Toronto, a Redcap�s View
Anguish Mackenzie, Grump Redcap

Alright, ye�re here. Fine. Great. Just so�s ye know, I�m nae doing this out of the kindness of my heart. A redcap is nae likely to sit with the likes of ye and chat all friendly-like. Nae, Beadle Jarvis calls it my �community service� to sit with ye young �uns and tell ye a wee bit about our fair county. Jarvis is a thick-headed troll, and wouldn�t understand the phrase �to each his own� if it bit him (which I�m fixing to have it do one day)�and Alderman Strachan is nae better! But�ye�re nae here to listen to a lesson on subjugation. So, if ye know what�s good for ye, just sit and dinnae ask any questions. Let me tell ye, this is one hell of a place to live. And by �a hell of a place to live� I mean both that its great, and that it can be hell. This place has everything, if you know where to look for it. And I�m not just talking food�though, if you like ethnic, you can find that all over the place, if you know what I�m saying.

In the summer�ach, the summers are great! All the Glamour you can eat, lsddie. Arts festivals, you name it, it�s out there. Makes the whole place a fucking wonderland. And somehow, when its all said and done�its all too easy. You can get fat on Glamour in the summer. I�ve seen it happen�well, alright...so it wasn�t Glamour that got him fat, it was eating pigeons and squirrels, but ye can allow a man some artistic license. Anyway, bullshit stories aside, summer is like winning the Glamour lottery. And it feels like cheating somehow.

Now, winter�there�s a challenge for ye. Ye see, in the summer, we got all the festivals, and artists on the street sketching a picture of your mamma�s ass, and who knows what the fuck else. But at the end of autumn�it stops. Winter, you see(with the exception of Christmas), is a drab, gray, banal time of year. And by the end of January, most of the creative spirit is snuffed out. Yes, lad, winter is where you show real skill. Winter is where a redcap shines, lad. Let the seelie squeeze and sweat and milk for just a wee trickle of Glamour�fine with me. But a good fright�that�ll put a meal in your gullet.

Of course, ye�ll need a wee bit of help, and I dinnae mind doing it, but dinnae expect me to coddle ye lad. I�ll tell ye what ye need to know, and that�s all ye�ll get. If ye�re weak in spirit, dinnae come running to me, because I will nae help ye.

For the most part, this place is about as banal as they come. Of course, what else would you expect from a place that has the giant banal sword of corporate architecture sticking out of its heart�hell, they even use it as their �symbol�. But ye can find enough places of Glamour to keep you going.

Kensington Market
Ach�Kensington Market, with its artists, rebels, and Dreamers of all stripes. There are times when ye�d swear that Glamour rains from the sky. Outsiders of all types and colours find their way here, living, working, or just �hanging out.� Tis a place where Kithain feel right at home. Tis a wonderland, where Glamour is plentiful at almost any time, and we call little attention to ourselves. And popular, too. Almost every Kithain, at one point or other, will find themselves here. Take that as a warning, too.
As wonderful as it may be, ye�d best keep in mind that those who would call themselves �authorities� are watching very closely to protect their precious Easchat�knights, aldermen, those who�d call themselves �noble.� Keep ye�re nose clean if ye venture to market.

The Annex
Nae as wondrous as the Market, still�tis better than some parts, I can tell ye. A healthy mix of artists, students, and the well-to-do call the Annex home. And so, though there be Dreamers, and Glamour to be found, ye�ll also find the cold, gray hand of banality here. Plenty of Art galleries can be found, but most of those display the kind of �art� that might hang in a motel 6. But, if ye look, ye�ll find some real art in amongst the shite. Discount stores stand next to the most expensive and exclusive ones. This is one of those rare areas where the well-off can be said to support the arts, and show great pride in their community. They are fiercely protective of that community too. This is a neighbourhood where the locals once stopped a major corporation from closing down an independent coffee shop, all to protect their �local heritage�. At least one family of Kinain live here (there may be more), and that gives an air of �home� to the place.

The Beaches
For everything that can be said to be wondrous and �homey� about the Market and the Annex, I can tell ye that the Beaches make me want to loose my lunch! White fucking picket fences, I tell ye�white picket fences. Just the thought of it is almost enough to make me toss right here. Oh, I suppose its nice, if ye�re a boggan or a sidhe, what with everything �in its rightful place� and all, but to me�well, I think we�ve about covered my lunch and the losing thereof.

