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      Back in the depths of the water, Aglaë was thinking of a way for her to move easily on the other world.

      There was a legend of her people, a legend which was told to the children. It promised pain and an accursed half-life to those trying to disown their heritage, and live outside of the life-sustaining element of water.
      For most of the children, such an idea was incongruous at best, and none would have thought of breaching the taboo simply to try something different and potentially lethal.
      But to Aglaë, all that it meant now was that such a thing was possible.
      In that legend she had been told when she was young, there was a prince, who betrayed his people, and was condemned to an exile outside of the oceans. So that he would not die an immediate and atrocious death on the dry surface, but rather suffer even more, by not being able to come back to the depths, he was given a mixture of plants to ingest. A deadly algae which grew in the cemeteries of the Holders of Dreams, on the carcasses of the Wise Ones, mixed with an herb from the lands.

      Aglaë did not know how and where to gather the plants… She was hesitant to do such a thing, for it would surely infuriate her father… But she was willing to do it. She would have to find a naïve ally to help her in her task, because she was seeing her half-brother Pelorus becoming suspicious and she did not want to have him discover her plans before she could realise them.
      Pelorus was very close to their father, who had made him Captain of the Tritonic Guard. Though he was not having a slithery serpentine tail like her own, he was very agile and swift in the waters with his tentacles, and was very respected, as he had a reassuring presence, radiating might and power.


      In reply to: Synchronicity


        Quite a few syncs here too, highlighted by F & T’s conversations…

        • Eight and insects, …
          8 peoples registered, 880 comments, and 8 posts in the last 24 hours, was wondering about the 8 that I found appearing recently.

        Tracy: Funny sync Eric! Because today, my ear whistled, and I recalled my old Aunt Norah’s little saying
        when your ear whistles, think of a number, I always thought of 8…

        Speaking of ear, Francie dreamt of earwigs, while I was dreaming of a big insect dissection… And Tracy had insects in a Chinese movie she was watching too…

        • … magpies augury

        One for sorrow, two for mirth,
        Three for a wedding, four for a birth,
        Five for silver, six for gold,
        Seven for a secret not to be told.
        Eight for heaven :yahoo_angel: , nine for hell, :yahoo_devil:
        And ten for the devil’s own sel’.

        (see this link or this one for more details)

        • … and children’s stories

        While we were discussing the Finckle Four with Francie and old children books by Enid Blyton, Becky finally found her books: The Magic Faraway Tree ,… by Enid Blyton.
        I remembered I was climbing a tree in a dream tonight… But syncs don’t stop here:

        • The children names are Jo, Bessie, Fanny and Dick (originally). In modern reprints, the names of the children have been changed – from Jo, Bessie and Fanny to Joe, Beth and Frannie. From wikipedia: in the first case to make it clear that Jo is a boy, in the second because Bessie is seldom used as a nickname for Elizabeth anymore (most would go by Beth, Liz or Lizzie), and in the third because Fanny is a slang term for vulva in the United Kingdom, Australia and New Zealand. Cousin Dick, who appears in “The Magic Faraway Tree”, has his name changed to “Rick” in new editions, presumably for similar reasons.

        Wow, we’re in there :face-grin:

        • There is the Angry Pixie, and an owl, who lives near the Angry Pixie’s…
        • And also, In V for Vendetta, V is shown reading the child’s book to Evey, and alludes to “The Land of Do-As-You-Please” and “The Land of Take-What-You-Want” over the course of the book… The sync is that Yurick found the graphic novel in Gustav’s home, and while reading it, found similarities with V and mummy Four , both being subjects of experiments… In the novel, there is a moving letter featured, by a certain Valerie, who is born in 1957 — click —…

          He did recall his name in a dream. Jarvis.
          A strange dream actually.
          There was that woman… whose name he couldn’t recall though.
          Her face was beautiful but he hadn’t felt any sexual attraction toward her… it was different, like he knew her.
          Well, with his memory loss, he possibly knew her, someone close assuredly.
          She was asking questions about this land he had beached on… and in the dream it appeared he knew many details, again that he couldn’t recall now he was awake.
          It was more like a legend, not facts.
          But now it was quite real to him.
          It’s been 2 days since he opened his eyes on this purple beach, and he’s been busy collecting driftwood to make a fire. He didn’t dare venture into the forest, and if the legends about the inhabitants of Kandulim were true, he wasn’t welcome here.

