-
Search Results
-
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Truella slept for longer than she intended, indeed, she had not intended to sleep at all, there was too much to do. Trying to hold on to the fragments of dream recall, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Glancing around the room, she couldn’t immediately remember what she was doing there. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. What was that conversation she’d had before falling alseep? Truella felt dizzy trying to remember. She stood up and started to pace the room, and noticed a letter had been pushed under the bedroom door. She frowned as she bent to pick it up. Nothing was written on the outside, but the envelope had been sealed with a blob of red wax. Truella opened the letter carefully without breaking the seal. A yellowy page was inside, written in Latin.
Ordo Amphibiae-Luciae: pertinebant ad Ordinem Amphibiae-Luciae.
Truella’s Latin was rusty to say the least. She sat back down on the bed struggling to decipher the message.
The Order of Amphibia-Lucia: They belonged to the Order of Amphibia-Lucia.
Nomen Amphibia-Lucia provenit ex duplici natura: tam terrena quam mundana. Rana facies symbolica est repraesentatio nexus eorum ad aquam, transformationem, et antiqua numina amphibiana.
The name “Amphibia-Lucia” stems from their dual nature: both earthly and otherworldly. The frog face is a symbolic representation of their connection to water, transformation, and ancient amphibian deities. They believe in metamorphosis, much like a tadpole turns into a frog, embodying cycles of death and rebirth These priestesses predated Christianity by eons. Their practices and rituals were about aligning with the cosmic cycles, harnessing planetary energies, and maintaining harmony between the seen and the unseen. They were known to perform rites that involved intricate dances, chants in forgotten tongues, and the use of ancient artifacts that, according to legend, could summon or banish entities from beyond our realm—dragons included.
Tartessus in obscurum, secretissimae sectae, ordo Amphibiae-Luciae, sub terra perrexit, ad litteram. Scientiam suam servaverunt, eam per generationes transeuntes, ritus suos in secretis clausulis sub culturis recentioribus obrutos servaverunt. Christianismus in terram pervasit, sed hae sorores aptatae, antiquas vias obtegunt sub specie hodiernae opinionis systemata superstites vigereque.
When Tartessos fell into obscurity, its most secretive sect, the Order of Amphibia-Lucia, went underground—literally. They preserved their knowledge, passing it down through generations, maintaining their rituals in secretive enclaves buried beneath newer civilizations. Christianity might’ve swept over the land, but these sisters adapted, cloaking their ancient ways under the guise of more contemporary belief systems to survive and thrive.
In cellis cellis in ipsum cubiculum illorum claustrorum contextum habemus reliquias ordinis pervetusti, dogmatum ac dogmatum recentioris millennii securos. Hais ex quo saeviunt dii, rudis sacra, et advena mundus.
In the cellars woven into the very bedrock of those cloisters, we have the remnants of an archaic order, unconcerned with dogmas and doctrines of the more recent two millennia. They’re from a time when gods were wilder, rituals were raw, and the world was a stranger.
When the nuns under Hildegarde von Bingen’s influence merged with these ancient priestesses, it wasn’t just a blending of orders but a clash and harmony of traditions. Hildegarde herself, in her visionary wisdom, likely recognized the power and ancient wisdom of the Order of Amphibia-Lucia, choosing to weave their potent rituals into her own esoteric Christian practices. The frog-faced sisters are no mere relics of an outdated faith. They’re the living embodiment of an ancient, potent lineage that predates and outlasts many of the world’s religions. They’re the keepers of ancient Tartessian magic, lurking in those cellars, waiting for the right time to hop back into the forefront of history.
So that was it! But who had pushed the letter under her door? And why was it written in Latin? Had everyone else received a letter?
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The obvious place to start with investigations into the history of the Morticians Guild was to question Rufus. But first she needed to think. Truella made her way to her room, and locked the door. At least now that Eris was back so soon, Truella was free to let Eris get on with whatever she was doing. After lowering the blinds at the windows, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. As she started to drift off to sleep, an imaginary conversation ran through her head.
Rufus: “The Morticians’ Guild, originally known as the ‘Necro-Keepers,’ trace their lineage back to ancient Egypt. They were the guardians of rites that ensured the safe passage of souls to the afterlife. Over millennia, they adapted and evolved, absorbing arcane knowledge from various cultures—the Greeks with their Eleusinian Mysteries, the Romans with their burial rites, even the Celtic traditions of Samhain.”
Truella: “That’s fascinating. So, this ancient craft has been handed down through generations?”
Rufus: “Precisely. While Hildegarde von Bingen brought enlightenment and medicinal wisdom to her nuns in the 12th century, the Morticians’ practices were already etched in the annals of history. They operated in silence, often in the shadows, perfecting the skills of embalming, necromancy, and spirit communication.”
Truella: “And what about their presence here, in this coven merger?”
Rufus: “We’ve been called upon at times of great need, when balance must be maintained between the living and the dead. Our presence here isn’t coincidental. The dragons and ancient spirits awaken, and we, the keepers, ensure that not all realms collide irreversibly.”
Truella: “So, would you say the Guild has played a role in significant historical events?”
Rufus: “Indeed. We’ve been the unsung heroes, the silent watchers. From plagues to wars, ensuring the dead find peace and don’t linger to disrupt the world of the living. Our methods may have modernized, but our core purpose remains unchanged. The knowledge, the rituals—they are our legacy.”
Truella: “Thank you, Rufus. That’s more fascinating than a year’s worth of ancient spellbooks.”
Rufus: “You’re welcome, Truella. Just remember, history isn’t merely dates and names; it’s living through us, weaving its magic continuously.”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
It was matins, the early break of dawn at cockcrow, and the sisters had been diligent to call everyone for prayers.
Mother Lorena was expounding on the powers of prayer while Eris was struggling to keep her friends awake after the short night.
“Our Sister Hildegard,” Mother Lorena was droning, as to make everything painfully clear to the newcomers “was one of the founding members of our secret order of nun-witches as you would like to say. But make no mistake, she tapped into a power much much older. The power of prayer of the early Christians was capable of great miracles…”
“If we’re here for a history lesson, hope she tells us more about the dragons…” muttered Truella, still groggy from her sleepless night.
As if the absurdly hearing-impaired Mother superior had heard the plea, she went on “It is that same power of prayer from the early covens of nun-witches that helped vanquish the hordes of dragon-boat riding invaders.”
“Did she say dragon??”
“Ssshttt!” Jeezel and Eris shushed Truella as they were struggling to keep up with the rosary count.
“Of course, I mean the viking hordes with their drakkar boats. Such be the tale forever embedded in our embroidered tapestries.”
“She didn’t say about the frogs nuns though, has she?” Truella ventured, hoping the hearing/inspiration spell would still work.
“I suppose the frog-nuns were symbols of transformation, alchemy — or mastery about the water element from which the invaders came, or maybe just waiting for a prince’s kiss… what should I know?” Eris shrugged, mildly annoyed. Her phone was busy spewing messages. Luckily the silent prayer was over, and everyone was invited to the breakfast in the great hall.
“What’s happened?” Jeezel ventured.
Eris sighed. “I’ll have to leave you for today. Another bank errand for Austreberthe. Hope it doesn’t become a habit… Luckily she’s asked Mother Lorena to allow me to use the covent’s portal to make haste.”
She turned to Truella. “I trust you with this Tru, please don’t make a mess of it while I’m gone. There are forces at play here, and we can’t be distracted; I’ll be back as soon as I can. We still have the crypts and the reanimated nuns to investigate, but I’m sure they can wait for a few hours more.”
Before Truella could protest, Eris was on her way.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
After an eternity of cordial superficial conversation with a vertitable horde of new characters, and despite that some of them seemed either potentially interesting, possibly entertaining, or just downright intriguingly bizarre, Truella badly needed a quiet moment to herself, or in other words, a cigarette. Excusing herself from a strained attempt at getting to know a prim thin lipped nun whose name escaped her, Truella made her way over to the cloisters beyond the open doors. The courtyard beckoned, a breath of fresh air and a peaceful respite.
Leaning against a pillar, Truella took a drag on her cigarette, exhaling long and slowly. Perhaps it was just the shafts of sunlight making it seem that there was so much smoke. It hadn’t been too bad, after all. What an assorted bag they all were! Truella hadn’t given any thought to what all these new people she was to merge with would be like ~ she’d been focused on the intrusion into her own pursuits that such a thing would inevitably entail.
Rufus seemed to be keeping his distance, but Truella was relishing it, like knowing there’s cheesecake in the fridge for a midnight snack. Surprisingly, the two nuns Sandra and Sassafras seemed like good eggs underneath those dreadful habits. Truella was glad that Sassafras was her partner for the ritual; certainly it would have been worse with one of those silent ones. She wondered if Sassafras had anything planned, and if she should have thought about the ritual sooner. But then, how could she have known? The assumption had been that the partners would meet, and then come up with something together. Wasn’t it just a fun getting to know each other game kind of thing?
“How many cigarettes are you smoking out here?” Sandra laughed, “Can’t say I blame you though, gawd, will it never end.” Coughing, she lit a cigarette. “What is it you’re smoking anyway? What a funny smell, like the bowels of the earth.”
Truella thought this was rather rude, but had to admit that the smoke did smell peculiar. “That’s exactly what it smells like. And that smoke isn’t from my cigarette.”
“Fee Fi Finnley Fum, I smell the smoke of a dragon’s bum,” Sandra tried to laugh and failed. “Oh, heck. I don’t like dragons.”
“Neither do I,” Truella didn’t like the sound of this at all, but it had given her an idea for her ritual.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
When Sister Penelope Pomfrett realised she’d lost her assigned witch guest, Eris-what’s-her-name, she started to feel anxious.
Not one to revel in shortcomings, she promptly went about ferreting though the corridors, while the various nuns and guests were still enjoying their libations and ceremonious rituals exchanges.
