#unheard of outside of That Particular Sphere

[bogkeep]

i don't know how to fully articulate this but it makes me a little sad every time a video essayist or podcaster just Assumes their audience has Obviously Heard About X and doesn't bother to explain who or what that is... like of course not everything's gotta cater To Me but like let's assume i DO live under a rock (or rather: i'm autistic and european) and have never heard of this musician and have no idea what place they hold in popular media. ok thank you please continue with your essay

[sonicasura]

The “cables” were definitely integral to the spaceship’s operating systems. Gradually, the yellow glow of—data? power?—something fed into the lower levels of here. Whatever was being transferred around was doing it at a near glacial pace. This transfer was integral yet somehow separate from the usual operating system. Maybe alien programming? Pen noticed an uptick in wild Digimon yet otherwise it seemed to be mostly consistent with Rookies.

Another development was Bluff ducking back in from defense duty to show her loot: tiny blue crystals. Her inventory couldn’t make heads or tails about it so they were still stuck waiting for the translation program to come in.

The blue crystals were sorta bioluminescent?

Also, explosive.

Bluff kept her mildly updated as the handsized crystals kept dropping from defeated Digimon.

.

.

.

Ion returned with the scans, although they seemed vaguely proud of something else they managed to collect. It looked like another crystal though glowing like a LED light. A cyrstal incased in a metal sphere. Weird.

In addition to the scans of several Vehicons and a winged cybertronian, she was finally starting to understand what she’s working with. The cry—Data Core in particular helped out greatly as it had much more cybertronian data.

“Did you steal this from the outside world or scan it?” Pen couldn’t help asking, as the data continued to form into what was essentially a processor scan blueprint. “Were you detected?”

“[…The being who this belonged to is not functional enough to lament it. This unit exercised secrecy, Leader.]” They reported back to the cyber sleuth in their typical monotone.

Pen sighed at the lacking elaboration, but knew this was just how the Hagurumon spoke. They would know if they had been caught.

“Alright, then. Good job, Ion.”

——————————

He was really confused.

One moment he felt Screamer’s claws run through his spark chamber (and thought that this was the end)… The next? His systems were blaring at him about a powerful virus and then he wasn’t in pain anymore. Cliffjumper had experienced all kinds of nasty infections as an Autobot—some were biological weapons made by the Cons! Still, something that took the edge off pain through the spark chamber was unheard of. Decepticons weren’t that merciful.

An even more confusing thing was that he heard someone talking—scans rippled around him making him realize he wasn’t in his frame. It felt perceptive yet not entirely invasive toward him. Wasn’t exactly pleasant to experience his entire self being scanned.

“Could probably use this as Eater bait in a pinch.”

That was English.

Cliffjumper really wondered where he was…

—Ion essentially took everything involving the Autobot’s spark, including the casing in his frame back with them into cyberspace. They are fully aware that they essentially kidnapped someone. Hence, the vague wording.

If Digimon can drop real world gems, then wild Digimon based on Cybertronian programming can drop Energon. It’s only human finger sized crystal yet could add up fast.

Pen is gonna freak the fuck out when they realize this is a Spark. Like potential bait definitely goes through checks by Hudiemon or Mirei. I just say someone familiar with Transformers to see the Spark and explain to their companion that essentially kidnapped a Cybertronian.

[klonoadreams]

Okay I have 3 questions for your Into the Wild thing because I have hyperfocused and read all of it including the tumblr posts in one night.

1) Can Akari mimic an alpha’s call? Like. Can she change pitch when she mimics the noises? Because imagine there’s someone just out trying to get crunchy salt and they hear her and Miyuki on either side and they’re just like OH FUCK

2) Wh. Where did Akari get her zoroark pelts I need to know

3) The baby riolu that eventually appears- will they have any physical traits from their mother? Markings or extra floof or anything? Will any zorua from them get, idk, spikes when they evolve? I am curious how you do Pokémon hybrids

Also pokemon who have friendship evolutions that exist in the wild I am pretty sure canonically exist bc those can happen when they befriend other Pokémon and I’m very happy about this knowledge and needed to share

ALRIGHT, i've been meaning to answer this ask but couldn't find the energy to do so until now, SO.

She doesn't have the same pitch, but the intensity is there enough that it really doesn't matter if it's not the same pitch as an Alpha. Can still scare the shit out of people though.

Ginkgo Guild. Miyuki can and will rummage through Ginkgo Guild merchandise for Punch Baby Akari, and the Ginkgo Guild effectively lets it happen because it's better than pissing off an Alpha Hisuian Zoroark. The pelts were part of that, since it's always best to make the most out of the things you find in the wild, like say, a dead Hisuian Zoroark, whose pelt would fetch a pretty penny on the market. :V So yeah, no need to worry. The Zoroark was already dead (old age/sickness, something like that). Mama Miyuki just decided to take back what she feels was hers (even if the Zoroark in particular was no one she recognized - she feels that it would be best for Akari to have it).

Pokemon Hybrids do exist, but my headcanon for them is that they are VERY rare. So it's not something that often happens. Like, the chances are pretty rare, that it's pretty much unheard of (especially during this time in Hisui, where everyone is afraid to get too close to them or really do anything out of the norm, like cross breeding) You're less likely to see anything that drastic, beyond maybe some markings or colorations that can be chalked up as an outside influence, in the same way Akari's been getting influenced by being around Tetsuya and Miyuki (her fangs and eventual markings - like with Coco and Zarude). And also just random chance, because Mama Miyuki is deviating from her own coloration as she grows into her Alpha size. (you're more likely to see a hybrid in Also-Ran, with how busy Dante the Grimmsnarl and Bayonetta the Hatterene are, with their massive number of children - goth Hatenna anyone? lmaooo)

Friendship evos do exist in the wild, most definitely, because it's all about that friendship and if not that, I have a headcanon that extreme duress or dure situations can sometimes force an evolution to happen (even in the case where it normally requires a stone, trade, item - whatever, because how else do these fuckers evolve naturally in the wild?????). Still worth noting that, at everyone's current catching level, it would be far easier to go after the pre-evolved state of the friendship evolution, because would you rather dead with a possible Petal Dance and poison spikes from a Roselia? Or spores from a Budew?

(frankly, I'd choose the Budew, and I'd also choose to nab a Riolu over a very angy Lucario that can Aura Sphere me on sight - which is how I caught Tetsuya as a Riolu during my gameplay lmaooo)

(sorry, just wanted to share that, because it's still so funny how I was throwing balls at a Lucario, and then told him to fuck off when he wouldn't stay in the ball before throwing a ball at a nearby Riolu that actually LET me catch him)

[toraodwaterlaw]

An End and a Beginning

Having survived Minion, Rosinante is reassigned to East Blue, where he and Law will start their new lives. 1700 words, CoraLives!Au, mild hurt/comfort, found family

-

“I’m ready.”

Law was seated on his bed, a full length mirror in front of him and a scalpel in his right hand. Neither was strictly necessary- neither the mirror nor the scalpel- but he insisted they helped. He really only needed to feel out the lead with his powers, not to see anything, but Rosinante could understand how weird it would feel to work blind, more or less. That he could still operate with everything flipped in the mirror only proved what a remarkable doctor he might have been had life been less cruel. Perhaps he still would be. Rosinante certainly hoped. Law would have his whole life ahead of him once this was finally over.

As for the scalpel, well, apparently it worked as a sort of focus for the Ope-Ope to work through. It made Rosinante wince, made the whole thing seem more like a normal operation, but it was infinitely preferable to the sword Law had first suggested using. Apparently the boy already had ideas on how he might use the Devil Fruit to fight. Rosinante had to draw the line at practicing that on himself. It was bad enough Law had to operate on himself.

“Ready,” Rosinante repeated. He nodded and looked down at Law a moment more. He wouldn’t stay. He never did, not after the first time. Law insisted that it didn’t hurt but Rosinante couldn’t bear to see him like that. It looked too close to dying even if it was more like the opposite. “Right. I’ll be guarding the front door like always. Just right out there,” he said, knowing all the while it was more a reassurance to himself than to Law who was seemingly unfazed by the whole process. “If you need me, all you have to do is call for me.”

Law rolled his eyes. “I know, Cora-san.” He waved the scalpel in his hand menacingly. “Now get out of here. You’re distracting.”

Rosinante nodded and promptly tripped over his own feet on the way to the door. He caught himself on the door handle and smiled sheepishly back at Law who only scowled in return. He found his usual seat outside the room with a heavy sigh. One more operation and this would all be behind them.

For as much as he himself had told Law that the fruit wasn’t magic, he’d somehow imagined this would be over with one miraculous wave of the hand. Law would awaken to his new powers, find the lead in his veins and pull it all out in one go. Instead, it had been staggered over the course of weeks. Law had needed to learn how to use his powers and then they’d both found just how much energy it all took. The real delay came, Rosinante would admit, had come at his own insistence. He hadn’t been around for the first attempts at operating, since he’d been held up on Minion while Law went ahead to Swallow. Law himself had been tight lipped about how that had gone but from what he’d gathered from the other boys that had been there, there had been blood loss. Just how much he’d never know. In his opinion, any was too much. 

Rosinante shook his head to get that particular image out of his head. He patted down his pockets until he found his cigarettes. He flicked at his lighter with a trembling thumb and nearly caught his hair instead of the cigarette with the resulting flame. He sucked in deep and let out a long, smoke filled breath. His eyes slid closed. He needed to focus on the positive. This would all be over soon. Already, life was coming back with a flush in Law’s skin. It would be a while before the patches in his skin would be gone completely but sunny Windmill Village was doing a lot to help vitality along. Law was healing. They both were.

He’d have to find a way to thank Sengoku and Garp. Maybe he’d just send food and drink along under the guise of souvenirs. At least Garp was likely to accept. Sengoku was still pretending that sending a Marine Commander to such an out of the way posting was a punishment. Rosinante knew, though, just how many strings the Fleet Commander likely had pulled to get him here. As important as the rulers of the Goa Kingdom might consider themselves, they didn’t really merit a strong naval presence.

“I’m done.”

The voice was quiet and weak enough that he nearly didn’t hear it but he was on his feet in an instant. He gripped the wall to keep upright and then stumbled in through the door. Law was seated just as he’d been before. If Rosinante didn’t know any better, he’d think nothing had happened. He did know better, though.

“Done? All done?”

“That’s what I said, you stupid clown,” came the expected reply. There wasn’t nearly as much bite in the insult as there once had been. Law fell back onto his bed. Rosinante took a worried step forward before he saw the smile on Law’s face. “But yeah, it’s all done. Not a trace of lead left.”

