blackwood gazette

Blackwood Gazette: Update

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Hello! I just thought I’d drop in and let what few regular readers I have know that I’m still alive, and the Blackwood Gazette is still a priority. I’ve got big plans for the Gazette this year; the Triumvirate faces some major changes in the form of shifting alliances and technological developments, not to mention this mysterious destabilizing force known only as the Cartographers. And with Adella Chatelaine back in the game, who knows what secrets may be uncovered? Expect mystery, intrigue, and high adventure on a semi daily basis!

So what have I been working on in the interim? That’s a bit of a secret, as I have no idea if it will ever happen and I don’t want to risk looking like an asshole by announcing some huge thing and not delivering…although, I suppose it might be too late for that, so who knows. Hopefully this project I’m writing works out.

Also, full confession time: I’m playing Fallout 4, and working retail during the holidays. Anyone who’s familiar with either should know what that means for productivity without me having to get too into it.

The Gazette will resume in January. In the meantime, you can play catch up, or check out my novel, Where, No One Knows, starring recurring characters such as the agent provocateur Pixie Sinclaire, the mad alchemist Rigel Rinkenbach, and the disgraced pirate captain Roderick La Pierre.

Blackwood Gazette: Update

Blackwood Gazette #201: Adella Chatelaine Resigns from the Blackwood Gazette; Plans to Pursue Career as Independent Journalist (Lelina Horror, Conclusion)

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By Adella Chatelaine, Investigative Reporter

10/11- It is with a heavy heart that I must announce that I will not be returning to the Blackwood Gazette as a full time correspondent. My time here has, mostly, been a great chapter of my life. However, there are things that I must turn my attention to now, that I would not be able to do under the auspices of such a well-regarded publication.

During my time in the colonies and subsequent captivity, I learned of forces at work in this world that most believe do not exist. These forces are protected by an almost institutionalized sense of denial, one that I can no longer be privy to. And because of that, I believe I am a target. I cannot in good conscience drag my fellow reporters and friends into such a mess.

So I will go on alone, as an independent journalist. I will search the dark corners of this earth to ferret out the secrets of this hidden cabal that I believe is pulling the strings of world industry and development. I know not what their plans are, these Cartographers. I have my doubts that many of them even know, and I cannot even begin to fathom the place in which the diabolical experiment that so many others and I were forced to endure fits into those machinations, but I vow to find out.

A lie, after all, is a construct. And like any construct it needs to be maintained. Given time, or the proper application of force, any lie will eventually crumble. And the truth therein revealed.

I would like to thank my fellow reporters at the Gazette for their support and guidance over the years, in particular Mister Maurice Merchant, who took a chance when he hired me on after the whole Bulloch award fiasco and never gave up hope that I would return home. I don’t know where I would be without you all and the Gazette.

Fare well.

 

 

Blackwood Gazette #201: Adella Chatelaine Resigns from the Blackwood Gazette; Plans to Pursue Career as Independent Journalist (Lelina Horror, Conclusion)

The Lelina Horror, Part 19

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PIXIE (IX)

Vengeance is a pesky thing. It isn’t exactly justice, but the need for it can eat at a person. And unlike other emotions or whatever vengeance is, it doesn’t dampen with time. Revenge is a dish best served cold, as they say.

It’s also very rarely justified, but that doesn’t matter to the person searching for it. They just want closure. There’s a lot of things I could say about the feelings in the air that night as we escaped from the hospital, but I don’t think closure was one of them. At least not for Arufina Villanova.

I felt the cold steel of her gun barrel against my head, and then I heard the click of the hammer as it fell on a dud, of all things. With how many rounds were fired over that ten minutes or so, I guess at least one was bound to misfire. I don’t consider it fate, or even luck. Just…statistics, I guess.

I turned around and gave her an evil glare. There was no surprise on her face, just resignation as she lowered the gun and said, “Go.”

We made it back to Point Hammond by dawn, and luckily for us, not a Cartographer could be seen. The large group of malnourished people in ragged clothes did catch the attention of the local law, however, and we were all taken in for disturbing the peace. It took some explaining but once I was able to impart to the sheriff who we were and where we had come from, he contacted the nearby Marshal garrison and handed us off to them.