I can tell ye the why and wherefore of the problem though. This is where Count Neville makes his home. Ach, and look at it�with its wee shops and its quaint houses. Because of him the whole damn place looks like a mediaeval village�so quiet and reserved. There is nothing redeemable about the place.

The locals love their dogs, though, and more than a few pooka take advantage. Hm�perhaps there is something redeemable about it. Nothing like dog-pooka for a light snack.

The quiet is shattered in summer by the festival atmosphere here. Folks from all over go to the beaches in summer for fun-in-the-sun-and-sand. Tis alright, if ye like that sort of thing, but my appetites lie elsewhere.

Toronto Island: Centreville
This place, I love. Have ye been? Of course ye have�and ye�ve felt it, haven�t ye? I�m sure ye�ve seen a child screaming and screaming, and nothing his parents can do can stop the tears? Well, that�s the island. Sure its got rides and attractions, but there is something dark about the place, even in daylight. Nightmares walk the paths at all hours, taunting park-goers and screaming so hideously that few can withstand it. And trust me, only the bravest (or stupidest) will go into the maze�with its ghostly hands and tentacles reaching out at ye�grabbing at ye. Tis more than most can bear.

Personally, I love the place. There�s nothing like a blood-curdling scream to get the blood going. The sluagh love it too, but there are few others that would like to spend the day there. And of those few, only one dares spend the night. And nae�tis not I.

High Park
Tis alright, if ye�re a randy little satyr or an annoying little pooka. Tis not my cup-o-tea, but to each their own, I say. High Park is a Glade that has weathered the eons. T�was here before ye or I had family here. Old �Blind Man� Bluff�he could tell ye more�if ye stand to listen to a lecture. All I know is that it was here before the English or French�and maybe it will be here long after. But I do know one thing�all those who�ve stepped into Grange House, well, I�ve nae heard of one that�s stepped out.

The Endless Trod
North end of the city, in a valley near Earl Bales Park. Take a lunch. Take a few. Ye�ll be gone a long time. Possibly ye will nae come back. We dinnae know where it leads, if it leads anywhere at all. Course, there is a benefit. Finders Keepers. Ye find things there, things that are lost. Did ye lose ye�re teddy bear when ye were younger? Its there. I found my virginity there, once, but since it did me nae good when I had it before, I threw it back. Let some pansy have it, for all the good it�ll do them. The thing is�ye�ll never find what ye�re looking for. Its just that ye�ll find something. I hear lots have found lint�but I�ve plenty of that in my belly button!

A few short years ago, the place was known as �the Dominion of Bosky Tarn,� (or Gangster�s Hideaway�named for the motley of childlings that frequented there) and the bigwig then was Baron Varlan. He was never as big as his britches seemed to be, nor as wise as he wished. Neither was he as hardy as he would have liked, and t�was nae long ago that he grew up and fell to banality (for all I know, after all�I�m nae fan of theirs). The Gangsters have wildered, and moved on�where they went, I dinnae know. But the trod is still there.

Of course, there are places that ye should nae go. First, though it�s next-door neighbour to Kensington Market, dinnae go to Chinatown. The dreams dreamt there are nae yours, and Glamour may nae obey ye. Trust me lad, its better not to tempt the fates.
And of course, beware, of Banality, which is a force here as everywhere. Never forget it, or forget ye will�and t�will nae be I that comes to save ye.

Bay Street is called by some the �financial heart� of the city, and that it may be. Aye, a gray, beating, throbbing heart, pumping disbelief and �normalcy� into the air with every beat. If ye plan to go there, we�d best say our good-byes now, for ye�ll nae remember a thing I�ve said. Though it may take longer, and may seem inconvenient, go around. �Tis better than the alternative.

And that, my lads is all I have to tell ye. Should Beadle Jarvis ask ye (and I�m certain he shall), be sure to tell him that I was friendly and helpful, and a font of helpful information. If ye dinnae�I�ll find out. And be sure that I�ll find ye. I know where ye sleep.

