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  • #7967

    “You’ll never guess what the gazebo landed on! The Lost City of Zed!” Breathlessly, Amy told her father the exciting news of Chico’s successful mission.

    “Saddle my horse, Crumpet, we must go at once. The Gazeba must stay there, and we go there for the character building, ” Sir Humphrey replied, struggling to his feet.  “Tell everyone to pack.”

    “Padre, calm yourself, there’s no rush. Did you just say Gazeba?”

    “Of course I said Gazeba, don’t be dense, girl,” Humphrey said irritably, “Your mother was dense.”

    I don’t even want to know.  Amy shuddered, and went outside to look for Kit.

    #7960

    As Chico carried the Memory Pie over to Kit, a breeze shuffled the pages of the script lying abandoned beside the gazebo. No one had noticed it before—maybe it hadn’t been there. The pages were blank. Then they weren’t.

    Kit blinked. “Did you just call me Trevor?”

    “No,” said Chico. But he looked uncertain. “Did I?”

    There was a rumble below them. The gazebo creaked—faint and subtle, like a swedish roll turning in its deep sleep.

    Then—click-clac thank you Sirtak.

    A trapdoor swung open beneath Kit’s feet. But instead of falling, Kit froze mid-air.

    The air flickered. Kit shimmered.

    And now they were wearing sunglasses, holding a cowboy lasso, and speaking in a faint Midwest accent.

    “Sorry, I think I missed my cue. Where are we in the scene?”

    #7959

    “Buns and tarts!” called a street vendor from the street outside the Gazebar.  “Freshly baked Memory Pies! Nostalgia Rolls! Selling like Hot Cakes! Come and get ’em before they run out!”

    Chico realised he’d hardly eaten a thing since becoming a new character.  Maybe this is how character building works.

    “I’ll take one of each,” Chico said to the smiling round faced vendor. I need to stock up on memories.

    “Are they all for you, sir?” the vendor asked.  Chico couldn’t help thinking he looked like a frog.  Nodding, Chico said, “Yeah, I’m hungry for a past.”

    “We normally suggest just one at a time,” the frog said (for he had indeed turned into a frog), “But you look like a man with a capacity for multiple memories.  Are you with friends?”

    “Er, yeah, yes I’m with friends,” Chico replied.  Are the other new characters my friends?  “Yes, of course, I have lots of friends.”  He didn’t want the frog vendor to think he was friendless.

    “Then we suggest you share each cake with the friends you want to share the memory with.”

    “Oh right. But how do I know what the memory is before I eat  the cake?”

    “Let me ask you this,” said the frog with a big smile, “Do real people choose who to share their memories with? Or know in advance what the memories will be?”

    “How the hell would I know!” Chico said, roughly grabbing the paper bag of buns. “I’m new here!”

    #7957

    Still visibly shaken, Sir Humphrey blinked up at the canopy. “Is it… raining? Is it raining ants?”

    “It’s not rain,” muttered Thiram, checking his gizmos. “Not this time. It’s like… gazebo fallout. I’d venture from dreams hardening midair.”

    Kit shuffled closer to Amy, speaking barely above a whisper. “Aunt Amy, is it always like this?”

    Amy sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and said, “No, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s worse.”

    “Right then,” declared Carob, making frantic gestures in the air, as though she’d been sparring the weather. “We need to triangulate the trajectory of the gazebo, locate the Sabulmantium, and get Sir Humphrey a hat before his dignity leaks out his ears.”

    “I feel like Garibaldi,” Sir Humphrey murmured, dazedly stroking his forehead.

    “Do you remember who Garibaldi is?” Chico asked, narrowing his eyes.

    “No,” the Padre confessed. “But I’m quite certain he’d never have let his gazebo just float off like that.”

    Meanwhile, Madam Auringa had reappeared behind a curtain of mist smelling faintly of durian and burnt cinnamon.

    “The Sabulmantium has been disturbed,” she intoned. “Intent without anchor will now spill into unintended things. Mice shall hold council. Socks will invert themselves. Lost loves shall write letters that burn before reading.”
    “Typical,” muttered Thiram. “We poke one artifact and the entire logic stack collapses.”

    Kit raised a trembling hand. “Does that mean I’m allowed to choose my name again?”

    “No,” said Amy, “But you might be able to remember your original one—depending on how many sand spirals the Sabulmantium spins.”

    “I told you,” Chico interjected, gesturing vaguely at where the gazebo had vanished over the treetops. “It was no solar kettle. You were all too busy caffeinating to notice. But it was focusing something. That sand’s shifting intent like wind on a curtain.”

    “And we’ve just blown it open,” said Carob.

    “Yup,” said Amy. “Guess we’re going gazebo-chasing.”

    #7956

    “Solar kettle, my ass,” Chico muttered, failing to resist the urge to spit. After wiping his chin on his tattood forearm, he spoke up loudly, “That was no solar kettle in the gazebo. That was the Sabulmantium!”

    An audible gasp echoed around the gathering, with some slight reeling and clutching here and there, dropping jaws, and in the case of young Kit, profoundly confused trembling.

    Kit desperately wanted to ask someone what a Sabulmantium was, but chose to remain silent.

    Amy was frowning, trying to remember. Sure, she knew about it, but what the hell did it DO?

    A sly grin spread across Thiram’s face when he noticed Amy’s perplexed expression. It was a perfect example of a golden opportunity to replace a memory with a new one.

    Reading Thiram’s mind, Carob said, “Never mind that now, there’s a typhoon coming and the gazebo has vanished over the top of those trees. I can’t for the life of me imagine how you can be thinking about tinkering with memories at a time like this! And where is the Sabulmantium now?”

    “Please don’t distress yourself further, dear lady, ” Sir Humphrey gallantly came to Carob’s aid, much to her annoyance. “Fret not your pretty frizzy oh so tall head.”

    Carob elbowed him in the eye goodnaturedly, causing him to stumble and fall.  Carob was even more annoyed when the fall rendered Sir Humphrey unconscious, and she found herself trying to explain that she’d meant to elbow him in the ribs with a sporting chuckle and had not intentionally assaulted him.

    Kit had been just about to ask Aunt Amy what a Sabulmantium was, but the moment was lost as Amy rushed to her fathers side.

    After a few moments of varying degrees of anguish with all eyes on the prone figure of the Padre, Sir Humphrey sat up, asking where his Viking hat was.

    And so it went on, at every mention of the Sabulmantium, an incident occured, occasioning a diversion on the memory lanes.

    #7954

    Another one!  A random distant memory wafted into Amy’s mind.  Uncle Jack always used to say GATZ e bo.  Amy could picture his smile when he said it, and how his wife always smiled back at him and chuckled. Amy wondered if she’d even known the story behind that or if it had always been a private joke between them.

    “What’s been going on with my gazebo?” Amy’s father rushed into the scene. So that’s what he looks like. Amy couldn’t take her eyes off him, until Carob elbowed her in the neck.

    “Sorry, I meant to elbow you in the ribs, but I’m so tall,” Carob said pointlessly, in an attempt to stop Amy staring at her father as if she’d never seen him before.

