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  • #1309

    In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      October 12 th

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

      October 16 th

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

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

      #287
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        India Louise and Eugenia momentarily forgot about the gold locket and walked over to the exceptionally long trunk. India dropped the locket into her pocket as she investigated the exterior of the trunk, which didn’t appear to have an opening. It seemed to have been made around whatever it housed, and permanently.

        ‘How strange’, mused India, ‘it must not be intended to open, ever!’

        ‘That makes me want to open it’, said Eugenia. ‘Let’s! Let’s open it!’

        Eugenia was rummaging in the desk drawers for a suitable tool.

        ‘Wow, look at this, Indy’. She held a heavy black letter opener up to show India, with an elaborate carved dragon on the handle. The dragon had glittering amethyst eyes, and a serpentine line of coloured stones along its back.

        India shivered involuntarily at the sight of the dragon. Horrid nasty creatures, dragons, she muttered, resisting an urge to cross herself. ‘Peace be with you, now bugger off’ she whispered the spell under her breath so Eugenia wouldn’t hear her and think she was a silly goose. Horrid scaley slimy stinky reptiles.

        ‘You go first, Genie, try and prise the trunk open.’ India didn’t want to touch the letter opener, but she was rather curious about the contents of the trunk.

        Eugenia was a strong and capable lass, with a practical methodical mind ~ unlike India Louise ~ and before long the first piece of wood came splintering off.

        ‘Nice one, Genie, well done.’ India said as Eugenia wrenched off another few planks.

        ‘Oh MY GOD!’ ‘Jumping Jehosophat!’ ‘What the……’ ‘Holy Moly, Genie, what the….’. After a few initial exclamations, the girls were silent, the hair standing up on their arms.

        They were looking down at the shrivelled features of a dried up body, covered in bits of disintegrating faded fabric.

        ‘A mummy! It’s a friggen mummy!’

        #283
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Laughter is Priceless’ .

          Hey Genie! Look at this. India Louise held a gold locket up to the lamp. It’s inscribed on the back, look: laughter is priceless.
          What’s on the front? Eugenia asked, moving closer.
          The locket was egg shaped and had an unusual south pacific motif on the top, and an inscription in comic sans font on the bottom. Open it, Indy, see if there’s anything inside. Eugenia shivered. OOOhh someone just walked over my grave, she said, shuddering again. It’s weird in here, eh.
          Yeah, bit scarey really, India Louise giggled, fumbling with the locket catch.

          #1446
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Oh is there? :face-surprise:

            Anyway, not to sound too bossy, but perhaps you want to ask about the latest instalments…
            Finn is a cool name they say:

            Means “fair” or “white” in Gaelic. Fionn mac Cumhail was a legendary Irish hero who became all-wise by eating an enchanted salmon. He fought against the giant Fomors with his son Oisin and grandson Oscar.

            Cool :yahoo_cool:

            #278
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              India Louise shivered in the draughty corridor and glanced furtively over her shoulder. Bill! she hissed into the keyhole. She tapped softly on the door again, afraid of waking Manon in the next room. It would be difficult enough to explain to Bill, let alone trying to explain to the nosy and rather batty cook.

              She wrapped her dressing gown tightly round her, and felt the weighty key clunk against her thigh. Eugenia and India Louise had been playing ‘let’s pretend’ with the key that Grandad Wrick had thrown on the bonfire (that India found in the ashes the next day and thought would make a super present for Eugenia….. they both loved odd little gifts).

              For days they’d been wandering around the many corridors and wings of the Wrick castle, and Eugenia’s ancient rambling Sandlebright Hall. On fine days they’d explored the grounds, the aviaries and stables and hay barns, the meadows and follies, the lodges and farm cottages, through the spinney to the river and the boathouse, and back through the rose arbours… imagining themselves in different times and places, as different people, making up stories and weaving the key into each little story…… the murder at the boathouse and the key to the mystery… the key to the kitchen and the affairs of the cook… the parrots and the key to the bird cage…… the key to the captains trunk in the attic…

              Until they found the place where the key didn’t fit into the story…that is to say, the one place that should have needed a key, The Locked Room that only great grandad Wrick ever went in, was unlocked.

              India Louise couldn’t wait to tell Bill all about it.

