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  • #2950

    In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

    TracyTracy
    Participant

      map impulse~
      french round:
      real told towards gibber, looking life chinese far, done matter surely.
      lost home means sound, random bright.

      #2906
      Jib
      Participant

        Sir Ed Steam looked at his last acquisition, Henri Butter’s Marauder Map. Its reach was currently limited to the saucerers’ school perimeter but he had already thought of several means to extend it.
        At this very moment, his old friend Lulla was on her way to Pohnpei and would soon meet with the man he needed. She didn’t know she was about to meet him, but it really mattered not. All he needed was the events to be triggered and all would go according to his plan, like a domino trail.

        #2893
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Dru Hammond’s flight was being delayed at Charles de Gaulle airport.
          Not the most brilliant idea to fly with Air Frange for this mission, he thought…
          He held from well informed source that airports days were counted, and that airports would soon become deserted museums – in truth, teleportation tech was being developed and soon would be mainstreamed by Ganga, the mammoth merger of Amazoom and Koogle companies.
          That was why he tried to enjoy this vintage means of transportation as much as he could now, and collected plane tickets from all possible flight companies from around the world.
          Dru was an auditor from Passadena, working for the Team, or actually for Ed Steam, the boss himself. His mission was usually to discretely assess the Team’s strengths and shortcomings. However, in this case, he was sent to Malaga for the Three Kings’ Parade, and there was a catch to his assignment. But he wasn’t at liberty to think too much about it. Ed had means to read minds, and thinking too much wouldn’t do him any good. So instead he tried to focus on something innocuous, like fluffy white rabbits dancing in a snow field.
          The security check was taking forever. After an unending stream of Italian tourists, there was a Frenchman stuck into the security gate with a folded drying rack that he was trying to bargain his right to carry it into the plane with lots of ample movements, while the gatekeeper was stubbornly nodding his head.
          Dru after some initial irritation started to find the whole barter amusing. His flight wasn’t boarding before four more hours, so he had time.
          He suddenly wasn’t as much amused when, after relenting and letting the security guy take the rack back to be sent in the cargo hold, the French guy accidentally let his suitcase drop and burst open, revealing a clunky mess of things among which: a heavy black hammer, a humongous book as large as the suitcase itself, crockery, tin canned foods and lots of multicoloured clothes pegs.
          All his auditor’s instincts were crying at him right now that without the shadow of a doubt this man was a dangerous terrorist, hiding under an innocent awkward guise. Sighing of relief when he overheard he was going to Shanghai instead of his European destination, he wondered what terrorists would do in a world of easy free teleportation…

          #2092

          In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            “Now what? T-R-E-X ? To be serious?…” Eliza was patronizing again. “What’s a Trex, by all means? That’s not even in the dictionary, I’m sure!”
            “As if you’d started to care” Flinella rolled her eyes, while at the same time managing to discreetly wink in passing at the little reptile whose tail was wrapped around her neck as though it were the latest fashion. “By the way, it spells T-Rex, you dimwit.”
            “Well, good for you sweetie, it only scores a measly 21 points.” Eliza bit her lip ignoring the offending remark. Then hit by a sudden realisation, she stopped dead in her tracks, all thoughts of vexation lost in the current wave of thought.
            “Wow, I’d never thought of that, but just imagine the size of those dinos’ fleas … Makes me shudder at the thought of it.”

            #2751

            In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

            TracyTracy
            Participant

              “It’s mother earth crying because humans are destroying the planet” ventured Kerry. “And before you ask, I don’t know how I got here. I was doing the remote view practice, and I got a direct hit, it was a picture of a kraken. Then I heard this rumbling noise in my head, and well, here I am…”

              “Well you’re all wrong” said the guy with the blonde hair. “It’s the Galactic Federation of Light, and they’ve come to arrest all the criminals that are preventing the shift.”

              Flinella slipped behind Eliza, surruptitiously looking to see where she could hide. What did he mean by criminals?

