The man in the dark clothes plucked at a leaf that had settled on the stone marker of Eli Page and wondered if his God's
power would be strong enough to protect the few remaining families that still clung to the faith from the attacks that Father
Jacobs was sure were happening again.
Four years had passed since the cave where Doramus was believed to be hiding was discovered and after the entrance
was stuffed with moor-brush and oil-soaked wool-pelts, it was a young Priest who was honoured with the act of setting the
kindling ablaze. Some of the hunters who had tracked the Vampyre to its underground lair believed they had heard screams
as the burning fuel travelled downwards into the monster's abode.
The religious man who had witnessed the burning and shouted prayers above the sounds of the crackling inferno, now
watched a damp leaf flutter down to rest on the graveyard's neatly-clipped grass. If there was any chance that Doramus
had survived the inferno, what was left of Little Compton would be the place to vent his reckoning.
With that thought, the dark-garbed preacher called Mathew Jacobs looked to the sky and felt helpless.
...................................................
As the well-burnt logs transmuted into embers by the magic of fire, Brape Faraday sat on his rocking-chair and listened
to the last Witch of Underhill explain her situation. The storm was slowing outside as the sounds of high winds faded and
thudding raindrops beating its tattoo on the hollow willow tree abated.
"...So 'Ah decided to head towards Salterhead and see out the winter there" Peggy Powler finished as she sipped at her
third mug of sweet Rosemary tea and admired the objects on the Grim-Figg's mantle-piece. With a pair of poorly-woven
corn-dollies dangling symmetrically from the shelf over the fireplace, standing wooden picture frames offered po-faced
drawings of Elfins that the warm wizard guessed were relatives of the proprietor of the cozy burrow.
Above the renderings of family wholesomeness, an large odd-looking object that hung from leather straps caught Peggy's
attention and she had to search her memories to acquire its proper name. Small metal plates meshed together in a form
of a clenched fist-like shape and just as the designation of the device came to mind, Brape announced what his prized
ornament was actually called.
"Tis a Borgias Gauntlet..." Brape said as he looked away from the slowly-curling flames, "...something me-Grand-Pappie
used te' knack a reet radgie workyticket that had been bedevilling me-folks for years" he added and tapped his pipe on
the hearth beneath the wicked-looking metal paw.
After deciphering the statement that involved an extremely annoying entity that had plagued the Elf's family for some time
and Brape's Grandfather who solved the situation with the famed mitten of yore above the fire hearth, Peggy nodded solemnly
and mentally patted herself on the back for the translation.
A Borgias Gauntlet was an item that very few Fae-folk had seen. Somewhere in the past, a great Smithy of the Sprite world
created a complex glove that contained instruments of war that with certain actions from the wearer, could brandish anything
from a broadsword to a battle-axe.
All held within a steel mitt, it could wrought terrible strife from the squire of such a mechanism.
Now examining the adornment of Mr Faraday's fireplace, the little Witch felt it was prudent of the Metal-Wright to have only
built five of the nasty things. Peggy emptied her tea-mug and in Brape's dialect, 'said nowt'.
A comfortable silence returned to the subterranean room of the Grim-Figg and the Witch and alone with their thoughts.
Each pondered on what their respective futures held and for Brape Faraday, he wondered if another week-long trek to the
where the great canyon ended on the shore at Lever's Cove, would be a good idea.
Odd things tended to wash down after a storm like the one happening above and it wouldn't be the first time he'd found
an item on the desolate shingle beach that would better his home. Also -and the little Elf would never admit it to anyone,
his four mile odyssey might force him to visit Myra Gold, the Beachcomber who often frequented the quiet bay where the
gorge emptied its contents.
Myra was always friendly to the straight-talking visiting Grim-Figg and the fact that she was single had nothing to do with it.
Or 'nowt to de' wiv it' -as Brape would say.
Peggy reflected on whether she could pick-up some trade with her tarot reading in the scant cottages and farms on the way
to Salterhead, there were always meals involved and maybe shelter from any future inclement weather. This workable tactic
seemed good enough to ask the steadily-rocking Grim-Figg for his input.
"Aye... Aye, well Ye' knaw that shy bairns get nowt and there'll always be those who believe in such stuff -beggin' yer' pardon
Ma'am..." Brape answered and nodded his head. "...Ah warn thee though, a canny'un would steer clear of Little Compton"
Brape advised. Fresh tobacco was sucked on as the usually-taciturn Elf continue with his counsel.
"There's a bad feelin' doon there and 'Ah've heard those who've gan oot on a neet have been met by summat that buggers
them up, Ye knaa, like?" he offered and his seated guest at the table signalled she understood what he was relaying.
Peggy quickly converted his words and took it that a heinous evening visitor was generating problems in the community of
Little Compton and his former advice was a motto that Brape's guest already adhered to. Indecision effected enterprise.