    Thiram started to explain the situation with the gazebo to Amy’s father, after first introducing him to Kit, the new arrival.  “Humphrey, meet Kit, our new LBGYEQCXOJMFKHHVZ story character. Kit, this is Amy’s father who we sometimes refer to as The Padre.”

    “Pleased to meet you, ” Kit said politely, quaking a little at the stern glare from the old man. What on earth is he wearing?  A tweed suit and a deerstalker, in this heat!  How do I know that’s what they’re called?  Kit wondered, quaking a little more at the strangeness of it all.

    “Never mind all that now!” Humphrey interrupted Thiram’s explanation.

    Still as rude as ever! Amy thought.

    “I’ve too much to think about, but I’ll tell you this: I’ve planned a character building meeting in the gazebo, and you are all invited. As a matter of fact,” Humphrey continued, “You are all obliged to attend.  If you choose not to ~ well, you know what happened last time!”

    “What happened last time?” asked Carob, leaning forward in anticipation of an elucidating response, but Humphrey merely glared at her.

    Amy sniggered, and Humphrey shot her a lopsided smile.  “YOU know what happened in Jack’s GATZ e bo, don’t you, my girl?”

    Where were those random memories when you wanted them? Amy had no idea what he was talking about.

    “Who else is invited, Humph? asked Chico, resisting the urge to spit.

    “My good man,” Humphrey said with a withering look. “Sir Humphrey’s the name to you.”

    Sir? what’s he on about now?  wondered Amy.  Does that make me a Lady?

    “Who else is invited, Padre?” Amy echoed.

    Humphrey pulled a scroll tied with a purple ribbon out of his waistcoat pocket and unfurled it.    Clearing his throat importantly, he read the list to all assembled.

    Juan and Dolores Valdez.
    Godric, the Swedish barman
    Malathion and Glyphosate, Thiram’s triplet brothers.  Mal and Glyph for short.
    Liz Tattler
    Miss Bossy Pants
    Goat Horned Draugaskald

    “Did I forget anyone?” Humphrey asked, peering over his spectacles as he looked at each of the characters.  “You lot,” he said, “Amy, Carob, Thiram, Chico, Kit and Ricardo: you will be expected to play hosts, so you might want to start thinking about refreshments. And not,” he said with a strong authoritarian air, “Not just coffee!  A good range of beverages. And snacks.”

    Thiram, leaning against a tree, started whistling the theme tune to Gone With The Wind. Tossing an irritated glance in his direction, Carob roughly gathered up her mass of frizzy curls and tethered it all in a tight pony tail.  I still don’t know what happened before, she fumed silently.  The latest developments where making her nervous. Would they find out her secret?

    “You guys,” called Chico, who had wandered over to the gazebo. “It’s full of ants.”

    #7946
    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
    Participant

      Enter Liz’s Tipsy Waltz

       

       


       

      [Verse]
      Feathered quill meets parchment skin
      Elizabeth writes where scandals begin
      Pink champagne spills on the floor
      Cougar’s grin says she’s ready for more

      [Verse 2]
      Famed author weaves sly tales with fire
      Slutty thoughts fuel Roberto’s desire
      Finnley
      The ghost
      Hides in the night
      Typewriter clicks
      Dim candlelight

      [Chorus]
      Ink and lust flow through this tale
      Secrets whispered on parchment pale
      Godfrey nuts
      Edits the scene
      In this wild world
      What’s it all mean?

      [Verse 3]
      In the cabinet where whispers creak
      Roberto shows a sly technique
      Finnley sighs
      Unseen but clear
      Through the shadows
      His words appear

      [Bridge]
      Elizabeth leads with a champagne toast
      A cougar’s smirk
      The fading ghost
      Peanuts scatter
      Chaos remains
      A writer’s world drips ink and stains

      [Verse 4]
      Pages flutter
      They dance
      They shout
      Godfrey snickers
      Edits play out
      Roberto winks with knowing grace
      In this madhouse
      Who sets the pace?

      #7854
      Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
      Participant

        Arthurian Parallels in Helix 25

        This table explores an overlay of Arthurian archetypes woven into the narrative of Helix 25.
        By mapping key mythological figures to characters and themes within the story, it provides archetypal templates for exploration of leadership, unity, betrayal, and redemption in a futuristic setting.

        Arthurian Archetype Role in Arthurian Myth Helix 25 Counterpart Narrative Integration in Helix 25 Themes & Contemporary Reflections
        Merlin Wise guide, prophet, keeper of lost knowledge, enigmatic mentor. Merdhyn Winstrom Hermit survivor whose beacon reawakens lost knowledge, eccentric guide bridging Earth and Helix. Echoes of lost wisdom resurfacing in times of crisis. Role of eccentric thinkers in shaping the future.
        King Arthur (Once and Future King) Sleeping leader destined to return, restorer of order and unity. Captain Veranassessee Cryo-sleeping leader awakened to restore stability and uncover ship’s deeper truths. Balancing destiny, responsibility, and the burden of leadership in a fractured world.
        Lady of the Lake Guardian of sacred wisdom, bestower of power, holds destiny in trust. Molly & Ellis Marlowe Custodians of ancestral knowledge, connecting genetic past to future, deciding who is worthy. Gatekeepers of forgotten truths. Who decides what knowledge should be passed down?
        Excalibur Sacred weapon representing legitimacy, strength, and destiny. Genetic/Technological Legacy (DNA or Artifact) Latent genetic or technological power that legitimizes leadership and enables restoration. What makes someone truly worthy of leadership—birthright, wisdom, or action?
        The Round Table Assembly of noble figures, unifying leadership for justice and stability. Crew Reunion & Unity Arc Gathering key figures and factions, resolving past divisions, solidifying leadership. How do we rebuild trust and unity in a world fractured by conflict and betrayal?
        The Holy Grail Ultimate quest for redemption, unity, and spiritual awakening. Rediscovered Earth or True Purpose Journey to unify factions, reconnect with Earth, and rediscover humanity’s true mission. Is humanity’s purpose merely survival, or is there something greater to strive for?
        The Fisher King Wounded guardian of a dying land, whose fate mirrors humanity’s wounds. Earth’s Ruined Environmental Condition Metaphor for humanity’s wounds—only healed through wisdom, unity, and ethical leadership. Environmental stewardship as moral responsibility; the impact of neglect and division.
        Camelot Utopian vision, fragile and prone to betrayal and internal decay. Helix 25 Community Helix 25 as a fragile utopian experiment, threatened by division and complacency. Utopian dreams versus real-world struggles; maintaining ideals without corruption.
        Mordred Betrayal from within, power-hungry faction that disrupts harmony. AI Manipulators / Hidden Saboteurs Internal betrayal—either AI-driven manipulation or ideological rebellion disrupting balance. How does internal dissent shape societies? When is rebellion justified?
        Gwenevere Queen, torn between duty, love, and political implications. Sue Forgelot or Captain Veranassessee Powerful yet conflicted female figure, mediating between different factions and destinies. The role of women in leadership, power dynamics, and the burden of political choices.
        Lancelot Loyal knight, unmatched warrior, torn between personal desires and duty. Orrin Holt or Kai Nova Heroic yet personally conflicted figure, struggling with duty vs. personal ties. Can one’s personal desires coexist with duty? What happens when loyalties are divided?
        Gawain Moral knight, flawed but honorable, faces ethical trials and tests. Riven Holt or Anuí Naskó Character undergoing trials of morality, leadership, and self-discovery. How does one navigate moral dilemmas? Growth through trials and ethical challenges.
        Morgana le Fay Misunderstood sorceress, keeper of hidden knowledge, power and manipulation. Zoya Kade Keeper of esoteric knowledge, influencing fate through prophecy and genetic memory. The fine line between wisdom and manipulation. Who controls the narrative of destiny?
        Perceval Naïve but destined knight, seeker of truth, stumbles upon great revelations. Tundra (Molly’s granddaughter) Youthful truth-seeker, symbolizing innocence and intuitive revelation. Naivety versus wisdom—can purity of heart succeed in a complex, divided world?
        Galahad Pure knight, achieves the Grail through unwavering virtue and clarity. Evie Investigator who uncovers truth through integrity and unwavering pursuit of justice. The pursuit of truth and justice as a path to transformation and redemption.
        The Green Knight/Challenge Mystical challenger, tests worthiness and integrity through ordeal. Mutiny Group / Environmental Crisis A trial or crisis forcing humanity to reckon with its moral and environmental failures. Humanity’s reckoning with its own self-destructive patterns—can we learn from the past?
        #7848
        Jib
        Participant

