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!
@Muttonhawk I think there are some temporal inconsistencies with this post. You can't really say "Kyre died again." Thacel's creation is a direct result of Toun and Ilunabar's wanting to resurrect Kyre, meaning that Kyre had already been killed by Xos before Toun met with Ilu.
Probably a miscommunication on my part. There's no temporal inconsistency, Toun's replaying the scene of Kyre's death over and over again in Aihtiraq's memory, hence witnessing it again and again. I should have made that clearer, I apologise.
Over heath, hollow, and hill 'neath night's moonlight ill he fled, nowhere to run, hide.
Such was his burden, sorrow, tears like stars aglow he broke: close, near, far and wide.
Blindly, he found his way to Toun.
Like the sunrise's blushing garland that peeks over the sea, Aihtiraq's golden wind drifted slowly over the alabaster walls. When at last his formless eyes beheld the master of that place, he rushed forward as the first rains of spring, washing the pausing hain in their industrious dance. Aihtiraq spread his gold on the white at a speed that made the borders of each tile blur into flurry below him. The pattern within the pattern contracted as slow doors closing until the last gap stopped at the robed mannequin in the centre.
That smoothed over master. His one enfleshed left eyelid opened with a tiny, sinuous squelch. It revealed blue light. It shined judgement.
"You are trespassing, elemental." Toun's shivering intonations reverberated. He stared.
A void grew where Toun might have spoken more. Another pause passed. The porcelain god waited.
"Forgive me then, just as the rose sheds scent for he who would pluck it from the ground.
A gift I come to offer: a dark wind has come; it swept away your brother.
I could speak of this, if asked."
Toun's head turned a fraction. His eye narrowed as if taken with unwelcome surprise. "Which brother?" He asked cautiously.
"His was a short path without many forks or stops, at his side always a sword.
Atop a mount, he was lord."
Aihtiraq's verse left few candidates. Toun lowered his head just enough to warn him. "Speak your piece, then. Speak wisely. Recount everything, and do not encroach vagueries or lies." Toun held his hands behind his back. "I will know."
Other beings might have quivered or barked at Toun's abrasiveness, but such tone and wording went entirely unnoticed by the djinni lord of magic. Perhaps he did not sense irritation or anger as well as he did sorrow; or perhaps he was simply above such things as pride and pettiness. In any case, his answer came swiftly.
"My words can elucidate a mercury sheen of truth too vivid to lie.
But I am just Aihtiraq humble djinni lord and confer only one wish.
It be my place and my will to offer also the choice of some other boon.
A stout companion, perhaps?"
Toun's clay brow contracted. "I must have misheard your verse for the sake of tumescing its syllables, Aihtiraq. I had asked you to speak wisely, yet you offer a god of creation a boon he makes for himself every day." Growing annoyance laced his mockery. He cast one hand out to the side. "Have you offered the god of shadow a parasol? Or the god of the cosmos a candle? My interest is what you witnessed."
"I offer none any more than one simple wish. If seeing a brother's fate
be your wish, then so be it."
"You have proven yourself of no value to me but that." Toun confirmed. "Speak it."
If the djinni spoke, he did so without making a sound. His voice washed over the world like a lapping wave washes over a pebble on the seashore, and then in an instant there was a blinding golden light. Cornerstone's distant porcelain walls collapsed into powder as if suddenly turned to sand, and then the entire world similarly sieved away.
And then it built itself up again, and Aihtiraq's memory of Kyre's fall was relived in all its gory detail. There too were Aihtiraq's thoughts, saturating the air in a way that was invisible and yet overbearing all at once.
He thought in strange ways and with few linear concepts; past, future, and present had no distinction. Amongst that muddled heap of thoughts, dreams, and hopes were glimpses of Aihtiraq's nature: As he always professed, he truly wanted nothing more than to offer generosity to those in such need.
Yet there was also some recognition of Kyre's killer. Aihtiraq's eyes had pierced through the veil of that god's dark shroud and seen what was inside. Toun recognized a familiar face, too.
