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  • #6259
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      George “Mike” Rushby

      A short autobiography of George Gilman Rushby’s son, published in the Blackwall Bugle, Australia.

      Early in 2009, Ballina Shire Council Strategic and
      Community Services Group Manager, Steve Barnier,
      suggested that it would be a good idea for the Wardell
      and District community to put out a bi-monthly
      newsletter. I put my hand up to edit the publication and
      since then, over 50 issues of “The Blackwall Bugle”
      have been produced, encouraged by Ballina Shire
      Council who host the newsletter on their website.
      Because I usually write the stories that other people
      generously share with me, I have been asked by several
      community members to let them know who I am. Here is
      my attempt to let you know!

      My father, George Gilman Rushby was born in England
      in 1900. An Electrician, he migrated to Africa as a young
      man to hunt and to prospect for gold. He met Eleanor
      Dunbar Leslie who was a high school teacher in Cape
      Town. They later married in Dar es Salaam, Tanganyika.
      I was the second child and first son and was born in a
      mud hut in Tanganyika in 1933. I spent my first years on
      a coffee plantation. When four years old, and with
      parents and elder sister on a remote goldfield, I caught
      typhoid fever. I was seriously ill and had no access to
      proper medical facilities. My paternal grandmother
      sailed out to Africa from England on a steam ship and
      took me back to England for medical treatment. My
      sister Ann came too. Then Adolf Hitler started WWII and
      Ann and I were separated from our parents for 9 years.

      Sister Ann and I were not to see him or our mother for
      nine years because of the war. Dad served as a Captain in
      the King’s African Rifles operating in the North African
      desert, while our Mum managed the coffee plantation at
      home in Tanganyika.

      Ann and I lived with our Grandmother and went to
      school in Nottingham England. In 1946 the family was
      reunited. We lived in Mbeya in Southern Tanganyika
      where my father was then the District Manager of the
      National Parks and Wildlife Authority. There was no
      high school in Tanganyika so I had to go to school in
      Nairobi, Kenya. It took five days travelling each way by
      train and bus including two days on a steamer crossing
      Lake Victoria.

      However, the school year was only two terms with long
      holidays in between.

      When I was seventeen, I left high school. There was
      then no university in East Africa. There was no work
      around as Tanganyika was about to become
      independent of the British Empire and become
      Tanzania. Consequently jobs were reserved for
      Africans.

      A war had broken out in Korea. I took a day off from
      high school and visited the British Army headquarters
      in Nairobi. I signed up for military service intending to
      go to Korea. The army flew me to England. During
      Army basic training I was nicknamed ‘Mike’ and have
      been called Mike ever since. I never got to Korea!
      After my basic training I volunteered for the Parachute
      Regiment and the army sent me to Egypt where the
      Suez Canal was under threat. I carried out parachute
      operations in the Sinai Desert and in Cyprus and
      Jordan. I was then selected for officer training and was
      sent to England to the Eaton Hall Officer Cadet School
      in Cheshire. Whilst in Cheshire, I met my future wife
      Jeanette. I graduated as a Second Lieutenant in the
      Royal Lincolnshire Regiment and was posted to West
      Berlin, which was then one hundred miles behind the
      Iron Curtain. My duties included patrolling the
      demarcation line that separated the allies from the
      Russian forces. The Berlin Wall was yet to be built. I
      also did occasional duty as guard commander of the
      guard at Spandau Prison where Adolf Hitler’s deputy
      Rudolf Hess was the only prisoner.

      From Berlin, my Regiment was sent to Malaya to
      undertake deep jungle operations against communist
      terrorists that were attempting to overthrow the
      Malayan Government. I was then a Lieutenant in
      command of a platoon of about 40 men which would go
      into the jungle for three weeks to a month with only air
      re-supply to keep us going. On completion of my jungle
      service, I returned to England and married Jeanette. I
      had to stand up throughout the church wedding
      ceremony because I had damaged my right knee in a
      competitive cross-country motorcycle race and wore a
      splint and restrictive bandage for the occasion!
      At this point I took a career change and transferred
      from the infantry to the Royal Military Police. I was in
      charge of the security of British, French and American
      troops using the autobahn link from West Germany to
      the isolated Berlin. Whilst in Germany and Austria I
      took up snow skiing as a sport.

      Jeanette and I seemed to attract unusual little
      adventures along the way — each adventure trivial in
      itself but adding up to give us a ‘different’ path through
      life. Having climbed Mount Snowdon up the ‘easy way’
      we were witness to a serious climbing accident where a
      member of the staff of a Cunard Shipping Line
      expedition fell and suffered serious injury. It was
      Sunday a long time ago. The funicular railway was
      closed. There was no telephone. So I ran all the way
      down Mount Snowdon to raise the alarm.

      On a road trip from Verden in Germany to Berlin with
      our old Opel Kapitan motor car stacked to the roof with
      all our worldly possessions, we broke down on the ice and snow covered autobahn. We still had a hundred kilometres to go.

      A motorcycle patrolman flagged down a B-Double
      tanker. He hooked us to the tanker with a very short tow
      cable and off we went. The truck driver couldn’t see us
      because we were too close and his truck threw up a
      constant deluge of ice and snow so we couldn’t see
      anyway. We survived the hundred kilometre ‘sleigh
      ride!’

      I then went back to the other side of the world where I
      carried out military police duties in Singapore and
      Malaya for three years. I took up scuba diving and
      loved the ocean. Jeanette and I, with our two little
      daughters, took a holiday to South Africa to see my
      parents. We sailed on a ship of the Holland-Afrika Line.
      It broke down for four days and drifted uncontrollably
      in dangerous waters off the Skeleton Coast of Namibia
      until the crew could get the ship’s motor running again.
      Then, in Cape Town, we were walking the beach near
      Hermanus with my youngest brother and my parents,
      when we found the dead body of a man who had thrown
      himself off a cliff. The police came and secured the site.
      Back with the army, I was promoted to Major and
      appointed Provost Marshal of the ACE Mobile Force
      (Allied Command Europe) with dual headquarters in
      Salisbury, England and Heidelberg, Germany. The cold
      war was at its height and I was on operations in Greece,
      Denmark and Norway including the Arctic. I had
      Norwegian, Danish, Italian and American troops in my
      unit and I was then also the Winter Warfare Instructor
      for the British contingent to the Allied Command
      Europe Mobile Force that operated north of the Arctic
      Circle.

      The reason for being in the Arctic Circle? From there
      our special forces could look down into northern
      Russia.

