#seven liberal arts

[thedemonofcat]

To be honest, Geralt sometimes forgets how intelligent Jaskier is. After all, the Bard graduated from Oxenfurt Academy with the highest honors and is one of the few to hold the title of Master of the seven liberal arts.

But every now and then, Jaskier has the chance to demonstrate his remarkable intellect.

[gawrkin]

Philosophia et septem artes liberales, "philosophy and the seven liberal arts." From the Hortus deliciarum of Herrad of Landsberg (12th century)

[paulsspaceshippictures]

A Brief Truce

Liberator and Federation Pursuit Ship. Rendered in Bryce.

[remholder]

i love nitpicking comic continuity because to ME greeb is alive and he's still besties with seven bye

[this-is-not-a-slow-burn]

Just tried finding a word to rhyme with Rivia and trivia for something Witcher related, and found quadrivia which is the plural for quadrivium which means:

The higher division of the seven liberal arts in the Middle Ages, composed of geometry, astronomy, arithmetic, and music.

I may have bounced in my chair and clapped with excitement at the discovery. Because I am a complete dork.

:3

[talonabraxas]

A B R A C A D A B R A

The word Abracadabra is said to derive from an Aramaic phrase meaning "I create as I speak." However אברא כדברא in Aramaic is more reasonably translated as "I create like the Word."

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made."

In the beginning was the Word: the Logos, the sound frequency (vibration).

We know that speech means not just any kind of a vibration, but a vibration that carries information.

Thus, I create like the Word.

In the Hebrew language, the phrase translates more accurately as "it came to pass as it was spoken."

History:

The first known mention of the word was in the third century AD in the work Liber Medicinalis by Quintus Serenus Sammonicus, a physician to the Roman emperor, who suggests to wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle:

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R - A A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A A - B - R - A - C - A - D A - B - R - A - C - A A - B - R - A - C A - B - R - A A - B - R A - B A

Abracadabra and the Gnostics:

Abracadabra was used as a magical formula by the Gnostics of the sect of Basilides in invoking the aid of beneficent spirits against disease and misfortune. It is found on Abraxas stones, which were worn as amulets. Subsequently, its use spread beyond the Gnostics.

Abraxas:

Have you ever been mesmerized while waiting for the sunrise? As you watch the horizon for that first burst of light, you get swept up in the eternal present moment. With baited breath, your sense of time is suspended, and you’re primed for a miracle. This is the “liminal zone,” the threshold between night and day, between here and there, between this and that. It’s the crossroads where anything is possible. And then the dawn breaks through, like a sudden burst of inspiration, like an act of creation: “Let there be light.” That is the magic of Abraxas, an enigmatic name that has perhaps always been closely associated with the power of the sun. This strange, mysterious name captures that magical, suspended, timeless moment: “all of time as an eternal instant.” Abraxas is the power of infinity—the promise of endless possibilities, the “cosmos” itself. In mythology, Abraxas is the name of a celestial horse that draws the dawn goddess Aurora across the sky. The name suggests a power that is not properly ours but rather a gift from another world.

But what of the name’s origin? It is likely, as an etymologist posited in 1891, that Abraxas belongs “to no known speech” but rather some “mystic dialect,” perhaps taking its origin “from some supposed divine inspiration.” Yet scholars, of course, search for a root. There are speculatory shreds of evidence which suggest that Abraxas is a combination of two Egyptian words, abrak and sax, meaning “the honorable and hallowed word” or “the word is adorable.” Abrak is “found in the Bible as a salutation to Joseph by the Egyptians upon his accession to royal power.” Abraxas appears in “an Egyptian invocation to the Godhead, meaning ‘hurt me not.’” Other scholars suggest a Hebrew origin of the word, positing “a Grecized form of ha-berakhah, ‘the blessing,’” while still others speculate a derivation from the Greek habros and sac, “the beautiful, the glorious Savior.” The name has appeared in the ancient Hebrew/Aramaic mystical treatises The Book of Raziel and The Sword of Moses, and in post-Talmudic Jewish incantation texts, as well as in Persian mythology.

An interesting occurrence of Abraxas is found in a papyrus from late antiquity (perhaps from Hellenized Egypt, though its exact origin is unknown). The papyrus contains “magical recipes, invocations, and incantations,” and tells of a baboon disembarking the Sun boat and proclaiming: “Thou art the number of the year ABRAXAS.” This statement causes God to laugh seven times, and with the first laugh the “splendor [of light] shone through the whole universe.”

