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  • #7394

    Frigella stared at the pulsating wall, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and dread. “Sanso, is the wall… throbbing?”

    Truella looked up from her glass, “Not to my knowledge. Are you feeling alright?”

    Frigella blinked, the wall returned to its ordinary state. “I… I saw it shift, Sanso. Like a heartbeat.”

    Truella’s eyebrows furrowing, she pondered. “Frigella, have you been experimenting with the incense again?”

    She shook her head, “No, not since the last incident.”

    “Could be a residue effect. You’ve been working with some potent substances. Maybe you’re getting phantom scents.” Truella-Sanso suggested, sipping from her glass again.

    Frigella sighed, rubbing her temples. “Perhaps you’re right. The ‘Liz n°5’ does have a tendency to linger.”

    “Try to take a break, get some fresh air,” Truella advised, “And no more sniffing incense!”

    Frigella rolled her eyes, “Oh, hush you, Sanso!” But she had to admit, a stroll in the cool evening air did sound appealing.

    #7387

    The full moon was rising behind the mountains as Frigella turned off the road for the last lap of the journey down a dirt track.  Daunted at first by the thought of the long drive, the prospect of a weeks holiday had lifted her spirits. There was altogether too much going on of late for a simple country hedge witch, and that carnaval mayhem had made her grumpy and withdrawn, but the drive had restored her equilibrium.

    Truella rolled down the passenger window and laughed as the cool night air rushed in.  “Nearly there now, I can hardly believe I made it back in one piece.”

    “You and me both,” laughed Frigella.  “There’s nothing I fancy more now than a couple of glasses of your lovely red wine but we’d better make a start on the spell to bring Roger back right away. This moon is perfect tonight.”

    “I can’t see any reason why we can’t do both,” Truella grinned.  Frigella started to object, and then stopped herself. They had arrived and she was on holiday and she deserved to sit and enjoy a drink with her friend and her responsibilities and obligations would just have to wait, at least for an hour or two.

    “Why not indeed,” she said, “Why the hell not.  You can tell me about finding the hippocampus statue in the dig. Great timing I must say, and the smoked hippo bones as well, just when we need to use that spell.”

    “And a full moon as well. And it’s full all night long, we have plenty of time.”

    #7364

    “Witches, assemble!” It was hard for Malové to forget the theatrics, even in presence of a limited number of persons.

    The three witches had come in a hurry, summoned for some of them by a loud howler in the early light. Admittedly, Malové had to compensate for the usual tardiness of some, and her impeccable spells had been calling for the trio at just the right time for each to arrive precisely to the Quadrivium’s Headquarter in less than a minute’s space one from the other.

    “Unbelievable” Frigella had muttered when she saw Truella already there.

    “Hoy, don’t get your knickers in a twist Love, I’ve been called to that meeting only two days ago!”

    Frigella didn’t have time to retort with a snark that she’d been summoned less than fifteen minutes before, as another popping sound and a flush indicated the arrival of Eris from the Quadrivium’s Emporium backdoor in the lady’s room.

    “And where is Jeezel?” Truella wondered. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

    “Oh, you know, there’s no accounting for wig time preparation even with Malové superb spells skills” Eris said pragmatically.

    “I wouldn’t say that.” The voice of Malové, stern but not devoid of warmth, signaled the end of the chatty banter. “She was doing some chores for me, but she’ll be back in a second.” She clapped her hands elegantly, each hand barely touching the other, yet ripples of powerful energies resounded throughout the space.

    The doors flung open, revealing Jeezel in a gorgeous golden fitting ensemble, the chiffon kerchief she had before to do her chores replaced by a subtly glittering tiara standing proud on the loveliest curly wig of luscious magpie dark hair reflecting a striking metallic blue in their shine.

    Jeezel, who had been secretly crying over the punishment touched her cheeks for signs of blurred cracked mascara, but instead, she could feel her cheeks were delicately powdered, her eyes contoured to perfection.

    “What?…” she for once couldn’t voice her emotions.

    “Silly goose,” Malové smiled in a hard to decipher rictus. “You have forgotten the evil witch and the fairy godmother are all part of the same cabal. Now,” and she turned intently to the other assembled witches.

    “Are we getting punished too?” Asked Truella who couldn’t refrain to hide her rebellious nature “I won’t…”

    Before she could say more, Malové raised her hand and said “Enough with this punishment nonsense. Even that foul-mouthed Finnlee with her down-to-earth mores knows that there is nothing like a little cleaning to clear up the space.”

    A sigh of relief from the four friends. So if punishment wasn’t in order, what was it about?

    “So where was I? It’s going to get me a whole new comment to get to where I…” She started to get flustered with exasperation from all the interruptions. The four witches were silent except for long agitated side glances at each other.

    That’s when the door bell started to ring relentlessly. She thought to let it pass, probably a delivery person for the staff. But it wasn’t stopping.

    “What is it?” her voice as honey-coated as the raspy tongue of a feral hellcat.

    “It’s Finnlee, M’am Witch, erm, HeadTwitch. I forgot my keys, open the door if you don’t want this place to go to more waste. Mark my words. So much staff has come and gone, it’s a miracle I’m still here with …”

    Malové rolled her eyes, and flipped her hands in a savant motion, opening the gates remotely for the cursing cleaning lady. She was right, one couldn’t get the staff these days. And there was nothing like a good solid floor scrubbing, no magic involved but elbow grease. Magic rarely stuck enough, and honestly, it would be such a waste of energy.

    #7362

    “Is he ready yet?” Echo the familiar sprite was waiting patiently, in the middle of Eris’ altar, surrounded by a delicate pattern of magical items.

    “Quiet, I need to concentrate.” Eris was close to finishing the spell, and needed her familiar’s assistance. The ink was drying on the pages of her grimoire, and she took a breathe; the words were sufficiently inspired, the right intention and blessings would ensure they would be potent.

    After the proper offering was made to the Elders and the nearby tree spirits, she uttered the words, inspired by her familiar’s presence who was helping her to concentrate the permeating energies:

    “Silmiä avaava digitaalinen tila, Luoja Lönnrotin. Vie meidät kaukaisille maailmoille, jossa tarinat elävät ja hengittävät koodien keskellä.”

    (🗣️Sound 🎶 ).  “Eye-opening digital space, Creator Lönnrotin. Takes us to distant worlds where stories live and breathe in the midst of codes.”

    “Is it done?” Eris asked Echo, who had flickered for a moment, hinting at a magical energy exchange in progress.

    “I think it is,” it jumped from the altar to her shoulder. “How are you going to call it?”

    “Are you getting jealous Whisp?” she smiled, while her pixie took the shape of an eye rolling teddy bear.

    She started to clean the space, rolled and tied her blue braided hair in a bun. “I’ll call him Elias, simply. Inspired by Elias Lönnrot, to draw on his greatest creations, and fit for the digital age. We can all use some ancient wisdom.”

    “Simple… and effective I guess. And you’ve got a task in mind for him already?”

    “Yes, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait, we have to hurry, Malové has called for an extraordinary session, and I can’t miss it.”