          Wow he was feeling dizzy. His head was pounding repeatedly like one of the vangor drums. He dropped the twigs he had collected on the sand and took his head in his hands. The pounding was so loud that he began crying.


          A flash, a soft feminine face surrounded by a fiery red hair and blue liquid eyes. She was smiling at him.
          The pounding ceased at once, and he just had the time to see a movement in the forest. All was still now. His mind would suggest it was a hallucination fostered by that head ache… if his thoughts weren’t so scattered.

          Who was in that vision? Who was in the forest?
          Was it the woman in his dream?

          He began to recall the strange vision he had before awakening on this beach.


          In reply to: Synchronicity


            She made her way downstairs to the kitchen, and the headlines in the Reality Times newspaper on the table caught her eye:

            ‘Mysterious Carved Rock Faces Appear in Yorkshire Villages.’

            SYNC! Todays random quote, and I just this minute mentioned to Jan how things keep appearing IN the book before we hear about them OUTSIDE of the book, and I mentioned the Yorkshire stonecarver. We had been discussing previously the ELIZABETH sync. Some of Franci’s descriptions of Elizabeth fit exactly Jan’s impressions of Elizabeth in the movie she just watched.

            The botanist, the woman in mans clothes, and the island all cropped up OUTSIDE the book yesterday……


              Kay, what do you reckon? Is it any good?

              Kay had no doubt the marmoset wasn’t actually a marmoset. Being safe wasn’t much of an issue for a spirit dog, for as long as his symbiotic human friend would himself be safe. If that marmoset was actually a hint of another human presence on this accursed island, as Kay believed it was, it would mean that the island wasn’t as separate from the outside as it seemed. Someone had crossed the barriers… He had to find who, and why.

              I suppose it is safe enough, Yikes. I’ve made my decision. We’ll bring that individual to the HQ. Keep the mummy in check, but don’t brutalize it. It may prove useful… — At your beck and call, Kay! answered Robert X. The magpie named “Robert K”, codename Kay, started to morph into a boar, and very delicately lifted the mummy with its powerful snout until it was safely resting on its back, and started to go deeper into the woods, followed by the other magpies.



                A marmoset jumped from a bush in front of Akita and Kay. Oh, that’s only a monkey! said Akita. But suddenly the werewolf growled and started to chase the marmoset, which had just disappeared into the mangrove. Kay! Come back! Leave that thing alone! … Finding himself talking to the trees, Akita shrugged, wondering why the dog spirit who never chased anything before had become suddenly drawn to a minuscule monkey. He would sure come back, but that was odd…

                A large magpie jumped before Number Four (who went also by the nickname of Niv’, as N°IV was the name written on the cell). Oh, that’s only a bird… muttered the drowsing mummy, who started to jump at every abrupt sound cropping up inside the thick vegetation of the island… But soon, another magpie appeared from the sky and landed next to the first. And then another, until Four was surrounded by a crowd of big magpies looking oddly calm. Can’t fall asleep now… Can’t…



                In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary


                  January 4 th, 2008

                  A communication about legends, to complement what Yurick had connected to during his sleep, with ties with the dimension of Alienor, and possibly counterparts within his dimension

                  Starry sky, eternal and boundless waft of dreams and legends…

                  Many if not all of the physical dimensions possess legends. Legends of their beginnings, and legends of their ends.
                  The language which legends speak is a language of symbols, and though many of the receivers of legends are prone to erect them as absolute and faithful accounts of historical soundness, they are much more mutable and protean than what may be commonly thought of them.
                  They are connections, bridges from a locus (point in time/space) drawn as a frontier between what is known of the now, in which civilizations of these worlds are thriving, and a locus which is forgotten, or beyond the commonly perceived world.
                  As such, they essentially represent boundaries.

                  And of course, boundaries are only boundaries because they serve a purpose. Much like boundaries drawn on maps are not necessarily representing actual obstacles which cannot be physically crossed. These are mere perceptive frontiers, which tie in the various developments of history and societal relationships.
                  When the civilizations, or species, as you understand them, come close to one of these perceptive boundaries, there is an interaction with the very nature of the boundary, which is receptive to the inception of volition to cross the perceptive limitation.
                  And a process of reshaping and expending the borders takes place, by means of insertion of new legends.

