The Diverse Adventures of Mr G. Abel

Abdication and Vacation

2008-08-06T23:24:00.004-04:00

Congratulations to the new Duke of Greystoke, Duke Chance Takashi; may he find success and enjoyment in Greystoke!

Gnarli has left the lands seeking a quiet bachelor retirement and a return to his plebian roots, he thanks all those who visited and helped make the last year so fun.

Hafla Party Tonite!

2008-05-19T15:57:00.005-04:00

-What is a Hafla?

A hafla is a middle-eastern gathering, a party. There is usually dancing (think belly dancing, sometimes freestyle dancing, sometimes group performance) drumming, and general merriment!

-Why are we having one?

To celebrate the opening of a Nile River-themed venue to benefit Relay For life situated high above Caledon Greystoke, complete with explorable Temple of Karnak, pyramid tomb, and RFL merchant's Bazaar.

-When is it?

Monday, May 17th, 7pm-11pm SL time

-What shall I wear?

Middle-eastern garb suggested, or victorian touring garb, silks, etc. But wear what's comfy for you.

-Do I need a dance ball?

Nope, belly-dance bracelets and drumming animations, hookah, cushions, will be provided.
Everyone is invited, hope to see you there:)

Play it, Blues Boys! (Now w/ music!)

2008-04-04T15:57:00.003-04:00

Play it, Blues Boys!

2008-04-02T05:41:00.007-04:00

The Barrows

2008-03-14T16:48:00.004-05:00

"The Nineteenth Century-
During this century the study of prehistory took shape, due to discoveries in several fields of knowledge. However, there were also set-backs. For instance, the period 1840-1870 was the golden age of barrow looting. Local societies arranged "excavations" for the Sunday afternoon enjoyment of their members who frequently included ladies. Indeed, archeological studies have always offered equal opportunities to those females who have the stanima to compete. In 1870 J. H. Parker informed the Oxford Architectural and Historical Society that 'to find out whether a young lady knows anything of Archaeology or not, is a test whether she has been highly educated or not. The daughters of our higher nobility...are almost always well acquainted with Archaeology. Some of my favorite pupils have been young ladies of this class, our future Duchesses and Countesses.'
However, barrow digging could be as tedious for the diggers as reading most of the accounts of it can be for the modern scholar. Thomas Wright records an unrewarding afternoon in 1854 in which, after procuring a plentiful supply of provisions for picnicking, 'we all felt somewhat of a dissapointment as our men labored hour after hour, and no sepulchral chamber presented itself, and not even a burial-urn could be found to reward our patience'. But all enjoyment was not lost on this occasion, as they contrived to pass the time between eating and digging 'in games of various descriptions- not exactly such as those with which the builders of the mound celebrated when they laid the deceased on his funeral pile- and in other amusements.'"
------From The Origins of Britain- Lloyd and Jennifer Lang 1980

In this spirit, The Duke of Greystoke has opened the longbarrow on his estate to public exploration! Come discover the secrets of the tomb. It is advised to set view to midnight, grab a torch, read the notes as you go thru, and scroll your view perspective somwhat in, as these passages can be cramped. Find the Barrow entrance under the dolmen stones found near the barn, pack a picnic, and enjoy!

Enter the Octagon

2008-02-28T10:14:00.004-05:00

I had the pleasure of touring a nearby state Historical Landmark this last summer, the Hill Octagon House, and was taken with it's beauty and design. Erected in 1854 and renovated to original appearance in recent years, it offers a tour of rambling Victorian-furnished rooms on beautifully situated grounds. Having hit the gift shop, I returned home with a book of its history and copies of the original floor plans.

These plans would come in handy when I decided recently to do my first large-scale build, and, after a few weeks time the structure was finished to my satisfaction, and finally furnished. Here then, is a virtual tour of the new seat of Abeldown, Greystoke, Caledon.

"Welcome, guests! Do come in."

The Parlour

The Dining Room

The Music Room

The Kitchen (with adjoining pantry)

The Washing room (also adjoining the kitchen)

The stairway leading to second, third levels and Cupola.

2nd Level- the Library

Another view of the Library

The Jungle Room (a reading room adjoining the Library)

The Study

Another view of the Study

The Main Bedroom

Another view of the Main Bedroom

The Washroom

Another view of the Washroom

The Dressing Room (adjoining the Washroom)

3rd Level - A Moroccan theme Gaming room

A Ladies Salon

The 1st of two Servant's Rooms

The Servant's Privy

The 2nd Servant's Room

Up the stairs to the Cupola

From the Air

The Structure was far from flawless, yet I learned a lot in it's building. Unfortunately, the conservation of prims is not my strong suit; and it ended up, when furnished, with very little room for any other growth in Greystoke, so it has been reluctantly put away. But I am content now that you have all had a chance to tour it, in a sense. Something else will arise in Greystoke, soon enough. Also, I have a new home in Harborside, and very special developments, attendant upon that, to report in my next journal...!

Caleversary 2

2008-02-27T23:56:00.006-05:00

What a celebration it has been! Fortunately I was able to attend several parts of the festivities, and here are the obligatory pics!

First, at midnight monday/tuesday the 24-hour revelries commenced at my neighbor's castle, the manse of Lord Cymru:

The Guvnah himself attended and, at one point, assumed a clever but telling disguise-

Duchess Gloire was able to join for the next set of Waltzes, Lord Primbroke acting as Master of the Dances-

Upon my return to Middlsea the next day, I was delightfully surprised that I had stumbled on a prime viewing spot for the fireworks, joining Hotspur and noble company on his ship's platform-

At one point I decided to inspect one of the skyrockets before it lifted, and found myself hoisted in the air along with it! Luckily I returned to earth safe and sound, rejoining the company to enjoy the marvelous display.

The final hours of the celebration continued at Cymru, with music courtesy of Sir Zenmondo-

As Her Grace Gloire could not join me for the dance, the kind Miss Discovolante allowed me waltz to end out the evening and the festivities.

Here's a toast to Caledon on her anniversary- and to her next year, to her people and her Guvnah- good health and prosperity to each and ev'ry!

Ducal Shenanigans

2008-01-04T22:55:00.000-05:00

(Novel cover by Gloire!)

Since my return from the Isle of Phillip, Her Grace Gloire, the Duchess of Middlesea and I have become very close, and fine romance has slowly unfolded between us. Here are some recent moments-

Upon beginning a course of the Masonic Tonic, known as Windlight, I celebrated this newfound clarity of vision and restoration of health with a trip with Her Grace to the shores of the Gardens of Apollo, taking in an exquisite sunset-

Days later, a trip to Flashman's Bar, for dancing, and liquor enough to throw caution to the wind for our next adventure--

Soaring high above Caledon, the Duchess shows her acrobatic skills, walking the wing of the ill-piloted biplane I barely kept aloft. Such a brave woman, indeed!

New years Eve brought us together at the stroke of midnight (SL) in Penzance, for the "Many Midnights" New Year's Ball-

Under the expert musical direction of Edward, Count of Primbroke, we waltzed for hour upon hour-

Many were there, But I should mention another happy dancer, Eugenia Burton, whose rez day fell on the 1st-

Thank you to Emilly Orr; Christine, Countess Primbroke, Miss Burton, and all others who dedicated time and talent to make such an enjoyable ball!

The fair Duchess Gloire and I, having grown quite fond of one another, have thought it best to partner, and share our time together as much as we are able. In recent days, we have purchased plots in the new Steelhead Harborside lands, here we survey the Russian-influenced northwest frontier style home, built under her expert direction, that we plan to erect there-

While currently at our dock sits a reminder of Caledon, my Abeldown riverboat, which awaits rechristening as (what else?) "The Duchess Middlesea."

Windlight Elixer

2008-01-04T22:50:00.000-05:00

After many unsuccessful courses of Laudunum, arsenic derivitives, etc I had given up on finding a cure for my ill-vision, listlessness and lethargy; I had resigned myself to awkward moments of obfuscated surroundings and stone-still inability to move or remain conscious for long periods at social gatherings, to my great chagrin...but then came along a new elixer! Masonic Tonic (Of Spurious Derivation but Singular Effectiveness at the Relief of Unwanted Wind and Light-Headedness) also known as "Windlight" has proven to a most wonderful compound! It has freed me of seeing grey blotchiness, of muscle contrition, and of fear of crowded places- my systems, vascular and others, emboldened by my trip to Phillip already, seem improved tenfold! My better system, and vision cleared, the first event of noteworthy nature I took in was Mr Hotspur O'Toole's rez day party- here are a few glimpses-

Automatons attack!

Cosmonauts float!

Pudding-wrestlers battle! (mmm, butterscotch!)

The leather emerges!

Altogether, a wonderful night, free for me from embarassing stiff-leggedness, thanks to the miracles of that magic elixer!

Consiel's Tale

2007-12-10T14:06:00.000-05:00

One cold eve at the Abeldown Penguin Preserve, the gathered male penguins shiver in the dark while guarding their young charges, patiently awaiting the return of the hunting females. Tedium and the cold winds grip them, and one, The pengi Conseil, offers a diversion- to relate the tale of the conclusion of the Phillip expedition. This meets with acquiescent , if not enthusiastic, barks, so he sets about his task...

As darkness falls, the pengi sets up his Polyopticon and readies the plates of his travelogue

Conseil tells a tale of hardship, having discovered a vast inland sea below-ground his master and companions had set out on a make -shift raft to reach the far side. the journey proceeded several days, during which he witnessed battling Sea-Bunnehs, dangerous torrents and duels of double-entendre much beyond his understanding.

Yet when the rations ran short, he faced a greater danger, as glistening utensils were wielded by a peckish Baron, indifferent to endangered species laws under such circumstances.

A hasty retreat was in order, and with a splash, he parted from this company.

After some hours of swimming, climbing, and exploring, a vast cavern opened before for the lost pengi, and within, he found a large hard rock of human make. Cold, hard, and glittery, he drew near.

This was an object of human make, to be sure! He would mark it well for his companions to show his safety-

The cold human boulder burst in a fountain of flame and sparks!

The pengi felt the ground shake beneath him! Distant explosions reported throughout the caverns! Debris fell around him as he waddled quickly, finding a new rift in the wall as the rocks spilled away before him, he jumps into the sea and swims, swims!

Bursts of steam rise from the heating water as he swims to sea, minute upon minute drawing away from the loud crashes, hisses, and explosions behind him. Finally, some miles distant, and no longer feeling the sting of steam upon him, nor the fall of debris, he turns and watches, as the island bursts and boils from within, masses of rock falling into the sea.

