Post by Blu on Sept 18, 2014 21:32:55 GMT -5
Heyo! So I am currently working on on of my largest series yet. While I am still making some small edits here and there, I would love to hear back from people. I know I am especially bad at grammar, run on sentences, and punctuation so if you find errors please tell me! I am fairly thick skinned so as long as you tell what or why something is wrong you dislike it, you won't hurt my feelings.
Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it!
(p.s If you find some strange little errors like square brackets, please know this is just a little formatting mistake when I copy and paste my word document into the spoiler.)
Part 1
Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it!
(p.s If you find some strange little errors like square brackets, please know this is just a little formatting mistake when I copy and paste my word document into the spoiler.)
Part 1
3rd, Month of Sleeping
The Doctor
The condition of the small Mynci was worse than Jubart Igig could bear to describe. He turned to the Mynci’s father, a larger, muscular fellow with fur that glowed as golden as the setting Island sun behind him. The father wrung his hands together, pacing the medical tent. His daughter was his most precious treasure. How could Borin Ulric ever tell him the tragic news?
The Mynci turned to the doctor. Speaking with a voice so soft he nearly whimpered. The father asked, “How is my little Kalani? Will she be alright?” Borin Ulric did not reply at first, just stared at the red cloth of the tent walls. The father pleaded further, “Please, Doctor, just tell me she will recover.”
A large lump choked the doctor as he replied, “I’m sorry Ahe, but just like the other Neopians on Mystery Island, I am afraid she will not awaken.”
The tent fell into eerie silence as the doctor’s bad news clawed its way into Ahe’s brain. Small sobs whimpered from his throat. Pitying the poor Mynci, Borin Ulric took his leave, the bright sun burning his dark blue feathers.
Borin Ulric ambled along the hot beach towards the Chief’s hut. With each step, tiny specks of sand encrusted themselves between his cramped toes. With his leather boots two sizes too small, it was a wonder to Borin Ulric that any sand could make its way into his boots at all. He pulled his medical journal out of his leather satchel, reading down the list of symptoms of each patient:
Patient One, Keahi: Forty-seven years old. Male. Red Nimmo. Diagnosed with fever and cold sweats on the 25th day of Storing. Not native to Mystery Island, arrived by boat from Shenkuu.
Patient Two, Iwalani: Fifteen years old. Female. Yellow Kougra. Diagnosed with extreme fatigue on the 6th day of Celebrating. Was found unconscious on the beach. First treated with a cold bath to cure overheating of the body.
Patient Three, Lani: Eighteen years old. Female. Island Peophin. Diagnosed with cold sweat and high fever on the 10th day of Celebrating. Mother brought her to the island doctors but to no success.
Patient Four, Kukan: Sixty-four years old. Male. Elderly Kyrii. Diagnosed with extreme fatigue on 12th day of Celebrating after grand-daughter could not wake him from afternoon nap.
Borin Ulric walked off the beach, resting the medical journal against a palm tree. Pulling out a long piece of charcoal, he etched in another tragic entry with a heavy heart.
Patient Five: Kalani: Five years old. Island Mynci. Diagnosed with fever, cold sweats, and fatigue. Was brought to medical tent by father.
Borin Ulric heaved a dispirited breath. He wondered what this new disease was and where is came from. He had confidence that he could cure it. He was Doctor Borin Ulric, the blue Lenny who once cured a hospital full of Blurred Vision.
The Chief’s hut loomed above him with a straw roof and soft island wood walls. A small island Kyrii retreated from the hut, the bone pierced through his nose twitching at the sight of the doctor.
“Island Mystic,” the doctor bowed his head with courtesy. The Island Mystic dipped his head and continued down the beachside. Borin Ulric wondered how the blazing sand did not burn the barefooted Kyrii.
The Doctor pushed the cloth door aside, entering the hut with a polite, “My lord Chieftain.”
The Chief looked up from his bone throne; an gigantic Jubjub with hysterical strength. “Please enough with your Brightvallian formalities. How are the patients?” The Chief asked with a gruff voice.
“They have been in better health,” the Doctor replied.
The Jubjub gave a great groan. “Well let us hope that it does not spread.”
25th, Month of Gathering
The Warlock
Many years later, Jubart Igig would remember the potion he brewed on this foggy evening. The spell book before him wobbled on an unsteady oak stand. Growling to himself, Jubart Igig cursed the old furniture as he relocated his spot in the potion ingredients
He repeated to himself, “Add three Eye of Mortog, then stir.”
Retreating to the back of his cottage were shelves of ingredients sat neatly organized against the wall, Jubart Igig approached one particular shelf with jars of eyeballs, tongues, and ears. Removing the cloth from his nose, he pulled out three Mortog eyeballs, the rancid stench of rotting yogurt and dung storming his nose like a battalion at war. As he added the eyeballs to the bubbling yellow goop in the cauldron, a faint tingaling echoed from the front door and into the hazy night.
Jubart Igig raised his long, wooden staff towards the potion. The rusty red stone at the top of the staff illuminating as a wooden ladle floated into the gurgling cauldron, stirring the contents inside. Jubart Igig sauntered to the door, opening it to find a red Aisha wrapped in a grey shawl on his doormat.
“G-good evening Jubart,” she stuttered, staring down at the muddy walkway miserably. Jubart Igig noted that the hemline of her dress was drenched in mud but not more so than her laced-up boots. He stood to the side, holding out an arm and welcoming Ulla Langster into his cottage. She made it three steps before her rosy red cheeks were flushed of color leaving a ghostly entity in its wake.
