Tangled Valley

Tangled Valley is a Freehold of the Kithain in the Kingdom of Northern Ice.

Overview[]

In the World of Darkness, the mundane city of Toronto is neither glamorous nor squalid. It has no significant reputation, is known for no strange tales or staggering historic events. The city is the exemplar of moderation: unremarkable, unobtrusive, and unpretentious. Among Kithain, Toronto is infamous for both the dense smog of Banality that clouds it, and the great population of Autumn People that crowd its streets.

Yet the Dreaming has not been completely brushed away. Wisps of Glamour cling to the recesses and corners, the backs and beneaths, the hard-to-reach places. Such areas have become as deep as loss and as forgettable as wonder, the foster-home of fae and chimera and inspiration.

One such refuge is nestled between plaza and synagogue, between a four-story office building and middle-class residences. It is a forested valley that has slipped down the cracks between steel and concrete. In the records kept in the royal halls of Tara-Nar, this fief is known as the freehold of Tangled Valley. Local childlings call it Gangsters' Hideaway.

...in the Real Word[]

At the bend in Codsell Avenue, there’s a short, simple fence… just two posts and two beams… white against an earthy-jade mottling of forested escarpment. It’s not much of a barrier or safety feature. But it is substantial enough to pique curiosity and tempt defiance.

While inquisitiveness debates caution, you notice rune-like graffiti carved into the wood of one beam: HERE BE DRAGONS. That’s enough to compel you to cross over the edge.

You swing out the kickstand and prop your bike. After a quick look-around, you roll over the fence and drop lightly on the other side.

Here the ground falls away steeply into the valley. Loose dirt and patches of fern begin to replace the grassy skirt above. As you descend, the city’s clamor fades. Silence. Then your ears become sensitive to another sound: scampering, creaking, chirping, rustling whispers, an echoing cry of “aw-aw-ee-ee-ee-ee,” and the deafening retort of every snapping twig underfoot.

Part way down to the valley floor, a concrete storm-drain juts from the slope, the opening half-covered by a rough grill. Some of the bars are missing; you could probably squeeze through. The darkness exacerbates your fear, and, with it, the temptation… But right now, there are still other places to explore. You turn away and follow the runoff to the valley floor.

In the chill shadows of the valley, fifty feet below the street, you get the feeling of being enfolded by the earth. The air smells of dirt and pine sap, trickling water and fresh cool air. From slope to slope, a variety of trees fill the valley. There are pines, cedars, firs, spruce, horse chestnuts, willows, maples, and strange conifers with bark like a pineapple. The highest treetops just clear street level, presenting a camouflage canopy to those above. The ground is textured with exposed roots, brown needles and leaves, rubbery ferns, and mushrooms. Something small and bright flits from tree to tree, just barely in sight.

You try to discard the half-conscious suspicion that you are doing something FORBIDDEN. Up on the right ridge, a row of houses turns its back on this hidden glen. Surely no one can see you from up there, concealed as you are by trees and foliage and the escarpment itself.

Ready to turn back, you suddenly spot a tree-fort in the distance. Planks nailed into tree trunks and log supports raise it a few feet off the ground. It appears to be constructed of corrugated aluminum siding, chip-board and plywood, pine boughs, chicken wire, and old screen windows.

Wow! What a great place for a tree-fort! Just the sort of place to retreat to after breaking knee-deep through the ice of a pond, and shiver while waiting for your pants to freeze into solid tubes. Here you could eat anything, any way you want, free from the sandwich-apple-treat sequence enforced by Lunchroom Monitors. Even without washing your hands after watching maggots ripple under the flesh of a dead pigeon! In such a place, you could make mud pies filled with poison berries and plot to slip them to your next-door neighbor. Ah… the possibilities would be endless…

The tree-fort is closer now. A sign is nailed above the door, its mitered letters painted black. It reads: GANGSTERS’ HIDEAWAY. You stop short. Didn’t some guy escape from prison yesterday or last month? Maybe this is his secret base! Curiosity draws you closer.

Accompanied by a worn track, the runoff stream that you have been following continues to trickle down the center of the valley for as far as you can see. Dancing, dappled shadows play tricks on your eyes; a few grainy shafts of sunlight draw your attention to some interesting features further on. But first, you stop to look at the tree-fort.

