Luncheons & Flagons

Not for you the wilderness; the miserable, monstrosity-haunted hole in the ground; the paltry promise of maybe-treasure in return for limb and life in the dark. No.

The city is the place, la dolce monstro. It has treasures better than ancient gold: masked balls, the cut and thrust of rhetoric as the coffee-garden philosophers duel to the discredit, kisses thieved from the viciously-guarded vaults of propriety and scandal.