Daffyd awoke that morning in a cold sweat, with his hands tangled
convulsively in his long unwashed blanket. As usual he had been
dreaming of scraping barnacles from the fishing boats of
Nearer Ornashay. He knew he’d return to barnacle scraping
if his academic standing at the Kedrigern Thaumaturgical
Institute did not, as his advisor had put it, “rise to
the minimum acceptable level forthwith!”.
With a strangled sound between a sigh and a moan he swung his
feet out onto the top layer of mingled clothes, books and magical
litter and reached for his robe. As he descended the stairs he
a small package at the front door bearing the familiar seal of
the Potion of the Month Club. Breakfast forgotten he picked it
up and returned to his room. He opened the package with excited
fingers and removed a small flask and a folded rectangle of
parchment. The flask was squat and grey, with “Stackers Meticulous
Condenser” lettered on the label. He unfolded the parchment and read:
Potion of the Month Club
“Stackers Meticulous Condenser”
Just Can’t find that scroll? Tired of hunting through a crowded
workspace for a needed item? Stackers Meticulous Condenser is the
spell for you! Make the best use of your collection and space
through it’s unique combination of user friendly magic object
classification and it’s compression of your collection to
H A L F I T S S I Z E !
Through the use of undulating pseudofareymorphic integers.
After reading the user agreement and instructions on the reverse
of this parchment merely drink the potion. The the use of your own
minds knowledge Stackers Meticulous Condenser will organize your
your collection into a compressed collection vortex accessible with
a spoken word, yet occupying only HALF THE SPACE!
Reading no further, Daffyd dropped the parchment, opened and
drained the flask. Between one moment and the next all the
candle topped skulls, port-a-pentacles, peanut butter coated
athames, dusty tomes with ale stains on their moldering covers
and spiderwebbed jars of unsavoury mixtures whirled into the
air and spun into a mini-cyclone above the worktable. By the
time Daffyd had rubbed his eyes in amazement every scrap of of
magical apparatus, books, notes, everything right down to the
litter on the floor was safely stored in a grey cabinet standing
beside the worktable. No handles disturbed the serenity
of the cabinets front, but the sketch of a smiling face suggested
an approach to Daffyd.
“Open up” he said craftily.
“What is thy password?” replied the face.