A Sudden Glut of Gluttons

A Sudden Glut of Gluttons

Postby Treadwell » Mon Dec 24, 2007 1:40 pm

Tonight, the twenty-fourth, the same night that Alice Treadwell learns of her pregnancy from a note left by one Orin Barrin of New Hibera, a tired Aloisius Treadwell rides home the Broken Dagger in his warm, comfy, cozy carriage, pulled by a horse as layered in rolls of flesh as his owner. He certainly doesn't expect to see a veritable wall of similar carriages and horses lined along the way to his house. Naturally, he orders his driver to bring Arnold to a stop, and out he wobbles, gleaming in his purple silk robe and top hat as he holds a lit lantern before himself.

"What by Tubbius's great gut is the meaning of this?!" he calls, his cane waggling about in the air before him as he waddles toward the first of the vehicles. A bald, roly-poly head of a man, jowls all a-quiver, peers from that carriage, disappearing back within only to return a moment later with a burgundy skullcap atop it.

"Y-Y-Yes, sir?" Squinty old eyes narrow, and other, similar faces, peek from almost every conceivable hole and shutter, all of them staring at the puffing tax collector. "Are you--wait--yes. . . You are!"

"Am I what? You men, all of you, mmph mmph, are lined up on my land like a band of gypsies at the town square, and I demand an explanation! State your business!" Up to this flabbergasted spokesperson Treadwell comes.

"You are! You are the chosen one! I--I can see it in the glow you have to you, in your girth, in your appearance, sir! Have you--"

"Have I WHAT? Glow? What glow?"

"Have you yourself ever been blessed by the great one, Tubbius, my lord? You--you are Aloisius Treadwell, are you not? You look familiar--Chief Magistrate Treadwell, yes, of Westenford?"

"Err, mmph mmph, yeeeeesssss. . . . To all of that! Who asks? And why are you all with your carriages parked here?"

"Kutch! Graham Kutch! Second Tubbian of the Tubbians of Westenford, Amasynia--all of whom are assembled here before you, my lord. You see, sir, we were led here--led here by the Great God to see you in all your blessed old age!"

It is Treadwell's turn to be flabbergasted. He slumps against the carriage, which prompts a chubby little lad to scurry out of it with a cushiony, stable, sturdy stool for him to sit on. As Treadwell nods his thanks, Second Tubbian Kutch continues.

"It is a very rare, grave, and serious event when our Lord Tubbian passes, sir. It is no small matter; we do not simply elect one of our own to the leadership unless we are so shown to do so. When our most recent Lord Tubbian passed, a week ago, we buried him, and we waited."

Heads nod at the nearest coach.

"To this point, our new Lord Tubbian has always been from among the people of Westenford--always to date, you might recall, sir, from the Ruling Council, who so embody the same virtues we preach."

"Mmph mmph."

"You, my lord, have been shown to our six eldest in a vision, a dream, as has this place of Myrken Wood, inhospitable and famine-rumored it may be."

"There's naught of a rumor about that, chum, mmph mmph. Rest assured the people here won't take kindly to a good. . . how many bellies are you?"

"Twenty-four, sir. Our numbers at the temple have always been twenty-five, as you should recall from your Council's yearly census."

"Err, yes yes."

"We bring with us the skills and means to grow enough to feed ourselves in time. We have seen, also, what is to be the new site of our worship, and we shall lead you there as you see fit."

Treadwell blinks a few times, staring up at the fellow in the carriage window. "You can't be bloody serious about all of this!"

A faint smile creases the old plump-cheeked face. "Oh, sir, but we are--quite serious. You. . . knew nothing of our coming?"

"Not a bit."

"Oh. Well, it makes no difference. You, great Aloisius, are to join with us, to lead us, to show us the chosen, proper way to please our common master!"

Treadwell squirmingly sits up, holding cane and lamp still.

"It's, err, the same fellow, eh? Tubbius, god of gluttony, eating, and the like?"

"The very same! Why do you delay, Lord Tubbian? Show the faith you hold! You have seen his glorious shape! All of our Lord Tubbians have! You can surely be no different!"

Bewilderment sweeps through Aloisius Treadwell! The man speaks the truth, and yet--one more responsibility? One more task? But there would be the admiration of two dozen men all waiting hand and foot to listen to him, to await the commands and teachings of a deity above through mortal man. Thus does the greedy, eternally hungry Treadwell make his decision.

"Oh, pooh on it all! Let me at least invite the lot of you in for a supper?"

Cheers resound from the various coaches. All, it seems, will be right with the world!
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 7:24 am

It's the early afternoon of the twenty-fifth.

