Can Evil Scientists Change Their Labcoats?

My eyes widened when I heard Capt. Red Llewellyn refer to the “good” Doctor Obolensky in ISC chat Saturday. Surely this was just a glitch in the aether causing me to mis-hear! But no, Capt. Llewellyn insists that the scheming bounder has changed his ways and works only for the forces of good these days. Then again, Miss Llewellyn’s ardor for the Doctor seemed suspicious in itself. But hey, it’s a crazy world out there, and if a pirate captain and an Evil Overload-turned-Do-Gooder can find some happiness, well, here’s good at ya, kids!

Still, I was suspicious. However, Capt. Red’s statement triggered a stray neuron, and, sure enough, Dr. Mason mentions in passing “Doctor Obolensky's new "synister ray" which reverses the moral compass of its victims. In fact he tested it on himself and turned into a philanthropist for a short period of time!”

I traveled to Clockspire, the Doctor’s island lair off the coast of New Babbage, to snoop around, er, look for evidence of the Doctor’s conversion.

This skull looks a little ominous, no?


They say a stopped clock is right twice a day, but I’m not certain about this one. At least, I hope it’s not right twice a day.

Does a "good" Scientist really need a scary-looking tower in the sky? I think not.

How about an escape airship? And what's with all the fog, anyway?

The heart of the power system. Hmm, not just for burning the toast, is it?

No, I am far from convinced that the good Doctor Obolensky is now the Good Doctor Obolensky. We shall keep our eyes on you, sir!

Story Discussion in Winterfell

Some days the most enjoyable parts of my time are the ones that are completely unplanned. Yesterday was a case in point: I was aimlessly wasting time when Miss Serafina Puchkina announced she would be leading a discussion of The Amber Spyglass, by Phillip Pullman. Having thoroughly enjoyed the His Dark Elements series, despite some serious reservations about Mr. Pullman's views, and so rarely having the opportunity to discuss a book I knew something about at a time I was available, I hastened to Winterfell where I had a delightful time. Mr. JJ Drinkwater, Miss QuantumMeruit Bing, Miss Scandaroon Beck, Miss Verona Skytower, Mr. Mavromichali Szondi, Miss Puchkina, and I had a spirited discussion, involving good and evil, free will, and, ahem, adolescent nookie.

I must have been too wrapped up in the conversation to take a picture, but the assembled group was quite eclectic. A good time was had by all!

I Always Preferred Gas Lamps

Miss Falcon had a spot of trouble with one of her Tesla Towers the other day. The tower on Aether Isle was completely destroyed.

Well, the sign did say "Danger."

Although I confess to using this newfangled "electrical" power, I prefer the tried and tested method of gas lamps. So much safer! Of course, there was always the possibility of burning down one's house, or setting fire to one's self, but can one really say that this "electricity" is better? I think not.

The Impermanence of Permanent Structures

One of the aetheric journals I read regularly mentioned the demise of Laputa, a sky city. (Naturally, I cannot remember the source, or I would gladly provide a link. Feel free to refresh my memory.) I feel a pang of discomfort at the loss of a wonderful steampunk-y build. It is a reminder, though, that nothing is permanent - not even the parts that look permanent.

I had visited once upon a time, meant to visit again and make a more thorough exploration, but never did. If, as is sometimes said, nothing is truly gone until it fades from our collective memories, I offer the following picture:

Viva Las Vegas...er, la Vida

Hamlet Au reviewed this art exhibit, and it looked interesting, so Kathy decided to take a look. An exhibit about life? Sounds deep. And, indeed, at the end, there are multi-colored arcs, and projectors, and the number pi, and men and women stick figures, and...well, see for yourself:


After all the ponderous wandering through the various rooms is over, there is dancing, so that celebrates life, I suppose.


And some of the creations were nothing short of fantastic - Not Possible in Real Life for certain!


Oh, and speaking of unrealistic, here's the notorious impious Kathy Jameson...praying? Hmm, some deep Satanic land must have frozen over.

But it hits the visitor over the head again and again. The exhibit is at altitude 666 meters - yes, we get it. And after going through several rooms with prose about enjoying life, yada, yada, we get the great revelation that...war is bad. And war with children is really bad. Oh my. Thanks for that life lesson. Having learned that, we head outside, to the big ark (lordy, symbolism alert!), where we dance and celebrate life. Sigh.