Of the two of them, Rosinante had most definitely been the more optimistic one about this whole process. Yet, here he was, unable to quite believe it. The past weeks had been so hard and the six months before that had been harder still. It felt impossible that they’d both survived it all and now would get to simply get on with their lives.

Law opened one golden eye and fixed it on Rosinante. “You think I’m lying to make you feel better or something?”

Rosinante gaped. The forgotten cigarette dropped from his mouth. He stomped it out with a yelp before anything was burnt. “No!” he insisted. “It’s just—”

How could he explain? But Law was smart. He got it even without words.

The boy sat up. “See for yourself.” He extended a hand and was surrounded in a sphere of shimmering blue. “Scan.”

That blue light intensified and shone in a path that followed the careful sweep of Law’s hand. Rosinante knew from previous experience exactly what Law was showing him. There was nothing. No lead. No lingering illness.

Rosinante’s face split into a wide smile. He could see Law biting back on a smile of his own as he threw himself back down into the bed.

“Told you, idiot. I thought you crammed that fruit down my throat because you believed in my medical skills.”

“I did. I do! But after everything…”

“Yeah. I know.” Law chewed on his lip and a complicated expression crossed his face. Whatever it was about, when it passed, there was only a smile left in its place. “I might’ve scanned three or four times before I called you in. Just to be really sure.”

“But it’s over.”

“It’s over.”

How many times would they have to repeat that before either of them believed it?

Law had let his eyes drift shut again. Rosinante took the opportunity to really look at him. He wondered what changes the next months and years would bring. Law was still rather small for his age. Rosinante knew he was hardly the best judge given he was, as Law would point out, rather larger than average himself, but the boy hardly had the look of someone on the cusp of adolescence. Hopefully without the constant strain on his body, he would be able to catch up with where he should be. Perhaps he’d never be as tall or as bulky as he might have been but only time would tell. Rosinante chose to hope for the best.

And then there was his skin. Amber Lead Syndrome was blessedly unheard of all the way out in a rural corner of East Blue but Rosinante knew Law was still self conscious. Every curious look or question about the white patches made him pull into himself. Although the people of Windmill Village had overall been very kind and accepting, Law would undoubtedly be more comfortable when his skin was clear of any lingering paleness.

Rosinante’s heart swelled thinking of that future. Maybe Law would start to open up more, find friends even. He knew Garp’s grandkids were about somewhere. And that was only the start of it. Law was smart, he was strong, and now he was healthy. The future was practically limitless.

Rosinante threw himself into the bed next to Law, causing the boy to bounce up into the air with a yelp.

“Oi! Watch what you’re doing, you giant oaf.”

Rosinante could only smile. He ruffled a fond hand through Law’s unruly black hair. “We should start looking at what medical training is available. There might not be anything somewhere so out of the way but there’s plenty of time. We can find you the best training. Go anywhere you want.”

Law rolled his eyes. “Give me a few seconds to breathe, would you? I only just finished getting rid of the lead and you’re already planning out my entire future.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll try not to get carried away. But…” Rosinante hesitated. He knew this was a sensitive subject given all the time Law had spent convinced he was going to die. Still, the boy needed to start looking ahead at some point. “Have you thought at all what you might want to do now?”

Law was silent a moment and Rosinante thought he had perhaps pushed too far. Then Law smiled. “I was thinking…” Rosinante propped himself up onto his elbows and waited. Law’s smile only grew. “Maybe I’ll become a pirate.”

Rosinante’s eyes widened. “What?” He swatted at Law, only to be easily dodged as Law hopped over him and off the bed. “You brat! You aren’t going to be a pirate.”

Law threw back his head and laughed as he continued to dance out of Rosinante’s reach. It was a boisterous, youthful thing that the blond couldn’t help but love the sound of. Law was still a brat. He would probably always be a bit of a shit but there would really be time ahead for him to grow. Mature. There was finally a future that both of them could see and Rosinante couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment whether that included Law turning pirate or doing anything else he might imagine.

[helloecoleglobale]

The Dangers of Cliques for Teens

The Dangers of Cliques for Teens

 When people think about cliques, they usually assume that they're comprised of the popular children in the class. However, cliques exist on each level of the social ladder. And typically the most controlling and harmful cliques are those that don't seem to be on anyone's radar.

 To outsiders, the group feels like a cross-sectional of friends that enjoy time along. However, there are some telltale signs of cliques. As an example, cliques discourage outside friendships, thrive on one person being the decision-maker and are shaped with peer pressure. They conjointly consist of unhealthy friendships and pose some serious dangers to teens. Here are the greatest five dangers of cliques.

 Cliques Limit a Teen's Social Circle

When children are in a lot, they sometimes don't socialize outside of their group. They are doing everything together. From feeding lunch along to attending social events, these children are inseparable. And barely can they invite somebody new to spend time with them. There are several boarding schools in India and not all can provide a growing environment for your child.

 To some people, the group sounds like a tightly knit group of friends. They need similar interests and enjoy spending time together. The issues arise once others are not welcome to hitch or hang around with the group. What's more, in cliques, it's usually frowned upon for a member of the group to possess friends in different groups. The expectation is that to belong to any group; friendships are exclusive to the group. If somebody within the group will stray from the group, they're quickly ostracized.

 This excessive closeness is dangerous for teens as a result of they're not meeting new people or increasing their sphere of friendships. Remember, the healthiest children have friends in different social circles with a range of various interests. Never encourage your children to stay with only one cluster of friends, however instead encourage them to branch out and meet new people.

 Cliques and Peer Pressure coexist

It is nearly unheard of for a clique to exist while not some peer pressure. From pressures to exclude others and dress a definite manner, to pressures thus far solely certain people, teens in cliques are pressured to be and act a definite manner so as to belong. Even additional extreme pressures like binge drinking or maintaining a particular weight, are prevalent in cliques.

 If you discover that your kid feels pressured to behave in a very positive manner to be accepted by her friends, then you would like to require a better look at who she is hanging out with. Remember, controlling and unhealthy friends are not able to accept the fact that members of the group might need completely different thoughts, concepts or preferences. If your child's friends don't appreciate her for who she is, then they're not healthy friends.

 Cliques create Bullies and Mean girls Brave

There is power in numbers, and once teens belong to cliques, they feel authorized to do things they would not otherwise do. As a result, they're more seemingly to interact in rumors and gossip as well as name-calling. They are additional apparently to form fun of other people and bully those that don't fit with the ideals of their group.

 Cliques can also cause cyberbullying. Teens within the group assume their friends have their back and can have interaction in cyberbullying others more freely. Meanwhile, members of their group often "like," "favorite" and "share" their mean posts, and it will increase their status in the group.

 Cliques Lack of Authentic Friendships

When teens belong to cliques, there's little probability that there are any real friendships within the group. Usually, group members are additionally involved in maintaining their status within the group than they're about really getting to understand someone.

 They obsess over who is mad at whom and who invited whom to the latest event. What's more, teens in cliques are usually too busy managing the dynamics of the group to share who they are with others. Most of their time and energy is spent on following the group's rules and people-pleasing.

 Cliques Keep Teens From Discovering who They Are

If your kid is a member of the clique, it'll hinder her self-discovery and impact her self-esteem. Though it's going to seem comforting for your kid to hang out with the same children all the time, it will produce problems over time, especially if the group evolves into a lot.

 If you notice that your kid looks more anxious or unsure of herself; otherwise, you realize that she queries where she stands along with her friends, you would like to pay attention. Cliques damage a person's sense of identity. No longer can your teenage have a clear understanding of her likes and dislikes but instead will go together with the group. She might even struggle along with her moral compass because the pressure to belong will increase.

 Be sure you're encouraging your teenage to broaden her circle of friends. Whereas it's wonderful to possess a few close friends, it may be dangerous too, particularly if one or more friends within the group prefer to dominate or control the decisions. Remember, the most effective friendships are people who are accepting of who your teenage is while not trying to change her or control her.

 This article is contributed by Ecole Globale International School.

[cometeclipsewriting]

Strowlers

Season 1: Episode 1

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Summary: In a world where magic is both real and illegal, a librarian tries to help protect a young girl discovering her powers, while her girlfriend makes a device that helps to find unregistered magic users.

Full video episode can be found for free here!

You want the truth? I think the old magic found it’s way back into our world in a dream.

Just a dream. Nothing more.

***

A typical grey Seattle sky spread unbroken over the Yesler Branch of the Seattle Public Library. Birds sang in the trees of the old neighborhood, plants green and lush from moderate summer rains. From the early morning quiet, a young woman strode up the brick walkway of the library, dancing slightly to music playing through her headphones. She bopped and swayed as she paused. Coming strong or weak, stand and face your equal, and we’ll turn this world around. SJ Tucker was a goddess.

Whit smiled as she moved to the new album her girlfriend had surprised her with. Amanda didn’t always get her taste, but she made the effort to try. Even though it was Amanda’s big week. Her presentation should be starting any time now. Whit made a face, a bad taste growing in her mouth at just the thought of A.R.C. That soulless organization. Thankfully Amanda wasn’t like the Preceptors; she was a beloved professor and a skilled researcher.

Shaking away her pall, Whit pulled her silver compact from her backpack, checking herself. Her bright yellow beanie rested on her tight ringlets and small braids, framing an oval face. Only a little eyeliner and mascara used to enhance the dark brown of her eyes and scattered little moles. In the circle of the mirror, her smile was hidden, reflected eyes serious and masked. This was her ritual, she supposed. With a snap she closed the compact and slipped it back into place. Collected and settled, she walked up the steps to the library.

“Hey, Pepper,” Whit flashed a smile to her boss, the small woman already at work behind her computer. “Where should I start today?” She slipped into her shared desk space, quickly logging in. Their desks were in the entrance to the open foyer, Pepper’s lovely smile and incredible depth of knowledge ready to aid any knowledge seekers. Whit had been a librarian for a while, but she fully acknowledged that she had a long way to go to catch up to Pepper’s knowledge.

Pepper straightened, her bangle bracelet clinking softly as she brushed her hair from her face. “Hey, sugar.” Her smile lit up her timeless beauty with a welcoming glow. “Maybe get the holds started?”

“Sure thing,” Whit slipped her badge over her head, fluffing her hair out from under the lanyard and started towards the task.

“Oh,” Pepper pulled her attention back, “You still want to take the first story time today?”

