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July 30, 2010 at 2:15 pm #2796
In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens
“The beginning of the snowflake age” India began, “Started pretty much at the end of the ‘dandelion puff in reverse’ age. In the Dandelion puff in reverse age, random seeds blowing around in the wind all sort of got sucked into the same place, but in no particular order.” Idai (otherwise known as India) paused to stick her tongue out at Flynn, who was making rude gestures. “In the beginning of the snowflake age, the connecting threads from the centre were known before the seeds were broadcast, simultaneously timely notwithstandingly.”
May 18, 2010 at 7:00 pm #2081In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
continuity dimension met answer
lavender yikesy clear meant
far strange light help speak magic
notwithstanding suddenly less
under eight full caveApril 27, 2010 at 10:46 pm #2688In reply to: Strings of Nines
With a temper he may have inherited from his mother (albeit adoptive), the shanghaied boy was proving to be quite a hassle to contend with. Minky was exhausted.
First Yikes (that was the given name of the boy) had cried, pouted, and when gagged enough so that he wouldn’t be heard, he had then refused to walk, and even threatened to hold his breath till he would die. Good luck with this one, had laughed Minky (who had tried it before, but it never worked, and bossy old Messmeerah had promptly kicked him back to work). Actually, he was more annoyed with the refusing to walk kind of tantrum, because that meant he had to trudge with the boy on his back or on a luge, all the way to the evil lair —which wasn’t that evil, by the way, if you managed to focus away from the bloody stained altar…
But there was something more serious he was quite anxious about —besides his bossy and irritable, though everlastingly beauteous, boss. He feared a certain purple dragon was on their trail…
If I were you, came the ruffled sound from the makeshift luge that wouldn’t be the dragon I’d be worried about… Yikes was inwardly beautifully laughing (a trait he may have inherited by osmosis from Arona) thinking of how terrible Mandrake could be if asked to fetch something —a task he was too proud to refuse, and yet that he loathed to accomplish, as it was more fit to a canine than to his subtle feline standard.
April 25, 2010 at 7:48 pm #2467In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Sadness, whilst not being entirely unheard of, was alot more uncommon during the days of the Gardenation. The weather was kindness itself, and everyone, naturally enough, was at liberty to grow whatever they wanted in their gardens. There were no rules and regulations in the Gardenation; it worked on a sort of expanded “pay forward” system, not that there was any pay, or forward thinking for that matter, involved. The genesis of the new collaberation of independant garden nations (although it was actually more of a renaissance, simultaneous time notwithstanding) had come about as a result of the widespread discontent of the populace with all of the political parties, in just about every nation on the planet.
During a particularly wild and raucous bridge tart birthday party (they were always having birthday parties; it was always somebody’s birthday somewhere, after all) the avant garde shift pioneers, as well as the twelve Wisp rats, came up with a plan ~ of sorts. It was more of an imaginative play really.
One of the children had been bemoaning the fact that his friend in another nation could grow whatever he wanted in his garden, and he couldn’t, in his own nation. He asked the bridge tarts if they could create a new nation, from all the independant garden nations all over the world. The bridge tarts decided that it was a fine idea and set about bridging the independant garden nations all over the world together, in energy.
Some of the bridge tarts worked on the connecting links between the garden nations all over the globe, and some of the bridge tarts were instrumental in innovative new gardening ideas. One of them experimented with pulling funny faces at the seedlings, which resulted in bizarre comical blooms. New ideas bounced from one gardenation to another, originating you might say in all gardenations at the same time, so connected were they in energy.
Given sufficient motivation, the Gardenation might have started sooner ~ notwithstanding simultaneous time. Or perhaps they already did.
April 24, 2010 at 1:20 pm #2466In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
After his failed attempts to gain control over the Land of Peas, and his being thrown out of the Majorburghouse body first and framed head second by an angry mob of infuriated Peaslanders (which was something to be noted, since Peaslanders were usually quite the happy bunch), the Majorburgmester now bereft of anything but his will, was thinking it was high time for a u-turn in his carreer.
His dear blubbits had apparently mostly vanished out of sight, some said trapped in a blinking giant spider’s cobweb blinked out of Peasland, some others said suffocated under shiny duct tape, and even some said baked in ashes and almonds — those last obviously were the maddest of the lot.
