Dear Mr Curly, I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all nothings lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that I am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat. Yours sleepily, Vasco Pyjama xxx P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
"We put the gun on a sudden lean, everything tips over," Yalu thought out loud. He held out his rifle horizontally in both hands, looking at it as he tilted the barrel end down. "What remains on the higher end, with their feet set to EVA combat, may fire stably down upon a stricken foe which wants for cover. A victory as swift as gravity."
The suggestion had holes, Yalu knew. He was jogging tactical considerations as much as hoping such an approach might allow for a survivor or two, albeit alone in the jungle.
To the side, the battle ceased with a suddenness that left Sabine shocked. Her senses left her for long enough to think she would be struck down by the crushing horde of Daedra. She came to standing right where she was before, but the central event only kept her distracted from finding and supporting her allies when Vile mentioned 'order' like it was some part of his nature. Sabine's heart sunk at the implications. Looking to Fendros, she could see there was no stopping him to get answers.
In fullness, the direct address of Hircine gave Fendros a connection to the Daedric Prince the likes of which he did not feel nearly as closely as when he previously made his presence known. Even fighting alongside the larger-than-life figure was not as powerful as being called champion. Any doubt Clavicus Vile sowed in his last moments fell away like his magical power had.
"Not this time," Fendros snarled back at Vile. He dropped the Spellbreaker to the floor and took the Rueful Axe in both hands. His arms took the axe back, over his head, and fast down on Vile's neck.
(These ceremonial clothes and trappings! I missed the smooth soft embroideries and pearls of these hain! So fine and precise...) (They aren’t going to hurt you, right Caress?) (Can’t help in Yorum. Purge hit too hard. Not enough sculptors.) (I’m in Yorum! I’ll help you out, Caress!) (You’re in the Jungle Tree. Might need to start moving to get to Loralom in time) (What’s a Jungle Tree?) (Shush! She’s telling us about the wedding! I want to hear what’s going on…) (Weddings happen all the time) (There are tiny seashells in the brown sand)
Edda’s sense of time betrayed her in the short lead-up to the wedding. Korom, one of her imminent paramours, had taken the mantle of organizer. Still, Edda was steeped in so much activity as to bring her from morning to evening with hardly enough time to take her meals. Her mission ached in the back of her skull, daring her to feel the excitement of her own wedding so it could shame her back towards her destined path.
Now, all of a sudden at the base of Akol’s Spear, the great tower which had become the god Toun’s primary temple in Loralom, she stood in amongst her procession feeling every second just as closely as the long red sash tied over her shoulder. An elaborate cloth-of-gold gown veiled her calligraphy-covered body, wrapping her in too-long sleeves and a sliding train of shining cloth behind her. It joined a hood wrapping in two spiralling sheets over her head reaching all the way over the sides of her hain beak. Gaps in the drapery exposed the nostrilled tip of her beak and her dual eyes either side. It was heavy and uncomfortably warm. The red sash over it all ran all the way down to the white tiles at her feet.
Notably, Edda was in the shadow of a pillar of red and orange silk curtaining a figure twice her height. A gaunt and pale human hand reached out from between its folds and clutched Edda’s shoulder. A reassuring touch.
"Don’t be afraid, Caress," Edda said with conspicuous calm. "I’m right here. No one minds your presence while they can’t see you directly." She let herself smile with one hand. "If nothing else, they are impressed with you. Nearly none of them have seen the height of humans before."
The Sculptor Caress smiled within her all-encompassing body veil. "You are always thinking of the shivers in other bones, my friend. But this is your wedding. I would expect your innards to feel an icy wind." Her hand turned upward on Edda’s shoulder. Not a hainly smile, but a human signal to consider. "You are not nervous of the ceremony, are you? What is clutching you?"
"…Grief?" Edda replied in her native Xerxian tongue. Only she and Edda could understand it just now. "Or…a future grief. I don’t know."
Sliding her hand back into her veil, Caress hesitated to answer. It was unlike her.
(Are you sure it will work against that thing headed your way?) (What thing?) (Absolutely, it’s very allergic) (Making it sneeze won’t help) (Alchemy’s too complex. Toenail clippings work for everything.) (Mooooonliiiiiight…O Moooonliiiiight…)
"What is that tune you are humming?" Edda asked.
