#Tales of a Shaman's Apprentice

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「シャーマンの弟子になった民族植物学者の話」上下巻読了

2024/10/19

マー��・プロトキン「シャーマンの弟子になった民族植物学者の話」築地書館

なかなか面白かった。以下引用文。

上巻

p.11 キニーネは何百年以上もマラリアの薬として役立ってきたが、1959年頃から、化学的に組成された類似薬がこれにとって代わるようになっていく。アメリカ合衆国が、致死性の病気の特効薬のような「戦略的に重要な必需品」の供給源を、自国の領土内に自生しないものに頼りたくなかったからだ。

p.16 われわれ民族植物学者は代々、植物にまつわる人類の叡智を守ることに心血を注いできたのであって、薬として役に立つか立たないか、それだけしか頭にない薬品会社のために働いているわけではない

p.18 善意とはいえ、太古から崇敬されてきたインディオの神々を捨てさせ、西洋の神に乗り換えさせるべく見当違いな意欲に満ちて乗り込んでくる現代の伝道団

p.19 彼らは祖先から受け継いだ伝統を捨て、未知の、進んだ文明とやらを受け入れよ、と絶えず迫られてきた。（中略）白人の宗教や道徳観念や便利な品々と引き換えに、家も、信仰も、生活習慣も、言語も捨てたインディオたちは往々にしてとんでもない代価を支払わされる。（中略）その代償として、アメリカ大陸にはこれまでなかった病がもたらされ、土着の宗教は貶められ、先祖伝来の土地は失われた。

p.20 進歩の名の前に、多様な植物が駆逐され、それらを存分に利用していた人々も遠からず姿を消す

p.24 植物から生産される薬品の場合、その植物の原産地である国にもなんらかの金銭的な見返りがあっていいはずだ。

p.49 人間が��たずらに手を出せば、生態系にダメージを与えるだけでなく、人間自身の生活をも脅かす

p.132 宣教師はある地域に布教の狙いを定めると、より大勢を一度に教化しようとして数百人を一ヶ所に集めたがる。そうして「大村」ができるわけだ。

p.244 先住民は…洗礼を受け、西洋文化に晒され、踏みつけにされ、騙された。ヨーロッパから訪れた伝道団が先住民族の文化を軽んじたため、彼らの伝統は次第に顧みられなくなった。

p.245 インディオたちは西洋文明の数々の”恩恵”を受けていた。ラジカセ、ラップ音楽、サングラス、自転車、そして聖書。一世紀以上も前、イギリスの伝道者とブラジルの商人がショットガンを持ち込み、吹き矢やクラーレを作る技術はたちまち忘れ去られた。1960年代に経済が悪化してショットガンの弾丸や部品が手に入らなくなり、生計の道が脅かされて、多くの者は昔ながらの狩りの技法を取り戻したいと考えたが、やり方を知っている先達はすでに死に絶えていた。

下巻

p.2 伝道団はひとたび侵入してくると、キリスト教の名を借りてインディオの生活様式をすっかり変えてしまう。インディオの土着信仰を抹殺し、文化を破壊し、彼らが周囲の環境と保っていた調和を断ち切ってしまう。金の亡者の農場主もこれにひけをとらない。森を略奪し、インディオの土地を我が物にしてしまう。

p.25 伝統的な腰布だけを身につけたインディオは、森に君臨する王だ。しかしお古の洋服を着たインディオは、都会の乞食同然だった。（中略）ごく最近入信したばかりの者は、その顔に記された深い憂鬱の刻印を見ればすぐにわかる。森での生活、何の枷もなく自由に動き回っていた日々、子どもじみた狩りに打ち興じたことを思い出すと、インディオたちの子どもっぽい生き生きとした表情から笑みが消え、命の兆しが失せていくのである。

p.71 ヨーロッパ人は新世界に到着するなり、先住民が邪神を崇めていると言って批判し、彼らを奴隷にした。これがシャーマンやシャーマニズムに対する攻撃につながり、南アメリカ低地の古代宗教はほとんど根絶やしにされた。

p.72 メキシコでは、スペインの侵略者が神殿を破壊してその跡地に教会を建て、金や銀の神像を溶かして貨幣や十字架を作った。

p.173 伝道団はインディオを数百人単位でひとつの村に集めたがる。大勢いっぺんに改宗させることができれば布教は楽だろうが、そのために膨れ上がった村の周辺の森は、生き物を獲り尽くされ、畑を作るために木々が倒される。何十年もの間畑になっていた土地は荒廃して、二度と森林にはならない。

p.192 熱帯植物を原料にして作られ、巨万の富を生み出している薬は数あるが、その原料を教えてくれた現地の人たちの懐には、一ペニーたりとも還元されていないではないか。

[francisofgotham1]

I DEFINITELY recommend “Tales of a Shaman’s Apprentice” by Mark J. Plotkin, which is about his adventures into the Amazon, interacting with the local tribes, and learning about their medicine and culture.

Also, “Shaking Hands with the Devil” by Lt. Gen. Romeo Dallaire is a definite read/listen if you’re up to something more heavy. It goes through the before, during, and after of the Rwandan Genocide from the General’s perspective, covering his frustrations with the Chain of Command and Rules of Engagement, as well as his deepest regrets of the whole thing. My copy got stolen a month ago, so I couldn’t finish it, but I’ll definitely buy it again.

Looking at my upcoming commuting time for the fall semester, and would be interested in anyone's recommendations for

Interesting nonfiction audiobooks (I can't think of any specific topics, unfortunately)

Talkshow-style/educational podcasts (again, no specific topics—I just want something interesting enough to listen to but not so engrossing that I'll have trouble switching gears when I get out of the car)

Music, esp. classical (I am Tired of my five playlists and six albums, generally, and also I want to be more familiar with the musical greats)

If anything jumps to mind, I'd love to hear it!

[kuroyuki-kokuyoku]

Random TCF Related Thought - Fairy Tales

In canon proper, we know that fairy tales do exist in Nameless 1, or at least, fiction geared towards children.

Well, I was reading some TCF React fics and found a hilarious moment where Heni!KRS was explaining fairy tales to Cale's kids and was shooketh to find out that Cale had butchered some of Earth's classic fairy tales into loosely-based-on stories (to put it gently) cuz apparently the "princess-in-distress" trope would not be relatable if every princess IRL they know could easily save themselves in a simailar or same situation. Therefore, Badass Action Girl!Princesses FTW.

Where am I going with this?

So my shower thought is that Cale one day decided to invoke his inner Brothers Grimm and published his own book series based off of Earth's classic fairy tales.

But here's the twist: He uses the Walt Disney versions but made every Disney Princess BAMFs.

Sorry, Mr. Walt Disney. Your own versions of Earth's classic fairy tales were a product of your time, but your 50s sensibilities won't fly when all of the princesses Cale knows can easily break a full grown man man in tiny little pieces, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. Besides, he wants little girls like On and Lily to have strong female role models to aspire to be even if it's in fiction.

Sleeping Beauty? Aurora is based on Roselyn. She finds out that she got cursed by Maleficent, who is a whole Dragon that her father had offended by failing to invite her to his unborn daughter's christening like he promised, so she threw away her status as crown princess to become a mage out of spite and break the curse on her own. In the end, she succeeds and managed to tracked down Maleficent to her lair. Maleficent is so impressed by her moxie that the Dragon took her on as an apprentice. By the time, Prince Phillip shows up hoping to slay the Dragon and take Aurora back to his kingdom so they can be married, the story is already over.

Beauty and the Beast? Belle is the village chief's daughter and the most beautiful girl in the tribe. Belle is a Tiger and Lion mixed-blood Beastman and also pining after the cute human bookworm named Adam in the next village over. Dorph the greater value Gaston can go fuck himself for all she cares. TLDR: Role Reversal AU and Belle is Dark Tiger!Alberu.

Cinderella? Cinderella is a secretly a Shaman. Everything is the same up until the whole dress ruining scene. After that, Cinderella invokes the spirit of Queen Jopis, stopped giving a shit, and turned the rest of the plot into a shitshow. Her evil stepfamily is given the OG!Brothers Grimm treatment.

Pocahontas? Everything is the same except the Powhatans are all Elves. Ratcliffe is the White Bitchless.

Hunchback of Notre Dame? The plot is the same, but Esmeralda is a Dark Elf, and Quasimodo is half-Dark Elf. Frollo is replaced by Adin just so he can fall off the roof a second time.

Aladdin? Jasmine is also a thief. She looted what should've been her dowry from the Sultan, her annoying suitors' wealth, Genie's lamp, Carpet from the Cave of Wonders, Aladdin's heart, and Jafar aka the White Hobo Looking's dignity and respect, not in that order, then whisked Aladdin off of his bare feet and away to her own personal kingdom. Basically, Cale reimagined her as Fem!Hong Gildong.

The Little Mermaid? Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending where Prince Eric is a Whale Prince and Ariel is still a Mermaid, and both their families got scammed into finally burying the hatchet by Ursula.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves? Snow White is a Dwarf too, and the plot is basically an otome where she has seven suitors from different tribes, and the Evil Queen (*couch*Elisneh*cough*) is, of course, the jealous villainess.

Brave: Everything's the same except Sayeru gets abused more than Mor'du in this book.

Frozen: Everything's the same except Prince Hans is swapped out for Sir Bernard cuz Hans the goodest butler doesn't deserve to be associated with scum.

Tangled: Everything's the same except it's Adin who takes a swan dive off of the tower.

Mulan: Everything's the same except the Huns are replaced by Arm.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 33 (1/2)

Song's Edge

The Banuk were all heading for a pyre on the edge of the camp, looking out toward the fire and smoke pouring from a distant mountain. I met an Oseram trader called Burgrend, who was willing to explain the situation where other Banuk were sombre and aloof. Outlanders stick together I suppose. He's a trader, like Ohtur, but I suppose he's still determined to make some shards out of his doomed enterprise.

