tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13424981656018603702024-03-12T17:38:32.013-07:00Letters From The ColonyThe adventures of a circus strongman and a pixie and their attempt to establish a viable Caledonian colony on the Second Life mainland.Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-69266102257910792282007-12-07T05:45:00.000-08:002007-12-07T05:50:06.595-08:00Too Little Information<p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="">Extract from Alfonso Avalanche’s <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Caledon</st1:place></st1:City> Citizenship Application Form:<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">To ensure you are the kind of person we are looking for in </span><st1:city style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:place st="on">Caledon</st1:place></st1:City><span style="font-weight: bold;">, please provide in the space below 8 (eight) random facts about yourself (Please note - evidence of the authenticity of these facts may be requested from you by a Caledon Ministry of Information Officer):</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">1. Despite my profession, I do not possess a full Circus Strongman licence.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">2. I served as an engineer onboard the Circus Dreadnaught Barnum during the Clown Wars and was briefly attached to the Human Cannonball Commando unit.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">3. My Uncle Monty had an unfortunate accident while juggling elephants.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">4. I wrestled all comers at my Uncle’s circus under the name of “</span><span lang="EN-US">Gigante Enmascarado”.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">5. The Flying Circus’s main tent is in fact constructed from steel plate, rather than canvas (to hopefully avoid a reoccurrence of the unfortunate “elephant juggling” incident).</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">6. My Professorship issued by the Royal Society for High Adventure was purchased over the aethernet for the low, low price of L$100.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">7. My mother was the Circus strongwoman, and bearded lady at my Uncle’s circus.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">8. The steam powered elephant gains its lift from a unique uni-directional pressure system that is accomplished by an unusual arrangement of boiler pipework.</span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-54245251722832649072007-11-30T07:27:00.000-08:002007-11-30T07:34:29.642-08:00Big Finish<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi21HLb0m3ol0ETH5QztU8HaI3ltzQSrUGDLYt89gpRsXdV7hPJAeNf1I_3vY6gYT_RxIgUciB0C4UgIqeE8nBUaDhnMbojnNnOptXQBH6Bgb5pVQhxf25zOmloB_LApdnLQN4Ki-5czA/s1600-r/JTTTLBTMI.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCbk6dVUvNpVNEx-SW3M57qEtxYIBxoqkZ7tt1gMq9Wj2IdzQwmyv8BfAxIAs4UIRxTuoYQXLlFsPD1Qiy3TCq3O6hLVm59jMQKsmErL5rUxFHX6_dtu-d3mSN7JfMF_U2pSNaCASqL4/s400/JTTTLBTMI.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138656720998529682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 4 (Strongman and Pixie Finale)</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Governor Shang stood high above us all, a maniacal grin playing across his features as he surveyed the chaos and destruction before him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I gasped. The Governer? Here? Behind all of this?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“Mr Guvnah Sir’s been a very naughty man!” said Fuschia, and she was right.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Everyone was still frozen in place, looking up expectantly at the Governor. I seized my chance and continued my dash up the stairs. The clattering of feet broke the silence and the clammer of the crowd roared back around us. Pursuing tribesman mounted the stairway behind us and as we approached the top the Governor slowly turned towards us and withdrew a small box with a single red button from his pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Still a good few paces away I dived forward to tackle him, but the button was pressed, a trap door opened beneath him and he dropped through it. My hands snagged on his jacket and hair as he slipped through my grasp. I was just a moment too late to catch him, but fast enough to catch something else. With a tearing noise I found myself holding a shredded jacket and an amazingly lifelike wig and face mask – so maybe it wasn’t really the Governor after all.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Sprawled over the trap door I peered down into the darkness catching a flash of long blonde hair as the figure plummeted out a view. A lady…?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“Quick! Quick! Quick!” Shouted Fuschia as she came running up behind me. I twisted around to see tribesmen now pouring up the stairway on both sides of the dais towards us, viciously sharpened fruit at the ready. Without pausing for thought Fuschia grabbed me by my collar and leapt down into the trapdoor dragging me behind her. As we followed the Faux Governor on his speedy downwards journey, I really hoped there would be a soft landing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The walls of the narrow tunnel had been polished and as the passage in which we plummeted jogged to the left we found ourselves starting to slide rather than fall. Fuschia was giggling about it being just like a big helter-skelter, while I nervously glanced behind us, but could see no pursuers in the gloom.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">We slid into a brightly lit section of tubing, no not brightly lit, but glass, taking us through a bright white room. Below us we caught site of a huge machine churning out what looked like mechanical bunny rabbits. Then back into darkness…Then out into another cavern. This one glowed red from the sea of lava bubbling away beneath us and there on a narrow finger of rock, I’m sure that was Baron Bardhaven and Mr Abel sword fighting, Mr Benmergui holding a carved stone idol in his off hand…but no time to get a good look as we were soon back into darkness again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I felt more than heard the mountain roar, the tunnel around us starting to crack – then fall apart and soon we were falling through darkness and then…oblivion…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I woke with a sore head, Fuschia poking me in the ribs. I was lying on my back and opening my eyes I could see a tiny grey circle of light way, way above me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“Wake up, big ‘un, you’ve had more than enough rest.” She sounded worried and reaching up I felt the damp bandage she’d wrapped around my head. “We fell out of that slidey-tube and you hit your head and you looked like you probably needed the rest, but the mountains gone all shakey and angry again…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I winced as I got back to my feet. I ached all over. We appeared to be at the bottom of some deep shaft. In the dim light I could make out a few large rocks and animal bones, but no sign of any exits or passages. Looking up I could see the shattered remains of the tunnel-tube we’d fallen out of and far, far above it a stormy daylight coming from, I presumed, outside.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The cavern convulsed and rumbled. Dust and small stones began tumbled down around us from the walls of the cave. “It’s been doing that more and more for the last few minutes,” Fuschia said. “That’s why I woke you up – I think we’d better go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The last few minutes? How long had I been unconscious? Again, giving me little time to think, Fuschia grabbed me under the arms and flapping her butterfly wings began lifting me up towards the light. “Ooof! We’d better stop you eating so many fairy cakes. You’re definitely getting heavier.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Slowly we climbed as the rock walls moaned and grumbled around us, occasionally showering us with rocks. Fuschia deftly avoided the larger ones and eventually we emerged from the cave mouth into a scene of chaos.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">We were halfway up the side of the volcano and most of the jungle below us was burning. The bits that weren’t burning appeared to be falling into the sea. As Fuschia gained altitude I could see lava flowing freely between the trees and with a growing rumble one whole side of the mountain began to collapse.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“Wait! Wait!” I shouted. “We’ve got to go back for everyone else!” Fuschia began pirouetting in mid air back towards the volcano just in time for us to catch the full brunt of the island exploding.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The retina burning flash was followed a split-second later by an ear splitting crack and then we were hit by the pressure wave.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">We were blasted through the air. A feeling I was getting more and more used to on this journey. We both held on to each other as we splashed down into the water as rocks, fireballs, trees and bits of mountain crashed down around us.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I struck out for a large piece of floating, smouldering debris, something to hold onto, to help us get our breath back. Beyond it I could see the blackened smoking remains of Philip sinking below the water.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The deadly rain eased, settling into a steady fall of ash. I reached the big piece of flotsam helping Fuschia on to it before pulling myself up to join her and suddenly realizing what it was.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I ran my hand along its surface feeling its soft vibration, the soot and grime coming away to reveal it’s battered, blue wooden shell and the words “Police Public Call Box”. It was Oolon’s Cabinet. And the doors we were sitting on suddenly opened and we tumbled inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Oolon looked up from the console as we splashed, dripping wet onto the floor just inside the doors. “Ah Fuschia, young Avalanche you’re just in time, Terry’s just put the kettle on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I began spluttering out “What..? How..?”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">“Oh don’t worry, I’ll explain later…” A frown played across his lips, “Don’t worry, everyone’s safe, but there are a few more people we need to fish out of the old briny.” He strode over to a tall cabinet and pulled out a pair of oars. “You couldn’t do me a favour and paddle us about a bit..? I’m afraid the Old Girl’s taken a bit of a knock and needs to get her strength back before she can do it on her own and I don’t want our friends to get too chilly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I took the oars as Fuschia curled up happily on the chaise long.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">One thing about life in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Caledon</st1:place></st1:city>, I thought as I clambered back outside, it’s never dull…<o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-67588075565643221302007-10-11T01:26:00.000-07:002007-10-11T01:31:04.651-07:00Fight Club<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXR-cYPi3ntZAZ_yRW9HLqYpC3O1W61DFrjpBqIC0AbERVORhiN5fAEvtJdFHQ2VJ6LGr75HzMGAcX5oGod6dPnu9-rx8p3q4C-KN3HoQqc4cV-VfFLaOey-_psbLlA_lUjg0Bh1vWI4/s1600-h/JTTTLBTMI.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXR-cYPi3ntZAZ_yRW9HLqYpC3O1W61DFrjpBqIC0AbERVORhiN5fAEvtJdFHQ2VJ6LGr75HzMGAcX5oGod6dPnu9-rx8p3q4C-KN3HoQqc4cV-VfFLaOey-_psbLlA_lUjg0Bh1vWI4/s400/JTTTLBTMI.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119993485650990530" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;">JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 3<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Lady Darkling’s song rose above the deep rumble and roar of the mountain, the eerie music and the bubbling of the lava below us, a gentle soothing tone, ethereal and unworldly. The hot air felt a little cooler, the sparks and embers that floated through the air pirouetted around her and a strange peacefulness fell across the cavern.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“She’s singing the mountain a lullaby,” Fuschia laughed. “Putting the mountain and the burny rocks to sleep for us to get across the bridge. She's not daft, her.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It looked like it was working; the lava boiled away slowly beneath us but sent forth no more burning balls of molten rock. The song grew louder and louder as Lady Darkling drifted across the bridge, carried by her music and that of the mountain and we all followed, carefully watching our step. I was halfway over when I suddenly realised we were all singing along, joining Lady Darkling’s song, keeping the mountain slumbering.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">As the last of the penguin sherpas crossed the bridge, the mountain must have decided to turn over in its sleep as a huge gout of flame leapt up from the pit, spraying the bridge we had just crossed only moments before. We feverishly hurried onwards; there was no telling how long the mountain would stay rested.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">More caverns, more tunnels, more twists and turns and finally a decision, a fork in the path. Without hesitating, Lady Darkling carried on down the left hand path and was followed by Baron Bardhaven, Miss Kelley and Mr Abel. Lady Eva, however, stopped just short of entering the cavern and cocked her head to one side. “Listen…”She said. So we did.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The strange melody had become part of the background noise, along with the rumbles and groans of the caverns, but it was much louder here – and much louder from the right-hand path. Lady Eva, Lady Gabrielle and Lady Amber were already drifting in that direction, their bodies swaying in time to the beat of the music and before I knew it, I was too. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the music, but here it really was becoming loud. We followed the Duchesses and Baronesses onwards with Oolon fractiously muttering about “hypnotic sub-harmonics in the lower frequencies”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Almost without warning the passage we were following opened up into a huge chamber filled with native men and women in various states of undress, cavorting around bamboo poles and swigging from half coconuts with little umbrellas in them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Rudey people!” Fuschia exclaimed happily and Terry laughed, covering Oolon’s eyes as he began blushing furiously.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Good Lord!” Lady Eva cried “It’s a Gentleman’s Club!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I had to agree that’s exactly what it looked like.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The music here was pounding and deafening. The walls of the “club” were exquisitely carved organ pipes, formed by the looks of it from the living rock of the mountain itself. Opposite the entrance, on a raised dais of steps, a figure cloaked in shadow maniacally played the gargantuan organ.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Lady Gabrielle shouted out a warning and I turned to see a large group making their way through the dancers towards us. They didn’t look like a welcoming committee.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">We didn’t stand a chance in the yawning maw of the cave opening; we had to make things more difficult for them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Into the crowd!” I shouted and set off at an angle into the throng of people, grabbing Fuschia’s hand and pulling her with me. Terry did the same with a<span style=""> </span>befuddled looking Oolon, whisking him off into a group on the opposite side of the entrance. The last glimpse I caught of the Duchesses and the Baroness before the crowd closed in was of them standing back to back, each adopting a fighting poise and silhouetted by a fire ball leaping up from one of the open lava pits in the room. Somehow I got the feeling they could look after themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I pushed on deeper into the crowd, trying to make my way to the dais and avoiding any of our unfriendly greeters. Our luck, however, didn’t hold for long. Thankfully, I’d spent some time when I was younger earning money at my Uncle’s circus by wrestling all comers and when the tribesman lunged for me from out of the crowd, I let go of Fuschia, grabbed his sleeve and collar and suplexed him up over my head and down onto a nearby table. Coconuts, rum, umbrellas and table splinters flew in all directions. With spilled drinks, the crowd around us was turning nasty; Fuschia had drawn her swiss army spork from her sock and was waving it menacingly at anyone who came near her. Things were about to get out of hand very quickly when suddenly four black and white shapes dropped onto the ground in front of us. Four penguins, each wearing a different coloured headband and each brandishing a different weapon (of far eastern origin I would guess), posed dramatically and then leapt into what had turned into an angry mob, buying us breathing space and time to escape. Mr Abel certainly trained his little assistants well.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">We jostled our way quickly through the mass of people. At last, we reached the dais and began pushing our way up the steps when suddenly the music stopped, the room fell silent and all eyes turned to the raised platform.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The mysterious organist stood, leaving his glittering marble keyboard, and strode into a shaft of light, illuminating his features and at last revealing his identitiy to us all…<o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-40729583458723939572007-09-27T02:20:00.000-07:002007-09-27T10:59:25.633-07:00The Descent<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgXU7nk-4GWZ2he2m7oHOKvz7ZOOIJHhcAmbPowALt3GZY2w_XL9GB6yT4noyOz62NGWR_nh0ihXZwT4zFPDHlubM2QUeMVp9ZPR9B2sG0DCSZQCqMJjg5-aNsIVJRG7075Iw3X5fpQw/s1600-h/JTTTLBTMI.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114815666352461234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgXU7nk-4GWZ2he2m7oHOKvz7ZOOIJHhcAmbPowALt3GZY2w_XL9GB6yT4noyOz62NGWR_nh0ihXZwT4zFPDHlubM2QUeMVp9ZPR9B2sG0DCSZQCqMJjg5-aNsIVJRG7075Iw3X5fpQw/s400/JTTTLBTMI.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 2<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Bunzilla’s roar split the air as a fearsome, carrot-crazed eye peered down at us. There was nowehere to go but into the cave, so that’s where we went - at great speed. From the mouth of the cave I watched it snuffling and grunting at the tangle of balloon, trees and tents. Behind me I could here discussions of where we should go next and what we should do.<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">From what I could gather, it appeared as if Fuschia and myself had indeed appeared just off the coast of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Caledon. T</st1:place></st1:city>his new volcanic isle threatened the very safety of that great nation and this small group had been sent to solve the problem. I’m not entirely sure how they were going to achieve that, but any help we could give them, we would.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Most of the discussion seemed to centre around a tattered map that Mr Abel had discovered. Sadly the major problem seemed to lie in the fact that the cave system was represented on the map by a tangle of lines, almost as if they’d started drawing it all out nicely and then just decided it was too complicated and scribbled a pencil round and round for a bit.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Lady Amber stood in the corner surrounded by a gaggle of penguins swigging from a battered hip flask. The light from the cave entrance glittered off her cleavage…No, hang on, I don’t mean cleavage, I meant her…bosoms. Now that’s odd; everytime I looked at her my eyes slid away onto her ..er… attributes. Something at the back of my head was itching – trying to tell me something, trying to show me something… I caught Fuschia’s disapproving look; I think she’d caught me staring – so I hurriedly looked away and pretended I was studying the cave wall instead.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We decided to push on into the darkness. Baron Bardhaven believed that’s where the source of all this trouble was and that’s where we’d find answers. We pressed on because…well…he sounded like he knew what he was doing and we certainly weren’t going back out there with Bunzilla.