Discover a labyrinth of mysteries

A colony of outcasts will break their chains, and obtain great dominion. — The Book of Fate
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Meet The Characters

Friends, foes, villains and victors


Navigating Metropolis

Discover a world inspired by imagination





O love, sweet sanity’s orphan!
A girl smiles and her childish dimples tie our thoughts in knots of nonsense.
True love is the silliest of clichés.
Love is so terribly irrational.
Why is love so provoking of emotions that drain our will?
If this is called love, that kind agony would surely be my undoing.
Love isn’t one of our daily trials.
Whose heart do we trust? Our own, or our lover’s?
My first lessons in love: hurt and happiness. Both sides of life.
I felt a wave of desire, that brilliant flush we get when we allow ourselves to believe love has descended upon us at last.
Love is the most astonishing inebriation.
First love is an astonishment, the bluest of all our blue, blue skies.
Love is also a gamble. Sometimes it’s willing, sometimes not.
A lover’s fortune must include a best friend.
Love is both a blessing and a worry. Running by instinct is hopeless. Resorting to cold logic ignores our natural desires.
Love is both temperament and acquiescence, humbling and inspiring. The balance between these contradictions fires a universe.
Love is a blinding agent.
Is love forever entangling?
Love has no geography but what we believe and remember of it. Near or far, matters not. The heart may travel, but never leaves.
If there’s anything perpetually true in the trials of love, it’s that no one wants to be left.
Love is a most powerful inducement. Nothing in our world surpasses it. Without love, perhaps none of this has any meaning but storm and fire. Not enough to suffer for. Loyalty itself derives from the heart in terms of faithfulness which can only evolve from love.
The world poisons us if we don’t find our own antidote through beauty that survives the ugliness of our times.
Love means more than squandered virtue.
Love comes from trust.
Admiration arrives in many forms, as does love.
Love’s little intrusions make us whole when we had no idea we were not.
Making love is a waltz of souls
That desperate rationality of love.
I loved her without any good and true assurance of who she was, whether angel or wraith, and my heart refused to ask.
Do tears not flow from our hearts? That ache we suffer is as pure a sign as this world offers that we’re alive and meant to be here with those we love.
O, when our fond hearts freely/ by the willow trees dearly/ lead we young lovers along.
May these kisses lead my heart to you.
Our hearts are haunted by those we love, whether high in the heavens or down on earth.
Perhaps love creates and strengthens our bonds to earth and to those with whom we share it.
Our hearts have bottomless caverns of empathy when explored by love of more than ourselves.
Loving and being loved, forever the best part of life.
Our purpose, which is to love each other without reservation or fear.
Only love endures forever.
Life is solely concerned with love.


