Licking her lips in apprehension of what might follow, a section of Peggy Powler's thinking of her situation attempted to
alleviate any foreboding by processing what she knew up to this point. If this part of the diminutive spellbinder's reasoning
was also aware of time, it must've surely surmised it didn't have long to catalogue its findings.
The Glatisant had stolen the villagers of Underhill for its own amusement and to acquire particular information in order to
matriculate itself into the world above its current environment. From the sarcastic commentary of the beast, the little Witch
had learned the hypnotised residents of her aunt's thorp patiently waiting around the walls of the cavern, had been incapable
of giving the thing called a Questing Beast the germane advice it wanted to live a life away from its underground domain.
Household items had been gathered to possibly train the chimera currently readying itself to attack the small thaumaturge
who'd invaded its home. From the manner these things had been discarded in the tunnel leading to the well, it seems such
instruction in the domiciliary area failed to entertain the monster who'd emptied Underhill of its populace.
This hodgepodge of commonplace critters had also implied it knew Peggy from the past and this was something to certainly
tarry on. The Glatisant knew her name, it knew where she'd slept as a child and more importantly, the sneaky acerbic bugger
had referred to Hetty in a way of familiarity, even if it was with a indignant manner. What this potential affiliation might mean
was still in the shadows along with the bouquet of woodsmoke.
Still, all such reflection was for later as now the Glatisant's snake-smile emerged from the gloom with a wary anticipation of
enlarging its caboodle of educators.
.................................................................
An exhausted scarecrow called Hetty peered over the edge of the stone-built well and realised her frail body would not be
able to generate the effort to swing towards the hidden tunnel due to the half-filled bucket floating in the dark water below.
In such a situation, some renown Magicians might have reached for their skills with charms to persuade the cable to do
their bidding, Hetty reached for the pulley-winder and simply emptied the pail when it reached the top.
With the clay-owl precariously clutching the skinny shoulder of the old Hag returning to a place she'd hoped to never visit
again and the crescent-shaped piece of metal dangling from a chunk of string at her waist, the strange couple shinnied
down the same conduit that a previous adventurer who denied undergarment had taken. "It'd be a sour day indeed when
awld Hetty canna' help one of me-own" she whispered enigmatically to the stoic effigy staring straight ahead at the cold
interior of the pit.
.................................................................
The Questing Beast's tail lashed close enough along the floor of the cave that Peggy knew the odd-looking dragon was
attempting to put her on her backside and uttering a demand in improvement from the magical flames dancing in the air
between them, she hoped her final scene wouldn't be one of prone semi-nudity down in a forgotten grotto like this one.
"Yer' divna' like a bit of warmth, then?" the smiling sorceress chided at the cursing beast that skulked around her looking
for a design of attack. The stern-faced augurer pondered on how long it would be before her lack of a good night's sleep
might have an effect on this subterranean stand-off and constant circling. A distant thought of conjuring a spell towards
the anesthetised audience from Underhill came to mind, but Peggy ceded that if the nocturnal inhabitants of the village
hadn't organised themselves before they were picked-off one by one, would such a disarranged group amalgamate now?
"It is only a matter of time before you become mine" the slinking Glatisant said sassily as it passed the shadowy exit
from his dark domain and this statement would be the last the patchwork of traditional beasts would ever utter again.
It could be said that the same sage Magicians who would stoop to mystical incantations to resolve a bucket-coupled
problem instead of grass roots common-sense would agree with any onlooker in the cavern with the startled Witch.
A Questing Beast cannot speak without a head.
.................................................................
Disregarding the sound of bodies slumping onto the soft earth around her as the Glatisant's black blood gushed from
its severed neck, Peggy could also hear the faint sound of sobbing. Stumbling into the fading light of the crystals, the
undernourished frame of an old woman sniffing back her tears as she stooped to retrieve the gore-smeared half-moon
weapon that had dispatched the sinewy kidnapper that yearned to be like those above. "Sleep well me-brutha' and
forgive me fur' what Ah' had te' do" Hetty lamented and dropped once more like a hessian-woven repository packed
with root vegetables into a dead faint.
alleviate any foreboding by processing what she knew up to this point. If this part of the diminutive spellbinder's reasoning
was also aware of time, it must've surely surmised it didn't have long to catalogue its findings.
