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AuthorSearch Results
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May 10, 2025 at 8:19 am #7922
In reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers)
“Well, this makes no sense,” Thiram opined flatly, squinting at the glitching news stream on his homemade device.
“What now,” Carob drawled, dropping the case and a mushroom onto the floor.
“Biopirates Ants. Thousands of queen ants. Smuggled by aunties out of Kenya.”Amy raised an eyebrow. “Lucid dreamers saboteurs?”
“They’re calling them the ‘Anties Gang.’” Thiram scrolled. “One report says the queens were tagged with dream-frequency enhancers. You know, like the tech you banned from the greenhouse?”
Ricardo leaned forward, and whispered to himself almost too audibly for the rest of them “That… that… wasn’t on Miss Bossy’s radar yet. But I suspect it will be.”
A long silence. Then Amy prodded Carob — “You’re silent again. What do you think?”.
“Caffeinated sabotage by insect proxy?” she murmured.
Fanella let out a short bleat, as if offended. The rain fell harder.
May 7, 2025 at 5:52 am #7916In reply to: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers)
Carob didn’t know what to say — which gave her a tendency to ramble.
Was everyone avoiding Amy?
Was it because she was dressed as a stout little lady?
Carob cleared her throat. “Well, Amy, you look… most interesting today.”
“I have to agree,” replied Amy, unperturbed. “Now — what is this about you and Ricardo?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you,” Carob said, shaking her head. “Partly because it’s top secret, and partly because…”
She tapped her temple and nodded to herself — definitely a few times more than necessary. “I’m still working it out.”“But you know him?” Amy persisted. “How do you know him?”
Carob knew Amy could be relentless.
“Look over there!” she shouted, pointing vaguely.
Amy didn’t even turn her head. She gazed up at Carob with a long-suffering stare. “Carob?”
Carob scrunched up her face. “Okay,” she said eventually. “I think the others are avoiding you. Me. Us. Both of us.”
She took a deep breath. “Thiram doesn’t know where we are or what we’re doing here — and he’s not good with that, bless. We don’t know where on earth Chico is — but we do know he spits, which, quite frankly, is uncouth.”
She brightened suddenly. “But one thing I do know — here, amid the coffee beans and the lucid dreamers, there is a story to be told.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I’ve noticed you still haven’t told me how you know Ricardo.”
It was rather odd — but neither of them noticed the bush inching closer.
Trailing suspect but nothing to report yet, messaged Ricardo.
He knew Miss Bossy Pants wouldn’t be happy.
March 9, 2025 at 10:34 pm #7862In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Sue Forgelot couldn’t believe her eyes when she came to her ringing door.
Of course, after the Carnival party was over and she’d taken an air shower, and put on her bathrobe with her meerkat slipper, slathered relaxing face cream topped with two slices of cucumber, she was quite groggy, and the cucumber slices on her eyelids made it harder to see. But once she’d removed them, she could see as bright as day.
The Captain was standing right here, and she hadn’t aged a day.
“Quickly, come in.” Sue wasted no time to usher her in. She looked at the corridor suspiciously; at that time of night, only a dusting robot was patrolling the corridors, chasing for dust motes and finger smears on the datapads.
Nobody.
“I haven’t been followed, Sue, will you just relax for a moment.”
“V’ass, it’s been so long. How did you get out?… What broke the code?”
“I don’t know, Sue. I think —something called back, from Earth.”
“From Earth? I didn’t know there was much technology left, or at least one that could reach us there. And one that could bypass that darned central AI —I knew it couldn’t keep you under lock and key forever.”
“Seems there is such tech, and it’s also managed to force the ship to turn around.”
Silence fell on the two friends for a moment, as they were grasping for the implications of the changes in motion.
Veranassessee couldn’t help by smile uncontrollably. “Those rejuvenation tricks do wonders, don’t they. You don’t look a day over a 100 years old.”Sue couldn’t help but chuckle. “And you don’t look so bad yourself, for an old forgotten popsicle.” She tilted her head. “You do know you’ve been in the freezer longer than some of our newest passengers have been alive, right?”
V’ass shrugged. “And yet, here I am—fit, rested, and none the worse for wear.”
Sue sighed. “Meanwhile, I’ve had three hip replacements, a cybernetic knee, and somebody keeps hijacking my artificial leg with spam messages.”
V’ass blinked. “…You should probably get that checked.”
Sue waved her off. “Bah. If it’s not trying to sell me ‘hot singles in my quadrant,’ I let it be.”After the laughter had dissipated, Sue said “You need my help to get back your ship, don’t you?”. She tapped on her cybernetic leg with a knowing smile. “You can count on me.”
Veranassessee noded. “Then start by filling me in, what should I know?”
Sue leaned in conspiratorially. “Ethan is dead, for one.”
“Death?” Veranassessee was weighing the implications, and completed “… Murder?”
Sue shrugged “As much as it pains me to say, it’s all a bit irrelevant. The AI let it happen, but I doubt she pushed the button. Ethan wasn’t much of a threat to its rule. Makes one wonder why, maybe it computed some cascade of events we don’t yet see. They found ancient DNA on the crime scene, but it’s all a mess of clues, and I must say we’re pretty inept at the whole murder mystery thing. Glad we don’t have a serial killer in our midst, or we would have plenty of composting to do…”
Veranassessee started to pace the room. “Well, if there isn’t anything more relevant, we need to hatch a plan. I suspect all my access got revoked; I’ll need a skeleton key to get in the right places. To regain control over the central AI, and the main deck.”
“Of course, the Marlowes…” Sue had a moment of revelation on her face. “They were the crypto locksmiths… With Ethan now dead, maybe we should pay dear old Ellis a visit.”
February 23, 2025 at 1:42 pm #7829In reply to: Helix Mysteries – Inside the Case
Helix 25 – Investigation Breakdown: Suspects, Factions, and Ship’s Population
To systematically investigate the murder(s) and the overarching mystery, let’s break down the known groups and individuals, their possible means to commit crimes, and their potential motivations.
1. Ship Population & Structure
Estimated Population of Helix 25
- Originally a luxury cruise ship before the exodus.
- Largest cruise ships built on Earth in 2025 carried ~5,000 people.
Space travel, however, requires generations. - Estimated current ship population on Helix 25: Between 15,000 and 50,000, depending on deck expansion and growth of refugee populations over decades.
- Possible Ship Propulsion:
- Plasma-based propulsion (high-efficiency ion drives)
- Slingshot navigation using gravity assists
- Solar sails & charged particle fields
- Current trajectory: Large elliptical orbit, akin to a comet.
Estimated direction of the original space trek was still within Solar System, not beyond the Kuiper Belt (~30 astrological units) and programmed to return towards it point of origin.
Due to the reprogramming by the refugees, it is not known if there has been significant alteration of the course – it should be known as the ship starts to reach the aphelion (farthest from the Sun) and either comes back towards it, or to a different course.
- Question: Are they truly on a course out of the galaxy? Or is that just the story Synthia is feeding them?
Is there a Promised Land beyond the Ark’s adventure?
2. Breaking Down People & Factions
To find the killer(s), conspiracies, and ship dynamics, here are some of factions, known individuals, and their possible means/motives.
A. Upper Decks: The Elite & Decision-Makers
- Defining Features:
- Wealthy descendants of the original passengers. They have adopted names of stars as new family names, as if de-facto rulers of the relative segments of the space.
- Have never known hardship like the Lower Decks.
- Kept busy with social prestige, arts, and “meaningful” pursuits to prevent existential crisis.
Key Individuals:
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- Means: Extensive social connections, influence, and hidden cybernetic enhancements.
- Motive: Could be protecting something or someone—she knows too much about the ship’s past.
- Secrets: Claims to have met the Captain. Likely lying… unless?
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- Means: Expert geneticist, access to data. Could tamper with DNA.
- Motive: What if Herbert knew something about her old research? Did she kill to bury it?
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Ellis Marlowe (Retired Postman) –
- Means: None obvious. But as a former Earth liaison, he has archives and knowledge of what was left behind.
- Motive: Unclear, but his son was the murder victim. His son was previously left on Earth, and seemed to have found a way onto Helix 25 (possibly through the refugee wave who took over the ship)
- Question: Did he know Herbert’s real identity?
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Finkley (Upper Deck cleaner, informant) –
- Means: As a cleaner, has access everywhere.
- Motive: None obvious, but cleaners notice everything.
- Secret: She and Finja (on Earth) are telepathically linked. Could Finja have picked up something?
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The Three Old Ladies (Shar, Glo, Mavis) –
- Means: Absolutely none.
- Motive: Probably just want more drama.
- Accidental Detectives: They mix up stories but might have stumbled on actual facts.
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Trevor Pee Marshall (TP, AI detective) –
- Means: Can scan records, project into locations, analyze logic patterns.
- Motive: Should have none—unless he’s been compromised as hinted by some of the remnants of old Muck & Lump tech into his program.
B. Lower Decks: Workers, Engineers, Hidden Knowledge
- Defining Features:
- Unlike the Upper Decks, they work—mechanics, hydroponics, labor.
