#I dint want her content any where near me

[transskywardsword]

What is your Hogwarts house?

None, jkr makes me throw up in my mouth a little any time I see her or her works

[aamccarthy]

Lucifer and Thomas - The Pencil

Wattpad Link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/186855778-lucifer-and-thomas

Artwork Master List

Chapter 1 - 10 Master List

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

—– 

The lessons were uneventful and dull. Lucifer rolled a pencil back and forth on his desk, barely paying any attention to what the teacher was saying. Small little demons darted in and out of the shadows, they were harmless but would occasionally prank a student by causing them to stumble or trip. He amused himself by watching their antics, passing the time as he sat through his first English class. An hour passed and now they were in a Maths class. 

‘Levi.’ He called out, utterly bored, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Talking with Asmodeus about the Empyrean. Astaroth hadn’t managed to find anything,’ Lucifer felt a flicker of annoyance come from Leviathan, ‘But Asmodeus had actually managed to go through and collect some resources for us. We are going through them now.’

‘Find anything interesting?’ He stopped rolling the pencil back and forth, the teacher had asked a question and several of the students around him had their hands raised in the air, shouting ‘pick me, pick me!’. He found the gesture strange. 

‘Confirmation of what we already knew. Shortly after our Rebellion, Father created the Empyrean and created two new types of Angels, then isolated himself within the Holy Realm. That matches the intel we had. The surprising thing though is that since isolating himself, no one except these two new types of Angels has seen him since.’

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, sitting up in his chair, spinning his pencil in his hand, ‘That is interesting. So, who is running Heaven?’

‘Those two. According to the information we have, they are the representatives of the Empyrean and the voice of God.’ Leviathan replied.

‘And what are they exactly?’

‘They appear to be Fiery Ones possessing the same abilities as the Seraphim, but are different. In the text that Asmodeus found, they are referred to as the Phoenix and the Chalkydri.’ Lucifer tightened his grip on the pencil. ‘They are twelve-winged beings, and are supposedly stronger than any Seraph ever created before.’ Leviathan paused, then continued quietly, ‘Both the Phoenix and the Chalkydri have been Blessed with the Miracle of the White Holy Flame.’ The pencil in Lucifer’s hand shattered and his eyes darkened in anger. 

No Angel had ever been blessed with the Miracle of the White Holy Flame before. It was a flame of cleansing and destructive ability, one that only their Father had. Lucifer remembered his Father’s lessons, and how he had told Lucifer and his brothers about the Holy Flame. When he had asked if his Father would ever pass on the Blessing, he refused and had cautioned them against it, saying that the Flame did not discriminate against good or bad, that it had the potential to destroy even Hell, upsetting the balance of the world, and that is why he would never release it from his hand.

Why though? Why did He bless another with the White Holy Flame? Lucifer felt himself shaking in anger. He wanted to march up to the Empyrean and demand an explanation from his Father. He felt heat surge through his body and he tightened his hands into fists as he mustered his self control to avoid going through and setting anything alight. He could vague hear Leviathan’s voice, but it was faint, his mind had clouded over in anger and all he could hear was the pounding of the blood in his ears. His eyes had begun to darken to black. 

Thomas looked over at Lucifer, then gently tugged at his sleeve. Lucifer turned and glared at the offender, but then stopped when he saw Thomas’ wide eyes. 

“Here.” Thomas whispered, placing a new pencil in his hand. 

Lucifer wordlessly took the pencil as Thomas quickly looked away, staring intently at the board before him. His eyes slowly brightened from black to their normal gold colour.

‘Sire?’ Leviathan called out, hesitantly. He had felt Lucifer’s anger.

‘Leave me.’ Lucifer uttered, cutting off the mental link. He opened his palm, staring at the pencil in his hand. He hadn’t seen that look on Thomas’ face before. The boy was wide eyed… and scared? Closing his hand over the pencil, he held it towards his chest.

He was used to having people look at him in fear, but didn’t want to see that look on Thomas.  It felt as if there was a heavy weight on his chest, so he drew his palm closer, trying to make the sensation go away. 

The bell rung and Lucifer looked up as chairs scraped across the ground and all the children in the room stood up, the teacher tried to talk over the noise but the students ignored them, quickly rushing out the door. Lucifer saw that Thomas had gotten up and had also walked out the door. He quickly got to his feet to chase after him, but several students pushed past Lucifer, and Thomas fell out of sight. 