              “What do you mean by criminals, my good man?” asked Eliza, sensing Flinella’s alarm.

              “He means anarchists and protesters” said the politician.

              “No he doesn’t, he means big pharma” interjected Kerry.

              “Where the bloody hell did all these people come from?” Flinella looked around wildly, and then “Oh now really this is too much!”

              The grey squishy guy just laughed, his thin shoulders jumping up and down with mirth.

              #2813

              In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Whether or not Arachne was actually better at weaving than Athena is still a mystery, or perhaps it is a moot point and no mystery at all. Weaving is by no means a solitary endeavour, as Blithe found early one summer morning. The river mist was rising and the air itself was dancing in droplets. It was hard to determine if the droplets were falling or rising, or simply milling around on the air currents. Hard green oranges (clearly oranges had been named in winter, or they would likely have been called greens) were festooned with silver threads, linking orange to orange, orange to tree and tree to wire fence, and back again. It was debatable whether or not the individual spiders were aware of the grand overall design of the early morning web links of the orange groves, just as it was equally debatable whether or not the inhabitants of the various Gibber realities were aware of the network of waterpipes that connected the other inhabitants to themselves and each other, and to the other Gibber worlds. Individuals were individuals, whether they be spiders, or Gibblets, and individuals generally speaking were focused on their own part of the tapestry (and often those of their immediate neighbours). Spider 57 on the east fence might be positioned to catch the first rays of sunshine in the mornings, but Spider 486,971 over near the dung heap was in a better position to catch the afternoon flies. And so on, as somebody famous once said.

                As Blithe prowled around the orchard capturing potential clues on her Clumera she inevitably became part of the laybrinthine web of sticky threads herself, as they attached themselves to her hair and clothing. All of the gaps between the solids in the field were joined together with spun filaments, just as the Gibblets were joined together with fun spillaments (although leaking waterpipes were sadly misinterpreted as not-fun all too often, despite that they could be used as an opportunity to view the connections of the Waterpunk more comprehensively.)

                The individual spiders lacy parlours were framed in wire squares, several hundred, if not more, along the perimeter fences. Not every wire fence square was filled; there were many vacant lots between established residences ~ whether by practical design or mere happenstance, Blithe couldn’t say. Many of the individual webs were whole and perfect, like the windows of Lower Gibber whose inhabitants kept their lace curtains clean and neatly hung. Many of the webs on the wire fence were not perfect in the symetrical sense ~ some had gaping holes, and there were those that appeared to be unfinished, despite showing great potential. Others appeared to be abandoned, hanging in shreds, not unlike many of the residences in Upper Gibber.

                The wire framed residences of the field (and likewise the peeling paint framed residences of Upper Gibber) that appeared to be defunct were not quite as they seemed, however. They were simply being viewed from a different timeframe. It was quite possible to view each wire or peeled paint framed en-trance side by side, notwithstanding that they were, so to speak, located in varying timeframes. All that was required was a more flexible viewpoint, and an ability to view more than one timeframe simultaneously. It was all a question of allowing an entrance to en-trance ~ which was, after all, its function.

                {link: misty morning; entrance}

                #2811

                In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  It was hot, although not as hot as usual for the month of August on the southern slopes of the Serrania de Ronda. It had rained, the black clouds and thunder a welcome respite from the searing dry heat of an Andalucian summer, plumping up the blackberries and washing the dust from the leaves of the fig trees. Blithe Gambol hadn’t seen her old friend Granny Mosca for months, although she wasn’t quite sure what had kept her from visiting for so long. Blithe loved Granny Mosca’s cottage tucked away in the saddle behind the fat hill and there had been times when she’d visited often, just to drink in the magical air and feast her eyes on the beauty of the surroundings. Dry golden weeds scratched her legs as she made her way along the dirt path, and she was mindful of the fat black snake she’d once seen basking on the stone walls as she reached into the brambles to pluck blackberries and take photographs.