Raised only a few feet from the ground, it certainly wouldn’t invoke a fear of heights. Still, you have to marvel at the work involved: finding the materials, dragging them here, putting them all together without the help of grownups. The tree-fort looks pretty sturdy, too. Crouching down, you look underneath. There’s a circle of stones, like a firepit, but with no signs of flames or fuel. Spiral designs are scratched into the smooth surfaces of the stones. When you pass your hand over them, the hairs on your arm tickle with static. Weird.

You crawl out from under there and walk around to the entrance. Standing tip-toe, you pull open the creaky cupboard door that covers the entrance and peer inside. The interior is spacious, almost 5’x7’. Comic books and hockey cards are tacked to one wall. An old comforter hangs from another, keeping out the draft from between boards like a medieval tapestry. Above it are the words “Dianne + Mike” in red stain. A variety of pop cans are stacked neatly on a bench beside a jar of beer-bottle caps. Aside from these, there are many other treasures strewn about.

At this point, you hear a distant bang, like a screen door closing. The FORBIDDEN feeling, forgotten in your curiosity, returns in force. You look around. Up on the ridge, an old man stares at you from his back porch.

You run and run, scramble up the ravine, jump on your bike, and peddle away from the pace, probably never to return.

...in the Enchanted World[]

No, you never did return, did you? No matter. The real secrets of Tangled Valley and Gangsters’ Hideaway are beyond your ken. This place is very different to those with Fae Kenning.

Tangled Valley is a lost world. Forgotten by humans, it’s also a place where vanished things turn up. Have you lost your pencil, wallet, paperback, bus token, odd sock, keys, baby’s teether, hockey card, rabbit’s foot, or pet newt? It’s probably down here, scattered in the undergrowth or floating in the stream. You see, the Dreaming can play tricks on people. Every so often, it snatches something away from the real world, usually replacing it with a dust-bunny. Sometimes this vanishing process “hiccups,” and you discover an item borrowed-but-thought-returned or never-seen-before.

We’ve got other stuff down here too. Have you wondered where the bits of denim ripped from your jeans go? The bright color of new clothes? Dimples? Doughnut holes? You guessed it. We got ‘em all.

You say a familiar word or name has been snatched from the tip of your tongue? I know exactly what you’re grasping for; it’s right here. Ahhh, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out on your own. Eventually.

So you’ve lost your virginity? Or innocence? Sense of Wonder? Appetite? Sanity? Want it back?

Everything ever lost has, at one time or another, turned up in Tangled Valley. Don’t ask why: that’s just the magical, mysterious nature of Glamour. These momentos are quickly claimed by changelings as a handy form of dross. Finders keepers, after all.

An Explanation For Grumps[]

Alright, alright. So you do need an explanation for the “vanishing process” of Tangled Valley. Clearly, this place is unlike any other freehold. Truth is, I can’t give you an answer; just a couple of theories.

It’s pretty common knowledge that Tangled Valley was once a nunnehi glen. And glens apparently have ties to the Dreamrealms. There are moon bridge glens, healing glens, glens dedicated to animal totems, and so on. (This is what a friend of a friend of a friend who knows a werewolf says, anyway.) Maybe this glen was dedicated to the Amerindian god of Lost-and-Found.

The second suggestion, which may be related to the first, invokes the Endless Trod (see below). What if this trod doesn’t have an end but branches and spreads indefinitely like some chimerical, world-spanning tree? And what if the tips of these swaying branches occasionally brush the real world and, where this happens, they snatch something away? The ‘Dream-napped’ items might then find their way here, or maybe are deposited along some other branch. This could explain all those ‘Bermuda Triangle’ and ‘falling frogs’ stories which so perplex mortals.

Hey, stop laughing. You asked.

Hunting Dross[]

Roll Perception + Kenning (difficulty 6). With three or more successes, you discover a momento worth one dross. One or two successes means there’s something here to find; you just missed it. You can continue searching the next day. A botch is bad news: while searching the ground, you neglected to note your bearings and are now lost along the Endless Trod (see below).