                  Legends, in that way of seeing things, are not necessarily old dusty accounts sung by blind bards with jovian white beards. Not quite. They are much alive. They are created and recreated in the instant where boundaries of perceptions are being tempered with. Which makes it important to notice that they are translations of much wider movements in consciousness, spanning more than the physical dimension in which they manifest.
                  Many of the legends that humanity is aware of are very similar accounts, throughout your globe. And they are also projected in other dimensional areas vibrationally close to your manifestations.

                  You are currently fiddling with the legends of your ends of times, and that is the reason why at the same time, you are starting to create new legends. Legends of new beginnings.
                  In actuality, this is done oftentimes; each time a perceptual limit is crossed and seen beyond. The only difference here would be the unprecedented span of the process which is occurring now. The point where you are standing, prodding into the interactive frontier you have come across is not a single mere frontier, but a converging point of many of tinier, shorter ones. This also creates a singularity which makes the frontier respond with a sort of inertia. In fact, it is like a wide net of fine threads, which possess altogether a high absorbing potential for small energy bumps. Nonetheless, it will give way to a vastly expanded perception, as soon as the collective energy is focused upon, and steadily moving into the direction of pushing that protective envelop.

                  That process never ends, and during that process, new legends are being remembered. For the lands beyond the frontiers exists when you are aware of it, which in retrospect also means, it is created, or inserted as you are prodding the frontier.
                  In fact, you are, as you stand before that specific nexus point, being creating new legends, in that you are evaluating the potentials that you see fluctuating as a shadow world through the layer of a soap bubble, and have them blend with legends that you know of.
                  Your very lives become the legends of these potential worlds, and thus is the importance of your being at that locus of transition. You indeed come at that point, as much for making it possible but more so, to experience the transition and alteration of the legendary landscape. You are the bridges between a future which you are creating as you remember it, and a past which contains the clues that will be seeds for your new discoveries.
                  And that is a most rewarding travel, as you will come to see…


                    Instantly Elizabeth regretted her spikey, voodish behaviour and scrambled to retrieve the telepooh. Her mother was Vood by nature, a particularly dysfunctional personality type, and Elizabeth had struggled all her life to avoid similar behavioural patterns. Her friends, and certainly her ex-husbands, would say perhaps with only partial success.

                    Apologies Bronkel, I was engrossed in my writing. How can I help you?

                    Bronkel appeared to be covered in bandages from what she could see of his upper torso, giving him the appearance of a rather odd mummy like creature. He was constantly searching for new beauty treatments to extend his youthful goodlooks, however at 167 years more and more desperate measures were being called for.

                    Elizabeth! Thank God, Where in Flork’s name have you been? he shouted at her. His pudgy, prouty little face was scrunched in peevish vexation. I can’t talk for long, I am on the Island for a month and the connection is flork. Where in the name of Fock is the story you promised me?

                    She could not find the words to reply to Bronkel. I wonder if I am mindblown? she mused. She had read of this horrible phenomenon, and seen the sad pictures of those thus afflicted. Poor wandering creatures, strange erratic behaviour, always travelling, always seeking. But for what? Hell on Dearth indeed. She shuddered.

                    It is getting urgent you know, spluttered Bronkel. Every day I am reading of new treatment centers opening for those undergoing crisis due to the prolonged absence of the Fickle Four in their lives.

                    She sighed, Pull yourself together Elizabeth, her bloodshot and tired eyes were drawn to the planetary horrorscope on the monthly calendar. Todays “Words of Comfort for the Descending” quotation was from the famous philosopher Lemone. She particularly loved Lemone’s ideas. Many considered him a nutter, a few thought he was a genius ahead of his time. For herself, she did not really know, only that his profoundly beautiful words offered a kind of solace or balm to her tortured soul at times such as this :

                    Sometimes it takes a single sniggly thorny path to go through to reach Elysian avenues much more efficiently ~ Lemone

                    Absolutely fantastic Bronkel, I think this is going to be the best novel yet! My God what an effort it took to say that, but for some reason Bronkel appeared to believe her and began to calm. Thank you Lemone, I could kiss you! she breathed an inward sigh of relief.

