This content is only available during the Christmas season!

For Christmas history, see Christmas (historical).


From December 1st to the 25th, FBG will release an access code every day. Little trinkets and toys will be given out with the codes.

Visit the Fallen London Advent Calendar or the Twitter, Tumblr and Facebook pages for the newest access codes! This is simply an archive of the story snippets which accompany each code.

December 1stEdit

Bazaardoor papersmall
The Bazaar rations and licenses Christmas cards. Wisely! They are perilous and subversive harbingers of a peculiar tradition. But hush: here are additional cards, escaped through the Paper Door.


This has given you seven Potential Christmas Cards. Send them before Christmas, from your lodgings! [From 4th December until Christmas Day, you will receive new Christmas cards each week via Time, the Healer.]

December 2ndEdit

The Shivering Relicker is doing brisk business tonight on Moloch Street. But where's Pinnock? 'Take these,' she pleads. 'I'll pay you.'


'Merry Christmas. Just - keep them away from requiems. Carols. Wells. Lacre.'

December 3rdEdit

A bat is flitting outside your window rather energetically. It seems it's trying to get your attention!


You open your window. No, it is not your attention; rather, the bat is trying to get a rise from a little mechanical bird someone has left on your windowsill. It must have been placed there recently, too; the lacre has not yet built up around it.

December 4thEdit

Clanging and scraping noises from below jar you from sleep. To your groggy ears it sounds like pickaxes working clumsily at some hidden seam. However, the fluting, babbling sound is unmistakable. Rubbery Men in the cellar!


Discovered, they flee! The corridor is narrow - rubbery flesh squeezes past you in the dark. They have abandoned their tools, along with whatever they were excavating from behind your cellar wall.

December 5thEdit

"Catch!" the Igneous Correspondent shouts. He tosses something in a glittering arc and is gone, with the Ministry of Public Decency in flapping pursuit.


A soul! A pale, still soul, watching you from inside its bottle with an unusual degree of tranquillity.

December 6thEdit

A smiling woman in an unfamiliar uniform, with eyes like moon-pearls, raps at your door. "Drink deep!" she says, handing you a steaming mug.


That steam! Inhale it and feel your synapses snap and your sinuses crackle. [Drinking Darkdrop Coffee will refresh ten actions. Find it in your inventory.]

December 7thEdit

A sound, downstairs at midnight. A burglar…?


Someone has left… something in the centre of your parlour. Was it a gift? Or did you disturb them at their midnight work?

December 8thEdit

One for sorrow, two for joy. Three for Paris, four for Troy. Five for Athens, six for Thebes and seven... hush. Not yet.


Seven bats perch on the roof of your house. This is, perhaps, a good omen.

December 9thEdit

A parcel wrapped in seven colours of silk. The card reads A PEACE OFFERING.


'We've had our differences. But this is Christmas. Best wishes, the Fallen London Probably Random Number Algorithm'

December 10thEdit

A knock on the door announces a grey solicitor, half his face covered by a thick scarf. Without a word he passes you a letter and a package - an inheritance.


You skim the letter: '...and so it was her last wish that you have this, to remember her.' You don't recognise the signature, but the diamond brooch is familiar. When you look at it, you taste cigar smoke and plums.

December 11thEdit

A new tradition has begun in London: children write out their hopes, adults their wishes, and they stick them to any statue of an angel they can find.


'More tin soldiers! And fungal jungle stalks to scale!' 'Safe zees, and peace in the Neath.' 'In the event of unscheduled overflow, fly from London. The air is the only refuge; glide until the lacre subsides.' 'A dolly! But better than my old one.'

December 12thEdit

A sprinkling of lacre's come early this year. Your doorstep is rank with fishy-smelling white goo. Happy Christmas-to-come.


Ah, lacre. The Neath's answer to snow. Lacre-men always seem watchful. Lacre-capped roofs tingle with sinister phosphorescence. Lacre dissolves in water only reluctantly, like a guest who hopes to find space in your box-room. [Use this in your inventory to learn more about lacre or acquire a Destiny.]

