"Reet so far" Peggy Powler mumbled to herself as she eased one oar from the water and allowed the other to turn the little boat
out towards the haze that hid the horizon. The little Witch displayed her concentration as she squinted over her shoulder to gaze
at the curtain of sun-warmed condensation and plotted her course to the Isle of Murdigon.
The sea-going sorceress had been following the rocky coastline for some time now until she had spied the tall outcrop of basalt
the locals called 'Mellifor's Finger'. The story goes that somewhere under the soil and heavy forestation of the land, the remains
of a petrified colossus of a being lay awaiting a special magical spell to breath life back into his calcified body.
During his reign, Mellifor the Giant had boasted to the terrified humans that fled before him that he was a God and this status allowed
him the luxury to demand that those beneath his sandaled-feet bring him his food and bow to his bidding. Mellifor would sit on amongst
the woodlands and bluster to himself how nobody across the land held as much power as he did, not even as much sovereignty that
dwelt in his little finger. Of course -like most stories of yore, there was a wizard who arrived and using mystic means, turned the giant
to stone and brought him low.
But like those tales that held inner-significances about a person's communal-conduct, a reality-based item of evidence to give pause
to a doubting listener. Where Mellifor fell beneath the charm of the unnamed magician, there was one part of his anatomy that still could
be viewed to prove the fable still had some meat on its bones. The storyteller simply had to relate to any agnostic audience that at the
edge of the sea, there was physical testimony of what happened a long time ago, a single stony-element that Mellifor the Giant had once
exulted about in his claim of overseeing the paltry humans.
As a bonus and just like a giant's digit, the towering column even sported a formation at its tip that resembled a fingernail. Many of the
older folk in the surrounding villages would assure their younger listeners that the weathered pointer was proof of an ancient arrogant
titan that was now gesturing his regret at not achieving his place in the heavens. Peggy smiled at the thought of the legend and aligning
the stern of John Potter's boat to the naturally-formed totem, began to pull on the wooden blades once more.
...................................................
The surrounding waters were dark-green now and the Last Witch of Underhill knew she was away from the standard acceptance of what
most took to being the Great Sea. Out here, the fishermen hunted for Danderheads, Petticods and Loosejaws in the dark emerald depths
and when talking in fathoms, the weathered-anglers would smile and remind any tenderfoot that this was the Great Sea and measurement
to Davy Jones' locker meant little out here.
The salty miasma that cloaked the Isle of Murdigon was now performing its task in regards of Mellifor's Finger and the tall appendage had
slipped away from Peggy's view. Taking a drink from the jug of beer that John Potter had kindly stored beside two wrapped sandwiches,
the little Witch gazed out into the distance for a sign of her destination. So it was with a sudden jolt of alarm at the question, that Peggy
nearly dropped the clay-container of brewed hops as she peered over the side of the rowboat to seek the inquisitor.
"I say, thee seems to be lost, my-daughter..." the Merman said blithely "...doest thou need directions?" the smiling aged water-nymph added
and dared himself to place a webbed-hand beside one of the oarlocks. Taking off her hat so it didn't fall in the water, Peggy surveyed the old
fish-man and found his appearance welcoming for such a lonely venue.
Like all Mer-folk, it was the eyes that cause land-dwellers to flinch when coming across such creatures. Large and mucous-covered, Mer
eyes never blink and can often be taken as a mark of the aquatic animal more than a sentient-being existing in the depths of the Great Sea.
The straggly beard that floated on the water's surface around his face, enjoyed small crustaceans that scurried and fidgeted in the strands
of hair and any snagged seaweed.
He sported no ears, but Peggy knew this from her days when she first came across a young mermaid being bartered for on a quayside. Some
jackass proprietor from a circus wished to buy the netted victim from a couple of trawler-men and if it hadn't been for the Witch's intervention,
the frightened girl -who later told her rescuer held the name 'Hooner', could've lived out her life in a nightmare of gawking people behind a
wall of glass.
But this older Siren of the Sea -a bit of a babbler too, introduced himself as 'Gadda' and apparently, it meant 'storm-follower'. Something that
Peggy believed she could do without, just now, but kept the negative-thought idling in her un-hatted head. Instead, the leaning Witch replied
with a query, "Der' yer know the way te' Murdigon?" she said amiably and saw the small muscles around the Merman's big glassy eyes move
in contemplation.
