The Blackwood Gazette

By Chester Seaton

27/10- The ‘family dispute’ between Blackwood magnate Marco Desantana and his heir, Yolanda, is threatening to escalate into a full scale war. Imperial officials report this morning that Yolanda Desantana, in a joint maneuver with Alejandro Julianos, have surrounded the Monteddorian capital and are blocking all traffic in and out of the city.

So far, the siege has not led to any large scale skirmishes with the Monteddorian military, who have been stationed throughout the city. High King Raphael Valiente claims that the situation is completely under control, although Crowndon intelligence points to another situation entirely.

“The force controlled by Alejandro Julianos and Yolanda Desantana isn’t some crowd of riotous thugs,” said one intelligence officer. “They are armies in and of themselves, and combined they outnumber the military presence in Monteddor City four to one. High King Valiente’s only hope is to capitulate to the demands set forth by Julianos and Desantana and give her father up, or hope for the other royal families to intervene, which isn’t likely. They’re waiting for their own opportunities.”

By Chester Seaton

22/10-As reported by our own Adella Chatelaine last week, Klaus Klaudhopper, one of the only known survivors of the Waystation Bravo incident, was taken into custody by Colonial Marshals. After he was captured, he was taken to a Marshall garrison, where he was held for one day.

The marshals claim to have questioned the man extensively, but say that he remained tight lipped except to spew insults and curses in Rommsbachian. At a loss, the garrison’s Chief began prepping Klaudhopper for transfer to a high security prison in New Crowndon.

The transport was still a day out when what appeared to be two separate forces attacked the garrison. Members of both attacking forces match details in Miss Chatelaine’s account, with one group identified as the bandit gang led by Doctor Argyle Von Grimm. The other group, well armed and well trained, is unidentified, though rumors have begun swirling that they might have been members of the secret society known as the Ephemeral Cartographers. If so, it would be the first confirmed sighting of Cartographers by reputable sources in over one hundred years.

By Adella Chatelaine

20/10- The men who found us were a posse of Colonial Marshals who’d been travelling south and heard the explosions. Mister Mackay threw Klaudhopper at their feet and informed them who he was. They arrested him and sent him, along with three of their number, to the nearest outpost, ten miles to the west.

As for the rest of us, the Marshals agreed to escort us to the next town. The trip was without incident, although in my exhaustion I could have sworn I saw movement in the brush, trailing us. I suppose it may have been our attackers, but surely they would have trailed Mister Klaudhopper. In any case, we arrived without incident in the afternoon and were treated to lunch by the Marshals’ Chief after he found out who Doctor Trenum and I were. Apparently he’d been told to expect us.

After eating and getting patched up, the Chief informed us that he would be sending several Marshals with us (a revelation that caused a deep muttering grumble to emanate from Mister Mackay’s throat). He could not cite a specific reason for this, except that the situation in Lelina had changed. Townsfolk have started going missing.

Just one or two at first, the Chief told us. But this past weekend, ten people vanished in one night. I remembered Doctor Rothery’s tale of the Mist Walker. It is foolish, but it caused me to shiver.

We are set to leave in the morning. I am unsure what resources will be available to me in terms of sending out missives, as the area is said to be remote, so I will be sending copies of most of my gathered notes to my editor at the Blackwood Gazette. I know not what we will find in the swamps surrounding the town of Lelina; only know that the horizon ahead is gray, and the air increasingly muffled and humid.

By Adella Chatelaine

17/10-That tiny stick of dynamite changed everyone’s mood, real quick. I’ve never seen so many loud, A-Type personalities struck so completely dumb that fast before, and I’d be lying if I said I did not enjoy it just a little bit.

Klaudhopper informed us all that he’d lined the interior of the ship’s cargo hold with dynamite he’d found in a shipment heading out from the port of Docryville. It was a claim we were all willing to believe, since the town and many of its sisters in the area had heavy mining interests.

He warned our attackers, whom he called “Cartographer Scumsuckles” (whatever that means), to vacate the vessel or else be blown to hell and gone. And since he wasn’t too keen on Mister Mackay and his men pointing their rifles at him, Klaudhopper ordered them off as well. Which of course would have been very bad for our expedition.