Last night, this morning, and lunch for over thirty (these new visitors, Treadwell, his wife, the other servants, and Mr. Drivel) have left Treadwell's kitchen staff exhausted, even with the assistance from a great many old tubs well experienced in such cooking and cleaning matters. Now, with heavy, sleepy folks sprawled on chairs and sofas all around in the front hall, from a young lad of eight up to the eldest being Treadwell at sixty-two, Aloisius takes a bite from a hunk of mutton and clears his throat. A wag of that muttony meat proves signal enough to get the attentions of all.

"Well met, my fellows! I ought to say that I, mmph mmph, have so very strongly considered this cause of finding yourselves a place to worship, and I know precisely of the building that Second Tubbian Kutch has been discussing with me! However, know you all, hmm hmm, that I am a busy man--toymaker and town councilor and tax collector all three--and I do have my duties here!"

Faces droop as Aloisius takes a chomp from that hunk of fleshy meat in his hand, grease dripping down his hand and forearm.

"But, rest assured I agree wholeheartedly to it all! I was gifted last night, mmph mmph, with very little in the way of sleep, instead finding myself nestled into Tubbius's gut in a soft, comfortable dream, listening as he spoke, swaying as he rocked, and now obeying as he has told!"

An immediate clamor of whispers and questions bursts from the merry, jolly gathering, just as immediately silenced by their host.

"I shall lead you, but I have been given one most holy, most unbreakable order! Tubbius knows that his faithful are likely to not find acceptance here, especially at the first! Thus, the lot of you are to prove yourselves useful to Myrken Wood, through work, through jobs, through help of whatever sort you find yourselves suited! Mmph mmph! I, for instance, was once an actor in my youth; now, as I have done for a good many years, yes yes, I hold a political post, and I make toys. As Councilor of Administrative Sanctions, I can help secure you places of business, though this new temple or monastery must serve as your place of residence to keep all safe! Now, take yourselves an hour and think, discuss--and, dare I say, pray to Tubbius himself--to find where the lot of you are best suited in this fine new land!"

With that, Tready takes a final chomp of his mutton, discarding the picked clean bone into a tub for trash, and, wiping greasy hands against his bright purple robe, wobbles away from the gathering to a spare bedroom to one side.

He is followed by that bald Second Tubbian Kutch in the burgundy skullcap and robe, the front of which, like all robes for this order, proudly displays the symbol of Tubbius around the navel: two concentric circles, the inner offset closer to the bottom of the outer. In fact, they're meant to symbolize Tubbius's enormous belly button, given their placement on the outfits so worn.

"Lord Tubbian?" comes an uncertain, wavering squeak from the old fellow.

"Eh? Ohhhh, sir, we are in my home, I have not been fully indoctrinated to this order, and we are alone. Do call me by my name, if you will?"

"That, umm, is precisely what I was coming to talk with you about." A small, slim book is pulled from within the fellow's robe and set on a table as he turns to a wardrobe off to one side. "It is most fortunate that you came to this room, my lord--fated, I should say. Do look into that volume, there, as you find time today; it is our holy scripture, passed from Tubbius himself years and years past. Otherwise. . . I have some new garments for your blessedly large self, sir. I would appreciate your trying them on."

Treadwell finds himself looking up, staring, at his newfound subordinate.

"Now, Graham?"

"Now, Lord Tubbian. Strip yourself of your current garments, and do try these?"

From the wardrobe comes a veritable mound of clothing. Two robes, both black and velvet, with the same rings (though dark purple) at the front, are unfolded and laid on a couch. Beside them, a matching dark purple outfit: a one-piece pajama suit similar to Treadwell's usual nightly attire, undergarments, a long-sleeved shirt with great billowy sleeves to match the robe's arms, trousers with similarly expansive leggings, a padded and pillowy waistcoat vest to pull over the head, socks, and dyed purple leather boots. Set down last, a matching pair of gloves with an identical deep purple skullcap to keep the head and ears warm and covered.

There Treadwell stands, eyes wide in amazement.

"I should think you had all this planned long since, mmph mmph."

"I should hope that our tailors discerned the proper measurements in their vision of you that led us here, holy master."

With that, Kutch gives a bow, turns his back, and leaves the room. Treadwell, on seeing Kutch leave, worms out of his outfit, and into his newly fashioned clothing he veritably slides; everything, from pajamas and underpants to shirt and vest and trousers, to robes and cap, fits perfectly.

Pausing to study himself in the wide, tall, frosted-glass mirror, Treadwell ends up smiling from ear to jiggly ear. With the layers of robes and vest and other clothes, he looks a good degree larger, of course, although it is very much that same Aloisius Horatio Treadwell underneath, beaming at himself.

