Chapter 2 - The Reader Requests a Map, and the Chronicler Obliges as Best He Can
In Which the Chronicler Pauses the Action to Address the Perplexed Reader Directly, Offering a Brief Guide to the Persons, Places, and Peculiar Terms of This Ongoing Chronicle
Gentle reader, we must speak plainly.
If you have followed this chronicle thus far, you may find yourself in a state of some confusion. The fault is not yours. The age itself is confused, and the chronicler's task is merely to record what passes, not to render it orderly. Nevertheless, a certain amount of bewilderment has been reported by those who have encountered the adventures of Lord Donaldo the Tremendous without the benefit of proper introduction.
Therefore, let us pause before the next great quest—before more arrows fly, before more proclamations echo through the Network of Shimmering Mirrors, before Rubius the Brownie sighs yet again—and let us consider together the world in which these events unfold.
The chronicler invites you to pull up a chair, perhaps pour yourself a cup of something warming, and attend to the following explanations.
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On the Matter of Lord Donaldo Himself
Our principal figure, as you may have gathered, is Lord Donaldo the Tremendous, Last Inheritor of the Ancient Dragon-Kings. He is, in his own estimation, the most magnificent creature in all the Republica Magnifica—a great dragon of advanced years, his scales once gleaming gold but now faded to a brassy orange that catches the light most effectively when he stands before the enchanted mirrors.
His fiery breath, it must be admitted, produces more smoke than flame. But the smoke is considerable, and Lord Donaldo has never been one to concern himself with minor distinctions.
He resides in the Fortress of Golden Ambition, a splendid seaside compound overlooking the Churning Sea, in a region known to the perplexed reader as the southern coast of Florida, near a place called Palm Beach. Here he holds court, receives visitors, and issues proclamations that travel instantly to every corner of the realm through the Network of Shimmering Mirrors—which you, gentle reader, call television and social media.
Lord Donaldo believes, with the full force of his considerable self-regard, that he alone can restore the republic to its former greatness. He believes that hidden forces conspire against him. He believes that every criticism is evidence of conspiracy, every fact that contradicts him is a lie manufactured by enemies, and every proclamation he issues is absolutely true regardless of what the Guild of Endless Scrolls may later report.
In this, he resembles a certain figure from your own world—a figure whose name the chronicler is forbidden by the conventions of this narrative to speak directly. But you know whom we mean. His initial is T. His surname contains seven letters. He has been known to appear on the Glimmering Slates of Dubious Accuracy with some frequency.
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On Rubius the Brownie and the Fox-Spirit
At Lord Donaldo's side, or more often slightly behind him and to the left, stands Rubius the Brownie. He is a small, furry-footed household sprite of great age and even greater patience. Where his master sees conspiracies and glorious quests, Rubius sees practical realities: whether the kitchen sprites have prepared the midday meal adequately, whether the bedding is comfortable, whether the latest proclamation bears any relationship to observable events.
Rubius has served the Dragon-King for many years. He has learned when to speak and when to remain silent. He has learned that facts are slippery things in the presence of such magnificence. He has learned to keep his enchanted slate close at hand, to consult the news from the Guild of Endless Scrolls, and to sigh quietly where no one can hear.
He is, in short, the voice of the reader within the story—the one who sees what is actually happening while those around him participate in whatever drama the Dragon-King has imagined for the day.
Then there is the Fox-Spirit.
She is never seen in these pages. She may never appear at all. Yet Lord Donaldo speaks of her constantly—his inspiration, his beloved, the ethereal creature for whom he undertakes all his quests. He believes she watches him from the shadows of the forest, that she sends messages on the wind, that she alone understands his true greatness.
In reality, the Fox-Spirit is a cunning creature going about her own business, entirely unaware of the grand romantic role assigned to her. She represents, if you will, the common folk of the republic—the citizens whose actual concerns (rising prices, comfortable retirement, functional roads) bear little resemblance to the epic struggles described in Lord Donaldo's proclamations.
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On the Geography of the Republic and Its Neighbors
The Republica Magnifica itself is vast and varied. To the north lie the icy forests and the great cities of the Coastal Dominions of Enlightened Opinion—the City of Northern Ambition (New York), the City of Brotherly Deception (Philadelphia), and the Motor Metropolis (Detroit). To the south stretch the Sun-Scorched Dominions, home to the City of Southern Charm (Atlanta) and the Isle of Enchanted Dreams (Miami). To the west, across mountains and deserts, lies the Bay of Progressivism (San Francisco), where the inhabitants speak constantly of justice while living in houses that cost more than most citizens earn in a lifetime.
