The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

When last we left the Talented Mr. Ripley, he seemed to have finally found his niche. It was a repulsive, disgusting niche, as the local representative of the Moon Court who was one part malicious trickster and one part howling lunatic, but it was a niche nonetheless. If everything had just continued on the way it was, he would have been fine. But no... everything had to go and get flipped on him.

If you want to catch up on previous installments, check out:

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly
The Broken Mirror Part Three: The Dark Side of The Moon
The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman
The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

All caught up? Lovely! Because this week, we wrap up the sad tale of a man who just couldn't glue his cracks together.

Beautiful Madness

Ripley, hurt and betrayed that a Fall court oracle that he trusted killed his antagonist (the Batman to his Joker, if you would), made a dire decision. He tracked down Madness itself, and made a pact with it. It could live in him, as long as it showed him what it was Alice had seen when she broke Ripley's toy. Madness was, unfortunately for those involved, as good as its word.

An unusual quality in a cosmic roommate.

Rather than just let the story passively progress this way, I spent the points for the Dual Kith merit. So, in addition to a Mirrorskin, Ripley began taking on aspects of the Pishacha. His skin darkened like smoked glass, and his eyes began to go red. His tongue thickened and elongated, and would occasionally wander on its own. Since he lost a guaranteed point of clarity per month, he went downhill quite quickly... though not quickly enough for some people.

What was the secret Madness whispered to Ripley? What horrible truths did he find while he tossed and turned in the gutters, his body twisting out of true as his mind was wrenched like a splintering rope? He learned that the world, all the worlds, were little more than beads of sweat on the brow of the true universe. That the Lords of Faerie, for all their might, were just children playing with toys. Creatures like himself couldn't possibly grasp these truths unless they were forced to contemplate them. Madness showed him that empty, cankered void that whistled and whispered in the center of all creation, and Ripley leaped into it with a wild, ululating laugh.

How I Became a 30-Day Magical Effect

Outside of Ripley's personal struggles, there was a cult that worshiped the Hedge. Its membership was dwindling, but they were still a force to be reckoned with. They plagued the local freehold, and they had been a thorn in our collective sides (pun very much intended). Ripley decided to embrace their dogma, and in so doing was touched by the god they called Hedge.

A little something a fellow player made, after this all happened.

The storyteller had to leave early, so he declared to me that Ripley had become a 30-day magical effect. He had embraced the Hedge, and in turn the Hedge had embraced him. Practically speaking, this gave Ripley the ability to merge with the Hedge, and to control the immediate area psychically. Not via Wyrd-shaping, but rather as if the local Hedge was an extension of his body, and his will. Worse, though, a gate had opened up in a cemetery, and hapless mortals were wandering around in the between-world.

The rest of the game became the venue trying to stop Ripley from devouring the people who had no idea where they were, or what was happening. More interesting, though, was the fact I was made temporary ST for the rest of the game. What followed were several hours of fast-paced planning, and heartfelt swearing, as the freehold tried to save what mortals they could, while closing the gate to the Hedge to prevent more people from getting in. When all was said and done, the Thorns were slick with blood, and every breeze through the trees sounded like the laughter of the Moon Court Madman. Though never seen again in the flesh, so to speak, Ripley had an unusual distinction among changelings.

He actually found what he'd been looking for.

Well, that's all for this sordid tale! Thanks for stopping by my Table Talk feature, and stay tuned for another installment next time as I begin a new tale. As always, if you have a tale of your own to tell, I'm happy to feature it here for all to see. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, then stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today! All it takes is $1 a month to get some sweet swag of your own. Lastly, if you haven't followed me on Facebook, Tumblr, or Twitter yet, then why not start now?

The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman

This week we continue the story of the Talented Mr. Ripley, and the darkling's descent into corruption, and madness. When we last left him he was struggling with the discovery that murder came easy to him, and trying to reconcile his bloody deeds with the fact that the Moon Court had welcomed him with open arms. Of course, when you are praised for being a monster, you're likely to become even worse than you already were.

If you're not caught up yet, here's the full list of installments.

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly
The Broken Mirror Part Three: The Dark Side of The Moon
The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman
The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

Ripley didn't remember who he was, or where he came from. His hands always seemed to know what to do, and the right words always came out of his mouth, but it was always a near thing. He had no personality, no desires... he was, quite simply, a dark reflection of whatever was near to him.All caught up? Lovely! Now then, where were we...