                  Rounding a corner in the path she gasped at the incongrous and alarming sight of a bright yellow bulldozer just meters from Granny Mosca’s cottage. The bulldozer was flattening a large area of prickly pear cactuses. Unfortunately for the cactuses, it was fruiting time, and Blithe wondered if Granny Mosca had first picked the fruits and suspected that she had, those that she could reach. Nothing that could be eaten was left unpicked ~ Blithe remembered the many sacks of almonds that Granny had given her over the years, very few of which she had bothered to shell and eat.

                  The bulldozer was making an entranceway to the tiny derelict cottage that was situated next to Granny Mosca’s house. Granny had asked Blithe if she wanted to buy it, and she had wanted to buy it eventually, but the purchase of a derelict building hadn’t been a priority at the time. Now it looked as if she was too late, that someone else had bought it, perhaps to use as a holiday home. Horrified, Blithe called out for Granny, who was often in the goat shed or away across the hidden saddle valley cutting weeds to feed the poultry, but there was no sign of her. Two alien looking turkeys gobbled in response, and the black and white chained dog barked menacingly.

                  As Blithe retraced her steps along the dirt path it occured to her that whoever was planning to use the derelict cottage might be a very interesting person, someone she might be very pleased to make the acquaintance of in due course. After all, she had noticed that the holiday guests staying at the casitas on the other side of the fat hill were all sympathetic to the magical nature of the location, many of them arriving from a previous visit to a particularly interesting location in the Alpujarras ~ a convergence of ley lines. When questioned as to why they chose the fat hill casitas, they simply said they liked the countryside. Either they weren’t telling, or they were simply unaware objectively of the connection of the locations. Blithe could sense the connections though, both the locations, and that the people choosing to vacation at the fat hill were connected to it.

                  For one hundred and forty seven thousand years, Blithe had had an energy presence at the fat hill, although it was half a century of her current focus before she remembered it. She had felt protective of it, when she finally remembered it, as if she had a kind of responsibility to it. This place can look after itself quite well on its own, she reminded herself. The fat hill had watched while Franco’s Capitan looted the Roman relics, and watched as Blithe stumbled upon the remains of Roman and Iberian cities, and the fat hill had laughed when Blithe first tried to find the entrance to the interior and got stuck in thorn bushes. Later, the fat hill had smiled benignly when Granny Mosca led her to the entrance ~ without a thorn bush in sight. The cave entrance had been blocked with boulders then. Blithe had given some thought to an excavation, wondering how to achieve it without attracting the attention of the locals, but now she wondered if one day, when the time was right, she would find the entrance clear, as if by magic. Magic, after all, was by no means impossible.

                  {link: feast for the birds}

                  #2471
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    “I don’t really know, Godfrey, do I have to have you DO something? I’m not even sure what the word thread means anymore, there seem to be so many threads already everywhere. Can we start a cloth instead?”

                    “A bloody cloth?” Godfrey asked, scratching his balls. “And I am not scratching my balls, Lizzie, what on earth did you say that for?!”

                    “No idea, was it a sync?”

                    #2641

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      Peackle Handlebut wasn’t really that old hag of a lady she projected the appearance of, but she preferred to test the sincerity of people through this rather crude means.

                      In fact, she wasn’t a lady or a human at all. She was an E’elim, as they called their race when they had use for words. Their true form wasn’t really physical, and their existence was mostly ignored — a fact that was not a small feat, for even the ancient race of the Guardians mostly didn’t know of them at the time when they were in the system of Alienor.

                      In fact, their consciousness was quite different from the rest of the races, and in many ways, it was one of the most ancient one, having been present for countless ages.
                      They’d known the times of the appearance of the third moon around Duane.
                      They had even witnessed the emergence of that third planet, which is now mostly forgotten, but was then called B’si before it was called Phreal by the Guardians.
                      And they were there at the time of the separation of the Great Panye into the twin planets now known as Duane and Murtuane.