The Marshal’s fed us, treated Veronica’s wounds and had a doctor examine the people we’d rescued. None of them were in trouble physically. Psychologically, however, was a different story. After a few days we were cleared to leave. As I understand, several of the captives stayed. I don’t know their reasons.

As for Mister Bricklebrand McKay: I had assumed Arufina had killed him. Such was not the case, as he was already at the garrison when we arrive. He ran away, you see. I wish I could say that surprised me, but it doesn’t.

Veronica, Adella, Doctor Rothery and I chartered a ferry up the coast to the city of Bly, where they will board a train to New Crowndon in the morning. We traveled in relative silence. I considered asking Adella and Doctor Rothery for details, but decided against it. If Adella ever wishes to tell the story of what happened, I imagine she will do so in her own time.

By the time we arrived in Bly, the news had already hit the papers. A number of reporters and well-wishers greeted us. Adella and Rothery were in no mood to answer questions, so I stepped in as spokesperson, stressing the need to let them provide answers in their own time.

Veronica, Adella and I just had a goodbye dinner, where we spoke of things other than Point Hammond and Lelina. I told them of some of my lighter exploits since the end of the war, and Veronica told of her dig in Pharassus. Adella didn’t share much, but she seemed in high spirits. I have hopes that she will carry on.

I will not be joining them on the train to New Crowndon. No sooner than I returned to my room at the hotel did my handler with the Society send me details on my next job. The Triumvirate Authority is worried about whatever Alejandro Julianos is looking for down south, and since I’m in the area, the task falls to me.

And so, as one task ends, another begins.

The Lelina Horror, Part 19

The Lelina Horror, Part 13

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PIXIE (V)

20th of 9th Month, 281st Year of the Triumvirate

Another day, another bullet in the shoulder.

It wasn’t long after escaping from the mad woman beneath the pier in Docryville that I found myself in Point Hammond, following up on a lead for another job involving grave robbers in a town called Dundry. It was also where Professor Babin of the Lelina expedition had been found a few months before, thus and the last point of contact for the missing. The lead on the artifacts proved to be a setup by the Cartographers, which I imagined would be the case before hand.

It wasn’t that they got the drop on me. I fully expected the whole meeting to be a set up. I just didn’t expect them to send SO MANY. I suppose I should be flattered.

In any case I met the man who claimed to have more information on why these grave robbers had been targeting specific native-newlander burial sites in the local feed-store. He turned out to be a Cartographer, just as I suspected might happen. That’s when Bianca showed up and started running her mouth, as was to be expected.

What I didn’t expect was the veritable army of Blues who came crashing into the room, all of them with pistols drawn, and all of them pointed straight at me. As I assessed the situation, I considered a sleeping pill might be a solution to throw them off their mark and provide me with an out. That plan was a no-go, however. They were all wearing filtration masks, no doubt at Bianca’s urging.

Time to change tactics.

While I majored in spy-craft, so to speak, I minored in alchemy. I wouldn’t exactly call myself an adept, but I had a good teacher. In addition to giving me the base knowledge needed to create something like my little sleeping bombs, Rigel Rinkenbach taught me a few other formulas, too. I’ve refined a system over the years, taking the most versatile ingredients available to me to create a wide array of agents with an even wider array of effects. Some could induce sleep, some were hallucinogenic. More than a few would increase libido, and even more could explode. There was a new one I wanted to try, and now, standing in the middle of a room with about twenty heaters pointed in my face, I felt it might be a good time for a test.

“Well, then,” I said, putting my hands up. “Alright, Bianca. I can’t really argue with these numbers. You’ve got me.”

I put my hands behind my head. Concealed in a leather brace on my left arm was a tube containing two liquids that, when mixed together, created a highly corrosive gas, undetectable by sight or smell. I discovered the effect quite by accident while trying to create a flameless light source a couple years back. It didn’t affect flesh or wood, but it played hell with anything made of iron or steel.

I reached into the brace and broke the tube. The liquid ran down my arm. It burned a little bit, but the substances by themselves were harmless. Now all I had to do was wait.

“You’re damn right, I got you!” Bianca said. “The great Pixie Sinclaire. More than two hundred successful covert missions behind Crowndon lines, and even more that no one knows about. You’ve put up a hell of a chase but it didn’t matter in the end, did it? I got you!”

“Geez, Bianca,” I said. “Act like you’ve done this before.”