The Basilideans, a Gnostic sect founded in the 2nd century CE by Basilides of Alexandria, worshipped Abraxas as the “supreme and primordial creator” deity, “with all the infinite emanations.” The god Abraxas unites the opposites, including good and evil, the one and the many. He is “symbolized as a composite creature, with the body of a human being and the head of a rooster, and with each of his legs ending in a serpent.” His name is actually a mathematical formula: in Greek, the letters add up to 365, the days of the year and the number of eons (cycles of creation).

“That a name so sacredly guarded, so potent in its influence, should be preserved by mystic societies through the many ages . . . is significant,” notes Moses W. Redding, a scholar of secret societies. Redding suggests that only in Freemasonry has this “Divine Word” been “held in due reverence.”

In Kabbalah:

As a carpenter the creator employs tools to build a home, so G'd utilized the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit (the Hebrew alphabet) to form heaven and earth. They are the metaphorical wood, stone and nails, corner­posts and crossbeams of our earthly and spiritual existence. As in abracadabra "Αύρα κατ' αύρα" אברא כדברא, as he, she, it created the universe with; the Letter, The word, and the number.

As Kabbalist sages say G'd created the alef-beit, before the creation of the world. "The Maggid of Mezritch" explains this on the basis of the first verse in the Book of Genesis “בראשית ברא אלקים את השמים ואת הארץ—In the beginning G'd created the heavens and the earth.” Beresheet Barah Elokim Et (in the beginning God created the) The word את, (es or et) is spelled with an aleph, the first letter of the aleph-beit, and a tav, which is the last. The fact is, את, es, is generally considered to be a superfluous word. There is no literal translation for it, and its function is primarily as a grammatical device. So why is “es” present twice in the very first line of the Torah? It suggests that in the beginning, it was not the heavens and the earth that were created first. It was literally the alef-beit, aleph through to tav. The alpha and the omega, Without these letters, the very Utterances with which G'd formed the universe would have been impossible the Baal Shem Tov explains the verse, “Forever the words of G'd are hanging in the heavens.”

The crucial thing to realize is that G'd, creator, source did not merely create the world once. His Her It's words didn’t just emerge and then evaporate. Rather, G'd continues to create the world anew each and every moment. His Her It's, words are there constantly, “hanging in the heav­ens.” And the alef-beit is the foundation of this ongoing process of creation.

According to Kabbalah, Cabbalah and Qabbalah sages and scholars, when the same letters are transposed to form different words, they retain the common energy of their shared gematria. Because of this, the words maintain a connection in the different forms. We find a classic example of this with the words (הצר, hatzar, troubles), (רצה, ratzah, a desire to run passionately into the “ark” of spiritual study and prayer) and (צהר, tzohar, a light that shines from within). All three words share the same three letters: tzaddik, reish and hei in different com­binations. The Baal Shem Tov, explains, the connection between the words as follows: When one is experiencing trou­bles (hatzar), and one runs to study Spiritual txts and pray with great desire (ratzah), one is illuminated with a G'dly light from within (tzohar) that helps him or her transform there troubles into blessings, as it is said that the source of the twenty-two letters is even higher than that of the Ten Commandments.

As it states: “With you, is the essence of G'd", בך means “with you.” The (Beit which has a gematria of 2) and the (kaf = 20) added together equals 22. Through the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit, we are all connected to the monad, G'd, Allah الله, the source, and each other through our words and language as words hold power as that which makes us All unique is language as language weaves everything together. These are the teachings of our holy teacher, as the The Zohar affirms that every sentence, every phrase, every word, and even every letter of the Bible exists simultaneously on several levels of meaning. This sacred work clearly declares, “Woe unto those who see in the Law nothing but simple narratives and ordinary words! . . . Every word of the Law contains an elevated sense and a sublime mystery.”