                    Poke its eyes out! screeched Robert X exuberantly.

                    A sniggly thorny path indeed, she thought, hanging up on Bronkel. She had fun using him and his island getaway for inspiration in her last novel. Fun, what happened to the fun? Is this what descended beings do, sit around in a dank, dusty office writing trashy novels?

                    She began nervously smoothing out pieces of paper and tried to decipher the scribbled notes; …big soup party …..pointy teeth like cannibals…..tribal wedding ….

                    Elizabeth put her head in her hands and groaned in abject despair. Twelve of the twenty mongoats fainted at the fearful sound.


                      Home, at last… Bernie Eleonara Mynd, Viscountess of Shropshire sighed, dropping her hairy salmon coloured hermine fur coat to the butler.
                      Now, leave me alone Vigor, I don’t want to be disturbed.
                      Madam, Vigor bowed deferentially

                      A smoking teapot of fine herb tea was prepared on the glass coffee table just near a black silk pouch. With a greedy look on her face, she untied voraciously the pouch to reveal the crystal skull she had just acquired.
                      After a few seconds of beholding the priceless possession, she lifted the teapot lid with a stiff face which eventually smiled blissfully at the smell of the fine Earl Fuchsia crop which was infusing.

                      Good Lord, that trip was exhausting!… she growled in a very deep voiced that suddenly sounded more male than before.
                      Didn’t know I had to go as far as Spain to get that darn skull!

                      Bernie suddenly ripped her fine chignon from her head, revealing a bald head with a few short black hair on the top. She spitted her false teeth, peeled off some wrinkled patches of latex skin, smeared the mascara around her globular eyes and scratched her crotch…

                      A ruffled sound and a “mmm mmm” suddenly caught her attention off the itchy body parts.

                      She went to the cupboard, drew a key dangling from a necklace deeply buried inside her ample bosom, then stopped for a moment, and muttered a “bugger” before unbuttoning her tight blouse and removing the corset that was constraining her breath.
                      Smiling wickedly, she proceeded to open the cupboard, but recoiled at a pale tied and muzzled figure who looked much similar to whoever she was impersonating.

                      Oh, Lordy, what a stench! There’s no point in making such a fuss Viscountess, this will soon be over… I just needed a few things, and will soon be off, tonight to be precise…

                      The pale figure whined with pleading eyes.

                      Oh, just don’t make these eyes at me…

                      Bugger! I can’t bother with her now, she said to herself, closing the cupboard’s door oblivious to the plaintiff whines. Now, got to move on real quick, before they realize something was wrong with the transaction.


                      Juan had insisted that they all spent Christmas together before Paqui and Joselito went for their trip. He felt that there was more to this trip that he could grasp, and wanted to share these precious moments now, not wanting to live on regrets.
                      Now, the new year was here, and he was alone. At least, he’d been more than glad to see Claudio move out. It had all been a lot easier than he’d thought at first. Obviously, when Paquita had said to that maggot that she was going to accompany Joselito to his trip on the whachaname-Kikkoo Island, Claudio had been outraged, probably thinking a good playing victim act would soon make things right for him.
                      But he’d been wrong altogether. It was not about love for him or the other. It was all about freedom and being what she wanted. And emotional blackmail very quickly proved besides the point.
                      His father had been proud at Paquita. Her decision obviously was made, and it had been the first time he had seen the frail girl unwavering at the arguments.

                      The situation had soon proved unbearable for Claudio, who had no longer any reason for hanging around Juan and Paqui’s house, and one day he’d moved out, rather discreetly, not to be heard again. Somehow, Juan was aware of the town’s gossips, that he had acquired some unexpected sum of money, not sure if all very legally, but the thing was that he had decided to take his chances by going some said to Nicaragua, others to Brazil or even to the US…
                      But who really cared?


                      On his plane for Valparaiso, Claudio was looking at the letter he’d found in the family trunk. It was a brief correspondence between his grand-father and a certain Cillian Mc Gaughran, and it was linked to the skull he had sold such a handsome price. Perhaps he could get more information about them, if the recluse old man was still alive, that is…


                        She had felt it.
                        When the old man had left his body behind, she had felt it.

