I remember a vast field of bitter Ice, torn and bloodied. The frozen ground which rested in that place was once the site of a Battle of grand proportions. Great fountains of Earth had spayed to the heavens, torn from the ground by powerful sorceries. Scorched coals lay frozen beneath the Ice, their baleful glow providing no warmth. The path here was Daggers, the ground was full of Hate. It was not until we had pressed on, not until we had marched for days through this Blasted Waste, not until we had climbed the Mountains upon the far side, that looking back could we see great Craters in the Earth amongst which we had passed. Vast divots, as though blistered by the fallen forms of giant Combatants, littered that plain. Gods fought there once, and Died. We were in Awe, and did not camp again until we had crested the Mountains, and left that broken darkling plain behind us.

I remember also, deep in a frosted valley, a Forest thick and loamy. An ancient Canopy of Trees searched for the sky. Walls of ancient Stone soared overhead, like the bones of some lost Dragon, and the greatest Trees yet clawed for sunlight beneath the Mountains' shadow. Their foliage was Ice and Frost, thick snow piled deep, but dark beneath their branches there was warmth, and Green. Ancient Things crept through that wood, ever out of sight. We heard them, large things, old things long forgotten. The Silver Road wound ever onward, tangled and overgrown. We had long passed the nearest Dreamings, and were in our Depths. We were attacked as we left that wood by a band of Goblins, twisted things which mocked and bit and scratched with thorns. We stood against them and prevailed, Turning Tables. We pushed them to Rout, but they held their ground, and were destroyed each and every one, rather than be pushed back within the Forest's edge. They feared us, they feared Death, but they feared the Forest more. What dark things sleep there beneath the roots I know not, nor do I wish to Know.

I remember a white stone Fortress, old in ruin, rising aged from the surface of the Ice, with snow like a shroud, buried in history. Broken walls clawed at the sky, with tumbled stones larger than a man. Antique stones, older than memory, older than humanity's pale Dreams. Vast Archways guarded rooms left to rot since before Time. Great Manacles, thick with crusted Blood, hung chained to the walls, no longer holding captive what Monstrous Forms once cried Prisoner there. The halls and passageways were empty of any forms, devoid of Life. Only dust and Frost serve as companions now, holding one another Close in the Dark. None have returned here to light Torches against the frozen Night.

Of a return of the Ancient Enemy, we saw no sign. The Palaces where once they ruled lay Abandoned, and buried beneath the weight of Winter. Rumours of a Fomorian return do not arise with these broken Walls.

In the Night, camped outside those walls, we heard no Ghosts, but only Redcaps, deep in the Mountains to the south, holding revel. Well we took us for this chance at Action, rushing Southward in the Dark, placing distance between us and those Blood-encrusted chambers. We did discover those Redcaps, true, and the village there enslaved now stands Free. Still, that is a Tale for another day.

The journey back to the Waking World, I remember, was slow as well. Time passed an endless frozen Stream. I remember a cavern Deep and Dim, the Ice within sculpted into the forms of Heroes and adventuring Nobles long forgotten. Crests of Houses I cannot remember adorned the walls. I found a Ring - a serpent twined about a squat, dark tower, but I do not know what it means. We met with less conflict on our return than upon our out-setting, although one ogre less will terrorize the Dreaming of this kingdom. Alas, the Ring is lost now, shattered in that Combat, and long lost into the hungry maw of an endless Chasm, deep beneath the Earth. What clues it might have held to our missing Past lie buried with it.

At the end we stood once more before a Gate, our road finished not where it had begun, but near to Home. Strange Signs and dark Words from the Eshu opened this portal also, our Quest at an end. No sign had we seen of That which you commanded that I seek, 'though one thing did strike me amiss as we departed the Dreaming and once more entered this World of Clay.