      I was not seeing much of my two young daughters. A
      desk job was looming my way and I decided to leave
      the army and migrate to Australia. Why Australia?
      Well, I didn’t want to go back to Africa, which
      seemed politically unstable and the people I most
      liked working with in the army, were the Australian
      troops I had met in Malaya.

      I migrated to Brisbane, Australia in 1970 and started
      working for Woolworths. After management training,
      I worked at Garden City and Brookside then became
      the manager in turn of Woolworths stores at
      Paddington, George Street and Redcliff. I was also the
      first Director of FAUI Queensland (The Federation of
      Underwater Diving Instructors) and spent my spare
      time on the Great Barrier Reef. After 8 years with
      Woollies, I opted for a sea change.

      I moved with my family to Evans Head where I
      converted a convenience store into a mini
      supermarket. When IGA moved into town, I decided
      to take up beef cattle farming and bought a cattle
      property at Collins Creek Kyogle in 1990. I loved
      everything about the farm — the Charolais cattle, my
      horses, my kelpie dogs, the open air, fresh water
      creek, the freedom, the lifestyle. I also became a
      volunteer fire fighter with the Green Pigeon Brigade.
      In 2004 I sold our farm and moved to Wardell.
      My wife Jeanette and I have been married for 60 years
      and are now retired. We have two lovely married
      daughters and three fine grandchildren. We live in the
      greatest part of the world where we have been warmly
      welcomed by the Wardell community and by the
      Wardell Brigade of the Rural Fire Service. We are
      very happy here.

      Mike Rushby

      A short article sent to Jacksdale in England from Mike Rushby in Australia:

      Rushby Family

      #6254
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        The Gladstone Connection

        My grandmother had said that we were distantly related to Gladstone the prime minister. Apparently Grandma’s mothers aunt had a neice that was related to him, or some combination of aunts and nieces on the Gretton side. I had not yet explored all the potential great grandmothers aunt’s nieces looking for this Gladstone connection, but I accidentally found a Gladstone on the tree on the Gretton side.

        I was wandering around randomly looking at the hints for other people that had my grandparents in their trees to see who they were and how they were connected, and noted a couple of photos of Orgills. Richard Gretton, grandma’s mother Florence Nightingale Gretton’s father,  married Sarah Orgill. Sarah’s brother John Orgill married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone. It was the photographs that caught my eye, but then I saw the Gladstone name, and that she was born in Liverpool. Her father was William Gladstone born 1809 in Liverpool, just like the prime minister. And his father was John Gladstone, just like the prime minister.

        But the William Gladstone in our family tree was a millwright, who emigrated to Australia with his wife and two children rather late in life at the age of 54, in 1863. He died three years later when he was thrown out of a cart in 1866. This was clearly not William Gladstone the prime minister.

        John Orgill emigrated to Australia in 1865, and married Elizabeth Mary Gladstone in Victoria in 1870. Their first child was born in December that year, in Dandenong. Their three sons all have the middle name Gladstone.

        John Orgill 1835-1911 (Florence Nightingale Gretton’s mothers brother)

        John Orgill

        Elizabeth Mary Gladstone 1845-1926

        Elizabeth Mary Gladstone

         

        I did not think that the link to Gladstone the prime minister was true, until I found an article in the Australian newspapers while researching the family of John Orgill for the Australia chapter.

        In the Letters to the Editor in The Argus, a Melbourne newspaper, dated 8 November 1921:

        Gladstone

         

        THE GLADSTONE FAMILY.
        TO THE EDITOR OF THE ARGUS.
        Sir,—I notice to-day a reference to the
        death of Mr. Robert Gladstone, late of
        Wooltonvale. Liverpool, who, together
        with estate in England valued at £143,079,
        is reported to have left to his children
        (five sons and seven daughters) estate
        valued at £4,300 in Victoria. It may be
        of interest to some of your readers to
        know that this Robert Gladstone was a
        son of the Gladstone family to which
        the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, the
        famous Prime Minister, belonged, some
        members of which are now resident in Aus-
        tralia. Robert Gladstone’s father (W. E.
        Gladstone’s cousin), Stuart Gladstone, of
        Liverpool, owned at one time the estates
        of Noorat and Glenormiston, in Victoria,
        to which he sent Neil Black as manager.
        Mr. Black, who afterwards acquired the
        property, called one of his sons “Stuart
        Gladstone” after his employer. A nephew
        of Stuart Gladstone (and cousin of
        Robert Gladstone, of Wooltonvale), Robert
        Cottingham, by name “Bobbie” came out
        to Australia to farm at Noorat, but was
        killed in a horse accident when only 21,
        and was the first to be buried in the new
        cemetery at Noorat. A brother, of “Bob-
        bie,” “Fred” by name, was well known
        in the early eighties as an overland
        drover, taking stock for C. B. Fisher to
        the far north. Later on he married and
        settled in Melbourne, but left during the
        depressing time following the bursting of
        the boom, to return to Queensland, where,
        in all probability, he still resides. A sister
        of “Bobbie” and “Fred” still lives in the
        neighbourhood of Melbourne. Their
        father, Montgomery Gladstone, who was in
        the diplomatic service, and travelled about
        a great deal, was a brother of Stuart Glad-
        stone, the owner of Noorat, and a full
        cousin of William Ewart Gladstone, his
        father, Robert, being a brother of W. E.
        Gladstone’s father, Sir John, of Liverpool.
        The wife of Robert Gladstone, of Woolton-
        vale, Ella Gladstone by name, was also
        his second cousin, being the daughter of
        Robertson Gladstone, of Courthaize, near
        Liverpool, W. E. Gladstone’s older
        brother.
        A cousin of Sir John Gladstone
        (W. E. G.’s father), also called John, was
        a foundry owner in Castledouglas, and the
        inventor of the first suspension bridge, a
        model of which was made use of in the
        erection of the Menai Bridge connecting
        Anglesea with the mainland, and was after-
        wards presented to the Liverpool Stock
        Exchange by the inventor’s cousin, Sir
        John. One of the sons of this inventive
        engineer, William by name, left England
        in 1863 with his wife and son and daugh-
        ter, intending to settle in New Zealand,
        but owing to the unrest caused there by
        the Maori war, he came instead to Vic-
        toria, and bought land near Dandenong.
        Three years later he was killed in a horse
        accident, but his name is perpetuated in
        the name “Gladstone road” in Dandenong.
        His daughter afterwards married, and lived
        for many years in Gladstone House, Dande-
        nong, but is now widowed and settled in
        Gippsland. Her three sons and four daugh-
        ters are all married and perpetuating the
        Gladstone family in different parts of Aus-
        tralia. William’s son (also called Wil-
        liam), who came out with his father,
        mother, and sister in 1863 still lives in the
        Fix this textneighbourhood of Melbourne, with his son
        and grandson. An aunt of Sir John Glad-
        stone (W. E. G.’s father), Christina Glad-
        stone by name, married a Mr. Somerville,
        of Biggar. One of her great-grandchildren
        is Professor W. P. Paterson, of Edinburgh
        University, another is a professor in the
        West Australian University, and a third
        resides in Melbourne. Yours. &c.

