A Blight in the Woods - Boosya - 10/05/2022
Jun 11, 2022 19:46:00 GMT
Toothy, Velania Kalugina, and 4 more like this
Post by Bosalind "Boosya" Sugartooth on Jun 11, 2022 19:46:00 GMT
It was a quiet evening in Daring Heights. The monthly meeting of the Silver Threads knitting club was held at one of the member's dining rooms. The air was teeming with the smells of plain tea and a variety of pastries. The room was silent, safe for the quiet click-clacks of many a knitting needle. Like mice's fencing match.
"Now, Bosalind, dear," an old dwarf woman, seemingly older than even her race's biology would allow, said without turning away from her knitting. "I've heard one of your grandchildren has just had a fashion show in Daring Heights! At the new theatre, no less! You must be so proud!" She said with a kind smile.
"Naturally, dear Abby, but I've always known Lolli would achieve big things," Boosya said with a smile of false modesty.
"I imagine the young prodigy has earned herself an initiate ring," another lady, a grey-haired human, took a sip of her tea, looking around the room. The room nodded in unison.
"Oh, that is very kind of you, Chair," Boosya nodded, gratefully. "I hope you don't mind, I've taken the liberty of giving her one already," she said, and added quickly to prevent everyone from dwelling on her behaviour: "However, I believe we might have other, more pressing matters."
"Indeed?" the Chair asked, and every knitting needle in the room stumbled for just a second.
"Indeed," Boosya confirmed with a somber expression. "As you know, Granny Gunk has been very accommodating to our society."
"Yes, being available on such a short notice to host us last month was very sweet of her," a Halfling lady said, contemplatively.
Boosya gave her an impatient look, and the lady went back to her knitting with double the speed.
"Precisely. The poor girl has family troubles. It's her nephew, Slippy," she said judgmentally. "Not only he is a young rascal prone to falling asleep on the job, not maintaining the bullette train properly, but for his gap year he went off into the woods, to the town of Blackpool, and joined some sort of an aboleth cult!"
There was a unified clacking of the tongues and shaking of the heads.
"These young people!"
"Too much time on their hands!"
"There were no 'gap years' when we were young!"
"The education nowadays!"
These weren't words spoken by anyone in particular. The phrases just materialised in the pastry-filled air, brought into existence by the consensus.
"That seems rather upsetting, dears. Is he unwilling to go back?"
"He is!" Boosya nodded energetically. "Perhaps it's because of this aboleth that lives in the lake. Damien tried to catch it, but it was too slippery, and escaped."
"Damien?" Lotta squinted her eyes in a forced recollection.
"A very capable fighter. He's new to Kantas. Big man, very mature, and such a gentleman! He fixed the bulette-train's wheel. And you should've seen him in a fight, charming wolves. Oh, if some of us were 40 years younger!" She winked suggestively.
It was answered by a couple of nostalgic giggles.
"Are you sure that the curse has been the work of a… well, fish?"
"Yes! Vicros is a very gifted mage, he identified it immediately. Although the Mayor might be on in it, somehow. Mayor Napier. A shifty fellow. Dignified, but suspicious. I'm not entirely sure it wasn't he who summoned the wolves. Poor Anabael! She fought them on the shore, and even on the roof, they just kept at it! I had to use a rolling pin on a couple of them, or they wouldn't leave the poor girl alone. At least the had-scarf I knitted her seemed to have survived the attack. But if it wasn't for the others, I doubt that would have been the case."
"This is very troubling, very troubling!"
"At least we managed to get the required logs. And I got a couple of pieces of carrot cake into young Fog. The poor darling is as thin as a beanpole. The sustenance would do him good. So, a win all around!" Boosya smiled proudly.
"You've done very well, dear Bosalind, surely an example to us all," the Chair nodded, her features half obscured by the uneven light from the window. "I imagine we should to help dear Granny Gunk in the very near future. Perhaps something can be done about that nephew of hers…" She trailed off, and only the click-clacking of the knitting needles, louder than before, could be heard in the half-lit room…
"Now, Bosalind, dear," an old dwarf woman, seemingly older than even her race's biology would allow, said without turning away from her knitting. "I've heard one of your grandchildren has just had a fashion show in Daring Heights! At the new theatre, no less! You must be so proud!" She said with a kind smile.
"Naturally, dear Abby, but I've always known Lolli would achieve big things," Boosya said with a smile of false modesty.
"I imagine the young prodigy has earned herself an initiate ring," another lady, a grey-haired human, took a sip of her tea, looking around the room. The room nodded in unison.
"Oh, that is very kind of you, Chair," Boosya nodded, gratefully. "I hope you don't mind, I've taken the liberty of giving her one already," she said, and added quickly to prevent everyone from dwelling on her behaviour: "However, I believe we might have other, more pressing matters."
"Indeed?" the Chair asked, and every knitting needle in the room stumbled for just a second.
"Indeed," Boosya confirmed with a somber expression. "As you know, Granny Gunk has been very accommodating to our society."
"Yes, being available on such a short notice to host us last month was very sweet of her," a Halfling lady said, contemplatively.
Boosya gave her an impatient look, and the lady went back to her knitting with double the speed.
"Precisely. The poor girl has family troubles. It's her nephew, Slippy," she said judgmentally. "Not only he is a young rascal prone to falling asleep on the job, not maintaining the bullette train properly, but for his gap year he went off into the woods, to the town of Blackpool, and joined some sort of an aboleth cult!"
There was a unified clacking of the tongues and shaking of the heads.
"These young people!"
"Too much time on their hands!"
"There were no 'gap years' when we were young!"
"The education nowadays!"
These weren't words spoken by anyone in particular. The phrases just materialised in the pastry-filled air, brought into existence by the consensus.
"That seems rather upsetting, dears. Is he unwilling to go back?"
"He is!" Boosya nodded energetically. "Perhaps it's because of this aboleth that lives in the lake. Damien tried to catch it, but it was too slippery, and escaped."
"Damien?" Lotta squinted her eyes in a forced recollection.
"A very capable fighter. He's new to Kantas. Big man, very mature, and such a gentleman! He fixed the bulette-train's wheel. And you should've seen him in a fight, charming wolves. Oh, if some of us were 40 years younger!" She winked suggestively.
It was answered by a couple of nostalgic giggles.
"Are you sure that the curse has been the work of a… well, fish?"
"Yes! Vicros is a very gifted mage, he identified it immediately. Although the Mayor might be on in it, somehow. Mayor Napier. A shifty fellow. Dignified, but suspicious. I'm not entirely sure it wasn't he who summoned the wolves. Poor Anabael! She fought them on the shore, and even on the roof, they just kept at it! I had to use a rolling pin on a couple of them, or they wouldn't leave the poor girl alone. At least the had-scarf I knitted her seemed to have survived the attack. But if it wasn't for the others, I doubt that would have been the case."
"This is very troubling, very troubling!"
"At least we managed to get the required logs. And I got a couple of pieces of carrot cake into young Fog. The poor darling is as thin as a beanpole. The sustenance would do him good. So, a win all around!" Boosya smiled proudly.
"You've done very well, dear Bosalind, surely an example to us all," the Chair nodded, her features half obscured by the uneven light from the window. "I imagine we should to help dear Granny Gunk in the very near future. Perhaps something can be done about that nephew of hers…" She trailed off, and only the click-clacking of the knitting needles, louder than before, could be heard in the half-lit room…