                      The E’elims where riders of the elements; usually only one of the six elements from which everything stemmed: airs, earths, woods, flames, waters, and forgotten (or spirit).
                      Learning to ride dragons was something new for Peackle, as they were powerful blends of the purest forms of these elements, and she was wanting to take the risk of revealing herself to have that experience…

                      #2326

                      “That perhaps is your task” Virginia was whispering in Ann’s ear”…to find the relation between things that seem incompatible yet have a mysterious affinity, to absorb every experience that comes your way fearlessly and saturate it completely so that your poem is a whole, not a fragment; to re-think human life into poetry and so give us tragedy again and comedy by means of characters not spun out at length in the novelist’s way…”

                      “Did you catch that, Walter? ‘Not spun out in the traditional lengthy continous way’ she’s saying.”

                      “…but condensed and synthesized in the poet’s way—that is what we look to you to do now.”

                      “I didn’t know you channeled Virginia Woolf, Ann,” replied Walter. “Doesn’t mean she is necesarily right, though, notwithstanding.”

                      “I didn’t say she was ‘absolutely right’, Walter. I’m just pointing out what’s right for me.”

                      Walter popped another anchovy stuffed olive into his mouth.

                      #2254

                      Well, mused Lavender, nil means nothing, and eau means water, so it must mean nothing water. No water? Nothing but water? What on earth could it mean?

                      #2596

                      In reply to: Strings of Nines

                      As we have stated previously, these terms are quite limiting for explanation purposes. The terminology is not incorrect, by any means. It is only expressing a much, much smaller impression to you than, in actuality, these terms represent. If your interpretation of these terms is too literal, you may find yourself accepting concepts which have only been explained to you partially; for our explanation of concepts is only a minute portion of the entirety of any idea, or concept, or “doctrine.” Only playing, my friend! These concepts must be taken in at this present time, within your present understanding, to the intellect; and the intellect must be allowed to trigger the intuition, allowing a full circle of thought, so to speak; this full circle being a continuous flow of information to assimilation, to actualization, to creation ” — Patel

                      Not AGAIN!! shouted Becky. For the past week every time she tried to open her blog page, it always opened on this old post of Patels. Usually, by a circuitous route, she did eventually manage to arrive on her most recent post…..but not today! That monkey Patel wouldn’t let Becky look at any other post but this.

                      Funny coincidence really that she’d watched the cartoon last night called Madagascar, starrring Patel himself as King of the Lemurs. Becky had to laugh. A rave party of dancing lemurs on ecstasy!

                      “Good Lord!” exclaimed Yoland. “Fancy landing on that Patel quote again today!”

                      :yahoo_surprise:

                      Yoland knew Patel was around when the frying sausages had popped and spit fat at her. She had lost count of the amount of times that Patel had popped in with this quote. More strings and circles….and lemurs, too! At the lunch party the previous day, Yoland had been discussing evolution, and the missing link, and the next day a lemur-like skeleton was being heralded in the newspapers as the missing link.

                      Patel, as the missing link ~ Yoland had to laugh.

                      :yahoo_laughing:

                      #2573

                      In reply to: Strings of Nines

                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

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

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

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

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

                        :notepad:

                        #2200

                        “Hey, Asp” Phildendron was still chuckling at her sister Aspidistra’s reaction to the piglet news “Why don’t you make a deal with Lavender, tell her you’ll only accept the piglet if it comes with a years supply of that DMT stuff.”

                        “So I can share it will you, Phil?” Asp raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like haggling though, you know what I’m like. Looking a gift horse in the mouth and all that, no accidents and all the rest of it. I mean, I must be creating this piglet gift myself, and acceptance is key, is it not?”

                        “Acceptance doesn’t mean literally accepting gifts of piglets, silly!”

                        “Well what DOES it mean then?”

                        “It means accepting that everything is fine, whatever you choose ~ whether you say yes to the pig, or no to the pig, you’re supposed to accept that it’s the perfect choice.”

