A spokesman for the Royal Zapadslavian Navy has claimed that there is no longer a problem with cannibalism on Royal Naval ships. In a four hour statement, Admiral Gregori Uzbeck naval spokesman, declaiming that there is not now, nor has there ever been a confirmed instance of cannibalism on board a Royal Naval vessel. He went on to deny rumors that Satanic rituals were often performed involving human sacrifice as well.

While he did admit that many of the navy's Captains were sadistic blood thirsty totalitarians he went on to point out that those traits are mostly what the Navy was looking for in its higher echelons. Crew attrition he pointed out happens on long voyages and that it doesn't necessarily mean that the missing men were eaten (at least not by their fellow crew mates).

The puzzling point is of course that nobody in the media appeared to know anything about there being such a problem prior to the spokesman's press conference yesterday. There wasn't even a

Admiral Uzbeck whose missing hand is not due to a crazed seaman gnawing it off in a fit of hunger.

In unprecedented news today an informed source has told the Filibuster that they have observed that Anastasia, Princess of Aziev has been ordering the privates of the Life Guards to take daily baths. It seems that she has been offended by the scent of her personal guard. This news of her callous disregard of the heath of the men who guard not only herself, but the entire Royal family only adds to the rumors of her extreme eccentricity. It is well known that bathing more than once a month can seriously injure ones health. Dr. Shock our medical editor and the inventor of static electricity has said, "The body's natural oils are very important to ones health and washing them away when God put them there is just asking for trouble. If she is offended by odors she should just perfume them like everyone else."

Typical guardsman showing the typical puzzled surprised look this weeks announcement has caused.

A Scientific expedition from the University of Anuire has recently returned from an exploration of the region of the Harrowmarsh and has found not only that the swampland are inhabited, but that this is the ancestral home of the Belgyans. Professor Bombast has now traced the migration of the Belgyans tribes back to their origins had this to say about his findings, "You can take a Belgyan out of the swamps, but you can't take the swamp out of the Belgyan". According to Dr. Bombast the Belgyans, a disaffected minority in Avanil, are most upset by the fact that there is little swampland at the mouth of the Maesil river and the government has plans to drain what little there is. Prior to this important scientific discovery the Belgyans were assumed just to be just a group of very smelly lowlifes who inhabit the edge of the rivers on the Southwest side of the continent. They have been found most useful as chamberpot cleaners and often will rent out abandoned outhouses. Belgyan are a described in official government papers as a blight on Prissian society and the whole of the Southwestern end of the continent or those things.

In sporting news the world renowned fencing champion Cyrano has slain his opponent and 2 more line judges in the fourth round of the World Tennis Championships and again advances toward the victory.

As you remember last year Cyrano announced his retirement from the fencing circuit after 5 years at the top. He claimed that he would look for other sports to conquer as he was bored with fencing and had slain all worthy opponents anyhow. This year it appears that it will be tennis that he will dominate. Today's deaths bring the total slain during the tournament to 10. While Cyrano has not proven to be particularly adept at the sport of tennis, his quick temper has lead to a number of on court duels that have left his opponents and most of the tourney staff unable to continue. Amid rumors that most of the remaining players are considering withdrawing our reporter was able to ask Mr. Cyrano a few questions:

PF: Mr. Cyrano, Sir may I have a word with you about the tournament?

C: Yeas, Yeas, Yeas, Wat du yu want?

PF: What is your reaction to rumors that the remainder of the players in the tournament might resign?

C: I haf no problems wit dem deciding that dey are not fit to continu. If dey war not reddy den dey shut haf queet a lang tim ago.

PF: Some have said that it is due to the fact that your first four opponents are now dead (killed by you) and that 6 line judges have also been slain.

C: Listeen, de deaths of my opponents all cam after dey hat shouted out outraaageous insults and so dey deserve'ed to die. My oonly question is how dit dey live as long as dey dit? 'ow can anyone live long wen dey insist on shouddig out "Love Nothing" in frent of suc a larg crowt. Such on ensult to the laddies presunt cout no go unchallenge'ed. An for de offitials dey kept poinding ou my faulds to de eentire crowt. Dis was simply too much for me to tak as a man an so I hat to sley dem.

Cyrano winning the world tennis championship.