“I apologize for the awful smell, Miss Langster,” Jubart Igig coughed, retreating back to his spell book for the final ingredient of his potion. “The smell is an effect of the potion but you nose should hopefully adjust to it soon. The potion will be ready in a few minutes, please sit down.”
Jubart Igig dabbed some scented oils on the cloth and offered it to Ulla Langster. She twitched an uneasy smile; eyeing the cloth suspiciously, then accepted it with a curt, “Thank you, sir.”
The red Aisha sat at the table. Her face glinted apprehension at the decoration that hung around the cottage; a skull head with a single hole drilled through the parietal section, housing a simple white candles to assist in lighting the cramped cottage. Sinister symbols etched into the walls of the wooden cottage, no doubt for conjuring spiritual entities and apparitions.
Jubart Igig shuffled over to the ingredient shelves one last time, scooping a spoonful of orange and pink powder. He cupped one paw under the spoon to catch any falling powder. Holding his breath to battle the stench, he sauntered over to the potion, sprinkling the powder over the yellow liquid. Before Jubart Igig’s and Ulla Langster’s eyes the potion began to turn color from yellow to purple, the rancid stench of dung and rotting yogurt transforming into a more pleasant aroma of figs and honey.
“There, your potion is complete Miss Langster,” Jubart Igig stated, collecting the liquid into three medium glass bottles, handing one bottle to Ulla Langster. “Hopefully this helps to lower your son’s fever.”
Ulla Langster smiled at the warlock and said, “Thank you Jubart.” She stretched up onto her toes and gave Jubart a tight hug. “You are a wonderful friend and a true miracle worker in the Haunted Woods.”
Jubart Igig returned the hug and walked Ulla Langster to the door, waving her off into the dark night and bidding her a safe trip home. As Ulla Langster disappeared into the foggy night, Jubart Igig turned twirling one of the potions in his paws. Walking to the back of the cottage, he placed both bottles upon rickety shelf labeled fever ailments .
27th, Month of Gathering.
The Mayor
Eugene Thumburt strolled from food stand to food stand, purchasing some of his favorite faire delicacies. He was excited, ecstasy shivering through his spine as he bit into a black widow truffle, vanilla-filling smearing across his beak. The Faire Grounds were busier than usual that night, but the yellow Bruce had little issue plowing through the throngs of young Neopians to his next food stand – in fact-- he enjoyed seeing so many people out at night. The Haunted Woods was not a place a Neopian wanted to wander around after the sun fell. Assuming you could tell if the sun fell.
A cool breeze lifted decaying leaves off the muddy ground as Eugene Thumburt waddled over to a skewered meat stand. “Good evening Miss Langster,” Eugene Thumburt beamed. “I would like two fish pops please.”
“As you wish Mr. Thumburt,” Ulla Langster replied, turning a miserable back to the Bruce.
Eugene Thumburt placed a flipper on the stand. “By the haunch in your shoulders, Miss Langster, I would presume your son’s condition has worsened.”
Ulla Langster turned, two skewered fish in her hand staring at Eugene Thumburt. The fish’s mouths were agape in a dumbfounded expression. She sighed, “My son, Theodore, his fever has fallen thanks to Mr. Igig’s potion skills. However, he still does not awaken.”
“I am terribly sorry to hear that.”
“Mr. Igig advised me to give my child a week to recover. If his condition does not improve I am to go see him again. Oh but Mr. Thumburt, he is but a warlock, not a doctor.”
Eugene Thumburt placed a flipper on her shoulder, “I am sure Theodore will awaken soon.”
He placed a small amount of gold coins on the stand in payment for the fish pops, then sauntered back off into the throng of Neopians. A breeze slipped between Eugene Thumburt’s feathers, warmer than the typical chilly breeze accustomed to the Haunted Woods. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the obscure warmth.
Eugene Thumburt sloshed through the muddy Faire Ground, tearing pieces of fish off the stick. Saliva dripped from his beak with each scrumptious bite. Merrily he walked along, tearing morsel after morsel off the fish pop. Young children hollered in jubilation near the large clown head that housed one of Neopia’s finest thrill rides. Eugene Thumburt smiled, oblivious to his immediate surroundings.
“Ooof,” Eugene Thumburt gasped, as his tail froze stiff with icy mud upon impact with the ground.
“Watch it fatty,” a large, muscular, blue Skeith roared down at Eugene Thumburt. The Skeith strolled forward, pulling his frock coat and straightening his cravat. Feeling belittled, Eugene Thumburt gazed up at the star-filled sky. The small balls of light illuminated a dazzling white against a fiery red sky. Confused, Eugene Thumburt hoisted himself to his feet with a heavy heave, wiping dirt off his coat and trousers.
“The sky in the Haunted Woods rarely blazes red,” he mumbled to himself.
“Help!” a voice screamed from the outskirts of the city. “Help my house is on fire!”
“Ah, that explains the red sky,” said Eugene Thumburt as he waddled over the thick ground. Past Bagatelle, the Wheel of Misfortune, and Castle Nox, slightly into the woods. A two-story cottage stood ablaze, flames licking into the open night sky from shattered windows. Shingles screaming as the fire burned their rough surface. Eugene Thumburt shuffled up to the house. A yellow Acara stood near the burning front porch, other Neopians screaming in terror around her.
“Don’t worry miss,” Eugene Thumburt huffed an exhausted breath. “I will help you.” He loped to the side of the house and began fanning the flames with his flipper.