“Enough,” said the man I’d come to meet. “She’s trying to piss you off, Bianca. Stop falling for it. And you, Miss Sinclaire, please. The odds are clearly against you. We don’t want to hurt you. Our Prime simply wants to discuss some things. Something big is about to happen…”

“Um,” I heard someone on the second story landing say. “Sir?”

“Something that will change the course of our society…”

“Sir?”

“For the Man’s sake, what is it?”

“I think there’s something wrong with my gun.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, well, the, uh…the hammer just fell off.”

I heard a thump from the other side of the landing. I looked over and saw a man with a puzzled look on his face who held nothing but a pistol grip. The entire top half of the gun had fallen off.

Holy crap! It was actually working!

One of the men behind Bianca fell over, holding his knee and screaming.

“What’s wrong with you, now?” Bianca asked.

“There’s a rod in my leg,” he said through clenched teeth. “Got it during the war. Something’s wrong with it.”

Bianca looked at me.

“It’s her! She’s done something!” Bianca raised her gun at me and tried to pull the trigger, but the trigger crumbled under the pressure. With a frustrated howl, she threw the gun at me. I shielded my face with my arms and the gun hit. It exploded into a powder and the wooden grips fell to the floor. Still hurt, though.

The scene repeated itself as the others in the room pulled their triggers, only to have their weapons fall apart. Well, except for one guy, who’d been hiding out in the back of the room.

His weapon actually fired, and the bullet struck the wall behind me. Deciding that the odds had been sufficiently evened out, I turned tail and ran…right into a street lined with Blues and their fully functional revolvers.

“Shit.”

They opened fire from the side streets and the roof tops, mud and horse crap and a whole slew of other nastiness spraying up around me. I turned west and started running. I’d cased the town earlier, and knew of an alley that led out of town and into the woods.

I’d nearly made it when a bullet hit my shoulder. I stumbled forward, cursing. Just when my last set of bullet holes had healed up, too.

I ducked into the nearest alley, across the street from the local saloon. One of the Blues was inside the alley, taking a leak against the wall. He went for his gun. I lunged forward and grabbed his arm. The weapon went off next to my ear, and for the next few moments it was like the whole world was ringing bells in my head. I wrenched his arm and threw him out of the alley. He landed in the muck at the feet of about four of his comrades. I aimed and fired, taking a couple of them in the leg. The others scattered and I took cover behind a barrel.
I peeked out and saw a woman standing on a balcony on the second story of the saloon, watching the whole affair. Above her, on the roof, was another woman. Not an employee. She was tall, even crouched on one knee, wearing a duster. Long black hair blew out behind her. She held a rifle.

The mad woman from beneath the pier.

Her again! Had she been the one to shoot me? No…the saloon had been in front of me, and the shot that hit me came from behind. And judging from the rifle she held, a shot from that likely would have left my arm hanging by a thread.

More than that, she didn’t appear focused on me. She had her rifle sighted down the street, and was firing at the Cartographers. Perhaps she didn’t know I was there?

She whipped the rifle toward me and took a shot. I pulled back behind the barrel, just in time. The bullet struck a chicken in a cage behind me. It exploded in a puff of feathers and blood. That might have been my head.

“Up on the roof!” I heard someone yell. Shots rang out and I peeked out. I saw the woman from the balcony run inside, wood and windows splintering and shattering around her. The woman on the roof ducked down.

With both parties trying to kill me occupied, I turned my attention to the back of the alley. There was a fence blocking this one, but it didn’t look very sturdy. I ran toward it and barreled into it with my un-wounded shoulder…and bounced right off, landing on the wounded one.

Pain racked my body and my head spun, but I got back up and drove out with my foot. One of the boards snapped in the middle. I repeated the process a few more times until I finally had a hole large enough to escape through. I squeezed through, leaving the pops of gunfire behind me, and entered the woods.

***

The events of this story were originally told in Blackwood Gazette #190.

Sorry for the inordinate amount of cross-links to old Gazette entries. I’m not entirely sure how the Pixie Sinclaire side of this story is shaping out…it’s really more of a spy-adventure than a horror story, and I’m not sure how it meshes with the Adella side. The idea was to have Adella visit a place, and then follow up with Pixie following in her footsteps a year later, but it hasn’t quite panned out like that. Perhaps upon revision I’ll separate the two, tell the Adella half first and then the Pixie Sinclaire half.

