|
As explained by the Mage-Babe Kairee
The Nexial Hierarchy
Last month we reviewed the very nature of the Multiverse. We reviewed that Chaos is at the center of all things. From Chaos Order is formed and it is to Chaos that Order returns.
Chaos, by its nature, is chaotic. It has no form, there is no system or symmetry in it. Chaos is chaos.
Order, on the other hand, has structure.
So, when Chaos birthed Order the first thing Order did was create more order.
Let's explore, at the highest of levels, the hierarchy of creation within Order. This article is merely an introduction into a very complex topic.
The first things to form were, as I like to call them, "Abstracts." I do not mean this in a moral or philosophical sense. They are abstract because they are without recognizable form. They are more conceptual than anything beyond. The Abstracts are things such as Good and Evil, Light and Dark, Male and Female, Sentience, and so forth.
The Abstracts provided the framework for the rest of creation driven by Order's need to reproduce more Order. Abstracts matured and interacted with other Abstracts, spawning Primal Entities.
Worlds came into being filling the void within Order; drawing from the Abstracts in the creation process, coloring the nature and final forms they took. Elements of the Abstracts in these worlds burst forth in primal being form tied to and part of the worlds of their birth.
It is with Primal Entities that we first start seeing "intelligent life."
The Primal Beings are what are often called "gods" and "demons" though there are many other creatures that are Primal Entities, like the Elementals (Fire, Water, Earth, and Air.) It's not necessary to go through the litany of the various types of Primal Entities. It is enough for you to know there are many, many kinds.
Primal Beings, so closely connected to the raw nature of the Multiverse, have the ability to create Life, to imbue their creations with a soul or inner spark. Hence gods can create lesser gods and demon lords can create lesser demons and Elementals can spawn more of their kind. These Beings are Immortal. They cannot be killed but they can, by their own will, return their energies back to the Multiverse. In doing so, they "Unmake" themselves.
To call these Beings "Supernatural" is a mistake for they are not outside of or above Nature but are very much a part of the natural evolution of the Multiverse.
Many of these Primal Beings are tied to the places of their birth and do, or can, not operate beyond that world and the various planes connected to it. Others, however, have developed influence that spans worlds.
The creatures they create and imbue with life may or may not be "magical" in nature and the may and not be immortal. Unlike the creation of offspring, the shape
|
and form of these other created entities is determined by the Primal Being behind the creation.
The offspring of these Beings inherit the ability of Its parent but the "Primal Made" may or may not have been granted "Primal" abilities.
Most sentient life was spawned on the world of their birth though on some worlds sentient beings were created by the gods of that world. As we discussed last month, "Each world birthed from a Nexus Point is unique and as such, Its creatures and Its form is Its own as is the shape and form Arcane Power takes."
Nexus Points, we should remember, are fonts of creation within Order, it provides the power and energy for the creative process.
The final level of ordered creation does not possess the ability of the higher order to provide the life spark in the attempts to create life. These creatures were either created by Primal Beings, their offspring/creations with the ability to inset the spark of life or soul or as part of the formation of the world. The only way they can create life is through their natural reproductive method.
So, to summarize, Order begets Order. Order can take many forms and it is through Order acting on Order that influences the nature and form of Order.
Abstracts formed Primal Beings.
Primal Beings reproduced themselves and/or created another level of "Magical Beings."
These Magical Beings reproduced themselves and/or created another level of "Life." Only some of these beings are immortal or have the ability to anchor Souls to the creatures they create.
This final level of "Life", created by Beings of a higher order or born of the world, can only reproduce to create additional life as they do not have the ability to imbue their creations with a Soul or Inner Spark. The tend not to be immortal.
Abilities to tap and utilize Arcane powers tends to parallel the relative position the Arcane wield holds within the Nexial Hierarchy.
Do you a question about the Nexus or about Magic? Drop me a note and I will answer your question.
|
|
By ~ELLY~
I know usually I cover beauty and fashion, since I'm the one in RhyDin who knows best about those things, but I wanted to bring something else to light for my readers. In this realm with so many different people and races, most get along, but some suffer discrimination and racism from others. Even I've had to suffer it in other realms, but here I've been lucky.