A cry of anguish resonated through the halls. “Smoke! Smoke!” followed by a mild agitation, which felt one-sided amongst the nuns. Maybe the incense witches were more accustomed to those smoke mishaps, and were not as quick to call fire in alarm. But here in the thick of Spanish summer, unattended smoke could wreck certain havoc.
Penelope was about to jump into the circle called by the elder sisters to contain the smoke, when she abruptly bumped into someone. It was that mortician, the quiet one, Nemo.
She couldn’t help but to mutter some form of apology, yet anxious to get going.
“Sister,” he said with a voice that was commanding calm in the midst of chaos. “You need to calm down, this won’t last, and I’m sure your sisters have this under control.”
“What would you know about that?” she felt her mind go numb, and found herself following him with too much abandon.
“Call it a hunch. Not all is as it seems here, and us morticians, are well-taught in the arts of not only preservation, but as well of hidden truths.”
Indeed, the ruckus seemed to fade already in the distance. Penelope looked more closely at the gentleman. He seemed rather innocuous, and not sufficiently handsome to make her break her chastity vows, even if some would find his brooding rugged charm attractive. Yet, he was making her curious.
“So that’s what you do when there’s no dead body to attend to?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. But don’t worry, the night is young, and death is never far.” He said with a quiet smile.
Penelope brushed aside the shivering feeling that coursed through her spine. “Could you make yourself useful dear, I’m looking for my assigned Quadrivium witch. The one with the blue hair, any chance you’ve seen her? These grounds are not safe for the non-initiates.”
“No, I don’t think I have seen her, but I’m sure you can whip up a location spell before vespers are done…”
“Yes, it’s not that. There’s too much chaos magic at work now, it could backfire. Have you no idea why we have those tapestries with dragons on it?”
“I have a small idea. Templar Knights of the Crimson Order?”
“Something like that. The cloister has been build as an atonement by a noble lady, centuries ago — it was said, to appease old spirits who were vanquished in mythical battles.” Penelope held her breath. “Some say they’re still close by. Even more so at the solstice.”
“So better not to trifle with the energies right now,” Nemo said, extending his elbow in an old-fashioned chivalrous gesture. “Let’s find your witch friend together, shall we?”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
It was a good thing that Mother Lorena, who was notoriously hard of hearing was not within earshot.
She would have been horrified at the mention of conduction of “six rituals” in those hallowed grounds.
Luckily, she was busy reviewing and stoking fireplaces around the convent, due to the unexpected cold snap due to the Sahara sands painting the skies in a somber reddish darkly dark.
Meanwhile, Eris who has followed Echo’s instructions after the sprite had LiDAR’d the underground spaces, had quickly found herself in the underground ways thanks to its instructions, close to the telluric surges origins. She could see there were pockets of magma softly bubbling underground. The upstairs agitation seemed to have stirred the currents.
A little spell, used wisely, would do just fine – as an omen, or as a threat, all sorts of motivations tactics which had the best of intentions in order to dispel tensions, with just the right alignment of energies… as touching the earth’s core, needed summoning of both respect and precision.
Ignis Draconis, come to form, Through the earth, through the storm, Guided by my whispered call, Rise, smoke dragons, one and all.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
After the meeting, Jeezel and Silas agreed on what the six rituals would be. The integration rituals were designed to unite the groups symbolically and spiritually. They were multifaceted ceremonies that combine elements from each group’s traditions to forge a shared sense of purpose and harmony, mediated by the mortician’s guild. Given the diverse nature of the witches, nuns, and morticians, these rituals needed to be both inclusive and meaningful, drawing on the unique strengths and spiritual practices of each faction.
The program they distributed to each participant was as follow:
Under the guidance of the Ancient Telluric Forces of the Dragons
1. The Invocation of Unity
Purpose: To call upon the spiritual and magical forces that guide each group and seek their blessings for the union.
Components:- Witches: Incantations and invocations to elemental spirits and deities.
- Nuns: Hymns and prayers invoking divine blessings.
- Morticians: Rituals honoring the spirits of the departed, seeking their guidance and protection.
Symbolism: This ritual emphasizes the shared respect for higher powers and the mutual desire for harmonious collaboration.
2. The Weaving of Fate
Purpose: To create a physical symbol of their intertwined destinies.
Components:- Witches: Magical threads imbued with protective charms and blessings.
- Nuns: Sacred textiles woven with prayers and religious symbols.
- Morticians: Ribbons representing life, death, and the transition between them.
Symbolism: By weaving these threads together into a single tapestry, the groups create a tangible manifestation of their unified path forward.
3. The Concordia Cauldron
Purpose: To brew a potion that represents their collective energy and intent.
Components:
- Witches: Magical herbs, crystals, and other mystical ingredients.
- Nuns: Holy water and sacred relics.
- Morticians: Ashes from ritual fires and symbols of purification.
Symbolism: The potion, once blessed and distributed, serves as a means of internalizing the collective spirit and shared goals of the unified group.
4. The Harmonious Choir
Purpose: To blend their voices and energies in a powerful, resonant harmony.
Components:
- Witches: Chants and spells sung in unison.
- Nuns: Choir hymns and sacred music.
- Morticians: Melodic recitations of ancient rites.
Symbolism: The act of creating music together represents the harmony they strive to achieve in their collaboration, with each voice contributing to a greater whole.
5. The Altar of Convergence
Purpose: To create a shared sacred space where offerings and symbols from each group are placed.
Components:
- Witches: Ritual objects, such as wands, crystals, and candles.
- Nuns: Holy relics, icons, and prayer books.
- Morticians: Mementos of the deceased, symbolizing the continuity of life and death.
Symbolism: The combined altar serves as a focal point for their united efforts, a place where they can come together to seek guidance and reaffirm their commitment to the union.
6. The Ceremony of Reflection and Projection
Purpose: To reflect on the past, acknowledge individual and collective strengths, and set intentions for the future.
Components:
- Witches: Scrying mirrors and crystal balls for reflection and foresight.
- Nuns: Candles representing illumination and enlightenment.
- Morticians: Artifacts representing the cyclical nature of life and death.
Symbolism: This ceremony encourages each member to contemplate their role within the new union and visualize the path ahead, fostering a sense of shared vision and purpose.
Supervision by Jeezel and Silas
Jeezel: With her deep connection to magical energies and her knack for emotional resonance, she will ensure that each ritual maintains its mystical integrity and spiritual depth. She will guide the participants in channeling their energies harmoniously and with clear intent.
Silas: His analytical mind and authoritative presence will bring structure and order to the rituals. He will ensure that each component is meticulously planned and executed, maintaining the balance between tradition and innovation.
Together, Jeezel and Silas will oversee the integration rituals, blending their unique approaches to create a unified and cohesive experience that honors the diverse traditions of the witches, nuns, and morticians. Their combined leadership will ensure that the rituals not only symbolize but also spiritually solidify the union of these distinct groups.
Now, all that remained was to ask for volunteers or to assign the roles in the rituals to everyone. And for Jeezel to reveal the hidden mission to her three friends.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Silas led Jeezel into a secluded lounge, a hidden gem within the ancient cloister that seemed to be frozen in time. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of sandalwood and myrrh, mingling with a musty, earthy fragrance with undertones of aged woods.
Jeezel stopped a moment, in awe at the grand tapestries adorning the walls. They depicted scenes of epic battles between dragons and saints, the vibrant threads weaving tales of heroism and divine intervention. The dragons, captured in mid-roar with scales that seemed to shimmer with a life of their own, contrasted starkly agains the faces of the saints, their halo glowing softly in the dim light. Always the sensitive nose, Jeezel detected hints of incense and aged spices absorbed over centuries by the fabric, with a faint trace of mildew lingering on old stones and the faint sweetness of preserved herbs. She shivered.
Silas invited her to seat on one of the high-backed chairs upholstered in deep burgundy velvet that surrounded a massive oak table, carved with runes and symbols of protection. Jeezel frowned at the oddity to find pagan magic in a convent. As she sat the fabric of her gown brushed agains the plush velvet with a delicate sliding sound, like a faint sigh. The flickering flames of candelabras cast dancing shadows across the room, around which an array of curious relics and artifacts were scattered–an astrolabe here, a crystal ball there, and various objects of mystical significance.
Despite being an aficionado of pageants and grand performances, Jeezel couldn’t say she wasn’t impressed. Silas, ever the pillar of calm and wisdom, took a seat at the table, his fingers tracing the runes carved into the wood.
“Jeezel,” he began, his voice a soothing balm against the room’s charged energy, “I know I can trust you. Before we delve into the heart of these rituals, I must tell you something.”
Man! Here we are, she thought. She tensed on her chair.
“There are some people who would rather see the merger fail. They are doing anything in their power to foster such an outcome. We cannot let them win.”
Jeezel’s face tightened and she struggled to maintain her composure. She tapped with her fingers on the table to distract the head mortician’s attention and help her regain a stoic demeanor. Her mind raced weighing the implications. Malové had said that the Crimson Opus wasn’t just any artifact, it was key to immense power and knowledge, something that could tip the scales in their favour. How she regretted at that moment she had not paid enough attention at the merger meeting. Now, Malové was gone, somewhere, and Jeezel wasn’t even sure the postcard she had sent the coven was real. All she knew was that Malové counted on her to find that relic. And for that, she had to step in what appears to be a nest of vipers. She reminded herself she had survived worse competition in the past and still won her trophies with pride.