'Take yer' bloody time, how many islands can there be out here?!' Peggy mused to herself as the damp Fish-Fae premeditated her question.
But again, she caged her disrespect and waited for Gadda to point one of his scaly hands towards her hoped-for goal. Dislodging a baby
crab from his salt-encrusted bristles, he scratched his way to a resolution, one with a chunk of commentary that Peggy didn't really require.
"Thee keep thy prow facing the way it is and I will show you the way" he said gleefully and with that, produced a ragged tail from the water
behind him. Clutching the side of the boat, Gadda added "If it's the water-Kelpie thee seeks, take heed not fall for the scoundrel's glamour".
Bringing the damaged fin closer, the elderly sprite pointed at the marred paddle and warned "the varlet nearly had me for dinner!".
Peggy nodded and carefully avoiding Gadda's hand, reached for the oars to place them in the water. Maybe the geriatric Merman murmured
to himself that their blather had ended and went to show the way to Murdigon or it could've been that the bantam sorceress unknowingly
clanged the happy-go-lucky Gadda on the head with one of the oars, but either way, she soon spotted the Merman swimming ahead when
she glanced over her shoulder. "It's never bloody easy, is it?" Peggy muttered and put her back into propelling the boat forward.
...................................................
The evening was well underway when -with another wave of farewell to the helpful old dryad of the depths, Peggy steered her carriage to the
sandy beach of Murdigon and the home of a dictatorial Hippomare. Surprisingly, the wary little necromancer could hear frogs cheeping as she
waded from the shallows and felt dry-land under bare feet once more. Pulling the boat well out of the water, she kept a prudent eye out for
any movement in the shadows of the undergrowth.
"As I said..." Gadda suddenly repeated from his gloomy haven and almost caused Peggy to leak her bowels in the surprise. "...Take heed
against the Kelpie" he supplemented and slipped away into the depths of the Great Sea. Feeling her stomach move, the undergrowth was
where she made for and during her function, pondered on what to do next.
out towards the haze that hid the horizon. The little Witch displayed her concentration as she squinted over her shoulder to gaze
at the curtain of sun-warmed condensation and plotted her course to the Isle of Murdigon.
The sea-going sorceress had been following the rocky coastline for some time now until she had spied the tall outcrop of basalt
the locals called 'Mellifor's Finger'. The story goes that somewhere under the soil and heavy forestation of the land, the remains
of a petrified colossus of a being lay awaiting a special magical spell to breath life back into his calcified body.
During his reign, Mellifor the Giant had boasted to the terrified humans that fled before him that he was a God and this status allowed
him the luxury to demand that those beneath his sandaled-feet bring him his food and bow to his bidding. Mellifor would sit on amongst
the woodlands and bluster to himself how nobody across the land held as much power as he did, not even as much sovereignty that
dwelt in his little finger. Of course -like most stories of yore, there was a wizard who arrived and using mystic means, turned the giant
to stone and brought him low.
But like those tales that held inner-significances about a person's communal-conduct, a reality-based item of evidence to give pause
to a doubting listener. Where Mellifor fell beneath the charm of the unnamed magician, there was one part of his anatomy that still could
be viewed to prove the fable still had some meat on its bones. The storyteller simply had to relate to any agnostic audience that at the
edge of the sea, there was physical testimony of what happened a long time ago, a single stony-element that Mellifor the Giant had once
exulted about in his claim of overseeing the paltry humans.
As a bonus and just like a giant's digit, the towering column even sported a formation at its tip that resembled a fingernail. Many of the
older folk in the surrounding villages would assure their younger listeners that the weathered pointer was proof of an ancient arrogant
titan that was now gesturing his regret at not achieving his place in the heavens. Peggy smiled at the thought of the legend and aligning
the stern of John Potter's boat to the naturally-formed totem, began to pull on the wooden blades once more.
...................................................