Caress rustled some unseen gesture in her garments. The way her many arms moved suggested more than one person was within her clothing. "Oh, it’s nothing." She resumed with more gravity. "Listen, Edda. Fate need not repeat herself. You are gaining today, not losing. Let go in that held thought."
Edda took a deep breath and stood up straighter. She felt for the bronze hammer she had tied at her hip. An old tradition for her. She grasped hard at the cool metal, flushed the doubts from her mind, and slid forward towards the open-air ceremony ahead and away from the tower itself.
The whole of Loralom stood ahead on either side, leaving a corridor for the bride Edda and her entourage of monks, aides, and Caress. The nobility of cities federated under Loralom’s rule stood in prominent view: Kiyiklom, Salranom, Thedeom, Alechetyom, and even Cuumulom’s titular lake djinn, in a tall hain form. All were on the same vertical plane of the vast temple complex out of respect for the royal family and Toun’s providence.
Noting the movement of the wedding procession, the nearby Anzien, Edda’s personal poet and history writer, took his fingers upon a large horizontal harp. He lead the music of a band of hain from all over the kingdom and beyond. They began with their vast array of expensive wood, bone, metal, and skin instruments.
The music came from all walks and all timbres. Drums, strings, reeds, rattles, flutes, and even a row of increasingly sizable bronze ingots struck by wooden mallets to make harmonious ringings. All took their part together in a slow but irresistible energy. The addition upon addition of sounds with every turn regaled the ears with the result of Loralom’s expansion; a united Yorum. It cried out in joy, peace, and ambition.
Edda focussed on her footsteps. She was unable to resist walking in time with the music as all eyes looked upon her. She saw many cathartic tears in the audience either side. Her own eyes burned in result. Perhaps she was allowed to have this new family she loved. Perhaps she was allowed to be this happy. Just this once, not as a prophet.
She walked and found her hands slowly turning palms forward. She could not help it now. Especially peering at the three close friends turning to see her at the dais at the end of the hain-lined corridor.
Sira, the hain with the largest heart in the world. She was always socially graceful, kind to a fault, and to Edda’s eyes, more beautiful than she had ever realised. Wearing scarves of white fox fur over a vivid red robe embroidered with running beasthounds around the cuffs and along the hems, she was Loralom’s empathy incarnate. Painted tear-lines from her eyes to her collarshell in sky blue which spread wending florets along her beak. She had a long red sash tied around her waist, akin to Edda’s.
Korom, a truly untiring mind. Always optimistically finding a way through the most trying of chapters. Today was the first time Edda looked upon him in formal clothing made for a momentous event and not for a dutybound responsibility. His eyes spoke of it too. Korom had a tightly wound turban secured around the back of his head and under his chin, dyed the deepest blue. Inverse to Sira, his many-layered clothing was a silvery white highlighted with twirling red embroideries that curled up from its bottom draping just above his ankles to his shoulders. He kept the fires burning in Loralom, and Edda’s heart was warm. He was completed with his own red sash, and black shell paint which depicted large and orderly triangles over half the area of his hands and head, perfectly symmetrical.
And Akol, the king, the quickhatched, the youngest and the strongest of them. Edda had found his cynical honesty to be repulsive at first, but when she looked deeper, she saw a soul that cared for his kingdom and his paramours – and her – with a devotion that rivalled the power of gods. The former trait of his was pronounced by his wearing of a very unceremonial bronze mace at his side. The latter was given by the heavy rose gold pauldrons upon his shoulders, emblazoned each side with the hound head of Loralom marking the symbol of his office. His clothing for the wedding was half solid red and half silky white, split down the middle and fitting more closely to his form than the other two red and white garments beside him. His handsomeness was at its best today. His own sash was around his waist.
Each was richly dressed. No expense was spared. The three of them stood under banners with Toun’s circles and red banners of Loralom gently waving in the late summer wind. The only other feature on the dais was an idol shaped into Toun’s circles wrought of a polished silver. It stood on a small table with other trappings of the ceremony. His eye on them all, or so it felt.