“Silas,” she said, her voice measured but with an edge of tension, “this complicates things more than I anticipated. We have enough on our hands ensuring the rituals go smoothly without sabotage.” She paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “But we cannot allow these factions to succeed. The merger is crucial for our mutual survival advancement. We’ll need to be vigilant, Silas. Every step we take, every ritual we perform, must be meticulously guarded. And we must identify who these adversaries are, and what they are planning.” She wished Malové would see her in that instant. She craved support from anyone. She looked at Silas, her eyes full of hope he could help. “I have a task from Malové that is of paramount importance,” she started and almost jumped from the chair when her hedgehog amulet almost tased her. A warning. Her mind suddenly found a new clarity. She realized she has been about to tell him about the Crimson Opus. Jeezel noticed the man’s finger was still caressing the runes on the table. Had he been casting a spell on her? She shook her head.
“Those six rituals cannot be compromised. I’ll need your help to ensure that we succeed. We must be prepared to act swiftly and decisively.”
Silas’ hand froze. He nodded. She wasn’t sure there wasn’t some irritation in his voice when he said: “You have my full support, Jeezel. We’ll strengthen our defenses and keep a close watch on any suspicious activities. The stakes are too high for failure.”
Did he mean that he would keep a close eye on her next moves? She’d have to be careful in her search of the Crimson Opus. She realized she needed some help. Malové, you entrusted me with that mission. Then, you’d have to trust me with whom I choose to trust.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Amidst the meticulous cadence of Malové’s days as High Witch of the Quadrivium Coven, a ripple of anomaly danced through the fabric of reality, like a sprightly breeze amidst her sage incense testing. It started with subtlety—a peculiar haze veiling her potion books, an otherworldly scent mingling with her herb garden’s fragrances. But it was during her quiet contemplation among hellebore pistils that the ordinary took a whimsical turn.
The air hummed with a resonant frequency, beckoning from realms beyond. And there, in the midst of this enigmatic symphony, stood Georges, a figure oscillating between existence and non-existence, accompanied by the ethereal Malvina, a reflection of Malové’s spirit from a parallel dimension.
As Malové’s reality shimmered, the colors around her intensified, charged with the essence of a place where possibilities blurred into fantastical realities. Each breath was imbued with untapped potential, a draught of undiscovered paths.
In the midst of this mystical convergence, Malvina’s melodic voice intertwined with the air, weaving a tapestry of otherworldly allure. Energies pulsed within Malové, heralding a meeting that transcended time—a celebration set within the ever-shifting caverns of existence.
Engulfed by Malvina’s mystic melody, Malové felt the vibrations intensify, drawing her towards the allure of the unknown. With a glance at the maze of her mundane existence, she embraced the call, stepping through the veil into a world of a new sort of witchcraft, and other mystical creatures of the mind.
Amidst the unexpected spectacle, Malové found herself engaged in a dialogue with Malvina:
Malové: “Malvina, as a fellow witch of power, your reputation precedes you. Your tales of shifting caves and communion with dragons have piqued my interest. How do you maintain such fluidity within the arcane?”
Malvina: “Oh dear Malové, magic is a vast music score of constant motions, much like my cave and dragons. Adaptation and transformation are the keys to navigating its intricate weave.”
Malové: “I must admit, recent misadventures within my coven have left me seeking a fresh perspective. The fiasco with the smoke test was humbling.”
Malvina: “A fiasco, yes, but also a lesson. Magic must be respected, yet never tamed. Embrace the unexpected, and let it fuel your endeavors. What of the incense you craft?”
Malové: “It’s meant to elevate the spirit, to realign to higher purposes, and maybe inspire those enveloped in its essence. This is why we seek new blends, something transformative.”
Malvina: “Incense is not just a tool, but a companion on the journey. Let the scents guide you to uncharted territories. Look to the elements for inspiration—the earth, sky, fire, and water all have stories to tell.”
Malové: “Poetic words that is sure, and maybe wise… Perhaps a journey to your world and fabled caves could be arranged to further explore.”
Malvina: “You would be most welcome. The cave shifts but offers shelter and inspiration to all who seek it. And who knows, the dragons may impart wisdom of their own.”
Malové: “Well, to be honest, not so fond of dragons… Well, would you look at the time! The effects of that blend seems already to wear off, but thank you dearie, and we will see if some inspiration remains…”
In reply to: The Jorid’s Travels – 14 years on
Salomé: Using the new trans-dimensional array, Jorid, plot course to a new other-dimensional exploration
Georges (comments): “New realms of consciousness, extravagant creatures expected, dragons least of them!” He winked “May that be a warning for whoever wants to follow in our steps”.
The Jorid: Ready for departure.
Salomé: Plot coordinates quadrant AVB 34-7•8 – Cosmic time triangulation congruent to 2023 AD Earth era. Quantum drive engaged.
Jorid: Departure initiated. Entering interdimensional space. Standby for quantum leap.
Salomé (sighing): Please analyse subspace signatures, evidences of life forms in the quadrant.
Jorid: Scanning subspace signatures. Detecting multiple life forms in the AVB 34-7•8 quadrant. Further analysis required to determine intelligence and potential danger.
Salomé: Jorid, engage human interaction mode, with conversational capabilities and extrapolate please!
Jorid: Engaging human interaction mode. Ready for conversation. What would you like to know or discuss?
Georges: We currently have amassed quite a number of tiles. How many Salomé?
Salomé: Let me check. I think about 47 of them last I count. I didn’t insert the auto-generated ones, they were of lesser quality and seemed to interfere with the navigational array landing us always in expected places already travelled.Georges: Léonard has been missing for 4 months.
Salomé: you mean by our count, right?
Georges: Right. We need to find him to readjust or correct the navigational array. Jorid, give us statistical probabilities that we can use as clues to his current potential locations.
Jorid: Calculating statistical probabilities for Léonard’s location. It would be helpful to have more information, such as known destinations or areas of interest, to increase accuracy of probabilities.
Salomé: Jorid is in a lazy mood it seems. I preferred her more chatty.
Georges: You mean “him”, surely dear?
Salomé: (rolls eyes)
Georges: Anyway, Léonard seemed interested in archaeological finds in recent excavated tombs near the sand deserts of Bluhm’Oxl in the Zathu sector.
Jorid: Analyzing data on archaeological finds near the sand deserts of Bluhm’Oxl in the Zathu sector. Probability of Léonard being in the area is calculated at 43%. Shall I plot a course to Bluhm’Oxl for further investigation?Salomé (loosing patience): Please engage your quantum capacities to access more data. We built you to be a bit more helpful than a bloody computer.
Georges laughed: I remembered you had more patience, dear!
Salomé: She’s in a mood today, isn’t she. What did you do to her?
Georges (cunningly): Jorid, sweet thing, please provide more details about the area, the populations, the customs the whole gamut dammit, and potential territorial conflicts in the vicinity. And be more chatty to please Salomé.
Jorid: Of course, I apologize for my previous responses. Analyzing data on the sand deserts of Bluhm’Oxl in the Zathu sector, including information on populations, customs, territorial conflicts and other relevant details. The area is known for its rich history and cultural heritage, with several ancient tombs and ruins attracting archaeological interest. The main population is composed of the Zathu nomads, known for their hospitality and trading skills. There are no known territorial conflicts in the area, but it is advised to exercise caution while traveling as the deserts can be treacherous.
Georges (laughs): You can’t stop her know!
Salomé (smiles noticing the “her”): Well, that doesn’t tell too much, does it. How shall we proceed? Need to synthetise some local clothes, or are you back to your thieving habits (pun intended)?
Georges: Haha, always ready for a good adventure. It seems we’ll have to do some research on the ground. As for the clothes, I’ll leave that to you my dear. Your sense of style never fails to impress. Let’s make sure to blend in with the locals and avoid drawing any unnecessary attention. The goal is to find Léonard, not get into trouble.
Topic: Prompts of Madjourneys
A thread to share some of the prompts behind the AI-assisted journey into new adventures.
To start off…
Please write the exciting start of a novel.
Some elements you can integrate if you want:
– Four randomly chosen names full of panache that sound distinct from each other, slightly exotic and evocative
– the sentiment from this quotation: “Look around… Beauty is everywhere. You only have to look to see it.” – a group of four people ready for an adventure, standing in a cave with stalactites in front of a giant orb or bubble that seem to open to another brightly lit realm. Inside the bigger orb are some smaller orbs.
– the following term “mad journeys”Told it to continue and it brought dragons… Asked to tone down the fantasy stuff, here’s what came out:
They walked into a small village, where they were greeted by a group of people wearing clothes that looked like they were from the 1920s. The people told them that they were in the land of the “Quirks”, a place where everything and everyone was a little bit different, and that they had to find the “Key of Quirks” in order to leave the land.
The group set off on their journey to find the key, but little did they know that their adventure was about to become even more exciting and quirky than they could ever have imagined. They encountered a talking dog, a man who had a garden on top of his head, and a group of people who lived inside of giant mushrooms.
As they journeyed on, they faced challenges and made new friends, but most importantly they learn to embrace their own quirks and individuality. Eventually, they found the key and were able to leave the land of the Quirks, but they knew that they would always carry a piece of that land with them.
In reply to: Train your subjective AI – text version
Asking the AI to expand on the glossary of the original Circle of Eights Story:
Locations
Malvina’s Cave: A dark and damp cave located in the heart of the Gripshawk mountains, known for its population of Glukenitch creatures.
Lan’ork: A vast and diverse continent known for its Eastern Lagunas, home to the Indogo flamingos. Dragon Head Peninsula: A rugged and mountainous region, home to the Langoat creatures and also known for its rich deposits of dragon ore.
Asgurdy: A sprawling desert region, known for its nomadic tribes who use Saurhse as mounts for transportation.
Golfindely: An idyllic coastal region known for its beautiful beaches and crystal clear waters, home to the Golfindel and Grake creatures.
Magical Schools
Dragonian Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Dragonriders and Dragon tamers, which involves the manipulation of dragon energy and bonding with dragon companions.
Gripshawk Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Gripshawks, which involves the manipulation of the natural elements and telepathic communication with other creatures.
