[Region 1][Map 07][Location 02] Snapgallows

[ravells]

Dang, well off the top of my head, since they do most of there preliminary ideas for buildings, maps, and villages and such in crayon and watercolor pencils, before going into sketchup, PS/Gimp, and now Dungeon forge, perhaps a little "Future Cartographer" icon of a crayon on a map scroll.
They have their own login, but can't post, so I guess if that is the type of something you have in mind, it could go on my posts, and I will put an automatic blurb at the bottom of all my posts that says it is their award,,,(I think I can figure out how that portion works)
That will certainly tickle them.
SeerBlue

Do you have a group photo of them? We could make a special certificate and put it up on the news section (other CL's willing - I'm sure they won't object)

[SeerBlue]

Yup, though the ones I have on my HD are a bit old, Lemur has grown a bit, I'll get one from them working in their garden last week, they are quite proud of their work on it, so no mugging for the camera.
SeerBlue

[SeerBlue]

Just realized I was in the wrong thread when I posted this

Got my Snapgallows and my Hebbies Ale House confused.

Basically it gives me a bit to work from for Ol' Horsehairs history, now he is a former member of Bedell's Company of Rangers, of the Roebuck Rangers.

Bedell's is actually a Revolutionary War Ranging Company which mustered out of Haverhill NH with soldiers from the surrounding towns, like Bath NH, where my ancestors are from. Here's a page with some pic's of the monument
The Stephen Smith listed on the Revolutionary War plaque be my mothers ancestor, he got paid a penny a mile to protect the borders of the wilderness during the war, sometimes walking as far as into Canada.and spent a good bit of time at a "mean little" fort on Gardiner Mt (the site of which I would love to find)..He later, after the war in mid 1794, went out to work in his fields and was never seen again, leaving his large family to be spread out among the locals, he either drowned crossing the river or was killed by indians. The Greenleaf listed is related also, on the otherside of my tree, and ends up being my Mormon connection,,,,,,hmmm, might have to drop some polyandry (one woman having multiple husbands) into Snapgallows Seven Familes for some confusion.
If you are really bored, and like genealogy, here is a bit of mine, I haven't updated the pages in awhile, can't get the online editor to run on my laptop consistently, and Snapgallows and the FHCO's rule at the moment. Rest assured I am clinging to a branch there somewhere.
This other one is kind of like my online vault for stuff I learn/write related to things that interest me,,,a mishmash of unsorted tidbits.

SeerBlue and the now awake FHCO's

[SeerBlue]

well, taking the basic story that Ol' Horsehair has told me, whilst
tilling his garden, and mixing in "Roebuck" from Thrubmorton
Fen, a good bit of Horsehair's tell has emerged.

To illustrate just how are process works I will type Horsehair's
words, the parts of the tell that are his creation in Italics, and my
expansion not in italics....

"Well, I was a Soldier, one of them Horse Soldiers", which you used to see about alot more often than now, "I was".

"Served in the Roebuck Rangers, in one of the best companies
saddled, under Captain Bedell. Long time I rode horses all along
the ridges running messages back and forth, cause we got no
Wyvern then, like Snapgallows got now".

Horsehair paused to take a long biting sip of Red Pochard, one of
Hebbie's custom distilled Tatershines. Tinted blood red and sharp
enough to peel the fur off your tongue (always wearing a
horsehair riding coat, Ol' Royt often had a furry tongue), it was
his drink of choice and Hebbie always kept a bottle or three
tucked into a cubby, or three, near the top of the Tatershine rack
behind the topboard.
" Had a good Horse, don't know where I gots it, though"

(here we took a break and ran in to look at the wiki to see where
in Ansium really good horses could come from, and to get more
Tatershine,,,,drink boxes, and I scribbled Horsehair's tell in my
notebook, and he remembered where his horse came from)

Horsehair paused a bit and scrubbed his Pocharded memories for when he found his old mare.

