Apparently Gnarlihotep Has Really Been Working With His Penguins

Penguin Professors!!! HRONK!!!

Eat your heart out, Alton Brown!

The folks over at Brass Goggles rarely steer you wrong. I came across this post while perusing the æther today.

Over at ConceptArt.org, those terribly skilled artists are deep in the depths of the Character of the Week challenge, or CHOW once again - and this week’s challenge is a Steampunk Penguin Professor (with assistant) in the Arctic. They’re on to the final(s)...... some utterly stunning (and exceptionally charming) entries piling in......

I love the concept of the Penguin as Steampunk Professor: part mad scientist, part cuddly creature, all full of fish and vinegar. Any of these fine gentle-pengis could certainly apply to the Royal Society.

I encourage you to have a look at your earliest convenience.



Hronk! I mean....Slaínte!

Hronked the Penguin ~ Nevermore!

Just the other evening, I was leaving Taigh Ròis for an evening exploring the Metaverse. I was hoping to find some Noir sims....something in the 1920-1940 time period. I dressed for the occasion and had just headed out the front door when there she was.



A little penguin.

"Hronk!" She said.

Needless to say, I was somewhat taken aback given my nightmares of late. And they had just subsided, too. What would this little encounter do for my subconscious? I was not sure.



"Hello. And what may I do for you young miss?" I said cautiously as the penguin moved forward.

Oddly enough I seemed to sense that this penguin had heard that I actually liked penguins, and that I had been kind - even to a most impertinent little gent - and offered that the Loch would be a safe haven for the creatures.



She then produced a lovely red rose, clutched in her beak. An offering of peace?



I smiled in spite of my earlier hesitations. She came a little closer. I noted that on her neck she wore a collar, which must have been placed there either by scientists or her owner. I pondered whether she might have escaped from The Duke of Greystoke's Zoo. Bending down, I saw the name Creeggan on the tag, and then tousled her top knot of feathers.



"Hronk." she said almost purring.

She then held out a piece of parchment in her beak. As I took the work and unrolled it, I saw her waddling off down the hill toward Nellie's bay.

Finding it difficult to read the parchment in the twilight, I walked over to the bench underneath the rose arbor and lit a lamp. As I read the title of the poem that I discovered in my hands, a shiver went up my spine as much from the sheer enjoyment of such a Halloween gift as from the remembered fear in years past as this was read.

I share it with you now - a small token for your reading pleasure as we head toward All Hallow's Eve ~ Samhain.

Enjoy.

Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven

[First published in 1845]

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,' Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.' But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, `Nevermore.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."' But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking `Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Journey to....Mysterious Island: Crash! HRONK!

After many days (God knows why it took so long since I can ride my horse or fly from sim -to-sim in a matter of minutes) at sea observing the volcano from the ever-shrinking distance and carefully taking measurements on the scientific instruments provided by the Royal Society Offices, we finally heard a sound from overhead. Well, we had heard many sounds coming out of the crow's nest, but I really should not repeat those in polite company. Mind you we discussed it no end around the card table in the evenings whilst playing, talking, and drinking, but that is another story.

"Land HO!"

Not generally being used to hearing that term used outside the context of one of Carntaigh's raves late at night, the first response from many of the ladies' lips was, "Yes?" Then realizing where they were, there were furious blushes from the ladies, and several coughs from the gentlemen.

"I beg your pardon." was naturally the next response.

Having sailed on numerous occasions with the Royal Society Expeditionary Group, in service of Caledon, and with a few close friends, I knew that the boy in the crow's nest was not addressing the group, but notifying us that he had spotted land. Really - we had been watching Phillip grow closer for days....but it was his job.



And so the group began excitedly preparing for our landing on Phillip. There was much debate about the best approach: immediate penetration, careful circling, dropping anchor and watching, jumping on dingies, &tc.

Suddenly a rather angry voice called out of the apple barrel: “Before you all go dashing onto the damn beach maybe you should let the kitten OUT of the bag before she FREAKIN‘ suffocates after all this DAMN time? JEBUS!”

Miss Kiralette? Many exclamations hit the air, which were once again, not repeatable in polite company.



Just as I was walking over to the barrel where the dear kitty was hiding...

CRASH!!

I found myself in a pile of arms and legs, and apples. It rather looked as though Dr. Sputnik had been involved in a Duchess, Duchess, Baroness Triple Decker Sandwich gone wrong. Kiralette's luxurious, if rather cider-scented, tail was wrapped around my head.

