Mr. Griffin Paisley (AKA "The Gryphon" for now) seems to have awakened a newly-found expertise in all things involving Magic Foodstuffs, and the descent is slow enough that he's able to share it -- sprinkled with a bit of bibble-babble that ostensibly draws upon his knowledge of chemistry -- regarding their current predicament. As often happens with things magical in Wonderland, the marmalade's effect will last just long enough for their current fall -- whether it be seconds or days -- and after that, its job is done.

Indeed, it's hard to tell how much time is passing, even at a wagered guess by Mr. Harrison March (AKA "The March Hare"). His newly acquired pocket-watch is of no help at all, seeing as it has 13 numbers instead of 12, and a few too many hands -- some of which change direction without warning. Time is a peculiar and very relative thing in Wonderland; it might be considered fortunate indeed that Wonderland adheres to any respect of chronology at all. There is cause and there is effect, and there is past, present, and future, but beyond that it's all up for grabs.

From the perspective of those falling, however, reaching bottom probably couldn't come soon enough, for it seems that they have company of a less-than-entirely-friendly sort. Despite Integra's heroic efforts to bandage Mr. March up like a mummy with some more cloth rolls miraculously procured from her apron pocket, he's still quite wounded -- and it would seem that some of the inhabitants of the rabbit hole have come out of hiding, circling like sharks when there's blood in the water.

Or circling like cats mewling for milk. Or bats squeaking for bugs. The creatures are known as Cat-That-Eat-Bats, and Bats-That-Eat-Cats, or "Cat-Bats" and "Bat-Cats" for sure, as Mr. Achilles Johnson (AKA "The Ace of Spades") is able to inform the others. One sort looks much like a housecat with bat wings and bat claws and big ears. The other looks much like a cave bat with a cat's head and whiskers, and a feline tail.

In other words, they're virtually indistinguishable, though somehow they're able to tell themselves apart -- for Cat-Bats and Bat-Cats are voracious predators upon each other, rendering their numbers quite rare. (Their even-rarer offspring are known as Kitten-Bittens and Bitten-Kittens, respectively -- twice as cute, half as large, but just as dangerous.) Why, our heroes should consider themselves so very lucky to have seen any of them at all, if it weren't for the likelihood that they're about to be eaten mid-air!

"Zounds! We are beset by flying mammals," exclaims 'Ace' Johnson. He draws his long Paragon Imperial brolly, not opened yet but hands poised so he can do so at a moment's notice to deflect incoming claws and fangs. Light glints off the sharp point of the ferrule. "Backs to each other! We must keep them from flanking us like raiders."

"I've always been more of a dog person you know," Griffin notes, eyeing the dangerous creatures and reaching into his pocket.

"Back to back, right!" March agrres as he tries to glide closer to the others, readying the new cane as a club of sorts, preparing to whack any of the critters that comes close. He's still hurting, and knows he cannot go after the creatures solo this time.

With the advantage of having wings, Griffin attempts to wrangle everyone together as suggested: back to back with Integra in the center.

The reporter eyes the batcats as they flutter closer. "Should we attempt parley?" he asks. "They don't seem like friendly natives. Might be best to pot them at a distance."

"Ha ha!" declares March, perhaps imitating some flamboyant fencer as he stabs out with his cane, jabbing it into the rip of a rock outcropping and sending him gliding backwards, more towards the center and where Griffin is.

A bit surprised by how easy it is to use his new wings, Griffin, flies around in a fast circle to help corral everyone towards the center of the tunnel. "I hope this gives us the advantage, Hjckrrh!" he squawks.

Using the tip of his brolly, Achilles jabs at a nearby coffee table as it drifts by, using it to push himself toward the others. He brakes with one foot against a stack of books, causing it to come apart slowly as it falls upward, but ultimately is glad to accept Griffin's help steadying himself. "Galileo would not have approved," he mutters, observing their relative speeds.

Indeed, in the shoving-off from the side, somehow a cupboard comes loose, its doors popping open, and all sorts of jars and pots and breakable things fall out of it. Some of them fall down, as someone might expect if he wasn't thinking very hard about it, while others trail upward in the cupboard's wake, and others float along with it -- and the falling adventurers. Gravity is nothing if not inconsistent here, it seems. One of the jars floats free of the cupboard, closer to the center. What a coincidence. It's another jar of marmalade!

Once he's sure Integra is safely behind him, Griffin takes aim and fires at the closest of the toothy creatures.

With amazing precision for one who is shooting at a tiny flying creature while falling down a hole, Griffin manages to peg the Cat-Bat. There's a spray of red, a convulsion of wings, and the creature is no longer part of the downward race.

The nearest Bat-Cat can't help but notice this, and that the Cat-Bat that just got torn to shreds is likely to present a MUCH easier meal than the noisy bird-thing that makes Cat-Bats (and presumably Bat-Cats) go boom. It wisely pulls away and goes off to nibble the other fare.

With his back to Integra, the rabbit Hare-ison, and Griffin, the reporter sweeps out with his umbrella at the other catbat besetting them! "SCAT, catbat! You shalln't be getting fat off of us, we aren't your typical rats!"

Sadly, the Cat-Bat isn't terribly impressed. Or perhaps it was actually a Bat-Cat and thus the threat was mis-aimed. Yes, that could be it, by Wonderland logic.

Achilles grumbles as the catbat narrowly eludes his swipe! "I say, that's not cricket."

"Begone you foul varmint!" March declares as he raises the odd, loaded cane and aims at the batcat to the southwest. "Have a meal of lead, instead!" bang!

Alas, the tiny creatures are ridiculously hard to target. And, even though by normal laws of logic, the jar of marmalade SHOULD be falling at the same rate as the heroes, it appears to be plummeting far faster. It falls on ahead (or downward), and out of reach.

"Ironically, a jar of the same stuff that so slows our descent, is itself no proof to gravity's fatal lure," comments the reporter as he eyes the catbat.

GM Note: CatBats drew Red Joker for initiative on round 2, but Griffin's player used Adventure Card "Shuffle" to force a redraw. It came out Deuce of Hearts instead.

"Right, well, lets speed things up a bit," Harrison decides as he pulls out the watch and winds it! If they stay out of range, being faster means he can pull his revolver, after all!

Harrison draws his revolver now that time has slowed. If the bats aren't in range, at least he'll be able to take shots at them!

Achilles, noticing the bats on his right are distracted, takes advantage of their distraction to focus his attention on the one that so recently dodged his attack! "Starting to enjoy fast living?" he teases Harrison. "Next we'll be finding you with lipstick on your collar. I don't think you need to put on any cologne for these creatures though, they seem to find you perfectly delectable without."

With the two creatures on his side of the tunnel dealt with, Griffin decides to get between Integra and the CatBat harassing Achilles. He swings around, muttering, "Cats That Eat Bats, Bats That Eat Cats. At the end of the day, they're both Flying Rats." At the end of the swing, he uses the bayonet at the end of his rifle to take a jab at nearer CatBat, while it is hopefully still distracted by Ace being a card.

"Whoa! No folding, spindling, multilating, or otherwise bending the card," exclaims the flat-seeming card as he senses the wind of the griffin's quick strike. "But I say, jolly good hit! Your rifle has gone snack-on-stick."

"Let's see if the BatCat bites then," Griffin notes, trying to fling the corpse towards the next nearest predator.

The nearest Bat-Cat goes for the bait! It flings itself right into the dying form of its rival, gives it a good neck-bite, then kitty-bats it with its hind-claws, all the while still flying. How vicious!

Twisting in the wind, the reporter sizes up the situation. Hm. Best not to take the chance that the one feeding on the first one shot will be content with that meal. "For queen and country!" yells Achilles as he runs in midair, pushing off against whatever's handy to jab at the batcat.

