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  • #1250

    — Well, to me it’s pretty obvious now that all that we put in this story kind of manifests quickly…
    — Quite. The book, the magazine, the travels,… Amazing, even the most delirious things do actually manifest, even if not physically!
    — Heck, no! Good thing not all that stuff manifests physically; well you can never be sure either, but seems some of it best be manifested in other ways.
    — Or soon enough we’ll find a news coverage on it…
    — Ahah, yeah. Now, I wonder…
    — What?
    — Should we keep that a…
    — A what?
    — You know the word, a S-E-C-R-E-T
    — What?! Are you crazy?
    — Well, one never knows; there might be all sorts of loonies out there wanting to insert all sorts of stuff in this book now.
    — Ahahaha, you must be kidding; I thought WE were the loonies ;))
    — You have a point… Well, I mean anyway, it’s not like it’s because of the book either; it’s just because we focus our intents through the writing, and pool energies…
    — Indeed. And there are no such things as sea-crates anyway.
    — So now the question is… What do we want to put in there for the next 6 months?
    — Is it too late for foie gras and gingerbread toasts?

    #1246

    The two roses of Jericho had almost completely dried up, furled again into a tight ball exhaling a slightly pungent odor.

    Yurick was impressed by the genius of this plant, which could die and “resurrect” countless times, while spending most of its time in this dried up state, only waiting for some water to revive it.

    Perhaps essence was a Rose of Jericho too; he meant his wider self, he could feel it springing from the moisture of new prospects and challenges, then slowly crawling back to a state of balance. These last past days were a sort of clearing of the rest of the waters of the year. Things were looking a bit shriveled on the outside, but you could feel life and impetus was there, if only dormant…

    Funnily, these two didn’t have any names, unlike Sha and Glo the aerial plants, which were still kind of resting on an empty beige egg carton upon the white toilets in the bathroom, where light, moisture (and aerial nutrients) surely never failed to float around.
    It was funny, he thought all of a sudden; looks like the little hairy plants are travelers upon a big iceberg… What a funny story this would make.

    So, the roses didn’t have names… If they were essences of roses, what would be their focuses?

    Well, what was imagination telling him? He could easily imagine them as sort of strange mummies who would dry up into balls of dried flesh and sinews and being revived sometimes during the flood seasons. Actually with the news of Venice (and next Rome) being flooded if there were some old mummies suddenly revived from old times and prolonged lyophilization, that could be a place to start. Well, they probably would have a hard time coping with all the changes and the pace of this time.
    Alabama or Louisiana would be fun places to have some too… Funny mummies…

    #96
    TheMermaid777TheMermaid777
    Participant

      I love love love the story, and the book is gracing my shelf of carefully selected books, so gracefully:):) Thank you guys………. LOVE YOU SO MUCH, Melissa

      #2035

      In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Lots replied whispered story… :yahoo_praying:
        Journal nothing. :yahoo_raised_eyebrow: :yahoo_confused: :yahoo_shame_on_you:
        Wanted great surely.:yahoo_thinking:
        Week told high, easily real :agreed:
        Wrick sake :cocktail:
        :crystal-skull: Comment skull notice change hill

        #1828

        In reply to: Synchronicity

        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          In the fat ladies thread, here are a few funnies, consequent to a little video from Little Britain, with iconic Bubbles DeVere

          About Jilly Cooper ;

          • “She also wrote a series of children’s books featuring the heroine ‘Little Mabel’.” Little Mabel Saves The Day etc.
          • Riders and the following books are characterised by intricate plots, featuring multiple story lines and a large number of characters. (To help the reader keep track, each book begins with a list and brief description of the characters.)
          • “The stories heavily feature adultery, (sexual) infidelity and general betrayal, melodramatic misunderstandings and emotions, money worries and domestic upheavals.” (T’Eggy Pooh?)
          • Jolly in her books titles, a word I used without much thought to it in the last comments
          • Angels Rush In
          • Adopted children Emily and Felix (I had a Felix sync when I opened the book at random and got caught in FP’s comment about Felix Otterworthy )
          #1213
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Georges and Salome’s journal

            From Salome’s account of her introduction to the Turmak People (Part 4)

            Legends of the past can tell you a lot more on the present than what sometimes is actually revealed by present events. I discovered the truth of this statement when we arrived with Cil at the capital of Tùrmk. As Cil was discussing with officials of the Turmaki Gatherings, I was offered to go to their House of Remembrance. It was, I gathered, a sort of physical repository of the knowledge of the Turmaki that would allow me to bridge the gap of my abysmal ignorance of their history.