It seemed like all the Dimensions had conspired to his defeat.Now hardly a Majorburgmester, the title having now been offered by the cheerful crowd to the raucous and unexpected hero (after they hesitated for a good hour if it should be given to the herald of the liberation, that stupid Gandfleur whatever its name of a dog), he was now again known as B. Weazeltweezel (the B. standing for Bartabous, his mother having a fondness for names in “-ous” like Precious, his elder sister, and Pulpous his second sister; a chance his father was a man of more common sense, otherwise he surely would have been named Houmous himself).
The newfound venture didn’t wait long to manifest. In the not so distant past, he had already suspected something fishy about Lady Fin Min Hoot and now he knew. She was a high member of the Bridge Tarts Order, and though it was a secretive and feminine order, he had always loved a challenge.
He felt he could muster all the tartiness and bridginess needed to be granted access to their secrets.Galvanized as he was, were he to successfully infiltrate the order, he knew he didn’t really stand a chance without something else. By nothing short of a synchronistic chance, Fwick, the saucerer had given him the leftovers of a potion he didn’t know what to make of.
In a gulp (and a few gargppls) Batabous was rapidly changed into a rather convincing dame matron, with slight mustache and ample bosom.
Tarty Bridgies, here I come… he said in a falsetto voice that needed work. … soon everybody will know about Lady… Bartaba
April 21, 2010 at 10:14 pm #2463In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Meanwhile, Landelin was perfecting his blubbit duct-tape traps.
Landelin was a quite reclusive man, some Peaslanders considered him even a bit mentally challenged with a reputation for having teafing as a secondary hobby. Yes, secondary. Before teafing, came duct tape ; duct tape always came first.
Landelin had been fond of duct tape since he was a kid, since he’d glued his first nanny to the cellar door and then went off buying more duct tape at the local grocery store with the money he’d teafed from her. Teafing always came second.Plagued as all Peaslanders with blubbits, he’d reasoned, quite reasonably for someone as mentally challenged as him, that blubbits were like worries and warts (and he knew quite a bit about the former and the latter), and none could stand a chance if administered the right amount of duct tape. By right amount, he meant, as much as needed to cover them in silver linings and eventually, maybe erradicate them —but that was a bit besides the point anyway.
Pity there wasn’t more than a few blue pelts’ hair to teaf from a blubbit, he thought quite reasonably again, as his last prototrap worked like a charm and had a few blubbits suffocating under a fair amount of stickiness.
Well, from blubbits, perhaps not so much, but from Peaslanders waiting for naught but a savior, maybe… After all the other treatments have failed, they surely would turn, as they all do, willingly or forcibly, to the raw power of taping.
April 20, 2010 at 7:43 pm #2450In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Good thing for Pee and the others deep in the furcano; having no head to start with, they didn’t suffocate from the heinous Mother Blubbit attack.
Nothing of that sort could be said for the adventurer in the Fly Boat, as they sadly had to go back to the heliport, owing to the dreadful weather condition.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF TARTINUN IS HAPPENING NOW!?” asked in a terribly raucous voice Pee, unable to see his way through the smoke. (Tartinun was the goddess of Peagemite, a holy yeastly paste made of fermented peas, consumed by shamans in order to bridge the gaps to the Great Unhead Aknown).
Unable to withstand the sheer amount of decibels of that raucous cry of despair, Mother Blubbit suddenly drop dead of a spleen failure.
April 20, 2010 at 8:11 am #2443In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Suprised by the unexpected visit, Mother Blubbit released a smothering plume of gases and ashes that started to fill in the tunnels of the Furcano.
The effects were not unnoticed, as miles around, Peaslanders stopped in their daily activities (most of them being either sending blubbits ad madres or regulating the size of the peas) to stand in awe of the reactivated Furcano’s tip.
If they had any such flying machines as they had in the Eighth dimension, they surely would have interrupted their activities too for a while… This was an event of grand importance, and maybe consequences.
Mother Blubbit had been challenged.April 13, 2010 at 7:52 am #2686In reply to: Strings of Nines
“Fish” said Raxie when asked what she would like for her Fragmentation Day lunch. Fish synchronicities had been sprouting up all over the plaice, sturgeoning you might say, if you were wanting to include the word burgeoning, burgeoning like the gnarly old grape vines waking up and unleashing green on the chalky hills.
