#scrimbeast

The Scrimshander is not originally *from* the Neath, as it were, and it has made certain bonds with certain things outside it. In particular, the root of the Scrimbeast is a tooth — you may see it in other works of the Scrimshander, a scarlet upper canine on its right side. It traded this tooth with The Fox, the New Moon, to hold both it and itself accountable in being Good. Godflesh is not easily extracted, though, so even though the story it originates from has ended, the Promise remains, and with it is the Fox's hunger, and the need to keep what belongs to it.

The Scrimbeast is its own Nightmare turned inside-out in London. The Scrimshander itself cannot enter Parabola (it is not real, so the Mirror is little more than a wall), and the change is made manifest as it starves, or falls prey to its own fear or the fear of others, working in tandem with other forces that dictate the Laws it as a figment is subject to (those being the Maw, the Heart, and the Truth).

While it can, with great effort, stay lucid when forced to change shape, the Scrimbeast is a manifestation of the loss of control and impulse to self destruct, and often brings with it a delerium that is directly subject to the perception of it that others hold — its immediate threat is directly correlated to the danger assumed of it by those who perceive it. It cannot catch you unless you think you cannot outrun it, nor kill you unless you believe, without a doubt, you are going to die because it has caught you. The more it is understood, the greater (or lesser) danger it poses.

The beast cannot speak, except in the last words of those it has devoured or destroyed (and such endings are final, the boatman does not go down to the belly of the beast), and as such, even at its most lucid, its communication is limited to wails of fear and begging for mercy. It is capable of gentleness, but only if those around it see it as safe and gentle, and it is very, *very* difficult to push past the Fear its presence instills in you. Its difficult to describe unless you have ever personally fallen a considerable distance, but having fallen approximately 30 ft from a cliff and survived, its like the moment you realize you *are* falling, that its too late to catch yourself. Less of a panic and more of a stomach drop. There is an impending sense of anticipated impact, the inevitable end to the fall. This proximity "fear" is what it responds to, and is as difficult to muscle past as it would be for the average person to realize they are dreaming mid-dream. Naturally, this means that its danger is... altered to the average flondon PC, since every one of those is a crazyass bastard, but I digress.