The witching hour. The hour when things were not always as they appeared to be. She turned to the guy on the stool to her right. He was in costume, of...course. They all were. Dark, dark hair and oddly mesmerizing eyes. Deep and mysterious, she found herself instantly drawn to them and then into them. His eyes were such a stark contrast to his skin. Pale, almost pearly white in the dim light of the bar. He was wearing a rather shabby black suit, cut in an old-fashioned style. A scent of something. Arbor is a facet where weltgeist is not a theory; not a philosophy, and probably nothing like the old German's ideas. Arbor is a world that consciously writes its own history. There the idea of the genius seculi, the 'guardian of an age', is writ large with Magic and perhaps more than Magic. Weltgeist is a living, breathing thing on Arbor and if you cannot let it work its will on you, you cannot exist there. I left when I did because I had to, and it becomes harder and harder to return, and. More

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