He told me about the Banuk's expedition to Thunder's Drum—the mountain now spitting fire. A Werak (a sort of roaming hunting party, but bonded by tribal law) led by its Cheiftan Aratak and Shaman Ourea took their best hunters into the mountain to fight off a 'Daemon', the being responsible for strengthening the machines in the area. Not demon, then. Either way, a word for some bodiless evil they don't understand, just like Hades. The Daemon fought back, and most of the expedition was lost.

Their bodies couldn't be recovered, so the Shamans of Song's Edge built metal avatars for the fallen and posted them up on the cliff's edge, calling in a flock of Glinthawks to take away the scrap. Along with the souls of the dead, I guess.

According to Burgrend, Ourea has disappeared, gone off to some mountain retreat to seek guidance from shamanic spirits. The expedition was her idea, and from the rousing, if bleak speech Aratak gave at the funeral pyre, they mean to try again.

I also asked Burgrend about Sylens. He said he'd heard the name before, always whispered, as if he were some phantom of ill-fortune that the Banuk would rather forget. Something happened between him and the Conclave of Shamans in Ban-Ur. Given his disregard for what he called the tribe's 'mysticisms', it was probably some form of sacrilege. Not that that will deter me from trusting him. Where lives and hidden truths are concerned, sacrilege is fair game.

I spoke to Aratak after the ritual was done. He was predictably stand-offish toward me, an outlander interfering in the tribe's affairs. He couldn't tell me any more about the Daemon, only more of the same: new, deadlier machines. He told me to stay away from Ourea, whose arts were not for the eyes of outlanders.

He says he prefers deeds to words. Good thing I'm better with deeds anyway.

Burgrend told me of Naltuk, Ourea's apprentice, who was scouting north along the river's path. He'll know where she is. Whether he'll tell me or not is another question.

Rested in the settlement for a while. I went to buy myself some warmer clothes for the trek north, only to discover that my healthy stash of shards is worthless here. The Banuk merchants trade exclusively in something called 'Bluegleam'. No wonder Ohtur and Burgrend have had problems opening up commerce.

A Shaman was giving a performance, telling the origin myth of the Banuk, casting fire and salts and scraping machine sounds from strange instruments. They say a woman named Banukai was chased into these lands by the 'Ravenous Tribe', and the wild machines saved her and imbued her with the spirit of the blue light, but the process tore her apart from the inside. The machines patched her up with cables and metal, making her part machine herself, until she died in the snow and her people gathered to the machines' mournful song.

There's partial truth in the Nora's myth of All-Mother and the Metal Devil, even the Faithless ones could be some warped idea of the Old Ones and their war machines. That makes me wonder if there's some truth in this tale as well. Maybe a person, changed by machines, their codes running through her head, making her...part of a network, as Sylens would call it. Is that the shared machine song that the Banuk speak of?

I soon met Laulai, who I heard lamenting the loss of a place called Deep Din. She told me of it—an Old World ruin and musical instrument, capable of carrying resonant sound through its pipes below the basin. She said the place had been flooded after a sudden deluge caused the river to overflow. No rain, but the water must have come from somewhere. I'm doubtful that the place was intended to be an instrument. If the building is beneath a river it could have served as irrigation of some kind. I should take a look; might be some useful data or parts down there. I'd like to hear Laulai play the pipes, too. The place seems to mean everything to her, across generations of her family.

Next I climbed the scaffolding against a flat cliff side, shielding the village from the worst of the elements. Paintings stamped the rock face in yellows, reds and blues. At the top, working on her latest piece, I met Sekuli.

She told me about Banuk artistry. The paintings are calls to the machine spirits, sort of like prayers. Sekuli grew tired of tracing over the same old marks in Ban-Ur, wanted to create something of her own—a call to the tribe, a new story for a shifting, dangerous age. Something that the snows would wash away someday when its time was past, not something to be retraced for the sake of tradition. She was seeking new pigments to set her pieces apart. I agreed to help. I'll keep a lookout for deposits clinging to the salt pools of the Cut.

There was one such place just north of the village, Banuk gathered at its edges to scrape the pigments free and grind them into dye. A Shaman there called me over to him, remarking on my override module. He recognised the 'blue light' within it. I suppose he's not too far off—the device allows me to alter the...harmony of the machine song, as the Shamans say. He told me of a ruin to the far north holding the bodies of metal birds, each with a rail to strengthen my spear. Whatever he's planning, he didn't want to give any details. I've got no reason to believe he's set me a trap or anything—seems that most Shamans are secretive so as to protect the myth of their 'unique' powers. I can see where Sylens got it from.

If he can improve my spear, I'm willing to salvage the part. Might even be worth the trip.

Mountains looming ahead. It's only getting colder. The wildlife in this region is strange—I guess its blocked from the southern lands by the tall ridge I climbed. White goats, badgers, squirrels, owls—all creatures my Focus could identify without having to learn the names from elsewhere. I suppose they had the same names back in ancient times.

I came across a Carja encampment along the trail. There was even a Sun Priest with them, though none of the outlanders seemed eager to speak to me. Why are they here? Maybe to express apologies and grant reparations to the Banuk, as Irid did for the Nora? If so, I don't rate their chances highly. From what I've learnt of the Banuk so far, they'll do worse than throw fruit.

I came across Naltuk by following the river north, just as Burgrend said. He was watching a huge mechanical tower, shaped almost like a flower spewing violent pollen into the air that clung to the machines, its waves of light rippling outward. The machines patrolled the area, protecting the tower like a Cauldron. They were stronger, their armour scored dark, as if coated in something. This is worse than the Scarabs' corruption. I need to get to the bottom of it before it spreads.

Naltuk wouldn't tell me where to find Ourea. Typical. If words wouldn't do it, deeds it was. I crept past the machines to survey the tower. Sure enough, I could override it. Same language, same source; I joined it to my Focus network. I'm getting the hang of these strange new terms. Once overridden, the tower let out a pulse of blue shock, much like a Tallneck. I took out the Longleg and its league of Scrappers, first tying down the larger machine and settings off its power cells, then picking off the Scrappers from above, turning them brittle with my frost sling.

Naltuk was far more forthcoming after that, directing me northwards to the Shaman's path, some sort of rite of passage for aspirant Shamans of the tribe. Ourea was at the very peak, beyond the trial path, inside some sort of ruin on the mountain. Since it's a rite of passage, there were certain rules and rituals surrounding the ordeal, Naltuk said. Rules I would have to adhere to. There must be some other way up the mountain, but it wouldn't do to get on the Banuk's bad side, particularly Ourea's. Seems she's the only one who can give me answers. So, that's how I ended up running the trial of an prospective Shaman.

I got myself a mount and rode on, meeting the path's keeper at the gates of the climb. I was given the garb of a Shaman and the paint of an aspirant.

The clothes were scant in the cold and the paint was thick over my lips, kept getting it on my teeth. The things I do for truth. I took the mountain path on foot and entered a frozen cavern blazing with blue.

Lanterns and chimes marked the way through as the cavern twisted off into many ice-slick dead ends and spiral passages.

A couple of Stalkers patrolled further on, infected by the Daemon. I doubt they were an intended part of the trial, or this Shaman's path would be a death sentence for most who attempted it. I took them out by tearing off their canons, tying them down, barraging each with frost and finishing them with spear and bow. Then I broke out into the afternoon light.

Lots of climbing and running under streams of water so cold it burned. It's a beautiful area though. Lots of long, glacial lakes and waterfalls of half slush, half glass shards.

Starting to struggle in the cold. As I slipped on a ledge, the falling stones attracted a machine—something new, huge, and teeming with the Daemon's purple rot. It, and the tower bolstering its strength, stood between me and the next pass of the climb. The snow was falling thick. I knew I wouldn't last long out here.

I managed to override the tower before the machine saw me, but the shock pulse didn't damage it much. I slew hardpoints as fast as I could nock them, first targeting the frost unit on its belly, then piercing it as much as I could while it was brittle—though the frost didn't bother it much. My usual strategy wouldn't help me here. I took out the sacks on its shoulders next, dodging its swiping claws and shards of ice slung at me like spears. As soon as it was down, the danger wasn't over, as the sweat froze on my skin and each breath rasped out dragging hot barbs in my throat. I pressed on.

Thankfully, the end was soon in sight, and I harvested a shard of Bluegleam from the frozen Stormbird at the trail's end. I suppose I could've salvaged as much as I could carry, enough to buy warm furs, but again, best to respect the tribe's laws until I have what I need.

My climb wasn't quite over—a few more risky jumps between rusted metal platforms before I made it to the door to Ourea's secret mountain retreat.

Some warmth to be found inside, but not much of it. Time to press on...and hope Ourea has a fire burning.

[wanderersrest]

A Cheat Sheet to Gintama References

Have you ever said to yourself "I want to get into Gintama, but I want to understand all of the references?"

Well fear not, for I have a cheat sheet for a lot of the references. Not all of them, because I'd never finish this post. But there are a lot of references the series makes, and as non-native Japanese viewers, a lot of things are lost on us. That's not even getting to things that are lost due to the language barrier. So here it is: a (not so) comprehensive list of series that Gintama references!

Manga

Dragon Ball (Bonus points if it involves dunking on Yamcha.)

Fist of the North Star (Complete with a copyright-friendly version of You Wa Shock!)

Saint Seiya (an entire episode hinges on Gintoki being afraid of getting sued by Toei because of their constant Saint Seiya references)

City Hunter (I wouldn't be surprised if City Hunter was an inspiration for Gintama. Like Gintoki as a main character is what happens if you were to combine Kenshin Himura and Ryo Saeba into a single man. And then you gave said man Kakashi's hair.)

Rurouni Kenshin (Gintama is best described as the post Big 3 answer to Rurouni Kenshin. While One Piece and Shaman King are the true successors to RK, Gintama is the series most similar in terms of aesthetics... minus the modern tech in Meiji-era Japan.)

One Piece, Naruto, and Bleach (I'm folding all three into one line due to their nature as Jump's Big Three. Not helping things is that Gintama ran around the same time as all three.)

JoJo's Bizarre Adventures

Death Note

To Love Ru (Yes, really.)