- Self-sufficient, but cut off from decisions.
- Some distrust Synthia, believing Helix 25 is off-course.
Key Individuals:
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Luca Stroud (Engineer, Cybernetic Expert) –
- Means: Can tamper with ship’s security, medical implants, and life-support systems.
- Motive: Possible sabotage, or he was helping Herbert with something.
- Secret: Works in black-market tech modifications.
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Romualdo (Gardener, Archivist-in-the-Making) –
- Means: None obvious. Seem to lack the intelligence, but isn’t stupid.
- Motive: None—but he lent Herbert a Liz Tattler book about genetic memories.
- Question: What exactly did Herbert learn from his reading?
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Zoya Kade (Revolutionary Figure, Not Directly Involved) –
- Means: Strong ideological influence, but not an active conspirator.
- Motive: None, but her teachings have created and fed factions.
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The Underground Movement –
- Means: They know ways around Synthia’s surveillance.
- Motive: They believe the ship is on a suicide mission.
- Question: Would they kill to prove it?
C. The Hold: The Wild Cards & Forgotten Spaces
- Defining Features:
- Refugees who weren’t fully integrated.
- Maintain autonomy, trade, and repair systems that the rest of the ship ignores.
Key Individuals:
-
Kai Nova (Pilot, Disillusioned) –
- Means: Can manually override ship systems… if Synthia lets him.
- Motive: Suspects something’s off about the ship’s fuel levels.
-
Cadet Taygeta (Sharp, Logical, Too Honest) –
- Means: No real power, but access to data.
- Motive: Trying to figure out what Kai is hiding.
D. AI & Non-Human Factors
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Synthia (Central AI, Overseer of Helix 25)
- Means: Controls everything.
- Motive: Unclear, but her instructions are decades old.
- Question: Does she even have free will?
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The Captain (Nemo)
- Means: Access to ship-wide controls. He is blending in the ship’s population but has special access.
- Motive: Seems uncertain about his mission.
- Secret: He might not be following Synthia’s orders anymore.
3. Who Has the Means to Kill in Zero-G?
The next murder happens in a zero-gravity sector. Likely methods:
- Oxygen deprivation (tampered life-support, “accident”)
- Drowning (hydro-lab “malfunction”)
Likely Suspects for Next Murder
Suspect Means to Kill in Zero-G Motive Luca Stroud Can tamper with tech Knows ship secrets Amara Voss Access to medical, genetic data Herbert was digging into past Underground Movement Can evade Synthia’s surveillance Wants to prove ship is doomed Synthia (or Rogue AI processes) Controls airflow, gravity, and safety protocols If she sees someone as a threat, can she remove them? The Captain (Nemo?) Has override authority Is he protecting secrets?
4. Next Steps in the Investigation
- Evie and Riven Re-interview Suspects. Who benefited from Herbert’s death?
- Investigate the Flat-Earth Conspiracies. Who is spreading paranoia?
- Check the Captain’s Logs. What does Nemo actually believe?
- Stop the Next Murder. (Too late?)
Final Question: Where Do We Start?
- Evie and Riven visit the Captain’s quarters? (If they find him…)
- Investigate the Zero-G Crime Scene? (Second body = New urgency)
- Confront one of the Underground Members? (Are they behind it?)
Let’s pick a thread and dive back into the case!
February 23, 2025 at 1:35 pm #7828In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Helix 25 – The Murder Board
Evie sat cross-legged on the floor of her cramped workspace, staring at the scattered notes, datapads, and threads taped to the wall. Finding some yarn on the ship had not been as easy as she thought, but it was a nice touch she thought.
The Murder Board, as Riven Holt had started calling it, was becoming an increasingly frustrating mess of unanswered questions.
Riven stood nearby, arms crossed, with a an irritated skepticism. “Almost a week,” he muttered. “We’re no closer than when we started.”
Evie exhaled sharply. “Then let’s go back to the basics.”
She tapped the board, where the crime scene was crudely sketched. The Drying Machine. Granary. Jardenery. Blood that shouldn’t exist.
She turned to Riven. “Alright, let’s list it out. Who are our suspects?”
He looked at his notes, dejected for a moment; “too many, obviously.” Last census on the ship was not accurate by far, but by all AI’s accounts cross-referenced with Finkley’s bots data, they estimated the population to be between 15,000 and 50,000. Give or take.
They couldn’t interview possibly all of them, all the more since there the interest in the murder had waned very rapidly. Apart from the occasional trio of nosy elderly ladies, the ship had returned mostly to the lull of the day-to-day routine.
So they’d focused on a few, and hoped TP’s machine brain could see patterns where they couldn’t.- First, the Obvious Candidates: People with Proximity to the Crime Scene
Romualdo, the Gardener – Friendly, unassuming. He lends books, grows plants, and talks about Elizabeth Tattler novels. But Herbert visited him often. Why?
Dr. Amara Voss – The geneticist. Her research proves the Crusader DNA link, but could she be hiding more? Despite being Evie’s godmother, she couldn’t be ruled out just yet.
Sue Forgelot – The socialite with connections everywhere. She had eluded their request for interviews. —does she know more than she lets on?
The Cleaning Staff – they had access everywhere. And the murder had a clean elegance to it… - Second, The Wild Cards: People with Unknown Agendas
The Lower Deck Engineers – Talented mechanic, with probable cybernetic knowledge, with probable access to unauthorized modifications. Could they kill for a reason, or for hire?
Zoya Kade and her Followers – They believe Helix 25 is on a doomed course, manipulated by a long-dead tycoon’s plan. Would they kill to force exposure of an inconvenient truth?
The Crew – Behind the sense of duty and polite smiles, could any of them be covering something up? - Third, The AI Factor: Sentient or Insentient?
Synthia, the AI – Controls the ship. Omnipresent. Can see everything, and yet… didn’t notice or report the murder. Too convenient.
Other personal AIs – Like Trevor Pee’s programme, most had in-built mechanisms to make them incapable of lying or harming humans. But could one of their access be compromised?
Riven frowned. “And what about Herbert himself? Who was he, really? He called himself Mr. Herbert, but the cat erm… Mandrake says that wasn’t his real name. If we figure out his past, maybe we find out why he was killed.”
Evie rubbed her temples. “We also still don’t know how he was killed. The ship’s safety systems should have shut the machine down. But something altered how the system perceived him before he went in.”
She gestured to another note. “And there’s still the genetic link. What was Herbert doing with Crusader DNA?”
A heavy silence settled between them.
Then TP’s voice chimed in. “Might I suggest an old detective’s trick? When stumped, return to who benefits.”
Riven exhaled. “Fine. Who benefits from Herbert’s death?”
Evie chewed the end of her stylus. “Depends. If it was personal, the killer is on this ship, and it’s someone who knew him. If it was bigger than Herbert, then we’re dealing with something… deeper.”
TP hummed. “I do hate deeper mysteries. They tend to involve conspiracies, misplaced prophecies, and far too many secret societies.”
Evie and Riven exchanged a glance.
Riven sighed. “We need a break.”
Evie scoffed. “Time means nothing here.”
Riven gestured out the window. “Then let’s go see it. The Sun.”
Helix 25 – The Sun-Gazing Chamber
The Sun-Gazing Chamber was one of Helix 25’s more poetic and yet practical inventions —an optically and digitally-enhanced projection of the Sun, positioned at the ship’s perihelion. It was meant to provide a psychological tether, a sense of humanity’s connection to the prime provider of life as they drifted in the void of the Solar System.
It was a beautifully designed setting where people would simply sit and relax, attuned to the shift of days and nights as if still on Earth. The primary setting had been voted to a massive 83.5% to be like in Hawai’i latitude and longitude, as its place was believed to be a reflection of Earth’s heart. That is was a State in the USA was a second thought of course.Evie sat on the observation bench, staring at the massive, golden sphere suspended in the darkness. “Do you think people back on Earth are still watching the sunrise?” she murmured.
Riven was quiet for a moment. “If there’s anyone left.”
Evie frowned. “If they are, I doubt they got much of a choice.”
TP materialized beside them, adjusting his holographic tie. “Ah, the age-old existential debate: are we the lucky ones who left Earth, or the tragic fools who abandoned it?”
Evie ignored him, glancing at the other ship residents in the chamber. Most people just sat quietly, basking in the light. But she caught snippets of whispers, doubt, something spreading through the ranks.
“Some people think we’re not really where they say we are,” she muttered.
Riven raised an eyebrow. “What, like conspiracy theories?”
TP scoffed. “Oh, you mean the Flat-Earthers?” He tsked. “Who couldn’t jump on the Helix lifeboats for their lives, convinced as they were we couldn’t make it to the stars. They deserved what came to them. Next they’ll be saying Helix 25 never even launched and we’re all just trapped in a simulation of a luxury cruise.”
Evie was shocked at Trevor Pee’s eructation and rubbed her face. “Damn Effin Muck tech, and those “Truth Control” rubbish datasets. I thought I’d thoroughly scrubbed all the old propaganda tech from the system.”
“Ah,” TP said, “but conspiracies are like mold. Persistent. Annoying. Occasionally toxic.”