Integra gives off a squeak of alarm, as she happens to be the closest "whatever is handy" to push off from (having swapped places mid-air with Griffin a moment ago), but no harm done -- save to the Bat-Cat, which is now impaled on the spike of the Card's imperial umbrella.

That leaves one healthy Cat-Bat and one healthy Bat-Cat who zero in on one bloodied Hare to try to make a snack out of him.

The reporter tips his bowler hat to Integra. "That's one flying rat that shall trouble you nevermore," he says. "Apologies for, er, a little rough handling there, miss, but I didn't want that one going after your pretty self."

The Bat-Cat and Cat-Bat swarm on poor Harrison, chewing on him mercilessly. The Bat-Cat makes the worst of it, but seems to have mistaken a patch of blood on Harrison's thick overcoat for the real thing -- so no harm done ... yet.

Achilles, hearing the frenzied squeaking of the batcat and catbat, spins around to see his friend beset! He frantically waves the batcat on his umbrella at them. "Fresh meat! Come and get it! Only two shillings the piece!"

The creatures, however, aren't inclined to give up. They work their way along, despite Harrison's frantic (and high-speed) flailing, and manage to draw more blood.

The Bat-Cat that was chewing on its rival happens to notice the newly-slain Cat-Bat AND Bat-Cat. While it isn't quite done with its current meal, and isn't one to drop to cannibalism (horrors!) it nonetheless notices the presence of some more prey to finish up as soon as it's done with this one. It's unlikely to join in the fray anytime soon, at this rate.

Maybe it's instinct that kicks in once he's bitten and blood is drawn! March yells loudly as he contorts in the air and strikes out at the catbat with his large feet. The muscles in his legs ripple ... and the impact to the catbat is ... horrifying!

Twisting midair, Harrison he brings his revolver to bear and targets the other creature! The hammer falls, and the revolver belches smoke and lead!

"I say, those feet of yours do seem to be lucky, Harrison," exclaims Achilles. He turns, trying to get his own feet under him for a push-off.

The revolver punches a hole through the membrane of the remaining Bat-Cat, but the thing is in such a frenzy that it hardly seems to even notice!

Lunging against the wall of the pit, the reporter launches himself into another wild flailing spinning attack! "Coming through, meat delivery, make way please!" he yelps.

"No hassenpfeffer for you!" March growls. It's impressive that a bunny can actually make a scary face, really.

In the process of shoving off, Achilles seems to have knocked into a pantry shelf, sending some jars of preserves flying every which way. Most of them shatter against other furnishings or outhanging roots or rocks, but one of the jars hurtles enticingly out into space. The label can't quite be made out clearly, though.

"Fresh batcats, two for a shilling!" Achilles crows as he jabs the umbrella at the batcat still assaulting his friend.

The remaining Bat-Cat wriggles on the end of the imperial brolly. THIS, the Bat-Cat notices. It would seem that the assault has for the most part ended ... and that remaining Bat-Cat should have enough falling easy meals to keep itself occupied for the rest of the way down this hole. Maybe. It all depends on how far this drop is. Odd that it isn't over with yet!

Spotting a the shiny tumbling jar of who-knows-what, Griffin makes a lunge to catch it.

Griffin easily catches the jar of preserves. As soon as he sees the label, he is struck by the realization that this is probably a Magic Foodstuff ... and that he's carrying a great many already. Perhaps ... TOO much.

Even though Griffin senses that he's broken some sort of strange rule (no doubt invented by Alice, once upon a time), for some reason ... NOTHING HAPPENS. Nothing explodes, nothing vanishes, nothing goes, "Shame-shame, naughty on you!" He just now has a jar of preserves.

"So easily distracted, our friend is," the reporter-shaped card says to the rabbit. "Wonder if those preserves will turn out to be a lifesaver?"

The jar label reads as "Cherry Bomb Jam." Judging from Griffin's extensive knowledge of such things, eating these preserves would be a very bad idea. In fact, merely popping the seal should be a very bad idea. Why in the WORLD would anyone keep these on a shelf?

"Are you all right?" asks Achilles of Harrison. "Looked like those catbats were all over you." He glances aside to the one remaining batcat.

"Hmm, I'd better hold on to this.." Griffin mutters. "Anyone want to hold on to some almond-smelling stuff?"

Down below ... could it be? It looks like this hole might very well have a BOTTOM.

The remaining Bat-Cat seems to have somehow completely devoured its meal in the meantime, looking a bit plumper than before. It now ... flies on to the next already immobile meal, leaving the falling adventurers alone -- for now.

"I'm not someone's meal to devour," March growls, "And don't think I haven't forgotten about the stew you carry!"

"Don't worry, I can tell my friends apart from food, unlike that one up there," the card assures Harrison. He moves Integra back behind him, aiming his umbrella and himself at the remaining batcat in case it should attack. "Should we clear this last one out, or leave it alone?"

"Oh! I'll take it, Uncle!" Integra volunteers, as she's being shuffled around. She pops the cap on the container to take an exploratory sniff.

"I wouldn't waste a bullet," Griffin tells Ace. "It won't attack when it's so outnumbered."

"Be careful, Integra," Griffin warns. "That might be poison for all I can tell. Best tuck it away and hope it turns into something useful."

The newspaper reporter shakes his head. "Natives can do unpredictable things, if they feel their home is at stake," he reminds Griffin. "For the love of cookies and teacups, don't pick up any small winged kittens you might happen to see!"

The remaining bat explodes like a ... like a ... like an exploding blood sausage! Stuffed with more exploding blood sausage!

Thanks to the wonders of Harrison's watch, somehow he managed to line up a careful shot AND fire before anyone else even realized what he was doing.

And then Harrison snaps the watch closed, right after blowing the smoke away from the muzzle of the revolver.

The reporter yelps as bloody bits rain through the almost bottomless pit! He's just a second too late to pop his umbrella open.

"Next stop, the bottom of the formerly Bottomless Pit," announces Achilles in the tone of a train conductor. "Please have your tickets ready for examination as you disembark. Thank you for taking the White Rabbit Express Line!"

"My kingdom for a bandaid," Harrison laments. His side still hurts like the dickens.

The reporter shakes the remaining batcats off of his umbrella and scatters them to the winds. He pops a handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to clean the ferrule off, lest it begin to rust.

Griffin beats his wings to try and reach the ground first, in case anyone needs to be caught.

"Bandages?" says Ace with a grin to the rather heavily bandaged rabbit. "I'm sure Miss Integra has plenty she'd be happy to share with you."

March glides slowly downward ... and uses anything that passes nearby to scrape off the sticky catbat remains on the bottom of his large feet. "If you can find any sort of medicinal food, I would appreciate it, Griffin!" he calls out.

The scraper turns out to be a book. March is now the owner of a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, although marred a bit by sticky cat-bat remains on the spine.

The reporter, done cleaning his umbrella and using the handkerchief to wipe bits of batcat off his jacket, shades his eyes with his hand to try and peer down at the bottom, to see what lies ahead. Even though he only has one working eye, by reflex he still shades both.

"Aha!" Griffin squawks as he forages ahead. "Grab that bowl of chicken soup, March!" he advises, pointing to the bowl on a passing side table. Easier to point it out than try and grab it and risk a possible magical food overload.

Integra, seeing March pick up an interesting book on the way down, tries to grab one as well, but instead all she gets is a jar of mystery preserves. Shrugging, she stuffs it into an apron pocket.

"I don't see any unfriendly natives waiting for us at the bottom," the reporter advises the others. Noticing Harrison's new acquisition, he quips, "Looking to refresh your memories a bit? Or converting to Alice's little church of self-worship?"

March makes a move for the soup, but sees Achilles snag it instead. He facepalms and groans.

"Your soup, sir," says the reporter as his descent brings him by the table. However, one of the small bottles of booze makes its way into his hand instead. He pitches the booze instead, throwing it to the side to make room for the soup so that he can deliver it to his bandages-enwrapped friend!