"Yup, it was in the Beastlands, tween the BlueMane Wood and the
RiverWarsh, you can get a real horse there"

A few tired Snappies wandered into the Ale House, looking
rather put to after a day slaughtering Cask Bellied Hammers for
the upcoming Harvest Burning Fest. Hammers may look
cuddleable on the outside, but their little noggins are full of fight
when they sense their end is near. Sharp hooves on each stubby
leg and two spiraled tusks makes putting them to the blade a
dangerous endeavor. They soon settled down across the common room and tucked into a platter of goat and cheese.

Receiving a fresh tankard of Pochard, from one of Hebbies bottle
boys, Horsehair began again, speaking a good bit lower than his
usual bellow as the common room slowly filled.

"Yup, thats where my horse came from, had her a long time"

(here is where I poke and prod for more info, he said he had her a
long time, and I KNOW he is wearing her hide as a coat now, so I
ask what happened to her,,,,outside a storm rolls in and thunder
and lightening start, so we ain't going out....Horsehair studies the
maps of Ansium...)

" I was riding along a ridge taking messages (points to a spot
between Fenridge Castle and Nortonspire) when a storm came in.
"Every fool knows you don't wanna be out in a storm especially
up atop an exposed ridge, but I were stuck. FenRidge, behind me,
were closer, but I had to go UP to get there, Norton were where
the messages was bound, and lower, but a lot further away."

" I gots down off my horse to look at my map to see where I could
go, when BOOM, my horse got Lightened and I got knocked down a
cliff. When I wokes up, and found my horse, she where dead, the
skin peeled rights off her."

(Horsehair backtracks here, perhaps realizing he now is the only FHCO without a cool pet)

''Nope, when I wokes up, there where all these little furry animals around me,,they was small with big eyes, and lots off teeth."
(nother prod to get a better description which ends up being they look like a cross between a squirrel that flies and an armadillo, later he adds two quills which inject a brain warsh, as Raith's Wyvern has a tail stinger).

"They were brown, like my horse, and looked like a jumping squirrel, the ones that fly tween trees in the forests to the south o' here, and when I got one scared they all rolls up in a ball".
"They was friendly", though I had a moment when I thought they weren't, they got a mouth full of teeth, lots of rows of teeth, looked sharp as razors.
"Me being stunned a bit, I weren't sure I was seeing what I were seeing. Then the rain came, and all them little" squirrillos came at me, Oim lunch", I thought, "but all they wanted to do was gits out of the wet".
Ol' Horsehair pulled a rather large piping from his faded Ranging Company tunic's backpouch and stuffed it full of "Rusty Mallard", nicked from Odduck's silvered tin on the topboard. No objection came from Odduck, as he was far from Grand right then, his bald head resting on the smooth wood of the topboard before him, soft quackish snores escaping his open mouth.
With his piping pouring forth a cloud of sweet smoke, Horsehair went on. "Me and them furballs climbed back up the cliff, they was hung alls over me, just whistling."
On top "we found my old horse, with her fur all pulled off, so we put it over ourselves and gots out of the rain".
That is how old Horsehair got his coat and his squirrillos, it ended up, or is becoming, a much better tell than my "horse died and I made a coat of her" version. I am sure more will come, as they now have a 4th edition players guide to peruse, things will get added, just as the brainwarsh quills did, in a moment of cool weapon envy. Some more polishing, more detail on Bedell's Ranging Company, which I will pull from my research, a few documents for his tunic pouch , and Ol' Horsehair will be happy as a squirrillo in a horsehair coat in a midwinter blow.
That's how we write em, a child's imagination, the world, the Wiki, and the maps, which are the best part of what goes in.
SeerBlue and Ol' Horsehair of the FHCO.

