theodor_gylden: (not an adventurer a scholar dammit)
The Bespectacled Folklorist received a dispensation from the Dilmun Club, too, and has prepared a compendium of catalogued and cross-catalogued notes. You glimpse the demarcated pages.

Cryptopaleontological Notes. Research notes on the strange creatures of the Neath.
Sorrow-Spiders and Spider-Councils.
The Eater-of-Chains and the Inhabiter of Wolves.
The Thing in the Mirror and the 'Lords of London.'
The Wings of Thunder Bat and its Offspring.
Further Residents of the Labyrinth of Tigers.
The Vake.
The Rubbery Forms of Flute Street.
The Animates of Polythreme. (Including Clay Persons.)
Devils and Demons.
Creatures Capable of Discourse. (Cats, Rats, Ravens, Et Al.)


Prelapsarian Archaeological Notes. Research notes concerning cities before the fifth.
The First City. Speculated to be Nagar.
The Second City. Speculated to be Amarna.
The Third City. Speculated to be Hopelchén.
The Fourth City. Speculated to be Karakorum.
The Half-Stolen Flute Street.
The Bazaar, the Masters, and Their Practices.

Theosophistrical Notes. Research notes on matters of the spirit and the other side.
Imanuel Lundberg's Grand Theory of the Correspondence.
Other Theories of the Correspondence.
Madame Petrovsky's Secret Dogma and the Fifth Age of Civilisation.
Madame Petrovsky's Practical Pantheism.
The Works of Doctor Schlomo.
Parabola.
Speculative Travel. (Anarcho- or Otherwise)
London Dream Lore.
London Soul Lore.
Principles of Life and Death in the Neath.
Spirits and Spiritualism. (Beneath and Above.)
Magic and Magicians.


You also glimpse a glint of gold at his ear, that was not there before -- a zailor's charm against drowning. Superstitious.

Compare Notes with the Bespectacled Folklorist.

[all those researchers scurrying about the zee are bound to run into each other. use the comments to share content and chatter without spoiler tags.]
theodor_gylden: (blind without 'em)
A dream about the solstice

It's the longest night of the year. Snow coats the ground. Above you the stars shine still and bright, and as you stare into the sky, your breath mists the air. You're waiting for someone, you know. You clutch the lead of a sled in one hand -- ready to traipse off, into adventure.

They're coming soon. Wait. Warm yourself.


A dream about the past

You dream of the inside of a clocktower, gears revolving around you, your apron coated with grease. In the center of each wheel you glimpse a world, faraway and familiar.

You see your sisters' blurred and whirling hands and hear their counting-game. You see a sullen, sharp-featured boy, spectacles too large for his face. You see trees heavy with apple blossoms, and smell them, and feel the bark rough under your hands. A friend holds you on his shoulders, and he wobbles as you wave your arms. You laugh and laugh and laugh.

In that other world, a girl says she'll tell you your fortune. She draws the Fool. It even looks like you -- but what do you look like? 


"Who are you?"

A dream about a voice

Ash drifts and dances around you, as though from a bonfire. Someone speaks.

"Hallo! I like your head. It was so quiet and lonesome, shut up in that watch ... but I waited. I waited and waited, because I wanted to stay. Won't you to give me some place to stay? I like your head ... Who are you?"

Gears turn; ash falls and snow falls; your fingers are covered in grease. "Who are you?"

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September 2015

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