Within minutes the explosions subside as the island slowly sinks beneath the water, the boiling Sea foam washing over as it descends.

Conseil worries for his companions, but turns home to Caledon, the threat of Phillip now gone.

Conseil relates how all who journeyed to the island came back safely, to heroe's welcomes, and he was most happy to see his master safe and sound again. A bin of Tuna was delivered to him soon after, as reward for his actions; and how, in further reward, safe unburdened residence was granted by the new Duke on his duchy for all pengikind.

Conseil puffs up and chokes back a tear of pride.

Suddenly a request is heard from the crowd of pengis:

Conseil shrugs assent and opens another pack of slides......

____________________________________________

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( Also, apparently I've been "Tagged " several times by the following-

**now the rules**The rules of tagging are simple, and as follows.(1) Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.(2) People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.(3) At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.(4) Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog

So, here are the facts about the writer:

1. I am the son of Beatniks. One a poet/painter, and the other a folk-singer. They knew and disliked Bobby Zimmerman. My Mother would sing me to sleep as a child with songs about houses made of "ticky-tacky" and spanish revolution songs.

2. I 'm not very religious, though have read a number of rare mystical tomes for enjoyment and cultural insight.

3. My favorite autographs are: bloody palm stains from Penn and Teller on an early Skeptical Enquirer article written by them, and a bar napkin signed by Robyn Hitchcock from a bar long since burned down.

4. I did Medieval recreation for a long time, but do it less now as I work weekends and eves. My focus was 14th Century France. In one organization I attained noble rank, and gained skill with medieval weapons.

5. I ventured to Panama for business for 6 weeks once, and found a heaven on earth at El Valle de Anton. Lush gardens in a former volcanic basin, a zoo, hotsprings, etc. Given a choice, it is where I would someday retire to.

6. I'm a film fan, loving classic 40's through modern; love all types of music, having a large collection.

7. I read mostly non-fiction, formerly medieval, now more victorian. Lately, I am re-reading an account of the war of 1812. (eyes Canajians out there warily.)

8. I have a stuffed plush leopard named Leppo I rescued from a stand at Disney's Animal Kingdom. He sits next to me as I type, inspiring much mayhem as Gnarli-Kitty.

Let the tags end here:)

From the Bowels

2007-09-26T01:52:00.000-04:00

Miss Connolly, My warmest regards.

Again my apologies for the delay in contacting you. We remain safe, and have travelled many leagues, through the winding tunnels and tubes that descend and twist in the depths of the Isle of Phillip. Such sights have we seen! Your receipt of this notes shows the pigeon has found some adit through which to pass, as it hoped it would.

Let me preface by recalling our discovery of these caverns- You will have known by now of our encounter with the native tribe here, how most of our party was captured and rescued by the daring Kiralette. My role in the plan of rescue was to circle the encampment, approach and contain from the flanking pathway.

I must admit I became uncertain of my route, and struggled through the heavy bush, but soon found myself at forested vale out of earshot of my fellows; and continued my trudging through this brush, ever wary of Bunneh-sign. Suddenly, in the depths of this forest, a figure of a brawny man dropped from the vines above me, clad only in tiger skin loincloth, muscles ripping, and let loose a loud frightening yodel of doom.

Backward I faltered, tripping, splayed as he towered madly over me. He paused, looking over me, examining my clothing- his anger turned to confusion, he spoke in broken English "You. No Icky!... No Spork!?"

Struggling to my feet, I reached for my revolver, but hesitated to draw, as he slowly moved forward, curious , but no longer threatening. He drew a handkerchief from my jacket pocket as I stood very still (as I usually do with madmen). This was obviously some non-native outcast, I surmised. Perhaps, examining the rickety tree house and garden I now saw beyond, I had stumbled on some sort of native asylum, and it's sole resident.

The savage sniffed at the cologned kerchief. "You. Like Jane?"

"Austen? Hrmm yes, excellent reading:)" I said, thoroughly confused. "Have you tried Cleland? It's like Jane, but Norty" I added.

He reached out and thumped my chest with his palm. "You...not...like Jane." He said with a note of disappointment. "Tarzan..need...Jane" he said, rolling his eyes. "Tarzan...Have...Cheetah," he elaborated. "Tarzan...fear...Ebola."

With this, the savage turned and walked toward his jungle shanty, turning once to bid me to follow. Seeing a potential ally here, I followed, to ask direction a back to the encampment, as the rescue effort was soon to commence.

A strange mixture of jungle furniture and modern relics were strewn about the place. A 5-man poker table, worn and disused, deserted by some long closed and forgotten casino, took up the center of the hut. He immediately sat here, and pointed to the other mossy stump"You sit!' Tarzan..play..Holdem."

Examining my watch and glancing at the door, I asked "Can you show me the way to the Itchysporkchowchow camp, old boy? It would be dashed kind of you."

"Sit..first! Tarzan...go...Long...walk...Tarzan...swim...many day! No Holdem, nowhere! We Play!"

I Said "Erm, is that even legal, now?"

"I look...like...Linden? Sit!"

"Well," I said, sitting, "perhaps one hand.."

After sacrificing my kerchief to my host as ante, he offered coconuts, sex benches, and various freebie boxes which I each in turn denied as worthwhile stake. Finally he produced a crudely drawn island map on fine parchment- this I gratefully accepted, and play proceeded. Having won quickly on a lucky draw to three queens I got up to leave. "Tarzan...waste...life." he sighed. "Cheetah...right. Tarzan...is...Fish." Feeling the press of charity, I left my kerchief in consolation.

I trotted off with a bow and examined the map, finding my way to the path quickly. As I folded the map I noticed it was drawn on the back of a document of some sort, well drawn up. I tucked it away and hurried on to help my compatriots; who, by the time I arrived, had been rescued, of course.

As the Duchesses, Baronesses, etc dried, Dr. Sputnik and I examined the map, noting some nearby markings designated with arrows. One we found nearby- an cavernous opening that led to murky depths. The footprints at the entrance showed evidence of heavy use. Baron Bardhaven , examining certain other markings on the map, which I insisted stay in my possession, had secretive conferences with Darkling, and insisted we immediately proceed below.

Lighting torches and loading the remaining Pengis with what loads of provision they would bear, we set out below. Two more had joined our company, well known to the others, a pixie and Strongman- they seemed no-nonsense and just as concerned for the fate of Caledon, and I was welcome for their company. Downward we plodded, through tunnel after tunnel, The Baron oft muttering at each turning, and Darkling lost in concentration. yet skillfully leading. Or being led, it seemed. Soon the heat was noticeably growing, as I think we neared the active flows of the living cone.

This was proved correct as we passed through a large cavern, open below at a side, and the red fiery glow of a lava flow shone reflected against the walls and roof. Onward we travelled. In another chamber this light grew stronger, and the heat caused us to shed all but essential garments, increasing the burdens of the poor pengi. As we reached another passage we halted- before us great rumblings. I stole a peek around our leaders and saw a narrow rock bridge ahead, straddling a river of lava, burning in it's flow beneath. Beyond this- the unlikely sight of sand leading downward, a glimmer of silver water, and a great roaring familiar to me as the ocean side- yet quite out of place so many leagues underground. As the leaders watched, a great ball of fire, a huge lava orb leaped up and sputtered from the flow. And, exploding, molten rock sputtered and sizzled over the narrow bridge between us and the sand. Quite dangerous, I opined, and returned to the back of the group to rest. Taking a moment to examine the back of the map, I read carefully. It was some sort of deed...Lands in Caledon...Patents for a transferable Duchy! oh my! I must investigate this! yet, I knew that there may not be a Caledon should we not complete this quest...perhaps on the voyage back I shall eat a little better.

So I close here, and fasten this note to trusty pigeon, who, with the help of providence and natural gift of guidance will find way to you. Fear not, for all is not yet lost!

Your Servant

G. Abel (Duke?)

Gnarli Remains Chased

2007-08-29T01:56:00.000-04:00

Running! A Protohare hot on my heels, I run forward, through forest and clearing it bounds behind, ever nearing!
I urge myself on:

"Oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez!...great oogiley-boogily! It's still there! Puff, puff..."

"Maybe it..wants..to be...friends? Huff...huff.."

"RaWWWWrRRRRRR!!!" it intoned.

"No, ...bad idea... Best...run!..pant, pant..."

"Climb...climb..climb...Cough! Bunnies can't climb!...*sputter*."

"It's jumping!!! Duck!!!"
The great beast drew back and jumped- it long furry body barely grazed mine as it sailed over my bent form.. Overshooting, it fell in a slow spiral down the other side...

Plummeting with a flare and hiss into the lava flows far below.

Slowly, I caught my breath and descended again to the forest. Another hare passed in the distance, heading towards the beach. I hesitated as it passed, then set forth again into the dense foliage.

As I drew nearer the beach, who should come bounding out but my dear Kiralette! We took a happy shelter in a safe glen as she told me of the appearance of a group of savages at the beach, and the plight of our fellow adventurers. We considered how we might effect their rescue, and what our next move might be. Long minutes we spent thankful for each other's safety and pondering..

Suddenly, I felt a familiar warm wetness on my calf as my trusty Pengi Conseil made his presence known, in a most agitated and animated way...

The Fossil-Hare

2007-08-17T15:19:00.000-04:00

Dispatch by Carrier-Bird

Dear Miss Connolly

I'm sure you will be grateful to hear we have achieved landfall, if in a rather sudden way, and have succeeded in erecting a base camp on this beach before venturing into the interior. As a rather surprising turn of events, we have discovered a stowaway- Miss Kiralette could not restrain from attending such an adventure, and made her presence known at landfall.
While I am fearful for her safety, I am gladdened she is near, in this, the final days of Caledon should we fail to discover the secrets of this island's appearance, and how to address the damage a vast volcanic explosion is likely to cause.

Several huts have been erected to stow our equipment and provide needed shelter once the boat departs to a safe distance, which it seems is the intention of it's captain, come the favorable tides and repair of the inadvertent damage it's sudden landfall wrought on the hull.

That the craft was being piloted by a Pengi, I will admit, for often I let the birds mimic my steering on the Steamboat at home- note that boat though, is land-locked, lacking an engine of yet, so I'm sure the bird in mimicking my actions at home had no expectation of a crash, or even control of movement of the craft, but only intent to help the captain by holding and turning the big wheel in his absence. Be that as it may, a the crash did occur, luckily no-one was hurt.

