01-23-2022, 07:42 PM
If a person takes it upon themselves to travel northwards from Pucklewatch, continue along Calder's Way until they arrive at a small
wayside shrine almost hidden by an excessive growth of Passionflower, there's a narrow path that that may afford them some interest.
The vine-enveloped roofed-altar was constructed to commemorate a wandering young Witch who'd once slayed a terrifying Knucker
that had crawled out from a nearby coastal inlet and procured the arable area as its dining table. This firebrand wizard with a penchant
for killing giant water-dragons, was also known for small stature and her attire comprising of a large floppy hat, a rarely-washed poncho
and a weird shouldered bag that was said to have magical properties. However, there was never any mention of footwear.
The track -beginning on the other side of an seasoned wooden stile, cuts across a clover meadow and passing a small enclosure of
half-buried megalithic stones, it vanishes into a row of trees that hides a little-known beauty-spot and the berthing place of an alleged
creature from the Great Sea. It's not a frequently visited locale now, the days of huge serpents feuding with midget magicians quickly
fade into tavern tales and the urgency to continue farming and looking after one's family tends to override memories of who the Witch
was, also gets lost along the way.
It's a shame, really.
...................................................
Peggy Powler shivered -not because of recalling that day she went up against the slimy Knucker with the terrible breath, but due to
the winter sun failing to warm this isolated part of the little rocky bay. Looking at the makeshift stone-steps that had brought the Last
Witch of Underhill to the quiet scene, she wondered when the last time that moss-covered path had ever been used.
Breathing a sigh of contentment through her nose, Peggy clutched the rear of her poncho and sat down on a nearby boulder.
It was an ideal spot to contemplate the distant island that was bathed in a warmth that her haven was currently being denied and also
think about the only occupant of the small atoll. The cold water lapped at the smooth stones near her bare feet and toyed with a piece
of driftwood that looked like a deer's antler. A solitary seagull bobbed on the breeze-kissed surface of the Great Sea and the observer
allowed the tranquillity to soak through to her very soul.
It was the day before Plough Monday and Peggy knew that John Potter always enjoyed the festivities surrounding the celebration of the
agricultural tradition. Today, the village square of Pucklewatch will be decked-out with home-made bunting and ale-inspired musicians
practicing their tunes will be corroding the usual quietness of the day-of-rest.
Plough Monday promised to be a day of bedlam and bliss, a moment in the year to honour the resurgence of working the land and an
awakening from the bleakest of seasons. Spring was still ahead, but in Pucklewatch, there was a hope that a warmer time was just
around the corner. For John Potter, the only person living on the island that Peggy was currently watching a little row-boat embark from,
it was a reason to quaff some mead and wear his famous Straw Bear outfit.
Somewhere on that approaching skiff, a handcrafted costume of dried oat stalks lay alongside a pair of wooden stilts to enhance John's
performance. He will walk the streets of Pucklewatch in his cereal-rich attire and tower above a specially-fitted plough dragged by men
who will be competing with each other for the apex of drunkenness.
Accompanying the Straw giant, a rosy-cheeked female titled 'harlot' for the day who will dance to the many tunes and lustily haul her
male partner -called 'The Fool', around Pucklewatch to the delight of the villagers with the hope of drawing laughter to celebrate Plough
Monday. One day of rustic mirth, lots of beer and probably some impregnation too.
"How yer' doin', yer' daft bugger?!..." Peggy good-naturedly called when the boat was close enough to see Potter grinning. "...Ah' see
yer still can't resist the prancin' and showin'-off" she added as she grabbed the rope John tossed to her. Topping out at over six foot-four,
Peggy had always thought John came from farming stock due to his thick arms, wide shoulders and his general demeanour to accept what
life threw at him. He was a genial-looking man with thick-woolly side-chops the colour of a narwhale's horn and the idea that he dwelled on
an island seemed totally at-odds to what Peggy would've envisaged for such a ribald -but friendly man.
John was always smiling and Peggy had often wondered how his pleasant attitude was always at the ready whenever he came into contact
with his fellow-man. She hadn't seen him for about five years and had held only a half-chance that the message she'd sent via a Midnight
Mail Carrier would actually reach him. However, it seemed John did come to the mainland enough to receive a letter and seeing the affable
oarsman wave the billet from his boat, Peggy beamed her response back at his notification.
Did he have a dark secret too...? After the little Witch's last encounter with another male she had once deemed a friend, Peggy had set her
cap to be wary of something she had once taken for granted. But if John Potter was the custodian of a gripping mystery, his sunny features
offered no indication of duplicity and only served an onlooker to mirror his perspective.
