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  • #3424
    F LoveF Love
    Participant

      “Sir Ed, be a darling, summarise the messages. I can’t read 257.”

      Linda’s ezapper responded immediately: “Messages received over 48 hours. Sadie is invisible and requests transfer to 2222.”

      Fuck! I knew that! A wave of something akin to panic swept over her. She took a deep breath.

      “Anything else I should know?”

      “Management applied a temporary memory block to enable you to complete USB mission without distraction. The block has now been removed and full memory returned. Management are not in favour of the girl returning to 2222 at this stage and strongly suggest that you maximise the learning potentials of the invisibility scenario and determine the method of cloaking being utilised in order to assess the feasibility of, and probabilities for, future successful outcomes of Management objectives.”

      Linda sighed. The laughter of a group of young children playing tag in the distance drifted over. For a moment she wished she could deposit the ezapper in the trash can along with the USB stick and just walk away. Far away.

      “Plain english, Sir Ed.”

      “You need to get your butt over to Sadie and find out how she did it.” Sir Ed’s tone was appropriately sympathetic.

      #3423

      Cheung Lok heard the news of the Processor’s death along with the others.

      He’d been parachuted on the island of Abalone some days ago, he started to lose count. Shortly after being dropped by the airplane, with a platoon of a few others that he had lost since, he started to hallucinate elephants falling from the sky, and had wondered for a brief time about the true nature of the island, and the peril he had more or so willingly thrown himself in.

      He had not expected the fancy welcome committee. Some comely ladies in alluring flying gowns leading him towards a promise of a nearby city, only to find himself inside a barren walled city.
      He would have escaped by now, but something in the newly arrived prisoners (or settlers as they were called) caught his attention, when they started to mention Sanso. He couldn’t actually believe his luck, which made them disappear for a while, then after he realized he had to be more of a believer, he found himself sent forward in the waiting line, just next to the others in the so-called waiting room. He’d learnt the woman was named Lisa, and countless other useless information about dog herding, hair conditioning and lazy bowel movement, but little more about Sanso.

      Panic had started to spread among the small city, as huge boulders of earth started to fall from the skies and crack open on the soft land, toppling parts of the walls encircling Gazalbion. The news of the loss of the Processor led to even more confusion.

      Cheung Lok decided it was time to pursue his mission, and extract the information the others had not yet given to him, by force if needed —he was a capable qigong master, who would crush nuts with his butt cheeks as a training, and that was the least of his deadly capacities.
      But apparently, the woman named Lisa and her travelling companions had disappeared already.
      In the midst of the confusion, it was hard to tell where they could have gone.

      That’s when he was reminded of the shifting map, that the map dancer had drawn. He took it out of his front pocket, and unwrapped it cautiously.
      The island’s lines were shifting even more erratically than before, but somehow there was a smaller concentration of activity at a location not far from where he guessed he was.
      One of the rescued elephants would be good to ride out of this mess he thought, looking for the source of the trumpeting noises.

      #3422

      When Berberus arrived at Gazalbion, still wet from his swim down beanstalk through the City’s sewer waterslides, the Great Processor in person came to great him.

      “Dear, dear, what have we here. That’s not so often the P’hope sends someone down here with us poor heathen… To what do we owe the pleasure?”

      By the look of his office, the Processor was doing well. Small favours had earned him enough belief of his worth, and his office was full of amenities otherwise hard to come by and much more to sustain, down there.

      “Would you share with me some hydromel, made from waterbee honey, you’re not mistaken. That should help you get more… comfortable.” He said his last word intently, giving a look at the hook-leg.

      Berberus liked to have people guess at why he kept it so visible, while obviously he could have conjured enough belief to alter it himself. It gave him an edge over them. And the hook gave nasty scars too.

      “Not drinking on duty.”
      “Very well, suit yourself.” the Processor said drinking his voraciously.

      “Any strange people coming lately? Out of the ordinary beliefs to contain?”
      The other brushed off the question “No, not really… Now, about this promotion our dear friend the P’hope mentioned back in 2020, what do you think… Any chance to get out of this hellhole? Promised Land my butt. What do we get next? Flying whales?”
      “You’re not. Answering. My. Question.” Berberus was already losing his patience and started to mentally conjure the many painful ways he could believe this talk would end.
      “I have already answered it, and if you have nothing else to share with me, you might as well me back to your sad master.”