[Except from Path of the Sun Keepers by Paul Francis Young]

“Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair; they can transfer knowledge from teacher to student; words enable the orator to sway his audience and dictate its decisions. Words are capable of arousing the strongest emotions and prompting all men's actions.” --Sigmund Freud

[bogleech]

I didn't realize there was a subset of "liberal libterarians" on tumblr who think there are sinister communists out to destroy the world like we're back in the 1950's but I really pissed off all six or seven of them last night and today they're circle jerking over a belief that all of my topics of interest and art are sexual kinks, which is something I notice the dumbest guys like to do towards anyone whose interests are "weird" enough from their perspective, which is funny considering they defend bombing people with more breathless passion than I'd even talk about the entire ecosystem. Pretty sure we're just autistic for different aspects of the world, sorry you decided to be autistic for a garbage one though

[evanpetersgfhihi]

୨⎯ 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷⎯୧

♡ about me ♡

౨ৎ you can call me elodie (she/her) ^^

౨ৎ 15 yrs old

౨ৎ deer disguised as an insane teenage girl

౨ৎ infp and aquarius

౨ৎ hopeless romantic

౨ৎ married to evan peters, cillian murphy, kurt cobain, emma watson, mia morgan, taissa farmiga, mia goth, winona ryder and brittany murphy

౨ৎ hobbies: reading, writing, girlblogging, listening to music and true crime pods, watching movies and shows, hanging out with my very few but lovely friends and baking

౨ৎ books: the bell jar, the virgin suicides, christiane f, the seven husbands of evelyn hugo, the picture of dorian gray, the secret history, tributes of panem, harry potter and literally anything by kafka and holly jackson

౨ৎ movies: girl interrupted, black swan, thirteen, american psycho, perks of being a wallflower, jennifers body, pearl, buffalo 66, coraline, dead poets society, léon: the professional, the menu, the craft, my girl, i believe in unicorns, ten things i hate about you and literally anything by sofia coppola, tim burton, david fincher, greta gerwig, wes anderson and studio ghibli

౨ৎ shows: ahs (favs are murder house, coven and asylum), skins, gilmore girls, bojack horseman, stranger things, asoue and ianowt

౨ৎ music: lana, mitski, nirvana, hole, mazzy star, fiona apple, deftones, radiohead, the smiths, fleetwood mac, tv girl, marina, tyler the creator, mia morgan, queen, david bowie, arctic monkeys, the nbhd, ayesha erotica, solya, bambi baker and a lot more

౨ৎ other things i love: art, poetry, cats, deers, swans, coffee, dr pepper, trees, old parks, cemeteries, coquette, grunge, y2k, lego flowers, spotify, tumblr and pinterest

♡ about my blog ♡

i'll post relatable girl stuff, my interests, fashion inspo, moodboards and whatever i feel like ^^ everythings mine unless i say otherwise

dms are always open if you wanna talk or be friends <3 i love meeting new people ^^ if you wanna be moots just tell me in my question box! you can also ask anything there, i love answering to these ^^

dni: racists, homophobes, transphobes, fascists, pedos, nsfw blogs, ed/sh blogs, probably forgot some but yeah im a minor and liberal so i think you get the idea of what i don't tolerate

♡ other socials ♡

spotify (it's kinda messy im sorry)

pinterest (i post more whispers there)

⁠♡ ok i hope i did this right byeee angelss ⁠♡

[headcanonthings]

Maybe it’s just in the fics I’m reading but I really feel like we don’t take enough advantage of Jaskier being a Master of the Seven Liberal Arts. It’s a line that gets thrown out now and then usually just attached when Jaskier is introducing himself and really trying to impress someone. I just want something that explores that part of him a bit more

I also think that it would combine really well with one of those fics that has Jaskier meeting other witchers without Geralt.

Like maybe he writes popular short stories which Eskel adores and runs into him a couple times in the bigger cities doing book signings

Vesemir has a special interest in Astronomy and has a subscription to the Witcher equivalent of a scientific journal where he reads an interesting article by Jaskier and decides to write him with some follow up questions not really expecting a response but gets one and this quickly turns into a years long correspondence

I haven’t fully thought this through so not sure which of the arts he’d be using to meet up with Lambert, Aiden or even Coen (or other witchers depending on how many you want to meet up with him) but do you get what I’m saying?

I also think it would be funny if he’s using a different pseudonym when he meets each witcher so when they all get together and talk about their new friend they don’t realize they’re all talking about the same guy

[thedemonofcat]

As I immersed myself in the books, watched the show, and even played one of the games, I couldn't help but wonder about the immense popularity of Jaskier among the fan base. Joey Batey's stellar performance in the Netflix series undoubtedly plays a significant role, but that only accounts for his portrayal in that specific adaptation.

Then it struck me.

When it comes to Jaskier, very little information is actually known beyond a few minor facts.

This is everything currently known about Jaskier

1.) Jaskier is an important character, largely depicted through his close friendship with Geralt, which forms a central aspect of his interactions.

2.) A talented bard, Jaskier received his education at Oxenfurt academy, where he graduated with the highest honors as a Master of the seven liberal arts. This suggests that he possesses intelligence beyond what he often portrays.

