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  • #460

    Dory’s stopover at Heathrow airport was longer than expected, due to the knock on effect of delays caused by the air traffic controllers strike in Paris. She bought coffee in a paper cup and went and sat in the cramped smoking room. A couple of middle aged overweight women were sitting opposite her, their chubby knees almost touching Dory’s in the unpleasant little nicotine yellow room.

    Dory couldn’t help but listen to their conversation, and had to bite her lip on several occasions to prevent herself interjecting questions. Dory wanted to ask where this Tikfijikoo Island was. There was something about the sound of it that caught her attention, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on the strange feeling it gave her to hear the name.

    The two women, who appeared to be named Shah and Glaw, were apparently on their way to an island to participate in some kind of experimental treatment, Dory gathered, organized by a Dr Bronklehampton. On hearing the name of the doctor, Dory had a series of images flit through her mind. One of them was of an impish looking redhead with an incredibly large head, doing the tango.

    When the two plump ladies left the smoking room, Dory followed them. They bought magazines in the airport shop, and boiled sweets ‘in case their ears went’, and deliberated over sunscreen lotion, and then after some inaudible whispering, in which Dory heard only the words ‘treatment’ and ‘skin’, apparently decided against purchasing any of the skin care products.

    Dory followed them into the public lavatories, and learned that ‘our Mavis’ would be joining them for the treatment, and listened to a great deal of rather unkind comments about ‘our Fred’ and his bullying ways. On the way out of the Ladies Room, the bleached blonde named Shah collided with a bag lady, at which point Dory saw a shower of bright blue sparks in her peripheral vision. The bag lady looked up and laughed at Shah and her friend and said ‘It matters not, my friend….HA! HA! HA!’, and winked at Dory as she shuffled past.

    Dory followed the ladies to the baggage check-in desk. Yukailli Airlines. Dory had never heard of it; new airlines starting up all the time, she thought, and such silly names, like that Be My Baby one…what a daft name for an airline. Dory sauntered past, as she couldn’t really stand behind them without arousing suspicion. She was momentarily swallowed up in a swarm of Italians, there must have been two coachloads of them. By the time they’d passed her, Dory had made a decision. She would book a ticket to Tikfijikoo, hopefully on the same plane as Shah and Glaw.

    She turned around briskly, fleetingly wondering what to say to Dan and Becky about her sudden change of plans, and made her way back to the Yukailli Airlines desk.

    That’s funny, she said out loud, It was right here!

    She scanned the names above the row of desks….British Airways, Monarch, Air France, Qantas…..but no Yukailli Airlines. Dory asked at the Airport Information desk.

    I’m sorry madam, there’s no airline of that name here, the young man behind the desk informed her, looking at her quizzically.

    Dory opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, and wondered for a moment if she had imagined it. Just then someone bumped into her shoulder, causing her to spin round. It was the bag lady she’d seen earlier in the Ladies room.

    Leaving at Gate 57 and three quarters, the bag lady whispered, and winked conspiratorily.

    Dory’s mouth fell open. She was about to say Oh now really, what is this, Harry Potter Airport? but something stopped her. Instead she asked, But what about tickets and baggage check? But the bag lady had gone.

    #456

    Dr Bronkelhampton could not help but smile as she unwrapped the bandages and saw the peach smooth skin underneath. So far, so good. All was going to plan beautifully.

    Veranassessee had departed ten minutes ago to greet the two latest arrivals off the plane, and more would be arriving on the island over the next few days and weeks. They would have to be handled with care. Dr Bronkelhampton hoped they would be willing to participate in the experiments, or “treatments”, once they fully appreciated the benefits. But, if not…., she shrugged, there was really no way off the island except by her own say so.

    #424

    — The legend of Mævel — (Part VII)

    Today was the Day of the Forgotten. Mævel had slept well, nestled into the soft and warm depth of her dreams, her head resting on the short blue fur of the fox.
    In sharp contrast with the lovely night, she awoke strangely irritated. Even the birds songs were like noise to her ears, and every sound of the forest she heard with acute intensity and a sense of being submerged by many sensory inputs.
    Hopefully, the blue fox voice was still very comforting, and she started to wonder how they could come across a Forgotten One in need.

    — I think I know where we can find some Forgotten One in need.
    — Where? asked Mævel

    The fox paused, then answered her question:
    — Near your human parents’ home.

