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  • #4426
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Albie pondered Lottie’s words. He’d been trying to forget the doline, but now he realized he’d been avoiding the inevitable. It was no good pretending there were other jobs for him, that much was becoming clear. His mission had been to protect the doline, and he’d failed.

      Or had he? A new idea was glimmering in his mind, that he hadn’t failed at all. At first he’d been so embarrassed and anxious about the security breach that he’d only seen the obvious superficial layer of events. Yes, strangers had entered the doline; true, they were not supposed to let that happen. But now he wondered, were they strangers to the doline? Who were they? Maybe they were meant to enter, and his apparent lack of attention was a providential and timely. How did he, Albie, even know for sure that he was working for the right side? What did he really know about his bosses? And what about that handsome fellow who’d slithered out of the doline, the dark eyed one with leaves in his hair?

      Albie hadn’t even told Alex about him, not after the shit hit the fan about the breach and illegal entry. The last thing he felt like doing was admitting that there had been an illegal escape as well. But Albie couldn’t stop thinking about him, the graceful way he shook the dust out of his hair, the depths of those lustrous dark eyes, his long slender fingers….

      Now, Albie was kicking himself for hiding behind a tree, for not approaching the strange man, or at least following him to see where he was going. His job was to stop people from entering. Nobody had said anything about stopping people leaving it. It was unexpected, and he’d been scared. Was it too late to try and track his movements? He’d come out of the doline, he’d have stories to tell. Albie needed to know, he needed to find him.

      He would find a way to trace him. He wondered if the new dog could help him, if he could find something with the mans scent upon it. Albie was determined to find a way.

      #4407

      In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        already sighed trees
        bossy head talking sudden
        send empty hands others birds
        stone stood covered gardener matter
        plants ones run outside

        #4403
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          random plot generator

          A BOOK SHOP – IT IS THE AFTERNOON AFTER ALBIE HIT HIS MOTHER WITH A FEATHER.

          Newly unemployed ALBIE is arguing with his friend JENNY RAMSBOTTOM. ALBIE tries to hug JENNY but she shakes him off angrily.

          ALBIE
          Please Jenny, don’t leave me.

          JENNY
          I’m sorry Albie, but I’m looking for somebody a bit more brave. Somebody who faces his fears head on, instead of running away. You hit your mother with a feather! You could have just talked to her!

          ALBIE
          I am such a person!

          JENNY
          I’m sorry, Albie. I just don’t feel excited by this relationship anymore.

          JENNY leaves and ALBIE sits down, looking defeated.

          Moments later, gentle sweet shop owner MR MATT HUMBLE barges in looking flustered.

          ALBIE
          Goodness, Matt! Is everything okay?

          MATT
          I’m afraid not.

          ALBIE
          What is it? Don’t keep me in suspense…

          MATT
          It’s … a hooligan … I saw an evil hooligan frighten a bunch of elderly ladies!

          ALBIE
          Defenseless elderly ladies?

          MATT
          Yes, defenseless elderly ladies!

          ALBIE
          Bloomin’ heck, Matt! We’ve got to do something.

          MATT
          I agree, but I wouldn’t know where to start.

          ALBIE
          You can start by telling me where this happened.

          MATT
          I was…
          MATT fans himself and begins to wheeze.

          ALBIE
          Focus Matt, focus! Where did it happen?

          MATT
          The Library! That’s right – the Library!

          ALBIE springs up and begins to run.

          EXT. A ROADCONTINUOUS

          ALBIE rushes along the street, followed by MATT. They take a short cut through some back gardens, jumping fences along the way.

          INT. A LIBRARYSHORTLY AFTER

          ROGER BLUNDER a forgetful hooligan terrorises two elderly ladies.

          ALBIE, closely followed by MATT, rushes towards ROGER, but suddenly stops in his tracks.

          MATT
          What is is? What’s the matter?

          ALBIE
          That’s not just any old hooligan, that’s Roger Blunder!

          MATT
          Who’s Roger Blunder?

          ALBIE
          Who’s Roger Blunder? Who’s Roger Blunder? Only the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

          MATT
          Blinkin’ knickers, Albie! We’re going to need some help if we’re going to stop the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

          ALBIE
          You can say that again.

          MATT
          Blinkin’ knickers, Albie! We’re going to need some help if we’re going to stop the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

          ALBIE
          I’m going to need candlesticks, lots of candlesticks.

          Roger turns and sees Albie and Matt. He grins an evil grin.

          ROGER
          Albie Jones, we meet again!

          MATT
          You’ve met?

          ALBIE
          Yes. It was a long, long time ago…

          EXT. A PARKBACK IN TIME

          A young ALBIE is sitting in a park listening to some trance music, when suddenly a dark shadow casts over him.

          He looks up and sees ROGER. He takes off his headphones.

          ROGER
          Would you like some wine gums?

          ALBIE’s eyes light up, but then he studies ROGER more closely, and looks uneasy.

          ALBIE
          I don’t know, you look kind of forgetful.