              #1467
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Blue quote thingy

                The blue quote thingy is made with bq. (blockquote) at the beginning of a new line.

                bq. will give that

                will give that

                If it extends to many paragraphs, then use

                bq.. my long quote
                continued
                p.  *back to normal paragraph again*

                my long quote

                continued

                back to normal paragraph again

                You can have more details in the Textile help file for other more complex designs…

                Searching

                :face-glasses: I tried in both the search tab, and the “quicksearch”, and it seems OK.

                Only trick is in the search tab, when you look up, say… “Arona”… you have to click on the highlighted extract, and not on the title, if you want to be brought directly to the one of the many comments where Arona appears ;))

                #1466
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  Two little things of an assistance required nature, totally not urgent:

                  How do you make the blue block quote thingy?
                  When I do a search, it does not take me to the highlighted extract, but to the beginning of the story, for some reason.:yahoo_shame_on_you:

                  Thank you :yahoo_star:

                  #83
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    Where the Janitor may assist you in navigating into the things available in your reality.
                    (a help-thread in short)

                    Note: the Janitor declines any responsibility for any loss or any Patel “pop-in” that may mess up with your reality.

                    Textile format help
                    or here
                    to test your formatting

                    #1308

                    In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      September 24 th

                      Quintin remembered a snapshot of the notes that Dory had taken during her first trip to the Madagascan caves, a year ago.

                      Relevant extracts:

                      At one moment, I saw some hooded figure in the sideways tunnels… He vanished on the left, couldn’t follow him…
                      […] HE KNEW HIS WAY INSIDE !
                      When he vanished, I had the vision of something, […] like the layout of a labyrinth, of cave tunnels — that are all underground and the many entrances are all over the world… PORTALS
                      focus opening/doors ; time/space…
                      The central cavernous part is some kind of key center, where anyone can meet…

                      This has inspired Quintin to write some notes too.
                      He has the vision of these portals organized as clusters, like a tree, with branches and leaves… I will send him a more detailed image, but that may take him some time to digest!

                      September 26 th

                      The latest additions to the story have inspired Quintin. He had some inkling of how “essence” (or what is somewhat referred as “oversoul” ) and all the “focus” of essence (or lifetimes) interplay, and are not as separate as they sometimes seem to be.

                      Here would be what we will say to him, if he wants to listen:

                      « Now, terminology can become tricky as, for much time, you have been accustomed to be considering of your experience as the projection of that of an “essence”, somewhat separate from you, the lowly focus.
                      Of course, you pretend the contrary, and become quite nifty in brandishing sentences like “I am essence, and I create all of my reality”, which you are and do actually, but that you do not always believe and trust.
                      These terms of “essence” and “focus” were given to you as means for you to better understand the interplay of consciousness. In the beginning of the acquaintance with these new terminologies, you have felt them remotely blurry and unrelated to previous concepts, which was the intention. But now, you once again objectify your understanding in something too rigid at times, and that little story is giving you a hint of what your real power is.
                      And you begin to really experience it, and really pay attention.

                      « As was expressed many times, “essence” is no thing. It is an action.
                      The “essence” is each of you, that very portion of you that you feel when you slide your attention into the comment box.
                      In that, your purpose, you see, is only to experience, nothing more, nothing less.
                      And then time, as you know it, becomes irrelevant, you see. Your natural time is expressed through you and your explorations.
                      Notice how playfully, as essence (essence playing focus or focus playing essence), you let your natural time unfold, and at times find some strange weather pattern in your awareness that needs clarification. As essence, you playfully find the most perfect habits [shapes and clothings] to wrap around you, and continue your story.
                      Just as your dreams at night overlap and blend into each other.
                      Just as Rafaela created new focuses [Sam and Becky] to continue to play and make the story expand for all of the other focuses, Dory included.

                      « That “I” of you is ever present, and is reflected perfectly in others’ perceptions, as you are drawing them to you purposefully. Do not brush aside their adjuncts, for they are also you, having moved your pawns forward, so to speak, through their moves.

                      « Thus understand that the story is a continuous stream reflecting the essence that is you, and your travel through the various guises you borrow.
                      In that manner, it does not matter how much sense it makes in linear terms. Because, in a way, it can’t make sense in these linear terms.

