01-25-2022, 07:47 PM
The morning found Peggy Powler sitting beneath her satchel that hung from a branch of one the trees near to where she'd
landed. The crooked limb offered signs that it had struggled to bear the weight of its overnight occupant, but now seemed
relieved that its hardship had ended.
For the little woman opening the wax-paper-package, her thoughts were arboreal-related, but not regarding how much heft
they could handle. Murdigon was not what Peggy had first believed to be from other visits to the few islands that sat off the
coast of her usual runic region of constabulary.
In the instance of John Potter's home, trees of all sizes bustled for room on the restricted land and beneath them, shrubs and
wild flowers managed the best they could beneath the various sizes of canopies. The Great Sea's weather had an effect that
seemed to stifle prolific growth and only the hardiest of plant-life endured being away from the mainland. This far out across
the deep water, salt-tolerance is a factor, but to Peggy's perspective, it seemed the Isle of Murdigon hadn't acquired a copy of
the rules.
Where the little Witch was currently scoffing down one of the herb-rich sandwiches graciously donated by the boat-owner, the
trees all appeared to be the same height and the dense undergrowth seemed to mainly consist of Fog Ferns, Mary's Pasture,
Baby's Breath sprinkled with flowering Wolf's Bane.
The latter is a poisonous aconite that didn't usually bloom at this time in the season, but Peggy told herself that after she'd rid the
atoll's residents of Water-Kelpie, she should bag some of that Devil's Helmet for possible future charms. The quiet beach where
she'd landed was a fine sand that faded quickly into a mat of stunted grass that then submitted to the heavy brushwood.
Beyond the foliage, well that would need further investigation and to mark the end her review of the surroundings, Peggy sipped
some water from her canteen and burped. With the skiff looking safely stored and tied, the Last Witch of Underhill set-off through
the unusual woodland to solve the issue with the Hippomare.
...................................................
About an hour into her trek, the arduous work of finding a trail to avoid the ankle-snagging foliage became a chore that held most
of Peggy's focus. This was why a sweating sorceress didn't see the rickety camouflaged shelter and its doddering apprehensive
occupant until she was at the small clearing close to the entrance. The almost-naked dweller of the den scratched his bushy beard
and pondered on the appearance of the little female in the big hat.
"There'll be no more prattle about me coming back to Lillian..." the scrawny man wheezed and with a confident toothless chew of his
lips, hitched up the filthy piece of rag that hid his modesty and continued his mysterious warning. "...She treats me like a clodpoll and
I've had enough of her adulterine antics".
Peggy took off her headwear and wiped her brow. First the old mouthy-Merman and now some decrepit crazy bugger on an island
-she thought as she regarded the skinny-legged figure -who the Witch would wager could never catch a pig in a passage with those
knees.
Wisps of hair still held claim to the man's head, whilst its brethren had travelled south to congregate around a chin that -like the rest
of his face, hadn't enjoyed a wash in some weeks. Ribs showed under the skin of a chest that fought with his only garment on which
was the dirtiest and just like his slightly-smaller visitor, he wore no footwear.
Peggy quickly scanned the immediate area and resigned herself to the fact that this hoary idiot might be the only answer to how to
get to where the residents of Murdigon resided. With a slight curtsy and a stifled sigh, the diminutive wizard introduced herself.
"Fair travels Sir, me-name is Peggy Powler and Ah' seek the Water-Kelpie that's botherin' the folks of this island..." and was just
about to add her request for directions when the old man slipped back into the ramshackle cubbyhole he called home.
"She used me..." the hoarse voice said from the shadows of his den, "...like a stallion paraded for his passion, Lillian held me
with no respect and I have had enough" the raspy utterance told the visitor. Waiting there without any decent address of who
he was and why the vague shape loitering in the darkness was connecting his woes to her, Peggy was momentarily confused.
That was when she felt a twinge she hadn't sensed for a long time.
Slowly placing her hat back on her head, the little sorceress prepared to recite a spell to reveal the true nature of this old man
in the soiled loincloth. Accepting that her inner-voice was seeing through the glamour-shroud before her, Peggy realised she was
in the company of the captivating Water-Kelpie.
"It's a cruel world and Ah' can appreciate how someone as kindly as yer'self take umbrage wiv' the wants of yer' Missus..." she
said slowly and checked the mass of shrubbery that was starting to fade around her. "...Aye, it's a cryin' bloody shame, even fur'
a water-devil, divna' yer' agree?" Peggy hissed softly.
Then in a blink of a Bogle's eye, it was all gone. A well-worn track lay just beyond a untidy Rhododendron bush that was once
an imaginary shelter for an unscrupulous creature with a powerful gift. Calming her bubbling rage from the attempted ruse, the
sorceress walked from the clearing without any indication of alarm, but a docket of questions to ask herself later.
Peering up at the smoking chimney-pots of the hamlet ahead of her, the little soothsayer wondered if the brief encounter was
curtailed due to the Hippomare's own disquiet of its new visitor. The deceptive monster had drawn interest through the use
of befuddlement dipped in a dose of real-world quandaries, a regular day to someone not watching for the treacherous work
of the dark-side.
But she'd seen it, she'd ripped the curtain of mesmerism and spied the sneaky ogre hiding there. The Kelpie had fled and
maybe for now, the underhanded spectre might steer clear of the little woman in the dark-green poncho. With that possibility,
Peggy smiled beneath her hat and welcomed the return of her old-self.
landed. The crooked limb offered signs that it had struggled to bear the weight of its overnight occupant, but now seemed
relieved that its hardship had ended.
