SEPTEMBER 20, 2010
SA MAGAZINE Welcome to Issue 2!
Wherein there are many diversions and photos for your enjoyment. Executive Publishers Onyx Plutonian CathyWyo1 Haystack Chief Editor Kitsuko Pelazzi Assistant Editor Gordon Soliel Staff Tehanu Marenwolf Hello all and welcome to a new issue of Steampunk Adventures!
feature Winterfell and also the Consulate of Europa Wulfenbach.
In this issue there is a photo feature of Caledon Oxbridge, as well as photos and articles for the Legacies regions; there is also poetry and fiction for your enjoyment!
For November, the theme is autumn - so this gives you time to send in those submissions and suggestions!
For those wanting to look ahead, the October issue will
Please send any submissions, suggestions, etc. to Kitsuko Pelazzi (or email: email@example.com)
APOLOGIA As Chief Editor of the Steampunk Adventures magazine, I would like to take this time to issue a formal apology to those who wanted to take part in the photo safari to the Legacies sims. I know of at least one case in which someone was denied entry; it turned out the Legacies sims have changed so that only those who are age-verified may enter. We at Steampunk Adventures should have double-checked
Zebrati Merricks Alana Steamweaver The Steampunk Adventures team If you want to participate in the makings of the magazine, please contact Onyx Plutonian and Kitsuko Pelazzi for suggestions.
the information and entry requirements, and so I apologize for the oversight on our part. Further photo safari locations will be thoroughly checked to avoid any such problem in the future. As usual, though, if you have any suggestions for locations, do let us know!
STEAMPUNK ADVENTURES LEGACIES 1891 - STEAMPUNK GONE DARK, BY CATHYWYO1 HAYSTACK Even though the photo safari to Legacies1891 did cause some headaches for the staﬀ of Steampunk Adventures, this sim has a certain beauty about that is unlike any other that I have seen. Legacies 1891 is described as “a beautiful, dark universe for the demented and twisted either residing here or exploring here. Mature, No Holds Barred, extremely dark and cold, no mercy is found here. Leave your inhibitions behind, open your mind, your imagination and simply let go,” by the staﬀ on the Legacies 1891 blog.
keyboard, placing a person into the scene itself. Immersion is the removal of the barriers between people and their entertainment, until it is as real to us as everyday life, by Steve Woyach of USC Viterbi College of Engineering.
I was disappointed by the outcome of our photo safari, but not disappointed by the quality of this darkly beautiful place. The staﬀ of the Legacies 1891 sim state their mission is to provide the role player with a full immersion experience. Legacies is a role play sim, immersion is defined as a technique of lowering a person's need to suspend their disbelief by removing the text, the seat, or the A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS CONTEST
It's an old adage, but now here's your chance to proove it. Using the image above as inspiration, craft a short story of around 1000 words. We will select the best ones for
publication in next month's issue. Each published submission will be paid for their contribution and awarded a copy of this picture suitable for framing as a memento of
your accomplishment. To be eligible for consideration please submit your story to firstname.lastname@example.org by 1 October.
STEAMPUNK ADVENTURES Well-crafted environments such as that of Legacies is one that, because of its attention to detail and design allows us to suspend disbelief. This, according to Wyach, is the literary term for a reader's (or player’s) decision to accept what is presented in a story as a real event. It is the first step in the formation of people's emotional attachment to fictional characters in novels, movies, and video games. Part of the Second Life experience is to stretch one’s creative abilities, test your imagination and think outside of the physical boundaries that exist, and the Legacies experience provides an opportunity for its participants to do just that. Legacies provides its participants to reach back into the past of what they call “dark Victorian past.” What exactly is “dark Victorian?” It is this..the time of Jack the Ripper. Jack the Ripper is noted as a serial killer who killed several prostitutes in the East End of London in 1888. People then as now are fascinated with the mind, activities and lives of notorious murderers and Jack the Ripper was made popular with the advent of the rising dissemination of newspapers, books and dime novels to the general public, this is why Jack the Ripper was made a legend then and remains so today. Movies, such as Time after Time starring Malcom MacDowell and Mary Steenburgen, have been made to explore, entertain, and delight audience regarding the notorious serial killer. Investigations of murder then,
unlike now, may have only deepened the mystery, caused more questions, and created more mystique regarding the identity of the killer. The fascination with Jack the Ripper continues even today. Time magazine, in 1970, covered the crime and listed the serial murders by Jack the Ripper as the number one crime of all time in their list of the top 10 crimes stating “1888 was a bad year to be a prostitute. Between August 7 and November 10 of that year, five women were ki#ed in the Whitechapel district of London’s East End, their throats slashed and their bodies mutilated in a way that indicated they a# met their fates at the hands of the same person.” A search of Google books for Jack the Ripper brings up 41, 800 hits on the subject. It was, without a doubt, a time of intrigue, mystery and a growing understanding by humans of psychology (Freud 1856-1939) the biological experience of being human (Vitalogy 1899 ), and literary movements such as modernism and naturalism. And the ultimate literary movement dubbed simply the Victorian era (c. 1832–1901): The period of English history between the passage of the first Reform Bill (1832) and the death of Queen Victoria (reigned 1837–1901). Notable Victorian novelists include the Brontë sisters, Charles Dickens, George Eliot, William Makepeace Thackeray, Anthony Trollope, and Thomas Hardy,...Notable Victorian nonfiction writers include Walter Pater, John Ruskin, and Charles Darwin, who penned the famous On the Origin of Species (1859). (retrieved from http://
sparkcharts.sparknotes.com/lit/ literaryterms/section5.php) For pictures from Legacies, we have a selection of photos from the photo safari in the next couple of pages!
