Tom's Treasure Hunt (22 Aug 2001) Tom goes on a little adventure.

Harcourt Manor, Cupola
High atop the grand structure once known as a "haunted house" to local children is a "lookout tower" accessed by a short spiral flight of stairs from the top floor. On seven sides, there are windows that afford a grand view of the gabled rooftop of the manor, of the winding Webber Way leading into town, and the mountains beyond. That is, it would be a grand view if the cut-glass windows weren't so caked with grime collected over untold years -- and the eighth side's panes are covered by a wide plank of plywood, the broken glass having been removed earlier in the restoration effort.

The chore for today has been to clean the windows of the cupola -- the insides, that is, as actually doing the outsides will be left to an adult. (The windows do open outward, but actually reaching the exterior would require getting out onto the sloped roof -- not much of a feat compared to some of the trees Thomas has climbed in the past, but just not the sort of thing any adult is ever expected to ask of a child around these parts.)

Normally, one wouldn't expect the insides to be so grimy, but one of the windows had been smashed in (supposedly by some child of a prior generation of grade-schoolers who had legendary ability with a slingshot in one tale, and with a baseball in another), and thus the elements and small animals were able to get in here, despoiling the little lookout tower. It's taken up a previous visit so far, and most of this one, and will certainly require another before it's done.

The place has its share of charm and creepiness. One might say that the view is to die for -- as one of the local legends claims that a previous occupant of the manor was struck dead by lightning while he was closing the cupola windows during a storm. Small wonder that tales could build up of this house being haunted: It's old enough that window panes rattle when the wind blows, and sometimes a distant creaking sound -- like that of the floorboards -- can be heard, even when no one is around to be walking on them.

Thomas finishes up with another window, timing it about right to the usual time he leaves the house for the day to head on home. Sadly, the window doesn't look terribly clean, since the outside needs even more cleaning than the inside, but at least half of the job's done. Part of finishing up in the cupola is to close and latch all of the windows (and thankfully there are no storms going on, so the chance of being struck by lightning is minimal).

As Thomas does so, something unusual happens. He had previously noticed that one of the floor boards was loose, and had subsequently made sure not to accidentally step on it, but perhaps in his eagerness to wrap up for the day, he managed to misplace his foot. In almost comical fashion, the loose board -- partly rotted due to exposure to the elements -- drops down, swiveling over a cross-board in the middle like some sort of see-saw, causing the other side to come up.

It's a fairly simple matter for Thomas to recover his balance and step back, letting the board fall more or less back into place ... but in the instant that he glances down at his predicament, he catches sight of something out of place ... in the space just beneath the floorboards, and above another layer of wood beneath, he catches a glint of something reflecting the light; something shiny.

Thomas hops backwards off the swinging board and bounces on one foot, regaining his balance. "Man," he says, "I guess I should tell Richard about that board. Better not forget this time." A small grin creeps across his face and he mutters to himself, "Of course, after I have a look under it. Looks like there was something there and after all, didn't people used to hide boxes full of money under floorboards? Lotsa old ghost and treasure stories even talk about hiding something valuable there, and this is an old house." He moves over to stand beside the loose board and kneels down. Carefully, he presses on the side he accidentally stepped on moments before. He applies little pressure at first, then increases it, hoping to swing the board up slowly.

His plan works easily, now that he's not being caught by surprise by this would-be pitfall. The depression is not so deep that the board could have gone all the way down, and once he moves it out of the way, it's a simple matter to reach what lies beneath: a battered metal box -- a jewelry box, perhaps, though the years have not been kind to it. (The wear can't have just been from sitting underneath a board, unless perhaps other people have mashed it a few times with the board without discovering it).

Tom blinks a few times, looking rather surprised. "Oooookay, that's slightly creepy. There is a box ... I was just kidding," he mutters to himself again. He shrugs, then grins broadly and declares, "Cool!" Seemingly over the initial creepiness of actually being right, he reaches into the cavity and touches the box, then gets his hand under it and lifts it out slowly to avoid spilling the contents.

He's able to get it out just fine at first, but then there's a sharp pop, as a hinge cracks, and although the front of the jewelry box is held securely shut, the back now flips open. Fortunately, he's able to recover it rather than dropping the whole thing back down again (not that it would have been very far to reach to recover whatever had dropped).