            I was only barely starting to understand the odds of the physical configurations of space in this dimension, and I was nonetheless more than eager to add history to my previous geography lessons.
            Turmaki are living in a sort of interesting land forming a sort of circle at the centre of which lies the most beautiful sea I have ever seen, with a very subtle and vivid shade of deep indigo blue. Most of Turmakis’ activity was directed inward of the circle, and the outer sea wasn’t a matter of interest to them. Later at the House of Remembrance, I learned that there had been an agreement in the past with the other sentient races to not mingle, so even if there was not physical barrier, all they focused their attention upon was their land, and theirs only.
            Their Capital City, Tùrmk, may probably be seen as a very rudimentary city by all Earth-biased accounts. However, at that time, I had not really seen much of the Earth to be blasée anyway, so I was quite receptive to the beauty of its simplicity. It was located at the foremost point of an inner peninsula known as the Nirgual’s Head, facing twelve beautiful islands on which sacred temples had been erected.

            My fascination for the beauty of these islands led me to discover more about their significance. In the House of Remembrance, a similar structure of twelve doors led me to learn that the twelve families held significance even here and throughout Alienor as well. Representatives of the families were chosen among the Guardians, as I remembered Georges had discovered and interestingly some of them had had quite an influence upon the history of the various people of Alienor. I couldn’t really trace it back to tangible proofs, but as I said, some legends are quite telling — thus corroborating Cil’s earlier statements.

            I have not much time left to start telling them now, but I will probably tell more about the Legends of the Six ‘Fudjàhs’ —or Power Objects.

            (Part 3)

            #1186

            Arona was fretting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            :fleuron:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            #1172

            After he sent his reply to Yann, Yurick took a deep breathe in appreciation of all that had been done the last past days.

            However tedious, all in all, it had allowed him to stay away from other people’s trauma, and stay focused on his own issues. Now, the feeling of the energy at hand was starting to become lighter. Like a thin ray of light poking through a thick layer of rainy clouds, announcing that the silver lining was more than just a consolation. It was announcing the sun to come.

            He took the book of stories that had been unburied (like his pleasure to write) from the bottom of the sofa’s cushions when they’d received hosts last week-end, and looked with amusement at the opening note about the “random quotes”.

            A strong sense of an inkling started to dawn at him.
            Thanks to the random quotes —or more appropriately said, to convenient synchronicities— “stuff” was never lost or buried in the insides of that ever-growing story, which was eating with gluttony at the edges of its expansion. Things were popping up here and there, reminding of old loose threads, or pertinent inclusions or links to be made.

            But there was more. He, for a long time, had thought that imagination was expanding things to make physical reality look smaller in proportion than it was. Like when they’d looked at Dory’s pictures, and everything looked so big on them. Even the mere thought of nine dogs was huge. But when they’d met her, and Dan, and the dogs, it was all so much smaller. Even seeing Dory manage her dogs made having nine dogs seem manageable.
            But the reverse was true: physical reality had its way of dwarfing imagination. Not so much making it smaller, but compacting it, making it fit in an unbelievably condensed and small space.

            Take that book. Thousands of words, billions of probabilities, endless threads and hundreds of characters, all packaged in a small stack of inked paper. The trick was that when you look at it that way, when you got that small stack of paper in your hands, it all seems so manageable; one starts to get accustomed to it, then fails to see the newness in it each time it’s opened to tell a story.

            Imagination is the true gauge of the vastness of the universe. It’s so easy to forget…

            #1167
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              a hotel room in Auckland, New Zealand

              Veranassesee closed her report silently.

              What a mess it all had been. Given the circumstances, she had acted with unbelievable self-possessed strength and wit.
              She had little doubt she would be fired though. The Confregation wasn’t exactly known for their blanket acceptance of excuses for people’s short-failures —or worse, for their lack of accepting their own responsibility. Quite the contrary.
              She would be expected to resign, and even the smoldering hot and sexy Agent Gabriele’s intercession wouldn’t be seen with a complaisant eye.

              “No matter…” She had managed to keep everyone she could out of trouble or certain death, and for that she was quite proud of herself. Even if her job was most of the time to actually make sure they would meet their death more quickly. Perhaps she was getting too soft for that job.

              The phone rang abruptly cutting her off her trail of thoughts.

              “Yes?” (…) “Mmmhhh mmmh” (…) “Okay. Fine. Thank you.”