3.) Originating from the town of Lettenhove, Jaskier holds the title of Viscount, and his true name is Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount de Lettenhove. The specific location of Lettenhove on the map, however, remains undisclosed.

4.) Jaskier is known to have numerous romantic partners, as the Netflix adaptation even confirms his involvement with both male and female individuals.

5.) Jaskier's loyalty to Geralt knows almost no bounds, and he is willing to make great sacrifices, even risking his life, to ensure Geralt's safety.

6.) Remarkably, despite being one of the few human characters, Jaskier seems to defy the aging process. This intriguing aspect of his character is not just a casting error in the Netflix series but is also referenced in the books, where his youthful appearance compared to his actual age is mentioned

The enigmatic nature of Jaskier's character offers a captivating canvas for fan creations. With limited canonical information, fans can freely explore various backstories and headcanons. Some popular fan theories propose that Jaskier is more than just human, potentially having ties to a non-human lineage. Others imagine a tragic past, where one of his parents, often his father, was abusive, and he grew up with siblings.

In the realm of fan fiction, creative minds have woven tales of Jaskier's immortality, delving into the reasons behind his agelessness. These speculations and many more allow fans to shape Jaskier as a blank slate, utilizing the scarce details available to craft diverse and compelling narratives that align with their own interpretations of the character.

This artistic freedom empowers fans to explore the depths of Jaskier's persona and invent their unique perspectives, making him a versatile and captivating figure in the realm of fan works

[gawrkin]

So in Erec and Enide, Erec is given a priceless robe during coronation. The robe has four figures representing the Quadrivium (Astronomy, Geometry, Arithmetic and Music) embroidered on it.

What does that mean? Is the robe magic? Does Erec have something to do with the liberal arts?

Does that mean Enide has something similar but with the Trivium (Grammar, Rhetoric, Dialectic) instead?

[sailorkamino]

sheltered

relatonships: geraskier x magic!reader [tangled au]

word count: 1.8k

summary: your village believed you to be born cursed and would have killed you, if not for stragobor. you've spent your whole life locked away in a tower but now you've got a chance for freedom in the form of a bard, a witcher, and an pretty horse.

warnings: stragobor, emotionally abusive parent, gaslighting, anti witcher prejudice, death/murder, pre relationship, emotional support dogs

a/n: my first time writing for the witcher! what do you think? i might turn this into a series <3

Spring is coming so you’re making new outfits for your beloved hounds. Which isn’t at all depressing no matter what that one judgemental bird thinks. Anyways you’re using golden yellow fabric for Honeysuckle and cool blue for Periwinkle. As is customary.

Then you sense them. Strangers. You become almost dizzy with fear and excitement. A type of desperation only experienced when you live in a forced solitude. You make your way to the window, desperate for a glance. It’s not like they’ll be able to see you. Your entire tower is invisible to outsiders.

“Hey, look at this tower.”

You choke on air. Your dogs leap from your bed to check on you (still in their winter sweaters.) You hold your breath as two people and a horse step into the clearing. Then you meet yellow cat-like eyes and you’re diving to the floor with a startled noise.

“Careful. Magic.”

One of them is mumbling but it’s drowned out by the sound of your rapid heart. Honeysuckle whines in concern, licking your face. Periwinkle takes a protective stance over both of you, growling out the window.

Father has always told you witchers are bloodthirsty savages. They’ll kill any innocent being for a profit. They know no morals, only violence. When you were born under a black sun your religious village wanted you dead. Father hid you away for protection. You’re not looking to relieve the witch hunt experience.

You mentally poke at the witcher, feeling out his aura. He doesn’t seem particularly beastly. Animals tend to be more shallow than people, all instincts and simple emotions. Surprisingly he doesn’t feel that.

A part of you has always questioned your father's prejudice. You stopped voicing it but the concerns remained. Father hates witchers because they kill beasts. If monsters can be good, why can’t witchers? An old argument resurfaces in your memory.

“Have you listened to a word I’ve said, child?” Father asks angrily. “You cry when a rat dies yet defend butchers.” You look away, embarrassed by his mocking tone.

“This is why you stay in this tower. You’re too naïve for the outside world.”

You wonder if that’s the real reason he keeps you locked away. You’re capable of defending yourself now. So is he really protecting you? Or is he protecting the world? All because you were born under a black sun. Why must you be punished for being different? Why must witchers?

