I can hear it already, the moans of infidels meaning "What? What is he talking about?" It's simple, really, the Boggan aren't the home-spun busybodies we're often accused of being. There exists, in all truthfulness, a structure unlike any you may have conceived. It grows from the convoluted twisting of plots and gambits--all goodly-natured, with little to lose--to work behind thrones in the seats of real power. I speak of the Boggan court.

Nobler than many think, the Boggan have a net of talkings and craftwork that keep news flowing. In one Boggan's basket another may read the thoughts and circumstances of the crafter, and, as any tracker knows, wear marks speak volumes. With practiced eyes and nimble fingers, Boggan somewhat unconsciously transfer information. That fact has given them the kithain monopoly on information.

Unlike a formal court, the Boggan court relies on a single commodity. Where etiquette and obsequiality oil the bearings of Sidhe gatherings, Boggan freely trade in information. The merest suggestion that a friend's friend's friend's cousin's nephew's former roomate has the scoop on an Eiluned plot to disgrace House Gwydion, in the proper ear, can have a footman inciting a Duke, Baron, or Viscount to consider preemptive or counter- moves. Attacks, even, are based on dubious information that might be correct, regardless of its source. All the world is based upon who controls information and how it is presented. Nifty, eh?

Knowing the people most likely to read this, you're all thinking that it sounds pretty cocky. Inside each of you, though, is a niggling doubt that it's true, though. You really must admit that it has that certain ring of verisimilitude never quite present in a fib. Think, you, upon every decision you have ever made--before and after Chrysalis. Was not each one a "judgement" of facts you knew and facts you assumed to be true? Was not your final decision dictated by what information you were fed? Yes, I meant fed. Boggan create situations by manipulating what reaches whose ears.

It started simply, long ago, in time immemorial. We Boggan, you see, are dreams of shaping (in contrast to Nockers who are dreams of (u>making). As shapers, influencers, we take what is gently and it complies to our desires. In contrast, our Nocker cousins take what might be and force it into shapes they have chosen. They make we guide. That, you see, is what Boggan do when we go off to be alone with our work. We talk, sing, dance, ans caress. We ask the object, whatever it may be, to comply--and it does. In that way is stone no different than thought.

Understand me now, before I go further, Pooka are the fae who cannot be trusted. Boggan, Seelie at least, do not, as a rule, lie. That would be Nockerish, to force data to a shape you desire. Rather, a Boggan prefers not saying to lying (and you know how devastating lack of communication can be). She will change subjects with a social deftness that, had the Sidhe cause or ability to notice, would have them fawning foolishly to learn it. We avoid the stock Sidhe resistance to embarassment with subtlety. Pooka tricks may fail, Nocker machines backfire, Eshu feet never lead where they could, but Boggan words can humiliate the haughtiest.

It was that that taught us the lesson hardest to learn. In time out of time, Boggan learned humility. With such a power to rule, such a water monopoly on thought, a Boggan can grow delusioned and insane, a megalomaniacal, psychotic screamer hidden beneath a wholesome skin. Motivating people, shaping them to your will, makes you cynical toward humanity. It degrades every single thing it touches.

Since those earliest, harmonic dreams of shaping, then, my kith has struggled to avoid that trap. Not all have escaped. Many more, to save their souls, have withdrawn from the game altogether because they saw the darkness worse than Winter ready to swallow them and finally, with the abyss gazing as deeply into them as it has anybody in all the Dreaming and beyond, turned away to face those they called friends, putting round arms on equally round shoulders, walked toward the balefires, toward the pubs, and, most of all, toward those they could so easily dominate, accepting a place of servitude rather than regality.

Ah, well, my fingers tire and my point grows stale. I have spoken of secret influences and secret temptations. I have spoken much and explained little and I my eyes grow heavy-lidded. I leave you now to wonder at my purpose in setting this down. How am I shaping you? What is drawing me to write this? Did I resist the temptations and set you a truth-tapestry, full of warp and weft, to warn you of the less strong among my kind? Or did I mayhap present a half-lie to give me what power is possible over your thoughts and worries? Puzzle it out, and then tell me. I won't say if you are incorrect or not, but the Boggan court will find you response interesting, I'm sure.

Tepes, Boggan Craftsfae, Seer, Warrior, and friend to the Company of Tears circa May, 1996 C.E. (Mike McKensie )

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