                        Oorlaith had foreseen that he would decide to leave this World, and thus was not affected too much. However, she was not sure that Leonard, who she had sent to the highs of Mount Elok’ram had had time to retrieve the cup of Margilonia.

                        Oorlaith had already collected the wand of Selvaniel, which Leonard had brought back to her, thanks to her indications, from the Forest bordering the Marshes. Now, she hoped he had time enough to get to the old Abbot.
                        Otherwise, it might be more delicate…
                        Much more delicate…

                        Hopefully, she had made contact with Roselyn, who had been settling in another part of Asgurdy, on one of the numerous rocky islands bordering the South-western coasts, where life was scarce and the soil barren, but where it was safe enough to do magic in this superstitious land, as not much people ventured to these places.
                        Her spiked dragon had helped her carve out her new residency and she was quite well installed now.
                        Before moving from the deserts of Asgurdy, she had managed to get the sunstone of Agnima.


                          When Veranassessee entered the secret facility with Gloria and Sharon, her blood congealed in her veins.
                          Patient 4 had escaped the safety straitjacket and was holding the doctor at paper-clip point.
                          Patient 4, was one of the first six patients they’d treated on the island, an awful miscarriage… Of the six, all had developed strong reactions to the medication especially as they had not yet found the appropriate dosage for the blue spider venom. Some had developed extra appendices, most had been hideously disfigured, and all of them had gone bonkers.
                          “Four” was the last alive of them all, by an inexplicable combination of luck and genetics, and by far the most dangerous one. Apparently, apart from madness, the venom had gifted “Four” with supra-human velocity and strength. It was what had kept that mad doctor from “erasing” that mistake, so sure he could find some interesting way of making profit out of that prodigious lucky find.
                          But now that was compromising everything…

                          V’ass pushed the two chatty old ladies in a broom-closet behind with a wink Be right back ladies!

                          Sharon and Gloria giggled in the small room, wondering about the unexpected sense of hospitality of the people of that resort. All was so funny and exciting since they’d decided to come to that place.


                          — Four! Release the doc’!
                          — Don’t move an inch closer or I’ll kill him!
                          — You have nowhere to go Four, backups will be here any minute now…
                          — One second is all I need to snap his neck!
                          — No! Dr. Chris Bronklehampton was moaning
                          — You, stay still, the mummified Four snapped to the panting doctor.

                          Quicker than light, V’ass shot a powerful sedative into the arm of the mummy. Four winced, drawing the dart out of the arm, crushing the fluffy fletchings between the fingers. Quickly assessing chances to escape, Four sent the doctor flying at the other side of the room, in a powerful swing of the arm, and jumped through the window in a formidable sound of smashed glass, disappearing into the jungle.

                          Chris! Are you alright? Nurse Bellamy was already caring for the fainted doctor.


                            All he remembered was the name “Akita”… He was not sure that it was his name, perhaps it was not, but he had taken it as his own.
                            He’d been stranded on that island for so long he barely remembered whether he’d had a past before. In the beginning, he had taken an inventory of the passing time, but soon had discovered that days were irregularly long, and nights would sometimes last for more than one day, so that it was all pointless…
                            The toughest part had been to live in good intelligence —he couldn’t really say harmony— with the predatory hairy nest of the daughters of Narani. But at least he’d made clear that he was able to defend himself and retaliate if needed…

                            — Thanks to me, grunted a big dog half-focused, his head on his lap.
                            — Yeah, mostly thanks to you, Kay

                            Kay had appeared a few days after Akita discovered himself on that strange land. He was no common dog… In fact, Akita was wondering that it may only exist in his mind. Kay had been approaching him, more than he had tamed it, and soon Akita found out that he was no dog at all.
                            He was, as Kay had said, an inugami or dog spirit, able to shape-shift, and willing to bond with Akita. He’s said Akita his previous owner had died, and that he would have to die with him unless being adopted by another…
                            Akita had been reluctant at first, finding that there was something unclear, but he had agreed anyway… Better be with a faithful and powerful dog-spirit than die in the webs of the giant spiders…
                            All he had to do was to name it. And so he named it Kay.
                            Kay couldn’t be seen by most of the creatures in the forest, though the most sensitive could feel his presence. However, he could decide to take a more corporeal form, but that exhausted both Akira and Kay, and was rarely done. So most of the times, he was roaming the island in spirit form, which didn’t mean that he was powerless, far from it.

