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Like many places throughout the world, as the sun begins to melt behind the horizon and the last vestiges of light give way to the shroud of darkness, the whole landscape seems to transform. What could be considered to most a colorful and enriching experience during the day, would slowly morph into something so much more. Perhaps not as vibrant to the eye as one would normally perceive, but rather the other senses are opened up to new experiences of which could be found lurking in the shadows.

Within the urban playground of New York City’s Five Boroughs, a place just below the surface of the normal psyche, a [i]“Shadowland”[/i] resides, perceived under the light of the moon -from dusk ‘til dawn- and only to those individuals brought into its fold. Normal humans live out their lives on a daily basis, many never knowing about the otherworldly existence. But it has been there long before the settlement of man, and it will no doubt be there at their extinction. The Shadowland is but a mirror image of the realm it resides in, but much more exotic yet void of natural color, where just about anything you can imagine may be procured, and where shapeshifting creatures known as “Changelings” exist, serving or -sometimes- enslaving humans for their own interests.

Residentials, businesses, and a myriad of other establishments are a secret home to these creatures, but one doesn't simply waltz unknowingly into this realm. No. These select humans must be invited by a creature who visits the mortal realm under the guise of humanity, but actually lives in the Shadowland, which then reveals their true form.

For the most part, those humans fortunate [i]-unfortunate?-[/i] enough to have delved into the ancient, secretive society of the Underworld and are allowed to return to the mortal plane, are stripped of any recollection of where they had been. A void in their memory, which other memories quickly collapse onto, covering any trace of memory loss and maintaining the integrity of the Changelings realm. However, there are those who carry with them a piece of the Shadowland. A fragmental memory you could even call it, and something that, while isn’t wholly apparent to the host, conjures up flashes of the otherworld whether in dreams, or brief waking glimpses. Generally, these mortals are hunted down by a Shadowland “memory plucker”, pulling just enough from the individual to satisfy their mission, because anything more may cause the target to fall into insanity or worse, death.

If all is successful, then there is nothing more to do, however, if the secrecy of the Shadowland is compromised in any way, or the rare death of a mortal caused by removing memories does occur, it is up to an appointed “Fixer” to clear up any loose ends. Fixers were generally those humans who, for one reason or another, proved their loyalty to those within the Shadowland, and could be trusted to assist in keeping its anonymity within a certain region of the mortal plane. The title of “Fixer” can be given to any human, in any walk of life or profession, but is generally bestowed upon those who have contacts and influence within governmental and local agencies to call upon for assistance. Each Fixer’s own memories and knowledge of the Shadowlands existence are slim to none, believing rather that they work for an underground organization who pays them well enough to keep their affairs in line.

No questions asked.