The saving grace of all of this (partially, in any case), was Doctor Trenum. With everyone preoccupied with Klaudhopper, and Klaudhopper preoccupied with the small army below him, no one noticed her make her way up to the roof of the bridge and behind the mad Rommsbachian.

She bonked him over the head with a coal shovel, knocking him down but not unconscious. The situation would have been ended there, except that something completely out of any of our hands occurred, as the dynamite he’d held rolled off of the roof and lodged itself in a wall sconce holding a gas light.

The last thing I remember before Mister Mackay grabbing me by the shoulders and throwing me over board was seeing Doctor Trenum pulling Klaudhopper up by his left arm and jumping.

Mister Mackay and I plunged into the water, along with several others. Even beneath the surface, I heard the deep THUMP of the explosion as the bridge disintegrated into flaming splinters. I broke the surface and found Mackay swimming for the shore, and followed him.

After making land, I turned to see Doctor Trenum hauling Klaudhopper out of the water, alternately laughing and cursing in Rommsbachian. That laughter ended quickly when Mister Mackay set upon the man, demanding to know who he was and who the attackers were. Klaudhopper clammed up, and has not spoken since. I saw no further sign of our attackers.

By Adella Chatelaine

15/10- I came to find out that it was Meriam who suggest that Mr. Klaudhopper come with us after they escaped the library, and that Mr. Klaudhopper had given them an alias (understandable, given the circumstances). Still, I suggested that he stay away from Mr. Mackay, who no doubt would have recognized him on the spot.

Word around the boat that night was that the Von Grimm gang had left the town around sun down, without causing too much damage. They had apparently shot a man’s horse and burned down a hotel…unsubstantiated claims, but I’m loath to believe it. At any rate, the night passed without incident.

We left port at noon the next day, with Doctor Trenum and Mister Mackay finding their way back just minutes before departure and sporting several bags of winning from some casino or another, not to mention severe hangovers. Klaudhopper vanished shortly before, probably hiding away in his cabin.

Our troubles did not start until well after dark. Most of us were on the boat’s amusement deck when we received word of a fire below decks. Shortly after that, the boat’s paddle wheel stopped turning, and gun fire from the riverbanks began. The gun fire from the banks was a distraction, as several armed assailants, both men and women, scaled the side of the boat from canoes. My first thought was that Von Grimm had caught on to Klaus’ ruse and pursued the boat, but I could tell immediately upon seeing our attackers that this was not the case.

They were a well-trained offensive force, not interested in wanton destruction. Though they were well armed (most of them sported revolvers, which would indicate that they were also well funded), they mainly used their arms for intimidation and crowd control. It was only until Mister Mackay and his security force broke out their own weapons that things threatened to turn truly violent.

But even then, our mysterious attackers practiced restraint. They had Mackay and his team surrounded on the main deck, locked in a standoff. It was then that they informed us of what exactly they were looking for, and of course, that something was Mister Klaudhopper.

Mackay told them that Klaudhopper was not on board to the best of his knowledge. That was when the boat’s upper most portside cabin at the aft of the boat erupted into a cloud of flame and splinters. Both sides of the skirmish looked up at the wreckage in disbelief before hurling accusations at one another.

A voice interrupted the proceedings, from the roof of the bridge. It was Klaudhopper. All guns pointed toward him, but he did not duck or scurry away. Instead he issued an ultimatum…everyone drop their weapons, or he would blow the entire ship.

By Adella Chatelaine

13/10- I found getting back to the boat a bit slow going. My head was still reeling from the events, mainly from coming face to face with the man behind so much horror here in the colonies, and from finding out I had helped a wanted fugitive.

The fact that Von Grimm had called the Rommsbachian ‘Mister Klaudhopper’ didn’t fully dawn on me until I was half way back to the docks, and it was only after seeing a poster for Klaus Klaudhopper that I fully put the picture together. I told myself that it was better that the only person who may be able to answer questions about what happened on Waystation Bravo should get away from Dr. Argyle Von Grimm, even if it meant he was still at large. However, I deigned to alert the proper authorities that Klaudhopper was in the area.

