tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40252823906536794442024-02-08T06:22:32.107+00:00Backpacking BurroTravel Guides from my Second Life.HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-85445656570614317462007-09-18T21:56:00.000+01:002007-09-18T22:02:04.150+01:00Burro has left the Blog(ger)Right folks. Sick as I am of struggling to get Blogger to handle text and pictures in a post, I've moved over to WordPress.com. I should have done it in the first place. WordPress craps on Blogger.<br /><br />You can now find me here: <a href="http://headburroantfarm.wordpress.com/">http://headburroantfarm.wordpress.com/</a><br /><br />HBA<br />*****HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-9739191798902402312007-09-18T16:52:00.000+01:002007-09-18T16:54:16.671+01:00I knew I should have used WordPress...Fekking Blogger. Can't layout simple text and pictures without some sort of HTML code disaster making the page look like a pile of shite. I may well be moving over to WordPress.comHeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-78884448810300378492007-09-18T09:12:00.000+01:002007-09-18T10:16:17.237+01:00In Other News: Pinkie's Birthday Bash<div align="left">A whole three weeks in the planning, the biggest secret I've managed to keep in SL to date came together this weekend when I (with the help of Janey and Hessa) managed to get Pinkie (one of my oldest mates in SL) to her surprise birthday party without her guessing :-D<br /><br />Thanks to Hessa for the gratis loan of her fab Halo club, Kendra Fallon for being a top Superstar DeeJay (look her up in-world and book her!), Janey for the cake and being my wingman, all her friends for coming and, finally, to the Minimax duo for staying the hell away.<br /><br />Here are some of the pictures I (and others) took on the night. As always, if anyone has anymore, send them to me for addition :). Also, I'll be passing out a photo album I'm making with my new THiNC book printing press (swanky!).<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111456352296441506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-KeIOLFqI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/zE7w7pCFyYE/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Happy+Birthday+Pinkie+(by+Marisa).jpg" border="0" /> <em>Pinkie boogieing on down (by Marisa)</em></div><em><div align="center"><br /></div></em><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><p align="center"></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111456541275002546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-KpIOLFrI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/jcKiKKwlvPA/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Big+Pinkie+is+Watching+You.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><em>Big Pinkie Is Watching You, Mr Antfarm!</em><br /></p><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111456850512647874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-K7IOLFsI/AAAAAAAAAKE/4sKeFPMGPSE/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Janey+and+the+sexy+shoes.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><em>Janey always has sexy shoes ;-)</em></p><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111457198404998866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-LPYOLFtI/AAAAAAAAAKM/PWPdRbDzy6g/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Rusty+and+Dom+strut+their+stuff.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><em>Rusty and Dom strut their funky stuff!</em><br /></p><div align="center"><em></em></div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111457675146368738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-LrIOLFuI/AAAAAAAAAKU/116NO8Otf_8/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Pinkie+and+Janey+and+Ali.jpg" border="0" /> <em>Janey, Ali & Pinkie - The Murray Girls!</em></p><p align="center"><em></em></p><br /><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111458237787084530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-ML4OLFvI/AAAAAAAAAKc/LvKoc4yP2vM/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Bouncer+Ree.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><em>Bouncer Ree keeps an eye out for bovver!</em></p><p align="center"><em></em></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111458632924075778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-Mi4OLFwI/AAAAAAAAAKk/FBukuclv1Ss/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+High+Kicking+Ash.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><em>Pinkie Flashes poor Ash!</em></p><p align="center"><em></em></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111458783247931154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-MroOLFxI/AAAAAAAAAKs/bm38OX5hIOY/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Ali+and+Stef.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">Ali & Stef get their groove on!</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111459242809431842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-NGYOLFyI/AAAAAAAAAK0/Y9VPxTyZWWo/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Hessa+03.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><em>Hessa - Looking as gorg as ever :)</em></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111460303666353970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-OEIOLFzI/AAAAAAAAAK8/spiIRQNCvUo/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+123Lorelei.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><em>Dick, me, 123Lorelei and Vixen all looking sharp!</em></p><p align="center"><em></p><br /><p></em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111460917846677314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-On4OLF0I/AAAAAAAAALE/gz_yHJASSU0/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Vixen+02.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><em>Vixen looking mighty elegant (freelance security on guard behind her)</em><br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111461235674257234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-O6YOLF1I/AAAAAAAAALM/r1evZByVsyQ/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Roy+and+Head+in+sync.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center"><em>Roy andI putting on a show :-D</em> </p><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111461630811248482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-PRYOLF2I/AAAAAAAAALU/3VWx5FmxAPQ/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+The+Party+in+Full+Swing.jpg" border="0" /><em>The party in full swing :)</em></p><p align="center"><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111465921483577202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru-TLIOLF3I/AAAAAAAAALc/ohxPhVLisec/s320/Pinkies+Birthday+-+Head+Dances+(by+Marisa).jpg" border="0" /></em></p><p align="center"><em>Ooooh, Mr Antfarm... Looking good! (photo by Marisa)</em></p><p align="left">p.s. Sorry about the poor layout - Blogger is being a right old arse with line spacing :(</p>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-72540043729460545312007-09-13T17:13:00.000+01:002007-09-13T17:17:30.965+01:00The Island: First ExplorationsThe Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski,<br />Assumed Date:- 7th July 1930 late-afternoon.<br />Location:- Unknown Island.<br /><br />Rose - I have found water! Oh joy of joys! I am so relieved. Looking back to my entry yesterday I listed the need for water as almost my top priority and to say I have been concerned about it would be something of an understatement. But fear not I have found it my dear, I can almost laugh out loud at my silliness. I am on a tropical island and fresh springs must be abundant here! Still, as you have counselled me many times, what’s done is done and I can’t take back the irrational worries of yesterday. Instead I shall purge my soul of my foolishness by telling you the tale of how I came to find my saviour pool.<br /><br />I rose early; in truth I have little choice for between the dawn light and the blessed caterwauling it heralds from the jungle behind me, sleep is somewhat difficult. Every manner of squawking and shrieking and whooping and wailing animal and bird on God’s Green Earth must share this island with me and every one of them lives within ten yards, I’ll wager. I think only the fish must sleep well in their silent watery beds, and Oh! how I envy them! Still, I welcomed my alarm call (although a newspaper and breakfast outside the door was sorely missed, my dear) as it meant I could all the sooner start my hunt for water and calm my fears. I stood at the border of the jungle behind my tent (or Casa Burroffski as I now call it) as stared into its immense green maw, feeling for all the world like a very small worm staring down the gullet of a hungry fish too large and vast to comprehend.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109723066704533106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuliDoOLFnI/AAAAAAAAAJc/3EX0A7KRmmk/s320/Entering+the+Jungle.jpg" border="0" /><br />Its fecundity oozed over me, enveloping me, drawing me in. Its perfume was heady and filled not just my nose, but it seemed my entire head. Greens of every shade drifted past me, branches heavy with fat flowers and juice leaves moved slowly in on me and then back away as if the jungle were breathing as one mighty organism and I were merely a speck of dust in its lungs.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109723204143486594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuliLoOLFoI/AAAAAAAAAJk/AZSFITrpdX4/s320/Exploring+the+Jungle+03.jpg" border="0" /><br />I pressed on, deeper and further. I did my utmost to keep my bearings, constantly watching the sun and relating its movement to my small camp, now far away and suddenly as welcoming as any old, loved home. Strange sounds were all around me. Scuttlings. Clickings. Movements. Queer animal calls. I began to fancy the denizens of this place were watching me, tracking me. In the canopy above… things moved. Large things. Leaves and twigs rained down to mark their noisy passage and frequent perching places. More than once half-eaten fruit thumped into the floor next to me but upon looking up, I saw nothing but the sunlight filtering through dense leaves and the trees endlessly swaying in the scented breeze.<br /><br />I had begun to give up on finding any water – I judged I had been in the wilderness for nearly two hours – when I heard, faint at first through the ceaseless rustle of leaves and cries of assorted creatures, the unmistakable burbling of water! Oh, Rose! I could have yelled were it not for the oppressive nature of my surroundings (how many eyes watched me I wonder? How many little mouths slavered at my passing? How many little minds calculated their odds of making me their meal? It chills me to think of it even now). I slowly, with as little noise as possible, began to home in on the source. It took some time and when I did, I all but fell into my source of salvation! A deep, bubbling well that smelt and looked clean and clear. I refrained from sampling its wares as one never knows what water-borne diseases even the cleanest looking spring hides.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109723332992505490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuliTIOLFpI/AAAAAAAAAJs/69fd5pIjCcA/s320/Finding+Water.jpg" border="0" /><br />I carefully filled the few containers I had and decided on the best path back to the camp. If my crude attempts at following the sun were right, then I had looped back on myself quite a lot and this watering hole was not all that far from the camp. I mentally plotted a course and set off. Oh Rose! You’d be proud of me alright – a mere hour later I found myself on the very sandy beach my tent was pitched on.<br /><br />So here I am, my love. Tired, hot and very sweaty I’m afraid, but I am boiling my newly found water and cooking a fish I caught last night (my old fishing pole hasn’t let me down). I think I will be needing some more containers for water – maybe a dive down to the sea bed where the wreckage of the Telesto lies? See what I can find, eh? Oh, and what I wouldn’t give for some tools! The natural resources of the jungle are mine to look at, but no more. I could cut down any number of trees and build a most homely wee cabin but for want of a machete, axe or hammer.<br /><br />I must sign off for now, my love – the water is boiling hard and I should decant it to cool before I boil my hard-gained treasure to nothing but a small could. I will be home soon. I promise will all my heart.<br /><br /><br />All my love,<br />Your Doni x<br />***********<br /><div align="center">****<br />To Be Continued...<br />****<br />Visit <a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Gembong%20East/58/6/21/?img=http%3A//bp1.blogger.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuGwKr_MyXI/AAAAAAAAAGk/hvBRpfrRPrg/s1600-h/SLURL+Pic+2.jpg&title=HBA%20Island&msg=Come%20Visit%21">The Island here</a> and follow the story as it unfolds over the next few weeks.</div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-2888593219587122772007-09-10T22:49:00.000+01:002007-09-18T16:49:50.682+01:00BB Flashmob: The Greenies<div align="left"><strong>Original Post:</strong> Deleted. Bugger.<br /><br /><strong>Edit: 18th Sept 07.</strong><br />Bugger. In my eagerness to make the post on Pinkie's Birthday Bash look good, I wiped this one in error. This never happens with my other (non-SL) wordpress blog. Blogger is shit in comparisson. The orginal post was about the first ever Backpacking Burro's Flashmob Exlporation of a sim, in the case the Greenies sim. It was a good post. Funny. To the Point. With pictures. Arsebuggery. Blogger is crap. I'll calm down and tray again.