The Pengis have been uneasy of late, and one seems to have utterly disappeared the first night- I assume the burden I had given it sapped it of the will to journey, and over side it went to swim home. This is unusual for the character of these birds, who are usually steadfast and hardy, but I see no other explanation. This second night, they did not wish to be bedded down, clucking nervously as I left. One even ventured out of the hay-bed, and ended up seeking the company of Duchess Eva, who was startled in her sleep by the unexpected hronking.

The remaining birds have been brought ashore, and, after regurgitating on my leg in their peculiar method of thanks, seem much more content in these surrounding, as dangerous as they may seem.

I must not omit a discovery made by the professor at our land-fall, that of enormous depressions in the earth which he ascribes to rodents of extraordinary size. None have been spotted and However large, I trust our fire will keep them at bay for the night.

Evening- a fitful sleep due to gaseous rumblings and noxious gasses present here. No names.

Dawn- I awake to find another Pengi missing, the others in a fright- they screech as Bardhaven approaches, but I find nothing unusual in this. I move into the forest, where it has likely fled, penetrating the ferny brush, There on the ground I see a vegetable, a carrot of extraordinary size! Clearly as large as small-bore cannon. Half nibbled, and discarded, as I move to touch it it gives off an uncommon heat, so I leave it for the professor to examine in situ. I continue into the verdant rain forest, and reach an escarpment- Looking down i am amazed by the sight in front of me.

It is a rabbit in form, but an elephant in size, It sits amidst a field of ferns- wait, not ferns, these are carrot-tops of the size seen earlier, springing haphazardly from the soil, which is also strewn with overturned canisters, barrels of metal, with strange glyph-markings on the sides. This Beast does not see me as it sits in its field, waiting, perhaps tending. It sits 12 foot tall at the shoulder, its plush fur interrupted by enormous fangs protruding form it's whiskered head.
This, then, is the lepus Giganticus, the Proto-bunny, who has not walked the earth these 10,000 years, patiently minding it's garden!

I find charcoal and my journal and quickly begin to sketch in my seclusion, noting it's features, eager to return this back to the Professor for study. As I draw I am thankful that this monster is a herbivore, content with the giant carrots in abundance. I sketch on, when I see a wild boar slowly near the field, grazing at the carrot-tops, ignorant of the stone-still Paleobunneh in it's path. With a swoop, faster than my speed of sight, and but a horrible blur, the Protohare swoops up this boar in it's great clawed paw, picks the boar up and pops it in his mouth, where it is munched quietly.

I can but gasp!

Later- Running and Hiding

It has seen me! and is close behind, I must make for camp, even should it follow... I hope you receive this missive safely, pray for my safety, too! I must hurry!

G. Abel

I

Summer Pilots

2007-08-17T04:50:00.000-04:00

Scene: A Corporate Boardroom at SLTV

Chairman: Gentleman, I've called you here because, as you know, numbers are slumping for the "Journey to 20,00 Leagues Beneath the Center of The Mysterious Island" Miniseries- we're at risk of losing sponsors, boys, let's salvage this thing! We've got plenty of footage, I want Ideas!
Ok, Johnny, what have you got?

Executive Johnny Bravo: Ok, in a nutshell- Rebrand and Retool! I've been tinkering with the formats and, boy, have I got winner in there somewhere!

Chairman: Let's see 'em.

Bravo: Ok, -now we're stuck on this Vernian steampunk kick; here's an alternative-- Tikipunk!!

Chairman: Tikipunk?

Bravo: Keep your eyes on the screen...ok, we open with a catchy sea shanty-type jingle..

Oh, sit right back and you'll hear the tale of of this Gnarlihotep dip..
He started from old Cal-e-don upon this Pirate's ship..
Lah-dah-dah-dah,,etc..etc...
A Three hour tooooourrr...

Really catchy tune, explaining all the characters so no-one has to read the profiles, its all there..

With Gnarligannnn..a Duchess or twoooo
The Darkling muse..and her Kniiife
Mr Bardhaven (Woo-oooo)
The Professor and Terry and
Amber and Kira are

Here on MYYSTERRIOUS ISLLLLLE!

Bravo: Episode 1
Gnarligan finds some radioactive carrots after foll0wing giant rabbit tracks- He takes them to the gorgeous Amber who is busy summoning a spirit (likely an expensive Vodka) and she suggests he advise the professor. Gnarligan is hypnotised by her heaving breasts, but tears himself away and stumbles on, the laugh-track following..

The Professor is hard at work on an arcane bit of scientific invention, when Gnarligan interrupts, The Prof. asks him to wait patiently, and moving backward Gnarligan sits on the etheral travel cabinet which collapses with a crunch. Big laughs! The professor grimaces and shouts Gnarligan off..

Gnarligan takes his news to Mr Bowelhaven instead, who guffaws at him derisively, and demands more Penguin-cream pie, before smacking him on the head with his lead-weighted smacking-cap, the laugh track goes crazy!!

Chairman: Stop! No, this won't work. We've got 3 Mary-Annes and 3 Gingers! How are we gonna work the screen time? No go. Next idea!

Bravo: Ok, scratch that. Let's talk value, bang for your buck! Screw the unions, we can do a reality show- edited nastiness and sex throughout, interviews, starvation, injury, and shivering misery on a sunny island, it's what the people want! It'll be great! Gentlemen, Behold...SURVEYOR : Mysterious Island!!!

Duchess Gabrielle: I was surprised that on our first day here we faced a team challenge, it really got started fast. The challenge was to eat the most repulsive mess you ever saw, we tried hard to choke it down for the team, but I must tell you, it was most insistent on returning, and did so very quickly in my case.

Baron Bardhaven : I have suffered, and caused suffering in my time, but never in quite so perverse a way as the foul feast we were challenged to consume. This shall be a difficult month if this is the level of the challenges, truly!

Kiralette Kelly: I...I..Don't want to talk about it....Don't make me....or I'll kick your shin.

Terry Lightfoot: I don't appreciate being dragged here and disgusted in that way, my goddess! I've lived for hundreds of your earth years and It's been a long time since something that disgusting passed my lips! (Don't you say a damned word, Bardhaven, I'm warning you..!)

Gnarlihotep Abel: Well..I tried to make dinner for everyone the first night, but I don't think it went well...

Giant Killer Bunneh: I just want to get to the killin', myself.

Chairman: Too Cerebral!

Bravo: ?!

Bravo: Ok, here we go, last one-- The castaways wake up stranded on the island..now, time to explore and survive...

Gnarli: Wow, I feel weird- I coulda swore I saw that brush moving...Maybe I should go find Kiralette..

Duchess Eva: I've got a bad feeling about this Island. First the Penguin dream, then the giant killer Rabbits, The Lavaflows, and likely fierce lurking natives...Let's face it, this expedition is.....

Into the Jaws of Adventure

2007-08-08T14:03:00.001-04:00

With fair winds behind us, the Arronax sped quickly to her destination, The Isle of Phillip. The hearty adventures aboard settled in, securing stateroom or cabin as class dictated. I noted that I was the only traveller who had thought to bring a pack-animal (save Baroness Amber, who had brought Millie) and thought this boded ill for my feathered friends, who may now be expected to bear all means of trunks, instruments, and minibars for the more negligent journeyers. But this I consented to, with care for the expedition. Just after my Tribune dispatch was completed, and was safely sent off by pigeon, I heard the short bells calling us to mess.

The Captain, a Frenchman, of most swarthy and unkempt appearance, had invited the nobility to dine; and there, in the captain's mess, gathered the noble gentles for a fine repast, (so I am told.)

The "Salt of the Earth" were relegated to another mess room. Although I had paid the sum requested by Bardhaven (the Commoner's Fare, he called it) the food was unsavory and disappointing. I made conversation with Dr. Sputnik, Miss Lightfoot being away from table, examining the mealy hardtack that we had been apportioned.

The species of weevil represented here amazed me, had I not undertaken this journey, I would likely never have encountered such a variety of parasitic life! There was a fiery Red Flour beetle. These beetles are about 1/8 inch long and reddish-brown in color. Females may live a year or more, dropping up to 500 eggs on infested foods. Small, white worms (larvae) hatch from these eggs and they feed until they're about 1/6 inch long. Under ideal conditions, development from egg to adult takes about two months. This gigantic specimen wriggled with great agility, half buried in the tack.

I looked on with delight as Dr Oolon identified several other fellow travellers in this infestation, noting a Sawtoothed Grain Beetle, Indian Meal Moth larvae, and several variety of Dermestid worms which cavorted amongst the fungus of the hardtack like large legless deer in green swards. The learned Doctor gave classification for each loitering beast as he described their metamorphic habits and unique deviances, and this passed the time well.

Seeming to tire of this taxonomy, I noticed Dr. Oolon staring at my grey shocks of hair and I thought to alieve him of what might be a difficult question to ask, by stating: "I see you are curious about my grey? It is unnatural for one so young, yes, I shall tell you the story of how I came to have it?"

I ignored his "Truthfully, I was staring at a zit.." and I continued. "These shocks were received one terrible night while serving as a sailor on the good ship Boondocks."

"You were on the Boondocks?" He said, interest perking slightly.

"Yes, steaming out of Galveston with a fine load of fish oil destined for Florida, and on a warm July morn, in the Gulf, the boilers blew. 700 men went into the water... the vessel went down in 12 minutes, the ocean slicked by the fishy oil, coating our skin as the clothing was shred from our bodies. Didn't see first Dolphin for about half an hour. Bottlenose, 6-footer. You know how you know that, Dr.? You tell by looking from the dorsal to the tail. Well, we didn't know. 'Course our Fish-oil mission had been so lucrative, no-one had been told we were out there."

I took a drink of water and continued..

"They didn't even list us overdue for a week. The very first light, Dr, the Dolphins come a-cruisin' -this was their mating ground, and the fish oil slick only made them randier..we tried forming into tight groups, kinda like old squares in the calendars, like at the battle of Waterloo? Where the idea was, Dolphin rubs against the nearest man, and the man managed to pound and hollar and scream...and sometimes the Dolphin'd go away...and sometimes he wouldn't go away, sometimes the dolphin'd look right in your eyes...

You know the dolphin's got purty blue eyes? Like a lamb in softness and sweetness? Those eyes look right into you, well, until they start their rubbing...Savaging... when those eyes narrow and squint with dastardly delight...the men commence a' yelling, and with the beating of the flippers and arms, the ocean turns foamy, and what with all the pounding and the hollering the bottlenoses all come in...and their bottlenoses go where bottlenoses should not venture...