          Helix 25 – Murder Board – Evie’s apartment

          The ship had gone mad.

          Riven Holt stood in what should have been a secured crime scene, staring at the makeshift banner that had replaced his official security tape. “ENTER FREELY AND OF YOUR OWN WILL,” it read, in bold, uneven letters. The edges were charred. Someone had burned it, for reasons he would never understand.

          Behind him, the faint sounds of mass lunacy echoed through the corridors. People chanting, people sobbing, someone loudly trying to bargain with gravity.

          “Sir, the floors are not real! We’ve all been walking on a lie!” someone had screamed earlier, right before diving headfirst into a pile of chairs left there by someone trying to create a portal.

          Riven did his best to ignore the chaos, gripping his tablet like it was the last anchor to reality. He had two dead bodies. He had one ship full of increasingly unhinged people. And he had forty hours without sleep. His brain felt like a dried-out husk, working purely on stubbornness and caffeine fumes.

          Evie was crouched over Mandrake’s remains, muttering to herself as she sorted through digital records. TP stood nearby, his holographic form flickering as if he, too, were being affected by the ship’s collective insanity.

          “Well,” TP mused, rubbing his nonexistent chin. “This is quite the predicament.”

          Riven pinched the bridge of his nose. “TP, if you say anything remotely poetic about the human condition, I will unplug your entire database.”

          TP looked delighted. “Ah, my dear lieutenant, a threat worthy of true desperation!”

          Evie ignored them both, then suddenly stiffened. “Riven, I… you need to see this.”

          He braced himself. “What now?”

          She turned the screen toward him. Two names appeared side by side:

          ETHAN MARLOWE

          MANDRAKE

          Both M.

          The sound that came out of Riven was not quite a word. More like a dying engine trying to restart.

          TP gasped dramatically. “My stars. The letter M! The implications are—”

          “No.” Riven put up a hand, one tremor away from screaming. “We are NOT doing this. I am not letting my brain spiral into a letter-based conspiracy theory while people outside are rolling in protein paste and reciting odes to Jupiter’s moons.”

          Evie, far too calm for his liking, just tapped the screen again. “It’s a pattern. We have to consider it.”

          TP nodded sagely. “Indeed. The letter M—known throughout history as a mark of mystery, malice, and… wait, let me check… ah, macaroni.”

          Riven was going to have an aneurysm.

          Instead, he exhaled slowly, like a man trying to keep the last shreds of his soul from unraveling.

          “That means the Lexicans are involved.”

          Evie paled. “Oh no.”

          TP beamed. “Oh yes!”

          The Lexicans had been especially unpredictable lately. One had been caught trying to record the “song of the walls” because “they hum with forgotten words.” Another had attempted to marry the ship’s AI. A third had been detained for throwing their own clothing into the air vents because “the whispers demanded tribute.”

          Riven leaned against the console, feeling his mind slipping. He needed a reality check. A hard, cold, undeniable fact.

          Only one person could give him that.

          “You know what? Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s just ask the one person who might actually be able to tell me if this is a coincidence or some ancient space cult.”

          Evie frowned. “Who?”

          Riven was already walking. “My grandfather.”

          Evie practically choked. “Wait, WHAT?!”

          TP clapped his hands. “Ah, the classic ‘Wake the Old Man to Solve the Crimes’ maneuver. Love it.”

          The corridors were worse than before. As they made their way toward cryo-storage, the lunacy had escalated:

          A crowd was parading down the halls with helium balloons, chanting, “Gravity is a Lie!”
          A group of engineers had dismantled a security door, claiming “it whispered to them about betrayal.”
          And a bunch of Lexicans, led by Kio’ath, had smeared stinking protein paste onto the Atrium walls, drawing spirals and claiming the prophecy was upon them all.
          Riven’s grip on reality was thin.

          Evie grabbed his arm. “Think about this. What if your grandfather wakes up and he’s just as insane as everyone else?”

          Riven didn’t even break stride. “Then at least we’ll be insane with more context.”

          TP sighed happily. “Ah, reckless decision-making. The very heart of detective work.”

          Helix 25 — Victor Holt’s Awakening

          They reached the cryo-chamber. The pod loomed before them, controls locked down under layers of security.

          Riven cracked his knuckles, eyes burning with the desperation of a man who had officially run out of better options.

          Evie stared. “You’re actually doing this.”

          He was already punching in override codes. “Damn right I am.”

          The door opened. A low hum filled the room. The first thing Riven noticed was the frost still clinging to the edges of an already open cryopod. Cold vapor curled around its base, its occupant nowhere to be seen.

          His stomach clenched. Someone had beaten them here. Another pod’s systems activated. The glass began to fog as temperature levels shifted.

          TP leaned in. “Oh, this is going to be deliciously catastrophic.”

          Before the pod could fully engage, a flicker of movement in the dim light caught Riven’s eye. Near the terminal, hunched over the access panel like a gang of thieves cracking a vault, stood Zoya Kade and Anuí Naskó—and, a baby wrapped in what could only be described as an aggressively overdesigned Lexican tapestry, layers of embroidered symbols and unreadable glyphs woven in mismatched patterns. It was sucking desperately the lexican’s sleeve.

          Riven’s exhaustion turned into a slow, rising fury. For a brief moment, his mind was distracted by something he had never actually considered before—he had always assumed Anuí was a woman. The flowing robes, the mannerisms, the way they carried themselves. But now, cradling the notorious Lexican baby in ceremonial cloth, could they possibly be…

          Anuí caught his look and smiled faintly, unreadable as ever. “This has nothing to do with gender,” they said smoothly, shifting the baby with practiced ease. “I merely am the second father of the child.”