Once returning to the docks, I located a Marshall’s office and told the singular man working the desk what had occurred. he informed me that they were well aware of Von Grimm’s presence. They had not heard of Klaudhopper, however, nor did they seem particularly interested. Understandable, I suppose, given the more immediate threat of a bunch of mechanized hoodlums tearing the town apart. Since Von Grimm and Klaudhopper were both involved, I felt it likely that dealing with one may mean dealing with the other, so I did not push the matter.

It was only after returning to the boat that I realized that would not happen, for who did I find, standing on the deck, looking out over the river? Klaus Klaudhopper.

I must have gasped in surprised, or made some sort of noise, because he turned to me. Recognition came over his face and he smiled. He thanked me for helping him escape. It took me off guard.

While he struck me as a dangerous man, I did not think him necessarily an evil one, certainly not someone who would maliciously cause the destruction of a Waystation. I told him I knew who he was, and let him know who I was.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s very good. We can strike deal then, ja? You keep mouth shut, I give you exclusive on what happened at the station, once I feel safe.”

By Adella Chatellaine

10/10- In the hall outside, I heard voices and the sound of rapid footsteps. I knew I had to act fast. I ran to one of the tables, picked up a chair without stopping, and slammed it into the window that the Rommsbachian had shot. The glass shattered and fell, most of it outside. A piece hit my right arm and scratched my wrist. All better to sell the illusion, really.

I fell to the floor and held my wrist, trying to staunch the flow. A couple seconds later, several armed brigands ran into the library, flintlocks drawn and charged. They saw the open window and ran over, cursing. Then they saw me.

One of them picked me up by the arm, shoved his weapon in my face and demanded to know where the Rommsbachian had gone. My eyes cut toward the window. It should have been obvious. I told him the man had smashed the window and escaped into the alley beyond. That was not a satisfactory answer apparently, and the man made to strike me with the grip of his gun, but was stopped by another, a tall man with a curling mustache and a monocle, leaning on a cane in the center of the room. I recognized him immediately as Doctor Argyle Von Grimm.

He chastised his man for his rude manners, and apologized on his behalf. I scanned the faces of the others. They were stern and scarred men, all of them missing arms and legs and hands, all replaced with mechanical facsimiles.

Von Grimm asked me my name and I told him who I was. Once I told him, a look of recognition came over his face.

“You’re that reporter for the Blackwood Gazette,” he said, and I nodded. “Fine publication, that. That article about my exploits a few months back did wonders for my reputation. I never really had problems fighting with townspeople before, but now they just roll over and let us right in. Ha ha! As good an advertisement as a man could ask. I feel I should pay the Gazette for their service.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out three gold coins, which he placed in my hand. He then excused himself and told his men to follow ‘Mister Klaudhopper’. The men climbed through the window. Von Grimm left the way he came.

By Adella Chatelaine

6/10- After the strange Rommsbachian man’s warning, I looked to my compatriots. Meriam seemed frightened, and Professor Babin seemed unsure. Nico, who just stirred from his nap, sat up and asked what was going on.

I told them we were getting out of there. I approached the front desk and told the librarian that we needed to leave, and asked if there was a back door. She told us that there was, and proceeded to detail the long bureaucratic process we would have to follow in order to get the door open. Halfway through her monologue, a drawling voice interrupted from the halls outside.

“BOOOOY!” said the voice. “Why are you running? We just want to discuss the terms of your contract. You were, after all, the one who suggested we open negotiations. So come on out, boy. Let’s negotiate and try to reconcile your failure with my profit, shall we?”

The Rommsbachian cursed under his breath and hefted the revolver, and reiterated to us the necessity of vacating the premises five minutes prior. He was obviously scared, but resolute. I asked him who was coming.

“Von Grimm,” was all he said. Professor Babin and Meriam both gasped. I felt every muscle in my body tighten. Doctor Argyle Von Grimm? What was he doing so far east?

I turned back to the librarian to insist that she open the back door, but she was gone. A door at the back of her office hung open, letting in the last of the day’s light. I told the others to follow me as I went around the desk. The Professor, Meriam, and Nico followed, but the Rommsbachian planted his feet, squaring for a fight. I paused and asked him what he thought he was doing.

“Making stand,” he said, and drew a second revolver. “Von Grimm will not stop until debt is paid, or is dead, or I am dead. Better to end it now. If I run, he will burn town looking for me.”