The rush appeared to be over as quickly as it had started; all the students but Lucifer and the teacher were left in the room. 

“Go on then,” The teacher urged, “go have lunch.” 

Lucifer looked back at the pencil in his hand, it had been used but was well looked after. There were no dints, chips or chew marks in the wood and near the end, on the side the word ‘Thomas’ was engraved. He quietly pocketed it, before walking out of the room. 

He walked through the school, casting his mind out attempting to sense where Thomas was. It was difficult to concentrate, and he could barely hear anything. It was like being in a crowded room where everyone was talking at once and trying to pick up a single voice. 

Lucifer stepped out of the main hallway, descending down the stairs outside. Students were scattered outside, some were sitting under trees eating their lunch, whilst others played on the playground equipment. He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking around, trying to find the young boy. After some searching, he was able to locate Thomas sitting at the edge of the oval, next to the storage shed. He was resting against a tree and was eating his lunch quietly.

“Thomas?” Lucifer called out softly, hesitation in his voice. 

Thomas looked up and coughed, choking on his food. “Luce! How did you find me?” He coughed again, then rubbed at his mouth before taking a drink. 

Lucifer shrugged and sat down beside him, he opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. He frowned and instead looked at the ground. 

Thomas looked at him and paused, trying to work out what to say. 

“I’m,” Lucifer began, then sighed, running his fingers through his hair, “I’m not good at controlling my temper.”

“Luce?”

“I told you earlier, I’m not too sure how this friend thing works, so I’m probably pretty shit at it, but I’m willing to try.” He tugged at the red streak from his hair and stared at it, avoiding Thomas’ curious gaze, “I need to work on better controlling my emotions and not lashing out. So, if I scared you earlier, I’m sorry. I can’t promise I won’t do it again, but I’ll try not to at least.” 

Thomas blinked then looked down at the ground, “That’s OK.” He drew a circle in the dirt, then looked up, “I wasn’t scared. Just, surprised.” Thomas looked up at Lucifer, giving him a squinty eyed look. “You looked really grumpy.”

Grumpy was an understatement… Lucifer scoffed to himself as a small smile crept across his face, “I guess I was.” He responded, bemused. “Here.” He dug his hand into his pocket and held out the pencil that Thomas had given him earlier, “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“Ah,” Thomas held up his hands in front of his face, shaking them slightly, “No, you keep it. Look after it, it’s one of my favourites.” He smiled.  

Lucifer looked at the pencil, apart from it almost looking new, he didn’t really understand how someone could have a favorite pencil. Was that a normal human trait?

The bell rung, signalling the end of the lunch break. Thomas stood up and dusted off his shorts then handed Lucifer a red apple, “Did you eat?”

“No?” Lucifer took the apple in curiosity, turning it in his hands. He remembered when he had presented an apple similar to this to the first humans that were created, back in the Garden of Eden. That was the start of his feud with his Father. 

He bit into it and followed Thomas as they made their way back to the school. He vaguely wondered what had happened to Lilith. She was the first woman that his Father had created, but Adam was unhappy with her, and she was cast out, replaced instead with a woman named Eve. Lilith was of similar mind of the Angels, born with free will and thought, the same as Adam. Adam though, despite having free will was too eager to please his Creator, and Eve was nothing more than an obedient doll. She had no free thought and seemed content to just follow Adam’s word. Lucifer had felt pity for the two humans, trapped in that little garden, but it was Lilith who was the one who prompted Lucifer to give humans the Forbidden Fruit of Knowledge. Part of him was always curious if her actions were out of spite or because she genuinely wanted them to be aware. 

He took another bite of the apple, not realising that Thomas had asked a question, having been lost in thought, “What was that?”

“I said,” Thomas sighed, repeating himself, “do you know what class you have next?”

Lucifer continued to eat the apple, “Hmm, something called Physical Education?”

“Yay! You are on the same rotation as me.” Thomas grinned. 

---

Lucifer stood to the side, under the shade of a tree, watching the students running around a track. The teacher blew on a whistle, and all the children stopped running and immediately started doing ‘jumping stars’. He had learnt about that awful term only minutes prior - something about jumping up and down on the spot and throwing your legs and arms out at the same time, all in the name of ‘fitness’. 