<br /><br /><strong>Re-Post:</strong> To come... Maybe... Here!!</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"><strong>~~~~~~~~~~</strong><br /></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">It's not all serious exploration, the life of a Backpacking Burro you know. No, we have fun too. We flashmob places. Not in a griefer way, just in a 'get as many Backpacking Burros exploring a build at the same time as you can' way :)</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">This was us at the famed <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Greenies%20Home%20Rezzable/141/16/22" target="_blank">Greenies sim</a>. We beamed in under the floorboards and made our way through a doll's house into the amazingly massive house that the Rezzable company have built.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111566127365560194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_uT4OLF4I/AAAAAAAAALk/2piYL-tc_60/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+01+-+The+Mob+Arrives.jpg" border="0" /> <em>That's (left to right): Douglas, TR, Ali, Sennen (I think), Kat, Rusty (I think), Mystery Man!!, Janey. I'm at the front and we were joined later by Pinkie.</em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left">We wandered around the sim splitting up and coming back together many times to share the amazing things we found. Apart from one incident when I got a right bad tempered bollocking for leaving my hot air balloon parked by the huge bread bin, we had a great time.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111566445193140114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_umYOLF5I/AAAAAAAAALs/8HzLsTWXQoQ/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+02+-+Burro+and+Ali+on+the+dirtbike.jpg" border="0" /> <em>Ali and me zooming about on a dirt bike - I think she was telling me what a crap driver I am after the second crash!</em><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111566805970392994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_u7YOLF6I/AAAAAAAAAL0/6hK-5OZ7MJQ/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+03+-+Ali+and+the+greenies.jpg" border="0" /> <em>Ali found it safer with one of the Greenies than on my bike!</em> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111566913344575410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_vBoOLF7I/AAAAAAAAAL8/QY0rZBWCwZY/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+04+-+Burro+and+the+Greenie.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"> <em>So did I! (this was shortly before The Great Unwarranted Bollocking so I'm still smiling)<br /></em><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111567020718757826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_vH4OLF8I/AAAAAAAAAME/8tZtSHvnsOw/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+05+-+Kat+and+the+Kitty.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"> <em>Meanwhile, Kat sided with the Kitty against the Greenie!</em><br /></p><p align="center"><em></em><a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuXASr_MypI/AAAAAAAAAI0/YGU_c6ybi2g/s1600-h/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+06+-+The+Birdcage.jpg" target="_blank"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111567841057511378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_v3oOLF9I/AAAAAAAAAMM/qgBAXb5MUs0/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+06+-+The+Birdcage.jpg" border="0" /> <em>Pinkie, Janey, and I decided to try and help the spooked canary - poor thing!</em><a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuXAsL_MyqI/AAAAAAAAAI8/N0ckMzhBW1I/s1600-h/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+07+-+Graceful+Burro.jpg" target="_blank"></a></p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111568261964306402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_wQIOLF-I/AAAAAAAAAMU/5l8SR4boaeg/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+07+-+Graceful+Burro.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><em> I released my inner dancer...</em><br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111568476712671218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_wcoOLF_I/AAAAAAAAAMc/ozUAm_MCb7M/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+08+-+Toasted+Greenie.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center"><em>...tried to rescue a silly Greenie...</em><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111568669986199554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_wn4OLGAI/AAAAAAAAAMk/arf_wkDbuKs/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+09+-+Mousetrap+Madness+01.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"> <em>... before deciding these Greenies had a deathwish!</em><br /></p><p align="left">In the end, we all had a great night out... in... out... well, you know what I mean. There are lots more pics but if anyone wants me to put there's up, send them to me in-world with a permission card so I know I can :) One last one of Me, Pinkie & Janey - what can I say... Pinkie really loves cheese!! <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111571221196773410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Ru_y8YOLGCI/AAAAAAAAAM0/IPiomP8YqvY/s320/BB+Flashmob+the+Greenies+10+-+Pinkie+Loves+Cheese.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="left">If you haven't been, go - there is loads to do and see (just don't park a balloon for more than 30 seconds if you don't want to get banned from every Rezzable sim! You have been warned!)Watch the Backpacking Burro group notices for more flashmob visits soon!</p>HBA<br />*****HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-27542324918220723932007-09-10T11:58:00.000+01:002007-09-10T19:54:16.822+01:00Backpacking Burro: Cowell, Part 2Once over the bridge, I headed for a strangely incongruous green newsstand and chairs set out by a small shop…<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108528538526206338" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUjo7_MyYI/AAAAAAAAAGs/G-Xa2HuHX4A/s320/Cowell+013+-+The+News+Stand.jpg" border="0" /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I relaxed with a (admittedly early and equally out of place) free beer whilst I read an free newspaper that informed me of the fate of Rodeo forest. It seemed that Salazar Jack, the owner of this area, had planted this forest on the very site his great grandfather had tended another, even larger forest, years before something called The Great Erase. There was a reproduction of an old map and the news story said that the original was currently undergoing tests in the nearby city of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Nova Albion</st1:place></st1:City> as there was some text in need of further analysis. Apparently, from what Salazar had already discovered he had decided to change the name of <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Rodeo</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype st="on">Forest</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> back to the much older name of The Forest of Kahruvel. One thing was for sure, I had to find out more about this map and whatever The Great Erase was. Once I had finished exploring the forest, I had to go to Nova Albion.</span></p> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108528706029930898" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUjyr_MyZI/AAAAAAAAAG0/_teDWFSI3Tc/s320/Cowell+014+-+Read+All+About+It.jpg" border="0" /><br />Mulling over that news, I moved on following the path parallel to the canal rather than heading up behind the buildings towards step that led into the forest. I headed towards an attractive fountain only to be stopped by the sight of yet more octagonal designs, both in what turned out to be the community hall and the art gallery across from it. I stood for a while, admiring the beauty of the community hall…<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108528817699080610" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUj5L_MyaI/AAAAAAAAAG8/w5cLPCbOBiw/s320/Cowell+015-+Community+Centre.jpg" border="0" /><br />…before entering and finding myself presented with a wonderful short film explaining a little more about the history of the creators of this wonderful place. It didn’t all make sense to me, but it seemed to indicate that they hailed from this world and the other world at the same time. I resolved to find out more and not for the first time that day, I made a mental note to contact the owner.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108528925073263026" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUj_b_MybI/AAAAAAAAAHE/BA35UiAy4ME/s320/Cowell+016+-+Voices+from+the+past.jpg" border="0" /><br />From the community centre, I crossed over to the gallery and took another beautiful brass lift up the (again, octagonal) tower where I stood and drank in the serene beauty of the village beneath me.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108529036742412738" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUkF7_MycI/AAAAAAAAAHM/EwIw9zzQhzY/s320/Cowell+017+-+View+from+the+Gallery.jpg" border="0" /><br />Over in the distance, past the lighthouse, I could see what looked like a steam-powered crane so I headed off for a better look. A short walk through stone streets and I stood beneath the arm of the crane and what turned out to be an amazing shop selling all manner of impressive flying machines!<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108529169886398930" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUkNr_MydI/AAAAAAAAAHU/yF0hrI5jANI/s320/Cowell+018+-+Airships+Nigh.jpg" border="0" /><br />I took a trip up and examined the mechanics of the crane’s engine and was amazed to find a gorgeous little garden there too.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108529483419011570" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUkf7_MyfI/AAAAAAAAAHk/GYHey9GJ7F0/s320/Cowell+019+-+Steam+Power.jpg" border="0" /><br />Walking back, I used the higher paths and found what looked like signs of a recent collapse next to a small amphitheatre – luckily the fountain had been spared. I pressed on…<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108529616562997762" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUknr_MygI/AAAAAAAAAHs/rnrsKrzsiAM/s320/Cowell+020+-+Under+Construction.jpg" border="0" /><br />…until I found myself at the base of the final set of steps leading upward to the forest of Kahruvel…<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108529930095610386" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUk57_MyhI/AAAAAAAAAH0/F-siA_3rNCw/s320/Cowell+021+-+Up+to+The+Forest.jpg" border="0" /><br />… the entrance to which was adorned with the most gorgeous tapestry I have ever seen.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108530101894302242" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuUlD7_MyiI/AAAAAAAAAH8/L97MxprcWhc/s320/Cowell+022+-+Public+Art.jpg" border="0" /><br />My tours of Cowell over, I gazed down the path and into Kahruvel’s cool, dark interior. The last time I have been in these woods I was running in a blind panic. Now I entered them again, I felt a small knot of trepidation deep in my stomach. That and a growing need for a cup of tea.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuWItb_MyjI/AAAAAAAAAIE/PZAFD7vCMD4/s1600-h/Cowell+023+-+Gateway+to+Kahruvel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuWItb_MyjI/AAAAAAAAAIE/PZAFD7vCMD4/s320/Cowell+023+-+Gateway+to+Kahruvel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108639666510023218" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div> </div><div align="center"><em>To Be Continued...</em></div></div></div></div></div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-15006949063150572742007-09-05T17:19:00.000+01:002007-09-07T21:26:02.174+01:00The Island: Priorities For SurvivalThe Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski,<br />Assumed Date:- 6th July 1930. Mid-afternoon.<br />Location:- Unknown Island.<br /><br />1) Shelter:- For now, I have shelter. If I am to be here longer than a few days and if the weather turns nasty again then I’m afraid my tent won’t be enough, but for now it shall have to suffice. I will have to search for a more secure location soon.<br /><br />2) Water:- This is urgent. I have a few days of clean water left at the most and my new home is already proving to be somewhat hot under the noon sun.<br /><br />3) Fire:- It will be cold at night; I need to cook; I need a signal at the ready and, of course, I will need to boil any water I find. I have a book of water-proof matches, but they will not last long. I need to find some stones with which I can make a ready spark. Tinder I shall keep both with me and in the makeshift store with the wood.<br /><br />4) Food:- Whilst not as desperate as the water, nevertheless I will need to turn my attention to eating. Without food my attention will slip and simple jobs will become nigh on impossible. I have to stay healthy and alert if I want to get back to you Rose, and a proper diet will be important. I have my rod so I shall try my hand at catching some fish for tonight’s meal, but I will need to investigate the local flora and fauna and look at making traps.<br /><br />5) Location:- Where am I? Is there anyone on this island bar me? Am I near shipping lanes? I have to explore this island. I will need to set up signal fires that can be lit at a moments notice. If I can find enough material, I will set up a large SOS sign on the beach.