"I think you could learn to love this, Aloisius!"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Beginnings of a Change

Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 2:24 pm

"Ten o'clock, and all is wayeeelllllllll!" comes the piercingly uneducated wail of Jack Alldale, town crier, as Aloisius Treadwell's carriage rolls through town, making for a monastery on the western outskirts of town. A monastery?

It's a building that, in the space of the last six hours, has seen proper arrangements to become the new place of residence for the Tubbians. Treadwell's signature as Councilor of Administrative Sanctions adorns the deed, which sits safe and secure in a locked box in his bedroom at home.

It's a building that, in the space of the last six hours, has seen steady repairs by the two dozen men from ages eight to sixty. The ceiling in the sanctuary needed repairs, and the floor there needed some cleaning, but all in all, it looks fascinatingly serene and holy under lantern lights when Treadwell, still in his black and purple garments denoting his rank of Lord Tubbian, toddles into the room, cane in one hand and book of scriptures in the other.

"Lord Tubbian!" comes the by now normal, grating, gruff call of surprise from Second Tubbian Graham Kutch. "I trust you have been preparing yourself for tonight?" He asks, pointing a finger at the book the man holds, and he receives a nod for his question. "There's a small change, my lord. We will still go about the Feast of Tubbius tonight, but tonight, there must be a special sort of ceremony instead of the usual."

"I'd already anticipated as much, mmph mmph! This place needs a proper asking for a proper blessing from a proper god, eh?" A warm smile washes over Tready's face as Kutch nods his head emphatically. The tax collector turned toymaker turned priest merely waggles the book in his hand. "I've studied it all quite well these last hours, inbetween a visit from a friend and coming here. You must understand, Graham, I was quite the actor in my youth, and I recall a great, great deal about what it means to learn lines and read documents in a short order!" With that said, Treadwell makes for a lectern up front, leaning cautiously against it as his black eyes take in the room.

It's simply furnished--very simply. Four pews, all of sturdy, solid, though undecorated, wood sit in two rows by the lectern. No other furnishings have had time to be thrown together. Columns in the room are still in good repair, and a door off to the right, through which Kutch now shuffles, squeaks only a little noisily, having been oiled somewhat already.

"I suppose this is meant to be home, of a sort!" So, clearing his throat, Treadwell looks up to the roof, with its vaulted ceiling, and can't help laughing to himself. "Look at yourself, Aloisius! A man who's never taken to religion in his whole life has just been asked to lead a group of men devoted to stuffing themselves silly and spreading the good word and news of a god with the same ideals!" And so the next moments are spent in belly-jiggling hilarity and laughter.

But, all the same, a few minutes later, a calmed, relaxed Treadwell, alone in the room, bows his head and leans against the lectern before him. The prayer he gives is quiet, and brief, imploring Tubbius to bless this house, to join them in it, and to guide him in what all this might be--to help him if he must need to make any choices for the future.

As a tangible warmth begins to flow into Treadwell, starting from the pit of his belly and washing gently in waves through the normally cold, greedy, self-absorbed, vicious, scheming lout of a man, he opens his eyes. . .

and along with Tubbius in his own little world, he happily smiles.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Aerin~ » Tue Dec 25, 2007 4:49 pm

Powerful flaps of her wings, powering through the air. Her hair fluttered as she tore through the wind. She was returning from a hunt which had been very successful. It wasn't pleasant, but it was something she had to do. Deep down inside, it still hurts every time she does it. But, the more she does it, the quicker her trap works, and the less pain her victims have to feel. That's somewhat better than a long and agonizing feast.

The hunt had ended, as she was entering her own homeland. Myrkentown was safe from her attacks. As she soars across the sky, she is noticing something. When one flies far above, one can see even the slightest changes. She is noticing a dead building coming to life. A resurrection. She circles the area several times, trying to learn what was going on. Eventually, she lands on the roof, puzzled. There was life inside. But she isn't as blind as to invite herself in, demons aren't welcome inside holy places. She was lucky enough to be able to go to her own church. She had to approach this subtly - or they may try to smite her. If they catch her, they might smite her. So, she will have to avoid being caught. How would she do this? ...