These are some lovely photographs taken during the photo safari of Legacies; unfortunately the manuscript, detailing the adventures, does not have accompanying photographs - and horrors, since our Gordon Soliel went out amidst the city we have not seen him since!
Considering that there are shambling zombies in this dark city, and some of the photos that made their way back to the oﬃce, I’m afraid... Did their boat capsize? Did Gordon become one of the undead? (If so, I hope Gordon’s unlife is a very productive one spent in cultivating the arts.)
Thankfully it does not seem that all is dark and gloomy in Legacies, so maybe there is some hope; it even seems as if this is not some cleverly disguised town defence device. We will wait and see; vigilance is needed, and confidence that M Soliel will return. -fin
HER MAJESTY’S MISFORTUNATE MAID
airship when the brave band of assembled adventurers disembarked in Or, a Demanding Diversion the Carpathian Mountains in search of the Plutonian Tiger. She would Note )om A. Jeeves, the Head have been able to serve in no Butler of Her Majesty’s Airship particular capacity as they verified “Mungo Park” the maps, charts, and ethnographic Certainly I expect no less than data that previous expeditions had perfection )om my staﬀ - a+er a#, it is retrieved. Nor was it surprising only natural that a servant of Her that she had been set to rather Majesty be able to do the tasks assigned drudgerous work in their absence. to them with the greatest of ease.
“Good!” the Chief Butler smiled in a fashion devoid of humor. “Report to the kitchen. The silverware is far too dull. I wish to see every single piece sparkling by the time the expedition returns.” His smile grew. “Every single piece.”
Violet Jessup felt her heart plunge within her chest.“Mongo” had over 100 individuals aboard ship. For each of those there was enough dinner service to be able to provide for three meals without Let’s hope Ms Jessup has “Ms. Jessup,” Alfred Jeeves, the needing a cleaning. The typical endeavored to exhibit such perfection Chief Butler of the “Mongo” had service setting included four forks, with her new grease trap duties. purred. “In the absence of the three spoons, and two knives. illustrious members of this ship’s Each. Then there were the serving I have always maintained that complement, I have a task for you. utensils for the staﬀ waiting on she is capable of learning, a+er a#. I expect only the utmost of table. Ladles, forks, knives, attention to it, so I do expect that spoons… She was facing well over you shall… refrain… from your a thousand individual items, each more foolish notions?” of which had to sparkle by the time she was done. And she had Her Majesty’s Airship Mungo Park He was referring to her enjoyment no doubt whatsoever had a great assortment of almost of the art of invention. Violet that she would not be receiving famous people aboard. There Jessup, though merely a maid assistance with the task. She were adventurers, explorers, aboard the vessel with only such would be days at the task, and she soldiers, scientists, and fighters amounts of education as needed very much suspected the company aplenty within her hull. These for a serving lady, found herself would be returning within a day at people were quite capable of with a fascination for clever most. handling anything that might designs. As such, it was not come in their explorations of the unusual for her to be found “Sparkling!” The Chief Butler world on behalf of Her Majesty. tinkering away at this or that when turned away to his duties, leaving There was little conceivable that she could, a habit that the Chief Violet to her dismay. After a few they might not be able to handle. Butler had in mind as being highly moments of wallowing in her inappropriate and distinctly Not misery, however, the girl turned Violet Jessup, maid, was not one British. Clearly he had figured out and headed down to the lower of these people. While she was that she was intending to spend decks. She had just the idea. aboard the ship, it was certainly the time while the crew was out not on account of her being engineering some new device Some time later the Chief Butler particularly gifted at anything that intended to ease the lives of maids entered the kitchen. He looked one might read in the literature the world around. around with a critical eye, of the day. She was aboard solely suspicion oozing out of every pore in the position of service to the She sighed and nodded her assent. with the sort of dignity suspicion gallant crew. “Yes, Mr. Jeeves.” could only gain through contact with a proper British butler. As such, it was no surprise that However, his suspicion began to she was left behind working in the
shift into a palpable (though subtle, as he was a butler, and thus not given to unbecoming displays) surprise.