You think of the villagers who looked at a crying orphan and saw a threat. Who saw killing an infant as a lesser evil. You don’t want to be like that. Privately you wonder why your mentor sees compassion as a weakness but you’ve learnt it’s better to agree with him. “Yes father. I’m sorry.”

“No need to fear us. I’m Jaskier the bard, master of the seven liberal arts, and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Could you give us directions to the nearest town?” The colorful man calls out.

Your heart races until you feel dizzy. So this is the butcher. The most beastly and cruel of all the witchers. He’s… underwhelming to say the least. Certainly least nightmarish and more dreamy than you imagined. But you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. You take a calming breath, petting your hounds to ground yourself.

The primal fear inside of you is wrestling with your desire for a real life conversation with a stranger. This could be your chance to hear both sides of what happened in Blaviken. Father always says you’re too naïve but only tells you his point of view. You’re almost sick with nerves when you blurt out rather loudly, “I wouldn't know. I’ve never been in the forest before.”

There’s a long pause and you can sense confusion. Have you already messed up? You don't want them to leave. Well the witcher can go, but the colorful one seems nice. You pop your head back into view, “I don’t leave my tower. I’m sorry. I… like your horse.” Compliments make you friends right?

“Don’t leave or can’t?” A much gruffer voice asks. You shiver. (He didn’t even say thank you for the compliment, how rude.)

“I’m safe here.” The words sound unconvincing to your own ears. You tell yourself it's because of fear. Not because you’re beginning to question them.

“Who says?”

“My father.”

They share a concerned look. You bite your lip in embarrassment. It sounds quite childish when you say it out loud. But you’ve been persecuted before, you aren’t about to let your guard down around a hired killer. So… why are you still talking to him?

Then you notice the brunet’s instrument. What a lovely change of subject. “Is that a lute?”

“It is!”

You’re practically jumping now. Honeysuckle, picking up on your excitement, smacks you with her wagging tail. “I’ve never heard a bard before! Play me something?”

Jaskier goes impossibly sad. You frown, hating the kicked puppy expression. What did you do wrong? Maybe you should just stick to socializing with animals. At least the rats find you charming.

“You’ve never heard music, my dear?”

Your face goes hot, both at the endearment and the pity in his voice. “I have lots of instruments but I don’t think I’m very good. Being self taught and all.”

“Why don’t I come up and give you a lesson? Free of charge!”

Your stomach twists in knots. You don’t know what’s more terrifying. Your new friend coming inside or leaving you to loneliness. You avoid eye contact when you answer. “My father wouldn’t like that.”

“What would you like?” The witcher asks sternly. You freeze. No one has ever cared what you wanted before. Is that concern you sense from him? Sympathy? From a so-called beast? Your silence seems like an answer enough. “So can’t leave,” he concludes.

“Can others enter?” Jaskier asks curiously.

You don’t know why you answer but you do. “Only with a portal. There’s no door.”

“But there’s a window.”

You frown. Obviously there’s a window, you’re talking out of it right now. Maybe your new friend is a little slow.

“Rope?” he proposes to the witcher.

Your mouth drops open. A rope? That’s it? Years of isolation by a warlock solved with a fucking rope? It can’t be that simple. It just can’t be. “My father is very powerful,” you warn. “And he hates witchers.”

“Him and most of the continent,” the man grumbles dryly. For some reason you feel guilty. Years of indoctrination to hate his kind, forgotten in mere minutes. Maybe you really are naïve.

“Who’s your father, dear? Maybe we know him?”

You sincerely hope not. “Stregobor.”

Dead silence. Then a very empathetic “fuck.”

Your stomach sinks. That’s the most emotion you’ve heard in the witcher’s voice so far and it doesn't sound good. Will they judge you for your fathers deeds? Wait, why are you assuming your father’s in the wrong? Since when did he become the bad guy? (Maybe he always has been but you’ve ignored it.)

“Let me guess, you were born during a black sun?” He asks flatly.

You feel as if a rug has been pulled out from under you. The comfort that’s been growing disappears, replaced with icy fear. You don’t even know this man yet you still feel betrayed. “Are you here to kill me?” You ask, slightly wobbly.

He sighs tiredly. Maybe he gets asked that a lot. “No. You aren’t fucking cursed. You were born during an eclipse. A completely natural phenomenon. A bunch of old bastards made up that curse for power and control.”