Though the memories were scattered into jumbled dimensions like so many tangles of yarn, Toun spread his hands and grabbed them. They froze. In the silence, one image stood. Again and again. The killer. The mote of unending power he wielded. Toun's voice whispered into it.
"He has returned."
The long white fingers that held the image together shivered.
"And as what?"
"You will know me by three words: your oblivion, this world's ruination, and retribution."
Toun's fingers curled.
"Your oblivion.
His skin ground in his fists.
"This world's ruination, and retribution."
"Not you."
"Ruination"
"Murderer," he growled.
"Retribution."
It did not make sense.
"Oblivion."
Kyre died again.
Toun's quaking fists sank to his sides. "Aihtiraq. What twist of nature abominated your sire so? What has Zephyrion turned into?"
Distortions appeared like desert mirages; they were the threads of other memories that came rushing in upon hearing Toun's words. But Aihtiraq did not speak these memories to life, instead he began to tug them back and tried to stow them away. Those threads were strange indeed, a different color, as if they were memories of another or otherwise distorted by some strange lenses. It was a tempting fruit. A deafening voice resonated through the entire plane of Aihtiraq's mind.
"Here I can sense your heart's thoughts. Do not grasp those threads I warn and beg; they bring pain.
Zephyrion is dead."
Shaking his eyes aimlessly in the vision, Toun's smoothed face twisted and twitched. "Dead!? He was away from Galbar! Whose hand ended him!? Show me! Was he reborn into this murderous shadow!?!" Toun's rant shot out in any direction he could level it. "If pain is the price of knowing, I have more than enough to pay it, elemental!"
Toun's grasping fingers met with those strands of memory that Aihtiraq had been trying so hard to banish from his mind and push away. There was some resistance; the djinni didn't immediately acquiesce, but neither was there an epic struggle. He only offered enough resistance to force Toun to struggle for a moment and think, and then the djinni lord's kindness got the best of him once again. He could only cringe in anticipation as he released the memory and allowed Toun to dive into them, knowing that the Porcelain Sire could never be prepared for what would come.
. . .
Everything was crumbling. There was nowhere to turn back, and every fork in the path only led to a wall of ravenous fire that rushed ever forward. There was no more road to walk, no place in Chronos to flee; the overwhelming power released by a titanic clash of gods was intermingled with the sense of oblivion that came with all of Chronos being destroyed.
But of course, there was one means of escape. It was desperate, but then again there were no alternatives. That made the decision easy.
He summoned a gargantuan mass of energy. It was writhing, fluctuating, raw chaotic power; very potent and more than capable of helping this world tear itself asunder. He flung it all at one point and blasted a hole wide enough to drag an entire world through. And then he did just that, stretching himself thin enough to encompass that planet that had been his pride and painstaking creation over the past eons. With the planet inside his bowel, he dove straight into that abyss of his own making.
And not even he could expect the pure agony and horror of what would come next. He fell into that plane called the Mechanism of Change and was at once assailed by tides of change and chaos that defied all reason and logic. Amongst the chaos were traces of patterns that could only barely be seen, and this was through the eyes of he--the lord of change, the one that created this place!--and even knowing of this place and its unlimited and unstoppable tides of power was not enough to prepare him for the experience of weathering its receiving end.
The realm of his own power, the primordial change that was his very essence, tore at and devoured him. It cloyed at his every facet in some attempt to dissolve and incorporate him into the soupy, unthinking, unfeeling mass of energy. It came close to succeeding, but through sheer force of will he perservered.
It was drowning in his own blood. Whilst being grated and stretched. In that trying time he could only meditate. He tried to find strength from within. Pieces of him were torn loose, naturally. His joy and kindness and creative forces that were torn free, but reliving this was different from all the other sensations. Rather than feeling those things come loose as a man might witness his severed limb torn from its socket, he was trapped inside of those pieces falling free. He was those pieces, small and inconsequential as they might have been. And as he drifted away, too weak to scream, he lost sight of Zephyrion as that god was swept along in the hellish plane. Time stretched, on and on...