              She would be presenting her report’s conclusions at the hearing tomorrow, and then would be free to go. Start a new life maybe; or get back to Mahiliki who was for now confined with the aircraft’s pilot in one of the Confregation’s detention centers for interrogation. They’d say it wouldn’t be long; they wanted to make sure no crucial information had leaked.
              She couldn’t really pity Mahiliki; he was cute… harmless in many ways; she was sure he would be out in a matter of days,… and unsurprisingly get back to his peasant’s life on Fikitupi.

              As for herself… that may be a whole other story.

              #1824

              In reply to: Synchronicity

              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                An idea for Marvin … “Good Dick?”

                Shucks…too bad, it’s already taken ;))

                Well does anything in this movie look a tad familiar? :p spotted a small ferret-looking critter :)

                Another similar one “and then a giant toad swallows the little mermaid…” WHAT!? Hey! What did you do to my story! ;))

                #2030

                In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  Some selected bits from one tag cumulo-cloud:

                  — “Matter (is) dimensional energies realized”
                  — “Expect Hector (to) surface, Rafaela!”
                  — “Leonora gets (to) keep saying ‘play attention!’”
                  — “Close rain, friend magic, hope water seeing”
                  — “Far within thinking, Arona sort days, (her) hold gives human comments great meaning”
                  — “Soon blue seconds, call straight (at the) door, met surely physical; notice move (of) essence (in) fat huge dreams”
                  — “Universe appear (in) book story”
                  — “Malvina line although familiar answered busy funny heading”
                  — “Tina looked love taking lots question indeed”
                  — “Word usually working (in) short shifting pooh adventure”
                  — “Seems Armelle starting soft reason; strange perhaps (in the) middle (of) rolling help (one may) spot dragons’ truth past spider times”
                  — “‘Tell inside reality’: three words step (to) creating”
                  — “Becky, allow yourself finding single beautiful playing light, dear”
                  — “Cloud impulse shall house explain surprised black connection”
                  — “Cool trust(ed) friends, portal plane”
                  — “Aliens coincidence next talking”
                  — “Walking arms seem flight silence; stone creature sound already entered field (of) aware(ness); scene trip apparently given reading”
                  — “Beyond rolled Theresa, lately cave telling unusual morning”
                  — “Wortex large, merely Glo”

                  #2029

                  In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    A moment later she fell in the pool, slipping on some loose change. The part had been a free for all, and her host had alot to answer for. lots of drinks had been given to the grey goat and mavis didn’t give a shit. she meant during the days that followed to find salome, to be able to find some meaning to the story about leonora. It was a fine day for a plane ride she thought as she waited in line feeling excited until she noticed a red working lamp advertising love, but she never noticed how much easier it was during the news. The finn connection had her smiling as she thought to try creating calm and stay present and breathe as she looked around and noticed her arms were far from normal. suddenly shhe was walking away. the goat forgotten but wrick managed to save the library which was full of fresh air known only to sri who was to sort it all out although he laughed about the wood fire of the 19 planets and she was behind herself all the way

                    (oops, said Bea, I forgot to indicate which of the words was from the word cloud and which were mine. Oh well, never mind….)

                    #1151
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      Tina leaned back on her rocking chair, and ogled with an eye of pity Al who was trimming one of the plants.

                      What?
                      Oh nothing, Tina sighed… are we gonna eat any fruit from those, or shall I throw them in the bin?
                      Oh, there’s good hope we can soon have a cherry tomato wrapped in a leaf of coriander for our dinner sweetie.
                      You and your miniature cultures… She finally rolled her eyes. During Al’s trip in the Floridisles, by a strange series of nearly miraculous coincidences, the plants had stayed intact. She hadn’t watered them for the two weeks, but apparently it had not displeased them.

                      Al had told her the funny story of his grand-father watering his wife’s precious flowers during her absence with gallons of water, and literally drowning them in love.
                      She had not smiled. “Maybe I’m drowning people in my love too, they tend to get soggy these days…”
                      So perhaps her lack of attention had been a blessing for the tinsy artsy plantsaïs

                      What did they have for dinner last time? A puny ratatouille made with courgettes the size of her fingers. First time she’d wished she had bigger fingers. Nah… Al, you got to understand, people aren’t ready for nano-biotics…

                      #2028

                      In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        Indeed Jib, as usual, as usual:

                        Follow THE call OF THE WILDE,
                        THAT WHICH especially ASK YOU TO hold STILL AT home.
                        YOU KNOW, IT DOESN’T TAKE lots OF walking
                        TO let YOUR arms HAVE SOME EXERCISING:
                        SOME WOULD SAYperhaps”;
                        BUT NO NEED TO SAY “I knew THAT!”