"Yer' a cheeky sod, Peggy..." John replied alongside a grunt from disembarking his seaworthy craft, "...Yer wish te' use me-boat and call me
names at the same time?" he joked as he picked the small woman up and hugged the air out of her lungs. "Tis' good te' see yer' lass" John
whispered in her ear and gently lowered her back onto the pebbles.
Then without any more to-do, he fished his celebration-wardrobe from his carriage and announced his future and terms of borrowing his boat.
"Tek me skiff and be careful wiv' it, Peggy..." John said softly and his usual smile had gone. "...But Ah' strongly advise yer' to accompany me
to Pucklewatch instead and forget this dangerous quest" he offered and placed one of the stilts as a walking-stick.
The little sorceress peered up at the giant who didn't need such wooden bolstering and waited for more expected dissuasion. Peggy had
heard that the Isle of Murdigon had been plundered by a Hippomare and even though such a creature could bring ruin to anyone who fell
under its charms, she still felt it was her place to sail out to the remote place and perform her duty.
"Aye, well a flagon of ale sounds like a good notion, but yon folk need savin' from the sea monster before it decides to visit quieter waters"
she answered confidently to the man with his straw suit and wooden legs. Studying his rough complexion, Peggy was surprised to see her
friend suddenly arrive at the possible outcome of the necromancer's reasoning for the use of his boat.
Sucking in a great breath, John Potter nodded once and told her of the provisions he'd stored on the little craft and also he was in no hurry
to retrieve what is his. "Ah'm visitin' me-sister in Benbrooke after Plough Monday and so, yer've got yon skiff fur' a week or so" he said and
turning his head, looked towards the horizon behind him.
"So take care Peggy, Ah've heard that this water-Kelpie can trick the knickers off the best of 'em" he warned and just like the sun arriving at
dawn, his regular smile appeared once more. Peggy Powler emulated the grin and giggled back "Whey, yer' know fine-well Ah' divna' wear
those things" she scoffed and accepted another hug.
...................................................
A tall silhouette waved once from the top of the forgotten stone stairway as a new wake began upon the Great Sea. The frightened populace
of Murdigon had a problem from a beguiling revenant and there was only one person who could deal with it. A freshly-launched Sea Witch.
wayside shrine almost hidden by an excessive growth of Passionflower, there's a narrow path that that may afford them some interest.
The vine-enveloped roofed-altar was constructed to commemorate a wandering young Witch who'd once slayed a terrifying Knucker
that had crawled out from a nearby coastal inlet and procured the arable area as its dining table. This firebrand wizard with a penchant
for killing giant water-dragons, was also known for small stature and her attire comprising of a large floppy hat, a rarely-washed poncho
and a weird shouldered bag that was said to have magical properties. However, there was never any mention of footwear.
The track -beginning on the other side of an seasoned wooden stile, cuts across a clover meadow and passing a small enclosure of
half-buried megalithic stones, it vanishes into a row of trees that hides a little-known beauty-spot and the berthing place of an alleged
creature from the Great Sea. It's not a frequently visited locale now, the days of huge serpents feuding with midget magicians quickly
fade into tavern tales and the urgency to continue farming and looking after one's family tends to override memories of who the Witch
was, also gets lost along the way.
It's a shame, really.
...................................................
Peggy Powler shivered -not because of recalling that day she went up against the slimy Knucker with the terrible breath, but due to
the winter sun failing to warm this isolated part of the little rocky bay. Looking at the makeshift stone-steps that had brought the Last
Witch of Underhill to the quiet scene, she wondered when the last time that moss-covered path had ever been used.
Breathing a sigh of contentment through her nose, Peggy clutched the rear of her poncho and sat down on a nearby boulder.
It was an ideal spot to contemplate the distant island that was bathed in a warmth that her haven was currently being denied and also
think about the only occupant of the small atoll. The cold water lapped at the smooth stones near her bare feet and toyed with a piece
of driftwood that looked like a deer's antler. A solitary seagull bobbed on the breeze-kissed surface of the Great Sea and the observer
allowed the tranquillity to soak through to her very soul.
It was the day before Plough Monday and Peggy knew that John Potter always enjoyed the festivities surrounding the celebration of the
agricultural tradition. Today, the village square of Pucklewatch will be decked-out with home-made bunting and ale-inspired musicians
practicing their tunes will be corroding the usual quietness of the day-of-rest.