A History Lesson - Secrets of the past
Victoria Caroline Spindle, Grump Sluagh

Welcome children. I do hope that Anguish did not fill your heads with too much drivel. Certainly, if anyone knows the places of wonder in this city, it is he, but he is more�colourful than accurate. But then, he is a MacKenzie, and the MacKenzie�s have always been rabble rousers, just as the Strachans and Jarvises have always stood for law and order.
But, I am getting ahead of myself. Please remain seated, and do not shout out questions. What I have to say is important, and if you cannot be bothered to listen, I would ask that you do not interrupt for the sake of those who would learn from the past. Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Then we�ll begin.

Beginnings
I do not know what they teach you in your schools nowadays, but I assume that you�ve been taught something about the native peoples? Well, I am glad to hear that. At least I will not have to start at the very beginning.
Many, many years ago, this land was populated by Native Peoples, and this land that we are standing on now was very special to them. They called it the �meeting place� for that is what it was to them. This is a place where they would come, where all would be safe from violence. Treaties were discussed here, and peace upheld.
Of course, the peoples were not the only ones who populated this land. They had their own faeries, who called themselves the �Nunnehi� which means �the people.� They lived in harmony with their kin for eons, as we once did.
Not much more than that is known. Let that suffice. It is important that you know that there was something here before you. It is also important that you know that the Nunnehi are an angry people, and they have waged war on us before, and likely shall again.

European Invasion
The peace of the Native Peoples could not hold. Eventually the Europeans came. At first, the French came in small numbers, creating the first mission and settlement among the Huron peoples. And the Nunnehi were wary, since the fathers there tried to sway their people from their ancient beliefs. And as the fathers converted more of their people, the Nunnehi started to become angry. And they grew angrier, and angrier, until finally they could take no more, and incited their people to riot. The fathers, and the small detachment of soldiers were slain.
But that did not end the steady flow of pale invaders. Eventually, alliances were made with the white invaders, and Native tribes helped explorers find their way over unfamiliar land. Sometime in the early 1600s, a small group of Huron tribesmen led Etienne Brule to the spot that is now Toronto. For years, only the French explorers and fur traders came this way, among them, an Eshu named Charles D�Montague. Charles was enamoured of the land, and separated himself from his group, wandered (as Eshu do). Sadly, the fortune that so often walks with Eshu is not eternal. Charles D�Montague fell afoul of a group of Nunnehi near what is now High Park. He perished, leaving something of himself behind, though exactly what he left, none can say, though the Freehold of High Park has endured when others have fallen
French and English warred, until the English won, and settlement increased, pushing the Nunnehi and their people away from their meeting place. A town was established in the land that D�Montague loved so much, and was called York.
York grew, and the Nunnehi were all but exiled from their land.

War and Rebellion
More and more people came. And Changelings too. Eshu, Pooka, and Satyr were first. But soon, there followed more. And two glades became the centre of changeling life. High Park, and Bosky Tarn.
Once, faerie villages were founded there, far as they were from the hustle and bustle of city life. In those days, we rallied around the Trolls to give us stalwart leadership, and the freeholds they made held true. For truly this land was Tir-Na-Nog, the Summerlands. But, alas, that could not last. For war always brings with it, Banality. And war came soon enough.

1812
In 1812, the neighbours to the south waged a war to free the people of Upper and Lower Canada from the �tyranny of English rule.� During that war, twice, York was occupied by American soldiers, and the parliament building burned down. During the occupation, the first footfalls of Banality fell into the freeholds, as soldiers (American and British) used the paths and byways to launch attacks.
Upon seeing the American occupation of York, the changeling �mayor,� one William Mustardseed formed the Queen�s Own Light Militia, and in true changeling fashion, they waged war on the occupying army. Stealing weapons and personal possessions with Legerdemain, and confusing them with Chicanery, the QOLM brought such confusion on the occupying army, that when the British finally returned to reclaim it, they found the American soldiers lost and fighting amongst themselves.
The war of 1812, ended with a stalemate. And life returned to normal in York. And the Queen�s Own Light Militia retired�for a while.

