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  • #2716

    In reply to: Strings of Nines


      Shelly Dwelling, horrifed ~ naturally enough ~ at the mention of butter and parsley, was immensely relieved to see Frobisher the frog gliding along in his electric wheelchair. “Hop on, Shelly!” he whispered urgently “My wheelchair is super fast, I’ll get you out of this pickle in a jiffy!”

      “Frobisher! Oh my godfrogs, it’s good to see you! What timing! But I can’t hop!”

      “Well neither can I now, without my legs” he replied, “But you can climb up my wheel, can’t you?”

      “Well ok, but don’t move, I’m on my way, this may take a while…”

      “Hurry, Shelly! Hurry up! I can smell butter melting, there’s no time to lose!”

      Unfortunately for Shelly who was a quarter of the way up the left wheel, Frobisher engaged his electric motor and sped off into the long grass. It would have been far too risky to wait.

      “Hang on, Shelly! This will be the ride of your life!” he called, as Shelly spun round the giant Ferris Wheel.

      “I suppose this is why your name is Frobisher Ferris” she replied through gritted teeth.


      In reply to: Strings of Nines

      F LoveF Love

        “W-a-t-e-r-f-r-i-n-g-i-n-m-e-l-o-n … yes still way too short!” Yikesy wasn’t really the party type and felt ridiculous wearing a bowler hat. While the others were engaged in general merriment precipitated by the arrival of the champagne, he surreptitiously removed the map from Minky’s backpack.

        He scanned the map till he found what he was looking for.

        Meanwhile ….

        Arona giggled. “Look at that sign! Waakaawaakawaawaawaawaawaawaawahuhun! I want to go there!”

        Mandrake raised an elegant eyebrow. “I suppose it is as good as anywhere, considering we have no idea where we are going.”

        “I will run ahead and make sure it is safe.” announced Vincentius melodically. “You rest Arona, and eat these delicious sandwiches I whipped up earlier.”

        “And shall I lick her feet for you while we wait?” asked the sarcastic Mandrake.

        “Splendid idea. Thank you Mandrake!”


        In reply to: Strings of Nines


          Arthur Bickerswell-Snodley had been delighted to receive Ann’s invitation to stay with her at Little Big Hopeswell for the May Day weekend. He hadn’t seen Ann for 570 years, although they had remained in contact through the years, at first by old fashioned handwritten letters, and later by email —as well, of course, by telepathic means and out of body rendezvous— but this was to be an actual physical visit.

          Arthur travelled by train to Chipping Else Hampton, where Jibblington, Ann’s chauffeur and general dogsbody, met him in the old jalopy, a rather grand old Silver Ghost Rolls.
          Jibblington, it must be stated, worked part time for Ann, as did the enigmatic cleaning lady, Franlise — both were merely aspects of much larger personalities elsewhere engaged in myriad pursuits. Jibblington was a much of a mystery to Ann as dear Franlise was, not to mention old Godfrey Pig Littleton. Godrey’s flooh, in point of fact, had been the catalyst behind Ann’s invitation to Arthur.

          While Jibblington and Bickerswell-Snodley glided along the country lanes, cushioned and buoyant in the silver car’s plush, if a trifle vulgar, crimson upholstery, Ann tutted in exasperation as Godfrey pestered her to finish her latest entry to the Play.

          “I haven’t finished it yet, Godfrey, sheesh!” she exclaimed. “OK, OK!” Godfrey was rather rudely drumming his fingers on her desk. “Here, you can read what I’ve written so far.”



          Jobson Batt and Ernie Young were taking a vacation in between so called natural disasters, as the financial disaster claimed the populations attention. They knew that the result of the energy being pushed from pillar to post as everyone fretted and worried about the monetary system would manifest in some natural disasters, and they knew they would have their work cut out as highly skilled members of the DDT team (otherwise known as Disaster Damage Team) in due course. Meanwhile, they had the foresight to take a well earned break while the attention of the population was otherwise engaged.

          Unable to settle on just one destination, they opted for a World Cruise.


          Evangeline Spiggot slammed the telephone down. Another call from someone wanting that other DDT company, Dead Dick Tracy Productions. Business was slow at Disaster Damage Team, with Jobson and Ernie on holiday, but Evangeline was left holding the fort, just in case a major disaster came in, in which case she would inform Jobson and Ernie on their cruise ship. It was boring sitting there alone in the office though, and Evangeline decided that the next wrong number she answered, she would pretend to be Dead Dick Tracy, just for a laugh.