    #7354

    By the time night fell over the Mediterranean village, the monkeys were still on the loose, having defied all attempts to capture them.  Truella decided to go and see for herself, having noticed that all the photographs in the news were rubbish. She knew she could do better than that.  The authorities were supposedly trying to capture them, but all she’d seen from the photos were the police standing in the narrow streets looking baffled, staring up at the primates scampering all over the rooftops and swinging from balcony to balcony.

    Where had all the monkeys come from?  Was it some kind of trick? It was, after all, Carnaval season, and tricks and buffoonery were rife.   And it would be a nice outting for Roger, before she set him to work.    He’d been very quiet since his arrival that morning, probably shy, Truella thought, and perhaps jetlagged.

    Grabbing her camera and a bunch of bananas, they set off towards the coast.  Truella attempted to engage Roger in conversation, but he just smiled sheepishly and mumbled unitelligably by way of response. Inwardly Truella rolled her eyes and wondered what she’d got herself into.  Still, a silent brawny helper was better than no help at all.

    Parking the car was uncharacteristially easy and they made their way on foot to the hodge podge row of beach shanties and fishermens cottages by the sea where the crowd had gathered to watch the monkeys antics.  Despite the full moon, the monkeys were hidden in the shadows, until every now and then the streetlights spotlit them as they leaped from roof to roof.  A conveniently situated bar was open with tables and chairs on the pavement, and Truella and Roger sat down and ordered drinks and peanuts.  Within moments Roger had eaten all the peanuts, so Truella turned to catch the waiters eye to order more.   He was serving a chubby pale woman in tartan bermuda shorts, surely a tourist, Truella deduced, as it was not yet shorts weather for the locals.

    “Whirling ‘n’ twirling a muckle puff o’ rowk,”  the woman was saying to the waiter, to which he replied “Que?”, and Truella gasped, grabbing Rogers forearm.  “Oh my god, it’s Griselda. What is that Scottish bogwitch doing down here?”

    “Ye’ll dae as ah say…”

    “Oh no he won’t,” Truella shouted across the terrace. “Grizel! Griselda MacSmotheringhampton! We don’t do that here!”  To the confused waiter she said, ” I’ll pay for it, put it on my bill. Don’t listen to her, she’s as mad as a box of frogs.”

    And then it dawned on her. She glared at Griselda and hissed, “This is your doing, isn’t it?  All these monkeys, it’s your doing, isn’t it?”

    Griselda smirked. “And what are ye gooin tae do aboot it?”

    #7353

    Cedric peered through the peephole in his newspaper. He’d have recognised that bogwitch anywhere. Drat that blonde one grabbing her arm, he’d have been able to catch her red handed and arrest her.

    Cedric was ambitious.  He’d been working for MAMA for thirty years as an agent and wanted a promotion, a nice cushy office job where he could sit in comfort dishing out orders.  He’d had enough of traipsing round the countryside and sitting in draughty pubs in the back of beyond and felt it was high time that the Ministry for the Abolition of the Magical Arts recognised his potential as a leader.

    Who was that blonde one anyway? Another bogwitch no doubt, covens springing up everywhere these days, defying proper law and order, it was an outrage.  She hadn’t seemed too happy to see that old tart Aggie, though. Maybe there was a rift between covens that he could exploit for his own ends.  Cedric decided to keep an eye on her, perhaps mislead her into thinking he was on her side.  It gave him a frisson of pleasure to think how clever he would look when he made his report.

    Frigella her name was, Cedric heard Aggie ask her why she was rushing off.

    “Gottta run, I’m babysitting. And just you behave yourself Aggie, I told you, we don’t do things like that around here. It’s witches like you that give us all a bad name.”

    Cedric rolled his newspaper up and pulled his deerstalker hat low over his eyes and followed Frigella out onto the street.

    #7334

    Impressed with Finnlee’s spirited outburst, Truella realised she’d barely noticed the cleaning lady and felt ashamed.  The required daily  appearances that the dictatorial Malove insisted upon rankled her, occupying her attention so that the cleanliness or otherwise of the premises went unnoticed.  She made up her mind to seek Finnlee out and befriend her, treat her as an equal, draw her into her confidence. Besides, that confident no nonsense approach could come in handy for any staff uprisings.  Not that any staff uprising were planned, she mentally added, quickly cloaking her thoughts in case any had leaked out.

    Malove spun round and shot her a piercing look and Truella quailed a little, momentarily, but then squared her shoulders and impudently stared back.  Malove raised an eyebrow and returned to addressing the witches.

    After what seemed like an eternity the meeting was over. Truella planned to seek Finnlee out and invite her for a brew at the Faded Cabbage but  Frigella approached her, looking a bit sheepish, and asked if she could have a word in private about a personal matter.

    They strolled together towards the little park opposite, and once out of earshot of the others, Frigella came straight to the point.

    “Can my cousin come and stay with you for a bit? The thing is, he’s got himself into a spot of bother and needs to disappear for a bit, if you know what I mean.  He’s a big strong lad, and I’m sure he’d be willing to give you a hand with all that digging…”

    Truella didn’t hesitate. “But of course, Frigella, send him over! He won’t be the first person on the run to come and stay, and probably won’t be the last.”

    “The thing is he’s a bit sandwich short of a picnic, you know, not a full bag of shopping…”

    “What, does he eat a lot? I don’t do much cooking…”

    “No, no, well yes, he does have a good appetite, but that’s not what I meant. He’s a bit simple, but heart of gold. He’s from the other side of the family and our side never had much to do with them, but I always had a soft spot for him.”

    ” A simpleton might be a refreshing change from all the over complicated people, send him over! What’s his name?”

    “Roger. Roger Goodall.”

    Roger!  The name rang a bell.  It wasn’t until much later that Truella realized she should have asked what Roger was on the run for.

    #7301

    After the first of the four Rites of the Annual Incense Making was done, and the Coven disbanded for the day, Frigella was pulled by the sleeve by the weird one Truella.

    “Psstt. Come to the Faded Cabbage in 30 min. Have something to tell you.”

    Frigella rolled her eyes. She was not one for secrecies, cloaks and ladle, all that sort of mischiefs. But Truella seemed intent, if her electric hair had to tell the story for her. “Alright, I’ll be there.” she finally said, surprising Truella who’d thought she’d have to do more coaxing.

    The Fadded Cabbage was hidden around a darker corner a stone’s throw away from the headquarters of the Quadrivium, some place the city council and gentrification had not yet touched for some reason, probably a strong ghosting spell.

    Frigella sighed. She had been as usual too punctual, and of course, Truella was nowhere in sight. Unless…

    She put a light spell on her round glasses which turned a subtle tint of violet. There she was. Under a cloaking spell, in a shady corner, slurping on a macchiatto lagger with cinnamon. Or some odd brewage of the sort she knew the secret.

    “The old hare’s clearly lost the plot.” She spent no time engaging the discussion.

    “I’ll have to stop you there, Tru.” said Frigella, “I don’t care about the politics. Much less if you’re trying to make a power move.”

    Truella spluttered her offensive brewage all over Frigella’s neat starched apron. “You got it all wrong, Frig’. I don’t care about the power, I only care about my craft and freedom. It’s been too long we’ve been called to arms, like every bloody year. And my interest have grown since.”