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The tunnels wound on and round and round. I began to wonder if the strange scribbles on the map weren’t entirely incorrect; the passages seemed to twist onwards and downwards for such a long time. Baron Bardhaven and Lady Darkling took the lead. At times, Bardhaven peered at the map then indicated a particular direction; at others, Darkling drifted down a certain passage following a mysterious glowing orb as if in a trance. All the while, Oolon kept up a running commentary on the fascinating rock stratification and geological formations while Terry rolled her eyes. The Duchesses chatted excitedly about the grand adventure and the balls that would be held in all our honour when we returned home. Miss Kelley’s eyes darted around each cavern we passed through, gently mewing and watching every movement and shadow.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The strange music continued throughout our journey, echoing from the passage walls and fading in and out. The strange thing was, down here it seemed less alien, less unusual. Maybe we were getting closer to the source, or maybe the echoes and harmonics of the tunnels were just right, but I was sure I was beginning to recognise familiar phrases and bars. This was music I’d heard before, music I’d heard in Caledon when wandering through … was it Tanglewood? Or by the Governor’s mansion? Lady Amber slipped into my field of vision and again I found myself … distracted. Even more so as she appeared to be peeling off layers of clothing again - because of the heat she claimed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And she was right; it was getting a lot warmer. We began passing through chambers filled with lava flows and sparkling embers dancing in the air. Soon we were all removing some of our more bulky clothing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We finally came to halt in a large chamber. Our path took us across a narrow, crumbling bridge of rock and across a lava flow, all the while fireballs leaping up and exploding over us.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m sure this wasn’t marked on the map…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-25841752136730184442007-09-17T03:39:00.000-07:002007-09-19T01:16:36.113-07:00The Poison Belt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZ9k4guZMCKCU_TdyINqCS1xO38lFLl-GlhV7UayY8E8pV6Wzjl6kcYjM7_Des_WeVvwJNFOPsab1g-SahEDPoAWnLzpNlh6amkHbfU10AXVbt26kdkbLz90DRye1QXvTW_uz4rE694Q/s1600-h/JTTTLBTMI.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111121477610874178" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZ9k4guZMCKCU_TdyINqCS1xO38lFLl-GlhV7UayY8E8pV6Wzjl6kcYjM7_Des_WeVvwJNFOPsab1g-SahEDPoAWnLzpNlh6amkHbfU10AXVbt26kdkbLz90DRye1QXvTW_uz4rE694Q/s400/JTTTLBTMI.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:0;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;">JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 1</span><br /><br />The butterfly tunnel swirled around us. It had been a good few weeks away; a nice, relaxing change of pace. Pixie had it’s peculiarities but was certainly a marvellous place to relax.<o:p></o:p></span><span> </span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>We were travelling to Caledon rather than the Colony, because Fuschia said that it was much easier to navigate back to somewhere like the Homelands, where the love of it’s people acted as a sort of beacon, making it much easier for Pixie magic to home in on.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>I felt the balloon catch on an updraft of wind…we were definitely approaching something…something that smelled like sulphur and smoke… The twisting vortex before us darkened, filling with thick black clouds. This didn’t look good.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>I gently shook Fuschia awake and she wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Are you burning breakfast, again?” She mumbled before sitting bolt upright and whispering “Something’s wrong!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>I nodded and was about to explain when the tunnel shattered around us and the balloon leapt violently.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>Once onto our feet we could see that we were surrounded on all sides by thick smoke. The butterflies that had formed our passage to and from Pixie were lost in the darkness. It was searingly hot and proving very difficult to breathe.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>Where were we? This certainly didn’t look like <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Caledon</st1:place></st1:city>. The balloon was twirling and I could see no more than a few feet through the smoke and ash. Fuschia handed me a strip of cloth she’d torn from her petticoats to act as a face mask in order to keep out the choking air.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>I tugged on the control ropes of the balloon, trying to gain height and get above whatever we were in. A deep rumble sounded below us and a fireball tore upwards through the sky, alarmingly close. I peered down over the side of the basket and could feel even more heat as well as perceiving a dull orange glow below us through the smoke. Were we above some enormous pyre? Had the alien invaders returned and reduced <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Caledon</st1:city></st1:place> to nothing but fire and ash?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>I attempted to regain some control over the balloon, but we were caught in an unpredictable updraft and the balloon's control vents were useless in the ash laden, turbulent air.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>“Look!” Fuschia shouted. “A funny flying man!” I turned, not sure what to expect. The brief glimpse of him I got before impact was of a young man dressed in a pastel shirt, carrying a spear and wearing a helmet crudely fashioned out of a large coconut, propelled through the air by what appeared to be a battered brass and bamboo steam jet pack. A moment later he’d collided with the canvas above us, punching a hole clean through the balloon’s envelope and sending us on a very fast journey – sideways…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>We careered wildy through the air, the balloon letting out a strange high pitched wail as the gas escaped.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>The balloon described several crazy loops as we clung desperately to the sides of the basket. We eventually shot out of the bottom of the smoke cloud and I briefly caught a glimpse of a volcanic island (the smoke from which we had just left) surrounded by a huge expanse of water. On the downward swing of one of our circuits the basket skimmed the top of the water, scooping up a good proportion of it along with several penguins, a rather surprised looking Baroness (Lady Amber, to be more precise) and an even more surprised looking hammerhead shark.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>The balloon curved upwards again, propelling us up over the island (as the penguins heaved the shark overboard) in what would be our final descent. We swung back down again, this time crashing through some tents that had been erected on the beach, and onwards into the deep jungle trees. Tribesmen scattered in all directions and I’m sure I caught sight of several people tangled in the canopy, rigging, tent, trees and, by the looks of it, cooking pot wreckage that we’d accumulated as we skidded through the undergrowth before sliding to a halt at the mouth of a dark and foreboding cave.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>Fuschia helped a rather shaken Lady Amber up out of a pile of penguins and the now ruined basket, while I clambered out to help disengage our unexpected, and no doubt shocked, reluctant passengers from what was left of the rest of the balloon. And what a collection of nobles we’d entangled: A Baron (Bardhaven), A Duke (Greystoke), a Timelord (Sputnik), Sidhe (Lightfoot) and no less than two Duchesses (Carntaigh and Loch Avie) and two Marchionesses (East and <st1:place st="on">West Speirling</st1:place> - or at least one Speirling and one cunning "copy-cat").<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span>As I began hastily disengaging them from the rope, canvas and foliage, eerie music drifted from the cave entrance behind me…<o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-12985351910921412632007-08-22T11:10:00.000-07:002007-09-17T03:46:20.340-07:00Destination: Pixie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNDQ0bbhWw0-OV1nz_OlY_15fTsI5kq3_PIVyBeydVKEk3gUH7n79FusvtKRk1rlQEyl-37X3rgc9didIsQIyjq3Kll8kFKTtlRAmEk4szVtnSmRoINDXVLaSKpIgM8It8NEdhl1DFNE/s1600-h/TRTJTTTLBTMI.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101589312426236370" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNDQ0bbhWw0-OV1nz_OlY_15fTsI5kq3_PIVyBeydVKEk3gUH7n79FusvtKRk1rlQEyl-37X3rgc9didIsQIyjq3Kll8kFKTtlRAmEk4szVtnSmRoINDXVLaSKpIgM8It8NEdhl1DFNE/s400/TRTJTTTLBTMI.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">JTTTLBTMI Prologue</span><br /><br /><div></div><div>Fuschia was the one who suggested we should have a few weeks away. The militia and fund raising was winding down and the unusual invaders that had appeared on the shores had been driven off, many bits of clothing had been made, much tea drunk and many cakes eaten. We were both exhausted and in need of a break.<br /><br />She suggested we go and visit some of her friends in Pixie (apparently a nice little corner of the otherworld near Faerie, where the pixies live). I’d never been there before, but she assured me it would be really nice and we could even take the balloon.<br /><br />After an extensive few days of packing we pushed off from our little bay in Penan. We’d locked up the workshop and had employed a young urchin to keep and eye on the circus and feed the boilers of the steam elephants in our absence.<br /><br />Waving goodbye to young Master Grut we drifted onwards from Penan, out by the nearby floating castle and over the sea, where I realised that what I had assumed was a flock of birds from a distance was actually a huge swarm of multicoloured butterflies gathering over the ocean. Fuschia giggled at my look of surprise and wiggled her nose. The butterflies swirled in the air, coming closer and closer until we were entirely surrounded. And then there was a subtle change; we were no longer in a small vortex of butterflies but in a huge twisting tunnel stretching on as far as the eye could see. This was to be our path to Pixie.<br /><br />I’m not really sure how long we spent travelling. Not long after we entered the tunnel the hands on my pocket watch began to spin crazily around it’s face, randomly pointing at numbers and every so often even pointing at new numbers that weren’t even on the clock face when we’d set off.<br /><br />We’d worked through a good number of wax cylinders and books when I felt a breeze. The tunnel we were travelling in was eerily quiet (aside from the soft, scratchy music of the wobbly recordings) and since we’d set off there had been no feeling of wind or motion despite the coloured / shifting walls of the tunnel. I looked down to where Fuschia had dozed off in the balloon’s basket and was about to nudge her awake when suddenly the tunnel around us scattered into a multitude of tiny wings.<br /><br />The balloon lurched as it once again gained purchase on new air and our tiny escorts scattered into the forests that unfolded beneath us. We were floating in a deep purple sky, a blazing orange sun dipping below a great mountain range in the distance, and I suddenly had a strange feeling. It was almost like deja-vu…but not quite. For a moment it appeared as if the mountain ahead of me burned, as if the sun dipping behind it was actually some great gout of fire erupting from its maw. Strange music echoed in the distance and a peculiar feeling of foreboding began to creep across me…<br /><br />Fuschia yawned and sprang up onto her feet beside me, peering out across the landscape of her home. Something had changed, the spell had been broken, and once again there was just a sun sinking below the horizon.<br /><br />Putting the odd trick of the light aside, I pulled on the control ropes of the balloon and we began our descent into a clearing…</div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-65652636507073997052007-07-06T11:00:00.000-07:002007-07-06T11:23:20.237-07:00Air, Sea and LandDear Miss Tombola,<br /><br />Just writing to thank you for the lovely afternoon of transportation related adventure, and for the very kind charitable donation that set us on this path in the first place.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084150067773052770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKocYO4pwUm9gCkpwW8FBIBd7WuD-q5qYIoONEGocen2dX1JbtcMUcVskKtMIHR7bdhidjdBAc9zl8RKWpOQQpVRk6zr58g3jEeSJ-XZRr8zkQz5um4Zm7nltfYG5q9zgLPXe7AfJ0axs/s400/ballooning.jpg" border="0" /><br />I successfully retrieved the hot air balloon from the foot of Terry’s beanstalk in Tanglewood last night and am happy to report that apart from the odd branch trapped in the rigging it survived our rather bumpy descent down through the tree canopy.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084150072068020082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtLngZ87N_9Kve3XRdtcGvq40k1xz2NoOXUtM8rvyLECC9rO7KYh-PAQperAkpagzOScjwsyJ6FsdJZ3p4sYVUpThyphenhyphenBGKRZDunOWfdWgrr5j9_F6s6hyY4UsEOXgzi6iRslghShvmkoN4/s400/boarding.jpg" border="0" /><br />I’ve also managed to straighten out the slight bend that appeared in my steam board after the unfortunate encounter with the sea bed in Lionsgate, and the hangar walls in Steam City.<br /><br />Thankfully, I caught Admiral Wind at her shipyard this morning and with her assistance was able to lift the Caledonian Queen from the rocky coastline of the Moors, although I think the keel may need a bit of patching before she’s going to be seaworthy again.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084150076362987394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic4pHH8nzo05n708_HfGkO5O0ESNNV2Zw7SeXfXgJ3cp3pQL1XMktePywFT-Mh1B32G7Qz7-gTWOd7U1fBxSMbmrFkZG_8qZtIVFo-22J5Z4FdYBjgX54owxY6v9QJOf1avG6TZbSztC8/s400/monowheeling.jpg" border="0" /><br />Oh, and your stable boy should be on his way over to drop off your improvised monowheel. I gave him a bit of change to pick up our cycles from where we left them at the Victoria City train station, and he seems a trustworthy enough lad, if a little grubby.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084150080657954706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJGVtHrMgVoLuEj_NFdHFV3jToqElU1YLvkCwxFV-IP6t5YIVi8aMRRSvHDPTVdWU2aiKM3VmnadrncXZDUgPZzVB6CQ_Tnlucs-glWdndCzijlvzICNmA0jVRhIkbT9rTvBnZYwX6vU/s400/curry.jpg" border="0" /><br />Hope we get a chance to do it again sometime - although not too soon, as I think my legs need a bit of time to recover from chasing the train all the way through Carntaigh.<br /><br />Yours,<br /><br />Alfonso AvalancheCurrent Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-33730861700213729682007-06-20T05:16:00.000-07:002007-06-20T05:40:36.435-07:00Lists Are GoodChecksheet for regeneration:<br /><div><div><br /><div><div><div>1. Old Timelord<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078119608302296242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDBQ7tAuWhXVPr9-SQXnSyPf5U8DjxSlPxCRrcDS3E0OSqPIHB82JIFMSclu75LO0cnD4OWGYjGDTbrkuwzoSLT50cReiYyTa6Hh020uK9AMNV5Pt48MFCRMScMFYtJ1w1-iPITEq_dI/s400/Old.jpg" border="0" /></div></div><br /><div>Check</div><br /><br /><div>2. Cast of thousands</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078119823050661058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-yvjCGvKnsr75PHxt2aYBtTNazZOtreysZLFOlEywfYLADEoeu6rL7qJCdINN66pyIxq65g1-yTHCaRl_Z8aXoGt3OWhwYFlzpA2gPT6P6Yiy2USv-Qj0wNsNX-w0DvFEbWPt5G8j7H4/s400/Top+down.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>Check</p><p>3. White Lady</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078120033504058578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoVzjl8XnfFHkld3HfM-Y0QlEX5Bc4S9lJa6TprMHLx4JeyA1c7Hq6Kt2DRircA44RrwT7yGrDS_ZbGwz4SWZCx3shz1Qa_F5bcSQTLFDNtsSitQXeV8cY51lPgUKYWRD4FNhjQImdaGQ/s400/WL2.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>Check</div><br /><div>4. Fireworks<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078120248252423394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgcfwvJPIchA_-VKvU7HLvyWMKGLv9MPh0En2nUkyh2oWeJCXXZDjyfl2qmTvqnG8JBCJHeT5aP-2nPGoPXalNjMJ1tSgjszij8HCrEKwp-n_8HE7V7kY16ozlZYOufFHJvHVAArgvGp4/s400/Fireworks.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><div>Check</div><br /><br /><div>5. Nice Effects Shots<br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078120454410853618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupMTbaSRZqJSvwL50L8-b4k003zogYFWIyhLfDSABIMKVahiHzas8M02I_JleK_bJXUZ2VOtdwNeQhhN9Yc4Qe5CQei2M1CtqdE_77Ol9k4a2dl4Y5jULZ2j4otwoZTWTo0JrnPc05sY/s400/Mid-2.jpg" border="0" />Check<br /><br /><br /><div>6. New Timelord<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078121042821373186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5YcCWk8X7LQlu_zvwuKAEGPwKyn-o5TUhy8jC6soJHV-AM7tnn10x9m0Gtkn_66goD3l6BRH16uiGPxmQ1qdyeHF8YsZ5TTLZmCAAYNWLsWtW6VwyAFZKix0lQvJgLuPEZqLF4t4rh8/s400/new.jpg" border="0" /> Blimey. Check</div><br /><div>7. Star Vampire</div><div><br /> </div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078121227504966930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS5Z1iTq1tibcIpnlbBuWppAXnFm6jAtL72K9AJslvH7lNSrlorFk4ARPzX1R_TGh3bhBg_OeisJZfhC_uD6FnVnM5QZHKP46AEC4EAQf83sl-NUi643qENvzSgdIw3DO9UfGdZzmdJkA/s400/Vamp.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Er.......check?</div><br /><div>8. Power Source</div><br /><div>Power source? Oh bugger.........</div><br /><div>9. Dancing</div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078121644116794658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHs7eBfQHqNIMcWNWEtn6qSUeBQZQeaF1GWsJVQRcNYnL_qfNK5S_LPiFdNgGUI5wjQ7T7HumGRz5v6swCt8tRZoajyitFM4zdW27VFo16kv8UtG0f1E4c32AsE-yNXl9wAut3XC__gMc/s400/Dancing.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div><br /><div>Check</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>10. Bananas<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078124745083182386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="165" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzf6SXMgF9DC5pCnRVw1rOIiGx_L-oKH5GVr-lneM_swVGXEoYzH8p0fLHd8q2qmYhU1fAoKGHmB36VMAS_pQKA8_DahlX30ObQ4zsYvYBpr6QvtiS-rfYo3eF7jp3DhHOzcJrxfnxGcg/s400/bananas.jpg" width="85" border="0" /><br /><p>Oh yes. Bananas are good.</p></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-78867519701566035262007-06-15T01:09:00.000-07:002007-06-15T01:28:57.263-07:00I love the smell of steam in the morning<span style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">From the journal of Alfonso Avalanche</span></span><br /><span style=""><br />What an evening last night turned out to be: regenerations, star vampires, stolen power sources, possessed Time Lords – I definitely needed time to get out of the circus workshop and clear my head. At least Oolon seems to have come through it all largely intact. Let’s just hope the gamble hasn’t caused more problems than it’s solved…<o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I decided to go take the air in Primverness and check that all was well at the Steampunk exhibition. It’s amazing the technological feats the engineers of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Caledon</st1:city></st1:place> can accomplish.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQTlQz1bzr1P_HFHNZN1NsYA_Kjoo6Jynh6zDwIgnAbte6V9M92PaEIp1iqTGxFoWWp0ZxIIbYDDwueKyN2uUaWa_0RK2JG_IAMNpfyuO-ujMM2Vg33Z8kOQCTU4muv-4SUSAGqLneE0/s1600-h/SteamExp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQTlQz1bzr1P_HFHNZN1NsYA_Kjoo6Jynh6zDwIgnAbte6V9M92PaEIp1iqTGxFoWWp0ZxIIbYDDwueKyN2uUaWa_0RK2JG_IAMNpfyuO-ujMM2Vg33Z8kOQCTU4muv-4SUSAGqLneE0/s400/SteamExp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076201965534174370" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">As I was passing, I thought I’d better check that my own pieces of engineering were still in good working order.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Thankfully, the alignment on the space gun appeared to be fine, and Miss Paris’ steam elephant still showed stable boiler pressure.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The strangely soothing sound of steam trains (thanks to Dr Burton Newall), steam engines (courtesy of Mr Denver Hax), hissing baked potatoes (provided by Captain Lapin Paris), ticking clockwork limbs (built by Sir Edward Pearse), the odd boing of the cavorite repulsion chamber (envisioned by Mr Greggan) and humming laser piggy eyes (by, who else, but Miss Virrginia Tombola), made a most unusual dawn chorus.