In a small village called Am-thill on the edge of a dark forest was an institute of knowledge known as the Red-Bornè. Three children all born to come into power studied the moving of the universe there and forged a friendship that would see them through many long hours of darkness.
Lord Jarmies Marquis of the region of Brogborough was a wild character even in the early days. Insane of mind he always proved loyal to the cause and had a particular affiliation with ‘sticky’ spots, and so proved handy for getting out of them.
Prince Adme Lord of the Bog of Eternal Stench, born to rule his vast swamp empire when he came of age, settled well into the position of leader of the group. Fiercely loyal and devoted, a true caring soul he would the form the core of the trio around which their formidable power and light would gather.
Finally Tor, they all knew she was special. The Dean of Red-Bornè, Professor Brook, had her marked as someone who would change the world.
The Coming of The Priestess
An insignificant journey it had seemed at first, a simple pilgrimage to the musical temple of Marillion. But as Tor had stood in the falling Autumn snow looking up at the high windows of the shrine a vision had come to her. Colourful strands of wool woven together in a scarf of power. Upon her return to Red-Bornè Tor began to knit.
Many months she spent closeted in corners of the institute furiously weaving together the rainbow coloured strands of yarn until finally it was done.
A scarf nigh on 20 feet in length and imbued with the power of light. Every colour of the rainbow glistened from the bright threads as she ran the completed work through her hands. ‘Adme it is done’ Tor cried out!
‘Hurrah’ Adme cried! Then Jarmies came running up to see what was going on ‘Oh wow that scarf should not exist!’ he shouted with glee grabbing the scarf and running round the room with it.
....Sadly the rest of the adventures were lost in the mists of time, broken phones and deleted text messages, which is a terrible shame as they were quite hilarious and told wild tales of sailing over vast oceans in washing baskets eating jelly-babies and drinking pink champagne. Also distant now is the tale of how, for one grand, perfect and beautiful day High Priestess Tor became a Goddess, but from that she fell, she fell a long way, until she lay broken holding nothing more than a ring that was just a band of gold and a twenty foot scarf muddy at it's ends.
Thus High Priestess Tor's days of knitting drew to a close, and the scarf full of faded magic and mud was folded away and put at the back of the wardrobe on the threshold of Narnia where it belongs, only dug out on the rare occasions that she is reunited with her Marquis and Prince.
That is until today.
The wool has gotten more tasteful, and the general aims a lot less fantastical, but nevertheless begun again has the knitting and returned has the priestess.