          ROGER
          Me? No. I’m not forgetful. I’m the least forgetful hooligan in the world.

          ALBIE
          Wait, you’re a hooligan?

          ALBIE runs away, screaming.

          INT. A LIBRARYPRESENT DAY

          ROGER
          You were a coward then, and you are a coward now.

          MATT
          (To ALBIE) You ran away?
          ALBIE
          (To MATT) I was a young child. What was I supposed to do?
          ALBIE turns to ROGER.

          ALBIE
          I may have run away from you then, but I won’t run away this time!
          ALBIE runs away.

          He turns back and shouts.

          ALBIE
          I mean, I am running away, but I’ll be back – with candlesticks.

          ROGER
          I’m not scared of you.

          ALBIE
          You should be.

          INT. A SWEET SHOPLATER THAT DAY

          ALBIE and MATT walk around searching for something.

          ALBIE
          I feel sure I left my candlesticks somewhere around here.

          MATT
          Are you sure? It does seem like an odd place to keep deadly candlesticks.

          ALBIE
          You know nothing Matt Humble.

          MATT
          We’ve been searching for ages. I really don’t think they’re here.

          Suddenly, ROGER appears, holding a pair of candlesticks.

          ROGER
          Looking for something?

          MATT
          Crikey, Albie, he’s got your candlesticks.

          ALBIE
          Tell me something I don’t already know!

          MATT
          The earth’s circumference at the equator is about 40,075 km.

          ALBIE
          I know that already!

          MATT
          I’m afraid of dust.

          ROGER
          (appalled) Dude!

          While ROGER is looking at MATT with disgust, ALBIE lunges forward and grabs his deadly candlesticks. He wields them, triumphantly.

          ALBIE
          Prepare to die, you forgetful aubergine!

          ROGER
          No please! All I did was frighten a bunch of elderly ladies!

          JENNY enters, unseen by any of the others.

          ALBIE
          I cannot tolerate that kind of behaviour! Those elderly ladies were defenceless! Well now they have a defender – and that’s me! Albie Jones defender of innocent elderly ladies.

          ROGER
          Don’t hurt me! Please!

          ALBIE
          Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t use these candlesticks on you right away!

          ROGER
          Because Albie, I am your father.

          ALBIE looks stunned for a few moments, but then collects himself.

          ALBIE
          No you’re not!

          ROGER
          Ah well, it had to be worth a try.

          ROGER tries to grab the candlesticks but ALBIE dodges out of the way.

          ALBIE
          Who’s the daddy now? Huh? Huh?

          Unexpectedly, ROGER slumps to the ground.

          MATT
          Did he just faint?

          ALBIE
          I think so. Well that’s disappointing. I was rather hoping for a more dramatic conclusion, involving my deadly candlesticks.

          ALBIE crouches over ROGER’s body.

          MATT
          Be careful, Albie. It could be a trick.

          ALBIE
          No, it’s not a trick. It appears that… It would seem… Roger Blunder is dead!

          ALBIE
          What?

          ALBIE
          Yes, it appears that I scared him to death.

          MATT claps his hands.

          MATT
          So your candlesticks did save the day, after all.

          JENNY steps forward.

          JENNY
          Is it true? Did you kill the forgetful hooligan?

          ALBIE
          Jenny how long have you been…?

          JENNY puts her arm around ALBIE.

          JENNY
          Long enough.

          ALBIE
          Then you saw it for yourself. I killed Roger Blunder.

          JENNY
          Then the elderly ladies are safe?

          ALBIE
          It does seem that way!

          A crowd of vulnerable elderly ladies enter, looking relived.

          JENNY
          You are their hero.

          The elderly ladies bow to ALBIE.

          ALBIE
          There is no need to bow to me. I seek no worship. The knowledge that Roger Blunder will never frighten elderly ladies ever again, is enough for me.

          JENNY
          You are humble as well as brave! And I think that makes up for hitting your mother with a feather. It does in my opinion!

          One of the elderly ladies passes ALBIE a healing ring

          JENNY
          I think they want you to have it, as a symbol of their gratitude.

          ALBIE
          I couldn’t possibly.
          Pause.

          ALBIE
          Well, if you insist. It could come in handy when I go to the Doline tomorrow. With my friend Matt. It is dangerous and only for brave people and a healing ring could come in handy.

          ALBIE takes the ring.

          ALBIE
          Thank you.
          The elderly ladies bow their heads once more, and leave.

          ALBIE turns to JENNY.

          ALBIE
          Does this mean you want me back?

          JENNY
          Oh, Albie, of course I want you back!
          ALBIE smiles for a few seconds, but then looks defiant.

          ALBIE
          Well you can’t have me.

          JENNY
          WHAT?

          ALBIE
          You had no faith in me. You had to see my scare a hooligan to death before you would believe in me. I don’t want a lover like that. And I am going to the Doline and I may not be back!

          JENNY
          But…

          ALBIE
          Please leave. I want to spend time with the one person who stayed with me through thick and thin – my best friend, Matt.

          MATT grins.