</span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-33332133104900010612007-06-14T03:36:00.000-07:002007-06-14T05:03:44.220-07:00A dream? Really, Doctor, you'll be consulting the entrails of a sheep next<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I found it difficult to sleep last night. It was a night of odd dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I dreamt of an old friend sitting in a bright white-marble room, weaving a giant tapestry. He wore colourful robes with a high collar, looking almost incongruous on his small frame. It was a tapestry full of strange images – silver robots, domed automatons, black suns, blue boxes, piano lounges, beaches, planets, stars and so many people. The small man smiled up at me as the last thread fell into place, his robe gone and replaced by a more familiar tuxedo. He’d found a martini from somewhere and finished it off with one gulp. He winked at me with one of his large eyes, reached out and in one sudden move tore the tapestry from the loom.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">The room filled with a blinding blue light, and I shielded my eyes. When I reopened them I was elsewhere. It was dark and I was in his photographic studio. He sat at his workbench, looking more like he does now, a flickering light playing across his face. He was surrounded by unspooled kinematic film. It spilled from the desk and covered almost the entire stone floor. He turned and beckoned me over to see what he was doing. He was winding through a reel of film on his home made editing equipment. The images on the small screen whirled along, too fast to follow as his hand spun the feed wheel. With no receiving reel fitted, the film continually cascaded onto the floor. It was impossible - that small reel couldn’t possibly have held all that film. He must have read my thoughts as he tapped the side of his his nose and whispered “it’s bigger on the inside”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I don’t know how long I stood transfixed, catching a glimpse of familiar scenes, people and faces in the hypnotic glow of the screen, when suddenly it stopped on a single image…an empty white room with a circular motif repeated across the walls. Had we come to the end of the reel? I glanced over to see it still had plenty more to go. His hand slowly, carefully moved up to the guillotine he used for cutting his movie footage. His hand hovered there, almost as if he dared not touch it. His gaze wasn’t on the, film or the guillotine, it was out through the glass windowed walls of the studio.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">On the lawn, beneath the bright starry sky, stood his Cabinet. A warm light spilled from the open doors and the blue beacon atop the device pulsed reassuringly. The silhouette of a figure appeared in the doorway, and as I heard the sound of the guillotine slicing through film, the figure stepped out onto the grass…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">…and I awoke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-54100083599747217402007-06-12T12:21:00.000-07:002007-06-12T13:22:03.027-07:00Play MistyDear Virrginia,<br /><br /><div><div>Its been a long time since I've been off for a wander, so I thought I really ought to. What with Oolon doing daft things and putting himself out of commission I don't suppose we'll get to do any more ETD jaunts (not that we have for a while anyway, but you know what I mean). Anyways, I kept hearing people talking about a place called Avillion and it sort of sounded a bit like home. Not that I really miss home all that much (there's too many kind and wonderful people and exciting and interesting things here to make me want to abandon Caledon; oh yes, and Alfonso) but every now and again a Pixie needs cool water and shade and the feel of magic between her toes.</div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075262492977781842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcmRNnNw3Wk2eg_aL1mY0DOXSq1Nxev7xLtaWy4pJcYZ83ovMqkw4_qIvq4aCXuTOfHIKAHpPSZgJtYDj-7QMXErIBrFhRfrVIrKjTnaVpgUQanezb28LC1rzwHzYnPgUVLK6w6pX1gs/s320/Firey+Things.jpg" border="0" /> </p><br /><div>I arrived in a castle keep of some sort, in the midst of a thriving market. Burt resolutely refused to come out in case I made him carry something (lazy little oik), but it was all big person stuff and you know the problems I have with proper capes. Some sort of creature gave me a little note on the etiquette of the land and some very nice clothes to wear, so I was quite happy (at least I was <em>then</em>). They're very nice clothes, too; comfy and soft and a lovely colour. Still, poor mite can't have had much room in that sign. I pointed out to Burt how there were Brownies far worse off than him, but he only grumbled.</div><br /><p>After I'd got changed behind some packing crates (being small does have some advantges), I left the keep and followed the path down to a little village. There were even more shops here, but I didn't tarry. There was also a considerable number of locals gathered in a clearing near by (I think they were having an argument so I tried not to intrude but you have to say hello, don't you?). They certainly weren't very polite and only one good gentleman responded to my greeting. In fact, the whole time I was there, he was the only soul who even acknowledged my existence. I did wonder if it was part of that strange effect we'd noticed when we did go out in the ETD, but someone could see and talk to me so I guess that the inhabitants of Avillion just aren't very friendly people.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075265830167370850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWEDhf3kponG6yF4SMnYhCdS_oD9wTQZHGNT1e49CrwSfMSOgLdo8REYByWp9eoBb4-aRITrHndY8i-NjKhYOnythg7Y3RVz11x7v8NagbpJSbraL4owdtByunU5UwKON12p5W5VxkUI/s320/Treehouse.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div>Which is a terrible shame really, as its quite a pretty place (but not one I'd ever want to go back to). There were magnificent tree houses that you could only reach by fantastical stairways (my wings felt very sad and heavy there and I could barely manage a flutter). Many contained ballrooms and opulent furniture, but were oddly silent. Everybody seemed to be downstairs arguing or posing next to a tourney field. Give us that much ballroom space in Caledon and we'd be dancing non-stop, I'm sure of it.<br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075267582514027634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDF-4Em-2bm2uXmINHC7o-_M4_3I41XbYVAeaV2rf3YTBq4YcaSC_eJ24AMBuo6si104qSNokGFoGIvjLn_QsTPWzJ-oeaC0pSiNAq86vImPqPa0bRq5N-N75ND0h4iXdLBw40stBI9I/s320/Tree+stairs.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><div>Many more were open to the stars, affording a breathtaking view of the waterfalls all around. The music of the falls was thunderous and mighty and normally this would have filled me with joy. Sadly, although the earth was moving, it wasn't breathing; there was no heartbeat. The life I had expected to feel from all this foliage and force wasn't there; it was a hollow land, lost and empty. I could have wept.</div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075269884616498306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhekZimtfIjStzwZ7qOPJ1HMW2xNHgjuaf4OfrcbSWVEFU6LDq79dhdIPq5MYpeUT9tFbIbWF7KNKClsLhFLkQ9ZxCd863CVsrsPNoTo4HVkzsNKXJP7NMWXJe5SY45yWGkVfeNFzpihzY/s320/Stars+and+platforms.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>And then I found out why the people here are probably so miserable: Drow. Don't have much of a sense of humour, your Drow. Its all "Oh the pain of existence! Woe is me, woe is me!". Pfffft. It certainly explained the swamp and the tunnel full of dismembered butterflies. They do tend to ruin a neighbourhood with all that misery and spikey nonsense. Can't be doing with them personally and thankfully I didn't run into any of the cheerless gloom-monkeys. </p><p> </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075270911113682066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu83ME8d0CmNYHZYu08ZzPxda7V_Z2csiJDdOaWRwVNN9PUG_TmXbeLVZCwEiUTjKOfpC6AiZU2oXFyOj4TqvniWOAWyAtUINndhcpQgjz6gLUqT1R7PoXd95K0-yM0ac0UMhbmo3PMfY/s320/Graveyard.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p>Unfortunately I did run into their sense of humour. Oh wait, that's right, they don't have one, which is why I ended up stuck in a graveyard arguing with a bunch of irritating wisps about how I was going to get home (booby traps, marvellous). Just capped off the trip perfectly, that did. To be utterly frank, I'd seen all I wanted to by that point and so I concentrated really hard and "popped" myself home to the Colony. Its hard work and I always need a good sit down and several cups of tea afterwards, but enough was mostly definitely more than enough.</p><p>I wouldn't go there Virrginia, it wasn't fun. I know it might seem frivolous, but I feel the need for fun in a world of gathering storm clouds; I crave sunshine and life, my dear friends and their warmth and companionship. I can safely say that never have I been so happy as to see my beloved Caledon as I was that day.</p><p>Your friend</p><p>Fuschia</p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-51264013021989265392007-06-11T02:05:00.001-07:002007-06-11T02:12:53.824-07:00Blue Box Recorder<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Dear Oolon,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">It’s been such a long time since I put pen to paper - way back when I was still exploring the mainland. Sadly as you know, all that exploration had to be put on hold when Master Grutt delivered my military reactivation papers and I was summoned back to Tanglewood HQ. Did I ever tell you about my time serving in the engine rooms of the circus dreadnaughts back in the Clown Wars? It’s been so busy since I got back, servicing the engines on the ornithopters and transport balloons for our brave boys and girls.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Anyway, I’m drifting off the point, as I often do. I’m writing because I had a bit of an odd experience and I was wondering if you can shed any light on it? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I was sitting having a nice mug of tea back at the colony a few days ago, when I heard what I took to be the familiar roaring, tearing noise of the ETC engines. However, the box that appeared was similar, but not quite the same as yours. It had the same basic shape but was bluer, squarer, different proportions, if that makes sense? I was wondering if you’d been doing some work on her, when suddenly the door opened and a complete stranger stuck his head out through the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Seeing my surprised look the white haired gent lifted an ornate pocket watch to his face, stared for a while as if trying to focus on the watch hands, muttered something about “crossing his own timestream”, vanished back into the box, and slammed the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I’d put down my tea by this point and had started to make my way over to this “other” Cabinet, but only got half way there before the roaring started again and the blue box was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Didn't get a chance to get any pictures of the chap or his box, but thought I'd drop you a letter to see if he was one of your Gallifreyan friends? I don’t mind them dropping in, it’s just I didn’t recognise him and he seemed to have such an odd reaction to seeing me. I hope I didn’t offend any of them with that unfortunate mix-up with the pantomime zebra costume last time they were over visiting you in the ETC.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Right, must be off, I’m busy rifling a huge gun barrel at the moment, nothing to do with the war effort, just a personal project. Just out of interest, have you given any thought in trying to get to the moon?<o:p><br /></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Yours,<o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Alfonso<o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-12130748793776862892007-05-19T13:53:00.000-07:002007-05-19T14:01:07.970-07:00Kissing Caledon Colonels Court Controversy<em>Clipping from The Caledon Sun:</em><br /><br />A recently discovered photograph has led to much wagging of tongues and has sent shockwaves through Caledon society. <div><br /> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066379294491516274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOAiCC5uxxofiYj91A1jmdAe-X4S3vZC1F2GdP1RQDHgxAjS8gU8Qb5l67pumsw_3oPvtdVQhfOTXlRGcmgGxKtUu9fNhh57l3Dv5loLucAqtZNJy-OQWfksrCz1JVrGIAtkd81pF68aU/s320/Otoole.jpg" border="0" /><br />The picture allegedly shows two Colonels of the Caledon milita, Col Alfonso Avalanche (Royal Engineers) and Col Hotspur O’Toole (CHIT / Caledon Air Force), engaged in a passionate clinch.<br /><br />The Caledon militia has launched a full enquiry and an investigation led by Major Erasmus Margulis promises to get to the bottom of the situation.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066379290196548962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_4OnwXU2Nf7dnxGHUe_LfT1dS1FEw684cL9G7Z4-U-A4pcJa_G37J1RGZtUvN-PGqsV0CLrX6PJfdenpNd8tb87rXqPEbH__NAq9SL743ZjAFda0je3eYbQTkRArYgAX_kfdETpDFfU/s320/margulis.jpg" border="0" />Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-39226715618024686322007-05-19T06:25:00.000-07:002007-05-19T07:01:06.382-07:00The Sky Full of StarsOh my poor diary, how I've neglected you of late. It's shameful really, when you've always been such a patient listener and confidante. I really don't know where the time has gone, except that my sewing machine has barely been silent. But these are, at best, excuses and I shall trouble you with them no more.<br /><div><br />Do you know the world is a magical place, even here on this earth so far away from Faerie. People forget; slowly, inexorably they stop pausing to enjoy the beauty and wonder all around them. Its nobody's fault; life is hectic and there is always so much to do and be done. So when instants of absolute stillness occur, when you can hear the heart of the Universe beating out it's symphony, when time crystallises into that one perfect moment, these are the times that are the most precious we have.<br /></div><br /><div><div>I had such a moment last night. </div><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066267775665675586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_4Yy0tW1kJJkmBT5mNaFe9PgfcONO4mc8eOqyavzQd_JIZnLZrEOcpqUvgf-dUrlTAJKEDh16kv-Rvq9IdfJJG9RyunSKA_OL5KICszvS4njdlefBY-3CsbbuCsFuZXv699DH3lLGQ4/s320/Touching+the+Stars.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>I had heard rumours from our friends that Mr Darkle Sands had been experimenting with light in the manner of that august gentleman Mr Tesla. I made so bold as to ask Darkle if I might be able to see his creation and he very kindly said that I could. For all his quiet reserve, he truly does have the soul of a poet (as a very dear friend told me; how right she is).<br /><br />Above the clouds, nestled between heaven and earth, he laid out his masterpiece with the care and tenderness of a proud father. And he had every right to be proud. The gentle glow of the bulb field was utterly breathtaking, wrapped in silken shreds of cloud that fleetingly touched the earth before melting away into nothingness. </div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066266023319018786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0I3UpDddu8QMVeAFFxBfy-NJnYvelL2GbgYrSOQLcPYTvvMDhN5amBa-xRL0hA-ZnOwbVJQIGiU9MrnAeNb7R9fWVz721tFSGXEZ9G0Hv8Gpl8ruoYBK6kmuk_as4g8SEeyr3T8ID_qg/s320/Mysterious+Strongman.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>I called Alfonso to see the quiet majesty of the spectacle, knowing how much of a fan of Mr Tesla he is. And Miss Paris as well. Like me, they were most taken with the scene. Taken - the word doesn't do the feeling justice; I know that the moment I saw the tiny, perfect twinkling lights my spirit soared and I felt that magic had returned to the world in all its primal glory; demure, comforting but vast and mighty, a force of nature biding its time, awaiting its moment. This is what we are (or at the very least this is what we can be): beacons of light in the darkness. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066271203049577810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhrksqhS3nt4ECWYTbY0EXhstAlY56cblFB5FSwAhel9I81Jcx4zFMllsquKtfCPnBcY4Dlv3VLx4_V3_aaVstezjfCTgX-1AmynIiMzeDjZoWJab63kPTZ-lP7Is3dBBpSZO2O5R4GQY/s320/Darkle+and+Miss+Paris.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>I have always loved light, the play of shadows, the sense of mystery and illusion. The stars had fallen to earth, only to be swept up again into the vault of the heavens, waymarkers to guide us all safely home to those we love.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066264674699287826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfULuHS3ibnQmm-rx3dxZQXqDO05H3uv5Nwl8aYhhWTpV6pFd344vx88GOGSEUX7ZMPt9jvFnMjqaNYgwPkx4kvQnahVxXnJ7C-FfosoUe-qLVr-QQzKnTgui_MOy8vKWHv-Hbs7Bkzw/s320/Pretty+lights+-+low.jpg" border="0" /><br /></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-76687650662042795782007-04-24T08:50:00.000-07:002007-04-24T10:29:10.851-07:00The Answer To EverythingDearest Em,<br /><br /><div><div><div>I am very sorry that I haven't written to you in a while. I don't have a proper excuse; I think I've just been having too much fun making dresses and helping Miss Paris (and playing on catapults and springy boards and dancing). Life is rarely dull in Caledon...</div><div><br /><div><div>What shall I tell you about first? I suppose Steam City happened before I went swiming with Miss Virrginia and flying with Miss Paris so that should really be the one, oughtn't it? </div><div><br /></div><div>The Guvnah Sir very kindly said that we could go and play on the proposed site for the new neighbourhood and you really can't refuse an offer like that. We'd missed the steam elephant racing and it was all very quiet, so Alfonso set up two of his catapults for us to play on. We weren't alone for long though; the catapult does seem to attract people in a most mesmeric sort of way. Alfonso couldn't resist the opportunity to test his new invention on a willing band of guinea pigs and brought out his Moon Rocket. </div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057027350871802578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqwuPwZmxAhMcpq1UagwFGama_Gw2r2HjH2Sfy2RfmjVtKBDx4kSxbYkG30mMOxmAfbTH7Xv7uu8rXT1RrdZkcjf-4RVeyioe8M64AMWWnrtYx4Ho_7tvGM0hUj3K-3FSwt63Xi-ye40/s320/Moon+rocket.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><div>It didn't exactly work, but people seemed to be enjoying themselves so Alfonso knocked up some launch boards from the spare building materials that were lying around. That was much more reliable, although there were a few, er, well, embaressing moments.<br /></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057030129715643106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjJuGqWFAR-OxBBFuvuobgbMdBym-Jq39aPtJQqVOTlWkm8ID6AdyC1W6umMcdWnhV0u45OKg8OsTFfNCkSbV7BF4MXgxeeTjGK8ZiTWiz34ilHZG5HrUl05Atlmn0LFVVm2AwcmDwwY/s320/Don't+ask-2.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><div>Its not like Mr Margulis to be so underdressed (except when raving, of course; this was entirely due to the acceleration he assured me), but we were all far too polite to say anything. And Miss Paris and Miss Schnabel were very well organised; they were packed for every eventuality, as proper ladies of adventure always must be.</div><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057031297946747650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFU7eJjWHXYq-7pyrgN45vRFsIhlBeMN1qiKNQg26-07Ka5Zm7U7uw5NBxg1TYx6E13rEtZMKntvuvUqAHnxPnV3wZURFlPO2OZCeRaYdTAq5L8v6n2ZG6_IdFR3fBVWLoI1wLuVj-oQE/s320/Ladies+of+Adventure-1.jpg" border="0" /><br />And then there was Mr Buchanan and his shark. I'm not quite sure what was going on there, but the shark didn't seem to mind too much and I could have sworn he was smiling as he blasted skyward.<br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057032079630795538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqcBIreq9bymTXrcYdSOsmGCcKieHXGojKjWrq0LLcM0TU4kkTN7Pj6MtSSnlJRhkZ91NaewrnJi89CKqR0RqEKy9V2jqwHCaD7H6CIP40GbaisD2TVD0nuKa-PIDCbCx3GeC-_w6U1hg/s320/Sharky.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>It has to be said that the citizens of Caledon are always up for a bit of a giggle and if it includes being catapulted into the air at a huge rate of knots, so much the better. I managed to make it all the way over Port Caledon in my inner tube and I landed in the pond in Caledon II as well! I slept well that night, let me tell you.