02-09-2022, 01:56 PM
It took over an hour to find them but what Peggy Powler found more alarming than her late-night research for what Indigo
Dunth called 'The Beams of King Stephen' was the force that the horseshoe-charm discharged in leading the little Witch
into the pitch-black woodland. With the string straining under the stress exerted from the talisman, Peggy wondered if her
hand would be numb in the morning from the tightness of gripping the horizontal leash.
Finally seeing a vague change of colour on the dark ground ahead of her, she whispered an invocation towards the curved
piece of spinning metal and the twine suddenly went flaccid. Stretching her fingers to drive blood back into the extremity,
Peggy gazed around the clearing and waited to see if her trespass been discovered.
Except for a faint sound of a shore-lapping sea, the defoliated area was silent as the grave.
Taking a chance that the peculiar torch-lit jaunts young Samuel Gurnard had witnessed from the mound wouldn't interfere
with her inspection of the tree-less expanse, the vigilant sorceress stepped carefully forward and froze when a small blue
light flashed above one of the dark shapes at the end of the bizarre line on the ground. Holding her breath, she waited for
someone to step out of the shadows and demand a reason she was invading their piece of woodland.
Time ticked by and the darkness tarried with the bantam invader, no blue-hued lantern appeared again and nobody growled
a request for answers to her late-night sortie. It was only when Peggy felt that the she'd imagined the blue lustre, did it come
again. A quick flame of azure radiance and then the gloom dictated the surroundings once more.
Crouching low, the little Witch scurried closer to see what strange lantern could produce such instant brilliance and using a
large clump of wild garlic for cover, waited for the burst of blue flame. A bat swooped by to take advantage of the woman's
disturbance of the aromatic Cow-leeks and finding no juicy moth to subdue its hunger, flitted off to better hunting grounds.
Peggy wondered if the baffling spark had anything to do with her movement and keeping as still as possible, she saw the
cerulean wink from the post repeat its instantaneous illumination. In that moment, the little spellbinder dashed towards the
bleached-band on the leaf-raked soil that linked the two lumps of shadow at each end. Peggy checked again that nobody
was watching and quickly kneeling in the dirt, touched the surface of the line and found it comprised of a powdery substance.
She gambled that the intriguing blue eye would only open at certain moments and so with a light dab of the gritty-stuff on her
tongue, Peggy knew at once the white dust was Calcite and in some medical circles, the white chalky mineral was associated the
workings of the body and the building of young bones.
Glancing at the gloom where the magical cobalt beacon slept, the squatting psychic knew she didn't have much time to test
the anemic ash, but forged ahead with her inquiry by drawing a small flame from her thumb. Peggy saw from the tiny orange
sparks and a slight salty burning aroma that this was actually Calcite Spar and that changed the diagnosis completely.
Staring around to see if her magical illumination had drawn any interested party to her after-hours probe, the little woman in
the floppy hat scampered back to the underbrush to reflect on her initial discovery. The blue eye blinked just has she reached
the dank cluster of plants some call a Fairy Glen and then the nothingness resumed.
The first notion that came to Peggy was the possibility that the beguiled neighbourhood of Camden Bight may be dealing with
Cave Goblins. Calcite was often a clue to their presence as the crushed crystal was abundant in the subterranean environment
of such abhorrent beings.
But wouldn't the folk of the sea-hamlet realise they were dealing with creatures not of their usual routines? The hunched fiends
were repulsive to the eye and tended to take via raids rather than dabble in contracts and guarantees. Then there was the fact
that Calcite Spar tended to be generated from alchemy and the black arts.
Could such primitive trolls labour in those types of concentrated circles...? Peggy's rare interactions with this species of heinous
Fae had never drawn any conjecture of that kind of diligent practice and it seemed the mysterious blue flame concurred with the
little Witch's conclusion, as it blinked its opinion.
