Travelogue: SouthEnd

I made it back in-world for about a half hour the other day (yay me!) and continued my journey around Caledon. Next stop: SouthEnd.

The area is a mix of shops and residences, but is anchored by the seaside amusements, most notably the Ferris wheel. (Mr. Roy Smashcan's Tudor-style abode can be seen in the background, at right.)

To accompany the Ferris wheel there is, naturally, a carousel. In the background is Mr. Alastair Whybrow's ever-expanding Sparkle of Sound jewelry emporium and, at right, his sailing ship.

At the very north end of SouthEnd is this magnificent clock tower, with its arch that permits the Caledon rail line to pass through. The tower is the entrance to Ahavah.

No Mill is an Island?

In Caledon SouthEnd, I encountered an unusual sight. No, not the giant Ferris wheel; that's been a fixture in SouthEnd from the start. Take a look in the distance. Is that a stone building on an island? I moved closer to investigate.

Not only was it a stone building on an island, but the building turned out to be a paper mill, owned by Miss Trilby Minotaur.


The mill has no shortage of water!

The Dark Alley of Caledon

Does Caledon ever seem just a little too clean for its own good? I certainly do, and, apparently, so does Mr. Denver Hax, who has created "The Shambles," the seedy dark alley of the Guvnah's otherwise shiny empire.

One walks at one's own risk, for dangers lie within.

Entertainment for gentlemen of discretion awaits:

Darker pleasures can be had as well:

That can't be...well, obviously that picture was doctored, but, as one can see, one can chase the dragon, or find release in other chemicals.

Of course, the forces of Law and Order must have a way of incarcerating those among the lower classes who breach the peace:

Rumor has it that one can find the legendary catgirl dungeon...if you dare. Not even your sidearm - you are carrying a sidearm in The Shambles, aren't you? - will protect you.

A Stroll Through Santa's Ghetto

Here's a little Christmas treat, courtesy of Mr. Denver Hax. He calls it Santa's Ghetto. There's a little assault and battery...

...and a little meat roasting (you just knew that with Rudolph at the helm, one of those other reindeer were surplus; I can only assume the remainder were highly motivated to keep in top shape).

Sleigh ride, mister? I'll take you around the world. (Appropriately enough, wearing BlakOpal's "Naughty or Nice" outfit.)

Drinking too much is no problem. Just collapse where you are.

And, of course, there's always time to sit on Santa's lap. Hey, big boy, get your mitts off the merchandise!

Santa will offer you a tasty candy cane and ask if you've been naughty or nice. Santa does not like naughty girls!

While in the Ghetto, do visit Lapland...but perhaps avoid the Christmas tree.

Merry Christmas!

Mr. Hax Reviews the Female Form

In sculpture, that is. Another set of pictures that has been sitting in the Difference Engine for far too long and yearned to be free.

Mr. Denver Hax, at the intriguingly-named Parody Plaza in South End, had arranged an exhibit of sculpted ladies.

Some were fairly abstract, while others were quite lifelike. I asked these ladies directions and I thought they chose not to answer, until I realized they were not alive. On the bright side, the dog did not sniff my ankles as though I were a particularly interesting tree.

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Rabbits?

At times it seems that Caledon is overrun by rabbits. Between Gunbunnehs, Ozimal bunnies, and other hopping creatures, it's occasionally difficult to find a clean spot to step.

Mr. Denver Hax has discovered the solution:




Indeed, eating the creatures is not the only possible solution. Professor Schroedinger proposed an experiment involving a cat, but why limit one's scientific inquiry to the feline species?

Don't let the little creatures out of their hutches. Just some friendly advice.

In SouthEnd

Mr. Denver Hax has returned from what I gather was self-imposed exile. This is a Good Thing, because Caledon can never have too many scary, possibly slightly deranged, people who create terrifying creatures. And, frankly, things have been a little slow lately. In the Steamlander forums, Mr. Hax inquired about the availability of land and purchased a small plot in SouthEnd and another in Tamrannoch (I believe).

I strolled to SouthEnd to see if Mr. Hax was At Home, as it were, which he was not. However, I noted a fair number of changes to the landscape, starting with the home of the Caledon Institute of Hypnotic Phenomenon Research, owned by Mr. Kalisten VanDornan:

I looked about, but was not, in fact, hypnotized. No clucking like a chicken for me, thank you. Sadly, the Institute is on the site of the old firing range, and I fear that between the loss of the range and of Dame Ordinal's pudding-tossing machine my skills will diminish.

Next to NachtMusik is the home of Miss Lenny Kenyon.