</div><div> </div><div></div><div>It was a shame that Virrginia couldn't be there, knowing her fondness for all things aerial, but I did get a chance to have a small adventure with her when we went swimming at Rua.</div><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057033123307848482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmw9CFXq88wnvCqHjIcK5ZfSw_00QWwhMXTKw66_pd-i3umPjWQn3fMctN48_NAyhB7nbiH5-bRs1mH5S4LHuhJjqCJDaXNnUOJ14ndPxmNJJmTvQGLkD7O9Ur4BBMgSMLZTQZxXhOqo/s320/Virrginia+and+me.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>This was after she taught me to fly an ornithopter. Let us just say that I'm marginally less bad at that than I am flying with my own wings (we only got stuck upside down twice. Or was it three times?). And the flying goggles were rather useful under water too. There were some nice sea urchins that Virrginia had a sit on (and as she pointed out, exploring requires a great deal of sitting) and quite a lot of interesting wildlife.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057034897129341762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkT3TehmvvktfAiw9VucsXbrX6F9-BUaAa4aRXnthJsXPJLDyuIfY0A0koqlJoV6akULUfEC4iVz55XNAOTngRSfofH3PuFXU1gPLXZOJ_Y-uIUWLkj_GptyUdsxoTn0HcK0V8gTxXZRM/s320/Jellyfish.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div>But poor Virrginia wasn't feeling too grand and kept swooning (which isn't really a good thing when you're underwater, mermaid or not), so we called it a day and she went for a lie down at home. I wandered over to Tanglewood, where Alfonso was mending Miss Paris' steam elephant (who'd banged his head when he'd been playing with the catapult and he hadn't been quite right since). After my lovely husband had wiped his hands and tidied away his tools, Miss Paris offered to take us all for a celebratory ride. </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5057036387482993506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtD17sfuHb6Y2diLr0xnEv5Qn6pNdDCGKSmBZqm4IT9sAfNttcoiR2sMmwW1uyUDCtOTIn1F55R0OcaWlJywhrHDWwVHB-kilqEoXq_j7ibKl6yv3J23P1Oc2cMMeb97sZQ9Gc5iXt7oU/s320/Reversion.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>I'm not sure that Alfonso had completely cured the bumped noggin because this Snorty had a moment of reversion to the activities that made his forebear so infamous. Mr Gray assured us he was fine despite his skewering and the trip continued apace. I didn't stay for too long as I was feeling rather exhausted from all the swimming and flying, but it was fun swooping over Caledon a la elephant.</div><div> </div><div></div><div>So, as you can see, its been all go here. I do hope you get the chance to pop over for a cup of tea soon, its ages since we had the chance for a proper gossip and you know how pixies have to satify their natural curiosity as often as possible.</div><div> </div><div></div><div>Take care, dear Emilly.</div><div></div><div>Fuschia</div><br /><div></div><div></div></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-17056369693904042522007-04-16T08:44:00.000-07:002007-04-16T09:40:29.373-07:00Miranda Miranda<div><div><div><div>Dear Diary,<br /><br />Its been quite a weekend, let me assure you. Its been lovely to have my husband home from his travels, although his workshop has never been so busy (still, keeps him out of the tent). He does love a good challenge.<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054053768365208258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq6RpgdZGVl_ghtTy1U1DF0I7rWlBfSNoNlwhQQLpkSow0muWHkLvOvRo4jpZx97AkV3uzMDNEUPhk7ZEW4eTrpIyvcuIfIIBL3eLnO20iNb_ppFzD4wTa_4fPr9alopcC854bvLPCdHk/s320/Ye+Comely+Wench.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><div>Although I think its fair to say that this was much more of a challenge for those viewing it than it was for him. His Uncle Monty has a lot to answer for, that's all I'm saying. I'm not quite sure how he got into my banquet frock, just that I need to thank the seamstress for making it from such durable and stretchy fabrics.</div><br /><div></div><div>And then there was the catapult. Now I knew that was fun, because we played with it over at the Circus. And it was lovely to see all of our friends having great fun experimenting with exactly what you could throw using it.<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054055963093496530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rLZHU9iZ4TJmKbspXlo0gqFBRieb-f_tWM7tBs4EglGsV7uYS35UgHuHvT347gLlyEN1fd0ZuCjHfqqlFKr25EVnscIxPKfge9H0ZqiyMfJeUO9fI25MBWNl66WZwhIjYp7JVounfvc/s320/Flying+zebras.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>I seen a horse fly, I seen a dragon fly, I seen a house fly, and I've even seen an elephant fly. But a zebra???? </div><div><br /> </div><div>And then there was Miss Cyn Vandeverre, shortly before some naughty witch turned her into a daffodil (which coincidentally flew very well indeed).</div><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054056895101399778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWDusd_-0IB5BNWyry19QCo7AN60u0l1c6vn6fNlU2DLKwRzwgOEIJ51agTgMkP4-tiLnJwn-B4WR_tH4UzXhegQIpTSloQynQ8pzULAsLRTeIqrKnOuaGvvNe1thplOAnA3owYlH-Frg/s320/Miss+Vandeverre+in+flight.jpg" border="0" /><br />And there was jousting. Not with horses; far more civilised than that. All it really needed was some cake and tea for the journey. Here you can see our gallant Guvnah hurtling towards victory (although Miss Kelley needn't have been quite so alarmed).</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054058948095767282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOxuv8YBRSvbEj-drInlFp8JxQukpnv6dXIpbjZSkwaJsNaIWWWFQvqAErUBQQhOWUbjXEpUvuxBtrDUqFtCzL_CNj5bPDSaOikjuwR_2ckOLDUH6H-oGk8GHwR7Xo4MuB9czql2t_mc/s320/Guv+Jousting.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div>And then there was the dancing. It all started so innocently at first, although Alfonso had obviously had too much sun by that point of the day. </div><div><br /> </div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054059626700600066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixlh-I3bD1r4HY02Aj2Nj_WmUGf8Gm8ylndyiXFZhES3aEAJzw8O93ltQJXYCWyGwPNWTGUSYfnak7NwkNH07BHTWysBkGJHbMOXWhnDJZl6bUdLq6SCGgNByNq3iByBDkzhR32xjJ9no/s320/Better+than+one.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div>And then it began, quietly at first: the Caledon Ladies' Pagan Dance Society, later to become the Secret Miranda Society.....(I somehow don't think Miss Paris had any idea of the repercussions her chance comment would lead to!)</div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054060739097129762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-TbMtBvmukAO80IkJp9gk1fq9bCZjFQUMTbg26aKG_2SyEnGvmXVFVt-34KeaeGoWU_i9c6Mozuzjs1LKL6y9-zGi19V2KXS4ecSaXT0q2ckdh5t59PnN0MmYM6vdVmFcUNWNrqjIa6o/s320/Pan's+People.jpg" border="0" />Somehow, I was reminded of Aunty Pan's dance troupe...</div><br /><div>At this point, Oolon was still clinging to his dignity and stood as our token male (although Alfonso's and Mr Margulis' dignity had long since waved bye-bye): </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054061086989480754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkjn7ANmtAmY2wwBZUC3Sb2YWip9YHogh1RyWH3ap5eB5p8tof9eyWU7E06B8SOZO_HsCbphLSy2gfm7iHMC88uRmsLuijUwS5hxAg2r7Cz_mdzD1lIdvQtB-EAOK6g5dmJSm-cpTTcs/s320/Token+Male.jpg" border="0" /> It didn't last... </div><div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054062976775091026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif18dN1emJh-34QmDZ2hqrxcN-zFdVEQsaEzWx10YPNg3FvSGfTH_hs8AUxNoXVECTyEyfr1GF7Qtf6fZngLdzqLTi50GVVDomETcNbnm2qfpgKU8Q6Q_a4h01XIS_fRgHkiVblBQt69g/s320/CLPDS-3.jpg" border="0" />Poor Mr Nino looked most bemused by the cavorting and gyrating sea of blue and red; he found it quite impossible to judge the best dressed competition.</div><div></div><div>And then the wings came, and the jester hats....</div><div> </div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054064166481032050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7m0WfDaRVsaK9C6tI9uDxEoAF-qzU9-KbD-BsTb_JJDwqAjE5NfXJ55jCcxsJbk9QTN4LbztXv-F5OaEYOnU8duaZIbLGyLpqTV4jqb_ePRYTtvffoqR6wjrv5oVRB0S5udII_TcXpWc/s320/Jester+hats.jpg" border="0" /><br />And of course, the bright glowing lights...</div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054063320372474722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13c6KnfIHl6tTrJpbmdQ36rLF0T-avcZk2g_lI9ikp4aib64t1pHIxclRPp-_Jq1NW_O471p79dmJsNYxuDn5R7Bh7IJlDqJ1Inw_EB1pQmsLAje2FCGzfRRiZ3zwtTaP6RVEQNnuuGw/s320/CLPDS-4.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div>Still, her Grace Gabrielle took it marvellously well that we had erm, well, descended into madness on her lands...for the second night running...</div><div> </div><div></div><div>Shortly after I retired to the Colony, with very sore ribs and a happy heart. Dancing lifts the spirit (and hopefully we shouldn't have any rain in Caledon for weeks now...)<br /><br />FB</div></div></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-15466655906873216552007-04-10T07:19:00.000-07:002007-04-10T08:25:48.118-07:00Stormy WeatherDear Virrginia,<br /><div><div><div> </div><div>I hope you don't mind too much, but me and Terry went off on our own for a little Fey outing to a lovely place Miss Tamura had discovered called Metatheria. In some respects it reminded me of home, although everything was a lot bigger. If you ever get the chance, it would certainly be worth a visit (just don't go left, there were skulls down there...big ones)</div><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051805640748560946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixvjY6-AF-gKFruAxFneGVMYVELh4Ezxq84kCWHkovAAjXSHvBFT8yOjKmHNUxNTxIjcjlm3wTrnRMoDjMaL-Zu3PyLVG71zMhXLqXmmpGeh1Dtu8OV0GL7Kupwg2bhyuQX66qY6cGJS0/s320/Landscape.jpg" border="0" /></p><div> </div><div>And don't take any notice of the creepy whispering voices when you arrive, either. That's just there for the casual tourists who expect these sort of things (I think Terry called it an ambience, whatever one of them is, but it sounded like a lady to me).<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051806890584044098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHKynMR4BrqXrHI7KV_xtHTsdTuF2_RYcpQSElDOlgUiu3iEVGCtTx7zFyNpoQgs5Zc4_pcwiTYKVEIukVcr65ybFbGZjw3yYAdkIQMg_1X2-XO8VYLbb_0-FI7jWH388GrUZHJxvb6U/s320/Terry+marches+on.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div>Terry was as forthright as usual and boldly led the way into this (to me) undiscovered country. There were lots of very pretty trees and flowers, and a long langorous river and a waterfall and lots of interesting temples, nooks and crannies to climb over and sit in. And mushrooms, of course, this being Fey land (I would have been terribly disappointed if there hadn't been). And a big dragon's nest, which was sadly empty and not as comfortable as you might imagine considering the usual level of comfort most of the dragons I know prefer. Terry looked very funny perching in there, but Burt was too busy hiding in case a big bird came by and tried to eat him, so I didn't get any paintings; he's such a coward sometimes. There <em>were </em>some big birdies, but they had better taste than to go after Brownies (who tend to be a bit stringy and muddy).</div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051807796822143570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfu68PL39z5yXpyF9lQmPzInaRyrQAFdkC3jTz_EmN5yp23Yx484OckGxt5-bM_Z3-FrKRSjXh6Gt7qVTwa5V6TkCojP2jB1-jlhhrkO9UZi1QC_25Vzw_hwMYOoFyfIQqnHVfcLBN3QA/s320/Birdies.jpg" border="0" /><br />The sound of running water was very soothing; swans and ducks dabbled and fish swam in lazy circles beneath the cool blue surface. We wandered over a bridge and found ourselves at the bottom of some very steep steps.</div><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051809373075141218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgba_AAs4S_pUWrBpUqrGD8VapFFAYiA1nVyubn0iEMB6edENjzJux9-yeurtYN5d1mDkmOkj48BEmbmR1OV2VJaUtWF1T2ULqhIFjAYj8rWHTx2YEmzALQ8heiu7Q5dDJOrovlP8aNz70/s320/Steps.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div><br /><br /></div><div>There was a lovely recreational area and a bar up the stairs (Em would have loved it) and that's where we met a Metatherian Sidhe, a very refined lady called Miss Ayres. She was ever so friendly. So were the other nice Sidhe people we met (yes, people! That hadn't all run away before we got there). Made quite a change to have someone else to chat to...<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051810232068600434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLFkk2_D91LogN4OL_a_cXKs5YxudrNpaIpG9EmX9BPP_NYu5VDjie_i1K7cka531aemSAeyiwP4fEHlPPb7ik7qv6a3IFo54OR2pjGsZyFWkpq7sRBbqngbGvqONSGFE8IpxkoClBuY/s320/Miss+Ayres.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div><br />But that was all after we saw the dinky ice palace and I broke the swing. I've been very good lately, and I've hardly got my dust into anything, but there was a storm coming and the breeze was picking up; it must have wafted it into the swing mechanism. I didn't mean to break it, it just sort of, well, happened. Terry thought it was very funny but it was terribly embaressing.<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051811129716765314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbpEQthHMdp5P2CPbzhnJQ6CaHesbQMxpccGLewG13Ne0tC62AYWNoSgbcdSbdWW132i-g4GdpCZPI3JBz8enRnNv1xVqzRUD5wIavosdsyQ66gD3tNDF0m-HwivkpPGNc9sMRGjnxzU/s320/Swing+pre+pixie.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div><br />See this was the swing before I tried to sit on it. Terry was having a nice relax and enjoying the flowers. Then:<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051811748192055954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBfp4VAeVbu_urpglFOdkvEpu_RbTDe9-k3dZkEoqskY8r-zx8Gm-crnzIQF09CKS1LB66evQOvDDixI0vSHOFQ6CxkSqkI2fJnc9P4HNXNsLm7ZnAmUfEoSqjHOv0_19pldUhLOSMZSA/s320/Swing+post+pixie.jpg" border="0" /><br />It sort of got stuck. Still, you had a very good view of the flowers from that angle, although it was a little bit tricky to stay seated. You couldn't see the waterfall anymore though, which was a shame as it was a very magnificent waterfall. And I couldn't get it unstuck again, which was even worse; I do hope that the storm washed all the dust out - I've been too shy to go back and see for myself.</div><div><br />Where did we go then? Oh yes, up to the bar and then over the big, scary rope bridge to where the birdies were. We were looking for the Underground that Miss Ayres had mentioned, but the secret entrance was actually under the bridge and not over it; which makes perfect sense really. Still you never can tell with Fey, they do like to confound your expectations. </div><div><br />The Underground was luminous, with yet more bridges and glowing mushrooms and bridges and flowers. And there was a very pretty swirly thing, though heaven alone knows what it was there for. Mind you, I don't suppose pretty things really need a reason to be; its often more than enough that they simply are.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051815643727393442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorSPpr5Sgy6LyB3WyUlW7LnBD_ZIDbbq2FEqi4dw-qHR0g7Q8OZEA5gQKkDJGwWcnb4t0zDyUjYnocvsRwxbViB4tYVyoVfcdcY7H9_0_yW86QWv5UOQ-JRzhyphenhypheneEfvNuLlZ90FF1rnw8/s320/Shiny+thing.jpg" border="0" /><br />Terry thought we might enjoy a trip out on one of the boats moored nearby, but the storm was gathering pace and was creating big spouts of water. I know that both of us are pretty waterproof, but that doesn't mean that you go looking to get wet and I get sick if I whizz about too much (which is why I avoid travelling in that confounded bouncing contraption of Oolon's). I do apologise for the quality of the dageurotype - Burt went into hiding again when the spouty thing got too close.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051816468361114290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNeYKSUjkzH-tlYTXLswrTlixI0FYbGDPYN8ErQsF0P4LMFW_p8-8iKyYQ_u9wRZr-5ju0umQE8BjxQPadMTTbTsQBMS83sHkcIoLMpeLQ-ISgksI2nzRFGEz0YzEzE0sEuy_GoGJsBo/s320/Inclement+weather.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div>It wasn't long after that the storm hit and what a doozy it was, too. We got a bit lost in the bushes trying to find our way back from the beach, but the branches were going all over the place as the wind picked up. Then I think we got caught in one of the usual storm related dislocations, because both of us found ourselves very unceremoniously dumped back at our respective homes (after a few moments of utter blackness). It's happened a few times lately, but I still can't quite get used to the strength of the Linden winds. We did pop back, but only briefly as it was about then that we received the call to Port Caledon...</div><div> </div><div>Well, better get back to Alfonso; he's running about the Circus with two coconut shells and prancing about in a very alarming manner. I think its something to do with the Rennaisance Faire; at least, that's what he says it is. Hmmmmmm.</div><div> </div><div>Anyway, I look forward to seeing you again soon. You take care and don't work too hard.</div><div> </div><div>Your friend,</div><div> </div><div>Fuschia.<br /></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-45897748315648142382007-03-28T06:49:00.000-07:002007-03-28T14:10:05.431-07:00Shadows and LightDearest Em,<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div>You missed another corker last night, let me tell you; made one of your infamous cocktail parties look like a school picnic. What with the horrendous storms that raged across the Grid, the sudden bouts of swooning suffered by several of our travelling companions and some strange dislocations, it was eventful even by our standards. </div><div><br /> </div><div><div><div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046974106314306594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoMhLMtJ0VLy8KxJjgz8JrHdspEtRm2FKsip8ABEjeasIGnNCOz5EBNyoHOlUnwfQLpqxV_m0-ac1t1zDynVAVCAOI3S9Y6QoZAg3GXU_B0J5TOj-gCpn1WL76NCcszVs8a27m7kmU8g/s320/Tom+and+tardis.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>It started well enough, with everyone gathering at the Circus to await Oolon's arrival in the Cabinet. He was what Miss Saltair described to me as "fashionably late" (although I'm sure she also said that was what ladies did, not gentlemen) but Miss Seisenbacher kept up the side for the ladies by being later. It was a rare old gathering, let me tell you. </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046974587350643762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKb49p_4-ygj7lJkMnhT4f4nycnB_jXLHNWyrAl_saiAhqUowxzdCZZy4nOFvE0HUtuoz6UX-JuGFRO4Jb3NDML5uZA_p-_OPb0ujzxiTH5-RvqItb_oFp7CyhR2bs1lnso9-VIxoxfc/s320/brain+in+a+jar.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>Believe it or not, that's Mr Mesmer. Apparently he's been so concerned by the odd transformations occurring to his friends upon entry into Tanglewood that he decided to place his brain in a big jar. The theory goes that only the bodies are affected, not the mind, so if the body isn't there, he can't be turned into something small, cute and fluffy. Its a sufficiently daft theory that it just might be right, but he's such a card.</div><div> </div><div></div><div>Of our other companions, we were graced that night by the presence of Miss Rothschild, Mr Chaplin, Miss Virrginia Tombola, Terry, Alfonso and Miss Seisenbacher, who sadly had to leave on unexpected business before we launched (though her skirt had left far earlier, much to her consternation). </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046976438481548354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZA3ZcpsLpD2K5cVc27e898e4U3Qd7JIgMV-otMPJTA0TnQZmacNkgs_uB66WEEHZkR1Up7ivsXQGwxrGa40vc8AXo9JAScyIzI1TqfjpU7vjfCyqnkYOAooUKAK5Z0gdYW7EDMXsknk/s320/Brave+adventurers+all.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>It seemed that Oolon knew someone on an island and had a reason for going, but I'd managed to miss the details somewhere along the way (probably hunting for the teapot; do you know where he's hidden it?). The flight was mostly uneventful, with a few bumps and jolts signalling the arrival of the storms. Still, we landed without incident. Er, mostly. The doors did jam and we did sort of end up stuck in them, but a good shove from that husband of mine freed the blockage and out we spilled into the courtyard of a fairytale castle (and thank goodness Burt was napping at the time, or it could have been very embaressing).</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046977946015069266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJZhet2mE5xQ6mWsfAVRrmtU901ghBbYAthuJzBFJpW3xcsDxWPy84cgoEKyjjBOxuChLl_Djmv8PYnOipsyMpWmUPknANNESjHxbPa8XpZlIK25AycTopYcDGODvenKdCs6bLoYMD-4/s320/First+impressions.