                        “Well how the devil is a person to know which is the right choice then?”

                        “Well that’s just it, it doesn’t matter which choice you make. Not only that, it’s not a case of just one choice, either.”

                        “So what you’re trying to tell me, which sounds like absolute nonsense, is that if I choose to accept the pig gift now, I would have to choose tomorrow that I accepted the pig gift today, otherwise I would be choosing…..” Asp’s voice trailed off as she lost her thread.

                        “Yes! And not just once tomorrow, but in every moment you would have to choose that you chose the pig gift ~ otherwise you’d be choosing that you didn’t accept the pig ~ and that would be a choice too.”

                        “Oh don’t be silly, Phil, with so many choices to make in each moment you wouldn’t ever be finished choosing before it was the next moment, then you’d have to start choosing again ~ You’d never get anything done!”

                        #1261

                        “Hey Leo, I had a blinding revelation last night, after Barb left.”

                        “Well, do tell, Bea, I’m all ears” said Leonora with an encouraging smile, pouring herself a cup of tea.

                        “Well the moment was far clearer than I can explain it but it went something like this” Bea continued. “Bearing in mind that the FOCUS DIRECTS so the question of ‘directing’ essence is another choice of puzzle piece of the individual puzzle game at any moment…”

                        “Ye-es” replied Leonora, making an effort to concentrate.

                        “To connect to an individual focus is but a baby step towards being able to comprehend the interconnectedness of everything that you create, and that it is all in fact you.” Bea went on, adding “Like a beginner stage as it were, to keep it manageable.”

                        “Keeping it manageable sounds like a good idea” interjected Leo, pointedly glancing around at the disorder in the kitchen.

                        Unperturbed, Bea continued “You draw to yourself parts or, if you like, focus points or other focuses of All That Is —of the whole that are at that moment useful.”

                        “Sounds reasonable, Bea, do continue. Pass the gingerbread men, would you?”

                        “All of the characters in the stories I write, for example, are my focuses in a manner of speaking, as are all the characters in anything I bring into my world my focuses if I choose to SEE THEM FOR A MOMENT FROM THEIR FOCUS VIEWPOINT.”

                        “Ok, ok, no need to shout!”

                        “I’m not shouting, Leo, let me finish and stop interrupting! Adding another focus is an analogy in a way for adding another focus or point of view to mine.
                        Dividing the actions of adding focus viewpoints into sections is useful in order to comprehend the scope of possible actions, but only initially, and as more actions are experienced objectively, the sections and labels become limiting and confining.” Bea paused for a sip of coffee and a long draw on her cigarette. “But they do keep it manageable to some degree, it must be said” she added.

                        “Yes, keep it manageable, by all means, couldn’t agree more”

                        “Everyone’s puzzle game is their own,” Bea was on a roll. “And the same puzzle piece, or other focus in this case, for one, would fit equally well into a completely different puzzle game of someone else’s because all of the surrounding puzzle pieces of each individuals puzzle game are created in each moment and are chosen for their relevance to that moment.”

                        “Good point, dear.”

                        “Likewise an individuals puzzle game is a new one in each moment and the puzzle pieces are interchangeable within the same puzzle game, depending on their relevance to the moment and the chosen surrounding puzzle pieces.”

                        As usual with blazing flashes of illumination, Bea found that they were hard to form into words, and when she did manage to get them into words, they look so screamingly obvious.

                        “Does that make sense to you, Leo?” she asked.

                        “Er, I think so Bea, I’m getting the gist…”

                        Interrupting, Bea continued to describe her revelations to her now glassy eyed friend. “And on the subject of trusting, doubting, confusion and so on”

                        “Oh, yes, confusion…”

                        “We are here shiftING, not shiftED, this is what we are choosing.
                        With the variety of viewpoints we have, the shifted and the unshifted and the semi-shifted, there is always something new to notice from yet another new perspective. Why not get really enthusiastic about the ride itself instead of planning how to float through it with the least fuss ~ it’s more fun on the helter skelter with its many perspectives and view points than on the mill pond for those of us who choose shiftING.”

