Chase knew lies.

She'd grown up with lies, learned them well, learned to use them as weapons to fight back against a society that wanted to tell her what to do, what to be, and when to be it. They were her tools, building a bridge to a beautiful freedom that would someday be hers.

Chase was good with lies. She had unlocked the Grifter job early on, and only the laws of the land had stopped her from investigating its tempting, glittery depths.

Chase loved telling lies.

But there were limits.

She didn't lie to family. Not anymore.

And she didn't use her lies to hurt people unless they really, really had it coming.

Those were the lines, and when her mother stepped into the doorway, arms crossed, Chase stood her ground.

Mother had about three inches of height on her, and blue eyes that glared relentlessly into Chase's brown orbs. But Chase watched her parent's glare turn to puzzlement, as doubt flickered in her eyes.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Chase said. “And I'm hurt you'd accuse me so.”

Her mother rallied. “You said your fox toy was missing.”

“And it is!” Chase threw her hands up. “I left it on the shelf. Now it's gone.”

“Is it? Come with me, young lady.”

The woman turned, stomping on the floor, hardened feet thwacking against the boards, showing her ire and making the plates on the mantle rattle. Greta and Chase shared a look of confusion.

Chase's older sister raised a finger, pointed at herself, face quivering.

Should I come too? Do I have to? The gesture seemed to say.

Yes you should! Chase's hand seemed to reply, as it chopped through the air, toward her mother's back. I need the backup.

The two sisters followed, Chase squaring her shoulders and pressing her lips together, pushing back anger and confusion into a little ball that would do her no good if she let it out. Greta came behind her, holding her braid to her mouth with one hand, and chewing on it, her nerves evident and her bad habits showing.

Their mother led them in angry silence, throwing open the doors to her bedroom with an angry shove.

Chase stopped so suddenly that Greta ran into her. “What happened here?”

“You tell me.” Mother Berrymore turned to Chase, and glared.

The bedroom looked as it had the last few times Chase had seen it, with one important exception.

Her mother's sewing kit had been put on the center of the bed, and thread and swatches of cloth were strewn everywhere. It was like an explosion, glittering needles sticking out of the bed's comforter, and loose ends dangling to the floor.

And in the center of it all, the now-mended plush fox lay, patches standing out against its fur.

All save for its throat, which was still open, with threads peeking out.

“You sewed the fox back up?” Chase asked, thoroughly confused. “Thank you.”

Her mother only glared harder. The silence roiled.

Oh gods, I hate this. This is the Chase has done something wrong but if you don't know I'm not telling you look.

Chase found the strength within her to glare back, and for once, she managed to hold her ground.

It helped that she had absolutely no idea what she was being blamed for, and the injustice of it lent her fortitude she didn't normally have.

“Ma?” Greta asked, confused, and that broke the stalemate.

Her mother glanced away, and Chase sagged in relief. She'd won the staredown!

WILL +1

The words made her shiver. There would have been consequences, if she'd failed that. Their mere presence was evidence of that fact.

“I didn't sew up your toy. Someone came in here without asking and sewed it up.” Her mother's eyes found Chase again... and the anger in them turned once more to puzzlement.

“That's weird,” said Chase. “Why are you blaming me for it?”

“Who else could have done this!”

Chase frowned. “Well I didn't. I couldn't have. We left here after breakfast and went on our morning errands. I was at the church finishing mine up until a little while ago, and then I was with Greta. There wasn't any time that I could have come back here and done this, and wait a minute I can't sew anyway!” She threw her hands up. “I was going to ask you to help with that after the fair was over!”

“Why would anyone else come in here and do... this?” Mother Berrymore shouted, waving a hand at the mess.

That hand was shaking.

And suddenly Chase realized that her mother was afraid.

“Were you home all day?” Chase asked, softly.

“Yes. I was preparing the salads. I was right in the kitchen. Right there!”

Her mother was afraid because if Chase hadn't done it, and Greta hadn't done it, then that meant that someone else had come into the house. Someone had stolen past their mother, gone into their bedroom, and helped themselves to her things. Used them without permission, then departed again just as quietly.

It was easier for her mother to be angry at her, than it was to be afraid. Because the fact was that some stranger had been in here, and that was kind of horrifying.

“Mom,” Chase said, feeling her stomach churn, feeling her own anxiety grow at her mother's fear. “Mom, can we talk about this after the festival? Here. I'll help you pick up.”

