Word of interesting events spreads quickly throughout the diminishing world. Although travel is difficult, the approach of the Disjunction has spurred tens of thousands into desperate flight across the land, and the news travels with them.

Noting:

1. That the Disjunction is fast approaching the City.

and

2. That an induced panic could have catastrophic consequences.

The Lord Protector's Office suggests that:

A convocation be held just outside the gates, with the aim of reassuring the Citizens and ensuring that damage is kept to a minimum.

Keep calm and carry on, the City will not fall.

…A crowd of many hundreds gathered in the courtyard of the castle, that place of tragedy, and there was much weeping and wailing for the Count and his daughter were much beloved of their people, and many gathered had also lost family for the vile poison that claimed the lives of the nobleborn struck too at their servants….

…And the Bard, Richard Aristodemos stepped forward and with harp and voice did make such sorrowful music that all present wept uncontrollably. I cannot describe it, my eyes grow moist even now remembering that beautiful sad song. I spoke with the Bard afterwards and he told me that the Count had commissioned the tune for the event of his daughter's death, but even with his patron slain the noble Sir Richard played for free, moved by the great tragedy that has befallen this house…

…The bodies were interred within their home and great piles of timber from the forest were set ablaze, for it was decided that it were better the castle serve as their pyre and burn along with the family than be allowed to fall into the Disjunction…

A recent painting exposition in Countrylandtopia was themed on the unprovoked attack on Kyrine by the Empire of Blood and Skulls. Fortunately, post-Disjunction artists are used to painting under time pressure, so the oeuvres were produced with commendable speed and at high quality.

The most commented upon was a classical-heroic style painting showing the brave defence of the Kyrine troops against hordes of Mordaeon's expendables, disposables, dark knights, wall spiders and chariots of dooms. His Taker and Oak Warden allies can also be made out in the picture, which uses a very expressionistic pallet, and the forces of the church vainly charging the Oak wardens is framed by a (fictions) setting sun.

In a more abstract sense, much praise was lavished on Kyrineca, a highly stylised depiction of the horrors inflicted on the country after the Empire's invasion. A mass of limbs, heads, and symbols in a muted grey pallet. With a little bit of imagination, one can let one's imagination take in the screams of the burning and dying and the clanging boots of the invaders.

Of less interest was “Modaeon leading the charge”; that painting, by the visiting Empire of Blood and Skulls artist, gathered dust in the corner.

Lord Mordaeon the Fell has caused the downfall of Kyrine. He sent ahead forces to despoil, murder and spread terror in the battle against the forces of the Tyrant. There are rumours of the Dark Lord commanding babies spitted and huts filled with cowering villagers burned to the ground. Even more often than usual.

Kyrine has lost a battle! Mais Kyrine has not lost the war.

Because Kyrine is not alone! She is not alone! She is not alone! She has the forces of Mylenas and her empire behind her. She has allies in the City and in the Church, and among all the freedom loving nations of the world.

This war is not limited to the unfortunate territory of our country. This war was not lost in the Battle of Kyrine. This war is global in what remains of the world! Struck down today by armoured forces, we will win in the future through superior armoured forces. The destiny of the world is there.

I, deGall, strategos to the Tyrant of Kyrine, currently camped in the Ruins of Myr, I invite all free Kyrinian citizens, soldiers or civilians, to join me here, with your weapons or without them, I invite all specialists, blacksmiths and workers, to join me here, I invite all those who want one day to breath free, to join me here.

A sermon of the Lord-Rector of the Dark

”…for this is the world you have wrought for yourselves. A world whose light has fallen to the Dark, whose feeble star has winked out; consumed by the night immaculate.

The famine is the herald of the Dark. Death its shield bearer. Despair its mistress. Against it you shall kneel and if you shall not kneel you shall fall and if you should stand you shall be unmade.”

Famine is running rampant over the world. The death of the sun has caused what few crops that survived the endless day to fail in the eternal mauve twilight produced by the dead sun. Now the surviving nations of Anicca are running low on stocks of food and the people cry out to their leaders.

Overheard word's of two City Lieutenants on patrol in the unaligned lands.

“Look at these wretches, starving in the darkness. We should thank the Lord Protector for seeing us through these terrible time.”

“Truly we are blessed. The Lord Protector has given us light in these dark times, he shall show us the way.”

“Indeed…” *He whispers* ”…though the great lighting of the City-Sun did not, I hear, go according to plan. Apparently some maniacs ended up duelling on the summit of Fortress Terra.”

“I heard the corpse damn near fell on the Lord Protector.”

“I can believe it. Did you see the look on the Lord Commanders face when he came back.”

Alone in the world the City remains in light. Above the great central Spire at the City's heart two great crystal Orbs now rotate; a artificial Sun and Moon that provide the City with something approaching a diurnal cycle.

Cries heard outside the great coronation pavilion of Empress Abena

“Infamy! Infamy!”

“The Empress slain! Slain upon her coronation throne! Her flesh cut into…into…chunks.”

“The blood poured upon the Lion Throne just returned from Kyrine; running into the ancient crystal, scarring it crimson.”

“A figure was seen fleeing the palace! Pursued by the guards into the night! Murder! Murder!”

Iridican Imperialists fleeing along the great way

“This is a fool's errand. The Empress is dead; what's left of the great houses have exhausted their power and resources in her failed ascension. With her death there is nothing left for Iridica”

“We cannot give up, we can still retake Serrac.”

“Are you an idiot? Its swarming with those white robed fanatics from the south. I heard the screams of the scavengers as I fled; I'll not go back.”

“Then…then so dies Iridica and a thousand years of glory…”

A pamphlet, widely distributed

Feeling a little hungry?

