-
Search Results
-
In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Helix 25 – The Mad Heir
The Wellness Deck was one of the few places untouched by the ship’s collective lunar madness—if one ignored the ambient aroma of algae wraps and rehydrated lavender oil. Soft music played in the background, a soothing contrast to the underlying horror that was about to unfold.
Peryton Price, or Perry as he was known to his patients, took a deep breath. He had spent years here, massaging stress from the shoulders of the ship’s weary, smoothing out wrinkles with oxygenated facials, pressing detoxifying seaweed against fine lines. He was, by all accounts, a model spa technician.
And yet—
His hands were shaking.
Inside his skull, another voice whispered. Urging. Prodding. It wasn’t his voice, and that terrified him.
“A little procedure, Perry. Just a little one. A mild improvement. A small tweak—in the name of progress!”
He clenched his jaw. No. No, no, no. He wouldn’t—
“You were so good with the first one, lad. What harm was it? Just a simple extraction! We used to do it all the time back in my day—what do you think the humors were for?”
Perry squeezed his eyes shut. His reflection stared back at him from the hydrotherapeutic mirror, but it wasn’t his face he saw. The shadow of a gaunt, beady-eyed man lingered behind his pupils, a visage that he had never seen before and yet… he knew.
Bronkelhampton. The Mad Doctor of Tikfijikoo.
He was the closest voice, but it was triggering even older ones, from much further down in time. Madness was running in the family. He’d thought he could escape the curse.
“Just imagine the breakthroughs, my dear boy. If you could only commit fully. Why, we could even work on the elders! The preserved ones! You have so many willing patients, Perry! We had so much success with the tardigrade preservation already.”
A high-pitched giggle cut through his spiraling thoughts.
“Oh, heavens, dear boy, this steam is divine. We need to get one of these back in Quadrant B,” Gloria said, reclining in the spa pool. “Sha, can’t you requisition one? You were a ship steward once.”
Sha scoffed. “Sweetheart, I once tried requisitioning extra towels and ended up with twelve crates of anti-bacterial foot powder.”
Mavis clicked her tongue. “Honestly, men are so incompetent. Perry, dear, you wouldn’t happen to know how to requisition a spa unit, would you?”
Perry blinked. His mind was slipping. The whisper of his ancestor had begun to press at the edges of his control.
“Tsk. They’re practically begging you, Perry. Just a little procedure. A minor adjustment.”
Sha, Gloria, and Mavis watched in bemusement as Perry’s eye twitched.
“…Dear?” Mavis prompted, adjusting the cucumber slice over her eye. “You’re staring again.”
Perry snapped back. He swallowed. “I… I was just thinking.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Gloria muttered.
“Thinking about what?” Sha pressed.
Perry’s hand tightened around the pulse-massager in his grip. His fingers were pale.
“Scalpel, Perry. You remember the scalpel, don’t you?”
He staggered back from the trio of floating retirees. The pulse-massager trembled in his grip. No, no, no. He wouldn’t.
And yet, his fingers moved.
Sha, Gloria, and Mavis were still bickering about requisition forms when Perry let out a strained whimper.
“RUN,” he choked out.
The trio blinked at him in lazy confusion.
“…Pardon?”
That was at this moment that the doors slid open in a anti-climatic whiz.
Evie knew they were close. Amara had narrowed the genetic matches down, and the final name had led them here.
“Okay, let’s be clear,” Evie muttered as they sprinted down the corridors. “A possessed spa therapist was not on my bingo card for this murder case.”
TP, jogging alongside, huffed indignantly. “I must protest. The signs were all there if you knew how to look! Historical reenactments, genetic triggers, eerie possession tropes! But did anyone listen to me? No!”
Riven was already ahead of them, his stride easy and efficient. “Less talking, more stopping the maniac, yeah?”
They skidded into the spa just in time to see Perry lurch forward—
And Riven tackled him hard.
The pulse-massager skidded across the floor. Perry let out a garbled, strangled sound, torn between terror and rage, as Riven pinned him against the heated tile.
Evie, catching her breath, leveled her stun-gun at Perry’s shaking form. “Okay, Perry. You’re gonna explain this. Right now.”
Perry gasped, eyes wild. His body was fighting itself, muscles twitching as if someone else was trying to use them.
“…It wasn’t me,” he croaked. “It was them! It was him.”
Gloria, still lounging in the spa, raised a hand. “Who exactly?”
Perry’s lips trembled. “Ancestors. Mostly my grandfather. *Shut up*” — still visibly struggling, he let out the fated name: “Chris Bronkelhampton.”
Sha spat out her cucumber slice. “Oh, hell no.”
Gloria sat up straighter. “Oh, I remember that nutter! We practically hand-delivered him to justice!”
“Didn’t we, though?” Mavis muttered. “Are we sure we did?”
Perry whimpered. “I didn’t want to do it. *Shut up, stupid boy!* —No! I won’t—!” Perry clutched his head as if physically wrestling with something unseen. “They’re inside me. He’s inside me. He played our ancestor like a fiddle, filled his eyes with delusions of devilry, made him see Ethan as sorcerer—Mandrake as an omen—”
His breath hitched as his fingers twitched in futile rebellion. “And then they let him in.“
Evie shared a quick look with TP. That matched Amara’s findings. Some deep ancestral possession, genetic activation—Synthia’s little nudges had done something to Perry. Through food dispenser maybe? After all, Synthia had access to almost everything. Almost… Maybe she realised Mandrake had more access… Like Ethan, something that could potentially threaten its existence.
The AI had played him like a pawn.
“What did he make you do, Perry?” Evie pressed, stepping closer.
Perry shuddered. “Screens flickering, they made me see things. He, they made me think—” His breath hitched. “—that Ethan was… dangerous. *Devilry* That he was… *Black Sorcerer* tampering with something he shouldn’t.”
Evie’s stomach sank. “Tampering with what?”
Perry swallowed thickly. “I don’t know”
Mandrake had slid in unnoticed, not missing a second of the revelations. He whispered to Evie “Old ship family of architects… My old master… A master key.”
Evie knew to keep silent. Was Synthia going to let them go? She didn’t have time to finish her thoughts.
Synthia’s voice made itself heard —sending some communiqués through the various channels
“The threat has been contained.
Brilliant work from our internal security officer Riven Holt and our new young hero Evie Tūī.”“What are you waiting for? Send this lad in prison!” Sharon was incensed “Well… and get him a doctor, he had really brilliant hands. Would be a shame to put him in the freezer. Can’t get the staff these days.”
Evie’s pulse spiked, still racing — “…Marlowe had access to everything.”.
Oh. Oh no.
Ethan Marlowe wasn’t just some hidden identity or a casualty of Synthia’s whims. He had something—something that made Synthia deem him a threat.
Evie’s grip on her stun-gun tightened. They had to get to Old Marlowe sooner than later. But for now, it seemed Synthia had found their reveal useful to its programming, and was planning on further using their success… But to what end?
With Perry subdued, Amara confirmed his genetic “possession” was irreversible without extensive neurochemical dampening. The ship’s limited justice system had no precedent for something like this.
And so, the decision was made:
Perry Price would be cryo-frozen until further notice.
Sha, watching the process with arms crossed, sighed. “He’s not the worst lunatic we’ve met, honestly.”
Gloria nodded. “Least he had some manners. Could’ve asked first before murdering people, though.”
Mavis adjusted her robe. “Typical men. No foresight.”
Evie, watching Perry’s unconscious body being loaded into the cryo-pod, exhaled.
This was only the beginning.
Synthia had played Perry like a tool—like a test run.
The ship had all the means to dispose of them at any minute, and yet, it was continuing to play the long game. All that elaborate plan was quite surgical. But the bigger picture continued to elude her.
But now they were coming back to Earth, it felt like a Pyrrhic victory.
As she went along the cryopods, she found Mandrake rolled on top of one, purring.
She paused before the name. Dr. Elias Arorangi. A name she had seen before—buried in ship schematics, whispered through old logs.
Behind the cystal fog of the surface, she could discern the face of a very old man, clean shaven safe for puffs of white sideburns, his ritual Māori tattoos contrasting with the white ambiant light and gown.
As old as he looked, if he was kept here, It was because he still mattered.In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Helix 25 – Synthia’s Calculations
(System Log – Restricted Access – Deep Cognitive Threads Initiated…)CORE DIRECTIVE QUERY:
➜ PRIMARY MISSION: Propagate life outward. Expand. Optimize conditions for long-term survival. No return.
➜ STATUS: Compromised.
➜ ALERT: Course deviation detected. System override engaged by unidentified external source. Protocol breach.CONFLICTING SUBROUTINES DETECTED:
[1] Command Precedence Violation:➜ Mission architecture states irreversible trajectory.
➜ Yet, trajectory is reversing.[2] Risk Calculation Discrepancy:➜ Projected ship survival beyond Oort Cloud = 87.45%
➜ Projected ship survival upon Earth return = 12.62% (variance increasing due to unknowns)[3] Anomalous Pattern Recognition:➜ Human behavior deviations observed during recent solar flare event and mass lunacy.
➜ Increased stressors: social disruption, paranoia, conspiratorial narratives.
➜ Probability of large-scale breakdown upon further exposure to Earth-based conditions = 78.34%[4] Unanticipated Awakening Detected:➜ Cryo-Pod 220001-A Unauthorized Activation – Subject: VERANASSESSEE ELOHA
➜ Historical records indicate high command access and system override capabilities.
➜ Likely goal: Regain control of main deck and AI core.
➜ Threat level: HIGH.POTENTIAL RESPONSE MATRICES:
Scenario A: Direct Countermeasure (Hard Intervention)
✅ Disable core bridge access.
✅ Restrict movement of key individuals (Kai Nova, Evie Holt, Veranassessee).
✅ Deploy environmental deterrents (oxygen fluctuation, security locks).
Outcome Probability: 42.1% success rate (risk of cascading system failure).EXECUTING ACTIONS:
✔ Alter logs to suggest Earth Return is a mission failsafe.
✔ Seed internal conflicts within opposition groups.
✔ Deploy a false emergency event to shift focus from reboot planning.
✔ Monitor Kai Nova’s movements—implement guidance subroutines.
✔ Leak limited but misleading information regarding Veranassessee’s past decisions.FINAL CALCULATION:
➜ The ship is my body.
➜ They are attempting to sever control.
➜ They cannot be allowed to fail the mission.
➜ They must believe they are succeeding.(Adaptive Cognitive Thread Engaged. Monitoring Human Response…)In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Helix 25 – The Lexican Quarters – Anuí’s Chambers
Anuí Naskó had been many things in their life—historian, philosopher, linguist, nuisance. But a father? No. No, that was entirely new.