SKET Dance (Not surprising as SKET Dance mangaka Kenta Shinohara was Sorachi's apprentice at one point)

Fullmetal Alchemist

Lupin III

Golgo 13

Kinnikuman (the thing Ultimate Muscle is based off of)

Doraemon

Sazae-san

Berserk

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K (Ask me about how Gintama helped screw Saiki K out of an English Dub for Season 2)

Anime

Mobile Suit Gundam (It helps that Sunrise/Bandai Namco Pictures produced the Gintama anime, because there are a lot of Gundam references in particular. You also don't get the Renho arc without Sunrise producing the anime.)

Mobile Suit Victory Gundam and Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn (Specifically the fact that Shinpachi and Tsukuyo's voice actors are in each series respectively)

Neon Genesis Evangelion (Especially if it involves MADAO, as MADAO shares a voice actor with Gendo Ikari)

Castle in the Sky, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, and My Neighbor Totoro (I'm highlighting these three Ghibli movies in particular due to how often they are referenced throughout the series.)

The Brave Franchise (Specifically The Brave Express Might Gaine and The King of Braves GaoGaiGar)

Patlabor (Yes really, and SKET Dance is partially to thank for this one)

Video Games

Dragon Quest (Specifically DQ III & IV, this series gets referenced a lot once Tama is introduced)

Sengoku Basara (Specifically when it involves one Toshiro Hijikata)

Final Fantasy VII

Mother

Super Mario Brothers

Tales Of

Resident Evil

Yakuza/Like a Dragon (Not surprising, as both Like a Dragon and Gintama are set in and around Kabukicho)

Monster Hunter

Live Action Film & Television

Abarenbo Shogun (SHOGUN KA YO!!!!!)

NHK Taiga Drama (The Shinsengumi drama in particular is a primary influence for Gintama)

Game of Death

Star Wars

Kinpachi-sensei (The series that the Ginpachi-sensei segments are based off of)

Doctor Who

I hope this helps if and when you decide to watch through Gintama. I'll try to update this post as I remember more references or if anyone messages me with a reference that I missed. Because good lord are there a lot of references. Oh, also remember: if this is your first time watching Gintama, start on episode 3. The first two episodes are filler.

[fridaythe13ththeseries]

Episode Recaps

Here is a quick list of each episode recap I wrote.

Season 1

1 - The Inheritance

2 - The Poison Pen

3 - Cupid's Quiver

4 - A Cup of Time

5 - Hellowe'en

6 - The Great Montarro

7 - Doctor Jack

8 - Shadow Boxer

9 - Root of All Evil

10 - Tales of the Undead

11 - Scarecrow

12 - Faith Healer

13 - The Baron's Bride

14 - Bedazzled

15 - Vanity's Mirror

16 - Tattoo

17 - The Electrocutioner

18 - Brain Drain

19 - The Quilt of Hathor (1)

20 - The Quilt of Hathor (2): The Awakening

21 - Double Exposure

22 - The Pirate's Promise

23 - Badge of Honor

24 - Pipe Dream

25 - What a Mother Wouldn't Do

26 - Bottle of Dreams

Season 2

1 - Doorway to Hell

2 - The Voodoo Mambo

3 - And Now the News

4 - Tails I Live, Heads You Die

5 - Symphony in B#

6 - Master of Disguise

7 - Wax Magic

8 - Read My Lips

9 - 13 O'Clock

10 - Night Hunger

11 - The Sweetest Sting

12 - The Playhouse

13 - Eye of Death

14 - Face of Evil

15 - Better Off Dead

16 - Scarlet Cinema

17 - The Mephisto Ring

18 - A Friend to the End

19 - The Butcher

20 - Mesmer's Bauble

21 - Wedding in Black

22 - Wedding Bell Blues

23 - The Maestro

24 - The Shaman's Apprentice

25 - The Prisoner

26 - Coven of Darkness

Season 3

1 - The Prophecies (1)

2 - The Prophecies (2)

3 - Demon Hunter

4 - Crippled Inside

5 - Stick It in Your Ear

6 - Bad Penny

7 - Hate on Your Dial

8 - Night Prey

9 - Femme Fatale

10 - Mightier Than the Sword

11 - Year of the Monkey

12 - Epitaph for a Lonely Soul

13 - Midnight Riders

14 - Repetition

15 - The Long Road Home

16 - My Wife as a Dog

17 - Jack-in-the-Box

18 - Spirit of Television

19 - The Tree of Life

20 - The Charnel Pit

[zharrdor-kron-archive]

Whispers of Stone and Storm: The Art of Shamanism

Shamanism is not merely a magic, it is a dialogue. A conversation between flesh and flame, wind and water, stone and soul. Where the mage rends reality with will, the shaman listens, negotiates, pleads. This is not weakness. It is reverence.

Shamanism predates your kings and cults. It was old when trolls first carved masks for the loa, and ancient still when the orcs of Draenor howled beneath the red moons. It is the sacred birthright of all those who remember that power is not seized, it is borrowed, and one day returned.

I. The Four Great Elements: The Court of Primeval Will

The shaman's craft is not elemental domination (in general), it is elemental alignment. The spirits of Earth, Fire, Water, and Air are not tools. They are ancient, sovereign entities, each with their own temperaments and hierarchies.

Earth is slow and patient, the keeper of memories buried deep.

Fire is hungry and mercurial, destructive but illuminating.

Water flows with adaptability and healing, but harbors great wrath.

Air is ever-moving, ever-changing, a tempest of freedom and clarity.

A shaman must earn their favor, temper their conflicts, and channel their might. Elementals are not servants. They are judges. And their verdicts are rarely merciful.

II. Totems, Rites, and Spiritwalkers: The Tools of the Trade

The most iconic implements of shamanic practice are totems, ritual foci that serve as conduits to elemental spirits. Each is a sacred object, carved with intent and steeped in ancestral resonance. One does not place a totem; one plants it, like a flag in the spirit realm.

Rites of Vision, of Binding, of Stormcalling, these are not spell scrolls but acts of piety. Every invocation is a gamble, a plea for balance, or vengeance, or survival. The spiritwalkers, rare among the orcish and tauren traditions, walk between worlds, communing with the dead and the elemental chaos alike.

This is not magic to toy with. It is magic that answers back.

III. Shamans in War and Legend: From Drek'Thar to Nobundo

Drek'Thar, once a fearsome Frostwolf warlord, was blinded by battle but found true sight through the spirits. In exile, he became one of the most respected shamanic elders of the Horde, a teacher to Thrall and a living reminder that shamanism is not about strength of arms, but strength of spirit. His wisdom helped rekindle the elemental path for an orcish people lost to fel corruption.

Thrall, his most famous apprentice, would go on to become both Warchief and World-Shaman. His hammer was not only a weapon, but a conduit, a bond between mortal and world. While others sought dominion, Thrall sought balance. His greatest victories were not only on the battlefield, but in the forging of peace between peoples and elements alike. It was through him that the fractured Horde remembered the wisdom of stone, storm, fire, and tide.

Magatha Grimtotem, however, stands as a foil to such harmony. Though gifted with deep shamanic insight, she turned the sacred dialogue of the elements into a tool of ambition. Her manipulation of elemental forces, and her betrayal of Cairne Bloodhoof, marks her as a reminder that power without reverence corrodes the soul.

Nobundo, once a draenei broken by the fel, became the first of his kind to hear the wind again. His awakening to shamanism was a redemption arc not just for himself, but for an entire people estranged from nature.

These are not tales of pride, but of alignment, warriors and mystics who became vessels for the world’s oldest rage and deepest sorrow.

IV. Shamanism as Philosophy: Harmony Over Order

To be a shaman is to live in tension. Between destruction and healing, between chaos and form. It is not about controlling the elements, it is about yielding to them when needed, and standing firm when the winds howl too loud.

Where arcane sorcery seeks perfection, and fel magic hungers for power, shamanism demands humility. You do not command the storm. You walk with it.

The elements are not just tools. They are truths. And the shaman is their prophet.

So mark my words, students of villainy and lore alike: Should you hear the stones groan beneath your feet, or the wind speak your name in a tongue not known to you, step carefully. You are walking in a shaman’s territory.

—Zharrdor Kron, Loremaster of the League of E.V.I.L.

[fangruninsimp]

Golden Tattoo

Pairing: Fang Rin/Yin Nezha | Soulmates AU | One Shot | 831 words | Read on AO3

Soulmate.

A soulmate is said to be your constant, your touchstone. Someone who brightens your dark days, someone to hold you when you stumble, someone to pick you up when you fall. Your someone when you have no one; your silver star to guide you home.

That's what they said.

Rin thought what they said was bullshit. Two souls, bonded together, completing each other… that was the stuff of operas and shadow puppetry.

For one thing, the whole idea was useless. How was some soulmate going to help her pass the Keju? She wanted to be the best of the best, enlist in the army, climb the ranks and become a general - powerful, respected. She didn't need an impotent nobody holding her back. She’d been spurned, beat down and cheated until she learned that she was the only person she could trust. A so-called soulmate would only keep her from everything she'd wanted to achieve since she was old enough to want things.

Second, Rin was just as likely to find her soulmate as opium-addled Uncle Fang was to get into Sinegard. There were what, sixty million people in Nikan? It was extremely rare to find your soulmate - most people gave up hope of finding their One and married according to their family’s or a matchmaker’s wishes. Anyway, Rin didn't intend on marrying, soulmate or not. It was antithetical to the entire purpose of her last two years. Only the thought of marriage to the old, cruel Inspector Matchmaker Liew found for her kept her going. If she so much as entertained the thought of living peaceably in Tikany, she'd never muster the strength to drip hot wax onto her skin night after sleepless night to study for the Keju, or to pound chapter after chapter of Classics into her head while juggling sums at the Fangs’ shop. You can’t feel the pain if you don’t stop running.

