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WOSSNAME - JUNE 2007 -- PART 4 OF 9 (continued)

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  • Not A Granny
    WOSSNAME -- JUNE 2007 -- PART 4 OF 9 (continued) ... oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ====Part 4 - WEIRD ALICE - Section 2 24) WEIRD ALICE
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 26, 2007
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      WOSSNAME -- JUNE 2007 -- PART 4 OF 9 (continued)

      ====Part 4 - WEIRD ALICE - Section 2


      As for DownTown, perhaps it's best to pull a veil of discreet
      silence over the goings-on down there. But you know I won't, so...
      it's amazing how fast word travels underground on the underground
      Underground, and word of my triumphant gig at the mine propping
      convention in Burnt Hedge had travelled ahead of us so quickly that
      everywhere I went in DownTown I saw lots of leather mining coats
      with WHO THE HA'AK IS ALICE? lettered on the back in rivets. And so
      many autograph seekers! [I was careful about what I wrote for them,
      since Dwarfs are a very touchy race when it comes to written words.]
      And I had to sing Copperhead Lode so many times that I lost my voice
      even with all the lubricating beer. And after a few days of this, I
      got taken -- with a lot of whispering -- to Madame Metalbottom's.
      Which is a Dwarf pole-dancing club, in a darker than usual corner of
      a back alley in DownTown, run by some ex-pat A-M Dwarfs who've
      returned to the Low Country. Dwarf pole-dancing -- how radical can
      you get? -- is not for the faint of heart. Especially the bit about
      what they do with the axes. I was treated to the gyrations and
      clankings of Ratonna Stycke, Anthracite Dynamite, Avalanche
      Thundergust, and the star performer, Ketchhhup. It was all a bit
      unnerving, with the possibility of being raided by the Low King's
      Kruk Squad at any moment, but afterwards the, um, girls took me to
      Lars Ironsoles, Bootmaker to the Unsuitably Fashionable, and hey, I
      got my kinky Dwarf boots! At a discount! So I'm not complaining.
      And that's everything brought up to date.

      Meanwhile, back on the river, we had breakdowns near Gummy, and
      after Little Respite, and then at Risen Dam we somehow got stuck on
      our moorings or possibly belayed by our anchor. I was ruining out
      of songs so I went to the gaming room with hopeful heart for a few
      rounds of Cripple Mr Onion, but no joy... in recent years, I was
      told, no card players will have any dealings with any woman who
      wears a lot of black --- which I do -- or appears to be indisputably
      over twenty-one -- which I am -- but no-one would say why, although
      they did seem strangely relieved when I said that I didn't own a
      pointy hat... somewhere after the river port of Dry Rot, everything
      finally settled in and we started making good time until the river
      broke down.

      That's right. The river. Broke down.

      They call it scuddzu. It's a weed, originally imported from the
      Brown Islands as an exotic houseplant, that accidentally got loose
      near the Vieux (masc.) when fire destroyed a riverside mansion. It's
      said that scuddzu is sentient. It's said that it has a life of its
      own and that you should never fall asleep near a scuddzu patch --
      just think along the lines of "nothing left but a pair of empty
      boots with eldritch smoke drifting out of them". It's even said that
      the fire that set it free couldn't possibly have been set by any
      *human* agency. All I know, though, is that we rounded a bend and
      there it was, a gently heaving mat of green stuff blocking the river
      from bank to bank! And when the boatmen started pushing it aside
      with bargepoles, the green stuff heaved up gloopily [and smellily]
      and swallowed the sticks, and one boatman, poor chap, and then began
      oozing up the sides of the Princess. At this point Cert was already
      running to get his advanced spell book and Mr Num was calling down
      curses from Om with rather more emotion than his usual denouncements
      and then Miss Curtsey got a funny gleam in her eyes and got this
      tiny phial out of her knitting bag, and then things got a bit
      confusing and there was a lot of octarine smoke and glooping noises.
      When the smoke cleared, the river was unblocked and each bank was
      decorated with the biggest pile of sauteed spinach I've ever seen in
      my life. Mr Num droned a prayer of something, possibly thanks but
      more likely complaints that more sinners weren't smited, to Om, and
      Cert looked oblong at Miss Curtsey and Miss Curtsey winked and said,
      "It pays for a lady to be prepared when she's travelling alone." She
      also finally told me her first name, which is Listeria. I'm liking
      her more and more as this journey goes on. But I'm still not having
      tea in her cabin...

      Next stop Circadia. here endeth this post.

      * * *

      Second clog: "The 102nd thing to do with a dead hedgehog, or
      'I never knew a cocktail shaker had so much life in it!'"

      Mrs Gogol taught me how to make zombies! And her zombie bartenders
      taught me how to mix Zombies!

      We finally made it as far as Circadia, a province just on the upper
      outskirts of Genua. More like on the upper petticoats, because
      Circadia is swamp country and the entire province is stretched out
      across the vast estuarial marshes of the Vieux -- a network of
      little islets of damp land, each dotted with mangroves and
      surrounded by brackish water, which I'm told looks from the air
      like a huge swath of frothy lace. Well, frothy lace in desperate
      need of a wash, but that doesn't sound as romantic. There are no
      carts as such in Circadia, only dinghies and rafts and punts and
      rowboats and canoes and the occasional barge small enough to make
      its way through the narrow root-choked watercourses. Native children
      learn to swim before they can walk. Natural selection has also
      provided the natives with a perfect sense of direction; this is a
      good thing, because when you're living in a country where moss grows
      enthusiastically on everything, you can't rely on the sides of trees
      to tell which way is Hubwards. And natural selection has also given
      the inhabitants of the remoter parts of Circadia -- who are known as
      Circajuns, by the way -- a curious herrydeterry trait: by day they
      are perfectly normal overly-inbred swamp dwellers, but as soon as
      the sun sets they become genetically Undead. You know, werewolves,
      vampires, ghouls, bogeymen, revenants, shades, general monsters --
      and zombies [although not so much with the zombies, because they're
      a bit of a special case -- as I found out! There are only two ways
      to successfully make a zombie, and both involve either a hatred of
      being alive or an indomitable will to go on living, and both of
      these are things that require already having lived for a number of
      years to develop]. This means that an adventure holiday in Circadia
      can be more adventurous than the brochures tend to advertise. It
      also means that, along with the usual jungle clothing, mosquito
      repellent and water wings, tourists doing Circadia have to remember
      to bring silver, garlic, fluffy blue blankets, assorted religious
      symbols, a potato on a lanyard, Ionian incense, holy water,unholy
      water, small ceremonial crocodiles and any other mystical, folk-
      legendary or otherwise protective bits and bobs they can think of.
      Of course, having come from the Uberwald leg of my travels, I was
      well prepared, so I've had an excellent time wandering around the
      swamps with Listeria while the others carried on to Genua proper.

      Now, about making zombies -- damn, Gimpy says he's running out of
      ink and the local Clacks tower sank in a patch of quicksand
      yesterday so it's shortmouth again -- met Mrs Ggl, famous Voodoo
      witch & Mum of crrnt Baroness Ella Sat, gd wmn w/gumbo, v. nice,
      big on hats, makes Zmb's as hobby, hd copy of 101MTtDw/aDHh, askd me
      2 sgn it 2 Erzulie & Baron. ReciP 4 Zmb's is abt certn fsh livr &
      certn roots & u mx at mdnght in grvyrd & bggr bggr argh outta ink


      End of Part 4, continued on Part 5 of 9.
      If you did not get all parts, write: interact@...
      Copyright (c) 2007 by Klatchian Foreign Legion
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