    Frigella chuckled. “You mean, you’ve been all over the place, haven’t you. From Energetic History, you’ve moved to Concrete Plasticity, Telluric Archaelogy, Familial Arborestry, I must say… It’s been hard to keep up.”

    “You’re one to tell. All that mystery, and not much to show for. You’re barely doing the minimum to keep our flagship household Incense ‘Liz n°5’ afloat.” Truella sighed.

    “So what’s your plan?” Frigella wondered?

    #7287

    In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

    “It’s you!” Youssef laughed when Zara replied to his application for the job uncovering a lost civilization.  “What are you doing sending me spam like that?”

    “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” Zara smiled. “You won’t believe what I’ve found. Nobody is going to beleive it.  But I need some extra hands.”

    “But you could have just asked me!” Youssef replied.

    “Well, I was sitting here having a banana eating scroll…”

    “Never have a banana eating scroll, it’s a dangerous combination. ”

    “Sounds like a llama munching a burrito, but more dangeous,”  Xavier had appeared in the chat window, with his customary perfect timing.

    “I don’t fancy Australia though, after the Tartiflate debacle,” Youssef said.

    “It’s Tasmoania, not Australia.  A different kettle of fish entirely. Look what I found today. Damn, no banana for scale, I just ate it.”

     

    banana for scale

    “What is it? And who’s the old guy?” Youssef asked.

    “That’s Havelock Gnomes, he’s an expert on undiscovered civilizations.  He’s come over specially from New Zipland to help with the investigation.  He plays the violin, too.”

    “Wasn’t Xavier supposed to find that for his mission?” Yasmin had joined the chat.

    “Precisely, Yassie,  that’s why he’s coming over too.  Well, maybe something LIKE that, we don’t know yet.”

    “Yes, but what IS that thing?” Yasmin asked.

    “I am?” It was news to Xavier, but he rolled the idea round in his mind with a growing interest.  He was due for some time off and had been wondering what to do. “That thing looks like the burrito I mentioned earlier.”

    “How prescient of you, Xavi!” Yasmin exclaimed rather cheekily.

    “That’s no burrito!  Nothing like this has ever been found before!”

    “Yes BUT WHAT IS IT?”

    “Yas, Havelock thinks it might be…. well I am not going to spill the beans, but we need help to uncover the rest of it.  Do say you’ll come, all of you!”

    “Sounds like quite the picnic, what with kettles of fish, beans, burritos and bananas.  I’m in!” announced Youssef.

    #7259
    AvatarJib
    Participant

      A sudden and violent storm had cut off the manor from the outside world. Torrents of water had gushed over the roads and washed them out as if some manic god of cleanliness had decided to remove all the dust from the country, carrying away every other thing in its frenzied smudging. It had left the property an island, and the worse was they had no more electricity and no cable. Liz counted the days.

      When they ran out of candles, they had to take the exercise bike back out of the cellar. Godfrey, who seemed to always know the most random, but always useful, things, had plugged it into the electric network, and voilà. Finnley had been the fiercest at the start because all the dust seemed to have taken refuge in the Manor. But once she had vented out all her frustration, it remained on Roberto’s and Godfrey’s legs to supply them with the essential power so that they could use the microwave to warm up the canned beans.

      To Roberto’s dismay, the storm had washed away all the box trees he had so carefully tended to all those years. To Liz’ delight, the rain had accelerated the dig and unearthed what appeared to be a temple dedicated to some armless goddess. There was just one tiny problem, half the ruins were underwater.

      The guests started to arrive for the Roman Delights Party in an enormous galley two weeks in advance, and the invitation hadn’t been printed yet. Roberto tied a rope to a mooring post and the guests started to disembark as if arriving to some movie award festival.

      “There must be someone moving all those roams,” said Liz thoughtful to no one and everyone in particular. “They could take turns and relieve us at the bike.”

      “Us?” asked Godfrey, raising an eyebrow.

      “Tsst. Don’t be so cliché.”

      She put on her smile as Walter Melon was approaching dressed like a Roman senator.

      Sailors carrying crates invaded the kitchen. Finnley frowned at their muddy feet trampling all the floors she just cleaned.

      “What’s in those?” she asked briskly.

      “Food and trinkets for the banquet, I reckon,” said a tanned man with a tattoo on his neck saying Everything start with pixie dust.

      Finnley rolled her eyes. “Follow me, I’ll show you the cellar.”

      “Where do we put the octopuses tanks?”

      #7224
      AvatarJib
      Participant

        Georges was following an orange line on the floor of Jorid’s corridor with Barney on his left shoulder. The man was talking to the creature and listening to the occasional chirps Barney made as if they were part of a normal conversation.

        “You see, Barney,” said Georges. “Salomé gave us this checklist.” He tapped on the clipboard with his index finger. “I have to conduct all those experiments with you in the lab while she’s doing whatever she’s doing with the maps. Salomé loves maps, I can tell you. Always trying to invent new ones that would help us navigate all those dimensions. But they confuse me, so I’m glad to leave that to her and Jorid.”

        The two of them stopped in front of an orange door with a tag on it.

        “So you’ll ask me: ‘Georges, why are we going to the kitchen instead of going into the lab?’ —which is the blue door.”

        Georges waited for Barney’s chirp before continuing.

        “You’re right! She forgot the most important. What do you like to eat? You can’t do that in a lab with instruments stuck onto your head and tummy. It’s best done in the warm and cozy atmosphere of a kitchen.”

        The door swooshed open and they entered a bland, sanitised kitchen.

        “Jorid, morph the kitchen into a 19th century style pub, with greasy smells and a cozy atmosphere.”

        “Shouldn’t you be into the lab?” asked Jorid.

        “Let’s call it a kitchen lab,” answered Georges. “So you can tell Salomé I’m in the lab if she asks you.”

        “Most certainly.”

        The bland rooms started wobbling and becoming darker. Gas wall lamps were coming out of the walls, and a Chandeliers bloomed from the ceiling. The kitchen island turned into a mahogany pub counter behind which the cupboards turned into glass shelves with a collection of colourful liquor bottles. Right beside the beer pumps was the cornucopia, the source of all things edible, the replicator. It was simple and looked like a silver tray.

        “That’s more like it,” said Georges. He put Barney on the counter and the creature chirped contentedly to show his agreement.

        “Now, You don’t look like the kind of guy who eat salad”, said Georges. “What do you want to try?”

        Barney shook his head and launched into a series of chirps and squeals.

        “I know! Let’s try something you certainly can’t find where you come from… outer space. Jorid, make us some good pickles in a jar.”

        The replicator made a buzzing sound and a big jar full of pickles materialised on the silver tray. Barney chirped in awe and Georges frowned.

        “Why did you make a Roman jar?” he asked. “We’re in a 19th century pub. And the pickles are so huge! Aubergine size.”

        “My apologies,” said Jorid. “I’m confused. As you know, my database is a bit scrambled at the moment…”

        “It’s ok,” said Georges who feared the ship would launch into some unsolicited confidences and self deprecating moment. “A pickle is a pickle anyway.” He picked a pickle in the jar and turned towards Barney with a big grin. “Let’s try some.”