For the little woman opening the wax-paper-package, her thoughts were arboreal-related, but not regarding how much heft
they could handle. Murdigon was not what Peggy had first believed to be from other visits to the few islands that sat off the
coast of her usual runic region of constabulary.
In the instance of John Potter's home, trees of all sizes bustled for room on the restricted land and beneath them, shrubs and
wild flowers managed the best they could beneath the various sizes of canopies. The Great Sea's weather had an effect that
seemed to stifle prolific growth and only the hardiest of plant-life endured being away from the mainland. This far out across
the deep water, salt-tolerance is a factor, but to Peggy's perspective, it seemed the Isle of Murdigon hadn't acquired a copy of
the rules.
Where the little Witch was currently scoffing down one of the herb-rich sandwiches graciously donated by the boat-owner, the
trees all appeared to be the same height and the dense undergrowth seemed to mainly consist of Fog Ferns, Mary's Pasture,
Baby's Breath sprinkled with flowering Wolf's Bane.
The latter is a poisonous aconite that didn't usually bloom at this time in the season, but Peggy told herself that after she'd rid the
atoll's residents of Water-Kelpie, she should bag some of that Devil's Helmet for possible future charms. The quiet beach where
she'd landed was a fine sand that faded quickly into a mat of stunted grass that then submitted to the heavy brushwood.
Beyond the foliage, well that would need further investigation and to mark the end her review of the surroundings, Peggy sipped
some water from her canteen and burped. With the skiff looking safely stored and tied, the Last Witch of Underhill set-off through
the unusual woodland to solve the issue with the Hippomare.
...................................................
About an hour into her trek, the arduous work of finding a trail to avoid the ankle-snagging foliage became a chore that held most
of Peggy's focus. This was why a sweating sorceress didn't see the rickety camouflaged shelter and its doddering apprehensive
occupant until she was at the small clearing close to the entrance. The almost-naked dweller of the den scratched his bushy beard
and pondered on the appearance of the little female in the big hat.
"There'll be no more prattle about me coming back to Lillian..." the scrawny man wheezed and with a confident toothless chew of his
lips, hitched up the filthy piece of rag that hid his modesty and continued his mysterious warning. "...She treats me like a clodpoll and
I've had enough of her adulterine antics".
Peggy took off her headwear and wiped her brow. First the old mouthy-Merman and now some decrepit crazy bugger on an island
-she thought as she regarded the skinny-legged figure -who the Witch would wager could never catch a pig in a passage with those
knees.
Wisps of hair still held claim to the man's head, whilst its brethren had travelled south to congregate around a chin that -like the rest
of his face, hadn't enjoyed a wash in some weeks. Ribs showed under the skin of a chest that fought with his only garment on which
was the dirtiest and just like his slightly-smaller visitor, he wore no footwear.
Peggy quickly scanned the immediate area and resigned herself to the fact that this hoary idiot might be the only answer to how to
get to where the residents of Murdigon resided. With a slight curtsy and a stifled sigh, the diminutive wizard introduced herself.
"Fair travels Sir, me-name is Peggy Powler and Ah' seek the Water-Kelpie that's botherin' the folks of this island..." and was just
about to add her request for directions when the old man slipped back into the ramshackle cubbyhole he called home.
"She used me..." the hoarse voice said from the shadows of his den, "...like a stallion paraded for his passion, Lillian held me
with no respect and I have had enough" the raspy utterance told the visitor. Waiting there without any decent address of who
he was and why the vague shape loitering in the darkness was connecting his woes to her, Peggy was momentarily confused.
That was when she felt a twinge she hadn't sensed for a long time.
Slowly placing her hat back on her head, the little sorceress prepared to recite a spell to reveal the true nature of this old man
in the soiled loincloth. Accepting that her inner-voice was seeing through the glamour-shroud before her, Peggy realised she was
in the company of the captivating Water-Kelpie.
"It's a cruel world and Ah' can appreciate how someone as kindly as yer'self take umbrage wiv' the wants of yer' Missus..." she
said slowly and checked the mass of shrubbery that was starting to fade around her. "...Aye, it's a cryin' bloody shame, even fur'
a water-devil, divna' yer' agree?" Peggy hissed softly.
Then in a blink of a Bogle's eye, it was all gone. A well-worn track lay just beyond a untidy Rhododendron bush that was once
an imaginary shelter for an unscrupulous creature with a powerful gift. Calming her bubbling rage from the attempted ruse, the
sorceress walked from the clearing without any indication of alarm, but a docket of questions to ask herself later.
Peering up at the smoking chimney-pots of the hamlet ahead of her, the little soothsayer wondered if the brief encounter was
curtailed due to the Hippomare's own disquiet of its new visitor. The deceptive monster had drawn interest through the use
of befuddlement dipped in a dose of real-world quandaries, a regular day to someone not watching for the treacherous work
of the dark-side.
But she'd seen it, she'd ripped the curtain of mesmerism and spied the sneaky ogre hiding there. The Kelpie had fled and
maybe for now, the underhanded spectre might steer clear of the little woman in the dark-green poncho. With that possibility,
Peggy smiled beneath her hat and welcomed the return of her old-self.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.