The Glatisant had stolen the villagers of Underhill for its own amusement and to acquire particular information in order to
matriculate itself into the world above its current environment. From the sarcastic commentary of the beast, the little Witch
had learned the hypnotised residents of her aunt's thorp patiently waiting around the walls of the cavern, had been incapable
of giving the thing called a Questing Beast the germane advice it wanted to live a life away from its underground domain.
Household items had been gathered to possibly train the chimera currently readying itself to attack the small thaumaturge
who'd invaded its home. From the manner these things had been discarded in the tunnel leading to the well, it seems such
instruction in the domiciliary area failed to entertain the monster who'd emptied Underhill of its populace.
This hodgepodge of commonplace critters had also implied it knew Peggy from the past and this was something to certainly
tarry on. The Glatisant knew her name, it knew where she'd slept as a child and more importantly, the sneaky acerbic bugger
had referred to Hetty in a way of familiarity, even if it was with a indignant manner. What this potential affiliation might mean
was still in the shadows along with the bouquet of woodsmoke.
Still, all such reflection was for later as now the Glatisant's snake-smile emerged from the gloom with a wary anticipation of
enlarging its caboodle of educators.
.................................................................
An exhausted scarecrow called Hetty peered over the edge of the stone-built well and realised her frail body would not be
able to generate the effort to swing towards the hidden tunnel due to the half-filled bucket floating in the dark water below.
In such a situation, some renown Magicians might have reached for their skills with charms to persuade the cable to do
their bidding, Hetty reached for the pulley-winder and simply emptied the pail when it reached the top.
With the clay-owl precariously clutching the skinny shoulder of the old Hag returning to a place she'd hoped to never visit
again and the crescent-shaped piece of metal dangling from a chunk of string at her waist, the strange couple shinnied
down the same conduit that a previous adventurer who denied undergarment had taken. "It'd be a sour day indeed when
awld Hetty canna' help one of me-own" she whispered enigmatically to the stoic effigy staring straight ahead at the cold
interior of the pit.
.................................................................
The Questing Beast's tail lashed close enough along the floor of the cave that Peggy knew the odd-looking dragon was
attempting to put her on her backside and uttering a demand in improvement from the magical flames dancing in the air
between them, she hoped her final scene wouldn't be one of prone semi-nudity down in a forgotten grotto like this one.
"Yer' divna' like a bit of warmth, then?" the smiling sorceress chided at the cursing beast that skulked around her looking
for a design of attack. The stern-faced augurer pondered on how long it would be before her lack of a good night's sleep
might have an effect on this subterranean stand-off and constant circling. A distant thought of conjuring a spell towards
the anesthetised audience from Underhill came to mind, but Peggy ceded that if the nocturnal inhabitants of the village
hadn't organised themselves before they were picked-off one by one, would such a disarranged group amalgamate now?
"It is only a matter of time before you become mine" the slinking Glatisant said sassily as it passed the shadowy exit
from his dark domain and this statement would be the last the patchwork of traditional beasts would ever utter again.
It could be said that the same sage Magicians who would stoop to mystical incantations to resolve a bucket-coupled
problem instead of grass roots common-sense would agree with any onlooker in the cavern with the startled Witch.
A Questing Beast cannot speak without a head.
.................................................................
Disregarding the sound of bodies slumping onto the soft earth around her as the Glatisant's black blood gushed from
its severed neck, Peggy could also hear the faint sound of sobbing. Stumbling into the fading light of the crystals, the
undernourished frame of an old woman sniffing back her tears as she stooped to retrieve the gore-smeared half-moon
weapon that had dispatched the sinewy kidnapper that yearned to be like those above. "Sleep well me-brutha' and
forgive me fur' what Ah' had te' do" Hetty lamented and dropped once more like a hessian-woven repository packed
with root vegetables into a dead faint.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.