meant by sparkling. Miss Jessup, I congratulate you. It seems you may finally be learning to be a proper ma…”
Violet was sitting demurely at a table with a little polish and a good rag, working away at a spoon. Beside her several hundred more spoons were neatly arrayed in their proper containers, sparkling and flashing with every vaguery of the light. Behind her on the counter tops, knives shone with an almost perfect sheen.
The man paused, jaw locked into place as his eyes began to boggle. The vein on his forehead began to pulse. He lowered the spoon back into its place, pausing only long enough to use a kerchief to wipe away his fingerprint.
“I must say, Miss Jessop, I had some reservations about assigning you to this important task. Your common flights of fancy had me worried that you might fail in this task in a fashion not only unseemly, but in fact most spectacular. Your previous history certainly suggested that as the more likely outcome. However, I own that perhaps I owe you an apology.”
“Miss Jessup. How did you accomplish so much in so little time?” Violet swallowed. “Well… You see, sir… I…” “You built a little contraption.” Violet nodded her head quietly. “And it has been polishing the silverware.” Violet nodded again.
Violet held her breath. She dared not utter a word. She had never heard so much as a kind word from the Chief Butler. To hear him actually suggest any degree of contriteness was utterly beyond her comprehension. She feared making any sound and causing an explosion in the man to make up for the nearhuman behavior. Jeeves walked over and picked up one of the spoons. “Marvelous. Look at the shine.” He peered closely. “I can even make out individual eyelashes in my reflection.” He held the spoon up to the light, bouncing light beams about the room. “Yes… Yes. That is what I
“And you are no doubt convinced this little… thing of yours is working splendidly?” She was, in fact, certain of exactly that. Or she had been right up until that moment. She said nothing. “And just where is this monstrosity,” Jeeves asked with an exaggerated patience. “I... I’m not quite certain, sir.” She hung her head. With a small sigh that, coming from the Chief Butler, might as well have been a thunderous
accusation, Jeeves stepped back from the table. He walked around it to stand next to Violet. “Kindly remove it from my leg, throw it out the airlock, and then come speak with me.” Violet nodded. She carefully unhooked the little clank from where it dangled just below the Chief Butler’s pocket. She tried to ignore the fact that not only was Jeeves’ shoe so shiny the black leather almost looked white with reflected light, but the cloth of his pants leg was even sparkling like a well cared for saddle. She wasn’t entirely certain how that had happened, as she’d never thought cotton could be shined. With a sigh she walked out of the kitchen, hauling the device back down to the hold. She was certain it would just need a few tweaks later, and throwing it overboard would be a waste of parts anyway. True to expectations, the expedition did indeed return that evening, just in time for a late dinner with freshly sparkly silverware. Even with time taken to get well and truly lambasted by the Chief Butler and assigned to grease trap cleaning duty for the next week, Violet was able to capitalize on how much the machine had polished and complete all the shining. Everyone at dinner was able to enjoy good and properly reflective place settings. Violet was too busy sulking over her latest brush with the Chief
Butler to really pay attention to the conversations. While the adventurers were busy discussing the ancient tomes they had found, coﬃn they had liberated, and gargoyles dispatched, she was unable to tear herself away from visions of kitchen traps needing degreasing. With a sigh she carried away her half-eaten plate of food, disposed of it, and headed to bed. The next morning she woke early and performed the proper ablutions. Clean and dressed in a prim outfit, she left the little cabin she shared with another maid and began making her way up to the kitchen. With her extra duties on the grease traps she knew she’d need to getan early start on the day or she’d never get everything done. This meant a breakfast of leftovers from the night before. Unfortunately for the maid, she hadn’t made it half way to the kitchen before arms reached out from the doorway to one of the many lounges aboard ship and pulled her inside. She started to shriek in surprise, but forestalled herself. The guests were still sleeping. It would be most rude of her to interrupt their sleep. Pale white hands with long fingernails gripped her shoulders. She felt herself lifted into the air and carried into the depths of the darkened room. She was lowered back to her feet, and one hand slid down to wrap around her waist, trapping her arms at her sides while the other stroked the side of her cheek.
