you hand over to the Morning Shift (who are often late).

There is a Gate, a smaller man-sized Gate within that gate, a Watch House within the walls (one room), and a Rear Perimeter (you are not meant to patrol the front of the building – it has, or is meant to have, magical defences and a small guard staff who are much better paid and uniformed than you. You would make the College look bad to be seen ‘out front’.

Duties

You have three duties, depending on how many players there are.

· First and most important; two Guards (in Uniform, with halberds (this is non-negotiable)), must always be ‘On Guard’ before the Rear Gate.

· If there are two more, they should patrol the rear of the College, slowly, quietly, roughly once an hour.

· If there are two more, making six, then two can sit in the Guard House. Its one room with no fire, (but you are allowed a brazier outside in winter).

· There is a ‘behavioural code’ meaning no ‘slovenly or disruptive’ behaviour, including no ‘leaning’, no ‘leaning of Halberds’, no smoking, drinking, fraternising, game or chatter. No pets – has been recently added.

· There will be surprise inspections and regular checking of paperwork.

General Equipment

 

· Hourglass – this tells you which hour of the Watch you are in. (Though Church bells throughout the night will do this too.)

· Small Gate Keys - which you receive, (or are meant to receive) from the Late Watch, and which you in turn hand over to the Morn Watch. These open the small gate-within-the-gate, not the large one.

· Entry List - particular names who are allowed in or out of the Rear Gate. In some cases these names have descriptions, special seals they are meant to have, riddles or even stranger things. This also changes for mysterious reasons. You are pretty sure the Late Shift have added some things on there as a joke.

· Passage Log - the names of everyone who did come in or out. You are meant to record all of these, along with the time, any pertinent details etc.

· Watch Log - where you report.. well anything that happens.

· Equipage Log – where you sign in and out confirming that you have received all this stuff. (Oddly, the Equipage Log itself is not noted in the Equipage Log.

· Ink and Pen – this freezes in winter, dries in summer and the Late Watch always use it up and don’t replace it.

· Three Lanterns and enough oil for two Lanterns for Eight hours. (One is meant to be spare and they do not adjust for Winter or Summer hours.)

· Brass Whistle – this indicates the Watch Commander, (a near meaningless rank).

· Bell – to be rung only in event of attack on the school, but if an attack is underway, it must be rung.

· Lot Tin – for choosing who goes on Watch/Patrol/Reserve with who. The ‘Watch Commander’ can decide this, but the College recommends you take lots for it, to avoid cliques forming.

Personal Equipment

 

· Morion Helm – Non optional. shared with the other Watches. Most Guards wear a coif of some kind which they own themselves.

· Chainmail – shared, has to be adjusted for each guard. (You are allowed to bring your own armour).

· Halberd – shared and non-optional. A Guard ‘On Guard’ or ‘On Patrol’ must have their halberd with them and specifically in their hands at all times. (This is impossible while also writing down names). The Halberd does have a hook-thing on it you can hang a lantern from. The Halberds are very top-heavy and uncomfortable to carry.

· Tabard – with the Symbol of the College. Again, non-optional.

There is also a general dress-code indicating you should be reasonably turned out, facial hair trimmed, clean and ‘give a good account of yourself’. Added is ‘No slender knives, incendiary devices or knuckledusters’. You are not specifically banned from smoking, though without an ‘incendiary device’, how can you light anything?

The Night Watchman by Karl Martin August Splitberger

Kinds Of Schedule

The substance of the game is made up of layered patterns of time. Rhythms of events sensed by the PCs, layered over and upon each other, each subtle changing according to circumstance of the time of the year.

Remember the deeper one gets into night, and the quieter everything becomes, the more sounds seem to carry. Sounds usually inaudible become more tangible. A single iron-wheeled cart several streets away is virtually inaudible in day, very striking after midnight.

The life of the City

 

· Last bars putting out, (these may have different characters).

· The last carriages leaving, wheels striking the cobblestones.

· Bells ringing.

· A dog that always barks when its master comes home.

· Garbage men making their rounds,

· Sewermen and Gongfarmers.

· Bakers arriving for work and their bakeries lighting up.

· The sound of single horses hooves moving at midnight.

· Traffic, the tramping of feet, of horses and cattle, dying away around sunset and building again before dawn.

· A dawn chorus when the sun rises.

Animal Life

 

· Stray cats.

· Stray dogs (rare).

· Rats in the street (where are they going to or from?).

· The occasional owl at night .

· Urban foxes.

· Lost stray or rare domestic animals, a lost pet from somewhere (maybe in the college, an escaped test subject)

· A run-away horse or donkey several streets away.