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Apparently this is the home of a Mr Pendragon, a Lightsmith that Oolon has worked with on several occassions in the past. If it was the past; maybe it was the future. No, better not start trying to figure that one out, it always gives me a headache. It was quite a bit like home and there were mushrooms, too. </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046978628914869346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSULwEb8VvhM01J1YvYwnmsDGJIKg1gKElbi5TTFUMbjuahLVd1xw475Wy3wUSWfKIaV9OWUjbbk_c-cbLDqPktZz9Ushhosyt8uFSNFdDUthUbXJ5xYoqkKSk9oPwaP0R5tF2_u25-E/s320/Mushroom+ring.jpg" border="0" /></div><div><br /></div><div>And can you see the rays of light? Oolon says that they're Mr Pendragon's friends and that he gives them life by talking to them. So Mr Pendragon has to be some sort of magician to be able to talk to light. The beams and rays were so pretty and sparkly and added to the overall sense of otherworld in this place. So, as you might imagine, it was a little disconcerting when Oolon announced that we shouldn't split up or wander off alone as this was a dangerous place to go poking about. If what happened later hadn't happened, I would have accused him of just doing that because he likes to worry me and Terry, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. </div><div><br /></div><div>We did all split up anyway because its just in the nature of these things, as you know. Virrginia discovered a very odd dungeon underneath the castle, full of boats and oars and dummies with wings and she went off for a paddle about. Terry shot off across a bridge outside the castle and Oolon wandered off as well. I had another dizzy spell (but no Mr Whittlesea this time) and poor Mr Chaplin suffered some sort of dislocation in place while I was catching my breath. I'm beginning to wonder if all this gadding about leaves a person open to odd effects and increased susceptibility to storms. I should really have a chat to Oolon about that, provided we find him again.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm getting ahead of myself. Miss Rothschild became very animated at an aetheric message she had recieved from Oolon, who was concerned for Terry's safety. The mannequins were very creepy, so I was immensely glad to leave the dungeon and go back into the sunlight. Not that we were there for long, because Terry had managed to find herself in some sort of underground catacombs with a big pretty swirly thing at its heart. </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046982588874716290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzTW_vlVpsFrAiMtP8NAdVxlbSfaPV10QpueuUxl472kbafhwlFo6IcBB-wL384pyZm53Vx03T_xBbsHtU7Cu3i9qfpQZFEhfCvV4oxHnFWg7Ja-HaO5tdIU3OawV0dMKt-n310M69MII/s320/Big+pretty.jpg" border="0" /><br />It changed colour and everything. Terry was transfixed by it and she said it spoke to her, which really wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. After all, we're both pretty senstive to these things. Not that I heard it, but she's not given to fibbing. We weren't the only people amazed by the pretty thing; for once, there were other travellers (just as confused as us) - Miss Mathy, Miss Dryke and Mr Lowey. </div><div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046983516587652242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Fl2ulj41FYFKnfyQULfePemd7sximpRXwqZvnRrvqEDJ3_prsAlnffftSpUE7m1ujvoeSwyg0AcUAnJ-ZOVOr7V14imQzdObkNhe2kuxwAfycAoEcCQuPfBqwJOItlUUOv8w2fuFut4/s320/star+baby.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>I think Oolon was thoroughly enjoying himself when Burt captured this frame. I kept it because it struck me that he looked like a tiny little star baby safe in the womb of time, a comment which elicited much dismay from our friends (who thought it was a little risque) and a big sigh from Oolon (who I don't think realised that anyone had seen him playing).</div><br /><div>Miss Rothschild was thoroughly enjoying herself as well as she had made a new little friend, a lifeform that we named a Babybling. She called hers Mathilda and seemed to be getting along famously with the little creature, who followed her about like a shiny puppy. Several of us managed to attract the attentions of these delightful beings, particularly Terry, who ended up with quite a gaggle of them. </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046984689113724066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZWdp0mW-kj_R0Gc9-i3JcnYqLSOwhw_qYCgeZs7b4fJnBh65Qrr54OPJzsS3bHuZ5tIVmsHhUQrKTFM6zpuZnDkaOvjDf0eRRDKkpM8V9_ax58Z27Uo9zdGu2pVIZfZhRa1yeS93JiUU/s320/baby+bling.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>There was also a very sumptuous tent in the cavern, which was pretty puzzling (you can see it behind Mathilda). Why on earth would anyone want to camp down there in the cold and damp? I suppose it is a good vantage point for the ever changing pattern of lights on the large orb, but I can't see why you'd want to stay for too long. Humans are such contrary creatures.</div><br /><div>After a bit of hunting about, we managed to find another way out of the cave system but it was a bit wet. Terry and I could fly out and Mr Mesmer had his portal, but poor Miss Rothschild was stranded as we couldn't be certain that it was dry water and wet water has such a terrible effect on her. Very fortunately Alfonso managed to secure a boat (I have no idea where he keeps these things, but he always seems to find something appropriate no matter what the circumstances) and made good everyone's escape from underground. And we had the added delight of Virrginia's yellow gentleman friend coming to keep us company as well. </div><div><br /> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046987751425406146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN3K_7ZwVqAi4RMvzm4dD8f3aXxxgjGsREzmy9-OKxNzpbrkS7u1WUcw7dSJtnmwVOrr0x_jeWveNqS6SaEmHN-kyHBz6LHaiI2ZsAMYZ-FscW5obWSf0zUQkRt2MKOwGwAhyphenhyphenM1hi_5Ws/s320/more+boats.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Oolon led us on around the marvellous parkland; I must say, Mr Pendragon really knows how to manage an estate. There were allsorts of curiosities scattered about it to delight the Victorian mind; giant clocks, observatories, ponds, burning bushes and another swirly thing. This one was blue and flat and sadly very disappointing to stand on for all its prettiness; I had hoped for a least a tingle in my toes when I clambered into it, but it was just a very clever optical illusion.</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046989263253894354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9oRliC_JNfadmUxPA0oyYBiF6IKZQgSZM-Z4JEBeIHZD5tPAnzzwRm8xyNhWBKK4hCnDO84FT1ncUBml5Nl55F5LDYM1kEGRy4_xck0YDc27WBwJL1rQ2BotGohpECOtYeVvMA6MIKI/s320/blue+bling.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>We wandered a bit more, then Oolon announced that he had located Mr Pendragon. Well, he could communicate with him, but neither he nor I could work out where Mr Pendragon actually was, so I went to find him. He's very nice, as long as your not flammable; Terry and Virrginia described him as hot and then got all giggly, so I take it that they weren't referring to his temperature? </div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046990465844737250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG1K1wFg9JU8jpx8NQaSliC9GTvor92g7JYwYnVec0D0gJcyO3L-U7D8L1qBn10xdelcgaOvOTkRj7c37iADNMWI7lUhwXD3NtjoSlXJoX_oQe_sZZxpd2tbQ9tvpU5HNgUAfalGrROqc/s320/Mr+Pendragon.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>Dear Miss Rothschild had become most distraught, as Mathilda had taken poorly and gone all black and smokey. Oolon was also becoming very distracted as well and began to hurry us back to the Cabinet far sooner than I would have expected. Do you know he brought us here to deliver a beehive? All things considered, it may turn out to be a very costly delivery.</div><br /><div></div><div>Now I know you'll be pleased with me as I'm remaining calm and objective, just like you said I had to. But things could be very bad, very bad indeed. I managed to get back into the ETD with no problems, as did Mr Mesmer; and Miss Tombola and Alfonso did so reasonably easily. But Miss Rothschild ended up on a tropical island with a shark for company (a big one) and Terry didn't appear for an absolute age. She told me later that the Cabinet momentarily vanished from the castle courtyard before she and Oolon could enter it. When the Old Girl reappeared, she didn't have much power left (inside we had no idea that we'd landed again at all) and she'd had to run and fetch a Babybling, which Oolon used to power up the doors. Terry thought that Oolon was right behind her, but something must have gone wrong and he never appeared at all.</div><br /><div></div><div>Alfonso and Virrginia tried but failed to make head or tail of the console controls, so we couldn't go back and we couldn't go forward; we couldn't land either. It was all a bit of a puzzle. Miss Rothschild tried to talk to Madame (as she calls the Old Girl), but she wasn't listening and seemed to be just as bemused as the rest of us. Terry and me were pretty certain we'd be alright hanging about in the aether because of our natures, but we really couldn't be certain that it was safe for the humans (and the disembodied brain) or Miss Rothschild. </div><br /><div></div><div>Terry decided that she should be able to pull us through to Mayfair, one by one, using her natural talents (I can manage one or two, but I'm only little and Terry has far more experience of these things), which she promptly did. Everyone arrived safe and sound, thankfully, and Mr Chaplin reappeared as well, a bit tetchy and most put out by both his missing the adventure and Oolon's disappearance. Virrginia, Alfonso and Mr Mesmer had attempted to make some alterations to the console while they were waiting to be rescued (something to do with more steam), but the results were not to their satisfaction. Everyone was in a very dour mood.</div><br /><div></div><div>We had hoped that the Cabinet might have made her own way back to Mayfair once she was a little lighter, but that didn't seem to be the case. We knew that Oolon hadn't taken his transmat bracelet with him, because Alfonso had found it on the workbench in the ETD and we were all very concerned as to how he was going to find his way home. We got a nasty shock when we discovered that the charging apparatus had also vanished from the gardens and Terry began to wonder if Oolon had "left" without her. Virrginia was most worried that he wouldn't be able to feed himself properly wherever he was, but Alfonso pointed out that Oolon's pockets were bigger on the inside and there was always cake to be had (although I do hope he doesn't try to eat any of those moth-eaten old jelly babies he has hanging around in there).</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046997788763976946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjey7Oannh0cRhbwJw0QJoxiUah8jzVF_bENiU82YNxTJJXr5KE8A1xdES6wN3EVa1WPB0-tyv-djiUDezPJIKW3kBuqiZF-tOru5Onc-FVEOBbWKW_2Rip_M66QhdKBKrFpxHq2PPsnpI/s320/Blood+moon.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>It became clear that there really wasn't anything further we could do, so we decided that we should all go home and try to get a good night's sleep. I have to admit that I'm worried but do you know, I don't think anything truly awful has happened to him. For a start, I think I'd know. And secondly, he promised. He said he wouldn't go off alone again to try and face the darkness and I believe him. However else he might behave at times, his word is something he holds true to, no matter what. It won't stop me from looking for him, but he'll come home. And if he doesn't, I'm going to kill him.</div><br /><div></div><div>You go and get yourself a nice martini, and I'll let you know as soon as we find anything. And if you find him first, I'd appreciate it if you could send the butterfly back so I can put Terry's mind at rest.</div><br /><div></div><div>All my love,</div><br /><div></div><div>Fuschia. </div></div></div></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-90747035494585311942007-03-27T08:11:00.000-07:002007-03-27T09:08:23.977-07:00When Worlds CollideDear Virrginia,<br /><br /><div><div><div>I know how you like to come along on our little jaunts, so your presence was very much missed on our last excursion. My, what an odd day that was. It didn't start well, what with the Old Girl throwing a wobbly right off the bat. Oolon insisted that there was a rational explanation for it all, of course (something about time rotors being out of alignment; you're good with cogs, does that make sense to you?), but somehow our poor, dear mode of transport just didn't seem to be in the mood for a day trip.</div><br /><div>Still, she had a little joke at our expense for making her come out and play. I don't think we landed when or where Oolon had intended, for he insisted that we were some time in Caledon's future (more green goo as well, which does seem to be becoming a bit of a feature of our forays). If it was the future; time did seem to be behaving very strangely here, as I'm sure you'll appreciate by the time you've finished this letter.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046625323761197026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-cpv-X5oYCH3kpgXzUS65q1OyMILmQfnt2F4-eI7B2JLxERR4dDedrIj1Rbm0bTQM6XPP3ov9i_y3G7vg-hHORLefHr5WWQnEoJuVRyUXb9obKZ8crzNYiGMs6csvXEraFuK2JRyoxU/s320/modern+city.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>A large sign announced that we were in Nakamura and I have to say that it did look very modernish. There were big blocky buildings, like the ones we saw in Toxia, shiny silver trams that didn't use steam (but still attacked any pedestrian within reach) and giant metal men guarding the train tracks.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046625512739758066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhX3xWOOgsYacePYPbGZfmbf4uOh3J9RuycMBVRzC0V3BjQU6aX6umzgbs4gx8gQYUp3D0CkHCxDgPThlQ5QwFJOZy0oGEAclu3Pl8paM8u7nA1tb8tx8JK3cJMBw4nKCvyIFgnH1zpu0/s320/giant+metal+men.jpg" border="0" /><br />I should have realised something was very wrong as soon as we arrived, but I have to admit that I wasn't quite myself. Not long after we ventured from the safety of the Cabinet's control room, my head began to spin and I felt very giddy. I remember asking Oolon about our location, but I don't remember hearing the reply; everything faded from my sight and all I can remember, quite perversely, is a large grey archway hovering over me and Mr Whittlesea's calm and gentle voice in my ear. I am informed that I vanished for quite a few minutes, leading to a hurriedly mounted search and rescue expedition. </div></div><br /><div>Where I went, I don't know, and I'm even more mystified as to how I got back. It wasn't magic, I do know that, because it didn't smell right. I did think for a little while that one of the swirly creatures (you can see it in the blocky building picture) had kidnapped me, but it turned out to be one of Mr Mesmer's devices and he promised he wasn't playing tricks on me. Mind you, he didn't fare so well, either - he turned into a ball of light at one point. </div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046633415479582770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ycYid4D0SHBPwxif-lXLyxvCd07CIWjom47dy0Nwt5kmZUPSUqCodd-JPEIx9aTWxhTZkCRxhZWaCQo7lSQOYUJsW_Rl5JBaZd6YGNfISv_Umk4VhFnzozRvgKUw-cH1AG5Ove2UBc0/s320/Ball+of+light.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>After a brief sit down to collect my thoughts we attempted to use the tram system, which proved to be just as capricious as it's Caledonian cousin. Alfonso, Oolon, Terry and Mr Mesmer managed to get on the silly thing alright, but I slipped and ended up falling between the carriage and the platform. By the time I'd sorted myself out and dusted myself down, the blinking horror had rolled away and I had to trot along behind it as fast as my little legs could carry me.<br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046628291583598594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuZEyVtMJddpMbqh8xwYx4l1YwonaJqIfR5qZg0adyWxXFUvxFsbdz99KuspMFTjlA2Ii-j90OnFG4E3QDxQpPDCh-sU-KQpuWdUUPvZbARd2AgvWYf2nBTLDX-cHMfegHR2mT7xF2R4/s320/bunnies!.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>This place seems to have a disproportionate amount of giant creatures living in the locality. Look at the size of this rabbit! You could feed the entire Caledon army on that beast for months. Just don't tell Em or Miss Paris that I said that. </div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046628776914903058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5S7d1VnxIUDT1igna5HXcwt061rANzLuGOR6AhVQSygssss77SwjXbrp0q9b3A7iZnKZAM3SJTc-VtyBNno2A8-v28qqtMc6U-P2NJTwFhLC6ELr8D2_1hwAC7Nwn_5N5tT7aftvGo0E/s320/cartoon+world.jpg" border="0" /></div><div><br /></div><div>As I chased after the confounded tram, I emerged from a very scary dark tunnel into this place. Now this is more like some of the kingdoms where I hail from, so I was a little surprised to see it in Caledon's future. It was at this point that I really began to wonder if we were when we thought we were. Still, nice and colourful and the flowers were ginormous.</div><div><br /></div><div>Alfonso, bless him, came to look for me as soon as he had a chance to get off the nasty shiny tram and he confirmed that things were even stranger than we'd previously thought. Despite once again there being no-one about to talk to, I could sense the presence of living creatures nearby (not the bunny, there was no mistaking him). There were ruins (and goo) but there was definitely something and when I screwed up enough courage and popped over the broken walls, there was Port Seraphine (a regular shopping haunt of mine). But that didn't make much sense; how could we be in Caledon's future but not be <em>at the same time</em>?</div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046624000911269842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Nic-QUTjXqeY1qB9Npaqky8sZXFrLsAKW3DRAwY60Jzf1703vfEFYyhQZuErn8G2xXvTagISTCEKC_kXur9LcoUlMknyL5jo0wbnECVVlywKEDUOTYs0AvFyxjxdyuuxPgX3Wj9IEr8/s320/ruins.jpg" border="0" /></p><div><br /></div><p>Mr Mesmer summoned Alfonso and me at that point to use his swirly thingy (a portal he called it), so that we could rejoin Terry and Oolon, who had continued their explorations elsewhere. It tickled. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046632208593772578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGi-4WVvT9Hqya_O6-dPUXoKaRd9GlxP8PtA08C3__0On7ZV2Qig0TwIcWS78LL3xmwfTLPl_BVLfRb68hO7mENo2rZ5qmSn_CQUMT3okYY_XkV0gON2BSt_o3t_ZLu2cNAL1iWzMiOCQ/s320/old+Lantern.jpg" border="0" /><br />Time took another twist on the other side of the whirling door and we appeared to have walked into Nakamura's past (even though you can still see the future blocky building in the background). It was so much more tranquil and green here, but it's presence just added even further to the confusion. I have to say, I think that time is all jumbled up together in Nakamura; not that I'm an expert, but I don't see how else you can have the past, present, future and magical all in the same place at the same time.<br /><br />I was feeling very weary, so when Oolon suggested a shopping trip around the otherwise very intriguing shops I felt I had to decline (see, told you I wasn't myself). We went back to the place we had left the Cabinet, but she wasn't there. It was almost the last straw, I can tell you, but Oolon insisted I shouldn't worry and the Old Girl did indeed pop back into being a few seconds later. I clambered inside and settled down on the chaise in the Bar (its ever so comfy) and promptly fell asleep. I have no idea when everyone else came back, but I awoke in our tent at the Circus.<br /><br />And there you have it; as I said, a very odd day. Still, I hope that won't put you off joining us the next time we pop out for a bit. It would be lovely to see you again.<br /><br />Your friend,<br /><br />Fuschia.Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-56539256787637466562007-03-27T01:28:00.000-07:002007-03-27T01:43:04.171-07:00Track Travels<span style="">The lag storm had left the air clear and bright; perfect for continuing on. The little Wind-Whittlesea Steam Dynamo was soon back under full steam and puffing away happily. As the boiler pressure slowly evened out I checked the ornithopter for damage, but thankfully Miss Tombola had built the little craft nice and sturdy and everything appeared in good order.