Leaving her procession behind her at the edge of the dais, Edda reached the subjects of her love and took their hands, one after the other. She could not keep her eyes off of them. It was out of her peripheral vision that she saw the close friends and family of the royal paramours. In amongst them were the paramour’s existing children, Gring and Sata, having grown much faster than Edda cared to track over the years into wonderful young hain. Also in seats of honour were those remaining survivors of the ship from Xerxes Edda had taken to Yorum so many years ago. Sakurt and Feri, the fishers who arrived with two eggs and now sat with four healthy hain children. Tokgos the troll, who still owned the aforementioned ship and had since set up a healthy trade route along Yorum’s coast. Tokgos counted with Caress as the two inconveniently tall guests near the front, even when seated. Several other hain besides, each with their own stories. Other survivors were absent – either moved on or passed away.
The music faded to silence. The celebrant made her entrance from behind the dais, dressed in the demure white robes of a Tounic nun. This was Tergon, one of those few ranking directly below Edda in the hierarchy of Tounic worship, and a wise woman of local traditions besides. She spread her arms. The quiet murmuring in the crowd after the music swiftly dimmed. Tergon could not contain her own excitement at her position of honour in the ceremony.
"Hain of Yorum," Tergon projected slowly enough for the sound to carry over the whole audience. "Friends. Citizens. Slaves. Guests. Twelve years ago, we were ash and rubble. We were crawling, wounded, from a power beyond our comprehension. We fought like dogs to survive. There was no meaning in any of it, nothing but the flowing of time through its unmerciful glass. I invite you now to look upon Akol’s spear, and upon any hain in this crowd who have yet to reach their Second Hatching."
The crowd quietly flitted their eyes to the younger amongst them.
"By Toun’s wisdom, they stand on your shoulders having a blessed ignorance of our former pain. Every broken shell, every late night working, every brick, every beam, every blow of the hammer, every improvement to our great cities has brought us here today. And your just reward, Yorumites all, is to partake in the joy of this union. The family of our King Akol the Quickhatched joined by the Angel of Mercy sent by our clay father to save us. In the tradition of our nation, they are to be made hain as one. They perform this sacred rite out of love..." Tergon looked pointedly to each of the paramours. "And out of devotion. Korom, please tie yourself to the Ramyem Edda. Then Sira and then our king."
Korom took the length of his red sash and approached Edda. She caught his eyes genuinely mirthful as he tied his sash to hers. He slipped and failed to tie his knot at first, causing them both to chuckle. Edda could feel her heart beating strongly. "You look wonderful," he said, and stepped back before Edda could respond. Just as Korom would do, to leave exposing his emotional flank to the very last moment.
Sira tied her sash to the knot Korom had just tied. Her eyes kept darting to Edda as if she wanted to embrace her in spite of the ceremony, as she always did when they met after a time. She instead whispered quickly during her tying. "You have...really kept us along a good path, Edda. I would be a wreck on a day alike to this if not for you."
Edda took her forearm and their gazes met. She whispered in return. "You’re not the only one who’s grateful we met."
Turning up a hand happily, Sira stepped back to show her sash securely fastened.
The kingly bronze regalia Akol wore audibly slid against his shoulders as he reached forward with the end of his own red sash. He avoided everyone’s gaze and tied his knot directly and tighter than anyone else.
Edda inwardly smiled. She could see Akol was the most nervous of them all, just like their proposal. He did not want – could not be – the one to make a mistake in this ceremony. How any man could be such an unflappable commander on the battlefield and conduct himself here like a boy about to go hunting for inkflies was a mystery to Edda. An endearing mystery.
Now the four of them stood connected by their sashes at a single point. Edda could feel her affection for them on her face as if they were radiating heat.
(My alembic’s turned blue. Showtime!) (Everything is in place) (I speak no lie or metaphor when I proclaim my hands are trembling right now…)
Tergon, the monk celebrant, continued. "Look upon this connection between you. The knots will stay tied for today. What else connects you will stay tied for a life time. They will tie you when you are at the height of celebration. They will tie you in the deepest fever. They will tie you when your shells are brittle from old age. They will stay tied for today, tomorrow, and every day, only cut by the edges of the wraithstone itself, to which we all must go in time."