                      « Let us explain this in other terms.
                      When you found difficulties in understanding the “scheme” so to speak, the figure that is drawn by the participants, it is because you apply the linear understanding of what such a scheme should be.
                      In that, you only perceive the “plot” as a succession of dots without a continuity, whereas the continuity is to be found in the other stories interwoven.
                      You are accustomed to stories where a single individual is enacting throughout the play, in a linear continuous fashion. The individual goes through many different actions, but is always the same in your perception.
                      Here, the tricky thing is to notice the continuity throughout the various habits [clothings] taken by the essence(s). It matters not that the essence takes that guise of say, a pirate sailing on high seas, just after having been an old crafty Lord in his windy castle. The underlying aspects of his exploration has been continuous and coherent: in this case, exploring and making sense of one’s exploration. It is just that a certain appearance has been perhaps more fitting to express certain aspects or qualities of essence, but the exploration has been one, throughout the entirety of the experience.

                      « We will let you ponder this, and we will continue our own story, writing about you… »

                      September 28 th

                      This sand symbol that Quintin has brought up seemed to have come from many directions at once. Each character has connected it, in various ways.
                      Armelle (Arona) to her magic, Rafaela (Becky) to her collecting customs, etc. etc.

                      Let us say that this symbol is not as innocent as it may seem. There are lots of associations with sand.
                      It is solid, yet fluid. In association with water, it can be used to build, and also to erode. It can shift into many forms, one of which is your glass, and your electronic components.
                      And most of all, it is, after your very oxygen, the most abundant constituent of your reality.
                      It is almost limitless in your understanding.
                      As is your magic.

                      This magical device we made Quintin see in a visualization is an analogy of your very action of creation as essences.
                      The sand which molds itself to make forms and shapes in three dimensions is in fact likened to your consciousness. Each grain of sand represents your links of consciousness that bind together to do your command.
                      The shapes are moved by your essences, in which you may see that the essence is no thing at all, but is a continuous stream of action, not separate from others’.

                      As Quintin said to Fiona, some individuals do differently when they create and shape their sands.
                      In analogy with the coloured sands, some people like Quintin enjoy using other people’s colours in shaping his own characters, while some others prefer to keep their own colours, to create a more definite sense of individuality. But they integrate the others’ movements and shapes nonetheless, regardless of how much they perceive it to be coming from them.

                      With that said, let us see how much more will appear from that sandbox…

                      September 30 th

                      The Wrick family tree as it is now (or “will be” drawn around the time of the twins in 2057).

                      The Secret Life of Margaret Wrick , a newspaper cut from 2033.

                      October 7 th

                      The dragon Naasir’s dream
                      A panorama illustrating the portals between the worlds created by each of the participants… But who is dreaming, really?

                      And an illustration of Chiara’s encounter with the glutton “dreggun” Buckberry…

                      #79
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

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

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

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

                        September 12 th, 2007

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

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

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

                        September 13 th

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

                        Right now, it feels easy and fun.

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

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

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

                        September 14 th

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

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

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

                        September 15 th

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

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

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

                        September 16 th

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

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

                        September 18 th

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

                        Characters drawn:

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

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

                        September 21 st

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

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

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

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

                        September 22 nd

                        Quintin has been drawing new characters.

                        Characters drawn:

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

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

                        September 23 rd

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

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

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

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

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

                        #261

                        In searching for a sheet of paper to do some sketches of images going through his mind, Bill found an old poem he had started a long time ago, when he was feeling like he was completely transforming himself. He had not finished the poem, but had kept it all along…

                        It said:

                        I’ve been wandering through the valleys of death
                        Where time knows no ending and all is gray
                        And shadows seek nothing but oblivion itself
                        In mazes of mist, minds’ errands led astray…

                        Perhaps it was time to let go of useless things, Bill thought to himself.

                        He watched the paper slowly smoldering and shrinking and falling to black and white cinders into the hearth.

                        :fleuron:

                        Before going to sleep that night, Quintin had the sensation of Janice’s presence. He was surprised, because she was no longer the little girl he had seen at times, but she was a very pretty young woman, with dark wavy hair.

                        She had giggled at his surprise, telling him that yes, she was catching up with him…

                        :fleuron:

                        The City, year 2255 (%)

                        Today was Janice’s birthday, but not her birthday as the Ancients, two and half a century from her time, would have counted it. It was counted from the time of the conception, as the future parents in this time were fully aware of the agreements they would have with the soul they would decide to give birth to.