[SeerBlue]

Well, this arrives before you simply because Ol' Horsehair is out and about, 'praps some where in the Limestone pavements and mossy hummocks to the south and east of Snapgallows. So the Tell of the Mid Tending Hop is put on hold, as Ol' Horsehair requested it, and so it became his responsibility. Being that 3 of the FHCO's needed something to do, we decided to work on the intro for the tell, some way to get from Gimphor's Tell to Nab's Tell, uniquely FHCO's, without resorting to “Once Upon a Time”.
So we extracted Marvin the Martian from Paddington Bears embrace, released the Japanese Puppets from their glass cases, and whilst hauling the old Muppets from the bottom of the collecting chest we found a rather old biscuit tin filled with 50 P pieces from foggy lands across the water, collected in the era of the Ramones and F-111's over Libya (sorry, France).
These silvered pieces had that odd shape, equilaterally curved heptagon, which I found conducive to “spinning” on the topboard in the Bull Inn in Charlbury, near Oxford, while enjoying a good pint, or three, of Bitter.
So we cleared the trains off of my still smooth maru table and set to spinning, our intent was to see how many 50p pieces we could get going simultaneously, and how much noise they would make, as the maru table's top is thin and vibrates quite rhythmically......but we ended up with this, after a small step from
“Gimphor pulled a large, outland silver piece from his pocket, cupped it in his palm, and slid it across to Tab's bony hand unnoticed, instantly returning to the good graces of Tab, the keep”
as related in the story of Gimphor Lope, Vanner. The coin originally had no value to the story other than its worth in silver.
Add a short rendition of Ben Stiller as the night guard in “Night at the Museum” speaking to Atilla and his Huns, by Bumblemouse.
-Stiller, while fluttering his hands about before a confused Atilla “Mahhhjikk”
-Atilla, his eyes bright with comprehension “ahh, Mahhjikko”
--Bumblemouse, gesturing at the coins like Stiller, “Mahhjikk”.
And this, a rather looonnng intro, to replace “Once Upon a Time”, occurred. And as it needs to be uniquely FHCO, there is of course an oblique reference to piddle.
We will get back to the Hop, once Ol' Horsehair returns, as the Skeletons are yearning to Dance, and we now have a home for them, though it be Dim.
Really, the place this takes place is Threeways, not Snapgallows, but NOT every character in the stories could BE from Snapgallows, so we shuffled a bit north along the trader's path and introduced Gimphor Lope, in a previous tell at Nab's Threeways in, which means, down the road we will have to work on, at least, Nab's fine establishment. Like I said, it is a rather long intro, so I will have to post it bit by bit,,,,and regrettably, it doesn't even finish....we are at odds over if it takes 3 spinning Ethiels to do what must be done, or four, and if it takes four, which character, or new character will get one.....
so below follows, on the next post,

Nab's Tell
or
Three Spinning Ethiels and the Dim Cellar
or
For Distance, Poli!

even the name is up for grabs

SeerBlue and the FHCO,
ohh, I wrote this a while back, and just got to type it,,,,,I type slow. the beginning of the tell is here on post 19, which illustrates how slow I type quite well.

[SeerBlue]

the beginning

Nab's Tell
or Three Spinning Ethiels and the Dim Cellar
or For Distance, Poli!

