Ah, why oh why oh where a day?

Gods arun and dying all about us, with hearts of stone and bitterness, and all stands lost. Who knew what marks without when all stand Islands each unto themself alone? And yet, how now when Caliburn's bright promise lies all tattered and the gods decline their honours? Our god, 'though small, lies dying unbelieved, and ancient glass does steal his heart aborn. How can a Jack but call for quest? Should I be thought a fool, my heart? And yet this Great Lord held him back apace, all frought and feared and all unowing. The Clay had gripped his heart sore like a pris'n, and cares he not for aught but all forgettings.

By force we did entreat him into Dream, by force we did place one his feet afore the other still, and walk him into hoping all ashore. Why? When all about d'accuse this Jack of War and Doom and Blood forgetting? When eshu cry the heavens that the gods did play us false and e'en the Caliburn is out unworthy? What else can a Jack to do but aid when one falls needing?

With cunning guile we did betide an answer sure, that heart and blood o' basilisk might all pertain. A dwarf amongst us holds a cure unwrought, Alchymystry his art and mind, and so did we brave few betake this god and capture one foul deathing lizard sure, that Alymyst might find the answers deep in heart within.

And yet attesting, who would think that e'en the blood of Basilisk might not hold answers but delay?

And yet arresting, how then shall this god be made belief and bright?

And why?

Are all gods bitter blades of death these Autumn days? The wall of Auld Berlin has fall'n, and hope falls trapped behind?

Bring me answers.

[from the journals of Dr. Q.E.D. Fyne, vol. 2652:]

... attacks have almost ceased. It would be a pity if Concordia never learns of it.

A pity likely to bear fruit for that matter. Noble and commoner alike dance to nearly any tune in the Parliament, and it would appear that merely my own applied support for a cause is enough to stymie action from the inept and consequential. The idiot Duke is able to make his own arguments too lame to walk, without support from me, but some of the others continue to resist any Unseelie voice in Parliament, as though I were ringing Pavlov's bell.

Most of the Summer Court in Concordia appear to be so Banal that one must merely await them enough slack with which to hang themselves.

I have made some intriguing observations in Parliament which I have applied to Experiment 243523.345 with various degrees of success. The patient survives, and is becoming more pliable with said efforts. Whilst still too dangerous for release, it bodes well for an eventual cure for Third grade residual...

[from the Chimerical Advocate, 28 August 2003:]

A Torn Map

Interesting, isn't it, that the Lord High July Twist tears apart the Dead King's Map only to give himself a huge piece of it as he didn't own before? War rises on the Horizon, and the Summer pansies get all set to scrabble and fight for dirt. Reminds me of the 'Seventies.

The Teeth are making loud already about tearing holes in the soon-to-be-Bloody Nobles, and the Kings and Queens of August are waving their little sticks right back.

Hell, get four fae with an ounce of Winter Sense on their shoulders standing in the Parliament, and the Summer Queen takes her board and runs home. I suppose they want a Monopoly.

Well, now, with the Winter Court's only voice kicked out of the podium, it looks like things are going to get a bit more ... visceral. Kithain are dropping to Bedlam and Forgetting like flies at rotten meat, and I think I smell where that meat is sitting. So the Summer King is dead? Who didn't know already? Reason then, to tear the Map and raise the borders, and hope to huddle under the snow...

Ha! It takes Winter to survive Winter, badchen.

Leaves are falling.

[from the journals of Dr. Fyne, vol. 2523:]

...is no more. Whilst to some degree this will aid my efforts, seeding chaos and anarchy where once only playground politics reigned, in others this negates some efforts of this past decade. In particular, the Ardry Doppleganger will henceforth prove useless, necessitating a subsequent re-evaluation of said planning.

In the mean, the obvious power-grab by those foolish Summer Nobles, ill disguised to the point where even a malignant pooka could recognize them for the amateurish efforts that they are, will only turn proletarian sentiment against their unbending rulers. It would appear that they are all taking lessons from that idiot Dray.

And so, Concordia has finally fallen.

Now to pick up the pieces.

Additional: the investigations into other subjects of Bedlam-madness progresses well, with any number of nockers about the globe suffering...