      The Processor made a movement to get up from his chair, but a swift and precise swipe of the hook-leg anchored him back in it.

      The other was looking at him with empty eyes, and the Processor’s mistake was to think he was an idiot that could be sent away easily.
      He poured himself another drink, casually answering with a “We’re done. Get out.”

      When Berberus got out, it was of his own volition, leaving a trail of blood up to the door.
      He had managed to extract one word from the slob before his soul left his body: Sanso

      #3420

      Jube, the P’hope, was quite alarmed by the rate at which the beanstalk seemed to wilt.
      The beanstalk was a symbol of his power, as he was the first to believe about it, that the City of Karmalott could be lifted up of the island. At least, that was how the story grew after years of rewrite and belief honing.
      He would usually take such news with passion, and use it to his advantage, but this was different.
      Something or someone had started to shift and mess the balance of beliefs that he had carefully put in place during his many years in charge.

      If any indication, the mass belief organs’ melody was more frequently played out of tune, and he even noticed the strangest birds fly around and in his garden —birds that weren’t supposed to be created in the first place.

      One of the biselords greedier than the others, vying for more power would be a rational explanation. Usually that would happen, and be a good cause for public trial and execution by flying them through the beansdoor. For people’s protection of course.

      But this case seemed more profound, more serious.
      The last report from the team of magi was filled with such unusual unbelievable rubbish, that he wondered if the hairy scent of a revved olution was coming from down below. Now he had allowed the tool called snorkel into mass beliefs, he had a use for some skilled snorkelling spiessassins. He called for Berberus, his turbaned minion with a hook-leg —he’d lost it to a tiger slug, which then paid for it dearly. Berberus being a defrocked magi meant he had training enough to survive the conditions outside the city, and his skills as a master of arms (and legs) would be required.

      After Berberus was gone for his undercover mission, Jube wondered if someone had found out yet the lost ruins of the old temple —they were secured and buried deep under a very long time ago and memory of them erased. He shivered at the thought of them being rediscovered.

      #3419

      “There!”

      The base of the beanstalk was deeply rooted into the murky waters of the bog, and so big and entangled that it seemed like a wall to the little raft carrying Irina, Greenie and Mr R, which was also acting as a propeller engine. And the parrot Huhu seemed to have tagged along, although he would sometimes pop in and out of reality without notice.

      Thanks to Greenie’s input, they had been able to lift part of the fog, and it seemed the more they looked at the great plant, the more believable and real it became.

      “Madam, if I may, I would advise against climbing that plant; it seems deeply infested by some insects. Extrapolating the size of it by the size of its base, I computed we need probably a few days of climbing and we stand less than 0.9% chance making it to the top without it completely crumbling down.”
      “By Jove, don’t they have elevators invented yet?”

      Mr R was about to make some helpful comment when they heard the big splash.

      A big mouldy thing was struggling on the waters not far from them. After checking it wasn’t one of those dangerous tiger slugs they’d encountered earlier, Irina had Mr R manoeuvre the raft closer to the person in distress.

      “Stop fighting! You’re scratching me, my hair! My face!”

      After hauling the thing over the raft, it became obvious it was not some wild animal, although one part of it was. A mean wet black cat with its claws deep in the other’s hair. The other was a woman, of indiscernible age.

      “Mandrake, that’s enough! You get down there!” she said to the cat. Then turning to the others “Apologies, I forgot my manners. My name is Arona, thank you for rescuing us, the terrain was less… dry and mossy than I expected.”

      Before Irina had time to present herself and the others, a voice overhead and wings flapping sounds started to speak “You should have waited for me, sweet darling muppet Arona!”

      “I guess, that is a bit too late for a sassy code name now…” a wet Mandrake snickered vindictively.

      #3417
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        “Why haven’t these windows been cleaned?” snapped the bossy dwarf. “And these mirrors? The mirrors are disgusting, and I can smell unwashed hair everywhere.”
        “I’m not surprised, with all this housework, we haven’t had time to wash our hair, what do you expect?” retorted Consuela, almost at the end of her tether with the demanding interloper.
        Anna Purrna glared at her. “How dare you speak to me like that!”
        Consuela glared back. “Just what gives you the right to come here and start bossing us all around anyway? Where have you come from, who sent you?” Conseula was starting to warm up for a heated exchange. “What gives you the authority to boss us around?”
        “I am” replied the monstrous diminutive gargoyle, “Your inner dictator, made physical. For your own benefit.”
        Consuela was at a loss for words.