          “Oh, for f***—What in the hell are you two doing here?”

          Anuí barely glanced up, shifting the baby to their other arm as though hacking into a classified cryo-storage facility while holding an infant was a perfectly normal occurrence. “Unlocking the axis of the spiral,” they said smoothly. “It was prophesied. The Speaker’s name has been revealed.”

          Zoya, still pressing at the panel, didn’t even look at him. “We need to wake Victor Holt.”

          Riven threw his hands in the air. “Great! Fantastic! So do we! The difference is that I actually have a reason.”

          Anuí, eyes glinting with something between mischief and intellect, gave an elegant nod. “So do we, Lieutenant. Yours is a crime scene. Ours is history itself.”

          Riven felt his headache spike. “Oh good. You’ve been licking the walls again.”

          TP, absolutely delighted, interjected, “Oh, I like them. Their madness is methodical!”

          Riven narrowed his eyes, pointing at the empty pod. “Who the hell did you wake up?”

          Zoya didn’t flinch. “We don’t know.”

          He barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, you don’t know? You cracked into a classified cryo-storage facility, activated a pod, and just—what? Didn’t bother to check who was inside?”

          Anuí adjusted the baby, watching him with that same unsettling, too-knowing expression. “It was not part of the prophecy. We were guided here for Victor Holt.”

          “And yet someone else woke up first!” Riven gestured wildly to the empty pod. “So, unless the prophecy also mentioned mystery corpses walking out of deep freeze, I suggest you start making sense.”

          Before Riven could launch into a proper interrogation, the cryo-system let out a deep hiss.

          Steam coiled up from Victor Holt’s pod as the seals finally unlocked, fog spilling over the edges like something out of an ancient myth. A figure was stirring within, movements sluggish, muscles regaining function after years in suspension.

          And then, from the doorway, another voice rang out, sharp, almost panicked.

          Ellis Marlowe stood at the threshold, looking at the two open pods, his eyes wide with something between shock and horror.

          “What have you done?”

          Riven braced himself.

          Evie muttered, “Oh, this is gonna be bad.”

          #7841

          Klyutch Base – an Unknown Signal

          The flickering green light on the old console pulsed like a heartbeat.

          Orrin Holt leaned forward, tapping the screen. A faint signal had appeared on their outdated long-range scanners—coming from the coastline near the Black Sea. He exchanged a glance with Commander Koval, the no-nonsense leader of Klyutch Base.

          “That can’t be right,” muttered Janos Varga, Solara’s husband who was managing the coms’ beside him. “We haven’t picked up anything out of the coast in years.”

          Koval grunted like an irate bear, then exhaled sharply. “It’s not our priority. We already lost track of the fools we were following at the border. Let them go. If they went south, they’ve got bigger problems.”

          Outside, a distant roar sliced through the cold dusk—a deep, guttural sound that rattled the reinforced windows of the command room.

          Orrin didn’t flinch. He’d heard it before.

          It was the unmistakable cry of a pack of sanglions— лев-кабан lev-kaban as the locals called the monstrous mutated beasts, wild vicious boars as ferocious as rabid lions that roamed Hungary’s wilds— and they were hunting. If the escapees had made their way there, they were as good as dead.

          “Can’t waste the fuel chasing ghosts,” Koval grunted.

          But Orrin was still watching the blip on the screen. That signal had no right to be there, nothing was left in this region for years.

          “Sir,” he said slowly, “I don’t think this is just another lost survivor. This frequency—it’s old. Military-grade. And repeating. Someone wants to be found.”

          A beat of silence. Then Koval straightened.

          “You better be right Holt. Everyone, gear up.”

          Merdhyn – Lazurne Coastal Island — The Signal Tossed into Space

          Merdhyn Winstrom wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers still trembling from the final connection. He’d made a ramshackle workshop out of a crumbling fishing shack on the deserted islet near Lazurne. He wasn’t one to pay too much notice to the mess or anythings so pedestrian —even as the smell of rusted metal and stale rations had started to overpower the one of sea salt and fish guts.

          The beacon’s old circuitry had been a nightmare, but the moment the final wire sparked to life, he had known that the old tech had awoken: it worked.

          The moment it worked, for the first time in decades, the ancient transponder from the crashed Helix 57 lifeboat had sent a signal into the void.

          If someone was still out there, something was bound to hear it… it was a matter of time, but he had the intuition that he may even get an answer back.

          Tuppence, the chatty rat had returned on his shoulder to nestle in the folds of his makeshift keffieh, but squeaked in protest as the old man let out a half-crazed, victorious laugh.

          “Oh, don’t give me that look, you miserable blighter. We just opened the bloody door.”

          Beyond the broken window, the coastline stretched into the grey horizon. But now… he wasn’t alone.

          A sharp, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the distance.

          Helicopters.

          He stepped outside, the biting wind lashing at his face, and watched the dark shapes appear on the horizon—figures moving through the low mist.

          Armed. Military-like.

          The men from the nearby Klyutch Base had found him.

          Merdhyn grinned, utterly unfazed by their weapons or the silent threat in their stance. He lifted his trembling, grease-stained hands and pointed back toward the wreckage of Helix 57 behind him.

          “Well then,” he called, voice almost cheerful, “reckon you lot might have the spare parts I need.”

          The soldiers hesitated. Their weapons didn’t lower.

          Merdhyn, however, was already walking toward them, rambling as if they’d asked him the most natural of questions.

          “See, it’s been a right nightmare. Power couplings were fried. Comms were dead. And don’t get me started on the damn heat regulators. But you lot? You might just be the final missing piece.”

          Commander Koval stepped forward, assessing the grizzled old man with the gleam of a genuine mad genius in his eyes.

          Orrin Holt, however, wasn’t looking at the wreck.

          His eyes were on the beacon.

          It was still pulsing, but its pulse had changed — something had been answering back.

          #7732

          Survivors in Ukraine

          Not for the first time Molly wished they’d never made the journey. She wanted to go back and end her days where she’d chosen to retire.  With Ellis gone, and then Ethan and Nina, there was nothing to keep her here, and nothing to keep Tundra here.  And there had been no reason to come, in the end. There were no survivors in Ukraine either, and they encountered none on the long and difficult journey from Spain.

          It was Nina’s idea to go back to her home country. She was a refugee from the war, she and her mother. Nina met Ethan at school in England and Ethan often used to bring her on holidays to visit his grandmother in Andalucia.  When the plague struck, they were there with Molly, quarantined and with no way to return to England.  Molly shuddered at the memory of the awful realisation that there was nobody else alive, but for her friend over the road who looked after the cows.  Just Molly, Ethan, Nina, and Antonio and all the bodies.

          It was Antonio’s idea to take all the bodies of the neighbours out into the fields for the vultures, rightly stating that it was impossible for him and Ethan to bury them all. And so they did.  Best photos of vultures I ever took, and nobody to show them to, Molly had grumbled at the time.

          They managed for a considerable time looting the neighbours pantries, garages, and barns and foraging further afield until all the cars in the village ran out of fuel, always hoping to find people, other survivors, but they never did.  When the fuel ran out they used the horses.  They could have managed for some time longer if they stayed where they were, but the desire to find people was strong.