“The synchronicities and connections were like individual blades of grass turning into a meadow, singing and sighing as one in the breezes,” Elizabeth replied.
“Well this is my own personal meadow” Raxie pointed out “These are all mine”.
“Oops”
“Who said that?”
“Was it that guy over there in the bowler hat and checkered past?”
“Don’t mention checkered pasts!” Elizabeth exclaimed, “Or the Ooh Dimension! You’ll open the sluice gates….”
“Antidisestablishmentarianism”
“Who said that?” Elizabeth and Raxie exclaimed together.
“I don’t know, but that guy in the bowler hat’s disappeared, and can you see that fellow starting to appear over there? Must be a multidimensional Port Hole or something…”
“Well, we know what a Froopish and fabulously magical place this is, so it stands to reason…”
“Reason?” Raxie and Elizabeth were reduced to giggles at the very idea of reason having any standing.
“A portal to the Froop dimension, here? Wow! Can I see?”
“You’ll have to wear these goggles. And it will require some stamina, are you sure?”
“Of course I’m bloody sure” replied Elizabeth tartly. And then she began to intuit something.
“I don’t need googles*, silly!” she laughed. “I already AM multidimensional, I don’t need anyone elses googles. But it’s ok if you want to wear the googles” she added, not wishing to sound judgemental.
“Actually, I like this amethyst crystal myself, I like the frequency. I have dreams of amethyst sometimes, they are a delight.”
“Come and look at this sunset if you want to see a delight,” said Raxie, who was still a bit miffed about the goggles. “Who needs another dimension when we’ve got this one?”
Elizabeth sighed with speechless awe at the spectacular sunset, a reflection of all her colours, and all her dear ones colours, all blended together with magic aqua and sparks of blue and tones of orange blossom.
March 6, 2010 at 6:03 pm #2669In reply to: Strings of Nines
Yurick had to laugh when his dear friend Finn told him “welcome back”, not that he didn’t like to be back, or Finn’s lovely comment of course. But rather because Finn being back herself at a time he wasn’t, was a most delightful irony he couldn’t miss. Unlike Finn (whom he had missed in the past, he felt obliged to add, in a manner to dissipate any misunderstanding).
March 3, 2010 at 10:47 am #2434In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“These old ezines and blogs are fascinating” remarked Periwinkle, passing the one she had just been reading to Daffodil. “Thank goodness some folks had the foresight to print some of them!”
“I know, imagine if they hadn’t. We’d have no artefacts for the collection. Well, we have all those flat discs, but no way to decipher them. Oh, did I tell you? Bignonia found something even older than the discs!”
“NO!” exclaimed Periwinkle “Do tell!”
“Yes, even older! Funny looking contraption, with two reels and a ribbon. An information storage device, so they say, although they haven’t discovered how to decipher it.”
“I wonder why we’re still not simply accessing that information without, well, without messing around with the physical contraption, you know?”
“Wouldn’t be any point in being here in the first place, if we weren’t going to mess around with physical things, silly” replied Daffodil.
There was no answer to that, so Periwikle didn’t answer. She continued to thumb through the printed pages.
Periwinkle and Daffodil sat together on the patio in the warm spring sunshine, sipping lemonade
and leafing through the papers. Bright white clouds in cartoon shapes romped across the blue sky,
and the birds chattered in the trees,
occasionally landing on the printed pages and cocking their heads sideways to read for a moment, before flying off to tell their friends, which was usually followed by a raucous group cackling.“Dear Goofenoff” read Daffodil, “This one looks interesting Peri, someone here is asking for advice on a problem.”
“What’s a “problem”, Daffy?” asked Periwinkle. “For that matter, what does the word “advice” mean? Oh, never mind” she said as she noticed Daffodil rolling her eyes, “I’ll look it up in my pre shift dictionary of defunct words.”
“She’s asking the Snoot too, about the same problem. Oh, I think I’ve heard of them! It’s coming back to me, the old Snoot’n‘Goof team, they were quite famous in the beginning of the century, I remember hearing about them before in a Shift History discussion.”
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of them, but then, I’ve never been into history like you, dear. So what is this “problem” all about, then?”