        #3409

        As soon as Lisa and her companions were safely beneath the manhole cover, Pseu shapeshifted back into her usual self.
        “On the way to the ancient temple, I’d like to stop off at the remains of the tile factory ~ oh don’t worry, it’s on the way!” said Pseu, noticing Lisa’s expression. “We don’t even need to make a detour. And” she added, “You will be pleased to know that there are already some breaches to the walls. There has been some earth shifting due to a beanstalk infestation, fortuitously landing on the wall. As soon as we have collected the tiles, we find a breach and make our exit.”
        “What about Sanso?” asked Fanella. “Shouldn’t we try to find him?”
        “Oh, I heard a rumour that he was in the wrong story. Don’t worry about him, he’ll find a way back sooner or later” replied Pseu. “Come on! This will be fun!”

        #3408

        Lisa awoke first, sticky with sweat. Quietly, she jiggled her leg which was dead from lack of circulation, letting the others sleep. There may not be much time for rest, she reasoned, we know not what the next chapter will bring, or where it will lead. She closed her eyes again, and contemplated the feeling of restriction, thinking about other times when she had felt restricted or blocked.

        There was that time when she joined the creative collaberative writing group many years ago, with the intention of developing a free flow of inspiration and imagination. Indeed that was what the advertising bumph had professed, that it was to assist people to release themselves from their writers blocks, unleash their imaginative potential, free their souls to express themselves unhindered by protocol or hidebound tradition. It had all seemed like just the ticket, just what she wanted, and she had dived into the project and gloried in the unexpected things that were born from simply letting the words flow. But then a strange thing started to happen. Every time she went to the class, her contributions were criticized, scoffed at for not following the plan, despite that there was no plan ~ no plan had been mentioned in the small print when she signed up, anyway. But other people had made plans for what she was to write, and it confused her greatly. It was troublesome because the more she enjoyed the process of writing itself, the more discouraging the group became with it’s constant criticisms of the right way to approach the process. Instead of promoting less restrictions, it was constantly advocating more restrictions, more rules to follow, endlessly complicating it all. What made it all the worse was that she so enjoyed it, looked forward to it, and benefited so much from it. Well, she had used the experience to practice not minding about other peoples opinions and to carry on regardless, not restricting herself to acquiesce to other peoples expectations, exploring her own stories and connecting links and layers with other stories ~ wasn’t that what life was all about? take what you want, and leave the rest? Steer your own ship?

        Her meandering thoughts led her to the words of the old dead guru, Elbutt. Love doesn’t mean liking every comment, he had said, Love means knowing and appreciating the whole story, the whole scenario. It didn’t mean you had to find something likable about each and every role, but to acknowledge and appreciate the whole and that the roles that were played within it were a part of that whole, regardless of whether you liked them or not. That definition of love had made a great deal of sense to Lisa, who was not one to use the love word overmuch.

        A cockroach climbing on her foot distracted Lisa from her thoughts, and she absentmindedly brushed it off. The cockroach was not deterred, and returned to climb on her foot repeatedly until Lisa suddenly remembered Pseu. The cockroach, once it was sure it had Lisa’s attention, scurried out into the courtyard adjoining the Processing department waiting room, stopping on a manhole cover, and then returning to Lisa’s foot, and then returning to the manhole cover.

        “Are we to go down there?” whispered Lisa, pretending to cough as a guard walked past. The cockroach did a pirouette as if to confirm. Lisa furtively looked around. The guard had gone; it was time to wake Ivan and Fanella.

        #3403

        The sweltering hours of the afternoon limped along, and despite the lack of comfortable furniture in the Processing Department, Lisa and her two companions dozed off. Lisa dreamed of a folly in the City, and met a woman called Pseu who she was explaining her predicament to. When Lisa became lucid, she called Fanella and Ivan into the dream, while they discussed the situation.

        Pseu expressed a strong interest in meeting them inside the walled Gazalbion when they awoke. She had coveted some coordination point tiles from the ruins of an old temple long buried, and then rediscovered, in one of the tunnels.

        Visibly relieved, Ivan remarked “If you know where the tunnels are, then we can escape!”