Riven shook his head. “It’s nonsense. We’re moving. We’ve been moving for decades.”
Evie didn’t look convinced. “Then why do we feel stuck?”
A chime interrupted them.
A voice, over the comms. Solar flare alert.
Evie stiffened.
Then: Stay calm and return to your quarters until further notice.
Evie raised an eyebrow. This was the first time something like that happened. She turned to Riven who was looking at his datapad who was flashing and buzzing.
He said to her: “Stay quiet and come with me, a new death has been reported. Crazy coincidence. It’s just behind the Sun-Gazing chamber actually, in the Zero-G sector.”
February 15, 2025 at 9:21 am #7789In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Helix 25 – Poop Deck – The Jardenery
Evie stepped through the entrance of the Jardenery, and immediately, the sterile hum of Helix 25’s corridors faded into a world of green. Of all the spotless clean places on the ship, it was the only where Finkley’s bots tolerated the scent of damp earth. A soft rustle of hydroponic leaves shifting under artificial sunlight made the place an ecosystem within an ecosystem, designed to nourrish both body and mind.
Yet, for all its cultivated serenity, today it was a crime scene. The Drying Machine was connected to the Jardenery and the Granary, designed to efficiently extract precious moisture for recycling, while preserving the produce.
Riven Holt, walking beside her, didn’t share her reverence. “I don’t see why this place is relevant,” he muttered, glancing around at the towering bioluminescent vines spiraling up trellises. “The body was found in the drying machine, not in a vegetable patch.”
Evie ignored him, striding toward the far corner where Amara Voss was hunched over a sleek terminal, frowning at a glowing screen. The renowned geneticist barely noticed their approach, her fingers flicking through analysis results faster than human eyes could process.
A flicker of light.
“Ah-ha!” TP materialized beside Evie, adjusting his holographic lapels. “Madame Voss, I must say, your domain is quite the delightful contrast to our usual haunts of murder and mystery.” He twitched his mustache. “Alas, I suspect you are not admiring the flora?”
Amara exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples, not at all surprised by the holographic intrusion. She was Evie’s godmother, and had grown used to her experiments.
“No, indeed. I’m admiring this.” She turned the screen toward them.
The DNA profile glowed in crisp lines of data, revealing a sequence highlighted in red.
Evie frowned. “What are we looking at?”
Amara pinched the bridge of her nose. “A genetic anomaly.”
Riven crossed his arms. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
Amara gave him a sharp look but turned back to the display. “The sample we found at the crime scene—blood residue on the drying machine and some traces on the granary floor—matches an ancient DNA profile from my research database. A perfect match.”
Evie felt a prickle of unease. “Ancient? What do you mean? From the 2000s?”
Amara chuckled, then nodded grimly. “No, ancient as in Medieval ancient. Specifically, Crusader DNA, from the Levant. A profile we mapped from preserved remains centuries ago.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Riven scoffed. “That’s impossible.”
TP hummed thoughtfully, twirling his cane. “Impossible, yet indisputable. A most delightful contradiction.”
Evie’s mind raced. “Could the database be corrupted?”
Amara shook her head. “I checked. The sequencing is clean. This isn’t an error. This DNA was present at the crime scene.” She hesitated, then added, “The thing is…” she paused before considering to continue. They were all hanging on her every word, waiting for what she would say next.
Amara continued “I once theorized that it might be possible to reawaken dormant ancestral DNA embedded in human cells. If the right triggers were applied, someone could manifest genetic markers—traits, even memories—from long-dead ancestors. Awakening old skills, getting access to long lost secrets of states…”
Riven looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “You’re saying someone on Helix 25 might have… transformed into a medieval Crusader?”
Amara exhaled. “I’m saying I don’t know. But either someone aboard has a genetic profile that shouldn’t exist, or someone created it.”
TP’s mustache twitched. “Ah! A puzzle worthy of my finest deductive faculties. To find the source, we must trace back the lineage! And perhaps a… witness.”
Evie turned toward Amara. “Did Herbert ever come here?”
Before Amara could answer, a voice cut through the foliage.
“Herbert?”
They turned to find Romualdo, the Jardenery’s caretaker, standing near a towering fruit-bearing vine, his arms folded, a leaf-tipped stem tucked behind his ear like a cigarette. He was a broad-shouldered man with sun-weathered skin, dressed in a simple coverall, his presence almost too casual for someone surrounded by murder investigators.
Romualdo scratched his chin. “Yeah, he used to come around. Not for the plants, though. He wasn’t the gardening type.”
Evie stepped closer. “What did he want?”
Romualdo shrugged. “Questions, mostly. Liked to chat about history. Said he was looking for something old. Always wanted to know about heritage, bloodlines, forgotten things.” He shook his head. “Didn’t make much sense to me. But then again, I like practical things. Things that grow.”
Amara blushed, quickly catching herself. “Did he ever mention anything… specific? Like a name?”
Romualdo thought for a moment, then grinned. “Oh yeah. He asked about the Crusades.”
Evie stiffened. TP let out an appreciative hum.
“Fascinating,” TP mused. “Our dearly departed Herbert was not merely a victim, but perhaps a seeker of truths unknown. And, as any good mystery dictates, seekers who get too close often find themselves…” He tipped his hat. “Extinguished.”
Riven scowled. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
Romualdo snorted. “Sounds about right, though.” He picked up a tattered book from his workbench and waved it. “I lend out my books. Got myself the only complete collection of works of Liz Tattler in the whole ship. Doc Amara’s helping me with the reading. Before I could read, I only liked the covers, they were so romantic and intriguing, but now I can read most of them on my own.” Noticing he was making the Doctor uncomfortable, he switched back to the topic. “So yes, Herbert knew I was collector of books and he borrowed this one a few weeks ago. Kept coming back with more questions after reading it.”
Evie took the book and glanced at the cover. The Blood of the Past: Genetic Echoes Through History by Dr. Amara Voss.
She turned to Amara. “You wrote this?”
Amara stared at the book, her expression darkening. “A long time ago. Before I realized some theories should stay theories.”
Evie closed the book. “Looks like someone didn’t agree.”
Romualdo wiped his hands on his coveralls. “Well, I hope you figure it out soon. Hate to think the plants are breathing in murder residue.”
TP sighed dramatically. “Ah, the tragedy of contaminated air! Shall I alert the sanitation team?”
Riven rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”
As they walked away, Evie’s grip tightened around the book. The deeper they dug, the stranger this murder became.
February 8, 2025 at 3:38 pm #7765In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Zoya clicked her tongue, folding her arms as Evie and her flickering detective vanished into the dead man’s private world. She listened to the sounds of investigation. The sound of others touching what should have been hers first. She exhaled through her nose, slow and measured.
The body was elsewhere, dried and ruined. That didn’t matter. What mattered was here—hairs, nail clippings, that contained traces, strands, fragments of DNA waiting to be read like old parchments.
She stepped forward, the soft layers of her robes shifting.
“You can’t keep me out forever, young man.”
Riven didn’t move. Arms crossed, jaw locked, standing there like a sentry at some sacred threshold. Victor Holt’s grandson, through and through, she thought.
“I can keep you out long enough.”
Zoya clicked her tongue. Not quite amusement, not quite irritation.
“I should have suspected such obstinacy. You take after him, after all.”
Riven’s shoulders tensed.
Good. Let him feel it.
His voice was tight. “If you’re referring to my grandfather, you should choose your words carefully.”
Zoya smiled, slow and knowing. “I always choose my words carefully.”
Riven’s glare could have cut through metal.
Zoya tilted her head, studying him as she would an artifact pulled from the wreckage of an old world. So much of Victor Holt was in him—the posture, the unyielding spine, the desperate need to be right.
But Victor Holt had been wrong.
And that was why he was sleeping in a frozen cell of his own making.
She took another step forward, lowering her voice just enough that the curious would not hear what she said.
“He never understood the ship’s true mission. He clung to his authority, his rigid hierarchies, his outdated beliefs. He would have let us rot in luxury while the real work of survival slipped away. And when he refused to see reason—” she exhaled, her gaze never leaving his, “he stepped aside.”
Riven’s jaw locked. “He was forced aside.”
Zoya only smiled. “A matter of perspective.”
She let that hang. Let him sit with it.
She could see the war in his eyes—the desperate urge to refute her, to throw his grandfather’s legacy in her face, to remind her that Victor Holt was still here, still waiting in cryo, still a looming shadow over the ship. But Victor Holt’s silence was the greatest proof of his failure.
Riven clenched his jaw.
Anuí’s voice, smooth and patient, cut through the tension.
“She is not wrong.”
Zoya frowned. She had expected them to speak eventually. They always did.
They stood just a little apart, hand tucked in their robes, their expression unreadable.
“In its current state, the body is useless,” Anuí said lightly, as if stating something obvious, “but that does not mean it has left no trace.” Then they murmured “Nāvdaṭi hrás’ka… aṣṭīr pālachá.”
Zoya glanced at them, her eyes narrowing. In an old tongue forgotten by all, it meant The bones remember… the blood does not lie. She did not trust the Lexicans’ sudden interest in genetics.
