---

Editorial

Reality is incredulously fleeting. With a snap of one’s fingers things change from second to second. One cannot with absolute perfection define the reality of the moment. Truly, it is ludicrous to even consider two events as happening simultaneously. Time bends and twists through and around space and with it, reality.

A moment, then, cannot be simply defined. A moment now is the same as two moments earlier and a third one year from now. Reality overlaps, yet it does so constantly. A moment now is the same as three moments separated by centuries and a single moment best to be forgotten. To define such change is as futile as catching the wind with a net.

Even personal reality is a fickle thing. Our mind fabricates stability, but our hearts betray the truth. As change sets to motion, deep down the mind can sense the ebbs and flows of time. Such sensations are not to be taken lightly. The attuned mind may then, perhaps, even peer into the chaos. See beneath the veil of reality into the core of Law.

However great the cost may be – who could ever refuse such an opportunity?

---

Art of London

Memories and Roses, Part VII
An Invocation
by Professor Wensleydale.

I sat down to translate.

“Oh tell me the tale of a great King, a King who claimed the throne after his brother destroyed his home, a King who fought against the incursion of the unnatural, a King by the name of-”

Inspired… has increased to 5!
You’ve lost 1*F.F. Gebrandt’s Superior Laudanum (new total 2).

---

News of Art, Art of News

Wonderous Skeletons – Genuine Unearthings Or Deceptive Amalgams?

In hidden streets of Watchmaker’s Hill there lies an open secret, a market of bones. Those knowledgeable of its existence gather there to marvel at and deal in various bones, relics, unearthed fossils, and some more tasteful yet no less grandioze items.

Recently, London has seen a boom in palaentology. Amateurs and professional academics alike are unearthing all sorts of strange fossils and discovering yet unseen species. Such happenings are far from unexpected as the Neath offers many an oddity to be found anew. The sudden rise is, however, still rising eyebrows.

There are also those who display, offer, and successfully sell whole skeletons. Among these are seemingly impossible birds, proposed remains of saints, claimed rubbery amalgams – there are even rumours of one particular academic possessing a whole skeleton of a Master of the Bazaar.

While some claims are certainly dubious, these pieces may be considered collector, and thus it truly may be a worthy endeavour to seek to procure one such exhibit. For our own office, we have a charming mummified corpse of a saint with no less than a dozen legs.

Certainly not a purchase for the common man, perhaps this is a new opportunity for the crafty scholar.

Tread careful, London!

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Where are clouds when one needs an uplift?
Silver

---

Dear Silver,
Above our heads, so distant, unreachable, yet friendly and familiar.

---

Editorial

With age comes wisdom
Spring of life, one year older
Am I any wiser?

---

Art of London

Portrait of Edward
by Arthur Cole

---

News of Art, Art of News

Crows By Any Other Name – The Debonair Dilettante’s Exhibit

The Royal Academy of Arts has recently sanctioned and hosted an even by one up-and-coming artist, the Debonair Dilettante. This particular exhibit is special for being a diversion from the usual bores of high society, an intriguing change we wholeheartedly welcome in the world of art.

The Dilettante’s exhibit bears the name of “Lycanthropes in spite”. It features several dozen pieces, all manticoric taxidermy. These lycanthropes, as the Dilettante calls them, are amalgams of various animals poised as bipedes performing various common tasks – chores, social engagements, et cetera. The bodies seem to be largely canine, and feature even parts of rare, exotic animals from the surface.

They all, however, share one commonality – that is, the heads of all of the lycanthropes are that or crows. A single crow’s head, perched upon an ill-fitting body, donning an expression of deep thought.

The statues have a certain air of unease about them, the kind that only comes with taxidermy, multiplied by the strangeness of their composition. Still, they are rather endearing, reflecting the daily struggles of the common person. One cannot help but feel a certain kinship with the lycanthropes. They, too, are simply doing their best in their day to day, unable to help but be exposed to the world at large.

The exhibit shall be open for the whole month of June. We have it on good authority that no animals have been purposely slain to create this piece, rather they are dear old pets passed away and donated to the effort.

We wish you pleasant pondering, dear London.

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
What more may the heart weather?
Locked

---

Dear Locked,
A thousand novelties and an infinity of reprises.

---

Editorial

Is it wrong to have doubts when suns are beginning to shine again?