I'm sure most of you know about the recent events that caused an uproar that involved the discrimination of an elven girl. The accusation was that one Carley was fired from her job at A Stitch in Time for being an elf by her employer, Lydia Loran. Like many of you, I too was outraged, but thanks to an anonymous tip sent in to The Oracle it was brought to my attention that Lydia too, is an elf. Therefore she couldn't have fired Carley because she was an elf!
But I couldn't let things rest there. I needed to get to the root of the problem, I needed to talk to people that mattered, who have a voice, because I've taken it upon myself to go on a personal crusade to end racism in RhyDin. I thought the first person I should interview was the head of E.R.E.O.C, otherwise known as the Elven Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, Adan Ith'Arian. I also made sure to show him the proof sent to the Oracle, about Miss Loran also being elven just like Carley, the one she was accused of discriminating.
Adan: I'm a busy man, with many projects on my plate, so I'm sorry to say I wasn't aware that this woman was an elf. I'd like to publicly apologize to her here and now, and will also be sending her a private letter of apology from E.R.E.O.C.
Elly: Were you also aware that a picketing involving members of your organization turned violent~? Do you usually condone such violence to spread your message~?
Adan: Certainly not. I am aware of what happened but I assure you those members were acting on their own, not at all representing E.R.E.O.C and what it stands for. We are a peaceful organization, and do not condone violence.
Elly: And what does your organization stand for Mr.Ith'Arian~?
Adan: Equality. For many years elves were a rather large part of the population of RhyDin. To a degree, we still are, however there's been a recent spike in the human population, which is all well and good but as a result more and more incidences of discrimination against the elven race has occurred over the past few years. The goal of E.R.E.O.C is to simply declare that we, the elven people, are just as equal as any race in RhyDin, and will not tolerate discrimination any more.
Elly: That's a wonderful thing to stand for~ I will definitely support your cause, even if I'm not elven~ Did you have anything else you wanted to say~?
Adan: I just want people to be aware that discrimination is an awful thing. If you discriminate against another for what they are, put yourself in their shoes. How would it make you feel?
Mr. Ith'Arian is certainly a smart man who knows what he's talking about. I urge all of you to support him and E.R.E.O.C, and if you're elven, you should definitely join. You'll be showing pride for what you are, you'll be supporting your people, and you get a free T-shirt!
|
After my interview with Mr.Ith'Arian, I wanted to sate my curiosity about the happenings that occurred recently at The Stitch, and bring the truth to my readers, so I located Carley and asked her a couple questions about the incident.
Elly: First and foremost, do you believe Lydia is prejudiced against elves~?
Carley: Of course I don't! Fire's an elf just like me, the people who keep spreading that rumor around are stupid and don't know what they're talking about.
Elly: Fire~? Did you give her that nickname for firing you~?
Carley: No! I've called her Fire for as long as I've known her.
Elly: Why~?
Carley: Well, when we first met, this guy was trying to light his cigarette, but his lighter was broken or something. So Fire offers to light it for him, because she's got this really nifty fire magic, right? But when she was trying to, she sneezed and set this gnome's hat on fire. Hence why I call her Fire!
Elly: That's interesting~ So do you mind telling everyone why she really fired you?
Carley: I dunno exactly, I guess she didn't like how I was handling the customers?
Elly: But you seem so nice~!
Carley: Really? Thanks!
After that, I tried speaking with Lydia about the incident, but much to my dismay, she threw me out of The Stitch and yelled at me! I couldn't believe it! But!! I managed to put the pieces together, and I found the truth!
She is, in fact, not discriminating against elves. It's the opposite! She has a superiority complex because she is an elf, and in fact? She hates humans! Not to mention she's probably sexist, treating me and Carley so awfully.
So there you have it readers. Lydia Loran is a human hating sexist racist!
I'm saddened there are people like this, because no matter what we are on the outside, we are all equal on the inside. Vampires might be gross, but they're people too! Elves might have really ugly big ears, but they're people too! Gnomes might be wrinkly children, but they're people too! Dwarves might be the ugliest things you ever lay eyes on, but they're people too! Mixed people that make you double take because you can't figure out what the heck they are? They are people too!