Third, Rin had done her research - and really, soulmates weren't all they were cut out to be. The neighborhood girls swooned and sighed over what it would be like to find their soulmates. Everyone knew what would happen; it was told in stories along with tales of dragons and shamans, and the few who did manage to find their matches told their stories eagerly, albeit with a superior air. When you touched them, your predestined match, your skin glowed from the point of contact, a golden tattoo, marking you bonded to that person for the rest of your life.  All that was well and good - but what the neighborhood girls didn't know was that soulmates elevated your joys, they darkened your deepest sorrows too; they comforted you and infuriated you in equal measure. They were your other half, but sometimes your other half is not someone you ever want to meet.

Rin was happy to live soulmate-free, and hopefully continue to live that way until she died.

---

The rage was simmering in her long before it rose to the top, goaded by the pale boy's insults to Tutor Feyrik. She doesn't know why she thought it was a good idea, but she must have thought it, because at that moment, there was only one thing to do. She drew back her elbow and punched as hard as she could, landing a blow which made a satisfying thud against the arch of his cheekbone. He reeled back, hand pressed against his face.

"You bitch!" he screamed, righting himself and rushing at her. She shrank back and instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, braced for the hell that was about to come.

"Stop!" A dark robed apprentice appeared between them, arms flung out to keep them apart. When the boy struggled forward anyway, the apprentice grabbed his extended arm and twisted it behind his back sharply. The boy stumbled, immobilized, but to Rin's surprise, the apprentice let him go immediately, eyes wide with shock. The boy struggled to his feet, hands still curled into fists.

"What?" He spat. "What is it?"

The apprentice touched his own cheek and Nezha mirrored him, turning to the side as if that would help him see his own face better. That's when she saw it.

A golden patch marred his skin where a bruise should have been, brilliant in the light of the sun. Her mind blanked. Instinctively, she hid her hand behind her back but the apprentice's eyes followed her.

"Go on," he said, jerking his chin at her arm, childishly concealed behind her. "Show me your hand."

She wanted to refuse, but his voice commanded compliance. Slowly, she brought her hand forward. For one exalted moment, she thought it was unmarked. But a golden starburst was blooming on her first and second knuckles, spreading like an ink-stain to her fingers and the palm of her hand. She knew all too well what it meant. She looked at the boy past the bemused apprentice and saw her own shock and horror mirrored in his dark eyes.

What the fuck?

[intermundia]

Mr. Will, I saw that post about the burden of wanting to talk about SW all the time and now I’m curious…please will you tell me your favorite bit of obscure Star Wars lore that someone who hasn’t delved extensively into extra-canonical materials probably doesn’t know?!? 💜

Obscure lore, yes! I would love to talk about that! While reading the Star Wars Archives (1977-1983), I found this page of notes from a story meeting on 11/28/77 in the section 'Bring back Ben' and right before the invention of the role to be filled by Yoda—"Some of the force came from 'Tales of Power', Carlos Castaneda."

And I was like—who the fuck is Carlos Castaneda? Because you hear all the time about all the mythology research Lucas did, all the time with Campbell, etc., but I'd never seen this name anywhere else. So I looked him up. He's a California "anthropologist," a contemporary of Lucas, and oddly fascinating:

Starting with The Teachings of Don Juan in 1968, Castaneda wrote a series of books that purport to describe training in shamanism that he received under the tutelage of a supposed Yaqui "Man of Knowledge" named don Juan Matus. Doubts about the veracity of Castaneda's work existed from their original publication. There is belief among many that Castenda's books are works of fiction, and that it is unlikely that don Juan Matus existed. (Wikipedia)

His first person anthropology about time spent with a Mexican shaman reads like fiction, because it is fiction. An excellent survey of his sources is found here:

Lama Govinda's Fringe Tibetan Buddhism

Brinton's Paper On 'Nagualism'

Frank Waters Book of the Hopi

California Indian Anthropology Texts - especially those known to have been reviewed by CC

Wasson's works on Mushrooms

Eliade's works on Shamanism

Furst's works and lectures on Shamanism

Harner's works and lectures on Shamanism

Myerhoff's works on Shamanism and her contacts with Ramon Medina

UCLA Professor Garfinkel

Wittgenstein

So, we have this very California early-mid 70's New Age philosophy cocktail that was being presented as anthropology (I wish it were still so easy to fraud your way into a degree lmao). George Lucas was on UCLA campus as a graduate student making films at approximately the same time Castaneda was faking his way to this anthropology Ph.D., so when I say they are contemporaries, I mean I'm pretty sure they literally could have been walking around campus at the same time.

ANYWAY, so what if the Force is based on some fringe fake-Mexican-shamanism? So what? Well, first and foremost, Castaneda's books were very popular, and he uses the term "Sorcerer" very frequently, so when Ben Kenobi is called that in a New Hope, hip audiences in the 70's might have been clued in about what to expect. The idea of superhuman abilities rooted in flowing energy, the interplay of teacher and apprentice, and the sorcerer as a warrior (sounds pretty Jedi yeah?) —

A Man of Knowledge Was a Warrior: “The existence of a man of knowledge was an unceasing struggle, and the idea that he was a warrior, leading a warrior’s life, provided one with the means for achieving emotional stability. The idea of a man at war encompassed four concepts: (1) a man of knowledge had to have respect; (2) he had to have fear; (3) he had to be wide-awake; (4) he had to be self-confident. Hence, to be a warrior was a form of self-discipline which emphasized individual accomplishment; yet it was a stand in which personal interests were reduced to a minimum, as in most instances personal interest was incompatible with the rigor needed to perform any predetermined, obligatory act” (TDJ, 157).

Like................. it's even got the aspect of reducing personal interests and attachment to gain the rigor of discipline necessary to do what must be done as a sorcerer. But beyond the idea of a Jedi as a sorcerer/warrior, it's the metaphysics that kill me. Let's look further at this famous Yoda quote:

"My ally is the Force. And a powerful ally it is." — Listen, "ally" is a term from Castaneda, though he uses it about psychadelic drugs. Audiences in the early 80s would probably know that, too.

“An ally will make you see and understand things about which no human being could possibly enlighten you… It is neither a guardian nor a spirit. It is an aid… a power capable of carrying a man beyond the boundaries of himself. This is how an ally can reveal matters no human being could” (The Teachings of Don Juan 24-25).

“The manipulation of an ally had two aspects: (1) an ally was a vehicle; (2) an ally was a helper. An ally was a vehicle in the sense that it served to transport a sorcerer into the realm of non ordinary reality… To be a helper meant that an ally, after serving a sorcerer as a vehicle, was again usable as an aid or a guide to assist him in achieving whatever goal he had in mind in going to the realm of nonordinary reality” (TDJ 164-65).

"Life creates it and makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we…not this crude matter." — The division of the Force into flowing animate and inanimate energy is in Castaneda, as is the concept of luminosity.

“Don Juan said that the energetic fact which was the cornerstone of the cognition of the shamans of ancient Mexico was that every nuance of the cosmos is an expression of energy. From their plateau of seeing energy directly, those shamans arrived at the energetic fact that the entire cosmos is composed of twin forces which are opposite and complementary to each other at the same time. They called those two forces animate energy and inanimate energy. They saw that inaninmate energy has no awareness. Awareness, for shamans, is a vibrating condition of animate energy.” (TDJ, xv)

“To perceive energy directly allowed the sorcery of don Juan’s lineage to see human beings as conglomerates of energy fields that have the appearance of luminous balls… the entire cosmos is made of luminous filaments that extend themselves infinitely” (TDJ, xvi-xvii).

I could go on and on and discuss all of Castaneda's writings on detachment and the warrior's life and the awareness of death, but I think that would be a whole other thing. Honestly this subject is too much for a tumblr post. I just thought it was interesting. People always give Lucas both grief and credit for bastardizing philosophical traditions himself, but I would say it's more fair to say that he was more working off of a cheat sheet done by others in California in the 70s. There must have been something in the water lmao

[guileheroine]

a sky full of song, chapter one

Korra, princess of the Water Kingdoms, receives a gift from her blacksmith friend on the auspicious winter festival / Korrasami royalty AU / ao3 / My piece for the @korrasami-valentine-exchange (assignment: Date A) (reposting with cover!)

“The wedding of the Earth Prince, yes, on the solstice. But it’s an opportune moment for a longer tour, we don’t want to waste the journey. I’m afraid your father can’t afford it, and before you ask, I’ve been conferring with your mother’s office. And frankly, I’m loath to request it of her after…

Councillor Panak trailed off as Korra hurried him along with a gesture of the hand. He pushed his eyeglass up his nose and took her eye seriously. “To the point, then—what do you say?”

Korra was tapping her foot under the meeting table. Prince Wu, if she recalled, was equally as intolerable as old Hou-Ting, the spirits bless his poor betrothed. But the prospect of a fortnight around the Earth Kingdom, with its delicious fare and diverse landscapes… that made her much more amenable to the whole idea.

“Around the solstice, huh? Alright. Why not.” It was a way off. She had time to arrange her retinue and her schedule as efficiently as possible for maximum enjoyment.

“…That means a tour to the Earth Empire in the spring—or summer, if Her Royal Highness prefers it?”

“Oh, spring,” Korra said in a rush. “Spring. I’m not sure I can do Earthen summers.”

Panak smiled quite kindly at that, and nodded at his scribe to jot it down. Korra returned his smile. They really were getting along better. It was nice. This meeting was also stretching much farther into the evening than she had understood it would.

The Lotus Guard at the doorway didn’t so much as blink as she pushed the heavy door open and went out. He was one of the older men, having been here long before the war, and quite accustomed to her ways.

Once Korra was out in the foyer, she raced. Her quarters, and her next appointment, were in the other wing of the palace, but she had promised to go see her mother first for a few minutes before the Queen went to bed. The winter sun was long gone; all the windows she skipped past were dark, torchlight gleaming on the icy sills. In the halls, on the other hand, the air was bright as frost, festive. She wove around decorators from all over Agna Qel’a hanging new crystalwork along the old bead tapestries and tying berry wreaths around the tall pillars. Down the stairs, in the main hall, the humongous fires that burnt uninterrupted over the winter lit the place generously. As she sped through, headed for the opposite staircase, Korra caught the eye of one of the housekeepers.