Through luck and merit and support, one can plough their way through the mud. It is not an easy task, but one certainly achievable. It has been done before, and there are steps that have been taken already. Truly, in fact, the path has never been all that muddy.

Why, then, does every step feel like failure? Is it simply melodrama? A trick of the brain? A misfiring of misfortunes, aimed at the susceptible parts? Why, then, would one forget all that had been done and throw it all away?

It would be foolish to end here. It would be a heresy, truly. A dishonour to the legacy of those who came and went, an atrocity in the eyes of those who believe. A crime, perhaps, against nature herself.

No, this is not where things end. I know that much – that cowardice is a part of the package, to the strange benefit of the recipient.

Why, then, do I still desire an end?

---

Art of London

Portrait of a Lady
by Arthur Cole

---

News of Art, Art of News

Incoming Storm Might Present Unexpected Setbacks

In latest weather reports, the Seventh Astronomer warns of a great Storm coming towards London. It is unclear when, how, or if at all this Storm will arrive; it is still said to be a big one.

The Seventh Astronomer, an oddity even amongst the blind astronomers, speaking only in fire and screams, has been conducting heavy research into the weather patterns of the Neath. This research is indeed publicly available, scrawled with a sharp piece of glim on the backside of a cave near the London Observatory.

The Astronomer warns that, to quote: “The eyes have been angered, the deed cannot be pardoned,” and “What was said cannot be unsaid,” and “White, three sugars, yolk.” We are still unsure whether or not the last citation pertains to the weather.

Further insights specify heavy rains, thunder and/or lightning, an array of frightening displays, and perhaps an incursion from Hell. As mentioned, time has not been specified, and the Storm may come anywhere between next Tuesday and the end of the Seventh.

Don’t forget your umbrellas, London!

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Am I destined to do nothing but stupid mistakes?
Wondering

---

Dear Wondering,
I am afraid that all evidence suggests such a trajectory.

---

Editorial

Power. Power to change. To correct. Power innate and given. Possibilities can open to those whose mind is open and whose heart seeks a purpose.

This is not the way I had expected to find. It is certainly one I have not known I wanted until the very moment I uttered those words. One might say this was the change meant to be set into motion all along. Am I betraying my purpose? Am I betraying her by taking this path? Am I betraying the very core of my self? That was so long ago, now. The goals seemed unreachable; now, they are a mere triviality.

As always, change lays in the pursuit of science. Esoterica comes in many a flavour; the esoterica of change especially. It is not all my doing, though I am learning a great deal. Change… It can be enacted permanent this way, yes, yet I am still unable to locate what was lost.

Perhaps I shall never regain my name. Perhaps it was never meant to be from the start. Who am I to deny destiny, now? Perhaps it does not matter.

After all, I have a new, shiny name now.

---

Art of London

Ediptula Minor
by Ms Mintality

See more…

---

News of Art, Art of News

Eggs Invade London – An Incursion Of Dreams? – Egg!

Surely you have seen them. Eggs! On every street corner, in every hansom, catered to by children, tailors, bats, even snakes. Eggs! Scarlet like blood, aged and blackened by the Neath. Eggs! What might you find inside? Why are there so b____y many of them?

No one is certain, truly. We have questioned several prominent Londoners.
“They are a delight! A gift from the heavens, surely,” giggled the Effervescent Charcutier.
“Why is that crab bothering us like this?” muttered the
“Egg!” gleamed the Eternal Authoress, a crowd of excited individuals nodding alongside her claims.

We, of course, have our own theory. Why, naturally – the eggs are a gift for our dear Mother Goose! That was, if you pardon us, a light joke on our side. We have not been informed on this any sooner than anyone else. Please, stop inquiring about it.

We can, however, provide a special augmentation to your eggs. Though we are not directly involved with this phenomenon, we do know a thing or two about egg science (naturally). Come visit us at the GG headquarters – heck, we’ll even give you one of our own eggs! Really. Please. They’re everywhere. Very hard to get rid of.

Of course, all manner of beasties are hatching from these eggs. It seems that soon London will overflow with beasts, lizards, and various peculiar items of clothing. We do hear that the iguanas are especially cuddly.

Do not wait, London! Go ahead and see what may hatch from your egg! Or, alternatively, just make a few omelettes.