"Oh no you don't," he says, scrabbling to grab over the backside of the box and hold it together. He lifts it the rest of the way out, then sits back onto the dingy floor and sets the box in his lap. "Bwahahaha," he cackles, rubbing his hands together, "Let's see what's in here." Ignoring the apparently loose and open back, he tries to actually open the lid.

The battered jewelry box is now safely on the floor, a very dull metal color -- pot metal with some sort of dark powder that had been rubbed into the low points of the raised patterns in order to bring out the detail. There are flecks in the recessed points that indicate it once had some sort of a chromed coating that would have made it look significantly more shiny, but now the high points are just a dull grey of ferrous metal. The surface is covered with little rose and vine twining designs, and the "box" is actually somewhat rounded in shape, as if bulging at the sides, with little "feet" that it would rest upon. As the hinge has cracked open, a torn red velvety lining can be seen inside. As for the contents, there is a rolled sheet of very old-looking paper, darkened around the edges, bound with a roll of coarse twine.

"Well, well, what do we have here," he says, voice echoing in the empty room. He carefully sets the lid aside and lifts the paper out by slipping a finger into each end of the roll to avoid stressing it in case it's brittle. He sets the paper beside the box, then moves the box to the floor. Then, he gently tugs on the cord to see if it'll untie.

The paper is torn at the edges, but it's a thick sheet, and more durable than it looks -- It doesn't crumble away into dust or anything nearly so dramatic (or so disappointing). The cord is more of a problem, and at last Thomas has to work the whole loop off one end of the rolled sheet in order to remove it; the bow-tie just gives way to a tangled knot, thanks to the frayed and coarse nature of the thread.

Tom holds the thread a moment, glaring at it as if blaming it for knotting up. He then chucks it over his shoulder and focuses in on the paper. Holding down one edge, he slowly unrolls it.

The paper has a rough texture to it, and shows signs of having been folded in half and lengthwise before it was later rolled up. It is dark near the edges of the paper and the fold lines, and marked with lines and obscure little phrases, with icons here and there.

Tom peers at the paper -- the map. He reaches up and scratches his head slowly through his beret. He peers in close at the map and comments to himself, "What the ... what is this? Some bizarre chicken-foot language, weird!" He squints. "Oh, wait, it is readable, just sorta smudged after all this time." His brow furrows. "Okay, what the heck is this? I don't recognize these names." He turns it sideways and looks at it from another angle.

Tom taps on the picture of the Cyclops and hmms. "Now, if that was the old cave in the hill ... maybe if I look at it this way," he muses, rotating the map again.

Being an expert explorer, Thomas has long ago acquainted himself with the layout of the local area. Thus, it proves to be small challenge for him to notice similarity between the blobby shape of the lake and the location of the mountains to certain, far less exotic, geographic features he knows much more about.

Tom grins. "Yeah, I think that's right. That's the cave and there's the lake!" He sits back for a moment and ponders. "Yeah, I should go grab a couple maps from home and compare these; try and lay it out on a more modern map," he says, grinning, "After all, there's a big ol' 'X' on the map, and even I know what that means: treasure!" He rolls up the map and clambers to his feet.

A wind rattles the panes of the window, and more creaking can be heard in the floor boards, adding that characteristic creepiness to the atmosphere of Harcourt Manor.

Tom closes up the floor quickly and gathers up the beat-up box as well. The noises of the old place don't even begin to catch his attention. He dashes down the stairs like a madman, snatching up his backpack along the way. He drops the box into the pack and zips by Richard in a blur.

"I'mheadingoutupstairswindowsintoweraremuchcleanerbutyouhavealoosefloorboardyoumightwanttofixbye!" he babbles out quickly, passing the gentleman and zipping out the door, heading back towards town.

A while later, Tom expertly makes his way to the library, and just as expertly makes his way through to the section he wanted...

Tom rifles through the map section quickly. Unfortunately, this also brings him to the attention of the librarian. After being reminded that this is a library and he should be quiet, he more carefully looks, then pulls out a couple maps: one from many years ago and one from a year ago. He sets them out on the table and with a pen and a few sheets of paper, he starts drawing another, more up to date, map. "Right, the book must be the library ... Castle must be Town Hall; it's been here for a while according to the older maps. Bet that fish is where Jim's bait shop now is, think it was an old trading post or some such years ago," he murmurs.