Whit smiled crookedly and reached down into her backpack and pulled out a worn book, the binding fraying and pages well loved. Another gift from Amanda, from when they had first started dating. A lucky and rare find from Twice Sold Tales, she had been told. “Got it covered.” Reading aloud was one of Whit’s favorite jobs at the library, she almost always volunteered to adopt silly voices and encourage the kids to play. Plus, she and the regulars had been slowly working their way through the unusual collection encased within the pages.

“Fairy tales,” Pepper’s blue eyes went distant for a moment, a memory taking her away. Whit always bit back the urge to ask where she went in these moments. Pepper certainly had more wisdom, more history, than anyone she had met before. But she never asked; delving into other’s lives wasn’t something she did. They might want to return the favor.

Pepper’s smile broadened again, eyes crinkling in genuine warmth. “Always an excellent choice. Children always need some truth in their world.”

Whit nodded and faked a smile, turning to get to work. Very seldomly were fairy tales truth. She would have magic if it were.

“The Goldfinch and the Magic Mirror.” Whit sat on the floor of the second level, holding up a book to display the detailed illustrations to the gathered children, reading aloud in a dramatic voice. “A bird catcher’s daughter was checking traps along a stream and found a goldfinch ensnared. As the girl was about to drop the bird into her bag, it spoke. ‘Human child, show me mercy. My family will starve if I can’t fly home to feed them.’”

The children were entranced, eyes trained on the librarian, mouths slightly parted in concentration to reveal missing and pre-braces teeth. Their wriggles of childhood were settled into crossed legs, one little girl held her bracelets over her eyes, imagination glasses to better see the story unfolding. Parents sat in comfortable chairs around the outside of the circle, listening in relaxed detachment.

“’Free me, and I will show you a secret wonder.’” Whit paused her narrative and looked at the children, lifting an eyebrow in question. “Should she do it?”

Immediately hands shot up, waving in eagerness to be picked for such an important task. Whit suppressed the smile that tried to break through, keeping to the gravity of the moment. She pointed to one of the little boys in front, “Omar.”

His grin grew bigger, and he nodded emphatically, “Yes!”

“Really?” Whit drew out the word, “Do you all think she should do it?” Chimes of mostly agreement came from the diverse little crowd, but there was one who shook her head in a silent no.

Whit whispered mysteriously, “Let’s see.” She turned back to the old book. “The girl was very curious and loved to have secrets to keep from her sisters.” A few giggles from sympathetic siblings floated through the air. “So, she let the bird go. Away it flew, as fast as it could, deep into the forest. ‘Wait!’ the girl cried, ‘wait for me!’ The bird fluttered from oak to elm, and the forest grew dark and menacing.”

Unseen to all but one pair of young eyes, the library started to darken, a purple mist creeping into life around the sitting storyteller and her audience. “A wind rose and chilled the girl’s skin,” leaves rolled down the aisles of books, their rustling unheard except for by little ears. “And in the distance, she could hear the howl of wolves.” Shadows of branches moved along the ceiling, chilling howls underlying Whit’s voice.

Whit continued on, adopting a frightened tone, “Oh little goldfinch, I-I’m scared. I wanna go home.” An indigo light highlighted the young face, her only betrayal of her ability to see the forest from the story was in the flickering of wary eyes. She slowly took in the new surroundings and to the children bound by the magic of the story. Omar in particular; his eyes fixated on the book. “The bird stopped and looked at her, its eyes dark and cold. ‘How can I show you wonder if you are afraid of the forest,’ it said.”

To the girl, they were no longer in the library building. Bookshelves faded into the depths of a forest, becoming more translucent with each passing word. The carpet melted into leaves and twigs, little mysterious lights flickering and heavy shadows moving in the distance. Yet none of the others saw what she did.

Whit’s voice deepened in urgency, “’You must run now, night is falling, and the wolves are on the hunt!’”

***

The clinical beep of machines was the loudest noise in the sterile room. A man, his antiseptic clothing inline with the room, was strapped into a specialized chair. Chest, wrists and ankles bound tight. On either side of his temples, the machine waited.

The man sat patiently, anticipation and trepidation mixing as he awaited the next step of his career. It was finally time for his Focusing. Rubber clad hands went to the metal collar around Recruit 291’s neck, the locking mechanism opening for the technician, and she removed it for the first time since it had been put on.

Immediately his magic was released, exploding from suppressed energy into all the rooms surrounding him. Monitors fizzled, warnings displayed of the danger of the psychodynamic breach. But it was expected, the facilities built for just such occurrences, and the technician continued with her work.

“Oh god,” he whispered, fear and awe roiling. A smile vied with terror, eyes flickering around the scenery his magic transported to him. A forest, deep and varied, with life and secrets. His throat caught, the fear leaving him as he knew it again. Knew the magic. No more theoretical study of his power, no more memories of what it had been like before the collar had been placed on him. Now he saw it, felt it down to his soul.

Joy and sorrow rose twofold. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered through his trembling smile, tears springing to his eyes. And knew that he would never feel either duality again.

Separated by a mirror in an adjoining room, two men in A.R.C. suits stood motionless. Dispassionately, they observed the emotional man, feeling the energy strain from him and cause the high-tech electronics to crackle and blink. The smaller of the two looked to his senior to decide how to handle the situation.

Behind both, a woman stood back against the wall, uncomfortable and slightly frightened. But she made no sound, mute as she observed the path her future would lead her to. She touched slightly trembling fingers to her lips and breathed deeply.

Decisively, the senior member reached out towards the window, his hand making a grasping motion in the air. On the other side of the glass, the magic faded until only a little sphere remained as the arcanologist exerted control over it. The suppression was enough to snap Recruit 291 out of his emotions. He calmed, still watching what was revealed before him.  “I see a door opening,” he panted, concentrating. “A forest. A library. It’s all the library.”

The technician came back to him, a mouthguard in hand, protection for the procedure he is about to go through. His emotions got the better of him, the importance of what he saw making him struggle with his confinement, pushing himself as far from her as possible. His determined gaze locked onto the man suppressing his chaotic magic. “Director Rodrigo. It’s a Level Five anomaly. At the Yessler library.”

No hint of reaction crossed the Preceptor’s face nor pulled at the scars at his temples. He remained as he was, hand held out. But the woman behind him blanched, her skin paling even more. And around her throat, her utilitarian collar blinked rhythmically blue.

The smaller man, Director Rodrigo, pulled out an old-fashioned walkie, calmly relaying the message. “Code 37. Yessler library.”

In the room, Recruit 291 calmed, accepted the mouthguard and his future.

***

A few short minutes later, men in SWAT gear, rifles at the ready marched into the library. The white logo of A.R.C. was stamped onto the black of their left shoulder. Leading the team, an arcanologist strode in boldly, his uniform proclaiming to everyone who he was. An Enforcer. A witchhunter. He halted between the front desks, an intimidation tactic with his armed men. Behind the desk, one of Whit’s coworkers froze, terror on his face, and he shrunk down into his chair. Silence followed them; everyone knew to stay out of A.R.C.’s way. But Pepper stood instead, noiselessly watching as the arcanologist took a moment, waiting for something. The feel of magic being worked. A moment later he caught it, and he slowly looked up to the second level, arching a finger towards the ceiling. His men moved out, bringing rifles to their shoulders and quietly moving towards the stairs. An overweight cop tried to blend with the group, his hand on his gun. He was there for protocol, supposedly the higher authority, but everyone knew that A.R.C. were the ones who were really in control. The Enforcer swept wide, eyes creeping dispassionately over Pepper, his scars stark on sallow temples, and dismissed her, falling in with his team.

Upstairs, Whit continued to read from her fairy tales, “The girl ran and ran, but the bird flew further ahead of her.”

Pepper’s worried expression followed the last of the team disappear around the curve of the stairs. She looked to her employee, saw his terrified state, and she slipped from behind her desk to follow their path.

“Now she could hear the wolves making tracks ever closer, swift and strong.”

The policeman now had his weapon out as well, the armed members of the A.R.C. team crouched and stealthy as they slipped down the aisles of books, heading towards Whit’s voice. And the Enforcer strode forward confidently, he could feel the magical energy of the one they were coming to find.

Pepper slowly ascended the stairs, making sure to stay out of sight, slipping along the shelves she loved. She knew, repeatedly knew, that this would not end happily. She needed to be close by.

“Suddenly,” Whit continued oblivious to the approach, “she broke into a clearing, and there in the very center was the goldfinch, perched on the rim of a small golden mirror.”

To the girl listening, she could see the other children around her, could see Whit and the illustrations of the book. And the forest, the forest spreading wide around them, everyone else disappearing from their sphere. She didn’t know anyone was approaching. Didn’t know that there was someone who could feel the energy of her magic.

“Having sympathy for the girl’s plight, the bird whispered, ‘The wolves only want your body, not your soul.’”

“GET ON THE GROUND!” One of the men shouted at the gathered children, rifle aimed at them.

Immediate chaos exploded. The carefully balanced magic exploded in fragments, as uncontrolled as children's screams. Some fell to the ground, terrified. Others raced to their parents, throwing themselves into arms that had protected them in the past. “Hands above your head!” Lights flickered and popped, wind rustled, and a girl dashed into one of the side aisles, dropping to hide behind the scant protection.

Whit whirled around on her knees, throwing her arms out wide to block as many kids as possible, trying to figure out just what was happening. Behind her Omar sat up still, his hands held in the air in the universal sign of innocence. “Get on the ground!” The armed man screamed at Whit again, his gun right in her face. Cries filled the library, and Whit dropped down to her stomach, frantically trying to see all the A.R.C. team at once.

Another armed man moved behind Omar, his gun pointed to the lower back of the child. Omar sat frozen still, hands held rigid, magical energy crackling wildly around him. He couldn’t move, bound in terror, in the effects of uncontrolled magic. Frightened, he stared unseeing ahead of him.

This was when the Enforcer stepped forward, fanatical eyes trained on the little black boy. He lifted his hand, splayed his fingers, and Omar dropped, unconscious, to sprawl on the ground.

Pepper crawled further down the aisle she had slipped along and was able to make eye contact with Whit. She silently mouthed, “What did you do?”

Whit shook her head slightly, lifting one flattened palm slightly in a motion of rejection. She hadn’t done anything. No one had done anything. There hadn’t been any magic, nothing strange had happened. No reason for arcanologists to be here… right?

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash made her look to the side. A leaf?