And so am I, and so are you.
|
|
This Monster Problem Is Distracting RhyDin From The Real Issues
People, people, people! Put down your torches for a second. I know you're all angry that, after days of bloody and terrifying rampage, the monster still hasn't been caught. Your outrage is not unjustified; however, it's misdirected. You're all determined to defeat an inhuman creature hell-bent on destroying all living things in its path, but you're missing the bigger picture. Instead of getting upset over who or what slaughtered the RhyDin High varsity cheerleading squad, we need to envision more long-term solutions to the problems that affect the community as a whole.
You fear a monster you can't see because it lurks in the shadows and strikes from out of nowhere. But right under your feet is the real monster: potholes. We drive over them every day, ignoring them, hoping they'll go away. Where were the torches and pitchforks last year when the city council cut street repair and maintenance funding by half? Those potholes can rip off your wagon wheel faster than the monster ripped a hole in school homecoming queen, Leslie Gotscha.
A certain local female vigilante on the lookout for the monsters. Is it the bloodthirsty beast that's dragging its heels on installing street light at the increasingly busy and dangerous intersections of fair city? No, once again, it's our city government. Sure, they said they didn't want to raise taxes to pay for infrastructure repairs, but they sure didn't care about levying a new surcharge to pay for that boondoggle of an arts center. Why don't we turn this mob around and march down to City Hall for some answers?
I can't blame the people entirely for their shortsightedness. Sure, a screaming headline about the Cub Scout troop found in the old sawmill with their livers torn from their sides and their faces bent into a ghastly grimace of terror sells more papers than a story on that subdivision on the West End, but sometimes you need to put principles before profit.
It's about priorities, people—first things first. Only after we demand and obtain the resignations of the members of our Alcohol Policy Control Board can we even begin to think of defeating the horrible fiend whose fangs glisten in the night. First conquer the unspeakable horror of the downtown pedestrian overpasses, then conquer the unspeakable horror from beyond.
So… who's with me?
Manic-Depressive Friend A Blast While Manic
RhyDin—Manic-depressive Dark, may be a "total drag for months on end," but he is "a blast" while in his manic state, friends of RhyDinian said Monday.
Dark, diagnosed with manic depression three years ago by psychiatrists at RhyDin Mental Health Center, has suffered from the disorder since high school. His condition causes him to experience cyclical bouts of prolonged depression followed by spells of mania, characterized by irrational feelings of elation, delusions of grandeur, and boundless energy. It is in this heightened state, friends say, that Dark is awesome.
"Sometimes, Dark can be a real downer," said his good friend. "He'll hole up in his room, and if you try to talk to him, all he does is bitch, bitch, bitch. But once you get to know him better, you see that he's got this totally wild-and-crazy, life-of-the-party side, too. When that comes out, everybody's all like, 'All right! The ol' Darkster we know and love is back!'"
According to friends, the manic version of Dark possesses many fun, attractive qualities. These include his propensity for outrageous, elaborately choreographed table-top dance numbers at bars, his ability to go without sleep for up to 72 hours at a time during spur-of-the-moment road trips, and his wildly generous spending sprees, during which he lavishes friends with expensive gifts in spite of his massive debt.
I Love The Idea Of My Wife
Do I love my wife? It's a complicated question. What is love in RhyDin? Perhaps it is an ineffable aspect of the human condition that can never be fully understood. It's like asking if I love my horse or my swords. I love them, but it's not like I love them. I certainly love owning them, and if either should ever be stolen, or somehow ruined, or damaged by someone's incompetence, I'd want to replace them immediately, and press full charges against the perpetrators.
I love the stability of my wife. I like knowing that she's there, sort of like how you feel about a good life-insurance policy or new luxury storm windows in the den. It's like having the high-end weed-whacker in the garage. It's good to see it and know it's there, even if I don't use it more than twice a year. My wife is like that. I love that about her.
It's reassuring to have the whole "wife" aspect of my lifestyle taken care of and done with, and know that it's not going to be disrupted. So in that sense, yes, I love her, but I suppose you could say I love the idea of her, as a concept, mainly, more than her specifically. But it's a good question, to be sure. It makes you think.
I enjoy life. You might even say I love it. And since my wife, or the idea of my wife, anyway, is part of that life, that's not going to change.
On the one hand, of course I love her. Don't get me wrong-we're talking about my wife. This is the mother of my children, the woman I plan to grow old with, the woman for whom I purchased a fine and beautiful home. But then again, if she happened to be some other, similar woman or a dragon, it probably wouldn't be that much different. We'd still live in the same type of neighborhood, own the same stuff, and have the same children. Well, they'd be genetically different children by 50 percent, but they'd probably serve basically the same function in my life.