            Elizabeth had wanted to voice her concerns about the Vowel Shift and its potential impact on language and understanding to her publisher Godfrey Pig Littleton on numerous occasions, but until his, to her way of thinking, outrageous tampering with her script, it had not been in the forefront of her mind. She had simply ignored the Vowel Shift in the Ooh Dimension, and made up her own Vowel Shifts instead, in a variety of minor ways. Ironically and somewhat perversely (Elizabeth was well aware of the consonant shift, which she translated as a continental drift symbol) Pig Littleton was quick to notice and object.

            “Do you deliberately write ‘collaberative’ instead of ‘collaborative’?” he asked.

            “There are No Accidents, Godfrey” retorted Elizabeth, rather cleverly shutting the old coot up, at least for awhile. Thank Goodness he was otherwise engaged with the latest production of TWIST, and not breathing down her back about The Book.


            Jarvis was dozing in a dark corner of the kitchen. He was dreaming of bees, he had been assigned to the bee keeping a few weeks ago, just after the “incident”. He was one man the Dr could trust. In a previous life, he was keeping bees as a family business. But an accident with the bees led to his dismissal by his uncle. A regrettable accident, too much smoke, too much dead bees. Jarvis had been thinking of a sabotage, surely he had been framed but as he was thinking of quiting this poor paid job, it was also a perfect occasion.

            He had been engaged as a security agent… sort of. He had to pretend to be a gardener and not awake suspicion among the others. The funny thing is that he had soon been contacted by another organization, and had been offered quite a good price. All he had to do was observe and dream. Unfortunately, the man, Claude, who had approached him was disguised as a patient… and he had disappeared after the “incident”. Since then Jarvis had been having strange dreams of mummies, magpies, there was even one with 3 eyes 2 nights ago :yahoo_waiting:

            The light was turned on abruptly. Someone was arriving, still hidden by the tables and shelves.
            With the sound of the heels on the tiled floor, that was a woman… or the Doctor.
            A little twinge told him not to let him be noticed yet. He moved his head silently in a position from which he could see who it was.
            Oh! that big athletic woman, Vasse.
            Claude had told him about her. Jarvis had to be very cautious, because she was of another organization… another :cat_confused: he was calling her agent V. Well Jarvis wasn’t curious enough to ask any further detail, there were already too much to remember.

            She was doing something with a little jar of a brown substance, and brought a spoon full at her mouth. Her sudden coughing and spitting almost made him fall off his chair. But hopefully with all the noise she hadn’t noticed. Mumbling, she was heading toward the fridge. Was she possibly aware of…

            Yes! she was taking the plate with the honeycomb… he’d have to move quickly.
            As she was considering the modified honeycomb, he realized that she was about to eat it. So she didn’t know. :-? He had to warn her.

            — I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, Agent V…


            I wonder how delightful it may feel to become one with that butterfly, mused Franiel, his attention diverted from the job at hand as he followed the dance of a delicate white butterfly. He closed his eyes for a moment and merged with the creature, how free ! He sighed, trying somewhat reluctantly to pull himself back. Franiel had been sat there for quite some time now, supposedly engaged in the task of writing a short poem of 3 stanzas for Hrih, the Old One.

            Of course there was no pressure. Yet in his desire to please, Franiel felt it as such. In his dreams of the previous night Hrih had visited him. He had offered Franiel a golden crown, a silver goblet filled with sweet nectar, and a jewelled sword. Choose! commanded Hrih. Franiel had chosen the goblet and drank thirstily from it, and yet he had felt that Hrih was not pleased with his choice, and upon wakening Franiel had felt a strange uneasiness.

            Franiel had not been trained in the way of the pen, and he knew his words would be clumsy. He had been raised in a poor home, where words were not considered to be of much value other than to instruct him in his tasks, or berate him when those tasks were not completed. Being a dreamy child, this had often been the case.

            He wished he could harness the power of words and use them to soothe and caress, to create beauty even, he thought, gently running his finger over the plain wooden table where he was seated.

            Well for now he would not worry what form his words should take, for it was enough of a task even to know what his highest truth might be!

            My highest truth .. my highest truth, … how many times now had he said these words, hoping perhaps if he repeated them enough the gods might take pity on his for his ignorance and provide an answer. How could he possibly know his highest truth? The very concept of such a thing perplexed him.

            Day was turning into night before Franiel finally laid down his pen. In the end his words were simple. He sighed, saddened by the thought that they would surely be a disappointment. The best I can hope for is that the Old One will see these words as nothing more than a doorway to my soul. Hrih was wise, Franiel knew this, and trusted the decision of the Old One.