“Someone put out the flames,” one voice echoed.
Another hollered, “That Bruce has the right idea! Fan out the flames with your paws, hands, flippers, anything!”
Thunder reverberated overhead as Eugene Thumburt waved his flipper like a maniac. Having tried countless times as a young Bruce to fly, Eugene Thumburt waved his flippers at the flames with such ferocity that the flame appeared only to get bigger, feeding off the strength of the Bruce. One flame retaliated at his pathetic attempts, biting his flipper and leaving many of his feathers singed. Eugene Thumburt nursed his flipper, placing it in and out of his mouth as if his sharp beak would ease the hot sensation.
Eugene Thumburt was relieved when a single drop of water landed on his flipper. Whispering to himself, Eugene Thumburt sighed, “Ah, that felt better. Come on skies, give me another.” Eugene Thumburt looked to the sky as another raindrop landed on his face.
“What are you doing?” The yellow Acara screamed in the distance.
Crack. Boom.
A downpour began to soak Eugene Thumburt to the bone. He stepped back from the house as the flames sizzled in pain, shrinking faster and faster into the house until they could not be seen, but only heard with a faint Ssssss.
Eugene Thumburt waddled around the house. A dark blue Lupe stood, his arms opened wide under his rough spun cloak. The Lupe muttered incantations under his breath, controlling the intensity of the thunderstorm above the Neopians. In his left paw he held a long staff, a glowing, rusty red orb brightening the dark night the louder the thunderstorm became. In a mere minute the raging fire had dwindled into crying wood, the flames completely gone.
The yellow Acara ran up to the Lupe, grabbing his paw and shaking it violently. Jealousy raged in the Bruce’s chunky chest. Had the Acara not seen all of his efforts? The Acara hardly noticed as the Lupe uncomfortably disentangled himself from her grip.
She simply grabbed his paw again bawling with joyous tears, “Thank you so much sir! Who are you? Are you that warlock that lives in the woods? Thank you again so much! Ulla told me about you. Oh why thank you! She said you were a very powerful warlock.” The Lupe pushed the Acara’s paw off again, not saying a single syllable.
Eugene huffed in anger, turning away from the Lupe and Acara. He muttered to himself, “Don’t I get any thanks?” With that Eugene Thumburt waddled out of the Faire Grounds and into the Haunted Woods to where his house stood. After an hour or so of walking Eugene Thumburt sighed, looking up at his stone mansion, solitary from the rest of the Haunted Woods, his own inheritance surrounded by nothing but land.
Here is part 2!The Doctor
The condition of the small Mynci was worse than Jubart Igig could bear to describe. He turned to the Mynci’s father, a larger, muscular fellow with fur that glowed as golden as the setting Island sun behind him. The father wrung his hands together, pacing the medical tent. His daughter was his most precious treasure. How could Borin Ulric ever tell him the tragic news?
The Mynci turned to the doctor. Speaking with a voice so soft he nearly whimpered. The father asked, “How is my little Kalani? Will she be alright?” Borin Ulric did not reply at first, just stared at the red cloth of the tent walls. The father pleaded further, “Please, Doctor, just tell me she will recover.”
A large lump choked the doctor as he replied, “I’m sorry Ahe, but just like the other Neopians on Mystery Island, I am afraid she will not awaken.”
The tent fell into eerie silence as the doctor’s bad news clawed its way into Ahe’s brain. Small sobs whimpered from his throat. Pitying the poor Mynci, Borin Ulric took his leave, the bright sun burning his dark blue feathers.
Borin Ulric ambled along the hot beach towards the Chief’s hut. With each step, tiny specks of sand encrusted themselves between his cramped toes. With his leather boots two sizes too small, it was a wonder to Borin Ulric that any sand could make its way into his boots at all. He pulled his medical journal out of his leather satchel, reading down the list of symptoms of each patient:
Patient One, Keahi: Forty-seven years old. Male. Red Nimmo. Diagnosed with fever and cold sweats on the 25th day of Storing. Not native to Mystery Island, arrived by boat from Shenkuu.
Patient Two, Iwalani: Fifteen years old. Female. Yellow Kougra. Diagnosed with extreme fatigue on the 6th day of Celebrating. Was found unconscious on the beach. First treated with a cold bath to cure overheating of the body.
Patient Three, Lani: Eighteen years old. Female. Island Peophin. Diagnosed with cold sweat and high fever on the 10th day of Celebrating. Mother brought her to the island doctors but to no success.
Patient Four, Kukan: Sixty-four years old. Male. Elderly Kyrii. Diagnosed with extreme fatigue on 12th day of Celebrating after grand-daughter could not wake him from afternoon nap.
Borin Ulric walked off the beach, resting the medical journal against a palm tree. Pulling out a long piece of charcoal, he etched in another tragic entry with a heavy heart.
Patient Five: Kalani: Five years old. Island Mynci. Diagnosed with fever, cold sweats, and fatigue. Was brought to medical tent by father.
Borin Ulric heaved a dispirited breath. He wondered what this new disease was and where is came from. He had confidence that he could cure it. He was Doctor Borin Ulric, the blue Lenny who once cured a hospital full of Blurred Vision.
The Chief’s hut loomed above him with a straw roof and soft island wood walls. A small island Kyrii retreated from the hut, the bone pierced through his nose twitching at the sight of the doctor.