No, Cave Goblins were not the culprits who could convince a rustic community to keep a secret and ensure a confidence of
an alleged betterment. Peggy touched the warm area of her poncho where the horseshoe still spoke of its detection of corrupt
magic and decided one more foray to examine the planted shafts of of carved wood was enough for tonight. Who or whatever
operated here in the clearing had managed to control an unknown amount of humans and discovering a interloper snooping
on their scheme would surely bring problems that Peggy could do without right now.
Sucking in a breath of night air, the Last Witch of Underhill quietly sneaked out from her cover and approached the dark shape
decorated in amorphous engravings. The marks were foreign to her and as she gingerly pawed the object's surface, Peggy was
surprised to find the round block wasn't wood. Under her gentle touch, she felt it was false, man-made and similar to animal horn.
The lantern wasn't a standard lamp. It was merely a glass dome fastened by unknown means to the side of the peculiar upright.
It was small enough that Peggy could cover the magic eye with her fingers and the act drew no response from the infrequent
flickering device.
The obscure markings were not carved into the mysterious pole, but gave Peggy the impression they'd been somehow melted
or branded into the exterior of the post. The gloom of the surrounding overhanging trees didn't help any further study of the
object and fearing she was over-playing her time before the mystic Cyclops woke again, she left the clearing that the irascible
Alf Slater remarked was 'just a place where the young 'uns play'.
The wary little sorceress stepped carefully from the scene until she felt she was far enough away from any possible chance of
upsetting the weird blue-eyed watcher in the clearing or even bumping into a late-night stroller.
The Great Sea called her back to the sleeping parish of Camden Bight and reaching the junction where the woodland track met
the village's cobbled road, Peggy scanned for any rubbernecking to her recent nocturnal activity. It was close to midnight when
the weary warlock took stock of what she'd seen as she ambled to the place where a certain drunkard had made his bed.
Indigo Dunth basked in the arms of Morpheus under the tree she'd left him at and mouthing an incantation that would cancel the
glamour she'd given him earlier, the smiling sorceress knew he would awake in the morning without any knowledge of their evening
assembly. "Sleep well, yer old bugger" Peggy whispered good-naturedly and left to find her own roost.
Dunth called 'The Beams of King Stephen' was the force that the horseshoe-charm discharged in leading the little Witch
into the pitch-black woodland. With the string straining under the stress exerted from the talisman, Peggy wondered if her
hand would be numb in the morning from the tightness of gripping the horizontal leash.
Finally seeing a vague change of colour on the dark ground ahead of her, she whispered an invocation towards the curved
piece of spinning metal and the twine suddenly went flaccid. Stretching her fingers to drive blood back into the extremity,
Peggy gazed around the clearing and waited to see if her trespass been discovered.
Except for a faint sound of a shore-lapping sea, the defoliated area was silent as the grave.
Taking a chance that the peculiar torch-lit jaunts young Samuel Gurnard had witnessed from the mound wouldn't interfere
with her inspection of the tree-less expanse, the vigilant sorceress stepped carefully forward and froze when a small blue
light flashed above one of the dark shapes at the end of the bizarre line on the ground. Holding her breath, she waited for
someone to step out of the shadows and demand a reason she was invading their piece of woodland.
Time ticked by and the darkness tarried with the bantam invader, no blue-hued lantern appeared again and nobody growled
a request for answers to her late-night sortie. It was only when Peggy felt that the she'd imagined the blue lustre, did it come
again. A quick flame of azure radiance and then the gloom dictated the surroundings once more.
Crouching low, the little Witch scurried closer to see what strange lantern could produce such instant brilliance and using a
large clump of wild garlic for cover, waited for the burst of blue flame. A bat swooped by to take advantage of the woman's
disturbance of the aromatic Cow-leeks and finding no juicy moth to subdue its hunger, flitted off to better hunting grounds.
Peggy wondered if the baffling spark had anything to do with her movement and keeping as still as possible, she saw the
cerulean wink from the post repeat its instantaneous illumination. In that moment, the little spellbinder dashed towards the
bleached-band on the leaf-raked soil that linked the two lumps of shadow at each end. Peggy checked again that nobody
was watching and quickly kneeling in the dirt, touched the surface of the line and found it comprised of a powdery substance.