More Newbie Horror

It really must be open season on newbies this year, as Kathy found out. (No, she wasn't responsible - the deed was already done when she arrived.)


Hat tip to Miss Orr again for the haunted house . But the real horror came when the well-manicured lawn behind the haunted house turned out to be attached to the Bound and Determined Fetish Club. Whoops.

Caer Blanco

A ghostly shipwreck and an open coffin - can Count Dracula be far behind?

This monastery is intact, suggesting a newer model than...

...the ruins of this one.


Spirits conjured up from old bones and sacred incantations...


All at Caer Blanco . I dropped in for a visit during a dance at the monastery. As I wasn't invited, I took a look around the rest of the isle. The sim is to be the site of several fund-raising events: see Hotsput O'Toole's journal, or that of Duchess Avie, Miss Bellambi . As they take place beyond your humble scribe's time for beauty rest, I can only point others in the direction of these events.

Sympathy for the Devil

I had a great deal of fun visiting Animus Imperium , a timely offering from Miss Emilly Orr, Mr. Fawkes, and Mr. Rucker. At least, a great deal of fun at first. “Oh, yeah. Oooh, ahhh, that's how it always starts. Then later there's running and screaming,” as Dr. Ian Malcolm said in The Lost World. And I found what Dr. Alter did with the giant tentacle thing .

I walked into the spectral estate, and nonchalantly sat on a convenient coffin as wraiths flittered before me.

What’s a girl to do, all alone in a creepy yard? Visiting the graves of recently-departed spirits was possible.


But spirits are not much fun unless they are animated by being conjured up from the netherworld. And, really, what’s the worst that could happen? Consulting my spell book, I folded my arms and concentrated. Soon, I began to levitate,


then whirl.


Making a fire and throwing in the bones of the unburied,


I summoned the forces of darkness and bade them to obey me. (Really, this is one of my all-time favorite poses :).)

Whose blood was this, if I was alone in the house? The demons came, in the form of giant skulls with fiery eyes,


lightning, and the enormous demonic hand (of glory?).

As in all such stories, however, I could not control the power; it controlled me. With my last flicker of consciousness, I realized that the blood I had seen earlier was a premonition, and the blood was mine.

In the end, the demons collected one more soul that night.

Strange Lands, Strange Customs

Having returned from a long and dusty journey, I offer a daguerreotype of one of the locales. (Only one more. I promise. Few things are more dull than someone else's vacation pictures.)

'Tis a strange land indeed, not like our temperate climes. One scarcely imagines how things grow in such an arid place, and, yet, grow they do.

Then, from the sublime to the ridiculous...

All ideas of propriety must be discarded before entering this Gomorrah. The city is the antithesis of Victorian charm. The inhabitants - at least, the temporary ones (no offense to the permanent residents who, no doubt, avoid the worst of The Strip as one would avoid, well, Gomorrah) - are sullen and suspicious, and dress with a complete indifference to their appearance. They sit silently, feeing money and pushing buttons in a solitary ritual, both desperate and resigned, knowing that even success is fleeting. Noise is everywhere: machines bleeping, rhythms pounding, all enforcing the code of silence while creating an artificial atmosphere of excitement, a shared conspiracy, as everyone knows the only real winner is the house...

A (RL) Trip Through the Vortex

My typist unilaterally decided to travel away from the keyboard for a little over a week. I thought we had a deal - I get consulted on such things - but I suppose that was too much to ask. We both may wind up in Aetheric withdrawal by the end of the trip. Part of this journey will take her to a strange land called “Arizona,” to a strange town called “Sedona,” where, I am told, Caledonian customs typically do not apply. This area of the world is said to contain “spiritual vortexes,” which, in addition to demonstrating a shaky grasp of Latin declination, sounds a bit frightening. It sounds a little as though one’s soul could be sucked down the spiritual drain. I shall be certain to report back if the area seems to have a higher-than-average number of zombies or other soulless creatures.

In any event, barring some unexpected ability to make newfangled miniature technology work in this “Arizona,” I shall not be updating this Journal for about ten days. In the meanwhile, I expect that the mayhem and mischief in Caledon and associated lands will be kept to a minimum. If I miss too much excitement I will be most vexed.