March takes the soup and decide she's going to eat it right now, before anything else jumps out and tries to eat his head. Maybe, just maybe, it'll help his hurting side.

The chicken soup is amazingly still warm, but not TOO hot by any means. Rather, it's just perfect, as if dear Mama Hare ... er, Mama March, that is? ... just cooked it up to give to cheer little Harrison up. He can feel the warmth spreading through his body and then ... wonder of wonders, he feels completely better! He's still a rabbit, though.

"Ahh, that's much, much, better," Harrison says. For the moment, he doesn't even seem that upset he's still stuck as a rabbit. "Hey, Griffin, think you can find food that would turn us back normal?" he asks.

There it is! The bottom! It looks like, at the bottom of the hole, there is a great pile of twigs -- and around it, the shattered remains of a marmalade jar, several crushed pieces of furniture and assorted other knickknacks.

"That probably would not be a good idea in Wonderland," Griffin points out. "We can't survive as normal people!"

Achilles adds, "Besides, Queen Alice's minions will be on the lookout for our real world selves. They might not notice us. We might be able to disguise ourselves... Speaking of which." He holds out the tophat he claimed from the White Rabbit to Harrison.

"Oh! That looks useful!" Integra exclaims, as she reaches out for a framed map. The process results in the frame getting broken and burst open as it bangs on a few root outcroppings on the way down, but Integra manages to salvage the map itself, and rolls it up to stuff in an apron pocket for later perusal.

"Are you suggesting I look for fake moustaches?" Griffin squawks, and scans the walls for items of interest.

Harrison puts the hat on. At least it is made for rabbit ears! "Thank you old chap," he quips.

Just near the bottom, Griffin finds a wine rack stuck in a nook of roots. He could, if he so chose, grab another mystery bottle, but it's almost certain to be magical at this rate -- and he'd likely have to ditch one of his current Magic Foodstuffs just to be on the safe side, to make room for it.

"Actually, now that I think of it, a disguise might be a good idea," Achilles says as he looks around. "You two have completedly changed your faces, but if they were to look at a picture of me... Why, I'm still my ruggedly handsome self."

"I'll have you know, the ladies love a gentleman with scars, they show he has character," Ace grumps.

Oddly enough, there actually IS a big fake bushy mustache on the way down. It's on a rabbit-shaped wig-model, complete with top hat and monocle. Add a mustache, and you have the perfectly dapper rabbit! Or something to that effect.

Deciding to abandon the redundant almond-smelling tin, Griffin makes a grab for one of the bottles in passing.

Drifting by the model, the reporter snags the mustache! He tries it on, then waggles his eyebrows. "What do you think, is it me?"

Both Griffin and Harrison manage to snag bottles from the wine rack successfully, without breaking anything. Judging from the label, the effects are, perhaps disappointingly, undeniably RANDOM ... but Griffin's instinct is that this is the sort of thing meant to be consumed, not to be fed to enemies. The effects should range from mildly annoying to harmless to beneficial.

Now with a decidedly much thicker mustache and monocle equipped, Achilles looks almost Germanic. "Ach! Ve are about to enlanden on der big trashmiddenheap!" he exclaims.

Twig Landing
At the bottom of the vast rabbit hole is a large wet spot where rain water and other liquids have accumulated in a greenish murk, but fortunately the sheer amount of detritus (broken roots, twigs, earth, broken furnishings and such) has built up into a pile, allowing for a dry landing, if not a soft one. The curious nature of the hole and its furnishings continues, as a soft couch is under a nook in one corner (in need of a bit of dusting, before sitting upon it or salvaging the cushions), and in another corner is a bookshelf (though a bit damaged from various things falling upon it, and most of the books have been soiled from contact with the damp floor). The giant burrow continues in one direction to what looks like a widened hallway.

The hole above dims into darkness, as the already dim glow of the occasional chandelier and lamp along the way fades into an impenetrable haze. While flying back up might be possible for the Gryphon, it seems like something not to be undertaken casually. By comparison, the hallway to the east is far better lit, though there could still be dangers lurking in the shadows.

Griffin makes sure to lift Integra from the twigs so she doesn't have to step into the puddle. "Clearly a bachelor lives here," he observes. "Hjckrrh!"

"Hey, a place that doesn't have monsters waiting to kill us," March quips as he lands. "Maybe we should take some rest here and look at the map Integra grabbed."

The reporter thumps down onto the ground, bracing himself on his umbrella. "I vill scout out ze vay," he suggests. "It appears quieten, but ist being possible ze monsters, zey could all be sleeping." He moves quietly closer to the checkerboard floor.

March pokes the reporter with his cane. "Enough with the accent already," he complains.

The air smells damp and earthy, with a tinge of rot. Once the explorers are quiet, they can hear the sounds of a few pebbles dislodging, and plinking to the ground. For now, it seems that they are alone. Not even the squeak-yowls of Cat-Bats or Bat-Cats disturb the relative silence.

The packed earth is marked with the droppings of Bat-Cats/Cat-Bats at the bottom of the hole here and there, but it seems that the creatures, for whatever reason, do not venture further into the hallway. There are some strange prints in the earth resembling those of a very, very large rabbit (or Rabbit, after the Wonderland fashion), but they do not seem to be particularly fresh, indicating a general path of traffic rather than a warm trail.

"Rabbit tracks," exclaims Ace as he studies the ground. "We might be able to follow them, find out where the White Rabbit lives."

"What if they lead to a den of rabbits?" Harrison asks. "I'm not inclined to walk into more traps or danger..."

As Achilles follows the trail into the passage, it seems that he has indeed found where the White Rabbit would have once called home. The giant burrow begins to look far more refined, the further one gets, the packed earth giving way to tiled floor in an alternating red-white checkerboard pattern. Here and there, furnishings have been installed rather haphazardly, including a still-made bed with a nightstand (and a softly glowing lamp beside it), while lit chandeliers hang at intervals from the ceiling.

"Do you suppose the White Rabbit would have left booby-traps then?" Griffin asks, as he escorts Integra into the next chamber.

"Luckily, we don't have far to go to find his lair," Achilles comments. "Look, he didn't even turn out his lamp! The cheeky little thing, he expected to be done with us and back before his naptime."

Up further ahead, right in the middle of the great hall is what looks to be a dinner table that is set out with four places, right underneath one of the chandeliers. In the shadows, in the part that is still earthen, there is a long bathtub (with plumbing), and partially shadowed under some hanging fronds and roots is a commode, with the flush box built right into the earthen wall, offering only token privacy. (Scandal!)

Harrison follows after Achilies now, and decides to take a peek inside the white rabbit's nightstand!

"Set for four... Was he expecting guests?" wonders Achilles as he surveys. "There's no sign that any of these tracks are other than his. Perhaps... These other places were meant for us, once he'd finished 'turning' us into Alice's benighted minions! The world must know the truth behind this fiendish rabbit!"

"Maybe he has correspondence in his nightstand," March muses as he crouches near it. As he's picked open customer boxes before, he's careful about opening this nightstand, lest he set off some horrible trap.

"What sort of meal was set out?" Griffin asks, edging in closer. "Let me know if you need to use the privy, Integra," he whispers to his niece.

Harrison finds the bed to be made just for ONE, by all intentions. If the White Rabbit had any intentions of seeing his human counterpart's entire Earthly family transformed into Wonderland equivalents, it looks like he wasn't planning ahead for their accommodations. It would seem that he wasn't exactly prepared for guests, either, by the furnishings, with the specific exception of the table and its settings.

At the table, the plates have a strange assortment of foods on them. One plate has a serving of greens, chopped turnips, and sliced carrots. Another has what looks for all the world like a fresh assortment of grubs. Still another has what looks at first like a feast of a meal with steak and all the fixings -- but upon closer inspection, all of the servings are made entirely of very high-quality printed paper. The last plate has a smaller portion, as if scaled for a child, with a sensible assortment of boiled cabbage, baked herb chicken, and some bread on the side.

