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  • #811
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Elioctyl had been trying in vain for years to attract the attention of the museum cleaning lady, Ella Marie Tindale.

      Ella Marie had lived in Alabama all her life, and her parents before her. Some of her ancestors were native to this land, some from the distant shores of Africa. She loved the stories of the old ones, passed down through the generations, stories told at family gatherings and celebrations. Ella Marie had never learned to read, but she remembered all the stories word for word, including her own stories. Ah, her own stories! She kept her own stories to herself, she never forgot the horrified silence when, as a child of five, she had voiced one of her stories at a family gathering. A silence had descended like a pall in the dining room that day.

      She shivered at the memory as she dusted the glass case covering the mummy, and Elioctyl, seizing upon the moment as a possible chance to get Ella Marie’s attention, whispered loudly.

      Ella! It’s me, you silly goose, it’s me, I mean YOU!

      Duster suspended in mid-air, Ella Marie quickly looked around to make sure nobody was watching her. All her life she’d been one step away from the funny-farm; she knew she had to be careful.

      Are you speaking to ME? she asked the mummy, incredulously. She’d spoken to trees before, and heard them reply, but never a mummy.

      Sheesh! exclaimed the mummy, At LAST! Over 3,000 years I’ve been whispering to you, and finally, you heard me.

      Ella Marie looked furtively over her shoulder, and then whispered back: Well, what for? What do you want?

      I want you to get me the fuck out of here, that’s what!

      Ella Marie clamped her work worn hands over her ears. You mind your language! she admonished the mummy. I don’t wonder I wasn’t listening to you all those years, coming out with language like that! Pfft….

      Metaphorically speaking, the mummy raised its eyebrows and sighed.
      :mummy:

      #805

      When Franiel got to the crossroads the path turned abruptly to the left and plunged sharply down, past a crumbling and long-deserted stone cottage, to a little bridge built across a gently flowing river. Beyond the bridge there was a short ascent westwards through a thickly wooded area and then the way opened out rather suddenly. Such a pleasant and restful scene welcomed Franiel that for a moment he felt he may have entered a dream. The air was fragrant, the grass was sprinkled with daffodils and shaded by great chestnut trees. Confronting Franiel, at the south-west corner of the green, was a massive stone lych-gate. Beyond the lynch gate, and almost hidden by trees Franiel could see the roof of Chesterhope Manor.

      :fleuron:

      In the day of judgment God be merciful to Derwent a sinner ……hehehehe. Well good riddance to God’s judgement! Begone God’s judgement! We’ve cheated the parson, we’ll cheat him again, for why should the vicar have one in ten ? Oh what’s this now then walking through the gate? A stranger! hehehehehe…tis one of God’s angels methinks, perhaps come to strike old Derwent down for his heathen ways and blasphemous tongue. Well does old Derwent even know what an angel looks like? and he chuckled in delight at the very idea of it.

      You there! he shouted as Franiel drew close, Are you the angel Gabriel come as a messenger of God’s wrath? Or a wandering stranger come to pass the time of day with me?

      Well neither really, said Franiel, although of the two possibilities I favour the second. I have come to have a word with Madame Chesterhope.

      Madame Chesterhope! Does she still live here then? He lowered his voice reverently. A real angel that one, better than those biblical ones by a long shot. So you want a word in her ear. You will have to find it first of course.

      Should I try the house? asked Franiel politely.

      Try the house? Derwent rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. I tell you what! Try the magic mushrooms first, and when you’ve tried them, try the patience of Saint Derwent. He gave Franiel a kindly pat on the shoulder. Good on you for trying Lad, anyway. I’ll bid you farewell now and if you do find an ear, best keep it, a spare ear can always come in handy.

      #1741

      In reply to: Synchronicity

      Jib
      Participant

        Ok, I had some interesting syncs with the 444 stuff and the car… well…

        Going to work this morning I felt a bit oppressed and there was that guy that I had noticed from some time on the other side of the street. When I crossed the street and found myself walking behind him I suddenly noticed that electric blue little thingy on his back bag, very bright and I felt very relaxed after that. I turned my head on my left and noticed a car with the number 144 on its plate, though the 1 was under mud… well I thought of Francie and looked at an ups brown van… the phone number on the car was 0821 233 something… I laughed because of the 21 of course and also of the 233 which is also a signal for me of Eric and Elias… that was syncing with the blue dot and the 44.