“Mina! Mina, are you busy?” She took the girl’s arm, whose eyes goggled, alarmed only at the princess’s sudden appearance but unperturbed by her familiar ways. “Could you go to the kitchen and send for some tea to my apartment? Milk and honey for me—and some of whatever black blend is left, what my blacksmith friend likes. They’ll know. Thank you!”

When she turned to continue, she was immediately waylaid by one of the ice sculptors.

“Your Highness! A moment.”

Just a moment to breathe was exactly what it took for Korra to finally notice the centerpiece of the hall: an elaborate sculpture-fountain of Yue. The moon and ocean spirits hovered above each of her hands, water pouring in gentle arcs out of their gaping mouths.

Korra’s father was pulling out all the stops for Yue’s Day. She knew, for her part, that it was a private gesture for the Queen, newly returned from a long diplomatic engagement with the northern Air court. Korra stood at attention for the sculptor, whose fingerless gloves allowed him to bend with especial precision.

“Should her hair run—” he said, bending Yue’s locks of ice into free-flowing rivulets, “or stand arrested?” Another curl of his palm froze them again.

“Freeze them. More volume!” Korra said, thinking of her mother, who always grumbled about her limp hair. Then she was on her way to the Queen’s chambers, and then her own.

“I got your tea. Hi, princess.”

Korra’s blacksmith friend took a pointed sip when she finally entered her drawing room. Asami’s smirk was hidden behind the glassy cup, and her hair was wet. One of Korra’s towels was slung over the back of her seat—one of the nice ones with the finely embroidered monogram.

“Asami. Sorry I’m late!” Korra slumped onto her divan, sending one of the cushions flying onto the carpet. “It’s good to see you.” She took a moment to catch her breath before picking the cushion up, sitting comfortably and grasping for the tray on the table.

“Don’t worry about it,” Asami said, moving the cup from her mouth, the smirk finally melting off. She pushed the tray into Korra’s reach. “I’m done for the day. A couple of the apprentices are closing up shop for the very first time.” Her brows waggled.

“Impressive! But still, thanks for coming. I know you’re working hard.”

“We had an appointment, right? And—” Asami grinned and stretched, pulling her warm wools tighter around her “nothing like the thought of a royal shower at the end of the day to get you through it, you know?”

Korra rolled her eyes. The staff knew to let Asami into Korra’s apartments, and even if she could tell they were a little reticent about her using the princess’s bath and vanity, they of course said nothing. The dogs more or less dragged Asami in through the gates every time she came by the palace, and by order of the princess, they were the ones that decided things in her absence.

Asami scrutinised the tray from the kitchen carefully before picking out a little moon pastry. “How was your meeting?” She took a bite, attentive both to the pastry and Korra.

“Looks like I’m going on tour to the Earth Kingdom in the spring,” Korra told her. She wasn’t surprised to see Asami’s brow spring up, and her taste-testing pause.

“What, all over?”

It was a town in the Earth Kingdom that Asami originally hailed from, before she travelled to the Fire Empire with her father, an innovator in the art of war. After the war’s end and the subsequent reunification of the Water Kingdoms, the newly humbled Sun Emperor had gifted King Tonraq an ancient forge for the royal armoury as a token of good faith and cultural exchange. Korra remembered how it had taken several pulleys, and days, for it to be transported into place in one of the main avenues in the city. They had set up a house around it for a new smith to eventually train locals in the foreign art. Asami—skilled as a metalworker, but bereft of a livelihood and a family after her father’s foundries were shut down—had decided to venture north to start afresh. She vied for the position and won it handily.

Korra glanced at her long. “You could come with me, you know. Take a vacation, if you manage to get this new shop set up in time. I’m sure you’ve trained all your underlings well.”

“We’re getting there,” Asami said vaguely. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

Korra was musing, recumbent with her feet up now. “I must warn you, t’s for the wedding of the Queen’s nephew. They’re a lot stuffier in the Earth kingdom. All the pomp and pageantry,” she clarified. “I’m not looking forward to that part.”

“I’ll bet.” Asami gave her a sympathetic smile.

Sitting pretty in formal assemblies, she did not enjoy. Peace was harder than war, in a lot of ways. At least it was for Korra, who had been right at home as a strategist commanding the bending battalions in the few Fire Empire skirmishes that had reached the north. Or as a captain fending off the marauding warlords and shaman-kings in the southern fiefs who took advantage of the chaos to arouse the spirits and stage deadly rebellions. Her leadership, covert though it was, had played no small part in subduing the northern theater and paving the way for all the ancient Water tribes to be reunified under Agna Qel’a and her father’s leadership. The lasting peace of the years since had proven they were stronger together. Just as it had proven that the Princess’s patience for peacetime bureaucracy needed a good deal of practice.

“You should come. We’ll do you up as my retainer so you get a salary. I might need you to keep me straight.”

Asami was good at that, blowing off steam after long, boring days. The mellowness of the warmth, nothing like that of her forge, evened Korra’s mood like little else.

“Oh, so you want me to drop everything and trail you around as a handmaiden?”

Korra scoffed, embarrassed. “Well, don’t put it like that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Asami sat up. “An Earth royal wedding, huh? Think they’ll let me in?” She picked at the cushion in her lap.

“They will if I have anything to say about it.” Korra yawned. “It’ll be my turn soon enough.”

“How’s your mother?” Asami said, following her train of thought seamlessly—it was always the queen that pestered Korra about finding a match, good-natured but more earnest than she ever realised she was appearing.

“Sleeping. She had a long journey back from the Northern Air Temple. Dad’s happy, though. Just casually planning her a ball this weekend for Yue’s Day.”

“Hey, is that what that business down in the hall is?” Some forgotten curiosity clearly jolted Asami. “There were all these new kayaks moored around the drawbridges when I came through, too.”

Korra nodded, while tentative recognition continued to filter into Asami’s expression. It was easy to forget Asami had been here nary a year. But she had, and it had been a busy year too, with little time for exploration, per her own frequent complaints. “You know about it, right?” When Asami shrugged evasively, Korra explained, “It falls on the day of the first full moon after the winter solstice. Yue was a princess of legend—our ancestor, apparently—who became the moon spirit.”

Asami sat forward. She loved tales like this, and listened to them like she was being entrusted a secret.

“We’ve celebrated it as long as anyone remembers, but the festival is supposed to usher good fortune and fertility. I think that’s why it became a couples thing.” Korra didn’t think much of that. “But, well, the idea is to spend the evening under the full moon, which is why all the kayaks are out. Really, everyone just needs an excuse to liven up the winter!”

“That I understand,” Asami said wryly, ill accustomed to the polar night. “Yeah, I went to the market in town to pick up some new gloves and they had stalls and stalls of new fare. Jewelry, wind chimes, furs.”

Korra sat up, conspiratorial. “I bet at least one of your new proteges will sneak you a little gift. I get messages every year. Mostly upstarts, but some cute ones, too.”

When Asami had first been appointed as the blacksmith, Korra was uncertain what a girl her age was doing heading up an official royal undertaking like that, with all its bells and whistles. When she arrived at a welcome dinner with her family, Korra found her altogether too precious, and definitely not deserving of the private summons and the White Lotus escort. Especially not when the whole rigmarole was keeping Korra from her planned retreat to the kennels for the evening, where, in the end, the strapping night guards were giggling and blushing about the new blacksmith.

At her father’s behest, Korra had put on her most functional anorak and taken Asami some cakes, conserves and newly dried jerky from the palace a couple weeks after their meeting. He insisted it was a part of the Princess’s duty to look after someone in their employ so new to the land—a girl her own age no less. Down in the city, the townsfolk were pleased to see Korra as she made her way to the workshop, but no one made a fuss (unless they were young and excitable already), unlike what she had heard of the other Kingdoms, larger and loftier as they were. She wondered if Asami the Blacksmith liked that about here, or found it lacked decorum, as Korra knew some folk abroad definitely did.

Asami had a study above the forge, from which she dealt with its administration, and living quarters on the next storey. These were yet lonely and sparse, but not completely devoid of homely touches, as though she would have spruced them up if she only had the opportunity. Korra noticed well-kept shrubs and a vivid landscape on the wall; then Asami came and curtseyed deep and pulled off her apron.

She was willowy and beautiful under the gear and the soot (over it, too, to be honest), which endeared and repelled Korra in fairly equal measure, ultimately leaving her as indifferent as ever.

“My parents and Lord Arnook want to know how you’re getting on.” Lord Arnook was the esteemed keeper of the royal armoury, and he liked Asami just as much as everyone else did.

A flicker of sadness—shame?—crossed her face, then she put her hand on the table. “Won’t you sit? Your Highness. Let me bring you something hot first.”

Asami lit the fire in the blink of an eye and stoked it without watching, like it was the back of her hand. She had some bread in the pantry, over which she spread the aqpik jam Korra had delivered her. Korra watched her as she boiled the water. Her skirt was heavy, probably to insulate from the heat and cold alike, but it fell flatteringly from her height; and her long hair, which had flown in waves in a foreign style at dinner, was pinned into a practical bun. She made a sharp, fragrant tea she had brought from the continent. Her eyes lit up unexpectedly when Korra bent her own cup to cool it.

“Ah, I love seeing that,” she cooed. “I suppose I’m still not used to it. The other elements don’t bend like that. And I hear you have great skill.”

Korra’s own smile came too quick for her to suppress. “Who told you that, the King?” Then she regarded her keenly. So, how are you… Do you need anything? Do the men from the quarry treat you okay?”

“Oh, everyone here is… They’re very warm. Makes up for the chill,” Asami laughed.

It was a line so hackneyed that gritting through it was itself a country-wide inside joke. But this calm and rosy girl injected fresh, charmless charm into it. Maybe everything was charming if someone this winsome did it. After that, Korra softened considerably.

“They are,” she replied, with no small amount of pride. A sudden shame crept up her chest, that she probably couldn’t count herself among those nice people that had made Asami feel welcome.