On Thursday morning I bumped into a friend of mine, Harry Roberts, out of Altoona.. Slingo player, Bosun's mate..I thought we was asleep..reached over to wake him up, he just nodded and bobbed up and down, smiling...well...he'd been nuzzled, below the waist. At noon the fifth day a tugboat passed along, a young pilot, much younger than Baron Zealot, happened along and collected us- we had to restrain him from getting in the water too...he was a odd chap, that. Maybe it was the Baron? No...Well, that was the time I was most frightened, seeing that pilot stripping to jump in the water...waiting for my turn...er, to get out. Since then I've borne these grey shocks!"

"You were savaged by dolphins?" asked the doctor.
"Nearly, yes...and I have often considered directing my vengeance against the critter that that nearly had me..but I ask myself..

To what Porpoise?"

The doctor paused a moment, then replied "Mr Abel, I must say, conversation with you reminds me of a particular chum."

"Oh? Which chum is that?

"Examine the bucket behind you."

To the Cay

2007-08-06T03:20:00.000-04:00

Dispatch- By Pigeon courier

Miss Connolly, I hope this message comes quickly and finds you well.

My trip to Caledon was speedy and safe, and soon I set out with my fowl-of-burden to join the voyage of discovery to the new isle of Phillip.

I paused before leaving Kittywickshire at Kittyswitch, residence of the beautiful former ward of the Bardhaven estate, Miss Kiralette Kelley. I had hoped to see her before I begun the long journey, unfortunately, she was nowhere to be found. I left a note explaining my journey, and conveyed my most tender sentiments and hope for her safety. How I shall miss her!

I pressed on through Caledon's highways, to Mayfair, where, at the Bardhaven house, again I searched for Miss Kelley to no avail. Baroness Bardhaven looked slightly unnerved by the emergence of Phillip, but seemed oddly glowing despite this, and politely offered me a spot of tea before I joined the Baron, who already departed for the Cay to ready the ship for our voyage. I declined, and pressed the wagon on to the Cay.

The ship lay waiting, the loading of provisions having begun, there I found my fellow journeyers- The Noble Duchesses of Carntraigh and Loch Avie, Their Graces Gabrielle and Eva; The Baronesses Amber and Darkling (although the last is a foreign title, I understand), and together with the Baron Bardhaven this formed a very Noble company, indeed. The learned Doctor Sputnik attended as well, with his companion Miss Lightfoot and we together formed the common element of this voyage of discovery. Barnss Amber has brought a decrepit maid-servant, much advanced in years and of questionable reliance.

I summoned my pack-bearers forward, and they seemed to draw much amusement from the onlookers- I took no notice of this, knowing their true worth and usefulness.

Baron Bardhaven deigned to converse with me by asking what wine I would drink with a penguin, I was about to answer that the penguins preferred rum to wine, when our attention was distracted by some fine barrels of provisions coming aboard.

I sensed a familiar scent as it passed, and could not place it though it distracted me greatly.

Unpacking my goods from the Pengis, and relieving them of their burdens, I combed them, then set them to a well-bedded pen, stocked with a bucket of fresh catch, with which they seemed quite content. Finding myself with a bit of time, I lit to the deck and surveyed the Infant Isle closely with a spyglass. Phillip rises into the air from a green, verdant base, a large cone capped intermittently with the flashes of fire that betray looming activity. Rumbles course from the isle, the lands of the Cay echoing it's vibrations in small shocks. Dr Sputnik has advised me the situation is dire, that this activity threatened Caledon as a whole- these calculations have been confirmed by Dr Beaker of the Society, and this danger causes me no little concern.

Around the ring of the base of the Isle I have spied small plumes of smoke that could be taken as campfires and evidence of native presence, but could also be but venting of the volcanic activity, so I draw no conclusions here. Until the isle is set foot upon, we shall not know.

I do assume the isle will not be fit for parcelling, owing to it's unstable and volatile nature. But, then again, I have seen worse lands well-occupied, so we shall see. The Boat now leaves the harbor, and we begin our journey in earnest. As I sit on the barrel of apples that so distracted me, and continues to vex me with a familiar feel, I stare back fondly at the Caledonian shore, wondering if I shall ever see it again...

I close, your servant, etc

G. Abel

The March to Bardhaven

2007-08-04T03:35:00.000-04:00

Packing was completed quickly, assembling weapons, instruments (both scientific and musical) a reference library, stout shoes, food-rations, and many towels. These I shared out to each of my fowly sherpas, not over-burdening their wee frames.

As daylight spread we assembled for the jaunt to Bardhaven's Manse, each bird clucking and chirping happily under their charges, and eager for the journey.

I sped my noble steed, Johnny Thunder, ahead, furiously we charged across the plains and streams of Kittiwickshire, straining forward, unstopping in our gallop, the wind rushing in hair and mane as the yards hurriedly swept underfoot, the quiet morn broken only by a constant thwumping and squealing in our wake...Eventually, I turned to investgate this noise...

The sweet birdy bearers recovered from their bruises and consoled by a fine fish feast, we set out again, this time safely in a Conestoga. I scritched ruffled feathers as we drove along, a cheerful song escaping from my lips, the pengis squwaking along..

"Got a whale of a tale to tell you, birds, a whale of a tale or two-ooo
'Bout the flapping fish and the girls ive met
on days like this 'fore the sun has set
a whale of a tale and it's all true,
I swear by my "hottie" tatoo!

There was dainty Darkling..
twere a mirthsome modelin' maiden
and her eyes so sparkling
evidenced of patience fadin'
Her witchwand quicker than any tombstone gun
when they saw the wand in hand the griefers knew to run

Oh, Got a whale of a tale to tell you, birds, a whale of a tale or two-ooo
'Bout the flapping fish and the girls ive met
on days like this 'fore the sun has set
a whale of a tale and it's all true,
I swear by my "hottie" tatoo!"

(to be continued)

Prologue to Adventure!

2007-08-03T00:34:00.001-04:00

My story begins in the bustling town of Tombstone, Arizona. I had returned here, as I often do, to manage certain investments and examine the growth of the town, which is ever-changing and improving upon itself. Not that it is a peaceful or relaxing place; rather, it can be boisterous and murderous if one is thrust into the typical situations of mis-communication that tends to leave slow-to-act strangers either dangling from a rope or staining the street with some bodily fluid or another, too often blood-red, through some misfortune of step or speech. Therefore have I sought a haven from violence here, and found it the reading rooms of the charming and well-armed Miss Connolly, also of Regency, Caledon.

Along with Miss Connolly's station as the editor of the appropriately named town paper "The Epitaph," she also edits a fledgling world-journal of some note "The Connolly Telegraph" devoted to international interest, and covering the doings of many a civilised nation, including Steelhead, Caledon, and others. Above her offices here is a restful library, a den unknown it seems by all but the most erudite locals, and therefore is to me a sanctuary in the storm that Tombstone can be.

In exchange for use of and relief gained by this well-stocked reading room, as shelter to both relax and to review my papers while here, I have agreed to donate time to her International Journal, and aide where suited; and, as this agreement has met with both of our approval, I had once again taken advantage of this offer by stretching out on the library's well-stuffed divan with a volume of Byron, when I heard a summons from Miss Connolly as she worked in her office below..

"Mr Abel??!?"

Hearing the urgent nature of the summons, I quickly trotted downstairs where she bade me sit, with look of import in her expression, she paced a moment, then took seat at her desk across from me. "Esteemed Mr. Abel..." She began.

"Mr Abel, while I do appreciate your efforts and eagerness as illustrator, I really must question the results of your last assignment...Now, you were sent to illustrate the opening of a new haberdashery in town, but the results of this event were...well, not obvious in your depiction. Tell me sir, are you familiar with copper engraving or daguerreotype facsimile?"

I asserted "I am, but did not use that approach for this assignment..."

"Ah, you did use an approach, then?" she rejoined with a hint of sarcasm.

I replied "Yes, Indeed...lately I have been influenced by the schools of Impressionism and Minimalism, and I used a combination of these with my depiction..."

"I see, that explains why the illustration that was submitted to the printer, and reached my readers, of the opening of a hat store...comprised of two small crimson dots in a 6x8 inch square? Frankly, most readers thought they had shut the page on an insect of some sort! Tell me, sir, do you find that depiction to be a clear communication of the Business's opening and products available?" she said, a little testily.

I sputtered a trite "Art...must advance...ummm...see, the one dot was 'commercialism in bondage,' the second represents a great deal on a beaver skin tophat.."

"Mr. Abel..", she interrupted, now caressing her fwc sawed-off shotgun plainly in annoyance. "Mr. Abel, I have a different type of assignment for you that I expect you to be more successful with. I know you are literate, perhaps journalistic record would be more suited to you. Therefore, I have arranged an assignment, and a journey I would like you to partake in."

"Oh?" I said, interested in my life continuing.

"Shocking news has reached us from Caledon, a most unthought-of event has occurred and taken the country by surprise."

"SLRFL is finally over?" I giggled.

She glowered back "SLRFL is a wonderful charity that many people should be thanked for, for working very hard on."

"SLRFL is a wonderful charity that many people should be thanked for, for working very, very hard on!" I agreed instantly.

She continued, "The news I refer to is that a steaming volcanic island has risen from the Sea of Caledon, quite mysteriously, and may contain natives, jungle habitat, and great treasure, for all that is known."

"This is not Regency, then." I spoke, thinking the isle type ill-fitted for a regency romantic theme.

"Not Regency indeed, but a land already dubbed "Phillip" and ready for mapping and inquiry--for, Mr. Abel, --Our readers want to know the vital information! What are the lot sizes and are they pre-booked?!"

I nodded in agreement. "Then you wish me to travel, and investigate, report back, is this right?

"Yes, Immediately. I have pulled some strings with the Caledon Research team to get them to accept yo...er, to add your name to their team. You must return to Caledon at once to join them. You will accept this assignment, yes?"

"Certainly," I said "It is the right and good thing to do."

"Bon Voyage, then" she said as I rose and turned for the door. As I stepped outside and mounted my steed, I thought I heard her chuckling evilly, but that may just be the way Miss Connolly chuckles normally, for all I know. Chuckles vary.

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I stopped only at the telegraph office to notify the expedition's organizer, Baron Bardhaven, of acceptance and soon arrival, then lit out for a speedy ride to Caledon, to Kittiwickshire to assemble supplies for the journey.

I rode to the north coast and viewed the foreboding new isle, jutting rudely from the placid waters of the Caledon sea. What strange adventures awaited there?

I hurried home, packed a trip-sack, then gathered together my pack-penguins for loading...

Coming Soon...