    Mævel was surprised. She trusted the fox, and never had really questioned him, because more than that she trusted her own feelings, but now her feelings were telling her that there was something the fox had not told her. Or had told her partially. She was silent, pondering the unseen implications.

    — Mæ, I’ll try my best to answer your questions, but remember I cannot tell you everything. I can help you remember some things, but there are things that my curse does not allow me to reveal. You have to find them by your own, in order to free us…
    — Free us? I thought you were the one Cursed?…
    — Yes I am, and…
    — How do you know my parent’s home? How much do you know about me?
    — I know you since you are a baby actually. And even before…
    — Before? I don’t understand a thing… I feel there are some unseen links, that I cannot decipher, yet they are so close to…
    — You’re right, there are links, links that are important, and that I cannot reveal.
    — Why can’t you reveal them?
    — Let’s go to your human parent’s home…
    — Why do you always say my human parents?

    The fox blew in front of him, creating a wobbling sound into the air in the form of a ring large enough for them to go through it. And he hopped inside, disappearing in mid-air.

    Mævel was perplexed, but did not hesitate. She hopped too into the watery ring in front of her and found herself falling into a void, to reemerge on a bed of dry leaves in front of her parent’s home. Blohmrik the blue fox was seated in front of her, observing a shadowy form at a distance in front of them.

    — Is that the Forgotten One we will help?
    — Yes.
    — Why do you need me? You could help her, couldn’t you?
    — She wouldn’t see me, Forgotten Ones are usually obsessed by a few people, those who they feel can remember them, and don’t usually see other people. Their perception is quite different than ours.
    — Hang on a minute… Why do you think she will see me?

    Mævel looked into the eyes of the fox, and she knew.

    — We are linked.

    It was more an affirmation than a question.
    Mævel wondered who that shadowy figure was. When she focused on her, the form was getting more solid, and she could catch glimpses of how she looked like. And she was surprised. She was about her age, with long blond hair as hers.
    Mævel’s voice was broken:
    — My parents had told me I was about to die when I was a baby, then by a sort of miracle, I became healthy… Was that true?… I mean… Was that a gentle way of telling me that I had a twin who died or…
    — No, Mæ. She is not you. She is not linked to you by blood. You can talk to her, she will listen to you.

    So Mævel went to see the shadowy figure. She had stopped wandering and trying to find an opening around the house, for there were none for spirits: all openings were locked by stripes of red cloth hung onto the doors and windows.
    Mævel felt the pain of the Forgotten One as she approached her.

    — Who are you? she suddenly asked Mævel, raising her head at her approach.
    — I am Mævel.
    Mævel… It means marvel of Maÿ… I was born in Maÿ…
    — What are you doing here?
    — This is my parents’ home.
    — How is that possible?
    — Twenty one year ago, I was taken away from them, given to Shaint Lejüs in place of a fairy princess. But Shaint Lejüs was no fool, he had sent his apprentice to spy on the fairy king.
    — Blohmrik?!
    — Yes, Blohmrik… But Blohmrik disobeyed the Elder God, and when he saw the exchange that was about to happen, he let it happen. He wanted to protect the fairy princess from his master. Because Shaint Lejüs wanted the princess as a bride. Ahahaha, how disappointed Lejüs was when he saw that I could not perform the most basic magic spells. I was good at nothing, so he let me go wandering into his Realm. He’d just thought the half-fairy princess had inherited no magic from her father.
    — How do you know all that?

    — I told her, the blue fox said. I was hoping to bring her relief. But she started to look for her parents, and Lejüs discovered the truth… Because she was not looking for a fairy king. She was heading here, year after year.
    — That’s the reason of your curse, is it?
    — Yes. She can’t see me because I was Forgotten too, in that form of a blue fox. But as Forgotten Ones don’t forget, I didn’t forget. I couldn’t tell her, because she couldn’t see me.
    — So, I am that fairy princess you are talking about… that strange idea was starting to dawn on Mævel.
    — Yes. When Lejüs discovered who you were, he wasn’t interested in you any longer, because he thought your magical potential had been irremediably damaged by all those years spent in human company.