He didn’t have a sports uniform, so got to sit out today, but the teacher instructed him to ask his father to organise one for him so he wouldn’t miss the next class. Lucifer decided that there was no way he would participate in this strange form of tortue that humans called ‘physical education’. He had already started planning on getting Leviathan to contact the school that afternoon and have him withdrawn from this class, or at least put on the sidelines. 

He was happy to watch, but he refused to participate. 

Looking over at the children, they had stopped their jumping stars and were now either standing or bent over, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down their faces and backs. He crinkled his nose in annoyance. Why did humans even do this to themselves? They were so weird. 

Thomas jogged over to where Lucifer stood in the shade, “How-” he stopped, then caught his breath, leaning over as he rested his hands on his knees, “how are you holding up? Are you bored?”

“Is this what they really make small humans do each week?” Lucifer asked, aghast. 

“Uh, I guess?” Thomas scratched his head, confused at the question.

“Why?”

“Fitness and health I think?” Thomas looked down at his foot, and there was a small ball like demon that started to climb onto his shoe. He shifted his weight, stepping to the side slightly. 

Lucifer raised his eye at the action, “Can you see them?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said distractedly, stepping away again as the demon attempted to continue clambering up his shoe. “Mum says to ignore them, otherwise they will keep bothering you. I’m usually really good at ignoring them, but I don’t like them touching me.”  

Raising an eyebrow, Lucifer didn’t say anything. He had already suspected that the kid could see demons; judging by his response, or lack there of both to his Satan form and the demons that were released from the mini Pandora’s Box. Thomas had seemed more surprised and interested in Lucifer’s banishing ability than the large swarm of demons that had spawned. 

Bending over, he reached down and picked up the demon, squeezing it slightly, causing it to squeal. It possibly explained how Thomas was able to see through Berith’s glamour as well. He still didn’t believe what Nick had said about the boy being human, there were just too many inconsistencies. He quickly set his hand alight and the demon dissolved in a burst of black smoke. The flame on his had vanished abruptly once the demon was gone. 

“Can people see when you do that?” Thomas asked, pointing to Lucifer’s hand.

“My flame?” 

Thomas nodded in reply. 

He hadn’t actually thought about it. Perhaps he should use glamour for it, or maybe not.  “They probably can. But, humans are quick to dismiss things that are unbelievable, choosing not to see the truth.” 

“Mum said the same thing too.” 

“Thomas! Get back over here!” The teacher yelled and the boy jumped, laughing nervously. 

“Bye Luce!” Thomas waved and ran back to the class. 

Lucifer’s eyes widened as he watched as the boy ran, a path of Demon Summon Circles appeared on the ground, appearing wherever Thomas foot touched the ground. They started out inactive, but then slowly something or someone started pouring Essence into them, causing them to glow blue. Lucifer’s eyes glowed vibrant gold as he raised his foot, and stomped it on the ground.

Immediately a golden circle with swirling symbols appeared on the ground and Lucifer uttered a single word, his voice dangerously low, almost in a hiss, “Berith.”

[dhj8735]

Reflective journal.

Alright another personal time.

Our Task: ‘In this assignment, you are revisiting your previous blogs and creating a reflective journal blog. Journal should be a reflective document that provides personal and thoughtful analysis of your individual participation/progress and reflection.

You are required to submit a full reflective journal, aggregated collection of entries so that your “final” journal covers the entire’ semester analysis of your thinking process and articulating what you learned

as a creative thinker.

HOWEVER, it is very important that you be honest in your journal entries.

Website of this: https://blackboard.aut.ac.nz/bbcswebdav/pid-4092675-dt-content-rid-7616768_4/institution/Papers/CTEC502/Publish/Assignment%20Two.pdf

 The journey to Auckland university was not very eventful or interesting. On my mind, right now was focusing on my new life here. I was stressed to say the least, well, all of this is to be expected if you study at a University. The university is bigger than expected, this was one of three campuses. Luckily, the campus I am in this year is somewhat new and the equipment seems to be quite new and modern. Albeit Chairs and Desks.

Although funny enough, my high school life did end quite quickly. I can almost guarantee my university life will not be the same. I am not one of those party animals, which drink and smoke to make themselves look popular or cool, nor am I Someone that is desperate to prove myself to be useful, trendy or approachable. I am me and I won’t change or do anything just to fit in, it may be stupid or the wrong choice, but it is my choice to make. In university, I am the minority.

