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Frogvarian
Frogvarian
Posts: 108

5/24/2020
-------------------------------------- Editorial --------------------------------------

Is it wrong to have doubts when suns are beginning to shine again?

Through luck and merit and support, one can plough their way through the mud. It is not an easy task, but one certainly achievable. It has been done before, and there are steps that have been taken already. Truly, in fact, the path has never been all that muddy.

Why, then, does every step feel like failure? Is it simply melodrama? A trick of the brain? A misfiring of misfortunes, aimed at the susceptible parts? Why, then, would one forget all that had been done and throw it all away?

It would be foolish to end here. It would be a heresy, truly. A dishonour to the legacy of those who came and went, an atrocity in the eyes of those who believe. A crime, perhaps, against nature herself.

No, this is not where things end. I know that much - that cowardice is a part of the package, to the strange benefit of the recipient.

Why, then, do I still desire an end?


------------------------------------ Art of London ------------------------------------

Portrait of a Lady
by Arthur Cole




------------------------------- News of Art, Art of News -------------------------------

Incoming Storm Might Present Unexpected Setbacks

In latest weather reports, the Seventh Astronomer warns of a great Storm coming towards London. It is unclear when, how, or if at all this Storm will arrive; it is still said to be a big one.

The Seventh Astronomer, an oddity even amongst the blind astronomers, speaking only in fire and screams, has been conducting heavy research into the weather patterns of the Neath. This research is indeed publicly available, scrawled with a sharp piece of glim on the backside of a cave near the London Observatory.

The Astronomer warns that, to quote: “The eyes have been angered, the deed cannot be pardoned,” and “What was said cannot be unsaid,” and “White, three sugars, yolk.” We are still unsure whether or not the last citation pertains to the weather.

Further insights specify heavy rains, thunder and/or lightning, an array of frightening displays, and perhaps an incursion from Hell. As mentioned, time has not been specified, and the Storm may come anywhere between next Tuesday and the end of the Seventh.

Don’t forget your umbrellas, London!


---------------------------------- Ask Mother Goose ----------------------------------

Dear Mother Goose,
Am I destined to do nothing but stupid mistakes?
Wondering

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Wondering,
I am afraid that all evidence suggests such a trajectory.

--
R. J. Frogvarian
An Extraordinary Mind, Correspondent, and author of mysterious, if a bit scandalous, qualities.
Open to interactions, roleplay, chess, and the occasional scanadlosity.

Rebeka Frogvarian
Gone NORTH.

Publisher of The Goosey Gazette, the best stop for all things arty and Neathy!
+1 link
Frogvarian
Frogvarian
Posts: 108

5/31/2020
-------------------------------------- Editorial --------------------------------------

With age comes wisdom
Spring of life, one year older
Am I any wiser?


------------------------------------ Art of London ------------------------------------

Portrait of Edward
by Arthur Cole




------------------------------- News of Art, Art of News -------------------------------

Crows By Any Other Name - The Debonair Dilettante’s Exhibit

The Royal Academy of Arts has recently sanctioned and hosted an even by one up-and-coming artist, the Debonair Dilettante. This particular exhibit is special for being a diversion from the usual bores of high society, an intriguing change we wholeheartedly welcome in the world of art.

The Dilettante’s exhibit bears the name of “Lycanthropes in spite”. It features several dozen pieces, all manticoric taxidermy. These lycanthropes, as the Dilettante calls them, are amalgams of various animals poised as bipedes performing various common tasks - chores, social engagements, et cetera. The bodies seem to be largely canine, and feature even parts of rare, exotic animals from the surface.

They all, however, share one commonality - that is, the heads of all of the lycanthropes are that or crows. A single crow’s head, perched upon an ill-fitting body, donning an expression of deep thought.

The statues have a certain air of unease about them, the kind that only comes with taxidermy, multiplied by the strangeness of their composition. Still, they are rather endearing, reflecting the daily struggles of the common person. One cannot help but feel a certain kinship with the lycanthropes. They, too, are simply doing their best in their day to day, unable to help but be exposed to the world at large.

The exhibit shall be open for the whole month of June. We have it on good authority that no animals have been purposely slain to create this piece, rather they are dear old pets passed away and donated to the effort.

We wish you pleasant pondering, dear London.