She frowned, and then focused past it. Peeking out behind a little gap in the bookshelves, just over the top of the books, her eyes connected with another’s. Scared eyes, young, dark. They locked gazes for a quick moment, but Whit looked away, not giving a clue that there was something of interest to be investigated. Hopefully she hadn’t given anything away.

The girl knew she had to keep hiding. She could still feel the remnants of her magic, tried to hold it and suppress it. They would find her if she didn’t control it, hide it. A breeze ruffled her hair, sucked more leaves away from her. Slowly, inexorably, she looked to where she was being drawn. There it was. There He was. Full of power and magic.

A boy, fair blond hair in a haphazard cut fell over delicate features. His knowing, cocky grin was echoed in the casual way he leaned against the shelves, out in the open, one foot crossed over the other. He knew that no one else would be able to see him. He had no need to hide. Tattered leggings and a leather vest adorned his slim frame, a mysterious pouch hung on his hip. She swallowed. There was something about him she instinctively knew. He was not of this world. His smile grew just a hint wider.

In the cluster of prone bodies, the Enforcer nodded slightly to the police officer, the man looking far out of his depth. He accepted the illusion of leadership, now that the Enforcer had given it to him, and gestured to the unconscious Omar. “Collar him,” he said as he put his gun away.

The man who had continued to train his rifle on the boy now stepped forward, pulled a temporary collar from his pocket, and carelessly lifted Omar’s head to slip it under his neck.

Incensed, Whit looked up at the two leaders, “What are you doing?” She demanded. Another of the team reached down and pulled her badge out, checking her credentials. He grabbed her by the jacket shoulder, hauling her up just as the other locked Omar’s restraint collar into place, twin red lights burning on.

Anger boiled in Whit’s veins. She had to do something. They were going to take Omar; she knew the stories. She glanced around, looking for something, anything… and realized she somehow was still holding onto her book of fairy tales.

She kicked her chin up, raising the book into the air as the man still held her roughly in place. “Need some fuel for your next book burning, gentlemen?” She forced her sarcasm and anger into the words, belligerent. Maybe they would forget about Omar if she angered them enough.

It certainly got their attention. The cop and Enforcer both made some sort of gesture, and the man holding her pushed her forward. She would be going with them.

[darquedeath4444]

Of Tales Now and Long Ago

Chapter ONE

"If you manage to experience a heartbeat of bliss in a world full of cruelty, do you think you will be grateful for the moment?”

It was almost always during the full moon that the most random of questions were asked. Toneri glanced over towards the altar, where he knew a young girl was perched on the sacrifice stone basking in moonlight, eerily bright green eyes staring up through the small gap in the ceiling of stones.

The altar was located in the middle of a sealed cave and the girl's only source of experience of the outside came through the small window too high up for her to touch.

Toneri broke himself out of his thoughts when he realized that the girl had turned her gaze from the moon to him and was patiently waiting for an answer.

"No," he said, after a moment of thought. "I believe I will be bitter that it had only lasted a moment and I will curse the world for making it that way."

The girl seemed to consider this and Toneri could feel her turning his words around in her five-year-old brain. After a while, she nodded in satisfaction, having accepted his answer, and hopped neatly off of the altar. The shine she had been giving off under the moonlight faded into an afterglow as she stepped away from the halo of light. She stopped at the edge of the raised platform and stared down at him.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Toneri finished the last stroke of the seal he had been drawing then put aside the ink and paintbrush, and fanned the paper to dry before he put that to the side as well. He flicked his finger and a puppet floated over, a tray balanced delicately on its hands. He made it place the food down onto the stone and gestured for the girl to eat.

"It is no problem." The girl tucked her white kimono neatly under her knees and sat down. Toneri pushed the tray towards her and the girl placed her hands together in prayer before she began to eat.

"How is the moon, Sakura-sama?"

Sakura paused to stare into his empty eye sockets. "It is very beautiful," she told him.

While Sakura was not allowed out, Toneri often stepped beyond the rocks. She was curious but was also used to this kind of confinement.

Back when her clan had still been a clan, the Haruno had been located underground and children had not once stepped above.

Toneri would head out early in the morning and be back in time for lunch. The two of them would eat before he took her into the deeper caves and they would come back after the sun had begun to set to eat dinner. Then he would begin work on some seal or another while Sakura sat to bask in the moonlight.

Sakura enjoyed their ventures deeper into the caves. The moment light no longer became visible, the rocks would start to glow a blue-green, and Sakura was sure that in the years to come, as the two of them put to motion their plan, she would witness many spectacular sights of the outside. However, nothing could beat the comfort brought by what represented the lives of the Haruno members and nothing could be brighter than the very lifeforce of the Haruno clan that had passed before her.

Her Inner let out a soft hum of satisfaction and Sakura instantly relaxed.

The blue-green glow reflected off the surface of other rocks, casting a countless number of shadows onto the hard floor. Sakura turned to stare at Toneri, who showed no signs of being aware of her gaze. However, she did not doubt for a second that he hadn't noticed.

How the teen could move around without sight, she did not know. How he could bear to wander these sights without being able to appreciate any of it to its greatest, she could not fathom to think about.

A single path led away from the altar space, but that soon branched off into several different paths, which then diverted into more further in. Sakura and Toneri, not even in their long years in these caves, had explored all of them.

However, Sakura remembered the pathing of the corridors they had explored and she was not surprised when they came across a small clearing of rocks soon after they had set off. Toneri moved to stand opposite her and Sakura once again took in the beautiful glow of the rocks reflecting off the pale teen.

The male standing opposite her slowly raised a hand and a green sphere of pure chakra appeared in his hand. Sakura watched as the ball of energy transformed within itself.

"The Puppet-Cursing sphere," Toneri said. "It is a technique passed down through the Otsutsuki family, but was mainly used by the branch family in order to make up for our lack of sight."

"The basic form of all Otsutsuki techniques," Sakura stated, remembering what Toneri had told her.

He nodded. "The Haruno are unknown and the Otsutsuki are not but a myth. You will use this technique as the passed down jutsu of the Haruno clan. It will be your selling point. From the way all shinobi are battle hungry and bloodthirsty, they will take you in."

"Are we aiming for any village in particular?" Sakura asked. She raised her own hand and concentrated on summoning a sphere of her own.

"Konoha," Toneri told her. "The Hyuga reside there. You are still very young and your chakra is underdeveloped. While it is not ideal, being close to the Hyuga and their inferior descendant of the Otsutsuki chakra will aid you.

"What do we do if another village takes the bait first?" Sakura asked. A ball swirled to life, but it was simply sheer chakra forced into a sphere shape. She frowned and turned to inspect Toneri's Puppet-Cursing sphere again.

"I will take care of that," Toneri told her. "You do not have to worry." He stepped over to her to get a better feel of her chakra. "You are lacking intent," he said. "Control. The Puppet-Cursing sphere is the epitome of control."

Sakura thought of the puppets that took care of them, the ones Toneri had breathed life into through these spheres. "I know, I would never worry."

Toneri smiled at her.

It was by chance that Toneri came across a four-man team of shinobi while he had been out resetting the protection seals in the area. From chakra alone, he could tell that they were of high ranking, but he tossed away his plan of laying low and letting them go when he felt the calling of a familiar chakra.

A little defective, perhaps, but familiar all the same.

A Hyuuga.

Toneri did not remember much of his times with sights. After all, he had been only minutes born when his eyes had been taken from him. However, he knew of the powers of the Byakugan. How could he not?

The Byakugan was a necessary step in obtaining the Tenseigan. The Otsutsuki blood ran true through both of them. What they lacked was the eyes required to reach the point of awakening. 

The mental evolution of the Haruno had cost them 360 vision a long time long ago and Toneri had no eyes.

He wanted those eyes so bad.

The Hyuga had no doubt noticed his presence, and the rest of the team had already been told. Toneri knew that humans did not know the techniques of the Otsutsuki. He planted several Puppet-Cursing spheres in the area and then retreated. Instantly, the Konoha team moved after him.

The Hyuga may have had chakra vision, and he may have noticed the spheres, but it did not matter. Not when Toneri could control the spheres with a mere thought. The sphere spun and moved into position faster than anyone could imagine, and there was an explosion as they collectively exploded.

What caused the damage was not the actual explosion, but the burst of disruptive, raw chakra that came with it. Toneri did not even look back as he summoned a few puppets and sent them to collect the unconscious bodies. Their chakra systems should be haywire enough for them to be out for a while, and he would deal with them properly once back at the altar.

Sakura watched from a distance as Toneri worked a chakra blade over the face of the Hyuga. The other three had been killed immediately and their bodies had been piled in the corner to be disposed of later. A few minutes later, he was holding up a jar of liquid with two iris-less eyes staring back at her. "Come here, Sakura-sama."

Sakura warily approached the teen and sat in front of him. "What are you going to do with that?"

"I am going to transplant them into you," Toneri said simply. He flicked his fingers. "Please lie down here."

"You take the eyes," Sakura said instantly. "I have eyes. You don't."

Toneri smiled. "This will allow you to develop the Tenseigan should the time come," he said. "I have come this long without sight. I can manage a few more years."

"You said Konoha was a village housing the Hyuga," Sakura pointed out, even as she followed his instructions. "Can you not take another pair?"

Toneri reached out and gently lay her down so that her head was resting on his lap. "I cannot take any unnecessary risks," he told her. "Besides, the Tenseigan are eyes of the Otsutsuki, before our chakra was corrupted by the constant use of it as a means of war and battle. As the heir, it is only right for you to regain it first."

'He is correct, Kura-chan,' her Inner murmured. 'Take them.'

Sakura took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay." Toneri's fingers gently caressed her cheek before she was lulled to sleep.

Toneri felt it when Sakura slowly stirred. It had been half an hour since the operation and he gently tapped her on the forehead. "Sakura-sama?"

The girl blinked and immediately, she let out a soft groan and her hand went to her face.

"How do you feel?"

Sakura blinked a few times and slowly sat up. "I feel fine." She pulsed chakra to her eyes and then reached for his hand and pressed it against the bulging veins on her face. "I can see perfectly fine."

"That is good." Toneri ruffled her hair and gestured to the river. "Go take a look."

Sakura scampered off to do just that. 'Your eyes are green, just like before,' her Inner noted.

"My eyes are green when the Byakugan is inactive," Sakura reported. "Should they be?"

"It is certainly unheard of," Toneri said, a little surprised. "However, perhaps it has to do with your Otsutsuki chakra."