<br /><br />6) Health:- My medical supplies are woefully limited. I shall have to be very careful in the coming days and weeks (God Forbid! Months? Years?)<br /><br />So there it is Rose, that’s my plan. I shall set up a fishing line now and see what I can catch for supper. Then tomorrow I shall begin my first explorations of my new home and see if I can’t locate some good, clean water.<br /><br />Sleep well my love. I shall think of you and nothing but you from now until the day I make my way back to you.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt-gEL_MyVI/AAAAAAAAAGU/lXYtAPyanfM/s1600-h/The+Island+5+-+Fishing.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106976496259221842" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt-gEL_MyVI/AAAAAAAAAGU/lXYtAPyanfM/s320/The+Island+5+-+Fishing.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />All my love,<br />Your Doni x<br />************<br /><div align="center">****</div><div align="center"><em>To Be Continued...</em></div><div align="center">****</div><div align="center">Visit <a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Gembong%20East/58/6/21/?img=http%3A//bp1.blogger.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuGwKr_MyXI/AAAAAAAAAGk/hvBRpfrRPrg/s1600-h/SLURL+Pic+2.jpg&title=HBA%20Island&msg=Come%20Visit%21">The Island here</a> and follow the story as it unfolds over the next few weeks.</div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-78131344986035344352007-09-04T09:55:00.000+01:002007-09-07T21:24:07.599+01:00HBA Island: Rebuilding The JungleAhhhh, the work of a terraforming jungle lover is both huge and small at the same time – huge in scale, but the small details matter. I’m now, after many hours of replanting the jungle last night, ready to start on the details… the sounds, the paths, the clearings, the strange finds waiting to be, well, found. But for now, here is the progression of the island so far.<br /><br />1) The bare-naked island now doubled in size – that’s a great heaving 8160 sq m and 1866 prims I can use. Oh momma.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106270893262031058" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0eUr_MyNI/AAAAAAAAAFU/t7bVMVc0x2c/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+1.jpg" border="0" /><br />2) Here comes the sea! The large yellow and green square is a wee land-flattening tool. It’s a great gizmo and <a href="http://slexchange.com/modules.php?name=Marketplace&file=item&ItemID=326715">dirt cheap</a>.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106270987751311586" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0eaL_MyOI/AAAAAAAAAFc/q7skNN45LHc/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+2.jpg" border="0" /><br />3) By night time, I’d added the new welcome area (the little island at the bottom), rebuilt the camp and the wreck and even tested the (brilliant) <a href="http://slexchange.com/modules.php?name=Marketplace&file=item&ItemID=303189">weather system</a>.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106271086535559410" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0ef7_MyPI/AAAAAAAAAFk/yo2vkqAZc84/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+3.jpg" border="0" /><br />4) The next day I added basic ground cover (grass and leaves) and basic trees. I’d previously added a <a href="http://slexchange.com/modules.php?name=Marketplace&file=item&ItemID=73444">large prim wall</a> to hide the shop next door that always seemed to make taking photos hard.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106271206794643714" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0em7_MyQI/AAAAAAAAAFs/0wNVycFrwdY/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+4.jpg" border="0" /><br />5) Then I started on deeper ground cover (shrubs, bushes and mini-trees)<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106271357118499090" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0evr_MyRI/AAAAAAAAAF0/9azGYPmXePw/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+5.jpg" border="0" /><br />6) Before adding the highly detailed plants I’d bought from <a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Deco/195/60/22/">Rezolution</a> (great store, you must go!)<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106271511737321762" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0e4r_MySI/AAAAAAAAAF8/fQV0xi8rDMk/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+6.jpg" border="0" /><br />7) Night time again. Another day’s work done. :)<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106271636291373362" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0e_7_MyTI/AAAAAAAAAGE/KlULO3tYcns/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+7.jpg" border="0" /><br />This week I’ll be getting on with the details. There should be a new” Island” post out next week… RL willing :)<br /><br />HBA – Building the Jungles of Tomorrow!<br />***************************************<br /><br />UPDATE (7th Sept 07): Here's a shot of the camp in a storm :)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuGwKr_MyXI/AAAAAAAAAGk/hvBRpfrRPrg/s1600-h/SLURL+Pic+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuGwKr_MyXI/AAAAAAAAAGk/hvBRpfrRPrg/s320/SLURL+Pic+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107557150067837298" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Gembong%20East/58/6/21/?img=http%3A//bp1.blogger.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RuGwKr_MyXI/AAAAAAAAAGk/hvBRpfrRPrg/s1600-h/SLURL+Pic+2.jpg&title=HBA%20Island&msg=Come%20Visit%21">Come and visit - the drinks are free :)</a><br /></div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-51839077575287544082007-09-03T12:23:00.000+01:002007-09-04T09:21:05.136+01:00Hunting Involvium: Stalled!UPDATE: Yay! JS is back and the adventure continues - check out the comments below.<br /><br />I was close! I could almost smell the raw, throbbing vein (ooo!) of purest Involvium. I had found what I believed to be the island but the <a href="http://jstomorrow.blogspot.com/2007/08/heres-few-more-shots-with-me-and-my.html">strange and beautiful flowers</a> JS had thought-created still escaped me. Never mind, I thought, I shall just wait for the next installment from the camp. I shall use the clues it would contain to narrow my search down, to home in further until I too could get my hands on the raw, pulsing meat (yikes!) of pure creation.<br /><br />And then... nothing! JS has gone quiet. No more reports. No more clues. No more chances for schoolboy homoerotic humour. Boo! Boo I say and thrice Wail!<br /><br />Is this <a href="http://backpackingburro.blogspot.com/2007/08/involvium-hmmm.html">the fizzle I feared</a> or merely the prelude to a good, hard bang. Ooo! Another innuendo! I knew I could squeeze another out. And another! Sometimes they just come easy... see :)<br /><br />Where was I? Oh yes, <a href="http://jstomorrow.blogspot.com/">JS Tomorrow</a> - come back and finish the story! My suspenders are killing me!<br /><br />HBA - in suspeders.<br />******************HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-87668346374140306532007-09-03T12:10:00.000+01:002007-09-05T14:47:11.734+01:00HBA Island: Expansion PackHello all :)<br /><br />As those of you who have dropped by and said "HI" over the past couple of days have seen, the old island is undergoing a bit of a facelift. On Saturday, to set things up for the next part of the story, I removed the jungle and increased the amount of land to sea on the wee plot I have. My idea was to plant a larger jungle behind the Professor's camp and it was as I was bent over with my trowel in hand, that I was approached by the fella who owns (owned) the plot behind me. The long and tall of it is that HBA Island is now twice as big and very, very bald. Bear with me. The jungle will return - as will all the critters (and maybe some new ones, as well :) )<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106260654059997378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt0VAr_MyMI/AAAAAAAAAFM/NVckwF1UHiM/s320/Rebuilding+the+island+1.jpg" border="0" /><br />HBA - Lord of The Jungle!<br />*************************HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-2350723987271225312007-08-31T11:54:00.000+01:002007-09-05T14:19:12.799+01:00The Island: A New HomeThe Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski,<br />6th July 1930 (assumed). Mid-morning. Location: Unknown Island. <div><div><div></div><br /><div>I woke early this morning. My body was stiff and sore for the beating it had taken and I was cold, but it was not this that woke me. No, what woke me from my deep, dreamless sleep was the quiet. The utter silence around me. Oh, when I listened carefully I could hear the lap of waves and the birdcalls of the nearby jungle, but the tormenting, ceaseless roar of the storm that had done it best to kill me before dumping me here had, in fact, ceased. </div><div></div><br /><div>I opened the tent and stepped out to face a brilliant sunrise, the sky platinum bright with streaks of rose pink melting into the now calm azure sea that stretched unbroken to the horizon.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104817583703247010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rtf0i7_MyKI/AAAAAAAAAE8/5C-JI5BMd2U/s320/The+Island+4+-+Sunrise+after+the+storm.jpg" border="0" />In front of me bobbed what was left of The Telesto, its fires now out, its hull now mere splintered wreckage. I waded out as far as I dare (the fall off is surprisingly deep) and dragged what I could back to shore. One largeish section of the cabin I decided to use as a shelter next to my tent where it would help keep my supplies and any firewood I could salvage dry.<br /><br />By mid morning, I had rescued what I could and the ocean could have the rest. My stomach complained nosily at my lack of attention and I realised I hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty fours hours. I built up the fire and routed through the supplies. In no time at all I had some fresh coffee heating in a mug and some baked beans bubbling in a pan I had rescued from what had been the galley. Without a word of a lie, that was the best meal I have ever had in my entire life.<br /><br />So, here I am, sitting by the fire and writing my journal.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104817837106317490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rtf0xr_MyLI/AAAAAAAAAFE/he9DGn93cYs/s320/The+Island+4+-+Sat+by+the+tent.jpg" border="0" />My new home (for until I get off this island and back to you Rose my love, that’s exactly what this place is) is a small spit of sandy beach fronted by the wide open ocean and backed by a dense green jungle filled with God-knows-what wild creatures. I have no idea where I am. I have no idea if I’m on the route of any passing ships or planes. I have precious little food and water. I am, without a shadow of a doubt, in a sticky situation. I need a plan. </div><div></div><div align="center">****</div><div align="center"><em>To Be Continued...</em></div><div align="center">****</div><div align="left"></div><div align="center">Visit <a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Gembong%20East/56/42/21">The Island here</a> and follow the story as it unfolds over the next few weeks.</div></div></div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-56345097771251667012007-08-30T15:02:00.000+01:002007-08-31T09:30:13.716+01:00Hunting Involvium: The Right Path!Ha! I must be on the right path... I dropped down to the island I found (see the <a href="http://backpackingburro.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-am-involved.html">last post</a> - it looks like an ancient volcano complete with mini-lake on the old caldera) and headed over to the first of the small wooden huts I saw. Inside, on a table by the far wall, I found these sketched plans... compare them to <a href="http://jstomorrow.blogspot.com/2007/08/another-photo-courtesy-of-mr.html">one of JS's latest posts</a> and tell me I'm not on the trail to finding out more about Involvium!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104494864155592834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RtbPCL_MyII/AAAAAAAAAEs/qeEPH5BiLDg/s320/Involved+-+Ship+Plans.jpg" border="0" />HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-30500319286276115632007-08-29T07:32:00.000+01:002007-08-30T15:09:56.575+01:00Hunting Involvium: I am InvolvedCould this be the dig <a href="http://jstomorrow.blogspot.com/">J.S. Tomorrow</a> writes about? I shall explore further...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RtUV2r_MyHI/AAAAAAAAAEk/7VHdR2WRXlY/s1600-h/Involved+-+The+Island.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104009781959247986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RtUV2r_MyHI/AAAAAAAAAEk/7VHdR2WRXlY/s320/Involved+-+The+Island.jpg" border="0" /></a>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-26729098671522071022007-08-24T10:25:00.000+01:002007-08-25T08:17:27.692+01:00Involvium... Hmmm...EDIT (25th Aug 07): Sod it! I'm playing the game, at least it's fun and well set up (only wish I could create that sort of content for The Island and Burro posts but as I'm as artistic and techie as a brick, I'll stick to photos :D ). Pop along, read, join in - after all, why not :)<br /><br />********<br /><br />Right. Every bugger else has blogged about them, I might as well. Involvium Energy Ventures. Where to start? Facts first, I think:<br /><br />1) They appear to be a media marketing firm. I’ve no real clear idea what this is.<br />2) They are changing their name. I don’t know why.