XX

Back in 1646, even before the mighty Fortress of Shakal Farud rose and fell on the southern ridges of what was someday destined to be a major City in a minor State in a major Country, in fact, even in a different Country altogether, to wit, England; a boy-child was born to a rather dull and lowly trades family in the village of Banbury-on-Cross.

This child grew up with absolutely nothing remarkable about him whatsoever for the first twenty-two years of his life, during which it was a foregone conclusion that he would possibly rise as far as to inherit his father's craft, and shop, if he was diligent.

In the spring of his twenty-third year, everything changed.

While walking in a field outside of the village, enjoying the smell of fresh-mown hay and the general pleasantness of the day, he was suddenly and violently knocked to the ground by a tremendous blast of hot air, followed almost instantly by a powerful explosion in the field in front of him. To make a long story even longer, it seems he had suffered a "near-miss" by what several centuries later was determined to be a tiny fragment of Comet Pinthwinkle-Foma-Hurn, crashing to earth at exactly that moment.

This young man, whose name was Geoffrree Bettze, was permanently deafened in one ear by the blast and, some say, unhinged by it. In his trade, which was making the famed Banbury Cakes, he would periodically slash them with the runic device shown below:

                   \      /
                     \  /
                     /  \       /
                   /      \    /
                           \  /
                           /  \
                         /      \

followed by bouts of uncontrollable drooling and giggling. The device has been part of our family heraldic "crest" ever since.

Or maybe not.

The Karass was saddened to hear that the Shakal Farud had fallen (evidently the karass contingent doesn't get out much)... But Martin had news of its last known whereabouts:

I'll relate to you, now, for your amusement, that I myself was at that hallowed site of Shakal Farud just this past Monday. In fact I hadn't been hiking on Oak Mountain in several years. You'll be interested to know that the old ruins have been cleared away, and all that remains of that fairly ancient wonder are the mystic medallions that are embedded in the rocks. I knocked at them, but the gnomish people that dwell within the mountain did not emerge or bid me enter.

Nice view of the Galleria shopping mall, though.

Margaret shared her memory of the fortress:

I remember it well- a desolate place, guarded by rampant vegetation and fierce little biting things.

and ISTOHOW realized he'd found that the fortress had not actually "fallen," it had just retired to the tropics..

Fortunately for posterity (or Karass...) the ruins of Shakal Farud were captured by ISTOHOW's companion on a trip to the caribbean, to which they had escaped. They now live a quiet life, experiencing during their senescence the whiff of the land of their youth, permanently exposed to the trade winds that brought them to their final resting place.

Margaret confirmed the captured image as being one of the entrances she remembered, and asked if ISTOHOW had found the mystical medallions. ISTOHOW replied:

I thought I had, but upon closer examination they turned out to be goat-droppings.

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