Sakura shrugged. "I guess we should not complain about something that could aid us." She returned to his side. "May we venture deeper, Toneri?" She asked. "Perhaps being able to see the chakra of your Puppet-Cursing sphere will help me to form mine."

Toneri was feeling a little tired after the delicate procedure of an eye transplant but nonetheless, he nodded. "Of course,” he said, and pulled himself to feet.

The Hyuga hailed from Konohagakure, and Toneri did not doubt that the Hokage had noticed the lack of return of him and his team. It was with this knowledge that he finally decided to put their long-awaited plan into motion.

"To them, you will be a girl, the head of your clan at the tender age of three, kidnapped straight after witnessing the tragedy that is the massacre of your clan," he said slowly. "You lived here for the last two years of your life, given food and water but never being allowed to leave. I am the kidnapper and I am the murderer, but I never mistreated you to the point of you fearing for your life. The Konoha team will come, we will fight, and I will flee."

"Will you be fine with taking on an entire team by yourself?" Sakura asked. "The team with the Hyuga had four members. That hardly seems a fair fight."

Toneri chuckled. "I am an Otsutsuki, just like yourself," he said. "Humans will be no match for me. Not to mention, my aim is not to defeat them, but to let them rescue you."

Sakura eyed him uncertainty, and it was not because she doubted his skill, but out of genuine worry.

This was a what if situation. What if Toneri was hurt? What if they were figured out? What if she could not convince them well enough?

Toneri smiled and gently placed a hand on her head. "There is nothing to worry about," he told her gently. "The mind is the Haruno domain, and it is not only your own mind you rule over.”

Sakura turned to him in wonder and her eyes went blank as she tuned in to the words within her mind. Toneri waited patiently as she conversed with her Inner and soon, she turned to completely face him. "I can do it," she told him.

Toneri smiled. "I know."

Sakura lay on the stone floor Toneri painted seals into her arm. The black stung a little as the ink sank into her skin but she stayed still the best she could.

"The Haruno compound, just like these caves, is rooted to the spirit of the Haruno," he explained. "These are the markings of a clan head. The Haruno compound is one with the clan. It is like an enormous puppet if you will."

Sakura thought back to their previous clan head, the man who would have been her mentor had the Otsutsuki heir awakening not been during her generation. "Senri-sama could lock the doors with just a thought," she noted.

'That is the least of his powers,' her Inner said. 'Senri-sama could do so much more.'

"The compounded houses a Puppet-Cursing sphere planted here by the first Otsutsuki to branch off to form the Haruno clan," Toneri said. "The sphere was then fed the chakra of generation after generation by the members of the clan. Currently, it is at its most powerful."

"Because there will be no more Haruno's to help it grow," Sakura stated simply.

"You can fuel it," Toneri told her. "You are more Otsutsuki than any who have stepped foot within the compound walls. It will continue to develop for as long as you are alive." He made one final marking then drew back. "I have finished."

Sakura pulled her arm back and inspected the intricate design tattoos over the entirety of her left arm. There were several crescents and circles symbolizing the moon and Sakura traced the markings with her eyes. She could feel a connection between the seal and something a distance away. Her Inner confirmed this. 'I can feel it as well.'

"Sakura-sama?" Toneri asked.

"It's beautiful," she said simply. "I can feel the link."

"I am glad," Toneri laughed. "I cannot exactly see, so I was worried I messed up. The ink contains chakra, though, and that aided me a little."

"It's very beautiful," Sakura repeated. "Thank you."

Toneri shook his head. "We have a long path ahead of us," he said. "One where I walk my path, and you walk yours. This is the least I can do to try and help you."

They were eating breakfast when someone triggered a dormant Puppet-Cursing sphere. It did not explode, but its chakra absorbing nature channeled the chakra of those who passed straight to him.

Toneri looked up, because he had hidden the general area around the cave with a very strong genjutsu, and this meant that the intruders had managed to dispel it. Gebjutsu may not be his forte, but the raw, natural state of his chakra made it easier to cast certain types of genjutsu, especially that of blending into the environment.

Sakura instantly noticed his shift. "Is someone here?"

Toneri nodded. "Several kilometers," he said then added "-and rapidly approaching," when he felt another Puppet-Cursing sphere triggered a little closer to the cave.

"I guess this is it." Sakura placed her chopsticks down and gestured for a puppet to take away their trays. "Where will you be until 'time' comes?"

"Here and there." Toneri smiled. "I will come by if I ever have the chance."

They sat there in awkward silence for a while before Sakura neatly placed her hand in front of her and bowed. "Thank you for everything, Toneri."

Toneri was quick to follow. "It has been my pleasure. Thank you for your kind words."

"I await the day we meet again."

"Likewise. Please take care, Sakura-sama."

Sakura sat up and smiled. "You too."

Toneri rose to his feet and looked down at her. "I will always be with you."

Sakura nodded firmly. "I am ready."

Those words were meant for him, but they were also meant for her Inner.

Sakura's memories were now to be sealed deep within her mind until she passed the initial stages of convincing Konoha of her innocence and her ignorance. Her Inner would make sure to keep everything under wraps until it was safe for her to regain them.

When Sakura fell forward Toneri was ready and he gently caught the girl. He then lay her onto the floor and ran his fingers through her hair one more time before he stood up and took a deep breath. The intruders were very close and Toneri felt them trigger the last of the warning spheres. Any moment now, they would storm through the gates and taint these sacred grounds with their violent chakra and bloody stench.

But it was necessary. He glanced back down at Sakura who looked as though she was sleeping and would wake up any moment now to ask him if they could explore the caves, and plastered on a mask on cruel confidence. He sent his puppets to toss the bodies of the Hyuga and his team, which he had left solely for this purpose, by the door. Then he tucked the pinkette under his arm and drew a kunai.

When the gates were thrown open, he was ready for them.

Chapter TWO>

<Prologue

[thevoidgod]

The Veherrihs

Veherrihs are people gifted with control of Mïzärn's sphere. Typically individuals have a particular skill set which defines their powers. The veherrihs as a whole are not completely and outwardly shunned by society, but there is an obvious stigma against  them which varies according to their sphere. Others are more accepted because of their usefulness. However, many can be denied a place to live, work, and sometimes are even rejected by their own  families. Some of these powers provoke an understandable fear such as  with illusionists and void-walkers; in many instances they may be imprisoned or contained for their entire lives despite committing no  crime. In more extreme cases, veherrihs are murdered.

Because of this  stigma, many choose sanctuary with the temple of Mïzärn where they can  openly use, study, and learn to control their powers safely. Once their powers are discovered, the veherrihs are strongly encouraged to join the  temple for their own safety while some families may force the veherrihs  in their lineage to join the temple. In recent decades, veherrihs have formed guilds and associations  as an alternative to the temple of Mïzärn. These guilds and associations  offer a family to those who have been ousted by their own blood as well  as protection from the dangerous side of the stigma against the  veherrihs. Some guilds allow all classifications of veherrihs while  others are one type of arcane skill. Some skills are known to be  profitable such as with healers or seers. Veherrihs whose skills are  beneficial in battle may also join mercenary groups. The elemental  variety are the most common type of veherrihs and their abilities are  what often comes to the mind of the common andeamer. In the Valgaartiran, veherrihs are protected by their own laws  and rights. They can be found in many occupations throughout the  territory and have become valued and coveted citizens for their powers.  In other more developed nations, veherrihs may find their place in a  society that won't ignore them.  

Classifications of Veherrihs Veherrihs are typically in tune with a particular aspect. These  aspects can range from elemental manipulation to the extremely rare  class of versatile veherrihs. Enchanters are veherrihs that are skilled  with enchanting, but it is typically a secondary skill one can learn.  Their enchanting ability revolves around their primary aspect.  

Lyätath ar'Ënokh Elemental Veherrihs show aptitude is manipulation of the natural  world. This is the most diverse and includes living and non-living  things; liquids, gasses, fire, earth, metals, chemistry, flora, etc,...  This is the most common classification and is broken down further into  those who control particular things such as the veherrihs who can  manipulate fire energy (heat, intensity, conjuration) or the “Gardeners”  which are the veherrihs whose talent lies completely in nature; they  can mature plants instantly or manipulate them into forms and even  deplete them of life completely. Alchemists may be confused with illusionists, but their talent is  not an illusion. Their magical talents lie in the alteration of  matter.and are often considered a variant of element controlling  veherrihs. They alter matter down to its molecular structure so long as  they are familiar with the matter they seek to change and what they are  changing it to, alchemists can change anything. They can learn the  structure of anything they touch given enough time. Alchemist also tend  to be in tune with patterns in general and can appear to have compulsive habitual rituals; this is believed to be caused by  the nature of their gifts. The stigma against alchemist can very;  typical skills are only good for altering non-organic materials such as  ore or reinforcing it. The rarest alchemist can alter living things into  another living material or even non-living material; these ones are  feared just as illusionists and void-seers.  

Välnihnäs Illusionists are a rare and very stigmatized class of veherrihs.  While rare their talents for illusions, alterations, and obfuscation of  reality are exceptional. They alter the perception of reality so other  perceive what the illusionist wants. They manipulate the mind, thoughts,  and emotion; their skillset is also known to cause damage to the  nervous system especially in the brain but not as a symptom from being  controlled by an illusionist. Unlike the far-seers who may be able to  read minds, illusionist plant thoughts, feelings, memories, and images  in another. The weak point of illusionists is that their illusion is  only maintained as long as the illusionist wills.  

Sëelthranerihs Healers are the second most common veherrihs, but range in healing  capacity. As their name would imply their skill set revolves around  health. They can detect and heal ailments which can vary by simple cuts  to illnesses. The healers who are most skilled can cure ailments as  severe as cancers, but these individuals are extremely rare. Some  legends tell of healers resuscitating the dead, but this ability would  seem to similar to the powers of some Seers who could revive deceased  things. However the difference would be very appearant; the ones revived  by healers were brought back before they began putrification and  essentially reversed their deaths while Seers were said to be able to  bring back anything, but the product was said to be "horrifying  abominations wrought with the stench of death" and further dissection of  these tales would imply Seers are unable to reverse the post-mortem  processes so the revived are not entirely intact physically or mentally.    