        I thought I still missed one 4 to do the complete sync.

        Well I went into the elevator and hit button number 3, because that was where I had to go… work you know :))
        And the guy with the blue dot back bag entered the elevator and hit the button number 4 and turned his head to me and said “Hi” with a BIG SMILE :face-smile-big:

        I smiled back at him and thought, well I just got my 3rd 4 ;))

        ISN’T THAT A COOL SYNC!?

        #795

        — Sorry for the confusion, the voice of Leörmn said, there may have been some traffic jam along the portal’s tunnel… I think we lost track of time somewhat.
        — But we’re arrived, aren’t we? asked Arona, still a bit grumpy about the cave moving.
        — Mmm, I suppose so. If my calculations are correct, we are. Although…
        — What?!
        Arona was starting to wonder what could possibly go more mind-boggling than it already was…
        Leormn puffed into a small-sized teal-bellied gyucko (a sort a cutie reptipooh) and started to wiggle away…
        — Have honey do’s, see you in a while!

        — Grumpf, always wiggling out this one… grumbled Arona.
        And where did they all go now? It seemed like once again, she had been left alone. Good riddance, better enjoy the calm before they come back.

        :fleuron:

        Malvina was enjoying this new place where she was in. She had felt that, in other Worlds, some of her other attentions had been moving too. Especially one who was having great funnie in her new housie which was harbouring a portal in a very ancient tree. And for most of these attentions, it was also a time of reunion with dear ones, and reactivation of a new kind of power.
        Perhaps the time was now for her too arrived, to reunite with her Sisters.

        Only thing was that, where she was now at this precise moment, her Sisters were not yet born…
        Interestingly, for a reason that only the mind of a century old wise dragon like Leormn knew —if she would trust it not to be a simple stroke of inattention and bad luck as he would try to make it appear— she was undoubtedly right where she had thought to be, a small island in the Eastern coastal area of Lan’Ork in the vicinity of the Marshes of Doom.
        Except that it was the Legendary Past…

        #1734

        In reply to: Synchronicity

        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Darren cut a branch of a tree down today too

          #794

          Franiel dreamed of strange eggs being dropped from giant birdlike creatures in the sky. Some of the eggs exploded into flashes of light in the inky darkness of the night sky. He fell to the ground and hid his face in his arms and waited. He could hear the highpitched noise of the eggs falling, getting louder and louder as they approached the ground, and he knew his life was in the hands of the gods as to whether or not he was destroyed.

          At last all became quiet. He raised himself cautiously and began to examine the earth to see what damage had been caused. The dog of Leonard accompanied him, yet all of a sudden it ran from him. All else was forgotten as Franiel followed the dog, fearing for it’s well being.

          As if in pursuit of a hare, the dog ran and ran, eventually coming to a large mansion and running in through the open door. The walls and floors of the mansion were made of marble, ornate pillars and statues graced the wide entrance way. The mansion appeared to be deserted, yet Franiel had no thought for that, only of bringing the dog to safety.

          The dog disappeared into one of the many rooms of the palatial hallway with Franiel in hot pursuit. The room was empty save for a large Bengal Tiger, a magnificent and regal creature, radiating a strange power from it’s shiny yellow eyes. The tiger was about to take the small dog in it’s mouth, and Franiel grabbed a branch from a tree which was lying on the ground (and within his dream he wondered how the branch came to be there) and fearlessly placed it in the mouth of the beast. The branch was woefully inadequate, a mere twig in the jaws of this powerful beast, yet it distracted the tiger sufficiently for the dog to run to safety.

          Now Franiel faced the beast alone, perplexed, yet strangely unafraid.

          #778
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Meanwhile, Becky was still connecting strongly to the Laughing Monk, Schnortz, from ancient Kuzhebar. Reciting another limerick to herself, she made her way across the flooded street, attracted to a warm and cozy looking cafe on the other side.