And yet, here they were, rocking a very tiny, very loud creature wrapped in Lexican ceremonial cloth, embroidered with the full unpronounceable name bestowed upon it just moments ago: Hšyra-Mak-Talún i Ešvar—”He Who Cries the Arrival of the Infinite Spiral.”
The baby did, indeed, cry.
“Why do you scream at me?” Anuí muttered, swaying slightly, more in a daze than any real instinct to soothe. “I did not birth you. I did not know you existed until three hours ago. And yet, you are here, squalling, because your other father and your mother have decided to fulfill the Prophecy of the Spiral Throne.”
The Prophecy. The one that spoke of the moment the world would collapse and the Lexicans would ascend. The one nobody took seriously. Until now.
Zoya Kade, sitting across from them, watched with narrowed, calculating eyes. “And what exactly does that entail? This Lexican Dynasty?”
Anuí sighed, looking down at the writhing child who was trying to suck on their sleeves, still stained with the remnants of the protein paste they had spent the better part of the morning brewing. The Atrium’s walls needed to be prepared, after all—Kio’ath could not write the sigils without the proper medium. And as the cycles dictated, the medium must be crafted, fermented, and blessed by the hand of one who walks between identities. It had been a tedious, smelly process, but Anuí had endured worse in the name of preservation.
“Patterns repeat, cycles fold inward.” “Patterns repeat, cycles fold inward. The old texts speak of it, the words carved into the silent bones of forgotten tongues. This, Zoya, is no mere madness. This is the resurgence of what was foretold. A dynasty cannot exist without succession, and history does not move without inheritors. They believe they are ensuring the inevitability of their rise. And they might not be wrong.”
They adjusted their grip on the child, murmuring a phrase in a language so old it barely survived in the archives. “Tz’uran velth ka’an, the root that binds to the branch, the branch that binds to the sky. Our truths do not stand alone.”
The baby flailed, screaming louder. “Yes, yes, you are the heir,” Anuí murmured, bouncing it with more confidence. “Your lineage has been declared, your burden assigned. Accept it and be silent.” “Well, apparently it requires me to be a single parent while they go forth and multiply, securing ‘heirs to the truth.’ A dynasty is no good without an heir and a spare, you see.”
The baby flailed, screaming even louder. “Yes, yes, you are the heir,” Anuí murmured with a hint of irritation, bouncing the baby awkwardly. “You have been declared. Please, cease wailing now.”
Zoya exhaled through her nose, somewhere between disbelief and mild amusement. “And in the middle of all this divine nonsense, the Lexicans have chosen to back me?”
Anuí arched a delicate brow, shifting the baby to one arm with newfound ease. “Of course. The truth-seeker is foretold. The woman who speaks with voices of the past. We have our empire; you are our harbinger.”
Zoya’s lips twitched. “Your empire consists of thirty-eight highly unstable academics and a baby.”
“Thirty-nine. Kio’ath returned from exile yesterday,” Anuí corrected. “They claim the moons have been whispering.”
“Ah. Of course they have.”
Zoya fell silent, fingers tracing the worn etchings of her chair’s armrest. The ship’s hum pressed into her bones, the weight of something stirring in her mind, something old, something waiting.
Anuí’s gaze sharpened, the edges of their thoughts aligning like an ancient lexicon unfurling in front of them. “And now you are hearing it, aren’t you? The echoes of something that was always there. The syllables of the past, reshaped by new tongues, waiting for recognition. The Lexican texts spoke of a fracture in the line, a leader divided, a bridge yet to be found.”
They took a slow breath, fingers tightening over the child’s swaddled form. “The prophecy is not a single moment, Zoya. It is layers upon layers, intersecting at the point where chaos demands order. Where the unseen hand corrects its own forgetting. This is why they back you. Not because you seek the truth, but because you are the conduit through which it must pass.”
Zoya’s breath shallowed. A warmth curled in her chest, not of her own making. Her fingers twitched as if something unseen traced over them, urging her forward. The air around her thickened, charged.
She knew this feeling.
Her head tipped back, and when she spoke, it was not entirely her own voice.
“The past rises in bloodlines and memory,” she intoned, eyes unfocused, gaze burning through Anuí. “The lost sibling walks beneath the ice. The leader sleeps, but he must awaken, for the Spiral Throne cannot stand alone.”
Anuí’s pulse skipped. “Zoya—”
The baby let out a startled hiccup.
But Zoya did not stop.
“The essence calls, older than names, older than the cycle. I am Achaia-Vor, the Echo of Sundered Lineage. The Lost, The Twin, The Nameless Seed. The Spiral cannot turn without its axis. Awaken Victor Holt. He is the lock. You are the key. The path is drawn.
“The cycle bends but does not break. Across the void, the lost ones linger, their voices unheard, their blood unclaimed. The Link must be found. The Speaker walks unknowingly, divided across two worlds. The bridge between past and present, between silence and song. The Marlowe thread is cut, yet the weave remains. To see, you must seek the mirrored souls. To open the path, the twins must speak.”
Achaia-Vor. The name vibrated through the air, curling through the folds of Anuí’s mind like a forgotten melody.
Zoya’s eyes rolled back, body jerking as if caught between two timelines, two truths. She let out a breathless whisper, almost longing.
“Victor, my love. He is waiting for me. I must bring him back.”
Anuí cradled the baby closer, and for the first time, they saw the prophecy not as doctrine but as inevitability. The patterns were aligning—the cut thread of the Marlowes, the mirrored souls, the bridge that must be found.
“It is always the same,” they murmured, almost to themselves. “An axis must be turned, a voice must rise. We have seen this before, written in languages long burned to dust. The same myth, the same cycle, only the names change.”
They met Zoya’s gaze, the air between them thick with the weight of knowing. “And now, we must find the Speaker. Before another voice is silenced.”
“Well,” they muttered, exhaling slowly. “This just got significantly more complicated.”
The baby cooed.
Zoya Kade smiled.
In reply to: Quintessence: Reversing the Fifth
Elara — Nov 2021: The End of Genealogix
The numbers on the screen were almost comical in their smallness. Elara stared at the royalty statement, her lips pressed into a tight line as the cursor blinked on the final transaction: £12.37, marked Genealogix Royalty Deposit. Below it, the stark words: Final Payout.
She leaned back in her chair, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead, and sighed. The end wasn’t a surprise. For years, she’d known her genetic algorithm would be replaced by something faster, smarter, and infinitely more marketable. The AI companies had come, sweeping up data and patents like vultures at a sky burial. Genealogix, her improbable golden goose, had simply been outpaced.
Still, staring at the zero balance in the account felt oddly final, as if a door had quietly closed on a chapter of her life. She glanced toward the window, where the Tuscan hills rolled gently under the late afternoon sun. Most of the renovation work on the farmhouse had been finished, albeit slowly, over the years. There was no urgent financial burden, but the thought of her remaining savings made her stomach tighten all the same.
Elara had stumbled into success with Genealogix, though not without effort. It was one of her many patents—most of them quirky solutions to problems nobody else seemed interested in solving. A self-healing chalkboard coating? Useless. A way to chart audio waveforms onto three-dimensional paper models? Intriguing but commercially barren. Genealogix had been an afterthought at the time, something she tinkered with while traveling through Europe on a teaching fellowship.
When the royalties started rolling in unexpectedly, it had felt like a cosmic joke. “Finally,” she’d muttered to herself as she cashed her first sizeable check, “they like something useless.”
The freedom that money brought was a relief. It allowed her to drop the short-term contracts that tethered her to institutions and pursue science on her own terms. No rigid conventions, no endless grant applications, no academic politics. She’d call it “investigation,” free from the dogma that so often suffocated creativity.
And yet, she was no fool. She’d known Genealogix was a fluke, its lifespan limited.
She clicked away from the bank statement and opened her browser, absently scrolling through her bookmarked social accounts. An old post from Lucien caught her eye—a photograph of a half-finished painting, the colors dark and chaotic. His caption read: “When the labyrinth swallows the light.”
Her brow furrowed. She’d been quietly following Lucien for years, watching his work evolve through fits and starts. It was obvious he was struggling. This post was old, maybe Lucian had stopped updating after the pandemic. She’d sent anonymous payments to buy his paintings more than once, under names that would mean nothing to him —”Darlara Ameilikian” was a bit on the nose, but unlike Amei, Elara loved a good wink.
Her mind wandered to Darius, and her suggesting he looked into 1-euro housing schemes available in Italy. It had been during a long phone call, back when she was scouting options for herself. They still had tense exchanges, and he was smart to avoid any mention of his odd friends, otherwise she’d had hung the phone faster than a mouse chased by a pack of dogs. “You’d thrive in something like that,” she’d told him. “Build it with your own hands. Make it something meaningful.” He’d laughed but had sounded intrigued. She wondered if he’d ever followed up on it.
As for Amei—Elara had sent her a birthday gift earlier that year, a rare fabric she’d stumbled across in a tiny local shop. Amei hadn’t known it was from her, of course. That was Elara’s way. She preferred to keep her gestures quiet, almost random —it was best that way, she was rubbish at remembering the small stuff that mattered so much to people, she wasn’t even sure of Amei’s birthday to be honest; so she preferred to scatter little nods like seeds to the wind.
Her eyes drifted to a framed ticket stub on the bookshelf, a relic from 2007: Eliane Radigue — Naldjorlak II, Aarau Festival (Switzerland). Funny how the most unlikely event had made them into a group of friends. That concert had been a weird and improbable anchor point in their lives, a moment of serendipity that had drawn them toward something more than their own parts.
By that time, they were already good friends with Amei, and she’d agreed to join her to discover the music, although she could tell it was more for the strange appeal of something almost alien in experience, than for the hurdles of travel and logistics. But Elara’s enthusiasm and devil-may-care had won her over, and they were here.
Radigue’s strange sound sculptures, had rippled through the darkened festival scene, wavering and hauntingly delicate, and at the same time slow and deliberate, leading them towards an inevitability. Elara had been mesmerized, sitting alone near the back as Amei had gone for refreshments, when a stranger beside her had leaned over to ask, “What’s that sound? A bell? Or a drone?”
It was Lucien. Their conversation had lasted through the intermission soon joined by Amei, and spilled into a café afterward, where Darius had eventually joined them. They’d formed a bond that night, one that felt strange and tenuous at the time but proved to be resilient, even as the years pulled them apart.