However no conventional ships can get there. It turns out that the city does in fact have port "facilities", but they have been designed for a craft of the future "the air ship". It seems that Alchemists working for the government there have announced that they are on the verge of a breakthrough on lighter than air travel. A spokesman for this unusual effort has said, "When your province is named for a bird, you just naturally think of flying. When this new technology breaks we want to be there and ready." This correspondent personally thinks this is just raving from the Raven.

Part I: (May 1759)May 1, 1759: Daulton. Dear Diary, Next time I agree to take an assignment like that of far Western Correspondent, remind me to ask exactly how far west is west. I thought maybe that meant Bindier or Stormpoint. That $#@%$@% of an editor is sending me to interview some General Wolf at Quebec. Seems George II, King of England, subscribes to the bloody paper and has corresponded with the editor and made this suggestion. I must remember to be more thorough in me research, but then how was I to knowe the Duke of Spermatazoa's bastard son's second wife's half-sister's husband was the editor's father? At any rate I am to take ship at Portsmith within the month, sail off, meet and interview this most appropriately named general. I have a packet of letters signed by the English King to get me there and a stage ticket for tonight's coach to the coast.

May 2, 1759: Daulton.Why do I always make coach trips during unseasonably hot weather? After I had me baggage and Belgyan bond servant tied atop the coach, I began me trip to the coast. The heat and dust are almost as unbearable as me fellow passengers. The driver is abomidible and has yet to miss a rut. Already today we passengers have had to get out and push four times. There are four in the coach besides meself: the Count and Countess of Ack-Arrgh (he's pushing 80 and flatulent, she's 40 was once pretty and now having gone to pot is insufferably vain), John Barleycorn a Calvinist of the stuffy black type, and Melvin Toadhopper a merchant who would be wealthy if he did not so obviously eat most of his profits.It is obvious that the Countess married the Count twenty years ago expecting a quick return on her investment and has been severely disappointed. I am writing this in an inn in Laubenheim where we are stopping over for supper. The only non-droll moments of the entire trip have been watching the Countess desperately try to flirt with the preacher, meself and Mr. Toadhopper. Each time she has had the chance her chemise has become loser, her bodice tighter and her sleeves higher. Next thing you knowe she will be showing us her ankles.

May 3, 1759: Danzig. We reached Danzig at about 3PM and I am about to boarde ship for jolly olde England. The events at the inn last night were very amusing. I was not interested in the Countess at all for as you know diary I knowe the barmaid from me previous trips for the paper. She is a buxom wench, forwarde, yet very selective about who she gives her company to, so as she'll not become a fireship. I still am putting over that she is the Laubenheim official whom the editor is paying off, through me, for information (she gets more news than the Tax Solicitor does anyhow). At any rate Pixie and I tripped off upstairs after she was finished working. At about 3AM who should come banging through me door but the Count himself. It seems he woke up to find the Countess missing and immediately assumed meself the guilty party (which would in itself not be a bad compliment except for the other suspects). After he realized that it was not his wife I was enjoying, he apologized profusely and attempted to leave. As me curiosity was peaked I agreed to aide him on his search. At me suggestion we aroused the rest of the guests rather quietly as though we were forming a searching party, of course we didn't have to search far. I was suspect of Toadhopper so we was going to rouse him last, but it was in the preacher's room where we found her. He might even have got away with it, if she had not panicked and started to scream. For a man his age the Count was rather spry, he struck Barleycorn flat with his cane and drug the Countess back to their room and beat her soundly. Barleycorn did not make Bindier with us today (whether from em-bare-ass-ment or from damn-ages I could not say) and the Countess had serious trouble sitting down (she gave out low moans when ever we hit a particularly large bump). Pixie and I had a good laugh about these events at any rate. Fredrick, The events at the Inn at Laubenheim are not to be typeset, they are spurious, lewd and I will not have my Aunt Bertha talked about like that. Also if Shartiever shows up again here remind me to shoot the bastard. The Count of Eckert has powerful friends make sure you change his name to something else (I don't think we have to worry about anyone else). -ed.The boat trip should take about three days they tell me. As usual on these occasions do not expect me to communicate with you, dear Diary, as I shall be spending me time at the rail. The ship, the Foobar, looks like it was worth every farthing the editor paid for me fare and as it was the cheapest fare to England, I do not expect much. At least I need not fear the chef's cooking as I shalln't have hold of it long enough for it to do me harm.