<br />3) Seemingly to promote this change they are running a multi-media viral campaign with a ‘spoof’ <a href="http://jstomorrow.blogspot.com/">blog</a>, <a href="http://www.involvium.com/iev/Home.html">website</a> and YouTubes.<br /><br />The <a href="http://jstomorrow.blogspot.com/">blog</a> is written by an avatar named J.S. Tomorrow where she is an embedded reporter with the Involium expedition team who are searching somewhere in SL for a certain power source first discovered in the early days of Magellen Linden*. You may have noticed the links and a feed from the blog over on the left. I’ve put that there because, well, it may be an exploration worth following. Then again, it may not. I just can’t be sure.<br /><br />If, at the end of this marketing campaign, the pay off is “Here’s our new Island! Come get your free tee-shirts!” I’ll be very disappointed. Why? Because I want mystery, drama, story… not an over-blown advert for something I’d never buy or use anyway. I want them to live up to the promise of their self-created adventure, not wimp-out with a yet another corporate zombie sim no one ever goes to.<br /><br />Look at this blog – ask yourself how happy you’d be if at the end of The Island, the poor shipwrecked hero set up a vendor stall selling real estate? I would hope you’d come in-world and kick my arse! What would you feel if the Backpack Burro posts were nothing but an excuse to advertise my own range of backpacks?** Cheated, I would imagine. All that time and emotions dedicated to following a story only to have someone turn round and point out that their make of double glazing is better than someone else’s.<br /><br />So JS and Involium, I’ll read your blog*** and follow the expedition, but Hell’s Teeth it better be worth it!<br /><br />HeadBurro Antfarm… waiting…<br />**********************************<br /><br />* If this point means nothing to you, you may want to check out some of SL’s rich history and some other blogs:<br /><br /><ul><br /><li><a href="http://www.secondlifeinsider.com/2007/08/22/what-is-involvium/">SL Insider: What is Invovium?</a> </li><li><a href="http://www.secondlifeinsider.com/2007/08/23/involvium-unearthed-oh-i-oh/">SL Insider: Involvium Unearthed.</a> </li><li><a href="http://slrecord.typepad.com/the_second_life_record/2007/08/involved.html">SL Record: Involved</a></li><li><a href="http://www.slhistory.org/index.php/Magellan_Linden">Magella Linden History</a></li><li><a href="http://www.involvium.com/iev/Our_History.html">Involvium’s History</a></li></ul><br /><br /><p>** Don’t worry, I’m not – I’m not selling anything, I’m doing it for fun.<br />*** I’m enjoying the blog but I think that JS Tomorrow, as an embedded reporter, needs to give us more reportage. It’s all a little disjointed at the moment. Let’s meet the other team members on the exploration. Let’s read about a typical day with them. Tell us about the land around you. Don’t just draw a tree with pod things hanging out and then not try to draw some conclusions about what the chuff it is. I’m hungry – feed me!</p>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-89419405272288050082007-08-22T16:39:00.000+01:002007-09-05T10:10:31.133+01:00Backpacking Burro: Cowell, Part 1The fire, now dead at my feet, was all the proof that remained of the strange events of the previous night. Well, that and the fact I was quite clearly part gazelle. The sooner I found some kind of clue to help me stop this blessed war-in-waiting, the sooner I could go back to being human again. I stiffened my resolve and began to explore.<br /><br />I stood at the base of the elegant white lighthouse and surveyed my surroundings. The lighthouse itself stood at the end of a sandy spit of land with the open ocean to one side and the main body of Cowell Village to the other separated by a narrow canal. The spit extended quite a way from the lighthouse, past some squat, white buildings to a grey stone bridge that arced gracefully over the canal. I decided the best place to start would be the lighthouse itself, after all the doors were open…<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101551162290390914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsxZwL_Mx4I/AAAAAAAAACs/OHzGwUghoZE/s320/Cowell+001+-+The+Lighthouse.jpg" border="0" /><br />Inside, the lighthouse looked as though the owner had just popped out: the computer was on, work was spread out on the desk seemingly left mid flow, hell! there was even a half painted lump of wood with the paint still tacky on its surface on the desk!<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101551355563919250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsxZ7b_Mx5I/AAAAAAAAAC0/YIfp8TRGGMs/s320/Cowell+002+-+Inside+The+Lighthouse.jpg" border="0" /><br />Looking around the room I seemed to be in the home of an inventor, or collector, or builder or businessman. Photographs showed the same tall blue figure again and again and declared his name was Salazar Jack. I made a mental note and vowed to contact him to see if he could shed any light on my predicament.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101554074278217634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsxcZr_Mx6I/AAAAAAAAAC8/YSGQnbKYvHg/s320/Cowell+003+-+Inside+The+Lighthouse.jpg" border="0" /><br />For now I started at the maps on the wall, one seemingly ancient and one new, and wondered what they had in common. The older map (I did not recognise the landmass – was it from this world? If so, could it be from before the last Shamanic war led to the downfall off all that had gone before?) seemed to have symbols written over it, although what they said I could not make out. I’ve never been great with codes, I couldn’t even make out the simple one that lay next to the computer…<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101554254666844082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsxckL_Mx7I/AAAAAAAAADE/A5Z-CWLpnhg/s320/Cowell+004+-+Breaking+the+Code.jpg" border="0" /><br />Behind me there was an ingenious brass lift (or elevator, I believe some people have been known to call them) and I surmised it would take me to the very top of the lighthouse – all the better for gaining a good view of Cowell and the forest beyond. I stepped in and pressed the button. Somewhere behind, below and above me, gears shifted, machinery whirred and a steam engine began to labour. I rose smoothly into the belly of the lighthouse. I passed through private chambers and up into an ante-room that, via an opening in the wall and a walkway bolted onto the outside of the lighthouse, led up to the very top of the structure.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101554366335993794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rsxcqr_Mx8I/AAAAAAAAADM/ppqGOjxF-lw/s320/Cowell+005+-+The+Lighthouse.jpg" border="0" /><br />The winds, fanning the powerful flames that burned in the large central fire as a warning to passing ships, buffeted me and I held on to the handrail as I cast my gaze over the immense serenity of Kahruvel forest. Trees, tall and proud, circled rocky outcrops like an ocean around tiny atolls. They marooned buildings and cut off pathways like floodwaters let loose in a city. I could see from here that my previous day’s explorations had only shown me a fraction of the forest’s majesty and I found myself itching the return. Later, I told myself, first let’s explore the village.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101554499479979986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rsxcyb_Mx9I/AAAAAAAAADU/DDKY6_Gfp2w/s320/Cowell+006+-+The+Lighthouse.jpg" border="0" /><br />I retraced my steps back through the lighthouse and emerged once more onto the sand spit. Next stop, the small white building, which, upon closer examination, seemed to belong to a fellow called Champie.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101554705638410210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rsxc-b_Mx-I/AAAAAAAAADc/mz6q8KUq2Aw/s320/Cowell+007+-+Champies+Place.jpg" border="0" /><br />Inside I found an array of objects, from a broken vase to a small electronic gizmo of indeterminate use called a GINI. I couldn’t make head nor tail of any of the things on display so I wandered away...<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101554847372330994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsxdGr_Mx_I/AAAAAAAAADk/pZ0EfYwi380/s320/Cowell+008+-+Champies+Objects.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div> </div><div>...and up some steps and found myself on a small veranda with chairs arranged around a table on which lay three maps. I took a seat and studied them closely. They satellite and photo maps of the surrounding area and the close up on Cowell boasted helpful tagged pins pointing out each major location. I memorised each and moved on. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101555036350892034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsxdRr_MyAI/AAAAAAAAADs/RPYMbzb0bLI/s320/Cowell+009+-+Maps.jpg" border="0" /><br />As I rounded the building and headed to the bridge, the sun framed the small bell tower and I found myself rooted to the spot at its beauty.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101555556041934866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rsxdv7_MyBI/AAAAAAAAAD0/KMYM2DYgehA/s320/Cowell+010+-+Sunrise+over+Cowell.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>It took a drifting cloud to move me on and at last I crossed the bridge that led over the harbour and into Cowell proper...</div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101555848099711026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsxeA7_MyDI/AAAAAAAAAEE/D-gLW6XjPTE/s320/Cowell+012+-+The+Harbour.jpg" border="0" /></div><div></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">But as I stood on the bridge, gazing at the boats gently bobbing below me, I noticed a large monolith behind the buildings I was now heading away from. I double back and went to look.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106638538167601474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rt5ssb_MyUI/AAAAAAAAAGM/5H_6jSgiyuc/s320/Cowell+011+-+Examining+the+Monolith+2.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="left"></div>The stone needle had been carved into an octagon design I had seen in the shape of the lighthouse and there was a similar pattern inlaid into the floor around me. What could this mean? A simple design the architect liked, or was the a significance to it I had yet to uncover. Whilst pondering this, I rose and walked slowly back to the bridge to explore the other half of Cowell.<br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="center"><em>To Be Continued...</em></div></div></div></div></div></div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-11144814492671330632007-08-21T17:17:00.000+01:002007-08-31T12:07:07.944+01:00The Island: MaroonedThe Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski,<br /><div>5th July 1930 (assumed). Mid-morning. Unknown Island Location.<br /><br />I survived. I don’t know how, but Dear God I survived!<br /><br />It has now been at least a day since I awoke, although how long I lay face down in the sand unconscious to the world around me I can not say. But wake up I did; stiff, sore, blooded and bruised but otherwise mercifully intact with all my limbs in place and all my senses functioning.<br /><br />I remember, as if in a drunken stupor, crawling my way further up the beach. Lightning frozen scenes constitute the totality of that time. Trees bending all but double in the fierce wind, frozen like white claws reaching to grab and tear at me. Various parts of the Telesto picked out in monochrome moments as they smashed themselves on rocks or cartwheeled overhead. The storm raged. I drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware, numb, lost.<br /><br />I awoke yesterday morning (I will take a guess that was the 4th July – I should have been in Key West celebrating with friends, not face down in sand god knows where!). It was early with the sun’s rays just edging over a now calm sea. My eyes gazed upward on a sky where platinum-edged clouds shone like white fire burning away the darkness of night. Shortly after I awoke, so did the various parts of my body that were hurting… and they awoke with a vengeance! I half-crawled, half-staggered up the beach, the sea broke gently on the rocks behind me and the palm trees of the jungle in front of me swayed in the breeze. Around me lay the wreckage of the storm; the flotsam of the jungle, torn palm leaves and splintered branches, and the jetsam of my boat, smashed hull and tossed supplies.<br /><br />I had no idea where I was, I was in agony and my boat was so much matchwood bobbing in the sea in front of me or half buried in the sand around me. I was marooned.<br /><br />I sat as the sun rose high above me, my mind numb to all around me. On the horizon, clouds began to gather and rise high into the blue sky. I found myself watching the small fireflies that played inside them with fascination whilst a small voice in my head, at first quiet, got louder and louder. ”Strom”, it whispered. “Storm” it said. “Storm” it shouted. Somewhere, deep in my terrified mind, something switched on and I awoke to the approaching danger.<br /><br />I struggled to my feet and began to search the wreckage; I needed shelter, water, food and (as my throbbing head and body kept on reminding me) medicine. All of these things could be found on the Telesto… if they had survived.