        Melbourne, Nov.7, FAMILY TREE

         

        According to the Old Dandenong website:

        “Elizabeth Mary Orgill (nee Gladstone) operated Gladstone House until at least 1911, along with another hydropathic hospital (Birthwood) on Cheltenham road. She was the daughter of William Gladstone (Nephew of William Ewart Gladstone, UK prime minister in 1874).”

        The story of the Orgill’s continues in the chapter on Australia.

        #6252
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The USA Housley’s

          This chapter is copied from Barbara Housley’s Narrative on Historic Letters, with thanks to her brother Howard Housley for sharing it with me.  Interesting to note that Housley descendants  (on the Marshall paternal side) and Gretton descendants (on the Warren maternal side) were both living in Trenton, New Jersey at the same time.

          GEORGE HOUSLEY 1824-1877

          George emigrated to the United states in 1851, arriving in July. The solicitor Abraham John Flint referred in a letter to a 15-pound advance which was made to George on June 9, 1851. This certainly was connected to his journey. George settled along the Delaware River in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The letters from the solicitor were addressed to: Lahaska Post Office, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. George married Sarah Ann Hill on May 6, 1854 in Doylestown, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. The service was performed by Attorney James Gilkyson.

          Doylestown

          In her first letter (February 1854), Anne (George’s sister in Smalley, Derbyshire) wrote: “We want to know who and what is this Miss Hill you name in your letter. What age is she? Send us all the particulars but I would advise you not to get married until you have sufficient to make a comfortable home.”

          Upon learning of George’s marriage, Anne wrote: “I hope dear brother you may be happy with your wife….I hope you will be as a son to her parents. Mother unites with me in kind love to you both and to your father and mother with best wishes for your health and happiness.”  In 1872 (December) Joseph (George’s brother) wrote: “I am sorry to hear that sister’s father is so ill. It is what we must all come to some time and hope we shall meet where there is no more trouble.”

          Emma (George’s sister) wrote in 1855, “We write in love to your wife and yourself and you must write soon and tell us whether there is a little nephew or niece and what you call them.” In June of 1856, Emma wrote: “We want to see dear Sarah Ann and the dear little boy. We were much pleased with the “bit of news” you sent.” The bit of news was the birth of John Eley Housley, January 11, 1855. Emma concluded her letter “Give our very kindest love to dear sister and dearest Johnnie.”

          According to his obituary, John Eley was born at Wrightstown and “removed” to Lumberville at the age of 19. John was married first to Lucy Wilson with whom he had three sons: George Wilson (1883), Howard (1893) and Raymond (1895); and then to Elizabeth Kilmer with whom he had one son Albert Kilmer (1907). John Eley Housley died November 20, 1926 at the age of 71. For many years he had worked for John R. Johnson who owned a store. According to his son Albert, John was responsible for caring for Johnson’s horses. One named Rex was considered to be quite wild, but was docile in John’s hands. When John would take orders, he would leave the wagon at the first house and walk along the backs of the houses so that he would have access to the kitchens. When he reached the seventh house he would climb back over the fence to the road and whistle for the horses who would come to meet him. John could not attend church on Sunday mornings because he was working with the horses and occasionally Albert could convince his mother that he was needed also. According to Albert, John was regular in attendance at church on Sunday evenings.

          John was a member of the Carversville Lodge 261 IOOF and the Carversville Lodge Knights of Pythias. Internment was in the Carversville cemetery; not, however, in the plot owned by his father. In addition to his sons, he was survived by his second wife Elizabeth who lived to be 80 and three grandchildren: George’s sons, Kenneth Worman and Morris Wilson and Raymond’s daughter Miriam Louise. George had married Katie Worman about the time John Eley married Elizabeth Kilmer. Howard’s first wife Mary Brink and daughter Florence had died and he remarried Elsa Heed who also lived into her eighties. Raymond’s wife was Fanny Culver.

          Two more sons followed: Joseph Sackett, who was known as Sackett, September 12, 1856 and Edwin or Edward Rose, November 11, 1858. Joseph Sackett Housley married Anna Hubbs of Plumsteadville on January 17, 1880. They had one son Nelson DeC. who in turn had two daughters, Eleanor Mary and Ruth Anna, and lived on Bert Avenue in Trenton N.J. near St. Francis Hospital. Nelson, who was an engineer and built the first cement road in New Jersey, died at the age of 51. His daughters were both single at the time of his death. However, when his widow, the former Eva M. Edwards, died some years later, her survivors included daughters, Mrs. Herbert D. VanSciver and Mrs. James J. McCarrell and four grandchildren. One of the daughters (the younger) was quite crippled in later years and would come to visit her great-aunt Elizabeth (John’s widow) in a chauffeur driven car. Sackett died in 1929 at the age of 70. He was a member of the Warrington Lodge IOOF of Jamison PA, the Uncas tribe and the Uncas Hayloft 102 ORM of Trenton, New Jersey. The interment was in Greenwood cemetery where he had been caretaker since his retirement from one of the oldest manufacturing plants in Trenton (made milk separators for one thing). Sackett also was the caretaker for two other cemeteries one located near the Clinton Street station and the other called Riverside.

          Ed’s wife was named Lydia. They had two daughters, Mary and Margaret and a third child who died in infancy. Mary had seven children–one was named for his grandfather–and settled in lower Bucks county. Margaret never married. She worked for Woolworths in Flemington, N. J. and then was made manager in Somerville, N.J., where she lived until her death. Ed survived both of his brothers, and at the time of Sackett’s death was living in Flemington, New Jersey where he had worked as a grocery clerk.

          In September 1872, Joseph wrote, “I was very sorry to hear that John your oldest had met with such a sad accident but I hope he is got alright again by this time.” In the same letter, Joseph asked: “Now I want to know what sort of a town you are living in or village. How far is it from New York? Now send me all particulars if you please.”