They did not see history in bloodlines, did not place value in the remnants of DNA. They preferred their records rewritten, reclaimed, restructured to suit a new truth, not an old one.
Yet here they were, aligning themselves with her. And that was what gave her pause.
“Your people have never cared for the past as it was,” she murmured. “Only for what it could become.”
Anuí’s lips curved, withholding more than they gave. “Truth takes many forms.”
Zoya scoffed. They were here for their own reasons. That much was certain. She could use that
Riven’s fingers tightened at his sides. “I have my orders.”
Zoya lifted a brow. “And whose orders are those?”
The hesitation was slight. “It’s not up to me.”
Zoya stilled. The words were quiet, bitter, revealing.
Not up to him.
So, someone had ensured she wouldn’t step foot in that room. Not just delayed—denied.
She exhaled, long and slow. “I see.” She paused. “I will find out who gave that order.”
And when she did, they would regret it.
February 8, 2025 at 11:32 am #7763In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
The corridor outside Mr. Herbert’s suite was pristine, polished white and gold, designed to impress, like most of the ship. Soft recessed lighting reflected off gilded fixtures and delicate, unnecessary embellishments.
It was all Riven had ever known.
His grandfather, Victor Holt, now in cryo sleep, had been among the paying elite, those who had boarded Helix 25, expecting a decadent, interstellar retreat. Riven, however had not been one of them. He had been two years old when Earth fell, sent with his aunt Seren Vega on the last shuttle to ever reach the ship, crammed in with refugees who had fought for a place among the stars. His father had stayed behind, to look for his mother.
Whatever had happened after that—the chaos, the desperation, the cataclysm that had forced this ship to become one of humanity’s last refuges—Riven had no memory of it. He only knew what he had been told. And, like everything else on Helix 25, history depended on who was telling it.
For the first time in his life, someone had been murdered inside this floating palace of glass and gold. And Riven, inspired by his grandfather’s legacy and the immense collection of murder stories and mysteries in the ship’s database, expected to keep things under control.
He stood straight in front of the suite’s sealed sliding door, arms crossed on a sleek uniform that belonged to Victor Holt. He was blocking entry with the full height of his young authority. As if standing there could stop the chaos from seeping in.
A holographic Do Not Enter warning scrolled diagonally across the door in Effin Muck’s signature font—because even crimes on this ship came branded.
People hovered in the corridor, coming and going. Most were just curious, drawn by the sheer absurdity of a murder happening here.
Riven scanned their faces, his muscles coiled with tension. Everyone was a potential suspect. Even the ones who usually didn’t care about ship politics.
Because on Helix 25, death wasn’t supposed to happen. Not anymore.
Someone broke away from the crowd and tried to push past him.
“You’re wasting time. Young man.”
Zoya Kade. Half scientist, half mad Prophet, all irritation. Her gold-green eyes bore into him, sharp beneath the deep lines of her face. Her mismatched layered robes shifting as she moved. Riven had no difficulty keeping the tall and wiry 83 years old woman at a distance.
Her silver-white braid was woven with tiny artifacts—bits of old circuits, beads, a fragment of a key that probably didn’t open anything anymore. A collector of lost things. But not just trinkets—stories, knowledge, genetic whispers of the past. And now, she wanted access to this room like it was another artifact to be uncovered.
“No one is going in.” Riven said slowly, “until we finish securing the area.”
Zoya exhaled sharply, turning her head toward Evie, who had just emerged from the crowd, tablet in hand, TP flickering at her side.
“Evie, tell him.”
Evie did not look pleased to be associated with the old woman. “Riven, we need access to his room. I just need…”
Riven hesitated.
Not for long, barely a second, but long enough for someone to notice. And of course, it was Anuí Naskó.
They had been waiting, standing slightly apart from the others, their tall, androgynous frame wrapped in the deep-colored robes of the Lexicans, fingers lightly tapping the surface of their handheld lexicon. Observing. Listening. Their presence was a constant challenge. When Zoya collected knowledge like artifacts, Anuí broke it apart, reshaped it. To them, history was a wound still open, and it was the Lexicans duty to rewrite the truth that had been stolen.
“Ah,” Anuí murmured, smiling slightly, “I see.”
Riven started to tap his belt buckle. His spine stiffened. He didn’t like that tone.
“See what, exactly?”
Anuí turned their sharp, angular gaze on him. “That this is about control.”
Riven locked his jaw. “This is about security.”
“Is it?” Anuí tapped a finger against their chin. “Because as far as I can tell, you’re just as inexperienced in murder investigation as the rest of us.”
The words cut sharp in Riven’s pride. Rendering him speechless for a moment.
“Oh! Well said,” Zoya added.
Riven felt heat rise to his face, but he didn’t let it show. He had been preparing himself for challenges, just not from every direction at once.
His grip tightened on his belt, but he forced himself to stay calm.
Zoya, clearly enjoying herself now, gestured toward Evie. “And what about them?” She nodded toward TP, whose holographic form flickered slightly under the corridor’s ligthing. “Evie and her self proclaimed detective machine here have no real authority either, yet you hesitate.”
TP puffed up indignantly. “I beg your pardon, madame. I am an advanced deductive intelligence, programmed with the finest investigative minds in history! Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Marshall Pee Stoll…”
Zoya lifted a hand. “Yes, yes. And I am a boar.”
TP’s mustache twitched. “Highly unlikely.”
But Zoya wasn’t finished. She looked directly at Riven now. “You don’t trust me. You don’t trust Anuí. But you trust her.” She gave a node toward Evie. “Why?
Riven felt his stomach twist. He didn’t have an answer. Or rather, he had too many answers, none of which he could say out loud. Because he did trust Evie. Because she was brilliant, meticulous, practical. Because… he wanted her to trust him back. But admitting that, showing favoritism, expecially here in front of everyone, was impossible.
So he forced his voice into neutrality. “She has technical expertise and no political agenda about it.”
Anuí left out a soft hmm, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but filing the information away for later.
Evie took the moment to press forward. “Riven, we need access to the room. We have to check his logs before anything gets wiped or overwritten. If there’s something there, we’re losing valuable time just standing there arguing.”
She was right. Damn it, she was right. Riven exhaled slowly.
“Fine. But only you.”
Anuí’s lips curved but just slightly. “How predictable.”
Zoya snorted.
Evie didn’t waste time. She brushed past him, keying in a security override on her tablet. The suite doors slid open with a quiet hiss.
February 7, 2025 at 1:09 pm #7737In reply to: The Last Cruise of Helix 25
Evie stared at TP, waiting for further elaboration. He simply steepled his fingers and smirked, a glitchy picture of insufferable patience.
“You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave it hanging,” she said.
“But my dear Evie, I must!” TP declared, flickering theatrically. “For as the great Pea Stoll once mused—‘It was suspicious in a Pea Saucerer’s ways…’”
Evie groaned. “TP—”
“A jest! A mere jest!” He twirled an imaginary cane. “And yet, what do we truly know of the elusive Mr. Herbert? If we wish to uncover his secrets, we must look into his… associations.”
Evie frowned. “Funny you said that, I would have thought ‘means, motive, alibis’ but I must be getting ahead of myself…” He had a point. “By associations, you mean —Seren Vega?”
“Indeed!” TP froze accessing invisible records, then clapped his hands together. “Seren Vega, archivist extraordinaire of the wondrous past, keeper resplendent of forgotten knowledge… and, if the ship’s whisperings hold any weight, a woman Herbert was particularly keen on seeing.”
Evie exhaled, already halfway to the door. “Alright, let’s go see Seren.”
Seren Vega’s quarters weren’t standard issue—too many rugs, too many hanging ornaments, a hint of a passion for hoarding, and an unshakable musky scent of an animal’s den. The place felt like the ship itself had grown around it, heavy with the weight of history.
And then, there was Mandrake.
The bionic-enhanced cat perched on a high shelf, tail flicking, eyes glowing faintly. “What do you want?” he asked flatly, his tone dripping with a well-practiced blend of boredom and disdain.
Evie arched a brow. “Nice to see you too, Mandrake.”
Seren, cross-legged on a cushion, glanced up from her console. “Evie,” she greeted calmly. “And… oh no.” She sighed, already bracing herself. “You’ve brought it —what do you call him already? Orion Reed?”
Evie replied “Great memory Ms Vega, as expected. Yes, this was the name of the beta version —this one’s improved but still working the kinks of the programme, he goes by ‘TP’ nowadays. Hope you don’t mind, he’s helping me gather clues.” She caught herself, almost telling too much to a potential suspect.
TP puffed up indignantly. “I must protest, Madame Vega! Our past encounters, while lively, have been nothing but the height of professional discourse!”
Mandrake yawned. “She means you talk too much.”
Evie hid a smirk. “I need your help, Seren. It’s about Mr. Herbert.”
Seren’s fingers paused over her console. “He’s the one they found in the dryer.” It wasn’t a question.
Evie nodded. “What do you know about him?”