Rebellion
In 1834, York was made a city, and named Toronto. And the first mayor was of Toronto was William Lyon MacKenzie. Oh! I see some ears perking up. The name, of course, is familiar to you (though why, I shall not say). MacKenzie was a quick-tempered Scotsman, who grew angry at the fact that the real power in Upper Canada did not rest with the elected government, but with the �Family Compact,� a small group of wealthy men, backed by the local Bishop who was named Strachan (oh! More ears). MacKenzie began a short-lived rebellion. It didn�t work, and he fled. That event is only a foot-note in history, but it laid the foundation for something even greater.

War of Glamour
Around the freeholds of High Park and Bosky Tarn, a force was growing in the woods. Unbeknownst to the Kithain, the Nunnehi were gathering, determined to take back their Glamour.
They struck without warning, attacking the freeholds of High Park and Bosky Tarn in a two-pronged attack. The Trolls rallied the rest of the Kithain, and a pitched battle ensued. The first attack by the Nunnehi was repelled, but only barely. The balefire of each freehold had been protected, but the villages were in ruin.
Thomas Bead, who was grandson to William Mustardseed, remembered the formation of the Queen�s Own Light Militia, and began to gather former members, and to collect new enlistees. While Boggans, Nockers and others went about the business of rebuilding, the Trolls, Satyrs, and even a few Redcaps of the reformed QOLM armed themselves and fortified what was left of the freeholds, and prepared for battle.
When the Nunnehi returned to finish off the freeholds, they found the QOLM ready for them. Whereas the first attack had caught the Kithain by surprise, this time they were ready, and after a pitched battle, the Nunnehi were soundly defeated, and the QOLM was victorious.
After the battle, and when the freehold villages had been rebuilt, the Aldermen gathered the QOLM together to ask them not to disband, but to become the protectors of law and order. Thomas Bead accepted, on behalf of the militia and the Queen�s Own Light Militia (or Beadles as they eventually came to be called) became the �police� of the Kithain. Take note, however, that no Redcap accepted the position, not being ones to bolster the status quo.

Freeholds Diminished
As Toronto grew, and the population swelled, settlements began to sprout up closer and closer to the Freeholds. And with settlements, came the cold hand of Banality. The power of Bosky Tarn began to diminish, and it was not long before the Glamour could no longer support a faerie village. Although there remained a small freehold in that Glade, and the Endless Trod was left open, few Kithain remained to call Bosky Tarn home.
Even at High Park, the cold hand was felt, though it was the proximity of Mortal eyes that caused the village to be abandoned, and not for lack of Glamour. So, the Kithain left their settlements, and found a few places of Glamour among the mortal populace.
The freeholds at Bosky Tarn and High Park continued to exist through the ages, but no more were they central to the lives of the Kithain.