A portal was opened, hopping entirely into it, entering her own realms, places where humans shouldn't be, and hopefully never will be. But, she had become accustomed to it. It was a useful tool. Inside, she is opening a portal, from the ceiling in the main room. She would have to hope that they wouldn't see her, or that at least she would learn what it was before being caught. As long as they didn't see her body, or her wings, hopefully they wouldn't be able to identify her. She would come back another time. Or maybe even put a veil over her head, like Rhaena? Horns rip through the darkness, followed by her human-appearing head, she is watching carefully. Everyone looks very awkward, and nobody appears familiar. That is... they all have common shapes, but none of them look like someone close to her. Someone dear to her. Eyes are scouting, ears are listening, and body ready to remove herself from the situation if it happened to get dangerous.
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Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 4:58 pm

The room below the little demon-girl teems with life of a rotund and downright corpulent variety. Food is passed, dishes and utensils clink and clank, mugs are drained, and all around, life is abuzz among a host of men mostly forty-something and up. None notice her arrival, and none really seem to mind, for at this early hour (nearing one!) most of them are drowsy and sluggish, too focused on the food still being handed about and sloppily enjoyed--all of them being devoted to lives of gluttony and revelry.

But perhaps that demon-girl's ears can pick up a most familiar "Mmph mmph!" amid the hubbub from a most familiar old tub likely getting tubbier as he sits and eats. He wears a black robe with a purple cap and purple circles at his belly and purple gloves, but Treadwell seems quite, quite happy seated at one end of a table long enough to seat them all--the place of honor? To his right and left, for the first three seats on either side, are old men in burgundy velvet; just past them, four men in blue on each side, and past them, five in green on either side--twenty-five total. Might there be some significance to the colors? to the gathering?

And what does it all have to do with Aerin's Grandpa Treadwell?
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Aerin~ » Tue Dec 25, 2007 5:13 pm

Tiny ears hear the "Call of the Treadwell", otherwise known as "mmph mmph". Purple eyes pinpoint where he was, but how was she going to get there? Flying wasn't an option. Neither was walking. There were eyes everywhere. She could probably go outside and simply walk in, after all, they don't seem like the 'let's go smite the devil' type. The... floor? No... no, she has an idea. An insane idea. Head peeps back into her dimension, portal closing. Where was she going now?

A dark, vertical slash appears next to Treadwells seat, tiny head popping out and hanging there awkwardly. The portal was about two feet above the ground, She remains quiet, perhaps this was important, official business? Whispering, "Psst, Grandpa. What's going on? Who are these people?" Ears continued to listen. He looked different - it would be very awkward if this wasn't Treadwell. She would have to escape, quickly at that. But, she knows it's him. It has to be him! It's a -feeling- that she just has!
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Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 5:17 pm

"Mmph! Aerin!" Treadwell hoarsely whispers, blinking down at the portal and the head sticking from it. Most of the men around him pay no mind at all; a couple look at him funnily, too drunk or too sleepy to notice Aerin's appearance, before turning back to their food.

"It's all right, dearest. . . go on to the toy shop. I'll explain everything in the morning! Please?"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Aerin~ » Tue Dec 25, 2007 5:29 pm

He said please. Aerin isn't a fool, something is awkward about this. A gathering of similar people, a large feast... they couldn't be performing some sort of ritual, were they? "Why?" she asks, immediately afterwards. Then again... this could be religious, after all. What if he was just following his beliefs, and being with a demon would lower his rank greatly? She isn't curious enough to sunder him from his group. She knows what she is, and has accepted it. "Okay." she said, quickly disappearing, as if she was not there. She is not leaving, however. There was a reason. Something was amiss. The best place to stalk from? Under the table. Close to Treadwell, but far away so that his leg wasn't in reach, the portal covers the bottom of the table quietly. The thought of leaving crosses her mind, after all, it's grandpa. He wouldn't do anything bad, would he? Then again... that's probably what he thinks about her, and he would more than likely review his opinion of her if only he knew. Head peeks out from under the table, immediately looking for anyone who might see her. Particularly, children. The adults were no worries - they were all in their seats, and too chubby and lazy to check under the table anyways. No smile on her face. There is a neutral, serious face. She is prepared to learn the worst or best about him, listening carefully.
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Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 5:36 pm

Aerin won't have long to wait, of course. As moments pass, all of the others either fall asleep, snoring, at their seats, or they respectfully excuse themselves through their lack of sobriety. That leaves Tready, the only man in the room who seems to be still so merry and jolly and largely unaffected by the fact he's sat there and absolutely stuffed himself near to bursting for nearly three hours. Even the ale he'd consumed in such heavy amounts hasn't had an effect at all on him--a change that, yes, he has noticed quite well.

