“What are those things?” Timmy asked.

“Petrol pumps,” Granddad replied.

“What’s petril?”

“It’s was used to make cars go, back before they invented electricity. At least that’s what I was told,” Granddad said.

“And these are where the petril came from?”

“Yes, they are like those old charging points we saw the other day.”

“I remember them, they looked kinda weird too. I’m glad we don’t need stuff like that to get around these days,” Timmy remarked.

“Yes, green energy like Old Jenny here is what the planet needed. Remind me to give her some oats when we get home,” Granddad said patting the neck of the mule pulling their 2083 Land Rover.



When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed that there was broken glass all over the floor. I immediately checked the window, which was intact and locked. I scanned, in an act of confusion, the shelf of plastic tumblers above the counter. While I intellectually knew that I owned no glass drinking vessels, I found that even the tumblers were all in place.

Leaving the kitchen I began a search of the house. This revealed that all of the windows were intact and that the doors were fully secured from the inside. Not so much as a single picture frame or mirror in the entire house was damaged. Vases and all of my knickknacks were accounted for as well.

Where had the broken glass come from? Why would someone go through the effort of breaking in and break some random glass and then cover the fact with having the doors locked from the inside? Maybe the body on the kitchen floor next to the glass will provide some answers.



It was a rather simple enterprise, actually.  Bjorn having barely survived his last adventure, concluded that there had to be a better way of making a living than traipsing through dungeons.  He then had the brilliant idea of setting up adventures for others.  He went to the last site and carefully mapped it.  He then sold the quest map to others.  How could it be his fault that someone had robbed it already?



Danny from his treetop perch

scanned the landscape far below.

“I think it’s gone,” he announced.

“Now’s our chance to go.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Tommy asked.

“I didn’t see it leave.”

“No, a bear’s too big for me the miss,”

Dan replied with confident ease.

The pair descended from their sanctuary high

to the patient bear hiding behind a bush nearby.



King Alfor III had died two years before. His son had been off exploring far off lands, and had just recently returned to find out about his father’s demise. In his absence, the land had been watched over by an uneasy coalition of nobles, but rivalries had put Pandia at the brink of civil war. Now, perhaps, that could be averted and the country returned to its former greatness.

“Alfor will now make his profession, and be anointed our leader,” Halifin the Mage announced.

Eight thousand eager eyes locked onto the tall, slender man who now took to the platform.

“I, Alfor son of Alfor, do profess and declare that I am of true blood of the Pandian people, and rightful heir to Alfor, the son of Alfor, the son of Alfor.”

With that Halifin poured oil on the head of the man, and placed a bronze crown upon his head. “All hail Alfor the Fourth, Lord of Pandia.”

There was a mighty cheer from the crowd.

Alfor, or should I say Anfwin son of Orry, leaned over to the mage and whispered, “Can I have that sandwich you promised me, now?”

“Soon, Lord,” the new chief advisor said with a grin. “Soon.”



Henry tossed and turned.  For the life of him, he could not settle.  It wasn’t that there were urgent issues on his mind, nor was he overly stressed.  It was purely that he could not get to sleep, despite being tired.

It was then that the first inklings of stress began to creep it.  How, I going to function at work tomorrow if I don’t get some rest?  

He rolled over again and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.  Nine-o’-five.  That’s like midnight, he thought.  Well, the middle of the night, anyway.


I often assert to my wife that 9pm is “midnight,” especially for those that have to wake up for work while it’s still dark.

The Return

Arn and Talbit emerged from the treeline and glanced across the fallow fields. The old watchtower of their village seemed to gleam with its new coat of whitewash.

“Home at last,” Arn said.

“If it is still that,” his companion replied.

“Home is home.”

“Even after three years?” Talbit questioned.

“We aren’t the first ones back I can see,” Arn observed.

“Yes, the ploughings done and the tower’s painted.”

As they approached the boundary gate they could see that flags had been placed on either side of the entry.

“Looks like Anders or Wint made it here first, those are Lancer flags,” Arn commented.

“Makes sense, I guess,” Talbit reflected. “Horsemen getting here ahead of infantry men.”

“Well, we aren’t infantrymen any longer. I’m a farmer again and you’re a cooper.”

“Speaking of barrels, I wonder if they have reopened the ale house yet,” Talbit said licking his lips.

“I guess we will just need to go and find out,” Arn said. “Farming can wait.”