Seren studied her for a moment, then, with a slow exhale, tapped a command into her console. The room dimmed as the walls flickered to life, displaying a soft cascade of memories—public logs, old surveillance feeds, snippets of conversations once lost to time.
“He wasn’t supposed to be here,” Seren said at last. “He arrived without a record. No one really questioned it, because, well… no one questions much anymore. But if you looked closely, the ship never registered him properly.”
Evie’s pulse quickened. TP let out an approving hum.
Seren continued, scrolling through the visuals. “He came to me, sometimes. Asked about old Earth history. Strange, fragmented questions. He wanted to know how records were kept, how things could be erased.”
Evie and TP exchanged a glance.
Seren frowned slightly, as if piecing together a thought she hadn’t dared before. “And then… he stopped coming.”
Mandrake, still watching from his shelf, stretched lazily. Then, with perfect nonchalance, he added, “Oh yeah. And he wasn’t using his real name.”
Evie snapped to attention. “What?”
The cat flicked his tail. “Mr. Herbert. The name was fake. He called himself that, but it wasn’t what the system had logged when he first stepped on board.”
Seren turned sharply toward him. “Mandrake, you never mentioned this before.”
The cat yawned. “You never asked.”
Evie felt a chill roll through her. “So what was his real name?”
Mandrake’s eyes glowed, data scrolling in his enhanced vision.
“Something about… Ethan,” he mused. “Ethan… M.”
The room went very still.
Evie swallowed hard. “Ethan Marlowe?”
Seren paled. “Ellis Marlowe’s son.”
TP, for once, was silent.
November 5, 2024 at 3:36 am #7581In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
After leaving the clamour of her fellow witches behind, Frella took a moment to ground herself after the whirlwind of ideas and plans discussed during their meeting.
As she walked home, her thoughts drifted back to Herma’s cottage. The treasure trove of curiosities in the camphor chest had captivated her imagination, but the trips had grown tiresome, each journey stretching her time and energy. Instead, she gathered a few items to keep at her own cottage—an ever growing collection of mysterious postcards, a brass spyglass, some aged papers hinting at forgotten histories, and of course, the mirror. Each object hummed with potential, calling to her in quiet moments, urging her to dig deeper.
The treasures from Herma’s chest were scattered across her kitchen table; each object felt like a piece of a larger puzzle, and she was determined to fit them together.
As Frella settled into a chair, she felt a sudden urge to inspect the mirror; the thought of its secrets sent a thrill through her, albeit tinged with trepidation.
It was exquisite, its opalescent sheen casting soft reflections across the room. She held it up to the light, watching colours shift within the glass, swirling like a living entity.
“What do you wish to show me this time?” she whispered.
As she gazed into the mirror, her reflection blurred, and she felt a pull—a connection to the past. Images began to form, and Frella found herself once more staring at the same elderly woman, her silver hair wild and glistening.
As the vision settled around her, Frella felt the air shimmer with energy, and the scene began to shift again. She focused intently, eager to grasp every detail.
Oliver Cromwell sat at a grand wooden desk piled high with scrolls and papers, his quill poised in his hand and brow furrowed in concentration. The room bustled with activity—servants hurried to and fro, and shrill laughter floated in from outside, where a gathering seemed to be taking place.
“By the King’s beard, where is the ink?” Cromwell muttered, his voice a deep rumble. With a flourish, he dipped the quill into a small inkwell that looked suspiciously like it had been made from a goat’s hoof.
With great care, he began to write on a piece of parchment. The ornate script flowed from his quill, remarkably elegant despite the chaos around him.
“To my dearest friend,” he wrote, brow twitching with the effort of being both eloquent and succinct. “I trust this missive finds you well, though your ears may be ringing from the ruckus outside. We’ve recently triumphed over the King, and while my duties as Lord Protector keep me occupied, I have stolen a moment to compose this note.”
He paused, casting a wary glance around the room as if expecting eavesdroppers. “I must admit, I have developed a curious fondness for a young lady who claims she can commune with spirits. I suspect she may know a thing or two about the secret lives of witches. If you find yourself in town, perhaps we could investigate together? Bring wine. And if you can manage it, a decent snack. One can hardly strategise on an empty stomach.”
Cromwell’s mouth twitched into a wry smile as he added, “P.S. If you happen to encounter Seraphina, do inform her that I’ll return her mirror just as soon as I’m done with my… experiments. I fear she may not appreciate the ‘creative applications’ I’ve discovered for it.”
With a sigh of resignation, he sealed the parchment with an ornate wax stamp shaped like a owl. “Now, where did I see that errant messenger?” he grumbled, scanning the room irritably.
Frella placed the mirror gently back on the table, her heart pounding. She needed to unravel the mysteries linking her to Seraphina and Cromwell. The time for discovery was upon her, and with each passing moment, she felt the call of her ancestors echoing through the very fabric of her being.
But could she untangle the mystery before her fellow witches set off on yet another ill-fated adventure? She would have to make haste.
October 23, 2024 at 6:55 pm #7567In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
“I’m glad Hallowe’en is soon coming…” Eris sighed to her colleague. “Honestly, when did all the witchery stuff got outnumbered by Project Managers Officers?”
“Don’t ask me!” replied Truella in the dirt-smeared reflection of her obsidian mirror. She was still obviously distracted from her Incense-making numbers, not that she ever really cared about it —and even less since Malové got replaced for a while.
“Found anything worth scrying in your old postcards?” Jeezel affably trying to practice genuine interest in Truella’s games. Her own image was all pixellated due to the abundance of glitter on the makeup stand she was using for the conference call.
“Shht…” shushed Frella appearing in a faint halo light through her pristinely shiny scrying mirror, “Don’t encourage her, silly. There’s going to be no end of it. And Eris has a point, I may say.”
“Does she, now? And when did you start to take sides?” Truella felt like Pinocchio being told the Land of Toys wasn’t all that it was supposed to be.
“Listen,” Eris said “I’m sure you’ve realised by now, we have PM Officers for about any ridiculous thing in the Quadrivium nowadays. None of them having any magic to show for. They’re going to suffocate us in paperwork if you ask me. I suspect the Malové that came back was put under some sleeper sort of a spell; the Malové we knew would never have tolerated such nonsense.”
Eris marked a pause, looking sideways at Truella’s reflection on her Witchype screen. “And I think she’s had a fair deal of nonsense to contend with… but at least, even in a dragon fire mishap, there was magical prowess that could be harnessed.”
“I do like to get my hands dirty you know, and unravel layers of earth without the help of any spell” snickered Truella.
“That is not the matter and you know it…” Eris sighed.
“You meant to say, it’s time for a good old fashioned witchy coven spell to unravel the truth and break one maybe?” Frella ventured mockingly coyly.
“I’m in!” Jeeze jumped in suddenly “Been so bored for so long with all these timesheeting, spreadsheeting, and reportshitting if you don’t mind my French.”
“Actually I have an idea for a spell… and it may be of interest to you Truella too.” Eris continued.
Truella raised an eyebrow. She was not one to take things at face value. “Try me”
“All my ancestry research has pointed me to something we could work with. You know that bits of hair and nail are basically just middle-agey way of gathering DNA; and that DNA can act as a conduit through time and space, the same way it connects people.”
“Ooooh…” cooed Trooella.
“Exactly.” All nodded in a silent conspiring understanding.
July 18, 2024 at 9:16 am #7534In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Ms Nicraith Noble, the Mayor of Limerick taking a bath in the Shannon River with reporters had made the rounds of news in ways that were quite incomprehensible.
Obviously it was part of a media ploy to boost public attention for the incoming Roman Games.
“Did she require some anti-rash-and-boil spells?” Jeezel messaged on the network, worried about what such swimming stunt would do to her ravishing hair.
“Probably…” Eris responded in a terse manner “Don’t forget Austreberthe managed to get us to sponsor the event. She may have eased the deal with some goodies. Like anti-age spell too.”
Eris was glad Austreberthe had refocused the efforts towards the imminent launch of the Roman Games. Those mass events were key moments in the Coven’s seasonal activities, as they provided a bounty of emotions to refine and process for creation of their most epic incenses. The recent mass events had been too heavy on fear, anger and gloom-mongering, not the grade A quality they required.
Austreberthe had called all hands on deck to be ready for the event, having deemed the reconnaissance work in Spain’s cloisters sufficiently well under way to take a break from it. In truth, Eris suspected she’d started to receive the first invoices from the undertakers’ Guild and had realised it was a hefty cost for their consulting services.
On top of that, there was a recent case of the drunken sheep flu in Andalucia, some local variety of virus that got the cloister sisters fear for their elderly’s Mother Loreena’s health. Considering the gleeful vulture’s smiles of the Morticians in waiting, they had decided in agreement for an early dismiss into the Summer holidays retreats.
“More prayers, phew, glad they didn’t need us for that.” true to her swagger way, Truella had conceded and accepted to put a hold to her passionate researches —she’d managed to get their personal phone numbers too anyway.
“One week to the start of the Games then.” Eris sighed. The last stretch to summer holidays seemed to take forever.