I remember walking in to the WG1103 room, I was one of the few people that came early, I walked into the far-left side corner of the room, nobody else was sitting near there, I sat down, and waited. I didn’t want to converse with others, I didn’t like to meet new people, I only wanted to do what I needed to do. When all the seats were full the class began.

Walking into those doors, I knew this was serious, I had no intensions of making any friends, I either get distracted, or weighed down. I had to do things by myself. My first week of BCT… well, very personal. They ask us to blog frequently, talk to people, get to know other teams, work all that. I was confused, my first thoughts in University were to focus on your own work, never mind other people. But this course is different. I have learned some things regarding BCT, such as processing... It reminded me of high school. When we were writing blogs, I had no idea as to what to write. But as I continued to write, I began writing more about the things that I have experienced and learnt.

My first Blog post was at least 4 sentences. I didn’t know what I was doing, but as they say, do more things than once, you’ll learn it. Don’t know as to who said that but you get the picture. I remember our first project, we literally lost so much that project. We had lost ideas, the will to do anything, even a team mate, who later chose to do designing instead. I respect her choice; she has every right to choose what she/he wants. We had come up with five ideas for our card game. The first was a drinking game where the point of the game was to make sure to not get drunk in the game. Loser would be kicked out of the game. After a few trials and testing we thought that our idea was brilliant. However, after a feedback session with a lecturer, we realised that our game had some clear problems. I will not state it as it is already it my blog. After a couple of days, we came up with a new idea, where you pick a card at random, and that card has a certain type of food, once you pick that card you place it in a blender and you blend it with other cards you have chosen. Our team found this interesting and tried to find a way to play it. 

Yet another flaw arises, this might be a bit too costly, for the player. Such as not having the right ingredient or missing a certain ingredient. They would have to either buy one or have completely lost interest in the game. At this point we have all lost the will to keep going. We decided to rethink about this tomorrow. Another game came up, It was like a game similar to Yu-Gi-Oh, but this time, it was with gods, other religions, Christianity, Buddhism, Jewish, Muslim, etc. We were desperate to get at least an idea out there. Yet another problem, people will find it too offensive. I don’t know what we were thinking, we are a multi-cultural group consisting of an Indian, Filipino, Japanese, and Fijian. How did we not find this offending? Yet another devastated day. Problems kept coming every time an idea had come up, was it good or was it bad?

We ‘came up’ with another idea, a puzzle game, where you must sort out the cards in their rightful place. And you guessed right another problem. It was already made. Yeah, it’s called jigsaw puzzle. In the end, we decided we need to come up with a game that all ages can play, where you don’t have to drink alcohol, where you don’t get offended, you don’t have to waste precious money on food you won’t eat, instead you waste your brain cells on thinking: We created a… Maths game. All in all, that time we spent was very stressful, all those ideas being thrown away hurt, all the time effort put on those ideas were time consuming. But at least we saw our flaws.

After that project was done, another project had been given, this had been my favourite out of all the projects I have done thus far. During this project, we also had another project, programming. But the project that I enjoyed was creating my own soundboard, making art using my own sounds. I was a huge fan of medieval games, such as Skyrim and tactical games, so my idea had arisen from there. It was fun, sitting down, making sure everything plays in the exact time I want it to. It was a lot of fun for me, and so did some people.

What Creative Technologies means to me?

When I had created this video, I cringed, hearing myself talk and letting the public see it is quite weird. Very strange, and I dint like it, It was a problem. I wrote it as a serious answer, I only came here to do what I need to do, learn and do animation. If I need to more things than need to be done then so be it, that’s life.

What Creative technology means to me, good question, I never thought about it, all I Thought of it was a course that I could take to study animation, and learn more about the modern technology. Nothing more. But I wouldn’t say it’s a course that can make me ‘change the world’. To me, it’s more of a place where my ideas can be heard, people may comment, agree, disagree, but that won’t be the reason for me to change my idea. Pretty words aren’t always true, and true words aren’t always pretty.[1] If I rethink and find any flaws in my creation, then I will change it. Even if I may be wrong, it is my decision and I hope people can respect that. And I will respect theirs, if they want me to comment, I will, if they want my opinion then I shall give it, Creative Technologies is a place where my and others ideas can be heard. This could be said from our first project; others have asked us to try their games and they asked for our opinion.