    — Who are you talking to? the shadowy figure asked, bemused.
    — Blohmrik, he is here. But it’s untrue, Mævel said, there is magic in me.
    — Yes there is, answered the blue fox, and you can undo what has been done with it.

    Mævel remembered the useless key she had manifested when she had tried to go out of her human parents’ house. She had not even looked at it closely.

    — You can manifest it again Mæ, said the fox. It is with you. You are its lock.

    And no sooner had Mævel thought of the big rusted key, than it appeared in her hand again. But this time the rust on it was crackled, and it started to disintegrate, and a brilliant shiny metal started to show beneath it.

    Scratching what was left of the rust, Mævel started to look at the beautiful key, it was shaped as a musical note, and it had some word written on it, in an ancient language she didn’t know how to read. But she knew the sound when she ran her finger on the surface of the word.

    « Araoni »

    That was her. She was remembering, and everything started to change.

    :fleuron2:

    The wedding of the God Blohmrik, son of Mirÿnda, Goddess of Mirth and of Bälias, God of the Sparkles with Araoni, daughter of the Fairy Queen Theÿa and the Fairy King Aldurion was pronounced on a bright day of Maÿ, in a beautiful orchard in the presence of Araoni’s human parents and sisters and brothers.

    Even Lejüs had been invited, even though he would have preferred to be Forgotten…

    :fleuron:

    And so my story ends… said Captain Bone to Tomkin.

    — And was the shadow remembered by her true parents? had asked Tomkin.
    — Oh, yes she was… Of course. She just didn’t want to steal the limelight from Mævel, you see. Her parents were happy of course to find back their true daughter.
    — You didn’t tell me the name of the true daughter, did you?
    — No, I didn’t, said Captain Bone with a wink.

    #415
    F LoveF Love
    Participant

      Finn felt a bit sad all of a sudden about how far away her friends were. So she sent them all a huge energy hug, and hoped they got it.

      #1562

      In reply to: Synchronicity

      F LoveF Love
      Participant

        I have a pebble synch … a pebble sold on Trade Me NZ for around $27,000. :yahoo_rofl:
        http://www.trademe.co.nz/Antiques-collectables/Other/auction-124098849.htm
        I am thinking of auctioning off the ones from Malvina’s cave now, hope that is okay. I have been examining them and I am sure I can see Jesus on that little one.

        #387
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Of course, as soon as they had stepped into the powerful magnetic field generated inside the T.R.A.P., the reality around them was transphormed as if they all had been into a huge deFørmiñG mirror, that they could shape with their strangest thoughts.

          Obviously, they had all started to hallucinate some funny stuff…

          It was happening so quick, Sam noticed. Sean’s breath was smelling of whiskey, and Sam felt Sean had forgotten something on his way to New York. He felt compelled to ask him if there was something on his mind…
          — Peregrine!
          — Who’s that?
          — Oh, he will be so disappointed… Sean started to sob. I’m such a bad father!

          Sean couldn’t find a composure. Hopefully, Becky wrapped her sensual arm around his shoulders, and hugged him tenderly.

          — Hey, look, she said, the children are more adept at these games than we are,… if we want, we can have him project here from his bedroom and share the fun with us. What do you reckon?

          And she started to yell:

          — Peeeeerrrry ! Peerrrry !

          #376
          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            Tina thought of a great gift for her friend Becky.

            She purchased her a gift voucher for an hour’s consultation with Hari Amgic. Hari had helped Al considerably when he was facing similar hair loss issues. Mostly Hari worked on identifying core underlying beliefs, particularly in relation to hair follicles, which was his area of speciality. Also a bit of energy work was involved and advanced visualisation skill training, or something. Tina was hazy on the details. Al had explained it of course, at some length. The main thing was though, that his hair looked great now and Tina felt optimistic for Becky.

            Let’s hope it grows back before Sean gets here thought Tina, chuckling merrily and shaking her fine head of thick glossy curls. It’s 2033, anything is possible!

            Her advanced psychic skills told her something was up between Sean and Becky, although Becky had not said anything directly to her. Perhaps she was not aware herself yet.

            She actually had found a message on her phone from Sean the other day, but it was so slurred that she could not make out what he was saying. Probably asking after Becky. How cute!

            Dear Becky, about time she got herself another lover. She hoped Sean could cook though, not everyone enjoyed Becky’s rather creative, albeit nutritional, culinery offerings.