Plant Life

This changes more than anything season to season. Everything tangible to the PCs is very small, stuff people passing by likely wouldn't notice.

· Flowers growing in the wall.

· Weeds in the gaps in the paving stones out back.

· A small tree starts sprouting - pull it out?

· Things growing in the gutters of the buildings up above.

Slow-time senses

The things you would only notice if you were in a single place, listening and watching, for a long time, time after time.

The wind turning the weathervanes. Shifts in the winds sound as it moves its direction; from some angles it is displaced over the roofs, from others, funnelled by the streets and whooshes down your alleyway

The pulse of water running through drains in the minutes after a sudden shower. Anywhere dripping water lands just-so on a resonant surface, making a lout repetitive sound.

Any door or gate, within half a mile that swings regularly in wind. Even if the noise is slight, its rhythmic irregularity makes it highly noticeable in the middle of the night.

In the darkness, the ground only visible from the sheen of lamplight on wet cobbles, or the little pools between them, making a gridwork of light, the trail of particular snails across cobbles or bricks. the general prevalence of snails and slugs at certain times. A hedgehog!

Sounds of the Academy

What is even going on in there? It’s a magical Academy right? - and a Hogwarts style thing, so there are going to be students sleeping overnight, presumably broken up by house and gender, so you may have some Harry Potter little shit, or groups of little shits, running around in the night on some 'adventure'.

Overnight Experiments – it’s a research school as well, magical research I would think, so with some alchemical or ritual magics, you are going to need to be going all night, possibly over several days, and so have people attending to the 'reaction' or the 'summoning' all night.

Plus MIDNIGHT is always a magical time, so every night at midnight there is maybe going to be some chanting and/or some lighting or electricity going on.

Most astronomers would likely have to leave the city to observe, but you would see them leaving and coming back in the dawn.

Wizards making magical doors in the wall.

A well-known 'climbing spot' where students can get over the wall and go about in the city acting tough, thinking they are cool, and you can possibly get bribed by them

I probably need to do a whole section on bribery.

Possible monsters/vampires/doppelgangers trying to get in/out, like a guy who is clearly a pale jelly-like simulation of someone else, so you just don't let him in. (This would conflict with the ‘no drama’ rule.

Scharwache by Carl Spitzweg

How do you actually 'play' this game?

The actually-difficult part. There is a reason, after all, that no-one designs games like this. Ultimately this is not a thing where challenge is going to be a huge part of the game, people are largely going to be there because they want to be, but it still needs to be some part of the game. So far I have no actual plan, but only concepts….

Time is the Enemy

If Time really is the enemy, then any challenge of this adventure lies not necessarily in facing any particular event but in simply getting through the night. A failure state means what exactly? You get bored, fuck up, get your pay docked, get fired?

Don’t Be Noticed

A useful concept might be that at least one member of the crew is genuinely ‘hidden’, maybe an ex-criminal or in hiding from some other organisation, and they really don’t want anything to happen. In that sense, ‘getting through the night’, like getting through a bunch of nights, without being fired or reprimanded, but also without being noticed or remarked on, adds more of a gamic element.

Its tempting to make it so that every member of the crew has some particular reason for not being noticed, or a particular desire specifically for nothing exciting to happen. Making them all explicitly, or secretly anti-adventurers. But that alone makes this perhaps more of ‘game’ than I originally conceived it as being. (Though much more tangible to a wider audience.)

Near Real-Time

Concept – the game at its basic level is lived almost in ‘real time’. You simply live through the 'hours'. Most of the ‘action’ of the game is trying to find things to do that will ‘speed up’ time, while also not actually making you bad at your job or getting you into shit.

Betting Time

One concept is some kind of 'betting system' where the PCs can 'bet' time, but the more time they 'bet' the more likely they are to be inspected or to get something wrong somehow, thus throwing them back into ‘real time’, and/or giving them some kind of negative event.

Ways to ‘Accelerate’ Time

Perhaps you can accelerate time by telling each other stories, playing games of chess, (presumably inside the guard room), having random conversations etc. Maybe this could take advantage of the slightly sopophoric sleepy regular intonation of events – if PCs can have random conversations about the sound of a bell, or a dog barking, that’s fifteen minutes or half an hour taken off. This would be defeating time through role play.

A Boredom Score

Maybe the pcs have to roll (collectively) against boredom? Or to roll awareness, and if they succeed, they get a richer, more detailed story of the events of the watch, while if they fail, they get the bare information.