“Island Mystic,” the doctor bowed his head with courtesy. The Island Mystic dipped his head and continued down the beachside. Borin Ulric wondered how the blazing sand did not burn the barefooted Kyrii.
The Doctor pushed the cloth door aside, entering the hut with a polite, “My lord Chieftain.”
The Chief looked up from his bone throne; an gigantic Jubjub with hysterical strength. “Please enough with your Brightvallian formalities. How are the patients?” The Chief asked with a gruff voice.
“They have been in better health,” the Doctor replied.
The Jubjub gave a great groan. “Well let us hope that it does not spread.”
25th, Month of Gathering
The Warlock
Many years later, Jubart Igig would remember the potion he brewed on this foggy evening. The spell book before him wobbled on an unsteady oak stand. Growling to himself, Jubart Igig cursed the old furniture as he relocated his spot in the potion ingredients
He repeated to himself, “Add three Eye of Mortog, then stir.”
Retreating to the back of his cottage were shelves of ingredients sat neatly organized against the wall, Jubart Igig approached one particular shelf with jars of eyeballs, tongues, and ears. Removing the cloth from his nose, he pulled out three Mortog eyeballs, the rancid stench of rotting yogurt and dung storming his nose like a battalion at war. As he added the eyeballs to the bubbling yellow goop in the cauldron, a faint tingaling echoed from the front door and into the hazy night.
Jubart Igig raised his long, wooden staff towards the potion. The rusty red stone at the top of the staff illuminating as a wooden ladle floated into the gurgling cauldron, stirring the contents inside. Jubart Igig sauntered to the door, opening it to find a red Aisha wrapped in a grey shawl on his doormat.
“G-good evening Jubart,” she stuttered, staring down at the muddy walkway miserably. Jubart Igig noted that the hemline of her dress was drenched in mud but not more so than her laced-up boots. He stood to the side, holding out an arm and welcoming Ulla Langster into his cottage. She made it three steps before her rosy red cheeks were flushed of color leaving a ghostly entity in its wake.
“I apologize for the awful smell, Miss Langster,” Jubart Igig coughed, retreating back to his spell book for the final ingredient of his potion. “The smell is an effect of the potion but you nose should hopefully adjust to it soon. The potion will be ready in a few minutes, please sit down.”
Jubart Igig dabbed some scented oils on the cloth and offered it to Ulla Langster. She twitched an uneasy smile; eyeing the cloth suspiciously, then accepted it with a curt, “Thank you, sir.”
The red Aisha sat at the table. Her face glinted apprehension at the decoration that hung around the cottage; a skull head with a single hole drilled through the parietal section, housing a simple white candles to assist in lighting the cramped cottage. Sinister symbols etched into the walls of the wooden cottage, no doubt for conjuring spiritual entities and apparitions.
Jubart Igig shuffled over to the ingredient shelves one last time, scooping a spoonful of orange and pink powder. He cupped one paw under the spoon to catch any falling powder. Holding his breath to battle the stench, he sauntered over to the potion, sprinkling the powder over the yellow liquid. Before Jubart Igig’s and Ulla Langster’s eyes the potion began to turn color from yellow to purple, the rancid stench of dung and rotting yogurt transforming into a more pleasant aroma of figs and honey.
“There, your potion is complete Miss Langster,” Jubart Igig stated, collecting the liquid into three medium glass bottles, handing one bottle to Ulla Langster. “Hopefully this helps to lower your son’s fever.”
Ulla Langster smiled at the warlock and said, “Thank you Jubart.” She stretched up onto her toes and gave Jubart a tight hug. “You are a wonderful friend and a true miracle worker in the Haunted Woods.”
Jubart Igig returned the hug and walked Ulla Langster to the door, waving her off into the dark night and bidding her a safe trip home. As Ulla Langster disappeared into the foggy night, Jubart Igig turned twirling one of the potions in his paws. Walking to the back of the cottage, he placed both bottles upon rickety shelf labeled fever ailments .
27th, Month of Gathering.
The Mayor
Eugene Thumburt strolled from food stand to food stand, purchasing some of his favorite faire delicacies. He was excited, ecstasy shivering through his spine as he bit into a black widow truffle, vanilla-filling smearing across his beak. The Faire Grounds were busier than usual that night, but the yellow Bruce had little issue plowing through the throngs of young Neopians to his next food stand – in fact-- he enjoyed seeing so many people out at night. The Haunted Woods was not a place a Neopian wanted to wander around after the sun fell. Assuming you could tell if the sun fell.
A cool breeze lifted decaying leaves off the muddy ground as Eugene Thumburt waddled over to a skewered meat stand. “Good evening Miss Langster,” Eugene Thumburt beamed. “I would like two fish pops please.”
“As you wish Mr. Thumburt,” Ulla Langster replied, turning a miserable back to the Bruce.
Eugene Thumburt placed a flipper on the stand. “By the haunch in your shoulders, Miss Langster, I would presume your son’s condition has worsened.”
Ulla Langster turned, two skewered fish in her hand staring at Eugene Thumburt. The fish’s mouths were agape in a dumbfounded expression. She sighed, “My son, Theodore, his fever has fallen thanks to Mr. Igig’s potion skills. However, he still does not awaken.”
“I am terribly sorry to hear that.”
“Mr. Igig advised me to give my child a week to recover. If his condition does not improve I am to go see him again. Oh but Mr. Thumburt, he is but a warlock, not a doctor.”
Eugene Thumburt placed a flipper on her shoulder, “I am sure Theodore will awaken soon.”