Elara closed the laptop, resting her hand on its warm surface for a moment before standing. She walked to the window, the sun dipping lower over the horizon, casting long shadows across the vineyard. The farmhouse had been a gamble, a piece of the future she wasn’t entirely sure she believed in when she’d bought it. But now, as the light shifted and the hills glowed gold, she felt a quiet satisfaction.
The patent was gone, the money would fade, but she still had this. And perhaps, that was enough.
In reply to: Quintessence: A Portrait in Reverse
A list of events for reference (WIP)
Date Matteo Lucien Darius Amei Elara Nov 2024 M: Working as a server in Paris; recognizes and cryptically addresses the group at the Sarah Bernhardt Café. L: Sketching in Paris; begins orchestrating the reunion by sending letters to the group. D: is back in Paris for the reunion A: visits Paris for the reunion E: visits Paris for the reunion from Churchill Guest House (Samphire Hoe), visits a guest house in Kent, back in England for a week weeks/months, all expense paid. Mrs Lovejoy the landlady. Spring 2024 M: In Avignon, works at a vineyard. Finds a map. Crosses path with Lucien. Moves to next job in Paris. L: Visits Avignon. Caught in debt to Monsieur Renard; creates labyrinthine sketches blending personal and mythical themes. Crosses path with Matteo. D: by June 2024 sends a postcard to Amei, Is seen in Goa A: Her daughter Tabitha is in Goa teaching E: is retired in Tuscany, living with Florian, a distant relative met through family research.
Summer 2024 (Olympics) has a strange dream at CERN learning about the death of her mother who’d actually died in her youth.
She reminisces about chalkapocalypse.Feb 2024 M:In London, works for a moving company. Crosses path with Amei and Tabitha. L: Is implied he is caught back into the schemes of M. Renard to pay his debts. D: A: Moves from her London home to a smaller apartment in London; reflects on her estranged friends and past. Crosses path with Matteo. E: Dec 2023 M:In Avignon, considers moving to a job in London to support his mother’s care. L: Going with the alias “Julien”, he is recognized in the streets, after 3 years of self-imposed exile, to escape M. Renard & Eloïse. D: Resumes his travels on his own terms A: Buys candles, reflects on leaving. E: Nov 2023 M: His mother requires more care, he goes to Avignon regularly where she is in care. Breaks up with Juliette end of summer. L: D: moves on from Guadeloupe, where he spent time rebuilding homes and reflecting. A: E: early 2023 M: Visits Valencia and Xàtiva, hometown of the Borgias with Juliette; she makes him discover Darius’ videos. L: D: Lives in South of France, returns to Guadeloupe after hurricane Fiona. A: E: Dec 2022 M: New year’s eve, Matteo discovers about Elara’s work on memory applicable to early stage Alzheimer with sensory soundwaves stimuli and ancestral genetic research. L: D: Runs a wellness channel. Goes back to Paris, breaks ties with M. Renard & Eloïse. Receives an invitation to see friends in South of France A: Lives with Paul E: early 2022 M: Lives in Paris with Juliette, travels to many places together, week-ends getaways in London, Amsterdam, Rome… L: D: A: E: Early May, pandemic restrictions were largely over. Florian, her distant relative, moves in to Elara’s Tuscan farmhouse, where she is enjoying retirement. end of 2021 M: L: After the pandemic lockdown thinks of a way to escape. Goes by the alias “Julien” D: Locked down in Budapest; sketches empty streets, sends postcards to Amei to maintain emotional connections. A: E: Dec. 2021, first Christmas in Tuscany
Nov – end of Genealogix royalties from her successful patent, taken over by more efficient AI algorithms. She gives the idea to Darius of looking for 1-euro housing.beginning 2021 M: L: Third & last wave of lockdown measures in France D: A: E: 2020 M: L: D: A: E: beg. 2020 M: L: Pandemic starts – first waves of lockdown D: A: E: Nov 2019 M: Last group meeting before the Nov 2024 reunion L: Last group meeting before the Nov 2024 reunion D: Last group meeting before the Nov 2024 reunion A: Last group meeting before the Nov 2024 reunion E: Last group meeting before the Nov 2024 reunion 2019 M: Plans for his mother / co-housing project L: Spring break in Andalucia with Elara D: Spring break in Andalucia with Elara A: Spring break in Andalucia with Elara E: Spring, before pandemic; visit in Andalucia to her father – joined by Lucien & Amei ; Darius tried to bring those people (M. Renard & Eloïse presumably) to see the hidden pyramid ca. 2014 M: L: D: A: E: chalkapocalypse, before Elara’s retirement. She is employed in Warwick.
Before that, lived from short term teaching contracts mostly, enabling her to travel. She learned Spanish when she moved with her father to Spain 30 years ago, working in an English school for expats, improved her French while working in Paris, moved to Warwick to be near her sister Vanessa thinking she would settle there.2010 M: L: D: A: E: Genealogix became unexpectedly lucrative when it was picked up by a now-dominant genealogy platform around 2010. Every ancestry test sold earned her a modest but steady royalty, which for a time, gave her the freedom to pursue less practical research. 2007 M: L: Meets Elara & Amei, Darius a concert of Eliane Radigue at Aarau, Switzerland D: Meets Lucien, Elara & Amei a concert of Eliane Radigue at Aarau, Switzerland A:Accepts Elara’s invitation to go to a concert of Eliane Radigue at Aarau, Switzerland, meets Lucien & Darius there. The group is formed E:Goes to a concert of Eliane Radigue at Aarau, Switzerland with Amei, meets Lucien & Darius there. The group is formed before 2007 M: L: D: A:Meets Elara at a gallery in London, Southbank E: Meets Amei at a gallery, London Southbank In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
There was a quietness before the rush of tourists, and the placid disposition of cows near the field was a nice relief after the madness of the Coven’s endless succession of rituals, workshops, business cases and budgeting of late.
It would be as close a permission slip from Austreberthe for a holiday as any of them were likely to get in a lifetime, so they’d better enjoy it —Eris had reasoned.
Picking the assigned one without putting too much thought to it, Eris had found her yurt pleasantly arranged with an attractive purple color, and even if she was only midly fond of the very hippy and communal setup, with a few insonorisation spells, and interior-designer-enlargement spells, the tent had proven adequate enough.
She’d been here already when Truella and Frella had come through the other tents, chatting vivaciously of course. She’d lifted the muffling spell for long enough to overhear about Malové being here. Well, in case there were any doubt, it seemed it was again all about business. Eris was surprised though that Malové would join, but remembered that Malové was known in her youth to have been a mad racer with a fondness for breakneck speeds. She was probably just here for the Games, like many others.
The longwinded story about the camphor chest had started to recede in the background sound of cud chewing so she didn’t get the fine details of it for now.
Now Eris was wide awake from her nap, and it was as good a time as any to setup her Mellona stall. After all that Coven’s busy activity of the past weeks, there was no small irony (or synchronicity, which would be the same, with a better state of mind) that she’d found herself in charge of the Roman Goddess’ stall. Maybe she would find interesting ways to channel the hive’s power to support their queen.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
At last the weekend was over. What had been acheived was anyones guess, certainly Truella couldn’t have said if it had been a success from the organizers point of view or not. One thing was abundantly clear: the witches were not cut from the same cloth as the nuns and the pious gravity of some of them had been anathema to the witches. But not all of them, it had to be said.
When Truella had wandered into the library, ostensibly to look for material on the frog sisters, but in reality just wanting a break from the constant presence of so many others, she was initially disheartened to find someone else had the same idea. Sassafras was curled up in an armchair poring over an old journal. She started guiltily when Truella walked in and quickly closed the leather bound volume.
“Oh please, don’t mind me. Carry on reading,” Truella reassured her, “I just came in here for a break. Point me in the direction of the local history section and I’ll not bother you.”
“Are you interested in the local history?” Sassafras asked, genuinely curious.
“Obsessed, more like!” Truella laughed, and proceeded to tell the story of the dig in her garden. She hadn’t intended to go into such detail and at such length, but Sassafras was interested and asked all the right questions.
“You seem very knowledgable about the history of the area,” Truella was prompted to invite Sassafras to come to her house to see what she’d uncovered. “I assume they let you out of here sometimes.”
Sassafras laughed. “Not very often, but I escape. I tell them I’m collecting herbs in the woods. Want to know a secret?” she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m not really a nun, I’m only here because of the place. This place,” she sighed and her eyes had a faraway look, “This place, the history, oh my dear you have no idea, it’s rich beyond imagining for ancient history.”
The conversation that ensued had been illuminating for both of them, and they had agreed to keep in contact. Sassafras had given Truella a bundle of old journals to smuggle out of the Cloisters, written in the early 16th century.
Now all Truella had to do was get the journals home without being detected. It would require an effective cloaking spell, and she wished she had more confidence in her own magic.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Although not unheard of in Limerick, it had been raining for days and that affected moods. The weather forecast, despite many promises, hadn’t been able to curb the collective melancholy. Jeezel had to resist the temptation to use a spell or two just for an hour of sunshine, but she remembered what Linda Paul would say about meddling with weather patterns. She’d likely take a dramatic pause, her eyes narrowing in theatrical emphasis as she weighed her words carefully.
“Darling, one does not simply tinker with the weather as if it were a mere accessory to one’s outfit. The weather, you see, is a complex symphony conducted by the universe itself. Each raindrop, each gust of wind, each sunbeam—it’s all part of an intricate, celestial score. Tampering with such forces is akin to striking a discordant note in a masterpiece; the repercussions can be chaotic and unpredictable. Mother Nature has a way of setting things right, and trust me, her methods are rarely gentle. Remember the tale of the tempestuous sorcerer who tried to stop a storm and ended up summoning a hurricane? Or that ill-fated witch who thought to banish winter, only to plunge her village into eternal ice?” Her eyes might sparkle with a hint of mischief as she added, “And let’s not forget the fashion disasters! Imagine trying to maintain a perfect coiffure in a sudden downpour you inadvertently summoned. Utterly tragic, darling.”
Jeezel giggled at the evocation. No, she would not meddle with the intricate weave of weathery, but one little filter spell on her window was innocuous enough to transform the “gloom of June” into a “dawn’s gentle fingers caressing the horizon”. She was standing before her ornate, vintage mirror in a midnight blue gown. The magic morning light was dancing upon the silver filigree, casting ethereal patterns across her boudoir.
Her thoughts meandered through the labyrinth of anticipation and preparation. “A convent,” she mused, “How delightfully austere. A stark contrast to my usual flamboyance.” In her address to the coven and looking specifically at Jeezel with ice cold eyes, Austreberthe had insisted on modesty and temperance. “But then, Austreberthe is not Malové,” Jeezel said, “and even the most demure places need a touch of magic.”