“I’ll read it out to you, it’s way too convoluted to put in a nutshell. Lordy, they sure did complicate matters back then, it’s almost unbeleivable, really, but anyway, here goes:
Dear Goofenoff,
I don’t know what to do! I am confused about which probable version of a blog freind, let’s call him MrZ, I have chosen to align with. The first probable version was ok, nothing to worry about, and then I drew into my awareness the probable versions of MrZ that some of my freinds had chosen to align with….”
“Blimey”, interrupted Periwinkle, who was starting to fidget. “Is it much longer?”
“It’s alot longer, so be patient. Where was I? Oh yes:
“….and while that was very interesting indeed, and led to lots of usefully emotionally heated discussions, I started to align with their probable version, at times, although not consistently, which led to some confusion. So then I had a chat with someone who was more in alignment with my original probable version, although there were aspects of that probable version that were a little in alignment with the other folks probable version, notwithstanding. I suppose I was still in alignment with the other folks probable version when it came to my attention that there was another individual that might be aligning with a probable version, and my question is, in a nutshell, is it any of my business which probable version the new individual on the scene is aligning with?”
“Well, I can tell you the answer to that!” exclaimed Periwinkle.
Daffodil rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear, WE know the answer, but the point is, SHE didn’t know the answer at the time, which is why she asked Goofenoff.”
“If you ask me, she knew the answer all along” Periwinkle intuited. “What did Goofenoff say anyway?”
“He said:
Are you requiring a short or a long answer?”
Daffodil turned the page to continue reading. She frowned, and flicked through a few pages.
“What a shame, some of these pages appear to be missing! Now we’ll never know what Goofenoff said.”
Periwinkle laughed. “Well, never mind that anyway, have you seen the random story quote today? Rather synchronistic I’d say, listen to this bit:
Illi felt much better, and was sitting at the breakfast table, basking in the warm shafts of sunlight filtering in through the window, and listening to the birds singing in the lemon tree outside.”
February 24, 2010 at 10:41 pm #2426In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Finally the answer we need! Let’s release the damn bird and get back home now! Besides its cage needs cleaning and it’s starting to smell, and I can’t stand this place any longer…” Doily couldn’t be stopped.
Foolishly getting by that that Doily had understood most and perhaps all of the Cloud’s mysterious riddle, and that she even had managed to remember it, by a chance even slimmer than that of crossing the Eight’s Portal alive, Pee agreed with a nod of his neck.
Once the birds’ released (with a good manly slapping as the feathery creature was a bit reluctant and groggy from being rocked in its cage), they were instantaneously and quite unsurprisingly back again near the Saucerer’s house, all safe in their beloved Peasland, ravaged by blubbits holes.
February 12, 2010 at 1:35 pm #2665In reply to: Strings of Nines
They were thick as theives, freinds for thousands of centuries, or even more; sometimes thick, sometimes theives, and anything else you might imagine. They got together again and again in this time and that, here, there and elsewhere, just for the fun of it. There was nothing they liked more than a puzzling occurance, or a riddle, or a basket full of clues to ponder over, unravel, and turn around and around, toying with meanings until they found one they liked. They had a home in The City, sort of a home base so to speak, where they met regularly each night in the dream state, regardless of which time or place they spent their waking hours. It was sometimes a releif to meet up at home in The City and always a pleasure: sometimes it was hard to stay under the radar back down on the ground, it was part of the job to stand out in the crowd, which often resulted in a lynching, or a ducking, or the stocks, at the very least. All too often it ended up on top of a bonfire, tied to a stake.
One day in one of the Decembers, in amongst all the sweet dreams they often shared, they started having some unsettling group dreams, where they all felt like they were betwixt and between, falling through the cracks you might say. It was a feeling similar to dying of thirst, although it wasn’t really a physical thirst, it was more than that, a hungry yearning sort of thing. Some of them had strange nightmares, of a monstrous beast, and some of them actually saw beasts in the daytime too, especially on those falling through the cracks days. When they met up at home in The City, they compared notes about the beasts, and not always, but sometimes they found they were mirroring each others beasts. That often ended up in a heated debate, because the more mirroring that occurred, the more real the beast seemed. Some said that the beasts that appeared when you fell through the cracks were in a deep ravine, in a manner of speaking, and not of this plane at all. Others argued that if the beasts appeared through the cracks, then they were on this plane.
