2024: The Cleaving of the Spoiled Tongue

In the spring of 2024, an unseasonable sickness took root in Cleveland — but only among the Dreamers. Foodborne, subtle, and almost spiritual in its effects, the illness sparked no panic in the mortal press, its presence buried in quietly squashed reports and misattributed symptoms. But in the Dreaming’s reflection of Cleveland, the alarm was deafening.

Kaelar, a beloved former Moondog who had served multiple previous terms, quietly galvanized a coalition. For the first time in recent memory, the Kithain of Moondog Barony formed a temporary alliance with Prodigal shapeshifters to investigate.

The culprits: not the ancient Fomorians whispered of in arcane texts, but the Fomori, the warped enemies of the werewolves — parasitized mortals twisted by spiritual corruption. These creatures had somehow begun poisoning Glamour-rich food stalls in the West Side Market, warping what should have been nourishing into something spiritually caustic.

Dreamers sickened. A few even died.

The response was swift and, in some corners of the Dreaming, mythic. A secretive coalition of Nockers, Kinain engineers, and Seelie Trolls joined Kaelar in an ambitious project to restore and reinforce Cleveland’s Glamour infrastructure. Public art projects surged. Once-neglected historical parks were cleaned and polished. The market’s old stonework was re-enchanted. All of it framed as part of Mayor Justin Bibb’s renewed civic beautification campaign, and managed under the newly empowered Cleveland Public Market Corporation.

Some whispered that Kaelar and the “alpha” of the werewolves had both, separately, befriended Bibb. Neither party confirmed it, but Glamour flowed thicker in Ohio City after that.

The alliance has since become quasi-permanent, albeit loosely formalized. Trust remains tenuous, but Kaelar has proven instrumental in maintaining the détente.

Perhaps more curiously, the restoration unearthed long-dormant chimerae buried beneath Cleveland’s ancient cobbles and tunnels. The most significant of these is The Surveyor, an enigmatic, mapmaking creature of immense age and peculiar habits.

Legacy

• The Surveyor's maps do not match mortal ones — instead, they chart symbolic resonance, hidden trods, and forgotten truths of Cleveland’s spiritual topography.
• The Surveyor speaks only in gestures, through brass sextants and shifting blueprints. Yet the werewolves have learned to commune with it. A newly formed “pack” is said to guard its works — considering it, astonishingly, their totem.