Nab rose slowly from his chair and wobbled towards the door, with a distinct lean to the right.
“Loike a bit to eat, would you, Gimphor, my goodwife Limmy makes an awfully good herder's platter,” Nab asked over his left shoulder, balancing his lean to the other hand out, “cold cured Cask Belly slices, fresh baked bread, and what not.”
Gimphor could taste the meal already, Monkton's Wessel leaf was a heady smoke which set the senses alight. “Oii!, That I would Nab, I've not had a slice of those wee Hammers in ages, and certainly none “cold cured”. Gimphor replied through a mouth thick with saliva.
Nab opened the door slowly to tap Moikel, his eldest, on the shoulder, as Moikel watched his younger brother, Barlin, lift a taller, lanky Thanelander clean off his feet and near over his own head as he trundled him through the parting crowd of sots and sops to launch him out the open shutters of the front window.
“The DOOR, Barlin, out the DOOR!”, Moikel barked loudly over the heads of the crowd, “how many times do I ha' tell ye, now you've dropped another in Mum's herb plot, again, and she'll have your ear for it!”
Barlin turned and shrugged his broad, knotted shoulders slightly, “He be taller than the door is wide, Moi, and I don't want to be denting Da's door jamb again”, Barlin yelled back, a sheepish smile upon his face as he pointed behind Moikel at Nab standing there silently. “Thanelander's got right hard helmets for heads, they do, cause nasty dings in the wood!”
Moikel waved Barlin back towards the topboard, where several drunken carters struggled to balance an unconscious vanner on his head, using a stack of Nab's stools to support his limp body.
Nab stepped past Moikel and yelled at Barlin, “Take that one to the door, Barl, and offer noicely to show those louts out the SECOND floor window if they don't set me stools to right and settle down”.
Barlin's face broke into a huge, euphoric, grin, as he waded through the crowd towards the carters and their victim of tatershine, and stupidity. Barl liked nothing more than hefting screeching carters out the upstairs window, and into the manure pile below, fresh from the stables. In fact, he thought quickly, if he could find Poli, the silent boy who minded the carter's horses and dogs for board and keep, before the idiots did any real damage he could heft them out and into a steaming wet dung heap. “Oick,” he laughed to himself as he slowed his advance, “'perhaps I'll let them break a stool or two.”
“Poli”, he yelled towards the dark cubby the thin, hair lipped boy favored,
“spread fresh hot dung round the heap, like quick, oim going for distance tonight, I am.”
Poli leaped from his shadowed corner and bolted for the stable door, distance meant the heavy barrow would be needed, and he had filled it to the brim with the wettest, steamiest manure he could fork, as soon as the carters had started ordering double cups of Snapper and belting out verses from their trail songs. Rude nonsense which rang out in the common room behind him, still, as he wheeled the barrow out and started forking furiously.
Poli knew his job, carters, and Barlin's habits, well.
“I got me a nag who drags me load, mmm hmmm mmm hmmm
Vanners got legs loike an old gully toad, mmm hmmm mmm hmmm
I earn me coppers with nary an ache,mmm hmmm mmm hmmm
Vanner's got a smell a dowsing can't break.”mmm hmmm mmm hmmm

“Buuuuuuut,
I'll trade me nag when the silvers right,
A Woven tail, two eyes with sight.
Vanner's marry theirs, so they be stuck,
wid a Nag for a wife, and their cap for luck.”


Moikel and Nab watched it all from the door of the Leaf Room.
“We'll be out a stool, or two , Da.” sighed Moikel, tallying the cost in his head.
“Aye” replied Nab with a mischievous grin, “but Poli be needing a new pair of boots, and a shirting or two, he be growing so, now that he gets tucker. Barlin will gift him that, when that scrawny carter, there,” Nab pointed at the apparent ring leader of the as yet unsuccessful balancing team, “slides into the alley. Poli's been wetting the heap for two days now, on top of the rain. I swear on Heret's Shadow, I've never seen a youngling make so much water.”
Moikel laughed loudly, the deep bark enough to send the carters, and vanners, standing near skittering back in fright.
“What you need, Da?”, Moikel asked between chuffs, “I don't reckon your Wessel Leaf or the Vanner's Castellar is gone already.”
“Gimphor”, replied Nab curtly, “his calling be Gimphor, Moikel, and he be a guest, not,” he continued as he pointed out at the jostling mass , “not just custom for the night at the topboard.”
“Okay, Da,” Moikel replied softly, “what you and Gimphor be needing?”
“Ask Limmy to send one of the older bottle boys down into the cellar to fetch her cold cured Casker, that which hangs high,” said Nab as he watched Barlin wander off into a quiet corner of the common room, “some of the last of her Mammie's curing, if she would be so kind. Mind you, use those words, Moikel, oim not loikely to get any if you say “Da wants some of Mammie's Hammer, am I?”
“I know , Da,” Moikel replied as he absently swatted a swaying outlander back into the crowd, “Ma's roight stingy with Mammies Casker, but I have some, now and again.”
“Oh, do you now, Moikel”, came Nab's incredulous voice, “ well then wheedle me some fresh herbed bread, and whatever else your mam deigns to favor you with, above her own goodman!”
Moikel smiled and replied “Then I guess you be wanting some o' that cheese she's got tucked away, from ol' Wallis in the Dale, the Wensley.”
“By Heret's Thin Shadow, I do!” snapped Nab, before his voice softened and he added, “so please ask noicely, will ye, Gimphor and I are quite in the need for some tucker, and me thinks we shall be a bit longer, talking, and what not.”
A knowing grin slipped into place on Moikel's face. Moreton's Castellar and Wessel Leaf from the ****e of the cloistered at Monkton Monastery made for a powerful mixture, which easily loosened the tongue and set the thoughts to sloshing.
A mixture Moikel, himself, wouldn't mind swimming in, but Nab's personal store of Wessel and Gimphor's bottle of Moreton's were not likely to pass his dry lips any time soon.