            #337

            You’re not serious, are you? Sanso raised an eyebrow at Arona (who had mysteriously materialized a baby in her arms, in the blink of an eye)

            You’re calling it YIKES? Oh well, fair enough….

            In a puff of smoke, a Crayola fairy appeared in front of them.

            Yes? she said, You called? I’m Fairy Nuf…that’s fun spelled backwards, in case you’re wondering how I got here.

            Sanso didn’t really understand what was going on, but had an urge to materialize a baby too.

            ~~~

            Thankfully the urge soon passed and he said to Fairy Nuf politely, There must be a mistake, but thank you for calling. I hope it didn’t inconvenience you.

            Call me anytime, I’m available 24/7, sweetie….and in an puff of smoke, she was gone.

            #336

            Hi Torsten, said Tina, giving her old friend a hug. Thanks for calling and saying you had some time to chat, hope I didn’t sound odd when I answered the phone, Becky was there, and I didn’t want to tell her. I am trying to pretend I am normal you see, she laughed wryly.

            I really need someone who isn’t involved with the play to talk to though, I feel like I am going a bit weirdo, bottling everything up. And it is affecting the play and my relationship with the others.

            I can’t find my place in the play the others are writing. See it is the play “the others are writing”. I feel as though I am drifting through it, trying to find my way amidst the structure, if you can call it structure, they give it. And that is the way I am feeling about life, I can’t find my place in it

            At the moment I claim to believe in magic, and that I create my own reality, but I certainly don’t feel it the last few days. She thought for a moment. Well other days recently have been golden, it is all magic. I find it everywhere. Yes, I have had days like that, but the last week or so I can’t find it.

            What changed?

            I felt as though I couldn’t create what I wanted to.

            What if you could?

            All of it? It would be a miracle though. My rational mind tells me it is not possible. And in that lies the source of this pain.

            So you don’t believe what you claim to believe

            Tina thought for a moment. I keep feeling the eyes of that Blue Mule character I told you we created on me. That’s not his name, but I keep getting stuck on the spelling . Well actually I didn’t create him. The others keep creating new characters, every time someone does a typo, it is “hey! new character!” Anyway this was ages ago. And in the play there was a picture that one of the characters, Quintin, did, and whenever I say “I can’t”, then I feel these eyes of Blue Mule challenging me, and it’s like he’s saying, “ well what DO you believe then?” and it is like a real challenge in these eyes.

            #335

            Lord Gustard Willoughby Fergusson helped his wife Floribunda onto the camel, and clamboured onto his own. Cranky and Illi were mounted on donkeys, as were Tibn Zig and Tanlil Ubt, their local guides. Three hot dusty days, and two bitterly cold nights away lay their destination: Tsnit n’Agger and the home of the legendary giant of the Alal’ Azntignit.

            Cranky was feeling like a fish out of water in the desert, but Illi had taken to it like a duck to water. Not that there was alot of water about in the desert, Cranky grumbled to herself. What she wouldn’t have given for a nice hot cup of tea and a crumpet. She looked at Illi and her face softened. Just look at the delight in that dear childs eyes, she said to herself. My, but she’s a chip off the old block. Make herself at home anywhere, she would. Or make her home anywhere, Cranky thought, wistfully remembering their games of Wish House back at Rubbingdon.

            Let’s just hope Lord Gus finds those bones quickly and we can all go home.

            #303

            Becky woke up in a sweat. Her bedclothes were tangled and what remained of her pillow was on the floor. The room was full of downy feathers.

            Sheesh, said Becky, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes and reaching for her cigarettes.

            What a dream! Wow, I wonder what that witch did to deserve that! Becky couldn’t quite believe she’d had such a violently aggressive dream. All she could really remember was attacking a witch, and slapping her repeatedly, and punching her, screaming all the while DON’T…EVER….DO THAT AGAIN Wangwangawanga…… DON’T DO IT wangawanga… then the witch had turned into a goose, but still Becky kept punching her, causing the poor gooses feathers to fly everywhere, and all the while Becky kept shouting WANGAWANGAWANGA……

            I can’t believe I did that, even in a dream! Becky hated violence so much that she walked out of the room if a violent scene was showing on the television, and she loved witches and geese.