In the middle, like a swampy heart that refuses to stop beating, lies the Swampy City on the Potomac—Washington, District of Columbia. Here the Grand Council meets in perpetual session, producing laws, investigations, and confusion in equal measure. Here the Deep Realm is believed to conduct its most secret business in the Capital Enclave, where the Castle of Records stands as a silent monument to bureaucracy's eternal patience.
Beyond the borders of the republic lie realms both friend and foe. To the east, across the Churning Sea, lie the ancient kingdoms of the Old World, which feature occasionally in our tale but need not concern us now. To the south-east lies the Grand Emirate of the Olive Groves (Israel), ruled by Emir Benjamin the Cautionary, a leader whose careful approach to every statement provides endless contrast to our Dragon-King's enthusiastic proclamations.
And to the south, in a region of shifting sands and crumbling towers, lies the Sultanate of the Shimmering Dunes (Iran), home to the Warlocks of the Pheasant Throne—so called because their once-mighty symbol, the phoenix, has been comically reduced to a common game bird. These warlocks speak constantly of destruction and launch arrows with some regularity, though their actual accomplishments rarely match their rhetoric.
Farther east still lies the Forbidden Kingdom of the East (China), ruled by an ancient dragon of a different sort entirely—patient, inscrutable, content to trade with everyone while committing to nothing.
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On the Shadows Closer to Home
But gentle reader, the republic's troubles are not limited to foreign realms and distant warlocks. There exist shadows closer to home—shadows that reach into the highest circles of power and the most private corners of the kingdom.
Chief among these is The Shadowy Brotherhood, a name spoken only in whispers by those who know enough to be cautious. This brotherhood operated for decades from a small, private island in the warmer southern waters, an island known to those who visited it as the Isle of Forgotten Sins. Here, it is said, the powerful and the privileged gathered for entertainments that polite society preferred not to acknowledge.
The brotherhood was led by a figure of considerable wealth and even more considerable discretion—a financier who moved easily among the mighty, who flew on private vessels, who seemed to know everyone worth knowing. His name in your world, gentle reader, is Jeffrey Epstein. In ours, we call him simply the Master of the Shadowy Brotherhood, for to speak his true name would be to invite his lingering influence back into the light.
The brotherhood maintained detailed records of every visitor to the Isle of Forgotten Sins. These records, known as the Ledgers of the Silver Wings, documented every journey taken aboard the brotherhood's vessels, every guest who came and went, every favor given and received. The ledgers were sealed in the deepest vaults of the Castle of Records, where they slumbered for years, gathering dust and, perhaps, waiting.
And in those ledgers, it must be said, the name of Lord Donaldo the Tremendous appears with some frequency. This is a matter of public record, though the Dragon-King himself has offered varying explanations over the years—that he barely knew the Master, that they had a falling out, that he visited only once or twice, that everyone visited, that the island was simply the place to be. The explanations shift like sands, gentle reader, but the ledgers remain fixed.
In recent days, a Hidden Witness has come forward from the shadows—a woman who claims to have encountered the Dragon-King in her youth, at gatherings hosted by the Shadowy Brotherhood, in circumstances she now describes as most unfortunate. The Castle of Records conducted interviews, producing four scrolls of testimony. Only one of these scrolls remains in the public archives. The other three have become what the archivists call Vanishing Tomes—records that exist in memory but not in fact, documents whose absence raises more questions than their presence ever could.
Some say the Vanishing Tomes number in the tens of thousands—as many as forty-seven thousand scrolls related to the Shadowy Brotherhood that have somehow slipped through the cracks of the Castle of Records. The Loyal Opposition cries conspiracy. The Deep Realm denies involvement. The Guild of Endless Scrolls reports it all with varying degrees of accuracy.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
And Lord Donaldo? He declares himself exonerated, of course. He always does.
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On the Seven and Their Summoning
As this chronicle unfolds, gentle reader, you will encounter a gathering of figures summoned by the Grand Council to answer for their associations with the Shadowy Brotherhood. They are known, in the scrolls and slates, as the Seven—though whether this number will grow or shrink as the investigation proceeds remains to be seen. Let us introduce them now, so that when their names appear you may know something of their place in this tangled tale.
Lord William of the Northern Lakes is the founder of a great computing empire that spans the globe. His machines and enchantments are found in nearly every household of the republic, and his wealth is exceeded only by his philanthropic ambitions. In the years following the Master's first disgrace, Lord William met with him on multiple occasions—flying aboard the Brotherhood's vessels, visiting the Isle of Forgotten Sins, and seeking the Master's counsel on matters of global finance and charitable giving. Lord William now admits this was a "huge mistake" and has agreed to testify before the Grand Council. The scrolls suggest the Master possessed information about Lord William's private life—specifically, two extramarital affairs with women from the northern kingdom of Russia—and may have attempted to use this knowledge for leverage.