It reminded her of some of the Russian guests she’d had in the past, though that wasn’t quite right. Perhaps something more Lithuanian? But she didn’t recall any Lithuanians being aboard. She did think that one of the stokers was Estonian, but she wasn’t completely certain about that, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t have such clean or well manicured nails. Maybe it was the… “AHEM!” The voice sounded in her ear again, quiet but for the fact the lips were probably only an inch from the lobe. “Vhen you are qvuite done vith your voolgathering, I asked you vhere ve are.” “Oh!” Violet gasped. “I’m terribly sorry. That was most rude of me. Please forgive me. I get lost in thought sometimes and…” “Meh.” The voice sounded dismissive. “You are forgiven, child. But you still have not answered my qvuestion. Vhere have I found myself ?” “Well, you’re on Her Majesty’s Airship Mungo Park, sir.”
“Oh! I see!” Violet nodded, then thought a moment. “Shouldn’t that be Conte Radu Constantinescu?” “Vhy?” “Well, in Romanian it’s ‘Conte,’ not ‘Count’.” “The audience vouldn’t know the diﬀerence.” “Oh, good point.” Violet thought that imminently reasonable an argument. “Um… You’re not going to ravish me, are you?” “Vould that I could,” the voice sighed. “Alas, I cannot.” Violet found herself spun about to face her attacker. The man standing before her in the gloom was rather tall and thin. He wore long black robes over an antique double breasted waistcoat with a silver watch. Beneath black brows his eyes pierced her with their intense blue, expressing a hunger that seemed to be for something far deeper than mere dalliance, and far more urgent.
“Look at me and know despair! For I am an ancient evil, cursed by “Count.” God! Vhen I look upon a voman I know not the need for her body, Violet blinked. “Um… One… but only a hunger for her blood. Two… Three…” I am the great nephew of Count Vlad Dracul himself, and like him, “No no no!” The voice sounded a the only use I shall have for you is touch annoyed. “My title. I am to mesmerize you vith my eyes Count Radu Constantinescu of before drinking every drop of Romania.” blood from your neck and leaving “Vhere is this place?” The voice you dead. This curse vas placed was low, soft, and heavily accented. upon my entire family as
punishment for the blasphemes spoken by my great uncle and for his depraved acts of… of…” The Count stopped, a quizzical look on his face. “Vhy are you laughing?” “I’m not *snrfl* laughing,” Violet demurred, hiding her lips behind one hand. She fought to contain herself. “This is serious, child,” the vampire chided. “You do realize that I am about to suck your blood and slay you, do you not? And then I shall go through this vessel drinking the blood of every voman abourd, young and old, leaving their dried husks as testament to my evils? You should be terrified. You should be running avay screaming and trying to get help. Vhy vould you not be attempting to flee?” He looked a tad downcast. “The struggling makes the meal taste better, you know.” “I’m *snrk* sorry,” Violet replied, trying as hard as she could to remain proper. “It’s just that…”
The vampire rolled his eyes. “Not very convincing, are you?” “I’m sorry! It’s not your accent, really! I apologize.” “Very vell. I accept.” The vampire nodded graciously. “Vhat then?” “Well,” Violet demurred. “It’s just that… well…” Count Radu began to look impatient. “Get on vith it.” “You’re sparkling.”
Violet swallowed a chortle. “It’s not that, really! I think you’ve done very vell. Well. You’ve done very well.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t possibly be sparkling.” Count Radu’s visage looked threatening. “I’m sorry, I know that you really don’t want to believe this, but really, you are. If you went and looked at yourself in that mirror over there, you’d see.” Count Radu gave Violet a long look. “I am a vampire. We don’t cast reflections in mirrors.” “You also don’t sparkle.”
There was a silence in the darkened compartment. Moments passed.
“I am so glad ve agree on that point,” the vampire said.
“And yet you are sparkling.”
“I. DO. NOT. SPARKLE.”
Violet pinched her nose. “I am sorry, sir. I know this must be very distressing, but you are, in fact, sparkling. It’s rather obvious, in fact. I wager that, were you to cast open the blinds, you would be outright dazzling. Blinding, even.”