We can do this hour-by-hour with each hour being a separate roll, and with environmental effects and the various preparations for them also affecting this. Like - you are not meant to have a chair out here, or to lean against the wall, (a brazier is allowed in winter), but you can kind of fudge this by keeping a secret chair, or by covertly leaning against the wall, or leaning your Halberd against it, maybe this brings down your Boredom Score, or makes time faster, but with some secondary negative effect, getting caught or being punished some other way.

‘Islands’ of Events

The big problem with this information is that its NON INTERACTIVE (or much of it is). Maybe I could break the 'watch' up into 'islands' of minor interactable events, like a cat visits, someone throws up on the street, a visitor comes to the rear door, and simply have long chants of information between each 'event'.

……………………………………………….

Sébastien Bourdon, A Brawl in a Guard-room

Well, ‘design’ questions like this are part of the reason comment threads exist.

Ælf-Adal - VotE Remastered Development

Their Origins in Dream

They come from out of Nightmare, though whose, or why, no-one remembers now. They may have been the dying dream of a coma-locked god, that cracked its sleeping skull and clambered out into our world. They may have been a shadow in the deep dark mirror-world of man, the fearful place we go to in our frightened dreams, brought forth by art, or chance or ancient science.

But they spring from the ecology of dreams, they are born from its substance, made to feed and feed upon and fight those visions of our fear.

Imagine a world composed only of the nightmares of all the thinking, sleeping minds, a strand of hallucinatory darkness shifting in its substance as dreamers wake and sleepers slip in and out of terror in the night. A world where the only stability comes from the mass memories of shared catastrophes. A world that contains all knowledge held by any thinking being, yet only in its dark reflected form. A world where predation is absolute, where all things hunt and kill and there is nothing that does not, in some small way, do harm. A world whose demiurges and creating gods, those beings that fill it with their life, who imbue its every moment with their black creative fire, are also its victims, targets and foes. A world that hates its creators.

This is the world of the Ælf-Adal, where they slowly grew, shaping themselves from the coagulated stuff of thought. This is where they first formed independent minds, where they made their society, where they built their mighty civilisation, a city seen in many dreams but never recognised.

How long they lay there thinking dreaming thoughts, nobody knows. Some say longer than the life of man, some say longer than the life of the world, some say longer than the stars.

Their War Against the Dreamers

No-one is certain who declared the war, whether their psychonaut scouts broke out, hunting dreamers as they woke, unwilling to let go, even on the borders of night, or whether some psychic human crusade discovered them and penetrated into Dream to burn out the parasitic thought. But, in dreams and sleep, and in the daylight of the waking world, a war began.

It was a war of tragedy and loss. The regularity and substance of our world made it a kind of hell to them, and the impossible fluctuations of Nightmare swallowed whole cultures of man.

The Ælf-Adal were made from the memory of pain and knew, in some form, everything we knew, and held strange magics impossible to counter and understand. But we were their creators, or the sustainers of their world at least, and they could never fully understand the sights they saw unfolding as the sun rose. The substance of humanity was dense and strange and different than it was in dreams and here, man did not always run but sometimes fought, and sometimes won, and as the numbers of mankind decayed, the world of Dream began to shrink and tighten round the black cities of the Ælf-Adal.

As well as that, once the war began, the nightmares of mankind filled mutually with one shared terror: the fear of the Nightmare Men, and these twice-reflected visions, the Nightmares of a Nightmare, filled their ancient civilisation. As monstrous and strange as they, but not independent, not truly-thinking beings, mere reactions and distractions, but dangerous enough in their way.

The Prophet of the Aelf-Adal

It was a prophet, or strange Nightmare-God that led the Ælf-Adal beneath, away from the light, away from the reach of man. Here, in a dim strange corner of the material world so dark and fluid that it seemed almost like a part of Dream, they lay and waited, rebuilding their mighty and decadent civilisation, one based on and drawn from the shattered memories of the greatest cities ever made. Yet now real, encoded in stone deep beneath the earth.

The Ælf-Adal are not-quite-real and not-quite-dream, but they are beautiful, the colour of the darkness, and they never age.

They can live and eat and breathe and die. And hate.

The Hatred of the Aelf-Adal

Imagine an ocean, a deep one. Imagine the water is black and dark like North Sea mud. Imagine things living in it, thickly-knitted limbs churning like a mower motor left tipped up and switched on, cutting blindly in long grass. You can’t see the limbs, or the things to which the limbs attach, but you can feel their movement in the thick black sea. They regard you. They hate you. A hate so deep they tear frantically at their own flesh in substitute for reaching yours.

Imagine the sea restrained by glass. Like the walls of an aquarium built on titanic scale. You stand before the sea that rises out of sight and curves to the horizon on each side. You can hear the surface fretting up its waves in storm a distant mile above your head. The glass holds everything back. Inside it you can see brief writhings of that midnight high-pressure world, raging at your presence just beyond its reach.