“I... if you think that's all it will take to get over this, this...”

Pity stirred in Chase's heart. “No. I know it isn't. Come on, we'll help you pick up. And then we can get lunch. Greta, why don't you go fix lunch?”

Greta was running before Chase finished the sentence. Chase watched her mother glance over and snort, before hiding a surprised smile.

That's when Chase knew it would be okay. “Okay, can you help me? Just tell me where things go, I'm not sure where it all needs to end up.”

Between the two of them they got it sorted, as Greta rattled dishes in the kitchen.

And at the end of it, only the fox remained on the bed, lying on its back, glass eyes staring up at nothing in particular. Or at Chase, if the light caught them at the right angle, as she moved about. She made a game of it, twisting her head, trying to find the place where they followed her around the room. But for whatever reason she couldn't.

“I want that out of my house,” her mother finally said. “I don't like the look of it one bit, Chase Berrymore.”

“Yes Mom,” Chase said, recovering the fox. She had plenty of hiding spots in and around the village where the toy could lie low until the heat was off. Right now the important thing was letting Mom get her balance back, Chase knew. “Lunch first?”

“Yes, lunch first.”

After a small meal of cold cuts, leftover salad, three kinds of bread, and sharp cheese, Chase went back to her room and grabbed her pack. In went the fox... and something inside the backpack rattled.

Chase blinked, then fished around in the pack, before pulling out a small wooden case. Gram's story cards.

She didn't remember putting them in here. She had, hadn't she? Yes. Yes, she had.

Why?

She shook her head, moved to put them on her dresser... and hesitated.

Chase couldn't say why, but it felt right when she put them back into the pack. Then she added a few leftover rolls from lunch, for good measure. “I'll trust you not to take my dinner, mister fox. And not touch my cards, if you please. You've caused quite enough trouble for one day.” She threw the pack onto her back, and twitched her ears, listening for Greta.

Chase found her sister outside, tapping her foot, arms crossed.

“What?” Chase asked.

“Did you mess with mom's sewing kit?”

“No!” Chase scowled as she stomped past Greta. “Don't you start in.”

Greta shook her head, tagging along behind. “This day is weird. Too weird.”

Chase nodded. “Right. Which is why we need to get control of it. The ribbons can wait. Let's go run down one rumor, at least.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking we've got a strange dwarf lady in our village, and we haven't even tried to get a peek at her.”

Greta liked that idea. So instead of heading into the village proper, they took the Western road down to Gammer Wheadle's fields.

But when they got there, and stole around back to the summer kitchen, their plans hit a brick wall in the form of Tollen Wheadle.

Tollen was a beanpole, lanky and clad in leathers, with a wool jacket over it all. He wore a floppy hat with one side of it tied up, and he kept his hands in his pockets as he glanced from the new arrivals to the door of the summer kitchen. “Berrymore sisters?” He squinted at them, shifting the crossbow on his back, before returning his furry hand to his pocket. “Don't see you've much reason to be out this way so I'll thank you to go back to your own business. Wherever it's at.”

Chase liked Tollen. He was blunt, direct, and his charisma was quite frankly, horrible. You always knew where you stood with him, he'd tell it to you regardless of whether or not it was polite, socially acceptable, or obvious. She had a sneaking hunch this was why he'd gone into business as the village hunter; the job kept him out of town and away from people.

It also meant he was probably very vulnerable to Chase's specialty.

“Your sister wanted us to check on you,” Chase said, wearing her best look of concern. “She's also wondering who's going to bring in the coneys, since you're stuck here watching the dwarf and all.”

Tollen shifted from one foot to another, rolled his eyes up. “We've got all this going on, and she's worried about that?”

Holy troll, there IS a dwarf here! “You know how your sister is,” Chase shrugged.

“Tell her fump the conies,” Tollen scowled. “This is more important.”

“What's more important?”

But this time he didn't rise to the bait. “Bad business. Stay out of the woods. The Camerlengo will be here soon, she'll take care of it.”

“Oh!” Chase had seen the noble before. She turned up every harvest fair, staying at the inn, and accepting oaths of fealty from halvens who had become adults. “It's that important, then?”

“I've said too much,” Tollen muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “Just... don't worry 'bout them rabbits.”

“All right. Does the lady need anything?” Chase took a few steps sideways, tried to look through the window of the summer kitchen. But it was shuttered, and dark inside, and Tollen put his arm in front of her, suddenly alarmed.

