The World of Secfenia

From the Dark Cathedral of Cork:
Demons or angels, gods or devils there is little difference.
Be careful, casting them out, lest you exorcise the best thing in you.

Light or dark, punching or snuggling, chaos is unstable footing and its edges are sharp.

Imma gettin PAST tired offa tyss crap The mages own news is evidence enough for me. (even if it is not for the the mages own court of appeals Imma say that any who anyone who can create or join an army do so and kill the bastard and accomplices ... accidentally of course ... and follow until the the...

From the news scroll Revolt in Cork - Dwayberry is the new mayor! Reported on Mar 31, 1660 5:00 am Dwayberry has taken over city hall kicking the old mayor out! Revolt in Cork - balerion is the new Priest! Reported on Mar 31, 1660 5:00 am balerion has taken over the temple kicking the old Priest out...

. . . . A rumble, not entirely unlike thunder, converged on the Fenian Cathedral in exactly the same way thunders don't. The relatively rhythmic booming was in turns exalted and abashed by a concretely erratic keening few souls would diagnose as 'song.' Traveling the road alone, the source of disqui...

Words echoed through the ether. ' not trees ... and if we don't want it we move out of town ' A troll fairly shook with giggles. It thought ' the ' more accurate than ' of ' but human grammar was never particularly logical. The tree analogy seemed appropriate. Lumbering again toward the uprooted Cor...

The troll remembered the day he found himself in the place called secfenia ...

Greetingses to the ciphas! Yeppers... izza robberizin' creature about, imma sorrish t' be sayin. Izza 'nother court case a' started ... an another reported robberization between the cork town & and th' bravia town. Iz true old trollish sayin' bout th' mills of justice: they grinds slow ... but ...

A troll arrived with sacks of Molotov cockatiels and twine. Logo was shocked at the change in the room. Wha? izza smell not .... oooh... shiney! :) He tied the bird-feet carefully to the glistening chandeliers. Opening his black book, Logo mumbled a few words from a page he was reasonably certain wa...

The troll was on its back where it had fallen, half-buried in red, wet sand. It's hands were mangled and torn to uselessness, almost. The victor left bloody sockets as formerly-trollish fingers became orcish trophies. The rising sun left the night sky similarly tattered. Its light burned nocturnal e...