Nowhere but Paris is the sword of purity whetted so sharp. Surrounded by the thrones of witches & sorcerers, France's empire keeps pace via human muscle & heart alone. The King is weak, & the true throne is Notre-Dame, where sits the self-styled Pope Severinus II, born Claude Frollo. "God's tools against Lucifer's instruments," he proclaimed as kneeling soldiers cheered, "shall restore virtue to Rome." Yet to trusted cardinals he has been heard to say, "If a witch dwells with two innocents, God will burn down the house."

To the north lies Britain. French troops have landed at Dover & fortified their camps. The French knights swing chains of cold iron, which is agony to fairies. English longbowmen take aim behind ranks of horned & winged defenders.

To the east lies Germany. The Mirrorqueen has instructed Quasimodo, by letter from beggar to Beggar King to hunchback, to sprinkle the false Pope's food with soporific powder. Holding the readied apple in his hands, he watches mass from above, praying.

To the southeast lies Pleasure Island. Every year on Good Friday, French soldiers storm Pleasure Island, fighting their way past a new form of beast or illusion. If they win, they sheath their swords & seize as many children as they can. Terrific are the yells of the all-fighting children as they unwisely resist the rescue.

New Orleans: Paris has put tariffs upon Louisiana to punish her for her traffic with the underworld. Plainclothes Jesuits, it is said, frequent the saloons of New Orleans, tricking fools into revealing the true names of devils.