"There's-- hmm. It appears he was indeed expecting us for supper," Achilles says to Griffin, looking around the plates. "Here's one for Harrison, one for Griffin... Fancy some grub? And one I would guess for me, and one for Integra. But, wait, where would be his own setting then?"

"Or Madden's, for that matter," Griffin points out, as he heads over to inspect the food for any unusual qualities. "This had to have been put out while we were falling, by someone who knew that White and Madden would not be joining us."

Other furnishings do little to complete the scene in any sensible fashion. To the south is a roll-top writing desk and chair, while to the north are a couple of comfortable-looking chairs and a set of shelves with assorted linens. As for a kitchen, living room, or any other common features of a house, there are none to be found ... unless perhaps that corridor further down, with its many, many doors, might reveal such.

The reporter shivers. "Mystery maid makes meals for four, skips hatter and hopper left at door!" he headlines.

"Hjckrrh!" Griffin squawks after sniffing the dishes. "Poison! Slow poison at that, I wager. Tasty looking, though.."

"Meals made to murder! Gourmet dining guarantees grisly death!" Ace headlines again.

Integra looks crestfallen at the revelation about the poisoned food. "Oh! I don't know how long it's been since I last ate!" She blinks. "Or since I slept." She rubs at her eyes, as the adrenaline rush of all this exploration seems to be wearing down.

The reporter shakes his head. "Your sweet beak will be the death of you yet," he quips at Griffin before going to examine the writing desk for correspondence. If there's a pad of paper, maybe he can pull the old gag of using some charcoal to bring out any indentations from writing...

"I've found some tobacco, I think I'll take it. Plus this lamp seems to keep burning, so we might have use for it," March calls out as eh collects a few things from the nightstand. "Can you make anything of this tobacco, Griffin?"

The roll-top is down on the desk, and it appears to be locked. A sufficiently determined brigand should be able to break it open anyway, but it would be nice to have a pry-bar to do it properly. Or some picks. Or a key.

The gryphon goes to sniff the snuff, although looks a bit worried about Integra's complaint. "We should find a place to set up a perimeter and recoup," he suggests.

"If you can find me something thin, I can try to pick it," Harrison suggests. He also heads towards the desk.

"Hmmm," Griffin burrs after sniffing the tobacco. "It's.. a bit like opium-laced tobacco, old chap. Can be very addictive to those of a lapine persuasion, but also slightly medicinal in deadening pain.."

The reporter fishes around the underside of the desk. His eyebrows shoot up and his fake mustache bristles as he comes across something. Small, metal... He fishes it out. "Well. It's not a key. It looks like some sort of... Dental instrument?" It's a small bent bit of metal with a long flat handle, and an odd shape to the tip. Still, Harrison asked for something thin!

"Let us check the linen closet, Integra," Griffin suggests upon returning to his niece. It should at least shield her from seeing March and Achilles engage in nefarious activities.

"That'll work," March says as he takes the tool and crouches down to work on the lock on the desk. as for the tobacco, he decides that will only be used if he really, really, needs to deaden some pain. Risky, otherwise.

Integra nods. "Maybe there will be some nice soft pillows and sheets. We could make a tent and set up camp! Although we aren't really outside, so would we need that?"

"It is a good idea to practice tent-making skills in any case," Griffin replies with a beaky grin.

The reporter hovers nearby, watchful in case of boobytraps or maybe things inside the desk that might leap out to attack them. Maybe the White Rabbit has a poison pen...

With a bit of work -- and apparently some practiced skill at this sort of business -- Harrison manages to get the lock to open. It doesn't seem to have been a terribly complex lock -- just something to prevent casual snooping. The roll-top comes open, revealing a green blotter pad, ink well and pen set, and assorted papers and stationery. The drawers are locked as well, but the locks were all made to fit the same key, so it's a simple business for Harrison to pop them as well.

With a bit of sleuthing, the reporter is able to use that old trick of finding what impressions have been left, to get hints of messages written here.

Duffy examines these carefully. Given the poisoned meal and the drug-laced tobacco... It seems likely these are probably dangerous as well!

While Ace works, Harrison continues slowly popping open each of the desk drawers.

Insofar as things of immediate value, there's very little, unless one wants to make notes for posterity, or is in great need of opening any letters. There are no traps; it does not seem that the White Rabbit was intending to deal with interlopers so directly, poisoned food notwithstanding. As for the impressions themselves ... they make little sense in the context of "White Rabbit." Rather, by Achilles' best investigation of the scene here, this desk is quite possibly Mr. White's very own personal desk, either stolen away to Wonderland, or duplicated to the last detail here.

The only details that seem to have been modified would be the outward trappings: The stationery reflects "From the Desk of the White Rabbit," but whatever magic was used to change that wasn't so thorough as to change subtle details such as impressions in the blotter.

The reporter muses. "This appears to have been Mr. White's old desk, judging from the imprints of his writing. But why copy it so exactly?"

Very little insight can be garnered from these fragments, as most of Mr. White's writing that was immortalized in mirror-image impressions appears to have been of a very mundane and financial nature ... but from the top-most sheets indicating the contents of his most recent missives, it seems that he was greatly concerned with inquiries as to the health of Miss Alice. Perhaps he was close enough that he was not caught entirely by surprise by her death, as was most anyone else at the funeral.

Achilles takes notes. "Did Mr. White have a hand in Miss Alice's death?! The public must know!" he surmises wildly.

"What was that?" Griffin squawks from the opposite wall, where he and Integra seem to be assembling bed-rolls.

Satisfied with his work on the desk, Harrison goes back to the bed and sits on it. While there pondering, he gets an idea. He looks under the bed.

Under the bed, Harrison finds a large wooden case. It is locked. An imprint on the top reads, "White Knight Munitions."

The reporter goes through the drawers next. "Most of these are financial minutae, but he was aware of her failing health... He seemed to be trying to get her to reconsider some course of action she planned, which he considered rash. There's not enough here to be sure whether he had a hand in her death, or he was trying to prevent it."

"Oh-ho! We have a weapons case," Harrison says and pulls the case out. He pops his knuckles and decides to try and pick the case.

The wooden case pops open. Inside, there are impressions, lined with velour, where the parts of a disassembled weapon of unusual design could be placed and stowed. The bulk of the weapon appears to be missing, but there are a few interesting components inside -- a gun-cleaning kit, some specialized tools, boxes of ammunition (ball-and-cap ammunition, enough for 24 shots), and what look to be optional attachments for the weapon, including a revolver cylinder and an alternative barrel ... a barrel that has an exterior that looks rather like the main body of a cane.

Harrison takes the cane that they lifted from the white rabbit and compares it to the impressions in the case. It's also about this time the other two learn that a rabbit can cackle maniacally. He settles down and dismantles the cane carefully, apparently determined to reassemble it into something else...

The reporter pauses in his investigation of the desk to look over at Harrison. "... Oh dear."

"Don't mind the cackling, Integra," Griffin tells his niece. "He is mad as a March Hare after all."

GM Note: White Rabbit Cane-Gun reassembled with new statistics: Damage 2d6+1, 6 Shots. Still usable at range or in close combat, with Parry +1 due to the cane form.

The search of the linens, meanwhile, yield ... linens. There are more than plenty sheets, a couple of spare pillows, and pillow cases, plus a thick comforter for colder weather, spare towels and wash-cloths, and an assortment of cleaning materials.

As the reporter continues to investigate the desk for any other contents that might reveal the White Rabbit's past life and secrets, he headlines Harrison's accomplishment, "Cute forest animal becomes deadly and armed with stick six-shooter!"