Those memories of Aihtiraq's creation continued. In time, he coalesced into something greater than a few mere pieces of another being, and then he became a god in his own right rather than some flawed copy of Zephyrion. But eons of agony preceded that coming, and it was not for many more eons than Aihtiraq finally embraced the fires and became one with chaos. Then his existence in the Mechanism had been lonely, but bearable. And then there had finally been another one that appeared as if by destiny; the Vizier Ventus, who opened the doorway that allowed Aihtiraq to burst free...
But alas, Toun did not witness all of that. It would have taken far too long and been far too much for his mind to bear, so Aihtiraq reluctantly seized the thread and ended the visions. The visions and the pain and the foreign memories all slowly faded, and then there was black, and then there was half white below and half blue above. The white of porcelain tiles under the sky. They were back in Cornerstone.
"You did not heed my warning, and yet I hope that those visions were still of use.
Do you understand him now?"
Toun had his eye cast to the ground. Wide, panicked. What Aihtiraq shared suggested that no other words were reaching him.
But they did. "That fool..." Toun scrunched his eye shut. "That FOOL!" The word echoed off into the expansive fortress. They returned. Fool...fool...fool...
Toun's chest rose and fell with the frantic effort to belie whatever debt of suffering he accrued with pure anger. His jaw opened and a mouth sucked into shape in his featureless face, lined with gleaming triangular teeth. His fingers grew and sharpened. They curled and uncurled, quivering.
Toun screamed. It started low and rose as his jaw opened wider and wider. His head bent back as it went. The djinn in the sky stilled at the sound.
Lung capacity was not a limitation for gods, yet Toun's shout tapered to an end by the tail of the minute. His mouth grew over again. His claws shrunk.
"I understand now, Aihtiraq," he mumbled in a ragged, fuming voice. His head and arms slumped. "And I understand you. Zephyrion was never a friend of mine, but he was a brother all the same. As was Kyre. Their fates are a failure of this family to protect itself. I shall see that this shard of him, this...dark murderer, is stopped before he can find another victim."
"I bid you spread tale of this, but also remember the gift of mercy. Learn from
the dawn's beautiful flower that blooms then is crushed but sheds its sweet scent the same.
We should all imitate it."
Toun's eye rose, exhausted, to meet Aihtiraq's shifting form. "This is not the first time murder has met the family, Aihtiraq. Have you seen the ruin of Chronos yourself?"
"Wherever sky brushes ground and Change reigns strongly, Aihtiraq goes and has been.
You've seen only one facet."
"I care not. You saw it. Thus, you have no grounds to doubt my intentions."
The battering winds of high altitude sang a contrasting song to the soft clouds they hosted. Ears assaulted in such environments would strain to hear the mechanical buzz that struggled through it all. A tiny white bird, tireless yet ever stymied, oscillated its wings ever onward towards the looming stone in front of it. The splayed towers were akin to a great masoned aloe plant, growing from the floating cloud at its base.
The winds threw the bird around. Guardian zephyrs on patrol. The bird flipped and readjusted, righting its course. They did not care about the anomalous wildlife up so high. Finally, so close to a balcony, the winds stabilised and it swooped indoors.
The droningbird went by unnoticed, whether the halls were empty or occupied. It found a perch and hopped around, head tilting and twitching to observe all. The eyes brightened blue.
Just what games do mice play when the cat is dead?
A skittering set of mechanical paws thundered around a corner and shot by. The blur was a clockwork canine. It lowered its haunches and slid to a stop by the balcony. It barked. It kept barking.
A dark shroud over the windows signalled a new predator approaching before such Toun's question could be answered.
After witnessing Kyre's demise at the hands of Xos, Aihtiraq makes his way to Toun. His reasoning isn't explained, but Toun isn't the hardest god to find.
Toun, not knowing Aihtiraq's nature, mistakes him for an elemental and stares him down, telling him that he probably should step off his lawn.
Aihtiraq immediately busts out a verse offering information on Kyre's death.
Toun says, "Spit it, hombre."
