With the twinkle of stars and the ashen pumpkin-faced moon as company, the little shadow amongst the obscurity
of the windswept line of yew trees dozed in and out of consciousness. Not trusting to use her faithful satchel, Peggy
Powler had opted to just see the night through by leaning against the rough bark of one of the weathered evergreens
and occasionally peeking out from beneath her wide-rimmed headwear at the stagnant setting that surrounded the
island of Alkali Bight.
Time became treacle as the Last Witch of Underhill sluggishly pondered on how and why she'd arrived at this desolate
location, Myrddin's words came back to her as Peggy groggily checked once more on whether the dawn was not too far
away. The atramentous forest near to Finley Bucca's buried abode seemed to go on forever and being the doormat for
where the sun would arrive, it lay within its blackness and offered little to cheer the bare-footed sentinel's sleepy musings.
Now with her legs tucked up beneath her poncho and her arms resting on her knees, the would-be thief of a cursed book
dropped her head and her hat became the cap of Peggy's light dreaming. With hazy contemplation on how the Wizard and
Finley Bucca were connected and why a hermit-like Elf would be on the lookout for such a secretive object, who exactly is
this Ma Vittie and why does she hide herself away on this cloistered isle, the woman who once enjoyed the intrigue of a
travelling carnival community fell into the comfort of memory-quilted repose.
..................................................
"...You see, the key to this situation is subtlety..." the white-bearded magician had continued in his explanation to the
smaller spell-worker walking with him towards Calder's Way. "...The world has forgotten about the Glamour Grimoire
and for all involved, that is a good thing" he added as he allowed Peggy to help him over the stone wall.
Grunting with the aches from his centuries-long age, Myrddin gathered his thoughts as the little Witch unceremoniously
dropped from the lichen-coated boulders and gathered her modesty by straightening her short poncho. "Sorry about that"
Peggy mumbled and ignored the Wizard's smirk, but her prickly gaze quickly reminded him that he should hurry to give
his reason for why they were stuck out here on a forsaken moor. The old man nodded and went on with his explanation.
"Since the Elf's message came to me some time in late-summer and we can assume Ma Vittie hasn't invoked the correct
spell to open the box, I think it can be safely said the hexes are intact and the Grimoire is still undisturbed" Myrddin said
in almost a whisper.
The old necromancer's narrative rolled on explaining how certain trusted folk -who lived happy and mundane lives around
the regions, were occasionally approached over the years and asked to keep a secret vigil for anything they believed was
suspicious in the manner of 'supernatural'. Sighing through her nose at the needless rhetoric, Peggy took it that the Elf
Myrddin had named as Finley Bucca, was one of these loyal ears-and-eyes.
Casually ambling slowly along Calder's Way, the smaller of the odd-sized pair listened to a story about a disgraced pupil
of Edatore, a spell-worker from the deserts who's forte was drawing sandstorms from the ground and beguiling serpents.
Deemed by the echelon of ancient and revered craft, an excellent teacher of allurement, a red-haired girl of sixteen titled
Martha Vittie was issued to his charge along with a few more students in the seeking of greater thaumaturgy.
Like any good potboiler gossiped around a fire hearth, -a warmth that Peggy could appreciate as she listened to the Sage's
docket of yesteryear in the chilly bleakness of the evening, backstairs romance from under the bed covers was never too-far
away. Edatore was severely reprimanded for his shortcomings by his peers and Miss Vittie -now of nineteen summers, was
shunned from any future education of the Order. To the bored unshod necromancer walking beside her own tutor, it seemed
Edatore's coquettishness of reptiles reached to the allurement of young colleens too,
But now, a forgotten book of unspeakable spells had washed ashore and also magically drawn two strings of the past back
into the present. A banished woman, a dangerous bible and a potential scandal waited on a remote island. Peggy sighed
once more as she realised that once again, when there's a bad smell in the air, they send for the old rat-catcher.
Straightening his own robes, the usually stoic warlock glanced around in the gloom and then leaned forward with features
of a kindly Elder. Peggy had seen this act before and her mind raced with what cunning Myrddin was poorly attempting to
suppress. "If any news arrives to say otherwise, your journey there will also add to the confidence that the Pyxis is still in
one piece and maybe we can again, all sleep in our beds without concern..." he softly purveyed with a wink. "...Now my
fine lady, I must be off and you have a great service to perform for the preservers of Majick".
And that was it. Standing alone on the sea-cobbled surface of a road far away from her newly-announced destination,
the little Witch had been given a quest and left discarded by the teller of something that really didn't concern her.
The great Wizard Myrddin had suddenly vanished in a puff of off-yellow smoke and the solitary figure in the big hat
and with her feet facing westwards, was now supposed to concoct a scheme to steal this sealed casket that may-or
-may-not be the desired object.