So I told him, get out of town. And he asked me how. I told him to get to the riverboat and lay low.

“And how will Von Grimm know I have left?”

I took a deep breath, and made a choice, a choice that was probably incredibly foolish, looking back on it now.

By Adella Chatelaine

1/10- Our journey into the southern frontier has been rather eventful this past week (and as a result, unduly stressful.) After an unfortunate series of turns of event, we have found ourselves stranded on the shores of the Miskaton river. As I write this, I sit on the river bank, watching the inferno that was our river boat float down the river while sitting on a waterlogged trunk (not mine, unfortunately).

Not ten feet away, Mister Mackay and Doctor Trenum are interrogating one of the surviving passengers, one Mister Klaus Klaudhopper; yes, the very same Klaus Klaudhopper being hunted for the Waystation Bravo disaster. There is no sign of the other suspect, one Miss Arufina Villanova, with whom Mister Klaudhopper was believed to be traveling.

Whatever his involvement in that, it appears he has a part to play in our current predicament as well. A predicament that began some time before.

On Sunday before last, we pulled into port of a small city called Docryville, a township that sprung up around river trade and entertainment. Since this was to be an overnight affair, the members of our expedition quickly scattered to the winds to seek amusements elsewhere, with Meriam asking me to join Professor Babin, Nico and herself on an exploration of the town’s rather misplaced yet well regarded library.

I agreed, and am sorry to say I quickly came to regret it. While Meriam and the Professor took to the shelves with great enthusiasm, I found myself sitting at a table with Nico, bored out of my mind. That Nico isn’t that great of a conversationalist didn’t make matters any easier. I whittled away at the time by perusing a book of maps of the area: dry material, to be sure, but it could prove helpful down the line.

Nico had long begun to nap and my eyes to feel heavy as well when a loud thump echoed through the library. An injured man stumbled into the main floor, clutching his side and grunting angrily in a heavy Rommsbach accent. I stood up and began to hesitantly approach him, stopping when he lifted a silver revolver.

I could see in his eyes that he would have no problem using the firearm if he deemed me a proper threat, but since I wasn’t, I knew he wouldn’t use it on me.

“Are you alone?” he asked me. I told him I was not, and gestured to Nico, who still slept on the table. It was then that the Professor and Meriam stumbled out from behind the stacks. The man swung the gun around at them, looked them over, deemed them a non-threat as well, and relaxed a bit.

“All of you, you need to get out of here,” he said. I asked him why.

"Are you in some trouble, my boy?" Professor Babin said. Klaudhopper sneered  at him, I imagine at being called 'my boy', but he answered.

By Chester Seaton, News

29/9- After a failed attempt to reign in the notorious air pirate Roderick Beauchamp La Pierre, and several weeks without any further leads to his whereabouts, the Crowndon military has enlisted outside aid. Said aid comes in the form of the famed pirate hunter, Captain Johanna McKilroy.

“We are typically hesitant about employing mercenaries,” said Crowndonian High Command. “But Captain McKilroy has a personal stake in this search. She served in La Pierre’s command as his first mate during the war with Nor Easter, and when he was exiled, she foolishly followed him into the privateering sector. They had a falling out, when La Pierre went over a line that McKilroy would not cross.

“We realize this decision may be controversial, but whatever sins Captain McKilroy has committed in the past should not bar her wealth of knowledge on La Pierre. She knows the man well, his tactics, and how he thinks. She is also very accomplished in her new role as pirate hunter, having personally slain five high profile pirates in the last year, including Captain Ferdinand Gnash, the Terror of Toring.”

The decision to recruit Captain McKilroy has indeed been controversial, particularly amongst the civilian law enforcement of Toring.

“Yeah, she nailed the Terror of Toring, alright,” said Chief Warren Gainsborough, of the Toring Police department. “And she took out half of the city’s old quarter to do it. Whatever line it was she wouldn’t cross with La Pierre, that line is beyond wiping out almost one thousand innocent people to get what she wants.”

By Chester Seaton, News

19/9- The Crowndon Air Corps. Is livid today after the release of a statement by Alejandro Julianos, the head of one of Monteddor’s five royal families. The statement, released last night, took an adamant tone that no interference in the affairs of the Desantana dispute.