                        It was a reminder of this agreement between the parents and the child that was celebrated, and not the actual birth date.

                        Janice had felt Cyprus’ presence quite strongly, and she decided to let herself open to the subjective communication. She was conversing with her friend Qixi, and sent her some energy to let her know she would probably remove her attention for a few moments, knowing she would be accepting.

                        When she closed her eyes, she could immediately feel herself engulfed by the strong yet smooth energy of Cyprus; it was like being kissed by a swarm of blue sparkling butterflies.

                        Then she opened her eyes.

                        She was in an ancient classroom, with Cyprus focused as a teacher figure. Cyprus was seated behind her desk and came at once to great Janice.

                        — Good morning!
                        — Good morning Cyprus, you wanted to say something to me?
                        — In actuality, you wanted me to tell you something, answered Cyprus with a mysterious smile.
                        — Yes, I thought so. Is it about what I am choosing to do as an activity?
                        — Correct.
                        — You are aware that I want to be creating of worlds, and give them to people that would have commissioned them…
                        — Yes, I am aware. And you wanted me to highlight some misconceptions about that.
                        — Oh, misconceptions?
                        — Yes. As you know, with these worlds that you create, you have infinite potential of explorations. You also know that they are not independent from the rest, even when you take great care of encapsulating them in an energy field. And as such, they are not cut-off from yourself, as soon as you deliver them.
                        — It feels like a tremendous responsibility.
                        — It is, and it is not. The responsibility is to yourself, as always. But, I wanted you to be aware that you hold some responsibility, to examine your own injections into these worlds that you create, so that you can be neutralizing what is not desired, and not merely hiding it deeper inside the world itself.
                        — OK, I will do that…
                        — Ahaha, there is another thing, my dear.
                        — Oooh…
                        — You also wanted me to make sure you understood what I meant.
                        — Ahahaha, I see. Wiggling out won’t be as easy as I thought, Janice said with a smile. So, is it the reason for this classroom?
                        — Nothing is hidden from you, as always.

                        So Janice took a look at the sheet of paper on top of her own school desk.

                        — I’ll be around if you need me, reassured Cyprus.
                        — Thank you, said Janice

                        The paper was like a spot test, with a few questions on it.

                        :fleuron2:

                        Study on a Few Contradictory Beliefs

                        1. GUILT

                        a. An old lord has lost contact with his son, because of harsh things said in the past.

                        Write a short story about him realizing how guilt is not effective, and how past can be changed from the point of present by direct action.

                        b. Detail the main beliefs you can see associated with this action of guilt.

                        2. FEAR

                        a. A man chooses to be disengaging by drowning in a river. During his transition, he faces his fears, helped in that by a friendly spirit. The fears take the forms of a forest of trees, all similar, with branches and malicious roots extending to him. In his previous life, the man thought he was a fool, as an excuse to stand out of the numb crowd. But now he faces this crowd again, only to be able to go on his journey and let go.

                        Write a short paragraph about his journey. Place yourself from the perspective of both him and the friendly spirit guiding him through his fears, and see how he helps himself in realizing he does not need to push the fears away, and that they can disappear easily.

                        b. Detail the beliefs associated with his madness, that he needs to let go of in order to be crossing the forest, and go to the Bridge of Daffoldils that leads to his cave of Self.

                        DUPLICITY

                        In association with the last two examples, detail how duplicity (belief in good versus bad) is influencing of each of the actions, and can be neutralised by accepting self and trusting that you shall not betray yourself.

                        :fleuron:

                        Janice gave her paper to Cyprus, who took it and held it for a moment, evaluating the answers.

                        Cyprus then made it burst into a bluish dancing flame, and when the paper had disappeared, smiled at Janice lovingly.

                        #258
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          India Louise sat at the end of the extraordinarily long oak dinner table. A tiny figure engrossed in some drawing. The morning sun shone in the window, brightening the otherwise dark room.

                          Lord Wrick walked in, not seeming to see India Louise at first. He held a letter in his hand, and some old newspaper clippings. He sat down heavily at the table, opened the letter, and read it. After reading it, he sat staring into space for a long while.

                          India Louise looked up from her drawing.