        Barney’s eyes widened. He put his hands in front of him and shook his head. The door swooshed open.

        “What have you done with the kitchen?” asked Léonard. “And what are you trying to feed this rat with?”

        “This rat has a name. It’s Barney. What are you doing here?” asked Georges.

        “Well, Isn’t it a kitchen? I’m hungry.”

        “I mean, shouldn’t you go check your vitals first in med bay?”

        “When you feel hungry, it’s enough to tell a man he’s alive and well,” said Léonard. “Nice roman jar, Jorid. Depicting naked roman fighters, archaeological finding of 2nd century BC, good state of conservation.” He looked closer. “Intricate details between the legs… You surpassed yourself on that one Jorid.”

        “Thanks for the compliment Léonard. It’s reassuring to know I’m still doing great at some things when others think I’m losing it.”

        “I never said…” started Georges.

        “You thought it.”

        Léonard took a pickle from the jar and smelled it. He winced.

        “Sure, smells like pickles enough,” he said, putting it back in the jar and licking his finger. “Disgusting.” He looked at Georges. “I was thinking of taking a shuttle and doing a little tour, while you solve the navigational array problem with Salomé.”

        “Why are you asking me? Why don’t you just take a shuttle and go there by yourself?”

        “Jorid won’t let me take one.”

        “Jorid? Why don’t you let Léonard take a shuttle?”

        Salomé said he’s not to be left out of the ship without supervision.”

        “Oh! Right,” said Georges. “We just rescued you from a sand prison egg where you’ve been kept in stasis for several weeks and you can’t remember anything that led you there. Why don’t we let you pilot a shuttle and wander about on your own?”

        Léonard looked at Georges, annoyed. He picked a pickle from the jar and took a bite. Barney squealed. As Léonard chewed and made crunching sounds, the creature hit its head with its paw.

        “Then why don’t you come with me?” asked Léonard.

        “I can’t believe it.”

        “What? You go with me. You can supervise me wherever I go. Problem solved.”

        “No. I mean. You eating one of Barney’s pickles.”

        Léonard took another bite and chewed noisily. Barney chirped and squealed. He put his hands to its throat and spat on the counter.

        “I’m sure he won’t mind. Look at him. Doesn’t seem it likes pickles that much.”

        You hate pickles, Léonard.”

        “I know. That’s disgusting.”

        “Why do you eat them if you find it disgusting?”

        “That’s the sound of it. It’s melodious. And for some reason those pickles are particularly good.”

        Barney jumped on Georges arm and ran to his neck where he planted his little claws in.

        “Ouch!” said Georges. He slapped Léonard’s hand before the man could take one more pickle bite. “What the f*ck?”

        “Hey! Why did you do that?”

        “It’s not me,” said Georges. Barney squealed and Georges’s hands pushed the jar on the floor. It crashed and a flood of pickle and vinegar juice spread on the floor.

        “Haven’t your mother told you not to play with food?” asked Léonard diving on the floor to catch some more pickles. Barney chirped and squealed while Georges’s body jumped on Léonard and they both rolled over in the pickles.

        The door swooshed open.

        “Guys, we need to…” started Salomé. She had a set of maps in her hands. “What’s that smell? What… did you do to the kitchen? ”

        Georges made me do it,” said Jorid.

        Georges broke a 2nd century BC jar,” said Léonard.

        “Barney’s controlling me,” said Georges.

        The creature shrugged and removed its claws from Georges’ neck.

        “Squeak!”

        “Ouch! Thank you,” said Georges, licking the pickle juice he got on his lips during the fight.

        “I can’t believe it. Georges, you had a checklist. And it did not include the words kitchen or pickles or making a mess. And Léonard, you hate pickles.”

        “I know,” said Léonard who took a bite in the pickle he was holding. “That’s disgusting, but I can’t help it they taste so good.”

        Georges stole the pickle from Léonard’s hand and took a bite.

        “Pick your own pickle,” said Léonard, stealing it back.

        “Stop guys! That smell… Jorid what did you put in those pickles?”

        “I took the liberty to change the recipe and added some cinnamon.”

        “It doesn’t smell like cinnamon,” said Georges smelling his hands full of pickle juice. He took a bite in one and said: “Doesn’t taste like cinnamon either. I would know. I hate cinnamon since the time I was turned into an Asari.”

        “That’s it,” said Salomé. “What kind of cinnamon did you put in the brew, Jorid?”

        “I’ve heard it’s best to use local ingredients. I put cinnamon from Langurdy,” said the ship.

        “Quick! Guys, spit it out,” she said, kneeling and putting her fingers into Georges’ throat to make him puke. “Jorid, make away with the pickles,” said Salomé.

        “Nooo,” said the men.

        “Cinnamon from Langurdy is very addictive,” Salomé snapped. “You don’t want to OD on pickles, do you?”

        After they got the mess cleaned up and the kitchen went back to its normal blank state. Georges and Léonard took some pills to counter the effects of withdrawal. Salomé had them sit at the kitchen table. Georges kept blinking as if the white light on the white walls were hurting his eyes.

        “You can thank Barney if you didn’t eat more pickles,” said Salomé. “You could have had a relapse, and you know how bad it was the first time you had to flush cinnamon from your body.”

        Georges groaned.

        “Anyway. I checked the maps with Jorid and I came upon an anomaly in the Southern Deserts. Something there is causing Jorid’s confusion. We’ll have to go down there if we ever want to leave this place and time.”

        #7216
        AvatarJib
        Participant

          Roberto sighed and scratched a red patch on his left hand. Spring was here. It was obvious as vibrant lime green leaves had grown on freshly sprouted twigs. If it added a nice touch of colour to the garden, the box trees, lined up on the opposite side of the pool that he had dedicated so much time last year to carving them as birds, elephants and rhinos, had now a dishevelled appearance, and that only added to his despair.

          The lawn was sprinkled with yellow spots of dandelions. Roberto just tried to remove some of them with his hands, but got badly stung by nettles. They had invaded the garden from the new neighbour’s meadow. That estúpido, had said he wanted nature to grow on its own terms, but looking at the result, Roberto thought it was more of a natural disaster than anything else.

          “Don’t get rid of the dandelions,” said Liz. “It attracts bumblebees and wild bees. I’ve heard that we need to save them.”

          “You talked with that neighbour again?” asked Roberto.

          “Dominic? Isn’t it nice the birds are back?”

          Roberto looked at the birdbaths on top of the four Corinthian columns at each corner of the pool. A group of sparrows were fooling around cleaning their feathers. At Roberto’s feet, a hedgehog was drinking in a puddle left by  the 7:30 morning rain, remains of a feast of slugs behind him. Sometimes, he envied their insouciance and joie de vivre. They were content with whatever was provided to them without wanting to change their environment.

          “The diggers arrive around 2pm. Just mow the lawn behind the box trees. That’s where Dominic’s son spotted strange growth patterns with his drone. He said that’s highly likely we have roman ruins in our garden.”