        “Oh, we won’t escape through that tunnel, that tunnel leads down into the cities below. I have a better idea, leave that to me. I’m thinking of parachuting elephants landing on the wall itself, that was rather clever of old Lazuli Galore. Very creative, we’ll explore that idea further when the time comes.
        But first we must find the tunnel and the tiles. When you awaken in the Processing Department, look out for me, I will be shapeshifting according to the circumstances. Only you will notice me, but do pay close attention to the messages I am conveying, and follow me to the tunnel.”

        #3401

        The tunnel went on forever, forcing them to duck frequently and wriggle around in exiguous places. To make it worse, it wasn’t even fresh under, and the heat carried on as they went further inside. At times, Arona started to have anxiety flashes, as she was reminded of the labyrinthine tunnels of the dragons of old.

        To give herself more heart, she put her efforts in continuing exchanging niceties and other manners of rude elaborate insults with the stranger, who surprisingly was a match to boot.

        “Stop glumping, we’re almost there” he said to her, showing a final passage on a narrow ledge above crystal clear waters.

        She was too exhausted to retort something witty, but took a mental note that he deserved one more of what she had.

        When they emerged, the sun was almost set. The tunnel came out right at the rim of the floating land, and a tight network of ropeways were stretched under the tangled tentacles of the giant beanstalk, which kept the whole city and its neighbourhood afloat. More gymnastics in perspective she thought, but she was prepared for that.

        “Don’t go too close, you’ll fall to your doom…” It was the first time the stranger’s voice hinted at some fear.

        Arona smiled as elegantly as she could, despite being out of breath and red as a purpato. Lifting a limp Mandrake from the ground, she suddenly unwrapped her heavy cloak and lunged into the void below, the wind blowing in her strange mouldy wings.

        “Follow me if you dare!” she shouted to the stranger, while struggling to navigate the downward spiral like an oversized flying squirrel.

        #3400

        If the sabulmantium was to be trusted, the beanstalk was a tangle of many paths, and the main and easiest accesses down its dangling twirly greenish tentacles were all outside of the city walls, in a zone where some lords managed to rule pockets of mass beliefs and a bunch of unattractive mongrel mobsters.

        “Sounds potential adventure material” Mandrake had had the nerve to say when they’d packed.
        “No it isn’t” Arona had said.
        Then with more gusto “NO IT ISN’T” as though to convince all the sleepy tarts of the nymphouse below her rented room.

        More doubts had sunken their claws in her tender heart, and a gulp of whatever astral cup didn’t seem in hindsight a worthy deal for all her troubles. Nonetheless, she was a woman of her word, which was probably why she wasn’t of many. Too much trouble being of all of them, whatever that meant.

        “Honestly Mandrake, keeping you on track is worse than herding… dragons.”
        She would have said sheep, but she wasn’t so rude yet. Mandrake could have taken that too badly, and he would again prove useful to distract the guards of the Southern Post. That’s where she decided to go, as with all the heat, it had to be the one less guarded.

        Indeed, when she arrived, as planned, the gate was badly manned, and sleepy soldiers where reaching for the rare spots of shadow.
        She decided to make a run for it. The soldiers didn’t look very fit. She started to go, thinking about zigzagging between the air bottles littering the plaza, when she felt a tug pulling her back by the cloak, almost sending her flying off her butt.

        FUCK!” she shouted as silently as she could. “You again! I thought I told you not to follow me! Mandrake, attack! Go for the balls!”

        She was in a fury, but Mandrake licked his paw with a disgusted look on his face that meant “Hnhn, not going for that, sweetie. You’re on you own to herd that dragon, my lovely pooh.”

        “Shhht!” the guy said with a bit smile.
        “Don’t shush me, you… ninnyhammer!”
        She didn’t know where the last word came from, but they sure felt good, although not quite rude enough.
        “Oh, the lady is a pirate who knows her insults.” he answered with his cocky smile.
        “Don’t mock me, you mooncalf”
        “You were trying to sneak out, were you?”
        “Why do you care, hobbledehoy?”
        “The guards have aircon chain-mail and armours, see, look at those bottles on their backs… How could you beat them running with your heavy cloak?”
        “Maybe Mr Snollygoster has a better suggestion?”
        “Of course I have, if you care to follow me, Ms Mumpsimus.”

        Arona was almost speechless. Not keen on following any stranger, she asked her guts, and they seemed to have a liking for the handsome fellow. It stirred old remembrance of going with the flow tactics, and when she did actually follow him, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he and Mandrake were already ahead in one of the alleys.