            “The goat floating secret is this”
            Nanaconda butts in with a hiss.
            “Stretch out in the sun!
            Relax and have fun;
            Now come here and give me a kiss”

            The flood water rushed past Becky’s ankles, causing her to stagger. Unidentified floating debris bumped the back of her legs and she almost buckled.

            “Well then, what shall we do now, Deliria?”
            Asked a white faced and trembling Wisteria.
            “Go for the kiss?
            Or give it a miss?”
            Replied she, “Let’s consult Wikipedia.”

            Becky reached the other side of the street relatively unscathed and headed towards the Wisteria Garden Internet Cafe.

            #777
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The trail of physical clues in Nutley Park had dried up (or more correctly, washed away) in the continuing torrential rain, so Elvira took shelter under a large tree to concentrate upon the psychic clues. She was still getting nonsensical images from Becky, but had managed to decipher that Becky was approaching the Wisteria Delicatesan, she was out in a storm (which Elvira had already deduced) and that there was a goat floating down the street.

              #1906
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Booked tickets today for Cirque du Soleil in Malaga for July 4th! :bounce:

                Quidam: a nameless passer-by, a solitary figure lingering on a street corner, a person rushing past. It could be anyone, anybody. Someone coming, going, living in our anonymous society. A member of the crowd, one of the silent majority. The one who cries out, sings and dreams within us all. This is the “quidam” that Cirque du Soleil is celebrating.

                A young girl fumes; she has already seen everything there is to see, and her world has lost all meaning. Her anger shatters her little world, and she finds herself in the universe of Quidam. She is joined by a joyful companion as well as another character, more mysterious, who will attempt to seduce her with the marvelous, the unsettling, and the terrifying.

                Check out the characters

                #1724

                In reply to: Synchronicity

                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  These are quite interesting… The retelling story feels particularly fit, especially considering The Story so Far threads :face-grin:
                  I also wasn’t aware of the CK(Conductive Keratoplasty) corrective eye surgery with sounds rather than laser methods… :-?

                  But I didn’t come for that, actually. ;))
                  I was browsing something totally unrelated, and found a news about the plot of Toy Story 3 revealed by the Wall Street Journal (ref). Something got my attention obviously, when I saw Circle 7 a division of Disney who worked on the previous Toy Story movies before acquisition of Pixar…

                  #750
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    I take it from that you don’t know where the wedding dress is currently. Well if you do come across it would you mind letting Felicity know. said Tina haughtily, switching the phone off abruptly.

                    Al’s words running through her head she started walking quickly nowhere in particular.

                    Tina, what’s the point of these experiments we have been doing with Becky and Sam if you are going to keep relying on the phone all the time? And why are you trying to sort out the dress for Felicity, it isn’t your problem.

                    It wasn’t the so much the words which had stung, after all he was right, it was the annoyance she thought she had heard in his voice.

                    She felt him making contact, quickly blocked, feeling too hurt to be open.

                    She knew he was tired, god knows he had put so much into the wedding preparations, as he did with all his projects. He was fast building a reputation for his ground breaking experiments with body processes. Tina loved Al whatever he looked like, which was just as well really considering some of the rather bizarre effects he managed to produce.

                    Becky had been a bit irritated with her as well, Tina you are so last decade, nay century even! she would say, rolling her large eyes dramatically. Becky too was racing confidently and exuberantly ahead. Her intriguing contributions to the reality play never failed to amaze Tina. Her own contributions felt stolid, words trapped in a big gluggy ball of last century energy, she had to work hard to extricate each one.

                    It was nearly dark, raining harder now, wind-driven rain. Tina liked it, the rain complemented her mood and disguised the self-pitying tears streaming down her face. There were very few people in the street. Just the long line of shop windows, glass faces warmly lit, overhangs offering some shelter from the rain, though it wasn’t shelter Tina was looking for.

                    Her long hair whipped around her face, wet blue satin clung to her slim frame.

                    Sam had taken off unexpectedly and suddenly to Australia. He had been gone only a few days and she missed him. Dear Sam, his wicked and irrepressible sense of humour could make her laugh even in the blackest of moods. He too was playing with new potentials, forging new and exciting paths.