These might be the best days of our lives, the past makes you want to die out of regret, and the future makes you depressed out of anxiety, so by elimination, the present is likely the happiest time.[2] Creative technologies’ challenges us to get out of our seats and converse with others, because communication is key. Working hard is also key. Hard work Betrays none, but dreams betray many. Working hard alone doesn’t assure you that you’ll achieve your dreams. Actually, there are more cases where you don’t. Even so, working hard and achieving something is some consolation at least. In short, Creative technologies is somewhere where  I can be myself and where my ideas matter.

[1] Hikigaya Hachiman

[2] Hikigaya Hachiman

Speaking of problems, this has happened to my Instrument. A classmate of mine had told me the flaws of it, about how the sound frequencies not being able to bounce through the end of the strings, I have found a way. I had tied the end of my strings into a screw which held the instrument tightly, there I will wrap my string into it making the vibrations thicker and tighter. It was an alright experience to have flaws, but having to many is an issue. Our instrument that we created as a team was all unique, I’m not saying this to be nice about my teammates, honestly they were quite amazing. One of my teammates had to use a car battery for it to work. Very dangerous but a very cool idea.

So far the projects we were doing have many flaws, but there are some good outcomes. We as a team could easily change our minds if we find faults. It was nice to hear others intakes at your faults as to show that others can see what you cannot. Many changes were involved in this project, when we were working on our soundscape for our performance, our first concept was based on a “Battlefield” Like area. But the problem was that our instruments did not match the soundscape, forcing us to remake it from the start, which annoyed me slightly as myself and my team member spent hours on it.

On the day of the performance, we did not practice at all, this was all done on the very first try. I was surprised we didn’t make any mistakes. We stayed for hours to try to make our instruments work with the soundscape. We have used sounds like that of war, gun fire, planes, bombs, and sad piano playing in the background. Our aim was to bring a slight sadness into the hearts of the audience, but we have gotten something a little different.

When we were working on our project about E-Waste, it was the one that had the least number of projects. But it also means we had mistakes, flaws and more mistakes. Such as ‘The Circuit board was created in the 1940’s’ what? I didn’t search this in the internet at all, and I knew the circuit board was created at least around the 1900’s. Anyway, we decided to do a film about circuit boards, well more like a documentary. It was quite impressive to say the least, and I don’t find that many things in our work impressive, our music choice was good, our narrator had a good voice, our editor was precise.

In between this project, we were to create a poster that talks about what we have learnt so far. I have written:

Teamwork- Working hard alone may not guarantee you that you will succeed in your dreams.

Communication- Only 40% of human communication is done using speech. But we observe the other 60% bye eye movements and small actions.

Change the World?- Some say that if you change yourself, you can change the world. That may be possible, but me trying to change a world where I am one of Seven Billion people. Highly unlikely.

Ideas. Mistakes.- It doesn’t matter if any of us are wrong, because every time you fall, you’ll continue to find the right answer right?

Teamwork 2- The Phrase “Three heads are better than one” In short, when people gather, they can become even stronger, than working alone.

At first, I thought being alone and working by myself will be much faster. It may be true. May. But being in a team can also make it faster, they can see the flaws that you cannot see.

 Thus: So far Creative Technologies means to me, is work together, not by yourself, there will come a time where you will have to work by yourself, then adapt, give out your ideas and let them be heard. I have learned so far that working alone may not always solve your problems, they try to take us out of our comfort zone and converse with one another, making us experience how to communicate with others who are similar to you. Blog posting is something I have to get used to. But as of now, Creative Technologies is a fun experience for me.

[thatgirlwhoworksforwhatshew-blog]