Aihtiraq, being the wishcrafter he is, says that Toun could get something else from him if he wants. So he could either accept the information as his wish, or something else, like a puppy.
Toun completely doesn't understand Aihtiraq's style, so he gets a bit miffed about the diversion. He can make as many puppies as he likes at the blink of an eye anyway.
Aihtiraq's like, "You sure? Shit's cute, mang."
Toun replies, "You're worthless to me except in giving me that info. I said spit it, pendejo."
Aihtiraq obliges by conveying the entire scene in some kind of psychic mindscape that played out Kyre's death.
Toun recognises Xos as a derivation of Zephyrion. He freaks and asks Aihtiraq what the hell happened to him.
"Eeeeeh, it's a bit freaky, you don't want to see that. He's basically dead."
"Show me, cabron."
"'Aight." *throws up hands*
Toun proceeds to witness the memory of Zephyrion jump headfirst into the Mechanism of Change and get Rasputin'd to shreds. The memories diverge when pieces of Zephyrion are torn off. They eventually form Aihtiraq, who was trapped floating around in the awful maelstrom of magic and energy until Ventus later released him by accident. As a side note, Aihtiraq growing up inside of a catacylsmic magical storm is probably why he's a little bit funny in the head.
Toun doesn't see the full extent of these memories as Aihtiraq pulls him free before the tortuous experience can inflict damage on Toun's sanity, but the implication of the memories was that Xos likely formed in a similar manner to how Aihtiraq came to be.
The memory ends. Toun has a mini-tantrum to take his mind off the fact that he literally saw his brother torn to shreds in a realm of relentless entropy. He tells Aihtiraq that he's going to find Xos and deal with him before he can kill anyone else (not specifying that he only meant killing any gods, but Toun's priorities can cause miscommunication every now and then).
Aihtiraq suggests mercy.
Toun's like "Bitch, I invented mercy for gods. Didn't you see my god-mercy stone I grew outside of Chronos?"
End scene.
A little extra bit describes Toun deploying a droningbird in the Celestial Citadel. Seeing as Ventus pulled Aihtiraq out of the gem, there might be more interesting stuff happening up there. It reaches the castle just as Xos comes to fuck shit up.
Mutton reminds everyone of the existence of Clockdog from way back in the craftsmaidens posts. Someone please save the little guy.
BEFORE: Zephyrean Pantheon - L6 - 0 MP - 3 FP
-1 FP for Aihtiraq to show visions of his memories
"Yes, I'm quite sure." Janius did not explain further. He walked up to the door with an odd lack of hesitation and rapped it four times with his knuckle.
He stepped back, staring at the door with a frown. Some quiet footsteps knocked on wood within. The door latch slid, a creak, and it receded to reveal the elderly butler, Harald. His eyes were downcast as he pulled open the door, but he lifted his face and opened his mouth. He locked wide eyes with Janius, glancing to see the others. He was struck dumb.
"Good morning, Harald," Janius dryly said. "Divines, your old."
Harald's jaw began to quiver. "After all these years," he finally managed. "How can this be?" He stepped forward with his arms raised and took Janius by the cheeks. "Always a troublemaker, oh!"
Janius smiled and took the butler in a strong embrace. Harald was remarkably quite for such a reunion, but his red face showed a tear glistening from his cheek. The man looked as if he was in a wonderful dream by the look on his face. Far removed from the professionalism of the previous night. As if the thought was read in that moment, his eyes found Julan and Rhazii.
"You? You were the boys from last night, weren't you?" Harald pulled back from the hug to look at them properly. "You were not lying after all?"
"Well...uhm..." Rhazii grabbed at his left arm.
Janius turned around with a raised eyebrow.
"This is...extraordinary." Harald was oblivious to the ramifications of his speech, but he quickly recovered to address Kaleeth. "And you, my lady? I apologise for my lack of composure. Who might you be?"
Janius chuckled. "Dutiful as always, Harald."
Lunise took the advice in. She was still while she processed it, pausing in a quiet moment. Her mouth thinned. "Hm," she decided. Her head lifted to look at the door. "You are right. I should not delay this any further." She stepped up and knocked on the door.