Though they ignored it at first, a distant shout and cry went up from one corner of the crowd.
"King Akol, Sira, Korom, repeat after me these oaths in the knowledge that they are bound in calligraphy by the word of Toun..."
"Halt!" A distant yell. "Stop him!"
Akol was the first to turn his head when the commotion did not die down. Edda followed his gaze to see Loralom palace guards carrying bronze polehammers chasing a solitary hain sprinting with an unnatural lean. Blood rushed to Edda’s neck. Something was happening to the sprinter’s arm.
The crowd either side were not attempting to stop him either. Something they saw made them cry out and pull back out of shock and fear.
The royal guards around the dais turned their hound-headed bronze helmets, crossed their polehammers, or bared their shields, maces at the ready.
The sprinter stumbled to a stop before he could reach them. His right leg exploded in a sickening break of white hainshell and blood. He pulled himself up from his bloody puddle with a fleshy shell-less arm, suddenly overgrown and ending in a long cartilaginous spike where two of his fingers should have been.
Sira held Edda’s arm. Edda took Akol’s hand.
"You..." The sprinter gurgled. Edda could see sharp teeth breaking through under his beak. "Hubristic conquerers..." He had an accent from southern Yorum. "Your expansion has been frivolous! Avaricious! Atrocity after atrocity and you thought you could get away with it all!?!"
The sprinter’s remaining limbs violently birthed an entirely new creature which wore its body like a suit, with remaining shards of hainshell dangling from fleshy strings like a wind chime.
"He’s...I-it’s a demon..." Korom stuttered.
"DEMON!" King Akol shouted out. He pointed his mace forward. "Slay it!"
The royal guards charged in. The demon shot two extra boneless red appendages from its shoulders and grabbed at their polehammers mid-swing, throwing the guards aside with impossible strength. Another was pulled in to be impaled on the demon’s spiked arm. Fresh red blood poured to join the rest.
The demon pulled its hainbeak open to let out a guttural cackle. "The free land under the Tyrant Cherry Eater will swallow your hubris whole! Starting with this fine day!" With that, the demon looked directly at King Akol and strode forward.
The crowd was in a state of panic, stampeding in every direction away from the fray, leaving no support but the royal guards around them. They were swept aside like leaves against the demon’s strength.
Korom had already pulled a knife and slashed the ribbons tying the four paramours together. Akol took the initiative and stepped up to meet the Demon, but even his strong mace arm was snatched by the bright red appendages whipping forward. He was quickly lifted up and slammed back-first onto the tiles. The demon’s spike was raised for his neck.
The instant the raw exposed muscles clenched to run Akol through, Korom swung Toun’s silver idol heavily in both his hands and struck the appendages away. The idol landed with an audible hiss on its flesh and the demon, shrieking like a plague of rats, recoiled. It watched its boneless red whips melt away in black smoke. But it was fast. Korom’s reward was its arm spike right through his jugular.
Sira screamed in fright and grief. Edda could not shake off her stunned shock.
Akol, however, was already upright. He took up the silver idol, swung it over his head, and the demon’s attempt to dodge in surprise had it trip over the dais steps and stumble to its back. Akol gave no mercy. He leapt upon the demon and struck it again and again with the silver idol. The shrieking was ear-ringing and the black smoke putrid and cloying. Again and again the silver landed. The shrieking stopped after perhaps the fifth hit. Before long, Akol screaming at his quiet foe, using up the strength in his arms to take revenge on what had become a smoking carcass. He slowed. He stopped.
The world was silent but for the wind.
Edda, shivering with panic, went to Korom where he was stabbed and fell to her knees. His eyes were glassy, his body unmoving and silent. No breath. No more flow of blood. Edda hovered her hands over him. Her arms shuddered without end.
"Please...Toun..." she whispered. "Save him. Please."
Korom’s body blurred behind the tears in Edda’s eyes.
The paramours, now three, gathered around Korom. Akol was silent. He started numbly at the body. Sira was holding herself, openly weeping.