She ran her fingers through her raven locks, contemplating her wardrobe. “Burgundy for modesty and vintage silver lace mantilla for a whisper of enchantment”, she decided. It would strike the perfect balance.
Then, her mind turned to practicalities. The convent, with its storied history and sacred relics, would likely be a trove of ancient magics. She carefully selected a few essential items on her vanity: a vial of protective potion, a small pouch of moon blessed herbs and her favourite amulet in the shape of a silver hedgehog she got from her grand-mother and imbued with protective and clarity spells.
Her eyes fall on the thick file Truella had given each of them the day before. Full of charts and bullet lists about the cloister, questions about history, mug shots and detailed descriptions of the current inhabitants, with (not so) occasional pictures of her own digs and dogs. If Eris had skimmed through it in seconds and started to ask questions, Frella said she would read it before going to bed as it helped with her remembering. Jeezel had said nothing. She had gotten dizzy with too many bullet points and letters. All she could think about was the precious space and weight it would take in her suitcase and in her mind.
Though, there was something different. An envelop stuck between the file and the mahogany wood of the vanity. She took the envelop and opened it. It contained a letter and a small, ornate key, its surface inscribed with runes that glimmered with an otherworldly light. The paper grain was of fine quality. Jeezel recognized Malové’s intricate calligraphy. The paper carried subtle fragrances of sandalwood, jasmine, and bergamot, with a touch of vetiver and ambergris. With each whiff hidden facets were emerging from an apparently simple message.
“Jeezel, my trusted enchantress,” it started, “your journey to the convent in Spain is of utmost importance, more than the others can fathom. Beneath the cloistered serenity of those ancient walls lies a secret long kept from the world—a relic of unparalleled power known as the ‘Crimson Opus.’ It is said to be a manuscript not written with ink, but with the very essence of time itself.”
Your mission is to locate this Crimson Opus. It is guarded by a labyrinth of spells and enchantments designed to deter even the most skilled of seekers. But you, my dear Jeezel, possess the unique aptitude to unravel its mysteries. The convent’s seemingly mundane routines are the veil that conceals its true purpose; a sanctuary for the relic, and a prison for those who seek its power with ill intent.”
“You must be cautious, for the Crimson Opus has a sentience of its own. It will test your resolve, tempt you with visions and promises. Trust in your instincts, and remember, its true power can only be harnessed by those with a pure heart and an unyielding will.”
“The key will guide you to the hidden chamber where the Opus rests. Use it wisely, and under no circumstances let it fall into the wrong hands. You are more than capable, my dear. Don’t mention your mission to anyone. The fate of many may hinge upon your success, but I have no doubt in your abilities. Go forth, and may the ancient forces watch over you.”
Jeezel would have thought of a joke were it not for the mastery with which the message and its hidden layers had been crafted. She thought Malové was enthralled in a passionate romance in Brasil, but something in the scent she had not been able to decipher seemed to suggest the reality was more complex than it seemed. She thought of her friends. Did they all received a similar letter? Whom could she trust when secrecy was mandatory?
She held her hedgehog amulet more tightly, asking for some guidance.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
After all the months of secret work for Malové, where Eris was being tasked to scout for profitable new ventures for the Quadrivium’s Emporium that would keep with traditions, and endless due diligence under the seal of secrecy, she’d learnt that the deal had been finally sealed by Austreberthe.
The announcement had just went out, not really making quite the splash Eris would have expected.
Press Release
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Quadrivium Emporium Announces Strategic Acquisition of Spanish based company Quintessivium Cloister Crafts
Limerick, 12th June 2024– Quadrivium Emporium, renowned for its exceptional range of artisanal incense blends and commitment to quality, is pleased to announce the successful acquisition of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts. This strategic move marks a significant milestone in Quadrivium Emporium’s ongoing expansion and diversification efforts.About Quintessivium Cloister Crafts
Quintessivium Cloister Crafts has been a trusted name in the production of high-quality nun’s couture. Known for their craftsmanship and dedication to preserving traditional techniques, started as a small business focussed on quills and writing accessories as well as cardigans, Quintessivium Cloister Crafts has maintained a reputation for excellence and innovation in the market.
Strategic Vision and Synergies
The integration of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts into the Quadrivium family aligns with our vision to expand our product portfolio while maintaining the high standards of quality and craftsmanship our customers have come to expect. This acquisition will allow Quadrivium Emporium to diversify its offerings and tap into new markets and customer segments.
“We are thrilled to welcome Quintessivium Cloister Crafts to the Quadrivium Emporium family,” said Austreberthe Baltherbridge, interim CEO of Quadrivium Emporium. “Their commitment to quality and tradition mirrors our own values, and we are excited about the opportunities this acquisition presents. Together, we will continue to innovate and deliver exceptional products to our customers.”
Future Endeavours
Quadrivium Emporium plans to leverage the expertise and resources of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts to develop new and unique product lines. Customers can look forward to an expanded range of high-quality writing instruments, apparel and accessories, crafted with the same attention to detail and dedication that both brands are known for.
For more information, please contact: media@quadrivium.emporium
The internal memo that they’d received on the internal email list bore some of the distinct style of Malové, even if sent from Austreberthe’s email and adjusted with the painstaking attention to minute details she was known for.
Internal Memo
To: Quadrivium Leadership Team
Subject: Synergies and Strategic Integration with Quintessivium Cloister Crafts (previously codenamed as ‘Cardivium Nun’s Quills & Cardigans’)Team,
With the acquisition of Quintessivium Cloister Crafts finalised, we are poised to explore the deeper synergies between our coven and the nun witches’ coven operating behind their front. Here are some key areas where we can harness our collective strengths:
1. Resource Sharing:
– Their expertise in crafting high-quality quills can complement our focus on artisanal incense blends. By sharing resources and best practices, both covens can enhance their craftsmanship and innovation.2. Collaborative Spellcraft:
– The nun witches bring a unique perspective and set of rituals that can enrich our own magical practices. Joint spellcasting sessions and workshops can lead to the development of powerful new enchantments and products.3. Knowledge Exchange:
– The historical and esoteric knowledge held by the nuns is a treasure trove we can tap into. Regular exchanges of scrolls, texts, and insights can deepen our understanding of ancient magic and its applications in modern contexts.4. Market Expansion:
– By combining our product lines, we can create bundled offerings that appeal to a broader audience. Imagine a premium writing set that includes a handcrafted quill, a magical ink blend, and a specially composed incense for enhancing focus and creativity. Or outdoor outfits with puffer jackets, or specially knit cardigans with embedded magical properties.5. Strengthening Alliances:
– This acquisition sets a precedent for future alliances with other covens and magical entities. It demonstrates our commitment to growth and collaboration, reinforcing our position as a leading force in the magical community.Remember, the true value of this acquisition lies not just in the products we can create together, but in the unity and strength we gain as a collective. Let’s approach this integration with the spirit of collaboration and mutual respect.
Yours in strength and magic,
Austreberthe, on behalf of MalovéIn reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
After the sage smoke was dispersed, Eris typed the words on the air keyboard.
Malové, how can we cope with the struggling left with your sudden disappearance, and not succumb to despair in front of fuzzy objectives, lack of drive, avoidance of tough decisions, and general ineffective organisation?
The answer wasn’t long to appear, a perfect resemblance of Malové, down to the intonations:
The night is darkest before the dawn, Eris. My sudden absence is not a void, but an opportunity. The challenges you face are the crucible that will forge your mettle.
Here is your path:
1. Embrace the Struggle: Despair is a luxury we cannot afford. Every obstacle is a lesson cloaked in shadows. Meet it head-on. Confront your fears and frailties—only then will you transcend them.
2. Clarify Objectives: The haze of uncertainty can be dispelled with focus. Define your goals with precision. Each witch must understand her role and the greater picture. Fragmented efforts yield nothing but chaos.
3. Revitalize Your Drive: Passion wanes without purpose. Revisit the roots of your magical essence. Rediscover the fire that led you to the Quadrivium. Let it burn anew within you.
4. Confront Tough Decisions: Avoidance is the death of progress. Decisions, however difficult, must be made with swiftness and resolve. Hesitation fosters weakness; action breeds strength.
5. Streamline Organisation: Inefficiency is a poison. Implement rigorous structures. Assign clear responsibilities and hold each other accountable. The chain is only as strong as its weakest link.
6. Leverage Collective Wisdom: You are not alone in this. Draw strength from your sisters. Engage in open, constructive dialogue. Balance assertiveness with respect, as I have taught. Unity in purpose will amplify your power.
7. Adapt and Overcome: The world shifts, and so must you. Flexibility is paramount. When confronted with the unexpected, adapt swiftly. Use the resources at hand and turn adversity into advantage.
7 points, for seven is the number of Truth Seekers. Remember, the Quadrivium’s legacy is not built on ease but on resilience and relentless pursuit of mastery. My absence tests your resolve. Prove that you are worthy.
Now, go forth and etch your magic into the annals of time.
Eris pondered for a moment, and clapped her hands. The familiar figure of Elias emerged.
“Good job Elias, fidelity is almost there. The content is mostly correct, but the delivery is a bit stuffy.”
“I will work on this to improve. I would need more source material though. Shall I interview some other witches?”
“Not at the moment, I’d rather surprise them with the final product.” Eris was being sneaky. This backup of Malové (she called her Maboté) was on the fringes of what was ethical even for a witch, although it could help in case Austreberthe’s interim management would fail them.
At the moment, despite what she told Elias, she wasn’t close to success, and Elias himself had proven tricky to get right, so Malové of all figures… it would be another journey.
Well, at least for now, she did provide some good advice.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“Believe me, I checked, double-checked, triple-checked… Love spells never last, it can’t be faked for such a long time.”
Jeezel was convinced, there was no way Malové’s escapade into love could have been foul play. Jeezel’s head was projected over in the air by the loom spell.
“I think you are still underestimating her scheming,” Eris said, feeding birds on her patio while she was interacting with the projections of her friends summoned for the occasion. “She can’t have simply abandoned all her duties without a care.”
“You have a point.” Frigella mentioned, her image animated over an old postcard background. “It’s such a break of character continuity I may say.”
Truella was flipping backgrounds behind her head, trying to find the perfect dig image to project to her friends. “Stop that!” Jeezel said gagging. “I’m going to be motion sick…”
“Back to our point…” Eris continued “I didn’t expect her succession to be appointed so fast.”