And so it went on, and on. There were many more puzzling occurances to come, and lots of meanings to be considered, rejected, or taken on board for the friends, as thick as thieves, to turn around and around, and hold up to the mirror for closer inspection and dissection. They were making a tapestry, a huge rich colourful tapestry, and all the puzzling occurences, and even the beasts, were depicted in the colourful threads and patterns. They were the warp, you might say, of the weave. Love was the weft.
“Congratulations, Liz” Godfrey remarked drily. “Are you supposed to use three months worth of creative writing challenges in one entry?”
“Don’t be silly, Godfrey, of course not. Rules are meant to be broken, that’s what they’re for.”
February 7, 2010 at 6:32 pm #2418In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“You know, I could sit on a beach til the end of time” Shar remarked, letting the sand run through her fingers as they watched the sun go down over the sea, “and I’d never really understand how we started off as Sand ~ A Shard is nothing like Sand. Window, yes, I can see how a Shard came from Window, that makes sense ~ but SAND?….”
December 23, 2009 at 9:29 am #2388In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
He was lying on her massage table, his nudity covered with a blue satin towel. Josephine had really soft hands and was a really good masseuse. Almondus Blondor had been waiting for so long for this massage that he wouldn’t let one bit escape his awareness; though, he was feeling as if he was inexorably slipping into the drum world, his heart was pounding, more and more present. His attention was merging with his old drum self, when he could remember clearly how it was before he came here through the portal himself.
Josephine was using the very potion she was preparing when she heard the tinkling sound… and she was unaware that her hand had taken a wrong ingredient, one of the most important ones. Even if she had known, she would have been unable to tell the consequences of the switch. Almondus could just disappear, melt, transform into a big giant dragonfly… at the moment, she was into a trance, far even from the idea that she could do such a mistake. She never did mistakes!
Bentworth Sadnick was all but confident in his new appointment by his peaster. He had never been alone at the portal before, and he feared most of all that someone would come ask a question. In his mind, it was unthinkable that someone would even dare ask to open the portal…
He was lost in his hamster wheel, too exhausted by the race to do the usual chores —sure his peaster would notice when he comes back. But what if some official came by? It would certainly be a disaster, Bentworth would be caught stammering and that would only add to his confusion. Wasn’t it hot here? So hot, maybe if he could just put his head aside for a few moments… no, it was forbidden, his peaster had repeated it thousands of times to him, and had him repeat it ten times more… though it could help, sure, release the pressure in his head. His hands reached the hook of his head-fastener and a sudden release of pressure popped into the silence, ending in a harmonious whistling sound.
Holding his head in his hands, face turned to his chest, he was unable to see the strangers coming from the distance. He sat on the first step of the stairs climbing to the portal, his head resting on his lap, looking at his belly button (his clothes were too short for him, and he was looking like a child grown too fast). Though he was the only one present and when he suddenly heard a raucous voice asking if he could make his bird sing, he feared that it was some kind of sexual offer and were his head on, it would have blushed, but it was still releasing pressure and the sudden squirck sounded like a yes.
That’s when he lost his head, he stood up briskly and his head rolled on the ground, hitting a stone in the process. His head was knocked out, and he couldn’t use it for the moment. What had his peaster told him so often: “Always do as if you know what to do! Don’t let people see you don’t know, even if you don’t… pretend that you have all the answers. You’re here the most trusted Peaslander and everybody will trust what you say.”
“Sh-show mme yu-your bi-bird!”
The Aunt and Dolores looked at each other… the others being headless it would have been pointless.
“Are you the Keeper of the Old and notwithstanding Great portal of Nibabuz.”As he was about to say yes, another release of pressure from his unconscious head made a squirmish sound. As they were waiting, he said the word that would seal his destiny.
“Yeyes!”That’s when Almondus, falling asleep, farted. Was it the mixture of Josephine? Was it that he hadn’t done a detox cure for centuries? Nonetheless, that had the disastrous effect of inducing Josephine in a lethargic state. She stopped massaging him and stood there still. Her spearit gone, far worse than if her head had popped out on its own.