2007-08-02T05:04:00.001-04:00

Creature Comfort

2007-07-25T05:50:00.000-04:00

(Sung to the tune of The Ballad of Davey Crockett)

Bored on a primmy lot on the Caledon Sea
Made a green Estate, to keep the airways free
Rezzed him a woods, so's he knew'd every tree
Found him a Bahr-cub to keep him company!

Gnarleee...Gnarli-hotep! He's the guy we're singing bout here!

Gnarli always felt he should treat the critters fair/
So he took it off to Steelhead, and they set to drinking there/
Then over to the brothel ,where he pushed it up the stair/
It went up the steps a cub, and came down a bear/

Gnarlee..Gnarli-hotep! Is buying another beeer!

He Paddled back to Caledon a-when the evening fell/
A-running into banks, being drunk as hell/
Opened up the door and was hit by a smell/
And an angry mother bear who was waiting thar as well !

Gnarlee...Gnarli-Hotep! Is Hidin' up in a tree!

Gnarli's Av: Stop!!!!! I've had it! Post after post of these ridiculous situations!! These posts should be about your experience in SL, what you've learned, not just contrived narratives, right?!!

Gnarli's Av: You could post about the fun you're having- your rediscovery of Tombstone and how much it's changed, or the great Skating party at Kittyswitch and how much fun that was..Or for heaven's sake, the adoration you feel for Miss Kiralette and how you you are filled with bliss every moment you spend with her! These are real posting subjects, not Keanu Reeves, bear-debauching, or a senile old coot spouting!

Gnarli's Av: Well, I've had it!! I insist that you start posting about items of of relevance and stop making me look like a fool!!!

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Princess Gnarlikitti was a kitty with a very special secret...

Interview With a World Warrior

2007-07-14T18:07:00.000-04:00

43 years later -

One summer day in 1897, a Steam-Car approaches the parked wagon of an encamped grizzled old man vending from the riverside. As the auto sputters to a halt, it disgorges a smartly-dressed journalist clutching notepad and pen, who nods and chortles a greeting to the old man.

Interviewer: Good day, Sir!

Gnarli: Howdy! Can I interest you in a penguin?

Interviewer: Pardon?

Gnarli: Penguin, son! Finest of the fowl! these dance, too! I can let you have one for 15 Lindens.

Interviewer: ...How amusing.. but actually..Pardon, sir, might you be Mr Gnarlihotep Abel? of Caledon Kittiwickshire?

Gnarli: Aye, that I be! How may I help you, son?

Interviewer: Well, I understand you witnessed the Alien Attack incident of '54? The battle for Caledon? I'd like to record your story about what happened.. about the defense, what happened that day?

Gnarli: Ish!..a sad day! ...then a penguin perhaps?

Interviewer: Yes, perhaps. Do you have recollections of the day?

Gnarli: Well...why sure, young man, I can tell you about that...But these are mighty fine penguins, you may want to consider buying one..

Interviewer: I understand you were residing there when it happened?

Gnarli: Well, let me think back..yep, It was just after I had worked on the Abeldown estate, got it in order. I recall I then had some fool notion about running a steamship service between Steelhead and Caledon (they were two different lands back then) but had no idea how to man that ship, being used to the sail. The engines baffled me and I was casting about for an engineer and chief..Now I recall..

Gnarli: It was a July morning in 1854, I had..., let's see, already taken delivery of a steamship and was refitting it - my, I cut a dashing figure back then! I was not with the militia, as was normal in that day, balking at being ordered about since my calvary days (did I mention I was in the US calvary? anyway...) I recall the militia had split into two factions, with an argument about the best way to suck eggs, or some such...I was never much of an egg-sucker myself, so I payed no mind..anyhoo,

Gnarli: I remember that day I was fitting out the sternwheeler, and had jumped in the lagoon to pull out some pesky bullrushes, I remember that distinctly, when I heard an alarm raised- Aliens in Caledon! Not knowing what to expect, I ran aboard the steamer, grabbed my shotgun and went a-running, my clothes dripping, sopping wet, a-to the village, where I could see some kind of commotion from afar.

Gnarli: Coming into the village and looking down the street, I saw shiny figures with long draping legs or tentacles hanging and writhing, massive, high as a church steeple, hovering and menacing, moving near the main square above running, scattered, people below. I heard shots ring out, and as I watched, these beasts held aloft some sort of disk from which leaped bright fire, jetting forth to building-side and street-face, bursting flame everywhere. I stood in shock for a moment, not summoning myself to move until a great lash of fire struck near me to one side..I ducked and ran- I could feel the searing around me as I sped for the waterfront, my wet clothes now steaming and drying as I leaped past the flames.

Gnarli: On I ran..half dazed, till I met the shore and in the water I went, soothing, collecting my wits. The screams, shouts and shots continued, I heard ricochets and calls for stronger arms. Hopeless wailing in a case or two were shouted out by rallying calls. My shotgun had been emptied to no avail, I reloaded, and considered what could be done with these small arms in the face of the fiery threat.

Gnarli: As I looked up on Mr Mako's dock I saw my answer- a twelve pounder howitzer laid idle. Once having had the acquaintence of an officer of artillery, I had studied the firing of these guns, and knew it could be managed by one, so I gathered my strength and lit upon the dock, pressing and pulling the gun carriage to the street as the battle continued around the salty mermaid. Dashing back to retrieve a wheel-barrow of cartridge-made shot, I returned to the gun...

Interviewer: And then?

Gnarli: I poised the gun with a guess at elevation and opened my own barrage at the tall squid-like mechanism. Shot after shot I loaded and fired, flame-rays raining close on two occasions...I recall one monster made it's way over me, the other haven fallen at the mermaid under combined fire- I wheeled the gun around and opened up again, missing wildly, I am sure...At that time I heard the song of the beasts as they past overhead--"OohLahLah" it moaned. I felt the heat rise around me, and ducked for cover as fire burst up to either side... I took refuge behind a brick step and then, at once the remaining beast had departed..I learned later they had left to ravage other caledonian lands, but I hoped at that point they had gone for good.

Gnarli: I remember suryeying the destruction done, burning fires, injured defenders, a crumpled mechanism down which some continued to blast at. The call went up that these beasts were afoot elsewhere, had destroyed a militia camp and were still eager for mischief. I knew we must take the fight to them.

Gnarli: Not willing to settle for any less armament than this cannon, I fetched my horses, riding the Roan, I strapped the gun carriage to the strong bay and lit out in pursuit. Nightfall found me in the moors where I met the injured Baroness Amber, Dr Darien and Mr 98. Soon a troop reassembled after a stirring defense of Tammorach, the division mustered again at the Moors where Field Marshal (he was then but a leftenant colonel) O'Toole described how he had 2 of his favorite steeds shot out from under as he defended his own home and harried the machines throughout the lands of Caledon. A messenger arrived, announcing the beasts were marching on Mayfair, as the Militia formed for march, I sped off as fast as my steeds would allow, through the empty streets of Victoria, north through Cantraigh Duchy..hoping to lend defense through a flanking attack upon entry to Mayfair.

Gnarli: Well, to my surprise, as I neared the square of Cantraigh, there were two giant forms waiting there. I could see them easily, though they could not yet spy me. Hauling the gun up a local prominence, I sent word the beasts were near..then taking aim...

Interviewer: Yes?

Gnarli: I sent volley after volley of twelve pound round, some at blank range, I was savage in my attack, a machine fighting machine, the shot flew, the smoke filled the air, I heard it's song grow louder as it came toward me, the other fled, but one great shiny monster menaced me, casting it's heat shot below and around me, but obscured by the smoke, missing me, as I loaded and fired again and again. In a flash, it was gone. I do not not flatter myself it was destroyed, but the victory for me was sweet-simply to be alive. I held the last of my shot in my hand, one left..which I loaded and waited what seemed endless minutes for it's return. Finally I heard the alarm bells of Mayfair ring out, and, deserting the gun, grabbed my scattergun and sprinted for Mayfair town.

>

Gnarli: The battle raged on, I found myself making for the Bardhaven House, for my own reasons, choosing it as the halls I would defend. The monsters filled the skies with thier roars, the defenders of Calendon..Sir Edward was there, of course, and his troop, and many an angry landholder,.. as they fought the beasts with ingenious and deadly devices,

Gnarli: Oh, what a day was that bloody defence, how the beasts cried and bellowed, the men and women and tiny furry things of Caledon would not be removed with ease, and with the will of a nation fought back handily. The beasts tired, and damaged and denied, withdrew. Nevermore to be seen, to my knowledge. A WooHoo and Hurrah rang forth the town, echoing amidst both debris and unscathed structure as the Flag waved proudly on.

Gnarli: I feared for my lands, having not been back since early that day, so hiring a balloon, I made a hasty way back to the steamer, landing to find her thankfully safe. The battle was over for me only then. The frogs had not taken or sunk her.

Interviewer: Frogs? Ah..yesss..Mr Abel, It has been reported that you have the unique notion that these attackers were of nearby terrestrial origin? that is, from Earth?

Gnarli: From Earth? hell yes, from earth! They were Frenchies, I keep telling folks! I tell ya, I heard them sing "Ooh-Lah-Lah" after each man went down.. have you not seen Mr Eiffel's tower? the spitting image of these beasts..

Interviewer: Yes Mr. Abel, you did express that notion at the Ministry of Defense, and the Academy of Sciences...

Gnarli: The blowed-up cuss fools!

Interviewer: And..How many years were you at the Sanitorium later?

Gnarli: Mmmm.....

Gnarli: Say, you gonna buy a penguin or not, young feller!?

No Bert.

2007-07-03T14:51:00.000-04:00

Misc. Fashion Adventures

2007-06-14T02:44:00.000-04:00

I would be remiss if I would not record a few of the fashion crazes that have late swept through Caledon and Steelhead, or at least journal a few of my experiences with the fads of the day, for instance-

Likely as a recruitment tool for the nascent Caledon navy, a Pirate-clothing craze swept through our lands some weeks ago, culminating in a wonderful ship-board ball, proceeds raised for charity, with some interesting offers volunteered to raise funds. I was able to attend the lively ball a short while, and as it was better documented elsewhere, will only touch on my misadventure..

As the crowd grew on deck, and my movement was jostled, I found myself reeling out of control..

..Ending up falling below-decks, where I continued dancing with a new freedom of space there in the Hold, cheerfully overhearing the conversation above! Miss Kiralette, wondering at my absence, was kind enough to come searching for me..

We ended up Jigging in the captain's room, his bed a springy sort, and comfier than the hard decks to our weary feet..

