The Notebook of Nellie Bly

November 26th, 1889 I suppose it should come as no surprise that Mr. Quatermain, Victor, and myself are separated. After wandering through this desolate Realm, I enter a high wooden structure. Inside, ruination. It seems clearer each moment that those in Nightingale were wise to close the Transepts, yet there are signs of humanity everywhere I turn in the Realms. Mankind cannot simply be abandoned here. I hear noise in the brush and retreat up a crumbling side staircase. I see the shadow of a man below and think to call out in relief. His movements stall me. He is hunched and lurching, at first it seems out of injury, then his head swings wildly, like a hound catching the scent of fox. I have seen such creatures only once before, not even yet a true Explorer then. Quatermain called them the Bound, a rare and unsettling sight. The beast falls to all fours, running toward some unfortunate soul lost in darkness. I pray it is only an animal. The night is spent sleeplessly, and I depart in the morning without delay. If ‘The Watch’, as Quatermain called it, is truly to be humanity's safe haven, I must reach it.

November 29th, 1889 It is not long before I come upon my first human hamlet. A group of some relation, seen plainly in their shared scowls and coarse dark hair. “They have been near, in the night, more than I’ve ever seen. The Fae brood, that is,” a young woman said plaintively. “But they leave us be so long as we keep the land about the house well lit.” The family have boarded the farm windows with garden fencing. I share their supper: broth and sour black bread. “What do you know of them?” “They’re not men, nor even used to be. Don’t even know they’re Fae-made. Not for certain,” an older woman said, with a sharp scowl to the younger. “They and beasts kill one another, but neither gets a meal from it.” One of the men spit three times. “To fend off the eye,” he explained sourly. “Have you seen other people? From the city?” I asked. “You are the only one.” I came back to the hamlet days later. The people are gone, the buildings deserted. A Tiddalik’s mocking laughter echoes from behind the splintered door…

November 30th, 1889 An old Fae Portal brings me to a new Realm, and I feel more a Redcrosse Knight than an Explorer, throwing myself to the mercy of wholly unknown magick. Before I infiltrated the asylum, I read ghost stories to better feign insanity. Now, those improbable and impossible tales all come back on me, and wintery chills race up and down my spine. It has given me a headache, and, here, no bromo-caffeine to be had. I had hoped that following the trail of Fae Portals may shield me from our man-made Network’s collapse, but there seems to be no logic in their entrances or exits. I find myself, for the first time, wishing I had paid more attention to Aurelio’s lessons into the Knight’s archaic Realm Cards. I must admit to a mounting anxiety in my chest. There is yet no trace of my companions, no way to know the state of Nightingale. I find my usual resourcefulness beginning to run dry. I am uncertain of what may come. Quatermain has tenfold my experience, and he surely sleeps soundly in his fabled sanctuary. Of how kindly Victor fares alone, I am less sure.

December 1st, 1889 Recalling what I can of Aurelio’s dry lectures, I draw myself a simple card with the purest intentions. It seems accurate enough, bringing me to a nondescript forest and, in it, a small hovel. Outside, two Druids, husband and wife. They seem at once concerned and unsurprised at my appearance. “We’ve made our home here for some 15 years,” the wife tells me, “and we saw nary but two visitors all the while. In the last week, a dozen, rambling on of monsters and pale fog. We send them toward the Portal to town, where there’s a doctor.” With heavy heart, I inform them of the Network’s collapse and the fate of their trusted Portal. “The townsfolk said the Portal was stabilized, or soon would be. In case we were in need of aid.” The man looks about nervously, though it fills me with fresh inspiration. “Have you a stabilizer on this side?” “No…” This Realm would not be my salvation, but any efforts to secure small Networks ensure there are machines elsewhere to be found. With the right combination of cards and a sturdy stabilizer, I may find myself in The Watch by week’s end.

December 2nd, 1889 Using a deck of hand-crafted Realm Cards, I began an organized search for a stabilizer that may take me to The Watch. With so many Portals sporting a serviceable Kyklolabe Mechanism, thanks to the knights of old, it seems only a matter of time before I find what I seek. Though there is no trace of my companions, I’ve collected a few lost wanderers during my travels. They’ve proven interesting company, and knowing they will not be left to fend for themselves has renewed my hope some. One of the men who has joined my journey even claims to have seen a stabilizer. Far and away in an endless desert, he claimed. “You’re certain it was not this?” I pointed to the Kyklolabe on the Portal ahead. “No, not the card reader,” he shook his head. “This Portal had both. The other machine was different, larger but in ruins, not fit to run.” I doubt its repair is within my ability, or that of any of my wayward followers. If any in the Realms are capable, it is Victor. Finding him must be my first priority, then onward to the desert.

December 11th, 1889 After so many hikes, across barren, hostile Realms, finding this place was a thrill. There is a village filled with people! Druids, mainly, though it seems they welcome all in need of aid. They are a taciturn folk, prone to tell me their needs and nothing else. They fashion fabric on simple looms, cultivate Realmic flora, and, while they hardly flourish, they survive. Some of my gathered group have chosen to stay in the relative safety of this Realm, while others have quarreled with our hosts. Whether the Fae are to blame for our circumstance has become a topic of debate, one which the Druids will not entertain. I’ve asked around for news of Victor, and, astoundingly, a man fitting his description passed through some days ago. He headed through a Portal seeking an arid Realm where the sun sets not. Could it be the very same I seek? The Realms have a way of making their own connections after all. Rarely in all my career has a single lead been so hard fought for. The relief I feel is nowise small. Onward, then, we go to the desert and, if providence allows, to Victor as well.

December 23rd, 1889 We trekked through Desert after Desert, taking twelve long days to find the one we sought. Though Victor and I are not well acquainted, I can scarcely recall any reunion so joyful. In all their infinite expanse, the Realms truly do find a way to push us together. Not only is he here, but I found him setting to work on the very stabilizer we had hoped to reach! It seems my plan was not so original as I had imagined. After digging through the machine’s internal workings, he has gleaned a great deal. Much of the repairs can be done here, with what our band can gather, but many integral pieces require more…unusual reagents and parts. Victor believes he can gather one, an oil, from the Automatons in these Desert Realms. As much distaste as I feel at the thought of separating our group once again, I must send him away from here. The Automatons are volatile creatures if provoked, and we cannot risk the destruction of the stabilizer, or the lives of the lost souls in my care. When Victor returns, we’ll bring them all to you, Allan, no matter the cost.