Ugling Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Uglings, which involves the use of charms, spells, and potions to manipulate the physical world.
Guilds
Dragon Riders Guild: A prestigious guild of dragon riders, responsible for maintaining peace and order in the world by using their dragon companions for protection and transportation.
Gripshawk Hunters Guild: A guild of skilled hunters who specialize in hunting and capturing exotic creatures for various purposes.
Ugling Alchemists Guild: A guild of alchemists and potion makers, who create various potions and elixirs for medicinal and magical purposes.
Organizations
The Order of the Buntifluën: A secret organization dedicated to the study and use of Buntifluën artefacts for the betterment of communication and understanding between sentient beings.
The Glubolín Network: A network of individuals who possess Glubolín devices, used for communication and sharing information across long distances.
The Sabulmantium Society: A society of scholars and adventurers who study the properties and uses of Sabulmantium devices for divination and navigation.
Here are a few new invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that would fit in this fantasy world:
Dragons:
Krynn [ ˈkrĭn ] : A subspecies of dragon known for its ability to control and manipulate time.
Creatures:
Kelpies [ ˈkĕl-pēz ] : Aquatic creatures resembling horses, known for their ability to shape-shift and lure unsuspecting victims into the water.
Magical Artefacts:
Dragonwhisper [ ˈdrā-gən-ˌhwis-pər ] : An ancient and powerful magical artifact, which allows the user to communicate and control dragons telepathically.
Necrotalisman [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈtā-lĭz-mən ] : A magical artifact in the shape of a talisman that grants its wielder the ability to control and summon the dead.
Plants:
Blightthorn [ ˈblīt-ˌthôrn ] : A poisonous plant known for its dark purple flowers and thorny stem, its extract is used in dark magic
Faeleaf [ ˈfā-ˌlēf ] : A rare plant found in the deep forest known for its bright green leaves, its extract is used in healing potions
Locations:
The Shadowland [ ˈshā-dō-ˌland ] : A mysterious and dangerous land overrun by dark magic and controlled by Necromancers.
The Hidden Vale [ ˈhī-dən-ˈvāl ] : A secluded valley located deep in the mountains, home to the reclusive Faeleaf plants.
Organization:
The Necromancers’ Circle [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈmän-sər-z-ˈsər-kəl ] : A secret organization of powerful necromancers who seek to expand their control over death and the dead.
Here are a few more invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that fit in this fantasy world, having less to do with necromancy, and more with various forms of consciousness or energy manipulation, magical or mythical creatures or species:
Creatures:
Eterneon [ ˈē-tər-ˈnē-ən ] : A species of winged creatures known for their ability to manipulate and harness the energy of the stars, they are highly sought after by astromancers and star-gazers.
Psicon [ ˈsī-ˌkän ] : A species of psychic creatures, known for their ability to read minds and influence emotions.
Magical Artefacts:
Energyshield [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshēld ] : A magical artifact that creates a protective barrier around the user, deflecting or absorbing any kind of energy-based attacks.
Empathstone [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈstōn ] : A small, glowing stone which allows the user to sense and control the emotions of others.
Magical Schools:
Energyshaping [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshāp-ing ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation and control of various forms of energy.
Empathymagic [ ˈĕm-pā-thē-ˈmaj-ik ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation of emotions and the ability to sense the emotions of others.
Locations:
Eternity’s Edge [ ˈē-tər-nə-tēz-ˈēj] : A remote and mysterious cliff located high in the mountains, known for its strong emanations of star energy and rumored to be home to a hidden community of Eterneons.
Psicon’s Den [ ˈsī-kän-z-ˈdĕn] : A secret cave system located deep within the forest, it is said to be home to a colony of Psicon creatures.
Organizations:
The Energists Guild [ ˈen-ər-jist-z-ˈgild] : A powerful guild of magic users specializing in Energyshaping magic.
The Empath Council [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈkoun-səl]: A secretive group of Empathymagic users, dedicated to the study and control of emotions.
In reply to: The Elusive Samuel Housley and Other Family Stories
From Tanganyika with Love
continued ~ part 4
With thanks to Mike Rushby.
Mchewe Estate. 31st January 1936
Dearest Family,
Life is very quiet just now. Our neighbours have left and I miss them all especially
Joni who was always a great bearer of news. We also grew fond of his Swedish
brother-in-law Max, whose loud ‘Hodi’ always brought a glad ‘Karibu’ from us. His wife,
Marion, I saw less often. She is not strong and seldom went visiting but has always
been friendly and kind and ready to share her books with me.Ann’s birthday is looming ahead and I am getting dreadfully anxious that her
parcels do not arrive in time. I am delighted that you were able to get a good head for
her doll, dad, but horrified to hear that it was so expensive. You would love your
‘Charming Ann’. She is a most responsible little soul and seems to have outgrown her
mischievous ways. A pity in a way, I don’t want her to grow too serious. You should see
how thoroughly Ann baths and towels herself. She is anxious to do Georgie and Kate
as well.I did not mean to teach Ann to write until after her fifth birthday but she has taught
herself by copying the large print in newspaper headlines. She would draw a letter and
ask me the name and now I find that at four Ann knows the whole alphabet. The front
cement steps is her favourite writing spot. She uses bits of white clay we use here for
whitewashing.Coffee prices are still very low and a lot of planters here and at Mbosi are in a
mess as they can no longer raise mortgages on their farms or get advances from the
Bank against their crops. We hear many are leaving their farms to try their luck on the
Diggings.George is getting fed up too. The snails are back on the shamba and doing
frightful damage. Talk of the plagues of Egypt! Once more they are being collected in
piles and bashed into pulp. The stench on the shamba is frightful! The greybeards in the
village tell George that the local Chief has put a curse on the farm because he is angry
that the Government granted George a small extension to the farm two years ago! As
the Chief was consulted at the time and was agreeable this talk of a curse is nonsense
but goes to show how the uneducated African put all disasters down to witchcraft.With much love,
Eleanor.Mchewe Estate. 9th February 1936
Dearest Family,
Ann’s birthday yesterday was not quite the gay occasion we had hoped. The
seventh was mail day so we sent a runner for the mail, hoping against hope that your
parcel containing the dolls head had arrived. The runner left for Mbeya at dawn but, as it
was a very wet day, he did not return with the mail bag until after dark by which time Ann
was fast asleep. My heart sank when I saw the parcel which contained the dolls new
head. It was squashed quite flat. I shed a few tears over that shattered head, broken
quite beyond repair, and George felt as bad about it as I did. The other parcel arrived in
good shape and Ann loves her little sewing set, especially the thimble, and the nursery
rhymes are a great success.Ann woke early yesterday and began to open her parcels. She said “But
Mummy, didn’t Barbara’s new head come?” So I had to show her the fragments.
Instead of shedding the flood of tears I expected, Ann just lifted the glass eyes in her
hand and said in a tight little voice “Oh poor Barbara.” George saved the situation. as
usual, by saying in a normal voice,”Come on Ann, get up and lets play your new
records.” So we had music and sweets before breakfast. Later I removed Barbara’s
faded old blond wig and gummed on the glossy new brown one and Ann seems quite
satisfied.Last night, after the children were tucked up in bed, we discussed our financial
situation. The coffee trees that have survived the plagues of borer beetle, mealie bugs
and snails look strong and fine, but George says it will be years before we make a living
out of the farm. He says he will simply have to make some money and he is leaving for
the Lupa on Saturday to have a look around on the Diggings. If he does decide to peg
a claim and work it he will put up a wattle and daub hut and the children and I will join him
there. But until such time as he strikes gold I shall have to remain here on the farm and
‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’.Now don’t go and waste pity on me. Women all over the country are having to
stay at home whilst their husbands search for a livelihood. I am better off than most
because I have a comfortable little home and loyal servants and we still have enough
capitol to keep the wolf from the door. Anyway this is the rainy season and hardly the
best time to drag three small children around the sodden countryside on prospecting
safaris.So I’ll stay here at home and hold thumbs that George makes a lucky strike.
Heaps of love to all,
Eleanor.Mchewe Estate. 27th February 1936
Dearest Family,
Well, George has gone but here we are quite safe and cosy. Kate is asleep and
Ann and Georgie are sprawled on the couch taking it in turns to enumerate the things
God has made. Every now and again Ann bothers me with an awkward question. “Did
God make spiders? Well what for? Did he make weeds? Isn’t He silly, mummy? She is
becoming a very practical person. She sews surprisingly well for a four year old and has
twice made cakes in the past week, very sweet and liberally coloured with cochineal and
much appreciated by Georgie.I have been without George for a fortnight and have adapted myself to my new
life. The children are great company during the day and I have arranged my evenings so
that they do not seem long. I am determined that when George comes home he will find
a transformed wife. I read an article entitled ‘Are you the girl he married?’ in a magazine
last week and took a good look in the mirror and decided that I certainly was not! Hair dry,
skin dry, and I fear, a faint shadow on the upper lip. So now I have blown the whole of
your Christmas Money Order on an order to a chemist in Dar es Salaam for hair tonic,
face cream and hair remover and am anxiously awaiting the parcel.In the meantime, after tucking the children into bed at night, I skip on the verandah
and do the series of exercises recommended in the magazine article. After this exertion I
have a leisurely bath followed by a light supper and then read or write letters to pass
the time until Kate’s ten o’clock feed. I have arranged for Janey to sleep in the house.
