Thrust from my people like a bastard child, sent to cower in the woods like a mongrel, and plotting like an exiled queen, I send this message through a true Sister of the Order who will upload this text from a remote location where the IPS address won’t be recognized by the central server.
Sir Ryan thinks he has won. Ha! I have been privy to his tyranny and have reason to suspect he sits on the council’s throne through treachery! The Goddess will not support one who achieved their rule unrightly. I send out a war-call to my friends who I once did party and role-play with in the medieval club. Come join us in the Celtic Club where the leadership is not tainted by corruption, and the mead is brewed stronger than the weak purple stuff Sir Ryan serves. Also, since my sisters all agreed to continue our sacred circle away from the foul influence of the monster Sir Ryan and his wretched dogs, we are now the only club of outcasts, lepers, and the socially awkward with any women in it. For some in the medieval club, this was their only hope of engaging women in a form of dialogue outside of tutoring sessions…so they must join us! (Our men to women ratio is currently 1:3 … I twill let that sink in, unbetrothed gentlemen…)
Come stand with us as druids and hunters! We will subvert the awful rule of Sir Ryan. For those who are willing, we will meet under the great willow when the moon wanes dark to hide us from unfriendly eyes. But if you can’t see and get scared, my porch light will still be on.
I await you.
The Lady Cerridwen