Sixty years of slaughter and mayhem, millions eradicated, history itself diverted from a soaring enlightenment to degradation and shame, both the corrupt and the innocent swallowed up by darkness and death.
How do we breathe the same air, drink the same water, and live in such different worlds? Was it truly necessary to name the poor and downtrodden, the ill and disregarded, as our mortal enemies and exclude them from all the beauty and inspiration we enjoy? Couldn’t eugenics have led the more fortunate of us to enhance the lives of those whose mornings were not as full of sunlight and goodness? Do the happy truly need to exterminate the sad to remain happy?
Everybody talked about victory and grand parades, when, in truth, the very notion was impossible. Besides, those of us fortunate enough not to inhabit the Desolation were absolutely terrified by the very idea of it. Nothing but mud and blood for hundreds of miles.
I suppose guilt over the mortal sacrifices of those who fought for us was the root of all this wailing, but really what could be done? Some went to war, while others stayed behind and kept to the eugenical business of attempting to perfect the imperfectible.
Killing on a mass scale is best practiced in an atmosphere of unforgiving partisanship. Who really cares what the enemy thinks is worth dying for so long as their graveyards keep growing and memorials to our own dead become repetitive and indistinct?
“Nearly one hundred thousand people have died in the Desolation this past year, Julian. What could be more deranged than that?”
“Is the death of a hundred thousand more heinous than the death of one? Are we statisticians now? Moral accountants?”
“Julian, my friend, in that one hundred thousand are single deaths, individual human beings with unique hearts and hopes, multiplied one hundred thousand times. There is no true formula for expanding or reducing a great moral dilemma.”
Killing each other, like we do, is mass suicide. The trouble is that we don’t recognize it as such. If we did, perhaps we’d do something about halting this plunge we’re taking into the abyss.
A war passes across the world like rural mowers through fields of grain, putting down to rest what had been grown season to season. Modern cannons performed those old rituals of scythe and plow, gouging rents in the earth, erasing the natural order of things. What grows in the blood and mud? Nothing until we depart. We are not required for life to go on. We just need to leave and not return before balance is regained and the sun can shine on life without men and their endless torments.
When war came across the Fatoma River, forty years after the Great Separation, those simple rural people who had been inhabiting these fertile lands both west and east of the Alban River for quiet centuries were unprepared for the intrusion of hatred and persistent darkness. They were swept away almost entirely in those relentless waves of battery and invasion. No hint of them survives.
Who could know which one of these fellows might be eating his last meal? Across the river were threats from dark corners. Survival depended upon training, yes, of course. Odds increased with perspicacity and teamwork. Still, death had unexpected invitations, and no one could be sure of avoiding that final call.
Where our two-truck convoy drove east, I saw no trees at all. No ruins. No people. No birds. No life. There was nothing but mud clear to the rainy horizon.
Standing alone in the cold drizzling rain, I realized now that this was the Desolation I’d seen in my dreams, a world utterly devoid of life, of anything good to love and nurture and grow. Our wrath had laid waste to this earth and left it barren and cold. One destiny made evident in these putrid fields of the dead.
“These are not moral issues, son. They’re imperatives. Do you understand the distinction?”
“I believe so, sir. You mean that we do what we do, not necessarily because we believe it’s right, but rather to serve our own best interests, whatever they might be.”
“If a million people on that side need to die for us to put hot soup on our tables at dinner time, sir, and hot soup is vital to our national survival, we’ll kill a million people.”
Every soldier in our war, or perhaps any war, was a human tragedy. That we tolerate and pursue such profound indignities in this world describes a species in abject failure.
The morbid assembling of casualty figures ended thirty years ago, those numbers already being so enormously obscene as to be considered finally irrelevant, at least in the gilded halls of the Status Imperium whose counting machines had no formula or index for morality.
“To war, where only the vultures are victorious.”
This war has to stop before somebody wins.