[from the Chimerical Advocate, October 2003]

Storm in a Bottle
Q.E.D. Fyne, Phd, MD

Those stinking idiots.

Science is not Banal - Science is curiosity. Science is invention. Science is weather control satellites, and death rays, and flying saucers.

Scientists are Banal. For those ignorant few remaining In The Dark, the Eastern Coast of Concordia lost electricity some while back. It was brilliant. Televisions down. Computers done in. Chaos.

Why? Because someone had the brilliant idea to siphon off the Imaginary Power from the system. That's right, Imaginary Power. What are you, dyslexic? Someone finally brought Imaginary Power to the attention of the proles. It was a brilliant move. Of course, none have come forward to claim credit, so I suspect that whatever device they used likely crisped them to cinders, but that's what minions are for, after all.

Suddenly the Lights went Out. And they Knew.

Today? Today some fool human has decided to change a Word, and end a Dream.

Psh. The git with a sword is dead? Big Deal. His Empire has to work for a living? So get your fingers dirty.

Today, some human moron who has forgotten what Science means has changed a word, and ended a Dream.

There is no longer any such thing as Imaginary Power. Instead, a lack of "Reciprocal Power" brought New York low. Feh. It doesn't even mean anything. One bloody moron changes a word, and everyone believes him.

And where are we? Is this human assassinated, as I suggest? No. "Against the Escheat," I'm told.

I'd half think the lot of the bloody wastrels who call themselves Lords have signed on with that damned Schweitzer. They're doing as well to get us all killed, at least.

Twelve years of some nocker's hard work done in by some Dougal's ill-used pet human.

Which reminds me - whoever it is as has been building the Weather Control Satellite, do be in touch. Jumpstation Acadia rode out the tempest perfectly, of course, but the monitoring station at my Fortress clocked the storm at upwards of eighty-five knots. I admit I'm impressed. I have designed a triple-lens arrangement which should be useful to enhance the effect at least sevenfold. We'll see if they can ignore The Truth when lightning hits all of the churches in the Midwest...

“What a beautiful face you have child,” the shop keeper thought, “ and when we are finished with the face, we will do the hands and feet.”
He hummed as he continued his work.
“There, now you are ready. But first a dress, the prettiest one in the store” he said as he went to look through them.
“What colour will you wear? Should it be blue to match your eyes? Or rose to match your lips? No, it will be a golden yellow to match your hair. It’s perfect!” the shopkeeper said after dressing the doll. “The moment someone see you they will not be able to resist.” He smiled at his work. “Now time to open the shop.’
No sooner had he turned the open sign in the window, than he heard the bell on the door ring. A man and his daughter entered the store. The girl looked around in awe of all the different toys and dolls in the shop. The man knelt down next to the girl and said,
“What will you have for your Birthday dearest? Pick anything you want.” The girl looked around the shop trying to find just one thing out of the many she wanted. Her eyes came to the doll the shopkeeper had just finished and she stopped. A look of wonder on her face she moved closer to it.
“Papa, I must have this one.” She said pointing to the doll.
“Then you shall have her” the man said and motioned to the shopkeeper that they had made their choice.
“A fine choice, sir” the shopkeeper said. “ I finished her this morning.” He took the doll off the shelf. “Shall I wrap it for you, sir?”
“Yes” said the man. His daughter pouted. “You can unwrap the doll at your party today, until then I think you should find a place to put the doll in your room.” She nodded.
The shopkeeper watched them leave and he thought to himself, “I knew the minute I saw her that it wouldn’t take long for her to sell.” He thought for a moment about the look on the girl’s face when she saw the doll. “I’ve never seen them in my shop before, I wonder if this is her first doll? If it is then I hope she takes good care of her.”