Sädthäs Vihngär Void-seers and void-walkers are veherrihs who are sensitive to the  Void. Unusual talents include summoning and binding Voids as well as  projecting themselves into the void. Exceptionally talented void-walkers  and seers can open actual portals into the void and physically enter  it. The only people known to have the ability to do this are the high  priestesses of Mazarath. They are not prone to the corruption of the  void and some are completely immune. They are rare but feared for their  abilities as it allows the void to seep into reality. These veherrihs are known to be versatile rather than have their  ability focus entirely on the energy of the Void. Versatile veherrihs  are the rarest and sometimes unheard of. Their talents extend beyond a  particular skill set to encompass many. Their existence is often  doubted. As for the matter of whether one can learn to extend their  magical abilities outside of their attunement is possible, but known to  be extremely difficult for veherrihs.  

Ërathï Seers are veherrihs with the extra-sensory capacity to communicate  with the dead and perceive the hidden world of the ätherä and voids.  Their sensitivity to the hidden world of the ätherä and voids allows  them to communicate efficiently and effectively with these beings as  well as perceive their motives or given purpose. An exceptional ability  very few possess is akin to necromancy and can revive dead things for  minutes or even indefinitely for those with the capacity. Accounts of  this ability describes it as ranging between possession of a deceased  thing such as what the voidly followers of Surgat Zagam are known to do  all the way to the necromantic power described earlier. The revived are  typically in a suspended state of decay and not capable of regeneration  and sometimes depending on this state their mental faculties may be  compromised. Seers with this rare talent are not welcomed openly in many  parts of Ënokh, thus they often keep it a secret just as with other  veherrihs whose talents are not socially acceptable.

Far-Seers are veherrihs with the talent for precognition, but can  also witness past events regardless if they themselves were present or  alive during the event. They also tend to be empaths and some extend  this ability further into telepathy. Their variety of telepathy is  limited to perception of others thoughts and feelings rather than the  ability to put thoughts or feelings into others like with illusionists.  Many are more weary of far-seers because of this, but these veherrihs  are better suited to blending into society without drawing attention to  themselves. One the other side of this, they are coveted for their  ability and are targets for governments who wish to use them as agents  or others who seek to do them harm for what they know.

[northcountryprimitive]

“You Can Hear Someone’s World View Through Their Guitar.” An Interview with Josh Rosenthal of Tompkins Square Records

This interview originally appeared at North Country Primitive on 11th March 2016

Josh Rosenthal’s Tompkins Square Records, which has recently celebrated its tenth anniversary, has become somewhat of an institution for music fans, thanks to Josh’s consistent championing of American Primitive guitar, the old, weird America and various other must-hear obscurities he has managed to pluck from the ether. Not content with running one of the best record labels on the planet, he is now also an author, and about to go out on tour with various musicians from the wider Tompkins Square family in support of his new book, The Record Store of the Mind. We caught up with him this week and pestered him with a heap of questions - our thanks to Josh for putting up with us.

Congratulations on The Record Store of the Mind – it’s an absorbing and entertaining read. Has this project had a long gestation period? How easily does writing come to you - and is it something you enjoy doing? It certainly comes across that way…

Thanks for the kind words. I don’t consider myself a writer. I started the book in November 2014 and finished in May 2015, but a lot of that time was spent procrastinating, working on my label, or getting really down on myself for not writing. I could have done more with the prose, made it more artful. I can’t spin yarn like, say, your average MOJO writer. So I decided early on to just tell it straight, just tell the story and don’t labour over the prose.

I particularly like how you mix up memoir, pen portraits of musicians, and snippets of crate digger philosophy… was the book crafted and planned this way or was there an element of improvisation - seeing where your muse took you? And is there more writing to follow?

If I write another book, it’d have to be based around a big idea or theme. This one is a collection of essays. As I went on, I realised that there’s this undercurrent of sadness and tragedy in most of the stories, so a theme emerged. I guess it’s one reflective of life, just in a musical context. We all have things we leave undone, or we feel under-appreciated at times. I wasn’t even planning to write about myself, but then some folks close to me convinced me I should do. So you read about six chapters and then you find out something about the guy who’s writing this stuff. I intersperse a few chapters about my personal experience, from growing up on Long Island in love with Lou Reed to college radio days to SONY and all the fun things I did there. Threading those chapters in gives the book a lift, I think.

Tell us a bit about the planned book tour. You’ve got a mighty fine selection of musicians joining you on the various dates. I imagine there was no shortage of takers?

I’m really grateful to them all. I selected some folks in each city I’m visiting, and they all are in the Tompkins Square orbit. Folks will see the early guitar heroes like Peter Walker, Max Ochs and Harry Taussig and the youngsters like Diane Cluck, one of my favourite vocalists. You can’t read for more than ten minutes. People zone out. So having music rounds out the event and ties back to the whole purpose of my book and my label.

It’s clear from the book that you haven’t lost your excitement about uncovering hidden musical gems. Any recent discoveries that have particularly floated your boat?

I’m working with a couple of guys on a compilation of private press guitar stuff. They are finding the most fascinating and beautiful stuff from decades ago. I’ve never heard of any of the players. Most are still alive, and they are sending me fantastic photos and stories. I have been listening to a lot of new music now that Spotify is connected to my stereo system! I love Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith. Her new one is out soon. I like Charlie Hilton’s new album too.

Any thoughts on the vinyl resurgence and the re-emergence of the humble cassette tape?

Vinyl has kept a lot of indie record stores in business, which is a great development. As a label, it’s a low margin product, so that’s kind of frustrating. If you’re not selling it hand over fist, it can be a liability. The model seems to be - make your physical goods, sell them as best you can within the first four months, and then let the digital sphere be your warehouse. I never bought cassettes and have no affinity for them, or the machines that play them.

Turning to Tompkins Square, did your years working for major labels serve as a good apprenticeship for running your own label? Did you have a clear idea of what you wanted the label to look like from the outset or has the direction its taken developed organically over time?

Working for PolyGram as a teenager and then SONY for 15 years straight out of college was formative. I like taking on projects. My interests and the marketplace dictate what I do. I’ve always felt like the label does me instead of vice versa. For example, the idea of releasing two, three or four disc sets of a particular genre served me well, but now it feels like a very 2009 concept. It doesn’t interest me much, and the commercial viability of that has diminished because it seems the appetite for those types of products has diminished.

Working in relatively niche genres in the current music industry climate can’t be the safest or easiest way to make a living. Is there a sense sometimes that you’re flying by the seat of your pants?

We’re becoming a two-format industry - streaming and vinyl. The CD is really waning and so is the mp3. The streaming pie is growing but it’s modest in terms of income when you compare it to CD or download margins at their height. I don’t really pay much mind to the macro aspects of the business. I just try to release quality, sell a few thousand, move on to the next thing, while continuing to goose the catalogue. The business is becoming very much about getting on the right playlists that will drive hundreds of thousands of streams. It’s the new payola.

American Primitive and fingerstyle guitar makes up a significant percentage of Tompkins Square releases, going right back to the early days of the label – indeed, it could be said that you’ve played a pivotal role in reviving interest in the genre. Is this a style that is particularly close to your heart? What draws you to it?

Interest in guitar flows in and out of favour. There are only a small number of guitarists I actually like, and a much longer list of guitarists I’m told I’m SUPPOSED to like. Most leave me cold, even if they’re technically great. But I respect anyone who plays their instrument well. Certain players like Harry Taussig or Michael Chapman really reach me - their music really gets under my skin and touches my soul. It’s hard to describe, but it has something to do with melody and repetition. It’s not about technique per se. You can hear someone’s world view through their guitar, and you can hear it reflecting your own.

You’ve reintroduced some wonderful lost American Primitive classics to the world – by Mark Fosson, Peter Walker, Don Bikoff, Richard Crandell and so on. How have these reissues come about? Painstaking research? Happy cratedigging accidents? Serendipity? Are there any reissues you’re particularly proud of?

They came about in all different ways. A lot of the time I can’t remember how I got turned on to something, or started working with someone. Peter was among the first musicians I hunted down in 2005, and we made his first album in 40 years. I think Mark’s cousin told me about his lost tapes in the attic. Bikoff came to me via WFMU. Crandell - I’m not sure, but In The Flower of My Youth is one of the greatest solo guitar albums of all time. I’m proud of all of them !

Are there any ‘ones that got away’ that you particularly regret, where red tape, copyright issues, cost or recalcitrant musicians have prevented a reissue from happening? Any further American Primitive reissues in the pipeline you can tell us about – the supply of lost albums doesn’t seem to be showing signs of drying up yet…

Like I said, this new compilation I’m working on is going to be a revelation. So much fantastic, unknown, unheard private press guitar music. It makes you realise how deep the well actually is. There are things I’ve wanted to do that didn’t materialise. Usually these are due to uncooperative copyright owners or murky provenance in a recording that makes it unfit to release legitimately.

You’ve also released a slew of albums by contemporary guitarists working in the fingerstyle tradition. How do you decide who gets the Tompkins Square treatment?  What are you looking for in a guitarist when you’re deciding who to work with? And what’s the score with the zillions of James Blackshaw albums? Has he got dirt on you!?

It takes a lot for me to sign someone. I feel good about the people I’ve signed, and most of them have actual careers, insofar as they can go play in any US or European city and people will pay to see them. I hope I’ve had a hand in that. I did six albums with Blackshaw because he’s one of the most gifted composers and guitarist of the past 50 years. He should be scoring films. He really should be a superstar by now, like Philip Glass. I think he’s not had the right breaks or the best representation to develop his career to its full potential. But he’s still young.

Imaginational Anthems has been a flagship series for Tompkins Square from the beginning. The focus of the series seems to have shifted a couple of times – from the original mixture of old and new recordings to themed releases to releases with outside curators. Has this variation in approach been a means by which to mix it up and keep the series fresh? Are you surprised at the iconic status the series has achieved?

I don’t know about iconic. I think the comps have served their purpose, bringing unknowns into the light via the first three volumes and introducing some young players along the way. Cian Nugent was on the cover of volume 3 as a teenager. Daniel Bachman came to my attention on volume 5, which Sam Moss compiled. Sam Moss’ new album is featured on NPR just today! Steve Gunn was relatively unknown when he appeared on volume 5. There are lots more examples of that. I like handing over the curation to someone who can turn me on to new players, just as a listener gets turned on. It’s been an amazing experience learning about these players. And I’m going to see a number of IA alums play on my book tour : Mike Vallera, Sam Moss, Wes Tirey - and I invited Jordan Norton out in Portland. Never met him or saw him play. He was fantastic. Plays this Frippy stuff.

What’s next for you and Tompkins Square?

I signed a young lady from Ireland. Very excited about her debut album, due in June. I’m reissuing two early 70’s records by Bob Brown, both produced by Richie Havens. Beautiful records, barely anyone has heard them.