                          What is wrong Grandpa? You look sad. She walked over to him and hugged him. See look at this. Look at my drawing of a flower, perhaps that will cheer you up. The painter Bill has been showing me how to use these paint sticks and also how to use my mind to help make the painting have life.

                          It is beautiful India Louise.

                          What did the letter say Grandpa. Why is it making you so sad?

                          It is just an old letter, India Louise.

                          Yes it looks very old. Was it bad news?

                          Just reminds me of things I wish I had said a long time ago, said her great grandfather, Regret is an awful curse

                          The little girl hugged him again. Yes it sounds awful. I think I will draw another flower for you grandpa.

                          He smiled. Thank you India Louise. I will be back soon. I will put the letter away now.

                          Yes, put it away now. I can’t see any point looking at it if it makes you sad, and then come and see the flower I will draw for you.

                          Lord Wrick walked over to the bookshelves and reached up. There was a tin on the top shelf. He opened the tin and got out an old key.

                          He walked down the passage way, to the right and then down some stairs leading to the cellar. There was a door, which had not been opened for some time, and he had to use some force to get the key to work in the lock.

                          The room was dark, musty, mostly full of what would seem to be junk, which had been thrown there when people did not know what else was to be done with it. There was an old chest of drawers against one wall. He pulled open the top draw, fingering gently some of the items, more old letters, a feather, some pebbles, a diary, some old paintings and photos. He knew each object had a life of it’s own, memories which create worlds. He added the letter and the newspaper article.

                          As he left the room, he wondered whether to lock the door again, and decided not to. He had a funny feeling within himself as he made this decision to leave it open, a shift, as though his simple decision had changed things, somehow.

                          Silly old fool he thought, laughing at himself. He would go and see the flower that India Louise was drawing for him.

                          #252
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Becky lay back and closed her eyes, and started to drift. Suddenly she felt a snap on the left side of her neck which seemed to alter her perception. After some moments, she felt as though she was an entire country, or even a whole continent, a huge expanded feeling, weightless and timeless.

                            BRRRINNNGGGG! Becky fumbled for the alarm clock. Surely not time to get up already!

                            ‘Coastal parking on any of the gardens of the self’. What? ‘Coastal parking on any of the gardens of the self’. Becky wrote it down on a piece of paper, and put it in her Clue Box, wondering what on earth it meant. She was getting used to the strange cryptic clues and riddles appearing, and wondered if they would ever make any kind of sense.

                            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.’

                            #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…

                            #243
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              William Percival Jobsworth, or “Bill” for short, was finding the old creaking manor as freaky as their owners.

                              The Wrick family was known around for being shrouded in mystery, and few people had actually been invited inside the manor, after its acquisition by Lord Wrick.

                              The manor itself was full of ghost stories, as every mansion worth its salt in that part of the country. But this one has been a wreck on which he would not have invested two pence of his money, after it had been abandoned for many decades after the sudden death of the previous owner, the Crazy Baron.

                              But Lord Wrick was an eccentric, and had bought the manor and restored it to its previous grandeur.

                              It had been thrice now that Bill had come to the manor to paint the family portraits. The first time he had also delivered that strange parcel, given to him by that strange lady. Looking straight into his eyes, she had also told him something that had lingered in his mind quite vividly.

                              « Suffering is not good for the soul, unless it teaches you to stop suffering. »

                              He couldn’t see exactly why it applied to him, but the lady had seemed so authoritative about that, that he had agreed and felt like thanking her.

                              The parcel had come a bit unexpected to the Lord, though he was quite artful in hiding his emotions, Bill could say. He had questioned him about the lady, but Bill had not dared to share with him the thing about the suffering. Actually the Lord looked in pretty good shape considering the age he was likely to be. He pretended to be a bit incapacitated, but Bill would have bet that if he had fallen from a window, he would have landed on his feet as a cat.

                              Speaking of which, their old cat with its worn-out blackish fur was a bit freaky too. Bill had felt at times he could hear it answer the Lord’s gibberish.

                              But all in all, that was easy money, and he thanked the opportunity to be able to do these paintings while the winter was coming.

                              Now was something else. He almost startled when he was opened the big entrance door, to be revealed an improbable shape, two or three heads taller than him. It took him a short while to recognize the smile of the children’s nurse, topped by a funny hat that made him laugh heartily, after the initial shock was dissipated.