          JENNY
          But…

          MATT
          You heard the gentleman. Now be off with you. Skidaddle! Shoo!

          JENNY
          Albie?

          ALBIE
          I’m sorry Jenny, but I think you should skidaddle.
          JENNY leaves.

          MATT turns to ALBIE.

          MATT
          Did you mean that? You know … that I’m your best friend?

          ALBIE
          Of course you are!
          The two walk off arm in arm.

          Suddenly MATT stops.

          MATT
          When I said I’m afraid of dust, you know I was just trying to distract the hooligan don’t you?

          #4387
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            The Doline was brimming with unseen life, glistening below the twinkling star-lighted sky overhead. Albino geckos were dancing on the walls of ancient stones, while the twirling bats were hunting near the flowing streams of pristine water. Cooing late birds were singing old stories, while the scurrying rodents shuffling the leaves coverage ventured outside, carefully out of the gaze of nocturnal birds of prey.

            There was a traveler that day who had found the entrance long forgotten. The trees had parted to let her gain access. So it began.

            #4376

            Micawber Minn had secreted the parcel from Plovdiv in a hollow tree trunk. The bags of dried fruits were a gift for Glynnis to include in her special juices. But where was the hollow tree?

            #4370

            The memories of the strange vision had faded away. Only the feeling of awe was lingering in his heart.

            Fox was walking in the forest near Margoritt’s cottage. The smell of humid soil was everywhere. Despite it being mostly decomposing leaves and insects, Fox found it quite pleasant. It carried within it childhood memories of running outside after the rain whild Master Gibbon was trying to teach him cleanliness. It had been a game for many years to roll into the mud and play with the malleable forest ground to make shapes of foxes and other animals to make a public to Gibbon’s teachings.

            Fox had been walking around listening to the sucking sound made by his steps to help him focus back on reality. He was trying to catch sunlight patches with his bare feet, the sensations were cold and exquisite. The noise of the heavy rain had been replaced by the random dripping of the drops falling from the canopy as the trees were letting go of the excess of water they received.

            It was not long before he found Gorrash. The dwarf was back in his statue state, he was face down, deep in the mud. Fox crouched down and gripped his friend where he could. He tried to release him from the ground but the mud was stronger, sucking, full of water.

            “You can leave him there and wait the soil to dry. You can’t fight with water”, said Margorrit. “And I think that when it’s dry, we’ll have a nice half-mold to make a copy of your friend.”

            Fox laughed. “You have so many strange ideas”, he told the old woman.

            “Well, it has been my strength and my weakness, I have two hands and a strong mind, and they have always functioned together. I only think properly when I use my hands. And my thoughts always lead me to make use of my hands.”

            Fox looked at Margoritt’s wrinkled hands, they were a bit deformed by arthritis but he could feel the experience they contained.

            “Breakfast’s ready”, she said. “I’ve made some honey cookies with what was left of the the flour. And Glynis has prepared some interesting juices. I like her, she has a gift with colours.”

            They left the dwarf to dry in the sun and walked back to the house where the others had already put everything on the table. Fox looked at everyone for a moment, maybe to take in that moment of grace and unlikely reunion of so many different people. He stopped at Rukshan who had a look of concern on his face. Then he started when Eleri talked right behind him. He hadn’t hear her come.

            “I think I lost him”, she said. “What’s for breakfast? I’m always starving after shrooms.”

            #4362

            Eleri was entranced by the myriad shades of purple in the pouring rain; already soaked to the skin she made no attempt to shelter. She wafted around with her face upturned and arms aloft, swaying and stumbling and sometimes staggering as the wind buffeted her in between the darkly glistening tree trunks.

            Never before had she seen so many shades of the colour purple!

            #4356

            Fox woke up in the mud. He felt thirsty and confused, not knowing where he was or when it was, except that it was night time. He looked around him and despite the darkness he was seeing clearly. He was in a small glade, surrounded by tall trees. The grass had a strange greenish glow and seemed to float around like tentacles trying to seize whatever passed near.

            An emotion rose from his heart and jumped outside of him before he could feel it. It had a colour. it was blue and had the shape of a drop of jelly, darker in its center. Fox looked, fascinated, as it taunted the blades of grass. His heart jumped as a longer tentacle almost caught the drop, that’s when he knew he had to take it back. He couldn’t let it out into the world like that.

            Not with the others so close.

            Fox felt puzzled at the thought. What others was it referring to? He heard someone crying, it sounded like someone miserable. He felt something fall on his hands, droplets of water, and realised he was the one crying. He stood up and was surprised by the height. He found a little pond and looked at his reflection. The lonesome face of a troll was looking back at him.

            Am I dreaming?

            #4341

            Before he closed it to prepare for the dinner, the page of the book had said “She is coming, heralded by Sunshine, and thus will the Gathering start”. Rukshan could be quite literal and thought that she wouldn’t come today, since the sun was about to set.
            He wasn’t sure how the words had found their way into the book, and if the She was who he thought She was. In short, he was getting confused.