        “Oh, no, let him have the keys to some secret tunnel, I won’t go for another sewer escape!”
        As if her guardien angel has heard her secret prayer, it happened that the stranger had some strange stone key in his bag, opening a secret wall entrance.

        “Oh.” was all she conceded to the stranger.
        Nonplussed he offered her his hand “George” he presented himself still with the same broad smile.
        She took his hand haughtily, and entered the vaulted tunnel, not telling him yet her name, in case she felt like choosing a sexy and mysterious code name. She could trust no one…

        “Traitor” she hissed at Mandrake who was purringly looking at the strangers’ boots.

        #3399

        About a week ago, in the reserved section of the Storehouse of Exoteric Artefacts of Karmalott, Obax Winken was pondering in silence for the last hours over the nature of one of them.

        Any artefacts found down there, in the Fog Abyss, was tightly controlled by the P’hope. Nobody wanted an alien object to unbalance the delicate structure of mass beliefs by prematurely introducing abrupt changes coming from visitors, stranded travellers of other times and realities.
        Obax, as an erudite versed in interpreting the meaning of these objects, was entrusted with the classification and gauging of the danger that those objects could cause to the belief construct.
        If an object was deemed troublesome, it would be tentatively destroyed, or if that failed, stored in the forbidden section. But in most cases, objects left by travellers would disintegrate if just a thought projection, and those objects that came with them usually didn’t pose much threat.

        The one he was looking at looked like a strange mask, designed to be blown. He believed it was a cursed horn and couldn’t decide if it was in the interest of science to shelf it with its cursed energy, or remove the curse and release it to the masses for them to enjoy a swimming revolution…

        “Lucius!” he called to his assistant. He was a bit deaf in one ear. LOGSBOTTOM! he called again.
        “How would you call that strange trunk-like apparatus?”

        #3391

        The P’hope was closing his eyes on the wind business shadow market, as he was of course getting a share of the profits. There were not per se any physical currency in Karmalott, but people did their exchanges based on good faith, which was actually better than gold.

        The good people had taken the habit to say that transactions were paid in bises, which was supposed to be a vague approximation for “Belief Support”, and a reminder of the city’s blazon, which was party per pale argent and vert, a waterbee eradicated counterchanged —which is easier seen that said, obviously.

        The more bises people got, the likelier they were to manifest what they wanted.
        So long as people were not too rich in bises, the P’hope’s power wasn’t threatened, and he kept a close eye on the biselords who always wore ample bear furs as a sign of power, and their invented coats of arms on their bellies, to harness the wishful power of their bises-ness.

        #3390

        The heat wave on Abalone was making everyone sweaty and grumpy. With the recent ban of fans, considered a sign of sedition by the P’hopery, wind retailers were thriving more than in the last series of years.

        Arona, whose hair had a tendency to curl when wet, had found that the only solution was the “Dry air out of an oven” bottle.
        Before the last gushes of air were out, she asked : “ Mandrake, would you like some air ?

        #3383

        Lisa was lost in thought during the hours that they spent in the waiting room of the Processing Department. Among the many things she pondered was the nature of their beliefs that had landed them in this situation, the energy they were projecting, and the ramifications of the reflection. She was intrigued with the letter that Sanso had read out to them upon their arrival ~ underground cities had long been a particular fascination. What had been the circumstances leading to so many ancient underground cities being constructed? Nobody knew for sure, but it seemed to Lisa that they had been a means of escaping the surface. But why? Was it because of climate catastrophe, or some other disaster rendering the surface dangerous or inhospitable? Or had it been situations of siege, or hostile populations on the surface? Or had it been merely a curiosity to explore living in a different environment? An idea suddenly occurred to Lisa that she had been judging life on the surface of the planet as the ideal right way to live, the most preferable option, and life below ground as a second rate choice for survival purposes, but perhaps there were unimagined benefits to living below the ground.

        Lisa’s meandering thoughts led her back to the summer of 2014, when the seige situation in Gaza had exploded as the population of the shifting world addressed restriction and shielding energy, creating an amplified imagery at one of the main coordination points. Interconnection was coming on strong, like never before, and individuals the world over, struggling with their own self imposed boundaries, sought for release en masse and joined together to support and encourage each other.