December 21, 2009 at 5:49 pm #2385In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Almondus Blondor, the Keeper of the Old and notwithstanding Great portal of Nibabuz was on his way to Josephine Moodoo the Great Priestress of OzMoosis, and occasionnally witch-doctoress. It was for this last talent that Almondus had taken his day off. It was actually his first day off since the last century, but his arthretic was now becoming unbearable, and had on many times almost have him become nuts, a fate altogether far more enviable than the one of losing one’s head he would say (as he wasn’t truly a native Peaslander either).
So, this arthrectic was painful, terribly painful, the result of considerable arrhythmical calculus mixed with jointless restlessness. A few times he had to mend his limbs back together, and feared the witch would blame his indulgence on koomaroo, a variety of sweet potatoes he craved at the expense of following the ancestral Peaslander’s peas and marmite toasts usual diet. For that, he was often call Mr Koomaroo by the little neighbours, those nasty pests.
But as we said earlier (heed, heed, little Pooh), he was no native Peaslander either.So, during his day off, he had appointed his young apprentice, Bentworth Sadnick, a local and remarkably headless fellow, who wasn’t very wise for his seventy-year-young age ; as since the last decades, no one had tried to activate the Great and notwithstanding Rusty portal, he thought he could have that little day off without much trouble happening.
Josephine would surely repair him in a snap of her delicately podgy fingers (they reminded him of delicious sweet potatoes) and everything would be forever again perfect… at least for the next ten decades.
December 17, 2009 at 5:45 pm #2377In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Oh, Doily dear, there thoo are!” Mewrich Peamon cried out at the sight of Dolores, almost losing his loincloth in excitement. ‘Doily’ was how he affectionately called Dolores, one of the most fervent admirer of his works, though he strongly suspected she didn’t quite understand them all.
However the Saucerer was pleased to know the lady, who wasn’t shy of keeping her heads on her shoulders, a custom that most Pealanders would have found outrageously bold and casual, preferring to have their heads at home, (or) just in (suit)case.
“I was just about to tell your nephews and brother-in-law all about section three twenty one of the Art of Bird Swift Travelling Right Unto Sextion Eight (A.B.S.T.R.U.S.E), but surely you could indulge us in revealing the few caveats I was about to tell them about the beard.”
“Didn’t you mean bird?” Doily said with a interrogative pout which almost had her lovely green wig fall onto her eyes.
“Well, of course I meant beard, dear —and always glad to see we’re on the same page on this one!” “Though I fear we’ll soon have to turn to the next…” He added mysteriously.
December 16, 2009 at 9:21 am #2371In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“AHAHAHA” the man in a loincloth greated them “or…” he added with a mischievous wink “perhaps shall I say Oooh ooh ooh.”
Mewrich wasn’t a man short of a some raspiness and prickliness in his voice either.
“MY FRIENDS, you are a most welcome and delightful breath of headlessness coming to this house” he said, vaguely designing the moistly and mossy hole behind him.“Your cave!?” retorted Lilli a bit bossily and raucously
“Don’t be rude S’illy!” Pee said through his breath (S’illy was the little family moniker standing for Sis’ Lilli).“Yes my cave, dear ones. And I’m not silly!”
“Well of course you’re not her” Pickel muttered, still angered at the failed appreciation of his earlier prank. He wished he had left his posterior at home too now.
“Don’t try to confuse me! These confuddling talents would be best kept for when you are in ED. But let us not waste precious and mucous time. Let me show you my bird.” he added without further ado.December 16, 2009 at 2:52 am #2370In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“HE PUT A BLUBBIT DOWN MY KNICKERS!” sobbed Lilli, loudly.
Unfortunately Lilli too had inherited the Stoll family curse, and her voice raised to such a level caused poor Fwick to cover his ears in horror. Being no fool, and quickly realising that without a head this ear protecting action would do no good at all, he instead decided he must evict these raucous Peaslanders from his abode, poste haste.
“Yes, indeed, Mewrich Peamon is the man you want to see. A strange fellow, lacking sense some may say, but very good with birds notwithstanding. Now, please, don’t thank me again. I mean really, don’t …. “ he muttered, ushering the guests in the direction of where he hoped the door was.
December 15, 2009 at 3:40 pm #2365In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“By the Seven Horns of Lord Blue Zebull! That’s one hell of a cough!” Fwick con Troll said to the cloaked stranger standing behind his door.
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