---------------------------------- Ask Mother Goose ----------------------------------

Dear Mother Goose,
What more may the heart weather?
Locked

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Locked,
A thousand novelties and an infinity of reprises.

--
R. J. Frogvarian
An Extraordinary Mind, Correspondent, and author of mysterious, if a bit scandalous, qualities.
Open to interactions, roleplay, chess, and the occasional scanadlosity.

Rebeka Frogvarian
Gone NORTH.

Publisher of The Goosey Gazette, the best stop for all things arty and Neathy!
0 link
Frogvarian
Frogvarian
Posts: 108

6/7/2020
-------------------------------------- Editorial --------------------------------------

Reality is incredulously fleeting. With a snap of one’s fingers things change from second to second. One cannot with absolute perfection define the reality of the moment. Truly, it is ludicrous to even consider two events as happening simultaneously. Time bends and twists through and around space and with it, reality.

A moment, then, cannot be simply defined. A moment now is the same as two moments earlier and a third one year from now. Reality overlaps, yet it does so constantly. A moment now is the same as three moments separated by centuries and a single moment best to be forgotten. To define such change is as futile as catching the wind with a net.

Even personal reality is a fickle thing. Our mind fabricates stability, but our hearts betray the truth. As change sets to motion, deep down the mind can sense the ebbs and flows of time. Such sensations are not to be taken lightly. The attuned mind may then, perhaps, even peer into the chaos. See beneath the veil of reality into the core of Law.

However great the cost may be - who could ever refuse such an opportunity?


------------------------------------ Art of London ------------------------------------

Memories and Roses, Part VII
An Invocation
by Professor Wensleydale.

I sat down to translate.

“Oh tell me the tale of a great King, a King who claimed the throne after his brother destroyed his home, a King who fought against the incursion of the unnatural, a King by the name of-”

Inspired… has increased to 5!
You’ve lost 1*F.F. Gebrandt’s Superior Laudanum (new total 2).



------------------------------- News of Art, Art of News -------------------------------

Wonderous Skeletons - Genuine Unearthings Or Deceptive Amalgams?

In hidden streets of Watchmaker’s Hill there lies an open secret, a market of bones. Those knowledgeable of its existence gather there to marvel at and deal in various bones, relics, unearthed fossils, and some more tasteful yet no less grandioze items.

Recently, London has seen a boom in palaentology. Amateurs and professional academics alike are unearthing all sorts of strange fossils and discovering yet unseen species. Such happenings are far from unexpected as the Neath offers many an oddity to be found anew. The sudden rise is, however, still rising eyebrows.

There are also those who display, offer, and successfully sell whole skeletons. Among these are seemingly impossible birds, proposed remains of saints, claimed rubbery amalgams - there are even rumours of one particular academic possessing a whole skeleton of a Master of the Bazaar.

While some claims are certainly dubious, these pieces may be considered collector, and thus it truly may be a worthy endeavour to seek to procure one such exhibit. For our own office, we have a charming mummified corpse of a saint with no less than a dozen legs.

Certainly not a purchase for the common man, perhaps this is a new opportunity for the crafty scholar.

Tread careful, London!


---------------------------------- Ask Mother Goose ----------------------------------

Dear Mother Goose,
Where are clouds when one needs an uplift?
Silver

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Silver,
Above our heads, so distant, unreachable, yet friendly and familiar.

--
R. J. Frogvarian
An Extraordinary Mind, Correspondent, and author of mysterious, if a bit scandalous, qualities.
Open to interactions, roleplay, chess, and the occasional scanadlosity.

Rebeka Frogvarian
Gone NORTH.

Publisher of The Goosey Gazette, the best stop for all things arty and Neathy!
0 link
Frogvarian
Frogvarian
Posts: 108

25 days ago
-------------------------------------- Editorial --------------------------------------

I have seen my fair share of atrocities during my lifetime. Murders in the name of justice and progress. Theft by exploitation, denial of rights, hate so seething it burns through to actions. It is truly the lowest of lows a person can hit, to turn so truly evil as to take lives for their own twisted pleasure.

In the presence of such hate one ought not to simply stand and watch. These are not the times to be silent, but to roar with the flames of revenge! Stand tall and loud and proud and defiant of evil! It is time we show those who think they can treat lives as manure that they hold power only because we allow it!