                    The others are probably all communicating with their advanced telepathic skills right now, laughing at dumb old last century Tina, she thought morosely. In fact even last century I would have been so last century, judging by my spectacular lack of success at anything I have undertaken recently. A vision of her recent humiliation in the ballet dancing class sprang to mind. She winced and quickly blocked the distressing image of the dance teacher drawing her aside after class and gently suggesting she might try the Ancient Kuzhebar Motional Practices beginner’s class, to get some basic rhythm, before attempting the ballet. ….

                    An elderly woman who had disembarked at the nearby gondola stop splashed by her, and, illuminated momentarily by the street lamp, Tina felt a flash of recognition. The woman turned suddenly towards her, smiled, gesticulated with her free hand, the other was clutching a large bag, towards some distant bushes. She mouthed some words at Tina, but these were lost in the wind. Tina waved and managed a reciprocal smile.

                    She noticed a Positivity Robot parked in front of Samantha Lingerie, and found herself drawn towards it, 3D images of models wearing the latest in underwear fashions rotated in the shop’s window, their faces beaming irritatingly at her. These Positivity Robots had been all the rage in the early 2020’s, you did not see as many of them now. On impulse she stood in front of the robot, touched the screen, allowing it to read her energy. “negative 21” its glass face discreetly informed her. The words “I AM PERFECT flashed up on the screen as a suggested thought pattern to implement. Tina grimaced. I wonder how low I can make this damn thing go. The idea made her giggle and to her alarm shot the meter up to a positive 12. Bugger, a bad start!

                    What am I going to do with myself, Mr PR, if you are so positively smart?

                    I AM PERFECT…. I AM PERFECT …. I AM PERFECT ….

                    perfectly grumpy, perfectly insecure, perfectly last decade, perfectly soaked to the skin, Tina watched as the meter climbed all the way up to 55.

                    She glanced at the shop window, just as a smiling model wearing a minuscule open net dress and nun’s habit rotated by. She felt an inexplicable burst of amusement as the meter climbed to 57.

                    #726
                    Jib
                    Participant

                      Going back to work on this bright Tuesday afternoon, Yann was looking at his shadow. He had had a hard morning, not because of the tons of work… it was a rather light day, not because of the harshness of his colleagues, they were all easy living people… well except his boss that made him think of Darth Vador at times… a strong threatening aura, feared by everyone. Though he never bothered Yann actually.

                      He was having the weirdest feeling of appreciation of the shape of his shadow.
                      He liked it.
                      It was the shape of an adolescent, his fluffy hair and relaxed silhouette. Not worrying about the future, not thinking about the past. Just enjoying the warmth of the sun in this not so cold winter day.

                      His attention was quite centered on himself, he was aware of much more stimuli than he had been used to, and it had been overwhelming. Especially concerning his ideas of how to get information on certain subjects or how to explore things. He was used to closing himself from the outside when he was focusing on his work, or on what he was passionate. Lately it had been 3D modeling, and Yurick had expressed many times the desire to help him, and he had been received quite harshly.

                      No wonder he had imagery of server non-receiving data at work. It was quite clear actually. Clearer and clearer. Even his dreams that he had once considered to be quite obscure where simply so concise and precise. Dreaming about the ring primitive in the 3D software, it was dreaming about its own attention, focused on the outside, he was trying to reduce the inner radius of the ring to make a plain disk, and he wasn’t able to do it properly, he was forcing.

                      Well actually he had done quite well, so centered on self he had been today…

                      How he reacted was so different from how he would have reacted a few months ago. Now he was just appreciating the movement, the experience of this overwhelming centeredness…

                      During the afternoon he got news from his friends Finn and Dory, and he had a good laugh. It was messages sent the day before. He wouldn’t have appreciated them then, but now he was so enthrilled by what they had written with Yurick. Another pure moment of appreciation to add to his experience.

