The Sawbones of Pickwick Circus are Hobgoblin Doctors specialized in selling limbs and organs.


Out there, in the Hedge, lies a clearing, and in this clearing are a handful of white tents whose edges are red with blood. A sign, cut with tin snips, reads: Pickwick Circus. Hobs of many shapes and sizes mill about, waiting for work. They sit on oaken chests filled with ice. They dangle their legs over rickety, rusted beds. They are poised on the edge of performance. Ah, but when the call comes, they’re ready to go, for these are surgeons — not the type to fix a man, oh no, but the type to carve into him.

They sell limbs, you see, even if they don’t have those limbs available. Livers, too, or hearts, or any organ. When the mission is on, they leave their tents and find a victim wandering the Hedge, and from that victim they take what they need. Leg. Arm. Eye. Whatever. When possible, they bring the victim back to their little tent city so that all can have a hand in the surgery, but if they must, they’ll do the work “in the field.” They’ve taken an oath, though: whatever they take, they must replace. They build strange prosthetic limbs from stuff found in the Hedge, and that’s what they leave behind.

While some changelings have been cursed with prosthetic limbs that seem to have no function at all, most have a body part replaced with a Token Limb. When the surgery is complete, the character has a number of points of lethal damage equal to the dots in the Token Limb. Note that a character cannot ask for a Token Limb — that’s not how it works. The token is a side effect, albeit an occasionally beneficial one.


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