Lost

Behind this world lies another, neither above nor beneath.

It is the world glimpsed from the corner of the eye, of imagined motion in a mirror and the shadow with no source that darkens your way. They call it a world of beautiful madness, this is because they don't have to live there.

Once the world was full of monsters, this is where they went.

It always starts with a story, and in the story somebody told you not to do something but you did it anyway. They warned you of the lurking intelligence, the alien things that wanted you for their own. They warned you in fairy stories, they warned you when you sat down and told stories around the campfire, they even warned you while they sang you to sleep when you were too young to remember.

Too late for you, this cyclopean menace kidnapped you, mangled you and tormented you until you escaped. And the worst part is that the story went on without you, you fell through the cracks in reality and now you live in the wretched back of the sofa that is your half life. Your mind rebels. Your body refuses to conform. Your soul lies in tattered ruin. Now you too are the creature under the bed, the cackling harpy or the lumbering ogre.

Twisted into something new, your only true friend is the power you gained, to tell new stories and to make deals with the world around you. A power that can take you into fantastical worlds, and harnesses emotion as its source, a power that can't create, only change and a power that will never let you go home.

But this new world isn't just a pale reflection, filled with hideous leering beasts, and creatures just like you, it's also a world of betrayal, decay and conflict. For they will never really let you go, and they've invaded this world, the battle may be over but your war has only just begun.

A conflict has ravaged this world, for two decades They have controlled Wales. Their agents seizing the region in a night of bloody betrayal and from that stronghold spills forth their loyal servants, armies of wretched creatures have battered the defences along the western reaches of the great alliances of your kind, and their spies lurk around every corner, their assassins poison dream and lurk in the shadows. Now the landscape is filled with a knife-edge quiet, are they preparing for their final assault, are they simply content in their fortresses, their powers diminished, or does some greater evil prepare itself for it's dramatic entrance. Where will the changelings of the UK go now, how will they strive onwards, and when the dust is settled. How will they cope with what they have now become.

VOLUNTEERS
GST Lost
Andrew Moran
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