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
May there now be a chance? Or am I still far too cowardly to follow my desire? Is it desire, even, or simply a misfiring of the heart? Truly, I would like to know, how to act normal.
Lion

---

Dear Lion,
Do not believe it is cowardly to be scared. Do know that not facing your fears is the true way of a coward. Perhaps a couple things to think about.

---

Editorial

Truth is effervescence. Reality bubbles with possibility. Motes of possibility commingle and pass each other, merge at the most inopportune of moments. There is as much sense in asking what is true as there is in asking a tiger to be a servant to a rat.

The simplest variation in the alterations of threads can have massive consequences on the threads of reality. A character, an ambition, the clacking of coins reflecting from a brass cup in just the right way of different. So much that butterfly wings can change.

Wonder not then what may the one sole truth be. Take words with a grain of salt and read between the lines. Know that, in the end, we may never know what reality has in plan for us. Enjoy the ride, while it lasts.

Make your own stories, London.

---

Art of London

Two of Mads
by Jane Ankh Veos

---

SCRAPS OF RECENT NEWS

Mr Cards – A Brand New Master?

…
Without much fanfare or announcement, there now is a new Master of the Bazaar. Presenting itself as one Mr Cards, this elegant figure is still an enigma among the ranks of the Masters.
…
Once a month, Mr Cards can be seen entering and exiting the Bazaar. Its appearances among the general public are sporadic, and never without the accompaniment of another Master.
…
It seems to prefer parlours, gambling dens and shops, and other such establishments. Could this Master’s trade, as the name suggests, be in the upkeep of London’s ever-growing populace of gamblers?
…
The identity of Mr Cards is uncertain – is it a brand new compatriot of the Masters, or a cover to avoid association with the vile vice of gambling?
…

---

The Lease To London – Rumours Of New Ownership?

…
Surely nothing but hearsay, the Masters are said to have given the document declaring ownership of London herself to an unknown individual.
…
What implications may such facts have, if they are truly facts? Is London, perhaps, safe from another city falling on its head as it has done forty years ago?
…
The Empress, or any of the Masters, could not be reached for further comments.
…
Whatever the future may hold for us, we can only hope that our new owner is benevolent. Perhaps, indeed, we will see reform to the lighting, roads, or even cheap tobacco.
…

---

Whispers From The Surface – Under The Northern Lights

…
Explorers to beyond the polar circles report sightings of an enormous mansion. This white castle glistens among statues, topiaries, and hedges, all made of snow. Upon closer inspection, the manor is locked and secure.
…
It is, by most, seen as a simple mirage or delusion caused by lack of one vitamin or another.
…
Now dubbed “The Court of Winter’s King”, it is a symbol of luck – uncertain whether good or bad – and explorers are advised to stay clear of the perhaps cursed land. Hell knows not many venture so far into the arctics, anyway.
…

---

A New Royal Star – Surprise Heir To The Empress?

…
A surprising development, as one _______ _______ has been named the new Regent of London. Surprising, we say, though it was inevitable for one unknown blood relative or another to show up, eventually.
…
We, of course, wish the Regent best of luck.
…
One rumour has it that the Empress herself has been considering the Regent as an heir to the throne. How such indiscretion will pass by and through her own children is a matter we shall not touch for the respect of our reader’s wellbeing and good taste.
…
As a new matter of fashion, the Regent’s tendency to wear their ratskin drawers (fur still attached) atop their trousers has been catching on upon the higher echelons. In today’s society, it seems, it is simply unacceptable to be caught dead without one’s pants displayed!
…

---

A Distress In The Bazaar – An End To A Game?

…
One Mr Pages could be seen playing against a monkey seemingly known for its aptitude with cards. Eye witnesses report the match was at most fifteen minutes long, ending with the Master turning the table over and storming out. The monkey, the questioned zailors said, was rather smug about it with its supposed owner.
…
The monkey and its owner were seen entering the Bazaar in late hours of the morning.
…
Mr Apples lately appeared irritated, ignoring his compatriots in the public. These strange tensions, while less pervasive among the other Masters, are rather tangible even on sight.
…

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Oh woe is me, born under the unlucky star, never meant to reach fortune.
Searching

---

Dear Searching,
I am afraid whining will do no one any good.