"Aha! King of beasts, must be Lion Avenue now," he adds.

It doesn't take long for Tom to also figure out that the map is not to scale.

Tom works fast, trying to draw a map much more to scale, based on landmarks he notes. Not all the streets seem to be marked, which makes sense to his mind. Back when this map was made, they probably didn't exist! "Way of the dwarves," he says, grinning, "Miner's Road. Hm, I wonder why there's a key marked there?" He shrugs, and then marks an "X" near Foxworthy Sweets. "There, I think that's where the map points to. Somewhere in that block. Probably should check out that place first."

Tom slides back from the table and gathers up his new map and the old one. He puts away the other maps he used as reference, careful to be quiet this time. Best not rouse the anger of the Librarian, lest he have to explain about the maps.

Thomas makes his way unimpeded across town, making his way down to Foxworthy's -- the best contender for the fox(?) head on the map, and just across the street from the "X". Incidentally, Kia's Restoration also happens to be across the street.

Tom peers at the old map, then up at the surrounding buildings. "Could Kia's Restoration be the angel head? I guess that would make sense, sorta." He makes sure the road is clear, and heads across. He rubs his neck and looks for perhaps an old lamp-post or stonework. Or heck, maybe two crossed trees! That works in cartoons, right?

As Tom crosses the street, he notices at least one contender for a possible "X" -- a railroad crossing sign that is hanging just outside Kia's Restoration, on the front porch area. To Tom's knowledge, there are no railroads going through Ainigton, so it's likely some old junk from some other town entirely. Some kids think it clever to hang old street signs in their rooms.

"Whoohoo! That's promising," declares Thomas as he makes his way over toward the old railroad sign. When he gets close to the sign, he peers around it, then at the ground below it, pondering.

The wooden planks amplify Tom's footsteps as he walks across the porch up to the railroad sign. There are a few other knick-knacks, generally of very large size and the sorts of things that would have been outside for a long time before being offered up for sale (and probably not all that likely to be swiped), such as some old gas station signs, one advertising some farm equipment, and so forth. Beneath his feet, Tom can see the planks of the porch, which is raised perhaps a foot off the ground, with a set of steps leading up to it from the sidewalk.

"Huh!" says Tom at this, as he walks along the porch. When he reaches the end, he peers over the side, trying to see if he can see under the porch.

It's dark underneath, save for pinstripes of sunlight that come through the spaces between the slats. There are a few wrappers, and bits of debris that have fallen or been blown underneath, too.

"Blah, can't see anything under there," he murmurs to himself. He sits on the edge of the porch and thinks for a moment, unrolling the maps in his lap again.

A car rolls by, then another. Unfortunately, Tom cannot just ask Ms. Black about it, since the "CLOSED" sign is hanging out front.

Tom looks up at the closed sign. "Hmph, can't ask. So, now what? I know, I'll go check out that key. Perhaps there's some sort of 'key' to the map there. Maybe what to look for," Thomas says softly to himself.

Tom looks at the map again as he gets up. He slaps his forehead, "Duh! The angel head is the Siege. Sheesh, how brain-dead." He heads back onto the sidewalks, making his way to "The Way of the Dwarves" and the "Key" area as shown on the map.

After a respectable hike, he makes his way out of town and to the old Miners' Road. As he makes his way along the tree-lined road, Thomas is able to gauge fairly well that unless he finds some sign of a "key" soon, he'll have to turn back, or risk getting back after dark -- and also risk the ire of his father for being late for supper. (The fact that this map isn't to scale doesn't help matters.)

Tom looks up toward the sky, grumbling, "Crud, crud, crud! Getting late already. I'd better not risk being late again." He looks around intensely as he walks, looking for anything -- maybe a deer trail or something -- indicating the deer on the map, which is near the key. Well, might be, anyway.

As he goes along, he sees something up ahead. It's yellow, it's diamond-shaped, and it has a silhouette of a leaping deer on it. Deer crossing. There are lots of these on the mountain roads, but only one on this particular stretch before the bridge, and here it is.

"Tada! The explorer does it again," proclaims Thomas, grinning smugly. He walks over to the sign and kneels down, peering around the base. Occasionally, he looks up at nearby trees, perhaps someone carved a key into a tree or some such ... maybe a rock, even.