            Back there, the Hermit’s message had been so clear, so urgently present.
            Find who you were, find what you stole, and give it back. Then the threads will unravel and the knot of all the curses will be undone.

            And yet, he started to doubt his path.

            The high-pitched cry of “Circle of Eights” pierced through the fog of his mind, and Rukshan realised suddenly that… that was it. Why else, all these people would be around this place at this auspicious moment?

            The trees’ messages had been shown right. He was the Faying Fae. The Sage Sorceress was probably still on her path, but the Teafing Tinkeress hunted by a god, the Gifted Gnome, on his way to become his own maker under the protection of a Renard Renunciate looking for lost souls… They were there. Five in total; with himself (Rukshan) — the potion-maker, Eleri, Gorrash, Fox, these were the rest of the names, and they made the five first strands. Who were the last two? Olliver, Tak?

            Olliver would surely have rounded everyone around for the dinner by now.
            Rukshan placed the book back into the bag. He would explain to everyone then, read the old tale of the seven thieves and their curses, and maybe they could all formulate a plan for remembrance.
            Yes, remembrance was the first step. How to know what to do if you didn’t know who they were, what they stole…

            He wasn’t too sure what to do with the God in torpor yet. He seemed less of a danger in his current state. That a God had been left behind, stuck in stone for so long, and right under their nose was mind-boggling. Another mystery to be revealed.
            Surprisingly —and luckily— Olli had explained, Hasamelis seemed to believe that the young boy was a genius wizard, so he would maybe listen to Olli.

            The second ‘Circle of Eights!’ seemed closer this time.

            #4340

            Eleri’s eyes began to feel heavy and she blinked, trying to resist the increasingly strong urge to nod off to sleep, as a gust of wind rustled the branches overhead allowing the moonlight to illuminate something that looked very much like dragon scales. Eleri blinked again and shook her head slightly to shake the illusion back into some kind of realistic image. The sudden wind had dropped and the trees were motionless, the path below them dark. It was impossible now to even see what had looked like dragon scales in the brief flash of moonlight. All was still and silent.

            With nothing to see in the darkness and nothing to entertain her, Eleri’s mind started to wander, wondering if her grandmother being a dragon (as her father had often said) meant that she was one quarter dragon herself. It occurred to her that she very rarely thought of the dragon that was her grandmother, and wondered why she was thinking of her now. She had been a strong woman, who would fight tooth and nail to get what she wanted, always on the move wanting to get her teeth into a new project, leaving discarded suitors along the wayside as she swept along, grandly announcing to all and sundry, “Do you know who I am?”

            Formidable armed with a rigid crocodile (possibly baby dragon skin) handbag and matching shoes, stately and considerably girthy notwithstanding the stiff corset, her grandmother was not one to easily ignore. Dressed in dragon scale twinsets, in no nonsense crimplene navy blue and white, many were quite charmed by her forthright manner and the spirited ~ some would say arrogant ~ toss of her peroxide lacquered waves. Others were not so enchanted, and found her imperious manner unpleasant.

            It was a simple matter of teeth, when it came to disabling her. The difference was remarkable. There was no actual reason why her lack of teeth should change her so ~ she still had the matching shoes and handbags, but the regal stance and the arrogant tilt of her chin was gone. Not having any teeth made her seem shy and evasive, and she mumbled, saying as little as possible. She lost the power of manipulation along with her teeth, and although nobody really understood why, many wished they had thought of hiding her teeth years ago. It was such a simple solution, in the scale of things.

            And the moral of that story is, Eleri concluded with a wry but not too dentally challenged smile, Toothless Dragons Don’t Bite.

            #4338

            Glad of the cover of the gloaming darkness, Eleri quickly cut a slice of cake and darted out of the kitchen door. She had heard the commotion that animated statue was still making, calling her a witch as if it were a bad thing, and thought it best to retreat for the time being while she gathered her thoughts. Either that vengeful lump of concrete needed therapy to deal with his past associations, or perhaps better ~ at least in the short term ~ an immobilizing potion until a workable programme of rehabilitation to the state of animation was concocted.

            The screech of a parrot in the distance seemed to herald a new arrival in the near future, although Eleri wasn’t sure who else was expected. The raucous sound attracted her and she walked in the direction of it, deftly darting behind trees and bushes so as not to be seen by the rest of the party as she slipped out of the clearing around the shack and into the woods.

            “Circles of Eight,” squawked the parrot, sounding closer. Eleri took another bite of cake, wondering why the cake in her hand wasn’t getting any smaller, despite that she had been munching on it steadily for some time. It actually looked as if it was growing in dimensions, but she dismissed the idea as improbable. “Circles of Eight!” screeched the parrot, louder this time. Preferring to err on the side of caution ~ not that she normally did, but in this instance ~ Eleri slipped inside a large hollow in a girthy old tree trunk. She would observe the approach of the new arrival from her hiding place.

            Squatting down in the dry leaves, she leaned back against the rough wood and took another bite of cake, awaiting the next parrot call.