Another fashion popular is that of the Doll form. I decided to investigate, Kira and Darkling and Qli being avid fans, they had told me of a doll show up-coming. My snaps differ from theirs somewhat, so I wonder if I was at the same show, but here they are:

Lovely garments, well made and fashionable! I really don't see what all the Linden fuss is about.

Finally, a note on Hats.

It has been in vogue to don a new type of hat, that with a live animal worked in...I am happy to say I have joined the vanguard of this trend, as evidenced by the following group shot, where also Lady Kiralette shows off her bunny chapeau, and Lady Darkling a Crustacean creation-

Ah, the sacrifices to fashion! But my next chapeau -it may include a Turkey instead of chicken. Much more ornamental, I would think. If the style catches on, twill be easy to produce them, as we have a plentiful supply here in Kittiwickshire, it seems.

Cold Dark of Day

2007-06-11T17:15:00.000-04:00

In the smoky confines of the Champagne Room, onstage, the crooning rat-packer wannabee winds down his song as he achingly sustains a final note-

"...gaaaaa-aaaa-aaa-arrrrrrr!"
"Yes! Thank you!"

Scattered clapping greets the end of the song, as the performer gazes at the audience.
"Thank you..for that polite smattering, very kind!"
"Burt Bacharach has given us so many wonderful gifts, he's such a talented gentleman, and a dear personal friend of mine!"

"You're a great audience, I gotta tell ya! Now I'd like to continue my homage to the many themes of James Bond, or a section I call..choppin' Broccolli!, ho ho!"
He winks at a lady in the front row who stares back blankly, the joke lost.

"Er..Coughing up Fleming?..No?"

"Anyway, Here we go with a big number from the sixth movie "Cold Dark of Day" and..as this was written for a dear personal friend of mine, I hope I may do it justice...."

As the strings swell the performer begins....

"Ty, you're very kind! (My tab is at the bar!)"

Now, Somewhere in the Black mountain hills of Dakota..

2007-05-27T20:51:00.000-04:00

On my journey across the Great Republic in the summer of last year, I had heard rumors of an El Dorado to be had, a-hidden in the land of the Sioux Nation, deep in the Dakota Territory. As unlikely as these tales seemed, I found several parties of good character who also agreed that they had regarded these legends as having some kernel of truth, and, with this kindling of faith, I pondered the draw of riches enough to not only to regain and maintain our family's estates, but also to act in charitable fashion for the remainder of my days. As my sojourn to the Silver mines of Sigil had not yet been planned, and my route from my current stopping place in the rivertown Prarie du Chein (at the confluence of the Mississippi and Ouisconsoin) being, as I thought, shorter and likely less ardous than that to the Bear Republic; I so persuaded myself to investigate these rumours as far as I was able. Therefore, with a weeks preperation, yet packing lightly, and with some store of ready bank-notes, I saddled my trusted steed Johnny Thunder and lit out for the Black Hills of the Dakota territory.

Finding halts at trading posts, storehouses and the like, I made my way quickly through the grasslands of Mankato and into the Dakota plains. Many days camp later I saw a rift far away in the earth, as the walls of grass fell away to sharp jutts, painted colors, and curious formations- The Badlands, as they are called. These I took care to avoid, water and game being scarce there indeed.

After some time I came to the sleepy hamlet of Wall, where I decided to restock my provisions and seek some gentler shelter to re-envigor myself and return my steed to his normal constitution. I sought out a Hotel or Highway house to meet my needs.

At mid-day the town was nearly empty due to some local crisis I yet had no ken of; but, being used to the solitude of the trail, I payed this little mind.

I found a Hotel and prepared to shelter Johnny. Above, I spied a doll avatar, like those now seen as fashionable in some quarters of Caledon and Steelhead, peeking through the upper stories of the Hotel, and looked forward to pleasant company at the dinner-hour.

Unfortunately the rooms here were much too squalid for my liking. Having been some time in Chicago and Boston, when off the trail I found I required some measure of sanitation within where I would lodge, should I be paying a premium price. Therefore, after cleaning my boots off of the gifts of the trail, I recanted of my room to the keeper, that I would seek lodging elswhere, as I am sure as any of my delicate readers would have done in my straits.

Later, with a need for rooms and a the thirst of the trail to subdue, I found a public house, and held hopes of a fine beefsteak and ale.

The travels of Caledon, Steelhead, and the finer cities of my own Republic have since persuaded me that not all, or even most, "soiled doves" are in any way hideous or haggardly; but this untrue impression was first imparted to me by my sight inside this saloon! I could aver that one was merely a bison in a pinnafore, had it not addressed me in cloying terms, bidding my company! I beat a wise and hasty retreat.

Feeling somewhat nauseous, thinking my eyesight confounded by the ardous ride west (scarce not believing the apparitions in the Saloon) I wandered the town for a Doctor of medicine, through whose tonics my senses could be restored. Finding this office up a flight nearby, I knocked upon the door.

The office was empty. Vials and preperations were strewn about. Later I learned that yellow fever had swept this town, and, the physic being called to this place and that, he was seldom at office. Perhaps it is through the want of contact with townspeople, moreover those of the lower sort, that I was fortunate enough to avoid it's contraction; for which grace I am truly thankful. I turned from the office of the Wall Druggist to seek my shelter.

With ailment fading, and health restoring, I sought out the Mayoral seat, seeking news of some nearby household that might accept a lodger.

The Mayor was a cheery and helpful sort, and asked for news from Illinois, where had in origin come out of. He guided me to his own seat as I gave what news and accounts as I could recall that might interest him. He seemed pleased, and commended to me a Norwegian homestead nearby that might give room for the few days I would spend here. Thanking him heartily, I set out to seek this house.

The home was a finely constructed house, with, I thought, ample room. It was owned by a railroad agent whose local and federal commissions, land titles and deeds permitted a great house to be raised on this forsaken prairie land. My Host greeted my kindly and offered room and board for a most agreeably small fee.

The smell of Coffee and Bacon greeted me, and that of sweet pies baking. I accepted a cool draught of Cider before retiring to a much needed nap.

At ease, I finally kicked of my shoes as the nights of sleeping on bullrushes and paddocks, with but my Hudson Blankets to keep me warm, were exchanged for a night of peaceful rest in goosedown and linen. Tommorow shall come, the gold-filled hills await me, but tonight, I take my comfort.

The Village Green Perversation Society

2007-05-08T18:23:00.000-04:00

Such a long journey! I tired as I neared Caledon, and, as I approached from the south, decided to fortify myself at the Loch Avie Public House. I had forgotten how lovely the Caledon sunrise is!

I raised a glass to the absent hostess and pondered what I would find in Victoria City; if all was intact, or if the damage of recent attack I had read of in the local notices would include the fine properties of my close friends.

Resting in the public house, I nursed a fine Single Malt as I warmed myself for the rest of the morning ride. A local militia man, a Mr. Churchill came in and chatted, but refused a drink, hard at hunt for the now notorius Mr. Hotspur. Soon after he left I made my way out too.

I bade the charming glens and rises of Loch Avie adieu as I turned North, to Victoria City.

As I travelled the roads of Victoria City, I noted little damage, save for some rubble and blast marks. I saw no casualties, no guard and marvelled that the streets were so empty, even at this early hour. I wondered if an evacuation had been ordered, but saw no notice of one; nor did I detect any sounds of a current battle from afar.

I turned North to the Stronghold of Bardhaven, expecting it to be invested or otherwise watched, as he is under some suspicion in these incidents; but his manse was whole and unguarded. I looked in vain for Miss Kelley, who, being often unruly, is oft found running about at this hour, but saw no sign. The smell of maple syrup came across the breeze, as Caledon awoke to the massive breakfasts common in these isles. One more stop...

Davaar was whole and safe from harm. I thought it too early yet to call upon Sir Edward or Miss Christine, to console for his wounds, or congratulate for the happy news of their engagement (which I had learned of through the notices in the public house), leaving this for later.

In all, Caledon seems intact, and with the Kaisarain escaped, there seemed hope for peace; but can Caledon forgive such an attack on it's own soil? I think it unlikely. I have decided to return to my ancestral home here, Abeldown, to be ready to be serve where I might. My luggage will follow after, but I'm off to Kittywickshire to get the old Manor in order.

Dashing (for Caledon)

2007-05-07T13:53:00.000-04:00

Shock and surprise! I devoured any and all news of this Caledon incident, reading in the week-old papers of the ball abduction of the Kaiserienne, the threats of the Neualtenburg government, and of Bardhaven's request for terms. So many friends and associates in danger! I immediately decided to journey to Caledon and lend what aid where I could. I was joyful when I found several ships of passage in the port, and went about arranging my journey.

Unfortunately, I found no direct passage to Caledon, but elected for a circuitous route, hiring a sloop to Montevideo, with promise of a schooner to Dakkar, steamer to Casablanca, fast yacht to Cornwall, from where I would ride or travel by coach.

All the while the thought of danger to my many Friends in Caledon weighed on my mind, spurning me to travel faster. From each post I sent letters, knowing I may beat them to their destinations, but wishing to explain my concern, and intent to arrive, if I should not appear safely.

The Port of Stanley

The bayside of Montevideo

Pseudo-Incognito in Dakkar

Steaming up the African coast.

Sunset in Casablanca.

The Swift Yacht to Britain.

Landfall in Cornwall.

Throught the Emerald Valley, Caledon bound.

The distance grows smaller by moment, soon I shall be in Caledon :)

The Perilous Peaks of Patagonia

2007-05-05T18:37:00.000-04:00

Several days have passed as I drifted north-easterly. I have spent this time experimenting with the baloon's mechanisms and have become somewhat adept at its control. The weather has been quite co-operative, just some small squalls that I was able to avoid by varying altitude. Finally schoals appeared beneath, and some minor islands announcing the approach to Tierra del Fuego and the southernmost reaches of the southern continent. As I sped along, the mountains and steep hills of Patagonia loomed on either side.

It was reassuring to see the green fields and increasing trees below me as I wended between peaks, carried by the drift and deflection of winds from these tall hills. I could only trust to providence in some cases, coming within an alarming closeness to some rocky ridges as I passed.

The green vales below were deceptive, as I knew they only held unsustaining scrub, so I resisted all temptation to land, holding out for signs of habitation, and hopes of a speedy rescue. This was a gamble, I felt; but one worthwhile, as tired as I was of my journeys alone.

After several hours a welcome view greeted my eyes- that of the Atlantic, and the eastern side of the Horn. It was a glorious sight as I perceived the end of these threatening peaks.