She gambled that the intriguing blue eye would only open at certain moments and so with a light dab of the gritty-stuff on her
tongue, Peggy knew at once the white dust was Calcite and in some medical circles, the white chalky mineral was associated the
workings of the body and the building of young bones.
Glancing at the gloom where the magical cobalt beacon slept, the squatting psychic knew she didn't have much time to test
the anemic ash, but forged ahead with her inquiry by drawing a small flame from her thumb. Peggy saw from the tiny orange
sparks and a slight salty burning aroma that this was actually Calcite Spar and that changed the diagnosis completely.
Staring around to see if her magical illumination had drawn any interested party to her after-hours probe, the little woman in
the floppy hat scampered back to the underbrush to reflect on her initial discovery. The blue eye blinked just has she reached
the dank cluster of plants some call a Fairy Glen and then the nothingness resumed.
The first notion that came to Peggy was the possibility that the beguiled neighbourhood of Camden Bight may be dealing with
Cave Goblins. Calcite was often a clue to their presence as the crushed crystal was abundant in the subterranean environment
of such abhorrent beings.
But wouldn't the folk of the sea-hamlet realise they were dealing with creatures not of their usual routines? The hunched fiends
were repulsive to the eye and tended to take via raids rather than dabble in contracts and guarantees. Then there was the fact
that Calcite Spar tended to be generated from alchemy and the black arts.
Could such primitive trolls labour in those types of concentrated circles...? Peggy's rare interactions with this species of heinous
Fae had never drawn any conjecture of that kind of diligent practice and it seemed the mysterious blue flame concurred with the
little Witch's conclusion, as it blinked its opinion.
No, Cave Goblins were not the culprits who could convince a rustic community to keep a secret and ensure a confidence of
an alleged betterment. Peggy touched the warm area of her poncho where the horseshoe still spoke of its detection of corrupt
magic and decided one more foray to examine the planted shafts of of carved wood was enough for tonight. Who or whatever
operated here in the clearing had managed to control an unknown amount of humans and discovering a interloper snooping
on their scheme would surely bring problems that Peggy could do without right now.
Sucking in a breath of night air, the Last Witch of Underhill quietly sneaked out from her cover and approached the dark shape
decorated in amorphous engravings. The marks were foreign to her and as she gingerly pawed the object's surface, Peggy was
surprised to find the round block wasn't wood. Under her gentle touch, she felt it was false, man-made and similar to animal horn.
The lantern wasn't a standard lamp. It was merely a glass dome fastened by unknown means to the side of the peculiar upright.
It was small enough that Peggy could cover the magic eye with her fingers and the act drew no response from the infrequent
flickering device.
The obscure markings were not carved into the mysterious pole, but gave Peggy the impression they'd been somehow melted
or branded into the exterior of the post. The gloom of the surrounding overhanging trees didn't help any further study of the
object and fearing she was over-playing her time before the mystic Cyclops woke again, she left the clearing that the irascible
Alf Slater remarked was 'just a place where the young 'uns play'.
The wary little sorceress stepped carefully from the scene until she felt she was far enough away from any possible chance of
upsetting the weird blue-eyed watcher in the clearing or even bumping into a late-night stroller.
The Great Sea called her back to the sleeping parish of Camden Bight and reaching the junction where the woodland track met
the village's cobbled road, Peggy scanned for any rubbernecking to her recent nocturnal activity. It was close to midnight when
the weary warlock took stock of what she'd seen as she ambled to the place where a certain drunkard had made his bed.
Indigo Dunth basked in the arms of Morpheus under the tree she'd left him at and mouthing an incantation that would cancel the
glamour she'd given him earlier, the smiling sorceress knew he would awake in the morning without any knowledge of their evening
assembly. "Sleep well, yer old bugger" Peggy whispered good-naturedly and left to find her own roost.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.