Is there a world beyond our own where no virtue goes unrewarded, no sin unpunished, whose clear blue skies and sultry evenings are recorded in the Book of Days, and all men seek perfection and immortality of good purpose?
The more miles I traveled out there, the more I became persuaded that survivors were needed more desperately now than heroes. Someone had to outlive all of this so that life could go on and the world might grow and flourish once again.
A people need not be warriors and conquerors to be great. They need only to seek goodness and moral advancement above all else.
Our lives are so brief, why do we trouble each other over trivialities and differences that lead us nowhere? Centuries pass and we are the same as ever, a race in search of a solution to a mystery that has no apparent resolution but whose torments to our sensibilities are ceaseless and cruel. And the wheel rolls on.
Any society so willing and enthusiastic to torture those it deems antithetical to its own purposes must be morally decadent and philosophically adrift. If this was how we lived now, what sort of monsters might we become in decades ahead?
The torments of this war have troubled them greatly for decades. Each medley of injury and betrayal has made peace that haunted fugitive throughout our world. We chase with hope and desperation, Julian, because we have always believed that somewhere what’s unknown to us now will be unveiled in the certain evidence of a better day.
Five hundred and sixty-three miles of unholy cemetery. Irredeemable, unless somehow our hearts are healed. Nothing can change that. One day, children will not remember and then life can proceed anew. But not until then.
If you’re patient, they’ll explain the Republic and how its troubles are not destiny but rather choices that arise in moments of fear and loss of faith in the essential goodness of people.”
I wondered how our hearts perpetrate mythologies that permit us to torment our fellow human beings. What stories do we tell ourselves to feel justified in the evils we pursue? Perhaps the vast black void above the River Philateus was not as great as that which resides in our own souls.
We rebuilt, year after year, rediscovering ourselves in this home of our birth. Labor provided moral and spiritual sustenance. Love and purpose prevailed. A living society untouched by guilt and moral confusion. Six million people thriving on the edge of tomorrow. We say, ‘The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, and the story of our world lies in that cycle.’ We do believe that when we are hand-in-hand with you once more on the shores of the sundown sea, this life will be complete.”
We’ve delved into such blackness of spirit and soul as this world has never seen. Faith in goodness is eroded by the experience of evil, and that cannot stand. We need to divert our course and find that hallowed ground upon which peace can reign once again and tears abate.
There must be hope, dear. And it needn’t appear from the clouds. As we witness these circumstances of our lives, so, too, are we able to form opinions to resolve how we absorb them and choose our way forward. Hope is born from that.
What did we know of this world apart from our madness? To be accustomed to the insanity of mass murder on a scale of great societies would ordinarily be considered unthinkable, a delusion best treated by electrical nodes and institutional therapies. When practiced by the most brilliant minds of a Republic, the unthinkable becomes habit and that habit of cruelty and moral perversion leads the simplest among us to encourage even more heinous acts. Who leads us back to the rawest semblance of virtue and goodness? After a century of despicable contortions, can anyone possibly see an escape from the endless horrors?
More than anyone else I’d known in the metropolis those two skinny boys exemplified the meaning of art and poetry and that vibrant culture of the heart and soul. Naturally they were naïve and silly and pretentious. Isn’t that what art exists for, after all? Daring to express the sins and beauty of the world in such a way that lets somebody, somewhere, dream of another life, a better one?

Cars & Vehicles

Model Seven


Incandescent artillery shells w/ radioactive phenotheric gas
Incendiary pipes
Borrado 90s
Robots (mechanical men)
Invisible soldiers (corporeal anonymity)
12 Railroad gun
Mechanical rifles
Gas myrmidon guns
Mobile incinerators
Earth mines
Chloromorphium dart
Suspension tank
Mezentian metals (Lewis, impermeable and edible)

Clothonium particles
Helion gas w/ Méléndré molecules
Morpheus powder
Radio rockets
Motor dust inhalers
Heliophlogistic Atomized Viridium
Raskol 18 pounder
Charnel pellets


Glee Club
“Apéritif: May every kiss lead my heart to you"
Violin solo in E minor, “The World in Miniature”
“Will ‘O The Wisp”
Délessért folk music
Farolinese Eight-string mahlousjka and daubha flute
Musical theater: “Love’s Lonely Libretto”
Merkála’s Meridian Quartet, Cadeña Suite in C sharp minor
Reynaldo Font’s Lullaby Suite in B minor
Mascías concertina “For As Long As I Live”
Concerto: Rialto Mecanété’s “Orellia” Movement No. 21
Romaine Royale string and brass combo, “When Eventide Falls” and “Whispering Elms”
Osterhout pulacélu
Pelágie ballad
The Hartley Cummings Banjo Orchestra “Summer Moons”
Book of Song
“Hail Republic”
“Hailing All Saints”
Co-eds singing, “If I were your honey, I’d give you my money and off to the islands we’d fly”
On the Deiopea: “O That Lovely Heart of Heaven”
Freddy whistling, “Dreamy Blue Teardrops”


Pitre Kautsky
Riemer Volgin
Morris Longstreet
“The Last Sonata”
Leandro Porteus architect
“The Aeneid”
Gallinese Book of Hours
“Princess of Mardrus and the Unicorn King” (Atyna)
“Poofus the Cat”
“The Angel and the Dove”
Qantara game and squib books
Jerrold Souza painter
Gustávo Agustín painter
Idel Memphis portrait painter
Alexis Martin
Müsyné dervish
Amphios game
Freyling Villepiqué “Eros and the Owl”
History of the Great Betrayal, “Night Came Walking”
Phanagrams game
Ministrations of Advertising
Dámian poker
Chirographic writing
Lemon socco
Pashlovt oil (black and white)
Gallimard card game
Mary Antoinette and the Snow Queen (Agnes children’s book)
Gypsy Candle (Lewis vs Mary)
A Child’s Book of Fairy Tales
“Of Gods and Men” - Paul Havrincourt
“Tales Of Christoff Céleste”
Láfhouát adepts

