Dreamline Broadcast
(Imbolc 2000)

[Bad news broadcast music with a "typewriter" rhythm.]

[Troy is standing with a microphone in the Great Hall of the Ducal Palace. He is dressed, for a change, in the tabard of a court bard. Many kithain are clustered around the hearth, watching a flickering Balefire that looks perilously low. Troy is looking vaguely worried.]

TP: Hello, I'm Troy Poodlesbane, but you know that.

It's Imbolc, and tonight is the traditional relighting of the Balefires of our freeholds, starting with the Palace.  Tonight, representatives from all of Novanglia's freeholds are hangin' in the Great Hall of Caer Asterlan, awaiting overdue runners from Queen Mab, who will bring torches lit from her Balefires. Earlier today High Queen Faerilyth lit the first torches from the hearth at Tara-Nar, and these fires have been spreading throughout Concordia.  So the question on everyone's minds right now is: where the hell are the runners? Our own Todd McKee is with Sir Daniel the Chamberlain.

TM (a kilted redcap with a red tam): Where the hell are the runners?

Sir D.: Count Dumas assures me that they are on their way.

TM: So he has been sayin'.  They were supposed to be here hours ago.

Sir D.: There is no cause for alarm, however. You know that many trods have been down the past month, closing because they thought the year was 1900 and that the Resurgence hadn't happened yet. Most of them are back up and running, of course, but users can still expect occasional delays. I am sure that the runners are just held up and will be here any time now.

TM: You're a worthy successor to your master, Chamberlain, an' that's th' truth. . . But what about the reports that the Great Groundhog of Penn's Woods not only saw his shadow this morning, but was in fact viciously mauled by it?  Many people are worryin' this could mean the beginnin' o' the Long Winter, especially if the Balefires are no' renewed on time.

Sir D.: Well, if the attack on the Great Groundhog is meant to be some dire omen, that's for the soothsayers to decide.  I would however assume it's simply a prank by Unseelie terrorists to spread fear and panic on this day of hope and renewal. As for the runners, they will be here.

TM: Damn me, but the Count must be proud o' you.

TP: Sorry to interrupt, Todd, but we have breaking news:  One of the runners has apparently arrived after all.

Sir D.: I told you so.

TM: Whatever.

[A satyr in a polyester jogging suit and the tabard of a herald of Queen Mab is seen surrounded by curious kithain. An armor-clad troll, Lady Andrea of the Ducal Guard, is attempting to clear him some room. He is too winded to speak, and is scorched and covered in mud. He does not have a torch.]

Lady A. [when the satyr seems to have recovered somewhat]: WHERE ARE THE RUNNERS, HERALD?

Satyr: [catching his breath]  Dead ... All of ... them ... are dead.

[Everyone reacts in shock, and then all start talking at once.]

Lady A.: SILENCE! [To the satyr] WHAT HAPPENED?

Satyr: We were ... attacked ... in the Dreaming ... strange creatures ...

Trill (a nocker): On the furkin' trod!?

Satyr: No ... lured off ... they had a ... sidhe childling ... the trolls and ... Sir Golannon ap Fiona ... went to save her. I ... kept the ... torch on the path.

TP: Stupid trolls.

Lady A.: BE STILL, REDCAP...  DID THEY BUY HER SAFETY HEROICALLY AT THE COST OF THEIR OWN NOBLE LIVES?

Satyr: No ... she ... killed Sir Golannon herself.  It was ... all a trap. I wanted to help ... but Sir Golannon ... commanded me to flee with the torch as he died. I could ... not resist his cantrip.

TP: So where's the torch?

Satyr: The girl gestured at it and ... it exploded.  I lost consciousness.  When I awoke, the trod had ... moved from that place. Then I ran ... all the way here ... My lady, I have failed my queen ... I submit myself to your custody.

Sir D. [breaking in]: Don't be silly, my good herald.  Allow me to take you to one of His Excellency's guest rooms so that you may have your wounds tended.  We shall look into this further when you have rested.

Satyr: Thank you.

Lady A.: I WILL INFORM THE COUNT OF THESE MATTERS, LORD CHAMBERLAIN.

Sir D.: Thank you, my lady. And please contact Queen Mab and let her know what has transpired.  I'm afraid we'll also need to request a Balefire torch.

TP: Perhaps we'd better skip the traditional run-around-and-get-attacked-by-nightmare-creatures-from-beyond thing and have someone bring it by Flicker Flash, don't ya think?

Trill: Or at least by armored ornithopter with Unseelie-seeking missiles.

Sir D.: These traditions exist for a reason, Troy. Oh, and please turn off your cameras.

Lady A.: IS THERE REALLY SUCH A THING AS AN UNSEELIE-SEEKING MISSILE?

Trill: You damn betcha. I can hook you up.

Lady A.: ... WE WILL SPEAK LATER, NOCKER.

TP: You mean you're just going to have them send more runners?

Sir D.: That will of course be up to Queen Mab. [To a guard:] Rocko, please stop this camera.

[The camera goes dark before the troll gets too close.]
{END}