I spied a fort below, and hoped not to be seen, for I did not know if this would be a National or a pirate stronghold, but the drift held other ideas and brought me closer toward it.

Luckily the fortification seemed deserted and my flight continued uninterrupted. This was the fort near Mt. Innocence, I later found, abandoned by Spanish and later Argentine troops. Onward I went, northeasterly, out to the Atlantic now.

A day's drift later I passed some tall deserted mountain isles, then my heart jumped and I let out a "Hurrah!" for my bearings had proved true, and ahead laid before me my destination, the Falkland Islands.

The Falklands looked so welcoming- the British were here, having defeated the Argentine nation in an invasion here nigh on 20-some years ago.. 1833 I believe, and had evicted the Costa del Malvinas residents to complete their conquest (some might say it was a re-occupation, the discovery and ownership has long been disputed.)

The Falkland offered the port city of Stanley (ne Puerto Margeurita) and many of the comforts of British rule, so I looked forward to a good Beef Wellington, Yorkshire Pudding, and Oxtail Soup at the inn, being somewhat sick of salted fish. Later,I would seek out a ticket and relax during the long passage back to Steelhead.

I touched down gently in a town lea, my baloon drawing surprisingly little attention.

I lept from the craft, relieved at the feel at grass and rich soil under my feet once again.

With a sigh of thankfullness, I surveyed the town. Next- a cup of joe and a copy of the Caledon Times. My one-week sojourn had lasted nearly four. I wonder if anything of import has happened in Caledon in the last month?

Crappy Feet

2007-05-01T11:55:00.000-04:00

The next morn I awoke, and after a bite, gathered my pack to face the day, here in this barren wasteland. As I emerged from the snowcave, I was encouraged by the bright sunshiny day. Immediately on the horizon I saw a trail of smoke and from that moment knew I was not alone here. I bundled toward the direction of the fire, and came to a high ledge overlooking a plain of snow- but what greeted my eyes was a surprise I shall never forget.

I had the sense to be cautious at first, and peered expecting to see a hunting or fishing encampment at the plain below. And what I saw was an encampment of sorts, but an unusual one. At the base of the plain stood an oilskin tent, with a large hot-air-balloon, the type I have only seen illustrations of, but, being familiar with the experiments of the Montgolfiers from my studies, I found the actual sight of one quite intruiging.

Standing in the doorway of the pavillion was a shadowy figure, who seemed to be dressed in a military costume of perhaps Italian fashion. At first he seemed to be absentmindingly conversing with the assembled flock of penguins, then the sound of a pennywhistle came wafting on the breeze. A minuet played rather precisely, if not ornamented to my taste. At this point I was about to get up and descend to introduce myself when the most extraordinary thing happened.

The Penguins, at first mingling about, seemed called and controlled by this tune, forming into regular lines. I saw the shadowy figure produce a fish or two and throw it to the throng, they eagerly accepted these, then assembled back into regular order at the prompt of the whisted tune. Thay had the organization and speed of a green militia, but they seemed quite obedient.

I heard the Shadowy figure shout intructions, with what seemed to be a brogue or lilt to his tongue, although the distinct words I clould not discern. I watched in fascination as the birds seemed to understand these words, turning this way and that on instruction.

Then the birds began to move in rythym to the tune! Amazingly, they were dancing, cavorting in time to the melodious pipe. How charming, I thought- but largely impratical- where these to be a dancing troupe for a circus? Surely bears would be more interesting and more easily obtained.

I kneeled, still concealed watching this for a time, when I noticed, looking closely, that the penguins each were carying burdens, small grey haversacks of a sort snugly fit to their backs. Surely the penguin, though plentiful here, is not the best beast for transporting goods here, I thought to myself.

Then the figure changed the tune, and at once the birds began to pair off, struggling to imitate a couples dance, such as the new Austrian Waltz. The shadowy figure culled one though, and whistling more to it, moved it away from the flock.

This solo bird stood a moment alone in the field. After the repeat of three shrill notes the came a loud flash and a delayed rapport.

Boom!

A steaming crater laid where the mesmerised bird once stood! I froze in shock, then pondered the meaning. It was coming clear to me, this heinous plot- the birds, packs stuffed with Mr Nobel's curse, had been trained to detonate on command! Of all the dispicible acts! But why the dance? it is then I pondered how the dancers looked like so many frockcoated gentles, in the garment Prince Edward has made fashionable, the Tuxedo jacket. Here was the plot laid bare then..The jacketed bird would infiltrate a ball, and wreak havoc on the guests there. An insidous plot indeed! I determined at that point to not only foil this plan but make good my escape, under the cover of darkness.

As daylight ended I kept a close watch on the camp. Eventually the packs were removed and piled by the balloon, and the shadowy figure retired to his tent. Waiting, chilled as the hours passed, I recalled everything I could about the operation of a ballon, and cleaned my firearms, should they be a last resort. At the right time, I slunk down to the water's edge, eased along the coast and noiselessly dropped each pack, opened, into the deep water. Then I warily climbed in the baloon, the snores coming from the pavillion covering the rustle of my footfalls.

I ignited the flame with a parafinned match, and having cut the guide ropes slowly ascended. The darkness grew below me, but I heard the shouts of the shadowy figure and the anxious yelps of the unwitting penguins below me as I rose.

Higher and Higher, I finally drew breath as the the scene completly disappeared below me. I found a hamper with blankets and food stores on board, and thanked my good fortune.

I surveyed the scene- I was warm enough, had food, and the winds blew easterly, as I gained altitude I decided that this time I had tricked fate, but wondered at the poor fate of those penguins, having been trained to dance, left happily roving the Antarctic wastes- whatever shall become of these oddities of nature?

(Note: This is, of course, a spurious fictional narrative, cooked up by Mr. Abel and produced in the Falling Anvil and Steelhead Saloon for the entertainment of his fellows, and the inflation of his own ego. Any participants have not given prior consent to their images being used and in no way reflect on their character by the actions depicted. Keep those comments coming in :) )

Stranded..so far from home.

2007-04-29T23:59:00.000-04:00

My fortunes continue to decline. The SS Bad Diplomat lies at the bottom of an icy bay, quite beyond hope of recovery, and I find myself stranded in this most inhospitable, barren snow-covered land.

The night of my arrival, I had anchored offshore in a deep inviting cove, noting some ice floes, but nothing threatening. I had decided to attempt landfall the next day and prepared gear for the journey, and luckily set it on deck. As I retired I saw nothing nearby save some penguins gathered at the shore, busy with their own fishing efforts, a most serene scene.

Late in the evening I was awoken by a sharp crash or bang, sounding as if I was under fire from another vessel, the ship rocked and shuddered, and a breach below waterline was evidenced by the sound of rushing water and, as I arose, a cold splash at my feet, climbing higher by moment.

As the vessel listed, I clamored up from the cabin through the hold, the rising water at my heels. At the deck I had the forsight to gather my pack and survey the horizon for an attacker- I saw naught but a dark horizon to sea, and a nearby floe to lee. As I jumped to the water the icy knives of its coldness burned and nearly numbed me to the core. Luckily it was but a short distance to a large floe, and I was able to hoist myself easily onto this and rest. The screams of excited penguins seemed to fill the air, disturbed by the noise and excitement of my swim, I suspect.

As I donned my warm leathers from my pack, drying myself as I could, I packed my woolen clothes, and I watched the Ship descend beneath the waves. Oddly, I saw what I thought to be licks of flame and steam rise up from the hold before she finally went under. I had no explanation for this, and it continues to trouble me.

Resigned to my new fate, after a short rest and nibble of salted fish, I set out to seek some sort of shelter. The penguins seemed to have disappeared in the darkness, but I kept my gun at the ready for larger beasts that might be roaming. I found the floe to be near enough to others to jump from one to another to reach a peninsula of solid ground, and made my way inland.

Having been unable to find this land on my charts the previous afternoon, I had decided to lay claim in the name of the Grand Republic, and had prepared a standard for this purpose. I decided this was as good as time as any, as I was not weary, my energy having returned. I found a suitable promontory and dubbed this land Pierceland, in honor of our Commander in Chief, President Franklin Pierce.

The night kept me from discerning the size of the island or land. Yet, seeing a number of ridges, I perceived it as larger than I originally thought it to be, so I held hope for finding some rocky shelter. At first I found none. Then, after some searching, over one rise I spotted a perfect shelter. Relieved at this good fortune, I proceeded warily to it.

I found this natural ice-cave as the snow began to fall around me. In the distance I detected a long trail against the stars, and hoped for a moment that it may be evidence of a distant fire, but it passed with the clouds. As the snowflakes increased, I made for the shelter, rifle at the ready, prepared for any manner of beast.

Luckily, this cave was deserted. I quickly unrolled my bedroll and set about making a fire, which came quite easily thanks to some paraffin-treated matches I had with. Drowsiness came quickly, and I left it tommorow to ponder my fate. Warming, off to sleep I went, to wait out this storm, my shotgun resting beside me at the ready.

Getting Colder

2007-04-20T06:05:00.000-04:00

After days adrift and minor winds, the weather has turned bitterly cold, though calm.

Having erected a shelter and changed into warmer garb, I keep myself occupied fishing, ending my aching hunger with a fine catch.

Re-energized by this repast I try to take bearings, but am not sure of the results.

One day I spot what seems to be land on the the starboard horizon, and unpack my spyglass to inspect this snowy coast or island-

I see a black figure against a white shore- perhaps this a nun from a Chilean convent, I think? Rescue at last! As I peer closer, I steer for land.

I seem to be much further south than I had thought.

A Momento

2007-04-12T19:27:00.001-04:00

Going through the Stereoscope slides, I see one from some time ago..

Miss Christine McAllister, who celebrates her birthday today, has always been a dear and true friend. I reminisce, fond memories find me. Although times and lives have changed, she still proves a trusted friend and most pleasant house-mate. Her heart was wooed and won by the noted Sir Edward Pearse, a talented gentleman of excellent repute and comportment, and, at their Caledon estate they have made a jouyously happy home together. She, with Edward, spends her time and effort tirelessly for the betterment of Steelhead and Caledon, an inspiration to any civic-minded soul. Lately she has taken up catering...after 10 days adrift, I must not think of food though....I hope for the occasion of wishing her many happy days when I may return.

Ahh, Venice!

2007-04-12T12:26:00.000-04:00

Three more days windless, adrift, finds me in deep contemplation, desperate for distraction. My water is turning brackish, the food dwindling. Now stocking the "Passed" water just in case. Hopefully wind will return soon, or my drift will lead me to a verdant isle.

