"Oh my giddy-Aunt!" Bartholomew Drigg cried as he saw the fourth house of Salvation Row become a misty version
of itself and then just a plain flattened piece of ground surrounded by its original state. A harrowed field with the odd
set of bare footprints and dried patch of urine.
The salesman's exclamation was quickly followed with a strange sound from his carry-all and an imaginative person
might have thought it a burp. This possible booze-causing intonation that caught Bart's attention and warily glancing
at the two remaining cottages, he stepped warily towards his potion-scarce cloth purse.
...................................................
Harrow Bent felt better than he had for a long time, whatever these coloured liquids were, they had a way of... yes,
that's the word, a way of fortifying. The drunken Dust Hob had once dreamt he'd be his own Dwerger-Sprite, no longer
a mercenary or a lackey for someone who didn't care of his hopes and dreams. Now, Harrow believed that aspiration
could be grasped and the woman who'd join in in that objective was only a swing of a bottle away.
Reaching for a hefty chunk of glass, the inebriated Dust Hob gazed down through the magical doorway at the little Witch
in the big hat and for a moment, he thought she seemed taller. However, his needs demanded urgent action and so he
lifted one of Bartholomew Drigg's items and...
...................................................
Peggy Powler stared at the boasting Callendous Vole and wondered what spell he would summon. The little Witch believed
he must have picked up some ensorcell since she'd last seen him, but Vole was a snobbish charlatan and he dabbled for a
fame that alluded him and not for service of the craft.
Considering the unknown threat that the prattling Callendous Vole was busy elucidating, Peggy's only concern was that three
remaining Djinn-Kilns were still active. If she could only shut them down with her potion, the man in the moon and stars robe
would be brought to his knees due to his debt.
"...It would be a grand dividend to myself and proof to the rest of your so-called 'brethren', when I surrender Myrddin's favourite
boo-hag before them like a Jester at a children's party. I can sure you Ms Powler tha..." the bottle hit him square n the side of
his head.
Even before the perpetrator of the act ungainly tumbled out of the Salem Door, Peggy had already flicked a few drops of Yeti-Ice
into the fiery belly of the fifth furnace and now she turned to see the staggering Dust Hob regain a faint grip on his lucidity.
Harrow Bent glared towards the Djinn-Kiln as it hissed once and succumb to rare tears of the fabled snow beast. His red-rimmed
eyes seemed to take on the glow that once inhabited the oven.
"You vixen... do you have any idea what you've done...?" Bent growled and stepped around the slumped body of his unconscious
ex-employer. "...Do you know who actually owns these engines?". Peggy wondered if the act of avoidance might assist on getting
her closer to the next kiln and decided it was worth a shot. Stepping lightly with arms out and a look of fear on her face, the Last
Witch of Underhill began a performance that out-classed any meretricious mime Callendous Vole could ever manage.
...................................................
The bag was empty as the few bottles left in it and the strange aperture that sat at the base of the heavy-duty container seemed
to be a hole into another world, a world where his friend had gone to solve the puzzle of Salvation Row. Bartholomew looked back
at the two buildings and wondered if Peggy had ran into some trouble. The road to Magdalene looked quite enticing to him as he
contemplated the situation and then with no self-beneficial reason surfacing, Bart began to clamber into the bag.
...................................................
The Dust Hob swiped at the woman of his dreams and now the focus of his drunken hatred, but the mocking Witch slipped from
his grasping claws with ease. "Be a good boy..." Peggy said with a lilt of scorn, "...yer' a disgrace to yer fancy Boss over there"
she added and skipped aside from another lunge.
Harrow began to plot another way fo foiling the sorceress' escape and steered her towards the smoke-bellowing unholy stove
near the wall of the cavern. With a lick of his lips, the tricky goblin moved in for his kill and watched the flicking eyes of his prey.
"Oh, you're mine now, Missy" he croaked.
of itself and then just a plain flattened piece of ground surrounded by its original state. A harrowed field with the odd
set of bare footprints and dried patch of urine.
The salesman's exclamation was quickly followed with a strange sound from his carry-all and an imaginative person
might have thought it a burp. This possible booze-causing intonation that caught Bart's attention and warily glancing
at the two remaining cottages, he stepped warily towards his potion-scarce cloth purse.
...................................................
Harrow Bent felt better than he had for a long time, whatever these coloured liquids were, they had a way of... yes,
that's the word, a way of fortifying. The drunken Dust Hob had once dreamt he'd be his own Dwerger-Sprite, no longer
a mercenary or a lackey for someone who didn't care of his hopes and dreams. Now, Harrow believed that aspiration
could be grasped and the woman who'd join in in that objective was only a swing of a bottle away.
Reaching for a hefty chunk of glass, the inebriated Dust Hob gazed down through the magical doorway at the little Witch
in the big hat and for a moment, he thought she seemed taller. However, his needs demanded urgent action and so he
lifted one of Bartholomew Drigg's items and...
...................................................
Peggy Powler stared at the boasting Callendous Vole and wondered what spell he would summon. The little Witch believed
he must have picked up some ensorcell since she'd last seen him, but Vole was a snobbish charlatan and he dabbled for a
fame that alluded him and not for service of the craft.
Considering the unknown threat that the prattling Callendous Vole was busy elucidating, Peggy's only concern was that three
remaining Djinn-Kilns were still active. If she could only shut them down with her potion, the man in the moon and stars robe
would be brought to his knees due to his debt.
"...It would be a grand dividend to myself and proof to the rest of your so-called 'brethren', when I surrender Myrddin's favourite
boo-hag before them like a Jester at a children's party. I can sure you Ms Powler tha..." the bottle hit him square n the side of
his head.
Even before the perpetrator of the act ungainly tumbled out of the Salem Door, Peggy had already flicked a few drops of Yeti-Ice
into the fiery belly of the fifth furnace and now she turned to see the staggering Dust Hob regain a faint grip on his lucidity.
Harrow Bent glared towards the Djinn-Kiln as it hissed once and succumb to rare tears of the fabled snow beast. His red-rimmed
eyes seemed to take on the glow that once inhabited the oven.
"You vixen... do you have any idea what you've done...?" Bent growled and stepped around the slumped body of his unconscious
ex-employer. "...Do you know who actually owns these engines?". Peggy wondered if the act of avoidance might assist on getting
her closer to the next kiln and decided it was worth a shot. Stepping lightly with arms out and a look of fear on her face, the Last
Witch of Underhill began a performance that out-classed any meretricious mime Callendous Vole could ever manage.
...................................................
The bag was empty as the few bottles left in it and the strange aperture that sat at the base of the heavy-duty container seemed
to be a hole into another world, a world where his friend had gone to solve the puzzle of Salvation Row. Bartholomew looked back
at the two buildings and wondered if Peggy had ran into some trouble. The road to Magdalene looked quite enticing to him as he
contemplated the situation and then with no self-beneficial reason surfacing, Bart began to clamber into the bag.
...................................................
The Dust Hob swiped at the woman of his dreams and now the focus of his drunken hatred, but the mocking Witch slipped from
his grasping claws with ease. "Be a good boy..." Peggy said with a lilt of scorn, "...yer' a disgrace to yer fancy Boss over there"
she added and skipped aside from another lunge.
Harrow began to plot another way fo foiling the sorceress' escape and steered her towards the smoke-bellowing unholy stove
near the wall of the cavern. With a lick of his lips, the tricky goblin moved in for his kill and watched the flicking eyes of his prey.
"Oh, you're mine now, Missy" he croaked.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.