          The decision was made to head north, along the once populous coast, taking 12 horses to carry themselves and essentials, hoping to find more people. There were no people. They kept walking, and when Nina suggested they keep walking to Ukraine, nobody could think of a good reason why not to.

          Molly’s sorrowful reminiscence sitting in the late afternoon sun was interrupted by a shout from Tundra who was running towards her. “Look, look over there!”   Molly winced as Tundra pulled her upright too quickly.  “Over there!” she said, pointing to a copse just below the hills on the horizon.

          “A wisp of smoke!” Molly whispered wonderingly. “Like…like a campfire or something…”

          The 93 year old woman and her twelve year old great granddaughter looked at each other in amazement. “People,” they whispered in unison.

          “Tundra, saddle up the horses. We can’t wait for morning”,  Molly said, “They may be gone. Run, girl!  Don’t just stand there with your mouth open!”

          Suddenly Molly felt like she was only 67 again.

          People!

          #7720
          Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
          Participant

            Some ideas to pick apart and improve on:

            Some characters:

            • The Murder Victim: A once-prominent figure whose mysterious death on Helix 25 is intertwined with deeper, enigmatic forces—a person whose secret past and untimely demise trigger the cascade of genetic clues and expose long-buried truths about the exodus.
            • Dr. Amara Voss: A brilliant geneticist haunted by fragmented pasts, who deciphers DNA strands imbued with clues from an ancient intelligence.
            • Inspector Orion Reed: A retro-inspired, elderly holographic AI detective whose relentless curiosity drives him to unravel the inexplicable murder.
            • Kai Nova: A maverick pilot chasing cosmic dreams, unafraid to navigate perilous starfields in search of truth.
            • Seren Vega: A meditative archivist who unlocks VR relics of history, piecing together humanity’s lost lore. Mandrake her cat, who’s been given bionic enhancements that enables it to speak its mind.
            • Luca Stroud: A rebellious engineer whose knack for decoding forbidden secrets may hold the key to the ship’s destiny.
            • Ellis Marlowe (Retired Postman): A weathered former postman whose cherished collection of vintage postcards from Earth and early space voyages carries personal and historical messages, hinting at forgotten connections.
            • Sue Forgelot: A prominent socialist socialite, descended from Sir Forgelot.
            • Sharon, Gloria, Mavis: a favourite elderly trio of life-extended elders. Of course, they endured and thrived in humanity’s latest exodus from Earth
            • Lexican and Flexicans, Pronoun People: sub-groups and political factions, challenging our notions of divisions
            • Space Absinthe Pirates: a rogue band of bandits— a myth to make children behave… or something else?

            Background of the Helix Fleet:

            Helix 25 is one of several generation ships that were designed as luxury cruise ships, but are now embarked on an exodus from Earth decades ago, after a mysterious event that left them the last survivors of humanity. Once part of an ambitious fleet designed for both leisure and also built to secretly preserve humanity’s legacy, the other Helix ships have since vanished from communication. Their unexplained absence casts a long shadow over the survivors aboard Helix 25, fueling theories soon turning into myths and the hope of a new golden age for humanity bound to a cryptic prophecy.

            100-Word Pitch:

            Aboard Helix 25, humanity’s last survivors drift through deep space on a generation ship with a haunted past. When Inspector Orion Reed, a timeless holographic detective, uncovers a perplexing murder, encoded genetic secrets begin to surface. Dr. Amara Voss painstakingly deciphers DNA strands laced with ancient intelligence, while Kai Nova navigates treacherous starfields and Seren Vega unlocks VR relics of lost eras. Luca Stroud and Ellis Marlowe, a retired postman with vintage postcards, piece together clues that tie the victim’s secret past to the vanished Helix fleet. As conspiracies unravel, the crew must confront a destiny entwined with Earth’s forgotten exodus.

            #7583

            Frella rolled her eyes. What were the odds of Truella turning up now!

            “Well, don’t look so pleased to see me,” Truella said sarcastically. “I could have drowned you know, if Thomas hadn’t saved me. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

            Frella looked helplessly at Oliver.  “Perhaps you’d better go now, it’s all getting too complicated.”

            “My good lady, would you curtail my pleasure at this unexpected  meeting with a nephew I knew not existed?” Thomas interrupted, taking control of the situation, in as much as an out of control situation could be managed.

            “My good man,” Frella replied tartly, “Would you curtail my pleasure with your nephew?”

            “Now, now,” butted in Truella, trying to get a handle on the situation, “Surely nobody needs to have any pleasure curtailed.  But Thomas has to get the boat back quickly, so I suggest someone explains to him who his nephew is.  Then he can get back to the Thames. And I’ll walk back to your cottage, Frella, and borrow some dry clothes if you don’t mind, and then you can get on with….it, in peace.”

            “Get on with what exactly!” Frella retorted, blushing furiously.  “Oliver, why don’t you go back with your uncle, you know where the Thames is, don’t you?  It just seems easier that way.”

            Oliver laughed at the very idea of not knowing where the Thames was.  “But my great great grand uncle Thomas died before I was born.   I know of him, but he knows not of me. Well, he does now, admittedly.”

            “So your name is Oliver,” mused Thomas, “Oliver Cromwell. And by the look of your doublet and hose, you’re a wealthy man. We have much to talk about. Pray step into the boat, my good sir, and we’ll find a way to get you back to your own time later. We must make haste for the sake of my boatman, Rafe.”

            And with that they were off in a puff of river mist.

            #7568

            The year 480 AD. It was there hovering in her mind the moment she woke up the morning after Eris had mentioned the DNA spell idea. 480 AD.  But why? And it seemed strangely familiar, as if she’d dreamed of that date before. Mumbling the date over and over, Truella pushed the bed covers back, noted the welcome slight chill of the October morning, and made her way blindly to the kitchen to make coffee. 480 AD.  Why, though?

            Eris’s change of tune yesterday about the paperwork had given her a slight inward chuckle, but it was a good sign. And Eris had been right: Truella did like the DNA idea. At first she’d wondered if she would find something containing DNA.  Then she reminded herself that she herself contained DNA available to use. But what was the year 480 AD to do with it?

            Taking her steaming mug of coffee outside, Truella sat down under the porch and lit a cigarette. Too late for Romans but then what was next after Romans?  It would have made more sense if it was 1480 AD, when Cromwell was born.

            Oh, but what an idea! Yes!  The DNA of Cromwell! She was reminded of the pieces of Hannibals tunic, and the efficacy of that spell.  If they could find a bit of that old tunic, they could surely time travel back to gather some DNA from old Thomas.  Truella giggled, imagining herself appearing in Cromwell’s chamber, armed with a cotton swab. “If you please, my Lord, open wide, this will only take a moment.”

            He would rub his eyes, wondering if the fever had returned. What was this unseemly wench doing in here, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Lizzie, his dead wife.  “Open wide,” she would say, for all the world as if she was the one giving the orders.  “My lady, if you please to explain your purpose?” he would replied calmly, rather amused at the incomprehensible interlude.