            That poor goose! Becky decided to go back into the dream, to smooth what was left of the gooses ruffled feathers, and apologize.

            She stubbed out her cigarette, and settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Now the goose was looking at her reproachfully, in between straightening her plumage, and huffing and tutting a bit.

            I’m awfully sorry about that! I don’t know why I did it. Becky hoped it was a forgiving kind of goose, and not a vengeful one.

            It matters not, I suppose, grumbled the goose, I must have created being slapped around by a sweaty madwoman, though gawd knows why.

            Were you a witch in another focus? Becky asked. Because I was angry with a witch initially, not a big white goose and I don’t know how I came to be pummeling you. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I was attacking the witch either. The witch did look unpleasant though, but you look nice enough….

            Well I don’t look very blimmen nice with my feathers in this state, dearie! And don’t remind me of that dratted witch focus, gawd, I was horrid. Not surprised you lashed out at that one!

            Becky started to relax. Things were looking promising. The goose was turning out to be rather sweet.

            But as you can see, continued the goose, I am not a witch, I am a big white goose now, a rather sweet one too, even if I do say so myself, so let’s hear no more about it.

            Becky smiled broadly at the goose. I appreciate that very much! Oh by the way…what’s your name?

            Angela, answered the goose, Angela Wing.

            REALLY? Becky said, rather rudely, and then caught herself and said: Angela! What a lovely name! Angela Wing, would you like to be in our play?

            #298

            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.

            #297

            ……In case you feel like talking, don’t hesitate any moment, I’ll be here. Anytime.

            Love,

            Becky.

            PS, Becky added as an afterthought in her letter to dear old Wrick, Al’s so looking forward to meeting you in the ‘Amusement Park’ in Central Park, I hope you will disillusion him gently as to the nature of projecting and out-of body excursions……I will leave it to you, Wrick old boy, to decide how best to handle it. Ah, you wise old buffoon, I can hear you saying it now: Al’s choices are perfect, as are yours. Becky smiled fondly and added to the postscript: Wrick, you’re a brick, old stick.

            #296

            Al had always hated amusement parks.
            Funny, he noticed as he was always the one telling “be playful”…

            Anyway, Becky had insisted to bring them all in that new big traveling amusement park that had settled in Central Park, NY this year.
            Hopefully, Heavens know how, resourceful Becky Pooh had obtained VIP tickets for the opening, and it would be a very private visit, without too many people.

            Now, that could perhaps be interesting… After all, the whole entertainment park had been sponsored by Becky’s friends, the Wrick family, and Al and the others were dying of curiosity to meet the top of the crop, so to speak…

            #291
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              Oh yes, it is all perfect, interjected Tina, in her new soft and gentle voice. Thank you so much for helping me to understand.

              AHAHAHAAHAH, laughed Becky, nearly snorting, Tina are you okay today?

              Well no actually, my head has been pounding for the last 24 hours. I think I have been taken over by those pesky aliens again. They tell me that the only way to get rid of them is to revert back to my own true self.

              Hope you do it soon muttered Becky, all this niceness is quite unnerving.

              #85
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Eric! Your latest comment resembles more than a little the episode of Lost I saw on tv last night. I take it you didn’t watch it too haha…..
                In a nutshell, an exhausted bird on the shore next to the sea that had separated from the other birds (which were scared off by a loud gunshot nearby)…..the guy intuitively knew exactly where to go to find it (he can see future probabilities, incidentally) and he picked the bird up…the point of which was to tie a message to the tagged bird in the hopes of being rescued off the desert island (which is not unlike the one Roselyn Chiara and Illi are ‘currently’ on….)…
                In other words, a ‘talking’ bird….
                OH and the bird in Lost was ‘from other lands’ too, a tagged migrating bird….

                #282

                — The legend of Mævel — (Part I)

                as told by Cpt Bone to young Tomkin

                In the time of the Gods, the King of the Fairies, Aldurion, fell in love with a beautiful mortal named Theÿa.
                He wanted to make her his Queen but only the Elder Gods could bestow the gift of immortality upon mortals.
                So he went to see Ghört, the God of the Airs. Ghört could certainly grant him what he requested, but for that, Theÿa would have to be transformed into an air sprite. Aldurion wouldn’t be able to hold her again. So he declined the offer, and went to see another Elder God.
                Then, he went to see Nærvel, the Goddess of the Waters. But Nærvel could grant him immortality if Theÿa was to be transformed into a water sprite. So Aldurion declined again.
                Then he went to see Agnima, the Goddess of the Flames, and then Selvaniel the God of the Woods, and Margilonia the Goddess of the Earths. But all of their conditions were the same, Theÿa would have to be transformed into an immaterial and immortal elemental fairy. But Aldurion couldn’t bear to have her changed into something else than she was.