Moikel slid closer to Nab, “Through the door,” he whispered near to Nab's ear, “I heard you mention the Mid Tending Hop, Da,” Moikel looked about, quickly, to see if any drunkards stood close enough to over hear. “your not going to tell an outlander, Gimphor, I mean, the tell are you, not the whole tell?”
Nab placed his hand on Moikel's shoulder, pulling him out of the path of a spray of tatershine and vomit. “Tooms”, he yelled to a bottle boy crouched behind the topboard, “a bucket and clean rushes for the floor, please!”
Nab fished the large multi sided silver piece Gimphor had passed him earlier out of his pocket and brought it up between Moikel and himself so no other could see, Moikel gasped and tried to step back, but Nabs thin hand on his shoulder, which had a deceptively strong grip, restrained him.
“Aye, Moikel”, hissed Nab softly, “I thought it were one of Bumblemouse's Ethiel silvers, and as Mammie showed you hers more often than me, your eyes say I was right then... Few ever see these, fewer ever own one, and Gimphor carries it in his pocket!”

continued

[SeerBlue]

a bit if the middle




Moikel interrupted, “It's not loike he's gonna lose it ,Da, you can't lose an Ethiel.”
Nab slipped the coin in his pocket and replied, “I know, Moi, once gifted an Ethiel, one is never without, even if you gift it away. What is it Mammie always said, “An Ethiel in the pocket freely gifted, two in the satch there'll soon be”, my point is someone gifted him one, and it remained Ethiel, so he is a Good Sort, he gifted me this, and I know it's true worth, would, I think, even if Mammie had not had hers, as the Ethiel tells me so. It's not just an odd silver coin in me pocket, as it would be to any odd lout, it's an Ethiel!” He finished in a rush.
Nab paused and ran his hand through his thinning hair, “Damn Wessel has me thinking odd, circling the point loike old Cally circles the Inn, 'til we open the doors in the morning. Anyway, Gimphor is a Good Sort, who just set our fortunes to the better, come Scalies or Heret himself, and I think I can trust him to help get what be in the Dim Cellar out, they been there for far too long, they have!”

Moikel tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, his habit whenever he was tallying the books or thinking deeply.
“Oick, Da, your most loikely right, but there are only two Good Sorts who hold an Ethiel, the one in your pocket, and the ones in Gimphor's pocket.” Moikel lowered his gaze to meet Nab's eyes, “ the Chanter said it takes three bearers to do what your thinking, so even if Gimphor holds 20, your still one bearer short.”
“True enough, Moi,” Nab murmured, his Wessel fueled scheme fading, just as his most artfully crafted smoke rings did in the soft summer breeze, which wafted across the leaf room porching, when he retreated there for a quiet piping.
Nab's eyes lit up, “OF COURSE!,” he exclaimed, drawing startled glances from about the common room, “yes”, he lowered his voice and continued, “Gimphor assuredly has more, he travels often, ranges far and wide, he must meet many of the Good Sort, and loikely passes on an Ethiel, with all its power, not just silver, easily.”
Moikel was staring intently at the ceiling again, “But, Da, it doesn't matter how many he has gifted, how many he's received back, how many he has in his pocket, his satch, or his shoe, you need three bearers of the Good Sort, the Chanter says, and so does Bumblemouse, or he would na' said naught....”
Nab waved Moikel to silence “Let me finish, before I lose the thread,,,, Gimphor may have gifted an Ethiel to some among his fellow Vanners, they are an honest lot.”
Moikel interrupted again, his eyes still locked on the ceiling, many in the crowd of sots began wondering just what he looked at so intently, so they followed suit, until they toppled over backwards, to thud loudly on the floor. “Thems that got two hands, anyway, is honest.”
“Yes, two hands”, murmured Nab, “so Gimphor may know of a third Good Sort who can help,,,six hands and three Ethiel,,,with whats in the dim cellar.”