December 13thEdit

You wake, suddenly, in the night. There's something on the outside of your bedroom windowsill: a candle, burning brightly behind the glass.


The season is rife with old customs. When you wake in the morning, the candle has burned down. Only a smear of wax remains, and the memory of its flame, fierce on the glass.

December 14thEdit

At the back of the Blind Helmsman, a Frostbitten Midshipman shivers by the fire. She says she travelled with a Merchant Venturer to a frozen Northern door. For a mulled cider, she'll tell you what was behind it.


The High Wilderness! An unblemished frontier of endless night, awash with potential. The Merchant Venturer is out there, plying the wind-roads of the void. Where one has gone, may others follow?

December 15thEdit

As you pass the exiles in their nooses at Hangman's Arch, one rolls his eyes and wheezes.


"Like spores," he says, "from never." He strains to sign at the ceiling... or the Surface. Something primordial tugs at the coat-tails of your memory.

December 16thEdit

Walking down the lane, with the winter cold setting in your bones, you come across a warming sight: a couple on the corner, hand in hand and rosy cheeked.


She points to the mistletoe on the gaslamp above them. They are shy; but after an intimate hesitation, they kiss. You see them in silhouette.

December 17thEdit

Someone has planted a huge bolegus mushroom in the centre of Big King Square. It is draped in tinsel. A star wobbles on top.


It's reassuring to see traditions endure, even deep under the earth. Perhaps you'll dream of stars, and fir-trees, and snow. Proper snow.

December 18thEdit

Something is germinating on your hat-stand. Blue-green sporocarps sprout from the crown; filaments obtrude themselves from the inner lining. How festive!


The hat attracts luminous beetles. They flutter impertinently about your lodgings. Alight on your tea cups. Congregate hopefully by your biscuit tin.

December 19thEdit

Something cold thuds against your back. A snowball! A gang of urchins giggles mischievously behind you. They're preparing a second volley; take cover!


You hunker down behind a wall, and answer with a salvo of your own. During a gap in hostilities, a Gap-Toothed Ragamuffin hands you a rat, by way of a peace offering. "Yer all right, for a longshanks."

December 20thEdit

A fussy neighbour has brought you a small gift: it is an angel, meant to top a Christmas tree. "I picked it up for a song at the pawn shop!" she cries. "And I thought you could rather use a better one."


The angel itself is shabby. Its dress is stained, its face obviously glued back together after being dropped. But its diadem positively glows. Indeed, you pop the little jewel from its crown, and -- oh, god! This is no ordinary stone! This is -- yes!

December 21stEdit

A gang of ex-convicts, scarred from street brawls and gnarled from sentences in New Newgate, are singing Christmas carols outside your door.


They're rougher than a proper chamber choir, but they make up for it by being even more lively than the drunks of Veilgarden. And they don't even threaten to rob you of figgy pudding! "We just want to spread a little joy for once," says their leader, shaking your hand vigorously. "Merry Christmas!"

December 22ndEdit

What is this place? A sky of fire and names, a sea of pale tears?


This dream is over. Perhaps something remained.

December 23rdEdit

Rustling from above! Something thumps across your ceiling, and your chimney coughs a cloud of ash. Who's on your roof?


By the time you've clambered onto your roof, it's empty. But tucked into the chimney is a wrapped bundle, perhaps the loot stashed by some fleeing burglar. You'll consider it an early present.

December 24thEdit

Ahahaha... Excuse me. We do beg your pardon. 'Ho ho ho.'


"Do you recall how we came to that place? And they sang of their lightnings and shapeful disgrace? And we tilted our vanes and ennobled our spires. They welcomed us then and commingled all choirs. And not enough, not enough. Still It mourns, and still waits the Sun."

December 25thEdit

In Fallen London, it is Christmas. But wherever, whoever and whenever you are, Failbetter Games wishes you the best imaginable holiday of your dearest preference. We'll see you in 2018!


Meet, drink, and be many, for tomorrow They may dine.