As Tom looks around, he finds something not at the base of the sign ... but rather, there's a small metal key taped to the back of the sign! No one is likely to look there casually, this far from town, for such things.

Tom grabs onto the key and tugs it, trying to separate it from the post. Man, how old is this map? Tom ponders just how long the key has been here. The map sure looked old.

The tape is a bit tacky from being out in the sun a while ... but, did they have sticky tape like this long ago? It doesn't show the signs of being out here for ages, really.

Actually ... while the tape is a little tacky, it most certainly can't have been here over the winter. There's no sign of shrinkage, and the tape certainly isn't brittle the way that he's found masking tape to get over time. This is suspiciously recent, though the key itself looks antique. The key, incidentally, also looks small enough to be for a jewelry box.

Tom turns the key over in his hand. "Huh, how odd. Old key, but new tape," he says. He glances back up at the sky, trying to gauge the time. Maybe Richard planted that box and map, then this key, as a surprise. Thomas supposes that Mr. Kuning does ride or walk up this way at times. He then glances back toward town. "And perhaps there's an old box in Kia's shop this key goes to," he says out loud, "though, I can't check today. I really can't risk being late again. Dad probably wouldn't be as lenient next time."

The next day, Tom finds that -- as should be expected -- the store is open.

Kia's Restoration
This shop brings to mind the days of ancient Wild West towns with the old-style lettering across the front window, the creaky old door, the heavy wooden beams inside that support the second story and the planking underneath. Various curios of all shapes sit on shelves, tables, in glass display cases, ranging from the mundane tricycles and bicycles and antique typewriters, to the grandfather clocks and ship's sextants and a brass orrery, to walrus-tusk scrimshaw and carvings from coral and brass lockets.

Tom wanders slowly through the shop. The map still has his attention, causing him to not pay too much attention to who, or what, is around him as he makes his way slowly toward the counter.

Over by one of the many display cases, a tall redheaded girl is looking at old cameras, when she notices the new arrival. "Hey Tom," Agatha says cheerfully.

Ms. Black smiles pleasantly as well to the children, from where she's arranging some items in a jewelry display case.

"Yaaaah!" exclaims Tom as he jumps slightly, caught totally unaware by Agatha. The map flutters into the air. Tom snatches the map quickly and says, "Geez, Agatha, give me a heart attack, will ya? What are you doing here?"

Agatha blinks and then gives Tom a curious look. "I'm checking out cameras, actually. You seem awfully jumpy today, Thomas. What's up?"

Tom's arms whip behind his back, hiding the map. "Um, nothing. I'm just looking around some, that's all," he says quickly.

"Uh-huh," Agatha says skeptically, and crosses her arms across her chest. "You were looking at that piece of paper, not at anything in the shop," she points out. "What is it? A letter from Rebecca?"

"Ooooh, the paper," says Thomas, not removing it from behind his back. "No, it's not a letter from Rebecca," he answers, "Just some junk I found recently, really. You probably wouldn't be interested in it, nope."

Agatha holds a hand out, and asks, "Oh? Lemme see!"

"Children," Ms. Black interrupts, looking faintly alarmed in their direction. "Please, no fighting in the store. Remember: If you break it, you buy it." She points to a sign that says as much.

Tom fidgets. "It's really boring. It's not like it's a treasure map or any ... erk!" He glowers, realizing he just blabbed and holds the map out to Agatha. "Oh, all right," he says.

The girl looks over the paper with crude map drawn on it. She holds it at different angles a bit, then hands it back. "It sure looks like a treasure map. What does it lead to?"

Tom shrugs lightly and replies, "S'what I'm trying to figure out. Did you notice the key up in the corner, near the deer? It exists." He holds up his hand, key between finger and thumb. "Found it yesterday. The 'X' is this spot, so I thought maybe they have some old boxes here this key might fit."

What Tom holds in his hand is a small cast-metal key, about the size for a jewelry box. It's somewhat fancy, but considering the complexity (or lack thereof) of clasps for such things, from Agatha's personal knowledge, it could actually manage to open any number of jewelry boxes.

"That seems reasonable, I guess," Agatha says. "Well, I'm just looking at cameras, but Ms. Black might know about any locked jewelry boxes."

Ms. Black for the moment seems to miss the conversation, still sorting around in the jewelry case.