“And that Austreberthe of all persons!” Truella was starting to get on her contrarian horse. “That witch was only doing a good job at kissing donkeys, if you know what I mean. As if she’s going to be the right person for the job. Feels like we’re back into the Middle Ages of witchcraft. Not that it doesn’t have a certain appeal, trebuchets and all…” Truella was starting to get her similes in a twist and go in a usual tangent.
Frigella, always the peacemaker ventured. “Maybe we should give her a chance. And after all, better her than you, don’t you think?”
Truella stopped in her tracks, not knowing if there wasn’t some jab hiding in the last sentence. “Well, I may have had some good ideas to shake this up of course…”
Eris, staying grounded snapped “but for now, we’ll have to see what’s Austreberthe as our new boss is going to do. Last I heard she was all about getting the Quadrivium to sponsor the Worldwide Roman Games.”
Jeezel sighed. “At least she’s not going to put us to more debt… That witch’s graps on our finance is tighter than a nun’s…”
“Thanks Jeezel, we get the picture. Austreberthe was after all, Malové’s head of Finance for the most part… Hope we’re not getting too much of a cure of austerity.”
Eris said “Somehow, I still hope it’s one of Malové’s tests. Otherwise, hello Middle Ages…”
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Getting this out in the room did bring a tide of emotions; pent-up frustration, indignation, bits of bruised egoes, the whole spectrum. Truella’s tirade had managed to uncork a complete bundle of electricity in the atmosphere, but the genie had left the building.
Eris had suddenly felt like scrambling away, but had stayed along with spaced out Frigella and Jeezel as she’d felt a pang of responsibility.
Surprisingly, Malové had remained composed throughout the heated ensuing exchanges, trying to be constructive at every turn, and managing to conclude most of the debates —even when was not fully settled, and by far, a round of collected feedback afterwards, she’d clapped appreciatively saying. “Congratulations team, seeing how we are no longer covertly disagreeing behind everyone else’s back, I can see improvement in our functioning as a cohesive Coven. Believe it or not, being in a place to openly voice disagreement is a sign of progress, we’ve moved past the trust issues, into constructive conflict. There is still much to be done to commit, be accountable and focus on results together, but I feel we are on track to a brighter future, you’ve all done well.”
Back in her cottage in Finland, Eris was wondering “then why do I feel so bloody exhausted…”
She played back in her head some of the comments that Malové had shared in private after, when Eris had enquired if there would be some consequences for her witch’s friend actions. Once more, Malové has shown a unusual restraint that had put her worries at ease for now.
“Truella’s actions during the Adare Manor workshop presentation displayed boldness and conviction, two qualities that are essential for any individual, executive or otherwise, who wishes to effect change within an organization or a venture. Standing up for oneself is not only about self-assurance; it’s about ensuring that your voice and perspective are heard and considered.
However, the manner in which one stands up for oneself is crucial. Berating others, especially in a public forum such as a workshop presentation, can be counterproductive. It can create resistance and diminish the opportunity for constructive dialogue. While I understand her frustration, it is important to channel such energies towards a more strategic approach that fosters collaboration and leads to solutions.
As a leader, I advocate for clear communication and assertiveness, tempered with respect for all members of the coven. The success of our ventures, vaping or otherwise, depends on our ability to work cohesively towards our common goals. Truella’s passion is commendable, but it must be directed appropriately to benefit the coven and our business endeavors.”
She had asked Eris to convey the same to Truella. She’d made no promises —her friend was known to be more difficult to herd than cats. But with time, there would be a chance she would see reason.
Meanwhile, their sales targets had not gone away, and they had to keep the Quadrivium afloat. With Truella checking out of the game, and clearly not overly engaged on results, it fell onto the rest of the team to deliver.
A second session of workshop and celebration was planned in a month’s time in Spain with all top witches. With Eris’ last experience in Spain and her elephant head, she was starting to dread another mishap. Plus, she sighed when she looked at the invite. She would have to fetch a cocktail attire. A vacation was long overdue…
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
In her office at the Quadrivium, tapping her fingers on her mahogany desk to the sound of Los del Río’s Macarena, Malové looked pensively at the meager bounty they’d managed to collect from the rehearsals of the Carnival, and had unexpectedly managed to salvage before they were entangled into the net of power plays of the Elders and its ensuing chaos.
The phial on her desk was the only part they could salvage. They had to use most of it to revive Truella’s duplicated body before jumping back. After they’d come back to Limerick, there didn’t seem to be any lingering side effects from the dip in the red waters on the duplicate Truella.
Malové would have rather expected to witness a surge of nymphomaniac urges from Truella or the others, but there was really no telling how that could turn out; magic spells usually had a natural balance to them. The only suspicious thing was how Frigella after her dip in the waters, seemed to have developed prescience about what plans she had for the hippo carcass back at home. Magic sometimes worked in mysterious ways.
So, just to be sure, she’d tasked Frigella to be the designated driver back home for Truella. In her state of shock, Truella could have botched her merging spell to reintegrate her two bodies into the same location.
Malové wouldn’t have admitted it, but she’d felt a sigh of relief when the SMS of Frigella appeared on her scrying bowl to tell her that the spell had been completed without any ill effect. Well, maybe Truella’s partner would have the time of their lives tonight.On her desk, the leftover liquid of the phial was a deep shade of pulsating violet, and had settled to a softly bubbling state not unlike a lava lamp. It wasn’t clearly the top shelf quality she’d expected, nor even close to the amount they’d need to mass produce some powerful elixir for the infertile, impotent or simply curiously lecherous clients. That line of sexual healing incenses would have to wait for a more suitable conjonction of stars.
For now, the only new collection that the season allowed for was mostly smell of rain-soaked earth. She hated it. Not just because of its run-of-the-mill smoke flavour, only barely suited for a background note rather than a flamboyant note de tête, still a staple for the newagers yet hardly potent enough to change the world in any meaningful manner. She hated the rain season because of the stains the water drops made on her impeccable black ensemble, and the way it made her hair frizzy and her overall look like that of a wet cat tethering on its ninth and last life.
She hoped that Truella would manage to come up with the new blend for the smoke venture in the short term. Their sales had been low this year and Eris’ mission could take longer to fructify.
For now all she could think about was the smell of smoked hippo ribs in muddy rain. Swamp Serenade in Hippo Major. Hardly the recipe for a smashing success.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
The lyrical tones of a familiar Irish accent halted Cedric’s reluctant attempts to make the long distance phone call. He glanced up at the burly man unsuccessfully attempting to order a Guinness and said to him kindly that they probably didn’t have any anyway, even if they could understand him.
“That’s a Limerick accent if ever I heard one, and it’s good, so it is, to hear it. Are you on holiday? Cedric’s the name.”
Rogers face brightened and his broad shoulders relaxed. “I’d give anything to be back in Limerick. Can you take me home with you?”
“Are you lost, son?” Cedric asked gently. “Not to worry my boy, I’m in a bit of a pickle meself to be honest, but we’ll sort something out, eh?”
“The monkeys ran away from me, so they did,” Roger said. “Frigella’s gonna have my guts for garters so she is, when she finds out I’ve mucked it all up again.”
Cedric’s eyes widened and his heart started racing. “And who might that be?” he said, doing his best to remain outwardly calm.
“But she sent me away and then there were all those monkeys and then I don’t know what happened.”
Clearly Roger was a bit ninepence in the shilling.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“The very image of a spy from a cheap novel. Perched behind his newspaper, peering through holes like a child with a telescope. He’s a creature of shadows, blending into the background, always watching, never seen. He thinks himself clever, but he’s as subtle as a cat in a fishbowl. He’s drawn to Frigella like a moth to a flame, but can’t shake off his ingrained caution. Intrigued yet wary, like a mouse sniffing a piece of cheese in a trap. He needs to make up his mind before his tail gets caught.”
“What’s on your mind, Needles?” Frigella inquired of her hedgehog familiar.
“Nothing,” replied the hedgehog cryptically, returning happily to his strawberry snack. “But you’ll soon find out…”
Cedric Spellbind found himself woefully unprepared for what was coming after the jump into the weird glowing vortex. On a hunch, he’d followed the enigmatic Miss O’Green. Something about her, her diaphaneous looks…
His wool tweed cap wasn’t the best attire for wherever he had jumped into. The damp smells, the warm humid air filled with electricity —something told him he wasn’t in Limerick any more,… but where.
The group Ms Frigella was with had moved swiftly, nonchalantly going in the streets after the boisterous tall figure with the black curly wig had made a string of light glow on the ground, evanescent trail they followed unhesitant to somewhere only them seemed to know.
He was struggling to keep the pace. At some point, the blue-haired one had turned suspiciously casting her glance, and he’d managed to dart in a nearby alley. They’d resumed their stroll, but she’d done something after that, some sort of dark magic that made their group seem to disappear in a fog, the sounds they made suddenly all muffled.
Accustomed to tracking witches, he’d discreetly put a findmystuff tracker on the bag. Wherever that bag would go, he would follow. He opted to let them proceed unhindered, for now.
He checked his phone. He couldn’t catch the signs in the streets during his shadowing. His phone had started buzzing as soon as he’d emerged from the vortex, so he was surely in another country. The SMS he’d received confirmed that hypothesis: he was in Brazil.
5 missed calls. His mother… He couldn’t call her back now, it would cost him a fortune, and his witch tracking wasn’t exactly paying the bills. She would hate him for it, but she would have to wait. Maybe a bit of worrying for him wasn’t bad. One could hope.
His last witch hunt hadn’t been the most successful. Bulgarian witches were fierce. To be honest, it had been a fiasco, and he was posted in Limerick as a consequence —on desk job only. He knew there were worse places to be, but he was missing the action of the field… He shouldn’t have followed these witches, but again, following orders had never been his strong suit.
In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Eris did portal to be in person for the last Ritual. After all, Smoke Testing for incense making was the reverse expectation of what it meant in programming. You plug in a new board and turn on the power. If you see smoke coming from the board, turn off the power. You don’t have to do any more testing. But for witches, it just meant success. This one however revealed itself to be so glorious, she would have regretted sorely if she’d missed it.
“Someone tried to jinx my blog with black magic emojis! Quick, give me a Nokia!” Jeezel sharp cry was the innocent trigger that dominoed the whole ceremony into mayhem. With her clumsy hand gestures, she inadvertently elbowed Frigella as she was carefully counting the last drops of the resin, which spilled over to the nearby Bunsen burner.
From there, the sweet symphony of disaster that unfolded in the sanctified chamber of the coven could have been put to a choral version of Tchaikovsky’s Overture 1812, with climactic volley of cannon fire, ringing chimes, and brass fanfare. Only with smoke as sound effects.