"Good Lord!" I exclaimed as I picked myself up on the deck and attempted to assist my fellow travelers as well as I could.

It was not long before I saw that the Baron had gotten himself together, walked to the gangway, which had just been lowered by Sparrow's crew, and said, "All ashore that's going ashore."

I shot down to my stateroom and grabbed my bow, and slid my dirk into my garter. Coming back topside, I picked up some of my equipment and gave instructions to Gnarlihotep regarding which other pieces of scientific machinery his young Sherpas should be engaged to carry.

We hit the beach en masse. The ground was covered in a thick layer of ash from Phillip and I took a few samples for Drs. Krogstad and Honeydew. We could see lava flows to the west of us and several decided that we would head that direction in the morning. Darkness was beginning to set in and we needed to set up camp.

The beach seemed the obvious choice for this since the volcano continued to rumble and the lava was still pouring out to the west and possibly the east (there was a red glow all around us). It was too dark also to run into the forest that stood just below the volcano (odd that a full grown forest was here on a newly created island....hmmm....what evil is afoot??).

The crew got camp set-up much more efficiently than anticipated given their laziness aboard ship. I suppose it could have been related to Lady Darkling's persuasive discussion with them earlier. I had seen her talking very closely to them and heard something about using their bones for some ritual or another if they did not get their arses in gear. She is a very motivational speaker.

Gabrielle busied herself setting up her tent and ensuring that her music player and cylinders were usable after the landing. Lady Amber was working on some sort of circle around her tent - perhaps getting ready to place an altar. I was not yet sure.

I found Dr. Sputnik and Miss Lightfoot working on his ETC - muttering something about the "confounded dust and ash", and working on a solution to keep this material out of the inner workings of the machine.

Mr. Abel and Miss Kiralette were busily shepherding the penguins as they brought our equipment out to base camp. Although I heard both of them excitedly chatting about getting on with the adventure and exploration of the island.

Bardhaven was pouring over what appeared to be the map and drawings that Kate Nicholas and Professor Krogstad had provided us. Dagger in hand, point twirling on his chin as he thoughtfully stared at the maps. What plans are being created?

My own tent was successfully in order. Gyroscopes, barometers, steam powered specimen collectors all seemed to be in order. What the dear little Sherpas apparently forgot on board ship were my personal essentials: hammock, mosquito netting, tea set, cask of whisky. Grumbling I determined that I would head back to the ship myself to pick up a few things and see if any of the penguins were at hand to assist.



Finding the ship essentially empty, and quiet, the temptation to remain on board in my stateroom for the night was too great. I slipped into my lingerie and slid into bed. Shortly I was sound asleep.

At some point in the night, however, I became quite restless - almost fitful.













A dream.....no wait!

A NIGHTMARE!



I woke up in a cold sweat. I was screaming! HRONKING!

What?

I DO NOT HRONK!

Then I saw him. That damnable little penguin who had been following me for the entire journey thus far. HE was the one who gave me nightmares! What is he doing in my bed??



GNARLIHOTEP ABEL! GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE ON BOARD THIS SHIP RIGHT NOW!!

Journey to....Mysterious Island - A Journey of Titanic Proportions

Watching from the bow of the ship, Aronnax, as the last of my equipment was sent below decks, I reminisced about the last time I sailed on her. It was another voyage for the Royal Society; a voyage that took us in search of Scylla and Charybdis. I shivered at the thought of the peril that we faced on that trip. Professor Krogstad barely made it back to Caledon with us in one piece as the angry heads snapped him repeatedly whilst he was taking measurements and recordings, and Kate nearly lost her life when she fell into the whirlpool.

Shaking those memories from my mind by taking the flute of Dom Perignon offered by Gabrielle, I went back to the work at hand. I carried a heavy small box with me to the prow of the ship. We were now underway to Phillip, and were making fairly good time at what the captain had estimated to me was about 5-10 knots at present. It seemed a good time to set up the theodolite for the accurate surveys we would need as we approached the volcano. I placed the box on the ground, walked as far forward on the prow as possible, and sipped the champagne. Mmm. Yes. The divine taste for which Dom Perignon is renowned. As the last golden drops fell from the flute onto my lips and tongue, I closed my eyes and felt the wind flowing through my hair and gown. We were not yet so close to Phillip that the air was intensely hot or acrid. As I stood there for a moment with my eyes closed enjoying the sensations taking over me, I heard what sounded like singing coming from - of ALL places - Phillip. I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on the sounds which were floating on the air. Low. Rhythmic. Enchanting. My hips began to sway almost involuntarily almost as if I had heard those sounds before. But how would that be possible? I had barely begun to attempt an answer to that question when I sensed a presence behind me.