She'd probably spend about the same amount of my income on largely the same things, and I assume we'd still attend the same parties and go to the same bars. I suppose it's possible we might have different hobbies. But we'd have the same holidays, certainly. I know we'd have the same attorney. She'd definitely have the same hair.
It's an eternal question, this mystery of "What is love, after all?" I can say this much: I can't imagine being without her, or someone like her. She's the person I've shared my life with. I'd really hate to lose her in some sort of a hypothetical divorce or unexpected-death scenario. That would be a living nightmare to deal with. If that counts as love, then yes, I love my wife very deeply.
I've been with my wife for more than 20 years. That's a lot of time to put into a long-term investment.
I've grown used to her. I'm comfortable with her. Frankly, I'd be lost without her. But I guess I'd feel that way about pretty much anybody who was from the same age group, economic tier, and level of education, and who I happened to marry a few short days ago, when it was time to acquire a wife.
If she died, would I miss her? Certainly. Do I appreciate her presence in my home? Without a doubt. Is she the most important person in my life? In a way. But if she were to somehow magically disappear and be replaced one day by a near-duplicate, would that matter all that much to me? I'd have to say no.
Tortilla-Chip Supply Dwindling, Reports Man On Couch In Front Of Hearth
RhyDin— In an announcement with dire implications for future munching, couch-based snacker Baker confirmed Monday that his personal tortilla-chip supply has fallen to "dangerously low" levels.
"I have already been forced to resort to drastic chip-rationing measures," Baker told reporters. "If relief chips are not delivered within the next 30 to 40 minutes, my supply will be exhausted and a state of snack famine will exist."
Baker's supply, a 14 1/2-ounce bag of Tostitos-brand White Corn restaurant-style tortilla chips, was widely expected to last through the entirety of Monday-night Outback fighting. But severe chip mismanagement on Baker's part caused the supply to become depleted far ahead of schedule, sometime around 9:40 p.m.
"Usually when Baker consumes snack chips for the purpose of enhancing visual entertainment via orally administered gustatory stimuli, he judiciously conserves his supply, chewing and swallowing each chip before reaching for a second," Dr. Morris Chipsak said. "But this time, he was recklessly filling his mouth with fistfuls of chips, putting in new pieces before previous ones had even been fully chewed. Exacerbating the problem was his inexplicable failure to supply himself with a pitcher of beer, the consumption of which would have created periods of chip disuse and thereby extended the life span of his supply."
|
Town Still Can't Think Of Name For Largest, Most Used Street
RhyDin— Residents of the city of RyhDin have yet to come up with a fitting name for the city's most highly trafficked street, a two-lane, tree-lined roadway running through the main downtown area.
"At first we wanted to call it Preeminent Avenue or Primary Lane, or maybe even Boulevard Prime," said local businessman Harry Gallows, who added that the street is the one he mainly uses when driving through town. "It's really important that we name this soon, being that it's the main street around and all."
Our governor said she hopes to resolve the problem before mid-October, when the town holds its as-yet-unnamed annual German-themed festival, informally known as "Erin's Oktoberparty."
When I Die, I'm Going To Haunt The Crap Out Of You People — A Warning From A Certain Known RhyDin Denizen
As long as I can remember, my life has been a constant stream of insults, condescension, and humiliation at the hands of you people. Well, I'm sick of it. I may be too cowardly and weak to do anything about it in this lifetime, but I promise I'll have my revenge just the same. After I die, I'm going to come back as the scariest damn ghost you've ever seen, guaranteed—and I'm going to spend my days haunting the living crap out of you all.
My spirit will be locked in limbo, forced to wander between this world and the next until it gets retribution for its tormented past, and I can't freaking wait. Hope you like having your TV unexpectedly turn on and off while you don't even have the remote in your hands! There won't be anything you can do about it, either. No one will believe you. They'll just say it's something to do with the old wiring in your crappy little RhyDin house and you'll agree, but you'll know the truth, because it'll be me.
You better hope that I don't die for another 50, 60 years, so I don't start scaring you crapless every single night while you're still young. Unless you want a whole lot of eerie evenings, you better pray I live to be 100. But you know what? That ain't gonna happen. My frail frame can't hold out against this kind of mistreatment forever. Someday, sooner or later, I'll succumb to your ceaseless upbraidings and die. And then you'll be in for some serious haunting.
