Fourteen-year-old Michael shielded his eyes from the sun as he held his breath, watching Charlotte. He loved her so much. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

Twelve-year-old Charlotte Christianson grinned as she nimbly made her way up the tree. A few months ago, Michael had helped her climb one for the first time. Her parents had been too busy to ever teach Charlotte how to climb trees. Her parents were usually too busy to do anything with Charlotte. This made Michael even more protective of her.

After Charlotte settled on a branch, she carefully began to pick the fruit with her gloved hands and drop them down to Michael, who placed them in a bushel. Later, he would take them to the farmer’s market and sell them. For the last two years, Michael had been making money here and there by doing odd jobs. Though he never made much gold at a time, with Charlotte’s help, he had managed to save up enough to buy a modest plot of land. He hoped to surprise her with a home of their own in the near future.

Charlotte absentmindedly began singing, which made Michael smile. Her spirits were lifted by the melodies that lived inside her when she brought them forth, but the desire to do so was fleeting and rare.

Since Charlotte was no longer paying attention to him, Michael allowed his gaze to drift down to her gloved hands. Waves of anger, sadness, and helplessness washed over him. Michael silently vowed that, once he got her away from this place, he would keep her safe for the rest of their lives.

(A big “Thank you!” to EM Drosselmeyer for his help with this piece.)

Lady Charlotte Christianson shivered underneath her covers. Her long dark hair was now plastered to her forehead and cheeks, which were damp with sweat. Her fever had spiked.

She looked bleary-eyed at the figure that shimmered next to her bed.

“Fern.” she murmured.

No.

“Michael?” she croaked, with a twinge of hope.

The figure drew near.

Pitiful, pathetic little girl.
Lonely and bitter at the age of twenty.

Charlotte reached her hand out toward the figure.

Unwed and unwanted.

“Grandmother?” she asked, recoiling.

How are those hands?

Terrified, Charlotte backed away from the figure until she tumbled off the bed, striking her head against the wall.

Aldritch, seed of Jenkins, was insane. He hoped to force a war between us. It is the House of Jenkins – not the Citizens of Britannia – that must bear the shame of her son. This matter will be investigated. And justice will be ours.

You will answer for this massacre. Don’t make us wait too long.

Sol Invictus. The Unconquered Sun. To the ancient Pagans, Winter Solstice marked the night when their Horned God rose again. When the Sun, the divine masculine, was born anew and reunited with his eternal companion, the Great Goddess. It is for them, a time of celebration and mirth. Revelry, not so different from our own.

The Gypsies, lowlanders wandering the paths and ancient breezeways of fallen Ilshenar, celebrate this holiday each year in the shadow of the Compassion shrine. It was there we gathered.

Cezanne Abella, who arranged the celebration, began the evening by consecrating the ground beneath them. Around the bonfire, she lit four candles, calling on the Powers of the four cardinal directions to protect those ensnared within. And then, with a prayer, she called upon the spirit of her God and Goddess.

She, and others, then socialized, danced and exchanged stories around the fire. Cezanne chanted “Nocturne Sol Invictus,” while Paytience, Fortunada, and an unnamed stranger offered tales of their own.

When a pause came, the Gypsy Rom Baro, Agostino, awed the ladies present with a fire dance and a song of his own.

Ten-year-old Charlotte Christianson was curled up with Michael in one of the many unused rooms of the castle.

“I must be able to take care of you first.” Michael explained, lightly stroking her hair.

“I will take care of you!” Charlotte protested, looking up at him.

“No, Charlotte.” Michael said patiently, kissing her forehead. “A man takes care of his woman.”

“I am your ‘woman’ now?” she responded coyly, suddenly pretending to examine the threads on his shirt to hide her smile.

Looking down at her, Michael used his finger to lift her chin.

“You have always been mine and you will always be mine.” he said matter-of-factly, sounding much more serious than a twelve-year-old should.

Charlotte smiled girlishly and snuggled closer to him. Michael let go of her chin and wrapped her up once more. As Charlotte drifted off to sleep, Michael tightened his arms around her and contemplated how he would support Charlotte in the lifestyle that she had become accustomed to.

Unbeknownst to the children, Charlotte’s grandmother had been listening in on them. The Grand Duchess scowled as she made her way back to her room, plotting.

They call us many things… Neighbor, Gypsy, Friend, Foe…
But we are of this soil in one fashion or another.
We are of each other and it is the world in which we live that we pay tribute to this eve.
The Sun King is reborn and life once again has hope..

Join us as we celebrate this momentous Solstice.

Compassion Gypsy Camp (nearest the moongate)
7PST/10EST
There will be small tokens passed out, bonfire and open to all for stories.

The Royal Guard responsible for the murder of five Magincians – Joshua Aldritch Jenkins – has been killed.

The suspect – who had been bound to his location on Lenmir Anfinmotas the evening before – was confronted by a militia of Britannian and Magincian soldiers led by Captain Jenkins of the Royal Britannian Guard. Aldritch, who identified himself as the nephew of the sometimes controversial officer, seemed to gain a moment of …lucidity, before descending into a new tirade, accepting blame for the murders, claiming the orders had come down from the High Council itself.

Dante and the Magincians, troubled by the accusation, offered the Captain a grim choice: execute the man, and absolve the Council, or protect the murderer and die with him.

The Captain attempted to restrain his scion, but the demoniac resisted, mutating into something …inhuman, enhanced by dark powers. They were left with no other choice, and quickly cut down and dismembered Aldritch as his Uncle watched. But even that failed to stop the man, for even as the drops of his tainted blood soaked into the sand, like seed, they festered and grew into new Daemons of Shadow and Oblivion.

The Britannians and their Magincian counterparts were almost driven from the stretch of sand, but at last the shadow was overcome.

There is no word on how this will impact negotiations between Britannia and Magincia. The Captain is said to be isolating himself in Castle Britannia, and is not receiving visitors.

No longer would they be ignored.
No longer would they remain silent.
No longer would they settle for broken promises.

They would assemble together publicly, where liked-minded and repressed citizens can join together, bonded together in cause and purpose, to openly voice their concerns and demands in combined unison and strength. Undoubtedly, others will eagerly join the movement and their numbers will swell. Soon the ears of their intended targets will be forced to listen to their demands!

Where: West Britain Bank
When: Thursday, 6:30PM PST