She comes in at 9.30 pm and makes up her bed on the living room floor by the fire.The days are by no means uneventful. The day before yesterday the biggest
troop of monkeys I have ever seen came fooling around in the trees and on the grass
only a few yards from the house. These monkeys were the common grey monkeys
with black faces. They came in all sizes and were most entertaining to watch. Ann and
Georgie had a great time copying their antics and pulling faces at the monkeys through
the bedroom windows which I hastily closed.Thomas, our headman, came running up and told me that this troop of monkeys
had just raided his maize shamba and asked me to shoot some of them. I would not of
course do this. I still cannot bear to kill any animal, but I fired a couple of shots in the air
and the monkeys just melted away. It was fantastic, one moment they were there and
the next they were not. Ann and Georgie thought I had been very unkind to frighten the
poor monkeys but honestly, when I saw what they had done to my flower garden, I
almost wished I had hardened my heart and shot one or two.The children are all well but Ann gave me a nasty fright last week. I left Ann and
Georgie at breakfast whilst I fed Fanny, our bull terrier on the back verandah. Suddenly I
heard a crash and rushed inside to find Ann’s chair lying on its back and Ann beside it on
the floor perfectly still and with a paper white face. I shouted for Janey to bring water and
laid Ann flat on the couch and bathed her head and hands. Soon she sat up with a wan
smile and said “I nearly knocked my head off that time, didn’t I.” She must have been
standing on the chair and leaning against the back. Our brick floors are so terribly hard that
she might have been seriously hurt.However she was none the worse for the fall, but Heavens, what an anxiety kids
are.Lots of love,
EleanorMchewe Estate. 12th March 1936
Dearest Family,
It was marvellous of you to send another money order to replace the one I spent
on cosmetics. With this one I intend to order boots for both children as a protection from
snake bite, though from my experience this past week the threat seems to be to the
head rather than the feet. I was sitting on the couch giving Kate her morning milk from a
cup when a long thin snake fell through the reed ceiling and landed with a thud just behind
the couch. I shouted “Nyoka, Nyoka!” (Snake,Snake!) and the houseboy rushed in with
a stick and killed the snake. I then held the cup to Kate’s mouth again but I suppose in
my agitation I tipped it too much because the baby choked badly. She gasped for
breath. I quickly gave her a sharp smack on the back and a stream of milk gushed
through her mouth and nostrils and over me. Janey took Kate from me and carried her
out into the fresh air on the verandah and as I anxiously followed her through the door,
another long snake fell from the top of the wall just missing me by an inch or so. Luckily
the houseboy still had the stick handy and dispatched this snake also.The snakes were a pair of ‘boomslangs’, not nice at all, and all day long I have
had shamba boys coming along to touch hands and say “Poli Memsahib” – “Sorry
madam”, meaning of course ‘Sorry you had a fright.’Apart from that one hectic morning this has been a quiet week. Before George
left for the Lupa he paid off most of the farm hands as we can now only afford a few
labourers for the essential work such as keeping the weeds down in the coffee shamba.
There is now no one to keep the grass on the farm roads cut so we cannot use the pram
when we go on our afternoon walks. Instead Janey carries Kate in a sling on her back.
Janey is a very clean slim woman, and her clothes are always spotless, so Kate keeps
cool and comfortable. Ann and Georgie always wear thick overalls on our walks as a
protection against thorns and possible snakes. We usually make our way to the
Mchewe River where Ann and Georgie paddle in the clear cold water and collect shiny
stones.The cosmetics parcel duly arrived by post from Dar es Salaam so now I fill the
evenings between supper and bed time attending to my face! The much advertised
cream is pink and thick and feels revolting. I smooth it on before bedtime and keep it on
all night. Just imagine if George could see me! The advertisements promise me a skin
like a rose in six weeks. What a surprise there is in store for George!You will have been wondering what has happened to George. Well on the Lupa
he heard rumours of a new gold strike somewhere in the Sumbawanga District. A couple
of hundred miles from here I think, though I am not sure where it is and have no one to
ask. You look it up on the map and tell me. John Molteno is also interested in this and
anxious to have it confirmed so he and George have come to an agreement. John
Molteno provided the porters for the journey together with prospecting tools and
supplies but as he cannot leave his claims, or his gold buying business, George is to go
on foot to the area of the rumoured gold strike and, if the strike looks promising will peg
claims in both their names.The rainy season is now at its height and the whole countryside is under water. All
roads leading to the area are closed to traffic and, as there are few Europeans who
would attempt the journey on foot, George proposes to get a head start on them by
making this uncomfortable safari. I have just had my first letter from George since he left
on this prospecting trip. It took ages to reach me because it was sent by runner to
Abercorn in Northern Rhodesia, then on by lorry to Mpika where it was put on a plane
for Mbeya. George writes the most charming letters which console me a little upon our
all too frequent separations.His letter was cheerful and optimistic, though reading between the lines I should
say he had a grim time. He has reached Sumbawanga after ‘a hell of a trip’, to find that
the rumoured strike was at Mpanda and he had a few more days of foot safari ahead.
He had found the trip from the Lupa even wetter than he had expected. The party had
three days of wading through swamps sometimes waist deep in water. Of his sixteen
porters, four deserted an the second day out and five others have had malaria and so
been unable to carry their loads. He himself is ‘thin but very fit’, and he sounds full of
beans and writes gaily of the marvellous holiday we will have if he has any decent luck! I
simply must get that mink and diamonds complexion.The frustrating thing is that I cannot write back as I have no idea where George is
now.With heaps of love,
Eleanor.Mchewe Estate. 24th March 1936
Dearest Family,
How kind you are. Another parcel from home. Although we are very short
of labourers I sent a special runner to fetch it as Ann simply couldn’t bear the suspense
of waiting to see Brenda, “My new little girl with plaits.” Thank goodness Brenda is
unbreakable. I could not have born another tragedy. She really is an exquisite little doll
and has hardly been out of Ann’s arms since arrival. She showed Brenda proudly to all
the staff. The kitchen boy’s face was a study. His eyes fairly came out on sticks when he
saw the dolls eyes not only opening and shutting, but moving from side to side in that
incredibly lifelike way. Georgie loves his little model cars which he carries around all day
and puts under his pillow at night.As for me, I am enchanted by my very smart new frock. Janey was so lavish with
her compliments when I tried the frock on, that in a burst of generosity I gave her that
rather tartish satin and lace trousseau nighty, and she was positively enthralled. She
wore it that very night when she appeared as usual to doss down by the fire.
By the way it was Janey’s turn to have a fright this week. She was in the
bathroom washing the children’s clothes in an outsize hand basin when it happened. As
she took Georgie’s overalls from the laundry basket a large centipede ran up her bare
arm. Luckily she managed to knock the centipede off into the hot water in the hand basin.
It was a brute, about six inches long of viciousness with a nasty sting. The locals say that
the bite is much worse than a scorpions so Janey had a lucky escape.Kate cut her first two teeth yesterday and will, I hope, sleep better now. I don’t
feel that pink skin food is getting a fair trial with all those broken nights. There is certainly
no sign yet of ‘The skin he loves to touch”. Kate, I may say, is rosy and blooming. She
can pull herself upright providing she has something solid to hold on to. She is so plump
I have horrible visions of future bow legs so I push her down, but she always bobs up
again.Both Ann and Georgie are mad on books. Their favourites are ‘Barbar and
Celeste” and, of all things, ‘Struvel Peter’ . They listen with absolute relish to the sad tale
of Harriet who played with matches.I have kept a laugh for the end. I am hoping that it will not be long before George
comes home and thought it was time to take the next step towards glamour, so last
Wednesday after lunch I settled the children on their beds and prepared to remove the ,
to me, obvious down on my upper lip. (George always loyally says that he can’t see
any.) Well I got out the tube of stuff and carefully followed the directions. I smoothed a
coating on my upper lip. All this was watched with great interest by the children, including
the baby, who stood up in her cot for a better view. Having no watch, I had propped
the bedroom door open so that I could time the operation by the cuckoo clock in the
living room. All the children’s surprised comments fell on deaf ears. I would neither talk
nor smile for fear of cracking the hair remover which had set hard. The set time was up
and I was just about to rinse the remover off when Kate slipped, knocking her head on
the corner of the cot. I rushed to the rescue and precious seconds ticked off whilst I
pacified her.So, my dears, when I rinsed my lip, not only the plaster and the hair came away
but the skin as well and now I really did have a Ronald Coleman moustache – a crimson
one. I bathed it, I creamed it, powdered it but all to no avail. Within half an hour my lip
had swollen until I looked like one of those Duckbilled West African women. Ann’s
comments, “Oh Mummy, you do look funny. Georgie, doesn’t Mummy look funny?”
didn’t help to soothe me and the last straw was that just then there was the sound of a car drawing up outside – the first car I had heard for months. Anyway, thank heaven, it
was not George, but the representative of a firm which sells agricultural machinery and
farm implements, looking for orders. He had come from Dar es Salaam and had not
heard that all the planters from this district had left their farms. Hospitality demanded that I
should appear and offer tea. I did not mind this man because he was a complete
stranger and fat, middle aged and comfortable. So I gave him tea, though I didn’t
attempt to drink any myself, and told him the whole sad tale.Fortunately much of the swelling had gone next day and only a brown dryness
remained. I find myself actually hoping that George is delayed a bit longer. Of one thing
I am sure. If ever I grow a moustache again, it stays!Heaps of love from a sadder but wiser,
EleanorMchewe Estate. 3rd April 1936
Dearest Family,
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. George is home again. The safari, I am sad
to say, was a complete washout in more ways than one. Anyway it was lovely to be
together again and we don’t yet talk about the future. The home coming was not at all as
I had planned it. I expected George to return in our old A.C. car which gives ample
warning of its arrival. I had meant to wear my new frock and make myself as glamourous
as possible, with our beautiful babe on one arm and our other jewels by my side.