            I wonder what’s in this cake? she thought, Because I am starting to feel a bit strange…

            #4314

            After days and days, there was no signs of the others.

            Rukshan had hoped they would manifest as easily as the Hermit had, without much effort on his part.
            But they had remained silent, and even the ghosts seemed to have subsided in another dimension. He couldn’t feel them any longer. It was as though his realisation had made them disappear, or change course for a while.

            He hadn’t come any closer to the inner ring of trees though, and he’d come to the conclusion that there was surely some piece missing. He was reminded of the map that the cluster of seven had found at the beginning of the story, so they could reach the magic Gem inside the Gods’ Heartswood. There was no telling if such a map existed or if it did, what form it had —after all, the story seemed to be a little too simplified.

            He was trying to figure out which was his character, and which of the curse he had inherited. The curse was rather easy he’d thought… Knowledge. It had always been his motivation, and the encounter with the Queen and the taking of the potion had keenly reminded him that for all his accumulated knowledge, he was missing the biggest part. The knowledge of himself, and who he really was. It was constantly eluding him, and he was starting to doubt even his own memories at times.

            For the past few days, having finished the last morsel of fay bread in his bag, he was subsisting on roots, mushrooms and fresh rainwater cupped in leaves and last bits of snow in treeholes. It was time to get moving, as the weather had started to change. The snow was receding too.

            Even if his quest wasn’t as sure as before, he knew he had to find a way to reach these six others, and try to figure out what they could do, or undo.

            He had a strong suspicion that the potion maker was linked to this story. Her potion had activated something deep in him, and it seemed to share the same source of power.

            With that resolution in mind, he took the path retracing his steps back to the cottage and the outside world.

            #4310

            Glynis had been staying with the Bakers for a few weeks now, since the night of the storm.

            She had taken refuge on their porch, as the gale tore through the pitch black streets, blowing anything not nailed down along in its wake. Intending to leave early before anyone in the house was up, she found a dry corner and wrapping her burka tightly around herself for warmth, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

            “Well, what have we here! Good Lord, girl, you must be freezing!” said a booming male voice. Glynis started awake, trying to work out where she was.

            “This is no place to be in a storm. Come inside to the warm,” the man continued. And before she could gather her senses and protest, he took hold of her arm and gently but firmly pulled her into a cosy warm kitchen already filled with the delicious aroma of baking bread.

            “Anne!” he called to his wife, “look what I found on the front porch!”

            “Oh you poor dear! You are shivering! Come with me and let’s get you into some dry clothes.”

            Anne Baker was a portly woman with a purple scar covering a large part of her face. Glynis never mentioned the scar and likewise the Bakers never said a word about the dragon scales, seeming completely unperturbed by Glynis’s unusual appearance. In fact, in their kindly presence, Glynis sometimes found herself forgetting.

            To repay their kindness, Glynis helped with the baking. With her knowledge of herbs, she had created several new recipes which had proved to be most popular with the customers. This delighted the Bakers; they were people who were passionate about what they did and every little detail mattered. They rose early, often before the sun was up, to lovingly prepare the dough; in their minds they were not merely selling bread; they were selling happiness.

            Glynis was most surprised the day the stone parrot arrived in the mail.

            “This is very peculiar. Who is this “laughing crone” and what does she want with me,” said Glynis to the stone parrot. “I wonder, did Aunt Bethell send you to me? She is very good at stories — perhaps she sent me the dream as well.”

            But surely Aunt Bethell would not call herself a laughing crone! No, that is definitely not her style!

            Glynis stared at the concrete parrot and an uneasy feeling had come over her. “You are alive inside that concrete, aren’t you,” she whispered, patting the stone creature gently. “Have you too been caught in the spell of some malevolent magician?”

            #4309

            The remembrance had made the magic book reappear in Rukshan’s bag, and with it, its leaves ripe with vibrant parts of the long ago story. Rukshan started to read, immediately engrossed by the story it told.

            When the Heartswood was young, many thousands of years ago, during the Blissful Summer Age

            WHO
            — The Dark FAE
            — The Mapster DWARF
            — The Glade TROLL
            — The Trickster DRYAD
            — The Tricked GIRL
            — The Laughing CRONE
            — The Toothless DRAGON

            ACT 1, SCENE 1 – THE PREPARATION

            NARRATOR: It all started as an idea, small and unnoticeable, at first. Almost too frail to endure. But it soon found a fertile soil in the mind of seven improbable acolytes. It took roots and got nourishment from greed, envy, despair, sorrow, despondence, rebellion and other traits. And it grew. That growing idea bound them together, and in search of the way to obtain what it wanted, got them to work together to do an unthinkable thing. Rob the Heartswood of its treasure, the Crest Jewel of the Gods, the radiant Gem that was at its centre. It would be the end of their sorrow, the end of the Gods unfair power of all creation… The idea obscured all others, driving them to act.