A small chair was placed on the dressing table in the girl’s room, and on that sat the doll. It was placed so that whomever sat at the table could see the doll. So the doll stayed there, away from the girl’s other toys but always in a place she could see it. The girl would talk to the doll, greet it every morning and every night before bed. As the girl got older she talked to the doll less but she still greeted it.
Then the day came when the girl had grown into a woman and had a daughter of her own. The doll was passed on to the daughter and she wouldn’t go anywhere without it.
War was growing in the world, so the family decided to move across the sea to Canada. They sold most of their belongings and booked passage on a ship bound for Halifax. They were going to start a new life there. The little girl kept the doll and would take it with her when she walked around on the ship. They reached Halifax and everyone on the ship came out to take a look at their new home. Everyone was surprised at how many ships were in the harbor. Their joy was broken when they heard a terrible sound. Black smoke could be seen further in the harbor and then a flash and a boom from an explosion. There were no survivors from that ship and the doll that the girl carried, once a cherished gift, was lost forever at the bottom of the harbor.
Or was it…
Decades passed and soon a new Century was born. Almost forgotten were the signs of the explosion, all that remand was pictures relics and the memories of those who had survived. The explosion was said to be the largest pre-nuclear, man-made explosion ever.
None of these facts matter to Tabitha. Only 6 years old, she sat with great intent at the end of a dock. She looked like she lived in the mud, and she did for the most part. Uncombed hair, dirty clothes, and wearing mismatched shoes that were too big for her, she sat at the end of the dock,. In her dirty hand she held a stick with a bent piece of bent metal tied to it. She would dip it into the water swish it around, pull it out and check what she had “caught” on it. All she seemed to be getting was seaweed and she was about to give up for the day when she spotted something on the shore. She dropped the stick into the water and ran over to see what it was. When she got there she saw a small doll with china head, feet and hands. The colours in the face were faded the dress it wore was ripped and dirty. Most of the hair was gone and there was a hole in the dolls head, what was left was tangled and full of seaweed.
Despite the doll's appearance, Tabitha picked it up and hugged it like it was the greatest treasure she had ever found. Then she ran away, down the shore still hugging the doll. If anyone had been listening to her they would have heard her say, in a small whisper “Now I have something to ‘member, big brother will be so proud of me.” Soft giggling echoed as she ran.

[A summary of events that have passed, during which many records were understandably lost.]

[Midummer, 2004, a series of attacks took place across the Northern Ice. Thought to be engineered by the Fomorians of Hibernia, the attacks from the Near Dreaming destroyed many freeholds, and killed many Nobles. The attacks left most of the Kingdom with little refuge. Those kithain in the Free Commots survived despite the Autumn's Banal Chill, and banded closer together against rising waves of encounters with the Prodigals. On the sixth of December, at nine o'clock in the morning, a vast shape was seen rising from the waters of the harbour - a massive Nocnitsa, goaded into action by fanged and furred Prodigals. Prodigal sorceries called down a great storm, a bolt of lightning, and a tempestuous explosion. An oil tanker at the site of the Nocnitsa's rise erupted with supernatural force, leveling much of the North End of the city and killing thousands, for the second time in Halifax' history. Many of the kithain died. Others were driven into a Forgetting. Others, survivors, crept through the ruins, avoiding the human military and the shambling Dead, and took refuge in the Dream City, leaving the Autumn World behind.

[Slowly, they began to forget, to put their mortal Seeming behind them, to slide towards Bedlam. It was not until two months later, and the first - or possibly second - encounter with the Chimerae now called the Tribunal, that some of them remembered the need and usefulness of their human heritage, their Autumn Power. The vampiric Tribunal appeared to feed upon Glamour itself, turning what the kithain had thought their only strength, against them.]

[A fragment of paper found in the basement of Dr. Fyne's Academy for Gifted and Wayward Youth, during the military patrols after 06 December 2005:]

[...] cranial morphology. The flesh appears largely translucent, as [...]most of the internal organs, resembling that of a deep-water cephalopod [...]jellyfish. Several areas are bioluminescent even after death, which only enhances that similarity. 'Though only a fragment of the upper torso was recoverable, it would appear humanoid, lending credence to idiot [...] strange phooka. Perhaps there are useful badchen after all... It would appear that [... this section is lost, with evidence of acid burn; another page fragment follows ...] explosions. Midsummer likely then holds [...] malevolent [...] association for the Invaders, as it does for us and the Adamites. At least they accomplished that much -- something we won't have to do later ourselves. Curious about [...] Prodigals, and the [...] will have to be more careful in the future.