Will I make the Steelhead Saturday ball at this pace? I do hope so, as I look forward to the dancing, and companionship after these days alone. My correspondence has been run through a dozen times, I'm eager for the news of a possible commission in Caledon and to continue correspondence on the decoration of a new house for Miss Kelly, a charming ward of the Bardhaven estate.

To combat boredom or the more dangerous effects of solitude, I unearth my stereoscope from my baggage and relive some fond memories. The stereoscope plates comfort me with revisits to far off locales, and adventurous, more social days.

A trip to Venice in the height of the season.. Ahhh, Venice. Her canals of silver and stately forests of stone placidly reflected below :) I remember as if it were yesterday...

The plates draw me back to that day in their magical way...

I recall the great plaza, surrounded by the doge's palace, the tower and other public buildings of great antiquity. The pigeons amass there in troops in St Marks, gathering in small threatening clouds, as it were. Luckily, my wardrobe sustained no damage from them, unlike my recent Parrott Isl. adventure.

A small fair off to the side, a carousel beckons, the sweet and savory aromas of the food vendor's wares waft on the breeze..

The lovely gardens entice me, the exotic pungency of the fragrant herbs fill the air, and the flora fills my eyes, the colors vivid and alive..

I spy a gondola, and am offered a tour by an operator who assures speed and discretion, if wished.. I choose the languid, complete tour, watching as the storefronts pass by...

Through the canals we wend, this way and that, music on the breeze and a new sight at each corner...

..To end at a spectacular fountain amidst a lush lawn. What a lovely tour, I am happily distracted ...Ahhh, Venice !

An Aquatic Fantasy

2007-04-07T17:05:00.000-04:00

A windless day and evening leave me stranded with my thoughts, which turn to the Steelhead ball I am missing.

I entertain the fancy of a Mermaid ball, as I peer down to the calm ocean depths, the serenity of cool waters surround me as my legs disappear, replaced by fishy fins. In my reverie, I cavort and am charmed by the fantastic creatures of the depths..

Only to return to my peaceful solitude, now drowsy, ready for the next day's journey, should the wind return.

Magnificent Waves at Moana Ina Beach

2007-04-05T20:17:00.000-04:00

After two days journey more I arrived at Weather Island, in the Hawaiis, to a sweltering day. Going savage this once, I matched the immodesty of the natives by baring a bit more than I would in more civilized climes. Finding a placid harbor for the SS Bad Diplomat, I scaled the nearby hilltop to survey the surf.

And what a surf it was! A marvel of nature, the waves rise higher here than I had ever seen. In need of supplies, I took the ships boat ashore and loaded my stores.

Fighting the surf back through these waves was near impossible. My skiff heaved again and again, thrust back by the tall surf.

Soon I tired of battling these waves and was even denied a passage around them, being tossed about as flotsam, and thrust to the shore.

I abandoned my damaged ship's boat, and pondered how I would return. Luckily I happened upon some natives, who, though they chuckled at my plight, offered a solution-

The natives had boards fashioned of sturdy but light trees, brightly painted, which they suggested I float out on, assuring the raft would float me to safety. They led the way with my provisions and I followed soon after.

As a wave caught me, I emulated the natives and clamored up to avoid it, as the guides had done. To my exquisite delight, as the water churned around me, the board did bouy me to safety, carrying me forward, and to a new bliss as I seemed to glide through the air. Truly a wonderful experience, a memory to be savored!

Reaching my vessel safely, my stores recovered and stowed, I set course for the port of San Francisco.

Navigating Parrot Island

2007-04-04T21:22:00.000-04:00

After two days at sea I neared the cay of Parrot Island, famous for it natural pools. There are sand bars outlying, and it called for careful navigation to bring the SS Bad Diplomat to a safe harbor.

Soon the extict volcanic island loomed ahead. The heat below warms the natural pools found at it's base and an extinct crater pool at it's top.

As I neared the Island, I heard the call of it's native parrots, and inspired by tales of sailors before me, became determined to have one as pet. Once the vessel was securely anchored, I went ashore, secured freshwater and breadfruit, and ventured further inland.

Soon I discovered a lovely parrot resting near a glimmering warm pool, fed by azure waterfalls. I enticed the bird with mealy hardtack, and calmed its nerves with a small rum ration.

I hoisted my new companion to my shoulder and thought I cut quite the piratical romantic figure. The bird did not seem to share my opinion, and unfortunately expressed its displeasure by ruining my fine brown suit with its rum and hardtack-fueled excrement.

Sometime later, having changed my garb, I had a bounteous meal of what I now call south-sea chicken, or Fricaseed Long Parakeet.

Despite the affect to my apparel, Parrot Island offered a truly pleasant diversion. Relative privacy and warm pools await those who seek Recreation here. Surveying the lovely Islands, I plotted my course for my next destination, the islands of Hawaii.

The Ambipod of Svarga

2007-04-03T21:03:00.000-04:00

Good winds were with me all the way to the Isle of Svarga, home of an interesting temple complex and an amazing relic of a forgotten culture, The Ambipod.

I tacked the SS Bad Diplomat to the small bay near the gates of the city, where a stone ring serves as a welcome point for travellers and provides a convenient campsite.

To reach the Temple complex, one must cross a broad moat, luckily empty of any harmful species, then proceed through the stone gate towards the main temple grounds.

Once you have reached the structure, climb the ancient stair and look for a stone pedestal.

At the stone pedestal there is found a mechanism to mysteriously summon a moving carriage (cleverly suspended by wires, I suspect) that will take you to the Ambipod.

In my estimation the Ambipod is a unique promontory, through which may be gazed a clear version of the night stars; but it so much more, indeed! As you lie in the warm suspending pools there, and gaze upward, you will see many wonders- the galaxy above, the auroras of the night, shooting stars streaking across the heaven- at once serene and exciting. The visions one sees, and the music of the spheres one seems to hear, lead me to the conclusion that the natural gasses of the promontory must stimulate these visions, as such sights seem somehow beyond nature.

The daguerrotypes here do no justice to the visions and feeling of serenity one encounters in these pools, and I heartily suggest a visit while such treasures are yet unexploited.

I have the Intrepid adventuress Liliana, an old cohort in the Caledon spelunking team, to thank for describing and then leading my way to this treasure in the past. It is a tranquil place to discuss weighty matters, and seems to encourage the discussion of philosophies arcane and esoteric, (perhaps through its infuence of Pythian gasses.)

Upon exiting the Ambipod promontory, one is inspired to explore the plazas and gardens of this forgotten polynesian culture. The architecture is noble and ambitious, and remarkable well perserved for the climate.

Gardens and cliffs festooned with exotic flora and rippling with waterfalls abound. A short trip to the rugged coastline is rewarded by spectacular vistas. Soon I said farewell to this fine island with one last look, and set my charts for a stop at Parrot Island.

Preperation For a Short Expedition

2007-04-03T05:53:00.000-04:00

I have decided to take a short tour of the islands of the Pacific to test the seaworthiness of my Brigantine warship, the SS Bad Diplomat, to prepare for it's likely deployment in the upcoming battle against the far-flung colonies of Neualtenburg. A short voyage should serve to season her for service, a provide a pleasant diversion in these last hours of peace.

Before a voyage of this kind it is necessary to gather stores, as one never does know what primitive and unsavory victuals may be offered by the natives of the isles, so I visited the Steelhead Hotel to secure provisions.

The Steelhead Hotel provides an invaluable service to this community, hosting the saturday formal dance in grand style, it's de-rigeur casino games tucked discretely above floors, and space for rooms as well above.
The architecture is unusual to me, but artful.

The Board of fare, if it might be called that, is standard for this region. Perhaps I have been spoiled by my travels, though. One of the finest hotels, for friendliness and services, I have encountered, was while travelling by rail from Chicago, there was a halt in Wisconsin at the Capitol Hotel. I remember fondly its bill of fare, with such fondness I have endeavored to save it, as a reminder of my journey along with a lovely Illustration of the hotel itself, which I reprint here for you now.

I hope someday to introduce such delicacies as those listed here in Steelhead, and daily encourage The hotel's proprieters, and those of the saloon, to try to think beyond Trout, salt pork, wheat cakes and new potatoes, but to little avail.

Having laden my vessel with stores belowdecks, I prepared for my first destination, the longest leg of my journey, to the to the southern Island of Svarga.

A New Journal

2007-04-01T23:43:00.000-04:00

I have decided to create this diary to document the various happenings of Steelhead, Caledon, Tombstone, and those other places I might travel between, both as a means of correspondence with friends out-of-touch, and as a chronicle of new-found discoveries and significant events. My travels take me away from many acquaintances for extended periods, and to relate all the wonders I discover and experience within the course of a conversation is difficult, and lacks efficiency, however pleasurable the company I keep, and however much I wish to share this information, so let these letters serve that tool to those interested. Also, as events evolve throughout these various lands, it is prudent to keep some sort of history; some reference that may be consulted by our descendants, as true records of events which may have shaped their destiny.

With this in mind, let me begin by an introduction of myself, Mr Gnarlihotep Abel. I was born the son of Robert Abel, a former attache' to the British Embassy in Washington, and Miss Constance Ford, of the Boston Fords. My Grandfather, Col. Jonathan Abel, served in the War with Napoleon in Egypt, and there wed an enticing Egyptian Noblewoman. She inspired, in my parents, the choice of my name- for Gnarlihotep was a male name that had long run in her family.

Born a citizen of this republic, after education here I lit west to follow the expanding frontier, though I retain a fondness for the homeland of my heritage, Caledon. In the year of 1854 I journeied to the town of Sigil, Arizona en route to the gold fields of California. Hearing dire news that they were played out, I struck north and settled in the Frontier town of Steelhead, Oregon Territory, where I dwell now.

In Steelhead, I met and was graced with the companionship with Miss Christine McAllister, who has remained a close friend even as her suit has been pledged to another. In the particular fashion of the frontier, the unthought-of-elsewhere cohabitation of our manor, Rosehaven, continues; due both to our friendliness for each other and the housing shortage which plagues many frontier towns.

My daily life is taken up in the pursuit of travel, fashion, riding, calling on neighbors, design, and military training. I have some skill at the art of war, have ridden for many years, and endeavor to serve my Town and Nation where needed. Exploration is my first love, the discovery of exotic locales, the observation of customs, beautiful architecture, and vista natural.

Let this serve as an introduction, and know that I am happy to correspondent with any who care to comment, or wish to offer sage advice.