Movement - slow movement.

Nearly silent.





Standing still with my eyes now open, I caught a familiar scent. A musky cologne. Then a whisper in my ear as he stood there behind me on the prow of the Aronnax.

"I'm the King of the World."

Turning my head slightly I felt and saw Lord Bardhaven standing just behind me. Darkened spectacles hiding his eyes as always. Breath hot on my cheek. Hands playing with my....... theodolite.



"Are you now? The King of the World?" I asked voice low and a bit husky from the salt air. "And when were you elevated to such great heights, laddy boy?"

The Baron merely smirked. Then responding in a low - almost hissing - voice, "It was merely a moment's dalliance as I saw you looking quite the siren here on the bow of the ship. But, surely Your Grace, you know I always have a thing or two in my pockets that may be pulled out as a situation warrants. Title is but one of them."

"To be sure. Satin ribbons. Hand-cuffs. Blindfolds. Cat of Nine Tails." I detailed.



Oddly, I realized that I had begun fanning myself furiously even though the breeze off the sea was strong. Anyway...

I turned to face him fully and took the instrument from his hand.

"Have you the pole in that pocket of yours, then?"

He curled up one corner of his mouth as he began, "Well now, Your Grace, perhaps you would like to place your....."

Interrupting, I said, "No. I doubt that you have the detachable model #657-03, which is the only one that will fit this particular...theodolite. Never mind searching through your pockets. Do be a dear though, ‘Mr. King of the World’, and hand that pole in the box out to me. I need to get the equipment set up."

Chuckling, the Baron deftly handed out the required piece of equipment. Just as I was setting the post, I caught sight of our illustrious Captain Sparrow sliding willy-nilly across the deck as he nearly fell over himself running down the stairs to us.

"Captain? Are you quite all right?" I said with an arched brow and a grin.

"Savvy! Without doubt, Yer Duchessness, Ma'am. Just thought I heard that we had high ranking royalty on board. I mean higher than yerself and the other Duchy-girl. And of course I was wonderin’ whether there might be more money to be had….I mean more make-up….or rather, whether further special accommodations needed to be made."

“No Captain. No one is higher than the Duchesses on board this ship.” Bardhaven crooned.

I scanned the deck quickly to make sure that no one had found my stash of ceremonial herbs and my hookah. Then I chuckled a little at Lord Bardhaven, turned and began to put the instruments use.

One again the music came to me. This time it seemed that the Baron and even our strange ship’s captain heard it on the air for they stopped their bantering and turned towards Phillip. The music was otherworldly and driving. My body longed to move to these sounds yet again, but my mind was more fully in control this time. Spinning on my heel, I turned and seeing that the good captain had a telescope on his person, I pulled it from his belt (oops that was apparently holding up his belt. “Sorry there Captain.”) and searched the island for clues to this music.

Lady Darkling had emerged from below decks with Miss Lightfoot. They were both now looking at the mountain. It was clear they heard the music as well since both of them seemed to be engaged in animated discussion and were spinning around together.

The ship was now fairly buzzing with activity. All our party seemed to be manning the rails anxious to see what might await us as we came nearer the island. One could almost hear the thoughts and questions in the minds of our group as they stood there transfixed:

What danger lurks within the lava flows and steam vents?
Who or what is creating the music that we keep hearing?
Is there an evil mastermind behind this sudden upheaval in the Caledonian Sea?
Will they be selling plots? Or subplots?
Who will serve tea?
Are the public restrooms clean?
Is there a public house?
Will there be trees to climb?
Will there be artifacts to plunder and sell at ridiculously high prices on the black market?
Dear God, let there be a higher form of life found here. I need more intelligent conversation.
Hronk!

Hronk? Well now that caught my attention. Turning slowly around I saw one of Mr. Abel’s young Sherpas standing there looking at me. Actually, he was staring at me as if I were a dish of fine smoked salmon with a little caviar and crème fraiche.

I will tell you, I felt more that a bit odd about the way he was watching me. “Mr. Abel! Would you please get Pengi here back below decks?”



Next time: A surprise guest.