Broken Hearts, and Broken Faces

Some reflections are darker than others.

That began to change with his acceptance into the Moon Court. Doors started opening in his head, and fragments of the man he'd once been started oozing their way to the surface. He developed irrational hatreds of beautiful things, and took a special pleasure in the disgust of attractive women. He began carrying hidden blades, though he barely remembered secreting them on his person, and he took delight in stealing faces. Ruining the reputations of others became a treat for him, the way an awful child might pull the legs off a spider.

(As this was a LARP setting, I managed to convince one of the other players to get in on this joke with me. He went into the game in his own costume and makeup, playing Ripley masquerading as his character to ensure that no meta-knowledge from the other players ruined the scene. The confusion among those who were there to witness it was truly something to behold as the steadfast and stoic Eric Ymir flirted with other courtiers, drank half a bottle of whiskey, smashed the bottle across someone's face, then bolted from the room, laughing.)

That wasn't enough, though. Ripley had an itch he couldn't scratch. With all the faces he'd taken, he still didn't recognize his own. So he approached a Fall court Oracle, and begged her favor. She showed him who he'd been, and gave him the name he'd once carried. Tyler Glass, missing for a time as a sophomore, he was found wandering the road miles out of town, with no memory of where he'd been. That man, of course, wasn't Ripley. Ripley had been away. In a dark room with a queen who had caressed him when he pleased her, and smashed his face whenever he'd disappointed her. Until, in time, there was no one left behind those eyes. Just a malleable mirror, who could become anyone, and slip unnoticed into any place. A man who, one day, had simply winked out, like an evaporating puddle, and found himself back in a world he barely knew.

Gratitude, Madness, and Cannibalism

Ripley was grateful to the Oracle, and to the way she'd helped him. That was a thing that rarely happened. And, though he was stewing with unfocused rage that something else had been living his life, he also found himself changing. The role of the trickster, the deviant, the lunatic, had been one he'd played for so long that it had begun taking hold of him. Thick, black patches began erupting on his arms, spreading across his hands, turning him slowly but surely into something he didn't recognize. His tongue thickened, and lengthened, and the eyes that stared out at him from the mirror were going a hideous, awful red.

This is, really, the opposite of rose-colored glasses.

Something more important happened, though. Eric Ymir, the Summer courtier whom Ripley had played some of his best tricks on, vanished. Not just vanished, but had been murdered, and his body fed to a Fall courtier. Ripley was beside himself with fury. Not because he cared for Ymir, but because that was his toy. His life to ruin. And someone else took that from him. No one stole from him, and he was going to stick his blades into the killer until they saw the error of crossing paths with him.

Then he discovered the killer had been the very Oracle he held in such high regard.

That was when Ripley's already delicate psyche cracked, and schismed. She wouldn't do that... she helped him. She was good... but there was no doubt it had been her hand on the knife that had killed Ymir. Ripley couldn't reconcile these two things, but it was found that at the time of the murder, her clarity had been in tatters.

That was the answer, of course.

Jokes Falling Flat at The Funny Farm

In order to know why she had done what she'd done, Ripley snuck into a facility meant for the truly mad. Those afflicted with conditions that made them see what wasn't there, and hear words no one spoke. He delved into their dreams, plagued their realities, and sought the force of genuine Madness that threaded itself through them. Why? Well, he had a proposal for it.

He wanted Madness to come and dwell in him. To show him what the Oracle had seen, and to make him understand why she had hurt him so by breaking his favorite toy.

How did that go? Well, tune-in next time to find out, as we conclude the tale of the Talented Mr. Ripley!

Hopefully you're enjoying this latest multi-part tale on Table Talk. If you've got a story of your own to share, I'm always open to hearing them, and putting my readers in the spotlight. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, then go to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today! As little as $1 a month is a big help, and it gets you some sweet swag, too! Lastly, if you haven't done so yet, why not follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter?

The Broken Mirror Part Three: Dark Side of The Moon

When last we left the face-shifting amnesiac known only as the Talented Mr. Ripley, he had half a dozen holes in him, had murdered a handful of Chicago cops, and managed to make his escape into the shadows. It was a pivotal moment in his development, though he didn't quite know it yet. After all, his familiarity with guns, blades, and blood would be enough to worry anyone who had misplaced their memories, and when you're down in the gutter, any outstretched hand will do.