Yes, Peggy did mutter the word 'Bugger' into the emptiness of the surrounding moor, but in her heart she was content
that she'd been left to her own devices on the matter. "Whey, let's get movin' I suppose" she said to her bare toes and
that was how her odyssey had commenced.
of the windswept line of yew trees dozed in and out of consciousness. Not trusting to use her faithful satchel, Peggy
Powler had opted to just see the night through by leaning against the rough bark of one of the weathered evergreens
and occasionally peeking out from beneath her wide-rimmed headwear at the stagnant setting that surrounded the
island of Alkali Bight.
Time became treacle as the Last Witch of Underhill sluggishly pondered on how and why she'd arrived at this desolate
location, Myrddin's words came back to her as Peggy groggily checked once more on whether the dawn was not too far
away. The atramentous forest near to Finley Bucca's buried abode seemed to go on forever and being the doormat for
where the sun would arrive, it lay within its blackness and offered little to cheer the bare-footed sentinel's sleepy musings.
Now with her legs tucked up beneath her poncho and her arms resting on her knees, the would-be thief of a cursed book
dropped her head and her hat became the cap of Peggy's light dreaming. With hazy contemplation on how the Wizard and
Finley Bucca were connected and why a hermit-like Elf would be on the lookout for such a secretive object, who exactly is
this Ma Vittie and why does she hide herself away on this cloistered isle, the woman who once enjoyed the intrigue of a
travelling carnival community fell into the comfort of memory-quilted repose.
..................................................
"...You see, the key to this situation is subtlety..." the white-bearded magician had continued in his explanation to the
smaller spell-worker walking with him towards Calder's Way. "...The world has forgotten about the Glamour Grimoire
and for all involved, that is a good thing" he added as he allowed Peggy to help him over the stone wall.
Grunting with the aches from his centuries-long age, Myrddin gathered his thoughts as the little Witch unceremoniously
dropped from the lichen-coated boulders and gathered her modesty by straightening her short poncho. "Sorry about that"
Peggy mumbled and ignored the Wizard's smirk, but her prickly gaze quickly reminded him that he should hurry to give
his reason for why they were stuck out here on a forsaken moor. The old man nodded and went on with his explanation.
"Since the Elf's message came to me some time in late-summer and we can assume Ma Vittie hasn't invoked the correct
spell to open the box, I think it can be safely said the hexes are intact and the Grimoire is still undisturbed" Myrddin said
in almost a whisper.
The old necromancer's narrative rolled on explaining how certain trusted folk -who lived happy and mundane lives around
the regions, were occasionally approached over the years and asked to keep a secret vigil for anything they believed was
suspicious in the manner of 'supernatural'. Sighing through her nose at the needless rhetoric, Peggy took it that the Elf
Myrddin had named as Finley Bucca, was one of these loyal ears-and-eyes.
Casually ambling slowly along Calder's Way, the smaller of the odd-sized pair listened to a story about a disgraced pupil
of Edatore, a spell-worker from the deserts who's forte was drawing sandstorms from the ground and beguiling serpents.
Deemed by the echelon of ancient and revered craft, an excellent teacher of allurement, a red-haired girl of sixteen titled
Martha Vittie was issued to his charge along with a few more students in the seeking of greater thaumaturgy.
Like any good potboiler gossiped around a fire hearth, -a warmth that Peggy could appreciate as she listened to the Sage's
docket of yesteryear in the chilly bleakness of the evening, backstairs romance from under the bed covers was never too-far
away. Edatore was severely reprimanded for his shortcomings by his peers and Miss Vittie -now of nineteen summers, was
shunned from any future education of the Order. To the bored unshod necromancer walking beside her own tutor, it seemed
Edatore's coquettishness of reptiles reached to the allurement of young colleens too,
But now, a forgotten book of unspeakable spells had washed ashore and also magically drawn two strings of the past back
into the present. A banished woman, a dangerous bible and a potential scandal waited on a remote island. Peggy sighed
once more as she realised that once again, when there's a bad smell in the air, they send for the old rat-catcher.
Straightening his own robes, the usually stoic warlock glanced around in the gloom and then leaned forward with features
of a kindly Elder. Peggy had seen this act before and her mind raced with what cunning Myrddin was poorly attempting to
suppress. "If any news arrives to say otherwise, your journey there will also add to the confidence that the Pyxis is still in
one piece and maybe we can again, all sleep in our beds without concern..." he softly purveyed with a wink. "...Now my
fine lady, I must be off and you have a great service to perform for the preservers of Majick".
And that was it. Standing alone on the sea-cobbled surface of a road far away from her newly-announced destination,
the little Witch had been given a quest and left discarded by the teller of something that really didn't concern her.
The great Wizard Myrddin had suddenly vanished in a puff of off-yellow smoke and the solitary figure in the big hat
and with her feet facing westwards, was now supposed to concoct a scheme to steal this sealed casket that may-or
-may-not be the desired object.
Yes, Peggy did mutter the word 'Bugger' into the emptiness of the surrounding moor, but in her heart she was content
that she'd been left to her own devices on the matter. "Whey, let's get movin' I suppose" she said to her bare toes and
that was how her odyssey had commenced.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.