Food & Drink

Kaftak bakery
Radium-green liquor Sekouz
Blood-red spirit wine Guerrero
Cinnamon Arroussi (buttercorn sauce and meal, Roman mushrooms, sacquali)
Paphus steak (fish)
Boucle poppy
Tomato hash
Sausage and omelette au fromage
Ferésien love potion
Tomato soup Pelotonia
Rahaman salad
Teucrit liquor
Mazzaro tea
Gordoñia cheese
Séverine cheese
Tafra grain
Opis powder
Cafereus champagne
Laval oysters
Askour caviar
Butter cheese wine
Honey cakes
Butter sticks
Jam tarts
Black Tartárean mushrooms
Sapphire Ulla liqueur
Gardash vegetables
Ganpari ham
Topacchi soup
Sypelle chicken
Alcasian cocoa-coffee
Powdered jelly nouvelle
Cherífa cinnamon tea
Kebir wine
Eggs Kerezza
Hoggari cigarettes
Royal ham
Soulien tea
Boiled potatoes, cabbage, honeyed carrots “ancién avec marot”
Chocolate petit parc cakes
Rhotean wine (sparkling gold)
Fulton sausage
Eggs Scudéry
Syrup pudding
Honeyberry pudding
Massot tea black
Peach muffin
Scallops in Vironella sauce
Honeygrain biscuits
Jade Morini (liquored syrup)
Ijoujak (lamb stew, spicy taste of curry, cinnamon, pepper, tomato sauce)
Corn muffins
Maldoror beer
Tchäro cigarettes
LeVau sausage
Honey muffins
Nouveau Monde liquor
Rummeled eggs
Péchméja chicken
Rouge-coeur potatoes
Moralis casserole
Libro wine
Spice tea
Beef and noodles “fraternité”
Whipple dry meal (dog food)


Thayer Hall at Regency College
Porter House Dispensary
Garibaldi Building
Luteroff sanitarium
Fawcett Academy (Freddy elementary school)
Menhennet School (Delia)
Ferdinand Club
Prouter Academy
Templar College (at Sparrow Hill)
McNeely Branson School
Willsford College (Dennett and Paley)
Pellerin Building
Chaude-siérpes ancient cult
Molly Institute (on Simoni Hill)
Ascanius College (Arlo)
Jouhandeau asylum
Salius Academy (Dodd)
Mignard Institute
LeBrunen College (Victor Draxler)
Nieboldt prison
Huegenot College (Dr. Holsendorf drawing Deiopea)
Mollison Institute
Braden College (Simoni Hill)
National Stock Exchange
Selfridge sanitarium
Saturnian faith
Drumont penitentiary
Nationale Club
Mendel Building
Torelli Hall
National Cathedral
Archimbault Cathedral
Organic Medicine Institute
Éspezel Hospital
Flammarion Hospital
Haehnlan Academy (Freddy’s Upper School)
Chapman Hall (Branson)
Tremont Hall (Branson)

Monte Schulz

Inspiring Novelist and Award-Winning Author

Monte Schulz, who has been a writer for over forty years, published his first novel in 1990. He then spent ten years writing a thousand page novel of the Jazz Age – published in three parts by Fantagraphics Books (2009–2012). Schulz’s most recent projects include his novel Crossing Eden, published in 2015, and “Seraphonium,” an album and live performance, for which he served as composer, songwriter, and producer. Schulz has been teaching at SBWC since 2001 and became the conference’s owner in 2010.


For interviews, book signings and PR opportunities, please contact:

Deborah Kohan, Partner | Finn Partners
T: +1 212 593 5885
[email protected]

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