Unfortunately, it seems that whatever clues that might be found about Mr. White's life prior to being "Wonderlandized" are the sort that would be too obvious to the sort of magic that transformed this desk into its Wonderland counterpart (or was used in the process of copying it in magic-mirror fashion). No mention is found of "Mr. White," but rather of the "White Rabbit." By all that can be told here, the White Rabbit is herald to the Queen of Hearts, but also trusted confidante of the one known as Queen Alice -- and how a kingdom can get by with more than one queen, let alone how any one person could serve two masters, is anyone's guess.

Eyeing the quilt, Griffin suggests to Integra, "You could make this into armor, I think. We can use the blankets for.. blankets.."

"Belligerent badgeman baits bunny's biting boom-boom," March remarks a bit dryly.

"Unfortunately that's all I can find from the desk," Achilles reports. "Anything interesting on your side, Griffin? If there's nothing else, then we can spell each other on watch."

Integra promptly starts modeling the quilt, wrapping it around herself in an attempt to turn it into something vaguely resembling armor. Sort of.

"We have pillows if you are hungry," Griffin responds to Ace. "Blankets for bedrolls. And.. ah.. a quilt." After a moment, he adds, "Hjckrrh!"

Ace grins at March. "Are you going to be a mighty two-fisted dealer of justice, revolver in one hand and stick-shooter in the other?"

March collects the remaining gun bits and ammo. Long coat pockets are your friend. "I suggest we all get some rest, and alternate watch in shifts, before we explore any further," he says. "And for goodness sake, Griffin, go and get a glass of water!"

"It's not a hiccup," the gryphon claims. "I'm pretty sure of that, at least. Maybe it is a hiccup. Integra gets the bed."

"We'll need to find some real food soon," Griffin notes. He eyes the table, wondering if the poison could be neutralized.. but also because it could be turned onto its side to form a barricade at least.

"Don't forget to stand sideways to the hall, Achilles," Griffin notes. "March.. help me with the table. We can barricade the entry a bit.."

"Right, well, lets all get some shut-eye so we'll be fresh to deal with this mess," March says as he goes to help with the table. "And who know,s maybe we'll all wake up and discover this was just a dream caused by a really bad batch of beer."

The reporter goes to lend a hand with this endeavour. "Capital idea! But should we block off the pit behind us as well?" he asks.

"The pit? We don't have enough furniture, and the breaking of twigs should be alarm enough," the gryphon suggests.

Using some of his old wood-lore, Achilles scatters broken twigs around the entrances, both of them, so that they'll snap loudly if anyone approaches them. Once that's done, he settles in to wait and watch, sitting in a chair and looking down the long march of squares.

In the course of moving furniture around and setting up barricades and alarms, the explorers manage to find many assorted pieces of fallen junk in the giant twig pile that, going by Wonderland logic, they determine could make for superior armor for Integra compared to the bulky quilt. (It will be NOISY, but at least it won't hinder her ability to dash out of harm's way.)

At long last, they set watches, man their posts, and Integra gets the unique opportunity to have a bed all to herself, which she doesn't have to share with any siblings. It's practically a dream come true! Well, except for all the monsters and such.

Speaking of dreams, the visions the explorers have in slumber are confusing indeed -- a mish-mash of things remembered, and things that could never have happened in the first place. They are children again, in one of Alice's plays, in a strange little lot somewhere in London -- a hidden garden penned in by a chance of bad construction planning, only accessible by a hidden crawl-way, and unknown to any of grownup-kind. Some of their fellows seem vaguely defined, as memories fail to paint in entirely vivid details. One of them seems rather Cheshire-Cat-like, with his constant grinning, but that's the only feature of him that seems to come across.

The garden seems to come alive, and the dull, grey buildings of London fall away, to be replaced by giant mushrooms and trees with doors in them, and castles made of cards or gigantic chess pieces, as checkerboard fields and rose hedge mazes stretch out to the horizon.

But the bright and cheery adventures fade away, as one by one, the crowd of children is winnowed. Life goes on. Children move away, or simply grow up, no matter how much they'd rather not. But Alice still stays. New faces emerge, then fade. She's still there. She's the one constant. But even with her, the bright fairy-tale surroundings seem less so. Even she is growing up. You don't belong here anymore.

In the hazy gloom, there is a great mushroom, with the curving form of a caterpillar set atop it, idly smoking from a hookah as it looks down. In another corner, there is the Queen of Hearts and her King spelled out in silhouette, looking down in judgement from their stand. There, Humpty-Dumpty upon his wall. Alice stands amidst them. There is something oppressive, disapproving of them, but stamping one's feet and declaring "You're all a bunch of cards!" or the sort would not produce the desired effect. Alice wants them to be REAL, and desperately.

Alice seems to grow older as the dream progresses. The hazy forms fade away, replaced by the dull, mundane reality of some estate where she is working as a governess. She is teaching children -- a typical part of the job -- but there's something wrong about the scene. Their faces can't be seen. They are but shadows. Alice is smiling, even as she reads to them from her stories. But why?

The dream does not explain. The images fade again, and the waking world returns ... or, perhaps, just another layer to the dream.

The period of slumber passes without any interruption. There was a brief scare with the sounds of Cat-Bats and Bat-Cats fighting in the rabbit hole, but none of them ventured into the Rabbit's hall to cause trouble to the adventurers, and even they quieted as well.

The fatigue of a long and eventful day is behind the adventurers, but even while they can't tell exactly how long has passed, their stomachs remind them, "Too long without supper." Alas, there seems to be little to be done for it with the present options.

The taps in the sink work, as in the bath tub. There is soap, there are spare clothes in the wardrobe, and enough resources to make sure that even if the heroes are stuck in a strange realm, at least they won't be mistaken for vagrants while exploring it. Decency must be maintained!

The reporter fishes some red mushrooms out of his coat pocket and offers these to Griffin. "Here, why don't you see if you can cook something up with these?" he says. "They should be filling enough."

Harrison yawns. He pushes back the top hat on his head with the butt of his cane. "We should get moving soon; someone is bound ot come looking for the White Rabbit sooner or later," he points out.

Borrowing a pot from Integra's armor, some water from the sink and the ever-burning lamp, Griffin attempts to make mushroom soup.

"Careful with that, you don't want to blow your head off," the reporter says with a chuckle. He goes to investigate their surroundings for food.

Achilles proves adept at scrounging. Somehow, he has a knack for finding edible roots and more mushrooms. There is no stove, alas, but between the lot of them, they manage to build a safe-enough cook-fire, and to improvise some pots. Griffin's cooking is passable -- but, as they say, hunger is the greatest spice of all.

"I say, Griffin, this takes like boiled socks," March complains. "After all this time you still haven't learned how to cook a proper soup? You need a wife, man, and soon."

"Your cooking seems a bit flat," Achilles comments. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm a card! Have you checked to see if your acquisitive niece might have picked up some spices?"

Integra pipes up, "We could put some jam on crackers! Except we haven't any crackers. But we have jam!"

"The jam we have is a bit rude," Griffin comments. "And these two have eaten army food, so they know this is a veritable feast."

"I'm afraid, Griffin, army cooks look like gourmands when you compare it to this soup," March continues on. "At least the powdered eggs in the army could be used to shine your shoes..."

"I wonder if any of these doors might lead to a pantry?" Integra muses. "Or maybe even a real kitchen?"

"You're going to need the tools of the trade if you're going to be doing any more cooking," Achilles points out. "We'll just have to keep our eyes out as we move along. It's not as if we had time to pack for a long trip."

"We'll have to explore them, using Ace's amazing investigative technique," Griffin notes. "We can slip his head under the doors so he can look around."

"What is it with you and your desire to stick Ace into small slots?" MArh has to ask.

Integra gathers up the dishes, and, lacking a proper kitchen sink, does her best with the little bathroom-sink mounted on the earthen wall, and some cloths and soaps from the linen closet. Wouldn't do to leave an un-tidy Wonderland, after all; she even made her bed without being asked.