                        “I dunno, Bea, from my perspective floating on a millpond sounds rather pleasant.”

                        “Well, at least now we know that what we don’t know is there to know.”

                        “Yes, there’s no doubt about that!” relied Leonora, “Have you finished? That was all very interesting but don’t forget we invited everyone over for the Yule Boulder Moving party. We should get a move on with the preparations you know”

                        :yahoo_coffee:

                        #1207
                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          Veranassesee woke up in a cold sweat.

                          She’d just found the treatment!For the stupid trio of the island who went all hairy after the strange experiments.
                          Of course, she wasn’t privy to the Doctor’s manipulations, being only here for security reasons, but one of her best assets was a knack for observation, and spotting of details.

                          What was the difference between the last seen alive not-become-hairy patient of the Doctor and the three Graces?

                          Easy as pie! Number IV had been mummified and not the others! Of course, not exactly disemboweled and put aside for brining… of course not. But wrapped tightly into bandages made of coconut coir. The coarseness of the bandages might have acted as a hair substitute during the transformation.

                          She had to find a means to tell the divas before it’s too late!

                          “Oh, forget it,” she yawned. She was really too tired for that; and probably praying for them would be the best she could do.

                          #1193
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            Georges and Salome’s journal

                            From Salome’s account of her introduction to the Turmak People (Part 3)

                            Cil and I have stayed on the Murtuane longer than was required for the report on the events occurring here. Though it was not required, it proved invaluable for me to gather much information on both the planet itself, but more important, on the interconnections with the other planets and the Guardians themselves.

                            A pivotal point in this exploratory mission was the impressive encounter with one of the few still focused Nirguals of this dimension. N’meôrl, as he introduced himself to us, out of concern for the current events came to contact Cil despite his looking askance at the Guardians on the whole.
                            As it appears to be, due to their acute awareness of how energy can be manipulated to create one’s own reality, some of the Guardians became to view themselves as superior in knowledge and skills as to the other conscious creatures roaming on this dimension —most of whom already having far more understanding of things deemed “magical” in my own earthly dimension of origin. However, viewing themselves as such (though by no means the standards in the Guardians societies) had them manipulate some of these others; mostly to entertain themselves or to experiment, without concern as to the others’ reactions.

                            Frown upon by many Guardians, this practice was tolerated notwithstanding, and had created a few pockets of what the Guardians called “slaves”. Inquiring to Cil as to how people with such thin veils between their subjective creative source and the objective realizations could become “slaves” to others, she had struggled a bit to explain to me at first. Allowing her to reach into my awareness for associations or analogies with similar energetic displays, she surprised me —surprised is even a mild word for my initial reaction— by telling me it was the same as our religions. Struggling initially to understand her point, I find myself, if not entirely agreeing with it, at least being able to explain what she meant by that. To her, people were ultimately free unless they themselves were tricked into bondage. But bondage could be of various nature, and she continued to explain, physical bondage was the less efficient of all. “Guidance”, on the opposite, with the proper construction of suggestions and beliefs, could yield very efficient results.
                            So, those “rogue” Guardians were nothing else but priests? The difference between this association and Cil’s distaste for them seemed too strong. Perhaps I would have to reassess my own beliefs.

                            So, apparently some of these Guardians had been responsible for disturbances. Cil seemed to understand that something grave was happening, but when she tried to explain to me, once again words or clusters of thoughts seemed to fail her. She found in my memory some analogy which seemed again quite besides the point, though very intriguing.
                            She said it was similar to what our medicine men were doing with their needles. She probably had reached into my memories of traditional acupuncture medicine. She went on to compare the planets as a single body, with bumps and hollows in energy; usually, the body knows how to harmoniously balance both of these, and a bump can reflect into a hollow and vice-versa. Sometimes, when people create illnesses, the practitioner will move these to help. But something else was happening here: the flow was artificially changed, she said.
                            “What was the point in that?” I asked. She pondered for a moment, then answered without judgment that it was probably for the sake of the experience.
                            “The Nirgual is mostly warning us that this experience may not lead to an equilibrium before long. That it may profoundly modify the energy on the planets, and not for the better. The Murtuane and its Turmak people have mostly had a stabilizing impact on the very energetic events happening on the Duane. Modifying this could quickly take things out of our hands” she said worriedly.