<br /><br />As though moving through molasses I moved to the water’s edge and began hauling what I could onto the beach; crates with food and water, a small tent and (miracles of miracles) the boat’s first aid kit. I even found my journal half buried in the sand close to where I had come round earlier, it was a little worse for wear but, as you can see, still functional. The Telesto itself was smashed beyond all hope of repair. Its hull had been sheared in two and large sections of it had been punched through by the rocks. The mast was splintered and jammed up between two jagged boulders so that it pointed to the sky in a cruel mockery of its former life. The cabin, or rather what was left of the cabin, smouldered and smoked as it bobbed in the water, presumably ignited by a lighting bolt.<br /><br />The tent, easy for a well and able man to erect, almost proved the undoing of me. I set it up as far from the shore as possible, but not within the jungle for who knew what dangers lay beyond that green and leafy border. I wanted to anchor the canvas down and it was the effort I placed into blow after blow on the pegs with a rock I unearthed from the sand that nearly saw me collapse and expire. Eventually it was up and solid, or at least as solid as I could achieve in my state. I dragged what supplies I could next to the tent, took the first aid kit and crawled inside, just as the first rumble of thunder drew near and first heavy drops fell on to the beach. I fastened myself in and rifled through the kit for pain killers. Soon, with their aid, I fell into black, dreamless sleep while once more the world around me was sucked into a maelstrom of noise and light…<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rsswa7_Mx1I/AAAAAAAAACU/Z06BmN5FppA/s1600-h/The+Island+-+Marooned.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101224242264721234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rsswa7_Mx1I/AAAAAAAAACU/Z06BmN5FppA/s320/The+Island+-+Marooned.jpg" border="0" /></a>Visit <a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Gembong%20East/56/42/21">The Island here</a> and follow the story as it unfolds over the next few weeks.</div></div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-48494118692696955452007-08-16T16:28:00.000+01:002007-08-16T19:46:21.681+01:00The Island: Shipwrecked<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099321026291746562" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsRtdL_MxwI/AAAAAAAAABs/jxEMmUu5a3I/s320/The+Island+-+Shipwrecked+1.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">****</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099321395658934034" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsRtyr_MxxI/AAAAAAAAAB0/ujfbK4TOu98/s320/The+Island+-+Shipwrecked+2.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"> **** </p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099321571752593186" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsRt87_MxyI/AAAAAAAAAB8/1MjScTesjjA/s320/The+Island+-+Shipwrecked+3.jpg" border="0" />****<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099321773616056114" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsRuIr_MxzI/AAAAAAAAACE/wVyJ_pWab20/s320/The+Island+-+Shipwrecked+4.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="center">****</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099321915349976898" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsRuQ7_Mx0I/AAAAAAAAACM/W-7KdZCHWBw/s320/The+Island+-+Shipwrecked+5.jpg" border="0" />****<br /><br /></div><div align="center">Visit <a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Gembong%20East/56/42/21">The Island here</a> and follow the story as it unfolds over the next few weeks.</div>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-57825502176496000872007-08-13T20:34:00.000+01:002007-08-21T17:01:03.484+01:00The Island: Into The Storm<span lang="EN-GB">The Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski, <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:date st="on" month="7" day="1" year="1930">1st July 1930</st1:date>. </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><st1:time st="on" hour="10" minute="0"><span lang="EN-GB">10am.</span></st1:time><span lang="EN-GB"> <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city></st1:place>, Bojean’s Boatyard.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">Lovely day. Went to the marina to pick up the Telesto. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. 30 feet long. Glides like a fish. I’m going to enjoy taking her out for a spin.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p>********************<br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><st1:time st="on" hour="14" minute="30"><span lang="EN-GB">2:30pm.</span></st1:time><span lang="EN-GB"> <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city></st1:place>, Bojean’s Boatyard.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">She handled like a dream! I feel as if I know her already. I’ve never sailed a craft so responsive, so… part of me before. I need to take her out again, this time further than the bay. She – no!, we need a good test to see what we can do together.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">********************</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">The Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski, <st1:date st="on" month="7" day="2" year="1930">2nd July 1930</st1:date>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><st1:time st="on" hour="18" minute="0"><span lang="EN-GB">6pm.</span></st1:time><span lang="EN-GB"> <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city></st1:place>, Bojean’s Boatyard.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">The supplies are being loaded now. Spent all day preparing the trip. Bojean think’s I’m mad to take her out so far. <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Key West</st1:city></st1:place> isn’t that far I tell him, besides, plenty of places to head for in between if I need to. No. The Telesto needs a good run and I’ve been stuck in that dusty old University for far too long; I need some sea air in my lungs. There’s a fair wind, the sky is clear. If I set off at first light tomorrow, I should be there by sundown.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">********************</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">The Journal of Professor Headonius Burroffski, 3r<st1:date st="on" month="7" day="2" year="1930">d July 1930</st1:date>,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><st1:time st="on" hour="5" minute="0"><span lang="EN-GB">5am.</span></st1:time><span lang="EN-GB"> 25d 33.5m N, 80d 7.3mW (12 miles southeast of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city></st1:place>). The Telesto.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">She’s perfect! She slices through waves like they weren’t even there. She moves over the water as if flying. The tip of <st1:placename st="on">Biscayne</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Island</st1:placetype>, one of the ancient coral keys that eventually lead pearl-like down to <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Key West</st1:city></st1:place>, is just visible to starboard.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsDFqCzEufI/AAAAAAAAABU/YAmMANffukk/s1600-h/The+Telesto+01.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098292104279669234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsDFqCzEufI/AAAAAAAAABU/YAmMANffukk/s320/The+Telesto+01.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><st1:time st="on" hour="10" minute="20"><span lang="EN-GB">10:20am.</span></st1:time><span lang="EN-GB"> 24d 52m N, 79d 40m W. The Telesto.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">I’ve looped out wide. I know I should stick nearer to land, but this sea is too good to waste; perfect wind, perfect water. Just wonderful!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">2:44pm. 24d 41m N, 80d 3.8m W. The Telesto.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">Spoke too soon! Damn weather front closing in from the southeast. Great anvils on the horizon. One hell of a storm brewing and no mistake. Still, it’s far off and I have the wind to get me back towards land – we’ll out run it, the Telesto and I.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">3:26pm. 24d 3.1m N, 80d 22m W. The Telesto.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">It has me. Dragged south. Maybe southwest.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">4:17pm. Location unknown. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">Good God. This storm is terrible. Sails gone. Have to ride this out. Must be somewhere near <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Cuba</st1:country-region></st1:place>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">9:11pm.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">Still as strong. Oh God, I don’t think she can take much more of this. I love you Rose. I’m sorry you’ll never read these words but I love you with every breath in my body and every beat of my heart.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsH_pCzEuhI/AAAAAAAAABk/fZO4djkAkLQ/s1600-h/The+Telesto+03+(in+the+storm).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098637333750921746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RsH_pCzEuhI/AAAAAAAAABk/fZO4djkAkLQ/s320/The+Telesto+03+%28in+the+storm%29.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">No idea of the time. My watch has stopped. The compass has gone crazy. The storm is as strong as before; the rain is hammering down and the wind is ripping at the mast and rigging. Everything is lit by this damn queer lighting. Strange green sparks leap of any exposed metal and I’m all but deafened by a hideous sound like hundreds of train wheels screaming on rails. Jesus! Where am I?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">********************</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 6pt"><span lang="EN-GB">Visit <a href="http://slurl.com/secondlife/Gembong%20East/56/42/21">The Island here</a> and follow the story as it unfolds over the next few weeks.<br /></span></p>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-4907585011132254402007-08-08T14:30:00.000+01:002007-08-14T09:44:34.099+01:00In Other News: A Magnificent Expedition...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RrrWOyzEuaI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZmJXk7vtT0U/s1600-h/journey-poster.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096621477965642146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/RrrWOyzEuaI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZmJXk7vtT0U/s200/journey-poster.jpg" border="0" /></a>Here's a great read (or series of reads) for all you SL exploring fans - a volcano (semi-affectionately nicknamed Phillip) has reared its smoking head and spouting maw above the waves off the coast of Caledon. A group of intrepid explorers have launched a scientific (and fame/bounty/thrill hungry) expedition to it's shores. You can read more over on <a href="http://bardhaven.wordpress.com/2007/07/26/coming-soon/">Baron Bardhaven's blog here</a>, as well as keeping abreast of the latest reports on <a href="http://darklingmuse.wordpress.com/">Darkling Rose's blog here</a>.<br /><br />p.s. A big thanks to Darkling Rose for sending me the main link for the interactive adventure - <a href="http://wordpress.com/tag/mysterious-island/">follow it all here</a>!HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-25913146165305006402007-08-07T22:50:00.000+01:002007-08-23T22:45:46.809+01:00Backapcking Burro: The Journey Begins<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">The morning sun rose over the white stone roofs of Cowell. I emerged from a dream laden sleep in which I had been pursued by wolves, torn apart by slavering jaws and fused back together by tongues of green fire. I knew before I opened my eyes that the events of the previous day were not part of some fevered hallucination, but I felt my face and head all the same, groaning as I found the hard, smooth horns exactly where they had been the night before.</span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Good morning,” said the old shaman, “You slept fitfully, I’m afraid. You seemed troubled by dream spirits, but I sang them away in the end. Breakfast? How do you like your eggs? Scrambled I hope?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">I turned and sat, blinking across the fire, my stomach suddenly very aware of the smells my nose had picked up a long time ago. The shaman was expertly cooking a meal of baked beans and eggs in one tin, whilst boiling tea in another and toasting thick slices of bread on improvised twig skewers. Baked beans. God, how long had it been since I had tasted them? Nothing like them seem to exist in this new world and I felt my mouth water in anticipation at their simple pleasure.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">He finished and handing me the hot tin to eat directly out of. As hungry as I was (and I was) I made a mental note that if I were to be dining alfresco more often, then I would need some plates and cutlery to at least appear civilised!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The old man watched me eat with a self-satisfied smile, laughing out loud when I paused nervously, my lips hovering at the tea cup’s rim. “Drink. It is not drugged, I assure you.” After a second’s further pause, I decided to take my chances and gulped the tea down. All too soon the meal was finished and I sat back, looking at the old shaman.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes?” he asked</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Well… What now?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Now?