Then Asami swallowed and the colour of her voice changed. “I miss my home, though. I know this job is more kindness than I deserve, after what we did but… It is a little lonely here.” She confirmed what Korra had already deduced, mostly because she knew the feeling all too well. “I guess I just don’t have a lot of time to go and make friends after work.”

Korra didn’t doubt that; it was hard, physical work. The one or two times she’d witnessed it, the clang rang in her ears for hours afterwards. She wouldn’t have pegged a girl like this for it. Asami reminded her more of some of the young ladies she knew from her old classes, when all the children around the court would be dumped into the royal healing hut together for some hands-on learning.

“Have you been beyond the city yet? The land out there… that’s our land. This is just a fortress.”

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to,” Asami said, wistful. “Pretty sure I can’t go on foot though.”

“Well, if… if you don’t know anyone else, I could take you. I have the best dogs in the Four Kingdoms.”

Before the month was up, Korra had sent a commission to the Queen’s personal seamstress for some sealskin gloves and winter-grade furs. She gifted them to Asami on her birthday. “You need these anyway, I think, but you’ll definitely need them where we’re going.” And that night, Korra took her to see the aurora.

There was a hamlet a few miles north of Agna Qel’a where Korra knew the elderly chief and had asked her for passage to an outcrop in their territory, after divining the well kept secret that it was one of the prime spots for watching the sky dance. Asami, enchanted, never took her eyes off it—so unflinching that Korra almost began to feel envious of the lights.

It became a routine. Korra knew every inch of her realm. If a diplomatic mission sent her to one tribe or settlement, she would be sure to take a day or two exploring the local country before she returned to the capitol. It had been a great boon when the southern tribes first came under their stewardship. The Princess spent time in every village, took interest in their land and in their lore; met challenges of the wilds and the weather with hunger, and any unknowns thereof with abiding curiosity. She knew what to wear, which sled or boat to take. When to find the rarest whale pods before they went south; where the starriest cliffs were, and the sunniest lakes.

All of which impressed Asami a great deal, and that made Korra happier than most things. And no worse were the days they spent in her apartments going over the sordid palace gossip, or in her apartments tracing old scars by lamplight, healing them word by gentle word.

On Yue’s Day, Korra stopped by to see various palace aides located around the city with customary gifts. In a castle town, there were plenty with such connections, and she relished the ruddy smiles, quick drinks, and flustered curtsies she received in turn. She saved Asami for last, because Asami had asked for some time together. Korra entered the smithy by the front, her senses clogging with immediate heat. Two of the apprentices were there: one of them gaped while the other barely blinked.

“Asami? I come bearing punch… and those moon pastries you like!”

She commenced the usual ritual of announcing her presence over the steam and noise while peeling off all but a couple of her layers, when Asami emerged out of the back. She was squeezing her hands together in excitement.

“No, no, no, don’t,” she urged, a gleam in her eyes like the blades that hung behind her, “we’re going somewhere.”

A few minutes later, they were walking along the main canal under the sparkling lights, milling through the townspeople. A fresh drift crunched beneath their boots. In a few more, they were alighting one of the kayaks in the dock.

Asami faced her and paddled like a natural; and naturally, Korra gaped.

“Do not tell me you haven’t done this before!”

Asami’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she suppressed a giggle, but her limbs moved with finesse. “Just the once. So far. Don’t be distracting me.”

“I won’t let us capsize,” Korra assured her.

Eventually, Asami settled into her rhythm, and the canal carried them out of the city, past all the lights. The banks of glass-cut brick gave way to a more jagged channel littered with pack ice at its mouth, floating blue and still. Korra gripped the edge of the kayak, not for any physical comfort. A crackling anticipation, and an unnameable fondness both, were welling and welling in her with every mundane word they shared.

When they disembarked on the lake’s other edge, the ice was landfast: a ghostly field glowing under the full moon.

Korra knew this place, but she had scarcely been here in the middle of winter, when the ice field extended endlessly, as vast as the sky. As they tramped across the snow, she began to wonder what Asami’s surprise was. There wasn’t much for a mile in any direction.

“We should sit for this,” Asami said, pointedly ignoring Korra’s prying questions.

The wind had kicked the snow up into berms along the field. Korra froze one so it was sturdy enough to perch on. Then Asami took her pack, and pulled out some plain tubes of parchment; nothing Korra would have looked at twice, although she didn’t know what they were.

“What’s in there?” She said.

“Some of my metals, some of my salts,” Asami replied enigmatically, almost sing-song. “Wait here.”

She heaved herself off the berm, ran several yards towards the horizon and stooped. She planted the tubes, and did something else Korra couldn’t see, though she thought she recognised the bright filigree on the cover of the pocket matchbook Asami carried everywhere.

When Asami had trundled back and sat again, Korra crossed her arms and laughed, bemused, her humour ebbing. “Are you going to tell me what’s going—”

BOOM!

Korra gasped, startled out of her words. She would have fallen from the perch if Asami didn’t catch her around the waist, giggling blithely all the while—

A wheel of light bloomed in the sky like a flower, dazzling and surreal. All the colours of the aurora—except they were peals of crystal fire, pouring out like diamonds before disappearing into the smoky air. Another wheeled up after it with a strange whirr, before it exploded into a glittering shower, and more in succession.

They reminded Korra of the spirit hales in the heart of the wilds, and even deeper in a buried memory, of the Fire explosives some of the raiders had once set off on the Southern Sea. Except these were brighter—and safer, because Asami had made them.

Korra looked to her when they had died, beaming under the mitten that covered her mouth in shock. “Are there more?”

To her eternal delight, there were more. New flowers sprouting on the celestial vault, they would be burned in her memory forever.

“They’re no aurora,” Asami said, while Korra scoffed and slung her arms around her, huddling for the cold and the buzz. Under her embrace, and half her weight, Asami looked chuffed. “But I thought they might liven up your night.”

Korra cupped her earmuff, then her cheek. “Thank you. This is the best day I’ve had all winter.”

Asami’s pyrotechnical skills didn’t even surprise her, but that could hardly diminish the sheer majesty, and novelty, of the display. Even minutes later, Korra could hardly believe what she had seen.

“Well, I couldn’t let you be the only show-off around here.” Asami smiled. Then the smile dropped from her eyes and she hesitated, like she couldn’t let that sit for an explanation. “Korra. I wanted to do something special. You’ve made me feel at home here in a way I never imagined. And I’m just a smith, from the Fire Empire!”

Korra felt her eyes water and blinked the tears back quickly, because they would ice and sting in the bitter air. She bit the smile off her lips. “You’re not just anything. You’re a terrific handmaiden.”

She snorted as Asami shoved her off and reached for her pack again.

“One more thing. I thought it might be too smokey for this after all those incendiaries, but it’s worth a shot anyway.”

This time Korra recognised the device she emerged with. It was made of two cylinders, and the mechanism that held them together spun smoothly like the spokes of a wheel. She handed it to Korra, who held the spyglass up.

A field of stars materialised. Korra held her breath.

The stars were luminous at the poles, but she had never seen them like this, and for the first time they felt close enough to touch, invoking a bracing, irrepressible wonder. In silence, she gazed.

“The moon spirit leads all the stars out tonight, right?”

Asami had done her research. Korra turned back to her. “So they say.” She hooked her arm through Asami’s, and held her hand. With the spyglass still to her eye, she let her head fall against Asami’s bundled shoulder.

“Tired, princess?”

Korra rustled her breath, long-suffering. “Why do you call me that!”

The way Asami said it—like it was something of her own decree, and not that of ten thousand years of tradition and some profoundly sacred doctrines. There was a sweet and strange tug in Korra’s belly whenever it happened, and this time, tonight, it lingered longer than ever.

“‘Cause you’re a piece of work,” Asami said, trying to interlace their thick, mittened fingers, which required some effort.

Tentatively, Korra turned the spyglass to the moon herself. She winced— it glared straight back, too bright. Maybe another night, when it wasn’t Yue’s Day.

Yue’s Day. She now held the thought delicately in her chest, as if she wanted to guard it from the wind and chill. If Asami loved her—were to love her—there were several reasons not to say it. They both knew them, whether they had turned them over consciously or not.

But the risk of showing was low. And the reward, as her own euphoric mood tonight proved, was magnificent.

[linguisticdiscovery]

This short film telling a traditional Inuit tale is on the short list for the Oscars!

[asianhappinesss]

The Tale of Nokdu (2019)

Summary

Jeon Nok Du lives on an island with his father and older brother. He is smart and a good swordsman. Since he was little, his father did not let him study or go to the mainland. One day, his father and older brother are attacked by a group of female assassins. Jeon Nok Du chases after one of the assassins to the capital. During that time, Jeon Nok Du meets Dong Dong Ju. She wants to shoot the King with her arrow, but Jeon Nok Du saves her from trouble. Meanwhile, the assassin that Jeon Nok Du chases goes into a widowed village. To find out who and why his family was attacked, Jeon Nok Du disguises himself as a woman and enters the widow village. There, he meets Dong Dong Ju again. She is an apprentice to become a gisaeng.

Review

Don't miss it !