For the most part, these lost items are nothing special; their enchantment is based upon sentimental value and mysterious happenstance. At the Storyteller’s discretion, however, four successes could turn up a momento worth two dross; five successes, three dross, and so on. A really persistent character might discover something like Nero’s fiddle!

In any case, the Tangled Valley should yield only about one momento per week. So if another changeling scoured the region just yesterday, you are out of luck.

Also not that the Storyteller should come up with an imaginative description for a momento like “innocence.”

Gangsters' Hideaway[]

To cunning Kithain, the child’s tree-fort appears rather sturdier than first thought. One almost gets the sense of a medieval manor hall. The interior is more expansive than it appears to be in the real world, and could seat a dozen diners at the high table. A central hearth opens in the floor. From below, balefire crackles merrily. In the soft gossamer light from the balefire, the comforter hanging on the wall resembles a quilted tapestry; the comics seem as precious a painted works of art.

Gangsters’ Hideaway is a very small freehold. Varlan, lord of Tangled Valley, spends many a night here, wrapped in chimerical silks and furs. Thresher the herald tried to dream here once, but slept unsoundly due to the incessant mewing by the Feathered Serpent; this only aggravated his chronic ill-temper. The Gangsters (a local motley) have been planning an overnight stay for weeks, but have yet to act upon these intentions. They claim Dán conspires against them, but their own trepidation is most likely also a factor.

The Endless Trod[]

As in the real world, Tangled Valley continues past the freehold tree-fort. Kithain, however, realize it is neither a cloven tributary of the Don Valley nor an embouchure of Earl Bales Park. The path and stream running along the valley floor follows an apparently endless faerie trod.

The Gangsters once travelled for quite some time, perhaps an entire hour, along the Endless Trod without reaching its end. Bored and hungry, they turned back, vowing to return another time. Tilutan suspects that the trod links the Hideaway to another freehold. Rusalka secretly hopes that it leads to the Dreamrealms or even to Arcadia.

While exploring the Endless Trod, changelings sometimes spot the Feathered Serpent gliding from tree to tree.

Those who have clambered up either slope report finding a deep forest, and not a house or street in sight. Thick, straight trunks continue for as far as the eye can see. Branches form a dense tangle high above, blotting out any sign of sky. The ground is completely level, and barren of foliage or fallen leaves. None have dared explore these trackless woods, for fear of becoming utterly lost.

Lost Along the Endless Trod[]

Where the Endless Trod leads, if it leads anywhere at all, is up to the individual Storyteller. No maps, random encounter tables, or other systems are provided. This suggestion suggests how to handle events should a character leave the valley and thus become lost.

Roll Perception + Survival (difficulty 8). You need only one success to find your way back to the comfortable fold of the valley. On a failure, try again tomorrow (at difficulty 9). Should you fail again, try one last time on a third day (at difficulty 10). If you fail at this last chance (or have botched any previous roll), then you are utterly and hopelessly lost in the Dreaming. Willpower can and should be used in this roll. If they prefer, a player may roll Remembrance instead (difficulty 6) or cast an appropriate cantrip.

History[]

The earliest stories of Tangled Valley have not been recorded by either humans or Kithain. Both groups came late to North America, after the formative processes of Earth and the Dreaming were already complete. What effect the Sundering or the Shattering had upon this region in unknown. Two sources, however, may be able to shed some light on the question: the Feathered Serpent, said to be a holdover from that ancient age; and the nunnehi. The former is elusive and non-communicative; the latter, during their rare appearances, are hostile. For now, Kithain bards have little to sing about.

During the Interregnum, European explorers and traders flocked to North America. French missionaries and fur traders explored the Great Lakes by canoe after 1608 (the founding of Québec by Samuel de Champlain). English traders penetrated from Hudson Bay after 1670. The Europeans brought with them fables from their homeland, tall travelers’ tales, and a sense of adventure. Nestled within these kernels of Dreaming were fae stowaways: redcaps and trolls came along with the English; satyrs with the lusty, rustic French.

Unsullied by European reason and uncharted by human hand, the people of this New World possessed a deep Dreaming. The Kithain decided to stay. Some settled alongside mortals near Fort York (est. 1814). Ironically, this was not far from a nunnehi glade called “place of meeting” in the Huron tongue, from which the name “Toronto” was derived.