</span><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbzl146iIowyvVOMjJFGTicjqBs3RHI62Mo-ONed07Qgd2WQGWAQ37jMmtOVySaO43rRBiwYg4QEtIdQ5K2tPY1_vTFp9ALpVtbkQ5rRoTskTFrRAEuTpRgdekceGqUy_QQAbFpaJrhW0/s1600-h/clear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbzl146iIowyvVOMjJFGTicjqBs3RHI62Mo-ONed07Qgd2WQGWAQ37jMmtOVySaO43rRBiwYg4QEtIdQ5K2tPY1_vTFp9ALpVtbkQ5rRoTskTFrRAEuTpRgdekceGqUy_QQAbFpaJrhW0/s320/clear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519031910555378" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Taking to the air once more, I came upon two very modern looking stations in quick succession, but still no sign of rail transportation, or as was becoming usual on the Mainland, people.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluwxBudvbS7xLGo_FpqabyPyuVUCgbohIWE4J8ruNDEtu_xwm0BFPrp8cf4vQXsiXsHnh9MIHUNe1hAesP0Iql3TiBf1xbR7z4yxI17WhMhLjY4KRpoi01QlS_e69nuQJqWEVubVpuhY/s1600-h/station1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluwxBudvbS7xLGo_FpqabyPyuVUCgbohIWE4J8ruNDEtu_xwm0BFPrp8cf4vQXsiXsHnh9MIHUNe1hAesP0Iql3TiBf1xbR7z4yxI17WhMhLjY4KRpoi01QlS_e69nuQJqWEVubVpuhY/s320/station1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519036205522690" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtl3UpviYVkdsGks03FaMxhOcW9uW4xXuhks0v6pzx9xvW9XUUtiGJHMj3wOn4kcRP8JVcoCv7qJcQ3sIeRjQCtibF6Rat4Pao4pO_L5UXF_DfR3p5O9rhsonxZrL4Dm4p9gjNTTOlJBs/s1600-h/station2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtl3UpviYVkdsGks03FaMxhOcW9uW4xXuhks0v6pzx9xvW9XUUtiGJHMj3wOn4kcRP8JVcoCv7qJcQ3sIeRjQCtibF6Rat4Pao4pO_L5UXF_DfR3p5O9rhsonxZrL4Dm4p9gjNTTOlJBs/s320/station2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519040500490002" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">A careful hand was required on the crafts controls as the blazing red lettering of privacy wards lurked at the edge of the track.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDXwmtRzGmlZJxvVMyLO19GP1NX5qnsLn-l1L1KRDgheqgwSAunZ46FssCXqTzreM7ZI44sKvNDF9Vgv6F6mAjzgCzly5M0FYnOnEwVQYfZxW7nSfdO9_qZzvTnmJkqn3TXwPzEk0cVo/s1600-h/private.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDXwmtRzGmlZJxvVMyLO19GP1NX5qnsLn-l1L1KRDgheqgwSAunZ46FssCXqTzreM7ZI44sKvNDF9Vgv6F6mAjzgCzly5M0FYnOnEwVQYfZxW7nSfdO9_qZzvTnmJkqn3TXwPzEk0cVo/s320/private.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519040500490018" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">High up above to my left a more familiar looking balloon hung in the air, while ahead a wheelchair hung above the railway line from a cage. For what purpose, I cannot say…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TsUJa5lRGtu61_AOvHsHbNtNXT5nKko2QvhNQ_J5eIysvDtAlJkZKCrVHrcRm5HLVPQupQx_FzQ_L_5r5IR41iNypz2oozoOUbS6IceIon5j10DZ_Mfr8plgumAKLLmk1IDxnHRBVc8/s1600-h/balloon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TsUJa5lRGtu61_AOvHsHbNtNXT5nKko2QvhNQ_J5eIysvDtAlJkZKCrVHrcRm5HLVPQupQx_FzQ_L_5r5IR41iNypz2oozoOUbS6IceIon5j10DZ_Mfr8plgumAKLLmk1IDxnHRBVc8/s320/balloon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519044795457330" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAprA8TCAtjR3pOfqLxO5VUjIvAYnHQv_5GCyclLlOqXTpHgljJeW-0To0r7YHefIL4UiuHWlu1suMy2zt3D8XFB0o96mQRoka72Klklmx9gGw6BGRJql_ajAP6lPOOjA-xJ5Jav1LjI/s1600-h/cage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAprA8TCAtjR3pOfqLxO5VUjIvAYnHQv_5GCyclLlOqXTpHgljJeW-0To0r7YHefIL4UiuHWlu1suMy2zt3D8XFB0o96mQRoka72Klklmx9gGw6BGRJql_ajAP6lPOOjA-xJ5Jav1LjI/s320/cage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519706220420930" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Passing a spectacular tree house that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Tanglewood I came upon the buffers marking the end of the line and had to pull a sharp roll and turn to narrowly avoid a privacy barrier that had sprung up ahead of me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFTFXyJNW8gwbkHFwdRlN98Ry74cooGdddbVhTHq2oz21XhxjJ_2DYr7I3uO6_J_57W-QHC-O1f5t2wN4v0q42OjCeNdXqQyKWi9-3RUtQ55DnOMGw3f4HrNrztMZSwAXOLLa4vj2_yN4/s1600-h/tree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFTFXyJNW8gwbkHFwdRlN98Ry74cooGdddbVhTHq2oz21XhxjJ_2DYr7I3uO6_J_57W-QHC-O1f5t2wN4v0q42OjCeNdXqQyKWi9-3RUtQ55DnOMGw3f4HrNrztMZSwAXOLLa4vj2_yN4/s320/tree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519714810355586" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQYpasyRAW3jXSso3b5dV5BWmXN6pPL1B-9ZPNnbvsyhqTDwSKF6SdOIw8UVn1rI3zaIa6R18TTgbFbhb2h3TFp3vaYdlo83QU3h_xBBr41vA14y-2g0a9WSUNy4ebjYZe2_mBWRf-So/s1600-h/endoftheline.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQYpasyRAW3jXSso3b5dV5BWmXN6pPL1B-9ZPNnbvsyhqTDwSKF6SdOIw8UVn1rI3zaIa6R18TTgbFbhb2h3TFp3vaYdlo83QU3h_xBBr41vA14y-2g0a9WSUNy4ebjYZe2_mBWRf-So/s320/endoftheline.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519706220420946" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXM4Pm3bbQUbPEl2fWM-ptYqvQbD3246bKylfWwcpFOlVAm4a99uku5-u6ip5WRJcO5FqWIIdDUmwVJBnrIbPiYuTYG78mfVQWRZM122PrGqk3szsY-rTDawtuFx6zs2zRvs_v9_nhlK8/s1600-h/noentry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXM4Pm3bbQUbPEl2fWM-ptYqvQbD3246bKylfWwcpFOlVAm4a99uku5-u6ip5WRJcO5FqWIIdDUmwVJBnrIbPiYuTYG78mfVQWRZM122PrGqk3szsY-rTDawtuFx6zs2zRvs_v9_nhlK8/s320/noentry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519710515388258" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">From the rail map I knew the track must continue on not far ahead, but how to reach it was the question. I continued West, skirting the privacy field until I hit a raised road and a break in the field that let me continue Northwards.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiPDRa5C9iJb4j-HNb5_Sdr8ZHVTVcPZwvVRNP4igrUsShQ-vOFPerPvoTG7cSz-4-pLtH09WxTaYUC0RAL8USKk2kjMTJw-oXEAdqjlAMrzkWrD2ZT85VCf0v8lqkSOVeThqNwSP2Es/s1600-h/road.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiPDRa5C9iJb4j-HNb5_Sdr8ZHVTVcPZwvVRNP4igrUsShQ-vOFPerPvoTG7cSz-4-pLtH09WxTaYUC0RAL8USKk2kjMTJw-oXEAdqjlAMrzkWrD2ZT85VCf0v8lqkSOVeThqNwSP2Es/s320/road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046519710515388274" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">As the burning bands of the fields vanished along the roadside to my right, I was able to turn back onto my original route just in time to catch the start of the next section of track.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX03soo_41BU3LoBM-hv3UHGY_vfKfVS0lrw1PRYxVunzmqWRp3egq0Vit3F-u0H2oj8snktL03sSTmUd7lZxxsC6sWoj4JOJDgAgX2w9iuHWN3fI0deQ1dSiDD3xpy-u5EC-p_oWtX0/s1600-h/station3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX03soo_41BU3LoBM-hv3UHGY_vfKfVS0lrw1PRYxVunzmqWRp3egq0Vit3F-u0H2oj8snktL03sSTmUd7lZxxsC6sWoj4JOJDgAgX2w9iuHWN3fI0deQ1dSiDD3xpy-u5EC-p_oWtX0/s320/station3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046520092767477650" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">A little way beyond the buffers I caught my first sight of a Mainland train. Although of a wonderfully streamlined and modern design this one appeared to have fallen afoul of some kind of problem as it hovered several feet in the air, it’s engines and wheels churning away at nothing. I landed and attempted to right it, hoping to put some of my days as a circus strongman to good use, but the engine would not budge.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeZ76ZIgWM0B2WfVevjTiBif9eF-zMTS6opX1kshQ1zzWCVc2HgGhySRBrod-QYiXgOKa2tQbhQ7sio3Qklf5ZjzhhlkgwDm7kw5CEsCzNhADUMsxkF0CnMQux6x401HtZqP3ejrfPlE/s1600-h/brokentrain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeZ76ZIgWM0B2WfVevjTiBif9eF-zMTS6opX1kshQ1zzWCVc2HgGhySRBrod-QYiXgOKa2tQbhQ7sio3Qklf5ZjzhhlkgwDm7kw5CEsCzNhADUMsxkF0CnMQux6x401HtZqP3ejrfPlE/s320/brokentrain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046520097062444962" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">I set off once again, hoping that the rest of the Mainland rail network had not been afflicted by a similar problem. Having come all this way it would be a shame not to be able to ride a Mainland train. Undaunted, I pressed on. If nothing else the rails still proved a good navigation aid.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXb0z8V1lEdttE_DlFvS098bOxXM29i-1xqof2q-l2baa_bxEsezBWanY09VbWYXXiRRCeF4auWLOef-reXOid_iJ_H6-z6t3YXvyxBx8AlM1m1YIE4kmmbsMmO9S7GUPQjMcupb8qSo/s1600-h/nighttrack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXb0z8V1lEdttE_DlFvS098bOxXM29i-1xqof2q-l2baa_bxEsezBWanY09VbWYXXiRRCeF4auWLOef-reXOid_iJ_H6-z6t3YXvyxBx8AlM1m1YIE4kmmbsMmO9S7GUPQjMcupb8qSo/s320/nighttrack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046520097062444978" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Thankfully, I was not to be disappointed. There, pulling into the station ahead of me, was a seemingly fully functional Mainland train…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9Boaw14kaBIM8z_4R6CFnpBmELF7ZClsqcudTMERSmVhyphenhyphenlVqqyqPGMtN_5hXWLVI1rNvVHwpABFxhko9kdU2Vhlg5pJrj2ZIVq7O69P3Nrj-VYoDd1rFrcS3fQwElclcDytdp486gx4/s1600-h/workingtrain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9Boaw14kaBIM8z_4R6CFnpBmELF7ZClsqcudTMERSmVhyphenhyphenlVqqyqPGMtN_5hXWLVI1rNvVHwpABFxhko9kdU2Vhlg5pJrj2ZIVq7O69P3Nrj-VYoDd1rFrcS3fQwElclcDytdp486gx4/s320/workingtrain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046520101357412290" border="0" /></a><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-70854160653431005682007-03-16T02:26:00.000-07:002007-03-27T01:44:03.591-07:00Riding the RailsAs Fuschia busied herself with needle and thread making a lovely frock for Oolon’s Birthday party, I really thought I ought to get back to my explorations of the Northern Continent. It seemed like so long since I was there and checking back over my journal it had indeed been quite a while.<o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I tinkered with the Etheric Transfer Bracelet Oolon had been working on in his lab for some time (I think partly so he didn’t have to keep ferrying us backwards and forwards between <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Caledon</st1:place></st1:city> and the Mainland) and after a brief dislocation I was back to the spot Oolon had picked us up from several weeks ago.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">On our last visit Fuschia and myself had followed a railway line to the “Hobo Hub” in the hope of finding some form of rail transport; however there had been no sign of any functioning trains (other than the tiny one Fuschia had found and the ones under construction at a main terminal we had passed through earlier). Thinking back to the map on the wall of the Prim Mining Platform, this particular section of track was marked with a dotted line…Perhaps it wasn’t fully operational yet?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpf5PlT7WV9udjffZnax9aQxfUlNhEYM9RXNG66EtbMGrwxXm9jGMrsmXExLGLFtN-u7x76EwFU_EE4JZANtia1kXAkohZV6eSadW1nP1PZcXHXembmSWhsz2C7xHduxAHN259EoARGRg/s1600-h/rails.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455427851770722" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpf5PlT7WV9udjffZnax9aQxfUlNhEYM9RXNG66EtbMGrwxXm9jGMrsmXExLGLFtN-u7x76EwFU_EE4JZANtia1kXAkohZV6eSadW1nP1PZcXHXembmSWhsz2C7xHduxAHN259EoARGRg/s320/rails.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:0;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Operational or not it would prove a good route to follow and should, I hoped, lead to an in-use train line eventually (presuming that was what the solid line on the Prim Mining Platform map indicated).<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">For this express purpose, I had brought along one of Miss Tombola’s wonderful ornithopters. In no time I had the boiler up to full pressure and steaming and was soon on my way.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUJvXAVF8sgGBYe_fExHpPtaf_fz3icwaNX2VdRlg6u_omWonGFw2riaiSK2zrQIGWRV3O4jlTVxkl5_y5tKQ6EzvX1EyFM3dLV1_ZBdUPmMbvmSOfIsNhtzOVajF2wQTf66njynsnXI/s1600-h/orni.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455432146738034" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUJvXAVF8sgGBYe_fExHpPtaf_fz3icwaNX2VdRlg6u_omWonGFw2riaiSK2zrQIGWRV3O4jlTVxkl5_y5tKQ6EzvX1EyFM3dLV1_ZBdUPmMbvmSOfIsNhtzOVajF2wQTf66njynsnXI/s320/orni.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It’s amazing how much easier a balloon is to control than a flapping, flying machine. Miss Tombola always makes piloting this device look a breeze as she pirouettes through the skies of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Caledon,</st1:place></st1:city> threading under it’s bridges and around its towers. Sadly I do not quite have her skill, but after a little bit of looping, spinning, rolling and heading in the wrong direction, I soon had the measure of the craft (well almost).<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The scenery along the line was astounding and I am letting most of the pictures speak for themselves. This will truly be a spectacular rail journey once the trains are running.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx4nC4luPKeCeHnOuPFsyjJKRcZjQYaJbGpEWCbVkDD3I9lsLLGnHfzMrEIvF_NQ0S_IX4D9Oget9wWlMzPvskclCfnYyBi7pnHmmi_7Pele8-GtsRx4riWEV8slW1D6CDeaVTxzQzl8/s1600-h/wind.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455436441705346" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOx4nC4luPKeCeHnOuPFsyjJKRcZjQYaJbGpEWCbVkDD3I9lsLLGnHfzMrEIvF_NQ0S_IX4D9Oget9wWlMzPvskclCfnYyBi7pnHmmi_7Pele8-GtsRx4riWEV8slW1D6CDeaVTxzQzl8/s320/wind.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">At first things started out quite normally with beautiful windmills and stations awaiting the arrival of the first train.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VML79HHHxIggOG7scOr8CNK-GwHY1lB3b_d1wlDlNBLTJ3GrHdZhVCYwpuck5qbhCoY7xUgR7aLgXqxkINIJZevgPcB0tAukh4-7tRxgbJFSoM1DKhKuO7Ejsn_h0Ol_ObXn4KT3FTI/s1600-h/station.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455436441705362" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VML79HHHxIggOG7scOr8CNK-GwHY1lB3b_d1wlDlNBLTJ3GrHdZhVCYwpuck5qbhCoY7xUgR7aLgXqxkINIJZevgPcB0tAukh4-7tRxgbJFSoM1DKhKuO7Ejsn_h0Ol_ObXn4KT3FTI/s320/station.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Things began to get more unusual after passing the sign pictured below (and despite its warnings there was no sign of a missing bridge – although the edges of the sign were quite sharp!).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqP9_4rl1_kMPTJX-ILUtKSBdFz8rtnW8GvJ1g1dBqsF-2cUFK9SxaL7UNXvX50l0FC5cshxMqrBBBAga3GiDVdvv1gh24hEAd_zc4SnZ-fCqQCtJXuANctlTa5ZTSjnwB-eEXqvxBD4/s1600-h/sign.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455522341051314" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqP9_4rl1_kMPTJX-ILUtKSBdFz8rtnW8GvJ1g1dBqsF-2cUFK9SxaL7UNXvX50l0FC5cshxMqrBBBAga3GiDVdvv1gh24hEAd_zc4SnZ-fCqQCtJXuANctlTa5ZTSjnwB-eEXqvxBD4/s400/sign.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Next to the sign was a shop selling all manner of wonderful slippers, that I’m sure would appeal to Fuschia and Emilly. Although I’m not sure how comfortable or practical they would be.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHvPrerSfmJRz4ulhaNQkPvQyrQTedQyxHMcCVvIw49kal62UEf7gGvq072sTvWfFoDrP9jMNmt8XJpTmsDucedfyUTIXAwxIJCblZ_ZLADQA8Assq99AE0gNwI3zf6iDcc_spArmiec/s1600-h/bugs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455440736672674" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHvPrerSfmJRz4ulhaNQkPvQyrQTedQyxHMcCVvIw49kal62UEf7gGvq072sTvWfFoDrP9jMNmt8XJpTmsDucedfyUTIXAwxIJCblZ_ZLADQA8Assq99AE0gNwI3zf6iDcc_spArmiec/s320/bugs.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As I flapped my way above the rails, I was even more sure Fuschia would enjoy this place as giant mushrooms could be spied between the trees surrounding the cuttings and embankments.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfgIVGeMewUD7vMdNZDUUVPAyw4uQxSZ7D4S_ORhY830RfbpzUZdsXzAuawc9CbHwnJMU0PkgRP6EJaL6VgWgoJMmErMyduqYVMPG85jzlATDZ_6M3NcFa9UaupYsTbUByVm4xakR-Po/s1600-h/mushrooms.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455857348500418" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfgIVGeMewUD7vMdNZDUUVPAyw4uQxSZ7D4S_ORhY830RfbpzUZdsXzAuawc9CbHwnJMU0PkgRP6EJaL6VgWgoJMmErMyduqYVMPG85jzlATDZ_6M3NcFa9UaupYsTbUByVm4xakR-Po/s320/mushrooms.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Although she probably would not have been quite so happy to see this creature lurking on the side of the tracks. However, as with many of the Mainland creatures, this one didn’t move or react at all as I swished passed.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihK3gLQqbesoeGdYdkNHjwBsr_1y7CE_uc_2RTwe9ny9bYhBhl3azE4E66axWZlbHxVutS4yhdWXGmdvI3FK4PjDe8NIqp22TrBY0ogIo5LAI31t6NzKUzgWSxrFaZ-9gMyrMknNPtXF0/s1600-h/creature.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455857348500434" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihK3gLQqbesoeGdYdkNHjwBsr_1y7CE_uc_2RTwe9ny9bYhBhl3azE4E66axWZlbHxVutS4yhdWXGmdvI3FK4PjDe8NIqp22TrBY0ogIo5LAI31t6NzKUzgWSxrFaZ-9gMyrMknNPtXF0/s320/creature.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">From this notice, it appears as if I had just flown through a region called “Imperial”; it may warrant further study by any Caledonian naturalists following in my wake.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjATGFObJhNDWvkuUSaOs9_xnE7975Dp4Yi-k_lH9q1qqG_aemaCTHtoh1UrKC_K0KKymHYeaWzleVqOa2aK1goSk5zN4dxyk-KxWMGtzWO9lqSTtdHkuvLm7O5HLs7vN2A3Qvdz-I2fFM/s1600-h/Imperial.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455861643467746" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjATGFObJhNDWvkuUSaOs9_xnE7975Dp4Yi-k_lH9q1qqG_aemaCTHtoh1UrKC_K0KKymHYeaWzleVqOa2aK1goSk5zN4dxyk-KxWMGtzWO9lqSTtdHkuvLm7O5HLs7vN2A3Qvdz-I2fFM/s320/Imperial.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As I rounded a blind bend on the track I came upon the sight of a marvellous floating island, water tumbling down from the plateau into a pool then beyond that into a cascade.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1K5kWjfopGV9608x2AE-IY9lfy0eCMvJZyp3_RAtSUyuFoJqphRtF5zPMCeoiDN8luWET-X4La-ZsVl5jVFtZbw6hTsrrkr7MSBpqJ-OiL7-MZdGfovNpvInhcpEYDy3vFLajtA2R7vI/s1600-h/island1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455861643467762" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1K5kWjfopGV9608x2AE-IY9lfy0eCMvJZyp3_RAtSUyuFoJqphRtF5zPMCeoiDN8luWET-X4La-ZsVl5jVFtZbw6hTsrrkr7MSBpqJ-OiL7-MZdGfovNpvInhcpEYDy3vFLajtA2R7vI/s320/island1.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHTJU7vgYlD3W9Yyx-HM06inwR7txfEua3hyphenhyphen4Doahhs-Lhb5BTT0FwgbPoIgZHX67UDSIWTzePShqablOT5hUO8yu2bxHaS3uYCG5I_RENh6V7DYGG-K4oZwR1RYT39LO08lTVr57-i4/s1600-h/island2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042455865938435074" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHTJU7vgYlD3W9Yyx-HM06inwR7txfEua3hyphenhyphen4Doahhs-Lhb5BTT0FwgbPoIgZHX67UDSIWTzePShqablOT5hUO8yu2bxHaS3uYCG5I_RENh6V7DYGG-K4oZwR1RYT39LO08lTVr57-i4/s320/island2.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0eA754PleShenYK4Np9O-_7opQ9aYpwpvnVWCrJbKQedK8FY5S5tT_448d4mygvGOm2pwxT_p1fczBQkoey_OOOLyD-x2oHBpVRcEFdi9EMVV1TO1r2d4NzVnmhY-Pv6cKoaKzZt6wvk/s1600-h/island3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042456123636472850" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0eA754PleShenYK4Np9O-_7opQ9aYpwpvnVWCrJbKQedK8FY5S5tT_448d4mygvGOm2pwxT_p1fczBQkoey_OOOLyD-x2oHBpVRcEFdi9EMVV1TO1r2d4NzVnmhY-Pv6cKoaKzZt6wvk/s320/island3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And not much further, on giant flowers and plants. No doubt grown to such huge size by the spray of the cascading water from the magical floating island.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hjdPblkzW08hzGIb7yLC8vMW6ThoAbC7rMWO7qK90GFkKR-W-h9160J7hVAky5bTcO4iFTx-KK5ypboV1j1KYlNal_BNapmkB3ctOww_YnNmfJZDjyHMnV2yDYGuEvyjkFOIKEzXiEQ/s1600-h/flowers1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042456127931440162" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hjdPblkzW08hzGIb7yLC8vMW6ThoAbC7rMWO7qK90GFkKR-W-h9160J7hVAky5bTcO4iFTx-KK5ypboV1j1KYlNal_BNapmkB3ctOww_YnNmfJZDjyHMnV2yDYGuEvyjkFOIKEzXiEQ/s320/flowers1.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-BBASx23D-X9eAf9x0Y8vL3D7H1pYAqZdPdCVNFiALa8zYfaoZEiE5QJZbPXHobWXsqdLDIh4DrwVwjVD11rzOoAT0uRGpBmexBzqcKrwZMOtufW8a608_2NCbnE4ZxV4l6lz6__Wgmc/s1600-h/flowers2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042456127931440178" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-BBASx23D-X9eAf9x0Y8vL3D7H1pYAqZdPdCVNFiALa8zYfaoZEiE5QJZbPXHobWXsqdLDIh4DrwVwjVD11rzOoAT0uRGpBmexBzqcKrwZMOtufW8a608_2NCbnE4ZxV4l6lz6__Wgmc/s320/flowers2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">A statue and temple-like structure loomed to my left and as I circled for a better look, I caught sight of a lag storm approaching from the East and felt the Ornithopter buck and twist below me as the grid winds increased.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTsGYy8HrbnWYFa8cM8F55HGH5wXwg7QivDFBiFTBIvMPsVP-4V7uORvjZMkzWJ3mAQEyqHJ-k9ceyyk1EObgCj0z5j-VL88Z1urjBne2mI1dF1u3avzfSzE7mbcLAOtI0LVwbQYkcBE/s1600-h/statue.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042456132226407490" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTsGYy8HrbnWYFa8cM8F55HGH5wXwg7QivDFBiFTBIvMPsVP-4V7uORvjZMkzWJ3mAQEyqHJ-k9ceyyk1EObgCj0z5j-VL88Z1urjBne2mI1dF1u3avzfSzE7mbcLAOtI0LVwbQYkcBE/s320/statue.