                      And now, it was news from their friend Malika who had decided to move into a new house. A taupe House, located in the Island City or Wilton Manors. The house had a tree behind it, and she was sure it was a dragon lair, with a mommy dragon and an egg! and many little playful dragons.
                      It was planned for the week end. The moving in, not the hatching…

                      Yann promised to be here in spirit and told her friend Malika that there was a small dragon connected to him in the herd.

                      #1898
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        tjmarshall57: hahahaha as if it’s not bad enough with the weeding, now poor girl has blotches all over her face!
                        tjmarshall57: wedding not weeding
                        tjmarshall57: do russian wear velis?
                        tjmarshall57: veils
                        tjmarshall57: hhhm, blessing by a shaman, plaiting together of the couples hair….(is Becky still blad?)
                        tjmarshall57: The biggest concern at the wedding is to have enough liquor. A Russian Wedding is an event where everybody must be drunk. No one will be surprised if people drink themselves to unconscious on the wedding – and many do.
                        tjmarshall57: well, that will appeal to Sean
                        tjmarshall57: You are probably surprised to find out that a Russian wedding lasts for 2 days!! (Well, at least. Some weddings last as long as a week, and this is something to be proud of and remember for years: it means the couple had enough liquor to go on and on, and enough devoted friends to stay.)
                        tjmarshall57: The Russian church ceremony is colorful and solemn but the complete traditional ceremony is very long, and as guests and the couple have to stand during the ceremony (there are no benches in Russian churches at all; people must stand during all church services), faints are not rare.
                        tjmarshall57: right, so a fair amount of fainting and drunkeness then
                        tjmarshall57: Then the witnesses continue running the wedding, reading jokes and poems, and sometimes asking the new couple questions to make fun of them.
                        tjmarshall57: Franci will you be my witness, you’d be perfect
                        tjmarshall57: “Za molodykh!” (“For the newlywed!”)
                        tjmarshall57: Traditionally money is considered as the best gift, and is given in an envelope. Some time after the beginning of the reception when people start to become drunk the witnesses will ask everybody to give their gifts and one of the witnesses will collect envelopes from the rest of the guests with a tray.
                        tjmarshall57: Then people have time to dance. First dance is opened by the new couple. After the music starts, there is no exact script anymore, and witnesses can relax a little. They still occasionally announce a toast but do not entertain the guests with jokes and poems; guests by this time are already having lots of fun and are able to entertain themselves.

                        Movements become quite hectic; some people go out “to refresh”, and at some moment in this movement the bride gets… “stolen”! She disappears, and when the groom starts looking for her, he is faced with a request for a ransom. Usually it’s his buddies who “steal” the bride. A more or less short wrangle about the amount, and he can have his new wife back. But he must watch out – the bride sometimes may be stolen a few times!