The reporter pauses. "Hmm... I can think of any number of times that trick would have come in handy in the past," he muses, then winks at Harrison. "What was her name..."

Achilles looks innocent. "Didn't Integra come upon some sort of map?" he wonders. "I thought I saw something to that effect."

"Oh yes!" Integra says brightly, having moved on from dishes (there weren't many anyway) to putting the finishing touches on her makeshift "armor." She clangs and clatters on over to the others, back at the dining table, and she digs through her apron (worn over the "armor") and produces the rolled-up parchment. "I think it seems like it's magical. I don't really know just why. I just do."

The map, once unrolled, looks surprisingly ... vague. Griffin feels compelled to check to see if his spectacles are on (they are). It requires quite a bit of squinting. It's rather like trying to read a book in a dream.

"A bit like our magical photograph perhaps," Griffin notes, squinting. It looks odd on an eagle's head.

The reporter rubs his eyes, even though one of them requires no rubbing to function (or not function as the case may be). "I say, that's a rather singular map," he says, replacing the monocle over his damaged eye where it won't matter what the prescription might be.

Something clicks in Harrison's mind as he observes it. If he looks at it with a clear mind, he can tell that the map is quite certainly blank, just like that map from The Hunting of the Snark. However, it is also stained and worried, with creases and folds. With a bit of imagination, at some critical point it might just happen to provide a useful clue at a particular moment -- as in, when in some of Alice's "plays," they would all spend far too long wandering around aimlessly in a maze or wilderness, and then someone would just "remember" that he had a magical map that would help them out of this mess, so they could move on and do something interesting for a change. Perhaps the same sort of play-pretend logic works here?

"It's a map that will show you the way if you're lost and do not know what to do," Harrision tells the others. "But we can only use it once, so we had best be sure we want to use it. It may be the key to life or undeath as fuzzy critters."

"Or a flat critter, in my case," Achilles quips. He considers. "We're probably best off finding some friendly locals and trying to get directions to... Queen Alice's court? I have a hunch that's where we can squeeze some answers out."

"Yes, so.. we have to make sure we are very very lost and desperate?" Griffin asks, adjusting his spectacles a bit.

"Well, shall we go about checking the hall doors for oversized gardens, pantries and Bandersnatch corrals?" Griffin asks.

The reporter looks around. "Well... I haven't found any better clues as yet..." His gaze falls upon the White Knight Munitions logo on the crate that Harrison had unearthed. "Though I daresay if we ask after White Knight Munitions, we might find something of interest. A cane like the one Harrison has can't be cheap."

"I just hope it isn't stolen," March remarks dryly. He waves the cane in the direction of the unexplored corridor. "Shall we?"

Rifle at the ready, Griffin tells Integra to wait and try to be quiet while he goes to cover Achilles.

The tiles show a little bit of wear, as one draws closer to the corridor. There are no muddy bunny tracks to make it plainly evident who might have gone this way, but by the looks of it, perhaps the White Rabbit isn't the only one to have blundered about in the hall.

"Well, if it's stolen, you'll have to be quick to explain you're not really the White Rabbit," Achilles assures the little rabbit. He sets off for the hall, surveying it cautiously and looking about for tracks that might indicate where they should go to find a settlement.

Integra nods and tries her very best to be quiet, but her junk-armor seems to be having nothing of it. The best she can hope for is to clank not-so-loudly.

The hall goes on for a very, very long distance, such that the doors and curtains and chandeliers just seem to blur into the haze in the far distance. One would likely require a horse to explore the entire trip, or perhaps a wagon caravan to do it properly.

On either side, there are doors. Lots and lots of doors. At first glance, they all seem alike, but then, take a step to the left and right, and the careful symmetry seems to fall apart: some are a bit larger, some a bit smaller, some narrower, some wider, some not even entirely squarely set in their place.

"Do these doors all lead somewhere?" wonders Achilles. He checks by taking a thin piece of paper and running it beneath a door. He's not risking his own hand, of course; what if something were to fall and cut it?

The doors share at least a few common features. They have hinges, they have door knobs, and they have key holes, for instance. And, it would seem, there are gaps under the bottom that a thin piece of paper could be slipped through.

"See if you can poke your head under without opening one," Griffin suggests. "Get a good look-see.."

As Achilles ventures further into the hall, Griffin gestures for Integra to come up to the hall entry.

The fourth door up to the right is where Achilles checks. He can hear a whirring and clacking noise faintly through the gap of the door, and the wood vibrates ever so lightly. The piece of paper hardly lasts a moment before it's torn to shreds. It's a very good thing that he did not stick his hand through after all.

The reporter shows the others the shredded piece of paper. "Not... I think... this one."

Going to the first door on the left, Griffin leans down to try and peak through the keyhole.

Since March is next to door #10, he leans against it lightly and listens with those long ears.

"Some sort of machinery on this door," the reporter adds. "It didn't have the distinctive heavy breathing that one would associate with a dangerous animal, and it's still going."

Funny. Mr. Harrison March hears a faint echo through the door. It's as if he can hear the chatter of his companions through the door, on the other side. There's some faint light visible through the keyhole. Perhaps that could give a clue?

The reporter returns to the desk and takes the green blotter pad before returning to the hall. He's going to need more agents provocateurs!

March gets a view of an enormous backside. It looks as if he's peering from the vantage-point of a mouse hole into a gigantic version of this very same hallway, where his giant self is peering through ANOTHER keyhole, presumably at another, even BIGGER March Harrison backside, ad infinitum.

March stops before he gets a headache. "I have found the door to recursion," he announces. "Best to leave it alone, really."

"Perhaps I will have the door into breakfast," Griffin mutters as he adjusts his spectacles again to make it easier to peer through the keyhole.

Through Griffin's keyhole, he sees no giant backsides or machinery. Rather, he sees what looks like a dimly lit little shop, such as might be wedged in some street back in London, packed with curios and in need of a very good dusting. It's not abandoned, however. There's a counter and a large well-polished cash register, and behind it is a little old lady, knitting with her needles. The whole scene strikes Griffin as very, very familiar, but then he realizes that the old lady is not human -- rather, she's a Sheep. It still seems familiar.

"March.. come have a look through this hole," Griffin calls. "Ewe won't believe your eyes."

Achilles spends a few seconds sketching out a cartoonish version of his own face, winking, on top of the first page of the blotter. "There we go. If anyone's going to bite my head off, I'd prefer it be a substitute head."

"If I see the backside of your grandmother, I will bite you," March tells Griffin as he heads over to the indicated door to peer through the keyhole.

No biting appears to be necessary. March sees the same scene that Griffin did, though his eyesight isn't as keen as the lion-bird's, so it takes a bit longer for him to figure out why Griffin was pronouncing 'you' so strangely for emphasis.

"Have you found something to investigate then?" asks Ace as he notices both of them gathered around the keyhole.

"Do you suppose that's really her?" Griffin asks. "The Sheepkeeper, brought here by Alice somehow?"

"A shop with a sheep," March declares. "Can we really trust a sheep not to pull the wool over our eyes?"

Back in the day, the children would sometimes pay a visit to a kindly old shopkeeper who really had nothing to do with Alice's plays, but was nonetheless quite content to play along with their imaginations. They would bring her worthless little bobs and junk, pretending that such things as odd wooden checkers might be golden coins and such, and in exchange she would give them equally worthless pieces of junk that they could pretend were magical treasures to further their adventures.

In Wonderland-speak, she was the shopkeeper, and for some reason they imagined in their tales that she was a Sheep -- in tribute, no doubt, to the Sheep Shopkeeper who appeared in the original Alice's adventures in the Looking-glass Lands.

Of course, that was ages ago, and the shopkeeper was already elderly. She likely would have passed on by now, without any foul play being necessary.

"Well, shall we go in? It's better than standing around in a hallway. Maybe we could sell some of this beer," March suggests.