Imagine that the glass is beautifully made. Etched and engraved with perfect smiling forms. Beyond it, the black water, but, when the light slants just so across the pane, a field of translucent harmony gleams, worked there on its surface by hands and minds that leap the greatest human art. A genius casually employed that vaults with ease the best that man has ever made. Crystal signature of thoughtless superiority. So perfect are its fields and processions that when seen, even glimpsed in a trickle of lateral light, you want to live there, with those frozen people, inside the surface of that glass.

This is how much the the Ælf-Adal despise you.

This is how much they control that hate.

The knowledge of you stabs them in the flesh with every recollection and event. Though they know it well, the wound of you will not close. Each memory of you, each experience, all evidence of your continued being, is like a knife twisting in the skin.

No other species could absorb such titanic contempt and remain sane. They would be reduced to raving berserkers, living only to kill, directly, the loathed enabler of their pain.

But the Ælf-Adal are old; they know much of patience and control. And they know that they are born from the substance of your fear and that if there was nothing left to feel afraid, they might well die.

So.

Their Great Plan

Everything that can be done is being done. The situation is difficult, but there is time. There is always time. They must endure, as they have for so long. They wait and plan for an inverted world, a world where societies and civilisations and empires and species exist purely to instil and sustain fear. A world where dreams enslave the dreamer. Where the walls between sleep and waking tumble down and both realms become one sweet eternal whole.

They will live to see it.

Flayed Skin and Stolen Eyes

Flesh

They have real bones and bodies, and beautiful infra-black skin, void against the dark, but diaphanous gusts of smeared flesh can alter in an instant, bones elongating into trollish stalkers, or warping into crone-curves, Darkflesh bubbling with screaming faces - a blistering cancer of fear.

Light will sharpen their teeth and tightly-fitted skins will remind them of their form. They trade in Elf-Skins, or other skins of form and beauty, stitching themselves into suits of the finely tanned flesh, Wrapping these in equally tight clothes, and those in diaphanous gusts of cloudcradle silk, as if to mimic via textiles the formlessness of the twice-bound flesh beneath.

They breathe in the light to sharpen teeth and tongues. Exhaled breaths of darkness curl around their masks like rising steam. Only in light do their teeth sharpen and tongues point so they can speak clearly. In light do they hunger and in light do they feast, tearing at red meat and drinking bright blood and dark wines.

Masks

Each wears a mask, they claim these suppress the natural terror-imbuing presence of the Aelf-Adal, without which they might have no congress, and this is partly true. The unspoken part says that only these remind them of their identity and shape. To take a mask is to tear much of the solidity and sanity of an Aelf-Adal, for they cannot easily organise ‘I-am’ without one. This is another cause of their nobility for they choose only fine and beautiful masks – the faces of princes, kings and queens. Though they may become hounds or monsters if they choose.

Above the mask, at times they seem to have great horns, or black medusa hair; not snakes but things like snakes; blades or sharp penetrating pseudopodia, or they may have washes of ink that move like comic book art.

Beneath the masks are curious mouths; usually matching their assumed identity and role, though with sharper teeth, though in darkness, or extremis, they can twist and melt into vertical slits, tentacled holes or savage crosswise cuts.

Eyes

Their eyes are never their own, for natural Aelf-Adal evolved within a psychosphere, alive to scent and meaning but knowing only imagined light, which does not shine where no attention guides. The dreaming mind, like a theatre-keeper, sends the wash-lamp of its thoughts here and there, highlighting fragments of scene, leaving where it passes, a deeper darkness than just absence. This darkness was the birth-caul of the Aelf-Adal, and so they have no natural eyes.

Thus they must steal or purchase eyes to see with. Always the most beautiful eyes, always the rarest and most prized. The eyes behind their mask are not their own.

The Deathly Stare

The un-masked full-face stare of an Aelf-Adal invariably kills. This nightmare instinct bursts from them in times of stress or intense joy. The false eyes fall from their faces and are trod underfoot in ecstasy. All who face them die, and no closing of eyes will save them, for the face-sight of an Aelf-Adal penetrates flesh like a black sun while the chaos of their horned medusa-hair writhes like a corona of worms.

Fear-Eaters

While they occupy solid, predictable form, bound to a mask, a name, wrapped within a skin, the Aelf-Adal must eat as mortals do, (though only occasionally). Yet at all times they eat fear.

For the Aelf-Adal, the terror, dread and disquiet that emanates from living things is like streams of water falling in a desert land – each life is like a roving fountain moving through a stony maze like ghosts - appearing and disappearing - and the Aelf-Adal like parched Pilgrims who must seeks these miraculous ever-replenishing gourds which pour their bounty in the shapes of living men.