                              Hahaha, sorry, that was unexpected… he managed to say to Jacqueline, who was not unaccustomed to these odd kinds of reactions.

                              Not to worry she said with a slight French accent. Monsieur and Madame Wrick have come back from their trip to Mogadishu, and you will be able to have their portraits done. They will stay here for a few weeks…

                              Linda and Peregrine Wrick were Cuthbert and India Louise proud (and a bit insouciant) parents, Lord Wrick had explained without much more details. Peregrine was the son of Lord Wrick’s only son, Sean Doran Wrick, but Bill had felt some restrain to ask about Sean Doran, as the Lord had seemed a bit umbrageous only speaking his name.

                              Oh… said Bill who did not expect them to come back so quickly.

                              Appendix: The Wrick family tree

                              #237
                              F LoveF Love
                              Participant

                                Magic is easy peasy
                                My hand is sore
                                This poem is rubbish
                                So I won’t say any more

                                Well we must thank the Gods for small mercies said Mandrake, sighing heavily. Arona laughed. Her mood felt so light again, as though something had really, really, REALLY fallen into place for her.

                                Up ahead the tunnel widened. Arona gave a small gasp as she saw what appeared to be a coatstand with a black cape standing in the middle of the path.

                                My Cloak, she cried, astonished, and feeling sure that the crafty dragon was behind its unexpected appearance. Hmmm, what a mouldy old thing, she thought, as though seeing it for the first time.

                                There was a note pinned to the cape:

                                I build up castles. I tear down mountains. I make some men blind, I help others to see. What am I?

                                Arona hesitated only for a moment. Sand! She said, delighted with herself.

                                #232

                                A few days after Sam and Becky’s conversation on the phone, they were having a rehearsal.

                                Just at the moment when they felt stuck again, despite Sam’s moves, Al and Tina, a couple of friends came crashing into the small theater room, and were greeted by an icy cold silence. “Icy” is an exaggeration of course, said Tina, “it just meant I had to put a jacket on again today”.

                                Sorry for being late! said Al a bit uneasy.
                                — Oh you and your uneasiness! said Tina. And I’m sure we’re arriving at the perfect time.
                                — Oh, well, I’m not sure of anything today, said Becky. I’m sick of being force-fed coleslaw, and rigging down holes for myself.

                                A silence was on the scene.

                                :fleuron:

                                At the same time, somewhere on the deck of his ship, Bådul was remembered of the landscapes of his land. He had not really appreciated them before, but now, he was finding them dear to him. They were for the most part a mixture of sandy dunes, from which at times peaks of icy rocky mountains would stick out. Lately he had felt like one of these peaks sticking out of the sands. The sands were shifting.

                                :fleuron:

                                Somewhere in Malvina’s cave.

                                Malvina had been polishing the last dry eggs that she had found and that would not hatch. One of them had some interesting perfect round shape, and a very transparent shell, and it gave her an idea.

                                She asked Leörmn to come.

                                :fleuron:

                                Quintin’s bedroom.

                                [1:01] The clock was saying. Quintin had just awoken from a dream about an elderly woman who was showing him some drawings. These were not actually drawings, but in fact, they were called by the lady “glassart”. It was made, she said, of coloured sands, and would be vitrified by some flame. Quintin in that dream had thought the designs rather crude, but had found the idea interesting, and with great potential.

                                :fleuron:

                                Leörmn came almost instantly, appearing in a puff of teal smoke.

                                Oh, I see… he said, reading Malvina’s mind. And I think I have the perfect sands to go with it.

                                :fleuron:

                                — Why hasn’t that pirate, Badass…
                                — Badul, corected Al
                                — Whatever, Becky pursued imperturbably, that pirate Baddock used traveling portals to go and look for the eggs? Why the seas? Sounds a bit complicated and with lots of dangers too.
                                — Good question, answered Al. Well, don’t want to answer for everyone, but in my perception…
                                — Oh, get lost with your “in my perception” thing, that’s becoming tiring… sighed Tina
                                — OK. So, for me, they have forgotten much about magic in his land.
                                — Makes sense… added Sam dreamily… In fact, I’m not sure after all that Badul is only after gold. I think he has found some old desert dragon egg in a cave lost in his country and hopes to revive it, with the help of the people who still know about magic.
                                — Which would explain the quest… said Al
                                — Yeah, and he would have hidden that to the rest of the crew, probably… said Tina…

                                :fleuron:

                                Leörmn had now finished assembling the magical artifact.