Edda continued, hardly able to speak. "...Please...I beg of you. I would trade my life..."
No answer came to her prayers.
Korom the Advisor was gone.
(Did it work, Caress?) (Caress? We haven’t heard your voice in a while! I’m worried about you!) (She’s sad that it didn’t work) (What happened!?) (One of the grooms was killed by the demon before he could get him with the idol. Missed his chance for the fatal blow. Chump) (Why!?!) (Probably protecting one of his lovies) (I guess war is happening then?) (War with Cherry Eater and all of Southern Yorum) (It was going to happen either way) (The king is super angry though) (Hope Cherry Eater has to eat his own cherries) (Can’t the antisculptor calm him down like in Iulyarom?) (She’s disappeared too. Rumour is she’s struck out on her own to continue her mission) (...That’s bad) (Really bad) (But...it was right there!) (Caress! If you’re still alive, we love you, okay! It’s not your fault...)
It’s been a while. Where were we?
Edda, the marked hain, is to be married to the royal family of Loralom, including the current sovereign of a newly united Northern Yorum King Akol the Quickhatched, and his advisors and paramours Sira and Korom.
Edda, having been a prophet for so long, takes some effort to enjoy the ceremony. It is attended by a large number of people. Probably the whole population of Loralom Polis and more besides.
The wedding is unfortunately interrupted by a strange hain hosting a demon brought to Galbar by Ch’eater, the new Tyrant of Southern Yorum. The demon assumed the hain body, deforming it into a killing machine and attempting to kill the royal family on behalf of Ch’eater. Bedlam ensues in the crowd.
The royal guards aren’t much help and King Akol tries to fight. He’s quickly overwhelmed if not for Korom using the silver idol of Toun to physically strike the demon. Turns out silver is very much a weakness for demons (in fact the idol may have been planted by Edda’s sculptor friend Caress). Unfortunately, Korom is not a warrior. His blow wounded the demon but he was killed by it.
Akol then takes up the idol and beats the demon to a swift and painful death.
The royal family’s wedding is ruined and one of the grooms is dead. Grief abounds.
In a telling of chat in the Sculptor network, the aftermath is open war between north and south Yorum. Edda herself ran away from Loralom to continue her mission from Toun alone.
Yalu was the last to make it to the summit. The rain-covered surfaces did no one any favours, let alone himself. It felt like training. Just without the elder elites climbing after you to pull you off the climbing surface. He pulled himself up onto solid ground and shook his arms out. "Last man," Yalu mentioned to prompt the team that no one was left clinging onto the cliff.
A pattern could be sensed in the radio chatter, Yalu noticed. They were thinking too far ahead for practical measures. He took out his needle rifle to peer down the optic at their surroundings. Good cover indeed.
"Ryker, has a Promethean Vision module." Yalu gestured to him with his elbow. "Seems we have that as an edge. For now, it is time to move in silence."
Yalu secured his needle rifle -- turning off the optic and bringing the needles back into the body of the weapon to shut off any bright lights on his person.
The shield flew. Do'rhajul was quickly lost behind the horde as Lorag had been. It landed as Fendros had come back to his feet.
Janius was the next one to cover Fendros' right. He leapt in with the old dragon bone of his axe hand drenched in daedric ichor. With savage strength, he cut down anyone who tried the opening. Enough time for Fendros to catch his senses. No doubt the fury brought by Kaleeth being laid low gave him the second or third wind he needed to provide one last stand for them.
Sabine had her back to Fendros, working with the thralls behind them to keep their rear free of reprisal. She felt her chest tighten seeing her friends and family so damaged in so ultimate a chance. Her hands crackled blue and white with a icy cold that came together in front of her and struck the ruinach's side with a persistent stream of rimefrost. Two of the ruinach's arms blackened and went numb within seconds. But the thralls behind them were overwhelmed soon after without her support.
Without the ring on Fendros' finger, he might have broken his attack to go back and assist Ahnasha. He could feel every instinct pulling to protect the one he loved. But they had made a promise before reaching this tower, and Fendros had little hesitation to see it through. He snatched up the shield and held it forward with both hands between himself and Vile.