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes. What do I do next.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I thought you had decided to explore the village and the forest some more.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What, I just go? No idea what I’m looking for? No clue? No map?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“You worry too much, young one. The backpack will guide you, as you will guide it. Give yourself to adventure.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">As I thought about this, I idly pulled my bedroll up to ward off the morning chill that bit at me despite the small campfire.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Cold?” he asked, “Well, we will have to do something about that, although in time you will become accustomed to wearing fewer clothes; after all, when did you last see a gazelle in a waterproof jacket?” he teased. “Have a look in your backpack.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“My…? I did, yesterday. It was empty, more or less.” The shaman just smiled at me so I pulled the pack onto my lap and opened it. There, inside, I was amazed to see a neatly folded shirt and pair of trousers. Underneath, as I pulled them out, sat a rugged pair of walking boots. I gawped at the old man, “But… but… how? These weren’t here before!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Ahh,” he laughed, “The Elemental looks after its chosen. You will find that the backpack holds a good many things you never imagined possible. But you’ll discover that yourself; for now, why not get dressed and begin your journey.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">I nodded, dropping the bedroll as I stood and pulled my new clothes over my naked fur. They fitted perfectly, as did the boots which hugged my feet and instantly felt as though I had worn them for years. One last item was missing. At my feet sat the backpack, the start of all this insanity. Bending, I repacked it, strapping the bedroll away and fastening it tight, before, with a deliberately exaggerated motion, I slung it over my shoulders onto my back and stood, no longer just HeadBurro Antfarm, but now HeadBurro Antfarm The Chosen. HeadBurro Antfarm The Seeker. HeadBurro Antfarm The Last Hope. </span><span lang="EN-GB">HeadBurro Antfarm The Terminally Confused. </span><span lang="EN-GB">HeadBurro Antfarm The Hopelessly Lost. Oh God!<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rrjp1izEuXI/AAAAAAAAAAU/KBdnQ1cPOBc/s1600-h/Backpacking+Burro+-+The+First+Morning.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096080084453079410" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rrjp1izEuXI/AAAAAAAAAAU/KBdnQ1cPOBc/s320/Backpacking+Burro+-+The+First+Morning.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">I turned to gaze into the forest behind me, its tall trees soaring into a beautifully clear sky, birds and insects calling in its depths, the same depths that held (I hoped) the first clues to my task. “I best make a start then,” I said turning to the old man. He was gone! I spun round, searching for him between the buildings of Cowell, but there was no trace he had ever been with me at all.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rs3_4b_MyFI/AAAAAAAAAEU/lECVE2IC8xU/s1600-h/HBA+the+Gazelle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rs3_4b_MyFI/AAAAAAAAAEU/lECVE2IC8xU/s320/HBA+the+Gazelle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102015297931233362" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Running my hand over my furred head, I kicked dirt on to the embers of the dying fire and headed off to explore Cowell further…</span></p>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-33835709492677527032007-07-29T22:27:00.000+01:002007-08-14T07:37:42.747+01:00Backapcking Burro: The Elemental<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">“The Inside?” I asked, “Of… the backpack?”</span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The disembodied voice giggled joyfully, “Well of course. Where else would I be?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">I had no idea, but by this point I had decided that any rational arguments or answers had been well and truly ruled null and void. “What am I doing here?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I believe you have some questions for me.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">This was an understatement to say the least “Yeah, I do. For a start, why me? Why did you choose me?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Ahhh, but you choose me.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What? How?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“You choose me. Now we must see how things develop. See if this was a good choosing,” the voice said with a playful laugh.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The world around me was still pitch back. I didn’t feel in any danger, but at the same time I didn’t like sitting blind whist my host spun around me, popping up at will. “Look, can I see you,” I asked, “I don’t like sitting here in the dark.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The voice laughed out loud, “Poor childer… frightened of the dark, are we? Is this better?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The world around me lit up with a queer black light that hurt my eyes and burrowed into my skull. I blinked and looked around, I appeared to be sat on a spit of land by the sea whose black waves washed up behind me with a sound like ball bearings rolling over glass. The grass beneath me was black in colour and the earth a strange shade of grey. The entire scene was lit by a coal black sun suspended on the horizon of a midnight sky. It was if the entire world had been switched to a weird negative version of itself. Of my host, however, there was no sign. “Err, are you here?” I asked nervously.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes,” the voice whispered into my ear, close enough I expected to feel breath on my skin.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Are you invisible then?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Sometimes,” it giggled.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Right. Well, how about not being. I’ve had a lot of strange things happen today and I’d like to see who the bloody hell I’m talking to!” I snapped.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Aww, poor childer. Here I am then,” the voice said obviously amused.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">With a sound that felt like my own head being turned inside out, a green sphere radiating a strange light and vibrating tendrils of crackling energy appeared. I gasped out loud, the sight of my captor, my tormentor was both beautiful and terrible at the same time. “What… What are you,” I stammered.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rq0KSvglS7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/fLwNOaMEyTc/s1600-h/Burro+Inside+-+Sat+Nude+with+Black+Sun+and+Elemental.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5092738070732950450" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rq0KSvglS7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/fLwNOaMEyTc/s320/Burro+Inside+-+Sat+Nude+with+Black+Sun+and+Elemental.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“You may call me an Elemental. I am both servant and master of the Eldars. I looked into you and saw your animal spirit guide. I fused you. I am the Inside. You are the Outside. Together we will find the keys.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">My mind reeled. Questions fought for first place out of my mouth. “What is it you want me to do?” won.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The green light pulsed lightly and I had the feeling the Elemental was shaking its ’head’ gently at my slow stupidity. “The Eldars have told you. Their shaman has told you. Must you hear it from me, too? If I have to repeat everything you already know then the war will be upon us all before we can make even the first move to stop it.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I’m… err, I’m sorry,” I heard myself say, my cheeks burning in high blush. “Then can you tell me if I am to be stuck like this,” I gestured to my horns and furry skin, “forever?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Aha! The vanity of you childer never ceases to amaze me,” the Elements said roaring with laughter. “And to answer you, my child, no. I can return you to your inferior form once you have completed your task.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“But why was it necessary to fuse me like this?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Simple. You will find your gazelle form will help in your task. You are stronger and faster now than you could ever have been, but also you will find you have a more direct connection to the land you have been called to defend. Without being fused, the trials ahead would be nigh on impossible.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Trials?” I asked, but the Elemental only laughed. “Well what is my next step then? Where do I start? What am I looking for?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Follow the lines,” came the answer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Lines? What lines?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“The shaman will tell you more.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“No!” I said forcefully. I was not going to be fobbed off again. This… Elemental had chosen me, changed me, now it was damn well going to tell me the whole story. “I’m sick of half tales. You can tell me.” I sounded far braver than I felt, but my gander was up and I wanted some answers.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The green light pulsed slowly, deeply “Hmmm. Impertinence may serve you well I suppose. Very well then, here is a short version, after all what use is handing you all the answers and robbing you of the chance to discover them yourself? The world you know is young, but it is built on a far older reality. The new lords call the structure they have inherited and moulded, The Grid; a pattern of intersecting lines and nodes they have hung their world upon. These lines and nodes were all that was left after the last Great Shamanic War laid ruin to all. They have always been there. They always will. They are the means by which the life energy of the world is transmitted, balanced and stored. Control them and you control the very world they support. This is what the last War was fought for. This is what the next will be fought for. Follow the lines and seek the keys to understanding.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Where should I start?” I asked, struggling to understand all I had heard.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Ahh, now for that you really must speak to the shaman,” the elemental laughed. The green light exploded soundlessly around me and I closed my eyes tight against the sudden glare. When I opened them again, I was face down in the cool grass of Cowell where I fell. I struggled up and blinked across the fire; the old man sat smiling at me. “You bloody drugged me!” I said, my voice dry and husky.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, well the path to the Inside is not one for the conscious mind,” he said, a little too pleased with himself for my liking. “I hope you feel more… illuminated now.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">Rubbing my temples, I told him I did without expanding any. Instead, I wanted to know my next move.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Sleep, he replied. “And then in the morning you can begin your quest.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“But how? Where do I go? What am I looking for?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Knowledge.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What kind of answer is that?” I demanded.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“A true one. You are seeking knowledge. I would suggest the best place to start would be right here. Cowell and the forest are old and built on older land than you realise. Start your search here and see what happens next. But for now sleep. I shall watch over you tonight.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">He was right. God! I felt tired. Sleep first and then start again with a clear (if somewhat horned) head tomorrow morning. I lay back into the grass, resting my head on the soft leather of my new backpack. The stars above me blinked and shone. The sound of the water lapping at the bay mingled with a low keening that rose as if from nowhere; the shaman was singing to the night and I fancied, as the velvet cloak of sleep took me, that I saw a shimmering light dance about his naked skin.</span></p>HeadBurro Antfarmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10855762117761362578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-64956264909534893472007-07-17T20:21:00.000+01:002007-08-14T07:37:36.928+01:00Backapcking Burro: The Tale<span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-GB">The fire billowed and crackled in the wind, its heat beating back the night on my naked skin. Behind me lay the backpack; I had taken it off as I sat down to listen to the old man’s tale. At the edge of the fire, he had set a small metal cooking pot of water to boil.