He placed a small amount of gold coins on the stand in payment for the fish pops, then sauntered back off into the throng of Neopians. A breeze slipped between Eugene Thumburt’s feathers, warmer than the typical chilly breeze accustomed to the Haunted Woods. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the obscure warmth.
Eugene Thumburt sloshed through the muddy Faire Ground, tearing pieces of fish off the stick. Saliva dripped from his beak with each scrumptious bite. Merrily he walked along, tearing morsel after morsel off the fish pop. Young children hollered in jubilation near the large clown head that housed one of Neopia’s finest thrill rides. Eugene Thumburt smiled, oblivious to his immediate surroundings.
“Ooof,” Eugene Thumburt gasped, as his tail froze stiff with icy mud upon impact with the ground.
“Watch it fatty,” a large, muscular, blue Skeith roared down at Eugene Thumburt. The Skeith strolled forward, pulling his frock coat and straightening his cravat. Feeling belittled, Eugene Thumburt gazed up at the star-filled sky. The small balls of light illuminated a dazzling white against a fiery red sky. Confused, Eugene Thumburt hoisted himself to his feet with a heavy heave, wiping dirt off his coat and trousers.
“The sky in the Haunted Woods rarely blazes red,” he mumbled to himself.
“Help!” a voice screamed from the outskirts of the city. “Help my house is on fire!”
“Ah, that explains the red sky,” said Eugene Thumburt as he waddled over the thick ground. Past Bagatelle, the Wheel of Misfortune, and Castle Nox, slightly into the woods. A two-story cottage stood ablaze, flames licking into the open night sky from shattered windows. Shingles screaming as the fire burned their rough surface. Eugene Thumburt shuffled up to the house. A yellow Acara stood near the burning front porch, other Neopians screaming in terror around her.
“Don’t worry miss,” Eugene Thumburt huffed an exhausted breath. “I will help you.” He loped to the side of the house and began fanning the flames with his flipper.
“Someone put out the flames,” one voice echoed.
Another hollered, “That Bruce has the right idea! Fan out the flames with your paws, hands, flippers, anything!”
Thunder reverberated overhead as Eugene Thumburt waved his flipper like a maniac. Having tried countless times as a young Bruce to fly, Eugene Thumburt waved his flippers at the flames with such ferocity that the flame appeared only to get bigger, feeding off the strength of the Bruce. One flame retaliated at his pathetic attempts, biting his flipper and leaving many of his feathers singed. Eugene Thumburt nursed his flipper, placing it in and out of his mouth as if his sharp beak would ease the hot sensation.
Eugene Thumburt was relieved when a single drop of water landed on his flipper. Whispering to himself, Eugene Thumburt sighed, “Ah, that felt better. Come on skies, give me another.” Eugene Thumburt looked to the sky as another raindrop landed on his face.
“What are you doing?” The yellow Acara screamed in the distance.
Crack. Boom.
A downpour began to soak Eugene Thumburt to the bone. He stepped back from the house as the flames sizzled in pain, shrinking faster and faster into the house until they could not be seen, but only heard with a faint Ssssss.
Eugene Thumburt waddled around the house. A dark blue Lupe stood, his arms opened wide under his rough spun cloak. The Lupe muttered incantations under his breath, controlling the intensity of the thunderstorm above the Neopians. In his left paw he held a long staff, a glowing, rusty red orb brightening the dark night the louder the thunderstorm became. In a mere minute the raging fire had dwindled into crying wood, the flames completely gone.
The yellow Acara ran up to the Lupe, grabbing his paw and shaking it violently. Jealousy raged in the Bruce’s chunky chest. Had the Acara not seen all of his efforts? The Acara hardly noticed as the Lupe uncomfortably disentangled himself from her grip.
She simply grabbed his paw again bawling with joyous tears, “Thank you so much sir! Who are you? Are you that warlock that lives in the woods? Thank you again so much! Ulla told me about you. Oh why thank you! She said you were a very powerful warlock.” The Lupe pushed the Acara’s paw off again, not saying a single syllable.
Eugene huffed in anger, turning away from the Lupe and Acara. He muttered to himself, “Don’t I get any thanks?” With that Eugene Thumburt waddled out of the Faire Grounds and into the Haunted Woods to where his house stood. After an hour or so of walking Eugene Thumburt sighed, looking up at his stone mansion, solitary from the rest of the Haunted Woods, his own inheritance surrounded by nothing but land.
4th, Month of Collecting.
The Doctor
WeewoooWeeewoooWeewoo
Borin Ulric groaned, rolling over on his sleeping mat to see the mail Weewoo perched on a small tent beam above him. The Weewoo ruffles it feathers than swoops down next to the doctor on the floor, no doubt caring a letter from Brightvale.
The doctor knew the parchment could not contain good news. He propped his body up on one wing and reached inside the knapsack. The letter was rough in his hand and as he turned it over he saw the seal of the Seekers stamped in ruby ink. The letter read,
To the esteemed Dr. Borin Ulric,
We hope this letter finds you in good health given your location and latest report of the strange disease. Due to the acceleration of the disease the guild asks that you return to Brightvale promptly. Please bring any and all notes you have taken on the disease.
Sincerely,
The Seekers
Brightvale Branch
A dry beak nudged Borin Ulric’s feathery hand, then snap. The Weewoo bit the doctor drawing the slightest amount of liquid from his finger.
p.s The Weewoo bites if he does not receive immediate payment
“Impatient Petpet,” the doctor slurred through his finger, pulling out five small gold coins and placing them in Weewoo’s knapsack. Satisfied with it’s payment, the Weewoo hopped out of the tent and took flight to its next destination.