          In March 1873 Harriet asked Sarah Ann: “And will you please send me all the news at the place and what it is like for it seems to me that it is a wild place but you must tell me what it is like….” The question of whether she was referring to Bucks County, Pennsylvania or some other place is raised in Joseph’s letter of the same week.

          On March 17, 1873, Joseph wrote: “I was surprised to hear that you had gone so far away west. Now dear brother what ever are you doing there so far away from home and family–looking out for something better I suppose.” The solicitor wrote on May 23, 1874: “Lately I have not written because I was not certain of your address and because I doubted I had much interesting news to tell you.” Later, Joseph wrote concerning the problems settling the estate, “You see dear brother there is only me here on our side and I cannot do much. I wish you were here to help me a bit and if you think of going for another summer trip this turn you might as well run over here.”

          Apparently, George had indicated he might return to England for a visit in 1856. Emma wrote concerning the portrait of their mother which had been sent to George: “I hope you like mother’s portrait. I did not see it but I suppose it was not quite perfect about the eyes….Joseph and I intend having ours taken for you when you come over….Do come over before very long.”

          In March 1873, Joseph wrote: “You ask me what I think of you coming to England. I think as you have given the trustee power to sign for you I think you could do no good but I should like to see you once again for all that. I can’t say whether there would be anything amiss if you did come as you say it would be throwing good money after bad.”

          On June 10, 1875, the solicitor wrote: “I have been expecting to hear from you for some time past. Please let me hear what you are doing and where you are living and how I must send you your money.” George’s big news at that time was that on May 3, 1875, he had become a naturalized citizen “renouncing and abjuring all allegiance and fidelity to every foreign prince, potentate, state and sovereignity whatsoever, and particularly to Victoria Queen of Great Britain of whom he was before a subject.”

          Another matter which George took care of during the years the estate was being settled was the purchase of a cemetery plot! On March 24, 1873, George purchased plot 67 section 19 division 2 in the Carversville (Bucks County PA) Cemetery (incorporated 1859). The plot cost $15.00, and was located at the very edge of the cemetery. It was in this cemetery, in 1991, while attending the funeral of Sarah Lord Housley, wife of Albert Kilmer Housley, that sixteen month old Laura Ann visited the graves of her great-great-great grandparents, George and Sarah Ann Hill Housley.

          George died on August 13, 1877 and was buried three days later. The text for the funeral sermon was Proverbs 27:1: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth.”

          #6194

          Did I hear you ask: what is a framework knitter?

          It was William Lee from Calverton in Nottingham who invented the first knitting frame. In 1598, or thereabouts. This made it about 100 times faster than knitting by hand.

          Bad luck for old William though. Queen Elizabeth I refused to grant him a patent for his invention. Maybe because she thought the new fangled invention would take work away from hand knitters.

          William took the design to try his luck in France but alas he had no better luck. It is said that William died a penniless man. His brother fared better. He took the design back to Britain and the framwork knitting trade took off.

          It was hard work being a framework knitter. The work was tough and the hours were long.

          #6169

          There was a screeching sound in the warehouse.

          “Purple & Glitter Alert, Purple & Glitter Alert!” the junior drag-queen in training howled to wake up the troops. “Briefing in Linda Pol’s office, now!”

          Linda Pol was busy e-zapping motes and dust bunnies when the last one of them entered and closed the room silently.

          She pushed her fancy glasses up her nose and pointed at the screen. “Girdle your loins, ladies! There’s been a potential breach in the timelines at this particular junction point, the Universe may be in grave danger. We need volunteers to go and investigate.”

          Someone raised their hand “Can’t we wait until 2021? 2020 was such a nasty year, it is known. Major jinxy vibes. Everything you do goes to poo-poo on this year.”

          “Thank you for the history course Bubbles, and glad you volunteered. Anyone else?”

          #6018

          In reply to: Story Bored

          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            BOARD 8

            Mater in fitting red gabardine is enjoying some quality time with her grand-daughter. Prune is working hard to get her first baby rocket to Mars.

            The Time-travelling Drag Queens Reginald, Amar and Cedric have finally summoned St Germain’s crystal and are getting ready for the disco party, while worrying about being underdressed for such occasion.

            Phurt is not happy about her assignment on this island. Bloody too small! she says. What am I supposed to eat? Coconuts?

            #5788

            The first thing the dwarf did was a finger of honor. “Take that darn blubbit queen!” he shouted before he crumbled butt naked down on the wooden floor surrounded by his former golden carapace. His skin was still glowing with a strange lucent light.

            “What did he say?” asked Fox.

            “What’s a blubbit?” asked Olliver.

            Glynis put her hands on the baby snoots eyes, but there were too many of them and she only had two hands.

            “Have you seen his skin?” asked Eleri.

            “Well yes, he’s butt naked,” said Kumihimo.

            Gorrash had had time to clear his mind and started to realise they were all looking at him.

            “I mean, he HAS a skin now,” insisted Eleri. “Smooth and… all that comes with it. Not his former rocky mossy textured whatever it was before even after daylight.”

            The dwarf who never had to worry about his own modesty before couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of that simple fact. “Am I still dreaming?” His stomach growled and he looked surprised at his belly. “Am I starving?” Fox laughed.

            Glynis brought the dwarf a blanket, and he marvelled at the roughness of it on his new skin. They all started to talk at the same time, wanting to know about the blubbits, about the new skin, asking Kumihimo and Rukshan how it was possible.

            “I don’t know,” they both said.

            “Well! I don’t know about you, but now that he has skin he can certainly appreciate some champagne with us!” said Margoritt, trotting to the kitchen. She came back with a bottle and a sabre. “Who wants to crack it open?”

            “Don’t forget the food,” said Glynis. “It’ll be his first time eating.” Olliver brought some leftovers of Jambalaya, salad and cheese among other things.

            “How can he eat so much?” would ask Eleri later.

