CrackedMack

January 24th, 1872 Arrived in Rose Dust today. Got a good overlook from the stagecoach as it crested a hill. Little more than a collection of shabby buildings all jumbled together in the bottom of horseshoe-shaped gulley. Timber frames of future dwellings out on the fringes, plenty of carpenters at work. Only places of merit seem to be the assay office and the town hall, maybe the local saloon. Not sure why Rose Dust has the name it does, but clearly a fresh boomtown; even the railroad hasn’t come out this far. Met with Mayor Chandler, took me to Hoc’s saloon for drinks and to discuss my settling into town. Said his wife didn&

North: Happily ever after begins. A medieval fantasy faire, alive with carousel music, roundabout a sword yet resting in a stone. Never grow up, don't take apples from strangers, watch for trains and flying elephants. Do you take bread and butterflies with your tea? South: Your attention, please! Put on your Sunday clothes because the Penny Arcade lights are flashing, the opera house plays host to Mr. Lincoln, and the barbershop quartet is crooning "Sweet Betsy from Pike." Summer nights from a golden childhood that isn't ours, but feels like it should be. East: Tomorrow is 1986, and the future has been knocked over an

"Sometimes I wonder if all the watery places in the world are haunted." I looked up, mildly startled, from the tankard that I had been dreamily staring into. When last I had checked, I had been the only one about; the common room of the Cutty Shark tavern had been dark and empty, the innkeeper having long ago retired for the night and my only company being the muted sound of rain hitting the shingled roof. But I was no longer alone. Into the dying lamplight, from the direction for the front door, came the speaker. He looked to be an old salt, dressed in oilskins to keep off the weather. The way he hobbled up to the bar, hood pulled up so as

Creak, creak...Urgh. Nearly...Squeak! Rattle. Snap! Ahh. That is better. Dost thou curious soul now hear my voice? Verily, my attempts at speaking have at last come to fruition, and I may at last speak for myself. Perhaps thou art frightened by my appearance, good sir or madam? Forgive me, for the gloom doth obstruct my vision of thee, and I cannot address thee with the proper decorum that I would like. Thou hast chanced upon what seems to be a curious geist; forsooth, though mine shape might intimidate thou, I am a chivalrous soul wrapped in a daunting visage, and thou will undoubtedly find worse troubles if thou wander further yet into th

Dear Grace, You told me, back when we were visiting Peru and I was feeling down, that I would eventually find my calling in life. I write to you now to tell you, quite happily, that I have. I can't explain much about it at the moment, only that my sudden absence from the university is for a reason. As I write, I am currently en route to New York City, to visit their museums and get a taste of the culture. I told you before how I wanted to visit New York while I had the chance, and now I travel with purpose. I will say now, that while what I am about to do may seem strange to you, even mad, I can promise you that I am of sound mind and am d

My master is a wizard of some repute; anyone could tell you that simply by observing his library. Even if you had never seen his face before, seen him strut about in his fancy embroidered robes and pointed wizard hat (which went out of style ages ago), you would know he was a wizard if you perused the books he has collected. His private library is a font of knowledge, a den of arcane secrets passed down through generations of sorcerers, savants, mystics and soothsayers. Here, scribed on papers bound in leather, cloth and dragonhide, are all the tricks of the trade my master plies. And it is here, in his library, that I spend the majority of

A month was spent amid the ever-shifting sands, and our caravan trundled onward. After what seemed like an eternity, the landscape began to change: patches of grass, prickly bushes, palm and date trees started to appear in patches around us. I remembered the old tales, of how the djinn had made the first gardens out of the arid wastelands, that only those who survived the trials of the desert would see them. I felt, as the land became more rich with greenery, that we were wandering into such a paradise garden. At last we came upon the city, the White Jewel of Suhalla, gleaming as brightly as the sea it rested beside, and my fantasies were co