Our return was to this Coastal Barony, and in the distance the Spires of the Baroness Angharad's Free Hold speared the surface of the waves. Beyond them, beyond the Frail Bridges which span the cold Ocean Waters, beyond the Frozen Bay, I saw a sight which does not bode well. Death worked upon the shore. In a place where the mortals build their ships of hungry Iron, death worked.

A great grey Whale lay pinned upon the shore, its Carcass slick with Ice. In the dim distance, tiny forms could be seen, ant-like, working Drones with cutting Blades Butchering and Crafting. Building and Tearing Down. They swarmed the Whale's vast form, and acted seeming of One Mind.

I do not know what this Omen means, but I swear that it bodes not well. I shall seek out this Darkness, and bring the Light of Justice to bear.

In your service as ever,

Halfdan ap Kinrowan ap Dougal, Knight of the Queen's Own, in Her Majesty's Secret Service.

[In the days after Samhain, rumour ran rampant through the Empire of Concordia. The following comes from the memoirs of the Duchess Orianna Brightwillow ap Gwydion.]

Years later, some may say the reason the Rivers of Phantasia became empty was because of the bareness in the heart of Her Highness, Princess Brighid of the Kingdom of the Rolling Hills.
But in truth, no one knew why.
In the days following the heartbreaking matters that left the Rolling Hills in shambles, the great Mississippi, for that is what the mortals call it, became quite parched. The vast river that ran rich waters throughout the Near Dreaming sank quickly until the Glamourous waters disappeared and all that was left was a long, dry, empty riverbed that divided Concordia in half. Exquisite, chimerical plants that grew on its banks quickly died and soon, the lands surrounding it crackled and dried up as well. Chimera that lived off the sweet and pure waters moved on to other places in the Near Dreaming. Some chimera refused to leave, dying with the once-vast Phantasia Mississippi.
Then the Firchlis swept by, changing the Dreaming as it always had. And, like a disease carried by the mortals, this curse was carried to another great River of Phantasm that the humans called the Colorado. It quickly dried up, crackling into a thirsty riverbed within the Dreaming as well.
And, just as the other two before it, the great Rio Grande, which fed the Kingdoms of the Burning Sun and Pacifica as well as the lands of the Feathered Snake, died.
Upon the passing of these once-magnificent Rivers of Phantasia, the Kithain of the world mourned. For no longer could the pleasing waters of these rivers be consumed in order to cure wounds and heal grumps of age. No longer could pleasure be found on their shores for only vast deserts remained surrounding them.
The Glamour and dreams surrounding the rivers are dead. The mortals who�s hopes and wishes that poured forth these waters think of their dreams no more.
The Kithain of Concordia now wait to see if the blessed waters will once return or if the lands are now cursed forever more.
With the loss of the Rivers of Phantasia, Banality, and perhaps something more, has won.

In the past year We have been slowly poisoned by a trusted advisor. Our precious and only Daughter has been kidnapped twice, nearly raped by a beast-man, and tricked into falling in love with an imposter, an act that caused her to take her own life. Our beautiful Wife and beloved Queen has been stolen from Us by our own corrupt Chamberlain, tortured, and returned to Us a maddened and malformed creature. Our forests have burned down, Our rivers dried up, and Our very oceans set aflame. Our home and castle has been razed, and that which it was built to protect taken from Us. Loyal allies and trusted friends of Ours have been killed, some by Cold Iron, in Our service by Thieves, Spies and Assassins. Several direct attempts have been made on Our very life.

Yet our enemies have failed. Our Kingdom, Our people, and Ourselves still stand strong. The Kingdom of the Rolling Hills shall not fall to such evil, trickery and deceit.

At each of these horrible events We have found evidence of the same wrongdoers.

Both Our Kingdom and Ourselves have suffered under the malefic attention of the House Balor for far too long. Therefore We make this open declaration: any of Our loyal subjects who bring Us a member of that Dread House or one of Its allies shall be magnificently rewarded.

