Thomas Land had been gone for weeks.

Ingrid had not seen her motley mate much since that meeting at his wonderful Hollow, where they had exchanged vows and sealed a bargain. Not just her, but Seraphina Orianna and Mhairi Ankaa Saber Sloth as well. A glorious pact, bound in Wyrd and laced with fun. Doors had been opened. She had been on top of the world.

He had been with the ill fated expedition into the prohibition tunnels, she knew that. Along with Donovan (who had also seemingly vanished from the world, well, the city). And Quick. Quick was still around. Maybe he knew something she didn't.

Point was: Christmas had come and gone; the year had turned. And she hadn't gone back to Thomas' Hollow to check on him. She had been too absorbed in her own affairs. And when she had spoken with the rest of the motley, none of them seemed to know where Thomas had gone. And none of them had gone looking for their missing motley mate.

The Wyrd can be a bitch.

Especially when it un-fixes things...

It started with nervous tension between her shoulders. No bigs, she was taking on a new job after all. She took a long lunch for a massive massage. That helped. It came back as a tension headache days later. She popped some pills and took a long bath with bathing salts, wine, and scented candles.

And it worked.

The Wyrd crept up on her the next day. Her shoulder went (sleeping in a bad position). The headache came back, worse than before (accounts, accounts, accounts!) It grew worse as the day progressed. Popping pills did not help. Her mind burned. Her brow throbbed. Her tongue grew thick and dry and heavy.

By the end of the day, thought was like being lost in a thick, heavy, fog. She stared ahead, stupidly on the bus. She almost fell out of the bus as she exited on her way home. The world swam. After a certain point she could not remember where her little flat lay. Struggling onward, sweat began to pour from her brow and stain her expensive office clothing.

But the Wyrd was not done.

It let her get home all right. Let her stagger into the shower, shivering in heat. It waited till the soothing water began to anoint her and then struck its blows. Gasping she went down onto her knees, blinded, groping feebly for the taps; and then with another spasm it laid her flat in the bathtub, a broken doll.

There was only pain as thought was scoured from her.

And with it her understanding of the Wyrd, or lore, and all the little things she knew.

Haven't heard anything from Unlimited Sink in ages. Motley Pledge broken (Thomas has gone, don't know where, we did not even search for him). Ingrid is at -1 to Academics and Occult for a season. Ouch.