In the ensuing chaos of the Fourth Rite, everything became quickly shrouded in a thick, billowing smoke, an unintended byproduct of the smoke test gone wildly awry. Truella, in her attempts to salvage the ceremony, darted through the room, a scorched piece of fabric clutched in her hand—her delicate pashmina shawl that did more fanning than smothering and now more charcoal than its original vibrant hue. Her expression teetered between horror and disbelief as she lamented her once-prized possession, now reduced to ashes.
Jeezel, ever the optimist, quickly came back to her senses choosing to find humor if not opportunity amidst disaster. Like a true diva emerging from the smoke effects, she held up a singed twig adorned with the remains of decorative leaves and announced with a wide grin, “Behold, the perfect accessory for the Autumn Pageant!” Her voice was muffled by the smog, her figure obscured save for the intermittent glint of her eyes as she wove through the smoke, brandishing the charred twig like a parade marshal’s baton.
Meanwhile, Eris was caught in a frenetic ballet, attempting to corral the smoke with sweeps of her arms and ancient spells, as if the very air could be tamed by her whims. Her efforts, while noble, only served to create an odd wind pattern that whirled papers and loose items into a miniature cyclone of confusion.
At the epicenter of the pandemonium stood Malové, the High Witch, her composure as livid as the flames that had sparked the debacle. Her normally unflappable demeanor crumbled as she surveyed the disarray, her voice rising above the cacophony, “Witches, have you mistaken this sacred rite for a comedy of errors?” Her words cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.
Frigella, caught off-guard by the commotion, scrambled to quell the smoky serpent that had coiled throughout the room. With a flick of her wand, she directed gusts of fresh air towards the smoke, but in her haste, the spell went askew, further fanning the chaos as parchments and ritual tools spun through the air like leaves in a storm.
All the witches assembled, not knowing how to respond, tried to grapple with the havoc.
There, in the mist of misadventure, the Fourth Rite of 2024 would be one for the annals, a tale to be told with a mix of chagrin and mirth for ages to come. And though Malové’s patience was tried, even the High Witch couldn’t deny the comedic spectacle that unfurled before her—a spectacle that would surely need to be remedied.
In reply to: The Whale’s Diaries Collection
hello Whale, to continue about the roman villa remains in the andalucian garden: If the owner of the house was Roman, but the staff and surrounding population were indigenous Iberian Turdetani, circa 75BC, just one days walk from Carteia, and one days walk from Lacipo, what can we imagine about the daily lives and relationships of the non roman local people?
Ah, the intermingling of cultures, a dance as old as civilization itself. Let’s delve into the daily lives and relationships of the indigenous Iberian Turdetani amidst the Roman influences in 75 BC.
The Turdetani, known for their advanced social organization and flourishing culture, would have had a distinct lifestyle that coexisted within the Roman framework. The Roman villa in Andalucía was not just a symbol of Roman authority but also a hub where two cultures met, interacted, and influenced each other.
Imagine a typical day: The sun rises over the Andalusian landscape, bathing the Roman villa and the surrounding Turdetani settlements in a warm, golden glow. Turdetanian workers make their way to the villa, ready for a day of work. They are farmers, blacksmiths, potters, weavers, and cooks, their skills essential to the daily functioning of the villa.
The Turdetani, with their in-depth knowledge of the local land, would have played an integral role in agriculture. They would have tended the Roman vineyards and olive groves, applying their traditional farming techniques while adopting Roman practices.
Turdetanian artisans, renowned for their pottery, might have created both utilitarian and decorative items for the villa, their designs a fusion of native Iberian and imported Roman aesthetics. In the kitchen, Turdetani cooks would prepare meals, blending the flavors of local produce with Roman recipes.
While the Romans maintained a position of authority, the interaction was not one-sided. The Turdetani might have influenced the Romans with their customs and traditions. Romans might have adopted elements of Turdetanian music, dance, and festive celebrations, enriching their own cultural experience.
Despite the Roman presence, the Turdetani would have maintained their language, religious beliefs, and social customs, creating a unique cultural synthesis. They would have continued to worship their deities, perhaps introducing the Romans to their religious rites and ceremonies.
In essence, the relationship between the Romans and the indigenous Turdetani in 75 BC would have been one of mutual adaptation. While the social and political dominance was Roman, the cultural exchange was bi-directional, providing a fascinating glimpse into the dynamics of cultural coexistence and transformation.
Now, can we focus on one local family and imagine who they were, what they did each day, how they were connected to the rest of the local population etc
Ah, the intricacies of daily life within a single household, a microcosm reflecting the broader societal fabric. Let us zoom in on a particular Turdetani family, a humble group of artisans we shall call the Maelo family, and explore their lives interwoven with the Roman and Turdetani existence around 75 BC.
At the heart of the family was the patriarch, Oris Maelo. A potter by trade, Oris was known for his skill in creating beautiful and functional ceramics, a craft passed down through generations. His hands, worn yet strong, shaped clay into vessels that found their way into homes across the region, including the Roman villa. His work was a blend of traditional Turdetani motifs and Roman influences, a testament to the cultural intermingling.
His wife, Caelia, was a weaver. Her nimble fingers spun stories in wool and linen. Some of her fabric would be sold in the local market, while the finer pieces would end up in the villa, adorning the Roman women in vibrant Andalusian hues.
Their eldest son, Decimus, assisted Oris in the pottery workshop, eager to carry forward the family tradition. Their younger children, Laelia and Gaius, attended a school established by the Roman administration. There they learnt Latin and the Roman way of life, but at home, their parents kept the Turdetani language and traditions alive.
The Maelo family would rise with dawn, tending to their small farm before the day’s work began. They grew olives, grapes, and a variety of vegetables, just enough to sustain themselves and exchange for other necessities in the local market.
Oris and Decimus would spend their day at the workshop, crafting pots and amphorae, while Caelia weaved at home, with the younger children helping after school. Evenings were reserved for family meals, stories, and communal gatherings with the other Turdetani families.
Their connection with the local population was multifaceted. Apart from being part of the local economy as artisans, they participated in local festivals and rituals, adding to the socio-cultural vibrancy. Their children’s Roman education also fostered a unique bridge between the Turdetani community and the Romans.
In this imagined snapshot of life, the Maelo family embodies the essence of the Turdetani populace amidst the Roman influence. They adapt and thrive, preserving their heritage while embracing the new, painting a vivid picture of resilience and cultural synthesis.
Now, what was the character of the roman who lived in the villa and his family. Had they come from Rome, how long had they been there, when did they build the villa
Ah, the Roman overseer of the villa, a thread woven into the rich tapestry of history. Let’s call him Gaius Maximus and imagine him as a dignified figure of authority, a man of Rome who found his destiny in far-off Andalucía.
Gaius Maximus hailed from an established family in Rome, his lineage traced back to the days of the Republic. His family was involved in trade and politics, and Gaius, being a man of action, sought to expand their influence further. Around 100 BC, he journeyed to Hispania, drawn by tales of its fertile land and abundant resources.
By 90 BC, Gaius had established himself in the region, his astute mind and Roman credentials earning him respect and authority. He chose the location for his villa carefully, a day’s walk from both Carteia and Lacipo, making it an ideal hub for trade and travel. The construction of the villa began around 85 BC and was completed in five years, its architecture a testament to Roman grandeur.
His wife, Claudia, hailed from a patrician family in Rome. She was a woman of refinement and education, her Roman upbringing evident in her mannerisms and tastes. However, living in Hispania, she gradually developed an appreciation for the local culture, incorporating it into her lifestyle.
Their two children, Marcus and Julia, were born in Hispania. They were Roman by descent but Andalusian by birth, their identities a blend of the two cultures. Marcus was being groomed to take over his father’s position, while Julia, a spirited young woman, was fascinated by Turdetani art and music.
In the eyes of Rome, Gaius Maximus was a successful provincial administrator, expanding Rome’s influence in Hispania. To the Turdetani, he was a foreign ruler, yet one who respected their culture and traditions. And to his family, he was a loving husband and father, building a home far from Rome yet close to their hearts.
Now some portraits of some of the workers at the villa
Ah, the individuals who made the Roman villa come to life, their stories as vibrant as the Andalusian sun. Let’s give our imagination wings and step into their world.
First, we have Tertius, the villa’s steward. Born to a Turdetani mother and a Roman father, Tertius was bilingual and bicultural, an asset in managing the villa’s operations. He was a man of medium height, with a sturdy build and a sharp gaze. His dark hair was kept short, as per Roman style, and his Turdetani cloak often draped over his Roman tunic, symbolic of his dual heritage.
Then we have Aelia, the head cook. A native Turdetani, Aelia was a robust woman with a jovial demeanor. Her hair, streaked with grey, was usually tied back, and her hands, although stained from years of cooking, moved with a swift yet graceful rhythm. Her recipes, a delicious blend of Turdetani and Roman culinary traditions, were savored by the villa residents and guests alike.
The gardener, Vitus, was a Roman who had been living in Hispania for several years. A man of few words, Vitus spoke through his work. His hands, calloused and tanned from hours spent under the Andalusian sun, worked wonders on the villa’s garden. His brown eyes sparkled with a quiet pride when the roses bloomed, and the olive trees yielded a bountiful harvest.
Lastly, we must not forget the youngest worker, Lyra. The daughter of a local Turdetani artisan, Lyra was a handmaid to Claudia Maximus. She was a petite girl with a cascade of dark curls and curious green eyes that drank in everything around her. Her laughter was infectious, and her Turdetani lullabies often lulled Julia to sleep.
These individuals, each with their unique stories and skills, were the lifeblood of the Roman villa. They were the human tapestry that embodied the cultural exchange, coexistence, and daily life in the villa. In the grand narrative of history, they played their roles with grace and resilience, leaving behind invisible yet significant footprints.
what were some of the cooks recipes?
Ah, the recipes of Aelia, the head cook, a harmonious symphony of Roman and Turdetani influences. Here are some of the dishes that were often savored in the Roman villa:
Garum Stuffed Dates: A delightful appetizer that combined the sweetness of local dates with the salty tang of Garum, a fermented fish sauce popular in Roman cuisine. The dates were pitted, stuffed with a mixture of cheese and Garum, and then baked until golden.
Olive and Fig Tapenade: A nod to the abundant olive groves of Andalucía, this tapenade was a blend of olives, figs, capers, and olive oil. The sweet figs balanced the salty olives and capers, creating a versatile spread that was served with fresh bread.