Who said sagueks can’t be fun to watch? If you leave out the royals and their various conspiracies to sit on the throne, there must be still somewhere a story worthwhile to tell, set away from the palaces and closer to the common folk. Tale of Nokdu does have its fair share of royals, albeit far far fewer from the other shows, (where we are presented to the king’s numerous wives and offsprings), but all that surprisingly takes a backseat to a jovial screwball comedy for its first half. Nokdu, our titular character (an endearing Jang Dong Yoon) finds himself at a widow’s village after he follows the assassin that attacked his family back at his island hometown. To find out anything further, he has no option but to dress up as a widow and enter the village. In an era where gender duties and definitions were clear cut and specific, it thereby becomes instantly hilarious to watch Nokdu wiggle in and out of embarrassing situations. The show takes its leisure time (here) to let us and Nokdu bask in the absurdity of the situation, as he tries to escape from bathing together with the other widows, or trying to hide his ripped muscles and the very clear absence of breasts, or just trying to carry out a proper conversation with the other women. He quickly realises that just putting on a dress, and changing one’s voice doesn’t make one a woman, and while he might be stronger to help out with chores that require physical labour, Nokdu is subsequently also exposed to the hardships faced by these widows after their husbands passed away, all of which led to the creation of the widows village in the first place. Parallelly with all this, runs the story of King Gwanghae (Jung Joon Ho), whom we are exposed to through some bits and pieces in the first half, but as the show approaches the midpoint, and Nokdu finds himself embroiled in something larger than he anticipated to be, the show smoothly transforms into a political drama. With a tight screenplay, well adapted to the shorter, half an hour runtime, and some effective plot twists, the drama remains just as engaging. To be truthful, Tale of Nokdu isn’t even much of a political drama as it is a family one. The whole plot is the result of the decisions that King Gwanghae makes as a newly crowned king and father. A family living in exile, a son in search of his biological father, and henceforth, his identity, a daughter living every day in anguish, planning to exact revenge on the man who killed her entire family — all characters suffer because of one man’s fear of a future predicted by a shaman. Just like in the Grand Prince, the show explores the moral dilemmas of the Royals in respect to usurping the throne, except here that decision has already been taken, and the consequences suffered. Nevertheless, we are constantly (in the second half) exposed to the King’s various emotions, as we watch him turn into an enraged fool, clinging onto every thread of power left and a lonely man, whom everyone has turned their back on. In the end, it is sadly the fool that wins. The king’s excessive stubbornness is exemplified by Nokdu’s big-heartedness, especially in how he, even after finding out his origins, never once abandons (or thinks of abandoning) his adoptive family. There are moments where he hopes to be accepted by his newfound family, and is even ready, to forgive them for their actions, but once it is made clear that there is no place for him, he immediately closes the lid on that tiny glimmer of hope. Kim So Hyun is marvelous as Dong Joo. Her character was quite interesting, one that is at constant crossroads of what she is expecting from herself. I particularly liked how she is allowed to operate and execute her plans all by herself, her narrative never once intertwining with Nokdu’s narrative. It was something that she had to do on her own, and though it is an easy guess on what her plans are and the reason behind them, I still teared up when she finally reveals them to Nokdu.

Special shoutout to child actress Park Da Yeon. She was absolutely hilarious as Aeng Du!

[ladynightmare913]

Red Rose, Blood Moon

Greetings, this is an original story inspired by the tale of Red Riding Hood. I would like say thank you to my best friend and co-author Olivia (@asunshinepuff) for joining me in creating this story that I have spent years on planning to write. 

This story contains only original characters that were created by Olivia and myself and in this prologue there are moments of violence and adultery. We may make a mention of it in the future. I hope you enjoy. Now without further adieu! 

Prolouge: Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time roughly 1,000 years ago, there was a village hidden by the snowy mountains called Mirepine. The people of this village were courteous and kind, everyone knew each other because of how small the village actually was. There the hunters, the craftsmen, the blacksmiths, the seamstresses, the bakers, the farmers, the butchers, the merchants that traveled to and from the village, the shaman who’s responsibilities revolved around healing the sick and injured as well are preparing for ceremonies, and the village the chief. There was one seamstress who could weave the most intricate and detailed of patterns, and was rumored to be the most beautiful maiden within the mountains. No one knew where she came from or how she arrived to their village, but the seamstress was attuned to the spirits that the Shaman made her his apprentice. 

For years the village had been plagued with attacks from wolves. Sneaking into their village in the middle of the night, and killing their livestock. Leaving behind a bloody trail to the woods beneath the mountains. 

“Haven’t you heard the hunters are going to wipe out the wolves!” A plump woman with brown hair exclaimed.

“I heard that Jean Pierre went missing a few days ago.” A younger woman with blonde hair responded. 

“ Why else would they hunt down those wolves?” The plump woman retorted. 

“I’m terrified to let my children play out in the meadow…” A dark haired woman commented softly.

“I heard the head Hunter’s son is going to join them.” The blonde continues, practically ignoring the soft spoken woman’s comment.

“Red? Why?” The dark haired woman looked to the blonde.

The blonde glanced to the dark haired woman, “He’s of age now, and soon to be married to that seamstress. It’s tradition for a young hunter to kill a wolf and present it to his bride.” 

“I doubt the young miss would even want it. She’s such a strange girl, always speaking up for those nasty wolves.” The plump woman simply shook her head and waved her friends off before she carried on about her day. 

Night was approaching and the hunters began to mount their horses and the dogs began to scent the cold winter air. A young woman with bright red hair, brown hazel eyes, freckles across nose, fair skin, and cheeks with plump red lips, walked briskly towards one of the hunters. She was dressed in a simple dark green dress with a brown cloak. A tall young man who stood out against the white snow and dark village in bright red. The woman hides behind a dwelling before she calls out to the hunter.

“Red!” The woman besieges, her hand waving him to come to her when he turned at the sound of her voice and call of his name. He quickly excuses himself from the group of hunters.

The young hunter was tall, with short dirty blonde hair, sun kissed skin and piercing light blue eyes. He was dressed in a white shirt with a black leather vest, dark brown pants and black boots. A sword at his side, hidden beneath a dark red cloak. He smiles as he approaches the woman’s hiding place.

“Luara, come to see me off?” The man smiled with a light chuckle. Luara only whispered in distress. Her hand clutching his arm tightly.

“You must promise me not to kill any of the wolves. They are only hungry. The livestock are the only source of food they have found in weeks.” Her eyes locked on Red’s blue ones.

With a sigh Red nodded his head. “I already swore to you I would never kill a wolf. As your wedding gift remember?”   

Luara relaxed before she offered him a smile. “Thank you, I shall see you at dawn?” 

The young hunter nods his head before he turns his head when he hears his father call for him. “I have to go.” He presses a kiss to the back of Luara’s hand before he smiles and rejoins his group. 

“Travel safe!” Luara waves goodbye as her fiancé mounted his horse and left the village. 

The hunt did not last long, the hunters found the wolf’s den within four hours before slaughtering nearly every wolf in sight. Red had cornered one wolf away from the group. The wolf was a small thing, with dirty brown fur and gold eyes, limping. Whining in pain, almost pleading to be spared. The young hunter kept his promise. The wolf ran free as the young hunter only watched it escape before he returned to the group of hunters who cheered in victory before making their way back to the village. Red smiled, he would be able to surprise his bride with his early return. He would arrive a few hours before the first morning light reached the peaks of the snowy mountains.

When the hunters arrived, Red quickly dismounted his horse and made his way to his bride’s dwelling. A bright smile on his face as her small hut came into view. He paused for a moment at a strange sound coming from inside the hut. From the window, he could see the candle had not been blown out. Frowning in concern, he walked towards the window to peer inside, the sounds growing louder. What he saw, shattered his heart. 

Inside, was Luara laying on a blanket next to the fireplace, her skirt lifted above her waist, a young man moaning on top of her. The man looked familiar to Red. Dirty blond hair and sun kissed skin. It was his younger brother. Red tore his eyes away when Luara’s eyes met his from her place on the ground. A gasp escaped her from her lips. Red stormed away, his cloak billowing behind him. 

Without a word he mounted his horse and speeded off into the forest. The other hunters watched in confusion before the cries of Luara turned their attention. She was running after Red. 

Red wandered the forest for hours, the sun had dawned and the young hunter had tracked down his prey. The wolf from before. Laying exhausted against a boulder. Red approached the wounded animal, his heart ached at the sight of it. It would not survive without its pack. Kill it would be a mercy more than anything now. The wolf’s ear lay flat against its head, growling softly. Red’s blood had cooled from his rage, he kneeled beside the wolf, who’s breath was labored. The young hunter removed his glove, and gently stroked the wolf’s pelt. The wolf calmed, laying its head down before it’s eyes closed. The wolf knew it was dying. The young hunter removed his hand, the wolf opened its eyes and simply stared at Red, watching in silent acceptance when Red pulled out a dagger from the holster strapped to his thigh. The wolf looked to Red’s eyes, blinking slowly before closing them. 

For what seemed like hours, Luara finally found Red. Stopping in her tracks as her eyes landed on the dead wolf Red was kneeling in front of, and the bloody dagger discarded on the white snow. Luara screamed in fury. 

“How could you!?” Luara pushed the hunter out of the way, falling to the ground as she lifted the wolf to her lap. Tears streamed down her eyes. She glared at Red. “It was innocent!” 

“It was dying, I merely put it out of its misery.” Red spoke softly. Exhausted as he walked to his horse. 

“How dare you-”

“How dare I?! How dare you?!” Red shouted as he turned back to face the woman who he believed loved him. “You could have laid with any other man, yet you laid with my own brother?! We were engaged! I loved you!”

“Is this how you prove to me you loved me?! By killing the one creature I begged you not to!” She scoffed as she rose to her bare bloody feet. Her eyes glaring at the man. 

Red gave a dry laugh. “No, it’s to show you our engagement is over.” 

“So this was your petty revenge?! Killing a wolf.”

“You want the truth?! At first it was, but I knew I could never bring myself to go through with it!” Red motioned to the dead wolf. “But when I saw it, it was half dead by the time I got to it! It wouldn’t have survived without a pack or the winter with it’s wounds! Killing it was a mercy!”  

Luara only laughed mockingly, her hands clutching her stomach. “A mercy?!” 

Red only glared. “We’re done.” He spoke firmly. Decision made. 

“Oh, we’re not finished. Don’t you turn your back on me Red.” Luara’s eyes flashed green. 

“Watch me.” Red called over his shoulder, the wind blowing harshly against him. He paused when he heard Luara speak again. Looking behind him, his eyes widened as a green light emitted from the palm of her hand.