Outside the sun had barely risen over the horizon. The doctor pulled on his medical cloths, a mask to prevent noxious odors from entering his beak and nose, a full body suit, to prevent the disease coming in contact with his body, and goggles. He looked in the dusty mirror partially buried in the sand. He truly looked like a horrific and deranged.
Borin Ulric stepped outside into the morning air. Taking only a few paces, he entered the first medical tent. A small red Kyrii, Julip Canterfree and the doctor’s medical apprentice, tended to a patient at the far end of the tent. Borin Ulric smiled at Julip Canterfree. She nodded back at him, silently as if her words would awaken the patients. He silently applauded her bedside manner, but knew that her action was trivial. These patients had not awaken in several months, they were not about to be awaken this morning.
The doctor continued onto the next tent. Two tents had quickly become a necessity that arose as the number of patients increased. Inside this tent the Island Mystic sat on a mat, his legs crossed, his eyes closed. Fear gripped Borin Ulric. Had the Island Mystic fallen victim to the disease over night? The doctor walked further into the tent, faint gas lanterns casting ominous shadows against the red clothed walls.
He placed the back of his wing upon the Mystic’s forehead, checking his body temperature. The Mystic’s forehead was cool, yet still he did not stir. The doctor swallowed a hard lump, pinching the Island Mystic’s nose piercing between two dark feathers, then wiggled it violently.
“Arrrgghh!” The Island Mystic screamed, flailing backwards on his mat. “What is wrong with you?”
“Sorry, I thought you might have fallen ill,” the doctor stammered. The Mystic glared at the doctor. Hoping on his feet for an awkward moment the doctor cleared his throat.
“Well, I’ll just be next door,” he announced, retreating from the tent in a rush.
The sky was had transformed from a dark blue night into the bright blue sky Mystery Island was famous for. Borin Ulric reentered his tent, pulling out a medium brief case and packing. First he added some of his clothing, a pair of boots, his nightgown. All the while the doctor debated how he would tell the people of the Island that he was leaving. The doctor had no choice though. When the Seekers demanded your presence, graced them with your presence.
Borin Ulric placed his medical journal into the suitcase last. Sighing with a heavy heart, he left his tent. He would sneak out before the Island awoke.
Back in the first medical tent, Julip stood over a small wooden desk, scribbling in her own journal. She looked up at the doctor and gave him a warm smile, “Good morning Dr. Ulric.”
“Good morning, Julip,” the doctor replied. He rubbed a wing behind his long neck then sighed. “Julip, I have taught you much these past couple months. Now, I have been on Mystery Island almost a year, and the Seekers ask for my presence back in Brightvale. I will need you to watch over the patients here.”
He paused, looking at Julip. Her face was tranquil, unaffected by the news he delivered to her. Relief began to wash over him. He knew Julip was the perfect medical apprentice. She always stood up to a challenge and he could rely on her wits and cleverness when she was left alone.
“So you are just going to abandon your patients doctor?” A voice growled from behind Borin Ulric. “You are going to leave my neighbors to die? My little Kalani?” Ahe loomed over the doctor, his golden fur twitching in anger.
“Now Ahe,” the doctor began in hopes to reason with the Mynci. “I am leaving your daughter in great care. Julip has been training under my wing now for almost a year come this Month of Sleeping. I am sure she will provide excellent care and comfort to her patients.”
“And what if she doesn’t?” the Mynci fumed. “What if my daughter’s condition worsens?”
“Her condition has not improved nor worsened since she was checked…”
“But what if she worsens?” the Mynci hollered at the top of his lungs. Winged Petpets cawed and flew off outside the tent from the noise. “Do you plan to run away from this land because you failed to cure our people?”
“Now listen here you…” Julip cut in, rising from her chair to challenge Ahe.
“No, Julip,” the doctor said blocking a hand in front of the Kyrii. Borin Ulric turned to Ahe. “I will return with a cure for your daughter. I promise.”
2nd, Month of Collecting.
The Mayor
“Hey, watch it you oversized blob of blubber,” a small, rather rude young Gelert spat at Eugene Thumburt. He huffed a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the ill-mannered child, slicing himself a hefty piece of steak and kidney pie then moving farther down the table towards the linzer torte and chocolate cream puffs.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” A green Krawk hollered from the balcony above. “It is my honor and pleasure to introduce to you the host of this evenings gallant festivities, Edward Alexander Krawley I.”
The refined blue Krawk bowed his head to the guests below before descending the red-carpeted stairs. Under the candle lite chandelier, Edward Alexander stood as a beacon of wealthy and prosperity in the Haunted Woods. He was a merchant of strange and foreign items, the one item that accumulated majority of his wealth being rare potions and jewelry.
Eugene Thumburt watched in awe as Edward Alexander strolled from guest to guest, shifting his emerald topped cane to shake other Neopians hands. Groaning with negativity, Eugene Thumburt glowered at Edward Alexander. His jealousy focused less towards this aristocrat’s wealth but more towards his popularity and social connections.
“Oh how I wish I had enough friend to host a party of this caliber,” he mumbled to himself, unaware of the introvert right next to him at the food table.
“Why?” A gruff voice mumbled. “Social events are a nuisance.”
Eugene Thumburt looked at the warlock and asked, “Then what are you doing here?”