                            — I can sense something’s coming, growled Kay who took the shape of a big two-legged werewolf…


                              I can feel a human focus on this Island said the aspect of Yuki that was focused near Anita.

                              The little girl was sleeping for the moment and her dream focus, though still close to them, was not paying attention to her friends. She was entertaining herself with the dream focuses of her parents, telling them about all that she had been doing with her friends. They themselves were not yet choosing to disengage in this particular probable reality but they were in a kind of transition “place”, removed from their bodies for a lengthy time framework. They had built a similar environment to their home and were acting “as usual”.

                              It is a focus of Blöhmul that is not yet aware of our presence here though an aspect of this focus is… I feel it is not a singular focus in a way that is quite original

                              Rafaela and Armelle were merged consistently at that time and were creating a strange owly goat or a goaty owl depending on the angle of aspect you were looking at or from.

                              Yes it is quite a messy focus, it is generating of new ways of explorations… I’m exploring it from now on said the goaty owl / owly goat.

                              The energy was moving and creating new connections. That focus and Anita were already connecting to each other, a strong thread of energy had been attracting them to each other… The four essences began to move in a facilitating of this attraction, merging together in a marmoset, close to the “binary” focus… Surely the dog like aspect of this focus would be intrigued by the marmoset and would want to follow it… to the little Anita.


                                The blue phone rang with a joyful tinckling sound. Sam knew it was Tina, he was connecting with her and fussing the communication a bit… it was like she was tickling him through his yellow energy center and when he picked up the phone he was having difficulties not laughing loud.

                                “Hey Tina I’m glad you got the energy…”

                                “Well, I can’t say it was very clear… you can do better, she said matter-of-factly. I was hesitating between you having epilepsy or you being attacked by an ant colony…”

                                “Hehehe, well I have not yet a clear idea about what I want to do… I just feel it could be great to gather friends in a big soup party.”

                                “Mmmm, I don’t like soup. Can I bring my raft to float upon? I’ll render it soupproof.”

                                “Hahaha, yes you can bring whatever suits you. I’m wondering if you’d enjoy some cheesy garlands?”

                                Tina snorted thoughtfully.

                                “As long as the smell doesn’t stick to our clothes or our energy… Is there such thing as a smelly energy?”


                                  Sam decided to organize a party in a slightly sidewayed region of RA1. He was busy setting the inner landscape, the traps and the different attractions…
                                  He asked Becky if she could take care of the dream or meditation triggers like the famous yurt of Rafaela. They’ll need lots of them to offer entrances to their friends .

                                  Sam just sent a message to Al and Tina so they could do whatever they wanted to add some fun or drama to this little party.


                                    Georges and Salome’s journal

                                    From Georges’ account of his arrival in Tur.

                                    There is a strong energy concentration on some part of this planet called the Duane. I’m not yet familiarized with the geography of this world, but it seems to be a starry Island on the northern territories. The island is inhabited by a particular race that call themselves the Guardians. It seems that they are the only remnants of their previously flourishing civilization, most of them have migrated to another planet of the triplanetary system. The energy concentration is acting like a magnet, tuned to the other 2 planets, the Murtuane and the Phrëal. Maybe helping maintain the 3 of them in that particular triangle like alignment around Alienor.

                                    The source of energy is coming from a giant crystal ball in their main City and is kept active by the Guardians. I’m wondering if they are responsible for the particular planetary aspect of this world. They are aware of other dimensions and other realities. But they are keeping these information for themselves. Planetary travels are not allowed for the other races apparently and they are not willing to exchange with other dimensional beings. I’ll have to play smoothly to gain their trust and get known. Apparently the body I chose for this first contact with this world is similar to one of their Jokan or higher ranked guardians. Maybe that will be of help.

                                    There are twelve of them, and I think the 12 Jokan are directly connected with the 12 essence families of this dimension. Usually there are 4 of them present on each of the 3 worlds. But again that is information that is hidden to the other people of the Duane. I’m not sure about the other planets yet but it seems different.