dream 2152020

dont remember the exact pattern of the dream. but it starts with me and a stranger(girl)  waiting outside miranda hostel gate(similar looking set), early in the morning claiming to be waiting for our respective friends. after a long wait, when we were denied entry inside, (for unknown reasons), so we decide to wait for the Friends to step out , and since we dont know phones? we just decide to pass our time talking to each other. she asks me about myself, and apparently im studying law. and have high dreams, and great responsibility and family burden since they are all from the same bg. we laugh at some lame jokes we made about family to easen up the situation. and she tells me shes an arts student. clearly intriguing me, and she tells me more about art history and i spill my passion for it, but how i had to cut it down for dedication towards law. shift to intense class, where it pretty much looks like an am-phi theater looking really rich classroom, with polished wooden interiors, and nearly everyone looked and spoke brit. i answer questions in the class, and none other seems to even care what the prof is asking or saying, until this one dude, also english looking somewhat grows to become my competition in class. we later somehow meet up and talk in the library, we study together in the lawns, discuss and have heated debates, which i no longer remember the content of,and just basically spend most of the time together. there were changes in the semesters, where we took different courses, so we used to club our notes and discuss them, which is something im just not over at- its beautiful. i remember us meeting , as we walk from opposite sides of the floor, which was semi circular, in the middle, and walk down the stairs to go to the canteens. it was such a beautiful scene, i cant get over it. but something strange happens,, we suddenly stop talking, and i have made alot of visits to his place, where in he basically shuts me off saying "i let him down" and "he dosnt trust me" which made sense to dream-bindu, but irl-bindu dosnt remember the context of any of it. she makes way to his hostel everyday hoping this try would get them back together, but one day, his supposedly best friend opens the door instead of him, and tells me he is gone for good, because he could not stand being 'dead inside' and i was a constant reminder of everything bad in his life, so he basically left. gone. poof. well i did the next best thing, cry everyday in all the places we spent time in, over bet my self into studies, because i still had this haunting on me, and basically had no life except for acing the exams. i declined offers and dint attend classes, just built myself a fort of books and lived in it, give the exmas, and get done. there were few scenes of a depressed looking bindu back at her home, where again she looks dis=interested in dinner conversations with her family, which was now a large family, and was again not in my home setting. it was a posh setting, and clearly irritated irl-bindu, and dream bindu was not impressed by anything, let alone this. she had a huge room, big windows, and she played records as she sat down near the window, lost. (parellel to me sitting near my window irl) and she has no diversion unlike her time at the university. so she writes her pain away, everyday every time, shes found with this jounal type brown book, and after a point gives it up as she realises its better he be left alone, as she dosnt want to be a reminder of of anything but beautiful memories, hence decides to give him the space he deserves. although practically she did give it, it was not until now that she freed herself from the thoughts of him, laced with guilt and hope. she returns to the campus, theres this one shot with a voice over, of the new subjects i choose for this term, which i sounded excited for, and as i am climbing up the stairs of the library's last floor- (i know it because it is miranda house library) i get a glimpse of him, who looks at me at the very second and turns his head away to his side, avoiding me. and the voice over goes, "sometimes normal is troubling" and an odd bell rings, and i am now bought back to the miranda hostel gate looking scene with the girl, guessiing i narrated the entire story to her, and she just hugs me before leaving with her friend. and i sit there waiting, still.

[readbookywooks]