                        LET’S EXPLORE A stone idea:
                        OF dragons starting watermelons story, flying AROUND
                        AND smiling, DIVING IN THE flove

                        #1075

                        Lady Theresa Eaglestone, know as T’Eggy to her friends, waited in the potting shed at Pilston Manor (which was how the locals pronounced Pillaughpiffleston).

                        “There” said Becky with a grim smile “Much easier. As if I would remember how to spell that!” Not for the first time, Becky wondered if it might be a good deal easier to write her own Reality Play and forget all this collaborative nonsense. It was hard enough to remember her own story lines, never mind trying to keep track of all the other bizarre additions as well. “Now who the devil is Hector Coon?” Thankfully this Pillaughpiffleston thread was a new one, and Becky had a fairly free rein with it: nothing was yet decided regarding the location and time frame, so if she was quick about it, and made her entry before the others, the ball was in her court.

                        T’Eggy (Becky continued to write) shivered in the cool breeze that was blowing into the draughty old potting shed. She turned the the carved watermelon rind over and over in her hands, puzzling over what possible significance it may have. Surely it was a clue, or at the very least a symbol of some aspect of inner reality, but what? And what did Hector know that she didn’t know?

                        #1074
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          “What on earth is Al suggesting now, I wonder” mused Becky, who was catching up with the latest additions to the Reality Play. Frowning, she wondered how to handle it. It was often a challenge when one of the other writers interfered with her story line plans.

                          “Well, be honest, Becky” she said to herself “You were floundering a bit with all this boring tropical romance stuff, wafting around the Facility with nothing more interesting to do than sip cool drinks and wink at Gayesh.”

                          Becky put the sheaf of printed pages on the table beside her, lost in thought. The warm still evening air was beginning to be stifling, and she felt trapped, smothered in the blue velvet embrace of the night, sickened by the scent of the perfumed flowers and rotting fruit, and suddenly bored beyond endurance.

                          “I’m going back home” she decided. “I’ll leave a deposit of cells here, swap places with Becky Tooh, and she can come back here and take her chances with Gayesh and the clone experiment.”

                          Perhaps her babies and her lush of a husband back home would be more exciting.

                          “I can always swap back again later if it gets tedious in New Venice” she added, having a moment of trepidation at the thought of her responsibilities as a mother of triplets. She liked to keep her options open, keep an escape plan on the back burner.

                          With a light heart and a spring in her step, she grabbed the papers off the table and ran upstairs to pack.

                          “Maybe a stop over in Long Pong on the way” she decoded. “Oh look at that!” she said to herself “I meant to say decided and wrote decoded instead. Pfft” she grumbled “That must be because I’m worried about decoding all the other strange additions to the Reality Play that have been spewed forth lately. Sheesh, do Al and Sam honestly think I will ever catch up now? Oh bugger it all, Long Pong, here I come!”

                          #1065

                          The smooke of her pipe was creating interesting shapes flooting away from her.
                          Elizabeth had the weird impression that her story was taking an uncontrollable turn.
                          She woold have written a torrid sex scene with Phoebe and the yoong Russian on the submarine, but it was as if Finnley’s eyes were constantly reminding her of her own nymphoomaniac behavior. She had to let it unexpressed except in her imagination.

                          Looking at the last curls of smooke, it was as if the pook-marked face of Pavel was taking life before her eyes. Thanks to her new croop, her feelings were far far away… She let the smooked face decomposed in a gracious gray whale.

                          She giggled thinking of Finnley’s disapproval… maybe she’ll write that scene after all.
                          She took a sheet of paper and a pen, but soon realized the words were not foorming as expected. The thud prooduced by the pen rolling on the floor was amusing too.

                          Ooh!

                          The thud prooduced by her body rolling on the floor was more disturbing… and the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Finnley’s disapproving look… maybe she had written that scene after all…

                          A smile on her face she began to snoore soundly.

                          #1061
                          Jib
                          Participant

                            She had been taken to her room by a handsome young Russian after the onboard doctor, who was quite handsome too, had examined her. She had the vague impression she was turning a tad nymphomaniac. She chuckled and she stopped as soon as she realized she sounded like an old goose. No she would not loose her dignity. But she needed to release her tensions.