Into Modern Times
And so, life continued into the modern era. As Toronto grew, the Kithain adapted, finding for themselves places of Glamour where they could keep the Dreaming alive. Of course, there were darker periods. The Dreaming swelled and diminished with the dreams and attitudes of Mortals. When mortals stifled art and imagination, it was cold indeed. But when the same were fostered and encouraged, Glamour was plentiful. But, as industry and conservativism became the norm, a strange thing happened.
The dreams of mortals are a fickle thing. When inspired, dreams are endless playgrounds. But when mired in the grey slush of banality and repetition they are hard to find indeed. In a Toronto summer, the scenery and arts festivals bring many dreams, as artists and dreamers come out of the woodwork. In the dead of winter, however, when the skies are grey and the slush freezes the toes, mortals find that dreams elude them, and the Kithain pay the price.
In the 1960s, something began to happen. We could feel it in our bones, and in our blood. There was a shift in the world, and there was a feeling of some impending�something. We did not know what it was, but we could feel that something was coming. A few thought that the Nunnehi were once again preparing to attack. They could not have been more wrong.
In 1969, the Endless Trod opened of its own accord, and a host of noble Sidhe came pouring out, flying the standards of the Noble houses, standards that had not been seen since ages past. Although they had not been seen since time out of recent memory, we knew who they were. The Sidhe had returned from their self-imposed exile.
Apprehension filled the hearts of the Kithain, as we watched and wondered what would happen. One thing was certain; the world had changed irrevocably. Most of the host passed by, taking little notice. A few stayed behind, and met with the Aldermen and Beadles, and a tacit understanding was agreed upon. The aldermen would continue to fill their role, and would advise the sidhe on this new world they were inhabiting.
However, when the Accordance War broke out, many of the Sidhe left to fight the war. And yet, the war did not have echoes here. One lone opportunistic Sidhe, Baron Varlan of House Liam took the opportunity to claim Bosky Tarn, which he named his �Dominion.� Few Kithain took any notice of him, and found some amusement at his �lordly pronouncements.� When the Accordance War ended, and High King David formed the Kingdom of Concordia, some Sidhe returned. Queen Laurel claimed what is now the Kingdom of Northern Ice (and we are under her dominion), yet still did Varlan stubbornly claim Bosky Tarn as his.
It took some time, but eventually some semblance of the feudal system came to be established. In fact, it was not imposed on us. The Kithain here requested it. And though Varlan continued to hold to his claim of Dominion over Bosky Tarn, Queen Laurel (who joined the recently formed Canadian Opera Company as a Prima Donna) installed Count Neville Ap Eiluned. Count Neville agreed to keep our long history of Aldermen and Beadles alive, making the Aldermen the commoner equivalent of Barons, and the Beadles of Knights. He also politely requested that Baron Varlan swear fealty to him. Varlan, fiercely jealous and protective of that which he saw as �his,� refused. Count Neville then placed a Geas on Varlan, that since he claimed Domion over Bosky Tarn, that he then must have �Dominion� over the Endless Trod as well. As such, Neville charged him to discover the �end� of the Trod, since until that was accomplished, it could not truly be called his. Varlan, stubborn as always, refused, and paid the price, being undone.

The Here and Now
I am sure that Anguish gave you much insight into what our county is like today, and so I will not risk confusing you with more detail.
Although after first being installed as Count, Neville was an oft seen figure in the county�s social structure, things change. He is often occupied with other matters, and it is seldom that he makes his presence felt.
The numbers of Kithain has ebbed and flowed, like a tide. Sometimes our numbers swelling, and other times, they have dwindled. Winter here is such a difficult time, and it is in that season that our numbers dwindle most. Such is our state now. Of the Aldermen, only Strachan remains, and Thomas Jarvis is our only Beadle. But until our numbers swell, we need no more than they. Surely, they are both capable and just (unless you listen to Anguish�but I wouldn�t if I were you).

And so we come to the present day. I hope that you have learned something.
Know all of you that I have given this lecture to you because a similar one was given to me in my day. But know that I am sluagh, and this shall be the first and only time that information is given so freely. Such is our way.

Count Neville Ap Eiluned
The count is a figure who�s presence is felt, if not actually seen. I�m sure that Spindle told you that for quite sometime, we didn�t have a Count here, and that the Kithain petitioned Queen Laurel for one. Did she tell you why? No, I supposed she wouldn�t.
Well, although this was once a backwater settlement, it has become a thriving metropolis. When the Sidhe returned, few bothered to pay much attention (except for Baron Varlan, and I�m certain that Spindle told you everything you need to know about him). The Kithain here felt that since we were a large metropolitan location, that we needed noble attention. She agreed, and sent us Count Neville.
Outside of festivals, where he always makes an appearance, you are unlikely to see the Count, as there is much that occupies his time and mind. Do not think that we are without government, however, since Alderman Strachan fills that role very well.

Papers from Winter's Discontent

[Posted on Goblin Parchment in each public freehold in the County, dated November Third, The year 2001 as Mortals reckon time]

Kith and Kin,
We do indeed live in dark times. Dark times, in which none of us is safe from dark deeds. And with Dark Times, invariably come sad tidings.
This eve, sad tidings indeed have reached us.
It is with great sorrow that we must inform all within the COunty of Winter's Discontent, that on Samhain last, Her Royal Majesty Queen Laurel's hearth and home was touched by treachery of the foulest sort. The Queen's Own Champion, Sir Aericura, Noble Pooka of House Fiona was assassinated. Yes, murdered in cold blood.
Caer Frost, indeed all of the Northern Ice, is in Mourning for the loss of this noble Knight, and enjoins us all to join in the loss of one whose loss is deeply felt. I for one, join Her Majesty Queen Laurel in her grief, For I have a personal memory of Sir Aericura, and how passionately he felt for all the Realm, and how valiantly he defended it, all in the name of Her Royal Highness, Queen Laurel. And when I recall the passion in his eyes, and the warmth of his voice, I feel the grief that those who knew him must feel, for I feel that I knew him.
The death of Sir Aericura is a somber reminder to all that none of us can stand alone, and how much we rely on each other. I encourage all of you to take not of the cowardly assassination of Sir Aericura, and watch yourselves and others, for we wish that none experience the fate of this dear departed noble Knight.
On behalf of Count Neville Ap Eiluned
Marcus Thomas,
Seelie Boggan,
Count's Reeve