            “Well if you must know, we need some of your DNA. Yes, yes, I know you don’t know what that is yet, I’ve come from the future you see, and we know a lot more. Well, that’s not strictly true or I wouldn’t be here now.   We know more about some things, but other things haven’t changed much. It’s the sea of paperwork we’re drowning in. Nobody could have more paperwork than you, my Lord Cromwell, but you have a particularly efficient way of dealing with it.”

            “Are you referring to the Tower and the …”

            “Gosh, no! No, we don’t plan to execute anyone.  We just need a bit, a tiny bit, of your DNA to use in a spell…”

            Suddenly Cromwell understood who this woman was. He didn’t need to call for the man who dealt with postcards from the future: everyone knows that Cromwell never forgets any paperwork he’s ever seen. In the future they called it photographic memory, but of course it wasn’t called that in his time.

            “You, my lady, are one of those witches from the future, are you not? And why, pray, would I be willing to assist with witchcraft?”

            “Well, why not?” retorted Truella. “You won’t be around to be executed for heresy, you were already..”   She clapped her hand to her mouth.  He didn’t know about that yet, obviously.

            Cromwell merely raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I don’t want to know when,” he said calmly.  He knew his days were numbered.

            “Now, there a number of ways we can collect a bit of your DNA, sir, any bodily fluid will do,” Truella said, and then blushed deeply.  Well, why not? she asked herself, and then wondered, What if he hasn’t had a bath for six months?

            #7556

            The chill drizzle felt cold to Truella, and she wondered not for the first time if her overheated drought stricken summer longing for cold and rain would quickly change to a desire for bone warming dry heat as soon as the weather properly changed to autumn.

            “Lend me a sweater and a raincoat will you, Frella? I always forget to change before teleporting over here.”

            Frella gave her a look that could only be described as nonplussed. Murmuring a short incantation, with a snap of her fingers and an indescribable gesture, the requested garments appeared on Truella’s lap, as if thrown forcefully from the other side of the room.

            “Steady on, Frel!”  Gratefully Truella slipped the sweater on and said, “But thanks.  You know what? I forget I’m a witch, that’s the trouble. I keep forgetting I can just magic things up. Honestly, you have no idea…”

            “Oh, trust me, I have an idea.”

            “..the trouble I go to, doing things I could do in an instant with a spell…”

            “Have you only just realised?” Frella smirked.

            “Hell no, I remember all the time that I always forget.   How the hell did I end up in a witches coven?”

            “That fake resume you concocted when you were dazzled by the allure and the mystery, and jealous that I was in it and not you?”

            “Well yes, I know, but I mean, why did Malove hire me? Why am I still here?”

            “I can tell you the answer to that!” announced Eris, entering the room with a wide toothy grin.

            Mouth agape, Truella leaned forward to hear what Eris had to say next, but at that moment Jeezel spun round the door frame and skidded to a halt in front of the girls, clutching her forehead dramatically.

            “Who is sending all the postcards! Every morning this week I’ve had dozens of old postcards in my mailbox, there were so many stuffed in there today one was poking out! No, I can’t read who sent it, I can’t decipher any of the writing on any of them.”

            “Where are they sent from? What are the pictures of?” asked Truella, her curiosity aroused.

            “Pictures, who cares about the pictures, I want to know who’s sending them!”

            “Steady on, Jez.  The pictures might provide clues to the sender and purpose of the card,” Truella said  mildly, raising an eyebrow at Jezeel’s agitated state.  “What’s ruffled your feathers so much about a few postcards?”

            “I received a postcard too,” Frella chimed in, causing Jeezel to gasp and clutch her heart. “I wasn’t all melodramatic about it as you though, I thought it was magical and I dunno, had a nice story to it.”

            Before Truella had a chance to ask Eris to expound on the previous question, and indeed before anyone got to the bottom of Jeezel’s outburst, Malove strode in with her usual menacing demeanor.   Truella braced herself for tedious profit mongering coercive diatribes to inch their way along the slimy walls of time.

            #7549
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The Tailor of Haddon
              Wibberly and Newton of Over Haddon

               

              It was noted in the Bakewell parish register in 1782 that John Wibberly 1705?-1782 (my 6x great grandfather) was “taylor of Haddon”.

              Taylor of Haddon

               

              James Marshall 1767-1848 (my 4x great grandfather), parish clerk of Elton, married Ann Newton 1770-1806 in Elton in 1792. In the Bakewell parish register, Ann was baptised on the 2rd of June 1770, her parents George and Dorothy Newton of Upper Haddon. The Bakewell registers at the time covered several smaller villages in the area, although what is currently known as Over Haddon was referred to as Upper Haddon in the earlier entries.

               

              Newton:

              George Newton 1728-1798 was the son of George Newton 1706- of Upper Haddon and Jane Sailes, who were married in 1727, both of Upper Haddon.

              George Newton born in 1706 was the son of George Newton 1676- and Anne Carr, who were married in 1701, both of Upper Haddon.

              George Newton born in 1676 was the son of John Newton 1647- and Alice who were married in 1673 in Bakewell. There is no last name for Alice on the marriage transcription.

              John Newton born in 1647 (my 9x great grandfather) was the son of John Newton and Anne Buxton (my 10x great grandparents), who were married in Bakewell in 1636.

              1636 marriage of John Newton and Anne Buxton:

              John Newton Anne Buxton

               

               

              Wibberly

              Dorothy Wibberly 1731-1827 married George Newton in 1755 in Bakewell. The entry in the parish registers says that they were both of Over Haddon. Dorothy was baptised in Bakewell on the 25th June 1731, her parents were John and Mary of Over Haddon.

              Dorothy Wibberly

               

              John Wibberly and Mary his wife baptised nine children in Bakewell between 1730 and 1750, and on all of the entries in the parish registers it is stated that they were from Over Haddon. A parish register entry for John and Mary’s marriage has not yet been found, but a marriage in Beeley, a tiny nearby village, in 1728 to Mary Mellor looks likely.

              John Wibberly died in Over Haddon in 1782. The entry in the Bakewell parish register notes that he was “taylor of Haddon”.

              The tiny village of Over Haddon was historically associated with Haddon Hall.

              A baptism for John Wibberly has not yet been found, however, there were Wibersley’s in the Bakewell registers from the early 1600s:

              1619 Joyce Wibersley married Raphe Cowper.
              1621 Jocosa Wibersley married Radulphus Cowper
              1623 Agnes Wibersley married Richard Palfreyman
              1635 Cisley Wibberlsy married ? Mr. Mason
              1653 John Wibbersly married Grace Dayken

               

              Haddon Hall

              Haddon hall

               

              Sir Richard Vernon (c. 1390 – 1451) of Haddon Hall.
              Vernon’s property was widespread and varied. From his parents he inherited the manors of Marple and Wibersley, in Cheshire. Perhaps the Over Haddon Wibersley’s origins were from Sir Richard Vernon’s property in Cheshire. There is, however, a medieval wayside cross called Whibbersley Cross situated on Leash Fen in the East Moors of the Derbyshire Peak District. It may have served as a boundary cross marking the estate of Beauchief Abbey. Wayside crosses such as this mostly date from the 9th to 15th centuries.