Once the room is cleared, though, or otherwise quiet, Treadwell hazards a whispered, "Aerin, dearie? Are you still here? Come out, if you are, love. It's safe."
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Aerin~ » Tue Dec 25, 2007 5:47 pm

Treadwell had previously told her to go to the toy shop. She didn't. Aerin is particularly alert right now, yet not moving. She is prepared to leave at the blink of an eye. She didn't want to seem rebellious or menacing to Treadwell, so she will remain hidden. This could be a trick. Aerin, despite her apparent age, has learned many stealthy tactics and predatory skills. Treadwell may be trying to lure her away, or make sure she wasn't there, before he performed the real ritual. Perhaps he had killed those who appeared to be slumbering? Sacrifices? They will discuss it later - for now, she will silently gather information.
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Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 5:53 pm

On not hearing a response, Treadwell sighs and slowly, over-fully toddles to his feet, worming his rump free of his chair and scratching his stomach with a free hand. Keeping his voice low so as not to wake the others, he starts to pace and waddle behind his chair.

"Goodness. What must she be thinking of her Grandpa now, hmm hmm? Sitting here with all these fat old men she doesn't know, gorging himself at this time of night, wearing funny-looking robes and caps! She must think you're some sort of--some sort of dreadful beast, Aloisius!"

A pause as he stops, backside toward the table.

"But surely she'll be able to understand that this is a church service on a holiday, just like the ones she likely knows already from her schooling, eh? Might she understand that her lazy old Grandpa's just been elected to lead these folks and show them the ways Tubbius wants them to waddle?"

Another sigh, and there he stands, one hand on his immensely swollen belly, one hand scratching lazily at his rump, and his cane and scripture book tucked under one arm.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Aerin~ » Tue Dec 25, 2007 6:09 pm

Tempted to come out. He's talking to himself. More suspicion, more urge to show herself. However... she listens, drawing conclusions. He is a member of a satanistic church, driven by some god known as Tubbius. Why would Tubbius be a god driven by hate? He wants to show people how to -waddle-, this would be some sort of curse on the legs, then? It had to mean something like that.

... the persuading technique works, eventually, if Treadwell realised he was doing so to begin with. She will simply investigate later. Popping her head back in, a portal opens slightly to the left of Treadwell, above him. A familiar shape appears, and she drops out of the portal, landing with help from her arms and legs. She looks up to him, questioningly. "What kind of church is this?" pointing towards all of the people, now. "Why are they like this?" Let's not forget our great demon god behind all of this, "Who is Tubbius?" A bombardment of questions. She still is suspicious, although remaining to herself, uncertain.
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Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 6:19 pm

And so Tready plumps back into his chair, startled by the girl's sudden reappearance! It takes a moment, but soon enough, after straightening his robe and his cap, Treadwell waves her over.

"It's. . . oooooooh, where do I begin, dearest? Tubbius is a god who simply wants people to eat and eat and to enjoy themselves doing it. That's why they're all here, mmph mmph! They're all fat and old like they are because, umm, well, they love to eat! I'm here because. . . well. . . oh, come here and have a seat, hmm hmm?"

Treadwell pats his thigh, and, whether she comes or not, the wheezy old fellow continues.

"As of today, Aerin, Grandpa's been asked to lead all these people, called 'Tubbians', to teach them in what Tubbius wants from them. In short, dear, old Grandpa's become something of a preacher, a priest, for this group of folks. There's nothing evil about 'em at all, mmph mmph, nothing to hide!"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Aerin~ » Tue Dec 25, 2007 6:29 pm

"If there is nothing to hide, then why did you tell me to go away?" She doesn't budge. This hasn't changed her perception of him - yet. Uneasy. That's how she is feeling right now. "If Tubbius wants people to eat and enjoy themselves all the time, then what does he want from them?" He was following a false religion. One that would lead him to hell. Many do. She won't try and sway him with speech on her own religion, no. She's trying to find out if he is following a bad religion - a religion touched by a corrupted hand seeking to cause destruction or other chaos. The final thing she must address. Leaning towards him briefly, scrutinizing him, "If there is nothing to hide, then why are you telling me that there is nothing to hide?"
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Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 25, 2007 6:35 pm

"I'm just trying to assure you everything's all right!" A glance around at the tubby fellows snoozing at the table finds Treadwell soon refocusing on Aerin. "It's just that it's the church's first meeting here in Myrken Wood, in a church that we just finished blessing for the worship of Tubbius. What he wants, love, is a group of folks who can follow him--just like any other deity out there, mmph mmph. We're not going around sacrificing folks or opening gates to various hells or assaulting folks in the night or any such rubbish! We're merely sticking to our own company! Come now, dearie. . . . Old Grandpa knows better than to mix himself up in something that's going to do him, and the rest of Myrken Wood, any harm, doesn't he, Aerin?"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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