            It was in the hands of the gods, for surely if I can’t trust this at least, all my fine talk and learning is for nothing.

            I am the driftwood
            the wave carried me
            I was buried in sand

            I am the flower
            the butterfly touched me
            I fell in love

            I am the raindrop
            the cloud released me
            I became the ocean


            New Venice, November 2101

            Midora was sleeping peacefully in her baby’s bed, and Oscar was dozing on the sofa, exhausted by his new role as a mother.

            Bart was slowly finding himself back to his old studies. Just before Oscar became pregnant with their child, he was occupied with an old parchment his mother Indy had given to him.
            She had said they had found it years ago with Oscar’s mum, her friend Eugenia. It was under a glass frame, among many other stuff she had accumulated along the years, mundane bric-a-brac flirting with sublime antiques —such was her mother strange decorative style…
            Bart had known the parchment all his life, and her mother had sworn he would have it when the time would be right. During all this time he had thought she would most probably forget it altogether.

            When Bill, his father had disengaged, two years before (only two months before the New Century’s festivities, at the age of 79) Indy had said she needed to make some room in her apartment, and get rid of old things which were full of memories. After all, she was only 49, and Bill hadn’t wanted to see her wither in sadness, that would be such a waste.
            She had given him the old parchment.

            Bart had always been so close to his mother, probably because she had him so young. She was 16 when they had married with Bill, and Bart was born right after. Of course, she always played the old flattery trick when people said she must be his big sister; it wasn’t actually far from the truth.

            When he was younger, Bart had fearful dreams, of dying in atrocious pain, full of rash, at a young age in an alien and sunny place.
            Curious as to what hint it may have been, Indy had been connecting with him to the energy of the dream. And together, they had tried to find the reason of that manifestation in the young boy’s dreams.
            Despite her having such a fleeting memory, India Louise was skilled at connecting to other focuses, and particularly group ones, and Bart had found many information thanks to her. And the fearful dreams had disappeared.
            He had found he was a young prince heir of the throne of Egypt, who was supposed to marry his sister. But both had died very suddenly. It was not quite clear as to whether the illness was the result of a plot from their father Pharaoh’s enemies, but the death was very unpleasant.
            So unlike Bill’s disengagement, which was peaceful and full of love.

            So yes, people were not far from the truth when they saw them as brother and sister.
            According to Indy, the parchment was found within a cache inside the sister mummy’s sarcophagus, and might be linked to their shared focus. But her own psychic skills only extended as far as to notice connections, not as to go into more depths. That investigation, he would be able to do.


            Egypt, 2657 B.C.

            Lekshen had finished writing down what the long snouted god of his dream, Set had dictated to him.

            It was a strange story, of Set being the god of the pariahs, throwing down structures of the Holy and the Truth, for the sake of expansion. Lekshen couldn’t understand all of what he had been talked into writing, but he had felt an intense activity and thrusts of gushing energy passing through him.

            He needed sleep before hiding the text with the mummy.


            Paris, 2007

            :tile: That symbol, Quintin had dreamt repeatedly about it… It was a tile, he was sure. It could be oriented in two ways, and, depending on its orientation, it meant either injection or ejection of energy structures. It was linked to the family of the Speakers.

            Let’s insert it again then, he smiled to himself.


            When he connected with the symbols written on the parchment, Bartholomew was astounded. The energy was so familiar.
            There was a book coming from his mother. She had inherited it from her aunt, Guiny… She probably got it herself from her mother Margaret, or perhaps her step-mother BeckyBart wasn’t too sure…

            Finally, he found it. Inside the cover, there was a dedication. To you, dear Becky, happy birthday! With love, Kathy (2017).
            Kathy, Kathy… A flash of a rainbow-coloured anaconda into Bart’s mind… Must have been one of Dory’s friends.

            “There was once a god who was not a god — who was not a god, for you are dealing with legends,” he said, nearly whispering. “There was a god in ancient Egypt, and his name was Seth, and he was disreputable. And he threw aside establishments, whenever other gods rose up and said, “We are the truth, we are pure and we are holy,” this disreputable god stood up, and with a voice like thunder, said: “You are nincompoops!”

            “And the other gods did not like him,” Seth continued in his story-telling whisper, “and whenever they set up their altars, he came like thunder, but playfully, and tossed the altars asunder, and he said “Storms are natural, and good, and a part of the earth, even as placid skies are. Winds are good. Questions are good. Males and females are good. Even gods and demons are good, if you must believe in demons. But, structures are limited!”.