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEa_50kfdPf_Gr7wC-XvpAfn8adbOH4dzVqfxRDvSCNC9I_m2kCImLlPsNH_fnQX1ShueT5vPn4-yRGD_So4S0XYFqZ1sl2kHfAW_h_CkRdU1ZzrUsG4xTO5nYh3ioLEXgPCxxYNTuxU/s1600-h/temple.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042456132226407506" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEa_50kfdPf_Gr7wC-XvpAfn8adbOH4dzVqfxRDvSCNC9I_m2kCImLlPsNH_fnQX1ShueT5vPn4-yRGD_So4S0XYFqZ1sl2kHfAW_h_CkRdU1ZzrUsG4xTO5nYh3ioLEXgPCxxYNTuxU/s320/temple.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I knew I had to get onto the ground quickly. This looked like it was going to be a bad one. The landing was a little bumpy in the ever worsening conditions and as the sky split with the storm's full fury I dragged myself and the ornithopter into the shelter of a huge obelisk to wait it out…</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsZW2yg6uK14C3bBG9gGlSDFtQErrXaxgQG0jzmk1h9rWfggKrp8wwsn5d9HfcEIdgtJGROUHrJ7RpvAiP0lgFpyOtvRwwp2ffryRlATiA6R6MZma5LaTif2el0jGAVtk7JvvHbzkD5U/s1600-h/obelisk.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042456265370393698" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsZW2yg6uK14C3bBG9gGlSDFtQErrXaxgQG0jzmk1h9rWfggKrp8wwsn5d9HfcEIdgtJGROUHrJ7RpvAiP0lgFpyOtvRwwp2ffryRlATiA6R6MZma5LaTif2el0jGAVtk7JvvHbzkD5U/s400/obelisk.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:0;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-484798682017707212007-03-06T14:16:00.000-08:002007-03-06T14:38:04.834-08:00Pretty in Purple<div><div><div>Dear Oolon,</div><br /><div>Seeing as you've been a bit distracted of late and My Dearest Husband has been getting Snorty ready to make his official re-entrance into society (no more munching on passing humans), I thought I'd take this opportunity to stretch my wings and do a bit of exploring myself. My way, with magic and stuff.<br /></div><div>You always said you'd take me to Fuchsia (funny way of spelling it if you ask me, but then what do humans know?), so I thought that might be a good place to start. I studied the maps that Alfonso managed to bring back with him from his jaunts across the mainland and concentrated really, really hard. It takes a lot of concentration to bend things how you want them and I try not to do it to much in case something breaks (and not me, before you think to say it).<br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038940132147083890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNTNeyANDPIcI3wk7mXZPJrB-UVlNblPBgp2j-IG7tVUcQUSC6G3SwZDtXwRwUc5IyoaLMMWRJWyiWMXzskM6yD_C81PRJRsrONHSkrDIfGT04Y6ERn7wAPfn-Yv4N-ZyIwiKdDBz_KKE/s320/Fuschia+in+Fuchsia-on+high.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Fuchsia seemed very small (even by Pixie standards) until I looked over the edge of the metal pathway and discovered I was a considerable distance up in the air. Forunately Pixies are good with heights (even though our delicate stature might lead you to think otherwise) and I managed to flutter down without too much trouble.</div><br /><div>Gosh, it was quiet. Which was very pleasant, don't get me wrong; all those lovely trees and grass and rivers, very calming, very serene. Er, except for the giant cubey things, which I don't really understand; unless its modern art or something, which I know you're not supposed to.</div><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038941205888907906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgskpk659gfbc9KeLul428rBvoWDUFrustI22H_UOcg-62JowWL_FwSErhKdLexaUHTysjdkZ-pRy7JmWU2PYWzag76Q7nE7WTt1GFJKonEBo5DAx3vW10Lwif3vAmK7Wi6ZbdzqjuJnpI/s320/Fuschia+in+Fuchsia-icecubes.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>At least they were coloured appropriately for the name of the place, which was nice to see. Not that this was all that was there - oh no! There were some lovely buildings, too, which just confirmed my feelings about this place as a haven of tranquility. I had hoped it would also be a place of play because there was a big notice saying sandbox, but sadly I didn't see any spades or buckets or, rather more importantly, sand. If you need somewhere to go and gather your thoughts though, there was a columned building that was very pretty and the pool was perfect for a quick paddle, which made it a bit more like the seaside even if there wasn't any sand.</div><div> </div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038942051997465234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_U1rRh71ljLWobTjgIAsElCt6hgbIjmNJLcQVZs0UQJ4dqG_BFWrfX3LytHJvgj3hpA3IuSiHvBWxBsxjFxRAdSaJjffWfXjpJHAXKmUvzvO1C7Sxvk4mK_kccX942vz0GShhrZcYq1g/s320/Fuschia+in+Fuchsia-gaming.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div></div><div>And you'll never guess what I found there? Mushrooms, several of them, all nicely positioned overlooking the river in a very comfortable pavillion. They must have known I was coming...</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038942601753279138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3dhqADaWdaUbvmCUfqQEETwMCd338s9Y8s3oNw7bUeKHnXDQcm9aNgVSJh4xWmyQvlwjjS3Zf8LlY210USPpc9Odq755ul74V2yBu4oUIKa8FzVXAvhpcxkcQHigOBtByp05ultWx67U/s320/Fuschia+in+Fuchsia_001.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>All in all, I think its a bit quiet here for you and your cosmopolitan tastes, but next door looked very nice so I might have a wander over there if I get back this way. I think Alfonso is hoping to get back to the Northern Continent at some point, so could we beg a lift?</div><div> </div><div>Bye bye</div><div> </div><div>Love</div><div> </div><div>Fuschia<br /></div><br /><div></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-87606332347832089822007-02-28T07:45:00.000-08:002007-02-28T14:06:51.355-08:00Pockets in the SnowWe were awoken the next morning by a familiar wheezing and groaning noise as Oolon’s Cabinet eased it’s way into our part of the Grid. He quickly beckoned us inside, talking excitedly about somewhere he’d heard about from an old friend that we really should visit. I know we are still supposed to be exploring the Northern Continent, but Oolon has such a way with words and a certain charm about him that it’s difficult to refuse. And it was nice to see him happy and not weighed down by whatever he was fretting about a few weeks ago.<br /><br />The Cabinet made a slight detour to Steelhead to pick up Terry and Miss Virrginia Tombola and then we were on our way once more.<br /><br /><br /><div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685107437471954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNlRuLGYIHvBL59TKQKOujAR9a1rR90mJ68Te9PlYRj9AXfkypDEbTXaZ8Dj-lrunRcn4aB4bYs6rmdBqlg9-bTb68vUFiLw7dflmRiEk-IyEdtogRQUOqB8Qi6RIB-qFkmWsCv4I_RE/s320/ETD.jpg" border="0" /><br />Miss Tombola seemed slightly concerned by the steam escaping from parts of the Cabinet’s ducting system and the fact that several gauges on the console read zero, but Oolon assured us that there was nothing to worry about. </div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685111732439266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-29adJKZj5Lv3yyoZIpQ4YcPhFn7Sd3qMNPmC-Z8jgNubA7CBBlSKiiZf4UaiqFxrLgSFEvxaibpzc0KHVh3JRMP-ZoSLAtxZHu_4o_EERODg41QVKdpGa61GtPq8J353LXNiqMTzT6g/s320/dial.jpg" border="0" /><br />After one of our smoother landings we were out of the door and into the cold, snowy environment of a lovely little mountainside town. The whole place looked Eastern in style to my untrained eye and I began to wish I’d brought a jacket as a light sprinkling of snow started falling. </div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685111732439282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6EIIID7fYQYfLVTNDYDMCt98ZEHY1zZ1u5gjxq9jixtYRanijodF1GKWPy5YXYlv9XAPQ-35AqmHaRsFqAPsGEjkDVNlVYuKU4L8G4ZeDlqs1PeZiczzjIk81rpSzLgIRKAUhNrw0Ug/s320/Arrived.jpg" border="0" /><br />We ventured out over a bridge and into a lovely, peaceful Zen garden.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685116027406610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ77mMZ9yguoTMOhzzpfcTIqwNJG2C6sCoxBAFzmXykE65dRIlQ7y9D9VC4sp2DaqQysZMN_uxFe0R_Lj3eOEDppt1XcZ9zwNL63bheHWQfqGSXy3CashmTVEDFcljIW2LKqzQ-yAISvw/s320/zen.jpg" border="0" /><br />However, after only a few minutes of relaxation, Oolon and Terry dashed off without a word of explanation, leaving Miss Tombola, Fuschia and myself to explore on our own. At least we knew that if we were back to the Cabinet within the two hour time window there shouldn’t be a problem (Oolon had provided Fuschia and myself with keys should we need to let ourselves in).<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685116027406594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35jgBSAPCn3XLriAR-xsQmru95067jhYDs7NecktirYJSNSf9jnkH2YIqOyIZqkTTJIe8CbwWoxuOEUSTVNR8KRYFATfeuuWu1nMR5bBUnsGRR8n4pOYTjH-WxFHgDCKuyCB7-XdnWcs/s320/zen2.jpg" border="0" /><br />Fuschia found a set of sculptured snow creatures and one in particular looked an awful lot like our own dear “Nessy” in Port Caledon. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685627128514882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEGBA9MgdOq0Q07BIMkuL84MYHDl4N89-3cbvhRF3xjTpCNq7bdXwYoSJebDTacUBAscVuOuF18hiMkaiC71JrI6QEixHyI5G2hCrsIS2NwVou2n1SfyHikGmuqGz3pYsslbSr1YPJ04/s320/nessy.jpg" border="0" />Pressing on up the slope we came upon a marvellously constructed wooden, stone and paper building that although appearing in a good state of repair from a distance had obviously suffered at someone (or something's) hands (or appendages). </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685627128514866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ianHCJTl7LUrPXcOm24450jXzeceQKyvaTjhHeST_yiXlrnkFZh8mbq0Lv7Qh8SUwIwK3B4EDRazAJ5t9GWFSBQeZXHPqQiDIHRvHVcLEREmn2agiHbhBtI7dpBaQtVR7SvZIMboCz8/s320/tower2.jpg" border="0" /><br />The door had been shattered, with parts lying strewn all over the floor. The lack of snow piled onto the scattered wood suggested this was quite recent and I began to get a gnawing, worrying feeling at the back of my head. There appeared to be a hole in the ceiling leading up to higher floors and so using my long reach to clamber up, I was able to pull the ladies up through the hole after me. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685631423482194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBY91nRpTwezqIUI0ECDfdCTCUHlJ6FE5GC04Erx4ObhicjThGUEiHf3YAzHwO0A1RHXROubtjKdE-27cvc4FiAdIiFdcO69HgBri8I7xJ_syEhAG-5SASoOMXQmiCpxjJKAYMCvCtk_o/s320/brokendoor.jpg" border="0" /><br />As we explored, we began to hear eerie noises. Miss Tombola and myself could hear them clearly but Fuschia couldn’t, which is very unusual; her Pixie senses usually pick up on things like that before human ones. As we wandered backwards and forwards trying to pinpoint the sound, it resolved itself into definite music. The music was being played on the bagpipes, no less.<br /><br />Thoroughly searching the tower revealed nothing except more snatches of the wailing music. There began to be talk of “ghost pipers” and this being a haunted tower. We were determined to investigate further.<br /><br />Back outside the tower, Fuschia had found a statue of a “sleepy man”, who she said was obviously well looked after and loved by the people of the town. It certainly did seem very well maintained, and she usually does have a certain empathy with objects, so she is probably right. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685635718449506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLUFUsZmGqJK8Ahb6POznvwIsf0cQa_Tt8VqF65SIcx7fgquHn_4AMlYrOpdJEu4Obq7vnrj_egJhe6eVGvzC5vxWnq1ykVCleVXPEBo8w_-baaIYmBgPa_bD_dzJGyjGoknj1liRfVO8/s320/sleepy.jpg" border="0" />It was then we discovered the source of our mysterious piping…a young lady playing the bagpipes in the zen garden. She was a very accomplished musician and, as Miss Tombola remarked, had a talent for making even bagpipes sound melodious and tuneful. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685923481258354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_43EpClCYOS0K9ALx_bsEsX_WEaYTsShIlTPqlOAsP2o8fgZmXLUGS7vNwJtN_DbBSQ45zVUwLMfbNqPohRKghnud1n-_7Eyf1U9gFre4fbuM_rpXE3_62hiNbVcMAev85Z4EQ2REjr8/s320/pipes.jpg" border="0" /><br />We retraced our steps back into the town to see if we could find where Oolon and Terry had run off to. I was feeling a little uneasy after finding the broken down door and the whole situation here seemed a little “off”, if that makes sense.<br /><br />Passing a bicycle towed carriage, Fuschia and Miss Tombola soon discovered a few retail outlets and as they rummaged through clothing, I admired the craftwork of the armour and swords on sale. Deciding against a purchase, we crossed a bridge and found ourselves in an area populated by “flat” people. This section of town looked like it had been made to look as if it were fully populated by people on the street, but really they were simply flat wooden constructs. I was beginning to get the uneasy feeling again, when suddenly Oolon and Terry made an appearance. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685927776225682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbcF-WS9O-syGEPvUThmbNhulHPYZjaBwEC_bMtL1npZ2oGkxdztBaFgDWCsqQ6f-9qqCJAWjIwsfCMgPf13Ng8IA2irKzSWeSE54lG5ZGGvr69i2xR53Ga4WDVXPqQkwdsnUWOxuPRY/s320/cutouts.jpg" border="0" /><br />They were both out of breath and were telling us excitedly of a crashed airship they had found on a mountaintop and the fact it was surrounded by blood and near some kind of hidden mountainside stronghold. Fuschia suggested we should head into a nearby tea house and discuss what was going on, but Oolon had that concerned look again and was off taking readings with one of his devices. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685932071192994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQN6XF0IcbKHdz_ztWUSXODjjqhTm7Ycwx1KL5yyYCl2xRX0Lx-1XvTLVNJfy1-v7prUWPf5LBbS_ZmxG0-KKOsF6AE-Z5qOfvyiiUufboTIXqD2Z5pjl1DHdtJYbTUgb-Xbf-C6WMdE/s320/tea.jpg" border="0" /><br />As I followed Oolon, asking him what was happening, we heard a sudden cry of dismay from Miss Tombola. We dashed back to the tea house to discover that not only did the tea house have none of its own tea, but Terry had vanished into thin air. Fuschia started getting worried and said she couldn’t sense Terry anywhere nearby.<br /><br />A certain darkness seemed to appear in Oolon’s eyes and I could tell that he was worried. We quickly made plans to split up and search for Terry. Oolon seemed to think that she may have been relocated to somewhere else nearby. We only had forty minutes until the Cabinet would snap back to Mayfair on her “aetheric elastic” and it would take a good long while to recharge her for another trip. Just as we were finalising our plans, Terry reappeared right back in the spot where she had vanished from.<br /><br />She had been somewhere she called “otherspace” (as far as I could make out somewhere outside of the Grid; I think it’s related to Faerie, but it can be difficult to follow Oolon, Terry and even Fuschia when they start talking about things like that). She said it felt as if some force had grabbed her and pulled her there. Oolon quickly suggested we should move on and just as he did, Miss Tombola vanished in a swirl of strange lights. </p><p>It looked like my gut reaction to this place was correct; something here was definitely not right. Oolon quickly explained what he thought was going on: The engines of the crashed airship were apparently of an unusual design and could, if damaged in a certain way, be warping the “aetheric space of the Grid”, creating pockets (like deep trouser pockets) that one could fall into. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685932071193010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCCw5LQjXUT4VuLg-gU6cB-fYUfslgeMSrWnJr9XDBDk-WwChc32t5VclbhQ6Ye5Pjb6RR229lBcxl57y0QXXAm9hCS8teuLOAeF_HkG7dAWMz1zkDa84L26HguEE7mb8mIAPxWMjRnsE/s320/WheresMissTombola.jpg" border="0" /><br />We had to find Miss Tombola and fast. We only had twenty minutes left before the Cabinet “snapped back”. Oolon said that whatever happened we had to be back on board the “Old Girl” before that time expired or we may end up being stuck and with “aetheric pockets” I got the impression that this wasn’t a good place to be stuck. He said that if time ran out he would remain here to look for Miss Tombola, and the “Old Girl” would get us back to Mayfair itself. This didn’t seem like an entirely sensible plan but before I could argue Fuschia whisked me up into the air with her pixie magic and soon had me gliding about up and down the nearby mountainsides.<br /><br />We briefly stopped off at the crash site Oolon and Terry had mentioned, but could find no sign of Miss Tombola there. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036686185474263490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRBgerN-7K_k3MhzjtwPAdCZ_-Y332bfYa37aDJEcy9q78l8iNiTpHCVyUol5bK3STGw3UeDK7g6Eg6x1gd79661VcxzOmpZptQoRRwRSgNAEszVPru4dJvgDuCv4XS6zAREcImh9qJM/s320/crash.jpg" border="0" /><br />We whipped over the gardens and tower that we had explored earlier; still no sign. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036685622833547554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIuNTn5ZEnT-Hk83zBbRLwRWbPff2RPFQZxwnokTEUKBHBT7Mad0opTMqECmgeYk-22MMs0Iqz97iPGUuaFHKK2DzbSwm4WI4y-wJ2DjNWc2SsaioIl-1QA4ELg7cxti0XuYuCk8oQXs/s320/tower.jpg" border="0" /><br />As we hit a particularly dense layer of cloud I became separated from Fuschia and found myself floating in front of an incredible sight. It appeared to be a huge statue surrounded by all manner of strange buildings and unusual craft. There was definitely more going on in this place than at first appeared. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036686185474263506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Jdr1QLxLwLQHcCiMFVU4XQqKrhMRQUy9iRz7pcdjEK6XyGJelmUPgF7WklkwTc-5G-a9KKeE-K3ABoJTFWxd5JlmrFRxITtkovKQgQnli24ZV-ENGh_0y8OUwu0y8KE74XpoWql5zus/s320/base.jpg" border="0" /><br />Before I could explore further, Fuschia pulled me back to her side as we swooped over the main streets of the city and there, on almost exactly the same spot she had vanished from, was Miss Tombola.<br /><br />We landed and Fuschia dashed up to her and gave her a huge hug. Miss Tombola explained that although from our point of view she had vanished, to her we had vanished.<br /><br />We only had a few minutes left and we dashed along the streets of the town to find Oolon and Terry nervously waiting by the door of the Cabinet. Oolon’s face lit up as he saw us arrive with Miss Tombola in tow. We still had a minute or two before our time limit expired and Miss Tombola wondered if she had time to check out one or two shoe shops. It has to be said she really is a remarkable young lady and seems to remain almost entirely unflappable regardless of the situation.<br /><br />Oolon politely pointed out that it might not be a good idea and ushered everyone back inside.<br /><br />As I stepped through the door of the Cabinet, the world lurched and instead of finding myself in the usual wood panelled interior I found myself on the familiar streets of Caledon Mayfair. Somewhat confused, I began to make my way back to the Sputnik Estate (knowing that the Cabinet should be arriving back there anyway) and no sooner had I taken a step than I was back onboard the Cabinet once more. Oolon was rather apologetic and began talking about the Cabinet’s “aetheric door” being affected by the interference in the area. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036686189769230818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5NszmCUwSkVBSh5PCO8zA49Yf5GymH4mpnPoUAbfdU8uhR2v6eValrb2xXx_XQMWA4Tw_soNfhjONJj5PSNkw55otQTYDU-uZhpuVX-6CIZl32mAcWFw1DFnixpnZCRK6-sqlwsPuLc/s320/back.jpg" border="0" /><br />As the “Old Girl” swam her way through the ether back to Mayfair, Oolon broke out the sake he had collected somewhere along the way and was soon in discussions with Terry about heading back to the town sometime in the future and “sorting things out”...</p><p><br /><em>Note: Checking the punchpaper readouts from the Cabinet’s console, it looks as if the place we visited is a region called: Silk Waters Mountain and is in the South West of the Southern Continent of the Mainland. It would certainly explain the presence of the strange out of place vehicles and structures surrounding the town. The strange etheric and spatial instabilites may warrant marking this area as a potential hazard on charts of the Mainland.</em></p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-7635535367962440592007-02-22T08:58:00.000-08:002007-02-22T10:06:27.460-08:00InstabilityDear Terry, <div><br /></div><div>I do apologise for not getting this missive into the post promptly but I've been experimenting with the sewing machine for this competition and what with all the exploring on the side, I kept getting distracted.