                Then, only one of the Elder Gods was left, the one than few of the Immortals dared talk to, and of whom most mortals were afraid, to the point of systematically using the Old Speech respectful form of address (“Shaint”), when referring to him.
                So Aldurion came to see Lejüs, God of the Forgotten.
                Lejüs was greatly pleased to see him. When Aldurion had finished exposing his request, Lejüs took a moment to ponder. Giving immortality was none of his wonts, as he was keeper of the Forgotten. But he was not without compassion, and seeing Aldurion’s plight, he offered to grant his wish at the condition that, not his wife, but their first born child, would become Forgotten.
                Aldurion was so hopeful that all he saw was that the condition seemed so small, based on a future event that perhaps wouldn’t even happen… All he wanted was to have Theÿa as a Queen, and so the deal was made.

                So became Theÿa Queen of the Fairies.

                A few God’s Years later, which meant in human years much more than a few years, Theÿa became pregnant.
                When she announced the news to Aldurion, he was suddenly reminded of the deal he had made with Lejüs, and was quite distraught, as he had not revealed it to Theÿa. But he remained quiet, hoping that Lejüs would have forgotten about the whole story (well, that was forgetting he was Keeper of the Forgotten).
                So Theÿa gave birth to a little baby girl fairy, with golden wavy hair and bright eyes. She, like her mother, had no wings, but there was magic in her. They named her Araoni.

                But Lejüs had not forgotten of course, and came to see the Royal couple to claim the baby. Aldurion pretended that the mother and baby was still very weak, and he would have to come back in a few God’s Days. Lejüs agreed, and left complaisantly.

                Aldurion was at a loss for solutions, but Theÿa was a fairy with lots of ruse, so he decided to reveal it all to her, hoping that she would have a solution.
                Theÿa asked him time to think about this, and told him not to worry.
                Later, she had an idea, quite brilliant she thought. All she had to do was to find another child to give Lejüs.
                So she gave baby Araoni to one of her diligent nurse, the old fairy Gretchÿa, telling her to find a house were a blond new born girl could be exchanged and proceed to the exchange of the babies.

                So Gretchÿa went across the lands of the Worlds, but only in one home she could find a blond baby girl. The new-born baby girl was almost dying, as the parents were a careless couple of peasants, already plagued with many children, and they could not bother with children hesitating to live.
                Gretchÿa was heart-broken when she did the exchange, promising to baby Araoni to get her back soon. The young human baby girl was weak and yet unnamed, and the old fairy nurse knew she would probably not live long, and be claimed by Shaint Lejüs. So all was good.

                When Lejüs came back, he smiled as he saw the baby girl, and left with her without much more words for the Royal couple.
                Lejüs smiled, for when he had taken the young baby, the parents had instantly forgotten about her, and so did everyone having ever known her…

                The human parents, surprised to see the condition of their baby improving beyond all hope, named her Mævel, which meant marvel of Maÿ the month in which she was born.

                #280

                When Rudy the myna had come back crashing on the boat, it all became suddenly a huge uncontrollable chaos.
                The hovering menacing clouds that were looming in front of them were coming closer at a dreadful speed, and even more concerning were the rocks that were appearing everywhere now, that they had more and more trouble to avoid in betwixt the turmoils and eddies.

                So they had finally come to the Great Rift, Bådul was thinking. The back of the legendary water dragon that noone was known to have crossed.

                But Bådul knew better.
                He howled orders to get everybody ready at their posts, and felt reassured when he saw that Austor was maneuvering with dexterity and confidence through the rift.
                He ignored the crazy laugh of Razkÿ, the madman who was now shouting with a manic laughter “We all gonna diiie! AHAHAHAH! DIE! DIE!” Then winking at Bådul and laughing again.