“And if he don't”, asked Moikel, as he looked askance at Barlin, pushing through the mass of vanners gambling for small coins with Kadda sticks, an act which was nominally illegal in regions that fell under the Ire of Heret, or the Grace of his Shadow. Kadda sticks, from lands to the south, were said to be wijjered, controlled by the will and character of those who threw them, so their use by vanners was ignored, as vanners were respected. If a carter had uncased them for a throw, Nab or his sons would have quickly trod them to slivers and buried them in the Temple ground, next to the carter, if necessary. Carters are an ill lot, mostly.
Barlin reached the carters, who had finally succeeded in standing the unconscious fellow upside down, and more importantly, in breaking a stool. The joy was writ bold across Barlin's face. “For Distance !, Poli, open the windows wide!” he roared above the din, as he plucked the skinny carter high and bounded for the stairs.
“Well then,” mused Nab as he watched Barlin rocket up the narrow staircase to the already open window, the screeching of the carter lost in the hoots and calls of “For Distance” which thundered about the room, before most of the locals hurried outside to watch the spectacle. “I guess I should have to gift an Ethiel to some one, then, to a good sort.”
“In Threeways”, squawked Moikel, his head cranked round as far to the right as it would possibly go, in hopes that the scrawny, whining carter slid far enough into the alley for him to see. “ I doubt there be another Good Sort about , Da, you and Mammie,” Moikel paused to press his thumbnail firmly to his forehead, “you be the only two I ever heard tell of being gifted with Bumblemouse's silver.
And you can't gift an Ethiel to kin, no matter how good they be, just as you can't inherit one, it fades when the Good Sort does, them is Bumblemouse's rules.

