Post by tarotdancer on Apr 24, 2012 21:50:36 GMT
Dear Mods: If you know of a better place for this, please shuffle us over. Thank you!
Two weeks ago, Tarot Dancer settled near Ponyville, and, while unpacking, found an old slip of parchment with a simple number, a doodle of a sealed package, and no words to explain what it meant. But she knew. She remembered, and.. well, why not now? Being so close to Froggy Bottom Bog, having.. a little time.. to explore the area better.. Perhaps this was a sign. The stars were in the right place for a cycle of mending, of remembering, and most importantly.. for finding that which has been long lost.
Three nights she spent with her head buried in her personal transcriptions of the caravan's archives. One night she spent laboring over a letter that had to be worded *just* right to get the mysterious messenger to arrive. A short paragraph, with a history of the centuries-missing item, and her best attempt at an illustration of the same. She wasn't the best artist in the world, but.. they'd know it, if they found it.
Yes. There would be no mistaking this.
The remainder of the week and a half she spent fretting over the possibility that this.. Asteria.. whoever she may be.. might not still be available. The slip of paper with that pertinent Canterlot P.O. box had been in her family's keep for a few years now, and there was no guarantee that the box hadn't changed hooves over the years, or that the mare in question hadn't simply.. retired.
A;
Long has my family held your talent in high regard. It has been too long in the writing, this missive of need. If you are available for work near Live Pylon (Specifically, the Boggy Tomb Forgot), please send word on when and where to meet. The attached history and diagram (forgive my shaky hoof, I am no artist) should tell you a little more about the nature of this task. All other artifacts found with this item will be yours to keep in compensation for this most distasteful, time-sensitive work.
Tarot Dancer,
Temporarily addressed at the open field
between Ponyville and Everfree.
Over two hundred years ago, in the year xx49, The Royal Canterlot Cavalcade of Whimsy made a stop in a small, unsettled part of Equestria that would later become Ponyville (settled by the Apple Family, over 100 years later), and the Froggy Bottom Bog, by force of nature. Hard rain, muddy passes, and several defunct wagons made cause for the caravan to stop for nearly a week, during which, much of their supplies were ruined, or lost. When the storm had passed enough to allow us to travel forward, we had, by need of hunger and illness, to move forward with all haste, or be trapped in the Bog forever. While much of what was left behind could easily be replaced, there was of note a large oaken chest, reinforced with iron banding, containing 1/5th of the caravan's then-current treasury in gems and bits, several then-important ledgers of commerce and debts owed, and a handful of very rare, very old ornaments.
Three pieces therein, specifically, might interlock to form (Item #063, see diagram on next page,) for the purpose of [Deleted for confidentiality reasons. I'm sure the diagram will tell you more than I would like, but the image does seem important to the task, as the chest itself may or may not have rotted away by now.] Sculpted in silver, bronze, and gold, inlaid with shards of emerald, locking around a carving of [deleted], this artifact CANNOT be reproduced, and would not be destroyed for what it is only on the grounds of preserving antiquity. Please take care in guarding this information.
Tarot tried to keep busy. There was more than one reason why she had stopped in Ponyville, but it felt like all her goals had met a stand-still since setting her stakes down here. One hazy, late-Spring afternoon, when the air was still, the cicadas droned their high-pitched buzz, and even the clouds were too lazy to do much of anything, she laid in the canopied entrance of her multi-colored silk tent, head laid down on fore-hooves dejectedly, waiting for.. who ever knows what? .. she saw a figure approaching from completely the wrong direction. Too far to make out the silloette, she sat up, trying hard not to squint to see who it might be. Perhaps it was a lost traveller.. that seemed to happen far too often here at the forest's edge. Perhaps it was simply the mailcolt with a letter or package. Or, perhaps.. just perhaps.. It might be word of the whisper-renouned, legendary Asteria.
Two weeks ago, Tarot Dancer settled near Ponyville, and, while unpacking, found an old slip of parchment with a simple number, a doodle of a sealed package, and no words to explain what it meant. But she knew. She remembered, and.. well, why not now? Being so close to Froggy Bottom Bog, having.. a little time.. to explore the area better.. Perhaps this was a sign. The stars were in the right place for a cycle of mending, of remembering, and most importantly.. for finding that which has been long lost.
Three nights she spent with her head buried in her personal transcriptions of the caravan's archives. One night she spent laboring over a letter that had to be worded *just* right to get the mysterious messenger to arrive. A short paragraph, with a history of the centuries-missing item, and her best attempt at an illustration of the same. She wasn't the best artist in the world, but.. they'd know it, if they found it.
Yes. There would be no mistaking this.
The remainder of the week and a half she spent fretting over the possibility that this.. Asteria.. whoever she may be.. might not still be available. The slip of paper with that pertinent Canterlot P.O. box had been in her family's keep for a few years now, and there was no guarantee that the box hadn't changed hooves over the years, or that the mare in question hadn't simply.. retired.
A;
Long has my family held your talent in high regard. It has been too long in the writing, this missive of need. If you are available for work near Live Pylon (Specifically, the Boggy Tomb Forgot), please send word on when and where to meet. The attached history and diagram (forgive my shaky hoof, I am no artist) should tell you a little more about the nature of this task. All other artifacts found with this item will be yours to keep in compensation for this most distasteful, time-sensitive work.
Tarot Dancer,
Temporarily addressed at the open field
between Ponyville and Everfree.
Over two hundred years ago, in the year xx49, The Royal Canterlot Cavalcade of Whimsy made a stop in a small, unsettled part of Equestria that would later become Ponyville (settled by the Apple Family, over 100 years later), and the Froggy Bottom Bog, by force of nature. Hard rain, muddy passes, and several defunct wagons made cause for the caravan to stop for nearly a week, during which, much of their supplies were ruined, or lost. When the storm had passed enough to allow us to travel forward, we had, by need of hunger and illness, to move forward with all haste, or be trapped in the Bog forever. While much of what was left behind could easily be replaced, there was of note a large oaken chest, reinforced with iron banding, containing 1/5th of the caravan's then-current treasury in gems and bits, several then-important ledgers of commerce and debts owed, and a handful of very rare, very old ornaments.
Three pieces therein, specifically, might interlock to form (Item #063, see diagram on next page,) for the purpose of [Deleted for confidentiality reasons. I'm sure the diagram will tell you more than I would like, but the image does seem important to the task, as the chest itself may or may not have rotted away by now.] Sculpted in silver, bronze, and gold, inlaid with shards of emerald, locking around a carving of [deleted], this artifact CANNOT be reproduced, and would not be destroyed for what it is only on the grounds of preserving antiquity. Please take care in guarding this information.
Tarot tried to keep busy. There was more than one reason why she had stopped in Ponyville, but it felt like all her goals had met a stand-still since setting her stakes down here. One hazy, late-Spring afternoon, when the air was still, the cicadas droned their high-pitched buzz, and even the clouds were too lazy to do much of anything, she laid in the canopied entrance of her multi-colored silk tent, head laid down on fore-hooves dejectedly, waiting for.. who ever knows what? .. she saw a figure approaching from completely the wrong direction. Too far to make out the silloette, she sat up, trying hard not to squint to see who it might be. Perhaps it was a lost traveller.. that seemed to happen far too often here at the forest's edge. Perhaps it was simply the mailcolt with a letter or package. Or, perhaps.. just perhaps.. It might be word of the whisper-renouned, legendary Asteria.