The city of Toronto grew from “muddy York” to one of the most metropolitan regions in North America. Similarly, the fae population multiplied. Many eshu had come northward since the 1850s. With the influx of European immigrants after 1910 came Kithain from Eastern Europe: sluagh (called vodianoy or grav-so: “grave ghouls”), redcaps (polevik), satyrs (leshy), boggans (kobolts or domovoy), and nockers (bergfolk or dreugar). Pooka (skogsra in Sweden) came and went as they pleased. At some point during this colonization, the commoners named their realm the Dominion of Bosky Tarn.

From the turn of the twentieth century, the focus of our history shifts to the freehold of Tangled Valley. At some point, childlings constructed the first tree house on this sight. Through Kenning or Dán, they had located the nunnehi sacred glade for which Toronto was named. Those Amerindian spirits had left this region long before, retreating from the spread of Banality (to which they had not adapted, unlike commoner Kithain). Successive generations of childlings “discovered,” renovated, and adopted the rickety, child-made freehold.

In the 1950s, some child removed a sign from the safe, well-crafted, and utterly boring tree house his mortal father had built and smuggled it down to the valley freehold. Henceforth, the freehold was known as Gangsters’ Hideaway. (Apparently, the childling’s gang of friends acquired this nickname for being little terrors.)

On a bright spring morning in 1969, the Dreaming changed for the childlings of Gangsters’ Hideaway, the Dominion of Bosky Tarn, and commoners everywhere.

Jake Gallant (a.k.a. “Jem”) was doing some modifications on the freehold’s then-shingled roof, when he spotted a faerie host riding along the valley from the direction of the Endless Trod! Jem nearly fell from his perch. Back-lit by golden sunlight, these fae riders were resplendent in high helms and bright surcoats. They rode prancing chimerical mounts. Pennants ruffled, bridle-bells jingled, and a trumpet sounded. The noble sidhe had returned.

Most local commoners welcomed the returning noble sidhe. They were willing to accept a new feudalism in exchange for enriched custom and fresh direction in their work to restore the Dreaming. Relations were good between noble and commoner. None of the local fae were present at the Beltaine Night of Iron Knives Massacre, so that event seemed distant and unimportant. (Some Unseelie suggest that the commoner envoy, Gray Matilda, actually conspired with those treacherous sidhe.) During the Accordance War, Warlord Dafyll found this region so supportive that he opted to press on to the East Coast without leaving a garrison or overlord. In fact, local Kithain were becoming a bit upset because they still had not been granted a monarch. Only after the coronation of King David was this region integrated into the feudal hierarchy. The Dominion of Bosky Tarn became the Duchy of Bosky Tarn within the Kingdom of Northern Ice. Queen Laurel of House Fiona was welcomed with all pomp and ceremony.

The Kithain of Tangled Valley are keenly aware of this history. Thought the Gangsters are the latest generation of childlings, Sained within the last dozen years, they all have an insatiable fascination with Mythlore. Lord Varlan has experienced the history, having survived since the Resurgence without succumbing to the Undoing or Bedlam. Only Thresher is a bit vague, since he is but a fledge.

From Whence They Came[]

Kithain seers (and most eshu) are keen to discover the ultimate destination of the Endless Trod. Any hopes of enlightenment rom the returning sidhe, however, were quickly shattered. Lord Varlan was among that faerie troupe, but neither he nor any of his fellows remember their journey. Contact with Earth has stripped them of their memories (including the first few hours, days, even weeks after their arrival). The troupe might have come directly from Arcadia, or just as likely passed through other freeholds in their search for a home. We may never know…

Characters[]

Gangsters’ Hideaway is of small importance within the context of the Kingdom of Northern Ice, never mind Concordia. It produces little Glamour and has no military presence. However, it is distinguished by the Endless Trod and its affinity for “collecting” lost objects. Many sages hope that a study of Tangled Valley will yield secrets of the Dreamrealms.

Those visiting Tangled Valley may interact with three groups: The childling Gangsters; older Kithain; and a smattering of others (mortals, chimera, and other strange beings).