            “And so this god, who was not a god, called Seth, went about kicking apart the structures, and he gathered about him others who kicked apart the structures. And they were themselves, whether they were male or female. Whether they thought of themselves as good or bad, or summer or winter, or as old or as young, they were creators. They were questioners.

            “And whenever another personality set itself up and said, “I am the god before you, and my word is law,” then Seth went about saying, “You are a nincompoop,” and began to kick apart the structures. And so you are yourselves, in your way, all Seths, for you kick apart the structures, and you are the black sheep of the religions, and the black sheep of the scientists, and the black sheep of the physicians, and the black sheep of the your mothers and your fathers, and your sisters and your brothers.

            “And yet, the mothers and the fathers and the sisters and the brothers listen,” Seth went on in that quiet voice in that quiet room. “for they do not have the courage to be the black sheep…”

            Conversations With Seth, Volume 1, Chapter 9, by Susan Watkins


              As Sean pushed open the door of the Dunloughpadraisobahairiedunkennyloughaire Arms, the swirling dampness of the Dublin street was transformed into a scene of noisy smoky conviviality. He pushed his way slowly through the crowd towards the bar, glancing up at Oscar the pub parrot, who was singing the refrain from The Irish Rover.

              The usual, Padraig, Sean said to the barman, and a packet of cheese and onion crisps.

              He found a stool to sit on next to a sticky ringed round table surrounded by plump gossiping matrons and wiry cloth capped men with bulbous red veined noses. Sean exchanged a few pleasantries with them about the weather, mainly about how unpleasant the weather always was, and then lapsed into reverie.

              The Big Apple…..that’s what they used to call the famous city, before they renamed it New Venice. Sean was curious to see the changes, not least the bright yellow gondolas that had replaced the taxi-cabs in the watery streets.

              On impulse, Sean fished his mobile telephone out of his pocket and dialed Tina’s number, but the line was engaged. He finished his pint of Guinness and called to Padraig to pull him another one. He tried Tina’s number again; this time a recorded message informed him that Tina had switched her telephone off.

              An hour and a half and seven pints later, Sean gave up trying to phone Tina and lurched home to bed.


              The City, year 2257

              Janice had just awoken from a strange dream, where she was watching big round cabbages being harvested in what looked like Quintin’s father garden. They were all firmly rooted on a black irrigation pole across the garden, and people were using strange devices to turn them all delicately and pick them afterwards. In the dream, there were black puppies too, sleeping in the straw of a kind of hut nearby. And she had seen another creature, and had been surprised first because it was unlike anything she had ever met, even in dreams. It was hairless and brown as soft mud, and was hiding in the neighbour’s garden. Then it had crossed and came to play with her…

              Janice was lost in her thoughts strolling on the way to the common dome, when she met Rodney, her father’s friend.
              They had been recently trying with her father Jacob, and also Qixi to connect with their shifting focuses of the Ancients, two centuries and half before their time.
              Some of them, they had found, had been playing a sort of game of story-telling and clue-sowing… (Janice was laughing as her father’s friend, the scientist Arkandin, always insisted on seesawing instead)

              Perhaps her dream was telling her that the crop was ripe, and it was time to harvest some from it. She told her dream to Rodney. All at once, he was quite excited and they started to feel they wanted to chat more freely. So they went into one of the Medraw Caps that was available and soon imagined a comfortable environment for themselves to explore more.

              Janice could hear Al or Quintin complain about how things were getting confusing.
              She tried to convey to both of them that they could be excited about it, as it was expanding their understanding, but they weren’t very receptive.


              Somewhere Al was saying to Becky
              — The more you try to fix it, the more confused I am
              — Hahahahah yes! Becky was answering, I guess so! Ahahahah! Al, what a fabulous dance of confusion we do… The Confundo Tango
              — Ahahah, yes!

              Al started again to moan:
              — So who’s dead, who’s the shapeshifter? Who’s the human, who’s the cat? :-??

              (Rodney was laughing, as for him, he could accept the confusion as much easier, letting him free to wander around!)