Another pause. Some pages of paper suddenly scraped against one another behind the door. "Consulting hours ended at midday! Begone!" A frantic male voice emanated.
Contrary to the instructions, Lunise sighed, annoyed, and tried the door handle -- locked. She immediately stepped back, cast a spell on the door, and the handle turned freely. The door opened to a spacious room lined on one side by more large windows, providing ample light. There were racks of books and scrolls, chairs around a small table, an alchemy laboratory, a writing desk, draws, shelves, even an empty bird cage. Spare spaces on the walls were decorated with framed pinned insects and sketches of odd plants. Some were recognisable as from Black Marsh. On the carpet in the centre of the floor, on his knees picking up sheets of parchment, was an Altmer man in a comfortable silk and linen grey robe.
"This had better be important," he said without looking up.
Lunise gently knelt down and helped him gather the parchment.
"If this is about the last article on dendro-alchemical theory, I..." The man spotted Lunise's gloved hand and looked up at her face. He barely showed any signs of age over Lunise. "Oh!" His voice softened. "Lunise, my dear, you surprised me. Er, here, I'll put these aside." He tucked all the parchment together, taking what Lunise had picked up as they stood, and unceremoniously placed them on a nearby table. Once he turned around, he huffed and smiled. "My, my. Come here, my daughter." He brought up his arms.
Lunise smiled back and walked into his arms. It was rare to see her smile so naturally. "Greetings, father."
"I didn't expect that you would visit. Didn't you write ahead?" The man asked. He was evidently Pircalmo.
"Not this time. I apologise." Lunise said. "There was...a rush, you could say."
They separated from their embrace. Pircalmo looked at Meesei and his eyes lit up. "And who is this you have brought? I have not seen an Argonian in some time."
Lunise half turned to introduce them. "This is Meesei. I have been working with her on my latest assignment. She is an ally, and something of a friend."
"I see," Pircalmo stepped forward with his hand extended. He seemed slightly hunched in comparison to Lunise's military spine. "Lovely to meet you, Meesei. I am Pircalmo, a natural philosopher. I have studied your kind extensively. Your physiology is simply fascinating, I must say."
I'm curious. We had three kinds of insidie, right?
There were Lif's insidie. They're basically his core follower population.
There's Vestec's insidie. They're in the changing plains.
Are Vulamera's insidie still around? I'm not sure if they've been plonked anywhere canon-wise. Maybe they should inhabit the islands. It would explain where they've been all this time.
It's really a question of proximity to me. The area north of the Darkened Spires have always been hain dominated, especially Yorum. I was under the impression that the metatic archipelago was north of Cornerstone, therefore closer to Yorum, so it stands to reason that there would be hain on the islands.
Rhazii grinned. "I promise I won't be any trouble."
Janius straightened and looked up at the clouds, taking a breath. He didn't look fully convinced. Still, his ambivalence ended consistently. "Alright," Janius said. He looked to them all and motioned to the gate. "Let's head off now. There's no point tarrying unless we have anything else to work out."
Lunise answered as they reached the steps. The stone of their construction clapped loudly against their shoes and echoed. "His name is Pircalmo. He is an eminent natural philosopher, having written on almost every creature you could name on Nirn that he could personally study." Lunise peered at Meesei behind her from the corner of her eye. "He is a man with a hammer in a world of nails, Meesei. Try not to let his passions explain everything."
Murmurs sounded as they progressed. People speaking and moving. The staircase ended to reveal their sources.
They were on the ground of the cloistered garden. Under the shelter of the cloisters around the garden itself were many Altmer in various elegant dresses, robes, and suits. Many wore bags and scroll cases. The first impression of the attire was that of formality, but the functionality of the clothing ruled that out. Either way, it appeared that the edge of the garden was a thoroughfare between the archways on either side. There were no other races in sight until a short Bosmer could be spotted walking through.