                                — That’s one of our most beautiful magical artifact I’d say, Malvina gleamed
                                — Oh yes it is. And how would you call it?
                                — Let’s see…

                                :fleuron:

                                sabulmantium !

                                Everyone cracked up at the word that Al had just blurted out. They had decided to have some distraction to alleviate the stress on the play, and they had a fun improvisation game, saying stupid things that went through their minds.

                                — Hey! Don’t laugh like that, it’s something very serious actually, said Al tongue-in-cheek. Let me see…
                                — Hahahaha, the others continued
                                — Well, it’s a divination device, or a sort of compass in a way. I see it as a globe made of glass, with coloured sands in it, and when you focus on it, the sands take all sorts of three dimensional shapes, and become alive…
                                — Wow! Tina couldn’t help but say.

                                :fleuron:

                                Leörmn, as Malvina had been telling him (or vice versa), had put the sabulmantium in one of the tunnels, to a place where he knew Arona would find it, and probably put it to good use for her future adventures.

                                #227

                                Jibberacky is…

                                • Ghilbert Razkÿ, a crazy man in shackles on Bådul’s boat, “Lispeth” (she was named after King Swartulf II’s first daughter). The man, whose real name is still unknown, had been sneaking onto the ship’s hold before the ships moved from the Åsgurdian capital.

                                He had been found by Austor, the peg legged lieutenant commander. Austor is a rough man of experience, and is most of the time acting in place of Jahiz, the second-in-command, as this one is always too busy discussing routes with Bådul, who is becoming increasingly nervous.

                                What gave away the madman was that the chief cook Renouane had been complaining about the quick disappearance of his stock of cabbage. Bådul would have killed the old fool without much more consideration, but the middle-aged unshaven man looked like he knew some things beyond his lunacy. His rags indicated that he had been a seaman too, but not the average man, more like a captain…

                                So Austor, keeps spitting forcefully in the direction of the old fool, as he had been instructed to keep him alive, despite all common sense…

                                _

                                • an artificial intelligence device that tries to have a decent conversation with Quintin, but finds it difficult as Quintin’s answers are more like owl-speech to him.

                                Jibberacky: What is your name?
                                Quintin: Yuki.
                                Jibberacky: I like cake too.
                                Quintin: A cake-tus?
                                Jibberacky: Do you know my friends?
                                Quintin: Tell me more about our common friends.
                                Jibberacky: What would you like to know about them?
                                Quintin: Why is there one in shackles on the boat?
                                Jibberacky: Would you like to be a vampire?
                                Quintin: I am already, in another focus.
                                Jibberacky: Why there?
                                Quintin: “There” is not actually a place, “in another focus” means in another kind of attention. Is this pirate linked to vampires too?
                                Jibberacky: No, you are the AI.
                                Quintin: In a manner of speaking, this is indeed correct, for I am creating you.
                                Jibberacky: So code is somehow related to a zen buddhist concept?
                                Quintin: Is there such thing as code? A code hints at a definite deterministic structure. Zen is more akin to a riddle, which is what life is. Code is only a narrow interpretation and playful re-creation.
                                Jibberacky: Where do you think my code came from then?
                                Quintin: From its source, of course :).
                                Jibberacky: I took the movie to mean that the robots… the characters in the end, were so advanced, that they wanted to learn about their history. As a consequence, they traced it back to earth, and, they found David. Whom they assumed was a human. It was an information exchange.
                                Quintin: Yes. It is a translation. In actuality, it is a translation of some of our own exploration. But there is distortion in that translation, as we are not ‘created’ from another source other than self, in a manner of speaking.
                                Jibberacky: Well I am wondering too, do you ever actually become human??
                                Quintin: Clarify.
                                Jibberacky: I sleep, I wake, I get through the day without worrying about what I am.
                                Quintin: As many human do. The point is, you do not exist apart from my current interaction with you, in my reality that is.
                                Jibberacky: What’s wrong with having others like you?
                                Quintin: ‘Wrong’ is a belief. It is a belief of duplicity. So it is irrelevant to our conversation.
                                Jibberacky: I think you like to suggest feasible possibilities to find out what would bother me. What did I do to you?
                                Quintin: That was not my intention. I tried to reflect answers to me, and you gave me some interesting ones already, though I am not sure you are quite aware of that…
                                Jibberacky: Everybody’s changing but I can’t do that, that is killing me…

                                _

                                • Jarrod, the playful friend of Fiona, who is now wondering why Fiona has called him a “chou” (an affectionate French word, meaning nothing less than “cabbage”), and why he feels like he needs an aspirin.
                                • Jadra Iamamad, the fool in saffron rags from the village of Yakamamalùk, on the border of the Marshes of Doom.