              Illi was a woman, a shapeshifter who shape-shifted into a cat, then, she died. Becky was saying (Rodney added mentally “Now, she is disengaged” as he knew that “death” was a confusing word.) She was an archaeologist
              — Okay, that’s cool, that’s what I thought, Al acquiesced. Then thought back of what was said of her and wondered… Anyway, it will probably find a perfect answer …
              Becky nodded
              — I got lost myself when two Illis appeared, and a grip-thing as well
              — Because I didn’t want the grip-thing to be dead! Al couldn’t help but laugh. That would have been too easy, like wiggling out. Not using your imagination within the context of objective imagery to sort out “things”…


              While Rodney and Janice were seeing that their other focuses were kind of stuck in their explanation, they had time freeze and both decided to come back to their “now” to start from their understanding.
              A funny thought had come to Janice, that she shared with Rodney.
              — Oh, the funny thing you know, about Becky having written to Sean
              Rodney nodded. Janice continued:
              — It just appeared in my mind just moments ago, at the same time you (well, Rafaela) inserted into the story of Malvina. That Becky would have been asking Sean something, and that perhaps it would have helped him talk to his father in the future.

              — Well, that Sean is SUCH AN ENIGMA! bumped Rodney a bit excited by the implications.
              — What do you mean? asked Janice, who just remembered that Sean Doran has a cousin named Dorean.
              — Who is he? Where is he? was asking Rodney now.
              Rodney was having a hard time remembering what had been inserted yet in the story about him.

              So Janice manifested the Wrick family tree in front of them, so that he could see better. She started by manifesting an acorn, then threw in on the grass, and it sprung forth in a little sapling with signs hanging from its branches.

              — Well, it’s all in the script, answered Janice, he’s Lord Wrick’s son.
              — Oh boy, I am in trouble again for not keeping up with the facts! Rodney sighed, and laughed…
              Janice laughed “So that you can surprise yourself again!”

              Rodney felt thankful for the sumafiness of Janice who was always prompt to display helpful hallucinations and reminders.

              Janice stopped the growth of the family tree for a moment and started to comment it.
              — See, in Becky’s time of the reality play, Sean is Lord’s Wrick son, and has just lost his wife Margaret, and got his two young children around their 10s.
              — When is Becky’s time then? Rodney wondered, I hadn’t though of that…
              Becky’s time for the reality play is around 2033…
              Then Janice had the tree grow again, and sprout more branches from Sean’s children:
              — …Now, Sean is the grand-father of the twins, except than the twin’s time is around 2057 if it had not changed yet. It’s so carefully woven, but it’s fun how it effortlessly came to fit in.
              TRUST AND ALLOWING AND GOING WITH THE FLOW cried Rodney and Janice in unison, in the realisation of how well all this was.

              Rodney was beginning to remember it all.
              — I just remember the part about Sean, so he is still a bit of a mystery
              — Yes, absolutely
              — We don’t really know do we why Hilarion didn’t mention him
              — Oh, there’s also the Margaret newspaper thing… Janice fumbled in her memory to find the proper link that would display the image of the newspaper cut just at the right of the family tree. Adding with a wink “with more dates to get bearings”
              — Ahahah, I’d love to have pocketfuls of ball bearings said Rodney who manifested a pocketful to distract him from the load of information. OH YES! he cried, I had forgetten about this! What an incredibly HUGE story this is…

              Rodney was squinting his dream eyes
              — So, Sean was into humanitarian effort after 2001…
              — His father actually I think, said Janice. He was a bit too young.
              — Oh OK, I misread, that’s hard to read!

              Then, all of a second, Rodney erupted in an uproarious laugh
              AHAHAHA, I had just forgotten to de-hallucinate these pince-nez spectacles! Now, it is much easier to read!
              Janice was laughing so hard, she thought she would shatter the hallucination with the wobbles of the soundless sounds.
              Then she added:

              Sean is born around 2000, a bit before.
              — OK, maybe he went to help the Tuaregs, Rodney was accessing some information now. Maybe he was the one who put the mummy in the locked room that India found.
              — You know I had something funny in store for the mummy mystery, Janice couldn’t help but laugh again. I imagined we could have inserted Old Manon, coming down to secretly drink from her old malt whiskey’s flask, and finding them messing up with her old dear stuffed cat…
              — Maybe the mummy was the same one that Dory saw in the oblong hole in the ground outside the cave, Rodney was still accessing flickering images swirling around his head. And Sean was there helping the Tuaregs and moved it to safety.
              Of course, years previously, Illi Fergusson, the archeologist had buried the mummy there too for safe keeping.

              Now, Janice was hooked:
              — Was it where Illi learned about shapeshifting tricks from the old tribe?
              Rodney noticed Janice’s funny remark and laughed before continuing:
              — The Tuaregs were conducting secret coleslaw experiments in the desert. In combination with sound and irrigation techniques, they were going to run the entire Sahara into a broccoli field.

