A Tubbian Missive

A Tubbian Missive

Postby Treadwell » Fri Jan 13, 2017 4:31 am

On the morning of the thirteenth, Miss Lavinia Davors, Lady Tubbian of the Tubbians transplanted from Chigurh, finds a letter being delivered to where she is staying, which is Treadwell's former cottage by the lake. This might be her first experience reading the sloppy, heavy script written by Aloisius Treadwell's left hand, but it certainly shouldn't be her last.

A sizable, fresh, warm pie of apples with a light touch of cinnamon accompanies the note; The Folds of Tubbius, the holy scriptures of the faith, encourages sending food, drink, or both when writing to nearby brothers and sisters to make the reading experience more enjoyable.

= = = = =

Lady Tubbian Davors,

Good morning, dear Lavinia! I write you this morning and send this pie with the warmest thoughts and hopes that you are settled well enough and that your brothers and sisters in the faith have arrived safely. The Tubbians left in Myrkentown, including me, have spent the last few days getting the church in order. It's just outside town, not terribly far from the Broken Dagger, as you might have seen on the way into town the other day. Look for the customary domes on the buildings and my statue in the courtyard. We have been working diligently to put the pews back into place (the building was an orphanage for a very brief time a couple of years past) and to ensure that all of the furniture is suitably cushioned, comfortable, and stout to match those who will be using it! I am quite pleased to say that everything is back to as it ought to be, including the bedrooms in the quarters throughout the grounds and even in the offices in the church. One of the best things is that the hot spring beneath the grounds is still accessible from my office, and it is still wonderfully warm and delightful!

All that is lacking, my Lady, is a proper membership. James Wilde, Tubbius Princeps, arrived at my home in the very early morning, letting me know that he had arrived with the other Tubbians from their church in the middle of the Amasynian Plain, a short journey distant. I summoned them back here to grow the ranks again and to show Myrken Wood what being a Tubbian truly means, and with their returning home, the gathering of your flock into the fold here, and the joining again with the brothers and sisters still here, we have a wonderful time ahead. Everything is prepared! Jim's faithful brought everything they had with them--food, people, pigs, and all else. I understand that all of their belongings are getting put back in order here and that they have already appointed members and to see to the proper arrangement of the animals on the outside of the grounds behind the church, in their designated field. I am writing from the church right now, actually, and I can vouch that all is going very well. I am downright giddy with joy!

We will have a proper feast day and service to formally open the church again in two days, on Sunday. You and those who came with you are more than welcome before then, of course. Come meet your newly arrived family!

Aloisius Horatio Treadwell
Tubbius Regalis
Morning of the 13th day of the 1st month, 217

P.S. Do enjoy the pie, of course! My eldest boy, Gideon, is a baker learning the craft very well from two of your brothers here in town. I must say that it's delightful having such a fine cook for a son, hee hee!

P.P.S. That reminds me: James makes a splendid cake of raisins, dried fruits, and more than a little sugar. When he was here last on a visit around my birthday, he brought several of these with him. I thus blame him for every inch I had to let out my undergarments, robes, and alb last summer.

P.P.P.S. You need not worry about bringing any food or drink to this feast, of course, unless you just want to do so. Tubbius will provide and bless all of the stores we have on hand.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: A Tubbian Missive

Postby Niabh » Fri Jan 13, 2017 7:01 am

Mistress Lavinia read this letter aloud to her convalescing nephew Titus, whom she had installed in the cottage as soon as he was capable of being moved from the Rememdium. The garish slash across his chest was now neatly hidden by layers of absolutely white bandages stained only by a few rusty blossoms that had seeped through the stitches. Poor lad, Lavinia thought. She had so relied upon him. Now it was plain that he was going to be indisposed for longer than she had intended. In such pain, and every attempt to move him only resulted in ripping the black stitches through his flesh. He bore it bravely, though, bless him.

"I must say, I did expect him to be less accomodating," Titus remarked.

"So did I." She let out her small humming laugh through her nostrils, mouth closed. "And this should be a lesson to us all. Our faith as mere mortals is subject to the limitations of our mortal minds, but the power of Tubbius is beyond our understanding. As long as we rely on him, all doors will open."

"Praise him."

"Praise." Her small flashing eyes in their crowded sockets scanned over the letter again. "Sunday. That's so very little time."

"Will anyone be ready by then?"

"Petronilla, maybe. She's big as a house, poor dear, and so uncomfortable..." Thoughtfully she tapped the edge of the letter against her bottommost chin, calculating, counting hours. "We'll see what the midwife thinks."

"We could always induce."

"I shall pray on it." Her eyes went back to the letter. "But as the Regalis himself has said, Tubbius will provide."

She sniffed, and absently knuckled away the thin rill of blood that slid from her nostril.
"We don't have a dungeon. We have a cold cellar and a cheeseroom. No one ever orders the prisoner cast into their darkest cheeseroom."
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Re: A Tubbian Missive

Postby Treadwell » Sat Jan 14, 2017 4:25 am

On the morning of the fourteenth, the day before this grand feast mentioned in Treadwell's letter, Lavinia and Titus have a perhaps unexpected visitor toddling up the dirt path from lakeside to door. Aloisius Treadwell bobbles his way along in a purple robe and fluffy purple hat and scarf, one hand on his warm and overfed belly (breakfast was certainly delicious) and one on his walking cane. Said cane serves as the source of a gentle rap-rap-rap at his cottage door.

Tready chuckles while he waits. Piggish eyes study the admittedly narrower-than-he-might-like doorway: still wider than most, but not up to the standards of his current estate. Aloisius, he thinks, you certainly were a little smaller when you lived here all the time some years ago! Thus, without truly waiting long for an answer at the door--this is still, technically, his house, after all, and these are his furnishings!--he gently opens the door itself, wriggling the first of his thighs through the entrance with a merry, "Yoo-hoooo! Hullo, hullo, lovies! Might you enjoy a touch of company, hm hm, and lunch after?"

There he stops, half in and half out, grinning merrily as he hmph-hmphs his breaths and lifts his cane to move his hat from his head to his hat rack. He utters a jolly, rolling, and, to be honest, call that is shrill with old age, bordering on being nearly feminine, "Laviniaaaa, dearie? It is old Tready, hm hm, come a-calling!"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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