                        tjmarshall57: right, so we have drunkeness, fainting, jokes, poems and insults, and theft and abduction
                        tjmarshall57: Then there are the bride’s friends – they steal the bride’s shoe. The groom must pay ransom for the shoe too – the guests enjoy watching wrangles.
                        tjmarshall57: Often guests leave the wedding in such a condition that they cannot remember what happened. If this was the case with the majority of guests, then the wedding was a huge success
                        tjmarshall57: AHA! This is the key! I will write about it after the wedding, when nobody can remeber anything about it
                        tjmarshall57: Day two of the wedding:After the meal the bride must “clean” the floor in the room. The fun part is that guests are allowed to mess as much as they want while she is cleaning
                        tjmarshall57:
                        tjmarshall57: another part for you!
                        tjmarshall57: guests on a Russian wedding enjoy it much more than the newlywed couple who are all the time made fools of.
                        tjmarshall57: The most popular period for wedding ceremonies in Russia was between the Christmas and Shrovetide (a week before the spring fast). This period was called the wedding period.
                        tjmarshall57: well, the timing is right
                        tjmarshall57: One of the many superstitions still prevailing among the peasant population of Russia is that, on the occasion of a marriage, the happiness of the newly-married couple is not assured unless the parents of the contracting parties are soaked with water from head to foot. When a marriage takes place in summer this is easily accomplished by ducking the fathers and mothers in the nearest river, but in winter they are laid on the ground and rolled in the snow.
                        tjmarshall57: who are the parents?
                        tjmarshall57: Among the Koraks of Siberia a young man seeks for a maiden with considerable dowry in the form of rein-deer
                        tjmarshall57: oh, well we can have psychoactive reindeer pies, anyway
                        tjmarshall57: Kovalevsky has well shown that many of the marriage customs of this country are survivals from a primitive and prehistoric age when the woman ruled the household and had more than one husband.
                        tjmarshall57: hhmmmm
                        tjmarshall57: it all points to a distant age when the matriarchal system prevailed, and the brother was his sister’s guardian. In Little Russia the brother’s sword is decked with the red berries of the rowan tree, red being the emblem of maidenhood.
                        tjmarshall57: red fruit sync!
                        tjmarshall57: no wonder I threw the cherries away!
                        tjmarshall57: ahahahahha!
                        franci_free: oh hrllo
                        franci_free: goodness
                        franci_free: will need to read back
                        tjmarshall57: hahahah oh there you are
                        franci_free: well what a complicated theme
                        tjmarshall57: haahah well
                        franci_free: you will have to write about the wedding
                        tjmarshall57: the key to the whole thing is that everyone was so drunk that nobody can remeber any of it aftrwards
                        franci_free: hahahah
                        franci_free: great!
                        tjmarshall57: thats my angle, I think
                        franci_free:
                        tjmarshall57: and s few things fit perfectly
                        tjmarshall57: the red fruit
                        tjmarshall57: the time of year
                        tjmarshall57: the drunkeness, Sean will love that
                        franci_free: the splotches?
                        tjmarshall57: well, nobody will remeber that
                        tjmarshall57: afterwards

                        #1895
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          I had no idea that Russian mushrooms would prove to be such an interesting subject…..

                          Vladimir Soloukhin:

                          While you are sorting out the mushrooms you recall each one, where you found it, how you first saw it, how it was growing beneath this bush or that tree. Once again you experience the pleasure of each discovery, particularly if they were rare and fortunate discoveries. Once again all the images of the mushroom forest drift through your mind, all the secluded wooded spots, where you are no longer, but where the dark firs still lour and the crimson-touched aspens speak their language in low breath.

                          #1690

                          In reply to: Synchronicity

                          F LoveF Love
                          Participant

                            Oxshift :yahoo_rofl:

                            ahem, well for my latest synchs:

                            I followed numberplate J533 into town this morning.

                            Lemon synchs please see my previous comment well … i finally threw out the last of these lemons I had stored in my fridge yesterday, and thought fondly of the whole lemon synch thing. Then I noticed today that Tracy had posted the lemon tree song again in her ramblings thread. A short time later I picked up the local hawkes bay newspaper in order to peruse it, and saw that the whole front page was a picture of Noel Lucas (we don’t know him, I just include his name for accuracy) and a big heading A ZEST FOR THE BEST. Noel was holding up a lemon, which looked to be about as big as his head. It weighed 756gms.

                            Apparently on Jan 12th there was a story of a 600gm lemon (unfortunately I missed this story .. as you can see our local newspaper is full of riveting news …) and now a lemon war has started as lemon growers vie for the biggest lemon.

                            Noel has never fertilized his lemons and attributes it to climate changes. He has lived in the same house same house since 1983 and this is the biggest crop ever.

                            Director of the Lemon marketing board believes the bumper crop is due to an “evolutionary leap.” hahahaha

                            I think this is also a Nadia synch, biggest baby, biggest lemon… oh and also Hercules the biggest dog.

                            #1894
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant
                              #695
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                Zhanochka ran until she could run no more, and then she collapsed into a heap on the ground. Birch trees shimmered against the watery blue sky abover her head and before long her eyes had fluttered and closed.

                                Moments later she smiled. Nishanti, she whispered. You’re here.

                                Zhanochka slept soundly where she had slipped to the ground, sprawled on the tussocky grass beneath the trees, her sleeves still pushed up over her elbows and a smile on her lips.

                                #693

                                He was climbing the steep path to the spring. His attention moving swiftly from one location to another, generating his human flesh body consciousness at each moment. At times he was not generating such a continuous movement and could appear in another place without having physically generated the objective appearance of the movement.