Noted philantropist and gentleman entrepreneur Prince Zishan of the Black Court has a new solution to the world's food troubles! Realising the threat posed by the loss of sunlight, Prince Zishan funded celebrity agriculturalist Flavius Isaso to create a new breed of edible vegetable that would not require sunlight to grow. After hard work, and long hours, Flavius created the world's first viable mushroom crop!

Despite early setbacks with an inflexible farm labourer's union, fields are already being grown by Zishan's Equitable Agricultural Union. Harvests of abundance fill cart after cart. Prince Zishan promises plenty of food for the time ahead, as long as you are willing to pay his very, very reasonable prices. And with the large sums pouring into his coffers, Zishan plans to open new fields, to create a food empire the world has never seen before!

Zishan's Choice(TM) delectable mushroom snackies! Zishan's Choice(TM) premium brand pale asparagus! Zishan's Choice(TM) sweet garlic!

Coming soon to a dinner table near you!

Rumours in taverns

The hardy men of the Erewhon desert rarely leave their homes, but there's been a small stream of them of late. Eventually one of them confides what's going on. And this rumour starts getting spread amongst everyone else.

It seems a most mysterious storm has been brewing recently in the Erewhon desert. Shortly after a group of strangely dressed adventurers entered, a large, round cloud appeared in the middle of the desert. Slowly, it rose into the air, and grew dark and turbulent. Storm clouds brewed around its peripheries. Now storms are nothing new to the desert, but the strange thing about this one is how it seems to stick around so long, moving against the wind in a slow, northerly direction. Few are brave enough to go close to it, though those who have reported seeing the great dark shadow of something vast, something floating, hidden by the clouds. It seemed so ominous, that several of the locals were scared into leaving.

There's also one man, who, half mad with thirst, reported seeing branches and leaves in the storm. But he's probably just crazy and/or drunk.

An excerpt of an account of the Sack of Kyrine widely distributed

Lo, now I weep for my city. Weep for the learning. Weep for the art. Weep for the accumulated works of Humanity striving for something better.

Fire, fire, everywhere fire.

And worst of all, as I sit here atop the Theatre of Ancient Comedies, I can see the ruins of our most prized possession, the Great Library of Kyrine.

I watched as, even before the city fell, before the walls were breached and the fires started, the Library was ripped asunder from within by great sorcerous power.

I watched as the windows of most delicate stained glass and wrought iron were shattered, how great coils of rope, ethereal crashed through solid walls of marble and granite, ripped from the roof great blocks of stone that ten men could not move and flung them bodily through the edifice. I saw pillars of sandstone toppled, as cords of seemingly unbreakable force spiralled round them.

In horror and terror my mind reeled as I saw the Great Dome, completed over Three Hundred years ago, topple inwards ethereal rope, wreathed in purple flame dancing up into the sky like snakes dancing to a song that will end the world.

When finally the sorcery snapped out, shut out like a torch snuffed in sand, I fell to my knees and wept.

All is lost. Fire, fire everywhere.

I am Logos Agathos of Kyrine, and for seventy years I have tried to do no harm, to suffer no evil and to do some good. I have now seen the end of the world, and it is fire and we will all burn.

A pamphlet found beneath the walls of the City

“Lead by the great hero Captain Aurora and the noble adventurer Ingvar Tallahasse and backed by the resources of Lord Daverth, bastion of the City, the great river has been returned to its course and now once more flows along its ancient bed and in to the reservoirs of the City.

The mission was not without incident however; for we have reports that as the work neared construction some great Sorcerous attack was unleashed upon the construction site; the sky being filled with massive ethereal gears as if heavens themselves had been revealed as a work of horology. Lord Daverth's airship was nearly pulled in the vast mechanism before a great orb of silver light enshrouded the airship protecting it from harm.

Whatever fell forces sought to work against the great mission it prevailed in the end and we have water once more. Hail houses Aurora and Daverth!”

Well, this is it dear readers. The last issue of the Citizen. The earthquakes that ravage our City have devastated the Glorious Golden Guild of Integral Journalist headquarters, the Disjunction is rapidly approaching the gates of our City. There is nothing more anyone can do other than prepare for the end.

So I leave you now, with these final words, the only proof that I was ever alive and that will soon be no more. I weep for our glories, soon to be gone into the void. I weep for the futility of it all. I weep… but I will not break! I will make my final moments my own. I leave you now. Tomorrow morning, the watch will no doubt find my corpse at the foot of the Ashwarren Clocktower, farewell, dead world…

In a world deprived of light, water and warmth, there is need to make use of every resource. Today, we will see how to make a light casserol from an oak acorn…

This new satirical song on the Kyrine Strategos, was recently composed by Richard Kallisto. It is on everyone's lips, and is generally judged to be one of Richard's best…

A dispossessed noble, Count Frodevious, has let it be known he will be attending the next convocation seeking people “capable of doing what must be done”.

• The new Hierophant is a diabolical sorcerer.
• Prince Zishan will not eat until he learns how to relieve debts
• What fire cannot burn, water cannot corrode.
• Painted in blood down City streets: The bloody-handed priest is looking for a challenge.
• Greta's salons are totally legitimate bohemian establishments.
• The Trinity is, as always, in the best of health.
• There are protections … Iron Men will come
• Lord Dreadulous III's jawline is so manly, it is the only thing in creation capable of resisting the Disjunction.
• Why would the Church have it in for Benjamin Enku?
• Flying trees portend the end times. Obviously.
• Don't trust a straight Copper.
• Lord Dreadulous III darkened the sun by out-staring it.
• Big men with wings and little girls with swords…
• Stay away from that water, there's something down there.
• Lord Daverth and Lady Aurora. Taking tea.
• Mind and Void, Void and Mind.
• This rumour is self-referential.
• All the cool kids are joining the True Church of the Void.
• Tycho Flyteworthy is the Chosen One.