May 9, 1759: Dover. On boarde ship for six days, I am practically dead. Oh thank the Lord I am still alive, my how that bucket did roll. I could have swimmed it in four days, I swear. The chef was as bad as I expected as well, and none of the passengers is in much better shape than I. I plan to lay over in Dover until I am up to taking coach to Portsmith. Fonbone me servant seemes worse than I. I have taken a room at the Crystal's Inn.

May 12, 1759: Dover. I am two days in bed with only the kind landlady's daughter to feed me broth which keeps me alive. The fever seemes to have broke and I feel up to pen these few words.

May 13, 1759: Dover. I feel much stronger today. I don't knowe how I shall survive the crossing to America. I took a walk and shopped. Bought a trinket for the landlady's daughter (it cost a pretty penny and don't think I shalln't charge it to me expense account either). Her name is Claira. She is not much to look at, handsome rather than pretty, but witty, a hard worker and a good listener. I think that should I survive me transit and return here I shall ask her to be me wife.

May 14, 1759: Dover. Had a pleasant surprise today. Everyone thought that Fonbone had died. Turned out twas not so. Just as the Landlord was showing me his body, in order to ask what I wished to do with it, the blighter sat up and asked for food. Tomorrow we take coach for Portsmith, I shall miss this fine inn and the keeper's daughter. No Diary, it was an entirely wholesome relationship, she is a good girl. P.S. It wasn't from lack of trying.

May 15, 1759: Portsmith. Had a pleasant trip today. All me fellow passengers were Naval Officers and we had a grand time talking of sea battles and adventures. I went straight to the Naval building with me fellow passengers and inquired about a ship. It was an impressive building named for some famous English sailor, no doubt. However they abbreviated his last name and for the life of me I cannot remember any such whose last names begin with a T. I've been told the next packet boat to Quebec will leave on the 20th and me letter will put me aboarde. I then went and found an Inn. Fonbone has brushed off his meeting with death even better than I have. Every time I mention it he just mutters, "It's alrite Gov I've had worse."

May 16, 1759: Portsmith. I am staying at the inn with one of me fellow coach passangers one, Captain S. Hood. He is an amazing fellow and bound to go places in the world should he survive the war. He currently commands the Vestal and spends his time prowling the French shoreline. He seemes to base his success on his friendship with some chap named Rodney. Fonbone asked permission to go and visit relatives. I didn't think they let his sort live in England. At any rate I gave him permission to go.

May 17, 1759: Portsmith. Only three more days. I have been resting and plan to rest, to gain strength. Sam says I will be fine once I get me sea legs, but I think I should be dead first. He told me about one of his friends w'the same problem I have, but who joined the Navy anyway name of Hornblower. Sam says he has the makings of a great naval leader. Sam has helped me by laying in a store of supplies to aid me diet on the trip. He says I shouldn't have to worry too much as I shall be eating with the officers. Fonbone came back today and we were almost thrown out of the Inn. Seems his relatives work for Cod merchants and the fish smell was almost unbearable. Sam had some sailors take him out and keelhaul him until he was bearable, it took four hours after which he looked much like a drowned rat, but somehow quite pleased.

May 18, 1759: Portsmith. Made final preparations today, as we were informed that we might go aboarde ship tomorrow. Sam pointed the ship out to me. It seemed awfully small to be making such a long voyage.

May 19, 1759: Portsmith. I am making me first entry on boarde the HMS Incontinent. The sailors have insisted that Fonbone sleep in a place they call the brig located in something called the bilge. Fonbone commented to me after he was shown the place at how nice these English sailors were to make such special accommodations for him. He did admit that the only problem he found was the dampness, but that he rarely had had roomier quarters. I am in the wardroom with the junior officers. They seeme a nice lot. It seemes an eternity has passed as we waite to pull up the anchor and be off. Much like the prisoner waiting for the axe to fall, I suppose. Don't knowe when me next entry will be.

May 28, 1759: At Sea. It seemes that a bad time is coming. The Captain keeps muttering things like Red Sky in the afternoon, time to find a new saloon. The Captain has been making all the sailors go around and tie things down. Already the extra rolling of the ship has cause me spasms of unease. The sky to the north is very dark and I feel as though some giant is reaching out his hand to squash this small vessel. Fonbone seemes to be taking to this life. He is almost clean, he says that there is about six inches of water in his stateroom and that washes over him all night.

May 29 We are doomed the ship heaves so. Twice I was sure we went all the way over. Numerous masts have washed overboarde. Help us Lord!

May 30 Still is storm. More damage.

May 31 More storm less masts.