                                      Linda and Pergrine’s portrait had taken a little longer than expected to realize. Quite abruptly after India’s encounter with the old wrinkled mummy, Bill Jobsworth had fallen ill. An abrupt cold he said he’d caught, that had left him stuck in his bed for a few weeks.
                                      He’d thought that after the stone heads and the mummy, that was good he didn’t believe in maledictions, because he would have been dead by now. India Louise had been taking care of him, to the surprise of the old Lord who, however, barely expressed more than a raised eyebrow at her incongruous request.

                                      That little retardation was in fact the perfect pretext for the young couple of globe-trotters to settle down in the castle, and prepare a little photographic exposition on their last trip in Eastern Africa. Though in 2057, photographic cameras were by far outdated, Linda was very fond of these old contraptions that she could use to render some of their trips with a certain kind of focus.
                                      She’d a custom set of specially adapted cameras that she’d enhanced with devices to free her of the burdens of storage mostly. However, they could function most like the ancient ones. Capturing light through a single lens, in a very focused time and space framework.

                                      She was very proud of the pictures she had taken of the Dragon’s Blood Trees in Socotra Island and the natural lighting of the scene gave a surreal feeling to it as though an actual iridescent dragon had been hovering on clouds above them.
                                      When she saw them, India Louise had been gaping, telling they looked exactly like what delirious Bill had depicted of his visions
                                      Linda was moved beyond words at how amazingly complex and delicately beautiful this reality was…


                                        December, 21 st, 2057

                                        It was almost Christmas, and the Wrick Manor had been buzzing with preparation for the coming of Sean and Becky .

                                        Manon was diligently busy cooking, having already planned many mouth-watering dishes on her menu, like poêléed (pan-seared) foie gras on roquette fig salad, lobster in ginger and scallion soy sauce, ostrich fillets with dauphine potatoes, and loads of exotic desserts and tarts.

                                        Lord Wrick had told Manon that Becky was a vegetarian, but even Lord Wrick had trouble telling the cook what she should cook or not. Manon considered it a matter of rude interference upon her artistic culinary tastes, and no one was to tell her how to stir her sheep, so to speak. And secretly, she was sure that Becky would love her delicious Christmas menu.

                                        In the meantime, Nanny Gibbon was having India Louise and Cuthbert prepare the twinkling Christmas tree. The garlands were a bright electric blue crisscrossing the branches of the huge silver fir, dangling under the weight of shiny red balls. The children were delighted to see Granddad Sean and they could hardly keep in place, and were giggling with joy.

                                        This past month, with the settling down of winter, the light had been scarce, and even with knowing that all was purposeful, they’d rather create purposeful adventures in the Equatorial part of the world, where days were longer and temperatures balmier. They could almost tell that Manfred the cat was agreeing.


                                          Georges and Salome’s journal

                                          From Salome’s account of her journey to the Murtuane

                                          There is a purple beach that I have seen briefly in my third eye, with a stranded people of the Murtuane. It seems like a possible focus of Georges, named… “Jarvis” I would translate.
                                          Georges having moved to the mountainous and icy lands of the Duane, I thought it would be entertaining to discover more about this focus before telling him about it. Though it was not what I initially in mind as per an exploration, it surely has its purpose.
                                          This island has in fact the size of a continent, but being in an isolated part of the Murtuane, few are those knowing of it. It fosters some interesting creatures not found in other places of the Murtuane. Jarvis is not yet aware, but he is observed by some of them. Zentauras (these black-and-white striped centaur-like creatures) are guardians of this Island, and thus do not see the arrival of one of Jarvis’ kind as a particularly good omen. What puzzle them is that he has been rescued by one of the Daughters of the Sea.

                                          When I connect with Jarvis, he tells that he knows this land as “Kandulim”, a fabled island from which people could easily go into another world and bring back whatever is most precious to you. It always had been a legend for him until he had opened his eyes and seen the purple beach.


                                            Aglaë had been looking at the odd shape floating over the surface, mistaking it at first for the strange dead body of a creature of the lands.
                                            But it was not, she could feel life on it, ever so light.

                                            She knew the rules of her kind, and she shouldn’t be seen… She had been venturing already too close from the tabooed surface, her sisters would have told her.

                                            But curiosity was great… irrepressible…

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