          Roberto wondered why you needed to cut the grass of a place where you’re going to dig everything out anyway. He rolled his eyes, something he had learned from Finnley, and went to the patch of lawn behind the box trees. From there he could see brambles starting to emerge from the thuja border with Dominic’s jungle. Another thing he could not touch, because Liz wanted to have Finnley make jams with the berries.

          #7214

          In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

          “Bossy, isn’t she?” muttered Yasmin, not quite out of earshot of Finly. “I haven’t even had a shower yet,” she added, picking up her phone and sandals.

          Yasmin, Youssef and Zara left the maid to her cleaning and walked down towards Xaviers room.   “I’d go and get coffee from the kitchen, but…” Youssef said, turning pleading eyes towards Zara, “Idle might be in there.”

          Smiling, Zara told him not to risk it, she would go.

          “Come in,” Xavier called when Yasmin knocked on the door. “God, what a dream,” he said when they piled in to his room.  “It was awful. I was dreaming that Idle was threading an enormous long needle with baler twine saying she was going to sew us all together in a tailored story cut in a cloth of continuity.”  He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head, trying to erase the image in his mind.  “What are you two up so early for?”

          Zara’s gone to get the coffee,” Youssef told him, likewise trying to shake off the image of Idle that Xavier had conjured up. “We’re going to have a couple of hours on the game before the cart race ~ or the dust storm, whichever happens first I guess. There are some wierd looking vans and campers and oddballs milling around outside already.”

          Zara pushed the door open with her shoulder, four mugs in her hands.  “You should see the wierdos outside, going to be a great photo opportunity out there later.”

          “Come on then,” said Xavier, “The game will get that awful dream out of my head.  Let’s go!”

          “You’re supposed to be the leader, you start the game,” Yasmin said to Zara. Zara rolled her eyes good naturedly and opened the game. “Let’s ask for some clues first then. I still don’t know why I’m the so called leader when you,” she looked pointedly as Xavier and Youssef, “Know much more about games than I do. Ok here goes:”

          “The riddle “In the quietest place, the loudest secrets are kept” is a clue to help the group find the first missing page of the book “The Lost Pages of Creativity,” which is an integral part of the group quest. The riddle suggests that the missing page is hidden in a quiet place where secrets are kept, meaning that it’s likely to be somewhere in the hidden library underground the Flying Fish Inn where the group is currently situated.”

          “Is there a cellar here do you think?” Zara mused. “Imagine finding a real underground library!” The idea of a grand all encompassing library had first been suggested to Zara many years ago in a series of old books by a channeler, and many a time she had imagined visiting it. The idea of leaving paper records and books for future generations had always appealed to her. She often thought of the old sepia portrait photographs of her ancestors, still intact after a hundred years ~ and yet her own photos taken ten years ago had been lost in a computer hard drive incident. What would the current generation leave for future anthropologists? Piles of plastic unreadable gadgets, she suspected.

          Youssef can ask Idle later,” Xavier said with a cheeky grin. “Maybe she’ll take him down there.” Youssef snorted, and Yasmin said “Hey! Don’t you start snorting too! Right then, Zara, so we find the cellar in the game then and go down and find the library? Then what?”

          “The phrase “quietest place” can refer to a secluded spot or a place with minimal noise, which could be a hint at a specific location within the library. The phrase “loudest secrets” implies that there is something important to be discovered, but it’s hidden in plain sight.”

          Hidden in plain sight reminded Yasmin of the parcel under her mattress, but she thrust it from her mind and focused on the game. She made up her mind to discuss it with everyone later, including the whacky suppositions that Zara had come up with. They couldn’t possibly confront Idle with it, they had absolutely no proof. I mean, you can’t go round saying to people, hey, that’s your abandoned child over there maybe. But they could include Xavier and Youssef in the mystery.

          “The riddle is relevant to the game of quirks because it challenges the group to think creatively and work together to solve the puzzle. This requires them to communicate effectively and use their problem-solving skills to interpret the clues and find the missing page. It’s an opportunity to demonstrate their individual strengths and also learn from each other in the process.”

          “Work together, communicate effectively” Yasmin repeated, as if to underline her resolution to discuss the parcel and Sister Finli a.k.a. Liana with the boys and Zara later. “A problem shared is a problem hopelessly convoluted, probably.”

          The others looked up and said “What?” in unison, and Yasmin snorted nervously and said “Never mind, tell you later.”

          #6790

          In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

          Star and Tara were seating at their usual table in the Star Frites Alliance Café, sipping their coffee and reflecting on the strange case of the wardrobe. They had managed to find Uncle Basil, and Vince had been able to change his will just in time. They had also discovered that the wardrobe was being used to smuggle illegal drugs, which they promptly reported to the authorities.

          As they sat there, they saw Finton, the waitress from the café where they last met Vince French, walking towards them with a big smile on her face. “Hello there, ladies! I just wanted to thank you for helping Vince find his uncle. He’s been so much happier since then.”

          “It was all in a day’s work,” said Star with a grin. “And we also managed to solve the mystery of the wardrobe.”  she couldn’t help boasting.

          “Did we now?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

          Finton’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my! That’s quite the accomplishment. What did you find?”

          “It was being used to smuggle drugs,” explained Star. “We reported it to the authorities.”

          “Well, I never! You two are quite the detectives,” said Finton, impressed.

          “Sure, we could be proud, but there are more mysteries calling for our help. Now if you don’t mind, Finton, we have important business to talk about.” Star said.

          “And it’s rather hush-hush.” Tara added, to clue in the poor waitress.

          Star’s knack for finding clues in all the wrong places, and Tara’s slight nudges towards the path of logical deduction and reason had made them quite famous now around the corner. Well, slightly more famous than before, meaning they were featured in a tiny article in the local neswpaper, page 8, near the weekly crosswords. But somehow, that they’d accomplished their missions did advocate in their favour. And new clients had been pouring in.

          “Do we have a new case you haven’t told me about?” wondered Tara.

          “Nah.” retorted Star. “Just wanted to get rid of the nosy brat and enjoy my coffee while it’s hot. I hate tepid coffee. Tastes like cat piss.”

          “How would you know… Never mind…” Tara replied distractedly as handsome and well-dressed man approached their table. “Excuse me, are you Star and Tara, the private investigators?”

          “Well, as a matter of fact, we are,” said Star, propping her goods forward, and batting a few eyelids. “Who’s asking?”

          “My name is Thomas, and I have a rather unusual case for you.”

          Tara pushed Star to the back of the cushioned banquet bench to make room for the easy on the eyes stranger, while Star repressed a Oof and a fookoof..

          “It involves a missing pineapple.” Thomas said after taking the offered seat.

          “A missing pineapple?” repeated Star incredulously.

          Tara had an irrepressible fit of titter “So long as it’s not for a pizza…”

          “Yes, you see, I am a collector of exotic fruits, and I had a rare pineapple in my collection that has gone missing. It’s worth quite a lot of money, and I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

          Star and Tara exchanged a look. They were both thinking the same thing. Was “exotic fruit” code for something else? Otherwise, this was not even remotely bizarre by their standard, and they’d seen some strange cases already.

          “We’ll have to think over it.” for once Star didn’t want to sound too eager. “Do you have any leads?” asked Tara.