Lord Leonard of the Golden Coins built his fortune in the realm of high finance, co-founding one of the most powerful investment houses in the republic. The records show he paid the Master approximately one hundred fifty-eight million golden coins for tax and estate planning services over several years. The Master inserted himself deeply into Lord Leonard's personal affairs, advising on family matters and even assisting with complications arising from a six-year affair with a woman from the eastern kingdoms. The Master suggested hiring former law enforcement officers to approach the woman and secure her silence through a nondisclosure agreement—advice that Lord Leonard apparently followed. He stepped down from leadership of his investment house but maintains he had no knowledge of the Master's criminal activities.
Lady Katherine of the Legal Scrolls served as chief advisor to the Previous Administration in the Swampy City on the Potomac, later joining a great banking house and then a powerful financial institution. Her correspondence with the Master, now made public, reveals an unusually warm relationship. She addressed him as "Uncle Jeffrey" in written communications, arranged for acquaintances to receive tours of the Previous Administration's residence at his request, and confessed in one exchange that she "adored" him. She has since announced her resignation from her banking position and will testify before the Grand Council, maintaining through her representatives that she did nothing wrong and had no knowledge of any criminal activity.
Lord Douglas of the Western Counsel served for many years as a personal aide and advisor to a former ruler of the republic—a figure from the Previous Administration whose own connections to the Shadowy Brotherhood have been the subject of much scrutiny. Lord Douglas attended the wedding of that former ruler's daughter as a guest of the Master's closest accomplice, and his name appears in the Ledgers of the Silver Wings with some frequency. He has thus far offered no public comment on his forthcoming testimony.
Lady Sarah of the Southern Shores was once employed by the Master himself, serving in his household and assisting with his affairs. Her name appears throughout the Brotherhood's records, and she is believed to possess intimate knowledge of the Master's daily operations and his relationships with the powerful figures who visited the Isle of Forgotten Sins. She has not spoken publicly since the Master's downfall and has offered no comment on her summons.
Lady Lesley of the Eastern Archives served as the Master's longtime executive assistant, managing his correspondence and schedules for many years. If anyone knows the full extent of the Master's dealings, it would be she. She too has remained silent, her representatives offering no response to the Grand Council's summons.
Lord Theodore of the Western Wilderness is a tech lord of considerable fortune, known for his pioneering work in computing and his reclusive habits. He was once romantically involved with the Master's closest accomplice—the Lady Ghislaine of the Northern Isles—and attended the wedding of the former ruler's daughter as her guest. His name appears in the Brotherhood's records, though the extent of his knowledge or involvement remains unclear. He has not commented on his summons.
The Lady Ghislaine herself deserves mention, gentle reader, for she was the Master's constant companion and, in many ways, his partner in the shadows. She facilitated his introductions, arranged his gatherings, and stood beside him through years of accusations and investigations. After the Master's death, she was tried in the courts of the republic and found guilty of participating in his crimes. She now resides in a secure fortress far from the society she once moved through so easily.
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On What the Seven Reveal
The summoning of the Seven, gentle reader, reveals something important about the Shadowy Brotherhood's method. The Master did not simply collect the powerful as trophies; he embedded himself in their lives. He offered tax advice to financiers, philanthropic counsel to tech lords, introductions and access to legal advisors. He attended weddings and sent warm correspondence. He made himself useful, indispensable even.
And in doing so, he learned their secrets.
The affairs of Lord William. The private arrangements of Lord Leonard. The warm affections of Lady Katherine. All of it documented, all of it preserved, all of it waiting to be discovered in the Ledgers of the Silver Wings and the forty-seven thousand scrolls that remain, for now, missing from the Castle of Records.
The Seven will testify. They will offer explanations. They will express regret. They will insist they knew nothing of the Master's crimes.
Whether the Grand Council—or the public—will believe them is another matter entirely.
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On the Forces That Shape Events
The reader may wonder who truly governs this world. The answer, like most answers in the Age of Confusion, depends on whom you ask.
Lord Donaldo would tell you that the true rulers are invisible: the Deep Realm, a hidden order of administrators, scribes, and advisors who have captured the machinery of state and use it for their own purposes. They are the enchanters of this age, transforming windmills into giants in the minds of the people. And now, he would add, they have manufactured the entire Shadowy Brotherhood scandal to destroy him.
The learned wizards of the High College of Eldritch Wisdoms—professors and experts based in the coastal cities—would tell you that no such conspiracy exists, that governance is merely complicated, and that if you would only read the Ancient Tomes and consult the Scrying Pools, you would understand. They would also note, in their measured tones, that the Ledgers of the Silver Wings are quite real and quite damning.