The surrounding waters were dark-green now and the Last Witch of Underhill knew she was away from the standard acceptance of what
most took to being the Great Sea. Out here, the fishermen hunted for Danderheads, Petticods and Loosejaws in the dark emerald depths
and when talking in fathoms, the weathered-anglers would smile and remind any tenderfoot that this was the Great Sea and measurement
to Davy Jones' locker meant little out here.
The salty miasma that cloaked the Isle of Murdigon was now performing its task in regards of Mellifor's Finger and the tall appendage had
slipped away from Peggy's view. Taking a drink from the jug of beer that John Potter had kindly stored beside two wrapped sandwiches,
the little Witch gazed out into the distance for a sign of her destination. So it was with a sudden jolt of alarm at the question, that Peggy
nearly dropped the clay-container of brewed hops as she peered over the side of the rowboat to seek the inquisitor.
"I say, thee seems to be lost, my-daughter..." the Merman said blithely "...doest thou need directions?" the smiling aged water-nymph added
and dared himself to place a webbed-hand beside one of the oarlocks. Taking off her hat so it didn't fall in the water, Peggy surveyed the old
fish-man and found his appearance welcoming for such a lonely venue.
Like all Mer-folk, it was the eyes that cause land-dwellers to flinch when coming across such creatures. Large and mucous-covered, Mer
eyes never blink and can often be taken as a mark of the aquatic animal more than a sentient-being existing in the depths of the Great Sea.
The straggly beard that floated on the water's surface around his face, enjoyed small crustaceans that scurried and fidgeted in the strands
of hair and any snagged seaweed.
He sported no ears, but Peggy knew this from her days when she first came across a young mermaid being bartered for on a quayside. Some
jackass proprietor from a circus wished to buy the netted victim from a couple of trawler-men and if it hadn't been for the Witch's intervention,
the frightened girl -who later told her rescuer held the name 'Hooner', could've lived out her life in a nightmare of gawking people behind a
wall of glass.
But this older Siren of the Sea -a bit of a babbler too, introduced himself as 'Gadda' and apparently, it meant 'storm-follower'. Something that
Peggy believed she could do without, just now, but kept the negative-thought idling in her un-hatted head. Instead, the leaning Witch replied
with a query, "Der' yer know the way te' Murdigon?" she said amiably and saw the small muscles around the Merman's big glassy eyes move
in contemplation.
'Take yer' bloody time, how many islands can there be out here?!' Peggy mused to herself as the damp Fish-Fae premeditated her question.
But again, she caged her disrespect and waited for Gadda to point one of his scaly hands towards her hoped-for goal. Dislodging a baby
crab from his salt-encrusted bristles, he scratched his way to a resolution, one with a chunk of commentary that Peggy didn't really require.
"Thee keep thy prow facing the way it is and I will show you the way" he said gleefully and with that, produced a ragged tail from the water
behind him. Clutching the side of the boat, Gadda added "If it's the water-Kelpie thee seeks, take heed not fall for the scoundrel's glamour".
Bringing the damaged fin closer, the elderly sprite pointed at the marred paddle and warned "the varlet nearly had me for dinner!".
Peggy nodded and carefully avoiding Gadda's hand, reached for the oars to place them in the water. Maybe the geriatric Merman murmured
to himself that their blather had ended and went to show the way to Murdigon or it could've been that the bantam sorceress unknowingly
clanged the happy-go-lucky Gadda on the head with one of the oars, but either way, she soon spotted the Merman swimming ahead when
she glanced over her shoulder. "It's never bloody easy, is it?" Peggy muttered and put her back into propelling the boat forward.
...................................................
The evening was well underway when -with another wave of farewell to the helpful old dryad of the depths, Peggy steered her carriage to the
sandy beach of Murdigon and the home of a dictatorial Hippomare. Surprisingly, the wary little necromancer could hear frogs cheeping as she
waded from the shallows and felt dry-land under bare feet once more. Pulling the boat well out of the water, she kept a prudent eye out for
any movement in the shadows of the undergrowth.
"As I said..." Gadda suddenly repeated from his gloomy haven and almost caused Peggy to leak her bowels in the surprise. "...Take heed
against the Kelpie" he supplemented and slipped away into the depths of the Great Sea. Feeling her stomach move, the undergrowth was
where she made for and during her function, pondered on what to do next.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.