            #4748
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              Finnley will you get up and do the dusting,” Liz said pushing the clearly unwell maid out of her bed. “What do you mean the dust gets up your nose and makes you sneeze! It will do you good. Release energy! Honestly you are such a drama queen sometimes. “

              #4693

              In reply to: The Stories So Near

              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Some updates on the Heartwoods Weave

                So far, there were loosely 2 chapters in this story, and we’re entering the 3rd.
                Let’s call them:

                • Ch. 1 – The Curses of the Stolen Shards
                • Ch. 2 – The Flight to the Desert Mountains
                • Ch. 3 – Down the Lands of Giants

                Ch. 1 – The Curses of the Stolen Shards

                In Chapter One, we get acquainted with the main characters as their destinies intertwine (Rukshan, Glynis, Eleri, Gorrash, Fox, Olliver and Tak).
                In a long past, the Forest held a powerful artifact created and left behind as a seal by the Gods now departed in their World: a Gem of Creation. It was defiled by thieves (the 7 characters in their previous incarnations of Dark Fae (Ru), Toothless Dragon (Gl), Laughing Crone (El), Mapster Dwarf (Go), Glade Troll (Fo), Trickster Dryad (Ol), Tricked Girl (Ta)), and they all took a shard of the Gem, although the innocent girl was tricked to open the woods by a promise of resurrecting a loved one, and resented all the others for it. She unwittingly created the curse all characters were suffering from, as an eternal punishment. Removing the Gem from the center of the Forest and breaking it started a chain of events, leading to many changes in the World. The Forest continued to grow and claim land, and around the (Dragon) Heartwoods at the center, grew many other woods – the Haunted Bamboo Forest, the Enchanted Forest, the Hermit’s Forest, the Fae’s Forest etc. At the other side, Cities had developed, and at the moment of the story, started to gain control over the magical world of Old.
                From the special abilities the Seven gained, some changes were triggered too. One God left behind was turned into stone by the now young Crone (E).
                Due to the curse, their memories were lost, and they were born again in many places and other forms.
                During the course of Ch.1, they got healed with the help of Master Gibbon, and the Braider Shaman Kumihimo, who directed Rukshan how to use the Vanishing Book, which once completed by all, and burnt as an offering, lifted the curse. Tak (the Girl of the origin story), now a shapeshifting Gibbon boy, learned to let go of the pain, and to start to live as a young orphan under the gentle care of the writer Margoritt Loursenoir and her goat Emma, in a cottage in the woods.
                Glynis, a powerful healer with a knack for potions, still haven’t found a way to undo the curse of her scales, which she accepts, has found residency and new friends and a funny parrot named Sunshine. Eleri besides her exploration of anti-gravity, learnt to make peace with the reawakened God Hasamelis no longer vengeful but annoyed at being ignored for a mortal Yorath. Eleri continues to love to butt heads with the iniquities of the world, which are never in lack, often embodied by Leroway and his thugs. Gorrash, who adopted the little baby Snoots activated by Glynis’ potions seemed simply happy to have found a community. Fox, a fox which under the tutelage of Master Gibbon, learnt to shapeshift as a human for all his work and accumulation of good karma. Olliver, a young man with potential, found his power by activating the teleporting egg Rukshan gave him. As for Rukshan, who was plagued by ghosts and dark forces, he found a way to relieve the Forest and the world of their curse, but his world is torn between his duties towards his Fae family in the woods, his impossible love for his Queen, and his wants for a different life of exploration, especially now knowing his past is more than what he thought he knew.
                At the end of the chapter, the Door to the God’s realm, at the center of the Forest seems to have reopened.

                Ch. 2 – The Flight to the Desert Mountains

                In the second Chapter, strange sightings of light beams in the mountains prompt some of our friends to go investigate, while in the cottage, the others stay to repel encroachments by brutal modernity embodied by Leroway and his minions. Glynis has found a way to be rid of her scales, but almost failed due to Tak’s appetite for untested potions. Remaking the potion, and succeeding at last, she often still keeps her burka as fond token of her trials. Eleri is spreading glamour bomb concrete statues in the woods, and trying her hand with Glynis supervision at potions to camouflage the cottage through an invisibility spell. Muriel, Margoritt’s sister, comes for a visit.
                In the mountains, the venturing heroes are caught in a sand storm and discover spirits trapped in mystical objects. Pushing forward through the mountain, they are tracked and hunted by packs of hellhounds, and dark energy released from an earthquake. Rukshan works on a magical mandala with the help and protection of his friends. Olliver discovers a new teleportation trick making him appear two places at once. Kumihimo rejoins the friends in trouble, and they all try to leave through the magical portal, while Fox baits the dogs and the Shadow. Eerily, only Fox emerges from the portal, to find a desolated, burnt Forest and his friends all gone. They had been too late, and the Shadow went with them through the portal instead of being destroyed. Luckily, a last potion left by Glynis is able to rewind Fox in time, and succeed in undoing the disaster. The beaming lights were only honeypots for wandering travellers, it turned out.
                Shaken by the ordeal, Rukshan leaves the party for some R&R time in the parallel world of the Faes, which is now mostly abandoned.

                Ch. 3 – Down the Lands of Giants

                In Chapter 3, which has only just begun, some time has passed, and Margoritt has come back to the City, at the beginning of winter for some special kneedle treatments. Glynis and Margoritt are in turn taking care of Tak, who has joined a local school, where he seems to have befriended a mysterious girl Nesingwarys (Nesy). Gorrash seems to have been hurt, broken whilst in his statue form by Leroway’s thugs, but the Snoot babies are still staying with him, so there is hope. Fox is always hungry, and helps with the reconstruction work for the cottage, which was damaged in a fire (we suppose during Leroway’s men foray in the woods).
                Rukshan emerges from his retreat after an encounter with a mad Fae, babbling about a Dark Lord’s return. Piecing clues together, he finds a long lost World Map and connection with a renegade magician who may have been the Maker of Gorrash (and maybe linked to the trapped spirits in the mountain after all). He sends a pigeon to his friends before he returns to the thick of the Heartwoods.
                Now, it seems the Door to the God’s realm has reopened the ancient Realms of the Underworld too, all accessible through the central pillar of the World, intersecting their World precisely at the Heartwoods, were the Gem of Creation originally was. He’s planning to go to the long lost Underworld of the Giants, were he suspects the so-called Dark Lord is hiding.

                #4639
                Jib
                Participant

                  The packet lied forgotten on the dining table. Shawn Paul had caught a cold, or had the cold caught him when the old man delivered the packet? Anyway he had stayed home the following day, feverish and nightmarish. He had dreamt of travels on the back of a transluscent blue whale in between dimensions and timelines as it followed a team of teen dragqueens. Of course when he woke up from the dreams he was so tired that he didn’t bother to write them down and forgot all about it, like he had forgotten all about the packet on his dining table.

                  The dining table was beside his bed in the dining/bed room/ writing office and it was covered in notebooks, granola cookies boxes and an old rose that didn’t seem to want to die. Being where it was, the table naturally attracted stuffs, not quite like a blackhole but more like a junkyard. So as things were piling up, it was natural that some of them got lost as part of this unusual landscape. The last additions being a few layers of tissues, giving it a shape of a snow mountain. Yes Shawn Paul had some poetic imagination, especially when facing cleaning-up the mess he had accumulated. It helped him accept his current condition without much quivering of his heart.