Do not hesitate to make things right, London. For too long have our words fallen on deaf ears - now, it is time to act! It is time to take arms with your fellow brothers and sisters, go out into the world, and make change happen!

We stand tall, we stand together, we stand and we will not fall.

I will see you on the front lines, London.


------------------------------------ Art of London ------------------------------------

Almost Home
by Sevenix



See more…


------------------------------- News of Art, Art of News -------------------------------

A Rather Special Interview - Prof. E. M. Canning

We bring you today an interview with a well-known academic and author, none other than Professor Eva May Canning! You can find the full interview on pages 12-15.


---------------------------------- Ask Mother Goose ----------------------------------

Dear Mother Goose,
Will we survive the night?
Hoping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Hoping,
Tell the beasts to stride away, tell the ghosts to haunt elsewhere, tell failure there is no place for it here.
edited by Frogvarian on 6/18/2020

--
R. J. Frogvarian
An Extraordinary Mind, Correspondent, and author of mysterious, if a bit scandalous, qualities.
Open to interactions, roleplay, chess, and the occasional scanadlosity.

Rebeka Frogvarian
Gone NORTH.

Publisher of The Goosey Gazette, the best stop for all things arty and Neathy!
+2 link
Frogvarian
Frogvarian
Posts: 108

18 days ago
-------------------------------------- Editorial --------------------------------------

Moving on is simply a fact of life. All comes to an end, eventually. Though places and people remain, our ties and lives with them simply cannot be forever, as much as we may try.

Such is not always bad. Moving on, yes, it is often a good part of life. Look back at the path you have travelled, at the obstacles you have overcome. Look at the beauty you have left behind.

Moving on means growth. It means realizing who you are, where you are headed, and what path is best for you to take. It means taking your life into your own hands. It means reaching for that which you truly desire.

Change is a part of life, though not a part people are at any time ready to face. When it is your own will to change, when you are an active agent in your own destiny - just know that it is good.

And change for the better, London.


------------------------------------ Art of London ------------------------------------

This War Of Ours, Part I
by Reinol von Lorica

Darkness folds over his eyes. Breathe. Listen to the sound of gunfire, of screams, and explosions in the distance. The frantic yells of a commanding officer.

“Get up private! Your empire needs you!”

He opened his eyes, breathing in the ash stricken air of the wasteland. Through the cracked lenses of his mask, he could just about make out the form of the major. Both of them were clad in the blacks and greys of the Reich uniforms. Both had that familiar coal-scuttle helmet. Both wore a gasmask.

“Just beyond that ridge! Victory will be ours!”

He didn’t recall getting up. But in that next moment, he was charging forward by the side of the officer and the rest of his comrades. He didn’t care for the sounds around him, choosing to ignore the bullets and the screams.

An explosion rocked the ground near him, sending limbs and gore flying. Blood splattered across his helm.

Just keep moving forward.


There, a trench choke full of Albion soldiers. Machine guns roared, gunning down troopers with no distinction. A grenade sails overhead, silencing it and those manning forever. Rifles cracked to life as they got closer.

“Bayonets ready! Char-”

The officer’s last words filled his ears as another explosion filled his world. He recalled flying through the air, before crashing down to the blood soaked mud.

He recalled the sounds of fighting, of a fierce melee in the trenches as soldiers amassed and fought. Dying screams filled the air amidst the battlecries of troopers.

“For the Kaiser! For Reich! Albion stands!”

Yet all he could feel was an immense wave of drowsiness as thoughts of sleep wandered into his mind. He felt his eyes drooping shut as the sounds of battle were slowly drowned out.

“Lieutenant.”


------------------------------- News of Art, Art of News -------------------------------

New Clubs Open Their Doors - Sophia’s & The Clay Tailor Reach For High Status

Two new clubs have been making waves amongst those enjoying prominence. They have opened their doors what seems to be just a week ago, yet their popularity has risen at an unprecedented speed.

Sophia’s, a club governed by its eponymous leader, the Monster-Hunting Academic, is a society for (not only) ladies to share their love of gentle acts, such as crochet, knitting, reading, anatomy, and, of course, butchering of various dangerous beasts. The club promises a slew of fun company, respect for all, and, of course, many hours of glorious monster-hunting.