[seetheworldwithmeblog]

I have known almost my entire life that I want to leave. Growing up in a little Wisconsin town, I wanted to go. I was pretty indiscriminate as to where I wanted to go. I just wanted to go. The older I get, the more I realize that feeling has less to do with where I was from and more to do with where I wanted to go. If I’m here, I want to be there. Since my first trip to London, I’ve asserted that it is my favorite city in the world, but Ryan has (probably correctly) pointed out that if I were raised in London, I would be on a plane out of there as soon as I could. It’s an ongoing struggle that has brought itself to our life in Germany as well.

Pair that unending urge to be there with a village that has about 1,500 people and not much in the way of entertainment, and it only intensifies. As a result, Ryan and I often plan quick little getaways instead of spending the weekend at home. (All this introspection comes with a realization at the end, I promise.) This time, we planned a trip to Champagne, France.

Happily, Champagne is only a 3 hour drive from our house, putting it well within our “weekend getaway” sphere. We packed a change of clothes and hopped in the car to start the drive over to Epernay, one of the big cities of the region. I had pre-booked two tours of champagne houses for Saturday so we headed for our first one – 11:30 AM at Champagne Boizel. We arrived on the Avenue de Champagne (yes, that is a real thing) around 11:00 and parked just off the street before starting a quick walk down the impressive, winery-lined avenue. To either side of us were white mansions, each advertising their own champagne and offering tastings. We meandered past a few then walked back to Boizel to start our tour.

We checked in and followed our tour guide, dressed in a sleek black blazer and tailored trousers despite the blazing, 94 degree weather outside, to the courtyard of the house. She explained that Champagne Boizel had been in business since 1834 and that the family had purchased the white mansion in front of us purely as a production facility. The company has been owned and operated by the Boizel family since and, with their 5th and 6th generations currently in charge, it is one of the few family-owned Champagne houses remaining. It also had a bit of feminist history. It was owned and operated by Mousier AND Madame Boizel in 1834, something which was almost unheard of then, and to this day it was run by “Madame Boizel and her husband”.

After the history lesson, we were led out of the sun and into the factory, where we first looked at a map of the region. For those who are unfamiliar, Champagne is the sparkling wine created in the Champagne region. Any sparkling wine made outside of this very small, particular region is NOT Champagne and cannot be marketed as such. There is an extremely powerful council that monitors this and the other rules regarding what can be considered “Champagne” (some of these rules listed below). That council is so powerful that it recently sued Apple (successfully) for marketing one of its iPhones as the color Champagne. In other words, don’t mess with these guys.

Other things they monitor:

-The grapes must be picked by hand. Farming using machinery damages the skin of the grape and can cross contaminate the white and red varieties

-Champagne must be stored in cellars for at least 15 months, although many houses store them for 3-4 years

-The number of presses in the bottle (first press is best. Second press is okay but the third press only goes to making other kinds of alcohol)

-Grapes must be pressed within 3 hours of picking. Longer than this can damage the skins of the grapes. Boizel presses their grapes in the wineries themselves to avoid any issues

-When the harvest occurs. We asked our guide when it was this year and she said because of the heat, it would be around August 25th. One of the winemakers she had worked with said that, when he started 40 years ago, the harvest was mid-October. Due to rising temperatures, that date was moving up every year. “We’re very concerned about global warming obviously. In 40 years, our harvest season has changed by 2 months. You can see how much it affects us.”

She showed us the villages where Boizel owns their 7 hectacres of vineyards and the other regions they get their grapes from. Then we went into 2 rooms, one with oak casks and another giant, metal vats. This was where they held their reserve wines. As Ryan and I were highly uneducated about Champagne production, every room brought with it a new insight about the production and naming of sparkling wine. For instance, wineries keep “reserves” of previous years’ wine (sometimes about 40% of that year’s production) to mix with the following years and use those in their “reserve” wines and ongoing brands. The reason for this is continuity – if one year is particularly sweet, the wine makers will balance that with a more acidic year to create the continuity that consumers expect when they are buying bottles of champagne. Otherwise, the product would vary wildly year to year.

The other type of wine is a “vintage” which is made entirely of one year. This is when you’ll see the year labeled on the bottle. These wines are much more variable, have more complex flavors, and can be harder to predict. When we asked both our guides about their favorites, their answers differed. The first said she appreciated the “distinct taste of a vintage champagne” whereas the second guide was more impressed with the “complexity of mixing multiple wines to get the perfect reserve wine.” Aka – one is not “better” than the other.

After this basic education, we walked 8 meters down into the cellars of Champagne Boizel. Here we saw the storage of the bottles and learned more about the particulars of making champagne. We saw stacks of bottles (at this point they are all still wine) aging in the cellars, in the precise temperature and humidity. She then described the process, which used to be done by hand over the course of a month, of slowly and meticulously angling and tilting each bottle to remove the sediment from the sides of the glass bottle and tip that bottle until the sediment was in the neck of the bottle and the air bubble was at the bottom. The wine makers would then have to tilt the bottle precisely so that the air bubble came between the sediment and the wine, then remove the cap, expelling all the sediment but losing none of the wine. They had less than a second to execute this move. As you can imagine, it was quite difficult and a lot of Champagne was lost. They’ve now modernized, which we saw more of in the second tour.

For the rest of the first, we went through the 1km of caves (there are 210 km of caves under Epernay, housing hundreds of millions of bottles of Champagne), careful to avoid the stacks of carefully tilted bottles. Our guide showed us the treasure trove they had, including a bottle from the year the house opened in 1836. This fact was even more impressive when you consider the history – Epernay and the region was occupied by the Nazis during World War II. During their four years there, they all but completely wiped out the stores of champagne. Add to that the fact that the people of Epernay used the caves as bomb shelters and many of the caves collapsed, destroying everything in them. That is also the reason why all the caves of Epernay are still connected. Our guide showed us the door that leads to the caves of the winery next door. This would have been used as an escape route during the war. For Boizel, their few bottles of 1836 remained in the house of one of the owners though, making it one of the oldest bottles of champagne left in the region.

After that history lesson, we climbed the stairs again, heading to the sleek tasting room, where we tried the Brut (their “ambassador brand”), a Rose Champagne, and a Blanc de Blanc (white of white, made only of Chardonnay grapes). We sipped our three different types, asking a few questions to our guide. I noticed that 2018 was the first year for tours – they had started in April and so far, were really enjoying the tours.

After glancing at an chest displaying family pictures, we thanked our guide and headed down the Avenue de Champagne in search of a quick meal. We had some rustic sandwiches quickly, then killed some time by walking back to the gift shop of Moët et Chandon, the largest champagne maker. In comparison to Boizel with their 500,000 bottles a year, we heard numbers between 15,000,000 and 55,000,000 bottles for Moet et Chandon, including (we learned) Dom Perignon. Their reach was helped along by the fact that they are part of LVMH – Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy. We walked through the shop, looking at their different bottles of wine, then headed back in the direction of our second tour – Champagne Alfred Gratien.

A little off the beaten path, we hiked up a small hill and walked through the gate of the winery just as our tour guide was pulling up. “You’re the only ones!” She chirped, “would you like to get started?” And we headed off on our private winery tour, which gave us a chance to ask many more questions. She took us to the store house where they keep all their oak barrels. We discussed the basics of champagne again, what makes it champagne vs still wine (a second fermentation, in which they inject sugar into the bottle before adding the cork. Fermentation occurs, creating alcohol and CO2, giving us the delightful bubbles we love so much) and what makes their production different (much more in oak barrels from Burgundy, less in the steel vats.) then we crossed over into their cellars.

Although a smaller house (about 250,000 bottles a year), they usually have between 1 and 1.5 million bottles in their cellars, slowly aging. The whole production process is managed by 4 (that’s right, just 4) wine makers. At this point, we were joined a by a man from Milan who happily hopped into the tour to learn more. We got a close view of the sediment in the bottles, this time housed in cages. When I asked why, our guide led us over to a machine, the one I had mentioned earlier, which took the cages of bottles and meticulously tilted them until the sediment was safely stored in the neck.

Then, after showing us their own store of antique bottles and echoing the story about champagne being decimated during the years of the war, she took us back up the stairs to show us where the whole process of removing the sediment (by dipping the tops in a chemical ice bath), injecting the sugar (amount depending on the type of champagne), topping it off with a little wine from the same batch if need be, then inserting the cork with 4 tons of pressure. From there, we got to see where they label and package the bottles before going to the tasting room.

This time we got to try 4 different glasses – their signature Brut, their 2009 Blanc de Blanc (a Grand Cru Vintage), their Cuvée Paradis Brut (a 2009 vintage and my favorite) and the Millésime (a 2005 vintage and Ryan’s favorite). We asked about the differences in Cuvées (presses) and Crus (there are 17 Grand Cru villages, the highest rating you can receive. A Grand Cru can come from any or all of those villages but no other. Below that are premier crus) and other questions that they probably thought were silly. Then we thanked our host and headed back to the center of the city for a last walk around.

We toured the 25,000 person city for a while, then returned down the Avenue de Champagne, stopped by Boizel to pick up some souvenir champagne flutes, and headed to our car. We were starting to get sleepy after a full day of walking. We headed in the direction of our hotel but had one last stop planned. We pulled off the country road into the tiny village of Hautevillers and headed down a small street in the direction of Abbaye Saint-Pierre d’Hautvillers – the burial place of the world-famous monk, Dom Pierre Perignon. After paying our respects to the man who “tasted the stars” we said good bye to the little village and finished the 15 minute drive to our hotel, Dans les Vignes.

We checked into the 6 bedroom hotel in the Premier Cru village of Chamery and dropped our bags in the room before heading out to the glass-lined balcony looking out over the village and the vineyards, to enjoy a few more glasses of bubbly, this time from the hotel’s own winery – Champagne Bonnet-Ponson. We tried their Brut (the name indicates the amount of sugar added to the bottle), Extra-Brut (less sugar), Blanc de Blanc and Blanc de Noir (made from red grapes and my favorite of the night). Finally champagned-out, we took our previously purchased picnic of meat, cheese, bread, berries, apples, and peaches up into the vineyards and enjoyed it in the shade of a tree overlooking the hills.

Burial place of Dom Perignon

We ended the day with a quick walk through the small village and sitting back on the deck, watching the sunset go from gold to red behind the hill in front of us. Here is where that annoying self-reflection comes into play. Through this whole day, tasting wines and walking among world famous vineyards, I was having a great time, marveling at how beautiful it was. I was there and because it was temporary, it was exciting. Ryan brought me back to reality a little though when he said “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s really beautiful, but I prefer the Mosel better because it has the river.”