“No! No. She don't need nothing. Ah...” He glanced at the door, then back to Chase. “Look, maybe you can help me?”

“Maybe. It depends on what you need.”

“The Camerlengo should be here sometime tonight. Can't miss her carriage. So when she arrives, tell her to come as soon as possible, please. And bring guards.”

Chase and Greta shared a long look. Greta's eyes were wide with alarm, and Chase willed her to be silent. “Sure,” Chase agreed. “We'll tell her that.”

“And don't say nothin' to no one else, all right?”

“All right,” Chase agreed. Then she took Greta's arm, and tugged her big sister away from the worried hunter.

Greta tried to speak once they were twenty feet away, and Chase shushed her. Five minutes later, well away from the scene, Chase finally spoke.

“He's a scout, remember. They have stupid high perception. NOW we should be safe enough to talk.”

“I've never seen Tollen that worried,” Greta said, hunching low to whisper in Chase's ear.

“He's twenty-something, right?”

“Right. He's had his second job for years. So he has to be, I don't know, at least level ten or so in it.”

“I don't know if I'd go that far. I've had Cook since my tenth year, and I'm only level four.”

“Yeah, but you're lazy. He's not!”

Chase slugged her sister's shoulder. “I just work smarter, not harder. That's all.” But privately she agreed with Greta's assessment. Scout was an adventuring job. It came with violent tricks built in. But if Tollen had ten or even only five levels in it, and he was worried about the situation, then that seemed to suggest he had reason to worry. And so did the rest of the village, for that matter.

Chase turned it over and over in her mind.

Just before they came back to the village, Greta leaned over to whisper in Chase's ear. “So how do we play this one?”

Chase flicked her ear, popping her sister in the nose. “We're not,” she said, as Greta flinched back.

“But this is big! You always know how to get something from big stuff.”

“This is too big. Greta...” she turned finally, and took her sister's hand. “Tollen was afraid. There's danger here. Danger to the village. We can't play games with that.”

“You really think it's that bad?” Greta stuffed her braid in her mouth again, chewing, nervous.

“Tollen did. And he knows more than we do.” Chase pulled her hands back, and rubbed her eyes. “This is frustrating. We don't have enough pieces to see the whole puzzle. I feel like there's one we're missing, just right under our noses.”

Greta, steady Greta, practical Greta, simply nodded. “So what do we do about it?”

Chase let out a breath. “We do as he asks. I do, anyway. Can you handle the ribbons by yourself?”

“No.”

Chase bit her lip, and thought. “Go talk to Gerben Horsecomb. He owes me a favor. Tell him we're even if he helps you with that.”

“Why Gerben? He'll have stuff to do for the festival too.”

“He's a slacker. He'll be at home playing sick, he always is. If he gives you grief tell him I also know about the stolen pies.”

“Wait, he's the one?” Greta's eyes narrowed. “That jerk!”

“Not him alone. Look, it doesn't matter. He'll help you. And I'll do as Tollen asks, and fetch the Camerlengo as fast as possible.”

It took a little more convincing, but finally Greta accepted the task, with ill-grace.

And then, Chase turned her steps to the Dewdrop Inn.

She had little cause to venture here, most days. Few of the halvens who dwelled in Bothernot did. The inn was for travelers heading up or down the main road, visiting relatives, or the few royal officials who had business in town. It was a human couple that ran the place, an elderly pair that had plenty of excitement in their youths, and declared quite often that they enjoyed Bothernot's slower pace.

One of them was mopping the floors as Chase pushed through the main door. The lady of the house, Florenzia Dijetto. The gray-haired woman straightened up as Chase entered, looking at her through spectacle-covered eyes. “Welcome! You're Stem Berrymore's little girl, aren't you?”

“One of them,” Chase smiled up at the towering lady. She had tried pestering Florenzia for stories once she was old enough to be curious about the outside world. But Mrs. Dijetto never spoke of the past, and had some serious conversational skills. No matter how Chase tried to wheedle information out of her, the grandmotherly woman always managed to distract her and turn the talk to village business, harmless gossip, or various pleasantries.

Chase had gained willpower and perception from trying to manage Mrs. Dijetto's conversations now and again. But it had been over a year since she'd spoken to her last. She thought about honing her mind, trying for more social experience from the lady— no. No, she had bigger pies to bake, here.