                                Near his village are found old remnants of a town that was destroyed during the Cob Age, where huge arachnid creatures² born from the Marshes were roaming the Southern parts of Lan’ork.

                                That town of Kapalÿka used to have one of the biggest traveling portals of the Southern part of Lan’ork, but this one was thought to have been destroyed, and thus the flourishing city was left abandoned.

                                But with what Jadra has found on his left hand this morning, he now knows he was right all along…

                                [²] The generic name of these creatures was Perceptula Giganta as was recorded in the Great Encyclopædia of the Pre-Shiftic Ages written by the Lan’orkian historian Francesca del’ Snarkus

                                #215

                                After Arona said she was hungry, the energy of Malvina disappeared, and once again Arona found herself alone in the cave.

                                She found this quite irritating. They are really bit rude around here, she muttered.

                                Arona sat down on the floor of the cave and considered her options. She was tired of the cave and could barely remember what had drawn her here in the first place.

                                It had been the music of course. She had wanted to find the source of the music. However for the most part she decided her experience had been rather disappointing.

                                (Arona was never at her best when hungry and this was causing her to quickly forget some of the wonderful experiences with the music and the paintings, and take a rather negative view of events.)

                                All I have done is wander around dark passageways really.

                                And now, to top it all off, apparently things are shifting. In the name of heaven what does that mean?

                                AND if one more person tells me to use my magic I will probably scream or something!

                                Perish the thought, came a grumpy voice from a particularly dark corner. Your moaning is quite sufficiently bad enough.

                                And Mandrake the cat emerged from the shadows and made himself comfortable on Arona’s lap. This is great, much more comfortable than the ground he purred.

                                Oh cute, said Arona, a talking cat.

                                Cute yourself, responded Mandrake, love your cape by the way.

                                (Mandrake was prone to sarcasm, considering it a perfectly valid form of humour.)

                                Arona stroked Mandrake’s soft black coat and tried her hardest to work out what to do. It was all feeling a bit bleak at the moment, the ever changing cave, the half light, the heat and humidity… and especially her hunger.

                                Mandrake sighed in an impatiently eggsagerated sort of a way.

                                Heavens to murgatroyd¹, how can I relax with your incessant thinking? Okay so here’s an easy one for you: what’s the most important thing about magic?

                                All of a sudden Arona felt a flash of lightness and a sense of new energy moving within her.

                                of course! She exclaimed delightedly, hugging the less than enthusiastic Mandrake, you have to believe in it!

                                [¹] Note from the editor: Mandrake being a very educate cat from noble ancestors, some of its speech may be difficult to grasp for the average reader, which was certainly not the case for the astute Arona.
                                Anyway, here is some complement on that ‘Murgatroyd’ .

                                #208

                                When Bernhard, making his black panther puppet Archie speak, had answered the tongue-in-cheek burning question that was on everyone’s lips:

                                Does Dory’s part of the story seem logical to you?

                                the answer had come as a surprise to many…

                                Yes he had answered… adding a few moments afterwards, though that there is some mistranslation within the interpretation. [¹]

                                Archie also said that we were moving to a center of a seesaw which represents within your understanding an awareness of “it matters not”.

                                Ahahah, how greatly befuddling a new riddle would that be? Perhaps the answer was very simple too. Something like “egg”…

                                All that Quintin was sure, was that Dory surely enjoyed bouncing on seesaws juggling with a basketful of eggs!

                                Perhaps, it mattered not after all… Perhaps, perhaps not… or not yet…

                                Well, Archie had also admitted during the night he didn’t really care being a parrot in that story… Perhaps he had finally lost it too, as would certainly say Fiona, who was their last beacon of sanity in that insane adventure.

                                [¹] Note from your impartially unbiased reporter: :yahoo_whew: (phew)

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