---

Editorial

Oh, chance, thou heartless bitch, gamblers merely a smeared stain on the undergarments of your ego. Oh, what spools of silver temptation you spin; a yarn with which those foolish enough to venture into your bed willingly strangulate themselves (all, presumably, to escape your grasp once and for all). The only feeling you can inspire is that of exasperated pain, the only emotion one can muster in your presence is angstful hope for a blissful end.

Lady Luck has worn out her welcome. Too long has she tormented the world’s gentlefolk with her errant whims and overwrought shifts of fancy. Too cruel was – is – her reign. Are we only to suffer under the iron boot of a mistress keen on destroying our very essence?

Nay, say I. Nay, we shall not be abused, grabbed hold of like low-hanging fruit. It is time to revolt! Take chance – take fate! – into your own hands! Be not the bystander of possibility, no, grab hold of it and twist it to your liking!

Cheaters never truly win, they say.

Cheating, however, is simply taking chance on with foolproof planning and no mercy.

---

Art of London

Home Beyond the Purple Waters
by Sevenix

See more…

---

News of Art, Art of News

Bells Toll Upon London – The Bazaar’s Rueful Lullaby?

In unspecified hours of days and nights with no periodicity whatsoever the Bazaar has been chiming the most sorrowful of bells for the past many weeks. It is unknown to all why these mournful tones fill our air. The stocks and the markets, our economists report, are doing as well as ever. Stories soar through our fair city fuelled by as much desire as always.

It has become apparent that the Masters of the Bazaar have taken a position of further recluse, rarely seen among the populace or on business. Some theorize that, perhaps, it is the Bazaar’s unwell state that requires their full attention.

Whatever the case may be we certainly hope and wish that such occurrences do not shake the stable foundations we have built up for ourselves in the Neath.
Still, one may need to be prepared for any change in the proverbial game, and so, be careful, dear London.

---

The Cups Circumstance – A Fall From Grace Or A New Opportunity?

In recent news from the world of business, it seems that Mr Cups has found itself in a rather precarious position. The details are unknown, but rumour has it that this figure of prominence is making rather riskant deals, driving the market into wild twists. The activity of relickers has also increased, presumably in the pursuit of further deals and profits.

As always, we do not aim to bore you with such mundane speculations, however. The more interesting part of the myth is a perhaps newly adopted fashion of the Masters. So far worn by Mr Cups and Mr Mirrors, a porcelain masque has made an appearance. Seemingly it covers the most delicate of features to which no commoner may be privy in any case. Yet it still reflects light in the most exquisite of ways, making it visible from under the many hoods of the Masters’ attire. The appearance, in the end, is quite imposing.

Is this perhaps a new trend soon to spread to the rest of the higher echelons? Or is it simply a frivolity of two friends trying their hand at something new?
Either way, the fashion trendsters at our very Gazette are brimming with excitement, and we cannot wait to bring you further news on this development.

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
What of the children and the houses and the little bugs hatching in their painful ways?
Stuck

---

Dear Stuck,
Let them live their lives and tilt their vanes and perhaps one day the truth will be revealed to you in kind.

---

Editorial

Buttons made of brass
by R. J. Frogvarian

Little buttons made of brass,
Shiny, tiny buttons.
Watch them glisten,
Children mine, pieces of my heart.

Break them up and toss them out,
Watch them fall in love.
Watch them glisten,
Children mine, pieces of their hearts.

Home they come with broken minds,
Home they come to me.
Watch them glisten,
Broken hearts, buttons made of brass.

---

Art of London

The Gate
by Sevenix

See more…

---

News of Art, Art of News

The Twilight Diamond – New Star Of The Roof

It has been some time since a new star had appeared on the roof. Now dubbed the Twilight Diamond, this new star shines upon London as brightly as Luna herself once did. Though the phenomenon is still unexplained, the Diamond had brought joy to countless citizens of our fair city.

After its first appearance and slight general panic, the Diamond is now a beloved part of our lives as once a month it shines upon us, the gaslight dimmed in favour of allowing us to gaze upon the bricks and flesh of our homes and loved ones.

We invite you this upcoming Twilight to the streets of Spite, as the All-Bird Theatre Troupe will be performing their new play, Chirper On The Roof – all on the actual roofs! Come watch these marvellous birds bathe in the Diamond’s light!

