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19th of April 1898


We all have ambitions in our life. There is a drive within us, a grand story waiting to be revealed to the world. What does your heart desire most?

There is such a drive within me, a deep-seated desire. To be free of the Chains. The words that took my name. My pursuit of knowledge, study of the Correspondence, perhaps the answer is there, yes. Or, perhaps, it is within the echoes of Law.

The stakes are high when dangerous games are played. The higher the stakes, the higher the rewards, of course. Look to the place where high rollers waste away their wealth as if it were bread to feed pigeons with.

Gambling is not always about luck. There is skill involved, so is true. It is no easy feat, to defeat a two madmen, a devil, a holy man, a bat, and a monkey. It pays off, as you can see, to have friends in such places.

I shall be free of my chains yet. One way or another.

Art of London

Memories and Roses, Part VI
The Masters
by Professor Wensleydale.

Didn’t want to have to make this appointment, but I had to. For the sake of this… project.

“Mister Pages?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“I am here to talk about a project I am working on. It’s called The Midnight Battle. I would like your word that you will not turn it to ash.”

I slid an envelope with more exotic pieces of information towards it.

“You have my word.”

And so I went on my way.

Nightmares is increasing…
You’ve lost 5*Epaulette Mate(new total 0).
You’ve lost 5*Queen Mate(new total 0).
You’ve lost 10*Vital Information(new total 0).
You’ve lost 5*Uncanny Incunabula(new total 0).
You now have 1*Written Promise of Mr. Pages.

West of London
by Graham Ravity

Not quite heaven
West of London
Sulfur fountains
Devil bone and roses

Life is harsh there
Harsh due to the bees
Devils guard its treasures
(The devils are the bees)

Hellish roads
Bring me bones
From a place
I don’t belong

West of London
Bone-based drama
Bring me bones
Hellish roads

News of Art, Art of News

Disappearance Of A Master – A Truth Or A Revolutionary Ploy?

A rumour is spreading throughout London. One of the Bazaar’s limbs, the rumour says, has gone missing. A decoy was temporarily placed in the Labyrinth of Tigers, temporarily defaced, then replaced.

A wave of nervous whispers shook the streets of the Bazaar to the core. The clothier’s business has not suffered, of course; echoes must flow, after all. No sense in denying the city the pleasures of mercantile.

It is, of course, plausible that the rumour is itself a decoy, a plot of revolutionary groups to shake the foundations of our fair city. Or, perhaps, they have some claim. Then again, such speculations are beneath us.

A Legend, Caught – Prize Claimed By The Vake Hunter

After days of debate, checking of facts, questioning witnesses, and general bureaucracy, we have the results. The Department of Menace Eradication has decided that the Vake Hunter’s claim is rightful, the promised prize shall be paid out or substituted.

Truly, the menace of menaces is now dead. The Vake is no more, – hark! the herald angels singing. Though the lives the beast took shall never return, its due has been paid now in full.

Though the promised amount of four million echoes could not be given to the Hunter, an alternative barter of goods has been promised by law from the storage rooms of the Bazaar. The details unknown, though unimportant.

We wish the proud Hunter good luck, a good life, and many more menaces slain.

Sleep safely, London.

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Who may ever secure a future for the child?

Dear C.,
Some decisions are, simply, too difficult to make. Even then, they must be made all the same.


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