. . . looked up. 'Still here, Tryrnon?' 'You summoned me, master,' said Trymon levelly. At least, that's what his voice said. Deep in his grey eyes was the faintest glitter that said he had a list of every slight, every patronising twinkle, every gentle reproof, every knowing glance, and for every single one Galder's living brain was going to spend a year in acid. 'Oh, yes, so I did. Humour the deficiencies of an old man,' said Galder pleasantly. He held up the book he had been reading. 'I don't hold with all this running about,' he said. 'It's all very dramatic, mucking about with magic carpets and the like, but it isn't true magic to my mind. Take seven league boots, now. If men were meant to walk twenty-one miles at a step I am sure God would have given us longer legs . . . Where was I?' 'I am not sure,' said Trymon coldly. 'Ah, yes. Strange that we could find nothing about the Pyramid of Tsort in the Library, you would have thought there'd be something, wouldn't you?' The librarian will be disciplined, of course.' Galder looked sideways at him. 'Nothing drastic,' he said. 'Withold his bananas, perhaps.' They looked at each other for a moment. Galder broke off first – looking hard at Trymon always bothered him. It had the same disconcerting effect as gazing into a mirror and seeing no-one there. 'Anyway,' he said, 'strangely enough, I found assistance elsewhere. In my own modest bookshelves, in fact. The journal of Skrelt Changebasket, the founder of our order. You, my keen young man who would rush off so soon, do you know what happens when a wizard dies?' 'Any spells he has memorised say themselves,' said Trymon. 'It is one of the first things we learn.' 'In fact it is not true of the original Eight Great Spells. By dint of close study Skrelt learned that a Great Spell will simply take refuge in the nearest mind open and ready to receive it. Just push the big mirror over here, will you?' Galder got to his feet and shuffled across to the forge, which was now cold. The strand of magic still writhed, though, at once present and not present, like a slit cut into another universe full of hot blue light. He picked it p easily, took a longbow from a rack, said a word of power, and watched with satisfaction as the magic grasped the ends of the bow and then tightened until the wood creaked. Then lie selected an arrow. Trymon had tugged a heavy, full-length mirror into the middle of the floor. When I am head of the Order, he told himself, I certainly won't shuffle around in carpet slippers. Trymon, as mentioned earlier, felt that a lot could be done by fresh blood if only the dead wood could be removed – but, just for the moment, he was genuinely interested in seeing what the old fool would do next. He may have derived some satisfaction if he had known that Galder and Skrelt Changebasket were both absolutely wrong. Galder made a few passes in front of the glass, which clouded over and then cleared to show an aerial view of the Forest of Skund. He looked at it intently while holding the bow with the arrow pointing vaguely at the ceiling. He muttered a few words like 'allow for wind speed of, say, three knots' and 'adjust for temperature' and then, with a rather disappointing movement, released the arrow. If the laws of action and reaction had anything to do with it, it should have flopped to the ground a few feet away. But no-one was listening to them. With a sound that defies description, but which for the sake of completeness can be thought of basically as 'spang!' plus three days hard work in any decently equipped radiophonic workshop, the arrow vanished. Galder threw the bow aside and grinned. 'Of course, it'll take about an hour to get there,' he said. Then the spell will simply follow the ionised path back here. To me.' 'Remarkable,' said Trymon, but any passing telepath would have read in letters ten yards high: if you, then why not me? He looked down at the cluttered workbench, when a long and very sharp knife looked tailormade for what he suddenly had in mind. Violence was not something he liked to be involved in except at one remove. But the Pyramid of Tsort had been quite clear about the rewards for whoever brought all right spells together at the right time, and Trymon was not about to let years of painstaking work go for nothing because some old fool had a bright idea. 'Would you like some cocoa while we're waiting?' said Galder, hobbling across the room to the servants' bell. 'Certainly,' said Trymon. He picked up the knife, weighing it for balance and accuracy. 'I must congratulate you, master. I can see that we must all get up very early in the morning to get the better of you.' Galder laughed. And the knife left Trymon's hand at such speed that (because of the somewhat sluggish nature of Disc light) it actually grew a bit shorter and a little more massive as it plunged, with unerring aim, towards Galder's neck. It didn't reach it. Instead, it swerved to one side and began a fast orbit – so fast that Galder appeared suddenly to be wearing a metal collar. He turned around, and to Trymon it seemed that he had suddenly grown several feet taller and much more powerful. The knife broke away and shuddered into the door a mere shadow's depth from Trymon's ear. 'Early in the morning?' said Galder pleasantly. 'My dear lad, you will need to stay up all night.' 'Have a bit more table,' said Rincewind. 'No thanks, I don't like marzipan,' said Twoflower. 'Anyway, I'm sure it's not right to eat other people's furniture.' 'Don't worry,' said Swires. The old witch hasn't been seen for years. They say she was done up good and proper by a couple of young tearaways.' 'Kids of today,' commented Rincewind. 