Anyone who has read this far…what do you think?

***

BONUS: A while back I posted a picture of my friend Kasey Walton (Kwaltonvx.com) in costume as Rigel Rinkenbach. He’s worked on it a bit more, adding a wig and and a frilly shirt (the i-phone is not a part of the ensemble…unless Rigel invented the smart phone? Hmmm…):

RigelLIVESSeeing this gives me great hope that my ultimate dream of making a Blackwood Empire web series will come to fruition!

The Lelina Horror, Part 13

The Lelina Horror, Part One

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ADELLA  (I)

7th of Eighth Month, 280th Year of the Triumvirate

Halfway through the long western leg of our airship journey to the Imperial Colonies, Doctor Veronica Trenum asks me if I have ever heard the theory of how the Newlands came into being. I tell her that I haven’t, and she smiles a little half smile. I expect the world renowned archaeologist to regale me with a bit of history, or a creation myth of some sort. What I get instead is more a taste of folk whimsy.

“They say it’s a shit the Man took when he laid down in the ocean to die.”

The answer takes me aback for a few seconds; most every story Doctor Trenum tells me does at first. She’s a fount of obscure references, tales, and cultural anecdotes. As usual, after the initial shock wears off, I laugh. Usually, this is where Doctor Trenum herself would join me, but she does not. She instead gives me an impatient, sideways glare. I stop laughing. She’s deadly serious.

As it turns out, that really is the grand mythic explanation that the colonists have for the place. That when the Man laid down, died, and formed the Old Continent, he defecated, forming the Newlands. I find it a bit crass, personally, but after having spent a week here, I can see the disillusion that might bear such cynicism.

We land in New Crowndon, and it is very much like what I’d imagine the ports of Old Crowndon must have looked like two hundred years ago, at the beginning of our own industrialization. Ramshackle buildings dot the harbor, thrown up in haste to serve necessity. A few sit in a perpetual state of half renovation, the abandoned properties of shipping companies that tried to expand too quickly and ran out of money in the process.
Beyond the harbor are the city’s old quarters, the town that sprung up around the first settlers’ landing. The buildings were sturdy once, but fifty years of life along the coast without proper maintenance have taken their toll.

Most of the streets here are still mud. Gnats, mosquitos, and a dozen other unholy winged annoyances buzz around putrid green puddles of stagnate water. The imprints of horse shoes litter the edges of the main thoroughfare, indicative of the fact that most people here still ride horse back. Rare is the occasion that one sees the unbroken track of a wheel, and when one does, it’s typically evidence of a carriage rather than an auto.

Rustic inhabitants, with hard eyes peering out of bagged, purple sockets spend their days toiling at work or haunting the local taverns. The men are almost uniformly unshaven, their hands thick fingered and calloused from hard days spent in lumber mills or building yards. Most everyone smokes incessantly, a sweet smelling herb that grows in the forests nearby, I’m told.

The women are hardly different from the men. Many perform the same tasks of lumbering and building, but with the added burdens of child rearing and housekeeping (the first woman I saw stood on a roof, ripping up old thatching with mud stained fingers and replacing it with fresh straw). Not that child rearing lasts very long in a place like this; most of the children I saw worked alongside their parents.

My first impression, walking through the streets to our hotel, was that these men and women were without humor, but such isn’t the case. At night, when the sounds of falling hammers and saws cutting through timber die down, laughter and song fills the air, along with the smell of deer meat and pork smoked to perfection and spiced with local flavor. The disillusionment lifts, and I once again struggle with the idea of this place being an ancient deity’s dying feculence. Most laugh when I ask about it. A few just stare blankly at the dregs in their cups.

The revelry is short, and the people begin to retire at midnight. There is hard work in the morning, and the days are hot this time of year.

Sleep doesn’t come easy to me that first night. My brain is still buzzing from the excitement of coming to this new place, meeting these new people. I just lay in bed with my eyes closed, writing internally.
—
I get up early and go downstairs. It’s deserted, but coffee has already been made. I pour a cup and throw a couple of coins into a jar set next to the pot. It’s a bit strong, the kind of strong meant more to sober people up and set them off to work than for enjoyment.