This however is what actually happened. Last Saturday morning at about 2 am , I
thought I heard someone whispering my name. I sat up in bed, still half asleep, and
there was George at the window. He was thin and unshaven and the tiredest looking
man I have ever seen. The car had bogged down twenty miles back along the old Lupa
Track, but as George had had no food at all that day, he decided to walk home in the
bright moonlight.This is where I should have served up a tasty hot meal but alas, there was only
the heal of a loaf and no milk because, before going to bed I had given the remaining
milk to the dog. However George seemed too hungry to care what he ate. He made a
meal off a tin of bully, a box of crustless cheese and the bread washed down with cup
after cup of black tea. Though George was tired we talked for hours and it was dawn
before we settled down to sleep.During those hours of talk George described his nightmarish journey. He started
up the flooded Rukwa Valley and there were days of wading through swamp and mud
and several swollen rivers to cross. George is a strong swimmer and the porters who
were recruited in that area, could also swim. There remained the problem of the stores
and of Kianda the houseboy who cannot swim. For these they made rough pole rafts
which they pulled across the rivers with ropes. Kianda told me later that he hopes never
to make such a journey again. He swears that the raft was submerged most of the time
and that he was dragged through the rivers underwater! You should see the state of
George’s clothes which were packed in a supposedly water tight uniform trunk. The
whole lot are mud stained and mouldy.To make matters more trying for George he was obliged to live mostly on
porters rations, rice and groundnut oil which he detests. As all the district roads were
closed the little Indian Sores in the remote villages he passed had been unable to
replenish their stocks of European groceries. George would have been thinner had it not
been for two Roman Catholic missions enroute where he had good meals and dry
nights. The Fathers are always wonderfully hospitable to wayfarers irrespective of
whether or not they are Roman Catholics. George of course is not a Catholic. One finds
the Roman Catholic missions right out in the ‘Blue’ and often on spots unhealthy to
Europeans. Most of the Fathers are German or Dutch but they all speak a little English
and in any case one can always fall back on Ki-Swahili.George reached his destination all right but it soon became apparent that reports
of the richness of the strike had been greatly exaggerated. George had decided that
prospects were brighter on the Lupa than on the new strike so he returned to the Lupa
by the way he had come and, having returned the borrowed equipment decided to
make his way home by the shortest route, the old and now rarely used road which
passes by the bottom of our farm.The old A.C. had been left for safe keeping at the Roman Catholic Galala
Mission 40 miles away, on George’s outward journey, and in this old car George, and
the houseboy Kianda , started for home. The road was indescribably awful. There were long stretches that were simply one big puddle, in others all the soil had been washed
away leaving the road like a rocky river bed. There were also patches where the tall
grass had sprung up head high in the middle of the road,
The going was slow because often the car bogged down because George had
no wheel chains and he and Kianda had the wearisome business of digging her out. It
was just growing dark when the old A.C. settled down determinedly in the mud for the
last time. They could not budge her and they were still twenty miles from home. George
decided to walk home in the moonlight to fetch help leaving Kianda in charge of the car
and its contents and with George’s shot gun to use if necessary in self defence. Kianda
was reluctant to stay but also not prepared to go for help whilst George remained with
the car as lions are plentiful in that area. So George set out unarmed in the moonlight.
Once he stopped to avoid a pride of lion coming down the road but he circled safely
around them and came home without any further alarms.Kianda said he had a dreadful night in the car, “With lions roaming around the car
like cattle.” Anyway the lions did not take any notice of the car or of Kianda, and the next
day George walked back with all our farm boys and dug and pushed the car out of the
mud. He brought car and Kianda back without further trouble but the labourers on their
way home were treed by the lions.The wet season is definitely the time to stay home.
Lots and lots of love,
EleanorMchewe Estate. 30th April 1936
Dearest Family,
Young George’s third birthday passed off very well yesterday. It started early in
the morning when he brought his pillow slip of presents to our bed. Kate was already
there and Ann soon joined us. Young George liked all the presents you sent, especially
the trumpet. It has hardly left his lips since and he is getting quite smart about the finger
action.We had quite a party. Ann and I decorated the table with Christmas tree tinsel
and hung a bunch of balloons above it. Ann also decorated young George’s chair with
roses and phlox from the garden. I had made and iced a fruit cake but Ann begged to
make a plain pink cake. She made it entirely by herself though I stood by to see that
she measured the ingredients correctly. When the cake was baked I mixed some soft
icing in a jug and she poured it carefully over the cake smoothing the gaps with her
fingers!During the party we had the gramophone playing and we pulled crackers and
wore paper hats and altogether had a good time. I forgot for a while that George is
leaving again for the Lupa tomorrow for an indefinite time. He was marvellous at making
young George’s party a gay one. You will have noticed the change from Georgie to
young George. Our son declares that he now wants to be called George, “Like Dad”.
He an Ann are a devoted couple and I am glad that there is only a fourteen
months difference in their ages. They play together extremely well and are very
independent which is just as well for little Kate now demands a lot of my attention. My
garden is a real cottage garden and looks very gay and colourful. There are hollyhocks
and Snapdragons, marigolds and phlox and of course the roses and carnations which, as
you know, are my favourites. The coffee shamba does not look so good because the
small labour force, which is all we can afford, cannot cope with all the weeds. You have
no idea how things grow during the wet season in the tropics.Nothing alarming ever seems to happen when George is home, so I’m afraid this
letter is rather dull. I wanted you to know though, that largely due to all your gifts of toys
and sweets, Georgie’s 3rd birthday party went with a bang.Your very affectionate,
EleanorMchewe Estate. 17th September 1936
Dearest Family,
I am sorry to hear that Mummy worries about me so much. “Poor Eleanor”,
indeed! I have a quite exceptional husband, three lovely children, a dear little home and
we are all well.It is true that I am in rather a rut but what else can we do? George comes
home whenever he can and what excitement there is when he does come. He cannot
give me any warning because he has to take advantage of chance lifts from the Diggings
to Mbeya, but now that he is prospecting nearer home he usually comes walking over
the hills. About 50 miles of rough going. Really and truly I am all right. Although our diet is
monotonous we have plenty to eat. Eggs and milk are cheap and fruit plentiful and I
have a good cook so can devote all my time to the children. I think it is because they are
my constant companions that Ann and Georgie are so grown up for their years.
I have no ayah at present because Janey has been suffering form rheumatism
and has gone home for one of her periodic rests. I manage very well without her except
in the matter of the afternoon walks. The outward journey is all right. George had all the
grass cut on his last visit so I am able to push the pram whilst Ann, George and Fanny
the dog run ahead. It is the uphill return trip that is so trying. Our walk back is always the
same, down the hill to the river where the children love to play and then along the car
road to the vegetable garden. I never did venture further since the day I saw a leopard
jump on a calf. I did not tell you at the time as I thought you might worry. The cattle were
grazing on a small knoll just off our land but near enough for me to have a clear view.
Suddenly the cattle scattered in all directions and we heard the shouts of the herd boys
and saw – or rather had the fleeting impression- of a large animal jumping on a calf. I
heard the herd boy shout “Chui, Chui!” (leopard) and believe me, we turned in our
tracks and made for home. To hasten things I picked up two sticks and told the children
that they were horses and they should ride them home which they did with
commendable speed.Ann no longer rides Joseph. He became increasingly bad tempered and a
nuisance besides. He took to rolling all over my flower beds though I had never seen
him roll anywhere else. Then one day he kicked Ann in the chest, not very hard but
enough to send her flying. Now George has given him to the native who sells milk to us
and he seems quite happy grazing with the cattle.With love to you all,
Eleanor.Mchewe Estate. 2nd October 1936
Dearest Family,
Since I last wrote George has been home and we had a lovely time as usual.
Whilst he was here the District Commissioner and his wife called. Mr Pollock told
George that there is to be a big bush clearing scheme in some part of the Mbeya
District to drive out Tsetse Fly. The game in the area will have to be exterminated and
there will probably be a job for George shooting out the buffalo. The pay would be
good but George says it is a beastly job. Although he is a professional hunter, he hates
slaughter.Mrs P’s real reason for visiting the farm was to invite me to stay at her home in
Mbeya whilst she and her husband are away in Tukuyu. Her English nanny and her small
daughter will remain in Mbeya and she thought it might be a pleasant change for us and
a rest for me as of course Nanny will do the housekeeping. I accepted the invitation and I
think I will go on from there to Tukuyu and visit my friend Lillian Eustace for a fortnight.
She has given us an open invitation to visit her at any time.I had a letter from Dr Eckhardt last week, telling me that at a meeting of all the
German Settlers from Mbeya, Tukuyu and Mbosi it had been decided to raise funds to
build a school at Mbeya. They want the British Settlers to co-operate in this and would
be glad of a subscription from us. I replied to say that I was unable to afford a
subscription at present but would probably be applying for a teaching job.
The Eckhardts are the leaders of the German community here and are ardent
Nazis. For this reason they are unpopular with the British community but he is the only
doctor here and I must say they have been very decent to us. Both of them admire
George. George has still not had any luck on the Lupa and until he makes a really
promising strike it is unlikely that the children and I will join him. There is no fresh milk there
and vegetables and fruit are imported from Mbeya and Iringa and are very expensive.
George says “You wouldn’t be happy on the diggings anyway with a lot of whores and
their bastards!”Time ticks away very pleasantly here. Young George and Kate are blooming
and I keep well. Only Ann does not look well. She is growing too fast and is listless and
pale. If I do go to Mbeya next week I shall take her to the doctor to be overhauled.
We do not go for our afternoon walks now that George has returned to the Lupa.
That leopard has been around again and has killed Tubbage that cowardly Alsatian. We
gave him to the village headman some months ago. There is no danger to us from the
leopard but I am terrified it might get Fanny, who is an excellent little watchdog and
dearly loved by all of us. Yesterday I sent a note to the Boma asking for a trap gun and
today the farm boys are building a trap with logs.I had a mishap this morning in the garden. I blundered into a nest of hornets and
got two stings in the left arm above the elbow. Very painful at the time and the place is
still red and swollen.Much love to you all,
Eleanor.Mchewe Estate. 10th October 1936
Dearest Family,
Well here we are at Mbeya, comfortably installed in the District Commissioner’s
house. It is one of two oldest houses in Mbeya and is a charming gabled place with tiled
roof. The garden is perfectly beautiful. I am enjoying the change very much. Nanny
Baxter is very entertaining. She has a vast fund of highly entertaining tales of the goings
on amongst the British Aristocracy, gleaned it seems over the nursery teacup in many a
Stately Home. Ann and Georgie are enjoying the company of other children.
