03-04-2022, 01:04 PM
It had almost been an hour and Peggy Powler had yet to see the return of the phantom lantern carrier. The conifer woods
were man-made or to be more precise, Pooker-made and been here a long time. During the Lilliputian sorceress' last
tarriance, she'd been accidentally informed that one of the secret ingredients to the village's special ale, was the tapped
sap that was extracted from the evergreens.
The Manticore that Peggy had cast out of Pook Hill had stayed to the rear of the woodland and it was only by a stroke of
luck and a little intuition that she'd been able to track the beast back to its lair. The serendipity-part came from the fact that
the man-headed lion was suffering from toothache and with a little witchery and and a sacred assurance that only Fae can
demand, the spine-covered predator had left without anyone knowing. Two dead Pookers are two dead Pookers, but any
further carnage was avoided and the reclusive hamlet went back to doing what they did best, staying away from others.
The night was silent and Peggy was confident that none of the thin dead leaves laid about the ground were giving away a
monster's creeping tread. The surrounding landscape was at-odds with the long avenue of conifers, the neat lines of vines
that rolled away for leagues were all the same in height and gave no cover for the creature she'd spied through the Meeting
Hall's knothole. It just didn't make sense.
The watchful Witch gazed into the blackness of the pine grove and saw that the Pookers had cut back the branches to make
access easier for their sap-taking. To most normal-sized beings attempting to hide in this managed weald, being in full view
-unless they're as thin as the narrow trunks of the conifers, would be difficult to hide their approach.
Again, another conundrum to dwell on.
But it is the walkways through the rows of pine trees was keeping Peggy from retiring to her satchel. Granted -she thought
as she stared into darkness, the woodland was all the same at night, but the Witch's current quarry didn't care about being
seen and the lantern was evidence of that. He was a big and confident enough to charge through a wooden wall and take
the nearest-thing to a leader that the denomination had, that took a bravery which involved planning and a drive to succeed.
Not the standard ordnance for an Ogre, a fiend that Peggy believed she was dealing with. But the lantern moving through
the branches...? What was the sorceress' suspect looking for? Accepting the distant yap of a midnight fox as notification
for bedtime, the puzzled Witch sought a place to sleep and somewhere well away from tomorrow's hunting ground.
...................................................
The rain came just after dawn and just like the last time she was here, Peggy had been awakened by two Pookers and
asked if she'd be kind enough to take breakfast with them. Rufus and Eunice Hobson stood with backs to their grateful
guest as they requested her company. He was thin as a rake with a face who was a foreigner to a smile and his spouse
may have once been pretty, but the cult of Pook had taken its toll on the green-smocked sour-faced woman.
"We eat with our son and daughter, Sidney and Gertrude, Miss Powler..." Eunice had mumbled as the lethargic Mystic
lifted her satchel from a large hook where a single horse harness was kept. Peggy had chosen the well-kept barn at the
bottom of Pook Hill's hollow to use for her slumber for two reasons, both based on her last visit.
One was the outbuilding's distance from the rest of the village, a place that would limit the hindrance to her deductions like
the last time she was here. The other rationale was that she simply preferred the company of the only animal that used the
barn, Ransom the Donkey. "...Our fare isn't much, but we would be happy to start this fine day beside you" the dispirited
woman finished her invite with and setting her hat on her head, the Last Witch of Underhill wondered if Eunice even knew
what the word 'happy' meant.
...................................................
The search of the pine plantation was a miserable affair, but did yield clues as to what Peggy was dealing with. The rain
had persisted, but beneath the canopy of the woods the downpour had reduced to only a couple of droplets tapping the
little Witch's hat to remind her of its company. The gloom of the surroundings matched the glumness of those who took
care of the two league-long coppice and even though Peggy strove to resist the melancholy atmosphere, she felt it hiding
behind each pine tree.
Rufus and his family were a perfect endorsement of this downcast feeling. The man who wore cheekbones that advertised
what his bare skull would look like, never spoke to either the little Fae-woman sitting alone in the corner of their plain room
or the forlorn children that accompanied him at the table. Still, the unsalted porridge would fuel Peggy's inner-kiln for a while
and with a reluctant gratitude, she'd quickly left the house of dismay to pursue her only reason for being here.
...................................................
Crouching over a large unobtrusive footprint between the rows, Peggy accepted that her original idea of the marauder being
an Ogre was almost correct. But the shod-prints indicated that the brazen stealer of Alaric Hobson could well be one the rarer
offshoots of that loathsome species. Ogres were known as cannibals and so the old man's fate would be obvious, but as Peggy
peered closer to the damp impression, she saw marks that determined the spell-worker's conclusion.
Who -or whatever giant had walked this way, had bound their feet in sackcloth and to the little woman gazing off towards the
rear of the dank woodland, this could mean she was hunting something she'd only ever read about in one of Myrddin's ancient
books.
The weather -just like the Pookers, had created an atmosphere of despondency and like a virus, was attempting to infest the
bantam necromancer's reasoning. This new revelation came like a vaccine to drive out the doldrums and setting off towards
the back of the pine plantation where she'd first encountered the Manticore, Peggy Powler grinned and admitted that this new
medicine tasted just fine.
It wasn't going to be easy, she wasn't dealing with a creature who adhered to animalistic traits or standard Ogre cognisance.