“Is the Camerlengo here yet?”

“Hm? Oh my goodness, no, dear. You couldn't miss it if she was, that carriage is huge.”

“Oh. Uh.. can I wait for her?”

“Of course. Just don't bother the paying customers, hm? It's fair time, and they need to rest up before the big event tomorrow.”

Chase looked around the room, at the small gaggle of halven occupying the center table, working their way through brunch... and the much-larger figure of a human, back before the fireplace, bedecked in dusty robes and what looked like a half-ton of jewelry.

There was a story there, but Chase had no time for it, so she nodded and smiled to Mrs. Dijetto. “I'll be no trouble,” she promised.

She settled back into a corner table, watched the door, and waited. Mrs. Dijetto brought her a cold cup of water, and she sipped it, waiting.

But the human traveler kept glancing at her. His eyes were white against his nut brown skin, browner still than Chase's coppery hue. She made eye contact once, then looked away, but it didn't deter him. “Hmmm...” he said, and his voice was deep and pleasant.

It should have made her feel uncomfortable, but instead it just irritated her. She had a job to do! Once the Camerlengo showed up, she could do it, then leave this nosy stranger to his drinking.

“I wonder,” a warm, rich voice whispered into her ear, and Chase jumped. Somehow he'd snuck up next to her!

Except he hadn't.

When she whipped her head around and jumped out of her chair, he was sitting right at his table, and he wasn't even looking at her.

The other halven in the room were, though, and Chase cleared her throat, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said, and settled back into her chair again, feeling blood rush to her cheeks.

The man laughed, and she glared at him. Distantly she hoped that the other halven would intervene, tell this weird human to stop harassing her. But no, they were turning back to their meals now, ignoring both of them.

“

Come on over, dear girl,” the human said, beckoning with one wide-sleeved arm. “We have much to discuss.”

“I'm fine where I am, thank you very much,” she said, biting the words off.

He considered her for a moment.

And then the human smiled.

Chase had seen every sort of smile there was to see. She had seen happy smiles, from her sister when they played together as children. She had seen mocking smiles, when the other kids teased her for reading books and trying to get smarter. She had seen tolerant smiles from the old folks when she talked about growing up and leaving the village. And she'd seen strained smiles from her mother, whenever her father got in his cups and referred to Chase as the closest thing to a son he'd ever have. Chase had even seen a sad smile once, at Gram's funeral, when her mother had whispered something to the grave that only Chase had heard, and walked away without a tear.

All those smiles paled, like torches before the sun, in the strength of the stranger's grin. It was warm, it was happy, it was every shade of friendliness and comfort and joy, all rolled up in one.

Before she knew it, Chase had made her way over to the stranger's table, pulling up a halven-sized chair, and sitting in front of the low fire. She stared up at him, getting a good look for the first time.

Dark-skinned and slightly fat, his face was round and he had black hair. His mane was tied back in elaborate braids tipped with metal rings of all sorts. He wore more rings on thick fingers, and his nails were immaculate. His robes were overlapping shades of purple, with green stripes in unusual places, seemingly chaotic but forming patterns once you stared at them long enough. Necklaces of all kinds, ranging from strands of pearls to simple twists of copper wire braided together sat on his chest, various medallions and ornaments peeking out from the chains and strings and beads.

And his eyes were warm, rich brown, pools of deep water that studied her from top to bottom, staring in open curiosity. Not like the boys of her own age, who ogled her with lust when they thought she wasn't looking, but more like a farmer sizing up a cow.

It should have been insulting, but it somehow wasn't. All her instincts told her that this man didn't have a hint of meanness in him.

“I'm Chase Berrymore,” she said, as the silence stretched on. “Pleased to meet you.”

“People call me Hoon, sometimes,” the large human said, and tilted his head to the side, as if waiting.

“Oh, that's an interesting name,” Chase said.

The man's eyes crinkled in amusement. He chuckled, and took a pull from a big mug, glancing over to the fire. “And I am very pleased to meet you Chase Berrymore. You know... it seems to me that name is familiar. The last time I was through here, I sold a trunk of books to a man named Berrymore.”

“Trunk of books... my grandad had a trunk of books!” Chase babbled, vaguely aware that she was sharing a lot of information with a stranger... but she didn't see what harm it could do, really, and she might as well talk with a friendly face while she was waiting. “I used to spend rainy days reading through all of them. They were mostly about heroes, and far-off places. There was this one series in there, dozens of books about Jinkies the Jongleur, this bard who was always getting into trouble that led to big adventures...”