                  The door bell rang.

                  To Shawn Paul it sounded muffled and he tried to imagine a scene that could fit in his ambitious novel.

                  The door bell rang again, becoming impatient.

                  The young man opened the door. It was Maeve and she looked at him from head to toe. Shawn Paul looked at himself and regretted he was still wearing his pajamas. Not that he would have preferred wearing nothing, but you know, a bit of cleaning and dress up.

                  “I need some butter,” said Maeve entering the apartment without asking. She seemed to look around as if she was looking for something. But the young man couldn’t be sure as he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
                  “Of course,” said Shawn Paul to the door.

                  #4632

                  Sometimes, you have to go underground to uncover the truth.

                  Rukshan thought it meant taking the new underground carts once only.

                  Frankly, he’d preferred to travel through the familiar Shadow Maps, the ones Dark Faes like him could draw, that would give them access to a secret parallel world of mist and phantoms, shadows and secrets. It was the true world the Faes originated from, long ago, in a time before history.

                  It wasn’t used much nowadays, most Centenial Faes having lost the capacity, or the interest in the place, leaving only bitter unsavoury people creeping there, spying on secrets, and trading in for favours, while being too afraid to leave the known parallel world, too afraid that if they left it, they’d lose the way back.
                  For Rukshan and a few in the Queen’s lineage, the place was still more or less of a familiar dwelling, a winter residence of sorts, for when solace and retreat was required.

                  Only the Shadow Maps weren’t safe any longer, something had crept along the lay lines and was lurking at every corner, keeping guard at most of the known entrances and reporting to some unknown power.

                  Few moons back, Rukshan was still meditating in the Shadow world, not very far from the work at the cottage, which he could hear at times through the thin dimensional walls, when he came across Konrad. Konrad, another Fae from the Old Houses, one with a heavy secret. “I’ve hidden her from him” he told him in short broken sentences. “His daughter, Nesingwarys, she is hidden for now, but He’ll be looking for her, once He recovers, and she won’t be safe. He can’t find her, I have to protect her, she holds power to bring his reign of terror back.”

                  Truly, it didn’t make a lot of sense, but it had picked his curiosity. Rukshan left the other Fae to his apparent madness, but wondered about the coincidence. That Garl, the name Konrad gave to the dark fallen monarch, according to what he could piece together, seemed to have been vanquished or disappeared about the same time they’d all managed to repel the Shadow in the Forest.

                  He would usually have left it at that, but then, a few days later, started to realize something was wrong in the Shadow world, and that this very something was growing.

                  “And now, I’m stuck in an underground cart crammed full of people to go to the city. And they call that progress…”

                  A bearded guy smelling of piss and wine, was doing acrobatics with his crutches and what was left of his left leg. He was looking at people with a half-toothed grin and a blissful face while muttering things Rukshan couldn’t figure. His face reminded him of a thespian he’d known. Rukshan couldn’t shake the feeling there was message in that. When the underground cart dinged to announce the Grand Belfrey Station, Rukshan was relieved to finally be out for fresh air. Magnificent craftsmanship he would say to the gnomes in charge of the tunnels, but really, underground cart wasn’t his thing.

                  #4457

                  It was no shadow day. The sun was right above head, shining its blinding light right through you. Everybody at the cottage was feeling the heat and trying as much as they could to cool themselves down.
                  Only Hasamelis didn’t seem to mind. Being a God even a fallen One had its perks. Eleri was glaring at him annoyed while she was profusely sweating. There was always a tense flirtatious hatred, or rather a murderous love between those two, and it kept pulling them together, in a paradoxical way.
                  Everyone were glad for the herb cooler that Glynis would decant for them.

                  Rukshan was looking longingly at the horizon, maybe (he wouldn’t admit) thinking about the Queen, or for some better place to be…
                  But since their fire ceremonial, he could feel releasing the Shards through the burning of the book had awoken something, and danger from an unknown place seemed to be lurking beyond the mountains.

                  The Doors to the God Realm had opened again, and he wasn’t all sure it was a good thing.

                  #4314

                  After days and days, there was no signs of the others.

                  Rukshan had hoped they would manifest as easily as the Hermit had, without much effort on his part.
                  But they had remained silent, and even the ghosts seemed to have subsided in another dimension. He couldn’t feel them any longer. It was as though his realisation had made them disappear, or change course for a while.

                  He hadn’t come any closer to the inner ring of trees though, and he’d come to the conclusion that there was surely some piece missing. He was reminded of the map that the cluster of seven had found at the beginning of the story, so they could reach the magic Gem inside the Gods’ Heartswood. There was no telling if such a map existed or if it did, what form it had —after all, the story seemed to be a little too simplified.

                  He was trying to figure out which was his character, and which of the curse he had inherited. The curse was rather easy he’d thought… Knowledge. It had always been his motivation, and the encounter with the Queen and the taking of the potion had keenly reminded him that for all his accumulated knowledge, he was missing the biggest part. The knowledge of himself, and who he really was. It was constantly eluding him, and he was starting to doubt even his own memories at times.

                  For the past few days, having finished the last morsel of fay bread in his bag, he was subsisting on roots, mushrooms and fresh rainwater cupped in leaves and last bits of snow in treeholes. It was time to get moving, as the weather had started to change. The snow was receding too.

                  Even if his quest wasn’t as sure as before, he knew he had to find a way to reach these six others, and try to figure out what they could do, or undo.

                  He had a strong suspicion that the potion maker was linked to this story. Her potion had activated something deep in him, and it seemed to share the same source of power.

                  With that resolution in mind, he took the path retracing his steps back to the cottage and the outside world.

                  #4298

                  He took the road again not much later after a light breakfast.

                  The potion hadn’t seemed to bring about immediate noticeable changes. It told Rukshan something about its maker, who was versed enough in potions to create gradual (and likely durable) effects. Every experienced potion maker knew that the most potent potions were the ones that took time, and worked with the drinker’s inner magic instead of against its own nature. The flashy potions that made drastic changes in nature were either destructive, or fleeting as a bograt’s fart in the spring breeze.
                  If anything, it did give him a welcome warmth in the chest, and a lightness on his back and shoulders.

                  The Faes had been generous with him, and he had food enough for a few days. Generous may not have been the right word… eager to see him scamper away was more likely.