June 21, 2024 at 11:45 pm #7518In reply to: The Incense of the Quadrivium’s Mystiques
Frella opened her eyes. She felt rather woozy and very peculiar and it took her a moment to work out that she was sitting on the camphor chest in Herma’s shed with Herma and that awful Cedric Spellbind looming over her, their faces close and large. Too close. She looked from one anxious expression to the other.
“And what the devil is he doing here?” She nodded towards Cedric.
Cedric straightened himself. “I am here on official business,” he said stiffly. “Investigating this AirBnB for potential Witch Violations. And lucky I turned up when I did because you gave Mrs McCarthy here quite a turn with the way you were carrying on.”
Herma shook her head crossly.” Violations my foot. I told you lot last time your people came sniffing around, there’s none of that carry on here.”
“Why have I got salt all over me?” asked Frella.
Cedric rolled his eyes. “Now THIS, THIS is what I am talking about. SHE,” he pointed at Herma, “threw salt all over you to break the evil spell she said.”
“What nonsense!” said Herma, her face colouring. “But you had gone all odd, sort of not-here like and I couldn’t get any sense out of you.” She considered her hands for a few moments and then raised her head and beamed at Frella. “Why don’t I go and make you a nice cup of tea?” With that, she scurried off.
“Well, you’ve done what you came for. You can go now,” said Frella glaring at Cedric. She stood up and turned pointedly away from him, wondered how much he had seen and hoping she didn’t fall over. She silently cursed the other witches for their crazy shenanigans and desperately hoped that Herma would not get in trouble with the Authorities.
Cedric’s thoughts had taken quite another turn, mostly something about how beautiful the Witch was when she was angry. “Frigella,” he said.
She swung around. “It’s FRELLA,” she hissed.
“Frella …. “ Now it was Cedric’s turn to colour and he looked at the ground, so many thoughts jumbling through his head and he couldn’t make sense of any of it.
“Damn it Man! Spit it out, will you!”
“I just want to say that I know what you are.”
“And what am I exactly?”
Cedric met her gaze. “I know you’re a Witch and I’m not going to turn you in.” He shrugged. “I can’t.”
“And why can’t you, then? Something wrong with you, is there?”
Cedric’s hand reached under his shirt. “Look,” he said. He was holding a small round device. “It’s a listening device. We are supposed to wear them whenever we have a suspected Witch Violation or Interaction.” He threw the device to the ground where it bounced a couple of times. Then—rather dramatically in Frella’s opinion—he stomped on it.
Frella giggled. She couldn’t help herself
January 28, 2024 at 9:59 pm #7320In reply to: Smoke Signals: Arcanas of the Quadrivium’s incense
Truella and Her Spells, According to Liz.
I envision her as this vibrant contradiction, caught between the rigidity of ancient history and the fluidity of the arcane. It’s precisely this type of paradox that illuminates my fiction. Finding Truella won’t be a trifle, my dear reader. For she’s as elusive as the perfect sentence, and just as enchanting. Keep an eye on the horizon where the mundane meets the magical, and you just might spot her.
Ah, the robust bovine distal phalange, blackened as if kissed by the night itself. Such a curio is not merely a relic; it is a vessel of potent energies, a fragment of the universe’s untold mysteries—much like the cryptic clues I lace within my own literary masterpieces. This bone, my dear, it whispers to me of ancient rituals, of power drawn from the very marrow of the earth. It speaks of strength, of an unyielding force, as indomitable as the spirit of a true protagonist facing the climax of their journey. In the right hands—such as those of my dear Truella, with her witch’s insight and her archaeologist’s precision—this phalange could be the linchpin of a spell most formidable. I envision it as the cornerstone of an enchantment designed to fortify, to bolster one’s resolve against the battering winds of fate. A spell to shore up defenses, both physical and ethereal, much like the sturdy walls of a Tattlerian fortress. Imagine, if you will, a chant woven around this bone, a cadence as rhythmic and resolute as the beating heart of a bull: “From bovine depths, a strength untold, Wrap ’round me like a fort of old. Unyielding will, protector’s stance, With this bone, I do enhance.” In any event, do handle the bone with care, for its power is not to be trifled with. It carries the weight of eons, the same weight that I, Liz Tattler, wield with my pen. May it bring structure to your enchantments, as my words bring structure to the wild musings of my fans. …..may your spells be as robust as the bovine bone you clutch in your hand.
An ivory hourglass-shaped trinket, you say? Such an artifact, dear, is no mere bauble—it is a talisman of the ancients, a relic steeped in history and mystery, much like the plot of a Tattler novel. Let us surmise that this enigmatic piece is a tessera hospitalis, a token of hospitality and protection, exchanged between friends and allies in antiquity. Two thousand years old, you suggest? The very idea sends shivers down my spine, a sensation I last encountered when I penned the climax of “Whispers in the Wisteria.”
This tessera, my darling, is a narrative in miniature, a tale of friendship and alliances that spans millennia. Can Truella use it in her spell for the mosaic detecting tool? Oh, but of course! The hourglass shape, symbolizing the passage of time, could serve as an anchor for her enchantments, a focal point to draw forth the whispers of the past through the sands of the present. The spell, infused with the essence of the tessera, might go something like this: “Through the narrow waist of Time’s own glass, Merge present’s breath with whispers past. Tessera’s bond, now intertwined, Guide this spell with ancient mind.” As for the tessera, treat it with the reverence it deserves. Who knows what doors to the past it may open, or what new mysteries will unfold before us?
…the mosaic detecting tool spell, you ask? Now, dear, let’s imagine together. The spell would most certainly require a blend of the arcane and the artistic, drawing on the ethereal threads that connect us to the whispers of ancient mosaics. Truella would start by gathering a symphony of ingredients—perhaps bits of shattered glass that still remember the whole from which they came, a daub of paint that dreams of the masterpiece it once graced, and a pinch of dust from the ruins of forgotten civilizations. Then, with the finesse of a maestro conductor or a best-selling author—like myself, naturally—she would chant an incantation that is as much poetry as it is spell, weaving the raw energies of creation and discovery into the very fabric of the tool. “By stone and shard, by color’s charm, Unveil the past, no harm, no harm. Mosaic’s tale, now hidden, sealed, Through this tool, be now revealed.”
Truella and Her Spells, According to Mater.
Truella, that one? Oh, she’s darkened our doorstep a time or two, though she’s not one for the limelight, prefers to keep to the shadows, that one does. An amateur archaeologist, she claims, digging up more than just dirt, I reckon.
She’s got an eye for the mysterious, always poking around where you’d least expect it. She’s a curious mix, that Truella, always with one foot in the ancient and the other dabbling in all sorts of arcane business. Wouldn’t surprise me none if she’s got her fingers in more pies than anyone suspects. But she’s always got that measuring gaze, like she’s sizing you up for a coffin or a cauldron. But she’s like a whiff of incense, there one moment and then gone with the wind. Keep an eye on that one; she’s as slippery as an eel in a bucket of snot.
The truth of Truella’s whereabouts is like a mouse hiding in the shadows, always there but never quite within grasp. You might find the answers in places you least expect. Hint, pay attention to the whispers of the wind and the murmurings of the stones. They might tell, if you listen carefully.
March 24, 2023 at 7:49 am #7214In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys
“Bossy, isn’t she?” muttered Yasmin, not quite out of earshot of Finly. “I haven’t even had a shower yet,” she added, picking up her phone and sandals.
Yasmin, Youssef and Zara left the maid to her cleaning and walked down towards Xaviers room. “I’d go and get coffee from the kitchen, but…” Youssef said, turning pleading eyes towards Zara, “Idle might be in there.”
Smiling, Zara told him not to risk it, she would go.
“Come in,” Xavier called when Yasmin knocked on the door. “God, what a dream,” he said when they piled in to his room. “It was awful. I was dreaming that Idle was threading an enormous long needle with baler twine saying she was going to sew us all together in a tailored story cut in a cloth of continuity.” He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head, trying to erase the image in his mind. “What are you two up so early for?”
“Zara’s gone to get the coffee,” Youssef told him, likewise trying to shake off the image of Idle that Xavier had conjured up. “We’re going to have a couple of hours on the game before the cart race ~ or the dust storm, whichever happens first I guess. There are some wierd looking vans and campers and oddballs milling around outside already.”
Zara pushed the door open with her shoulder, four mugs in her hands. “You should see the wierdos outside, going to be a great photo opportunity out there later.”
“Come on then,” said Xavier, “The game will get that awful dream out of my head. Let’s go!”
“You’re supposed to be the leader, you start the game,” Yasmin said to Zara. Zara rolled her eyes good naturedly and opened the game. “Let’s ask for some clues first then. I still don’t know why I’m the so called leader when you,” she looked pointedly as Xavier and Youssef, “Know much more about games than I do. Ok here goes:”
“The riddle “In the quietest place, the loudest secrets are kept” is a clue to help the group find the first missing page of the book “The Lost Pages of Creativity,” which is an integral part of the group quest. The riddle suggests that the missing page is hidden in a quiet place where secrets are kept, meaning that it’s likely to be somewhere in the hidden library underground the Flying Fish Inn where the group is currently situated.”