After examining the door himself, Ace turns to Harrison. "Didn't you find some wooden checkers on the White Rabbit?" he wonders. "We might be able to purchase a map or directions."

"She was always friendly," Griffin says, bobbing his head. "Do you want to handle the haggling, March? This is your bailiwick, after all."

"I did, in fact," March agrees and pats his side pocket. Therefore, he reaches up and raps lightly on the door. It is impolite to just barge in, after all.

The door rattles in place, and they can all hear a bell jangling on the other side. "Please do come on in!" the elderly Sheep baas from the other side. "Just remember to close the door behind you, so I don't catch a draft!"

"After you," Achilles says with a smile. He keeps his umbrella close to hand, but the ferrule is capped-- can't keep it uncapped all the time, that would wear the point down in no time.

"Funny you should mention drafts, Ma'am," March says politely as he opens, then goes through the door, "We have a few we'd like to sell, if you would be willing to take them."

Griffin isn't so sure about letting the door close.. who knows if it'll open up to the hall again from the other side. "Integra, come along," he calls to the girl, not wanting the group to be split.

The Sheep's Shop
This is a dusty little curio shop, with shelves packed to the ceiling with all sorts of knickknacks and certifiable junk, with only the occasional bit and bob of any apparent value. The window panels at the front entrance are greatly in need of a cleaning, and only let in a little light from the street, rimmed in frost, and giving a glimpse of a wintry London scene -- or is that really London? Behind the cash register, a Sheep in a shawl sits, knitting away at something, occasionally surveying the shop's interior through the spectacles perched on her large sheepish nose.

"Oh!" the Sheep Shopkeeper declares, as she quite nearly drops her knitting. "Dearie me, it HAS been a long time since you've visited! Do tell, what sorts of wonderful adventures have you been since last?"

"Good morning, ma'am," says Achilles as he brings up the back. He tips his bowler-pot hat to her, but leaves the sweet-talking to the others.

March doffs his cap. "Good day to you, Ma'am," he says politely. "And oh, this or that. We find ourselves a bit lost, actually. Seems that since we've been away, our dear friend Alice has moved her home here. You wouldn't happen to know where she resides now, would you?" After that, the hare starts perusing the selection of 'goodies' to see what sorts of things might be worth getting.

The door they just came through is but one of two street-side doors, and on this side there are frost-rimmed glass panes giving a view of the street outside, with dangling "jingle-bells" on strings to announce the entry of a customer. Beyond can be seen something vaguely like a wintry London scene, save that if one peers a little closely, some of the inhabitants seem a little flat, or a little wooden, or a little fluffier or caricatured than one would expect of a typical Londoner.

Griffin can't help but glance at the shelves for anything familiar. "You haven't changed a curl, M'lady," he offers.

Duffy looks over the store for survival gear and camping equipment... Or cooking, because if they're going to survive Griffin's cooking, they have got to get him some better tools of the trade!

"Oh, Alice," the Sheep says, looking a bit sad for a moment, but then giggling at Griffin's comment. "Oh, you flatterer! But, yes, Alice was gone a long while, but I hear she's back. But no one knows just where. All anyone says is that she's going to make things back to the way they used to be, and bring everyone home." She shakes her head. "I don't know that's such a good idea--" Then, seeing her visitors perusing the offerings, she snaps back to business. "Oh yes! There are a few new things in since you were last here. Why, new things all the time, you know. And for you, I can tell you what's special!"

Upon further inspection, the shop seems to have more in the way of useful things than might have been expected. Where once upon a time, there might have been a purely decorative tin sword or shield meant for a wall-hanging, here it is fully functional. Only a few items have price tags, and those appear to be the pricier items, with amounts given in guineas rather than shillings or pounds.

"Integra, this is the Sheepkeeper," Griffin introduces the girl, giving her a brief explanation of the symbolic circumstances.

Integra giggles, and then sobers up and gives the shopkeeper a curtsey. "I'm Integra Wingate, ma'am. Mr. Paisley is my uncle."

"That's why we want to speak to Alice," March says, "Things can't ever be the way they used to be, time always marches on, alas. Else, how could you ever have new adventures? All you would do is repeat the old forever."

Achilles headlines reflexively, "Queen Alice vows return to old days! Old days not so thrilled with idea."

"The lands do seem rougher than I remember, so we should replenish our ammo, just in case. Plus, hm, I could you a pick set, and just maybe a few good pots will make Griffin a passable cook," the hare muses to the others.

The shopkeeper smiles sadly at Integra, and offers her a candy from a small bowl by the register. Griffin is able to tell at a glance that the candy has no magical properties; it's just cheap candy that she offered to any of the well-behaved children who visited her store. (That they weren't offered any is obviously a sign that they've grown up!)

"Oh yes," the shopkeeper says. "We have the perfect powder and shot for your monster-hunting weapons!" Once upon a time, she would have presented some little imaginary bits of junk and offered a little bit of dust for gunpowder, but it seems she's moved up in the world: The ammunition here seems quite real.

"Don't forget a stirrer, a spatula, and a set of spices," Achilles reminds. He trots over to ask the shopkeeper a few questions about who's new in town, or maybe where they could find White Knight Munitions, when she has a moment free.

"Ma'am," Harrision speaks up as he goes to the ammunition to find some more for his trust .45 revolver, "What can you tell us about what we are near? It's been so long I don't remember what lands your shop is actually close to. Have you seen other hares lately? Or gryphons?" He's probably hoping to find places where they can blend in, from the sounds of it.

The Sheep seems a little overwhelmed at all the lines of inquiry, and seeing that it's time to get down to real business, she sets the knitting aside for a bit. "Now, that White Knight fellow, I know he's been missing for some time. You know, after all, he was quite the inventor, over there to the east in his manor, and quite the handsome one! But it seems that since the White Rabbit showed up, he went missing."

Always the frugal sort, Griffin looks at old military (camp) cooking gear, which tends to be lightweight and compact, after all.

"Yes, quite terrible," the Sheep says, nodding. "I knew the both of them. Although, my eyesight is so bad, you know, I did sometimes get the two of them mixed up when one or the other would visit."

"Poor fellow, let's hope he didn't run afowl of some poultry-oon," says Achilles. He jots a mental note, east to the White Knight's manor.

"Now, as for you, young Mr. Hare," the Sheep says, "you should know quite well that my shop is at the river's side in the Looking-Glass Lands ... except when it isn't!" She giggles lightly. "Oh, now, don't expect that to make any sense. I don't make up any of the rules, you know! It's just that it seems that you'd keep popping on in, right in the middle of some trip to the dark forbidden lands of the Billiard Barbarians, or Tulgey Wood, when you needed a better weapon -- or maybe just some candy for good luck." She winks.

Deferring to Harrison's questioning, the reporter goes to assist Griffin in shopping for camping gear.

"Now ... Hares and Rabbits, why, they're all over the place," the Sheep muses. "I'm so sorry I wouldn't recognize your close kin when I saw them. I dare say there were only a couple of you to visit my shop, or maybe three. I remember that young lady, Miss Lucky -- only she seems not quite so lucky anymore, not what with the Queen of Hearts after her lucky-rabbit's-feet. I heard she actually got one of them -- poor thing!"

"Oh! That reminds me! I have something you left here," the Sheep says. "Why didn't I think of this sooner? I remember long ago, you said I needed to hold onto it, in case any of Alice's other friends came and had need of it. I think you had to go on a long journey. It's been so long." She rummages around, and pulls out a couple of carefully-drawn pages -- maps!

"Oh, quite right, yes," March says, trying to cover up for his 'faulty' memory. "How silly of me to forget that." The comment about another hare in danger makes him blink. "She did? Oh my! Horrible. Is she all right? Does she need help? I would be a cad, indeed, if I did not help a lady in distress," March says as he goes over to the counter to collect the old maps.