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3gVu7ZwtlpJozUrtUnniDE46vz1PU8lElUsERdSPbCrdyOtaQ0HOmK_jUYbBeu8Oy2rYgdabwmAJdIqzHBnFzqSzUUyrBqX1W1Qw_A9p0xsYSKTbLGjL502r7nagBc-ojizY4cbkYKKl/s1600-h/Around+the+fire+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3gVu7ZwtlpJozUrtUnniDE46vz1PU8lElUsERdSPbCrdyOtaQ0HOmK_jUYbBeu8Oy2rYgdabwmAJdIqzHBnFzqSzUUyrBqX1W1Qw_A9p0xsYSKTbLGjL502r7nagBc-ojizY4cbkYKKl/s320/Around+the+fire+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088248679384953362" border="0" /></a><br /><span lang="EN-GB">"Long before the Linden Clan laid claim to this land,” he started, “people lived here. Lots of people. They lived, loved, fought and died. They built cities, planted forests, cultivated land, sought mastery over the water and the air. And through it all, they were led by their shamen.”</span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Shamen like you?” I ventured.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rr4HEizEueI/AAAAAAAAABM/6TtLMC3uepo/s1600-h/The+Shaman+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rr4HEizEueI/AAAAAAAAABM/6TtLMC3uepo/s320/The+Shaman+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097519602871876066" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">He smiled, his worn tanned face alive in the firelight, “Yes. Shamen like me. Only more so. The Old Ones were far more powerful than we few are now. They knew the true secrets of the world. They could shape land with a thought, open seas with a gesture, bring the beasts of the earth to them with a single call. Now… well, now we are diminished. The Last Great War saw to that.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“War? The voices mentioned a war.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“The Elders,” he corrected.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“The Elders, yes, they said a war was coming. Is this true? What kind of war do they mean?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“If they have foreseen it, it will happen. And it will be terrible if allowed. The Last War laid ruin to the whole earth. The land died. The seas choked and the air turned foul. Once proud cities turned on each other and then, when there was no others left, themselves. A terrible dark time swallowed all. We almost lot everything.” The water in the pot had begun to roll, and he casually dropped a handful of dried leaves into it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“But who were the Shamen fighting? What was the war over?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Oh,” he said his voice heavy with sadness, “what are wars always fought over? Power, land, control. All these things and more. The Old Ones had grown powerful, but with such power comes great responsibilities. Some Shamen decided that not for them were the Agreements written. They decided that the world and all its contents were their by right, to do with as they wanted. The Grove did not agree. When beings of great power disagree, even minor disagreements have devastating consequences for those around them. The disagreements quickly escalated to war. Almost too late the Elders stepped in. They stopped the war, they removed the power from the Shamen, they remoulded the world to make such a gathering of power all but impossible ever again.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“All but impossible is not impossible,” I pointed out.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I see. I take it you are saying someone is looking to gain the power of the Old Shamen.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes,” he repeated.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style=""> </span>“And that someone does not have the best of intentions?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes.” He said suddenly looking tired beyond belief. He dropped a small pinch of dried herbs into the pot and let it boil on.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“But where do I fit in? I mean, why me? Out of all the people here now. Why me?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style=""> </span>“You have been chosen. You have been chosen to find the key to stopping the war before it starts.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“How? And what is the key?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I… we do not know,” he looked into the fire, unable to meet my eye. He took the pot off the fire and slowly poured the steaming liquid into two small red cups similar to the one I had found in the back backpack earlier.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What?” I shouted, “What do you mean you don’t know? You must! I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Well, the backpack chose you. Why not ask it?”, he handed me a cup over the flames, “Tea?” he offered.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">I took the cup without thinking, “Ask it? Ask it? It’s a bloody backpack if you hadn’t noticed!” I swigged the tea back, ignoring the heat. “How do you suggest I ask a bloody backpack anything?” I fell sideways, unconscious by the time my head hit the ground.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdNlEb8sG1Hg8S4UTohwBBSGNYUqoQy9FdN5CaaS60RSodEYFW7uoid9lz3jhjzKN_bnVNvkhqDcLYUzwahahtTH8hV7b-MNh4rr3YZCZU7o9aPDpBQVX1WaeZaTWPxgQXjkVcSfXInEm/s1600-h/Burro+Passed+Out.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdNlEb8sG1Hg8S4UTohwBBSGNYUqoQy9FdN5CaaS60RSodEYFW7uoid9lz3jhjzKN_bnVNvkhqDcLYUzwahahtTH8hV7b-MNh4rr3YZCZU7o9aPDpBQVX1WaeZaTWPxgQXjkVcSfXInEm/s320/Burro+Passed+Out.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088263312338530850" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">My eyes opened but all was black. Less than one day had passed and this was the third time I had been rendered unconscious. I was getting a wee bit fed up if the truth was known. I sat up. I couldn’t see the floor beneath me but I could certainly feel it. “Hello?” I shouted, not too loudly but enough to suggest I was hoping for a reply.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">A slight laugh reached my ears, a sound like crystal glasses rolling together.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Hello,” I said, this time just loud enough for someone next to me to hear.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Hello,” the glassy voice laughed in my ear, “welcome to the Inside.”</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-1876886537797173762007-07-12T20:09:00.000+01:002007-08-14T07:37:29.038+01:00Backapcking Burro: The Elders<span lang="EN-GB">Mercifully, as I slipped my arms through the backpack straps, there was no repeat of the pain I had felt the first time I had put it on. There was no eerie green light, no passing out or falling over. Nothing in fact. Well, almost nothing. I could feel a slight tingle in my (I could hardly believe I was thinking the words) horns. A small vibration that seemed to be moving downwards from the tips to my head. In no time I could feel it – hear it almost – in my skull. The would around me began to shimmer, as if suddenly touched by a vibrating tuning fork. The village about me, the forest beyond and the old man all blurred before slowly dissolving into nothingness leaving me standing in a void of immense blackness. Slowly, as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I began to pick out points of light. They grew in size and number; points becoming spots; spots becoming patches; patches becoming patterns of stars and constellations. It seemed I was floating in the infinite void of space!</span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Welcome,” said a voice that at once sounded like boulders rolling down a hill and water playing on pebbles, “Be at peace.”<span style=""> </span>I found myself moving backwards, relaxing until I felt I was laid out floating in some immense, becalmed ocean.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-07E6r6TECLLIU9kbTy9PQejg425w7uHkkkT9-fV9Ljbk2ubmlnOLIbMRFtaURC7ts30snjZYasMSlySyqeKPhTr8AUzSL4RuP3M1mOfaAK7_P_m80W8638TMIeyLOlFNrG-f4WsZMRe/s1600-h/Meeting+the+Elders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-07E6r6TECLLIU9kbTy9PQejg425w7uHkkkT9-fV9Ljbk2ubmlnOLIbMRFtaURC7ts30snjZYasMSlySyqeKPhTr8AUzSL4RuP3M1mOfaAK7_P_m80W8638TMIeyLOlFNrG-f4WsZMRe/s320/Meeting+the+Elders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086390298575581698" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Who are you?” I asked, a nervous tone in my voice.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“We are many. We are all many.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">This, I mused, did not help. “What have you done to me?” I asked with a bolder edge to my voice.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“What was necessary.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Necessary? Necessary for what?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“For the times ahead.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“I don’t understand,” I said, by now getting a little angry, “What have you done to me? Why have you changed me into this… this thing? What do you want?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“We have released your spirit guide. We have joined you. You will need to be one for the times ahead.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“What ‘times ahead’?” I all but shouted, “Just tell me what you want!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">A sudden push downwards, as though a rope around my waist had be attached to a galloping horse, and I was careering through the void, lights and colours blurring around me. I felt sick and heard myself bellowing for them to stop. Without warning, I was still again, fighting to hold in the waves of nausea that now welled up within me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Do not presume to take that tone with us!” the voice roared full of splintering rock, “You have been chosen!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“<st1:place st="on">Chosen</st1:place> for what?” I shouted back.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“For the times ahead,” the voice replied, once more babbling brook and rolling stones.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Please, I don’t understand…”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“There is a war approaching.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“A war?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“You must find the methods to win it for us.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Methods? What methods? What war?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“The host will guide you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“The host?” As soon as I asked, my backpack twitched and thrilled with excited energy. My host. My guide.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“The host will guide you.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I was about to ask more, but before I could, I once again felt a tingle in my horns and in the queer light of distant stars, I fancied I saw an odd thin bubble of some sort spreading from behind begin to envelop me. Once I was surrounded, my vision once more blurred and I passed from the void back to my own world and into the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Cowell</st1:placename></st1:place>. Although I felt I had been gone but minutes, hours must have passed for it was now night. The old man sat cross legged under the stars, only a small fire to keep him warm.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Welcome back,” he said. “Sit by the fire and let me tell you of the last Great Shamanic War.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-10212189783232670672007-07-06T20:13:00.000+01:002007-08-14T07:37:22.508+01:00Backapcking Burro: The Old Man<span lang="EN-GB">Looking back now, my panicked flight through the forest and hills of Kahruvel seems like little more than a series of photographs: still images burnt into my mind. I know I was scared – how could I be anything else? – but I can recall little else. I wanted to get out of the forest, away from the silent trees and back to people and noise and life. I was so desperate that it was only as I burst from the forest and bounded across the small bridge the divides Kahruvel’s southern border with Cowell I noticed the speed with which I now ran, and how surefooted I was.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Hell! I seemed as fast and as graceful as… as… No! I could not even think the word! Instead I bounded down the stone steps, dozens at a time, and raced over the arced bridge that crosses the canal. At its apex I launched myself off into the air and leapt the twenty metres onto the far bank where I ran past the workshop and towards the lighthouse at full speed.</span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It was empty. In fact Cowell seemed deserted and the only sounds I could hear were my ragged breaths and my heart pounding inside my chest. Desperate I called out for help. No one answered. I ran to the nearest window to peer through, but instead I caught my own reflection and my blood ran cold. My head was domed and bald, the skin a light fawn colour whilst my face was a chiselled pattern of snow white. Atop my head rose two curved, black horns sweeping backwards and upwards half a metre above me.