I spend an hour composing my thoughts while the sun comes up and the streets outside come to life. Just after dawn, Dr. Trenum comes down, along with two men and two other women. They joke and laugh, and Dr. Trenum sees them out.

“Are you going to write about that?” she asks me. I tell her only if she wants me to. She shakes her head.

“That disappoints me. I would expect you to tell the truth. I want you to tell the truth. Anyone who cannot deal with it…they are not worth our time.”

So, I write about it, only describing what I see. I’ll let the readers make their assumptions.
We eat a breakfast of eggs and sausage, very bare bones. Utilitarian, like the coffee. Doctor Trenum and I trade stories we heard the night before.

Settlements in the northwest are dealing with an outbreak of plague. In the south west, Doctor Argyle Von Grimm and his gang have taken over a new town. Refugees from their last conquest have started flooding east, towards Lelina, our destination.

I doubt they will receive a warm welcome. Many people displaced by Von Grimm’s reign of terror have made their way to New Crowndon. They are relegated to a hastily constructed camp constructed on the city’s outskirts and not permitted to enter without official chaperones.

After breakfast, we leave the inn and hire a carriage to take us to the main city. A pack of laughing, red faced children trail our wagon, waving as we leave toward the University of New Crowndon to meet with Doctor Trenum’s peers. It is from here that we will set off to the southern territories, taking a steam boat along the Miskaton river.

Groups of Colonial Marshals stand guard on street corners and balconies along the way. They’ve been called in to help with the refugees, but word is they are also on the lookout for the Waystation Bravo fugitives, Klaudhopper and Villanova. Last night we heard rumors that they have slipped the net, however, and already made it farther inland.

We reach the outskirts of the old quarter. The lumber mills, wood buildings and mud streets give way to brick and cobbles. The people change, as well. They are prettier, softer, but colder. I see no children playing. No scents hang on the air. This is a place for business and learning, but not living. Returning to a more developed part of the city should be a return to the familiar, but the whole thing is off putting. Something feels off here. I suppose I’ve just become accustomed to traveling.

We pull onto the main thoroughfare, and directly ahead of us I can see the University. It is here that we will begin to tease out the answers to one of the greatest archaeological mysteries of our time.

***

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hello! Today marks the first installment in an ongoing story that will detail the mystery of what happened to the Gazette reporter, Adella Chatelaine. It’s my attempt at a horror story, just in time for Halloween. I wanted to do this last year, but time got away from me.

Some readers might have a feeling of deja vu…this first week of installments first appeared as Gazette entries last year. I felt they were pertinent to the story, and its been awhile so I figured it wouldn’t hurt for a recap. Also, it will buy me some time to work on the remainder of the story.

The entries aren’t unchanged, however. They’ve been revised and updated where necessary. This is still very much a work in progress (they always are!) so feel free to let me know where I can improve.

Enjoy!

The Lelina Horror, Part One

Blackwood Gazette #200- Adella Chatelaine, 13 Others Found Alive In Wilderness Around Point Hammond

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By Maurice Merchant, Editor in Chief

8/10- It is with a great sense of both personal and professional relief that I am able to announce the nearly year-long search for a member of the Gazette family has come to an end. Adella Chatelaine, who traveled to the colony of Lelina along with the famed archaeologist Veronica Trenum and several other acclaimed New Crowndon academics to study a recently discovered ruin in the swamp has been found, alive and relatively well, after mysteriously disappearing last year.

Details of the events leading up to her rescue are scarce at the moment, but we have been told that Miss Chatelaine, along with several others, were found trapped within the decaying remains of a large building in the woods 60 miles south of Point Hammond. Not much is known about the abandoned structure, or how Miss Chatelaine and the others came to be there.

We have no word on what happened to the rest of Miss Chatelaine’s team, though none of them were found. Miss Chatelaine herself is said to be, understandably, shaken by the experience, and local law enforcement has restricted the amount of information released to the public until a proper investigation can be made.

Pixie Sinclaire, however, is less beholden to such things.

“I’m still trying to parse out everything I saw,” Miss Sinclaire wrote in a brief statement to me. “Still trying to process it…much of it defies any attempt at rationalization, as if the thoughts themselves are alive and fighting my efforts to interpret the events in a natural, earthly way. It may just be the exhaustion, the low that comes after a rush of adrenaline and the chilliness of the horrors I saw muddling my mind, interfering with my ability to think. Perhaps, with time, I will be able to explain things better. It could also be that I have no right to attempt to explain what I saw; the best source for answers will be those, Adella among them, who lived in that nightmare for who knows how long.