              Found in both The History and Antiquities of Haddon Hall by S Raynor, 1836, and the 1663 household accounts published by Lysons, Haddon Hall had 140 domestic staff.

              In the book Haddon Hall, an Illustrated Guide, 1871, an example from the 1663 Christmas accounts:

              Haddon Hall accounts

              Haddon Accounts

               

              Also in this book, an early 1600s “washing tally” from Haddon Hall:

              washing tally

               

              Over Haddon

              Martha Taylor, “the fasting damsel”, was born in Over Haddon in 1649. She didn’t eat for almost two years before her death in 1684. One of the Quakers associated with the Marshall Quakers of Elton, John Gratton, visited the fasting damsel while he was living at Monyash, and occasionally “went two miles to see a woman at Over Haddon who pretended to live without meat.” from The Reliquary, 1861.

              #7548
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Elton Marshall’s

                Early Quaker Emigrants to USA.

                 

                The earliest Marshall in my tree is Charles Marshall (my 5x great grandfather), Overseer of the Poor and Churchwarden of Elton. His 1819 gravestone in Elton says he was 77 years old when he died, indicating a birth in 1742, however no baptism can be found.

                According to the Derbyshire records office, Elton was a chapelry of Youlgreave until 1866. The Youlgreave registers date back to the mid 1500s, and there are many Marshalls in the registers from 1559 onwards. The Elton registers however are incomplete due to fire damage.

                While doing a google books search for Marshall’s of Elton, I found many American family history books mentioning Abraham Marshall of Gratton born in 1667, who became a Quaker aged 16, and emigrated to Pennsylvania USA in 1700. Some of these books say that Abraham’s parents were Humphrey Marshall and his wife Hannah Turner. (Gratton is a tiny village next to Elton, also in Youlgreave parish.)

                Abraham’s son born in USA was also named Humphrey. He was a well known botanist.

                Abraham’s cousin John Marshall, also a Quaker, emigrated from Elton to USA in 1687, according to these books.

                (There are a number of books on Colonial Families in Pennsylvania that repeat each other so impossible to cite the original source)

                colonial books

                 

                In the Youlgreave parish registers I found a baptism in 1667 for Humphrey Marshall son of Humphrey and Hannah. I didn’t find a baptism for Abraham, but it looks as though it could be correct. Abraham had a son he named Humphrey. But did it just look logical to whoever wrote the books, or do they know for sure? Did the famous botanist Humphrey Marshall have his own family records? The books don’t say where they got this information.

                An earlier Humphrey Marshall was baptised in Youlgreave in 1559, his father Edmund. And in 1591 another Humphrey Marshall was baptised, his father George.

                But can we connect these Marshall’s to ours? We do have an Abraham Marshall, grandson of Charles, born in 1792. The name isn’t all that common, so may indicate a family connection. The villages of Elton, Gratton and Youlgreave are all very small and it would seem very likely that the Marshall’s who went the USA are related to ours, if not brothers, then probably cousins.

                 

                Derbyshire Quakers

                In “Derbyshire Quakers 1650-1761” by Helen Forde:

                “… Friends lived predominantly in the northern half of the country during this first century of existence. Numbers may have been reduced by emigration to America and migration to other parts of the country but were never high and declined in the early eighteenth century. Predominantly a middle to lower class group economically, Derbyshire Friends numbered very few wealthy members. Many were yeoman farmers or wholesalers and it was these groups who dominated the business meetings having time to devote themselves to the Society. Only John Gratton of Monyash combined an outstanding ministry together with an organising ability which brought him recognition amongst London Friends as well as locally. Derbyshire Friends enjoyed comparatively harmonious relations with civil and Anglican authorities, though prior to the Toleration Act of 1639 the priests were their worst persecutors…..”

                Also mentioned in this book: There were monthly meetings in Elton, as well as a number of other nearby places.
                John Marshall of Elton 1682/3 appears in a list of Quaker emigrants from Derbyshire.

                Quaker Emigrants

                 

                The following image is a page from the 1753 book on the sufferings of Quakers by Joseph Besse as an example of some of the persecutions of Quakers in Derbyshire in the 1600s:

                A collection of the sufferings of the people called Quakers, for the testimony of a good conscience from the time of their being first distinguished by that name in the year 1650 to the time of the act commonly called the Act of toleration granted to Protestant dissenters in the first year of the reign of King William the Third and Queen Mary in the year 1689 (Volume 1)
                Besse, Joseph. 1753

                Note the names Margaret Marshall and Anne Staley.  This book would appear to contradict Helen Forde’s statement above about the harmonious relations with Anglican authority.

                Quaker Sufferings

                 

                 

                The Botanist

                Humphry Marshall 1722-1801 was born in Marshallton, Pennsylvania, the son of the immigrant from Elton, Abraham Marshall.  He was the cousin of botanists John Bartram and William Bartram. Like many early American botanists, he was a Quaker. He wrote his first book, A Few Observations Concerning Christ, in 1755.

                Humphry marshall book

                 

                In 1785, Marshall published Arbustrum Americanum: The American Grove, an Alphabetical Catalogue of Forest Trees and Shrubs, Natives of the American United States (Philadelphia).

                Marshall has been called the “Father of American Dendrology”.

                A genus of plants, Marshallia, was named in honor of Humphry Marshall and his nephew Moses Marshall, also a botanist.

                In 1848 the Borough of West Chester established the Marshall Square Park in his honor. Marshall Square Park is four miles east of Marshallton.

                via Wikipedia.

                 

                From The History of Chester County Pennsylvania, 1881, by J Smith Futhey and Gilbert Cope:

                Marshallton

                 

                From The Chester Country History Center:

                “Immediately on the Receipt of your Letter, I ordered a Reflecting Telescope for you which was made accordingly. Dr. Fothergill had since desired me to add a Microscope and Thermometer, and will
                pay for the whole.’

                – Benjamin Franklin to Humphry, March 18, 1770

                “In his lifetime, Humphry Marshall made his living as a stonemason, farmer, and miller, but eventually became known for his contributions to astronomy, meteorology, agriculture, and the natural sciences.

                In 1773, Marshall built a stone house with a hothouse, a botanical laboratory, and an observatory for astronomical studies. He established an arboretum of native trees on the property and the second botanical garden in the nation (John Bartram, his cousin, had the first). From his home base, Humphry expanded his botanical plant exchange business and increased his overseas contacts. With the help of men like Benjamin Franklin and the English botanist Dr. John Fothergill, they eventually included German, Dutch, Swedish, and Irish plant collectors and scientists. Franklin, then living in London, introduced Marshall’s writings to the Royal Society in London and both men encouraged Marshall’s astronomical and botanical studies by supplying him with books and instruments including the latest telescope and microscope.

                Marshall’s scientific work earned him honorary memberships to the American Philosophical Society and the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture, where he shared his ground-breaking ideas on scientific farming methods. In the years before the American Revolution, Marshall’s correspondence was based on his extensive plant and seed exchanges, which led to further studies and publications. In 1785, he authored his magnum opus, Arbustum Americanum: The American Grove. It is a catalog of American trees and shrubs that followed the Linnaean system of plant classification and was the first publication of its kind.”