          “Well, I did hear a rumor that it was spotted in the hands of a local street performer, but I can’t be sure.”

          “Alright, we’ll consider it,” said Star decisively. She fumbled into her hairy bag —some smart upcycling made by Rosamund with the old patchy mink coats. She handed a torn namecard to the young Thomas. “We’ll call you.”

          Thomas looked at her surprised. “Do you mean, should I write my number?”

          Tara rolled her eyes and sighed. “Obvie.” Somehow the good-looking ones didn’t seem to be the brightest tools in the picnic box.

          “But first, we need to finish our coffee.” She took a long sip and grinned at Tara. “Looks like we may have another mysterman on our hands.”

          #6770

          In reply to: The Stories So Near

          EricEric
          Keymaster

            What satisfying conclusion to this saga?

            Granola was the tying material to their friend, and her pop-in nascent capabilities (ability to project into material matter, sometimes being corporeal) could help. Her goal was to wake her friends out of their routines, and reinvigorate the stories they tell themselves about their lives.

            • Maeve was the one making custom dolls.
            • Shawn Paul her handsome bearded bachelor next door was an aspiring writer looking for a story to tell and to become published.
            • Lucinda is their neighbour, enrolled in creative writing courses.
            • Jerk is a clerk at a local WholeDay*Mart and also manages a forum in his spare time.

             

            The dolls were found in all across places, used by different groups, maybe glamour bombs for some, maybe ways to smuggle information and keys.

            Across their trips they connect with story characters, and unknowingly revive their stories.

            POP*IN THREAD (plot development suggestions, to be looked into later)

            Maeve and Shawn-Paul are still in Tikfijikoo, investigating the mysterious dolls and their connection to Uncle Fergus. They’ve also encountered strange happenings, including a missing girl and a strange man in a top hat.

            Meanwhile, Jerk is still moderating the forum and dealing with the strange messages. Lucinda is continuing her creative writing course and enjoying her time with Fabio.

            Granola is currently on a mission to find Ailill and learn more about pop-ins, while also trying to reconnect with her friends and figure out what’s going on with the dolls.

            As for the mysterious man following Maeve, his intentions are still unclear, but it seems he has some connection to Uncle Fergus and the dolls. The group is still trying to uncover the truth and figure out their next steps.

            :fleuron:

            In the end, Granola’s pop-in abilities proved to be the key to unlocking the mystery of the dolls and their connection to Uncle Fergus. With her help, Maeve and Shawn-Paul were able to uncover the truth about the dolls and their purpose, and use them to reconnect with various story characters across their trips.

            Through their adventures, they also discovered the power of storytelling and the importance of shaking up their routines to keep their lives interesting and full of wonder. Jerk found a new sense of purpose in managing the forum and connecting with others through his passion for the dolls and their stories.

            In the final chapter, Uncle Fergus reconciled with Maeve’s father and shared the true meaning behind the dolls and their connection to their family history.

            While Shawn-Paul’s path led him to become a successful author, Lucinda’s path took a different turn. She found fulfillment in her creative writing course and continued to hone her skills, but she didn’t pursue a career as a writer. Instead, she used her passion for storytelling to help others, working as a therapist and using storytelling techniques to help her clients work through their struggles and find healing. Lucinda’s work was deeply rewarding, and she felt fulfilled in being able to help others in such a meaningful way.

            As for Granola, she continued to pop-in and out of their lives, using her abilities to bring joy and excitement to their everyday routines, and keeping their stories alive for years to come. The group remained close friends, bonded by their shared experiences and love of storytelling.

            #6740
            AvatarJib
            Participant

              When Salomé got closer to examine the creature, it jumped towards her. She caught it by reflex.

              “Wow!” said Georges. “Sand Rin clearly has a death wish.”

              “Thank you,” said Salomé. “Again.”

              “I didn’t mean…”

              She smiled. He was so easy to tease.

              “Why did you call it Sand Rin?” she asked.

              “I think our little friend has telepathic abilities. She showed this scene to me and I heard myself call her that.”

              “You might want to revise your diagnostic concerning its gender. It seems he’s got balls.”

              “Does that necessarily make it a male ?” asked Georges with a grumpf.

              Salomé looked at her friend and raised one eyebrow.

              “Does it indeed,” she said.

              Georges snorted. Salomé’s attention moved back to the creature. The fur was soft, and produced little blue sparks when she stroke it with her hands. It wasn’t static electricity because Salomé didn’t feel anything except a desire to stroke it again.

              “Interesting,” she said. “You clearly want us to like you. What’s your name little guy?”

              “I told you, it’s Sand Rin,” said Georges.

              “You told me you saw a scene in which you called it Sand Rin. That doesn’t make it his name. It might just have shown you your own mistake.”

              Salomé looked into the eyes of the creature. It wiggled its nose.

              “Hello, Barney,” she said.

              “What? I can’t believe I find an alien creature on Jorid’s hull, and it’s called Barney,” said Georges.

              “Rectification,” said Jorid, “The creature found you. He jumped onto your helmet and licked it. It’s most probable if you had tried to catch him, you’d still be tickling my hull with your boots.”

              Salomé grinned.

              “You told me SHE liked me,” said Georges.

              “I also told you the creature was causing interferences with my sensors and navigational arrays.”

              “Why do you always have to take her side?”

              “She’s most often…”

              “Nope, I don’t need that answer.”

              “…right.”

              Salomé laughed as Georges rolled his eyes. She turned her attention to Barney when he started squiggling like he was talking.

              “He’s agitated,” she said. “Something foreboding, urgent.”

              “You’ll be happy to know Léonard’s vitals are showing he’s about to wake up,” said Jorid.

              “Wehoo! At last”, said Georges. “He’ll be able to tell us what the Zathu did to him.”

              “I’m more curious about what he did to them to deserve being treated like that,” said Salomé with a frown.

              #6613

              In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

              Despite the old man’s endless flow of words, Youssef couldn’t get him to explain what he meant about the abandoned mine and why the town’s people didn’t like people sneaking around and asking questions.

              Not wanting to waste more time, Youssef walked to the brick building where the twins had disappeared. It was crammed between the telegraph station and a grocery store. The door had been walled with red bricks. They were covered in faded graffitis and layers of torn-up posters. It seemed obvious the wall had been there for quite some time already.

              The old man was sticking to Youssef like glue, talking about that time when his now dead brother took in an old cat he called Phineas. Youssef tried to growl him away, but the man always came back, persistent as a cloud of mosquitoes over the promise of a blood feast.

              Youssef tried not to pay attention to him. What did AL said about that quest ? Go ask questions around to town’s people about odd things happening ? Well there were plenty of those things happening. Maybe the clerk at the telegraph station would know something, especially how to get rid of that old man.

              Youssef pushed the door and entered the telegraph station, leaving the old man outside. The interior was lit with a collection of old style tungsten lamps hanging in a random pattern from the ceiling. 

              The clerk was busy sorting out a pile of telegrams. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. He lifted his head up. The noise stopped and Youssef realised the young man had mechanical hands.

              “Welcome, welcome, welcome! What can I do for you today, my friend?” asked the clerk.