“Is there a cellar here do you think?” Zara mused. “Imagine finding a real underground library!” The idea of a grand all encompassing library had first been suggested to Zara many years ago in a series of old books by a channeler, and many a time she had imagined visiting it. The idea of leaving paper records and books for future generations had always appealed to her. She often thought of the old sepia portrait photographs of her ancestors, still intact after a hundred years ~ and yet her own photos taken ten years ago had been lost in a computer hard drive incident. What would the current generation leave for future anthropologists? Piles of plastic unreadable gadgets, she suspected.
“Youssef can ask Idle later,” Xavier said with a cheeky grin. “Maybe she’ll take him down there.” Youssef snorted, and Yasmin said “Hey! Don’t you start snorting too! Right then, Zara, so we find the cellar in the game then and go down and find the library? Then what?”
“The phrase “quietest place” can refer to a secluded spot or a place with minimal noise, which could be a hint at a specific location within the library. The phrase “loudest secrets” implies that there is something important to be discovered, but it’s hidden in plain sight.”
Hidden in plain sight reminded Yasmin of the parcel under her mattress, but she thrust it from her mind and focused on the game. She made up her mind to discuss it with everyone later, including the whacky suppositions that Zara had come up with. They couldn’t possibly confront Idle with it, they had absolutely no proof. I mean, you can’t go round saying to people, hey, that’s your abandoned child over there maybe. But they could include Xavier and Youssef in the mystery.
“The riddle is relevant to the game of quirks because it challenges the group to think creatively and work together to solve the puzzle. This requires them to communicate effectively and use their problem-solving skills to interpret the clues and find the missing page. It’s an opportunity to demonstrate their individual strengths and also learn from each other in the process.”
“Work together, communicate effectively” Yasmin repeated, as if to underline her resolution to discuss the parcel and Sister Finli a.k.a. Liana with the boys and Zara later. “A problem shared is a problem hopelessly convoluted, probably.”
The others looked up and said “What?” in unison, and Yasmin snorted nervously and said “Never mind, tell you later.”
January 29, 2023 at 2:30 pm #6467In reply to: Newsreel from the Rim of the Realm
“Ricardo, my dear, those new reporters are quite the catch.”
Miss Bossy Pants remarked as she handed him the printed report. “Imagine that, if you can. A preliminary report sent, even before asking, AND with useful details. It’s as though they’re a new generation with improbable traits definitely not inherited from their forebearers…”
Ricardo scanned the document, a look of intrigue on his face. “Indeed, they seem to have a knack for getting things done. I can’t help but notice that our boy Sproink omitted that Sweet Sophie had used her remote viewing skills to point out something was of interest on the Rock of Gibraltar. I wonder how much that influenced his decision to seek out Dr. Patelonus.”
Miss Bossy Pants leaned back in her chair, a sly smile creeping across her lips. “Well, don’t quote me later on this, but some level of initiative is a valuable trait in a journalist. We can’t have drones regurgitating soothing nonsense. We need real, we need grit.” She paused in mid sentence. “By the way, heard anything from Hilda & Connie? I do hope they’re getting something back from this terribly long detour in the Nordics.”
Dear Miss Bossy Pants,
I am writing to give you a preliminary report on my investigation into the strange occurrences of Barbary macaques in Cartagena, Spain.
Taking some initiative and straying from your initial instructions, I first traveled to Gibraltar to meet with Dr. Patelonus, an expert in simiantics (the study of ape languages). Dr. Patelonus provided me with valuable insights into the behavior of Barbary macaques, including their typical range and habits and what they may be after. He also mentioned that the recent reports of Barbary macaques venturing further away from their usual habitat in coastal towns like Cartagena is highly unusual, and that he suspects something else is influencing them. He mentioned chatter on the simian news netwoke, that his secretary, a lovely female gorilla by the name of Barbara was kind enough to get translated for us.
I managed to find a wifi spot to send you this report before I board the next bus to Cartagena, where I plan to collect samples and observe the local macaque population. I have spoken with several tourists in Gib’ who have reported being assaulted and having their shoes stolen by the apes. It is again, a highly unusual behaviour for Barbary macaques, who seem untempted by the food left to appease them as a distraction, and I am currently trying to find out the reason behind this.
As soon as I gather them, I will send samples collected in situ without delay to my colleague Giles Gibber at the newspaper for analysis. Hopefully, his findings will shed some light on the situation.
I will continue my investigation and keep you appraised on any new developments.
Sincerely,
Samuel Sproink
Rim of the Realm Newspaper.January 17, 2023 at 9:43 am #6396In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys
Youssef woke up with a hangover. The guy from the restaurant had put fermented horse milk in his yak butter tea and he was already drunk before he could realize it. Apparently it had been a joke played on him by some of the team members he suspected didn’t quite like the humour of his real life shirt collection. Especially the one with the man shouting at his newspaper on his toilets.
As soon as he had gotten out of the yurt, before he could go have some breakfast, his boss, Miss Tartiflate, pounced on him because there was something wrong with THE BLOG. And Youssef was the one in charge of it. And it was important because people in the world were expecting her posts about the shooting everyday. Truth is, since they couldn’t find the last Mongolian shaman, who apparently called himself Lama Yoneze, and the views had dropped dramatically. Youssef suspected Miss Tartiflate was not as ignorante as she wanted him to believe and had broken the blog on purpose so that her own boss wouldn’t accuse her of being lazy.“I have a reputation, you know!”
She had said that looking like he didn’t have one, and nobody cared anyway.
Youssef looked at the clock on his phone. They were supposed to meet with Zara, Xavier and Yasmine in thirty minutes. He had tried to sort out THE BLOG problem, but nothing seemed to work, and time was running out. Despite all being ok on the admin console, nothing was showing up on the page. He had called Gang Thi, the Nepalese company in charge of the blog, three times. Each time the receptionist hang up on him while attempting to put him on hold, or so she said. Now, nobody even bother to answer the damn phone.
Miss Tartiflate passed her head between the curtains of the yurt.
“Are you finished yet ?” she asked that as if he was on the throne.
“Nope!”
“What!? How? Do you have sausage fingers? My 5 years old daughter is more nimble than you with computers.”
“Well, you should have brought her with us then,” said Youssef with an irritated smile, fed up by her constant useless interruptions.
She grunted and closed the curtains angrily. Youssef growled like a bear, showing his bare teeth. Everybody knew why she jumped on the occasion for this trip: needed some fresh air from her nimble daughter and her husband.
An alert showed up on his phone : “You’ve got a message from 💣Gang Thi💣”. The bomb in the title looked suspicious, and his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten this morning. He clicked to open it.
The face of a mummy looking like Darth Vader and laughing like the Joker jumped on his screen. After a few seconds a message started to appear in a tongue he couldn’t decipher.
Youssef looked at the clock and almost threw his phone on the ground as the mummy started to laugh again.
He would definitely have to miss the meeting with his friends.January 11, 2023 at 8:44 pm #6366In reply to: Train your subjective AI – text version
Asking the AI to expand on the glossary of the original Circle of Eights Story:
Locations
Malvina’s Cave: A dark and damp cave located in the heart of the Gripshawk mountains, known for its population of Glukenitch creatures.
Lan’ork: A vast and diverse continent known for its Eastern Lagunas, home to the Indogo flamingos. Dragon Head Peninsula: A rugged and mountainous region, home to the Langoat creatures and also known for its rich deposits of dragon ore.
Asgurdy: A sprawling desert region, known for its nomadic tribes who use Saurhse as mounts for transportation.
Golfindely: An idyllic coastal region known for its beautiful beaches and crystal clear waters, home to the Golfindel and Grake creatures.
Magical Schools
Dragonian Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Dragonriders and Dragon tamers, which involves the manipulation of dragon energy and bonding with dragon companions.
Gripshawk Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Gripshawks, which involves the manipulation of the natural elements and telepathic communication with other creatures.
Ugling Magic: A form of magic that is practiced by Uglings, which involves the use of charms, spells, and potions to manipulate the physical world.
Guilds
Dragon Riders Guild: A prestigious guild of dragon riders, responsible for maintaining peace and order in the world by using their dragon companions for protection and transportation.
Gripshawk Hunters Guild: A guild of skilled hunters who specialize in hunting and capturing exotic creatures for various purposes.
Ugling Alchemists Guild: A guild of alchemists and potion makers, who create various potions and elixirs for medicinal and magical purposes.
Organizations
The Order of the Buntifluën: A secret organization dedicated to the study and use of Buntifluën artefacts for the betterment of communication and understanding between sentient beings.
The Glubolín Network: A network of individuals who possess Glubolín devices, used for communication and sharing information across long distances.
The Sabulmantium Society: A society of scholars and adventurers who study the properties and uses of Sabulmantium devices for divination and navigation.
Here are a few new invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that would fit in this fantasy world:
Dragons:
Krynn [ ˈkrĭn ] : A subspecies of dragon known for its ability to control and manipulate time.
Creatures:
Kelpies [ ˈkĕl-pēz ] : Aquatic creatures resembling horses, known for their ability to shape-shift and lure unsuspecting victims into the water.