                  Enhanced by the potion’s warmth, the Queen’s words were starting to shake some remembrance back to him, melting away a deep crust of memories he had forgotten somehow, pushing against the snow like promises of crocuses in spring. The core of the Dragon Heartswood was very close now, a most sacrosanct place.
                  Faes were only living at the fringe, where life and magic flew, running like the sap of an old tree, close to the bark.
                  Inside was darker, harder to get to. Some said it was where life and death met, the birthplace of the Old Gods and of their Dragons guardians before the Sundering.

                  His initial plan was to go around it, safe in Fae territory, but after the past days, and the relentless menace of the hungry ghosts on his trail, he had to take risks, and draw them away from his kin.
                  The warmth in his heart was getting warmer, and he felt encouraged to move forth in his plan. He gave a last look at the mountain range in the distance before stepping into the black and white thickets of austere trees.

                  #4296

                  That night Glynnis had a strange dream. She knew that it was no ordinary dream and in the morning diligently recorded it in her dream journal.

                  I was walking on a windy path through the forest. A young woman with bizarre hair and a cackling laugh appeared before me, blocking my path.
                  “Tell me your name!” I commanded.
                  “My name is Eleri, and I have a parrot to accompany you on your journey.”
                  “A parrot! What would I do with a parrot?”
                  “This is no ordinary parrot. This parrot can tell jokes,” responded the woman.
                  “A funny parrot! Well why didn’t you tell me that in the first place. Give me the parrot and I will be on my way.”
                  “Hold your horses. It’s not such an easy thing as that,” said the woman. “It never is you know. First you must tell me what is going on.”
                  I sighed and handed her a manuscript. “Read this a dozen times and all will be made clear.”
                  A look of petulant fury distorted the young woman’s face.
                  “ Tell me what is going on, you rude tart!“ she said crossly.
                  Here is what I told her:

                  Glynnis is a young woman living in the enchanted forest in an abandoned mansion. She practices magic and has a great affinity for nature. She also has the face of dragon after she annoyed a powerful sorcerer. She is being troubled by dreams which seem to be calling her on a mission—the purpose of which she is unsure. Glynnis sells her potions at a stall in the city. One day she finds a map hidden behind a painting and knows that she needs to follow the path shown on the map.
                  Rushkan is fae. He works as the city ‘chief overseer’ looking after the clock tower. He isn’t that keen on his job. Rushkan has a half-formed vision to assemble a team but for what purpose he is not sure. He has also discovered something worrying, dark even, about the clock tower.
                  One day, Rushkan uses his magic to call for an Oliphant. He packs a small bag of belongs and departs on a journey. Before departing, he leaves a gift for Olliver, the office errand boy.
                  Rushkan is a little irritated to find that the forest has been fenced off and a toll-booth erected—who wouldn’t be annoyed by this needless bureaucracy? Anyway, after farewelling the helpful Oliphant he continues his journey on foot.
                  He hears a cry for help and comes across a dying Gibbon. The Gibbon entrusts her infant to his care. He takes the baby—named Tak—to an old woman who lives in a lodge close to the Dragon Heartwood: Margoritt Loursenoir, a writer. It seems Tak is a shape-shifter and can also take the form of a child. Perhaps that is his true form. Rushkan stays with Margoritt for a while to recoup but it isn’t very long before he feels compelled to continue his journey to find the hermit, Kumihimo,in the forest. Kumihimo seems to be weaving seven braids.
                  To get to the hermit Rushkan has to cross Fae land. He isn’t overjoyed about this because he has left the ‘old ways’ of his people. Rushkan has to declare his presence to the Fae people—it’s a rule. The Queen is a bit annoyed because her empire is not as powerful as it once was and she has had to use precious resources to protect Rushkan on his journey. Anyway, she doesn’t stay uppity for long and ends up in bed with him.
                  Gorash is a dwarf statue who abides in the grounds of the deserted mansion in the enchanted forest. At night he comes to life. He has a friend called Rainbow. Gorash assists Rainbow in stealing Glynis’s magic potions and they make seven colourful eggs which Rainbow is infatuated with.
                  Mr Fox lives in a hut outside the city walls. At sunset he can shapeshift into a fox. He prefers being in animal form. Fox is quite a character. Not much gets past him.
                  Fox’s master is a Gibbon who taught him how to shapeshift. After going on a journey into the forest to find Gibbon, Fox is told that it is time to learn the wisdom of the Heart. Gibbon gives Fox an assignment: “You’ll find a lost soul in the enchanted forest. Bring it back to its rightful owner. Then you shall find your master.”
                  Fox goes back to the mansion in the deserted forest just as Glynnis is leaving on her journey. He befriends Gorash who has become increasingly lonely since Rainbow now has the eggs.

                  “That’s brilliant,” said the woman called Eleri. “You should probably get lots of points for doing that.” She gave one more loud cackle and shouted: “I am off to pick some mushrooms. You will find the parrot when you wake up from this crazy dream!”

                  #4287

                  His sleep had been deep. When he emerged, he felt as if ages had passed in his dreams. The Queen had left, only the evanescent scent of her in the sheets made him certain that no longer than a night had passed.

                  He could barely remember the dreams, already swirling in the chilly air like wisps of incense smoke, drawing ever-changing figures that a single careless breath would destroy forever. The tip of his remembrance was still incandescent, but it was formless, irreconcilable with the volutes of images dancing in his mind.

                  There were many lives he had lived in that night of feverish dreams, and he had the strange feeling that these were sent by the Hermit. With the overflow of lives lived, only lingered a sense of calm and fulfillment. A sense of a change of destination.

                  He had not remembered who the Queen knew he was, not entirely, but glimpses remained, obscured by an old curse. She couldn’t tell him, he had to remember by himself, and all his accumulated knowledge was worthless to divine the precious hidden gem of self-knowledge.

                  At least, her gift was that of perspective. He had erred aimless in the forests, and meeting the Hermit was an excuse to extract him from the rites and rut of his old life. The ghosts in his wake wouldn’t lay to rest without his reclaiming his power.

                  It was time to drink the potion that had been offered —which had a fiery copper colour now, and see which direction it would point to.

                  #4279

                  For the last day, he’d gone to the shrines, pay his respects to his ancestors.
                  They had long joined with the trees, for most, still living in their roots, and while the trees that they prayed to were young in comparison to the ones in the Heartwood, they were all connected.
                  Here, it was harder to ignore their messages. Their voices had the gravity of silence, bearing the weight of ageless wisdom. Among them, Rukshan felt at home.