The Clay Tailor, as the name suggests, is a club for those of sartorial persuasion, or at least interest. The club strives to stay at the height of fashion, though never uniformity, lest the world becomes boring. Indeed, each member is encouraged to express their individuality through that most wearable of arts - tailoring.
The club offers not only fellow tailors, tips, and pleasant political talks, but also numerous rooms for indulging their passion of garment making. Indeed, it is a wonderous opportunity for all those wanting to show their true colours in a rather tangible manner.

We at the Gazette are, of course, delighted by the appearance of these new social communities. It never hurts to break the mould after all!

Choose well, London, and enjoy communitas.


---------------------------------- Ask Mother Goose ----------------------------------

Dear Mother Goose,
A broken record I am. Yet my heart cannot stop, and I know not what to do next.
Deer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Deer,
It is simply a matter of time. For either side, truly. Nothing lasts forever, and nothing will cease eventually. It is a matter of time before a decision must be made. Just know that neither path is truly bad or truly good. Act for the embetterment of all.

--
R. J. Frogvarian
An Extraordinary Mind, Correspondent, and author of mysterious, if a bit scandalous, qualities.
Open to interactions, roleplay, chess, and the occasional scanadlosity.

Rebeka Frogvarian
Gone NORTH.

Publisher of The Goosey Gazette, the best stop for all things arty and Neathy!
0 link
Frogvarian
Frogvarian
Posts: 108

11 days ago
-------------------------------------- Editorial --------------------------------------

It is a slow process, waiting.

I feel as if I have waited my entire life. For what? There is not a singular answer. I have waited, yes, for stretches of time until events had passed. Action, wait, resolution. Wait, action, resolution. Wait, wait, wait.

Perhaps such is the way of living. To wait, always, from moment to moment. Seldom are we the true actors in our fate. Seldom is full control given to us. That is not to say such is impossible. That is only to say that we, in fact, are not alone in this world.

We are all actors and the world is but a stage. Know your lines and cues, carry yourself as you should, reap the spoils and learn from the failures. Wait. Wait for your moment. Wait for when you know it is your own time to shine. Once it comes, yes, then even you will have your moment in the spotlight. Together, in our waiting, we shall create something beautiful.

At last, I wait again.


------------------------------------ Art of London ------------------------------------

This War Of Ours
Part II
by Reinol von Lorica

Perhaps sleep wouldn’t be so bad. It would almost be a relief after all this fighting. If only that blasted noise could stop…

“Lieutenant.”

As he drifted off to the unknown, he could’ve sworn that a change had happened. The mud was awfully soft. And the noise seemed to have actually quieted down. Was this…

“Lieutenant!”

Emerald eyes opened. Breathe. Those years were gone now, taken away when the new Kaiserin of Reich vied for peace and ending the seven year long war. It was just another dream, one of many he had these nights.

He was not in the muddy wastelands of Europa. Nor was he in the midst of fighting and war. No. He was instead in a small steel room, lying comfortably on a small bed. A desk was pushed up against a wall, laden with books and papers .A half open wardrobe. It wasn’t the best of accommodations, but it was one nonetheless.

Quietly, the soldier sits up on his bed, wincing at a few creaks in his back. He stretches, ignoring the knocking on his door and the female voice calling out his rank as he stands. Time for a new day, he supposed.

“I’m coming.” He approaches the wardrobe, and opens it, revealing the very same grey uniform he wore during those war stricken years, albeit cleaned up and updated.

With a sigh, he put it on with haste, almost relieved at the comfort to be back in a uniform again. A quick look in the mirror, and soon, he had opened the door, revealing the youthful face of the trooper.

“Lieutenant von Lorica, sir!” she snapped to attention, which was returned. Seeing no reason to hold him up, she spoke. “Colonel Schmidt wishes to meet you on the bridge. We’re making touchdown on Port Weiss soon, sir.”

He nods and waves her off, dismissing her. “At ease, get some food, and thank you for informing me of this.” Whatever else she did was tuned out as he stepped out of his room and into the steel hallways of the Reich Airship Siegfried.

Walking through them revealed no further enlightenment. A few crewmembers nodded at him as he walked by, though he encountered no fellow soldiers. Perhaps they were all in the mess hall. In less than five minutes, he had entered the bridge.