                            #1186

                            Arona was fretting.

                            “Now, what is this all about? Can someone explain me? The purple sand is pretty, the green sky too, however it looks just like an insane dream from a deranged mind having abused smoke of robjane leaves.”

                            Framing Irtak —who was having a funny pout on his face— the dragons Heckle and Jeckle were too busy considering with an amused attention the new form and energy field that their progenitor had taken.

                            No words were spoken to answer Arona’s plea for answers, but answers were starting to come to them in the form of a bundle of energy which would be difficult to translate in a linear manner.

                            They started to understand a few things. That for one, N’meôrl the Nirgual was not here by chance, at this place and time. Again, they had travelled far in the past of the history of their dimension, and events of great importance were in motion, that they were given to witness.

                            At first, the flow of information they were having was like a stream they thought they had no control of, but as questions were forming they noticed that it was altering the flow which was then encompassing the answers to those questions.

                            Like when Jeckle wondered if he and his twin had big birdies counterparts like this one to merge with, and got the following answer “No. For you are quite new essences fragments, and thus do not yet hold focuses in similar extent to your progenitor.”

                            Arona was quite pleased by this new mode of getting answers, especially as she could visibly get the answers she was genuinely looking for, not those coming from questions she was only remotely interested in.

                            N’meôrl was showing them also, that unlike him, they were not quite physically focused into that environment, and were not noticed by the small surrounding creatures like the little red scrabs crawling in the sand. They were mainly there to observe and draw their own conclusions, as soon some events would occur.

                            As they’d finished absorbing the information, they started to notice a feeling of expectation in the air. N’meôrl conveyed to them that they would have to stay quiet in his peripheral awareness for “they” were coming, and he was on a delicate mission.

                            :fleuron:

                            Footsteps on the beach.
                            A man approaching. He looks like Irtak and Arona, as if he had just come into this alien world from the same door they had taken. But he fails to notice them.

                            He stays, facing the deep green waters of the ocean brushing the shore, as if expecting someone.

                            A strange buzz starts to fill the space. A point of focused light the size of a pinhole appears in front of him, expands quickly with an elastic quality, and pops with a soft sound, revealing an improbably tall figure under a cloak.

                            The man greets the new-comer with deference
                            “Master Sinadron
                            Jarvis, my good friend.”

                            They start to walk on the beach at the unspoken invitation of the one with the smooth voice named Sinadron.

                            “So, I’ve been told our little matter is going very well.”
                            “Yes, very well, Master; I am deeply grateful for your intervention; without your help I’ve been told, my dear would not have been allowed to…”
                            “Let’s not talk of such things any longer; it was such a delight to help two sweet young souls so deeply in love”

                            Somehow, despite the words of kindness which are slithering with ease, the invisible witness got the uncanny feeling that they are but a deceptive fragment of the truth.

                            “Now. Tell me”, the one named Sinadron continues in a mellifluous voice “Why have you called me for?”
                            “The settlement you have suggested us to start on this land…”
                            “Yes, I am aware, please go to the point instead of labouring things I am well aware of.” The voice had sharpened a bit.
                            “I am sorry Master.”
                            “Continue”
                            “There is a growing dissent that…”
                            “And from who that shall come?”
                            “Err… I hear Pelorus has spoken to the Zentauras…”
                            “Pelorus is but a nuisance.” The voice wasn’t asking for contradiction, though an imperceptible grin was floating on the half-hidden face.
                            He continued “But I shall help you, once again
                            “Master, you are too generous…”
                            “Let me finish. I will provide you with more men and women, willing to start a new life under your command, to help you grow your settlement. There are a few slaves on the Duane, that place from where you come who will do great.”
                            “Master…”
                            “They will be there in an hexade. Make sure you stand your ground until then, even if that means confronting those nasty Zentauras.”