                  The cold was sharper than the day before, and the east wind brought with it smells of industry and worry, and that of the dragon’s bad tooth. He felt there was a past were such things disturbed him; for now, he was at peace.

                  Back to the campement, he retreated in his small lodge with the thin paper walls, and the warm mountain salt crystal lights.
                  There, in front of him, was the little he possessed, and the provisions needed for the climb to the mountain.
                  He’d found a page from the vanishing book reappear from time to time in his bag. Everytime it carried different words, and would vanish again. Its magic didn’t come from the trees, but their messages intertwined. The page carried bits and pieces of news about the Sage Sorceress, who had started to move on her healing path, the Teafing Tinkeress who was hunted by a swift menace of godlike powers, and also a Gifted Gnome, on his way to become his own maker under the protection of a Renard Renunciate looking for lost souls.
                  He couldn’t figure out the stories yet, but he was glad for the piece of paper. He was helpless at distant viewing in general, so it did save him additional worry about sorting through his impressions and getting them right. Like after the Court audience, when he couldn’t feel Margoritt’s presence, and worried she and Tak were in trouble. The resident Seer at the campement had peered through his glubolin and confirmed that they were both fine. He did also confirm that she’d fainted, and was recovering. Rukshan had wanted to go back, abandon the trip to the Hermit, but reasoned that Margoritt was fine for now, and that she was a proud woman. He would have to trust she and Tak would be alright.

                  “Magic comes from the heart. You will know when to use it.” the words said in passing were etched in his memory, and the potion was still here. Its color seemed to reflect his mood at times. After the morning praying, it was almost glowing gold. Now, it was a pale purple. He had felt no pull to use it. At first, there was strong resistance about it, but now, there was a mildly curious acceptance of the gift. Like the vanishing paper, whether it appeared or disappeared was of no consequence for now.

                  The paper wall shivered. His meditative state was easily distracted by the sounds around, even after nightfall when everything went quiet.

                  “Quiet suits you well.” The visitor was near him, wearing thin wool despite the cold.
                  “My Queen?” he was surprised.
                  “You still don’t remember who you are, do you?” the Queen leaned forward. He felt a strange attraction, and their lips touched. The kiss was warm and filled him with longing. They fell into each other’s arms.

                  #4277

                  “You’ve been careless. The ghosts have been following you.”

                  The Queen had not moved nor spoken. It was her emissary who was talking in her stead, as customary.
                  In the morning, at the break of dawn, Rukshan had summoned the Court, by calling in an owl with the old speech of their tongue.
                  It was not long before he was found and guided to a careful ritual of purification before he was allowed in front of their sovereign.

                  The idea struck him like lightening. Following me? Was that what happened?

                  “You look surprised. Another sign of carelessness. Now, they are wandering around our walls of magic fire, they are following you. As a result of our actions, we are exhausting our stores of magic to put defenses in place, putting our civilisation in peril. What have you to say for your defense?”
                  “Throw me in iron jail” a shudder ran through the small crowd “kill me if you think I deserve it.” Rukshan paused for dramatic effect “But it won’t solve your predicament, will it?”

                  He felt a rush of defiance coursing through his veins. They couldn’t hold him against his will, there wasn’t any ban on improper use of magic, nor any punition for that, and if they wanted to get rid of the ghosts, they’d better let him go.

                  “Let him go.” The breaking of protocol made everyone fuss around, until the Queen silenced everyone with a regal wave of hand. “Let him go.” She turned her gaze to meet his. “You think you are better than us, by renouncing the old ways, trying to define your own, but you are not above natural laws. They will follow you until you find how to appease them. I do hope, for the sake of all, that you will find a way. Humans may think they have tamed the wild, but the wild is rising and cannot be contained. The forest will see to it, and you better hurry. We will give you what you need for your journey, and three days to prepare.”

                  #4275

                  There was no way around it. As hard as he would have tried, he couldn’t reach the peaks of the mountain without crossing the part of the Enchanted Forest which the Fae called their own. There was no way for him to avoid paying the price, or to avoid facing the Court.
                  Rukshan wished there was an easier way, but trying to avoid it would only delay the inevitable. Besides, he would need provisions to continue his journey —that is, if they’d let him.

                  The first signs of the enchanted signposts had appeared two days ago. He’d been walking through the silent and cold forest for close to ten days already. His progress was slow, as the days were short, and the nights were better spent recuperating.
                  The early signs that he was approaching the Fae land wouldn’t have been noticeable by any other than those with some Fae blood in their veins. Some were as subtle as enchanted dewdrops on spiderwebs, other few were watcher crows, but most of the others were simply sapling trees, shaking at the slightest change of wind. All of them silent watchers of the Forest, spies for the Queen and her Court.

                  From the first sign, he had three days. Three days to declare himself, or face the consequences. He would wait for the last one. There was something magical about the number three, and anything more hasty would only mean he was guilty of something.

                  Like improper use of magic he thought, smiling at the memory of the oiliphant. The Queen was clutching at a dwindling empire, and magic sources gone scarce meant it had to be “properly” used.

                  He never believed such nonsense, which is why he’d decided to live outside of their traditions. But for all his disagreement, he remained one of them, bound by the same natural laws, and the same particularities. Meant to reach extremely old ages while keeping an external appearance as youthful as will is strong in their mind, able to wield strong magic according to one’s dispositions, ever bound to tell the truth (and becoming thus exceptionally crafty at deception), and a visceral distaste for the Bane, iron in all its forms.
                  Thus was his heritage, the one he shared with the family that was now waiting for his sign to be granted an audience in the Court.

                  One more day, he thought…

                  #4138
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    “M’am, I am quite honoured to meet you” Godfrey felt the need to add a creeping “Your daughter always speaks highly of you…”

                    “Don’t be silly, dear” cooed the mother “You can call me Felicity, no need to make me feel like a granny.”

                    “Traitor” muttered Liz’ between her teeth. She was spread across the sofa while monitoring the developments of her Mother’s coup and trying to gather her wits and plan her next move. Mother wouldn’t be easily defeated. Last time, Liz’ had to resort to a rats and roaches invasion. Made the house unlivable for months. But quite worth it.

                    “Has your latest gigolo grown tired of you and thrown you out… again?” she interrupted the amiable chatter of her mother and Godfrey.

                    “Dear, dear, don’t brood like that, it makes you look like your father. You know my mother instincts have always been very strong. Call it my antennas if you shall — I can always tell when you’re not right, and I can’t let you down this slope.” She retorted, queenly ignoring the rude comment.

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