Tom grins. "And you say I lack imagination." He shrugs. "I'm gonna ask. I hope you find what you're looking for in the cameras." With that, he heads over to Ms. Black and asks, "Ms. Black? Do you have any old jewelry boxes? Perhaps old metal ones? Maybe ones that haven't been opened since you got them?"

Ms. Black looks up. "Oh? You were wanting a jewelry box, Tom?"

Tom nods. "Yeah, or some sort of small box that locks." He grins and adds, "Makes for a great treasure chest for the games some of us play on occasion. I found an old key recently, so it gave me an idea that maybe I could find something it worked in for our games." He then shows the old key to the lady. "Have anything that might fit this?" he asks.

Ms. Black regards the "iron-wrought" design of the key, putting a finger to her chin in a thoughtful pose. "Hmm. A fascinating little design."

Tom nods. "I was thinking it might go to an old metal jewelry box."

After a moment, she suggests, "There are several jewelry boxes over there," pointing to a shelf across the room with an assortment of them, though most of them don't look like viable contenders. "If you'd like, I can check out back to see if there might be any others that haven't been fixed up for sale yet."

Agatha, meanwhile, has gone back to looking at the cameras ... but still listens to the exchange, in case Tom actually finds a box that the key works in.

"Would you, please?" asks Tom politely.

The woman nods, smiling, and closes up the jewelry case, heading toward the back of the store.

As Tom looks around, he's fairly certain that he isn't finding any good contenders. The key actually does open a couple of jewelry boxes ... but all of those out here already come with their own keys, if they lock at all.

"Eh, figures. They didn't look quite like what I was expecting anyway," mutters Thomas after he checks out the other boxes. Then, he hears the tell-tale creaking of the planks on the front porch, indicating that someone else is out there ... but soon after, whomever it is leaves.

Thomas sets down the last box he was looking at and calls out, "Ms. Black? I'm going to look outside for just a second, but I'll be right back." With that, he heads toward the front door, trying to peer through the windows and see if he can make out anyone at all.

As Tom checks out the front door, he sees no sign of anyone ... but he does notice that the railroad sign is swinging back and forth in place, slightly, as if recently disturbed and still settling, swiveling on the single large spike that holds it to the outside wall.

"Getting paranoid, Tom?" Agatha teases, giving the jewelry boxes a cursory look herself.

Tom casts a glare at Agatha. "Ms. Black, I'll be right back in. I think someone I know might be outside," he calls out. His hand grips the doorknob, turning it. He then steps outside and makes his way over to the sign again.

Ms. Black comes up from the back of the shop, holding a small box. Not seeing Tom, she walks over to the counter, and sets it down there.

Outside, there's nobody to greet Tom. Sure, there are a few people walking outside, the occasional car -- nothing terribly unusual, nobody running away, nobody who looks like they might have recently come from the shop, either.

Tom carefully tries to move the hanging sign and look behind it.

It swings to the side, revealing a closed and boarded up window. Tom recalls that there is a filing cabinet on the opposite side that blocks the window in question. There's a significant gap between the back of the sign and the board that fills the window, such that the windowsill could form a shelf of sorts, but it's empty and devoid of anything interesting.

"Tom'll be right back, Ms. Black," Agatha tells the lady, in case she didn't hear Tom herself. "Do all of these cameras work?" she asks, taking advantage of Tom's absence.

"No, actually, not all of them," Ms. Black says. "A number of them are just out here as curios. They're missing parts, but someone might still want them just for a novelty -- something to put in a nook, or they might be able to get the replacement parts themselves."

"Blargh," Tom mumbles, looking irritated. Maybe I'm getting a bit paranoid. He shrugs and heads back to the door, then back inside. He waves to Ms. Black again. "Sorry, thought I recognized someone outside." His eyes catch the box on the counter and he hurries over toward it. "This one from back?" he asks, curious.

The box looks like a miniature treasure chest, wooden with brassy braces and fittings, a little green with corrosion here and there, and a conspicuous lock on the front.

Ms. Black just smiles. "I'll get back to the jewelry display. Let me know if you find anything suitable."

"Thanks, Ms. Black," Agatha says, and goes on to look at some other items, all of them with lenses of some sort.

Thomas carefully picks up the box, checking the weight. He also tries to open the lid first, without using the key, to see if it's locked. "Where'd this one come from?" he asks Ms. Black.