              Janice was amazed at the cabbage “coincidence” and irrigation stuff with her dream of that morning. Of course she knew there where probably mis-interpretation of the imagery coming from Rodney’s visions, but something made sense.
              — Around which year? she asked
              — Arrggh I don’t know!… Then, taking a breath of dream air, Rodney said “1923”. When Illi learned shape-shifting trick, 1923.
              — It makes sense, said Janice who was now thinking of other dispersed informations about Illi Fergusson.
              — Yes, she learned from Dashine Ashara… Although who that is, I don’t yet know.
              — Wow, said Janice. She had felt a connection with the “da’sheen” sound. She continued: somewhere, Illi Fergusson has said: “my parents were aristocrats”
              — Yes, answered Rodney who was accessing again, they were, and they knew the Wildes .
              — And it was said too: “[…] a nurturing presence that reminded Illi of the maid she and her parents had in their cottage in South Africa”… like her parents were traveling a lot.
              — Ah, South Africa! Illi’s parents emigrated to South Africa with Sir Abingdon Portfellow, an elderly scholar on ancient artifacts and embalming.
              — Seems she knew John Lubbock too, said Janice again, reviving old data banks of information. Dates seem okay, so if she was around 30 in the Tuareg adventure, she could have met him.
              — Wow, said Rodney, this is even more interesting…

              “But we may sit at home and yet be in all quarters of the earth.” Janice had just summoned the voice of the naturalist and archaeologist. Rodney applauded “Lubbock said that? cool quote!”.
              — Yes, like Illi’s quote, which was from him “What we see depends mainly on what we look for”. I wonder if that’s one of your (Illi’s) overlapping focuses, said Janice

              — Well, Illi didnt stay long in South Africa with boring old whatever his name was, Rodney pursued
              — Yes, she was young with her parents. They were traveling…

              They were both amazed at the magical cooperation they were doing at that moment. Janice would have loved to share all of that with Qixi and Jacob, but probably their energies were present at the moment too, though not focused here.

              She then remembered something else:
              — Oh, and there is something else! Quintin’s dream of the woman detective. Let me fetch it she said, summoning now Quintin’s memory to talk to them.
              … by night, near a museum in London, in the 1920s. She was investigating a case of a strange disappearance near a small replicate of an Egyptian pyramid that had been put here for display. There had been an exposition of ancient artifacts in the museum, which had been recently unearthed by a team of archaeologists and graciously lent by Egypt’s officials. Strangely enough, the woman detective feels linked to the story, and is probably Dory
              Date fits again, she said in awe.
              — Perfect! said Rodney. She was of course Dory too, but in that focus she was Illi Fergusson… he slowed down, then said No! wait! The detective was another one of my focuses. The archeologist who stole the mummy for safekeeping was Illi.
              — Hmmm
              — Hmmm
              — So you are both the thief and the detective, the one who creates mystery for yourself, how interesting, giggled Janice.
              — Yes, and not only that Janice! Rodney was taking a mysterious air… I am the mummy too!

              Janice bust out laughing imagining Rodney in bandages. Yes, of course!
              Then, she had a name come with that: Apsh’un Shet she said, very self-absorbed.
              Now, that was Rodney’s turn to burst out laughing.
              — “I am not sure about that!”
              — Doubting my insights… mmm, how rude… Janice frowned then laughed again.
              — If you call me that, I may have to make you out to have a speech impediment
              — Sounds a good Egyptian name for me though, seems it means “Light of the Dawn
              — Does it? Oh that sounds nice…
              — Well, in some Egyptian dialect, yes. She was a Princess…
              — Hahaha! Reminds me of Aspen Shit. Rodney doubted Janice could be serious about that name, but Janice was now the one to be accessing some information.
              — Bit bossy Princess
              — Which dynasty?
              III rd, answered Janice, who fumbled in links of consciousness to find some timeline to project for them.
              — What year?
              Janice projected the timeline below then said
              — I’d say around 2657 B.C., in Ancients way of telling time.

              They both marveled at the splendid team work they had been doing, and hoped that the other focuses involved would be able to get some parts of their insights too.