                            The doctor had told her she was lucky they came at that very moment, but kept quiet after that. That she was aware of, but she couldn’t get more out of him and she was too tired to use her other tricks on him.
                            Better rest a moment; she was confident she’d be kept up to date soon enough by Pavel.

                            How strongly she was despising him…
                            She didn’t know it was possible before their first encounter in Paris, years ago. :yahoo_thinking:
                            Mixed feelings filled up those memories… :yahoo_angry: :yahoo_love_struck: it was also at the same time she’d met Georges, the Dandy as he liked to be called then. What a pair of thieves they were… When was it? 1852? 1853? She wasn’t sure…

                            Her first mistake was to ask them to retrieve that stone from the antique store for her… Of course she hadn’t told them what she was looking for… she only asked them to steal everything in the shop! Still, they didn’t bring it back from the shop though she was positive the sunstone was there… they told her that was all they found; Georges seemed so sincere that she wouldn’t have thought he would double her and keep the stone… and much less use it. Soon enough… yes soon enough she realized she had been deceived.

                            Her second mistake was to offer them an arrangement… but that’s another story. She was not as wary as she was now.

                            She sighed. :yahoo_sigh:

                            Nothing interesting to steal in that room. Just raw blankets and a plain wooden chair… she wouldn’t have expected more from Pavel. Always keeping the best for himself and not quite as chivalrous as the Dandy. Pavel… How did they call him back then? She couldn’t or wouldn’t recall it… something like the Monk… the Monkey would have better suited him, she thought bitterly.

                            But now; she had no time to loose in dim memories.
                            She had to plan her escape.

                            knock knock

                            It only took her a few seconds to compose herself.

                            — Come on in.

                            #1060
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              Today was the commemoration of the fifth anniversary of the first transmutation made on Earth.

                              Of course, it didn’t take into account previous attempts (or successes), because they were of the domain of science-fiction and dubious history facts. But now, not only was it rock-solid proven feasible, but also it had change people’s lives like the invention of electricity had about two century ago, in the mid 1800s.

                              At first, people had not grasped the profound implications of that discovery. It was another funny science experiment from researchers, and didn’t seem to have any more practical usage as did goat cloning, and creation of phosphorescent pigs. However, to mark the consciousnesses of the importance of the event, the government hadn’t skimped on the showcase. Not that it was of any importance after what evolution was bound to happen afterward, but still, huge sums of money were spent brilliantly.

                              The symbolic aspect of choosing what object to transmute wasn’t unnoticed. It could be virtually anything physical: garbage, contaminated soil… But it had to mean more.
                              Someone whose name was forgotten came with a suggestion and it slowly came up as the most natural thing —to close this area and open on the new one.
                              There had been many people still left to convince, the die-hard fanaticism, but it had to be it. And for good measure, the involvement of other nations was asked.

                              Sept. 4th, 2044, the ceremony opened with the display of what was left of Enola Gay that plane who had dropped the first atomic bomb, which had been almost forgotten in the West, but not completely in the East. And many nations came afterward, each carrying a symbol of what they wanted to recycle, to free themselves off.

                              Then all of these heterogeneous elements entered the P-Machine, a distant relative of the Z-Machine which had been adapted and enhanced to produce aneutronic fusion at its core —highest temperatures of the universe thought unreachable by human means, harnessed to change the elements at will, and producing no harmful radiations as the atomic towers of the past.
                              After a silent moment of unbearable expectation, melted gold started to flow out of the machine, making people wonder if that was all of it?

                              Yes, it was merely it. Transmutation could be done, and it was not so impossible as people thought in the past. It meant free resources, recycling of garbage, abundance for all… at people’s grasp.
                              What people had failed to recognize at the beginning, apart from the immense possibilities that were lying before them was that the machine could only transmute matter. And even if it could virtually free them of greed (because everything from gold to rocks was basically of the same value now), people’s own values were now made prominent, there was no camouflage left: no victims, no shortages, no lack of.

                              Even five years after, it still meant huge challenges, but there was hope.

                              #2154

                              In reply to: The Story So Far

                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                The Main Guardians (Alienor)

                                To better follow some of the threads involving Alienor history, and particularly the Guardians involvement, here are some sketches of the main Guardians.


                                Some references:

                                • (Samira appearance) ID1338
                                • (Sinadron, Noraam, Keliom) ID1344
                                • (Sinadron, Nareena, Noraam) ID1521
                                • (Shu-Lum alt. spelling of Shu Lom) ID1561 ( IIIIII )
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