[In response, Alderman Strachan wrote:]

I too join with the Count, indeed with subjects of Her Highness Queen Laurel, in mourning the loss of this brave Champion.
Dark Times, indeed. We must all be vigilant, and watch out for one another.
Alderman Strachan

[Scrawled in pencil under Strachan's message:]

Is there any truth to the rumour that the death of Sir Antler-Head followed assasination attempts on the Queen herself? Or is that all lies?
(of course, I'd know nothing about lies, myself).
The Great and Fabulous Mysegrie.

[Response on Goblin Parchment, dated November 17 in the year 2001, as Mortals reckon time}

Young Mystegrie,
We suspect that rumours such as that are just that, rumours with no basis in fact.
It is a lesson to all not to believe everything we hear.
On behalf of Count Neville Ap Eiluned
Marcus Thomas,
Seelie Boggan,
Count's Reeve

[Posted in all public freeholds on Chimerical Parchment, dated December 20 in the Year 2001, as Mortals reckon time]

Kith and Kin,
With the foul murder of Sir Aericura on Samhain, Her Royal Highness, Queen Laurel, is without a Champion. The time of Mourning passed, Her Majesty has decreed that a competition shall take place on Beltaine to choose her Champion from amongst the strongest and most skilled that her Kingdom has to offer.
By Royal anouncement, we are encouraged to hold tournaments to determine our best and finest, and send word to Caer Frost of those who would compete for the Honour of bearing the title of Champion to our Queen.
If you think thou would'st be worthy of the title, or care to take thy chances, doubt it not that a Tournament shall be held, fo those who would 'tempt to gain the Honours and Favours of Her Majesty the Queen.
On behalf of Count Neville Ap Eiluned
Marcus Thomas,
Seelie Boggan,
Count's Reeve

[Response from Strachan:]

A reminder: if you wish to compete for this Honour, I remind certain elements that this is a FRIENDLY competition (you know who you are, and why I feel the need to say it).
Her Majesty needs a Champion, and if you wish to compete, I will encourage you, but do not feel compelled. There will be plenty of testosterone-filled bluster and rattling of sabres.
If you feel the need to join in the "festivities" let me know, and I will see that you are added to the Lists.
Strachan

[From the Desk of Beadle Jarvis]

Those who are planning to partake of this tournament, when practicing, please see that you observe the usual prohibitions against brawling in the streets. Remember, you are PRACTICING, and not actually fighting. As the Honourable Alderman says, this is a FRIENDLY competetion.
And, I will say what Alderman Strachan was too polite to say: Anguish, this is not an excuse to go around beating on people. If you decide to compete (and I doubt that you will), keep in clean. I will be watching you.
Beadle Jarvis

Watching me? What else is new?
Bite me, Beadle, I don't give a fuck.
Anguish

Oh! My virgin ears! Anguish, you've offended me beyond belief.
The Great and Fabulous Mystegrie

Oh! My stomach. Mys, you've hungered me beyond belief.
I'm thinking about Kitten stew...
Anguish.

Cute, Anguish.
Is no one even curious about the investigation into the Champion's murder? I've heard some interesting things.
And about Mystegrie's question from some time ago...It seems that sometimes, a pooka can be trusted to tell the truth, even if they don't realize it. My contacts, tell me that in the months before his murder, Sir Aericura loudly condemned attempts on Her Majesty's life, and headed a fierce investigation to find the perpetrators.
CV SPindle

I KNEW IT!
...but what does that mean?
The Great and Fabulous Mystegrie

What do you think it means, lunch?
Anguish.