Not a second longer and the world lit up in white again. Fendros took step by forceful step. He pushed as hard as he can. Keeping his sense of position was key. Almost there. Almost within measure. He readied the axe once more.
"For all the suffering you caused us..." Fendros said through gritted teeth. "For all the lives you took...For Meesei. For Ri'vashi. For all of us..." He brought the axe behind him. "We'll have you, Clavicus Vile."
"Well placed, Do'rhajul. I'll not waste this chance."
Fendros had not been idle behind Do'rhajul's shield. There were no more spells or tricks to be attempted. The brightness of Spellbreaker's ward cast Fendros into a silhouette. In a short doubling-over, his shape grew like ink flowing out over vellum. His master-crafted armour broke away to reveal fresh black fur. When the light abated, Do'rhajul heard a low, rumbling growl from behind him. He saw eyes shining back the reflection of Daedric princes, a large bone ring on Fendros' finger, and the now undersized axe grasped in one clawed hand. Fendros tossed his head one way to acknowledge Lorag's potentially final move.
"Now," Fendros said in an articulate baritone through his sharp teeth. "TAKE US TO OUR PREY!"
How Fendros was in the lead. He threw himself forward with a unity of ruthlessness and evasion that belied his animalistic form. Spears and halberds were dodged, snatched, and thrown aside. Throats were cut as if by the wind after the wake of his claws. Larger beasts that took time in their approach found their necks snatched and broken before they could command their muscles to move. For as many as Fendros slew in his rapid advance, he knocked aside two more for his pack to dispatch, trusting that they were behind him. He no longer cared if they were all to die, or at least he closed his heart to it. The final stretch was a clear path after one more skaafin skull was crushed against the floor. He fell into a three limb sprint which turned into one more long leap. The axe swung around and over him in his hand, poised for Vile's hip.
After the death flurry of the Tengmaa plant jostled Yalu free, he secured his weapons and shot up to his feet. He breathed a sigh. He was glad to kick off the initial anticipation of danger on a piece of flora. And it looked from a quick glance that everyone had come out of the situation in one piece.
Yalu reloaded, narrowing his eye at his dwindling scattershot charges. "Yes, commander," Yalu said. "I wonder if any of those bodies in the pit were once our enemies."
The scene was beyond the pack's total comprehension. Though, with their hope renewed, Fendros tightened his grip around the Rueful Axe and made paces towards the Daedric Princes. His gambit of approaching unnoticed was not so simple; the arrival of a new flood of Daedra snapped everyone back into battle. The pack fell in.
"This is not the end!" Fendros shouted. "Push towards him!"
The battle was joined all around them with the swinging of Skaafin weapons and spells left and right. Fendros stood at the tip of the pack's push with a ward ahead and his axe batting aside spears and splitting shoulders. Behind him, Sabine covered their retreat with a steady stream of lightning from her left and right hands either side. Janius protected their flanks with all the strength he had left. They could all tell their strength was waning.
Fendros knew they could not simply grind their way through, but he did not say it. His mind found a tactic. "Ahnasha! Mark a corridor you and Sabine can make!" They both knew with magic and a well placed set of arrows, they could remove a number of weak threats in a line, if temporarily. "Kaleeth, Lorag, be ready to take us through it! The rest of you, keep them back!"
Even if it would take them only halfway across the floor to Vile, it would be halfway closer to victory.
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPjJCVylFBo[/youtube][/center]
[quote=Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.]
Dear Mr Curly,
I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all [u]nothings[/u] lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that [u]I[/u] am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.
Yours sleepily,
Vasco Pyjama
xxx
P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
[/quote]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><iframe src="//youtube.com/embed/HPjJCVylFBo?theme=dark" frameborder="0" width="496" height="279" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><br><br><blockquote class="bb-quote">Dear Mr Curly,<br>I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all <span class="bb-u">nothings</span> lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that <span class="bb-u">I</span> am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.<br>Yours sleepily,<br>	Vasco Pyjama<br>	xxx<br>P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!<footer>Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.</footer></blockquote></div>
Frettzo
Damycles
Antarctic Termite
headintheclouds
Forsythe
Master EffeX
Hokum
Vec