Nab felt a touch, light, on his shoulder, and jumped nearly to the the Shadow, a hairs breadth from old Mammie's side.
“Sorry, Nab,” exclaimed Gimphor, “but I just seen, or thinks I seen, a skinny carter fly off your roof, shrieking like a bogwallop, and then skitter full across the roading out back. He ended up under the porchings across the way, he did!”
Moikel slapped his meaty palm hard against the door jamb, “New boots and a few shirts for Poli, Da, out of Barlin's purse for sure.” He laughed.
“Aye, and trousers off of the topboard's takings, as well, he screeched loud enough to bring round the Chanter, and his gilded satch,” rejoined Nab, as he turned to face Gimphor and slapped him firmly on the shoulder. A pale faced Gimphor, who looked as confused as onlyone who has piped Wessel and twirled Castellar can look.
“Worry not bout the carter, Gimphor, my friend, Barlin lofts them softly into the far downslope of the dung heap, and good Poli has been making a mire of the back yarding for two days now. So the unfortunate fool slid with nary a scratch, I am sure!”
Gimphor pulled at his thin mustaches. “Well, I weren't worried bout the carter, really, it looked to be Gibber Trate, bad sort through and back, he is. Nothing loike his brother, Deft,” Gimphor mumbled, flustered,” “a vanner true, Deft is, shakes with two hands and a smile, as good as you'll get.”
Gimphor gave quick nod of his head , “I was more worried bought myself, my wits, you see.”
Gimphor paused as the locals crowded back in through the narrow door from the stabling yard, with Poli on their shoulders, led by a grinning Barl who was busy slapping backs and pressing his hard earned coin into the hands of Seble the bootmaker and the husband of goodwife Tabbin, the seamstress.
“I was a frighted” Gimphor continued, “being I've never piped that much Wessel leaf , and not once tasted Moreton's, well, I done more than tasted it tonight,,, but I was of the mind that more than my cap was missing from my head, when I see Gibber flapping by, screeching so, and I full well expected them stumbling corpses next!”
Nab laughed loudly and tapped both of Gimphor's shoulders soundly, thrice, “You're quite well in the head Gimphor, never fear, sometimes carters get out of hand and Barlin and Poli have a bit of fun. Not a one has had more than his pride hurt yet, and after Gibber has a good dousing in the trough, Barlin will set him drinks on the topboard, out of his own pocket, as will more than a few locals, who do like the spectacle of a flapping, screeching carter, me thinks.”
“Ohh,” blurted Gimphor, “oi don't know bout that, Gibber's got a mean streak twice as wide as his skinny shoulders, he does, and a blade in his boot.”
“Aye” laughed Moikel, “he'll have neither when he returns, my brother, Tural, has a way with dung covered carters, and the horse trough, that brings them round to thinking a night of lifting cups off of the topboard, with coin from another's satch, is a might more pleasant than petty vengeance, and the funeral that would follow.”
The crowd hooted loudly as Tural and Gibber, dripping wet and bootless, returned. “See there”, said Moikel as they looked on, “your mean carter is smiling, he is, tis a wonder, the effect that cold trough water, and the offer of dry tatershine, has on a carter.” Moikel turned back to Nab, “I'll be fetching your tucker now, Da, and stand Tural at the door in my stead, looks to me we'll see no more trouble tonight.”
“Well said, Moikel, I do believe you to be right, the mood is lighter.” replied Nab as he stepped back into the leaf room, guiding Gimphor with him, “speak noicely to your mother, Moikel, for the sake of our bellies” he finished as he swung the door shut on the hoots and calls of “For Distance, and Boots, Poli!”

We have several more pages written, where the story diverges into the groups "it takes 3 Ethiels and the "it takes 4 Ethiels"...Each has their own reason and I am sure they will work it out,,,they have to, the whatsits in the Dim Cellar be knocking...

More to follow, soon,
SeerBlue and the FHCO's, and no I do not recommend carter tossing.

[SeerBlue]

Okay. last post for the night, as I just finished combing through my files and deleting tons of stuff I probably never had a use for,,,odd how that happens.
This was one of the first sketchup works the FHCO's did, which I just stumbled across. Lemur did the buildings and Tanner Sinks with a random protrude ruby script by herself, just click and make shapes, then Raith helped her pop roofs on with roofs.rb, again just click and choose a roof style, but with some options they always fiddle with to get variety. Its a small version so not as clear as the humongous ones they render.
As this was done whilst the Tell of Alfert Kier was coming to life these are the piddle pits that caused his demise, so this is actually Haughley and things were in much better repair, and the grass is greener (David Gilmour).. It didn't become known as Snapgallows until some time after Alfert's head rattled forth his 2, of 3, curses.
I really like it because it is so simple, yet has enough variety to make a tell of in itself,,,,so someday, we will conjure up a few Younglings to scamper about around in the Tanner Sinks and see what happens. edit: I am thinking dye, bright dye, now just to find out how they made it.

One of these days I have to figure out how to make a template for open office documents, so our pdf can be as purdy as the e-zine.

SeerBlue and all the FHCO's are sleeping

[SeerBlue]

well we finally got the FHCO's to set down for some pics, tried to get a group shot, failed miserably, only seems I can get 3 of them to set still at once, now I just have to figure out how to get them from the camera to a folder I can find!
SeerBlue

Oh, a question of importance for those who know better than I, what is the correct pronunciation of Wyvern, I and the FHCO's say Why-vern, but a D-n-D adult told Raith that is stoopid, its Wi-vern, with the i like in Idiot, the online talking dictionaries say it Why-vern, after the river Wye...if the Wi-vern camp is wrong I think his "I like in Idiot" suits him, as he hurt Raith's feelings, now if I could just find Alfert's Head.......

[ravells]

Hi Seerblue - check your PMs!