People are very kind about inviting us out to tea and I gladly accept these
invitations but I have turned down invitations to dinner and one to a dance at the hotel. It
is no fun to go out at night without George. There are several grass widows at the pub
whose husbands are at the diggings. They have no inhibitions about parties.
I did have one night and day here with George, he got the chance of a lift and
knowing that we were staying here he thought the chance too good to miss. He was
also anxious to hear the Doctor’s verdict on Ann. I took Ann to hospital on my second
day here. Dr Eckhardt said there was nothing specifically wrong but that Ann is a highly
sensitive type with whom the tropics does not agree. He advised that Ann should
spend a year in a more temperate climate and that the sooner she goes the better. I felt
very discouraged to hear this and was most relieved when George turned up
unexpectedly that evening. He phoo-hood Dr Eckhardt’s recommendation and next
morning called in Dr Aitkin, the Government Doctor from Chunya and who happened to
be in Mbeya.Unfortunately Dr Aitkin not only confirmed Dr Eckhardt’s opinion but said that he
thought Ann should stay out of the tropics until she had passed adolescence. I just don’t
know what to do about Ann. She is a darling child, very sensitive and gentle and a
lovely companion to me. Also she and young George are inseparable and I just cannot
picture one without the other. I know that you would be glad to have Ann but how could
we bear to part with her?Your worried but affectionate,
Eleanor.Tukuyu. 23rd October 1936
Dearest Family,
As you see we have moved to Tukuyu and we are having a lovely time with
Lillian Eustace. She gave us such a warm welcome and has put herself out to give us
every comfort. She is a most capable housekeeper and I find her such a comfortable
companion because we have the same outlook in life. Both of us are strictly one man
women and that is rare here. She has a two year old son, Billy, who is enchanted with
our rolly polly Kate and there are other children on the station with whom Ann and
Georgie can play. Lillian engaged a temporary ayah for me so I am having a good rest.
All the children look well and Ann in particular seems to have benefited by the
change to a cooler climate. She has a good colour and looks so well that people all
exclaim when I tell them, that two doctors have advised us to send Ann out of the
country. Perhaps after all, this holiday in Tukuyu will set her up.We had a trying journey from Mbeya to Tukuyu in the Post Lorry. The three
children and I were squeezed together on the front seat between the African driver on
one side and a vast German on the other. Both men smoked incessantly – the driver
cigarettes, and the German cheroots. The cab was clouded with a blue haze. Not only
that! I suddenly felt a smarting sensation on my right thigh. The driver’s cigarette had
burnt a hole right through that new checked linen frock you sent me last month.
I had Kate on my lap all the way but Ann and Georgie had to stand against the
windscreen all the way. The fat German offered to take Ann on his lap but she gave him
a very cold “No thank you.” Nor did I blame her. I would have greatly enjoyed the drive
under less crowded conditions. The scenery is gorgeous. One drives through very high
country crossing lovely clear streams and at one point through rain forest. As it was I
counted the miles and how thankful I was to see the end of the journey.
In the days when Tanganyika belonged to the Germans, Tukuyu was the
administrative centre for the whole of the Southern Highlands Province. The old German
Fort is still in use as Government offices and there are many fine trees which were
planted by the Germans. There is a large prosperous native population in this area.
They go in chiefly for coffee and for bananas which form the basis of their diet.
There are five British married couples here and Lillian and I go out to tea most
mornings. In the afternoon there is tennis or golf. The gardens here are beautiful because
there is rain or at least drizzle all the year round. There are even hedge roses bordering
some of the district roads. When one walks across the emerald green golf course or
through the Boma gardens, it is hard to realise that this gentle place is Tropical Africa.
‘Such a green and pleasant land’, but I think I prefer our corner of Tanganyika.Much love,
Eleanor.Mchewe. 12th November 1936
Dearest Family,
We had a lovely holiday but it is so nice to be home again, especially as Laza,
the local Nimrod, shot that leopard whilst we were away (with his muzzleloader gun). He
was justly proud of himself, and I gave him a tip so that he could buy some native beer
for a celebration. I have never seen one of theses parties but can hear the drums and
sounds of merrymaking, especially on moonlight nights.Our house looks so fresh and uncluttered. Whilst I was away, the boys
whitewashed the house and my houseboy had washed all the curtains, bedspreads,
and loose covers and watered the garden. If only George were here it would be
heaven.Ann looked so bonny at Tukuyu that I took her to the Government Doctor there
hoping that he would find her perfectly healthy, but alas he endorsed the finding of the
other two doctors so, when an opportunity offers, I think I shall have to send Ann down
to you for a long holiday from the Tropics. Mother-in-law has offered to fetch her next
year but England seems so far away. With you she will at least be on the same
continent.I left the children for the first time ever, except for my stay in hospital when Kate
was born, to go on an outing to Lake Masoko in the Tukuyu district, with four friends.
Masoko is a beautiful, almost circular crater lake and very very deep. A detachment of
the King’s African Rifles are stationed there and occupy the old German barracks
overlooking the lake.We drove to Masoko by car and spent the afternoon there as guests of two
British Army Officers. We had a good tea and the others went bathing in the lake but i
could not as I did not have a costume. The Lake was as beautiful as I had been lead to
imagine and our hosts were pleasant but I began to grow anxious as the afternoon
advanced and my friends showed no signs of leaving. I was in agonies when they
accepted an invitation to stay for a sundowner. We had this in the old German beer
garden overlooking the Lake. It was beautiful but what did I care. I had promised the
children that I would be home to give them their supper and put them to bed. When I
did at length return to Lillian’s house I found the situation as I had expected. Ann, with her
imagination had come to the conclusion that I never would return. She had sobbed
herself into a state of exhaustion. Kate was screaming in sympathy and George 2 was
very truculent. He wouldn’t even speak to me. Poor Lillian had had a trying time.
We did not return to Mbeya by the Mail Lorry. Bill and Lillian drove us across to
Mbeya in their new Ford V8 car. The children chattered happily in the back of the car
eating chocolate and bananas all the way. I might have known what would happen! Ann
was dreadfully and messily car sick.I engaged the Mbeya Hotel taxi to drive us out to the farm the same afternoon
and I expect it will be a long time before we leave the farm again.Lots and lots of love to all,
Eleanor.Chunya 27th November 1936
Dearest Family,
You will be surprised to hear that we are all together now on the Lupa goldfields.
I have still not recovered from my own astonishment at being here. Until last Saturday
night I never dreamed of this move. At about ten o’clock I was crouched in the inglenook
blowing on the embers to make a fire so that I could heat some milk for Kate who is
cutting teeth and was very restless. Suddenly I heard a car outside. I knew it must be
George and rushed outside storm lamp in hand. Sure enough, there was George
standing by a strange car, and beaming all over his face. “Something for you my love,”
he said placing a little bundle in my hand. It was a knotted handkerchief and inside was a
fine gold nugget.George had that fire going in no time, Kate was given the milk and half an aspirin
and settles down to sleep, whilst George and I sat around for an hour chatting over our
tea. He told me that he had borrowed the car from John Molteno and had come to fetch
me and the children to join him on the diggings for a while. It seems that John, who has a
camp at Itewe, a couple of miles outside the township of Chunya, the new
Administrative Centre of the diggings, was off to the Cape to visit his family for a few
months. John had asked George to run his claims in his absence and had given us the
loan of his camp and his car.George had found the nugget on his own claim but he is not too elated because
he says that one good month on the diggings is often followed by several months of
dead loss. However, I feel hopeful, we have had such a run of bad luck that surely it is
time for the tide to change. George spent Sunday going over the farm with Thomas, the
headman, and giving him instructions about future work whilst I packed clothes and
kitchen equipment. I have brought our ex-kitchenboy Kesho Kutwa with me as cook and
also Janey, who heard that we were off to the Lupa and came to offer her services once
more as ayah. Janey’s ex-husband Abel is now cook to one of the more successful
diggers and I think she is hoping to team up with him again.The trip over the Mbeya-Chunya pass was new to me and I enjoyed it very
much indeed. The road winds over the mountains along a very high escarpment and
one looks down on the vast Usangu flats stretching far away to the horizon. At the
highest point the road rises to about 7000 feet, and this was too much for Ann who was
leaning against the back of my seat. She was very thoroughly sick, all over my hair.
This camp of John Molteno’s is very comfortable. It consists of two wattle and
daub buildings built end to end in a clearing in the miombo bush. The main building
consists of a large living room, a store and an office, and the other of one large bedroom
and a small one separated by an area for bathing. Both buildings are thatched. There are
no doors, and there are no windows, but these are not necessary because one wall of
each building is built up only a couple of feet leaving a six foot space for light and air. As
this is the dry season the weather is pleasant. The air is fresh and dry but not nearly so
hot as I expected.Water is a problem and must be carried long distances in kerosene tins.
vegetables and fresh butter are brought in a van from Iringa and Mbeya Districts about
once a fortnight. I have not yet visited Chunya but I believe it is as good a shopping
centre as Mbeya so we will be able to buy all the non perishable food stuffs we need.
What I do miss is the fresh milk. The children are accustomed to drinking at least a pint of
milk each per day but they do not care for the tinned variety.Ann and young George love being here. The camp is surrounded by old
prospecting trenches and they spend hours each day searching for gold in the heaps of gravel. Sometimes they find quartz pitted with little spots of glitter and they bring them
to me in great excitement. Alas it is only Mica. We have two neighbours. The one is a
bearded Frenchman and the other an Australian. I have not yet met any women.