The Guild of Endless Scrolls—newspapers and news networks—would tell you that they alone report the truth, though they cannot agree among themselves what truth is. Some scrolls focus on the Hidden Witness. Others on the Vanishing Tomes. Others on Lord Donaldo's shifting explanations. Still others on the Seven and their forthcoming testimony. The cumulative effect is a blur of information that leaves the average citizen more confused than when they began.
And the ordinary citizens, scattered across the Northern Marshes and the Sun-Scorched Dominions and the Coastal Dominions of Enlightened Opinion? They consult their Glimmering Slates, they watch the enchanted mirrors, they form opinions and change them and forget them and form them again, and they wait to see what happens next.
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On the Adversaries and Artifacts
The enemies in this story are many. There are the Windmill Giants—actual wind turbines that Lord Donaldo perceives as monsters stealing the people's energy. There are the Storm-Hawks and Harpies—journalists and critics who screech from the sky and peck holes in his narratives. There are the Goblins of the Pass of Poor Decisions—opportunistic figures from his past who took advantage of his generosity and left him poorer but no wiser.
And now there is the Shadowy Brotherhood, whose reach extends even from beyond its Master's downfall, whose ledgers continue to surface, whose island continues to cast a long shadow over the republic's politics.
The artifacts of this world are familiar to you under other names. The Speaking-Stones are telephones. The Enchanted Mirrors are televisions. The Glimmering Slates are smartphones. The Scrying Pools are polling data. The Chicken Entrails are a joke about less rigorous research methods, which the chronicler includes for his own amusement.
The Ledgers of the Silver Wings are something else entirely. They are records, gentle reader. And records, as any chronicler will tell you, have a way of outlasting the powerful who wished them destroyed.
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On the Phrases You Will Encounter
Finally, gentle reader, a word about language.
When Lord Donaldo speaks of "The Golden Age," he means a future of prosperity so magnificent that every citizen will have a roasted goose in every pot and a mirror that shows only flattering reflections. The precise meaning of "goose" and "flattering" remains flexible.
When he invokes "The Previous Administration," he refers to whatever government came before his own, whose inadequacy is, according to him, "well documented in the memories of all right-thinking citizens."
When he dismisses the "Fact-Checkers of the Guild," he refers to those annoying individuals who examine his proclamations for accuracy—a practice he regards as fundamentally hostile.
When he speaks of the "Deep Realm's latest conspiracy," he may be referring to any number of things: the Hidden Witness, the Vanishing Tomes, the Ledgers of the Silver Wings, the Seven, or simply a particularly unflattering headline on any given morning.
When Rubius mutters "More arrows on Tuesday," he means that a problem Lord Donaldo has declared solved remains very much unsolved, and will continue to remain unsolved for the foreseeable future. This applies equally to warlocks and to shadows.
And when you hear mention of "The Camels," you are hearing a reference to an earlier adventure in which Lord Donaldo described events that no one else could confirm—a situation that arises more often than Rubius would prefer, and one that may yet prove relevant to the Shadowy Brotherhood affair.
There is one more phrase to remember, gentle reader—a saying that will echo through the chapters to come. It comes from a truth-teller in the eastern marches, a knight named Lord Thomas whose inconvenient observations have made him unpopular in the Fortress of Golden Ambition. When the Warlocks of the Pheasant Throne launch their arrows and the Shimmering Mirrors fill with smoke and fire, Lord Thomas will remind the republic:
"Flames upon distant sands cannot burn the scrolls in our own archives."
Remember this phrase. It will recur.
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A Final Word Before We Continue
The chronicler offers these explanations not because he believes the reader incapable of following the tale without them, but because the Age of Confusion has made such guidance necessary. We live in a time when events themselves seem uncertain, when proclamations multiply faster than facts can keep pace, when the very nature of truth has become a subject of debate.
In such an age, a guide is not a luxury but a necessity.
And so, with these explanations offered, we return to our story. Lord Donaldo rests in his Fortress of Golden Ambition, digesting his roast ox and contemplating his next proclamation. Rubius attends to the kitchen sprites and glances at his enchanted slate. The Warlocks of the Pheasant Throne prepare more arrows for Tuesday. The Fox-Spirit remains unaware of her role in any of this.
And in the depths of the Castle of Records, the Ledgers of the Silver Wings gather dust and wait, as ledgers do, for someone to open them again.
The Seven prepare their testimony. The Master's shadow stretches long.
The republic, vast and restless and perpetually confused, waits to see what magnificent absurdity will next emerge from the mind of its would-be savior—and what shadows may emerge with it.
The chronicler, for his part, will continue to record these events as they occur, adding to this ongoing chronicle whenever the affairs of the realm produce new material worthy of preservation.
Which, in the present age, is constantly.