                Humphry signature

                #7509

                Rufus was not a man for small talk and the past couple of hours had been punishing for a man of his reticent character.  He would have liked to get to know Truella better to try and recall which life he’d known her in, for he was sure now that it wasn’t a past encounter in this one, but that was not something to discuss in a crowded room. It would have to wait.  Despite being a serious man himself, he had found the more frivolous and jolly witches and nuns more compatible than the severe looking grim ones.  Even so, having to meet and speak to so many people in such a short time was overwhelming.

                As soon as he could politely do so, he excused himself. Avoiding the smoky courtyard, he wandered around the labyrinthine building looking for another way outside.  There were tapestries hanging on the walls in every room, ancient and faded, many with unusual designs.  Rufus photographed them all in order to have a closer look at them later in the solitude of his room.  The wall hanging with the frogs caught his eye in particular, and without thinking he found himself touching the Punic frog amulet hanging on his chest underneath his white silk shirt.  As he lingered looking at the frog tapestry, he was startled by the swish of Bartolo’s robes behind him.  Bartolo looked at him keenly for what seemed like an interminable length of time but in reality was only a moment. Damn it, he seemed familiar too.

                “Exquisite decor, Brother, I like this one in particular. Such needlework! May I ask the provenance of this specimen?”  Rufus tried to lighten the mood, not that lightening the mood had ever been his strong suit.  “It looks very old, I assume this is not a recently made handicraft?”

                Brother Bartolo decided to play along. He had recognised Rufus immediately, as if the name wasn’t enough of a clue, his eyes were exactly the same as old Rufino’s had been.  Rufino, one of the oldest Punic families in Baetica. Oh, Bartolo remembered them well.

                “That one has been hanging here since well before the convent was built,” Bartolo explained.  “It happens to be one of my favourites.  Another glass of cordial, sir?”

                “No thank you Brother, I need some fresh air. I’d like to see the gardens, if I may.”

                “Follow me,” replied Bartolo, as he lumbered down the passage.  “The kitchen gardens are through here.  There’s a gate at the end of that path to the rest of the grounds. Don’t worry about the mongoose, they’re quite tame.”

                Such was the relief to be outside on his own, that Rufus didn’t immediately wonder what Brother Bartolo had meant.  That frog tapestry had been hanging right there since before the convent was built? Hanging on what?  Rufus’s hand involuntarily clutched his amulet again.

                #7504

                After the meeting, Jeezel and Silas agreed on what the six rituals would be. The integration rituals were designed to unite the groups symbolically and spiritually. They were multifaceted ceremonies that combine elements from each group’s traditions to forge a shared sense of purpose and harmony, mediated by the mortician’s guild. Given the diverse nature of the witches, nuns, and morticians, these rituals needed to be both inclusive and meaningful, drawing on the unique strengths and spiritual practices of each faction.

                The program they distributed to each participant was as follow:

                Under the guidance of the Ancient Telluric Forces of the Dragons

                1. The Invocation of Unity

                Purpose: To call upon the spiritual and magical forces that guide each group and seek their blessings for the union.
                Components:

                • Witches: Incantations and invocations to elemental spirits and deities.
                • Nuns: Hymns and prayers invoking divine blessings.
                • Morticians: Rituals honoring the spirits of the departed, seeking their guidance and protection.

                Symbolism: This ritual emphasizes the shared respect for higher powers and the mutual desire for harmonious collaboration.

                2. The Weaving of Fate

                Purpose: To create a physical symbol of their intertwined destinies.
                Components:

                • Witches: Magical threads imbued with protective charms and blessings.
                • Nuns: Sacred textiles woven with prayers and religious symbols.
                • Morticians: Ribbons representing life, death, and the transition between them.

                Symbolism: By weaving these threads together into a single tapestry, the groups create a tangible manifestation of their unified path forward.

                3. The Concordia Cauldron

                Purpose: To brew a potion that represents their collective energy and intent.

                Components:

                • Witches: Magical herbs, crystals, and other mystical ingredients.
                • Nuns: Holy water and sacred relics.
                • Morticians: Ashes from ritual fires and symbols of purification.

                Symbolism: The potion, once blessed and distributed, serves as a means of internalizing the collective spirit and shared goals of the unified group.

                4. The Harmonious Choir

                Purpose: To blend their voices and energies in a powerful, resonant harmony.

                Components:

                • Witches: Chants and spells sung in unison.
                • Nuns: Choir hymns and sacred music.
                • Morticians: Melodic recitations of ancient rites.

                Symbolism: The act of creating music together represents the harmony they strive to achieve in their collaboration, with each voice contributing to a greater whole.

                5. The Altar of Convergence

                Purpose: To create a shared sacred space where offerings and symbols from each group are placed.

                Components:

                • Witches: Ritual objects, such as wands, crystals, and candles.
                • Nuns: Holy relics, icons, and prayer books.
                • Morticians: Mementos of the deceased, symbolizing the continuity of life and death.

                Symbolism: The combined altar serves as a focal point for their united efforts, a place where they can come together to seek guidance and reaffirm their commitment to the union.

                6. The Ceremony of Reflection and Projection

                Purpose: To reflect on the past, acknowledge individual and collective strengths, and set intentions for the future.

                Components:

                • Witches: Scrying mirrors and crystal balls for reflection and foresight.
                • Nuns: Candles representing illumination and enlightenment.
                • Morticians: Artifacts representing the cyclical nature of life and death.

                Symbolism: This ceremony encourages each member to contemplate their role within the new union and visualize the path ahead, fostering a sense of shared vision and purpose.

                Supervision by Jeezel and Silas

                Jeezel: With her deep connection to magical energies and her knack for emotional resonance, she will ensure that each ritual maintains its mystical integrity and spiritual depth. She will guide the participants in channeling their energies harmoniously and with clear intent.

                Silas: His analytical mind and authoritative presence will bring structure and order to the rituals. He will ensure that each component is meticulously planned and executed, maintaining the balance between tradition and innovation.

                Together, Jeezel and Silas will oversee the integration rituals, blending their unique approaches to create a unified and cohesive experience that honors the diverse traditions of the witches, nuns, and morticians. Their combined leadership will ensure that the rituals not only symbolize but also spiritually solidify the union of these distinct groups.

                Now, all that remained was to ask for volunteers or to assign the roles in the rituals to everyone. And for Jeezel to reveal the hidden mission to her three friends.

                #7462

                It was a relief to them all that Truella was muted.

                Jeezel had found the whole thing exhausting enough without Truella making matters worse. It was a jarring interruption to Frella’s relaxing holiday, and Eris’s delicious sense of clarity and purpose was floundering between drive and duty, and an alarming urge to flee. The effect of Malove’s long winded and over dramatic, not to say downright bossy and overbearing, address to the coven had the undesired effect of irritating eveyone and scattering their attention over dozens of new ideas all at once.

                It was a great looking map though, they all agreed. And one or two of the points sounded interesting enough. But it was summer, surely they could glide gently into the new path in a more leisurely and pleasant way.

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