                                He had no name, he had no necessity for it himself. One of his other focuses was aware of him as John, the Straw Man. That would be the intersection of their focuses. He smiled back at him as he was aware of their connection in that moment. Continuing his exploration of the surrounding, before generating the physical spring, he was also communicating with other focuses or other aspects of consciousness. He was also exploring the shift of attention in different mergences with different qualities of essences. Being dispersed he was part of these other essences also, though it is a rough translation of it.

                                The movement of the path under his feet was smooth. The quality incorporated in the ground was facilitating his progression to the spring. It was not yet in his main focuses of attention, though it was close, some of his alternate aspects were already there and enjoying the premises and the non physical aspects of its reality. He added some mushrooms aspects in his surrounding as they were conveyed by his John aspect… they were connected to another of his friend. Oh! and a few ostrich eggs suddenly appeared ;))

                                Yellorange green current of a snoot was swirling around some trees. The John aspect of himself was amazed at the beauty he was generating, and as he was felling Pashi moving her attention toward him in a softurplime mergence, this new aspect of consciousness manifested the spring. The ears of this focus were experiencing the different layers of its movement.

                                #689
                                ÉricÉric
                                Keymaster

                                  These are MY eggs! Nobody touches my eggs!
                                  Oh come on, you’re not gonna make these ostrich eggs hatch Cathy… Better have them made into a nice big omelet for our guests… Fleur said with a tentative smile.
                                  And why use MY eggs for that?! Moooom, she’s trying to steal my eggs…

                                  What’s with all that fuss here? a coarse, yet sensual female voice said in the background of the kitchen.
                                  Mom, she wants to make an omelet with the eggs that granddad gave me…
                                  Calm down Catherine, will you… Is that true Fleur?
                                  Err… Madam Wrick, I suppose it was only a stupid joke… Thing is that wasn’t such a bad idea… There will be quite a few guests tonight, and… she began to falter as the eyebrows of Dorean Wrick were taking a more severe look. Err… I’m sorry, M’am, I’ll send Raster fetch some food for a nice meat pie, will it be nice?
                                  Perfect. That settles the matter then… Catherine, go back to your room, and let Fleur work. I’ll send you a maid to help you be prepared for our guests arrival.
                                  Yes, Mum.

                                  What a silly idea Theobald, her father have had, to give her step-daughter those eggs for her birthday… Big funny green eggs. He’d said they were ostrich eggs, but there were no ostrich in Mexico, as far as she knew. Of course, now the little girl’s only idea was to have the birds hatch and to mount them and ride in the slopes of Ireland.
                                  This family was definitely insane, Dorean was thinking.
                                  At least, she had thought her own branch of the family tree had been spared by the folly of her relatives and their attraction for occult and intangible things, but with that odd gift, it seemed to her more than likely that her father had followed the steps of his wricked brother… Or perhaps it was only an old man’s way of passing time. But knowing her father down-to-earth nature, that was not like him. He didn’t do things out of a whim, and there was probably more than met the eye having to do with the funny eggs…

                                  A few days ago, shortly after New Year’s eve and stepping into year 2034, she’d had received an unexpected parcel from her cousin, Sean Doran. A couple of wrapped books, he was asking her to keep in store for him. She always had liked her cousin, though they had only met two or three times when they were children. Thing was, family matters were more a wrickage than anything else, and they had barely kept in touch over the years.
                                  She had distractedly opened the big ornate leather-bound books only to discover they were blank. What was the purpose of all of this, she didn’t know. But unlike most people, Dorean wasn’t interested in others’ businesses. She would keep the books, whatever they meant.

                                  And she had more pressing matters now.
                                  Her guest were coming. Elvira and her demented husband were moving back, and were due to arrive tonight after a rather long expatriation in the lands of Russia. Having met that strange and impressive individual, the perspective of getting away in a foreign land leaving all the past behind, all of this had most probably saved Elvira from her depressive mood…
                                  But she had been so isolated from her past that Dorean suspected that these almost thirty years abroad would have changed her profoundly.