“I would advise not pressing the matter on them, however, until they are ready to speak. If you truly consider Adella your friend, do not force her to relive any events that may have transpired until she is ready and willing to divulge that information herself. In fact, perhaps in just this one case, some questions are best left unanswered.

“We should simply take solace in the fact that our mutual friend, and those others found with her, have…survived (I balk at using the word ‘alive’ and hate myself for it, but I fear it may be the wrong word to use). Our only desire now should be helping them find peace.”

***

CLIFFHANGER!!!

Today marks my first feeble attempt at introducing some horror elements into the Gazette, and the larger Blackwood Empire story line, just in time for the Halloween season. It’s also going to be the last Gazette this year. With any luck, however, the answers that Pixie suggests are best kept hidden may start coming next week. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at a good old Gothic style or Lovecraftian horror story, an itch that’s only gotten worse since I’m now waist deep watching that show Penny Dreadful, so that’s what I’ll be working on the next few weeks.

The idea I’m going with is that Adella didn’t stop writing after her last fateful missive to the Gazette…she kept on, but that writing never got sent. The narrative will consist of her lost articles, leap-frogging with journals kept by Pixie Sinclaire in her search for the missing expedition. Hopefully I’ll be pleased enough with the early results to post them.

Blackwood Gazette #200- Adella Chatelaine, 13 Others Found Alive In Wilderness Around Point Hammond

Blackwood Gazette #199- “Leviathan” Prison Ship Leaves Port Under Cover of Night; To Where? No One Knows

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By Chester Seaton, News

7/10- We’ve known for some time that the privately funded, Inter-Imperial maximum security prison ship codenamed “Leviathan” was nearing completion, but no one knew when it would be ready. We now have an answer, and apparently that answer was ‘yesterday’.

Reports out of the shipyards along the Toring coast claim that the massive superstructure, composed of three converted Crowndonian Naval Warships, left its mooring at some point during the early morning hours yesterday. The port authority was given no word when it left, nor were they given a bearing.

“We expected this,” the head of Toring Port Authority told us. “About a week or so ago, we were told to keep the lanes in front of dock 75 clear for the next week. That’s where the ship was located. It’s been a pain trying to divert every ship coming in, and the amount of security we’ve had to deal with for the past three years has been a major hassle, so I have to say I’m glad it’s gone.”

There were other indications that the ship might be setting off soon, as well.

“The last three months, we’ve been seeing all these black and yellow wagons coming through town,” said one resident, who lives nearby. “I’d imagine now they were prisoners being brought in for their new digs. I’d say the thought of criminals bad enough to be incarcerated on a monster like that living nearby for that long without us being told would bother me, but hey, this is Toring Port, after all. Half the people living here should probably be on that ship.”

As for where the ship might be headed?

“Where? No one knows,” said the PA Head. “But I suppose that’s the purpose of a water-borne prison; it can be anywhere, at any time. Finding it is a pain, and getting to it is a pain, and I’d imagine getting off of it might be a pain as well.”

***

This isn’t the end of the line for the notorious prison ship know only as ‘Where, No One Knows’. You can read all about it in the first full length ‘Blackwood Empire’ Novel, now available in paperback and Kindle formats! Just click the image below for a tale of Pixie Sinclaire and other major Blackwood characters, including Roderick La Pierre, Klaus Klaudhopper, and Sir Rigel Rinkenbach, making life extremely difficult for the status quo:

Book cover, concept art

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blackwood Gazette #199- “Leviathan” Prison Ship Leaves Port Under Cover of Night; To Where? No One Knows

Blackwood Gazette #198- Mysterious Group Absconds with Sir Rigel Rinkenbach in Broad Daylight

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By Basilio Mura, Nor Easter Correspondent

6/10- Sir Rigel Rinkenbach, who has certainly had a difficult year, has apparently been kidnapped, Nor Eastern officials say.

Sir Rinkenbach was leaving the hospital where Empress Marcellette Bastian is making her recovery after being shot during the recent Arms Summit in the Divide. As he stepped out onto the walk, several unmarked motor carriages screeched onto the street in front of the hospital, and a group of unidentified men poured out.