            FAE: Did you get the map?
            DWARF: Of course, what do you think, I am no amateur. What do you bring to the table?
            FAE: I bring the way out. But first things first, the map will get us there, but we still need a way in. What says your TROLL friend?
            DWARF: He heard rumours, there is a DRYAD. Her tree is dying, she tried to petition the Gods, but to no avail. She will help.
            FAE: Can your friend guarantee it?
            DWARF: You have damn little trust. You will see, when she brings in the GIRL. She is the key to open the woods. Only an innocent heart can do it, so the DRYAD will trick her.
            FAE: How? I want to know everything, I don’t like surprises. An unknowing acolyte is a threat to our little heist. What’s her story?
            DWARF: I don’t know much. Something about a broken heart, a dead one, her lover maybe. The DRYAD told the GIRL she could bring her loved one back from the dead, in the holy woods.
            FAE: I can work with that. So we are good then?
            DWARF: You haven’t told me about your exit plan. What is it?
            FAE: I can’t tell you, not now. We need the effect of surprise. Now go get the others, we will reconvene at the woods’ entrance, tomorrow night, at the darkest moon of the darkest day.

            SCENE 2 – THE CURIOUS GODMOTHER

            GIRL: Godmother, I need to go, you are not to worry.
            CRONE (cackling): Let me come with you, the woods are not safe at this time of the year. The Stranger is surely out there to get you.
            GIRL: No, no, Godmother, please stay, you cannot help me, you need to rest.

            Rukshan looked at some of the blank pages, there were still missing patches

            ACT 2 – SCENE 3 – THE HEIST

            In the heart of the Heartswoods

            TROLL: Let me break that crystal, so we can share it!
            GIRL (reaching for it to protect it): No! I need it whole!
            DRYAD (in suave tone): Let it go! I will protect it and give you what you want…
            GIRL: Your promises are worthless! You lied to me!
            CRONE: (cackles) Told you!
            DWARF: Give it to me!
            FAE (quieting everyone): Let’s be calm, friends. Everyone can get what they want.

            GIRL (startled): Eek! A Guardian DRAGON! We are doomed!
            FAE (reaching too late for the crystal): Oh no, it had broken in seven pieces. I will put them in this bag, each of us will get one piece after we leave. (to the DRAGON) Lead the way out of this burning circle!
            DWARF (understanding): Oh, that was your exit strategy…
            FAE (rolling eyes): Obvious-ly.

            That was all that the book had to show at the time. Rukshan thought the writer got a little lazier with the writing as the story went, but it was good enough to understand more or less what had happened.

            There was one last thing that was shown in the book.

            WHAT THEY STOLE
            — Shard of Infinite Knowledge
            — Shard of Transmutation and Shapeshifting
            — Shard of Ubiquity and Teleportation
            — Shard of Infinite Influence and Telepathy
            — Shard of Infinite Life and Death
            — Shard of Grace and Miracles
            — Shard of Infinite Strength

            #4307

            In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

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              #4306

              The drizzle wasn’t meant to last. At least that’s what the smell in the air was telling Fox. With the night it was getting colder and the drizzle would soon turn into small ice crystals, and maybe worse.
              “We should get going,” Fox said, enjoying the last pieces of rabbit stew. The dwarf had been busy looking around in the leafless bushes and behind the tree trunks. He had been silent the whole time and Fox was beginning to worry.
              “What have you been doing anyway?” he asked. “Are you hunting? You can still have a piece of that stew before I swallow it.” He handed his bowl toward the dwarf, who grumpfed without looking at Fox.
              “I don’t eat. I’m a stone dwarf. I think I get recharged by daylight.”
              Gorash kept on looking around very intently.
              “We should get going,” repeated Fox. The weather is going to be worse.
              “Grmpf. I don’t care. I’m made to stay outside. I’m a stone statue.”
              “Well even stone gets cracked with the help of ice when temperature drops below zero. How am I supposed to carry you if you fall into pieces,” said Fox. He thought his idea rather cunning, but he had no idea if Gorash would be affected by the bad weather or not, since he was not really like stone during the night.

              “And what are you looking for? It’s winter, there’s not much of anything behind those naked bushes.”
              “It’s Easter. You had your rabbit. I want my eggs,” said the dwarf.
              “Oh.” Fox was speechless for a few moments. He too had been thinking of the colourful eggs of the dwarf’s friend they had left in the witch’s garden. He wondered what had happened to it? Gorash had been gloomier and gloomier since they had left the garden and Fox didn’t understand why. He had thought his friend happy to go on a quest and see the outside world. But something was missing, and now Fox realised what it was.

              He didn’t really know what to say to comfort the dwarf, so he said nothing. Instead he thought about the strange seasonal pattern shifts. If it was Easter then it should be spring time, but the temperatures were still a havoc. And the trees had no leaves in that part of the forest. Fox remembered the clock tower of the city had had some problems functioning recently, maybe it was all connected. The problems with the bad smell around the city, the nonsensical seasonal changes and that gloomy quest… maybe it was all connected.