Even one that comes out of the sewer.

Before continuing on, make sure you're caught up on the previous installments of the story below.

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly
The Broken Mirror Part Three: The Dark Side of The Moon
The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman
The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

Finished? Lovely! Because this is around the time that things start getting good... or bad, depending on your perspective.

A Carrot on a Stick

When I initially created the Talented Mr. Ripley, I had no real direction I wanted to go with him. He was a jack of all trades, and the only thing he was truly a master of was blending in and going relatively unnoticed. It was one of the few times I, as a player, allowed my character to be shaped entirely by the events that happened to him.

Then my storyteller opened his big, fat cake socket.

Once you're here, there's no going back.

Game had finished for the night, and we were all at a local restaurant getting fuel in us for the drive home. My storyteller, appropos of nothing, mentions that he's had a plot kit for months now, but no one has shown any interest. My ears perked up, and I asked what it was for. In an off-hand tone, he told me it was a kit for characters to get recruited into the Moon Court.

I jumped on that like Mario on a toadstool.

Life-Saving Initiation

Ripley, as someone who is a killer and not a fighter, is losing blood fast. Though he managed to escape, he passed out in a gutter somewhere. He awoke to the sound of rubber gloves, and to a man standing over him. Ripley's first instinct was to reach for his own face, which sent lances of pain through him. The man, wearing a bloody apron, just smiled at him.

Don't worry... everything's going to be just fine.

The back alley miracle worker, a mysterious man named Puck, said he saw Ripley's entire performance, and it would be a shame for someone like him to die broken on the busted concrete. Ripley was still raw, of course, but he showed talent. If someone could put an edge on it, then he could really come into his own. That was when he explained the philosophy of better living through Disgust, and told Ripley that if he wanted to find a place with open arms, the Moon Court would take him... once he passed a simple test.

Nothing hard, really. He just needed to play a trick or two to show his devotion.

A Dark Seed Grows A Twisted Tree

It was my goal, as a player, to see which of the courts would reach out to recruit Ripley as a member. Winter seemed the likeliest court, especially given his recent services, but they didn't rescue him from his predicament. Puck did. More importantly, though, Puck gave Ripley the most dangerous message the mirrorskin could have received; there's nothing wrong with you. Your broken face and murderous hands? Be proud of them! The filth and squalor you've been forced to sleep in? Don't hide that, it's a badge of survival! If other people see you, and recoil, that proves they aren't capable of handling your truth. The dark side of the playground is where the monsters hold sway, my friend, and we're all monsters who came back from that place.

Even Jeff. Especially Jeff.

It seems harmless at first... but Ripley's mind proves fertile soil. His entire perception of the world is like looking through a spider-webbed crack at the best of times, and now he's being told that he's right. Right to feel resentment for his treatment. Right to feel wrath at the smallest of injustices. Right to take what he needs without thought or worry, because that is what monsters do.

All he has to do is play a trick or two. It takes a few months, and just the right set of circumstances, but he manages. Accosted by a man with knock-out darts, Ripley does some bloody business with the knife he keeps up his sleeve. Of course, the stripling mirrorskin keeps his peepers open, while one of the Summer Court's heavy hitters is left unconscious and snoring on the ground. The big warrior is completely vulnerable, and has no idea what happened around him, so Ripley leaves a tiny note explaining both his dereliction of duty and cowardice, and walks away whistling through his own yawns.

That little piece of paper caused fires of rage to spread through the Summer Court, but it was rage fueled by shame. Trying to control it was like putting out a grease fire with a water bottle; all it did was spread it around.

Puck, slow-clapping and smiling, used that as a chance to officially induct Ripley into the Moon Court. It was the first step off of a long, long drop.

This is, of course, not the end of the tale. If you want to keep up on all my latest stories, or submit some of your own, make sure you check out the rest of Table Talk. And, if you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, why not drop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page? All it takes is $1 a month to help keep the content coming your way, and all new members will receive some sweet swag just for choosing to support me! Lastly, if you haven't followed me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter yet, now would be a great time to change that.

The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly

This week we delve deeper into the mysterious tale of The Talented Mr. Ripley, a darkling with no memory of who he is, or what he was. The Mirrorskin seems to be nothing more than a pale reflection of those around him, slipping into the background of any conversation or scene with total ease. Of course, there's more beneath his cracked surface than meets the eye, as we find out in the second installment. If you missed any of the previous installments, get yourself up-to-date with this list.