'I blame the parents,' said Twoflower. Once you had made the necessary mental adjustments, the gingerbread cottage was quite a pleasant place. Residual magic kept it standing and it was shunned by such local wild animals who hadn't already died of terminal tooth decay. A bright fire of liquorice logs burned rather messily in the fireplace; Rincewind had tried gathering wood outside, but had given up. It's hard to burn wood that talks to you. He belched. 'This isn't very healthy,' he said. 'I mean, why sweets? Why not crispbread and cheese? Or salami, now – I could just do with a nice salami sofa.' 'Search me,' said Swires. 'Old Granny Whitlow just did sweets. You should have seen her meringues —' 'I have,' said Rincewind, 'I looked at the mattresses . . .' 'Gingerbread is more traditional,' said Twoflower. 'What, for mattresses?' 'Don't be silly,' said Twoflower reasonably. Whoever heard of a gingerbread mattress?' Rincewind grunted. He was thinking of food – more accurately, of food in Ankh-Morpork. Funny how the old place seemed more attractive the further he got from it. He only had to close his eyes to picture, in dribbling detail, the food stalls of a hundred different cultures in the market places. You could eat squishi or shark's fin soup so fresh that swimmers wouldn't go near it, and — 'Do you think I could buy this place?' said Twoflower. Rincewind hesitated. He'd found it always paid to think very carefully before answering Twoflower's more surprising questions. 'What for?' he said, cautiously. 'Well, it just reeks of ambience.' 'Oh.' 'What's ambience?' said Swires, sniffing cautiously and wearing the kind of expression that said that he hadn't done it, whatever it was. 'I think it's a kind of frog,' said Rincewind. 'Anyway, you can't buy this place because there isn't anyone to buy t from—' 'I think I could probably arrange that, on behalf of the forest council of course,' interrupted Swires, trying to avoid Rincewind's glare. '— and anyway you couldn't take it with you, I mean, you could hardly pack it in the Luggage, could you?' Rincewind indicated the Luggage, which was lying by the fire and managing in some quite impossible way to look like a contented but alert tiger, and then looked back at Twoflower. His face fell. 'Could you?' he repeated. He had never quite come to terms with the fact that the inside of the Luggage didn't seem to inhabit quite the same world as the outside. Of course, this was simply a byproduct of its essential weirdness, but it was disconcerting to see Twoflower fill it full of dirty shirts and old socks and then open the lid again on a pile of nice crisp laundry, smelling faintly of lavender. Twoflower also bought a lot of quaint native artifacts or, as Rincewind would put it, junk, and even a seven-foot ceremonial pig tickling pole seemed to fit inside quite easily without sticking out anywhere. 'I don't know,' said Twoflower. 'You're a wizard, you know about these things.' 'Yes, well, of course, but baggage magic is a highly specialised art,' said Rincewind. 'Anyway, I'm sure the gnomes wouldn't really want to sell it, it's, it's—,' he groped through what he knew of Twoflower's mad vocabulary – 'it's a tourist attraction.' 'What's that?' said Swires, interestedly. 'It means that lots of people like him will come and look at it,' said Rincewind. 'Why?' 'Because—' Rincewind groped for words – 'it's quaint. Urn, oldey worldey. Folkloresque. Er, a delightful example of a vanished folk art, steeped in the traditions of an age long gone.' 'It is?' said Swires, looking at the cottage in bewilderment. 'Yes.' 'All that?' 'Fraid so.' 'I'll help you pack.' And the night wears on, under a blanket of lowering clouds which covers most of the Disc – which is fortuitous, because when it clears and the astrologers get a good view of the sky they are going to get angry and upset. And in various parts of the forest parties of wizards are getting lost, and going around in circles, and hiding from each other, and getting upset because whenever they bump into a tree it apologises to them. But, unsteadily though it may be, many of them are getting quite close to the cottage . . . Which is a good time to get back to the rambling buildings of Unseen University and in particular the apartments of Greyhald Spold, currently the oldest wizard on the Disc and determined to keep it that way. He has just been extremely surprised and upset. For the last few hours he has been very busy. He may be deaf and a little hard of thinking, but elderly wizards have very well-trained survival instincts, and they know that when a tall figure in a black robe and the latest in agricultural handtools starts looking thoughtfully at you it is time to act fast. The servants have been dismissed. The doorways have been sealed with a paste made from powdered mayflies, and protective octograms have been drawn on the windows. Rare and rather smelly oils have been poured in complex patterns on the floor, in designs which hurt the eyes and suggest the designer was drunk or from some other dimension or, possibly, both; in the very centre of the room is the eightfold octogram of Witholding, surrounded by red and green candles. And in the centre of that is a box made from wood of the curly-fern pine, which grows to a great age, and it is lined with red silk and yet more protective amulets. Because Greyhald Spold knows that Death is looking for him, and has spent many years designing an impregnable hiding place. He has just set the complicated clockwork of the lock and shut the lid, lying back in the knowledge that here at last is the perfect defence against the most ultimate of all his enemies, although as yet he has not considered the important part that airholes must play in an enterprise of this kind. And right beside him, very close to his ear, a voice has just said: DARK IN HERE, ISN'T IT? It began to snow. The barleysugar windows of the cottage showed bright and cheerful against the blackness.