                :fleuron: :fleuron:

                A few months earlier, Northern Åsgurdy

                A huge cloaked figure was riding in the middle of the deserts. The saurhse, a bit small for its rider, was getting tired, but the man wanted to move before the night came. Åsgurdy had a climate which made travels uneasy on land, and only on these bipedal saurians they named saurhses, could Åsgurdians easily travel on the burning hot sands by day. Then, they could gain the high plateaus of rock and ice, where the temperature was kept cold by the high chilly winds. But at night, the deserts would be chilly too, and the cold-blooded creature he was mounting would require a shelter.

                He knew that such a shelter wouldn’t be far away now.
                That region was mostly uncharted as it was fairly remote from all known cities, but that strange man he had met had said he was a traveler who knew were he could find something priceless.
                At that time, Badul had felt he had nothing to lose, and said to himself “when in doubt, go for the experience”.
                He had felt he could trust that man known to him only by a strange name, something like Gheorg.
                There had been nothing boastful about him, and he had been kind to him. He had been the only person in the World he had known to have given him back his dignity as a human being, and even more, to have given him a reason to live.
                He owed him a lot, and perhaps even more as he was now drawing closer to the cave… that same cave which was a mere cross on the torn map he had been drawing hastily before vanishing almost preternaturally, living him a bit of money and that map…

                ~~~

                Roselÿn had felt the urge to move somewhere else. This land didn’t resonate with her energy, and that of Rëgkvist, and of the few eggs the dragon had managed to lay, none had actually been able to hatch.
                It had affected her so much that she had even retreated from her sisters’ usual talks through the glubolíns.
                She needed to move on.

                ~~~

                When he entered the cave, Badul was disappointed. He could feel there had been someone living here quite recently, but it was like the cave was now abandoned. He hoped he could have found more answers, but now it was again like burning sand slipping through his fingers.

                In a fit of rage, he took a boulder as big as him and threw it across the cave with a roar.
                Something was brought down by his huge force further down into the cave and he heard it quite distinctly.

                He tied up the saurhse at the entrance of the cave, and entered it with determination, ducking through the tunnel too narrow for his big baby-faced frame. Then he found something glowing. At first, he thought it was some gold, but what kind of fool had been living here before and had been in such a haste to move as to forget gold?

                It was not gold. It was something like a broken shell. The broken bits were like a jigsaw puzzle and he wished he could make it one, as he was attracted by the strange radiance of the thing.

                :fleuron: :fleuron:

                Austor did not believe his eyes…
                They had crossed the Rift, all three of the ships.
                And it was nothing like the dark void they had nearly expected behind.

                It was an open sea, glistening in the sun, and all hope had come back through them all.

                #270

                Oörlaith heard the sound of a barking dog not far from her rookery. They were back with his master, and she knew at once their mission was complete.

                A few months ago she had met a strange man, he told her he was called Leonard, and the funny black dog that was following him everywhere was called Moufle. An ancient word for mitten… Well she didn’t ask why he’d call him like that, the dog was so hairy…

                Leonard was a lonely traveller, quite ancient as she could feel, but she wasn’t able to know his actual age. And there were some other weird feelings when she was focusing on his energy tone, something to do with time itself.

                When she first met him she knew he was the one she was looking for for ages. It’s been such a long time she hadn’t heard from her sisters. Oörlaith’d been having these dreams since they chose different direction many years ago, Malvina and Roselÿn, her precious ones. It wasn’t necessary for her then to keep objective contact with them through the glubolín.

                One year ago, the dreams stopped abruptly, and she tried several methods to reach her sisters. None of them with success. All her attempts failed, and she thought first she had lost her own power, but she knew one can not loose power of self, just forget it or create it on purpose. She realized then it was time to recreate these links more objectively.

                She couldn’t find her glubolín though. And Leonard arrived. Fortunately enough he had news from some strange events occurring in the land where she knew Malvina had settled her rookery. Was she still here with Leörmn?

                ***

                Yann had been feeling many impulses to draw scenes from his dreams and from the story they were creating with Quintin, Fiona, and Truth. It was an urge from inside and last night he had a very intense dream activity, most of which he couldn’t remember, it was more like a big forum with many different personalities all exchanging experiences and exploring new avenues.

                He was also attracted by old stories he was writing when he was a student, the one involving Georges and Salome, it seemed to him they had taken a life of their own now, and they felt very powerful, and most of all, they felt like really having fun.