Without Fear they waste away into ghosts or scurry into dreams as petty thoughts. Given too much they mestatise into apocalyptic angels, primal extra-causal terrors. Neither is their desire, so they must farm terror calmly, and spook in moderate ways. Moderate from their perspective anyway.

Magicians

They gain naturally in magical power as they agelessly age. An inherent gift, existing as they do between real and unreal. A world that contains all knowledge held by any thinking being, yet only in its dark reflected form. Though they are not above learning ‘lesser magics’.

Sleep and Waking

The Aelf-Adal recognise no boundary between sleep and wakening, between reality and dream. Naturally amphibious to thought, they are equally present whether you are awake or asleep and can walk through dreams to reach you - dreams which curdle into nightmare in their presence, so that one affected with regular nightmares is said to be Aelf-Kissed.

One might dream of an Aelf-Adal and awaken to see them physically before you, carrying on the same conversation as if nothing has changed, or meet with one and fall into sleep, only to find them still there, again, continuing on. To them, there really was no boundary, the matter is like turning one’s head, or switching between well-known tongues.

M certain twitching morphia hangs about all those who deal with Aelf-Adal - so much involved with those who recognise no bounds to sleep, they themselves seem druggy, now narcoleptic, insomniac, not knowing what is real.

The danger for dreaming mortals is that for the Aelf-Adal, an agreement made in a dream, is as binding and real to them as one made awake.

The Palaces Of Night

The Palaces of the Aelf-Adal bleed into the imagination, for they are built across the bridge of night, with foundations in reality and dream. A gentle terror impregnates all they touch whether they will it or not; Auschwitz fantasies, Ed Gien Decor and Giger-Ossuary Aesthetic, archipelagos of darkness where the unconscious and abyssal meet, courts of dark luxury existing in the limerence of dread. Marked with the emblem of the screaming face, they are always bigger on the inside, and once the inside has been experienced and the boundary broken, larger then beyond.

The Sun

It is not light itself they fear, (and they would say they fear nothing, for Fear they are), but the mass collective concept of 'The Day', the dream of the Above. To them the waking world , with its burning Sun and sharp alien divide between reality and dream, is a conceptually toxic realm.

There is no equivalent, but imagine this; you move to a nation where right-angles do not exist, or where no lines are straight, and even the understanding that things might be otherwise fades slowly from your mind as the collective impossibility takes hold, persisting only as a deep sense of impossible wrongness and an alien nature which you no longer have the concepts to delimit or the words to describe.

Even the dreams of those who come from above can be dangerous, for they remember sunlight and dream of sunlit lands, a dangerous, but yet.. intoxicating, circumstance for the Aelf-Adal.

Society and Economy

Family

While they have a mask, a shape, a name, the Aelf-Adal must eat, must breathe, know pain, hope and, (though they deny it), fear. They even love their children, in a way.

They can mate with one another, or with anything else. Half-dream, they can marry fantasies in nightmares and become pregnant with wonders, or with monsters, and breed fantastic children. It might be that many of the strange and singular things in the Veins of the Earth are their children, and that many wild and black ideas are too.

As they assume nobility-as-selfhood, (there are no common Aelf-Adal, all are Princes (less those formless ones, lost and given to the dark, perhaps they are trolls. Or the mothers of Trolls)), so they must take on the consequences of Nobility; hierarchy, family, descent, inheritance, dynasty and intrigue, even war.

Of course they live for ever so the only means of inheritance is mask-theft or murder, and there is never enough land, or places to rule, but that is not so different from ordinary noble lives.

Nobility

Because their terrors must be harvested gently, they are fine Princes. As utterly inimical to life and sanity as they are, Such power alone does them little good.

Good Governors, Masters of the Silk Trade, Lords of Civilisation. Their interest in complexity exists because they feed off the terrors it sustains. No life means no fear. Therefore they wish to see civilisation bloom. Therefore they are like Renaissance Princes, bountiful characters, often willing to finance and resource expeditions and new settlements. The Courts and Houses of the Terror-Men uphold the cities of the Veins.

Of their meta-culture, few know much, for extended contact with the Aelf-Adal usually destroys even the strongest souls.

Economy

Their 'civilisation' is an act of rationing, and self-control, of drug addicts or vampires measuring and controlling their feeding, and turning that control itself into an artistic act, and a source of further pleasure. Dread is their currency. They trade in hope and dreams, even more than silk, Elf-Skins and beautiful eyes.

................................................................................

The Question of Hatred

Do we actually need the Aelf-Adal to hate?