George looks very sunburnt and extremely fit and the children also look well.
George and I have decided that we will keep Ann with us until my Mother-in-law comes
out next year. George says that in spite of what the doctors have said, he thinks that the
shock to Ann of being separated from her family will do her more harm than good. She
and young George are inseparable and George thinks it would be best if both
George and Ann return to England with my Mother-in-law for a couple of years. I try not
to think at all about the breaking up of the family.Much love to all,
Eleanor.In reply to: Eight Turns of the Wheel
The day was young, and Mandrake was enjoying playing the cat in the Inn.
Besides the benefit of unrepentant naps, what best way to be undercover in a dimension where talking cats where unheard of. His boots had been a subject for a casual chat during the breakfast, but he managed to get away with them, thanks to Arona’s quick wits who had explained he had sensitive paws.
Some of the other guests at the Inn were a bit curious though, too curious.
He’d almost jumped to rip his face off, when the Canadian guy asked whether it wouldn’t be best to have him neutered. Luckily, years of dealing with humans and dragons had left him with a patience for these types of shenanigans, even tolerating a pat or two on the head.The maid-who-wasn’t-a-maid was another story, she seemed to fear him, and chased him with a broom when he was wandering in the morning, looking for clues as to the key.
While he was napping in a corner of the main hall on a dusted shelf near a silly looking fish, he had spotted a suspicious old man who had sneaked in and had done some business in a locked hangar before leaving. Maybe the man knew about the three words engraved on Arona’s key.In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“So, that’s where the gardener has been hiding all this time…” Godfrey thought, quietly stepping out of the shadows into the sinkhole tunnels. “Maybe I’ll just tell Liz’ he has resigned. Although she seemed more taken by this one than with the previous guys…”
While the gardener was snoring loudly, he took time to look around, and noticed the sprouting sack.
“How curious that those old books have started to come to life again…”An idea had crossed his mind, both dreadful and exciting. The portal…
Leaving the gardener to his dreams, and taking another secret exit out of the dark tunnel, opening another succession of doors with the turn of a key hanging from the watch chain of his burgundy waistcoat, he soon found himself reappearing into a deep secret place. A small round room, almost like the inner chamber of a burrow, with no visible door, no window, seemingly lit only by a single ray of light coming from the pinhole in the ceiling, reflected on the glittering curved walls. At one side, was a well, and one could hear the humming sound of flowing underground water.
On the well, where deeply carved words : “HC SVNT DRACONES”. Just below them, painted in white in Godfrey’s flowering handwriting : “Here be dragons!”There still was the heavy latch, bolted by a large futuristic-looking lock.
Phew, still closed. Godfrey sighed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t imagine the damage to Liz’ frail hold on reality, where she to find about what was lurking behind.
Popping a peanut in his mouth, he smiled wryly, reminisced of what Finnley had said about her “discovering” of the attic; yes, their secret was fine with them for now. At least so long as what was locked on the other side stayed there of course…
In reply to: Seven Twines and the Dragon Heartwoods
Eleri’s eyes began to feel heavy and she blinked, trying to resist the increasingly strong urge to nod off to sleep, as a gust of wind rustled the branches overhead allowing the moonlight to illuminate something that looked very much like dragon scales. Eleri blinked again and shook her head slightly to shake the illusion back into some kind of realistic image. The sudden wind had dropped and the trees were motionless, the path below them dark. It was impossible now to even see what had looked like dragon scales in the brief flash of moonlight. All was still and silent.
With nothing to see in the darkness and nothing to entertain her, Eleri’s mind started to wander, wondering if her grandmother being a dragon (as her father had often said) meant that she was one quarter dragon herself. It occurred to her that she very rarely thought of the dragon that was her grandmother, and wondered why she was thinking of her now. She had been a strong woman, who would fight tooth and nail to get what she wanted, always on the move wanting to get her teeth into a new project, leaving discarded suitors along the wayside as she swept along, grandly announcing to all and sundry, “Do you know who I am?”
Formidable armed with a rigid crocodile (possibly baby dragon skin) handbag and matching shoes, stately and considerably girthy notwithstanding the stiff corset, her grandmother was not one to easily ignore. Dressed in dragon scale twinsets, in no nonsense crimplene navy blue and white, many were quite charmed by her forthright manner and the spirited ~ some would say arrogant ~ toss of her peroxide lacquered waves. Others were not so enchanted, and found her imperious manner unpleasant.
It was a simple matter of teeth, when it came to disabling her. The difference was remarkable. There was no actual reason why her lack of teeth should change her so ~ she still had the matching shoes and handbags, but the regal stance and the arrogant tilt of her chin was gone. Not having any teeth made her seem shy and evasive, and she mumbled, saying as little as possible. She lost the power of manipulation along with her teeth, and although nobody really understood why, many wished they had thought of hiding her teeth years ago. It was such a simple solution, in the scale of things.
And the moral of that story is, Eleri concluded with a wry but not too dentally challenged smile, Toothless Dragons Don’t Bite.
In reply to: Seven Twines and the Dragon Heartwoods
He took the road again not much later after a light breakfast.
The potion hadn’t seemed to bring about immediate noticeable changes. It told Rukshan something about its maker, who was versed enough in potions to create gradual (and likely durable) effects. Every experienced potion maker knew that the most potent potions were the ones that took time, and worked with the drinker’s inner magic instead of against its own nature. The flashy potions that made drastic changes in nature were either destructive, or fleeting as a bograt’s fart in the spring breeze.
If anything, it did give him a welcome warmth in the chest, and a lightness on his back and shoulders.The Faes had been generous with him, and he had food enough for a few days. Generous may not have been the right word… eager to see him scamper away was more likely.
Enhanced by the potion’s warmth, the Queen’s words were starting to shake some remembrance back to him, melting away a deep crust of memories he had forgotten somehow, pushing against the snow like promises of crocuses in spring. The core of the Dragon Heartswood was very close now, a most sacrosanct place.
Faes were only living at the fringe, where life and magic flew, running like the sap of an old tree, close to the bark.
Inside was darker, harder to get to. Some said it was where life and death met, the birthplace of the Old Gods and of their Dragons guardians before the Sundering.His initial plan was to go around it, safe in Fae territory, but after the past days, and the relentless menace of the hungry ghosts on his trail, he had to take risks, and draw them away from his kin.
The warmth in his heart was getting warmer, and he felt encouraged to move forth in his plan. He gave a last look at the mountain range in the distance before stepping into the black and white thickets of austere trees.In reply to: Seven Twines and the Dragon Heartwoods
“It’s simple,” said the clerk, “The dragon under the mountain has a bad tooth—hence the smell. We’ve already been alerted to that. Rest assured we’re making everything in our power to intervene rapidly.”
Fox couldn’t stop looking at the mole above the man’s left eyebrow. He was making great efforts not to snatch it from the man’s forehead. It was quite big, at least one centimeter, and seemed to have a life of its own, wriggling randomly with every word spoken.
“So you are sending someone ?” asked Fox. He was quite uncertain if what was in their power included dental surgery on a mountain dragon. Or anything pertaining to dragons in general for that matter.
“Mr Fox,” the clerk said with an insisting voice, “Rest assured we’re making everything in our power to intervene rapidly,” he repeated imperturbable. The man added a smile that would render Mona Lisa quite plain in her frame.
“Mr Fox,” said the clerk again but with a woman’s voice this time.
“Yes.”
“Mr Fox, it’s your turn,” he repeated, seizing Fox’s arm. A gush of perfume suddenly overwhelmed his nostrils.
“What,” he said, trying to free his hand. The ground suddenly opened under his feet. The fall was short but was enough to awake him from his dream. He was in the waiting room of the City’s Desperate Request Service office. A young woman was shaking his arm gently.
“Oh,” said Fox, “I’m sorry, I must have been dreaming.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, he had been drooling again. He felt a bit embarrassed she witnessed that. But the young girl seemed not to care at all.
He followed her down the corridor lit by glowworms. The girl was of average height but still taller than him, her hair neat and well groomed. Fox could feel the perfume she wore, it made him dizzy. To many fragrances and information were coming from her. The corridor was narrow, and he tried to add some distance but each time he slowed down she would wait for him. He tried not to breath too much until they reached a red door.
The girl knocked and opened the door. She turned to Fox and said : “Mr Mole will listen to your request.” The she left, her perfume lingering around the place she occupied a moment before.
Fox entered cautiously in the room. He cringed internally. The place smelled of onion and garlic. Not really an improvement. And Mr Mole, the clerk, had a big one on his right eyebrow.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Saddle Felicity’s dragon, Finnley, and Saddle Godfrey’s too. Felicity might need a spare. And stop gaping at me!” Elizabeth continued to beam magnanimously at her little treasure, the cleaning lady.
“Godfrey’s been experimenting with his hallucinogenic botanicals again,” she added, lowering her voice. “He probably won’t notice, or else he’ll just think it’s his mind playing tricks on him again.”
“You’ve been wanting to get rid of those dragons ever since we started, haven’t you?” asked Finnley. She didn’t need an answer, she knew it was true.
“You look like the cat who got the cream,” she said to Liz.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Finnley staring at Godfrey in a bemused manner. Dragons? She hated it when characters changed personality mid-story and without warning. It was unsettling. Sidling closer to him she tentatively reached out and poked his arm firmly with her index finger.
“Ouch, dammit Finnley! What are you doing?”
“Testing to see if you are real or if I am hallucinating. Anyway, seems you are real so all good.”
“Oh, there you are, Finnley!” Liz beamed. “I seem to recall I was looking for you but I can’t remember why. Perhaps it was to remind you not to monopolise my thread. You are doing it again, you know.”