The play is free for all audiences; donations are welcome as all proceeds shall go towards renovating the old Spite orphanage.

---

An Air Of Romance Surrounds London – Spring Love On The Rise!

This spring, it seems, love truly is in the air. To the chirping of bats and cavorting of cats, couples young and old stride hand in hand in London’s streets. As if coming to a truce of taste, or perhaps seeing an opportunity of rivalry, theatres have filled their monthly schedules with plays of romance, operas of sensuality, even shows of sexuality.

One might notice the air a little lighter, the lights a smidgen brighter. What may be so special about this season? Perhaps it is only the lovers that may know. Whatever the case may be, it is certainly beneficial for the arts.

From collections of poems to galleries of acts, from newly composed songs to old refurbished lines, art is booming all around as well. One of the most peculiar novelties is a hopeful song emerging from the Royal Bethlehem hotel, each day around midnight. The lulling, soothing tones bring the neighbourhood to peaceful rest. Not a language that is local, but perhaps a language that need not be understood.

So enjoy yourself, dear London. Let the love flow through your veins and fill you with glee, for this year it truly shall be a month of love.

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
What of the beasts beneath the surface?
Liz

---

Dear Liz,
The LB shall take good care of the artists until their time is nigh.

---

Editorial

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?
C.

---

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

---

Editorial

Spring has come to the world. Despite the damp darkness of the Neath we can feel the ease in the air. Warmer, lighter, breezier. Couples walking in parks whistle together; zailors sing louder and rowdier; laughter emanates throughout our fair city’s streets.

Spring is here, we know, for we can feel the sunlight in our dreams. Such is enough, of course. The surface, now, may be too far gone for us. Such is good, of course. There are no regrets I have of coming here.

Not all share my sentiments, I am aware. Still, it is important to give ourselves to the present. To enjoy one’s situation if at all plausible. It is plausible, is my firm belief. The Neath brings wonders of its own. Its treasures, delicacies, vices, and oh the secrets.

Do not fear, dear London. We shall not be brought down by the drab reality they want us to succumb to.

Rejoice, dear London, for spring is here.

---

Art of London

Memories and Roses, Part V
The Society
by Professor Wensleydale.

Now, I would need to make sure that this project was favorably reviewed. Onto the court of Her Enduring Majesty!

The footmen greeted me, and I had a few people to talk to: the duchess; Mr. Huffam; and the functionary.

I followed the cats, and the Duchess spoke to me. “Tell me something- what brings you here?”

“I’m here for some advice as to what would please the Court’s tastes. I’m restoring an epic from a long time ago.”

“Throw in some romance.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

I quickly gave Mr. Huffam a note, asking for a few favorable reviews of my work.

And the functionary? He was having a hangover, so he wasn’t able to speak to me. Oh well.

Shadowy is increasing…
Melancholy is increasing…
Restoring an Epic has increased to 6!
You’ve gained 1*Surface-Rose Petal(new total 8).

---

News of Art, Art of News

A Theatrical Escape – Development In The Clay Case

Over a month had passed since the series of murders in a local theatre. The main suspect, a clay man and former stagehand of said theatre, is still at large somewhere in the Neath. The Constabulary and private detectives have been hard at work – here are the facts developments. We warn that the details may not be suitable for those of weaker constitution.

All the victims have been slain by the method of garrote. The chain used was small and sharp, easily opening the victim’s necks. More disturbingly, none of the murder victims have come back to life, thus it is impossible to question them for the killer’s identity.
Yes, all but one have died – the most recent victim was a decoy, a lookalike of the Celebrated Actress. Her murder was interrupted by an ambush squad and she was quickly hospitalized. Though her consciousness had slipped away, her recovery has been progressing well, and she is nearly in a good health for questioning.

The Clay Fugitive, as mentioned, is still at large. Not much is known of this clay man. He came from Polythreme, as they all do. He looked for honest work, as most do. His coworkers say he was hardworking and kept mostly to himself. As the murders had swept through the theatre, witnesses report, he became more and more nervous. Jittery, panicked if approached. What dark secrets may he hide…

Here is where the available police records end. We have it on good word that it is as far as the Constabulary had gotten. Of course, we at the Gazette have a reputation of investigative journalism to uphold – and many contacts in the world of art. Here is what we now know:

The Clay Man was well liked within the theatre. It is said he had a true passion for the art, intently watching the plays, the plots, the actors. To most his alleged actions have come as a shock. Indeed, he has made a good friend of the Humbled Stagehand who swears that his comrade is incapable of such cruelty.