This one was a damned Hyder and if the old tome she'd studied was correct, they were as cunning as they were dangerous.
were man-made or to be more precise, Pooker-made and been here a long time. During the Lilliputian sorceress' last
tarriance, she'd been accidentally informed that one of the secret ingredients to the village's special ale, was the tapped
sap that was extracted from the evergreens.
The Manticore that Peggy had cast out of Pook Hill had stayed to the rear of the woodland and it was only by a stroke of
luck and a little intuition that she'd been able to track the beast back to its lair. The serendipity-part came from the fact that
the man-headed lion was suffering from toothache and with a little witchery and and a sacred assurance that only Fae can
demand, the spine-covered predator had left without anyone knowing. Two dead Pookers are two dead Pookers, but any
further carnage was avoided and the reclusive hamlet went back to doing what they did best, staying away from others.
The night was silent and Peggy was confident that none of the thin dead leaves laid about the ground were giving away a
monster's creeping tread. The surrounding landscape was at-odds with the long avenue of conifers, the neat lines of vines
that rolled away for leagues were all the same in height and gave no cover for the creature she'd spied through the Meeting
Hall's knothole. It just didn't make sense.
The watchful Witch gazed into the blackness of the pine grove and saw that the Pookers had cut back the branches to make
access easier for their sap-taking. To most normal-sized beings attempting to hide in this managed weald, being in full view
-unless they're as thin as the narrow trunks of the conifers, would be difficult to hide their approach.
Again, another conundrum to dwell on.
But it is the walkways through the rows of pine trees was keeping Peggy from retiring to her satchel. Granted -she thought
as she stared into darkness, the woodland was all the same at night, but the Witch's current quarry didn't care about being
seen and the lantern was evidence of that. He was a big and confident enough to charge through a wooden wall and take
the nearest-thing to a leader that the denomination had, that took a bravery which involved planning and a drive to succeed.
Not the standard ordnance for an Ogre, a fiend that Peggy believed she was dealing with. But the lantern moving through
the branches...? What was the sorceress' suspect looking for? Accepting the distant yap of a midnight fox as notification
for bedtime, the puzzled Witch sought a place to sleep and somewhere well away from tomorrow's hunting ground.
...................................................
The rain came just after dawn and just like the last time she was here, Peggy had been awakened by two Pookers and
asked if she'd be kind enough to take breakfast with them. Rufus and Eunice Hobson stood with backs to their grateful
guest as they requested her company. He was thin as a rake with a face who was a foreigner to a smile and his spouse
may have once been pretty, but the cult of Pook had taken its toll on the green-smocked sour-faced woman.
"We eat with our son and daughter, Sidney and Gertrude, Miss Powler..." Eunice had mumbled as the lethargic Mystic
lifted her satchel from a large hook where a single horse harness was kept. Peggy had chosen the well-kept barn at the
bottom of Pook Hill's hollow to use for her slumber for two reasons, both based on her last visit.
One was the outbuilding's distance from the rest of the village, a place that would limit the hindrance to her deductions like
the last time she was here. The other rationale was that she simply preferred the company of the only animal that used the
barn, Ransom the Donkey. "...Our fare isn't much, but we would be happy to start this fine day beside you" the dispirited
woman finished her invite with and setting her hat on her head, the Last Witch of Underhill wondered if Eunice even knew
what the word 'happy' meant.
...................................................
The search of the pine plantation was a miserable affair, but did yield clues as to what Peggy was dealing with. The rain
had persisted, but beneath the canopy of the woods the downpour had reduced to only a couple of droplets tapping the
little Witch's hat to remind her of its company. The gloom of the surroundings matched the glumness of those who took
care of the two league-long coppice and even though Peggy strove to resist the melancholy atmosphere, she felt it hiding
behind each pine tree.
Rufus and his family were a perfect endorsement of this downcast feeling. The man who wore cheekbones that advertised
what his bare skull would look like, never spoke to either the little Fae-woman sitting alone in the corner of their plain room
or the forlorn children that accompanied him at the table. Still, the unsalted porridge would fuel Peggy's inner-kiln for a while
and with a reluctant gratitude, she'd quickly left the house of dismay to pursue her only reason for being here.
...................................................
Crouching over a large unobtrusive footprint between the rows, Peggy accepted that her original idea of the marauder being
an Ogre was almost correct. But the shod-prints indicated that the brazen stealer of Alaric Hobson could well be one the rarer
offshoots of that loathsome species. Ogres were known as cannibals and so the old man's fate would be obvious, but as Peggy
peered closer to the damp impression, she saw marks that determined the spell-worker's conclusion.
Who -or whatever giant had walked this way, had bound their feet in sackcloth and to the little woman gazing off towards the
rear of the dank woodland, this could mean she was hunting something she'd only ever read about in one of Myrddin's ancient
books.
The weather -just like the Pookers, had created an atmosphere of despondency and like a virus, was attempting to infest the
bantam necromancer's reasoning. This new revelation came like a vaccine to drive out the doldrums and setting off towards
the back of the pine plantation where she'd first encountered the Manticore, Peggy Powler grinned and admitted that this new
medicine tasted just fine.
It wasn't going to be easy, she wasn't dealing with a creature who adhered to animalistic traits or standard Ogre cognisance.
This one was a damned Hyder and if the old tome she'd studied was correct, they were as cunning as they were dangerous.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.