              Fox gulped the last pieces of rabbit stew without enjoying it. He licked the inside of the bowl and put it in his backpack without further cleaning. He had suddenly realised that it was not much use to ask Gorash’s permission to leave as Fox was doing all the walk during the day anyway. So he could as well do it at night. He didn’t have as much difficulties to put out the fire as he had lighting it up. He cleaned the place as much as he could and then looked around him. The night was dark, the drizzle had turned into small snow flakes. Fox smelled the air. It would soon turn into bigger flakes. The dwarf could stay outside if he wanted, but Fox needed to move. Let him follow if he wants to.

              #4305

              Looking at what was left in his bag, it made Rukshan realise he was walking in the Dragon Heartswood for longer than he thought.
              It was a maze with layers of concentric circles of tree, and seemed far bigger and vast once you were inside that it should have been.
              He had been presumptuous to venture in it, without any guidance or map, knowing very well that most of those who had entered it, never came out. There was a magical distress beacon that was in the bag, but he guessed it would only help him retrace his steps back to where he entered. He didn’t want to use it. He could still feel the glowing confidence infused in his heart by the potion, and now, it was as though it was telling him to do nothing, and just not worry. So he chose one of the trees, to just sit under, and meditate for a while.

              There was a bird, high in the small patch of sky that the treetops didn’t cover. Or at least, it looked like a bird. I had been there for a moment, as if watching him.

              “Don’t you like birds?” the voice said “They are my favourite creatures, so smart and graceful. Ah, and the joy of the flight!”
              He wouldn’t open his eyes, not sure the feminine voice was in his head or not. She was one and the same with the large bird hovering —it was one of her projections, but she was human.
              “You know who I am, Rukshan, you have been searching for me.”
              “You are the Hermit, aren’t you?”
              “Yes, and here I am, saving you a long trip to the mountains.” There was a smile in her voice.

              He didn’t know what to say, but feared to open his eyes, and risk the spell to vanish.

              “You can open them, your eyes. They are deceivers anyway, they are not the senses that matter.”

              She was there, in front of him, looking ageless. There was no telling if she was a projection or real.

              She had put something in front of him. A sort of flat braid, not very long, and made with different threads of diverse nature and impractical use, yet artfully arranged, revealing clever and shifting patterns.

              “It is for you Rukshan, to help you remember. I have worked on it for the past days, and it is now ready for you.”

              He looked at the patterns, they were clear and simple, yet they changed and seemed to elude understanding. The braid was only loosely attached at the end, and threatened to unravel as soon as moved.

              “These are your lives, intertwined. You and six others. You don’t know them, in this life —however long yours has been. But you are connected, and you have know each other before, and you have intertwined before. Some of these past stories can be read in the patterns, and some are tragic, and they all bear fruits in this life and the next. It is no mystery why you have been attracted to the Heartswood, because it is where the Sundering started, and where you and the others have left things unresolved. If you don’t look deep now, and take steps to correct course, you will go from this life to the next and repeat your torments and endless search.”

              While Kumihimo spoke, Rukshan had fleeting images and impressions, some linked to the visions the gingkos and the trees had sent him before, of the others, linked to his quest.

              “Yes, you are starting to remember… That day, when you and the others tried to rob the Gods of the flame of creation. They cursed you, even their pet Dragon who was supposed to guard their treasure and sided with you against them.”

              She showed him the ring of charred trees that marked that particular period in the middle of all the rings for each ages of growth of the Heartswood.

              “The Sundering” he spoke softly, reminded of fables in the legends of the Fae. That was the ancient age, when most of the Gods had disappeared, some said, gone through the doorway that was at the very heart of the Heartswood, the very source of life and death, and creation. There had been new Gods after that. They also possessed great powers, but none with the aura of the Old Ones —no Old God would have been trapped in stone by a mere witch’s enchantment.

              Rukshan turned to the Hermit with deep pondering. “What can we do?”

              She was starting to fade away, turning again into a bird. “Each of you has a special power, that you stole in that past life, and with each new life, you carry it with you, and with it, its curse. Find who you were, find what you stole, and give it back. Then the threads will unravel and the knot of all the curses will be undone.”

              #4298

              He took the road again not much later after a light breakfast.

              The potion hadn’t seemed to bring about immediate noticeable changes. It told Rukshan something about its maker, who was versed enough in potions to create gradual (and likely durable) effects. Every experienced potion maker knew that the most potent potions were the ones that took time, and worked with the drinker’s inner magic instead of against its own nature. The flashy potions that made drastic changes in nature were either destructive, or fleeting as a bograt’s fart in the spring breeze.
              If anything, it did give him a welcome warmth in the chest, and a lightness on his back and shoulders.

              The Faes had been generous with him, and he had food enough for a few days. Generous may not have been the right word… eager to see him scamper away was more likely.

              Enhanced by the potion’s warmth, the Queen’s words were starting to shake some remembrance back to him, melting away a deep crust of memories he had forgotten somehow, pushing against the snow like promises of crocuses in spring. The core of the Dragon Heartswood was very close now, a most sacrosanct place.
              Faes were only living at the fringe, where life and magic flew, running like the sap of an old tree, close to the bark.
              Inside was darker, harder to get to. Some said it was where life and death met, the birthplace of the Old Gods and of their Dragons guardians before the Sundering.