“I wish I had a rational explanation for that. Perhaps it was the stars? Partially it was the knowledge that spinach croissants would be served. They are my favorite baked good from the Crumpetmonger.”
There was an awkward silence, neither patron knowing what to say next. Eugene Thumburt shoveled a large bite of steak and kidney pie into his mouth, coughing as the morsel clogged his throat. He pounded against his chest, feeling like an idiot in front of this magnificent magician.
“I saw you the other night,” Jubart Igig began. “At the Faire Grounds. You were helping that Acara put out the house fire.”
“Oh, uh, yes, I was there,” Eugene Thumburt choked.
Jubart Igig let out a soft laugh “You were waving your arms so violently at the flames I thought you might take flight!” Irritated by the warlock’s mockery, Eugene Thumburt glared up at the warlock. Seeing the Eugene Thumburt’s irritation, Jubart Igig added with a warm smile, “I thought you were very brave facing that fire.”
Eugene Thumburt was shocked. This warlock, this master of the magical arts, had just paid him a compliment. Eugene Thumburt looked at the Lupe, inquiring. “For someone so infamous and kind, I have found it strange that you do not mingle in the crowds more.”
The Lupe shifted his weight from one leg to the other, leaning on his staff for support. He replied, “I find crowds unnerving. Tight spaces give me anxiety, like the walls around me are caving in to crush my bones and deplete my breath. Crowds are no exception and therefore I tend to socialize on the outskirts.” He paused for a moment, charging Eugene Thumburt with his own question, “Why do you not join in the merriment?”
“Many residents mock me for my weight, my eating habits. I suppose their taunts are not unwarranted though.” Eugene Thumburt poked his stomach, it jiggling like a serving of strawberry jelly. “I have always thought of having guests over, throwing extravagant parties. The Brain Tree knows I have the space to do so. I fear no one would attend, however.”
“I would be honored to see your estate,” Jubart Igig remarked, sipping on some tea and then taking another bite from his croissant.
Fear and excitement dueled in Eugene Thumburt’s heart. Here was a Neopian who wished to see his mansion, to socialize with him. Taking a deep breath Eugene Thumburt asked the warlock, “Would you like tea at my estate tomorrow?”
“I would be honored.”
The Doctor
WeewoooWeeewoooWeewoo
Borin Ulric groaned, rolling over on his sleeping mat to see the mail Weewoo perched on a small tent beam above him. The Weewoo ruffles it feathers than swoops down next to the doctor on the floor, no doubt caring a letter from Brightvale.
The doctor knew the parchment could not contain good news. He propped his body up on one wing and reached inside the knapsack. The letter was rough in his hand and as he turned it over he saw the seal of the Seekers stamped in ruby ink. The letter read,
To the esteemed Dr. Borin Ulric,
We hope this letter finds you in good health given your location and latest report of the strange disease. Due to the acceleration of the disease the guild asks that you return to Brightvale promptly. Please bring any and all notes you have taken on the disease.
Sincerely,
The Seekers
Brightvale Branch
A dry beak nudged Borin Ulric’s feathery hand, then snap. The Weewoo bit the doctor drawing the slightest amount of liquid from his finger.
p.s The Weewoo bites if he does not receive immediate payment
“Impatient Petpet,” the doctor slurred through his finger, pulling out five small gold coins and placing them in Weewoo’s knapsack. Satisfied with it’s payment, the Weewoo hopped out of the tent and took flight to its next destination.
Outside the sun had barely risen over the horizon. The doctor pulled on his medical cloths, a mask to prevent noxious odors from entering his beak and nose, a full body suit, to prevent the disease coming in contact with his body, and goggles. He looked in the dusty mirror partially buried in the sand. He truly looked like a horrific and deranged.
Borin Ulric stepped outside into the morning air. Taking only a few paces, he entered the first medical tent. A small red Kyrii, Julip Canterfree and the doctor’s medical apprentice, tended to a patient at the far end of the tent. Borin Ulric smiled at Julip Canterfree. She nodded back at him, silently as if her words would awaken the patients. He silently applauded her bedside manner, but knew that her action was trivial. These patients had not awaken in several months, they were not about to be awaken this morning.
The doctor continued onto the next tent. Two tents had quickly become a necessity that arose as the number of patients increased. Inside this tent the Island Mystic sat on a mat, his legs crossed, his eyes closed. Fear gripped Borin Ulric. Had the Island Mystic fallen victim to the disease over night? The doctor walked further into the tent, faint gas lanterns casting ominous shadows against the red clothed walls.
He placed the back of his wing upon the Mystic’s forehead, checking his body temperature. The Mystic’s forehead was cool, yet still he did not stir. The doctor swallowed a hard lump, pinching the Island Mystic’s nose piercing between two dark feathers, then wiggled it violently.
“Arrrgghh!” The Island Mystic screamed, flailing backwards on his mat. “What is wrong with you?”
“Sorry, I thought you might have fallen ill,” the doctor stammered. The Mystic glared at the doctor. Hoping on his feet for an awkward moment the doctor cleared his throat.
“Well, I’ll just be next door,” he announced, retreating from the tent in a rush.
The sky was had transformed from a dark blue night into the bright blue sky Mystery Island was famous for. Borin Ulric reentered his tent, pulling out a medium brief case and packing. First he added some of his clothing, a pair of boots, his nightgown. All the while the doctor debated how he would tell the people of the Island that he was leaving. The doctor had no choice though. When the Seekers demanded your presence, graced them with your presence.