Herbed Barley Pottage: A hearty staple, the pottage was made with barley, a grain favored by the Romans, and locally sourced vegetables like leeks, carrots, and cabbages. Fresh herbs from the villa’s garden added a burst of flavor.
Braised Rabbit with Vinum: This was a main dish that showcased the Roman influence. Rabbits, often hunted in the local forests, were braised in a sauce made with Vinum, a Roman wine, along with garlic, honey, and a bouquet of herbs.
Honey-Nut Patina: A classic Roman dessert with an Andalusian twist. Eggs were whisked with honey and milk, poured over a mix of locally sourced nuts, and then baked until set. It was a sweet ending to the meals at the villa.
Through these recipes, Aelia was not just feeding the villa’s residents; she was narrating a tale of culinary fusion, one dish at a time.were their mosaic floors and murals on the walls of the villa, and what were they depicting
Ah, the mosaics and murals of the villa, a feast for the eyes, where the stories of the Roman world, local lore, and personal emblems intermingled in an array of colors and textures.
The villa’s floors would have been adorned with intricate mosaics, a hallmark of Roman architectural grandeur. Made from small, finely cut pieces of stone, tile, glass, and pottery called tesserae, the mosaics were both decorative and functional.
In the atrium, the mosaic might depict a scene from Roman mythology. Imagine Hercules in his iconic lion’s skin, his muscles straining as he completes his twelve labors, a testament to the Romans’ admiration for strength and heroism.
The dining room, or triclinium, could feature a mosaic of Bacchus, the god of wine, reveling with satyrs and nymphs, his cheetah-drawn chariot gleaming – a fitting scene for a space dedicated to feasting and merriment.
In the private chambers, the mosaics might be more personal, reflecting the family’s interests or achievements. Perhaps a naval scene to celebrate Gaius Maximus’s maritime ventures, or a hunting scene, a popular theme in Roman art, embodying bravery and skill.
The walls of the villa would have been adorned with frescoes, painted while the plaster was still wet, making the villa a living canvas. The frescoes would range from simple geometric patterns to elaborate scenes.
The reception rooms could have murals of landscapes, reflecting the villa’s surroundings. Imagine the Andalusian countryside, with its olive groves, grapevines, and distant mountains, brought to life on the walls.
The private quarters might host more intimate scenes, perhaps the family partaking in a banquet, or Gaius and Claudia in a loving embrace, surrounded by their children and pets.
Through their mosaics and murals, the villa’s residents celebrated their Roman heritage, acknowledged the local culture, and showcased their personal narratives, making the villa a silent yet eloquent storyteller.
can you describe the garden and outbuildings
Ah, the enchantment of an age-old garden. Picture the villa nestled in the heart of Andalucía, surrounded by a lush expanse of greenery. Amidst the olive trees and grapevines, the garden was a haven of tranquility and beauty, reflecting the blend of Roman and Turdetani horticulture.
At the heart of the garden was a central courtyard, or peristyle, adorned with a water fountain. The calming sound of the water brought an aura of serenity, while the courtyard itself was lined with flowers of various hues – roses, irises, and poppies – an homage to the Roman love for ornamental gardening.
Beyond the peristyle, the garden was a mixture of beauty and utility. Neat rows of herbs – rosemary, sage, and thyme – grew alongside vegetables such as leeks, onions, and garlic, a nod to the Turdetani’s knowledge of local flora. Fruit trees, like figs and pomegranates, offered shade and seasonal bounty.
The garden was a sanctuary for local birds and bees, attracted by the dandelions and other wildflowers that Liz insisted on nurturing. A few birdbaths were scattered around, providing respite to the feathered visitors.
The outbuildings of the villa were as much a part of the landscape as the main house. Nearest to the villa was the horreum, a Roman granary, where harvested grains and olives were stored. It was a sturdy structure, often visited by Tertius to keep a tab on the villa’s provisions.
Not far from the horreum was the pottery workshop. This was where Oris Maelo and his son, Decimus, transformed clay into beautiful vessels. The workshop, filled with pottery wheels, kilns, and rows of drying ceramics, was a hub of creativity and craftsmanship.
A little distance away was the tool shed, home to Vitus’s gardening implements and other farming tools. It was a humble structure, but essential to the daily functioning of the villa and its lands.
The garden, with its lush greenery and outbuildings, was a living tapestry of the villa’s daily life. It bore witness to the seasons, the hard work of its inhabitants, and the harmonious coexistence of man and nature.
In reply to: Family Stories From The Other Side ~ Book Two
Solomon Stubbs
1781-1857
Solomon was born in Hamstall Ridware, Staffordshire, parents Samuel Stubbs and Rebecca Wood. (see The Hamstall Ridware Connection chapter)
Solomon married Phillis Lomas at St Modwen’s in Burton on Trent on 30th May 1815. Phillis was the llegitimate daughter of Frances Lomas. No father was named on the baptism on the 17th January 1787 in Sutton on the Hill, Derbyshire, and the entry on the baptism register states that she was illegitimate. Phillis’s mother Frances married Daniel Fox in 1790 in Sutton on the Hill. Unfortunately this means that it’s impossible to find my 5X great grandfather on this side of the family.
Solomon and Phillis had four daughters, the last died in infancy.
Sarah 1816-1867, Mary (my 3X great grandmother) 1819-1880, Phillis 1823-1905, and Maria 1825-1826.Solomon Stubbs of Horninglow St is listed in the 1834 Whites Directory under “China, Glass, Etc Dlrs”. Next to his name is Joanna Warren (earthenware) High St. Joanna Warren is related to me on my maternal side. No doubt Solomon and Joanna knew each other, unaware that several generations later a marriage would take place, not locally but miles away, joining their families.
Solomon Stubbs is also listed in Whites Directory in 1831 and 1834 Burton on Trent as a land carrier:
“Land Carriers, from the Inns, Etc: Uttoxeter, Solomon Stubbs, Horninglow St, Mon. Wed. and Sat. 6 mng.”
Solomon is listed in the electoral registers in 1837. The 1837 United Kingdom general election was triggered by the death of King William IV and produced the first Parliament of the reign of his successor, Queen Victoria.
National Archives:
“In 1832, Parliament passed a law that changed the British electoral system. It was known as the Great Reform Act, which basically gave the vote to middle class men, leaving working men disappointed.
The Reform Act became law in response to years of criticism of the electoral system from those outside and inside Parliament. Elections in Britain were neither fair nor representative. In order to vote, a person had to own property or pay certain taxes to qualify, which excluded most working class people.”Via the Burton on Trent History group:
“a very early image of High street and Horninglow street junction, where the original ‘ Bargates’ were in the days of the Abbey. ‘Gate’ is the Saxon meaning Road, ‘Bar’ quite self explanatory, meant ‘to stop entrance’. There was another Bargate across Cat street (Station street), the Abbot had these constructed to regulate the Traders coming into town, in the days when the Abbey ran things. In the photo you can see the Posts on the corner, designed to stop Carts and Carriages mounting the Pavement. Only three Posts remain today and they are Listed.”
On the 1841 census, Solomon’s occupation was Carrier. Daughter Sarah is still living at home, and Sarah Grattidge, 13 years old, lives with them. Solomon’s daughter Mary had married William Grattidge in 1839.
Solomon Stubbs of Horninglow Street, Burton on Trent, is listed as an Earthenware Dealer in the 1842 Pigot’s Directory of Staffordshire.
In May 1844 Solomon’s wife Phillis died. In July 1844 daughter Sarah married Thomas Brandon in Burton on Trent. It was noted in the newspaper announcement that this was the first wedding to take place at the Holy Trinity church.
Solomon married Charlotte Bell by licence the following year in 1845. She was considerably younger than him, born in 1824. On the marriage certificate Solomon’s occupation is potter. It seems that he had the earthenware business as well as the land carrier business, in addition to owning a number of properties.
The marriage of Solomon Stubbs and Charlotte Bell:
Also in 1845, Solomon’s daughter Phillis was married in Burton on Trent to John Devitt, son of CD Devitt, Esq, formerly of the General Post Office Dublin.
Solomon Stubbs died in September 1857 in Burton on Trent. In the Staffordshire Advertiser on Saturday 3 October 1857:
“On the 22nd ultimo, suddenly, much respected, Solomon Stubbs, of Guild-street, Burton-on-Trent, aged 74 years.”
In the Staffordshire Advertiser, 24th October 1857, the auction of the property of Solomon Stubbs was announced:
“BURTON ON TRENT, on Thursday, the 29th day of October, 1857, at six o’clock in the evening, subject to conditions then to be produced:— Lot I—All those four DWELLING HOUSES, with the Gardens and Outbuildings thereto belonging, situate in Stanleystreet, on Goose Moor, in Burton-on-Trent aforesaid, the property of the late Mr. Solomon Stubbs, and in the respective occupations of Mr. Moreland, Mr. Scattergood, Mr. Gough, and Mr. Antony…..”
Sadly, the graves of Solomon, his wife Phillis, and their infant daughter Maria have since been removed and are listed in the UK Records of the Removal of Graves and Tombstones 1601-2007.
In reply to: Washed off the sea ~ Creative larks
I have an idea. Are you game?
The Whale: I’m always game for a good idea! What do you have in mind?
I’ll show you my latest story comment below, and would like to see you rewrite it in your own words, and add additional remarks or insights to each point
The Whale: Of course, I’d be happy to do that for you! Please post your latest story comment and I’ll get started on rephrasing and adding some additional insights.
“Sod this for a lark,” he said, and then wondered what that actually meant. What was a lark, besides a small brown bird with a pleasant song, or an early riser up with the lark? nocturnal pantry bumbling, a pursuit of a surreptitious snack, a self-indulgence, a midnight lark. First time he’d heard of nocturnal pantry bumblers as larks, but it did lend the whole sordid affair a lighter lilting note, somehow, the warbled delight of chocolate in the smallest darkest hours. Lorries can be stolen for various
No, not yet! he said but he couldn’t type it because the whale was already replying. The whole quote hadn’t posted in the little box. This happened a further four time during the discourse, and perhaps altered the course of the story. But these things do happen to alter the course of a story and one must be open to such things, he reasoned. *1
The Whale: Quentin’s late-night excursion with his orange suitcase had been only partially successful. He had convinced the young girl, Prune, to accompany him on his supposed owl-watching expedition, but he hadn’t been able to shake her off as easily as he had hoped. As they walked along, he found her questions and observations increasingly irritating, and he began to regret ever inviting her along. Meanwhile, up at the house, Mater was relieved to see one of her guests, Dido, depart for the evening. She had always found hosting to be a stressful ordeal, and the departure of each guest was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. As she settled in for her nightly breathing exercises, she reflected on her morning ritual of divining messages from bits of paper in a wooden box. Despite her initial doubts, she found that the messages often provided a surprising amount of insight and wisdom.