A cindered-log collapsed in the fire and Peggy took the act as a sign to leave and glancing once more at the vicious gauntlet
hanging on the wall, she gathered her words to explain her departure.
power would be strong enough to protect the few remaining families that still clung to the faith from the attacks that Father
Jacobs was sure were happening again.
Four years had passed since the cave where Doramus was believed to be hiding was discovered and after the entrance
was stuffed with moor-brush and oil-soaked wool-pelts, it was a young Priest who was honoured with the act of setting the
kindling ablaze. Some of the hunters who had tracked the Vampyre to its underground lair believed they had heard screams
as the burning fuel travelled downwards into the monster's abode.
The religious man who had witnessed the burning and shouted prayers above the sounds of the crackling inferno, now
watched a damp leaf flutter down to rest on the graveyard's neatly-clipped grass. If there was any chance that Doramus
had survived the inferno, what was left of Little Compton would be the place to vent his reckoning.
With that thought, the dark-garbed preacher called Mathew Jacobs looked to the sky and felt helpless.
...................................................
As the well-burnt logs transmuted into embers by the magic of fire, Brape Faraday sat on his rocking-chair and listened
to the last Witch of Underhill explain her situation. The storm was slowing outside as the sounds of high winds faded and
thudding raindrops beating its tattoo on the hollow willow tree abated.
"...So 'Ah decided to head towards Salterhead and see out the winter there" Peggy Powler finished as she sipped at her
third mug of sweet Rosemary tea and admired the objects on the Grim-Figg's mantle-piece. With a pair of poorly-woven
corn-dollies dangling symmetrically from the shelf over the fireplace, standing wooden picture frames offered po-faced
drawings of Elfins that the warm wizard guessed were relatives of the proprietor of the cozy burrow.
Above the renderings of family wholesomeness, an large odd-looking object that hung from leather straps caught Peggy's
attention and she had to search her memories to acquire its proper name. Small metal plates meshed together in a form
of a clenched fist-like shape and just as the designation of the device came to mind, Brape announced what his prized
ornament was actually called.
"Tis a Borgias Gauntlet..." Brape said as he looked away from the slowly-curling flames, "...something me-Grand-Pappie
used te' knack a reet radgie workyticket that had been bedevilling me-folks for years" he added and tapped his pipe on
the hearth beneath the wicked-looking metal paw.
After deciphering the statement that involved an extremely annoying entity that had plagued the Elf's family for some time
and Brape's Grandfather who solved the situation with the famed mitten of yore above the fire hearth, Peggy nodded solemnly
and mentally patted herself on the back for the translation.
A Borgias Gauntlet was an item that very few Fae-folk had seen. Somewhere in the past, a great Smithy of the Sprite world
created a complex glove that contained instruments of war that with certain actions from the wearer, could brandish anything
from a broadsword to a battle-axe.
All held within a steel mitt, it could wrought terrible strife from the squire of such a mechanism.
Now examining the adornment of Mr Faraday's fireplace, the little Witch felt it was prudent of the Metal-Wright to have only
built five of the nasty things. Peggy emptied her tea-mug and in Brape's dialect, 'said nowt'.
A comfortable silence returned to the subterranean room of the Grim-Figg and the Witch and alone with their thoughts.
Each pondered on what their respective futures held and for Brape Faraday, he wondered if another week-long trek to the
where the great canyon ended on the shore at Lever's Cove, would be a good idea.
Odd things tended to wash down after a storm like the one happening above and it wouldn't be the first time he'd found
an item on the desolate shingle beach that would better his home. Also -and the little Elf would never admit it to anyone,
his four mile odyssey might force him to visit Myra Gold, the Beachcomber who often frequented the quiet bay where the
gorge emptied its contents.
Myra was always friendly to the straight-talking visiting Grim-Figg and the fact that she was single had nothing to do with it.
Or 'nowt to de' wiv it' -as Brape would say.
Peggy reflected on whether she could pick-up some trade with her tarot reading in the scant cottages and farms on the way
to Salterhead, there were always meals involved and maybe shelter from any future inclement weather. This workable tactic
seemed good enough to ask the steadily-rocking Grim-Figg for his input.
"Aye... Aye, well Ye' knaw that shy bairns get nowt and there'll always be those who believe in such stuff -beggin' yer' pardon
Ma'am..." Brape answered and nodded his head. "...Ah warn thee though, a canny'un would steer clear of Little Compton"
Brape advised. Fresh tobacco was sucked on as the usually-taciturn Elf continue with his counsel.
"There's a bad feelin' doon there and 'Ah've heard those who've gan oot on a neet have been met by summat that buggers
them up, Ye knaa, like?" he offered and his seated guest at the table signalled she understood what he was relaying.
Peggy quickly converted his words and took it that a heinous evening visitor was generating problems in the community of
Little Compton and his former advice was a motto that Brape's guest already adhered to. Indecision effected enterprise.
A cindered-log collapsed in the fire and Peggy took the act as a sign to leave and glancing once more at the vicious gauntlet
hanging on the wall, she gathered her words to explain her departure.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.