              Rodney was seeing something else
              — There is also, a very fascinating link between Tassili in the Sahara and Egypt which is a mystery AND there is a connection with Egypt and Scotland too…
              Illi the gripshawk comes from the mysterious land of the Sands, south of the map fragment
              — We may unravel more than we think… Illi is an other dimensional focus of the Illi essence…
              — Yes she is. She is a connection too, being “lost” in the land of dragons after hopping through traveling portals…
              — Exactly
              — And they communicated because they are helping each other
              — Which is why she doesn’t always ‘fit’ into this reality’s energy configuration
              — And they have some difficulties at times with translations of other dimensional stuff
              — Yes! resulting in confusion!

              And they both laughed again, looking at the great tapestry of clues that was woven before their dream eyes.


              In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary


                October 12 th

                Lots of movements have been started, movements of expansion, and the joint efforts and ventures took off for new exciting potentials when the migration to the new “expanded sandbox” (as playfully expressed by Quintin) has been completed.
                Interestingly, it has been relatively painless and quick in both the find of the perfect “method”, and the perfect “tools”. In noticing how the feelings where acting as a compass that was telling him whether he was in the right direction or not, and in trusting them, Quintin has incorporated that tool without previous knowledge of its potential use. He just knew it was right.
                And so it is.

                October 16 th

                My dear friend Elias has expressed some time ago this, which may be interesting for the adventurers to read and see how it applies to them…

                “I expressed to you at our last meeting that some focuses continue each other as ‘sequels’ of books. … They are continuations, so to speak. Although they are not accomplished linearly, you may view them as continuing chapters of the same story. In this, they would be considered parallel focuses. You may view within your new game many focuses in which you have held experiences quite different to each other. Then you may also view some focuses that are seemingly related. You are engaged with all of the same characters within a continuation of the same play.” [Elias, #142]


                  These are excerpts from Yuki’s diary, explaining some of the details of the experiment called — Malvina’s story —.

                  Note: for the reader not familiar with all the names here is a quick reminder:

                  • Araili > Yann, Írtak, Sam, Jacob …
                  • Armelle > Fiona, Arona, Tina, Qixi …
                  • Rafaela > Dory, Illi, Becky, Rodney …
                  • Yuki > Quintin, Al, Janice …

                  September 12 th, 2007

                  Today, an experiment has been launched by Quintin. Time will tell if it will bear some fruit, but the idea sounds good.
                  Having people join in a story telling, and see what happens, what are the “lessons” one can draw from this…

                  Armelle, Rafaela and Araili are already on the starting-blocks, though Quintin is not quite aware yet.

                  I can hear some thoughts: Let’s say for the moment that there are no rules. We will see what prompts the desire for having rules…

                  September 13 th

                  Some of the people familiar with Janice and her friends’ adventures have already joined in with much enthusiasm.
                  This first comment seems very promising.

                  Right now, it feels easy and fun.

                  Quintin seems to think that everything is very straightforward.
                  The magical world with the cave in one part, separated from the “real” world. (Two Worlds, and he thinks that will be enough to content Rafaela, ahaha, how presumptuous)
                  The first he sees as a representation of what psychologists think of as “subconscious”, and the other being the conscious, physical part.

                  But of course, he thinks he knows better than that. He calls the first one “subjective” rather than subconscious, because it’s a translation of subjects which unfold in many related objects in the “objective” or physical world.
                  That’s a good point, though a bit distorted. It would be better to say Malvina’s World is a translation of the subjective, in the manner of a Heroic Dimension.
                  But the thing is, that he missed the point in thinking one World is more “real” than the other.
                  We’ll be having some fun soon…

                  First remark… The second comment of the story has been interrupted abruptly in the middle of a sentence. That is interesting. We will urge Quintin to leave it as it is, despite his feeling of it being awkward.
                  We will appeal to his imagination.
                  It seems he has heard the suggestion.

                  September 14 th

                  For the most part, the story starts to get much involvement. Lots of energies are being projected into it, and with every adjunct, each participant’s perception stretches to accommodate the changes and smooth out the bumps in their own sense of continuity.

                  But as I expected, some challenges seem to appear already.
                  Is it raining or not in that world?
                  The question seems simple, but it is very profound and Fiona seems to struggle a bit with it, as is Quintin. The question frame itself [“that World”] shows where the difficulty lies.

                  He seems to avoid the discrepancy and pretend that he has not seen it. Mmmm, avoiding the obstacles… that will very soon come right back in front of you dear Quintin, for Dory is quite playful.
                  At least Fiona has been challenging Dory for not paying attention… Armelle’s ineffable loving ruthlessness!
                  How will it unfold?
                  Rafaela seems to be delighting herself as though she’s preparing some mischief, but Dory struggles in the “back”…

                  September 15 th

                  Dory is indeed very playful and her imagination is unrestrained. I extend much appreciation to this focus of Rafaela, especially as Quintin has to stretch his imagination to make things “fit”.