                            And without waiting for the confused thanks, he disappeared, grinning widely.

                            #1185

                            “Did you see how Malvina went to her date?”
                            “Yes I saw it beloved” and she added with a giggle “though she probably wouldn’t like us to call that a ‘date’ huhu”.
                            “Ahaha” Georges was enjoying himself with various associations connected to his periphery. Associations with words like ‘date’, or with time-space connections, like the ones related to the dress Malvina was wearing.

                            Salome huddled herself up against Georges, and not looking at him, said in a dreamy gaze “I remember perfectly that first time we heard about the Zynder”
                            Georges answered, surfing on his own associations “I remember how people had so much trouble pronouncing it ‘right’ — Ze-In-dear, Zee-Indeer, Zaindher…ahaha it was so funny”.

                            Then coming back to Salome’s last sentence that had been hanging in the soft silence unanswered. “I think I heard about it before you did, but I was vaguely aware of it. You were the one to tell me the legend.”

                            “Yes, on that first day on the Kandulim, where the Zentaura told me about it.”
                            “I would love you to tell me again…”

                            The Legend of the Zyndre

                            as told to Salome by Zharon the 44th, of the Zentaura’s tribe

                            There is a legend among the people of this place, that people love to remind themselves of in times of despair. It’s the legend of this mythical creature named the Zyndre.
                            What the Zyndre looks like, nobody knows for sure until they see one. Because once you see one, you know what it is, without a shadow of doubt. It may be tricky because some people have seen one, and they get into fights about what it looks like, for such is the nature of the Zyndre that its form is diverse and it doesn’t show itself to two people the same.
                            That’s why my people have named it Zyndre, which means “the creature of a thousand forms”.
                            Some people have searched to catch it, but their attempts have always failed. For the Zyndre doesn’t show itself to the forceful people. The Zyndre is a peaceful creature that will find for you what you most desire.
                            That’s why many people have used to represent it with a large nose, for it is a seeker. It may find anything you want, but you have to desire it so much that it becomes the main focus of your attention. It burns in your head, not like a madness, but like a warm reinsurance, a soft knowingness that you will indeed find it, that which you desire most.
                            So that once you find the Zyndre, you know you’ve reached that thing that you desire, because the Zyndre is pointing you in its very direction.

                            “You know Georges”, she says “that night on the beach, I dreamt of the Zyndre”
                            “Really? And how did you perceive it?”
                            “It was beautiful, not like the classical representations we see, of that big-nosed creature; it was so elegant, like a small silver-shining spotted doe, with tall feet proportionally to its body, not unlike the Qilin of the ancient Chinese; and it was proposing me to ride it to escape its enclosure.
                            And I was thinking in the dream, ‘it must be strange and a bit uncomfortable when it’s galloping’ —because it’s small, and my feet will touch the ground.”
                            “So did you ride it?”
                            “Yes, and you were with me, and it was carrying us with ease and grace, like it was floating and gliding above the ground…” Salome looked at Georges with a smile “So that when I woke up, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that I was exactly where I most desired to be.”

                            #1175
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              Al was singing this Hallowe’en tune in his imp costume:

                              “Trick or treat, smell my feet, we want something good to eat” :yahoo_pumpkin:

                              —“Sacrebleu,” he said to Tina “I guess Becky Pooh must not be far away, I can feel her limerick rhymes aiming at Ewrick”
                              — “Mmmm, ‘whatever that means’ I suppose” retorted Tina, rolling the eyes of her funny Hallowe’en fancy dress. :ghost:

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