In the dark of the morning during a clandestine meeting, a person of prominence (who shall remain unnamed) has spoken up. There has been word, they say, a rumour going ‘round, of a plot to get rid of certain players. The stakes are high, they say, the Egyptian is breathing down their neck.

What may the truth be? Is the Clay Fugitive truly the culprit?

We shall keep you updated, dear London.

---

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Is it the futility of mankind to be stuck in a cycle of hoping?
Pining

---

Dear Pining,
The human nature is one to be pondered upon, yet I fear never to be solved.

---

Editorial

Immense joy is to be found in deep pursuit of one’s interests. The flame that fuels one’s desire is to be stoked and taken nice care of – subdued when the heat gets too unbearable, encouraged more and more were it to diminish to cinders.

So sublime is the feeling of embetterment. We, humans, always strive to be the best versions of us we can be, and such a calling is to be answered with full, enthusiastic effort. Follow the warmth and stomach-butterflies that come with doing what truly makes your your true self.

In pursuit of, to put it plainly, perfection, there will be blockades on the road. The feared artist’s curse, an engineer’s plight, a king’s wane. Such obstacles may be disheartening. One only has to know, however, what their mind is telling them. Practice, most commonly, care for one’s health, perhaps another problem to be taken care of. It is difficult to determine, yet vital for continuation. With an implicit understanding of individual experiences – practice.

Practice, in the pursuit of perfection, is essential. It, indeed, is the very fuel for one’s flames, the energy necessary for development. Practice, truly, is the holiest of rites anyone can tend to. Tedious, perhaps, yet in the end so empowering, so fulfilling.

I encourage you, London, do not be overcome by sloth; take to your tools, dear artists, and become the best self you possibly could.

---

Art of London

Memories and Roses, Part IV
The Revolutionaries
by Professor Wensleydale.

Oh, b____y hell. The Missionary has been inviting people to my parlor. I might as well get inspiration from them.

“The Liberation of Night.”

“No, no, no. This thing was written about 550 years ago. Was the Liberation a concept back then? Actually, screw it- can you bring me the eighth month?”

After twelve hours, I had about two stacks of notes. The Contrarian left, leaving me a drink of particular taste.

Daring is increasing…
Ruthless is increasing…
Subtle is increasing…
You’ve gained 1*Surface-Rose Petal(new total 7).
You now have 1*Vial of Master’s Blood.
Restoring an Epic has increased to 5!

---

News of Art, Art of News

A Cloying Campaign Of Adverts – Candy-Make Or Con-Artist?

Leaflets, posters, criers abound, a wave of advertising material has swept through and taken over London’s streets in the past several days. All paid for by one Mr. E_____ of the E_____ Confectionary, this campaign is to promote the aforementioned company, a manufacturer and seller of sweets and candy of all kinds. They promise a never-before-experience taste of sweetness, a pleasure so extreme you might not want to try anything else afterwards.

These claims, as common as they are for those in the advertisement business, are short of a mystery – E_____ Confectionary, as well as its owner, are nowhere yet to be seen. Furthermore, no one has heard of the owner himself; the leaflets and posters have nearly spontaneously come into existence, the criers only acting on their daily orders, their bosses having been paid off by a rather tight-lipped series of lawyers.

Truly, no citizen knows what to make of this, except for one small, lonely shopfront. In a seldom-visited street of Veilgarden, between a barber’s and a baker’s, sits a closed-down shop. Doors and windows neatly boarded up, yet the paint job is strikingly new, and a pristine sign hangs atop – E_____’s Exquisite Confections.

Even to us, as well-informed and investigative as a newspaper strives to be, even to us at the Gazette this has come as a surprise, dear London. The adverts promise no specific day of grand opening. The sweet smell coming from within is truly intoxicating. What might be the nature of this small shop? Will it be anything short of artistry, or simply an over-blown lie?

More on this story, of course, as it develops.

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Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
Times are hard. How to make best of it?
Sickened

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Dear Sickened,
Keeping busy and working hard are the prevailing tactics.