“As has been stated by our government,” the statement read, “We will not tolerate interlopers in our affairs. Crowndon and Nor Easter were both warned, and Crowndon did not listen. They have paid the price. If they truly wish for the swift conclusion of this dispute, they will refrain from further interference. This is not a warning.”

The statement goes on to describe the force that Julianos has amassed. While no specific numbers are given, the reaction from Crowndon military intelligence indicates that the threat is very real.

“We’ve observed squadrons of fixed wing fighters flying training sorties in the skies above Julianos’ region of control, and we’ve had reports of skirmishes between these fighters and the fighters of other royal families,” said a high level intelligence official. “We are not sure what Julianos intends to do with such a large force, but it apparently has the Monteddorian capital concerned, as well.”

The ever colorful General Bartolomeu Fross had this to say: “The nerve of this little rat bastard is stunning to say the least. A couple of months ago he was a joke amongst the Royal Families, and every source indicates that there is plenty of bad blood. You ask me, this is all smoke and mirrors. We need to go in there, take out the Desantana heir, and then turn our eye on Julianos. The other families will thank us, just you wait and see.”

By Adella Chatelaine, Investigative Reports

17/9- Doctor Rothery pauses, offering no further insight into the tale. I can tell he’s waiting for some prodding from me, so I indulge him. He goes into the typical hemming and hawing until finally deciding to spill the proverbial beans.

The story goes that in swamps around Lelina, there lives a powerful elemental force the indigenous peoples know as the Mist Walker. It patrols the swamps on nights when the moon is full, a hulking figure with the head of a deer that is concealed by a rolling cloak of fog. Some people who have seen it claim it walks on two legs, though others claim otherwise (typical for this sort of regional legend). Some say that, in the rare moments when the fog rolls away, you can see the glint of moonlight off of heavy, silver armor.

Many of the tribes of the Southern Nation revere it in equal parts as both god and devil, a being that both protects and destroys. It cannot be appeased: if you wander into its territory you are, without question, a threat.

There is one tribe to the east, along the shore, however, that paints the creature in an entirely malevolent light. They say, that in times long forgotten, on a night when the fog from the ocean and the mists from the swamps met, and a mighty storm came over the land, the Deer-Men (as it is called in this regional variant, and note the plurality, also a fact exclusive to this version of the tale) came from far inland and killed all of the men in the village, and all but one of the women. The children were left unharmed, according to the tale, which plays a large role in that particular tribe’s matriarchal culture.

I ask Doctor Rothery why the Mist Walker would nearly wipe out an entire village. He waggles his fingers, leans over the table candle to under-light his face and says, “Nooobody knoooows. Woooooh…”

Does Doctor Rothery have any theories on the origin of the tale?

“Several. One is that there is actually something out there, some species we haven’t observed yet, or at the very least there was, at one time, and it is now extinct. Another possibility is that someone, long ago, got drunk, saw a deer on a misty morning, freaked out, and started telling tales that became more exaggerated over the centuries. Speaking of drunk, I’m just a little over that line myself. Excuse me.”

By Adella Chatelaine, Investigative Reports

15/9-It’s been two days since we left New Crowndon on a riverboat, south on the Miskaton river toward the southern townships. I am told we will be making a couple of stops along the way, to take on supply and drop off and pick up new passengers. We will be disembarking in New Dennan, a port town about a day’s north from Lelina. All told, we should be arriving on sight on the 13th of Ten Month, if all goes well. From what I’ve heard, ‘all goes well’ is a tall order.

Passengers on the boat at present are rather scant…not many people are leaving New Crowndon for the southern frontier. A couple of years ago, this boat would have been full of prospectors, sales men, bar men, trappers, and purveyors of various amusements. However, word has gotten out that pickings are slim. Trappers and lumber men are still hitting it big, but gold seekers and those who follow have all but stopped, choosing to head northwest.

The boat itself is not without its amusements, of course. It is well stocked with cheap booze, a fact that Mister Mackay and Doctor Trenum are both exceedingly happy about. It is the only interest they seem to share, but it is more than enough. According to Doctor Trenum, she’d only corresponded with Mister Mackay once before, and through a proxy. Watching them now, once was enough. They sit at a roulette table, sharing a drink, either congratulating or ribbing each other over victories and losses, in equal amounts.