The men, said to be wearing dark blue uniforms similar to those worn by the men who attacked the Summit, as well as the town of Point Hammond, and armed with revolvers, engaged the members of the Royal Guard appointed to protect Rinkenbach. While one of the guardsmen attempted to pull Rinkenbach into the hospital, he was shot in the back. The unidentified men then grabbed Rinkenbach, stuffed him into one of the carriages, and drove off.

The city guard attempted to give pursuit, but their own motor carriages were unable to keep pace with the attackers. This event only further re-enforces evidence that whoever this unidentified group is, they possess technology more advanced than anything currently employed by the governments of the Triumvirate.

Already, rumors and conspiracy theories are running amok through the political and scientific communities. Some have suggested the kidnapping, as well as the attack on the Summit, were orchestrated by Rinkenbach himself as a way of escaping the Nor Eastern government’s constant vigilance.

Others have pointed out that, as reported in the Gazette, the attackers attempted to assassinate Rinkenbach at the summit, while they merely kidnapped him outside the hospital, leading to all sorts of wild speculation. However, we have no way of knowing just what this group’s goals are, or what their methods in bringing those goals to fruition may be.

Nor Eastern officials are working with the Triumvirate authorities, as well as the individual militaries and law enforcement agencies of Crowndon and Monteddor to locate Sir Rigel Rinkenbach and the men responsible for his abduction.

Blackwood Gazette #198- Mysterious Group Absconds with Sir Rigel Rinkenbach in Broad Daylight

Blackwood Gazette #197- Mysterious Message Sent to Arms Summit About Impending Attack; Marcellete Bastian takes a bullet for Rigel Rinkenbach; Attacking Fleet Repelled by Alejandro Julianos and…Captain La Pierre?

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By Chester Seaton, News

2/10- The world went a little…crazy, this weekend. As the leaders of Crowndon, Nor Easter, Monteddor, and Sarnwain gathered at a secluded location in the Divide, a large fleet of unknown vessels gathered in the canyons below. The objective of this fleet remains a mystery, but if their actions are anything to go by, it was to eradicate the current power structure of the Imperial Triumvirate in one fell swoop.

Luckily, just a few short moments before the enemy fleet of airships rose up around the desert mesa where the summit was being held, security officials received a mysterious wire said to originate from the colonies. The wire warned of the attack, giving Alejandro Julianos, whose own forces were providing security, time to form a defensive perimeter.

Julianos’ ships engaged the unmarked enemy ships, which are said to have been unlike anything the world has yet seen; kept aloft not by balloons, but by complex rotor systems and armored with metal plating. Julianos did an admirable job of keep the ships at bay, despite being outnumbered, outgunned, and possessing what is, as of this weekend, severely outdated technology.

Perhaps it was this advantage on the side of the attackers that enabled them to put several boots on the ground, who stormed the central chamber of the summit building. Once again, Julianos’ ground forces put up a brave defense, cutting down all but one of the invaders.

The would-be assassin burst into the meeting chamber, where all the delegates save for one threw themselves to the ground. The assassin’s target? Presumably, it was one Rigel Rinkenbach, in attendance with Empress Marcellete Bastian. Seeing that the attacker had Rinkenbach in his sights, the Empress bravely threw herself in front of the shot, taking the bullet meant for Rinkenbach and saving the inventor’s life. The Empress is alive, but in critical condition.

Before the assassin could prepare another shot, Julianos’ soldiers entered the room and incapacitated the man. They tried to take him alive, but the attacker bit into a suicide pill.

Meanwhile, four ships remained in the skies above, the others having been destroyed or rendered inert. The attackers outnumbered Julianos’ flagship, Panther’s Reign, three to one.

The Reign seemed to be on its last legs as one of the aggressors prepared for a killing blow, when a shot from a newly arrived fifth ship struck one of the enemy ship’s rotors. The attack left the rotor-ship listing. Julianos’ crew regained their bearing, loaded up their cannon, and opened fire. As the rotor ship drifted, in flames, to the desert floor, a lookout on Julianos’ ship got a good look at the mysterious third party.

“When the ship went down and the smoke and fire faded out, I couldn’t believe what I saw out there, on the horizon, silhouetted against the setting sun…but none other than the Pernicious Platitude, and at its helm, the pirate captain La Pierre.”