Mr. Lance Dionysus has a small house in front of Bygone Beauty and next to Oblonski's furniture store:

SouthEnd is also a stop in the route of the Sumie K. of the Caledon Air Transport fleet; the Sumie K. had just docked when I arrived:

Next to Pearse'd & Cut is the home of Miss True Irelund. On the other side of Pearse'd & Cut is a vacant lot owned by Miss Garnet Psaltery, so I shall look forward to seeing the lot develop according to Miss Psaltery's latest plans.


The SouthEnd Baths is an establishment owned by Mr. Alix Stoanes, Austral's Governor-General:

More to my dissolute style is the Evergreen Pub, across the street from the Baths, and owned by Mr. Danko Whitfield. The pub was in the process of being set up when I visited, but I have no doubt that the spirits will be flowing soon!


Miss Shilan Folger owns Port Royal Imports, another fine furniture store (along with previously-mentioned Oblonski):

Next to the carousel and the sweets shop, at the end of the lane, is the home of Mr. Roy Smashcan:

Miss Audrey Fotherington has her Auds N Ends store for tinies here:

I paused to sit and admire the view in Calimari Park, owned by Miss Riven Homewood.


Miss Muse Carmona owns the small but relaxing islet dubbed Muse Isle, with its inviting cup of tea, green apple, and the most odd sign (seen in the background, next to the tree) that displays messages purported to be from the Aether. As I see no wires, I am skeptical of the claim, but the message board does change from time to time.

Across from Calimari Park is the home of Miss Elda Luna. (I hope Miss Luna does not think me excessively rude, for she was At Home when I passed by, but by then I was in quite a hurry and failed to stop for the customary pleasantries.)


After that recitation, I feel quite exhausted! Indeed, after that stroll I was overcome by the need for a medicinal brandy and a lengthy nap, so I returned to my cottage in the Downs via the direct route, jotting down a note to return shortly to see if I could find the original object of my quest.

[Though published under Kathy's name, it is indeed Rhianon sitting in the bar. I merely borrowed Kathy's account during last week's power outage. - RJ]

The Ghost of St. Hilda's

I found myself in conversation the other day with Mr. Alastair Whybrow, who remarked that my recent report from South End - in particular, St. Hilda's church - made no mention of the crypt ghost.

"Crypt? Ghost?" I replied, monosylabically. "I do so love church crypts, though my encounters with the spirit world have not always been happy ones. However, I did not see a crypt entrance." Mr. Whybrow explained that the entrance was on the opposite side of the church from the main doors, and that there was, indeed, a resident ghost, though he refused to speculate as to who she was or why she spends her afterlife beneath the charming sanctuary.

I made a note to visit as soon as possible. When the day came, I made certain to fully load and then strap on Miss Malaprop's Clock-Winding Pistol; I had my doubts about the weapon's effectiveness on a shroud, but thought it better than arriving unarmed. At the very least, the pistol would be effective against any hooligans who might have taken up residence in the crypt.


My vigil was rewarded when the ghost appeared. She wandered about the crypt. I drew my weapon and aimed, but she had no hostile intent. Indeed, she seemed entirely indifferent to my presence.

Winter Comes to South End

Winter arrives at its own pace, sometimes late and sometimes rather early. The latter seems to have occurred in Caledon's South End, where a blanket of snow lies on the ground despite the balmy temperatures throughout much of the rest of the nation.

From the platform next to the Cenotaph, the view looks quite peaceful, does it not? But looks can deceive...


Here we see St. Hilda's church decked out in holiday finery, a reminder that Christmas is not all about egg nog, presents, and having to see one's disgusting Uncle Jimmy chase skirt and vomit in inappropriate places.


These snow creatures, in the Whybrows' hard, appear to be engaged in some sort of disagreement. The chap on the left, having armed himself with a hair dryer, seems to have the upper hand. Good shooting, old chap!


Presents? For me? Hmm, apparently not. Mrs. Fotherington does have a lovely pot of reindeer stew bubbling in her front yard - just the thing for a cold winter's night. (Poor Santa, running down the checklist: "Dasher? Donder? Okay, I see you both. Blitzen. Check. Comet? Comet, where the devil did you go? Oh, thank you, Mrs. Claus, that looks like a lovely stew...")

But perhaps Santa has bigger things about which to worry: the milk and cookies seem to have done him in outside Mr. Goode's establishment. And that's a mighty unsettling chalk outline of a reindeer next to him. Oh Mrs. Fotherington, could we have a word?

I am now a tad worried about my Christmas plans this year.