I spend the first evening of our journey in the presence of Doctor Rothery. He is pleasant enough, I have found, since expressing clearly my intention to have nothing more than a professional relationship with him. Well, at least to me. He often burbles things about Doctor Trenum into his cups at the end of the night. I get the feeling he is mostly harmless, and should he prove otherwise, I am sure Doctor Trenum is more than capable of dealing with him herself.

When he is not burbling, he is actually a rather rich source of information about the indigenous cultures. He is well regarded in his field for the time he spent with several southern tribes years before, an honor, I am told, that has never been granted to an outsider before or since.

He regales me with tales of his time living amongst them and participating in their traditions of oral storytelling. He tells me several. They are pleasant enough, until the sun goes down and he has a drink or two in him. Then he leans forward and tells me that there was one tale, from the very region into which we are heading, that made his blood run cold.

By Hunter O’Leary, Business

12/9- Economic analysts in Nor Easter noticed something strange early this month: a sharp dip in sales in marketplaces throughout the capital city, Oeil de Fleur. The sharp decline in business came along with the release of the newest installment of Clement Aldridge Kene’s “The Gutted Earth”, a new novel being published serially in a popular penny dreadful, “Strange Stories Monthly”.

“I can most certainly verify that it is that [expletive removed] book,” said one shop owner, a purveyor of accessories and personal embellishments for steam-autos. “They loiter around outside, these strange young men and women in costume, handing out flyers and talking about how we’re all going to be living in caves before long. They’re annoying my customers and scaring them away! I tried telling them I don’t have anything to do with the Blackwood industry. They just shot me this dumb smirk and went back to handing out their tacky little flyers.”

Those ‘tacky little flyers’ have been a headache to residents around the city, as they typically get tossed away by the people they’re handed to.

“Main street looks like a giant clown vomited on it,” said one woman. “You can see soggy green, yellow, blue and red pieces of paper all over the place; up in trees, clogging up gutters, stuck to the side walk. It’s disgusting. And kind of funny, considering all the flyers are talking about saving the environment, or some such nonsense.”

One of our correspondents in the city confronted one of the young fans, and questioned her about her intentions.

“It’s our duty to tell people the truth,” she said. “Perhaps they don’t want to hear it. And perhaps we are annoying. But sometimes the only way to get people to notice something is to take a big stick and knock them over the head with it (speaking strictly metaphorically, of course. Don’t actually do that). I mean, look. You’re here, asking me about this. That never would have happened if we simply gathered in a park or posted on bulletin boards like we are expected to. You say people aren’t reading our flyers, but they sure notice them laying in the street. We didn’t throw them there…they did. It’s time for them—no, us, all of us—to take notice. Just NOTICE, at the very least, what we’re doing. And ideally, take responsibility.”

Authorities are at a loss at what to do. The protestors are hurting business, but their hands are tied.

By Chester Seaton, News

10/9-The DeSantana Dispute in the southern Empire of Monteddor is heating up this week as the Crowndon military has confirmed that a military transport making its way to aid in rousting Yolanda DeSantana’s forces along Blackwood trade routes was attacked this weekend.

We first received reports about the attack a few days ago, but the Crowndon Navy refused to comment until today, as officially, the maneuver was supposed to be a secret. The revelation has caused an uproar among the Monteddorian government, who warned that any outside interference with the DeSantana Dispute would be met with serious economic and military sanctions. So far, however, no decision on the nature of these sanctions, or when they will be executed, has been made public. For now, Monteddor is refusing to relinquish custody of the dead or any survivors.

The attackers were said to be flying unmarked, planar-wing aircraft. The crack of rapid fire weaponry could be heard for miles around. The Crowndonian transport went down in an unpopulated area, but the wreckage has blocked a minor commercial road.

By Adella Chatelaine, Investigative Reports

8/9- Before I begin, I would like to note that this is the second time I have written this article. It was meant to be published about one week before it will eventually reach your eyes, but apparently the original version of my correspondence was lost in transit to the Gazette’s offices. Please excuse any errors on my part due to certain details being forgotten in the interim.