        It had been an exhilarating time, but also a frustrating one. Interpretations of the words and messages of perceived authorities became mass beliefs, and for a time the restrictions increased. Those adhering to traditional authorities repeated the party lines, and the so called “new agers”, rooting for change but at the same time terrified of it, and in no small measure, terrified of other people and different cultures, created new mass beliefs based on their old fears. The strongest new age belief was a translation of channeled advice, construed from the vague “focus on the positive” to mean “ignore anything you can’t bear to acknowledge”. Rather than accept differences, initially masses of well meaning individuals criticized anyone endeavouring to acknowledge and accept the global situation, and pushed their advice to ignore the horrors, for fear that they would unwillingly bring anything unpleasant to their own attention. It was ironic to Lisa that the ones advocating not to judge, were the ones that judged her the most for her actions, and the activists judged her far less, while not advocating less judgement at all.

        #3382

        The three travelers were not the kind of people to limit themselves to safety and comfort ~ indeed if they had been, Lisa would have stayed in the village, never having met Fanella who would have stayed in Versailles, who never would have met Ivan who would have stayed in Russia. They all had an underlying courage and sense of adventure to be on the island at all. They were not, however, inherently stupid. As they approached the great walls of Gazalbion, they became uneasy. It looked more like a vast open air prison than a welcoming city.
        “I’m not sure about this” Lisa whispered to the others, “Once we’re inside there, how will we get out? It might be a trap.”
        “But you’re always saying we create our own reality Lisa, how can anyone else trap us?”
        asked Fanella.
        “We create being trapped as a reflection of restricting ourselves, that’s how it works. It’s not always black and white. And it’s not always easy to resolve that in a demanding and unsettling situation. It would behoove us to proceed with caution.”
        “That doesn’t sound right Lisa, that doesn’t sound like trust, and you’re always telling us that trust is the key.”
        “And space” added Ivan, “Space is a key, too.”
        “Yeah but what does that mean exactly anyway?”
        “Fucked if I know” replied Ivan.

        Lazuli Galore noticed the hesitation of the travelers, and decided to change tactics. They were only a few hundred meters from the entrance to Gazalbion, and it was starting to look as if the new arrivals would not enter willingly. He dispensed with the elephant form, exploding it into a pack of grey wolves which circled behind the travelers, and chased them into the city.

        “Olution! Olution!” the crowd chanted, for there was always a crowd gathered at the gate to witness new arrivals. “Olution! Olution!”
        Nobody actually knew what the word Olution meant, but they had seen it on tv so many times that they simply repeated it, and the more people that repeated it, the more the frenzy grew.
        “Olution! Olution!” the crowd screamed and Lisa, Fanella and Ivan were surrounded by the people, thousands of them, all covered in colourless grey cement dust, even their hair and faces were a ghastly dusty grey.
        “Now we’re in trouble,” Lisa remarked grimly.

        #3380

        “Follow the elephant before it disappears again” suggested Ivan to Lisa and Fanella who were visibly distraught at Sanso’s unexpected disappearance into the depths of the marshy field beneath their feet.
        “That elephant must be connected to some sort of human civilization, elephants don’t parachute on their own,” Ivan deduced, grateful that he had watched so many nature documentaries at the village, and that he could appear knowledgeable to the frightened women.
        “Shouldn’t we look for Sanso?” asked Fanella. “Does that strange letter provide any clues? Has he been pushed through a perforation into the honeycomb? Something to do with the underground faded pale people?”
        “If we find some of the local inhabitants, we can ask them for help. If we start wandering around here in this mist we will surely get lost, or even struck by another falling elephant.”
        “Are we assuming the natives are friendly?” asked Lisa nervously.
        “Yes, at this point, we are” replied Ivan. “Until we find proof indicating otherwise. And we must assume that Sanso can look after himself, and that he will join us later.”
        “The elephant did look friendly” added Fanella. “Look, he keeps looking back to see if we’re following him. Come on!”

        #3377

        “What does it say, Sanso?”
        The four travelers had arrived on the island in patchy swirling fog in a field full of cucumber plants and sundials. The sundial nearest to Sanso had a letter tied to the handle with blue ribbon.
        “If that’s not for me, I don’t know what is,” he snorted, untying the letter as Lisa looked at him in amazement.
        “Really, Sanso, that seems so implausible,” she said.
        “What does it say?”

        bq(Quote).“And we start to hope that if we keep on digging,” Sanso read, “All the way to the core, if we don’t stop, if we perforate the land like a honeycomb, if we make it as flimsy as silk, maybe it will suddenly collapse in on itself. And then, like a tray piled with cups of coffee and cookies that crashes to the floor in a mess of crumbs and glass, it will all mix together.