              “I just wanted to…” started Youssef.

              “Wait! Don’t tell me. I’m a bit of a psychic myself and I already know what you’re here for.”

              “Really?”

              The man foraged through his pile of telegram with his mechanical hands and picked one. He looked at it for a few seconds.

              “My friend, you’re in luck today!” he said, looking intently at Youssef. “I just received this telegram that I think might interest you. Here, take a look!”

              Youssef took the paper and started to read aloud : “Words spoken by the talkative will unlock the path. Seek those who chatter and unravel the clue. What the…?” 

              “Interesting, isn’t it? That’s a real head-scratcher, if you ask me!”

              The door bell rang and the old man entered, holding his sore ribs. 

              “Get out, Phineas. You’re not welcome here.” said the clerk with a frown.

              The old man looked at the clerk with an air of confusion before turning to Youssef. “What did he say? Who’s Phineas?” he asked.

              Ignoring the question, Youssef tried to steer the conversation back to the telegram. “What does this mean?” he asked the clerk.

              The clerk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Hmm, well, it seems to me that you have a certain magnetism for talkative people. Perhaps that’s the key to unlocking this riddle.”

              Youssef’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean, magnetism?”

              The old man interjected, “For sure! You’re like a magnet, my boy. I can’t seem to stop talking when I’m around you.”

              Youssef rolled his eyes. “So, what do I do? Just wander around town and wait for someone to start talking?”

              The clerk nodded. “That could be a good start. But if you’re looking for something specific, you might want to try Betsy when you wake up. She’s got a boutique of Gems and Rocks. You seem to like them rocks,” he said pointing at the black obsidian. “Found it in a mine?”

              The old man’s eyes lit up. “Ah, the old mine! I’ve been there before, you know. My brother used to work there before he died. Strange things happening there.”

              Youssef’s interest was piqued. “What kind of strange things?”

              The old man leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s a magnetar hidden in that mine, my boy.”

              “Shut up! Phineas,” interrupted the clerk. “If you want my advice, stranger, don’t go near the old mine. ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ if you know what I mean.”

              The telegraph receiver started to make clicketing sounds. The clerk read it and looked at Youssef.

              “You’ve got a message man. Time to wake up.”

              “Wake up?”

              :fleuron2:

              Youssef opened his eyes and looked at a black mass in front of his eyes. He had been sleeping with the stone just beside his head on the pillow. No wonder he had had weird dreams. He heard his phone buzz. He sat up reluctantly and looked at his phone. 8am. A notification that his game progression had been saved and several messages from Miss Tartiflate, the last one saying :

              Don’t think you can dodge work. I’m still expecting the last blog post you’ve been paid to write!!!”

              He groaned as reality was starting to catch up.

              #6552

              In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

              When Xavier woke up, the sun was already shining, its rays darting in pulsating waves throughout the land, blinding him. The room was already heating up, making the air difficult to breathe.

              He’d heard the maid rummaging in the neighbouring rooms for some time now, which had roused him from sleep. He couldn’t recall seeing any “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the doorknob, so staying in bed was only delaying the inevitable barging in of the lady who was now vacuuming vigorously in the corridor.

              Feeling a bit dull from the restless sleep, he quickly rose from the bed and put on his clothes.

              Once out of his room, he smiled at the cleaning lady (who seemed to be the same as the cooking lady), who harumphed back as a sort of greeting. Arriving in the kitchen, he wondered whether it was probably too late for breakfast —until he noticed the figure of the owner, who was quietly watching him through half-closed eyes in her rocking chair.

              Idle should have left some bread, butter and jam to eat if you’re hungry. It’s too late for bacon and sausages. You can help yourself with tea or coffee, there’s a fresh pot on the kitchen counter.”

              “Thanks M’am.” He answered, startled by the unexpected appearance.

              “No need. Finly didn’t wake you up, did she? She doesn’t like when people mess up her schedule.”

              “Not at all, it was fine.” he lied politely, helping himself to some tea. He wasn’t sure buttered bread was enough reward to suffer a long, awkward conversation, given that the lady (Mater, she insisted he’s called him) wasn’t giving him any sign of wanting to leave.

              “It shouldn’t be long until your friends come back from the airport. Your other friend, the big lad, he went for a walk around. Idle seems to have sold him a visit to our Gems & Rocks boutique down Main avenue.” She tittered. “Sounds grand when we say it —that’s just the only main road, but it helps with tourists bookings. And Betsy will probably tire him down quickly. She tends to get too excited when she gets clients down there; most of her business she does online now.”

              Xavier was done with his tea, and looking for an exit strategy, but she finally seemed to pick up on the signals.

              “… As I probably do; look at me wearing you down. Anyway, we have some preparing to do for the Carts & whatnot festival.”

              When she was gone, Xavier’s attention was attracted by a small persistent ticking noise followed by some cracking.

              It was on the front porch.

              A young girl in her thirteens, hoodie on despite the heat, and prune coloured pants, was sitting on the bench reading.

              She told him without raising her head from her book. “It’s Aunt Idle’s new pet bird. It’s quite a character.”

              “What?”

              “The noise, it’s from the bird. It’s been cracking nuts for the past twenty minutes. Hence the noise. And yes, it’s annoying as hell.”

              She rose from the bench. “Your bear friend will be back quick I’m certain; it’s just a small boutique with some nice crystals, but mostly cheap orgonite new-agey stuff. Betsy only swears by that, protection for electromagnetic waves and stuff she says, but look around… we are probably got more at risk to be hit by Martian waves or solar coronal mass ejections that by the ones from the telecom tower nearby.”

              Xavier didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and smiled. He felt a bit out of his element. When he looked around, the girl had already disappeared.

              Now alone, he sat on the empty bench, stretched and yawned while trying to relax. It was so different from the anonymity in the city: less people here, but everything and everyone very tightly knit together, although they all seemed to irk and chafe at the thought.

              The flapping of wings startled him.

              “Hellooo.” The red parrot had landed on the backrest of the bench and dropped shells from a freshly cracked nut which rolled onto the ground.

              Xavier didn’t think to respond; like with AL, sometimes he’d found using polite filler words was only projecting human traits to something unable to respond back, and would just muddle the prompt quality.

              “So ruuuude.” The parrot nicked his earlobe gently.

              “Ouch! Sorry! No need to become aggressive!”

              “You arrrre one to talk. Rouge is on Yooour forehead.”

              Xavier looked surprised at the bird in disbelief. Did the bird talk about the mirror test? “What sort of smart creature are you now?”

              “Call meee Rose. Pretty Giiirl acceptable.”

              Xavier smiled. The bird seemed quite fascinating all of a sudden.
              It was strange, but the bird seemed left completely free to roam about; it gave him an idea.

              “Rose, Pretty Girl, do you know some nice places around you’d like to show me?”

              “Of couuurse. Foôllow Pretty Girl.”

              #6506

              In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

              Bert dropped Zara off after breakfast at the start of the Yeperenye trail.  He suggested that she phone him when she wanted him to pick her up, and asked if she was sure she had enough water and reminded her, not for the first time, not to wander off the trail.   Of course not, she replied blithely, as if she’d never wandered off before.