One map is of the Monarchy of Hearts. (http://www.tripleacegames.com/Downloads/WonderlandNoMore/map-monarchy-of-hearts.gif)

The other is of the Looking-glass Lands. (http://www.tripleacegames.com/Downloads/WonderlandNoMore/map-looking-glass.gif)

According to the map of the Looking-Glass Lands, the Sheep's Shop is located in a town called Riverside, at a part where one of the eastward-flowing streams widens considerably, where it looks more like a lake than a river. In chess-board terms, it's located at White Queen's 5th. Just two squares to the east, downstream and past a thick forest, would be the location of the White Manor, in between a major road and the river.

The map doesn't give any sort of hint of actual physical scale, save for a clear indicator that it's farther than is realistic to travel entirely on foot (but then, Alice herself was able to make her journey to the Eighth Square with a train ride covering only a small part of the way).

"Is there anything in particular you might be looking for in trade, M'lady?" Griffin asks the Sheep. "We do need to stretch our funds as much as possible, after all, but may have some items you'd find of interest."

Integra looks curiously at the double-door entrance. "Uncle Paisley, there's a street out there now. And there are TWO doors, but we just came in through ONE."

"That is why it was important that we all come through together, Integra," Griffin asides to the girl. "You can't always trust a door to open the same way every time."

"Now, about that Miss Lucky," the Sheep says, leaning over the counter in conspiratorial manner, "she's been keeping low, on account of that Queen of Hearts, but over here in the Looking-glass Lands, the Card Guards wouldn't dare to openly hunt her down. Mind you, if she caused the Red Queen too much trouble, she'd probably be handed over, but there's such a thing as respecting the sovereignty of your neighbor...."

Harrison leans in, nodding as he listens to the 'state of things' with regards to the Unlucky, Miss Lucky.

It takes Harrison some work, but the Sheep appears to be in a talkative mood at least, so he manages to steer her toward giving some clues as to the whereabouts of Miss Lucky Rabbit. It would seem that the lady - minus one paw, sadly - is staying in this very town. Now, the trick might be as to how to go out that entrance and end up in that town, rather than right back in the Hall of Doors where they started ... or perhaps that's not going to be at trick at all. The Hall of Doors is perplexing that way.

Harrison doffs his hat again. "Thank you muchly. If I happen to run into her, I will give her all the help I can. We hares have to stick together after all," he quips.

"That's not to say as she mightn't have agents on the down-and-low looking out for poor Miss Lucky," Achilles says quietly. "Would you have happened to notice anyone new in town, maybe someone we should be watching out for?"

"I heard that she's put in for a replacement for her missing lucky paw," the Shopkeeper confides. "Oh, the poor thing! She's replacing it with a hook! Well, the only place she'd be able to do that would be to visit one of the metalworkers. I suppose it would be the Blacksmith."

"He's a quiet sort, you know," the Sheep says, though there's no telling that anyone would know. "Chessmen don't usually care to work with fire."

Integra timidly reaches out and takes the handle of the door she came in through -- the LEFT door. When she opens it, she catches a glimpse of the hallway. She looks through the glass panes, and sees street. Around the door, hallway. It's fascinating!

Then, she closes it carefully, and tries again with the right door. She gets a gust of cold wintry air in the face. Outside this time ... is the same street she can see through the door panes. She blinks. "Uncle Paisley, you simply must see this!"

"Hmmm, going out through the door we came in through is the way back to where we came, and going out through the door we haven't used is the way to go outside," Griffin says to Integra. "I'd thought we'd have to go through backwards.. just don't open both doors at once."

The Sheep continues to gossip, and whether or not it's connected to the actual questions she's been asked remains to be seen. "Now, as for strangers ... well, I'm not sure it really qualifies, but there's no one stranger than that Hatter. He's one of the few who really gets around between this kingdom and the other. You have to be careful with him. He can pull things out of his hat -- things that aren't really real, and you won't realize until he's gone. Cheated more than a few honest storekeepers that way. But lately I've been hearing far, far worse. Seems he's opened up a shop again, and he's looking for models for his hats -- but not in these parts."

But it was only just last night that... Right, Ace. Time passes oddly in Wonderland, the reporter thinks to himself. He takes notes. "That's good to know, ma'am, thank you."

"And then there are the Royal Gardens," the Sheep says. "It's a horror what goes on there, but the Plants insist they're all quiet happy. They have a new Gardener. Two, in fact, both named Mary. I hear they're quite contrary, though. And no one really knows for sure how their garden grows."

Reaching into this jacket, Griffin takes out the group photograph and has another look at it, to see if Madden has, indeed, gone full on Hatter.

"I've also heard tell that the Jabberwock is back," the Sheep adds. "Don't ask me how. I mean, a good snicker-snacking with a vorpal sword is all well and permanent. But it seems that good Queen Alice wants to unite all the kingdoms of Wonderland, and Heavens know why the existing Queens haven't gone to war with her over it -- but all the same, not everyone is happy about it. But the Jabberwock? Its burbling would strike fear into the heart of any who heard it. So I suppose she must have gotten a very good Surgeon to sew its head right back on again."

There's no doubt about it in the photograph: Madden is gone, and there is a very wicked-looking, all-too-happy-looking Hatter in his place. Despite the faint similarities, at a glance Griffin can just tell: That isn't really Madden. It just can't be.

"White lost himself completely, so too must have Madden and the twins," Griffin thinks.

In the photograph, however, the White Rabbit is no longer to be seen. In its place, there is only a young child. Oddly, his hair isn't the shock of white that Griffin thinks he recalls, nor has he those prominent buck teeth.

"Or there might have been more than one," Achilles surmises. "Cubs, maybe. Now fully grown? Manxsome mob of murderous monsters menaces millions, read all about it!"

"We shall do our best to avoid the Tulgey Wood then," Griffin offers out loud. The image of the new child, however, has him worried. Could it be one of the shadows from the dream?

"Well," the Sheep admits, "there are those frumious Jabberkin and Jabberspawn. They haunt the Hills of Gloom and the Tulgey Wood, occasionally attacking the Guarded Way."

"Suggestion, we should avoid all monsters, eh?" Harrison commends from behind a standing case. All that can be seen are his ears.

Achilles grins. "If you wanted to avoid monsters, what are you doing around Griffin and me?" he teases.

"Of course," the Sheep says, "but it's become harder than ever. Only the largest caravans can brave the Guarded Way now, and Snarks on the ocean are sure to take down any ships that try to take the sea around the Mountains of Division. That's why it's all the more remarkable that the Hatter can pop back and forth as he pleases. Now, there's the Hall of Doors, of course, but only certain very gifted people were able to make much use of that. It has a nasty tendency to drop people off in very, very dangerous places, and to make it a one-way trip."

The card reporter shudders, remembering that one door. If he had stuck his head under it...

"There is something else we must avoid," Griffin notes, and shows the photo to March and Ace. "We have to avoid killing the Hatter or the twins," he whispers to them. "If we do, I think they're replaced by Alice's newest set of children playmates. We'd be putting them in danger."

"Keeping people around I know I can outrun. I don't have to outrun monsters, just outrun you," March quips and shakes his cane above his head.

"Oh!" the Shopkeeper exclaims, clapping her hands. "If you wish to run quickly, I have JUST the thing!" She pops open a divider in the counter, and hobbles her way over to the central shelves, to pull out some ... "Bunny Slippers! Made from real bunnies. No, not anyone you know. They'll double your running, guaranteed!"

The reporter blinks and studies the new 'White'. "This... Hmm. It's too early to say for sure what this means, but it certainly doesn't bode well."

Achilles looks interested... But eyes Harrison. "Well, you're keeping our funds. Let's get the essentials first and see how much is left!"

"Agreed! Lets all make lists of what we want, then we'll see what we can afford. No need in badgering the gracious keeper with questions about this and that yet," March agrees.

"Hjckrrh," Griffin says softly, before putting away the old photo. "Hjckrrh indeed."