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly
The Broken Mirror Part Three: The Dark Side of The Moon
The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman
The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

All caught up? Grand! Now then, to continue our tale...

A Cold Heart, and a Cold Job

Mr. Ripley has been lurking around the freehold, trying to find some way to establish himself. He's light-fingered, and though his presence barely registers, his honeyed words can often get people to change their minds, while still thinking it was their idea in the first place. He's surviving mostly as a grifter, changing his face and look whenever he needs in order to move unseen, and unnoticed.

He might have kept on like that, never really asking what was lurking beneath his surface. Of course, when money comes calling, empty pockets sit up and listen.

Dirty work always leaves the glass smudged, but the smoker's hands completely clean.

A Winter courtier in town, owner of several high-class establishments, had recently been hassled by a pack of bent cops. Business-as-usual in the Windy City. She tried to buy them off, but they wouldn't take her money. Humiliated, offended, and with her pride severely smudged, she wanted payback. She wanted to send a message, but she wanted that message sent by someone else.

Someone disposable.

As soon as he was alone with her, Ripley became little more than a magic mirror, reflecting calm chill as she told him what she wanted done. He nodded, and didn't turn so much as a hair when she offered him $10,000 per head to take out the lot of them. He asked for a small, up-front cost to cover his needs, and told her it would be done. They shook, and he walked into the night with murder on his mind.

Have You Done This Before?

Mr. Ripley was not a fighter. Thin and light, he was easy to mistake, or overlook. His hands knew their business, though, and as soon as he picked up a zip gun he examined the mechanism, checked the rounds, and slipped it up his sleeve. Next he acquired a vest, and a clipboard. Then he found out all there was to know about the targets he'd been assigned. Three of them were married, and lived in the suburbs. One was single, and had an apartment in the city. The four of them got together at least once a week for a night of garage poker.

The ducks were in a row, and all he had to do was burn them down.

Hello? Mr. Gas Man calling...

The apartment dweller was first. Ripley waited until he was home, and getting ready for his night out, before knocking on the door. The cop answered the door shirtless and in jeans, and when Ripley offered the clipboard he took it to examine the form. While he was reading, Ripley lifted the .22 street heater he'd bought off a gutter-dwelling gun runner, and double tapped him in the forehead. Two spurts of blood, two sharp cracks, and no witnesses.

Ripley stepped into the apartment, and tidied up. He dragged the body into the Hedge, leaving it there before he started dressing himself in the dead cop's clothes. Keys, wallet, badge, jacket, and especially his gun. Ripley stood in front of the mirror, and slipped into the other man's skin, checking every facet of himself until he fit just right. Then he drove across town to the poker game.

It was a typical guy's night. Scotch was being poured, beers were being drunk, and every round someone was putting in too many chips. Ripley kept his smile going, and kept the drinks flowing, too. He waited, and waited, but there was never a moment when the guys started getting really sloppy. So, when the host's wife was 20 minutes from home, Ripley got another beer. Then, distracting the table by setting it down with one hand, he started shooting with the other.

His card buddies were shocked, but they recovered fast. One went down with a round in the head, and another took two to the chest before he fell over. The third managed to put a slug through Ripley's shoulder before the Mirrorskin returned fire, emptying the rest of the clip into him. All the men dead, and Ripley just barely managing to hold onto his face, he stuffed a wadded shirt against the wound to maintain pressure, and drove with sirens blaring back into the city. Once he got there, he parked in an alley on the south side, and drenched the car in liquor. He opened the gas tank, stuffed the bloody rag way down into the fill hole, and fired it up.

Then he stumbled into the darkness, his face creaking and cracking. He didn't know it, but he was crying. If you'd asked him why, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell you.

This is, of course, not the end of the tale. Far from it, in fact. Next time, though, you'll find out that friends, and enemies alike come out of the woodwork when the blood starts flowing. So, stay tuned for The Broken Mirror: Dark Side of The Moon!

As always, if you liked this week's installment of Table Talk, then why not spread the word? Like it, share it, and tell all your friends about it. Also, if you're feeling generous, why not stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to toss a little bread in my jar? All it takes is $1 a month to keep the content flowing, and you get some sweet swag on top of it! Lastly, if you haven't done so yet, why not follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, too?