Borin Ulric placed his medical journal into the suitcase last. Sighing with a heavy heart, he left his tent. He would sneak out before the Island awoke.
Back in the first medical tent, Julip stood over a small wooden desk, scribbling in her own journal. She looked up at the doctor and gave him a warm smile, “Good morning Dr. Ulric.”
“Good morning, Julip,” the doctor replied. He rubbed a wing behind his long neck then sighed. “Julip, I have taught you much these past couple months. Now, I have been on Mystery Island almost a year, and the Seekers ask for my presence back in Brightvale. I will need you to watch over the patients here.”
He paused, looking at Julip. Her face was tranquil, unaffected by the news he delivered to her. Relief began to wash over him. He knew Julip was the perfect medical apprentice. She always stood up to a challenge and he could rely on her wits and cleverness when she was left alone.
“So you are just going to abandon your patients doctor?” A voice growled from behind Borin Ulric. “You are going to leave my neighbors to die? My little Kalani?” Ahe loomed over the doctor, his golden fur twitching in anger.
“Now Ahe,” the doctor began in hopes to reason with the Mynci. “I am leaving your daughter in great care. Julip has been training under my wing now for almost a year come this Month of Sleeping. I am sure she will provide excellent care and comfort to her patients.”
“And what if she doesn’t?” the Mynci fumed. “What if my daughter’s condition worsens?”
“Her condition has not improved nor worsened since she was checked…”
“But what if she worsens?” the Mynci hollered at the top of his lungs. Winged Petpets cawed and flew off outside the tent from the noise. “Do you plan to run away from this land because you failed to cure our people?”
“Now listen here you…” Julip cut in, rising from her chair to challenge Ahe.
“No, Julip,” the doctor said blocking a hand in front of the Kyrii. Borin Ulric turned to Ahe. “I will return with a cure for your daughter. I promise.”
2nd, Month of Collecting.
The Mayor
“Hey, watch it you oversized blob of blubber,” a small, rather rude young Gelert spat at Eugene Thumburt. He huffed a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the ill-mannered child, slicing himself a hefty piece of steak and kidney pie then moving farther down the table towards the linzer torte and chocolate cream puffs.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” A green Krawk hollered from the balcony above. “It is my honor and pleasure to introduce to you the host of this evenings gallant festivities, Edward Alexander Krawley I.”
The refined blue Krawk bowed his head to the guests below before descending the red-carpeted stairs. Under the candle lite chandelier, Edward Alexander stood as a beacon of wealthy and prosperity in the Haunted Woods. He was a merchant of strange and foreign items, the one item that accumulated majority of his wealth being rare potions and jewelry.
Eugene Thumburt watched in awe as Edward Alexander strolled from guest to guest, shifting his emerald topped cane to shake other Neopians hands. Groaning with negativity, Eugene Thumburt glowered at Edward Alexander. His jealousy focused less towards this aristocrat’s wealth but more towards his popularity and social connections.
“Oh how I wish I had enough friend to host a party of this caliber,” he mumbled to himself, unaware of the introvert right next to him at the food table.
“Why?” A gruff voice mumbled. “Social events are a nuisance.”
Eugene Thumburt looked at the warlock and asked, “Then what are you doing here?”
“I wish I had a rational explanation for that. Perhaps it was the stars? Partially it was the knowledge that spinach croissants would be served. They are my favorite baked good from the Crumpetmonger.”
There was an awkward silence, neither patron knowing what to say next. Eugene Thumburt shoveled a large bite of steak and kidney pie into his mouth, coughing as the morsel clogged his throat. He pounded against his chest, feeling like an idiot in front of this magnificent magician.
“I saw you the other night,” Jubart Igig began. “At the Faire Grounds. You were helping that Acara put out the house fire.”
“Oh, uh, yes, I was there,” Eugene Thumburt choked.
Jubart Igig let out a soft laugh “You were waving your arms so violently at the flames I thought you might take flight!” Irritated by the warlock’s mockery, Eugene Thumburt glared up at the warlock. Seeing the Eugene Thumburt’s irritation, Jubart Igig added with a warm smile, “I thought you were very brave facing that fire.”
Eugene Thumburt was shocked. This warlock, this master of the magical arts, had just paid him a compliment. Eugene Thumburt looked at the Lupe, inquiring. “For someone so infamous and kind, I have found it strange that you do not mingle in the crowds more.”
The Lupe shifted his weight from one leg to the other, leaning on his staff for support. He replied, “I find crowds unnerving. Tight spaces give me anxiety, like the walls around me are caving in to crush my bones and deplete my breath. Crowds are no exception and therefore I tend to socialize on the outskirts.” He paused for a moment, charging Eugene Thumburt with his own question, “Why do you not join in the merriment?”
“Many residents mock me for my weight, my eating habits. I suppose their taunts are not unwarranted though.” Eugene Thumburt poked his stomach, it jiggling like a serving of strawberry jelly. “I have always thought of having guests over, throwing extravagant parties. The Brain Tree knows I have the space to do so. I fear no one would attend, however.”
“I would be honored to see your estate,” Jubart Igig remarked, sipping on some tea and then taking another bite from his croissant.
Fear and excitement dueled in Eugene Thumburt’s heart. Here was a Neopian who wished to see his mansion, to socialize with him. Taking a deep breath Eugene Thumburt asked the warlock, “Would you like tea at my estate tomorrow?”
“I would be honored.”