After leaving the University, Doctor Trenum and I go out for drinks. I remember feeling a little hesitant after the cruel joke the doctors had pulled, but I convinced myself I was being maybe just a little uptight about the whole thing. Still, I would be wary in the future, now that Doctor Trenum had revealed a penchant for mischief.

Her idea was to have some fun before meeting the rest of her team, a notion that was quickly forgotten when we found that said team had already occupied the restaurant we chose. Only one of their number was absent, apparently preferring the company of the citizens in the lower quarter. I can’t say I blamed him.

Coming along for the ride with us are Doctor Archibald Rothery, an expert in New Crowndon anthropology, as far as one can be an expert in such; Professor Martine Babin, curator of the museum in Val Coursais and leader in the field of archeological conservation; and Professor Babin’s two interns, Nico Pate and Meriam Caillot. Watching the two interns, I have the distinct feeling that Meriam is truly there for the science, while Nico is there mainly for Meriam.

The final, and absent member of our team is Matthias Bricklebrand Mackay, who the others refer to as “Brick”. Whether the nickname in out of love or derision, I am not completely sure. It appears to be interchangeable, and in the time since meeting him, Mr. Mackay does not seem to care. He is our guide, tracker, and general provider of security on this journey. He has a team of four other men with him, all of them of the utmost integrity, I am told. None of them have proven to be very talkative, however.

After entering the restaurant and seeing them there, Doctor Trenum is quick to suggest that we slowly back away and leave, but it is too late. Doctor Rothery sees us and invites us over. By the way he greets Doctor Trenum, it is apparent that their fondness for each other is heavily weighted on Rothery’s part; Doctor Trenum is visibly uncomfortable when he hugs her. He seems completely oblivious to this fact, which only makes it more painful to watch.

The others seem entirely pleasant; Professor Babin is preoccupied with a book, but warm enough to my inquiries. Nico and Meriam are likewise preoccupied with each other, piping in at times when discussing certain matters of interest. Nico is charming, but I sense a bit of envy on his part towards Meriam’s interest in archaeology, but he never goes so far as to put her down for it—at least not that I’ve seen thus far.

Our conversation never much sways toward the subject of our assignment, I’m afraid. I figure that has to do with the fact that we will all be neck deep in ruins and artifacts before long. For the most part, I am enjoying the company of my new companions. Doctor Rothery comes on a bit strong at times, both professionally and personally. He is a hugger, that one, something I have never been nor do I think I will ever be, particularly with strangers. I have expressed my boundaries with him and so far he has respected them without withdrawing completely.

By Huxley Pruitt, Sports

5/9-The Imperial Fool’s Ball League, the sport that has swept Crowndon gaming to the detriment of all other athletic endeavors, opened its third season last night. Thousands of fans, all of them under the delusion that their team is the best and that they somehow personally contribute to said team’s victory, came out in droves last night to eat smoked meat products and be rude to each other.

The sudden popularity of the sport has sparked the interest of sociologists in Nor Easter last year, who this year have decided to study the game, the behaviors of its fans, and its impacts, psychologically, physically, and economically.

“It’s all so very fascinating,” said one such scientist, who asked to remain anonymous. “The behaviors on display. Adult men--Crowndon men, so known for their normally stalwart demeanors—painting themselves in the bright colors of their teams and wearing the uniforms of their favorite players; it is akin, I suppose, to the fans of things like ‘The Gutted Earth’ you see dressing up as their favorite characters. Although, you’re less likely to wind up in the hospital if you get caught dressed as the villain in that novel than if you get caught wearing an opposing team’s jersey. There also tends to be a lot less rioting afterwards.”

The rioting, this sociologist says, lays at the crux of his study. It is a strange phenomenon, he says, that does not appear to be contingent upon victory or defeat, nor does it appear to happen with any regularity.

“The conditions have to be just right,” he says. “It typically happens toward the end of the season, it is typically the home team that goes on the warpath, and it can be either a way to celebrate a win or decry a loss. That’s the most baffling thing about it all: adults, smashing through their own streets, because they’re happy. It makes no sense! But it happens.”

The proliferation of the sport has left many scholars baffled, particularly at the traction it has gotten in Crowndon, of all places. Crowndon is, after all, often characterized by their collective humorlessness. I asked a few fans what they saw in the game.