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9th November 09, 12:30 PM
#21
You know, the Order of the Dandelion has a secret meeting place. It's somewhere in the City of Edinburgh....or so ancient legend has it.
But to find it, you must follow the Path of the Dandelion, a secret set of clues, linked by symbols, created across the City. Let the Statues of the Soldiers guide you on your journey.
((with a nod to Angels and Demons)))
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9th November 09, 12:40 PM
#22
But what most people don't know is that the inner circle is hiding a secret, that Noah himself was wearing a kilt when he stepped onto the slopes of Mt. Ararat.
We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance. - Japanese Proverb
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9th November 09, 02:43 PM
#23
The first plant Noah encountered, when he stepped off the Ark was the Dandelion.. Hence the Label for our... errr.. I mean the source of the name of this so called order...
Last edited by dfmacliam; 9th November 09 at 07:44 PM.
“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant.”
– Robert Louis Stevenson
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9th November 09, 03:05 PM
#24
I dipped my head beneath the surface, slowly so as to avoid a tell-tale ripple. The situation was dire: I was alone; unarmed; with only my kilt, shirt, sporran, $67.32, and a tootsie-roll; I was under water; I had been unable to see to the safety of my beloved Abigail (lovely dog that she is!).
I duck-walked the length of the shallow pond, to the eastern side, a distance of 15 yards and a bit. The shadows were deeper here and as the depth waned I was able to avoid notice by going prone in the mud. The pond was connected to another only a few yards away by a short length of concrete pipe, however I was unable to access this prefabricated tunnel due to a heavy grate that allowed turtles, fish, snakes, etc. to pass, but prevented larger animals. Instead I was forced to low-crawl up the embankment, across 5 yards of open space. If I made it, I’d be in a defilade position on the slope of the next pond’s bank and close to invisible.
With my heart pounding fit for the Edinburgh tattoo I made my way, at snail’s pace, up the bank and over the top. No shouts of alarm greeted my emergence and I granted myself leave for a slightly swifter pace on the downslope. Entering the water again I traversed the 30 yards to the opposite bank, the repeated the process in a third pond. Upon leaving the water for the last time, I’d found myself in a dense, shadowy thicket. I picked my way through the scrub until I felt well hidden from the men watching my house.
I was in desperate straits; although there was not a moment to be lost, I had precious few leads. I needed time to think! Fortunately there was a pub nearby. As I tramped my way eastward through the brushy wood, I wrung the water from my shirt as best I was able. The pub, Culhane’s is but three miles by road, a bit less by my present route; though the mosquitoes, sawgrass, horseflies, saw palmetto, and a thousand other bits of nature made it a less pleasant trip than it should have been.
When I arrived, I found a spot near the back, a booth, quiet and out of the way. A charming young woman named Amy came to take my order. Her hair was (presumably) died in shades of obsidian and crimson, producing an effect that was both very unusual and striking. Despite my recent unpleasant encounter with nature I recalled that some parts, generally those dealing with mammalian physiology, were quite pleasant!
Amy brought me a pint of Guinness and, a short time later, a plate of fish and chips. As I set about fortifying myself I began to plan my actions and inquiries. So engrossed in my thoughts was I that I didn’t notice the man come through the door. He was therefore able to fully derail my train of thought when he abruptly sat down across from me. He was large in a muscular, “I hit people for a living,” sort of way. His eyes were red and swollen. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose with a trumpeting snort. Redirecting his attention to me he recited in a low monotone “You better come quietly. The place is surrounded. We have your dog.”
'A damned ill-conditioned sort of an ape. It had a can of ale at every pot-house on the road, and is reeling drunk. "
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9th November 09, 04:46 PM
#25
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9th November 09, 08:02 PM
#26
 Originally Posted by pdcorlis
Oh my. Mons Meg with a bore-sized dandelion. That is one big flower!
Kilted Teacher and Wilderness Ranger and proud member of Clan Donald, USA
Happy patron of Jack of the Wood Celtic Pub and Highland Brewery in beautiful, walkable, and very kilt-friendly Asheville, NC.
New home of Sierra Nevada AND New Belgium breweries!
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9th November 09, 08:43 PM
#27
Gee Phil, until you posted them altogether like that I thought they were pretty subtle and hard to see.
I have been wondering why we keep getting all those big crowds and various vendors showing up to our secret meetings.
Oddly enough Grant is still completely clueless as to where we are (he was last seen entering the sewers of Glasgow based on his translation of a fortune cookie*)
Hmmmmm...maybe we shouldn't be using him as a base line for determining the average person's cunning and intelligence when we put out clues?
I'll have to discuss that at our next meeting if I can be heard over the dandelion balloon vendors hawking their wares.
Cheers
Jamie :ootd:
* Chinese is not Grant's strong suit
-See it there, a white plume
Over the battle - A diamond in the ash
Of the ultimate combustion-My panache
Edmond Rostand
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9th November 09, 08:47 PM
#28
Just keep Grant as far away from Fleshmarket Close as possible - ok Jamie?
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9th November 09, 08:48 PM
#29
Oh my!! I fear we have revealed too much!!!
By Choice, not by Birth
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9th November 09, 08:52 PM
#30
 Originally Posted by pdcorlis
Just keep Grant as far away from Fleshmarket Close as possible - ok Jamie? 
Phil,
Fear not, no self respecting criminal will want to have anything to do with Grant.
They may be liars, thieves, murderers, and worse ...
...but they still have some standards!
(and Grant plots revenge somewhere beneath the sewers of Glasgow)

Cheers
Jamie :ootd:
-See it there, a white plume
Over the battle - A diamond in the ash
Of the ultimate combustion-My panache
Edmond Rostand
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