                                  #683

                                  The landscape had become oddly unfamiliar to Franiel. He had walked this path to the Village at the foot of the mountains maybe a half a dozen times, yet he felt certain he had never before seen these surroundings. He had never seen this patch of bright yellow flowers with their golden centers, nor this gnarled tree whose branches dropped down over the path causing Franiel to stoop in order to pass by. He stopped, hesitating, should he return the way he had come, find where he had left the path? Yet even while his mind was telling him what he was seeing should not be, he knew in his heart that he had taken no wrong turning. He touched the trunk of the old tree, and asking for wisdom, felt it’s reassuring energy calm his anxiety. The way ahead, though unexpected, felt friendly.

                                  As fate would have it he had not journeyed much further when he spied a fellow traveler coming towards him on the path ahead, a small figure swathed in colourful robes, wild and dishevelled locks of hair protruding exuberantly from beneath his brown leather cap.

                                  Greetings Fellow Traveler, cried out Franiel as he drew nearer, My name is Franiel. I am travelling from the Monastery of Margilonia to the Village of Chard Dam Jarfon, and foolishly I appear to have mislaid my way.

                                  The stranger chuckled merrily. Greetings Franiel, Indeed If that is your destination then I fear perhaps you are more lost than you care to admit. He motioned towards the grassy bank at the side of the path. Perhaps we might sit awhile and talk, for I know that I for one, could do with a rest and bite to eat.

                                  A splendid idea, replied Franiel, sensing magic in the stranger and enjoying immensely the unexpected diversion.

                                  So my friend you are a long way from the Village of Chard Dam Jarfon.

                                  Am I indeed? mused Franiel, How could that be, for that was where I was heading, and as far as I know I did not step from the path, and yet here I am.

                                  The stranger chuckled again, and his laughter was so infectious that Franiel joined in, not really being able to identify the source of the amusement, yet feeling all the better for it.

                                  And how important is it that you get to the Village of Chard Dam Jarfon?

                                  I am on a mission from Aum Geog, the newly appointed Abbot, replied Franiel, as he pulled out the chalice from his pack, to have this cup inscribed.

                                  The stranger reached out for the chalice, and studied it intently for a few moments. He took some of the water from his own water bottle and poured it into the chalice. Muttering a few words which Franiel did not recognise, the stranger closed his eyes and held the cup up as though offering it to the Gods. After a few moments he took a sip from the chalice. A look of delight crossed his face, As I thought! he chuckled.

                                  Now drink, my friend, he said offering the chalice back to Franiel.

                                  This is the sweetest Nectar you carry in your bottle ! Franiel exclaimed in surprise after taking some sips.

                                  The stranger chortled, It was plain water from the river I passed on my travels. I gather from your surprise that you do not know the magic of this chalice?

                                  Franiel shook his head. Well to be honest I have not really given the chalice much consideration, only to briefly wonder at my task. My mind has been more occupied with other matters. Franiel looked at the chalice in his hands, And what more can you tell me of this magic?

                                  I can caution you to be wary my friend, I would not be so quick to show strangers you meet on your path this cup, for be assured there would be some who would be keen to possess this. He frowned for a moment. What are the words which are to be inscribed on this chalice?

                                  Franiel pulled the sealed letter from his pack, and, feeling only a moment’s hesitation, opened it; “Bibere venenum in argento”, he read haltingly, then shrugged. I confess I don’t know what that means, I have not been taught in the old language.

                                  It is a curse of the Ancients, it means “drink poison from a cup of silver”. Seeing the puzzled look on Franiel’s face the stranger went on to explain. The magic of the chalice is to transform. I uttered words of love and the water transformed to sweet nectar. Had I whipered words of hate and fear, had my intention been to kill, I could have changed the water to bitter poison. The power though is not in the chalice, it is in the intention of the one who holds it and who knows of it’s magic.

                                  Franiel shook his head, bewildered, I can find no sense in this. Why would Aum Geog curse the cup in this way?

                                  The stranger turned and looked at Franiel, his clear blue gaze piercing and direct, I don’t know this Aum Geog, neither do I know his heart …. I know that you are the bearer of the cup now Franiel. Make sure you are asking the right questions.

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