              “It’s a beautiful gorge, you’ll like it,” he called through the open window, “You’ll need the bug spray when you get to the water holes.”  Zara smiled and waved as the car roared off in a cloud of dust.

              On the short drive to the start of the trail, Bert had told her that the trail was named after the Yeperenye dreamtime, also known as ‘Caterpillar Dreaming’  and that it was a significant dreamtime story in Aboriginal mythology. Be sure to look at the aboriginal rock art, he’d said.   He mentioned several varieties of birds but Zara quickly forgot the names of them.

              It felt good to be outside, completely alone in the vast landscape with the bone warming sun. To her surprise, she hadn’t seen the parrot again after the encounter at the bedroom window, although she had heard a squalky laugh coming from a room upstairs as she passed the staircase on her way to the dining room.

              But it was nice to be on her own. She walked slowly, appreciating the silence and the scenery. Acacia and eucalyptus trees were dotted about and long grasses whispered in the occasional gentle breezes.  Birds twittered and screeched and she heard a few rustlings in the undergrowth from time to time as she strolled along.

              After a while the rocky outcrops towered above her on each side of the path and the gorge narrowed, the trail winding through stands of trees and open grassland. Zara was glad of the shade as the sun rose higher.

              Zara water hole

               

              The first water hole she came to took Zara by surprise. She expected it to be pretty and scenic, like the photos she’d seen, but the spectacular beauty of the setting and shimmering light somehow seemed timeless and otherwordly.  It was a moment or two before she realized she wasn’t alone.

              It was time to stop for a drink and the sandwich that one of the twins had made for her, and this was the perfect spot, but she wondered if the man would find it intrusive of her to plonk herself down and picnic at the same place as him.  Had he come here for the solitude and would he resent her appearance?

              It is a public trail, she reminded herself not to be silly, but still, she felt uneasy.  The man hadn’t even glanced up as far as Zara could tell. Had he noticed her?

              She found a smooth rock to sit on under a tree and unwrapped her lunch, glancing up from time to time ready to give a cheery wave and shout hi, if he looked up from what he was doing.  But he didn’t look up, and what exactly was he doing? It was hard to say, he was pacing around on the opposite side of the pool, looking intently at the ground.

              When Zara finished her drink, she went behind a bush for a pee, making sure she would not be seen if the man glanced up. When she emerged, the man was gone.  Zara walked slowly around the water hole, taking photos, and keeping an eye out for the man, but he was nowhere to be seen.  When she reached the place where he’d been pacing looking at the ground, she paused and retraced his steps.  Something small and shiny glinted in the sun catching her eye. It was a compass, a gold compass, and quite an unusual one.

              Zara didn’t know what to do, had the man been looking for it?  Should she return it to him?  But who was he and where did he go?  She decided there was no point in leaving it here, so she put it in her pocket. Perhaps she could ask at the inn if there was a lost and found place or something.

              Refreshed from the break, Zara continued her walk. She took the compass out and looked at it, wondering not for the first time how on earth anyone used one to find their way.  She fiddled with it, and the needle kept pointing in the same direction.   What good is it knowing which way north is, if you don’t know where you are anyway? she wondered.

              With a squalk and a beating of wings, Pretty Girl appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.  “It’s not that kind of compass. You’re supposed to follow the pointer.”

              “Am I?  But it’s pointing off the trail, and Bert said don’t go off the trail.”

              “That’s because Bert doesn’t want you to find it,” replied the parrot.

              Intrigued, Zara set off in the direction the compass was pointing towards.

              #6500
              EricEric
              Keymaster

                More developments

                Chapter 3: The Journey becomes more eggciting

                The Flovlinden Tree

                The group reaches the Flovlinden Tree, a massive linden tree in the heart of Oocrane, which is said to be sacred and is attracting crowds of pilgrims.
                They meet Olek, the old caretaker of the tree, who tells them the story of Saint Edigna. He explains how the tree is said to have magical healing properties, and how the tree is responsible for the sacred oil that the pilgrims come to collect.
                However, Olek reveals that the secret of Saint Edigna is not what it seems. Edna, an old woman who has been living far from the crowd for thousands of years, is actually Saint Edigna.
                Olek shares that Edna has been living in solitude for very long. He tells the group that if they want to learn more about the sacred tree and Edna, they must travel to her hidden home.
                The four friends were shocked to hear that Edna was still alive and wanted to meet her. They asked Olek for directions, and he gave them a map that showed the way to Edna’s remote dwelling.
                They bid farewell to Olek and set off on their journey to find Edna.

                A Run-In with Myroslava

                The group comes across a former war reporter, Myroslava, who is traveling on her own after leaving a group of journalists. She is being followed by mysterious individuals and is trying to lose them by hunting and making fire in bombed areas.
                Myroslava is frustrated and curses her lack of alcohol, wishing she could find a place to escape from her pursuers.
                The group approaches Myroslava and offers to help her. She joins forces with them and together, they set off on their journey.
                As they travel, Myroslava shares her experiences as a war reporter, and the group listens in awe. She explains how she has seen the worst of humanity, but also the best, and how it has changed her as a person.
                Myroslava and the group continue their journey, with the former reporter becoming more and more determined to shake off her pursuers and continue on her own.

                A Visit with Eusebius Kazandis’ Relatives

                The group reaches a small village where they are expected by relatives of Eusebius Kazandis, the cauldron seller that Rose has met at the Innsbruck fair.
                The relatives tell the group about Kazandis and his business, and how he has been traveling the world, selling his wares. They explain how he has become a legend in their village, and how proud they are of him.
                The group learns about Kazandis’ passion for cooking and how he uses his cauldrons to create delicious meals for his customers. They are also shown his secret recipe book, which has been passed down for generations.
                The relatives invite the group to try some of Kazandis’ famous dishes, and they are blown away by the delicious flavors.
                The group thanks the relatives for their hospitality and sets off on their journey, with a newfound appreciation for Kazandis and his love of cooking.

                A Surprising Encounter with Edna

                The group finally reaches Edna’s hidden home, a small cottage in the middle of a dense forest.
                As they approach the cottage, they are surprised to see Edna, who is actually the legendary Saint Edigna, standing outside, waiting for them.

                The four friends have finally arrived at Edna’s dwelling, where they learned about her vast knowledge of the families connected to her descendants. Edna showed them her books, and they were amazed to find that their own family was listed among her descendants. They were even more shocked to learn that they were related to President Voldomeer Zumbasky and Dumbass Voldomeer, who was said to be a distant relative and carpenter who made the President’s wooden leg. It was rumored that they shared a common ancestor, but in reality, they were possibly secret twins.

                The Secret of Dumbass Voldomeer

                The four friends were determined to find out more about Dumbass Voldomeer and his connection to their family. They learned that he lived in the small city of Duckailingtown in Dumbass, near the Rootian border. They also discovered that Dumbass Voldomeer had been enrolled to take the place of the President, who had succumbed from a mysterious swan flu virus, to which Dumbass Voldomeer was immune. As they set to Duckailingtown, they couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets and surprises lay ahead for them on this incredible journey.

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