She went on, talking about the books that had made up a very large part of her childhood, and the man's smile grew, and grew. “Yes! Those are definitely the books I sold Mister Berrymore!” he finally declared. “Now I understand why I did it!”

That derailed Chase's train of thoughts, and brought a new notion to the surface.

“Wait a minute. Grandad had those books for a couple of decades before I got to them,” she frowned. “That was... at least thirty or forty years ago, something like that?” She studied Hoon again. Humans were a bit odd, but still, their aging wasn't supposed to be much different from halvens. “Forgive me for saying so, but you seem a bit young for that.”

WIS+1

Chase clapped her hand over her mouth. She'd leveled wisdom, just like that! Something was going on here. She glanced up at Hoon again, ears quivering. Suddenly his smile seemed off, just a bit. Chase remembered how all her irritation had vanished when he'd turned his grin her way.

I'm bespelled. Or something else is going on here.

“You look afraid,” Hoon said, rubbing his chins. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No! No, uh... thank you for the books,” she said. “I was just surprised that, uh, you weren't older.”

“I am older than I look. Just lucky that way. Lucky in general, actually. Would you care to see if you are lucky too?” He leaned in closer.

Chase's mouth outran her brain. “If that's a pickup line then you should know that I'm fifteen and not interested in humans, sorry.”

That stunned him. His mouth fell open, and he leaned back, laughing and slapping the table with one hand, setting the necklaces on his chest a-jingle.

Chase flushed, and eyed the door. The goodwill she'd felt to the man was gone, and she wondered if she should call for help, or run away. Something was going on here, and though she didn't know what, her instincts were telling her she was outmatched. It was time to cut her losses and escape.

“Here now!” Hoon said. “None of that, if you please!”

He's reading my mind!

She pressed her hands against the table, pushing back, sending the chair clattering, feet already moving—

—and she felt his hand grab her wrist, bringing her to a halt.

Chase opened her mouth to scream...

“Oh damnation,” Hoon sighed.

And everyone in the room stopped moving.

The halvens around the tables, who were starting to turn around, simply stopped in place.

Mrs. Dijetto in the act of leaning the broom against the wall, stopped, frozen in place, hunched over. The hem of her dress, rustling from the motion, defied gravity and stayed swung slightly to the left.

She shot a look around at Hoon, who rolled his eyes, and released her. She stumbled and fell—

—and for a brief moment she hung in midair, her backpack caught on something, the straps digging into her shoulders, the pain of the impact forcing her breath out in a yelp.

RIP!

Suddenly the resistance was gone, and she fell to the ground, blinking upward...

...at the frozen fox toy, hanging in midair while her card case hit the ground, spilling pasteboard rectangles all around her.

Fear filling her, eyes bulging, ears flat back against her head, Chase looked up at as Hoon rose from his chair, only to squat down next to her, offering a hand.

“Who are you?” Chase whispered.

“That, Chase Berrymore, is the wrong question.”

“Then what's the right question?” Her voice sounded plaintive, even to her own ears.

“The question should be, what are you? And the answer, Chase Berrymore, is a god. I am the god Hoon, and we have quite a lot to discuss.”

CHASE'S CHARACTER SHEET

Spoiler: Spoiler

Name: Chase Berrymore

Age: 15 Years

Jobs:

Halven level 8, Cook level 4

Attributes / Pools / Defenses

Strength: 40 Constitution: 28 / Hit Points: 68 / Armor: 0

Intelligence: 45 Wisdom: 54 / Sanity: 99 / Mental Fortitude: 25

Dexterity: 59 Agility: 51 / Stamina: 110 / Endurance: 0

Charisma: 69 Willpower: 36 / Moxie: 105 / Cool: 25

Perception: 43 Luck: 70 / Fortune: 113 / Fate: 16

Generic Skills

Brawling – Level 7

Climb – Level 15

Dagger – Level 2

Dodge – Level 9

Fishing – Level 14

Ride – Level 10

Stealth – Level 11

Swim – Level 6

Throwing – Level 18

Halven Skills

Fate's Friend – Level N/A

Small in a Good Way – Level N/A

Cook Skills

Cooking - Level 14

Freshen - Level 10

Unlocked Jobs

Archer, Farmer, Grifter, Herbalist, Teacher