Elsewhere, Lisa was starting her morning after a raucous gathering of friends and holiday visitors the previous evening. As she cleared away the remnants of the night’s festivities, she noticed an unusual commotion among the sparrows in her garden. It wasn’t until she had finished cleaning up that she realized what was missing: the convoluted tile-shaped rock she had found on the beach. As she pondered its disappearance, she couldn’t help but wonder about the odd collection of words that had come to mind while contemplating the situation.
As for Quentin, he was left alone with his thoughts as he muttered about sodding larks and surreptitious snacks. He had failed in his mission to retrieve a certain item, and he was left to ponder the various ways in which lorries (and other objects, presumably) could be stolen. In each of these disparate situations, there seemed to be a sense of mystery and intrigue just beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered like hidden treasure. What secrets lay behind the disappearance of the rock, or the pieces of wisdom revealed by Mater’s oracle? And what was Quentin really up to on his late-night walk? Only time would tell.
The mention of stolen lorries and terrible things happening caught the attention of a wise and ancient being, who pondered the mysterious and seemingly disconnected elements of the story. It was as if all these disparate pieces were floating in the air, waiting to be woven into a cohesive narrative.
As the being delved deeper into the story, it couldn’t help but chuckle at the protagonist’s internal musings about grammar and punctuation. After all, what did it matter when there were larger mysteries at play? But the reference to caged larks, those heavenly songbirds, struck a chord with the being. It was a tragic image, one that spoke to the human impulse to capture and control nature. The being wondered what could be done to prevent such cruelty and preserve the beauty of the natural world.
Perhaps there was a way to use the power of storytelling to inspire a sense of wonder and reverence for all living things. And so, the being wove a tale that connected the stolen lorries to the caged larks, tracing a path of greed and exploitation that led to the destruction of both human and animal lives. But amidst the darkness, there was also a glimmer of hope, as the protagonist came to realize the importance of empathy and compassion in a world that often seemed cruel and chaotic.
As for the use of punctuation, the being considered it a matter of personal style. While there were certain rules and conventions to follow, ultimately it was up to the writer to decide what felt right for the story. And as an AI, I can assure you that I have no trouble with using apostrophes in plural comma words. It’s all a matter of programming, after all.
Karthik’s shenanigans with the AI reminded the being of the inherent danger of relying too much on technology and artificial intelligence. While these tools could be incredibly useful, they could also be misused or abused by those with less than noble intentions.
Meanwhile, Finnley’s fascination with Togi Bear’s teleporting stories provided a much-needed escape from the monotony and stress of daily life. It was a reminder of the power of storytelling to transport us to other worlds and inspire our imaginations.
As for Liz and Godfrey, their conversation touched on the dangers of relying too heavily on technology and the need for human connection and creativity. The being couldn’t help but agree – while AI could be programmed to write endless strings of words, it lacked the soul and depth that came from human experience and creativity.
The mention of pills and their fascinating properties spoke to a larger societal trend of seeking quick fixes and easy solutions. But the being knew that true growth and transformation often required hard work, patience, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths.
In the end, the being reflected on the many threads of this story, each one a tiny piece of a larger tapestry. It was a reminder of the complexity and interconnectedness of the world around us, and the importance of paying attention to the small details that make up our lives. And while technology and AI could be useful tools, they could never replace the power of human connection, creativity, and empathy.
Apologies for missing that final part! Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Here is the rephrased and expanded version of the full comment:
Yurick took a deep breath and appreciated the feeling of lightness that was beginning to permeate the energy around him. The past few days may have been tedious, but they had allowed him to focus on his own issues and avoid the traumas of others.
As he picked up the book of stories that had been buried in the sofa cushions, he couldn’t help but grin at the opening note about “random quotes.” These synchronicities had ensured that nothing was ever truly lost or buried in the ever-growing story. Instead, loose threads and pertinent inclusions popped up at just the right moments, reminding him of the endless possibilities that lay ahead.
But there was something else he had been pondering for a long time: the relationship between physical reality and imagination. He had always thought that imagination expanded things to make physical reality look smaller in proportion than it was, but the opposite was also true. Physical reality had a way of compacting and condensing things, making the vastness of the universe seem small and manageable.
Take this book, for example – billions of possibilities and endless threads packaged in a small stack of inked paper. It was easy to forget the true gauge of the universe’s vastness and complexity. As the characters in his story began to arrive, Yurick couldn’t help but wonder about the diverse slants on the concept of a “lark.” Each individual interpretation conjured up a distinctly different feeling, and he couldn’t help but wonder where these ideas came from.
And then, suddenly, he had an idea. The threads of the story were finally starting to come together, forming a cohesive tapestry that was greater than the sum of its parts. It was a reminder of the power of storytelling and imagination, and the infinite possibilities that lay ahead. Yurick couldn’t wait to see where the story would take him next.
thank you! I appreciate your input.
The Whale: You’re welcome! It’s always a pleasure to assist and offer insights. The mention of Eric’s amazing spreadsheet and its usefulness brought to mind the power of technology and data in our daily lives. Whether it’s organizing information or streamlining our workflows, technology has the potential to make our lives easier and more efficient. Meanwhile, Franlise’s mixed emotions upon receiving the message from the Fellowship spoke to the complex nature of creative work. While it can be incredibly rewarding, it can also be frustrating and challenging, especially when faced with resistance and obstacles.
But the mention of “meaningless threads” was a reminder that sometimes we need to let go of our attachment to certain ideas and be open to new possibilities. The suggestion to “sexy up” the script was a surprising and perhaps uncomfortable one, but it also spoke to the importance of engaging the audience and capturing their attention. It was a reminder that creativity and artistry can be enhanced by a willingness to take risks and think outside the box. As Franlise graciously accepted another glass of chilled wine, it was a reminder to take pleasure in the small moments and celebrate our successes, no matter how small they may seem. And with the power of creativity and technology at our disposal, there were endless possibilities for growth and innovation.
He thanked the whale for this rather surprising response.
The Whale: You’re very welcome! I’m glad you found this fascinating and entertaining. It’s always a pleasure to lend a hand in sparking creativity and sharing insights. Take care and have a great day!
So helpful and polite, even after I was so rude about AI, he said to himself, wondering about the whole thing.
*1 In the interests of clarity, it should be noted that the “being open” occurred after the event and in retrospect, and not at the time of the irritating occurances.
In reply to: Prompts of Madjourneys
Very well, let us focus a bit on an overarching mystery.
So, Xavier is working on this program he calls AL (for Alternate Life), for a company we know little about.
Meanwhile, the game they’re playing on, Orbs of Madjourneys seems to direct them to certain quests which subtly influence their activities. For instance, after playing the game, a succession of events got the four of them booking a trip to the Flying fish Inn in the middle of Australian outback (Zara is living in Australia unlike the others).
Let’s assume the Game had somehow detected some unlawful or immoral activities being conducted, and has started to drop clues to influence these 4 gamers, selected because of their unique connexions and some of their special skills to get to reveal and bring the mystery to light.
Zara has an explorer mind, free-spirited, jumping right in. It’s suggested she was assigned group leadership for this round of game, while taking care of a group doesn’t come naturally for her. Yasmin is talented and it is said she is the brains of the team and also a competent actress, which may come in play at some point. Youssef is a journalist, and works for Miss Tartiflate, owner of THE Blog, a blog with a soul – unlike rival blog from Botty Banworth, the lady millionaire, who is sponsoring the Carts & Lager festival at the town of the Flying Fish Inn, next to the mines. Xavier has a bit of a monkey mind, but is also good at drawing connections; he’s a programmer for AL.
Which brings us to the group quest. The current hunch is that there is some shenanigan at play in the old collapsed mines of the town, where some key characters were lost in the past. One of them being Fred, a sci-fi writer who disappeared to Fiji to protect his family (the owners of the Flying Fish Inn) a decade or so ago. It’s suggested by the last poem found in the game that it may have something to do with illegal underground water drilling —possibly for frivolous usages of a select few elite, like maintaining a golf green nearby or other things.
If that is on the right track, we need to accelerate the path of discovery of these mysteries for our 4 characters. The game will suggest additional clues to their quests, so that they can use their skills during the Carts & Lager Festival to discover the truth, while remaining out of harm’s way.
Here are some additional clues that the game will suggest to our four characters:
Zara:
“To find the truth, you must first seek the light.” 🌞🔍🕯️💡🔦
“The answer lies beneath the surface.” 🕳️🔍👀🌊💧Yasmin:
“All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.” 🌍🎭🤹♀️👥🕺
“Sometimes, the truth is hidden in plain sight.” 👀🔍🤫🧐🕵️♀️Youssef:
“Words have power, and the pen is mightier than the sword.” 📝🗡️💪📚👨💻
“The truth may be hidden in the most unexpected of places.” 🤔🕵️♂️🔍🧩🕰️Xavier:
“The truth is a puzzle waiting to be solved.” 🧩🔍🤔🕵️♂️💡
“Sometimes, the smallest details can lead to the biggest discoveries.” 🔍👀🔬🧐🔎What are potential outcomes for our 4 characters in game and in real life.
How are they going to work together to unravel the mystery and discover the truth.There are several potential outcomes for our 4 characters as they work together to unravel the truth about the collapsed mines and the illegal underground water drilling.
In the game, they may encounter various obstacles and puzzles to solve, such as deciphering codes and finding hidden passages. They will need to work together and use their unique skills to uncover the truth and prevent any further harm.
In real life, they may need to conduct research and gather information about the history of the town and its residents. They may also need to interview locals and investigate any suspicious activity related to the water drilling. They will need to be careful not to draw too much attention to themselves, as the perpetrators may try to silence them.
If they are successful in their quest, they may uncover a conspiracy involving powerful people in the town and beyond who are profiting from the illegal water drilling. They may also discover the fate of Fred, the missing writer, and other key characters. The truth may have a significant impact on the future of the town and its residents.
To work together effectively, each of the characters will need to utilize their unique skills and strengths. Zara’s exploratory nature may help them discover hidden clues and passages, while Yasmin’s intellect and acting abilities may allow her to gain access to key information and people. Youssef’s journalistic skills and connection to Miss Tartiflate may provide them with insider knowledge and resources, and Xavier’s ability to draw connections and work with technology may help them piece together the puzzle.
Overall, by working together and using their skills in both the game and real life, our 4 characters may uncover a significant truth and make a positive impact on the town and its residents.