</div><div><br />Where were we: Oh yes, after my rescue from the giant starfish you had to leave us. There are some fantastic statues in Cecropia, but also some rather creepy ones (didn't like <em>them</em> overly much). I wandered ahead of Alfonso and left him to study the freaky things and promptly fell down a hole in the pavement. I really must either get some eyeglasses or have my hearing checked. I'm sure clumsiness isn't a standard Pixie trait, but I do seem to trip over or fall down rather a lot since I arrived here; maybe its the constant battering by these terrible Linden winds?<br /></div><div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034409775359473874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkI8xcy5FqOw4E1G8u52lG3qW-694Cqz4Q33qoiAGdyuWGN9r3TGkKYKWJ4GhDrFW2VgiPbBcxGsoan9eF3USz9N6isSa6GCrpY_DwfehphvIAi-sW6wB8atSsNRQbfmT1Vpu_Rb5l89s/s320/Little+train.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Anyway, down the hole I found quite a few tunnels and a little train set. It was a bit soggy underfoot, but very intriguing. Why on earth would you put a train set underground? Humans are such funny creatures. Problem was, we didn't get much further because it was past my bed time and then there was the Mardi Gras Ball, which I insisted Alfonso took me back to Caledon for (I wasn't going to miss that after all the work Miss Rothschild had put into it; wasn't it a wonderful evening? And I got to meet Mr Hassanov, he's lovely). </div><br /><br /><div>All in all, socialising really put a dent in our exploration time, so after a few days of respite we dutifully headed back to our last location. I do like ballooning; its very peaceful and thankfully has fewer crashes than flying one's self. Almost.</div><br /><div>You can imagine my confusion when I discovered that not only was the little train now a different colour, it was also imbued with it's very own powers of flight (and carriages) and someone had blocked up the tunnel in our absence.</div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSEV7MhXJV8SoNx-MQe_R3-zyWO7P_3p3EcPNRaEMRMDJUKBdTmTwf_Dqu7axse0gy6pIRBHYtV4fO6IvBmbwSgDqCe-VLjpZ__68pRfic9e1KzOie-yr78vFYSnQbqTk2URyZJZqhuA/s1600-h/flying+trains.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034412030217304290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSEV7MhXJV8SoNx-MQe_R3-zyWO7P_3p3EcPNRaEMRMDJUKBdTmTwf_Dqu7axse0gy6pIRBHYtV4fO6IvBmbwSgDqCe-VLjpZ__68pRfic9e1KzOie-yr78vFYSnQbqTk2URyZJZqhuA/s320/flying+trains.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxnFpW3z-UXzMPQOBkaVVOnyuZooysHSAZcR92eUpB9KSAq36do0UPbVbsHsGT3zHnIFpseKD15bnaQzXylt0oBNm8qHgSn9O-aVnzO9gs7ZpkfLXpro1dRt8vjvrVInFK3iHLp9WdN8/s1600-h/No+hole.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034412597152987378" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxnFpW3z-UXzMPQOBkaVVOnyuZooysHSAZcR92eUpB9KSAq36do0UPbVbsHsGT3zHnIFpseKD15bnaQzXylt0oBNm8qHgSn9O-aVnzO9gs7ZpkfLXpro1dRt8vjvrVInFK3iHLp9WdN8/s320/No+hole.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>There are some very inconsiderate people about, don't you think? Still, there were plenty of other tunnels to explore (yes, I found one of them by falling through another hole in the flagstones; pavement instability seems to be a major hazard of this region of the mainland). But look what we found when we managed to escape from the underground: a big crane with a fun tyre on the end of it. Not sure how useful it actually is, but my darling husband was certainly enjoying himself. It's always good to see him letting his hair down (metaphorically speaking of course).</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034414224945592578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQ8J-NQEILqV-iBjPQ_6FLlJvOShiCh8ANsqN6b9ht-MiHvg5VXaQBJIXx7MyPu8A0cGxPA5OANEnOHIRQcx2GR4_U0-R7pWXI12IYcx2RHnIS_8b8gex4YT5PIJNv3xMiIYefUZcevI/s320/Big+crane.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034414439693957394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtc9pFL8o1IUCLUF4rSn6qqh7jNo8T3G_y3ViYasq2DbYVgQS0stQLrDMDbc14-1AS1xQ5Z_HLd017iKbGbGKpfJo6VrQf3wqz6LrYt-ZU_KCiJ0pWqjcmHGThFj8Bc2rEmYBBEvOkJZ4/s320/Tyre+swing.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>We had strayed from Cecropia to somewhere known as Calleta, a very odd place indeed. I think it must be home to mad scientists and inventors as well as urchins and hobos, because there were some very funny people about. And some very funny things, but not in a funny way just a scary one. Do people normally keep vats full of eyeballs in their workshops?</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034415560680421666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3o1jTBIx6SRtHjoBpSYSJd4GZt6Mh_YkyCkRPujUsKEkJCRB9sXfrQJ8nMqiW6Tnk0CPtIo5UwGcLIXboQBa-B9dRo7HNgcm0Es60mD7tWif-P3BRrpSteDWrhgty4awETbvg3fAh-XE/s320/Eyeball+vat.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div><br /><br /></div><div>There were lots of trains about as well; these seemed incredibly well behaved compared to the Caledon ones and were much brighter. There was a construction yard and a place where all the bits lived (Alfonso tells me its called a depot) and some of the carriages seemed to be lived in, presumably by the hobos.<br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034417020969302322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnHMPoHDsLk9WYzwJDwxF-RVsyxMZmqrh6WojzFViSektgNjmDtWPWS7MLBVeKGyhZsDnBgNRNWJW7mxhnjRbLBDOicuTCoTB1Ax7WDuF9lfw6VsLXrbLNzmqHUk3DmXLF3GlRvf9hc8/s320/Hobo+hub.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Did I mention there are lots of hobos here? I thought I recognised the scent of Master Grut as we neared a giant fire and I do recall him mentioning this place, although I had no idea where it was. We didn't see him; no doubt he was off scrounging for gin and chips for Mary (I do hope her cough is getting better). </div><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034417849897990466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj-q4Yj5sxtS2HxinQTNOKYKRmlDBstGfCEoYSW1aU37GUCTctIk2T2MhGg5FOOFn8PkttBsg1AvOiE7K__3Wr2R2JZitXvOX42csyNe0PMCsUgtPlVrIq1oJ2qxdJitcC4ZxWUcMq3BA/s320/Hobos.jpg" border="0" /><br />They were all a jolly nice bunch here and ever so generous. We talked to Miss Tizzy (isn't that a fabulous name? Although she definitely wasn't in one), Miss Wind (no picture of her sadly, Burt discovered the free stewed boot and that was him gone for half an hour), Mr Ferraris and Mr Runo for ages and they were very helpful in enlightening us about this place. Hobo Hub has a certain ring to it, doesn't it? Oh and there was a ghost there, a lady called Miss Smythe eye-eye-eye. Rumour has it that she threw herself off the top of the crane for love, but she seemed a canny enough soul and none of the over-theatrical "woo-ing" you normally get from that brigade.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034419494870464850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jgWZfGYFaT8jQe6h4Bxb2wH1u7OJU3nI8pBiCgNIsrTqE74rgz2wgYvcB_3lx933hollbVHHR4i-C_YCIKILAjn98Tsx2htW90SpCwP16j8bVTJppIiUE0jkGnTSnRBE7-kaVMFs8cc/s320/Hot+bath.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>It was getting late again and the discovery of a steaming bath decided the point as far as I was concerned. I do like a good soak in the bath and despite appearances to the contrary it was clean and very refreshing. We've pitched out tent here in the lee of an empty carriage and we shall continue on our way tomorrow, all being well. </p><br /><p>How are the Steelhead Offices progressing? Please keep me up to date and watch out for giant domestic fowl....</p><br /><p></p><p>Lots of love</p><p>Fuschia<br /></p><br /><br /><div></div>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1342498165601860370.post-54217762815695873172007-02-15T05:03:00.000-08:002007-02-15T12:05:20.888-08:00The ChannelDear Sir / Madam,<br /><br />Good news! I can confirm that the passage to the Northern Continent exists and is very easily navigable. It is located in a region on the Northern coast called Purple.<br /><br />I have also uncovered the source of the Mainland’s unusual “plywood” building material, and have acquired a sample for the scientists back in Caledon to examine. Perhaps they will be able to uncover the secrets that allow the Mainlanders to build their strange floating houses.<br /><br />I will send further reports as I press on into the Northern Continent.<br /><br />Your Servant,<br /><br />Professor Alfonso Avalanche (and Mrs Fuschia Begonia-Avalanche)<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031851993485686754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyTGER5Q2GnriFdzrDb2pTa7azr3X5mOUFWlTbaOl4FczB-d0tkQv4uuYVlmZPz0SUyFecL8mquyAE4l5xn8WHUjIjn1D1guJl0sj77WiOzsS67k8QjWo5Uystk2ocM9lfQP687LMwrrM/s320/sea.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />We slept until very late the next day. It was nice to be on expedition again, but even nicer that Fuschia was there to share the experience this time. I should have brought her along previously, really…but I wasn’t sure she’d enjoy it.<br /><br />I’m still a little concerned about Oolon. It’s unusual for him to cut short one of our trips in his Cabinet and he always seemed proud of the fact he could extend her presence in a location up to the full 2 hour time limit that seems to afflict his miraculous device. But last night he was back at the helm of the “Old Girl” and whisking her back to Mayfair within the hour. I do hope he’s alright. He keeps on insisting he’s fine and I’m sure Terry will look after him, or at least get in touch with us if there is trouble.<br /><br />I tried to put Oolon out of my mind as I looked at the vast stretch of ocean ahead of us. I had intended to ask him if he could drop off the balloon so that we could fly over the channel to the North, but as I opened the crate he’d left I realised something wasn’t quite right.<br /><br />What he had actually left us with was a rowing boat. Oh well, at least it was suitable for what we were trying to do. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031851997780654066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gda1fVChFwxepeWfVcgJ3iNDp4ZG8C3aeuUZfxXP85eBxF4OxKjmxjz4qay5Up1_4HwLWiLhv_bugMPgkIz02Vby850cQ5fZGhtSCdX7Fydm7Bsha-TrV7qbrspItWb0pdWyG9ZeFq8/s320/Fuschia.jpg" border="0" /><br />As I was putting it together, Fuschia busied herself making a fine breakfast and getting a few more pictures with her Boxed Brownie, who seemed remarkably subdued and quiet today.<br /><br />Once fed and watered we set off into the Channel.<br /><br />The weather was beautiful and the sea calm. I couldn’t see any signs or even feel a breeze from the grid storms that battered the rest of the coastline and the vicious lag storms of the previous evening seemed to have cleared the air, leaving a fresh bright day. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852002075621378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqepf3LON3Y3hwBRc1HJWrPc3fqV1WwdRI07G_4Eph1suC0pobdziNwpH0ekiuUubdQFuhASvl-RAbH0JGX76jlyqR8il0pPOylZr2gCDAlOZIyfRMAX6sqrMViOPcUc5JI5KcDUEYxlg/s320/boat.jpg" border="0" /><br />Soon Fuschia was getting all excited and pointing up into the sky. She’d spotted a balloon. The folks on board shouted out a happy greeting and showered us with talk of blessings from the sea. However their attitude soon seemed to change once we said that we were part of a Caledonian Colony on the mainland. Immediately they changed course for our point of origin on the coastline and set off at high speed cackling about the fact that they would raid and pillage our land. So it seemed my fears were correct, the Mainland coast is beset by pirates, both on the sea and in the air. I still felt pretty secure in the knowledge that the colony was at least several days travel by balloon from our current position and they had absolutely no idea where it was. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852006370588690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrR2Ux0rSJFjbvsd95TLxpwppGZTFhQvsImZpTPtL7vV80T2l-wX5qFBvHJ8NFC1BlfXxIomKzNfIRDX11F4sVv12th8CSP-UFOR_5lJ-azt8HFpsEetfYy7PwAFmdHPsbwooSLeWlVPQ/s320/balloon.jpg" border="0" /><br />My arms were beginning to tire when out of the haze appeared a huge shape jutting up through the water. It appeared to be some industrial structure and Fuaschia said that her pixie nose could smell several people on board including, apparently, someone we knew. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852010665556002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudqut32s0whBXZ978q937KOPYwevIKGk_LFRtPM797j4UIPwiKjk-uar8jq8JrLk0jkBkecIlCXOxNoiaE6DGN50J6cc5FpwMnVQ2BcTUGl56jw-rx1BOxT6l3IYyBivU9R1kgfWiiYQ/s320/mine.jpg" border="0" /><br />One of the platform’s “legs” had a low embarkation area and as we tied the boat up and clambered aboard, Fuschia’s nose was proved to be correct as we were met by Terry! </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852367147841586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbZVbyBDMhX08A899VACeZPhyg_FhlAhIRzPSWTbrui5cgC1KZnHkFLbr01VCggAefWIRxiuPpZJlkbQw8m8nKHvfH6eeZvVd3jB2_hcc8JGVu-8HX5HJwrAsKYyR8EJpN0JXztGBrEg/s320/mine1.jpg" border="0" /><br />Apparently Oolon had dropped her off for a little explore on her own and she was as surprised to see us as we were to see her. A bit of investigation revealed the platform to be some kind of high technology mine, anchored to the sea bed. It’s purpose appeared to be the extraction of the “plywood” mainland building material, which it then sent on to the Mainland via a pipeline or vacuum transport system running along the ocean floor. I never even imagined this wood-like material was actually mined. I had assumed it was simply tree wood. Maybe it is actually some mineral related to Cavorite? </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852371442808898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS894ZVNkmrx4g7WJU8lXsKW3jkoBiVkMldti8KXiQJZWUGGGEWj3UzaU8jeztUpdcN5gBHqxRZrIgfPZwgEXyFe2RWnm3HyK5g-qGqNXZw_x0h8fJGmXW26M4ibdYGkWEbmyWWHQqo3M/s320/plywood.jpg" border="0" /><br />As we searched the structure we found several gentlemen dressed in grey garb and wielding mainland weapons (rather similar to the ones Mr Reymont had previously encountered). They didn’t seem to be causing any harm or shooting anyone, so I can only assume they were there to protect the platform from pirates. They obviously did not wish their “plywood supply” to fall into the wrong hands. Fuschia and Terry also discovered an interesting office that seemed to contain some kind of radio and map. The map was marked “SLRR” and the radio kept announcing numbers, speeds, arrivals and departures. It was only after listening for a little while did we work out it was a railway timetable. It appeared as if the map on the wall and the radio were showing / telling us the location of trains on the Northern Continent railway system. Incredible! Maybe the Northern Continent will prove to be more civilised than the Southern one. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852375737776210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBh-d5JF86n3d3Sbwc94SQqcLviHCUSOqkwsy698aa1pReR42fIsR0hFPcZsGhZAK8W7c-qPPKgmAiqWNTPCKtngKzyiisoUqr1T3-pb5bLBLsM7VMTy7mwr18PanueLsBJJbMFdwOa7s/s320/rail.jpg" border="0" /><br />Encouraged, we untied our little boat and headed onwards. We were joined on this trip by a Mr Saltair who needed a lift to the Northern Continent. He was one of the Plywood Mine’s protectors and although he seemed pleasant enough, he had a rather “colourful” use of language (so much so that Terry and Fuschia had to put their fingers in their ears for part of the trip). Pointing out that ladies were present did no good and one can only assume that the young man had spent a little too much time around sailors. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852375737776226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrNQWsHU18oN6hVeUBzRmrqhdMrLJPR8ZU4uvY0A_jhkrGYwFS_tFIC8hMKz4Ii_k_53TXgIYNxg7JFeeNAtLHJ6jO25-q1kBX-1kioWrfwnlCZ7pt_qcW6rfR4AOJf3-Lu9r84WH28M/s320/saltair.jpg" border="0" /><br />As the shoreline of the Northern Continent swam into view, Mr Saltair jumped into the water and paid me for his passage. I insisted it was no trouble but he was soon gone, swimming off into the distance. Some of these mainlanders can be very peculiar.<br /><br />At last, though, we had made it…the Northern Continent! I felt renewed strength in my arms as I rowed the small boat up onto the rocky shoreline and disembarked onto the beach. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852380032743538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUU6DUCScIT9dcCb-IairsqWeRNaVzkabaL9N1EhPlnoOQFAI_q9YWC5aMGrsUO0QoUxdV0Se6o2qYTJ1en9Kc4x4IPocRDqg6Zin88WiecuM8mgzfyr7zFjZ8BRBhHYUhBIjP79fTuo/s320/Northern+Continent.jpg" border="0" /><br />Here we were. The task I had set myself a month ago was complete. I had finally found the Channel between the continents.<br /><br />No time for pausing and self-congratulation, though, for soon Fuschia and Terry were off exploring. Nearby stood a lovely home, obviously belonging to a keen sailor and nature lover, from the collection of sailing trophies and little cages of insects neatly arranged around the delightful open building. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852684975421570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmFjpJvsC3yK3Wr2odtHsKX5oDpfFqUuOOcE_Wny15OXjXgU4Ea7ySRfPFl3QyUJFyO3_fq2rYmuZBSkA7LOScRTXDcxw7JI6R2x4yWrqgJ0HN0AwQ6rawhl9NAShEcf9oNsoPfSGz48/s320/house.jpg" border="0" /><br />As Terry and myself were looking at some of the wonderful telescopes and other devices that lay on the beach, we heard a familiar distant cry…Fuschia! Drawing the Webley, we both set off at a run. What had happened? More pirates? Or slavers or torturers? You never know what will be waiting for you on the Mainland. I should never have let her flutter off out of my sight…<br /><br />We quickly followed the muffled cries and found her trapped under, of all things, a huge starfish! I grabbed a nearby oar and prised her free. Apparently she was exploring, saw it flopping about on the jetty and, being the kind sole that she is, attempted to help it back into the water, upon which act it flailed out at her and trapped her under one of its arms. Thankfully she was safe, if a little winded. The starfish received a swift warning kick from her for its troubles, though. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852684975421586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vrGUKL7xQKWN3kuak82pW0AvHbxqs4OxNu02WGdVa5bMOPC3iVCwMX6iIOLF9WK0RdxrXGfVwws_GQ-mPLNBR-xC_DMPotqQaWGTuG_7aMeCNcXCb4LK3cpY-Tluzr3m85zGcFA5Dls/s320/starfish.jpg" border="0" /><br />At this point Terry received an aetheric message through the special bracelet that Oolon had given her and had to go, but Fuschia and I decided to search the coast further…there was a whole new continent to explore and Fuschia was just as keen as I to explore it. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852689270388898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnZaD1EHfB1lw5_XW-LOvWbBFHY7r10slQ-GMT6Pyd_Z_XI2qQ4-rXUjEYbZDRC7lWchtl2dK3IvBnvD1HVZP28edfhyrcRWDODI5oAIa0xCTAfmhyphenhyphenwsFuijHoWfwyX6TOXp996uQ-xE/s320/ship.jpg" border="0" /><br />Nearby was a ship that had obviously been captured by the local mainlanders from the pirates and put to a more legitimate use. Below decks was a neatly laid out bar and stage and Fuschia was soon encouraging me to assist her in a duet of one of her favourite Faerie songs to the empty bar. </p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852689270388914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha43emcEbZurnJUYU5ksa3KBxM8tQRk4WsBfbrd2vhgxrbmn1YvKrGyNgIiZz8XtGUfP0x1lMTw6hXBgF6BUXad0MX7S8Y7FkJR08K1Rm3mYi5ay6iho5kcm5rSnOYmfkxCEAzJvbZzZE/s320/sing.jpg" border="0" /><br />I was growing tired and as we left the bar night was falling. All that rowing was taking its toll, but Fuschia was unstoppable and her excitement was quite infectious. She dragged me on into a little stand of trees and insisted she could smell magic, and she was right. The sight before us was both eerie and beautiful and without a doubt quite magical. </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031852693565356226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nVIQUsYyanIIFxe0_vJdWoinPyMa0MVioHy7aTbN-6D5gEL0hvwjXMtfIN9l_557jwgWHXWO3CVAUcoyXUk-VWiyLUn7K6UUBr_nLjAhxn-8hUguuSMPTcVqyHsGHRNzOkKmQCAeFCA/s320/ghosts.jpg" border="0" /><br />The creatures didn’t move or respond to us, merely shimmered in the pale moonlight. For some reason the whole scene seemed very serene and peaceful. It felt almost as if we were on sacred ground.<br /><br />And then she was off again, pulling me along by my hand, the ethereal creatures all but forgotten. Out of the trees, across an open cobbled area….and tumbling down an unseen hole into darkness….</p>Current Population: 2http://www.blogger.com/profile/11457014133360557211noreply@blogger.com1