Instantly, he was greeted by the sounds of working pilots and mechanics. The chatter of the crew as they eased into their flight. The whirs and hums of machinery and screens.

And then, there was the view. Past the glass screens, the skies, untainted by smoke or smog. Clouds drifted lazily past as the vast expanse of the bright blue sky stretched for what seemed to be an eternity.

For a moment, he loses himself in the beauty. Truly, airships were one of the greatest miracles of the Age of Steam. Even now, he was still surprised how this hunk of metal stayed flying.

“Ah. Good morning lieutenant,” the words snapped him out of his reverie, and the soldier stood at attention to his superior officer. “Colonel Schmidt.”


------------------------------- News of Art, Art of News -------------------------------

The Great Hellbound Railway - Construction Begins!

From the office of our Lord Mayor, Virginia, comes a diplomatic treaty - with none other than Hell itself. It seems that the Hell-owned Moloch Station railway shall not be the only one connecting our fair city to the land of the devils. Indeed, contracts have been struck with many a side, the Bazaar had given its blessing, the Tracklayers’ Union is in full force, and a board of distinguished and prominent figures now overlooks and bickers over every detail of this upcoming project.

An ambitious one it is indeed, and we, as anyone else, are looking forward to seeing not only the speed and efficiency of the construction, but also what profits, benefits, and general outcomes such a connection to Hell will yield for the public at large.

Indeed, perhaps a sanctioned vacation in Hell itself is not far off from the table now! Certainly, there are many of those who would kill to have a peak at those brass gates - yet we advise patience! The first leg of the tracks has been laid, and we now await further comments from the Great Hellbound Railway Board.

In the meantime - stay safe, London!


---------------------------------- Ask Mother Goose ----------------------------------

Dear Mother Goose,
Oh what joy self-discovery is.
Spade

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Spade,
No virtue, truly, holds more glory than the knowledge of oneself.

--
R. J. Frogvarian
An Extraordinary Mind, Correspondent, and author of mysterious, if a bit scandalous, qualities.
Open to interactions, roleplay, chess, and the occasional scanadlosity.

Rebeka Frogvarian
Gone NORTH.

Publisher of The Goosey Gazette, the best stop for all things arty and Neathy!
0 link
Frogvarian
Frogvarian
Posts: 108

4 days ago
-------------------------------------- Editorial --------------------------------------

The nature of complicity is that of a boiled frog. The heat slowly rising as the water around you boils and you do not even notice so preoccupied with your own self you are. Perhaps such sentiment is a tad cynical. After all, we are good people, are we not?

One’s emotions are difficult to reconcile with. It takes practice, effort, will. Then come the questions of morality. Is it best for the world? For the relationship? For them? For them? What might the best be, in any case. To ask oneself such questions ad infinitum is, perhaps, at least a step in the right direction.

I do not want to see the world burn. I do not want to see hate spread. Best smother it in its cradle, though it is no longer an infant. Best pluck it by the roots. No, I only fear I have grown far to complicit to do what is necessary. Perhaps I fear that which is necessary.

Frogs, by all accounts, do not let themselves be boiled alive. They have a sense of self-preservation, and they certainly know when water is too hot for them.

No, truly. Frogs are not complicit in their own demise. They, however, have an easy choice to make.


------------------------------------ Art of London ------------------------------------

This War Of Ours
Part III
by Reinol von Lorica

Irvin Schmidt was a tall individual. Pale and blue eyed, with dark blonde hair and smooth features. His dark grey uniform contrasted with his bright features. The commander nodded and gestured for him to come over.

“I suppose you’ve heard of our assignment?” he inquired. To his side, a brown haired officer with dark eyes stared. Lieutenant Colonel Hans Meyer. While he never got along with the younger officer, he admired his sound head for tactics. Irvin however, was another matter entirely.

“Yes sir,” he replies. His thoughts wandered. Behind them, a flock of birds flew past the screens. Idly, he wondered what it would be like to fly like them. To be free and unidbidden by the duty that burdened him. Those thoughts are quashed by the words from the fourth officer who had joined their group.

“Those damn rebels really don’t know when to quit do they?”

Irvin said nothing, but Hans flinched at his harsh words. He always was a soft man. “Richter. Mind your words,” he lightly scolded. “We’re supposed to act professional.”