                One of the drawing that was intriguing him was one that represented a sign of sort, in grayish sparkly clouds. He had given the pic a strange title, Oorlath. Yann had connected the name to an individual and was surprised when Quintin told him about a princess named Oörlaith. He was wondering who she was…

                She still had no face when he thought of her… maybe she was hidden for the moment… and he had the strangest thought that she knew Leonard, the man he’d been drawing with his black hairy dog.

                Haha, he had felt her smile.

                ***

                Chiara was looking for the boy she’d met last time in her dreams. Maybe he could give her some berries again, they were really tasty and fluberrish.

                But she’s been looking for him for so long she wonder if she could find the way again…

                Where she was now felt different. The light? The air? She took a deep breathe and just sat down on the grassy land. She had a quick thought that the land were more rocky than grassy a few seconds ago, but as she was feeling the grass under her hands, she dismissed the thought.

                She was hearing birds singing, it was quite funny the way they were bounding from one sound to the other and she could understand what they were saying, much gossips and a few compliments for a new mother ;)) nothing really important to her. She Jibbled.

                Lying down on the mossy land, she was looking… mossy? wasn’t it grassy? Now it’s mossy… hope that wouldn’t become mothy ;))

                She was looking the clouds, some were grayishly sparkling, she was enjoying it…

                “Are you looking for something” a voice said.

                Chiara quickly sat up and gazed at the fat lady who was standing before her.

                “Hahahaha, you found me at least my dear” laughed the woman.

                “My name is Roselÿn, and you are Chiara, aren’t you?”

                The little girl was gaping at Roselÿn… how could she possibly know her name?

                “I feel I know you :yahoo_thinking:” she said dreamily.

                “You make me feel like when I’m with my uncle Yann, and… there’s something else… oh!?”

                #248

                New York, October, 4 th 2033

                Albert had opened the newspaper, scanning distractedly through the various pages of text that would read aloud automatically when he was running his fingers through it. He was about to close it, when he noticed that article in the Life Focus section.

                (click for article)

                :fleuron:

                Dublin, October 5 th 2033

                Sean Doran Wrick had received tons of phone calls, emails and voice mails of condolences since the past few weeks, but he had not found the strength to answer any of them. Especially those coming from his father.

                That morning, he had received some letters that he would have left on top of the others, had he not recognized the round and cheerful calligraphy of Becky on one of them.

                He had known Becky when they had traveled together in Syria, and had enjoyed so much the lively young woman that they had kept in touch during all those years.

                He was pleased to read from her, and wanted to enjoy it fully.

                So he took his time to put to bed Guinevere and Peregrine before. Guinevere was the eldest, very mature for her barely 11 year old. She took great care of her younger brother, who was more dreamy and foolish. Peregrine would turn 10 next March… but he was hardly as responsible as his sister when she was his age…

                Dear Sean, Becky was writing

                I would have liked to finally take the time to write to you in better conditions, but I could not delay any longer. I saw the obituary in the newspaper, and wanted you to know that I share your grief and loss, and extend much love and support to you and to your dear little ones.

                I know you’re not the kind of person to be satisfied with banalities, so I will not dwell on this tragedy, and will remember the best moments we shared together.

                I still continue my studies and practices on dramatherapy, and till now it has proved very beneficial, in many ways. I have learned so many things. It’s quite rewarding. We are a close-knit group of fools (or drôles as Al loves to say, as some of his ancestors come from the bayous!), and that is very much enjoyable when things that tragic come to one’s reality.

                In case you feel like talking, don’t hesitate any moment, I’ll be here. Anytime.

                Love,

                Becky.

                :fleuron:

                Orkney Islands, October 4 th, 2057

                This year again, Sean Doran had not answered his father’s calls.

                This September 23 th was the twenty fourth anniversary of the disengagement of Lord Wrick’s daughter-in-law, and this was always a very somber period for the family.

                Hopefully, the twins were here to enliven the old mansion, for as long as their parents, Lord Wrick’s grand-children, would be traveling. And of course, there had been the unexpected return of the books, which had been comforting too.

                Nonetheless, Hilarion Wrick was sad, and Bill the painter was uneasy as to how he could not quite put right the portrait of the old dragon…

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