So. Midsummer Night 2000 is just about upon us, and you are probably all looking forward to getting together so you can groove with Novanglia's best and brightest.

Yeah, those sidhe chicks sure know how to boogie down. Got themselves a magic strobe light and everything.  I hope it's not triggering any seizures out there. Here's where a slow browser can help for once.

Stare at the pretty flashing light, my friends. Become one with it. Let it controooollll you . . . You are getting sleepy. Sleeeeeepy.  (So you're not awake when old Moog comes up to have his Midsummer fun. That's really the best way, for both of us.)

Speaking of sidhe chicks, my old palace guard homey Lady Sorana of House Fiona, she of the splendid Asterlanic heritage and kinda crappy position at court, was overheard making still MORE rude comments about commoners the other day. You'd think working with a bunch of armed trolls day in and day out would make you a little more cautious about such things, but maybe she was excluding present company. I can't imagine her big blue boss Lady Andrea laughing it off. Those Fiona like to present themselves as a bit more egalitarian than most, but Sorana's showing her true colors. Maybe she'll go insane like her old uncle and have to be put down like a dog.  Ooops, I didn't say that.

Still on the subject of elf babes, word in the brothels is that Jacqueline de la Noir ap Eiluned is now a baroness or a countess or something and her legend is being sung at cub scout campfires the world o'er. If she comes back for Midsummer (it's like Homecoming, kids), maybe she and Countess Ava d'Intino can jello-wrestle for top Eiluned bitch queen tomorrow night, while Darth Dumas looks on waiting to see which is one worthy to help him breed his army. I know I'm looking forward to it.

But it probably won't happen.  More's the pity; I'm always up for a good jello-wrestle involving the Fair Folk.

As far as Dumas goes (and I hope he goes far -- I hear that the Back of Beyond is lovely this time of year), is he going to resign or isn't he?  That's what a buncha people keep asking me. "Moogie," they say, "You're so damn smart and you know everything that's going on. Not like that stupid redcap, who only tells you what the Palace wants you to hear. So what's the scoop on the Count's career plans?"  And well you might ask.  But as wildly ecstatic as I would be to see him move on to, say, a dukedom in the Galacian Confederation(*), I think we're pretty much stuck with him. If he IS leaving, he hasn't done anything clever like name a successor.  With trouble brewing all over Concordia, that'd be really stupid . . .
 

Trolls, trolls, trolls.

Yeah, you know the ones.  It's always something.
1. Earlier today Ex-Baroness Rose, my former C.O., got back from wand'ring the world, probably helping people in trouble like your favorite itinerant TV action hero. Some of my old guard homies I haven't managed to alienate yet say there was some kind of duel between her and the bizarrely Greek-history-fixated Shayne Charge -- they brought out the rubber chickens again, folks; I sh*t ye not. Only this time Shayne won. My sources say Rose's heart wasn't in it.  Could it be love?

2. Some troll knight from the Kingdom of Ice is going to favor us with his grim seelie countenance tomorrow night, I hear tell.  Sir Ashe the Grey has been getting quite a name for himself up north. I understand he's bringing his squire -- a little pooka girl who turns into a horse.  For a young brave knight, that's so convenient on so many levels. (Old Moog can remember some fine moments spent with pony girls, back in his youth...)

3. There was almost a fight at Cassidy's the other night between owner Tom the Troll and Two Trees manager, my fellow goatboy Padraig.  No one seems to know what it was all about, but Baron Sean of the Cross was able to calm them down before the gloves came off.  (Who manages the best public freehold? Me! No, I do! Why, I oughta...)
 

Speaking of our good Fiona Baron Sean...  I got a buddy in Providence who swears that at Robin Goodfella's Samhain bash some months back (on Halloween, natch) he saw our brave defender of Dreamers Ravage some RISD student. Oh, the shocking hypocrisy of the nobility! Now, some would say that Samhain is Samhain, and kithain will be kithain: except a sidhe noble matching Sean's description did it AGAIN around Imbolc near Goblin Town in the Big Apple -- at a time when the good Baron was away from Boston town. What is up with that? And certain sources connect Sean with the infamous Rhapsody incident a few days before Beltaine up at Simon's Rock (you know, the one with the three suicides) ... but those sources are probably just anarchist unseelie commoners or something trying to discredit everyone's favorite possibly future Duke. (Play along -- it's what Dumas and his kinain toady Sir Daniel would say, if they bothered to notice the accusation at all.)

As for other Barons, Baron Corwin ap Gwydion will not be gracing us with his majestic presence tomorrow, or that's the word on the street anyway. Maybe the mortal loonybin authorities have caught up with him once more -- but in any case he had to leave hurriedly, my sources say. 
 

"Someone's sleeping in MY ... rotting skull," dear departed Ouchytooth the Dragon might say if she weren't departed. That's right, some sick bastards have apparently set up shop in the last few weeks in her chimerical remains around Prudential Center. Now that's some f***ed-up nastiness. It's not clear yet if they're kithain, chimera, or something ... else.  But Sir Niall Cornwall the Sluagh, House Liam, told some folks that he saw some lights in there and some movement the other night, and when he went to investigate, he found some ratty Persian rugs, a coupla candlesticks, and the April copy of "Nockers, Knockers."  At least our mystery squatters have good taste in dreamporn. Whoever had been there was gone -- although SOMEONE came back to knock Sir Niall flat on his ass with some kind of club, blindfold him, and ditch him in the river. That woke him up enough to swim for shore, even though he says he was being pelted by a barrage of chimerical rats from somewhere -- and heard what sounded like a little girl's laughter. Weird. Fortunately for our crawler pal the Flat Kraken wasn't hungry for sluagh meat. A nice setup in the skull for whoever it is, even if the wakey-world version is the handicapped stall in a parking garage employee restroom.

Sir Niall's kithmate "Dark" Bobby of Byzantium is apparently in town again, probably to steal some human babies for a new pair of boots. That guy creeps me out. Most sluagh do -- all that unnatural bending they can do but they just lie there -- but Bobby's a walking argument that the Shadow Court isn't just a story concocted to scare little Jimmy into eating his porridge. But don't tell him I said so.
 

And for a bit of out of town news -- word is that in the Kingdom of Pacifica some unseelie count or other of House Gwydion has been assassinated by parties unknown. Details when I have them. Scratch one more pompous asshole, the less favorably inclined of us might say...
 

Weeelllll... that's all I've got to say. See you all tomorrow night at the shindig!  Come pull my finger.

love,
MOOG

[OOC: The Galacian Confederation is a fiercely anti-noble collection of changeling states in Europe. Ha! Moog jokes with us. He so crazy.] (Back to text)

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