After sending another impatient message to Hilda:


Roughly Translated "Hilda, why have you not responded to me yet, time is running out..."

To which Hilda responded:
Meeting Place
And Amenwarfare gave the time:

Roughly Translated: 6pm, don't bring your stilts or camera:)

And so Hilda and Amenwarfare met at last at the Russian War Memorial.

Shortly after posting the Sandrama Drama, we got a message from Amenwarfare:


This is the linked audio file:

Roughly Translated:
"So, you have not yet found Mr. Funk. The clock is ticking, tick, tick, tick... You tell me the place and I'll tell you the time"

This was found on a certain message board which Idiron (a.k.a. Gilbert) should have known better than to be so nefarious on:

IDIRON (Fluff Master) wrote:


i would hit it not once, not twice, but thrice

(on 01.05.07 at 08:19:23, PURPLEFISH wrote:
do not be afraid?
i'd be shitting my pants if that woman was after me
i mean look at those legs!)


you seen goldeneye? oh snap

TRANSLATION:
Hat Hilda,
You found the code. So that I help you, the door to
open, you must answer a question to me. Tell me which you of it
would like and I place the contact ago to
tree

Dear Hilda,

I thought it important to notify you to a recent incident of some
importance.

Whilst on a day trip to Blackpool with my Grandmother last fortnight I
purchased a packet of Walker's Salt 'n' Vinger crisps from a street vendor.
The first thing to point out is that he was of nefarious character, the sort
of fellow who would laugh at a crippled duck alone in a pond of infinite
opportunity. He had a distinct glint in his eye, one of mischievous allure
and bottomless mockery. I did not like him and nor did my Grandmother.
Unperturbed by this however, I continued on my way, opening the packet and
momentarily checking the contents for I was wise to the ways of street
vendors and feared he had opened the packet, stealing a portion of the
crunchy sustenance and then glued it back together. Crafty little blighters
that they are.

It was in this packet that I found the infamous Aaron Funk!

Yet I tease dear Hilda, it was not so. Wishful thinking and a badly cooked
kipper supper must have taken it's toll for it was nothing but a mishapen
and burnt crisp, the darkened brown forms swirling together to form the
visage of the beloved. However, at that moment, on the wind, an aching
melancholy melody swept, the melody of Mr. Aaron Funk. This, naturally, I
found highly suspicious and so I have failed to eat the crisp. Instead I
keep it next to a computer with some beer and a cat, a cat that knows his
boundaries and treats said crisp with adoration.

In this regard I think it a good and worthy task to inspect these 'Walkers'.
Maybe Mr. Funk has channelled himself into delicious potato snacks, or maybe
the nefarious street vendors are attempting to contain and steal the secrets
of Aaron's magick - all I know is that this is a matter of upmost importance
to get to the bottom of, lest you let him get away, or worse yet, let him be
strucken by the forces that creep beneath the brandy seas.

Make it so Hilda, make it so.

Yours Sincerely,

Gilbert