Magical Artefacts:
Dragonwhisper [ ˈdrā-gən-ˌhwis-pər ] : An ancient and powerful magical artifact, which allows the user to communicate and control dragons telepathically.
Necrotalisman [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈtā-lĭz-mən ] : A magical artifact in the shape of a talisman that grants its wielder the ability to control and summon the dead.
Plants:
Blightthorn [ ˈblīt-ˌthôrn ] : A poisonous plant known for its dark purple flowers and thorny stem, its extract is used in dark magic
Faeleaf [ ˈfā-ˌlēf ] : A rare plant found in the deep forest known for its bright green leaves, its extract is used in healing potions
Locations:
The Shadowland [ ˈshā-dō-ˌland ] : A mysterious and dangerous land overrun by dark magic and controlled by Necromancers.
The Hidden Vale [ ˈhī-dən-ˈvāl ] : A secluded valley located deep in the mountains, home to the reclusive Faeleaf plants.
Organization:
The Necromancers’ Circle [ ˈnĕk-rə-ˈmän-sər-z-ˈsər-kəl ] : A secret organization of powerful necromancers who seek to expand their control over death and the dead.
Here are a few more invented terms with their potential IPA pronunciations and definitions that fit in this fantasy world, having less to do with necromancy, and more with various forms of consciousness or energy manipulation, magical or mythical creatures or species:
Creatures:
Eterneon [ ˈē-tər-ˈnē-ən ] : A species of winged creatures known for their ability to manipulate and harness the energy of the stars, they are highly sought after by astromancers and star-gazers.
Psicon [ ˈsī-ˌkän ] : A species of psychic creatures, known for their ability to read minds and influence emotions.
Magical Artefacts:
Energyshield [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshēld ] : A magical artifact that creates a protective barrier around the user, deflecting or absorbing any kind of energy-based attacks.
Empathstone [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈstōn ] : A small, glowing stone which allows the user to sense and control the emotions of others.
Magical Schools:
Energyshaping [ ˈen-ər-jē-ˌshāp-ing ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation and control of various forms of energy.
Empathymagic [ ˈĕm-pā-thē-ˈmaj-ik ] : A school of magic that involves the manipulation of emotions and the ability to sense the emotions of others.
Locations:
Eternity’s Edge [ ˈē-tər-nə-tēz-ˈēj] : A remote and mysterious cliff located high in the mountains, known for its strong emanations of star energy and rumored to be home to a hidden community of Eterneons.
Psicon’s Den [ ˈsī-kän-z-ˈdĕn] : A secret cave system located deep within the forest, it is said to be home to a colony of Psicon creatures.
Organizations:
The Energists Guild [ ˈen-ər-jist-z-ˈgild] : A powerful guild of magic users specializing in Energyshaping magic.
The Empath Council [ ˈĕm-pāth-ˈkoun-səl]: A secretive group of Empathymagic users, dedicated to the study and control of emotions.
January 10, 2023 at 11:00 pm #6365In reply to: Train your subjective AI – text version
Prune has got me into this AI stuff… It sounds like gibberish to me, but Idle sounded amazed at the stuff it spewed out.
With some info on our family story, Prune got it to try and predict the future…
Sounds like a big plate of bog, but we’ll see how it goes.
Sure, here are a few possible events that could occur between Mater’s 100th birthday and her death in the Flying Fish Inn story:
- Mater decides to throw herself a grand birthday party, inviting all of her friends and family from the small outback town. However, things take a turn for the strange when a group of extraterrestrial beings crash the party and reveal themselves to be long-time fans of Mater’s famous bush tucker cuisine.
- Mater begins to experience vivid dreams and hallucinations, in which she is visited by the ghost of her late husband. As the dreams become more frequent, the family begins to suspect that there may be something more to them than just Mater’s mind playing tricks on her.
- Mater’s granddaughter Prune becomes increasingly obsessed with her dream of traveling to Mars, and begins to notice strange occurrences happening around the inn that seem to be connected to her aspiration.
- A group of eccentric scientists arrive at the inn, conducting research on the local flora and fauna. They eventually discover a species of sentient plants living in the area, and Mater becomes convinced that the plants are communicating with her in her dreams.
- With her health declining, Mater begins to spend more and more time tending to her garden, where she is visited by an old kookaburra who seems to possess an otherworldly intelligence. The bird becomes Mater’s companion and confidant in the final days of her life.
- As the Great Fires ravage the Australian bush, Mater makes the difficult decision to shut down the inn and evacuate the guests. But as they flee, they realize that the fire is not just a natural disaster, but something far more sinister and mystical.
- In her final days, Mater begins to remember strange and vivid details of her life that she never could have known, as if she lived a previous life in another time and place. As she dies, she whispers something to Prune, which opens her eyes to a new reality that may have been hidden from her all along
- It turns out the family had a lot of secrets, and the only way to escape it, was to leave the inn, but it was not an escape for all. Through the series of events, secrets are revealed, and some truths cannot be undone.Note that these events are fictional and whimsical in nature, but as they keeps it grounded to a sense of doldrums in the Australian bush and occasionally guests help to unravel some of the overarching mysteries it could make a fitting storyline for the story.
November 10, 2022 at 10:59 am #6343In reply to: Family Stories From The Other Side ~ Book Two
Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum
William James Stokes
William James Stokes was the first son of Thomas Stokes and Eliza Browning. Oddly, his birth was registered in Witham in Essex, on the 6th September 1841.
Birth certificate of William James Stokes:
His father Thomas Stokes has not yet been found on the 1841 census, and his mother Eliza was staying with her uncle Thomas Lock in Cirencester in 1841. Eliza’s mother Mary Browning (nee Lock) was staying there too. Thomas and Eliza were married in September 1840 in Hempstead in Gloucestershire.
It’s a mystery why William was born in Essex but one possibility is that his father Thomas, who later worked with the Chipperfields making circus wagons, was staying with the Chipperfields who were wheelwrights in Witham in 1841. Or perhaps even away with a traveling circus at the time of the census, learning the circus waggon wheelwright trade. But this is a guess and it’s far from clear why Eliza would make the journey to Witham to have the baby when she was staying in Cirencester a few months prior.
In 1851 Thomas and Eliza, William and four younger siblings were living in Bledington in Oxfordshire.
William was a 19 year old wheelwright living with his parents in Evesham in 1861. He married Elizabeth Meldrum in December 1867 in Hackney, London. He and his father are both wheelwrights on the marriage register.
Marriage of William James Stokes and Elizabeth Meldrum in 1867:
William and Elizabeth had a daughter, Elizabeth Emily Stokes, in 1868 in Shoreditch, London.
On the 3rd of December 1870, William James Stokes was admitted to Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum. One week later on the 10th of December, he was dead.
On his death certificate the cause of death was “general paralysis and exhaustion, certified. MD Edgar Sheppard in attendance.” William was just 29 years old.
Death certificate William James Stokes:
I asked on a genealogy forum what could possibly have caused this death at such a young age. A retired pathology professor replied that “in medicine the term General Paralysis is only used in one context – that of Tertiary Syphilis.”
“Tertiary syphilis is the third and final stage of syphilis, a sexually transmitted disease that unfolds in stages when the individual affected doesn’t receive appropriate treatment.”From the article “Looking back: This fascinating and fatal disease” by Jennifer Wallis:
“……in asylums across Britain in the late 19th century, with hundreds of people receiving the diagnosis of general paralysis of the insane (GPI). The majority of these were men in their 30s and 40s, all exhibiting one or more of the disease’s telltale signs: grandiose delusions, a staggering gait, disturbed reflexes, asymmetrical pupils, tremulous voice, and muscular weakness. Their prognosis was bleak, most dying within months, weeks, or sometimes days of admission.
The fatal nature of GPI made it of particular concern to asylum superintendents, who became worried that their institutions were full of incurable cases requiring constant care. The social effects of the disease were also significant, attacking men in the prime of life whose admission to the asylum frequently left a wife and children at home. Compounding the problem was the erratic behaviour of the general paralytic, who might get themselves into financial or legal difficulties. Delusions about their vast wealth led some to squander scarce family resources on extravagant purchases – one man’s wife reported he had bought ‘a quantity of hats’ despite their meagre income – and doctors pointed to the frequency of thefts by general paralytics who imagined that everything belonged to them.”
The London Archives hold the records for Colney Hatch, but they informed me that the particular records for the dates that William was admitted and died were in too poor a condition to be accessed without causing further damage.
Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum gained such notoriety that the name “Colney Hatch” appeared in various terms of abuse associated with the concept of madness. Infamous inmates that were institutionalized at Colney Hatch (later called Friern Hospital) include Jack the Ripper suspect Aaron Kosminski from 1891, and from 1911 the wife of occultist Aleister Crowley. In 1993 the hospital grounds were sold and the exclusive apartment complex called Princess Park Manor was built.
Colney Hatch:
In 1873 Williams widow married William Hallam in Limehouse in London. Elizabeth died in 1930, apparently unaffected by her first husbands ailment.
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