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29th of November 1898


Do you think it might be time to slow down?

There is much strife in the world. Much hunger in the people. Look at the false-starse above and ponder the speed of modern life. The speed of your own life. Hurtling towards infinity, burning your own self as fuel, nothingness the final goal. Bits and pieces chipped away at this great pace.

Examine your surroundings. Your directions. Your decisions. Pace yourself well; ponder the best trajectories. The journey is hard, the reward sweeter than forgiveness. Or perhaps it is forgiveness.

It would do no one good to burn up before the inevitable end.

Art of London

Spiders in the Basement
Part V
by Rubbered Ginny

I fled from the room after what could have been seconds or hours, trying to both run as fast as I could and avoid that cursed drain. I have a big, purple bruise along the side of my torso to account for how well that went in a room that tiny. I flew up the stairs at a speed I wouldn’t have believed I could reach, grabbed my jacket off the hook and flew through the front door, not even bothering to lock it behind me; I just slammed the door and made a run straight for my bike. My keys were still in my jacket pocket, but my wallet with my license in it wasn’t, so I was very lucky no police were out to witness me speeding through the town streets in the middle of the night. I ended up parking outside the home of my closest friend, and waiting there until morning.

When he saw me at his door, pale like the moon and probably looking quite deranged, he immediately took me in. I was composed enough not to tell him what I saw, exactly. Instead, I just told him that I did see something, claiming that I thought it was a hallucination.
He was concerned but understanding, and immediately told me to go seek professional help. I lied to him and said that I would. We went back to my home with his car during daylight hours to pick up my most essential belongings, but when he saw my face outside the house, he went in on his own. I was half certain that he wouldn’t ever come out again, but five minutes that felt like five years later, he came back with my phone, wallet, and a small bundle of replacement clothes. I haven’t been back since.

Even now, three days later, I don’t actually think what I experienced was a hallucination. It felt far too real, far too visceral, and more importantly, ever since that night… I’ve been seeing a lot of spiders. All of them looking right at me. Big, nasty, lumpy things, leaving behind a foul odour after I smash them with a rolled up newspaper. I’ve killed at least thirty already, but they keep showing up. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay here for much longer, and I have nowhere else to turn to. I’ve half a mind to empty my savings and flee the country, but with every spider I crush, there’s also a creeping, growing desire to figure out how to build a flamethrower and return to my home to either reclaim it, or die trying. That thing is already after me, and I don’t think I can outrun it. Might as well look it in the face.

Neathy Arcana
by The Ranine Illustrator

See more of their art.

News of Art, Art of News

Burrow-Infra-Mump – A Church In The Neath

The Great Hellbound Railway has laid tracks in unexpected ventures. The next station is at Burrow-Infra-Mump, a location notable for an old church on a hilltop. By all accounts, the GHR board has turned to religion, as the church has reopened.

Most unfortunately for any previous plans for the place, the Violet Treaty states that the territory between London and Hell is to be a neutral religious territory (at the very least, neutral from the likes of Anglican and Hellish dioceses). A synod had been called to discuss this matter. Unfortunately, our reporters were unable to get into the Spite cathedral. When the Bishop of Southwark was reached for comment, he only said ‘B____y h_____s should stay out, shoosh!’ before slamming the door. A question for clarification as to whether he said ‘heathens’ or ‘hedons’ was, sadly, met with further threatening silence.

Post-synod interviewing, at least, had revealed that a certain religious sect known as the Church in the Wild has taken custody of the Burrow church.
“The Church in the Wild aims to reconcile the Anglican faith with the new (or very old) traditions and practices of the Neath. Ours is an encompassing, expansionist doctrine: love thy neighbour as thyself.” Said the Delightful Reverend, the current head of this Church.

The cathedral at Burrow-Infra-Bump has undertaken renovations, and is now accepting followers and parishioners of their as well as other fates. The church is only a short walk uphill from the GHR station. While the church itself is still yet to undergo an inspection by the Bishop of Southwark to determine its further fate and allegiance, it is still a worthwhile stop for any travellers seeking spiritual enlightenment in the hinterlands. All the better, for those religiously inclined, as tracks get closer and closer to Hell.

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Ah, mistakes may have been made.

Dear So.,
Two strikes, I fear.


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