As expected, Meesei immediately had eyes trailing her all the way through. The pair stopped conversations as they passed. Lunise walked by without making eye contact with any of them. The amount of looks she got as well, not to mention the way the pedestrians parted for her passage, already spoke of her Thalmor uniform's message.
Lunise lead Meesei through a short tunnel that served as a gate for the cloisters. It emerged to a much larger square, almost three times as large as the yard behind them. It was not gardened, save for some greenery around the edges that framed more statues of full men, women, busts, and some creatures. Its surface -- blinding from the sun -- was made from the same yellow tiles that made up the paths. The buildings that surrounded the square were all slightly different in size and layout, though they held the same architectural style as the cloisters; tall, narrow, and exhibiting high pointed arches on its facets. On their front faces were dull stained glass windows with unique yet unclear designs. If the Cyrodilic temple windows were any indication, they could be enchanting to look at from indoors. Behind each building was a continuous wall that enclosed the square. This appeared to be the college campus in its entirety.
Though there were plenty more passers-by that Lunise and Meesei had to suffer, they did not have to walk far. Lunise lead Meesei to the next building to their right. It was a long building with repeating stained glass arched windows. The walls were yellow as all the other stone and held up an ocre-hued tile roof. It was relatively uninteresting but for the vines that clung like a frozen crashing green wave to one of its corners. The double doors were open.
They walked past what appeared to be a lecture hall, as well as many closed doors within. They ascended a flight of steps to a hallway taken over by an unexpected spray of light. The yellow walls were dappled in bright, fantastical colours. They drew eyes to the windows. Each one was inlaid with beautiful and intricate stained glass. They depicted the basic shape of different animals with some Aldmeris script underneath. Lunise didn't appear to take notice of any of them.
However, she was slowing her walking pace. Her feet took slower and slower steps until she finally halted, looking at the door beside her. It was painted with blurry blotches of green and red from a window depicting a bird of paradise opposite its position.
Her strong posture began to deflate. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. "How shall I even explain why I am here?" She asked herself quietly. The empty hallway made her easy to hear.
"Well, you are right in that we won't be hurt by him," Janius conceded. He curled his lips and tried to find the right way to explain. "...Just remember that we are there to help Aurana. If he gets too angry, he might not listen to anything we have to say. Now, you helping..." Janius face cast down. One arm bent up to stroke his facial hair. "Let me think. Firstly, we are going to continue with the story you gave Aurana regarding us. Apart from that, perhaps, when we ask you to, you might explain you and Aurana's jaunt last night. Explain what she told you. We will be revealing that, as otherwise there is no reason for us to speak on Aurana's behalf at all."
Janius gave Ahnasha his attention when she approached. "Yes, we have." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "We're as sure as we can be of what we're doing, at least. There's really no telling if it'll all work." Janius closed his eyes and shooed lightly with his other hand. "Don't worry about it, Ahnasha. I think we have all the help we need, thank you."
"Can I go with them, mother?" Rhazii interrupted. He seemed to be the least perturbed about the visit of them all.
With a look at Rhazii and a pensive look at Ahnasha, Janius spoke. "I trust you know what this will be like, if you heard. What do you think?"
"It is a college of philosophy," Lunise answered. There was no reaction to Meesei's explanations, no anger or forgiveness. She kept staring out of the window. "My father researches here. This room is where I stayed when I visited, and when I was being educated."
Lunise let a still silence hang in the air between them. There was a certain loneliness to this room, if buffered by the company the pair shared.
She turned around to the door. With familiarity, she opened it and peeked out in a fluid motion. "Do not wander from me, champion." Old Lunise had returned again. She stepped out of the room, leaving the door open. "It has been some time since the isolated traditions of old, but humans are still thrown out on sight. You are not human, but people will question your presence should my authority not be present."
After looking both ways, Lunise beckoned Meesei out. They found themselves in a broad hallway with repeating petal-symbol windows on one side and more doors on the other. One end terminated with a fine statue of a nude male Altmer in an artistic pose and the other ended in part of a balustrade. A staircase likely dipped beyond.
Lunise began walking in the direction of the staircase.
[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>
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