11-15-2021, 02:03 PM
During the trek to the heavily-timbered outskirts of Hatton in the Corn, Peggy Powler and Duckworth Bowe listened to Myrddin
as he explained the whole situation. This elucidation came after a question from the young girl in the donated floppy hat.
"Are you sure it was that word?" the hairy-faced magician asked without looking at Peggy and instead, scanned the wood-line
for any sign of their mysterious foe. The seventeen year-old was attempting to keep the prickly ears of long wheat from intruding
beneath her poncho as she hurried to keep up.
"Yeah, Ah' heard someone or somethin' say 'Thiixo'oe'" Peggy replied and offered a glare of contempt towards the grinning
young man watching her grimace as a particular spike of the cereal found its mark. Myrddin gave his response as he aimed
their direction towards a wheel-rut where the bristly wheat would be lesser.
"It's from an older language..." the sorcerer said "...from a time before man forced the Fae from the lands and changed the
natural majick from its celebrity. It means 'Peg' and who -or whatever spoke it, was speaking to you" Myrddin informed the
open-mouthed Witch and noticed she stroked the bag hanging from her shoulder. "Being from a Fae bloodline, I would've
wagered you guessed that?" he added and offered a meaningful glance.
Duckworth broke into the conversation by asking about the journey to the shadowy wood they were approaching and this is
where the older necromancer began his account of someone known as Jack Dor.
When the war in the heavens finally ended and the decision was made to cast out those who'd dared to question what the
canny call 'The Way', many of the defeated chose to be bound to the land where the moon shines. There were giants in the
earth in those days and it was deemed that the Fallen -due to their manner and lack of physical form, would be shunned by
those they shared this world with. The victors of the centuries-long conflict were the celestial-beings known as The Seraph
and swore to monitor the Dybbuks who'd sipped from the cup of evil.
The Fae were wiser and abandoned their place alongside the taller humans, they knew that destruction and corruption were
hiding in the tall grass of the future. They aimed their self-exile to remote parts of the lands where they could continue their
own preferred ethnology without the concerns of diversity.
But as time went on, some of these trust-less devils learned how to be of form and became acquainted with the more-ignorant
residents of the land. Then they began to lay with the daughters of men who bore children to them. The error was eventually
seen and those artful villains who'd dared to dally with the human females were judged once more and then tossed into the
Gallery of Flames.
But some of the offspring of these unnatural couplings were spared and as these half-humans moved on through time, the
tenacity from those who guarded heaven and the cursed below, waned. Magic became accepted and just like most tools
that mankind harness, it was diluted by the need to covet via the separation of strands in the orphic discipline.
A unique gift was reduced to bits of property.
When the Reformation came and outlawed the use of this sortilege, it was discovered that in certain instances, a toleration
for this mystical force would be needed due to social-management and that some things cannot be solved with the use of
any newer divine deities. Hence begrudgingly, there are outliers like Myrddin and Peggy Powler.
Jack Dor was one of these excused Daemons and now sought a power from wherever he could find it. As the ousting of the
transgressors was taking place, Dor had secretly slain his mother and set-out to find his offending father. Witnessing the
punishment after his vanquished parent's denouncement, he avowed to torment those who he shared this existence with
and became the ghost, the disruptor and the dasher of hopes.
Holding the ability to pass between the world beyond the veil and the realm that adhered to limited life, Jack Dor frolicked
in his trickery and often rejoiced in his selections of bedevilment. The semi-Daemon shrewdly avoided the reckoners of his
actions and strongly believed -just like the assiduity of those who'd damned his father, Exorcists were becoming far and few
between.
Now leaving the itchy stalks of the corn, three of these wardens of majick stepped towards a seldom-used graveyard hiding
amongst the trees and Jack Dor stirred in his buried tomb and felt a fear he hadn't tasted in a long time.
as he explained the whole situation. This elucidation came after a question from the young girl in the donated floppy hat.
"Are you sure it was that word?" the hairy-faced magician asked without looking at Peggy and instead, scanned the wood-line
for any sign of their mysterious foe. The seventeen year-old was attempting to keep the prickly ears of long wheat from intruding
beneath her poncho as she hurried to keep up.
"Yeah, Ah' heard someone or somethin' say 'Thiixo'oe'" Peggy replied and offered a glare of contempt towards the grinning
young man watching her grimace as a particular spike of the cereal found its mark. Myrddin gave his response as he aimed
their direction towards a wheel-rut where the bristly wheat would be lesser.
"It's from an older language..." the sorcerer said "...from a time before man forced the Fae from the lands and changed the
natural majick from its celebrity. It means 'Peg' and who -or whatever spoke it, was speaking to you" Myrddin informed the
open-mouthed Witch and noticed she stroked the bag hanging from her shoulder. "Being from a Fae bloodline, I would've
wagered you guessed that?" he added and offered a meaningful glance.
Duckworth broke into the conversation by asking about the journey to the shadowy wood they were approaching and this is
where the older necromancer began his account of someone known as Jack Dor.
When the war in the heavens finally ended and the decision was made to cast out those who'd dared to question what the
canny call 'The Way', many of the defeated chose to be bound to the land where the moon shines. There were giants in the
earth in those days and it was deemed that the Fallen -due to their manner and lack of physical form, would be shunned by
those they shared this world with. The victors of the centuries-long conflict were the celestial-beings known as The Seraph
and swore to monitor the Dybbuks who'd sipped from the cup of evil.
The Fae were wiser and abandoned their place alongside the taller humans, they knew that destruction and corruption were
hiding in the tall grass of the future. They aimed their self-exile to remote parts of the lands where they could continue their
own preferred ethnology without the concerns of diversity.
But as time went on, some of these trust-less devils learned how to be of form and became acquainted with the more-ignorant
residents of the land. Then they began to lay with the daughters of men who bore children to them. The error was eventually
seen and those artful villains who'd dared to dally with the human females were judged once more and then tossed into the
Gallery of Flames.
But some of the offspring of these unnatural couplings were spared and as these half-humans moved on through time, the
tenacity from those who guarded heaven and the cursed below, waned. Magic became accepted and just like most tools
that mankind harness, it was diluted by the need to covet via the separation of strands in the orphic discipline.
A unique gift was reduced to bits of property.
When the Reformation came and outlawed the use of this sortilege, it was discovered that in certain instances, a toleration
for this mystical force would be needed due to social-management and that some things cannot be solved with the use of
any newer divine deities. Hence begrudgingly, there are outliers like Myrddin and Peggy Powler.
Jack Dor was one of these excused Daemons and now sought a power from wherever he could find it. As the ousting of the
transgressors was taking place, Dor had secretly slain his mother and set-out to find his offending father. Witnessing the
punishment after his vanquished parent's denouncement, he avowed to torment those who he shared this existence with
and became the ghost, the disruptor and the dasher of hopes.
Holding the ability to pass between the world beyond the veil and the realm that adhered to limited life, Jack Dor frolicked
in his trickery and often rejoiced in his selections of bedevilment. The semi-Daemon shrewdly avoided the reckoners of his
actions and strongly believed -just like the assiduity of those who'd damned his father, Exorcists were becoming far and few
between.
Now leaving the itchy stalks of the corn, three of these wardens of majick stepped towards a seldom-used graveyard hiding
amongst the trees and Jack Dor stirred in his buried tomb and felt a fear he hadn't tasted in a long time.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.