Your jaw drops, conflicting emotions raging inside of you. If he’s right you’re not cursed, which is great. But it also means your father has betrayed you. Your whole life can’t be a lie. It just can’t. A sinking part of you knows he’s making sense, even wants to believe him, but you desperately ignore it.

“I hurt people,” you confess abruptly.

“I thought you never left this tower?” Jaskier asks.

“When I was a baby.”

The witcher raises an unimpressed brow. “Did Stregobor tell you that?”

You growl in frustration as a strong wind rustles the trees. Jaskier looks around in bewilderment but the witcher holds your steady gaze. Not easily frightened by your show of power or glowing eyes.

“I’ve met a lot of monsters. You’re not one.”

The words you’ve always longed to hear. Uttered by the man you’ve been taught to hate. You take a moment to collect your flurry of emotions before answering. “Funny,” you smile weakly, “I was gonna say the same thing about you, witcher.”

You steady yourself before asking the next question. Knowing it won’t be easy but needing answers. The more you talk to Geralt the more you question what you’ve been taught about witchers. Maybe you don’t want him to be a monster. Maybe you’re so lonely you don’t care if he is.

“Tell me about Blaviken.”

“What?” His voice is somehow gruffer. Face horribly blank and posture rigid.

“Every story has two sides, yet I’ve only heard my father’s.”

He sighs deeply. Then begins. He tells you about Renfri. A princess born under the black sun. Her step mother was looking for a way to get rid of her and the curse was convenient. Stregobor agreed the girl was an evil mutant that must be isolated but her step mother wanted her dead. Together they ruined her life.

Renfri evaded them. She spent years being hunted, until she became the hunter. Eventually she formed a gang of sorts and tracked Stregobor to Blaviken but couldn’t enter his tower. (Apparently the idea of living in a tower forever was very distressing to your father. You don't know if you should laugh or vomit.)

Both Renfri and Stregobor asked Geralt to kill the other but he refused, not wanting to get involved. Although he hated Stregobor he tried to talk the princess out of revenge. It was too late. She threatened to kill townspeople until the warlock came out.

Your heart sinks at the ultimatum. Your father has never been a compassionate man. By the grim look on the witcher’s face he knew it too. In the end Geralt did what Stregobor wanted him to do. Instead of payment or thanks he was branded a butcher.

The fear-shame-grief rolling off of the witcher (definitely not emotionless by the way) is enough to make your eyes sting. Your gaze settles on Jaskier, who’s gone into full sad puppy mode. You have a feeling he’s never heard the full story either. You clear your choked throat.

“You mentioned a rope, good sir?”

[paulsspaceshippictures]

[mutant-distraction]

A Tibetan skeleton dancer, 1925. Photo by Joseph F. Rock.⁣

⁣

The photo originally appeared in the November 1928 issue of National Geographic. The original caption was: “With huge cadaver masks, imitation tiger-skin skirts, and enormous claws, this performer and his seven similarly garbed companions strike terror to the hearts of spectators in the Old Dance. They are assistants of Showa the Deer, the messenger of Yama”. The picture was taken in 1925 and is an autochrome which was an early color photography process.⁣

⁣

The Skeleton Dance is a sacred Tibetan dance ritual found in Himalayan Buddhist lineages. It is intended to reflect the transient nature of things, including states of mind and the body itself.⁣

⁣

The monk pictured in the above photo seems to be performing the dance known as Durdak Garcham, “Dance of the Lords of the Cemetery”. The dance celebrates the liberation that comes from the acceptance of our impermanence.⁣

source: Archeology & Art

⁣⁣

[podcastenthusiast]

"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.

"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.

"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."

"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"

"Jaskier."

"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"

"Just do it, Jaskier."

"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.

"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.

"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."

Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.

"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."

"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.

Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.

"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."

There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.

It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.

"He just— like as a test— what—?"

"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."

"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.

"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."

He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.

"Stop it," the witcher snaps.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.

All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.

It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.

"Geralt..."

"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."

"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."

The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.

There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.

"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.

"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.

"Hm."

The fire crackles.

Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."

"What? You're joking!"

"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."

"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"

"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."

"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"

"No."

"Forgive me, but that's adorable."

"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.

"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.

"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."

"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.

"Of course you did."

They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.

"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."

"Why?"

"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."

"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.

It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.

Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.

[0dde11eth]

Immortal jaskier concept:

He is immediately resurrected every time he dies.

And a rule at oxenfurt is every time a student dies the whole class gets automatic A

Jaskier ABUSES that rule.

After all he's going to be the first master of all seven of the liberal arts