Plough Monday promised to be a day of bedlam and bliss, a moment in the year to honour the resurgence of working the land and an
awakening from the bleakest of seasons. Spring was still ahead, but in Pucklewatch, there was a hope that a warmer time was just
around the corner. For John Potter, the only person living on the island that Peggy was currently watching a little row-boat embark from,
it was a reason to quaff some mead and wear his famous Straw Bear outfit.
Somewhere on that approaching skiff, a handcrafted costume of dried oat stalks lay alongside a pair of wooden stilts to enhance John's
performance. He will walk the streets of Pucklewatch in his cereal-rich attire and tower above a specially-fitted plough dragged by men
who will be competing with each other for the apex of drunkenness.
Accompanying the Straw giant, a rosy-cheeked female titled 'harlot' for the day who will dance to the many tunes and lustily haul her
male partner -called 'The Fool', around Pucklewatch to the delight of the villagers with the hope of drawing laughter to celebrate Plough
Monday. One day of rustic mirth, lots of beer and probably some impregnation too.
"How yer' doin', yer' daft bugger?!..." Peggy good-naturedly called when the boat was close enough to see Potter grinning. "...Ah' see
yer still can't resist the prancin' and showin'-off" she added as she grabbed the rope John tossed to her. Topping out at over six foot-four,
Peggy had always thought John came from farming stock due to his thick arms, wide shoulders and his general demeanour to accept what
life threw at him. He was a genial-looking man with thick-woolly side-chops the colour of a narwhale's horn and the idea that he dwelled on
an island seemed totally at-odds to what Peggy would've envisaged for such a ribald -but friendly man.
John was always smiling and Peggy had often wondered how his pleasant attitude was always at the ready whenever he came into contact
with his fellow-man. She hadn't seen him for about five years and had held only a half-chance that the message she'd sent via a Midnight
Mail Carrier would actually reach him. However, it seemed John did come to the mainland enough to receive a letter and seeing the affable
oarsman wave the billet from his boat, Peggy beamed her response back at his notification.
Did he have a dark secret too...? After the little Witch's last encounter with another male she had once deemed a friend, Peggy had set her
cap to be wary of something she had once taken for granted. But if John Potter was the custodian of a gripping mystery, his sunny features
offered no indication of duplicity and only served an onlooker to mirror his perspective.
"Yer' a cheeky sod, Peggy..." John replied alongside a grunt from disembarking his seaworthy craft, "...Yer wish te' use me-boat and call me
names at the same time?" he joked as he picked the small woman up and hugged the air out of her lungs. "Tis' good te' see yer' lass" John
whispered in her ear and gently lowered her back onto the pebbles.
Then without any more to-do, he fished his celebration-wardrobe from his carriage and announced his future and terms of borrowing his boat.
"Tek me skiff and be careful wiv' it, Peggy..." John said softly and his usual smile had gone. "...But Ah' strongly advise yer' to accompany me
to Pucklewatch instead and forget this dangerous quest" he offered and placed one of the stilts as a walking-stick.
The little sorceress peered up at the giant who didn't need such wooden bolstering and waited for more expected dissuasion. Peggy had
heard that the Isle of Murdigon had been plundered by a Hippomare and even though such a creature could bring ruin to anyone who fell
under its charms, she still felt it was her place to sail out to the remote place and perform her duty.
"Aye, well a flagon of ale sounds like a good notion, but yon folk need savin' from the sea monster before it decides to visit quieter waters"
she answered confidently to the man with his straw suit and wooden legs. Studying his rough complexion, Peggy was surprised to see her
friend suddenly arrive at the possible outcome of the necromancer's reasoning for the use of his boat.
Sucking in a great breath, John Potter nodded once and told her of the provisions he'd stored on the little craft and also he was in no hurry
to retrieve what is his. "Ah'm visitin' me-sister in Benbrooke after Plough Monday and so, yer've got yon skiff fur' a week or so" he said and
turning his head, looked towards the horizon behind him.
"So take care Peggy, Ah've heard that this water-Kelpie can trick the knickers off the best of 'em" he warned and just like the sun arriving at
dawn, his regular smile appeared once more. Peggy Powler emulated the grin and giggled back "Whey, yer' know fine-well Ah' divna' wear
those things" she scoffed and accepted another hug.
...................................................
A tall silhouette waved once from the top of the forgotten stone stairway as a new wake began upon the Great Sea. The frightened populace
of Murdigon had a problem from a beguiling revenant and there was only one person who could deal with it. A freshly-launched Sea Witch.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.