La Pierre began to circle the enemy formation, drawing their fire as the Reign reloaded. The Platitude then joined formation with the Reign, and engaged the remaining attackers. Witnesses on the ground described the situation as “completely bat-shit.”

Once the remaining attackers had gone down, the Reign turned to engage the Platitude. However, we are told that Julianos ordered his gun crews to hold their fire. The Platitude then descended into the canyons below, and has not been seen since.

The Triumvirate leadership owes their survival to the mysterious communique they received just before the attack, though no one seems to know who sent it. It ends simply, “PS”. Why a missive would end with notation of a post-script, yet not actually include one, has baffled many. But Rigel Rinkenbach has a theory.

“It isn’t so very hard to understand,” Rinkenbach told us. “PS doesn’t mean post-script! They’re initials, for Pixie Sinclaire! She must have uncovered the plot and, sensing that I was in danger, sent a message! She does still love me! I knew it!”

The Triumvirate authority has stated that they will launch a full scale investigation into these events, starting of course with the identity of the mysterious attackers, though the working theory is that the enemy force is the fountainhead of all the strange weapons that have been found on battlefields around the globe. It’s hard to say what, if anything, was accomplished by the summit, but many doubt the results will be what was hoped for.

***

Man, that’s pretty much the most insane headline I’ve ever written for the Gazette…

Today’s story marks a fairly important turning point for the Blackwood Empire, and the Gazette. It’s kind of the culmination of everything that’s been going on for the last few months, and sets the stage for what I’m calling “Volume II”.

I’ve decided that, after #200, I’ll be taking a bit of a break from the Gazette for a while to revise what I’ve already written and plan out what comes next. I think it’s also time for me to focus on some more long-form work for awhile.

Thanks for reading!

Blackwood Gazette #197- Mysterious Message Sent to Arms Summit About Impending Attack; Marcellete Bastian takes a bullet for Rigel Rinkenbach; Attacking Fleet Repelled by Alejandro Julianos and…Captain La Pierre?

Blackwood Gazette #196- Rebel Leader Dougherty Reported Killed During Attack on Julianos Estate

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By Isairo Palantes, Monteddorian Correspondent

29/9-We’ve learned new details about the ground assault on Alejandro Julianos’ estate that took place alongside the air assault over Monteddor City yesterday. While the majority of the city’s defense resources were engaged not only with the enemy aircraft, but several newly reported infantry incursions along the outskirts of the city as well, a small band of rebels infiltrated the estate.

Leading the rebels was none other than the enigmatic Dougherty herself. The rebel leaders’ plan had been to initiate the city wide attack in order pull resources away from Julianos’ defense, and while the distraction certainly thinned the ranks gathered around the military commander’s compound, Dougherty apparently didn’t plan for Julianos’ personal guard.

While Dougherty and her men are said to have made an admiral sprint for the estate’s main building, Julianos’ body guards were able to route the rebels into a small courtyard. Once inside, the body guards cut down the intruders with ease. To add insult to injury, Julianos wasn’t even present in the city, as his fleet prepares to aid in providing security for the Triumvirate Summit this week.

Included among the dead is the rebel leader Dougherty, along with most of her best lieutenants and a platoon sized force of rebel fighters. Upon hearing of her death, the rest of the attacking forces surrendered. Those who laid down their arms were arrested; anyone else was promptly shot.

The Monteddorian military believes that with Dougherty gone, the remnants of her farmer’s rebellion will be easily crushed as it descends into anarchy, an eventuality many intelligence analysts suggest was already on the verge of occurring. This impending collapse is likely the reason why Dougherty made such a large gamble in the first place.

“This is not a day for pride,” Julianos’ representative stated. “Both Julianos and the High King can express only relief that this conflict has reached its end. Perhaps now we may be able to turn our attentions outward and continue to expand Monteddor’s brilliant influence further across both the Triumvirate, and the world.”

***

This would seem to be the end for Dougherty, leader of the Monteddorian rebellion. Or is it?

<dramatic pause>

Find out the truth in the first full-length Blackwood Empire novel, Where, No One Knows, available now on Kindle!

Blackwood Gazette #196- Rebel Leader Dougherty Reported Killed During Attack on Julianos Estate