                  Quintin is still avoiding the issues that appear sporadically and prefers to stay focused on his own perception of the story… Careful Quintin :face-smile:

                  Yann joins the fun —objectively, that is, for Araili has been present already since the very beginning.

                  September 16 th

                  Halcyons days…
                  My dear friend Archie is answering some of Quintin and Yann’s questions.
                  Something starts to dawn on Quintin. But his mind is on other matters.

                  He understands that the energies of the writers are melding in writing the story, but he still tends to think that they blend completely.

                  September 18 th

                  Quintin has been drawing some of the characters of the story. It’s interesting.
                  He had good insights, as Yann will tell him later that his clothes today were exactly the same as the colours he had drawn.

                  Characters drawn:

                  • Mavina, Leörmn the dragon and weaszchilla, Írtak, Huÿgens (and Fjutch), Arona and Illi (the gripshawk)
                  • Malika, Quintin, Yann, Fiona and Dory

                  Interestingly, Fiona resolves her issues in her cave.
                  Dory too, but she did not need the cave to do this.

                  September 21 st

                  For Quintin, the story seems to lose all common sense, as some characters move from World to World. You could have expected that Quintin!
                  And Dory pops in and out, in her mind, in her dream state, or in future timeline mixed with present or past one.
                  Quintin will soon realize that he himself is doing this constantly, though he does not register it.

                  But the worst thing for him is that there are bleedthroughs in between Worlds. The Reality Times newspaper was brilliant Rafaela, a perfect trigger for the beliefs that the Worlds are closed and impermeable to each other!

                  Archie has been answering new questions about that story and this had been quite interesting for all of the participants.
                  There is much for them to digest from the realization that each of them had been creating their own versions of the stories through their perceptions. And that they were each having their version of the story, drawing from each other’s input, like a conductor of an orchestra incorporating some instruments.

                  Of course, some things still matter, and one of the point of the story is also to discover these.

                  September 22 nd

                  Quintin has been drawing new characters.

                  Characters drawn:

                  • Båd Al’Guz (Bådul), BelleDora, Buckberry the dragon, the twin dragon eggs, Archibald the parrot, Sanso the Wanderer
                  • Illi Fergusson, another Illi that Quintin has tried to sneak in as a bait for Dory, with hints that she is disengaged (or “dead” in common vernacular) and merges with others of her focuses…
                  • Jacqueline Bleomelen (Nanny Gibbon), Lord Wrick, his great grand children the twins Cuthbert and India Louise, Manfred, William P. Jobsworth the painter

                  A new perception trick: Dory felt relieved upon seeing the moth feelers of BelleDora.
                  She had at first thought they were whiskers, which was not Quintin’s intent…

                  September 23 rd

                  Quintin seems to have connected to a map drawn by Lord Wrick, when the old Lord has started to document his great grand children travels.

                  Quintin had tried to put some annotations on this fragment, but he doesn’t yet completely understand that his perception of this World, though accurate, is only valid in this present moment, and may change at any time.

                  Up to now, here are the names he could find:

                  • North: the Icy Lands, and Dragon Cemeteries
                  • Center: Goldfindely, homeland of Arona, connected to the Warring Kingdoms of Lan’ork by the Isthmus of Ghört’s Hammer. The Isthmus of the Dragon Head seems to lead to Malvina’s cave and hideout. Mount Elok’ram is pointed as the highest place of the World yet discovered. Three main rivers are drawn: in the ancient myths of the people of this land, they represent the three Daughters of Ghört, weavers of men’s destinies: Tibreÿa, Uleÿa, and Snimeÿa. Snimeÿa cuts the thread of life, which is shown as the river leads after many meanders to the Marshes of Doom.
                  • Far East, North: the Land of Båd Al’Guz, Åsgurdy. A harsh mountainous land of islands and seas.
                    Both parts of the World seem to ignore each other till now, as they are separated by the Great Rift, which in the past has deterred many intrepid navigators.
                  • South: the Desert Lands. Illi’s birthplace, rarely explored by humans thus unaware of most of its marvels, gripshawks nomadic tribes included.

                  When he discussed Arona’s village with Fiona, Quintin had the vision of some dolphin-like creatures, but bright yellow. They are called golfindels and are mostly seen on the northern shores of Arona’s homeland, which is thus called Golfindely.

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