21st of June 1898


Editorial

Moving on is simply a fact of life. All comes to an end, eventually. Though places and people remain, our ties and lives with them simply cannot be forever, as much as we may try.

Such is not always bad. Moving on, yes, it is often a good part of life. Look back at the path you have travelled, at the obstacles you have overcome. Look at the beauty you have left behind.

Moving on means growth. It means realizing who you are, where you are headed, and what path is best for you to take. It means taking your life into your own hands. It means reaching for that which you truly desire.

Change is a part of life, though not a part people are at any time ready to face. When it is your own will to change, when you are an active agent in your own destiny – just know that it is good.

And change for the better, London.


Art of London

This War Of Ours, Part I
by Reinol von Lorica

Darkness folds over his eyes. Breathe. Listen to the sound of gunfire, of screams, and explosions in the distance. The frantic yells of a commanding officer.

“Get up private! Your empire needs you!”

He opened his eyes, breathing in the ash stricken air of the wasteland. Through the cracked lenses of his mask, he could just about make out the form of the major. Both of them were clad in the blacks and greys of the Reich uniforms. Both had that familiar coal-scuttle helmet. Both wore a gasmask.

“Just beyond that ridge! Victory will be ours!”

He didn’t recall getting up. But in that next moment, he was charging forward by the side of the officer and the rest of his comrades. He didn’t care for the sounds around him, choosing to ignore the bullets and the screams.

An explosion rocked the ground near him, sending limbs and gore flying. Blood splattered across his helm.

Just keep moving forward.

There, a trench choke full of Albion soldiers. Machine guns roared, gunning down troopers with no distinction. A grenade sails overhead, silencing it and those manning forever. Rifles cracked to life as they got closer.

“Bayonets ready! Char-”

The officer’s last words filled his ears as another explosion filled his world. He recalled flying through the air, before crashing down to the blood soaked mud.

He recalled the sounds of fighting, of a fierce melee in the trenches as soldiers amassed and fought. Dying screams filled the air amidst the battlecries of troopers.

“For the Kaiser! For Reich! Albion stands!”

Yet all he could feel was an immense wave of drowsiness as thoughts of sleep wandered into his mind. He felt his eyes drooping shut as the sounds of battle were slowly drowned out.

“Lieutenant.”


News of Art, Art of News

New Clubs Open Their Doors – Sophia’s & The Clay Tailor Reach For High Status

Two new clubs have been making waves amongst those enjoying prominence. They have opened their doors what seems to be just a week ago, yet their popularity has risen at an unprecedented speed.

Sophia’s, a club governed by its eponymous leader, the Monster-Hunting Academic, is a society for (not only) ladies to share their love of gentle acts, such as crochet, knitting, reading, anatomy, and, of course, butchering of various dangerous beasts. The club promises a slew of fun company, respect for all, and, of course, many hours of glorious monster-hunting.

The Clay Tailor, as the name suggests, is a club for those of sartorial persuasion, or at least interest. The club strives to stay at the height of fashion, though never uniformity, lest the world becomes boring. Indeed, each member is encouraged to express their individuality through that most wearable of arts – tailoring.
The club offers not only fellow tailors, tips, and pleasant political talks, but also numerous rooms for indulging their passion of garment making. Indeed, it is a wonderous opportunity for all those wanting to show their true colours in a rather tangible manner.

We at the Gazette are, of course, delighted by the appearance of these new social communities. It never hurts to break the mould after all!

Choose well, London, and enjoy communitas.


Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
A broken record I am. Yet my heart cannot stop, and I know not what to do next.
Deer


Dear Deer,
It is simply a matter of time. For either side, truly. Nothing lasts forever, and nothing will cease eventually. It is a matter of time before a decision must be made. Just know that neither path is truly bad or truly good. Act for the embetterment of all.

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