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22nd of December 1897


There was a man long ago. A polymath, an explorer; a man of riches. First, a sailor. He contributed to the monarchy, his family prospered. He searched for a treasure untold. He zailed the Neath in search of power, of Law. West, south, east. North. His riches and fame fell into Obscurity. They still exist, in the far and long away. For his family to claim, for his dynasty to prosper. The man had lost his name. His name is the key. The Name is the key. His children, their children, children of their children ever after, Seek to gain their prosperity. They give up everything only to gain nothing.

There was another man, loyal to the forefather. A humble servant, a trusted friend. He knew of the folly. Still hee aided his friend. Forever so loyal. This man never had children of his own. He took only an apprentice, raised them as his own. This apprentice grew alongside the forefather’s kin. A loyal and humble servant, a trusted friend. Again and again and again. An unending chain. The Servants aid the Seekers. Willingly, they give up their name. Erased with Irrigo. Contract written in Violant. Never shall they forget. Never shall we forget.

Art of London

Sun-Filled Stories, Chapter Two
Part I
by Cassius Mortemer

The Introverted Devil held his breath, counting the seconds.
One, two, three…
They’re all staring at him. The Author’s green eyes, wide as saucers. The Churlish Devil’s sulfur-fire blues…
Seven, eight, nine….
There was not a sound in the Forgotten Quarter. Not even the whispering wind that never fails to unnerve newcomers. Even the horse statues seemed to be staring at them.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

“What… did you do…?” the Churlish Devil asked.
The Introverted Devil forced himself to suck in a lungful of air. The Churlish Devil had released the Author who was, frankly, surprised to be alive. With his soul.
“It was an accident!” the Introverted Devil said.
“An accident is one or two jars breaking. You already lost a few before coming here,”
The Introverted Devil looked just about ready to run. The Author was already doing so. The Introverted Devil watched the Author dart past dead trees and horse-head statues. He chuckled sheepishly, barely making any noise.

Then he sprinted after him.

The Introverted Devil had absolutely no reason to follow the Author. None at all. Not even a little bit. The Author wasn’t that far ahead.
“Wait for me!” he yelled. The Author stumbled, jerked his head back so fast that the Devil feared his neck would snap, then slowed down for him. Despite his better judgement.
“You’re not taking me back to them, are you?” the Author asked in between huffs of breath. The Devil merely shook his head and kept running. If they were worth chasing, the other devils will catch up to them in no time, after all.

The Devil ended up leading the way out to some side streets of the Bazaar. It was safer than the Forgotten Quarter. For now, at least. They slowed down to a walk and the Devil bit his lip. Where do they go now? What is he going to do now? Those devils knew him personally. They’ll find him and get their revenge. They’ll… where is the Author? The Devil looked around wildly, searching for the by now familiar shape of the Author. He spotted him staring at a stall selling jewels. The Devil rushed over and pulled him away.

“This is no time for shopping! Just… don’t look at anything!” The Devil said, dragging the Author away by hand.
“I’ve never been here before,” the Author said, awestruck.
“You’re not important enough,”
The Devil sighed. He didn’t feel like explaining this to him right now. He has other matters to worry about that doesn’t include watching someone of very little importance get lost in the crowd. He had to warn him, though…
“Also…” – The Author stops his pouting and looks at him – “Don’t fall in love.”

News of Art, Art of News

All-Bird Review – The Star of Bethlehem

As false snow falls and covers the roofs above, we turn our heads to a humble stage on a humble town square…

Ever since the Fall, many reforms of the Church of England had been put into place to accommodate the knew worldly knowledge. Truly, our faith and believes had been shaken. Even with radical changes, the slightly satirical new retelling of Christ’s birth is sure to stir the waters.

It is, of course, a play for children, designed to teach good morals and a supposed origin of one’s faith. That, of course, does not mean that adult audiences will not find gratifying moments and surprisingly humorous comedy. The parrot in role of an innkeeper who sends the holy family away is a rather great comedic actor. In a similar vein, the three heart doves in roles of Mary, Joseph, and little Jesus were a beautiful sight, and the bluebird angels sang rather pretty.

The inclusion of devil-eyed crows as the three kings was, however, a rather surprising moment. Such acts surely allude to current debates within the Church, radical ideas of devilry surrounding one’s faith. Their gifts of golden honey, while par for the course, were perhaps a little on the nose.

Nonetheless, we still encourage you to give the play a try, London. It is sure to enamour your littlest ones and hopefully bring your own mind to intriguing topics.

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Tired, now, so tired, so many hours behind, so many hours ahead, yet I sleep through them all.

Dear Disappointed,
Truly, so am I.


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