Let Our enemies know that it is no longer safe for them within Our borders. We are no longer paralyzed by the Forgetting of fimblewinter, or drugged by the poisons of a trusted Court Sorcerer, or locked in the endless circle of Our own grief. We are able, alert, and ready.

If it�s war that they want, it is war they shall have.

By Our own hand,
His Most Exalted Majesty;
King Maxwell SilverHand of House Dougal
Sovereign of the Rolling Hills
Highsmith of House Dougal

Dear Diary,

It had all the grace and horror of something out of my story-books...

I have been in Halifax for a few weeks now. Grand-dad is having some operations done here to try and make his eyes better. I have to stay with my great-aunt Rose while he is getting tests done. I like Halifax okay, I guess. It is an awful big city and there are a lot of big buildings... but it is pretty, too. The only thing is my Aunt Rose is really strict and is always yelling at me to stop clomping through the house (even though I try to tiptoe as quietly as I can) and to stop making such a mess (even though I try not to leave fingerprints on anything). And her house is full of such breakable things, it is like a museum! I am afraid to breathe in her sitting room for fear of breaking something. So mostly I have been spending my time in my room reading. I miss my cottage in Norton and I miss my woods, but if it is going to make Grand-dad better than I will try to behave.

Aunt Rose says I have to go to school while I am here. She paid money for me to go to this private school where they make me wear a scratchy wool skirt and a stiff blouse with a tie. Right away I knew that I wasn't going to fit in there. All the girls at that school are so rich and popular and pretty... not like me. The first day nobody talked to me at all! Then yesterday I was leaving school and some of the biggest and meanest girls started yelling at me and throwing snowballs. They said nasty things about my eyes and called me a wierdo. They pushed me down into the snow and threw snow in my face and down my jacket. I started to cry when they took my walking cane away from me and threw it down a sewer grate. I had my eyes tightly closed, just waiting for it to be over, when I heard the girls suddenly fall quiet. I looked up and saw a HUGE man standing over them. He pursed his lips and glared at them in a terrible way. Afraid, the girls turned and ran. His expression changed after they left and he helped me to my feet. Sniffling, I thanked him and asked him his name. He smiled and shook his head, bringing his finger to his lips. Then I understood! "You can't talk," I asked. He nodded and then reached into his pocket of his coat. He jotted a little note than said "You are one of the enchanted... I can bring you to the others like us. You can warm up there." A bright smile lit up my face. He was a changeling! I hadn't seen one since the Satyr party this summer past. How exciting!

I told him I would love to go along and he walked me to his car. His car was probably worth than my entire home back in New Brunswick. He turned on the radio and we drove the rest of the way in silence (for obvious reasons). When we arrived, we walked into this room that had the most lovely view of the harbour. A bright fire was roaring in the hearth and I could hear quiet conversation from within. Timidly, I peeked into the room. The first person I saw was a small man with large eyes, a narrow nose and large, heavy glasses on. He had a tweed blazer on with a... oh gosh, it was... what looked like a CAT pelt around his neck! He was perched up on a chair with his legs drawn underneath him. The next man I saw looked like a fairy prince from one of my picture books. He stood tall and graceful, with shoulder-length blond hair that had pointed ears poking through. His skin was pale and flawless, with high cheek-bones and bright eyes. His long coat was a bright crimson with dozens of baubles, flowers and shiny things hanging from it. He sat tall and proud, and talked with confidence. "He must be a Sidhe," I thought, "Only the Sidhe cane be THAT beautiful. I hope he is nicer than the other ones I met." I scanned the room and noticed the others. I saw a small woman with pasty skin, hair hanging in her face, and dark clothing. I saw another woman dressed in green, a shiny bauble hanging from her neck and pointed ears poking through her shoulder-length brown hair. I saw another woman with a very cat-like face who moved with ease and grace. Another man (who was green like me!) was sitting nursing a baby in a stroller and I looked up to my new friend who stood looming over me, now with a head full of horns and purple and blue rough skin.

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