        The upper part and the lower part will blend. And the rules will change. And we’ll be able to say with a sigh of relief: Here is a piece of sky mixed with a cracked piece of sea; here is Shujaiyeh mixed with Sderot; here is Zeitoun mixed with the Mount of Olives; here is compassion mixed with relief; here is one human being mixed with another. above, and with them build a new land.”

        “Oh my,” said Fanella, “Are you sure we’ve come to the right place?”

        “And an entire people will rise to the surface of the earth,” Sanso continued, “ Pale and faded, blinded by the sun that beats down on the land. And we will stand in silence, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the light. And as we stand there in silence, the fear and anxiety will gradually creep into our heart, that while we were finding refuge in subterranean Gaza, the land above took its own life, was left behind and emptied out.”

        “Gorden Bennet,” said Lisa.

        #3375
        Jib
        Participant

          “I can’t believe I thought I was fired”, said Terry. She tittered.
          They had shown the letter to Maurana when she arrived, and to Consuela’s dismay, noticed their three names were now on the envelope.

          “Rumor has it that she nails whole cat skins on her walls”, said Maurana.
          “Only road kicked ones”, added Terry.
          “That’s disgusting. The bitch”, said Consuela. Had the thing not been so sensitive, Maurana would have laughed at Cedric’s grimace.
          “When do you think she will arrive ? And why would they put someone on our back ? We were doing great on our own.”

          #3372
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            More on the mysterious island of Abalone and the city of Karmalott

            (initial background)

            We find out that the island named Abalone has some unaware people trapped in isolated pockets of their own dreamlike experiences (that usually loop onto themselves for people not trained in being conscious enough to actually remember their dreams). The Surge Team girl hunting giant mosquitoes is one such case.
            Hopefully, Irina seems to manage to get a more stable and peaceful experience, while somehow being tied to the bog-like area where she extracted the teen girl she calls Greenie (whom we find out later more about).

            The island was claimed by the Chinese across time, but they were never successful, as the nature of the island seems to have broken all their attempts. Nevertheless, Cheung Lok, who was hunting down Irina to retrieve her robot is sent on a doomed mission there, by being parachuted off a plane above its current believed location.

            We find out there is a large City built above the clouds, named Karmalott by the locals, possibly on top of a large beanstalk which can be perceived only by those knowing and believing in it (and possibly able to bypass some counter-charms placed by the magi and the protection of the Sentries (who can create creatures of nightmares for the purpose of protection from unwanted ill-believing souls).

            The main area of the Island is called by people from Karmalott, the Fog Abyss, or the Pit of Lost Souls. It seems certain rites of passage involve young people and would-be knights going to and back the Fog Abyss, usually protected by Magi for safety purpose (avoiding them to get trapped for all eternity if they are not able to break the fog of their own creations or get enlightened).
            It seems Greenie (or Gwinie, being her real name) was purposely left in the bog for yet undetermined purposes.

            In Karmalott, we find out the Order of the Magi, ruled by the P’hope who are in charge of resting and balancing the mass beliefs so that the City can thrive.
            The City is ruled by the King, who has military power over the Sentries, led by the General Parsifal. He is assisted by the Chamberlain Downson, a strange figure who seem to know many secrets, such as the Saint Amber Graastral Stone Cup, which is purported to hold many powers, and bring illumination to the virtuous.

            Other layers of the organization are to be explored, such as the place of the feminine in the society.
            The rule of the King appears to be just and fair, although the reality is maybe less spotless. The motto of Karmalott is “Only in unity can we thrive” (or in broken Latin, sed in unum proficio), and it reflects in the democratic principle of public petition, where anyone can ask for rules and manifestations to be bent or adjusted.
            In reality, it seems most people have become used to a way of life without any strife or war, and petitions are rare.

            It is not known at this point if there are other areas on the island where significant people have managed to gather consistently enough to be able to create a mass-believed reality with the same level of development as Karmalott, but it seems unlikely, as the state of the island is monitored by the Sentries, and they would detect significant changes and clearing of the Fog, while the P’hope would surely detect any conflicting beliefs that would clash with the ones entrusted to him.

            (to be continued…)

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