              His initial plan was to go around it, safe in Fae territory, but after the past days, and the relentless menace of the hungry ghosts on his trail, he had to take risks, and draw them away from his kin.
              The warmth in his heart was getting warmer, and he felt encouraged to move forth in his plan. He gave a last look at the mountain range in the distance before stepping into the black and white thickets of austere trees.

              #4291

              Absentmindedly, Eleri put the bones in her pocket and continued to gaze down upon the valley, lost in thoughts of the past. What had that tree said to her, that day it came to life?

              Yorath sat quietly, watching her. He noticed the mushrooms growing on the exposed roots beside him, wondering if he had unwittingly crushed any when he sat down next to the tree.

              “Mushrooms,” he said quietly to himself.

              Eleri didn’t answer, wasn’t even aware that he has said it, but now she was remembering the days of the floods in the lowlands. The wet, dismal months and years when everything was damp, if not saturated or submerged, when mold grew on every surface. Bright green mossy mold, and slimy dank black mold, and fungus everywhere. Nothing would grow like it used to grow and the odour of rot permeated everything. The fruit trees crumbled in a sickly sweet stench into the mud, and the people named it keeg, and started wearing keegkerchiefs wrapped around their faces to keep the stink out of their nostrils.

              “Goodbye, farewell,” the tree had said to her. “We are moving north, migrating. But fear not, little one, there are mushrooms migrating here to replace us.”

              At the time Eleri had thought it was a ridiculous idea, imagining trees packing their trunks and pulling their roots out of the ground, and stomping off into the sunset. A few years later, she understood what the tree had meant.

              Before the last of the fruit trees crumbled into the swamps, the people has resorted to eating the snails and the mushrooms, unwillingly at first, missing the bright colours and refreshing juices, but as time went on, they found more and more varieties of fungi springing up overnight. There came more and more bright colours, and more interesting flavours. It wasn’t long before they noticed the healing and restorative properties of the new varieties, not to mention the recreational effects of some of the more elusive ones. There was no need for any organized farming of the fungi, because they simply sprang up overnight: the days menu would be whatever had appeared that morning.

              And so it was considered a gift from the gods in times of trouble, and the people were grateful. Their faith was restored in the earth’s capacity for magic and abundance, and they were inspired and rejuvenated. Eleri vowed never to forget the earth’s magic providence, in the form of mushrooms

              #4279

              For the last day, he’d gone to the shrines, pay his respects to his ancestors.
              They had long joined with the trees, for most, still living in their roots, and while the trees that they prayed to were young in comparison to the ones in the Heartwood, they were all connected.
              Here, it was harder to ignore their messages. Their voices had the gravity of silence, bearing the weight of ageless wisdom. Among them, Rukshan felt at home.

              The cold was sharper than the day before, and the east wind brought with it smells of industry and worry, and that of the dragon’s bad tooth. He felt there was a past were such things disturbed him; for now, he was at peace.

              Back to the campement, he retreated in his small lodge with the thin paper walls, and the warm mountain salt crystal lights.
              There, in front of him, was the little he possessed, and the provisions needed for the climb to the mountain.
              He’d found a page from the vanishing book reappear from time to time in his bag. Everytime it carried different words, and would vanish again. Its magic didn’t come from the trees, but their messages intertwined. The page carried bits and pieces of news about the Sage Sorceress, who had started to move on her healing path, the Teafing Tinkeress who was hunted by a swift menace of godlike powers, and also a Gifted Gnome, on his way to become his own maker under the protection of a Renard Renunciate looking for lost souls.
              He couldn’t figure out the stories yet, but he was glad for the piece of paper. He was helpless at distant viewing in general, so it did save him additional worry about sorting through his impressions and getting them right. Like after the Court audience, when he couldn’t feel Margoritt’s presence, and worried she and Tak were in trouble. The resident Seer at the campement had peered through his glubolin and confirmed that they were both fine. He did also confirm that she’d fainted, and was recovering. Rukshan had wanted to go back, abandon the trip to the Hermit, but reasoned that Margoritt was fine for now, and that she was a proud woman. He would have to trust she and Tak would be alright.

              “Magic comes from the heart. You will know when to use it.” the words said in passing were etched in his memory, and the potion was still here. Its color seemed to reflect his mood at times. After the morning praying, it was almost glowing gold. Now, it was a pale purple. He had felt no pull to use it. At first, there was strong resistance about it, but now, there was a mildly curious acceptance of the gift. Like the vanishing paper, whether it appeared or disappeared was of no consequence for now.

              The paper wall shivered. His meditative state was easily distracted by the sounds around, even after nightfall when everything went quiet.

              “Quiet suits you well.” The visitor was near him, wearing thin wool despite the cold.
              “My Queen?” he was surprised.
              “You still don’t remember who you are, do you?” the Queen leaned forward. He felt a strange attraction, and their lips touched. The kiss was warm and filled him with longing. They fell into each other’s arms.

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