Captain Arnold Richter was anything but a professional man. His features were tanned and rugged from years of fighting, his dark hair cut short and his beard even shorter. The man scowled and folded his arms. “You know I’m right.”

A brief silence ensues. He supposed he was. The rebellion was far more fierce than what the government or the military had expected. So much so that the uprising had spread to the colonies.

Any reply he had in mind was soon cut off by the captain of the ship, who approached them, her bright eyes gleaming with amusement. “If you fine gentlemen would allow me to interrupt, we’re almost at port. I suggest getting your troops ready to disembark. We’re on a schedule.”

Irvin nods and gestures for the trio to get ready. “I will, captain,” he said nothing else, and it was clear they were dismissed. “Pardon me for cutting this short. We’ll talk again when we land.Get some breakfast while you still can.” Nods and ‘yes sirs’ were his reply, and soon they found themselves marching towards the corridor to the mess hall.

“And Fabian,” Irvin spoke. The lieutenant stops, startled by the older man’s call. “Try to get more rest.”

For a moment, Fabian von Lorica stood on the bridge, waiting for the colonel to say something else. But when no other words came, he sighed, and made his way to the mess hall. Partially to gather the troops and partially so that he could get some more sleep after a quick meal.

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the blasted wasteland of the fields.


--------------------------------- ~ * ~ * ~ Electorial News ~ * ~ * ~ ---------------------------------

Election 1898 Candidates Announced

Three prominent Londoners have announced their candidacy in the year 1898 Lord Mayoral elections. This year, something truly exceptional has happened. Perhaps we can thank Lord Mayor Virginia for opening the door for non-humans - whatever the case, the candidates are truly exquisite!

F. F. Gebrandt - a chemist and an academic, planning to build a palaeontological museum in London; her candidacy, of course, is in support of progress and the sciences.

The Viscountess of the Viric Jungle - an honourable cat candidate. As the first cat-candidate, she promises to protect the dreams of Londoners from the wiles of nightmares (and, perhaps, snakes).

The Tentacled Entrepreneur - a well-respected Rubbery candidate! The Entrepreneur is respected not only by other Rubberies but also by many humans. A businessrubbery to be sure, he has taken to liking the arts of not only humans, but also other Rubberies, and promises a Renaissance of Rubbery Culture!

Indeed, we are proud and excited beyond belief to announce that not one, but two candidates are of non-human disposition in this year’s election! With these candidacies comes a more diverse, and hopefully more just, London.

Elections proper are still two weeks away, and we patiently await to hear more of the candidates’ platforms! Do let us know what you think, London!


------------------------------- News of Art, Art of News -------------------------------

First Great Hellbound Railway Station - Ealing Garden One Train Closer!

The Great Hellbound Railway is making headway as the very first station opens its doors. Passing through the Ealing borough on the edge of London proper, this station signals great progress in this Hellbound venture.

Ealing, as some may know, has been out of the reach of London’s powers-that-be since the fall. Home to outcasts and criminals, it also houses the unwelcome Rubberies who form more welcome (though still suspicified) communities. The Tentacled Entrepreneur also has his first and largest factories there.

Seeing as Ealing is a more underprivileged part of London, yet still a part of London, the question becomes how this connection will affect life. With a train connecting this distant part from the centre of our city, perhaps business can prosper and life can become better. It is also left to see what the Great Hellbound Railway Board (on which the very Entrepreneur sits as a member) will act to possibly support Ealing.

While still under minor construction, trains should start running to and from Ealing Station in a few day’s time.


---------------------------------- Ask Mother Goose ----------------------------------

Dear Mother Goose,
Oh how I despise the thoughts. Cannot financing be a simpler matter?
Swamped

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Swamped,
Everything has its place and time. Perhaps consider waiting next time. Though, of waiting there has been enough. Perhaps, well, perhaps I can grant it just this once.

--
R. J. Frogvarian
An Extraordinary Mind, Correspondent, and author of mysterious, if a bit scandalous, qualities.
Open to interactions, roleplay, chess, and the occasional scanadlosity.

Rebeka Frogvarian
Gone NORTH.

Publisher of The Goosey Gazette, the best stop for all things arty and Neathy!
0 link




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