The lid does not open. It's locked, yes. Ms. Black turns from the jewelry case. "Hmm? Oh. That's been around for a while. I haven't a key for it, though, or I'd open it up for you."

Tom looks even more excited at hearing she hasn't had a key. Thomas carefully slips his key into the lock and tries to turn it gently.

The key fits perfectly. And, with a satisfying click ... it opens the clasp of the box.

Tom doesn't say anything, fidgeting nervously. He sets the box gently onto the counter and opens the slid slowly, peering inside.

"Find anything yet?" Agatha asks from across the shop, where she is examining a brass kaleidoscope.

Inside, there's a glint of something shiny: a small but perhaps usable brass sextant, with touches of corrosion here and there suggesting that it could use a little more cleaning, not unlike the sextants on the shelves in this very store. He also sees a glittering handful of small gems and golden coins.

"Whoa!" Tom whispers to himself. He closes the lid quickly and turns to Ms. Black. "Hey, how much would this box cost? My key seems to work great with it and I think we could use it." He smiles, rocking on and off his toes.

From the jewelry case, Ms. Black replies, "Hmm. It isn't of much use without a key, and since you have one of your own ... and it's only wooden ... it doesn't have any fancy decoration, and it's a bit corroded. How about a penny?" She finishes up, finally having placed all of the new items, and closes up the case, latching it again.

"Really? Cool! Sure," replies Thomas, grinning. He digs in his pocket and pulls out his soda money. He sorts out a penny and sets it on the counter, saying, "Thanks, Ms. Black."

"Thank you, Tom," Ms. Black replies cheerily. "I hope you find something fun to do with your box."

Tom locks the box and then tucks it under his arm. He smiles, "I will, I'm sure." He glances over at Agatha then says, "And maybe I'll even let her check it out. I'm sure she will find it interesting."

Ms. Black just smiles in reply.

Agatha looks at Tom through a pair of antique opera glasses and asks, "Find any treasure yet, Thomas?"

Tom waves to Agatha. "I'm going to head home. If you want to check out the box sometime, feel free to stop by. You can see what I find there." He smiles and waves, heading back toward the door. The door opens, then closes, and Thomas is gone, leaving the curios alone with Agatha and the shop owner.

Thomas settles down on his bed in the midst of the clutter of his room. Crude maps of the town and surrounding areas adorn the walls. On the small desk in the corner rests his schoolwork, as well as a recent sketch of Crow Isle -- one of how it looks, and one of how they pretended that it would look. His backpack lies tossed in the corner, on top of a coil of rope, a flashlight, and other outdoor gear. He rubs his hands together, sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of the chest. With a turn of the key and a click, the chest opens once more and this time, Thomas reaches in and lifts out the sextant.

The sextant has a look about it of being old, given the light verdigris green visible in some of the recesses, but it is unlikely that this is some ancient artifact dating back to the times of old mariners. Still, one could imagine. In any case, with a bit of polish, it might shine up pretty nicely, and it is satisfyingly heavy and solid in Tom's hands. It does actually have some a glass lens for the part that one looks through, and moving parts, though there's no telling how accurate the measurements are.

Tom plays with the movement of the device, enthralled. "Well, darn. Guess I need to go to the library and actually figure out how this thing works. It's so cool," he says quietly. After a few minutes of tinkering, he sets it gently aside on the bed and pulls out a few of the coins and a couple of the gems. He peers closely at them, wondering what they are, and how old they are.

The coins are strangely indented. In fact, one of them looks slightly mushy. Actually ... they aren't true coins at all. They are chocolate coins -- the kinds with gold foil wrappers.

As for the gems ... well ... that's not an area of Tom's expertise, but they seem real enough. There's a small assortment of them, of varying colors and sizes, though most of them are very tiny diamonds.

Tom grins. "Hey, chocolate." He sniffs them, then gets an odd look on his face. "I wonder if old Richard set all this up as a game. Maybe that was him on the porch earlier, watching to see if we found this." He sits back a bit looking at the gems and says, "Probably glass, but hey, it's still cool." He shrugs. "Guess I'll probably not know who planted the key, or the map." But, does it really matter? he thinks, It made for an exciting few days. Quite an adventure, too. He smiles, returning the chocolate to the chest, as well as the gems, to show to the others someday. Or eat. He goes back to the sextant and peers through it, thinking of all the fun he can have with it.

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.