That’s right, we had just driven 6 hours away from a world-famous wine-growing valley to go to a world-famous wine growing valley. And in my constant need to be there, I sometimes forget how cool it is to be here. I guess sometimes you have to leave home to appreciate home.

The other ah-ha moment of the weekend was just that. After a little over a year, many continuing frustrations and difficulties, and countless minutes and hours of extreme discomfort, our tiny river village is starting to be home. Not like a home town or a home country, but a little place that I can in some way claim as my own. And that’s kinda cool.

We ended the night talking about that – the changes we had seen in life and the things that inevitably still frustrate us. We woke the next morning feeling refreshed (having a fan to counteract the heat probably had sometime to do with that) and went back to the balcony to enjoy croissants, bread, homemade jam (made using our host’s great-grandfather’s recipe), meat, cheese, and hand made yogurt (our host proudly announced it was made by her as well). After trapping an extremely pesky bee under a cap, we had a peaceful breakfast overlooking the vineyards again before we checked out and headed in the direction of Reims, a 185,000 person city just to the north of Chamery.

Notre Dame 

We took a quick spin around the city, just enjoying walking the streets and seeing the food options available. We stopped by the Notre Dame of Reims, notable as the place where the kings of France were crowned for 1,000 years and playing a part in Franco-German reconciliation in 1962. We admired the stained glass, then left to explore the city a little more by foot. After a few hours in the city, we decided to call it a day and hop in the car for the 3 hour drive home. I look forward to a night of watching the sunset over my local hills and river. Who knows, maybe we’ll enjoy just a little more bubbly to celebrate being home!

Home sweet home 

Pop the bubbly! I have known almost my entire life that I want to leave. Growing up in a little Wisconsin town, I wanted to go.

[karolindelarosa-blog]

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[mythandritual]

"You Can Hear Someone's World View Through Their Guitar." An Interview with Josh Rosenthal of Tompkins Square Records

This interview originally appeared at North Country Primitive on 11th March 2016

Josh Rosenthal's Tompkins Square Records, which has recently celebrated its tenth anniversary, has become somewhat of an institution for music fans, thanks to Josh's consistent championing of American Primitive guitar, the old, weird America and various other must-hear obscurities he has managed to pluck from the ether. Not content with running one of the best record labels on the planet, he is now also an author, and about to go out on tour with various musicians from the wider Tompkins Square family in support of his new book, The Record Store of the Mind. We caught up with him this week and pestered him with a heap of questions - our thanks to Josh for putting up with us.

Congratulations on The Record Store of the Mind – it’s an absorbing and entertaining read. Has this project had a long gestation period? How easily does writing come to you - and is it something you enjoy doing? It certainly comes across that way...

Thanks for the kind words. I don't consider myself a writer. I started the book in November 2014 and finished in May 2015, but a lot of that time was spent procrastinating, working on my label, or getting really down on myself for not writing. I could have done more with the prose, made it more artful. I can't spin yarn like, say, your average MOJO writer. So I decided early on to just tell it straight, just tell the story and don't labour over the prose.

I particularly like how you mix up memoir, pen portraits of musicians, and snippets of crate digger philosophy... was the book crafted and planned this way or was there an element of improvisation - seeing where your muse took you? And is there more writing to follow?

If I write another book, it'd have to be based around a big idea or theme. This one is a collection of essays. As I went on, I realised that there's this undercurrent of sadness and tragedy in most of the stories, so a theme emerged. I guess it's one reflective of life, just in a musical context. We all have things we leave undone, or we feel under-appreciated at times. I wasn't even planning to write about myself, but then some folks close to me convinced me I should do. So you read about six chapters and then you find out something about the guy who's writing this stuff. I intersperse a few chapters about my personal experience, from growing up on Long Island in love with Lou Reed to college radio days to SONY and all the fun things I did there. Threading those chapters in gives the book a lift, I think.

Tell us a bit about the planned book tour. You’ve got a mighty fine selection of musicians joining you on the various dates. I imagine there was no shortage of takers?

I'm really grateful to them all. I selected some folks in each city I'm visiting, and they all are in the Tompkins Square orbit. Folks will see the early guitar heroes like Peter Walker, Max Ochs and Harry Taussig and the youngsters like Diane Cluck, one of my favourite vocalists. You can't read for more than ten minutes. People zone out. So having music rounds out the event and ties back to the whole purpose of my book and my label.

It’s clear from the book that you haven’t lost your excitement about uncovering hidden musical gems. Any recent discoveries that have particularly floated your boat?

I'm working with a couple of guys on a compilation of private press guitar stuff. They are finding the most fascinating and beautiful stuff from decades ago. I've never heard of any of the players. Most are still alive, and they are sending me fantastic photos and stories. I have been listening to a lot of new music now that Spotify is connected to my stereo system! I love Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith. Her new one is out soon. I like Charlie Hilton's new album too.

Any thoughts on the vinyl resurgence and the re-emergence of the humble cassette tape?

Vinyl has kept a lot of indie record stores in business, which is a great development. As a label, it's a low margin product, so that's kind of frustrating. If you're not selling it hand over fist, it can be a liability. The model seems to be - make your physical goods, sell them as best you can within the first four months, and then let the digital sphere be your warehouse. I never bought cassettes and have no affinity for them, or the machines that play them.

Turning to Tompkins Square, did your years working for major labels serve as a good apprenticeship for running your own label? Did you have a clear idea of what you wanted the label to look like from the outset or has the direction its taken developed organically over time?

Working for PolyGram as a teenager and then SONY for 15 years straight out of college was formative. I like taking on projects. My interests and the marketplace dictate what I do. I've always felt like the label does me instead of vice versa. For example, the idea of releasing two, three or four disc sets of a particular genre served me well, but now it feels like a very 2009 concept. It doesn't interest me much, and the commercial viability of that has diminished because it seems the appetite for those types of products has diminished.

Working in relatively niche genres in the current music industry climate can’t be the safest or easiest way to make a living. Is there a sense sometimes that you’re flying by the seat of your pants?

We're becoming a two-format industry - streaming and vinyl. The CD is really waning and so is the mp3. The streaming pie is growing but it's modest in terms of income when you compare it to CD or download margins at their height. I don't really pay much mind to the macro aspects of the business. I just try to release quality, sell a few thousand, move on to the next thing, while continuing to goose the catalogue. The business is becoming very much about getting on the right playlists that will drive hundreds of thousands of streams. It's the new payola.

American Primitive and fingerstyle guitar makes up a significant percentage of Tompkins Square releases, going right back to the early days of the label – indeed, it could be said that you’ve played a pivotal role in reviving interest in the genre. Is this a style that is particularly close to your heart? What draws you to it?

Interest in guitar flows in and out of favour. There are only a small number of guitarists I actually like, and a much longer list of guitarists I'm told I'm SUPPOSED to like. Most leave me cold, even if they're technically great. But I respect anyone who plays their instrument well. Certain players like Harry Taussig or Michael Chapman really reach me - their music really gets under my skin and touches my soul. It's hard to describe, but it has something to do with melody and repetition. It's not about technique per se. You can hear someone's world view through their guitar, and you can hear it reflecting your own.

You’ve reintroduced some wonderful lost American Primitive classics to the world – by Mark Fosson, Peter Walker, Don Bikoff, Richard Crandell and so on. How have these reissues come about? Painstaking research? Happy cratedigging accidents? Serendipity? Are there any reissues you’re particularly proud of?

They came about in all different ways. A lot of the time I can't remember how I got turned on to something, or started working with someone. Peter was among the first musicians I hunted down in 2005, and we made his first album in 40 years. I think Mark's cousin told me about his lost tapes in the attic. Bikoff came to me via WFMU. Crandell - I'm not sure, but In The Flower of My Youth is one of the greatest solo guitar albums of all time. I'm proud of all of them !

Are there any ‘ones that got away’ that you particularly regret, where red tape, copyright issues, cost or recalcitrant musicians have prevented a reissue from happening? Any further American Primitive reissues in the pipeline you can tell us about – the supply of lost albums doesn’t seem to be showing signs of drying up yet…

Like I said, this new compilation I'm working on is going to be a revelation. So much fantastic, unknown, unheard private press guitar music. It makes you realise how deep the well actually is. There are things I've wanted to do that didn't materialise. Usually these are due to uncooperative copyright owners or murky provenance in a recording that makes it unfit to release legitimately.

You’ve also released a slew of albums by contemporary guitarists working in the fingerstyle tradition. How do you decide who gets the Tompkins Square treatment?  What are you looking for in a guitarist when you’re deciding who to work with? And what’s the score with the zillions of James Blackshaw albums? Has he got dirt on you!?

It takes a lot for me to sign someone. I feel good about the people I've signed, and most of them have actual careers, insofar as they can go play in any US or European city and people will pay to see them. I hope I've had a hand in that. I did six albums with Blackshaw because he's one of the most gifted composers and guitarist of the past 50 years. He should be scoring films. He really should be a superstar by now, like Philip Glass. I think he's not had the right breaks or the best representation to develop his career to its full potential. But he's still young.

Imaginational Anthems has been a flagship series for Tompkins Square from the beginning. The focus of the series seems to have shifted a couple of times – from the original mixture of old and new recordings to themed releases to releases with outside curators. Has this variation in approach been a means by which to mix it up and keep the series fresh? Are you surprised at the iconic status the series has achieved?

I don't know about iconic. I think the comps have served their purpose, bringing unknowns into the light via the first three volumes and introducing some young players along the way. Cian Nugent was on the cover of volume 3 as a teenager. Daniel Bachman came to my attention on volume 5, which Sam Moss compiled. Sam Moss' new album is featured on NPR just today! Steve Gunn was relatively unknown when he appeared on volume 5. There are lots more examples of that. I like handing over the curation to someone who can turn me on to new players, just as a listener gets turned on. It's been an amazing experience learning about these players. And I'm going to see a number of IA alums play on my book tour : Mike Vallera, Sam Moss, Wes Tirey - and I invited Jordan Norton out in Portland. Never met him or saw him play. He was fantastic. Plays this Frippy stuff.

What’s next for you and Tompkins Square?

I signed a young lady from Ireland. Very excited about her debut album, due in June. I'm reissuing two early 70's records by Bob Brown, both produced by Richie Havens. Beautiful records, barely anyone has heard them.