"What's that?" you'll say to yourselves, walking to the bathroom in the pitch-dark night. "That noise—is the house settling? Is it the wind?" Yeah, fat chance, jerk faces! That noise will be me. You'll be consumed with a vague sense of unease until you get back to sleep. Which won't be for at least 15 or 20 minutes, if my ghost has anything to say about it. Oh, yeah, you can count on that.
I'm a pretty fragile guy, you know—I could go any minute. Maybe I'll suffer a particularly bad asthma attack in the RDI and I'll die tomorrow. Then you'll have to put up with decades of sudden temperature shifts, noises in the attic, and candles that blow out for no reason before you finally succumb to the ravages of old age. You could be looking at half a century or more of thinking you may have seen something out of the corner of your eye.
Once I'm dead, I wouldn't recommend watching any scary movies after 9 p.m. if I were you. The minute your mind starts filling with haunting images, I'm going to be there to exploit the heck out of them. You think those movies are scary? Just wait until you hear all the weird noises and stuff I'm going to conjure up.
If you're ever all alone in some scary place—like a forest or maybe the RhyDin Cemetery—those creepy-*** faint moans will be mine. You'll be plenty spooked then. Even if you've gone completely bald, you'll still have hair on your arms, and it's going to be standing straight up by the time I'm through with you. And then I'll be all, "Boo, you pea-brain, Badsider Drinking brew heads."
I promise you this: You'll eventually come to regret making fun of me in the RDI when I was still alive.
And don't even get me started on what's going to happen if family members take pictures of you when they visit. Those pictures are going to have some weird discolorations, you can bet on that, and some of them may even contain forms that look sort of like faces. Whose face? Yours truly: the avenging spirit from beyond the grave.
You probably won't even remember me by then. But that won't save you. I'll remember you to my dying day and beyond, and I'll spend my entire afterlife making what remains of your life a living hell.
Laugh while you can, you good-for-nothing SOB's because your autumn years are going to be unsettling as crap.
Honey, Let's Never Pass Out Angry Again — A Letter Delivered At The Oracle
Last night was horrible. I'm not even going to go over who said what to whom or how you ended up sleeping in Room 202, because none of that matters now. All that matters is that I love you, and I don't want to spend our last 20 minutes of consciousness in an argument only to wake up at 2 p.m. the next day still mad. Sweetie, can you half open one of your eyes and look at me? I love you so, so much. Let's never pass out angry again.
I mean it.
I know we have our share of petty, slurred arguments-what couple doesn't? But that doesn't mean we have to let some stupid disagreement ruin our night of pounding keg beer, doing shooters, and vomiting under the Inn's tables. Two people who love each other should be able to talk these things through before stumbling home and face-planting on the privy floor with their pants around their ankles. Stuttered communication is the sign of a healthy relationship.
I don't even remember large portions of what we were so angry about. Isn't that silly? I would never forgive myself if, God forbid, one of us choked on our own vomit and the last words exchanged between us were "Fruck you." That's why I am going to do everything in my power to make sure that before you lose control over your motor functions and lie motionless for 12 hours, you know how much I adore you.
So from now on, if we have a disagreement about whether or not I spilled beer in your hair, let's take a minute to sit down and communicate our vague, half-formed, but nonetheless vehement opinions seven or eight times in progressively louder voices until we come to a sloppy, and most likely naked, agreement. And if one of us is too angry to talk, we could just take a walk around the yard and maybe lie down on the cool grass and count to seven.
It's always best to get all these feelings out when it happens, or even an hour after it happens, when we've had a few more beers and we realize that what happened was bull crap and you're always freaking doing that. That way, every day begins with a clean slate, and there won't be any hard feelings while you're crouched over a toilet and I'm holding your hair back.
I still remember the time my father sat me down at the Inn and, after a dozen or so tallboys, told me, "Son, if you want a strong marriage, always sort out your bull crap before you black out. You don't want that crap coming back on you tomorrow." And even as he was getting thrown out of the place by some host for chucking a bar stool at the Inn's hearth, I knew he was right. You don't stay married for almost six years without becoming an expert on these sorts of things.