“I am not sparkling.” “You are.”
Count Radu sighed. “It’s my accent, isn’t it. I vent to therapy, but I never could get it. ‘If two vitches vere catching two vatches, vitch vitch vould vatch vich vatch?.’ ‘How much vood vould a vouldchuck chuck if a vould chuck could chuck vood?’ It’s terrible, I know.”
Violet paused. She drew a deep breath. “I assure you, you most certainly are sparkling right now.”
“I am not.” “I’m afraid you really are.”
Count Radu snarled. “Lies! I do not sparkle! I am not dazzling. And if I thrust open the blinds, I vould not be blinding!”
“Vampires do not sparkle.”
“Really?” Violet asked.
“No, I am not.”
“Really,” Count Radu replied. He stomped over to the blinds, jerked “Do not.” “Do too.” “Do NOT.” them open, and promptly “Do TOO.” “NOT.” “TOO.” disintegrated in a puﬀ of smoke “NOT””TOO””NOT!”
and ash as the morning sun flooded the compartment. Violet blinked. She blinked again. She blinked a third time. “Oops. Was he a guest? Because if he was a guest I am in such trouble.”
There should be another Violet Jessup story for “You are indeed in trouble,” the Head Butler said the next issue, so stay tuned! from behind her. She spun just in time to see him step into the compartment from the passageway beyond. He was holding up the polishing device from the day before. “Miss Jessup, do please explain to me how this device, which you most certainly threw overboard in accordance with my instructions, made it back aboard. And while you are at it, I demand to know why this compartment, the passageway I just passed through, and every inch of you is covered in ash.” Before Violet even had a chance to open her mouth, Jeeves shook his head. “No, never mind. Just clean it up and then report for grease trap cleaning duty. For the next month.”
POETRY CORNER We have about three poems that are new to this issue; the first is by Stereo Nacht, known for her attendances and contributions to the weekly Poetry Slam in Winterfell Anodyne (her poem is on the next page). She is a Wulfenbachian airwoman, detached to the Steamlands, wherein she became the team fencing captain. The second poem is by our own CathyWyo1 Haystack, whose biography was featured last issue the poem regards love and revenge; the third poem is by
Elvira Afterthought. In her words - “I am a little silly, a lot sappy, and think with my heart and not my head most of the time. I love steampunk, steampunk in Second Life, and all the adventure this life has to oﬀer. Love to learn, still learning and so much to learn”.
so please feel free to send in submissions! Poems are on the pages following. More detailed submission guidelines are below on this page.
If you wish to submit poetry to Steampunk Adventures Magazine, please be aware whilst we try to preserve formatting, formatting may diﬀer in the publication. But we like poetry and other forms of creative work,
CREATIVE WORKS Please send using a common format (PDF, Word, HTML) as an attachment in an aetheric mail to email@example.com, with the title of your work and preferred name clearly labeled. In addition, please send a brief biography so we can adequately introduce our contributors. If you have any questions, please contact Kitsuko Pelazzi or CathyWyo1 Haystack.
JUST ANOTHER FAMILY
Pulled both to the grave, early Father had to act quickly!
This is the beginning of the adventure for Stereo Ambivalence Nacht of Wildthoughts, the First and Second. Well, mostly known as Stereo Nacht in Second Life… (Another work shows how I had to go and find employment.) I hope you will enjoy it!
Just Another Family
By his skilled work, one body One minion and one sparky! But I hear curiosity: What of Father, finally?
Let me tell you a story
People's love is so flimsy...
Not much diﬀerent from many: The story of my family
Seeing a monster in me Thought father had turned badly
Out of fear, they went crazy
The spark shows up in the tree Here, there, inconsistently
Destroyed and burned his smithy Took him out without pity
Mother, children, forced to flee…
Had it working quite strongly, Channeling his energy.
Mother worked hard so that we Could rebuild from the debris
Yet a good man, so that he
That our lives had came to be.
Helped his neighbors freely This enough made him happy.
But of Father, not a wee Word came as a guarantee
Mother is a strong lady; Sometimes I wonder if she Was enhanced, made clanky... Their love brought, "flower and bee" My many brothers - and me. Or "us", I should say, maybe. We were born as two, you see Conjoined - it happens rarely By the skull, dangerously. One of us, too frail baby,
Of his fate from the hate-spree.