</span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqKln8mChZClyxeIWOKddJ4wy8-HbOrRhyP0T1FHASJKHnD2VL3emN4FlVDY1ydvXb3uaO3ny-wkuLh9mw7LZRDv0eMS71fZcjoCfHzZMaeRIWxT40df2JIlZ8CcFIICSc5cNQzYie960/s1600-h/The+Gazelle+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084165497051564802" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqKln8mChZClyxeIWOKddJ4wy8-HbOrRhyP0T1FHASJKHnD2VL3emN4FlVDY1ydvXb3uaO3ny-wkuLh9mw7LZRDv0eMS71fZcjoCfHzZMaeRIWxT40df2JIlZ8CcFIICSc5cNQzYie960/s320/The+Gazelle+1.jpg" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvRS7P6THgmujJCg_ieswVGuo0vJEfLj8wS8yJAKveb6CtPJxGkLuuS7PRPySUis2LyugYc7sPQaxqC09c8np84K7RYCI2MkKAhxMxhnRgLaVSlFr4BIXltyxZ0yzQmqGky9Z0wm74N_x/s1600-h/The+Gazelle+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084165278008232690" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvRS7P6THgmujJCg_ieswVGuo0vJEfLj8wS8yJAKveb6CtPJxGkLuuS7PRPySUis2LyugYc7sPQaxqC09c8np84K7RYCI2MkKAhxMxhnRgLaVSlFr4BIXltyxZ0yzQmqGky9Z0wm74N_x/s320/The+Gazelle+2.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ59Fsan2i9aoozsc1Qhzxfhwp_M_Qf5dMt3zUuwxZhn7H6YcaHGcOPdI6qfTTzqpWynwGjpcKYOVrhP7w5-0t74KFP6Kv7xPVQk4qiK5OGzmE53tBxbGF6X5jqKY1d0hG3mczKTGjh5HC/s1600-h/The+Gazelle+3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084165638785485586" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ59Fsan2i9aoozsc1Qhzxfhwp_M_Qf5dMt3zUuwxZhn7H6YcaHGcOPdI6qfTTzqpWynwGjpcKYOVrhP7w5-0t74KFP6Kv7xPVQk4qiK5OGzmE53tBxbGF6X5jqKY1d0hG3mczKTGjh5HC/s320/The+Gazelle+3.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">And my eyes… oh God! my eyes! The pupils were onxy ovaloid slits, like those of a cat, whilst the iris was a shifting, twisting pattern of red and yellow flames – the two married to give the terrible impression my eyes were flaming shards of dark coal continually burning in my skull.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKs21OFczwV-f_Tokeb6fL5naph0v4-mpnInk2_u_LJUVxPcDnAU0jPjVTgfre4SoeANRTNvNNRVdMCWVeda1FHeL8WCB2uz08IHhBwytobmSfN6HqL1JsWfksspBMEPlaHOOEPFkHQn5o/s1600-h/The+Gazelle+4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084165943728163618" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKs21OFczwV-f_Tokeb6fL5naph0v4-mpnInk2_u_LJUVxPcDnAU0jPjVTgfre4SoeANRTNvNNRVdMCWVeda1FHeL8WCB2uz08IHhBwytobmSfN6HqL1JsWfksspBMEPlaHOOEPFkHQn5o/s320/The+Gazelle+4.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I gasped out loud and staggered back from the window, trying to put distance between me and the horror reflected.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I shouted for help, desperate for someone - anyone to hear me and come to my aid, but Cowell was as silent as the forest had been when I found that blasted backpack. The backpack! I was still wearing it! If only I had thought – this was the source of all my terror. The moment I had put it on, I had changed. All I had to do was remove it… throw it away and I would be normal again.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I tore at the straps, wrenched the damn thing off and heaved it as far away as I could. It landed in a cloud of dust and dirt and rolled to a halt some ten metres from me. I looked at my hands, willing them to change back, begging under my breath for the skin to return back to normal. They remained white. I sobbed out loud and fell to my knees, tears stinging my eyes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Your spirit animal would appear to be a gazelle, young man”, a voice behind me said. I spun round and fell backwards on to my backside, hands scrabbling in the dirt to push my away from its source.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">A near-naked old man, skin like leather and long hair pulled back into a ponytail, stood watching me. My mouth flapped uselessly. “Take your time,” he said, “you will have many questions all wanting to get out at once. Let them come.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rr4ACyzEubI/AAAAAAAAAA0/STuHdXAS1OQ/s1600-h/The+Old+Man.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W7ShKVRyBNc/Rr4ACyzEubI/AAAAAAAAAA0/STuHdXAS1OQ/s320/The+Old+Man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097511876225710514" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“What… what has happened to me?” I shouted, the fear in my voice making it strange to my ears.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Ah. A big question first. You may not be ready for the answer, but I shall tell you anyway. You have changed. Been reborn.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Reborn?” I repeated, “Did… oh God, did I die? Am I dead?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The old man furrowed his brow and looked at me if I were a rather stupid child, “Dead? Of course not. Would you be here talking to me now if you were dead?” It occurred to me I had no idea if I would or not, but my mind was in too much turmoil to raise the point, “You have been reborn into a new body, a mixture of your old body and that of your spirit animal guide. In your case, it would seem that of a gazelle.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“But how? Why?” I asked.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“How is easier than why. How is due to the backpack you elected to throw over there,” he flicked his nose to where the pack lay, “But why is down to the fact you have been chosen.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Chosen? By who?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“By whom,” He corrected me. “By the backpack, of course.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">My head was spinning. Chosen? By the backpack? Nothing made sense. Maybe the pack had fallen on me after all and I was laying on the forest floor, unconscious, dreaming, dying.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“No,” he said “you are not in the forest laying in a coma. This is real and happening now to you.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“But… look at me? Can I change back?” </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes. Once the backpack trusts you.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Trusts me? How can a backpack trust me?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“A good question, although I suspect you do not know why. To answer the question you think you have asked, you should ask how can a backpack change you into a gazelle. To answer the question you should have asked, you need to put it on again. It will inform you of what you have to do.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“There is no way I’m putting that damned backpack on again!” I shouted, my voice full of panic, “Never!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Then how do you hope to return to your old form?” the man asked quietly, with a faint smile about his eyes. I had no answer. My eyes darted between the pack and the old man, searching for any way I could think of to make this all go away. Any sliver of rationality I could grasp. I could find none. My shoulders sagged as I realised I had no choice, or rather a series of unpalatable choices.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“I really have to wear it again?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“Will it… will it hurt me again? Will I die?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“No.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I wanted to ask him to promise but couldn’t bring myself to. It was just too… whiney.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">“I promise,” he said, smiling.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">There was nothing for it. What did I have to lose? I reached for the backpack…</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025282390653679444.post-68902061705704189752007-07-04T18:27:00.000+01:002007-08-14T07:37:17.148+01:00Backapcking Burro: The Changing<span lang="EN-GB">Nothing. The backpack (aside from a bedroll, a folded up waterproof mac, a small flint fire-starting kit, and a blackened tin cooking pot) held no clue as to the owner. I searched through the pockets and found only a small red cup of the most exquisite china, a waxed-paper sachet of what smelt like a delicate green tea, and a curiously engraved folding camera. There was nothing for it but to re-pack it and take it with me out of the forest… maybe someone at the lighthouse in Cowell would be able to help locate its owner.</span> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKsa7fYLIE0Aj1Crx3u0uAdvR2McJVlN5dTWaaW1O6M5jak4v5zDyugYg-kNxdQKi0j7EVMReqaK5QrT3QqIqmE9XCspeAjP4YOREjGdKzUvE7xVTxHk72xh4LvL_RCoE2COJkzoEH2q_/s1600-h/Finding+the+Backpack+002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083395323516045954" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKsa7fYLIE0Aj1Crx3u0uAdvR2McJVlN5dTWaaW1O6M5jak4v5zDyugYg-kNxdQKi0j7EVMReqaK5QrT3QqIqmE9XCspeAjP4YOREjGdKzUvE7xVTxHk72xh4LvL_RCoE2COJkzoEH2q_/s320/Finding+the+Backpack+002.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The moment my arms slipped through the straps an explosion of pain shot through my spine. There was a sound like shearing metal and I was engulfed in a foul green light that blinded me to the forest around…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKsa7fYLIE0Aj1Crx3u0uAdvR2McJVlN5dTWaaW1O6M5jak4v5zDyugYg-kNxdQKi0j7EVMReqaK5QrT3QqIqmE9XCspeAjP4YOREjGdKzUvE7xVTxHk72xh4LvL_RCoE2COJkzoEH2q_/s1600-h/Finding+the+Backpack+002.jpg"><br /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jURWZ4W054Dkr9ZDbqAgmLoG47NrweZfDSya1xFj_hI32AzGBwdUIIyICOybJEK_mxufBp2NWEI8su0YO6WNes1ja3i5CklmIaZPveIZW15WwxONX2o4XzrIq91NF6zLkjImwkd7JTlP/s1600-h/Finding+the+Backpack+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083395546854345362" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jURWZ4W054Dkr9ZDbqAgmLoG47NrweZfDSya1xFj_hI32AzGBwdUIIyICOybJEK_mxufBp2NWEI8su0YO6WNes1ja3i5CklmIaZPveIZW15WwxONX2o4XzrIq91NF6zLkjImwkd7JTlP/s320/Finding+the+Backpack+003.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">As if falling through molasses, I began to tumble backwards…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI27UsSN8PZQGHNIWsTv7ccwA2BXDgBoXDa5YuE8gKly3ahsPZKR10I5ncXgFOOA9jl6CNG1nT28N0Ph3BAEx6vgoqUASspzeo6Pocd0guVpcjfgbI85MLba6ojTORv_93jM04iMEyiidN/s1600-h/Finding+the+Backpack+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083395847502056098" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI27UsSN8PZQGHNIWsTv7ccwA2BXDgBoXDa5YuE8gKly3ahsPZKR10I5ncXgFOOA9jl6CNG1nT28N0Ph3BAEx6vgoqUASspzeo6Pocd0guVpcjfgbI85MLba6ojTORv_93jM04iMEyiidN/s320/Finding+the+Backpack+004.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">My mind, slipping into unconsciousness, was filled with terrible images… my clothes torn from my body…My limbs stretching, curving… My skull changing shape, sharp ebony-black horns sprouting upwards…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSozoyPjjsT_dLp5Gqt0SvdgSLstj0LFHqpwimX3MMHr0tdzPGoBpl9hWMCmwZN9SyHg7FqiUOpK8sZWLdqLuRNt6wxmdh09PFdS4itQkWKQJDgfSzl6kb-dTcyAGpTc0AN_GOkUkf8nA/s1600-h/Finding+the+Backpack+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083396075135322802" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSozoyPjjsT_dLp5Gqt0SvdgSLstj0LFHqpwimX3MMHr0tdzPGoBpl9hWMCmwZN9SyHg7FqiUOpK8sZWLdqLuRNt6wxmdh09PFdS4itQkWKQJDgfSzl6kb-dTcyAGpTc0AN_GOkUkf8nA/s320/Finding+the+Backpack+005.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">My skin thickening, changing texture and colour…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgApBAjuoCoK1RvEsnroQgsE_KoznMRME0oAot0hUQG2LxOnNRPouSCrUWKSn3mIZ78WTFD-qsORXVYVgaMP7zjTkqYuK-G7u8CK2ucsMvZ_PdtAQ2-iJYD_zqbPVlabZ_hPYPJhLcTcJC/s1600-h/Finding+the+Backpack+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083396375783033538" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgApBAjuoCoK1RvEsnroQgsE_KoznMRME0oAot0hUQG2LxOnNRPouSCrUWKSn3mIZ78WTFD-qsORXVYVgaMP7zjTkqYuK-G7u8CK2ucsMvZ_PdtAQ2-iJYD_zqbPVlabZ_hPYPJhLcTcJC/s320/Finding+the+Backpack+006.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Until, finally, darkness took me and I dreamt no more...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">An aeon passed.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I was lost in the darkness.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Voices spoke to me. Whispered to me. Sung to me. They told me truths and lies I could not tell apart and their songs spun around me like angry hornets.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">An aeon passed.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">My eyes flickered open. I felt sick. My head echoed with voices fading like morning mist.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">I had no way of knowing how long I had been unconscious. I staggered to my feet and tried to force my bleary eyes to focus. The eerie green light was still around me but it seemed to by dying, the sunlight slowly reclaiming the forest. I stood in the silence, waiting for my head to stop spinning and looked down at the ground. It was only then I realised my shoes were missing and my naked feet were… white! Pure, snow white. My legs, too. And my stomach. In fact, most of my skin was now cloud white or fawn brown. My hands shot to my face – it felt strange somehow, familiar yet different at the same time, and when my fingers ran over my now-bald head I gasped out loud as they found two solid, bone-like protuberances… I had horns!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Dear God! What had I become…?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBYySLaG_LwQ__fPk85Y0PR-jm14yyURS1dkbJ8qM7znMnxgJMk2pfEV084Cmfssybi9XsAN7BGRedbydH5_FNWuXoV3jvjH5fsqwv39ABCkkO2rjM3F6Gyv5bNq9nNTOaH00d8eLqPYdy/s1600-h/Finding+the+Backpack+007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083396697905580754" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBYySLaG_LwQ__fPk85Y0PR-jm14yyURS1dkbJ8qM7znMnxgJMk2pfEV084Cmfssybi9XsAN7BGRedbydH5_FNWuXoV3jvjH5fsqwv39ABCkkO2rjM3F6Gyv5bNq9nNTOaH00d8eLqPYdy/s320/Finding+the+Backpack+007.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0