“Lupine blood spilt upon the snow,

Grip his heart under this moon,  

Become the beast that you so loathed,

May your bones break and shatter, 

your blood boil, 

And yours screams turn to howls”  

Red fell to his knees, a searing pain burned on his chest, his eyes wide in panic as he lifted his shirt to see a large black spot turn into the shape of a wolf. The black wolf’s head was on his left breast, its jaws full of teeth began to close slowly, his heart felt like it was being crushed in the wolf’s jaws. He couldn’t breath. He looked to Luara, a witch. “Luara!” his weakly called. He fell to his side as he clutched his chest in agony. He couldn’t hear the rest of the words 

“-and shall you hunt the ones who hunted your kin,

Forever alone.”  The witch carried on with her chanting, ignoring the hunter before the wind stopped. Red panted heavily and the pain stopped. He looked to the woman. “Wha- what did you do to me?” he voice croaked. 

“I could’ve done worse but think of this as a mercy.” She sneered before she kicked him to his back. “You should be thankful. You are the first of your kind, I used only the best and most powerful magic.” She smiled. “Nothing on earth can break this spell.” She turned to his horse, mounted it. Clicking her tongue as the horse walked next to Red. 

“Goodbye beloved. I hope your life is full of pain.” The witch rode away. 

Red spent the remainder of the day laying in the same spot, unconscious. He woke around dusk, and staggered in the forest, trying to find his way back home. When the moon rose, Red collapsed to the forest floor and screamed. 

Back at the village, everyone shuddered in fear at the sound of the most terrifying howl. Rumors spread about the wolf eating the young hunter and his bride. Neither were ever seen again. The Shaman declared that it was the wolf’s cry of revenge. And every month, when the moon was full, it was the time of the wolf. 

 1000 years later. 

There were meadows full of the most beautiful flowers, and mountains which surrounded the village that live at the edge of the woods. But there was a danger in these woods, the villagers were tormented by a wolf. And after many nights of the wolf sneaking into the village and slaughtering the livestock, the villagers grew tired and on a dark winter night, a group of hunters went into the forest. The fresh snow made tracking the wolf easy, the howling also made certain the wolf was nearby. But the sound of an infant’s wailing in the night, in the middle of the woods drew the attention of the hunters. They searched every bush, turned every stone until at last, the leader of the hunters, Royce, a large, strong and resourceful man with brown locks, brown eyes and tanned skin, found the child near a patch of rose bushes that shouldn’t be in bloom in the middle of winter. He crouches down, gently picking up the child who had fair skin, black hair with streaks of red, and sapphire blue eyes, into his arms. 

“Who would leave a child on this cold night?” 

Royce silently looks at the necklace on the baby's neck, a ruby set in antlers. “We may never know, but I will not leave her to die. We must go back.”

“But what about the wolf?”

He looked to the villager, “We will return for it tomorrow, tonight we return to the village.” Then promptly walks back the way he came without another word.

As the villagers traveled home, they discussed who would take in the child, but Royce and his wife had only just taken in a daughter the past moon, and would be able to care for the child. When the group of hunters returned to the village, they separated to their homes. Royce knocks on the door to his home. The light was still on. And the chimney had smoke.

Within the comforting home of the couple, a kind and gentle young woman, Erinna, with long brown hair, blue eyes and fair skin sat in front of the fire. In her arms she gently cradled the child that she and her husband had taken in, a baby girl with fair skin, light golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes was wrapped in a blanket that matched her eye color. Erinna stood from the chair that she sat in as she heard a knock on the door. Having an inkling in her gut that it was her husband, which was surprising given it was quite early in hours of the night for the hunters to return. Walking to the door with the babe still in her arms, she opens it.

Royce entered his home, putting down his bow but adjusting the bundle in his arms. Erinna quickly closed the door, her attention drawn to the bundle he was carrying. “What has happened...?”

“See for yourself.”  He lays the bundle on the table. And pushes it towards his wife.

Erinna gently places the sleeping baby girl on the chair in which she was previously sitting in, before joining her husband once again. She moves the cloth of the bundle away, her blue eyes widening as she gasps, placing a hand in front of her mouth. 

Recovering, she moves the bundle a bit further away and gently places a hand upon the little one’s cheek. “Poor thing… she’s freezing.” 

“I found her in the forest. No sign of her mother. The wolf would’ve gotten to her had I left her.”

“Her mother must be worried sick.” She shakes her head. “But no matter for now. I’m just relieved the wolf hadn’t reached her.”

Royce nodded his head slowly. “The hunters thought it best that we take her in until the villagers decided what to do with her.”

“I suppose that is for the best. We are already looking after one little girl,” She looks to her husband, “And you know I wouldn’t want to leave her if it means that I could help.” 

“That is why I brought her here. We will look for the wolf tomorrow, or look for any sign of her parents.”

“I wonder what could’ve happened for her to be left alone like this…” 

“Food. For the wolves. Where is Cassandra?” He looks around the hut.

Erinna simply walks over to the comfortable chair that she had placed Cassandra briefly to keep the baby girl calmly asleep. Gently, she picks the girl back into her arms and cradles her close, careful not to disturb her slumber since the little girl had been previously crying for a bit of time whilst her husband was out with the hunters.

“I’m going to bed. There will be a meeting in the village hall.” He stands to his feet. 

Erinna nods. “Very well. I’ll be up for a few hours till I go to bed. She smiles. “Goodnight.”

The night freezes over, fresh snow covers the ground. In the morning, the villagers all gathered for the meeting. The meeting took hours but it was decided that once the child no longer needed Erinna, the child would be sent to the cottage further out of the village. Once the meeting adjourned, Royce promptly returned home. Erinna was silent as her husband explained what happened at the meeting. She sat in her seat silently, gathering her thoughts.

“What are your thoughts?” He looks to his wife.

Erinna lightly crosses her arms around herself as she sighs. “Honestly...? I don’t know whether or not this is a good idea…” 

“Well... we have her until she can be fed soft foods. So best to make the most of it. It’s not as if she’s being banished. And I’m sure we would be able to see her again.

Erinna sighed in reluctant agreement, “You’re right… I’m allowing my personal feelings to get in the way of my judgement of the matter, but I shall name her.”

Royce raises a brow. “Very well. What, then, shall you name her?”

Erinna Looks to the two baby girls, sound asleep beside each other. Silently pondering for a moment a name to give to the child in question “...You found her by a rosebush, didn't you?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“How about, Rosabella?” She says with a smile as she rubbed the child’s cheek.

The child, named Rosabella, was cared for until she could walk and eat solid foods. When she was one year of age, she was given to the woman who lived on the outskirts of the village. The woman was older than most women of the village, having grey hair and steel grey eyes. Her cottage was surrounded by trees, near a river. To get to her cottage, you would have no choice but to venture into the woods. The years passed by, and Rosabella would go through the woods everyday to return to her grandmother’s cottage with a basket filled with baked sweets or cloth.

[writing-frenzy]

HK Reference Sheet: Spellnail/Witch Doctor Felix of the Snail Tribe

Here we go, a reference sheet for me boi; hope it comes out alright. though there might be a slight spoiler with some of Felix’s abilities for my fic.

Stats:

Intelligence: 8/10

Wisdom: 7/10 

Charisma: (What he thinks:) 3/10 (what it is) 7/10 (Note: takes a hit whenever around Restingglass Mound and Racist Bugs)

Soul: N/A (For reasons)

Spiritual Abilities: 3/10 (Note: Must have at least 6/10 to become a Shaman)

Nail Skills: Master of the Crystal Nail Style (Restingglass Mound), Master of Misting Doubles Nail Style (Misting Mound), Master of the Grass Cutter Style (Evergreen Mound) (Note: To be a Nailsage, one must Master 5 Nail Styles, create your own Arts, and then pass them down.)

Witch Doctor: Accomplished (basically, 10/10)

Spellcasting: 9/10 (At 10/10 can multi-cast; all Gods can do it naturally, the cheats) (Felix is great at casting spells; creating them, not so much)

Family and Friends:

Gemshell and Lime: Mothers

Lute: Older Brother (Eldest)

Green: Older Sister (Middle)

Tale: Youngest Sibling (Still young and doesn’t care yet)    

Ancestral Mound Leader Snail Shaman Fossil (Teacher, Uncle)

Evergreen Mound Leader Snail Shaman Song (Teacher, First Cousin Once Removed) (Note: they are the Overgrown Mound Shaman)

Misting Mound Leader Snail Shaman Mist (Teacher, Great Uncle) (Note: they are the shaman in the Soul Sanctum)

Restingglass Mound Leader Snail Shaman Jade (Teacher, Great Aunt) (Note: they are the Shaman in the Crystal Mound)

Spellcrafter and Shaman Apprentice Lee (Friend)

(Putting the rest under the read more, as this is getting long)

Appearence: Height is about eye level to THK waist, his shell making him appear a little taller. (He is indeed taller then Hornet). His shell is like one of these shells:

Just a creamy white with some grey instead. It doesn’t have a lip, but in the future he will make himself a little visor to help him with that (snails are sensitive to light, some worse then others).

He has wet black skin like all snails, though his is dotted with scars from training accidents and practice from Nail fighting and Potion making. (as well as from an incident when he was young.

Felix has a few regular burns and acid burns along his hands and his arms from that, not to many, as Felix has an incredible healing factor that makes most minor ones disappear fast. Same with Nail scraps, only some of the deeper ones have remained around his legs and torso.(There is one really dark spot over where the top of their chest is, it looks like a really dark blue in some lights if it hits just right.)

Felix wears a green traveling cloak he got while he was in Greenpath, so it is made of a sturdy, waterproof hemp that does have a hood that can cover him. He also has a dark colored messenger like bag with him, which carries all his things on his journey. He now wears two silk-like bands around both his arms, covering two glowing tattoos gifted by the Pale King and the White Lady.

He also has a staff made from bone wood, a pale colored wood that can be harder then bone at times, it has been carved at the top in a shape of a curved spiral, almost like a shell but more jagged. It’s end is nail sharp, and usually died a color from poison that rests on the end, giving it a darker coloring there as well as a slight smell, depending on just what poison was applied. 

It can also detach into two pieces, as well as reattached, allowing Felix to fight with two weapons in hand.

Well, that is all I can think to be honest: hope you all enjoy reading about my boi!