It was good advice when I was 8, and it's good advice now.
The fact of the matter is, we both said things in that RDI booth that we didn't mean. I don't even know why I said you look like an "ugly bull-dyke lesbian." I love your new haircut, and you know that, so it was just thoughtless on my part. All I want to say is that I'm sorry I didn't try to listen to what you were screaming at me from the back of the RhyDin Paddy Wagon. You were just trying to express your feelings about me grabbing the host's butt, and I should have listened instead of comparing your butt to her butt and asking the people at the next table to back me up.
Or I should have at least said something about it on the carriage ride home from the station instead of just jump-kicking our mailbox off the post and then falling asleep with my shoes on in the bathroom. That would have been the mature thing to do.
So let's make a promise right here and now. Let's promise to always kiss each other good night before we fall face-first into the flea infested wooden floor with the key still in the door, no matter how busy I am pulling the towel bar off the wall, or how much you just want to call your ex-boyfriend and start crying. No matter what, I will always pass out next to you with at least one sweaty arm across your bloated, reddened face. I love you!
|
|
DEAD: Stanley Turpin — Yah, he's dead. So you aren't getting your money back. Get over it.
Rongar al Hamid — A big bear of a man who loved to wrestle, but was known for being a gentle giant otherwise, was murdered in the Dockside killings. He was lost to friends and family both, including his wife and brother-in-law.
Felicity "Poppy" Wills — They're saying it was "congestive heart failure." I say they didn't call her Poppy for nothing and maybe, just maybe, the opium pipe they found lying next to her (according to the homeless man who found her) had something to do with it.
MOSTLY DEAD: Allison Tate — Almost dead at age 87. Hurry up already, I've been waiting for 2 years for an apartment to open up.
NOT DEAD YET: Enrique Jose Emmanuel Antonio Luis Valdez — Will get listed here in every issue just because I like to say his name out loud.
Try it.
You'll thank me.
Note: With this edition of The Oracle, we have a new obituary editor.
All Creatures Big and Small
EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES: The Prestigious Bonny Corporation is currently seeking a new Spiritual Advisor, and a Staff Necromancer. Due to potential conflicts of interest these roles will not be filled by the same person. To send resumes or schedule employment interviews, please contact Mary Read. Part-time or contract work may be negotiated.
HELP WANTED: Ravensheart School is contemplating the expansion of its curriculum to include not only lessons of various magical natures, but also a more normal choice of subjects:
Math, Literature, Science, Health, Cooking, Wilderness survival, horsemanship and more.
We are in need of competent and caring teachers and professors to come and teach the children, all children, of RhyDin here. All those interested, please contact either Sha'uri Arrowny or Briarius Ravensheart at the Ravensheart School for the Gifted.
|
JOB OPPORTUNITY Seeking a competent and caring Groomsman to care for and help in the process of breeding Firebrand horses here in RhyDin. Experience in the care of horses a must, experience with Firebrand horses is preferred. Will train the right candidate. Room and board can be arranged. Only the serious may inquire at the Ravensheart School for the Gifted. Go to the main Administration building. Ask for Sha'uri.
Starfare Wedding Boutique — We here at Starfare Wedding Boutique offer several different plans to make that once in a lifetime occasion something that you and the love of your life can look back on with fond memories as your paths become one forevermore. For more information contact Gavilean or Tera Starfare either at their home or their mail boxes at the Red Dragon Inn.
Hellballs Leather Goods — "When you need more than skin, Hellballs Leather Goods. After all, it's your hide you are protecting." — To place your order or for more information contact Woody Sprite. You can leave a message for him at the Red Dragon Inn.
Scathachian Sanctuary — Negotiation-irradication services for victims of injustice. For consultation interview (including fees), one may contact the Sanctuary directly, or Isuelt DeRomiano at the Red Dragon Inn.
Guthorm Othinsson is looking for work as a "Gar Bag Collector!" He says he is willing to "rub out your gar bag" for you anytime, anywhere, in RhyDin and surrounding areas. This Norseman comes with a sterling reputation for always getting the job done no matter how small or how large it may be you can count on Guthorm Othinsson to see to it that the work is done and done right the first time!
Only serious inquiries please. Messages may be left at the Red Dragon Inn in care of Guthorm Othinsson.
To submit your classified send a ((private)) message to the Editor.
|