MRS ALBERT NELSON’S MURDER by CathyWyo1 Haystack
VI She would pass by Boyd, as if he weren’t there She smelled of flowers, fragrant jasmine
On the morning of November 18, 1909, Albert Nelson lay chilled On the barren slab of the doc’s table 36 inches of crude stitches crossed his muscled torso Train tracks leading from his neck to his crotch II Mrs. Albert Nelson, 20 years old Lay on a bitter table, wrapped in bloody white linen In a backroom waiting for the undertaker No point in stitching her gaping wounds She was dead III Mr. Boyd Leeson burned by jealous rage Fueled by bootleg moonshine (white lightning) Lay quiet in the smoldering remains Of the Nelson’s formerly happy home IV Leeson was a hired hand, little more than a servant He would never aﬀord what he desired The golden haired charm of Mrs. Albert Nelson on his arm V Mrs. Albert Nelson when known as Lettie Morse flirted, flitted her pretty blue eyes Her laughter tickled the dull corners of Boyd’s mind Behind hooded eyes, he could see her figure, her breasts round and firm Promises of meeting a man’s desire
Boyd swayed and stammered, ashamed of his greasy hair. He hid his grimy fingernails, his clothes cheap and threadbare His hands clammy, sweat running from his armpits, and His ears ringing from the intoxication of the sight of her VII Then she married Albert Nelson, big hick of a farmer And Time worked on Boyd His desire turned to love His love turned to hate His hate turned to rage His rage turned to revenge VIII The night air still and thick He sat in his shack plotting his need to settle scores, His only company was Vengeance a vulture picking at his brain his body twisted at the pain of it. against the single candle burning, he made a macabre silhouette IX He had to stop the sting of her rejection And there was only one way To satisfy this yearning, to satisfy this passion, to quell his anger X He whispered, his voice hoarse,
“I am alone in the world
Who will know? Who will care?”
by Elvira A+erthought
What else could he do? A lone wolf cry rang across the prairie
when I am old and lonely I will reflect and remember you XI peering into that pool of images drawing you in neon boundaries He sat, bent over the knife and the whetstone, that dissipate into a The knife shrieked across the stone fractured mirror an illusion The sweat burned into his eyes, he feverishly a pool licked his lips. a space in time when I you we A white-hot steam engine ticked in his brain were special It would not stop. but nothing special at all Until the knife glinted, with a shimmering, razor your arms wrapped around my bare soul thin edge trapping me willingly in your embrace of mind tentacles your image my image XII laid bare raw entwined On the night of November 17th, 1909 bound by something we believed we understood Leeson studied the Nelson’s homestead shack ‘til the lights went out, over the ridge the vulture you pulled me down you held me down screamed you cooled me A meteor shower ripped across the night’s sky you melted me He waited and when he was sure they were asleep without touching we left He floated to the door in the nightmare induced an indelible mark upon each other if nothing at all by bootleg liquor seeing your image I reach The dog yelped, then fell to the ground out to nothing and wonder where are you now where are you now XIII Her eyes flew open and she saw the glint of steel Furious at her look of surprise that turned to revulsion He did what he had to do, the knife slicing through her pale skin. The fine edge flashing until it turned to scarlet That was all. She lay still.
STAFF SPOTLIGHT - ONYX PLUTONIAN Mr. Plutonian emigrated to the shores of fair Caledon a year and a half ago, penniless, friendless and confused. The latter two were quickly overcome as he found both friends and instruction in and among the hallowed halls of learning at Oxbridge University. Thus prepared he set out to explore this beautiful new land and wandered hither and yon, buďŹ€eted about by the winds of fortune. He underwwent many changes, not the least of which was his transformation to an anthropomorphic white tiger. The Builder smiled upon this hapless vagabond and brought to him various opportunities. He readily pounced on these and soon found himself among the landed gentry. Mr Plutonian currently owns the Thistle Hill Markets in Caledon Oxbridge Village over which is moored the airship Empress of the Aethers, a live performance stage attracting some of the best entertainers in Second Life. If questioned, Mr Plutonian is quick to credit his success to the generosity of his friends and the fortunes of serendipidous happenstance. His latest venture has been the partnership that owns the Steampunk Adventures emporium in Winterfell Anodyne and now this magazine which he envisions as his chance to "pay forward" the generosity once shown him. "We aim to give new and established writers, photographers and artists an
opportunity to see their work published in a high quality respected publication, and thus purrrhaps to lauch or enhance their careers."
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CHIEF EDITOR SIGNOFF I hope you have all enjoyed this issue and we look forward to bringing you the third issue of Steampunk Adventures soon. I can be reached at email@example.com if anything urgent comes up.